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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/19113-8.txt b/19113-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d2ce628 --- /dev/null +++ b/19113-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13430 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Emigrant Trail, by Geraldine Bonner + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Emigrant Trail + +Author: Geraldine Bonner + +Release Date: August 24, 2006 [EBook #19113] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EMIGRANT TRAIL *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: He gathered her in his arms, and bending low carried her +back into the darkened cavern.] + + + + + + +THE EMIGRANT TRAIL + + +BY + +GERALDINE BONNER + + + + + +NEW YORK + +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +PUBLISHERS + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY + +DUFFIELD & COMPANY + + +Published, April, 1910 + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PART I + +THE PRAIRIE + + +PART II + +THE RIVER + + +PART III + +THE MOUNTAINS + + +PART IV + +THE DESERT + + +PART V + +THE PROMISED LAND + + + + +THE EMIGRANT TRAIL + + +PART I + +The Prairie + + +CHAPTER I + +It had rained steadily for three days, the straight, relentless rain of +early May on the Missouri frontier. The emigrants, whose hooded wagons +had been rolling into Independence for the past month and whose tents +gleamed through the spring foliage, lounged about in one another's +camps cursing the weather and swapping bits of useful information. + +The year was 1848 and the great California emigration was still twelve +months distant. The flakes of gold had already been found in the race +of Sutter's mill, and the thin scattering of men, which made the +population of California, had left their plows in the furrow and their +ships in the cove and gone to the yellow rivers that drain the Sierra's +mighty flanks. But the rest of the world knew nothing of this yet. +They were not to hear till November when a ship brought the news to New +York, and from city and town, from village and cottage, a march of men +would turn their faces to the setting sun and start for the land of +gold. + +Those now bound for California knew it only as the recently acquired +strip of territory that lay along the continent's Western rim, a place +of perpetual sunshine, where everybody had a chance and there was no +malaria. That was what they told each other as they lay under the +wagons or sat on saddles in the wet tents. The story of old Roubadoux, +the French fur trader from St. Joseph, circulated cheeringly from mouth +to mouth--a man in Monterey had had chills and people came from miles +around to see him shake, so novel was the spectacle. That was the +country for the men and women of the Mississippi Valley, who shook half +the year and spent the other half getting over it. + +The call of the West was a siren song in the ears of these waiting +companies. The blood of pioneers urged them forward. Their +forefathers had moved from the old countries across the seas, from the +elm-shaded towns of New England, from the unkempt villages that +advanced into the virgin lands by the Great Lakes, from the peace and +plenty of the splendid South. Year by year they had pushed the +frontier westward, pricked onward by a ceaseless unrest, "the old land +hunger" that never was appeased. The forests rang to the stroke of +their ax, the slow, untroubled rivers of the wilderness parted to the +plowing wheels of their unwieldy wagons, their voices went before them +into places where Nature had kept unbroken her vast and pondering +silence. The distant country by the Pacific was still to explore and +they yoked their oxen, and with a woman and a child on the seat started +out again, responsive to the cry of "Westward, Ho!" + +As many were bound for Oregon as for California. Marcus Whitman and +the missionaries had brought alluring stories of that great domain once +held so cheaply the country almost lost it. It was said to be of a +wonderful fertility and league-long stretches of idle land awaited the +settler. The roads ran together more than half the way, parting at +Green River, where the Oregon trail turned to Fort Hall and the +California dipped southward and wound, a white and spindling thread, +across what men then called "The Great American Desert." Two days' +journey from Independence this road branched from the Santa Fé Trail +and bent northward across the prairie. A signboard on a stake pointed +the way and bore the legend, "Road to Oregon." It was the starting +point of one of the historic highways of the world. The Indians called +it "The Great Medicine Way of the Pale-face." + +Checked in the act of what they called "jumping off" the emigrants wore +away the days in telling stories of the rival countries, and in +separating from old companies and joining new ones. It was an +important matter, this of traveling partnerships. A trip of two +thousand miles on unknown roads beset with dangers was not to be +lightly undertaken. Small parties, frightened on the edge of the +enterprise, joined themselves to stronger ones. The mountain men and +trappers delighted to augment the tremors of the fearful, and round the +camp fires listening groups hung on the words of long-haired men clad +in dirty buckskins, whose moccasined feet had trod the trails of the +fur trader and his red brother. + +This year was one of special peril for, to the accustomed dangers from +heat, hunger, and Indians, was added a new one--the Mormons. They were +still moving westward in their emigration from Nauvoo to the new Zion +beside the Great Salt Lake. It was a time and a place to hear the +black side of Mormonism. A Missourian hated a Latter Day Saint as a +Puritan hated a Papist. Hawn's mill was fresh in the minds of the +frontiersmen, and the murder of Joseph Smith was accounted a righteous +act. The emigrant had many warnings to lay to heart--against Indian +surprises in the mountains, against mosquitoes on the plains, against +quicksands in the Platte, against stampedes among the cattle, against +alkaline springs and the desert's parching heats. And quite as +important as any of these was that against the Latter Day Saint with +the Book of Mormon in his saddlebag and his long-barreled rifle across +the pommel. + +So they waited, full of ill words and impatience, while the rain fell. +Independence, the focusing point of the frontier life, housing +unexpected hundreds, dripped from all its gables and swam in mud. And +in the camps that spread through the fresh, wet woods and the oozy +uplands, still other hundreds cowered under soaked tent walls and in +damp wagon boxes, listening to the rush of the continuous showers. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +On the afternoon of the fourth day the clouds lifted. A band of yellow +light broke out along the horizon, and at the crossings of the town and +in the rutted country roads men and women stood staring at it with its +light and their own hope brightening their faces. + +David Crystal, as he walked through the woods, saw it behind a veining +of black branches. Though a camper and impatient to be off like the +rest, he did not feel the elation that shone on their watching faces. +His was held in a somber abstraction. Just behind him, in an opening +under the straight, white blossoming of dogwood trees, was a new-made +grave. The raw earth about it showed the prints of his feet, for he +had been standing by it thinking of the man who lay beneath. + +Four days before his friend, Joe Linley, had died of cholera. Three of +them--Joe, himself, and George Leffingwell, Joe's cousin--had been in +camp less than a week when it had happened. Until then their life had +been like a picnic there in the clearing by the roadside, with the +thrill of the great journey stirring in their blood. And then Joe had +been smitten with such suddenness, such awful suddenness! He had been +talking to them when David had seen a suspension of something, a +stoppage of a vital inner spring, and with it a whiteness had passed +across his face like a running tide. The awe of that moment, the hush +when it seemed to David the liberated spirit had paused beside him in +its outward flight, was with him now as he walked through the rustling +freshness of the wood. + +The rain had begun to lessen, its downfall thinning into a soft patter +among the leaves. The young man took off his hat and let the damp air +play over his hair. It was thick hair, black and straight, already +longer than city fashions dictated, and a first stubble of black beard +was hiding the lines of a chin perhaps a trifle too sensitive and +pointed. Romantic good looks and an almost poetic refinement were the +characteristics of the face, an unusual type for the frontier. With +thoughtful gray eyes set deep under a jut of brows and a nose as finely +cut as a woman's, it was of a type that, in more sophisticated +localities, men would have said had risen to meet the Byronic ideal of +which the world was just then enamored. But there was nothing Byronic +or self-conscious about David Crystal. He had been born and bred in +what was then the Far West, and that he should read poetry and regard +life as an undertaking that a man must face with all honor and +resoluteness was not so surprising for the time and place. The West, +with its loneliness, its questioning silences, its solemn sweep of +prairie and roll of slow, majestic rivers, held spiritual communion +with those of its young men who had eyes to see and ears to hear. + +The trees grew thinner and he saw the sky pure as amber beneath the +storm pall. The light from it twinkled over wet twigs and glazed the +water in the crumplings of new leaves. Across the glow the last +raindrops fell in slanting dashes. David's spirits rose. The weather +was clearing and they could start--start on the trail, the long trail, +the Emigrant Trail, two thousand miles to California! + +He was close to the camp. Through the branches he saw the filmy, +diffused blueness of smoke and smelled the sharp odor of burning wood. +He quickened his pace and was about to give forth a cheerful hail when +he heard a sound that made him stop, listen with fixed eye, and then +advance cautiously, sending a questing glance through the screen of +leaves. The sound was a woman's voice detached in clear sweetness from +the deeper tones of men. + +There was no especial novelty in this. Their camp was just off the +road and the emigrant women were wont to pause there and pass the time +of day. Most of them were the lean and leathern-skinned mates of the +frontiersmen, shapeless and haggard as if toil had drawn from their +bodies all the softness of feminine beauty, as malaria had sucked from +their skins freshness and color. But there were young, pretty ones, +too, who often strolled by, looking sideways from the shelter of +jealous sunbonnets. + +This voice was not like theirs. It had a quality David had only heard +a few times in his life--cultivation. Experience would have +characterized it as "a lady voice." David, with none, thought it an +angel's. Very shy, very curious, he came out from the trees ready at +once and forever to worship anyone who could set their words to such +dulcet cadences. + +The clearing, green as an emerald and shining with rain, showed the +hood of the wagon and the new, clean tent, white as sails on a summer +sea, against the trees' young bloom. In the middle the fire burned and +beside it stood Leff, a skillet in his hand. He was a curly-headed, +powerful country lad, twenty-four years old, who, two months before, +had come from an Illinois farm to join the expedition. The frontier +was to him a place of varied diversion, Independence a stimulating +center. So diffident that the bashful David seemed by contrast a man +of cultured ease, he was now blushing till the back of his neck was red. + +On the other side of the fire a lady and gentleman stood arm in arm +under an umbrella. The two faces, bent upon Leff with grave attention, +were alike, not in feature, but in the subtly similar play of +expression that speaks the blood tie. A father and daughter, David +thought. Against the rough background of the camp, with its litter at +their feet, they had an air of being applied upon an alien surface, of +not belonging to the picture, but standing out from it in sharp and +incongruous contrast. + +The gentleman was thin and tall, fifty or thereabouts, very pale, +especially to one accustomed to the tanned skins of the farm and the +country town. His face held so frank a kindliness, especially the eyes +which looked tired and a little sad, that David felt its expression +like a friendly greeting or a strong handclasp. + +The lady did not have this, perhaps because she was a great deal +younger. She was yet in the bud, far from the tempering touch of +experience, still in the state of looking forward and anticipating +things. She was dark, of medium height, and inclined to be plump. +Many delightful curves went to her making, and her waist tapered +elegantly, as was the fashion of the time. Thinking it over +afterwards, the young man decided that she did not belong in the +picture with a prairie schooner and camp kettles, because she looked so +like an illustration in a book of beauty. And David knew something of +these matters, for had he not been twice to St. Louis and there seen +the glories of the earth and the kingdoms thereof? + +But life in camp outside Independence had evidently blunted his +perceptions. The small waist, a round, bare throat rising from a +narrow band of lace, and a flat, yellow straw hat were the young +woman's only points of resemblance to the beauty-book heroines. She +was not in the least beautiful, only fresh and healthy, the flat straw +hat shading a girlish face, smooth and firmly modeled as a ripe fruit. +Her skin was a glossy brown, softened with a peach's bloom, warming +through deepening shades of rose to lips that were so deeply colored no +one noticed how firmly they could come together, how their curving, +crimson edges could shut tight, straighten out, and become a line of +forceful suggestions, of doggedness, maybe--who knows?--perhaps of +obstinacy. It was her physical exuberance, her downy glow, that made +David think her good looking; her serene, brunette richness, with its +high lights of coral and scarlet, that made her radiate an aura of +warmth, startling in that woodland clearing, as the luster of a firefly +in a garden's glooming dusk. + +She stopped speaking as he emerged from the trees, and Leff's +stammering answer held her in a riveted stare of attention. Then she +looked up and saw David. + +"Oh," she said, and transferred the stare to him. "Is this he?" + +Leff was obviously relieved: + +"Oh, David, I ain't known what to say to this lady and her father. +They think some of joining us. They've been waiting for quite a spell +to see you. They're goin' to California, too." + +The gentleman lifted his hat. Now that he smiled his face was even +kindlier, and he, too, had a pleasant, mellowed utterance that linked +him with the world of superior quality of which David had had those two +glimpses. + +"I am Dr. Gillespie," he said, "and this is my daughter Susan." + +David bowed awkwardly, a bow that was supposed to include father and +daughter. He did not know whether this was a regular introduction, and +even if it had been he would not have known what to do. The young +woman made no attempt to return the salutation, not that she was rude, +but she had the air of regarding it as a frivolous interruption to +weighty matters. She fixed David with eyes, small, black, and bright +as a squirrel's, so devoid of any recognition that he was a member of +the rival sex--or, in fact, of the human family--that his +self-consciousness sunk down abashed as if before reproof. + +"My father and I are going to California and the train we were going +with has gone on. We've come from Rochester, New York, and everywhere +we've been delayed and kept back. Even that boat up from St. Louis was +five days behind time. It's been nothing but disappointments and +delays since we left home. And when we got here the people we were +going with--a big train from Northern New York--had gone on and left +us." + +She said all this rapidly, poured it out as if she were so full of the +injury and annoyance of it, that she had to ease her indignation by +letting it run over into the first pair of sympathetic ears. David's +were a very good pair. Any woman with a tale of trouble would have +found him a champion. How much more a fresh-faced young creature with +a melodious voice and anxious eyes. + +"A good many trains have gone on," he said. And then, by way of +consolation for her manner demanded, that, "But they'll be stalled at +the fords with this rain. They'll have to wait till the rivers fall. +All the men who know say that." + +"So we've heard," said the father, "but we hoped that we'd catch them +up. Our outfit is very light, only one wagon, and our driver is a +thoroughly capable and experienced man. What we want are some +companions with whom we can travel till we overhaul the others. I'd +start alone, but with my daughter----" + +She cut in at once, giving his arm a little, irritated shake: + +"Of course you couldn't do that." Then to the young men: "My father's +been sick for quite a long time, all last winter. It's for his health +we're going to California, and, of course, he couldn't start without +some other men in the party. Indians might attack us, and at the hotel +they said the Mormons were scattered all along the road and thought +nothing of shooting a Gentile." + +Her father gave the fingers crooked on his arm a little squeeze with +his elbow. It was evident the pair were very good friends. + +"You'll make these young men think I'm a helpless invalid, who'll lie +in the wagon all day. They won't want us to go with them." + +This made her again uneasy and let loose another flow of authoritative +words. + +"No, my father isn't really an invalid. He doesn't have to lie in the +wagon. He's going to ride most of the time. He and I expect to ride +all the way, and the old man who goes with us will drive the mules. +What's been really bad for my father was living in that dreadful hotel +at Independence with everything damp and uncomfortable. We want to get +off just as soon as we can, and this gentleman," indicating Leff, "says +you want to go, too." + +"We'll start to-morrow morning, if it's clear." + +"Now, father," giving the arm she held a renewed clutch and sharper +shake, "there's our chance. We must go with them." + +The father's smile would have shown something of deprecation, or even +apology, if it had not been all pride and tenderness. + +"These young men will be very kind if they permit us to join them," was +what his lips said. His eyes added: "This is a spoiled child, but even +so, there is no other like her in the world." + +The young men sprang at the suggestion. The spring was internal, of +the spirit, for they were too overwhelmed by the imminent presence of +beauty to show a spark of spontaneity on the outside. They muttered +their agreement, kicked the ground, and avoided the eyes of Miss +Gillespie. + +"The people at the hotel," the doctor went on, "advised us to join one +of the ox trains. But it seemed such a slow mode of progress. They +don't make much more than fifteen to twenty miles a day." + +"And then," said the girl, "there might be people we didn't like in the +train and we'd be with them all the time." + +It is not probable that she intended to suggest to her listeners that +she could stand them as traveling companions. Whether she did or not +they scented the compliment, looked stupid, and hung their heads, +silent in the intoxication of this first subtle whiff of incense. Even +Leff, uncouth and unlettered, extracted all that was possible from the +words, and felt a delicate elation at the thought that so fine a +creature could endure his society. + +"We expect to go a great deal faster than the long trains," she +continued. "We have no oxen, only six mules and two extra horses and a +cow." + +Her father laughed outright. + +"Don't let my daughter frighten you. We've really got a very small +amount of baggage. Our little caravan has been made up on the advice +of Dr. Marcus Whitman, an old friend of mine. Five years ago when he +was in Washington he gave me a list of what was needed for the journey +across the plains. I suppose he's the best authority on that subject. +We all know how successfully the Oregon emigration was carried through." + +David was glad to show he knew something of that. A boy friend of his +had gone to Oregon with this, the first large body of emigrants that +had ventured on the great enterprise. Whitman was to him a national +hero, his ride in the dead of winter from the far Northwest to +Washington, as patriotically inspiring as Paul Revere's. + +There was more talk, standing round the fire, while the agreements for +the start were being made. No one thought the arrangement hasty, for +it was a place and time of quick decisions. Men starting on the +emigrant trail were not for wasting time on preliminaries. Friendships +sprang up like the grass and were mown down like it. Standing on the +edge of the unknown was not the propitious moment for caution and +hesitation. Only the bold dared it and the bold took each other +without question, reading what was on the surface, not bothering about +what might be hidden. + +It was agreed, the weather being fair, that they would start at seven +the next morning, Dr. Gillespie's party joining David's at the camp. +With their mules and horses they should make good time and within a +month overhaul the train that had left the Gillespies behind. + +As the doctor and his daughter walked away the shyness of the young men +returned upon them in a heavy backwash. They were so whelmed by it +that they did not even speak to one another. But both glanced with +cautious stealth at the receding backs, the doctor in front, his +daughter walking daintily on the edge of grass by the roadside, holding +her skirts away from the wet weeds. + +When she was out of sight Leff said with an embarrassed laugh: + +"Well, we got some one to go along with us now." + +David did not laugh. He pondered frowningly. He was the elder by two +years and he felt his responsibilities. + +"They'll do all right. With two more men we'll make a strong enough +train." + +Leff was cook that night, and he set the coffee on and began cutting +the bacon. Occupied in this congenial work, the joints of his tongue +were loosened, and as the skillet gave forth grease and odors, he gave +forth bits of information gleaned from the earlier part of the +interview: + +"I guess they got a first rate outfit. The old gentleman said they'd +been getting it together since last autumn. They must be pretty well +fixed." + +David nodded. Being "well fixed" or being poor did not count on the +edge of the prairie. They were frivolous outside matters that had +weight in cities. Leff went on, + +"He's consumpted. That's why he's going. He says he expects to be +cured before he gets to California." + +A sudden zephyr irritated the tree tops, which bent away from its touch +and scattered moisture on the fire and the frying pan. There was a +sputter and sizzle and Leff muttered profanely before he took up the +dropped thread: + +"The man that drives the mules, he's a hired man that the old +gentleman's had for twenty years. He was out on the frontier once and +knows all about it, and there ain't nothing he can't drive"--turning of +the bacon here, Leff absorbed beyond explanatory speech--"They got four +horses, two to ride and two extra ones, and a cow. I don't see how +they're goin' to keep up the pace with the cow along. The old +gentleman says they can do twenty to twenty-five miles a day when the +road's good. But I don't seem to see how the cow can keep up such a +lick." + +"A hired man, a cow, and an outfit that it took all winter to get +together," said David thoughtfully. "It sounds more like a pleasure +trip than going across the plains." + +He sat as if uneasily debating the possible drawbacks of so elaborate +an escort, but he was really ruminating upon the princess, who moved +upon the wilderness with such pomp and circumstance. + +As they set out their tin cups and plates they continued to discuss the +doctor, his caravan, his mules, his servant, and his cow, in fact, +everything but his daughter. It was noticeable that no mention of her +was made till supper was over and the night fell. Then their comments +on her were brief. Leff seemed afraid of her even a mile away in the +damp hotel at Independence, seemed to fear that she might in some way +know he'd had her name upon his tongue, and would come to-morrow with +angry, accusing looks like an offended goddess. David did not want to +talk about her, he did not quite know why. Before the thought of +traveling a month in her society his mind fell back reeling, baffled by +the sudden entrance of such a dazzling intruder. A month beside this +glowing figure, a month under the impersonal interrogation of those +cool, demanding eyes! It was as if the President or General Zachary +Taylor had suddenly joined them. + +But of course she figured larger in their thoughts than any other part +or all the combined parts of Dr. Gillespie's outfit. In their +imaginations--the hungry imaginations of lonely young men--she +represented all the grace, beauty, and mystery of the Eternal Feminine. +They did not reason about her, they only felt, and what they +felt--unconsciously to themselves--was that she had introduced the +last, wildest, and most disturbing thrill into the adventure of the +great journey. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The next day broke still and clear. The dawn was yet a pale promise in +the East when from Independence, out through the dripping woods and +clearings, rose the tumult of breaking camps. The rattle of the yoke +chains and the raucous cry of "Catch up! Catch up!" sounded under the +trees and out and away over valley and upland as the lumbering wagons, +freighted deep for the long trail, swung into the road. + +David's camp was astir long before the sun was up. The great hour had +come. They were going! They sung and shouted as they harnessed Bess +and Ben, a pair of sturdy roans bought from an emigrant discouraged +before the start, while the saddle horses nosed about the tree roots +for a last cropping of the sweet, thick grass. Inside the wagon the +provisions were packed in sacks and the rifles hung on hooks on the +canvas walls. At the back, on a supporting step, the mess chest was +strapped. It was a businesslike wagon. Its contents included only one +deviation from the practical and necessary--three books of David's. +Joe had laughed at him about them. What did a man want with Byron's +poems and Milton and Bacon's "Essays" crossing the plains? Neither Joe +nor Leff could understand such devotion to the printed page. Their +kits were of the compactest, not a useless article or an unnecessary +pound, unless you counted the box of flower seeds that belonged to Joe, +who had heard that California, though a dry country, could be coaxed +into productiveness along the rivers. + +Dr. Gillespie and his daughter were punctual. David's silver watch, +large as the circle of a cup and possessed of a tick so loud it +interrupted conversation, registered five minutes before seven, when +the doctor and his daughter appeared at the head of their caravan. Two +handsome figures, well mounted and clad with taste as well as +suitability, they looked as gallantly unfitted for the road as armored +knights in a modern battlefield. Good looks, physical delicacy, and +becoming clothes had as yet no recognized place on the trail. The +Gillespies were boldly and blithely bringing them, and unlike most +innovators, romance came with them. Nobody had gone out of +Independence with so confident and debonair an air. Now advancing +through a spattering of leaf shadows and sunspots, they seemed to the +young men to be issuing from the first pages of a story, and the +watchers secretly hoped that they would go riding on into the heart of +it with the white arch of the prairie schooner and the pricked ears of +the six mules as a movable background. + +There was no umbrella this morning to obscure Miss Gillespie's vivid +tints, and in the same flat, straw hat, with her cheeks framed in +little black curls, she looked a freshly wholesome young girl, who +might be dangerous to the peace of mind of men even less lonely and +susceptible than the two who bid her a flushed and bashful good +morning. She had the appearance, however, of being entirely oblivious +to any embarrassment they might show. There was not a suggestion of +coquetry in her manner as she returned their greetings. Instead, it +was marked by a businesslike gravity. Her eyes touched their faces +with the slightest welcoming light and then left them to rove, sharply +inspecting, over their wagon and animals. When she had scrutinized +these, she turned in her saddle, and said abruptly to the driver of the +six mules: + +"Daddy John, do you see--horses?" + +The person thus addressed nodded and said in a thin, old voice, + +"I do, and if they want them they're welcome to them." + +He was a small, shriveled man, who might have been anywhere from sixty +to seventy-five. A battered felt hat, gray-green with wind and sun, +was pulled well down to his ears, pressing against his forehead and +neck thin locks of gray hair. A grizzle of beard edged his chin, a +poor and scanty growth that showed the withered skin through its +sparseness. His face, small and wedge-shaped, was full of ruddy color, +the cheeks above the ragged hair smooth and red as apples. Though his +mouth was deficient in teeth, his neck, rising bare from the band of +his shirt, corrugated with the starting sinews of old age, he had a +shrewd vivacity of glance, an alertness of poise, that suggested an +unimpaired spiritual vitality. He seemed at home behind the mules, and +here, for the first time, David felt was some one who did not look +outside the picture. In fact, he had an air of tranquil acceptance of +the occasion, of adjustment without effort, that made him fit into the +frame better than anyone else of the party. + +It was a glorious morning, and as they fared forward through the +checkered shade their spirits ran high. The sun, curious and +determined, pried and slid through every crack in the leafage, turned +the flaked lichen to gold, lay in clotted light on the pools around the +fern roots. They were delicate spring woods, streaked with the white +dashes of the dogwood, and hung with the tassels of the maple. The +foliage was still unfolding, patterned with fresh creases, the prey of +a continuous, frail unrest. Little streams chuckled through the +underbrush, and from the fusion of woodland whisperings bird notes +detached themselves, soft flutings and liquid runs, that gave another +expression to the morning's blithe mood. + +Between the woods there were stretches of open country, velvet smooth, +with the trees slipped down to where the rivers ran. The grass was as +green as sprouting grain, and a sweet smell of wet earth and seedling +growths came from it. Cloud shadows trailed across it, blue blotches +moving languidly. It was the young earth in its blushing promise, +fragrant, rain-washed, budding, with the sound of running water in the +grass and bird voices dropping from the sky. + +With their lighter wagons they passed the ox trains plowing stolidly +through the mud, barefoot children running at the wheel, and women +knitting on the front seat. The driver's whip lash curled in the air, +and his nasal "Gee haw" swung the yoked beasts slowly to one side. +Then came detachments of Santa Fé traders, dark men in striped serapes +with silver trimmings round their high-peaked hats. Behind them +stretched the long line of wagons, the ponderous freighters of the +Santa Fé Trail, rolling into Independence from the Spanish towns that +lay beyond the burning deserts of the Cimarron. They filed by in slow +procession, a vision of faded colors and swarthy faces, jingle of spur +and mule bell mingling with salutations in sonorous Spanish. + +As the day grew warmer, the doctor complained of the heat and went back +to the wagon. David and the young girl rode on together through the +green thickness of the wood. They had talked a little while the doctor +was there, and now, left to themselves, they suddenly began to talk a +good deal. In fact, Miss Gillespie revealed herself as a somewhat +garrulous and quite friendly person. David felt his awed admiration +settling into a much more comfortable feeling, still wholly admiring +but relieved of the cramping consciousness that he had entertained an +angel unawares. She was so natural and girlish that he began to +cherish hopes of addressing her as "Miss Susan," even let vaulting +ambition carry him to the point where he could think of some day +calling himself her friend. + +She was communicative, and he was still too dazzled by her to realize +that she was not above asking questions. In the course of a half hour +she knew all about him, and he, without the courage to be thus +flatteringly curious, knew the main points of her own history. Her +father had been a practicing physician in Rochester for the past +fifteen years. Before that he had lived in New York, where she had +been born twenty years ago. Her mother had been a Canadian, a French +woman from the Province of Quebec, whom her father had met there one +summer when he had gone to fish in Lake St. John. Her mother had been +very beautiful--David nodded at that, he had already decided it--and +had always spoken English with an accent. She, the daughter, when she +was little, spoke French before she did English; in fact, did not Mr. +Crystal notice there was still something a little queer about her _r_'s? + +Mr. Crystal had noticed it, noticed it to the extent of thinking it +very pretty. The young lady dismissed the compliment as one who does +not hear, and went on with her narrative: + +"After my mother's death my father left New York. He couldn't bear to +live there any more. He'd been so happy. So he moved away, though he +had a fine practice." + +The listener gave forth a murmur of sympathetic understanding. +Devotion to a beautiful woman was matter of immediate appeal to him. +His respect for the doctor rose in proportion, especially when the +devotion was weighed in the balance against a fine practice. Looking +at the girl's profile with prim black curls against the cheek, he saw +the French-Canadian mother, and said not gallantly, but rather timidly: + +"And you're like your mother, I suppose? You're dark like a French +woman." + +She answered this with a brusque denial. Extracting compliments from +the talk of a shy young Westerner was evidently not her strong point. + +"Oh, no! not at all. My mother was pale and tall, with very large +black eyes. I am short and dark and my eyes are only just big enough +to see out of. She was delicate and I am very strong. My father says +I've never been sick since I got my first teeth." + +She looked at him and laughed, and he realized it was the first time he +had seen her do it. It brightened her face delightfully, making the +eyes she had spoken of so disparagingly narrow into dancing slits. +When she laughed men who had not lost the nicety of their standards by +a sojourn on the frontier would have called her a pretty girl. + +"My mother was of the French _noblesse_," she said, a dark eye upon him +to see how he would take this dignified piece of information. "She was +a descendant of the Baron de Poutrincourt, who founded Port Royal." + +David was as impressed as anyone could have desired. He did not know +what the French _noblesse_ was, but by its sound he judged it to be +some high and honorable estate. He was equally ignorant of the +identity of the Baron de Poutrincourt, but the name alone was +impressive, especially as Miss Gillespie pronounced it. + +"That's fine, isn't it?" he said, as being the only comment he could +think of which at once showed admiration and concealed ignorance. + +The young woman seemed to find it adequate and went on with her family +history. Five years ago in Washington her father had seen his old +friend, Marcus Whitman, and since then had been restless with the +longing to move West. His health demanded the change. His labors as a +physician had exhausted him. His daughter spoke feelingly of the +impossibility of restraining his charitable zeal. He attended the poor +for nothing. He rose at any hour and went forth in any weather in +response to the call of suffering. + +"That's what he says a doctor's duties are," she said. "It isn't a +profession to make money with, it's a profession for helping people and +curing them. You yourself don't count, it's only what you do that +does. Why, my father had a very large practice, but he made only just +enough to keep us." + +Of all she had said this seemed to the listener the best worth hearing. +The doctor now mounted to the top of the highest pedestal David's +admiration could supply. Here was one of the compensations with which +life keeps the balances even. Joe had died and left him friendless, +and while the ache was still sharp, this stranger and his daughter had +come to soothe his pain, perhaps, in the course of time, to conjure it +quite away. + +Early in the preceding winter the doctor had been forced to decide on +the step he had been long contemplating. An attack of congestion of +the lungs developed consumption in his weakened constitution. A warm +climate and an open-air life were prescribed. And how better combine +them than by emigrating to California? + +"And so," said the doctor's daughter, "father made up his mind to go +and sold out his practice. People thought he was crazy to start on +such a trip when he was sick, but he knows more than they do. Besides, +it's not going to be such hard work for him. Daddy John, the old man +who drives the mules, knows all about this Western country. He was +here a long time ago when Indiana and Illinois were wild and full of +Indians. He got wounded out here fighting and thought he was going to +die, and came back to New York. My father found him there, poor and +lonely and sick, and took care of him and cured him. He's been with us +ever since, more than twenty years, and he manages everything and takes +care of everything. He and father'll tell you I rule them, but that's +just teasing. It's really Daddy John who rules." + +The mules were just behind them, and she looked back at the old man and +called in her clear voice: + +"I'm talking about you, Daddy John. I'm telling all about your +wickedness." + +Daddy John's answer came back, slow and amused: + +"Wait till I get the young feller alone and I'll do some talking." + +Laughing, she settled herself in her saddle and dropped her voice for +David's ear: + +"I think Daddy John was quite pleased we missed the New York train. It +was a big company, and he couldn't have managed everything the way he +can now. But we'll soon catch it up and then"--she lifted her eyebrows +and smiled with charming malice at the thought of Daddy John's coming +subjugation. "We ought to overtake it in three or four weeks they said +in Independence." + +Her companion made no answer. The cheerful conversation had suddenly +taken a depressing turn. Under the spell of Miss Gillespie's loquacity +and black eyes he had quite forgotten that he was only a temporary +escort, to be superseded by an entire ox train, of which even now they +were in pursuit. David was a dreamer, and while the young woman +talked, he had seen them both in diminishing perspective, passing +sociably across the plains, over the mountains, into the desert, to +where California edged with a prismatic gleam the verge of the world. +They were to go riding, and talking on, their acquaintance ripening +gradually and delightfully, while the enormous panorama of the +continent unrolled behind them. And it might end in three or four +weeks! The Emigrant Trail looked overwhelmingly long when he could +only see himself and Leff riding over it, and California lost its color +and grew as gray as a line of sea fog. + +That evening's camp was pitched in a clearing near the road. The woods +pressed about them, whispering and curious, thrown out and then blotted +as the fires leaped or died. It was the first night's bivouac, and +much noise and bustle went to its accomplishment. The young men +covertly watched the Gillespie Camp. How would this ornamental party +cope with such unfamiliar labors? With its combination of a feminine +element which must be helpless by virtue of a rare and dainty fineness +and a masculine element which could hardly be otherwise because of ill +health, it would seem that all the work must devolve upon the old man. + +Nothing, however, was further from the fact. The Gillespies rose to +the occasion with the same dauntless buoyancy that they had shown in +ever attempting the undertaking, and then blithely defying public +opinion with a servant and a cow. The sense of their unfitness which +had made the young men uneasy now gave way to secret wonder as the +doctor pitched the tent like a backwoodsman, and his daughter showed a +skilled acquaintance with campers' biscuit making. + +She did it so well, so without hurry and with knowledge, that it was +worth while watching her, if David's own cooking could have spared him. +He did find time once to offer her assistance and that she refused, +politely but curtly. With sleeves rolled to the elbow, her hat off, +showing a roll of hair on the crown of her head separated by a neat +parting from the curls that hung against her cheeks, she was absorbed +in the business in hand. Evidently she was one of those persons to +whom the matter of the moment is the only matter. When her biscuits +were done, puffy and brown, she volunteered a preoccupied explanation: + +"I've been learning to do this all winter, and I'm going to do it +right." + +And even then it was less an excuse for her abruptness than the +announcement of a compact with herself, steadfast, almost grim. + +After supper they sat by the fire, silent with fatigue, the scent of +the men's tobacco on the air, the girl, with her hands clasping her +knees, looking into the flames. In the shadows behind the old servant +moved about. They could hear him crooning to the mules, and then catch +a glimpse of his gnomelike figure bearing blankets from the wagon to +the tent. There came a point where his labors seemed ended, but his +activity had merely changed its direction. He came forward and said to +the girl, + +"Missy, your bed's ready. You'd better be going." + +She gave a groan and a movement of protest under which was the hopeless +acquiescence of the conquered: + +"Not yet, Daddy John. I'm so comfortable sitting here." + +"There's two thousand miles before you. Mustn't get tired this early. +Come now, get up." + +His manner held less of urgence than of quiet command. He was not +dictatorial, but he was determined. The girl looked at him, sighed, +rose to her knees, and then made a last appeal to her father: + +"Father, _do_ take my part. Daddy John's too interfering for words!" + +But her father would only laugh at her discomfiture. + +"All right," she said as she bent down to kiss him. "It'll be your +turn in just about five minutes." + +It was an accurate prophecy. The tent flaps had hardly closed on her +when Daddy John attacked his employer. + +"Goin' now?" he said, sternly. + +The doctor knew his fate, and like his daughter offered a spiritless +and intimidated resistance. + +"Just let me finish this pipe," he pleaded. + +Daddy John was inexorable: + +"It's no way to get cured settin' round the fire puffin' on a pipe." + +"Ten minutes longer?" + +"We'll roll out to-morrer at seven." + +"Daddy John, go to bed!" + +"I got to see you both tucked in for the night before I do. Can't +trust either of you." + +The doctor, beaten, knocked the ashes out of his pipe and rose with +resignation. + +"This is the family skeleton," he said to the young men who watched the +performance with curiosity. "We're ground under the heel of Daddy +John." + +Then he thrust his hand through the old servant's arm and they walked +toward the wagon, their heads together, laughing like a pair of boys. + +A few minutes later the camp had sunk to silence. The doctor was +stowed away in the wagon and Miss Gillespie had drawn the tent flaps +round the mystery of her retirement. David and Leff, too tired to +pitch theirs, were dropping to sleep by the fire, when the girl's +voice, low, but penetrating, roused them. + +"Daddy John," it hissed in the tone children employ in their games of +hide-and-seek, "Daddy John, are you awake?" + +The old man, who had been stretched before the fire, rose to a sitting +posture, wakeful and alert. + +"Yes, Missy, what's the matter? Can't you sleep?" + +"It's not that, but it's so hard to fix anything. There's no light." + +Here it became evident to the watchers that Miss Gillespie's head was +thrust out through the tent opening, the canvas held together below her +chin. Against the pale background, it was like the vision of a +decapitated head hung on a white wall. + +"What is it you want to fix?" queried the old man. + +"My hair," she hissed back. "I want to put it up in papers, and I +can't see." + +Then the secret of Daddy John's power was revealed. He who had so +remorselessly driven her to bed now showed no surprise or +disapprobation at her frivolity. It was as if her wish to beautify +herself received his recognition as an accepted vagary of human nature. + +"Just wait a minute," he said, scrambling out of his blanket, "and I'll +get you a light." + +The young men could not but look on all agape with curiosity to see +what the resourceful old man intended getting. Could the elaborately +complete Gillespie outfit include candles? Daddy John soon ended their +uncertainty. He drew from the fire a thick brand, brilliantly aflame, +and carried it to the tent. Miss Gillespie's immovable head eyed it +with some uneasiness. + +"I've nothing to put it in," she objected, "and I can't hold it while +I'm doing up my hair." + +"I will," said the old man. "Get in the tent now and get your papers +ready." + +The head withdrew, its retirement to be immediately followed by her +voice slightly muffled by the intervening canvas: + +"Now I'm ready." + +Daddy John cautiously parted the opening, inserted the torch, and stood +outside, the canvas flaps carefully closed round his hand. With the +intrusion of the flaming brand the tent suddenly became a rosy +transparency. The young' girl's figure moved in the midst of the glow, +a shape of nebulous darkness, its outlines lost in the mist of +enfolding draperies. + +Leff, softly lifting himself on his elbows, gazed fascinated upon this +discreet vision. Then looking at David he saw that he had turned over +and was lying with his face on his arms. Leff leaned from the blankets +and kicked him, a gentle but meaning kick on the leg. + +To his surprise David lifted a wakeful face, the brow furrowed with an +angry frown. + +"Can't you go to sleep," he muttered crossly. "Let that girl curl her +hair, and go to sleep like a man." + +He dropped his face once more on his arms. Leff felt unjustly snubbed, +but that did not prevent him from watching the faintly defined aura of +shadow which he knew to be the dark young woman he was too shy to look +at when he met her face to face. He continued watching till the brand +died down to a spark and Daddy John withdrew it and went back to his +fire. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +In their division of labor David and Leff had decided that one was to +drive the wagon in the morning, the other in the afternoon. This +morning it was David's turn, and as he "rolled out" at the head of the +column he wondered if Leff would now ride beside Miss Gillespie and +lend attentive ear to her family chronicles. But Leff was evidently +not for dallying by the side of beauty. He galloped off alone, +vanishing through the thin mists that hung like a fairy's draperies +among the trees. The Gillespies rode at the end of the train. Even if +he could not see them David felt their nearness, and it added to the +contentment that always came upon him from a fair prospect lying under +a smiling sky. At harmony with the moment and the larger life outside +it, he leaned back against the canvas hood and let a dreamy gaze roam +over the serene and opulent landscape. + +Nature had always soothed and uplifted him, been like an opiate to +anger or pain. As a boy his troubles had lost their sting in the +consoling largeness of the open, under the shade of trees, within sight +of the bowing wheat fields with the wind making patterns on the seeded +grain. Now his thoughts, drifting aimless as thistle fluff, went back +to those childish days of country freedom, when he had spent his +vacations at his uncle's farm. He used to go with his widowed mother, +a forlorn, soured woman who rarely smiled. He remembered his irritated +wonder as she sat complaining in the ox cart, while he sent his eager +glance ahead over the sprouting acres to where the log farmhouse--the +haven of fulfilled dreams--stretched in its squat ugliness. He could +feel again the inward lift, the flying out of his spirit in a rush of +welcoming ecstasy, as he saw the woods hanging misty on the horizon and +the clay bluffs, below which the slow, quiet river uncoiled its yellow +length. + +The days at the farm had been the happiest of his life--wonderful days +of fishing and swimming, of sitting in gnarled tree boughs so still the +nesting birds lost their fear and came back to their eggs. For hours +he had lain in patches of shade watching the cloud shadows on the +fields, and the great up-pilings when storms were coming, rising +black-bosomed against the blue. There had been some dark moments to +throw out these brighter ones--when chickens were killed and he had +tried to stand by and look swaggeringly unconcerned as a boy should, +while he sickened internally and shut his lips over pleadings for +mercy. And there was an awful day when pigs were slaughtered, and no +one knew that he stole away to the elder thickets by the river, +burrowed deep into them, and stopped his ears against the shrill, +agonized cries. He knew such weakness was shameful and hid it with a +child's subtlety. At supper he told skillful lies to account for his +pale cheeks and lost appetite. + +His uncle, a kindly generous man, without children of his own, had been +fond of him and sympathized with his wish for an education. It was he +who had made it possible for the boy to go to a good school at +Springfield and afterwards to study law. How hard he had worked in +those school years, and what realms of wonder had been opened to him +through books, the first books he had known, reverently handled, +passionately read, that led him into unknown worlds, pointed the way to +ideals that could be realized! With the law books he was not in so +good an accord. But it was his chosen profession, and he approached it +with zeal and high enthusiasm, a young apostle who would sell his +services only for the right. + +Now he smiled, looking back at his disillusion. The young apostle was +jostled out of sight in the bustle of the growing town. There was no +room in it for idealists who were diffident and sensitive and stood on +the outside of its self-absorbed activity bewildered by the noises of +life. The stream of events was very different from the pages of books. +David saw men and women struggling toward strange goals, fighting for +soiled and sordid prizes, and felt as he had done on the farm when the +pigs were killed. And as he had fled from that ugly scene to the +solacing quiet of Nature, he turned from the tumult of the little town +to the West, upon whose edge he stood. + +It called him like a voice in the night. The spell of its borderless +solitudes, its vast horizons, its benign silences, grew stronger as he +felt himself powerless and baffled among the fighting energies of men. +He dreamed of a life there, moving in unobstructed harmony. A man +could begin in a fresh, clean world, and be what he wanted, be a young +apostle in his own way. His boy friend who had gone to Oregon fired +his imagination with stories of Marcus Whitman and his brother +missionaries. David did not want to be a missionary, but he wanted, +with a young man's solemn seriousness, to make his life of profit to +mankind, to do the great thing without self-interest. So he had +yearned and chafed while he read law and waited for clients and been as +a man should to his mother, until in the summer of 1847 both his mother +and his uncle had died, the latter leaving him a little fortune of four +thousand dollars. Then the Emigrant Trail lay straight before him, +stretching to California. + +The reins lay loose on the backs of Bess and Ben and the driver's gaze +was fixed on the line of trees that marked the course of an unseen +river. The dream was realized, he was on the trail. He lifted his +eyes to the sky where massed clouds slowly sailed and birds flew, +shaking notes of song down upon him. Joe was dead, but the world was +still beautiful, with the sun on the leaves and the wind on the grass, +with the kindliness of honest men and the gracious presence of women. + +Dr. Gillespie was the first dweller in that unknown world east of the +Alleghenies whom David had met. For this reason alone it would be a +privilege to travel with him. How great the privilege was, the young +man did not know till he rode by the doctor's side that afternoon and +they talked together on the burning questions of the day; or the doctor +talked and David hungrily listened to the voice of education and +experience. + +The war with Mexico was one of the first subjects. The doctor regarded +it as a discreditable performance, unworthy a great and generous +nation. The Mormon question followed, and on this he had much curious +information. Living in the interior of New York State, he had heard +Joseph Smith's history from its beginning, when he posed as "a money +digger" and a seer who could read the future through "a peek stone." +The recent polygamous teachings of the prophet were a matter to mention +with lowered voice. Miss Gillespie, riding on the other side, was not +supposed to hear, and certainly appeared to take no interest in Mexico, +or Texas, or Joseph Smith and his unholy doctrines. + +She made no attempt to enter into the conversation, and it seemed to +David, who now and then stole a shy look at her to see if she was +impressed by his intelligent comments, that she did not listen. Once +or twice, when the talk was at its acutest point of interest, she +struck her horse and left them, dashing on ahead at a gallop. At +another time she dropped behind, and his ear, trained in her direction, +heard her voice in alternation with Daddy John's. When she joined them +after this withdrawal she was bright eyed and excited. + +"Father," she called as she came up at a sharp trot, "Daddy John says +the prairie's not far beyond. He says we'll see it soon--the prairie +that I've been thinking of all winter!" + +Her enthusiasm leaped to David and he forgot the Mexican boundaries and +the polygamous Mormons, and felt like a discoverer on the prow of a +ship whose keel cuts unknown seas. For the prairie was still a word of +wonder. It called up visions of huge unpeopled spaces, of the flare of +far flung sunsets, of the plain blackening with the buffalo, of the +smoke wreath rising from the painted tepee, and the Indian, bronzed and +splendid, beneath his feathered crest. + +"It's there," she cried, pointing with her whip. "I can't wait. I'm +going on." + +David longed to go with her, but the doctor was deep in the extension +of slavery and of all the subjects this burned deepest. The prairie +was interesting but not when the repeal of the Missouri Compromise was +on the carpet. Watching the girl's receding shape, David listened +respectfully and heard of the dangers and difficulties that were sure +to follow on the acquisition of the great strip of Mexican territory. + +All afternoon they had been passing through woods, the remnant of that +mighty forest which had once stretched from the Missouri to the +Alleghenies. Now its compact growth had become scattered and the sky, +flaming toward sunset, shone between the tree trunks. The road +ascended a slight hill and at the top of this Miss Gillespie appeared +and beckoned to them. As they drew near she turned and made a sweeping +gesture toward the prospect. The open prairie lay before them. + +No one spoke. In mute wonderment they gazed at a country that was like +a map unrolled at their feet. Still as a vision it stretched to where +sky and earth fused in a golden haze. No sound or motion broke its +dreaming quiet, vast, brooding, self-absorbed, a land of abundance and +accomplishment, its serenity flowing to the faint horizon blur. Lines +of trees, showing like veins, followed the wandering of streams, or +gathered in clusters to suck the moisture of springs. Nearby a pool +gleamed, a skin of gold linked by the thread of a rivulet to other +pools. They shone, a line of glistening disks, imbedded in the green. +Space that seemed to stretch to the edges of the world, the verdure of +Eden, the silence of the unpolluted, unconquered earth were here. + +So must it have looked when the beaked Viking ships nosed along the +fretted shores of Rhode Island, when Columbus took the sea in his +high-pooped caravals, when the Pilgrims saw the rocks and naked boughs +of the New England coast. So it had been for centuries, roamed by wild +men who had perished from its face and left no trace, their habitation +as a shadow in the sun, their work as dew upon the grass, their lives +as the lives of the mayfly against its immemorial antiquity. + +The young man felt his spirit mount in a rush of exaltation like a +prayer. Some fine and exquisite thing in himself leaped out in wild +response. The vision and the dream were for a moment his. And in that +moment life, all possible, all perfect, stretched before him, to end in +a triumphant glory like the sunset. + +The doctor took off his hat. + +"The heavens declare the glory of God. All the earth doth magnify his +name," he said in a low voice. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A broken line of moving dots, the little company trailed a slow way +across this ocean of green. Nothing on its face was more insignificant +than they. The birds in the trees and the bees in the flowers had a +more important place in its economy. One afternoon David riding in the +rear crested a ridge and saw them a mile in advance, the road +stretching before and behind them in a curving thread. The tops of the +wagons were like the backs of creeping insects, the mounted figures, +specks of life that raised a slight tarnish of dust on the golden +clearness. He wondered at their lack of consequence, unregarded +particles of matter toiling across the face of the world. + +This was what they suggested viewed largely from the distance. Close +at hand--one of them--and it was a very different matter. They enjoyed +it. If they were losing their significance as man in the aggregate, +the tamer, and master, they were gaining a new importance as distinct +and separate units. Convention no longer pressed on them. What law +there was they carried with them, bore it before them into the +wilderness like the Ark of the Covenant. But nobody wanted to be +unlawful. There was no temptation to be so. Envy, hatred and malice +and all uncharitableness had been left behind in the cities. They were +a very cheerful company, suffering a little from fatigue, and with now +and then a faint brush of bad temper to put leaven into the dough. + +There was a Biblical simplicity in their life. They had gone back to +the era when man was a nomad, at night pitching his tent by the water +hole, and sleeping on skins beside the fire. When the sun rose over +the rim of the prairie the camp was astir. When the stars came out in +the deep blue night they sat by the cone of embers, not saying much, +for in the open, spoken words lose their force and the human creature +becomes a silent animal. + +Each day's march was a slow, dogged, progression, broken by fierce work +at the fords. The dawn was the beautiful time when the dew was caught +in frosted webs on the grass. The wings of the morning were theirs as +they rode over the long green swells where the dog roses grew and the +leaves of the sage palpitated to silver like a woman's body quivering +to the brushing of a beloved hand. Sometimes they walked, dipped into +hollows where the wattled huts of the Indians edged a creek, noted the +passage of earlier trains in the cropped grass at the spring mouth and +the circles of dead fires. + +In the afternoons it grew hot. The train, deliberate and determined as +a tortoise, moved through a shimmer of light. The drone of insect +voices rose in a sleepy chorus and the men drowsed in the wagons. Even +the buoyant life of the young girl seemed to feel the stupefying weight +of the prairie's deep repose. She rode at a foot pace, her hat hanging +by its strings to the pommel, her hair pushed back from her beaded +forehead, not bothering about her curls now. + +Then came the wild blaze of the sunset and the pitching of the camp, +and after supper the rest by the fire with pipe smoke in the air, and +overhead the blossoming of the stars. + +They were wonderful stars, troops and troops of them, dust of myriad, +unnumbered worlds, and the white lights of great, bold planets staring +at ours. David wondered what it looked like from up there. Was it as +large, or were we just a tiny, twinkling point too? From city streets +the stars had always chilled him by their awful suggestion of worlds +beyond worlds circling through gulfs of space. But here in the +primordial solitudes, under the solemn cope of the sky, the thought +lost its terror. He seemed in harmony with the universe, part of it as +was each speck of star dust. Without question or understanding he felt +secure, convinced of his oneness with the great design, cradled in its +infinite care. + +One evening while thus dreaming he caught Susan's eye full of curious +interest like a watching child's. + +"What are you thinking of?" she asked. + +"The stars," he answered. "They used to frighten me." + +She looked from him to the firmament as if to read a reason for his +fear: + +"Frighten you? Why?" + +"There were so many of them, thousands and millions, wandering about up +there. It was so awful to think of them, how they'd been swinging +round forever and would keep on forever. And maybe there were people +on some of them, and what it all was for." + +She continued to look up and then said indifferently: + +"It doesn't seem to me to matter much." + +"It used to make me feel that nothing was any use. As if I was just a +grain of dust." + +Her eyes came slowly down and rested on him in a musing gaze. + +"A grain of dust. I never felt that way. I shouldn't think you'd like +it, but I don't see why you were afraid." + +David felt uncomfortable. She was so exceedingly practical and direct +that he had an unpleasant feeling she would set him down as a coward, +who went about under the fear that a meteor might fall on him and +strike him dead. He tried to explain: + +"Not afraid actually, just sort of frozen by the idea of it all. It's +so--immense, so--so crushing and terrible." + +Her gaze continued, a questioning quality entering it. This gained in +force by a slight tilting of her head to one side. David began to fear +her next question. It might show that she regarded him not only as a +coward but also as a fool. + +"Perhaps you don't understand," he hazarded timidly. + +"I don't think I do," she answered, then dropped her eyes and added +after a moment of pondering, "I can't remember ever being really afraid +of anything." + +Had it been daylight she would have noticed that the young man colored. +He thought guiltily of certain haunting fears of his childhood, ghosts +in the attic, a banshee of which he had once heard a fearsome story, a +cow that had chased him on the farm. She unconsciously assisted him +from this slough of shame by saying suddenly: + +"Oh, yes, I can. I remember now. I'm afraid of mad dogs." + +It was not very comforting for, after all, everybody was afraid of mad +dogs. + +"And there was a reason for that," she went on. "I was frightened by a +mad dog when I was a little girl eight years old. I was going out to +spend some of my allowance. I got twenty cents a month and I had it +all in pennies. And suddenly there was a great commotion in the +street, everybody running and screaming and rushing into doorways. I +didn't know what was the matter but I was startled and dropped my +pennies. And just as I stooped to pick them up I saw the dog coming +toward me, tearing, with its tongue hanging out. And, would you +believe it, I gathered up all those pennies before I ran and just had +time to scramble over a fence." + +It was impossible not to laugh, especially with her laughter leading, +her eyes narrowed to cracks through which light and humor sparkled at +him. + +He was beginning to know Miss Gillespie--"Miss Susan" he called +her--very well. It was just like his dream, riding beside her every +day, and growing more friendly, the spell of her youth, and her dark +bloom, and her attentive eyes--for she was an admirable listener if her +answers sometimes lacked point--drawing from him secret thoughts and +hopes and aspirations he had never dared to tell before. If she did +not understand him she did not laugh at him, which was enough for David +with the sleepy whisperings of the prairie around him, and new, strange +matter stirring in his heart and making him bold. + +There was only one thing about her that was disappointing. He did not +admit it to himself but it kept falling on their interviews with a +depressive effect. To the call of beauty she remained unmoved. If he +drew up his horse to gaze on the wonders of the sunset the waiting made +her impatient. He had noticed that heat and mosquitoes would distract +her attention from the hazy distances drowsing in the clear yellow of +noon. The sky could flush and deepen in majestic splendors, but if she +was busy over the fire and her skillets she never raised her head to +look. And so it was with poetry. She did not know and did not care +anything about the fine frenzies of the masters. Byron?--wrinkling up +her forehead--yes, she thought she'd read something in school. +Shelley?--"The Ode to the West Wind?" No, she'd never read that. What +was an ode anyway? Once he recited the "Lines to an Indian Air," his +voice trembling a little, for the words were almost sacred. + +She pondered for a space and then said: + +"What are champak odors?" + +David didn't know. He had never thought of inquiring. + +"Isn't that odd," she murmured. "That would have been the first thing +I would have wanted to know. Champak? I suppose it's some kind of a +flower--something like a magnolia. It has a sound like a magnolia." + +A lively imagination was evidently not one of Miss Gillespie's +possessions. + +Late one afternoon, riding some distance in front of the train, she and +David had seen an Indian loping by on his pony. It was not an unusual +sight. Many Indians had visited their camp and at the crossing of the +Kaw they had come upon an entire village in transit to the summer +hunting grounds. But there was something in this lone figure, moving +solitary through the evening glow, that put him in accord with the +landscape's solemn beauty, retouched him with his lost magnificence. +In buckskins black with filth, his blanket a tattered rag, an ancient +rifle across his saddle, the undying picturesqueness of the red man was +his. + +"Look," said David, his imagination fired. "Look at that Indian." + +The savage saw them and turned a face of melancholy dignity upon them, +giving forth a deep "How, How." + +"He's a very dirty Indian," said Susan, sweeping him with a glance of +disfavor. + +David did not hear her. He looked back to watch the lonely figure as +it rode away over the swells. It seemed to him to be riding into the +past, the lordly past, when the red man owned the land and the fruits +thereof. + +"Look at him as he rides away," he said. "Can't you seem to see him +coming home from a battle with his face streaked with vermilion and his +war bonnet on? He'd be solemn and grand with the wet scalps dripping +at his belt. When they saw him coming his squaws would come out in +front of the lodges and begin to sing the war chant." + +"Squaws!" in a tone of disgust. "That's as bad as the Mormons." + +The muse had possession of David and a regard for monogamy was not +sufficient to stay his noble rage. + +"And think how he felt! All this was his, the pale face hadn't come. +He'd fought his enemies for it and driven them back. In the cool of +the evening when he was riding home he could look out for miles and +miles, clear to the horizon, and know he was the King of it all. Just +think what it was to feel like that! And far away he could see the +smoke of his village and know that they were waiting for the return of +the chief." + +"Chief!" with even greater emphasis, "that poor dirty creature a +_chief_!" + +The muse relinquished her hold. The young man explained, not with +impatience, but as one mortified by a betrayal into foolish enthusiasm: + +"I didn't mean that _he_ was a chief. I was just imagining." + +"Oh," with the falling inflexion of comprehension. "You often imagine, +don't you? Let's ride on to where the road goes down into that hollow." + +They rode on in silence, both slightly chagrined, for if David found it +trying to have his fine flights checked, Susan was annoyed when she +said things that made him wear a look of forbearing patience. She may +not have had much imagination, but she had a very observing eye, and +could have startled not only David, but her father by the shrewdness +with which she read faces. + +The road sloped to a hollow where the mottled trunks of cotton woods +stood in a group round the dimpling face of a spring. With +well-moistened roots the grass grew long and rich. Here was the place +for the night's camp. They would wait till the train came up. And +even as they rested on this comfortable thought they saw between the +leaves the canvas top of a wagon. + +The meeting of trains was one of the excitements of life on the +Emigrant Trail. Sometimes they were acquaintances made in the wet days +at Independence, sometimes strangers who had come by way of St. Joseph. +Then the encountering parties eyed one another with candid curiosity +and from each came the greeting of the plains, "Be you for Oregon or +California?" + +The present party was for Oregon from Missouri, six weeks on the road. +They were a family, traveling alone, having dropped out of the company +with which they had started. The man, a gaunt and grizzled creature, +with long hair and ragged beard, was unyoking his oxen, while the woman +bent over the fire which crackled beneath her hands. She was as lean +as he, shapeless, saffron-skinned and wrinkled, but evidently younger +than she looked. The brood of tow-headed children round her ran from a +girl of fourteen to a baby, just toddling, a fat, solemn-eyed cherub, +almost naked, with a golden fluff of hair. + +At sight of him Susan drew up, the unthinking serenity of her face +suddenly concentrated into a hunger of admiration, a look which changed +her, focused her careless happiness into a pointed delight. + +"Look at the baby," she said quickly, "a lovely fat baby with curls," +then slid off her horse and went toward them. + +The woman drew back staring. The children ran to her, frightened as +young rabbits, and hid behind her skirts. Only the baby, grave and +unalarmed, stood his ground and Susan snatched him up. Then the mother +smiled, gratified and reassured. She had no upper front teeth, and the +wide toothless grin gave her a look of old age that had in it a curious +suggestion of debasement. + +David stood by his horse, making no move to come forward. The party +repelled him. They were not only uncouth and uncomely, but they were +dirty. Dirt on an Indian was, so to speak, dirt in its place--but +unwashed women and children--! His gorge rose at it. And Susan, +always dainty as a pink, seemed entirely indifferent to it. The +children, with unkempt hair and legs caked in mud, crowded about her, +and as she held the baby against her chest, her glance dwelt on the +woman's face, with no more consciousness of its ugliness than when she +looked over the prairie there was consciousness of Nature's supreme +perfection. + +On the way back to camp he asked her about it. Why, if she objected to +the Indian's dirt, had she been oblivious to that of the women and the +children? He put it judicially, with impersonal clearness as became a +lawyer. She looked puzzled, then laughed, her fresh, unusual laugh: + +"I'm sure I don't know. I don't know why I do everything or why I like +this thing and don't like that. I don't always have a reason, or if I +do I don't stop to think what it is. I just do things because I want +to and feel them because I can't help it. I like children and so I +wanted to talk to them and hear about them from their mother." + +"But would your liking for them make you blind to such a thing as dirt?" + +"I don't know. Maybe it would. When you're interested in anything or +anybody small things don't matter." + +"Small things! Those children were a sight!" + +"Yes, poor little brats! No one had washed the baby for weeks. The +woman said she was too tired to bother and it wouldn't bathe in the +creeks with the other children, so they let it go. If we kept near +them I could wash it for her. I could borrow it and wash it every +morning. But there's no use thinking about it as we'll pass them +to-morrow. Wasn't it a darling with little golden rings of hair and +eyes like pieces of blue glass?" + +She sighed, relinquishing the thought of the baby's morning bath with +pensive regret. David could not understand it, but decided as Susan +felt that way it must be the right way for a woman to feel. He was +falling in love, but he was certainly not falling in love--as students +of a later date have put it--with "a projection of his own personality." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +They had passed the Kaw River and were now bearing on toward the +Vermilion. Beyond that would be the Big and then the Little Blue and +soon after the Platte where "The Great Medicine way of the Pale Face" +bent straight to the westward. The country continued the same and over +its suave undulations the long trail wound, sinking to the hollows, +threading clumps of cotton-wood and alder, lying white along the spine +of bolder ridges. + +Each day they grew more accustomed to their gypsy life. The prairie +had begun to absorb them, cut them off from the influences of the old +setting, break them to its will. They were going back over the +footsteps of the race, returning to aboriginal conditions, with their +backs to the social life of communities and their faces to the wild. +Independence seemed a long way behind, California so remote that it was +like thinking of Heaven when one was on earth, well fed and well +faring. Their immediate surroundings began to make their world, they +subsided into the encompassing immensity, unconsciously eliminating +thoughts, words, habits, that did not harmonize with its uncomplicated +design. + +On Sundays they halted and "lay off" all day. This was Dr. Gillespie's +wish. He had told the young men at the start and they had agreed. It +would be a good thing to have a day off for washing and general +"redding up." But the doctor had other intentions. In his own words, +he "kept the Sabbath," and each Sunday morning read the service of the +Episcopal Church. Early in their acquaintance David had discovered +that his new friend was religious; "a God-fearing man" was the term the +doctor had used to describe himself. David, who had only seen the +hysterical, fanaticism of frontier revivals now for the first time +encountered the sincere, unquestioning piety of a spiritual nature. +The doctor's God was an all-pervading presence, who went before him as +pillar of fire or cloud. Once speaking to the young man of the +security of his belief in the Divine protection, he had quoted a line +which recurred to David over and over--in the freshness of the morning, +in the hot hush of midday, and in the night when the stars were out: +"Behold, He that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep." + +Overcome by shyness the young men had stayed away from the first +Sunday's service. David had gone hunting, feeling that to sit near by +and not attend would offer a slight to the doctor. No such scruples +restrained Leff, who squatted on his heels at the edge of the creek, +washing his linen and listening over his shoulder. By the second +Sunday they had mastered their bashfulness and both came shuffling +their hats in awkward hands and sitting side by side on a log. Leff, +who had never been to church in his life, was inclined to treat the +occasion as one for furtive amusement, at intervals casting a sidelong +look at his companion, which, on encouragement, would have developed +into a wink. David had no desire to exchange glances of derisive +comment. He was profoundly moved. The sonorous words, the solemn +appeal for strength under temptation, the pleading for mercy with that +stern, avenging presence who had said, "I, the Lord thy God am a +jealous God," awed him, touched the same chord that Nature touched and +caused an exaltation less exquisite but more inspiring. + +The light fell flickering through the leaves of the cotton-woods on the +doctor's gray head. He looked up from his book, for he knew the words +by heart, and his quiet eyes dwelt on the distance swimming in morning +light. His friend, the old servant, stood behind him, a picturesque +figure in fringed buckskin shirt and moccasined feet. He held his +battered hat in his hand, and his head with its spare locks of grizzled +hair was reverently bowed. He neither spoke nor moved. It was Susan's +voice who repeated the creed and breathed out a low "We beseech thee to +hear us, Good Lord." + +The tents and the wagons were behind her and back of them the long +green splendors of the prairie. Flecks of sun danced over her figure, +shot back and forth from her skirt to her hair as whiffs of wind caught +the upper branches of the cotton woods. She had been sitting on the +mess chest, but when the reading of the Litany began she slipped to her +knees, and with head inclined answered the responses, her hands lightly +clasped resting against her breast. + +David, who had been looking at her, dropped his eyes as from a sight no +man should see. To admire her at this moment, shut away in the +sanctuary of holy thoughts, was a sacrilege. Men and their passions +should stand outside in that sacred hour when a woman is at prayer. +Leff had no such high fancies. He only knew the sight of Susan made +him dumb and drove away all the wits he had. Now she looked so aloof, +so far removed from all accustomed things, that the sense of her +remoteness added gloom to his embarrassment. He twisted a blade of +grass in his freckled hands and wished that the service would soon end. + +The cotton-wood leaves made a light, dry pattering as if rain drops +were falling. From the picketed animals, looping their trail ropes +over the grass, came a sound of low, continuous cropping. The hum of +insects swelled and sank, full of sudden life, then drowsily dying away +as though the spurt of energy had faded in the hour's discouraging +languor. The doctor's voice detached itself from this pastoral chorus +intoning the laws that God gave Moses when he was conducting a +stiff-necked and rebellious people through a wilderness: + +"Thou shalt do no murder. + +"Thou shalt not commit adultery. + +"Thou shalt not steal." + +And to each command Susan's was the only voice that answered, falling +sweet and delicately clear on the silence: + +"Lord have mercy upon us and incline our hearts to keep this law." + +Susan praying for power to resist such scarlet sins! It was fantastic +and David wished he dared join his voice to hers and not let her kneel +there alone as if hers was the only soul that needed strengthening. +Susan, the young, the innocent-eyed, the pure. + +He had come again the next Sunday--Leff went hunting that morning--and +felt that some day, not so far distant, he would dare to kneel too and +respond. He thought of it when alone, another port that his dreams +were taking him to--his voice and Susan's, the bass and the treble, +strength and sweetness, symbol of the male and the female, united in +one harmonious strain that would stream upward to the throne of the God +who, watching over them, neither slumbered nor slept. + +It was on the afternoon of this Sunday, that David started out to walk +to an Indian village, of which a passing emigrant had told him, lying +in a hollow a mile to the westward. He left the camp sunk in the +somnolence of its seventh-day rest, Susan not to be seen anywhere, Leff +asleep under the wagon, the doctor writing his diary in the shade of +the cotton-woods, and Daddy John lying on the grass among the whiteness +of the week's wash. The hour was hot and breathless, the middle +distance quivering through a heat haze, and the remoter reaches of the +prairie an opalescent blur. + +The Indian village was deserted and he wandered through its scattered +lodges of saplings wattled with the peeled bark of willows. The +Indians had not long departed. The ash of their fires was still warm, +tufts of buffalo hair and bright scraps of calico were caught on the +bushes, yet it already had an air of desolation, the bleakness of the +human habitation when the dweller has crossed the threshold and gone. + +Shadows were filling the hollow like a thin cold wine rising on the +edges of a cup, when he left it and gained the upper levels. Doubtful +of his course he stood for a moment looking about, conscious of a +curious change in the prospect, a deepening of its colors, a stillness +no longer dreamy, but heavy with suspense. The sky was sapphire clear, +but on the western horizon a rampart of cloud edged up, gray and +ominous, against the blue. As he looked it mounted, unrolled and +expanded, swelling into forms of monstrous aggression. A faint air, +fresh and damp, passed across the grass, and the clouds swept, like +smoke from a world on fire, over the sun. + +With the sudden darkening, dread fell on the face of the land. It came +first in a hush, like a holding of the breath, attentive, listening, +expectant. Then this broke and a quiver, the goose-flesh thrill of +fear, stirred across the long ridges. The small, close growing leafage +cowered, a frightened trembling seized the trees. David saw the sweep +of the landscape growing black under the blackness above. He began to +run, the sky sinking lower like a lid shutting down on the earth. He +thought that it was hard to get it on right, for in front of him a line +of blue still shone over which the lid had not yet been pressed down. +The ground was pale with the whitened terror of upturned leaves, the +high branches of the cotton-woods whipping back and forth in wild +agitation. He felt the first large drops, far apart, falling with a +reluctant splash, and he ran, a tiny figure in the tragic and +tremendous scene. + +When he reached the camp the rush of the rain had begun. Through a +network of boughs he caught the red eye of the fire and beyond had a +vision of stampeding mules with the men in pursuit. Then crashing +through the bushes he saw why the fire still burned--Susan was holding +an umbrella over it, the rain spitting in the hot ash, a pan of +biscuits balanced in the middle. Behind her the tent, one side +concave, the other bellying out from restraining pegs, leaped and +jerked at its moorings. A rumble of thunder rolled across the sky and +the rain came at them in a slanting wall. + +"We're going to have biscuits for supper if the skies fall," Susan +shouted at him, and he had a glimpse of her face, touched with +firelight, laughing under the roof of the umbrella. + +A furious burst of wind cut off his answer, the blue glare of lightning +suddenly drenched them, and the crackling of thunder tore a path across +the sky. The umbrella was wrenched from Susan and her wail as the +biscuits fell pierced the tumult with the thin, futile note of human +dole. He had no time to help her, for the tent with an exultant wrench +tore itself free on one side, a canvas wing boisterously leaping, while +the water dived in at the blankets. As he sped to its rescue he had an +impression of the umbrella, handle up, filling with water like a large +black bowl and Susan groveling in the ashes for her biscuits. + +"The tent's going," he cried back; "all your things will be soaked. +Never mind the supper, come and help me." And it seemed in this moment +of tumult, that Susan ceased to be a woman to be cared for and +protected and became his equal, fighting with him against the forces of +the primitive world. The traditions of her helplessness were stripped +from her, and he called her to his aid as the cave man called his woman +when the storm fell on their bivouac. + +They seized on the leaping canvas, he feeling in the water for the tent +pegs, she snatching at the ropes. He tried to direct her, shouting +orders, which were beaten down in the stuttering explosion of the +thunder. Once a furious gust sent her against him. The wind wrapped +her damp skirts round him and he felt her body soft and pliable. The +grasp of her hands was tight on his arms and close to his ear he heard +her laughing. For a second the quick pulse of the lightning showed her +to him, her hair glued to her cheeks, her wet bodice like a thin web +molding her shoulders, and as the darkness shut her out he again heard +her laughter broken by panting breaths. + +"Isn't it glorious," she cried, struggling away from him. "That nearly +took me off my feet. My skirts are all twined round you." + +They got the tent down, writhing and leaping like a live thing frantic +to escape. Conquered, a soaked mass on the ground, he pulled the +bedding from beneath it and she grasped the blankets in her arms and +ran for the wagon. She went against the rain, leaning forward on it, +her skirts torn back and whipped up by the wind into curling eddies. +Her head, the hair pressed flat to it, was sleek and wet as a seal's, +and as she ran she turned and looked at him over her shoulder, a wild, +radiant look that he never forgot. + +They sat in the wagon and watched the storm. Soaked and tired they +curled up by the rear opening while the rain threshed against the +canvas and driblets of water came running down the sides. The noise +made talking difficult and they drew close together exclaiming as the +livid lightning saturated the scene, and holding their breaths when the +thunder broke and split its furious way over their heads. They watched +it, conscious each in the other of an increased comforting +friendliness, a gracious reassurance where Nature's transports made man +seem so small. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +The Vermilion was swollen. With a bluff on one side and a wide bottom +on the other it ran a prosperous, busy stream, brown and ripple-ridged. +The trail lay like a line of tape along the high land, then down the +slope, and across the bottom to the river. Here it seemed to slip +under the current and come up on the other side where it climbed a +steep bank, and thence went on, thin and pale, rising and dropping to +the ridges till the tape became a thread. + +They had been waiting a day for the water to fall. Camped in the +bottom under a scattering of trees with the animals grazing on the +juicy river grass and the song of the stream in their ears, it had been +a welcome break in the monotony of the march. There was always a +choice of occupation in these breathing spells. On the first afternoon +everybody had sat on the grass at the tent doors mending. To-day the +men had revolted and wandered off but Susan continued industriously +intent over patches and darns. She sat on a log, her spools and +scissors beside her, billows of homespun and calico about her feet. + +As she sewed she sung in a low undervoice, not looking up. Beyond her +in the shade Daddy John mended a piece of harness. Daddy John was not +a garrulous person and when she paused in her sewing to speak to him, +he answered with a monosyllable. It was one of the old man's +self-appointed duties to watch over her when the others were absent. +If he did not talk much to his "Missy" he kept a vigilant eye upon her, +and to-day he squatted in the shade beside her because the doctor and +David had gone after antelope and Leff was off somewhere on an +excursion of his own. + +Susan, sewing, her face grave above her work, was not as pretty as +Susan smiling. She drew her eyebrows, thick and black, low over her +eyes with her habitual concentration in the occupation of the moment, +and her lips, pressed together, pouted, but not the disarming baby pout +which, when she was angry, made one forget the sullenness of her brows. +Her looks however, were of that fortunate kind which lose nothing from +the open air and large backgrounds. Dress added but little to such +attractions as she had. Fineness and elegance were not hers, but her +healthy, ripe brownness fitted into this sylvan setting where the city +beauty would have soon become a pale and draggled thing. + +The robust blood of her French Canadian forebears was quickening to the +call of the trail. Was it the spirit of her adventurous ancestors that +made her feel a kinship with the wild, an indifference to its +privations, a joy in its rude liberty? She was thinner, but stronger +and more vigorous than when the train had started. She talked less and +yet her whole being seemed more vibrantly alive, her glance to have +gained the gleaming quietness of those whose eyes scan vague horizons. +She who had been heavy on her feet now stepped with a light +noiselessness, and her body showed its full woman's outlines +straightened and lengthened to the litheness of a boy. Her father +noticed that the Gallic strain in her seemed to be crowding out the +other. In Rochester, under city roofs, she had been at least half his. +On the trail, with the arch of the sky above and the illimitable earth +around her, she was throwing back to her mother's people. + +Susan herself had no interest in these atavistic developments. She was +a healthy, uncomplicated, young animal, and she was enjoying herself as +she had never done before. Behind her the life of Rochester stretched +in a tranquil perspective of dull and colorless routine. Nothing had +ever happened. From her seventh year her father and Daddy John had +brought her up, made her the pet and plaything of their lonely lives, +rejoiced in her, wondered at her, delighted in the imperious ways she +had learned from their spoiling. There had been teachers to educate +her, but it was an open secret that they had not taught her much. +Susan did not take kindly to books. No one had ever been able to teach +her how to cipher and learning the piano had been a fruitless effort +abandoned in her fifteenth year. It is only just to her to say that +she had her little talents. She was an excellent housekeeper, and she +could cook certain dishes better, the doctor said, than the chefs in +some of the fine restaurants in New York City. + +But what were the sober pleasures of housekeeping and cooking beside +the rough, deep-living exhilaration of gypsy life on the plains! She +looked back pityingly at those days of stagnant peace, compared the +entertainment to be extracted from embroidering a petticoat frill to +the exultant joy of a ride in the morning over the green swells. Who +would sip tea in the close curtained primness of the parlor when they +could crouch by the camp fire and eat a corn cake baked on the ashes or +drink brown coffee from a tin cup? And her buffalo robe on the ground, +the blanket tucked round her shoulder, the rustling of furtive animal +life in the grass outside the tent wall--was there any comparison +between its comfort and that of her narrow white bed at home, between +the clean sheets of which she had snuggled so luxuriously? + +There were other matters of charm and interest in the wilderness, +matters that Susan did not speak about--hardly admitted to herself, for +she was a modest maid. She had never yet had a lover; no man had ever +kissed her or held her hand longer than a cool, impersonal respect +dictated. In Rochester no one had turned to look at the doctor's +daughter as she walked by, for, in truth, there were many girls much +prettier and more piquant than Susan Gillespie. But, nevertheless, she +had had her dreams about the lover that some day was to come and carry +her off under a wreath of orange blossoms and a white veil. She did +not aspire to a struggling hoard of suitors, but she thought it would +be only fair and entirely within the realm of the possible if she had +two; most girls had two. + +Now she felt the secret elation that follows on the dream realized. +She did not tell herself that David and Leff were in love with her. +She would have regarded all speculations on such a sacred subject as +low and unmaidenly. But the consciousness of it permeated her being +with a gratified sense of her worth as a woman. It made her feel her +value. Like all girls of her primitive kind she estimated herself not +by her own measure, but by the measure of a man's love for her. Now +that men admired her she felt that she was taking her place as a unit +of importance. Her sense of achievement in this advent of the desiring +male was not alone pleased vanity, it went back through the ages to the +time when woman won her food and clothing, her right to exist, through +the power of her sex, when she whose attraction was strongest had the +best corner by the fire, the choicest titbit from the hunt, and the +strongest man to fight off rivals and keep her for himself. + +Her perceptions, never before exercised on these subjects, were +singularly keen. Neither of the young men had spoken a word of love to +her, yet she intuitively knew that they were both under her spell. The +young girl so stupid at her books, who could never learn arithmetic and +found history a bore, had a deeper intelligence in the reading of the +human heart than anyone of the party. More than the doctor who was a +man of education, more than David who thought so much and loved to +read, more than Leff who, if his brain was not sharp, might be supposed +to have accumulated some slight store of experience, more than Daddy +John who was old and had the hoar of worldly knowledge upon him. +Compared to her they were as novices to a nun who has made an excursion +into the world and taken a bite from the apple Eve threw away. + +She had no especial liking for Leff. It amused her to torment him, to +look at him with an artless, inquiring stare when he was overwhelmed by +confusion and did not know what to say. When she felt that he had +endured sufficiently she would become merciful, drop her eyes, and end +what was to her an encounter that added a new zest to her sense of +growing power. + +With David it was different. Here, too, she felt her mastery, but the +slave was of another fiber. He acknowledged her rule, but he was +neither clumsy nor dumb before her. She respected his intelligence and +felt a secret jealousy of it, as of a part of him which must always be +beyond her influence. His devotion was a very dear and gracious thing +and she was proud that he should care for her. Love had not awakened +in her, but sometimes when she was with him, her admiration softened to +a warm, invading gentleness, a sense of weakness glad of itself, happy +to acknowledge his greater strength. Had David's intuitions been as +true as hers he would have known when these moments came and spoken the +words. But on such matters he had no intuitions, was a mere, +unenlightened male trying to win a woman by standing at a distance and +kneeling in timid worship. + +Now sitting, sewing on the log, Susan heard a step on the gravel, and +without looking up gave it a moment's attention and knew it was Leff's. +She began to sing softly, with an air of abstraction. The steps drew +near her, she noted that they lagged as they approached, finally +stopped. She gave her work a last, lingering glance and raised her +eyes slowly as if politeness warred with disinclination, Leff was +standing before her, scowling at her as at an object of especial +enmity. He carried a small tin pail full of wild strawberries. She +saw it at once, but forebore looking at it, keeping her eyes on his +face, up which the red color ran. + +"Oh, Leff," she said with careless amiability, "so you've got back." + +Leff grunted an agreeing monosyllable and moved the strawberries to a +position where they intruded into the conversation like a punctuation +mark in the middle of a sentence. Her glance dropped to the pail, and +she looked at it saying nothing, amused to thus tease him and covertly +note his hopeless and impotent writhings. + +He thrust the pail almost against her knee and she was forced to say: + +"What fine strawberries, a whole pail full. Can I have one?" + +He nodded and she made a careful choice, giving the pail a little shake +to stir its contents. Leff glared at the top of her head where her +hair was twisted into a rough knot. + +"Thank you," she said. "I've found a beauty. You must have been all +afternoon getting so many," and she put the strawberry in her mouth and +picked up her sewing as though that ended the matter. + +Leff stood shifting from foot to foot, hoping that she might extend a +helping hand. + +"The river's falling," he said at length. "It's gone down two feet. +We can cross this evening." + +"Then I must hurry and finish my mending." + +She evidently was not going to extend so much as the tip of a finger. +In his bashful misery his mind worked suddenly and unexpectedly. + +"I've got to go and get the horses," he said, and, setting the pail on +the log beside her, turned and ran. + +But Susan was prepared for this move. It was what she expected. + +"Oh, Leff," she called, lazily. "Come back, you've forgotten your +strawberries." + +And he had to come back, furious and helpless, he had to come back. He +had not courage for a word, did not dare even to meet her gaze lifted +mildly to his. He snatched up the pail and lurched off and Susan +returned to her sewing, smiling to herself. + +"He wanted you to take the berries," said Daddy John, who had been +watching. + +"Did he?" she queried with the raised brows of innocent surprise. "Why +didn't he say so?" + +"Too bashful!" + +"He couldn't expect me to take them unless he offered them." + +"I should think you'd have guessed it." + +She laughed at this, dropping her sewing and looking at the old man +with eyes almost shut. + +"Oh, Daddy John," she gurgled. "How clever you are!" + +An hour later they began the crossing. The ford of the Vermilion was +one of the most difficult between the Kaw and the Platte Valley. After +threading the swift, brown current, the trail zigzagged up a clay bank, +channeled into deep ruts by the spring's fleet of prairie schooners. +It would be a hard pull to get the doctor's wagon up and David rode +over with Bess and Ben to double up with the mules. It was late +afternoon and the bottom lay below the sunshine steeped in a still +transparent light, where every tint had its own pure value. The air +was growing cool after a noon of blistering heat and from an unseen +backwater frogs had already begun a hoarse, tentative chanting. + +The big wagon had already crossed when David on Bess, with Ben at the +end of a trail rope, started into the stream. Susan watched him go, +his tall, high-shouldered figure astride the mare's broad back, one arm +flung outward with the rope dipping to the current. As the water rose +round his feet, he gave a wild, jubilant shout and went forward, +plowing deeper with every step, his cries swelling over the river's low +song. + +Susan, left on the near bank to wait till the wagons were drawn up, +lifted herself into the crotch of a cottonwood tree. The pastoral +simplicity of the scene, the men and animals moving through the +silver-threaded water with the wagons waiting and after the work the +camp to be pitched, exhilarated her with a conviction of true living, +of existence flowing naturally as the stream. And for the moment David +seemed the great figure in hers. With a thrill at her heart she +watched him receding through the open wash of air and water, shouting +in the jubilance of his manhood. The mischievous pleasure of her +coquetries was forgotten, and in a rush of glad confidence she felt a +woman's pride in him. This was the way she should see the man who was +to win her, not in stuffy rooms, not dressed in stiff, ungainly +clothes, not saying unmeaning things to fill the time. This tale of +laborious days bounded by the fires of sunrise and sunset, this +struggle with the primal forces of storm and flood, this passage across +a panorama unrolling in ever wilder majesty, was the setting for her +love idyl. The joy of her mounting spirit broke out in an answering +cry that flew across the river to David like the call of an animal to +its mate. + +She watched them yoking on Bess and Ben and men and animals bracing +their energies for the start. David drove the horses, walking beside +them, the reins held loose in hands that made upward, urging gestures +as the team breasted the ascent. It was a savage pull. The valiant +little mules bent their necks, the horses straining, iron muscled, +hoofs grinding down to the solid clay. The first charge carried them +half way up, then there was a moment of slackened effort, a relaxing, +recuperative breath, and the wagon came to a standstill. Leff ran for +the back, shouting a warning. The branch he thrust under the wheel was +ground to splinters and the animals grew rigid in their effort to +resist the backward drag. + +Leff gripped the wheel, cursing, his hands knotted round the spokes, +his back taut and muscle-ridged under the thin shirt. The cracked +voice of Daddy John came from beyond the canvas hood and David's urgent +cries filled the air. The mules, necks outstretched, almost squatting +in the agony of their endeavor, held their ground, but could do no +more. Bess and Ben began to plunge in a welter of slapping harness as +the wheels ground slowly downward. + +Susan watched, her neck craned, her eyes staring. Her sentimental +thoughts had vanished. She was one with the struggling men and beasts, +lending her vigor to theirs. Her eyes were on David, waiting to see +him dominate them like a general carrying his troops to victory. She +could see him, arms outstretched, haranguing his horses as if they were +human beings, but not using the whip. A burst of astonishing profanity +came from Leff and she heard him cry: + +"Lay it on to 'em, David. What's the matter with you? Beat 'em like +hell." + +The mule drivers used a long-lashed whip which could raise a welt on +the thickest hide. David flung the lash afar and brought it down on +Ben's back. The horse leaped as if he had been burned, jerking ahead +of his mate, and rearing in a madness of unaccustomed pain. With a +passionate gesture David threw the whip down. + +Susan saw that it was not accidental. She gave a sound of angry +astonishment and stood up in the crotch of the tree. + +"David!" she screamed, but he did not hear, and then louder: "Daddy +John, quick, the whip, he's dropped it." + +The old man came running round the back of the wagon, quick and eager +as a gnome. He snatched up the whip and let the lash curl outward with +a hissing rush. It flashed like the flickering dart of a snake's +tongue, struck, and the horses sprang forward. It curled again, hung +suspended for the fraction of a moment, then licked along the sweating +flanks, and horses and mules, bowed in a supreme effort, wrenched the +wagon upward. Susan slid from her perch, feeling a sudden apathy, not +only as from a tension snapped, but as the result of a backwash of +disillusion. David was no longer the proud conqueror, the driver of +man and brute. The tide of pride had ebbed. + +Later, when the camp was pitched and she was building the fire, he came +to offer her some wood which was scarce on this side of the river. He +knelt to help her, and, his face close to hers, she said in a low voice: + +"Why did you throw the whip down?" + +He reddened consciously and looked quickly at her, a look that was +apprehensive as if ready to meet an accusation. + +"I saw you do it," she said, expecting a denial. + +"Yes, I did it," he answered. "I wasn't going to say I didn't." + +"Why did you?" she repeated. + +"I can't beat a dumb brute when it's doing its best," he said, looking +away from her, shy and ashamed. + +"But the wagon would have gone down to the bottom of the hill. It was +going." + +"What would that have mattered? We could have taken some of the things +out and carried them up afterwards. When a horse does his best for +you, what's the sense of beating the life out of him when the load's +too heavy. I can't do that." + +"Was that why you threw it down?" + +He nodded. + +"You'd rather have carried the things up?" + +"Yes." + +She laid the sticks one on the other without replying and he said with +a touch of pleading in his tone: + +"You understand that, don't you?" + +She answered quickly: + +"Oh, of course, perfectly." + +But nevertheless she did not quite. Daddy John's action was the one +she really did understand, and she even understood why Leff swore so +violently. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +It was Sunday again and they lay encamped near the Little Blue. The +country was changing, the trees growing thin and scattered and sandy +areas were cropping up through the trail. At night they unfolded the +maps and holding them to the firelight measured the distance to the +valley of the Platte. Once there the first stage of the journey would +be over. When they started from Independence the Platte had shone to +the eyes of their imaginations as a threadlike streak almost as far +away as California. Now they would soon be there. At sunset they +stood on eminences and pointed in its direction, let their mental +vision conjure up Grand Island and sweep forward to the +buffalo-darkened plains and the river sunk in its league-wide bottom, +even peered still further and saw Fort Laramie, a faint, white dot +against the cloudy peaks of mountains. + +The afternoon was hot and the camp drowsed. Susan moving away from it +was the one point of animation in the encircling quietude. She was not +in spirit with its lethargy, stepping rapidly in a stirring of light +skirts, her hat held by one string, fanning back and forth from her +hanging hand. Her goal was a spring hidden in a small arroyo that made +a twisted crease in the land's level face. It was a little dell in +which the beauty they were leaving had taken a last stand, decked the +ground with a pied growth of flowers, spread a checkered roof of boughs +against the sun. From a shelf on one side the spring bubbled, clear as +glass, its waters caught and held quivering in a natural basin of rock. + +As she slipped over the margin, the scents imprisoned in the sheltered +depths rose to meet her, a sweet, cool tide of fragrance into which she +sank. After the glaring heat above it was like stepping into a +perfumed bath. She lay by the spring, her hands clasped behind her +head, looking up at the trees. The segments of sky between the boughs +were as blue as a turquoise and in this thick intense color the little +leaves seemed as if inlaid. Then a breeze came and the bits of +inlaying shook loose and trembled into silvery confusion. Small +secretive noises came from them as if minute confidences were passing +from bough to bough, and through their murmurous undertone the drip of +the spring fell with a thin, musical tinkle. + +Nature was dreaming and Susan dreamed with it. But her dreaming had a +certain definiteness, a distinct thought sustained its diffused +content. She was not self-consciously thinking of her lovers, not +congratulating herself on their acquirement, but the consciousness that +she had achieved them lay graciously round her heart, gave the soft +satisfaction to her musings that comes to one who has accomplished a +duty. With all modesty she felt the gratification of the being who +approaches his Destiny. She had advanced a step in her journey as a +woman. + +A hail from the bank above broke upon her reverie, but when she saw it +was David, she sat up smiling. That he should find out her hiding +place without word or sign from her was an action right and fitting. +It was a move in the prehistoric game of flight and pursuit, in which +they had engaged without comprehension and with the intense earnestness +of children at their play. David dropped down beside her, a spray of +wild roses in his hand, and began at once to chide her for thus +stealing away. Did she not remember they were in the country of the +Pawnees, the greatest thieves on the plains? It was not safe to stray +alone from the camp. + +Susan smiled: + +"The Pawnees steal horses, but I never heard anyone say they stole +girls." + +"They steal anything they can get," said the simple young man. + +"Oh, David,"--now she was laughing--"so they might steal me if they +couldn't get a horse, or a blanket, or a side of bacon! Next time I go +wandering I'll take the bacon with me and then I'll be perfectly safe." + +"Your father wouldn't like it. I've heard him tell you not to go off +this way alone." + +"Well, who could I take? I don't like to ask father to go out into the +sun and Daddy John was asleep, and Leff--I didn't see Leff anywhere." + +"I was there," he said, dropping his eyes. + +"You were under the wagon reading Byron. I wouldn't for the world take +you away from Byron." + +She looked at him with a candid smile, her eyes above it dancing with +delighted relish in her teasing. + +"I would have come in a minute," he said low, sweeping the surface of +the spring with the spray of roses. Susan's look dwelt on him, gently +thoughtful in its expression in case he should look up and catch it. + +"Leave Byron," she said, "leave the Isles of Greece where that lady, +whose name I've forgotten, 'loved and sung,' and walk in the sun with +me just because I wanted to see this spring! Oh, David, I would never +ask it of you." + +"You know I would have loved to do it." + +"You would have been polite enough to do it. You're always polite." + +"I would have done it because I wanted to," said the victim with the +note of exasperation in his voice. + +She stretched her hand forward and very gently took the branch of roses +from him. + +"Don't tell stories," she said in the cajoling voice used to children. +"This is Sunday." + +"I never tell stories," he answered, goaded to open irritation, "on +Sunday or any other day. You know I would have liked to come with you +and Byron could have--have----" + +"What?" the branch upright in her hand. + +"Gone to the devil!" + +"David!" in horror, "I never thought _you'd_ talk that way." + +She gave the branch a shake and a shower of drops fell on him. + +"There, that's to cool your anger. For I see you're angry though I +haven't got the least idea what it's about." + +He made no answer, wounded by her lack of understanding. She moved the +rose spray against her face, inhaling its fragrance, and watching him +through the leaves. After a moment she said with a questioning +inflection: + +"You were angry?" + +He gave her a quick glance, met her eyes, shining between the duller +luster of the leaves, and suddenly dumb before their innocent +provocation, turned his head away. The sense of his disturbance +trembled on the air and Susan's smile died. She dropped the branch, +trailing it lightly across the water, and wondering at the confusion +that had so abruptly upset her self-confident gayety. Held in +inexplicable embarrassment she could think of nothing to say. It was +he who broke the silence with a change of subject: + +"In a few days more we'll be at the Platte. When we started that +seemed as if it was half the journey, didn't it?" + +"We'll get there just about a month from the time we left Independence. +Before we started I thought a month out of doors this way would be like +a year. But it really hasn't seemed long at all. I suppose it's +because I've enjoyed it so." + +This again stirred him. Was there any hope that his presence might +have been the cause of some small fraction of that enjoyment? He put +out a timid feeler: + +"I wonder why you enjoyed it. Perhaps Leff and I amused you a little." + +It was certainly a humble enough remark, but it caused a slight +stiffening and withdrawal in the young girl. She instinctively felt +the pleading for commendation and resented it. It was as if a slave, +upon whose neck her foot rested, were to squirm round and recommend +himself to her tolerance. David, trying to extort from her flattering +admissions, roused a determination to keep the slave with his face in +the dust. + +"I just like being out of doors," she said carelessly. "And it's all +the more odd as I was always wanting to hurry on and catch up the large +train." + +This was a grinding in of the heel. The large train into which the +Gillespies were to be absorbed and an end brought to their independent +journeying, had at first loomed gloomily before David's vision. But of +late it had faded from the conversation and his mind. The present was +so good it must continue, and he had come to accept that first bright +dream of his in which he and Susan were to go riding side by side +across the continent as a permanent reality. His timidity was swept +away in a rush of stronger feeling and he sat erect, looking sharply at +her: + +"I thought you'd given up the idea of joining with that train?" + +Susan raised the eyebrows of mild surprise: + +"Why did you think that?" + +"You've not spoken of it for days." + +"That doesn't prove anything. There are lots of important things I +don't speak of." + +"You ought to have spoken of that." + +The virile note of authority was faint in his words, the first time +Susan had ever heard it. Her foot was in a fair way to be withdrawn +from the slave's neck. The color in her cheeks deepened and it was she +who now dropped her eyes. + +"We had arranged to join the train long before we left Rochester," she +answered. "Everybody said it was dangerous to travel in a small party. +Dr. Whitman told my father that." + +"There's been nothing dangerous so far." + +"No, it's later when we get into the country of the Sioux and the +Black-feet. They often attack small parties. It's a great risk that +people oughtn't to run. They told us that in Independence, too." + +He made no answer and she eyed him with stealthy curiosity. He was +looking on the ground, his depression apparent. At this evidence of +her ability to bring joy or sorrow to her slave she relented. + +"You'll join it, too, won't you?" she said gently. + +"I don't know. The big trains move so slowly." + +"Oh, you must. It would be dreadfully dreary to separate our parties +after we'd traveled so long together." + +"Maybe I will. I haven't thought about it." + +"But you _must_ think about it. There's no knowing now when we may +come upon them--almost any day. You don't want to go on and leave us +behind, do you?" + +He again made no answer and she stole another quick look at him. This +mastery of a fellow creature was by far the most engrossing pastime +life had offered her. There was something about him, a suggestion of +depths hidden and shut away from her that filled her with the +venturesome curiosity of Fatima opening the cupboards in Bluebeard's +castle. + +"We'd feel so lonely if you went on and left us behind with a lot of +strange people," she said, with increasing softness. "We'd miss you +so." + +The young man turned quickly on her, leaned nearer, and said huskily: + +"Would you?" + +The movement brought his face close to hers, and she shrank back +sharply, her hand ready to hold him at a distance. Her laughing +expression changed into one of offended dignity, almost aversion. At +the same time his agitation, which had paled his cheeks and burst +through his shy reserve, filled her with repulsion. For the moment she +disliked him. If he had tried to put his hand upon her she would have +struck him in quick rage at his presumption. He had not the slightest +intention of doing so, but the sudden rush of feeling that her words +had evoked, made him oblivious to the startled withdrawal of her manner. + +"Answer me," he said. "Would you miss me? Am I anything to you?" + +She leaped to her feet, laughing not quite naturally, for her heart was +beating hard and she had suddenly shrunk within herself, her spirit +alert and angrily defensive in its maiden stronghold. + +"Miss you," she said in a matter-of-fact tone that laid sentiment dead +at a blow, "of course I'd miss you," then backed away from him, +brushing off her skirt. + +He rose and stood watching her with a lover's hang-dog look. She +glanced at him, read his face and once more felt secure in her +ascendency. Her debonair self-assurance came back with a lowering of +her pulse and a remounting to her old position of condescending +command. But a parting lesson would not be amiss and she turned from +him, saying with a carefully tempered indifference: + +"And Leff, too. I'd miss Leff dreadfully. Come, it's time to go." + +Before he could answer she was climbing the bank, not looking back, +moving confidently as one who had no need of his aid. He followed her +slowly, sore and angry, his eyes on her figure which flitted in advance +clean-cut against the pale, enormous sky. + +He had just caught up with her when from a hollow near the roadside +Leff came into view. He had been after antelope and carried his rifle +and a hunting knife in his belt. During the chase he had come upon a +deserted Pawnee settlement in a depression of the prairie. Susan was +instantly interested and wanted to see it and David stood by, listening +in sulky silence while Leff pointed out the way. The sun was sinking +and they faced it, the young man's indicating finger moving back and +forth across the vagaries of the route. The prairie was cut by long +undulations, naked of verdure, save a spot in the foreground where, +beside a round greenish pool, a single tree lifted thinly clad boughs. +Something of bleakness had crept into the prospect, its gay greenness +was giving place to an austere pallor of tint, a dry economy of +vegetation. The summits of the swells were bare, the streams shrunk in +sandy channels. It was like a face from which youth is withdrawing. + +The Indian encampment lay in a hollow, the small wattled huts gathered +on both sides of a runlet that oozed from the slope and slipped between +a line of stepping stones. The hollow was deep for the level country, +the grassed sides sweeping abruptly to the higher reaches above. They +walked through it, examining the neatly made huts and speculating on +the length of time the Indians had left. David remembered that the day +before, the trail had been crossed by the tracks of a village in +transit, long lines graven in the dust by the dragging poles of the +_travaux_. He felt uneasy. The Indians might not be far and they +themselves were at least a mile from the camp, and but one of them +armed. The others laughed and Susan brought the blood into his face by +asking him if he was afraid. + +He turned from her, frankly angry and then stood rigid with fixed +glance. On the summit of the opposite slope, black against the yellow +west, were a group of mounted figures. They were massed together in a +solid darkness, but the outlines of the heads were clear, heads across +which bristled an upright crest of hair like the comb of a rooster. + +For a long, silent moment the two parties remained immovable, eying +each other across the hollow. Then David edged closer to the girl. He +felt his heart thumping, but his first throttling grip of fear loosened +as his mind realized their helplessness. Leff was the only one with +arms. They must get in front of Susan and tell her to run and the camp +was a mile off! He felt for her hand and heard her whisper: + +"Indians--there are six of them." + +As she spoke the opposite group broke and figures detached themselves. +Three, hunched in shapeless sack-forms, were squaws. They made no +movement, resting immobile as statues, the sunset shining between the +legs of their ponies. The men spoke together, their heads turning from +the trio below to one another. David gripped the hand he held and +leaned forward to ask Leff for his knife. + +"Don't be frightened," he said to Susan. "It's all right." + +"I'm not frightened," she answered quietly. + +"Your knife," he said to Leff and then stopped, staring. Leff very +slowly, step pressing stealthily behind step, was creeping backward up +the slope. His face was chalk white, his eyes fixed on the Indians. +In his hand he held his rifle ready, and the long knife gleamed in his +belt. For a moment David had no voice wherewith to arrest him, but +Susan had. + +"Where are you going?" she said loudly. + +It stopped him like a blow. His terrified eyes shifted to her face. + +"I wasn't going," he faltered. + +"Come back," she said. "You have the rifle and the knife." + +He wavered, his loosened lips shaking. + +"Back here to us," she commanded, "and give David the rifle." + +He crept downward to them, his glance always on the Indians. They had +begun to move forward, leaving the squaws on the ridge. Their approach +was prowlingly sinister, the ponies stepping gingerly down the slope, +the snapping of twigs beneath their hoofs clear in the waiting silence. +As they dipped below the blazing sunset the rider's figures developed +in detail, their bodies bare and bronzed in the subdued light. Each +face, held high on a craning neck, was daubed with vermilion, the high +crest of hair bristling across the shaven crowns. Grimly impassive +they came nearer, not speaking nor moving their eyes from the three +whites. One of them, a young man, naked save for a breech clout and +moccasins, was in the lead. As he approached David saw that his +eyelids were painted scarlet and that a spot of silver on his breast +was a medal hanging from a leathern thong. + +At the bottom of the slope they reined up, standing in a group, with +lifted heads staring. The trio opposite stared as fixedly. Behind +Susan's back Leff had passed David the rifle. He held it in one hand, +Susan by the other. He was conscious of her rigidity and also of her +fearlessness. The hand he held was firm. Once, breathing a phrase of +encouragement, he met her eyes, steady and unafraid. All his own fear +had passed. The sense of danger was thrillingly acute, but he felt it +only in its relation to her. Dropping her hand he stepped a pace +forward and said loudly: + +"How!" + +The Indian with the medal answered him, a deep, gutteral note. + +"Pawnee?" David asked. + +The same man replied with a word that none of them understood. + +"My camp is just here," said David, with a backward jerk of his head. +"There are many men there." + +There was no response to this and he stepped back and said to Susan: + +"Go slowly up the hill backward and keep your eyes on them. Don't look +afraid." + +She immediately began to retreat with slow, short steps. Leff, gasping +with fear, moved with her, his speed accelerating with each moment. +David a few paces in advance followed them. The Indians watched in a +tranced intentness of observation. At the top of the slope the three +squaws sat as motionless as carven images. The silence was profound. + +Into it, dropping through it like a plummet through space, came the +report of a rifle. It was distant but clear, and as if the bullet had +struck a taut string and severed it, it cut the tension sharp and life +flowed back. A movement, like a resumed quiver of vitality, stirred +the bronze stillness of the squaws. The Indians spoke together--a low +murmur. David thought he saw indecision in their colloquy, then +decision. + +"They're going," he heard Susan say a little hoarse. + +"Oh, God, they're going!" Leff gasped, as one reprieved of the death +sentence. + +Suddenly they wheeled, and a rush of wild figures, galloped up the +slope. The group of squaws broke and fled with them. The light struck +the bare backs, and sent splinters from the gun barrels and the noise +of breaking bushes was loud under the ponies' feet. + +Once again on the road David and Susan stood looking at one another. +Each was pale and short of breath, and it was difficult for the young +girl to force her stiffened lips into a smile. The sunset struck with +fierce brilliancy across the endless plain, and against it, the Indians +bending low, fled in a streak of broken color. In the other direction +Leff's running figure sped toward the camp. From the distance a rifle +shot again sundered the quiet. After silence had reclosed over the +rift a puff of smoke rose in the air. They knew now it was Daddy John, +fearing they had lost the way, showing them the location of the camp. + +Spontaneously, without words, they joined hands and started to where +the trail of smoke still hung, dissolving to a thread. The fleeing +figure of Leff brought no comments to their lips. They did not think +about him, his cowardice was as unimportant to them in their mutual +engrossment as his body was to the indifferent self-sufficiency of the +landscape. They knew he was hastening that he might be first in the +camp to tell his own story and set himself right with the others before +they came. They did not care. They did not even laugh at it. They +would do that later when they had returned to the plane where life had +regained its familiar aspect. + +Silently, hand in hand, they walked between the low bushes and across +the whitened patches of sandy soil. When the smoke was gone the pool +with the lone tree guided them, the surface now covered with a glaze of +gold. A deep content lay upon them. The shared peril had torn away a +veil that hung between them and through which they had been dodging to +catch glimpses of one another. Susan's pride in her ascendency was +gone. She walked docilely beside the man who, in the great moment, had +not failed. She was subdued, not by the recent peril, but by the fact +that the slave had shown himself the master. David's chance had come, +but the moment was too completely beautiful, the sudden sense of +understanding too lovely for him to break it with words. He wanted to +savor it, to take joy of its delicate sweetness. It was his +voluptuousness to delight in it, not brush its bloom away with a +lover's avowal. He was the idealist, moving in an unexpectedly +realized dream, too exquisite for words to intrude upon. So they +walked onward, looking across the long land, hand clasped in hand. + + + +END OF PART I + + + + +PART II + +The River + + +CHAPTER I + +The Emigrant Trail struck the Platte at Grand Island. From the bluffs +that walled in the river valley the pioneers could look down on the +great waterway, a wide, thin current, hardly more than a glistening +veil, stretched over the sandy bottom. Sometimes the veil was split by +islands, its transparent tissue passing between them in sparkling +strands as if it were sewn with silver threads. These separated +streams slipped along so quietly, so without noise or hurry, they +seemed to share in the large unconcern of the landscape. It was a +still, unpeopled, spacious landscape, where there was no work and no +time and the morning and the evening made the day. + +Many years ago the Frenchmen had given the river its name, Platte, +because of its lack of depths. There were places where a man could +walk across it and not be wet above the middle; and, to make up for +this, there were quicksands stirring beneath it where the same man +would sink in above his waist, above his shoulders, above his head. +The islands that broke its languid currents were close grown with small +trees, riding low in the water like little ships freighted deep with +greenery. Toward evening, looking to the West, with the dazzle of the +sun on the water, they were a fairy fleet drifting on the silver tide +of dreams. + +The wide, slow stream ran in the middle of a wide, flat valley. Then +came a line of broken hills, yellowish and sandy, cleft apart by sharp +indentations, and dry, winding arroyos, down which the buffalo trooped, +thirsty, to the river. When the sun sloped westward, shadows lay clear +in the hollows, violet and amethyst and sapphire blue, transparent +washes of color as pure as the rays of the prism. The hills rolled +back in a turbulence of cone and bluff and then subsided, fell away as +if all disturbance must cease before the infinite, subduing calm of The +Great Plains. + +Magic words, invoking the romance of the unconquered West, of the +earth's virgin spaces, of the buffalo and the Indian. In their idle +silence, treeless, waterless, clothed as with a dry pale hair with the +feathered yellow grasses, they looked as if the monstrous creatures of +dead epochs might still haunt them, might still sun their horny sides +among the sand hills, and wallow in the shallows of the river. It was +a bit of the early world, as yet beyond the limit of the young nation's +energies, the earth as man knew it when his eye was focused for far +horizons, when his soul did not shrink before vast solitudes. + +Against this sweeping background the Indian loomed, ruler of a kingdom +whose borders faded into the sky. He stood, a blanketed figure, +watching the flight of birds across the blue; he rode, a painted +savage, where the cloud shadows blotted the plain, and the smoke of his +lodge rose over the curve of the earth. Here tribe had fought with +tribe, old scores had been wiped out till the grass was damp with +blood, wars of extermination had raged. Here the migrating villages +made a moving streak of color like a bright patch on a map where there +were no boundaries, no mountains, and but one gleaming thread of water. +In the quietness of evening the pointed tops of the tepees showed dark +against the sky, the blur of smoke tarnishing the glow in the West. +When the darkness came the stars shone on this spot of life in the +wilderness, circled with the howling of wolves. + +The buffalo, driven from the East by the white man's advance and from +the West by the red man's pursuit, had congregated in these pasture +lands. The herds numbered thousands upon thousands, diminishing in the +distance to black dots on the fawn-colored face of the prairie. Twice +a day they went to the river to drink. Solemnly, in Indian file, they +passed down the trails among the sand hills, worn into gutters by their +continuous hoofs. From the wall of the bluffs they emerged into the +bottom, line after line, moving slowly to the water. Then to the river +edge the valley was black with them, a mass of huge, primordial forms, +from which came bellowings and a faint, sharp smell of musk. + +The valley was the highway to the West--the far West, the West of the +great fur companies. It led from the Missouri, whose turbid current +was the boundary between the frontier and the wild, to the second great +barrier, the mountains which blocked the entrance to the unknown +distance, where the lakes were salt and there were deserts rimed with +alkali. It stretched a straight, plain path, from the river behind it +to the peaked white summits in front. + +Along it had come a march of men, first a scattered few, then a broken +line, then a phalanx--the winners of the West. + +They were bold men, hard men, men who held life lightly and knew no +fear. In the van were the trappers and fur traders with their beaver +traps and their long-barreled rifles. They went far up into the +mountains where the rivers rose snow-chilled and the beavers built +their dams. There were mountain men in fringed and beaded buckskins, +long haired, gaunt and weather scarred; men whose pasts were unknown +and unasked, who trapped and hunted and lived in the lodges with their +squaws. There were black-eyed Canadian voyageurs in otter-skin caps +and coats made of blankets, hardy as Indian ponies, gay and light of +heart, who poled the keel boats up the rivers to the chanting of old +French songs. There were swarthy half-breeds, still of tongue, stolid +and eagle-featured, wearing their blankets as the Indians did, +noiseless in their moccasins as the lynx creeping on its prey. + +And then came the emigrants, the first white-covered wagons, the first +white women, looking out from the shade of their sunbonnets. The squaw +wives wondered at their pale faces and bright hair. They came at +intervals, a few wagons crawling down the valley and then the long, +bare road with the buffaloes crossing it to the river and the +occasional red spark of a trapper's camp fire. In '43 came the first +great emigration, when 1,000 people went to Oregon. The Indians, awed +and uneasy, watched the white line of wagon tops. "Were there so many +pale faces as this in the Great Father's country?" one of the chiefs +asked. + +Four years later the Mormons emigrated. It was like the moving of a +nation, an exodus of angry fanatics, sullen, determined men burning +with rage at the murder of their prophet, cursing his enemies and +quoting his texts. The faces of women and children peered from the +wagons, the dust of moving flocks and herds rose like a column at the +end of the caravan. Their camps at night were like the camps of the +patriarchs, many women to work for each man, thousands of cattle +grazing in the grass. From the hills above the Indians watched the red +circle of their fires and in the gray dawn saw the tents struck and the +trains "roll out." There were more people from the Great Father's +country, more people each year, till the great year, '49, when the cry +of gold went forth across the land like a trumpet call. + +Then the faces on the Emigrant Trail were as the faces on the populous +streets of cities. The trains of wagons were unbroken, one behind the +other, straight to the sunset. A cloud of dust moved with them, showed +their coming far away as they wheeled downward at Grand Island, hid +their departure as they doubled up for the fording of the Platte. All +the faces were set westward, all the eyes were strained to that distant +goal where the rivers flowed over golden beds and the flakes lay yellow +in the prospector's pan. + +The Indians watched them, cold at the heart, for the people in the +Great Father's Country were numerous as the sands of the sea, terrible +as an army with banners. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +The days were very hot. Brilliant, dewless mornings, blinding middays, +afternoons held breathless in the remorseless torrent of light. The +caravan crawled along the river's edge at a footspace, the early +shadows shooting far ahead of it, then dwindling to a blot beneath each +moving body, then slanting out behind. There was speech in the morning +which died as the day advanced, all thought sinking into torpor in the +monotonous glare. In the late afternoon the sun, slipping down the +sky, peered through each wagon's puckered canvas opening smiting the +drivers into lethargy. Propped against the roof supports, hats drawn +low over their brows they slept, the riders pacing on ahead stooped and +silent on their sweating horses. There was no sound but the creaking +of the wheels, and the low whisperings of the river into which, now and +then, an undermined length of sand dropped with a splash. + +But in the evening life returned. When the dusk stole out of the hill +rifts and the river flowed thick gold from bank to bank, when the +bluffs grew black against the sunset fires, the little party shook off +its apathy and animation revived. Coolness came with the twilight, +sharpening into coldness as the West burned from scarlet and gold to a +clear rose. The fire, a mound of buffalo chips into which glowing +tunnels wormed, was good. Overcoats and blankets were shaken out and +the fragrance of tobacco was on the air. The recrudescence of ideas +and the need to interchange them came on the wanderers. Hemmed in by +Nature's immensity, unconsciously oppressed by it, they felt the want +of each other, of speech, of sympathy, and crouched about the fire +telling anecdotes of their life "back home," that sounded trivial but +drew them closer in the bond of a nostalgic wistfulness. + +One night they heard a drum beat. It came out of the distance faint +but distinct, throbbing across the darkness like a frightened heart +terrified by its own loneliness. The hand of man was impelling it, an +unseen hand, only telling of its presence by the thin tattoo it sent +through the silence. Words died and they sat rigid in the sudden alarm +that comes upon men in the wilderness. The doctor clutched his +daughter's arm, Daddy John reached for his rifle. Then, abruptly as it +had come, it stopped and they broke into suggestions--emigrants on the +road beyond them, an Indian war drum on the opposite bank. + +But they were startled, their apprehensions roused. They sat uneasy, +and half an hour later the pad of horses' hoofs and approaching voices +made each man grip his gun and leap to his feet. They sent a hail +through the darkness and an answering voice came back: + +"It's all right. Friends." + +The figures that advanced into the firelight were those of four men +with a shadowy train of pack mules extending behind them. In fringed +and greasy buckskins, with long hair and swarthy faces, their feet +noiseless in moccasins, they were so much of the wild, that it needed +the words, "Trappers from Laramie," to reassure the doctor and make +Leff put down his rifle. + +The leader, a lean giant, bearded to the cheek bones and with lank +locks of hair falling from a coon-skin cap, gave his introduction +briefly. They were a party of trappers en route from Fort Laramie to +St. Louis with the winter's catch of skins. In skirted, leather +hunting shirt and leggings, knife and pistols in the belt and powder +horn, bullet mold, screw and awl hanging from a strap across his chest, +he was the typical "mountain man." While he made his greetings, with +as easy an assurance as though he had dropped in upon a party of +friends, his companions picketed the animals which moved on the +outskirts of the light in a spectral band of drooping forms. + +The three other men, were an ancient trapper with a white froth of hair +framing a face, brown and wrinkled as a nut, a Mexican, Indian-dark, +who crouched in his serape, rolled a cigarette and then fell asleep, +and a French Canadian voyageur in a coat made of blanketing and with a +scarlet handkerchief tied smooth over his head. He had a round ruddy +face, and when he smiled, which he did all the time, his teeth gleamed +square and white from the curly blackness of his beard. He got out his +pans and buffalo meat, and was dropping pieces of hardtack into the +spitting tallow when Susan addressed him in his own tongue, the patois +of the province of Quebec. He gave a joyous child's laugh and a +rattling fire of French followed, and then he must pick out for her the +daintiest morsel and gallantly present it on a tin plate, wiped clean +on the grass. + +They ate first and then smoked and over the pipes engaged in the +bartering which was part of the plainsman's business. The strangers +were short of tobacco and the doctor's party wanted buffalo skins. +Fresh meat and bacon changed hands. David threw in a measure of corn +meal and the old man--they called him Joe--bid for it with a hind +quarter of antelope. Then, business over, they talked of themselves, +their work, the season's catch, and the life far away across the +mountains where the beaver streams are. + +They had come from the distant Northwest, threaded with ice-cold rivers +and where lakes, sunk between rocky bulwarks, mirrored the whitened +peaks. There the three Tetons raised their giant heads and the hollows +were spread with a grassy carpet that ran up the slopes like a +stretched green cloth. There had once been the trapper's paradise +where the annual "rendezvous" was held and the men of the mountains +gathered from creek and river and spent a year's earnings in a wild +week. But the streams were almost empty now and the great days over. +There was a market but no furs. Old Joe could tell what it had once +been like, old Joe who years ago had been one of General Ashley's men. + +The old man took his pipe out of his mouth and shook his head. + +"The times is dead," he said, with the regret of great days gone, +softened by age which softens all things. "There ain't anything in it +now. When Ashley and the Sublettes and Campbell ran the big companies +it was a fine trade. The rivers was swarmin' with beaver and if the +Indians 'ud let us alone every man of us 'ud come down to rendezvous +with each mule carrying two hundred pound of skins. Them was the +times." + +The quick, laughing patter of the voyageur's French broke in on his +voice, but old Joe, casting a dim eye back over the splendid past, was +too preoccupied to mind. + +"I've knowed the time when the Powder River country and the rivers that +ran into Jackson's Hole was as thick with beaver as the buffalo range +is now with buffalo. We'd follow up a new stream and where the ground +was marshy we'd know the beaver was there, for they'd throw dams across +till the water'd soak each side, squeezin' through the willow roots. +Then we'd cut a tree and scoop out a canoe, and when the shadders began +to stretch go nosin' along the bank, keen and cold and the sun settin' +red and not a sound but the dip of the paddle. We'd set the +traps--seven to a man--and at sun-up out again in the canoe, clear and +still in the gray of the morning, and find a beaver in every trap." + +"Nothin' but buffalo now to count on," said the other man. "And what's +in that?" + +David said timidly, as became so extravagant a suggestion, that a +mountain man he had met in Independence told him he thought the buffalo +would be eventually exterminated. The trappers looked at one another, +and exchanged satiric smiles. Even the Canadian stopped in his chatter +with Susan to exclaim in amaze: "Sacré Tonnerre!" + +Old Joe gave a lazy cast of his eye at David. + +"Why, boy," he said, "if they'd been killin' them varmints since Bunker +Hill they couldn't do no more with 'em than you could with your little +popgun out here on the plains. The Indians has druv 'em from the West +and the white man's druv 'em from the East and it don't make no +difference. I knowed Captain Bonneville and he's told me how he stood +on the top of Scotts Bluffs and seen the country black with +'em--millions of 'em. That's twenty-five years ago and he ain't seen +no more than I have on these plains not two seasons back. Out as far +as your eye could reach, crawlin' with buffalo, till you couldn't see +cow nor bull, but just a black mass of 'em, solid to the horizon." + +David felt abashed and the doctor came to his rescue with a question +about Captain Bonneville and Joe forgot his scorn of foolish young men +in reminiscences of that hardy pathfinder. + +The old trapper seemed to have known everyone of note in the history of +the plains and the fur trade, or if he didn't know them he said he did +which was just as good. Lying on a buffalo skin, the firelight gilding +the bony ridges of his face, a stub of black pipe gripped between his +broken teeth, he told stories of the men who had found civilization too +cramped and taken to the wilderness. Some had lived and died there, +others come back, old and broken, to rest in a corner of the towns they +had known as frontier settlements. Here they could look out to the +West they loved, strain their dim eyes over the prairie, where the +farmer's plow was tracing its furrow, to the Medicine Way of The Pale +Face that led across the plains and up the long bright river and over +the mountains to the place of the trapper's rendezvous. + +He had known Jim Beckwourth, the mulatto who was chief of the Crows, +fought their battles and lived in their villages with a Crow wife. Joe +described him as "a powerful liar," but a man without fear. Under his +leadership the Crows had become a great nation and the frontiersmen +laid it to his door that no Crow had ever attacked a white man except +in self-defense. Some said he was still living in California. Joe +remembered him well--a tall man, strong and fleet-footed as an Indian, +with mighty muscles and a skin like bronze. He always wore round his +neck a charm of a perforated bullet set between two glass beads hanging +from a thread of sinew. + +He had known Rose, another white chief of the Crows, an educated man +who kept his past secret and of whom it was said that the lonely places +and the Indian trails were safer for him than the populous ways of +towns. The old man had been one of the garrison in Fort Union when the +terrible Alexander Harvey had killed Isidore, the Mexican, and standing +in the courtyard cried to the assembled men: "I, Alexander Harvey, have +killed the Spaniard. If there are any of his friends who want to take +it up let them come on"; and not a man in the fort dared to go. He had +been with Jim Bridger, when, on a wager, he went down Bear River in a +skin boat and came out on the waters of the Great Salt Lake. + +Susan, who had stopped her talk with the voyageur to listen to this +minstrel of the plains, now said: + +"Aren't you lonely in those quiet places where there's no one else?" + +The old man nodded, a gravely assenting eye on hers: + +"Powerful lonely, sometimes. There ain't a mountain man that ain't +felt it, some of 'em often, others of 'em once and so scairt that time +they won't take the risk again. It comes down suddint, like a +darkness--then everything round that was so good and fine, the sound of +the pines and the bubble of the spring and the wind blowing over the +grass, seems like they'd set you crazy. You'd give a year's peltries +for the sound of a man's voice. Just like when some one's dead that +you set a heap on and you feel you'd give most everything you got to +see 'em again for a minute. There ain't nothin' you wouldn't promise +if by doin' it you could hear a feller hail you--just one shout--as he +comes ridin' up the trail." + +"That was how Jim Cockrell felt when he prayed for the dog," said the +tall man. + +"Did he get the dog?" + +He nodded. + +"That's what he said anyway. He was took with just such a lonesome +spell once when he was trapping in the Mandans country. He was a pious +critter, great on prayer and communing with the Lord. And he +felt--I've heard him tell about it--just as if he'd go wild if he +didn't get something for company. What he wanted was a dog and you +might just as well want an angel out there with nothin' but the Indian +villages breakin' the dazzle of the snow and you as far away from them +as you could get. But that didn't stop Jim. He just got down and +prayed, and then he waited and prayed some more and 'ud look around for +the dog, as certain he'd come as that the sun 'ud set. Bimeby he fell +asleep and when he woke there was the dog, a little brown varmint, +curled up beside him on the blanket. Jim used to say an angel brought +it. I'm not contradictin', but----" + +"Wal," said old Joe, "he most certainly come back into the fort with a +dog. I was there and seen him." + +Leff snickered, even the doctor's voice showed the incredulous note +when he asked: + +"Where could it have come from?" + +The tall man shrugged. + +"Don't ask me. All I know is that Jim Cockrell swore to it and I've +heard him tell it drunk and sober and always the same way. He held out +for the angel. I'm not saying anything against that, but whatever it +was it must have had a pretty powerful pull to get a dog out to a +trapper in the dead o' winter." + +They wondered over the story, offering explanations, and as they talked +the fire died low and the moon, a hemisphere clean-halved as though +sliced by a sword, rose serene from a cloud bank. Its coming silenced +them and for a space they watched the headlands of the solemn landscape +blackening against the sky, and the river breaking into silvery +disquiet. Separating the current, which girdled it with a sparkling +belt, was the dark blue of an island, thick plumed with trees, a black +and mysterious oblong. Old Joe pointed to it with his pipe. + +"Brady's Island," he said. "Ask Hy to tell you about that. He knew +Brady." + +The tall man looked thoughtfully at the crested shape. + +"That's it," he said. "That's where Brady was murdered." + +And then he told the story: + +"It was quite a while back in the 30's, and the free trappers and +mountain men brought their pelts down in bull boats and mackinaws to +St. Louis. There were a bunch of men workin' down the river and when +they got to Brady's Island, that's out there in the stream, the water +was so shallow the boats wouldn't float, so they camped on the island. +Brady was one of 'em, a cross-tempered man, and he and another feller'd +been pick-in' at each other day by day since leavin' the mountains. +They'd got so they couldn't get on at all. Men do that sometimes on +the trail, get to hate the sight and sound of each other. You can't +tell why. + +"One day the others went after buffalo and left Brady and the man that +hated him alone on the island. When the hunters come home at night +Brady was dead by the camp fire, shot through the head and lyin' stiff +in his blood. The other one had a slick story to tell how Brady +cleanin' his gun, discharged it by accident and the bullet struck up +and killed him. They didn't believe it, but it weren't their business. +So they buried Brady there on the island and the next day each man +shouldered his pack and struck out to foot it to the Missouri. + +"It was somethin' of a walk and the ones that couldn't keep up the +stride fell behind. They was all strung out along the river bank and +some of 'em turned off for ways they thought was shorter, and first +thing you know the party was scattered, and the man that hated Brady +was left alone, lopin' along on a side trail that slanted across the +prairie to the country of the Loup Fork Pawnees. + +"That was the last they saw of him and it was a long time--news +traveled slow on the plains in them days--before anybody heard of him +for he never come to St. Louis to tell. Some weeks later a party of +trappers passin' near the Pawnee villages on the Loup Fork was hailed +by some Indians and told they had a paleface sick in the chief's tent. +The trappers went there and in the tent found a white man, clear +headed, but dyin' fast. + +"It was the man that killed Brady. Lyin' there on the buffalo skin, he +told them all about it--how he done it and the lie he fixed up. Death +was comin', and the way he'd hated so he couldn't keep his hand from +murder was all one now. He wanted to get it off his mind and sorter +square himself. When he'd struck out alone he went on for a spell, +killin' enough game and always hopin' for the sight of the river. Then +one day he caught his gun in a willow tree and it went off, sending the +charge into his thigh and breaking the bone. He was stunned for a +while and then tried to move on, tried to crawl. He crawled for six +days and at the end of the sixth found a place with water and knowed +he'd come to the end of his rope. He tore a strip off his blanket and +tied it to the barrel of his rifle and stuck it end up. The Pawnees +found him there and treated him kind, as them Indians will do +sometimes. They took him to their village and cared for him, but it +was too late. He wanted to see a white man and tell and then die +peaceful, and that's what he done. While the trappers was with him he +died and they buried him there decent outside the village." + +The speaker's voice ceased and in the silence the others turned to look +at the black shape of the island riding the gleaming waters like a +funeral barge. In its dark isolation, cut off from the land by the +quiet current, it seemed a fitting theater for the grim tragedy. They +gazed at it, chilled into dumbness, thinking of the murderer moving to +freedom under the protection of his lie, then overtaken, and in his +anguish, alone in the silence, meeting the question of his conscience. + +Once more the words came back to David: "Behold, He that keepeth Israel +shall neither slumber nor sleep." + +Susan pressed against her father, awed and cold, and from old Joe, +stretched in his blanket, came a deep and peaceful snore. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +Susan was riding alone on the top of the bluffs. The evening before, +three men returning from the Oregon country to the States, had +bivouacked with them and told them that the New York Company was a +day's march ahead, so she had gone to the highlands to reconnoiter. + +Just here the bluffs swept inward toward the river, contracting the +bottom to a valley only a few miles in width. Through it the road lay, +a well-worn path crossed as with black stripes by the buffalo runs. +Susan's glance, questing ahead for the New York train, ran to the +distance where the crystal glaze of the stream shrunk to a silver +thread imbedded in green velvet. There was a final point where green +and silver converged in a blinding dazzle, and over this the sun hung, +emerging from a nebulous glare to a slowly defining sphere. + +Turning to the left her gaze lost itself in the endlessness of the +plains. It was like looking over the sea, especially at the horizon +where the land was drawn in a straight, purplish line. She could +almost see sails there, small sails dark against a sky that was so +remote its color had faded to an aerial pallor. As the journey had +advanced the influence of these spacious areas had crept upon her. In +the beginning there had been times when they woke in her an unexplained +sadness. Now that was gone and she loved to ride onward, the one item +of life in the silence, held in a new correspondence with the solemn +immensity. It affected her as prayer does the devotee. Under its +inspiration she wondered at old worries and felt herself impervious to +new ones. + +With eyes on the purple horizon her thoughts went back to her home in +Rochester with the green shutters and the brasses on the door. How far +away it seemed! Incidents in its peaceful routine were like the +resurgences of memory from a previous incarnation. There was no +tenderness in her thoughts of the past, no sentiment clung to her +recollections of what was now a dead phase of her life. She was +slightly impatient of its contented smallness, of her satisfaction with +such things as her sewing, her cake making, her childish conferences +with girl friends on the vine-grown porch. They seemed strangely +trivial and unmeaning compared to the exhilarating present. She was +living now, feeling the force of a rising growth, her horizon widening +to suit that which her eyes sought, the dependence of her sheltered +girlhood gone from her as the great adventure called upon untouched +energies and untried forces. It was like looking back on another girl, +or like a woman looking back on a child. + +She had often spoken to David of these past days, and saw that her +descriptions charmed him. He had asked her questions about it and been +surprised that she did not miss the old existence more. To him it had +seemed ideal, and he told her that that was the way he should like to +live and some day would, with just such a servant as Daddy John, and a +few real friends, and a library of good books. His enthusiasm made her +dimly realize the gulf between them--the gulf between the idealist and +the materialist--that neither had yet recognized and that only she, of +the two, instinctively felt. The roughness of the journey irked David. +The toil of the days wore on his nerves. She could see that it pained +him to urge the tired animals forward, to lash them up the stream banks +and drive them past the springs. And only half understanding his +character--fine where she was obtuse, sensitive where she was +invulnerable, she felt the continued withdrawal from him, the +instinctive shrinking from the man who was not her mate. + +She had silently acquiesced in the idea, entertained by all the train, +that she would marry him. The doctor had intimated to her that he +wished it and from her childhood her only real religion had been to +please her father. Yet half a dozen times she had stopped the proposal +on the lover's lips. And not from coquetry either. Loth and reluctant +she clung to her independence. A rival might have warmed her to a more +coming-on mood, but there was no rival. When by silence or raillery +she had shut off the avowal she was relieved and yet half despised him +for permitting her to take the lead. Why had he not forced her to +listen? Why had he not seized her and even if she struggled, held her +and made her hear him? She knew little of men, nothing of love, but +she felt, without putting her thoughts even to herself, that to a man +who showed her he was master she would have listened and surrendered. + +Riding back to the camp she felt a trifle remorseful about her +behavior. Some day she would marry him--she had got far enough to +admit that--and perhaps it was unkind of her not to let the matter be +settled. And at that she gave a petulant wriggle of her shoulders +under her cotton blouse. Wasn't that his business? Wasn't he the one +to end it, not wait on her pleasure? Were all men so easily governed, +she wondered. + +Looking ahead across the grassed bottom land, she saw that the train +had halted and the camp was pitched. She could see David's tall +stooping figure, moving with long strides between the tents and the +wagons. She laid a wager with herself that he would do certain things +and brought her horse to a walk that she might come upon him +noiselessly and watch. Of course he did them, built up her fire and +kindled it, arranged her skillets beside it and had a fresh pail of +water standing close by. It only remained for him to turn as he heard +the sound of her horse's hoofs and run to help her dismount. This, for +some reason, he did not do and she was forced to attract his attention +by saying in a loud voice: + +"There was nothing to be seen. Not a sign of a wagon from here to the +horizon." + +He looked up from his cooking and said: "Oh, you're back, Susan," and +returned to the pan of buffalo tallow. + +This was a strange remissness in the slave and she was piqued. +Contrary to precedent it was her father who helped her off. She slid +into his arms laughing, trying to kiss him as she slipped down, then +standing with her hands on his shoulders told him of her ride. She was +very pretty just then, her hair loose on her sunburned brow, her face +all love and smiles. But David bent over his fire, did not raise his +eyes to the charming tableau, that had its own delightfulness to the +two participants, and that one of the participants intended should show +him how sweet Susan Gillespie could be when she wanted. + +All of which trivial matter combined to the making of momentous matter, +momentous in the future for Susan and David. Shaken in her confidence +in the subjugation of her slave, Susan agreed to his suggestion to ride +to the bluffs after supper and see the plains under the full moon. So +salutary had been his momentary neglect of her that she went in a +chastened spirit, a tamed and gentle maiden. They had orders not to +pass out of sight of the twin fires whose light followed them like the +beams of two, watchful, unwinking eyes. + +They rode across the bottom to where the bluffs rose, a broken bulwark. +That afternoon Susan had found a ravine up which they could pass. She +knew it by a dwarfed tree, a landmark in the naked country. The +moonlight lay white on the barrier indented with gulfs of darkness, +from each of which ran the narrow path of the buffalo. The line of +hills, silver-washed and black-caverned, was like a rampart thrown +across the entrance to the land of mystery, and they like the pygmy men +of fairyland come to gain an entry. It was David who thought of this. +It reminded him of Jack and the Beanstalk, where Jack, reaching the top +of the vine, found himself in a strange country. Susan did not +remember much about Jack. She was engrossed in recognizing the ravine, +scanning the darkling hollows for the dwarf tree. + +It was a steep, winding cut, the tree, halfway up its length, spreading +skeleton arms against a sky clear as a blue diamond. They turned into +it and began a scrambling ascent, the horses' hoofs slipping into the +gutter that the buffaloes had trodden out. It was black dark in the +depths with the moonlight slanting white on the walls. + +"We're going now to find the giants," David called over his shoulder. +"Doesn't this seem as if it ought to lead us up right in front of +Blunderbore's Castle?" + +"The buffalo runs are like trenches," she answered. "If you don't look +out your horse may fall." + +They tied their horses to the tree and climbed on foot to the levels +above. On the earth's floor, unbroken by tree or elevation, there was +not a shadow. It lay silver frosted in the foreground, darkening as it +receded. In the arch above no cloud filmed the clearness, the moon, +huge and mottled, dominating the sky. The silence was penetrating; not +a breath or sound disturbed it. It was the night of the primitive +world, which stirred the savage to a sense of the infinite and made +him, from shell or clay or stone, carve out a God. + +Without speaking they walked forward to a jutting point and looked down +on the river. The current sparkled like a dancer's veil spread on the +grass. They could not hear its murmur or see the shifting disturbance +of its shallows, only received the larger impression of the flat, +gleaming tide split by the black shapes of islands. David pointed to +the two sparks of the camp fires. + +"See, they're looking after us as if they were alive and knew they +mustn't lose sight of us." + +"They look quite red in the moonlight," she answered, interested. + +"As if they belonged to man and a drop of human blood had colored them." + +"What a queer idea. Let's walk on along the bluffs." + +They turned and moved away from the lights, slipping down into the +darkness of the channeled ravines and emerging onto the luminous +highlands. The solemnity of the night, its brooding aloofness in which +they held so small a part, chilled the girl's high self-reliance. +Among her fellows, in a setting of light and action, she was all proud +independence. Deprived of them she suffered a diminution of confidence +and became if not clinging, at least a feminine creature who might some +day be won. Feeling small and lonely she insensibly drew closer to the +man beside her, at that moment the only connecting link between her and +the living world with which her liens were so close. + +The lover felt the change in her, knew that the barrier she had so +persistently raised was down. They were no longer mistress and slave, +but man and maid. The consciousness of it gave him a new boldness. +The desperate daring of the suitor carried him beyond his familiar +tremors, his dread of defeat. He thrust his hand inside her arm, +timidly, it is true, ready to snatch it back at the first rebuff. But +there was none, so he kept it there and they walked on. Their talk was +fragmentary, murmured sentences that they forgot to finish, phrases +trailing off into silence as if they had not clear enough wits to fit +words together, or as if words were not necessary when at last their +spirits communed. Responding to the instigation of the romantic hour +the young girl felt an almost sleepy content. The arm on which she +leaned spoke of strength, it symbolized a protection she would have +repudiated in the practical, sustaining sunshine, but that now was very +sweet. + +David walked in a vision. Was it Susan, this soft and docile being, +close against his side, her head moving slowly as her eyes ranged over +the magical prospect? He was afraid to speak for fear the spell would +break. He did not know which way his feet bore him, but blindly went +on, looking down at the profile almost against his shoulder, at the +hand under which his had slid, small and white in the transforming +light. His silence was not like hers, the expression of a temporary, +lulled tranquility. He had passed the stage when he could delay to +rejoice in lovely moments. He was no longer the man fearful of the +hazards of his fate, but a vessel of sense ready to overflow at the +slightest touch. + +It came when a ravine opened at their feet and she drew herself from +him to gather up her skirts for the descent. Then the tension broke +with a tremulous "Susan, wait!" She knew what was coming and braced +herself to meet it. The mystical hour, the silver-bathed wonder of the +night, a girl's frightened curiosity, combined to win her to a +listening mood. She felt on the eve of a painful but necessary ordeal, +and clasped her hands together to bear it creditably. Through the +perturbation of her mind the question flashed--Did all women feel this +way? and then the comment, How much they had to endure that they never +told! + +It was the first time any man had made the great demand of her. She +had read of it in novels and other girls had told her. From this data +she had gathered that it was a happy if disturbing experience. She +felt only the disturbance. Seldom in her life had she experienced so +distracting a sense of discomfort. When David was half way through she +would have given anything to have stopped him, or to have run away. +But she was determined now to stand it, to go through with it and be +engaged as other girls were and as her father wished her to be. +Besides there was nowhere to run to and she could not have stopped him +if she had tried. He was launched, the hour had come, the, to him, +supreme and awful hour, and all the smothered passion and hope and +yearning of the past month burst out. + +Once she looked at him and immediately looked away, alarmed and abashed +by his appearance. Even in the faint light she could see his pallor, +the drops on his brow, the drawn desperation of his face. She had +never in her life seen anyone so moved and she began to share his +agitation and wish that anything might happen to bring the interview to +an end. + +"Do you care? Do you care?" he urged, trying to look into her face. +She held it down, not so much from modesty as from an aversion to +seeing him so beyond himself, and stammered: + +"Of course I care. I always have. Quite a great deal. You know it." + +"I never knew," he cried. "I never was sure. Sometimes I thought so +and the next day you were all different. Say you do. Oh, Susan, say +you do." + +He was as close to her as he could get without touching her, which, the +question now fairly put, he carefully avoided doing. Taller than she +he loomed over her, bending for her answer, quivering and sweating in +his anxiety. + +The young girl was completely subdued by him. She was frightened, not +of the man, but of the sudden revelation of forces which she did not in +the least comprehend and which made him another person. Though she +vaguely understood that she still dominated him, she saw that her +dominion came from something much more subtle than verbal command and +imperious bearing. All confusion and bewildered meekness, she melted, +partly because she had meant to, partly because his vehemence +overpowered her, and partly because she wanted to end the most trying +scene she had ever been through. + +"Will you say yes? Oh, you must say yes," she heard him imploring, and +she emitted the monosyllable on a caught breath and then held her head +even lower and felt an aggrieved amazement that it was all so different +from what she had thought it would be. + +He gave an exclamation, a sound almost of pain, and drew away from her. +She glanced up at him, her eyes full of scared curiosity, not knowing +what extraordinary thing was going to happen next. He had dropped his +face into his hands, and stood thus for a moment without moving. She +peered at him uneasily, like a child at some one suffering from an +unknown complaint and giving evidence of the suffering in strange ways. +He let his hands fall, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them +and came toward her with his face beatified. Delicately, almost +reverently, he bent down and touched her cheek with his lips. + +The lover's first kiss! This, too, Susan had heard about, and from +what she had heard she had imagined that it was a wonderful experience +causing unprecedented joy. She was nearly as agitated as he, but +through her agitation, she realized with keen disappointment that she +had felt nothing in the least resembling joy. An inward shrinking as +the bearded lips came in contact with her skin was all she was +conscious of. There was no rapture, no up-gush of anything lovely or +unusual. In fact, it left her with the feeling that it was a duty duly +discharged and accepted--this that she had heard was one of life's +crises, that you looked back on from the heights of old age and told +your grandchildren about. + +They were silent for a moment, the man so filled and charged with +feeling that he had no breath to speak, no words, if he had had breath, +to express the passion that was in him. Inexperienced as she, he +thought it sweet and beautiful that she should stand away from him with +averted face. He gazed at her tenderly, wonderingly, won, but still a +thing too sacred for his touch. + +Susan, not knowing what to do and feeling blankly that something +momentous had happened and that she had not risen to it, continued to +look on the ground. She wished he would say something simple and +natural and break the intolerable silence. Finally, she felt that she +could endure it no longer, and putting her hand to her forehead, pushed +back her hair and heaved a deep sigh. He instantly moved to her all +brooding, possessive inquiry. She became alarmed lest he meant to kiss +her again and edged away from him, exclaiming hastily: + +"Shall we go back? We've been a long time away." + +Without speech he slid his hand into the crook of her arm and they +began to retrace their steps. She could feel his heart beating and the +warm, sinewy grasp of his fingers clasped about hers. The plain was a +silver floor for their feet, in the starless sky the great orb soared. +The girl's embarrassment left her and she felt herself peacefully +settling into a contented acquiescence. She looked up at him, a tall +shape, black between her and the moon. Her glance called his and he +gazed down into her eyes, a faint smile on his lips. His arm was +strong, the way was strangely beautiful, and in the white light and the +stillness, romance walked with them. + +There was no talk between them till they reached the horses. In the +darkness of the cleft, hidden from the searching radiance, he drew her +to him, pressing her head with a trembling hand against his heart. She +endured it patiently but was glad when he let her go and she was in the +saddle, a place where she felt more at home than in a man's arms with +her face crushed against his shirt, turning to avoid its rough texture +and uncomfortably conscious of the hardness of his lean breast. She +decided not to speak to him again, for she was afraid he might break +forth into those protestations of love that so embarrassed her. + +At the camp Daddy John was up, sitting by the fire, waiting for them. +Of this, too, she was glad. Good-bys between lovers, even if only to +be separated by a night, were apt to contain more of that distressful +talk. She called a quick "Good night" to him, and then dove into her +tent and sat down on the blankets. The firelight shone a nebulous +blotch through the canvas and she stared at it, trying to concentrate +her thoughts and realize that the great event had happened. + +"I'm engaged," she kept saying to herself, and waited for the rapture, +which, even if belated, ought surely to come. But it did not. The +words obstinately refused to convey any meaning, brought nothing to her +but a mortifying sensation of being inadequate to a crisis. She heard +David's voice exchanging a low good night with the old man, and she +hearkened anxiously, still hopeful of the thrill. But again there was +none, and she could only gaze at the blurred blot of light and whisper +"I'm engaged to be married," and wonder what was the matter with her +that she should feel just the same as she did before. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +The dawn was gray when Susan woke the next morning. It was cold and +she cowered under her blankets, watching the walls of the tent grow +light, and the splinter between the flaps turn from white to yellow. +She came to consciousness quickly, waking to an unaccustomed depression. + +At first it had no central point of cause, but was reasonless and +all-permeating like the depression that comes from an unlocated +physical ill. Her body lay limp under the blankets as her mind lay +limp under the unfamiliar cloud. Then the memory of last night took +form, her gloom suddenly concentrated on a reason, and she sunk beneath +it, staring fixedly at the crack of growing light. When she heard the +camp stirring and sat up, her heart felt so heavy that she pressed on +it with her finger tips as if half expecting they might encounter a +strange, new hardness through the soft envelope of her body. + +She did not know that this lowering of her crest, hitherto held so high +and carried so proudly, was the first move of her surrender. Her +liberty was over, she was almost in the snare. The strong feminine +principle in her impelled her like an inexorable fate toward marriage +and the man. The children that were to be, urged her toward their +creator. And the unconquered maidenhood that was still hers, recoiled +with trembling reluctance from its demanded death. Love had not yet +come to lead her into a new and wonderful world. She only felt the +sense of strangeness and fear, of leaving the familiar ways to enter +new ones that led through shadows to the unknown. + +When she rode out beside her father in the red splendors of the +morning, a new gravity marked her. Already the first suggestion of the +woman--like the first breath of the season's change--was on her face. +The humility of the great abdication was in her eyes. + +David left them together and rode away to the bluffs. She followed his +figure with a clouded glance as she told her father her news. Her +depression lessened when he turned upon her with a radiant face. + +"If you had searched the world over you couldn't have found a man to +please me better. Seeing David this way, day by day, I've come to know +him through and through and he's true, straight down to the core." + +"Of course he is," she answered, tilting her chin with the old +sauciness that this morning looked a little forlorn. "I wouldn't have +liked him if he hadn't been." + +"Oh, Missy, you're such a wise little woman." + +She glanced at him quickly, recognizing the tone, and to-day, with her +new heavy heart, dreading it. + +"Now, father, don't laugh at me. This is all very serious." + +"Serious! It's the most serious thing that ever happened in the world, +in our world. And if I was smiling--I'll lay a wager I wasn't +laughing--it was because I'm so happy. You don't know what this means +to me. I've wanted it so much that I've been afraid it wasn't coming +off. And then I thought it must, for it's my girl's happiness and +David's and back of theirs mine." + +"Well, then, if you're happy, I'm happy." + +This time his smile was not bantering, only loving and tender. He did +not dream that her spirit might not be as glad as his looking from the +height of middle-age to a secured future. He had been a man of a +single love, ignorant save of that one woman, and she so worshiped and +wondered at that there had been no time to understand her. Insulated +in the circle of his own experience he did not guess that to an +unawakened girl the engagement morn might be dark with clouds. + +"Love and youth," he said dreamily, "oh, Susan, it's so beautiful! +It's Eden come again when God walked in the garden. And it's so short. +_Eheu Fugaces_! You've just begun to realize how wonderful it is, just +said to yourself 'This is life--this is what I was born for,' when it's +over. And then you begin to understand, to look back, and see that it +was not what you were born for. It was only the beginning that was to +give you strength for the rest--the prairie all trees and flowers, with +the sunlight and the breeze on the grass." + +"It sounds like this journey, like the Emigrant Trail." + +"That's what I was thinking. The beautiful start gives you courage for +the mountains. The memory of it carries you over the rough places, +gives you life in your heart when you come to the desert where it's all +parched and bare. And you and your companion go on, fighting against +the hardships, bound closer and closer by the struggle. You learn to +give up, to think of the other one, and then you say, '_This_ is what I +was born for,' and you know you're getting near the truth. To have +some one to go through the fight for, to do the hard work for--that's +the reality after the vision and the dream." + +The doctor, thinking of the vanished years of his married life, and his +daughter, of the unknown ones coming, were not looking at the subject +from the same points of view. + +"I don't think you make it sound very pleasant," she said, from +returning waves of melancholy. "It's nothing but hardships and danger." + +"California's at the end of it, dearie, and they say that's the most +beautiful country in the world." + +"It will be a strange country," she said wistfully, not thinking alone +of California. + +"Not for long." + +"Do you think we'll ever feel at home in it?" + +The question came in a faint voice. Why did California, once the goal +of her dreams, now seem an alien land in which she always would be a +stranger? + +"We're bringing our home with us--carrying some of it on our backs like +snails and the rest in our hearts like all pioneers. Soon it will +cease being strange, when there are children in it. Where there's a +camp fire and a blanket and a child, that's home, Missy." + +He leaned toward her and laid his hand on hers as it rested on the +pommel. + +"You'll be so happy in it," he said softly. + +A sudden surge of feeling, more poignant than anything she had yet +felt, sent a pricking of tears to her eyes. She turned her face away, +longing in sudden misery for some one to whom she could speak plainly, +some one who once had felt as she did now. For the first time she +wished that there was another woman in the train. Her instinct told +her that men could not understand. Unable to bear her father's glad +assurance she said a hasty word about going back and telling Daddy John +and wheeled her horse toward the prairie schooner behind them. + +Daddy John welcomed her by pushing up against the roof prop and giving +her two thirds of the driver's seat. With her hands clipped between +her knees she eyed him sideways. + +"What do you think's going to happen?" she said, trying to compose her +spirits by teasing him. + +"It's going to rain," he answered. + +This was not helpful or suggestive of future sympathy, but at any rate, +it was not emotional. + +"Now, Daddy John, don't be silly. Would I get off my horse and climb +up beside you to ask you about the weather?" + +"I don't know what you'd do, Missy, you've got that wild out here on +the plains--just like a little buffalo calf." + +He glimpsed obliquely at her, his old face full of whimsical +tenderness. She smiled bravely and he saw above the smile, her eyes, +untouched by it. He instantly became grave. + +"Well, what's goin' to happen?" he asked soberly. + +"I'm going to be married." + +He raised his eyebrows and gave a whistle. + +"That is somethin'! And which is it?" + +"What a question! David, of course. Who else could it be?" + +"Well, he's the best," he spoke slowly, with considering phlegm. "He's +a first-rate boy as far as he goes." + +"I don't think that's a very nice way to speak of him. Can't you say +something better?" + +The old man looked over the mules' backs for a moment of inward +cogitation. He was not surprised at the news but he was surprised at +something in his Missy's manner, a lack of the joyfulness, that he, +too, had thought an attribute of all intending brides. + +"He's a good boy," he said thoughtfully. "No one can say he ain't. +But some way or other, I'd rather have had a bigger man for you, Missy." + +"Bigger!" she exclaimed indignantly. "He's nearly six feet. And girls +don't pick out their husbands because of their height." + +"I ain't meant it that way. Bigger in what's in him--can get hold o' +more, got a bigger reach." + +"I don't know what you mean. If you're trying to say he's not got a +big mind you're all wrong. He knows more than anybody I ever met +except father. He's read hundreds and hundreds of books." + +"That's it--too many books. Books is good enough but they ain't the +right sort 'er meat for a feller that's got to hit out for himself in a +new country. They're all right in the city where you got the butcher +and the police and a kerosene lamp to read 'em by. David 'ud be a fine +boy in the town just as his books is suitable in the town. But this +ain't the town. And the men that are the right kind out here ain't +particularly set on books. I'd 'a' chose a harder feller for you, +Missy, that could have stood up to anything and didn't have no soft +feelings to hamper him." + +"Rubbish," she snapped. "Why don't you encourage me?" + +Her tone drew his eyes, sharp as a squirrel's and charged with quick +concern. Her face was partly turned away. The curve of her cheek was +devoid of its usual dusky color, her fingers played on her under lip as +if it were a little flute. + +"What do you want to be encouraged for?" he said low, as if afraid of +being overheard. + +She did not move her head, but looked at the bluffs. + +"I don't know," she answered, then hearing her--voice hoarse cleared +her throat. "It's all--so--so--sort of new. I--I--feel--I don't know +just how--I think it's homesick." + +Her voice broke in a bursting sob. Her control gone, her pride fell +with it. Wheeling on the seat she cast upon him a look of despairing +appeal. + +"Oh, Daddy John," was all she could gasp, and then bent her head so +that her hat might hide the shame of her tears. + +He looked at her for a nonplused moment, at her brown arms bent over +her shaken bosom, at the shield of her broken hat. He was thoroughly +discomfited for he had not the least idea what was the matter. Then he +shifted the reins to his left hand and edging near her laid his right +on her knee. + +"Don't you want to marry him?" he said gently. + +"It isn't that, it's something else." + +"What else? You can say anything you like to me. Ain't I carried you +when you were a baby?" + +"I don't know what it is." Her voice came cut by sobbing breaths. "I +don't understand. It's like being terribly lonesome." + +The old frontiersman had no remedy ready for this complaint. He, too, +did not understand. + +"Don't you marry him if you don't like him," he said. "If you want to +tell him so and you're afraid, I'll do it for you." + +"I do like him. It's not that." + +"Well, then, what's making you cry?" + +"Something else, something way down deep that makes everything seem so +far away and strange." + +He leaned forward and spat over the wheel, then subsided against the +roof prop. + +"Are you well?" he said, his imagination exhausted. + +"Yes, very." + +Daddy John looked at the backs of the mules. The off leader was a +capricious female by name Julia who required more management and +coaxing than the other five put together, and whom he loved beyond them +all. In his bewildered anxiety the thought passed through his mind +that all creatures of the feminine gender, animal or human, were +governed by laws inscrutable to the male, who might never aspire to +comprehension and could only strive to please and placate. + +A footfall struck on his ear and, thrusting his head beyond the canvas +hood, he saw Leff loafing up from the rear. + +"Saw her come in here," thought the old man, drawing his head in, "and +wants to hang round and snoop." + +Since the Indian episode he despised Leff. His contempt was unveiled, +for the country lout who had shown himself a coward had dared to raise +his eyes to the one star in Daddy John's firmament. He would not have +hidden his dislike if he could. Leff was of the outer world to which +he relegated all men who showed fear or lied. + +He turned to Susan: + +"Go back in the wagon and lie down. Here comes Leff and I don't want +him to see you." + +The young girl thought no better of Leff than he did. The thought of +being viewed in her abandonment by the despised youth made her scramble +into the back of the wagon where she lay concealed on a pile of sacks. +In the forward opening where the canvas was drawn in a circle round a +segment of sky, Daddy John's figure fitted like a picture in a circular +frame. As a step paused at the wheel she saw him lean forward and +heard his rough tones. + +"Yes, she's here, asleep in the back of the wagon." + +Then Leff's voice, surprised: + +"Asleep? Why, it ain't an hour since we started." + +"Well, can't she go to sleep in the morning if she wants? Don't you go +to sleep every Sunday under the wagon?" + +"Yes, but that's afternoon." + +"Mebbe, but everybody's not as slow as you at getting at what they +want." + +This appeared to put Susan's retirement in a light that gave rise to +pondering. There was a pause, then came the young man's heavy +footsteps slouching back to his wagon. Daddy John settled down on the +seat. + +"I'm almighty glad it weren't him, Missy," he said, over his shoulder. +"I'd 'a' known then why you cried." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +Late the same day Leff, who had been riding on the bluffs, came down to +report a large train a few miles ahead of them. It was undoubtedly the +long-looked-for New York Company. + +The news was as a tonic to their slackened energies. A cheering +excitement ran through the train. There was stir and loud talking. +Its contagion lifted Susan's spirits and with her father she rode on in +advance, straining her eyes against the glare of the glittering river. +Men and women, who daily crowded by them unnoted on city streets, now +loomed in the perspective as objective points of avid interest. No +party Susan had ever been to called forth such hopeful anticipation. +To see her fellows, to talk with women over trivial things, to demand +and give out the human sympathies she wanted and that had lain +withering within herself, drew her from the gloom under which she had +lain weeping in the back of Daddy John's wagon. + +They were nearing the Forks of the Platte where the air was dryly +transparent and sound carried far. While yet the encamped train was a +congeries of broken white dots on the river's edge, they could hear the +bark of a dog and then singing, a thin thread of melody sent aloft by a +woman's voice. + +It was like a handclasp across space. Drawing nearer the sounds of men +and life reached forward to meet them--laughter, the neighing of +horses, the high, broken cry of a child. They felt as if they were +returning to a home they had left and that sometimes, in the stillness +of the night or when vision lost itself in the vague distances, they +still longed for. + +The train had shaped itself into its night form, the circular coil in +which it slept, like a thick, pale serpent resting after the day's +labors. The white arched prairie schooners were drawn up in a ring, +the defensive bulwark of the plains. The wheels, linked together by +the yoke chains, formed a barrier against Indian attacks. Outside this +interlocked rampart was a girdle of fires, that gleamed through the +twilight like a chain of jewels flung round the night's bivouac. It +shone bright on the darkness of the grass, a cordon of flame that some +kindly magician had drawn about the resting place of the tired camp. + +With the night pressing on its edges it was a tiny nucleus of life +dropped down between the immemorial plains and the ancient river. Home +was here in the pitched tents, a hearthstone in the flame lapping on +the singed grass, humanity in the loud welcome that rose to meet the +newcomers. The doctor had known but one member of the Company, its +organizer, a farmer from the Mohawk Valley. But the men, dropping +their ox yokes and water pails, crowded forward, laughing deep-mouthed +greetings from the bush of their beards, and extending hands as hard as +the road they had traveled. + +The women were cooking. Like goddesses of the waste places they stood +around the fires, a line of half-defined shapes. Films of smoke blew +across them, obscured and revealed them, and round about them savory +odors rose. Fat spit in the pans, coffee bubbled in blackened pots, +and strips of buffalo meat impaled on sticks sent a dribble of flame to +the heat. The light was strong on their faces, lifted in greeting, +lips smiling, eyes full of friendly curiosity. But they did not move +from their posts for they were women and the men and the children were +waiting to be fed. + +Most of them were middle-aged, or the trail had made them look +middle-aged. A few were very old. Susan saw a face carved with +seventy years of wrinkles mumbling in the framing folds of a shawl. +Nearby, sitting on the dropped tongue of a wagon, a girl of perhaps +sixteen, sat ruminant, nursing a baby. Children were everywhere, +helping, fighting, rolling on the grass. Babies lay on spread blankets +with older babies sitting by to watch. It was the woman's hour. The +day's march was over, but the intimate domestic toil was at its height. +The home makers were concentrated upon their share of the +activities--cooking food, making the shelter habitable, putting their +young to bed. + +Separated from Susan by a pile of scarlet embers stood a young girl, a +large spoon in her hand. The light shot upward along the front of her +body, painting with an even red glow her breast, her chin, the under +side of her nose and finally transforming into a coppery cloud the +bright confusion of her hair. She smiled across the fire and said: + +"I'm glad you've come. We've been watching for you ever since we +struck the Platte. There aren't any girls in the train. I and my +sister are the youngest except Mrs. Peebles over there," with a nod in +the direction of the girl on the wagon tongue, "and she's married." + +The woman beside her, who had been too busy over the bacon pan to raise +her head, now straightened herself, presenting to Susan's eye a face +more buxom and mature but so like that of the speaker that it was +evident they were sisters. A band of gold gleamed on her wedding +finger and her short skirt and loose calico jacket made no attempt to +hide the fact that another baby was soon to be added to the already +well-supplied train. She smiled a placid greeting and her eye, lazily +sweeping Susan, showed a healthy curiosity tempered by the +self-engrossed indifference of the married woman to whom the outsider, +even in the heart of the wilderness, is forever the outsider. + +"Lucy'll be real glad to have a friend," she said. "She's lonesome. +Turn the bacon, Lucy, it makes my back ache to bend"; and as the sister +bowed over the frying pan, "move, children, you're in the way." + +This was directed to two children who lay on the grass by the fire, +with blinking eyes, already half asleep. As they did not immediately +obey she assisted them with a large foot, clad in a man's shoe. The +movement though peremptory was not rough. It had something of the +quality of the mother tiger's admonishing pats to her cubs, a certain +gentleness showing through force. The foot propelled the children into +a murmurous drowsy heap. One of them, a little girl with a shock of +white hair and a bunch of faded flowers wilting in her tight baby +grasp, looked at her mother with eyes glazed with sleep, a deep look as +though her soul was gazing back from the mysteries of unconsciousness. + +"Now lie there till you get your supper," said the mother, having by +gradual pressure pried them out of the way. "And you," to Susan, +"better bring your things over and camp here and use our fire. We've +nearly finished with it." + +In the desolation of the morning Susan had wished for a member of her +own sex, not to confide in but to feel that there was some one near, +who, if she did know, could understand. Now here were two. Their +fresh, simple faces on which an artless interest was so naďvely +displayed, their pleasant voices, not cultured as hers was but women's +voices for all that, gave her spirits a lift. Her depression quite +dropped away, the awful lonely feeling, all the more whelming because +nobody could understand it, departed from her. She ran back to the +camp singing and for the first time that day looked at David, whose +presence she had shunned, with her old, brilliant smile. + +An hour later and the big camp rested, relaxed in the fading twilight +that lay a yellow thread of separation between the day's high colors +and the dewless darkness of the night. It was like a scene from the +migrations of the ancient peoples when man wandered with a woman, a +tent, and a herd. The barrier of the wagons, with its girdle of fire +sparks, incased a grassy oval green as a lawn. Here they sat in little +groups, collecting in tent openings as they were wont to collect on +summer nights at front gates and piazza steps. The crooning of women +putting babies to sleep fell in with the babblings of the river. The +men smoked in silence. Nature had taught them something of her large +reticence in their day-long companionship. Some few lounged across the +grass to have speech of the pilot, a grizzled mountain man, who had +been one of the Sublette's trappers, and had wise words to say of the +day's travel and the promise of the weather. But most of them lay on +the grass by the tents where they could see the stars through their +pipe smoke and hear the talk of their wives and the breathing of the +children curled in the blankets. + +A youth brought an accordion from his stores and, sitting cross-legged +on the ground, began to play. He played "Annie Laurie," and a woman's +voice, her head a black outline against the west, sang the words. Then +there was a clamor of applause, sounding thin and futile in the +evening's suave quietness, and the player began a Scotch reel in the +production of which the accordion uttered asthmatic gasps as though +unable to keep up with its own proud pace. The tune was sufficiently +good to inspire a couple of dancers. The young girl called Lucy rose +with a partner--her brother-in-law some one told Susan--and facing one +another, hand on hip, heads high, they began to foot it lightly over +the blackening grass. + +Seen thus Lucy was handsome, a tall, long-limbed sapling of a girl, +with a flaming crest of copper-colored hair and movements as lithe and +supple as a cat's. She danced buoyantly, without losing breath, +advancing and retreating with mincing steps, her face grave as though +the performance had its own dignity and was not to be taken lightly. +Her partner, a tanned and long-haired man, took his part in a livelier +spirit, laughing at her, bending his body grotesquely and growing red +with his caperings. Meanwhile from the tent door the wife looked on +and Susan heard her say to the doctor with whom she had been conferring: + +"And when will it be my turn to dance the reel again? There wasn't a +girl in the town could dance it with me." + +Her voice was weighted with the wistfulness of the woman whose endless +patience battles with her unwillingness to be laid by. + +Susan saw David's fingers feeling in the grass for her hand. She gave +it, felt the hard stress of his grip, and conquered her desire to draw +the hand away. All her coquetry was gone. She was cold and subdued. +The passionate hunger of his gaze made her feel uncomfortable. She +endured it for a space and then said with an edge of irritation on her +voice: + +"What are you staring at me for? Is there something on my face?" + +He breathed in a roughened voice: + +"No, I love you." + +Her discomfort increased. Tumult and coldness make uncongenial +neighbors. The man, all passion, and the woman, who has no answering +spark, grope toward each other through devious and unillumined ways. + +He whispered again: + +"I love you so. You don't understand." + +She did not and looked at him inquiringly, hoping to learn something +from his face. His eyes, meeting hers, were full of tears. It +surprised her so that she stared speechlessly at him, her head thrown +back, her lips parted. + +He looked down, ashamed of his emotion, murmuring: + +"You don't understand. It's so sacred. Some day you will." + +She did not speak to him again, but she let him hold her hand because +she thought she ought to and because she was sorry. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +The next morning the rain was pouring. The train rolled out without +picturesque circumstance, the men cursing, the oxen, with great heads +swinging under the yokes, plodding doggedly through lakes fretted with +the downpour. Breakfast was a farce; nobody's fire would burn and the +women were wet through before they had the coffee pots out. One or two +provident parties had stoves fitted up in their wagons with a joint of +pipe coming out through holes in the canvas. From these, wafts of +smoke issued with jaunty assurance, to be beaten down by the rain, +which swept them fiercely out of the landscape. + +There was no perspective, the distance invisible, nearer outlines +blurred. The world was a uniform tint, walls of gray marching in a +slant across a foreground embroidered with pools. Water ran, or +dripped, or stood everywhere. The river, its surface roughened by the +spit of angry drops, ran swollen among its islands, plumed shapes seen +mistily through the veil. The road emerged in oases of mud from long, +inundated spaces. Down the gullies in the hills, following the beaten +buffalo tracks, streams percolated through the grass of the bottom, +feeling their way to the river. + +Notwithstanding the weather a goodly company of mounted men rode at the +head of the train. They were wet to the skin and quite indifferent to +it. They had already come to regard the vagaries of the weather as +matters of no import. Mosquitoes and Indians were all they feared. On +such nights many of them slept in the open under a tarpaulin, and when +the water grew deep about them scooped out a drainage canal with a hand +that sleep made heavy. + +When the disorder of the camping ground was still in sight, Susan, with +the desire of social intercourse strong upon her, climbed into the +wagon of her new friends. They were practical, thrifty people, and +were as comfortable as they could be under a roof of soaked canvas in a +heavily weighted prairie schooner that every now and then bumped to the +bottom of a chuck hole. The married sister sat on a pile of sacks +disposed in a form that made a comfortable seat. A blanket was spread +behind her, and thus enthroned she knitted at a stocking of gray yarn. +Seen in the daylight she was young, fresh-skinned, and not uncomely. +Placidity seemed to be the dominating note of her personality. It +found physical expression in the bland parting of her hair, drawn back +from her smooth brow, her large plump hands with their deliberate +movements and dimples where more turbulent souls had knuckles, and her +quiet eyes, which turned upon anyone who addressed her a long +ruminating look before she answered. She had an air of almost oracular +profundity but she was merely in the quiescent state of the woman whose +faculties and strength are concentrated upon the coming child. Her +sister called her Bella and the people in the train addressed her as +Mrs. McMurdo. + +Lucy was beside her also knitting a stocking, and the husband, Glen +McMurdo, sat in the front driving, his legs in the rain, his upper half +leaning back under the shelter of the roof. He looked sleepy, gave a +grunt of greeting to Susan, and then lapsed against the saddle propped +behind him, his hat pulled low on his forehead hiding his eyes. In +this position, without moving or evincing any sign of life, he now and +then appeared to be roused to the obligations of his position and +shouted a drowsy "Gee Haw," at the oxen. + +He did not interfere with the women and they broke into the talk of +their sex, how they cooked, which of their clothes had worn best, what +was the right way of jerking buffalo meat. And then on to personal +matters: where they came from, what they were at home, whither they +were bound. The two sisters were Scotch girls, had come from Scotland +twenty years ago when Lucy was a baby. Their home was Cooperstown +where Glen was a carpenter. He had heard wonderful stories of +California, how there were no carpenters there and people were flocking +in, so he'd decided to emigrate. + +"And once he'd got his mind set on it, he had to start," said his wife. +"Couldn't wait for anything but must be off then and there. That's the +way men are." + +"It's a hard trip for you," said Susan, wondering at Mrs. McMurdo's +serenity. + +"Well, I suppose it is," said Bella, as if she did not really think it +was, but was too lazy to disagree. "I hope I'll last till we get to +Fort Bridger." + +"What's at Fort Bridger?" + +"It's a big place with lots of trains coming and going and there'll +probably be a doctor among them. And they say it's a good place for +the animals--plenty of grass--so it'll be all right if I'm laid up for +long. But I have my children very easily." + +It seemed to the doctor's daughter a desperate outlook and she eyed, +with a combination of pity and awe, the untroubled Bella reclining on +the throne of sacks. The wagon gave a creaking lurch and Bella nearly +lost count of her stitches which made her frown as she was turning the +heel. The lurch woke her husband who pushed back his hat, shouted "Gee +Haw" at the oxen, and then said to his wife: + +"You got to cut my hair, Bella. These long tags hanging down round my +ears worry me." + +"Yes, dear, as soon as the weather's fine. I'll borrow a bowl from +Mrs. Peeble's mother so that it'll be cut evenly all the way round." + +Here there was an interruption, a breathless, baby voice at the wheel, +and Glen leaned down and dragged up his son Bob, wet, wriggling, and +muddy. The little fellow, four years old, had on a homespun shirt and +drawers, both dripping. His hair was a wet mop, hanging in rat tails +to his eyes. Under its thatch his face, pink and smiling, was as fresh +as a dew-washed rose. Tightly gripped in a dirty paw were two wild +flowers, and it was to give these to his mother that he had come. + +He staggered toward her, the wagon gave a jolt, and he fell, clasping +her knees and filling the air with the sweetness of his laughter. Then +holding to her arm and shoulder, he drew himself higher and pressed the +flowers close against her nose. + +"Is it a bu'full smell?" he inquired, watching her face with eyes of +bright inquiry. + +"Beautiful," she said, trying to see the knitting. + +"Aren't you glad I brought them?" still anxiously inquiring. + +"Very"--she pushed them away. "You're soaked. Take off your things." + +And little Bob, still holding his flowers, was stripped to his skin. + +"Now lie down," said his mother. "I'm turning the heel." + +He obeyed, but turbulently, and with much pretense, making believe to +fall and rolling on the sacks, a naked cherub writhing with laughter. +Finally, his mother had to stop her heel-turning to seize him by one +leg, drag him toward her, roll him up in the end of the blanket and +with a silencing slap say, "There, lie still." This quieted him. He +lay subdued save for a waving hand in which the flowers were still +imbedded and with which he made passes at the two girls, murmuring with +the thick utterance of rising sleep "Bu'full flowers." And in a moment +he slept, curled against his mother, his face angelic beneath the wet +hair. + +When Susan came to the giving of her personal data--the few facts +necessary to locate and introduce her--her engagement was the item of +most interest. A love story even on the plains, with the rain +dribbling in through the cracks of the canvas, possessed the old, +deathless charm. The doctor and his philanthropies, on which she would +have liked to dilate, were given the perfunctory attention that +politeness demanded. By himself the good man is dull, he has to have a +woman on his arm to carry weight. David, the lover, and Susan, the +object of his love, were the hero and heroine of the story. Even the +married woman forgot the turning of the heel and fastened her mild gaze +on the young girl. + +"And such a handsome fellow," she said. "I said to Lucy--she'll tell +you if I didn't--that there wasn't a man to compare with him in our +train. And so gallant and polite. Last night, when I was heating the +water to wash the children, he carried the pails for me. None of the +men with us do that. They'd never think of offering to carry our +buckets." + +Her husband who had appeared to be asleep said: + +"Why should they?" and then shouted "Gee Haw" and made a futile kick +toward the nearest ox. + +Nobody paid any attention to him and Lucy said: + +"Yes, he's very fine looking. And you'd never met till you started on +the trail? Isn't that romantic?" + +Susan was gratified. To hear David thus commended by other women +increased his value. If it did not make her love him more, it made her +feel the pride of ownership in a desirable possession. There was +complacence in her voice as she cited his other gifts. + +"He's very learned. He's read all kinds of books. My father says it's +wonderful how much he's read. And he can recite poetry, verses and +verses, Byron and Milton and Shakespeare. He often recites to me when +we're riding together." + +This acquirement of the lover's did not elicit any enthusiasm from +Bella. + +"Well, did you ever!" she murmured absently, counting stitches under +her breath and then pulling a needle out of the heel, "Reciting poetry +on horseback!" + +But it impressed Lucy, who, still in the virgin state with fancy free +to range, was evidently inclined to romance: + +"When you have a little log house in California and live in it with him +he'll recite poetry to you in the evening after the work's done. Won't +that be lovely?" + +Susan made no response. Instead she swallowed silently, looking out on +the rain. The picture of herself and David, alone in a log cabin +somewhere on the other side of the world, caused a sudden return of +yesterday's dejection. It rushed back upon her in a flood under which +her heart declined into bottomless depths. She felt as if actually +sinking into some dark abyss of loneliness and that she must clutch at +her father and Daddy John to stay her fall. + +"We won't be alone," with a note of protest making her voice plaintive. +"My father and Daddy John will be there. I couldn't be separated from +them. I'd never get over missing them. They've been with me always." + +Bella did not notice the tone, or maybe saw beyond it. + +"You won't miss them when you're married," she said with her benign +content. "Your husband will be enough." + +Lucy, with romance instead of a husband, agreed to this, and arranged +the programme for the future as she would have had it: + +"They'll probably live near you in tents. And you'll see them often; +ride over every few days. But you'll want your own log house just for +yourselves." + +This time Susan did not answer, for she was afraid to trust her voice. +She pretended a sudden interest in the prospect while the unbearable +picture rose before her mind--she and David alone, while her father and +Daddy John were somewhere else in tents, somewhere away from her, out +of reach of her hands and her kisses, not there to laugh with her and +tease her and tell her she was a tyrant, only David loving her in an +unintelligible, discomforting way and wanting to read poetry and admire +sunsets. The misery of it gripped down into her soul. It was as the +thought of being marooned on a lone sand bar to a free buccaneer. They +never could leave her so; they never could have the heart to do it. +And anger against David, the cause of it, swelled in her. It was he +who had done it all, trying to steal her away from the dear, familiar +ways and the people with whom she had been so happy. + +Lucy looked at her with curious eyes, in which there was admiration and +a touch of envy. + +"You must be awfully happy?" she said. + +"Awfully," answered Susan, swallowing and looking at the rain. + +When she went back to her own wagon she found a consultation in +progress. Daddy John, streaming from every fold, had just returned +from the head of the caravan, where he had been riding with the pilot. +From him he had heard that the New York Company on good roads, in fair +weather, made twenty miles a day, and that in the mountains, where the +fodder was scarce and the trail hard, would fall to a slower pace. The +doctor's party, the cow long since sacrificed to the exigencies of +speed, had been making from twenty-five to thirty. Even with a drop +from this in the barer regions ahead of them they could look forward to +reaching California a month or six weeks before the New York Company. + +There was nothing to be gained by staying with them, and, so far, the +small two-wagon caravan had moved with a speed and absence of accident, +which gave its members confidence in their luck and generalship. It +was agreed that they should leave the big train the next morning and +move on as rapidly as they could, stopping at Fort Laramie to repair +the wagons which the heat had warped, shoe the horses, and lay in the +supplies they needed. + +Susan heard it with regret. The comfort of dropping back into the +feminine atmosphere, where obvious things did not need explanation, and +all sorts of important communications were made by mental telepathy, +was hard to relinquish. She would once again have to adjust herself to +the dull male perceptions which saw and heard nothing that was not +visible and audible. She would have to shut herself in with her own +problems, getting no support or sympathy unless she asked for it, and +then, before its sources could be tapped, she would have to explain why +she wanted it and demonstrate that she was a deserving object. + +And it was hard to break the budding friendship with Lucy and Bella, +for friendships were not long making on the Emigrant Trail. One day's +companionship in the creaking prairie schooner had made the three women +more intimate than a year of city visiting would have done. They made +promises of meeting again in California. Neither party knew its exact +point of destination--somewhere on that strip of prismatic color, not +too crowded and not too wild but that wanderers of the same blood and +birth might always find each other. + +In the evening the two girls sat in Susan's tent enjoying a last +exchange of low-toned talk. The rain had stopped. The thick, bluish +wool of clouds that stretched from horizon to horizon was here and +there rent apart, showing strips of lemon-colored sky. The ground was +soaked, the footprints round the wagons filled with water, the ruts +brimming with it. There was a glow of low fires round the camp, for +the mosquitoes were bad and the brown smudge of smoldering buffalo +chips kept them away. + +Susan gave the guest the seat of honor--her saddle spread with a +blanket--and herself sat on a pile of skins. The tent had been pitched +on a rise of ground and already the water was draining off. Through +the looped entrance they could see the regular lights of the fires, +spotted on the twilight like the lamps of huge, sedentary glow worms, +and the figures of men recumbent near where the slow smoke spirals +wound languidly up. Above the sweet, moist odor of the rain, the tang +of the burning dung rose, pungent and biting. + +Here as the evening deepened they comfortably gossiped, their voices +dropping lower as the camp sunk to rest. They exchanged vows of the +friendship that was to be renewed in California, and then, drawing +closer together, watching the fires die down to sulky red sparks and +the sentinel's figure coming and going on its lonely beat, came to an +exchange of opinions on love and marriage. + +Susan was supposed to know most, her proprietorship of David giving her +words the value of experience, but Lucy had most to say. Her tongue +loosened by the hour and a pair of listening ears, she revealed herself +as much preoccupied with all matters of sentiment, and it was only +natural that a love story of her own should be confessed. It was back +in Cooperstown, and he had been an apprentice of Glen's. She hadn't +cared for him at all, judging by excerpts from the scenes of his +courtship he had been treated with unmitigated harshness. But her +words and tones--still entirely scornful with half a continent between +her and the adorer--gave evidence of a regret, of self-accusing, uneasy +doubt, as of one who looks back on lost opportunities. The listener's +ear was caught by it, indicating a state of mind so different from her +own. + +"Then you did like him?" + +"I didn't like him at all. I couldn't bear him." + +"But you seem sorry you didn't marry him." + +"Well-- No, I'm not sorry. But"--it was the hour for truth, the still +indifference of the night made a lie seem too trivial for the effort of +telling--"I don't know out here in the wilds whether I'll ever get +anyone else." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +By noon the next day the doctor's train had left the New York Company +far behind. Looking back they could see it in gradual stages of +diminishment--a white serpent with a bristling head of scattered +horsemen, then a white worm, its head a collection of dark particles, +then a white thread with a head too insignificant to be deciphered. +Finally it was gone, absorbed into the detailless distance where the +river coiled through the green. + +Twenty-four hours later they reached the Forks of the Platte. Here the +trail crossed the South Fork, slanted over the plateau that lay between +the two branches, and gained the North Fork. Up this it passed, +looping round the creviced backs of mighty bluffs, and bearing +northwestward to Fort Laramie. The easy faring of the grassed bottom +was over. The turn to the North Fork was the turn to the mountains. +The slow stream with its fleet of islands would lose its dreamy +deliberateness and become a narrowed rushing current, sweeping round +the bases of sandstone walls as the pioneers followed it up and on +toward the whitened crests of the Wind River Mountains, where the snows +never melted and the lakes lay in the hollows green as jade. + +It was afternoon when they reached the ford. The hills had sunk away +to low up-sweepings of gray soil, no longer hiding the plain which lay +yellow against a cobalt sky. As the wagons rolled up on creaking +wheels the distance began to darken with the buffalo. The prospect was +like a bright-colored map over which a black liquid has been spilled, +here in drops, there in creeping streams. Long files flowed from the +rifts between the dwarfed bluffs, unbroken herds swept in a wave over +the low barrier, advanced to the river, crusted its surface, passed +across, and surged up the opposite bank. Finally all sides showed the +moving mass, blackening the plateau, lining the water's edge in an +endless undulation of backs and heads, foaming down the faces of the +sand slopes. Where the train moved they divided giving it right of +way, streaming by, bulls, cows, and calves intent on their own +business, the earth tremulous under their tread. Through breaks in +their ranks the blue and purple of the hills shone startlingly vivid +and beyond the prairie lay like a fawn-colored sea across which dark +shadows trailed. + +The ford was nearly a mile wide, a shallow current, in some places only +a glaze, but with shifting sands stirring beneath it. Through the +thin, glass-like spread of water the backs of sand bars emerged, smooth +as the bodies of recumbent monsters. On the far side the plateau +stretched, lilac with the lupine flowers, the broken rear line of the +herd receding across it. + +The doctor, feeling the way, was to ride in the lead, his wagon +following with Susan and Daddy John on the driver's seat. It seemed an +easy matter, the water chuckling round the wheels, the mules not wet +above the knees. Half way across, grown unduly confident, the doctor +turned in his saddle to address his daughter when his horse walked into +a quicksand and unseated him. It took them half an hour to drag it +out, Susan imploring that her father come back to the wagon and change +his clothes. He only laughed at her which made her angry. With +frowning brows she saw him mount again, and a dripping, white-haired +figure, set out debonairly for the opposite bank. + +The sun was low, the night chill coming on when they reached it. Their +wet clothes were cold upon them and the camp pitching was hurried. +Susan bending over her fire, blowing at it with expanded cheeks and, +between her puffs, scolding at her father, first, for having got wet, +then for having stayed wet, and now for being still wet, was to David +just as charming as any of the other and milder apotheoses of the Susan +he had come to know so well. It merely added a new tang, a fresh spice +of variety, to a personality a less ravished observer might have +thought unattractively masterful for a woman. + +Her fire kindled, the camp in shape, she lay down by the little blaze +with her head under a lupine plant. Her wrath had simmered to +appeasement by the retirement of the doctor into his wagon, and David, +glimpsing at her, saw that her eyes, a thread of observation between +black-fringed lids, dwelt musingly on the sky. She looked as if she +might be dreaming a maiden's dream of love. He hazarded a tentative +remark. Her eyes moved, touched him indifferently, and passed back to +the sky, and an unformed murmur, interrogation, acquiescence, casual +response, anything he pleased to think it, escaped her lips. He +watched her as he could when she was not looking at him. A loosened +strand of her hair lay among the lupine roots, one of her hands rested, +brown and upcurled, on a tiny weed its weight had broken. She turned +her head with a nestling movement, drew a deep, soft breath and her +eyelids drooped. + +"David," she said in a drowsy voice, "I'm going to sleep. Wake me at +supper time." + +He became rigidly quiet. When she had sunk deep into sleep, only her +breast moving with the ebb and flow of her quiet breath, he crept +nearer and drew a blanket over her, careful not to touch her. He +looked at the unconscious face for a moment, then softly dropped the +blanket and stole back to his place ready to turn at the first foot +fall and lift a silencing hand. + +It was one of the beautiful moments that had come to him in his wooing. +He sat in still reverie, feeling the dear responsibilities of his +ownership. That she might sleep, sweet and soft, he would work as no +man ever worked before. To guard, to comfort, to protect her--that +would be his life. He turned and looked at her, his sensitive face +softening like a woman's watching the sleep of her child. Susan, all +unconscious, with her rich young body showing in faint curves under the +defining blanket, and her hair lying loose among the roots of the +lupine bush, was so devoid of that imperious quality that marked her +when awake, was so completely a tender feminine thing, with peaceful +eyelids and innocent lips, that it seemed a desecration to look upon +her in such a moment of abandonment. Love might transform her into +this--in her waking hours when her body and heart had yielded +themselves to their master. + +David turned away. The sacred thought that some day he would be the +owner of this complex creation of flesh and spirit, so rich, so fine, +with depths unknown to his groping intelligence, made a rush of +supplication, a prayer to be worthy, rise in his heart. He looked at +the sunset through half-shut eyes, sending his desire up to that +unknown God, who, in these wild solitudes, seemed leaning down to +listen: + +"Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep." + +The sun, falling to the horizon like a spinning copper disk, was as a +sign of promise and help. The beauty of the hour stretched into the +future. His glance, shifting to the distance, saw the scattered dots +of the disappearing buffalo, the shadows sloping across the sand hills, +and the long expanse of lupines blotting into a thick foam of lilac +blue. + +Susan stirred, and he woke from his musings with a start. She sat up, +the blanket falling from her shoulders, and looking at him with +sleep-filled eyes, smiled the sweet, meaningless smile of a +half-awakened child. Her consciousness had not yet fully returned, and +her glance, curiously clear and liquid, rested on his without +intelligence. The woman in her was never more apparent, her seduction +never more potent. Her will dormant, her bounding energies at low ebb, +she looked a thing to nestle, soft and yielding, against a man's heart. + +"Have I slept long?" she said stretching, and then, "Isn't it cold." + +"Come near the fire," he answered. "I've built it up while you were +asleep." + +She came, trailing the blanket in a languid hand, and sat beside him. +He drew it up about her shoulders and looked into her face. Meeting +his eyes she broke into low laughter, and leaning nearer to him +murmured in words only half articulated: + +"Oh, David, I'm so sleepy." + +He took her hand, and it stayed unresisting against his palm. She +laughed again, and then yawned, lifting her shoulders with a supple +movement that shook off the blanket. + +"It takes such a long time to wake up," she murmured apologetically. + +David made no answer, and for a space they sat silent looking at the +sunset. As the mists of sleep dispersed she became aware of his hand +pressure, and the contentment that marked her awakening was marred. +But she felt in a kindly mood and did not withdraw her hand. Instead, +she wanted to please him, to be as she thought he would like her to be, +so she made a gallant effort and said: + +"What a wonderful sunset--all yellow to the middle of the sky." + +He nodded, looking at the flaming west. She went on: + +"And there are little bits of gold cloud floating over it, like the +melted lead that you pour through a key on all Hallowe'en." + +He again made no answer, and leaning nearer to spy into his face, she +asked naďvely: + +"Don't you think it beautiful?" + +He turned upon her sharply, and she drew back discomposed by his look. + +"Let me kiss you," he said, his voice a little husky. + +He was her betrothed and had never kissed her but once in the +moonlight. It was his right, and after all, conquering the inevitable +repugnance, it did not take long. Caught thus in a yielding mood she +resolved to submit. She had a comforting sense that it was a rite to +which in time one became accustomed. With a determination to perform +her part graciously she lowered her eyelids and presented a dusky +cheek. As his shoulder touched hers she felt that he trembled and was +instantly seized with the antipathy that his emotion woke in her. But +it was too late to withdraw. His arms closed round her and he crushed +her against his chest. When she felt their strength and the beating of +his heart against the unstirred calm of her own, her good resolutions +were swept away in a surge of abhorrence. She struggled for freedom, +repelling him with violent, pushing hands, and exclaiming breathlessly: + +"Don't, David! Stop! I won't have it! Don't!" + +He instantly released her, and she shrunk away, brushing off the bosom +of her blouse as if he had left dust there. Her face was flushed and +frowning. + +"Don't. You mustn't," she repeated, with heated reproof. "I don't +want you to." + +David smiled a sheepish smile, looking foolish, and not knowing what to +say. At the sight of his crestfallen expression she averted her eyes, +sorry that she had hurt him but not sufficiently sorry to risk a +repetition of the unpleasant experience. He, too, turned his glance +from her, biting his lip to hide the insincerity of his smile, +irritated at her unmanageableness, and in his heart valuing her more +highly that she was so hard to win. Both were exceedingly conscious, +and with deepened color sat gazing in opposite directions like children +who have had a quarrel. + +A step behind them broke upon their embarrassment, saving them from the +necessity of speech. Daddy John's voice came with it: + +"Missy, do you know if the keg of whisky was moved? It ain't where I +put it." + +She turned with a lightning quickness. + +"Whisky! Who wants whisky?" + +Daddy John looked uncomfortable. + +"Well, the doctor's took sort of cold, got a shiver on him like the +ague, and he thought a nip o' whisky'd warm him up." + +She jumped to her feet. + +"There!" flinging out the word with the rage of a disregarded prophet, +"a chill! I knew it!" + +In a moment all the self-engrossment of her bashfulness was gone. Her +mind had turned on another subject with such speed and completeness +that David's kiss and her anger might have taken place in another world +in a previous age. Her faculties leaped to the sudden call like a +liberated spring, and her orders burst on Daddy John: + +"In the back of the wagon, under the corn meal. It was moved when we +crossed the Big Blue. Take out the extra blankets and the medicine +chest. That's in the front corner, near my clothes, under the seat. A +chill--out here in the wilderness!" + +David turned to soothe her: + +"Don't be worried. A chill's natural enough after such a wetting." + +She shot a quick, hard glance at him, and he felt ignominiously +repulsed. In its preoccupation her face had no recognition of him, not +only as a lover but as a human being. Her eyes, under low-drawn brows, +stared for a second into his with the unseeing intentness of inward +thought. Her struggles to avoid his kiss were not half so chilling. +Further solacing words died on his lips. + +"It's the worst possible thing that could happen to him. Everybody +knows that"--then she looked after Daddy John. "Get the whisky at +once," she called. "I'll find the medicines." + +"Can't I help?" the young man implored. + +Without answering she started for the wagon, and midway between it and +the fire paused to cry back over her shoulder: + +"Heat water, or if you can find stones heat them. We must get him +warm." + +And she ran on. + +David looked about for the stones. The "we" consoled him a little, but +he felt as if he were excluded into outer darkness, and at a moment +when she should have turned to him for the aid he yearned to give. He +could not get over the suddenness of it, and watched them forlornly, +gazing enviously at their conferences over the medicine chest, once +straightening himself from his search for stones to call longingly: + +"Can't I do something for you over there?" + +"Have you the stones?" she answered without raising her head, and he +went back to his task. + +In distress she had turned from the outside world, broken every lien of +interest with it, and gone back to her own. The little circle in which +her life had always moved snapped tight upon her, leaving the lover +outside, as completely shut out from her and her concerns as if he had +been a stranger camped by her fire. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +The doctor was ill. The next day he lay in the wagon, his chest +oppressed, fever burning him to the dryness of an autumn leaf. To the +heads that looked upon him through the circular opening with a +succession of queries as to his ailment, he invariably answered that it +was nothing, a bronchial cold, sent to him as a punishment for +disobeying his daughter. But the young men remembered that the journey +had been undertaken for his health, and Daddy John, in the confidential +hour of the evening smoke, told them that the year before an attack of +congestion of the lungs had been almost fatal. + +Even if they had not known this, Susan's demeanor would have told them +it was a serious matter. She was evidently wracked by anxiety which +transformed her into a being so distant, and at times so cross, that +only Daddy John had the temerity to maintain his usual attitude toward +her. She would hardly speak to Leff, and to David, the slighting +coldness that she had shown in the beginning continued, holding him at +arm's length, freezing him into stammering confusion. When he tried to +offer her help or cheer her she made him feel like a foolish and +tactless intruder, forcing his way into the place that was hers alone. +He did not know whether she was prompted by a cruel perversity, or held +in an absorption so intense she had no warmth of interest left for +anybody. He tried to explain her conduct, but he could only feel its +effect, wonder if she had grown to dislike him, review the last week in +a search for a cause. In the daytime he hung about the doctor's wagon, +miserably anxious for a word from her. He was grateful if she asked +him to hunt for medicine in the small, wooden chest, or to spread the +blankets to air on the tops of the lupine bushes. + +And while she thus relegated him to the outer places where strangers +hovered, a sweetness, so gentle, so caressing, so all pervading that it +made of her a new and lovely creature, marked her manner to the sick +man. There had always been love in her bearing to her father, but this +new tenderness was as though some hidden well of it, sunk deep in the +recesses of her being, had suddenly overflowed. David saw the hardness +of the face she turned toward him transmute into a brooding passion of +affection as she bent over the doctor's bed. The fingers he did not +dare to touch lifted the sick man's hand to her cheek and held it there +while she smiled down at him, her eyes softening with a light that +stirred the lover's soul. The mystery of this feminine complexity awed +him. Would she ever look at him like that? What could he do to make +her? He knew of no other way than by serving her, trying unobtrusively +to lighten her burden, effacing himself, as that seemed to be what she +wanted. And in the night as he lay near the wagon, ready to start at +her call, he thought with exalted hope that some day he might win such +a look for himself. + +The doctor was for going on. There was no necessity to stay in camp +because one man happened to wheeze and cough, he said, and anyway, he +could do that just as well when they were moving. So they started out +and crossed the plateau to where the road dropped into the cleft of Ash +Hollow. Here they stopped and held a conference. The doctor was +worse. The interior of the wagon, the sun beating on the canvas roof, +was like a furnace, where he lay sweltering, tossed this way and that +by the jolting wheels. Their dust moved with them, breezes lifting it +and carrying it careening back to them where it mingled with new dust, +hanging dense like a segment of fog in the scene's raw brilliancy. + +Ash Hollow looked a darkling descent, the thin pulsations of the little +leaves of ash trees flickering along its sides. The road bent downward +in sharp zigzags, and somewhere below the North Fork ran. The plain +was free, blue clothed and blue vaulted, with "the wonderful winds of +God" flowing between. The conference resulted in a unanimous decision +to halt where they were, and stay in camp till the doctor improved, +moving him from the wagon to a tent. + +For four days he lay parched with fever, each breath drawn with a +stifled inner rustling, numerous fine wrinkles traced in a network on +his dried cheeks. Then good care, the open air, and the medicine chest +prevailed. He improved, and Susan turned her face again to the world +and smiled. Such was the changefulness of her mood that her smiles +were as radiant and generously bestowed as her previous demeanor had +been repelling. Even Leff got some of them, and they fell on David +prodigal and warming as the sunshine. Words to match went with them. +On the morning of the day when the doctor's temperature fell and he +could breathe with ease, she said to her betrothed: + +"Oh, David, you've been so good, you've made me so fond of you." + +It was the nearest she had yet come to the language of lovers. It made +him dizzy; the wonderful look was in his mind. + +"You wouldn't let me be good," was all he could stammer. "You didn't +seem as if you wanted me at all." + +"Stupid!" she retorted with a glance of beaming reproach, "I'm always +like that when my father's sick." + +It was noon of the fifth day that a white spot on the plain told them +the New York Company was in sight. The afternoon was yet young when +the dust of the moving column tarnished the blue-streaked distance. +Then the first wagons came into view, creeping along the winding ribbon +of road. As soon as the advance guard of horsemen saw the camp, pieces +of it broke away and were deflected toward the little group of tents +from which a tiny spiral of smoke went up in an uncoiling, milky skein. +Susan had many questions to answer, and had some ado to keep the +inquirers away from the doctor, who was still too weak to be disturbed. +She was sharp and not very friendly in her efforts to preserve him from +their sympathizing curiosity. + +Part of the train had gone by when she heard from a woman who rode up +on a foot-sore nag that the McMurdo's were some distance behind. A +bull boat in which the children were crossing the river had upset, and +Mrs. McMurdo had been frightened and "took faint." The children were +all right--only a wetting--but it was a bad time for their mother to +get such a scare. + +"I'm not with the women who think it's all right to take such risks. +Stay at home _then_," she said, giving Susan a sage nod out of the +depths of her sunbonnet. + +The news made the young girl uneasy. A new reticence, the "grown-up" +sense of the wisdom of silence that she had learned on the trail, made +her keep her own council. Also, there was no one to tell but her +father, and he was the last person who ought to know. The call of +unaided suffering would have brought him as quickly from his buffalo +skins in the tent as from his bed in the old home in Rochester. Susan +resolved to keep it from him, if she had to stand guard over him and +fight them off. Her philosophy was primitive--her own first, and if, +to save her own, others must be sacrificed, then she would aid in the +sacrifice and weep over its victims, weep, but not yield. + +When the train had disappeared into the shadows of Ash Hollow, curses, +shouts, and the cracking of whips rising stormily over its descent, the +white dot of the McMurdo's wagon was moving over the blue and green +distance. As it drew near they could see that Glen walked beside the +oxen, and the small figure of Bob ran by the wheel. Neither of the +women were to be seen. "Lazy and riding," Daddy John commented, spying +at them with his far-sighted old eyes. "Tired out and gone to sleep," +David suggested. Susan's heart sank and she said nothing. It looked +as if something was the matter, and she nerved herself for a struggle. + +When Glen saw them, his shout came through the clear air, keen-edged as +a bird's cry. They answered, and he raised a hand in a gesture that +might have been a beckoning or merely a hail. David leaped on a horse +and went galloping through the bending heads of the lupines to meet +them. Susan watched him draw up at Glen's side, lean from his saddle +for a moment's parley, then turn back. The gravity of his face +increased her dread. He dismounted, looking with scared eyes from one +to the other. Mrs. McMurdo was sick. Glen was glad--he couldn't say +how glad--that it was their camp. He'd camp there with them. His wife +wasn't able to go on. + +Susan edged up to him, caught his eye and said stealthily: + +"Don't tell my father." + +He hesitated. + +"They--they--seemed to want him." + +"I'll see to that," she answered. "Don't you let him know that +anything's the matter, or I'll never forgive you." + +It was a command, and the glance that went with it accented its +authority. + +The prairie schooner was now close at hand, and they straggled forward +to meet it, one behind the other, through the brushing of the knee-high +bushes. The child recognizing them ran screaming toward them, his +hands out-stretched, crying out their names. Lucy appeared at the +front of the wagon, climbed on the tongue and jumped down. She was +pale, the freckles on her fair skin showing like a spattering of brown +paint, her flaming hair slipped in a tousled coil to one side of her +head. + +"It's you!" she cried. "Glen didn't know whose camp it was till he saw +David. Oh, I'm so glad!" and she ran to Susan, clutched her arm and +said in a hurried lower key, "Bella's sick. She feels terribly bad, +out here in this place with nothing. Isn't it dreadful?" + +"I'll speak to her," said Susan. "You stay here." + +The oxen, now at the outskirts of the camp, had come to a standstill. +Susan stepping on the wheel drew herself up to the driver's seat. +Bella sat within on a pile of sacks, her elbows on her knees, her +forehead in her hands. By her side, leaning against her, stood the +little girl, blooming and thoughtful, her thumb in her mouth. She +withdrew it and stared fixedly at Susan, then smiled a slow, shy smile, +full of meaning, as if her mind held a mischievous secret. At Susan's +greeting the mother lifted her head. + +"Oh, Susan, isn't it a mercy we've found you?" she exclaimed. "We saw +the camp hours ago, but we didn't know it was yours. It's as if God +had delayed you. Yes, my dear, it's come. But I'm not going to be +afraid. With your father it'll be all right." + +The young girl said a few consolatory words and jumped down from the +wheel. She was torn both ways. Bella's plight was piteous, but to +make her father rise in his present state of health and attend such a +case, hours long, in the chill, night breath of the open--it might kill +him! She turned toward the camp, vaguely conscious of the men standing +in awkward attitudes and looking thoroughly uncomfortable as though +they felt a vicarious sense of guilt--that the entire male sex had +something to answer for in Bella's tragic predicament. Behind them +stood the doctor's tent, and as her eyes fell on it she saw Lucy's body +standing in the opening, the head and shoulders hidden within the +inclosure. Lucy was speaking with the doctor. + +Susan gave a sharp exclamation and stopped. It was too late to +interfere. Lucy withdrew her head and came running back, crying +triumphantly: + +"Your father's coming. He says he's not sick at all. He's putting on +his coat." + +Following close on her words came the doctor, emerging slowly, for he +was weak and unsteady. In the garish light of the afternoon he looked +singularly white and bleached, like a man whose warm, red-veined life +is dried into a sere grayness of blood and tissue. He was out of +harmony with the glad living colors around him, ghostlike amid the +brightness of the flowering earth and the deep-dyed heaven. He met his +daughter's eyes and smiled. + +"Your prisoner has escaped you, Missy." + +She tried to control herself, to beat down the surge of anger that +shook her. Meeting him she implored with low-toned urgence: + +"Father, you can't do it. Go back. You're too sick." + +He pushed her gently away, his smile gone. + +"Go back, Missy? The woman is suffering, dear." + +"I know it, and I don't care. You're suffering, you're sick. She +should have known better than to come. It's her fault, not ours. +Because she was so foolhardy is no reason why you should be victimized." + +His gravity was crossed by a look of cold, displeased surprise, a look +she had not seen directed upon her since once in her childhood when she +had told him a lie. + +"I don't want to feel ashamed of you, Missy," he said quietly, and +putting her aside went on to the wagon. + +She turned away blinded with rage and tears. She had a dim vision of +David and fled from it, then felt relief at the sight of Daddy John. +He saw her plight, and hooking his hand in her arm took her behind the +tent, where she burst into furious words and a gush of stifled weeping. + +"No good," was the old man's consolation. "Do you expect the doctor to +lie comfortable in his blanket when there's some one around with a +pain?" + +"Why did she come? Why didn't she stay at home?" + +"That ain't in the question," he said, patting her arm; "she's here, +and she's got the pain, and you and I know the doctor." + +The McMurdo's prairie schooner rolled off to a place where the lupines +were high, and Glen pitched the tent. The men, not knowing what else +to do to show their sympathy, laid the fires and cleaned the camp. +Then the two younger ones shouldered their rifles and wandered away to +try and get some fresh buffalo meat, they said; but it was obvious that +they felt out of place and alarmed in a situation where those of their +sex could only assume an apologetic attitude and admit the blame. + +The children were left to Susan's care. She drew them to the cleared +space about the fires, and as she began the preparations for supper +asked them to help. They took the request very seriously, and she +found a solace in watching them as they trotted up with useless pans, +bending down to see the smile of thanks to which they were accustomed, +and which made them feel proud and important. Once she heard Bob, in +the masterful voice of the male, tell his sister the spoon she was so +triumphantly bringing was not wanted. The baby's joy was stricken from +her, she bowed to the higher intelligence, and the spoon slid from her +limp hand to the ground, while she stood a figure of blank +disappointment. Susan had to set down her pan and call her over, and +kneeling with the soft body clasped close, and the little knees +pressing against her breast, felt some of the anger there melting away. +After that they gathered broken twigs of lupine, and standing afar +threw them at the flames. There was a moment of suspense when they +watched hopefully, and then a sad awakening when the twigs fell about +their feet. They shuffled back, staring down at the scattered leaves +in a stupor of surprise. + +Sunset came and supper was ready. Daddy John loomed up above the lip +of Ash Hollow with a load of roots and branches for the night. Lucy +emerged from the tent and sat down by her cup and plate, harrassed and +silent. Glen said he wanted no supper. He had been sitting for an +hour on the pole of David's wagon, mute and round-shouldered in his +dusty homespuns. No one had offered to speak to him. It was he who +had induced the patient woman to follow him on the long journey. They +all knew this was now the matter of his thoughts. His ragged figure +and down-drooped, miserable face were dignified with the tragedy of a +useless remorse. As Lucy passed him he raised his eyes, but said +nothing. Then, as the others drew together round the circle of tin +cups and plates, a groan came suddenly from the tent. He leaped up, +made a gesture of repelling something unendurable, and ran away, +scudding across the plain not looking back. The group round the fire +were silent. But the two children did not heed. With their blond +heads touching, they held their cups close together and argued as to +which one had the most coffee in it. + +When the twilight came there was no one left by the fire but Susan and +the children. She gathered them on a buffalo robe and tucked a blanket +round them watching as sleep flowed over them, invaded and subdued them +even while their lips moved with belated, broken murmurings. The +little girl's hand, waving dreamily in the air, brushed her cheek with +a velvet touch, and sank languidly, up-curled like a rose petal. With +heads together and bodies nestled close they slept, exhaling the +fragrance of healthy childhood, two sparks of matter incased in an +envelope of exquisite flesh, pearly tissue upon which life would trace +a pattern not yet selected. + +Darkness closed down on the camp, pressing on the edges of the +firelight like a curious intruder. There was no wind, and the mound of +charring wood sent up a line of smoke straight as a thread, which +somewhere aloft widened and dissolved. The stillness of the wilderness +brooded close and deep, stifling the noises of the day. When the +sounds of suffering from the tent tore the airy veil apart, it +shuddered full of the pain, then the torn edges delicately adhered, and +it was whole again. Once Lucy came, haggard and tight-lipped, and +asked Susan to put on water to heat. Bella was terribly sick, the +doctor wouldn't leave her. The other children were nothing to this. +But the Emigrant Trail was molding Lucy. She made no complaints, and +her nerves were steady as a taut string. It was one of the hazards of +the great adventure to be taken as it came. + +After she had gone, and the iron kettle was balanced on a bed of heat, +Susan lay down on her blanket. Fear and loathing were on her. For the +first time a shrinking from life and its requirements came coldly over +her, for the first time her glad expectancy knew a check, fell back +before tremendous things blocking the path. Her dread for her father +was submerged in a larger dread--of the future and what it might bring, +of what might be expected of her, of pains and perils once so far away +they seemed as if she would never reach them, now suddenly close to +her, laying a gripping hand on her heart. + +Her face was toward the camp, and she could not see on the plain behind +her a moving shadow bearing down on the fire's glow, visible for miles +in that level country. It advanced noiselessly through the swaying +bushes, till, entering the limits of the light, it detached itself from +the darkness, taking the form of a mounted man followed by a pack +animal. The projected rays of red played along the barrel of a rifle +held across the saddle, and struck answering gleams from touches of +metal on the bridle. So soundless was the approach that Susan heard +nothing till a lupine stalk snapped under the horse's hoof. She sat up +and turned. Over the horse's ears she saw a long swarthy face framed +in hanging hair, and the glint of narrowed eyes looking curiously at +her. She leaped to her feet with a smothered cry, Indians in her mind. +The man raised a quick hand, and said: + +"It's all right. It's a white man." + +He slid off his horse and came toward her. He was so like an Indian, +clad in a fringed hunting shirt and leggings, his movements lithe and +light, his step noiseless, his skin copper dark, that she stood alert, +ready to raise a warning cry. Then coming into the brighter light she +saw he was white, with long red hair hanging from the edge of his cap, +and light-colored eyes that searched her face with a hard look. He was +as wild a figure as any the plains had yet given up, and she drew away +looking fearfully at him. + +"Don't be afraid," he said in a deep voice. "I'm the same kind as you." + +"Who are you?" she faltered. + +"A mountain man. I'll camp with you." Then glancing about, "Where are +the rest of them?" + +"They're round somewhere," she answered. "We have sickness here." + +"Cholera?" quickly. + +She shook her head. + +Without more words he went back and picketed his horses, and took the +pack and saddle off. She could see his long, pale-colored figure +moving from darkness into light, and the animals drooping with +stretched necks as their bonds were loosened. When he came back to the +fire he dropped a blanket and laid his gun close to it, then threw +himself down. The rattle of the powder horn and bullet mold he wore +hanging from his shoulder came with the movement. He slipped the strap +off and threw it beside the gun. Then drew one foot up and unfastened +a large spur attached to his moccasined heel. He wore a ragged +otter-skin cap, the animal's tail hanging down on one side. This he +took off too, showing his thick red hair, damp and matted from the heat +of the fur. With a knotted hand he pushed back the locks pressed down +on his forehead. The skin there was untanned and lay like a white band +above the darkness of his face, thin, edged with a fringe of red beard +and with blue eyes set high above prominent cheek bones. He threw his +spur on the other things, and looking up met Susan's eyes staring at +him across the fire. + +"Where are you going?" he asked. + +"To California." + +"So am I." + +She made no answer. + +"Were you asleep when I came?" + +"No, I was thinking." + +A sound of anguish came from the tent, and Susan set her teeth on her +underlip stiffening. He looked in its direction, then back at her. + +"What's the matter there?" he asked. + +"A child is being born." + +He made no comment, swept the background of tents and wagon roofs with +an investigating eye that finally came to a stop on the sleeping +children. + +"Are these yours?" + +"No, they belong to the woman who is sick." + +His glance left them as if uninterested, and he leaned backward to pull +his blanket out more fully. His body, in the sleekly pliant buckskins, +was lean and supple. As he twisted, stretching an arm to draw out the +crumpled folds, the lines of his long back and powerful shoulders +showed the sinuous grace of a cat. He relaxed into easeful full +length, propped on an elbow, his red hair coiling against his neck. +Susan stole a stealthy glance at him. As if she had spoken, he +instantly raised his head and looked into her eyes. + +His were clear and light with a singularly penetrating gaze, not bold +but intent, eyes not used to the detailed observation of the peopled +ways, but trained to unimpeded distances and to search the faces of +primitive men. They held hers, seeming to pierce the acquired veneer +of reserve to the guarded places beneath. She felt a slow stir of +antagonism, a defensive gathering of her spirit as against an intruder. +Her pride and self-sufficiency responded, answering to a hurried +summons. She was conscious of a withdrawal, a closing of doors, a +shutting down of her defenses in face of aggression and menace. And +while she rallied to this sudden call-to-arms the strange man held her +glance across the fire. It was she who spoke slowly in a low voice: + +"Where do you come from?" + +"From Taos, and after that Bent's Fort." + +"What is your name?" + +"Low Courant." + +Then with an effort she turned away and bent over the children. When +she looked back at him he was rolled in his blanket, and with his face +to the fire was asleep. + +Lucy came presently for the hot water with a bulletin of progress +growing each moment more direful. Her eyes fell on the sleeping man, +and she said, peering through the steam of the bubbling water: + +"Who's that?" + +"A strange man." + +"From where?" + +"Taos, and after that Bent's Fort," Susan repeated, and Lucy forgot him +and ran back to the tent. + +There was a gray line in the east when she returned to say the child +was born dying as it entered the world, and Bella was in desperate +case. She fell beside her friend, quivering and sobbing, burying her +face in Susan's bosom. Shaken and sickened by the dreadful night they +clung together holding to each other, as if in a world where love +claimed such a heavy due, where joy realized itself at such exceeding +cost, nothing was left but the bond of a common martyrdom. Yet each of +them, knowing the measure of her pain, would move to the head of her +destiny and take up her heavy engagement without fear, obeying the +universal law. + +But now, caught in the terror of the moment, they bowed their heads and +wept together while the strange man slept by the fire. + + + +END OF PART II + + + + +PART III + +The Mountains + + +CHAPTER I + +Fort Laramie stood where the eastern roots of the mountains start in +toothed reef and low, premonitory sweep from the level of the plains. +Broken chains and spurs edged up toward it. Far beyond, in a faint +aerial distance, the soaring solidity of vast ranges hung on the +horizon, cloudy crests painted on the sky. Laramie Peak loomed closer, +a bold, bare point, gold in the morning, purple at twilight. And the +Black Hills, rock-ribbed and somber, dwarf pines clutching their +lodges, rose in frowning ramparts to the North and West. + +It was a naked country, bleak and bitter. In winter it slept under a +snow blanket, the lights of the fort encircled by the binding, +breathless cold. Then the wandering men that trapped and traded with +the Indians came seeking shelter behind the white walls, where the furs +were stacked in storerooms, and the bourgeois' table was hospitable +with jerked meat and meal cakes. When the streams began to stir under +the ice, and a thin green showed along the bottoms, it opened its gates +and the men of the mountains went forth with their traps rattling at +the saddle horn. Later, when the spring was in waking bloom, and each +evening the light stayed longer on Laramie Peak, the Indians came in +migrating villages moving to the summer hunting grounds, and in painted +war parties, for there was a season when the red man, like the Hebrew +kings, went forth to battle. + +It was midsummer now, the chalk-white walls of the fort were bathed in +a scorching sunshine, and the nomads of the wilderness met and picked +up dropped threads in its courtyard. It stood up warlike on a rise of +ground with the brown swiftness of a stream hurrying below it. Once +the factors had tried to cultivate the land, but had given it up, as +the Indians carried off the maize and corn as it ripened. So the +short-haired grass grew to the stockade. At this season the +surrounding plain was thick with grazing animals, the fort's own +supply, the ponies of the Indians, and the cattle of the emigrants. +Encampments were on every side, clustering close under the walls, +whence a cannon poked its nose protectingly from the bastion above the +gate. There was no need to make the ring of wagons here. White man +and red camped together, the canvas peaks of the tents showing beside +the frames of lodge poles, covered with dried skins. The pale face +treated his red brother to coffee and rice cakes, and the red brother +offered in return a feast of boiled dog. + +Just now the fort was a scene of ceaseless animation. Its courtyard +was a kaleidoscopic whirl of color, shifting as the sun shifted and the +shadow of the walls offered shade. Indians with bodies bare above the +dropped blankets, moved stately or squatted on their heels watching the +emigrants as they bartered for supplies. Trappers in fringed and +beaded leather played cards with the plainsmen in shady corners or +lounged in the cool arch of the gateway looking aslant at the emigrant +girls. Their squaws, patches of color against the walls, sat docile, +with the swarthy, half-breed children playing about their feet. There +were French Canadians, bearded like pirates, full of good humor, +filling the air with their patois, and a few Mexicans, who passed the +days sprawled on serapes and smoking sleepily. Over all the bourgeois +ruled, kindly or crabbedly, according to his make, but always +absolutely the monarch of a little principality. + +The doctor's train had reached the fort by slow stages, and now lay +camped outside the walls. Bella's condition had been serious, and they +had crawled up the valley of the North Platte at a snail's pace. The +gradual change in the country told them of their advance--the intrusion +of giant bluffs along the river's edge, the disappearance of the many +lovely flower forms, the first glimpses of parched areas dotted with +sage. From the top of Scotts Bluffs they saw the mountains, and stood, +a way-worn company, looking at those faint and formidable shapes that +blocked their path to the Promised Land. It was a sight to daunt the +most high-hearted, and they stared, dropping ejaculations that told of +the first decline of spirit. Only the sick woman said nothing. Her +languid eye swept the prospect indifferently, her spark of life burning +too feebly to permit of any useless expenditure. It was the strange +man who encouraged them. They would pass the mountains without effort, +the ascent was gradual, South Pass a plain. + +The strange man had stayed with them, and all being well, would go on +to Fort Bridger, probably to California, in their company. It was good +news. He was what they needed, versed in the lore of the wilderness, +conversant with an environment of which they were ignorant. The train +had not passed Ash Hollow when he fell into command, chose the camping +grounds, went ahead in search of springs, and hunted with Daddy John, +bringing back enough game to keep them supplied with fresh meat. They +began to rely upon him, to defer to him, to feel a new security when +they saw his light, lean-flanked figure at the head of the caravan. + +One morning, as the doctor rode silently beside him, he broke into a +low-toned singing. His voice was a mellow baritone, and the words he +sung, each verse ending with a plaintive burden, were French: + +"Il y a longtemps que je t'ai aimé jamais je ne t'oublierai." + +Long ago the doctor had heard his wife sing the same words, and he +turned with a start: + +"Where did you learn that song?" + +"From some voyageur over yonder," nodding toward the mountains. "It's +one of their songs." + +"You have an excellent accent, better than the Canadians." + +The stranger laughed and addressed his companion in pure and fluent +French. + +"Then you're a Frenchman?" said the elder man, surprised. + +"Not I, but my people were. They came from New Orleans and went up the +river and settled in St. Louis. My grandfather couldn't speak a +sentence in English when he first went there." + +When the doctor told his daughter this he was a little triumphant. +They had talked over Courant and his antecedents, and had some argument +about them, the doctor maintaining that the strange man was a +gentleman, Susan quite sure that he was not. Dr. Gillespie used the +word in its old-fashioned sense, as a term having reference as much to +birth and breeding as to manners and certain, ineradicable instincts. +The gentleman adventurer was not unknown on the plains. Sometimes he +had fled from a dark past, sometimes taken to the wild because the +restraints of civilization pressed too hard upon the elbows of his +liberty. + +"He's evidently of French Creole blood," said the doctor. "Many of +those people who came up from New Orleans and settled in St. Louis were +of high family and station." + +"Then why should he be out here, dressed like an Indian and wandering +round with all sorts of waifs and strays? I believe he's just the same +kind of person as old Joe, only younger. Or, if he does come from +educated people, there's something wrong about him, and he's had to +come out here and hide." + +"Oh, what a suspicious little Missy! Nothing would make me believe +that. He may be rough, but he's not crooked. Those steady, +straight-looking eyes never belonged to any but an honest man. No, my +dear, there's no discreditable past behind him, and he's a gentleman." + +"Rubbish!" she said pettishly. "You'll be saying Leff's a gentleman +next." + +From which it will be seen that Low Courant had not been communicative +about himself. Such broken scraps of information as he had dropped, +when pieced together made a scanty narrative. His grandfather had been +one of the early French settlers of St. Louis, and his father a +prosperous fur trader there. But why he had cut loose from them he did +not vouchsafe to explain. Though he was still young--thirty +perhaps--it was evident that he had wandered far and for many years. +He knew the Indian trails of the distant Northwest, and spoke the +language of the Black Feet and Crows. He had passed a winter in the +old Spanish town of Santa Fé, and from there joined a regiment of +United States troops and done his share of fighting in the Mexican War. +Now the wanderlust was on him, he was going to California. + +"Maybe to settle," he told the doctor. "If I don't wake up some +morning and feel the need to move once more." + +When they reached the fort he was hailed joyously by the bourgeois +himself. The men clustered about him, and there were loud-voiced +greetings and much questioning, a rumor having filtered to his old +stamping ground that he had been killed in the siege of the Alamo. The +doctor told the bourgeois that Courant was to go with his train to +California, and the apple-cheeked factor grinned and raised his +eyebrows: + +"Vous avez de la chance! He's a good guide. Even Kit Carson, who +conducted the General Fremont, is no better." + +The general satisfaction did not extend to Susan. The faint thrill of +antagonism that the man had roused in her persisted. She knew he was a +gain to the party, and said nothing. She was growing rapidly in this +new, toughening life, and could set her own small prejudices aside in +the wider view that each day's experience was teaching her. The +presence of such a man would lighten the burden of work and +responsibility that lay on her father, and whatever was beneficial to +the doctor was accepted by his daughter. But she did not like Low +Courant. Had anyone asked her why she could have given no reason. He +took little notice of any of the women, treating them alike with a +brusque indifference that was not discourteous, but seemed to lump them +as necessary but useless units in an important whole. + +The train was the focus of his interest. The acceleration of its +speed, the condition of the cattle, the combination of lightness and +completeness in its make-up were the matters that occupied him. In the +evening hour of rest these were the subjects he talked of, and she +noticed that Daddy John was the person to whom he talked most. With +averted eyes, her head bent to David's murmurings, she was really +listening to the older men. Her admiration was reluctantly evoked by +the stranger's dominance and vigor of will, his devotion to the work he +had undertaken. She felt her own insignificance and David's also, and +chafed under the unfamiliar sensation. + +The night after leaving Ash Hollow, as they sat by the fire, David at +her side, the doctor had told Courant of the betrothal. His glance +passed quickly over the two conscious faces, he gave a short nod of +comprehension, and turning to Daddy John, inquired about the condition +of the mules' shoes. Susan reddened. She saw something of +disparagement, of the slightest gleam of mockery, in that short look, +which touched both faces and then turned from them as from the faces of +children playing at a game. Yes, she disliked him, disliked his manner +to Lucy and herself, which set them aside as beings of a lower order, +that had to go with them and be taken care of like the stock, only much +less important and necessary. Even to Bella he was off-hand and +unsympathetic, unmoved by her weakness, as he had been by her +sufferings the night he came. Susan had an idea that he thought +Bella's illness a misfortune, not so much for Bella as for the welfare +of the train. + +They had been at the fort now for four days and were ready to move on. +The wagons were repaired, the mules and horses shod, and Bella was +mending, though still unable to walk. The doctor had promised to keep +beside the McMurdos till she was well, then his company would forge +ahead. + +In the heat of the afternoon, comfortable in a rim of shade in the +courtyard, the men were arranging for the start the next morning. The +sun beat fiercely on the square opening roofed by the blue of the sky +and cut by the black shadow of walls. In the cooling shade the motley +company lay sprawling on the ground or propped against the doors of the +store rooms. The open space was brilliant with the blankets of +Indians, the bare limbs of brown children, and the bright serapes of +the Mexicans, who were too lazy to move out of the sun. In a corner +the squaws played a game with polished cherry stones which they tossed +in a shallow, saucerlike basket and let drop on the ground. + +Susan, half asleep on a buffalo skin, watched them idly. The game +reminded her of the jack-stones of her childhood. Then her eye slanted +to where Lucy stood by the gate talking with a trapper called Zavier +Leroux. The sun made Lucy's splendid hair shine like a flaming nimbus, +and the dark men of the mountains and the plain watched her with +immovable looks. She was laughing, her head drooped sideways. Above +the collar of her blouse a strip of neck, untouched by tan, showed in a +milk-white band. Conscious of the admiring observation, she +instinctively relaxed her muscles into lines of flowing grace, and +lowered her eyes till her lashes shone in golden points against her +freckled cheeks. With entire innocence she spread her little lure, +following an elemental instinct, that, in the normal surroundings of +her present life, released from artificial restraints, was growing +stronger. + +Her companion was a voyageur, a half-breed, with coarse black hair +hanging from a scarlet handkerchief bound smooth over his head. He was +of a sinewy, muscular build, his coppery skin, hard black eyes, and +high cheek bones showing the blood of his mother, a Crow squaw. His +father, long forgotten in the obscurity of mountain history, had +evidently bequeathed him the French Canadian's good-humored gayety. +Zavier was a light-hearted and merry fellow, and where he came laughter +sprang up. He spoke English well, and could sing French songs that +were brought to his father's country by the adventurers who crossed the +seas with Jacques Cartier. + +The bourgeois, who was aloft on the bastion sweeping the distance with +a field glass, suddenly threw an announcement down on the courtyard: + +"Red Feather's village is coming and an emigrant train." + +The space between the four walls immediately seethed into a whirlpool +of excitement. It eddied there for a moment, then poured through the +gateway into the long drainlike entrance passage and spread over the +grass outside. + +Down the face of the opposite hill, separated from the fort by a narrow +river, came the Indian village, streaming forward in a broken torrent. +Over its barbaric brightness, beads and glass caught the sun, and the +nervous fluttering of eagle feathers that fringed the upheld lances +played above its shifting pattern of brown and scarlet. It descended +the slope in a broken rush, spreading out fanwise, scattered, +disorderly, horse and foot together. On the river bank it paused, the +web of color thickening, then rolled over the edge and plunged in. The +current, beaten into sudden whiteness, eddied round the legs of horses, +the throats of swimming dogs, and pressed up to the edges of the +travaux where frightened children sat among litters of puppies. Ponies +bestrode by naked boys struck up showers of spray, squaws with lifted +blankets waded stolidly in, mounted warriors, feathers quivering in +their inky hair, indifferently splashing them. Here a dog, caught by +the current, was seized by a sinewy hand; there a horse, struggling +under the weight of a travaux packed with puppies and old women, was +grasped by a lusty brave and dragged to shore. The water round them +frothing into silvery turmoil, the air above rent with their cries, +they climbed the bank and made for the camping ground near the fort. + +Among the first came a young squaw. Her white doeskin dress was as +clean as snow, barbarically splendid with cut fringes and work of bead +and porcupine quills. Her mien was sedate, and she swayed to her horse +lightly and flexibly as a boy, holding aloft a lance edged with a +flutter of feathers, and bearing a round shield of painted skins. +Beside her rode the old chief, his blanket falling away from his +withered body, his face expressionless and graven deep with wrinkles. + +"That's Red Feather and his favorite squaw," said the voice of Courant +at Susan's elbow. + +She made no answer, staring at the Indian girl, who was handsome and +young, younger than she. + +"And look," came the voice again, "there are the emigrants." + +A long column of wagons had crested the summit and was rolling down the +slope. They were in single file, hood behind hood, the drivers, +bearded as cave men, walking by the oxen. The line moved steadily, +without sound or hurry, as if directed by a single intelligence +possessed of a single idea. It was not a congeries of separated +particles, but a connected whole. As it wound down the face of the +hill, it suggested a vast Silurian monster, each wagon top a vertebra, +crawling forward with definite purpose. + +"That's the way they're coming," said the voice of the strange man. +"Slow but steady, an endless line of them." + +"Who?" said Susan, answering him for the first time. + +"The white men. They're creeping along out of their country into this, +pushing the frontier forward every year, and going on ahead of it with +their tents and their cattle and their women. Watch the way that train +comes after Red Feather's village. That was all scattered and broken, +going every way like a lot of glass beads rolling down the hill. This +comes slow, but it's steady and sure as fate." + +She thought for a moment, watching the emigrants, and then said: + +"It moves like soldiers." + +"Conquerors. That's what they are. They're going to roll over +everything--crush them out." + +"Over the Indians?" + +"That's it. Drive 'em away into the cracks of the mountains, wipe them +out the way the trappers are wiping out the beaver." + +"Cruel!" she said hotly. "I don't believe it." + +"Cruel?" he gave her a look of half-contemptuous amusement. "Maybe so, +but why should you blame them for that? Aren't you cruel when you kill +an antelope or a deer for supper? They're not doing you any harm, but +you just happen to be hungry. Well, those fellers are hungry--land +hungry--and they've come for the Indian's land. The whole world's +cruel. You know it, but you don't like to think so, so you say it +isn't. You're just lying because you're afraid of the truth." + +She looked angrily at him and met the gray eyes. In the center of each +iris was a dot of pupil so clearly defined and hard that they looked to +Susan like the heads of black pins. "That's exactly what he'd say," +she thought; "he's no better than a savage." What she said was: + +"I don't agree with you at all." + +"I don't expect you to," he answered, and making an ironical bow turned +on his heel and swung off. + +The next morning, in the pallor of the dawn, they started, rolling out +into a gray country with the keen-edged cold of early day in the air, +and Laramie Peak, gold tipped, before them. As the sky brightened and +the prospect began to take on warmer hues, they looked ahead toward the +profiles of the mountains and thought of the journey to come. At this +hour of low vitality it seemed enormous, and they paced forward a +silent, lifeless caravan, the hoof beats sounding hollow on the beaten +track. + +Then from behind them came a sound of singing, a man's voice caroling +in the dawn. Both girls wheeled and saw Zavier Leroux ambling after +them on his rough-haired pony, the pack horse behind. He waved his +hand and shouted across the silence: + +"I come to go with you as far as South Pass," and then he broke out +again into his singing. It was the song Courant had sung, and as he +heard it he lifted up his voice at the head of the train, and the two +strains blending, the old French chanson swept out over the barren land: + + "A la claire fontaine! + M'en allant promener + J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle + Que je me suis baigné!" + + +Susan waved a beckoning hand to the voyageur, then turned to Lucy and +said joyously: + +"What fun to have Zavier! He'll keep us laughing all the time. Aren't +you glad he's coming?" + +Lucy gave an unenthusiastic "Yes." After the first glance backward she +had bent over her horse smoothing its mane her face suddenly dyed with +a flood of red. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +Everybody was glad Zavier had come. He brought a spirit of good cheer +into the party which had begun to feel the pressure of the long march +behind them, and the still heavier burden that was to come. His gayety +was irrepressible, his high spirits unflagging. When the others rode +silent in the lifeless hours of the afternoon or drooped in the midday +heats, Zavier, a dust-clouded outline on his shaggy pony, lifted up his +voice in song. Then the chanted melody of French verses issued from +the dust cloud, rising above the rattling of the beaver traps and the +creaking of the slow wheels. + +He had one especial favorite that he was wont to sing when he rode +between the two girls. It recounted the adventures of _trois +cavaličres_, and had so many verses that Zavier assured them neither he +nor any other man had ever arrived at the end of them. Should he go to +California with them and sing a verse each day, he thought there would +still be some left over to give away when he got there. Susan learned +the first two stanzas, and Lucy picked up the air and a few words. +When the shadows began to slant and the crisp breath of the mountains +came cool on their faces, they sang, first Zavier and Susan, then Lucy +joining in in a faint, uncertain treble, and finally from the front of +the train the strange man, not turning his head, sitting straight and +square, and booming out the burden in his deep baritone: + + "Dans mon chemin j'ai recontré + Trois cavaličres bien montées, + L'on, ton laridon danée + L'on, ton laridon dai. + + "Trois cavaličres bien montées + L'une a cheval, l'autre a pied + L'on, ton, laridon danée + L'on ton laridon dai." + + +Zavier furnished another diversion in the monotony of the days, +injected into the weary routine, a coloring drop of romance, for, as he +himself would have said, he was _diablement épris_ with Lucy. This was +regarded as one of the best of Zavier's jokes. He himself laughed at +it, and his extravagant compliments and gallantries were well within +the pale of the burlesque. Lucy laughed at them, too. The only one +that took the matter seriously was Bella. She was not entirely pleased. + +"Talk about it's being just a joke," she said to Susan in the bedtime +hour of confidences. "You can joke too much about some things. +Zavier's a man just the same as the others, and Lucy's a nice-looking +girl when she gets rested up and the freckles go off. But he's an +Indian if he does speak French, and make good money with his beaver +trapping." + +"He's not _all_ Indian," Susan said soothingly. "He's half white. +There are only a few Indian things about him, his dark skin and +something high and flat about his cheek bones and the way he turns in +his toes when he walks." + +"Indian enough," Bella fumed. "And nobody knows anything about his +father. We're respectable people and don't want a man with no name +hanging round. I've no doubt he was born in a lodge or under a pine +tree. What right's that kind of man to come ogling after a decent +white girl whose father and mother were married in the Presbyterian +Church?" + +Susan did not take it so much to heart. What was the good when Lucy +obviously didn't care? As for Zavier, she felt sorry for him, for +those keen observing faculties of hers had told her that the voyageur's +raillery hid a real feeling. Poor Zavier was in love. Susan was +pensive in the contemplation of his hopeless passion. He was to leave +the train near South Pass and go back into the mountains, and there, +alone, camp on the streams that drained the Powder River country. In +all probability he would never see one of them again. His trapping did +not take him West to the great deserts, and he hated the civilization +where man became a luxurious animal of many needs. Like the buffalo +and the red man he was restricted to the wild lands that sloped away on +either side of the continent's mighty spine. His case was sad, and +Susan held forth on the subject to Lucy, whom she thought callous and +unkind. + +"It's terrible to think you'll never see him again," she said, looking +for signs of compassion. "Don't you feel sorry?" + +Lucy looked down. She had been complaining to her friend of Zavier's +follies of devotion. + +"There are lots of other men in the world," she said indifferently. + +Susan fired up. If not yet the authorized owner of a man, she felt her +responsibilities as a coming proprietor. The woman's passion for +interference in matters of sentiment was developing in her. + +"Lucy, you're the most hard-hearted girl! Poor Zavier, who's going off +into the mountains and may be killed by the Indians. Don't you feel +any pity for him? And he's in love with you--truly in love. I've +watched him and I know." + +She could not refrain from letting a hint of superior wisdom, of an +advantage over the unengaged Lucy, give solemnity to her tone. + +Lucy's face flushed. + +"He's half an Indian," she said with an edge on her voice. "Doesn't +everyone in the train keep saying that every ten minutes? Do you want +me to fall in love with a man like that?" + +"Why no, of course not. You couldn't. That's the sad part of it. He +seems as much like other men as those trappers in the fort who were all +white. Just because he had a Crow mother it seems unjust that he +should be so sort of on the outside of everything. But of course you +couldn't marry him. Nobody ever heard of a girl marrying a half-breed." + +Lucy bent over the piece of deer meat that she was cutting apart. They +were preparing supper at the flaring end of a hot day, when the wagons +had crawled through a loose alkaline soil and over myriads of crickets +that crushed sickeningly under the wheels. Both girls were tired, +their throats parched, their hair as dry as hemp, and Lucy was +irritable, her face unsmiling, her movement quick and nervous. + +"What's it matter what a man's parents are if he's kind to you?" she +said, cutting viciously into the meat. "It's a lot to have some one +fill the kettles for you and help you get the firewood, and when you're +tired tell you to go back in the wagon and go to sleep. Nobody does +that for me but Zavier." + +It was the first time she had shown any appreciation of her swain's +attentions. She expressed the normal, feminine point of view that her +friend had been looking for, and as soon as she heard it Susan adroitly +vaulted to the other side: + +"But, Lucy, you _can't_ marry him!" + +"Who says I'm going to?" snapped Lucy. "Do I have to marry every +Indian that makes eyes at me? All the men in the fort were doing it. +They hadn't a look for anyone else." + +Susan took this with reservations. A good many of the men in the fort +had made eyes at her. It was rather grasping of Lucy to take it all to +herself, and in her surprise at the extent of her friend's claims she +was silent. + +"As for me," Lucy went on, "I'm dead sick of this journey. I wish we +could stop or go back or do something. But we've got to keep on and on +to the end of nowhere. It seems as if we were going forever in these +tiresome old wagons or on horses that get lame every other day, and +then you have to walk. I don't mind living in a tent. I like it. But +I hate always going on, never having a minute to rest, getting up in +the morning when I'm only half awake, and having to cook at night when +I'm so tired I'd just like to lie down on the ground without taking my +clothes off and go to sleep there. I wish I'd never come. I wish I'd +married the man in Cooperstown that I wouldn't have wiped my feet on +then." + +She slapped the frying pan on the fire and threw the meat into it. Her +voice and lips were trembling. With a quick, backward bend she stooped +to pick up a fork, and Susan saw her face puckered and quivering like a +child's about to cry. + +"Oh, Lucy," she cried in a burst of sympathy. "I didn't know you felt +like that," and she tried to clasp the lithe uncorseted waist that +flinched from her touch. Lucy's elbow, thrown suddenly out, kept her +at a distance, and she fell back repulsed, but with consolations still +ready to be offered. + +"Let me alone," said Lucy, her face averted. "I'm that tired I don't +know what I'm saying. Go and get the children for supper, and don't +let them stand round staring at me or they'll be asking questions." + +She snatched the coffee pot and shook it upside down, driblets of +coffee running out. With her other hand she brushed the tears off her +cheeks. + +"Don't stand there as if you never saw a girl cry before," she said, +savagely. "I don't do it often, and it isn't such a wonderful sight. +Get the children, and if you tell anyone that I feel this way I'll +murder you." + +The children were at some distance lying on the ground. Such +unpromising materials as dust and sage brush had not quenched their +inventive power or hampered their imaginations. They played with as an +absorbed an industry here as in their own garden at home. They had +scraped the earth into mounded shapes marked with the print of baby +fingers and furrowed with paths. One led to a central mound crowned +with a wild sunflower blossom. Up the path to this Bob conducted twigs +of sage, murmuring the adventures that attended their progress. When +they reached the sunflower house he laid them carefully against its +sides, continuing the unseen happenings that befell them on their +entrance. The little girl lay beside him, her cheek resting on an +outflung arm, her eyes fixed wistfully on the personally conducted +party. Her creative genius had not risen to the heights of his, and +her fat little hands were awkward and had pushed the sunflower from its +perch. So she had been excluded from active participation, and now +looked on, acquiescing in her exclusion, a patient and humble spectator. + +"Look," Bob cried as he saw Susan approaching. "I've builded a house +and a garden, and these are the people," holding up one of the sage +twigs, "they walk fru the garden an' then go into the house and have +coffee and buf'lo meat." + +Susan admired it and then looked at the baby, who was pensively +surveying her brother's creation. + +"And did the baby play, too?" she asked. + +"Oh, no, she couldn't. She doesn't know nuffing, she's too small," +with the scorn of one year's superiority. + +The baby raised her solemn eyes to the young girl and made no attempt +to vindicate herself. Her expression was that of subdued humility, of +one who admits her short-comings. She rose and thrust a soft hand into +Susan's, and maintained her silence as they walked toward the camp. +The only object that seemed to have power to rouse her from her +dejected reverie were the broken sage stalks in the trail. At each of +these she halted, hanging from Susan's sustaining grasp, and stubbed +her toe accurately and carefully against the protruding root. + +They would have been silent that evening if it had not been for Zavier. +His mood was less merry than usual, but a stream of frontier anecdote +and story flowed from him, that held them listening with charmed +attention. His foreign speech interlarded with French words added to +the picturesqueness of his narratives, and he himself sitting +crosslegged on his blanket, his hair hanging dense to his shoulders, +his supple body leaning forward in the tension of a thrilling climax, +was a fitting minstrel for these lays of the wild. + +His final story was that of Antoine Godin, one of the classics of +mountain history. Godin was the son of an Iroquois hunter who had been +brutally murdered by the Blackfeet. He had become a trapper of the +Sublette brothers, then mighty men of the fur trade, and in the +expedition of Milton Sublette against the Blackfeet in 1832 joined the +troop. When the two bands met, Godin volunteered to hold a conference +with the Blackfeet chief. He chose as his companion an Indian of the +Flathead tribe, once a powerful nation, but almost exterminated by wars +with the Blackfeet. From the massed ranks of his warriors the chief +rode out for the parley, a pipe of peace in his hand. As Godin and the +Flathead started to meet him, the former asked the Indian if his piece +was charged, and when the Flathead answered in the affirmative told him +to cock it and ride alongside. + +Midway between the two bands they met. Godin clasped the chief's hand, +and as he did so told the Flathead to fire. The Indian levelled his +gun, fired, and the Blackfeet chief rolled off his horse. Godin +snatched off his blanket and in a rain of bullets fled to the Sublette +camp. + +"And so," said the voyageur with a note of exultation in his voice, +"Godin got revenge on those men who had killed his father." + +For a moment his listeners were silent, suffering from a sense of +bewilderment, not so much at the story, as at Zavier's evident approval +of Godin's act. + +It was Susan who first said in a low tone, "What an awful thing to do!" +This loosened Bella's tongue, who lying in the opening of her tent had +been listening and now felt emboldened to express her opinion, +especially as Glen, stretched on his face nearby, had emitted a snort +of indignation. + +"Well, of all the wicked things I've heard since I came out here that's +the worst." + +Zavier shot a glance at them in which for one unguarded moment, race +antagonism gleamed. + +"Why is it wicked?" he said gently. + +David answered heatedly, the words bursting out: + +"Why, the treachery of it, the meanness. The chief carried the pipe of +peace. That's like our flag of truce. You never heard of any +civilized man shooting another under the flag of truce." + +Zavier looked stolid. It was impossible to tell whether he +comprehended their point of view and pretended ignorance, or whether he +was so restricted to his own that he could see no other. + +"The Blackfeet had killed his father," he answered. "They were +treacherous too. Should he wait to be murdered? It was his chance and +he took it." + +Sounds of dissent broke out round the circle. All the eyes were +trained on him, some with a wide, expectant fixity, others bright with +combative fire. Even Glen sat up, scratching his head, and remarking +sotto voce to his wife: + +"Ain't I always said he was an Indian?" + +"But the Blackfeet chief wasn't the man who killed his father," said +the doctor. + +"No, he was chief of the tribe who did." + +"But why kill an innocent man who probably had nothing to do with it?" + +"It was for vengeance," said Zavier with unmoved patience and careful +English. "Vengeance for his father's death." + +Several pairs of eyes sought the ground giving up the problem. Others +continued to gaze at him either with wonder, or hopeful of extracting +from his face some clew to his involved and incomprehensible moral +attitude. They suddenly felt as if he had confessed himself of an +alien species, a creature as remote from them and their ideals as a +dweller in the moon. + +"He had waited long for vengeance," Zavier further explained, moving +his glittering glance about the circle, "and if he could not find the +right man, he must take such man as he could. The chief is the biggest +man, and he comes where Godin has him. 'My father is avenged at last,' +he says, and bang!"--Zavier levelled an imaginary engine of destruction +at the shadows--"it is done and Godin gets the blanket." + +The silence that greeted this was one of hopelessness; the blanket had +added the final complication. It was impossible to make Zavier see, +and this new development in what had seemed a boyish and light-hearted +being, full to the brim with the milk of human kindness, was a thing to +sink before in puzzled speechlessness. Courant tried to explain: + +"You can't see it Zavier's way because it's a different way from yours. +It comes out of the past when there weren't any laws, or you had to +make 'em yourself. You've come from where the courthouse and the +police take care of you, and if a feller kills your father, sees to it +that he's caught and strung up. It's not your business to do it, and +so you've got to thinking that the man that takes it into his own hands +is a desperate kind of criminal. Out here in those days you wiped out +such scores yourself or no one did. It seems to you that Godin did a +pretty low down thing, but he thought he was doing the right thing for +him. He'd had a wrong done him and he'd got to square it. And it +didn't matter to him that the chief wasn't the man. Kill an Indian and +it's the tribe's business to settle the account. The Blackfeet killed +his father and it was Godin's business to kill a Blackfeet whenever he +got the chance. I guess when he saw the chief riding out to meet him +what he felt most was, that it was the best chance he'd ever get." + +The faces turned toward Courant--a white man like themselves! So deep +was their disapproving astonishment that nobody could say anything. +For a space they could only stare at him as though he, too, were +suddenly dropping veils that had hidden unsuspected, baleful depths. + +Then argument broke out and the clamor of voices was loud on the night. +Courant bore the brunt of the attack, Zavier's ideas being scanty, his +mode of procedure a persistent, reiteration of his original +proposition. Interruptions were furnished in a sudden, cracked laugh +from Daddy John, and phrases of dissent or approval from Glen and Bella +stretching their ears from the front of the tent. Only Lucy said +nothing, her head wrapped in a shawl, her face down-drooped and pale. + +Late that night Susan was waked by whispering sounds which wound +stealthily through her sleep feeling for her consciousness. At first +she lay with her eyes shut, breathing softly, till the sounds +percolated through the stupor of her fatigue and she woke, +disentangling them from dreams. She threw back her blankets and sat +alert thinking of Indians. + +The moon was full, silver tides lapping in below the tent's rim. She +stole to the flap listening, then drew it softly open. Her tent had +been pitched beneath a group of trees which made a splash of shadow +broken with mottlings of moonlight. In the depths of this shadow she +discerned two figures, the white flecks and slivers sliding along the +dark oblong of their shapes as they strayed with loitering steps or +stood whispering. The straight edge of their outline, the unbroken +solidity of their bulk, told her they were wrapped in the same blanket, +a custom in the Indian lover's courtship. Their backs were toward her, +the two heads rising from the blanket's folds, showing as a rounded +pyramidal finish. As she looked they paced beyond the shadow into the +full unobscured light, and she saw that the higher head was dark, the +other fair, crowned with a circlet of shining hair. + +Her heart gave an astounded leap. Her first instinct was to draw back, +her second to stand where she was, seemly traditions overwhelmed in +amazement. The whispering ceased, the heads inclined to each other, +the light one drooping backward, the dark one leaning toward it, till +they rested together for a long, still moment. Then they separated, +the woman drawing herself from the blanket and with a whispered word +stealing away, a furtive figure flitting through light and shade to the +McMurdo tents. The man turned and walked to the fire, and Susan saw it +was Zavier. He threw on a brand and in its leaping ray stood +motionless, looking at the flame, a slight, fixed smile on his lips. + +She crept back to her bed and lay there with her heart throbbing and +her eyes on the edges of moonlight that slipped in over the trampled +sage leaves. Zavier was on sentry duty that night, and she could hear +the padding of his step as he moved back and forth through the sleeping +camp. On the dark walls of the tent the vision she had seen kept +repeating itself, and as it returned upon her mental sight, new +questions surged into her mind. A veil had been raised, and she had +caught a glimpse of something in life, a new factor in the world, she +had never known of. The first faint comprehension of it, the first +stir of sympathy with it, crept toward her understanding and tried to +force an entrance. She pushed it out, feeling frightened, feeling as +if it were an intruder, that once admitted would grow dominant and +masterful, and she would never be her own again. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The next morning Susan could not help stealing inquiring looks at Lucy. +Surely the participant in such a nocturnal adventure must bear some +signs of it upon her face. Lucy had suddenly become a disturbing and +incomprehensible problem. In trying to readjust her conception of the +practical and energetic girl, Susan found herself confronted with the +artifices of a world-old, feminine duplicity that she had never before +encountered, and knew no more of than she did of the tumult that had +possession of poor Lucy's tormented soul. Here was the heroine of a +midnight rendezvous going about her work with her habitual nervous +capability, dressing the children, preparing the breakfast, seeing that +Bella was comfortably disposed on her mattress in the wagon. She had +not a glance for Zavier. Could a girl steal out to meet and kiss a man +in the moonlight and the next morning look at him with a limpid, +undrooping eye as devoid of consciousness as the eye of a preoccupied +cat? + +The standards of the doctor's daughter were comparative and their range +limited. All she had to measure by was herself. Her imagination in +trying to compass such a situation with Susan Gillespie as the heroine, +could picture nothing as her portion but complete abasement and, of +course, a confession to her father. And how dreadful that would have +been! She could feel humiliation stealing on her at the thought of the +doctor's frowning displeasure. But Lucy had evidently told no one. +Why had she not? Why had she pretended not to like Zavier? Why? Why? +Susan found her thoughts trailing off into a perspective of questions +that brought up against a wall of incomprehension above which Lucy's +clear eyes looked at her with baffling secretiveness. + +It was a warm morning, and the two girls sat in the doctor's wagon. +Lucy was knitting one of the everlasting stockings. In the heat she +had unfastened the neck of her blouse and turned the edges in, a +triangle of snowy skin visible below her sunburned throat. She looked +thin, her arms showing no curve from wrist to elbow, the lines of her +body delicately angular under the skimpy dress of faded lilac cotton. +The sun blazing through the canvas cast a tempered yellow light over +her that toned harmoniously with the brown coating of freckles and the +copper burnish of her hair. Her hands, vibrating over her work with +little hovering movements like birds about to light, now and then +flashing out a needle which she stabbed into her coiffure, were +large-boned and dexterous, the strong, unresting hands of the +frontierswoman. + +Susan was lazy, leaning back on the up-piled sacks, watching the quick, +competent movements and the darts of light that leaped along the +needles. Before they had entered the wagon she had decided to speak to +Lucy of what she had overseen. In the first place she felt guilty and +wanted to confess. Besides that the need to give advice was strong +upon her, and the natural desire to interfere in a matter of the heart +was another impelling impulse. So she had determined to speak for +conscience, for friendship, for duty, and it is not beyond the bounds +of possibility, for curiosity. + +But it was a hard subject to approach, and she was uncomfortable. +Diplomacy had not been one of the gifts the fairies gave her when they +gathered at her cradle. Looking at the quivering needles she tried to +think of a good beginning, and like most direct and candid people +concluded there was no better one than that of the initial fact, before +the complicating intrusion of inference: + +"I woke up in the middle of the night last night." + +Lucy knit unmoved. + +"The moonlight was as bright as day. Out beyond the shadow where my +tent was I could see the weeds and little bunches of grass." + +"How could you see them when you were in your tent?" This without +stopping her work or raising her head. + +Susan, feeling more uncomfortable than ever, answered, her voice +instinctively dropping, "I got up and looked out of my tent." + +She kept her eyes on the busy hands and saw that the speed of their +movements slackened. + +"Got up and looked out? What did you do that for?" + +The time for revelation had come. Susan was a little breathless. + +"I heard people whispering," she said. + +The hands came to a stop. But the knitter continued to hold them in +the same position, a suspended, waiting expectancy in their attitude. + +"Whispering?" she said. "Who was it?" + +"Oh, Lucy, you know." + +There was a pause. Then Lucy dropped her knitting and, raising her +head, looked at the anxious face opposite. Her eyes were quiet and +steady, but their look was changed from its usual frankness by a new +defiance, hard and wary. + +"No, I don't know. How should I?" + +"Why, why"--Susan now was not only breathless but pleading--"it was +you." + +"Who was me?" + +"The woman--Lucy don't look at me like that, as if you didn't +understand. I saw you, you and Zavier, wrapped in the blanket. You +walked out into the moonlight and I _saw_." + +Lucy's gaze continued unfaltering and growing harder. Under the +freckles she paled, but she stood her ground. + +"What do you mean? Saw me and Zavier? Where?" + +"Under the trees first and then you went out into the moonlight with +the blanket wrapped round your shoulders." + +"You didn't see me," the hardness was now in her voice. "It was some +one else." + +A feeling of alarm rose in the other girl. It was not the lie alone, +it was the force behind it, the force that made it possible, that gave +the teller will to hold her glance steady and deny the truth. A +scaring sense of desperate powers in Lucy that were carrying her +outside the familiar and established, seized her friend. It was all +different from her expectations. Her personal repugnance and +fastidiousness were swept aside in the menace of larger things. She +leaned forward and clasped Lucy's knee. + +"Don't say that. I saw you. Lucy, don't say I didn't. Don't bother +to tell me a lie. What did it mean? Why did you meet him? What are +you doing?" + +Lucy jerked her knee away. Her hands were trembling. She took up the +knitting, tried to direct the needles, but they shook and she dropped +them. She made a sharp movement with her head in an effort to avert +her face, but the light was merciless, there was no shade to hide in. + +"Oh, don't bother me," she said angrily. "It's not your affair." + +Susan's dread rose higher. In a flash of vision she had a glimpse into +the storm-driven depths. It was as if a child brought up in a garden +had unexpectedly looked into a darkling mountain abyss. + +"What are you going to do?" she almost whispered. "You mustn't. You +must stop. I thought you didn't care about him. You only laughed and +everybody thought it was a joke. Don't go on that way. Something +dreadful will happen." + +Lucy did not answer. With her back pressed against the roof arch and +her hands clinched in her lap--she sat rigid, looking down. She seemed +gripped in a pain that stiffened her body and made her face pinched and +haggard. Under the light cotton covering her breast rose and fell. +She was an embodiment of tortured indecision. + +Susan urged: "Let me tell my father and he'll send Zavier away." + +Lucy raised her eyes and tried to laugh. The unnatural sound fell with +a metallic harshness on the silence. Her mouth quivered, and putting +an unsteady hand against it, she said brokenly, + +"Oh, Missy, don't torment me. I feel bad enough already." + +There was a longer pause. Susan broke it in a low voice: + +"Then you're going to marry him?" + +"No," loudly, "no. What a question!" + +She made a grab at her knitting and started feverishly to work, the +needles clicking, stitches dropping, the stocking leg trembling as it +hung. + +"Why, he's an Indian," she cried suddenly in a high, derisive key. + +"But"--the questioner had lost her moment of vision and was once again +floundering between ignorance and intuition--"Why did you kiss him +then?" + +"I didn't. He kissed me." + +"You let him. Isn't that the same thing?" + +"No, no. You're so silly. You don't know anything." She gave a +hysterical laugh and the bonds of her pride broke in a smothered cry: +"I couldn't help it. I didn't want to. I didn't mean to. I didn't +mean to go out and meet him and I went. I--" she gathered up the +stocking and, needles and all, buried her face in it. It was the only +thing she could find to hide behind. "I'm so miserable," she sobbed. +"You don't know. It's such a terrible thing first feeling one way and +then the other. I'm so mixed up I don't know what I feel. I wish I +was dead." + +There was a sound of men's voices outside, and the wagon came to a +jolting halt. Daddy John, on the driver's seat, silhouetted against +the circle of sky, slipped the whip into its ring of leather and turned +toward the girls. Lucy threw herself backward and lay with her face on +the sacks, stifling her tears. + +"What are you two girls jawing about in there?" he asked, squinting +blindly from the sun dazzle into the clear, amber light of the canvas +cavern. + +"We're just telling stories and things," said Susan. + +The old man peered at Lucy's recumbent figure. + +"Ain't she well?" he queried. "Thought I heard crying." + +"Her head aches, it's so hot." + +"Let her stay there. We'll do her cooking for her. Just stay where +you are, Lucy, and don't worrit about your work." + +But the voices outside demanded her. It was the noon halt and Lucy was +an important factor in the machinery of the train. Glen's call for her +was mingled with the fresh treble of Bob's and Bella's at a farther +distance, rose in a plaintive, bovine lowing. She stretched a hand +sideways and gripped Susan's skirt. + +"I can't go," she gasped in a strangled whisper. "I can't seem to get +a hold on myself. Ask Zavier to build the fire and cook. He'll do it, +and Courant will help him. And tell the others I'm sick." + +Lucy's headache lasted all through the dinner hour, and when the train +started she still lay in the back of the doctor's wagon. For once she +seemed indifferent to the comfort of her relatives. The clamor that +rose about their disorderly fire and unsavory meal came to her ears +through the canvas walls, and she remained deaf and unconcerned. When +Susan crept in beside her and laid a cool cheek on hers, and asked her +if she wanted anything, she said no, she wanted to rest that was all. +Daddy John turned his head in profile and said: + +"Let her alone, Missy. She's all tuckered out. They've put too much +work on her sence her sister took sick. You let her lie there and I'll +keep an eye to her." + +Then he turned away and spat, as was his wont when thoughtful. He had +seen much of the world, and in his way was a wise old man, but he did +not guess the secret springs of Lucy's trouble. Women on the trail +should be taken care of as his Missy was. Glen McMurdo was the kind of +man who let the women take care of him, and between him and the +children and the sick woman they'd half killed the girl with work. +Daddy John had his opinion of Glen, but like most of his opinions he +kept it to himself. + +Susan had no desire for talk that afternoon. She wanted to be alone to +muse on things. As the train took the road for the second stage, she +drew her horse back among the sage and let the file of wagons pass her. +She saw hope gleaming in Leff's eye, and killed it with a stony glance, +then called to her father that she was going to ride behind. David was +hunting in the hills with Courant, Zavier driving in his stead. The +little caravan passed her with the dust hovering dense around it and +the slouching forms of the pack horses hanging fringe-like in its rear. + +They were nearing the end of their passage by the river, shrunk to a +clear, wild stream which they came upon and lost as the trail bore +westward. Their route lay through an interminable sequence of plains +held together by channels of communication that filtered through the +gaps in hills. The road was crossed by small streams, chuckling at the +bottom of gullies, the sides of which were cracked open like pale, +parched lips gasping for air. The limpid transparency of the prospect +was blotted by the caravan's moving dust cloud. Beyond this the plain +stretched, empty as the sky, a brown butte rising here and there. + +Susan heard hoof beats behind her and turned. Courant was riding +toward her, his rifle across his saddle. She made a motion of +recognition with her hand and turned away thinking how well he matched +the surroundings, his buckskins melting into the fawn-colored shading +of the earth, his red hair and bronzed face toning with the umber +buttes and rustlike stains across the distance. He was of a piece with +it, even in its suggestion of an unfeeling, confidant hardness. + +He joined her and they paced forward. It was the first time he had +ever sought any conversation with her and she was conscious and +secretly shy. Heretofore it had been his wont to speak little to her, +to sweep an indifferent eye over her which seemed to include her in the +unimportant baggage that went to the making of the train. Now, though +his manner was brusque, he spoke simply and not discourteously of the +hunt in the hills. He had got nothing, but David had killed a +black-tailed deer, and possessed by the passion of the chase, was +following the tracks of a second. The girl flushed with pleasure. + +"David's a very good shot," she said complacently, not at all sure of +her statement, for David did not excel in the role of Nimrod. "He kept +us supplied with buffalo meat all the way up the Platte." + +This was a falsehood. Daddy John and Leff had been the hunters of the +party. But Susan did not care. Courant had never said a word in her +hearing derogatory to David, but she had her suspicions that the +romantic nature of her betrothed was not of the stuff the mountain man +respected. + +"First rate," he said heartily. "I didn't know it. I thought he +generally rode with you or drove the wagon." + +To an outsider the tone would have seemed all that was frank and open. +But Susan read irony into it. She sat her horse a little squarer and +allowed the muse to still further possess her: + +"David can shoot anything, an antelope even. He constantly brought +them in when we were on the Platte. It was quite easy for him. Daddy +John, who's been in all sorts of wild places, says he's never seen a +better shot." + +A slight uneasiness disturbed the proud flow of her imagination at the +thought that Daddy John, questioned on this point, might show a +tendency to contradict her testimony. But it didn't matter. The joy +of proving David's superiority compensated. And she was setting +Courant in his place which had a separate and even rarer charm. + +His answer showed no consciousness of the humbling process: + +"You think a lot of David, don't you?" + +Susan felt her color rising. This time she not only sat squarer in her +saddle, but raised her shoulders and chin a trifle. + +"Yes. I am engaged to be married to him." + +"When will you be married?" said the uncrushable man. + +She inclined her head from its haughty pose just so far that she could +command his face from an austere eye. Words were ready to go with the +quelling glance, but they died unspoken. The man was regarding her +with grave, respectful attention. It is difficult to suddenly smite a +proud crest when the owner of the crest shows no consciousness of its +elevation. + +"When we get to California," she said shortly. + +"Not till then? Oh, I supposed you were going to marry him at Bridger +or along the road if we happened to meet a missionary." + +The suggestion amazed, almost appalled her. It pierced through her +foolish little play of pride like a stab, jabbing down to her secret, +sentient core. Her anger grew stronger, but she told herself she was +talking to one of an inferior, untutored order, and it was her part to +hold herself in hand. + +"We will be married when we get to California," she said, seeing to it +that her profile was calm and carried high. "Sometime after we get +there and have a home and are settled." + +"That's a long time off." + +"I suppose so--a year or two." + +"A year or two!" he laughed with a careless jovial note. "Oh, you +belong to the old towns back there," with a jerk of his head toward the +rear. "In the wilderness we don't have such long courtships." + +"We? Who are we?" + +"The mountain men, the trappers, the voyageurs." + +"Yes," she said, her tone flashing into sudden scorn, "they marry +squaws." + +At this the man threw back his head and burst into a laugh, so deep, so +rich, so exuberantly joyous, that it fell upon the plain's grim silence +with the incongruous contrast of sunshine on the dust of a dungeon. +She sat upright with her anger boiling toward expression. Before she +realized it he had leaned forward and laid his hand on the pommel of +her saddle, his face still red and wrinkled with laughter. + +"That's all right, little lady, but you don't know quite all about us." + +"I know enough," she answered. + +"Before you get to California you'll know more. There's a mountain man +and a voyageur now in the train. Do you think Zavier and I have squaw +wives?" + +With the knowledge that Zavier was just then so far from contemplating +union with a squaw, she could not say the contemptuous "yes" that was +on her tongue. As for the strange man--she shot a glance at him and +met the gray eyes still twinkling with amusement. "Savage!" she +thought, "I've no doubt he has"--and she secretly felt a great desire +to know. What she said was, "I've never thought of it, and I haven't +the least curiosity about it." + +They rode on in silence, then he said, + +"What's made you mad?" + +"Mad? I'm not mad." + +"Not at all?" + +"No. Why should I be?" + +"That's what I want to know. You don't like me, little lady, is that +it?" + +"I neither like nor dislike you. I don't think of you." + +She immediately regretted the words. She was so completely a woman, so +dowered with the instinct of attraction, that she realized they were +not the words of indifference. + +"My thoughts are full of other people," she said hastily, trying to +amend the mistake, and that was spoiled by a rush of color that +suddenly dyed her face. + +She looked over the horse's head, her anger now turned upon herself. +The man made no answer, but she knew that he was watching her. They +paced on for a silent moment then he said: + +"Why are you blushing?" + +"I am not," she cried, feeling the color deepening. + +"You've told two lies," he answered. "You said you weren't angry, and +you're mad all through, and now you say you're not blushing, and your +face is as pink as one of those little flat roses that grow on the +prairie. It's all right to get mad and blush, but I'd like to know why +you do it. I made you mad someway or other, I don't know how. Have +_I_ made you blush, too?" he leaned nearer trying to look at her. +"How'd I do that?" + +She had a sidelong glimpse of his face, quizzical, astonished, full of +piqued interest. She struggled with the mortification of a petted +child, suddenly confronted by a stranger who finds its caprices only +ridiculous and displeasing. Under the new sting of humiliation she +writhed, burning to retaliate and make him see the height of her +pedestal. + +"Yes, I _have_ told two lies," she said. "I was angry and I _am_ +blushing, and it's because I'm in a rage with you." + +The last touch was given when she saw that his surprise contained the +bitter and disconcerting element of amusement. + +"Isn't that just what I said, and you denied it?" he exclaimed. "Now +_why_ are you in a rage with me?" + +"Because--because--well, if you're too stupid to know why, or are just +pretending, I won't explain. I don't intend to ride with you any more. +Please don't try and keep up with me." + +She gave her reins a shake and her horse started on a brisk canter. As +she sped away she listened for his following hoof beats, for she made +no doubt he would pursue her, explain his conduct, and ask her pardon. +The request not to keep up with her he would, of course, set aside. +David would have obeyed it, but this man of the mountains, at once +domineering and stupid, would take no command from any woman. She kept +her ear trained for the rhythmic beat in the distance and decided when +she heard it she would increase her speed and not let him catch her +till she was up with the train. Then she would coldly listen to his +words of apology and have the satisfaction of seeing him look small, +and probably not know what to say. + +Only it didn't happen that way. He made no attempt to follow. As she +galloped across the plain he drew his horse to a walk, his face dark +and frowning. Her scorn and blush had left his blood hot. Her last +words had fired his anger. He had known her antagonism, seen it in her +face on the night when Bella was sick, felt its sting when she turned +from him to laugh with the others. And it had stirred him to a secret +irritation. For he told himself she was only a baby, but a pretty +baby, on whose brown and rosy face and merry slits of eyes a man might +like to look. Now he gazed after her swearing softly through his beard +and holding his horse to its slowest step. As her figure receded he +kept his eyes upon it. They were long-sighted eyes, used to great +distances, and they watched, intent and steady, to see if she would +turn her head. + +"Damn her," he said, when the dust of the train absorbed her. "Does +she think she's the only woman in the world?" + +After supper that evening Susan called David over to sit on the edge of +her blanket. This was a rare favor. He came hurrying, all alight with +smiles, cast himself down beside her and twined his fingers in her warm +grasp. She answered his hungry glance with a sidelong look, glowingly +tender, and David drew the hand against his cheek. Nobody was near +except Daddy John and Courant, smoking pipes on the other side of the +fire. + +"Do you love me?" he whispered, that lover's text for every sermon +which the unloving find so irksome to answer, almost to bear. + +But now she smiled and whispered, + +"Of course, silly David." + +"Ah, Susan, you're awakening," he breathed in a shaken undertone. + +She again let the soft look touch his face, sweet as a caress. From +the other side of the fire Courant saw it, and through the film of pipe +smoke, watched. David thought no one was looking, leaned nearer, and +kissed her cheek. She gave a furtive glance at the man opposite, saw +the watching eyes, and with a quick breath like a runner, turned her +face to her lover and let him kiss her lips. + +She looked back at the fire, quiet, unflurried, then slowly raised her +lids. Courant had moved his pipe and the obscuring film of smoke was +gone. Across the red patch of embers his eyes gazed steadily at her +with the familiar gleam of derision. Her tenderness died as a flame +under a souse of water, and an upwelling of feeling that was almost +hatred, rose in her against the strange man. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +The last fording of the river had been made, and from the summit of the +Red Buttes they looked down on the long level, specked with sage and +flecked with alkaline incrustings, that lay between them and the +Sweetwater. Across the horizon the Wind River mountains stretched a +chain of majestic, snowy shapes. Desolation ringed them round, the +swimming distances fusing with the pallor of ever-receding horizons, +the white road losing itself in the blotting of sage, red elevations +rising lonely in extending circles of stillness. The air was so clear +that a tiny noise broke it, crystal-sharp like the ring of a smitten +glass. And the sense of isolation was intensified as there was no +sound from anywhere, only a brooding, primordial silence that seemed to +have remained unbroken since the first floods drained away. + +Below in the plain the white dots of an encampment showed like a growth +of mushrooms. Near this, as they crawled down upon it, the enormous +form of Independence Rock detached itself from the faded browns and +grays to develop into a sleeping leviathan, lost from its herd and +fallen exhausted in a sterile land. + +Courant was curious about the encampment, and after the night halt rode +forward to inspect it. He returned in the small hours reporting it a +train of Mormons stopped for sickness. A boy of fifteen had broken his +leg ten days before and was now in a desperate condition. The train +had kept camp hoping for his recovery, or for the advent of help in one +of the caravans that overhauled them. Courant thought the boy beyond +hope, but in the gray of the dawn the doctor mounted, and with Susan, +David, and Courant, rode off with his case of instruments strapped to +his saddle. + +The sun was well up when they reached the Mormon camp. Scattered about +a spring mouth in the litter of a three days' halt, its flocks and +herds spread wide around it, it was hushed in a sullen dejection. The +boy was a likely lad for the new Zion, and his mother, one of the wives +of an elder, had forgotten her stern training, and fallen to a common +despair. Long-haired men lolled in tent doors cleaning their rifles, +and women moved between the wagons and the fires, or sat in rims of +shade sewing and talking low. Children were everywhere, their spirits +undimmed by disaster, their voices calling from the sage, little, +light, half-naked figures circling and bending in games that babies +played when men lived in cliffs and caves. At sight of the mounted +figures they fled, wild as rabbits, scurrying behind tent flaps and +women's skirts, to peep out in bright-eyed curiosity at the strangers. + +The mother met them and almost dragged the doctor from his horse. She +was a toil-worn woman of middle age, a Mater Dolorosa now in her hour +of anguish. She led them to where the boy lay in a clearing in the +sage. The brush was so high that a blanket had been fastened to the +tops of the tallest blushes, and under its roof he was stretched, +gray-faced and with sharpened nose. The broken leg had been bound +between rough splints of board, and he had traveled a week in the +wagons in uncomplaining agony. Now, spent and silent, he awaited +death, looking at the newcomers with the slow, indifferent glance of +those whose ties with life are loosening. But the mother, in the +ruthless unbearableness of her pain, wanted something done, anything. +An Irishman in the company, who had served six months as a helper in a +New York hospital, had told her he could amputate the leg, as he had +seen the operation performed. Now she clamored for a doctor--a real +doctor--to do it. + +He tried to persuade her of its uselessness, covering the leg in which +gangrene was far advanced, and telling her death was at hand. But her +despair insisted on action, her own suffering made her remorseless. +The clamor of their arguing voices surrounded the moribund figure lying +motionless with listless eyes as though already half initiated into new +and profound mysteries. Once, his mother's voice rising strident, he +asked her to let him rest in peace, he had suffered enough. + +Unable to endure the scene Susan left them and joined a woman whom she +found sewing in the shade of a wagon. The woman seemed unmoved, +chatting as she stitched on the happenings of the journey and the +accident that had caused the delay. Here presently David joined them, +his face pallid, his lips loose and quivering. Nothing could be done +with the mother. She had insisted on the operation, and the Irishman +had undertaken it. The doctor and Courant would stay by them; Courant +was to hold the leg. He, David, couldn't stand it. It was like an +execution--barbarous--with a hunting knife and a saw. + +In a half hour Courant came walking round the back of the wagon and +threw himself on the ground beside them. The leg had been amputated +and the boy was dying. Intense silence fell on the camp, only the +laughter and voices of the children rising clear on the thin air. Then +a wail arose, a penetrating, fearful cry, Rachel mourning for her +child. Courant raised his head and said with an unemotional air of +relief, "he's dead." The Mormon woman dropped her sewing, gave a low +exclamation, and sat listening with bitten lip. Susan leaned against +the wagon wheel full of horror and feeling sick, her eyes on David, +who, drawing up his knees, pressed his forehead on them. He rested +thus, his face hidden, while the keening of the mother, the cries of an +animal in pain, fell through the hot brightness of the morning like the +dropping of agonized tears down blooming cheeks. + +When they ceased and the quiet had resettled, the Mormon woman rose and +put away her sewing. + +"I don't seem to have no more ambition to work," she said and walked +away. + +"She's another of his wives," said Courant. + +"She and the woman whose son is dead, wives of the same man?" + +He nodded. + +"And there's a younger one, about sixteen. She was up there helping +with water and rags--a strong, nervy girl. She had whisky all ready in +a tin cup to give to the mother. When she saw it was all up with him +she went round collecting stones to cover the grave with and keep the +wolves off." + +"Before he was dead?" + +"Yes. They've got to move on at once. They can't lose any more time. +When we were arguing with that half-crazy woman, I could see the girl +picking up the stones and wiping off her tears with her apron." + +"What dreadful people," she breathed. + +"Dreadful? What's dreadful in having some sense? Too bad about the +boy. He set his teeth and didn't make a sound when that fool of an +Irishman was sawing at him as if he was a log. I never saw such grit. +If they've got many like him they'll be a great people some day." + +David gave a gasping moan, his arms relaxed, and he fell limply +backward on the ground. They sprang toward him and Susan seeing his +peaked white face, the eyes half open, thought he was dead, and dropped +beside him, a crouched and staring shape of terror. + +"What is it? What's the matter?" she cried, raising wild eyes to +Courant. + +"Nothing at all," said that unmoved person, squatting down on his heels +and thrusting his hand inside David's shirt. "Only a faint. Why, +where's your nerve? You're nearly as white as he is." + +His eyes were full of curiosity as he looked across the outstretched +figure at her frightened face. + +"I--I--thought for a moment he was dead," she faltered. + +"And so you were going to follow his example and die on his body?" He +got up. "Stay here and I'll go and get some water." As he turned away +he paused and, looking back, said, "Why didn't you do the fainting? +That's more your business than his," gave a sardonic grin and walked +off. + +Susan raised the unconscious head and held it to her bosom. Alone, +with no eye looking, she pressed her lips on his forehead. Courant's +callousness roused a fierce, perverse tenderness in her. He might +sneer at David's lack of force, but she understood. She crooned over +him, moved his hair back with caressing fingers, pressing him against +herself as if the strength of her hold would assure her of the love she +did not feel and wanted to believe in. Her arms were close round him, +his head on her shoulder when Courant came back with a dipper of water. + +"Get away," he said, standing over them. "I don't want to wet you." + +But she curled round her lover, her body like a protecting shield +between him and danger. + +"Leave go of him," said Courant impatiently. "Do you think I'm going +to hurt him with a cup full of water?" + +"Let me alone," she answered sullenly. "He'll be all right in a +minute." + +"You can be any kind of a fool you like, but you can't make me one. +Come, move." He set the dipper on the ground. + +He leaned gently over her and grasped her wrists. The power of his +grip amazed her; she was like a mouse in the paws of a lion. Her puny +strength matched against his was conquered in a moment of futile +resistance. + +"Don't be a fool," he said softly in her ear. "Don't act like a silly +baby," and the iron hands unclasped her arms and drew her back till +David's head slid from her knees to the ground. + +"There! We're all right now." He let her go, snatched up the dipper +and sent a splash of water into David's face. + +"Poor David," he said. "This'll spoil his good looks." + +"Stop," she almost screamed. "I'd rather have him lie in a faint for +an hour than have you speak so about him." + +Without noticing her, he threw another jet of water and David stirred, +drew a deep breath and opened his eyes. They touched the sky, the +wagon, the nearby sage, and then Susan's face. There they rested, +recognition slowly suffusing them. + +"What happened?" he said in a husky voice. + +"Fainted, that was all," said Courant. + +David closed his eyes. + +"Oh, yes, I remember now." + +Susan bent over him. + +"You frightened me so!" + +"I'm sorry, Missy, but it made me sick--the leg and those awful cries." + +Courant emptied the dipper on the ground. + +"I'll see if they've got any whisky. You'll have to get your grit up, +David, for the rest of the trail," and he left them. + +A half hour later the cry of "Roll out" sounded, and the Mormon camp +broke. The rattling of chains and ox yokes, and the cursing of men +ruptured the stillness that had gathered round the moment of death. +Life was a matter of more immediate importance. Tents were struck, the +pots and pans thrown into the wagons, the children collected, the stock +driven in. With ponderous strain and movement the great train formed +and took the road. As it drew away the circle of its bivouac showed in +trampled sage and grass bitten to the roots. In the clearing where the +boy had lain was the earth of a new-made grave, a piece of wood thrust +in at the head, the mound covered with stones gathered by the elder's +young wife. The mountain tragedy was over. + +By the fire that evening Zavier employed himself scraping the dust from +a buffalo skull. He wiped the frontal bone clean and white, and when +asked why he was expending so much care on a useless relic, shrugged +his shoulders and laughed. Then he explained with a jerk of his head +in the direction of the vanished Mormons that they used buffalo skulls +to write their letters on. In the great emigration of the year before +their route was marked by the skulls set up in prominent places and +bearing messages for the trains behind. + +"And are you going to write a letter on that one?" Susan asked. + +"No; I do not write English good, and French very bad. But maybe some +one else will use it," and he laughed boyishly and laid the skull by +the fire. + +In the depth of the night Susan was wakened by a hand on her shoulder +that shook her from a dreamless sleep. She started up with a cry and +felt another hand, small and cold on her mouth, and heard a whispering +voice at her ear, + +"Hush. Don't make a sound. It's Lucy." + +She gripped at the figure, felt the clasp of trembling arms, and a +cheek chill with the night cold, against her own. + +"Lucy," she gasped, "what's the matter?" + +"I want to speak to you. Be quiet." + +"Has anything happened? Is some one sick?" + +"No. It's not that. I'm going." + +"Going? Going where--" She was not yet fully awake, filaments of +sleep clouded her clearness. + +"Into the mountains with Zavier." + +The filaments were brushed away in a rough sweep. But her brain +refused to accept the message. In the dark, she clutched at the body +against her, felt the beat of pulses distinct through the clothing, the +trembling of the hands going down through her flesh and muscle to her +heart. + +"What do you mean? Where?" + +"I don't know, into the mountains somewhere." + +"With Zavier? Why?" + +"Because he wants me to and I must." + +"But-- Oh, Lucy--" she struggled from the blanket to her knees--"Oh, +Lucy!" + +Her voice rose high and the hand felt for her mouth. She caught it and +held it off, her head bent back straining her eyes for the face above +her. + +"Running away with him?" + +"Yes. I couldn't go without telling you. I had to say good-by." + +"Going with him forever, not coming back?" + +"No, never!" + +"But where--where to?" + +"I don't know. In the mountains somewhere. There's a trail here he +knows. It branches off to the north and goes up to the places where +they get the skins." + +"I don't believe you." + +"It's true. The horses are waiting outside." + +"Lucy, you've gone crazy. Don't--don't"-- She clung to the hand she +held, grasped upward at the arm. Both were cold and resistant. Her +pleading struck back from the hardness of the mind made up, the +irrevocable resolution. + +"But he's not your husband." + +Even at this moment, keyed to an act of lawlessness that in the +sheltered past would have been as impossible as murder, the great +tradition held fast. Lucy's answer came with a sudden flare of shocked +repudiation: + +"He will be. There are priests and missionaries up there among the +Indians. The first one we meet will marry us. It's all right. He +loves me and he's promised." + +Nothing of her wild courage came to the other girl, no echo of the call +of life and passion. It was a dark and dreadful fate, and Susan +strained her closer as if to hold her back from it. + +"It's been fixed for two days. We had to wait till we got here and +crossed the trail. We're going right into the mountains and it's +summer, and there's plenty of game." + +"The Indians?" + +"We'll be in the Crow's country, and Zavier's mother was a Crow." + +The words proved the completeness of her estrangement--the acceptance +of the alien race as no longer alien. + +"Oh, Lucy, don't, don't. Wait till we get to Fort Bridger and marry +him there. Make him come to California with us. Don't do such an +awful thing--run away into the mountains with a half-breed." + +"I don't care what he is. There's no one else for me but him. He's my +man and I'll go with him wherever he wants to take me." + +"Wait and tell Bella." + +"She wouldn't let me go. There'd be nothing but fighting and misery. +When you've made up your mind to do a thing you've got to do it +yourself, not go by what other people think." + +There was a silence and they hung upon each other. Then Lucy put her +face against her friend's and kissed her. + +"Good-by," she whispered, loosening her arms. + +"I can't let you go. I won't. It'll kill you." + +"I must. He's waiting." + +She struggled from the embrace, pulling away the clasping hands +noiselessly, but with purpose. There was something of coldness, of the +semblance but not the soul of affection, in the determined softness +with which she sought release. She stole to the tent flap and peered +out. Her thoughts were already outside, flown to the shape hiding in +the shadow like birds darting from a cage. She did not turn at Susan's +strangled whisper. + +"We'll never see you again, Bella, nor I, nor the children." + +"Perhaps, some day, in California. He's there. I must go." + +"Lucy!" She leaped after her. In the tent opening they once more +clasped each other. + +"I can't let you go," Susan moaned. + +But Lucy's kiss had not the fervor of hers. The strength of her being +had gone to her lover. Friendship, home, family, all other claims hung +loose about her, the broken trappings of her maidenhood. The great +primal tie had claimed her. + +A black figure against the pallor of the night, she turned for a last +word. + +"If you tell them and they come after us, Zavier'll fight them. He'll +fight if he kills them. They'll know to-morrow. Good-by," and she was +gone, a noiseless shadow, flitting toward the denser group of shadow +where her heart was. + +Susan, crouched at the tent flap, saw her melt into the waiting +blackness, and then heard the muffled hoof beats growing thinner and +fainter as the silence absorbed them. + +She sat thus till the dawn came. Once or twice she started up to give +the alarm, but fell back. Under the tumult of her thoughts a +conviction lay that Lucy must follow her own wild way. In the welter +of confused emotion it was all that was clear. It may have come from +that sense of Lucy's detachment, that consciousness of cords and +feelers stretching out to a new life which commanded and held closer +than the old had ever done. All she knew was that Lucy was obeying +some instinct that was law to her, that was true for her to obey. If +they caught her and brought her back it would twist her life into a +broken form. Was it love? Was that what had drawn her over all +obstacles, away from the established joys and comforts, drawn her like +a magnet to such a desperate course? With wide eyes the girl saw the +whiteness of the dawn, and sat gripped in her resolution of silence, +fearful at the thought of what that mighty force must be. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +The cross, drowsy bustle of the camp's uprising was suddenly broken by +a piercing cry. It came from Bella, who, standing by the mess chest, +was revealed to her astonished companions with a buffalo skull in her +hands, uttering as dolorous sounds as ever were emitted by that animal +in the agony of its death throes. Her words were unintelligible, but +on taking the skull from her the cause of her disturbance was made +known. Upon the frontal bone were a few words scrawled in +pencil--Lucy's farewell. + +It came upon them like a thunderbolt, and they took it in different +ways--amazed silence, curses, angry questionings. The skull passed +from hand to hand till Courant dropped it and kicked it to one side +where Leff went after it, lifted it by the horns and stood spelling out +the words with a grin. The children, at first rejoicing in the new +excitement, soon recognized the note of dole, lifted up their voices +and filled the air with cries for Lucy upon whom, in times at +tribulation, they had come to look. Glen broke into savage anger, +called down curses on his sister-in-law, applying to her certain terms +of a scriptural simplicity till the doctor asked him to go afield and +vent his passion in the seclusion of the sage. Bella, sunk in heavy, +uncorseted despair upon the mess chest, gripped her children to her +knees as though an army of ravishers menaced the house of McMurdo. Her +words flowed with her tears, both together in a choked and bitter flood +of wrath, sorrow, and self-pity. She bewailed Lucy, not only as a +vanished relative but as a necessary member of the McMurdo escort. And +doubts of Zavier's lawful intentions shook her from the abandon of her +grief, to furious invective against the red man of all places and +tribes whereso'er he be. + +"The dirty French-Indian," she wailed, "to take her off where he knows +fast enough there's no way of marrying her." + +Courant tried to console her by telling her there was a good chance of +the fugitives meeting a Catholic missionary, but that, instead of +assuaging, intensified her woe. + +"A Catholic!" she cried, raising a drenched face from her apron. "And +ain't that just as bad? My parents and hers were decent Presbyterians. +Does their daughter have to stand up before a priest? Why don't you +say a Mormon elder at once?" + +The McMurdos' condition of grief and rage was so violent, that the +doctor suggested following the runaways. Bella rose in glad assent to +this. Catch Lucy and bring her back! She was cheered at the thought +and shouted it to Glen, who had gone off in a sulky passion and stood +by his oxen swearing to himself and kicking their hoofs. The men +talked it over. They could lay off for a day and Courant, who knew the +trails, could lead the search party. He was much against it, and Daddy +John was with him. Too much time had been lost. Zavier was an +experienced mountain man and his horses were good. Besides, what was +the use of bringing them back? They'd chosen each other, they'd taken +their own course. It wasn't such a bad lookout for Lucy. Zavier was a +first-rate fellow and he'd treat her well. What was the sense of +interfering? Bella was furious, and shouted, + +"The sense is to get her back here and keep her where it's civilized, +since she don't seem to know enough to keep there herself." + +Daddy John, who had been listening, flashed out: + +"It don't seem to me so d--d civilized to half kill her with work." + +Then Bella wept and Glen swore, and the men had pulled up the picket +stakes, cinched their girths tight and started off in Indian file +toward the distant spurs of the hills. + +Susan had said little. If it did not violate her conscience to keep +silent, it did to pretend a surprise that was not hers. She sat at her +tent door most of the day watching for the return of the search party. +She was getting supper when she looked up and saw them, gave a low +exclamation, and ran to the outskirts of the camp. Here she stood +watching, heard Daddy John lounge up behind her and, turning, caught +his hand. + +"Is she there?" she said in an eager whisper. + +"I can't see her." + +They both scrutinized the figures, small as toy horsemen, loping over +the leathern distance. + +"Ain't there only four?" he said. "You can see better'n I." + +"Yes," she cried. "Four. I can count them. She isn't there. Oh, I'm +glad!" + +The old man looked surprised: + +"Glad! Why?" + +"I don't know. Oh, don't tell, Daddy John, but I wanted her to get +away. I don't know why, I suppose it's very wicked. But--but--it +seemed so--so--as if she was a slave--so unfair to drag her away from +her own life and make her lead some one else's." + +Lucy gone, lost as by shipwreck in the gulfs and windings of the +mountains, was a fact that had to be accepted. The train moved on, for +on the Emigrant Trail there was no leisure for fruitless repining. +Only immediate happenings could fill the minds of wanderers struggling +across the world, their energies matched against its primal forces. + +The way was growing harder, the animals less vigorous, and the strain +of the journey beginning to tell. Tempers that had been easy in the +long, bright days on the Platte now were showing sharp edges. Leff had +become surly, Glen quarrelsome. One evening Susan saw him strike Bob a +blow so savage that the child fell screaming in pain and terror. Bella +rushed to her first born, gathered him in her arms and turned a +crimsoned face of battle on her spouse. For a moment the storm was +furious, and Susan was afraid that the blow would be repeated on the +mother. She tried to pacify the enraged woman, and David and the +doctor coaxed Glen away. The child had struck against an edge of stone +and was bleeding, and after supper the father rocked him to sleep +crooning over him in remorseful tenderness. But the incident left an +ugly impression. + +They were passing up the Sweetwater, a mountain stream of busy +importance with a current that was snow-cold and snow-pure. It wound +its hurrying way between rock walls, and then relaxed in lazy coils +through meadows where the grass was thick and juicy and the air musical +with the cool sound of water. These were the pleasant places. Where +the rocks crowded close about the stream the road left it and sought +the plain again, splinding away into the arid desolation. The wheels +ground over myriads of crickets that caked in the loose soil. There +was nothing to break the eye-sweep but the cones of rusted buttes, the +nearer ones showing every crease and shadow thread, the farther +floating detached in the faint, opal shimmer of the mirage. + +One afternoon, in a deep-grassed meadow they came upon an encamped +train outflung on the stream bank in wearied disarray. It was from +Ohio, bound for California, and Glen and Bella decided to join it. +This was what the doctor's party had been hoping for, as the slow pace +of the McMurdo oxen held them back. Bella was well and the doctor +could conscientiously leave her. It was time to part. + +Early in the morning the two trains rolled out under a heavy drizzle. +Rain fell within the wagons even as it did without, Susan weeping among +the sacks behind Daddy John and Bella with her children whimpering +against her sides, stopping in her knitting to wipe away her tears with +the long strip of stocking leg. They were to meet again in +California--that everyone said. But California looked a long way off, +and now.--For some reason or other it did not gleam so magically bright +at the limit of their vision. Their minds had grown tired of dwelling +on it and sank down wearied to each day's hard setting. + +By midday the doctor's wagons had left the others far behind. The rain +fell ceaselessly, a cold and penetrating flood. The crowding crowns +and crests about them loomed through the blur, pale and slowly +whitening with falling snow. Beyond, the greater masses veiled +themselves in cloud. The road skirted the river, creeping through a +series of gorges with black walls down which the moisture spread in a +ripple-edged, glassy glaze. Twice masses of fallen rock blocked the +way, and the horses had to be unhitched and the wagons dragged into the +stream bed. It was heavy work, and when they camped, ferociously +hungry, no fire could be kindled, and there was nothing for it but to +eat the hard-tack damp and bacon raw. Leff cursed and threw his piece +away. He had been unusually morose and ill-humored for the last week, +and once, when obliged to do sentry duty on a wet night, had flown into +a passion and threatened to leave them. No one would have been sorry. +Under the stress of mountain faring, the farm boy was not developing +well. + +In the afternoon the rain increased to a deluge. The steady beat on +the wagon hoods filled the interior with a hollow drumming vibration. +Against the dimmed perspective the flanks of the horses undulated under +a sleek coating of moisture. Back of the train, the horsemen rode, +heads lowered against the vicious slant, shadowy forms like drooping, +dispirited ghosts. The road wound into a gorge where the walls rose +straight, the black and silver of the river curbed between them in +glossy outspreadings and crisp, bubbling flashes. The place was full +of echoes, held there and buffeted from wall to wall as if flying back +and forth in a distracted effort to escape. + +David was driving in the lead, Susan under cover beside him. The +morning's work had exhausted him and he felt ill, so she had promised +to stay with him. She sat close at his back, a blanket drawn over her +knees against the intruding wet, peering out at the darkling cleft. +The wagon, creaking like a ship at sea, threw her this way and that. +Once, as she struck against him he heard her low laugh at his ear. + +"It's like a little earthquake," she said, steadying herself with a +grab at his coat. + +"There must have been a big earthquake here once," he answered. "Look +at the rocks. They've been split as if a great force came up from +underneath and burst them open." + +She craned her head forward to see and he looked back at her. Her face +was close to his shoulder, glowing with the dampness. It shone against +the shadowed interior rosily fresh as a child's. Her eyes, clear black +and white, were the one sharp note in its downy softness. He could see +the clean upspringing of her dark lashes, the little whisps of hair +against her temple and ear. He could not look away from her. The +grinding and slipping of the horses' hoofs did not reach his senses, +held captive in a passionate observation. + +"You don't curl your hair any more?" he said, and the intimacy of this +personal query added to his entrancement. + +She glanced quickly at him and broke into shamefaced laughter. A +sudden lurch threw her against him and she clutched his arm. + +"Oh, David," she said, gurgling at the memory. "Did _you_ know that? +I curled it for three nights on bits of paper that I tore out of the +back of father's diary. And now I don't care what it looks like. See +how I've changed!" + +And she leaned against him, holding the arm and laughing at her past +frivolity. His eyes slid back to the horses, but he did not see them. +With a slight, listening smile he gave himself up to the intoxication +of the moment, feeling the pressure of her body soft against his arm. + +The reins which hung loose suddenly jerked through his fingers and the +mare fell crashing to her knees. She was down before he knew it, head +forward, and then with a quivering subsidence, prone in a tangle of +torn harness. He urged her up with a jerked rein, she made a +struggling effort, but fell back, and a groan, singularly human in its +pain, burst from her. The wagon behind pounded almost on them, the +mules crowding against each other. Daddy John's voice rising in a +cracked hail. Courant and Leff came up from the rear, splashing +through the river. + +"What's happened?" said the former. + +"It's Bess," said David, his face pallid with contrition. "I hope to +God she's not hurt. Up, Bess, there! Up on your feet, old girl!" + +At her master's voice the docile brute made a second attempt to rise, +but again sank down, her sides panting, her head strained up. + +Leff leaped off his horse. + +"Damn her, I'll make her get up," he said, and gave her a violent kick +on the ribs. The mare rolled an agonized eye upon him, and with a +sudden burst of fury he rained kick after kick on her face. + +David gave a strange sound, a pinched, thin cry, as if wrung from him +by unbearable suffering, and leaped over the wheel. He struck Leff on +the chest, a blow so savage and unexpected that it sent him staggering +back into the stream, where, his feet slipping among the stones, he +fell sprawling. + +"Do that again and I'll kill you," David cried, and moving to the horse +stood over it with legs spread and fists clinched for battle. + +Leff scrambled to his knees, his face ominous, and Courant, who had +been looking at the mare, apparently indifferent to the quarrel, now +slipped to the ground. + +"Let that hound alone," he said. "I'm afraid it's all up with Bess." + +David turned and knelt beside her, touching her with hands so tremulous +he could hardly direct them. His breath came in gasps, he was shaken +and blinded with passion, high-pitched and nerve-wracking as a woman's. + +Leff rose, volleying curses. + +"Here you," Courant shifted a hard eye on him, "get out. Get on your +horse and go," then turning to Bess, "Damn bad luck if we got to lose +her." + +Leff stood irresolute, his curses dying away in smothered mutterings. +His skin was gray, a trickle of blood ran down from a cut on his neck, +his face showed an animal ferocity, dark and lowering as the front of +an angry bull. With a slow lift of his head he looked at Susan, who +was still in the wagon. She met the glance stonily with eyes in which +her dislike had suddenly crystallized into open abhorrence. She gave a +jerk of her head toward his horse, a movement of contemptuous command, +and obeying it he mounted and rode away. + +She joined the two men, who were examining Bess, now stretched +motionless and uttering pitiful sounds. David had the head, bruised +and torn by Leff's kicks, on his knees, while Courant with expert hands +searched for her hurt. It was not hard to find. The left foreleg had +been broken at the knee, splinters of bone penetrating the skin. There +was nothing to do with Bess but shoot her, and Courant went back for +his pistols, while Daddy John and the doctor came up to listen with +long faces. It was the first serious loss of the trip. + +Later in the day the rain stopped and the clouds that had sagged low +with its weight, began to dissolve into vaporous lightness, float +airily and disperse. The train debouched from the gorge into one of +the circular meadows and here found Leff lying on a high spot on the +ground, his horse cropping the grass near him. He made no remark, and +as they came to a halt and began the work of camping, he continued to +lie without moving or speaking, his eyes fixed on the mountains. + +These slowly unveiled themselves, showing in patches of brilliant color +through rents in the mist which drew off lingeringly, leaving filaments +caught delicately in the heights. The sky broke blue behind them, and +clarified by the rain, the shadows brimmed high in the clefts. The low +sun shot its beams across the meadow, leaving it untouched, and +glittering on the remote, immaculate summits. + +In exhaustion the camp lay resting, tents unpitched, the animals nosing +over the grass. David and Daddy John slept a dead sleep rolled in +blankets on the teeming ground. Courant built a fire, called Susan to +it, and bade her dry her wet skirts. He lay near it, not noticing her, +his glance ranging the distance. The line of whitened peaks began to +take on a golden glaze, and the shadows in the hollow mounted till the +camp seemed to be at the bottom of a lake in which a tide of some gray, +transparent essence was rising. + +"That's where Lucy's gone," he said suddenly without moving his head. + +Susan's eyes followed his. + +"Poor Lucy!" she sighed. + +"Why is she poor?" + +"Why?" indignantly. "What a question!" + +"But why do you call her poor? Is it because she has no money?" + +"Of course not. Who was thinking of money? I meant she was +unfortunate to run away to such a life with a half-breed." + +"She's gone out into the mountains with her lover. I don't call that +unfortunate, and I'll bet you she doesn't. She was brave enough to +take her life when it came. She was a gallant girl, that Lucy." + +"I suppose that's what you'd think." + +And in scorn of more words she gave her attention to her skirt, +spreading its sodden folds to the heat. Courant clasped his hands +behind his head and gazed ruminantly before him. + +"Do you know how she'll live, that 'poor Lucy'?" + +"Like a squaw." + +He was unshaken by her contempt, did not seem to notice it. + +"They'll go by ways that wind deep into the mountains. It's wonderful +there, peaks and peaks and peaks, and down the gorges and up over the +passes, the trails go that only the trappers and the Indians know. +They'll pass lakes as smooth as glass and green as this hollow we're +in. You never saw such lakes, everything's reflected in them like a +mirror. And after a while they'll come to the beaver streams and +Zavier'll set his traps. At night they'll sleep under the stars, great +big stars. Did you ever see the stars at night through the branches of +the pine trees? They look like lanterns. It'll seem to be silent, but +the night will be full of noises, the sounds that come in those wild +places, a wolf howling in the distance, the little secret bubbling of +the spring, and the wind in the pine trees. That's a sad sound, as if +it was coming through a dream." + +The girl stirred and forgot her skirt. The solemn beauty that his +words conjured up called her from her petty irritation. She looked at +the mountains, her face full of a wistful disquiet. + +"And it'll seem as if there was no one else but them in the world. Two +lovers and no one else, between the sunrise and the sunset. There +won't be anybody else to matter, or to look for, or to think about. +Just those two alone, all day by the river where the traps are set and +at night under the blanket in the dark of the trees." + +Susan said nothing. For some inexplicable reason her spirits sank and +she felt a bleak loneliness. A sense of insignificance fell heavily +upon her, bearing down her high sufficiency, making her feel that she +was a purposeless spectator on the outside of life. She struggled +against it, struggled back toward cheer and self-assertion, and in her +effort to get back, found herself seeking news of less picturesque +moments in Lucy's lot. + +"But the winter," she said in a small voice like a pleading child's, +"the winter won't be like that?" + +"When the winter comes Zavier'll build a hut. He'll make it out of +small trees, long and thin, bent round with their tops stuck in the +ground, and he'll thatch it with skins, and spread buffalo robes on the +floor of it. There'll be a hole for the smoke to get out, and near the +door'll be his graining block and stretching frame to cure his skins. +On a tree nearby he'll hang his traps, and there'll be a brace of +elkhorns fastened to another tree that they'll use for a rack to hang +the meat and maybe their clothes on. They'll have some coffee and +sugar and salt. That's all they'll need in the way of eatables, for +he'll shoot all the game they want, _les aliments du pays_, as the fur +men call it. It'll be cold, and maybe for months they'll see no one. +But what will it matter? They'll have each other, snug and warm way +off there in the heart of the mountains, with the big peaks looking +down at them. Isn't that a good life for a man and a woman?" + +She did not answer, but sat as if contemplating the picture with fixed, +far-seeing gaze. He raised himself on his elbow and looked at her. + +"Could you do that, little lady?" he said. + +"No," she answered, beating down rebellious inner whisperings. + +"Wouldn't you follow David that way?" + +"David wouldn't ask it. No civilized man would." + +"No, David wouldn't," he said quietly. + +She glanced quickly at him. Did she hear the note of mockery which she +sensed whenever he alluded to her lover? She was ready at once to take +up arms for David, but the face opposite was devoid of any expression +save an intent, expectant interest. She dropped her eyes to her dress, +perturbed by the closeness of her escape from a foolish exhibition +which would have made her ridiculous. She always felt with Courant +that she would be swept aside as a trivial thing if she lost her +dignity. He watched her and she grew nervous, plucking at her skirt +with an uncertain hand. + +"I wonder if you could?" he said after a pause. + +"Of course not," she snapped. + +"Aren't you enough of a woman?" + +"I'm not enough of a fool." + +"Aren't all women in love fools--anyway for a while?" + +She made no answer, and presently he said, his voice lowered: + +"Not enough of a woman to know how to love a man. Doesn't even for a +moment understand it. It's 'poor Susan.'" + +Fury seized her, for she had not guessed where he was leading her, and +now saw herself not only shorn of her dignity but shorn of her woman's +prerogative of being able to experience a mad and unreasonable passion. + +"You're a liar," she burst out before she knew what words were coming. + +"Then you think you could?" he asked without the slightest show of +surprise at her violence, apparently only curious. + +"Don't I?" she cried, ready to proclaim that she would follow David to +destruction and death. + +"I don't know," he answered. "I've been wondering." + +"What business have you got to wonder about me?" + +"None--but," he leaned toward her, "you can't stop me doing that, +little lady; that's one of the things you _can't_ control." + +For a moment they eyed each other, glance held glance in a smoldering +challenge. The quizzical patronage had gone from his, the gleam of a +subdued defiance taken its place. Hers was defiant too, but it was +openly so, a surface thing that she had raised like a defense in haste +and tremor to hide weakness. + +David moved in his blanket, yawned and threw out a languid hand. She +leaped to her feet and ran to him. + +"David, are you better?" she cried, kneeling beside him. "Are you +better, dear?" + +He opened his eyes, blinking, saw the beloved face, and smiled. + +"All right," he said sleepily. "I was only tired." + +She lifted one of the limp hands and pressed it to her cheek. + +"I've been so worried about you," she purred. "I couldn't put my mind +on anything else. I haven't known what I was saying, I've been so +worried." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +South Pass, that had been pictured in their thoughts as a cleft between +snow-crusted summits, was a wide, gentle incline with low hills sweeping +up on either side. From here the waters ran westward, following the sun. +Pacific Spring seeped into the ground in an oasis of green whence +whispering threads felt their way into the tawny silence and subdued by +its weight lost heart and sank into the unrecording earth. + +Here they found the New York Company and a Mormon train filling up their +water casks and growing neighborly in talk of Sublette's cut off and the +route by the Big and Little Sandy. A man was a man even if he was a +Mormon, and in a country so intent on its own destiny, so rapt in the +calm of contemplation, he took his place as a human unit on whom his +creed hung like an unnoticed tag. + +They filled their casks, visited in the two camps, and then moved on. +Plain opened out of plain in endless rotation, rings of sun-scorched +earth brushed up about the horizon in a low ridge like the raised rim on +a plate. In the distance the thin skein of a water course drew an +intricate pattern that made them think of the thread of slime left by a +wandering snail. In depressions where the soil was webbed with cracks, a +livid scurf broke out as if the face of the earth were scarred with the +traces of inextinguishable foulness. An even subdual of tint marked it +all. White had been mixed on the palette whence the colors were drawn. +The sky was opaque with it; it had thickened the red-browns and yellows +to ocher and pale shades of putty. Nothing moved and there were no +sounds, only the wheeling sun changed the course of the shadows. In the +morning they slanted from the hills behind, eagerly stretching after the +train, straining to overtake and hold it, a living plaything in this +abandoned land. At midday a blot of black lay at the root of every sage +brush. At evening each filigreed ridge, each solitary cone rising +detached in the sealike circle of its loneliness, showed a slant of +amethyst at its base, growing longer and finer, tapering prodigiously, +and turning purple as the earth turned orange. + +There was little speech in the moving caravan. With each day their words +grew fewer, their laughter and light talk dwindled. Gradual changes had +crept into the spirit of the party. Accumulations of habit and custom +that had collected upon them in the dense life of towns were dropping +away. As the surface refinements of language were dying, so their faces +had lost a certain facile play of expression. Delicate nuances of +feeling no longer showed, for they no longer existed. Smiles had grown +rarer, and harder characteristics were molding their features into +sterner lines. The acquired deceptiveness of the world of men was +leaving them. Ugly things that they once would have hidden cropped out +unchecked by pride or fear of censure. They did not care. There was no +standard, there was no public opinion. Life was resolving itself into a +few great needs that drove out all lesser and more delicate desires. +Beings of a ruder make were usurping their bodies. The primitive man in +them was rising to meet the primitive world. + +In the young girl the process of elimination was as rapid if not as +radical as in the case of the men. She was unconsciously ridding herself +of all that hampered and made her unfit. From the soft feminine tissue, +intricacies of mood and fancy were being obliterated. Rudimentary +instincts were developing, positive and barbaric as a child's. In the +old days she had been dainty about her food. Now she cooked it in +blackened pans and ate with the hunger of the men. Sleep, that once had +been an irksome and unwelcome break between the pleasures of well-ordered +days, was a craving that she satisfied, unwashed, often half-clad. In +Rochester she had spent thought and time upon her looks, had stood before +her mirror matching ribbons to her complexion, wound and curled her hair +in becoming ways. Now her hands, hardened and callous as a boy's, were +coarse-skinned with broken nails, sometimes dirty, and her hair hung +rough from the confining teeth of a comb and a few bent pins. When in +flashes of retrospect she saw her old self, this pampered self of crisp +fresh frocks and thoughts moving demurely in the narrow circle of her +experience, it did not seem as if it could be the same Susan Gillespie. + +All that made up the little parcel of her personality seemed gone. In +those days she had liked this and wanted that and forgotten and wanted +something else. Rainy weather had sent its ashen sheen over her spirit, +and her gladness had risen to meet the sun. She remembered the sudden +sweeps of depression that had clouded her horizon when she had drooped in +an unintelligible and not entirely disagreeable melancholy, and the +contrasting bursts of gayety when she laughed at anything and loved +everybody. Hours of flitting fancies flying this way and that, hovering +over chance incidents that were big by contrast with the surrounding +uneventfulness, the idleness of dropped hands and dreaming eyes, the +charmed peerings into the future--all were gone. Life had seized her in +a mighty grip, shaken her free of it all, and set her down where she felt +only a few imperious sensations, hunger, fatigue, fear of danger, love of +her father, and-- She pulled her thoughts to obedience with a sharp jerk +and added--love of David and hatred of Courant. + +These two latter facts stood out sentinel-wise in the foreground. In the +long hours on horseback she went over them like a lesson she was trying +to learn. She reviewed David's good points, dwelt on them, held them up +for her admiration, and told herself no girl had ever had a finer or more +gallant lover. She was convinced of it and was quite ready to convince +anybody who denied it. Only when her mental vision--pressed on by some +inward urge of obscure self-distrust--carried her forward to that future +with David in the cabin in California, something in her shrank and +failed. Her thought leaped back as from an abhorrent contact, and her +body, caught by some mysterious internal qualm, felt limp and faintly +sickened. + +She dwelt even more persistently on Courant's hatefulness, impressed upon +herself his faults. He was hard and she had seen him brutal, a man +without feeling, as he had shown when the Mormon boy died, a harsh and +remorseless leader urging them on, grudging them even their seventh day +rest, deaf to their protests, lashing them forward with contempt of their +weakness. This was above and apart from his manner to her. That she +tried to feel was a small, personal matter, but, nevertheless, it stung, +did not cease to sting, and left an unhealed sore to rankle in her pride. +He did not care to hide that he held her cheaply, as a useless futile +thing. Once she had heard him say to Daddy John, "It's the women in the +train that make the trouble. They're always in the way." And she was +the only woman. She would like to see him conquered, beaten, some of his +heady confidence stricken out of him, and when he was humbled have stood +by and smiled at his humiliation. + +So she passed over the empty land under the empty sky, a particle of +matter carrying its problem with it. + +It was late afternoon when they encamped by the Big Sandy. The march had +been distressful, bitter in their mouths with the clinging clouds of +powdered alkali, their heads bowed under the glaring ball of the sun. +All day the circling rim of sky line had weaved up and down, undulating +in the uncertainty of the mirage, the sage had blotted into indistinct +seas that swam before their strained vision. When the river cleft showed +in black tracings across the distance, they stiffened and took heart, +coolness and water were ahead. It was all they had hope or desire for +just then. At the edge of the clay bluff, they dipped and poured down a +corrugated gully, the dust sizzling beneath the braked wheels, the +animals, the smell of water in their nostrils, past control. The impetus +of the descent carried them into the chill, purling current. Man and +beast plunged in, laved in it, drank it, and then lay by it resting, +spent and inert. + +They camped where a grove of alders twinkled in answer to the swift, +telegraphic flashes of the stream. Under these the doctor pitched his +tents, the hammering of the pegs driving through the sounds of man's +occupation into the quietude that lapped them like sleeping tides. The +others hung about the center of things where wagons and mess chests, pans +and fires, made the nucleus of the human habitation. + +Susan, sitting on a box, with a treasure of dead branches at her feet, +waited yet a space before setting them in the fire form. She was sunk in +the apathy of the body surrendered to restoring processes. The men's +voices entered the channels of her ears and got no farther. Her vision +acknowledged the figure of Leff nearby sewing up a rent in his coat, but +her brain refused to accept the impression. Her eye held him in a heavy +vacuity, watched with a trancelike fixity his careful stitches and the +armlong stretch of the drawn thread. + +Had she shifted it a fraction, it would have encountered David squatting +on the bank washing himself. His long back, the red shirt drawn taut +across its bowed outline, showed the course of his spine in small regular +excrescences. The water that he raised in his hands and rinsed over his +face and neck made a pleasant, clean sound, that her ear noted with the +other sounds. Somewhere behind her Daddy John and Courant made a noise +with skillets and picket pins and spoke a little, a sentence mutteringly +dropped and monosyllabically answered. + +David turned a streaming face over his shoulder, blinking through the +water. The group he looked at was as idyllically peaceful as wayfarers +might be after the heat and burden of the day. Rest, fellowship, a +healthy simplicity of food and housing were all in the picture either +visibly or by implication. + +"Throw me the soap, Leff," he called, "I forgot it." + +The soap lay on the top of a meal sack, a yellow square, placed there by +David on his way to the water. It shone between Susan and Leff, standing +forth as a survival of a pampered past. Susan's eye shifted toward it, +fastened on it, waiting for Leff's hand to come and bear it away. But +the hand executed no such expected maneuver. It planted the needle +deliberately, pushed it through, drew it out with its long tail of +thread. Surprise began to dispel her lethargy. Her eye left the soap, +traveled at a more sprightly speed back to Leff, lit on his face with a +questioning intelligence. + +David called again. + +"Hurry up. I want to light the fire." + +Leff took another considered stitch. + +"I don't know where it is," he answered without looking up. + +The questioning of Susan's glance became accusative. + +"It's there beside you on the meal sack," she said. "Throw it to him." + +Leff raised his head and looked at her. His eyes were curiously pale and +wide. She could see the white round the fixed pupil. + +"Do it yourself," he answered, his tone the lowest that could reach her. +"Do it or go to Hell." + +She rested without movement, her mouth falling slightly open. For the +moment there was a stoppage of all feeling but amazement, which invaded +her till she seemed to hold nothing else. David's voice came from a far +distance, as if she had floated away from him and it was a cord jerking +her back to her accustomed place. + +"Hurry up," it called. "It's right there beside you." + +Leff threw down his sewing and leaped to his feet. Leaning against the +bank behind him was his gun, newly cleaned and primed. + +"Get it yourself and be d--d to you!" he roared. + +The machinery of action stopped as though by the breaking of a spring. +Their watches ticked off a few seconds of mind paralysis in which there +was no expectancy or motive power, all action inhibited. Sight was all +they used for those seconds. Leff spoke first, the only one among them +whose thinking process had not been snapped: + +"If you keep on shouting for me to do your errands, I'll show you"--he +snatched up the gun and brought it to his shoulder with a lightning +movement--"I'll send you where you can't order me round--you and this +d--d ------ here." + +The inhibition was lifted and the three men rushed toward him. Daddy +John struck up the gun barrel with a tent pole. The charge passed over +David's head, spat in the water beyond, the report crackling sharp in the +narrow ravine. David staggered, the projection of smoke reaching out +toward him, his hands raised to ward it off, not knowing whether he was +hurt or not. + +"That's a great thing to do," he cried, dazed, and stubbing his foot on a +stone stumbled to his knees. + +The two others fell on Leff. Susan saw the gun ground into the dust +under their trampling feet and Leff go down on top of it. Daddy John's +tent pole battered at him, and Courant on him, a writhing body, grappled +and wrung at his throat. The doctor came running from the trees, the +hammer in his hand, and Susan grabbed at the descending pole, screaming: + +"You're killing him. Father, stop them. They'll murder him." + +The sight of his Missy clinging to the pole brought the old man to his +senses, but it took David and the doctor to drag Courant away. For a +moment they were a knot of struggling bodies, from which oaths and +sobbing breaths broke. Upright he shook them off and backed toward the +bank, leaving them looking at him, all expectant. He growled a few +broken words, his face white under the tan, the whole man shaken by a +passion so transforming that they forgot the supine figure and stood +alert, ready to spring upon him. He made a movement of his head toward +Leff. + +"Why didn't you let me kill him?" he said huskily. + +It broke the tension. Their eyes dropped to Leff, who lay motionless and +unconscious, blood on his lips, a slip of white showing under his +eyelids. The doctor dropped on his knees beside him and opened his +shirt. Daddy John gave him an investigating push with the tent pole, and +David eyed him with an impersonal, humane concern. Only Susan's glance +remained on Courant, unfaltering as the beam of a fixed star. + +His savage excitement was on the ebb. He pulled his hunting shirt into +place and felt along his belt for his knife, while his broad breast rose +like a wave coming to its breakage then dropped as the wave drops into +its hollow. The hand he put to his throat to unfasten the band of his +shirt shook, it had difficulty in manipulating the button, and he ran his +tongue along his dried lips. She watched every movement, to the outward +eye like a child fascinated by an unusual and terrifying spectacle. But +her gaze carried deeper than the perturbed envelope. She looked through +to the man beneath, felt an exultation in his might, knew herself kindred +with him, fed by the same wild strain. + +His glance moved, touched the unconscious man at his feet, then lifting +met hers. Eye held eye. In each a spark leaped, ran to meet its +opposing spark and flashed into union. + +When she looked down again the group of figures was dim. Their talk came +vaguely to her, like the talk of men in a dream. David was explaining. +Daddy John made a grimace at him which was a caution to silence. The +doctor had not heard and was not to hear the epithet that had been +applied to his daughter. + +"He's sun mad," the old man said. "Half crazy. I've seen 'em go that +way before. How'll he get through the desert I'm asking you?" + +There were some contusions on the head that looked bad, the doctor said, +but nothing seemed to be broken. He'd been half strangled; they'd have +to get him into the wagon. + +"Leave him at Fort Bridger," came Courant's voice through the haze. +"Leave him there to rot." + +The doctor answered in the cold tones of authority: + +"We'll take him with us as we agreed in the beginning. Because he +happens not to be able to stand it, it's not for us to abandon him. It's +a physical matter--sun and hard work and irritated nerves. Take a hand +and help me lift him into the wagon." + +They hoisted him in and disposed him on a bed of buffalo robes spread on +sacks. He groaned once or twice, then settled on the softness of the +skins, gazing at them with blood-shot eyes of hate. When the doctor +offered him medicine, he struck the tin, sending its contents flying. +However serious his hurts were they had evidently not mitigated the +ferocity of his mood. + +For the three succeeding days he remained in the wagon, stiff with +bruises and refusing to speak. Daddy John was detailed to take him his +meals, and the doctor dressed his wounds and tried to find the cause of +his murderous outburst. But Leff was obdurate. He would express no +regret for his action, and would give no reason for it. Once when the +questioner asked him if he hated David, he said "Yes." But to the +succeeding, "Why did he?" he offered no explanation, said he "didn't know +why." + +"Hate never came without a reason," said the physician, curious and +puzzled. "Has David wronged you in any way?" + +"What's that to you?" answered the farm boy. "I can hate him if I like, +can't I?" + +"Not in my train." + +"Well there are other trains where the men aren't all fools, and the +women----" + +He stopped. The doctor's eye held him with a warning gleam. + +"I don't know what's the matter with that boy," he said afterwards in the +evening conference. "I can't get at him." + +"Sun mad," Daddy John insisted. + +Courant gave a grunt that conveyed disdain of a question of such small +import. + +David couldn't account for it at all. + +Susan said nothing. + +At Green River the Oregon Trail broke from the parent road and slanted +off to the northwest. Here the Oregon companies mended their wagons and +braced their yokes for the long pull across the broken teeth of mountains +to Fort Hall, and from there onward to the new country of great rivers +and virgin forests. A large train was starting as the doctor's wagons +came down the slope. There was some talk, and a little bartering between +the two companies, but time was precious, and the head of the Oregon +caravan had begun to roll out when the California party were raising +their tents on the river bank. + +It was a sere and sterile prospect. Drab hills rolled in lazy waves +toward the river where they reared themselves into bolder forms, a line +of ramparts guarding the precious thread of water. The sleek, greenish +current ate at the roots of lofty bluffs, striped by bands of umber and +orange, and topped with out-croppings of rock as though a vanished race +had crowned them with now crumbling fortresses. At their feet, sucking +life from the stream, a fringe of alder and willows decked the sallow +landscape with a trimming of green. + +Here the doctor's party camped for the night, rising in the morning to +find a new defection in their ranks. Leff had gone. Nailed to the mess +chest was a slip of paper on which he had traced a few words announcing +his happiness to be rid of them, his general dislike of one and all, and +his intention to catch up the departed train and go to the Oregon +country. This was just what they wanted, the desired had been +accomplished without their intervention. But when they discovered that, +beside his own saddle horse, he had taken David's, their gladness +suffered a check. It was a bad situation, for it left the young man with +but one horse, the faithful Ben. There was nothing for it but to abandon +the wagon, and give David the doctor's extra mount for a pack animal. +With silent pangs the student saw his books thrown on the banks of the +river while his keg of whisky, sugar and coffee were stored among the +Gillespies' effects. Then they started, a much diminished train--one +wagon, a girl, and three mounted men. