Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 758
Nophaie dismounted. He could not pass by this Testing Stone. It flaunted in his face a heritage of his people. Strength of manhood! The might revered by the gods! Power of arms that brought the beautiful light to the dusky eyes of Indian maidens!
Drawing a deep breath and bending down, Nophaie encircled that stone with his arms and heaved to the uttermost of his strength. He lifted it. He moved it a little way. And then its ponderous weight dragged him down, loosed his hold, and left him wet with sweat and labored of chest. Bitterly he gazed down at this proof of the Indian sinew. Scornfully he remembered his triumphs of the football field — the college records so lauded by his white comrades. Any youth of that desert was as strong as he. And to the men of the Nopahs he was as a pygmy. Maahesenie in his prime had lifted that very stone to his shoulder and had carried it for one hundred steps.
Nophaie rode on his way, and thought of Benow di cleash, and watched the changing panorama. Suddenly his horse rounded a cedar tree and shied at a monument.
Nophaie had often seen this pile of stones, but never had it halted him until now. It had peculiar significance for him. Whenever an Indian passed that way, bent on a hunt or a quest involving peril, he gathered a sprig of cedar from the tree and, laying it on the monument, he placed a stone over it and spoke his prayer.
Nophaie yielded to the instinct that impelled him to reach for a sprig of cedar. He added his stone to the monument and spoke a prayer for his adventure. The idea seemed beautiful to him. He was the Indian chief faring forth on an enterprise of peril. The dream — the fancy — the faith of the red man! But futile was his simple and instinctive abnegation of the white man’s knowledge. Swiftly it flashed back to reveal the naked truth. His quest was to save the soul of Gekin Yashi. He would be too late, or if not too late, he could only delay a crime and a tragedy as inevitable as life itself.
Eight hours steady riding across country brought Nophaie to the crest of the great plateau from which he saw the long green lines of poplar trees that marked the location of Mesa. Far removed was this country from the sage uplands surrounding Nothsis Ahn. Bare yellow sandy desert, spotted with pale green, and ridged by lines of blue rock, swept and rolled away on the three sides open to his gaze. Heat veils rose waveringly from sand and smoke; and the creamy white clouds rolled low along the dark horizon line.
Some wind-carved rocks of yellow marked the spot Nophaie and Marian had chosen as a rendezvous. There was cool shade, and shelter from rain or blowing sand, and a vantage point from which to watch. Marian was not there, nor did her white mustang show anywhere down the long bare slope toward the poplars. The time was about the middle of the afternoon, rather early for Marian. Therefore Nophaie composed himself to wait.
By and by his vigil was rewarded by sight of a white horse gliding out from the green and heading toward his covert. Nophaie watched Marian come. She had learned to sit a saddle like an Indian. Nophaie felt the shadows lift from his soul, the doubts from his mind. Always, sight of her uplifted him. More and more she was a living proof of many things: the truth of love and loyalty — the nobility of white woman — the significance of life being worth while for any human creature — the strange consciousness of joy in resistance to evil, in a fight for others, in something nameless and hopeful, as deep and mystical as the springs of his nature. How could he be a coward while this white woman loved him and worked to help his people? She was a repudiation of all his dark doubts. To think evil was to do evil. For the hour then Nophaie knew he would be happy, and would part from her strengthened. Nothing could cheat him out of the wonder of her presence.
At last she rode into the lane between the yellow rocks, and waved a gauntleted hand to him upon the shady ledge above. Dismounting, she tied the white mustang to a knob of rock, and climbed to Nophaie’s retreat. He helped her up the few steep steps, and holding her hand, he knew she would have come straight into his arms if he had held them out to her. Never before had he so yearned to enfold her, to yield to a strong shuddering need of her. But he owed her proof of her ideal of the Indian. She had once called him her noble red man. Would he let any white man be more worthy of that word?
