Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1110
“All the time, Hank Hays,” replied Jim, steadily, and it was the robber’s eyes, pale fires no longer, that he watched for thought and will.
Still he saw the violent muscular quivering which slowly diminished to freeze into rigidity. He had struck the right chord. In whatever way possible, Hank Hays loved this woman. However it had begun, the sordid, brutal thing had ended in Hays’ worship of the golden-haired sister of Herrick. Jim read this in the extraordinarily betraying eyes; and read more — that it had been Helen the robber had fought for, not his lost caste with his men, not the honor of thieves. It was this that accounted for the infernal blaze of unquenchable hate, of courage that death itself could scarcely have stilled. All this immediately coalesced into the conscious resolve to act and kill!
As the robber sprang up, Jim’s first shot took him somewhere in the breast. It whirled him half round. His gun, spouting flame, tore up the gravel at Jim’s feet. A terrible wound with its agony, a consciousness of its mortality, added to the overwhelming ferocity of jealous hate, gave the man superhuman physical activity. He whirled bounding the other way so swiftly that Jim’s second shot missed him altogether. Hays’ gun was booming, but it was also describing the same curves and jerks as his body. Then as passion gave place to desperate need and the gun aligned itself with Jim, Jim’s third shot destroyed aim, force, and consciousness.
Hays’ demoniac face set woodenly. The gun, with hammer up, dropped to explode. And the robber lodged against the slant of wall, dead, with the awfulness of his mortal passions stamped upon his features.
It was over. Jim breathed. The hand which held his gun was so wet that he thought his blood was flowing. But it was sweat.
“I wish — Smoky could — know,” muttered Jim, over a convulsive jaw. He shoved Hays off the wall.
Wiping his face, Jim staggered to the rock and sat down. All the sustained excitement, culminating in such passion as Jim had never known, had weakened him. Spent and heaving, he sat there, his will operating on a whirling mind. It was over — the thing that had had to come. All dead! Loyal and faithless robbers alike. What to do now? The girl! Escape from that hell-hole, soon to be besieged again! He must pack that very hour and ride — ride away with her. His heart swelled. His blood mounted to burn out the cold horrible nausea. To save this woman — this golden-haired, violet-eyed goddess with her wonderful white skin — to ride with her for one day, one hour — Jim Wall would have paid what the robber chief had paid.
“Jim! — Oh, Jim!” came a cry from the back of the cave.
“Helen — it’s all — over,” he called, hoarsely.
She appeared in the opening. “Gone?” she whispered.
“Yes, gone — and dead.”
“I — saw — you. . . . Is he — dead?”
“You bet your life,” burst out Jim, his breast oppressed.
“Oh, help me out!”
He ran to assist her. She came sliding out, to fall on her knees, clasping Jim with fierce arms. Her head fell against him.
Jim’s hands plucked at her arms — caught them. Yet they seemed hands of steel binding his knees to her breast.
“Get up,” he ordered, sharply, trying to lift her. But she was more than a dead weight.
“God bless you! — Oh, God bless you!” she cried. The voice was husky, strange, yet carried the richness and contralto melody that had been one of Helen’s charms.
“Don’t say that!” he exclaimed, aghast.
She loosened her hold and raised her head to look up at him. He saw only her eyes, tearless, strained in overwhelming gratitude.
“Jim! You’ve saved me,” she whispered.
“No — not yet!” he blurted out. “We must hurry out of this.”
She arose, still clinging to him. “Forgive me. I am selfish. We can talk some other time. I should have realized you would want to leave here at once. . . . Tell me what to do. I will obey.”
Jim stepped back and shook himself.
“You kept me from thinking,” he began, ponderingly. “Yes, we must leave here. . . . Put on your riding-clothes. Pack this dress you have on — and all you have. Take your time. We’re safe for the present. And don’t look out. I’ve got to bury Hays and the men.”
“My spirit wouldn’t faint at that,” she replied. “I saw you kill the wretch — and I could help you bury him.”