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +It was Sunday afternoon, and the doctor and his daughter were sitting +by a group of alders on the banks of the little river called Ham's +Fork. On the uplands above, the shadows were lengthening, and at +intervals a light air caught up swirls of dust and carried them +careening away in staggering spirals. + +The doctor was tired and lay stretched on the ground. He looked +bloodless and wan, the grizzled beard not able to hide the thinness of +his face. The healthful vigor he had found on the prairie had left +him, each day's march claiming a dole from his hoarded store of +strength. He knew--no one else--that he had never recovered the +vitality expended at the time of Bella's illness. The call then had +been too strenuous, the depleted reservoir had filled slowly, and now +the demands of unremitting toil were draining it of what was left. He +said nothing of this, but thought much in his feverish nights, and in +the long afternoons when his knees felt weak against the horse's sides. +As the silence of each member of the little train was a veil over +secret trouble, his had hidden the darkest, the most sinister. + +Susan, sitting beside him, watching him with an anxious eye, noted the +languor of his long, dry hands, the network of lines, etched deep on +the loose skin of his cheeks. Of late she had been shut in with her +own preoccupations, but never too close for the old love and the old +habit to force a way through. She had seen a lessening of energy and +spirit, asked about it, and received the accustomed answers that came +with the quick, brisk cheeriness that now had to be whipped up. She +had never seen his dauntless belief in life shaken. Faith and a +debonair courage were his message. They were still there, but the +effort of the unbroken spirit to maintain them against the body's +weakness was suddenly revealed to her and the pathos of it caught at +her throat. She leaned forward and passed her hand over his hair, her +eyes on his face in a long gaze of almost solemn tenderness. + +"You're worn out," she said. + +"Not a bit of it," he answered stoutly. "You're the most +uncomplimentary person I know. I was just thinking what a hardy +pioneer I'd become, and that's the way you dash me to the ground." + +She looked at the silvery meshes through which her fingers were laced. + +"It's quite white and there were lots of brown hairs left when we +started." + +"That's the Emigrant Trail," he smothered a sigh, and his trouble found +words: "It's not for old men, Missy." + +"Old!" scornfully; "you're fifty-three. That's only thirty-two years +older than I am. When I'm fifty-three you'll be eighty-five. Then +we'll begin to talk about your being old." + +"My little Susan fifty-three!" He moved his head so that he could +command her face and dwell upon its blended bloom of olive and clear +rose, "With wrinkles here and here," an indicating finger helped him, +"and gray hairs all round here, and thick eyebrows, and--" he dropped +the hand and his smile softened to reminiscence, "It was only yesterday +you were a baby, a little, fat, crowing thing all creases and dimples. +Your mother and I used to think everything about you so wonderful that +we each secretly believed--and we'd tell each other so when nobody was +round--that there _had_ been other babies in the world, but never +before one like ours. I don't know but what I think that yet." + +"Silly old doctor-man!" she murmured. + +"And now my baby's a woman with all of life before her. From where you +are it seems as if it was never going to end, but when you get where I +am and begin to look back, you see that it's just a little journey over +before you've got used to the road and struck your gait. We ought to +have more time. The first half's just learning and the second's where +we put the learning into practice. And we're busy over that when we +have to go. It's too short." + +"Our life's going to be long. Out in California we're going to come +into a sort of second childhood, be perennials like those larkspurs I +had in the garden at home." + +They were silent, thinking of the garden behind the old house in +Rochester with walks outlined by shells and edged by long flower beds. +The girl looked back on it with a detached interest as an unregretted +feature of a past existence in which she had once played her part and +that was cut from the present by a chasm never to be bridged. The man +held it cherishingly as one of many lovely memories that stretched from +this river bank in a strange land back through the years, a link in the +long chain. + +"Wasn't it pretty!" she said dreamily, "with the line of hollyhocks +against the red brick wall, and the big, bushy pine tree in the corner. +Everything was bright except that tree." + +His eyes narrowed in wistful retrospect: + +"It was as if all the shadows in the garden had concentrated +there--huddled together in one place so that the rest could be full of +color and sunshine. And when Daddy John and I wanted to cut it down +you wouldn't let us, cried and stamped, and so, of course, we gave it +up. I actually believe you had a sentiment about that tree." + +"I suppose I had, though I don't know exactly what you mean by a +sentiment. I loved it because I'd once had such a perfect time up +there among the branches. The top had been cut off and a ring of +boughs was left round the place, and it made the most comfortable seat, +almost like a cradle. One day you went to New York and when you came +back you brought me a box of candy. Do you remember it--burnt almonds +and chocolate drops with a dog painted on the cover? Well, I wanted to +get them at their very best, enjoy them as much as I could, so I +climbed to the seat in the top of the pine and ate them there. I can +remember distinctly how lovely it was. They tasted better than any +candies I've ever had before or since, and I leaned back on the boughs, +rocking and eating and looking at the clouds and feeling the wind +swaying the trunk. I can shut my eyes and feel again the sense of +being entirely happy, sort of limp and forgetful and _so_ contented. I +don't know whether it was only the candies, or a combination of things +that were just right that day and never combined the same way again. +For I tried it often afterwards, with cake and fruit tart and other +candies, but it was no good. But I couldn't have the tree cut down, +for there was always a hope that I might get the combination right and +have that perfectly delightful time once more." + +The doctor's laughter echoed between the banks, and hers fell in with +it, though she had told her story with the utmost sedateness. + +"Was there ever such a materialist?" he chuckled. "It all rose from a +box of New York candy, and I thought it was sentiment. Twenty-one +years old and the same baby, only not quite so fat." + +"Well, it was the truth," she said defensively. "I suppose if I'd left +the candy out it would have sounded better." + +"Don't leave the candy out. It was the candy and the truth that made +it all Susan's." + +She picked up a stone and threw it in the river, then as she watched +its splash: "Doesn't it seem long ago when we were in Rochester?" + +"We left there in April and this is June." + +"Yes, a short time in weeks, but some way or other it seems like ages. +When I think of it I feel as if it was at the other side of the world, +and I'd grown years and years older since we left. If I go on this way +I'll be fully fifty-three when we get to California." + +"What's made you feel so old?" + +"I don't exactly know. I don't think it's because we've gone over so +much space, but that has something to do with it. It seems as if the +change was more in me." + +"How have you changed?" + +She gathered up the loose stones near her and dropped them from palm to +palm, frowning a little in an effort to find words to clothe her vague +thought. + +"I don't know that either, or I can't express it. I liked things there +that I don't care for any more. They were such babyish things and +amounted to nothing, but they seemed important then. Now nothing seems +important but things that are--the things that would be on a desert +island. And in getting to think that way, in getting so far from what +you once were, a person seems to squeeze a good many years into a few +weeks." She looked sideways at him, the stones dropping from a +slanting palm. "Do you understand me?" + +He nodded: + +"'When I was a child I thought as a child--now I have put away childish +things.' Is that it?" + +"Yes, exactly." + +"Then you wouldn't like to go back to the old life?" + +She scattered the stones with an impatient gesture: + +"I couldn't. I'd hate it. I wouldn't squeeze back into the same +shape. I'd be all cramped and crowded up. You see every day out here +I've been growing wider and wider," she stretched her arms to their +length, "widening out to fit these huge, enormous places." + +"The new life will be wide enough for you. You'll grow like a tree, a +beautiful, tall, straight tree that has plenty of room for its branches +to spread and plenty of sun and air to nourish it. There'll be no +crowding or cramping out there. It's good to know you'll be happy in +California. In the beginning I had fears." + +She picked up a stone and with its pointed edge drew lines on the dust +which seemed to interest her, for she followed them with intent eyes, +not answering. He waited for a moment, then said with an undernote of +pleading in his voice, "You think you will be happy, dearie?" + +"I--I--don't--know," she stammered. "Nobody can tell. We're not there +yet." + +"I can tell." He raised himself on his elbow to watch her face. She +knew that he expected to see the maiden's bashful happiness upon it, +and the difference between his fond imaginings and the actual facts +sickened her with an intolerable sense of deception. She could never +tell him, never strike out of him his glad conviction of her +contentment. + +"We're going back to the Golden Age, you and I, and David. We'll live +as we want, not the way other people want us to. When we get to +California we'll build a house somewhere by a river and we'll plant our +seeds and have vines growing over it and a garden in the front, and +Daddy John will break Julia's spirit and harness her to the plow. Then +when the house gets too small--houses have a way of doing that--I'll +build a little cabin by the edge of the river, and you and David will +have the house to yourselves where the old, white-headed doctor won't +be in the way." + +He smiled for the joy of his picture, and she turned her head from him, +seeing the prospect through clouded eyes. + +"You'll never go out of my house," she said in a low voice. + +"Other spirits will come into it and fill it up." + +A wish that anything might stop the slow advance to this roseate future +choked her. She sat with averted face wrestling with her sick +distaste, and heard him say: + +"You don't know how happy you're going to be, my little Missy." + +She could find no answer, and he went on: "You have everything for it, +health and youth and a pure heart and David for your mate." + +She had to speak now and said with urgence, trying to encourage +herself, since no one else could do it for her, + +"But that's all in the future, a long time from now." + +"Not so very long. We ought to be in California in five or six weeks." + +To have the dreaded reality suddenly brought so close, set at the limit +of a few short weeks, grimly waiting at a definite point in the +distance, made her repugnance break loose in alarmed words. + +"Longer than that," she cried. "The desert's the hardest place, and +we'll go slow, very slow, there." + +"You sound as if you wanted to go slow," he answered, his smile +indulgently quizzical, as completely shut away from her, in his man's +ignorance, as though no bond of love and blood held them together. + +"No, no, of course not," she faltered. "But I'm not at all sure we'll +get through it so easily. I'm making allowance for delays. There are +always delays." + +"Yes, there may be delays, but we'll hope to be one of the lucky trains +and get through on time." + +She swallowed dryly, her heart gone down too far to be plucked up by +futile contradition [Transcriber's note: contradiction?]. He mused a +moment, seeking the best method of broaching a subject that had been +growing in his mind for the past week. Frankness seemed the most +simple, and he said: + +"I've something to suggest to you. I've been thinking of it since we +left the Pass. Bridger is a large post. They say there are trains +there from all over the West and people of all sorts, and quite often +there are missionaries." + +"Missionaries?" in a faint voice. + +"Yes, coming in and going out to the tribes of the Northwest. Suppose +we found one there when we arrived?" + +He stopped, watching her. + +"Well?" her eyes slanted sideways in a fixity of attention. + +"Would you marry David? Then we could all go on together." + +Her breath left her and she turned a frightened face on him. + +"Why?" she gasped. "What for?" + +He laid his hand on hers and said quietly: + +"Because, as you say, the hardest part of the journey is yet to come, +and I am--well--not a strong man any more. The trip hasn't done for me +what I hoped. If by some mischance--if anything should happen to +me--then I'd know you'd be taken care of, protected and watched over by +some one who could be trusted, whose right it was to do that." + +"Oh, no. Oh, no," she cried in a piercing note of protest. "I +couldn't, I couldn't." + +She made as if to rise, then sank back, drawn down by his grasping +hand. He thought her reluctance natural, a girl's shrinking at the +sudden intrusion of marriage into the pretty comedy of courtship. + +"Susan, I would like it," he pleaded. + +"No," she tried to pull her hand away, as if wishing to draw every +particle of self together and shut it all within her own protecting +shell. + +"Why not?" + +"It's--it's--I don't want to be married out here in the wilds. I want +to wait and marry as other girls do, and have a real wedding and a +house to go to. I should hate it. I couldn't. It's like a squaw. +You oughtn't to ask it." + +Her terror lent her an unaccustomed subtlety. She eluded the main +issue, seizing on objections that did not betray her, but that were +reasonable, what might have been expected by the most unsuspicious of +men: + +"And as for your being afraid of falling sick in these dreadful places, +isn't that all the more reason why I should be free to give all my time +and thought to you? If you don't feel so strong, then marrying is the +last thing I'd think of doing. I'm going to be with you all the time, +closer than I ever was before. No man's going to come between us. +Marry David and push you off into the background when you're not well +and want me most--that's perfectly ridiculous." + +She meant all she said. It was the truth, but it was the truth +reinforced, given a fourfold strength by her own unwillingness. The +thought that she had successfully defeated him, pushed the marriage +away into an indefinite future, relieved her so that the dread usually +evoked by his ill health was swept aside. She turned on him a face, +once again bright, all clouds withdrawn, softened into dimpling +reassurance. + +"What an idea!" she said. "Men have no sense." + +"Very well, spoiled girl. I suppose we'll have to put it off till we +get to California." + +She dropped back full length on the ground, and in the expansion of her +relief laid her cheek against the hand that clasped hers. + +"And until we get the house built," she cried, beginning to laugh. + +"And the garden laid out and planted, I suppose?" + +"Of course. And the vines growing over the front porch." + +"Why not over the second story? We'll have a second story by that +time." + +"Over the whole house, up to the chimneys." + +They both laughed, a cheerful bass and a gay treble, sweeping out +across the unquiet water. + +"It's going to be the Golden Age," she said, in the joy of her respite +pressing her lips on the hand she held. "A cottage covered with vines +to the roof and you and I and Daddy John inside it." + +"And David, don't forget David." + +"Of course, David," she assented lightly, for David's occupancy was +removed to a comfortable distance. + +After supper she and David climbed to the top of the bank to see the +sunset. The breeze had dropped, the dust devils died with it. The +silence of evening lay like a cool hand on the heated earth. Dusk was +softening the hard, bright colors, wiping out the sharpness of +stretching shadows the baked reflection of sun on clay. The West +blazed above the mountains, but the rest of the sky was a thick, pure +blue. Against it to the South, a single peak rose, snow-enameled on a +turquoise background. + +Susan felt at peace with the moment and her own soul. She radiated the +good humor of one who has faced peril and escaped. Having postponed +the event that was to make her David's forever, she felt bound to offer +recompense. Her conscience went through one of those processes by +which the consciences of women seek ease through atonement, prompting +them to actions of a baleful kindliness. Contrition made her tender to +the man she did not love. The thought that she had been unfair added a +cruel sweetness to her manner. + +He lay on the edge of the bluff beside her, not saying much, for it was +happiness to feel her within touch of his hand, amiable and gentle as +she had been of late. It would have taken an eye shrewder than David's +to have seen into the secret springs of her conduct. He only knew that +she had been kinder, friendlier, less withdrawn into the sanctuary of +her virgin coldness, round which in the beginning he had hovered. His +heart was high, swelled by the promise of her beaming looks and ready +smiles. At last, in this drama of slow winning she was drawing closer, +shyly melting, her whims and perversities mellowing to the rich, sweet +yielding of the ultimate surrender. + +"We ought to be at Fort Bridger now in a few days," he said. "Courant +says if all goes well we can make it by Thursday and of course he +knows." + +"Courant!" she exclaimed with the familiar note of scorn. "He knows a +little of everything, doesn't he?" + +"Why don't you like him, Missy? He's a fine man for the trail." + +"Yes, I dare say he is. But that's not everything." + +"Why don't you like him? Come, tell the truth." + +They had spoken before of her dislike of Courant. She had revealed it +more frankly to David than to anyone else. It was one of the subjects +over which she could become animated in the weariest hour. She liked +to talk to her betrothed about it, to impress it upon him, warming to +an eloquence that allayed her own unrest. + +"I don't know why I don't like him. You can't always tell why you like +or dislike a person. It's just something that comes and you don't know +why." + +"But it seems so childish and unfair. I don't like my girl to be +unfair. Has he ever done anything or said anything to you that +offended you?" + +She gave a petulant movement: "No, but he thinks so much of himself, +and he's hard and has no feeling, and-- Oh, I don't know--it's just +that I don't like him." + +David laughed: + +"It's all prejudice. You can't give any real reason." + +"Of course I can't. Those things don't always have reasons. You're +always asking for reasons and I never have any to give you." + +"I'll have to teach you to have them." + +She looked slantwise at him smiling. "I'm afraid that will be a great +undertaking. I'm very stupid about learning things. You ask father +and Daddy John what a terrible task it was getting me educated. The +only person that didn't bother about it was this one"--she laid a +finger on her chest-- "She never cared in the least." + +"Well I'll begin a second education. When we get settled I'll teach +you to reason." + +"Begin now." She folded her hands demurely in her lap and lifting her +head back laughed: "Here I am waiting to learn." + +"No. We want more time. I'll wait till we're married." + +Her laughter diminished to a smile that lay on her lips, looking stiff +and uncomfortable below the fixity of her eyes. + +"That's such a long way off," she said faintly. + +"Not so very long." + +"Oh, California's hundreds of miles away yet. And then when we get +there we've got to find a place to settle, and till the land, and lay +out the garden and build a house, quite a nice house; I don't want to +live in a cabin. Father and I have just been talking about it. Why +it's months and months off yet." + +He did not answer. She had spoken this way to him before, wafting the +subject away with evasive words. After a pause he said slowly: "Why +need we wait so long?" + +"We must. I'm not going to begin my married life the way the emigrant +women do. I want to live decently and be comfortable." + +He broke a sprig off a sage bush and began to pluck it apart. She had +receded to her defenses and peeped nervously at him from behind them. + +"Fort Bridger," he said, his eyes on the twig, "is a big place, a sort +of rendezvous for all kinds of people." + +She stared at him, her face alert with apprehension, ready to dart into +her citadel and lower the drawbridge. + +"Sometimes there are missionaries stopping there." + +"Missionaries?" she exclaimed in a high key. "I hate missionaries!" + +This was a surprising statement. David knew the doctor to be a +supporter and believer in the Indian missions, and had often heard his +daughter acquiesce in his opinions. + +"Why do you hate them?" + +"I don't know. There's another thing you want a reason for. It's +getting cold up here--let's go down by the fire." + +She gathered herself together to rise, but he turned quickly upon her, +and his face, while it made her shrink, also arrested her. She had +come to dread that expression, persuasion hardened into desperate +pleading. It woke in her a shocked repugnance, as though something had +been revealed to her that she had no right to see. She felt shame for +him, that he must beg where a man should conquer and subdue. + +"Wait a moment," he said. "Why can't one of those missionaries marry +us there?" + +She had scrambled to her knees, and snatched at her skirt preparatory +to the jump to her feet. + +"No," she said vehemently. "No. What's the matter with you all +talking about marriages and missionaries when we're in the middle of +the wilds?" + +"Susan," he cried, catching at her dress, "just listen a moment. I +could take care of you then, take care of you properly. You'd be my +own, to look after and work for. It's seemed to me lately you loved me +enough. I wouldn't have suggested such a thing if you were as you were +in the beginning. But you seem to care now. You seem as if--as if--it +wouldn't be so hard for you to live with me and let me love you." + +She jerked her skirt away and leaped to her feet crying again, "No, +David, no. Not for a minute." + +He rose too, very pale, the piece of sage in his hand shaking. They +looked at each other, the yellow light clear on both faces. Hers was +hard and combative, as if his suggestion had outraged her and she was +ready to fight it. Its expression sent a shaft of terror to his soul, +for with all his unselfishness he was selfish in his man's longing for +her, hungered for her till his hunger had made him blind. Now in a +flash of clairvoyance he saw truly, and feeling the joy of life +slipping from him, faltered: + +"Have I made a mistake? Don't you care?" + +It was her opportunity, she was master of her fate. But her promise +was still a thing that held, the moment had not come when she saw +nothing but her own desire, and to gain it would have sacrificed all +that stood between. His stricken look, his expression of nerving +himself for a blow, pierced her, and her words rushed out in a burst of +contrition. + +"Of course, of course, I do. Don't doubt me. Don't. But-- Oh, +David, don't torment me. Don't ask anything like that now. I can't, I +can't. I'm not ready--not yet." + +Her voice broke and she put her hand to her mouth to hide its +trembling. Over it, her eyes, suddenly brimming with tears, looked +imploringly into his. + +It was a heart-tearing sight to the lover. He forgot himself and, +without knowing what he did, opened his arms to inclose her in an +embrace of pity and remorse. + +"Oh, dearest, I'll never ask it till you're willing to come to me," he +cried, and saw her back away, with upheld shoulders raised in defense +against his hands. + +"I won't touch you," he said, quickly dropping his arms. "Don't draw +back from me. If you don't want it I'll never lay a finger on you." + +The rigidity of her attitude relaxed. She turned away her head and +wiped her tears on the end of the kerchief knotted round her neck. He +stood watching her, struggling with passion and foreboding, reassured +and yet with the memory of the seeing moment, chill at his heart. + +Presently she shot a timid glance at him, and met his eyes resting +questioningly upon her. Her face was tear stained, a slight, +frightened smile on the lips. + +"I'm sorry," she whispered. + +"Susan, do you truly care for me?" + +"Yes," she said, looking down. "Yes--but--let me wait a little while +longer." + +"As long as you like. I'll never ask you to marry me till you say +you're willing." + +She held out her hand shyly, as if fearing a repulse. He took it, and +feeling it relinquished to his with trust and confidence, swore that +never again would he disturb her, never demand of her till she was +ready to give. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Fort Bridger was like a giant magnet perpetually revolving and sweeping +the western half of the country with its rays. They wheeled from the +west across the north over the east and down to the south. Ox teams, +prairie schooners, pack trains, horsemen came to it from the barren +lands that guarded the gates of California, from the tumultuous rivers +and fragrant forests of the Oregon country, from the trapper's paths +and the thin, icy streams of the Rockies, from the plains where the +Platte sung round its sand bars, from the sun-drenched Spanish deserts. +All roads led to it, and down each one came the slow coil of the long +trains and the pacing files of mounted men. Under its walls they +rested and repaired their waste, ere they took the trail again intent +on the nation's work of conquest. + +The fort's centripetal attraction had caught the doctor's party, and +was drawing it to the focus. They reckoned the days on their fingers +and pressed forward with a feverish hurry. They were like wayworn +mariners who sight the lights of a port. Dead desires, revived, blew +into a glow extinguished vanities. They looked at each other, and for +the first time realized how ragged and unkempt they were, then dragged +out best clothes from the bottom of their chests and hung their +looking-glasses to the limbs of trees. They were coming to the surface +after a period of submersion. + +Susan fastened her mirror to the twig on an alder trunk and ransacked +her store of finery. It yielded up a new red merino bodice, and the +occasion was great enough to warrant breaking into her reserve of +hairpins. Then she experimented with her hair, parted and rolled it in +the form that had been the fashion in that long dead past--was it +twenty years ago?--when she had been a girl in Rochester. She +inspected her reflected image with a fearful curiosity, as if expecting +to find gray hairs and wrinkles. It was pleasant to see that she +looked the same--a trifle thinner may be. And as she noted that her +cheeks were not as roundly curved, the fullness of her throat had +melted to a more muscular, less creased and creamy firmness, she felt a +glow of satisfaction. For in those distant days--twenty-five years ago +it must be--she had worried because she was a little _too_ fat. No one +could say that now. She stole a look over her shoulder to make sure +she was not watched--it seemed an absurdly vain thing to do--and turned +back the neck of her blouse. The faintest rise of collar bone showed +under the satiny skin, fine as a magnolia petal, the color of faintly +tinted meerschaum. She ran her hand across it and it was smooth as +curds yielding with an elastic resistance over its bedding of firm +flesh. The young girl's pride in her beauty rose, bringing with it a +sense of surprise. She had thought it gone forever, and now it still +held, the one surviving sensation that connected her with that other +Susan Gillespie who had lived a half century ago in Rochester. + +It was the day after this recrudescence of old coquetry that the first +tragedy of the trail, the tragedy that was hers alone, smote her. + +The march that morning had been over a high level across which they +headed for a small river they would follow to the Fort. Early in the +afternoon they saw its course traced in intricate embroidery across the +earth's leathern carpet. The road dropped into it, the trail grooved +deep between ramparts of clay. On the lip of the descent the wayward +Julia, maddened with thirst, plunged forward, her obedient mates +followed, and the wagon went hurling down the slant, dust rising like +the smoke of an explosion. The men struggled for control and, seized +by the contagion of their excitement, the doctor laid hold of a wheel. +It jerked him from his feet and flung him sprawling, stunned by the +impact, a thin trickle of blood issuing from his lips. The others saw +nothing, in the tumult did not hear Susan's cry. When they came back +the doctor was lying where he had fallen, and she was sitting beside +him wiping his lips with the kerchief she had torn from her neck. She +looked up at them and said: + +"It's a hemorrhage." + +Her face shocked them into an understanding of the gravity of the +accident. It was swept clean of its dauntless, rosy youth, had +stiffened into an unelastic skin surface, taut over rigid muscles. But +her eyes were loopholes through which anguish escaped. Bending them on +her father a hungry solicitude suffused them, too all-pervading to be +denied exit. Turned to the men an agonized questioning took its place. +It spoke to them like a cry, a cry of weakness, a cry for succor. It +was the first admission of their strength she had ever made, the first +look upon them which had said, "You are men, I am a woman. Help me." + +They carried the doctor to the banks of the stream and laid him on a +spread robe. He protested that it was nothing, it had happened before, +several times. Missy would remember it, last winter in Rochester? Her +answering smile was pitiable, a grimace of the lips that went no +farther. She felt its failure and turned away plucking at a weed near +her. Courant saw the trembling of her hand and the swallowing movement +of her throat, bared of its sheltering kerchief. She glanced up with a +stealthy side look, fearful that her moment of weakness was spied upon, +and saw him, the pity surging from his heart shining on his face like a +softening light. She shrank from it, and, as he made an involuntary +step toward her, warned him off with a quick gesture. He turned to the +camp and set furiously to work, his hands shaking as he drove in the +picket pins, his throat dry. He did not dare to look at her again. +The desire to snatch her in his arms, to hold her close till he crushed +her in a passion of protecting tenderness, made him fear to look at +her, to hear her voice, to let the air of her moving body touch him. + +The next morning, while lifting the doctor into the wagon, there was a +second hemorrhage. Even the sick man found it difficult to maintain +his cheery insouciance. Susan looked pinched, her tongue seemed +hardened to the consistency of leather that could not flex for the +ready utterance of words. The entire sum of her consciousness was +focused on her father. "Breakfast?"--with a blank glance at the +speaker--"is it breakfast time?" The men cooked for her and brought +her a cup of coffee and her plate of food. She set them on the +driver's seat, and when the doctor, keeping his head immovable, and +turning smiling eyes upon her, told her to eat she felt for them like a +blind woman. It was hard to swallow the coffee, took effort to force +it down a channel that was suddenly narrowed to a parched, resistent +tube. She would answer no one, seemed to have undergone an ossifying +of all faculties turned to the sounds and sights of life. David +remembered her state when the doctor had been ill on the Platte. But +the exclusion of the outer world was then an obsession of worry, a +jealous distraction, as if she resented the well-being of others when +hers were forced to suffer. This was different. She did not draw away +from him now. She did not seem to see or hear him. Her glance lit +unknowing on his face, her hand lay in his, passive as a thing of +stone. Sometimes he thought she did not know who he was. + +"Can't we do anything to cheer her or take her mind off it?" he said to +Daddy John behind the wagon. + +The old man gave him a glance of tolerant scorn. + +"You can't take a person's mind off the only thing that's in it. She's +got nothing inside her but worry. She's filled up with it, level to +the top. You might as well try and stop a pail from overflowing that's +too full of water." + +They fared on for two interminable, broiling days. The pace was of the +slowest, for a jolt or wrench of the wagon might cause another +hemorrhage. With a cautious observance of stones and chuck holes they +crawled down the road that edged the river. The sun was blinding, +beating on the canvas hood till the girl's face was beaded with sweat, +and the sick man's blankets were hot against the intenser heat of his +body. Outside the world held its breath spellbound in a white dazzle. +The river sparkled like a coat of mail, the only unquiet thing on the +earth's incandescent surface. When the afternoon declined, shadows +crept from the opposite bluffs, slanted across the water, slipped +toward the little caravan and engulfed it. Through the front opening +Susan watched the road. There was a time when each dust ridge showed a +side of bright blue. To half-shut eyes they were like painted stripes +weaving toward the distance. Following them to where the trail bent +round a buttress, her glance brought up on Courant's mounted figure. +He seemed the vanishing point of these converging stripes, the object +they were striving toward, the end they aimed for. Reaching him they +ceased as though they had accomplished their purpose, led the woman's +eyes to him as to a symbolical figure that piloted the train to succor. + +With every hour weakness grew on the doctor, his words were fewer. By +the ending of the first day, he lay silent looking out at the vista of +bluffs and river, his eyes shining in sunken orbits. As dusk fell +Courant dropped back to the wagon and asked Daddy John if the mules +could hold the pace all night. Susan heard the whispered conference, +and in a moment was kneeling on the seat, her hand clutched like a +spread starfish on the old man's shoulder. + +Courant leaned from his saddle to catch the driver's ear with his +lowered tones. "With a forced march we can get there to-morrow +afternoon. The animals can rest up and we can make him comfortable and +maybe find a doctor." + +Her face, lifted to him, was like a transparent medium through which +anxiety and hope that was almost pain, shone. She hung on his words +and breathed back quick agreement. It would have been the same if he +had suggested the impossible, if the angel of the Lord had appeared and +barred the way with a flaming sword. + +"Of course they can go all night. They must. We'll walk and ride by +turns. That'll lighten the wagon. I'll go and get my horse," and she +was out and gone to the back of the train where David rode at the head +of the pack animals. + +The night was of a clear blue darkness, suffused with the misty light +of stars. Looking back, Courant could see her upright slenderness +topping the horse's black shape. When the road lay pale and unshaded +behind her he could decipher the curves of her head and shoulders. +Then he turned to the trail in front, and her face, as it had been when +he first saw her and as it was now, came back to his memory. Once, +toward midnight, he drew up till they reached him, her horse's muzzle +nosing soft against his pony's flank. He could see the gleam of her +eyes, fastened on him, wide and anxious. + +"Get into the wagon and ride," he commanded. + +"Why? He's no worse! He's sleeping." + +"I was thinking of you. This is too hard for you. It'll wear you out." + +"Oh, I'm all right," she said with a slight movement of impatience. +"Don't worry about me. Go on." + +He returned to his post and she paced slowly on, keeping level with the +wheels. It was very still, only the creaking of the wagon and the hoof +beats on the dust. She kept her eyes on his receding shape, watched it +disappear in dark turns, then emerge into faintly illumined stretches. +It moved steadily, without quickening of gait, a lonely shadow that +they followed through the unknown to hope. Her glance hung to it, her +ear strained for the thud of his pony's feet, sight and sound of him +came to her like a promise of help. He was the one strong human thing +in this place of remote skies and dumb unfeeling earth. + +It was late afternoon when the Fort came in sight. A flicker of +animation burst up in them as they saw the square of its long, low +walls, crowning an eminence above the stream. The bottom lay wide at +its feet, the river slipping bright through green meadows sprinkled +with an army of cattle. In a vast, irregular circle, a wheel of life +with the fort as its hub, spread an engirdling encampment. It was +scattered over plain and bottom in dottings of white, here drawn close +in clustering agglomerations, there detached in separate spatterings. +Coming nearer the white spots grew to wagon hoods and tent roofs, and +among them, less easy to discern, were the pointed summits of the +lodges with the bunched poles bristling through the top. The air was +very still, and into it rose the straight threads of smoke from +countless fires, aspiring upwards in slender blue lines to the bluer +sky. They lifted and dispersed the smell of burning wood that comes to +the wanderer with a message of home, a message that has lain in his +blood since the first man struck fire and turned the dry heap of sticks +to an altar to be forever fixed as the soul of his habitation. + +They camped in the bottom withdrawn from the closer herding of tents. +It was a slow settling, as noiseless as might be, for two at least of +their number knew that the doctor was dying. That afternoon Daddy John +and Courant had seen the shadow of the great change. Whether Susan saw +it they neither knew. She was full of a determined, cold energy, +urging them at once to go among the camps and search for a doctor. +They went in different directions, leaving her sitting by her father's +feet at the raised flap of the tent. Looking back through the +gathering dusk Courant could see her, a dark shape, her body drooping +in relaxed lines. He thought that she knew. + +When they came back with the word that there was no doctor to be found, +darkness was closing in. Night came with noises of men and the +twinkling of innumerable lights. The sky, pricked with stars, looked +down on an earth alive with answering gleams, as though a segment of +its spark-set shield had fallen and lay beneath it, winking back +messages in an aerial telegraphy. The fires leaped high or glowed in +smoldering mounds, painting the sides of tents, the flanks of +ruminating animals, the wheels of wagons, the faces of men and women. +Coolness, rest, peace brooded over the great bivouac, with the guardian +shape of the Fort above it and the murmur of the river at its feet. + +A lantern, standing on a box by the doctor's side, lit the tent. +Through the opening the light from the fire outside poured in, sending +shadows scurrying up the canvas walls. Close within call David sat by +it, his chin on his knees, his eyes staring at the tongues of flames as +they licked the fresh wood. There was nothing now for him to do. He +had cooked the supper, and then to ease the pain of his unclaimed +sympathies, cleaned the pans, and from a neighboring camp brought a +piece of deer meat for Susan. It was the only way he could serve her, +and he sat disconsolately looking now at the meat on a tin plate, then +toward the tent where she and Daddy John were talking. He could hear +the murmur of their voices, see their silhouettes moving on the canvas, +gigantic and grotesque. Presently she appeared in the opening, paused +there for a last word, and then came toward him. + +"He wants to speak to Daddy John for a moment," she said and dropping +on the ground beside him, stared at the fire. + +David looked at her longingly, but he dared not intrude upon her somber +abstraction. The voices in the tent rose and fell. Once at a louder +phrase from Daddy John she turned her head quickly and listened, a +sheaf of strained nerves. The voices dropped again, her eye came back +to the light and touched the young man's face. It contained no +recognition of him, but he leaped at the chance, making stammering +proffer of such aid as he could give. + +"I've got you some supper." + +He lifted the plate, but she shook her head. + +"Let me cook it for you," he pleaded. "You haven't eaten anything +since morning." + +"I can't eat," she said, and fell back to her fire-gazing, slipping +away from him into the forbidding dumbness of her thoughts. He could +only watch her, hoping for a word, an expressed wish. When it came it +was, alas! outside his power to gratify: + +"If there had only been a doctor here! That was what I was hoping for." + +And so when she asked for the help he yearned to give, it was his fate +that he should meet her longing with a hopeless silence. + +When Daddy John emerged from the tent she leaped to her feet. + +"Well?" she said with low eagerness. + +"Go back to him. He wants you," answered the old man. "I've got +something to do for him." + +He made no attempt to touch her, his words and voice were brusque, yet +David saw that she responded, softened, showed the ragged wound of her +pain to him as she did to no one else. It was an understanding that +went beneath all externals. Words were unnecessary between them, heart +spoke to heart. + +She returned to the tent and sunk on the skin beside her father. He +smiled faintly and stretched a hand for hers, and her fingers slipped +between his, cool and strong against the lifeless dryness of his palm. +She gave back his smile bravely, her eyes steadfast. She had no desire +for tears, no acuteness of sensation. A weight as heavy as the world +lay on her, crushing out struggle and resistance. She knew that he was +dying. When they told her there was no doctor in the camp her +flickering hope had gone out. Now she was prepared to sit by him and +wait with a lethargic patience beyond which was nothing. + +He pressed her hand and said: "I've sent Daddy John on a hunt. Do you +guess what for?" + +She shook her head feeling no curiosity. + +"The time is short, Missy." + +The living's instinct to fight against the acquiescence of the dying +prompted her to the utterance of a sharp "No." + +"I want it all arranged and settled before it's too late. I sent him +to see if there was a missionary here." + +She was leaning against the couch of robes, resting on the piled +support of the skins. In the pause after his words she slowly drew +herself upright, and with her mouth slightly open inhaled a deep +breath. Her eyes remained fixed on him, gleaming from the shadow of +her brows, and their expression, combined with the amaze of the dropped +underlip, gave her a look of wild attention. + +"Why?" she said. The word came obstructed and she repeated it. + +"I want you to marry David here to-night." + +The doctor's watch on a box at the bed head ticked loudly in the +silence. They looked at each other unconscious of the length of the +pause. Death on the one hand, life pressing for its due on the other, +were the only facts they recognized. Hostility, not to the man but to +the idea, drove the amazement from her face and hardened its softness +to stone. + +"Here, to-night?" she said, her comprehension stimulated by an +automatic repetition of his words. + +"Yes. I may not be able to understand tomorrow." + +She moved her head, her glance touching the watch, the lantern, then +dropping to the hand curled round her own. It seemed symbolic of the +will against which hers was rising in combat. She made an involuntary +effort to withdraw her fingers but his closed tighter on them. + +"Why?" she whispered again. + +"Some one must take care of you. I can't leave you alone." + +She answered with stiffened lips: "There's Daddy John." + +"Some one closer than Daddy John. I want to leave you with David." + +Her antagonism rose higher, sweeping over her wretchedness. Worn and +strained she had difficulty to keep her lips shut on it, to prevent +herself from crying out her outraged protests. All her dormant +womanhood, stirring to wakefulness in the last few weeks, broke into +life, gathering itself in a passion of revolt, abhorrent of the +indignity, ready to flare into vehement refusal. To the dim eyes +fastened on her she was merely the girl, reluctant still. He watched +her down-drooped face and said: + +"Then I could go in peace. Am I asking too much?" + +She made a negative movement with her head and turned her face away +from him. + +"You'll do this for my happiness now?" + +"Anything," she murmured. + +"It will be also for your own." + +He moved his free hand and clasped it on the mound made by their locked +fingers. Through the stillness a man's voice singing Zavier's Canadian +song came to them. It stopped at the girl's outer ear, but, like a +hail from a fading land, penetrated to the man's brain and he stirred. + +"Hist!" he said raising his brows, "there's that French song your +mother used to sing." + +The distant voice rose to the plaintive burden and he lay motionless, +his eyes filmed with memories. As the present dimmed the past grew +clearer. His hold on the moment relaxed and he slipped away from it on +a tide of recollection, muttering the words. + +The girl sat mute, her hand cold under his, her being passing in an +agonized birth throe from unconsciousness to self-recognition. Her +will--its strength till now unguessed--rose resistant, a thing of iron. +Love was too strong in her for open opposition, but the instinct to +fight, blindly but with caution, for the right to herself was stronger. + +His murmuring died into silence and she looked at him. His eyes were +closed, the pressure of his fingers loosened. A light sleep held him, +and under its truce she softly withdrew her hand, then stole to the +tent door and stood there a waiting moment, stifling her hurried +breathing. She saw David lying by the fire, gazing into its smoldering +heart. With noiseless feet she skirted the encircling ropes and pegs, +and stood, out of range of his eye, on the farther side. Here she +stopped, withdrawn from the light that came amber soft through the +canvas walls, slipping into shadow when a figure passed, searching the +darkness with peering eyes. + +Around her the noises of the camp rose, less sharp than an hour +earlier, the night silence gradually hushing them. The sparks and +shooting gleams of fires still quivered, imbued with a tenacious life. +She had a momentary glimpse of a naked Indian boy flinging loose his +blanket, a bronze statue glistening in a leap of flame. Nearer by a +woman's figure bent over a kettle black on a bed of embers, then a +girl's fire-touched form, with raised arms, shaking down a snake of +hair, which broke and grew cloudy under her disturbing hands. A +resounding smack sounded on a horse's flank, a low ripple of laughter +came tangled with a child's querulous crying, and through the walls of +tents and the thickness of smoke the notes of a flute filtered. + +Her ear caught the pad of a footstep on the grass, and her eyes seized +on a shadow that grew from dusky uncertainty to a small, bent shape. +She waited, suffocated with heartbeats, then made a noiseless pounce on +it. + +"Daddy John," she gasped, clutching at him. + +The old man staggered, almost taken off his feet. + +"Is he worse?" he said. + +"He's told me. Did you find anyone?" + +"Yes--two. One's Episcopal--in a train from St. Louis." + +A sound came from her that he did not understand. She gripped at his +shoulders as if she were drowning. He thought she was about to swoon +and put his arm around her saying: + +"Come back to the tent. You're all on a shake as if you had ague." + +"I can't go back. Don't bring him. Don't bring him. Don't tell +father. Not now. I will later, some other time. When we get to +California, but not now--not to-night." + +The sentences were cut apart by breaths that broke from her as if she +had been running. He was frightened and tried to draw her to the light +and see her face. + +"Why, Missy!" he said with scared helplessness, "Why, Missy! What's +got you?" + +"Don't get the clergyman. Tell him there isn't any. Tell him you've +looked all over. Tell him a lie." + +He guessed the trouble was something more than the grief of the moment, +and urged in a whisper: + +"What's the matter now? Go ahead and tell me. I'll stick by you." + +She bent her head back to look into his face. + +"I don't want to marry him now. I can't. I can't. I _can't_." + +Her hands on his shoulders shook him with each repetition. The force +of the words was heightened by the suppressed tone. They should have +been screamed. In these whispered breaths they burst from her like +blood from a wound. With the last one her head bowed forward on his +shoulder with a movement of burrowing as though she would have crawled +up and hidden under his skin, and tears, the most violent he had ever +seen her shed, broke from her. They came in bursting sobs, a +succession of rending throes that she struggled to stifle, swaying and +quivering under their stress. + +He thought of nothing now but this new pain added to the hour's +tragedy, and stroked her shoulder with a low "Keep quiet--keep quiet," +then leaned his face against her hair and breathed through its tangles. + +"It's all right, I'll do it. I'll say I couldn't find anyone. I'll +lie for you, Missy." + +She released him at once, dropped back a step and, lifting a distorted +face, gave a nod. He passed on, and she fell on the grass, close to +the tent ropes and lay there, hidden by the darkness. + +She did not hear a step approaching from the herded tents. Had she +been listening it would have been hard to discern, for the feet were +moccasin shod, falling noiseless on the muffling grass. A man's figure +with fringes wavering along its outline came round the tent wall. The +head was thrust forward, the ear alert for voices. Faring softly his +foot struck her and he bent, stretching down a feeling hand. It +touched her shoulder, slipped along her side, and gripped at her arm. +"What's the matter?" came a deep voice, and feeling the pull on her arm +she got to her knees with a strangled whisper for silence. When the +light fell across her, he gave a smothered cry, jerked her to her feet +and thrust his hand into her hair, drawing her head back till her face +was uplifted to his. + +There was no one to see, and he let his eyes feed full upon it, a thief +with the coveted treasure in his hands. She seemed unconscious of him, +a broken thing without sense or volition, till a stir came from the +tent. Then he felt her resist his grasp. She put a hand on his breast +and pressed herself back from him. + +"Hush," she breathed. "Daddy John's in there." + +A shadow ran up the canvas wall, bobbing on it, huge and wavering. She +turned her head toward it, the tears on her cheeks glazed by the light. +He watched her with widened nostrils and immovable eyes. In the mutual +suspension of action that held them he could feel her heart beating. + +"Well?" came the doctor's voice. + +The old servant answered: + +"There weren't no parsons anywhere, I've been all over and there's not +one." + +"Parsons?" Courant breathed. + +She drew in the fingers spread on his breast with a clawing movement +and emitted an inarticulate sound that meant "Hush." + +"Not a clergyman or missionary among all these people?" + +"Not one." + +"We must wait till to-morrow, then." + +"Yes--mebbe there'll be one to-morrow." + +"I hope so." + +Then silence fell and the shadow flickered again on the canvas. + +She made a struggle against Courant's hold, which for a moment he tried +to resist, but her fingers plucked against his hand, and she tore +herself free and ran to the tent opening. She entered without +speaking, threw herself at the foot of the couch, and laid her head +against her father's knees. + +"Is that you, Missy?" he said, feeling for her with a groping hand. +"Daddy John couldn't find a clergyman." + +"I know," she answered, and lay without moving, her face buried in the +folds of the blanket. + +They said no more, and Daddy John stole out of the tent. + +The next day the doctor was too ill to ask for a clergyman, to know or +to care. At nightfall he died. The Emigrant Trail had levied its +first tribute on them, taken its toll. + + + +END OF PART III + + + + +PART IV + +The Desert + + +CHAPTER I + +They were camped on the edges of that harsh land which lay between the +Great Salt Lake and the Sierra. Behind them the still, heavy reach of +water stretched, reflecting in mirrored clearness the mountains +crowding on its southern rim. Before them the sage reached out to dim +infinities of distance. The Humboldt ran nearby, sunk in a stony bed, +its banks matted with growths of alder and willow. The afternoon was +drawing to the magical sunset hour. Susan, lying by the door of her +tent, could see below the growing western blaze the bowl of the earth +filling with the first, liquid oozings of twilight. + +A week ago they had left the Fort. To her it had been a blank space of +time, upon which no outer interest had intruded. She had presented an +invulnerable surface to all that went on about her, the men's care, the +day's incidents, the setting of the way. Cold-eyed and dumb she had +moved with them, an inanimate idol, unresponsive to the observances of +their worship, aloof from them in somber uncommunicated musings. + +The men respected her sorrow, did her work for her, and let her alone. +To them she was set apart in the sanctuary of her mourning, and that +her grief should express itself by hours of drooping silence was a +thing they accepted without striving to understand. Once or twice +David tried to speak to her of her father, but it seemed to rouse in +her an irritated and despairing pain. She begged him to desist and got +away from him as quickly as she could, climbing into the wagon and +lying on the sacks, with bright, unwinking eyes fastened on Daddy +John's back. But she did not rest stunned under an unexpected blow as +they thought. She was acutely alive, bewildered, but with senses keen, +as if the world had taken a dizzying revolution and she had come up +panting and clutching among the fragments of what had been her life. + +If there had been some one to whom she could have turned, relieving +herself by confession, she might have found solace and set her feet in +safer ways. But among the three men she was virtually alone, guarding +her secret with that most stubborn of all silences, a girl's in the +first wakening of sex. She had a superstitious hope that she could +regain peace and self-respect by an act of reparation, and at such +moments turned with expiatory passion to the thought of David. She +would go to California, live as her father had wished, marry her +betrothed, and be as good a wife to him as man could have. And for a +space these thoughts brought her ease, consoled her as a compensating +act of martyrdom. + +She shunned Courant, rarely addressing him, keeping her horse to the +rear of the train where the wagon hood hid him from her. But when his +foot fell on the dust beside her, or he dropped back for a word with +Daddy John, a stealthy, observant quietude held her frame. She turned +her eyes from him as from an unholy sight, but it was useless, for her +mental vision called up his figure, painted in yellow and red upon the +background of the sage. She knew the expression of the lithe body as +it leaned from the saddle, the gnarled hand from which the rein hung +loose, the eyes, diamond hard and clear, living sparks set in leathery +skin wrinkled against the glare of the waste. She did not lie to +herself any more. No delusions could live in this land stripped of all +conciliatory deception. + +The night before they left the Fort the men had had a consultation. +Sitting apart by the tent she had watched them, David and Daddy John +between her and the fire, Courant beyond it. His face, red lit between +the hanging locks of hair, his quick eyes, shifting from one man to the +other, was keen with a furtive anxiety. At a point in the murmured +interview, he had looked beyond them to the darkened spot where she +sat. Then Daddy John and David had come to her and told her that if +she wished they would turn back, take her home to Rochester, and stay +there with her always. There was money enough they said. The doctor +had left seven thousand dollars in his chest, and David had three to +add to it. It would be ample to live on till the men could set to work +and earn a maintenance for them. No word was spoken of her marriage, +but it lay in the offing of their argument as the happy finale that the +long toil of the return journey and the combination of resources were +to prelude. + +The thought of going back had never occurred to her, and shocked her +into abrupt refusal. It would be an impossible adaptation to outgrown +conditions. She could not conjure up the idea of herself refitted into +the broken frame of her girlhood. She told them she would go on, there +was nothing now to go back for. Their only course was to keep to the +original plan, emigrate to California and settle there. They returned +to the fire and told Courant. She could see him with eager gaze +listening. Then he smiled and, rising to his feet, sent a bold, +exultant glance through the darkness to her. She drew her shawl over +her head to shut it out, for she was afraid. + +They rested now on the lip of the desert, gathering their forces for +the last lap of the march. There had been no abatement in the pressure +of their pace, and Courant had told them it must be kept up. He had +heard the story of the Donner party two years before, and the first of +September must see them across the Sierra. In the evenings he +conferred with Daddy John on these matters and kept a vigilant watch on +the animals upon whose condition the success of the journey depended. + +David was not included in these consultations. Both men now realized +that he was useless when it came to the rigors of the trail. Of late +he had felt a physical and spiritual impairment, that showed in a +slighted observance of his share of the labor. He had never learned to +cord his pack, and day after day it turned under his horse's belly, +discharging its cargo on the ground. The men, growling with +irritation, finally took the work from him, not from any pitying +consideration, but to prevent further delay. + +He was, in fact, coming to that Valley of Desolation where the body +faints and only the spirit's dauntlessness can keep it up and doing. +What dauntlessness his spirit once had was gone. He moved wearily, +automatically doing his work and doing it ill. The very movements of +his hands, slack and fumbling, were an exasperation to the other men, +setting their strength to a herculean measure, and giving of it without +begrudgment. David saw their anger and did not care. Fatigue made him +indifferent, ate into his pride, brought down his self-respect. He +plodded on doggedly, the alkali acrid on his lips and burning in his +eyeballs, thinking of California, not as the haven of love and dreams, +but as a place where there was coolness, water, and rest. When in the +dawn he staggered up to the call of "Catch up," and felt for the buckle +of his saddle girth, he had a vision of a place under trees by a river +where he could sleep and wake and turn to sleep again, and go on +repeating the performance all day with no one to shout at him if he was +stupid and forgot things. + +Never having had the fine physical endowment of the others all the +fires of his being were dying down to smoldering ashes. His love for +Susan faded, if not from his heart, from his eyes and lips. She was as +dear to him as ever, but now with a devitalized, undemanding affection +in which there was something of a child's fretful dependence. He rode +beside her not looking at her, contented that she should be there, but +with the thought of marriage buried out of sight under the weight of +his weariness. It did not figure at all in his mind, which, when +roused from apathy, reached forward into the future to gloat upon the +dream of sleep. She was grateful for his silence, and they rode side +by side, detached from one another, moving in separated worlds of +sensation. + +This evening he came across to where she sat, dragging a blanket in an +indolent hand. He dropped it beside her and threw himself upon it with +a sigh. He was too empty of thought to speak, and lay outstretched, +looking at the plain where dusk gathered in shadowless softness. In +contrast with his, her state was one of inner tension, strained to the +breaking point. Torturings of conscience, fears of herself, the +unaccustomed bitterness of condemnation, melted her, and she was ripe +for confession. A few understanding words and she would have poured +her trouble out to him, less in hope of sympathy than in a craving for +relief. The widening gulf would have been bridged and he would have +gained the closest hold upon her he had yet had. But if she were more +a woman than ever before, dependent, asking for aid, he was less a man, +wanting himself to rest on her and have his discomforts made bearable +by her consolations. + +She looked at him tentatively. His eyes were closed, the lids +curiously dark, and fringed with long lashes like a girl's. + +"Are you asleep?" she asked. + +"No," he answered without raising them. "Only tired." + +She considered for a moment, then said: + +"Have you ever told a lie?" + +"A lie? I don't know. I guess so. Everybody tells lies sometime or +other." + +"Not little lies. Serious ones, sinful ones, to people you love." + +"No. I never told that kind. That's a pretty low-down thing to do." + +"Mightn't a person do it--to--to--escape from something they didn't +want, something they suddenly--at that particular moment--dreaded and +shrank from?" + +"Why couldn't they speak out, say they didn't want to do it? Why did +they have to lie?" + +"Perhaps they didn't have time to think, and didn't want to hurt the +person who asked it. And--and--if they were willing to do the thing +later, sometime in the future, wouldn't that make up for it?" + +"I can't tell. I don't know enough about it. I don't understand what +you mean." He turned, trying to make himself more comfortable. "Lord, +how hard this ground is! I believe it's solid iron underneath." + +He stretched and curled on the blanket, elongating his body in a mighty +yawn which subsided into the solaced note of a groan. "There, that's +better. I ache all over to-night." + +She made no answer, looking at the prospect from morose brows. More at +ease he returned to the subject and asked, "Who's been telling lies?" + +"I," she answered. + +He gave a short laugh, that drew from her a look of quick protest. He +was lying on his side, one arm crooked under his head, his eyes on her +in a languid glance where incredulity shone through amusement. + +"Your father told me once you were the most truthful woman he'd ever +known, and I agree with him." + +"It was to my father I lied," she answered. + +She began to tremble, for part at least of the story was on her lips. +She clasped her shaking hands round her knees, and, not looking at him, +said "David," and then stopped, stifled by the difficulties and the +longing to speak. + +David answered by laughing outright, a pleasant sound, not guiltless of +a suggestion of sleep, a laugh of good nature that refuses to abdicate. +It brushed her back into herself as if he had taken her by the +shoulders, pushed her into her prison, and slammed the door. + +"That's all imagination," he said. "When some one we love dies we're +always thinking things like that--that we neglected them, or slighted +them, or told them what wasn't true. They stand out in our memories +bigger than all the good things we did. Don't you worry about any lies +you ever told your father. You've got nothing to accuse yourself of +where he's concerned--or anybody else, either." + +Her heart, that had throbbed wildly as she thought to begin her +confession, sunk back to a forlorn beat. He noticed her dejected air, +and said comfortingly: + +"Don't be downhearted, Missy. It's been terribly hard for you, but +you'll feel better when we get to California, and can live like +Christians again." + +"California!" Her intonation told of the changed mind with which she +now looked forward to the Promised Land. + +His consolatory intentions died before his own sense of grievance at +the toil yet before them. + +"Good Lord, it does seem far--farther than it did in the beginning. I +used to be thinking of it all the time then, and how I'd get to work +the first moment we arrived. And now I don't care what it's like or +think of what I'm going to do. All I want to get there for is to stop +this eternal traveling and rest." + +She, too, craved rest, but of the spirit. Her outlook was blacker than +his, for it offered none and drew together to a point where her +tribulations focused in a final act of self-immolation. There was a +pause, and he said, drowsiness now plain in his voice: + +"But we'll be there some day unless we die on the road, and then we can +take it easy. The first thing I'm going to do is to get a mattress to +sleep on. No more blankets on the ground for me. Do you ever think +what it'll be like to sleep in a room again under a roof, a good, +waterproof roof, that the sun and the rain can't come through? The way +I feel now that's my idea of Paradise." + +She murmured a low response, her thoughts far from the flesh pots of +his wearied longing. + +"I think just at this moment," he went on dreamily, "I'd rather have a +good sleep and a good meal than anything else in the world. I often +dream of 'em, and then Daddy John's kicking me and it's morning and I +got to crawl out of the blanket and light the fire. I don't know +whether I feel worse at that time or in the evening when we're making +the last lap for the camping ground." His voice dropped as if +exhausted before the memory of these unendurable moments, then came +again with a note of cheer: "Thank God, Courant's with us or I don't +believe we'd ever get there." + +She had no reply to make to this. Neither spoke for a space, and then +she cautiously stole a glance at him and was relieved to see that he +was asleep. Careful to be noiseless she rose, took up a tin water pail +and walked to the river. + +The Humboldt rushed through a deep-cut bed, nosing its way between +strewings of rock. Up the banks alders and willows grew thick, +thrusting roots, hungry for the lean deposits of soil, into cracks and +over stony ledges. By the edge the current crisped about a flat rock, +and Susan, kneeling on this, dipped in her pail. The water slipped in +in a silvery gush which, suddenly seething and bubbling, churned in the +hollowed tin, nearly wrenching it from her. She leaned forward, +dragging it awkwardly toward her, clutching at an alder stem with her +free hand. Her head was bent, but she raised it with a jerk when she +heard Courant's voice call, "Wait, I'll do it for you." + +He was on the opposite bank, the trees he had broken through swishing +together behind him. She lowered her head without answering, her face +suddenly charged with color. Seized by an overmastering desire to +escape him, she dragged at the pail, which, caught in the force of the +current, leaped and swayed in her hand. She took a hurried upward +glimpse, hopeful of his delayed progress, and saw him jump from the +bank to a stone in mid-stream. His moccasined feet clung to its +slippery surface, and for a moment he oscillated unsteadily, then +gained his balance and, laughing, looked at her. For a breathing space +each rested motionless, she with strained, outstretched arm, he on the +rock, a film of water covering his feet. It was a moment of physical +mastery without conscious thought. To each the personality of the +other was so perturbing, that without words or touch, the heart beats +of both grew harder, and their glances held in a gaze fixed and +gleaming. The woman gained her self-possession first, and with it an +animal instinct to fly from him, swiftly through the bushes. + +But her flight was delayed. A stick, whirling in the current, caught +between the pail's rim and handle and ground against her fingers. With +an angry cry she loosed her hold, and the bucket went careening into +midstream. That she had come back to harmony with her surroundings was +attested by the wail of chagrin with which she greeted the accident. +It was the last pail she had left. She watched Courant wade into the +water after it, and forgot to run in her anxiety to see if he would get +it. "Oh, good!" came from her in a gasp as he caught the handle. But +when he came splashing back and set it on the rock beside her, it +suddenly lost its importance, and as suddenly she became a prey to +low-voiced, down-looking discomfort. A muttered "thank you," was all +the words she had for him, and she got to her feet with looks directed +to the arrangement of her skirt. + +He stood knee-high in the water watching her, glad of her down-drooped +lids, for he could dwell on the bloom that deepened under his eye. + +"You haven't learned the force of running water yet," he said. "It can +be very strong sometimes, so strong that a little woman's hand like +yours has no power against it." + +"It was because the stick caught in the handle," she muttered, bending +for the pail. "It hurt my fingers." + +"You've never guessed that I was called 'Running Water,' have you?" + +"You?" she paused with look arrested in sudden interest. "Who calls +you that?" + +"Everybody--you. _L'eau courante_ means running water, doesn't it? +That's what you call me." + +In the surprise of the revelation she forgot her unease and looked at +him, repeating slowly, "L'eau courante, running water. Why, of course. +But it's like an Indian's name." + +"It is an Indian's name. The Blackfeet gave it to me because they said +I could run so fast. They were after me once and a man makes the best +time he can then. It was a fine race and I won it, and after that they +called me, 'The man that goes like Running Water.' The voyageurs and +coureurs des bois put it into their lingo and it stuck." + +"But your real name?" she asked, the pail forgotten. + +"Just a common French one, Duchesney, Napoleon Duchesney, if you want +to know both ends of it. It was my father's. He was called after the +emperor whom my grandfather knew years ago in France. He and Napoleon +were students together in the military school at Brienne. In the +Revolution they confiscated his lands, and he came out to Louisiana and +never wanted to go back." He splashed to the stone and took up the +bucket. + +She stood absorbed in the discovery, her child's mind busy over this +new conception of him as a man whose birth and station had evidently +been so different to the present conditions of his life. When she +spoke her mental attitude was naďvely displayed. + +"Why didn't you tell before?" + +He shrugged. + +"What was there to tell? The mountain men don't always use their own +names." + +The bucket, swayed by the movement, threw a jet of water on her foot. +He moved back from her and said, "I like the Indian name best." + +"It is pretty," and in a lower key, as though trying its sound, she +repeated softly, "_L'eau Courante_, Running Water." + +"It's something clear and strong, sometimes shallow and then again +deeper than you can guess. And when there's anything in the way, it +gathers all its strength and sweeps over it. It's a mighty force. You +have to be stronger than it is--and more cunning too--to stop it in the +way it wants to go." + +Above their heads the sky glowed in red bars, but down in the stream's +hollow the dusk had come, cool and gray. She was suddenly aware of it, +noticed the diminished light, and the thickening purplish tones that +had robbed the trees and rocks of color. Her warm vitality was invaded +by chill that crept inward and touched her spirit with an eerie dread. +She turned quickly and ran through the bushes calling back to him, "I +must hurry and get supper. They'll be waiting. Bring the pail." + +Courant followed slowly, watching her as she climbed the bank. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +For some days their route followed the river, then they would leave it +and strike due west, making marches from spring to spring. The country +was as arid as the face of a dead planet, save where the water's course +was marked by a line of green. Here and there the sage was broken by +bare spaces where the alkali cropped out in a white encrusting. Low +mountains edged up about the horizon, thrusting out pointed scarps like +capes protruding into slumbrous, gray-green seas. These capes were +objects upon which they could fix their eyes, goals to reach and pass. +In the blank monotony they offered an interest, something to strive +for, something that marked an advance. The mountains never seemed to +retreat or come nearer. They encircled the plain in a crumpled wall, +the same day after day, a low girdle of volcanic shapes, cleft with +moving shadows. + +The sun was the sun of August. It reeled across a sky paled by its +ardor, at midday seeming to pause and hang vindictive over the little +caravan. Under its fury all color left the blanched earth, all shadows +shrunk away to nothing. The train alone, as if in desperate defiance, +showed a black blot beneath the wagon, an inky snake sliding over the +ground under each horse's sweating belly. The air was like a stretched +tissue, strained to the limit of its elasticity, in places parting in +delicate, glassy tremblings. Sometimes in the distance the mirage hung +brilliant, a blue lake with waves crisping on a yellow shore. They +watched it with hungry eyes, a piece of illusion framed by the bleached +and bitter reality. + +When evening came the great transformation began. With the first +deepening of color the desert's silent heart began to beat in +expectation of its hour of beauty. Its bleak detail was lost in +shrouding veils and fiery reflection. The earth floor became a golden +sea from which the capes reared themselves in shapes of bronze and +copper. The ring of mountains in the east flushed to the pink of the +topaz, then bending westward shaded from rosy lilac to mauve, and where +the sunset backed them, darkened to black. As the hour progressed the +stillness grew more profound, the naked levels swept out in wilder +glory, inundated by pools of light, lines of fire eating a glowing way +through sinks where twilight gathered. With each moment it became a +more tremendous spectacle. The solemnity attendant on the passage of a +miracle held it. From the sun's mouth the voice of God seemed calling +the dead land to life. + +Each night the travelers gazed upon it, ragged forms gilded by its +radiance, awed and dumb. Its splendors crushed them, filling them with +nostalgic longings. They bore on with eyes that were sick for a sight +of some homely, familiar thing that would tell them they were still +human, still denizens of a world they knew. The life into which they +fitted and had uses was as though perished from the face of the earth. +The weak man sunk beneath the burden of its strangeness. Its beauty +made no appeal to him. He felt lost and dazed in its iron-ringed +ruthlessness, dry as a skeleton by daylight, at night transformed by +witchfires of enchantment. The man and woman, in whom vitality was +strong, combatted its blighting force, refused to be broken by its +power. They desired with vehemence to assert themselves, to rebel, not +to submit to the sense of their nothingness. They turned to one +another hungry for the life that now was only within themselves. They +had passed beyond the limits of the accustomed, were like detached +particles gone outside the law of gravity, floating undirected through +spaces where they were nothing and had nothing but their bodies, their +passions, themselves. + +To a surface observation they would have appeared as stolid as savages, +but their nerves were taut as drawn violin strings. Strange +self-assertions, violences of temper, were under the skin ready to +break out at a jar in the methodical routine. Had the train been +larger, its solidarity less complete, furious quarrels would have taken +place. With an acknowledged leader whom they believed in and obeyed, +the chances of friction were lessened. Three of them could meet the +physical demands of the struggle. It was David's fate that, unable to +do this, he should fall to a position of feeble uselessness, endurable +in a woman, but difficult to put up with in a man. + +One morning Susan was waked by angry voices. An oath shook sleep from +her, and thrusting her head out of the wagon where she now slept, she +saw the three men standing in a group, rage on Courant's face, disgust +on Daddy John's, and on David's an abstraction of aghast dismay that +was not unlike despair. To her question Daddy John gave a short +answer. David's horses, insecurely picketed, had pulled up their +stakes in the night and gone. A memory of the young man's exhaustion +the evening before, told the girl the story; David had forgotten to +picket them and immediately after supper had fallen asleep. He had +evidently been afraid to tell and invented the explanation of dragged +picket pins. She did not know whether the men believed it, but she saw +by their faces they were in no mood to admit extenuating circumstances. +The oath had been Courant's. When he heard her voice he shut his lips +on others, but they welled up in his eyes, glowering furiously on the +culprit from the jut of drawn brows. + +"What am I to do?" said the unfortunate young man, sending a despairing +glance over the prospect. Under his weak misery, rebellious ill humor +was visible. + +"Go after them and bring them back." + +Susan saw the leader had difficulty in confining himself to such brief +phrases. Dragging a blanket round her shoulders she leaned over the +seat. She felt like a woman who enters a quarrel to protect a child. + +"Couldn't we let them go?" she cried. "We've still my father's horse. +David can ride it and we can put his things in the wagon." + +"Not another ounce in the wagon," said Daddy John. "The mules are +doing their limit now." The wagon was his kingdom over which he ruled +an absolute monarch. + +Courant looked at her and spoke curtly, ignoring David. "We can't lose +a horse now. We need every one of them. It's not here. It's beyond +in the mountains. We've got to get over by the first of September, and +we want every animal we have to do it. _He's_ not able to walk." + +He shot a contemptuous glance at David that in less bitter times would +have made the young man's blood boil. But David was too far from his +normal self to care. He was not able to walk and was glad that Courant +understood it. + +"I've got to go after them, I suppose," he said sullenly and turned to +where the animals looked on with expectant eyes. "But it's the last +time I'll do it. If they go again they'll stay gone." + +There was a mutter from the other men. Susan, full of alarm, scrambled +into the back of the wagon and pulled on her clothes. When she emerged +David had the doctor's horse saddled and was about to mount. His face, +heavy-eyed and unwashed, bore an expression of morose anger, but +fatigue spoke pathetically in his slow, lifeless movements, the droop +of his thin, high shoulders. + +"David," she called, jumping out over the wheel, "wait." + +He did not look at her or answer, but climbed into the saddle and +gathered his rein. She ran toward him crying, "Wait and have some +breakfast. I'll get it for you." + +He continued to pay no attention to her, glancing down at his foot as +it felt for the stirrup. She stopped short, repulsed by his manner, +watching him as he sent a forward look over the tracks of the lost +horses. They wound into the distance fading amid the sweep of +motionless sage. It would be a long search and the day was already +hot. Pity rose above all other feelings, and she said: + +"Have they told you what they're going to do? Whether we'll wait here +or go on and have you catch us up?" + +"I don't know what they're going to do and don't care," he answered, +and touching the horse with his spur rode away between the brushing +bushes. + +She turned to Daddy John, her eyes full of alarmed question. + +"He knows all about it," said the old man with slow phlegm, "I told him +myself. There's food and water for him packed on behind the saddle, I +done that too. He'd have gone without it just to spite himself. We'll +rest here this morning, and if he ain't back by noon move on slow till +he catches us up. Don't you worry. He done the wrong thing and he's +got to learn." + +No more was said about David, and after breakfast they waited doing the +odd tasks that accumulated for their few periods of rest. Susan sat +sewing where the wagon cast a cooling slant of shade. Daddy John was +beyond her in the sun, his sere old body, from which time had stripped +the flesh, leaving only a tenuous bark of muscle, was impervious to the +heat. In the growing glare he worked over a broken saddle, the +whitening reaches stretching out beyond him to where the mountains +waved in a clear blue line as if laid on with one wash of a saturated +paint brush. Courant was near him in the shadow of his horse, cleaning +a gun, sharp clicks of metal now and then breaking into the stillness. + +As the hours passed the shadow of the wagon shrunk and the girl moved +with it till her back was pressed against the wheel. She was making a +calico jacket, and as she moved it the crisp material emitted low +cracklings. Each rustle was subdued and stealthy, dying quickly away +as if it were in conspiracy with the silence and did not want to +disturb it. Courant's back was toward her. He had purposely set his +face away, but he could hear the furtive whisperings of the stirred +calico. He was full of the consciousness of her, and this sound, which +carried a picture of her drooped head and moving hands, came with a +stealing unquiet, urgently intrusive and persistent. He tried to hold +his mind on his work, but his movements slackened, grew intermittent, +his ear attentive for the low rustling that crept toward him at +intervals like the effervescent approach of waves. Each time he heard +it the waves washed deeper to his inner senses and stole something from +his restraining will. For days the desert had been stealing from it +too. He knew it and was guarded and fearful of it, but this morning he +forgot to watch, forgot to care. His reason was drugged by the sound, +the stifled, whispering sound that her hands made moving the material +from which she fashioned a covering for her body. + +He sat with his back turned to her, his hands loose on the gun, his +eyes fixed in an unseeing stare. He did not know what he looked at or +that the shadow of the horse had slipped beyond him. When he heard her +move his quietness increased to a trancelike suspension of movement, +the inner concentration holding every muscle in spellbound rigidness. +Suddenly she tore the calico with a keen, rending noise, and it was as +if her hands had seized upon and so torn the tension that held him. +His fists clinched on the gun barrel, and for a moment the mountain +line undulated to his gaze. Had they been alone, speech would have +burst from him, but the presence of the old man kept him silent. He +bowed his head over the gun, making a pretense of giving it a last +inspection, then, surer of himself, leaped to his feet and said gruffly: + +"Let's move on. There's no good waiting here." + +The other two demurred. Susan rose and walked into the glare sweeping +the way David had gone. Against the pale background she stood out a +vital figure, made up of glowing tints that reached their brightest +note in the heated rose of her cheeks and lips. Her dark head with its +curly crest of hair was defined as if painted on the opaque blue of the +sky. She stood motionless, only her eyes moving as they searched the +distance. All of life that remained in the famished land seemed to +have flowed into her and found a beautified expression in the rich +vitality of her upright form, the flushed bloom of her face. Daddy +John bent to pick up the saddle, and the mountain man, safe from +espial, looked at her with burning eyes. + +"David's not in sight," she said. "Do you think we'd better go on?" + +"Whether we'd better or not we will," he answered roughly. "Catch up, +Daddy John." + +They were accustomed to obeying him like children their master. So +without more parley they pulled up stakes, loaded the wagon, and +started. As Susan fell back to her place at the rear, she called to +Courant: + +"We'll go as slowly as we can. We mustn't get too far ahead. David +can't ride hard the way he is now." + +The man growled an answer that she did not hear, and without looking at +her took the road. + +They made their evening halt by the river. It had dwindled to a +fragile stream which, wandering away into the dryness, would creep +feebly to its sink and there disappear, sucked into secret subways that +no man knew. To-morrow they would start across the desert, where they +could see the road leading straight in a white seam to the west. David +had not come. The mules stood stripped of their harness, the wagon +rested with dropped tongue, the mess chest was open and pans shone in +mingled fire and sunset gleams, but the mysteries of the distance, over +which twilight veils were thickening, gave no sign of him. Daddy John +built up the desert fire as a beacon--a pile of sage that burned like +tinder. It shot high, tossed exultant flames toward the dimmed stars +and sent long jets of light into the encircling darkness. Its wavering +radiance, red and dancing, touched the scattered objects of the camp, +revealing and then losing them as new flame ran along the leaves or +charred branches dropped. Outside the night hung, deep and silent. +Susan hovered on the outskirts of the glow. Darkness was thickening, +creeping from the hills that lay inky-edged against the scarlet of the +sky. Once she sent up a high cry of David's name. Courant, busy with +his horses, lifted his head and looked at her, scowling over his +shoulder. + +"Why are you calling?" he said. "He can see the fire." + +She came back and stood near him, her eyes on him in uneasy scrutiny: +"We shouldn't have gone on. We should have waited for him." + +There was questioning and also a suggestion of condemnation in her +voice. She was anxious and her tone and manner showed she thought it +his fault. + +He bent to loosen a girth. + +"Are you afraid he's lost?" he said, his face against the horse. + +"No. But if he was?" + +"Well! And if he was?" + +The girth was uncinched and he swept saddle and blanket to the ground. + +"We'd have to go back for him, and you say we must lose no time." + +He kicked the things aside and made no answer. Then as he groped for +the picket pins he was conscious that she turned again with the nervous +movement of worry and swept the plain. + +"He was sick. We oughtn't to have gone on," she repeated, and the note +of blame was stronger. "Oh, I wish he'd come!" + +Their conversation had been carried on in a low key. Suddenly Courant, +wheeling round on her, spoke in the raised tone of anger. + +"And am I to stop the train because that fool don't know enough or care +enough to picket his horses? Is it always to be him? Excuses made and +things done for him as if he was a sick girl or a baby. Let him be +lost, and stay lost, and be damned to him." + +Daddy John looked up from the sheaf of newly gathered sage with the +alertness of a scared monkey. Susan stepped back, feeling suddenly +breathless. Courant made a movement as if to follow her, then stopped, +his face rived with lines and red with rage. He was shaken by what to +her was entirely inexplicable anger, and in her amazement she stared +vacantly at him. + +"What's that, what's that?" chirped Daddy John, scrambling to his feet +and coming toward them with chin thrust belligerently forward and +blinking eyes full of fight. + +Neither spoke to him and he added sharply: + +"Didn't I hear swearing? Who's swearing now?" as if he had his doubts +that it might be Susan. + +Courant with a stifled phrase turned from them, picked up his hammer +and began driving in the stakes. + +"What was it?" whispered the old man. "What's the matter with him? Is +he mad at David?" + +She shook her head, putting a finger on her lip in sign of silence, and +moving away to the other side of the fire. She felt the strain in the +men and knew it was her place to try and keep the peace. But a sense +of forlorn helplessness amid these warring spirits lay heavily on her +and she beckoned to the old servant, wanting him near her as one who, +no matter how dire the circumstances, would never fail her. + +"Yes, he's angry," she said when they were out of earshot. "I suppose +it's about David. But what can we do? We can't make David over into +another man, and we can't leave him behind just because he's not as +strong as the rest of us. I feel as if we were getting to be savages." + +The old man gave a grunt that had a note of cynical acquiescence, then +held up his hand in a signal for quiet. The thud of a horse's hoofs +came from the outside night. With a quick word to get the supper +ready, she ran forward and stood in the farthest rim of the light +waiting for her betrothed. + +David was a pitiable spectacle. The dust lay thick on his face, save +round his eyes, whence he had rubbed it, leaving the sockets looking +unnaturally sunken and black. His collar was open and his neck rose +bare and roped with sinews. There was but one horse at the end of the +trail rope. As he slid out of the saddle, he dropped the rope on the +ground, saying that the other animal was sick, he had left it dying he +thought. He had found them miles off, miles and miles--with a weak +wave of his hand toward the south--near an alkaline spring where he +supposed they had been drinking. The other couldn't move, this one he +had dragged along with him. The men turned their attention to the +horse, which, with swollen body and drooping head, looked as if it +might soon follow its mate. They touched it, and spoke together, brows +knit over the trouble, not paying any attention to David, who, back in +the flesh, was sufficiently accounted for. + +Susan was horrified by his appearance. She had never seen him look so +much a haggard stranger to himself. He was prostrate with fatigue, and +throughout the day he had nursed a sense of bitter injury. Now back +among them, seeing the outspread signs of their rest, and with the good +smell of their food in his nostrils, this rose to the pitch of +hysterical rage, ready to vent itself at the first excuse. The sight +of the girl, fresh-skinned from a wash in the river, instead of +soothing, further inflamed him. Her glowing well-being seemed bought +at his expense. Her words of concern spoke to his sick ear with a note +of smug, unfeeling complacence. + +"David, you're half dead. Every thing'll be ready in a minute. Sit +down and rest. Here, take my blanket." + +She spread her blanket for him, but he stood still, not answering, +staring at her with dull, accusing eyes. Then, with a dazed movement, +he pushed his hand over the crown of his head throwing off his hat. +The hand was unsteady, and it fell, the hooked forefinger catching in +the opening of his shirt, dragging it down and showing his bony breast. +If he had been nothing to her she would have pitied him. Sense of +wrongs done him made the pity passionate. She went to him, the +consoling woman in her eyes, and laid her hand on the one that rested +on his chest. + +"David, sit down and rest. Don't move again. I'll get you everything. +I never saw you look as you do to-night." + +With an angry movement he threw her hand off. + +"You don't care," he said. "What does it matter to you when you've +been comfortable all day? So long as you and the others are all right +I don't matter." + +It was so unlike him, his face was so changed and charged with a +childish wretchedness, that she felt no check upon her sympathy. She +knew it was not David that spoke, but a usurping spirit born of evil +days. The other men pricked their ears and listened, but she was +indifferent to their watch, and tried again to take his hand, saying, +pleadingly: + +"Sit down. When I get your supper you'll be better. I'll have it +ready in a few minutes." + +This time he threw her hand off with violence. His face, under its +dust mask, flamed with the anger that had been accumulating through the +day. + +"Let me alone," he cried, his voice strangled like a wrathful child's. +"I don't want anything to do with you. Eat your supper. When I'm +ready I'll get mine without any help from you. Let me be." + +He turned from her, and moving over the blanket, stumbled on its folds. +The jar was the breaking touch to his overwrought nerves. He +staggered, caught his breath with a hiccoughing gasp, and dropping his +face into his hands burst into hysterical tears. Then in a sudden +abandonment of misery he threw himself on the blanket, buried his head +in his folded arms and rending sobs broke from him. For a moment they +were absolutely still, staring at him in stupefied surprise. Daddy +John, his neck craned round the blaze, surveyed him with bright, sharp +eyes of unemotional query, then flopped the bacon pan on the embers, +and said: + +"He's all done." + +Courant advanced a step, looked down on him and threw a sidelong glance +at Susan, bold with meaning. After her first moment of amazement, she +moved to David's side, drew the edge of the blanket over him, touched +his head with a light caress, and turned back to the fire. The plates +and cups were lying there and she quietly set them out, her eye now and +then straying for a needed object, her hand hanging in suspended search +then dropping upon it, and noiselessly putting it in its place. +Unconsciously they maintained an awed silence, as if they were sitting +by the dead. Daddy John turned the bacon with stealthy care, the +scrape of his knife on the pan sounding a rude and unseemly intrusion. +Upon this scrupulously maintained quietude the man's weeping broke +insistent, the stifled regular beat of sobs hammering on it as if +determined to drive their complacency away and reduce them to the low +ebb of misery in which he lay. + +They had almost finished their meal when the sounds lessened, dwindling +to spasmodic, staggering gasps with lengthening pauses that broke +suddenly in a quivering intake of breath and a vibration of the +recumbent frame. The hysterical paroxysm was over. He lay limp and +turned his head on his arms, too exhausted to feel shame for the shine +of tears on his cheek. Susan took a plate of food and a coffee cup and +stole toward him, the two men watching her under their eyelids. She +knelt beside him and spoke very gently, "Will you take this, David? +You'll feel stronger after you've eaten." + +"Put it down," he said hoarsely, without moving. + +"Shall I give you the coffee?" She hung over him looking into his +face. "I can hold the cup and you can drink it." + +"By and by," he muttered. + +She bent lower and laid her hand on his hair. + +"David, I'm so sorry," she breathed. + +Courant leaped to his feet and walked to where his horses stood. He +struck one of them a blow on the flank that after the silence and the +low tones of the girl's crooning voice sounded as violent as a pistol +shot. They all started, even David lifted his head. + +"What's the matter now?" said Daddy John, alert for any outbreak of man +or beast. + +But Courant made no answer, and moved away into the plain. It was some +time before he came back, emerging from the darkness as noiselessly as +he had gone. David had eaten his supper and was asleep, the girl +sitting beyond him withdrawn from the fire glow. Daddy John was +examining the sick horse, and Courant joined him, walking round the +beast and listening to the old man's opinions as to its condition. +They were not encouraging. It seemed likely that David's carelessness +would cost the train two valuable animals. + +To the outward eye peace had again settled on the camp. The low +conferrings of the two men, the dying snaps of the charred twigs, were +the only sounds. The night brooded serene about the bivouac, the large +stars showing clear now that the central glare had sunk to a red heap +of ruin. Far away, on the hills, the sparks of Indian fires gleamed. +They had followed the train for days, watching it like the eyes of +hungry animals, too timid to come nearer. But there was no cause for +alarm, for the desert Indians were a feeble race, averse to bloodshed, +thieves at their worst, descending upon the deserted camping grounds to +carry away what the emigrants left. + +Nevertheless, when the sound of hoof beats came from the trail both men +made a quick snatch for their rifles, and Susan jumped to her feet with +a cry of "Some one's coming." They could see nothing, the darkness +hanging like a curtain across their vision. Courant, with his rifle in +the hollow of his arm, moved toward the sounds, his hail reaching clear +and deep into the night. An answer came in a man's voice, the hoof +beats grew louder, and the reaching light defined approaching shapes. +Daddy John threw a bunch of sage on the fire, and in the rush of flame +that flew along its branches, two mounted men were visible. + +They dropped to the ground and came forward. "From California to the +States," the foremost said to Susan, seeing a woman with fears to be +allayed. He was tall and angular with a frank, copper-tanned face, +overtopped by a wide spread of hat, and bearded to the eyes. He wore a +loose hickory shirt and buckskin breeches tucked into long boots, +already broken from the soles. The other was a small and comical +figure with an upstanding crest of sunburned blond hair, tight curled +and thick as a sheep's fleece. When he saw Susan he delayed his +advance to put on a ragged army overcoat that hung to his heels, and +evidently hid discrepancies in his costume not meet for a lady's eye. +Both men were powdered with dust, and announced themselves as hungry +enough to eat their horses. + +Out came pans and supplies, and the snapping of bacon fat and smell of +coffee rose pungent. Though, by their own account, they had ridden +hard and far, there was a feverish energy of life in each of them that +roused the drooping spirits of the others like an electrifying current. +They ate ravenously, pausing between mouthfuls to put quick questions +on the condition of the eastward trail, its grazing grounds, what +supplies could be had at the Forts. It was evident they were new to +journeying on the great bare highways of the wilderness, but that fact +seemed to have no blighting effect on their zeal. What and who they +were came out in the talk that gushed in the intervals of feeding. The +fair-haired man was a sailor, shipped from Boston round the Horn for +California eight months before. The fact that he was a deserter +dropped out with others. He was safe here--with a side-long laugh at +Susan--no more of the sea for him. + +He was going back for money, money and men. It was too late to get +through to the States now? Well he'd wait and winter at Fort Laramie +if he had to, but he guessed he'd make a pretty vigorous effort to get +to St. Louis. His companion was from Philadelphia, and was going back +for his wife and children, also money. He'd bring them out next +spring, collect a big train, stock it well, and carry them across with +him. + +"And start early, not waste any time dawdling round and talking. Start +with the first of 'em and get to California before the rush begins." + +"Rush?" said Courant. "Are you looking for a rush next year?" + +The man leaned forward with upraised, arresting hand, "The biggest rush +in the history of this country. Friends, there's gold in California." + +Gold! The word came in different keys, their flaccid bodies stiffened +into upright eagerness-- Gold in the Promised Land! + +Then came the great story, the discovery of California's treasure told +by wanderers to wanderers under the desert stars. Six months before +gold had been found in the race of Sutter's mill in the foothills. The +streams that sucked their life from the snow crests of the Sierras were +yellow with it. It lay, a dusty sediment, in the prospector's pan. It +spread through the rock cracks in sparkling seams. + +The strangers capped story with story, chanted the tales of fantastic +exaggeration that had already gone forth, and up and down California +were calling men from ranch and seaboard. They were coming down from +Oregon along the wild spine of the coast ranges and up from the Mission +towns strung on highways beaten out by Spanish soldier and padre. The +news was now en route to the outer world carried by ships. It would +fly from port to port, run like fire up the eastern coast and leap to +the inland cities and the frontier villages. And next spring, when the +roads were open, would come the men, the regiments of men, on foot, +mounted, in long caravans, hastening to California for the gold that +was there for anyone who had the strength and hardihood to go. + +The bearded man got up, went to his horse and brought back his pack. +He opened it, pulled off the outer blanketing, and from a piece of +dirty calico drew a black sock, bulging and heavy. From this in turn +he shook a small buckskin sack. He smoothed the calico, untied a +shoestring from the sack's mouth, and let a stream of dun-colored dust +run out. It shone in the firelight in a slow sifting rivulet, here and +there a bright flake like a spangle sending out a yellow spark. +Several times a solid particle obstructed the lazy flow, which broke +upon it like water on a rock, dividing and sinking in two heavy +streams. It poured with unctious deliberation till the sack was empty, +and the man held it up to show the powdered dust of dust clinging to +the inside. + +"That's three weeks' washing on the river across the valley beyond +Sacramento," he said, "and it's worth four thousand dollars in the +United States mint." + +The pile shone yellow in the fire's even glow, and they stared at it, +wonderstruck, each face showing a sudden kindling of greed, the longing +to possess, to know the power and peace of wealth. It came with added +sharpness in the midst of their bare distress. Even the girl felt it, +leaning forward to gloat with brightened eyes on the little pyramid. +David forgot his injuries and craned his neck to listen, dreams once +more astir. California became suddenly a radiant vision. No longer a +faint line of color, vaguely lovely, but a place where fortune waited +them, gold to fill their coffers, to bring them ease, to give their +aspirations definite shape, to repay them for their bitter pilgrimage. +They were seized with the lust of it, and their attentive faces +sharpened with the strain of the growing desire. They felt the onward +urge to be up and moving, to get there and lay their hands on the +waiting treasure. + +The night grew old and still they talked, their fatigue forgotten. +They heard the tale of Marshall's discovery and how it flew right and +left through the spacious, idle land. There were few to answer the +call, ranches scattered wide over the unpeopled valleys, small traders +in the little towns along the coast. In the settlement of Yerba Buena, +fringing the edge of San Francisco Bay, men were leaving their goods at +their shop doors and going inland. Ships were lying idle in the tide +water, every sailor gone to find the golden river. The fair-haired man +laughed and told how he'd swam naked in the darkness, his money in his +mouth, and crawled up the long, shoal shore, waist high in mud. + +The small hours had come when one by one they dropped to sleep as they +lay. A twist of the blanket, a squirming into deeper comfort, and rest +was on them. They sprawled in the caked dust like dead men fallen in +battle and left as they had dropped. Even the girl forgot the habits +of a life-long observance and sunk to sleep among them, her head on a +saddle, the old servant curled at her feet. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +In the even dawn light the strangers left. It was hail and farewell in +desert meetings. They trotted off into the ghostlike stillness of the +plain which for a space threw back their hoof beats, and then closed +round them. The departure of the westward band was not so prompt. +With unbound packs and unharnessed animals, they stood, a dismayed +group, gathered round a center of disturbance. David was ill. The +exertions of the day before had drained his last reserve of strength. +He could hardly stand, complained of pain, and a fever painted his +drawn face with a dry flush. Under their concerned looks, he climbed +on his horse, swayed there weakly, then slid off and dropped on the +ground. + +"I'm too sick to go on," he said in the final collapse of misery. "You +can leave me here to die." + +He lay flat, looking up at the sky, his long hair raying like a +mourning halo from the outline of his skull, his arms outspread as if +his soul had submitted to its crucifixion and his body was in +agreement. That he was ill was beyond question. The men had their +suspicions that he, like the horses, had drunk of the alkaline spring. + +Susan was for remaining where they were till he recovered, the others +wanted to go on. He gave no ear to their debate, interrupting it once +to announce his intention of dying where he lay. This called forth a +look of compassion from the girl, a movement of exasperation from the +mountain man. Daddy John merely spat and lifted his hat to the faint +dawn air. It was finally agreed that David should be placed in the +wagon, his belongings packed on his horse, while the sick animal must +follow as best it could. + +During the morning's march no one spoke. They might have been a +picture moving across a picture for all the animation they showed. The +exaltation of the evening before had died down to a spark, alight and +warming still, but pitifully shrunk from last night's high-flaming +buoyancy. It was hard to keep up hopes in these distressful hours. +California had again receded. The desert and the mountains were yet to +pass. The immediate moment hemmed them in so closely that it was an +effort to look through it and feel the thrill of joys that lay so far +beyond. It was better to focus their attention on the lone +promontories that cut the distance and gradually grew from flat +surfaces applied on the plain to solid shapes, thick-based and shadow +cloven. + +They made their noon camp at a spring, bubbling from a rim of +white-rooted grass. David refused to take anything but water, groaning +as he sat up in the wagon and stretching a hot hand for the cup that +Susan brought. The men paid no attention to him. They showed more +concern for the sick horse, which when not incapacitated did its part +with good will, giving the full measure of its strength. That they +refrained from open anger and upbraiding was the only concession they +made to the conventions they had learned in easier times. Whether +David cared or not he said nothing, lying fever-flushed, his wandering +glance held to attention when Susan's face appeared at the canvas +opening. He hung upon her presence, querulously exacting in his +unfamiliar pain. + +Making ready for the start their eyes swept a prospect that showed no +spot of green, and they filled their casks neck high and rolled out +into the dazzling shimmer of the afternoon. The desert was widening, +the hills receding, shrinking away to a crenelated edge that fretted a +horizon drawn as straight as a ruled line. The plain unrolled more +spacious and grimmer, not a growth in sight save sage, not a trickle of +water or leaf murmur, even the mirage had vanished leaving the distance +bare and mottled with a leprous white. At intervals, outstretched like +a pointing finger, the toothed summit of a ridge projected, its base +uplifted in clear, mirrored reflection. + +The second half of the day was as unbroken by speech or incident as the +morning. They had nothing to say, as dry of thought as they were +despoiled of energy. The shadows were beginning to lengthen when they +came to a fork in the trail. One branch bore straight westward, the +other slanted toward the south, and both showed signs of recent travel. +Following them to the distance was like following the tracks of +creeping things traced on a sandy shore. Neither led to +anything--sage, dust, the up-standing combs of rocky reefs were all the +searching eye could see till sight lost itself in the earth's curve. +The girl and the two men stood in the van of the train consulting. The +region was new to Courant, but they left it to him, and he decided for +the southern route. + +For the rest of the afternoon they followed it. The day deepened to +evening and they bore across a flaming level, striped with gigantic +shadows. Looking forward they saw a lake of gold that lapped the roots +of rose and lilac hills. The road swept downward to a crimsoned butte, +cleft apart, and holding in its knees a gleam of water. The animals, +smelling it, broke for it, tearing the wagon over sand hummocks and +crackling twigs. It was a feeble upwelling, exhausted by a single +draught. Each beast, desperately nosing in its coolness, drained it, +and there was a long wait ere the tiny depression filled again. +Finally, it was dried of its last drop, and the reluctant ooze stopped. +The animals, their thirst half slaked, drooped about it, looking with +mournful inquiry at the disturbed faces of their masters. + +It was a bad sign. The men knew there were waterless tracts in the +desert that the emigrant must skirt. They mounted to the summit of the +butte and scanned their surroundings. The world shone a radiant floor +out of which each sage brush rose a floating, feathered tuft, but of +gleam or trickle of water there was none. When they came down David +lay beside the spring his eyes on its basin, now a muddied hole, the +rim patterned with hoof prints. When he heard them coming he rose on +his elbow awaiting them with a haggard glance, then seeing their blank +looks sank back groaning. To Susan's command that a cask be broached, +Courant gave a sullen consent. She drew off the first cupful and gave +it to the sick man, his lean hands straining for it, his fingers +fumbling in a search for the handle. The leader, after watching her +for a moment, turned away and swung off, muttering. David dropped back +on the ground, his eyes closed, his body curved about the damp +depression. + +The evening burned to night, the encampment growing black against the +scarlet sky. The brush fire sent a line of smoke straight up, a long +milky thread, that slowly disentangled itself and mounted to a final +outspreading. Each member of the group was still, the girl lying a +dark oblong under her blanket, her face upturned to the stars which +blossomed slowly in the huge, unclouded heaven. At the root of the +butte, hidden against its shadowy base, the mountain man lay +motionless, but his eyes were open and they rested on her, not closing +or straying. + +When no one saw him he kept this stealthy watch. In the daytime, with +the others about, he still was careful to preserve his brusque +indifference, to avoid her, to hide his passion with a jealous +subtlety. But beneath the imposed bonds it grew with each day, +stronger and more savage as the way waxed fiercer. It was not an +obsession of occasional moments, it was always with him. As pilot her +image moved across the waste before him. When he fell back for words +with Daddy John, he was listening through the old man's speech, for the +fall of her horse's hoofs. Her voice made his heart stop, the rustle +of her garments dried his throat. When his lowered eyes saw her hand +on the plate's edge, he grew rigid, unable to eat. If she brushed by +him in the bustle of camp pitching, his hands lost their strength and +he was sick with the sense of her. Love, courtship, marriage, were +words that no longer had any meaning for him. All the tenderness and +humanity he had felt for her in the days of her father's sickness were +gone. They were burned away, as the water and the grass were. When he +saw her solicitude for David, his contempt for the weak man hardened +into hatred. He told himself that he hated them both, and he told +himself he would crush and kill them both before David should get her. +The desire to keep her from David was stronger than the desire to have +her for himself. He did not think or care what he felt. She was the +prey to be won by cunning or daring, whose taste or wishes had no place +in the struggle. He no longer looked ahead, thought, or reasoned. The +elemental in him was developing to fit a scene in which only the +elemental survived. + +They broke camp at four the next morning. For the last few days the +heat had been unbearable, and they decided to start while the air was +still cool and prolong the noon halt. The landscape grew barer. There +were open areas where the soil was soft and sifted from the wheels like +sand, and dried stretches where the alkali lay in a caked, white crust. +In one place the earth humped into long, wavelike swells each crest +topped with a fringe of brush, fine and feathery as petrified spray. +At mid-day there was no water in sight. Courant, standing on his +saddle, saw no promise of it, nothing but the level distance streaked +with white mountain rims, and far to the south a patch of yellow--bare +sand, he said, as he pointed a horny finger to where it lay. + +They camped in the glare and opened the casks. After the meal they +tried to rest, but the sun was merciless. The girl crawled under the +wagon and lay there on the dust, sleeping with one arm thrown across +her face. The two men sat near by, their hats drawn low over their +brows. There was not a sound. The silence seemed transmuted to a +slowly thickening essence solidifying round them. It pressed upon them +till speech was as impossible as it would be under water. A broken +group in the landscape's immensity, they were like a new expression of +its somber vitality, motionless yet full of life, in consonance with +its bare and brutal verity. + +Courant left them to reconnoiter, and at mid afternoon came back to +announce that farther on the trail bent to an outcropping of red rock +where he thought there might be water. It was the hottest hour of the +day. The animals strained at their harness with lolling tongues and +white-rimmed eyeballs, their sweat making tracks on the dust. To +lighten the wagon Daddy John walked beside it, plodding on in his +broken moccasins, now and then chirruping to Julia. The girl rode +behind him, her blouse open at the neck, her hair clinging in a black +veining to her bedewed temples. Several times he turned back to look +at her as the only other female of the party to be encouraged. When +she caught his eye she nodded as though acknowledging the salutation of +a passerby, her dumbness an instinctive hoarding of physical force. + +The red rock came in sight, a nicked edge across the distance. As they +approached, it drew up from the plain in a series of crumpled points +like the comb of a rooster. The detail of the intervening space was +lost in the first crepuscular softness, and they saw nothing but a +stretch of darkening purple from which rose the scalloped crest painted +in strange colors. Courant trotted forward crying a word of hope, and +they pricked after him to where the low bulwark loomed above the +plain's swimming mystery. + +When they reached it he was standing at the edge of a caverned +indentation. Dead grasses dropped against the walls, withered weeds +thickened toward the apex in a tangled carpet. There had once been +water there, but it was gone, dried, or sunk to some hidden channel in +the rock's heart. They stood staring at the scorched herbage and the +basin where the earth was cracked apart in its last gasping throes of +thirst. + +David's voice broke the silence. He had climbed to the front seat, and +his face, gilded with the sunlight, looked like the face of a dead man +painted yellow. + +"Is there water?" he said, then saw the dead grass and dried basin, and +met the blank looks of his companions. + +Susan's laconic "The spring's dry," was not necessary. He fell forward +on the seat with a moan, his head propped in his hands, his fingers +buried in his hair. Courant sent a look of furious contempt over his +abject figure, then gave a laugh that fell on the silence bitter as a +curse. Daddy John without a word moved off and began unhitching the +mules. Even in Susan pity was, for the moment, choked by a swell of +disgust. Had she not had the other men to measure him by, had she not +within her own sturdy frame felt the spirit still strong for conflict, +she might still have known only the woman's sympathy for the feebler +creature. But they were a trio steeled and braced for invincible +effort, and this weakling, without the body and the spirit for the +enterprise, was an alien among them. + +She went to the back of the wagon and opened the mess chest. As she +picked out the supper things she began to repent. The lean, bent +figure and sunken head kept recurring to her. She saw him not as David +but as a suffering outsider, and for a second, motionless, with a +blackened skillet in her hand, had a faint, clairvoyant understanding +of his soul's desolation amid the close-knit unity of their endeavor. +She dropped the tin and went back to the front of the wagon. He was +climbing out, hanging tremulous to the roof support, a haggard +spectacle, with wearied eyes and skin drawn into fine puckerings across +the temples. Pity came back in a remorseful wave, and she ran to him +and lifted his arm to her shoulder. It clasped her hard and they +walked to where at the rock's base the sage grew high. Here she laid a +blanket for him and spread another on the top of the bushes, fastening +it to the tallest ones till it stretched, a sheltering canopy, over +him. She tried to cheer him with assurances that water would be found +at the next halting place. He was listless at first, seeming not to +listen, then the life in her voice roused his sluggish faculties, his +cheeks took color, and his dull glance lit on point after point in its +passage to her face, like the needle flickering toward the pole. + +"If I could get water enough to drink, I'd be all right," he said. +"The pains are gone." + +"They _must_ find it soon," she answered, lifting the weight of his +fallen courage, heavy as his body might have been to her arms. "This +is a traveled road. There _must_ be a spring somewhere along it." + +And she continued prying up the despairing spirit till the man began to +respond, showing returning hope in the eagerness with which he hung on +her words. When he lay sinking into drowsy quiet, she stole away from +him to where the camp was spread about the unlit pyre of Daddy John's +sage brush. It was too early for supper, and the old man, with the +accouterments of the hunt slung upon his person and his rifle in his +hand, was about to go afield after jack rabbit. + +"It's a bad business this," he said in answer to the worry she dared +not express. "The animals can't hold out much longer." + +"What are we to do? There's only a little water left in one of the +casks." + +"Low's goin' to strike across for the other trail. He's goin' after +supper, and he says he'll ride all night till he gets it. He thinks if +he goes due that way," pointing northward, "he can strike it sooner +than by goin' back." + +They looked in the direction he pointed. Each bush was sending a +phenomenally long shadow from its intersection with the ground. There +was no butte or hummock to break the expanse between them and the +faint, far silhouette of mountains. Her heart sank, a sinking that +fatigue and dread of thirst had never given her. + +"He may lose us," she said. + +The old man jerked his head toward the rock. + +"He'll steer by that, and I'll keep the fire going till morning." + +"But how can he ride all night? He must be half dead now." + +"A man like him don't die easy. It's not the muscle and the bones, +it's the grit. He says it's him that made the mistake and it's him +that's goin' to get us back on the right road." + +"What will he do for water?" + +"Take an empty cask behind the saddle and trust to God." + +"But there's water in one of our casks yet." + +"Yes, he knows it, but he's goin' to leave that for us. And we got to +hang on to it, Missy. Do you understand that?" + +She nodded, frowning and biting her underlip. + +"Are you feelin' bad?" said the old man uneasily. + +"Not a bit," she answered. "Don't worry about me." + +He laid a hand on her shoulder and looked into her face with eyes that +said more than his tongue could. + +"You're as good a man as any of us. When we get to California we'll +have fun laughing over this." + +He gave the shoulder a shake, then drew back and picked up his rifle. + +"I'll get you a rabbit for supper if I can," he said with his cackling +laugh. "That's about the best I can do." + +He left her trailing off into the reddened reaches of the sage, and she +went back to the rock, thinking that in some overlooked hollow, water +might linger. She passed the mouth of the dead spring, then skirted +the spot where David lay, a motionless shape under the canopy of the +blanket. A few paces beyond him a buttress extended and, rounding it, +she found a triangular opening inclosed on three sides by walls, their +summits orange with the last sunlight. There had once been water here +for the grasses, and thin-leafed plants grew rank about the rock's +base, then outlined in sere decay what had evidently been the path of a +streamlet. She knelt among them, thrusting her hands between their +rustling stalks, jerking them up and casting them away, the friable +soil spattering from their roots. + +The heat was torrid, the noon ardors still imprisoned between the +slanting walls. Presently she sat back on her heels, and with an +earthy hand pushed the moist hair from her forehead. The movement +brought her head up, and her wandering eyes, roving in morose +inspection, turned to the cleft's opening. Courant was standing there, +watching her. His hands hung loose at his sides, his head was drooped +forward, his chin lowered toward his throat. The position lent to his +gaze a suggestion of animal ruminance and concentration. + +"Why don't you get David to do that?" he said slowly. + +The air in the little cleft seemed to her suddenly heavy and hard to +breathe. She caught it into her lungs with a quick inhalation. +Dropping her eyes to the weeds she said sharply, "David's sick. He +can't do anything. You know that." + +"He that ought to be out in the desert there looking for water's lying +asleep under a blanket. That's your man." + +He did not move or divert his gaze. There was something singularly +sinister in the fixed and gleaming look and the rigidity of his +watching face. She plucked at a weed, saw her hand's trembling and to +hide it struck her palms together shaking off the dust. The sound +filled the silent place. To her ears it was hardly louder than the +terrified beating of her heart. + +"That's the man you've chosen," he went on. "A feller that gives out +when the road's hard, who hasn't enough backbone to stand a few days' +heat and thirst. A poor, useless rag." + +He spoke in a low voice, very slowly, each word dropping distinct and +separate. His lowering expression, his steady gaze, his deliberate +speech, spoke of mental forces in abeyance. It was another man, not +the Courant she knew. + +She tried to quell her tremors by simulating indignation. If her +breathing shook her breast into an agitation he could see, the look she +kept on him was bold and defiant. + +"Don't speak of him that way," she cried scrambling to her feet. "Keep +what you think to yourself." + +"And what do _you_ think?" he said and moved forward toward her. + +She made no answer, and it was very silent in the cleft. As he came +nearer the grasses crackling under his soft tread were the only sound. +She saw that his face was pale under the tan, the nostrils slightly +dilated. Stepping with a careful lightness, his movements suggested a +carefully maintained adjustment, a being quivering in a breathless +balance. She backed away till she stood pressed against the rock. She +felt her thoughts scattering and made an effort to hold them as though +grasping at tangible, escaping things. + +He stopped close to her, and neither spoke for a moment, eye hard on +eye, then hers shifted and dropped. + +"You think about him as I do," said the man. + +"No," she answered, "no," but her voice showed uncertainty. + +"Why don't you tell the truth? Why do you lie?" + +"No," this time the word was hardly audible, and she tried to impress +it by shaking her head. + +He made a step toward her and seized one of her hands. She tried to +tear it away and flattened herself against the rock, panting, her face +gone white as the alkaline patches of the desert. + +"You don't love him. You never did." + +She shook her head again, gasping. "Let me out of here. Let go of me." + +"You liar," he whispered. "You love me." + +She could not answer, her knees shaking, the place blurring on her +sight. Through a sick dizziness she saw nothing but his altered face. +He reached for the other hand, spread flat against the stone, and as +she felt his grasp upon it, her words came in broken pleading: + +"Yes, yes, it's true. I do. But I've promised. Let me go." + +"Then come to me," he said huskily and tried to wrench her forward into +his arms. + +She held herself rigid, braced against the wall, and tearing one hand +free, raised it, palm out, between his face and hers. + +"No, no! My father--I promised him. I can't tell David now. I will +later. Don't hold me. Let me go." + +The voice of Daddy John came clear from outside. "Missy! Hullo, +Missy! Where are you?" + +She sent up the old man's name in a quavering cry and the mountain man +dropped her arm and stepped back. + +She ran past him, and at the mouth of the opening, stopped and leaned +on a ledge, getting her breath and trying to control her trembling. +Daddy John was coming through the sage, a jack rabbit held up in one +hand. + +"Here's your supper," he cried jubilant. "Ain't I told you I'd get it?" + +She moved forward to meet him, walking slowly. When he saw her face, +concern supplanted his triumph. + +"We got to get you out of this," he said. "You're as peaked as one of +them frontier women in sunbonnets," and he tried to hook a +compassionate hand in her arm. But she edged away from him, fearful +that he would feel her trembling, and answered: + +"It's the heat. It seems to draw the strength all out of me." + +"The rabbit'll put some of it back. I'll go and get things started. +You sit by David and rest up," and he skurried away to the camp. + +She went to David, lying now with opened eyes and hands clasped beneath +his head. When her shadow fell across him he turned a brightened face +on her. + +"I'm better," he said. "If I could get some water I think I'd soon be +all right." + +She stood looking down on him with a clouded, almost sullen, expression. + +"Did you sleep long?" she asked for something to say. + +"I don't know how long. A little while ago I woke up and looked for +you, but you weren't anywhere round, so I just lay here and looked out +across to the mountains and began to think of California. I haven't +thought about it for a long while." + +She sat down by him and listened as he told her his thoughts. With a +renewal of strength the old dreams had come back--the cabin by the +river, the garden seeds to be planted, and now added to them was the +gold they were to find. She hearkened with unresponsive apathy. The +repugnance to this mutually shared future which had once made her +recoil from it was a trivial thing to the abhorrence of it that was now +hers. Dislikes had become loathings, a girl's whims, a woman's +passions. As David babbled on she kept her eyes averted, for she knew +that in them her final withdrawal shone coldly. Her thoughts kept +reverting to the scene in the cleft, and when she tore them from it and +forced them back on him, her conscience awoke and gnawed. She could no +more tell this man, returning to life and love of her, than she could +kill him as he lay there defenseless and trusting. + +At supper they measured out the water, half a cup for each. There +still remained a few inches in the cask. This was to be hoarded +against the next day. If Courant on his night journey could not strike +the upper trail and a spring they would have to retrace their steps, +and by this route, with the animals exhausted and their own strength +diminished, the first water was a twelve hours' march off. Susan and +Courant were silent, avoiding each other's eyes, torpid to the outward +observation. But the old man was unusually garrulous, evidently +attempting to raise their lowered spirits. He had much to say about +California and the gold there, speculated on their chances of fortune, +and then carried his speculations on to the joys of wealth and a future +in which Susan was to say with the Biblical millionaire, "Now soul take +thine ease." She rewarded him with a quick smile, then tipped her cup +till the bottom faced the sky, and let the last drop run into her mouth. + +The night was falling when Courant rode out. She passed him as he was +mounting, the canteen strapped to the back of his saddle. "Good-by, +and good luck," she said in a low voice as she brushed by. His +"good-by" came back to her instilled with a new meaning. The reserve +between them was gone. Separated as the poles, they had suddenly +entered within the circle of an intimacy that had snapped round them +and shut them in. Her surroundings fell into far perspective, losing +their menace. She did not care where she was or how she fared. An +indifference to all that had seemed unbearable, uplifted her. It was +like an emergence from cramped confines to wide, inspiring spaces. He +and she were there--the rest was nothing. + +Sitting beside David she could see the rider's figure grow small, as it +receded across the plain. The night had come and the great level +brooded solemn under the light of the first, serene stars. In the +middle of the camp Daddy John's fire flared, the central point of +illumination in a ring of fluctuant yellow. Touched and lost by its +waverings the old man's figure came and went, absorbed in outer +darkness, then revealed his arms extended round sheaves of brush. +David turned and lay on his side looking at her. Her knees were drawn +up, her hands clasped round her ankles. With the ragged detail of her +dress obscured, the line of her profile and throat sharp in clear +silhouette against the saffron glow, she was like a statue carved in +black marble. He could not see what her glance followed, only felt the +consolation of her presence, the one thing to which he could turn and +meet a human response. + +He was feverish again, his thirst returned in an insatiable craving. +Moving restlessly he flung out a hand toward her and said querulously: + +"How long will Low be gone?" + +"Till the morning unless he finds water by the way." + +Silence fell on him and her eyes strained through the darkness for the +last glimpse of the rider. He sighed deeply, the hot hand stirring +till it lay spread, with separated fingers on the hem of her dress. He +moved each finger, their brushing on the cloth the only sound. + +"Are you in pain?" she asked and shrunk before the coldness of her +voice. + +"No, but I am dying with thirst." + +She made no answer, resting in her graven quietness. The night had +closed upon the rider's figure, but she watched where it had been. +Over a blackened peak a large star soared up like a bright eye spying +on the waste. Suddenly the hand clinched and he struck down at the +earth with it. + +"I can't go without water till the morning." + +"Try to sleep," she said. "We must stand it the best way we can." + +"I can't sleep." + +He moaned and turned over on his face and lying thus rolled from side +to side as if in anguish that movement assuaged. For the first time +she looked at him, turning upon him a glance of questioning anxiety. +She could see his narrow, angular shape, the legs twisted, the arms +bent for a pillow, upon which his head moved in restless pain. + +"David, we've got to wait." + +"The night through? Stay this way till morning? I'll be dead. I wish +I was now." + +She looked away from him seized by temptation that rose from contrition +not pity. + +"If you cared for me you could get it. Low's certain to find a spring." + +"Very well. I will," she said and rose to her feet. + +She moved softly to the camp the darkness hiding her. Daddy John was +taking a cat nap by the fire, a barrier of garnered sage behind him. +She knew his sleep was light and stole with a tiptoe tread to the back +of the wagon where the water cask stood. She drew off a cupful, then, +her eye alert on the old man, crept back to David. When he saw her +coming he sat up with a sharp breath of satisfaction, and she knelt +beside him and held the cup to his lips. He drained it and sank back +in a collapse of relief, muttering thanks that she hushed, fearful of +the old man. Then she again took her seat beside him. She saw Daddy +John get up and pile the fire high, and watched its leaping flame throw +out tongues toward the stars. + +Midnight was past when David woke and again begged for water. This +time she went for it without urging. When he had settled into rest she +continued her watch peaceful at the thought that she had given him what +was hers and Courant's. Reparation of a sort had been made. Her mind +could fly without hindrance into the wilderness with the lonely +horseman. It was a luxury like dearly bought freedom, and she sat on +lost in it, abandoned to a reverie as deep and solemn as the night. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +She woke when the sun shot its first rays into her eyes. David lay +near by, breathing lightly, his face like a pale carven mask against +the blanket's folds. Down below in the camp the fire burned low, its +flame looking ineffectual and tawdry in the flushed splendor of the +sunrise. Daddy John was astir, moving about among the animals and +pausing to rub Julia's nose and hearten her up with hopeful words. + +Susan mounted to a ledge and scanned the distance. Her figure caught +the old man's eye and he hailed her for news. Nothing yet, she +signaled back, then far on the plain's rose-brown limit saw a dust blur +and gave a cry that brought him running and carried him in nimble +ascent to her side. His old eyes could see nothing. She had to point +the direction with a finger that shook. + +"There, there. It's moving--far away, as if a drop of water had been +spilled on a picture and made a tiny blot." + +They watched till a horseman grew from the nebulous spot. Then they +climbed down and ran to the camp, got out the breakfast things and +threw brush on the fire, speaking nothing but the essential word, for +hope and fear racked them. When he was within hail Daddy John ran to +meet him, but she stayed where she was, her hands making useless darts +among the pans, moistening her lips that they might frame speech easily +when he came. With down-bent head she heard his voice hoarse from a +dust-dried throat: he had found the trail and near it a spring, the +cask he carried was full, it would last them for twelve hours. But the +way was heavy and the animals were too spent for a day's march in such +heat. They would not start till evening and would journey through the +night. + +She heard his feet brushing toward her through the sage, and smelled +the dust and sweat upon him as he drew up beside her. She was forced +to raise her eyes and murmur a greeting. It was short and cold, and +Daddy John marveled at the ways of women, who welcomed a man from such +labors as if he had been to the creek and brought up a pail of water. +His face, gaunt and grooved with lines, made her heart swell with the +pity she had so freely given David, and the passion that had never been +his. There was no maternal softness in her now. The man beside her +was no helpless creature claiming her aid, but a conqueror upon whom +she leaned and in whom she gloried. + +After he had eaten he drew a saddle back into the rock's shade, spread +a blanket and threw himself on it. Almost before he had composed his +body in comfort he was asleep, one arm thrown over his head, his sinewy +neck outstretched, his chest rising and falling in even breaths. + +At noon Daddy John in broaching the cask discovered the deficit in the +water supply. She came upon the old man with the half-filled +coffee-pot in his hand staring down at its contents with a puzzled +face. She stood watching him, guilty as a thievish child, the color +mounting to her forehead. He looked up and in his eyes she read the +shock of his suspicions. Delicacy kept him silent, and as he rinsed +the water round in the pot his own face reddened in a blush for the +girl he had thought strong in honor and self-denial as he was. + +"I took it," she said slowly. + +He had to make allowances, not only to her, but to himself. He felt +that he must reassure her, keep her from feeling shame for the first +underhand act he had ever known her commit. So he spoke with all the +cheeriness he could command: + +"I guess you needed it pretty bad. Turning out as it has I'm glad you +done it." + +She saw he thought she had taken it for herself, and experienced relief +in the consciousness of unjust punishment. + +"You were asleep," she said, "and I came down and took it twice." + +He did not look at her for he could not bear to see her humiliation. +It was his affair to lighten her self-reproach. + +"Well, that was all right. You're the only woman among us, and you've +got to be kept up." + +"I--I--couldn't stand it any longer," she faltered now, wanting to +justify herself. "It was too much to bear." + +"Don't say no more," he said tenderly. "Ain't you only a little girl +put up against things that 'ud break the spirit of a strong man?" + +The pathos of his efforts to excuse her shook her guarded self-control. +She suddenly put her face against his shoulder in a lonely dreariness. +He made a backward gesture with his head that he might toss off his hat +and lay his cheek on her hair. + +"There, there," he muttered comfortingly. "Don't go worrying about +that. You ain't done no harm. It's just as natural for you to have +taken it as for you to go to sleep when you're tired. And there's not +a soul but you and me'll ever know it, and we'll forget by to-night." + +His simple words, reminiscent of gentler days, when tragic problems lay +beyond the confines of imagination, loosed the tension of her mood, and +she clasped her arms about him, trembling and shaken. He patted her +with his free hand, the coffee-pot in the other, thinking her agitation +merely an expression of fatigue, with no more knowledge of its complex +provocation than he had of the mighty throes that had once shaken the +blighted land on which they stood. + +David was better, much better, he declared, and proved it by helping +clear the camp and pack the wagon for the night march. He was kneeling +by Daddy John, who was folding the blankets, when he said suddenly: + +"If I hadn't got water I think I'd have died last night." + +The old man, stopped in his folding to turn a hardening face on him. + +"Water?" he said. "How'd you get it?" + +"Susan did. I told her I couldn't stand it, and she went down twice to +the wagon and brought it to me. I was at the end of my rope." + +Daddy John said nothing. His ideas were readjusting themselves to a +new point of view. When they were established his Missy was back upon +her pedestal, a taller one than ever before, and David was once and for +all in the dust at its feet. + +"There's no one like Susan," the lover went on, now with returning +forces, anxious to give the mead of praise where it was due. "She +tried to talk me out of it, and then when she saw I couldn't stand it +she just went quietly off and got it." + +"I guess you could have held out till the morning if you'd put your +mind to it," said the old man dryly, rising with the blankets. + +For the moment he despised David almost as bitterly as Courant did. It +was not alone the weakness so frankly admitted; it was that his action +had made Daddy John harbor secret censure of the being dearest to him. +The old man could have spat upon him. He moved away for fear of the +words that trembled on his tongue. And another and deeper pain +tormented him--that his darling should so love this feeble creature +that she could steal for him and take the blame of his misdeeds. This +was the man to whom she had given her heart! He found himself wishing +that David had never come back from his search for the lost horses. +Then the other man, the real man that was her fitting mate, could have +won her. + +At sunset the train was ready. Every article that could be dispensed +with was left, a rich find for the Indians whose watch fires winked +from the hills. To the cry of "Roll out," and the snap of the long +whip, the wagon lurched into motion, the thirst-racked animals +straining doggedly as it crunched over sage stalks and dragged through +powdery hummocks. The old man walked by the wheel, the long lash of +his whip thrown afar, flashing in the upper light and descending in a +lick of flame on the mules' gray flanks. With each blow fell a phrase +of encouragement, the words of a friend who wounds and wounding himself +suffers. David rode at the rear with Susan. The two men had told him +he must ride if he died for it, and met his offended answer that he +intended to do so with sullen silence. In advance, Courant's figure +brushed between the bushes, his hair a moving patch of copper color in +the last light. + +Darkness quickly gathered round them. The bowl of sky became an +intense Prussian blue that the earth reflected. In this clear, deep +color the wagon hood showed a pallid arch, and the shapes of man and +beast were defined in shadowless black. In the west a band of +lemon-color lingered, and above the stars began to prick through, great +scintillant sparks, that looked, for all their size, much farther away +than the stars of the peopled places. Their light seemed caught and +held in aerial gulfs above the earth, making the heavens clear, while +the night clung close and undisturbed to the plain's face. Once from +afar the cry of an animal arose, a long, swelling howl, but around the +train all was still save for the crackling of the crushed sage stalks, +and the pad of hoofs. + +It was near midnight when Susan's voice summoned Daddy John. The wagon +halted, and she beckoned him with a summoning arm. He ran to her, +circling the bushes with a youth's alertness, and stretched up to hear +her as she bent from the saddle. David must go in the wagon, he was +unable to ride longer. The old man swept him with a look of +inspection. The starlight showed a drooping figure, the face hidden by +the shadow of his hat brim. The mules were at the limit of their +strength, and the old man demurred, swearing under his breath and +biting his nails. + +"You've got to take him," she said, "if it kills them. He would have +fallen off a minute ago if I hadn't put my arm around him." + +"Come on, then," he answered with a surly look at David. "Come on and +ride, while the rest of us get along the best way we can." + +"He can't help it," she urged in an angry whisper. "You talk as if he +was doing it on purpose." + +David slid off his horse and made for the wagon with reeling steps. +The other man followed muttering. + +"Help him," she called. "Don't you see he can hardly stand?" + +At the wagon wheel Daddy John hoisted him in with vigorous and ungentle +hands. Crawling into the back the sick man fell prone with a groan. +Courant, who had heard them and turned to watch, came riding up. + +"What is it?" he said sharply. "The mules given out?" + +"Not they," snorted Daddy John, at once all belligerent loyalty to +Julia and her mates, "it's this d--d cry baby again," and he picked up +the reins exclaiming in tones of fond urgence: + +"Come now, off again. Keep up your hearts There's water and grass +ahead. Up there, Julia, honey!" + +The long team, crouching in the effort to start the wagon, heaved it +forward, and the old man, leaping over the broken sage, kept the pace +beside them. Courant, a few feet in advance, said over his shoulder: + +"What's wrong with him now?" + +"Oh, played out, I guess. She," with a backward jerk of his head, +"won't have it any other way. No good telling her it's nerve not body +that he ain't got." + +The mountain man looked back toward the pathway between the slashed and +broken bushes. He could see Susan's solitary figure, David's horse +following. + +"What's _she_ mind for?" he said. + +"Because she's a woman and they're made that way. She's more set on +that chump than she'd be on the finest man you could bring her if you +hunted the world over for him." + +They fared on in silence, the soft soil muffling their steps. The +wagon lurched on a hummock and David groaned. + +"Are you meaning she cares for him?" asked Courant. + +"All her might," answered the old man. "Ain't she goin' to marry the +varmint?" + +It was an hour for understanding, no matter how bitter. Daddy John's +own dejection made him unsparing. He offered his next words as +confirmation of a condition that he thought would kill all hope in the +heart of the leader. + +"Last night he made her get him water--the store we had left if you +hadn't found any. Twict in the night while I was asleep she took and +gave it to him. Then when I found it out she let me think she took it +for herself," he spat despondently. "She the same as lied for him. I +don't want to hear no more after that." + +The mountain man rode with downdrooped head. Daddy John, who did not +know what he did, might well come to such conclusions. _He_ knew the +secret of the girl's contradictory actions. He looked into her +perturbed spirit and saw how desperately she clung to the letter of her +obligation, while she repudiated the spirit. Understanding her +solicitude for David, he knew that it was strengthened by the +consciousness of her disloyalty. But he felt no tenderness for these +distracted feminine waverings. It exhilarated him to think that while +she held to the betrothed of her father's choice and the bond of her +given word, her hold would loosen at his wish. As he had felt toward +enemies that he had conquered--crushed and subjected by his will--he +felt toward her. It was a crowning joy to know that he could make her +break her promise, turn her from her course of desperate fidelity, and +make her his own, not against her inclination, but against her pity, +her honor, her conscience. + +The spoor left by his horse the night before was clear in the +starlight. He told Daddy John to follow it and drew up beside the +track to let the wagon pass him. Motionless he watched the girl's +approaching figure, and saw her rein her horse to a standstill. + +"Come on," he said softly. "I want to speak to you." + +She touched the horse and it started toward him. As she came nearer he +could see the troubled shine of her eyes. + +"Why are you afraid?" he said, as he fell into place beside her. +"We're friends now." + +She made no answer, her head bent till her face was hidden by her hat. +He laid his hand on her rein and brought the animal to a halt. + +"Let the wagon get on ahead," he whispered. "We'll follow at a +distance." + +The whisper, so low that the silence was unbroken by it, came to her, a +clear sound carrying with it a thrill of understanding. She trembled +and--his arm against hers as his hand held her rein--he felt the +subdued vibration like the quivering of a frightened animal. The wagon +lumbered away with the sifting dust gushing from the wheels. A stirred +cloud rose upon its wake and they could feel it thick and stifling in +their nostrils. She watched the receding arch cut down the back by the +crack in the closed canvas, while he watched her. The sound of crushed +twigs and straining wheels lessened, the stillness gathered between +these noises of laboring life and the two mounted figures. As it +settled each could hear the other's breathing and feel a mutual throb, +as though the same leaping artery fed them both. In the blue night +encircled by the waste, they were as still as vessels balanced to a +hair in which passion brimmed to the edge. + +"Come on," she said huskily, and twitched her reins from his hold. + +The horses started, walking slowly. A strip of mangled sage lay in +front, back of them the heavens hung, a star-strewn curtain. It seemed +to the man and woman that they were the only living things in the +world, its people, its sounds, its interests, were in some undescried +distance where life progressed with languid pulses. How long the +silence lasted neither knew. He broke it with a whisper: + +"Why did you get David the water last night?" + +Her answer came so low he had to bend to hear it. + +"He wanted it. I had to." + +"Why do you give him all he asks for? David is nothing to you." + +This time no answer came, and he stretched his hand and clasped the +pommel of her saddle. The horses, feeling the pull of the powerful +arm, drew together. His knee pressed on the shoulder of her pony, and +feeling him almost against her she bent sideways, flinching from the +contact. + +"Why do you shrink from me, Missy?" + +"I'm afraid," she whispered. + +They paced on for a moment in silence. When he tried to speak his lips +were stiff, and he moistened them to murmur: + +"Of what?" + +She shrunk still further and raised a hand between them. He snatched +at it, pulling it down, saying hoarsely: + +"Of me?" + +"Of something--I don't know what. Of something terrible and strange." + +She tried to strike at her horse with the reins, but the man's hand +dropped like a hawk on the pommel and drew the tired animal back to the +foot pace. + +"If you love me there's no need of fear," he said, then waited, the +sound of her terrified breathing like the beating of waves in his ears, +and murmured lower than before, "And you love me. I know it." + +Her face showed in dark profile against the deep sky. He stared at it, +then suddenly set his teeth and gave the pommel a violent jerk that +made the horse stagger and grind against its companion. The creaking +of the wagon came faint from a wake of shadowy trail. + +"You've done it for weeks. Before you knew. Before you lied to your +father when he tried to make you marry David." + +She dropped the reins and clinched her hands against her breast, a +movement of repression and also of pleading to anything that would +protect her, any force that would give her strength to fight, not the +man alone, but herself. But the will was not within her. The desert +grew dim, the faint sounds from the wagon faded. Like a charmed bird, +staring straight before it, mute and enthralled, she rocked lightly to +left and right, and then swayed toward him. + +The horse, feeling the dropped rein, stopped, jerking its neck forward +in the luxury of rest, its companion coming to a standstill beside it. +Courant raised himself in his saddle and gathered her in an embrace +that crushed her against his bony frame, then pressed against her face +with his, till he pushed it upward and could see it, white, with closed +eyes, on his shoulder. He bent till his long hair mingled with hers +and laid his lips on her mouth with the clutch of a bee on a flower. + +They stood a compact silhouette, clear in the luminous starlight. The +crack in the canvas that covered the wagon back widened and the eye +that had been watching them, stared bright and wide, as if all the life +of the feeble body had concentrated in that one organ of sense. The +hands, damp and trembling, drew the canvas edges closer, but left space +enough for the eye to dwell on this vision of a shattered world. It +continued to gaze as Susan slid from the encircling arms, dropped from +her horse, and came running forward, stumbling on the fallen bushes, as +she ran panting out the old servant's name. Then it went back to the +mountain man, a black shape in the loneliness of the night. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A slowly lightening sky, beneath it the transparent sapphire of the +desert wakening to the dawn, and cutting the blue expanse the line of +the new trail. A long butte, a bristling outline on the paling north, +ran out from a crumpled clustering of hills, and the road bent to meet +it. The air came from it touched with a cooling freshness, and as they +pressed toward it they saw the small, swift shine of water, a little +pool, grass-ringed, with silver threads creeping to the sands. + +They drank and then slept, sinking to oblivion as they dropped on the +ground, not waiting to undo their blankets or pick out comfortable +spots. The sun, lifting a bright eye above the earth's rim, shot its +long beams over their motionless figures, "bundles of life," alone in a +lifeless world. + +David alone could not rest. Withdrawn from the others he lay in the +shadow of the wagon, watching small points in the distance with a +glance that saw nothing. All sense of pain and weakness had left him. +Physically he felt strangely light and free of sensation. With his +brain endowed with an abnormal activity he suffered an agony of spirit +so poignant that there were moments when he drew back and looked at +himself wondering how he endured it. He was suddenly broken away from +everything cherished and desirable in life. The bare and heart-rending +earth about him was as the expression of his ruined hopes. And after +these submergences in despair a tide of questions carried him to +livelier torment: Why had she done it? What had changed her? When had +she ceased to care? + +All his deadened manhood revived. He wanted her, he owned her, she was +his. Sick and unable to fight for her she had been stolen from him, +and he writhed in spasms of self pity at the thought of the cruelty of +it. How could he, disabled, broken by unaccustomed hardships, cope +with the iron-fibered man whose body and spirit were at one with these +harsh settings? _He_ was unfitted for it, for the heroic struggle, for +the battle man to man for a woman as men had fought in the world's dawn +into which they had retraced their steps. He could not make himself +over, become another being to appeal to a sense in her he had never +touched. He could only plead with her, beg mercy of her, and he saw +that these were not the means that won women grown half savage in +correspondence with a savage environment. + +Then came moments of exhaustion when he could not believe it. Closing +his eyes he called up the placid life that was to have been his and +Susan's, and could not think but that it still must be. Like a child +he clung to his hope, to the belief that something would intervene and +give her back to him; not he, he was unable to, but something that +stood for justice and mercy. All his life he had abided by the law, +walked uprightly, done his best. Was he to be smitten now through no +fault of his own? It was all a horrible dream, and presently there +would be an awakening with Susan beside him as she had been in the +first calm weeks of their betrothal. The sweetness of those days +returned to him with the intolerable pang of a fair time, long past and +never to come again. He threw his head back as if in a paroxysm of +pain. It could not be and yet in his heart he knew it was true. In +the grip of his torment he thought of the God that watching over Israel +slumbered not nor slept. With his eyes on the implacable sky he tried +to pray, tried to drag down from the empty gulf of air the help that +would bring back his lost happiness. + +At Susan's first waking movement he started and turned his head toward +her. She saw him, averted her face, and began the preparations for the +meal. He lay watching her and he knew that her avoidance of his glance +was intentional. He also saw that her manner of preoccupied bustle was +affected. She was pale, her face set in hard lines. When she spoke +once to Daddy John her voice was unlike itself, hoarse and throaty, its +mellow music gone. + +They gathered and took their places in silence, save for the old man, +who tried to talk, but meeting no response gave it up. Between the +three others not a word was exchanged. A stifling oppression lay on +them, and they did not dare to look at one another. The girl found it +impossible to swallow and taking a piece of biscuit from her mouth +threw it into the sand. + +The air was sultry, light whisps of mist lying low over the plain. The +weight of these vaporous films seemed to rest on them heavy as the +weight of water, and before the meal was finished, Susan, overborne by +a growing dread and premonition of tragedy, rose and left her place, +disappearing round a buttress of the rock. Courant stopped eating and +looked after her, his head slowly moving as his eye followed her. To +anyone watching it would have been easy to read this pursuing glance, +the look of the hunter on his quarry. David saw it and rose to his +knees. A rifle lay within arm's reach, and for one furious moment he +felt an impulse to snatch it and kill the man. But a rush of +inhibiting instinct checked him. Had death or violence menaced her he +could have done it, but without the incentive of the immediate horror +he could never rise so far beyond himself. + +Susan climbed the rock's side to a plateau on its western face. The +sun beat on her like a furnace mouth. Here and there black filigrees +of shade shrank to the bases of splintered ledges. Below the plain lay +outflung in the stupor of midday. On its verge the mountains +stretched, a bright blue, shadowless film. A mirage trembled to the +south, a glassy vision, crystal clear amid the chalky streakings and +the rings of parched and blanching sinks. Across the prospect the +faint, unfamiliar mist hung as if, in the torrid temperature, the earth +was steaming. + +She sat down on a shelf of rock not feeling the burning sunshine or the +heat that the baked ledges threw back upon her. The life within her +was so intense that no impressions from the outside could enter, even +her eyes took in no image of the prospect they dwelt on. Courant's +kiss had brought her to a place toward which, she now realized, she had +been moving for a long time, advancing upon it, unknowing, but impelled +like a somnambulist willed toward a given goal. What was to happen she +did not know. She felt a dread so heavy that it crushed all else from +her mind. They had reached a crisis where everything had stopped, a +dark and baleful focus to which all that had gone before had been +slowly converging. The whole journey had been leading to this climax +of suspended breath and fearful, inner waiting. + +She heard the scraping of ascending feet, and when she saw David stared +at him, her eyes unblinking in stony expectancy. He came and stood +before her, and she knew that at last he had guessed, and felt no fear, +no resistance against the explanation that must come. He suddenly had +lost all significance, was hardly a human organism, or if a human +organism, one that had no relation to her. Neither spoke for some +minutes. He was afraid, and she waited, knowing what he was going to +say, wishing it was said, and the hampering persistence of his claim +was ended. + +At length he said tremulously: + +"Susan, I saw you last night. What did you do it for? What am I to +think?" + +That he had had proof of her disloyalty relieved her. There would be +less to say in this settling of accounts. + +"Well," she answered, looking into his eyes. "You saw!" + +He cried desperately, "I saw him kiss you. You let him. What did it +mean?" + +"Why do you ask? If you saw you know." + +"I don't know. I want to know. Tell me, explain to me." He paused, +and then cried with a pitiful note of pleading, "Tell me it wasn't so. +Tell me I made a mistake." + +He was willing, anxious, for her to lie. Against the evidence of his +own senses he would have made himself believe her, drugged his pain +with her falsehoods. What remnant of consideration she had vanished. + +"You made no mistake," she answered. "It was as you saw." + +"I don't believe it. I can't. You wouldn't have done it. It's I +you're promised to. Haven't I your word? Haven't you been kind as an +angel to me when the others would have let me die out here like a dog? +What did you do it for if you didn't care?" + +"I was sorry," and then with cold, measured slowness, "and I felt +guilty." + +"That's it--you felt guilty. It's not your doing. You've been led +away. While I've been sick that devil's been poisoning you against me. +He's tried to steal you from me. But you're not the girl to let him do +that. You'll come back to me--the man that you belong to, that's loved +you since the day we started." + +To her at this naked hour, where nothing lived but the truth, the +thought that he would take her back with the other man's kisses on her +lips, made her unsparing. She drew back from him, stiffening in +shocked repugnance, and speaking with the same chill deliberation. + +"I'll never come back to you. It's all over, that love with you. I +didn't know. I didn't feel. I was a child with no sense of what she +was doing. Now everything's different. It's he I must go with and be +with as long as I live." + +The hideousness of the discovery had been made the night before. Had +her words been his first intimation they might have shocked him into +stupefied dumbness and made him seem the hero who meets his fate with +closed lips. But hours long he had brooded and knew her severance from +him had taken place. With the mad insistance of a thought whirling on +in fevered repetition he had told himself that he must win her back, +urge, struggle, plead, till he had got her where she was before or lose +her forever. + +"You can't. You can't do it. It's a temporary thing. It's the desert +and the wildness and because he could ride and get water and find the +trail. In California it will be different. Out there it'll be the +same as it used to be back in the States. You'll think of this as +something unreal that never happened and your feeling for him--it'll +all go. When we get where it's civilized you'll be like you were when +we started. You couldn't have loved a savage like that then. Well, +you won't when you get where you belong. It's horrible. It's +unnatural." + +She shook her head, glanced at him and glanced away. The sweat was +pouring off his face and his lips quivered like a weeping child's. + +"Oh, David," she said with a deep breath like a groan, "_this_ is +natural for me. The other was not." + +"You don't know what you're saying. And how about your promise? _You_ +gave that of your own free will. Was it a thing you give and take back +whenever you please? What would your father think of your breaking +your word--throwing me off for a man no better than a half-blood +Indian? Is that your honor?" Then he was suddenly fearful that he had +said too much and hurt his case, and he dropped to a wild pleading: +"Oh, Susan, you can't, you can't. You haven't got the heart to treat +me so." + +She looked down not answering, but her silence gave no indication of a +softened response. He seemed to throw himself upon its hardness in +hopeless desperation. + +"Send him away. He needn't go on with us. Tell him to go back to the +Fort." + +"Where would we be now without him?" she said and smiled grimly at the +thought of their recent perils with the leader absent. + +"We're on the main trail. We don't need him now. I heard him say +yesterday to Daddy John we'd be in Humboldt in three or four days. We +can go on without him, there's no more danger." + +She smiled again, a slight flicker of one corner of her mouth. The +dangers were over and Courant could be safely dispensed with. + +"He'll go on with us," she said. + +"It's not necessary. We don't want him. I'll guide. I'll help. If +he was gone I'd be all right again. Daddy John and I are enough. If I +can get you back as you were before, we'll be happy again, and I _can_ +get you back if he goes." + +"You'll never get me back," she answered, and rising moved away from +him, aloof and hostile in the deepest of all aversions, the woman to +the unloved and urgent suitor. He followed her and caught at her dress. + +"Don't go. Don't leave me this way. I can't believe it. I can't +stand it. If I hadn't grown into thinking you were going to be my wife +maybe I could. But it's just unbearable when I'd got used to looking +upon you as mine, almost as good as married to me. You can't do it. +You can't make me suffer this way." + +His complete abandonment filled her with pain, the first relenting she +had had. She could not look at him and longed to escape. She tried to +draw her dress from his hands, saying: + +"Oh, David, don't say any more. There's no good. It's over. It's +ended. I can't help it. It's something stronger than I am." + +He saw the repugnance in her face and loosened his hold, dropping back +from her. + +"It's the end of my life," he said in a muffled voice. + +"I feel as if it was the end of the world," she answered, and going to +the pathway disappeared over its edge. + +She walked back skirting the rock's bulk till she found a break in its +side, a small gorge shadowed by high walls. The cleft penetrated deep, +its mouth open to the sky, its apex a chamber over which the cloven +walls slanted like hands with finger tips touching in prayer. It was +dark in this interior space, the floor mottled with gleaming sun-spots. +Across the wider opening, unroofed to the pale blue of the zenith, the +first slow shade was stretching, a creeping gray coolness, encroaching +on the burning ground. Here she threw herself down, looking out +through the entrance at the desert shimmering through the heat haze. +The mist wreaths were dissolving, every line and color glassily clear. +Her eyes rested vacantly on it, her body inert, her heart as heavy as a +stone. + +David made no movement to follow her. He had clung to his hope with +the desperation of a weak nature, but it was ended now. No +interference, no miracle, could restore her to him. He saw--he had to +see--that she was lost to him as completely as if death had claimed +her. More completely, for death would have made her a stranger. Now +it was the Susan he had loved who had looked at him with eyes not even +indifferent but charged with a hard hostility. She was the same and +yet how different! Hopeless!--Hopeless! He wondered if the word had +ever before voiced so abject a despair. + +He turned to the back of the plateau and saw the faint semblance of a +path leading upward to higher levels, a trail worn by the feet of other +emigrants who had climbed to scan with longing eyes the weary way to +the land of their desire. As he walked up it and the prospect widened +on his sight, its message came, clearer with every mounting step. Thus +forever would he look out on a blasted world uncheered by sound or +color. The stillness that lapped him round was as the stillness of his +own dead heart. The mirage quivered brilliant in the distance, and he +paused, a solitary shape against the exhausted sky, to think that his +dream of love had had no more reality. Beautiful and alluring it had +floated in his mind, an illusion without truth or substance. + +He reached the higher elevation, barren and iron hard, the stone hot to +his feet. On three sides the desert swept out to the horizon, held in +its awful silence. Across it, a white seam, the Emigrant Trail wound, +splindling away into the west, a line of tortuous curves, a loop, a +straight streak, and then a tiny thread always pressing on to that +wonderful land which he had once seen as a glowing rim on the world's +remotest verge. It typified the dauntless effort of man, never +flagging, never broken, persisting to its goal. He had not been able +to thus persist, the spirit had not reached far enough to know its aim +and grasp it. He knew his weakness, his incapacity to cope with the +larger odds of life, a watcher not an actor in the battle, and +understanding that his failure had come from his own inadequacy he +wished that he might die. + +On one side the eminence broke away in a sheer fall to the earth below. +At its base a scattering of sundered bowlders and fragments lay, veiled +by a growth of small, bushy shrubs to which a spring gave nourishment. +Behind this the long spine of the rock tapered back to the parent ridge +that ran, a bristling rampart, east and west. He sat down on the edge +of the precipice watching the trail. He had no idea how long he +remained thus. A shadow falling across him brought him back to life. +He turned and saw Courant standing a few feet from him. + +Without speech or movement they eyed one another. In his heart each +hated the other, but in David the hate had come suddenly, the hysteric +growth of a night's anguish. The mountain man's was tempered by a +process of slow-firing to a steely inflexibility. He hated David that +he had ever been his rival, that he had ever thought to lay claim to +the woman who was his, that he had ever aspired to her, touched her, +desired her. He hated him when he saw that, all unconsciously, he had +still a power to hold her from the way her passion led. And back of +all was the ancient hatred, the heritage from ages lost in the +beginnings of the race, man's of man in the struggle for a woman. + +David rose from his crouching posture to his knees. The other, all his +savage instincts primed for onslaught, saw menace in the movement, and +stood braced and ready. Like Susan he understood that David had +guessed the secret. He could judge him only by his own measure, and he +knew the settling of the score had come. There was no right or justice +in his claim, only the right of the stronger to win what he wanted, but +that to him was the supreme right. + +David's sick fury shot up into living flame. He judged Susan innocent, +a tool in ruthless hands. He saw the destroyer of their lives, a devil +who had worked subtly for his despoilment. The air grew dark and in +the center of the darkness, his hate concentrated on the watching face, +and an impulse, the strongest of his life, nerved him with the force to +kill. For once he broke beyond himself, rose outside the restrictions +that had held him cowering within his sensitive shell. His rage had +the vehemence of a distracted woman's, and he threw himself upon his +enemy, inadequate now as always, but at last unaware and unconscious. + +They clutched and rocked together. From the moment of the grapple it +was unequal--a sick and wounded creature struggling in arms that were +as iron bands about his puny frame. But as a furious child fights for +a moment successfully with its enraged elder, he tore and beat at his +opponent, striking blindly at the face he loathed, writhing in the grip +that bent his body and sent the air in sobbing gasps from his lungs. +Their trampling was muffled on the stone, their shadows leaped in +contorted waverings out from their feet and back again. Broken and +twisted in Courant's arms, David felt no pain only the blind hate, saw +the livid plain heaving about him, the white ball of the sun, and +twisting through the reeling distance the pale thread of the Emigrant +Trail, glancing across his ensanguined vision like a shuttle weaving +through a blood-red loom. + +They staggered to the edge of the plateau and there hung. It was only +for a moment, a last moment of strained and swaying balance. Courant +felt the body against his weaken, wrenched himself free, and with a +driving blow sent it outward over the precipice. It fell with the arms +flung wide, the head dropped backward, and from the open mouth a cry +broke, a shrill and dreadful sound that struck sharp on the plain's +abstracted silence, spread and quivered across its surface like +widening rings on the waters of a pool. The mountain man threw himself +on the edge and looked down. The figure lay limp among the bushes +thirty feet below. He watched it, his body still as a panther's +crouched for a spring. He saw one of the hands twitch, a loosened +sliver of slate slide from the wall, and cannoning on projections, leap +down and bury itself in the outflung hair. The face looking up at him +with half-shut eyes that did not wink as the rock dust sifted into +them, was terrible, but he felt no sensation save a grim curiosity. + +He stole down a narrow gulley and crept with stealthy feet and +steadying hands toward the still shape. The shadows were cool down +there, and as he touched the face its warmth shocked him. It should +have been cold to have matched its look and the hush of the place. He +thrust his hand inside the shirt and felt at the heart. No throb rose +under his palm, and he sent it sliding over the upper part of the body, +limp now, but which he knew would soon be stiffening. The man was dead. + +Courant straightened himself and sent a rapid glance about him. The +bushes among which the body lay were close matted in a thick screen. +Through their roots the small trickle of the spring percolated, +stealing its way to the parched sands outside. It made a continuous +murmuring, as if nature was lifting a voice of low, insistent protest +against the desecration of her peace. + +The man standing with stilled breath and rigid muscles listened for +other sounds. Reassured that there were none, his look swept right and +left for a spot wherein to hide the thing that lay at his feet. At its +base the rock wall slanted outward leaving a hollow beneath its eave +where the thin veneer of water gleamed from the shadows. He took the +dead man under the arms and dragged him to it, careful of branches that +might snap under his foot, pausing to let the echoes of rolling stones +die away--a figure of fierce vitality with the long, limp body hanging +from his hands. At the rock he crouched and thrust his burden under +the wall's protecting cope, the trickle of the water dying into a +sudden, scared silence. Stepping back he brushed the bushes into +shape, hiding their breakage, and bent to gather the scattered leaves +and crush them into crevices. When it was done the place showed no +sign of the intruder, only the whispering of the streamlet told that +its course was changed and it was feeling for a new channel. + +Then he crept softly out to the plain's edge where the sunlight lay +long and bright. It touched his face and showed it white, with lips +close set and eyes gleaming like crystals. He skirted the rock, making +a soft, quick way to where the camp lay. Here the animals stood, heads +drooped as they cropped the herbage round the spring. Daddy John sat +in the shade of the wagon, tranquilly cleaning a gun. The mountain +man's passage was so soundless that he did not hear it. The animals +raised slow eyes to the moving figure, then dropped them indifferently. +He passed them, his step growing lighter, changing as he withdrew from +the old man's line of vision, to a long, rapid glide. His blood-shot +eyes nursed the extending buttresses, and as he came round them, with +craned neck and body reaching forward, they sent a glance into each +recess that leaped round it like a flame. + +Susan had remained in the same place. She made no note of the passage +of time, but the sky between the walls was growing deeper in color, the +shadows lengthening along the ground. She was lying on her side +looking out through the rift's opening when Courant stood there. He +made an instant's pause, a moment when his breath caught deep, and, +seeing him, she started to her knees with a blanching face. As he came +upon her she held out her hands, crying in uprising notes of terror, +"No! No! No!" But he gathered her in his arms, stilled her cries +with his kisses, and bending low carried her back into the darkened +cavern over which the rocks closed like hands uplifted in prayer. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Till the afternoon of the next day they held the train for David. When +evening fell and he did not come Daddy John climbed the plateau and +kindled a beacon fire that threw its flames against the stars. Then he +took his rifle and skirted the rock's looming bulk, shattering the +stillness with reports that let loose a shivering flight of echoes. +All night they sat by the fire listening and waiting. As the hours +passed their alarm grew and their speculations became gloomier and more +sinister. Courant was the only one who had a plausible theory. The +moving sparks on the mountains showed that the Indians were still +following them and it was his opinion that David had strayed afar and +been caught by a foraging party. It was not a matter for desperate +alarm as the Diggers were harmless and David would no doubt escape from +them and join a later train. This view offered the only possible +explanation. It was Courant's opinion and so it carried with the other +two. + +Early in the evening the girl had shown no interest. Sitting back from +the firelight, a shawl over her head, she seemed untouched by the +anxiety that prompted the old man's restless rovings. As the night +deepened Daddy John had come back to Courant who was near her. He +spoke his fears low, for he did not want to worry her. Glancing to see +if she had heard him, he was struck by the brooding expression of her +face, white between the shawl folds. He nodded cheerily at her but her +eyes showed no responsive gleam, dwelling on him wide and unseeing. As +he moved away he heard her burst into sudden tears, such tears as she +had shed at the Fort, and turning back with arms ready for her +comforting, saw her throw herself against Courant's knees, her face +buried in the folds of her shawl. He stood arrested, amazed not so +much by the outburst as by the fact that it was to Courant she had +turned and not to him. But when he spoke to her she drew the shawl +tighter over her head and pressed her face against the mountain man's +knees. Daddy John had no explanation of her conduct but that she had +been secretly fearful about David and had turned for consolation to the +human being nearest her. + +The next day her anxiety was so sharp that she could not eat and the +men grew accustomed to the sight of her mounted on the rock's summit, +or walking slowly along the trail searching with untiring eyes. When +alone with her lover he kissed and caressed her fears into abeyance. +As he soothed her, clasped close against him, her terrors gradually +subsided, sinking to a quiescence that came, not alone from his calm +and practical reassurances, but from the power of his presence to drug +her reason and banish all thoughts save those of him. He wanted her +mind free of the dead man, wanted him eliminated from her imagination. +The spiritual image of David must fade from her thoughts as his +corporeal part would soon fade in the desiccating desert airs. Alone +by the spring, held against Courant's side by an arm that trembled with +a passion she still only half understood, she told him of her last +interview with David. In an agony of self-accusation she whispered: + +"Oh, Low, could he have killed himself?" + +"Where?" said the man. "Haven't we searched every hole and corner of +the place? He couldn't have hidden his own body." + +The only evidence that some mishap had befallen David was Daddy John's, +who, on the afternoon of the day of the disappearance had heard a cry, +a single sound, long and wild. It had seemed to come from the crest of +the rock, and the old man had listened and hearing no more had thought +it the yell of some animal far on the mountains. This gave color to +Courant's theory that the lost man had been seized by the Diggers. +Borne away along the summit of the ridge he would have shouted to them +and in that dry air the sound would have carried far. He could have +been overpowered without difficulty, weakened by illness and carrying +no arms. + +They spent the morning in a fruitless search and in the afternoon +Courant insisted on the train moving on. They cached provisions by the +spring and scratched an arrow on the rock pointing their way, and +underneath it the first letters of their names. It was useless, the +leader said, to leave anything in the form of a letter. As soon as +their dust was moving on the trail the Diggers would sweep down on the +camp and carry away every scrap of rag and bone that was there. This +was why he overrode Susan's plea to leave David's horse. Why present +to the Indians a horse when they had only sufficient for themselves? +She wrung her hands at the grewsome picture of David escaping and +stealing back to find a deserted camp. But Courant was inexorable and +the catching-up went forward with grim speed. + +She and the old man were dumb with depression as the train rolled out. +To them the desertion seemed an act of appalling heartlessness. But +the mountain man had overcome Daddy John's scruples by a picture of +their own fate if they delayed and were caught in the early snows of +the Sierras. The girl could do nothing but trust in the word that was +already law to her. He rode beside her murmuring reassurances and +watching her pale profile. Her head hung low on her breast, her hat +casting a slant of shadow to her chin. Her eyes looked gloomily +forward, sometimes as his words touched a latent chord of hope, turning +quickly upon him and enveloping him in a look of pathetic trust. + +At the evening halt she ate nothing, sitting in a muse against the +wagon wheel. Presently she put her plate down and, mounting on the +axle, scanned the way they had come. She could see the rock, rising +like the clumsy form of a dismantled galleon from the waters of a +darkling sea. For a space she stood, her hand arched above her eyes, +then snatched the kerchief from her neck and, straining an arm aloft, +waved it. The white and scarlet rag flapped with a languid motion, an +infinitesimal flutter between the blaze of the sky and the purpling +levels of the earth. Her arm dropped, her signal fallen futile on the +plain's ironic indifference. + +During the next day's march she constantly looked back, and several +times halted, her hand demanding silence as if she were listening for +pursuing footsteps. Courant hid a growing irritation, which once +escaped him in a query as to whether she thought David, if he got away +from the Indians, could possibly catch them up. She answered that if +he had escaped with a horse he might, and fell again to her listening +and watching. At the night camp she ordered Daddy John to build the +beacon fire higher than ever, and taking a rifle moved along the +outskirts of the light firing into the darkness. Finally, standing +with the gun caught in the crook of her arm, she sent up a shrill call +of "David." The cry fell into the silence, cleaving it with a note of +wild and haunting appeal. Courant went after her and brought her back. +When they returned to the fire the old man, who was busy with the +cooking, looked up to speak but instead gazed in silence, caught by +something unusual in their aspect, revivifying, illuminating, like the +radiance of an inner glow. It glorified the squalor of their clothing, +the drawn fatigue of their faces. It gave them the fleeting glamour of +spiritual beauty that comes to those in whom being has reached its +highest expression, the perfect moment of completion caught amid life's +incompleteness. + +In the following days she moved as if the dust cloud that inclosed her +was an impenetrable medium that interposed itself between her and the +weird setting of the way. She was drugged with the wine of a new life. +She did not think of sin, of herself in relation to her past, of the +breaking with every tie that held her to her old self. All her +background was gone. Her conscience that, in her dealings with David, +had been so persistently lively, now, when it came to herself, was +dead. Question of right or wrong, secret communings, self judgment, +had no place in the exaltation of her mood. To look at her conduct and +reason of it, to do anything but feel, was as impossible for her as it +would have been to disengage her senses from their tranced +concentration and restore them to the composed serenity of the past. + +It was not the sudden crumbling of a character, the collapse of a +structure reared on a foundation of careful training. It was a logical +growth, forced by the developing process of an environment with which +that character was in harmony. Before she reached the level where she +could surrender herself, forgetful of the rites imposed by law, +unshocked by her lover's brutality, she had been losing every ingrafted +and inherited modification that had united her with the world in which +she had been an exotic. The trials of the trail that would have dried +the soul and broken the mettle of a girl whose womanhood was less rich, +drew from hers the full measure of its strength. Every day had made +her less a being of calculated, artificial reserves, of inculcated +modesties, and more a human animal, governed by instincts that belonged +to her age and sex. She was normal and chaste and her chastity had +made her shrink from the man whose touch left her cold, and yield to +the one to whom her first antagonism had been first response. When she +had given Courant her kiss she had given herself. There was no need +for intermediary courtship. After that vacillations of doubt and +conscience ended. The law of her being was all that remained. + +She moved on with the men, dust-grimed, her rags held together with +pins and lacings of deer hide. She performed her share of the work +with automatic thoroughness, eating when the hour came, sleeping on the +ground under the stars, staggering up in the deep-blue dawn and +buckling her horse's harness with fingers that fatigue made clumsy. +She was more silent than ever before, often when the old man addressed +her making no reply. He set down her abstraction to grief over David. +When he tried to cheer her, her absorbed preoccupation gave place to +the old restlessness, and once again she watched and listened. These +were her only moods--periods of musing when she rode in front of the +wagon with vacant eyes fixed on the winding seam of the trail, and +periods of nervous agitation when she turned in her saddle to sweep the +road behind her and ordered him to build the night fire high and bright. + +The old servant was puzzled. Something foreign in her, an inner +vividness of life, a deeper current of vitality, told him that this was +not a woman preyed upon by a gnawing grief. He noted, without +understanding, a change in her bearing to Courant and his to her. +Without words to give it expression he saw in her attitude to the +leader a pliant, docile softness, a surreptitious leap of light in the +glance that fell upon him in quick welcome before her lids shut it in. +With Courant the change showed in a possessive tenderness, a brooding +concern. When, at the morning start, he waited as she rode toward him, +his face was irradiated with a look that made the old man remember the +dead loves of his youth. It was going to be all right Daddy John +thought. David gone, whether forever or for an unknown period, the +mountain man might yet win her. And then again the old man fell a +wondering at something in them that did not suggest the unassured +beginnings of courtship, a settled security of relation as of complete +unity in a mutual enterprise. + +One afternoon a faint spot of green rose and lingered on the horizon. +They thought it a mirage and watched it with eyes grown weary of the +desert's delusions. But as the road bore toward it, it steadied to +their anxious gaze, expanded into a patch that lay a living touch on +the earth's dead face. By the time that dusk gathered they saw that it +was trees and knew that Humboldt was in sight. At nightfall they +reached it, the first outpost sent into the wilderness by the new +country. The red light of fires came through the dusk like a welcoming +hail from that unknown land which was to be theirs. After supper Daddy +John and Courant left the girl and went to the mud house round which +the camps clustered. The darkness was diluted by the red glow of fires +and astir with dusky figures. There were trains for California and +Oregon and men from the waste lands to the eastward and the south, +flotsam and jetsam thrown up on the desert's shore. Inside, where the +air was thick with smoke and the reek of raw liquors, they heard again +the great news from California. The old man, determined to get all the +information he could, moved from group to group, an observant listener +in the hubbub. Presently his ear was caught by a man who declared he +had been on the gold river and was holding a circle in thrall by his +tales. Daddy John turned to beckon to Courant and, not seeing him, +elbowed his way through the throng spying to right and left. But the +mountain man had gone. Daddy John went back to the gold seeker and +drew him dry of information, then foregathered with a thin individual +who had a humorous eye and was looking on from a corner. This stranger +introduced himself as a clergyman, returning from the East to Oregon by +way of California. They talked together. Daddy John finding his new +acquaintance a tolerant cheery person versed in the lore of the trail. +The man gave him many useful suggestions for the last lap of the +journey and he decided to go after Courant, to whom the route over the +Sierra was unknown ground. + +The camps had sunk to silence, the women and children asleep. He +skirted their tents, bending his course to where he saw the hood of his +own wagon and the shadowy forms of Julia and her mates. The fire still +burned bright and on its farther side he could make out the figures of +Susan and Courant seated on the ground. They were quiet, the girl +sitting with her feet tucked under her, idly throwing scraps of sage on +the blaze. He was about to hail Courant when he saw him suddenly drop +to a reclining posture beside her, draw himself along the earth and +curl about her, his elbow on the ground, his head propped on a +sustaining hand. With the other he reached forward, caught Susan's and +drawing it toward him pressed it against his cheek. Daddy John watched +the sacrilegious act with starting eyes. He would have burst in upon +them had he not seen the girl's shy smile, and her body gently droop +forward till her lips rested on the mountain man's. When she drew back +the old servant came forward into the light. Its reflection hid his +pallor, but his heart was thumping like a hammer and his throat was +dry, for suddenly he understood. At his step Susan drew away from her +companion and looked at the advancing shape with eyes darkly soft as +those of an antelope. + +"Where have you been?" she said. "You were a long time away." + +"In the mud house," said Daddy John. + +"Did you find anyone interesting there?" + +"Yes. When I was talkin' with him I didn't know he was so powerful +interestin', but sence I come out o' there I've decided he was." + +They both looked at him without much show of curiosity, merely, he +guessed, that they might not look at each other and reveal their secret. + +"What was he?" asked Courant. + +"A clergyman." + +This time they both started, the girl into sudden erectness, then held +her head down as if in shame. For a sickened moment, he thought she +was afraid to look at her lover for fear of seeing refusal in his face. +Courant leaned near her and laid his hand on hers. + +"If there's a clergyman here we can be married," he said quietly. + +She drew her hand away and with its fellow covered her face. Courant +looked across the fire and said: + +"Go and get him, Daddy John. He can do the reading over us now." + + + +END OF PART IV + + + + +PART V + +The Promised Land + + +CHAPTER I + +In the light of a clear September sun they stood and looked down on +it--the Promised Land. + +For days they had been creeping up through defiles in the mountain +wall, crawling along ledges with murmurous seas of pine below and the +snow lying crisp in the hollows. On the western slope the great +bulwark dropped from granite heights to wooded ridges along the spines +of which the road wound. Through breaks in the pine's close ranks they +saw blue, vaporous distances, and on the far side of aerial chasms the +swell of other mountains, clothed to their summits, shape undulating +beyond shape. + +Then on this bright September afternoon a sun-filled pallor of empty +space shone between the tree trunks, and they had hurried to the summit +of a knoll and seen it spread beneath them--California! + +The long spurs, broken apart by ravines, wound downward to where a flat +stretch of valley ran out to a luminous horizon. It was a yellow +floor, dotted with the dark domes of trees and veined with a line of +water. The trail, a red thread, was plain along the naked ridges, and +then lost itself in the dusk of forests. Right and left summit and +slope swelled and dropped, sun-tipped, shadow filled. Slants of light, +rifts of shade, touched the crowded pine tops to gold, darkened them to +sweeps of unstirred olive. The air, softly clear, was impregnated with +a powerful aromatic scent, the strong, rich odor of the earth and its +teeming growths. It lay placid and indolent before the way-worn trio, +a new world waiting for their conquering feet. + +The girl, with a deep sigh, dropped her head upon her husband's +shoulder and closed her eyes. She weakened with the sudden promise of +rest. It was in the air, soft as a caress, in the mild, beneficent +sun, in the stillness which had nothing of the desert's sinister quiet. +Courant put his arm about her, and looking into her face, saw it drawn +and pinched, all beauty gone. Her closed eyelids were dark and seamed +with fine folds, the cheek bones showed under her skin, tanned to a dry +brown, its rich bloom withered. Round her forehead and ears her hair +hung in ragged locks, its black gloss hidden under the trail's red +dust. Even her youth had left her, she seemed double her age. It was +as if he looked at the woman she would be twenty years from now. + +Something in the sight of her, unbeautiful, enfeebled, her high spirit +dimmed, stirred in him a new, strange tenderness. His arm tightened +about her, his look lost its jealous ardor and wandering over her +blighted face, melted to a passionate concern. The appeal of her +beauty gave place to a stronger, more gripping appeal, never felt by +him before. She was no longer the creature he owned and ruled, no +longer the girl he had broken to an abject submission, but the woman he +loved. Uplifted in the sudden realization he felt the world widen +around him and saw himself another man. Then through the wonder of the +revelation came the thought of what he had done to win her. It +astonished him as a dart of pain would have done. Why had he +remembered it? Why at this rich moment should the past send out this +eerie reminder? He pushed it from him, and bending toward her murmured +a lover's phrase. + +She opened her eyes and they met an expression in his that she had felt +the need of, hoped and waited for, an answer to what she had offered +and he had not seen or wanted. It was completion, arrival at the goal, +so longed for and despaired of, and she turned her face against his +shoulder, her happiness too sacred even for his eyes. He did not +understand the action, thought her spirit languished and, pointing +outward, cried in his mounting gladness: + +"Look--that's where our home will be." + +She lifted her head and followed the directing finger. The old man +stood beside them also gazing down. + +"It's a grand sight," he said. "But it's as yellow as the desert. +Must be almighty dry." + +"There's plenty of water," said Courant. "Rivers come out of these +mountains and go down there into the plain. And they carry the gold, +the gold that's going to make us rich." + +He pressed her shoulder with his encircling arm and she answered +dreamily: + +"We are rich enough." + +He thought she alluded to the Doctor's money that was hidden in the +wagon. + +"But we'll be richer. We've got here before the rest of 'em. We're +the first comers and it's ours. You'll be queen here, Susan. I'll +make you one." His glance ranged over the splendid prospect, eager +with the man's desire to fight and win for his own. She thought little +of what he said, lost in her perfect content. + +"When we've got the gold we'll take up land and I'll build a house for +you, a good house, my wife won't live in a tent. It'll be of logs, +strong and water tight, and as soon as they bring things in--and the +ships will be coming soon--we'll furnish it well. And that'll be only +the beginning." + +"Where will we build it?" she said, catching his enthusiasm and +straining her eyes as if then and there to pick out the spot. + +"By the river under a pine." + +"With a place for Daddy John," she cried, stretching a hand toward the +old man. "He must be there too." + +He took it and stood linked to the embracing pair by the girl's warm +grasp. + +"I'll stick by the tent," he said; "no four walls for me." + +"And you two," she looked from one to the other, "will wash for the +gold and I'll take care of you. I'll keep everything clean and +comfortable. It'll be a cozy little home--our log house under the +pine." + +She laughed, the first time in many weeks, and the clear sound rang +joyously. + +"And when we've got all the dust we want," Courant went on, his spirit +expanding on the music of her laughter, "we'll go down to the coast. +They'll have a town there soon for the shipping. We'll grow up with +it, build it into a city, and as it gets richer so will we. It's going +to be a new empire, out here by the Pacific, with the gold rivers back +of it and the ocean in front. And it's going to be ours." + +She looked over the foreground of hill and vale to the shimmering sweep +of the rich still land. Her imagination, wakened by his words, passed +from the log house to the busy rush of a city where the sea shone +between the masts of ships. It was a glowing future they were to march +on together, with no cloud to mar it now that she had seen the new look +in his eyes. + +A few days later they were in the Sacramento Valley camped near the +walls of Sutter's Fort. The plain, clad with a drab grass, stretched +to where the low-lying Sacramento slipped between oozy banks. Here +were the beginnings of a town, shacks and tents dumped down in a helter +skelter of slovenly hurry. Beyond, the American river crept from the +mountains and threaded the parched land. Between the valley and the +white sky-line of the Sierra, the foot hills swelled, indented with +ravines and swathed in the matted robe of the chaparral. + +While renewing their supplies at the fort they camped under a live oak. +It was a mighty growth, its domed outline fretted with the fineness of +horny leaves, its vast boughs outflung in contorted curves. The river +sucked about its roots. Outside its shade the plain grew dryer under +unclouded suns, huge trees casting black blots of shadow in which the +Fort's cattle gathered. Sometimes vaqueros came from the gates in the +adobe walls, riding light and with the long spiral leap of the lasso +rising from an upraised hand. Sometimes groups of half-naked Indians +trailed through the glare, winding a way to the spot of color that was +their camp. + +To the girl it was all wonderful, the beauty, the peace, the cessation +of labor. When the men were at the Fort she lay beneath the great tree +watching the faint, white chain of the mountains, or the tawny valley +burning to orange in the long afternoons. For once she was idle, come +at last to the end of all her journeyings. Only the present, the +tranquil, perfect present, existed. What did not touch upon it, fit in +and have some purpose in her life with the man of whom she was a part, +was waste matter. She who had once been unable to endure the thought +of separation from her father could now look back on his death and say, +"How I suffered then," and know no reminiscent pang. She would have +wondered at herself if, in the happiness in which she was lapped, she +could have drawn her mind from its contemplation to wonder at anything. +There was no world beyond the camp, no interest in what did not focus +on Courant, no people except those who added to his trials or his +welfare. The men spent much of their time at the Fort, conferring with +others en route to the river bed below Sutter's mill. When they came +back to the camp there was lively talk under the old tree. The silence +of the trail was at an end. The pendulum swung far, and now they were +garrulous, carried away by the fever of speculation. The evening came +and found them with scattered stores and uncleaned camp, their voices +loud against the low whisperings of leaves and water. + +Courant returned from these absences aglow with fortified purpose. +Reestablished contact with the world brightened and humanized him, +acting with an eroding effect on a surface hardened by years of lawless +roving. In his voluntary exile he had not looked for or wanted the +company of his fellows. Now he began to soften under it, shift his +viewpoint from that of the all-sufficing individual to that of the +bonded mass from which he had so long been an alien. The girl's +influence had revivified a side almost atrophied by disuse. Men's were +aiding it. As her sympathies narrowed under the obsession of her +happiness, his expanded, awaked by a reversion to forgotten conditions. + +One night, lying beside her under the tent's roof, he found himself +wakeful. It was starless and still, the song of the river fusing in a +continuous flow of low sound with the secret, self-communings of the +tree. The girl's light breathing was at his ear, a reminder of his +ownership and its responsibilities. In the idleness of the unoccupied +mind he mused on the future they were to share till death should come +between. It was pleasant thinking, or so it began. Then, gradually, +something in the darkness and the lowered vitality of night caused it +to lose its joy, become suffused by a curious, doubting uneasiness. He +lay without moving, given up to the strange feeling, not knowing what +induced it or from whence it came. It grew in poignancy, clearer and +stronger, till it led him like a clew to the body of David. + +For the first time that savage act came back to him with a surge of +repudiation, of scared denial. He had a realizing sense of how it +would look to other men--the men he had met at the Fort. Distinctly, +as if their mental attitude were substituted for his, he saw it as they +would see it, as the world he was about to enter would see it. His +heart began to thump with something like terror and the palms of his +hands grew moist. Turning stealthily that he might not wake her, he +stared at the triangle of paler darkness that showed through the tent's +raised flap. He had no fear that Susan would find out. Even if she +did, he knew her securely his, till the end of time, her thoughts to +take their color from him, her fears to be lulled at his wish. But the +others--the active, busy, practical throng into which he would be +absorbed. His action, in the heat of a brutal passion, had made him an +outsider from the close-drawn ranks of his fellows. He had been able +to do without them, defied their laws, scorned their truckling to +public opinion--but now? + +The girl turned in her sleep, pressing her head against his shoulder +and murmuring drowsily. He edged away from her, flinching from the +contact, feeling a grievance against her. She was the link between him +and them. Hers was the influence that was sapping the foundations of +his independence. She was drawing him back to the place of lost +liberty outside which he had roamed in barbarous content. His love was +riveting bonds upon him, making his spirit as water. He felt a revolt, +a resistance against her power, which was gently impelling him toward +home, hearth, neighbors--the life in which he felt his place was gone. + +The next day the strange mood seemed an ugly dream. It was not he who +had lain wakeful and questioned his right to bend Fate to his own +demands. He rode beside his wife at the head of the train as they +rolled out in the bright, dry morning on the road to the river. There +were men behind them, and in front the dust rose thick on the rear of +pack trains. They filed across the valley, watching the foot hills +come nearer and the muffling robe of the chaparral separate into +checkered shadings where the manzanita glittered and the faint, bluish +domes of small pines rose above the woven greenery. + +Men were already before them, scattered along the river's bars, waist +high in the pits. Here and there a tent showed white, but a blanket +under a tree, a pile of pans by a blackened heap of fire marked most of +the camps. Some of the gold-hunters had not waited to undo their packs +which lay as they had been dropped, and the owners, squatting by the +stream's lip, bent over their pans round which the water sprayed in a +silver fringe. There were hails and inquiries, answering cries of good +or ill luck. Many did not raise their eyes, too absorbed by the hope +of fortune to waste one golden moment. + +These were the vanguard, the forerunners of next year's thousands, +scratching the surface of the lower bars. The sound of their voices +was soon left behind and the river ran free of them. Pack trains +dropped from the line, spreading themselves along the rim of earth +between the trail and the shrunken current. Courant's party moved on, +going higher, veiled in a cloud of brick-colored dust. The hills swept +up into bolder lines, the pines mounted in sentinel files crowding out +the lighter leafage. At each turn the vista showed a loftier uprise, +crest peering above crest, and far beyond, high and snow-touched, the +summits of the Sierra. The shadows slanted cool from wall to wall, the +air was fresh and scented with the forest's resinous breath. Across +the tree tops, dense as the matted texture of moss, the winged shadows +of hawks floated, and paused, and floated again. + +Here on a knoll under a great pine they pitched the tent. At its base +the river ran, dwindled to a languid current, the bared mud banks +waiting for their picks. The walls of the cańon drew close, a drop of +naked granite opposite, and on the slopes beyond were dark-aisled +depths, golden-moted, and stirred to pensive melodies. The girl +started to help, then kicked aside the up-piled blankets, dropped the +skillets into the mess chest, and cried: + +"Oh, I can't, I want to look and listen. Keep still--" The men +stopped their work, and the music of the murmurous boughs and the +gliding water filled the silence. She turned her head, sniffing the +forest's scents, her glance lighting on the blue shoulders of distant +hills. + +"And look at the river, yellow, yellow with gold! I can't work now, I +want to see it all--and feel it too," and she ran to the water's edge +where she sat down on a rock and gazed up and down the cańon. + +When the camp was ready Courant joined her. The rock was wide enough +for two and he sat beside her. + +"So you like it, Missy?" he said, sending a side-long glance at her +flushed face. + +"Like it!" though there was plenty of room she edged nearer to him, +"I'm wondering if it really is so beautiful or if I just think it so +after the trail." + +"You'll be content to stay here with me till we've made our pile?" + +She looked at him and nodded, then slipped her fingers between his and +whispered, though there was no one by to hear, "I'd be content to stay +anywhere with you." + +He was growing accustomed to this sort of reply. Deprived of it he +would have noticed the omission, but it had of late become so common a +feature in the conversation he felt no necessity to answer in kind. He +glanced at the pine trunks about them and said: + +"If the claim's good, we'll cut some of those and build a cabin. +You'll see how comfortable I can make you, the way they do on the +frontier." + +She pressed his fingers for answer and he went on: + +"When the winter comes we can move farther down. Up here we may get +snow. But there'll be time between now and then to put up something +warm and waterproof." + +"Why should we move down? With a good cabin we can be comfortable +here. The snow won't be heavy this far up. They told Daddy John all +about it at the Fort. And you and he can ride in there sometimes when +we want things." + +These simple words gratified him more than she guessed. It was as if +she had seen into the secret springs of his thought and said what he +was fearful she would not say. That was why--in a spirit of testing a +granted boon to prove its genuineness--he asked with tentative +questioning: + +"You won't be lonely? There are no people here." + +She made the bride's answer and his contentment increased, for again it +was what he would have wished her to say. When he answered he spoke +almost sheepishly, with something of uneasy confession in his look: + +"I'd like to live in places like this always. I feel choked and +stifled where there are walls shutting out the air and streets full of +people. Even in the Fort I felt like a trapped animal. I want to be +where there's room to move about and nobody bothering with different +kinds of ideas. It's only in the open, in places without men, that I'm +myself." + +For the first time he had dared to give expression to the mood of the +wakeful night. Though it was dim in the busy brightness of the +present--a black spot on the luster of cheerful days--he dreaded that +it might come again with its scaring suggestions. With a nerve that +had never known a tremor at any menace from man, he was frightened of a +thought, a temporary mental state. In speaking thus to her, he +recognized her as a help-meet to whom he could make a shamed admission +of weakness and fear no condemnation or diminution of love. This time, +however, she made the wrong reply: + +"But we'll go down to the coast after a while, if our claim's good and +we get enough dust out of it. I think of it often. It will be so nice +to live in a house again, and have some one to do the cooking, and wear +pretty clothes. It will be such fun living where there are people and +going about among them, going to parties and maybe having parties of +our own." + +He withdrew his hand from hers and pushed the hair back from his +forehead. Though he said nothing she was conscious of a drop in his +mood. She bent forward to peer into his face and queried with bright, +observing eyes: + +"You don't seem to like the thought of it." + +"Oh, it's not me," he answered. "I was just wondering at the queer way +women talk. A few minutes ago you said you'd be content anywhere with +me. Now you say you think it would be such fun living in a city and +going to parties." + +"With you, too," she laughed, pressing against his shoulder. "I don't +want to go to the parties alone." + +"Well, I guess if you ever go it'll have to be alone," he said roughly. + +She understood now that she had said something that annoyed him, and +not knowing how she had come to do it, felt aggrieved and sought to +justify herself: + +"But we can't live here always. If we make money we'll want to go back +some day where there are people, and comforts and things going on. +We'll want friends, everybody has friends. You don't mean for us +always to stay far away from everything in these wild, uncivilized +places?" + +"Why not?" he said, not looking at her, noting her rueful tone and +resenting it. + +"But we're not that kind of people. You're not a real mountain man. +You're not like Zavier or the men at Fort Laramie. You're Napoleon +Duchesney just as I'm Susan Gillespie. Your people in St. Louis and +New Orleans were ladies and gentlemen. It was just a wild freak that +made you run off into the mountains. You don't want to go on living +that way. That part of your life's over. The rest will be with me." + +"And you'll want the cities and the parties?" + +"I'll want to live the way Mrs. Duchesney should live, and you'll want +to, too." He did not answer, and she gave his arm a little shake and +said, "Won't you?" + +"I'm more Low Courant than I am Napoleon Duchesney," was his answer. + +"Well, maybe so, but whichever you are, you've got a wife now and +_that_ makes a great difference." + +She tried to infuse some of her old coquetry into the words, but the +eyes, looking sideways at him, were troubled, for she did not yet see +where she had erred. + +"I guess it does," he said low, more as if speaking to himself than her. + +This time she said nothing, feeling dashed and repulsed. They +continued to sit close together on the rock, the man lost in morose +reverie, the girl afraid to move or touch him lest he should show +further annoyance. + +The voice of Daddy John calling them to supper came to both with +relief. They walked to the camp side by side, Low with head drooped, +the girl at his elbow stealing furtive looks at him. As they +approached the fire she slid her hand inside his arm and, glancing +down, he saw the timid questioning of her face and was immediately +contrite. He laid his hand on hers and smiled, and she caught her +breath in a deep sigh and felt happiness come rushing back. Whatever +it was she had said that displeased him she would be careful not to say +it again, for she had already learned that the lion in love is still +the lion. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +Their claim was rich and they buckled down to work, the old man +constructing a rocker after a model of his own, and Courant digging in +the pits. Everything was with them, rivals were few, the ground +uncrowded, the season dry. It was the American River before the +Forty-niners swarmed along its edges, and there was gold in its sands, +sunk in a sediment below its muddy deposit, caked in cracks through the +rocks round which its currents had swept for undisturbed ages. + +They worked feverishly, the threat of the winter rains urging them on. +The girl helped, leaving her kettle settled firm on a bed of embers +while the water heated for dish washing, to join them on the shore, +heaped with their earth piles. She kept the rocker in motion while the +old man dipped up the water in a tin ladle and sent it running over the +sifting bed of sand and pebbles. The heavier labor of digging was +Courant's. Before September was over the shore was honeycombed with +his excavations, driven down to the rock bed. The diminishing stream +shrunk with each day and he stood in it knee high, the sun beating on +his head, his clothes pasted to his skin by perspiration, and the thud +of his pick falling with regular stroke on the monotonous rattle of the +rocker. + +Sometimes she was tired and they ordered her to leave them and rest in +the shade of the camp. She loitered about under the spread of the pine +boughs, cleaning and tidying up, and patching the ragged remnants of +their clothes. Often, as she sat propped against the trunk, her sewing +fell to her lap and she looked out with shining, spell-bound eyes. The +men were shapes of dark importance against the glancing veil of water, +the soaked sands and the low brushwood yellowing in the autumn's soft, +transforming breath. Far away the film of whitened summits dreamed +against the blue. In the midwash of air, aloft and dreaming, too, the +hawk's winged form poised, its shadow moving below it across the sea of +tree tops. + +She would sit thus, motionless and idle, as the long afternoon wore +away, and deep-colored veils of twilight gathered in the cańon. She +told the men the continuous sounds of their toil made her drowsy. But +her stillness was the outward sign of an inner concentration. If +delight in rest had replaced her old bodily energy, her mind had gained +a new activity. She wondered a little at it, not yet at the heart of +her own mystery. Her thoughts reached forward into the future, busied +themselves with details of the next twelve months, dwelt anxiously on +questions of finance. The nest-building instinct was astir in her and +she pondered on the house they were to build, how they must arrange +something for a table, and maybe fashion armchairs of barrels and red +flannel. Finally, in a last voluptuous flight of ecstasy, she saw +herself riding into Sacramento with a sack of dust and abandoning +herself to an orgie of bartering. + +One afternoon three men, two Mexicans and an Australian sailor from a +ship in San Francisco cove, stopped at the camp for food. The +Australian was a loquacious fellow, with faculties sharpened by +glimpses of life in many ports. He told them of the two emigrant +convoys he had just seen arrive in Sacramento, worn and wasted by the +last forced marches over the mountains. Susan, who had been busy over +her cooking, according him scant attention, at his description of the +trains, suddenly lifted intent eyes and leaned toward him: + +"Did you see a man among them, a young man, tall and thin, with black +hair and beard?" + +"All the men were tall and thin, or any ways thin," said the sailor, +laughing. "How tall was he?" + +"Six feet," she replied, her face devoid of any answering smile, "with +high shoulders and walking with a stoop. He had a fine, handsome face, +and long black hair to his shoulders and gray eyes." + +"Have you lost your sweetheart?" said the man, who did not know the +relations of the party. + +"No," she said gravely, "my friend." + +Courant explained: + +"She's my wife. The man she's speaking of was a member of our company +that we lost on the desert. We thought Indians had got him and hoped +he'd get away and join with a later westbound train. His name was +David." + +The sailor shook his head. + +"Ain't seen no one answering to that name, nor to that description. +There wasn't a handsome-featured one in the lot, nor a David. But if +you're expecting him along, why don't you take her in and let her look +'em over? They told me at the Fort the trains was mostly all in or +ought to be. Any time now the snow on the summit will be too deep for +'em. If they get caught up there they can't be got out, so they're +coming over hot foot and are dumped down round Hock Farm. Not much to +see, but if you're looking for a friend it's worth trying." + +That night Courant was again wakeful. Susan's face, as she had +questioned the sailor, floated before him on the darkness. With it +came the thought of the dead man. In the silence David called upon him +from the sepulcher beneath the rock, sent a message through the night +which said that, though he was hidden from mortal vision, the memory of +him was still alive, imbued with an unquenchable vitality. His +unwinking eyes, with the rock crumbs sifting on them, looked at those +of his triumphant enemy and spoke through their dusted films. In the +moment of death they had said nothing to him, now they shone--not +angrily accusing as they had been in life--but stern with a vindictive +purpose. + +Courant began to have a fearful understanding of their meaning. Though +dead to the rest of the world, David would maintain an intense and +secret life in his murderer's conscience. He had never fought such a +subtle and implacable foe, and he lay thinking of how he could create +conditions that would give him escape, push the phantom from him, make +him forget, and be as he had been when no one had disputed his +sovereignty over himself. He tried to think that time would mitigate +this haunting discomfort. His sense of guilt, his fear of his wife, +would die when the novelty of once again being one with the crowd had +worn away. It was not possible that he, defiant of man and God, could +languish under this dread of a midnight visitation or a discovery that +never would be made. It was the reentering into the communal life that +had upset his poise--or was it the influence of the woman, the softly +pervasive, enervating influence? He came up against this thought with +a dizzying impact and felt himself droop and sicken as one who is faced +with a task for which his strength is inadequate. + +He turned stealthily and lay on his back, his face beaded with sweat. +The girl beside him waked and sat up casting a side glance at him. By +the starlight, slanting in through the raised tent door, she saw his +opened eyes and, leaning toward him, a black shape against the faintly +blue triangle, said: + +"Low, are you awake?" + +He answered without moving, glad to hear her speak, to know that sleep +had left her and her voice might conjure away his black imaginings. + +"Why aren't you sleeping?" she asked. "You must be half dead after +such work as you did today." + +"I was thinking--" then hastily, for he was afraid that she might sense +his mood and ply him with sympathetic queries: "Sometimes people are +too tired to sleep. I am, and so I was lying here just thinking of +nothing." + +His fears were unnecessary. She was as healthily oblivious of his +disturbance as he was morbidly conscious of it. She sat still, her +hands clasped round her knees, about which the blanket draped blackly. + +"I was thinking, too," she said. + +"Of what?" + +"Of what that man was saying of David." + +There was a silence. He lay motionless, his trouble coming back upon +him. He wished that he might dare to impose upon her a silence on that +one subject. David, given a place in her mind, would sit at every +feast, walk beside them, lie between them in their marriage bed. + +"Why do you think of him?" he asked. + +"Because--" her tone showed surprise. "It's natural, isn't it? Don't +you? I'm sure you do. I do often, much oftener than you think. I'm +always hoping that he'll come." + +"You never loved him," he said, in a voice from which all spring was +gone. + +"No, but he was my friend, and I would like to keep him so for always. +I think of his kindness, his gentleness, all the good part of him +before the trail broke him down. And, I think, too, how cruel I was to +him." + +The darkness hid her face, but her voice told that she, too, had her +little load of guilt where David was concerned. + +The man moved uneasily. + +"That's foolishness. You only told the truth. If it was cruel, that's +not your affair." + +"He loved me. A woman doesn't forget that." + +"That's over and done with. He's probably here somewhere, come through +with a train that's scattered. And, anyway, you can't do any good by +thinking about him." + +This time the false reassurances came with the pang that the dead man +was rousing in tardy retribution. + +"I should like to know it," she said wistfully, "to feel sure. It's +the only thing that mars our happiness. If I knew he was safe and well +somewhere there'd be nothing in the world for me but perfect joy." + +Her egotism of satisfied body and spirit jarred upon him. The passion +she had evoked had found no peace in its fulfillment. She had got what +he had hoped for. All that he had anticipated was destroyed by the +unexpected intrusion of a part of himself that had lain dead till she +had quickened it, and quickening it she had killed his joy. In a flash +of divination he saw that, if she persisted in her worry over David, +she would rouse in him an antagonism that would eventually drive him +from her. He spoke with irritation: + +"Put him out of your mind. Don't worry about him. You can't do any +good, and it spoils our love." + +After a pause, she said with a hesitating attempt at cajolery: + +"Let me and Daddy John drive into the valley and try and get news of +him. We need supplies and we'll be gone only two or three days. We +can inquire at the Fort and maybe go on to Sacramento, and if he's been +there we'll hear of it. If we could only hear, just hear, he was safe, +it would be such a relief. It would take away this dreary feeling of +anxiety, and guilt too, Low. For I feel guilty when I think of how we +left him." + +"Where was the guilt? You've no right to say that. You understood we +had to go. I could take no risks with you and the old man." + +"Yes," she said, slowly, tempering her agreement with a self-soothing +reluctance, "but even so, it seemed terrible. I often tell myself we +couldn't have done anything else, but----" + +Her voice dropped to silence and she sat staring out at the quiet +night, her head blurred with the filaments of loosened hair. + +He did not speak, gripped by his internal torment, aggravated now by +torment from without. He wondered, if he told her the truth, would she +understand and help him to peace. But he knew that such knowledge +would set her in a new attitude toward him, an attitude of secret +judgment, of distracted pity, of an agonized partisanship built on +loyalty and the despairing passion of the disillusioned. He could +never tell her, for he could never support the loss of her devoted +belief, which was now the food of his life. + +"Can I go?" she said, turning to look at him, smiling confidently as +one who knows the formal demand unnecessary. + +"If you want," he answered. + +"Then we'll start to-morrow," she said, and, leaning down, kissed him. + +He was unresponsive to the touch of her lips, lay inert as she nestled +down into soft-breathing, child-like sleep. He watched the tent +opening pale into a glimmering triangle wondering what their life would +be with the specter of David standing in the path, an angel with a +flaming sword barring the way to Paradise. + +Two days later she and Daddy John, sitting on the front seat of the +wagon, saw the low drab outlines of the Fort rising from the plain. +Under their tree was a new encampment, one tent with the hood of a +wagon behind it, and oxen grazing in the sun. As they drew near they +could see the crouched forms of two children, the light filtering +through the leafage on the silky flax of their heads. They were +occupied over a game, evidently a serious business, its floor of +operations the smooth ground worn bare about the camp fire. One of +them lay flat with a careful hand patting the dust into mounds, the +other squatted near by watching, a slant of white hair falling across a +rounded cheek. They did not heed the creak of the wagon wheels, but as +a woman's voice called from the tent, raised their heads listening, but +not answering, evidently deeming silence the best safeguard against +interruption. + +Susan laid a clutching hand on Daddy John's arm. + +"It's the children," she cried in a choked voice. "Stop, stop!" and +before he could rein the mules to order she was out and running toward +them, calling their names. + +They made a clamor of welcome, Bob running to her and making delighted +leaps up at her face, the little girl standing aloof for the first +bashful moment, then sidling nearer with mouth upheld for kisses. +Bella heard them and came to the tent door, gave a great cry, and ran +to them. There were tears on her cheeks as she clasped Susan, held her +oft and clutched her again, with panted ejaculations of "Deary me!" and +"Oh, Lord, Missy, is it you?" + +It was like a meeting on the other side of the grave. They babbled +their news, both talking at once, not stopping to finish sentences, or +wait for the answer to questions of the marches they had not shared. +Over the clamor they looked at each other with faces that smiled and +quivered, the tie between them strengthened by the separation when each +had longed for the other, closer in understanding by the younger's +added experience, both now women. + +Glen was at the Fort and Daddy John rolled off to meet him there. The +novelty of the moment over, the children returned sedately to their +play, and the women sat together under the canopy of the tree. Bella's +adventures had been few and tame, Susan's was the great story. She was +not discursive about her marriage. She was still shy on the subject +and sensitively aware of the disappointment that Bella was too +artlessly amazed to conceal. She passed over it quickly, pretending +that she did not hear Bella's astonished: + +"But why did you get married at Humboldt? Why didn't you wait till you +got here?" + +It was the loss of David that she made the point of her narrative, +anxiously impressing on her listener their need of going on. She stole +quick looks at Bella, watchful for the first shade of disapprobation, +with all Low's arguments ready to sweep it aside. But Bella, with +maternal instincts in place of a comprehensive humanity, agreed that +Low had done right. Nature, in the beginning, combined with the needs +of the trail, had given her a viewpoint where expediency counted for +more than altruism. She with two children and a helpless man would +have gone on and left anyone to his fate. She did not say this, but +Susan, with intelligence sharpened by a jealous passion, felt that +there was no need to defend her husband's action. As for the rest of +the world--deep in her heart she had already decided it should never +know. + +"You couldn't have done anything else," said Bella. "I've learned that +when you're doing that sort of thing, you can't have the same feelings +you can back in the States, with everything handy and comfortable. You +can be fair, but you got to fight for your own. They got to come +first." + +She had neither seen nor heard anything of David. No rumor of a man +held captive by the Indians had reached their train. She tried not to +let Susan see that she believed the worst. But her melancholy +headshake and murmured "Poor David--and him such a kind, whole-hearted +man" was as an obituary on the dead. + +"Well," she said in pensive comment when Susan had got to the end of +her history, "you can't get through a journey like that without some +one coming to grief. It's not in human nature. But your father--that +grand man! And then the young feller that would have made you such a +good husband--" Susan moved warningly--"Not but what I'm sure you've +got as good a one as it is. And we've got to take what we can get in +this world," she added, spoiling it all by the philosophical acceptance +of what she evidently regarded as a make-shift adjusting to Nature's +needs. + +When the men came back Glen had heard all about the gold in the river +and was athirst to get there. Work at his trade could wait, and, +anyway, he had been in Sacramento and found, while his services were in +demand on every side, the materials wherewith he was to help raise a +weatherproof city were not to be had. Men were content to live in +tents and cloth shacks until the day of lumber and sawmills dawned, and +why wait for this millennium when the river called from its golden +sands? + +No one had news of David. Daddy John had questioned the captains of +two recently arrived convoys, but learned nothing. The men thought it +likely he was dead. They agreed as to the possibility of the Indian +abduction and his future reappearance. Such things had happened. But +it was too late now to do anything. No search party could be sent out +at this season when at any day the mountain trails might be neck high +in snow. There was nothing to do but wait till the spring. + +Susan listened with lowered brows. It was heavy news. She did not +know how she had hoped till she heard that all hope must lie in +abeyance for at least six months. It was a long time to be patient. +She was selfishly desirous to have her anxieties at rest, for, as she +had told her husband, they were the only cloud on her happiness, and +she wanted that happiness complete. It was not necessary for her peace +to see David again. To know he was safe somewhere would have satisfied +her. + +The fifth day after leaving the camp they sighted the pitted shores of +their own diggings. Sitting in the McMurdos' wagon they had speculated +gayly on Low's surprise. Susan, on the seat beside Glen, had been +joyously full of the anticipation of it, wondered what he would say, +and then fell to imagining it with closed lips and dancing eyes. When +the road reached the last concealing buttress she climbed down and +mounted beside Daddy John, whose wagon was some distance in advance. + +"It's going to be a surprise for Low," she said in the voice of a +mischievous child. "You mustn't say anything. Let me tell him." + +The old man, squinting sideways at her, gave his wry smile. It was +good to see his Missy this way again, in bloom like a refreshed flower. + +"Look," she cried, as her husband's figure came into view kneeling by +the rocker. "There he is, and he doesn't see us. Stop!" + +Courant heard their wheels and, turning, started to his feet and came +forward, the light in his face leaping to hers. She sprang down and +ran toward him, her arms out. Daddy John, slashing the wayside bushes +with his whip, looked reflectively at the bending twigs while the +embrace lasted. The McMurdos' curiosity was not restrained by any such +inconvenient delicacy. They peeped from under the wagon hood, grinning +appreciatively, Bella the while maintaining a silent fight with the +children, who struggled for an exit. None of them could hear what the +girl said, but they saw Courant suddenly look with a changed face, its +light extinguished, at the second wagon. + +"He don't seem so terrible glad to see us," said Glen. "I guess he +wanted to keep the place for himself." + +Bella noted the look and snorted. + +"He's a cross-grained thing," she said; "I don't see what got into her +to marry him when she could have had David." + +"She can't have him when he ain't round to be had," her husband +answered. "Low's better than a man that's either a prisoner with the +Indians or dead somewhere. David was a good boy, but I don't seem to +see he'd be much use to her now." + +Bella sniffed again, and let the squirming children go to get what good +they could out of the unpromising moment of the surprise. + +What Low had said to Susan was an angry, + +"Why did you bring them?" + +She fell back from him not so crestfallen at his words as at his dark +frown of disapproval. + +"Why, I wanted them," she faltered, bewildered by his obvious +displeasure at what she thought would be welcome news, "and I thought +you would." + +"I'd rather you hadn't. Aren't we enough by ourselves?" + +"Yes, of course. But they're our friends. We traveled with them for +days and weeks, and it's made them like relations. I was so glad to +see them I cried when I saw Bella. Oh, do try and seem more as if you +liked it. They're here and I've brought them." + +He slouched forward to greet them. She was relieved to see that he +made an effort to banish his annoyance and put some warmth of welcome +into his voice. But the subtlety with which he could conceal his +emotions when it behooved him had deserted him, and Bella and Glen saw +the husband did not stand toward them as the wife did. + +It was Susan who infused into the meeting a fevered and fictitious +friendliness, chattering over the pauses that threatened to fall upon +it, leaving them a reunited company only in name. She presently swept +Bella to the camp, continuing her nervous prattle as she showed her the +tent and the spring behind it, and told of the log house they were to +raise before the rains came. Bella was placated. After all, it was a +lovely spot, good for the children, and if Glen could do as well on a +lower bend of the river as they had done here, it looked as if they had +at last found the Promised Land. + +After supper they sat by Daddy John's fire, which shot an eddying +column of sparks into the plumed darkness of the pine. It was like old +times only--with a glance outward toward the water and the star-strewn +sky--so much more--what was the word? Not quiet; they could never +forget the desert silence. "Homelike," Susan suggested, and they +decided that was the right word. + +"You feel as if you could stay here and not want to move on," Bella +opined. + +Glen thought perhaps you felt that way because you knew you'd come to +the end and couldn't move much farther. + +But the others argued him down. They all agreed there was something in +the sun maybe, or the mellow warmth of the air, or the richness of +wooded slope and plain, that made them feel they had found a place +where they could stay, not for a few days' rest, but forever. Susan +had hit upon the word "homelike," the spot on earth that seemed to you +the one best fitted for a home. + +The talk swung back to days on the trail and finally brought up on +David. They rehearsed the tragic story, conned over the details that +had begun to form into narrative sequence as in the time-worn lay of a +minstrel. Bella and Glen asked all the old questions that had once +been asked by Susan and Daddy John, and heard the same answers, leaning +to catch them while the firelight played on the strained attention of +their faces. With the night pressing close around them, and the +melancholy, sea-like song sweeping low from the forest, a chill crept +upon them, and their lost comrade became invested with the unreality of +a spirit. Dead in that bleak and God-forgotten land, or captive in +some Indian stronghold, he loomed a tragic phantom remote from them and +their homely interests like a historical figure round which legend has +begun to accumulate. + +The awed silence that had fallen was broken by Courant rising and +walking away toward the diggings. This brought their somber pondering +to an end. Bella and Glen picked up the sleeping children and went to +their tent, and Susan, peering beyond the light, saw her man sitting on +a stone, dark against the broken silver of the stream. She stole down +to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. He started as if her touch +scared him, then saw who it was and turned away with a gruff murmur. +The sound was not encouraging, but the wife, already so completely part +of him that his moods were communicated to her through the hidden +subways of instinct, understood that he was in some unconfessed trouble. + +"What's the matter, Low?" she asked, bending to see his face. + +He turned it toward her, met the penetrating inquiry of her look, and +realized his dependence on her, feeling his weakness but not caring +just then that he should be weak. + +"Nothing," he answered. "Why do they harp so on David?" + +"Don't you like them to?" she asked in some surprise. + +He took a splinter from the stone and threw it into the water, a small +silvery disturbance marking its fall. + +"There's nothing more to be said. It's all useless talk. We can do no +more than we've done." + +"Shall I tell them you don't like the subject, not to speak of it +again?" + +He glanced at her with sudden suspicion: + +"No, no, of course not. They've a right to say anything they please. +But it's a waste of time, there's nothing but guessing now. What's the +use of guessing and wondering all through the winter. Are they going +to keep on that way till the spring?" + +"I'll tell them not to," she said as a simple solution of the +difficulty. "I'll tell them it worries you." + +"Don't," he said sharply. "Do you hear? Don't. Do you want to act +like a fool and make me angry with you?" + +He got up and moved away, leaving her staring blankly at his back. He +had been rough to her often, but never before spoken with this note of +peremptory, peevish displeasure. She felt an obscure sense of trouble, +a premonition of disaster. She went to him and, standing close, put +her hand inside his arm. + +"Low," she pleaded, "what's wrong with you? You were angry that they +came. Now you're angry at what they say. I don't understand. Tell me +the reason of it. If there's something that I don't know let me hear +it, and I'll try and straighten things out." + +For a tempted moment he longed to tell her, to gain ease by letting her +share his burden. The hand upon his arm was a symbol of her hold upon +him that no action of his could ever loose. If he could admit her +within the circle of his isolation he would have enough. He would lose +the baleful consciousness of forever walking apart, separated from his +kind, a spiritual Ishmaelite. She had strength enough. For the moment +he felt that she was the stronger of the two, able to bear more than +he, able to fortify him and give him courage for the future. He had a +right to claim such a dole of her love, and once the knowledge hers, +they two would stand, banished from the rest of the world, knit +together by the bond of their mutual knowledge. + +The temptation clutched him and his breast contracted in the rising +struggle. His pain clamored for relief, his weakness for support. The +lion man, broken and tamed by the first pure passion of his life, would +have cast the weight of his sin upon the girl he had thought to bear +through life like a pampered mistress. + +With the words on his lips he looked at her. She met the look with a +smile that she tried to make brave, but that was only a surface +grimace, her spirit's disturbance plain beneath it. There was pathos +in its courage and its failure. He averted his eyes, shook his arm +free of her hand, and, moving toward the water, said: + +"Go back to the tent and go to bed." + +"What are you going to do?" she called after him, her voice sounding +plaintive. Its wistful note gave him strength: + +"Walk for a while. I'm not tired. I'll be back in an hour," and he +walked away, down the edge of the current, past the pits and into the +darkness. + +She watched him, not understanding, vaguely alarmed, then turned and +went back to the tent. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The stretch of the river where the McMurdos had settled was richer than +Courant's location. Had Glen been as mighty a man with the pick, even +in the short season left to him, he might have accumulated a goodly +store. But he was a slack worker. His training as a carpenter made +him useful, finding expression in an improvement on Daddy John's +rocker, so they overlooked his inclination to lie off in the sun with +his ragged hat pulled over his eyes. In Courant's camp Bella was +regarded as the best man of the two. To her multiform duties she added +that of assistant in the diggings, squatting beside her husband in the +mud, keeping the rocker going, and when Glen was worked out, not above +taking a hand at the shovel. Her camp showed a comfortable neatness, +and the children's nakedness was covered with garments fashioned by the +firelight from old flour sacks. + +There was no crisp coming of autumn. A yellowing of the leafage along +the river's edge was all that denoted the season's change. Nature +seemed loth to lay a desecrating hand on the region's tranquil beauty. +They had been told at the Fort that they might look for the first rains +in November. When October was upon them they left the pits and set to +work felling trees for two log huts. + +Susan saw her home rising on the knoll, a square of logs, log roofed, +with a door of woven saplings over which canvas was nailed. They built +a chimney of stones rounded by the water's action, and for a hearth +found a slab of granite which they sunk in the earth before the +fireplace. The bunk was a frame of young pines with canvas stretched +across, and cushioned with spruce boughs and buffalo robes. She +watched as they nailed up shelves of small, split trunks and sawed the +larger ones into sections for seats. The bottom of the wagon came out +and, poised on four log supports, made the table. + +Her housewife's instincts rose jubilant as the shell took form, and she +sang to herself as she stitched her flour sacks together for towels. +No princess decked her palace with a blither spirit. All the little +treasures that had not been jettisoned in the last stern march across +the desert came from their hiding places for the adornment of the first +home of her married life. The square of mirror stood on the shelf near +the door where the light could fall on it, and the French gilt clock +that had been her mother's ticked beside it. The men laughed as she +set out on the table the silver mug of her baby days and a two-handled +tankard bearing on its side a worn coat of arms, a heritage from the +adventurous Poutrincourt, a drop of whose blood had given boldness and +courage to hers. + +It was her home--very different from the home she had dreamed of--but +so was her life different from the life she and her father had planned +together in the dead days of the trail. She delighted in it, gloated +over it. Long before the day of installation she moved in her +primitive furnishings, disposed the few pans with an eye to their +effect as other brides arrange their silver and crystal, hung her +flour-sack towels on the pegs with as careful a hand as though they had +been tapestries, and folded her clothes neat and seemly in her father's +chest. Then came a night when the air was sharp, and they kindled the +first fire in the wide chimney mouth. It leaped exultant, revealing +the mud-filled cracks, playing on the pans, and licking the bosses of +the old tankard. The hearthstone shone red with its light, and they +sat drawn back on the seats of pine looking into its roaring +depths--housed, sheltered, cozily content. When Glen and Bella retired +to their tent a new romance seemed to have budded in the girl's heart. +It was her bridal night--beneath a roof, beside a hearth, with a door +to close against the world, and shut her away with her lover. + +In these days she had many secret conferrings with Bella. They kept +their heads together and whispered, and Bella crooned and fussed over +her and pushed the men into the background in a masterful, aggressive +manner. Susan knew now what had waked the nest-building instinct. The +knowledge came with a thrilling, frightened joy. She sat apart +adjusting herself to the new outlook, sometimes fearful, then uplifted +in a rapt, still elation. All the charm she had once held over the +hearts of men was gone. Glen told Bella she was getting stupid, even +Daddy John wondered at her dull, self-centered air. She would not have +cared what they had said or thought of her. Her interest in men as +creatures to snare and beguile was gone with her lost maidenhood. All +that she had of charm and beauty she hoarded, stored up and jealously +guarded, for her husband and her child. + +"It'll be best for you to go down to the town," Bella had said to her, +reveling discreetly in her position as high priestess of these +mysteries, "there'll be doctors in Sacramento, some kind of doctors." + +"I'll stay here," Susan answered. "You're here and my husband and +Daddy John. I'd die if I was sent off among strangers. I can't live +except with the people I'm fond of. I'm not afraid." + +And the older woman decided that maybe she was right. She could see +enough to know that this girl of a higher stock and culture, plucked +from a home of sheltered ease to be cast down in the rude life of the +pioneer, was only a woman like all the rest, having no existence +outside her own small world. + +So the bright, monotonous days filed by, always sunny, always warm, +till it seemed as if they were to go on thus forever, glide into a +winter which was still spring. An excursion to Sacramento, a big day's +clean up, were their excitements. They taught little Bob to help at +the rocker, and the women sat by the cabin door sewing, long periods of +silence broken by moments of desultory talk. Susan had grown much +quieter. She would sit with idle hands watching the shifting lights +and the remoter hills turning from the afternoon's blue to the rich +purple of twilight. Bella said she was lazy, and urged industry and +the need of speed in the preparation of the new wardrobe. She laughed +indolently and said, time enough later on. She had grown indifferent +about her looks--her hair hanging elfish round her ears, her blouse +unfastened at the throat, the new boots Low had brought her from +Sacramento unworn in the cabin corner, her feet clothed in the ragged +moccasins he had taught her to make. + +In the evening she sat on a blanket on the cabin floor, blinking +sleepily at the flames. Internally she brimmed with a level content. +Life was coming to the flood with her, her being gathering itself for +its ultimate expression. All the curiosity and interest she had once +turned out to the multiple forms and claims of the world were now +concentrated on the two lives between which hers stood. She was the +primitive woman, a mechanism of elemental instincts, moving up an +incline of progressive passions. The love of her father had filled her +youth, and that had given way to the love of her mate, which in time +would dim before the love of her child. Outside these phases of a +governing prepossession--filial, conjugal, maternal--she knew nothing, +felt nothing, and could see nothing. + +Low, at first, had brooded over her with an almost ferocious +tenderness. Had she demanded a removal to the town he would have given +way. He would have acceded to anything she asked, but she asked +nothing. As the time passed her demands of him, even to his help in +small matters of the household, grew less. A slight, inscrutable +change had come over her: she was less responsive, often held him with +an eye whose blankness told of inner imaginings, when he spoke made no +answer, concentrated in her reverie. When he watched her withdrawn in +these dreams, or in a sudden attack of industry, fashioning small +garments from her hoarded store of best clothes, he felt an alienation +in her, and he realized with a start of alarmed divination that the +child would take a part of what had been his, steal from him something +of that blind devotion in the eternal possession of which he had +thought to find solace. + +It was a shock that roused him to a scared scrutiny of the future. He +put questions to her for the purpose of drawing out her ideas, and her +answers showed that all her thoughts and plans were gathering round the +welfare of her baby. Her desire for its good was to end her +unresisting subservience to him. She was thinking already of better +things. Ambitions were awakened that would carry her out of the +solitudes, where he felt himself at rest, back to the world where she +would struggle to make a place for the child she had never wanted for +herself. + +"We'll take him to San Francisco soon"--it was always "him" in her +speculations--"We can't keep him here." + +"Why not?" he asked. "Look at Bella's children. Could anything be +healthier and happier?" + +"Bella's children are different. Bella's different. She doesn't know +anything better, she doesn't care. To have them well fed and healthy +is enough for her. _We're_ not like that. _Our_ child's going to have +everything." + +"You're content enough here by yourself and you're a different sort to +Bella." + +"For myself!" she gave a shrug. "I don't care any more than Bella +does. But for my child--my son--I want everything. Want him a +gentleman like his ancestors, French and American"--she gave his arm a +propitiating squeeze for she knew he disliked this kind of talk--"want +him to be educated like my father, and know everything, and have a +profession." + +"You're looking far ahead." + +"Years and years ahead," and then with deprecating eyes and +irrepressible laughter, "Now don't say I'm foolish, but sometimes I +think of him getting married and the kind of girl I'll choose for +him--not stupid like me, but one who's good and beautiful and knows all +about literature and geography and science. The finest girl in the +world, and I'll find her for him." + +He didn't laugh, instead he looked sulkily thoughtful: + +"And where will we get the money to do all this?" + +"We'll make it. We have a good deal now. Daddy John told me the other +day he thought we had nearly ten thousand dollars in dust beside what +my father left. That will be plenty to begin on, and you can go into +business down on the coast. They told Daddy John at the Fort there +would be hundreds and thousands of people coming in next spring. +They'll build towns, make Sacramento and San Francisco big places with +lots going on. We can settle in whichever seems the most thriving and +get back into the kind of life where we belong." + +It was her old song, the swan song of his hopes. He felt a loneliness +more bitter than he had ever before conceived of. In the jarring +tumult of a growing city he saw himself marked in his own eyes, aloof +in the street and the market place, a stranger by his own fireside. In +his fear he swore that he would thwart her, keep her in the wild +places, crush her maternal ambitions and force her to share his chosen +life, the life of the outcast. He knew that it would mean conflict, +the subduing of a woman nerved by a mother's passion. And as he worked +in the ditches he thought about it, arranging the process by which he +would gradually break her to his will, beat down her aspirations till +she was reduced to the abject docility of a squaw. Then he would hold +her forever under his hand and eye, broken as a dog to his word, +content to wander with him on those lonely paths where he would tread +out the measure of his days. + +Toward the end of November the rains came. First in hesitant showers, +then in steadier downpourings, finally, as December advanced, in +torrential fury. Veils of water descended upon them, swept round their +knoll till it stood marooned amid yellow eddies. The river rose +boisterous, swirled into the pits, ate its way across the honey-combed +reach of mud and fingered along the bottom of their hillock. They had +never seen such rain. The pines bowed and wailed under its assault, +and the slopes were musical with the voices of liberated streams. Moss +and mud had to be pressed into the cabin's cracks, and when they sat by +the fire in the evening their voices fell before the angry lashings on +the roof and the groaning of the tormented forest. + +Daddy John and Courant tried to work but gave it up, and the younger +man, harassed by the secession of the toil that kept his body wearied +and gave him sleep, went abroad on the hills, roaming free in the +dripping darkness. Bella saw cause for surprise that he should absent +himself willingly from their company. She grumbled about it to Glen, +and noted Susan's acquiescence with the amaze of the woman who holds +absolute sway over her man. One night Courant came back, drenched and +staggering, on his shoulders a small bear that he had shot on the +heights above. The fresh bear meat placated Bella, but she shook her +head over the mountain man's morose caprices, and in the bedtime hour +made dismal prophecies as to the outcome of her friend's strange +marriage. + +The bear hunt had evil consequences that she did not foresee. It left +Courant, the iron man, stricken by an ailment marked by shiverings, +when he sat crouched over the fire, and fevered burnings when their +combined entreaties could not keep him from the open door and the cool, +wet air. When the clouds broke and the landscape emerged from its +mourning, dappled with transparent tints, every twig and leaf washed +clean, his malady grew worse and he lay on the bed of spruce boughs +tossing in a sickness none of them understood. + +They were uneasy, came in and out with disturbed looks and murmured +inquiries. He refused to answer them, but on one splendid morning, +blaring life like a trumpet call, he told them he was better and was +going back to work. He got down to the river bank, fumbled over his +spade, and then Daddy John had to help him back to the cabin. With +gray face and filmed eyes he lay on the bunk while they stood round +him, and the children came peeping fearfully through the doorway. They +were thoroughly frightened, Bella standing by with her chin caught in +her hand and her eyes fastened on him, and Susan on the ground beside +him, trying to say heartening phrases with lips that were stiff. The +men did not know what to do. They pushed the children from the door +roughly, as if it were their desire to hurt and abuse them. In some +obscure way it seemed to relieve their feelings. + +The rains came back more heavily than ever. For three days the heavens +descended in a downpour that made the river a roaring torrent and isled +the two log houses on their hillocks. The walls of the cabin trickled +with water. The buffets of the wind ripped the canvas covering from +the door, and Susan and Daddy John had to take a buffalo robe from the +bed and nail it over the rent. They kept the place warm with the fire, +but the earth floor was damp to their feet, and the tinkle of drops +falling from the roof into the standing pans came clear through the +outside tumult. + +The night when the storm was at its fiercest the girl begged the old +man to stay with her. Courant had fallen into a state of lethargy from +which it was hard to rouse him. Her anxiety gave place to anguish, and +Daddy John was ready for the worst when she shook him into wakefulness, +her voice at his ear: + +"You must go somewhere and get a doctor. I'm afraid." + +He blinked at her without answering, wondering where he could find a +doctor and not wanting to speak till he had a hope to offer. She read +his thoughts and cried as she snatched his hat and coat from a peg: + +"There must be one somewhere. Go to the Fort, and if there's none +there go to Sacramento. I'd go with you but I'm afraid to leave him." + +Daddy John went. She stood in the doorway and saw him lead the horse +from the brush shed and, with his head low against the downpour, vault +into the saddle. The moaning of the disturbed trees mingled with the +triumphant roar of the river. There was a shouted good-by, and she +heard the clatter of the hoofs for a moment sharp and distinct, then +swallowed in the storm's high clamor. + +In three days he was back with a ship's doctor, an Englishman, who +described himself as just arrived from Australia. Daddy John had +searched the valley, and finally run his quarry to earth at the Porter +Ranch, one of a motley crew waiting to swarm inland to the rivers. The +man, a ruddy animal with some rudimentary knowledge of his profession, +pronounced the ailment "mountain fever." He looked over the doctor's +medicine chest with an air of wisdom and at Susan with subdued +gallantry. + +"Better get the wife down to Sacramento," he said to Daddy John. "The +man's not going to last and you can't keep her up here." + +"Is he going to die?" said the old man. + +The doctor pursed his lips. + +"He oughtn't to. He's a Hercules. But the strongest of 'em go this +way with the work and exposure. Think they can do anything and don't +last as well sometimes as the weak ones." + +"Work and exposure oughtn't to hurt him. He's bred upon it. Why +should he cave in and the others of us keep up?" + +"Can't say. But he's all burned out--hollow. There's no rebound. +He's half gone now. Doesn't seem to have the spirit that you'd expect +in such a body." + +"Would it do any good to get him out of here, down to the valley or the +coast?" + +"It might--change of air sometimes knocks out these fevers. You could +try the coast or Hock Farm. But if you want my opinion I don't think +there's much use." + +Then on the first fine day the doctor rode away with some of their dust +in his saddlebags, spying on the foaming river for good spots to locate +when the rains should cease and he, with the rest of the world, could +try his luck. + +His visit had done no good, had given no heart to the anguished woman +or roused no flicker of life in the failing man. Through the weakness +of his wasting faculties Courant realized the approach of death and +welcomed it. In his forest roamings, before his illness struck him, he +had thought of it as the one way out. Then it had come to him vaguely +terrible as a specter in dreams. Now bereft of the sustaining power of +his strength the burden of the days to come had grown insupportable. +To live without telling her, to live beside her and remain a partial +stranger, to live divorcing her from all she would desire, had been the +only course he saw, and in it he recognized nothing but misery. Death +was the solution for both, and he relinquished himself to it with less +grief at parting from her than relief at the withdrawal from an +existence that would destroy their mutual dream. What remained to him +of his mighty forces went to keep his lips shut on the secret she must +never know. Even as his brain grew clouded, and his senses feeble, he +retained the resolution to leave her her belief in him. This would be +his legacy. His last gift of love would be the memory of an undimmed +happiness. + +But Susan, unknowing, fought on. The doctor had not got back to the +Porter Ranch before she began arranging to move Low to Sacramento and +from there to the Coast. He would get better care, they would find +more competent doctors, the change of air would strengthen him. She +had it out with Bella, refusing to listen to the older woman's +objections, pushing aside all references to her own health. Bella was +distracted. "For," as she said afterwards to Glen, "what's the sense +of having her go? She can't do anything for him, and it's like as not +the three of them'll die instead of one." + +There was no reasoning with Susan. The old willfulness was +strengthened to a blind determination. She plodded back through the +rain to Daddy John and laid the matter before him. As of old he did +not dispute with her, only stipulated that he be permitted to go on +ahead, make arrangements, and then come back for her. He, too, felt +there was no hope, but unlike the others he felt the best hope for his +Missy was in letting her do all she could for her husband. + +In the evening, sitting by the fire, they talked it over--the stage +down the river, the stop at the Fort, then on to Sacramento, and the +long journey to the seaport settlement of San Francisco. The sick man +seemed asleep, and their voices unconsciously rose, suddenly dropping +to silence as he stirred and spoke: + +"Are you talking of moving me? Don't. I've had twelve years of it. +Let me rest now." + +Susan went to him and sat at his feet. + +"But we must get you well," she said, trying to smile. "They'll want +you in the pits. You must be back there working with them by the +spring." + +He looked at her with a wide, cold gaze, and said: + +"The spring. We're all waiting for the spring. Everything's going to +happen then." + +A silence fell. The wife sat with drooped head, unable to speak. +Daddy John looked into the fire. To them both the Angel of Death +seemed to have paused outside the door, and in the stillness they +waited for his knock. Only Courant was indifferent, staring at the +wall with eyes full of an unfathomable unconcern. + +The next day Daddy John left. He was to find the accommodations, get +together such comforts as could be had, and return for them. He took a +sack of dust and the fleetest horse, and calculated to be back inside +two days. As he clattered away he turned for a last look at her, +standing in the sunshine, her hand over her eyes. Man or devil would +not stop him, he thought, as he buckled to his task, and his seventy +years sat as light as a boy's twenty, the one passion of his heart +beating life through him. + +Two days later, at sundown, he came back. She heard the ringing of +hoofs along the trail and ran forward to meet him, catching the bridle +as the horse, a white lather of sweat, came to a panting halt. She did +not notice the lined exhaustion of the old man's face, had no care for +anything but his news. + +"I've got everything fixed," he cried, and then slid off holding to the +saddle for he was stiff and spent. "The place is ready and I've found +a doctor and got him nailed. It'll be all clean and shipshape for you. +How's Low?" + +An answer was unnecessary. He could see there were no good tidings. + +"Weaker a little," she said. "But if it's fine we can start to-morrow." + +He thought of the road he had traveled and felt they were in God's +hands. Then he stretched a gnarled and tremulous claw and laid it on +her shoulder. + +"And there's other news, Missy. Great news. I'm thinking that it may +help you." + +There was no news that could help her but news of Low. She was so +fixed in her preoccupation that her eye was void of interest, as his, +bright and expectant, held it: + +"I seen David." + +He was rewarded. Her face flashed into excitement and she grabbed at +him with a wild hand: + +"David! Where?" + +"In Sacramento. I seen him and talked to him." + +"Oh, Daddy John, how wonderful! Was he well?" + +"Well and hearty, same as he used to be. Plumped up considerable." + +"How had he got there?" + +"A train behind us picked him up, found him lyin' by the spring where +he'd crawled lookin' for us." + +"Then, it wasn't Indians? Had he got lost?" + +"That's what I says to him first-off--'Well, gol darn yer, what +happened to yer?' and before he answers me he says quick, 'How's +Susan?' It ain't no use settin' on bad news that's bound to come out +so I give it to him straight that you and Low was married at Humboldt. +And he took it very quiet, whitened up a bit, and says no words for a +spell, walkin' off a few steps. Then he turns back and says, 'Is she +happy?'" + +Memory broke through the shell of absorption and gave voice to a +forgotten sense of guilt: + +"Oh, poor David! He always thought of me first." + +"I told him you was. That you and Low was almighty sot on each other +and that Low was sick. And he was quiet for another spell, and I could +see his thoughts was troublesome. So to get his mind off it I asked +him how it all happened. He didn't answer for a bit, standin' thinkin' +with his eyes lookin' out same as he used to look at the sunsets before +he got broke down. And then he tells me it was a fall, that he clum up +to the top of the rock and thinks he got a touch o' sun up there. For +first thing he knew he was all dizzy and staggerin' round, goin' this +side and that, till he got to the edge where the rock broke off and +over he went. He come to himself lying under a ledge alongside some +bushes, with a spring tricklin' over him. He guessed he rolled there +and that's why we couldn't find him. He don't know how long it was, or +how long it took him to crawl round to the camp--maybe a day, he +thinks, for he was 'bout two thirds dead. But he got there and saw we +was gone. The Indians hadn't come down on the place, and he seen the +writing on the rock and found the cache. The food and the water kep' +him alive, and after a bit a big train come along, the finest train he +even seen--eighteen wagons and an old Ashley man for pilot. They was +almighty good to him; the women nursed him like Christians, and he rid +in the wagons and come back slow to his strength. The reason we didn't +hear of him before was because they come by a southern route that took +'em weeks longer, moving slow for the cattle. They was fine people, he +says, and he's thick with one of the men who's a lawyer, and him and +David's goin' to the coast to set up a law business there." + +The flicker of outside interest was dying. "Thank Heaven," she said on +a rising breath, then cast a look at the cabin and added quickly: + +"I'll go and tell Low. Maybe it'll cheer him up. He was always so +worried about David. You tell Bella and then come to the cabin and see +how you think he is." + +There was light in the cabin, a leaping radiance from the logs on the +hearth, and a thin, pale twilight from the uncovered doorway. She +paused there for a moment, making her step light and composing her +features into serener lines. The gaunt form under the blanket was +motionless. The face, sunk away to skin clinging on sharp-set bones, +was turned in profile. He might have been sleeping but for the glint +of light between the eyelids. She was accustomed to seeing him thus, +to sitting beside the inanimate shape, her hand curled round his, her +eyes on the face that took no note of her impassioned scrutiny. Would +her tidings of David rouse him? She left herself no time to wonder, +hungrily expectant. + +"Low," she said, bending over him, "Daddy John's been to Sacramento and +has brought back wonderful news." + +He turned his head with an effort and looked at her. His glance was +vacant as if he had only half heard, as if her words had caught the +outer edges of his senses and penetrated no farther. + +"He has seen David." + +Into the dull eyes a slow light dawned, struggling through their apathy +till they became the eyes of a live man, hanging on hers, charged with +a staring intelligence. He made an attempt to move, lifted a wavering +hand and groped for her shoulder. + +"David!" he whispered. + +The news had touched an inner nerve that thrilled to it. She crouched +on the edge of the bunk, her heart beating thickly: + +"David, alive and well." + +The fumbling hand gripped on her shoulder. She felt the fingers +pressing in stronger than she had dreamed they could be. It pulled her +down toward him, the eyes fixed on hers, searching her face, glaring +fearfully from blackened hollows, riveted in a desperate questioning. + +"What happened to him?" came the husky whisper. + +"He fell from the rock; thinks he had a sunstroke up there and then +lost his balance and fell over and rolled under a ledge. And after a +few days a train came by and found him." + +"Is that what he said?" + +Her answering voice began to tremble, for the animation of his look +grew wilder and stranger. It was as if all the life in his body was +burning in those hungry eyes. The hand on her shoulder clutched like a +talon, the muscles informed with an unnatural force. Was it the end +coming with a last influx of strength and fire? Her tears began to +fall upon his face, and she saw it through them, ravaged and fearful, +with new life struggling under the ghastliness of dissolution. There +was an awfulness in this rekindling of the spirit where death had set +its stamp that broke her fortitude, and she forgot the legend of her +courage and cried in her agony: + +"Oh, Low, don't die, don't die! I can't bear it. Stay with me!" + +The hand left her shoulder and fumblingly touched her face, feeling +blindly over its tear-washed surface. + +"I'm not going to die," came the feeble whisper. "I can live now." + +Half an hour later when Daddy John came in he found her sitting on the +side of the bunk, a hunched, dim figure against the firelight. She +held up a warning hand, and the old man tiptoed to her side and leaned +over her to look. Courant was sleeping, his head thrown back, his +chest rising in even breaths. Daddy John gazed for a moment, then bent +till his cheek was almost against hers. + +"Pick up your heart, Missy," he whispered. "He looks to me better." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +From the day of the good news Courant rallied. At first they hardly +dared to hope. Bella and Daddy John talked about it together and +wondered if it were only a pause in the progress of his ailment. But +Susan was confident, nursing her man with a high cheerfulness that +defied their anxious faces. + +She had none of their fear of believing. She saw their doubts and +angrily scouted them. "Low will be all right soon," she said, in +answer to their gloomily observing looks. In her heart she called them +cowards, ready to join hands with death, not rise up and fight till the +final breath. Her resolute hope seemed to fill the cabin with light +and life. It transformed her haggardness, made her a beaming presence, +with eyes bright under tangled locks of hair, and lips that hummed +snatches of song. He was coming back to her like a child staggering to +its mother's outheld hands. While they were yet unconvinced "when Low +gets well" became a constant phrase on her tongue. She began to plan +again, filled their ears with speculations of the time when she and her +husband would move to the coast. They marveled at her, at the +dauntlessness of her spirit, at the desperate courage that made her +grip her happiness and wrench it back from the enemy. + +They marveled more when they saw she had been right--Susan who had been +a child so short a time before, knowing more than they, wiser and +stronger in the wisdom and strength of her love. + +There was a great day when Low crept out to the door and sat on the +bench in the sun with his wife beside him. To the prosperous passerby +they would have seemed a sorry pair--a skeleton man with uncertain feet +and powerless hands, a worn woman, ragged and unkempt. To them it was +the halcyon hour, the highest point of their mutual adventure. The +cabin was their palace, the soaked prospect a pleasance decked for +their delight. And from this rude and ravaged outlook their minds +reached forward in undefined and unrestricted visioning to all the +world that lay before them, which they would soon advance on and +together win. + +Nature was with them in their growing gladness. The spring was coming. +The river began to fall, and Courant's eyes dwelt longingly on the +expanding line of mud that waited for his pick. April came with a +procession of cloudless days, with the tinkling of streams shrinking +under the triumphant sun, with the pines exhaling scented breaths, and +a first, faint sprouting of new green. The great refreshed landscape +unveiled itself, serenely brooding in a vast, internal energy of +germination. The earth was coming to life as they were, gathering +itself for the expression of its ultimate purpose. It was rising to +the rite of rebirth and they rose with it, with faces uplifted to its +kindling glory and hearts in which joy was touched by awe. + +On a May evening, when the shadows were congregating in the cańon, +Susan lay on the bunk with her son in the hollow of her arm. The +children came in and peeped fearfully at the little hairless head, +pulling down the coverings with careful fingers and eying the newcomer +dubiously, not sure that they liked him. Bella looked over their +shoulders radiating proud content. Then she shooed them out and went +about her work of "redding up," pacing the earthen floor with the proud +tread of victory. Courant was sitting outside on the log bench. She +moved to the door and smiled down at him over the tin plate she was +scouring. + +"Come in and sit with her while I get the supper," she said. "Don't +talk, just sit where she can see you." + +He came and sat beside her, and she drew the blanket down from the +tiny, crumpled face. They were silent, wondering at it, looking back +over the time when it had cried in their blood, inexorably drawn them +together, till out of the heat of their passion the spark of its being +had been struck. Both saw in it their excuse and their pardon. + +She recovered rapidly, all her being revivified and reinforced, coming +back glowingly to a mature beauty. Glimpses of the Susan of old began +to reappear. She wanted her looking-glass, and, sitting up in the bunk +with the baby against her side, arranged her hair in the becoming knot +and twisted the locks on her temples into artful tendrils. She would +sew soon, and kept Bella busy digging into the trunks and bringing out +what was left of her best things. They held weighty conferences over +these, the foot of the bunk littered with wrinkled skirts and jackets +that had fitted a slimmer and more elegant Susan. A trip to Sacramento +was talked of, in which Daddy John was to shop for a lady and baby, and +buy all manner of strange articles of which he knew nothing. + +"Calico, that's a pretty color," he exclaimed testily. "How am I to +know what's a pretty color? Now if it was a sack of flour or a +spade--but I'll do my best, Missy," he added meekly, catching her eye +in which the familiar imperiousness gleamed through softening laughter. + +Soon the day came when she walked to the door and sat on the bench. +The river was settling decorously into its bed, and in the sunlight the +drenched shores shone under a tracery of pools and rillets as though a +silvery gauze had been rudely torn back from them, catching and tearing +here and there. The men were starting the spring work. The rocker was +up, and the spades and picks stood propped against the rock upon which +she and Low had sat on that first evening. He sat there now, watching +the preparations soon to take part again. His lean hand fingered among +the picks, found his own, and he walked to the untouched shore and +struck a tentative blow. Then he dropped the pick, laughing, and came +back to her. + +"I'll be at it in a week," he said, sitting down on the bench. "It'll +be good to be in the pits again and feel my muscles once more." + +"It'll be good to see you," she answered. + +In a week he was back, in two weeks he was himself again--the mightiest +of those mighty men who, sixty years ago, measured their strength along +the American River. The diggings ran farther upstream and were richer +than the old ones. The day's takings were large, sometimes so large +that the men's elation beat like a fever in their blood. At night they +figured on their wealth, and Susan listened startled to the sums that +fell so readily from their lips. They were rich, rich enough to go to +the coast and for Courant to start in business there. + +It was he who wanted this. The old shrinking and fear of the city were +gone. Now, with a wife and child, he turned his face that way. He was +longing to enter the fight for them, to create and acquire for them, to +set them as high as the labor of his hands and work of his brain could +compass. New ambitions possessed him. As Susan planned for a home and +its comforts, he did for his work in the market place in competition +with those who had once been his silent accusers. + +But there was also a strange humbleness in him. It did not weaken his +confidence or clog his aspiration, but it took something from the hard +arrogance that had recognized in his own will the only law. He had +heard from Daddy John of that interview with David, and he knew the +reason of David's lie. He knew, too, that David would stand to that +lie forever. Of the two great passions that the woman had inspired the +one she had relinquished was the finer. He had stolen her from David, +and David had shown that for love of her he could forego vengeance. +Once such an act would have been inexplicable to the mountain man. Now +he understood, and in his humility he vowed to make the life she had +chosen as perfect as the one that might have been. Through this last, +and to him, supremest sacrifice, David ceased to be the puny weakling +and became the hero, the thought of whom would make Courant "go softly +all his days." + +The summer marched upon them, with the men doing giant labor on the +banks and the women under the pine at work beside their children. The +peace of the valley was broken by the influx of the Forty-niners, who +stormed its solitudes, and changed the broken trail to a crowded +highway echoing with the noises of life. The river yielded up its +treasure to their eager hands, fortunes were made, and friendships +begun that were to make the history of the new state. These bronzed +and bearded men, these strong-thewed women, were waking from her sleep +the virgin California. + +Sometimes in the crowded hours Susan dropped her work and, with her +baby in her arms, walked along the teeming river trail or back into the +shadows of the forest. All about her was the stir of a fecund earth, +growth, expansion, promise. From beneath the pines she looked up and +saw the aspiration of their proud up-springing. At her feet the ground +was bright with flower faces completing themselves in the sunshine. +Wherever her glance fell there was a busyness of development, a +progression toward fulfillment, a combined, harmonious striving in +which each separate particle had its purpose and its meaning. The +shell of her old self-engrossment cracked, and the call of a wider life +came to her. It pierced clear and arresting through the fairy flutings +of "the horns of elfland" that were all she had heretofore heard. + +The desire to live as an experiment in happiness, to extract from life +all there was for her own enjoying, left her. Slowly she began to see +it as a vast concerted enterprise in which she was called to play her +part. The days when the world was made for her pleasure were over. +The days had begun when she saw her obligation, not alone to the man +and child who were part of her, but out and beyond these to the +diminishing circles of existences that had never touched hers. Her +love that had met so generous a response, full measure, pressed down +and running over, must be paid out without the stipulation of +recompense. Her vision widened, dimly descried horizons limitless as +the prairies, saw faintly how this unasked giving would transform a +gray and narrow world as the desert's sunsets had done. + +So gradually the struggling soul came into being and possessed the +fragile tissue that had once been a girl and was now a woman. + +They left the river on a morning in September, the sacks of dust making +the trunk heavy. The old wagon was ready, the mess chest strapped to +the back, Julia in her place. Bella and the children were to follow as +soon as the rains began, so the parting was not sad. The valley +steeped in crystal shadow, the hills dark against the flush of dawn, +held Susan's glance for a lingering minute as she thought of the days +in the tent under the pine. She looked at her husband and met his eyes +in which she saw the same memory. Then the child, rosy with life, +leaped in her arms, bending to snatch with dimpled hands at its +playmates, chuckling baby sounds as they pressed close to give him +their kisses. + +Daddy John, mounting to his seat, cried: + +"There's the sun coming up to wish us God-speed." + +She turned and saw it rising huge and red over the hill's shoulder, and +held up her son to see. The great ball caught his eyes and he stared +in tranced delight. Then he leaped against the restraint of her arm, +kicking on her breast with his heels, stretching a grasping hand toward +the crimson ball, a bright and shining toy to play with. + +Its light fell red on the three faces--the child's waiting for life to +mold its unformed softness, the woman's stamped with the gravity of +deep experience, the man's stern with concentrated purpose. They +watched in silence till the baby gave a cry, a thin, sweet sound of +wondering joy that called them back to it. Again they looked at one +another, but this time their eyes held no memories. The thoughts of +both reached forward to the coming years, and they saw themselves +shaping from this offspring of their lawless passion what should be a +man, a molder of the new Empire, a builder of the Promised Land. + + + + +FINIS + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Emigrant Trail, by Geraldine Bonner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EMIGRANT TRAIL *** + +***** This file should be named 19113-8.txt or 19113-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/1/19113/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Emigrant Trail + +Author: Geraldine Bonner + +Release Date: August 24, 2006 [EBook #19113] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EMIGRANT TRAIL *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT="He gathered her in his arms, and bending low carried her back into the darkened cavern." BORDER="2" WIDTH="367" HEIGHT="570"> +<H3> +[Frontispiece: He gathered her in his arms, and bending low <BR> +carried her back into the darkened cavern.] +</H3> +</CENTER> + +<BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE EMIGRANT TRAIL +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +GERALDINE BONNER +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +NEW YORK +<BR> +GROSSET & DUNLAP +<BR> +PUBLISHERS +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY +<BR> +DUFFIELD & COMPANY +<BR><BR> +Published, April, 1910 +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PART I +</H3> + +<H3> +THE PRAIRIE +</H3> + +<TABLE WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0101"> CHAPTER I </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0102"> CHAPTER II </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0103"> CHAPTER III </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0104"> CHAPTER IV </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0105"> CHAPTER V </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0106"> CHAPTER VI </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0107"> CHAPTER VII </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0108"> CHAPTER VIII </A></TD> +</TR> +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PART II +</H3> + +<H3> +THE RIVER +</H3> + +<TABLE WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0201"> CHAPTER I </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0202"> CHAPTER II </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0203"> CHAPTER III </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0204"> CHAPTER IV </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0205"> CHAPTER V </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0206"> CHAPTER VI </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0207"> CHAPTER VII </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0208"> CHAPTER VIII </A></TD> +</TR> +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PART III +</H3> + +<H3> +THE MOUNTAINS +</H3> + +<TABLE WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0301"> CHAPTER I </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0302"> CHAPTER II </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0303"> CHAPTER III </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0304"> CHAPTER IV </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0305"> CHAPTER V </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0306"> CHAPTER VI </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0307"> CHAPTER VII </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0308"> CHAPTER VIII </A></TD> +</TR> +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PART IV +</H3> + +<H3> +THE DESERT +</H3> + +<TABLE WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0401"> CHAPTER I </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0402"> CHAPTER II </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0403"> CHAPTER III </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0404"> CHAPTER IV </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0405"> CHAPTER V </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0406"> CHAPTER VI </A></TD> +<TD> </TD> +<TD> </TD> +</TR> +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PART V +</H3> + +<H3> +THE PROMISED LAND +</H3> + +<TABLE WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0501"> CHAPTER I </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0502"> CHAPTER II </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0503"> CHAPTER III </A></TD> +<TD><A HREF="#chap0504"> CHAPTER IV </A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0101"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE EMIGRANT TRAIL +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +PART I +</H2> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +The Prairie +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +It had rained steadily for three days, the straight, relentless rain of +early May on the Missouri frontier. The emigrants, whose hooded wagons +had been rolling into Independence for the past month and whose tents +gleamed through the spring foliage, lounged about in one another's +camps cursing the weather and swapping bits of useful information. +</P> + +<P> +The year was 1848 and the great California emigration was still twelve +months distant. The flakes of gold had already been found in the race +of Sutter's mill, and the thin scattering of men, which made the +population of California, had left their plows in the furrow and their +ships in the cove and gone to the yellow rivers that drain the Sierra's +mighty flanks. But the rest of the world knew nothing of this yet. +They were not to hear till November when a ship brought the news to New +York, and from city and town, from village and cottage, a march of men +would turn their faces to the setting sun and start for the land of +gold. +</P> + +<P> +Those now bound for California knew it only as the recently acquired +strip of territory that lay along the continent's Western rim, a place +of perpetual sunshine, where everybody had a chance and there was no +malaria. That was what they told each other as they lay under the +wagons or sat on saddles in the wet tents. The story of old Roubadoux, +the French fur trader from St. Joseph, circulated cheeringly from mouth +to mouth—a man in Monterey had had chills and people came from miles +around to see him shake, so novel was the spectacle. That was the +country for the men and women of the Mississippi Valley, who shook half +the year and spent the other half getting over it. +</P> + +<P> +The call of the West was a siren song in the ears of these waiting +companies. The blood of pioneers urged them forward. Their +forefathers had moved from the old countries across the seas, from the +elm-shaded towns of New England, from the unkempt villages that +advanced into the virgin lands by the Great Lakes, from the peace and +plenty of the splendid South. Year by year they had pushed the +frontier westward, pricked onward by a ceaseless unrest, "the old land +hunger" that never was appeased. The forests rang to the stroke of +their ax, the slow, untroubled rivers of the wilderness parted to the +plowing wheels of their unwieldy wagons, their voices went before them +into places where Nature had kept unbroken her vast and pondering +silence. The distant country by the Pacific was still to explore and +they yoked their oxen, and with a woman and a child on the seat started +out again, responsive to the cry of "Westward, Ho!" +</P> + +<P> +As many were bound for Oregon as for California. Marcus Whitman and +the missionaries had brought alluring stories of that great domain once +held so cheaply the country almost lost it. It was said to be of a +wonderful fertility and league-long stretches of idle land awaited the +settler. The roads ran together more than half the way, parting at +Green River, where the Oregon trail turned to Fort Hall and the +California dipped southward and wound, a white and spindling thread, +across what men then called "The Great American Desert." Two days' +journey from Independence this road branched from the Santa Fé Trail +and bent northward across the prairie. A signboard on a stake pointed +the way and bore the legend, "Road to Oregon." It was the starting +point of one of the historic highways of the world. The Indians called +it "The Great Medicine Way of the Pale-face." +</P> + +<P> +Checked in the act of what they called "jumping off" the emigrants wore +away the days in telling stories of the rival countries, and in +separating from old companies and joining new ones. It was an +important matter, this of traveling partnerships. A trip of two +thousand miles on unknown roads beset with dangers was not to be +lightly undertaken. Small parties, frightened on the edge of the +enterprise, joined themselves to stronger ones. The mountain men and +trappers delighted to augment the tremors of the fearful, and round the +camp fires listening groups hung on the words of long-haired men clad +in dirty buckskins, whose moccasined feet had trod the trails of the +fur trader and his red brother. +</P> + +<P> +This year was one of special peril for, to the accustomed dangers from +heat, hunger, and Indians, was added a new one—the Mormons. They were +still moving westward in their emigration from Nauvoo to the new Zion +beside the Great Salt Lake. It was a time and a place to hear the +black side of Mormonism. A Missourian hated a Latter Day Saint as a +Puritan hated a Papist. Hawn's mill was fresh in the minds of the +frontiersmen, and the murder of Joseph Smith was accounted a righteous +act. The emigrant had many warnings to lay to heart—against Indian +surprises in the mountains, against mosquitoes on the plains, against +quicksands in the Platte, against stampedes among the cattle, against +alkaline springs and the desert's parching heats. And quite as +important as any of these was that against the Latter Day Saint with +the Book of Mormon in his saddlebag and his long-barreled rifle across +the pommel. +</P> + +<P> +So they waited, full of ill words and impatience, while the rain fell. +Independence, the focusing point of the frontier life, housing +unexpected hundreds, dripped from all its gables and swam in mud. And +in the camps that spread through the fresh, wet woods and the oozy +uplands, still other hundreds cowered under soaked tent walls and in +damp wagon boxes, listening to the rush of the continuous showers. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0102"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + + +<P> +On the afternoon of the fourth day the clouds lifted. A band of yellow +light broke out along the horizon, and at the crossings of the town and +in the rutted country roads men and women stood staring at it with its +light and their own hope brightening their faces. +</P> + +<P> +David Crystal, as he walked through the woods, saw it behind a veining +of black branches. Though a camper and impatient to be off like the +rest, he did not feel the elation that shone on their watching faces. +His was held in a somber abstraction. Just behind him, in an opening +under the straight, white blossoming of dogwood trees, was a new-made +grave. The raw earth about it showed the prints of his feet, for he +had been standing by it thinking of the man who lay beneath. +</P> + +<P> +Four days before his friend, Joe Linley, had died of cholera. Three of +them—Joe, himself, and George Leffingwell, Joe's cousin—had been in +camp less than a week when it had happened. Until then their life had +been like a picnic there in the clearing by the roadside, with the +thrill of the great journey stirring in their blood. And then Joe had +been smitten with such suddenness, such awful suddenness! He had been +talking to them when David had seen a suspension of something, a +stoppage of a vital inner spring, and with it a whiteness had passed +across his face like a running tide. The awe of that moment, the hush +when it seemed to David the liberated spirit had paused beside him in +its outward flight, was with him now as he walked through the rustling +freshness of the wood. +</P> + +<P> +The rain had begun to lessen, its downfall thinning into a soft patter +among the leaves. The young man took off his hat and let the damp air +play over his hair. It was thick hair, black and straight, already +longer than city fashions dictated, and a first stubble of black beard +was hiding the lines of a chin perhaps a trifle too sensitive and +pointed. Romantic good looks and an almost poetic refinement were the +characteristics of the face, an unusual type for the frontier. With +thoughtful gray eyes set deep under a jut of brows and a nose as finely +cut as a woman's, it was of a type that, in more sophisticated +localities, men would have said had risen to meet the Byronic ideal of +which the world was just then enamored. But there was nothing Byronic +or self-conscious about David Crystal. He had been born and bred in +what was then the Far West, and that he should read poetry and regard +life as an undertaking that a man must face with all honor and +resoluteness was not so surprising for the time and place. The West, +with its loneliness, its questioning silences, its solemn sweep of +prairie and roll of slow, majestic rivers, held spiritual communion +with those of its young men who had eyes to see and ears to hear. +</P> + +<P> +The trees grew thinner and he saw the sky pure as amber beneath the +storm pall. The light from it twinkled over wet twigs and glazed the +water in the crumplings of new leaves. Across the glow the last +raindrops fell in slanting dashes. David's spirits rose. The weather +was clearing and they could start—start on the trail, the long trail, +the Emigrant Trail, two thousand miles to California! +</P> + +<P> +He was close to the camp. Through the branches he saw the filmy, +diffused blueness of smoke and smelled the sharp odor of burning wood. +He quickened his pace and was about to give forth a cheerful hail when +he heard a sound that made him stop, listen with fixed eye, and then +advance cautiously, sending a questing glance through the screen of +leaves. The sound was a woman's voice detached in clear sweetness from +the deeper tones of men. +</P> + +<P> +There was no especial novelty in this. Their camp was just off the +road and the emigrant women were wont to pause there and pass the time +of day. Most of them were the lean and leathern-skinned mates of the +frontiersmen, shapeless and haggard as if toil had drawn from their +bodies all the softness of feminine beauty, as malaria had sucked from +their skins freshness and color. But there were young, pretty ones, +too, who often strolled by, looking sideways from the shelter of +jealous sunbonnets. +</P> + +<P> +This voice was not like theirs. It had a quality David had only heard +a few times in his life—cultivation. Experience would have +characterized it as "a lady voice." David, with none, thought it an +angel's. Very shy, very curious, he came out from the trees ready at +once and forever to worship anyone who could set their words to such +dulcet cadences. +</P> + +<P> +The clearing, green as an emerald and shining with rain, showed the +hood of the wagon and the new, clean tent, white as sails on a summer +sea, against the trees' young bloom. In the middle the fire burned and +beside it stood Leff, a skillet in his hand. He was a curly-headed, +powerful country lad, twenty-four years old, who, two months before, +had come from an Illinois farm to join the expedition. The frontier +was to him a place of varied diversion, Independence a stimulating +center. So diffident that the bashful David seemed by contrast a man +of cultured ease, he was now blushing till the back of his neck was red. +</P> + +<P> +On the other side of the fire a lady and gentleman stood arm in arm +under an umbrella. The two faces, bent upon Leff with grave attention, +were alike, not in feature, but in the subtly similar play of +expression that speaks the blood tie. A father and daughter, David +thought. Against the rough background of the camp, with its litter at +their feet, they had an air of being applied upon an alien surface, of +not belonging to the picture, but standing out from it in sharp and +incongruous contrast. +</P> + +<P> +The gentleman was thin and tall, fifty or thereabouts, very pale, +especially to one accustomed to the tanned skins of the farm and the +country town. His face held so frank a kindliness, especially the eyes +which looked tired and a little sad, that David felt its expression +like a friendly greeting or a strong handclasp. +</P> + +<P> +The lady did not have this, perhaps because she was a great deal +younger. She was yet in the bud, far from the tempering touch of +experience, still in the state of looking forward and anticipating +things. She was dark, of medium height, and inclined to be plump. +Many delightful curves went to her making, and her waist tapered +elegantly, as was the fashion of the time. Thinking it over +afterwards, the young man decided that she did not belong in the +picture with a prairie schooner and camp kettles, because she looked so +like an illustration in a book of beauty. And David knew something of +these matters, for had he not been twice to St. Louis and there seen +the glories of the earth and the kingdoms thereof? +</P> + +<P> +But life in camp outside Independence had evidently blunted his +perceptions. The small waist, a round, bare throat rising from a +narrow band of lace, and a flat, yellow straw hat were the young +woman's only points of resemblance to the beauty-book heroines. She +was not in the least beautiful, only fresh and healthy, the flat straw +hat shading a girlish face, smooth and firmly modeled as a ripe fruit. +Her skin was a glossy brown, softened with a peach's bloom, warming +through deepening shades of rose to lips that were so deeply colored no +one noticed how firmly they could come together, how their curving, +crimson edges could shut tight, straighten out, and become a line of +forceful suggestions, of doggedness, maybe—who knows?—perhaps of +obstinacy. It was her physical exuberance, her downy glow, that made +David think her good looking; her serene, brunette richness, with its +high lights of coral and scarlet, that made her radiate an aura of +warmth, startling in that woodland clearing, as the luster of a firefly +in a garden's glooming dusk. +</P> + +<P> +She stopped speaking as he emerged from the trees, and Leff's +stammering answer held her in a riveted stare of attention. Then she +looked up and saw David. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," she said, and transferred the stare to him. "Is this he?" +</P> + +<P> +Leff was obviously relieved: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, David, I ain't known what to say to this lady and her father. +They think some of joining us. They've been waiting for quite a spell +to see you. They're goin' to California, too." +</P> + +<P> +The gentleman lifted his hat. Now that he smiled his face was even +kindlier, and he, too, had a pleasant, mellowed utterance that linked +him with the world of superior quality of which David had had those two +glimpses. +</P> + +<P> +"I am Dr. Gillespie," he said, "and this is my daughter Susan." +</P> + +<P> +David bowed awkwardly, a bow that was supposed to include father and +daughter. He did not know whether this was a regular introduction, and +even if it had been he would not have known what to do. The young +woman made no attempt to return the salutation, not that she was rude, +but she had the air of regarding it as a frivolous interruption to +weighty matters. She fixed David with eyes, small, black, and bright +as a squirrel's, so devoid of any recognition that he was a member of +the rival sex—or, in fact, of the human family—that his +self-consciousness sunk down abashed as if before reproof. +</P> + +<P> +"My father and I are going to California and the train we were going +with has gone on. We've come from Rochester, New York, and everywhere +we've been delayed and kept back. Even that boat up from St. Louis was +five days behind time. It's been nothing but disappointments and +delays since we left home. And when we got here the people we were +going with—a big train from Northern New York—had gone on and left +us." +</P> + +<P> +She said all this rapidly, poured it out as if she were so full of the +injury and annoyance of it, that she had to ease her indignation by +letting it run over into the first pair of sympathetic ears. David's +were a very good pair. Any woman with a tale of trouble would have +found him a champion. How much more a fresh-faced young creature with +a melodious voice and anxious eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"A good many trains have gone on," he said. And then, by way of +consolation for her manner demanded, that, "But they'll be stalled at +the fords with this rain. They'll have to wait till the rivers fall. +All the men who know say that." +</P> + +<P> +"So we've heard," said the father, "but we hoped that we'd catch them +up. Our outfit is very light, only one wagon, and our driver is a +thoroughly capable and experienced man. What we want are some +companions with whom we can travel till we overhaul the others. I'd +start alone, but with my daughter——" +</P> + +<P> +She cut in at once, giving his arm a little, irritated shake: +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you couldn't do that." Then to the young men: "My father's +been sick for quite a long time, all last winter. It's for his health +we're going to California, and, of course, he couldn't start without +some other men in the party. Indians might attack us, and at the hotel +they said the Mormons were scattered all along the road and thought +nothing of shooting a Gentile." +</P> + +<P> +Her father gave the fingers crooked on his arm a little squeeze with +his elbow. It was evident the pair were very good friends. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll make these young men think I'm a helpless invalid, who'll lie +in the wagon all day. They won't want us to go with them." +</P> + +<P> +This made her again uneasy and let loose another flow of authoritative +words. +</P> + +<P> +"No, my father isn't really an invalid. He doesn't have to lie in the +wagon. He's going to ride most of the time. He and I expect to ride +all the way, and the old man who goes with us will drive the mules. +What's been really bad for my father was living in that dreadful hotel +at Independence with everything damp and uncomfortable. We want to get +off just as soon as we can, and this gentleman," indicating Leff, "says +you want to go, too." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll start to-morrow morning, if it's clear." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, father," giving the arm she held a renewed clutch and sharper +shake, "there's our chance. We must go with them." +</P> + +<P> +The father's smile would have shown something of deprecation, or even +apology, if it had not been all pride and tenderness. +</P> + +<P> +"These young men will be very kind if they permit us to join them," was +what his lips said. His eyes added: "This is a spoiled child, but even +so, there is no other like her in the world." +</P> + +<P> +The young men sprang at the suggestion. The spring was internal, of +the spirit, for they were too overwhelmed by the imminent presence of +beauty to show a spark of spontaneity on the outside. They muttered +their agreement, kicked the ground, and avoided the eyes of Miss +Gillespie. +</P> + +<P> +"The people at the hotel," the doctor went on, "advised us to join one +of the ox trains. But it seemed such a slow mode of progress. They +don't make much more than fifteen to twenty miles a day." +</P> + +<P> +"And then," said the girl, "there might be people we didn't like in the +train and we'd be with them all the time." +</P> + +<P> +It is not probable that she intended to suggest to her listeners that +she could stand them as traveling companions. Whether she did or not +they scented the compliment, looked stupid, and hung their heads, +silent in the intoxication of this first subtle whiff of incense. Even +Leff, uncouth and unlettered, extracted all that was possible from the +words, and felt a delicate elation at the thought that so fine a +creature could endure his society. +</P> + +<P> +"We expect to go a great deal faster than the long trains," she +continued. "We have no oxen, only six mules and two extra horses and a +cow." +</P> + +<P> +Her father laughed outright. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't let my daughter frighten you. We've really got a very small +amount of baggage. Our little caravan has been made up on the advice +of Dr. Marcus Whitman, an old friend of mine. Five years ago when he +was in Washington he gave me a list of what was needed for the journey +across the plains. I suppose he's the best authority on that subject. +We all know how successfully the Oregon emigration was carried through." +</P> + +<P> +David was glad to show he knew something of that. A boy friend of his +had gone to Oregon with this, the first large body of emigrants that +had ventured on the great enterprise. Whitman was to him a national +hero, his ride in the dead of winter from the far Northwest to +Washington, as patriotically inspiring as Paul Revere's. +</P> + +<P> +There was more talk, standing round the fire, while the agreements for +the start were being made. No one thought the arrangement hasty, for +it was a place and time of quick decisions. Men starting on the +emigrant trail were not for wasting time on preliminaries. Friendships +sprang up like the grass and were mown down like it. Standing on the +edge of the unknown was not the propitious moment for caution and +hesitation. Only the bold dared it and the bold took each other +without question, reading what was on the surface, not bothering about +what might be hidden. +</P> + +<P> +It was agreed, the weather being fair, that they would start at seven +the next morning, Dr. Gillespie's party joining David's at the camp. +With their mules and horses they should make good time and within a +month overhaul the train that had left the Gillespies behind. +</P> + +<P> +As the doctor and his daughter walked away the shyness of the young men +returned upon them in a heavy backwash. They were so whelmed by it +that they did not even speak to one another. But both glanced with +cautious stealth at the receding backs, the doctor in front, his +daughter walking daintily on the edge of grass by the roadside, holding +her skirts away from the wet weeds. +</P> + +<P> +When she was out of sight Leff said with an embarrassed laugh: +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we got some one to go along with us now." +</P> + +<P> +David did not laugh. He pondered frowningly. He was the elder by two +years and he felt his responsibilities. +</P> + +<P> +"They'll do all right. With two more men we'll make a strong enough +train." +</P> + +<P> +Leff was cook that night, and he set the coffee on and began cutting +the bacon. Occupied in this congenial work, the joints of his tongue +were loosened, and as the skillet gave forth grease and odors, he gave +forth bits of information gleaned from the earlier part of the +interview: +</P> + +<P> +"I guess they got a first rate outfit. The old gentleman said they'd +been getting it together since last autumn. They must be pretty well +fixed." +</P> + +<P> +David nodded. Being "well fixed" or being poor did not count on the +edge of the prairie. They were frivolous outside matters that had +weight in cities. Leff went on, +</P> + +<P> +"He's consumpted. That's why he's going. He says he expects to be +cured before he gets to California." +</P> + +<P> +A sudden zephyr irritated the tree tops, which bent away from its touch +and scattered moisture on the fire and the frying pan. There was a +sputter and sizzle and Leff muttered profanely before he took up the +dropped thread: +</P> + +<P> +"The man that drives the mules, he's a hired man that the old +gentleman's had for twenty years. He was out on the frontier once and +knows all about it, and there ain't nothing he can't drive"—turning of +the bacon here, Leff absorbed beyond explanatory speech—"They got four +horses, two to ride and two extra ones, and a cow. I don't see how +they're goin' to keep up the pace with the cow along. The old +gentleman says they can do twenty to twenty-five miles a day when the +road's good. But I don't seem to see how the cow can keep up such a +lick." +</P> + +<P> +"A hired man, a cow, and an outfit that it took all winter to get +together," said David thoughtfully. "It sounds more like a pleasure +trip than going across the plains." +</P> + +<P> +He sat as if uneasily debating the possible drawbacks of so elaborate +an escort, but he was really ruminating upon the princess, who moved +upon the wilderness with such pomp and circumstance. +</P> + +<P> +As they set out their tin cups and plates they continued to discuss the +doctor, his caravan, his mules, his servant, and his cow, in fact, +everything but his daughter. It was noticeable that no mention of her +was made till supper was over and the night fell. Then their comments +on her were brief. Leff seemed afraid of her even a mile away in the +damp hotel at Independence, seemed to fear that she might in some way +know he'd had her name upon his tongue, and would come to-morrow with +angry, accusing looks like an offended goddess. David did not want to +talk about her, he did not quite know why. Before the thought of +traveling a month in her society his mind fell back reeling, baffled by +the sudden entrance of such a dazzling intruder. A month beside this +glowing figure, a month under the impersonal interrogation of those +cool, demanding eyes! It was as if the President or General Zachary +Taylor had suddenly joined them. +</P> + +<P> +But of course she figured larger in their thoughts than any other part +or all the combined parts of Dr. Gillespie's outfit. In their +imaginations—the hungry imaginations of lonely young men—she +represented all the grace, beauty, and mystery of the Eternal Feminine. +They did not reason about her, they only felt, and what they +felt—unconsciously to themselves—was that she had introduced the +last, wildest, and most disturbing thrill into the adventure of the +great journey. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0103"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + + +<P> +The next day broke still and clear. The dawn was yet a pale promise in +the East when from Independence, out through the dripping woods and +clearings, rose the tumult of breaking camps. The rattle of the yoke +chains and the raucous cry of "Catch up! Catch up!" sounded under the +trees and out and away over valley and upland as the lumbering wagons, +freighted deep for the long trail, swung into the road. +</P> + +<P> +David's camp was astir long before the sun was up. The great hour had +come. They were going! They sung and shouted as they harnessed Bess +and Ben, a pair of sturdy roans bought from an emigrant discouraged +before the start, while the saddle horses nosed about the tree roots +for a last cropping of the sweet, thick grass. Inside the wagon the +provisions were packed in sacks and the rifles hung on hooks on the +canvas walls. At the back, on a supporting step, the mess chest was +strapped. It was a businesslike wagon. Its contents included only one +deviation from the practical and necessary—three books of David's. +Joe had laughed at him about them. What did a man want with Byron's +poems and Milton and Bacon's "Essays" crossing the plains? Neither Joe +nor Leff could understand such devotion to the printed page. Their +kits were of the compactest, not a useless article or an unnecessary +pound, unless you counted the box of flower seeds that belonged to Joe, +who had heard that California, though a dry country, could be coaxed +into productiveness along the rivers. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Gillespie and his daughter were punctual. David's silver watch, +large as the circle of a cup and possessed of a tick so loud it +interrupted conversation, registered five minutes before seven, when +the doctor and his daughter appeared at the head of their caravan. Two +handsome figures, well mounted and clad with taste as well as +suitability, they looked as gallantly unfitted for the road as armored +knights in a modern battlefield. Good looks, physical delicacy, and +becoming clothes had as yet no recognized place on the trail. The +Gillespies were boldly and blithely bringing them, and unlike most +innovators, romance came with them. Nobody had gone out of +Independence with so confident and debonair an air. Now advancing +through a spattering of leaf shadows and sunspots, they seemed to the +young men to be issuing from the first pages of a story, and the +watchers secretly hoped that they would go riding on into the heart of +it with the white arch of the prairie schooner and the pricked ears of +the six mules as a movable background. +</P> + +<P> +There was no umbrella this morning to obscure Miss Gillespie's vivid +tints, and in the same flat, straw hat, with her cheeks framed in +little black curls, she looked a freshly wholesome young girl, who +might be dangerous to the peace of mind of men even less lonely and +susceptible than the two who bid her a flushed and bashful good +morning. She had the appearance, however, of being entirely oblivious +to any embarrassment they might show. There was not a suggestion of +coquetry in her manner as she returned their greetings. Instead, it +was marked by a businesslike gravity. Her eyes touched their faces +with the slightest welcoming light and then left them to rove, sharply +inspecting, over their wagon and animals. When she had scrutinized +these, she turned in her saddle, and said abruptly to the driver of the +six mules: +</P> + +<P> +"Daddy John, do you see—horses?" +</P> + +<P> +The person thus addressed nodded and said in a thin, old voice, +</P> + +<P> +"I do, and if they want them they're welcome to them." +</P> + +<P> +He was a small, shriveled man, who might have been anywhere from sixty +to seventy-five. A battered felt hat, gray-green with wind and sun, +was pulled well down to his ears, pressing against his forehead and +neck thin locks of gray hair. A grizzle of beard edged his chin, a +poor and scanty growth that showed the withered skin through its +sparseness. His face, small and wedge-shaped, was full of ruddy color, +the cheeks above the ragged hair smooth and red as apples. Though his +mouth was deficient in teeth, his neck, rising bare from the band of +his shirt, corrugated with the starting sinews of old age, he had a +shrewd vivacity of glance, an alertness of poise, that suggested an +unimpaired spiritual vitality. He seemed at home behind the mules, and +here, for the first time, David felt was some one who did not look +outside the picture. In fact, he had an air of tranquil acceptance of +the occasion, of adjustment without effort, that made him fit into the +frame better than anyone else of the party. +</P> + +<P> +It was a glorious morning, and as they fared forward through the +checkered shade their spirits ran high. The sun, curious and +determined, pried and slid through every crack in the leafage, turned +the flaked lichen to gold, lay in clotted light on the pools around the +fern roots. They were delicate spring woods, streaked with the white +dashes of the dogwood, and hung with the tassels of the maple. The +foliage was still unfolding, patterned with fresh creases, the prey of +a continuous, frail unrest. Little streams chuckled through the +underbrush, and from the fusion of woodland whisperings bird notes +detached themselves, soft flutings and liquid runs, that gave another +expression to the morning's blithe mood. +</P> + +<P> +Between the woods there were stretches of open country, velvet smooth, +with the trees slipped down to where the rivers ran. The grass was as +green as sprouting grain, and a sweet smell of wet earth and seedling +growths came from it. Cloud shadows trailed across it, blue blotches +moving languidly. It was the young earth in its blushing promise, +fragrant, rain-washed, budding, with the sound of running water in the +grass and bird voices dropping from the sky. +</P> + +<P> +With their lighter wagons they passed the ox trains plowing stolidly +through the mud, barefoot children running at the wheel, and women +knitting on the front seat. The driver's whip lash curled in the air, +and his nasal "Gee haw" swung the yoked beasts slowly to one side. +Then came detachments of Santa Fé traders, dark men in striped serapes +with silver trimmings round their high-peaked hats. Behind them +stretched the long line of wagons, the ponderous freighters of the +Santa Fé Trail, rolling into Independence from the Spanish towns that +lay beyond the burning deserts of the Cimarron. They filed by in slow +procession, a vision of faded colors and swarthy faces, jingle of spur +and mule bell mingling with salutations in sonorous Spanish. +</P> + +<P> +As the day grew warmer, the doctor complained of the heat and went back +to the wagon. David and the young girl rode on together through the +green thickness of the wood. They had talked a little while the doctor +was there, and now, left to themselves, they suddenly began to talk a +good deal. In fact, Miss Gillespie revealed herself as a somewhat +garrulous and quite friendly person. David felt his awed admiration +settling into a much more comfortable feeling, still wholly admiring +but relieved of the cramping consciousness that he had entertained an +angel unawares. She was so natural and girlish that he began to +cherish hopes of addressing her as "Miss Susan," even let vaulting +ambition carry him to the point where he could think of some day +calling himself her friend. +</P> + +<P> +She was communicative, and he was still too dazzled by her to realize +that she was not above asking questions. In the course of a half hour +she knew all about him, and he, without the courage to be thus +flatteringly curious, knew the main points of her own history. Her +father had been a practicing physician in Rochester for the past +fifteen years. Before that he had lived in New York, where she had +been born twenty years ago. Her mother had been a Canadian, a French +woman from the Province of Quebec, whom her father had met there one +summer when he had gone to fish in Lake St. John. Her mother had been +very beautiful—David nodded at that, he had already decided it—and +had always spoken English with an accent. She, the daughter, when she +was little, spoke French before she did English; in fact, did not Mr. +Crystal notice there was still something a little queer about her <I>r</I>'s? +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Crystal had noticed it, noticed it to the extent of thinking it +very pretty. The young lady dismissed the compliment as one who does +not hear, and went on with her narrative: +</P> + +<P> +"After my mother's death my father left New York. He couldn't bear to +live there any more. He'd been so happy. So he moved away, though he +had a fine practice." +</P> + +<P> +The listener gave forth a murmur of sympathetic understanding. +Devotion to a beautiful woman was matter of immediate appeal to him. +His respect for the doctor rose in proportion, especially when the +devotion was weighed in the balance against a fine practice. Looking +at the girl's profile with prim black curls against the cheek, he saw +the French-Canadian mother, and said not gallantly, but rather timidly: +</P> + +<P> +"And you're like your mother, I suppose? You're dark like a French +woman." +</P> + +<P> +She answered this with a brusque denial. Extracting compliments from +the talk of a shy young Westerner was evidently not her strong point. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no! not at all. My mother was pale and tall, with very large +black eyes. I am short and dark and my eyes are only just big enough +to see out of. She was delicate and I am very strong. My father says +I've never been sick since I got my first teeth." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him and laughed, and he realized it was the first time he +had seen her do it. It brightened her face delightfully, making the +eyes she had spoken of so disparagingly narrow into dancing slits. +When she laughed men who had not lost the nicety of their standards by +a sojourn on the frontier would have called her a pretty girl. +</P> + +<P> +"My mother was of the French <I>noblesse</I>," she said, a dark eye upon him +to see how he would take this dignified piece of information. "She was +a descendant of the Baron de Poutrincourt, who founded Port Royal." +</P> + +<P> +David was as impressed as anyone could have desired. He did not know +what the French <I>noblesse</I> was, but by its sound he judged it to be +some high and honorable estate. He was equally ignorant of the +identity of the Baron de Poutrincourt, but the name alone was +impressive, especially as Miss Gillespie pronounced it. +</P> + +<P> +"That's fine, isn't it?" he said, as being the only comment he could +think of which at once showed admiration and concealed ignorance. +</P> + +<P> +The young woman seemed to find it adequate and went on with her family +history. Five years ago in Washington her father had seen his old +friend, Marcus Whitman, and since then had been restless with the +longing to move West. His health demanded the change. His labors as a +physician had exhausted him. His daughter spoke feelingly of the +impossibility of restraining his charitable zeal. He attended the poor +for nothing. He rose at any hour and went forth in any weather in +response to the call of suffering. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what he says a doctor's duties are," she said. "It isn't a +profession to make money with, it's a profession for helping people and +curing them. You yourself don't count, it's only what you do that +does. Why, my father had a very large practice, but he made only just +enough to keep us." +</P> + +<P> +Of all she had said this seemed to the listener the best worth hearing. +The doctor now mounted to the top of the highest pedestal David's +admiration could supply. Here was one of the compensations with which +life keeps the balances even. Joe had died and left him friendless, +and while the ache was still sharp, this stranger and his daughter had +come to soothe his pain, perhaps, in the course of time, to conjure it +quite away. +</P> + +<P> +Early in the preceding winter the doctor had been forced to decide on +the step he had been long contemplating. An attack of congestion of +the lungs developed consumption in his weakened constitution. A warm +climate and an open-air life were prescribed. And how better combine +them than by emigrating to California? +</P> + +<P> +"And so," said the doctor's daughter, "father made up his mind to go +and sold out his practice. People thought he was crazy to start on +such a trip when he was sick, but he knows more than they do. Besides, +it's not going to be such hard work for him. Daddy John, the old man +who drives the mules, knows all about this Western country. He was +here a long time ago when Indiana and Illinois were wild and full of +Indians. He got wounded out here fighting and thought he was going to +die, and came back to New York. My father found him there, poor and +lonely and sick, and took care of him and cured him. He's been with us +ever since, more than twenty years, and he manages everything and takes +care of everything. He and father'll tell you I rule them, but that's +just teasing. It's really Daddy John who rules." +</P> + +<P> +The mules were just behind them, and she looked back at the old man and +called in her clear voice: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm talking about you, Daddy John. I'm telling all about your +wickedness." +</P> + +<P> +Daddy John's answer came back, slow and amused: +</P> + +<P> +"Wait till I get the young feller alone and I'll do some talking." +</P> + +<P> +Laughing, she settled herself in her saddle and dropped her voice for +David's ear: +</P> + +<P> +"I think Daddy John was quite pleased we missed the New York train. It +was a big company, and he couldn't have managed everything the way he +can now. But we'll soon catch it up and then"—she lifted her eyebrows +and smiled with charming malice at the thought of Daddy John's coming +subjugation. "We ought to overtake it in three or four weeks they said +in Independence." +</P> + +<P> +Her companion made no answer. The cheerful conversation had suddenly +taken a depressing turn. Under the spell of Miss Gillespie's loquacity +and black eyes he had quite forgotten that he was only a temporary +escort, to be superseded by an entire ox train, of which even now they +were in pursuit. David was a dreamer, and while the young woman +talked, he had seen them both in diminishing perspective, passing +sociably across the plains, over the mountains, into the desert, to +where California edged with a prismatic gleam the verge of the world. +They were to go riding, and talking on, their acquaintance ripening +gradually and delightfully, while the enormous panorama of the +continent unrolled behind them. And it might end in three or four +weeks! The Emigrant Trail looked overwhelmingly long when he could +only see himself and Leff riding over it, and California lost its color +and grew as gray as a line of sea fog. +</P> + +<P> +That evening's camp was pitched in a clearing near the road. The woods +pressed about them, whispering and curious, thrown out and then blotted +as the fires leaped or died. It was the first night's bivouac, and +much noise and bustle went to its accomplishment. The young men +covertly watched the Gillespie Camp. How would this ornamental party +cope with such unfamiliar labors? With its combination of a feminine +element which must be helpless by virtue of a rare and dainty fineness +and a masculine element which could hardly be otherwise because of ill +health, it would seem that all the work must devolve upon the old man. +</P> + +<P> +Nothing, however, was further from the fact. The Gillespies rose to +the occasion with the same dauntless buoyancy that they had shown in +ever attempting the undertaking, and then blithely defying public +opinion with a servant and a cow. The sense of their unfitness which +had made the young men uneasy now gave way to secret wonder as the +doctor pitched the tent like a backwoodsman, and his daughter showed a +skilled acquaintance with campers' biscuit making. +</P> + +<P> +She did it so well, so without hurry and with knowledge, that it was +worth while watching her, if David's own cooking could have spared him. +He did find time once to offer her assistance and that she refused, +politely but curtly. With sleeves rolled to the elbow, her hat off, +showing a roll of hair on the crown of her head separated by a neat +parting from the curls that hung against her cheeks, she was absorbed +in the business in hand. Evidently she was one of those persons to +whom the matter of the moment is the only matter. When her biscuits +were done, puffy and brown, she volunteered a preoccupied explanation: +</P> + +<P> +"I've been learning to do this all winter, and I'm going to do it +right." +</P> + +<P> +And even then it was less an excuse for her abruptness than the +announcement of a compact with herself, steadfast, almost grim. +</P> + +<P> +After supper they sat by the fire, silent with fatigue, the scent of +the men's tobacco on the air, the girl, with her hands clasping her +knees, looking into the flames. In the shadows behind the old servant +moved about. They could hear him crooning to the mules, and then catch +a glimpse of his gnomelike figure bearing blankets from the wagon to +the tent. There came a point where his labors seemed ended, but his +activity had merely changed its direction. He came forward and said to +the girl, +</P> + +<P> +"Missy, your bed's ready. You'd better be going." +</P> + +<P> +She gave a groan and a movement of protest under which was the hopeless +acquiescence of the conquered: +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet, Daddy John. I'm so comfortable sitting here." +</P> + +<P> +"There's two thousand miles before you. Mustn't get tired this early. +Come now, get up." +</P> + +<P> +His manner held less of urgence than of quiet command. He was not +dictatorial, but he was determined. The girl looked at him, sighed, +rose to her knees, and then made a last appeal to her father: +</P> + +<P> +"Father, <I>do</I> take my part. Daddy John's too interfering for words!" +</P> + +<P> +But her father would only laugh at her discomfiture. +</P> + +<P> +"All right," she said as she bent down to kiss him. "It'll be your +turn in just about five minutes." +</P> + +<P> +It was an accurate prophecy. The tent flaps had hardly closed on her +when Daddy John attacked his employer. +</P> + +<P> +"Goin' now?" he said, sternly. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor knew his fate, and like his daughter offered a spiritless +and intimidated resistance. +</P> + +<P> +"Just let me finish this pipe," he pleaded. +</P> + +<P> +Daddy John was inexorable: +</P> + +<P> +"It's no way to get cured settin' round the fire puffin' on a pipe." +</P> + +<P> +"Ten minutes longer?" +</P> + +<P> +"We'll roll out to-morrer at seven." +</P> + +<P> +"Daddy John, go to bed!" +</P> + +<P> +"I got to see you both tucked in for the night before I do. Can't +trust either of you." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor, beaten, knocked the ashes out of his pipe and rose with +resignation. +</P> + +<P> +"This is the family skeleton," he said to the young men who watched the +performance with curiosity. "We're ground under the heel of Daddy +John." +</P> + +<P> +Then he thrust his hand through the old servant's arm and they walked +toward the wagon, their heads together, laughing like a pair of boys. +</P> + +<P> +A few minutes later the camp had sunk to silence. The doctor was +stowed away in the wagon and Miss Gillespie had drawn the tent flaps +round the mystery of her retirement. David and Leff, too tired to +pitch theirs, were dropping to sleep by the fire, when the girl's +voice, low, but penetrating, roused them. +</P> + +<P> +"Daddy John," it hissed in the tone children employ in their games of +hide-and-seek, "Daddy John, are you awake?" +</P> + +<P> +The old man, who had been stretched before the fire, rose to a sitting +posture, wakeful and alert. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Missy, what's the matter? Can't you sleep?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's not that, but it's so hard to fix anything. There's no light." +</P> + +<P> +Here it became evident to the watchers that Miss Gillespie's head was +thrust out through the tent opening, the canvas held together below her +chin. Against the pale background, it was like the vision of a +decapitated head hung on a white wall. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it you want to fix?" queried the old man. +</P> + +<P> +"My hair," she hissed back. "I want to put it up in papers, and I +can't see." +</P> + +<P> +Then the secret of Daddy John's power was revealed. He who had so +remorselessly driven her to bed now showed no surprise or +disapprobation at her frivolity. It was as if her wish to beautify +herself received his recognition as an accepted vagary of human nature. +</P> + +<P> +"Just wait a minute," he said, scrambling out of his blanket, "and I'll +get you a light." +</P> + +<P> +The young men could not but look on all agape with curiosity to see +what the resourceful old man intended getting. Could the elaborately +complete Gillespie outfit include candles? Daddy John soon ended their +uncertainty. He drew from the fire a thick brand, brilliantly aflame, +and carried it to the tent. Miss Gillespie's immovable head eyed it +with some uneasiness. +</P> + +<P> +"I've nothing to put it in," she objected, "and I can't hold it while +I'm doing up my hair." +</P> + +<P> +"I will," said the old man. "Get in the tent now and get your papers +ready." +</P> + +<P> +The head withdrew, its retirement to be immediately followed by her +voice slightly muffled by the intervening canvas: +</P> + +<P> +"Now I'm ready." +</P> + +<P> +Daddy John cautiously parted the opening, inserted the torch, and stood +outside, the canvas flaps carefully closed round his hand. With the +intrusion of the flaming brand the tent suddenly became a rosy +transparency. The young' girl's figure moved in the midst of the glow, +a shape of nebulous darkness, its outlines lost in the mist of +enfolding draperies. +</P> + +<P> +Leff, softly lifting himself on his elbows, gazed fascinated upon this +discreet vision. Then looking at David he saw that he had turned over +and was lying with his face on his arms. Leff leaned from the blankets +and kicked him, a gentle but meaning kick on the leg. +</P> + +<P> +To his surprise David lifted a wakeful face, the brow furrowed with an +angry frown. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you go to sleep," he muttered crossly. "Let that girl curl her +hair, and go to sleep like a man." +</P> + +<P> +He dropped his face once more on his arms. Leff felt unjustly snubbed, +but that did not prevent him from watching the faintly defined aura of +shadow which he knew to be the dark young woman he was too shy to look +at when he met her face to face. He continued watching till the brand +died down to a spark and Daddy John withdrew it and went back to his +fire. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0104"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + + +<P> +In their division of labor David and Leff had decided that one was to +drive the wagon in the morning, the other in the afternoon. This +morning it was David's turn, and as he "rolled out" at the head of the +column he wondered if Leff would now ride beside Miss Gillespie and +lend attentive ear to her family chronicles. But Leff was evidently +not for dallying by the side of beauty. He galloped off alone, +vanishing through the thin mists that hung like a fairy's draperies +among the trees. The Gillespies rode at the end of the train. Even if +he could not see them David felt their nearness, and it added to the +contentment that always came upon him from a fair prospect lying under +a smiling sky. At harmony with the moment and the larger life outside +it, he leaned back against the canvas hood and let a dreamy gaze roam +over the serene and opulent landscape. +</P> + +<P> +Nature had always soothed and uplifted him, been like an opiate to +anger or pain. As a boy his troubles had lost their sting in the +consoling largeness of the open, under the shade of trees, within sight +of the bowing wheat fields with the wind making patterns on the seeded +grain. Now his thoughts, drifting aimless as thistle fluff, went back +to those childish days of country freedom, when he had spent his +vacations at his uncle's farm. He used to go with his widowed mother, +a forlorn, soured woman who rarely smiled. He remembered his irritated +wonder as she sat complaining in the ox cart, while he sent his eager +glance ahead over the sprouting acres to where the log farmhouse—the +haven of fulfilled dreams—stretched in its squat ugliness. He could +feel again the inward lift, the flying out of his spirit in a rush of +welcoming ecstasy, as he saw the woods hanging misty on the horizon and +the clay bluffs, below which the slow, quiet river uncoiled its yellow +length. +</P> + +<P> +The days at the farm had been the happiest of his life—wonderful days +of fishing and swimming, of sitting in gnarled tree boughs so still the +nesting birds lost their fear and came back to their eggs. For hours +he had lain in patches of shade watching the cloud shadows on the +fields, and the great up-pilings when storms were coming, rising +black-bosomed against the blue. There had been some dark moments to +throw out these brighter ones—when chickens were killed and he had +tried to stand by and look swaggeringly unconcerned as a boy should, +while he sickened internally and shut his lips over pleadings for +mercy. And there was an awful day when pigs were slaughtered, and no +one knew that he stole away to the elder thickets by the river, +burrowed deep into them, and stopped his ears against the shrill, +agonized cries. He knew such weakness was shameful and hid it with a +child's subtlety. At supper he told skillful lies to account for his +pale cheeks and lost appetite. +</P> + +<P> +His uncle, a kindly generous man, without children of his own, had been +fond of him and sympathized with his wish for an education. It was he +who had made it possible for the boy to go to a good school at +Springfield and afterwards to study law. How hard he had worked in +those school years, and what realms of wonder had been opened to him +through books, the first books he had known, reverently handled, +passionately read, that led him into unknown worlds, pointed the way to +ideals that could be realized! With the law books he was not in so +good an accord. But it was his chosen profession, and he approached it +with zeal and high enthusiasm, a young apostle who would sell his +services only for the right. +</P> + +<P> +Now he smiled, looking back at his disillusion. The young apostle was +jostled out of sight in the bustle of the growing town. There was no +room in it for idealists who were diffident and sensitive and stood on +the outside of its self-absorbed activity bewildered by the noises of +life. The stream of events was very different from the pages of books. +David saw men and women struggling toward strange goals, fighting for +soiled and sordid prizes, and felt as he had done on the farm when the +pigs were killed. And as he had fled from that ugly scene to the +solacing quiet of Nature, he turned from the tumult of the little town +to the West, upon whose edge he stood. +</P> + +<P> +It called him like a voice in the night. The spell of its borderless +solitudes, its vast horizons, its benign silences, grew stronger as he +felt himself powerless and baffled among the fighting energies of men. +He dreamed of a life there, moving in unobstructed harmony. A man +could begin in a fresh, clean world, and be what he wanted, be a young +apostle in his own way. His boy friend who had gone to Oregon fired +his imagination with stories of Marcus Whitman and his brother +missionaries. David did not want to be a missionary, but he wanted, +with a young man's solemn seriousness, to make his life of profit to +mankind, to do the great thing without self-interest. So he had +yearned and chafed while he read law and waited for clients and been as +a man should to his mother, until in the summer of 1847 both his mother +and his uncle had died, the latter leaving him a little fortune of four +thousand dollars. Then the Emigrant Trail lay straight before him, +stretching to California. +</P> + +<P> +The reins lay loose on the backs of Bess and Ben and the driver's gaze +was fixed on the line of trees that marked the course of an unseen +river. The dream was realized, he was on the trail. He lifted his +eyes to the sky where massed clouds slowly sailed and birds flew, +shaking notes of song down upon him. Joe was dead, but the world was +still beautiful, with the sun on the leaves and the wind on the grass, +with the kindliness of honest men and the gracious presence of women. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Gillespie was the first dweller in that unknown world east of the +Alleghenies whom David had met. For this reason alone it would be a +privilege to travel with him. How great the privilege was, the young +man did not know till he rode by the doctor's side that afternoon and +they talked together on the burning questions of the day; or the doctor +talked and David hungrily listened to the voice of education and +experience. +</P> + +<P> +The war with Mexico was one of the first subjects. The doctor regarded +it as a discreditable performance, unworthy a great and generous +nation. The Mormon question followed, and on this he had much curious +information. Living in the interior of New York State, he had heard +Joseph Smith's history from its beginning, when he posed as "a money +digger" and a seer who could read the future through "a peek stone." +The recent polygamous teachings of the prophet were a matter to mention +with lowered voice. Miss Gillespie, riding on the other side, was not +supposed to hear, and certainly appeared to take no interest in Mexico, +or Texas, or Joseph Smith and his unholy doctrines. +</P> + +<P> +She made no attempt to enter into the conversation, and it seemed to +David, who now and then stole a shy look at her to see if she was +impressed by his intelligent comments, that she did not listen. Once +or twice, when the talk was at its acutest point of interest, she +struck her horse and left them, dashing on ahead at a gallop. At +another time she dropped behind, and his ear, trained in her direction, +heard her voice in alternation with Daddy John's. When she joined them +after this withdrawal she was bright eyed and excited. +</P> + +<P> +"Father," she called as she came up at a sharp trot, "Daddy John says +the prairie's not far beyond. He says we'll see it soon—the prairie +that I've been thinking of all winter!" +</P> + +<P> +Her enthusiasm leaped to David and he forgot the Mexican boundaries and +the polygamous Mormons, and felt like a discoverer on the prow of a +ship whose keel cuts unknown seas. For the prairie was still a word of +wonder. It called up visions of huge unpeopled spaces, of the flare of +far flung sunsets, of the plain blackening with the buffalo, of the +smoke wreath rising from the painted tepee, and the Indian, bronzed and +splendid, beneath his feathered crest. +</P> + +<P> +"It's there," she cried, pointing with her whip. "I can't wait. I'm +going on." +</P> + +<P> +David longed to go with her, but the doctor was deep in the extension +of slavery and of all the subjects this burned deepest. The prairie +was interesting but not when the repeal of the Missouri Compromise was +on the carpet. Watching the girl's receding shape, David listened +respectfully and heard of the dangers and difficulties that were sure +to follow on the acquisition of the great strip of Mexican territory. +</P> + +<P> +All afternoon they had been passing through woods, the remnant of that +mighty forest which had once stretched from the Missouri to the +Alleghenies. Now its compact growth had become scattered and the sky, +flaming toward sunset, shone between the tree trunks. The road +ascended a slight hill and at the top of this Miss Gillespie appeared +and beckoned to them. As they drew near she turned and made a sweeping +gesture toward the prospect. The open prairie lay before them. +</P> + +<P> +No one spoke. In mute wonderment they gazed at a country that was like +a map unrolled at their feet. Still as a vision it stretched to where +sky and earth fused in a golden haze. No sound or motion broke its +dreaming quiet, vast, brooding, self-absorbed, a land of abundance and +accomplishment, its serenity flowing to the faint horizon blur. Lines +of trees, showing like veins, followed the wandering of streams, or +gathered in clusters to suck the moisture of springs. Nearby a pool +gleamed, a skin of gold linked by the thread of a rivulet to other +pools. They shone, a line of glistening disks, imbedded in the green. +Space that seemed to stretch to the edges of the world, the verdure of +Eden, the silence of the unpolluted, unconquered earth were here. +</P> + +<P> +So must it have looked when the beaked Viking ships nosed along the +fretted shores of Rhode Island, when Columbus took the sea in his +high-pooped caravals, when the Pilgrims saw the rocks and naked boughs +of the New England coast. So it had been for centuries, roamed by wild +men who had perished from its face and left no trace, their habitation +as a shadow in the sun, their work as dew upon the grass, their lives +as the lives of the mayfly against its immemorial antiquity. +</P> + +<P> +The young man felt his spirit mount in a rush of exaltation like a +prayer. Some fine and exquisite thing in himself leaped out in wild +response. The vision and the dream were for a moment his. And in that +moment life, all possible, all perfect, stretched before him, to end in +a triumphant glory like the sunset. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor took off his hat. +</P> + +<P> +"The heavens declare the glory of God. All the earth doth magnify his +name," he said in a low voice. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0105"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + + +<P> +A broken line of moving dots, the little company trailed a slow way +across this ocean of green. Nothing on its face was more insignificant +than they. The birds in the trees and the bees in the flowers had a +more important place in its economy. One afternoon David riding in the +rear crested a ridge and saw them a mile in advance, the road +stretching before and behind them in a curving thread. The tops of the +wagons were like the backs of creeping insects, the mounted figures, +specks of life that raised a slight tarnish of dust on the golden +clearness. He wondered at their lack of consequence, unregarded +particles of matter toiling across the face of the world. +</P> + +<P> +This was what they suggested viewed largely from the distance. Close +at hand—one of them—and it was a very different matter. They enjoyed +it. If they were losing their significance as man in the aggregate, +the tamer, and master, they were gaining a new importance as distinct +and separate units. Convention no longer pressed on them. What law +there was they carried with them, bore it before them into the +wilderness like the Ark of the Covenant. But nobody wanted to be +unlawful. There was no temptation to be so. Envy, hatred and malice +and all uncharitableness had been left behind in the cities. They were +a very cheerful company, suffering a little from fatigue, and with now +and then a faint brush of bad temper to put leaven into the dough. +</P> + +<P> +There was a Biblical simplicity in their life. They had gone back to +the era when man was a nomad, at night pitching his tent by the water +hole, and sleeping on skins beside the fire. When the sun rose over +the rim of the prairie the camp was astir. When the stars came out in +the deep blue night they sat by the cone of embers, not saying much, +for in the open, spoken words lose their force and the human creature +becomes a silent animal. +</P> + +<P> +Each day's march was a slow, dogged, progression, broken by fierce work +at the fords. The dawn was the beautiful time when the dew was caught +in frosted webs on the grass. The wings of the morning were theirs as +they rode over the long green swells where the dog roses grew and the +leaves of the sage palpitated to silver like a woman's body quivering +to the brushing of a beloved hand. Sometimes they walked, dipped into +hollows where the wattled huts of the Indians edged a creek, noted the +passage of earlier trains in the cropped grass at the spring mouth and +the circles of dead fires. +</P> + +<P> +In the afternoons it grew hot. The train, deliberate and determined as +a tortoise, moved through a shimmer of light. The drone of insect +voices rose in a sleepy chorus and the men drowsed in the wagons. Even +the buoyant life of the young girl seemed to feel the stupefying weight +of the prairie's deep repose. She rode at a foot pace, her hat hanging +by its strings to the pommel, her hair pushed back from her beaded +forehead, not bothering about her curls now. +</P> + +<P> +Then came the wild blaze of the sunset and the pitching of the camp, +and after supper the rest by the fire with pipe smoke in the air, and +overhead the blossoming of the stars. +</P> + +<P> +They were wonderful stars, troops and troops of them, dust of myriad, +unnumbered worlds, and the white lights of great, bold planets staring +at ours. David wondered what it looked like from up there. Was it as +large, or were we just a tiny, twinkling point too? From city streets +the stars had always chilled him by their awful suggestion of worlds +beyond worlds circling through gulfs of space. But here in the +primordial solitudes, under the solemn cope of the sky, the thought +lost its terror. He seemed in harmony with the universe, part of it as +was each speck of star dust. Without question or understanding he felt +secure, convinced of his oneness with the great design, cradled in its +infinite care. +</P> + +<P> +One evening while thus dreaming he caught Susan's eye full of curious +interest like a watching child's. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you thinking of?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"The stars," he answered. "They used to frighten me." +</P> + +<P> +She looked from him to the firmament as if to read a reason for his +fear: +</P> + +<P> +"Frighten you? Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"There were so many of them, thousands and millions, wandering about up +there. It was so awful to think of them, how they'd been swinging +round forever and would keep on forever. And maybe there were people +on some of them, and what it all was for." +</P> + +<P> +She continued to look up and then said indifferently: +</P> + +<P> +"It doesn't seem to me to matter much." +</P> + +<P> +"It used to make me feel that nothing was any use. As if I was just a +grain of dust." +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes came slowly down and rested on him in a musing gaze. +</P> + +<P> +"A grain of dust. I never felt that way. I shouldn't think you'd like +it, but I don't see why you were afraid." +</P> + +<P> +David felt uncomfortable. She was so exceedingly practical and direct +that he had an unpleasant feeling she would set him down as a coward, +who went about under the fear that a meteor might fall on him and +strike him dead. He tried to explain: +</P> + +<P> +"Not afraid actually, just sort of frozen by the idea of it all. It's +so—immense, so—so crushing and terrible." +</P> + +<P> +Her gaze continued, a questioning quality entering it. This gained in +force by a slight tilting of her head to one side. David began to fear +her next question. It might show that she regarded him not only as a +coward but also as a fool. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you don't understand," he hazarded timidly. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think I do," she answered, then dropped her eyes and added +after a moment of pondering, "I can't remember ever being really afraid +of anything." +</P> + +<P> +Had it been daylight she would have noticed that the young man colored. +He thought guiltily of certain haunting fears of his childhood, ghosts +in the attic, a banshee of which he had once heard a fearsome story, a +cow that had chased him on the farm. She unconsciously assisted him +from this slough of shame by saying suddenly: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, I can. I remember now. I'm afraid of mad dogs." +</P> + +<P> +It was not very comforting for, after all, everybody was afraid of mad +dogs. +</P> + +<P> +"And there was a reason for that," she went on. "I was frightened by a +mad dog when I was a little girl eight years old. I was going out to +spend some of my allowance. I got twenty cents a month and I had it +all in pennies. And suddenly there was a great commotion in the +street, everybody running and screaming and rushing into doorways. I +didn't know what was the matter but I was startled and dropped my +pennies. And just as I stooped to pick them up I saw the dog coming +toward me, tearing, with its tongue hanging out. And, would you +believe it, I gathered up all those pennies before I ran and just had +time to scramble over a fence." +</P> + +<P> +It was impossible not to laugh, especially with her laughter leading, +her eyes narrowed to cracks through which light and humor sparkled at +him. +</P> + +<P> +He was beginning to know Miss Gillespie—"Miss Susan" he called +her—very well. It was just like his dream, riding beside her every +day, and growing more friendly, the spell of her youth, and her dark +bloom, and her attentive eyes—for she was an admirable listener if her +answers sometimes lacked point—drawing from him secret thoughts and +hopes and aspirations he had never dared to tell before. If she did +not understand him she did not laugh at him, which was enough for David +with the sleepy whisperings of the prairie around him, and new, strange +matter stirring in his heart and making him bold. +</P> + +<P> +There was only one thing about her that was disappointing. He did not +admit it to himself but it kept falling on their interviews with a +depressive effect. To the call of beauty she remained unmoved. If he +drew up his horse to gaze on the wonders of the sunset the waiting made +her impatient. He had noticed that heat and mosquitoes would distract +her attention from the hazy distances drowsing in the clear yellow of +noon. The sky could flush and deepen in majestic splendors, but if she +was busy over the fire and her skillets she never raised her head to +look. And so it was with poetry. She did not know and did not care +anything about the fine frenzies of the masters. Byron?—wrinkling up +her forehead—yes, she thought she'd read something in school. +Shelley?—"The Ode to the West Wind?" No, she'd never read that. What +was an ode anyway? Once he recited the "Lines to an Indian Air," his +voice trembling a little, for the words were almost sacred. +</P> + +<P> +She pondered for a space and then said: +</P> + +<P> +"What are champak odors?" +</P> + +<P> +David didn't know. He had never thought of inquiring. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't that odd," she murmured. "That would have been the first thing +I would have wanted to know. Champak? I suppose it's some kind of a +flower—something like a magnolia. It has a sound like a magnolia." +</P> + +<P> +A lively imagination was evidently not one of Miss Gillespie's +possessions. +</P> + +<P> +Late one afternoon, riding some distance in front of the train, she and +David had seen an Indian loping by on his pony. It was not an unusual +sight. Many Indians had visited their camp and at the crossing of the +Kaw they had come upon an entire village in transit to the summer +hunting grounds. But there was something in this lone figure, moving +solitary through the evening glow, that put him in accord with the +landscape's solemn beauty, retouched him with his lost magnificence. +In buckskins black with filth, his blanket a tattered rag, an ancient +rifle across his saddle, the undying picturesqueness of the red man was +his. +</P> + +<P> +"Look," said David, his imagination fired. "Look at that Indian." +</P> + +<P> +The savage saw them and turned a face of melancholy dignity upon them, +giving forth a deep "How, How." +</P> + +<P> +"He's a very dirty Indian," said Susan, sweeping him with a glance of +disfavor. +</P> + +<P> +David did not hear her. He looked back to watch the lonely figure as +it rode away over the swells. It seemed to him to be riding into the +past, the lordly past, when the red man owned the land and the fruits +thereof. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at him as he rides away," he said. "Can't you seem to see him +coming home from a battle with his face streaked with vermilion and his +war bonnet on? He'd be solemn and grand with the wet scalps dripping +at his belt. When they saw him coming his squaws would come out in +front of the lodges and begin to sing the war chant." +</P> + +<P> +"Squaws!" in a tone of disgust. "That's as bad as the Mormons." +</P> + +<P> +The muse had possession of David and a regard for monogamy was not +sufficient to stay his noble rage. +</P> + +<P> +"And think how he felt! All this was his, the pale face hadn't come. +He'd fought his enemies for it and driven them back. In the cool of +the evening when he was riding home he could look out for miles and +miles, clear to the horizon, and know he was the King of it all. Just +think what it was to feel like that! And far away he could see the +smoke of his village and know that they were waiting for the return of +the chief." +</P> + +<P> +"Chief!" with even greater emphasis, "that poor dirty creature a +<I>chief</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +The muse relinquished her hold. The young man explained, not with +impatience, but as one mortified by a betrayal into foolish enthusiasm: +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't mean that <I>he</I> was a chief. I was just imagining." