Zane Grey (25 page)

"Yes."

"What's going to happen when you meet Snap, or any of them?"

"Somebody will be surprised," replied Hare, with a laugh.

"Jack, it's no laughing matter." She fastened her hands in the lapels of
his coat and her eyes grew sad. "You can never hang up your gun again."

"No. But perhaps I can keep out of their way, especially Snap's.
Mescal, you've forgotten Silvermane, and how he can run."

"I haven't forgotten. He can run, but he can't beat Bolly." She said
this with a hint of her old spirit. "Jack—you want to take me back
home?"

"Of course. What did you expect when you sent Wolf?"

"I didn't expect. I just wanted to see you, or somebody, and I thought
of the Navajos. Couldn't I live with them? Why can't we stay here or in
a canyon across the Colorado where there's plenty of game?"

"I'm going to take you home and Father Naab shall marry you—to—to me."

Startled, Mescal fell back upon his shoulder and did not stir nor speak
for a long time. "Did—did you tell him?"

"Yes."

"What did he say? Was he angry? Tell me."

"He was kind and good as he always is. He said if I found you, then the
issue would be between Snap and me, as man to man. You are still pledged
to Snap in the Mormon Church and that can't be changed. I don't suppose
even if he's outlawed that it could be changed."

"Snap will not let any grass grow in the trails to the oasis," said
Mescal. "Once he finds I've come back to life he'll have me. You don't
know him, Jack. I'm afraid to go home."

"My dear, there's no other place for us to go. We can't live the life of
Indians."

"But Jack, think of me watching you ride out from home! Think of me
always looking for Snap! I couldn't endure it. I've grown weak in this
year of absence."

"Mescal, look at me." His voice rang as he held her face to face. "We
must decide everything. Now—say you love me!"

"Yes—yes."

"Say it."

"I—love you—Jack."

"Say you'll marry me!"

"I will marry you."

"Then listen. I'll get you out of this canyon and take you home. You
are mine and I'll keep you." He held her tightly with strong arms; his
face paled, his eyes darkened. "I don't want to meet Snap Naab. I shall
try to keep out of his way. I hope I can. But Mescal, I'm yours now.
Your happiness—perhaps your life—depends on me. That makes a
difference. Understand!"

Silvermane walked into the glade with a saddle-girth so tight that his
master unbuckled it only by dint of repeated effort. Evidently the rich
grass of Thunder River Canyon appealed strongly to the desert stallion.

"Here, Silver, how do you expect to carry us out if you eat and drink
like that?" Hare removed the saddle and tethered the gray to one of the
cottonwoods. Wolf came trotting into camp proudly carrying a rabbit.

"Mescal, can we get across the Colorado and find a way up over Coconina?"
asked Hare.

"Yes, I'm sure we can. My peon never made a mistake about directions.
There's no trail, but Navajos have crossed the river at this season, and
worked up a canyon."

The shadows had gathered under the cliffs, and the rosy light high up on
the ramparts had chilled and waned when Hare and Mescal sat down to their
meal. Wolf lay close to the girl and begged for morsels. Then in the
twilight they sat together content to be silent, listening to the low
thunder of the river. Long after Mescal had retired into her hogan Hare
lay awake before her door with his head in his saddle and listened to the
low roll, the dull burr, the dreamy hum of the tumbling waters. The
place was like the oasis, only infinitely more hidden under the cliffs.
A few stars twinkled out of the dark blue, and one hung, beaconlike, on
the crest of a noble crag. There were times when he imagined the valley
was as silent as the desert night, and other times when he imagined he
heard the thundering roll of avalanches and the tramp of armies. Then
the voices of Mescal's solitude spoke to him—glorious laughter and low
sad wails of woe, sweet songs and whispers and murmurs. His last waking
thoughts were of the haunting sound of Thunder River, and that he had
come to bear Mescal away from its loneliness.

He bestirred himself at the first glimpse of day, and when the gray mists
had lifted to wreathe the crags it was light enough to begin the journey.
Mescal shed tears at the grave of the faithful peon. "He loved this
canyon," she said, softly. Hare lifted her upon Silvermane. He walked
beside the horse and Wolf trotted on before. They travelled awhile under
the flowering cottonwoods on a trail bordered with green tufts of grass
and great star-shaped lilies. The river was still hidden, but it filled
the grove with its soft thunder. Gradually the trees thinned out, hard
stony ground encroached upon the sand, bowlders appeared in the way; and
presently, when Silvermane stepped out of the shade of the cottonwoods,
Hare saw the lower end of the valley with its ragged vent.

