Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 843
Not for anything would Janey have importuned Randolph to turn back. But the serious nature of desert travel under unfavorable conditions now dawned upon her; and her mood of levity suffered a sidetracking. She had no more to say. Hurrying through breakfast she proceeded to assist Randolph with the camp chores. He objected, but she paid no attention to him.
“Where are the horses?” she asked, suddenly.
“They’ll be near somewhere. They’re hobbled, you know, and wouldn’t stray from good grass. I’ll fetch them in.”
He was absent so long that Janey began to worry. At last he showed up, riding his horse bareback, and leading the other two. Surefoot looked fat. Janey undertook the job of saddling him. As she swung up the heavy saddle she observed Randolph watching her out of the corner of his eye. When her horse was ready she turned to Randolph. He was loading the pack animal. Janey had watched the cowboys throw what they called the diamond hitch — an intricate figure-eight knot that held the pack on — and she now saw Randolph was as expert as any of them. Nevertheless some assistance from her was welcome to him. He made only one remark, which concerned the way she pulled on the rope. When the pack was on tight Randolph saddled his own horse.
“I’ve left my chaps out for you to wear,” he said, indicating a pair of worn leather chaps lying on a rock.
“How can I wear chaps in this dress?” asked Janey.
“I don’t know. Stuff your skirt down in them. Reckon there’s not much to stuff.”
Janey overlooked his retort, and picking up the chaps she stepped into them. They were too long and too large. From the expression on Randolph’s face she gathered that she must be a peculiar-looking object.
It was when Janey tried mounting her horse that she came to grief. The chaps were stiff and heavy, and she could not reach the stirrup with her foot. Randolph offered to lift her up, but she declined. Finally she made a violent effort, a sort of spring. She missed the pommel with her hand and the stirrup with her foot, and fell flat. Janey scrambled up quite enraged. If there was anything she hated it was to look clumsy. Randolph’s face had a strained look. He was holding in his laughter.
“I — I suggest you try to mount from the rock there,” he said.
“I’ll get up here or die,” replied Janey, furiously.
Next time she lifted her left foot with both hands and got it in the stirrup. Then she leaped, sprung from her right foot, and, catching pommel and cantle, she dragged herself up into the saddle.
“Not so bad for a tenderfoot,” observed Randolph. Whereupon he rode off, leading the pack horse.
Janey followed down the slope of wet red earth, by some scrawled rocks, into the canyon. They rounded a corner to come upon the muddy swift stream. It was silent here, but from below came up a dull roar. Janey had never seen such dirty-looking water. It was half silt. What a terrifying place to venture into!
Randolph crossed a flat sand bar, and urged his horse into the water. He spurred, and yelled, and dragged at the pack animal. They set up a great muddy splashing. Janey gathered that the more speed used here, the easier and safer the crossing. Her heart simply leaped to her throat. Randolph’s horse went in to his flanks. What a tremendous but clumsy struggle the two animals made! Janey almost lost sight of them in the splashing. They reached shallow water, heaved up, and waded out safely on the bar opposite. Randolph halted his horse and turned to look. For a moment he merely looked.
“Well, Central Park,” he called, in a tone that challenged Janey.
“Coming, fossil hunter!” she replied, defiantly.
Surefoot naturally would rather have turned back. Janey had to kick him to start him at all. And then she could not make him go fast enough. He splashed in to his knees, slowed up, and began to flounder.
“Come hard,” yelled Randolph.
Janey urged her horse with all her might. It was too late for good results. Surefoot struck the deep water at too slow a gait, and the current carried him off his feet. Janey’s distended eyes saw the red flood well to her hips. How cold, angry, strong. Randolph rode madly down along the opposite bank, yelling she knew not what. In the presence of real peril Janey’s sense and nerve rose to combat her terror. She kept her seat in the saddle. She pulled Surefoot diagonally downstream. He was half swimming and half wading. Fifty yards below where Randolph had crossed, Janey’s horse struck shallow water and harder bottom and made shore just above a place where the stream constricted between steep banks, and began to get rough.
