Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 842
“I note the way of a transgressor is hard,” observed Janey.
“Why — didn’t you — run off?” he asked.
“I’d only have got lost. Besides I think it’d be unwise to leave the commissary department. Also I have an absorbing desire to see what is going to happen to you.”
“That’ll be nothing compared to what’s coming to you,” he returned, as he mounted again. “Oh, by the way, how is that internal injury I gave you?”
“It’s better. But I can bear it for your sake, Phil. I want so much to help you make a success of this cradle-snatching stunt.”
“Say, you flatter yourself,” he retorted.
“Well, yes, I’m not exactly an infant. But I’ll be good practice for you, so that later, when the tourists come, you may be able to manage some of the girls pretty well.”
“Would you mind riding on, and not talking so much,” he said, with asperity.
“I certainly wouldn’t have waited for you, if there’d been any trail. But it’s disappeared.”
“Ride straight toward those red rocks,” he returned, pointing.
Janey did as she was bidden, glad to be able once more to let her horse look out for himself, so that she could attend to the surroundings. The sun was slanting westward, toward a high wall that ran away to the northward. The desert stretched level ahead of her, with a horizon line matched by red rocks. Not far in front, a growth of purple brush began to show sparsely and to thicken in the distance. It was very fragrant and beautiful. Presently Janey recognized the fragrance of sage.
Huge clouds had rolled up, and except in the west they were black and stormy. Dark curtains hung down from them to the floor of the desert. They must be rain. The afternoon was hot and sultry, without a breath of wind. By and by the clouds hid the sun and turned duskily red.
Janey was somewhat surprised to have Randolph catch up and pass her.
“Better trot your horse, if you’re not too weak to hang on,” he said. “It’s going to storm and we must reach the shelter of the rocks.”
“How lovely! I hope it rains cats and dogs,” she returned amiably.
“Don’t worry. You’ll be scared stiff when night comes, if it does.”
Janey was about to laugh at him scornfully, but happened to remember that she really was afraid of storms.
“Are desert storms bad?” she inquired, anxiously.
“Terrible... You can’t see. You get half drowned. Rocks roll down the cliffs and floods roar down the washes.”
“How lovely!... I imagine one of your brilliant ideas to keep me interested.”
Surefoot had an easy trot, for which Janey was devoutly thankful. She had begun to realize that she was not made of leather. And the faster gait had a businesslike look of getting somewhere.
Meanwhile the sun disappeared wholly behind massing clouds, and thunder rolled in the distance. Drops of rain began to fall, and the warm air perceptibly cooled. Janey put on her coat; and was once more reminded of the annoying brevity of her skirt. What a picture she must make! How her riding friends would have howled to see her mounted in this rig! She wondered what Randolph would do if it rained heavily. Janey had a sneaking suspicion that he would let her get as wet as if she were under Niagara. But after all a warm rain would not be such a hardship. Thunder and lightning, however, made her nervous, even indoors.
The storm quartered slowly across the desert, a wonderful sight to eyes used to close walls and crowded streets. Janey breathed deeply. The sage fragrance seemed to intoxicate her. The misty rain felt sweet on her hot cheeks. The growing breeze brought a breath of wet dust.
Randolph was trotting his horse at as fast a clip as the pack animal could keep up. Janey set Surefoot to a lope. Then she experienced an exhilaration. She was astounded that she was not thinking about the possibility of being wretchedly wet and uncomfortable.
It turned out, however, that they beat the gray pall of rain which moved behind them across their trail. Randolph led her down among the strange scrawled rocks Janey had seen for so long into the shelter of a shelving cliff. Clumps of cedar and patches of sage dotted the slope in front, and, opposite, a high wall of rock shut out the horizon.
“Throw your saddle,” ordered Randolph, practically, as he dismounted.
When Janey had accomplished this Randolph was at hand to hobble her horse and turn him loose.
“If there isn’t a water hole in this canyon there sure will be one pronto,” he said.