“I won’t need you,” replied Jim, constrainedly, and wheeled away, a victim of conflicting tides of emotion. What manner of woman was this? She had blessed him to God! She could not see in him anyone but a savior. Harder to bear — inexplicably sweet and moving — she had clung to him willingly! Madly he rushed to and fro, cursing while he searched the dead robbers, to fling their money and valuables in a pile, cursing while he dragged them to the brink of the wash and toppled them over. He hauled Hays by the hair — gave him a shove into a grave with villains who were better men. Then he carried rocks and rolled them. He performed prodigious feats of strength, and lastly he pushed an avalanche of sand and gravel, a whole section of bank, down to half fill the wash.
He was as wet as a dog coming from the water. And he burned. Yet he felt cold within.
But action had begun to steady Jim, if not compose him. He shoved all the money into his saddle-bag. Next he packed every one of his shells. He might be attacked again, in that hiding-place. Then he selected supplies for two packs and filled them, not forgetting a few utensils. Poor Happy Jack! That fellow would whistle no more. He unrolled his bed, which consisted of three blankets and a tarpaulin.
His next move was to strap blankets and saddles on the two gentlest horses. Those he led back to the cave, and packed them. It was an indication of his state that, though he had always been a poor, slow packer, he now developed into a swift and efficient one. After that he had only to saddle Bay, and the gray horse Helen had ridden there.
Suddenly he thought of Smoky. If he had been alone, or with another man, even a helpless one, he would have taken time to find that strange and faithful robber and have given him decent burial. But he would not leave the girl.
While he stood there, trying to think what else to do, he remembered a sack of grain that Hays had packed from Star Ranch. He found it half full and tied it on the lighter pack. Sight of his rifle started another train of thought. He put it in his saddle sheath.
Huge, scattered raindrops were pattering down on the hot stones and earth. The storm was working toward the northwest, trailing gray veils across the canyons. The tail of it would flood Robbers’ Roost and the canyon below would be impassable. Southward sunshine and silver cloud, blue sky and hazed desert, threw the balance on his inclination that way.
He hurried back to the girl, calling, “Are you ready?”
“I’ve been waiting,” she said, and came swiftly out. The rider’s costume brought out the rounded grace of her form. She had braided her hair. The sombrero he remembered shaded her face.
“Where is your veil and long coat?” asked Jim, seeing her as on that unforgettable day.
“He burned them,” she answered, in a stifled voice.
“Get into this.” And he held his slicker for her. It enveloped her, dragged on the ground.
“I’m lost in it.”
“We’re in for storm. Rainy season due. You must keep dry.”
Turning to the gray horse, she mounted. But she nearly fell, owing to the cumbersome coat. Jim saw and sprang quickly to right her. Then his swift hands attacked the too long stirrups.
“How strong you are! I saw you toiling like a giant with those huge stones.”
But Jim had no reply for such inconsequential speech. His mind was racing again, yet wild as were his thoughts they could not outstrip his savage joy. She was saved. The endless wait was past. Dependent upon him now! Strong? He could have laughed like a hyena. He could drag down the pillars of the escarpments for her. He could wade through gore. Something vague and new crept into his sense of possession. It edged into his rapture.
His hands, just lately so swift and efficient, fumbled over the task of shortening stirrups, of cinching the saddle. It was because he could not avoid contact with her.
“Ride close beside me where there’s room. Just ahead where there’s not,” he directed her.
Jim tied the halters of the two pack-animals to their packs, and started them off. Then he vaulted upon Bay — the first time for many weeks. The horse pranced, but steadied down under an iron hand and heel.
Helen looked back as one fascinated, but Jim bent stern gaze ahead.
“I would destroy this canyon if that were in my power. Come,” he said.
They rode up out of the oval, driving the pack-horses ahead. The rain was now falling heavily, great spattering drops that kicked up a smell of dust. Over the low wall the trail led up and down, across the hummocks. On the gravel ridge to the west Jim saw a dead man lying prone. Soon they entered the wide, shallow wash, in the sand of which Jim espied footprints filling with water. Behind, the lightning ripped and the thunder crashed. They rode out of the tail of the storm and into a widening of the wash, where it reached proportions of a small valley. Scrub cedar and brush and cactus began to show, and patches of sunflowers on low, sandy knolls. They passed the cove where the raiders’ horses had been left. Broad and deep was the trail to the south.