Randolph had waded his horse in to meet hers.
“You should have ridden in fast,” he said, almost harshly. But the fact that his face was white caused Janey to forgive his rudeness.
“You told me a little late,” replied Janey, coolly.
“I apologize. I — I thought you would follow suit,” he returned with an effort.
Janey did not need to be told what a narrow escape it had been. She effectively concealed her real feelings.
“Pray don’t apologize. I didn’t expect much courtesy from you,” she said, evenly.
The blood leaped to Randolph’s pale cheek and he stifled a retort. Then he rode back to the pack animal and took up the halter again. Janey rode on behind him, pondering over the possibilities of this eventful day.
CHAPTER 7
FIVE HOURS LATER, and fifteen miles farther on over this awful desert, Janey had experienced sensations never before known to her except by hearsay.
She had been wet to the skin for hours. It was not rain but a deluge. She had forded so many gutters and wastes and gorges that she could no longer remember the number. She had fallen off her horse into the mud. She had been compelled to dismount and climb up steep wet sand slopes, where every step seemed the last one before she flopped down to die. She had been pulled across raging creeks by Randolph, and rescued from certain death at least twice. And the wonder of it all was that she had kept the true state of her misery and terror from her captor. She vowed nothing would ever make her show yellow and crawl — to give this man and her father the satisfaction they craved. She would prove one thing anyhow that a modern girl could have more nerve than all the old-fashioned women put together. Lastly she was unable to decide whether she would end by passionately hating Randolph or loving him. Certainly he could not have planned such opportunities as had come up. He treated her almost precisely as if she had been a young man. Indeed it was because of this in two instances that she had nearly drowned. Yet he was amazingly cool, indifferent to her and danger as well. But when necessary, he had the quickness, the judgment and strength to drag her to safety.
The rain let up now and then, so that Janey could see the desert. If it had ever been level, it was no longer so. It was turned on end, broken into ragged pieces, upheaved and monumental, a wild world of walls, cliffs, rocks, canyons.
There was not a dry stitch on her, and she appeared to be red mud from head to toe. Sand and water were mixed inside her shoes. When Randolph trotted his horse, or dismounted to descend into some gully and climb out, Janey, following suit, grew hot and breathless from the unusual exercise. When they rode slowly, which fortunately was not often, she grew cold. And now she began to get hungry.
She remembered she had wrapped up a piece of meat and a biscuit, and deposited it in her pocket. With dismay she found the biscuit wet and soggy. But she ate it anyhow. Then the piece of meat. She had never before known anything to taste so good. And she reflected on how little she had ever appreciated food. A person must starve to realize that.
The rain poured down again, so thick and heavy that Janey could only dimly discern the pack horse scarcely fifteen paces ahead. Janey’s saddle held a pool of cold water. It rained down inside her chaps into her shoes. What a miserable sensation that was! It pelted her back and ran in a stream off the brim of her hat. Patiently she waited, praying for a lull. But none came. And her state became one of utter wretchedness. All she asked now was to live long enough to choke her father and murder Randolph.
Janey was to learn something undreamed of — the latent endurance of a human being. She managed to stick on her horse, to keep up without screaming. But she knew another gorge, if they encountered one, would be her finish. She would just fall off her horse and sink out of Randolph’s sight. Maybe that would touch the indifferent brute!
No more canyons were met, however, though the rock walls grew mountainous. All at once Janey seemed to realize the dull gray light was darkening. The day was ended, and the storm appeared to increase in fury. At times the great walls afforded protection, but largely they rode in the open. Surefoot now kept on the heels of the pack horse. When Randolph at last halted, Janey had an overpowering sense of huge black walls, and a roaring of wind or water.
“It’s been some rotten day,” said Randolph, as he reached to take her from the saddle.
Janey could see his face dimly in the gloom. When she tried to get out of the saddle, she simply slid off into Randolph’s arms. He carried her a few steps and set her upright on a rock.
