Zane Grey (19 page)

Early in the winter Snap Naab had forced his wife to visit his father's
house with him; and she had remained in the room, white-faced,
passionately jealous, while he wooed Mescal. Then had come a scene.
Hare had not been present, but he knew its results. Snap had been
furious, his father grave, Mescal tearful and ashamed. The wife found
many ways to interrupt her husband's lovemaking. She sent the children
for him; she was taken suddenly ill; she discovered that the corral gate
was open and his cream-colored pinto, dearest to his heart, was running
loose; she even set her cottage on fire.

One Sunday evening just before twilight Hare was sitting on the porch
with August Naab and Dave, when their talk was interrupted by Snap's loud
calling for his wife. At first the sounds came from inside his cabin.
Then he put his head out of a window and yelled. Plainly he was both
impatient and angry. It was nearly time for him to make his Sunday call
upon Mescal.

"Something's wrong," muttered Dave.

"Hester! Hester!" yelled Snap.

Mother Ruth came out and said that Hester was not there.

"Where is she?" Snap banged on the window-sill with his fists. "Find
her, somebody—Hester!"

"Son, this is the Sabbath," called Father Naab, gravely. "Lower your
voice. Now what's the matter?"

"Matter!" bawled Snap, giving way to rage. "When I was asleep Hester
stole all my clothes. She's hid them—she's run off—there's not a
d—n thing for me to put on! I'll—"

The roar of laughter from August and Dave drowned the rest of the speech.
Hare managed to stifle his own mirth. Snap pulled in his head and
slammed the window shut.

"Jack," said August, "even among Mormons the course of true love never
runs smooth."

Hare finally forgot his bitter humor in pity for the wife. Snap came to
care not at all for her messages and tricks, and he let nothing interfere
with his evening beside Mescal. It was plain that he had gone far on the
road of love. Whatever he had been in the beginning of the betrothal, he
was now a lover, eager, importunate. His hawk's eyes were softer than
Hare had ever seen them; he was obliging, kind, gay, an altogether
different Snap Naab. He groomed himself often, and wore clean scarfs,
and left off his bloody spurs. For eight months he had not touched the
bottle. When spring approached he was madly in love with Mescal. And
the marriage was delayed because his wife would not have another woman in
her home.

Once Hare heard Snap remonstrating with his father.

"If she don't come to time soon I'll keep the kids and send her back to
her father."

"Don't be hasty, son. Let her have time," replied August. "Women must
be humored. I'll wager she'll give in before the cottonwood blows, and
that's not long."

It was Hare's habit, as the days grew warmer, to walk a good deal, and
one evening, as twilight shadowed the oasis and grew black under the
towering walls, he strolled out toward the fields. While passing Snap's
cottage Hare heard a woman's voice in passionate protest and a man's in
strident anger. Later as he stood with his arm on Silvermane, a woman's
scream, at first high-pitched, then suddenly faint and smothered, caused
him to grow rigid, and his hand clinched tight. When he went back by the
cottage a low moaning confirmed his suspicion.

That evening Snap appeared unusually bright and happy; and he asked his
father to name the day for the wedding. August did so in a loud voice
and with evident relief. Then the quaint Mormon congratulations were
offered to Mescal. To Hare, watching the strange girl with the
distressingly keen intuition of an unfortunate lover, she appeared as
pleased as any of them that the marriage was settled. But there was no
shyness, no blushing confusion. When Snap bent to kiss her—his first
kiss—she slightly turned her face, so that his lips brushed her cheek,
yet even then her self-command did not break for an instant. It was a
task for Hare to pretend to congratulate her; nevertheless he mumbled
something. She lifted her long lashes, and there, deep beneath the
shadows, was unutterable anguish. It gave him a shock. He went to his
room, convinced that she had yielded; and though he could not blame her,
and he knew she was helpless, he cried out in reproach and resentment.
She had failed him, as he had known she must fail. He tossed on his bed
and thought; he lay quiet, wide-open eyes staring into the darkness, and
his mind burned and seethed. Through the hours of that long night he
learned what love had cost him.