“Are you all right?” Jim queried.
“Oh, I did not know I could feel rapture again. Yes, I am.”
“You’re dizzy, just the same. You sway in the saddle. Ride closer to me, while you can. . . . Give me your hand. Don’t talk. But look — look! You might see what I do not see.”
They rode at length to a canyon head, down which the hoof tracks turned.
“We came this way by night, but I remember,” she said. “Do you dare to follow them?”
“We must not.”
“But that is the way to Star Ranch!”
“Yes, on the trail of desperate men and across that Dirty Devil River. These summer rains. It will be in flood. I could not get you through.”
“You know best. But just to be free. . . . To see my brother Bernie! It is unbelievable.”
Jim Wall looked away across the brakes. Presently he said: “I will try to find a way out of this hole. The country is strange. I’ll be lost soon. But somewhere up out of here — we’ll find a lonely canyon where there is grass and water. I must not run into cattlemen. Robbers are not my only enemies. I don’t want to be hanged for — for saving you.”
“Hanged! Oh, you frighten me!”
“I didn’t want to tell you. It is no sure thing that I can safely elude the rest of Heeseman’s outfit, if I try to get out through the brakes. It’d be far safer to hide you awhile — south of here, out of the way of riders.”
“Take me where you think best,” she said, tremulously.
“When you get out, you must go home to England.”
“I have no home in England. Bernie is my only kin, except very distant relatives who hate the name of Herrick.”
“Then go to a country as different from this naked, stony wilderness as day from night. . . . Say, Minnesota, where it snows in winter, and in spring there are flowers, birds, apple blossoms. . . .”
“No, I shall not — leave Utah,” she replied, positively.
A flash of joy leaped up in Jim at her words, but he had no answer for her. He led on, away from that broad fresh trail, into an unknown region. And it seemed that this point of severance had an inscrutable parallel in the tumult within his heart.
The sun set in an overshadowed sky and storm threatened all around the horizon. Far north the thunder rolled, and to the south faint mutterings arose. Jim could not hold to a straight course. He wandered where the lay of the land permitted. Rising white and red ground, with the mounds of rock falling, and green swales between, appeared endless and forlorn. He began to look for a place to camp.
At last, as twilight darkened the distant washes, and appeared creeping up out of them, Jim came to another little valley where scant grass grew, and dead cedars stood up, spectral ghosts of drought, and on the west side a low caverned ridge offered shelter. He led over to this, and dismounting, said they would camp there. Her reply was a stifled gasp, and essaying to get out of her saddle she fell into his arms.
CHAPTER 16
TO JIM WALL it seemed a miracle that he did not snatch Helen to his breast. Like a wind-driven prairie fire his blood raced. But it was her unexpected little laugh, her dependence upon his strength, her relaxing to his clasp, that compelled his restraint. He set her upright on the ground.
“Can you stand?” he inquired.
“I think so. But my legs feel dead.”
“Then you’d better walk a little.”
She essayed to, and letting go of him, plainly betrayed her spent condition. Jim helped her into the shallow hollow under the rock and sat her down with shoulders and head raised against the slant of wall.
“My spirit is willing but my flesh is weak,” she said.
“You did wonderfully. It was a hard ride, after a tough day,” he replied. “I’m afraid I did not have thought enough for you. . . . Rest here while I unpack. Then I’ll soon make you comfortable.”
Jim flew at the task, his rush of physical action a counter-irritant to his agitations. In a quarter-hour before dusk he had unpacked, hobbled and fed the horses, built a fire and put water on to boil. He had brought three canteens full of water and one canvas bag. Rainstorms, he reflected, would be good for the horses and bad for travel. He would take any chance before attempting to cross the Dirty Devil. Through his mind ran recollection of Hays one night telling about a marvellously fertile valley far up this river — a place once cultivated by Mormons, and then deserted. Jim would find that valley if he could.