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," with the falling inflexion of comprehension. "You often imagine, +don't you? Let's ride on to where the road goes down into that hollow." +</P> + +<P> +They rode on in silence, both slightly chagrined, for if David found it +trying to have his fine flights checked, Susan was annoyed when she +said things that made him wear a look of forbearing patience. She may +not have had much imagination, but she had a very observing eye, and +could have startled not only David, but her father by the shrewdness +with which she read faces. +</P> + +<P> +The road sloped to a hollow where the mottled trunks of cotton woods +stood in a group round the dimpling face of a spring. With +well-moistened roots the grass grew long and rich. Here was the place +for the night's camp. They would wait till the train came up. And +even as they rested on this comfortable thought they saw between the +leaves the canvas top of a wagon. +</P> + +<P> +The meeting of trains was one of the excitements of life on the +Emigrant Trail. Sometimes they were acquaintances made in the wet days +at Independence, sometimes strangers who had come by way of St. Joseph. +Then the encountering parties eyed one another with candid curiosity +and from each came the greeting of the plains, "Be you for Oregon or +California?" +</P> + +<P> +The present party was for Oregon from Missouri, six weeks on the road. +They were a family, traveling alone, having dropped out of the company +with which they had started. The man, a gaunt and grizzled creature, +with long hair and ragged beard, was unyoking his oxen, while the woman +bent over the fire which crackled beneath her hands. She was as lean +as he, shapeless, saffron-skinned and wrinkled, but evidently younger +than she looked. The brood of tow-headed children round her ran from a +girl of fourteen to a baby, just toddling, a fat, solemn-eyed cherub, +almost naked, with a golden fluff of hair. +</P> + +<P> +At sight of him Susan drew up, the unthinking serenity of her face +suddenly concentrated into a hunger of admiration, a look which changed +her, focused her careless happiness into a pointed delight. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at the baby," she said quickly, "a lovely fat baby with curls," +then slid off her horse and went toward them. +</P> + +<P> +The woman drew back staring. The children ran to her, frightened as +young rabbits, and hid behind her skirts. Only the baby, grave and +unalarmed, stood his ground and Susan snatched him up. Then the mother +smiled, gratified and reassured. She had no upper front teeth, and the +wide toothless grin gave her a look of old age that had in it a curious +suggestion of debasement. +</P> + +<P> +David stood by his horse, making no move to come forward. The party +repelled him. They were not only uncouth and uncomely, but they were +dirty. Dirt on an Indian was, so to speak, dirt in its place—but +unwashed women and children—! His gorge rose at it. And Susan, +always dainty as a pink, seemed entirely indifferent to it. The +children, with unkempt hair and legs caked in mud, crowded about her, +and as she held the baby against her chest, her glance dwelt on the +woman's face, with no more consciousness of its ugliness than when she +looked over the prairie there was consciousness of Nature's supreme +perfection. +</P> + +<P> +On the way back to camp he asked her about it. Why, if she objected to +the Indian's dirt, had she been oblivious to that of the women and the +children? He put it judicially, with impersonal clearness as became a +lawyer. She looked puzzled, then laughed, her fresh, unusual laugh: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I don't know. I don't know why I do everything or why I like +this thing and don't like that. I don't always have a reason, or if I +do I don't stop to think what it is. I just do things because I want +to and feel them because I can't help it. I like children and so I +wanted to talk to them and hear about them from their mother." +</P> + +<P> +"But would your liking for them make you blind to such a thing as dirt?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. Maybe it would. When you're interested in anything or +anybody small things don't matter." +</P> + +<P> +"Small things! Those children were a sight!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, poor little brats! No one had washed the baby for weeks. The +woman said she was too tired to bother and it wouldn't bathe in the +creeks with the other children, so they let it go. If we kept near +them I could wash it for her. I could borrow it and wash it every +morning. But there's no use thinking about it as we'll pass them +to-morrow. Wasn't it a darling with little golden rings of hair and +eyes like pieces of blue glass?" +</P> + +<P> +She sighed, relinquishing the thought of the baby's morning bath with +pensive regret. David could not understand it, but decided as Susan +felt that way it must be the right way for a woman to feel. He was +falling in love, but he was certainly not falling in love—as students +of a later date have put it—with "a projection of his own personality." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0106"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + + +<P> +They had passed the Kaw River and were now bearing on toward the +Vermilion. Beyond that would be the Big and then the Little Blue and +soon after the Platte where "The Great Medicine way of the Pale Face" +bent straight to the westward. The country continued the same and over +its suave undulations the long trail wound, sinking to the hollows, +threading clumps of cotton-wood and alder, lying white along the spine +of bolder ridges. +</P> + +<P> +Each day they grew more accustomed to their gypsy life. The prairie +had begun to absorb them, cut them off from the influences of the old +setting, break them to its will. They were going back over the +footsteps of the race, returning to aboriginal conditions, with their +backs to the social life of communities and their faces to the wild. +Independence seemed a long way behind, California so remote that it was +like thinking of Heaven when one was on earth, well fed and well +faring. Their immediate surroundings began to make their world, they +subsided into the encompassing immensity, unconsciously eliminating +thoughts, words, habits, that did not harmonize with its uncomplicated +design. +</P> + +<P> +On Sundays they halted and "lay off" all day. This was Dr. Gillespie's +wish. He had told the young men at the start and they had agreed. It +would be a good thing to have a day off for washing and general +"redding up." But the doctor had other intentions. In his own words, +he "kept the Sabbath," and each Sunday morning read the service of the +Episcopal Church. Early in their acquaintance David had discovered +that his new friend was religious; "a God-fearing man" was the term the +doctor had used to describe himself. David, who had only seen the +hysterical, fanaticism of frontier revivals now for the first time +encountered the sincere, unquestioning piety of a spiritual nature. +The doctor's God was an all-pervading presence, who went before him as +pillar of fire or cloud. Once speaking to the young man of the +security of his belief in the Divine protection, he had quoted a line +which recurred to David over and over—in the freshness of the morning, +in the hot hush of midday, and in the night when the stars were out: +"Behold, He that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep." +</P> + +<P> +Overcome by shyness the young men had stayed away from the first +Sunday's service. David had gone hunting, feeling that to sit near by +and not attend would offer a slight to the doctor. No such scruples +restrained Leff, who squatted on his heels at the edge of the creek, +washing his linen and listening over his shoulder. By the second +Sunday they had mastered their bashfulness and both came shuffling +their hats in awkward hands and sitting side by side on a log. Leff, +who had never been to church in his life, was inclined to treat the +occasion as one for furtive amusement, at intervals casting a sidelong +look at his companion, which, on encouragement, would have developed +into a wink. David had no desire to exchange glances of derisive +comment. He was profoundly moved. The sonorous words, the solemn +appeal for strength under temptation, the pleading for mercy with that +stern, avenging presence who had said, "I, the Lord thy God am a +jealous God," awed him, touched the same chord that Nature touched and +caused an exaltation less exquisite but more inspiring. +</P> + +<P> +The light fell flickering through the leaves of the cotton-woods on the +doctor's gray head. He looked up from his book, for he knew the words +by heart, and his quiet eyes dwelt on the distance swimming in morning +light. His friend, the old servant, stood behind him, a picturesque +figure in fringed buckskin shirt and moccasined feet. He held his +battered hat in his hand, and his head with its spare locks of grizzled +hair was reverently bowed. He neither spoke nor moved. It was Susan's +voice who repeated the creed and breathed out a low "We beseech thee to +hear us, Good Lord." +</P> + +<P> +The tents and the wagons were behind her and back of them the long +green splendors of the prairie. Flecks of sun danced over her figure, +shot back and forth from her skirt to her hair as whiffs of wind caught +the upper branches of the cotton woods. She had been sitting on the +mess chest, but when the reading of the Litany began she slipped to her +knees, and with head inclined answered the responses, her hands lightly +clasped resting against her breast. +</P> + +<P> +David, who had been looking at her, dropped his eyes as from a sight no +man should see. To admire her at this moment, shut away in the +sanctuary of holy thoughts, was a sacrilege. Men and their passions +should stand outside in that sacred hour when a woman is at prayer. +Leff had no such high fancies. He only knew the sight of Susan made +him dumb and drove away all the wits he had. Now she looked so aloof, +so far removed from all accustomed things, that the sense of her +remoteness added gloom to his embarrassment. He twisted a blade of +grass in his freckled hands and wished that the service would soon end. +</P> + +<P> +The cotton-wood leaves made a light, dry pattering as if rain drops +were falling. From the picketed animals, looping their trail ropes +over the grass, came a sound of low, continuous cropping. The hum of +insects swelled and sank, full of sudden life, then drowsily dying away +as though the spurt of energy had faded in the hour's discouraging +languor. The doctor's voice detached itself from this pastoral chorus +intoning the laws that God gave Moses when he was conducting a +stiff-necked and rebellious people through a wilderness: +</P> + +<P> +"Thou shalt do no murder. +</P> + +<P> +"Thou shalt not commit adultery. +</P> + +<P> +"Thou shalt not steal." +</P> + +<P> +And to each command Susan's was the only voice that answered, falling +sweet and delicately clear on the silence: +</P> + +<P> +"Lord have mercy upon us and incline our hearts to keep this law." +</P> + +<P> +Susan praying for power to resist such scarlet sins! It was fantastic +and David wished he dared join his voice to hers and not let her kneel +there alone as if hers was the only soul that needed strengthening. +Susan, the young, the innocent-eyed, the pure. +</P> + +<P> +He had come again the next Sunday—Leff went hunting that morning—and +felt that some day, not so far distant, he would dare to kneel too and +respond. He thought of it when alone, another port that his dreams +were taking him to—his voice and Susan's, the bass and the treble, +strength and sweetness, symbol of the male and the female, united in +one harmonious strain that would stream upward to the throne of the God +who, watching over them, neither slumbered nor slept. +</P> + +<P> +It was on the afternoon of this Sunday, that David started out to walk +to an Indian village, of which a passing emigrant had told him, lying +in a hollow a mile to the westward. He left the camp sunk in the +somnolence of its seventh-day rest, Susan not to be seen anywhere, Leff +asleep under the wagon, the doctor writing his diary in the shade of +the cotton-woods, and Daddy John lying on the grass among the whiteness +of the week's wash. The hour was hot and breathless, the middle +distance quivering through a heat haze, and the remoter reaches of the +prairie an opalescent blur. +</P> + +<P> +The Indian village was deserted and he wandered through its scattered +lodges of saplings wattled with the peeled bark of willows. The +Indians had not long departed. The ash of their fires was still warm, +tufts of buffalo hair and bright scraps of calico were caught on the +bushes, yet it already had an air of desolation, the bleakness of the +human habitation when the dweller has crossed the threshold and gone. +</P> + +<P> +Shadows were filling the hollow like a thin cold wine rising on the +edges of a cup, when he left it and gained the upper levels. Doubtful +of his course he stood for a moment looking about, conscious of a +curious change in the prospect, a deepening of its colors, a stillness +no longer dreamy, but heavy with suspense. The sky was sapphire clear, +but on the western horizon a rampart of cloud edged up, gray and +ominous, against the blue. As he looked it mounted, unrolled and +expanded, swelling into forms of monstrous aggression. A faint air, +fresh and damp, passed across the grass, and the clouds swept, like +smoke from a world on fire, over the sun. +</P> + +<P> +With the sudden darkening, dread fell on the face of the land. It came +first in a hush, like a holding of the breath, attentive, listening, +expectant. Then this broke and a quiver, the goose-flesh thrill of +fear, stirred across the long ridges. The small, close growing leafage +cowered, a frightened trembling seized the trees. David saw the sweep +of the landscape growing black under the blackness above. He began to +run, the sky sinking lower like a lid shutting down on the earth. He +thought that it was hard to get it on right, for in front of him a line +of blue still shone over which the lid had not yet been pressed down. +The ground was pale with the whitened terror of upturned leaves, the +high branches of the cotton-woods whipping back and forth in wild +agitation. He felt the first large drops, far apart, falling with a +reluctant splash, and he ran, a tiny figure in the tragic and +tremendous scene. +</P> + +<P> +When he reached the camp the rush of the rain had begun. Through a +network of boughs he caught the red eye of the fire and beyond had a +vision of stampeding mules with the men in pursuit. Then crashing +through the bushes he saw why the fire still burned—Susan was holding +an umbrella over it, the rain spitting in the hot ash, a pan of +biscuits balanced in the middle. Behind her the tent, one side +concave, the other bellying out from restraining pegs, leaped and +jerked at its moorings. A rumble of thunder rolled across the sky and +the rain came at them in a slanting wall. +</P> + +<P> +"We're going to have biscuits for supper if the skies fall," Susan +shouted at him, and he had a glimpse of her face, touched with +firelight, laughing under the roof of the umbrella. +</P> + +<P> +A furious burst of wind cut off his answer, the blue glare of lightning +suddenly drenched them, and the crackling of thunder tore a path across +the sky. The umbrella was wrenched from Susan and her wail as the +biscuits fell pierced the tumult with the thin, futile note of human +dole. He had no time to help her, for the tent with an exultant wrench +tore itself free on one side, a canvas wing boisterously leaping, while +the water dived in at the blankets. As he sped to its rescue he had an +impression of the umbrella, handle up, filling with water like a large +black bowl and Susan groveling in the ashes for her biscuits. +</P> + +<P> +"The tent's going," he cried back; "all your things will be soaked. +Never mind the supper, come and help me." And it seemed in this moment +of tumult, that Susan ceased to be a woman to be cared for and +protected and became his equal, fighting with him against the forces of +the primitive world. The traditions of her helplessness were stripped +from her, and he called her to his aid as the cave man called his woman +when the storm fell on their bivouac. +</P> + +<P> +They seized on the leaping canvas, he feeling in the water for the tent +pegs, she snatching at the ropes. He tried to direct her, shouting +orders, which were beaten down in the stuttering explosion of the +thunder. Once a furious gust sent her against him. The wind wrapped +her damp skirts round him and he felt her body soft and pliable. The +grasp of her hands was tight on his arms and close to his ear he heard +her laughing. For a second the quick pulse of the lightning showed her +to him, her hair glued to her cheeks, her wet bodice like a thin web +molding her shoulders, and as the darkness shut her out he again heard +her laughter broken by panting breaths. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it glorious," she cried, struggling away from him. "That nearly +took me off my feet. My skirts are all twined round you." +</P> + +<P> +They got the tent down, writhing and leaping like a live thing frantic +to escape. Conquered, a soaked mass on the ground, he pulled the +bedding from beneath it and she grasped the blankets in her arms and +ran for the wagon. She went against the rain, leaning forward on it, +her skirts torn back and whipped up by the wind into curling eddies. +Her head, the hair pressed flat to it, was sleek and wet as a seal's, +and as she ran she turned and looked at him over her shoulder, a wild, +radiant look that he never forgot. +</P> + +<P> +They sat in the wagon and watched the storm. Soaked and tired they +curled up by the rear opening while the rain threshed against the +canvas and driblets of water came running down the sides. The noise +made talking difficult and they drew close together exclaiming as the +livid lightning saturated the scene, and holding their breaths when the +thunder broke and split its furious way over their heads. They watched +it, conscious each in the other of an increased comforting +friendliness, a gracious reassurance where Nature's transports made man +seem so small. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0107"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + + +<P> +The Vermilion was swollen. With a bluff on one side and a wide bottom +on the other it ran a prosperous, busy stream, brown and ripple-ridged. +The trail lay like a line of tape along the high land, then down the +slope, and across the bottom to the river. Here it seemed to slip +under the current and come up on the other side where it climbed a +steep bank, and thence went on, thin and pale, rising and dropping to +the ridges till the tape became a thread. +</P> + +<P> +They had been waiting a day for the water to fall. Camped in the +bottom under a scattering of trees with the animals grazing on the +juicy river grass and the song of the stream in their ears, it had been +a welcome break in the monotony of the march. There was always a +choice of occupation in these breathing spells. On the first afternoon +everybody had sat on the grass at the tent doors mending. To-day the +men had revolted and wandered off but Susan continued industriously +intent over patches and darns. She sat on a log, her spools and +scissors beside her, billows of homespun and calico about her feet. +</P> + +<P> +As she sewed she sung in a low undervoice, not looking up. Beyond her +in the shade Daddy John mended a piece of harness. Daddy John was not +a garrulous person and when she paused in her sewing to speak to him, +he answered with a monosyllable. It was one of the old man's +self-appointed duties to watch over her when the others were absent. +If he did not talk much to his "Missy" he kept a vigilant eye upon her, +and to-day he squatted in the shade beside her because the doctor and +David had gone after antelope and Leff was off somewhere on an +excursion of his own. +</P> + +<P> +Susan, sewing, her face grave above her work, was not as pretty as +Susan smiling. She drew her eyebrows, thick and black, low over her +eyes with her habitual concentration in the occupation of the moment, +and her lips, pressed together, pouted, but not the disarming baby pout +which, when she was angry, made one forget the sullenness of her brows. +Her looks however, were of that fortunate kind which lose nothing from +the open air and large backgrounds. Dress added but little to such +attractions as she had. Fineness and elegance were not hers, but her +healthy, ripe brownness fitted into this sylvan setting where the city +beauty would have soon become a pale and draggled thing. +</P> + +<P> +The robust blood of her French Canadian forebears was quickening to the +call of the trail. Was it the spirit of her adventurous ancestors that +made her feel a kinship with the wild, an indifference to its +privations, a joy in its rude liberty? She was thinner, but stronger +and more vigorous than when the train had started. She talked less and +yet her whole being seemed more vibrantly alive, her glance to have +gained the gleaming quietness of those whose eyes scan vague horizons. +She who had been heavy on her feet now stepped with a light +noiselessness, and her body showed its full woman's outlines +straightened and lengthened to the litheness of a boy. Her father +noticed that the Gallic strain in her seemed to be crowding out the +other. In Rochester, under city roofs, she had been at least half his. +On the trail, with the arch of the sky above and the illimitable earth +around her, she was throwing back to her mother's people. +</P> + +<P> +Susan herself had no interest in these atavistic developments. She was +a healthy, uncomplicated, young animal, and she was enjoying herself as +she had never done before. Behind her the life of Rochester stretched +in a tranquil perspective of dull and colorless routine. Nothing had +ever happened. From her seventh year her father and Daddy John had +brought her up, made her the pet and plaything of their lonely lives, +rejoiced in her, wondered at her, delighted in the imperious ways she +had learned from their spoiling. There had been teachers to educate +her, but it was an open secret that they had not taught her much. +Susan did not take kindly to books. No one had ever been able to teach +her how to cipher and learning the piano had been a fruitless effort +abandoned in her fifteenth year. It is only just to her to say that +she had her little talents. She was an excellent housekeeper, and she +could cook certain dishes better, the doctor said, than the chefs in +some of the fine restaurants in New York City. +</P> + +<P> +But what were the sober pleasures of housekeeping and cooking beside +the rough, deep-living exhilaration of gypsy life on the plains! She +looked back pityingly at those days of stagnant peace, compared the +entertainment to be extracted from embroidering a petticoat frill to +the exultant joy of a ride in the morning over the green swells. Who +would sip tea in the close curtained primness of the parlor when they +could crouch by the camp fire and eat a corn cake baked on the ashes or +drink brown coffee from a tin cup? And her buffalo robe on the ground, +the blanket tucked round her shoulder, the rustling of furtive animal +life in the grass outside the tent wall—was there any comparison +between its comfort and that of her narrow white bed at home, between +the clean sheets of which she had snuggled so luxuriously? +</P> + +<P> +There were other matters of charm and interest in the wilderness, +matters that Susan did not speak about—hardly admitted to herself, for +she was a modest maid. She had never yet had a lover; no man had ever +kissed her or held her hand longer than a cool, impersonal respect +dictated. In Rochester no one had turned to look at the doctor's +daughter as she walked by, for, in truth, there were many girls much +prettier and more piquant than Susan Gillespie. But, nevertheless, she +had had her dreams about the lover that some day was to come and carry +her off under a wreath of orange blossoms and a white veil. She did +not aspire to a struggling hoard of suitors, but she thought it would +be only fair and entirely within the realm of the possible if she had +two; most girls had two. +</P> + +<P> +Now she felt the secret elation that follows on the dream realized. +She did not tell herself that David and Leff were in love with her. +She would have regarded all speculations on such a sacred subject as +low and unmaidenly. But the consciousness of it permeated her being +with a gratified sense of her worth as a woman. It made her feel her +value. Like all girls of her primitive kind she estimated herself not +by her own measure, but by the measure of a man's love for her. Now +that men admired her she felt that she was taking her place as a unit +of importance. Her sense of achievement in this advent of the desiring +male was not alone pleased vanity, it went back through the ages to the +time when woman won her food and clothing, her right to exist, through +the power of her sex, when she whose attraction was strongest had the +best corner by the fire, the choicest titbit from the hunt, and the +strongest man to fight off rivals and keep her for himself. +</P> + +<P> +Her perceptions, never before exercised on these subjects, were +singularly keen. Neither of the young men had spoken a word of love to +her, yet she intuitively knew that they were both under her spell. The +young girl so stupid at her books, who could never learn arithmetic and +found history a bore, had a deeper intelligence in the reading of the +human heart than anyone of the party. More than the doctor who was a +man of education, more than David who thought so much and loved to +read, more than Leff who, if his brain was not sharp, might be supposed +to have accumulated some slight store of experience, more than Daddy +John who was old and had the hoar of worldly knowledge upon him. +Compared to her they were as novices to a nun who has made an excursion +into the world and taken a bite from the apple Eve threw away. +</P> + +<P> +She had no especial liking for Leff. It amused her to torment him, to +look at him with an artless, inquiring stare when he was overwhelmed by +confusion and did not know what to say. When she felt that he had +endured sufficiently she would become merciful, drop her eyes, and end +what was to her an encounter that added a new zest to her sense of +growing power. +</P> + +<P> +With David it was different. Here, too, she felt her mastery, but the +slave was of another fiber. He acknowledged her rule, but he was +neither clumsy nor dumb before her. She respected his intelligence and +felt a secret jealousy of it, as of a part of him which must always be +beyond her influence. His devotion was a very dear and gracious thing +and she was proud that he should care for her. Love had not awakened +in her, but sometimes when she was with him, her admiration softened to +a warm, invading gentleness, a sense of weakness glad of itself, happy +to acknowledge his greater strength. Had David's intuitions been as +true as hers he would have known when these moments came and spoken the +words. But on such matters he had no intuitions, was a mere, +unenlightened male trying to win a woman by standing at a distance and +kneeling in timid worship. +</P> + +<P> +Now sitting, sewing on the log, Susan heard a step on the gravel, and +without looking up gave it a moment's attention and knew it was Leff's. +She began to sing softly, with an air of abstraction. The steps drew +near her, she noted that they lagged as they approached, finally +stopped. She gave her work a last, lingering glance and raised her +eyes slowly as if politeness warred with disinclination, Leff was +standing before her, scowling at her as at an object of especial +enmity. He carried a small tin pail full of wild strawberries. She +saw it at once, but forebore looking at it, keeping her eyes on his +face, up which the red color ran. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Leff," she said with careless amiability, "so you've got back." +</P> + +<P> +Leff grunted an agreeing monosyllable and moved the strawberries to a +position where they intruded into the conversation like a punctuation +mark in the middle of a sentence. Her glance dropped to the pail, and +she looked at it saying nothing, amused to thus tease him and covertly +note his hopeless and impotent writhings. +</P> + +<P> +He thrust the pail almost against her knee and she was forced to say: +</P> + +<P> +"What fine strawberries, a whole pail full. Can I have one?" +</P> + +<P> +He nodded and she made a careful choice, giving the pail a little shake +to stir its contents. Leff glared at the top of her head where her +hair was twisted into a rough knot. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," she said. "I've found a beauty. You must have been all +afternoon getting so many," and she put the strawberry in her mouth and +picked up her sewing as though that ended the matter. +</P> + +<P> +Leff stood shifting from foot to foot, hoping that she might extend a +helping hand. +</P> + +<P> +"The river's falling," he said at length. "It's gone down two feet. +We can cross this evening." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I must hurry and finish my mending." +</P> + +<P> +She evidently was not going to extend so much as the tip of a finger. +In his bashful misery his mind worked suddenly and unexpectedly. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got to go and get the horses," he said, and, setting the pail on +the log beside her, turned and ran. +</P> + +<P> +But Susan was prepared for this move. It was what she expected. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Leff," she called, lazily. "Come back, you've forgotten your +strawberries." +</P> + +<P> +And he had to come back, furious and helpless, he had to come back. He +had not courage for a word, did not dare even to meet her gaze lifted +mildly to his. He snatched up the pail and lurched off and Susan +returned to her sewing, smiling to herself. +</P> + +<P> +"He wanted you to take the berries," said Daddy John, who had been +watching. +</P> + +<P> +"Did he?" she queried with the raised brows of innocent surprise. "Why +didn't he say so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Too bashful!" +</P> + +<P> +"He couldn't expect me to take them unless he offered them." +</P> + +<P> +"I should think you'd have guessed it." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed at this, dropping her sewing and looking at the old man +with eyes almost shut. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Daddy John," she gurgled. "How clever you are!" +</P> + +<P> +An hour later they began the crossing. The ford of the Vermilion was +one of the most difficult between the Kaw and the Platte Valley. After +threading the swift, brown current, the trail zigzagged up a clay bank, +channeled into deep ruts by the spring's fleet of prairie schooners. +It would be a hard pull to get the doctor's wagon up and David rode +over with Bess and Ben to double up with the mules. It was late +afternoon and the bottom lay below the sunshine steeped in a still +transparent light, where every tint had its own pure value. The air +was growing cool after a noon of blistering heat and from an unseen +backwater frogs had already begun a hoarse, tentative chanting. +</P> + +<P> +The big wagon had already crossed when David on Bess, with Ben at the +end of a trail rope, started into the stream. Susan watched him go, +his tall, high-shouldered figure astride the mare's broad back, one arm +flung outward with the rope dipping to the current. As the water rose +round his feet, he gave a wild, jubilant shout and went forward, +plowing deeper with every step, his cries swelling over the river's low +song. +</P> + +<P> +Susan, left on the near bank to wait till the wagons were drawn up, +lifted herself into the crotch of a cottonwood tree. The pastoral +simplicity of the scene, the men and animals moving through the +silver-threaded water with the wagons waiting and after the work the +camp to be pitched, exhilarated her with a conviction of true living, +of existence flowing naturally as the stream. And for the moment David +seemed the great figure in hers. With a thrill at her heart she +watched him receding through the open wash of air and water, shouting +in the jubilance of his manhood. The mischievous pleasure of her +coquetries was forgotten, and in a rush of glad confidence she felt a +woman's pride in him. This was the way she should see the man who was +to win her, not in stuffy rooms, not dressed in stiff, ungainly +clothes, not saying unmeaning things to fill the time. This tale of +laborious days bounded by the fires of sunrise and sunset, this +struggle with the primal forces of storm and flood, this passage across +a panorama unrolling in ever wilder majesty, was the setting for her +love idyl. The joy of her mounting spirit broke out in an answering +cry that flew across the river to David like the call of an animal to +its mate. +</P> + +<P> +She watched them yoking on Bess and Ben and men and animals bracing +their energies for the start. David drove the horses, walking beside +them, the reins held loose in hands that made upward, urging gestures +as the team breasted the ascent. It was a savage pull. The valiant +little mules bent their necks, the horses straining, iron muscled, +hoofs grinding down to the solid clay. The first charge carried them +half way up, then there was a moment of slackened effort, a relaxing, +recuperative breath, and the wagon came to a standstill. Leff ran for +the back, shouting a warning. The branch he thrust under the wheel was +ground to splinters and the animals grew rigid in their effort to +resist the backward drag. +</P> + +<P> +Leff gripped the wheel, cursing, his hands knotted round the spokes, +his back taut and muscle-ridged under the thin shirt. The cracked +voice of Daddy John came from beyond the canvas hood and David's urgent +cries filled the air. The mules, necks outstretched, almost squatting +in the agony of their endeavor, held their ground, but could do no +more. Bess and Ben began to plunge in a welter of slapping harness as +the wheels ground slowly downward. +</P> + +<P> +Susan watched, her neck craned, her eyes staring. Her sentimental +thoughts had vanished. She was one with the struggling men and beasts, +lending her vigor to theirs. Her eyes were on David, waiting to see +him dominate them like a general carrying his troops to victory. She +could see him, arms outstretched, haranguing his horses as if they were +human beings, but not using the whip. A burst of astonishing profanity +came from Leff and she heard him cry: +</P> + +<P> +"Lay it on to 'em, David. What's the matter with you? Beat 'em like +hell." +</P> + +<P> +The mule drivers used a long-lashed whip which could raise a welt on +the thickest hide. David flung the lash afar and brought it down on +Ben's back. The horse leaped as if he had been burned, jerking ahead +of his mate, and rearing in a madness of unaccustomed pain. With a +passionate gesture David threw the whip down. +</P> + +<P> +Susan saw that it was not accidental. She gave a sound of angry +astonishment and stood up in the crotch of the tree. +</P> + +<P> +"David!" she screamed, but he did not hear, and then louder: "Daddy +John, quick, the whip, he's dropped it." +</P> + +<P> +The old man came running round the back of the wagon, quick and eager +as a gnome. He snatched up the whip and let the lash curl outward with +a hissing rush. It flashed like the flickering dart of a snake's +tongue, struck, and the horses sprang forward. It curled again, hung +suspended for the fraction of a moment, then licked along the sweating +flanks, and horses and mules, bowed in a supreme effort, wrenched the +wagon upward. Susan slid from her perch, feeling a sudden apathy, not +only as from a tension snapped, but as the result of a backwash of +disillusion. David was no longer the proud conqueror, the driver of +man and brute. The tide of pride had ebbed. +</P> + +<P> +Later, when the camp was pitched and she was building the fire, he came +to offer her some wood which was scarce on this side of the river. He +knelt to help her, and, his face close to hers, she said in a low voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you throw the whip down?" +</P> + +<P> +He reddened consciously and looked quickly at her, a look that was +apprehensive as if ready to meet an accusation. +</P> + +<P> +"I saw you do it," she said, expecting a denial. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I did it," he answered. "I wasn't going to say I didn't." +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you?" she repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't beat a dumb brute when it's doing its best," he said, looking +away from her, shy and ashamed. +</P> + +<P> +"But the wagon would have gone down to the bottom of the hill. It was +going." +</P> + +<P> +"What would that have mattered? We could have taken some of the things +out and carried them up afterwards. When a horse does his best for +you, what's the sense of beating the life out of him when the load's +too heavy. I can't do that." +</P> + +<P> +"Was that why you threw it down?" +</P> + +<P> +He nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd rather have carried the things up?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +She laid the sticks one on the other without replying and he said with +a touch of pleading in his tone: +</P> + +<P> +"You understand that, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +She answered quickly: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, of course, perfectly." +</P> + +<P> +But nevertheless she did not quite. Daddy John's action was the one +she really did understand, and she even understood why Leff swore so +violently. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0108"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + + +<P> +It was Sunday again and they lay encamped near the Little Blue. The +country was changing, the trees growing thin and scattered and sandy +areas were cropping up through the trail. At night they unfolded the +maps and holding them to the firelight measured the distance to the +valley of the Platte. Once there the first stage of the journey would +be over. When they started from Independence the Platte had shone to +the eyes of their imaginations as a threadlike streak almost as far +away as California. Now they would soon be there. At sunset they +stood on eminences and pointed in its direction, let their mental +vision conjure up Grand Island and sweep forward to the +buffalo-darkened plains and the river sunk in its league-wide bottom, +even peered still further and saw Fort Laramie, a faint, white dot +against the cloudy peaks of mountains. +</P> + +<P> +The afternoon was hot and the camp drowsed. Susan moving away from it +was the one point of animation in the encircling quietude. She was not +in spirit with its lethargy, stepping rapidly in a stirring of light +skirts, her hat held by one string, fanning back and forth from her +hanging hand. Her goal was a spring hidden in a small arroyo that made +a twisted crease in the land's level face. It was a little dell in +which the beauty they were leaving had taken a last stand, decked the +ground with a pied growth of flowers, spread a checkered roof of boughs +against the sun. From a shelf on one side the spring bubbled, clear as +glass, its waters caught and held quivering in a natural basin of rock. +</P> + +<P> +As she slipped over the margin, the scents imprisoned in the sheltered +depths rose to meet her, a sweet, cool tide of fragrance into which she +sank. After the glaring heat above it was like stepping into a +perfumed bath. She lay by the spring, her hands clasped behind her +head, looking up at the trees. The segments of sky between the boughs +were as blue as a turquoise and in this thick intense color the little +leaves seemed as if inlaid. Then a breeze came and the bits of +inlaying shook loose and trembled into silvery confusion. Small +secretive noises came from them as if minute confidences were passing +from bough to bough, and through their murmurous undertone the drip of +the spring fell with a thin, musical tinkle. +</P> + +<P> +Nature was dreaming and Susan dreamed with it. But her dreaming had a +certain definiteness, a distinct thought sustained its diffused +content. She was not self-consciously thinking of her lovers, not +congratulating herself on their acquirement, but the consciousness that +she had achieved them lay graciously round her heart, gave the soft +satisfaction to her musings that comes to one who has accomplished a +duty. With all modesty she felt the gratification of the being who +approaches his Destiny. She had advanced a step in her journey as a +woman. +</P> + +<P> +A hail from the bank above broke upon her reverie, but when she saw it +was David, she sat up smiling. That he should find out her hiding +place without word or sign from her was an action right and fitting. +It was a move in the prehistoric game of flight and pursuit, in which +they had engaged without comprehension and with the intense earnestness +of children at their play. David dropped down beside her, a spray of +wild roses in his hand, and began at once to chide her for thus +stealing away. Did she not remember they were in the country of the +Pawnees, the greatest thieves on the plains? It was not safe to stray +alone from the camp. +</P> + +<P> +Susan smiled: +</P> + +<P> +"The Pawnees steal horses, but I never heard anyone say they stole +girls." +</P> + +<P> +"They steal anything they can get," said the simple young man. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, David,"—now she was laughing—"so they might steal me if they +couldn't get a horse, or a blanket, or a side of bacon! Next time I go +wandering I'll take the bacon with me and then I'll be perfectly safe." +</P> + +<P> +"Your father wouldn't like it. I've heard him tell you not to go off +this way alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, who could I take? I don't like to ask father to go out into the +sun and Daddy John was asleep, and Leff—I didn't see Leff anywhere." +</P> + +<P> +"I was there," he said, dropping his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You were under the wagon reading Byron. I wouldn't for the world take +you away from Byron." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him with a candid smile, her eyes above it dancing with +delighted relish in her teasing. +</P> + +<P> +"I would have come in a minute," he said low, sweeping the surface of +the spring with the spray of roses. Susan's look dwelt on him, gently +thoughtful in its expression in case he should look up and catch it. +</P> + +<P> +"Leave Byron," she said, "leave the Isles of Greece where that lady, +whose name I've forgotten, 'loved and sung,' and walk in the sun with +me just because I wanted to see this spring! Oh, David, I would never +ask it of you." +</P> + +<P> +"You know I would have loved to do it." +</P> + +<P> +"You would have been polite enough to do it. You're always polite." +</P> + +<P> +"I would have done it because I wanted to," said the victim with the +note of exasperation in his voice. +</P> + +<P> +She stretched her hand forward and very gently took the branch of roses +from him. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't tell stories," she said in the cajoling voice used to children. +"This is Sunday." +</P> + +<P> +"I never tell stories," he answered, goaded to open irritation, "on +Sunday or any other day. You know I would have liked to come with you +and Byron could have—have——" +</P> + +<P> +"What?" the branch upright in her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Gone to the devil!" +</P> + +<P> +"David!" in horror, "I never thought <I>you'd</I> talk that way." +</P> + +<P> +She gave the branch a shake and a shower of drops fell on him. +</P> + +<P> +"There, that's to cool your anger. For I see you're angry though I +haven't got the least idea what it's about." +</P> + +<P> +He made no answer, wounded by her lack of understanding. She moved the +rose spray against her face, inhaling its fragrance, and watching him +through the leaves. After a moment she said with a questioning +inflection: +</P> + +<P> +"You were angry?" +</P> + +<P> +He gave her a quick glance, met her eyes, shining between the duller +luster of the leaves, and suddenly dumb before their innocent +provocation, turned his head away. The sense of his disturbance +trembled on the air and Susan's smile died. She dropped the branch, +trailing it lightly across the water, and wondering at the confusion +that had so abruptly upset her self-confident gayety. Held in +inexplicable embarrassment she could think of nothing to say. It was +he who broke the silence with a change of subject: +</P> + +<P> +"In a few days more we'll be at the Platte. When we started that +seemed as if it was half the journey, didn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"We'll get there just about a month from the time we left Independence. +Before we started I thought a month out of doors this way would be like +a year. But it really hasn't seemed long at all. I suppose it's +because I've enjoyed it so." +</P> + +<P> +This again stirred him. Was there any hope that his presence might +have been the cause of some small fraction of that enjoyment? He put +out a timid feeler: +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder why you enjoyed it. Perhaps Leff and I amused you a little." +</P> + +<P> +It was certainly a humble enough remark, but it caused a slight +stiffening and withdrawal in the young girl. She instinctively felt +the pleading for commendation and resented it. It was as if a slave, +upon whose neck her foot rested, were to squirm round and recommend +himself to her tolerance. David, trying to extort from her flattering +admissions, roused a determination to keep the slave with his face in +the dust. +</P> + +<P> +"I just like being out of doors," she said carelessly. "And it's all +the more odd as I was always wanting to hurry on and catch up the large +train." +</P> + +<P> +This was a grinding in of the heel. The large train into which the +Gillespies were to be absorbed and an end brought to their independent +journeying, had at first loomed gloomily before David's vision. But of +late it had faded from the conversation and his mind. The present was +so good it must continue, and he had come to accept that first bright +dream of his in which he and Susan were to go riding side by side +across the continent as a permanent reality. His timidity was swept +away in a rush of stronger feeling and he sat erect, looking sharply at +her: +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you'd given up the idea of joining with that train?" +</P> + +<P> +Susan raised the eyebrows of mild surprise: +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you think that?" +</P> + +<P> +"You've not spoken of it for days." +</P> + +<P> +"That doesn't prove anything. There are lots of important things I +don't speak of." +</P> + +<P> +"You ought to have spoken of that." +</P> + +<P> +The virile note of authority was faint in his words, the first time +Susan had ever heard it. Her foot was in a fair way to be withdrawn +from the slave's neck. The color in her cheeks deepened and it was she +who now dropped her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"We had arranged to join the train long before we left Rochester," she +answered. "Everybody said it was dangerous to travel in a small party. +Dr. Whitman told my father that." +</P> + +<P> +"There's been nothing dangerous so far." +</P> + +<P> +"No, it's later when we get into the country of the Sioux and the +Black-feet. They often attack small parties. It's a great risk that +people oughtn't to run. They told us that in Independence, too." +</P> + +<P> +He made no answer and she eyed him with stealthy curiosity. He was +looking on the ground, his depression apparent. At this evidence of +her ability to bring joy or sorrow to her slave she relented. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll join it, too, won't you?" she said gently. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. The big trains move so slowly." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you must. It would be dreadfully dreary to separate our parties +after we'd traveled so long together." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe I will. I haven't thought about it." +</P> + +<P> +"But you <I>must</I> think about it. There's no knowing now when we may +come upon them—almost any day. You don't want to go on and leave us +behind, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +He again made no answer and she stole another quick look at him. This +mastery of a fellow creature was by far the most engrossing pastime +life had offered her. There was something about him, a suggestion of +depths hidden and shut away from her that filled her with the +venturesome curiosity of Fatima opening the cupboards in Bluebeard's +castle. +</P> + +<P> +"We'd feel so lonely if you went on and left us behind with a lot of +strange people," she said, with increasing softness. "We'd miss you +so." +</P> + +<P> +The young man turned quickly on her, leaned nearer, and said huskily: +</P> + +<P> +"Would you?" +</P> + +<P> +The movement brought his face close to hers, and she shrank back +sharply, her hand ready to hold him at a distance. Her laughing +expression changed into one of offended dignity, almost aversion. At +the same time his agitation, which had paled his cheeks and burst +through his shy reserve, filled her with repulsion. For the moment she +disliked him. If he had tried to put his hand upon her she would have +struck him in quick rage at his presumption. He had not the slightest +intention of doing so, but the sudden rush of feeling that her words +had evoked, made him oblivious to the startled withdrawal of her manner. +</P> + +<P> +"Answer me," he said. "Would you miss me? Am I anything to you?" +</P> + +<P> +She leaped to her feet, laughing not quite naturally, for her heart was +beating hard and she had suddenly shrunk within herself, her spirit +alert and angrily defensive in its maiden stronghold. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss you," she said in a matter-of-fact tone that laid sentiment dead +at a blow, "of course I'd miss you," then backed away from him, +brushing off her skirt. +</P> + +<P> +He rose and stood watching her with a lover's hang-dog look. She +glanced at him, read his face and once more felt secure in her +ascendency. Her debonair self-assurance came back with a lowering of +her pulse and a remounting to her old position of condescending +command. But a parting lesson would not be amiss and she turned from +him, saying with a carefully tempered indifference: +</P> + +<P> +"And Leff, too. I'd miss Leff dreadfully. Come, it's time to go." +</P> + +<P> +Before he could answer she was climbing the bank, not looking back, +moving confidently as one who had no need of his aid. He followed her +slowly, sore and angry, his eyes on her figure which flitted in advance +clean-cut against the pale, enormous sky. +</P> + +<P> +He had just caught up with her when from a hollow near the roadside +Leff came into view. He had been after antelope and carried his rifle +and a hunting knife in his belt. During the chase he had come upon a +deserted Pawnee settlement in a depression of the prairie. Susan was +instantly interested and wanted to see it and David stood by, listening +in sulky silence while Leff pointed out the way. The sun was sinking +and they faced it, the young man's indicating finger moving back and +forth across the vagaries of the route. The prairie was cut by long +undulations, naked of verdure, save a spot in the foreground where, +beside a round greenish pool, a single tree lifted thinly clad boughs. +Something of bleakness had crept into the prospect, its gay greenness +was giving place to an austere pallor of tint, a dry economy of +vegetation. The summits of the swells were bare, the streams shrunk in +sandy channels. It was like a face from which youth is withdrawing. +</P> + +<P> +The Indian encampment lay in a hollow, the small wattled huts gathered +on both sides of a runlet that oozed from the slope and slipped between +a line of stepping stones. The hollow was deep for the level country, +the grassed sides sweeping abruptly to the higher reaches above. They +walked through it, examining the neatly made huts and speculating on +the length of time the Indians had left. David remembered that the day +before, the trail had been crossed by the tracks of a village in +transit, long lines graven in the dust by the dragging poles of the +<I>travaux</I>. He felt uneasy. The Indians might not be far and they +themselves were at least a mile from the camp, and but one of them +armed. The others laughed and Susan brought the blood into his face by +asking him if he was afraid. +</P> + +<P> +He turned from her, frankly angry and then stood rigid with fixed +glance. On the summit of the opposite slope, black against the yellow +west, were a group of mounted figures. They were massed together in a +solid darkness, but the outlines of the heads were clear, heads across +which bristled an upright crest of hair like the comb of a rooster. +</P> + +<P> +For a long, silent moment the two parties remained immovable, eying +each other across the hollow. Then David edged closer to the girl. He +felt his heart thumping, but his first throttling grip of fear loosened +as his mind realized their helplessness. Leff was the only one with +arms. They must get in front of Susan and tell her to run and the camp +was a mile off! He felt for her hand and heard her whisper: +</P> + +<P> +"Indians—there are six of them." +</P> + +<P> +As she spoke the opposite group broke and figures detached themselves. +Three, hunched in shapeless sack-forms, were squaws. They made no +movement, resting immobile as statues, the sunset shining between the +legs of their ponies. The men spoke together, their heads turning from +the trio below to one another. David gripped the hand he held and +leaned forward to ask Leff for his knife. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be frightened," he said to Susan. "It's all right." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not frightened," she answered quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Your knife," he said to Leff and then stopped, staring. Leff very +slowly, step pressing stealthily behind step, was creeping backward up +the slope. His face was chalk white, his eyes fixed on the Indians. +In his hand he held his rifle ready, and the long knife gleamed in his +belt. For a moment David had no voice wherewith to arrest him, but +Susan had. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going?" she said loudly. +</P> + +<P> +It stopped him like a blow. His terrified eyes shifted to her face. +</P> + +<P> +"I wasn't going," he faltered. +</P> + +<P> +"Come back," she said. "You have the rifle and the knife." +</P> + +<P> +He wavered, his loosened lips shaking. +</P> + +<P> +"Back here to us," she commanded, "and give David the rifle." +</P> + +<P> +He crept downward to them, his glance always on the Indians. They had +begun to move forward, leaving the squaws on the ridge. Their approach +was prowlingly sinister, the ponies stepping gingerly down the slope, +the snapping of twigs beneath their hoofs clear in the waiting silence. +As they dipped below the blazing sunset the rider's figures developed +in detail, their bodies bare and bronzed in the subdued light. Each +face, held high on a craning neck, was daubed with vermilion, the high +crest of hair bristling across the shaven crowns. Grimly impassive +they came nearer, not speaking nor moving their eyes from the three +whites. One of them, a young man, naked save for a breech clout and +moccasins, was in the lead. As he approached David saw that his +eyelids were painted scarlet and that a spot of silver on his breast +was a medal hanging from a leathern thong. +</P> + +<P> +At the bottom of the slope they reined up, standing in a group, with +lifted heads staring. The trio opposite stared as fixedly. Behind +Susan's back Leff had passed David the rifle. He held it in one hand, +Susan by the other. He was conscious of her rigidity and also of her +fearlessness. The hand he held was firm. Once, breathing a phrase of +encouragement, he met her eyes, steady and unafraid. All his own fear +had passed. The sense of danger was thrillingly acute, but he felt it +only in its relation to her. Dropping her hand he stepped a pace +forward and said loudly: +</P> + +<P> +"How!" +</P> + +<P> +The Indian with the medal answered him, a deep, gutteral note. +</P> + +<P> +"Pawnee?" David asked. +</P> + +<P> +The same man replied with a word that none of them understood. +</P> + +<P> +"My camp is just here," said David, with a backward jerk of his head. +"There are many men there." +</P> + +<P> +There was no response to this and he stepped back and said to Susan: +</P> + +<P> +"Go slowly up the hill backward and keep your eyes on them. Don't look +afraid." +</P> + +<P> +She immediately began to retreat with slow, short steps. Leff, gasping +with fear, moved with her, his speed accelerating with each moment. +David a few paces in advance followed them. The Indians watched in a +tranced intentness of observation. At the top of the slope the three +squaws sat as motionless as carven images. The silence was profound. +</P> + +<P> +Into it, dropping through it like a plummet through space, came the +report of a rifle. It was distant but clear, and as if the bullet had +struck a taut string and severed it, it cut the tension sharp and life +flowed back. A movement, like a resumed quiver of vitality, stirred +the bronze stillness of the squaws. The Indians spoke together—a low +murmur. David thought he saw indecision in their colloquy, then +decision. +</P> + +<P> +"They're going," he heard Susan say a little hoarse. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, God, they're going!" Leff gasped, as one reprieved of the death +sentence. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly they wheeled, and a rush of wild figures, galloped up the +slope. The group of squaws broke and fled with them. The light struck +the bare backs, and sent splinters from the gun barrels and the noise +of breaking bushes was loud under the ponies' feet. +</P> + +<P> +Once again on the road David and Susan stood looking at one another. +Each was pale and short of breath, and it was difficult for the young +girl to force her stiffened lips into a smile. The sunset struck with +fierce brilliancy across the endless plain, and against it, the Indians +bending low, fled in a streak of broken color. In the other direction +Leff's running figure sped toward the camp. From the distance a rifle +shot again sundered the quiet. After silence had reclosed over the +rift a puff of smoke rose in the air. They knew now it was Daddy John, +fearing they had lost the way, showing them the location of the camp. +</P> + +<P> +Spontaneously, without words, they joined hands and started to where +the trail of smoke still hung, dissolving to a thread. The fleeing +figure of Leff brought no comments to their lips. They did not think +about him, his cowardice was as unimportant to them in their mutual +engrossment as his body was to the indifferent self-sufficiency of the +landscape. They knew he was hastening that he might be first in the +camp to tell his own story and set himself right with the others before +they came. They did not care. They did not even laugh at it. They +would do that later when they had returned to the plane where life had +regained its familiar aspect. +</P> + +<P> +Silently, hand in hand, they walked between the low bushes and across +the whitened patches of sandy soil. When the smoke was gone the pool +with the lone tree guided them, the surface now covered with a glaze of +gold. A deep content lay upon them. The shared peril had torn away a +veil that hung between them and through which they had been dodging to +catch glimpses of one another. Susan's pride in her ascendency was +gone. She walked docilely beside the man who, in the great moment, had +not failed. She was subdued, not by the recent peril, but by the fact +that the slave had shown himself the master. David's chance had come, +but the moment was too completely beautiful, the sudden sense of +understanding too lovely for him to break it with words. He wanted to +savor it, to take joy of its delicate sweetness. It was his +voluptuousness to delight in it, not brush its bloom away with a +lover's avowal. He was the idealist, moving in an unexpectedly +realized dream, too exquisite for words to intrude upon. So they +walked onward, looking across the long land, hand clasped in hand. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +END OF PART I +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0201"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +PART II +</H2> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +The River +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +The Emigrant Trail struck the Platte at Grand Island. From the bluffs +that walled in the river valley the pioneers could look down on the +great waterway, a wide, thin current, hardly more than a glistening +veil, stretched over the sandy bottom. Sometimes the veil was split by +islands, its transparent tissue passing between them in sparkling +strands as if it were sewn with silver threads. These separated +streams slipped along so quietly, so without noise or hurry, they +seemed to share in the large unconcern of the landscape. It was a +still, unpeopled, spacious landscape, where there was no work and no +time and the morning and the evening made the day. +</P> + +<P> +Many years ago the Frenchmen had given the river its name, Platte, +because of its lack of depths. There were places where a man could +walk across it and not be wet above the middle; and, to make up for +this, there were quicksands stirring beneath it where the same man +would sink in above his waist, above his shoulders, above his head. +The islands that broke its languid currents were close grown with small +trees, riding low in the water like little ships freighted deep with +greenery. Toward evening, looking to the West, with the dazzle of the +sun on the water, they were a fairy fleet drifting on the silver tide +of dreams. +</P> + +<P> +The wide, slow stream ran in the middle of a wide, flat valley. Then +came a line of broken hills, yellowish and sandy, cleft apart by sharp +indentations, and dry, winding arroyos, down which the buffalo trooped, +thirsty, to the river. When the sun sloped westward, shadows lay clear +in the hollows, violet and amethyst and sapphire blue, transparent +washes of color as pure as the rays of the prism. The hills rolled +back in a turbulence of cone and bluff and then subsided, fell away as +if all disturbance must cease before the infinite, subduing calm of The +Great Plains. +</P> + +<P> +Magic words, invoking the romance of the unconquered West, of the +earth's virgin spaces, of the buffalo and the Indian. In their idle +silence, treeless, waterless, clothed as with a dry pale hair with the +feathered yellow grasses, they looked as if the monstrous creatures of +dead epochs might still haunt them, might still sun their horny sides +among the sand hills, and wallow in the shallows of the river. It was +a bit of the early world, as yet beyond the limit of the young nation's +energies, the earth as man knew it when his eye was focused for far +horizons, when his soul did not shrink before vast solitudes. +</P> + +<P> +Against this sweeping background the Indian loomed, ruler of a kingdom +whose borders faded into the sky. He stood, a blanketed figure, +watching the flight of birds across the blue; he rode, a painted +savage, where the cloud shadows blotted the plain, and the smoke of his +lodge rose over the curve of the earth. Here tribe had fought with +tribe, old scores had been wiped out till the grass was damp with +blood, wars of extermination had raged. Here the migrating villages +made a moving streak of color like a bright patch on a map where there +were no boundaries, no mountains, and but one gleaming thread of water. +In the quietness of evening the pointed tops of the tepees showed dark +against the sky, the blur of smoke tarnishing the glow in the West. +When the darkness came the stars shone on this spot of life in the +wilderness, circled with the howling of wolves. +</P> + +<P> +The buffalo, driven from the East by the white man's advance and from +the West by the red man's pursuit, had congregated in these pasture +lands. The herds numbered thousands upon thousands, diminishing in the +distance to black dots on the fawn-colored face of the prairie. Twice +a day they went to the river to drink. Solemnly, in Indian file, they +passed down the trails among the sand hills, worn into gutters by their +continuous hoofs. From the wall of the bluffs they emerged into the +bottom, line after line, moving slowly to the water. Then to the river +edge the valley was black with them, a mass of huge, primordial forms, +from which came bellowings and a faint, sharp smell of musk. +</P> + +<P> +The valley was the highway to the West—the far West, the West of the +great fur companies. It led from the Missouri, whose turbid current +was the boundary between the frontier and the wild, to the second great +barrier, the mountains which blocked the entrance to the unknown +distance, where the lakes were salt and there were deserts rimed with +alkali. It stretched a straight, plain path, from the river behind it +to the peaked white summits in front. +</P> + +<P> +Along it had come a march of men, first a scattered few, then a broken +line, then a phalanx—the winners of the West. +</P> + +<P> +They were bold men, hard men, men who held life lightly and knew no +fear. In the van were the trappers and fur traders with their beaver +traps and their long-barreled rifles. They went far up into the +mountains where the rivers rose snow-chilled and the beavers built +their dams. There were mountain men in fringed and beaded buckskins, +long haired, gaunt and weather scarred; men whose pasts were unknown +and unasked, who trapped and hunted and lived in the lodges with their +squaws. There were black-eyed Canadian voyageurs in otter-skin caps +and coats made of blankets, hardy as Indian ponies, gay and light of +heart, who poled the keel boats up the rivers to the chanting of old +French songs. There were swarthy half-breeds, still of tongue, stolid +and eagle-featured, wearing their blankets as the Indians did, +noiseless in their moccasins as the lynx creeping on its prey. +</P> + +<P> +And then came the emigrants, the first white-covered wagons, the first +white women, looking out from the shade of their sunbonnets. The squaw +wives wondered at their pale faces and bright hair. They came at +intervals, a few wagons crawling down the valley and then the long, +bare road with the buffaloes crossing it to the river and the +occasional red spark of a trapper's camp fire. In '43 came the first +great emigration, when 1,000 people went to Oregon. The Indians, awed +and uneasy, watched the white line of wagon tops. "Were there so many +pale faces as this in the Great Father's country?" one of the chiefs +asked. +</P> + +<P> +Four years later the Mormons emigrated. It was like the moving of a +nation, an exodus of angry fanatics, sullen, determined men burning +with rage at the murder of their prophet, cursing his enemies and +quoting his texts. The faces of women and children peered from the +wagons, the dust of moving flocks and herds rose like a column at the +end of the caravan. Their camps at night were like the camps of the +patriarchs, many women to work for each man, thousands of cattle +grazing in the grass. From the hills above the Indians watched the red +circle of their fires and in the gray dawn saw the tents struck and the +trains "roll out." There were more people from the Great Father's +country, more people each year, till the great year, '49, when the cry +of gold went forth across the land like a trumpet call. +</P> + +<P> +Then the faces on the Emigrant Trail were as the faces on the populous +streets of cities. The trains of wagons were unbroken, one behind the +other, straight to the sunset. A cloud of dust moved with them, showed +their coming far away as they wheeled downward at Grand Island, hid +their departure as they doubled up for the fording of the Platte. All +the faces were set westward, all the eyes were strained to that distant +goal where the rivers flowed over golden beds and the flakes lay yellow +in the prospector's pan. +</P> + +<P> +The Indians watched them, cold at the heart, for the people in the +Great Father's Country were numerous as the sands of the sea, terrible +as an army with banners. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0202"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + + +<P> +The days were very hot. Brilliant, dewless mornings, blinding middays, +afternoons held breathless in the remorseless torrent of light. The +caravan crawled along the river's edge at a footspace, the early +shadows shooting far ahead of it, then dwindling to a blot beneath each +moving body, then slanting out behind. There was speech in the morning +which died as the day advanced, all thought sinking into torpor in the +monotonous glare. In the late afternoon the sun, slipping down the +sky, peered through each wagon's puckered canvas opening smiting the +drivers into lethargy. Propped against the roof supports, hats drawn +low over their brows they slept, the riders pacing on ahead stooped and +silent on their sweating horses. There was no sound but the creaking +of the wheels, and the low whisperings of the river into which, now and +then, an undermined length of sand dropped with a splash. +</P> + +<P> +But in the evening life returned. When the dusk stole out of the hill +rifts and the river flowed thick gold from bank to bank, when the +bluffs grew black against the sunset fires, the little party shook off +its apathy and animation revived. Coolness came with the twilight, +sharpening into coldness as the West burned from scarlet and gold to a +clear rose. The fire, a mound of buffalo chips into which glowing +tunnels wormed, was good. Overcoats and blankets were shaken out and +the fragrance of tobacco was on the air. The recrudescence of ideas +and the need to interchange them came on the wanderers. Hemmed in by +Nature's immensity, unconsciously oppressed by it, they felt the want +of each other, of speech, of sympathy, and crouched about the fire +telling anecdotes of their life "back home," that sounded trivial but +drew them closer in the bond of a nostalgic wistfulness. +</P> + +<P> +One night they heard a drum beat. It came out of the distance faint +but distinct, throbbing across the darkness like a frightened heart +terrified by its own loneliness. The hand of man was impelling it, an +unseen hand, only telling of its presence by the thin tattoo it sent +through the silence. Words died and they sat rigid in the sudden alarm +that comes upon men in the wilderness. The doctor clutched his +daughter's arm, Daddy John reached for his rifle. Then, abruptly as it +had come, it stopped and they broke into suggestions—emigrants on the +road beyond them, an Indian war drum on the opposite bank. +</P> + +<P> +But they were startled, their apprehensions roused. They sat uneasy, +and half an hour later the pad of horses' hoofs and approaching voices +made each man grip his gun and leap to his feet. They sent a hail +through the darkness and an answering voice came back: +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right. Friends." +</P> + +<P> +The figures that advanced into the firelight were those of four men +with a shadowy train of pack mules extending behind them. In fringed +and greasy buckskins, with long hair and swarthy faces, their feet +noiseless in moccasins, they were so much of the wild, that it needed +the words, "Trappers from Laramie," to reassure the doctor and make +Leff put down his rifle. +</P> + +<P> +The leader, a lean giant, bearded to the cheek bones and with lank +locks of hair falling from a coon-skin cap, gave his introduction +briefly. They were a party of trappers en route from Fort Laramie to +St. Louis with the winter's catch of skins. In skirted, leather +hunting shirt and leggings, knife and pistols in the belt and powder +horn, bullet mold, screw and awl hanging from a strap across his chest, +he was the typical "mountain man." While he made his greetings, with +as easy an assurance as though he had dropped in upon a party of +friends, his companions picketed the animals which moved on the +outskirts of the light in a spectral band of drooping forms. +</P> + +<P> +The three other men, were an ancient trapper with a white froth of hair +framing a face, brown and wrinkled as a nut, a Mexican, Indian-dark, +who crouched in his serape, rolled a cigarette and then fell asleep, +and a French Canadian voyageur in a coat made of blanketing and with a +scarlet handkerchief tied smooth over his head. He had a round ruddy +face, and when he smiled, which he did all the time, his teeth gleamed +square and white from the curly blackness of his beard. He got out his +pans and buffalo meat, and was dropping pieces of hardtack into the +spitting tallow when Susan addressed him in his own tongue, the patois +of the province of Quebec. He gave a joyous child's laugh and a +rattling fire of French followed, and then he must pick out for her the +daintiest morsel and gallantly present it on a tin plate, wiped clean +on the grass. +</P> + +<P> +They ate first and then smoked and over the pipes engaged in the +bartering which was part of the plainsman's business. The strangers +were short of tobacco and the doctor's party wanted buffalo skins. +Fresh meat and bacon changed hands. David threw in a measure of corn +meal and the old man—they called him Joe—bid for it with a hind +quarter of antelope. Then, business over, they talked of themselves, +their work, the season's catch, and the life far away across the +mountains where the beaver streams are. +</P> + +<P> +They had come from the distant Northwest, threaded with ice-cold rivers +and where lakes, sunk between rocky bulwarks, mirrored the whitened +peaks. There the three Tetons raised their giant heads and the hollows +were spread with a grassy carpet that ran up the slopes like a +stretched green cloth. There had once been the trapper's paradise +where the annual "rendezvous" was held and the men of the mountains +gathered from creek and river and spent a year's earnings in a wild +week. But the streams were almost empty now and the great days over. +There was a market but no furs. Old Joe could tell what it had once +been like, old Joe who years ago had been one of General Ashley's men. +</P> + +<P> +The old man took his pipe out of his mouth and shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"The times is dead," he said, with the regret of great days gone, +softened by age which softens all things. "There ain't anything in it +now. When Ashley and the Sublettes and Campbell ran the big companies +it was a fine trade. The rivers was swarmin' with beaver and if the +Indians 'ud let us alone every man of us 'ud come down to rendezvous +with each mule carrying two hundred pound of skins. Them was the +times." +</P> + +<P> +The quick, laughing patter of the voyageur's French broke in on his +voice, but old Joe, casting a dim eye back over the splendid past, was +too preoccupied to mind. +</P> + +<P> +"I've knowed the time when the Powder River country and the rivers that +ran into Jackson's Hole was as thick with beaver as the buffalo range +is now with buffalo. We'd follow up a new stream and where the ground +was marshy we'd know the beaver was there, for they'd throw dams across +till the water'd soak each side, squeezin' through the willow roots. +Then we'd cut a tree and scoop out a canoe, and when the shadders began +to stretch go nosin' along the bank, keen and cold and the sun settin' +red and not a sound but the dip of the paddle. We'd set the +traps—seven to a man—and at sun-up out again in the canoe, clear and +still in the gray of the morning, and find a beaver in every trap." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothin' but buffalo now to count on," said the other man. "And what's +in that?" +</P> + +<P> +David said timidly, as became so extravagant a suggestion, that a +mountain man he had met in Independence told him he thought the buffalo +would be eventually exterminated. The trappers looked at one another, +and exchanged satiric smiles. Even the Canadian stopped in his chatter +with Susan to exclaim in amaze: "Sacré Tonnerre!" +</P> + +<P> +Old Joe gave a lazy cast of his eye at David. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, boy," he said, "if they'd been killin' them varmints since Bunker +Hill they couldn't do no more with 'em than you could with your little +popgun out here on the plains. The Indians has druv 'em from the West +and the white man's druv 'em from the East and it don't make no +difference. I knowed Captain Bonneville and he's told me how he stood +on the top of Scotts Bluffs and seen the country black with +'em—millions of 'em. That's twenty-five years ago and he ain't seen +no more than I have on these plains not two seasons back. Out as far +as your eye could reach, crawlin' with buffalo, till you couldn't see +cow nor bull, but just a black mass of 'em, solid to the horizon." +</P> + +<P> +David felt abashed and the doctor came to his rescue with a question +about Captain Bonneville and Joe forgot his scorn of foolish young men +in reminiscences of that hardy pathfinder. +</P> + +<P> +The old trapper seemed to have known everyone of note in the history of +the plains and the fur trade, or if he didn't know them he said he did +which was just as good. Lying on a buffalo skin, the firelight gilding +the bony ridges of his face, a stub of black pipe gripped between his +broken teeth, he told stories of the men who had found civilization too +cramped and taken to the wilderness. Some had lived and died there, +others come back, old and broken, to rest in a corner of the towns they +had known as frontier settlements. Here they could look out to the +West they loved, strain their dim eyes over the prairie, where the +farmer's plow was tracing its furrow, to the Medicine Way of The Pale +Face that led across the plains and up the long bright river and over +the mountains to the place of the trapper's rendezvous. +</P> + +<P> +He had known Jim Beckwourth, the mulatto who was chief of the Crows, +fought their battles and lived in their villages with a Crow wife. Joe +described him as "a powerful liar," but a man without fear. Under his +leadership the Crows had become a great nation and the frontiersmen +laid it to his door that no Crow had ever attacked a white man except +in self-defense. Some said he was still living in California. Joe +remembered him well—a tall man, strong and fleet-footed as an Indian, +with mighty muscles and a skin like bronze. He always wore round his +neck a charm of a perforated bullet set between two glass beads hanging +from a thread of sinew. +</P> + +<P> +He had known Rose, another white chief of the Crows, an educated man +who kept his past secret and of whom it was said that the lonely places +and the Indian trails were safer for him than the populous ways of +towns. The old man had been one of the garrison in Fort Union when the +terrible Alexander Harvey had killed Isidore, the Mexican, and standing +in the courtyard cried to the assembled men: "I, Alexander Harvey, have +killed the Spaniard. If there are any of his friends who want to take +it up let them come on"; and not a man in the fort dared to go. He had +been with Jim Bridger, when, on a wager, he went down Bear River in a +skin boat and came out on the waters of the Great Salt Lake. +</P> + +<P> +Susan, who had stopped her talk with the voyageur to listen to this +minstrel of the plains, now said: +</P> + +<P> +"Aren't you lonely in those quiet places where there's no one else?" +</P> + +<P> +The old man nodded, a gravely assenting eye on hers: +</P> + +<P> +"Powerful lonely, sometimes. There ain't a mountain man that ain't +felt it, some of 'em often, others of 'em once and so scairt that time +they won't take the risk again. It comes down suddint, like a +darkness—then everything round that was so good and fine, the sound of +the pines and the bubble of the spring and the wind blowing over the +grass, seems like they'd set you crazy. You'd give a year's peltries +for the sound of a man's voice. Just like when some one's dead that +you set a heap on and you feel you'd give most everything you got to +see 'em again for a minute. There ain't nothin' you wouldn't promise +if by doin' it you could hear a feller hail you—just one shout—as he +comes ridin' up the trail." +</P> + +<P> +"That was how Jim Cockrell felt when he prayed for the dog," said the +tall man. +</P> + +<P> +"Did he get the dog?" +</P> + +<P> +He nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what he said anyway. He was took with just such a lonesome +spell once when he was trapping in the Mandans country. He was a pious +critter, great on prayer and communing with the Lord. And he +felt—I've heard him tell about it—just as if he'd go wild if he +didn't get something for company. What he wanted was a dog and you +might just as well want an angel out there with nothin' but the Indian +villages breakin' the dazzle of the snow and you as far away from them +as you could get. But that didn't stop Jim. He just got down and +prayed, and then he waited and prayed some more and 'ud look around for +the dog, as certain he'd come as that the sun 'ud set. Bimeby he fell +asleep and when he woke there was the dog, a little brown varmint, +curled up beside him on the blanket. Jim used to say an angel brought +it. I'm not contradictin', but——" +</P> + +<P> +"Wal," said old Joe, "he most certainly come back into the fort with a +dog. I was there and seen him." +</P> + +<P> +Leff snickered, even the doctor's voice showed the incredulous note +when he asked: +</P> + +<P> +"Where could it have come from?" +</P> + +<P> +The tall man shrugged. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't ask me. All I know is that Jim Cockrell swore to it and I've +heard him tell it drunk and sober and always the same way. He held out +for the angel. I'm not saying anything against that, but whatever it +was it must have had a pretty powerful pull to get a dog out to a +trapper in the dead o' winter." +</P> + +<P> +They wondered over the story, offering explanations, and as they talked +the fire died low and the moon, a hemisphere clean-halved as though +sliced by a sword, rose serene from a cloud bank. Its coming silenced +them and for a space they watched the headlands of the solemn landscape +blackening against the sky, and the river breaking into silvery +disquiet. Separating the current, which girdled it with a sparkling +belt, was the dark blue of an island, thick plumed with trees, a black +and mysterious oblong. Old Joe pointed to it with his pipe. +</P> + +<P> +"Brady's Island," he said. "Ask Hy to tell you about that. He knew +Brady." +</P> + +<P> +The tall man looked thoughtfully at the crested shape. +</P> + +<P> +"That's it," he said. "That's where Brady was murdered." +</P> + +<P> +And then he told the story: +</P> + +<P> +"It was quite a while back in the 30's, and the free trappers and +mountain men brought their pelts down in bull boats and mackinaws to +St. Louis. There were a bunch of men workin' down the river and when +they got to Brady's Island, that's out there in the stream, the water +was so shallow the boats wouldn't float, so they camped on the island. +Brady was one of 'em, a cross-tempered man, and he and another feller'd +been pick-in' at each other day by day since leavin' the mountains. +They'd got so they couldn't get on at all. Men do that sometimes on +the trail, get to hate the sight and sound of each other. You can't +tell why. +</P> + +<P> +"One day the others went after buffalo and left Brady and the man that +hated him alone on the island. When the hunters come home at night +Brady was dead by the camp fire, shot through the head and lyin' stiff +in his blood. The other one had a slick story to tell how Brady +cleanin' his gun, discharged it by accident and the bullet struck up +and killed him. They didn't believe it, but it weren't their business. +So they buried Brady there on the island and the next day each man +shouldered his pack and struck out to foot it to the Missouri. +</P> + +<P> +"It was somethin' of a walk and the ones that couldn't keep up the +stride fell behind. They was all strung out along the river bank and +some of 'em turned off for ways they thought was shorter, and first +thing you know the party was scattered, and the man that hated Brady +was left alone, lopin' along on a side trail that slanted across the +prairie to the country of the Loup Fork Pawnees. +</P> + +<P> +"That was the last they saw of him and it was a long time—news +traveled slow on the plains in them days—before anybody heard of him +for he never come to St. Louis to tell. Some weeks later a party of +trappers passin' near the Pawnee villages on the Loup Fork was hailed +by some Indians and told they had a paleface sick in the chief's tent. +The trappers went there and in the tent found a white man, clear +headed, but dyin' fast. +</P> + +<P> +"It was the man that killed Brady. Lyin' there on the buffalo skin, he +told them all about it—how he done it and the lie he fixed up. Death +was comin', and the way he'd hated so he couldn't keep his hand from +murder was all one now. He wanted to get it off his mind and sorter +square himself. When he'd struck out alone he went on for a spell, +killin' enough game and always hopin' for the sight of the river. Then +one day he caught his gun in a willow tree and it went off, sending the +charge into his thigh and breaking the bone. He was stunned for a +while and then tried to move on, tried to crawl. He crawled for six +days and at the end of the sixth found a place with water and knowed +he'd come to the end of his rope. He tore a strip off his blanket and +tied it to the barrel of his rifle and stuck it end up. The Pawnees +found him there and treated him kind, as them Indians will do +sometimes. They took him to their village and cared for him, but it +was too late. He wanted to see a white man and tell and then die +peaceful, and that's what he done. While the trappers was with him he +died and they buried him there decent outside the village." +</P> + +<P> +The speaker's voice ceased and in the silence the others turned to look +at the black shape of the island riding the gleaming waters like a +funeral barge. In its dark isolation, cut off from the land by the +quiet current, it seemed a fitting theater for the grim tragedy. They +gazed at it, chilled into dumbness, thinking of the murderer moving to +freedom under the protection of his lie, then overtaken, and in his +anguish, alone in the silence, meeting the question of his conscience. +</P> + +<P> +Once more the words came back to David: "Behold, He that keepeth Israel +shall neither slumber nor sleep." +</P> + +<P> +Susan pressed against her father, awed and cold, and from old Joe, +stretched in his blanket, came a deep and peaceful snore. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0203"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + + +<P> +Susan was riding alone on the top of the bluffs. The evening before, +three men returning from the Oregon country to the States, had +bivouacked with them and told them that the New York Company was a +day's march ahead, so she had gone to the highlands to reconnoiter. +</P> + +<P> +Just here the bluffs swept inward toward the river, contracting the +bottom to a valley only a few miles in width. Through it the road lay, +a well-worn path crossed as with black stripes by the buffalo runs. +Susan's glance, questing ahead for the New York train, ran to the +distance where the crystal glaze of the stream shrunk to a silver +thread imbedded in green velvet. There was a final point where green +and silver converged in a blinding dazzle, and over this the sun hung, +emerging from a nebulous glare to a slowly defining sphere. +</P> + +<P> +Turning to the left her gaze lost itself in the endlessness of the +plains. It was like looking over the sea, especially at the horizon +where the land was drawn in a straight, purplish line. She could +almost see sails there, small sails dark against a sky that was so +remote its color had faded to an aerial pallor. As the journey had +advanced the influence of these spacious areas had crept upon her. In +the beginning there had been times when they woke in her an unexplained +sadness. Now that was gone and she loved to ride onward, the one item +of life in the silence, held in a new correspondence with the solemn +immensity. It affected her as prayer does the devotee. Under its +inspiration she wondered at old worries and felt herself impervious to +new ones. +</P> + +<P> +With eyes on the purple horizon her thoughts went back to her home in +Rochester with the green shutters and the brasses on the door. How far +away it seemed! Incidents in its peaceful routine were like the +resurgences of memory from a previous incarnation. There was no +tenderness in her thoughts of the past, no sentiment clung to her +recollections of what was now a dead phase of her life. She was +slightly impatient of its contented smallness, of her satisfaction with +such things as her sewing, her cake making, her childish conferences +with girl friends on the vine-grown porch. They seemed strangely +trivial and unmeaning compared to the exhilarating present. She was +living now, feeling the force of a rising growth, her horizon widening +to suit that which her eyes sought, the dependence of her sheltered +girlhood gone from her as the great adventure called upon untouched +energies and untried forces. It was like looking back on another girl, +or like a woman looking back on a child. +</P> + +<P> +She had often spoken to David of these past days, and saw that her +descriptions charmed him. He had asked her questions about it and been +surprised that she did not miss the old existence more. To him it had +seemed ideal, and he told her that that was the way he should like to +live and some day would, with just such a servant as Daddy John, and a +few real friends, and a library of good books. His enthusiasm made her +dimly realize the gulf between them—the gulf between the idealist and +the materialist—that neither had yet recognized and that only she, of +the two, instinctively felt. The roughness of the journey irked David. +The toil of the days wore on his nerves. She could see that it pained +him to urge the tired animals forward, to lash them up the stream banks +and drive them past the springs. And only half understanding his +character—fine where she was obtuse, sensitive where she was +invulnerable, she felt the continued withdrawal from him, the +instinctive shrinking from the man who was not her mate. +</P> + +<P> +She had silently acquiesced in the idea, entertained by all the train, +that she would marry him. The doctor had intimated to her that he +wished it and from her childhood her only real religion had been to +please her father. Yet half a dozen times she had stopped the proposal +on the lover's lips. And not from coquetry either. Loth and reluctant +she clung to her independence. A rival might have warmed her to a more +coming-on mood, but there was no rival. When by silence or raillery +she had shut off the avowal she was relieved and yet half despised him +for permitting her to take the lead. Why had he not forced her to +listen? Why had he not seized her and even if she struggled, held her +and made her hear him? She knew little of men, nothing of love, but +she felt, without putting her thoughts even to herself, that to a man +who showed her he was master she would have listened and surrendered. +</P> + +<P> +Riding back to the camp she felt a trifle remorseful about her +behavior. Some day she would marry him—she had got far enough to +admit that—and perhaps it was unkind of her not to let the matter be +settled. And at that she gave a petulant wriggle of her shoulders +under her cotton blouse. Wasn't that his business? Wasn't he the one +to end it, not wait on her pleasure? Were all men so easily governed, +she wondered. +</P> + +<P> +Looking ahead across the grassed bottom land, she saw that the train +had halted and the camp was pitched. She could see David's tall +stooping figure, moving with long strides between the tents and the +wagons. She laid a wager with herself that he would do certain things +and brought her horse to a walk that she might come upon him +noiselessly and watch. Of course he did them, built up her fire and +kindled it, arranged her skillets beside it and had a fresh pail of +water standing close by. It only remained for him to turn as he heard +the sound of her horse's hoofs and run to help her dismount. This, for +some reason, he did not do and she was forced to attract his attention +by saying in a loud voice: +</P> + +<P> +"There was nothing to be seen. Not a sign of a wagon from here to the +horizon." +</P> + +<P> +He looked up from his cooking and said: "Oh, you're back, Susan," and +returned to the pan of buffalo tallow. +</P> + +<P> +This was a strange remissness in the slave and she was piqued. +Contrary to precedent it was her father who helped her off. She slid +into his arms laughing, trying to kiss him as she slipped down, then +standing with her hands on his shoulders told him of her ride. She was +very pretty just then, her hair loose on her sunburned brow, her face +all love and smiles. But David bent over his fire, did not raise his +eyes to the charming tableau, that had its own delightfulness to the +two participants, and that one of the participants intended should show +him how sweet Susan Gillespie could be when she wanted. +</P> + +<P> +All of which trivial matter combined to the making of momentous matter, +momentous in the future for Susan and David. Shaken in her confidence +in the subjugation of her slave, Susan agreed to his suggestion to ride +to the bluffs after supper and see the plains under the full moon. So +salutary had been his momentary neglect of her that she went in a +chastened spirit, a tamed and gentle maiden. They had orders not to +pass out of sight of the twin fires whose light followed them like the +beams of two, watchful, unwinking eyes. +</P> + +<P> +They rode across the bottom to where the bluffs rose, a broken bulwark. +That afternoon Susan had found a ravine up which they could pass. She +knew it by a dwarfed tree, a landmark in the naked country. The +moonlight lay white on the barrier indented with gulfs of darkness, +from each of which ran the narrow path of the buffalo. The line of +hills, silver-washed and black-caverned, was like a rampart thrown +across the entrance to the land of mystery, and they like the pygmy men +of fairyland come to gain an entry. It was David who thought of this. +It reminded him of Jack and the Beanstalk, where Jack, reaching the top +of the vine, found himself in a strange country. Susan did not +remember much about Jack. She was engrossed in recognizing the ravine, +scanning the darkling hollows for the dwarf tree. +</P> + +<P> +It was a steep, winding cut, the tree, halfway up its length, spreading +skeleton arms against a sky clear as a blue diamond. They turned into +it and began a scrambling ascent, the horses' hoofs slipping into the +gutter that the buffaloes had trodden out. It was black dark in the +depths with the moonlight slanting white on the walls. +</P> + +<P> +"We're going now to find the giants," David called over his shoulder. +"Doesn't this seem as if it ought to lead us up right in front of +Blunderbore's Castle?" +</P> + +<P> +"The buffalo runs are like trenches," she answered. "If you don't look +out your horse may fall." +</P> + +<P> +They tied their horses to the tree and climbed on foot to the levels +above. On the earth's floor, unbroken by tree or elevation, there was +not a shadow. It lay silver frosted in the foreground, darkening as it +receded. In the arch above no cloud filmed the clearness, the moon, +huge and mottled, dominating the sky. The silence was penetrating; not +a breath or sound disturbed it. It was the night of the primitive +world, which stirred the savage to a sense of the infinite and made +him, from shell or clay or stone, carve out a God. +</P> + +<P> +Without speaking they walked forward to a jutting point and looked down +on the river. The current sparkled like a dancer's veil spread on the +grass. They could not hear its murmur or see the shifting disturbance +of its shallows, only received the larger impression of the flat, +gleaming tide split by the black shapes of islands. David pointed to +the two sparks of the camp fires. +</P> + +<P> +"See, they're looking after us as if they were alive and knew they +mustn't lose sight of us." +</P> + +<P> +"They look quite red in the moonlight," she answered, interested. +</P> + +<P> +"As if they belonged to man and a drop of human blood had colored them." +</P> + +<P> +"What a queer idea. Let's walk on along the bluffs." +</P> + +<P> +They turned and moved away from the lights, slipping down into the +darkness of the channeled ravines and emerging onto the luminous +highlands. The solemnity of the night, its brooding aloofness in which +they held so small a part, chilled the girl's high self-reliance. +Among her fellows, in a setting of light and action, she was all proud +independence. Deprived of them she suffered a diminution of confidence +and became if not clinging, at least a feminine creature who might some +day be won. Feeling small and lonely she insensibly drew closer to the +man beside her, at that moment the only connecting link between her and +the living world with which her liens were so close. +</P> + +<P> +The lover felt the change in her, knew that the barrier she had so +persistently raised was down. They were no longer mistress and slave, +but man and maid. The consciousness of it gave him a new boldness. +The desperate daring of the suitor carried him beyond his familiar +tremors, his dread of defeat. He thrust his hand inside her arm, +timidly, it is true, ready to snatch it back at the first rebuff. But +there was none, so he kept it there and they walked on. Their talk was +fragmentary, murmured sentences that they forgot to finish, phrases +trailing off into silence as if they had not clear enough wits to fit +words together, or as if words were not necessary when at last their +spirits communed. Responding to the instigation of the romantic hour +the young girl felt an almost sleepy content. The arm on which she +leaned spoke of strength, it symbolized a protection she would have +repudiated in the practical, sustaining sunshine, but that now was very +sweet. +</P> + +<P> +David walked in a vision. Was it Susan, this soft and docile being, +close against his side, her head moving slowly as her eyes ranged over +the magical prospect? He was afraid to speak for fear the spell would +break. He did not know which way his feet bore him, but blindly went +on, looking down at the profile almost against his shoulder, at the +hand under which his had slid, small and white in the transforming +light. His silence was not like hers, the expression of a temporary, +lulled tranquility. He had passed the stage when he could delay to +rejoice in lovely moments. He was no longer the man fearful of the +hazards of his fate, but a vessel of sense ready to overflow at the +slightest touch. +</P> + +<P> +It came when a ravine opened at their feet and she drew herself from +him to gather up her skirts for the descent. Then the tension broke +with a tremulous "Susan, wait!" She knew what was coming and braced +herself to meet it. The mystical hour, the silver-bathed wonder of the +night, a girl's frightened curiosity, combined to win her to a +listening mood. She felt on the eve of a painful but necessary ordeal, +and clasped her hands together to bear it creditably. Through the +perturbation of her mind the question flashed—Did all women feel this +way? and then the comment, How much they had to endure that they never +told! +</P> + +<P> +It was the first time any man had made the great demand of her. She +had read of it in novels and other girls had told her. From this data +she had gathered that it was a happy if disturbing experience. She +felt only the disturbance. Seldom in her life had she experienced so +distracting a sense of discomfort. When David was half way through she +would have given anything to have stopped him, or to have run away. +But she was determined now to stand it, to go through with it and be +engaged as other girls were and as her father wished her to be. +Besides there was nowhere to run to and she could not have stopped him +if she had tried. He was launched, the hour had come, the, to him, +supreme and awful hour, and all the smothered passion and hope and +yearning of the past month burst out. +</P> + +<P> +Once she looked at him and immediately looked away, alarmed and abashed +by his appearance. Even in the faint light she could see his pallor, +the drops on his brow, the drawn desperation of his face. She had +never in her life seen anyone so moved and she began to share his +agitation and wish that anything might happen to bring the interview to +an end. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you care? Do you care?" he urged, trying to look into her face. +She held it down, not so much from modesty as from an aversion to +seeing him so beyond himself, and stammered: +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I care. I always have. Quite a great deal. You know it." +</P> + +<P> +"I never knew," he cried. "I never was sure. Sometimes I thought so +and the next day you were all different. Say you do. Oh, Susan, say +you do." +</P> + +<P> +He was as close to her as he could get without touching her, which, the +question now fairly put, he carefully avoided doing. Taller than she +he loomed over her, bending for her answer, quivering and sweating in +his anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +The young girl was completely subdued by him. She was frightened, not +of the man, but of the sudden revelation of forces which she did not in +the least comprehend and which made him another person. Though she +vaguely understood that she still dominated him, she saw that her +dominion came from something much more subtle than verbal command and +imperious bearing. All confusion and bewildered meekness, she melted, +partly because she had meant to, partly because his vehemence +overpowered her, and partly because she wanted to end the most trying +scene she had ever been through. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you say yes? Oh, you must say yes," she heard him imploring, and +she emitted the monosyllable on a caught breath and then held her head +even lower and felt an aggrieved amazement that it was all so different +from what she had thought it would be. +</P> + +<P> +He gave an exclamation, a sound almost of pain, and drew away from her. +She glanced up at him, her eyes full of scared curiosity, not knowing +what extraordinary thing was going to happen next. He had dropped his +face into his hands, and stood thus for a moment without moving. She +peered at him uneasily, like a child at some one suffering from an +unknown complaint and giving evidence of the suffering in strange ways. +He let his hands fall, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them +and came toward her with his face beatified. Delicately, almost +reverently, he bent down and touched her cheek with his lips. +</P> + +<P> +The lover's first kiss! This, too, Susan had heard about, and from +what she had heard she had imagined that it was a wonderful experience +causing unprecedented joy. She was nearly as agitated as he, but +through her agitation, she realized with keen disappointment that she +had felt nothing in the least resembling joy. An inward shrinking as +the bearded lips came in contact with her skin was all she was +conscious of. There was no rapture, no up-gush of anything lovely or +unusual. In fact, it left her with the feeling that it was a duty duly +discharged and accepted—this that she had heard was one of life's +crises, that you looked back on from the heights of old age and told +your grandchildren about. +</P> + +<P> +They were silent for a moment, the man so filled and charged with +feeling that he had no breath to speak, no words, if he had had breath, +to express the passion that was in him. Inexperienced as she, he +thought it sweet and beautiful that she should stand away from him with +averted face. He gazed at her tenderly, wonderingly, won, but still a +thing too sacred for his touch. +</P> + +<P> +Susan, not knowing what to do and feeling blankly that something +momentous had happened and that she had not risen to it, continued to +look on the ground. She wished he would say something simple and +natural and break the intolerable silence. Finally, she felt that she +could endure it no longer, and putting her hand to her forehead, pushed +back her hair and heaved a deep sigh. He instantly moved to her all +brooding, possessive inquiry. She became alarmed lest he meant to kiss +her again and edged away from him, exclaiming hastily: +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we go back? We've been a long time away." +</P> + +<P> +Without speech he slid his hand into the crook of her arm and they +began to retrace their steps. She could feel his heart beating and the +warm, sinewy grasp of his fingers clasped about hers. The plain was a +silver floor for their feet, in the starless sky the great orb soared. +The girl's embarrassment left her and she felt herself peacefully +settling into a contented acquiescence. She looked up at him, a tall +shape, black between her and the moon. Her glance called his and he +gazed down into her eyes, a faint smile on his lips. His arm was +strong, the way was strangely beautiful, and in the white light and the +stillness, romance walked with them. +</P> + +<P> +There was no talk between them till they reached the horses. In the +darkness of the cleft, hidden from the searching radiance, he drew her +to him, pressing her head with a trembling hand against his heart. She +endured it patiently but was glad when he let her go and she was in the +saddle, a place where she felt more at home than in a man's arms with +her face crushed against his shirt, turning to avoid its rough texture +and uncomfortably conscious of the hardness of his lean breast. She +decided not to speak to him again, for she was afraid he might break +forth into those protestations of love that so embarrassed her. +</P> + +<P> +At the camp Daddy John was up, sitting by the fire, waiting for them. +Of this, too, she was glad. Good-bys between lovers, even if only to +be separated by a night, were apt to contain more of that distressful +talk. She called a quick "Good night" to him, and then dove into her +tent and sat down on the blankets. The firelight shone a nebulous +blotch through the canvas and she stared at it, trying to concentrate +her thoughts and realize that the great event had happened. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm engaged," she kept saying to herself, and waited for the rapture, +which, even if belated, ought surely to come. But it did not. The +words obstinately refused to convey any meaning, brought nothing to her +but a mortifying sensation of being inadequate to a crisis. She heard +David's voice exchanging a low good night with the old man, and she +hearkened anxiously, still hopeful of the thrill. But again there was +none, and she could only gaze at the blurred blot of light and whisper +"I'm engaged to be married," and wonder what was the matter with her +that she should feel just the same as she did before. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0204"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + + +<P> +The dawn was gray when Susan woke the next morning. It was cold and +she cowered under her blankets, watching the walls of the tent grow +light, and the splinter between the flaps turn from white to yellow. +She came to consciousness quickly, waking to an unaccustomed depression. +</P> + +<P> +At first it had no central point of cause, but was reasonless and +all-permeating like the depression that comes from an unlocated +physical ill. Her body lay limp under the blankets as her mind lay +limp under the unfamiliar cloud. Then the memory of last night took +form, her gloom suddenly concentrated on a reason, and she sunk beneath +it, staring fixedly at the crack of growing light. When she heard the +camp stirring and sat up, her heart felt so heavy that she pressed on +it with her finger tips as if half expecting they might encounter a +strange, new hardness through the soft envelope of her body. +</P> + +<P> +She did not know that this lowering of her crest, hitherto held so high +and carried so proudly, was the first move of her surrender. Her +liberty was over, she was almost in the snare. The strong feminine +principle in her impelled her like an inexorable fate toward marriage +and the man. The children that were to be, urged her toward their +creator. And the unconquered maidenhood that was still hers, recoiled +with trembling reluctance from its demanded death. Love had not yet +come to lead her into a new and wonderful world. She only felt the +sense of strangeness and fear, of leaving the familiar ways to enter +new ones that led through shadows to the unknown. +</P> + +<P> +When she rode out beside her father in the red splendors of the +morning, a new gravity marked her. Already the first suggestion of the +woman—like the first breath of the season's change—was on her face. +The humility of the great abdication was in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +David left them together and rode away to the bluffs. She followed his +figure with a clouded glance as she told her father her news. Her +depression lessened when he turned upon her with a radiant face. +</P> + +<P> +"If you had searched the world over you couldn't have found a man to +please me better. Seeing David this way, day by day, I've come to know +him through and through and he's true, straight down to the core." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course he is," she answered, tilting her chin with the old +sauciness that this morning looked a little forlorn. "I wouldn't have +liked him if he hadn't been." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Missy, you're such a wise little woman." +</P> + +<P> +She glanced at him quickly, recognizing the tone, and to-day, with her +new heavy heart, dreading it. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, father, don't laugh at me. This is all very serious." +</P> + +<P> +"Serious! It's the most serious thing that ever happened in the world, +in our world. And if I was smiling—I'll lay a wager I wasn't +laughing—it was because I'm so happy. You don't know what this means +to me. I've wanted it so much that I've been afraid it wasn't coming +off. And then I thought it must, for it's my girl's happiness and +David's and back of theirs mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then, if you're happy, I'm happy." +</P> + +<P> +This time his smile was not bantering, only loving and tender. He did +not dream that her spirit might not be as glad as his looking from the +height of middle-age to a secured future. He had been a man of a +single love, ignorant save of that one woman, and she so worshiped and +wondered at that there had been no time to understand her. Insulated +in the circle of his own experience he did not guess that to an +unawakened girl the engagement morn might be dark with clouds. +</P> + +<P> +"Love and youth," he said dreamily, "oh, Susan, it's so beautiful! +It's Eden come again when God walked in the garden. And it's so short. +<I>Eheu Fugaces</I>! You've just begun to realize how wonderful it is, just +said to yourself 'This is life—this is what I was born for,' when it's +over. And then you begin to understand, to look back, and see that it +was not what you were born for. It was only the beginning that was to +give you strength for the rest—the prairie all trees and flowers, with +the sunlight and the breeze on the grass." +</P> + +<P> +"It sounds like this journey, like the Emigrant Trail." +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I was thinking. The beautiful start gives you courage for +the mountains. The memory of it carries you over the rough places, +gives you life in your heart when you come to the desert where it's all +parched and bare. And you and your companion go on, fighting against +the hardships, bound closer and closer by the struggle. You learn to +give up, to think of the other one, and then you say, '<I>This</I> is what I +was born for,' and you know you're getting near the truth. To have +some one to go through the fight for, to do the hard work for—that's +the reality after the vision and the dream." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor, thinking of the vanished years of his married life, and his +daughter, of the unknown ones coming, were not looking at the subject +from the same points of view. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think you make it sound very pleasant," she said, from +returning waves of melancholy. "It's nothing but hardships and danger." +</P> + +<P> +"California's at the end of it, dearie, and they say that's the most +beautiful country in the world." +</P> + +<P> +"It will be a strange country," she said wistfully, not thinking alone +of California. +</P> + +<P> +"Not for long." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think we'll ever feel at home in it?" +</P> + +<P> +The question came in a faint voice. Why did California, once the goal +of her dreams, now seem an alien land in which she always would be a +stranger? +</P> + +<P> +"We're bringing our home with us—carrying some of it on our backs like +snails and the rest in our hearts like all pioneers. Soon it will +cease being strange, when there are children in it. Where there's a +camp fire and a blanket and a child, that's home, Missy." +</P> + +<P> +He leaned toward her and laid his hand on hers as it rested on the +pommel. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll be so happy in it," he said softly. +</P> + +<P> +A sudden surge of feeling, more poignant than anything she had yet +felt, sent a pricking of tears to her eyes. She turned her face away, +longing in sudden misery for some one to whom she could speak plainly, +some one who once had felt as she did now. For the first time she +wished that there was another woman in the train. Her instinct told +her that men could not understand. Unable to bear her father's glad +assurance she said a hasty word about going back and telling Daddy John +and wheeled her horse toward the prairie schooner behind them. +</P> + +<P> +Daddy John welcomed her by pushing up against the roof prop and giving +her two thirds of the driver's seat. With her hands clipped between +her knees she eyed him sideways. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think's going to happen?" she said, trying to compose her +spirits by teasing him. +</P> + +<P> +"It's going to rain," he answered. +</P> + +<P> +This was not helpful or suggestive of future sympathy, but at any rate, +it was not emotional. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Daddy John, don't be silly. Would I get off my horse and climb +up beside you to ask you about the weather?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what you'd do, Missy, you've got that wild out here on +the plains—just like a little buffalo calf." +</P> + +<P> +He glimpsed obliquely at her, his old face full of whimsical +tenderness. She smiled bravely and he saw above the smile, her eyes, +untouched by it. He instantly became grave. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what's goin' to happen?" he asked soberly. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to be married." +</P> + +<P> +He raised his eyebrows and gave a whistle. +</P> + +<P> +"That is somethin'! And which is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"What a question! David, of course. Who else could it be?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he's the best," he spoke slowly, with considering phlegm. "He's +a first-rate boy as far as he goes." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think that's a very nice way to speak of him. Can't you say +something better?" +</P> + +<P> +The old man looked over the mules' backs for a moment of inward +cogitation. He was not surprised at the news but he was surprised at +something in his Missy's manner, a lack of the joyfulness, that he, +too, had thought an attribute of all intending brides. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a good boy," he said thoughtfully. "No one can say he ain't. +But some way or other, I'd rather have had a bigger man for you, Missy." +</P> + +<P> +"Bigger!" she exclaimed indignantly. "He's nearly six feet. And girls +don't pick out their husbands because of their height." +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't meant it that way. Bigger in what's in him—can get hold o' +more, got a bigger reach." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what you mean. If you're trying to say he's not got a +big mind you're all wrong. He knows more than anybody I ever met +except father. He's read hundreds and hundreds of books." +</P> + +<P> +"That's it—too many books. Books is good enough but they ain't the +right sort 'er meat for a feller that's got to hit out for himself in a +new country. They're all right in the city where you got the butcher +and the police and a kerosene lamp to read 'em by. David 'ud be a fine +boy in the town just as his books is suitable in the town. But this +ain't the town. And the men that are the right kind out here ain't +particularly set on books. I'd 'a' chose a harder feller for you, +Missy, that could have stood up to anything and didn't have no soft +feelings to hamper him." +</P> + +<P> +"Rubbish," she snapped. "Why don't you encourage me?" +</P> + +<P> +Her tone drew his eyes, sharp as a squirrel's and charged with quick +concern. Her face was partly turned away. The curve of her cheek was +devoid of its usual dusky color, her fingers played on her under lip as +if it were a little flute. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you want to be encouraged for?" he said low, as if afraid of +being overheard. +</P> + +<P> +She did not move her head, but looked at the bluffs. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," she answered, then hearing her—voice hoarse cleared +her throat. "It's all—so—so—sort of new. I—I—feel—I don't know +just how—I think it's homesick." +</P> + +<P> +Her voice broke in a bursting sob. Her control gone, her pride fell +with it. Wheeling on the seat she cast upon him a look of despairing +appeal. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Daddy John," was all she could gasp, and then bent her head so +that her hat might hide the shame of her tears. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her for a nonplused moment, at her brown arms bent over +her shaken bosom, at the shield of her broken hat. He was thoroughly +discomfited for he had not the least idea what was the matter. Then he +shifted the reins to his left hand and edging near her laid his right +on her knee. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you want to marry him?" he said gently. +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't that, it's something else." +</P> + +<P> +"What else? You can say anything you like to me. Ain't I carried you +when you were a baby?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what it is." Her voice came cut by sobbing breaths. "I +don't understand. It's like being terribly lonesome." +</P> + +<P> +The old frontiersman had no remedy ready for this complaint. He, too, +did not understand. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you marry him if you don't like him," he said. "If you want to +tell him so and you're afraid, I'll do it for you." +</P> + +<P> +"I do like him. It's not that." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then, what's making you cry?" +</P> + +<P> +"Something else, something way down deep that makes everything seem so +far away and strange." +</P> + +<P> +He leaned forward and spat over the wheel, then subsided against the +roof prop. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you well?" he said, his imagination exhausted. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, very." +</P> + +<P> +Daddy John looked at the backs of the mules. The off leader was a +capricious female by name Julia who required more management and +coaxing than the other five put together, and whom he loved beyond them +all. In his bewildered anxiety the thought passed through his mind +that all creatures of the feminine gender, animal or human, were +governed by laws inscrutable to the male, who might never aspire to +comprehension and could only strive to please and placate. +</P> + +<P> +A footfall struck on his ear and, thrusting his head beyond the canvas +hood, he saw Leff loafing up from the rear. +</P> + +<P> +"Saw her come in here," thought the old man, drawing his head in, "and +wants to hang round and snoop." +</P> + +<P> +Since the Indian episode he despised Leff. His contempt was unveiled, +for the country lout who had shown himself a coward had dared to raise +his eyes to the one star in Daddy John's firmament. He would not have +hidden his dislike if he could. Leff was of the outer world to which +he relegated all men who showed fear or lied. +</P> + +<P> +He turned to Susan: +</P> + +<P> +"Go back in the wagon and lie down. Here comes Leff and I don't want +him to see you." +</P> + +<P> +The young girl thought no better of Leff than he did. The thought of +being viewed in her abandonment by the despised youth made her scramble +into the back of the wagon where she lay concealed on a pile of sacks. +In the forward opening where the canvas was drawn in a circle round a +segment of sky, Daddy John's figure fitted like a picture in a circular +frame. As a step paused at the wheel she saw him lean forward and +heard his rough tones. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she's here, asleep in the back of the wagon." +</P> + +<P> +Then Leff's voice, surprised: +</P> + +<P> +"Asleep? Why, it ain't an hour since we started." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, can't she go to sleep in the morning if she wants? Don't you go +to sleep every Sunday under the wagon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but that's afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +"Mebbe, but everybody's not as slow as you at getting at what they +want." +</P> + +<P> +This appeared to put Susan's retirement in a light that gave rise to +pondering. There was a pause, then came the young man's heavy +footsteps slouching back to his wagon. Daddy John settled down on the +seat. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm almighty glad it weren't him, Missy," he said, over his shoulder. +"I'd 'a' known then why you cried." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0205"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + + +<P> +Late the same day Leff, who had been riding on the bluffs, came down to +report a large train a few miles ahead of them. It was undoubtedly the +long-looked-for New York Company. +</P> + +<P> +The news was as a tonic to their slackened energies. A cheering +excitement ran through the train. There was stir and loud talking. +Its contagion lifted Susan's spirits and with her father she rode on in +advance, straining her eyes against the glare of the glittering river. +Men and women, who daily crowded by them unnoted on city streets, now +loomed in the perspective as objective points of avid interest. No +party Susan had ever been to called forth such hopeful anticipation. +To see her fellows, to talk with women over trivial things, to demand +and give out the human sympathies she wanted and that had lain +withering within herself, drew her from the gloom under which she had +lain weeping in the back of Daddy John's wagon. +</P> + +<P> +They were nearing the Forks of the Platte where the air was dryly +transparent and sound carried far. While yet the encamped train was a +congeries of broken white dots on the river's edge, they could hear the +bark of a dog and then singing, a thin thread of melody sent aloft by a +woman's voice. +</P> + +<P> +It was like a handclasp across space. Drawing nearer the sounds of men +and life reached forward to meet them—laughter, the neighing of +horses, the high, broken cry of a child. They felt as if they were +returning to a home they had left and that sometimes, in the stillness +of the night or when vision lost itself in the vague distances, they +still longed for. +</P> + +<P> +The train had shaped itself into its night form, the circular coil in +which it slept, like a thick, pale serpent resting after the day's +labors. The white arched prairie schooners were drawn up in a ring, +the defensive bulwark of the plains. The wheels, linked together by +the yoke chains, formed a barrier against Indian attacks. Outside this +interlocked rampart was a girdle of fires, that gleamed through the +twilight like a chain of jewels flung round the night's bivouac. It +shone bright on the darkness of the grass, a cordon of flame that some +kindly magician had drawn about the resting place of the tired camp. +</P> + +<P> +With the night pressing on its edges it was a tiny nucleus of life +dropped down between the immemorial plains and the ancient river. Home +was here in the pitched tents, a hearthstone in the flame lapping on +the singed grass, humanity in the loud welcome that rose to meet the +newcomers. The doctor had known but one member of the Company, its +organizer, a farmer from the Mohawk Valley. But the men, dropping +their ox yokes and water pails, crowded forward, laughing deep-mouthed +greetings from the bush of their beards, and extending hands as hard as +the road they had traveled. +</P> + +<P> +The women were cooking. Like goddesses of the waste places they stood +around the fires, a line of half-defined shapes. Films of smoke blew +across them, obscured and revealed them, and round about them savory +odors rose. Fat spit in the pans, coffee bubbled in blackened pots, +and strips of buffalo meat impaled on sticks sent a dribble of flame to +the heat. The light was strong on their faces, lifted in greeting, +lips smiling, eyes full of friendly curiosity. But they did not move +from their posts for they were women and the men and the children were +waiting to be fed. +</P> + +<P> +Most of them were middle-aged, or the trail had made them look +middle-aged. A few were very old. Susan saw a face carved with +seventy years of wrinkles mumbling in the framing folds of a shawl. +Nearby, sitting on the dropped tongue of a wagon, a girl of perhaps +sixteen, sat ruminant, nursing a baby. Children were everywhere, +helping, fighting, rolling on the grass. Babies lay on spread blankets +with older babies sitting by to watch. It was the woman's hour. The +day's march was over, but the intimate domestic toil was at its height. +The home makers were concentrated upon their share of the +activities—cooking food, making the shelter habitable, putting their +young to bed. +</P> + +<P> +Separated from Susan by a pile of scarlet embers stood a young girl, a +large spoon in her hand. The light shot upward along the front of her +body, painting with an even red glow her breast, her chin, the under +side of her nose and finally transforming into a coppery cloud the +bright confusion of her hair. She smiled across the fire and said: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad you've come. We've been watching for you ever since we +struck the Platte. There aren't any girls in the train. I and my +sister are the youngest except Mrs. Peebles over there," with a nod in +the direction of the girl on the wagon tongue, "and she's married." +</P> + +<P> +The woman beside her, who had been too busy over the bacon pan to raise +her head, now straightened herself, presenting to Susan's eye a face +more buxom and mature but so like that of the speaker that it was +evident they were sisters. A band of gold gleamed on her wedding +finger and her short skirt and loose calico jacket made no attempt to +hide the fact that another baby was soon to be added to the already +well-supplied train. She smiled a placid greeting and her eye, lazily +sweeping Susan, showed a healthy curiosity tempered by the +self-engrossed indifference of the married woman to whom the outsider, +even in the heart of the wilderness, is forever the outsider. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy'll be real glad to have a friend," she said. "She's lonesome. +Turn the bacon, Lucy, it makes my back ache to bend"; and as the sister +bowed over the frying pan, "move, children, you're in the way." +</P> + +<P> +This was directed to two children who lay on the grass by the fire, +with blinking eyes, already half asleep. As they did not immediately +obey she assisted them with a large foot, clad in a man's shoe. The +movement though peremptory was not rough. It had something of the +quality of the mother tiger's admonishing pats to her cubs, a certain +gentleness showing through force. The foot propelled the children into +a murmurous drowsy heap. One of them, a little girl with a shock of +white hair and a bunch of faded flowers wilting in her tight baby +grasp, looked at her mother with eyes glazed with sleep, a deep look as +though her soul was gazing back from the mysteries of unconsciousness. +</P> + +<P> +"Now lie there till you get your supper," said the mother, having by +gradual pressure pried them out of the way. "And you," to Susan, +"better bring your things over and camp here and use our fire. We've +nearly finished with it." +</P> + +<P> +In the desolation of the morning Susan had wished for a member of her +own sex, not to confide in but to feel that there was some one near, +who, if she did know, could understand. Now here were two. Their +fresh, simple faces on which an artless interest was so naďvely +displayed, their pleasant voices, not cultured as hers was but women's +voices for all that, gave her spirits a lift. Her depression quite +dropped away, the awful lonely feeling, all the more whelming because +nobody could understand it, departed from her. She ran back to the +camp singing and for the first time that day looked at David, whose +presence she had shunned, with her old, brilliant smile. +</P> + +<P> +An hour later and the big camp rested, relaxed in the fading twilight +that lay a yellow thread of separation between the day's high colors +and the dewless darkness of the night. It was like a scene from the +migrations of the ancient peoples when man wandered with a woman, a +tent, and a herd. The barrier of the wagons, with its girdle of fire +sparks, incased a grassy oval green as a lawn. Here they sat in little +groups, collecting in tent openings as they were wont to collect on +summer nights at front gates and piazza steps. The crooning of women +putting babies to sleep fell in with the babblings of the river. The +men smoked in silence. Nature had taught them something of her large +reticence in their day-long companionship. Some few lounged across the +grass to have speech of the pilot, a grizzled mountain man, who had +been one of the Sublette's trappers, and had wise words to say of the +day's travel and the promise of the weather. But most of them lay on +the grass by the tents where they could see the stars through their +pipe smoke and hear the talk of their wives and the breathing of the +children curled in the blankets. +</P> + +<P> +A youth brought an accordion from his stores and, sitting cross-legged +on the ground, began to play. He played "Annie Laurie," and a woman's +voice, her head a black outline against the west, sang the words. Then +there was a clamor of applause, sounding thin and futile in the +evening's suave quietness, and the player began a Scotch reel in the +production of which the accordion uttered asthmatic gasps as though +unable to keep up with its own proud pace. The tune was sufficiently +good to inspire a couple of dancers. The young girl called Lucy rose +with a partner—her brother-in-law some one told Susan—and facing one +another, hand on hip, heads high, they began to foot it lightly over +the blackening grass. +</P> + +<P> +Seen thus Lucy was handsome, a tall, long-limbed sapling of a girl, +with a flaming crest of copper-colored hair and movements as lithe and +supple as a cat's. She danced buoyantly, without losing breath, +advancing and retreating with mincing steps, her face grave as though +the performance had its own dignity and was not to be taken lightly. +Her partner, a tanned and long-haired man, took his part in a livelier +spirit, laughing at her, bending his body grotesquely and growing red +with his caperings. Meanwhile from the tent door the wife looked on +and Susan heard her say to the doctor with whom she had been conferring: +</P> + +<P> +"And when will it be my turn to dance the reel again? There wasn't a +girl in the town could dance it with me." +</P> + +<P> +Her voice was weighted with the wistfulness of the woman whose endless +patience battles with her unwillingness to be laid by. +</P> + +<P> +Susan saw David's fingers feeling in the grass for her hand. She gave +it, felt the hard stress of his grip, and conquered her desire to draw +the hand away. All her coquetry was gone. She was cold and subdued. +The passionate hunger of his gaze made her feel uncomfortable. She +endured it for a space and then said with an edge of irritation on her +voice: +</P> + +<P> +"What are you staring at me for? Is there something on my face?" +</P> + +<P> +He breathed in a roughened voice: +</P> + +<P> +"No, I love you." +</P> + +<P> +Her discomfort increased. Tumult and coldness make uncongenial +neighbors. The man, all passion, and the woman, who has no answering +spark, grope toward each other through devious and unillumined ways. +</P> + +<P> +He whispered again: +</P> + +<P> +"I love you so. You don't understand." +</P> + +<P> +She did not and looked at him inquiringly, hoping to learn something +from his face. His eyes, meeting hers, were full of tears. It +surprised her so that she stared speechlessly at him, her head thrown +back, her lips parted. +</P> + +<P> +He looked down, ashamed of his emotion, murmuring: +</P> + +<P> +"You don't understand. It's so sacred. Some day you will." +</P> + +<P> +She did not speak to him again, but she let him hold her hand because +she thought she ought to and because she was sorry. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0206"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + + +<P> +The next morning the rain was pouring. The train rolled out without +picturesque circumstance, the men cursing, the oxen, with great heads +swinging under the yokes, plodding doggedly through lakes fretted with +the downpour. Breakfast was a farce; nobody's fire would burn and the +women were wet through before they had the coffee pots out. One or two +provident parties had stoves fitted up in their wagons with a joint of +pipe coming out through holes in the canvas. From these, wafts of +smoke issued with jaunty assurance, to be beaten down by the rain, +which swept them fiercely out of the landscape. +</P> + +<P> +There was no perspective, the distance invisible, nearer outlines +blurred. The world was a uniform tint, walls of gray marching in a +slant across a foreground embroidered with pools. Water ran, or +dripped, or stood everywhere. The river, its surface roughened by the +spit of angry drops, ran swollen among its islands, plumed shapes seen +mistily through the veil. The road emerged in oases of mud from long, +inundated spaces. Down the gullies in the hills, following the beaten +buffalo tracks, streams percolated through the grass of the bottom, +feeling their way to the river. +</P> + +<P> +Notwithstanding the weather a goodly company of mounted men rode at the +head of the train. They were wet to the skin and quite indifferent to +it. They had already come to regard the vagaries of the weather as +matters of no import. Mosquitoes and Indians were all they feared. On +such nights many of them slept in the open under a tarpaulin, and when +the water grew deep about them scooped out a drainage canal with a hand +that sleep made heavy. +</P> + +<P> +When the disorder of the camping ground was still in sight, Susan, with +the desire of social intercourse strong upon her, climbed into the +wagon of her new friends. They were practical, thrifty people, and +were as comfortable as they could be under a roof of soaked canvas in a +heavily weighted prairie schooner that every now and then bumped to the +bottom of a chuck hole. The married sister sat on a pile of sacks +disposed in a form that made a comfortable seat. A blanket was spread +behind her, and thus enthroned she knitted at a stocking of gray yarn. +Seen in the daylight she was young, fresh-skinned, and not uncomely. +Placidity seemed to be the dominating note of her personality. It +found physical expression in the bland parting of her hair, drawn back +from her smooth brow, her large plump hands with their deliberate +movements and dimples where more turbulent souls had knuckles, and her +quiet eyes, which turned upon anyone who addressed her a long +ruminating look before she answered. She had an air of almost oracular +profundity but she was merely in the quiescent state of the woman whose +faculties and strength are concentrated upon the coming child. Her +sister called her Bella and the people in the train addressed her as +Mrs. McMurdo. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy was beside her also knitting a stocking, and the husband, Glen +McMurdo, sat in the front driving, his legs in the rain, his upper half +leaning back under the shelter of the roof. He looked sleepy, gave a +grunt of greeting to Susan, and then lapsed against the saddle propped +behind him, his hat pulled low on his forehead hiding his eyes. In +this position, without moving or evincing any sign of life, he now and +then appeared to be roused to the obligations of his position and +shouted a drowsy "Gee Haw," at the oxen. +</P> + +<P> +He did not interfere with the women and they broke into the talk of +their sex, how they cooked, which of their clothes had worn best, what +was the right way of jerking buffalo meat. And then on to personal +matters: where they came from, what they were at home, whither they +were bound. The two sisters were Scotch girls, had come from Scotland +twenty years ago when Lucy was a baby. Their home was Cooperstown +where Glen was a carpenter. He had heard wonderful stories of +California, how there were no carpenters there and people were flocking +in, so he'd decided to emigrate. +</P> + +<P> +"And once he'd got his mind set on it, he had to start," said his wife. +"Couldn't wait for anything but must be off then and there. That's the +way men are." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a hard trip for you," said Susan, wondering at Mrs. McMurdo's +serenity. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I suppose it is," said Bella, as if she did not really think it +was, but was too lazy to disagree. "I hope I'll last till we get to +Fort Bridger." +</P> + +<P> +"What's at Fort Bridger?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's a big place with lots of trains coming and going and there'll +probably be a doctor among them. And they say it's a good place for +the animals—plenty of grass—so it'll be all right if I'm laid up for +long. But I have my children very easily." +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to the doctor's daughter a desperate outlook and she eyed, +with a combination of pity and awe, the untroubled Bella reclining on +the throne of sacks. The wagon gave a creaking lurch and Bella nearly +lost count of her stitches which made her frown as she was turning the +heel. The lurch woke her husband who pushed back his hat, shouted "Gee +Haw" at the oxen, and then said to his wife: +</P> + +<P> +"You got to cut my hair, Bella. These long tags hanging down round my +ears worry me." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dear, as soon as the weather's fine. I'll borrow a bowl from +Mrs. Peeble's mother so that it'll be cut evenly all the way round." +</P> + +<P> +Here there was an interruption, a breathless, baby voice at the wheel, +and Glen leaned down and dragged up his son Bob, wet, wriggling, and +muddy. The little fellow, four years old, had on a homespun shirt and +drawers, both dripping. His hair was a wet mop, hanging in rat tails +to his eyes. Under its thatch his face, pink and smiling, was as fresh +as a dew-washed rose. Tightly gripped in a dirty paw were two wild +flowers, and it was to give these to his mother that he had come. +</P> + +<P> +He staggered toward her, the wagon gave a jolt, and he fell, clasping +her knees and filling the air with the sweetness of his laughter. Then +holding to her arm and shoulder, he drew himself higher and pressed the +flowers close against her nose. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it a bu'full smell?" he inquired, watching her face with eyes of +bright inquiry. +</P> + +<P> +"Beautiful," she said, trying to see the knitting. +</P> + +<P> +"Aren't you glad I brought them?" still anxiously inquiring. +</P> + +<P> +"Very"—she pushed them away. "You're soaked. Take off your things." +</P> + +<P> +And little Bob, still holding his flowers, was stripped to his skin. +</P> + +<P> +"Now lie down," said his mother. "I'm turning the heel." +</P> + +<P> +He obeyed, but turbulently, and with much pretense, making believe to +fall and rolling on the sacks, a naked cherub writhing with laughter. +Finally, his mother had to stop her heel-turning to seize him by one +leg, drag him toward her, roll him up in the end of the blanket and +with a silencing slap say, "There, lie still." This quieted him. He +lay subdued save for a waving hand in which the flowers were still +imbedded and with which he made passes at the two girls, murmuring with +the thick utterance of rising sleep "Bu'full flowers." And in a moment +he slept, curled against his mother, his face angelic beneath the wet +hair. +</P> + +<P> +When Susan came to the giving of her personal data—the few facts +necessary to locate and introduce her—her engagement was the item of +most interest. A love story even on the plains, with the rain +dribbling in through the cracks of the canvas, possessed the old, +deathless charm. The doctor and his philanthropies, on which she would +have liked to dilate, were given the perfunctory attention that +politeness demanded. By himself the good man is dull, he has to have a +woman on his arm to carry weight. David, the lover, and Susan, the +object of his love, were the hero and heroine of the story. Even the +married woman forgot the turning of the heel and fastened her mild gaze +on the young girl. +</P> + +<P> +"And such a handsome fellow," she said. "I said to Lucy—she'll tell +you if I didn't—that there wasn't a man to compare with him in our +train. And so gallant and polite. Last night, when I was heating the +water to wash the children, he carried the pails for me. None of the +men with us do that. They'd never think of offering to carry our +buckets." +</P> + +<P> +Her husband who had appeared to be asleep said: +</P> + +<P> +"Why should they?" and then shouted "Gee Haw" and made a futile kick +toward the nearest ox. +</P> + +<P> +Nobody paid any attention to him and Lucy said: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he's very fine looking. And you'd never met till you started on +the trail? Isn't that romantic?" +</P> + +<P> +Susan was gratified. To hear David thus commended by other women +increased his value. If it did not make her love him more, it made her +feel the pride of ownership in a desirable possession. There was +complacence in her voice as she cited his other gifts. +</P> + +<P> +"He's very learned. He's read all kinds of books. My father says it's +wonderful how much he's read. And he can recite poetry, verses and +verses, Byron and Milton and Shakespeare. He often recites to me when +we're riding together." +</P> + +<P> +This acquirement of the lover's did not elicit any enthusiasm from +Bella. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, did you ever!" she murmured absently, counting stitches under +her breath and then pulling a needle out of the heel, "Reciting poetry +on horseback!" +</P> + +<P> +But it impressed Lucy, who, still in the virgin state with fancy free +to range, was evidently inclined to romance: +</P> + +<P> +"When you have a little log house in California and live in it with him +he'll recite poetry to you in the evening after the work's done. Won't +that be lovely?" +</P> + +<P> +Susan made no response. Instead she swallowed silently, looking out on +the rain. The picture of herself and David, alone in a log cabin +somewhere on the other side of the world, caused a sudden return of +yesterday's dejection. It rushed back upon her in a flood under which +her heart declined into bottomless depths. She felt as if actually +sinking into some dark abyss of loneliness and that she must clutch at +her father and Daddy John to stay her fall. +</P> + +<P> +"We won't be alone," with a note of protest making her voice plaintive. +"My father and Daddy John will be there. I couldn't be separated from +them. I'd never get over missing them. They've been with me always." +</P> + +<P> +Bella did not notice the tone, or maybe saw beyond it. +</P> + +<P> +"You won't miss them when you're married," she said with her benign +content. "Your husband will be enough." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy, with romance instead of a husband, agreed to this, and arranged +the programme for the future as she would have had it: +</P> + +<P> +"They'll probably live near you in tents. And you'll see them often; +ride over every few days. But you'll want your own log house just for +yourselves." +</P> + +<P> +This time Susan did not answer, for she was afraid to trust her voice. +She pretended a sudden interest in the prospect while the unbearable +picture rose before her mind—she and David alone, while her father and +Daddy John were somewhere else in tents, somewhere away from her, out +of reach of her hands and her kisses, not there to laugh with her and +tease her and tell her she was a tyrant, only David loving her in an +unintelligible, discomforting way and wanting to read poetry and admire +sunsets. The misery of it gripped down into her soul. It was as the +thought of being marooned on a lone sand bar to a free buccaneer. They +never could leave her so; they never could have the heart to do it. +And anger against David, the cause of it, swelled in her. It was he +who had done it all, trying to steal her away from the dear, familiar +ways and the people with whom she had been so happy. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy looked at her with curious eyes, in which there was admiration and +a touch of envy. +</P> + +<P> +"You must be awfully happy?" she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Awfully," answered Susan, swallowing and looking at the rain. +</P> + +<P> +When she went back to her own wagon she found a consultation in +progress. Daddy John, streaming from every fold, had just returned +from the head of the caravan, where he had been riding with the pilot. +From him he had heard that the New York Company on good roads, in fair +weather, made twenty miles a day, and that in the mountains, where the +fodder was scarce and the trail hard, would fall to a slower pace. The +doctor's party, the cow long since sacrificed to the exigencies of +speed, had been making from twenty-five to thirty. Even with a drop +from this in the barer regions ahead of them they could look forward to +reaching California a month or six weeks before the New York Company. +</P> + +<P> +There was nothing to be gained by staying with them, and, so far, the +small two-wagon caravan had moved with a speed and absence of accident, +which gave its members confidence in their luck and generalship. It +was agreed that they should leave the big train the next morning and +move on as rapidly as they could, stopping at Fort Laramie to repair +the wagons which the heat had warped, shoe the horses, and lay in the +supplies they needed. +</P> + +<P> +Susan heard it with regret. The comfort of dropping back into the +feminine atmosphere, where obvious things did not need explanation, and +all sorts of important communications were made by mental telepathy, +was hard to relinquish. She would once again have to adjust herself to +the dull male perceptions which saw and heard nothing that was not +visible and audible. She would have to shut herself in with her own +problems, getting no support or sympathy unless she asked for it, and +then, before its sources could be tapped, she would have to explain why +she wanted it and demonstrate that she was a deserving object. +</P> + +<P> +And it was hard to break the budding friendship with Lucy and Bella, +for friendships were not long making on the Emigrant Trail. One day's +companionship in the creaking prairie schooner had made the three women +more intimate than a year of city visiting would have done. They made +promises of meeting again in California. Neither party knew its exact +point of destination—somewhere on that strip of prismatic color, not +too crowded and not too wild but that wanderers of the same blood and +birth might always find each other. +</P> + +<P> +In the evening the two girls sat in Susan's tent enjoying a last +exchange of low-toned talk. The rain had stopped. The thick, bluish +wool of clouds that stretched from horizon to horizon was here and +there rent apart, showing strips of lemon-colored sky. The ground was +soaked, the footprints round the wagons filled with water, the ruts +brimming with it. There was a glow of low fires round the camp, for +the mosquitoes were bad and the brown smudge of smoldering buffalo +chips kept them away. +</P> + +<P> +Susan gave the guest the seat of honor—her saddle spread with a +blanket—and herself sat on a pile of skins. The tent had been pitched +on a rise of ground and already the water was draining off. Through +the looped entrance they could see the regular lights of the fires, +spotted on the twilight like the lamps of huge, sedentary glow worms, +and the figures of men recumbent near where the slow smoke spirals +wound languidly up. Above the sweet, moist odor of the rain, the tang +of the burning dung rose, pungent and biting. +</P> + +<P> +Here as the evening deepened they comfortably gossiped, their voices +dropping lower as the camp sunk to rest. They exchanged vows of the +friendship that was to be renewed in California, and then, drawing +closer together, watching the fires die down to sulky red sparks and +the sentinel's figure coming and going on its lonely beat, came to an +exchange of opinions on love and marriage. +</P> + +<P> +Susan was supposed to know most, her proprietorship of David giving her +words the value of experience, but Lucy had most to say. Her tongue +loosened by the hour and a pair of listening ears, she revealed herself +as much preoccupied with all matters of sentiment, and it was only +natural that a love story of her own should be confessed. It was back +in Cooperstown, and he had been an apprentice of Glen's. She hadn't +cared for him at all, judging by excerpts from the scenes of his +courtship he had been treated with unmitigated harshness. But her +words and tones—still entirely scornful with half a continent between +her and the adorer—gave evidence of a regret, of self-accusing, uneasy +doubt, as of one who looks back on lost opportunities. The listener's +ear was caught by it, indicating a state of mind so different from her +own. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you did like him?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't like him at all. I couldn't bear him." +</P> + +<P> +"But you seem sorry you didn't marry him." +</P> + +<P> +"Well— No, I'm not sorry. But"—it was the hour for truth, the still +indifference of the night made a lie seem too trivial for the effort of +telling—"I don't know out here in the wilds whether I'll ever get +anyone else." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0207"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + + +<P> +By noon the next day the doctor's train had left the New York Company +far behind. Looking back they could see it in gradual stages of +diminishment—a white serpent with a bristling head of scattered +horsemen, then a white worm, its head a collection of dark particles, +then a white thread with a head too insignificant to be deciphered. +Finally it was gone, absorbed into the detailless distance where the +river coiled through the green. +</P> + +<P> +Twenty-four hours later they reached the Forks of the Platte. Here the +trail crossed the South Fork, slanted over the plateau that lay between +the two branches, and gained the North Fork. Up this it passed, +looping round the creviced backs of mighty bluffs, and bearing +northwestward to Fort Laramie. The easy faring of the grassed bottom +was over. The turn to the North Fork was the turn to the mountains. +The slow stream with its fleet of islands would lose its dreamy +deliberateness and become a narrowed rushing current, sweeping round +the bases of sandstone walls as the pioneers followed it up and on +toward the whitened crests of the Wind River Mountains, where the snows +never melted and the lakes lay in the hollows green as jade. +</P> + +<P> +It was afternoon when they reached the ford. The hills had sunk away +to low up-sweepings of gray soil, no longer hiding the plain which lay +yellow against a cobalt sky. As the wagons rolled up on creaking +wheels the distance began to darken with the buffalo. The prospect was +like a bright-colored map over which a black liquid has been spilled, +here in drops, there in creeping streams. Long files flowed from the +rifts between the dwarfed bluffs, unbroken herds swept in a wave over +the low barrier, advanced to the river, crusted its surface, passed +across, and surged up the opposite bank. Finally all sides showed the +moving mass, blackening the plateau, lining the water's edge in an +endless undulation of backs and heads, foaming down the faces of the +sand slopes. Where the train moved they divided giving it right of +way, streaming by, bulls, cows, and calves intent on their own +business, the earth tremulous under their tread. Through breaks in +their ranks the blue and purple of the hills shone startlingly vivid +and beyond the prairie lay like a fawn-colored sea across which dark +shadows trailed. +</P> + +<P> +The ford was nearly a mile wide, a shallow current, in some places only +a glaze, but with shifting sands stirring beneath it. Through the +thin, glass-like spread of water the backs of sand bars emerged, smooth +as the bodies of recumbent monsters. On the far side the plateau +stretched, lilac with the lupine flowers, the broken rear line of the +herd receding across it. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor, feeling the way, was to ride in the lead, his wagon +following with Susan and Daddy John on the driver's seat. It seemed an +easy matter, the water chuckling round the wheels, the mules not wet +above the knees. Half way across, grown unduly confident, the doctor +turned in his saddle to address his daughter when his horse walked into +a quicksand and unseated him. It took them half an hour to drag it +out, Susan imploring that her father come back to the wagon and change +his clothes. He only laughed at her which made her angry. With +frowning brows she saw him mount again, and a dripping, white-haired +figure, set out debonairly for the opposite bank. +</P> + +<P> +The sun was low, the night chill coming on when they reached it. Their +wet clothes were cold upon them and the camp pitching was hurried. +Susan bending over her fire, blowing at it with expanded cheeks and, +between her puffs, scolding at her father, first, for having got wet, +then for having stayed wet, and now for being still wet, was to David +just as charming as any of the other and milder apotheoses of the Susan +he had come to know so well. It merely added a new tang, a fresh spice +of variety, to a personality a less ravished observer might have +thought unattractively masterful for a woman. +</P> + +<P> +Her fire kindled, the camp in shape, she lay down by the little blaze +with her head under a lupine plant. Her wrath had simmered to +appeasement by the retirement of the doctor into his wagon, and David, +glimpsing at her, saw that her eyes, a thread of observation between +black-fringed lids, dwelt musingly on the sky. She looked as if she +might be dreaming a maiden's dream of love. He hazarded a tentative +remark. Her eyes moved, touched him indifferently, and passed back to +the sky, and an unformed murmur, interrogation, acquiescence, casual +response, anything he pleased to think it, escaped her lips. He +watched her as he could when she was not looking at him. A loosened +strand of her hair lay among the lupine roots, one of her hands rested, +brown and upcurled, on a tiny weed its weight had broken. She turned +her head with a nestling movement, drew a deep, soft breath and her +eyelids drooped. +</P> + +<P> +"David," she said in a drowsy voice, "I'm going to sleep. Wake me at +supper time." +</P> + +<P> +He became rigidly quiet. When she had sunk deep into sleep, only her +breast moving with the ebb and flow of her quiet breath, he crept +nearer and drew a blanket over her, careful not to touch her. He +looked at the unconscious face for a moment, then softly dropped the +blanket and stole back to his place ready to turn at the first foot +fall and lift a silencing hand. +</P> + +<P> +It was one of the beautiful moments that had come to him in his wooing. +He sat in still reverie, feeling the dear responsibilities of his +ownership. That she might sleep, sweet and soft, he would work as no +man ever worked before. To guard, to comfort, to protect her—that +would be his life. He turned and looked at her, his sensitive face +softening like a woman's watching the sleep of her child. Susan, all +unconscious, with her rich young body showing in faint curves under the +defining blanket, and her hair lying loose among the roots of the +lupine bush, was so devoid of that imperious quality that marked her +when awake, was so completely a tender feminine thing, with peaceful +eyelids and innocent lips, that it seemed a desecration to look upon +her in such a moment of abandonment. Love might transform her into +this—in her waking hours when her body and heart had yielded +themselves to their master. +</P> + +<P> +David turned away. The sacred thought that some day he would be the +owner of this complex creation of flesh and spirit, so rich, so fine, +with depths unknown to his groping intelligence, made a rush of +supplication, a prayer to be worthy, rise in his heart. He looked at +the sunset through half-shut eyes, sending his desire up to that +unknown God, who, in these wild solitudes, seemed leaning down to +listen: +</P> + +<P> +"Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep." +</P> + +<P> +The sun, falling to the horizon like a spinning copper disk, was as a +sign of promise and help. The beauty of the hour stretched into the +future. His glance, shifting to the distance, saw the scattered dots +of the disappearing buffalo, the shadows sloping across the sand hills, +and the long expanse of lupines blotting into a thick foam of lilac +blue. +</P> + +<P> +Susan stirred, and he woke from his musings with a start. She sat up, +the blanket falling from her shoulders, and looking at him with +sleep-filled eyes, smiled the sweet, meaningless smile of a +half-awakened child. Her consciousness had not yet fully returned, and +her glance, curiously clear and liquid, rested on his without +intelligence. The woman in her was never more apparent, her seduction +never more potent. Her will dormant, her bounding energies at low ebb, +she looked a thing to nestle, soft and yielding, against a man's heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Have I slept long?" she said stretching, and then, "Isn't it cold." +</P> + +<P> +"Come near the fire," he answered. "I've built it up while you were +asleep." +</P> + +<P> +She came, trailing the blanket in a languid hand, and sat beside him. +He drew it up about her shoulders and looked into her face. Meeting +his eyes she broke into low laughter, and leaning nearer to him +murmured in words only half articulated: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, David, I'm so sleepy." +</P> + +<P> +He took her hand, and it stayed unresisting against his palm. She +laughed again, and then yawned, lifting her shoulders with a supple +movement that shook off the blanket. +</P> + +<P> +"It takes such a long time to wake up," she murmured apologetically. +</P> + +<P> +David made no answer, and for a space they sat silent looking at the +sunset. As the mists of sleep dispersed she became aware of his hand +pressure, and the contentment that marked her awakening was marred. +But she felt in a kindly mood and did not withdraw her hand. Instead, +she wanted to please him, to be as she thought he would like her to be, +so she made a gallant effort and said: +</P> + +<P> +"What a wonderful sunset—all yellow to the middle of the sky." +</P> + +<P> +He nodded, looking at the flaming west. She went on: +</P> + +<P> +"And there are little bits of gold cloud floating over it, like the +melted lead that you pour through a key on all Hallowe'en." +</P> + +<P> +He again made no answer, and leaning nearer to spy into his face, she +asked naďvely: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think it beautiful?" +</P> + +<P> +He turned upon her sharply, and she drew back discomposed by his look. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me kiss you," he said, his voice a little husky. +</P> + +<P> +He was her betrothed and had never kissed her but once in the +moonlight. It was his right, and after all, conquering the inevitable +repugnance, it did not take long. Caught thus in a yielding mood she +resolved to submit. She had a comforting sense that it was a rite to +which in time one became accustomed. With a determination to perform +her part graciously she lowered her eyelids and presented a dusky +cheek. As his shoulder touched hers she felt that he trembled and was +instantly seized with the antipathy that his emotion woke in her. But +it was too late to withdraw. His arms closed round her and he crushed +her against his chest. When she felt their strength and the beating of +his heart against the unstirred calm of her own, her good resolutions +were swept away in a surge of abhorrence. She struggled for freedom, +repelling him with violent, pushing hands, and exclaiming breathlessly: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't, David! Stop! I won't have it! Don't!" +</P> + +<P> +He instantly released her, and she shrunk away, brushing off the bosom +of her blouse as if he had left dust there. Her face was flushed and +frowning. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't. You mustn't," she repeated, with heated reproof. "I don't +want you to." +</P> + +<P> +David smiled a sheepish smile, looking foolish, and not knowing what to +say. At the sight of his crestfallen expression she averted her eyes, +sorry that she had hurt him but not sufficiently sorry to risk a +repetition of the unpleasant experience. He, too, turned his glance +from her, biting his lip to hide the insincerity of his smile, +irritated at her unmanageableness, and in his heart valuing her more +highly that she was so hard to win. Both were exceedingly conscious, +and with deepened color sat gazing in opposite directions like children +who have had a quarrel. +</P> + +<P> +A step behind them broke upon their embarrassment, saving them from the +necessity of speech. Daddy John's voice came with it: +</P> + +<P> +"Missy, do you know if the keg of whisky was moved? It ain't where I +put it." +</P> + +<P> +She turned with a lightning quickness. +</P> + +<P> +"Whisky! Who wants whisky?" +</P> + +<P> +Daddy John looked uncomfortable. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, the doctor's took sort of cold, got a shiver on him like the +ague, and he thought a nip o' whisky'd warm him up." +</P> + +<P> +She jumped to her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"There!" flinging out the word with the rage of a disregarded prophet, +"a chill! I knew it!" +</P> + +<P> +In a moment all the self-engrossment of her bashfulness was gone. Her +mind had turned on another subject with such speed and completeness +that David's kiss and her anger might have taken place in another world +in a previous age. Her faculties leaped to the sudden call like a +liberated spring, and her orders burst on Daddy John: +</P> + +<P> +"In the back of the wagon, under the corn meal. It was moved when we +crossed the Big Blue. Take out the extra blankets and the medicine +chest. That's in the front corner, near my clothes, under the seat. A +chill—out here in the wilderness!" +</P> + +<P> +David turned to soothe her: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be worried. A chill's natural enough after such a wetting." +</P> + +<P> +She shot a quick, hard glance at him, and he felt ignominiously +repulsed. In its preoccupation her face had no recognition of him, not +only as a lover but as a human being. Her eyes, under low-drawn brows, +stared for a second into his with the unseeing intentness of inward +thought. Her struggles to avoid his kiss were not half so chilling. +Further solacing words died on his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the worst possible thing that could happen to him. Everybody +knows that"—then she looked after Daddy John. "Get the whisky at +once," she called. "I'll find the medicines." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't I help?" the young man implored. +</P> + +<P> +Without answering she started for the wagon, and midway between it and +the fire paused to cry back over her shoulder: +</P> + +<P> +"Heat water, or if you can find stones heat them. We must get him +warm." +</P> + +<P> +And she ran on. +</P> + +<P> +David looked about for the stones. The "we" consoled him a little, but +he felt as if he were excluded into outer darkness, and at a moment +when she should have turned to him for the aid he yearned to give. He +could not get over the suddenness of it, and watched them forlornly, +gazing enviously at their conferences over the medicine chest, once +straightening himself from his search for stones to call longingly: +</P> + +<P> +"Can't I do something for you over there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Have you the stones?" she answered without raising her head, and he +went back to his task. +</P> + +<P> +In distress she had turned from the outside world, broken every lien of +interest with it, and gone back to her own. The little circle in which +her life had always moved snapped tight upon her, leaving the lover +outside, as completely shut out from her and her concerns as if he had +been a stranger camped by her fire. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0208"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + + +<P> +The doctor was ill. The next day he lay in the wagon, his chest +oppressed, fever burning him to the dryness of an autumn leaf. To the +heads that looked upon him through the circular opening with a +succession of queries as to his ailment, he invariably answered that it +was nothing, a bronchial cold, sent to him as a punishment for +disobeying his daughter. But the young men remembered that the journey +had been undertaken for his health, and Daddy John, in the confidential +hour of the evening smoke, told them that the year before an attack of +congestion of the lungs had been almost fatal. +</P> + +<P> +Even if they had not known this, Susan's demeanor would have told them +it was a serious matter. She was evidently wracked by anxiety which +transformed her into a being so distant, and at times so cross, that +only Daddy John had the temerity to maintain his usual attitude toward +her. She would hardly speak to Leff, and to David, the slighting +coldness that she had shown in the beginning continued, holding him at +arm's length, freezing him into stammering confusion. When he tried to +offer her help or cheer her she made him feel like a foolish and +tactless intruder, forcing his way into the place that was hers alone. +He did not know whether she was prompted by a cruel perversity, or held +in an absorption so intense she had no warmth of interest left for +anybody. He tried to explain her conduct, but he could only feel its +effect, wonder if she had grown to dislike him, review the last week in +a search for a cause. In the daytime he hung about the doctor's wagon, +miserably anxious for a word from her. He was grateful if she asked +him to hunt for medicine in the small, wooden chest, or to spread the +blankets to air on the tops of the lupine bushes. +</P> + +<P> +And while she thus relegated him to the outer places where strangers +hovered, a sweetness, so gentle, so caressing, so all pervading that it +made of her a new and lovely creature, marked her manner to the sick +man. There had always been love in her bearing to her father, but this +new tenderness was as though some hidden well of it, sunk deep in the +recesses of her being, had suddenly overflowed. David saw the hardness +of the face she turned toward him transmute into a brooding passion of +affection as she bent over the doctor's bed. The fingers he did not +dare to touch lifted the sick man's hand to her cheek and held it there +while she smiled down at him, her eyes softening with a light that +stirred the lover's soul. The mystery of this feminine complexity awed +him. Would she ever look at him like that? What could he do to make +her? He knew of no other way than by serving her, trying unobtrusively +to lighten her burden, effacing himself, as that seemed to be what she +wanted. And in the night as he lay near the wagon, ready to start at +her call, he thought with exalted hope that some day he might win such +a look for himself. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor was for going on. There was no necessity to stay in camp +because one man happened to wheeze and cough, he said, and anyway, he +could do that just as well when they were moving. So they started out +and crossed the plateau to where the road dropped into the cleft of Ash +Hollow. Here they stopped and held a conference. The doctor was +worse. The interior of the wagon, the sun beating on the canvas roof, +was like a furnace, where he lay sweltering, tossed this way and that +by the jolting wheels. Their dust moved with them, breezes lifting it +and carrying it careening back to them where it mingled with new dust, +hanging dense like a segment of fog in the scene's raw brilliancy. +</P> + +<P> +Ash Hollow looked a darkling descent, the thin pulsations of the little +leaves of ash trees flickering along its sides. The road bent downward +in sharp zigzags, and somewhere below the North Fork ran. The plain +was free, blue clothed and blue vaulted, with "the wonderful winds of +God" flowing between. The conference resulted in a unanimous decision +to halt where they were, and stay in camp till the doctor improved, +moving him from the wagon to a tent. +</P> + +<P> +For four days he lay parched with fever, each breath drawn with a +stifled inner rustling, numerous fine wrinkles traced in a network on +his dried cheeks. Then good care, the open air, and the medicine chest +prevailed. He improved, and Susan turned her face again to the world +and smiled. Such was the changefulness of her mood that her smiles +were as radiant and generously bestowed as her previous demeanor had +been repelling. Even Leff got some of them, and they fell on David +prodigal and warming as the sunshine. Words to match went with them. +On the morning of the day when the doctor's temperature fell and he +could breathe with ease, she said to her betrothed: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, David, you've been so good, you've made me so fond of you." +</P> + +<P> +It was the nearest she had yet come to the language of lovers. It made +him dizzy; the wonderful look was in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"You wouldn't let me be good," was all he could stammer. "You didn't +seem as if you wanted me at all." +</P> + +<P> +"Stupid!" she retorted with a glance of beaming reproach, "I'm always +like that when my father's sick." +</P> + +<P> +It was noon of the fifth day that a white spot on the plain told them +the New York Company was in sight. The afternoon was yet young when +the dust of the moving column tarnished the blue-streaked distance. +Then the first wagons came into view, creeping along the winding ribbon +of road. As soon as the advance guard of horsemen saw the camp, pieces +of it broke away and were deflected toward the little group of tents +from which a tiny spiral of smoke went up in an uncoiling, milky skein. +Susan had many questions to answer, and had some ado to keep the +inquirers away from the doctor, who was still too weak to be disturbed. +She was sharp and not very friendly in her efforts to preserve him from +their sympathizing curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +Part of the train had gone by when she heard from a woman who rode up +on a foot-sore nag that the McMurdo's were some distance behind. A +bull boat in which the children were crossing the river had upset, and +Mrs. McMurdo had been frightened and "took faint." The children were +all right—only a wetting—but it was a bad time for their mother to +get such a scare. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not with the women who think it's all right to take such risks. +Stay at home <I>then</I>," she said, giving Susan a sage nod out of the +depths of her sunbonnet. +</P> + +<P> +The news made the young girl uneasy. A new reticence, the "grown-up" +sense of the wisdom of silence that she had learned on the trail, made +her keep her own council. Also, there was no one to tell but her +father, and he was the last person who ought to know. The call of +unaided suffering would have brought him as quickly from his buffalo +skins in the tent as from his bed in the old home in Rochester. Susan +resolved to keep it from him, if she had to stand guard over him and +fight them off. Her philosophy was primitive—her own first, and if, +to save her own, others must be sacrificed, then she would aid in the +sacrifice and weep over its victims, weep, but not yield. +</P> + +<P> +When the train had disappeared into the shadows of Ash Hollow, curses, +shouts, and the cracking of whips rising stormily over its descent, the +white dot of the McMurdo's wagon was moving over the blue and green +distance. As it drew near they could see that Glen walked beside the +oxen, and the small figure of Bob ran by the wheel. Neither of the +women were to be seen. "Lazy and riding," Daddy John commented, spying +at them with his far-sighted old eyes. "Tired out and gone to sleep," +David suggested. Susan's heart sank and she said nothing. It looked +as if something was the matter, and she nerved herself for a struggle. +</P> + +<P> +When Glen saw them, his shout came through the clear air, keen-edged as +a bird's cry. They answered, and he raised a hand in a gesture that +might have been a beckoning or merely a hail. David leaped on a horse +and went galloping through the bending heads of the lupines to meet +them. Susan watched him draw up at Glen's side, lean from his saddle +for a moment's parley, then turn back. The gravity of his face +increased her dread. He dismounted, looking with scared eyes from one +to the other. Mrs. McMurdo was sick. Glen was glad—he couldn't say +how glad—that it was their camp. He'd camp there with them. His wife +wasn't able to go on. +</P> + +<P> +Susan edged up to him, caught his eye and said stealthily: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't tell my father." +</P> + +<P> +He hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"They—they—seemed to want him." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll see to that," she answered. "Don't you let him know that +anything's the matter, or I'll never forgive you." +</P> + +<P> +It was a command, and the glance that went with it accented its +authority. +</P> + +<P> +The prairie schooner was now close at hand, and they straggled forward +to meet it, one behind the other, through the brushing of the knee-high +bushes. The child recognizing them ran screaming toward them, his +hands out-stretched, crying out their names. Lucy appeared at the +front of the wagon, climbed on the tongue and jumped down. She was +pale, the freckles on her fair skin showing like a spattering of brown +paint, her flaming hair slipped in a tousled coil to one side of her +head. +</P> + +<P> +"It's you!" she cried. "Glen didn't know whose camp it was till he saw +David. Oh, I'm so glad!" and she ran to Susan, clutched her arm and +said in a hurried lower key, "Bella's sick. She feels terribly bad, +out here in this place with nothing. Isn't it dreadful?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll speak to her," said Susan. "You stay here." +</P> + +<P> +The oxen, now at the outskirts of the camp, had come to a standstill. +Susan stepping on the wheel drew herself up to the driver's seat. +Bella sat within on a pile of sacks, her elbows on her knees, her +forehead in her hands. By her side, leaning against her, stood the +little girl, blooming and thoughtful, her thumb in her mouth. She +withdrew it and stared fixedly at Susan, then smiled a slow, shy smile, +full of meaning, as if her mind held a mischievous secret. At Susan's +greeting the mother lifted her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Susan, isn't it a mercy we've found you?" she exclaimed. "We saw +the camp hours ago, but we didn't know it was yours. It's as if God +had delayed you. Yes, my dear, it's come. But I'm not going to be +afraid. With your father it'll be all right." +</P> + +<P> +The young girl said a few consolatory words and jumped down from the +wheel. She was torn both ways. Bella's plight was piteous, but to +make her father rise in his present state of health and attend such a +case, hours long, in the chill, night breath of the open—it might kill +him! She turned toward the camp, vaguely conscious of the men standing +in awkward attitudes and looking thoroughly uncomfortable as though +they felt a vicarious sense of guilt—that the entire male sex had +something to answer for in Bella's tragic predicament. Behind them +stood the doctor's tent, and as her eyes fell on it she saw Lucy's body +standing in the opening, the head and shoulders hidden within the +inclosure. Lucy was speaking with the doctor. +</P> + +<P> +Susan gave a sharp exclamation and stopped. It was too late to +interfere. Lucy withdrew her head and came running back, crying +triumphantly: +</P> + +<P> +"Your father's coming. He says he's not sick at all. He's putting on +his coat." +</P> + +<P> +Following close on her words came the doctor, emerging slowly, for he +was weak and unsteady. In the garish light of the afternoon he looked +singularly white and bleached, like a man whose warm, red-veined life +is dried into a sere grayness of blood and tissue. He was out of +harmony with the glad living colors around him, ghostlike amid the +brightness of the flowering earth and the deep-dyed heaven. He met his +daughter's eyes and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Your prisoner has escaped you, Missy." +</P> + +<P> +She tried to control herself, to beat down the surge of anger that +shook her. Meeting him she implored with low-toned urgence: +</P> + +<P> +"Father, you can't do it. Go back. You're too sick." +</P> + +<P> +He pushed her gently away, his smile gone. +</P> + +<P> +"Go back, Missy? The woman is suffering, dear." +</P> + +<P> +"I know it, and I don't care. You're suffering, you're sick. She +should have known better than to come. It's her fault, not ours. +Because she was so foolhardy is no reason why you should be victimized." +</P> + +<P> +His gravity was crossed by a look of cold, displeased surprise, a look +she had not seen directed upon her since once in her childhood when she +had told him a lie. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want to feel ashamed of you, Missy," he said quietly, and +putting her aside went on to the wagon. +</P> + +<P> +She turned away blinded with rage and tears. She had a dim vision of +David and fled from it, then felt relief at the sight of Daddy John. +He saw her plight, and hooking his hand in her arm took her behind the +tent, where she burst into furious words and a gush of stifled weeping. +</P> + +<P> +"No good," was the old man's consolation. "Do you expect the doctor to +lie comfortable in his blanket when there's some one around with a +pain?