Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 847
The instant the solution flashed out of her brooding mind she knew it was the truth. It seemed annihilation of self-catastrophe, yet it held a paralyzing sweetness. Janey received the blow of her consciousness, like a soldier, full in the face, while she was gazing down the canyon, now magnifying its gold and purple, its wonderful speaking cliffs.
Then she heard the thud of hoofs. A horse! Startled, she turned the corner of the wall that separated her from camp. Her alarm vanished in amazement at sight of a dudish young man dismounting from a pinto mustang as flashy as its rider. He wore a ten-gallon sombrero that appeared to make him top heavy; white moleskin riding trousers, tight at the knees, high shiny boots and enormous spurs that tripped him as he walked. Janey then recognized this young man, Bert Durland, the darling of many week-end parties, a slick, dark, dapper youth just out of college. Also she heard more thuds of hoofs and voices coming. Cursing to herself, Janey slipped in behind a section of rock that had split from the cliff, and ran along it to the far end, where she crouched down to peep through a crack.
CHAPTER 9
JANEY WAS AMAZED, curious, resentful at this rude disruption of her rapture. Bert was a nice kid, but to meet him here! Where she was alone with Randolph!
Two riders appeared above the bulge of the bench, off to the left. One was an Indian, leading a pack horse. Presently Janey made out the second rider to be a woman. Mrs. Durland! No human creature could have looked more out of place, or uncomfortable, or ridiculous. Mrs. Durland’s marked characteristic had been dressing and playing a part to improve the family fortunes. Here, if Janey had not been suddenly furious, she could have shrieked. They approached camp. The Indian dismounted and began to slip the pack. Bert went to his mother’s assistance. Manifestly it was no joke to get her off a horse. She was heavy, and looked as if her bones had stiffened.
“0 mercy! My muscles — my flesh!” she wailed.
“Cheer up, Mother. We’re here at last,” replied Bert, with satisfaction.
“This is the place then?” she asked, peering round in disgust.
“Beckyshibeta.”
“It looks like it sounds. I don’t see much of a camp. Mr. Endicott said his daughter was here with some friends.”
“Perhaps this is the guides’ camp. We’ll look around and find them. My word! It’ll be good to see Janey!”
“Bert, our Indian is riding away!” exclaimed Mrs. Durland, in alarm.
“I understood he was going to see his family.”
“Suppose he doesn’t come back? Suppose we don’t find Miss Endicott and party! Here we are in a godforsaken hole a hundred and ninety miles from a railroad. Nothing but a lot of wild Indians around. We may get scalped.”
“You needn’t worry, Mother,” returned Bert. “You’d never get scalped. You can take off your hair and hand it over. I’m the one to worry.”
“Bert Durland! How dare you talk that way? You ought at least be respectful after my being good enough to let you drag me out here.”
“Pardon, Mother,” said the youth, contritely. “I’m sore. This beastly trip through all that horrible desert! And no sign of comfort here. It’s most annoying.”
“Whose fault is it?” queried Mrs. Durland, as she carefully looked round a rock to see if there were snakes or bugs present. Then very wearily she sat down.
“Yours,” returned young Durland, looking at his drooping horse. “I suppose I’ll have to remove that awful saddle.”
“My fault? You miserable boy!” exclaimed his mother, highly indignant. “You know I’m doing it all for you. Chasing this worthless girl! I’ve suffered agonies on this ride. And that horrid place where we tried to sleep last night! Will I ever forget it? And this awful sunburn!”
“Janey isn’t quite worthless, Mother dear,” rejoined Bert, complacently. “Her dad has several millions. And Janey is pretty well fixed. You know that’s why you’re here.”
“There’s gratitude for you,” declared Mrs. Durland, witheringly. “Here I am trying to make it easy for you. You who’ve gone through most of your father’s money. Now you make it appear I’m doing this for myself.”
“All right! All right!” said Bert, impatiently. “But don’t blame me for bringing you on this particular wild-goose chase. I didn’t like the idea, believe me. I told you in New York that Endicott was taking Janey to a tourist hotel. That’s what I believed then.”