“You’re a game kid, anyway,” he muttered, as if speaking to himself. Then he disappeared. Janey found she could lean back against a wall, which she did in unutterable relief. Evidently they were under some kind of shelter, for it was dry. She smelled dust that had never been wet. The blackness above was split by a pale band, which must have been the sky. Sound of wind and water filled the place with hollow roar. She was very cold, miserable, inert and hungry. If she could only sleep or die! Her wretchedness was a horror. She could scarcely lift a hand. Every bone in her body seemed broken, every muscle bruised. And she was so wet she felt she would liquefy into a stream of water!
Suddenly a light pierced the blackness, and she heard a crackling. Randolph’s figure showed in a dim flare. He had kindled a fire. Wonderful man to find dry wood in a deluge! She saw a blue-gold blaze leap up through a tangle of brush and sticks. In a moment the place was illumined by a roaring fire. It had a subtle effect upon Janey. She saw sheer walls of rock on three sides, and a black void on the other.
Randolph approached her, and drew her to the fire.
“Get dry and warm. It’ll make a difference,” he said, and he placed one of the canvas packs for her to sit upon. But Janey, weak as she was, stood up to the blaze, extending cold trembling hands.
“It feels good,” she replied.
Indeed she wanted to walk into that blazing pile of sticks. What had she ever known about a fire? Of its singular beauty, its power to cheer, its wonderful property to warm cold flesh! It was the difference between death and life. She understood the barbarians who first invented, or found it. She knew now why she loved the sun.
Her wet clothes began to steam. She turned from one side to the other, as long as she could stand the burn.
“Sit down and let me pull off the chaps,” suggested Randolph.
When he had accomplished this task, which was not easy, in view of the fact that Janey had to hold desperately on to the pack to keep from being dragged off, she felt almost as if she were undressed. The short skirt of woolen material had shrunk and wrinkled until it was a spectacle that made Janey shriek with laughter, despite her woes. Randolph laughed with her, but evidently avoided looking at her. After wringing the water out of her skirt as best she could, Janey approached the fire, standing as close as she dared. She turned round and round, sat down upon the pack until she rested, then repeated the performance. It was amazing how quickly her clothes dried. And equally amazing was the effect upon her spirits.
Meanwhile Randolph was cooking the meal so quickly that Janey thought there must be very little firewood left.
“What’s the rush?” asked Janey. “Looks as if we’d have to stay here tonight, anyhow.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“Famished.”
“Well, that’s reason enough.”
“You’re awfully good to me... Where are we?”
“Beckyshibeta.”
“So soon!” exclaimed Janey, gazing around her. The flare from the fire showed yellow walls, dark caverns, cracks; and in front a space of rock-strewn ground leading to dimly outlined trees, and then a blankness.
“So it was your life’s ambition to fetch me here?” Janey said incredulously. “Gee, men are queer! You might have accomplished much more by taking me to the Waldorf Astoria!”
“Any man could do that,” replied Randolph. “At least you’ll remember this trip.”
“I’ll say I will!”
The rain had ceased and the wind had lost its force. Janey heard a low, dull rumble. Randolph informed her it was thunder and that they were in for an even worse storm.
“But we’re safe and dry, unless we get flooded out. That’s happened here before.”
“Indeed! Interesting place.”
“Are you dry?”
“Just about, I guess. And burned to a crisp.”
“Come to the festal board, then,” he concluded.
The wants of primitive peoples must have been very few. Shelter, warmth, food, and something to wear. Yet what cardinally important wants these were! Janey was so grateful for the first three wants that she almost reconciled herself to the lack of the last. She reflected that if her skirt shrunk any shorter she would have to don Randolph’s chaps permanently or else look like one of the chorus girls in the Follies. She did not care, after all. It would only add to the sum of Randolph’s iniquity.