With the morning light came some degree of resignation. Several days
went slowly by, bringing the first of April, which was to be the
wedding-day. August Naab had said it would come before the cottonwoods
shed their white floss; and their buds had just commenced to open. The
day was not a holiday, and George and Zeke and Dave began to pack for the
ranges, yet there was an air of jollity and festivity. Snap Naab had a
springy step and jaunty mien. Once he regarded Hare with a slow smile.

Piute prepared to drive his new flock up on the plateau. The women of
the household were busy and excited; the children romped.

The afternoon waned into twilight, and Hare sought the quiet shadows
under the wall near the river trail. He meant to stay there until August
Naab had pronounced his son and Mescal man and wife. The dull roar of
the rapids borne on a faint puff of westerly breeze was lulled into a
soothing murmur. A radiant white star peeped over the black rim of the
wall. The solitude and silence were speaking to Hare's heart, easing his
pain, when a soft patter of moccasined feet brought him bolt upright.

A slender form rounded the corner wall. It was Mescal. The white dog
Wolf hung close by her side. Swiftly she reached Hare.

"Mescal!" he exclaimed.

"Hush! Speak softly," she whispered fearfully. Her hands were clinging
to his.

"Jack, do you love me still?"

More than woman's sweetness was in the whisper; the portent of
indefinable motive made Hare tremble like a shaking leaf.

"Good heavens! You are to be married in a few minutes—What do you mean?
Where are you going? this buckskin suit—and Wolf with you— Mescal!"

"There's no time—only a word—hurry—do you love me still?" she panted,
with great shining eyes close to his.

"Love you? With all my soul!"

"Listen," she whispered, and leaned against him. A fresh breeze bore the
boom of the river. She caught her breath quickly: "I love you!—I love
you!—Good-bye!"

She kissed him and broke from his clasp. Then silently, like a shadow,
with the white dog close beside her, she disappeared in the darkness of
the river trail.

She was gone before he came out of his bewilderment. He rushed down the
trail; he called her name. The gloom had swallowed her, and only the
echo of his voice made answer.

WHEN thought came clearly to him he halted irresolute. For Mescal's sake
he must not appear to have had any part in her headlong flight, or any
knowledge of it.

With stealthy footsteps he reached the cottonwoods, stole under the
gloomy shade, and felt his way to a point beyond the twinkling lights.
Then, peering through the gloom until assured he was safe from
observation, and taking the dark side of the house, he gained the hall,
and his room. He threw himself on his bed, and endeavored to compose
himself, to quiet his vibrating nerves, to still the triumphant bell-beat
of his heart. For a while all his being swung to the palpitating
consciousness of joy—Mescal had taken her freedom. She had escaped the
swoop of the hawk.

While Hare lay there, trying to gather his shattered senses, the merry
sound of voices and the music of an accordion hummed from the big
living-room next to his. Presently heavy boots thumped on the floor of
the hall; then a hand rapped on his door.

"Jack, are you there?" called August Naab.

"Yes."

"Come along then."

Hare rose, opened the door and followed August. The room was bright with
lights; the table was set, and the Naabs, large and small, were standing
expectantly. As Hare found a place behind them Snap Naab entered with
his wife. She was as pale as if she were in her shroud. Hare caught
Mother Ruth's pitying subdued glance as she drew the frail little woman
to her side. When August Naab began fingering his Bible the whispering
ceased.

"Why don't they fetch her?" he questioned.

"Judith, Esther, bring her in," said Mother Mary, calling into the
hallway.

Quick footsteps, and the girls burst in impetuously, exclaiming:
"Mescal's not there!"

"Where is she, then?" demanded August Naab, going to the door. "Mescal!"
he called.

Succeeding his authoritative summons only the cheery sputter of the
wood-fire broke the silence.

"She hadn't put on her white frock," went on Judith.

"Her buckskins aren't hanging where they always are," continued Esther.

August Naab laid his Bible on the table. "I always feared it," he said
simply.