“Didn’t you say Janey told you her father was taking her into one of the loneliest places in the world?”
“I sure did. Mother, Arizona looks to me to be about half of the United States. And it’s lonely all right, all right. Imagine fine-combing this desert all to hunt up a girl! That fellow who charged a hundred dollars for a car ride that scrambled my insides! I’d like to get hold of him. Mother, I’ve an idea Endicott and that trader Bennet were laughing at us up their sleeves.”
“Humph! That dirty-looking trader laughed in my face,” asserted Mrs. Durland. “And as for the wasting of a whole hundred dollars that’s your fault, too. You never knew how to bargain. You just threw money away. It drives me mad. You have no backbone, no stamina. Otherwise you’d have eloped with Janey before her father ran off with her to this terrible place of rocks.”
“Eloped! My dear Mother, you don’t know Janey Endicott,” returned her son, significantly.
“Perhaps we’d better not talk so loud or mention names,” remarked Mrs. Durland, apprehensively.
“Didn’t you try to tell that Indian guide and the car driver our family history?... Hello! Here comes a white man! Tough-looking customer!”
“Oh, dear, I hope he isn’t a desperado,” replied Mrs. Durland, in alarm.
This last from mother to son tickled Janey so keenly that she was hard put to it to keep from side-splitting laughter. She peeped round the edge of her covert. Yes, Phil was coming. He had spied the visitors, and he was peering everywhere for Janey.
“How do you do,” greeted Randolph, as he came up. “Your Indian told me of your arrival.”
“Very nice of him to find someone,” returned Mrs. Durland, gratefully.
“Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?”
“Mrs. Percival Smith Durland, of New York, and her son Bertrand. Of course you’ve heard of us.”
“I regret to say I never have.”
Janey giggled inwardly at this slight, because she had more than once told Phil about the Durlands.
“Indeed. I see. You’ve never been away from this raw crude Arizona,” replied Mrs. Durland, apologizing for his ignorance. “Do many tourists come here to this Becky — something or other?”
“Very few. We don’t encourage them.”
“There, Mother. I told you so,” broke in Bert, who had been staring hard at Randolph. “Is there any resort for tourists near?” asked Mrs. Durland.
“Bennet’s trading post is the nearest habitation of white folks. But you’d hardly call it a resort.”
“I should say not. We stopped there to get ready for this trip... May I ask your name?”
“Phillip Randolph, at your service, Madam.”
“Randolph? Surely that’s the name we heard. You’re an archaeologist, I understand.”
“Yes, Madam,” returned Randolph, shortly. “Work for the government, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re the Mr. Randolph. Well, I’m sorry for you. There’s a Mr. Elliot at the post now. He came the day we arrived. He’s from Washington, D.C. I heard Mr. Bennet say he was furious that you had gone to this Becky — place before the time scheduled, and it would likely cost you your job.”
“Mr. Elliot at the post! Well, that is a surprise,” returned Randolph, quite perturbed.
“I daresay. It’s too bad. I’m sorry for you. But you might find decent work somewhere. You look stronger than those bowlegged cowboys.”
“Thank you. Yes, I think I am rather strong. You spoke of cowboys. Were they — did you see any round the post?”
“Cowboys! I rather think so. They nearly rode us down. Stopped our car to keep us from being killed by stampeding cattle. One of them was tow-headed, and pretty fresh, to say the least.”
“Cattle stampede! Oh, Lord!” muttered Randolph, in distress.
“What did you say?” asked Mrs. Durland. “I — I was just talking to myself,” replied Randolph, hastily.
“We are looking for Miss Janey Endicott and her party,” interrupted Bert, with importance. “I’ll give you ten dollars to guide us to her camp.”
“There you go, Bert Durland, flinging money to the four winds,” declared his mother.
“Miss Janey Endicott and party!” echoed Randolph.
“That’s what I said,” returned the young man, testily. “Mr. Endicott informed me. I’m a very dear friend of Janey’s — in fact of the family.”
“Did Endicott say how many were in the party?” inquired Randolph.