But five weeks had changed Benow di cleash. Did the light-colored blouse and divided skirt, instead of the usual mannish riding garb, constitute all the difference? As she talked on and on Nophaie listened, and watched her. What had become of the fair skin, so like the pearly petal of a sago lily? Her face was now golden brown, and thinner, and older, too, except when she smiled. Only the blue eyes and hair of gold now held her claim to Benow di cleash. Her form had lost something of its former fullness. The desert summer was working upon her; the hot winds were drying up her flesh. And in repose of face there was a sadness that added new beauty and strength to her. Nophaie could accept this devotion to him and his people only because he saw that she was growing to nobler womanhood. In years to come she would look back upon this time and Nophaie without regret. He had vision to see that, and it permitted him to be happy with her.
Then she passed from news of her friends in the East to matters at Mesa, and naturally, as was her way, she told humorous things that had delighted her in the Indian children. The school brought out as many funny things as pathetic. Nophaie was pleased with the progress she had made in the Nopah language, and yet he had a strange and unaccountable regret at hearing her speak it. From tales of the Indian children she shifted to an account of the intrigue at Mesa, which was now involving friends she had made there, a young Texan and his wife, who were in trouble, owing to the machinations of Blucher and Morgan.
Nophaie knew the Texan, whose name was Wolterson. He was a government stockman and his duties were to ride out over the ranges to instruct the Indians in the care of sheep and horses and cattle. What little Nophaie had heard from the Indians about Wolterson was all to his credit. This heightened Nophaie’s interest in what Marian had to say, and he soon gathered the truth of Wolterson’s case, which held something of significance for him.
Wolterson had come to the desert in search of health. He was a cattleman and received an appointment from the government to be inspector of Indian stock on the ranges adjacent to Mesa. Being a young man of fine southern family and highly recommended, he at once incurred the dislike of the superintendent. When he asked Blucher what his duties would be that individual succinctly replied: “Ride around,” and that comprised all the directions he ever received. Morgan solicited the good offices of Wolterson through Miss Herron’s overtures to Mrs. Wolterson. As soon, however, as the Woltersons discovered conditions patent to all old residents of Mesa, those overtures fell flat. Then began the insidious underhand undermining work against Wolterson.
“After I’ve gone to-day,” concluded Marian, “I want you to ride down and see Wolterson. Then ask the Indians about him. Soon Blucher will trump up some charge against him and call an investigation. Unless Wolterson can disprove it he will be dismissed. Then we’d lose a good friend of the Indians. Wolterson has befriended Do etin. That is the real cause of Morgan’s enmity.”
“And — Gekin Yashi?” asked Nophaie, in slow reluctance.
“Safe and well, still,” replied Marian, in glad eagerness. “The mills have been grinding as of old, but not so fast. Morgan has been to Flagerstown. Blucher has been wrangling all his time with his henchmen — Jay Lord and Ruhr and Glendon. I don’t hear much, but enough. It’s mostly about Wolterson now and something about the land and water mess stirred up by the Nokis at Copenwashie. Friel has obtained a patent to the land once owned or at least controlled by the Nokis. Blucher, of course, aided Friel in this deal, but now, true to the twist in his brain, he is sore about it.... The edict has not gone forth compelling the Indian girls to go to Morgan’s chapel after school hours. But it is certain.... I have had talks with Gekin Yashi. She is ready to run off. We contrived to get permission for her to visit her father. Wolterson is dipping Do etin’s sheep and this morning Gekin Yashi rode out to the hogan. She’s there now and will remain over Sunday. You can go out there at night and make your plans to meet her as she rides back alone.”
“Do etin will be glad,” said Nophaie. “Is Wolterson in the secret?”
“Yes. He approves. But we must not let him have a hand in it.”
“I shall take Gekin Yashi to a Pahute in the Valley of Silent Walls,” rejoined Nophaie, thoughtfully. “But few Nopahs know this place. It is down under the west side of Nothsis Ahn, deep in the canyons.”
“Valley of Silent Walls,” mused Marian. Then she flashed at Nophaie, “Will you take me there some day?”