“You think it will storm?” she asked, dreamily.
“Storm? You’re to see your first real storm. Say, are you any good at camp work?”
“You mean chopping sticks, cooking stuff and washing dishes?”
“Well, not exactly. We don’t chop sticks, etc. But you have grasped my meaning.”
“I’m perfectly helpless,” Janey assured him, which was a lie.
“Fine wife you’ll make,” he replied.
“Mr. Randolph, I’m used to being waited upon,” said Janey, elevating her chin. “And I didn’t coax you to fetch me on this — this camping trip.”
“Ye Gods!” he expostulated, spreading his hands wide. “I know that... But I didn’t figure on what we’re up against.”
“You should combine study of weather conditions with your archaeological and girl pursuits.”
“Dammit!” he returned, doggedly. “I can’t get rid of the idea that you’d be a thoroughbred — a real sport in any kind of a situation.”
Randolph turned away then, unconscious that he had brought delight to Janey’s heart. She hoped she had deserved what he had said. And there appeared to be signs that she would be tested to the utmost. She decided, however, to allow him to labor under doubts for a while longer.
Finding a seat where she could lean against the wall Janey watched her captor with interest. He unpacked with swift hands. Then he strode to the cedars and fetched back an enormous load of firewood, which he threw down with a crash. His next move was to start a fire, and wash his hands. Following this, with a speed and facility that astonished Janey, he mixed biscuit dough in a pan. There were several canteens full of water, and a number of canvas sacks, all bulging. He had two small iron ovens in the fire and a coffeepot. If Janey had been blind she would soon have been pleasantly aware of steaming coffee and frying bacon. Presently Randolph straightened up and glanced in her direction.
“Of course you can swear you’ll starve to death. But you won’t do it. And you can save your face by not making the bluff... Will you have supper?”
“Yes, Professor Randolph, I’m hungry. And besides, I’m curious to see if you can cook. You have such varied accomplishments.”
He brought her supper and laid it on the level rock beside her. Janey had told the truth about being hungry, but she did not tell him how good everything tasted. The hot biscuits, well buttered, were delicious. And when had she tasted such coffee? For dessert she had a cup of sliced canned peaches. And altogether the meal was most satisfying. Janey was ashamed to ask for more, but she could have eaten it.
Meanwhile the afternoon had waned, and twilight shadows were filling the hollows below. A steady rain set in. The campfire lighted up the shelving roof of the cliff. Janey walked to and fro, round the corner of projecting wall, and explored some of the niches. She felt pretty tired and sore. Her knees burned from their exposure to the sun. Her cheeks felt pleasantly warm.
Randolph was packing loads of firewood. He did not appear to mind the rain, for he certainly was wet, and did not take the trouble to put on his coat. It was seeing him in a different light. Janey remembered a good many of her friends and acquaintances, who could dress and talk and dance and grace social occasions in the great city, who she doubted would have been her selection for service and protection in the desert.
She walked to the campfire and held her hands to the blaze. The night air had begun to have a little chill. The hot fire felt pleasant.
“You got your hair wet,” said Randolph, disapprovingly.
“So I did,” replied Janey, with her hand to her head.
“Well, there isn’t very much of it, so it’ll dry quickly... You must have had beautiful hair once.”
“Once?”
“Yes, once. Women have sacrificed for fad and comfort. The grace, the glamour, the exquisite something natural to women disappeared with their long hair. It’s a pity. Why did you want to look like a man?”
“Look like a man? I never did.”
“Why did you cut your hair then?”
“To be honest I don’t know. My reasons would sound silly to you. But as a matter of fact women are slaves to fashion. They used to be slaves to many things — men, for instance. But we’ve eliminated that.”
“I wonder if women are eliminating love also?” he inquired, gloomily.
“They probably are, until men are worthy of it.”