“No. I gathered there were several. People from the post. Where are they camped?”
“Not here. I have not seen any — party. Do you mean you’ve ridden all the way out here to see Miss Endicott?”
“Certainly. Do you know her?” replied Bert, suspiciously.
“I think I’ve seen the young woman,” said Randolph, dryly.
“You haven’t. Any man who ever saw Janey Endicott wouldn’t think he’d seen her. He’d never forget her.”
“Oh, excuse me, perhaps I’m wrong. The person I saw was about twenty, and acted fifteen, and dressed as if she were ten. Very coy and vivacious, and wild, I may say. She was not bad looking.”
“Miss Endicott is strikingly beautiful, one of the loveliest girls in New York,” returned young Durland, grandly.
The expression on Phil’s face made Janey want to shout with glee.
Mrs. Durland had been looking at the bits of broken pottery and stone utensils which lay carefully arranged on a flat rock.
“Is this the kind of bric-à-brac you dig for?” she inquired. “You appear to be careless with it.”
“It’s broken when we find it, Madam. I could not be careless with such priceless relics.”
“Priceless? That lot of junk!” interposed Bert, in amazement.
“We would like to see a little of your — your place here,” said Mrs. Durland, graciously. “Then I will engage you to find Miss Endicott’s camp for us.”
“Beckyshibeta is very dangerous,” returned Randolph. “You have to climb over rough rocks.”
“Excuse me from climbing. But we’ll take a look. Come, son.”
“I don’t care anything about Beckyshib — or Becky Sharp,” responded Bert. “I want to see Janey Endicott.”
“What! After our long journey out here to see this wonderful place?”
“You called it beastly before Professor Randolph dropped in,” replied Bert, scornfully.
“Oh, dear, this generation. No appreciation of art or love of the beautiful!”
“I’ll have a look up the canyon to see if Miss Endicott — and party — are camped near,” said Randolph, moving away with Mrs. Durland.
Bert unsaddled his horse. Janey, convinced that the Durlands would find her sooner or later, preferred to surprise Bert. So she took advantage of his occupation with horse and saddle to run back the way she had come. Then she boldly turned round the corner. Durland was sauntering here and there, inspecting the camp, plainly nonplussed. Presently he heard Janey’s step and wheeled.
“Oh!” cried Janey, starting back.
“Janey!” he burst out, rapturously. “What luck! By heaven, I’m glad to see you!”
“Young man, you frightened me,” returned Janey. “What are you doing here?”
Suddenly his gaze took in her apparel and his eyes popped. Janey had not realized until that moment what a scarecrow she must look like.
“Janey Endicott! Good Lord! What a getup you’ve got on! You look like a ballet dancer. Mother will have a fit!... Why, you look...”
“See here, boy, you’re pretty impudent.”
“Why all the bluff, Janey?” he asked with a laugh. “It’s great to see you again, even if you are a sight to make Park Avenue weep.”
He approached her with outstretched arms and unmistakable intention.
“Don’t you dare. I’ll yell for my husband,” cried Janey.
“Husband? Now look here. This sounds serious.”
“I said my husband.”
“Janey Endicott with a husband! Impossible!”
“I’m Mrs. Phillip Randolph, wife of the archaeologist in charge of the excavation here!”
“Wife? Phillip Randolph?... Good God! But you’re Janey Endicott. Your father said you were here.”
“You’re crazy. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“No, I’m not crazy, but you are.”
Janey pointed imperiously down the canyon. “Take your horse and get out of here.”
“Janey Endicott, you can’t stall me like that,” he replied, hotly. “I’ve come clear across the country to rescue you from your father. This is how I find you! It has a damn queer look!”
His eyes held a sharp suspecting glint of anger and jealous doubt.
“Poor boy!” said Janey, solicitously. “You must have gotten away from your keeper. There! There! Run along and find him.”
Bert pointed to Janey’s left hand. “If you’re Mrs. Randolph, where’s your wedding ring?”
“In the years I’ve lived here with my husband, I never saw the like of you,” declared Janey. “Either you’re an escaped lunatic or a college freshman — trying to impersonate Hopalong Cassidy. I’m going to call my husband.”