“Yes, Benow di cleash,” replied Nophaie. “But you run a danger.”
“Of what — whom?”
“Me!”
Marian flushed under her golden tan and her eyes searched his. Nophaie dropped his gaze, that, alighting upon her brown hand, saw it tremble and then clench at her glove.
“You — you are jesting.”
“No. I think I am telling the truth,” responded Nophaie. “Some day the savage and civilized man in me will come to strife. My Valley of Silent Walls is the most enchanting — the wildest and most beautiful place — the loneliest in all this desert. Walls of white and red, so high you cannot see their rims — running snow water, flowers and grass and trees!... If I ever got you down there I might never let you go.”
“Some day the savage and civilized
man in me will come to strife.”
“Well, you frighten me,” laughed Marian. “I see that you still retain some of your brutal football training.... But if all goes well — take me there to visit Gekin Yashi. Will you?”
“Could you get away from here?”
“Nophaie, I will never be permitted to work long at Mesa,” replied Marian. “Some day Blucher will awake to my two-faced nature. For I have certainly used woman’s wits to fool him.”
“Well, then I will take you to my Valley of Silent Walls.” Marian placed her hand on Nophaie’s and looked up into his face and then down, with evident restraint of emotion.
“Nophaie — Gekin Yashi loves you.”
“That child! Why, she has seen me but a few times,” protested Nophaie, painfully reminded of Do etin’s proposal that he marry his daughter.
“No matter. She has seen you enough. These Indian girls mature early. Gekin Yashi is not yet fifteen, but she is a woman in feeling. I think she is very lovable and sweet. She is quite the best scholar in the school. I have spent all the time possible with her. Believe me, Morgan is not the only venomous reptile that threatens the girl. Gekin Yashi is Indian clear through, but she has sense. She likes the ways of good white women. I have taught her that when a white woman loves she holds herself sacred for the man who has won her.”
“Marian, are you thinking that the way for me to save Gekin Yashi is to marry her?” inquired Nophaie.
“It might — be,” murmured Marian, tremulously, “if — if you—”
“But I do not love her and I cannot marry her,” declared Nophaie. “So much has white education done for me.”
After that no more was said about Gekin Yashi. Nophaie felt a great throb of pity and tenderness for this white girl. How she inspired him to mastery of self, to beat down the base and bitter! Something of gayety and happiness came to her in the closing moments of that meeting. Then the time arrived for her to go. Lightly touching his face with her hand, she left him, to run down the declivity and mount her mustang. Once, as she was galloping away, she turned to look back and wave to him. Her hair flashed gold in the sun. Nophaie watched her out of sight, with emotion deep and strange, half grief for the fate that was his, half exaltation that, miserable and lost Indian as he was, this woman of an alien white race made him a king.
CHAPTER IX
AT THE UPPER end of the long poplar lined avenue that constituted the only street in Mesa, the Woltersons occupied a little stone house built by the earliest founders of the settlement. A grove of cottonwood trees surrounded a tiny reed-bordered lake where ducks swam, and swamp blackbirds and meadowlarks made melody. Here were rich, dark-green verdure and cool shade and a sweet drowsy breath of summer, blowing in from the hot desert.
On the other side of the Wolterson house lay a garden that bordered on the spacious playground of the Indian school.
Nophaie watered his horse at the thin swift stream that ran down from the lake through Wolterson’s garden, and along the fence to the orchards. The sun was westering low and the heat of the day was dying. Down at the other end of the long avenue Nophaie espied Indians and mustangs in front of the trading post. He went into the open gate of the Wolterson place and let his horse graze on the rich grass bordering the irrigation ditch.
“Howdy, Nophaie!” drawled a slow voice. “Shore am glad to see you.”
Nophaie returned the greeting of the Texan, speaking in his own tongue. Few white men on the reservation had ever heard him speak English. Wolterson was a young man, tall and lithe, with a fine clean-cut face, bronzed by exposure. He did not appear to be rugged. His high-heeled horseman’s boots and big sombrero were as characteristically Texan as his accent.