"Look back!" said Mescal.

Hare saw the river bursting from the base of the wall in two white
streams which soon united below, and leaped down in a continuous cascade.
Step by step the stream plunged through the deep gorge, a broken, foaming
raceway, and at the lower end of the valley it took its final leap into a
blue abyss, and then found its way to the Colorado, hidden underground.

The flower-scented breeze and the rumbling of the river persisted long
after the valley lay behind and above, but these failed at length in the
close air of the huge abutting walls. The light grew thick, the stones
cracked like deep bell-strokes; the voices of man and girl had a hollow
sound and echo. Silvermane clattered down the easy trail at a gait which
urged Hare now and then from walk to run. Soon the gully opened out upon
a plateau through the centre of which, in a black gulf, wound the red
Colorado, sullen-voiced, booming, never silent nor restful. Here were
distances by which Hare could begin to comprehend the immensity of the
canyon, and he felt lost among the great terraces leading up to mesas
that dwarfed the Echo Cliffs. All was bare rock of many hues burning
under the sun.

"Jack, this is mescal," said the girl, pointing to some towering plants.

All over the sunny slopes cacti lifted slender shafts, unfolding in
spiral leaves as they shot upward and bursting at the top into plumes of
yellow flowers. The blossoming stalks waved in the wind, and black bees
circled round them.

"Mescal, I've always wanted to see the Flower of the Desert from which
you're named. It's beautiful."

Hare broke a dead stalk of the cactus and was put to instant flight by a
stream of bees pouring with angry buzz from the hollow centre. Two big
fellows were so persistent that he had to beat them off with his hat.

"You shouldn't despoil their homes," said Mescal, with a peal of
laughter.

"I'll break another stalk and get stung, if you'll laugh again," replied
Hare.

They traversed the remaining slope of the plateau, and entering the head
of a ravine, descended a steep cleft of flinty rock, rock so hard that
Silvermane's iron hoofs not so much as scratched it. Then reaching a
level, they passed out to rounded sand and the river.

"It's a little high," said Hare dubiously. "Mescal, I don't like the
looks of those rapids."

Only a few hundred rods of the river could be seen. In front of Hare the
current was swift but not broken. Above, where the canyon turned, the
river sheered out with a majestic roll and falling in a wide smooth curve
suddenly narrowed into a leaping crest of reddish waves. Below Hare was
a smaller rapid where the broken water turned toward the nearer side of
the river, but with an accompaniment of twisting swirls and vicious
waves.

"I guess we'd better risk it," said Hare, grimly recalling the hot rock,
the sand, and lava of the desert.

"It's safe, if Silvermane is a good swimmer," replied Mescal. "We can
take the river above and cut across so the current will help."

"Silvermane loves the water. He'll make this crossing easily. But he
can't carry us both, and it's impossible to make two trips. I'll have to
swim."

Without wasting more words and time over a task which would only grow
more formidable with every look and thought, Hare led Silvermane up the
sand-bar to its limit. He removed his coat and strapped it behind the
saddle; his belt and revolver and boots he hung over the pommel.

"How about Wolf? I'd forgotten him."

"Never fear for him! He'll stick close to me."

"Now, Mescal, there's the point we want to make, that bar; see it?"

"Surely we can land above that."

"I'll be satisfied if we get even there. You guide him for it. And,
Mescal, here's my gun. Try to keep it from getting wet. Balance it on
the pommel—so. Come, Silver; come, Wolf."

"Keep up-stream," called Mescal as Hare plunged in. "Don't drift below
us."

In two steps Silvermane went in to his saddle, and he rolled with a
splash and a snort, sinking Mescal to her hips. His nose level with the
water, mane and tail floating, he swam powerfully with the current.

For Hare the water was just cold enough to be delightful after the long
hot descent, but its quality was strange. Keeping up-stream of the horse
and even with Mescal, he swam with long regular strokes for perhaps
one-quarter of the distance. But when they reached the swirling eddies
he found that he was tiring. The water was thick and heavy; it
compressed his lungs and dragged at his feet. He whirled round and round
in the eddies and saw Silvermane doing the same. Only by main force
could he breast his way out of these whirlpools. When a wave slapped his
face he tasted sand, and then he knew what the strange feeling meant.
There was sand here as on the desert. Even in the depths of the canyon
he could not escape it. As the current grew rougher he began to feel
that he could scarcely spread his arms in the wide stroke. Changing the
stroke he discovered that he could not keep up with Silvermane, and he
changed back again. Gradually his feet sank lower and lower, the water
pressed tighter round him, his arms seemed to grow useless. Then he
remembered a saying of August Naab that the Navajos did not attempt to
swim the river when it was in flood and full of sand. He ceased to
struggle, and drifting with the current, soon was close to Silvermane,
and grasped a saddle strap.