"She's gone!" cried Snap Naab. He ran into the hall, into Mescal's room,
and returned trailing the white wedding-dress. "The time we thought she
spent to put this on she's been—"

He choked over the words, and sank into a chair, face convulsed, hands
shaking, weak in the grip of a grief that he had never before known.
Suddenly he flung the dress into the fire. His wife fell to the floor in
a dead faint. Then the desert-hawk showed his claws. His hands tore at
the close scarf round his throat as if to liberate a fury that was
stifling him; his face lost all semblance to anything human. He began to
howl, to rave, to curse; and his father circled him with iron arm and
dragged him from the room.

The children were whimpering, the wives lamenting. The quiet men
searched the house and yard and corrals and fields. But they found no
sign of Mescal. After long hours the excitement subsided and all sought
their beds.

Morning disclosed the facts of Mescal's flight. She had dressed for the
trail; a knapsack was missing and food enough to fill it; Wolf was gone;
Noddle was not in his corral; the peon slave had not slept in his shack;
there were moccasin-tracks and burro-tracks and dog-tracks in the sand at
the river crossing, and one of the boats was gone. This boat was not
moored to the opposite shore. Questions arose. Had the boat sunk? Had
the fugitives crossed safely or had they drifted into the canyon? Dave
Naab rode out along the river and saw the boat, a mile below the rapids,
bottom side up and lodged on a sand-bar.

"She got across, and then set the boat loose," said August. "That's the
Indian of her. If she went up on the cliffs to the Navajos maybe we'll
find her. If she went into the Painted Desert—" a grave shake of his
shaggy head completed his sentence.

Morning also disclosed Snap Naab once more in the clutch of his demon,
drunk and unconscious, lying like a log on the porch of his cottage.

"This means ruin to him," said his father. "He had one chance; he was
mad over Mescal, and if he had got her, he might have conquered his
thirst for rum."

He gave orders for the sheep to be driven up on the plateau, and for his
sons to ride out to the cattle ranges. He bade Hare pack and get in
readiness to accompany him to the Navajo cliffs, there to search for
Mescal.

The river was low, as the spring thaws had not yet set in, and the
crossing promised none of the hazard so menacing at a later period.
Billy Naab rowed across with the saddle and packs. Then August had to
crowd the lazy burros into the water. Silvermane went in with a rush,
and Charger took to the river like an old duck. August and Jack sat in
the stern of the boat, while Billy handled the oars. They crossed
swiftly and safely. The three burros were then loaded, two with packs,
the other with a heavy water-bag.

"See there," said August, pointing to tracks in the sand. The imprints
of little moccasins reassured Hare, for he had feared the possibility
suggested by the upturned boat. "Perhaps it'll be better if I never find
her," continued Naab. "If I bring her back Snap's as likely to kill her
as to marry her. But I must try to find her. Only what to do with her—"

"Give her to me," interrupted Jack.

"Hare!"

"I love her!"

Naab's stern face relaxed. "Well, I'm beat! Though I don't see why you
should be different from all the others. It was that time you spent with
her on the plateau. I thought you too sick to think of a woman!"

"Mescal cares for me," said Hare.

"Ah! That accounts. Hare, did you play me fair?"

"We tried to, though we couldn't help loving."

"She would have married Snap but for you."

"Yes. But I couldn't help that. You brought me out here, and saved my
life. I know what I owe you. Mescal meant to marry your son when I left
for the range last fall. But she's a true woman and couldn't. August
Naab, if we ever find her will you marry her to him—now?"

"That depends. Did you know she intended to run?"

"I never dreamed of it. I learned it only at the last moment. I met her
on the river trail."

"You should have stopped her."

Hare maintained silence.

"You should have told me," went on Naab.

"I couldn't. I'm only human."

"Well, well, I'm not blaming you, Hare. I had hot blood once. But I'm
afraid the desert will not be large enough for you and Snap. She's
pledged to him. You can't change the Mormon Church. For the sake of
peace I'd give you Mescal, if I could. Snap will either have her or kill
her. I'm going to hunt this desert in advance of him, because he'll
trail her like a hound. It would be better to marry her to him than to
see her dead."

"I'm not so sure of that."