Randolph stalked off into the darkness, and stayed so long that Janey began to be anxious. Surely he would not leave her alone. It was pitch dark now; the rain and wind were augmenting; the solitude of the place seemed accentuated. Janey gazed out into the dark void, and then back at the caverned cliff. There might be all kinds of wild animals. Snakes and reptiles. It was delightful for a woman to be alone on occasions, but here was one when there seemed need of a man. To her relief Randolph emerged from the gloom, packing another load of firewood.
“Are you going to stay up all night?” he asked. “Tomorrow will be the hardest day you’ve had. You need sleep and rest.”
“Where am I supposed to get them?”
“I made your bed up there,” said Randolph, pointing to a ledge. “It’s easy to climb up from this end. You’ll be dry... I’ll spread my tarp and blankets here by the fire.”
Janey did not show any inclination to retire at once. She was tired enough, but did not choose to be sent to bed like a child. She stood by the fire until she was thoroughly dry. Then she sat down on a stone just the right distance from the red crackling logs. Randolph stood on the other side, looking down with his hands outstretched. He seemed to have the burden of the world upon his shoulders. Then he turned his back to the fire, and stood that way for a long time. The wind whipped in under the shelving rock, cool and damp; the rain pattered steadily outside; the fire sputtered and cracked; the fragrant smoke blew this way and that. At last Randolph turned again to face the fire. And he looked more troubled than ever.
“Mr. Randolph, you seem gravely thoughtful for a man who has accomplished his purpose,” observed Janey.
“I was just thinking,” he replied, giving her a strange glance, “how pleasant a picnic it would be — if we were good friends.”
“Yes, wouldn’t it?” returned Janey, flippantly.
“Very unreasonable of me, I know. I didn’t and couldn’t expect you to enjoy being dragged off this way. But being here made me think how — how wonderful it would be if — if—”
He did not conclude the sentence and his closing words were full of regret. Quite evidently he felt that he had sacrificed a great deal to her father’s whim. Janey had an uneasy consciousness that sooner or later he would betray her father and explain this unheard-of proceeding. She did not want Randolph to do this and must prevent it coming about. The only way, she repeated to herself, was to give him such a hard time that he would carry the thing out through sheer anger and disgust. As an afterthought Janey reflected that she could correct the terrible impression she was likely to give him. But suppose she could not! She dismissed that as absurd.
“I’d prefer you had kidnaped me in a limousine,” she said lightly. “I’m used to being whisked off — and kept parked in some outlandish place.”
“Good God!” he ejaculated. “I’ve begun to believe your father!”
“What did he say?”
“Never mind. But it was enough... And — will you oblige me by keeping your your habits to yourself.”
Janey tittered. “If that isn’t just like a man! A lot of thanks I get for trying to make it easy for you.”
“Make what easy?” he asked, belligerently.
“Why, this stunt of yours... Now you’ve got me off on your old desert I should think you’d be glad to find I’m not — well, an innocent and unsophisticated little gal.”
“Janey Endicott, you’re a liar!” he almost shouted at her, starting up, bristling. Then he wheeled and strode off into the darkness along the cliff wall.
He left Janey with a heart beating high. In spite of her bald remarks he was struggling to keep alive his ideal of her. Janey thought she might go too far and stab it to death. But the truth was that her father had grossly misrepresented her, and that she had aided and abetted it by falsehood. Love was not easily killed, certainly not by a few lies. She would carry on. And the revelation of her true self to Randolph would be all the sweeter. Gazing into the opal heart of the campfire Janey lost herself momentarily in a dream, from which she awakened with a start. A coyote had wailed his dismal war cry. It made Janey shiver.
She left the campfire, and climbed up the slanting rough rock to the ledge where Randolph had made her bed. What a nice snug rock, high and dry! Janey would feel reasonably safe when Randolph came back. She sat down on the tarpaulin covering her bed, and her sensation roused the conception that it would not be a feather bed or a hair mattress by an exceedingly long shot. Suddenly she realized she would have to sleep in her clothes for the first time in her life. How strange! Then without more ado she took off her coat, made a pillow of it, and removing her shoes she slipped down into the blankets, stretched out and lay still.