He carried his bed under the shelf and unrolled it, changed and doubled the blankets and folded the tarpaulin so that it could be pulled up in case rain beat in. That was likely to happen, for the rumble of thunder had grown closer and the cavern was not deep enough for shelter, unless the storm came from behind.
The fire sent a ruddy light into the cavern, and all at once Jim discovered that the girl was watching him with wide, dark, unnaturally bright eyes. In that deceiving light the ravages of the past weeks did not show so plainly in her face. It seemed to have an unearthly beauty.
“Are you able to get up and walk a little?” he asked. “And you must eat and drink, too, or we’ll never escape.”
“I’ll try.”
He helped her up, and out of the cumbersome slicker, and led her a few steps, after which she managed it alone.
“Fine! You’ve got spunk, Helen. Now you walk up and down while I cook supper.”
“Are we safe here?”
“God only knows! I think so — I hope so. It’s a lonely desert. Our enemies have gone the other way. Don’t worry. They’re more scared of us than we are of them. But Morley got away with at least one of his men. The others belonged to Heeseman’s outfit. They know they nearly wiped out Hays, and they’ll try again with reinforcements. They knew Hays had a fortune in cash — and you.”
“Morley? . . . I remember the name, but not the connection. Hays was always telling me stories of love — what he called love — and hate, revenge, death. . . . Would this Morley try to capture me to hold for ransom, too?”
“Helen, that ransom idea of Hays’ began in sincerity, but — lonely, hunted men in this hard country are wild dogs,” ended Jim, gloomily.
He did not look up from his tasks, and she passed on with her light, dragging step. Rain had begun to fall, sputtering on the hot coals and the iron oven. He did not need to bake biscuits, for he had packed a sackful, a few of which he warmed. With these, and fresh meat, sugar and coffee, and canned fruit he felt that they fared well. Now and again he was aware of her passing, but he never looked around at her. No matter where they camped or what the peril was, she must be free to come and go at will. But he would caution her that because he was a fugitive, so was she. At last he called her, only to discover that she sat behind him, watching.
To his concern and discomfiture, she ate very little. She tried, only to fail. But she did drink her coffee.
“That is more than I’ve had for long,” she said. “Perhaps if I wasn’t so excited I’d have more appetite.”
“You’ll pick up,” he replied, hopefully. “Sleep, though, is more necessary than food.”
“Sleep! — Oh, when have I really slept? . . . But now it will be different.”
Jim stared thoughtfully into the camp fire. Paling, flowing opalescent embers hissed when the raindrops fell upon them. He must remember to collect dry wood and put it under shelter for the night, and see that the horses did not stray.
“Jim, I can’t pull off my boots,” she said. “Please help me.”
“Better sleep in them, as I shall in mine.”
“But my feet hurt so. I’m afraid they are swollen.”
She was sitting on the bed when Jim took hold of the boot she elevated. It did not come off easily. The other one, however, was not hard to remove.
“There are holes in your stockings,” he observed. “Have you another pair?”
“One other. . . . My feet are so sore. They burn. What a luxury a bath would be! The few I’ve had were stolen. Hays would fetch me hot water, and then sneak around to watch me, so that it was always cold before I could use it.”
“Shut up about Hays, please,” replied Jim, sharply.
“I’m sorry. But he has so hung over my days and nights, like the weight of a mountain,” she murmured in explanation, startled by his abruptness.
“Look to see if you have any blisters,” he said. “I’ll bathe your feet in a little cold water and salt.”
“Cold water? And have ice blocks for feet all night?”
“I have a stone heating for you. I’ll wrap it in a sack. That will keep you warm.”
Bringing a pan of water, he knelt before her; and to look at her then was to find the past destroying weeks hard to believe.
“I never had any gentlemen bathe my feet,” she said, with a flash of humor which Jim was almost too perturbed to notice.