Janey was thinking along that line, and eating prodigiously, when something happened. All went dazzlingly, blindingly white. She lost her sight. Deep blackness again, then an awful terrific crash. The great walls seemed to be falling. Janey screamed, yet did not hear her own voice. A tremendous boom and bang resolved into concatenated thunder, which rolled away, leaving Janey weak and paralyzed with fear.
“W-what was — th-that?” she faltered.
“Just a little lightning and thunder,” he replied. “They’ll get bothersome presently, when the streaks of lightning come down like the rain. Better finish your supper. Then you can crawl under your blankets and shut out the flashes, anyhow.”
Janey’s appetite had been effectually checked, but she swallowed the rest of her meal, every moment dreading another earth-riving crash. But it did not come at once. She had surprise added to dread. The stillness and darkness became most oppressive.
“Where’s — my bed?” asked Janey, rising.
“I haven’t unrolled it yet,” replied Randolph, jumping up.
Just then a sudden silver-blue blaze struck Janey blind. She stood as one stricken, every muscle, nerve, and brain cell in abeyance to the expected crash. Such a shock came that it knocked Janey flat. And when she became conscious of sound again a mighty rumble of thunder boomed at the walls. Randolph was trying to lift her. Janey opened her tight-shut eyes and clung to Randolph. He had got her to her knees when another white flash and awful clap made her collapse in his arms.
Randolph carried her a few steps back and put her down. But she still clung to him.
“It’s only a storm — just lightning and thunder,” he was saying, most earnestly. “We’re safe. We can’t be struck or hurt. There’s only one danger — that of being caught in a flood. But it’d have to rain a long time... Janey, don’t be such a child. Why—”
His assurances did not compose Janey. She knew it, too. She had been worn out physically. And from childhood she had always dreaded a storm. That fear had been born in her. And never had she seen or heard anything to compare with this lightning and thunder. They were blinding, deafening, nerve-racking and absolutely stunning. That was why Janey had her face on Randolph’s breast and clung to him with all the strength she had left. She was aware that he tried to disengage himself — that he kept on talking, but both action and voice augmented her terror. They would come again, and she wanted to be hidden, to be held. They did come, and Janey, even with her eyes shut and face pressed hard against Randolph’s breast, saw the intense white light. Then followed the stupendous crash. The earth shook under her. The whole world seemed full of staggering sound. It clapped back and forth from wall to wall, and rolled away like a mountain of stone.
Janey had a last lingering recollection of the part she had meant to play, of a wicked hope for this very opportunity.
“Y-you’ve taken m-me from m-myself,” she faltered.
Randolph’s reply was drowned in another explosion. But Janey felt him take her closely in his arms and hold her tightly. Then it seemed the storm broke into incessant flash and crash, until there was no darkness or silence again. That period, long or short, was the worst Janey had ever experienced. When the storm passed she was dazed. But she felt Randolph lay her down and cover her with blankets. And that was the last thing she knew.
When she awakened the sun was shining somewhere, for she saw a gold- crowned rim of lofty wall. She remembered instantly where she was and how she had gotten there. Yet the place was as weird and magnificent as any dream. Great walls and columns of colored stone rose above her. Only a narrow strip of blue sky could she see. She heard a sullen roar of waters and smelled wood smoke.
“So this is Paris — I mean Beckyshibeta,” murmured Janey, wonderingly. And she tried to rise so that she could look about her. But with the movement such a pang shot through her body that she fell back, uttering a sharp little cry. She was so cramped and stiff that the slightest sudden effort caused pain. Whereupon she moved her aching limbs very cautiously and stretched her sore body likewise.
Janey was swearing softly to herself when she discovered her muddy shoes on a rock beside her bed. She did not recall taking them off. Randolph had done that. Her coat, too, was under her head. Then she ascertained with relief that these two kindly services constituted the extent of Randolph’s activities as lady’s maid.
She heard a step grate on rock. Randolph appeared to gaze anxiously down upon her.
“Did you call?” he asked, quickly.
“I just squealed,” she replied, gazing up at him, careful to draw the blankets close to her chin.