The bed consisted of two thicknesses of blankets and the canvas under and over them.
Hard as a board under her! Yet what a relief, warmth and comfort the bed gave! The fire cast flickering fantastic shadows upon the roof of this strange habitation. Gusts of wind brought cool raindrops to her fevered face and the smell of wood smoke. Above the steady downpour of rain she heard a renewed crackling of the fire. Rising on her elbow she saw Randolph replenishing it with substantial logs. The night gave Janey satisfaction. She dropped back, laughing inwardly. Phil Randolph was in quite a serious predicament.
Janey settled herself comfortably to think it all over. But she did not seem to be able to control her mind as usual. Her eyelids drooped heavily and though she opened them often they would go shut again, until finally they stuck fast. A pleasant warmth and sense of drowsy rest were stealing over her aching body. She had a vague feeling of anxiety about snakes, tarantulas, scorpions, but it passed. She was being slowly possessed by something vastly stronger than her mind. The rainfall seemed to lessen. And her last lingering consciousness had to do with the fragrance of smoke.
Janey half roused several times during the night, in which she rolled over to try to find a softer place in her bed. But when she thoroughly awoke it was daylight. The rain had ceased. Sunrise was a stormy one of red and black, with a little blue sky in between. When she sat up with a groan and tried to straighten she thought every bone in her body was broken. She sat on her bed and combed her hair, and slyly cleaned her sunburned face with cold cream. Over the edge of rock she spotted Randolph, brisk and whistling round the campfire. Whistling! Janey listened while she put on her shoes. Then she got to her knees. Never had she had so many sore muscles. The arm Randolph had wrenched was the worst.
“Hey, down there,” called Janey. “What was the name of that robber baron who ran off with Mary Tudor?”
Randolph stared up at her, almost laughing.
“Bothwell, I believe,” he replied, constrainedly.
“Well, good morning, Mr. Bothwell,” added Janey.
He returned her greeting with the air of a man who had almost forgotten something unpleasant. He did not whistle any more, and eyed Janey dubiously as she limped and crawled down the slope to a level.
“How are the eats?” she asked, brightly. “I was just about to call you,” he said.
“Breakfast will be ready soon as the coffee boils.”
“What kind of a day is it going to be?”
“Bad, I fear. It’s let up raining, but I think there’ll be more.”
“Gee, how sore I am! You nearly broke my arm. And that slabstone bed finished me.”
“I hope the internal injury is better,” he rejoined dryly.
“Oh, that. I guess that was hunger, or else a terrible pang of disappointment to find you such a monster... Call me when you’re ready to give me something to eat.”
Janey walked about to stretch her limbs. The overhanging sky was leaden and gray, except where a pale brightness had succeeded the ruddy sunrise. She heard a roar down in the canyon and concluded it was running water. Little muddy streams were coursing down the shallow ditches. Beyond the cliff she saw water in sheets running off the rocks above. The cedars were green and fresh; and the sage had an exquisite hue of purple. Janey ventured to the edge of the cedar grove; and saw down into the canyon where a red torrent swirled and splashed. She recalled hearing the trader tell of sudden floods pouring down the dry washes. This was one of them; and she understood now why heavy storms impeded desert travel.
A shout turned Janey’s footsteps camp-ward. Randolph had breakfast ready, and it was equally as appetizing as the supper the night before.
“Evidently you’re not going to starve me into submission, anyway,” she observed.
“I don’t know about submission, but you’ll be starved into something, all right,” he declared.
“Do we have to cross this canyon?”
“We do, and pronto, or we won’t cross at all.”
“Why, there’s a regular torrent.”
“Not bad yet.”
“Then we must hurry?”
“Yes. If we rustle along — and are lucky — we may make Beckyshibeta tonight.”