Nophaie dropped the bridle of his horse and took a seat near where Wolterson was damming up an intersection from the irrigating ditch. He tossed a cigarette case to Nophaie, and then went on working. Indians rode by down the avenue. A freighter’s wagon, drawn by six mustangs and loaded with firewood, lumbered along, with the driver walking. Bees hummed somewhere in the foliage and the stream murmured musically.
“The Nopahs think well of you and your work,” said Nophaie, presently. “You’re the first stockman they ever praised. If you are brought before an investigating committee I’ll get Etenia, and Tohoniah bi dony, and several more influential chiefs to testify for you.”
“Shore that’s fine, Nophaie,” declared Wolterson. “I’m giving you a hunch, I’ll need them.”
Nothing was said about Gekin Yashi. Wolterson spoke of his plans for dipping sheep over the ranges as far as Etenia’s place. Nophaie and the Pahutes of that upland country must drive their flocks down there. Grass on the lowlands had begun to grow, so that the Nopahs would not have to range so far. Then Wolterson informed Nophaie that the government was going to instigate a blood test of cattle and horses, as the latter especially showed evidence of tuberculosis.
“Any horse or steer that has become infected will have to be shot,” said Wolterson, seriously. “Now isn’t it going to be hard to convince the Indians of the necessity of this?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it can’t be done,” replied Nophaie. “Is there a real necessity of testing stock for this disease?”
“I think so. I have sent my approval to Washington. But I dislike the prospect of trouble with the Indians.... Nophaie, would you be willing to help me by explaining this test to your people?”
“I will, if you can convince me of its need.”
“Well, when the order comes I’ll ride first to your range, and you shall see me make tests. Has Etenia many cattle?”
“Not a great many. They are all healthy.”
“Nophaie, they may look healthy and still have tuberculosis.”
At this juncture the little Indian boys and girls began to pour out of the big red dormitory like a stream of blue gingham. Nophaie noted that only the children from three years to five or six years of age appeared to be in evidence. They were a scampering, silent little horde, playing without the noise characteristic of white children. They spread over the playground to the number of several hundred, making a scene of color and animation. Several little boys came along to peer through the wire fence at Nophaie. They looked healthy and well cared for, and certainly were cleaner than any Indian boys he had seen. How stolid they seemed! They gazed at Wolterson with blank black eyes, and at Nophaie with scarcely more of interest.
Nophaie also observed that two of the school teachers were out on the grounds with the children, but did not approach near enough for Nophaie to recognize them. Then Mrs. Wolterson appeared, coming into the garden, wearing gloves and carrying a trowel. She was a striking young woman, dark as an Indian, beginning to show the effect of desert wind and heat. She had a pleasant greeting for Nophaie. He saw her glance run over the three Indian boys and beyond to the playground, as if she were looking for some one.
“Here comes Marian with Evangeline,” she said, as if pleased.
It was then Nophaie saw Marian leading a little Indian girl toward them, and he got the impression that this meeting was not as accidental or casual as might appear to others. The two teachers were watching Marian. And Nophaie, with his sharp eyes, caught a glimpse of a woman’s face in a window of a house across the avenue. This appeared a busier thoroughfare now. Indians were riding out toward the desert. Some of the older schoolboys were playing ball. Three Indian workmen passed by, carrying long shovels over their shoulders.
“Shore,” drawled Wolterson, with eyes on the avenue, “and here comes the champion liar of the reservation.”
“Bob, don’t say that,” said Mrs. Wolterson, quickly. “Somebody might hear you. The very trees have ears, not to speak of these Indian boys.”
Nophaie saw a heavily built young man, roughly clad, typically Western in corduroys and boots and sombrero, swinging with rider’s gait up the avenue. Upon sighting the group in the garden he swerved and, tilting back his sombrero, he lounged against the gate-post. His face was brown and broad, rather coarse, with thick lips and prominent eyes, wine dark in color.