"Not there!" called Mescal. "He might strike you. Hang to his tail!"

Hare dropped behind, and catching Silvermane's tail held on firmly. The
stallion towed him easily. The waves dashed over him and lapped at
Mescal's waist. The current grew stronger, sweeping Silvermane down out
of line with the black wall which had frowned closer and closer. Mescal
lifted the rifle, and resting the stock on the saddle, held it upright.
The roar of the rapids seemed to lose its volume, and presently it died in
the splashing and slapping of broken water closer at hand. Mescal turned
to him with bright eyes; curving her hand about her lips she shouted:

"Can't make the bar! We've got to go through this side of the rapids.
Hang on!"

In the swelling did Hare felt the resistless pull of the current. As he
held on with both hands, hard pressed to keep his grasp, Silvermane
dipped over a low fall in the river. Then Hare was riding the rushing
water of an incline. It ended below in a red-crested wave, and beyond
was a chaos of curling breakers. Hare had one glimpse of Mescal
crouching low, shoulders narrowed and head bent; then, with one white
flash of the stallion's mane against her flying black hair, she went out
of sight in leaping waves and spray. Hare was thrown forward into the
backlash of the wave. The shock blinded him, stunned him, almost tore
his arms from his body, but his hands were so twisted in Silvermane's
tail that even this could not loosen them. The current threw him from
wave to wave. He was dragged through a caldron, blind from stinging
blows, deaf from the tremendous roar. Then the fierce contention of
waves lessened, the threshing of crosscurrents straightened, and he could
breathe once more. Silvermane dragged him steadily; and, finally, his
feet touched the ground. He could scarcely see, so full were his eyes of
the sandy water, but he made out Mescal rising from the river on
Silvermane, as with loud snorts he climbed to a bar. Hare staggered up
and fell on the sand.

"Jack, are you all right?" inquired Mescal.

"All right, only pounded out of breath, and my eyes are full of sand.
How about you?"

"I don't think I ever was any wetter," replied Mescal, laughing. "It was
hard to stick on holding the rifle. That first wave almost unseated me.
I was afraid we might strike the rocks, but the water was deep.
Silvermane is grand, Jack. Wolf swam out above the rapids and was
waiting for us when we landed."

Hare wiped the sand out of his eyes and rose to his feet, finding himself
little the worse for the adventure. Mescal was wringing the water from
the long straight braids of her hair. She was smiling, and a tint of
color showed in her cheeks. The wet buckskin blouse and short skirt
clung tightly to her slender form. She made so pretty a picture and
appeared so little affected by the peril they had just passed through
that Hare, yielding to a tender rush of pride and possession, kissed the
pink cheeks till they flamed.

"All wet," said he, "you and I, clothes, food, guns—everything."

"It's hot and we'll soon dry," returned Mescal. "Here's the canyon and
creek we must follow up to Coconina. My peon mapped them in the sand for
me one day. It'll probably be a long climb."

Hare poured the water out of his boots, pulled them on, and helping
Mescal to mount Silvermane, he took the bridle over his arm and led the
way into a black-mouthed canyon, through which flowed a stream of clear
water. Wolf splashed and pattered along beside him. Beyond the marble
rock this canyon opened out to great breadth and wonderful walls. Hare
had eyes only for the gravelly bars and shallow levels of the creek;
intent on finding the easy going for his horse he strode on and on
thoughtless of time. Nor did he talk to Mescal, for the work was hard,
and he needed his breath. Splashing the water, hammering the stones,
Silvermane ever kept his nose at Hare's elbow. They climbed little
ridges, making short cuts from point to point, they threaded miles of
narrow winding creek floor, and passed under ferny cliffs and over grassy
banks and through thickets of yellow willow. As they wound along the
course of the creek, always up and up, the great walls imperceptibly
lowered their rims. The warm sun soared to the zenith. Jumble of
bowlders, stretches of white gravel, ridges of sage, blocks of granite,
thickets of manzanita, long yellow slopes, crumbling crags, clumps of
cedar and lines of pinon—all were passed in the persistent plodding
climb. The canon grew narrower toward its source; the creek lost its
volume; patches of snow gleamed in sheltered places. At last the
yellow-streaked walls edged out upon a grassy hollow and the great dark
pines of Coconina shadowed the snow.