“Go ahead. It’ll be great when Mother sees you. Janey, it’s your wheels that are twisted, not mine.” Then he seemed to become genuinely concerned. “You know, Janey, you do look strained and queer. My God! You might have lost your memory!”
Janey backed away trying to elude him, but he moved to stand in front of her.
“No, you won’t escape that way. I’m going to make you remember.”
“Let me by!” cried Janey, wildly. She was really possessed with an infernal glee. What would Phil say to this? “Get out, or I’ll have my Phil take care of you.”
“Janey, dear, you’re strange. Your eyes. Try to concentrate. I’m Bert. Bert Durland. Something terrible has been done to you or you’d remember me and how I love you. Why I couldn’t hurt a hair of your lovely head.”
Janey kept maneuvering for a loophole to dodge through.
“If you touch me I’ll scream!”
Bert made a lunge and captured her, and before Janey could thwart his intention he had grasped her hand and looked at her ring. “There! You are Janey Endicott. I know that diamond as well as if it were my own. It was a present from your father.”
“Stop mauling me,” cried Janey, breaking free from him. “I don’t know you. I never saw you in my life!”
“You do it well, Janey, if you’re not truly mad. I’m afraid there’s something behind all this, young lady, and I’m going to find out.”
Indeed there was, Janey thought; and never in her wildest flights of imagination could she have planned anything so good. She almost wanted to hug Bert for happening along at this opportune hour. Then voices drew Bert’s attention and he hurried to meet Randolph, of whom Janey caught a glimpse among the cedars. She ran up the rock slope to hide in a niche where she could not be easily discovered. When she got herself satisfactorily crouched she peeped out with eyes that fairly danced. This was better than any comedy she had ever seen. Bert and Randolph were approaching. Randolph had a baffled look. His sweeping gaze about camp explained to Janey one of the reasons he was so concerned. She wondered what had become of Mrs. Durland.
Bert viewed the desert camp in dismay. “I’ll be damned!” he ejaculated.
“Will you please produce the young lady?” demanded Randolph, stiffly.
“She’s gone.”
“My dear young fellow, she was never here.”
“I tell you she was,” retorted Durland, angrily. “Janey,” he yelled. “You come back here. This has gone far enough.”
“I agree with you,” said Randolph.
“She was here. I talked with her, though she denied she was Janey. She looked awful. Her clothes were soiled and torn — dress up to her neck. Most disgraceful! And either her reason’s gone or she’s a clever actress.”
At this point Mrs. Durland appeared, red and puffing.
“Bert — this Mr. Randolph — talks strange,” she panted. “He left me a few minutes ago most unceremoniously. There’s no other camp. Janey isn’t here.”
“Yes she is, Mother. Or she was a moment ago,” asserted Bert, positively. “But now she’s gone.”
“Gone! Where?”
“I haven’t an idea. She just vanished.”
“Why don’t you find her? You’ve chased her long and far — why not a little more? My son, you act queer.”
“There you are,” interposed Randolph, with exaggerated conviction. “Why don’t you chase this hallucination of yours? I’m sorry indeed to see a fine young fellow like you, laboring under mental aberration.”
“What?” snapped Bert.
Randolph turned to Mrs. Durland: “Have you ever had your son under observation or — er — examined, you know?”
“You — you — commoner! How dare you!” burst out Mrs. Durland.
“Really, I don’t mean offense. If he was all right then it’s the long ride, the heat, the loneliness of the desert. These things act powerfully upon some persons, especially any who are not strong mentally and physically.”
Bert strode forward to confront Randolph with dark and angry mien.
“See here, Sir,” he said, “cut that stuff. You’re trying to string me. But you can’t do it. I tell you there was a girl here not ten minutes ago. If she wasn’t Janey Endicott then I am out of my head. But it was Janey, and it’s she who is crazy. She doesn’t know who she is. She forgot she’s engaged to marry me.”
“Engaged to you!” ejaculated Randolph, taken aback.
“Yes, to me. Ask Mother.”