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why did she come? Why didn't she stay at home?" +</P> + +<P> +"That ain't in the question," he said, patting her arm; "she's here, +and she's got the pain, and you and I know the doctor." +</P> + +<P> +The McMurdo's prairie schooner rolled off to a place where the lupines +were high, and Glen pitched the tent. The men, not knowing what else +to do to show their sympathy, laid the fires and cleaned the camp. +Then the two younger ones shouldered their rifles and wandered away to +try and get some fresh buffalo meat, they said; but it was obvious that +they felt out of place and alarmed in a situation where those of their +sex could only assume an apologetic attitude and admit the blame. +</P> + +<P> +The children were left to Susan's care. She drew them to the cleared +space about the fires, and as she began the preparations for supper +asked them to help. They took the request very seriously, and she +found a solace in watching them as they trotted up with useless pans, +bending down to see the smile of thanks to which they were accustomed, +and which made them feel proud and important. Once she heard Bob, in +the masterful voice of the male, tell his sister the spoon she was so +triumphantly bringing was not wanted. The baby's joy was stricken from +her, she bowed to the higher intelligence, and the spoon slid from her +limp hand to the ground, while she stood a figure of blank +disappointment. Susan had to set down her pan and call her over, and +kneeling with the soft body clasped close, and the little knees +pressing against her breast, felt some of the anger there melting away. +After that they gathered broken twigs of lupine, and standing afar +threw them at the flames. There was a moment of suspense when they +watched hopefully, and then a sad awakening when the twigs fell about +their feet. They shuffled back, staring down at the scattered leaves +in a stupor of surprise. +</P> + +<P> +Sunset came and supper was ready. Daddy John loomed up above the lip +of Ash Hollow with a load of roots and branches for the night. Lucy +emerged from the tent and sat down by her cup and plate, harrassed and +silent. Glen said he wanted no supper. He had been sitting for an +hour on the pole of David's wagon, mute and round-shouldered in his +dusty homespuns. No one had offered to speak to him. It was he who +had induced the patient woman to follow him on the long journey. They +all knew this was now the matter of his thoughts. His ragged figure +and down-drooped, miserable face were dignified with the tragedy of a +useless remorse. As Lucy passed him he raised his eyes, but said +nothing. Then, as the others drew together round the circle of tin +cups and plates, a groan came suddenly from the tent. He leaped up, +made a gesture of repelling something unendurable, and ran away, +scudding across the plain not looking back. The group round the fire +were silent. But the two children did not heed. With their blond +heads touching, they held their cups close together and argued as to +which one had the most coffee in it. +</P> + +<P> +When the twilight came there was no one left by the fire but Susan and +the children. She gathered them on a buffalo robe and tucked a blanket +round them watching as sleep flowed over them, invaded and subdued them +even while their lips moved with belated, broken murmurings. The +little girl's hand, waving dreamily in the air, brushed her cheek with +a velvet touch, and sank languidly, up-curled like a rose petal. With +heads together and bodies nestled close they slept, exhaling the +fragrance of healthy childhood, two sparks of matter incased in an +envelope of exquisite flesh, pearly tissue upon which life would trace +a pattern not yet selected. +</P> + +<P> +Darkness closed down on the camp, pressing on the edges of the +firelight like a curious intruder. There was no wind, and the mound of +charring wood sent up a line of smoke straight as a thread, which +somewhere aloft widened and dissolved. The stillness of the wilderness +brooded close and deep, stifling the noises of the day. When the +sounds of suffering from the tent tore the airy veil apart, it +shuddered full of the pain, then the torn edges delicately adhered, and +it was whole again. Once Lucy came, haggard and tight-lipped, and +asked Susan to put on water to heat. Bella was terribly sick, the +doctor wouldn't leave her. The other children were nothing to this. +But the Emigrant Trail was molding Lucy. She made no complaints, and +her nerves were steady as a taut string. It was one of the hazards of +the great adventure to be taken as it came. +</P> + +<P> +After she had gone, and the iron kettle was balanced on a bed of heat, +Susan lay down on her blanket. Fear and loathing were on her. For the +first time a shrinking from life and its requirements came coldly over +her, for the first time her glad expectancy knew a check, fell back +before tremendous things blocking the path. Her dread for her father +was submerged in a larger dread—of the future and what it might bring, +of what might be expected of her, of pains and perils once so far away +they seemed as if she would never reach them, now suddenly close to +her, laying a gripping hand on her heart. +</P> + +<P> +Her face was toward the camp, and she could not see on the plain behind +her a moving shadow bearing down on the fire's glow, visible for miles +in that level country. It advanced noiselessly through the swaying +bushes, till, entering the limits of the light, it detached itself from +the darkness, taking the form of a mounted man followed by a pack +animal. The projected rays of red played along the barrel of a rifle +held across the saddle, and struck answering gleams from touches of +metal on the bridle. So soundless was the approach that Susan heard +nothing till a lupine stalk snapped under the horse's hoof. She sat up +and turned. Over the horse's ears she saw a long swarthy face framed +in hanging hair, and the glint of narrowed eyes looking curiously at +her. She leaped to her feet with a smothered cry, Indians in her mind. +The man raised a quick hand, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right. It's a white man." +</P> + +<P> +He slid off his horse and came toward her. He was so like an Indian, +clad in a fringed hunting shirt and leggings, his movements lithe and +light, his step noiseless, his skin copper dark, that she stood alert, +ready to raise a warning cry. Then coming into the brighter light she +saw he was white, with long red hair hanging from the edge of his cap, +and light-colored eyes that searched her face with a hard look. He was +as wild a figure as any the plains had yet given up, and she drew away +looking fearfully at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be afraid," he said in a deep voice. "I'm the same kind as you." +</P> + +<P> +"Who are you?" she faltered. +</P> + +<P> +"A mountain man. I'll camp with you." Then glancing about, "Where are +the rest of them?" +</P> + +<P> +"They're round somewhere," she answered. "We have sickness here." +</P> + +<P> +"Cholera?" quickly. +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +Without more words he went back and picketed his horses, and took the +pack and saddle off. She could see his long, pale-colored figure +moving from darkness into light, and the animals drooping with +stretched necks as their bonds were loosened. When he came back to the +fire he dropped a blanket and laid his gun close to it, then threw +himself down. The rattle of the powder horn and bullet mold he wore +hanging from his shoulder came with the movement. He slipped the strap +off and threw it beside the gun. Then drew one foot up and unfastened +a large spur attached to his moccasined heel. He wore a ragged +otter-skin cap, the animal's tail hanging down on one side. This he +took off too, showing his thick red hair, damp and matted from the heat +of the fur. With a knotted hand he pushed back the locks pressed down +on his forehead. The skin there was untanned and lay like a white band +above the darkness of his face, thin, edged with a fringe of red beard +and with blue eyes set high above prominent cheek bones. He threw his +spur on the other things, and looking up met Susan's eyes staring at +him across the fire. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"To California." +</P> + +<P> +"So am I." +</P> + +<P> +She made no answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you asleep when I came?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I was thinking." +</P> + +<P> +A sound of anguish came from the tent, and Susan set her teeth on her +underlip stiffening. He looked in its direction, then back at her. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter there?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"A child is being born." +</P> + +<P> +He made no comment, swept the background of tents and wagon roofs with +an investigating eye that finally came to a stop on the sleeping +children. +</P> + +<P> +"Are these yours?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, they belong to the woman who is sick." +</P> + +<P> +His glance left them as if uninterested, and he leaned backward to pull +his blanket out more fully. His body, in the sleekly pliant buckskins, +was lean and supple. As he twisted, stretching an arm to draw out the +crumpled folds, the lines of his long back and powerful shoulders +showed the sinuous grace of a cat. He relaxed into easeful full +length, propped on an elbow, his red hair coiling against his neck. +Susan stole a stealthy glance at him. As if she had spoken, he +instantly raised his head and looked into her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +His were clear and light with a singularly penetrating gaze, not bold +but intent, eyes not used to the detailed observation of the peopled +ways, but trained to unimpeded distances and to search the faces of +primitive men. They held hers, seeming to pierce the acquired veneer +of reserve to the guarded places beneath. She felt a slow stir of +antagonism, a defensive gathering of her spirit as against an intruder. +Her pride and self-sufficiency responded, answering to a hurried +summons. She was conscious of a withdrawal, a closing of doors, a +shutting down of her defenses in face of aggression and menace. And +while she rallied to this sudden call-to-arms the strange man held her +glance across the fire. It was she who spoke slowly in a low voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Where do you come from?" +</P> + +<P> +"From Taos, and after that Bent's Fort." +</P> + +<P> +"What is your name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Low Courant." +</P> + +<P> +Then with an effort she turned away and bent over the children. When +she looked back at him he was rolled in his blanket, and with his face +to the fire was asleep. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy came presently for the hot water with a bulletin of progress +growing each moment more direful. Her eyes fell on the sleeping man, +and she said, peering through the steam of the bubbling water: +</P> + +<P> +"Who's that?" +</P> + +<P> +"A strange man." +</P> + +<P> +"From where?" +</P> + +<P> +"Taos, and after that Bent's Fort," Susan repeated, and Lucy forgot him +and ran back to the tent. +</P> + +<P> +There was a gray line in the east when she returned to say the child +was born dying as it entered the world, and Bella was in desperate +case. She fell beside her friend, quivering and sobbing, burying her +face in Susan's bosom. Shaken and sickened by the dreadful night they +clung together holding to each other, as if in a world where love +claimed such a heavy due, where joy realized itself at such exceeding +cost, nothing was left but the bond of a common martyrdom. Yet each of +them, knowing the measure of her pain, would move to the head of her +destiny and take up her heavy engagement without fear, obeying the +universal law. +</P> + +<P> +But now, caught in the terror of the moment, they bowed their heads and +wept together while the strange man slept by the fire. +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +END OF PART II +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0301"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +PART III +</H2> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +The Mountains +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +Fort Laramie stood where the eastern roots of the mountains start in +toothed reef and low, premonitory sweep from the level of the plains. +Broken chains and spurs edged up toward it. Far beyond, in a faint +aerial distance, the soaring solidity of vast ranges hung on the +horizon, cloudy crests painted on the sky. Laramie Peak loomed closer, +a bold, bare point, gold in the morning, purple at twilight. And the +Black Hills, rock-ribbed and somber, dwarf pines clutching their +lodges, rose in frowning ramparts to the North and West. +</P> + +<P> +It was a naked country, bleak and bitter. In winter it slept under a +snow blanket, the lights of the fort encircled by the binding, +breathless cold. Then the wandering men that trapped and traded with +the Indians came seeking shelter behind the white walls, where the furs +were stacked in storerooms, and the bourgeois' table was hospitable +with jerked meat and meal cakes. When the streams began to stir under +the ice, and a thin green showed along the bottoms, it opened its gates +and the men of the mountains went forth with their traps rattling at +the saddle horn. Later, when the spring was in waking bloom, and each +evening the light stayed longer on Laramie Peak, the Indians came in +migrating villages moving to the summer hunting grounds, and in painted +war parties, for there was a season when the red man, like the Hebrew +kings, went forth to battle. +</P> + +<P> +It was midsummer now, the chalk-white walls of the fort were bathed in +a scorching sunshine, and the nomads of the wilderness met and picked +up dropped threads in its courtyard. It stood up warlike on a rise of +ground with the brown swiftness of a stream hurrying below it. Once +the factors had tried to cultivate the land, but had given it up, as +the Indians carried off the maize and corn as it ripened. So the +short-haired grass grew to the stockade. At this season the +surrounding plain was thick with grazing animals, the fort's own +supply, the ponies of the Indians, and the cattle of the emigrants. +Encampments were on every side, clustering close under the walls, +whence a cannon poked its nose protectingly from the bastion above the +gate. There was no need to make the ring of wagons here. White man +and red camped together, the canvas peaks of the tents showing beside +the frames of lodge poles, covered with dried skins. The pale face +treated his red brother to coffee and rice cakes, and the red brother +offered in return a feast of boiled dog. +</P> + +<P> +Just now the fort was a scene of ceaseless animation. Its courtyard +was a kaleidoscopic whirl of color, shifting as the sun shifted and the +shadow of the walls offered shade. Indians with bodies bare above the +dropped blankets, moved stately or squatted on their heels watching the +emigrants as they bartered for supplies. Trappers in fringed and +beaded leather played cards with the plainsmen in shady corners or +lounged in the cool arch of the gateway looking aslant at the emigrant +girls. Their squaws, patches of color against the walls, sat docile, +with the swarthy, half-breed children playing about their feet. There +were French Canadians, bearded like pirates, full of good humor, +filling the air with their patois, and a few Mexicans, who passed the +days sprawled on serapes and smoking sleepily. Over all the bourgeois +ruled, kindly or crabbedly, according to his make, but always +absolutely the monarch of a little principality. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor's train had reached the fort by slow stages, and now lay +camped outside the walls. Bella's condition had been serious, and they +had crawled up the valley of the North Platte at a snail's pace. The +gradual change in the country told them of their advance—the intrusion +of giant bluffs along the river's edge, the disappearance of the many +lovely flower forms, the first glimpses of parched areas dotted with +sage. From the top of Scotts Bluffs they saw the mountains, and stood, +a way-worn company, looking at those faint and formidable shapes that +blocked their path to the Promised Land. It was a sight to daunt the +most high-hearted, and they stared, dropping ejaculations that told of +the first decline of spirit. Only the sick woman said nothing. Her +languid eye swept the prospect indifferently, her spark of life burning +too feebly to permit of any useless expenditure. It was the strange +man who encouraged them. They would pass the mountains without effort, +the ascent was gradual, South Pass a plain. +</P> + +<P> +The strange man had stayed with them, and all being well, would go on +to Fort Bridger, probably to California, in their company. It was good +news. He was what they needed, versed in the lore of the wilderness, +conversant with an environment of which they were ignorant. The train +had not passed Ash Hollow when he fell into command, chose the camping +grounds, went ahead in search of springs, and hunted with Daddy John, +bringing back enough game to keep them supplied with fresh meat. They +began to rely upon him, to defer to him, to feel a new security when +they saw his light, lean-flanked figure at the head of the caravan. +</P> + +<P> +One morning, as the doctor rode silently beside him, he broke into a +low-toned singing. His voice was a mellow baritone, and the words he +sung, each verse ending with a plaintive burden, were French: +</P> + +<P> +"Il y a longtemps que je t'ai aimé jamais je ne t'oublierai." +</P> + +<P> +Long ago the doctor had heard his wife sing the same words, and he +turned with a start: +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you learn that song?" +</P> + +<P> +"From some voyageur over yonder," nodding toward the mountains. "It's +one of their songs." +</P> + +<P> +"You have an excellent accent, better than the Canadians." +</P> + +<P> +The stranger laughed and addressed his companion in pure and fluent +French. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you're a Frenchman?" said the elder man, surprised. +</P> + +<P> +"Not I, but my people were. They came from New Orleans and went up the +river and settled in St. Louis. My grandfather couldn't speak a +sentence in English when he first went there." +</P> + +<P> +When the doctor told his daughter this he was a little triumphant. +They had talked over Courant and his antecedents, and had some argument +about them, the doctor maintaining that the strange man was a +gentleman, Susan quite sure that he was not. Dr. Gillespie used the +word in its old-fashioned sense, as a term having reference as much to +birth and breeding as to manners and certain, ineradicable instincts. +The gentleman adventurer was not unknown on the plains. Sometimes he +had fled from a dark past, sometimes taken to the wild because the +restraints of civilization pressed too hard upon the elbows of his +liberty. +</P> + +<P> +"He's evidently of French Creole blood," said the doctor. "Many of +those people who came up from New Orleans and settled in St. Louis were +of high family and station." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why should he be out here, dressed like an Indian and wandering +round with all sorts of waifs and strays? I believe he's just the same +kind of person as old Joe, only younger. Or, if he does come from +educated people, there's something wrong about him, and he's had to +come out here and hide." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, what a suspicious little Missy! Nothing would make me believe +that. He may be rough, but he's not crooked. Those steady, +straight-looking eyes never belonged to any but an honest man. No, my +dear, there's no discreditable past behind him, and he's a gentleman." +</P> + +<P> +"Rubbish!" she said pettishly. "You'll be saying Leff's a gentleman +next." +</P> + +<P> +From which it will be seen that Low Courant had not been communicative +about himself. Such broken scraps of information as he had dropped, +when pieced together made a scanty narrative. His grandfather had been +one of the early French settlers of St. Louis, and his father a +prosperous fur trader there. But why he had cut loose from them he did +not vouchsafe to explain. Though he was still young—thirty +perhaps—it was evident that he had wandered far and for many years. +He knew the Indian trails of the distant Northwest, and spoke the +language of the Black Feet and Crows. He had passed a winter in the +old Spanish town of Santa Fé, and from there joined a regiment of +United States troops and done his share of fighting in the Mexican War. +Now the wanderlust was on him, he was going to California. +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe to settle," he told the doctor. "If I don't wake up some +morning and feel the need to move once more." +</P> + +<P> +When they reached the fort he was hailed joyously by the bourgeois +himself. The men clustered about him, and there were loud-voiced +greetings and much questioning, a rumor having filtered to his old +stamping ground that he had been killed in the siege of the Alamo. The +doctor told the bourgeois that Courant was to go with his train to +California, and the apple-cheeked factor grinned and raised his +eyebrows: +</P> + +<P> +"Vous avez de la chance! He's a good guide. Even Kit Carson, who +conducted the General Fremont, is no better." +</P> + +<P> +The general satisfaction did not extend to Susan. The faint thrill of +antagonism that the man had roused in her persisted. She knew he was a +gain to the party, and said nothing. She was growing rapidly in this +new, toughening life, and could set her own small prejudices aside in +the wider view that each day's experience was teaching her. The +presence of such a man would lighten the burden of work and +responsibility that lay on her father, and whatever was beneficial to +the doctor was accepted by his daughter. But she did not like Low +Courant. Had anyone asked her why she could have given no reason. He +took little notice of any of the women, treating them alike with a +brusque indifference that was not discourteous, but seemed to lump them +as necessary but useless units in an important whole. +</P> + +<P> +The train was the focus of his interest. The acceleration of its +speed, the condition of the cattle, the combination of lightness and +completeness in its make-up were the matters that occupied him. In the +evening hour of rest these were the subjects he talked of, and she +noticed that Daddy John was the person to whom he talked most. With +averted eyes, her head bent to David's murmurings, she was really +listening to the older men. Her admiration was reluctantly evoked by +the stranger's dominance and vigor of will, his devotion to the work he +had undertaken. She felt her own insignificance and David's also, and +chafed under the unfamiliar sensation. +</P> + +<P> +The night after leaving Ash Hollow, as they sat by the fire, David at +her side, the doctor had told Courant of the betrothal. His glance +passed quickly over the two conscious faces, he gave a short nod of +comprehension, and turning to Daddy John, inquired about the condition +of the mules' shoes. Susan reddened. She saw something of +disparagement, of the slightest gleam of mockery, in that short look, +which touched both faces and then turned from them as from the faces of +children playing at a game. Yes, she disliked him, disliked his manner +to Lucy and herself, which set them aside as beings of a lower order, +that had to go with them and be taken care of like the stock, only much +less important and necessary. Even to Bella he was off-hand and +unsympathetic, unmoved by her weakness, as he had been by her +sufferings the night he came. Susan had an idea that he thought +Bella's illness a misfortune, not so much for Bella as for the welfare +of the train. +</P> + +<P> +They had been at the fort now for four days and were ready to move on. +The wagons were repaired, the mules and horses shod, and Bella was +mending, though still unable to walk. The doctor had promised to keep +beside the McMurdos till she was well, then his company would forge +ahead. +</P> + +<P> +In the heat of the afternoon, comfortable in a rim of shade in the +courtyard, the men were arranging for the start the next morning. The +sun beat fiercely on the square opening roofed by the blue of the sky +and cut by the black shadow of walls. In the cooling shade the motley +company lay sprawling on the ground or propped against the doors of the +store rooms. The open space was brilliant with the blankets of +Indians, the bare limbs of brown children, and the bright serapes of +the Mexicans, who were too lazy to move out of the sun. In a corner +the squaws played a game with polished cherry stones which they tossed +in a shallow, saucerlike basket and let drop on the ground. +</P> + +<P> +Susan, half asleep on a buffalo skin, watched them idly. The game +reminded her of the jack-stones of her childhood. Then her eye slanted +to where Lucy stood by the gate talking with a trapper called Zavier +Leroux. The sun made Lucy's splendid hair shine like a flaming nimbus, +and the dark men of the mountains and the plain watched her with +immovable looks. She was laughing, her head drooped sideways. Above +the collar of her blouse a strip of neck, untouched by tan, showed in a +milk-white band. Conscious of the admiring observation, she +instinctively relaxed her muscles into lines of flowing grace, and +lowered her eyes till her lashes shone in golden points against her +freckled cheeks. With entire innocence she spread her little lure, +following an elemental instinct, that, in the normal surroundings of +her present life, released from artificial restraints, was growing +stronger. +</P> + +<P> +Her companion was a voyageur, a half-breed, with coarse black hair +hanging from a scarlet handkerchief bound smooth over his head. He was +of a sinewy, muscular build, his coppery skin, hard black eyes, and +high cheek bones showing the blood of his mother, a Crow squaw. His +father, long forgotten in the obscurity of mountain history, had +evidently bequeathed him the French Canadian's good-humored gayety. +Zavier was a light-hearted and merry fellow, and where he came laughter +sprang up. He spoke English well, and could sing French songs that +were brought to his father's country by the adventurers who crossed the +seas with Jacques Cartier. +</P> + +<P> +The bourgeois, who was aloft on the bastion sweeping the distance with +a field glass, suddenly threw an announcement down on the courtyard: +</P> + +<P> +"Red Feather's village is coming and an emigrant train." +</P> + +<P> +The space between the four walls immediately seethed into a whirlpool +of excitement. It eddied there for a moment, then poured through the +gateway into the long drainlike entrance passage and spread over the +grass outside. +</P> + +<P> +Down the face of the opposite hill, separated from the fort by a narrow +river, came the Indian village, streaming forward in a broken torrent. +Over its barbaric brightness, beads and glass caught the sun, and the +nervous fluttering of eagle feathers that fringed the upheld lances +played above its shifting pattern of brown and scarlet. It descended +the slope in a broken rush, spreading out fanwise, scattered, +disorderly, horse and foot together. On the river bank it paused, the +web of color thickening, then rolled over the edge and plunged in. The +current, beaten into sudden whiteness, eddied round the legs of horses, +the throats of swimming dogs, and pressed up to the edges of the +travaux where frightened children sat among litters of puppies. Ponies +bestrode by naked boys struck up showers of spray, squaws with lifted +blankets waded stolidly in, mounted warriors, feathers quivering in +their inky hair, indifferently splashing them. Here a dog, caught by +the current, was seized by a sinewy hand; there a horse, struggling +under the weight of a travaux packed with puppies and old women, was +grasped by a lusty brave and dragged to shore. The water round them +frothing into silvery turmoil, the air above rent with their cries, +they climbed the bank and made for the camping ground near the fort. +</P> + +<P> +Among the first came a young squaw. Her white doeskin dress was as +clean as snow, barbarically splendid with cut fringes and work of bead +and porcupine quills. Her mien was sedate, and she swayed to her horse +lightly and flexibly as a boy, holding aloft a lance edged with a +flutter of feathers, and bearing a round shield of painted skins. +Beside her rode the old chief, his blanket falling away from his +withered body, his face expressionless and graven deep with wrinkles. +</P> + +<P> +"That's Red Feather and his favorite squaw," said the voice of Courant +at Susan's elbow. +</P> + +<P> +She made no answer, staring at the Indian girl, who was handsome and +young, younger than she. +</P> + +<P> +"And look," came the voice again, "there are the emigrants." +</P> + +<P> +A long column of wagons had crested the summit and was rolling down the +slope. They were in single file, hood behind hood, the drivers, +bearded as cave men, walking by the oxen. The line moved steadily, +without sound or hurry, as if directed by a single intelligence +possessed of a single idea. It was not a congeries of separated +particles, but a connected whole. As it wound down the face of the +hill, it suggested a vast Silurian monster, each wagon top a vertebra, +crawling forward with definite purpose. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the way they're coming," said the voice of the strange man. +"Slow but steady, an endless line of them." +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" said Susan, answering him for the first time. +</P> + +<P> +"The white men. They're creeping along out of their country into this, +pushing the frontier forward every year, and going on ahead of it with +their tents and their cattle and their women. Watch the way that train +comes after Red Feather's village. That was all scattered and broken, +going every way like a lot of glass beads rolling down the hill. This +comes slow, but it's steady and sure as fate." +</P> + +<P> +She thought for a moment, watching the emigrants, and then said: +</P> + +<P> +"It moves like soldiers." +</P> + +<P> +"Conquerors. That's what they are. They're going to roll over +everything—crush them out." +</P> + +<P> +"Over the Indians?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's it. Drive 'em away into the cracks of the mountains, wipe them +out the way the trappers are wiping out the beaver." +</P> + +<P> +"Cruel!" she said hotly. "I don't believe it." +</P> + +<P> +"Cruel?" he gave her a look of half-contemptuous amusement. "Maybe so, +but why should you blame them for that? Aren't you cruel when you kill +an antelope or a deer for supper? They're not doing you any harm, but +you just happen to be hungry. Well, those fellers are hungry—land +hungry—and they've come for the Indian's land. The whole world's +cruel. You know it, but you don't like to think so, so you say it +isn't. You're just lying because you're afraid of the truth." +</P> + +<P> +She looked angrily at him and met the gray eyes. In the center of each +iris was a dot of pupil so clearly defined and hard that they looked to +Susan like the heads of black pins. "That's exactly what he'd say," +she thought; "he's no better than a savage." What she said was: +</P> + +<P> +"I don't agree with you at all." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't expect you to," he answered, and making an ironical bow turned +on his heel and swung off. +</P> + +<P> +The next morning, in the pallor of the dawn, they started, rolling out +into a gray country with the keen-edged cold of early day in the air, +and Laramie Peak, gold tipped, before them. As the sky brightened and +the prospect began to take on warmer hues, they looked ahead toward the +profiles of the mountains and thought of the journey to come. At this +hour of low vitality it seemed enormous, and they paced forward a +silent, lifeless caravan, the hoof beats sounding hollow on the beaten +track. +</P> + +<P> +Then from behind them came a sound of singing, a man's voice caroling +in the dawn. Both girls wheeled and saw Zavier Leroux ambling after +them on his rough-haired pony, the pack horse behind. He waved his +hand and shouted across the silence: +</P> + +<P> +"I come to go with you as far as South Pass," and then he broke out +again into his singing. It was the song Courant had sung, and as he +heard it he lifted up his voice at the head of the train, and the two +strains blending, the old French chanson swept out over the barren land: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"A la claire fontaine!<BR> +M'en allant promener<BR> +J'ai trouvé l'eau si belle<BR> +Que je me suis baigné!"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Susan waved a beckoning hand to the voyageur, then turned to Lucy and +said joyously: +</P> + +<P> +"What fun to have Zavier! He'll keep us laughing all the time. Aren't +you glad he's coming?" +</P> + +<P> +Lucy gave an unenthusiastic "Yes." After the first glance backward she +had bent over her horse smoothing its mane her face suddenly dyed with +a flood of red. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0302"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + + +<P> +Everybody was glad Zavier had come. He brought a spirit of good cheer +into the party which had begun to feel the pressure of the long march +behind them, and the still heavier burden that was to come. His gayety +was irrepressible, his high spirits unflagging. When the others rode +silent in the lifeless hours of the afternoon or drooped in the midday +heats, Zavier, a dust-clouded outline on his shaggy pony, lifted up his +voice in song. Then the chanted melody of French verses issued from +the dust cloud, rising above the rattling of the beaver traps and the +creaking of the slow wheels. +</P> + +<P> +He had one especial favorite that he was wont to sing when he rode +between the two girls. It recounted the adventures of <I>trois +cavaličres</I>, and had so many verses that Zavier assured them neither he +nor any other man had ever arrived at the end of them. Should he go to +California with them and sing a verse each day, he thought there would +still be some left over to give away when he got there. Susan learned +the first two stanzas, and Lucy picked up the air and a few words. +When the shadows began to slant and the crisp breath of the mountains +came cool on their faces, they sang, first Zavier and Susan, then Lucy +joining in in a faint, uncertain treble, and finally from the front of +the train the strange man, not turning his head, sitting straight and +square, and booming out the burden in his deep baritone: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Dans mon chemin j'ai recontré<BR> +Trois cavaličres bien montées,<BR> +L'on, ton laridon danée<BR> +L'on, ton laridon dai.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Trois cavaličres bien montées<BR> +L'une a cheval, l'autre a pied<BR> +L'on, ton, laridon danée<BR> +L'on ton laridon dai."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Zavier furnished another diversion in the monotony of the days, +injected into the weary routine, a coloring drop of romance, for, as he +himself would have said, he was <I>diablement épris</I> with Lucy. This was +regarded as one of the best of Zavier's jokes. He himself laughed at +it, and his extravagant compliments and gallantries were well within +the pale of the burlesque. Lucy laughed at them, too. The only one +that took the matter seriously was Bella. She was not entirely pleased. +</P> + +<P> +"Talk about it's being just a joke," she said to Susan in the bedtime +hour of confidences. "You can joke too much about some things. +Zavier's a man just the same as the others, and Lucy's a nice-looking +girl when she gets rested up and the freckles go off. But he's an +Indian if he does speak French, and make good money with his beaver +trapping." +</P> + +<P> +"He's not <I>all</I> Indian," Susan said soothingly. "He's half white. +There are only a few Indian things about him, his dark skin and +something high and flat about his cheek bones and the way he turns in +his toes when he walks." +</P> + +<P> +"Indian enough," Bella fumed. "And nobody knows anything about his +father. We're respectable people and don't want a man with no name +hanging round. I've no doubt he was born in a lodge or under a pine +tree. What right's that kind of man to come ogling after a decent +white girl whose father and mother were married in the Presbyterian +Church?" +</P> + +<P> +Susan did not take it so much to heart. What was the good when Lucy +obviously didn't care? As for Zavier, she felt sorry for him, for +those keen observing faculties of hers had told her that the voyageur's +raillery hid a real feeling. Poor Zavier was in love. Susan was +pensive in the contemplation of his hopeless passion. He was to leave +the train near South Pass and go back into the mountains, and there, +alone, camp on the streams that drained the Powder River country. In +all probability he would never see one of them again. His trapping did +not take him West to the great deserts, and he hated the civilization +where man became a luxurious animal of many needs. Like the buffalo +and the red man he was restricted to the wild lands that sloped away on +either side of the continent's mighty spine. His case was sad, and +Susan held forth on the subject to Lucy, whom she thought callous and +unkind. +</P> + +<P> +"It's terrible to think you'll never see him again," she said, looking +for signs of compassion. "Don't you feel sorry?" +</P> + +<P> +Lucy looked down. She had been complaining to her friend of Zavier's +follies of devotion. +</P> + +<P> +"There are lots of other men in the world," she said indifferently. +</P> + +<P> +Susan fired up. If not yet the authorized owner of a man, she felt her +responsibilities as a coming proprietor. The woman's passion for +interference in matters of sentiment was developing in her. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy, you're the most hard-hearted girl! Poor Zavier, who's going off +into the mountains and may be killed by the Indians. Don't you feel +any pity for him? And he's in love with you—truly in love. I've +watched him and I know." +</P> + +<P> +She could not refrain from letting a hint of superior wisdom, of an +advantage over the unengaged Lucy, give solemnity to her tone. +</P> + +<P> +Lucy's face flushed. +</P> + +<P> +"He's half an Indian," she said with an edge on her voice. "Doesn't +everyone in the train keep saying that every ten minutes? Do you want +me to fall in love with a man like that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why no, of course not. You couldn't. That's the sad part of it. He +seems as much like other men as those trappers in the fort who were all +white. Just because he had a Crow mother it seems unjust that he +should be so sort of on the outside of everything. But of course you +couldn't marry him. Nobody ever heard of a girl marrying a half-breed." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy bent over the piece of deer meat that she was cutting apart. They +were preparing supper at the flaring end of a hot day, when the wagons +had crawled through a loose alkaline soil and over myriads of crickets +that crushed sickeningly under the wheels. Both girls were tired, +their throats parched, their hair as dry as hemp, and Lucy was +irritable, her face unsmiling, her movement quick and nervous. +</P> + +<P> +"What's it matter what a man's parents are if he's kind to you?" she +said, cutting viciously into the meat. "It's a lot to have some one +fill the kettles for you and help you get the firewood, and when you're +tired tell you to go back in the wagon and go to sleep. Nobody does +that for me but Zavier." +</P> + +<P> +It was the first time she had shown any appreciation of her swain's +attentions. She expressed the normal, feminine point of view that her +friend had been looking for, and as soon as she heard it Susan adroitly +vaulted to the other side: +</P> + +<P> +"But, Lucy, you <I>can't</I> marry him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who says I'm going to?" snapped Lucy. "Do I have to marry every +Indian that makes eyes at me? All the men in the fort were doing it. +They hadn't a look for anyone else." +</P> + +<P> +Susan took this with reservations. A good many of the men in the fort +had made eyes at her. It was rather grasping of Lucy to take it all to +herself, and in her surprise at the extent of her friend's claims she +was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"As for me," Lucy went on, "I'm dead sick of this journey. I wish we +could stop or go back or do something. But we've got to keep on and on +to the end of nowhere. It seems as if we were going forever in these +tiresome old wagons or on horses that get lame every other day, and +then you have to walk. I don't mind living in a tent. I like it. But +I hate always going on, never having a minute to rest, getting up in +the morning when I'm only half awake, and having to cook at night when +I'm so tired I'd just like to lie down on the ground without taking my +clothes off and go to sleep there. I wish I'd never come. I wish I'd +married the man in Cooperstown that I wouldn't have wiped my feet on +then." +</P> + +<P> +She slapped the frying pan on the fire and threw the meat into it. Her +voice and lips were trembling. With a quick, backward bend she stooped +to pick up a fork, and Susan saw her face puckered and quivering like a +child's about to cry. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Lucy," she cried in a burst of sympathy. "I didn't know you felt +like that," and she tried to clasp the lithe uncorseted waist that +flinched from her touch. Lucy's elbow, thrown suddenly out, kept her +at a distance, and she fell back repulsed, but with consolations still +ready to be offered. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me alone," said Lucy, her face averted. "I'm that tired I don't +know what I'm saying. Go and get the children for supper, and don't +let them stand round staring at me or they'll be asking questions." +</P> + +<P> +She snatched the coffee pot and shook it upside down, driblets of +coffee running out. With her other hand she brushed the tears off her +cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't stand there as if you never saw a girl cry before," she said, +savagely. "I don't do it often, and it isn't such a wonderful sight. +Get the children, and if you tell anyone that I feel this way I'll +murder you." +</P> + +<P> +The children were at some distance lying on the ground. Such +unpromising materials as dust and sage brush had not quenched their +inventive power or hampered their imaginations. They played with as an +absorbed an industry here as in their own garden at home. They had +scraped the earth into mounded shapes marked with the print of baby +fingers and furrowed with paths. One led to a central mound crowned +with a wild sunflower blossom. Up the path to this Bob conducted twigs +of sage, murmuring the adventures that attended their progress. When +they reached the sunflower house he laid them carefully against its +sides, continuing the unseen happenings that befell them on their +entrance. The little girl lay beside him, her cheek resting on an +outflung arm, her eyes fixed wistfully on the personally conducted +party. Her creative genius had not risen to the heights of his, and +her fat little hands were awkward and had pushed the sunflower from its +perch. So she had been excluded from active participation, and now +looked on, acquiescing in her exclusion, a patient and humble spectator. +</P> + +<P> +"Look," Bob cried as he saw Susan approaching. "I've builded a house +and a garden, and these are the people," holding up one of the sage +twigs, "they walk fru the garden an' then go into the house and have +coffee and buf'lo meat." +</P> + +<P> +Susan admired it and then looked at the baby, who was pensively +surveying her brother's creation. +</P> + +<P> +"And did the baby play, too?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no, she couldn't. She doesn't know nuffing, she's too small," +with the scorn of one year's superiority. +</P> + +<P> +The baby raised her solemn eyes to the young girl and made no attempt +to vindicate herself. Her expression was that of subdued humility, of +one who admits her short-comings. She rose and thrust a soft hand into +Susan's, and maintained her silence as they walked toward the camp. +The only object that seemed to have power to rouse her from her +dejected reverie were the broken sage stalks in the trail. At each of +these she halted, hanging from Susan's sustaining grasp, and stubbed +her toe accurately and carefully against the protruding root. +</P> + +<P> +They would have been silent that evening if it had not been for Zavier. +His mood was less merry than usual, but a stream of frontier anecdote +and story flowed from him, that held them listening with charmed +attention. His foreign speech interlarded with French words added to +the picturesqueness of his narratives, and he himself sitting +crosslegged on his blanket, his hair hanging dense to his shoulders, +his supple body leaning forward in the tension of a thrilling climax, +was a fitting minstrel for these lays of the wild. +</P> + +<P> +His final story was that of Antoine Godin, one of the classics of +mountain history. Godin was the son of an Iroquois hunter who had been +brutally murdered by the Blackfeet. He had become a trapper of the +Sublette brothers, then mighty men of the fur trade, and in the +expedition of Milton Sublette against the Blackfeet in 1832 joined the +troop. When the two bands met, Godin volunteered to hold a conference +with the Blackfeet chief. He chose as his companion an Indian of the +Flathead tribe, once a powerful nation, but almost exterminated by wars +with the Blackfeet. From the massed ranks of his warriors the chief +rode out for the parley, a pipe of peace in his hand. As Godin and the +Flathead started to meet him, the former asked the Indian if his piece +was charged, and when the Flathead answered in the affirmative told him +to cock it and ride alongside. +</P> + +<P> +Midway between the two bands they met. Godin clasped the chief's hand, +and as he did so told the Flathead to fire. The Indian levelled his +gun, fired, and the Blackfeet chief rolled off his horse. Godin +snatched off his blanket and in a rain of bullets fled to the Sublette +camp. +</P> + +<P> +"And so," said the voyageur with a note of exultation in his voice, +"Godin got revenge on those men who had killed his father." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment his listeners were silent, suffering from a sense of +bewilderment, not so much at the story, as at Zavier's evident approval +of Godin's act. +</P> + +<P> +It was Susan who first said in a low tone, "What an awful thing to do!" +This loosened Bella's tongue, who lying in the opening of her tent had +been listening and now felt emboldened to express her opinion, +especially as Glen, stretched on his face nearby, had emitted a snort +of indignation. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, of all the wicked things I've heard since I came out here that's +the worst." +</P> + +<P> +Zavier shot a glance at them in which for one unguarded moment, race +antagonism gleamed. +</P> + +<P> +"Why is it wicked?" he said gently. +</P> + +<P> +David answered heatedly, the words bursting out: +</P> + +<P> +"Why, the treachery of it, the meanness. The chief carried the pipe of +peace. That's like our flag of truce. You never heard of any +civilized man shooting another under the flag of truce." +</P> + +<P> +Zavier looked stolid. It was impossible to tell whether he +comprehended their point of view and pretended ignorance, or whether he +was so restricted to his own that he could see no other. +</P> + +<P> +"The Blackfeet had killed his father," he answered. "They were +treacherous too. Should he wait to be murdered? It was his chance and +he took it." +</P> + +<P> +Sounds of dissent broke out round the circle. All the eyes were +trained on him, some with a wide, expectant fixity, others bright with +combative fire. Even Glen sat up, scratching his head, and remarking +sotto voce to his wife: +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't I always said he was an Indian?" +</P> + +<P> +"But the Blackfeet chief wasn't the man who killed his father," said +the doctor. +</P> + +<P> +"No, he was chief of the tribe who did." +</P> + +<P> +"But why kill an innocent man who probably had nothing to do with it?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was for vengeance," said Zavier with unmoved patience and careful +English. "Vengeance for his father's death." +</P> + +<P> +Several pairs of eyes sought the ground giving up the problem. Others +continued to gaze at him either with wonder, or hopeful of extracting +from his face some clew to his involved and incomprehensible moral +attitude. They suddenly felt as if he had confessed himself of an +alien species, a creature as remote from them and their ideals as a +dweller in the moon. +</P> + +<P> +"He had waited long for vengeance," Zavier further explained, moving +his glittering glance about the circle, "and if he could not find the +right man, he must take such man as he could. The chief is the biggest +man, and he comes where Godin has him. 'My father is avenged at last,' +he says, and bang!"—Zavier levelled an imaginary engine of destruction +at the shadows—"it is done and Godin gets the blanket." +</P> + +<P> +The silence that greeted this was one of hopelessness; the blanket had +added the final complication. It was impossible to make Zavier see, +and this new development in what had seemed a boyish and light-hearted +being, full to the brim with the milk of human kindness, was a thing to +sink before in puzzled speechlessness. Courant tried to explain: +</P> + +<P> +"You can't see it Zavier's way because it's a different way from yours. +It comes out of the past when there weren't any laws, or you had to +make 'em yourself. You've come from where the courthouse and the +police take care of you, and if a feller kills your father, sees to it +that he's caught and strung up. It's not your business to do it, and +so you've got to thinking that the man that takes it into his own hands +is a desperate kind of criminal. Out here in those days you wiped out +such scores yourself or no one did. It seems to you that Godin did a +pretty low down thing, but he thought he was doing the right thing for +him. He'd had a wrong done him and he'd got to square it. And it +didn't matter to him that the chief wasn't the man. Kill an Indian and +it's the tribe's business to settle the account. The Blackfeet killed +his father and it was Godin's business to kill a Blackfeet whenever he +got the chance. I guess when he saw the chief riding out to meet him +what he felt most was, that it was the best chance he'd ever get." +</P> + +<P> +The faces turned toward Courant—a white man like themselves! So deep +was their disapproving astonishment that nobody could say anything. +For a space they could only stare at him as though he, too, were +suddenly dropping veils that had hidden unsuspected, baleful depths. +</P> + +<P> +Then argument broke out and the clamor of voices was loud on the night. +Courant bore the brunt of the attack, Zavier's ideas being scanty, his +mode of procedure a persistent, reiteration of his original +proposition. Interruptions were furnished in a sudden, cracked laugh +from Daddy John, and phrases of dissent or approval from Glen and Bella +stretching their ears from the front of the tent. Only Lucy said +nothing, her head wrapped in a shawl, her face down-drooped and pale. +</P> + +<P> +Late that night Susan was waked by whispering sounds which wound +stealthily through her sleep feeling for her consciousness. At first +she lay with her eyes shut, breathing softly, till the sounds +percolated through the stupor of her fatigue and she woke, +disentangling them from dreams. She threw back her blankets and sat +alert thinking of Indians. +</P> + +<P> +The moon was full, silver tides lapping in below the tent's rim. She +stole to the flap listening, then drew it softly open. Her tent had +been pitched beneath a group of trees which made a splash of shadow +broken with mottlings of moonlight. In the depths of this shadow she +discerned two figures, the white flecks and slivers sliding along the +dark oblong of their shapes as they strayed with loitering steps or +stood whispering. The straight edge of their outline, the unbroken +solidity of their bulk, told her they were wrapped in the same blanket, +a custom in the Indian lover's courtship. Their backs were toward her, +the two heads rising from the blanket's folds, showing as a rounded +pyramidal finish. As she looked they paced beyond the shadow into the +full unobscured light, and she saw that the higher head was dark, the +other fair, crowned with a circlet of shining hair. +</P> + +<P> +Her heart gave an astounded leap. Her first instinct was to draw back, +her second to stand where she was, seemly traditions overwhelmed in +amazement. The whispering ceased, the heads inclined to each other, +the light one drooping backward, the dark one leaning toward it, till +they rested together for a long, still moment. Then they separated, +the woman drawing herself from the blanket and with a whispered word +stealing away, a furtive figure flitting through light and shade to the +McMurdo tents. The man turned and walked to the fire, and Susan saw it +was Zavier. He threw on a brand and in its leaping ray stood +motionless, looking at the flame, a slight, fixed smile on his lips. +</P> + +<P> +She crept back to her bed and lay there with her heart throbbing and +her eyes on the edges of moonlight that slipped in over the trampled +sage leaves. Zavier was on sentry duty that night, and she could hear +the padding of his step as he moved back and forth through the sleeping +camp. On the dark walls of the tent the vision she had seen kept +repeating itself, and as it returned upon her mental sight, new +questions surged into her mind. A veil had been raised, and she had +caught a glimpse of something in life, a new factor in the world, she +had never known of. The first faint comprehension of it, the first +stir of sympathy with it, crept toward her understanding and tried to +force an entrance. She pushed it out, feeling frightened, feeling as +if it were an intruder, that once admitted would grow dominant and +masterful, and she would never be her own again. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0303"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + + +<P> +The next morning Susan could not help stealing inquiring looks at Lucy. +Surely the participant in such a nocturnal adventure must bear some +signs of it upon her face. Lucy had suddenly become a disturbing and +incomprehensible problem. In trying to readjust her conception of the +practical and energetic girl, Susan found herself confronted with the +artifices of a world-old, feminine duplicity that she had never before +encountered, and knew no more of than she did of the tumult that had +possession of poor Lucy's tormented soul. Here was the heroine of a +midnight rendezvous going about her work with her habitual nervous +capability, dressing the children, preparing the breakfast, seeing that +Bella was comfortably disposed on her mattress in the wagon. She had +not a glance for Zavier. Could a girl steal out to meet and kiss a man +in the moonlight and the next morning look at him with a limpid, +undrooping eye as devoid of consciousness as the eye of a preoccupied +cat? +</P> + +<P> +The standards of the doctor's daughter were comparative and their range +limited. All she had to measure by was herself. Her imagination in +trying to compass such a situation with Susan Gillespie as the heroine, +could picture nothing as her portion but complete abasement and, of +course, a confession to her father. And how dreadful that would have +been! She could feel humiliation stealing on her at the thought of the +doctor's frowning displeasure. But Lucy had evidently told no one. +Why had she not? Why had she pretended not to like Zavier? Why? Why? +Susan found her thoughts trailing off into a perspective of questions +that brought up against a wall of incomprehension above which Lucy's +clear eyes looked at her with baffling secretiveness. +</P> + +<P> +It was a warm morning, and the two girls sat in the doctor's wagon. +Lucy was knitting one of the everlasting stockings. In the heat she +had unfastened the neck of her blouse and turned the edges in, a +triangle of snowy skin visible below her sunburned throat. She looked +thin, her arms showing no curve from wrist to elbow, the lines of her +body delicately angular under the skimpy dress of faded lilac cotton. +The sun blazing through the canvas cast a tempered yellow light over +her that toned harmoniously with the brown coating of freckles and the +copper burnish of her hair. Her hands, vibrating over her work with +little hovering movements like birds about to light, now and then +flashing out a needle which she stabbed into her coiffure, were +large-boned and dexterous, the strong, unresting hands of the +frontierswoman. +</P> + +<P> +Susan was lazy, leaning back on the up-piled sacks, watching the quick, +competent movements and the darts of light that leaped along the +needles. Before they had entered the wagon she had decided to speak to +Lucy of what she had overseen. In the first place she felt guilty and +wanted to confess. Besides that the need to give advice was strong +upon her, and the natural desire to interfere in a matter of the heart +was another impelling impulse. So she had determined to speak for +conscience, for friendship, for duty, and it is not beyond the bounds +of possibility, for curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +But it was a hard subject to approach, and she was uncomfortable. +Diplomacy had not been one of the gifts the fairies gave her when they +gathered at her cradle. Looking at the quivering needles she tried to +think of a good beginning, and like most direct and candid people +concluded there was no better one than that of the initial fact, before +the complicating intrusion of inference: +</P> + +<P> +"I woke up in the middle of the night last night." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy knit unmoved. +</P> + +<P> +"The moonlight was as bright as day. Out beyond the shadow where my +tent was I could see the weeds and little bunches of grass." +</P> + +<P> +"How could you see them when you were in your tent?" This without +stopping her work or raising her head. +</P> + +<P> +Susan, feeling more uncomfortable than ever, answered, her voice +instinctively dropping, "I got up and looked out of my tent." +</P> + +<P> +She kept her eyes on the busy hands and saw that the speed of their +movements slackened. +</P> + +<P> +"Got up and looked out? What did you do that for?" +</P> + +<P> +The time for revelation had come. Susan was a little breathless. +</P> + +<P> +"I heard people whispering," she said. +</P> + +<P> +The hands came to a stop. But the knitter continued to hold them in +the same position, a suspended, waiting expectancy in their attitude. +</P> + +<P> +"Whispering?" she said. "Who was it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Lucy, you know." +</P> + +<P> +There was a pause. Then Lucy dropped her knitting and, raising her +head, looked at the anxious face opposite. Her eyes were quiet and +steady, but their look was changed from its usual frankness by a new +defiance, hard and wary. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I don't know. How should I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, why"—Susan now was not only breathless but pleading—"it was +you." +</P> + +<P> +"Who was me?" +</P> + +<P> +"The woman—Lucy don't look at me like that, as if you didn't +understand. I saw you, you and Zavier, wrapped in the blanket. You +walked out into the moonlight and I <I>saw</I>." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy's gaze continued unfaltering and growing harder. Under the +freckles she paled, but she stood her ground. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean? Saw me and Zavier? Where?" +</P> + +<P> +"Under the trees first and then you went out into the moonlight with +the blanket wrapped round your shoulders." +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't see me," the hardness was now in her voice. "It was some +one else." +</P> + +<P> +A feeling of alarm rose in the other girl. It was not the lie alone, +it was the force behind it, the force that made it possible, that gave +the teller will to hold her glance steady and deny the truth. A +scaring sense of desperate powers in Lucy that were carrying her +outside the familiar and established, seized her friend. It was all +different from her expectations. Her personal repugnance and +fastidiousness were swept aside in the menace of larger things. She +leaned forward and clasped Lucy's knee. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say that. I saw you. Lucy, don't say I didn't. Don't bother +to tell me a lie. What did it mean? Why did you meet him? What are +you doing?" +</P> + +<P> +Lucy jerked her knee away. Her hands were trembling. She took up the +knitting, tried to direct the needles, but they shook and she dropped +them. She made a sharp movement with her head in an effort to avert +her face, but the light was merciless, there was no shade to hide in. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't bother me," she said angrily. "It's not your affair." +</P> + +<P> +Susan's dread rose higher. In a flash of vision she had a glimpse into +the storm-driven depths. It was as if a child brought up in a garden +had unexpectedly looked into a darkling mountain abyss. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you going to do?" she almost whispered. "You mustn't. You +must stop. I thought you didn't care about him. You only laughed and +everybody thought it was a joke. Don't go on that way. Something +dreadful will happen." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy did not answer. With her back pressed against the roof arch and +her hands clinched in her lap—she sat rigid, looking down. She seemed +gripped in a pain that stiffened her body and made her face pinched and +haggard. Under the light cotton covering her breast rose and fell. +She was an embodiment of tortured indecision. +</P> + +<P> +Susan urged: "Let me tell my father and he'll send Zavier away." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy raised her eyes and tried to laugh. The unnatural sound fell with +a metallic harshness on the silence. Her mouth quivered, and putting +an unsteady hand against it, she said brokenly, +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Missy, don't torment me. I feel bad enough already." +</P> + +<P> +There was a longer pause. Susan broke it in a low voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Then you're going to marry him?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," loudly, "no. What a question!" +</P> + +<P> +She made a grab at her knitting and started feverishly to work, the +needles clicking, stitches dropping, the stocking leg trembling as it +hung. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, he's an Indian," she cried suddenly in a high, derisive key. +</P> + +<P> +"But"—the questioner had lost her moment of vision and was once again +floundering between ignorance and intuition—"Why did you kiss him +then?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't. He kissed me." +</P> + +<P> +"You let him. Isn't that the same thing?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no. You're so silly. You don't know anything." She gave a +hysterical laugh and the bonds of her pride broke in a smothered cry: +"I couldn't help it. I didn't want to. I didn't mean to. I didn't +mean to go out and meet him and I went. I—" she gathered up the +stocking and, needles and all, buried her face in it. It was the only +thing she could find to hide behind. "I'm so miserable," she sobbed. +"You don't know. It's such a terrible thing first feeling one way and +then the other. I'm so mixed up I don't know what I feel. I wish I +was dead." +</P> + +<P> +There was a sound of men's voices outside, and the wagon came to a +jolting halt. Daddy John, on the driver's seat, silhouetted against +the circle of sky, slipped the whip into its ring of leather and turned +toward the girls. Lucy threw herself backward and lay with her face on +the sacks, stifling her tears. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you two girls jawing about in there?" he asked, squinting +blindly from the sun dazzle into the clear, amber light of the canvas +cavern. +</P> + +<P> +"We're just telling stories and things," said Susan. +</P> + +<P> +The old man peered at Lucy's recumbent figure. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't she well?" he queried. "Thought I heard crying." +</P> + +<P> +"Her head aches, it's so hot." +</P> + +<P> +"Let her stay there. We'll do her cooking for her. Just stay where +you are, Lucy, and don't worrit about your work." +</P> + +<P> +But the voices outside demanded her. It was the noon halt and Lucy was +an important factor in the machinery of the train. Glen's call for her +was mingled with the fresh treble of Bob's and Bella's at a farther +distance, rose in a plaintive, bovine lowing. She stretched a hand +sideways and gripped Susan's skirt. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't go," she gasped in a strangled whisper. "I can't seem to get +a hold on myself. Ask Zavier to build the fire and cook. He'll do it, +and Courant will help him. And tell the others I'm sick." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy's headache lasted all through the dinner hour, and when the train +started she still lay in the back of the doctor's wagon. For once she +seemed indifferent to the comfort of her relatives. The clamor that +rose about their disorderly fire and unsavory meal came to her ears +through the canvas walls, and she remained deaf and unconcerned. When +Susan crept in beside her and laid a cool cheek on hers, and asked her +if she wanted anything, she said no, she wanted to rest that was all. +Daddy John turned his head in profile and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Let her alone, Missy. She's all tuckered out. They've put too much +work on her sence her sister took sick. You let her lie there and I'll +keep an eye to her." +</P> + +<P> +Then he turned away and spat, as was his wont when thoughtful. He had +seen much of the world, and in his way was a wise old man, but he did +not guess the secret springs of Lucy's trouble. Women on the trail +should be taken care of as his Missy was. Glen McMurdo was the kind of +man who let the women take care of him, and between him and the +children and the sick woman they'd half killed the girl with work. +Daddy John had his opinion of Glen, but like most of his opinions he +kept it to himself. +</P> + +<P> +Susan had no desire for talk that afternoon. She wanted to be alone to +muse on things. As the train took the road for the second stage, she +drew her horse back among the sage and let the file of wagons pass her. +She saw hope gleaming in Leff's eye, and killed it with a stony glance, +then called to her father that she was going to ride behind. David was +hunting in the hills with Courant, Zavier driving in his stead. The +little caravan passed her with the dust hovering dense around it and +the slouching forms of the pack horses hanging fringe-like in its rear. +</P> + +<P> +They were nearing the end of their passage by the river, shrunk to a +clear, wild stream which they came upon and lost as the trail bore +westward. Their route lay through an interminable sequence of plains +held together by channels of communication that filtered through the +gaps in hills. The road was crossed by small streams, chuckling at the +bottom of gullies, the sides of which were cracked open like pale, +parched lips gasping for air. The limpid transparency of the prospect +was blotted by the caravan's moving dust cloud. Beyond this the plain +stretched, empty as the sky, a brown butte rising here and there. +</P> + +<P> +Susan heard hoof beats behind her and turned. Courant was riding +toward her, his rifle across his saddle. She made a motion of +recognition with her hand and turned away thinking how well he matched +the surroundings, his buckskins melting into the fawn-colored shading +of the earth, his red hair and bronzed face toning with the umber +buttes and rustlike stains across the distance. He was of a piece with +it, even in its suggestion of an unfeeling, confidant hardness. +</P> + +<P> +He joined her and they paced forward. It was the first time he had +ever sought any conversation with her and she was conscious and +secretly shy. Heretofore it had been his wont to speak little to her, +to sweep an indifferent eye over her which seemed to include her in the +unimportant baggage that went to the making of the train. Now, though +his manner was brusque, he spoke simply and not discourteously of the +hunt in the hills. He had got nothing, but David had killed a +black-tailed deer, and possessed by the passion of the chase, was +following the tracks of a second. The girl flushed with pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +"David's a very good shot," she said complacently, not at all sure of +her statement, for David did not excel in the role of Nimrod. "He kept +us supplied with buffalo meat all the way up the Platte." +</P> + +<P> +This was a falsehood. Daddy John and Leff had been the hunters of the +party. But Susan did not care. Courant had never said a word in her +hearing derogatory to David, but she had her suspicions that the +romantic nature of her betrothed was not of the stuff the mountain man +respected. +</P> + +<P> +"First rate," he said heartily. "I didn't know it. I thought he +generally rode with you or drove the wagon." +</P> + +<P> +To an outsider the tone would have seemed all that was frank and open. +But Susan read irony into it. She sat her horse a little squarer and +allowed the muse to still further possess her: +</P> + +<P> +"David can shoot anything, an antelope even. He constantly brought +them in when we were on the Platte. It was quite easy for him. Daddy +John, who's been in all sorts of wild places, says he's never seen a +better shot." +</P> + +<P> +A slight uneasiness disturbed the proud flow of her imagination at the +thought that Daddy John, questioned on this point, might show a +tendency to contradict her testimony. But it didn't matter. The joy +of proving David's superiority compensated. And she was setting +Courant in his place which had a separate and even rarer charm. +</P> + +<P> +His answer showed no consciousness of the humbling process: +</P> + +<P> +"You think a lot of David, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Susan felt her color rising. This time she not only sat squarer in her +saddle, but raised her shoulders and chin a trifle. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I am engaged to be married to him." +</P> + +<P> +"When will you be married?" said the uncrushable man. +</P> + +<P> +She inclined her head from its haughty pose just so far that she could +command his face from an austere eye. Words were ready to go with the +quelling glance, but they died unspoken. The man was regarding her +with grave, respectful attention. It is difficult to suddenly smite a +proud crest when the owner of the crest shows no consciousness of its +elevation. +</P> + +<P> +"When we get to California," she said shortly. +</P> + +<P> +"Not till then? Oh, I supposed you were going to marry him at Bridger +or along the road if we happened to meet a missionary." +</P> + +<P> +The suggestion amazed, almost appalled her. It pierced through her +foolish little play of pride like a stab, jabbing down to her secret, +sentient core. Her anger grew stronger, but she told herself she was +talking to one of an inferior, untutored order, and it was her part to +hold herself in hand. +</P> + +<P> +"We will be married when we get to California," she said, seeing to it +that her profile was calm and carried high. "Sometime after we get +there and have a home and are settled." +</P> + +<P> +"That's a long time off." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose so—a year or two." +</P> + +<P> +"A year or two!" he laughed with a careless jovial note. "Oh, you +belong to the old towns back there," with a jerk of his head toward the +rear. "In the wilderness we don't have such long courtships." +</P> + +<P> +"We? Who are we?" +</P> + +<P> +"The mountain men, the trappers, the voyageurs." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, her tone flashing into sudden scorn, "they marry +squaws." +</P> + +<P> +At this the man threw back his head and burst into a laugh, so deep, so +rich, so exuberantly joyous, that it fell upon the plain's grim silence +with the incongruous contrast of sunshine on the dust of a dungeon. +She sat upright with her anger boiling toward expression. Before she +realized it he had leaned forward and laid his hand on the pommel of +her saddle, his face still red and wrinkled with laughter. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right, little lady, but you don't know quite all about us." +</P> + +<P> +"I know enough," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Before you get to California you'll know more. There's a mountain man +and a voyageur now in the train. Do you think Zavier and I have squaw +wives?" +</P> + +<P> +With the knowledge that Zavier was just then so far from contemplating +union with a squaw, she could not say the contemptuous "yes" that was +on her tongue. As for the strange man—she shot a glance at him and +met the gray eyes still twinkling with amusement. "Savage!" she +thought, "I've no doubt he has"—and she secretly felt a great desire +to know. What she said was, "I've never thought of it, and I haven't +the least curiosity about it." +</P> + +<P> +They rode on in silence, then he said, +</P> + +<P> +"What's made you mad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mad? I'm not mad." +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Why should I be?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I want to know. You don't like me, little lady, is that +it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I neither like nor dislike you. I don't think of you." +</P> + +<P> +She immediately regretted the words. She was so completely a woman, so +dowered with the instinct of attraction, that she realized they were +not the words of indifference. +</P> + +<P> +"My thoughts are full of other people," she said hastily, trying to +amend the mistake, and that was spoiled by a rush of color that +suddenly dyed her face. +</P> + +<P> +She looked over the horse's head, her anger now turned upon herself. +The man made no answer, but she knew that he was watching her. They +paced on for a silent moment then he said: +</P> + +<P> +"Why are you blushing?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am not," she cried, feeling the color deepening. +</P> + +<P> +"You've told two lies," he answered. "You said you weren't angry, and +you're mad all through, and now you say you're not blushing, and your +face is as pink as one of those little flat roses that grow on the +prairie. It's all right to get mad and blush, but I'd like to know why +you do it. I made you mad someway or other, I don't know how. Have +<I>I</I> made you blush, too?" he leaned nearer trying to look at her. +"How'd I do that?" +</P> + +<P> +She had a sidelong glimpse of his face, quizzical, astonished, full of +piqued interest. She struggled with the mortification of a petted +child, suddenly confronted by a stranger who finds its caprices only +ridiculous and displeasing. Under the new sting of humiliation she +writhed, burning to retaliate and make him see the height of her +pedestal. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I <I>have</I> told two lies," she said. "I was angry and I <I>am</I> +blushing, and it's because I'm in a rage with you." +</P> + +<P> +The last touch was given when she saw that his surprise contained the +bitter and disconcerting element of amusement. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't that just what I said, and you denied it?" he exclaimed. "Now +<I>why</I> are you in a rage with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because—because—well, if you're too stupid to know why, or are just +pretending, I won't explain. I don't intend to ride with you any more. +Please don't try and keep up with me." +</P> + +<P> +She gave her reins a shake and her horse started on a brisk canter. As +she sped away she listened for his following hoof beats, for she made +no doubt he would pursue her, explain his conduct, and ask her pardon. +The request not to keep up with her he would, of course, set aside. +David would have obeyed it, but this man of the mountains, at once +domineering and stupid, would take no command from any woman. She kept +her ear trained for the rhythmic beat in the distance and decided when +she heard it she would increase her speed and not let him catch her +till she was up with the train. Then she would coldly listen to his +words of apology and have the satisfaction of seeing him look small, +and probably not know what to say. +</P> + +<P> +Only it didn't happen that way. He made no attempt to follow. As she +galloped across the plain he drew his horse to a walk, his face dark +and frowning. Her scorn and blush had left his blood hot. Her last +words had fired his anger. He had known her antagonism, seen it in her +face on the night when Bella was sick, felt its sting when she turned +from him to laugh with the others. And it had stirred him to a secret +irritation. For he told himself she was only a baby, but a pretty +baby, on whose brown and rosy face and merry slits of eyes a man might +like to look. Now he gazed after her swearing softly through his beard +and holding his horse to its slowest step. As her figure receded he +kept his eyes upon it. They were long-sighted eyes, used to great +distances, and they watched, intent and steady, to see if she would +turn her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Damn her," he said, when the dust of the train absorbed her. "Does +she think she's the only woman in the world?" +</P> + +<P> +After supper that evening Susan called David over to sit on the edge of +her blanket. This was a rare favor. He came hurrying, all alight with +smiles, cast himself down beside her and twined his fingers in her warm +grasp. She answered his hungry glance with a sidelong look, glowingly +tender, and David drew the hand against his cheek. Nobody was near +except Daddy John and Courant, smoking pipes on the other side of the +fire. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you love me?" he whispered, that lover's text for every sermon +which the unloving find so irksome to answer, almost to bear. +</P> + +<P> +But now she smiled and whispered, +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, silly David." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Susan, you're awakening," he breathed in a shaken undertone. +</P> + +<P> +She again let the soft look touch his face, sweet as a caress. From +the other side of the fire Courant saw it, and through the film of pipe +smoke, watched. David thought no one was looking, leaned nearer, and +kissed her cheek. She gave a furtive glance at the man opposite, saw +the watching eyes, and with a quick breath like a runner, turned her +face to her lover and let him kiss her lips. +</P> + +<P> +She looked back at the fire, quiet, unflurried, then slowly raised her +lids. Courant had moved his pipe and the obscuring film of smoke was +gone. Across the red patch of embers his eyes gazed steadily at her +with the familiar gleam of derision. Her tenderness died as a flame +under a souse of water, and an upwelling of feeling that was almost +hatred, rose in her against the strange man. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0304"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + + +<P> +The last fording of the river had been made, and from the summit of the +Red Buttes they looked down on the long level, specked with sage and +flecked with alkaline incrustings, that lay between them and the +Sweetwater. Across the horizon the Wind River mountains stretched a +chain of majestic, snowy shapes. Desolation ringed them round, the +swimming distances fusing with the pallor of ever-receding horizons, +the white road losing itself in the blotting of sage, red elevations +rising lonely in extending circles of stillness. The air was so clear +that a tiny noise broke it, crystal-sharp like the ring of a smitten +glass. And the sense of isolation was intensified as there was no +sound from anywhere, only a brooding, primordial silence that seemed to +have remained unbroken since the first floods drained away. +</P> + +<P> +Below in the plain the white dots of an encampment showed like a growth +of mushrooms. Near this, as they crawled down upon it, the enormous +form of Independence Rock detached itself from the faded browns and +grays to develop into a sleeping leviathan, lost from its herd and +fallen exhausted in a sterile land. +</P> + +<P> +Courant was curious about the encampment, and after the night halt rode +forward to inspect it. He returned in the small hours reporting it a +train of Mormons stopped for sickness. A boy of fifteen had broken his +leg ten days before and was now in a desperate condition. The train +had kept camp hoping for his recovery, or for the advent of help in one +of the caravans that overhauled them. Courant thought the boy beyond +hope, but in the gray of the dawn the doctor mounted, and with Susan, +David, and Courant, rode off with his case of instruments strapped to +his saddle. +</P> + +<P> +The sun was well up when they reached the Mormon camp. Scattered about +a spring mouth in the litter of a three days' halt, its flocks and +herds spread wide around it, it was hushed in a sullen dejection. The +boy was a likely lad for the new Zion, and his mother, one of the wives +of an elder, had forgotten her stern training, and fallen to a common +despair. Long-haired men lolled in tent doors cleaning their rifles, +and women moved between the wagons and the fires, or sat in rims of +shade sewing and talking low. Children were everywhere, their spirits +undimmed by disaster, their voices calling from the sage, little, +light, half-naked figures circling and bending in games that babies +played when men lived in cliffs and caves. At sight of the mounted +figures they fled, wild as rabbits, scurrying behind tent flaps and +women's skirts, to peep out in bright-eyed curiosity at the strangers. +</P> + +<P> +The mother met them and almost dragged the doctor from his horse. She +was a toil-worn woman of middle age, a Mater Dolorosa now in her hour +of anguish. She led them to where the boy lay in a clearing in the +sage. The brush was so high that a blanket had been fastened to the +tops of the tallest blushes, and under its roof he was stretched, +gray-faced and with sharpened nose. The broken leg had been bound +between rough splints of board, and he had traveled a week in the +wagons in uncomplaining agony. Now, spent and silent, he awaited +death, looking at the newcomers with the slow, indifferent glance of +those whose ties with life are loosening. But the mother, in the +ruthless unbearableness of her pain, wanted something done, anything. +An Irishman in the company, who had served six months as a helper in a +New York hospital, had told her he could amputate the leg, as he had +seen the operation performed. Now she clamored for a doctor—a real +doctor—to do it. +</P> + +<P> +He tried to persuade her of its uselessness, covering the leg in which +gangrene was far advanced, and telling her death was at hand. But her +despair insisted on action, her own suffering made her remorseless. +The clamor of their arguing voices surrounded the moribund figure lying +motionless with listless eyes as though already half initiated into new +and profound mysteries. Once, his mother's voice rising strident, he +asked her to let him rest in peace, he had suffered enough. +</P> + +<P> +Unable to endure the scene Susan left them and joined a woman whom she +found sewing in the shade of a wagon. The woman seemed unmoved, +chatting as she stitched on the happenings of the journey and the +accident that had caused the delay. Here presently David joined them, +his face pallid, his lips loose and quivering. Nothing could be done +with the mother. She had insisted on the operation, and the Irishman +had undertaken it. The doctor and Courant would stay by them; Courant +was to hold the leg. He, David, couldn't stand it. It was like an +execution—barbarous—with a hunting knife and a saw. +</P> + +<P> +In a half hour Courant came walking round the back of the wagon and +threw himself on the ground beside them. The leg had been amputated +and the boy was dying. Intense silence fell on the camp, only the +laughter and voices of the children rising clear on the thin air. Then +a wail arose, a penetrating, fearful cry, Rachel mourning for her +child. Courant raised his head and said with an unemotional air of +relief, "he's dead." The Mormon woman dropped her sewing, gave a low +exclamation, and sat listening with bitten lip. Susan leaned against +the wagon wheel full of horror and feeling sick, her eyes on David, +who, drawing up his knees, pressed his forehead on them. He rested +thus, his face hidden, while the keening of the mother, the cries of an +animal in pain, fell through the hot brightness of the morning like the +dropping of agonized tears down blooming cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +When they ceased and the quiet had resettled, the Mormon woman rose and +put away her sewing. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't seem to have no more ambition to work," she said and walked +away. +</P> + +<P> +"She's another of his wives," said Courant. +</P> + +<P> +"She and the woman whose son is dead, wives of the same man?" +</P> + +<P> +He nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"And there's a younger one, about sixteen. She was up there helping +with water and rags—a strong, nervy girl. She had whisky all ready in +a tin cup to give to the mother. When she saw it was all up with him +she went round collecting stones to cover the grave with and keep the +wolves off." +</P> + +<P> +"Before he was dead?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. They've got to move on at once. They can't lose any more time. +When we were arguing with that half-crazy woman, I could see the girl +picking up the stones and wiping off her tears with her apron." +</P> + +<P> +"What dreadful people," she breathed. +</P> + +<P> +"Dreadful? What's dreadful in having some sense? Too bad about the +boy. He set his teeth and didn't make a sound when that fool of an +Irishman was sawing at him as if he was a log. I never saw such grit. +If they've got many like him they'll be a great people some day." +</P> + +<P> +David gave a gasping moan, his arms relaxed, and he fell limply +backward on the ground. They sprang toward him and Susan seeing his +peaked white face, the eyes half open, thought he was dead, and dropped +beside him, a crouched and staring shape of terror. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it? What's the matter?" she cried, raising wild eyes to +Courant. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing at all," said that unmoved person, squatting down on his heels +and thrusting his hand inside David's shirt. "Only a faint. Why, +where's your nerve? You're nearly as white as he is." +</P> + +<P> +His eyes were full of curiosity as he looked across the outstretched +figure at her frightened face. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I—thought for a moment he was dead," she faltered. +</P> + +<P> +"And so you were going to follow his example and die on his body?" He +got up. "Stay here and I'll go and get some water." As he turned away +he paused and, looking back, said, "Why didn't you do the fainting? +That's more your business than his," gave a sardonic grin and walked +off. +</P> + +<P> +Susan raised the unconscious head and held it to her bosom. Alone, +with no eye looking, she pressed her lips on his forehead. Courant's +callousness roused a fierce, perverse tenderness in her. He might +sneer at David's lack of force, but she understood. She crooned over +him, moved his hair back with caressing fingers, pressing him against +herself as if the strength of her hold would assure her of the love she +did not feel and wanted to believe in. Her arms were close round him, +his head on her shoulder when Courant came back with a dipper of water. +</P> + +<P> +"Get away," he said, standing over them. "I don't want to wet you." +</P> + +<P> +But she curled round her lover, her body like a protecting shield +between him and danger. +</P> + +<P> +"Leave go of him," said Courant impatiently. "Do you think I'm going +to hurt him with a cup full of water?" +</P> + +<P> +"Let me alone," she answered sullenly. "He'll be all right in a +minute." +</P> + +<P> +"You can be any kind of a fool you like, but you can't make me one. +Come, move." He set the dipper on the ground. +</P> + +<P> +He leaned gently over her and grasped her wrists. The power of his +grip amazed her; she was like a mouse in the paws of a lion. Her puny +strength matched against his was conquered in a moment of futile +resistance. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be a fool," he said softly in her ear. "Don't act like a silly +baby," and the iron hands unclasped her arms and drew her back till +David's head slid from her knees to the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"There! We're all right now." He let her go, snatched up the dipper +and sent a splash of water into David's face. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor David," he said. "This'll spoil his good looks." +</P> + +<P> +"Stop," she almost screamed. "I'd rather have him lie in a faint for +an hour than have you speak so about him." +</P> + +<P> +Without noticing her, he threw another jet of water and David stirred, +drew a deep breath and opened his eyes. They touched the sky, the +wagon, the nearby sage, and then Susan's face. There they rested, +recognition slowly suffusing them. +</P> + +<P> +"What happened?" he said in a husky voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Fainted, that was all," said Courant. +</P> + +<P> +David closed his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, I remember now." +</P> + +<P> +Susan bent over him. +</P> + +<P> +"You frightened me so!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry, Missy, but it made me sick—the leg and those awful cries." +</P> + +<P> +Courant emptied the dipper on the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll see if they've got any whisky. You'll have to get your grit up, +David, for the rest of the trail," and he left them. +</P> + +<P> +A half hour later the cry of "Roll out" sounded, and the Mormon camp +broke. The rattling of chains and ox yokes, and the cursing of men +ruptured the stillness that had gathered round the moment of death. +Life was a matter of more immediate importance. Tents were struck, the +pots and pans thrown into the wagons, the children collected, the stock +driven in. With ponderous strain and movement the great train formed +and took the road. As it drew away the circle of its bivouac showed in +trampled sage and grass bitten to the roots. In the clearing where the +boy had lain was the earth of a new-made grave, a piece of wood thrust +in at the head, the mound covered with stones gathered by the elder's +young wife. The mountain tragedy was over. +</P> + +<P> +By the fire that evening Zavier employed himself scraping the dust from +a buffalo skull. He wiped the frontal bone clean and white, and when +asked why he was expending so much care on a useless relic, shrugged +his shoulders and laughed. Then he explained with a jerk of his head +in the direction of the vanished Mormons that they used buffalo skulls +to write their letters on. In the great emigration of the year before +their route was marked by the skulls set up in prominent places and +bearing messages for the trains behind. +</P> + +<P> +"And are you going to write a letter on that one?" Susan asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No; I do not write English good, and French very bad. But maybe some +one else will use it," and he laughed boyishly and laid the skull by +the fire. +</P> + +<P> +In the depth of the night Susan was wakened by a hand on her shoulder +that shook her from a dreamless sleep. She started up with a cry and +felt another hand, small and cold on her mouth, and heard a whispering +voice at her ear, +</P> + +<P> +"Hush. Don't make a sound. It's Lucy." +</P> + +<P> +She gripped at the figure, felt the clasp of trembling arms, and a +cheek chill with the night cold, against her own. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy," she gasped, "what's the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"I want to speak to you. Be quiet." +</P> + +<P> +"Has anything happened? Is some one sick?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. It's not that. I'm going." +</P> + +<P> +"Going? Going where—" She was not yet fully awake, filaments of +sleep clouded her clearness. +</P> + +<P> +"Into the mountains with Zavier." +</P> + +<P> +The filaments were brushed away in a rough sweep. But her brain +refused to accept the message. In the dark, she clutched at the body +against her, felt the beat of pulses distinct through the clothing, the +trembling of the hands going down through her flesh and muscle to her +heart. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean? Where?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, into the mountains somewhere." +</P> + +<P> +"With Zavier? Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because he wants me to and I must." +</P> + +<P> +"But— Oh, Lucy—" she struggled from the blanket to her knees—"Oh, +Lucy!" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice rose high and the hand felt for her mouth. She caught it and +held it off, her head bent back straining her eyes for the face above +her. +</P> + +<P> +"Running away with him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I couldn't go without telling you. I had to say good-by." +</P> + +<P> +"Going with him forever, not coming back?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, never!" +</P> + +<P> +"But where—where to?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. In the mountains somewhere. There's a trail here he +knows. It branches off to the north and goes up to the places where +they get the skins." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe you." +</P> + +<P> +"It's true. The horses are waiting outside." +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy, you've gone crazy. Don't—don't"— She clung to the hand she +held, grasped upward at the arm. Both were cold and resistant. Her +pleading struck back from the hardness of the mind made up, the +irrevocable resolution. +</P> + +<P> +"But he's not your husband." +</P> + +<P> +Even at this moment, keyed to an act of lawlessness that in the +sheltered past would have been as impossible as murder, the great +tradition held fast. Lucy's answer came with a sudden flare of shocked +repudiation: +</P> + +<P> +"He will be. There are priests and missionaries up there among the +Indians. The first one we meet will marry us. It's all right. He +loves me and he's promised." +</P> + +<P> +Nothing of her wild courage came to the other girl, no echo of the call +of life and passion. It was a dark and dreadful fate, and Susan +strained her closer as if to hold her back from it. +</P> + +<P> +"It's been fixed for two days. We had to wait till we got here and +crossed the trail. We're going right into the mountains and it's +summer, and there's plenty of game." +</P> + +<P> +"The Indians?" +</P> + +<P> +"We'll be in the Crow's country, and Zavier's mother was a Crow." +</P> + +<P> +The words proved the completeness of her estrangement—the acceptance +of the alien race as no longer alien. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Lucy, don't, don't. Wait till we get to Fort Bridger and marry +him there. Make him come to California with us. Don't do such an +awful thing—run away into the mountains with a half-breed." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care what he is. There's no one else for me but him. He's my +man and I'll go with him wherever he wants to take me." +</P> + +<P> +"Wait and tell Bella." +</P> + +<P> +"She wouldn't let me go. There'd be nothing but fighting and misery. +When you've made up your mind to do a thing you've got to do it +yourself, not go by what other people think." +</P> + +<P> +There was a silence and they hung upon each other. Then Lucy put her +face against her friend's and kissed her. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-by," she whispered, loosening her arms. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't let you go. I won't. It'll kill you." +</P> + +<P> +"I must. He's waiting." +</P> + +<P> +She struggled from the embrace, pulling away the clasping hands +noiselessly, but with purpose. There was something of coldness, of the +semblance but not the soul of affection, in the determined softness +with which she sought release. She stole to the tent flap and peered +out. Her thoughts were already outside, flown to the shape hiding in +the shadow like birds darting from a cage. She did not turn at Susan's +strangled whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll never see you again, Bella, nor I, nor the children." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps, some day, in California. He's there. I must go." +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy!" She leaped after her. In the tent opening they once more +clasped each other. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't let you go," Susan moaned. +</P> + +<P> +But Lucy's kiss had not the fervor of hers. The strength of her being +had gone to her lover. Friendship, home, family, all other claims hung +loose about her, the broken trappings of her maidenhood. The great +primal tie had claimed her. +</P> + +<P> +A black figure against the pallor of the night, she turned for a last +word. +</P> + +<P> +"If you tell them and they come after us, Zavier'll fight them. He'll +fight if he kills them. They'll know to-morrow. Good-by," and she was +gone, a noiseless shadow, flitting toward the denser group of shadow +where her heart was. +</P> + +<P> +Susan, crouched at the tent flap, saw her melt into the waiting +blackness, and then heard the muffled hoof beats growing thinner and +fainter as the silence absorbed them. +</P> + +<P> +She sat thus till the dawn came. Once or twice she started up to give +the alarm, but fell back. Under the tumult of her thoughts a +conviction lay that Lucy must follow her own wild way. In the welter +of confused emotion it was all that was clear. It may have come from +that sense of Lucy's detachment, that consciousness of cords and +feelers stretching out to a new life which commanded and held closer +than the old had ever done. All she knew was that Lucy was obeying +some instinct that was law to her, that was true for her to obey. If +they caught her and brought her back it would twist her life into a +broken form. Was it love? Was that what had drawn her over all +obstacles, away from the established joys and comforts, drawn her like +a magnet to such a desperate course? With wide eyes the girl saw the +whiteness of the dawn, and sat gripped in her resolution of silence, +fearful at the thought of what that mighty force must be. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0305"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + + +<P> +The cross, drowsy bustle of the camp's uprising was suddenly broken by +a piercing cry. It came from Bella, who, standing by the mess chest, +was revealed to her astonished companions with a buffalo skull in her +hands, uttering as dolorous sounds as ever were emitted by that animal +in the agony of its death throes. Her words were unintelligible, but +on taking the skull from her the cause of her disturbance was made +known. Upon the frontal bone were a few words scrawled in +pencil—Lucy's farewell. +</P> + +<P> +It came upon them like a thunderbolt, and they took it in different +ways—amazed silence, curses, angry questionings. The skull passed +from hand to hand till Courant dropped it and kicked it to one side +where Leff went after it, lifted it by the horns and stood spelling out +the words with a grin. The children, at first rejoicing in the new +excitement, soon recognized the note of dole, lifted up their voices +and filled the air with cries for Lucy upon whom, in times at +tribulation, they had come to look. Glen broke into savage anger, +called down curses on his sister-in-law, applying to her certain terms +of a scriptural simplicity till the doctor asked him to go afield and +vent his passion in the seclusion of the sage. Bella, sunk in heavy, +uncorseted despair upon the mess chest, gripped her children to her +knees as though an army of ravishers menaced the house of McMurdo. Her +words flowed with her tears, both together in a choked and bitter flood +of wrath, sorrow, and self-pity. She bewailed Lucy, not only as a +vanished relative but as a necessary member of the McMurdo escort. And +doubts of Zavier's lawful intentions shook her from the abandon of her +grief, to furious invective against the red man of all places and +tribes whereso'er he be. +</P> + +<P> +"The dirty French-Indian," she wailed, "to take her off where he knows +fast enough there's no way of marrying her." +</P> + +<P> +Courant tried to console her by telling her there was a good chance of +the fugitives meeting a Catholic missionary, but that, instead of +assuaging, intensified her woe. +</P> + +<P> +"A Catholic!" she cried, raising a drenched face from her apron. "And +ain't that just as bad? My parents and hers were decent Presbyterians. +Does their daughter have to stand up before a priest? Why don't you +say a Mormon elder at once?" +</P> + +<P> +The McMurdos' condition of grief and rage was so violent, that the +doctor suggested following the runaways. Bella rose in glad assent to +this. Catch Lucy and bring her back! She was cheered at the thought +and shouted it to Glen, who had gone off in a sulky passion and stood +by his oxen swearing to himself and kicking their hoofs. The men +talked it over. They could lay off for a day and Courant, who knew the +trails, could lead the search party. He was much against it, and Daddy +John was with him. Too much time had been lost. Zavier was an +experienced mountain man and his horses were good. Besides, what was +the use of bringing them back? They'd chosen each other, they'd taken +their own course. It wasn't such a bad lookout for Lucy. Zavier was a +first-rate fellow and he'd treat her well. What was the sense of +interfering? Bella was furious, and shouted, +</P> + +<P> +"The sense is to get her back here and keep her where it's civilized, +since she don't seem to know enough to keep there herself." +</P> + +<P> +Daddy John, who had been listening, flashed out: +</P> + +<P> +"It don't seem to me so d—d civilized to half kill her with work." +</P> + +<P> +Then Bella wept and Glen swore, and the men had pulled up the picket +stakes, cinched their girths tight and started off in Indian file +toward the distant spurs of the hills. +</P> + +<P> +Susan had said little. If it did not violate her conscience to keep +silent, it did to pretend a surprise that was not hers. She sat at her +tent door most of the day watching for the return of the search party. +She was getting supper when she looked up and saw them, gave a low +exclamation, and ran to the outskirts of the camp. Here she stood +watching, heard Daddy John lounge up behind her and, turning, caught +his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Is she there?" she said in an eager whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't see her." +</P> + +<P> +They both scrutinized the figures, small as toy horsemen, loping over +the leathern distance. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't there only four?" he said. "You can see better'n I." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she cried. "Four. I can count them. She isn't there. Oh, I'm +glad!" +</P> + +<P> +The old man looked surprised: +</P> + +<P> +"Glad! Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. Oh, don't tell, Daddy John, but I wanted her to get +away. I don't know why, I suppose it's very wicked. But—but—it +seemed so—so—as if she was a slave—so unfair to drag her away from +her own life and make her lead some one else's." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy gone, lost as by shipwreck in the gulfs and windings of the +mountains, was a fact that had to be accepted. The train moved on, for +on the Emigrant Trail there was no leisure for fruitless repining. +Only immediate happenings could fill the minds of wanderers struggling +across the world, their energies matched against its primal forces. +</P> + +<P> +The way was growing harder, the animals less vigorous, and the strain +of the journey beginning to tell. Tempers that had been easy in the +long, bright days on the Platte now were showing sharp edges. Leff had +become surly, Glen quarrelsome. One evening Susan saw him strike Bob a +blow so savage that the child fell screaming in pain and terror. Bella +rushed to her first born, gathered him in her arms and turned a +crimsoned face of battle on her spouse. For a moment the storm was +furious, and Susan was afraid that the blow would be repeated on the +mother. She tried to pacify the enraged woman, and David and the +doctor coaxed Glen away. The child had struck against an edge of stone +and was bleeding, and after supper the father rocked him to sleep +crooning over him in remorseful tenderness. But the incident left an +ugly impression. +</P> + +<P> +They were passing up the Sweetwater, a mountain stream of busy +importance with a current that was snow-cold and snow-pure. It wound +its hurrying way between rock walls, and then relaxed in lazy coils +through meadows where the grass was thick and juicy and the air musical +with the cool sound of water. These were the pleasant places. Where +the rocks crowded close about the stream the road left it and sought +the plain again, splinding away into the arid desolation. The wheels +ground over myriads of crickets that caked in the loose soil. There +was nothing to break the eye-sweep but the cones of rusted buttes, the +nearer ones showing every crease and shadow thread, the farther +floating detached in the faint, opal shimmer of the mirage. +</P> + +<P> +One afternoon, in a deep-grassed meadow they came upon an encamped +train outflung on the stream bank in wearied disarray. It was from +Ohio, bound for California, and Glen and Bella decided to join it. +This was what the doctor's party had been hoping for, as the slow pace +of the McMurdo oxen held them back. Bella was well and the doctor +could conscientiously leave her. It was time to part. +</P> + +<P> +Early in the morning the two trains rolled out under a heavy drizzle. +Rain fell within the wagons even as it did without, Susan weeping among +the sacks behind Daddy John and Bella with her children whimpering +against her sides, stopping in her knitting to wipe away her tears with +the long strip of stocking leg. They were to meet again in +California—that everyone said. But California looked a long way off, +and now.—For some reason or other it did not gleam so magically bright +at the limit of their vision. Their minds had grown tired of dwelling +on it and sank down wearied to each day's hard setting. +</P> + +<P> +By midday the doctor's wagons had left the others far behind. The rain +fell ceaselessly, a cold and penetrating flood. The crowding crowns +and crests about them loomed through the blur, pale and slowly +whitening with falling snow. Beyond, the greater masses veiled +themselves in cloud. The road skirted the river, creeping through a +series of gorges with black walls down which the moisture spread in a +ripple-edged, glassy glaze. Twice masses of fallen rock blocked the +way, and the horses had to be unhitched and the wagons dragged into the +stream bed. It was heavy work, and when they camped, ferociously +hungry, no fire could be kindled, and there was nothing for it but to +eat the hard-tack damp and bacon raw. Leff cursed and threw his piece +away. He had been unusually morose and ill-humored for the last week, +and once, when obliged to do sentry duty on a wet night, had flown into +a passion and threatened to leave them. No one would have been sorry. +Under the stress of mountain faring, the farm boy was not developing +well. +</P> + +<P> +In the afternoon the rain increased to a deluge. The steady beat on +the wagon hoods filled the interior with a hollow drumming vibration. +Against the dimmed perspective the flanks of the horses undulated under +a sleek coating of moisture. Back of the train, the horsemen rode, +heads lowered against the vicious slant, shadowy forms like drooping, +dispirited ghosts. The road wound into a gorge where the walls rose +straight, the black and silver of the river curbed between them in +glossy outspreadings and crisp, bubbling flashes. The place was full +of echoes, held there and buffeted from wall to wall as if flying back +and forth in a distracted effort to escape. +</P> + +<P> +David was driving in the lead, Susan under cover beside him. The +morning's work had exhausted him and he felt ill, so she had promised +to stay with him. She sat close at his back, a blanket drawn over her +knees against the intruding wet, peering out at the darkling cleft. +The wagon, creaking like a ship at sea, threw her this way and that. +Once, as she struck against him he heard her low laugh at his ear. +</P> + +<P> +"It's like a little earthquake," she said, steadying herself with a +grab at his coat. +</P> + +<P> +"There must have been a big earthquake here once," he answered. "Look +at the rocks. They've been split as if a great force came up from +underneath and burst them open." +</P> + +<P> +She craned her head forward to see and he looked back at her. Her face +was close to his shoulder, glowing with the dampness. It shone against +the shadowed interior rosily fresh as a child's. Her eyes, clear black +and white, were the one sharp note in its downy softness. He could see +the clean upspringing of her dark lashes, the little whisps of hair +against her temple and ear. He could not look away from her. The +grinding and slipping of the horses' hoofs did not reach his senses, +held captive in a passionate observation. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't curl your hair any more?" he said, and the intimacy of this +personal query added to his entrancement. +</P> + +<P> +She glanced quickly at him and broke into shamefaced laughter. A +sudden lurch threw her against him and she clutched his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, David," she said, gurgling at the memory. "Did <I>you</I> know that? +I curled it for three nights on bits of paper that I tore out of the +back of father's diary. And now I don't care what it looks like. See +how I've changed!" +</P> + +<P> +And she leaned against him, holding the arm and laughing at her past +frivolity. His eyes slid back to the horses, but he did not see them. +With a slight, listening smile he gave himself up to the intoxication +of the moment, feeling the pressure of her body soft against his arm. +</P> + +<P> +The reins which hung loose suddenly jerked through his fingers and the +mare fell crashing to her knees. She was down before he knew it, head +forward, and then with a quivering subsidence, prone in a tangle of +torn harness. He urged her up with a jerked rein, she made a +struggling effort, but fell back, and a groan, singularly human in its +pain, burst from her. The wagon behind pounded almost on them, the +mules crowding against each other. Daddy John's voice rising in a +cracked hail. Courant and Leff came up from the rear, splashing +through the river. +</P> + +<P> +"What's happened?" said the former. +</P> + +<P> +"It's Bess," said David, his face pallid with contrition. "I hope to +God she's not hurt. Up, Bess, there! Up on your feet, old girl!" +</P> + +<P> +At her master's voice the docile brute made a second attempt to rise, +but again sank down, her sides panting, her head strained up. +</P> + +<P> +Leff leaped off his horse. +</P> + +<P> +"Damn her, I'll make her get up," he said, and gave her a violent kick +on the ribs. The mare rolled an agonized eye upon him, and with a +sudden burst of fury he rained kick after kick on her face. +</P> + +<P> +David gave a strange sound, a pinched, thin cry, as if wrung from him +by unbearable suffering, and leaped over the wheel. He struck Leff on +the chest, a blow so savage and unexpected that it sent him staggering +back into the stream, where, his feet slipping among the stones, he +fell sprawling. +</P> + +<P> +"Do that again and I'll kill you," David cried, and moving to the horse +stood over it with legs spread and fists clinched for battle. +</P> + +<P> +Leff scrambled to his knees, his face ominous, and Courant, who had +been looking at the mare, apparently indifferent to the quarrel, now +slipped to the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"Let that hound alone," he said. "I'm afraid it's all up with Bess." +</P> + +<P> +David turned and knelt beside her, touching her with hands so tremulous +he could hardly direct them. His breath came in gasps, he was shaken +and blinded with passion, high-pitched and nerve-wracking as a woman's. +</P> + +<P> +Leff rose, volleying curses. +</P> + +<P> +"Here you," Courant shifted a hard eye on him, "get out. Get on your +horse and go," then turning to Bess, "Damn bad luck if we got to lose +her." +</P> + +<P> +Leff stood irresolute, his curses dying away in smothered mutterings. +His skin was gray, a trickle of blood ran down from a cut on his neck, +his face showed an animal ferocity, dark and lowering as the front of +an angry bull. With a slow lift of his head he looked at Susan, who +was still in the wagon. She met the glance stonily with eyes in which +her dislike had suddenly crystallized into open abhorrence. She gave a +jerk of her head toward his horse, a movement of contemptuous command, +and obeying it he mounted and rode away. +</P> + +<P> +She joined the two men, who were examining Bess, now stretched +motionless and uttering pitiful sounds. David had the head, bruised +and torn by Leff's kicks, on his knees, while Courant with expert hands +searched for her hurt. It was not hard to find. The left foreleg had +been broken at the knee, splinters of bone penetrating the skin. There +was nothing to do with Bess but shoot her, and Courant went back for +his pistols, while Daddy John and the doctor came up to listen with +long faces. It was the first serious loss of the trip. +</P> + +<P> +Later in the day the rain stopped and the clouds that had sagged low +with its weight, began to dissolve into vaporous lightness, float +airily and disperse. The train debouched from the gorge into one of +the circular meadows and here found Leff lying on a high spot on the +ground, his horse cropping the grass near him. He made no remark, and +as they came to a halt and began the work of camping, he continued to +lie without moving or speaking, his eyes fixed on the mountains. +</P> + +<P> +These slowly unveiled themselves, showing in patches of brilliant color +through rents in the mist which drew off lingeringly, leaving filaments +caught delicately in the heights. The sky broke blue behind them, and +clarified by the rain, the shadows brimmed high in the clefts. The low +sun shot its beams across the meadow, leaving it untouched, and +glittering on the remote, immaculate summits. +</P> + +<P> +In exhaustion the camp lay resting, tents unpitched, the animals nosing +over the grass. David and Daddy John slept a dead sleep rolled in +blankets on the teeming ground. Courant built a fire, called Susan to +it, and bade her dry her wet skirts. He lay near it, not noticing her, +his glance ranging the distance. The line of whitened peaks began to +take on a golden glaze, and the shadows in the hollow mounted till the +camp seemed to be at the bottom of a lake in which a tide of some gray, +transparent essence was rising. +</P> + +<P> +"That's where Lucy's gone," he said suddenly without moving his head. +</P> + +<P> +Susan's eyes followed his. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor Lucy!" she sighed. +</P> + +<P> +"Why is she poor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" indignantly. "What a question!" +</P> + +<P> +"But why do you call her poor? Is it because she has no money?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not. Who was thinking of money? I meant she was +unfortunate to run away to such a life with a half-breed." +</P> + +<P> +"She's gone out into the mountains with her lover. I don't call that +unfortunate, and I'll bet you she doesn't. She was brave enough to +take her life when it came. She was a gallant girl, that Lucy." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose that's what you'd think." +</P> + +<P> +And in scorn of more words she gave her attention to her skirt, +spreading its sodden folds to the heat. Courant clasped his hands +behind his head and gazed ruminantly before him. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know how she'll live, that 'poor Lucy'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Like a squaw." +</P> + +<P> +He was unshaken by her contempt, did not seem to notice it. +</P> + +<P> +"They'll go by ways that wind deep into the mountains. It's wonderful +there, peaks and peaks and peaks, and down the gorges and up over the +passes, the trails go that only the trappers and the Indians know. +They'll pass lakes as smooth as glass and green as this hollow we're +in. You never saw such lakes, everything's reflected in them like a +mirror. And after a while they'll come to the beaver streams and +Zavier'll set his traps. At night they'll sleep under the stars, great +big stars. Did you ever see the stars at night through the branches of +the pine trees? They look like lanterns. It'll seem to be silent, but +the night will be full of noises, the sounds that come in those wild +places, a wolf howling in the distance, the little secret bubbling of +the spring, and the wind in the pine trees. That's a sad sound, as if +it was coming through a dream." +</P> + +<P> +The girl stirred and forgot her skirt. The solemn beauty that his +words conjured up called her from her petty irritation. She looked at +the mountains, her face full of a wistful disquiet. +</P> + +<P> +"And it'll seem as if there was no one else but them in the world. Two +lovers and no one else, between the sunrise and the sunset. There +won't be anybody else to matter, or to look for, or to think about. +Just those two alone, all day by the river where the traps are set and +at night under the blanket in the dark of the trees." +</P> + +<P> +Susan said nothing. For some inexplicable reason her spirits sank and +she felt a bleak loneliness. A sense of insignificance fell heavily +upon her, bearing down her high sufficiency, making her feel that she +was a purposeless spectator on the outside of life. She struggled +against it, struggled back toward cheer and self-assertion, and in her +effort to get back, found herself seeking news of less picturesque +moments in Lucy's lot. +</P> + +<P> +"But the winter," she said in a small voice like a pleading child's, +"the winter won't be like that?" +</P> + +<P> +"When the winter comes Zavier'll build a hut. He'll make it out of +small trees, long and thin, bent round with their tops stuck in the +ground, and he'll thatch it with skins, and spread buffalo robes on the +floor of it. There'll be a hole for the smoke to get out, and near the +door'll be his graining block and stretching frame to cure his skins. +On a tree nearby he'll hang his traps, and there'll be a brace of +elkhorns fastened to another tree that they'll use for a rack to hang +the meat and maybe their clothes on. They'll have some coffee and +sugar and salt. That's all they'll need in the way of eatables, for +he'll shoot all the game they want, <I>les aliments du pays</I>, as the fur +men call it. It'll be cold, and maybe for months they'll see no one. +But what will it matter? They'll have each other, snug and warm way +off there in the heart of the mountains, with the big peaks looking +down at them. Isn't that a good life for a man and a woman?" +</P> + +<P> +She did not answer, but sat as if contemplating the picture with fixed, +far-seeing gaze. He raised himself on his elbow and looked at her. +</P> + +<P> +"Could you do that, little lady?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she answered, beating down rebellious inner whisperings. +</P> + +<P> +"Wouldn't you follow David that way?" +</P> + +<P> +"David wouldn't ask it. No civilized man would." +</P> + +<P> +"No, David wouldn't," he said quietly. +</P> + +<P> +She glanced quickly at him. Did she hear the note of mockery which she +sensed whenever he alluded to her lover? She was ready at once to take +up arms for David, but the face opposite was devoid of any expression +save an intent, expectant interest. She dropped her eyes to her dress, +perturbed by the closeness of her escape from a foolish exhibition +which would have made her ridiculous. She always felt with Courant +that she would be swept aside as a trivial thing if she lost her +dignity. He watched her and she grew nervous, plucking at her skirt +with an uncertain hand. +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder if you could?" he said after a pause. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not," she snapped. +</P> + +<P> +"Aren't you enough of a woman?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not enough of a fool." +</P> + +<P> +"Aren't all women in love fools—anyway for a while?" +</P> + +<P> +She made no answer, and presently he said, his voice lowered: +</P> + +<P> +"Not enough of a woman to know how to love a man. Doesn't even for a +moment understand it. It's 'poor Susan.'" +</P> + +<P> +Fury seized her, for she had not guessed where he was leading her, and +now saw herself not only shorn of her dignity but shorn of her woman's +prerogative of being able to experience a mad and unreasonable passion. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a liar," she burst out before she knew what words were coming. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you think you could?" he asked without the slightest show of +surprise at her violence, apparently only curious. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't I?" she cried, ready to proclaim that she would follow David to +destruction and death. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," he answered. "I've been wondering." +</P> + +<P> +"What business have you got to wonder about me?" +</P> + +<P> +"None—but," he leaned toward her, "you can't stop me doing that, +little lady; that's one of the things you <I>can't</I> control." +</P> + +<P> +For a moment they eyed each other, glance held glance in a smoldering +challenge. The quizzical patronage had gone from his, the gleam of a +subdued defiance taken its place. Hers was defiant too, but it was +openly so, a surface thing that she had raised like a defense in haste +and tremor to hide weakness. +</P> + +<P> +David moved in his blanket, yawned and threw out a languid hand. She +leaped to her feet and ran to him. +</P> + +<P> +"David, are you better?" she cried, kneeling beside him. "Are you +better, dear?" +</P> + +<P> +He opened his eyes, blinking, saw the beloved face, and smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"All right," he said sleepily. "I was only tired." +</P> + +<P> +She lifted one of the limp hands and pressed it to her cheek. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been so worried about you," she purred. "I couldn't put my mind +on anything else. I haven't known what I was saying, I've been so +worried." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0306"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + + +<P> +South Pass, that had been pictured in their thoughts as a cleft between +snow-crusted summits, was a wide, gentle incline with low hills +sweeping up on either side. From here the waters ran westward, +following the sun. Pacific Spring seeped into the ground in an oasis +of green whence whispering threads felt their way into the tawny +silence and subdued by its weight lost heart and sank into the +unrecording earth. +</P> + +<P> +Here they found the New York Company and a Mormon train filling up +their water casks and growing neighborly in talk of Sublette's cut off +and the route by the Big and Little Sandy. A man was a man even if he +was a Mormon, and in a country so intent on its own destiny, so rapt in +the calm of contemplation, he took his place as a human unit on whom +his creed hung like an unnoticed tag. +</P> + +<P> +They filled their casks, visited in the two camps, and then moved on. +Plain opened out of plain in endless rotation, rings of sun-scorched +earth brushed up about the horizon in a low ridge like the raised rim +on a plate. In the distance the thin skein of a water course drew an +intricate pattern that made them think of the thread of slime left by a +wandering snail. In depressions where the soil was webbed with cracks, +a livid scurf broke out as if the face of the earth were scarred with +the traces of inextinguishable foulness. An even subdual of tint +marked it all. White had been mixed on the palette whence the colors +were drawn. The sky was opaque with it; it had thickened the +red-browns and yellows to ocher and pale shades of putty. Nothing +moved and there were no sounds, only the wheeling sun changed the +course of the shadows. In the morning they slanted from the hills +behind, eagerly stretching after the train, straining to overtake and +hold it, a living plaything in this abandoned land. At midday a blot +of black lay at the root of every sage brush. At evening each +filigreed ridge, each solitary cone rising detached in the sealike +circle of its loneliness, showed a slant of amethyst at its base, +growing longer and finer, tapering prodigiously, and turning purple as +the earth turned orange. +</P> + +<P> +There was little speech in the moving caravan. With each day their +words grew fewer, their laughter and light talk dwindled. Gradual +changes had crept into the spirit of the party. Accumulations of habit +and custom that had collected upon them in the dense life of towns were +dropping away. As the surface refinements of language were dying, so +their faces had lost a certain facile play of expression. Delicate +nuances of feeling no longer showed, for they no longer existed. +Smiles had grown rarer, and harder characteristics were molding their +features into sterner lines. The acquired deceptiveness of the world +of men was leaving them. Ugly things that they once would have hidden +cropped out unchecked by pride or fear of censure. They did not care. +There was no standard, there was no public opinion. Life was resolving +itself into a few great needs that drove out all lesser and more +delicate desires. Beings of a ruder make were usurping their bodies. +The primitive man in them was rising to meet the primitive world. +</P> + +<P> +In the young girl the process of elimination was as rapid if not as +radical as in the case of the men. She was unconsciously ridding +herself of all that hampered and made her unfit. From the soft +feminine tissue, intricacies of mood and fancy were being obliterated. +Rudimentary instincts were developing, positive and barbaric as a +child's. In the old days she had been dainty about her food. Now she +cooked it in blackened pans and ate with the hunger of the men. Sleep, +that once had been an irksome and unwelcome break between the pleasures +of well-ordered days, was a craving that she satisfied, unwashed, often +half-clad. In Rochester she had spent thought and time upon her looks, +had stood before her mirror matching ribbons to her complexion, wound +and curled her hair in becoming ways. Now her hands, hardened and +callous as a boy's, were coarse-skinned with broken nails, sometimes +dirty, and her hair hung rough from the confining teeth of a comb and a +few bent pins. When in flashes of retrospect she saw her old self, +this pampered self of crisp fresh frocks and thoughts moving demurely +in the narrow circle of her experience, it did not seem as if it could +be the same Susan Gillespie. +</P> + +<P> +All that made up the little parcel of her personality seemed gone. In +those days she had liked this and wanted that and forgotten and wanted +something else. Rainy weather had sent its ashen sheen over her +spirit, and her gladness had risen to meet the sun. She remembered the +sudden sweeps of depression that had clouded her horizon when she had +drooped in an unintelligible and not entirely disagreeable melancholy, +and the contrasting bursts of gayety when she laughed at anything and +loved everybody. Hours of flitting fancies flying this way and that, +hovering over chance incidents that were big by contrast with the +surrounding uneventfulness, the idleness of dropped hands and dreaming +eyes, the charmed peerings into the future—all were gone. Life had +seized her in a mighty grip, shaken her free of it all, and set her +down where she felt only a few imperious sensations, hunger, fatigue, +fear of danger, love of her father, and— She pulled her thoughts to +obedience with a sharp jerk and added—love of David and hatred of +Courant. +</P> + +<P> +These two latter facts stood out sentinel-wise in the foreground. In +the long hours on horseback she went over them like a lesson she was +trying to learn. She reviewed David's good points, dwelt on them, held +them up for her admiration, and told herself no girl had ever had a +finer or more gallant lover. She was convinced of it and was quite +ready to convince anybody who denied it. Only when her mental +vision—pressed on by some inward urge of obscure +self-distrust—carried her forward to that future with David in the +cabin in California, something in her shrank and failed. Her thought +leaped back as from an abhorrent contact, and her body, caught by some +mysterious internal qualm, felt limp and faintly sickened. +</P> + +<P> +She dwelt even more persistently on Courant's hatefulness, impressed +upon herself his faults. He was hard and she had seen him brutal, a +man without feeling, as he had shown when the Mormon boy died, a harsh +and remorseless leader urging them on, grudging them even their seventh +day rest, deaf to their protests, lashing them forward with contempt of +their weakness. This was above and apart from his manner to her. That +she tried to feel was a small, personal matter, but, nevertheless, it +stung, did not cease to sting, and left an unhealed sore to rankle in +her pride. He did not care to hide that he held her cheaply, as a +useless futile thing. Once she had heard him say to Daddy John, "It's +the women in the train that make the trouble. They're always in the +way." And she was the only woman. She would like to see him +conquered, beaten, some of his heady confidence stricken out of him, +and when he was humbled have stood by and smiled at his humiliation. +</P> + +<P> +So she passed over the empty land under the empty sky, a particle of +matter carrying its problem with it. +</P> + +<P> +It was late afternoon when they encamped by the Big Sandy. The march +had been distressful, bitter in their mouths with the clinging clouds +of powdered alkali, their heads bowed under the glaring ball of the +sun. All day the circling rim of sky line had weaved up and down, +undulating in the uncertainty of the mirage, the sage had blotted into +indistinct seas that swam before their strained vision. When the river +cleft showed in black tracings across the distance, they stiffened and +took heart, coolness and water were ahead. It was all they had hope or +desire for just then. At the edge of the clay bluff, they dipped and +poured down a corrugated gully, the dust sizzling beneath the braked +wheels, the animals, the smell of water in their nostrils, past +control. The impetus of the descent carried them into the chill, +purling current. Man and beast plunged in, laved in it, drank it, and +then lay by it resting, spent and inert. +</P> + +<P> +They camped where a grove of alders twinkled in answer to the swift, +telegraphic flashes of the stream. Under these the doctor pitched his +tents, the hammering of the pegs driving through the sounds of man's +occupation into the quietude that lapped them like sleeping tides. The +others hung about the center of things where wagons and mess chests, +pans and fires, made the nucleus of the human habitation. +</P> + +<P> +Susan, sitting on a box, with a treasure of dead branches at her feet, +waited yet a space before setting them in the fire form. She was sunk +in the apathy of the body surrendered to restoring processes. The +men's voices entered the channels of her ears and got no farther. Her +vision acknowledged the figure of Leff nearby sewing up a rent in his +coat, but her brain refused to accept the impression. Her eye held him +in a heavy vacuity, watched with a trancelike fixity his careful +stitches and the armlong stretch of the drawn thread. +</P> + +<P> +Had she shifted it a fraction, it would have encountered David +squatting on the bank washing himself. His long back, the red shirt +drawn taut across its bowed outline, showed the course of his spine in +small regular excrescences. The water that he raised in his hands and +rinsed over his face and neck made a pleasant, clean sound, that her +ear noted with the other sounds. Somewhere behind her Daddy John and +Courant made a noise with skillets and picket pins and spoke a little, +a sentence mutteringly dropped and monosyllabically answered. +</P> + +<P> +David turned a streaming face over his shoulder, blinking through the +water. The group he looked at was as idyllically peaceful as wayfarers +might be after the heat and burden of the day. Rest, fellowship, a +healthy simplicity of food and housing were all in the picture either +visibly or by implication. +</P> + +<P> +"Throw me the soap, Leff," he called, "I forgot it." +</P> + +<P> +The soap lay on the top of a meal sack, a yellow square, placed there +by David on his way to the water. It shone between Susan and Leff, +standing forth as a survival of a pampered past. Susan's eye shifted +toward it, fastened on it, waiting for Leff's hand to come and bear it +away. But the hand executed no such expected maneuver. It planted the +needle deliberately, pushed it through, drew it out with its long tail +of thread. Surprise began to dispel her lethargy. Her eye left the +soap, traveled at a more sprightly speed back to Leff, lit on his face +with a questioning intelligence. +</P> + +<P> +David called again. +</P> + +<P> +"Hurry up. I want to light the fire." +</P> + +<P> +Leff took another considered stitch. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know where it is," he answered without looking up. +</P> + +<P> +The questioning of Susan's glance became accusative. +</P> + +<P> +"It's there beside you on the meal sack," she said. "Throw it to him." +</P> + +<P> +Leff raised his head and looked at her. His eyes were curiously pale +and wide. She could see the white round the fixed pupil. +</P> + +<P> +"Do it yourself," he answered, his tone the lowest that could reach +her. "Do it or go to Hell." +</P> + +<P> +She rested without movement, her mouth falling slightly open. For the +moment there was a stoppage of all feeling but amazement, which invaded +her till she seemed to hold nothing else. David's voice came from a +far distance, as if she had floated away from him and it was a cord +jerking her back to her accustomed place. +</P> + +<P> +"Hurry up," it called. "It's right there beside you." +</P> + +<P> +Leff threw down his sewing and leaped to his feet. Leaning against the +bank behind him was his gun, newly cleaned and primed. +</P> + +<P> +"Get it yourself and be d—d to you!" he roared. +</P> + +<P> +The machinery of action stopped as though by the breaking of a spring. +Their watches ticked off a few seconds of mind paralysis in which there +was no expectancy or motive power, all action inhibited. Sight was all +they used for those seconds. Leff spoke first, the only one among them +whose thinking process had not been snapped: +</P> + +<P> +"If you keep on shouting for me to do your errands, I'll show you"—he +snatched up the gun and brought it to his shoulder with a lightning +movement—"I'll send you where you can't order me round—you and this +d—d ——— here." +</P> + +<P> +The inhibition was lifted and the three men rushed toward him. Daddy +John struck up the gun barrel with a tent pole. The charge passed over +David's head, spat in the water beyond, the report crackling sharp in +the narrow ravine. David staggered, the projection of smoke reaching +out toward him, his hands raised to ward it off, not knowing whether he +was hurt or not. +</P> + +<P> +"That's a great thing to do," he cried, dazed, and stubbing his foot on +a stone stumbled to his knees. +</P> + +<P> +The two others fell on Leff. Susan saw the gun ground into the dust +under their trampling feet and Leff go down on top of it. Daddy John's +tent pole battered at him, and Courant on him, a writhing body, +grappled and wrung at his throat. The doctor came running from the +trees, the hammer in his hand, and Susan grabbed at the descending +pole, screaming: +</P> + +<P> +"You're killing him. Father, stop them. They'll murder him." +</P> + +<P> +The sight of his Missy clinging to the pole brought the old man to his +senses, but it took David and the doctor to drag Courant away. For a +moment they were a knot of struggling bodies, from which oaths and +sobbing breaths broke. Upright he shook them off and backed toward the +bank, leaving them looking at him, all expectant. He growled a few +broken words, his face white under the tan, the whole man shaken by a +passion so transforming that they forgot the supine figure and stood +alert, ready to spring upon him. He made a movement of his head toward +Leff. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you let me kill him?" he said huskily. +</P> + +<P> +It broke the tension. Their eyes dropped to Leff, who lay motionless +and unconscious, blood on his lips, a slip of white showing under his +eyelids. The doctor dropped on his knees beside him and opened his +shirt. Daddy John gave him an investigating push with the tent pole, +and David eyed him with an impersonal, humane concern. Only Susan's +glance remained on Courant, unfaltering as the beam of a fixed star. +</P> + +<P> +His savage excitement was on the ebb. He pulled his hunting shirt into +place and felt along his belt for his knife, while his broad breast +rose like a wave coming to its breakage then dropped as the wave drops +into its hollow. The hand he put to his throat to unfasten the band of +his shirt shook, it had difficulty in manipulating the button, and he +ran his tongue along his dried lips. She watched every movement, to +the outward eye like a child fascinated by an unusual and terrifying +spectacle. But her gaze carried deeper than the perturbed envelope. +She looked through to the man beneath, felt an exultation in his might, +knew herself kindred with him, fed by the same wild strain. +</P> + +<P> +His glance moved, touched the unconscious man at his feet, then lifting +met hers. Eye held eye. In each a spark leaped, ran to meet its +opposing spark and flashed into union. +</P> + +<P> +When she looked down again the group of figures was dim. Their talk +came vaguely to her, like the talk of men in a dream. David was +explaining. Daddy John made a grimace at him which was a caution to +silence. The doctor had not heard and was not to hear the epithet that +had been applied to his daughter. +</P> + +<P> +"He's sun mad," the old man said. "Half crazy. I've seen 'em go that +way before. How'll he get through the desert I'm asking you?" +</P> + +<P> +There were some contusions on the head that looked bad, the doctor +said, but nothing seemed to be broken. He'd been half strangled; +they'd have to get him into the wagon. +</P> + +<P> +"Leave him at Fort Bridger," came Courant's voice through the haze. +"Leave him there to rot." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor answered in the cold tones of authority: +</P> + +<P> +"We'll take him with us as we agreed in the beginning. Because he +happens not to be able to stand it, it's not for us to abandon him. +It's a physical matter—sun and hard work and irritated nerves. Take a +hand and help me lift him into the wagon." +</P> + +<P> +They hoisted him in and disposed him on a bed of buffalo robes spread +on sacks. He groaned once or twice, then settled on the softness of +the skins, gazing at them with blood-shot eyes of hate. When the +doctor offered him medicine, he struck the tin, sending its contents +flying. However serious his hurts were they had evidently not +mitigated the ferocity of his mood. +</P> + +<P> +For the three succeeding days he remained in the wagon, stiff with +bruises and refusing to speak. Daddy John was detailed to take him his +meals, and the doctor dressed his wounds and tried to find the cause of +his murderous outburst. But Leff was obdurate. He would express no +regret for his action, and would give no reason for it. Once when the +questioner asked him if he hated David, he said "Yes." But to the +succeeding, "Why did he?" he offered no explanation, said he "didn't +know why." +</P> + +<P> +"Hate never came without a reason," said the physician, curious and +puzzled. "Has David wronged you in any way?" +</P> + +<P> +"What's that to you?" answered the farm boy. "I can hate him if I +like, can't I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not in my train." +</P> + +<P> +"Well there are other trains where the men aren't all fools, and the +women——" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped. The doctor's eye held him with a warning gleam. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what's the matter with that boy," he said afterwards in +the evening conference. "I can't get at him." +</P> + +<P> +"Sun mad," Daddy John insisted. +</P> + +<P> +Courant gave a grunt that conveyed disdain of a question of such small +import. +</P> + +<P> +David couldn't account for it at all. +</P> + +<P> +Susan said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +At Green River the Oregon Trail broke from the parent road and slanted +off to the northwest. Here the Oregon companies mended their wagons +and braced their yokes for the long pull across the broken teeth of +mountains to Fort Hall, and from there onward to the new country of +great rivers and virgin forests. A large train was starting as the +doctor's wagons came down the slope. There was some talk, and a little +bartering between the two companies, but time was precious, and the +head of the Oregon caravan had begun to roll out when the California +party were raising their tents on the river bank. +</P> + +<P> +It was a sere and sterile prospect. Drab hills rolled in lazy waves +toward the river where they reared themselves into bolder forms, a line +of ramparts guarding the precious thread of water. The sleek, greenish +current ate at the roots of lofty bluffs, striped by bands of umber and +orange, and topped with out-croppings of rock as though a vanished race +had crowned them with now crumbling fortresses. At their feet, sucking +life from the stream, a fringe of alder and willows decked the sallow +landscape with a trimming of green. +</P> + +<P> +Here the doctor's party camped for the night, rising in the morning to +find a new defection in their ranks. Leff had gone. Nailed to the +mess chest was a slip of paper on which he had traced a few words +announcing his happiness to be rid of them, his general dislike of one +and all, and his intention to catch up the departed train and go to the +Oregon country. This was just what they wanted, the desired had been +accomplished without their intervention. But when they discovered +that, beside his own saddle horse, he had taken David's, their gladness +suffered a check. It was a bad situation, for it left the young man +with but one horse, the faithful Ben. There was nothing for it but to +abandon the wagon, and give David the doctor's extra mount for a pack +animal. With silent pangs the student saw his books thrown on the +banks of the river while his keg of whisky, sugar and coffee were +stored among the Gillespies' effects. Then they started, a much +diminished train—one wagon, a girl, and three mounted men. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0307"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + + +<P> +It was Sunday afternoon, and the doctor and his daughter were sitting +by a group of alders on the banks of the little river called Ham's +Fork. On the uplands above, the shadows were lengthening, and at +intervals a light air caught up swirls of dust and carried them +careening away in staggering spirals. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor was tired and lay stretched on the ground. He looked +bloodless and wan, the grizzled beard not able to hide the thinness of +his face. The healthful vigor he had found on the prairie had left +him, each day's march claiming a dole from his hoarded store of +strength. He knew—no one else—that he had never recovered the +vitality expended at the time of Bella's illness. The call then had +been too strenuous, the depleted reservoir had filled slowly, and now +the demands of unremitting toil were draining it of what was left. He +said nothing of this, but thought much in his feverish nights, and in +the long afternoons when his knees felt weak against the horse's sides. +As the silence of each member of the little train was a veil over +secret trouble, his had hidden the darkest, the most sinister. +</P> + +<P> +Susan, sitting beside him, watching him with an anxious eye, noted the +languor of his long, dry hands, the network of lines, etched deep on +the loose skin of his cheeks. Of late she had been shut in with her +own preoccupations, but never too close for the old love and the old +habit to force a way through. She had seen a lessening of energy and +spirit, asked about it, and received the accustomed answers that came +with the quick, brisk cheeriness that now had to be whipped up. She +had never seen his dauntless belief in life shaken. Faith and a +debonair courage were his message. They were still there, but the +effort of the unbroken spirit to maintain them against the body's +weakness was suddenly revealed to her and the pathos of it caught at +her throat. She leaned forward and passed her hand over his hair, her +eyes on his face in a long gaze of almost solemn tenderness. +</P> + +<P> +"You're worn out," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a bit of it," he answered stoutly. "You're the most +uncomplimentary person I know. I was just thinking what a hardy +pioneer I'd become, and that's the way you dash me to the ground." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at the silvery meshes through which her fingers were laced. +</P> + +<P> +"It's quite white and there were lots of brown hairs left when we +started." +</P> + +<P> +"That's the Emigrant Trail," he smothered a sigh, and his trouble found +words: "It's not for old men, Missy." +</P> + +<P> +"Old!" scornfully; "you're fifty-three. That's only thirty-two years +older than I am. When I'm fifty-three you'll be eighty-five. Then +we'll begin to talk about your being old." +</P> + +<P> +"My little Susan fifty-three!" He moved his head so that he could +command her face and dwell upon its blended bloom of olive and clear +rose, "With wrinkles here and here," an indicating finger helped him, +"and gray hairs all round here, and thick eyebrows, and—" he dropped +the hand and his smile softened to reminiscence, "It was only yesterday +you were a baby, a little, fat, crowing thing all creases and dimples. +Your mother and I used to think everything about you so wonderful that +we each secretly believed—and we'd tell each other so when nobody was +round—that there <I>had</I> been other babies in the world, but never +before one like ours. I don't know but what I think that yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Silly old doctor-man!" she murmured. +</P> + +<P> +"And now my baby's a woman with all of life before her. From where you +are it seems as if it was never going to end, but when you get where I +am and begin to look back, you see that it's just a little journey over +before you've got used to the road and struck your gait. We ought to +have more time. The first half's just learning and the second's where +we put the learning into practice. And we're busy over that when we +have to go. It's too short." +</P> + +<P> +"Our life's going to be long. Out in California we're going to come +into a sort of second childhood, be perennials like those larkspurs I +had in the garden at home." +</P> + +<P> +They were silent, thinking of the garden behind the old house in +Rochester with walks outlined by shells and edged by long flower beds. +The girl looked back on it with a detached interest as an unregretted +feature of a past existence in which she had once played her part and +that was cut from the present by a chasm never to be bridged. The man +held it cherishingly as one of many lovely memories that stretched from +this river bank in a strange land back through the years, a link in the +long chain. +</P> + +<P> +"Wasn't it pretty!" she said dreamily, "with the line of hollyhocks +against the red brick wall, and the big, bushy pine tree in the corner. +Everything was bright except that tree." +</P> + +<P> +His eyes narrowed in wistful retrospect: +</P> + +<P> +"It was as if all the shadows in the garden had concentrated +there—huddled together in one place so that the rest could be full of +color and sunshine. And when Daddy John and I wanted to cut it down +you wouldn't let us, cried and stamped, and so, of course, we gave it +up. I actually believe you had a sentiment about that tree." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose I had, though I don't know exactly what you mean by a +sentiment. I loved it because I'd once had such a perfect time up +there among the branches. The top had been cut off and a ring of +boughs was left round the place, and it made the most comfortable seat, +almost like a cradle. One day you went to New York and when you came +back you brought me a box of candy. Do you remember it—burnt almonds +and chocolate drops with a dog painted on the cover? Well, I wanted to +get them at their very best, enjoy them as much as I could, so I +climbed to the seat in the top of the pine and ate them there. I can +remember distinctly how lovely it was. They tasted better than any +candies I've ever had before or since, and I leaned back on the boughs, +rocking and eating and looking at the clouds and feeling the wind +swaying the trunk. I can shut my eyes and feel again the sense of +being entirely happy, sort of limp and forgetful and <I>so</I> contented. I +don't know whether it was only the candies, or a combination of things +that were just right that day and never combined the same way again. +For I tried it often afterwards, with cake and fruit tart and other +candies, but it was no good. But I couldn't have the tree cut down, +for there was always a hope that I might get the combination right and +have that perfectly delightful time once more." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor's laughter echoed between the banks, and hers fell in with +it, though she had told her story with the utmost sedateness. +</P> + +<P> +"Was there ever such a materialist?" he chuckled. "It all rose from a +box of New York candy, and I thought it was sentiment. Twenty-one +years old and the same baby, only not quite so fat." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it was the truth," she said defensively. "I suppose if I'd left +the candy out it would have sounded better." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't leave the candy out. It was the candy and the truth that made +it all Susan's." +</P> + +<P> +She picked up a stone and threw it in the river, then as she watched +its splash: "Doesn't it seem long ago when we were in Rochester?" +</P> + +<P> +"We left there in April and this is June." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, a short time in weeks, but some way or other it seems like ages. +When I think of it I feel as if it was at the other side of the world, +and I'd grown years and years older since we left. If I go on this way +I'll be fully fifty-three when we get to California." +</P> + +<P> +"What's made you feel so old?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't exactly know. I don't think it's because we've gone over so +much space, but that has something to do with it. It seems as if the +change was more in me." +</P> + +<P> +"How have you changed?" +</P> + +<P> +She gathered up the loose stones near her and dropped them from palm to +palm, frowning a little in an effort to find words to clothe her vague +thought. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know that either, or I can't express it. I liked things there +that I don't care for any more. They were such babyish things and +amounted to nothing, but they seemed important then. Now nothing seems +important but things that are—the things that would be on a desert +island. And in getting to think that way, in getting so far from what +you once were, a person seems to squeeze a good many years into a few +weeks." She looked sideways at him, the stones dropping from a +slanting palm. "Do you understand me?" +</P> + +<P> +He nodded: +</P> + +<P> +"'When I was a child I thought as a child—now I have put away childish +things.' Is that it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, exactly." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you wouldn't like to go back to the old life?" +</P> + +<P> +She scattered the stones with an impatient gesture: +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't. I'd hate it. I wouldn't squeeze back into the same +shape. I'd be all cramped and crowded up. You see every day out here +I've been growing wider and wider," she stretched her arms to their +length, "widening out to fit these huge, enormous places." +</P> + +<P> +"The new life will be wide enough for you. You'll grow like a tree, a +beautiful, tall, straight tree that has plenty of room for its branches +to spread and plenty of sun and air to nourish it. There'll be no +crowding or cramping out there. It's good to know you'll be happy in +California. In the beginning I had fears." +</P> + +<P> +She picked up a stone and with its pointed edge drew lines on the dust +which seemed to interest her, for she followed them with intent eyes, +not answering. He waited for a moment, then said with an undernote of +pleading in his voice, "You think you will be happy, dearie?" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I—don't—know," she stammered. "Nobody can tell. We're not there +yet." +</P> + +<P> +"I can tell." He raised himself on his elbow to watch her face. She +knew that he expected to see the maiden's bashful happiness upon it, +and the difference between his fond imaginings and the actual facts +sickened her with an intolerable sense of deception. She could never +tell him, never strike out of him his glad conviction of her +contentment. +</P> + +<P> +"We're going back to the Golden Age, you and I, and David. We'll live +as we want, not the way other people want us to. When we get to +California we'll build a house somewhere by a river and we'll plant our +seeds and have vines growing over it and a garden in the front, and +Daddy John will break Julia's spirit and harness her to the plow. Then +when the house gets too small—houses have a way of doing that—I'll +build a little cabin by the edge of the river, and you and David will +have the house to yourselves where the old, white-headed doctor won't +be in the way." +</P> + +<P> +He smiled for the joy of his picture, and she turned her head from him, +seeing the prospect through clouded eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll never go out of my house," she said in a low voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Other spirits will come into it and fill it up." +</P> + +<P> +A wish that anything might stop the slow advance to this roseate future +choked her. She sat with averted face wrestling with her sick +distaste, and heard him say: +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know how happy you're going to be, my little Missy." +</P> + +<P> +She could find no answer, and he went on: "You have everything for it, +health and youth and a pure heart and David for your mate." +</P> + +<P> +She had to speak now and said with urgence, trying to encourage +herself, since no one else could do it for her, +</P> + +<P> +"But that's all in the future, a long time from now." +</P> + +<P> +"Not so very long. We ought to be in California in five or six weeks." +</P> + +<P> +To have the dreaded reality suddenly brought so close, set at the limit +of a few short weeks, grimly waiting at a definite point in the +distance, made her repugnance break loose in alarmed words. +</P> + +<P> +"Longer than that," she cried. "The desert's the hardest place, and +we'll go slow, very slow, there." +</P> + +<P> +"You sound as if you wanted to go slow," he answered, his smile +indulgently quizzical, as completely shut away from her, in his man's +ignorance, as though no bond of love and blood held them together. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, of course not," she faltered. "But I'm not at all sure we'll +get through it so easily. I'm making allowance for delays. There are +always delays." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, there may be delays, but we'll hope to be one of the lucky trains +and get through on time." +</P> + +<P> +She swallowed dryly, her heart gone down too far to be plucked up by +futile contradition [Transcriber's note: contradiction?]. He mused a +moment, seeking the best method of broaching a subject that had been +growing in his mind for the past week. Frankness seemed the most +simple, and he said: +</P> + +<P> +"I've something to suggest to you. I've been thinking of it since we +left the Pass. Bridger is a large post. They say there are trains +there from all over the West and people of all sorts, and quite often +there are missionaries." +</P> + +<P> +"Missionaries?" in a faint voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, coming in and going out to the tribes of the Northwest. Suppose +we found one there when we arrived?" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped, watching her. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" her eyes slanted sideways in a fixity of attention. +</P> + +<P> +"Would you marry David? Then we could all go on together." +</P> + +<P> +Her breath left her and she turned a frightened face on him. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" she gasped. "What for?" +</P> + +<P> +He laid his hand on hers and said quietly: +</P> + +<P> +"Because, as you say, the hardest part of the journey is yet to come, +and I am—well—not a strong man any more. The trip hasn't done for me +what I hoped. If by some mischance—if anything should happen to +me—then I'd know you'd be taken care of, protected and watched over by +some one who could be trusted, whose right it was to do that." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no. Oh, no," she cried in a piercing note of protest. "I +couldn't, I couldn't." +</P> + +<P> +She made as if to rise, then sank back, drawn down by his grasping +hand. He thought her reluctance natural, a girl's shrinking at the +sudden intrusion of marriage into the pretty comedy of courtship. +</P> + +<P> +"Susan, I would like it," he pleaded. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she tried to pull her hand away, as if wishing to draw every +particle of self together and shut it all within her own protecting +shell. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's—it's—I don't want to be married out here in the wilds. I want +to wait and marry as other girls do, and have a real wedding and a +house to go to. I should hate it. I couldn't. It's like a squaw. +You oughtn't to ask it." +</P> + +<P> +Her terror lent her an unaccustomed subtlety. She eluded the main +issue, seizing on objections that did not betray her, but that were +reasonable, what might have been expected by the most unsuspicious of +men: +</P> + +<P> +"And as for your being afraid of falling sick in these dreadful places, +isn't that all the more reason why I should be free to give all my time +and thought to you? If you don't feel so strong, then marrying is the +last thing I'd think of doing. I'm going to be with you all the time, +closer than I ever was before. No man's going to come between us. +Marry David and push you off into the background when you're not well +and want me most—that's perfectly ridiculous." +</P> + +<P> +She meant all she said. It was the truth, but it was the truth +reinforced, given a fourfold strength by her own unwillingness. The +thought that she had successfully defeated him, pushed the marriage +away into an indefinite future, relieved her so that the dread usually +evoked by his ill health was swept aside. She turned on him a face, +once again bright, all clouds withdrawn, softened into dimpling +reassurance. +</P> + +<P> +"What an idea!" she said. "Men have no sense." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, spoiled girl. I suppose we'll have to put it off till we +get to California." +</P> + +<P> +She dropped back full length on the ground, and in the expansion of her +relief laid her cheek against the hand that clasped hers. +</P> + +<P> +"And until we get the house built," she cried, beginning to laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"And the garden laid out and planted, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course. And the vines growing over the front porch." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not over the second story? We'll have a second story by that +time." +</P> + +<P> +"Over the whole house, up to the chimneys." +</P> + +<P> +They both laughed, a cheerful bass and a gay treble, sweeping out +across the unquiet water. +</P> + +<P> +"It's going to be the Golden Age," she said, in the joy of her respite +pressing her lips on the hand she held. "A cottage covered with vines +to the roof and you and I and Daddy John inside it." +</P> + +<P> +"And David, don't forget David." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, David," she assented lightly, for David's occupancy was +removed to a comfortable distance. +</P> + +<P> +After supper she and David climbed to the top of the bank to see the +sunset. The breeze had dropped, the dust devils died with it. The +silence of evening lay like a cool hand on the heated earth. Dusk was +softening the hard, bright colors, wiping out the sharpness of +stretching shadows the baked reflection of sun on clay. The West +blazed above the mountains, but the rest of the sky was a thick, pure +blue. Against it to the South, a single peak rose, snow-enameled on a +turquoise background. +</P> + +<P> +Susan felt at peace with the moment and her own soul. She radiated the +good humor of one who has faced peril and escaped. Having postponed +the event that was to make her David's forever, she felt bound to offer +recompense. Her conscience went through one of those processes by +which the consciences of women seek ease through atonement, prompting +them to actions of a baleful kindliness. Contrition made her tender to +the man she did not love. The thought that she had been unfair added a +cruel sweetness to her manner. +</P> + +<P> +He lay on the edge of the bluff beside her, not saying much, for it was +happiness to feel her within touch of his hand, amiable and gentle as +she had been of late. It would have taken an eye shrewder than David's +to have seen into the secret springs of her conduct. He only knew that +she had been kinder, friendlier, less withdrawn into the sanctuary of +her virgin coldness, round which in the beginning he had hovered. His +heart was high, swelled by the promise of her beaming looks and ready +smiles. At last, in this drama of slow winning she was drawing closer, +shyly melting, her whims and perversities mellowing to the rich, sweet +yielding of the ultimate surrender. +</P> + +<P> +"We ought to be at Fort Bridger now in a few days," he said. "Courant +says if all goes well we can make it by Thursday and of course he +knows." +</P> + +<P> +"Courant!" she exclaimed with the familiar note of scorn. "He knows a +little of everything, doesn't he?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you like him, Missy? He's a fine man for the trail." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I dare say he is. But that's not everything." +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you like him? Come, tell the truth." +</P> + +<P> +They had spoken before of her dislike of Courant. She had revealed it +more frankly to David than to anyone else. It was one of the subjects +over which she could become animated in the weariest hour. She liked +to talk to her betrothed about it, to impress it upon him, warming to +an eloquence that allayed her own unrest. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know why I don't like him. You can't always tell why you like +or dislike a person. It's just something that comes and you don't know +why." +</P> + +<P> +"But it seems so childish and unfair. I don't like my girl to be +unfair. Has he ever done anything or said anything to you that +offended you?" +</P> + +<P> +She gave a petulant movement: "No, but he thinks so much of himself, +and he's hard and has no feeling, and— Oh, I don't know—it's just +that I don't like him." +</P> + +<P> +David laughed: +</P> + +<P> +"It's all prejudice. You can't give any real reason." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I can't. Those things don't always have reasons. You're +always asking for reasons and I never have any to give you." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll have to teach you to have them." +</P> + +<P> +She looked slantwise at him smiling. "I'm afraid that will be a great +undertaking. I'm very stupid about learning things. You ask father +and Daddy John what a terrible task it was getting me educated. The +only person that didn't bother about it was this one"—she laid a +finger on her chest— "She never cared in the least." +</P> + +<P> +"Well I'll begin a second education. When we get settled I'll teach +you to reason." +</P> + +<P> +"Begin now." She folded her hands demurely in her lap and lifting her +head back laughed: "Here I am waiting to learn." +</P> + +<P> +"No. We want more time. I'll wait till we're married." +</P> + +<P> +Her laughter diminished to a smile that lay on her lips, looking stiff +and uncomfortable below the fixity of her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"That's such a long way off," she said faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"Not so very long." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, California's hundreds of miles away yet. And then when we get +there we've got to find a place to settle, and till the land, and lay +out the garden and build a house, quite a nice house; I don't want to +live in a cabin. Father and I have just been talking about it. Why +it's months and months off yet." +</P> + +<P> +He did not answer. She had spoken this way to him before, wafting the +subject away with evasive words. After a pause he said slowly: "Why +need we wait so long?" +</P> + +<P> +"We must. I'm not going to begin my married life the way the emigrant +women do. I want to live decently and be comfortable." +</P> + +<P> +He broke a sprig off a sage bush and began to pluck it apart. She had +receded to her defenses and peeped nervously at him from behind them. +</P> + +<P> +"Fort Bridger," he said, his eyes on the twig, "is a big place, a sort +of rendezvous for all kinds of people." +</P> + +<P> +She stared at him, her face alert with apprehension, ready to dart into +her citadel and lower the drawbridge. +</P> + +<P> +"Sometimes there are missionaries stopping there." +</P> + +<P> +"Missionaries?" she exclaimed in a high key. "I hate missionaries!" +</P> + +<P> +This was a surprising statement. David knew the doctor to be a +supporter and believer in the Indian missions, and had often heard his +daughter acquiesce in his opinions. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you hate them?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. There's another thing you want a reason for. It's +getting cold up here—let's go down by the fire." +</P> + +<P> +She gathered herself together to rise, but he turned quickly upon her, +and his face, while it made her shrink, also arrested her. She had +come to dread that expression, persuasion hardened into desperate +pleading. It woke in her a shocked repugnance, as though something had +been revealed to her that she had no right to see. She felt shame for +him, that he must beg where a man should conquer and subdue. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a moment," he said. "Why can't one of those missionaries marry +us there?" +</P> + +<P> +She had scrambled to her knees, and snatched at her skirt preparatory +to the jump to her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she said vehemently. "No. What's the matter with you all +talking about marriages and missionaries when we're in the middle of +the wilds?" +</P> + +<P> +"Susan," he cried, catching at her dress, "just listen a moment. I +could take care of you then, take care of you properly. You'd be my +own, to look after and work for. It's seemed to me lately you loved me +enough. I wouldn't have suggested such a thing if you were as you were +in the beginning. But you seem to care now. You seem as if—as if—it +wouldn't be so hard for you to live with me and let me love you." +</P> + +<P> +She jerked her skirt away and leaped to her feet crying again, "No, +David, no. Not for a minute." +</P> + +<P> +He rose too, very pale, the piece of sage in his hand shaking. They +looked at each other, the yellow light clear on both faces. Hers was +hard and combative, as if his suggestion had outraged her and she was +ready to fight it. Its expression sent a shaft of terror to his soul, +for with all his unselfishness he was selfish in his man's longing for +her, hungered for her till his hunger had made him blind. Now in a +flash of clairvoyance he saw truly, and feeling the joy of life +slipping from him, faltered: +</P> + +<P> +"Have I made a mistake? Don't you care?" +</P> + +<P> +It was her opportunity, she was master of her fate. But her promise +was still a thing that held, the moment had not come when she saw +nothing but her own desire, and to gain it would have sacrificed all +that stood between. His stricken look, his expression of nerving +himself for a blow, pierced her, and her words rushed out in a burst of +contrition. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, of course, I do. Don't doubt me. Don't. But— Oh, +David, don't torment me. Don't ask anything like that now. I can't, I +can't. I'm not ready—not yet." +</P> + +<P> +Her voice broke and she put her hand to her mouth to hide its +trembling. Over it, her eyes, suddenly brimming with tears, looked +imploringly into his. +</P> + +<P> +It was a heart-tearing sight to the lover. He forgot himself and, +without knowing what he did, opened his arms to inclose her in an +embrace of pity and remorse. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, dearest, I'll never ask it till you're willing to come to me," he +cried, and saw her back away, with upheld shoulders raised in defense +against his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"I won't touch you," he said, quickly dropping his arms. "Don't draw +back from me. If you don't want it I'll never lay a finger on you." +</P> + +<P> +The rigidity of her attitude relaxed. She turned away her head and +wiped her tears on the end of the kerchief knotted round her neck. He +stood watching her, struggling with passion and foreboding, reassured +and yet with the memory of the seeing moment, chill at his heart. +</P> + +<P> +Presently she shot a timid glance at him, and met his eyes resting +questioningly upon her. Her face was tear stained, a slight, +frightened smile on the lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry," she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"Susan, do you truly care for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, looking down. "Yes—but—let me wait a little while +longer." +</P> + +<P> +"As long as you like. I'll never ask you to marry me till you say +you're willing." +</P> + +<P> +She held out her hand shyly, as if fearing a repulse. He took it, and +feeling it relinquished to his with trust and confidence, swore that +never again would he disturb her, never demand of her till she was +ready to give. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0308"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + + +<P> +Fort Bridger was like a giant magnet perpetually revolving and sweeping +the western half of the country with its rays. They wheeled from the +west across the north over the east and down to the south. Ox teams, +prairie schooners, pack trains, horsemen came to it from the barren +lands that guarded the gates of California, from the tumultuous rivers +and fragrant forests of the Oregon country, from the trapper's paths +and the thin, icy streams of the Rockies, from the plains where the +Platte sung round its sand bars, from the sun-drenched Spanish deserts. +All roads led to it, and down each one came the slow coil of the long +trains and the pacing files of mounted men. Under its walls they +rested and repaired their waste, ere they took the trail again intent +on the nation's work of conquest. +</P> + +<P> +The fort's centripetal attraction had caught the doctor's party, and +was drawing it to the focus. They reckoned the days on their fingers +and pressed forward with a feverish hurry. They were like wayworn +mariners who sight the lights of a port. Dead desires, revived, blew +into a glow extinguished vanities. They looked at each other, and for +the first time realized how ragged and unkempt they were, then dragged +out best clothes from the bottom of their chests and hung their +looking-glasses to the limbs of trees. They were coming to the surface +after a period of submersion. +</P> + +<P> +Susan fastened her mirror to the twig on an alder trunk and ransacked +her store of finery. It yielded up a new red merino bodice, and the +occasion was great enough to warrant breaking into her reserve of +hairpins. Then she experimented with her hair, parted and rolled it in +the form that had been the fashion in that long dead past—was it +twenty years ago?—when she had been a girl in Rochester. She +inspected her reflected image with a fearful curiosity, as if expecting +to find gray hairs and wrinkles. It was pleasant to see that she +looked the same—a trifle thinner may be. And as she noted that her +cheeks were not as roundly curved, the fullness of her throat had +melted to a more muscular, less creased and creamy firmness, she felt a +glow of satisfaction. For in those distant days—twenty-five years ago +it must be—she had worried because she was a little <I>too</I> fat. No one +could say that now. She stole a look over her shoulder to make sure +she was not watched—it seemed an absurdly vain thing to do—and turned +back the neck of her blouse. The faintest rise of collar bone showed +under the satiny skin, fine as a magnolia petal, the color of faintly +tinted meerschaum. She ran her hand across it and it was smooth as +curds yielding with an elastic resistance over its bedding of firm +flesh. The young girl's pride in her beauty rose, bringing with it a +sense of surprise. She had thought it gone forever, and now it still +held, the one surviving sensation that connected her with that other +Susan Gillespie who had lived a half century ago in Rochester. +</P> + +<P> +It was the day after this recrudescence of old coquetry that the first +tragedy of the trail, the tragedy that was hers alone, smote her. +</P> + +<P> +The march that morning had been over a high level across which they +headed for a small river they would follow to the Fort. Early in the +afternoon they saw its course traced in intricate embroidery across the +earth's leathern carpet. The road dropped into it, the trail grooved +deep between ramparts of clay. On the lip of the descent the wayward +Julia, maddened with thirst, plunged forward, her obedient mates +followed, and the wagon went hurling down the slant, dust rising like +the smoke of an explosion. The men struggled for control and, seized +by the contagion of their excitement, the doctor laid hold of a wheel. +It jerked him from his feet and flung him sprawling, stunned by the +impact, a thin trickle of blood issuing from his lips. The others saw +nothing, in the tumult did not hear Susan's cry. When they came back +the doctor was lying where he had fallen, and she was sitting beside +him wiping his lips with the kerchief she had torn from her neck. She +looked up at them and said: +</P> + +<P> +"It's a hemorrhage." +</P> + +<P> +Her face shocked them into an understanding of the gravity of the +accident. It was swept clean of its dauntless, rosy youth, had +stiffened into an unelastic skin surface, taut over rigid muscles. But +her eyes were loopholes through which anguish escaped. Bending them on +her father a hungry solicitude suffused them, too all-pervading to be +denied exit. Turned to the men an agonized questioning took its place. +It spoke to them like a cry, a cry of weakness, a cry for succor. It +was the first admission of their strength she had ever made, the first +look upon them which had said, "You are men, I am a woman. Help me." +</P> + +<P> +They carried the doctor to the banks of the stream and laid him on a +spread robe. He protested that it was nothing, it had happened before, +several times. Missy would remember it, last winter in Rochester? Her +answering smile was pitiable, a grimace of the lips that went no +farther. She felt its failure and turned away plucking at a weed near +her. Courant saw the trembling of her hand and the swallowing movement +of her throat, bared of its sheltering kerchief. She glanced up with a +stealthy side look, fearful that her moment of weakness was spied upon, +and saw him, the pity surging from his heart shining on his face like a +softening light. She shrank from it, and, as he made an involuntary +step toward her, warned him off with a quick gesture. He turned to the +camp and set furiously to work, his hands shaking as he drove in the +picket pins, his throat dry. He did not dare to look at her again. +The desire to snatch her in his arms, to hold her close till he crushed +her in a passion of protecting tenderness, made him fear to look at +her, to hear her voice, to let the air of her moving body touch him. +</P> + +<P> +The next morning, while lifting the doctor into the wagon, there was a +second hemorrhage. Even the sick man found it difficult to maintain +his cheery insouciance. Susan looked pinched, her tongue seemed +hardened to the consistency of leather that could not flex for the +ready utterance of words. The entire sum of her consciousness was +focused on her father. "Breakfast?"—with a blank glance at the +speaker—"is it breakfast time?" The men cooked for her and brought +her a cup of coffee and her plate of food. She set them on the +driver's seat, and when the doctor, keeping his head immovable, and +turning smiling eyes upon her, told her to eat she felt for them like a +blind woman. It was hard to swallow the coffee, took effort to force +it down a channel that was suddenly narrowed to a parched, resistent +tube. She would answer no one, seemed to have undergone an ossifying +of all faculties turned to the sounds and sights of life. David +remembered her state when the doctor had been ill on the Platte. But +the exclusion of the outer world was then an obsession of worry, a +jealous distraction, as if she resented the well-being of others when +hers were forced to suffer. This was different. She did not draw away +from him now. She did not seem to see or hear him. Her glance lit +unknowing on his face, her hand lay in his, passive as a thing of +stone. Sometimes he thought she did not know who he was. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't we do anything to cheer her or take her mind off it?" he said to +Daddy John behind the wagon. +</P> + +<P> +The old man gave him a glance of tolerant scorn. +</P> + +<P> +"You can't take a person's mind off the only thing that's in it. She's +got nothing inside her but worry. She's filled up with it, level to +the top. You might as well try and stop a pail from overflowing that's +too full of water." +</P> + +<P> +They fared on for two interminable, broiling days. The pace was of the +slowest, for a jolt or wrench of the wagon might cause another +hemorrhage. With a cautious observance of stones and chuck holes they +crawled down the road that edged the river. The sun was blinding, +beating on the canvas hood till the girl's face was beaded with sweat, +and the sick man's blankets were hot against the intenser heat of his +body. Outside the world held its breath spellbound in a white dazzle. +The river sparkled like a coat of mail, the only unquiet thing on the +earth's incandescent surface. When the afternoon declined, shadows +crept from the opposite bluffs, slanted across the water, slipped +toward the little caravan and engulfed it. Through the front opening +Susan watched the road. There was a time when each dust ridge showed a +side of bright blue. To half-shut eyes they were like painted stripes +weaving toward the distance. Following them to where the trail bent +round a buttress, her glance brought up on Courant's mounted figure. +He seemed the vanishing point of these converging stripes, the object +they were striving toward, the end they aimed for. Reaching him they +ceased as though they had accomplished their purpose, led the woman's +eyes to him as to a symbolical figure that piloted the train to succor. +</P> + +<P> +With every hour weakness grew on the doctor, his words were fewer. By +the ending of the first day, he lay silent looking out at the vista of +bluffs and river, his eyes shining in sunken orbits. As dusk fell +Courant dropped back to the wagon and asked Daddy John if the mules +could hold the pace all night. Susan heard the whispered conference, +and in a moment was kneeling on the seat, her hand clutched like a +spread starfish on the old man's shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +Courant leaned from his saddle to catch the driver's ear with his +lowered tones. "With a forced march we can get there to-morrow +afternoon. The animals can rest up and we can make him comfortable and +maybe find a doctor." +</P> + +<P> +Her face, lifted to him, was like a transparent medium through which +anxiety and hope that was almost pain, shone. She hung on his words +and breathed back quick agreement. It would have been the same if he +had suggested the impossible, if the angel of the Lord had appeared and +barred the way with a flaming sword. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course they can go all night. They must. We'll walk and ride by +turns. That'll lighten the wagon. I'll go and get my horse," and she +was out and gone to the back of the train where David rode at the head +of the pack animals. +</P> + +<P> +The night was of a clear blue darkness, suffused with the misty light +of stars. Looking back, Courant could see her upright slenderness +topping the horse's black shape. When the road lay pale and unshaded +behind her he could decipher the curves of her head and shoulders. +Then he turned to the trail in front, and her face, as it had been when +he first saw her and as it was now, came back to his memory. Once, +toward midnight, he drew up till they reached him, her horse's muzzle +nosing soft against his pony's flank. He could see the gleam of her +eyes, fastened on him, wide and anxious. +</P> + +<P> +"Get into the wagon and ride," he commanded. +</P> + +<P> +"Why? He's no worse! He's sleeping." +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking of you. This is too hard for you. It'll wear you out." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm all right," she said with a slight movement of impatience. +"Don't worry about me. Go on." +</P> + +<P> +He returned to his post and she paced slowly on, keeping level with the +wheels. It was very still, only the creaking of the wagon and the hoof +beats on the dust. She kept her eyes on his receding shape, watched it +disappear in dark turns, then emerge into faintly illumined stretches. +It moved steadily, without quickening of gait, a lonely shadow that +they followed through the unknown to hope. Her glance hung to it, her +ear strained for the thud of his pony's feet, sight and sound of him +came to her like a promise of help. He was the one strong human thing +in this place of remote skies and dumb unfeeling earth. +</P> + +<P> +It was late afternoon when the Fort came in sight. A flicker of +animation burst up in them as they saw the square of its long, low +walls, crowning an eminence above the stream. The bottom lay wide at +its feet, the river slipping bright through green meadows sprinkled +with an army of cattle. In a vast, irregular circle, a wheel of life +with the fort as its hub, spread an engirdling encampment. It was +scattered over plain and bottom in dottings of white, here drawn close +in clustering agglomerations, there detached in separate spatterings. +Coming nearer the white spots grew to wagon hoods and tent roofs, and +among them, less easy to discern, were the pointed summits of the +lodges with the bunched poles bristling through the top. The air was +very still, and into it rose the straight threads of smoke from +countless fires, aspiring upwards in slender blue lines to the bluer +sky. They lifted and dispersed the smell of burning wood that comes to +the wanderer with a message of home, a message that has lain in his +blood since the first man struck fire and turned the dry heap of sticks +to an altar to be forever fixed as the soul of his habitation. +</P> + +<P> +They camped in the bottom withdrawn from the closer herding of tents. +It was a slow settling, as noiseless as might be, for two at least of +their number knew that the doctor was dying. That afternoon Daddy John +and Courant had seen the shadow of the great change. Whether Susan saw +it they neither knew. She was full of a determined, cold energy, +urging them at once to go among the camps and search for a doctor. +They went in different directions, leaving her sitting by her father's +feet at the raised flap of the tent. Looking back through the +gathering dusk Courant could see her, a dark shape, her body drooping +in relaxed lines. He thought that she knew. +</P> + +<P> +When they came back with the word that there was no doctor to be found, +darkness was closing in. Night came with noises of men and the +twinkling of innumerable lights. The sky, pricked with stars, looked +down on an earth alive with answering gleams, as though a segment of +its spark-set shield had fallen and lay beneath it, winking back +messages in an aerial telegraphy. The fires leaped high or glowed in +smoldering mounds, painting the sides of tents, the flanks of +ruminating animals, the wheels of wagons, the faces of men and women. +Coolness, rest, peace brooded over the great bivouac, with the guardian +shape of the Fort above it and the murmur of the river at its feet. +</P> + +<P> +A lantern, standing on a box by the doctor's side, lit the tent. +Through the opening the light from the fire outside poured in, sending +shadows scurrying up the canvas walls. Close within call David sat by +it, his chin on his knees, his eyes staring at the tongues of flames as +they licked the fresh wood. There was nothing now for him to do. He +had cooked the supper, and then to ease the pain of his unclaimed +sympathies, cleaned the pans, and from a neighboring camp brought a +piece of deer meat for Susan. It was the only way he could serve her, +and he sat disconsolately looking now at the meat on a tin plate, then +toward the tent where she and Daddy John were talking. He could hear +the murmur of their voices, see their silhouettes moving on the canvas, +gigantic and grotesque. Presently she appeared in the opening, paused +there for a last word, and then came toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"He wants to speak to Daddy John for a moment," she said and dropping +on the ground beside him, stared at the fire. +</P> + +<P> +David looked at her longingly, but he dared not intrude upon her somber +abstraction. The voices in the tent rose and fell. Once at a louder +phrase from Daddy John she turned her head quickly and listened, a +sheaf of strained nerves. The voices dropped again, her eye came back +to the light and touched the young man's face. It contained no +recognition of him, but he leaped at the chance, making stammering +proffer of such aid as he could give. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got you some supper." +</P> + +<P> +He lifted the plate, but she shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me cook it for you," he pleaded. "You haven't eaten anything +since morning." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't eat," she said, and fell back to her fire-gazing, slipping +away from him into the forbidding dumbness of her thoughts. He could +only watch her, hoping for a word, an expressed wish. When it came it +was, alas! outside his power to gratify: +</P> + +<P> +"If there had only been a doctor here! That was what I was hoping for." +</P> + +<P> +And so when she asked for the help he yearned to give, it was his fate +that he should meet her longing with a hopeless silence. +</P> + +<P> +When Daddy John emerged from the tent she leaped to her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" she said with low eagerness. +</P> + +<P> +"Go back to him. He wants you," answered the old man. "I've got +something to do for him." +</P> + +<P> +He made no attempt to touch her, his words and voice were brusque, yet +David saw that she responded, softened, showed the ragged wound of her +pain to him as she did to no one else. It was an understanding that +went beneath all externals. Words were unnecessary between them, heart +spoke to heart. +</P> + +<P> +She returned to the tent and sunk on the skin beside her father. He +smiled faintly and stretched a hand for hers, and her fingers slipped +between his, cool and strong against the lifeless dryness of his palm. +She gave back his smile bravely, her eyes steadfast. She had no desire +for tears, no acuteness of sensation. A weight as heavy as the world +lay on her, crushing out struggle and resistance. She knew that he was +dying. When they told her there was no doctor in the camp her +flickering hope had gone out. Now she was prepared to sit by him and +wait with a lethargic patience beyond which was nothing. +</P> + +<P> +He pressed her hand and said: "I've sent Daddy John on a hunt. Do you +guess what for?" +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head feeling no curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +"The time is short, Missy." +</P> + +<P> +The living's instinct to fight against the acquiescence of the dying +prompted her to the utterance of a sharp "No." +</P> + +<P> +"I want it all arranged and settled before it's too late. I sent him +to see if there was a missionary here." +</P> + +<P> +She was leaning against the couch of robes, resting on the piled +support of the skins. In the pause after his words she slowly drew +herself upright, and with her mouth slightly open inhaled a deep +breath. Her eyes remained fixed on him, gleaming from the shadow of +her brows, and their expression, combined with the amaze of the dropped +underlip, gave her a look of wild attention. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" she said. The word came obstructed and she repeated it. +</P> + +<P> +"I want you to marry David here to-night." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor's watch on a box at the bed head ticked loudly in the +silence. They looked at each other unconscious of the length of the +pause. Death on the one hand, life pressing for its due on the other, +were the only facts they recognized. Hostility, not to the man but to +the idea, drove the amazement from her face and hardened its softness +to stone. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, to-night?" she said, her comprehension stimulated by an +automatic repetition of his words. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I may not be able to understand tomorrow." +</P> + +<P> +She moved her head, her glance touching the watch, the lantern, then +dropping to the hand curled round her own. It seemed symbolic of the +will against which hers was rising in combat. She made an involuntary +effort to withdraw her fingers but his closed tighter on them. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" she whispered again. +</P> + +<P> +"Some one must take care of you. I can't leave you alone." +</P> + +<P> +She answered with stiffened lips: "There's Daddy John." +</P> + +<P> +"Some one closer than Daddy John. I want to leave you with David." +</P> + +<P> +Her antagonism rose higher, sweeping over her wretchedness. Worn and +strained she had difficulty to keep her lips shut on it, to prevent +herself from crying out her outraged protests. All her dormant +womanhood, stirring to wakefulness in the last few weeks, broke into +life, gathering itself in a passion of revolt, abhorrent of the +indignity, ready to flare into vehement refusal. To the dim eyes +fastened on her she was merely the girl, reluctant still. He watched +her down-drooped face and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Then I could go in peace. Am I asking too much?" +</P> + +<P> +She made a negative movement with her head and turned her face away +from him. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll do this for my happiness now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Anything," she murmured. +</P> + +<P> +"It will be also for your own." +</P> + +<P> +He moved his free hand and clasped it on the mound made by their locked +fingers. Through the stillness a man's voice singing Zavier's Canadian +song came to them. It stopped at the girl's outer ear, but, like a +hail from a fading land, penetrated to the man's brain and he stirred. +</P> + +<P> +"Hist!" he said raising his brows, "there's that French song your +mother used to sing." +</P> + +<P> +The distant voice rose to the plaintive burden and he lay motionless, +his eyes filmed with memories. As the present dimmed the past grew +clearer. His hold on the moment relaxed and he slipped away from it on +a tide of recollection, muttering the words. +</P> + +<P> +The girl sat mute, her hand cold under his, her being passing in an +agonized birth throe from unconsciousness to self-recognition. Her +will—its strength till now unguessed—rose resistant, a thing of iron. +Love was too strong in her for open opposition, but the instinct to +fight, blindly but with caution, for the right to herself was stronger. +</P> + +<P> +His murmuring died into silence and she looked at him. His eyes were +closed, the pressure of his fingers loosened. A light sleep held him, +and under its truce she softly withdrew her hand, then stole to the +tent door and stood there a waiting moment, stifling her hurried +breathing. She saw David lying by the fire, gazing into its smoldering +heart. With noiseless feet she skirted the encircling ropes and pegs, +and stood, out of range of his eye, on the farther side. Here she +stopped, withdrawn from the light that came amber soft through the +canvas walls, slipping into shadow when a figure passed, searching the +darkness with peering eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Around her the noises of the camp rose, less sharp than an hour +earlier, the night silence gradually hushing them. The sparks and +shooting gleams of fires still quivered, imbued with a tenacious life. +She had a momentary glimpse of a naked Indian boy flinging loose his +blanket, a bronze statue glistening in a leap of flame. Nearer by a +woman's figure bent over a kettle black on a bed of embers, then a +girl's fire-touched form, with raised arms, shaking down a snake of +hair, which broke and grew cloudy under her disturbing hands. A +resounding smack sounded on a horse's flank, a low ripple of laughter +came tangled with a child's querulous crying, and through the walls of +tents and the thickness of smoke the notes of a flute filtered. +</P> + +<P> +Her ear caught the pad of a footstep on the grass, and her eyes seized +on a shadow that grew from dusky uncertainty to a small, bent shape. +She waited, suffocated with heartbeats, then made a noiseless pounce on +it. +</P> + +<P> +"Daddy John," she gasped, clutching at him. +</P> + +<P> +The old man staggered, almost taken off his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he worse?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"He's told me. Did you find anyone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—two. One's Episcopal—in a train from St. Louis." +</P> + +<P> +A sound came from her that he did not understand. She gripped at his +shoulders as if she were drowning. He thought she was about to swoon +and put his arm around her saying: +</P> + +<P> +"Come back to the tent. You're all on a shake as if you had ague." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't go back. Don't bring him. Don't bring him. Don't tell +father. Not now. I will later, some other time. When we get to +California, but not now—not to-night." +</P> + +<P> +The sentences were cut apart by breaths that broke from her as if she +had been running. He was frightened and tried to draw her to the light +and see her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Missy!" he said with scared helplessness, "Why, Missy! What's +got you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't get the clergyman. Tell him there isn't any. Tell him you've +looked all over. Tell him a lie." +</P> + +<P> +He guessed the trouble was something more than the grief of the moment, +and urged in a whisper: +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter now? Go ahead and tell me. I'll stick by you." +</P> + +<P> +She bent her head back to look into his face. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want to marry him now. I can't. I can't. I <I>can't</I>." +</P> + +<P> +Her hands on his shoulders shook him with each repetition. The force +of the words was heightened by the suppressed tone. They should have +been screamed. In these whispered breaths they burst from her like +blood from a wound. With the last one her head bowed forward on his +shoulder with a movement of burrowing as though she would have crawled +up and hidden under his skin, and tears, the most violent he had ever +seen her shed, broke from her. They came in bursting sobs, a +succession of rending throes that she struggled to stifle, swaying and +quivering under their stress. +</P> + +<P> +He thought of nothing now but this new pain added to the hour's +tragedy, and stroked her shoulder with a low "Keep quiet—keep quiet," +then leaned his face against her hair and breathed through its tangles. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right, I'll do it. I'll say I couldn't find anyone. I'll +lie for you, Missy." +</P> + +<P> +She released him at once, dropped back a step and, lifting a distorted +face, gave a nod. He passed on, and she fell on the grass, close to +the tent ropes and lay there, hidden by the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +She did not hear a step approaching from the herded tents. Had she +been listening it would have been hard to discern, for the feet were +moccasin shod, falling noiseless on the muffling grass. A man's figure +with fringes wavering along its outline came round the tent wall. The +head was thrust forward, the ear alert for voices. Faring softly his +foot struck her and he bent, stretching down a feeling hand. It +touched her shoulder, slipped along her side, and gripped at her arm. +"What's the matter?" came a deep voice, and feeling the pull on her arm +she got to her knees with a strangled whisper for silence. When the +light fell across her, he gave a smothered cry, jerked her to her feet +and thrust his hand into her hair, drawing her head back till her face +was uplifted to his. +</P> + +<P> +There was no one to see, and he let his eyes feed full upon it, a thief +with the coveted treasure in his hands. She seemed unconscious of him, +a broken thing without sense or volition, till a stir came from the +tent. Then he felt her resist his grasp. She put a hand on his breast +and pressed herself back from him. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush," she breathed. "Daddy John's in there." +</P> + +<P> +A shadow ran up the canvas wall, bobbing on it, huge and wavering. She +turned her head toward it, the tears on her cheeks glazed by the light. +He watched her with widened nostrils and immovable eyes. In the mutual +suspension of action that held them he could feel her heart beating. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" came the doctor's voice. +</P> + +<P> +The old servant answered: +</P> + +<P> +"There weren't no parsons anywhere, I've been all over and there's not +one." +</P> + +<P> +"Parsons?" Courant breathed. +</P> + +<P> +She drew in the fingers spread on his breast with a clawing movement +and emitted an inarticulate sound that meant "Hush." +</P> + +<P> +"Not a clergyman or missionary among all these people?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not one." +</P> + +<P> +"We must wait till to-morrow, then." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—mebbe there'll be one to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope so." +</P> + +<P> +Then silence fell and the shadow flickered again on the canvas. +</P> + +<P> +She made a struggle against Courant's hold, which for a moment he tried +to resist, but her fingers plucked against his hand, and she tore +herself free and ran to the tent opening. She entered without +speaking, threw herself at the foot of the couch, and laid her head +against her father's knees. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that you, Missy?" he said, feeling for her with a groping hand. +"Daddy John couldn't find a clergyman." +</P> + +<P> +"I know," she answered, and lay without moving, her face buried in the +folds of the blanket. +</P> + +<P> +They said no more, and Daddy John stole out of the tent. +</P> + +<P> +The next day the doctor was too ill to ask for a clergyman, to know or +to care. At nightfall he died. The Emigrant Trail had levied its +first tribute on them, taken its toll. +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +END OF PART III +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0401"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +PART IV +</H2> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +The Desert +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +They were camped on the edges of that harsh land which lay between the +Great Salt Lake and the Sierra. Behind them the still, heavy reach of +water stretched, reflecting in mirrored clearness the mountains +crowding on its southern rim. Before them the sage reached out to dim +infinities of distance. The Humboldt ran nearby, sunk in a stony bed, +its banks matted with growths of alder and willow. The afternoon was +drawing to the magical sunset hour. Susan, lying by the door of her +tent, could see below the growing western blaze the bowl of the earth +filling with the first, liquid oozings of twilight. +</P> + +<P> +A week ago they had left the Fort. To her it had been a blank space of +time, upon which no outer interest had intruded. She had presented an +invulnerable surface to all that went on about her, the men's care, the +day's incidents, the setting of the way. Cold-eyed and dumb she had +moved with them, an inanimate idol, unresponsive to the observances of +their worship, aloof from them in somber uncommunicated musings. +</P> + +<P> +The men respected her sorrow, did her work for her, and let her alone. +To them she was set apart in the sanctuary of her mourning, and that +her grief should express itself by hours of drooping silence was a +thing they accepted without striving to understand. Once or twice +David tried to speak to her of her father, but it seemed to rouse in +her an irritated and despairing pain. She begged him to desist and got +away from him as quickly as she could, climbing into the wagon and +lying on the sacks, with bright, unwinking eyes fastened on Daddy +John's back. But she did not rest stunned under an unexpected blow as +they thought. She was acutely alive, bewildered, but with senses keen, +as if the world had taken a dizzying revolution and she had come up +panting and clutching among the fragments of what had been her life. +</P> + +<P> +If there had been some one to whom she could have turned, relieving +herself by confession, she might have found solace and set her feet in +safer ways. But among the three men she was virtually alone, guarding +her secret with that most stubborn of all silences, a girl's in the +first wakening of sex. She had a superstitious hope that she could +regain peace and self-respect by an act of reparation, and at such +moments turned with expiatory passion to the thought of David. She +would go to California, live as her father had wished, marry her +betrothed, and be as good a wife to him as man could have. And for a +space these thoughts brought her ease, consoled her as a compensating +act of martyrdom. +</P> + +<P> +She shunned Courant, rarely addressing him, keeping her horse to the +rear of the train where the wagon hood hid him from her. But when his +foot fell on the dust beside her, or he dropped back for a word with +Daddy John, a stealthy, observant quietude held her frame. She turned +her eyes from him as from an unholy sight, but it was useless, for her +mental vision called up his figure, painted in yellow and red upon the +background of the sage. She knew the expression of the lithe body as +it leaned from the saddle, the gnarled hand from which the rein hung +loose, the eyes, diamond hard and clear, living sparks set in leathery +skin wrinkled against the glare of the waste. She did not lie to +herself any more. No delusions could live in this land stripped of all +conciliatory deception. +</P> + +<P> +The night before they left the Fort the men had had a consultation. +Sitting apart by the tent she had watched them, David and Daddy John +between her and the fire, Courant beyond it. His face, red lit between +the hanging locks of hair, his quick eyes, shifting from one man to the +other, was keen with a furtive anxiety. At a point in the murmured +interview, he had looked beyond them to the darkened spot where she +sat. Then Daddy John and David had come to her and told her that if +she wished they would turn back, take her home to Rochester, and stay +there with her always. There was money enough they said. The doctor +had left seven thousand dollars in his chest, and David had three to +add to it. It would be ample to live on till the men could set to work +and earn a maintenance for them. No word was spoken of her marriage, +but it lay in the offing of their argument as the happy finale that the +long toil of the return journey and the combination of resources were +to prelude. +</P> + +<P> +The thought of going back had never occurred to her, and shocked her +into abrupt refusal. It would be an impossible adaptation to outgrown +conditions. She could not conjure up the idea of herself refitted into +the broken frame of her girlhood. She told them she would go on, there +was nothing now to go back for. Their only course was to keep to the +original plan, emigrate to California and settle there. They returned +to the fire and told Courant. She could see him with eager gaze +listening. Then he smiled and, rising to his feet, sent a bold, +exultant glance through the darkness to her. She drew her shawl over +her head to shut it out, for she was afraid. +</P> + +<P> +They rested now on the lip of the desert, gathering their forces for +the last lap of the march. There had been no abatement in the pressure +of their pace, and Courant had told them it must be kept up. He had +heard the story of the Donner party two years before, and the first of +September must see them across the Sierra. In the evenings he +conferred with Daddy John on these matters and kept a vigilant watch on +the animals upon whose condition the success of the journey depended. +</P> + +<P> +David was not included in these consultations. Both men now realized +that he was useless when it came to the rigors of the trail. Of late +he had felt a physical and spiritual impairment, that showed in a +slighted observance of his share of the labor. He had never learned to +cord his pack, and day after day it turned under his horse's belly, +discharging its cargo on the ground. The men, growling with +irritation, finally took the work from him, not from any pitying +consideration, but to prevent further delay. +</P> + +<P> +He was, in fact, coming to that Valley of Desolation where the body +faints and only the spirit's dauntlessness can keep it up and doing. +What dauntlessness his spirit once had was gone. He moved wearily, +automatically doing his work and doing it ill. The very movements of +his hands, slack and fumbling, were an exasperation to the other men, +setting their strength to a herculean measure, and giving of it without +begrudgment. David saw their anger and did not care. Fatigue made him +indifferent, ate into his pride, brought down his self-respect. He +plodded on doggedly, the alkali acrid on his lips and burning in his +eyeballs, thinking of California, not as the haven of love and dreams, +but as a place where there was coolness, water, and rest. When in the +dawn he staggered up to the call of "Catch up," and felt for the buckle +of his saddle girth, he had a vision of a place under trees by a river +where he could sleep and wake and turn to sleep again, and go on +repeating the performance all day with no one to shout at him if he was +stupid and forgot things. +</P> + +<P> +Never having had the fine physical endowment of the others all the +fires of his being were dying down to smoldering ashes. His love for +Susan faded, if not from his heart, from his eyes and lips. She was as +dear to him as ever, but now with a devitalized, undemanding affection +in which there was something of a child's fretful dependence. He rode +beside her not looking at her, contented that she should be there, but +with the thought of marriage buried out of sight under the weight of +his weariness. It did not figure at all in his mind, which, when +roused from apathy, reached forward into the future to gloat upon the +dream of sleep. She was grateful for his silence, and they rode side +by side, detached from one another, moving in separated worlds of +sensation. +</P> + +<P> +This evening he came across to where she sat, dragging a blanket in an +indolent hand. He dropped it beside her and threw himself upon it with +a sigh. He was too empty of thought to speak, and lay outstretched, +looking at the plain where dusk gathered in shadowless softness. In +contrast with his, her state was one of inner tension, strained to the +breaking point. Torturings of conscience, fears of herself, the +unaccustomed bitterness of condemnation, melted her, and she was ripe +for confession. A few understanding words and she would have poured +her trouble out to him, less in hope of sympathy than in a craving for +relief. The widening gulf would have been bridged and he would have +gained the closest hold upon her he had yet had. But if she were more +a woman than ever before, dependent, asking for aid, he was less a man, +wanting himself to rest on her and have his discomforts made bearable +by her consolations. +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him tentatively. His eyes were closed, the lids +curiously dark, and fringed with long lashes like a girl's. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you asleep?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No," he answered without raising them. "Only tired." +</P> + +<P> +She considered for a moment, then said: +</P> + +<P> +"Have you ever told a lie?" +</P> + +<P> +"A lie? I don't know. I guess so. Everybody tells lies sometime or +other." +</P> + +<P> +"Not little lies. Serious ones, sinful ones, to people you love." +</P> + +<P> +"No. I never told that kind. That's a pretty low-down thing to do." +</P> + +<P> +"Mightn't a person do it—to—to—escape from something they didn't +want, something they suddenly—at that particular moment—dreaded and +shrank from?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why couldn't they speak out, say they didn't want to do it? Why did +they have to lie?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps they didn't have time to think, and didn't want to hurt the +person who asked it. And—and—if they were willing to do the thing +later, sometime in the future, wouldn't that make up for it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't tell. I don't know enough about it. I don't understand what +you mean." He turned, trying to make himself more comfortable. "Lord, +how hard this ground is! I believe it's solid iron underneath." +</P> + +<P> +He stretched and curled on the blanket, elongating his body in a mighty +yawn which subsided into the solaced note of a groan. "There, that's +better. I ache all over to-night." +</P> + +<P> +She made no answer, looking at the prospect from morose brows. More at +ease he returned to the subject and asked, "Who's been telling lies?" +</P> + +<P> +"I," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +He gave a short laugh, that drew from her a look of quick protest. He +was lying on his side, one arm crooked under his head, his eyes on her +in a languid glance where incredulity shone through amusement. +</P> + +<P> +"Your father told me once you were the most truthful woman he'd ever +known, and I agree with him." +</P> + +<P> +"It was to my father I lied," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +She began to tremble, for part at least of the story was on her lips. +She clasped her shaking hands round her knees, and, not looking at him, +said "David," and then stopped, stifled by the difficulties and the +longing to speak. +</P> + +<P> +David answered by laughing outright, a pleasant sound, not guiltless of +a suggestion of sleep, a laugh of good nature that refuses to abdicate. +It brushed her back into herself as if he had taken her by the +shoulders, pushed her into her prison, and slammed the door. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all imagination," he said. "When some one we love dies we're +always thinking things like that—that we neglected them, or slighted +them, or told them what wasn't true. They stand out in our memories +bigger than all the good things we did. Don't you worry about any lies +you ever told your father. You've got nothing to accuse yourself of +where he's concerned—or anybody else, either." +</P> + +<P> +Her heart, that had throbbed wildly as she thought to begin her +confession, sunk back to a forlorn beat. He noticed her dejected air, +and said comfortingly: +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be downhearted, Missy. It's been terribly hard for you, but +you'll feel better when we get to California, and can live like +Christians again." +</P> + +<P> +"California!" Her intonation told of the changed mind with which she +now looked forward to the Promised Land. +</P> + +<P> +His consolatory intentions died before his own sense of grievance at +the toil yet before them. +</P> + +<P> +"Good Lord, it does seem far—farther than it did in the beginning. I +used to be thinking of it all the time then, and how I'd get to work +the first moment we arrived. And now I don't care what it's like or +think of what I'm going to do. All I want to get there for is to stop +this eternal traveling and rest." +</P> + +<P> +She, too, craved rest, but of the spirit. Her outlook was blacker than +his, for it offered none and drew together to a point where her +tribulations focused in a final act of self-immolation. There was a +pause, and he said, drowsiness now plain in his voice: +</P> + +<P> +"But we'll be there some day unless we die on the road, and then we can +take it easy. The first thing I'm going to do is to get a mattress to +sleep on. No more blankets on the ground for me. Do you ever think +what it'll be like to sleep in a room again under a roof, a good, +waterproof roof, that the sun and the rain can't come through? The way +I feel now that's my idea of Paradise." +</P> + +<P> +She murmured a low response, her thoughts far from the flesh pots of +his wearied longing. +</P> + +<P> +"I think just at this moment," he went on dreamily, "I'd rather have a +good sleep and a good meal than anything else in the world. I often +dream of 'em, and then Daddy John's kicking me and it's morning and I +got to crawl out of the blanket and light the fire. I don't know +whether I feel worse at that time or in the evening when we're making +the last lap for the camping ground." His voice dropped as if +exhausted before the memory of these unendurable moments, then came +again with a note of cheer: "Thank God, Courant's with us or I don't +believe we'd ever get there." +</P> + +<P> +She had no reply to make to this. Neither spoke for a space, and then +she cautiously stole a glance at him and was relieved to see that he +was asleep. Careful to be noiseless she rose, took up a tin water pail +and walked to the river. +</P> + +<P> +The Humboldt rushed through a deep-cut bed, nosing its way between +strewings of rock. Up the banks alders and willows grew thick, +thrusting roots, hungry for the lean deposits of soil, into cracks and +over stony ledges. By the edge the current crisped about a flat rock, +and Susan, kneeling on this, dipped in her pail. The water slipped in +in a silvery gush which, suddenly seething and bubbling, churned in the +hollowed tin, nearly wrenching it from her. She leaned forward, +dragging it awkwardly toward her, clutching at an alder stem with her +free hand. Her head was bent, but she raised it with a jerk when she +heard Courant's voice call, "Wait, I'll do it for you." +</P> + +<P> +He was on the opposite bank, the trees he had broken through swishing +together behind him. She lowered her head without answering, her face +suddenly charged with color. Seized by an overmastering desire to +escape him, she dragged at the pail, which, caught in the force of the +current, leaped and swayed in her hand. She took a hurried upward +glimpse, hopeful of his delayed progress, and saw him jump from the +bank to a stone in mid-stream. His moccasined feet clung to its +slippery surface, and for a moment he oscillated unsteadily, then +gained his balance and, laughing, looked at her. For a breathing space +each rested motionless, she with strained, outstretched arm, he on the +rock, a film of water covering his feet. It was a moment of physical +mastery without conscious thought. To each the personality of the +other was so perturbing, that without words or touch, the heart beats +of both grew harder, and their glances held in a gaze fixed and +gleaming. The woman gained her self-possession first, and with it an +animal instinct to fly from him, swiftly through the bushes. +</P> + +<P> +But her flight was delayed. A stick, whirling in the current, caught +between the pail's rim and handle and ground against her fingers. With +an angry cry she loosed her hold, and the bucket went careening into +midstream. That she had come back to harmony with her surroundings was +attested by the wail of chagrin with which she greeted the accident. +It was the last pail she had left. She watched Courant wade into the +water after it, and forgot to run in her anxiety to see if he would get +it. "Oh, good!" came from her in a gasp as he caught the handle. But +when he came splashing back and set it on the rock beside her, it +suddenly lost its importance, and as suddenly she became a prey to +low-voiced, down-looking discomfort. A muttered "thank you," was all +the words she had for him, and she got to her feet with looks directed +to the arrangement of her skirt. +</P> + +<P> +He stood knee-high in the water watching her, glad of her down-drooped +lids, for he could dwell on the bloom that deepened under his eye. +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't learned the force of running water yet," he said. "It can +be very strong sometimes, so strong that a little woman's hand like +yours has no power against it." +</P> + +<P> +"It was because the stick caught in the handle," she muttered, bending +for the pail. "It hurt my fingers." +</P> + +<P> +"You've never guessed that I was called 'Running Water,' have you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You?" she paused with look arrested in sudden interest. "Who calls +you that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Everybody—you. <I>L'eau courante</I> means running water, doesn't it? +That's what you call me." +</P> + +<P> +In the surprise of the revelation she forgot her unease and looked at +him, repeating slowly, "L'eau courante, running water. Why, of course. +But it's like an Indian's name." +</P> + +<P> +"It is an Indian's name. The Blackfeet gave it to me because they said +I could run so fast. They were after me once and a man makes the best +time he can then. It was a fine race and I won it, and after that they +called me, 'The man that goes like Running Water.' The voyageurs and +coureurs des bois put it into their lingo and it stuck." +</P> + +<P> +"But your real name?" she asked, the pail forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +"Just a common French one, Duchesney, Napoleon Duchesney, if you want +to know both ends of it. It was my father's. He was called after the +emperor whom my grandfather knew years ago in France. He and Napoleon +were students together in the military school at Brienne. In the +Revolution they confiscated his lands, and he came out to Louisiana and +never wanted to go back." He splashed to the stone and took up the +bucket. +</P> + +<P> +She stood absorbed in the discovery, her child's mind busy over this +new conception of him as a man whose birth and station had evidently +been so different to the present conditions of his life. When she +spoke her mental attitude was naďvely displayed. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you tell before?" +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged. +</P> + +<P> +"What was there to tell? The mountain men don't always use their own +names." +</P> + +<P> +The bucket, swayed by the movement, threw a jet of water on her foot. +He moved back from her and said, "I like the Indian name best." +</P> + +<P> +"It is pretty," and in a lower key, as though trying its sound, she +repeated softly, "<I>L'eau Courante</I>, Running Water." +</P> + +<P> +"It's something clear and strong, sometimes shallow and then again +deeper than you can guess. And when there's anything in the way, it +gathers all its strength and sweeps over it. It's a mighty force. You +have to be stronger than it is—and more cunning too—to stop it in the +way it wants to go." +</P> + +<P> +Above their heads the sky glowed in red bars, but down in the stream's +hollow the dusk had come, cool and gray. She was suddenly aware of it, +noticed the diminished light, and the thickening purplish tones that +had robbed the trees and rocks of color. Her warm vitality was invaded +by chill that crept inward and touched her spirit with an eerie dread. +She turned quickly and ran through the bushes calling back to him, "I +must hurry and get supper. They'll be waiting. Bring the pail." +</P> + +<P> +Courant followed slowly, watching her as she climbed the bank. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0402"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + + +<P> +For some days their route followed the river, then they would leave it +and strike due west, making marches from spring to spring. The country +was as arid as the face of a dead planet, save where the water's course +was marked by a line of green. Here and there the sage was broken by +bare spaces where the alkali cropped out in a white encrusting. Low +mountains edged up about the horizon, thrusting out pointed scarps like +capes protruding into slumbrous, gray-green seas. These capes were +objects upon which they could fix their eyes, goals to reach and pass. +In the blank monotony they offered an interest, something to strive +for, something that marked an advance. The mountains never seemed to +retreat or come nearer. They encircled the plain in a crumpled wall, +the same day after day, a low girdle of volcanic shapes, cleft with +moving shadows. +</P> + +<P> +The sun was the sun of August. It reeled across a sky paled by its +ardor, at midday seeming to pause and hang vindictive over the little +caravan. Under its fury all color left the blanched earth, all shadows +shrunk away to nothing. The train alone, as if in desperate defiance, +showed a black blot beneath the wagon, an inky snake sliding over the +ground under each horse's sweating belly. The air was like a stretched +tissue, strained to the limit of its elasticity, in places parting in +delicate, glassy tremblings. Sometimes in the distance the mirage hung +brilliant, a blue lake with waves crisping on a yellow shore. They +watched it with hungry eyes, a piece of illusion framed by the bleached +and bitter reality. +</P> + +<P> +When evening came the great transformation began. With the first +deepening of color the desert's silent heart began to beat in +expectation of its hour of beauty. Its bleak detail was lost in +shrouding veils and fiery reflection. The earth floor became a golden +sea from which the capes reared themselves in shapes of bronze and +copper. The ring of mountains in the east flushed to the pink of the +topaz, then bending westward shaded from rosy lilac to mauve, and where +the sunset backed them, darkened to black. As the hour progressed the +stillness grew more profound, the naked levels swept out in wilder +glory, inundated by pools of light, lines of fire eating a glowing way +through sinks where twilight gathered. With each moment it became a +more tremendous spectacle. The solemnity attendant on the passage of a +miracle held it. From the sun's mouth the voice of God seemed calling +the dead land to life. +</P> + +<P> +Each night the travelers gazed upon it, ragged forms gilded by its +radiance, awed and dumb. Its splendors crushed them, filling them with +nostalgic longings. They bore on with eyes that were sick for a sight +of some homely, familiar thing that would tell them they were still +human, still denizens of a world they knew. The life into which they +fitted and had uses was as though perished from the face of the earth. +The weak man sunk beneath the burden of its strangeness. Its beauty +made no appeal to him. He felt lost and dazed in its iron-ringed +ruthlessness, dry as a skeleton by daylight, at night transformed by +witchfires of enchantment. The man and woman, in whom vitality was +strong, combatted its blighting force, refused to be broken by its +power. They desired with vehemence to assert themselves, to rebel, not +to submit to the sense of their nothingness. They turned to one +another hungry for the life that now was only within themselves. They +had passed beyond the limits of the accustomed, were like detached +particles gone outside the law of gravity, floating undirected through +spaces where they were nothing and had nothing but their bodies, their +passions, themselves. +</P> + +<P> +To a surface observation they would have appeared as stolid as savages, +but their nerves were taut as drawn violin strings. Strange +self-assertions, violences of temper, were under the skin ready to +break out at a jar in the methodical routine. Had the train been +larger, its solidarity less complete, furious quarrels would have taken +place. With an acknowledged leader whom they believed in and obeyed, +the chances of friction were lessened. Three of them could meet the +physical demands of the struggle. It was David's fate that, unable to +do this, he should fall to a position of feeble uselessness, endurable +in a woman, but difficult to put up with in a man. +</P> + +<P> +One morning Susan was waked by angry voices. An oath shook sleep from +her, and thrusting her head out of the wagon where she now slept, she +saw the three men standing in a group, rage on Courant's face, disgust +on Daddy John's, and on David's an abstraction of aghast dismay that +was not unlike despair. To her question Daddy John gave a short +answer. David's horses, insecurely picketed, had pulled up their +stakes in the night and gone. A memory of the young man's exhaustion +the evening before, told the girl the story; David had forgotten to +picket them and immediately after supper had fallen asleep. He had +evidently been afraid to tell and invented the explanation of dragged +picket pins. She did not know whether the men believed it, but she saw +by their faces they were in no mood to admit extenuating circumstances. +The oath had been Courant's. When he heard her voice he shut his lips +on others, but they welled up in his eyes, glowering furiously on the +culprit from the jut of drawn brows. +</P> + +<P> +"What am I to do?" said the unfortunate young man, sending a despairing +glance over the prospect. Under his weak misery, rebellious ill humor +was visible. +</P> + +<P> +"Go after them and bring them back." +</P> + +<P> +Susan saw the leader had difficulty in confining himself to such brief +phrases. Dragging a blanket round her shoulders she leaned over the +seat. She felt like a woman who enters a quarrel to protect a child. +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't we let them go?" she cried. "We've still my father's horse. +David can ride it and we can put his things in the wagon." +</P> + +<P> +"Not another ounce in the wagon," said Daddy John. "The mules are +doing their limit now." The wagon was his kingdom over which he ruled +an absolute monarch. +</P> + +<P> +Courant looked at her and spoke curtly, ignoring David. "We can't lose +a horse now. We need every one of them. It's not here. It's beyond +in the mountains. We've got to get over by the first of September, and +we want every animal we have to do it. <I>He's</I> not able to walk." +</P> + +<P> +He shot a contemptuous glance at David that in less bitter times would +have made the young man's blood boil. But David was too far from his +normal self to care. He was not able to walk and was glad that Courant +understood it. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got to go after them, I suppose," he said sullenly and turned to +where the animals looked on with expectant eyes. "But it's the last +time I'll do it. If they go again they'll stay gone." +</P> + +<P> +There was a mutter from the other men. Susan, full of alarm, scrambled +into the back of the wagon and pulled on her clothes. When she emerged +David had the doctor's horse saddled and was about to mount. His face, +heavy-eyed and unwashed, bore an expression of morose anger, but +fatigue spoke pathetically in his slow, lifeless movements, the droop +of his thin, high shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"David," she called, jumping out over the wheel, "wait." +</P> + +<P> +He did not look at her or answer, but climbed into the saddle and +gathered his rein. She ran toward him crying, "Wait and have some +breakfast. I'll get it for you." +</P> + +<P> +He continued to pay no attention to her, glancing down at his foot as +it felt for the stirrup. She stopped short, repulsed by his manner, +watching him as he sent a forward look over the tracks of the lost +horses. They wound into the distance fading amid the sweep of +motionless sage. It would be a long search and the day was already +hot. Pity rose above all other feelings, and she said: +</P> + +<P> +"Have they told you what they're going to do? Whether we'll wait here +or go on and have you catch us up?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what they're going to do and don't care," he answered, +and touching the horse with his spur rode away between the brushing +bushes. +</P> + +<P> +She turned to Daddy John, her eyes full of alarmed question. +</P> + +<P> +"He knows all about it," said the old man with slow phlegm, "I told him +myself. There's food and water for him packed on behind the saddle, I +done that too. He'd have gone without it just to spite himself. We'll +rest here this morning, and if he ain't back by noon move on slow till +he catches us up. Don't you worry. He done the wrong thing and he's +got to learn." +</P> + +<P> +No more was said about David, and after breakfast they waited doing the +odd tasks that accumulated for their few periods of rest. Susan sat +sewing where the wagon cast a cooling slant of shade. Daddy John was +beyond her in the sun, his sere old body, from which time had stripped +the flesh, leaving only a tenuous bark of muscle, was impervious to the +heat. In the growing glare he worked over a broken saddle, the +whitening reaches stretching out beyond him to where the mountains +waved in a clear blue line as if laid on with one wash of a saturated +paint brush. Courant was near him in the shadow of his horse, cleaning +a gun, sharp clicks of metal now and then breaking into the stillness. +</P> + +<P> +As the hours passed the shadow of the wagon shrunk and the girl moved +with it till her back was pressed against the wheel. She was making a +calico jacket, and as she moved it the crisp material emitted low +cracklings. Each rustle was subdued and stealthy, dying quickly away +as if it were in conspiracy with the silence and did not want to +disturb it. Courant's back was toward her. He had purposely set his +face away, but he could hear the furtive whisperings of the stirred +calico. He was full of the consciousness of her, and this sound, which +carried a picture of her drooped head and moving hands, came with a +stealing unquiet, urgently intrusive and persistent. He tried to hold +his mind on his work, but his movements slackened, grew intermittent, +his ear attentive for the low rustling that crept toward him at +intervals like the effervescent approach of waves. Each time he heard +it the waves washed deeper to his inner senses and stole something from +his restraining will. For days the desert had been stealing from it +too. He knew it and was guarded and fearful of it, but this morning he +forgot to watch, forgot to care. His reason was drugged by the sound, +the stifled, whispering sound that her hands made moving the material +from which she fashioned a covering for her body. +</P> + +<P> +He sat with his back turned to her, his hands loose on the gun, his +eyes fixed in an unseeing stare. He did not know what he looked at or +that the shadow of the horse had slipped beyond him. When he heard her +move his quietness increased to a trancelike suspension of movement, +the inner concentration holding every muscle in spellbound rigidness. +Suddenly she tore the calico with a keen, rending noise, and it was as +if her hands had seized upon and so torn the tension that held him. +His fists clinched on the gun barrel, and for a moment the mountain +line undulated to his gaze. Had they been alone, speech would have +burst from him, but the presence of the old man kept him silent. He +bowed his head over the gun, making a pretense of giving it a last +inspection, then, surer of himself, leaped to his feet and said gruffly: +</P> + +<P> +"Let's move on. There's no good waiting here." +</P> + +<P> +The other two demurred. Susan rose and walked into the glare sweeping +the way David had gone. Against the pale background she stood out a +vital figure, made up of glowing tints that reached their brightest +note in the heated rose of her cheeks and lips. Her dark head with its +curly crest of hair was defined as if painted on the opaque blue of the +sky. She stood motionless, only her eyes moving as they searched the +distance. All of life that remained in the famished land seemed to +have flowed into her and found a beautified expression in the rich +vitality of her upright form, the flushed bloom of her face. Daddy +John bent to pick up the saddle, and the mountain man, safe from +espial, looked at her with burning eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"David's not in sight," she said. "Do you think we'd better go on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Whether we'd better or not we will," he answered roughly. "Catch up, +Daddy John." +</P> + +<P> +They were accustomed to obeying him like children their master. So +without more parley they pulled up stakes, loaded the wagon, and +started. As Susan fell back to her place at the rear, she called to +Courant: +</P> + +<P> +"We'll go as slowly as we can. We mustn't get too far ahead. David +can't ride hard the way he is now." +</P> + +<P> +The man growled an answer that she did not hear, and without looking at +her took the road. +</P> + +<P> +They made their evening halt by the river. It had dwindled to a +fragile stream which, wandering away into the dryness, would creep +feebly to its sink and there disappear, sucked into secret subways that +no man knew. To-morrow they would start across the desert, where they +could see the road leading straight in a white seam to the west. David +had not come. The mules stood stripped of their harness, the wagon +rested with dropped tongue, the mess chest was open and pans shone in +mingled fire and sunset gleams, but the mysteries of the distance, over +which twilight veils were thickening, gave no sign of him. Daddy John +built up the desert fire as a beacon—a pile of sage that burned like +tinder. It shot high, tossed exultant flames toward the dimmed stars +and sent long jets of light into the encircling darkness. Its wavering +radiance, red and dancing, touched the scattered objects of the camp, +revealing and then losing them as new flame ran along the leaves or +charred branches dropped. Outside the night hung, deep and silent. +Susan hovered on the outskirts of the glow. Darkness was thickening, +creeping from the hills that lay inky-edged against the scarlet of the +sky. Once she sent up a high cry of David's name. Courant, busy with +his horses, lifted his head and looked at her, scowling over his +shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Why are you calling?" he said. "He can see the fire." +</P> + +<P> +She came back and stood near him, her eyes on him in uneasy scrutiny: +"We shouldn't have gone on. We should have waited for him." +</P> + +<P> +There was questioning and also a suggestion of condemnation in her +voice. She was anxious and her tone and manner showed she thought it +his fault. +</P> + +<P> +He bent to loosen a girth. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you afraid he's lost?" he said, his face against the horse. +</P> + +<P> +"No. But if he was?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well! And if he was?" +</P> + +<P> +The girth was uncinched and he swept saddle and blanket to the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"We'd have to go back for him, and you say we must lose no time." +</P> + +<P> +He kicked the things aside and made no answer. Then as he groped for +the picket pins he was conscious that she turned again with the nervous +movement of worry and swept the plain. +</P> + +<P> +"He was sick. We oughtn't to have gone on," she repeated, and the note +of blame was stronger. "Oh, I wish he'd come!" +</P> + +<P> +Their conversation had been carried on in a low key. Suddenly Courant, +wheeling round on her, spoke in the raised tone of anger. +</P> + +<P> +"And am I to stop the train because that fool don't know enough or care +enough to picket his horses? Is it always to be him? Excuses made and +things done for him as if he was a sick girl or a baby. Let him be +lost, and stay lost, and be damned to him." +</P> + +<P> +Daddy John looked up from the sheaf of newly gathered sage with the +alertness of a scared monkey. Susan stepped back, feeling suddenly +breathless. Courant made a movement as if to follow her, then stopped, +his face rived with lines and red with rage. He was shaken by what to +her was entirely inexplicable anger, and in her amazement she stared +vacantly at him. +</P> + +<P> +"What's that, what's that?" chirped Daddy John, scrambling to his feet +and coming toward them with chin thrust belligerently forward and +blinking eyes full of fight. +</P> + +<P> +Neither spoke to him and he added sharply: +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't I hear swearing? Who's swearing now?" as if he had his doubts +that it might be Susan. +</P> + +<P> +Courant with a stifled phrase turned from them, picked up his hammer +and began driving in the stakes. +</P> + +<P> +"What was it?" whispered the old man. "What's the matter with him? Is +he mad at David?" +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head, putting a finger on her lip in sign of silence, and +moving away to the other side of the fire. She felt the strain in the +men and knew it was her place to try and keep the peace. But a sense +of forlorn helplessness amid these warring spirits lay heavily on her +and she beckoned to the old servant, wanting him near her as one who, +no matter how dire the circumstances, would never fail her. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he's angry," she said when they were out of earshot. "I suppose +it's about David. But what can we do? We can't make David over into +another man, and we can't leave him behind just because he's not as +strong as the rest of us. I feel as if we were getting to be savages." +</P> + +<P> +The old man gave a grunt that had a note of cynical acquiescence, then +held up his hand in a signal for quiet. The thud of a horse's hoofs +came from the outside night. With a quick word to get the supper +ready, she ran forward and stood in the farthest rim of the light +waiting for her betrothed. +</P> + +<P> +David was a pitiable spectacle. The dust lay thick on his face, save +round his eyes, whence he had rubbed it, leaving the sockets looking +unnaturally sunken and black. His collar was open and his neck rose +bare and roped with sinews. There was but one horse at the end of the +trail rope. As he slid out of the saddle, he dropped the rope on the +ground, saying that the other animal was sick, he had left it dying he +thought. He had found them miles off, miles and miles—with a weak +wave of his hand toward the south—near an alkaline spring where he +supposed they had been drinking. The other couldn't move, this one he +had dragged along with him. The men turned their attention to the +horse, which, with swollen body and drooping head, looked as if it +might soon follow its mate. They touched it, and spoke together, brows +knit over the trouble, not paying any attention to David, who, back in +the flesh, was sufficiently accounted for. +</P> + +<P> +Susan was horrified by his appearance. She had never seen him look so +much a haggard stranger to himself. He was prostrate with fatigue, and +throughout the day he had nursed a sense of bitter injury. Now back +among them, seeing the outspread signs of their rest, and with the good +smell of their food in his nostrils, this rose to the pitch of +hysterical rage, ready to vent itself at the first excuse. The sight +of the girl, fresh-skinned from a wash in the river, instead of +soothing, further inflamed him. Her glowing well-being seemed bought +at his expense. Her words of concern spoke to his sick ear with a note +of smug, unfeeling complacence. +</P> + +<P> +"David, you're half dead. Every thing'll be ready in a minute. Sit +down and rest. Here, take my blanket." +</P> + +<P> +She spread her blanket for him, but he stood still, not answering, +staring at her with dull, accusing eyes. Then, with a dazed movement, +he pushed his hand over the crown of his head throwing off his hat. +The hand was unsteady, and it fell, the hooked forefinger catching in +the opening of his shirt, dragging it down and showing his bony breast. +If he had been nothing to her she would have pitied him. Sense of +wrongs done him made the pity passionate. She went to him, the +consoling woman in her eyes, and laid her hand on the one that rested +on his chest. +</P> + +<P> +"David, sit down and rest. Don't move again. I'll get you everything. +I never saw you look as you do to-night." +</P> + +<P> +With an angry movement he threw her hand off. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't care," he said. "What does it matter to you when you've +been comfortable all day? So long as you and the others are all right +I don't matter." +</P> + +<P> +It was so unlike him, his face was so changed and charged with a +childish wretchedness, that she felt no check upon her sympathy. She +knew it was not David that spoke, but a usurping spirit born of evil +days. The other men pricked their ears and listened, but she was +indifferent to their watch, and tried again to take his hand, saying, +pleadingly: +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down. When I get your supper you'll be better. I'll have it +ready in a few minutes." +</P> + +<P> +This time he threw her hand off with violence. His face, under its +dust mask, flamed with the anger that had been accumulating through the +day. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me alone," he cried, his voice strangled like a wrathful child's. +"I don't want anything to do with you. Eat your supper. When I'm +ready I'll get mine without any help from you. Let me be." +</P> + +<P> +He turned from her, and moving over the blanket, stumbled on its folds. +The jar was the breaking touch to his overwrought nerves. He +staggered, caught his breath with a hiccoughing gasp, and dropping his +face into his hands burst into hysterical tears. Then in a sudden +abandonment of misery he threw himself on the blanket, buried his head +in his folded arms and rending sobs broke from him. For a moment they +were absolutely still, staring at him in stupefied surprise. Daddy +John, his neck craned round the blaze, surveyed him with bright, sharp +eyes of unemotional query, then flopped the bacon pan on the embers, +and said: +</P> + +<P> +"He's all done." +</P> + +<P> +Courant advanced a step, looked down on him and threw a sidelong glance +at Susan, bold with meaning. After her first moment of amazement, she +moved to David's side, drew the edge of the blanket over him, touched +his head with a light caress, and turned back to the fire. The plates +and cups were lying there and she quietly set them out, her eye now and +then straying for a needed object, her hand hanging in suspended search +then dropping upon it, and noiselessly putting it in its place. +Unconsciously they maintained an awed silence, as if they were sitting +by the dead. Daddy John turned the bacon with stealthy care, the +scrape of his knife on the pan sounding a rude and unseemly intrusion. +Upon this scrupulously maintained quietude the man's weeping broke +insistent, the stifled regular beat of sobs hammering on it as if +determined to drive their complacency away and reduce them to the low +ebb of misery in which he lay. +</P> + +<P> +They had almost finished their meal when the sounds lessened, dwindling +to spasmodic, staggering gasps with lengthening pauses that broke +suddenly in a quivering intake of breath and a vibration of the +recumbent frame. The hysterical paroxysm was over. He lay limp and +turned his head on his arms, too exhausted to feel shame for the shine +of tears on his cheek. Susan took a plate of food and a coffee cup and +stole toward him, the two men watching her under their eyelids. She +knelt beside him and spoke very gently, "Will you take this, David? +You'll feel stronger after you've eaten." +</P> + +<P> +"Put it down," he said hoarsely, without moving. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I give you the coffee?" She hung over him looking into his +face. "I can hold the cup and you can drink it." +</P> + +<P> +"By and by," he muttered. +</P> + +<P> +She bent lower and laid her hand on his hair. +</P> + +<P> +"David, I'm so sorry," she breathed. +</P> + +<P> +Courant leaped to his feet and walked to where his horses stood. He +struck one of them a blow on the flank that after the silence and the +low tones of the girl's crooning voice sounded as violent as a pistol +shot. They all started, even David lifted his head. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter now?" said Daddy John, alert for any outbreak of man +or beast. +</P> + +<P> +But Courant made no answer, and moved away into the plain. It was some +time before he came back, emerging from the darkness as noiselessly as +he had gone. David had eaten his supper and was asleep, the girl +sitting beyond him withdrawn from the fire glow. Daddy John was +examining the sick horse, and Courant joined him, walking round the +beast and listening to the old man's opinions as to its condition. +They were not encouraging. It seemed likely that David's carelessness +would cost the train two valuable animals. +</P> + +<P> +To the outward eye peace had again settled on the camp. The low +conferrings of the two men, the dying snaps of the charred twigs, were +the only sounds. The night brooded serene about the bivouac, the large +stars showing clear now that the central glare had sunk to a red heap +of ruin. Far away, on the hills, the sparks of Indian fires gleamed. +They had followed the train for days, watching it like the eyes of +hungry animals, too timid to come nearer. But there was no cause for +alarm, for the desert Indians were a feeble race, averse to bloodshed, +thieves at their worst, descending upon the deserted camping grounds to +carry away what the emigrants left. +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless, when the sound of hoof beats came from the trail both men +made a quick snatch for their rifles, and Susan jumped to her feet with +a cry of "Some one's coming." They could see nothing, the darkness +hanging like a curtain across their vision. Courant, with his rifle in +the hollow of his arm, moved toward the sounds, his hail reaching clear +and deep into the night. An answer came in a man's voice, the hoof +beats grew louder, and the reaching light defined approaching shapes. +Daddy John threw a bunch of sage on the fire, and in the rush of flame +that flew along its branches, two mounted men were visible. +</P> + +<P> +They dropped to the ground and came forward. "From California to the +States," the foremost said to Susan, seeing a woman with fears to be +allayed. He was tall and angular with a frank, copper-tanned face, +overtopped by a wide spread of hat, and bearded to the eyes. He wore a +loose hickory shirt and buckskin breeches tucked into long boots, +already broken from the soles. The other was a small and comical +figure with an upstanding crest of sunburned blond hair, tight curled +and thick as a sheep's fleece. When he saw Susan he delayed his +advance to put on a ragged army overcoat that hung to his heels, and +evidently hid discrepancies in his costume not meet for a lady's eye. +Both men were powdered with dust, and announced themselves as hungry +enough to eat their horses. +</P> + +<P> +Out came pans and supplies, and the snapping of bacon fat and smell of +coffee rose pungent. Though, by their own account, they had ridden +hard and far, there was a feverish energy of life in each of them that +roused the drooping spirits of the others like an electrifying current. +They ate ravenously, pausing between mouthfuls to put quick questions +on the condition of the eastward trail, its grazing grounds, what +supplies could be had at the Forts. It was evident they were new to +journeying on the great bare highways of the wilderness, but that fact +seemed to have no blighting effect on their zeal. What and who they +were came out in the talk that gushed in the intervals of feeding. The +fair-haired man was a sailor, shipped from Boston round the Horn for +California eight months before. The fact that he was a deserter +dropped out with others. He was safe here—with a side-long laugh at +Susan—no more of the sea for him. +</P> + +<P> +He was going back for money, money and men. It was too late to get +through to the States now? Well he'd wait and winter at Fort Laramie +if he had to, but he guessed he'd make a pretty vigorous effort to get +to St. Louis. His companion was from Philadelphia, and was going back +for his wife and children, also money. He'd bring them out next +spring, collect a big train, stock it well, and carry them across with +him. +</P> + +<P> +"And start early, not waste any time dawdling round and talking. Start +with the first of 'em and get to California before the rush begins." +</P> + +<P> +"Rush?" said Courant. "Are you looking for a rush next year?" +</P> + +<P> +The man leaned forward with upraised, arresting hand, "The biggest rush +in the history of this country. Friends, there's gold in California." +</P> + +<P> +Gold! The word came in different keys, their flaccid bodies stiffened +into upright eagerness— Gold in the Promised Land! +</P> + +<P> +Then came the great story, the discovery of California's treasure told +by wanderers to wanderers under the desert stars. Six months before +gold had been found in the race of Sutter's mill in the foothills. The +streams that sucked their life from the snow crests of the Sierras were +yellow with it. It lay, a dusty sediment, in the prospector's pan. It +spread through the rock cracks in sparkling seams. +</P> + +<P> +The strangers capped story with story, chanted the tales of fantastic +exaggeration that had already gone forth, and up and down California +were calling men from ranch and seaboard. They were coming down from +Oregon along the wild spine of the coast ranges and up from the Mission +towns strung on highways beaten out by Spanish soldier and padre. The +news was now en route to the outer world carried by ships. It would +fly from port to port, run like fire up the eastern coast and leap to +the inland cities and the frontier villages. And next spring, when the +roads were open, would come the men, the regiments of men, on foot, +mounted, in long caravans, hastening to California for the gold that +was there for anyone who had the strength and hardihood to go. +</P> + +<P> +The bearded man got up, went to his horse and brought back his pack. +He opened it, pulled off the outer blanketing, and from a piece of +dirty calico drew a black sock, bulging and heavy. From this in turn +he shook a small buckskin sack. He smoothed the calico, untied a +shoestring from the sack's mouth, and let a stream of dun-colored dust +run out. It shone in the firelight in a slow sifting rivulet, here and +there a bright flake like a spangle sending out a yellow spark. +Several times a solid particle obstructed the lazy flow, which broke +upon it like water on a rock, dividing and sinking in two heavy +streams. It poured with unctious deliberation till the sack was empty, +and the man held it up to show the powdered dust of dust clinging to +the inside. +</P> + +<P> +"That's three weeks' washing on the river across the valley beyond +Sacramento," he said, "and it's worth four thousand dollars in the +United States mint." +</P> + +<P> +The pile shone yellow in the fire's even glow, and they stared at it, +wonderstruck, each face showing a sudden kindling of greed, the longing +to possess, to know the power and peace of wealth. It came with added +sharpness in the midst of their bare distress. Even the girl felt it, +leaning forward to gloat with brightened eyes on the little pyramid. +David forgot his injuries and craned his neck to listen, dreams once +more astir. California became suddenly a radiant vision. No longer a +faint line of color, vaguely lovely, but a place where fortune waited +them, gold to fill their coffers, to bring them ease, to give their +aspirations definite shape, to repay them for their bitter pilgrimage. +They were seized with the lust of it, and their attentive faces +sharpened with the strain of the growing desire. They felt the onward +urge to be up and moving, to get there and lay their hands on the +waiting treasure. +</P> + +<P> +The night grew old and still they talked, their fatigue forgotten. +They heard the tale of Marshall's discovery and how it flew right and +left through the spacious, idle land. There were few to answer the +call, ranches scattered wide over the unpeopled valleys, small traders +in the little towns along the coast. In the settlement of Yerba Buena, +fringing the edge of San Francisco Bay, men were leaving their goods at +their shop doors and going inland. Ships were lying idle in the tide +water, every sailor gone to find the golden river. The fair-haired man +laughed and told how he'd swam naked in the darkness, his money in his +mouth, and crawled up the long, shoal shore, waist high in mud. +</P> + +<P> +The small hours had come when one by one they dropped to sleep as they +lay. A twist of the blanket, a squirming into deeper comfort, and rest +was on them. They sprawled in the caked dust like dead men fallen in +battle and left as they had dropped. Even the girl forgot the habits +of a life-long observance and sunk to sleep among them, her head on a +saddle, the old servant curled at her feet. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0403"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + + +<P> +In the even dawn light the strangers left. It was hail and farewell in +desert meetings. They trotted off into the ghostlike stillness of the +plain which for a space threw back their hoof beats, and then closed +round them. The departure of the westward band was not so prompt. +With unbound packs and unharnessed animals, they stood, a dismayed +group, gathered round a center of disturbance. David was ill. The +exertions of the day before had drained his last reserve of strength. +He could hardly stand, complained of pain, and a fever painted his +drawn face with a dry flush. Under their concerned looks, he climbed +on his horse, swayed there weakly, then slid off and dropped on the +ground. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm too sick to go on," he said in the final collapse of misery. "You +can leave me here to die." +</P> + +<P> +He lay flat, looking up at the sky, his long hair raying like a +mourning halo from the outline of his skull, his arms outspread as if +his soul had submitted to its crucifixion and his body was in +agreement. That he was ill was beyond question. The men had their +suspicions that he, like the horses, had drunk of the alkaline spring. +</P> + +<P> +Susan was for remaining where they were till he recovered, the others +wanted to go on. He gave no ear to their debate, interrupting it once +to announce his intention of dying where he lay. This called forth a +look of compassion from the girl, a movement of exasperation from the +mountain man. Daddy John merely spat and lifted his hat to the faint +dawn air. It was finally agreed that David should be placed in the +wagon, his belongings packed on his horse, while the sick animal must +follow as best it could. +</P> + +<P> +During the morning's march no one spoke. They might have been a +picture moving across a picture for all the animation they showed. The +exaltation of the evening before had died down to a spark, alight and +warming still, but pitifully shrunk from last night's high-flaming +buoyancy. It was hard to keep up hopes in these distressful hours. +California had again receded. The desert and the mountains were yet to +pass. The immediate moment hemmed them in so closely that it was an +effort to look through it and feel the thrill of joys that lay so far +beyond. It was better to focus their attention on the lone +promontories that cut the distance and gradually grew from flat +surfaces applied on the plain to solid shapes, thick-based and shadow +cloven. +</P> + +<P> +They made their noon camp at a spring, bubbling from a rim of +white-rooted grass. David refused to take anything but water, groaning +as he sat up in the wagon and stretching a hot hand for the cup that +Susan brought. The men paid no attention to him. They showed more +concern for the sick horse, which when not incapacitated did its part +with good will, giving the full measure of its strength. That they +refrained from open anger and upbraiding was the only concession they +made to the conventions they had learned in easier times. Whether +David cared or not he said nothing, lying fever-flushed, his wandering +glance held to attention when Susan's face appeared at the canvas +opening. He hung upon her presence, querulously exacting in his +unfamiliar pain. +</P> + +<P> +Making ready for the start their eyes swept a prospect that showed no +spot of green, and they filled their casks neck high and rolled out +into the dazzling shimmer of the afternoon. The desert was widening, +the hills receding, shrinking away to a crenelated edge that fretted a +horizon drawn as straight as a ruled line. The plain unrolled more +spacious and grimmer, not a growth in sight save sage, not a trickle of +water or leaf murmur, even the mirage had vanished leaving the distance +bare and mottled with a leprous white. At intervals, outstretched like +a pointing finger, the toothed summit of a ridge projected, its base +uplifted in clear, mirrored reflection. +</P> + +<P> +The second half of the day was as unbroken by speech or incident as the +morning. They had nothing to say, as dry of thought as they were +despoiled of energy. The shadows were beginning to lengthen when they +came to a fork in the trail. One branch bore straight westward, the +other slanted toward the south, and both showed signs of recent travel. +Following them to the distance was like following the tracks of +creeping things traced on a sandy shore. Neither led to +anything—sage, dust, the up-standing combs of rocky reefs were all the +searching eye could see till sight lost itself in the earth's curve. +The girl and the two men stood in the van of the train consulting. The +region was new to Courant, but they left it to him, and he decided for +the southern route. +</P> + +<P> +For the rest of the afternoon they followed it. The day deepened to +evening and they bore across a flaming level, striped with gigantic +shadows. Looking forward they saw a lake of gold that lapped the roots +of rose and lilac hills. The road swept downward to a crimsoned butte, +cleft apart, and holding in its knees a gleam of water. The animals, +smelling it, broke for it, tearing the wagon over sand hummocks and +crackling twigs. It was a feeble upwelling, exhausted by a single +draught. Each beast, desperately nosing in its coolness, drained it, +and there was a long wait ere the tiny depression filled again. +Finally, it was dried of its last drop, and the reluctant ooze stopped. +The animals, their thirst half slaked, drooped about it, looking with +mournful inquiry at the disturbed faces of their masters. +</P> + +<P> +It was a bad sign. The men knew there were waterless tracts in the +desert that the emigrant must skirt. They mounted to the summit of the +butte and scanned their surroundings. The world shone a radiant floor +out of which each sage brush rose a floating, feathered tuft, but of +gleam or trickle of water there was none. When they came down David +lay beside the spring his eyes on its basin, now a muddied hole, the +rim patterned with hoof prints. When he heard them coming he rose on +his elbow awaiting them with a haggard glance, then seeing their blank +looks sank back groaning. To Susan's command that a cask be broached, +Courant gave a sullen consent. She drew off the first cupful and gave +it to the sick man, his lean hands straining for it, his fingers +fumbling in a search for the handle. The leader, after watching her +for a moment, turned away and swung off, muttering. David dropped back +on the ground, his eyes closed, his body curved about the damp +depression. +</P> + +<P> +The evening burned to night, the encampment growing black against the +scarlet sky. The brush fire sent a line of smoke straight up, a long +milky thread, that slowly disentangled itself and mounted to a final +outspreading. Each member of the group was still, the girl lying a +dark oblong under her blanket, her face upturned to the stars which +blossomed slowly in the huge, unclouded heaven. At the root of the +butte, hidden against its shadowy base, the mountain man lay +motionless, but his eyes were open and they rested on her, not closing +or straying. +</P> + +<P> +When no one saw him he kept this stealthy watch. In the daytime, with +the others about, he still was careful to preserve his brusque +indifference, to avoid her, to hide his passion with a jealous +subtlety. But beneath the imposed bonds it grew with each day, +stronger and more savage as the way waxed fiercer. It was not an +obsession of occasional moments, it was always with him. As pilot her +image moved across the waste before him. When he fell back for words +with Daddy John, he was listening through the old man's speech, for the +fall of her horse's hoofs. Her voice made his heart stop, the rustle +of her garments dried his throat. When his lowered eyes saw her hand +on the plate's edge, he grew rigid, unable to eat. If she brushed by +him in the bustle of camp pitching, his hands lost their strength and +he was sick with the sense of her. Love, courtship, marriage, were +words that no longer had any meaning for him. All the tenderness and +humanity he had felt for her in the days of her father's sickness were +gone. They were burned away, as the water and the grass were. When he +saw her solicitude for David, his contempt for the weak man hardened +into hatred. He told himself that he hated them both, and he told +himself he would crush and kill them both before David should get her. +The desire to keep her from David was stronger than the desire to have +her for himself. He did not think or care what he felt. She was the +prey to be won by cunning or daring, whose taste or wishes had no place +in the struggle. He no longer looked ahead, thought, or reasoned. The +elemental in him was developing to fit a scene in which only the +elemental survived. +</P> + +<P> +They broke camp at four the next morning. For the last few days the +heat had been unbearable, and they decided to start while the air was +still cool and prolong the noon halt. The landscape grew barer. There +were open areas where the soil was soft and sifted from the wheels like +sand, and dried stretches where the alkali lay in a caked, white crust. +In one place the earth humped into long, wavelike swells each crest +topped with a fringe of brush, fine and feathery as petrified spray. +At mid-day there was no water in sight. Courant, standing on his +saddle, saw no promise of it, nothing but the level distance streaked +with white mountain rims, and far to the south a patch of yellow—bare +sand, he said, as he pointed a horny finger to where it lay. +</P> + +<P> +They camped in the glare and opened the casks. After the meal they +tried to rest, but the sun was merciless. The girl crawled under the +wagon and lay there on the dust, sleeping with one arm thrown across +her face. The two men sat near by, their hats drawn low over their +brows. There was not a sound. The silence seemed transmuted to a +slowly thickening essence solidifying round them. It pressed upon them +till speech was as impossible as it would be under water. A broken +group in the landscape's immensity, they were like a new expression of +its somber vitality, motionless yet full of life, in consonance with +its bare and brutal verity. +</P> + +<P> +Courant left them to reconnoiter, and at mid afternoon came back to +announce that farther on the trail bent to an outcropping of red rock +where he thought there might be water. It was the hottest hour of the +day. The animals strained at their harness with lolling tongues and +white-rimmed eyeballs, their sweat making tracks on the dust. To +lighten the wagon Daddy John walked beside it, plodding on in his +broken moccasins, now and then chirruping to Julia. The girl rode +behind him, her blouse open at the neck, her hair clinging in a black +veining to her bedewed temples. Several times he turned back to look +at her as the only other female of the party to be encouraged. When +she caught his eye she nodded as though acknowledging the salutation of +a passerby, her dumbness an instinctive hoarding of physical force. +</P> + +<P> +The red rock came in sight, a nicked edge across the distance. As they +approached, it drew up from the plain in a series of crumpled points +like the comb of a rooster. The detail of the intervening space was +lost in the first crepuscular softness, and they saw nothing but a +stretch of darkening purple from which rose the scalloped crest painted +in strange colors. Courant trotted forward crying a word of hope, and +they pricked after him to where the low bulwark loomed above the +plain's swimming mystery. +</P> + +<P> +When they reached it he was standing at the edge of a caverned +indentation. Dead grasses dropped against the walls, withered weeds +thickened toward the apex in a tangled carpet. There had once been +water there, but it was gone, dried, or sunk to some hidden channel in +the rock's heart. They stood staring at the scorched herbage and the +basin where the earth was cracked apart in its last gasping throes of +thirst. +</P> + +<P> +David's voice broke the silence. He had climbed to the front seat, and +his face, gilded with the sunlight, looked like the face of a dead man +painted yellow. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there water?" he said, then saw the dead grass and dried basin, and +met the blank looks of his companions. +</P> + +<P> +Susan's laconic "The spring's dry," was not necessary. He fell forward +on the seat with a moan, his head propped in his hands, his fingers +buried in his hair. Courant sent a look of furious contempt over his +abject figure, then gave a laugh that fell on the silence bitter as a +curse. Daddy John without a word moved off and began unhitching the +mules. Even in Susan pity was, for the moment, choked by a swell of +disgust. Had she not had the other men to measure him by, had she not +within her own sturdy frame felt the spirit still strong for conflict, +she might still have known only the woman's sympathy for the feebler +creature. But they were a trio steeled and braced for invincible +effort, and this weakling, without the body and the spirit for the +enterprise, was an alien among them. +</P> + +<P> +She went to the back of the wagon and opened the mess chest. As she +picked out the supper things she began to repent. The lean, bent +figure and sunken head kept recurring to her. She saw him not as David +but as a suffering outsider, and for a second, motionless, with a +blackened skillet in her hand, had a faint, clairvoyant understanding +of his soul's desolation amid the close-knit unity of their endeavor. +She dropped the tin and went back to the front of the wagon. He was +climbing out, hanging tremulous to the roof support, a haggard +spectacle, with wearied eyes and skin drawn into fine puckerings across +the temples. Pity came back in a remorseful wave, and she ran to him +and lifted his arm to her shoulder. It clasped her hard and they +walked to where at the rock's base the sage grew high. Here she laid a +blanket for him and spread another on the top of the bushes, fastening +it to the tallest ones till it stretched, a sheltering canopy, over +him. She tried to cheer him with assurances that water would be found +at the next halting place. He was listless at first, seeming not to +listen, then the life in her voice roused his sluggish faculties, his +cheeks took color, and his dull glance lit on point after point in its +passage to her face, like the needle flickering toward the pole. +</P> + +<P> +"If I could get water enough to drink, I'd be all right," he said. +"The pains are gone." +</P> + +<P> +"They <I>must</I> find it soon," she answered, lifting the weight of his +fallen courage, heavy as his body might have been to her arms. "This +is a traveled road. There <I>must</I> be a spring somewhere along it." +</P> + +<P> +And she continued prying up the despairing spirit till the man began to +respond, showing returning hope in the eagerness with which he hung on +her words. When he lay sinking into drowsy quiet, she stole away from +him to where the camp was spread about the unlit pyre of Daddy John's +sage brush. It was too early for supper, and the old man, with the +accouterments of the hunt slung upon his person and his rifle in his +hand, was about to go afield after jack rabbit. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a bad business this," he said in answer to the worry she dared +not express. "The animals can't hold out much longer." +</P> + +<P> +"What are we to do? There's only a little water left in one of the +casks." +</P> + +<P> +"Low's goin' to strike across for the other trail. He's goin' after +supper, and he says he'll ride all night till he gets it. He thinks if +he goes due that way," pointing northward, "he can strike it sooner +than by goin' back." +</P> + +<P> +They looked in the direction he pointed. Each bush was sending a +phenomenally long shadow from its intersection with the ground. There +was no butte or hummock to break the expanse between them and the +faint, far silhouette of mountains. Her heart sank, a sinking that +fatigue and dread of thirst had never given her. +</P> + +<P> +"He may lose us," she said. +</P> + +<P> +The old man jerked his head toward the rock. +</P> + +<P> +"He'll steer by that, and I'll keep the fire going till morning." +</P> + +<P> +"But how can he ride all night? He must be half dead now." +</P> + +<P> +"A man like him don't die easy. It's not the muscle and the bones, +it's the grit. He says it's him that made the mistake and it's him +that's goin' to get us back on the right road." +</P> + +<P> +"What will he do for water?" +</P> + +<P> +"Take an empty cask behind the saddle and trust to God." +</P> + +<P> +"But there's water in one of our casks yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he knows it, but he's goin' to leave that for us. And we got to +hang on to it, Missy. Do you understand that?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded, frowning and biting her underlip. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you feelin' bad?" said the old man uneasily. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a bit," she answered. "Don't worry about me." +</P> + +<P> +He laid a hand on her shoulder and looked into her face with eyes that +said more than his tongue could. +</P> + +<P> +"You're as good a man as any of us. When we get to California we'll +have fun laughing over this." +</P> + +<P> +He gave the shoulder a shake, then drew back and picked up his rifle. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll get you a rabbit for supper if I can," he said with his cackling +laugh. "That's about the best I can do." +</P> + +<P> +He left her trailing off into the reddened reaches of the sage, and she +went back to the rock, thinking that in some overlooked hollow, water +might linger. She passed the mouth of the dead spring, then skirted +the spot where David lay, a motionless shape under the canopy of the +blanket. A few paces beyond him a buttress extended and, rounding it, +she found a triangular opening inclosed on three sides by walls, their +summits orange with the last sunlight. There had once been water here +for the grasses, and thin-leafed plants grew rank about the rock's +base, then outlined in sere decay what had evidently been the path of a +streamlet. She knelt among them, thrusting her hands between their +rustling stalks, jerking them up and casting them away, the friable +soil spattering from their roots. +</P> + +<P> +The heat was torrid, the noon ardors still imprisoned between the +slanting walls. Presently she sat back on her heels, and with an +earthy hand pushed the moist hair from her forehead. The movement +brought her head up, and her wandering eyes, roving in morose +inspection, turned to the cleft's opening. Courant was standing there, +watching her. His hands hung loose at his sides, his head was drooped +forward, his chin lowered toward his throat. The position lent to his +gaze a suggestion of animal ruminance and concentration. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you get David to do that?" he said slowly. +</P> + +<P> +The air in the little cleft seemed to her suddenly heavy and hard to +breathe. She caught it into her lungs with a quick inhalation. +Dropping her eyes to the weeds she said sharply, "David's sick. He +can't do anything. You know that." +</P> + +<P> +"He that ought to be out in the desert there looking for water's lying +asleep under a blanket. That's your man." +</P> + +<P> +He did not move or divert his gaze. There was something singularly +sinister in the fixed and gleaming look and the rigidity of his +watching face. She plucked at a weed, saw her hand's trembling and to +hide it struck her palms together shaking off the dust. The sound +filled the silent place. To her ears it was hardly louder than the +terrified beating of her heart. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the man you've chosen," he went on. "A feller that gives out +when the road's hard, who hasn't enough backbone to stand a few days' +heat and thirst. A poor, useless rag." +</P> + +<P> +He spoke in a low voice, very slowly, each word dropping distinct and +separate. His lowering expression, his steady gaze, his deliberate +speech, spoke of mental forces in abeyance. It was another man, not +the Courant she knew. +</P> + +<P> +She tried to quell her tremors by simulating indignation. If her +breathing shook her breast into an agitation he could see, the look she +kept on him was bold and defiant. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't speak of him that way," she cried scrambling to her feet. "Keep +what you think to yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"And what do <I>you</I> think?" he said and moved forward toward her. +</P> + +<P> +She made no answer, and it was very silent in the cleft. As he came +nearer the grasses crackling under his soft tread were the only sound. +She saw that his face was pale under the tan, the nostrils slightly +dilated. Stepping with a careful lightness, his movements suggested a +carefully maintained adjustment, a being quivering in a breathless +balance. She backed away till she stood pressed against the rock. She +felt her thoughts scattering and made an effort to hold them as though +grasping at tangible, escaping things. +</P> + +<P> +He stopped close to her, and neither spoke for a moment, eye hard on +eye, then hers shifted and dropped. +</P> + +<P> +"You think about him as I do," said the man. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she answered, "no," but her voice showed uncertainty. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you tell the truth? Why do you lie?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," this time the word was hardly audible, and she tried to impress +it by shaking her head. +</P> + +<P> +He made a step toward her and seized one of her hands. She tried to +tear it away and flattened herself against the rock, panting, her face +gone white as the alkaline patches of the desert. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't love him. You never did." +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head again, gasping. "Let me out of here. Let go of me." +</P> + +<P> +"You liar," he whispered. "You love me." +</P> + +<P> +She could not answer, her knees shaking, the place blurring on her +sight. Through a sick dizziness she saw nothing but his altered face. +He reached for the other hand, spread flat against the stone, and as +she felt his grasp upon it, her words came in broken pleading: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, it's true. I do. But I've promised. Let me go." +</P> + +<P> +"Then come to me," he said huskily and tried to wrench her forward into +his arms. +</P> + +<P> +She held herself rigid, braced against the wall, and tearing one hand +free, raised it, palm out, between his face and hers. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! My father—I promised him. I can't tell David now. I will +later. Don't hold me. Let me go." +</P> + +<P> +The voice of Daddy John came clear from outside. "Missy! Hullo, +Missy! Where are you?" +</P> + +<P> +She sent up the old man's name in a quavering cry and the mountain man +dropped her arm and stepped back. +</P> + +<P> +She ran past him, and at the mouth of the opening, stopped and leaned +on a ledge, getting her breath and trying to control her trembling. +Daddy John was coming through the sage, a jack rabbit held up in one +hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Here's your supper," he cried jubilant. "Ain't I told you I'd get it?" +</P> + +<P> +She moved forward to meet him, walking slowly. When he saw her face, +concern supplanted his triumph. +</P> + +<P> +"We got to get you out of this," he said. "You're as peaked as one of +them frontier women in sunbonnets," and he tried to hook a +compassionate hand in her arm. But she edged away from him, fearful +that he would feel her trembling, and answered: +</P> + +<P> +"It's the heat. It seems to draw the strength all out of me." +</P> + +<P> +"The rabbit'll put some of it back. I'll go and get things started. +You sit by David and rest up," and he skurried away to the camp. +</P> + +<P> +She went to David, lying now with opened eyes and hands clasped beneath +his head. When her shadow fell across him he turned a brightened face +on her. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm better," he said. "If I could get some water I think I'd soon be +all right." +</P> + +<P> +She stood looking down on him with a clouded, almost sullen, expression. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you sleep long?" she asked for something to say. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know how long. A little while ago I woke up and looked for +you, but you weren't anywhere round, so I just lay here and looked out +across to the mountains and began to think of California. I haven't +thought about it for a long while." +</P> + +<P> +She sat down by him and listened as he told her his thoughts. With a +renewal of strength the old dreams had come back—the cabin by the +river, the garden seeds to be planted, and now added to them was the +gold they were to find. She hearkened with unresponsive apathy. The +repugnance to this mutually shared future which had once made her +recoil from it was a trivial thing to the abhorrence of it that was now +hers. Dislikes had become loathings, a girl's whims, a woman's +passions. As David babbled on she kept her eyes averted, for she knew +that in them her final withdrawal shone coldly. Her thoughts kept +reverting to the scene in the cleft, and when she tore them from it and +forced them back on him, her conscience awoke and gnawed. She could no +more tell this man, returning to life and love of her, than she could +kill him as he lay there defenseless and trusting. +</P> + +<P> +At supper they measured out the water, half a cup for each. There +still remained a few inches in the cask. This was to be hoarded +against the next day. If Courant on his night journey could not strike +the upper trail and a spring they would have to retrace their steps, +and by this route, with the animals exhausted and their own strength +diminished, the first water was a twelve hours' march off. Susan and +Courant were silent, avoiding each other's eyes, torpid to the outward +observation. But the old man was unusually garrulous, evidently +attempting to raise their lowered spirits. He had much to say about +California and the gold there, speculated on their chances of fortune, +and then carried his speculations on to the joys of wealth and a future +in which Susan was to say with the Biblical millionaire, "Now soul take +thine ease." She rewarded him with a quick smile, then tipped her cup +till the bottom faced the sky, and let the last drop run into her mouth. +</P> + +<P> +The night was falling when Courant rode out. She passed him as he was +mounting, the canteen strapped to the back of his saddle. "Good-by, +and good luck," she said in a low voice as she brushed by. His +"good-by" came back to her instilled with a new meaning. The reserve +between them was gone. Separated as the poles, they had suddenly +entered within the circle of an intimacy that had snapped round them +and shut them in. Her surroundings fell into far perspective, losing +their menace. She did not care where she was or how she fared. An +indifference to all that had seemed unbearable, uplifted her. It was +like an emergence from cramped confines to wide, inspiring spaces. He +and she were there—the rest was nothing. +</P> + +<P> +Sitting beside David she could see the rider's figure grow small, as it +receded across the plain. The night had come and the great level +brooded solemn under the light of the first, serene stars. In the +middle of the camp Daddy John's fire flared, the central point of +illumination in a ring of fluctuant yellow. Touched and lost by its +waverings the old man's figure came and went, absorbed in outer +darkness, then revealed his arms extended round sheaves of brush. +David turned and lay on his side looking at her. Her knees were drawn +up, her hands clasped round her ankles. With the ragged detail of her +dress obscured, the line of her profile and throat sharp in clear +silhouette against the saffron glow, she was like a statue carved in +black marble. He could not see what her glance followed, only felt the +consolation of her presence, the one thing to which he could turn and +meet a human response. +</P> + +<P> +He was feverish again, his thirst returned in an insatiable craving. +Moving restlessly he flung out a hand toward her and said querulously: +</P> + +<P> +"How long will Low be gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Till the morning unless he finds water by the way." +</P> + +<P> +Silence fell on him and her eyes strained through the darkness for the +last glimpse of the rider. He sighed deeply, the hot hand stirring +till it lay spread, with separated fingers on the hem of her dress. He +moved each finger, their brushing on the cloth the only sound. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you in pain?" she asked and shrunk before the coldness of her +voice. +</P> + +<P> +"No, but I am dying with thirst." +</P> + +<P> +She made no answer, resting in her graven quietness. The night had +closed upon the rider's figure, but she watched where it had been. +Over a blackened peak a large star soared up like a bright eye spying +on the waste. Suddenly the hand clinched and he struck down at the +earth with it. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't go without water till the morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Try to sleep," she said. "We must stand it the best way we can." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't sleep." +</P> + +<P> +He moaned and turned over on his face and lying thus rolled from side +to side as if in anguish that movement assuaged. For the first time +she looked at him, turning upon him a glance of questioning anxiety. +She could see his narrow, angular shape, the legs twisted, the arms +bent for a pillow, upon which his head moved in restless pain. +</P> + +<P> +"David, we've got to wait." +</P> + +<P> +"The night through? Stay this way till morning? I'll be dead. I wish +I was now." +</P> + +<P> +She looked away from him seized by temptation that rose from contrition +not pity. +</P> + +<P> +"If you cared for me you could get it. Low's certain to find a spring." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. I will," she said and rose to her feet. +</P> + +<P> +She moved softly to the camp the darkness hiding her. Daddy John was +taking a cat nap by the fire, a barrier of garnered sage behind him. +She knew his sleep was light and stole with a tiptoe tread to the back +of the wagon where the water cask stood. She drew off a cupful, then, +her eye alert on the old man, crept back to David. When he saw her +coming he sat up with a sharp breath of satisfaction, and she knelt +beside him and held the cup to his lips. He drained it and sank back +in a collapse of relief, muttering thanks that she hushed, fearful of +the old man. Then she again took her seat beside him. She saw Daddy +John get up and pile the fire high, and watched its leaping flame throw +out tongues toward the stars. +</P> + +<P> +Midnight was past when David woke and again begged for water. This +time she went for it without urging. When he had settled into rest she +continued her watch peaceful at the thought that she had given him what +was hers and Courant's. Reparation of a sort had been made. Her mind +could fly without hindrance into the wilderness with the lonely +horseman. It was a luxury like dearly bought freedom, and she sat on +lost in it, abandoned to a reverie as deep and solemn as the night. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0404"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + + +<P> +She woke when the sun shot its first rays into her eyes. David lay +near by, breathing lightly, his face like a pale carven mask against +the blanket's folds. Down below in the camp the fire burned low, its +flame looking ineffectual and tawdry in the flushed splendor of the +sunrise. Daddy John was astir, moving about among the animals and +pausing to rub Julia's nose and hearten her up with hopeful words. +</P> + +<P> +Susan mounted to a ledge and scanned the distance. Her figure caught +the old man's eye and he hailed her for news. Nothing yet, she +signaled back, then far on the plain's rose-brown limit saw a dust blur +and gave a cry that brought him running and carried him in nimble +ascent to her side. His old eyes could see nothing. She had to point +the direction with a finger that shook. +</P> + +<P> +"There, there. It's moving—far away, as if a drop of water had been +spilled on a picture and made a tiny blot." +</P> + +<P> +They watched till a horseman grew from the nebulous spot. Then they +climbed down and ran to the camp, got out the breakfast things and +threw brush on the fire, speaking nothing but the essential word, for +hope and fear racked them. When he was within hail Daddy John ran to +meet him, but she stayed where she was, her hands making useless darts +among the pans, moistening her lips that they might frame speech easily +when he came. With down-bent head she heard his voice hoarse from a +dust-dried throat: he had found the trail and near it a spring, the +cask he carried was full, it would last them for twelve hours. But the +way was heavy and the animals were too spent for a day's march in such +heat. They would not start till evening and would journey through the +night. +</P> + +<P> +She heard his feet brushing toward her through the sage, and smelled +the dust and sweat upon him as he drew up beside her. She was forced +to raise her eyes and murmur a greeting. It was short and cold, and +Daddy John marveled at the ways of women, who welcomed a man from such +labors as if he had been to the creek and brought up a pail of water. +His face, gaunt and grooved with lines, made her heart swell with the +pity she had so freely given David, and the passion that had never been +his. There was no maternal softness in her now. The man beside her +was no helpless creature claiming her aid, but a conqueror upon whom +she leaned and in whom she gloried. +</P> + +<P> +After he had eaten he drew a saddle back into the rock's shade, spread +a blanket and threw himself on it. Almost before he had composed his +body in comfort he was asleep, one arm thrown over his head, his sinewy +neck outstretched, his chest rising and falling in even breaths. +</P> + +<P> +At noon Daddy John in broaching the cask discovered the deficit in the +water supply. She came upon the old man with the half-filled +coffee-pot in his hand staring down at its contents with a puzzled +face. She stood watching him, guilty as a thievish child, the color +mounting to her forehead. He looked up and in his eyes she read the +shock of his suspicions. Delicacy kept him silent, and as he rinsed +the water round in the pot his own face reddened in a blush for the +girl he had thought strong in honor and self-denial as he was. +</P> + +<P> +"I took it," she said slowly. +</P> + +<P> +He had to make allowances, not only to her, but to himself. He felt +that he must reassure her, keep her from feeling shame for the first +underhand act he had ever known her commit. So he spoke with all the +cheeriness he could command: +</P> + +<P> +"I guess you needed it pretty bad. Turning out as it has I'm glad you +done it." +</P> + +<P> +She saw he thought she had taken it for herself, and experienced relief +in the consciousness of unjust punishment. +</P> + +<P> +"You were asleep," she said, "and I came down and took it twice." +</P> + +<P> +He did not look at her for he could not bear to see her humiliation. +It was his affair to lighten her self-reproach. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that was all right. You're the only woman among us, and you've +got to be kept up." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I—couldn't stand it any longer," she faltered now, wanting to +justify herself. "It was too much to bear." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't say no more," he said tenderly. "Ain't you only a little girl +put up against things that 'ud break the spirit of a strong man?" +</P> + +<P> +The pathos of his efforts to excuse her shook her guarded self-control. +She suddenly put her face against his shoulder in a lonely dreariness. +He made a backward gesture with his head that he might toss off his hat +and lay his cheek on her hair. +</P> + +<P> +"There, there," he muttered comfortingly. "Don't go worrying about +that. You ain't done no harm. It's just as natural for you to have +taken it as for you to go to sleep when you're tired. And there's not +a soul but you and me'll ever know it, and we'll forget by to-night." +</P> + +<P> +His simple words, reminiscent of gentler days, when tragic problems lay +beyond the confines of imagination, loosed the tension of her mood, and +she clasped her arms about him, trembling and shaken. He patted her +with his free hand, the coffee-pot in the other, thinking her agitation +merely an expression of fatigue, with no more knowledge of its complex +provocation than he had of the mighty throes that had once shaken the +blighted land on which they stood. +</P> + +<P> +David was better, much better, he declared, and proved it by helping +clear the camp and pack the wagon for the night march. He was kneeling +by Daddy John, who was folding the blankets, when he said suddenly: +</P> + +<P> +"If I hadn't got water I think I'd have died last night." +</P> + +<P> +The old man, stopped in his folding to turn a hardening face on him. +</P> + +<P> +"Water?" he said. "How'd you get it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Susan did. I told her I couldn't stand it, and she went down twice to +the wagon and brought it to me. I was at the end of my rope." +</P> + +<P> +Daddy John said nothing. His ideas were readjusting themselves to a +new point of view. When they were established his Missy was back upon +her pedestal, a taller one than ever before, and David was once and for +all in the dust at its feet. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no one like Susan," the lover went on, now with returning +forces, anxious to give the mead of praise where it was due. "She +tried to talk me out of it, and then when she saw I couldn't stand it +she just went quietly off and got it." +</P> + +<P> +"I guess you could have held out till the morning if you'd put your +mind to it," said the old man dryly, rising with the blankets. +</P> + +<P> +For the moment he despised David almost as bitterly as Courant did. It +was not alone the weakness so frankly admitted; it was that his action +had made Daddy John harbor secret censure of the being dearest to him. +The old man could have spat upon him. He moved away for fear of the +words that trembled on his tongue. And another and deeper pain +tormented him—that his darling should so love this feeble creature +that she could steal for him and take the blame of his misdeeds. This +was the man to whom she had given her heart! He found himself wishing +that David had never come back from his search for the lost horses. +Then the other man, the real man that was her fitting mate, could have +won her. +</P> + +<P> +At sunset the train was ready. Every article that could be dispensed +with was left, a rich find for the Indians whose watch fires winked +from the hills. To the cry of "Roll out," and the snap of the long +whip, the wagon lurched into motion, the thirst-racked animals +straining doggedly as it crunched over sage stalks and dragged through +powdery hummocks. The old man walked by the wheel, the long lash of +his whip thrown afar, flashing in the upper light and descending in a +lick of flame on the mules' gray flanks. With each blow fell a phrase +of encouragement, the words of a friend who wounds and wounding himself +suffers. David rode at the rear with Susan. The two men had told him +he must ride if he died for it, and met his offended answer that he +intended to do so with sullen silence. In advance, Courant's figure +brushed between the bushes, his hair a moving patch of copper color in +the last light. +</P> + +<P> +Darkness quickly gathered round them. The bowl of sky became an +intense Prussian blue that the earth reflected. In this clear, deep +color the wagon hood showed a pallid arch, and the shapes of man and +beast were defined in shadowless black. In the west a band of +lemon-color lingered, and above the stars began to prick through, great +scintillant sparks, that looked, for all their size, much farther away +than the stars of the peopled places. Their light seemed caught and +held in aerial gulfs above the earth, making the heavens clear, while +the night clung close and undisturbed to the plain's face. Once from +afar the cry of an animal arose, a long, swelling howl, but around the +train all was still save for the crackling of the crushed sage stalks, +and the pad of hoofs. +</P> + +<P> +It was near midnight when Susan's voice summoned Daddy John. The wagon +halted, and she beckoned him with a summoning arm. He ran to her, +circling the bushes with a youth's alertness, and stretched up to hear +her as she bent from the saddle. David must go in the wagon, he was +unable to ride longer. The old man swept him with a look of +inspection. The starlight showed a drooping figure, the face hidden by +the shadow of his hat brim. The mules were at the limit of their +strength, and the old man demurred, swearing under his breath and +biting his nails. +</P> + +<P> +"You've got to take him," she said, "if it kills them. He would have +fallen off a minute ago if I hadn't put my arm around him." +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, then," he answered with a surly look at David. "Come on and +ride, while the rest of us get along the best way we can." +</P> + +<P> +"He can't help it," she urged in an angry whisper. "You talk as if he +was doing it on purpose." +</P> + +<P> +David slid off his horse and made for the wagon with reeling steps. +The other man followed muttering. +</P> + +<P> +"Help him," she called. "Don't you see he can hardly stand?" +</P> + +<P> +At the wagon wheel Daddy John hoisted him in with vigorous and ungentle +hands. Crawling into the back the sick man fell prone with a groan. +Courant, who had heard them and turned to watch, came riding up. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" he said sharply. "The mules given out?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not they," snorted Daddy John, at once all belligerent loyalty to +Julia and her mates, "it's this d—d cry baby again," and he picked up +the reins exclaiming in tones of fond urgence: +</P> + +<P> +"Come now, off again. Keep up your hearts There's water and grass +ahead. Up there, Julia, honey!" +</P> + +<P> +The long team, crouching in the effort to start the wagon, heaved it +forward, and the old man, leaping over the broken sage, kept the pace +beside them. Courant, a few feet in advance, said over his shoulder: +</P> + +<P> +"What's wrong with him now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, played out, I guess. She," with a backward jerk of his head, +"won't have it any other way. No good telling her it's nerve not body +that he ain't got." +</P> + +<P> +The mountain man looked back toward the pathway between the slashed and +broken bushes. He could see Susan's solitary figure, David's horse +following. +</P> + +<P> +"What's <I>she</I> mind for?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Because she's a woman and they're made that way. She's more set on +that chump than she'd be on the finest man you could bring her if you +hunted the world over for him." +</P> + +<P> +They fared on in silence, the soft soil muffling their steps. The +wagon lurched on a hummock and David groaned. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you meaning she cares for him?" asked Courant. +</P> + +<P> +"All her might," answered the old man. "Ain't she goin' to marry the +varmint?" +</P> + +<P> +It was an hour for understanding, no matter how bitter. Daddy John's +own dejection made him unsparing. He offered his next words as +confirmation of a condition that he thought would kill all hope in the +heart of the leader. +</P> + +<P> +"Last night he made her get him water—the store we had left if you +hadn't found any. Twict in the night while I was asleep she took and +gave it to him. Then when I found it out she let me think she took it +for herself," he spat despondently. "She the same as lied for him. I +don't want to hear no more after that." +</P> + +<P> +The mountain man rode with downdrooped head. Daddy John, who did not +know what he did, might well come to such conclusions. <I>He</I> knew the +secret of the girl's contradictory actions. He looked into her +perturbed spirit and saw how desperately she clung to the letter of her +obligation, while she repudiated the spirit. Understanding her +solicitude for David, he knew that it was strengthened by the +consciousness of her disloyalty. But he felt no tenderness for these +distracted feminine waverings. It exhilarated him to think that while +she held to the betrothed of her father's choice and the bond of her +given word, her hold would loosen at his wish. As he had felt toward +enemies that he had conquered—crushed and subjected by his will—he +felt toward her. It was a crowning joy to know that he could make her +break her promise, turn her from her course of desperate fidelity, and +make her his own, not against her inclination, but against her pity, +her honor, her conscience. +</P> + +<P> +The spoor left by his horse the night before was clear in the +starlight. He told Daddy John to follow it and drew up beside the +track to let the wagon pass him. Motionless he watched the girl's +approaching figure, and saw her rein her horse to a standstill. +</P> + +<P> +"Come on," he said softly. "I want to speak to you." +</P> + +<P> +She touched the horse and it started toward him. As she came nearer he +could see the troubled shine of her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Why are you afraid?" he said, as he fell into place beside her. +"We're friends now." +</P> + +<P> +She made no answer, her head bent till her face was hidden by her hat. +He laid his hand on her rein and brought the animal to a halt. +</P> + +<P> +"Let the wagon get on ahead," he whispered. "We'll follow at a +distance." +</P> + +<P> +The whisper, so low that the silence was unbroken by it, came to her, a +clear sound carrying with it a thrill of understanding. She trembled +and—his arm against hers as his hand held her rein—he felt the +subdued vibration like the quivering of a frightened animal. The wagon +lumbered away with the sifting dust gushing from the wheels. A stirred +cloud rose upon its wake and they could feel it thick and stifling in +their nostrils. She watched the receding arch cut down the back by the +crack in the closed canvas, while he watched her. The sound of crushed +twigs and straining wheels lessened, the stillness gathered between +these noises of laboring life and the two mounted figures. As it +settled each could hear the other's breathing and feel a mutual throb, +as though the same leaping artery fed them both. In the blue night +encircled by the waste, they were as still as vessels balanced to a +hair in which passion brimmed to the edge. +</P> + +<P> +"Come on," she said huskily, and twitched her reins from his hold. +</P> + +<P> +The horses started, walking slowly. A strip of mangled sage lay in +front, back of them the heavens hung, a star-strewn curtain. It seemed +to the man and woman that they were the only living things in the +world, its people, its sounds, its interests, were in some undescried +distance where life progressed with languid pulses. How long the +silence lasted neither knew. He broke it with a whisper: +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you get David the water last night?" +</P> + +<P> +Her answer came so low he had to bend to hear it. +</P> + +<P> +"He wanted it. I had to." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you give him all he asks for? David is nothing to you." +</P> + +<P> +This time no answer came, and he stretched his hand and clasped the +pommel of her saddle. The horses, feeling the pull of the powerful +arm, drew together. His knee pressed on the shoulder of her pony, and +feeling him almost against her she bent sideways, flinching from the +contact. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you shrink from me, Missy?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid," she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +They paced on for a moment in silence. When he tried to speak his lips +were stiff, and he moistened them to murmur: +</P> + +<P> +"Of what?" +</P> + +<P> +She shrunk still further and raised a hand between them. He snatched +at it, pulling it down, saying hoarsely: +</P> + +<P> +"Of me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of something—I don't know what. Of something terrible and strange." +</P> + +<P> +She tried to strike at her horse with the reins, but the man's hand +dropped like a hawk on the pommel and drew the tired animal back to the +foot pace. +</P> + +<P> +"If you love me there's no need of fear," he said, then waited, the +sound of her terrified breathing like the beating of waves in his ears, +and murmured lower than before, "And you love me. I know it." +</P> + +<P> +Her face showed in dark profile against the deep sky. He stared at it, +then suddenly set his teeth and gave the pommel a violent jerk that +made the horse stagger and grind against its companion. The creaking +of the wagon came faint from a wake of shadowy trail. +</P> + +<P> +"You've done it for weeks. Before you knew. Before you lied to your +father when he tried to make you marry David." +</P> + +<P> +She dropped the reins and clinched her hands against her breast, a +movement of repression and also of pleading to anything that would +protect her, any force that would give her strength to fight, not the +man alone, but herself. But the will was not within her. The desert +grew dim, the faint sounds from the wagon faded. Like a charmed bird, +staring straight before it, mute and enthralled, she rocked lightly to +left and right, and then swayed toward him. +</P> + +<P> +The horse, feeling the dropped rein, stopped, jerking its neck forward +in the luxury of rest, its companion coming to a standstill beside it. +Courant raised himself in his saddle and gathered her in an embrace +that crushed her against his bony frame, then pressed against her face +with his, till he pushed it upward and could see it, white, with closed +eyes, on his shoulder. He bent till his long hair mingled with hers +and laid his lips on her mouth with the clutch of a bee on a flower. +</P> + +<P> +They stood a compact silhouette, clear in the luminous starlight. The +crack in the canvas that covered the wagon back widened and the eye +that had been watching them, stared bright and wide, as if all the life +of the feeble body had concentrated in that one organ of sense. The +hands, damp and trembling, drew the canvas edges closer, but left space +enough for the eye to dwell on this vision of a shattered world. It +continued to gaze as Susan slid from the encircling arms, dropped from +her horse, and came running forward, stumbling on the fallen bushes, as +she ran panting out the old servant's name. Then it went back to the +mountain man, a black shape in the loneliness of the night. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0405"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + + +<P> +A slowly lightening sky, beneath it the transparent sapphire of the +desert wakening to the dawn, and cutting the blue expanse the line of +the new trail. A long butte, a bristling outline on the paling north, +ran out from a crumpled clustering of hills, and the road bent to meet +it. The air came from it touched with a cooling freshness, and as they +pressed toward it they saw the small, swift shine of water, a little +pool, grass-ringed, with silver threads creeping to the sands. +</P> + +<P> +They drank and then slept, sinking to oblivion as they dropped on the +ground, not waiting to undo their blankets or pick out comfortable +spots. The sun, lifting a bright eye above the earth's rim, shot its +long beams over their motionless figures, "bundles of life," alone in a +lifeless world. +</P> + +<P> +David alone could not rest. Withdrawn from the others he lay in the +shadow of the wagon, watching small points in the distance with a +glance that saw nothing. All sense of pain and weakness had left him. +Physically he felt strangely light and free of sensation. With his +brain endowed with an abnormal activity he suffered an agony of spirit +so poignant that there were moments when he drew back and looked at +himself wondering how he endured it. He was suddenly broken away from +everything cherished and desirable in life. The bare and heart-rending +earth about him was as the expression of his ruined hopes. And after +these submergences in despair a tide of questions carried him to +livelier torment: Why had she done it? What had changed her? When had +she ceased to care? +</P> + +<P> +All his deadened manhood revived. He wanted her, he owned her, she was +his. Sick and unable to fight for her she had been stolen from him, +and he writhed in spasms of self pity at the thought of the cruelty of +it. How could he, disabled, broken by unaccustomed hardships, cope +with the iron-fibered man whose body and spirit were at one with these +harsh settings? <I>He</I> was unfitted for it, for the heroic struggle, for +the battle man to man for a woman as men had fought in the world's dawn +into which they had retraced their steps. He could not make himself +over, become another being to appeal to a sense in her he had never +touched. He could only plead with her, beg mercy of her, and he saw +that these were not the means that won women grown half savage in +correspondence with a savage environment. +</P> + +<P> +Then came moments of exhaustion when he could not believe it. Closing +his eyes he called up the placid life that was to have been his and +Susan's, and could not think but that it still must be. Like a child +he clung to his hope, to the belief that something would intervene and +give her back to him; not he, he was unable to, but something that +stood for justice and mercy. All his life he had abided by the law, +walked uprightly, done his best. Was he to be smitten now through no +fault of his own? It was all a horrible dream, and presently there +would be an awakening with Susan beside him as she had been in the +first calm weeks of their betrothal. The sweetness of those days +returned to him with the intolerable pang of a fair time, long past and +never to come again. He threw his head back as if in a paroxysm of +pain. It could not be and yet in his heart he knew it was true. In +the grip of his torment he thought of the God that watching over Israel +slumbered not nor slept. With his eyes on the implacable sky he tried +to pray, tried to drag down from the empty gulf of air the help that +would bring back his lost happiness. +</P> + +<P> +At Susan's first waking movement he started and turned his head toward +her. She saw him, averted her face, and began the preparations for the +meal. He lay watching her and he knew that her avoidance of his glance +was intentional. He also saw that her manner of preoccupied bustle was +affected. She was pale, her face set in hard lines. When she spoke +once to Daddy John her voice was unlike itself, hoarse and throaty, its +mellow music gone. +</P> + +<P> +They gathered and took their places in silence, save for the old man, +who tried to talk, but meeting no response gave it up. Between the +three others not a word was exchanged. A stifling oppression lay on +them, and they did not dare to look at one another. The girl found it +impossible to swallow and taking a piece of biscuit from her mouth +threw it into the sand. +</P> + +<P> +The air was sultry, light whisps of mist lying low over the plain. The +weight of these vaporous films seemed to rest on them heavy as the +weight of water, and before the meal was finished, Susan, overborne by +a growing dread and premonition of tragedy, rose and left her place, +disappearing round a buttress of the rock. Courant stopped eating and +looked after her, his head slowly moving as his eye followed her. To +anyone watching it would have been easy to read this pursuing glance, +the look of the hunter on his quarry. David saw it and rose to his +knees. A rifle lay within arm's reach, and for one furious moment he +felt an impulse to snatch it and kill the man. But a rush of +inhibiting instinct checked him. Had death or violence menaced her he +could have done it, but without the incentive of the immediate horror +he could never rise so far beyond himself. +</P> + +<P> +Susan climbed the rock's side to a plateau on its western face. The +sun beat on her like a furnace mouth. Here and there black filigrees +of shade shrank to the bases of splintered ledges. Below the plain lay +outflung in the stupor of midday. On its verge the mountains +stretched, a bright blue, shadowless film. A mirage trembled to the +south, a glassy vision, crystal clear amid the chalky streakings and +the rings of parched and blanching sinks. Across the prospect the +faint, unfamiliar mist hung as if, in the torrid temperature, the earth +was steaming. +</P> + +<P> +She sat down on a shelf of rock not feeling the burning sunshine or the +heat that the baked ledges threw back upon her. The life within her +was so intense that no impressions from the outside could enter, even +her eyes took in no image of the prospect they dwelt on. Courant's +kiss had brought her to a place toward which, she now realized, she had +been moving for a long time, advancing upon it, unknowing, but impelled +like a somnambulist willed toward a given goal. What was to happen she +did not know. She felt a dread so heavy that it crushed all else from +her mind. They had reached a crisis where everything had stopped, a +dark and baleful focus to which all that had gone before had been +slowly converging. The whole journey had been leading to this climax +of suspended breath and fearful, inner waiting. +</P> + +<P> +She heard the scraping of ascending feet, and when she saw David stared +at him, her eyes unblinking in stony expectancy. He came and stood +before her, and she knew that at last he had guessed, and felt no fear, +no resistance against the explanation that must come. He suddenly had +lost all significance, was hardly a human organism, or if a human +organism, one that had no relation to her. Neither spoke for some +minutes. He was afraid, and she waited, knowing what he was going to +say, wishing it was said, and the hampering persistence of his claim +was ended. +</P> + +<P> +At length he said tremulously: +</P> + +<P> +"Susan, I saw you last night. What did you do it for? What am I to +think?" +</P> + +<P> +That he had had proof of her disloyalty relieved her. There would be +less to say in this settling of accounts. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," she answered, looking into his eyes. "You saw!" +</P> + +<P> +He cried desperately, "I saw him kiss you. You let him. What did it +mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you ask? If you saw you know." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. I want to know. Tell me, explain to me." He paused, +and then cried with a pitiful note of pleading, "Tell me it wasn't so. +Tell me I made a mistake." +</P> + +<P> +He was willing, anxious, for her to lie. Against the evidence of his +own senses he would have made himself believe her, drugged his pain +with her falsehoods. What remnant of consideration she had vanished. +</P> + +<P> +"You made no mistake," she answered. "It was as you saw." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe it. I can't. You wouldn't have done it. It's I +you're promised to. Haven't I your word? Haven't you been kind as an +angel to me when the others would have let me die out here like a dog? +What did you do it for if you didn't care?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was sorry," and then with cold, measured slowness, "and I felt +guilty." +</P> + +<P> +"That's it—you felt guilty. It's not your doing. You've been led +away. While I've been sick that devil's been poisoning you against me. +He's tried to steal you from me. But you're not the girl to let him do +that. You'll come back to me—the man that you belong to, that's loved +you since the day we started." +</P> + +<P> +To her at this naked hour, where nothing lived but the truth, the +thought that he would take her back with the other man's kisses on her +lips, made her unsparing. She drew back from him, stiffening in +shocked repugnance, and speaking with the same chill deliberation. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll never come back to you. It's all over, that love with you. I +didn't know. I didn't feel. I was a child with no sense of what she +was doing. Now everything's different. It's he I must go with and be +with as long as I live." +</P> + +<P> +The hideousness of the discovery had been made the night before. Had +her words been his first intimation they might have shocked him into +stupefied dumbness and made him seem the hero who meets his fate with +closed lips. But hours long he had brooded and knew her severance from +him had taken place. With the mad insistance of a thought whirling on +in fevered repetition he had told himself that he must win her back, +urge, struggle, plead, till he had got her where she was before or lose +her forever. +</P> + +<P> +"You can't. You can't do it. It's a temporary thing. It's the desert +and the wildness and because he could ride and get water and find the +trail. In California it will be different. Out there it'll be the +same as it used to be back in the States. You'll think of this as +something unreal that never happened and your feeling for him—it'll +all go. When we get where it's civilized you'll be like you were when +we started. You couldn't have loved a savage like that then. Well, +you won't when you get where you belong. It's horrible. It's +unnatural." +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head, glanced at him and glanced away. The sweat was +pouring off his face and his lips quivered like a weeping child's. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, David," she said with a deep breath like a groan, "<I>this</I> is +natural for me. The other was not." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know what you're saying. And how about your promise? <I>You</I> +gave that of your own free will. Was it a thing you give and take back +whenever you please? What would your father think of your breaking +your word—throwing me off for a man no better than a half-blood +Indian? Is that your honor?" Then he was suddenly fearful that he had +said too much and hurt his case, and he dropped to a wild pleading: +"Oh, Susan, you can't, you can't. You haven't got the heart to treat +me so." +</P> + +<P> +She looked down not answering, but her silence gave no indication of a +softened response. He seemed to throw himself upon its hardness in +hopeless desperation. +</P> + +<P> +"Send him away. He needn't go on with us. Tell him to go back to the +Fort." +</P> + +<P> +"Where would we be now without him?" she said and smiled grimly at the +thought of their recent perils with the leader absent. +</P> + +<P> +"We're on the main trail. We don't need him now. I heard him say +yesterday to Daddy John we'd be in Humboldt in three or four days. We +can go on without him, there's no more danger." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled again, a slight flicker of one corner of her mouth. The +dangers were over and Courant could be safely dispensed with. +</P> + +<P> +"He'll go on with us," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"It's not necessary. We don't want him. I'll guide. I'll help. If +he was gone I'd be all right again. Daddy John and I are enough. If I +can get you back as you were before, we'll be happy again, and I <I>can</I> +get you back if he goes." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll never get me back," she answered, and rising moved away from +him, aloof and hostile in the deepest of all aversions, the woman to +the unloved and urgent suitor. He followed her and caught at her dress. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't go. Don't leave me this way. I can't believe it. I can't +stand it. If I hadn't grown into thinking you were going to be my wife +maybe I could. But it's just unbearable when I'd got used to looking +upon you as mine, almost as good as married to me. You can't do it. +You can't make me suffer this way." +</P> + +<P> +His complete abandonment filled her with pain, the first relenting she +had had. She could not look at him and longed to escape. She tried to +draw her dress from his hands, saying: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, David, don't say any more. There's no good. It's over. It's +ended. I can't help it. It's something stronger than I am." +</P> + +<P> +He saw the repugnance in her face and loosened his hold, dropping back +from her. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the end of my life," he said in a muffled voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I feel as if it was the end of the world," she answered, and going to +the pathway disappeared over its edge. +</P> + +<P> +She walked back skirting the rock's bulk till she found a break in its +side, a small gorge shadowed by high walls. The cleft penetrated deep, +its mouth open to the sky, its apex a chamber over which the cloven +walls slanted like hands with finger tips touching in prayer. It was +dark in this interior space, the floor mottled with gleaming sun-spots. +Across the wider opening, unroofed to the pale blue of the zenith, the +first slow shade was stretching, a creeping gray coolness, encroaching +on the burning ground. Here she threw herself down, looking out +through the entrance at the desert shimmering through the heat haze. +The mist wreaths were dissolving, every line and color glassily clear. +Her eyes rested vacantly on it, her body inert, her heart as heavy as a +stone. +</P> + +<P> +David made no movement to follow her. He had clung to his hope with +the desperation of a weak nature, but it was ended now. No +interference, no miracle, could restore her to him. He saw—he had to +see—that she was lost to him as completely as if death had claimed +her. More completely, for death would have made her a stranger. Now +it was the Susan he had loved who had looked at him with eyes not even +indifferent but charged with a hard hostility. She was the same and +yet how different! Hopeless!—Hopeless! He wondered if the word had +ever before voiced so abject a despair. +</P> + +<P> +He turned to the back of the plateau and saw the faint semblance of a +path leading upward to higher levels, a trail worn by the feet of other +emigrants who had climbed to scan with longing eyes the weary way to +the land of their desire. As he walked up it and the prospect widened +on his sight, its message came, clearer with every mounting step. Thus +forever would he look out on a blasted world uncheered by sound or +color. The stillness that lapped him round was as the stillness of his +own dead heart. The mirage quivered brilliant in the distance, and he +paused, a solitary shape against the exhausted sky, to think that his +dream of love had had no more reality. Beautiful and alluring it had +floated in his mind, an illusion without truth or substance. +</P> + +<P> +He reached the higher elevation, barren and iron hard, the stone hot to +his feet. On three sides the desert swept out to the horizon, held in +its awful silence. Across it, a white seam, the Emigrant Trail wound, +splindling away into the west, a line of tortuous curves, a loop, a +straight streak, and then a tiny thread always pressing on to that +wonderful land which he had once seen as a glowing rim on the world's +remotest verge. It typified the dauntless effort of man, never +flagging, never broken, persisting to its goal. He had not been able +to thus persist, the spirit had not reached far enough to know its aim +and grasp it. He knew his weakness, his incapacity to cope with the +larger odds of life, a watcher not an actor in the battle, and +understanding that his failure had come from his own inadequacy he +wished that he might die. +</P> + +<P> +On one side the eminence broke away in a sheer fall to the earth below. +At its base a scattering of sundered bowlders and fragments lay, veiled +by a growth of small, bushy shrubs to which a spring gave nourishment. +Behind this the long spine of the rock tapered back to the parent ridge +that ran, a bristling rampart, east and west. He sat down on the edge +of the precipice watching the trail. He had no idea how long he +remained thus. A shadow falling across him brought him back to life. +He turned and saw Courant standing a few feet from him. +</P> + +<P> +Without speech or movement they eyed one another. In his heart each +hated the other, but in David the hate had come suddenly, the hysteric +growth of a night's anguish. The mountain man's was tempered by a +process of slow-firing to a steely inflexibility. He hated David that +he had ever been his rival, that he had ever thought to lay claim to +the woman who was his, that he had ever aspired to her, touched her, +desired her. He hated him when he saw that, all unconsciously, he had +still a power to hold her from the way her passion led. And back of +all was the ancient hatred, the heritage from ages lost in the +beginnings of the race, man's of man in the struggle for a woman. +</P> + +<P> +David rose from his crouching posture to his knees. The other, all his +savage instincts primed for onslaught, saw menace in the movement, and +stood braced and ready. Like Susan he understood that David had +guessed the secret. He could judge him only by his own measure, and he +knew the settling of the score had come. There was no right or justice +in his claim, only the right of the stronger to win what he wanted, but +that to him was the supreme right. +</P> + +<P> +David's sick fury shot up into living flame. He judged Susan innocent, +a tool in ruthless hands. He saw the destroyer of their lives, a devil +who had worked subtly for his despoilment. The air grew dark and in +the center of the darkness, his hate concentrated on the watching face, +and an impulse, the strongest of his life, nerved him with the force to +kill. For once he broke beyond himself, rose outside the restrictions +that had held him cowering within his sensitive shell. His rage had +the vehemence of a distracted woman's, and he threw himself upon his +enemy, inadequate now as always, but at last unaware and unconscious. +</P> + +<P> +They clutched and rocked together. From the moment of the grapple it +was unequal—a sick and wounded creature struggling in arms that were +as iron bands about his puny frame. But as a furious child fights for +a moment successfully with its enraged elder, he tore and beat at his +opponent, striking blindly at the face he loathed, writhing in the grip +that bent his body and sent the air in sobbing gasps from his lungs. +Their trampling was muffled on the stone, their shadows leaped in +contorted waverings out from their feet and back again. Broken and +twisted in Courant's arms, David felt no pain only the blind hate, saw +the livid plain heaving about him, the white ball of the sun, and +twisting through the reeling distance the pale thread of the Emigrant +Trail, glancing across his ensanguined vision like a shuttle weaving +through a blood-red loom. +</P> + +<P> +They staggered to the edge of the plateau and there hung. It was only +for a moment, a last moment of strained and swaying balance. Courant +felt the body against his weaken, wrenched himself free, and with a +driving blow sent it outward over the precipice. It fell with the arms +flung wide, the head dropped backward, and from the open mouth a cry +broke, a shrill and dreadful sound that struck sharp on the plain's +abstracted silence, spread and quivered across its surface like +widening rings on the waters of a pool. The mountain man threw himself +on the edge and looked down. The figure lay limp among the bushes +thirty feet below. He watched it, his body still as a panther's +crouched for a spring. He saw one of the hands twitch, a loosened +sliver of slate slide from the wall, and cannoning on projections, leap +down and bury itself in the outflung hair. The face looking up at him +with half-shut eyes that did not wink as the rock dust sifted into +them, was terrible, but he felt no sensation save a grim curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +He stole down a narrow gulley and crept with stealthy feet and +steadying hands toward the still shape. The shadows were cool down +there, and as he touched the face its warmth shocked him. It should +have been cold to have matched its look and the hush of the place. He +thrust his hand inside the shirt and felt at the heart. No throb rose +under his palm, and he sent it sliding over the upper part of the body, +limp now, but which he knew would soon be stiffening. The man was dead. +</P> + +<P> +Courant straightened himself and sent a rapid glance about him. The +bushes among which the body lay were close matted in a thick screen. +Through their roots the small trickle of the spring percolated, +stealing its way to the parched sands outside. It made a continuous +murmuring, as if nature was lifting a voice of low, insistent protest +against the desecration of her peace. +</P> + +<P> +The man standing with stilled breath and rigid muscles listened for +other sounds. Reassured that there were none, his look swept right and +left for a spot wherein to hide the thing that lay at his feet. At its +base the rock wall slanted outward leaving a hollow beneath its eave +where the thin veneer of water gleamed from the shadows. He took the +dead man under the arms and dragged him to it, careful of branches that +might snap under his foot, pausing to let the echoes of rolling stones +die away—a figure of fierce vitality with the long, limp body hanging +from his hands. At the rock he crouched and thrust his burden under +the wall's protecting cope, the trickle of the water dying into a +sudden, scared silence. Stepping back he brushed the bushes into +shape, hiding their breakage, and bent to gather the scattered leaves +and crush them into crevices. When it was done the place showed no +sign of the intruder, only the whispering of the streamlet told that +its course was changed and it was feeling for a new channel. +</P> + +<P> +Then he crept softly out to the plain's edge where the sunlight lay +long and bright. It touched his face and showed it white, with lips +close set and eyes gleaming like crystals. He skirted the rock, making +a soft, quick way to where the camp lay. Here the animals stood, heads +drooped as they cropped the herbage round the spring. Daddy John sat +in the shade of the wagon, tranquilly cleaning a gun. The mountain +man's passage was so soundless that he did not hear it. The animals +raised slow eyes to the moving figure, then dropped them indifferently. +He passed them, his step growing lighter, changing as he withdrew from +the old man's line of vision, to a long, rapid glide. His blood-shot +eyes nursed the extending buttresses, and as he came round them, with +craned neck and body reaching forward, they sent a glance into each +recess that leaped round it like a flame. +</P> + +<P> +Susan had remained in the same place. She made no note of the passage +of time, but the sky between the walls was growing deeper in color, the +shadows lengthening along the ground. She was lying on her side +looking out through the rift's opening when Courant stood there. He +made an instant's pause, a moment when his breath caught deep, and, +seeing him, she started to her knees with a blanching face. As he came +upon her she held out her hands, crying in uprising notes of terror, +"No! No! No!" But he gathered her in his arms, stilled her cries +with his kisses, and bending low carried her back into the darkened +cavern over which the rocks closed like hands uplifted in prayer. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0406"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + + +<P> +Till the afternoon of the next day they held the train for David. When +evening fell and he did not come Daddy John climbed the plateau and +kindled a beacon fire that threw its flames against the stars. Then he +took his rifle and skirted the rock's looming bulk, shattering the +stillness with reports that let loose a shivering flight of echoes. +All night they sat by the fire listening and waiting. As the hours +passed their alarm grew and their speculations became gloomier and more +sinister. Courant was the only one who had a plausible theory. The +moving sparks on the mountains showed that the Indians were still +following them and it was his opinion that David had strayed afar and +been caught by a foraging party. It was not a matter for desperate +alarm as the Diggers were harmless and David would no doubt escape from +them and join a later train. This view offered the only possible +explanation. It was Courant's opinion and so it carried with the other +two. +</P> + +<P> +Early in the evening the girl had shown no interest. Sitting back from +the firelight, a shawl over her head, she seemed untouched by the +anxiety that prompted the old man's restless rovings. As the night +deepened Daddy John had come back to Courant who was near her. He +spoke his fears low, for he did not want to worry her. Glancing to see +if she had heard him, he was struck by the brooding expression of her +face, white between the shawl folds. He nodded cheerily at her but her +eyes showed no responsive gleam, dwelling on him wide and unseeing. As +he moved away he heard her burst into sudden tears, such tears as she +had shed at the Fort, and turning back with arms ready for her +comforting, saw her throw herself against Courant's knees, her face +buried in the folds of her shawl. He stood arrested, amazed not so +much by the outburst as by the fact that it was to Courant she had +turned and not to him. But when he spoke to her she drew the shawl +tighter over her head and pressed her face against the mountain man's +knees. Daddy John had no explanation of her conduct but that she had +been secretly fearful about David and had turned for consolation to the +human being nearest her. +</P> + +<P> +The next day her anxiety was so sharp that she could not eat and the +men grew accustomed to the sight of her mounted on the rock's summit, +or walking slowly along the trail searching with untiring eyes. When +alone with her lover he kissed and caressed her fears into abeyance. +As he soothed her, clasped close against him, her terrors gradually +subsided, sinking to a quiescence that came, not alone from his calm +and practical reassurances, but from the power of his presence to drug +her reason and banish all thoughts save those of him. He wanted her +mind free of the dead man, wanted him eliminated from her imagination. +The spiritual image of David must fade from her thoughts as his +corporeal part would soon fade in the desiccating desert airs. Alone +by the spring, held against Courant's side by an arm that trembled with +a passion she still only half understood, she told him of her last +interview with David. In an agony of self-accusation she whispered: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Low, could he have killed himself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Where?" said the man. "Haven't we searched every hole and corner of +the place? He couldn't have hidden his own body." +</P> + +<P> +The only evidence that some mishap had befallen David was Daddy John's, +who, on the afternoon of the day of the disappearance had heard a cry, +a single sound, long and wild. It had seemed to come from the crest of +the rock, and the old man had listened and hearing no more had thought +it the yell of some animal far on the mountains. This gave color to +Courant's theory that the lost man had been seized by the Diggers. +Borne away along the summit of the ridge he would have shouted to them +and in that dry air the sound would have carried far. He could have +been overpowered without difficulty, weakened by illness and carrying +no arms. +</P> + +<P> +They spent the morning in a fruitless search and in the afternoon +Courant insisted on the train moving on. They cached provisions by the +spring and scratched an arrow on the rock pointing their way, and +underneath it the first letters of their names. It was useless, the +leader said, to leave anything in the form of a letter. As soon as +their dust was moving on the trail the Diggers would sweep down on the +camp and carry away every scrap of rag and bone that was there. This +was why he overrode Susan's plea to leave David's horse. Why present +to the Indians a horse when they had only sufficient for themselves? +She wrung her hands at the grewsome picture of David escaping and +stealing back to find a deserted camp. But Courant was inexorable and +the catching-up went forward with grim speed. +</P> + +<P> +She and the old man were dumb with depression as the train rolled out. +To them the desertion seemed an act of appalling heartlessness. But +the mountain man had overcome Daddy John's scruples by a picture of +their own fate if they delayed and were caught in the early snows of +the Sierras. The girl could do nothing but trust in the word that was +already law to her. He rode beside her murmuring reassurances and +watching her pale profile. Her head hung low on her breast, her hat +casting a slant of shadow to her chin. Her eyes looked gloomily +forward, sometimes as his words touched a latent chord of hope, turning +quickly upon him and enveloping him in a look of pathetic trust. +</P> + +<P> +At the evening halt she ate nothing, sitting in a muse against the +wagon wheel. Presently she put her plate down and, mounting on the +axle, scanned the way they had come. She could see the rock, rising +like the clumsy form of a dismantled galleon from the waters of a +darkling sea. For a space she stood, her hand arched above her eyes, +then snatched the kerchief from her neck and, straining an arm aloft, +waved it. The white and scarlet rag flapped with a languid motion, an +infinitesimal flutter between the blaze of the sky and the purpling +levels of the earth. Her arm dropped, her signal fallen futile on the +plain's ironic indifference. +</P> + +<P> +During the next day's march she constantly looked back, and several +times halted, her hand demanding silence as if she were listening for +pursuing footsteps. Courant hid a growing irritation, which once +escaped him in a query as to whether she thought David, if he got away +from the Indians, could possibly catch them up. She answered that if +he had escaped with a horse he might, and fell again to her listening +and watching. At the night camp she ordered Daddy John to build the +beacon fire higher than ever, and taking a rifle moved along the +outskirts of the light firing into the darkness. Finally, standing +with the gun caught in the crook of her arm, she sent up a shrill call +of "David." The cry fell into the silence, cleaving it with a note of +wild and haunting appeal. Courant went after her and brought her back. +When they returned to the fire the old man, who was busy with the +cooking, looked up to speak but instead gazed in silence, caught by +something unusual in their aspect, revivifying, illuminating, like the +radiance of an inner glow. It glorified the squalor of their clothing, +the drawn fatigue of their faces. It gave them the fleeting glamour of +spiritual beauty that comes to those in whom being has reached its +highest expression, the perfect moment of completion caught amid life's +incompleteness. +</P> + +<P> +In the following days she moved as if the dust cloud that inclosed her +was an impenetrable medium that interposed itself between her and the +weird setting of the way. She was drugged with the wine of a new life. +She did not think of sin, of herself in relation to her past, of the +breaking with every tie that held her to her old self. All her +background was gone. Her conscience that, in her dealings with David, +had been so persistently lively, now, when it came to herself, was +dead. Question of right or wrong, secret communings, self judgment, +had no place in the exaltation of her mood. To look at her conduct and +reason of it, to do anything but feel, was as impossible for her as it +would have been to disengage her senses from their tranced +concentration and restore them to the composed serenity of the past. +</P> + +<P> +It was not the sudden crumbling of a character, the collapse of a +structure reared on a foundation of careful training. It was a logical +growth, forced by the developing process of an environment with which +that character was in harmony. Before she reached the level where she +could surrender herself, forgetful of the rites imposed by law, +unshocked by her lover's brutality, she had been losing every ingrafted +and inherited modification that had united her with the world in which +she had been an exotic. The trials of the trail that would have dried +the soul and broken the mettle of a girl whose womanhood was less rich, +drew from hers the full measure of its strength. Every day had made +her less a being of calculated, artificial reserves, of inculcated +modesties, and more a human animal, governed by instincts that belonged +to her age and sex. She was normal and chaste and her chastity had +made her shrink from the man whose touch left her cold, and yield to +the one to whom her first antagonism had been first response. When she +had given Courant her kiss she had given herself. There was no need +for intermediary courtship. After that vacillations of doubt and +conscience ended. The law of her being was all that remained. +</P> + +<P> +She moved on with the men, dust-grimed, her rags held together with +pins and lacings of deer hide. She performed her share of the work +with automatic thoroughness, eating when the hour came, sleeping on the +ground under the stars, staggering up in the deep-blue dawn and +buckling her horse's harness with fingers that fatigue made clumsy. +She was more silent than ever before, often when the old man addressed +her making no reply. He set down her abstraction to grief over David. +When he tried to cheer her, her absorbed preoccupation gave place to +the old restlessness, and once again she watched and listened. These +were her only moods—periods of musing when she rode in front of the +wagon with vacant eyes fixed on the winding seam of the trail, and +periods of nervous agitation when she turned in her saddle to sweep the +road behind her and ordered him to build the night fire high and bright. +</P> + +<P> +The old servant was puzzled. Something foreign in her, an inner +vividness of life, a deeper current of vitality, told him that this was +not a woman preyed upon by a gnawing grief. He noted, without +understanding, a change in her bearing to Courant and his to her. +Without words to give it expression he saw in her attitude to the +leader a pliant, docile softness, a surreptitious leap of light in the +glance that fell upon him in quick welcome before her lids shut it in. +With Courant the change showed in a possessive tenderness, a brooding +concern. When, at the morning start, he waited as she rode toward him, +his face was irradiated with a look that made the old man remember the +dead loves of his youth. It was going to be all right Daddy John +thought. David gone, whether forever or for an unknown period, the +mountain man might yet win her. And then again the old man fell a +wondering at something in them that did not suggest the unassured +beginnings of courtship, a settled security of relation as of complete +unity in a mutual enterprise. +</P> + +<P> +One afternoon a faint spot of green rose and lingered on the horizon. +They thought it a mirage and watched it with eyes grown weary of the +desert's delusions. But as the road bore toward it, it steadied to +their anxious gaze, expanded into a patch that lay a living touch on +the earth's dead face. By the time that dusk gathered they saw that it +was trees and knew that Humboldt was in sight. At nightfall they +reached it, the first outpost sent into the wilderness by the new +country. The red light of fires came through the dusk like a welcoming +hail from that unknown land which was to be theirs. After supper Daddy +John and Courant left the girl and went to the mud house round which +the camps clustered. The darkness was diluted by the red glow of fires +and astir with dusky figures. There were trains for California and +Oregon and men from the waste lands to the eastward and the south, +flotsam and jetsam thrown up on the desert's shore. Inside, where the +air was thick with smoke and the reek of raw liquors, they heard again +the great news from California. The old man, determined to get all the +information he could, moved from group to group, an observant listener +in the hubbub. Presently his ear was caught by a man who declared he +had been on the gold river and was holding a circle in thrall by his +tales. Daddy John turned to beckon to Courant and, not seeing him, +elbowed his way through the throng spying to right and left. But the +mountain man had gone. Daddy John went back to the gold seeker and +drew him dry of information, then foregathered with a thin individual +who had a humorous eye and was looking on from a corner. This stranger +introduced himself as a clergyman, returning from the East to Oregon by +way of California. They talked together. Daddy John finding his new +acquaintance a tolerant cheery person versed in the lore of the trail. +The man gave him many useful suggestions for the last lap of the +journey and he decided to go after Courant, to whom the route over the +Sierra was unknown ground. +</P> + +<P> +The camps had sunk to silence, the women and children asleep. He +skirted their tents, bending his course to where he saw the hood of his +own wagon and the shadowy forms of Julia and her mates. The fire still +burned bright and on its farther side he could make out the figures of +Susan and Courant seated on the ground. They were quiet, the girl +sitting with her feet tucked under her, idly throwing scraps of sage on +the blaze. He was about to hail Courant when he saw him suddenly drop +to a reclining posture beside her, draw himself along the earth and +curl about her, his elbow on the ground, his head propped on a +sustaining hand. With the other he reached forward, caught Susan's and +drawing it toward him pressed it against his cheek. Daddy John watched +the sacrilegious act with starting eyes. He would have burst in upon +them had he not seen the girl's shy smile, and her body gently droop +forward till her lips rested on the mountain man's. When she drew back +the old servant came forward into the light. Its reflection hid his +pallor, but his heart was thumping like a hammer and his throat was +dry, for suddenly he understood. At his step Susan drew away from her +companion and looked at the advancing shape with eyes darkly soft as +those of an antelope. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been?" she said. "You were a long time away." +</P> + +<P> +"In the mud house," said Daddy John. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you find anyone interesting there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. When I was talkin' with him I didn't know he was so powerful +interestin', but sence I come out o' there I've decided he was." +</P> + +<P> +They both looked at him without much show of curiosity, merely, he +guessed, that they might not look at each other and reveal their secret. +</P> + +<P> +"What was he?" asked Courant. +</P> + +<P> +"A clergyman." +</P> + +<P> +This time they both started, the girl into sudden erectness, then held +her head down as if in shame. For a sickened moment, he thought she +was afraid to look at her lover for fear of seeing refusal in his face. +Courant leaned near her and laid his hand on hers. +</P> + +<P> +"If there's a clergyman here we can be married," he said quietly. +</P> + +<P> +She drew her hand away and with its fellow covered her face. Courant +looked across the fire and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Go and get him, Daddy John. He can do the reading over us now." +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +END OF PART IV +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0501"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +PART V +</H2> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +The Promised Land +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +In the light of a clear September sun they stood and looked down on +it—the Promised Land. +</P> + +<P> +For days they had been creeping up through defiles in the mountain +wall, crawling along ledges with murmurous seas of pine below and the +snow lying crisp in the hollows. On the western slope the great +bulwark dropped from granite heights to wooded ridges along the spines +of which the road wound. Through breaks in the pine's close ranks they +saw blue, vaporous distances, and on the far side of aerial chasms the +swell of other mountains, clothed to their summits, shape undulating +beyond shape. +</P> + +<P> +Then on this bright September afternoon a sun-filled pallor of empty +space shone between the tree trunks, and they had hurried to the summit +of a knoll and seen it spread beneath them—California! +</P> + +<P> +The long spurs, broken apart by ravines, wound downward to where a flat +stretch of valley ran out to a luminous horizon. It was a yellow +floor, dotted with the dark domes of trees and veined with a line of +water. The trail, a red thread, was plain along the naked ridges, and +then lost itself in the dusk of forests. Right and left summit and +slope swelled and dropped, sun-tipped, shadow filled. Slants of light, +rifts of shade, touched the crowded pine tops to gold, darkened them to +sweeps of unstirred olive. The air, softly clear, was impregnated with +a powerful aromatic scent, the strong, rich odor of the earth and its +teeming growths. It lay placid and indolent before the way-worn trio, +a new world waiting for their conquering feet. +</P> + +<P> +The girl, with a deep sigh, dropped her head upon her husband's +shoulder and closed her eyes. She weakened with the sudden promise of +rest. It was in the air, soft as a caress, in the mild, beneficent +sun, in the stillness which had nothing of the desert's sinister quiet. +Courant put his arm about her, and looking into her face, saw it drawn +and pinched, all beauty gone. Her closed eyelids were dark and seamed +with fine folds, the cheek bones showed under her skin, tanned to a dry +brown, its rich bloom withered. Round her forehead and ears her hair +hung in ragged locks, its black gloss hidden under the trail's red +dust. Even her youth had left her, she seemed double her age. It was +as if he looked at the woman she would be twenty years from now. +</P> + +<P> +Something in the sight of her, unbeautiful, enfeebled, her high spirit +dimmed, stirred in him a new, strange tenderness. His arm tightened +about her, his look lost its jealous ardor and wandering over her +blighted face, melted to a passionate concern. The appeal of her +beauty gave place to a stronger, more gripping appeal, never felt by +him before. She was no longer the creature he owned and ruled, no +longer the girl he had broken to an abject submission, but the woman he +loved. Uplifted in the sudden realization he felt the world widen +around him and saw himself another man. Then through the wonder of the +revelation came the thought of what he had done to win her. It +astonished him as a dart of pain would have done. Why had he +remembered it? Why at this rich moment should the past send out this +eerie reminder? He pushed it from him, and bending toward her murmured +a lover's phrase. +</P> + +<P> +She opened her eyes and they met an expression in his that she had felt +the need of, hoped and waited for, an answer to what she had offered +and he had not seen or wanted. It was completion, arrival at the goal, +so longed for and despaired of, and she turned her face against his +shoulder, her happiness too sacred even for his eyes. He did not +understand the action, thought her spirit languished and, pointing +outward, cried in his mounting gladness: +</P> + +<P> +"Look—that's where our home will be." +</P> + +<P> +She lifted her head and followed the directing finger. The old man +stood beside them also gazing down. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a grand sight," he said. "But it's as yellow as the desert. +Must be almighty dry." +</P> + +<P> +"There's plenty of water," said Courant. "Rivers come out of these +mountains and go down there into the plain. And they carry the gold, +the gold that's going to make us rich." +</P> + +<P> +He pressed her shoulder with his encircling arm and she answered +dreamily: +</P> + +<P> +"We are rich enough." +</P> + +<P> +He thought she alluded to the Doctor's money that was hidden in the +wagon. +</P> + +<P> +"But we'll be richer. We've got here before the rest of 'em. We're +the first comers and it's ours. You'll be queen here, Susan. I'll +make you one." His glance ranged over the splendid prospect, eager +with the man's desire to fight and win for his own. She thought little +of what he said, lost in her perfect content. +</P> + +<P> +"When we've got the gold we'll take up land and I'll build a house for +you, a good house, my wife won't live in a tent. It'll be of logs, +strong and water tight, and as soon as they bring things in—and the +ships will be coming soon—we'll furnish it well. And that'll be only +the beginning." +</P> + +<P> +"Where will we build it?" she said, catching his enthusiasm and +straining her eyes as if then and there to pick out the spot. +</P> + +<P> +"By the river under a pine." +</P> + +<P> +"With a place for Daddy John," she cried, stretching a hand toward the +old man. "He must be there too." +</P> + +<P> +He took it and stood linked to the embracing pair by the girl's warm +grasp. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll stick by the tent," he said; "no four walls for me." +</P> + +<P> +"And you two," she looked from one to the other, "will wash for the +gold and I'll take care of you. I'll keep everything clean and +comfortable. It'll be a cozy little home—our log house under the +pine." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed, the first time in many weeks, and the clear sound rang +joyously. +</P> + +<P> +"And when we've got all the dust we want," Courant went on, his spirit +expanding on the music of her laughter, "we'll go down to the coast. +They'll have a town there soon for the shipping. We'll grow up with +it, build it into a city, and as it gets richer so will we. It's going +to be a new empire, out here by the Pacific, with the gold rivers back +of it and the ocean in front. And it's going to be ours." +</P> + +<P> +She looked over the foreground of hill and vale to the shimmering sweep +of the rich still land. Her imagination, wakened by his words, passed +from the log house to the busy rush of a city where the sea shone +between the masts of ships. It was a glowing future they were to march +on together, with no cloud to mar it now that she had seen the new look +in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +A few days later they were in the Sacramento Valley camped near the +walls of Sutter's Fort. The plain, clad with a drab grass, stretched +to where the low-lying Sacramento slipped between oozy banks. Here +were the beginnings of a town, shacks and tents dumped down in a helter +skelter of slovenly hurry. Beyond, the American river crept from the +mountains and threaded the parched land. Between the valley and the +white sky-line of the Sierra, the foot hills swelled, indented with +ravines and swathed in the matted robe of the chaparral. +</P> + +<P> +While renewing their supplies at the fort they camped under a live oak. +It was a mighty growth, its domed outline fretted with the fineness of +horny leaves, its vast boughs outflung in contorted curves. The river +sucked about its roots. Outside its shade the plain grew dryer under +unclouded suns, huge trees casting black blots of shadow in which the +Fort's cattle gathered. Sometimes vaqueros came from the gates in the +adobe walls, riding light and with the long spiral leap of the lasso +rising from an upraised hand. Sometimes groups of half-naked Indians +trailed through the glare, winding a way to the spot of color that was +their camp. +</P> + +<P> +To the girl it was all wonderful, the beauty, the peace, the cessation +of labor. When the men were at the Fort she lay beneath the great tree +watching the faint, white chain of the mountains, or the tawny valley +burning to orange in the long afternoons. For once she was idle, come +at last to the end of all her journeyings. Only the present, the +tranquil, perfect present, existed. What did not touch upon it, fit in +and have some purpose in her life with the man of whom she was a part, +was waste matter. She who had once been unable to endure the thought +of separation from her father could now look back on his death and say, +"How I suffered then," and know no reminiscent pang. She would have +wondered at herself if, in the happiness in which she was lapped, she +could have drawn her mind from its contemplation to wonder at anything. +There was no world beyond the camp, no interest in what did not focus +on Courant, no people except those who added to his trials or his +welfare. The men spent much of their time at the Fort, conferring with +others en route to the river bed below Sutter's mill. When they came +back to the camp there was lively talk under the old tree. The silence +of the trail was at an end. The pendulum swung far, and now they were +garrulous, carried away by the fever of speculation. The evening came +and found them with scattered stores and uncleaned camp, their voices +loud against the low whisperings of leaves and water. +</P> + +<P> +Courant returned from these absences aglow with fortified purpose. +Reestablished contact with the world brightened and humanized him, +acting with an eroding effect on a surface hardened by years of lawless +roving. In his voluntary exile he had not looked for or wanted the +company of his fellows. Now he began to soften under it, shift his +viewpoint from that of the all-sufficing individual to that of the +bonded mass from which he had so long been an alien. The girl's +influence had revivified a side almost atrophied by disuse. Men's were +aiding it. As her sympathies narrowed under the obsession of her +happiness, his expanded, awaked by a reversion to forgotten conditions. +</P> + +<P> +One night, lying beside her under the tent's roof, he found himself +wakeful. It was starless and still, the song of the river fusing in a +continuous flow of low sound with the secret, self-communings of the +tree. The girl's light breathing was at his ear, a reminder of his +ownership and its responsibilities. In the idleness of the unoccupied +mind he mused on the future they were to share till death should come +between. It was pleasant thinking, or so it began. Then, gradually, +something in the darkness and the lowered vitality of night caused it +to lose its joy, become suffused by a curious, doubting uneasiness. He +lay without moving, given up to the strange feeling, not knowing what +induced it or from whence it came. It grew in poignancy, clearer and +stronger, till it led him like a clew to the body of David. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time that savage act came back to him with a surge of +repudiation, of scared denial. He had a realizing sense of how it +would look to other men—the men he had met at the Fort. Distinctly, +as if their mental attitude were substituted for his, he saw it as they +would see it, as the world he was about to enter would see it. His +heart began to thump with something like terror and the palms of his +hands grew moist. Turning stealthily that he might not wake her, he +stared at the triangle of paler darkness that showed through the tent's +raised flap. He had no fear that Susan would find out. Even if she +did, he knew her securely his, till the end of time, her thoughts to +take their color from him, her fears to be lulled at his wish. But the +others—the active, busy, practical throng into which he would be +absorbed. His action, in the heat of a brutal passion, had made him an +outsider from the close-drawn ranks of his fellows. He had been able +to do without them, defied their laws, scorned their truckling to +public opinion—but now? +</P> + +<P> +The girl turned in her sleep, pressing her head against his shoulder +and murmuring drowsily. He edged away from her, flinching from the +contact, feeling a grievance against her. She was the link between him +and them. Hers was the influence that was sapping the foundations of +his independence. She was drawing him back to the place of lost +liberty outside which he had roamed in barbarous content. His love was +riveting bonds upon him, making his spirit as water. He felt a revolt, +a resistance against her power, which was gently impelling him toward +home, hearth, neighbors—the life in which he felt his place was gone. +</P> + +<P> +The next day the strange mood seemed an ugly dream. It was not he who +had lain wakeful and questioned his right to bend Fate to his own +demands. He rode beside his wife at the head of the train as they +rolled out in the bright, dry morning on the road to the river. There +were men behind them, and in front the dust rose thick on the rear of +pack trains. They filed across the valley, watching the foot hills +come nearer and the muffling robe of the chaparral separate into +checkered shadings where the manzanita glittered and the faint, bluish +domes of small pines rose above the woven greenery. +</P> + +<P> +Men were already before them, scattered along the river's bars, waist +high in the pits. Here and there a tent showed white, but a blanket +under a tree, a pile of pans by a blackened heap of fire marked most of +the camps. Some of the gold-hunters had not waited to undo their packs +which lay as they had been dropped, and the owners, squatting by the +stream's lip, bent over their pans round which the water sprayed in a +silver fringe. There were hails and inquiries, answering cries of good +or ill luck. Many did not raise their eyes, too absorbed by the hope +of fortune to waste one golden moment. +</P> + +<P> +These were the vanguard, the forerunners of next year's thousands, +scratching the surface of the lower bars. The sound of their voices +was soon left behind and the river ran free of them. Pack trains +dropped from the line, spreading themselves along the rim of earth +between the trail and the shrunken current. Courant's party moved on, +going higher, veiled in a cloud of brick-colored dust. The hills swept +up into bolder lines, the pines mounted in sentinel files crowding out +the lighter leafage. At each turn the vista showed a loftier uprise, +crest peering above crest, and far beyond, high and snow-touched, the +summits of the Sierra. The shadows slanted cool from wall to wall, the +air was fresh and scented with the forest's resinous breath. Across +the tree tops, dense as the matted texture of moss, the winged shadows +of hawks floated, and paused, and floated again. +</P> + +<P> +Here on a knoll under a great pine they pitched the tent. At its base +the river ran, dwindled to a languid current, the bared mud banks +waiting for their picks. The walls of the cańon drew close, a drop of +naked granite opposite, and on the slopes beyond were dark-aisled +depths, golden-moted, and stirred to pensive melodies. The girl +started to help, then kicked aside the up-piled blankets, dropped the +skillets into the mess chest, and cried: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I can't, I want to look and listen. Keep still—" The men +stopped their work, and the music of the murmurous boughs and the +gliding water filled the silence. She turned her head, sniffing the +forest's scents, her glance lighting on the blue shoulders of distant +hills. +</P> + +<P> +"And look at the river, yellow, yellow with gold! I can't work now, I +want to see it all—and feel it too," and she ran to the water's edge +where she sat down on a rock and gazed up and down the cańon. +</P> + +<P> +When the camp was ready Courant joined her. The rock was wide enough +for two and he sat beside her. +</P> + +<P> +"So you like it, Missy?" he said, sending a side-long glance at her +flushed face. +</P> + +<P> +"Like it!" though there was plenty of room she edged nearer to him, +"I'm wondering if it really is so beautiful or if I just think it so +after the trail." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll be content to stay here with me till we've made our pile?" +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him and nodded, then slipped her fingers between his and +whispered, though there was no one by to hear, "I'd be content to stay +anywhere with you." +</P> + +<P> +He was growing accustomed to this sort of reply. Deprived of it he +would have noticed the omission, but it had of late become so common a +feature in the conversation he felt no necessity to answer in kind. He +glanced at the pine trunks about them and said: +</P> + +<P> +"If the claim's good, we'll cut some of those and build a cabin. +You'll see how comfortable I can make you, the way they do on the +frontier." +</P> + +<P> +She pressed his fingers for answer and he went on: +</P> + +<P> +"When the winter comes we can move farther down. Up here we may get +snow. But there'll be time between now and then to put up something +warm and waterproof." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should we move down? With a good cabin we can be comfortable +here. The snow won't be heavy this far up. They told Daddy John all +about it at the Fort. And you and he can ride in there sometimes when +we want things." +</P> + +<P> +These simple words gratified him more than she guessed. It was as if +she had seen into the secret springs of his thought and said what he +was fearful she would not say. That was why—in a spirit of testing a +granted boon to prove its genuineness—he asked with tentative +questioning: +</P> + +<P> +"You won't be lonely? There are no people here." +</P> + +<P> +She made the bride's answer and his contentment increased, for again it +was what he would have wished her to say. When he answered he spoke +almost sheepishly, with something of uneasy confession in his look: +</P> + +<P> +"I'd like to live in places like this always. I feel choked and +stifled where there are walls shutting out the air and streets full of +people. Even in the Fort I felt like a trapped animal. I want to be +where there's room to move about and nobody bothering with different +kinds of ideas. It's only in the open, in places without men, that I'm +myself." +</P> + +<P> +For the first time he had dared to give expression to the mood of the +wakeful night. Though it was dim in the busy brightness of the +present—a black spot on the luster of cheerful days—he dreaded that +it might come again with its scaring suggestions. With a nerve that +had never known a tremor at any menace from man, he was frightened of a +thought, a temporary mental state. In speaking thus to her, he +recognized her as a help-meet to whom he could make a shamed admission +of weakness and fear no condemnation or diminution of love. This time, +however, she made the wrong reply: +</P> + +<P> +"But we'll go down to the coast after a while, if our claim's good and +we get enough dust out of it. I think of it often. It will be so nice +to live in a house again, and have some one to do the cooking, and wear +pretty clothes. It will be such fun living where there are people and +going about among them, going to parties and maybe having parties of +our own." +</P> + +<P> +He withdrew his hand from hers and pushed the hair back from his +forehead. Though he said nothing she was conscious of a drop in his +mood. She bent forward to peer into his face and queried with bright, +observing eyes: +</P> + +<P> +"You don't seem to like the thought of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it's not me," he answered. "I was just wondering at the queer way +women talk. A few minutes ago you said you'd be content anywhere with +me. Now you say you think it would be such fun living in a city and +going to parties." +</P> + +<P> +"With you, too," she laughed, pressing against his shoulder. "I don't +want to go to the parties alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I guess if you ever go it'll have to be alone," he said roughly. +</P> + +<P> +She understood now that she had said something that annoyed him, and +not knowing how she had come to do it, felt aggrieved and sought to +justify herself: +</P> + +<P> +"But we can't live here always. If we make money we'll want to go back +some day where there are people, and comforts and things going on. +We'll want friends, everybody has friends. You don't mean for us +always to stay far away from everything in these wild, uncivilized +places?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" he said, not looking at her, noting her rueful tone and +resenting it. +</P> + +<P> +"But we're not that kind of people. You're not a real mountain man. +You're not like Zavier or the men at Fort Laramie. You're Napoleon +Duchesney just as I'm Susan Gillespie. Your people in St. Louis and +New Orleans were ladies and gentlemen. It was just a wild freak that +made you run off into the mountains. You don't want to go on living +that way. That part of your life's over. The rest will be with me." +</P> + +<P> +"And you'll want the cities and the parties?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll want to live the way Mrs. Duchesney should live, and you'll want +to, too." He did not answer, and she gave his arm a little shake and +said, "Won't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm more Low Courant than I am Napoleon Duchesney," was his answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, maybe so, but whichever you are, you've got a wife now and +<I>that</I> makes a great difference." +</P> + +<P> +She tried to infuse some of her old coquetry into the words, but the +eyes, looking sideways at him, were troubled, for she did not yet see +where she had erred. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess it does," he said low, more as if speaking to himself than her. +</P> + +<P> +This time she said nothing, feeling dashed and repulsed. They +continued to sit close together on the rock, the man lost in morose +reverie, the girl afraid to move or touch him lest he should show +further annoyance. +</P> + +<P> +The voice of Daddy John calling them to supper came to both with +relief. They walked to the camp side by side, Low with head drooped, +the girl at his elbow stealing furtive looks at him. As they +approached the fire she slid her hand inside his arm and, glancing +down, he saw the timid questioning of her face and was immediately +contrite. He laid his hand on hers and smiled, and she caught her +breath in a deep sigh and felt happiness come rushing back. Whatever +it was she had said that displeased him she would be careful not to say +it again, for she had already learned that the lion in love is still +the lion. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0502"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + + +<P> +Their claim was rich and they buckled down to work, the old man +constructing a rocker after a model of his own, and Courant digging in +the pits. Everything was with them, rivals were few, the ground +uncrowded, the season dry. It was the American River before the +Forty-niners swarmed along its edges, and there was gold in its sands, +sunk in a sediment below its muddy deposit, caked in cracks through the +rocks round which its currents had swept for undisturbed ages. +</P> + +<P> +They worked feverishly, the threat of the winter rains urging them on. +The girl helped, leaving her kettle settled firm on a bed of embers +while the water heated for dish washing, to join them on the shore, +heaped with their earth piles. She kept the rocker in motion while the +old man dipped up the water in a tin ladle and sent it running over the +sifting bed of sand and pebbles. The heavier labor of digging was +Courant's. Before September was over the shore was honeycombed with +his excavations, driven down to the rock bed. The diminishing stream +shrunk with each day and he stood in it knee high, the sun beating on +his head, his clothes pasted to his skin by perspiration, and the thud +of his pick falling with regular stroke on the monotonous rattle of the +rocker. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes she was tired and they ordered her to leave them and rest in +the shade of the camp. She loitered about under the spread of the pine +boughs, cleaning and tidying up, and patching the ragged remnants of +their clothes. Often, as she sat propped against the trunk, her sewing +fell to her lap and she looked out with shining, spell-bound eyes. The +men were shapes of dark importance against the glancing veil of water, +the soaked sands and the low brushwood yellowing in the autumn's soft, +transforming breath. Far away the film of whitened summits dreamed +against the blue. In the midwash of air, aloft and dreaming, too, the +hawk's winged form poised, its shadow moving below it across the sea of +tree tops. +</P> + +<P> +She would sit thus, motionless and idle, as the long afternoon wore +away, and deep-colored veils of twilight gathered in the cańon. She +told the men the continuous sounds of their toil made her drowsy. But +her stillness was the outward sign of an inner concentration. If +delight in rest had replaced her old bodily energy, her mind had gained +a new activity. She wondered a little at it, not yet at the heart of +her own mystery. Her thoughts reached forward into the future, busied +themselves with details of the next twelve months, dwelt anxiously on +questions of finance. The nest-building instinct was astir in her and +she pondered on the house they were to build, how they must arrange +something for a table, and maybe fashion armchairs of barrels and red +flannel. Finally, in a last voluptuous flight of ecstasy, she saw +herself riding into Sacramento with a sack of dust and abandoning +herself to an orgie of bartering. +</P> + +<P> +One afternoon three men, two Mexicans and an Australian sailor from a +ship in San Francisco cove, stopped at the camp for food. The +Australian was a loquacious fellow, with faculties sharpened by +glimpses of life in many ports. He told them of the two emigrant +convoys he had just seen arrive in Sacramento, worn and wasted by the +last forced marches over the mountains. Susan, who had been busy over +her cooking, according him scant attention, at his description of the +trains, suddenly lifted intent eyes and leaned toward him: +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see a man among them, a young man, tall and thin, with black +hair and beard?" +</P> + +<P> +"All the men were tall and thin, or any ways thin," said the sailor, +laughing. "How tall was he?" +</P> + +<P> +"Six feet," she replied, her face devoid of any answering smile, "with +high shoulders and walking with a stoop. He had a fine, handsome face, +and long black hair to his shoulders and gray eyes." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you lost your sweetheart?" said the man, who did not know the +relations of the party. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she said gravely, "my friend." +</P> + +<P> +Courant explained: +</P> + +<P> +"She's my wife. The man she's speaking of was a member of our company +that we lost on the desert. We thought Indians had got him and hoped +he'd get away and join with a later westbound train. His name was +David." +</P> + +<P> +The sailor shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't seen no one answering to that name, nor to that description. +There wasn't a handsome-featured one in the lot, nor a David. But if +you're expecting him along, why don't you take her in and let her look +'em over? They told me at the Fort the trains was mostly all in or +ought to be. Any time now the snow on the summit will be too deep for +'em. If they get caught up there they can't be got out, so they're +coming over hot foot and are dumped down round Hock Farm. Not much to +see, but if you're looking for a friend it's worth trying." +</P> + +<P> +That night Courant was again wakeful. Susan's face, as she had +questioned the sailor, floated before him on the darkness. With it +came the thought of the dead man. In the silence David called upon him +from the sepulcher beneath the rock, sent a message through the night +which said that, though he was hidden from mortal vision, the memory of +him was still alive, imbued with an unquenchable vitality. His +unwinking eyes, with the rock crumbs sifting on them, looked at those +of his triumphant enemy and spoke through their dusted films. In the +moment of death they had said nothing to him, now they shone—not +angrily accusing as they had been in life—but stern with a vindictive +purpose. +</P> + +<P> +Courant began to have a fearful understanding of their meaning. Though +dead to the rest of the world, David would maintain an intense and +secret life in his murderer's conscience. He had never fought such a +subtle and implacable foe, and he lay thinking of how he could create +conditions that would give him escape, push the phantom from him, make +him forget, and be as he had been when no one had disputed his +sovereignty over himself. He tried to think that time would mitigate +this haunting discomfort. His sense of guilt, his fear of his wife, +would die when the novelty of once again being one with the crowd had +worn away. It was not possible that he, defiant of man and God, could +languish under this dread of a midnight visitation or a discovery that +never would be made. It was the reentering into the communal life that +had upset his poise—or was it the influence of the woman, the softly +pervasive, enervating influence? He came up against this thought with +a dizzying impact and felt himself droop and sicken as one who is faced +with a task for which his strength is inadequate. +</P> + +<P> +He turned stealthily and lay on his back, his face beaded with sweat. +The girl beside him waked and sat up casting a side glance at him. By +the starlight, slanting in through the raised tent door, she saw his +opened eyes and, leaning toward him, a black shape against the faintly +blue triangle, said: +</P> + +<P> +"Low, are you awake?" +</P> + +<P> +He answered without moving, glad to hear her speak, to know that sleep +had left her and her voice might conjure away his black imaginings. +</P> + +<P> +"Why aren't you sleeping?" she asked. "You must be half dead after +such work as you did today." +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking—" then hastily, for he was afraid that she might sense +his mood and ply him with sympathetic queries: "Sometimes people are +too tired to sleep. I am, and so I was lying here just thinking of +nothing." +</P> + +<P> +His fears were unnecessary. She was as healthily oblivious of his +disturbance as he was morbidly conscious of it. She sat still, her +hands clasped round her knees, about which the blanket draped blackly. +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking, too," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Of what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of what that man was saying of David." +</P> + +<P> +There was a silence. He lay motionless, his trouble coming back upon +him. He wished that he might dare to impose upon her a silence on that +one subject. David, given a place in her mind, would sit at every +feast, walk beside them, lie between them in their marriage bed. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you think of him?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Because—" her tone showed surprise. "It's natural, isn't it? Don't +you? I'm sure you do. I do often, much oftener than you think. I'm +always hoping that he'll come." +</P> + +<P> +"You never loved him," he said, in a voice from which all spring was +gone. +</P> + +<P> +"No, but he was my friend, and I would like to keep him so for always. +I think of his kindness, his gentleness, all the good part of him +before the trail broke him down. And, I think, too, how cruel I was to +him." +</P> + +<P> +The darkness hid her face, but her voice told that she, too, had her +little load of guilt where David was concerned. +</P> + +<P> +The man moved uneasily. +</P> + +<P> +"That's foolishness. You only told the truth. If it was cruel, that's +not your affair." +</P> + +<P> +"He loved me. A woman doesn't forget that." +</P> + +<P> +"That's over and done with. He's probably here somewhere, come through +with a train that's scattered. And, anyway, you can't do any good by +thinking about him." +</P> + +<P> +This time the false reassurances came with the pang that the dead man +was rousing in tardy retribution. +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to know it," she said wistfully, "to feel sure. It's +the only thing that mars our happiness. If I knew he was safe and well +somewhere there'd be nothing in the world for me but perfect joy." +</P> + +<P> +Her egotism of satisfied body and spirit jarred upon him. The passion +she had evoked had found no peace in its fulfillment. She had got what +he had hoped for. All that he had anticipated was destroyed by the +unexpected intrusion of a part of himself that had lain dead till she +had quickened it, and quickening it she had killed his joy. In a flash +of divination he saw that, if she persisted in her worry over David, +she would rouse in him an antagonism that would eventually drive him +from her. He spoke with irritation: +</P> + +<P> +"Put him out of your mind. Don't worry about him. You can't do any +good, and it spoils our love." +</P> + +<P> +After a pause, she said with a hesitating attempt at cajolery: +</P> + +<P> +"Let me and Daddy John drive into the valley and try and get news of +him. We need supplies and we'll be gone only two or three days. We +can inquire at the Fort and maybe go on to Sacramento, and if he's been +there we'll hear of it. If we could only hear, just hear, he was safe, +it would be such a relief. It would take away this dreary feeling of +anxiety, and guilt too, Low. For I feel guilty when I think of how we +left him." +</P> + +<P> +"Where was the guilt? You've no right to say that. You understood we +had to go. I could take no risks with you and the old man." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, slowly, tempering her agreement with a self-soothing +reluctance, "but even so, it seemed terrible. I often tell myself we +couldn't have done anything else, but——" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice dropped to silence and she sat staring out at the quiet +night, her head blurred with the filaments of loosened hair. +</P> + +<P> +He did not speak, gripped by his internal torment, aggravated now by +torment from without. He wondered, if he told her the truth, would she +understand and help him to peace. But he knew that such knowledge +would set her in a new attitude toward him, an attitude of secret +judgment, of distracted pity, of an agonized partisanship built on +loyalty and the despairing passion of the disillusioned. He could +never tell her, for he could never support the loss of her devoted +belief, which was now the food of his life. +</P> + +<P> +"Can I go?" she said, turning to look at him, smiling confidently as +one who knows the formal demand unnecessary. +</P> + +<P> +"If you want," he answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Then we'll start to-morrow," she said, and, leaning down, kissed him. +</P> + +<P> +He was unresponsive to the touch of her lips, lay inert as she nestled +down into soft-breathing, child-like sleep. He watched the tent +opening pale into a glimmering triangle wondering what their life would +be with the specter of David standing in the path, an angel with a +flaming sword barring the way to Paradise. +</P> + +<P> +Two days later she and Daddy John, sitting on the front seat of the +wagon, saw the low drab outlines of the Fort rising from the plain. +Under their tree was a new encampment, one tent with the hood of a +wagon behind it, and oxen grazing in the sun. As they drew near they +could see the crouched forms of two children, the light filtering +through the leafage on the silky flax of their heads. They were +occupied over a game, evidently a serious business, its floor of +operations the smooth ground worn bare about the camp fire. One of +them lay flat with a careful hand patting the dust into mounds, the +other squatted near by watching, a slant of white hair falling across a +rounded cheek. They did not heed the creak of the wagon wheels, but as +a woman's voice called from the tent, raised their heads listening, but +not answering, evidently deeming silence the best safeguard against +interruption. +</P> + +<P> +Susan laid a clutching hand on Daddy John's arm. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the children," she cried in a choked voice. "Stop, stop!" and +before he could rein the mules to order she was out and running toward +them, calling their names. +</P> + +<P> +They made a clamor of welcome, Bob running to her and making delighted +leaps up at her face, the little girl standing aloof for the first +bashful moment, then sidling nearer with mouth upheld for kisses. +Bella heard them and came to the tent door, gave a great cry, and ran +to them. There were tears on her cheeks as she clasped Susan, held her +oft and clutched her again, with panted ejaculations of "Deary me!" and +"Oh, Lord, Missy, is it you?" +</P> + +<P> +It was like a meeting on the other side of the grave. They babbled +their news, both talking at once, not stopping to finish sentences, or +wait for the answer to questions of the marches they had not shared. +Over the clamor they looked at each other with faces that smiled and +quivered, the tie between them strengthened by the separation when each +had longed for the other, closer in understanding by the younger's +added experience, both now women. +</P> + +<P> +Glen was at the Fort and Daddy John rolled off to meet him there. The +novelty of the moment over, the children returned sedately to their +play, and the women sat together under the canopy of the tree. Bella's +adventures had been few and tame, Susan's was the great story. She was +not discursive about her marriage. She was still shy on the subject +and sensitively aware of the disappointment that Bella was too +artlessly amazed to conceal. She passed over it quickly, pretending +that she did not hear Bella's astonished: +</P> + +<P> +"But why did you get married at Humboldt? Why didn't you wait till you +got here?" +</P> + +<P> +It was the loss of David that she made the point of her narrative, +anxiously impressing on her listener their need of going on. She stole +quick looks at Bella, watchful for the first shade of disapprobation, +with all Low's arguments ready to sweep it aside. But Bella, with +maternal instincts in place of a comprehensive humanity, agreed that +Low had done right. Nature, in the beginning, combined with the needs +of the trail, had given her a viewpoint where expediency counted for +more than altruism. She with two children and a helpless man would +have gone on and left anyone to his fate. She did not say this, but +Susan, with intelligence sharpened by a jealous passion, felt that +there was no need to defend her husband's action. As for the rest of +the world—deep in her heart she had already decided it should never +know. +</P> + +<P> +"You couldn't have done anything else," said Bella. "I've learned that +when you're doing that sort of thing, you can't have the same feelings +you can back in the States, with everything handy and comfortable. You +can be fair, but you got to fight for your own. They got to come +first." +</P> + +<P> +She had neither seen nor heard anything of David. No rumor of a man +held captive by the Indians had reached their train. She tried not to +let Susan see that she believed the worst. But her melancholy +headshake and murmured "Poor David—and him such a kind, whole-hearted +man" was as an obituary on the dead. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," she said in pensive comment when Susan had got to the end of +her history, "you can't get through a journey like that without some +one coming to grief. It's not in human nature. But your father—that +grand man! And then the young feller that would have made you such a +good husband—" Susan moved warningly—"Not but what I'm sure you've +got as good a one as it is. And we've got to take what we can get in +this world," she added, spoiling it all by the philosophical acceptance +of what she evidently regarded as a make-shift adjusting to Nature's +needs. +</P> + +<P> +When the men came back Glen had heard all about the gold in the river +and was athirst to get there. Work at his trade could wait, and, +anyway, he had been in Sacramento and found, while his services were in +demand on every side, the materials wherewith he was to help raise a +weatherproof city were not to be had. Men were content to live in +tents and cloth shacks until the day of lumber and sawmills dawned, and +why wait for this millennium when the river called from its golden +sands? +</P> + +<P> +No one had news of David. Daddy John had questioned the captains of +two recently arrived convoys, but learned nothing. The men thought it +likely he was dead. They agreed as to the possibility of the Indian +abduction and his future reappearance. Such things had happened. But +it was too late now to do anything. No search party could be sent out +at this season when at any day the mountain trails might be neck high +in snow. There was nothing to do but wait till the spring. +</P> + +<P> +Susan listened with lowered brows. It was heavy news. She did not +know how she had hoped till she heard that all hope must lie in +abeyance for at least six months. It was a long time to be patient. +She was selfishly desirous to have her anxieties at rest, for, as she +had told her husband, they were the only cloud on her happiness, and +she wanted that happiness complete. It was not necessary for her peace +to see David again. To know he was safe somewhere would have satisfied +her. +</P> + +<P> +The fifth day after leaving the camp they sighted the pitted shores of +their own diggings. Sitting in the McMurdos' wagon they had speculated +gayly on Low's surprise. Susan, on the seat beside Glen, had been +joyously full of the anticipation of it, wondered what he would say, +and then fell to imagining it with closed lips and dancing eyes. When +the road reached the last concealing buttress she climbed down and +mounted beside Daddy John, whose wagon was some distance in advance. +</P> + +<P> +"It's going to be a surprise for Low," she said in the voice of a +mischievous child. "You mustn't say anything. Let me tell him." +</P> + +<P> +The old man, squinting sideways at her, gave his wry smile. It was +good to see his Missy this way again, in bloom like a refreshed flower. +</P> + +<P> +"Look," she cried, as her husband's figure came into view kneeling by +the rocker. "There he is, and he doesn't see us. Stop!" +</P> + +<P> +Courant heard their wheels and, turning, started to his feet and came +forward, the light in his face leaping to hers. She sprang down and +ran toward him, her arms out. Daddy John, slashing the wayside bushes +with his whip, looked reflectively at the bending twigs while the +embrace lasted. The McMurdos' curiosity was not restrained by any such +inconvenient delicacy. They peeped from under the wagon hood, grinning +appreciatively, Bella the while maintaining a silent fight with the +children, who struggled for an exit. None of them could hear what the +girl said, but they saw Courant suddenly look with a changed face, its +light extinguished, at the second wagon. +</P> + +<P> +"He don't seem so terrible glad to see us," said Glen. "I guess he +wanted to keep the place for himself." +</P> + +<P> +Bella noted the look and snorted. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a cross-grained thing," she said; "I don't see what got into her +to marry him when she could have had David." +</P> + +<P> +"She can't have him when he ain't round to be had," her husband +answered. "Low's better than a man that's either a prisoner with the +Indians or dead somewhere. David was a good boy, but I don't seem to +see he'd be much use to her now." +</P> + +<P> +Bella sniffed again, and let the squirming children go to get what good +they could out of the unpromising moment of the surprise. +</P> + +<P> +What Low had said to Susan was an angry, +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you bring them?" +</P> + +<P> +She fell back from him not so crestfallen at his words as at his dark +frown of disapproval. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I wanted them," she faltered, bewildered by his obvious +displeasure at what she thought would be welcome news, "and I thought +you would." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd rather you hadn't. Aren't we enough by ourselves?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, of course. But they're our friends. We traveled with them for +days and weeks, and it's made them like relations. I was so glad to +see them I cried when I saw Bella. Oh, do try and seem more as if you +liked it. They're here and I've brought them." +</P> + +<P> +He slouched forward to greet them. She was relieved to see that he +made an effort to banish his annoyance and put some warmth of welcome +into his voice. But the subtlety with which he could conceal his +emotions when it behooved him had deserted him, and Bella and Glen saw +the husband did not stand toward them as the wife did. +</P> + +<P> +It was Susan who infused into the meeting a fevered and fictitious +friendliness, chattering over the pauses that threatened to fall upon +it, leaving them a reunited company only in name. She presently swept +Bella to the camp, continuing her nervous prattle as she showed her the +tent and the spring behind it, and told of the log house they were to +raise before the rains came. Bella was placated. After all, it was a +lovely spot, good for the children, and if Glen could do as well on a +lower bend of the river as they had done here, it looked as if they had +at last found the Promised Land. +</P> + +<P> +After supper they sat by Daddy John's fire, which shot an eddying +column of sparks into the plumed darkness of the pine. It was like old +times only—with a glance outward toward the water and the star-strewn +sky—so much more—what was the word? Not quiet; they could never +forget the desert silence. "Homelike," Susan suggested, and they +decided that was the right word. +</P> + +<P> +"You feel as if you could stay here and not want to move on," Bella +opined. +</P> + +<P> +Glen thought perhaps you felt that way because you knew you'd come to +the end and couldn't move much farther. +</P> + +<P> +But the others argued him down. They all agreed there was something in +the sun maybe, or the mellow warmth of the air, or the richness of +wooded slope and plain, that made them feel they had found a place +where they could stay, not for a few days' rest, but forever. Susan +had hit upon the word "homelike," the spot on earth that seemed to you +the one best fitted for a home. +</P> + +<P> +The talk swung back to days on the trail and finally brought up on +David. They rehearsed the tragic story, conned over the details that +had begun to form into narrative sequence as in the time-worn lay of a +minstrel. Bella and Glen asked all the old questions that had once +been asked by Susan and Daddy John, and heard the same answers, leaning +to catch them while the firelight played on the strained attention of +their faces. With the night pressing close around them, and the +melancholy, sea-like song sweeping low from the forest, a chill crept +upon them, and their lost comrade became invested with the unreality of +a spirit. Dead in that bleak and God-forgotten land, or captive in +some Indian stronghold, he loomed a tragic phantom remote from them and +their homely interests like a historical figure round which legend has +begun to accumulate. +</P> + +<P> +The awed silence that had fallen was broken by Courant rising and +walking away toward the diggings. This brought their somber pondering +to an end. Bella and Glen picked up the sleeping children and went to +their tent, and Susan, peering beyond the light, saw her man sitting on +a stone, dark against the broken silver of the stream. She stole down +to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. He started as if her touch +scared him, then saw who it was and turned away with a gruff murmur. +The sound was not encouraging, but the wife, already so completely part +of him that his moods were communicated to her through the hidden +subways of instinct, understood that he was in some unconfessed trouble. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter, Low?" she asked, bending to see his face. +</P> + +<P> +He turned it toward her, met the penetrating inquiry of her look, and +realized his dependence on her, feeling his weakness but not caring +just then that he should be weak. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing," he answered. "Why do they harp so on David?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you like them to?" she asked in some surprise. +</P> + +<P> +He took a splinter from the stone and threw it into the water, a small +silvery disturbance marking its fall. +</P> + +<P> +"There's nothing more to be said. It's all useless talk. We can do no +more than we've done." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I tell them you don't like the subject, not to speak of it +again?" +</P> + +<P> +He glanced at her with sudden suspicion: +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, of course not. They've a right to say anything they please. +But it's a waste of time, there's nothing but guessing now. What's the +use of guessing and wondering all through the winter. Are they going +to keep on that way till the spring?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell them not to," she said as a simple solution of the +difficulty. "I'll tell them it worries you." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't," he said sharply. "Do you hear? Don't. Do you want to act +like a fool and make me angry with you?" +</P> + +<P> +He got up and moved away, leaving her staring blankly at his back. He +had been rough to her often, but never before spoken with this note of +peremptory, peevish displeasure. She felt an obscure sense of trouble, +a premonition of disaster. She went to him and, standing close, put +her hand inside his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Low," she pleaded, "what's wrong with you? You were angry that they +came. Now you're angry at what they say. I don't understand. Tell me +the reason of it. If there's something that I don't know let me hear +it, and I'll try and straighten things out." +</P> + +<P> +For a tempted moment he longed to tell her, to gain ease by letting her +share his burden. The hand upon his arm was a symbol of her hold upon +him that no action of his could ever loose. If he could admit her +within the circle of his isolation he would have enough. He would lose +the baleful consciousness of forever walking apart, separated from his +kind, a spiritual Ishmaelite. She had strength enough. For the moment +he felt that she was the stronger of the two, able to bear more than +he, able to fortify him and give him courage for the future. He had a +right to claim such a dole of her love, and once the knowledge hers, +they two would stand, banished from the rest of the world, knit +together by the bond of their mutual knowledge. +</P> + +<P> +The temptation clutched him and his breast contracted in the rising +struggle. His pain clamored for relief, his weakness for support. The +lion man, broken and tamed by the first pure passion of his life, would +have cast the weight of his sin upon the girl he had thought to bear +through life like a pampered mistress. +</P> + +<P> +With the words on his lips he looked at her. She met the look with a +smile that she tried to make brave, but that was only a surface +grimace, her spirit's disturbance plain beneath it. There was pathos +in its courage and its failure. He averted his eyes, shook his arm +free of her hand, and, moving toward the water, said: +</P> + +<P> +"Go back to the tent and go to bed." +</P> + +<P> +"What are you going to do?" she called after him, her voice sounding +plaintive. Its wistful note gave him strength: +</P> + +<P> +"Walk for a while. I'm not tired. I'll be back in an hour," and he +walked away, down the edge of the current, past the pits and into the +darkness. +</P> + +<P> +She watched him, not understanding, vaguely alarmed, then turned and +went back to the tent. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0503"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + + +<P> +The stretch of the river where the McMurdos had settled was richer than +Courant's location. Had Glen been as mighty a man with the pick, even +in the short season left to him, he might have accumulated a goodly +store. But he was a slack worker. His training as a carpenter made +him useful, finding expression in an improvement on Daddy John's +rocker, so they overlooked his inclination to lie off in the sun with +his ragged hat pulled over his eyes. In Courant's camp Bella was +regarded as the best man of the two. To her multiform duties she added +that of assistant in the diggings, squatting beside her husband in the +mud, keeping the rocker going, and when Glen was worked out, not above +taking a hand at the shovel. Her camp showed a comfortable neatness, +and the children's nakedness was covered with garments fashioned by the +firelight from old flour sacks. +</P> + +<P> +There was no crisp coming of autumn. A yellowing of the leafage along +the river's edge was all that denoted the season's change. Nature +seemed loth to lay a desecrating hand on the region's tranquil beauty. +They had been told at the Fort that they might look for the first rains +in November. When October was upon them they left the pits and set to +work felling trees for two log huts. +</P> + +<P> +Susan saw her home rising on the knoll, a square of logs, log roofed, +with a door of woven saplings over which canvas was nailed. They built +a chimney of stones rounded by the water's action, and for a hearth +found a slab of granite which they sunk in the earth before the +fireplace. The bunk was a frame of young pines with canvas stretched +across, and cushioned with spruce boughs and buffalo robes. She +watched as they nailed up shelves of small, split trunks and sawed the +larger ones into sections for seats. The bottom of the wagon came out +and, poised on four log supports, made the table. +</P> + +<P> +Her housewife's instincts rose jubilant as the shell took form, and she +sang to herself as she stitched her flour sacks together for towels. +No princess decked her palace with a blither spirit. All the little +treasures that had not been jettisoned in the last stern march across +the desert came from their hiding places for the adornment of the first +home of her married life. The square of mirror stood on the shelf near +the door where the light could fall on it, and the French gilt clock +that had been her mother's ticked beside it. The men laughed as she +set out on the table the silver mug of her baby days and a two-handled +tankard bearing on its side a worn coat of arms, a heritage from the +adventurous Poutrincourt, a drop of whose blood had given boldness and +courage to hers. +</P> + +<P> +It was her home—very different from the home she had dreamed of—but +so was her life different from the life she and her father had planned +together in the dead days of the trail. She delighted in it, gloated +over it. Long before the day of installation she moved in her +primitive furnishings, disposed the few pans with an eye to their +effect as other brides arrange their silver and crystal, hung her +flour-sack towels on the pegs with as careful a hand as though they had +been tapestries, and folded her clothes neat and seemly in her father's +chest. Then came a night when the air was sharp, and they kindled the +first fire in the wide chimney mouth. It leaped exultant, revealing +the mud-filled cracks, playing on the pans, and licking the bosses of +the old tankard. The hearthstone shone red with its light, and they +sat drawn back on the seats of pine looking into its roaring +depths—housed, sheltered, cozily content. When Glen and Bella retired +to their tent a new romance seemed to have budded in the girl's heart. +It was her bridal night—beneath a roof, beside a hearth, with a door +to close against the world, and shut her away with her lover. +</P> + +<P> +In these days she had many secret conferrings with Bella. They kept +their heads together and whispered, and Bella crooned and fussed over +her and pushed the men into the background in a masterful, aggressive +manner. Susan knew now what had waked the nest-building instinct. The +knowledge came with a thrilling, frightened joy. She sat apart +adjusting herself to the new outlook, sometimes fearful, then uplifted +in a rapt, still elation. All the charm she had once held over the +hearts of men was gone. Glen told Bella she was getting stupid, even +Daddy John wondered at her dull, self-centered air. She would not have +cared what they had said or thought of her. Her interest in men as +creatures to snare and beguile was gone with her lost maidenhood. All +that she had of charm and beauty she hoarded, stored up and jealously +guarded, for her husband and her child. +</P> + +<P> +"It'll be best for you to go down to the town," Bella had said to her, +reveling discreetly in her position as high priestess of these +mysteries, "there'll be doctors in Sacramento, some kind of doctors." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll stay here," Susan answered. "You're here and my husband and +Daddy John. I'd die if I was sent off among strangers. I can't live +except with the people I'm fond of. I'm not afraid." +</P> + +<P> +And the older woman decided that maybe she was right. She could see +enough to know that this girl of a higher stock and culture, plucked +from a home of sheltered ease to be cast down in the rude life of the +pioneer, was only a woman like all the rest, having no existence +outside her own small world. +</P> + +<P> +So the bright, monotonous days filed by, always sunny, always warm, +till it seemed as if they were to go on thus forever, glide into a +winter which was still spring. An excursion to Sacramento, a big day's +clean up, were their excitements. They taught little Bob to help at +the rocker, and the women sat by the cabin door sewing, long periods of +silence broken by moments of desultory talk. Susan had grown much +quieter. She would sit with idle hands watching the shifting lights +and the remoter hills turning from the afternoon's blue to the rich +purple of twilight. Bella said she was lazy, and urged industry and +the need of speed in the preparation of the new wardrobe. She laughed +indolently and said, time enough later on. She had grown indifferent +about her looks—her hair hanging elfish round her ears, her blouse +unfastened at the throat, the new boots Low had brought her from +Sacramento unworn in the cabin corner, her feet clothed in the ragged +moccasins he had taught her to make. +</P> + +<P> +In the evening she sat on a blanket on the cabin floor, blinking +sleepily at the flames. Internally she brimmed with a level content. +Life was coming to the flood with her, her being gathering itself for +its ultimate expression. All the curiosity and interest she had once +turned out to the multiple forms and claims of the world were now +concentrated on the two lives between which hers stood. She was the +primitive woman, a mechanism of elemental instincts, moving up an +incline of progressive passions. The love of her father had filled her +youth, and that had given way to the love of her mate, which in time +would dim before the love of her child. Outside these phases of a +governing prepossession—filial, conjugal, maternal—she knew nothing, +felt nothing, and could see nothing. +</P> + +<P> +Low, at first, had brooded over her with an almost ferocious +tenderness. Had she demanded a removal to the town he would have given +way. He would have acceded to anything she asked, but she asked +nothing. As the time passed her demands of him, even to his help in +small matters of the household, grew less. A slight, inscrutable +change had come over her: she was less responsive, often held him with +an eye whose blankness told of inner imaginings, when he spoke made no +answer, concentrated in her reverie. When he watched her withdrawn in +these dreams, or in a sudden attack of industry, fashioning small +garments from her hoarded store of best clothes, he felt an alienation +in her, and he realized with a start of alarmed divination that the +child would take a part of what had been his, steal from him something +of that blind devotion in the eternal possession of which he had +thought to find solace. +</P> + +<P> +It was a shock that roused him to a scared scrutiny of the future. He +put questions to her for the purpose of drawing out her ideas, and her +answers showed that all her thoughts and plans were gathering round the +welfare of her baby. Her desire for its good was to end her +unresisting subservience to him. She was thinking already of better +things. Ambitions were awakened that would carry her out of the +solitudes, where he felt himself at rest, back to the world where she +would struggle to make a place for the child she had never wanted for +herself. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll take him to San Francisco soon"—it was always "him" in her +speculations—"We can't keep him here." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" he asked. "Look at Bella's children. Could anything be +healthier and happier?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bella's children are different. Bella's different. She doesn't know +anything better, she doesn't care. To have them well fed and healthy +is enough for her. <I>We're</I> not like that. <I>Our</I> child's going to have +everything." +</P> + +<P> +"You're content enough here by yourself and you're a different sort to +Bella." +</P> + +<P> +"For myself!" she gave a shrug. "I don't care any more than Bella +does. But for my child—my son—I want everything. Want him a +gentleman like his ancestors, French and American"—she gave his arm a +propitiating squeeze for she knew he disliked this kind of talk—"want +him to be educated like my father, and know everything, and have a +profession." +</P> + +<P> +"You're looking far ahead." +</P> + +<P> +"Years and years ahead," and then with deprecating eyes and +irrepressible laughter, "Now don't say I'm foolish, but sometimes I +think of him getting married and the kind of girl I'll choose for +him—not stupid like me, but one who's good and beautiful and knows all +about literature and geography and science. The finest girl in the +world, and I'll find her for him." +</P> + +<P> +He didn't laugh, instead he looked sulkily thoughtful: +</P> + +<P> +"And where will we get the money to do all this?" +</P> + +<P> +"We'll make it. We have a good deal now. Daddy John told me the other +day he thought we had nearly ten thousand dollars in dust beside what +my father left. That will be plenty to begin on, and you can go into +business down on the coast. They told Daddy John at the Fort there +would be hundreds and thousands of people coming in next spring. +They'll build towns, make Sacramento and San Francisco big places with +lots going on. We can settle in whichever seems the most thriving and +get back into the kind of life where we belong." +</P> + +<P> +It was her old song, the swan song of his hopes. He felt a loneliness +more bitter than he had ever before conceived of. In the jarring +tumult of a growing city he saw himself marked in his own eyes, aloof +in the street and the market place, a stranger by his own fireside. In +his fear he swore that he would thwart her, keep her in the wild +places, crush her maternal ambitions and force her to share his chosen +life, the life of the outcast. He knew that it would mean conflict, +the subduing of a woman nerved by a mother's passion. And as he worked +in the ditches he thought about it, arranging the process by which he +would gradually break her to his will, beat down her aspirations till +she was reduced to the abject docility of a squaw. Then he would hold +her forever under his hand and eye, broken as a dog to his word, +content to wander with him on those lonely paths where he would tread +out the measure of his days. +</P> + +<P> +Toward the end of November the rains came. First in hesitant showers, +then in steadier downpourings, finally, as December advanced, in +torrential fury. Veils of water descended upon them, swept round their +knoll till it stood marooned amid yellow eddies. The river rose +boisterous, swirled into the pits, ate its way across the honey-combed +reach of mud and fingered along the bottom of their hillock. They had +never seen such rain. The pines bowed and wailed under its assault, +and the slopes were musical with the voices of liberated streams. Moss +and mud had to be pressed into the cabin's cracks, and when they sat by +the fire in the evening their voices fell before the angry lashings on +the roof and the groaning of the tormented forest. +</P> + +<P> +Daddy John and Courant tried to work but gave it up, and the younger +man, harassed by the secession of the toil that kept his body wearied +and gave him sleep, went abroad on the hills, roaming free in the +dripping darkness. Bella saw cause for surprise that he should absent +himself willingly from their company. She grumbled about it to Glen, +and noted Susan's acquiescence with the amaze of the woman who holds +absolute sway over her man. One night Courant came back, drenched and +staggering, on his shoulders a small bear that he had shot on the +heights above. The fresh bear meat placated Bella, but she shook her +head over the mountain man's morose caprices, and in the bedtime hour +made dismal prophecies as to the outcome of her friend's strange +marriage. +</P> + +<P> +The bear hunt had evil consequences that she did not foresee. It left +Courant, the iron man, stricken by an ailment marked by shiverings, +when he sat crouched over the fire, and fevered burnings when their +combined entreaties could not keep him from the open door and the cool, +wet air. When the clouds broke and the landscape emerged from its +mourning, dappled with transparent tints, every twig and leaf washed +clean, his malady grew worse and he lay on the bed of spruce boughs +tossing in a sickness none of them understood. +</P> + +<P> +They were uneasy, came in and out with disturbed looks and murmured +inquiries. He refused to answer them, but on one splendid morning, +blaring life like a trumpet call, he told them he was better and was +going back to work. He got down to the river bank, fumbled over his +spade, and then Daddy John had to help him back to the cabin. With +gray face and filmed eyes he lay on the bunk while they stood round +him, and the children came peeping fearfully through the doorway. They +were thoroughly frightened, Bella standing by with her chin caught in +her hand and her eyes fastened on him, and Susan on the ground beside +him, trying to say heartening phrases with lips that were stiff. The +men did not know what to do. They pushed the children from the door +roughly, as if it were their desire to hurt and abuse them. In some +obscure way it seemed to relieve their feelings. +</P> + +<P> +The rains came back more heavily than ever. For three days the heavens +descended in a downpour that made the river a roaring torrent and isled +the two log houses on their hillocks. The walls of the cabin trickled +with water. The buffets of the wind ripped the canvas covering from +the door, and Susan and Daddy John had to take a buffalo robe from the +bed and nail it over the rent. They kept the place warm with the fire, +but the earth floor was damp to their feet, and the tinkle of drops +falling from the roof into the standing pans came clear through the +outside tumult. +</P> + +<P> +The night when the storm was at its fiercest the girl begged the old +man to stay with her. Courant had fallen into a state of lethargy from +which it was hard to rouse him. Her anxiety gave place to anguish, and +Daddy John was ready for the worst when she shook him into wakefulness, +her voice at his ear: +</P> + +<P> +"You must go somewhere and get a doctor. I'm afraid." +</P> + +<P> +He blinked at her without answering, wondering where he could find a +doctor and not wanting to speak till he had a hope to offer. She read +his thoughts and cried as she snatched his hat and coat from a peg: +</P> + +<P> +"There must be one somewhere. Go to the Fort, and if there's none +there go to Sacramento. I'd go with you but I'm afraid to leave him." +</P> + +<P> +Daddy John went. She stood in the doorway and saw him lead the horse +from the brush shed and, with his head low against the downpour, vault +into the saddle. The moaning of the disturbed trees mingled with the +triumphant roar of the river. There was a shouted good-by, and she +heard the clatter of the hoofs for a moment sharp and distinct, then +swallowed in the storm's high clamor. +</P> + +<P> +In three days he was back with a ship's doctor, an Englishman, who +described himself as just arrived from Australia. Daddy John had +searched the valley, and finally run his quarry to earth at the Porter +Ranch, one of a motley crew waiting to swarm inland to the rivers. The +man, a ruddy animal with some rudimentary knowledge of his profession, +pronounced the ailment "mountain fever." He looked over the doctor's +medicine chest with an air of wisdom and at Susan with subdued +gallantry. +</P> + +<P> +"Better get the wife down to Sacramento," he said to Daddy John. "The +man's not going to last and you can't keep her up here." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he going to die?" said the old man. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor pursed his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"He oughtn't to. He's a Hercules. But the strongest of 'em go this +way with the work and exposure. Think they can do anything and don't +last as well sometimes as the weak ones." +</P> + +<P> +"Work and exposure oughtn't to hurt him. He's bred upon it. Why +should he cave in and the others of us keep up?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't say. But he's all burned out—hollow. There's no rebound. +He's half gone now. Doesn't seem to have the spirit that you'd expect +in such a body." +</P> + +<P> +"Would it do any good to get him out of here, down to the valley or the +coast?" +</P> + +<P> +"It might—change of air sometimes knocks out these fevers. You could +try the coast or Hock Farm. But if you want my opinion I don't think +there's much use." +</P> + +<P> +Then on the first fine day the doctor rode away with some of their dust +in his saddlebags, spying on the foaming river for good spots to locate +when the rains should cease and he, with the rest of the world, could +try his luck. +</P> + +<P> +His visit had done no good, had given no heart to the anguished woman +or roused no flicker of life in the failing man. Through the weakness +of his wasting faculties Courant realized the approach of death and +welcomed it. In his forest roamings, before his illness struck him, he +had thought of it as the one way out. Then it had come to him vaguely +terrible as a specter in dreams. Now bereft of the sustaining power of +his strength the burden of the days to come had grown insupportable. +To live without telling her, to live beside her and remain a partial +stranger, to live divorcing her from all she would desire, had been the +only course he saw, and in it he recognized nothing but misery. Death +was the solution for both, and he relinquished himself to it with less +grief at parting from her than relief at the withdrawal from an +existence that would destroy their mutual dream. What remained to him +of his mighty forces went to keep his lips shut on the secret she must +never know. Even as his brain grew clouded, and his senses feeble, he +retained the resolution to leave her her belief in him. This would be +his legacy. His last gift of love would be the memory of an undimmed +happiness. +</P> + +<P> +But Susan, unknowing, fought on. The doctor had not got back to the +Porter Ranch before she began arranging to move Low to Sacramento and +from there to the Coast. He would get better care, they would find +more competent doctors, the change of air would strengthen him. She +had it out with Bella, refusing to listen to the older woman's +objections, pushing aside all references to her own health. Bella was +distracted. "For," as she said afterwards to Glen, "what's the sense +of having her go? She can't do anything for him, and it's like as not +the three of them'll die instead of one." +</P> + +<P> +There was no reasoning with Susan. The old willfulness was +strengthened to a blind determination. She plodded back through the +rain to Daddy John and laid the matter before him. As of old he did +not dispute with her, only stipulated that he be permitted to go on +ahead, make arrangements, and then come back for her. He, too, felt +there was no hope, but unlike the others he felt the best hope for his +Missy was in letting her do all she could for her husband. +</P> + +<P> +In the evening, sitting by the fire, they talked it over—the stage +down the river, the stop at the Fort, then on to Sacramento, and the +long journey to the seaport settlement of San Francisco. The sick man +seemed asleep, and their voices unconsciously rose, suddenly dropping +to silence as he stirred and spoke: +</P> + +<P> +"Are you talking of moving me? Don't. I've had twelve years of it. +Let me rest now." +</P> + +<P> +Susan went to him and sat at his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"But we must get you well," she said, trying to smile. "They'll want +you in the pits. You must be back there working with them by the +spring." +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her with a wide, cold gaze, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"The spring. We're all waiting for the spring. Everything's going to +happen then." +</P> + +<P> +A silence fell. The wife sat with drooped head, unable to speak. +Daddy John looked into the fire. To them both the Angel of Death +seemed to have paused outside the door, and in the stillness they +waited for his knock. Only Courant was indifferent, staring at the +wall with eyes full of an unfathomable unconcern. +</P> + +<P> +The next day Daddy John left. He was to find the accommodations, get +together such comforts as could be had, and return for them. He took a +sack of dust and the fleetest horse, and calculated to be back inside +two days. As he clattered away he turned for a last look at her, +standing in the sunshine, her hand over her eyes. Man or devil would +not stop him, he thought, as he buckled to his task, and his seventy +years sat as light as a boy's twenty, the one passion of his heart +beating life through him. +</P> + +<P> +Two days later, at sundown, he came back. She heard the ringing of +hoofs along the trail and ran forward to meet him, catching the bridle +as the horse, a white lather of sweat, came to a panting halt. She did +not notice the lined exhaustion of the old man's face, had no care for +anything but his news. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got everything fixed," he cried, and then slid off holding to the +saddle for he was stiff and spent. "The place is ready and I've found +a doctor and got him nailed. It'll be all clean and shipshape for you. +How's Low?" +</P> + +<P> +An answer was unnecessary. He could see there were no good tidings. +</P> + +<P> +"Weaker a little," she said. "But if it's fine we can start to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +He thought of the road he had traveled and felt they were in God's +hands. Then he stretched a gnarled and tremulous claw and laid it on +her shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"And there's other news, Missy. Great news. I'm thinking that it may +help you." +</P> + +<P> +There was no news that could help her but news of Low. She was so +fixed in her preoccupation that her eye was void of interest, as his, +bright and expectant, held it: +</P> + +<P> +"I seen David." +</P> + +<P> +He was rewarded. Her face flashed into excitement and she grabbed at +him with a wild hand: +</P> + +<P> +"David! Where?" +</P> + +<P> +"In Sacramento. I seen him and talked to him." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Daddy John, how wonderful! Was he well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well and hearty, same as he used to be. Plumped up considerable." +</P> + +<P> +"How had he got there?" +</P> + +<P> +"A train behind us picked him up, found him lyin' by the spring where +he'd crawled lookin' for us." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, it wasn't Indians? Had he got lost?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I says to him first-off—'Well, gol darn yer, what +happened to yer?' and before he answers me he says quick, 'How's +Susan?' It ain't no use settin' on bad news that's bound to come out +so I give it to him straight that you and Low was married at Humboldt. +And he took it very quiet, whitened up a bit, and says no words for a +spell, walkin' off a few steps. Then he turns back and says, 'Is she +happy?'" +</P> + +<P> +Memory broke through the shell of absorption and gave voice to a +forgotten sense of guilt: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, poor David! He always thought of me first." +</P> + +<P> +"I told him you was. That you and Low was almighty sot on each other +and that Low was sick. And he was quiet for another spell, and I could +see his thoughts was troublesome. So to get his mind off it I asked +him how it all happened. He didn't answer for a bit, standin' thinkin' +with his eyes lookin' out same as he used to look at the sunsets before +he got broke down. And then he tells me it was a fall, that he clum up +to the top of the rock and thinks he got a touch o' sun up there. For +first thing he knew he was all dizzy and staggerin' round, goin' this +side and that, till he got to the edge where the rock broke off and +over he went. He come to himself lying under a ledge alongside some +bushes, with a spring tricklin' over him. He guessed he rolled there +and that's why we couldn't find him. He don't know how long it was, or +how long it took him to crawl round to the camp—maybe a day, he +thinks, for he was 'bout two thirds dead. But he got there and saw we +was gone. The Indians hadn't come down on the place, and he seen the +writing on the rock and found the cache. The food and the water kep' +him alive, and after a bit a big train come along, the finest train he +even seen—eighteen wagons and an old Ashley man for pilot. They was +almighty good to him; the women nursed him like Christians, and he rid +in the wagons and come back slow to his strength. The reason we didn't +hear of him before was because they come by a southern route that took +'em weeks longer, moving slow for the cattle. They was fine people, he +says, and he's thick with one of the men who's a lawyer, and him and +David's goin' to the coast to set up a law business there." +</P> + +<P> +The flicker of outside interest was dying. "Thank Heaven," she said on +a rising breath, then cast a look at the cabin and added quickly: +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go and tell Low. Maybe it'll cheer him up. He was always so +worried about David. You tell Bella and then come to the cabin and see +how you think he is." +</P> + +<P> +There was light in the cabin, a leaping radiance from the logs on the +hearth, and a thin, pale twilight from the uncovered doorway. She +paused there for a moment, making her step light and composing her +features into serener lines. The gaunt form under the blanket was +motionless. The face, sunk away to skin clinging on sharp-set bones, +was turned in profile. He might have been sleeping but for the glint +of light between the eyelids. She was accustomed to seeing him thus, +to sitting beside the inanimate shape, her hand curled round his, her +eyes on the face that took no note of her impassioned scrutiny. Would +her tidings of David rouse him? She left herself no time to wonder, +hungrily expectant. +</P> + +<P> +"Low," she said, bending over him, "Daddy John's been to Sacramento and +has brought back wonderful news." +</P> + +<P> +He turned his head with an effort and looked at her. His glance was +vacant as if he had only half heard, as if her words had caught the +outer edges of his senses and penetrated no farther. +</P> + +<P> +"He has seen David." +</P> + +<P> +Into the dull eyes a slow light dawned, struggling through their apathy +till they became the eyes of a live man, hanging on hers, charged with +a staring intelligence. He made an attempt to move, lifted a wavering +hand and groped for her shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"David!" he whispered. +</P> + +<P> +The news had touched an inner nerve that thrilled to it. She crouched +on the edge of the bunk, her heart beating thickly: +</P> + +<P> +"David, alive and well." +</P> + +<P> +The fumbling hand gripped on her shoulder. She felt the fingers +pressing in stronger than she had dreamed they could be. It pulled her +down toward him, the eyes fixed on hers, searching her face, glaring +fearfully from blackened hollows, riveted in a desperate questioning. +</P> + +<P> +"What happened to him?" came the husky whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"He fell from the rock; thinks he had a sunstroke up there and then +lost his balance and fell over and rolled under a ledge. And after a +few days a train came by and found him." +</P> + +<P> +"Is that what he said?" +</P> + +<P> +Her answering voice began to tremble, for the animation of his look +grew wilder and stranger. It was as if all the life in his body was +burning in those hungry eyes. The hand on her shoulder clutched like a +talon, the muscles informed with an unnatural force. Was it the end +coming with a last influx of strength and fire? Her tears began to +fall upon his face, and she saw it through them, ravaged and fearful, +with new life struggling under the ghastliness of dissolution. There +was an awfulness in this rekindling of the spirit where death had set +its stamp that broke her fortitude, and she forgot the legend of her +courage and cried in her agony: +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Low, don't die, don't die! I can't bear it. Stay with me!" +</P> + +<P> +The hand left her shoulder and fumblingly touched her face, feeling +blindly over its tear-washed surface. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not going to die," came the feeble whisper. "I can live now." +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour later when Daddy John came in he found her sitting on the +side of the bunk, a hunched, dim figure against the firelight. She +held up a warning hand, and the old man tiptoed to her side and leaned +over her to look. Courant was sleeping, his head thrown back, his +chest rising in even breaths. Daddy John gazed for a moment, then bent +till his cheek was almost against hers. +</P> + +<P> +"Pick up your heart, Missy," he whispered. "He looks to me better." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0504"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + + +<P> +From the day of the good news Courant rallied. At first they hardly +dared to hope. Bella and Daddy John talked about it together and +wondered if it were only a pause in the progress of his ailment. But +Susan was confident, nursing her man with a high cheerfulness that +defied their anxious faces. +</P> + +<P> +She had none of their fear of believing. She saw their doubts and +angrily scouted them. "Low will be all right soon," she said, in +answer to their gloomily observing looks. In her heart she called them +cowards, ready to join hands with death, not rise up and fight till the +final breath. Her resolute hope seemed to fill the cabin with light +and life. It transformed her haggardness, made her a beaming presence, +with eyes bright under tangled locks of hair, and lips that hummed +snatches of song. He was coming back to her like a child staggering to +its mother's outheld hands. While they were yet unconvinced "when Low +gets well" became a constant phrase on her tongue. She began to plan +again, filled their ears with speculations of the time when she and her +husband would move to the coast. They marveled at her, at the +dauntlessness of her spirit, at the desperate courage that made her +grip her happiness and wrench it back from the enemy. +</P> + +<P> +They marveled more when they saw she had been right—Susan who had been +a child so short a time before, knowing more than they, wiser and +stronger in the wisdom and strength of her love. +</P> + +<P> +There was a great day when Low crept out to the door and sat on the +bench in the sun with his wife beside him. To the prosperous passerby +they would have seemed a sorry pair—a skeleton man with uncertain feet +and powerless hands, a worn woman, ragged and unkempt. To them it was +the halcyon hour, the highest point of their mutual adventure. The +cabin was their palace, the soaked prospect a pleasance decked for +their delight. And from this rude and ravaged outlook their minds +reached forward in undefined and unrestricted visioning to all the +world that lay before them, which they would soon advance on and +together win. +</P> + +<P> +Nature was with them in their growing gladness. The spring was coming. +The river began to fall, and Courant's eyes dwelt longingly on the +expanding line of mud that waited for his pick. April came with a +procession of cloudless days, with the tinkling of streams shrinking +under the triumphant sun, with the pines exhaling scented breaths, and +a first, faint sprouting of new green. The great refreshed landscape +unveiled itself, serenely brooding in a vast, internal energy of +germination. The earth was coming to life as they were, gathering +itself for the expression of its ultimate purpose. It was rising to +the rite of rebirth and they rose with it, with faces uplifted to its +kindling glory and hearts in which joy was touched by awe. +</P> + +<P> +On a May evening, when the shadows were congregating in the cańon, +Susan lay on the bunk with her son in the hollow of her arm. The +children came in and peeped fearfully at the little hairless head, +pulling down the coverings with careful fingers and eying the newcomer +dubiously, not sure that they liked him. Bella looked over their +shoulders radiating proud content. Then she shooed them out and went +about her work of "redding up," pacing the earthen floor with the proud +tread of victory. Courant was sitting outside on the log bench. She +moved to the door and smiled down at him over the tin plate she was +scouring. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in and sit with her while I get the supper," she said. "Don't +talk, just sit where she can see you." +</P> + +<P> +He came and sat beside her, and she drew the blanket down from the +tiny, crumpled face. They were silent, wondering at it, looking back +over the time when it had cried in their blood, inexorably drawn them +together, till out of the heat of their passion the spark of its being +had been struck. Both saw in it their excuse and their pardon. +</P> + +<P> +She recovered rapidly, all her being revivified and reinforced, coming +back glowingly to a mature beauty. Glimpses of the Susan of old began +to reappear. She wanted her looking-glass, and, sitting up in the bunk +with the baby against her side, arranged her hair in the becoming knot +and twisted the locks on her temples into artful tendrils. She would +sew soon, and kept Bella busy digging into the trunks and bringing out +what was left of her best things. They held weighty conferences over +these, the foot of the bunk littered with wrinkled skirts and jackets +that had fitted a slimmer and more elegant Susan. A trip to Sacramento +was talked of, in which Daddy John was to shop for a lady and baby, and +buy all manner of strange articles of which he knew nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"Calico, that's a pretty color," he exclaimed testily. "How am I to +know what's a pretty color? Now if it was a sack of flour or a +spade—but I'll do my best, Missy," he added meekly, catching her eye +in which the familiar imperiousness gleamed through softening laughter. +</P> + +<P> +Soon the day came when she walked to the door and sat on the bench. +The river was settling decorously into its bed, and in the sunlight the +drenched shores shone under a tracery of pools and rillets as though a +silvery gauze had been rudely torn back from them, catching and tearing +here and there. The men were starting the spring work. The rocker was +up, and the spades and picks stood propped against the rock upon which +she and Low had sat on that first evening. He sat there now, watching +the preparations soon to take part again. His lean hand fingered among +the picks, found his own, and he walked to the untouched shore and +struck a tentative blow. Then he dropped the pick, laughing, and came +back to her. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be at it in a week," he said, sitting down on the bench. "It'll +be good to be in the pits again and feel my muscles once more." +</P> + +<P> +"It'll be good to see you," she answered. +</P> + +<P> +In a week he was back, in two weeks he was himself again—the mightiest +of those mighty men who, sixty years ago, measured their strength along +the American River. The diggings ran farther upstream and were richer +than the old ones. The day's takings were large, sometimes so large +that the men's elation beat like a fever in their blood. At night they +figured on their wealth, and Susan listened startled to the sums that +fell so readily from their lips. They were rich, rich enough to go to +the coast and for Courant to start in business there. +</P> + +<P> +It was he who wanted this. The old shrinking and fear of the city were +gone. Now, with a wife and child, he turned his face that way. He was +longing to enter the fight for them, to create and acquire for them, to +set them as high as the labor of his hands and work of his brain could +compass. New ambitions possessed him. As Susan planned for a home and +its comforts, he did for his work in the market place in competition +with those who had once been his silent accusers. +</P> + +<P> +But there was also a strange humbleness in him. It did not weaken his +confidence or clog his aspiration, but it took something from the hard +arrogance that had recognized in his own will the only law. He had +heard from Daddy John of that interview with David, and he knew the +reason of David's lie. He knew, too, that David would stand to that +lie forever. Of the two great passions that the woman had inspired the +one she had relinquished was the finer. He had stolen her from David, +and David had shown that for love of her he could forego vengeance. +Once such an act would have been inexplicable to the mountain man. Now +he understood, and in his humility he vowed to make the life she had +chosen as perfect as the one that might have been. Through this last, +and to him, supremest sacrifice, David ceased to be the puny weakling +and became the hero, the thought of whom would make Courant "go softly +all his days." +</P> + +<P> +The summer marched upon them, with the men doing giant labor on the +banks and the women under the pine at work beside their children. The +peace of the valley was broken by the influx of the Forty-niners, who +stormed its solitudes, and changed the broken trail to a crowded +highway echoing with the noises of life. The river yielded up its +treasure to their eager hands, fortunes were made, and friendships +begun that were to make the history of the new state. These bronzed +and bearded men, these strong-thewed women, were waking from her sleep +the virgin California. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes in the crowded hours Susan dropped her work and, with her +baby in her arms, walked along the teeming river trail or back into the +shadows of the forest. All about her was the stir of a fecund earth, +growth, expansion, promise. From beneath the pines she looked up and +saw the aspiration of their proud up-springing. At her feet the ground +was bright with flower faces completing themselves in the sunshine. +Wherever her glance fell there was a busyness of development, a +progression toward fulfillment, a combined, harmonious striving in +which each separate particle had its purpose and its meaning. The +shell of her old self-engrossment cracked, and the call of a wider life +came to her. It pierced clear and arresting through the fairy flutings +of "the horns of elfland" that were all she had heretofore heard. +</P> + +<P> +The desire to live as an experiment in happiness, to extract from life +all there was for her own enjoying, left her. Slowly she began to see +it as a vast concerted enterprise in which she was called to play her +part. The days when the world was made for her pleasure were over. +The days had begun when she saw her obligation, not alone to the man +and child who were part of her, but out and beyond these to the +diminishing circles of existences that had never touched hers. Her +love that had met so generous a response, full measure, pressed down +and running over, must be paid out without the stipulation of +recompense. Her vision widened, dimly descried horizons limitless as +the prairies, saw faintly how this unasked giving would transform a +gray and narrow world as the desert's sunsets had done. +</P> + +<P> +So gradually the struggling soul came into being and possessed the +fragile tissue that had once been a girl and was now a woman. +</P> + +<P> +They left the river on a morning in September, the sacks of dust making +the trunk heavy. The old wagon was ready, the mess chest strapped to +the back, Julia in her place. Bella and the children were to follow as +soon as the rains began, so the parting was not sad. The valley +steeped in crystal shadow, the hills dark against the flush of dawn, +held Susan's glance for a lingering minute as she thought of the days +in the tent under the pine. She looked at her husband and met his eyes +in which she saw the same memory. Then the child, rosy with life, +leaped in her arms, bending to snatch with dimpled hands at its +playmates, chuckling baby sounds as they pressed close to give him +their kisses. +</P> + +<P> +Daddy John, mounting to his seat, cried: +</P> + +<P> +"There's the sun coming up to wish us God-speed." +</P> + +<P> +She turned and saw it rising huge and red over the hill's shoulder, and +held up her son to see. The great ball caught his eyes and he stared +in tranced delight. Then he leaped against the restraint of her arm, +kicking on her breast with his heels, stretching a grasping hand toward +the crimson ball, a bright and shining toy to play with. +</P> + +<P> +Its light fell red on the three faces—the child's waiting for life to +mold its unformed softness, the woman's stamped with the gravity of +deep experience, the man's stern with concentrated purpose. They +watched in silence till the baby gave a cry, a thin, sweet sound of +wondering joy that called them back to it. Again they looked at one +another, but this time their eyes held no memories. The thoughts of +both reached forward to the coming years, and they saw themselves +shaping from this offspring of their lawless passion what should be a +man, a molder of the new Empire, a builder of the Promised Land. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FINIS +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR>BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Emigrant Trail, by Geraldine Bonner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EMIGRANT TRAIL *** + +***** This file should be named 19113-h.htm or 19113-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/1/19113/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Emigrant Trail + +Author: Geraldine Bonner + +Release Date: August 24, 2006 [EBook #19113] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EMIGRANT TRAIL *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: He gathered her in his arms, and bending low carried her +back into the darkened cavern.] + + + + + + +THE EMIGRANT TRAIL + + +BY + +GERALDINE BONNER + + + + + +NEW YORK + +GROSSET & DUNLAP + +PUBLISHERS + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY + +DUFFIELD & COMPANY + + +Published, April, 1910 + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PART I + +THE PRAIRIE + + +PART II + +THE RIVER + + +PART III + +THE MOUNTAINS + + +PART IV + +THE DESERT + + +PART V + +THE PROMISED LAND + + + + +THE EMIGRANT TRAIL + + +PART I + +The Prairie + + +CHAPTER I + +It had rained steadily for three days, the straight, relentless rain of +early May on the Missouri frontier. The emigrants, whose hooded wagons +had been rolling into Independence for the past month and whose tents +gleamed through the spring foliage, lounged about in one another's +camps cursing the weather and swapping bits of useful information. + +The year was 1848 and the great California emigration was still twelve +months distant. The flakes of gold had already been found in the race +of Sutter's mill, and the thin scattering of men, which made the +population of California, had left their plows in the furrow and their +ships in the cove and gone to the yellow rivers that drain the Sierra's +mighty flanks. But the rest of the world knew nothing of this yet. +They were not to hear till November when a ship brought the news to New +York, and from city and town, from village and cottage, a march of men +would turn their faces to the setting sun and start for the land of +gold. + +Those now bound for California knew it only as the recently acquired +strip of territory that lay along the continent's Western rim, a place +of perpetual sunshine, where everybody had a chance and there was no +malaria. That was what they told each other as they lay under the +wagons or sat on saddles in the wet tents. The story of old Roubadoux, +the French fur trader from St. Joseph, circulated cheeringly from mouth +to mouth--a man in Monterey had had chills and people came from miles +around to see him shake, so novel was the spectacle. That was the +country for the men and women of the Mississippi Valley, who shook half +the year and spent the other half getting over it. + +The call of the West was a siren song in the ears of these waiting +companies. The blood of pioneers urged them forward. Their +forefathers had moved from the old countries across the seas, from the +elm-shaded towns of New England, from the unkempt villages that +advanced into the virgin lands by the Great Lakes, from the peace and +plenty of the splendid South. Year by year they had pushed the +frontier westward, pricked onward by a ceaseless unrest, "the old land +hunger" that never was appeased. The forests rang to the stroke of +their ax, the slow, untroubled rivers of the wilderness parted to the +plowing wheels of their unwieldy wagons, their voices went before them +into places where Nature had kept unbroken her vast and pondering +silence. The distant country by the Pacific was still to explore and +they yoked their oxen, and with a woman and a child on the seat started +out again, responsive to the cry of "Westward, Ho!" + +As many were bound for Oregon as for California. Marcus Whitman and +the missionaries had brought alluring stories of that great domain once +held so cheaply the country almost lost it. It was said to be of a +wonderful fertility and league-long stretches of idle land awaited the +settler. The roads ran together more than half the way, parting at +Green River, where the Oregon trail turned to Fort Hall and the +California dipped southward and wound, a white and spindling thread, +across what men then called "The Great American Desert." Two days' +journey from Independence this road branched from the Santa Fe Trail +and bent northward across the prairie. A signboard on a stake pointed +the way and bore the legend, "Road to Oregon." It was the starting +point of one of the historic highways of the world. The Indians called +it "The Great Medicine Way of the Pale-face." + +Checked in the act of what they called "jumping off" the emigrants wore +away the days in telling stories of the rival countries, and in +separating from old companies and joining new ones. It was an +important matter, this of traveling partnerships. A trip of two +thousand miles on unknown roads beset with dangers was not to be +lightly undertaken. Small parties, frightened on the edge of the +enterprise, joined themselves to stronger ones. The mountain men and +trappers delighted to augment the tremors of the fearful, and round the +camp fires listening groups hung on the words of long-haired men clad +in dirty buckskins, whose moccasined feet had trod the trails of the +fur trader and his red brother. + +This year was one of special peril for, to the accustomed dangers from +heat, hunger, and Indians, was added a new one--the Mormons. They were +still moving westward in their emigration from Nauvoo to the new Zion +beside the Great Salt Lake. It was a time and a place to hear the +black side of Mormonism. A Missourian hated a Latter Day Saint as a +Puritan hated a Papist. Hawn's mill was fresh in the minds of the +frontiersmen, and the murder of Joseph Smith was accounted a righteous +act. The emigrant had many warnings to lay to heart--against Indian +surprises in the mountains, against mosquitoes on the plains, against +quicksands in the Platte, against stampedes among the cattle, against +alkaline springs and the desert's parching heats. And quite as +important as any of these was that against the Latter Day Saint with +the Book of Mormon in his saddlebag and his long-barreled rifle across +the pommel. + +So they waited, full of ill words and impatience, while the rain fell. +Independence, the focusing point of the frontier life, housing +unexpected hundreds, dripped from all its gables and swam in mud. And +in the camps that spread through the fresh, wet woods and the oozy +uplands, still other hundreds cowered under soaked tent walls and in +damp wagon boxes, listening to the rush of the continuous showers. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +On the afternoon of the fourth day the clouds lifted. A band of yellow +light broke out along the horizon, and at the crossings of the town and +in the rutted country roads men and women stood staring at it with its +light and their own hope brightening their faces. + +David Crystal, as he walked through the woods, saw it behind a veining +of black branches. Though a camper and impatient to be off like the +rest, he did not feel the elation that shone on their watching faces. +His was held in a somber abstraction. Just behind him, in an opening +under the straight, white blossoming of dogwood trees, was a new-made +grave. The raw earth about it showed the prints of his feet, for he +had been standing by it thinking of the man who lay beneath. + +Four days before his friend, Joe Linley, had died of cholera. Three of +them--Joe, himself, and George Leffingwell, Joe's cousin--had been in +camp less than a week when it had happened. Until then their life had +been like a picnic there in the clearing by the roadside, with the +thrill of the great journey stirring in their blood. And then Joe had +been smitten with such suddenness, such awful suddenness! He had been +talking to them when David had seen a suspension of something, a +stoppage of a vital inner spring, and with it a whiteness had passed +across his face like a running tide. The awe of that moment, the hush +when it seemed to David the liberated spirit had paused beside him in +its outward flight, was with him now as he walked through the rustling +freshness of the wood. + +The rain had begun to lessen, its downfall thinning into a soft patter +among the leaves. The young man took off his hat and let the damp air +play over his hair. It was thick hair, black and straight, already +longer than city fashions dictated, and a first stubble of black beard +was hiding the lines of a chin perhaps a trifle too sensitive and +pointed. Romantic good looks and an almost poetic refinement were the +characteristics of the face, an unusual type for the frontier. With +thoughtful gray eyes set deep under a jut of brows and a nose as finely +cut as a woman's, it was of a type that, in more sophisticated +localities, men would have said had risen to meet the Byronic ideal of +which the world was just then enamored. But there was nothing Byronic +or self-conscious about David Crystal. He had been born and bred in +what was then the Far West, and that he should read poetry and regard +life as an undertaking that a man must face with all honor and +resoluteness was not so surprising for the time and place. The West, +with its loneliness, its questioning silences, its solemn sweep of +prairie and roll of slow, majestic rivers, held spiritual communion +with those of its young men who had eyes to see and ears to hear. + +The trees grew thinner and he saw the sky pure as amber beneath the +storm pall. The light from it twinkled over wet twigs and glazed the +water in the crumplings of new leaves. Across the glow the last +raindrops fell in slanting dashes. David's spirits rose. The weather +was clearing and they could start--start on the trail, the long trail, +the Emigrant Trail, two thousand miles to California! + +He was close to the camp. Through the branches he saw the filmy, +diffused blueness of smoke and smelled the sharp odor of burning wood. +He quickened his pace and was about to give forth a cheerful hail when +he heard a sound that made him stop, listen with fixed eye, and then +advance cautiously, sending a questing glance through the screen of +leaves. The sound was a woman's voice detached in clear sweetness from +the deeper tones of men. + +There was no especial novelty in this. Their camp was just off the +road and the emigrant women were wont to pause there and pass the time +of day. Most of them were the lean and leathern-skinned mates of the +frontiersmen, shapeless and haggard as if toil had drawn from their +bodies all the softness of feminine beauty, as malaria had sucked from +their skins freshness and color. But there were young, pretty ones, +too, who often strolled by, looking sideways from the shelter of +jealous sunbonnets. + +This voice was not like theirs. It had a quality David had only heard +a few times in his life--cultivation. Experience would have +characterized it as "a lady voice." David, with none, thought it an +angel's. Very shy, very curious, he came out from the trees ready at +once and forever to worship anyone who could set their words to such +dulcet cadences. + +The clearing, green as an emerald and shining with rain, showed the +hood of the wagon and the new, clean tent, white as sails on a summer +sea, against the trees' young bloom. In the middle the fire burned and +beside it stood Leff, a skillet in his hand. He was a curly-headed, +powerful country lad, twenty-four years old, who, two months before, +had come from an Illinois farm to join the expedition. The frontier +was to him a place of varied diversion, Independence a stimulating +center. So diffident that the bashful David seemed by contrast a man +of cultured ease, he was now blushing till the back of his neck was red. + +On the other side of the fire a lady and gentleman stood arm in arm +under an umbrella. The two faces, bent upon Leff with grave attention, +were alike, not in feature, but in the subtly similar play of +expression that speaks the blood tie. A father and daughter, David +thought. Against the rough background of the camp, with its litter at +their feet, they had an air of being applied upon an alien surface, of +not belonging to the picture, but standing out from it in sharp and +incongruous contrast. + +The gentleman was thin and tall, fifty or thereabouts, very pale, +especially to one accustomed to the tanned skins of the farm and the +country town. His face held so frank a kindliness, especially the eyes +which looked tired and a little sad, that David felt its expression +like a friendly greeting or a strong handclasp. + +The lady did not have this, perhaps because she was a great deal +younger. She was yet in the bud, far from the tempering touch of +experience, still in the state of looking forward and anticipating +things. She was dark, of medium height, and inclined to be plump. +Many delightful curves went to her making, and her waist tapered +elegantly, as was the fashion of the time. Thinking it over +afterwards, the young man decided that she did not belong in the +picture with a prairie schooner and camp kettles, because she looked so +like an illustration in a book of beauty. And David knew something of +these matters, for had he not been twice to St. Louis and there seen +the glories of the earth and the kingdoms thereof? + +But life in camp outside Independence had evidently blunted his +perceptions. The small waist, a round, bare throat rising from a +narrow band of lace, and a flat, yellow straw hat were the young +woman's only points of resemblance to the beauty-book heroines. She +was not in the least beautiful, only fresh and healthy, the flat straw +hat shading a girlish face, smooth and firmly modeled as a ripe fruit. +Her skin was a glossy brown, softened with a peach's bloom, warming +through deepening shades of rose to lips that were so deeply colored no +one noticed how firmly they could come together, how their curving, +crimson edges could shut tight, straighten out, and become a line of +forceful suggestions, of doggedness, maybe--who knows?--perhaps of +obstinacy. It was her physical exuberance, her downy glow, that made +David think her good looking; her serene, brunette richness, with its +high lights of coral and scarlet, that made her radiate an aura of +warmth, startling in that woodland clearing, as the luster of a firefly +in a garden's glooming dusk. + +She stopped speaking as he emerged from the trees, and Leff's +stammering answer held her in a riveted stare of attention. Then she +looked up and saw David. + +"Oh," she said, and transferred the stare to him. "Is this he?" + +Leff was obviously relieved: + +"Oh, David, I ain't known what to say to this lady and her father. +They think some of joining us. They've been waiting for quite a spell +to see you. They're goin' to California, too." + +The gentleman lifted his hat. Now that he smiled his face was even +kindlier, and he, too, had a pleasant, mellowed utterance that linked +him with the world of superior quality of which David had had those two +glimpses. + +"I am Dr. Gillespie," he said, "and this is my daughter Susan." + +David bowed awkwardly, a bow that was supposed to include father and +daughter. He did not know whether this was a regular introduction, and +even if it had been he would not have known what to do. The young +woman made no attempt to return the salutation, not that she was rude, +but she had the air of regarding it as a frivolous interruption to +weighty matters. She fixed David with eyes, small, black, and bright +as a squirrel's, so devoid of any recognition that he was a member of +the rival sex--or, in fact, of the human family--that his +self-consciousness sunk down abashed as if before reproof. + +"My father and I are going to California and the train we were going +with has gone on. We've come from Rochester, New York, and everywhere +we've been delayed and kept back. Even that boat up from St. Louis was +five days behind time. It's been nothing but disappointments and +delays since we left home. And when we got here the people we were +going with--a big train from Northern New York--had gone on and left +us." + +She said all this rapidly, poured it out as if she were so full of the +injury and annoyance of it, that she had to ease her indignation by +letting it run over into the first pair of sympathetic ears. David's +were a very good pair. Any woman with a tale of trouble would have +found him a champion. How much more a fresh-faced young creature with +a melodious voice and anxious eyes. + +"A good many trains have gone on," he said. And then, by way of +consolation for her manner demanded, that, "But they'll be stalled at +the fords with this rain. They'll have to wait till the rivers fall. +All the men who know say that." + +"So we've heard," said the father, "but we hoped that we'd catch them +up. Our outfit is very light, only one wagon, and our driver is a +thoroughly capable and experienced man. What we want are some +companions with whom we can travel till we overhaul the others. I'd +start alone, but with my daughter----" + +She cut in at once, giving his arm a little, irritated shake: + +"Of course you couldn't do that." Then to the young men: "My father's +been sick for quite a long time, all last winter. It's for his health +we're going to California, and, of course, he couldn't start without +some other men in the party. Indians might attack us, and at the hotel +they said the Mormons were scattered all along the road and thought +nothing of shooting a Gentile." + +Her father gave the fingers crooked on his arm a little squeeze with +his elbow. It was evident the pair were very good friends. + +"You'll make these young men think I'm a helpless invalid, who'll lie +in the wagon all day. They won't want us to go with them." + +This made her again uneasy and let loose another flow of authoritative +words. + +"No, my father isn't really an invalid. He doesn't have to lie in the +wagon. He's going to ride most of the time. He and I expect to ride +all the way, and the old man who goes with us will drive the mules. +What's been really bad for my father was living in that dreadful hotel +at Independence with everything damp and uncomfortable. We want to get +off just as soon as we can, and this gentleman," indicating Leff, "says +you want to go, too." + +"We'll start to-morrow morning, if it's clear." + +"Now, father," giving the arm she held a renewed clutch and sharper +shake, "there's our chance. We must go with them." + +The father's smile would have shown something of deprecation, or even +apology, if it had not been all pride and tenderness. + +"These young men will be very kind if they permit us to join them," was +what his lips said. His eyes added: "This is a spoiled child, but even +so, there is no other like her in the world." + +The young men sprang at the suggestion. The spring was internal, of +the spirit, for they were too overwhelmed by the imminent presence of +beauty to show a spark of spontaneity on the outside. They muttered +their agreement, kicked the ground, and avoided the eyes of Miss +Gillespie. + +"The people at the hotel," the doctor went on, "advised us to join one +of the ox trains. But it seemed such a slow mode of progress. They +don't make much more than fifteen to twenty miles a day." + +"And then," said the girl, "there might be people we didn't like in the +train and we'd be with them all the time." + +It is not probable that she intended to suggest to her listeners that +she could stand them as traveling companions. Whether she did or not +they scented the compliment, looked stupid, and hung their heads, +silent in the intoxication of this first subtle whiff of incense. Even +Leff, uncouth and unlettered, extracted all that was possible from the +words, and felt a delicate elation at the thought that so fine a +creature could endure his society. + +"We expect to go a great deal faster than the long trains," she +continued. "We have no oxen, only six mules and two extra horses and a +cow." + +Her father laughed outright. + +"Don't let my daughter frighten you. We've really got a very small +amount of baggage. Our little caravan has been made up on the advice +of Dr. Marcus Whitman, an old friend of mine. Five years ago when he +was in Washington he gave me a list of what was needed for the journey +across the plains. I suppose he's the best authority on that subject. +We all know how successfully the Oregon emigration was carried through." + +David was glad to show he knew something of that. A boy friend of his +had gone to Oregon with this, the first large body of emigrants that +had ventured on the great enterprise. Whitman was to him a national +hero, his ride in the dead of winter from the far Northwest to +Washington, as patriotically inspiring as Paul Revere's. + +There was more talk, standing round the fire, while the agreements for +the start were being made. No one thought the arrangement hasty, for +it was a place and time of quick decisions. Men starting on the +emigrant trail were not for wasting time on preliminaries. Friendships +sprang up like the grass and were mown down like it. Standing on the +edge of the unknown was not the propitious moment for caution and +hesitation. Only the bold dared it and the bold took each other +without question, reading what was on the surface, not bothering about +what might be hidden. + +It was agreed, the weather being fair, that they would start at seven +the next morning, Dr. Gillespie's party joining David's at the camp. +With their mules and horses they should make good time and within a +month overhaul the train that had left the Gillespies behind. + +As the doctor and his daughter walked away the shyness of the young men +returned upon them in a heavy backwash. They were so whelmed by it +that they did not even speak to one another. But both glanced with +cautious stealth at the receding backs, the doctor in front, his +daughter walking daintily on the edge of grass by the roadside, holding +her skirts away from the wet weeds. + +When she was out of sight Leff said with an embarrassed laugh: + +"Well, we got some one to go along with us now." + +David did not laugh. He pondered frowningly. He was the elder by two +years and he felt his responsibilities. + +"They'll do all right. With two more men we'll make a strong enough +train." + +Leff was cook that night, and he set the coffee on and began cutting +the bacon. Occupied in this congenial work, the joints of his tongue +were loosened, and as the skillet gave forth grease and odors, he gave +forth bits of information gleaned from the earlier part of the +interview: + +"I guess they got a first rate outfit. The old gentleman said they'd +been getting it together since last autumn. They must be pretty well +fixed." + +David nodded. Being "well fixed" or being poor did not count on the +edge of the prairie. They were frivolous outside matters that had +weight in cities. Leff went on, + +"He's consumpted. That's why he's going. He says he expects to be +cured before he gets to California." + +A sudden zephyr irritated the tree tops, which bent away from its touch +and scattered moisture on the fire and the frying pan. There was a +sputter and sizzle and Leff muttered profanely before he took up the +dropped thread: + +"The man that drives the mules, he's a hired man that the old +gentleman's had for twenty years. He was out on the frontier once and +knows all about it, and there ain't nothing he can't drive"--turning of +the bacon here, Leff absorbed beyond explanatory speech--"They got four +horses, two to ride and two extra ones, and a cow. I don't see how +they're goin' to keep up the pace with the cow along. The old +gentleman says they can do twenty to twenty-five miles a day when the +road's good. But I don't seem to see how the cow can keep up such a +lick." + +"A hired man, a cow, and an outfit that it took all winter to get +together," said David thoughtfully. "It sounds more like a pleasure +trip than going across the plains." + +He sat as if uneasily debating the possible drawbacks of so elaborate +an escort, but he was really ruminating upon the princess, who moved +upon the wilderness with such pomp and circumstance. + +As they set out their tin cups and plates they continued to discuss the +doctor, his caravan, his mules, his servant, and his cow, in fact, +everything but his daughter. It was noticeable that no mention of her +was made till supper was over and the night fell. Then their comments +on her were brief. Leff seemed afraid of her even a mile away in the +damp hotel at Independence, seemed to fear that she might in some way +know he'd had her name upon his tongue, and would come to-morrow with +angry, accusing looks like an offended goddess. David did not want to +talk about her, he did not quite know why. Before the thought of +traveling a month in her society his mind fell back reeling, baffled by +the sudden entrance of such a dazzling intruder. A month beside this +glowing figure, a month under the impersonal interrogation of those +cool, demanding eyes! It was as if the President or General Zachary +Taylor had suddenly joined them. + +But of course she figured larger in their thoughts than any other part +or all the combined parts of Dr. Gillespie's outfit. In their +imaginations--the hungry imaginations of lonely young men--she +represented all the grace, beauty, and mystery of the Eternal Feminine. +They did not reason about her, they only felt, and what they +felt--unconsciously to themselves--was that she had introduced the +last, wildest, and most disturbing thrill into the adventure of the +great journey. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The next day broke still and clear. The dawn was yet a pale promise in +the East when from Independence, out through the dripping woods and +clearings, rose the tumult of breaking camps. The rattle of the yoke +chains and the raucous cry of "Catch up! Catch up!" sounded under the +trees and out and away over valley and upland as the lumbering wagons, +freighted deep for the long trail, swung into the road. + +David's camp was astir long before the sun was up. The great hour had +come. They were going! They sung and shouted as they harnessed Bess +and Ben, a pair of sturdy roans bought from an emigrant discouraged +before the start, while the saddle horses nosed about the tree roots +for a last cropping of the sweet, thick grass. Inside the wagon the +provisions were packed in sacks and the rifles hung on hooks on the +canvas walls. At the back, on a supporting step, the mess chest was +strapped. It was a businesslike wagon. Its contents included only one +deviation from the practical and necessary--three books of David's. +Joe had laughed at him about them. What did a man want with Byron's +poems and Milton and Bacon's "Essays" crossing the plains? Neither Joe +nor Leff could understand such devotion to the printed page. Their +kits were of the compactest, not a useless article or an unnecessary +pound, unless you counted the box of flower seeds that belonged to Joe, +who had heard that California, though a dry country, could be coaxed +into productiveness along the rivers. + +Dr. Gillespie and his daughter were punctual. David's silver watch, +large as the circle of a cup and possessed of a tick so loud it +interrupted conversation, registered five minutes before seven, when +the doctor and his daughter appeared at the head of their caravan. Two +handsome figures, well mounted and clad with taste as well as +suitability, they looked as gallantly unfitted for the road as armored +knights in a modern battlefield. Good looks, physical delicacy, and +becoming clothes had as yet no recognized place on the trail. The +Gillespies were boldly and blithely bringing them, and unlike most +innovators, romance came with them. Nobody had gone out of +Independence with so confident and debonair an air. Now advancing +through a spattering of leaf shadows and sunspots, they seemed to the +young men to be issuing from the first pages of a story, and the +watchers secretly hoped that they would go riding on into the heart of +it with the white arch of the prairie schooner and the pricked ears of +the six mules as a movable background. + +There was no umbrella this morning to obscure Miss Gillespie's vivid +tints, and in the same flat, straw hat, with her cheeks framed in +little black curls, she looked a freshly wholesome young girl, who +might be dangerous to the peace of mind of men even less lonely and +susceptible than the two who bid her a flushed and bashful good +morning. She had the appearance, however, of being entirely oblivious +to any embarrassment they might show. There was not a suggestion of +coquetry in her manner as she returned their greetings. Instead, it +was marked by a businesslike gravity. Her eyes touched their faces +with the slightest welcoming light and then left them to rove, sharply +inspecting, over their wagon and animals. When she had scrutinized +these, she turned in her saddle, and said abruptly to the driver of the +six mules: + +"Daddy John, do you see--horses?" + +The person thus addressed nodded and said in a thin, old voice, + +"I do, and if they want them they're welcome to them." + +He was a small, shriveled man, who might have been anywhere from sixty +to seventy-five. A battered felt hat, gray-green with wind and sun, +was pulled well down to his ears, pressing against his forehead and +neck thin locks of gray hair. A grizzle of beard edged his chin, a +poor and scanty growth that showed the withered skin through its +sparseness. His face, small and wedge-shaped, was full of ruddy color, +the cheeks above the ragged hair smooth and red as apples. Though his +mouth was deficient in teeth, his neck, rising bare from the band of +his shirt, corrugated with the starting sinews of old age, he had a +shrewd vivacity of glance, an alertness of poise, that suggested an +unimpaired spiritual vitality. He seemed at home behind the mules, and +here, for the first time, David felt was some one who did not look +outside the picture. In fact, he had an air of tranquil acceptance of +the occasion, of adjustment without effort, that made him fit into the +frame better than anyone else of the party. + +It was a glorious morning, and as they fared forward through the +checkered shade their spirits ran high. The sun, curious and +determined, pried and slid through every crack in the leafage, turned +the flaked lichen to gold, lay in clotted light on the pools around the +fern roots. They were delicate spring woods, streaked with the white +dashes of the dogwood, and hung with the tassels of the maple. The +foliage was still unfolding, patterned with fresh creases, the prey of +a continuous, frail unrest. Little streams chuckled through the +underbrush, and from the fusion of woodland whisperings bird notes +detached themselves, soft flutings and liquid runs, that gave another +expression to the morning's blithe mood. + +Between the woods there were stretches of open country, velvet smooth, +with the trees slipped down to where the rivers ran. The grass was as +green as sprouting grain, and a sweet smell of wet earth and seedling +growths came from it. Cloud shadows trailed across it, blue blotches +moving languidly. It was the young earth in its blushing promise, +fragrant, rain-washed, budding, with the sound of running water in the +grass and bird voices dropping from the sky. + +With their lighter wagons they passed the ox trains plowing stolidly +through the mud, barefoot children running at the wheel, and women +knitting on the front seat. The driver's whip lash curled in the air, +and his nasal "Gee haw" swung the yoked beasts slowly to one side. +Then came detachments of Santa Fe traders, dark men in striped serapes +with silver trimmings round their high-peaked hats. Behind them +stretched the long line of wagons, the ponderous freighters of the +Santa Fe Trail, rolling into Independence from the Spanish towns that +lay beyond the burning deserts of the Cimarron. They filed by in slow +procession, a vision of faded colors and swarthy faces, jingle of spur +and mule bell mingling with salutations in sonorous Spanish. + +As the day grew warmer, the doctor complained of the heat and went back +to the wagon. David and the young girl rode on together through the +green thickness of the wood. They had talked a little while the doctor +was there, and now, left to themselves, they suddenly began to talk a +good deal. In fact, Miss Gillespie revealed herself as a somewhat +garrulous and quite friendly person. David felt his awed admiration +settling into a much more comfortable feeling, still wholly admiring +but relieved of the cramping consciousness that he had entertained an +angel unawares. She was so natural and girlish that he began to +cherish hopes of addressing her as "Miss Susan," even let vaulting +ambition carry him to the point where he could think of some day +calling himself her friend. + +She was communicative, and he was still too dazzled by her to realize +that she was not above asking questions. In the course of a half hour +she knew all about him, and he, without the courage to be thus +flatteringly curious, knew the main points of her own history. Her +father had been a practicing physician in Rochester for the past +fifteen years. Before that he had lived in New York, where she had +been born twenty years ago. Her mother had been a Canadian, a French +woman from the Province of Quebec, whom her father had met there one +summer when he had gone to fish in Lake St. John. Her mother had been +very beautiful--David nodded at that, he had already decided it--and +had always spoken English with an accent. She, the daughter, when she +was little, spoke French before she did English; in fact, did not Mr. +Crystal notice there was still something a little queer about her _r_'s? + +Mr. Crystal had noticed it, noticed it to the extent of thinking it +very pretty. The young lady dismissed the compliment as one who does +not hear, and went on with her narrative: + +"After my mother's death my father left New York. He couldn't bear to +live there any more. He'd been so happy. So he moved away, though he +had a fine practice." + +The listener gave forth a murmur of sympathetic understanding. +Devotion to a beautiful woman was matter of immediate appeal to him. +His respect for the doctor rose in proportion, especially when the +devotion was weighed in the balance against a fine practice. Looking +at the girl's profile with prim black curls against the cheek, he saw +the French-Canadian mother, and said not gallantly, but rather timidly: + +"And you're like your mother, I suppose? You're dark like a French +woman." + +She answered this with a brusque denial. Extracting compliments from +the talk of a shy young Westerner was evidently not her strong point. + +"Oh, no! not at all. My mother was pale and tall, with very large +black eyes. I am short and dark and my eyes are only just big enough +to see out of. She was delicate and I am very strong. My father says +I've never been sick since I got my first teeth." + +She looked at him and laughed, and he realized it was the first time he +had seen her do it. It brightened her face delightfully, making the +eyes she had spoken of so disparagingly narrow into dancing slits. +When she laughed men who had not lost the nicety of their standards by +a sojourn on the frontier would have called her a pretty girl. + +"My mother was of the French _noblesse_," she said, a dark eye upon him +to see how he would take this dignified piece of information. "She was +a descendant of the Baron de Poutrincourt, who founded Port Royal." + +David was as impressed as anyone could have desired. He did not know +what the French _noblesse_ was, but by its sound he judged it to be +some high and honorable estate. He was equally ignorant of the +identity of the Baron de Poutrincourt, but the name alone was +impressive, especially as Miss Gillespie pronounced it. + +"That's fine, isn't it?" he said, as being the only comment he could +think of which at once showed admiration and concealed ignorance. + +The young woman seemed to find it adequate and went on with her family +history. Five years ago in Washington her father had seen his old +friend, Marcus Whitman, and since then had been restless with the +longing to move West. His health demanded the change. His labors as a +physician had exhausted him. His daughter spoke feelingly of the +impossibility of restraining his charitable zeal. He attended the poor +for nothing. He rose at any hour and went forth in any weather in +response to the call of suffering. + +"That's what he says a doctor's duties are," she said. "It isn't a +profession to make money with, it's a profession for helping people and +curing them. You yourself don't count, it's only what you do that +does. Why, my father had a very large practice, but he made only just +enough to keep us." + +Of all she had said this seemed to the listener the best worth hearing. +The doctor now mounted to the top of the highest pedestal David's +admiration could supply. Here was one of the compensations with which +life keeps the balances even. Joe had died and left him friendless, +and while the ache was still sharp, this stranger and his daughter had +come to soothe his pain, perhaps, in the course of time, to conjure it +quite away. + +Early in the preceding winter the doctor had been forced to decide on +the step he had been long contemplating. An attack of congestion of +the lungs developed consumption in his weakened constitution. A warm +climate and an open-air life were prescribed. And how better combine +them than by emigrating to California? + +"And so," said the doctor's daughter, "father made up his mind to go +and sold out his practice. People thought he was crazy to start on +such a trip when he was sick, but he knows more than they do. Besides, +it's not going to be such hard work for him. Daddy John, the old man +who drives the mules, knows all about this Western country. He was +here a long time ago when Indiana and Illinois were wild and full of +Indians. He got wounded out here fighting and thought he was going to +die, and came back to New York. My father found him there, poor and +lonely and sick, and took care of him and cured him. He's been with us +ever since, more than twenty years, and he manages everything and takes +care of everything. He and father'll tell you I rule them, but that's +just teasing. It's really Daddy John who rules." + +The mules were just behind them, and she looked back at the old man and +called in her clear voice: + +"I'm talking about you, Daddy John. I'm telling all about your +wickedness." + +Daddy John's answer came back, slow and amused: + +"Wait till I get the young feller alone and I'll do some talking." + +Laughing, she settled herself in her saddle and dropped her voice for +David's ear: + +"I think Daddy John was quite pleased we missed the New York train. It +was a big company, and he couldn't have managed everything the way he +can now. But we'll soon catch it up and then"--she lifted her eyebrows +and smiled with charming malice at the thought of Daddy John's coming +subjugation. "We ought to overtake it in three or four weeks they said +in Independence." + +Her companion made no answer. The cheerful conversation had suddenly +taken a depressing turn. Under the spell of Miss Gillespie's loquacity +and black eyes he had quite forgotten that he was only a temporary +escort, to be superseded by an entire ox train, of which even now they +were in pursuit. David was a dreamer, and while the young woman +talked, he had seen them both in diminishing perspective, passing +sociably across the plains, over the mountains, into the desert, to +where California edged with a prismatic gleam the verge of the world. +They were to go riding, and talking on, their acquaintance ripening +gradually and delightfully, while the enormous panorama of the +continent unrolled behind them. And it might end in three or four +weeks! The Emigrant Trail looked overwhelmingly long when he could +only see himself and Leff riding over it, and California lost its color +and grew as gray as a line of sea fog. + +That evening's camp was pitched in a clearing near the road. The woods +pressed about them, whispering and curious, thrown out and then blotted +as the fires leaped or died. It was the first night's bivouac, and +much noise and bustle went to its accomplishment. The young men +covertly watched the Gillespie Camp. How would this ornamental party +cope with such unfamiliar labors? With its combination of a feminine +element which must be helpless by virtue of a rare and dainty fineness +and a masculine element which could hardly be otherwise because of ill +health, it would seem that all the work must devolve upon the old man. + +Nothing, however, was further from the fact. The Gillespies rose to +the occasion with the same dauntless buoyancy that they had shown in +ever attempting the undertaking, and then blithely defying public +opinion with a servant and a cow. The sense of their unfitness which +had made the young men uneasy now gave way to secret wonder as the +doctor pitched the tent like a backwoodsman, and his daughter showed a +skilled acquaintance with campers' biscuit making. + +She did it so well, so without hurry and with knowledge, that it was +worth while watching her, if David's own cooking could have spared him. +He did find time once to offer her assistance and that she refused, +politely but curtly. With sleeves rolled to the elbow, her hat off, +showing a roll of hair on the crown of her head separated by a neat +parting from the curls that hung against her cheeks, she was absorbed +in the business in hand. Evidently she was one of those persons to +whom the matter of the moment is the only matter. When her biscuits +were done, puffy and brown, she volunteered a preoccupied explanation: + +"I've been learning to do this all winter, and I'm going to do it +right." + +And even then it was less an excuse for her abruptness than the +announcement of a compact with herself, steadfast, almost grim. + +After supper they sat by the fire, silent with fatigue, the scent of +the men's tobacco on the air, the girl, with her hands clasping her +knees, looking into the flames. In the shadows behind the old servant +moved about. They could hear him crooning to the mules, and then catch +a glimpse of his gnomelike figure bearing blankets from the wagon to +the tent. There came a point where his labors seemed ended, but his +activity had merely changed its direction. He came forward and said to +the girl, + +"Missy, your bed's ready. You'd better be going." + +She gave a groan and a movement of protest under which was the hopeless +acquiescence of the conquered: + +"Not yet, Daddy John. I'm so comfortable sitting here." + +"There's two thousand miles before you. Mustn't get tired this early. +Come now, get up." + +His manner held less of urgence than of quiet command. He was not +dictatorial, but he was determined. The girl looked at him, sighed, +rose to her knees, and then made a last appeal to her father: + +"Father, _do_ take my part. Daddy John's too interfering for words!" + +But her father would only laugh at her discomfiture. + +"All right," she said as she bent down to kiss him. "It'll be your +turn in just about five minutes." + +It was an accurate prophecy. The tent flaps had hardly closed on her +when Daddy John attacked his employer. + +"Goin' now?" he said, sternly. + +The doctor knew his fate, and like his daughter offered a spiritless +and intimidated resistance. + +"Just let me finish this pipe," he pleaded. + +Daddy John was inexorable: + +"It's no way to get cured settin' round the fire puffin' on a pipe." + +"Ten minutes longer?" + +"We'll roll out to-morrer at seven." + +"Daddy John, go to bed!" + +"I got to see you both tucked in for the night before I do. Can't +trust either of you." + +The doctor, beaten, knocked the ashes out of his pipe and rose with +resignation. + +"This is the family skeleton," he said to the young men who watched the +performance with curiosity. "We're ground under the heel of Daddy +John." + +Then he thrust his hand through the old servant's arm and they walked +toward the wagon, their heads together, laughing like a pair of boys. + +A few minutes later the camp had sunk to silence. The doctor was +stowed away in the wagon and Miss Gillespie had drawn the tent flaps +round the mystery of her retirement. David and Leff, too tired to +pitch theirs, were dropping to sleep by the fire, when the girl's +voice, low, but penetrating, roused them. + +"Daddy John," it hissed in the tone children employ in their games of +hide-and-seek, "Daddy John, are you awake?" + +The old man, who had been stretched before the fire, rose to a sitting +posture, wakeful and alert. + +"Yes, Missy, what's the matter? Can't you sleep?" + +"It's not that, but it's so hard to fix anything. There's no light." + +Here it became evident to the watchers that Miss Gillespie's head was +thrust out through the tent opening, the canvas held together below her +chin. Against the pale background, it was like the vision of a +decapitated head hung on a white wall. + +"What is it you want to fix?" queried the old man. + +"My hair," she hissed back. "I want to put it up in papers, and I +can't see." + +Then the secret of Daddy John's power was revealed. He who had so +remorselessly driven her to bed now showed no surprise or +disapprobation at her frivolity. It was as if her wish to beautify +herself received his recognition as an accepted vagary of human nature. + +"Just wait a minute," he said, scrambling out of his blanket, "and I'll +get you a light." + +The young men could not but look on all agape with curiosity to see +what the resourceful old man intended getting. Could the elaborately +complete Gillespie outfit include candles? Daddy John soon ended their +uncertainty. He drew from the fire a thick brand, brilliantly aflame, +and carried it to the tent. Miss Gillespie's immovable head eyed it +with some uneasiness. + +"I've nothing to put it in," she objected, "and I can't hold it while +I'm doing up my hair." + +"I will," said the old man. "Get in the tent now and get your papers +ready." + +The head withdrew, its retirement to be immediately followed by her +voice slightly muffled by the intervening canvas: + +"Now I'm ready." + +Daddy John cautiously parted the opening, inserted the torch, and stood +outside, the canvas flaps carefully closed round his hand. With the +intrusion of the flaming brand the tent suddenly became a rosy +transparency. The young' girl's figure moved in the midst of the glow, +a shape of nebulous darkness, its outlines lost in the mist of +enfolding draperies. + +Leff, softly lifting himself on his elbows, gazed fascinated upon this +discreet vision. Then looking at David he saw that he had turned over +and was lying with his face on his arms. Leff leaned from the blankets +and kicked him, a gentle but meaning kick on the leg. + +To his surprise David lifted a wakeful face, the brow furrowed with an +angry frown. + +"Can't you go to sleep," he muttered crossly. "Let that girl curl her +hair, and go to sleep like a man." + +He dropped his face once more on his arms. Leff felt unjustly snubbed, +but that did not prevent him from watching the faintly defined aura of +shadow which he knew to be the dark young woman he was too shy to look +at when he met her face to face. He continued watching till the brand +died down to a spark and Daddy John withdrew it and went back to his +fire. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +In their division of labor David and Leff had decided that one was to +drive the wagon in the morning, the other in the afternoon. This +morning it was David's turn, and as he "rolled out" at the head of the +column he wondered if Leff would now ride beside Miss Gillespie and +lend attentive ear to her family chronicles. But Leff was evidently +not for dallying by the side of beauty. He galloped off alone, +vanishing through the thin mists that hung like a fairy's draperies +among the trees. The Gillespies rode at the end of the train. Even if +he could not see them David felt their nearness, and it added to the +contentment that always came upon him from a fair prospect lying under +a smiling sky. At harmony with the moment and the larger life outside +it, he leaned back against the canvas hood and let a dreamy gaze roam +over the serene and opulent landscape. + +Nature had always soothed and uplifted him, been like an opiate to +anger or pain. As a boy his troubles had lost their sting in the +consoling largeness of the open, under the shade of trees, within sight +of the bowing wheat fields with the wind making patterns on the seeded +grain. Now his thoughts, drifting aimless as thistle fluff, went back +to those childish days of country freedom, when he had spent his +vacations at his uncle's farm. He used to go with his widowed mother, +a forlorn, soured woman who rarely smiled. He remembered his irritated +wonder as she sat complaining in the ox cart, while he sent his eager +glance ahead over the sprouting acres to where the log farmhouse--the +haven of fulfilled dreams--stretched in its squat ugliness. He could +feel again the inward lift, the flying out of his spirit in a rush of +welcoming ecstasy, as he saw the woods hanging misty on the horizon and +the clay bluffs, below which the slow, quiet river uncoiled its yellow +length. + +The days at the farm had been the happiest of his life--wonderful days +of fishing and swimming, of sitting in gnarled tree boughs so still the +nesting birds lost their fear and came back to their eggs. For hours +he had lain in patches of shade watching the cloud shadows on the +fields, and the great up-pilings when storms were coming, rising +black-bosomed against the blue. There had been some dark moments to +throw out these brighter ones--when chickens were killed and he had +tried to stand by and look swaggeringly unconcerned as a boy should, +while he sickened internally and shut his lips over pleadings for +mercy. And there was an awful day when pigs were slaughtered, and no +one knew that he stole away to the elder thickets by the river, +burrowed deep into them, and stopped his ears against the shrill, +agonized cries. He knew such weakness was shameful and hid it with a +child's subtlety. At supper he told skillful lies to account for his +pale cheeks and lost appetite. + +His uncle, a kindly generous man, without children of his own, had been +fond of him and sympathized with his wish for an education. It was he +who had made it possible for the boy to go to a good school at +Springfield and afterwards to study law. How hard he had worked in +those school years, and what realms of wonder had been opened to him +through books, the first books he had known, reverently handled, +passionately read, that led him into unknown worlds, pointed the way to +ideals that could be realized! With the law books he was not in so +good an accord. But it was his chosen profession, and he approached it +with zeal and high enthusiasm, a young apostle who would sell his +services only for the right. + +Now he smiled, looking back at his disillusion. The young apostle was +jostled out of sight in the bustle of the growing town. There was no +room in it for idealists who were diffident and sensitive and stood on +the outside of its self-absorbed activity bewildered by the noises of +life. The stream of events was very different from the pages of books. +David saw men and women struggling toward strange goals, fighting for +soiled and sordid prizes, and felt as he had done on the farm when the +pigs were killed. And as he had fled from that ugly scene to the +solacing quiet of Nature, he turned from the tumult of the little town +to the West, upon whose edge he stood. + +It called him like a voice in the night. The spell of its borderless +solitudes, its vast horizons, its benign silences, grew stronger as he +felt himself powerless and baffled among the fighting energies of men. +He dreamed of a life there, moving in unobstructed harmony. A man +could begin in a fresh, clean world, and be what he wanted, be a young +apostle in his own way. His boy friend who had gone to Oregon fired +his imagination with stories of Marcus Whitman and his brother +missionaries. David did not want to be a missionary, but he wanted, +with a young man's solemn seriousness, to make his life of profit to +mankind, to do the great thing without self-interest. So he had +yearned and chafed while he read law and waited for clients and been as +a man should to his mother, until in the summer of 1847 both his mother +and his uncle had died, the latter leaving him a little fortune of four +thousand dollars. Then the Emigrant Trail lay straight before him, +stretching to California. + +The reins lay loose on the backs of Bess and Ben and the driver's gaze +was fixed on the line of trees that marked the course of an unseen +river. The dream was realized, he was on the trail. He lifted his +eyes to the sky where massed clouds slowly sailed and birds flew, +shaking notes of song down upon him. Joe was dead, but the world was +still beautiful, with the sun on the leaves and the wind on the grass, +with the kindliness of honest men and the gracious presence of women. + +Dr. Gillespie was the first dweller in that unknown world east of the +Alleghenies whom David had met. For this reason alone it would be a +privilege to travel with him. How great the privilege was, the young +man did not know till he rode by the doctor's side that afternoon and +they talked together on the burning questions of the day; or the doctor +talked and David hungrily listened to the voice of education and +experience. + +The war with Mexico was one of the first subjects. The doctor regarded +it as a discreditable performance, unworthy a great and generous +nation. The Mormon question followed, and on this he had much curious +information. Living in the interior of New York State, he had heard +Joseph Smith's history from its beginning, when he posed as "a money +digger" and a seer who could read the future through "a peek stone." +The recent polygamous teachings of the prophet were a matter to mention +with lowered voice. Miss Gillespie, riding on the other side, was not +supposed to hear, and certainly appeared to take no interest in Mexico, +or Texas, or Joseph Smith and his unholy doctrines. + +She made no attempt to enter into the conversation, and it seemed to +David, who now and then stole a shy look at her to see if she was +impressed by his intelligent comments, that she did not listen. Once +or twice, when the talk was at its acutest point of interest, she +struck her horse and left them, dashing on ahead at a gallop. At +another time she dropped behind, and his ear, trained in her direction, +heard her voice in alternation with Daddy John's. When she joined them +after this withdrawal she was bright eyed and excited. + +"Father," she called as she came up at a sharp trot, "Daddy John says +the prairie's not far beyond. He says we'll see it soon--the prairie +that I've been thinking of all winter!" + +Her enthusiasm leaped to David and he forgot the Mexican boundaries and +the polygamous Mormons, and felt like a discoverer on the prow of a +ship whose keel cuts unknown seas. For the prairie was still a word of +wonder. It called up visions of huge unpeopled spaces, of the flare of +far flung sunsets, of the plain blackening with the buffalo, of the +smoke wreath rising from the painted tepee, and the Indian, bronzed and +splendid, beneath his feathered crest. + +"It's there," she cried, pointing with her whip. "I can't wait. I'm +going on." + +David longed to go with her, but the doctor was deep in the extension +of slavery and of all the subjects this burned deepest. The prairie +was interesting but not when the repeal of the Missouri Compromise was +on the carpet. Watching the girl's receding shape, David listened +respectfully and heard of the dangers and difficulties that were sure +to follow on the acquisition of the great strip of Mexican territory. + +All afternoon they had been passing through woods, the remnant of that +mighty forest which had once stretched from the Missouri to the +Alleghenies. Now its compact growth had become scattered and the sky, +flaming toward sunset, shone between the tree trunks. The road +ascended a slight hill and at the top of this Miss Gillespie appeared +and beckoned to them. As they drew near she turned and made a sweeping +gesture toward the prospect. The open prairie lay before them. + +No one spoke. In mute wonderment they gazed at a country that was like +a map unrolled at their feet. Still as a vision it stretched to where +sky and earth fused in a golden haze. No sound or motion broke its +dreaming quiet, vast, brooding, self-absorbed, a land of abundance and +accomplishment, its serenity flowing to the faint horizon blur. Lines +of trees, showing like veins, followed the wandering of streams, or +gathered in clusters to suck the moisture of springs. Nearby a pool +gleamed, a skin of gold linked by the thread of a rivulet to other +pools. They shone, a line of glistening disks, imbedded in the green. +Space that seemed to stretch to the edges of the world, the verdure of +Eden, the silence of the unpolluted, unconquered earth were here. + +So must it have looked when the beaked Viking ships nosed along the +fretted shores of Rhode Island, when Columbus took the sea in his +high-pooped caravals, when the Pilgrims saw the rocks and naked boughs +of the New England coast. So it had been for centuries, roamed by wild +men who had perished from its face and left no trace, their habitation +as a shadow in the sun, their work as dew upon the grass, their lives +as the lives of the mayfly against its immemorial antiquity. + +The young man felt his spirit mount in a rush of exaltation like a +prayer. Some fine and exquisite thing in himself leaped out in wild +response. The vision and the dream were for a moment his. And in that +moment life, all possible, all perfect, stretched before him, to end in +a triumphant glory like the sunset. + +The doctor took off his hat. + +"The heavens declare the glory of God. All the earth doth magnify his +name," he said in a low voice. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A broken line of moving dots, the little company trailed a slow way +across this ocean of green. Nothing on its face was more insignificant +than they. The birds in the trees and the bees in the flowers had a +more important place in its economy. One afternoon David riding in the +rear crested a ridge and saw them a mile in advance, the road +stretching before and behind them in a curving thread. The tops of the +wagons were like the backs of creeping insects, the mounted figures, +specks of life that raised a slight tarnish of dust on the golden +clearness. He wondered at their lack of consequence, unregarded +particles of matter toiling across the face of the world. + +This was what they suggested viewed largely from the distance. Close +at hand--one of them--and it was a very different matter. They enjoyed +it. If they were losing their significance as man in the aggregate, +the tamer, and master, they were gaining a new importance as distinct +and separate units. Convention no longer pressed on them. What law +there was they carried with them, bore it before them into the +wilderness like the Ark of the Covenant. But nobody wanted to be +unlawful. There was no temptation to be so. Envy, hatred and malice +and all uncharitableness had been left behind in the cities. They were +a very cheerful company, suffering a little from fatigue, and with now +and then a faint brush of bad temper to put leaven into the dough. + +There was a Biblical simplicity in their life. They had gone back to +the era when man was a nomad, at night pitching his tent by the water +hole, and sleeping on skins beside the fire. When the sun rose over +the rim of the prairie the camp was astir. When the stars came out in +the deep blue night they sat by the cone of embers, not saying much, +for in the open, spoken words lose their force and the human creature +becomes a silent animal. + +Each day's march was a slow, dogged, progression, broken by fierce work +at the fords. The dawn was the beautiful time when the dew was caught +in frosted webs on the grass. The wings of the morning were theirs as +they rode over the long green swells where the dog roses grew and the +leaves of the sage palpitated to silver like a woman's body quivering +to the brushing of a beloved hand. Sometimes they walked, dipped into +hollows where the wattled huts of the Indians edged a creek, noted the +passage of earlier trains in the cropped grass at the spring mouth and +the circles of dead fires. + +In the afternoons it grew hot. The train, deliberate and determined as +a tortoise, moved through a shimmer of light. The drone of insect +voices rose in a sleepy chorus and the men drowsed in the wagons. Even +the buoyant life of the young girl seemed to feel the stupefying weight +of the prairie's deep repose. She rode at a foot pace, her hat hanging +by its strings to the pommel, her hair pushed back from her beaded +forehead, not bothering about her curls now. + +Then came the wild blaze of the sunset and the pitching of the camp, +and after supper the rest by the fire with pipe smoke in the air, and +overhead the blossoming of the stars. + +They were wonderful stars, troops and troops of them, dust of myriad, +unnumbered worlds, and the white lights of great, bold planets staring +at ours. David wondered what it looked like from up there. Was it as +large, or were we just a tiny, twinkling point too? From city streets +the stars had always chilled him by their awful suggestion of worlds +beyond worlds circling through gulfs of space. But here in the +primordial solitudes, under the solemn cope of the sky, the thought +lost its terror. He seemed in harmony with the universe, part of it as +was each speck of star dust. Without question or understanding he felt +secure, convinced of his oneness with the great design, cradled in its +infinite care. + +One evening while thus dreaming he caught Susan's eye full of curious +interest like a watching child's. + +"What are you thinking of?" she asked. + +"The stars," he answered. "They used to frighten me." + +She looked from him to the firmament as if to read a reason for his +fear: + +"Frighten you? Why?" + +"There were so many of them, thousands and millions, wandering about up +there. It was so awful to think of them, how they'd been swinging +round forever and would keep on forever. And maybe there were people +on some of them, and what it all was for." + +She continued to look up and then said indifferently: + +"It doesn't seem to me to matter much." + +"It used to make me feel that nothing was any use. As if I was just a +grain of dust." + +Her eyes came slowly down and rested on him in a musing gaze. + +"A grain of dust. I never felt that way. I shouldn't think you'd like +it, but I don't see why you were afraid." + +David felt uncomfortable. She was so exceedingly practical and direct +that he had an unpleasant feeling she would set him down as a coward, +who went about under the fear that a meteor might fall on him and +strike him dead. He tried to explain: + +"Not afraid actually, just sort of frozen by the idea of it all. It's +so--immense, so--so crushing and terrible." + +Her gaze continued, a questioning quality entering it. This gained in +force by a slight tilting of her head to one side. David began to fear +her next question. It might show that she regarded him not only as a +coward but also as a fool. + +"Perhaps you don't understand," he hazarded timidly. + +"I don't think I do," she answered, then dropped her eyes and added +after a moment of pondering, "I can't remember ever being really afraid +of anything." + +Had it been daylight she would have noticed that the young man colored. +He thought guiltily of certain haunting fears of his childhood, ghosts +in the attic, a banshee of which he had once heard a fearsome story, a +cow that had chased him on the farm. She unconsciously assisted him +from this slough of shame by saying suddenly: + +"Oh, yes, I can. I remember now. I'm afraid of mad dogs." + +It was not very comforting for, after all, everybody was afraid of mad +dogs. + +"And there was a reason for that," she went on. "I was frightened by a +mad dog when I was a little girl eight years old. I was going out to +spend some of my allowance. I got twenty cents a month and I had it +all in pennies. And suddenly there was a great commotion in the +street, everybody running and screaming and rushing into doorways. I +didn't know what was the matter but I was startled and dropped my +pennies. And just as I stooped to pick them up I saw the dog coming +toward me, tearing, with its tongue hanging out. And, would you +believe it, I gathered up all those pennies before I ran and just had +time to scramble over a fence." + +It was impossible not to laugh, especially with her laughter leading, +her eyes narrowed to cracks through which light and humor sparkled at +him. + +He was beginning to know Miss Gillespie--"Miss Susan" he called +her--very well. It was just like his dream, riding beside her every +day, and growing more friendly, the spell of her youth, and her dark +bloom, and her attentive eyes--for she was an admirable listener if her +answers sometimes lacked point--drawing from him secret thoughts and +hopes and aspirations he had never dared to tell before. If she did +not understand him she did not laugh at him, which was enough for David +with the sleepy whisperings of the prairie around him, and new, strange +matter stirring in his heart and making him bold. + +There was only one thing about her that was disappointing. He did not +admit it to himself but it kept falling on their interviews with a +depressive effect. To the call of beauty she remained unmoved. If he +drew up his horse to gaze on the wonders of the sunset the waiting made +her impatient. He had noticed that heat and mosquitoes would distract +her attention from the hazy distances drowsing in the clear yellow of +noon. The sky could flush and deepen in majestic splendors, but if she +was busy over the fire and her skillets she never raised her head to +look. And so it was with poetry. She did not know and did not care +anything about the fine frenzies of the masters. Byron?--wrinkling up +her forehead--yes, she thought she'd read something in school. +Shelley?--"The Ode to the West Wind?" No, she'd never read that. What +was an ode anyway? Once he recited the "Lines to an Indian Air," his +voice trembling a little, for the words were almost sacred. + +She pondered for a space and then said: + +"What are champak odors?" + +David didn't know. He had never thought of inquiring. + +"Isn't that odd," she murmured. "That would have been the first thing +I would have wanted to know. Champak? I suppose it's some kind of a +flower--something like a magnolia. It has a sound like a magnolia." + +A lively imagination was evidently not one of Miss Gillespie's +possessions. + +Late one afternoon, riding some distance in front of the train, she and +David had seen an Indian loping by on his pony. It was not an unusual +sight. Many Indians had visited their camp and at the crossing of the +Kaw they had come upon an entire village in transit to the summer +hunting grounds. But there was something in this lone figure, moving +solitary through the evening glow, that put him in accord with the +landscape's solemn beauty, retouched him with his lost magnificence. +In buckskins black with filth, his blanket a tattered rag, an ancient +rifle across his saddle, the undying picturesqueness of the red man was +his. + +"Look," said David, his imagination fired. "Look at that Indian." + +The savage saw them and turned a face of melancholy dignity upon them, +giving forth a deep "How, How." + +"He's a very dirty Indian," said Susan, sweeping him with a glance of +disfavor. + +David did not hear her. He looked back to watch the lonely figure as +it rode away over the swells. It seemed to him to be riding into the +past, the lordly past, when the red man owned the land and the fruits +thereof. + +"Look at him as he rides away," he said. "Can't you seem to see him +coming home from a battle with his face streaked with vermilion and his +war bonnet on? He'd be solemn and grand with the wet scalps dripping +at his belt. When they saw him coming his squaws would come out in +front of the lodges and begin to sing the war chant." + +"Squaws!" in a tone of disgust. "That's as bad as the Mormons." + +The muse had possession of David and a regard for monogamy was not +sufficient to stay his noble rage. + +"And think how he felt! All this was his, the pale face hadn't come. +He'd fought his enemies for it and driven them back. In the cool of +the evening when he was riding home he could look out for miles and +miles, clear to the horizon, and know he was the King of it all. Just +think what it was to feel like that! And far away he could see the +smoke of his village and know that they were waiting for the return of +the chief." + +"Chief!" with even greater emphasis, "that poor dirty creature a +_chief_!" + +The muse relinquished her hold. The young man explained, not with +impatience, but as one mortified by a betrayal into foolish enthusiasm: + +"I didn't mean that _he_ was a chief. I was just imagining." + +"Oh," with the falling inflexion of comprehension. "You often imagine, +don't you? Let's ride on to where the road goes down into that hollow." + +They rode on in silence, both slightly chagrined, for if David found it +trying to have his fine flights checked, Susan was annoyed when she +said things that made him wear a look of forbearing patience. She may +not have had much imagination, but she had a very observing eye, and +could have startled not only David, but her father by the shrewdness +with which she read faces. + +The road sloped to a hollow where the mottled trunks of cotton woods +stood in a group round the dimpling face of a spring. With +well-moistened roots the grass grew long and rich. Here was the place +for the night's camp. They would wait till the train came up. And +even as they rested on this comfortable thought they saw between the +leaves the canvas top of a wagon. + +The meeting of trains was one of the excitements of life on the +Emigrant Trail. Sometimes they were acquaintances made in the wet days +at Independence, sometimes strangers who had come by way of St. Joseph. +Then the encountering parties eyed one another with candid curiosity +and from each came the greeting of the plains, "Be you for Oregon or +California?" + +The present party was for Oregon from Missouri, six weeks on the road. +They were a family, traveling alone, having dropped out of the company +with which they had started. The man, a gaunt and grizzled creature, +with long hair and ragged beard, was unyoking his oxen, while the woman +bent over the fire which crackled beneath her hands. She was as lean +as he, shapeless, saffron-skinned and wrinkled, but evidently younger +than she looked. The brood of tow-headed children round her ran from a +girl of fourteen to a baby, just toddling, a fat, solemn-eyed cherub, +almost naked, with a golden fluff of hair. + +At sight of him Susan drew up, the unthinking serenity of her face +suddenly concentrated into a hunger of admiration, a look which changed +her, focused her careless happiness into a pointed delight. + +"Look at the baby," she said quickly, "a lovely fat baby with curls," +then slid off her horse and went toward them. + +The woman drew back staring. The children ran to her, frightened as +young rabbits, and hid behind her skirts. Only the baby, grave and +unalarmed, stood his ground and Susan snatched him up. Then the mother +smiled, gratified and reassured. She had no upper front teeth, and the +wide toothless grin gave her a look of old age that had in it a curious +suggestion of debasement. + +David stood by his horse, making no move to come forward. The party +repelled him. They were not only uncouth and uncomely, but they were +dirty. Dirt on an Indian was, so to speak, dirt in its place--but +unwashed women and children--! His gorge rose at it. And Susan, +always dainty as a pink, seemed entirely indifferent to it. The +children, with unkempt hair and legs caked in mud, crowded about her, +and as she held the baby against her chest, her glance dwelt on the +woman's face, with no more consciousness of its ugliness than when she +looked over the prairie there was consciousness of Nature's supreme +perfection. + +On the way back to camp he asked her about it. Why, if she objected to +the Indian's dirt, had she been oblivious to that of the women and the +children? He put it judicially, with impersonal clearness as became a +lawyer. She looked puzzled, then laughed, her fresh, unusual laugh: + +"I'm sure I don't know. I don't know why I do everything or why I like +this thing and don't like that. I don't always have a reason, or if I +do I don't stop to think what it is. I just do things because I want +to and feel them because I can't help it. I like children and so I +wanted to talk to them and hear about them from their mother." + +"But would your liking for them make you blind to such a thing as dirt?" + +"I don't know. Maybe it would. When you're interested in anything or +anybody small things don't matter." + +"Small things! Those children were a sight!" + +"Yes, poor little brats! No one had washed the baby for weeks. The +woman said she was too tired to bother and it wouldn't bathe in the +creeks with the other children, so they let it go. If we kept near +them I could wash it for her. I could borrow it and wash it every +morning. But there's no use thinking about it as we'll pass them +to-morrow. Wasn't it a darling with little golden rings of hair and +eyes like pieces of blue glass?" + +She sighed, relinquishing the thought of the baby's morning bath with +pensive regret. David could not understand it, but decided as Susan +felt that way it must be the right way for a woman to feel. He was +falling in love, but he was certainly not falling in love--as students +of a later date have put it--with "a projection of his own personality." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +They had passed the Kaw River and were now bearing on toward the +Vermilion. Beyond that would be the Big and then the Little Blue and +soon after the Platte where "The Great Medicine way of the Pale Face" +bent straight to the westward. The country continued the same and over +its suave undulations the long trail wound, sinking to the hollows, +threading clumps of cotton-wood and alder, lying white along the spine +of bolder ridges. + +Each day they grew more accustomed to their gypsy life. The prairie +had begun to absorb them, cut them off from the influences of the old +setting, break them to its will. They were going back over the +footsteps of the race, returning to aboriginal conditions, with their +backs to the social life of communities and their faces to the wild. +Independence seemed a long way behind, California so remote that it was +like thinking of Heaven when one was on earth, well fed and well +faring. Their immediate surroundings began to make their world, they +subsided into the encompassing immensity, unconsciously eliminating +thoughts, words, habits, that did not harmonize with its uncomplicated +design. + +On Sundays they halted and "lay off" all day. This was Dr. Gillespie's +wish. He had told the young men at the start and they had agreed. It +would be a good thing to have a day off for washing and general +"redding up." But the doctor had other intentions. In his own words, +he "kept the Sabbath," and each Sunday morning read the service of the +Episcopal Church. Early in their acquaintance David had discovered +that his new friend was religious; "a God-fearing man" was the term the +doctor had used to describe himself. David, who had only seen the +hysterical, fanaticism of frontier revivals now for the first time +encountered the sincere, unquestioning piety of a spiritual nature. +The doctor's God was an all-pervading presence, who went before him as +pillar of fire or cloud. Once speaking to the young man of the +security of his belief in the Divine protection, he had quoted a line +which recurred to David over and over--in the freshness of the morning, +in the hot hush of midday, and in the night when the stars were out: +"Behold, He that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep." + +Overcome by shyness the young men had stayed away from the first +Sunday's service. David had gone hunting, feeling that to sit near by +and not attend would offer a slight to the doctor. No such scruples +restrained Leff, who squatted on his heels at the edge of the creek, +washing his linen and listening over his shoulder. By the second +Sunday they had mastered their bashfulness and both came shuffling +their hats in awkward hands and sitting side by side on a log. Leff, +who had never been to church in his life, was inclined to treat the +occasion as one for furtive amusement, at intervals casting a sidelong +look at his companion, which, on encouragement, would have developed +into a wink. David had no desire to exchange glances of derisive +comment. He was profoundly moved. The sonorous words, the solemn +appeal for strength under temptation, the pleading for mercy with that +stern, avenging presence who had said, "I, the Lord thy God am a +jealous God," awed him, touched the same chord that Nature touched and +caused an exaltation less exquisite but more inspiring. + +The light fell flickering through the leaves of the cotton-woods on the +doctor's gray head. He looked up from his book, for he knew the words +by heart, and his quiet eyes dwelt on the distance swimming in morning +light. His friend, the old servant, stood behind him, a picturesque +figure in fringed buckskin shirt and moccasined feet. He held his +battered hat in his hand, and his head with its spare locks of grizzled +hair was reverently bowed. He neither spoke nor moved. It was Susan's +voice who repeated the creed and breathed out a low "We beseech thee to +hear us, Good Lord." + +The tents and the wagons were behind her and back of them the long +green splendors of the prairie. Flecks of sun danced over her figure, +shot back and forth from her skirt to her hair as whiffs of wind caught +the upper branches of the cotton woods. She had been sitting on the +mess chest, but when the reading of the Litany began she slipped to her +knees, and with head inclined answered the responses, her hands lightly +clasped resting against her breast. + +David, who had been looking at her, dropped his eyes as from a sight no +man should see. To admire her at this moment, shut away in the +sanctuary of holy thoughts, was a sacrilege. Men and their passions +should stand outside in that sacred hour when a woman is at prayer. +Leff had no such high fancies. He only knew the sight of Susan made +him dumb and drove away all the wits he had. Now she looked so aloof, +so far removed from all accustomed things, that the sense of her +remoteness added gloom to his embarrassment. He twisted a blade of +grass in his freckled hands and wished that the service would soon end. + +The cotton-wood leaves made a light, dry pattering as if rain drops +were falling. From the picketed animals, looping their trail ropes +over the grass, came a sound of low, continuous cropping. The hum of +insects swelled and sank, full of sudden life, then drowsily dying away +as though the spurt of energy had faded in the hour's discouraging +languor. The doctor's voice detached itself from this pastoral chorus +intoning the laws that God gave Moses when he was conducting a +stiff-necked and rebellious people through a wilderness: + +"Thou shalt do no murder. + +"Thou shalt not commit adultery. + +"Thou shalt not steal." + +And to each command Susan's was the only voice that answered, falling +sweet and delicately clear on the silence: + +"Lord have mercy upon us and incline our hearts to keep this law." + +Susan praying for power to resist such scarlet sins! It was fantastic +and David wished he dared join his voice to hers and not let her kneel +there alone as if hers was the only soul that needed strengthening. +Susan, the young, the innocent-eyed, the pure. + +He had come again the next Sunday--Leff went hunting that morning--and +felt that some day, not so far distant, he would dare to kneel too and +respond. He thought of it when alone, another port that his dreams +were taking him to--his voice and Susan's, the bass and the treble, +strength and sweetness, symbol of the male and the female, united in +one harmonious strain that would stream upward to the throne of the God +who, watching over them, neither slumbered nor slept. + +It was on the afternoon of this Sunday, that David started out to walk +to an Indian village, of which a passing emigrant had told him, lying +in a hollow a mile to the westward. He left the camp sunk in the +somnolence of its seventh-day rest, Susan not to be seen anywhere, Leff +asleep under the wagon, the doctor writing his diary in the shade of +the cotton-woods, and Daddy John lying on the grass among the whiteness +of the week's wash. The hour was hot and breathless, the middle +distance quivering through a heat haze, and the remoter reaches of the +prairie an opalescent blur. + +The Indian village was deserted and he wandered through its scattered +lodges of saplings wattled with the peeled bark of willows. The +Indians had not long departed. The ash of their fires was still warm, +tufts of buffalo hair and bright scraps of calico were caught on the +bushes, yet it already had an air of desolation, the bleakness of the +human habitation when the dweller has crossed the threshold and gone. + +Shadows were filling the hollow like a thin cold wine rising on the +edges of a cup, when he left it and gained the upper levels. Doubtful +of his course he stood for a moment looking about, conscious of a +curious change in the prospect, a deepening of its colors, a stillness +no longer dreamy, but heavy with suspense. The sky was sapphire clear, +but on the western horizon a rampart of cloud edged up, gray and +ominous, against the blue. As he looked it mounted, unrolled and +expanded, swelling into forms of monstrous aggression. A faint air, +fresh and damp, passed across the grass, and the clouds swept, like +smoke from a world on fire, over the sun. + +With the sudden darkening, dread fell on the face of the land. It came +first in a hush, like a holding of the breath, attentive, listening, +expectant. Then this broke and a quiver, the goose-flesh thrill of +fear, stirred across the long ridges. The small, close growing leafage +cowered, a frightened trembling seized the trees. David saw the sweep +of the landscape growing black under the blackness above. He began to +run, the sky sinking lower like a lid shutting down on the earth. He +thought that it was hard to get it on right, for in front of him a line +of blue still shone over which the lid had not yet been pressed down. +The ground was pale with the whitened terror of upturned leaves, the +high branches of the cotton-woods whipping back and forth in wild +agitation. He felt the first large drops, far apart, falling with a +reluctant splash, and he ran, a tiny figure in the tragic and +tremendous scene. + +When he reached the camp the rush of the rain had begun. Through a +network of boughs he caught the red eye of the fire and beyond had a +vision of stampeding mules with the men in pursuit. Then crashing +through the bushes he saw why the fire still burned--Susan was holding +an umbrella over it, the rain spitting in the hot ash, a pan of +biscuits balanced in the middle. Behind her the tent, one side +concave, the other bellying out from restraining pegs, leaped and +jerked at its moorings. A rumble of thunder rolled across the sky and +the rain came at them in a slanting wall. + +"We're going to have biscuits for supper if the skies fall," Susan +shouted at him, and he had a glimpse of her face, touched with +firelight, laughing under the roof of the umbrella. + +A furious burst of wind cut off his answer, the blue glare of lightning +suddenly drenched them, and the crackling of thunder tore a path across +the sky. The umbrella was wrenched from Susan and her wail as the +biscuits fell pierced the tumult with the thin, futile note of human +dole. He had no time to help her, for the tent with an exultant wrench +tore itself free on one side, a canvas wing boisterously leaping, while +the water dived in at the blankets. As he sped to its rescue he had an +impression of the umbrella, handle up, filling with water like a large +black bowl and Susan groveling in the ashes for her biscuits. + +"The tent's going," he cried back; "all your things will be soaked. +Never mind the supper, come and help me." And it seemed in this moment +of tumult, that Susan ceased to be a woman to be cared for and +protected and became his equal, fighting with him against the forces of +the primitive world. The traditions of her helplessness were stripped +from her, and he called her to his aid as the cave man called his woman +when the storm fell on their bivouac. + +They seized on the leaping canvas, he feeling in the water for the tent +pegs, she snatching at the ropes. He tried to direct her, shouting +orders, which were beaten down in the stuttering explosion of the +thunder. Once a furious gust sent her against him. The wind wrapped +her damp skirts round him and he felt her body soft and pliable. The +grasp of her hands was tight on his arms and close to his ear he heard +her laughing. For a second the quick pulse of the lightning showed her +to him, her hair glued to her cheeks, her wet bodice like a thin web +molding her shoulders, and as the darkness shut her out he again heard +her laughter broken by panting breaths. + +"Isn't it glorious," she cried, struggling away from him. "That nearly +took me off my feet. My skirts are all twined round you." + +They got the tent down, writhing and leaping like a live thing frantic +to escape. Conquered, a soaked mass on the ground, he pulled the +bedding from beneath it and she grasped the blankets in her arms and +ran for the wagon. She went against the rain, leaning forward on it, +her skirts torn back and whipped up by the wind into curling eddies. +Her head, the hair pressed flat to it, was sleek and wet as a seal's, +and as she ran she turned and looked at him over her shoulder, a wild, +radiant look that he never forgot. + +They sat in the wagon and watched the storm. Soaked and tired they +curled up by the rear opening while the rain threshed against the +canvas and driblets of water came running down the sides. The noise +made talking difficult and they drew close together exclaiming as the +livid lightning saturated the scene, and holding their breaths when the +thunder broke and split its furious way over their heads. They watched +it, conscious each in the other of an increased comforting +friendliness, a gracious reassurance where Nature's transports made man +seem so small. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +The Vermilion was swollen. With a bluff on one side and a wide bottom +on the other it ran a prosperous, busy stream, brown and ripple-ridged. +The trail lay like a line of tape along the high land, then down the +slope, and across the bottom to the river. Here it seemed to slip +under the current and come up on the other side where it climbed a +steep bank, and thence went on, thin and pale, rising and dropping to +the ridges till the tape became a thread. + +They had been waiting a day for the water to fall. Camped in the +bottom under a scattering of trees with the animals grazing on the +juicy river grass and the song of the stream in their ears, it had been +a welcome break in the monotony of the march. There was always a +choice of occupation in these breathing spells. On the first afternoon +everybody had sat on the grass at the tent doors mending. To-day the +men had revolted and wandered off but Susan continued industriously +intent over patches and darns. She sat on a log, her spools and +scissors beside her, billows of homespun and calico about her feet. + +As she sewed she sung in a low undervoice, not looking up. Beyond her +in the shade Daddy John mended a piece of harness. Daddy John was not +a garrulous person and when she paused in her sewing to speak to him, +he answered with a monosyllable. It was one of the old man's +self-appointed duties to watch over her when the others were absent. +If he did not talk much to his "Missy" he kept a vigilant eye upon her, +and to-day he squatted in the shade beside her because the doctor and +David had gone after antelope and Leff was off somewhere on an +excursion of his own. + +Susan, sewing, her face grave above her work, was not as pretty as +Susan smiling. She drew her eyebrows, thick and black, low over her +eyes with her habitual concentration in the occupation of the moment, +and her lips, pressed together, pouted, but not the disarming baby pout +which, when she was angry, made one forget the sullenness of her brows. +Her looks however, were of that fortunate kind which lose nothing from +the open air and large backgrounds. Dress added but little to such +attractions as she had. Fineness and elegance were not hers, but her +healthy, ripe brownness fitted into this sylvan setting where the city +beauty would have soon become a pale and draggled thing. + +The robust blood of her French Canadian forebears was quickening to the +call of the trail. Was it the spirit of her adventurous ancestors that +made her feel a kinship with the wild, an indifference to its +privations, a joy in its rude liberty? She was thinner, but stronger +and more vigorous than when the train had started. She talked less and +yet her whole being seemed more vibrantly alive, her glance to have +gained the gleaming quietness of those whose eyes scan vague horizons. +She who had been heavy on her feet now stepped with a light +noiselessness, and her body showed its full woman's outlines +straightened and lengthened to the litheness of a boy. Her father +noticed that the Gallic strain in her seemed to be crowding out the +other. In Rochester, under city roofs, she had been at least half his. +On the trail, with the arch of the sky above and the illimitable earth +around her, she was throwing back to her mother's people. + +Susan herself had no interest in these atavistic developments. She was +a healthy, uncomplicated, young animal, and she was enjoying herself as +she had never done before. Behind her the life of Rochester stretched +in a tranquil perspective of dull and colorless routine. Nothing had +ever happened. From her seventh year her father and Daddy John had +brought her up, made her the pet and plaything of their lonely lives, +rejoiced in her, wondered at her, delighted in the imperious ways she +had learned from their spoiling. There had been teachers to educate +her, but it was an open secret that they had not taught her much. +Susan did not take kindly to books. No one had ever been able to teach +her how to cipher and learning the piano had been a fruitless effort +abandoned in her fifteenth year. It is only just to her to say that +she had her little talents. She was an excellent housekeeper, and she +could cook certain dishes better, the doctor said, than the chefs in +some of the fine restaurants in New York City. + +But what were the sober pleasures of housekeeping and cooking beside +the rough, deep-living exhilaration of gypsy life on the plains! She +looked back pityingly at those days of stagnant peace, compared the +entertainment to be extracted from embroidering a petticoat frill to +the exultant joy of a ride in the morning over the green swells. Who +would sip tea in the close curtained primness of the parlor when they +could crouch by the camp fire and eat a corn cake baked on the ashes or +drink brown coffee from a tin cup? And her buffalo robe on the ground, +the blanket tucked round her shoulder, the rustling of furtive animal +life in the grass outside the tent wall--was there any comparison +between its comfort and that of her narrow white bed at home, between +the clean sheets of which she had snuggled so luxuriously? + +There were other matters of charm and interest in the wilderness, +matters that Susan did not speak about--hardly admitted to herself, for +she was a modest maid. She had never yet had a lover; no man had ever +kissed her or held her hand longer than a cool, impersonal respect +dictated. In Rochester no one had turned to look at the doctor's +daughter as she walked by, for, in truth, there were many girls much +prettier and more piquant than Susan Gillespie. But, nevertheless, she +had had her dreams about the lover that some day was to come and carry +her off under a wreath of orange blossoms and a white veil. She did +not aspire to a struggling hoard of suitors, but she thought it would +be only fair and entirely within the realm of the possible if she had +two; most girls had two. + +Now she felt the secret elation that follows on the dream realized. +She did not tell herself that David and Leff were in love with her. +She would have regarded all speculations on such a sacred subject as +low and unmaidenly. But the consciousness of it permeated her being +with a gratified sense of her worth as a woman. It made her feel her +value. Like all girls of her primitive kind she estimated herself not +by her own measure, but by the measure of a man's love for her. Now +that men admired her she felt that she was taking her place as a unit +of importance. Her sense of achievement in this advent of the desiring +male was not alone pleased vanity, it went back through the ages to the +time when woman won her food and clothing, her right to exist, through +the power of her sex, when she whose attraction was strongest had the +best corner by the fire, the choicest titbit from the hunt, and the +strongest man to fight off rivals and keep her for himself. + +Her perceptions, never before exercised on these subjects, were +singularly keen. Neither of the young men had spoken a word of love to +her, yet she intuitively knew that they were both under her spell. The +young girl so stupid at her books, who could never learn arithmetic and +found history a bore, had a deeper intelligence in the reading of the +human heart than anyone of the party. More than the doctor who was a +man of education, more than David who thought so much and loved to +read, more than Leff who, if his brain was not sharp, might be supposed +to have accumulated some slight store of experience, more than Daddy +John who was old and had the hoar of worldly knowledge upon him. +Compared to her they were as novices to a nun who has made an excursion +into the world and taken a bite from the apple Eve threw away. + +She had no especial liking for Leff. It amused her to torment him, to +look at him with an artless, inquiring stare when he was overwhelmed by +confusion and did not know what to say. When she felt that he had +endured sufficiently she would become merciful, drop her eyes, and end +what was to her an encounter that added a new zest to her sense of +growing power. + +With David it was different. Here, too, she felt her mastery, but the +slave was of another fiber. He acknowledged her rule, but he was +neither clumsy nor dumb before her. She respected his intelligence and +felt a secret jealousy of it, as of a part of him which must always be +beyond her influence. His devotion was a very dear and gracious thing +and she was proud that he should care for her. Love had not awakened +in her, but sometimes when she was with him, her admiration softened to +a warm, invading gentleness, a sense of weakness glad of itself, happy +to acknowledge his greater strength. Had David's intuitions been as +true as hers he would have known when these moments came and spoken the +words. But on such matters he had no intuitions, was a mere, +unenlightened male trying to win a woman by standing at a distance and +kneeling in timid worship. + +Now sitting, sewing on the log, Susan heard a step on the gravel, and +without looking up gave it a moment's attention and knew it was Leff's. +She began to sing softly, with an air of abstraction. The steps drew +near her, she noted that they lagged as they approached, finally +stopped. She gave her work a last, lingering glance and raised her +eyes slowly as if politeness warred with disinclination, Leff was +standing before her, scowling at her as at an object of especial +enmity. He carried a small tin pail full of wild strawberries. She +saw it at once, but forebore looking at it, keeping her eyes on his +face, up which the red color ran. + +"Oh, Leff," she said with careless amiability, "so you've got back." + +Leff grunted an agreeing monosyllable and moved the strawberries to a +position where they intruded into the conversation like a punctuation +mark in the middle of a sentence. Her glance dropped to the pail, and +she looked at it saying nothing, amused to thus tease him and covertly +note his hopeless and impotent writhings. + +He thrust the pail almost against her knee and she was forced to say: + +"What fine strawberries, a whole pail full. Can I have one?" + +He nodded and she made a careful choice, giving the pail a little shake +to stir its contents. Leff glared at the top of her head where her +hair was twisted into a rough knot. + +"Thank you," she said. "I've found a beauty. You must have been all +afternoon getting so many," and she put the strawberry in her mouth and +picked up her sewing as though that ended the matter. + +Leff stood shifting from foot to foot, hoping that she might extend a +helping hand. + +"The river's falling," he said at length. "It's gone down two feet. +We can cross this evening." + +"Then I must hurry and finish my mending." + +She evidently was not going to extend so much as the tip of a finger. +In his bashful misery his mind worked suddenly and unexpectedly. + +"I've got to go and get the horses," he said, and, setting the pail on +the log beside her, turned and ran. + +But Susan was prepared for this move. It was what she expected. + +"Oh, Leff," she called, lazily. "Come back, you've forgotten your +strawberries." + +And he had to come back, furious and helpless, he had to come back. He +had not courage for a word, did not dare even to meet her gaze lifted +mildly to his. He snatched up the pail and lurched off and Susan +returned to her sewing, smiling to herself. + +"He wanted you to take the berries," said Daddy John, who had been +watching. + +"Did he?" she queried with the raised brows of innocent surprise. "Why +didn't he say so?" + +"Too bashful!" + +"He couldn't expect me to take them unless he offered them." + +"I should think you'd have guessed it." + +She laughed at this, dropping her sewing and looking at the old man +with eyes almost shut. + +"Oh, Daddy John," she gurgled. "How clever you are!" + +An hour later they began the crossing. The ford of the Vermilion was +one of the most difficult between the Kaw and the Platte Valley. After +threading the swift, brown current, the trail zigzagged up a clay bank, +channeled into deep ruts by the spring's fleet of prairie schooners. +It would be a hard pull to get the doctor's wagon up and David rode +over with Bess and Ben to double up with the mules. It was late +afternoon and the bottom lay below the sunshine steeped in a still +transparent light, where every tint had its own pure value. The air +was growing cool after a noon of blistering heat and from an unseen +backwater frogs had already begun a hoarse, tentative chanting. + +The big wagon had already crossed when David on Bess, with Ben at the +end of a trail rope, started into the stream. Susan watched him go, +his tall, high-shouldered figure astride the mare's broad back, one arm +flung outward with the rope dipping to the current. As the water rose +round his feet, he gave a wild, jubilant shout and went forward, +plowing deeper with every step, his cries swelling over the river's low +song. + +Susan, left on the near bank to wait till the wagons were drawn up, +lifted herself into the crotch of a cottonwood tree. The pastoral +simplicity of the scene, the men and animals moving through the +silver-threaded water with the wagons waiting and after the work the +camp to be pitched, exhilarated her with a conviction of true living, +of existence flowing naturally as the stream. And for the moment David +seemed the great figure in hers. With a thrill at her heart she +watched him receding through the open wash of air and water, shouting +in the jubilance of his manhood. The mischievous pleasure of her +coquetries was forgotten, and in a rush of glad confidence she felt a +woman's pride in him. This was the way she should see the man who was +to win her, not in stuffy rooms, not dressed in stiff, ungainly +clothes, not saying unmeaning things to fill the time. This tale of +laborious days bounded by the fires of sunrise and sunset, this +struggle with the primal forces of storm and flood, this passage across +a panorama unrolling in ever wilder majesty, was the setting for her +love idyl. The joy of her mounting spirit broke out in an answering +cry that flew across the river to David like the call of an animal to +its mate. + +She watched them yoking on Bess and Ben and men and animals bracing +their energies for the start. David drove the horses, walking beside +them, the reins held loose in hands that made upward, urging gestures +as the team breasted the ascent. It was a savage pull. The valiant +little mules bent their necks, the horses straining, iron muscled, +hoofs grinding down to the solid clay. The first charge carried them +half way up, then there was a moment of slackened effort, a relaxing, +recuperative breath, and the wagon came to a standstill. Leff ran for +the back, shouting a warning. The branch he thrust under the wheel was +ground to splinters and the animals grew rigid in their effort to +resist the backward drag. + +Leff gripped the wheel, cursing, his hands knotted round the spokes, +his back taut and muscle-ridged under the thin shirt. The cracked +voice of Daddy John came from beyond the canvas hood and David's urgent +cries filled the air. The mules, necks outstretched, almost squatting +in the agony of their endeavor, held their ground, but could do no +more. Bess and Ben began to plunge in a welter of slapping harness as +the wheels ground slowly downward. + +Susan watched, her neck craned, her eyes staring. Her sentimental +thoughts had vanished. She was one with the struggling men and beasts, +lending her vigor to theirs. Her eyes were on David, waiting to see +him dominate them like a general carrying his troops to victory. She +could see him, arms outstretched, haranguing his horses as if they were +human beings, but not using the whip. A burst of astonishing profanity +came from Leff and she heard him cry: + +"Lay it on to 'em, David. What's the matter with you? Beat 'em like +hell." + +The mule drivers used a long-lashed whip which could raise a welt on +the thickest hide. David flung the lash afar and brought it down on +Ben's back. The horse leaped as if he had been burned, jerking ahead +of his mate, and rearing in a madness of unaccustomed pain. With a +passionate gesture David threw the whip down. + +Susan saw that it was not accidental. She gave a sound of angry +astonishment and stood up in the crotch of the tree. + +"David!" she screamed, but he did not hear, and then louder: "Daddy +John, quick, the whip, he's dropped it." + +The old man came running round the back of the wagon, quick and eager +as a gnome. He snatched up the whip and let the lash curl outward with +a hissing rush. It flashed like the flickering dart of a snake's +tongue, struck, and the horses sprang forward. It curled again, hung +suspended for the fraction of a moment, then licked along the sweating +flanks, and horses and mules, bowed in a supreme effort, wrenched the +wagon upward. Susan slid from her perch, feeling a sudden apathy, not +only as from a tension snapped, but as the result of a backwash of +disillusion. David was no longer the proud conqueror, the driver of +man and brute. The tide of pride had ebbed. + +Later, when the camp was pitched and she was building the fire, he came +to offer her some wood which was scarce on this side of the river. He +knelt to help her, and, his face close to hers, she said in a low voice: + +"Why did you throw the whip down?" + +He reddened consciously and looked quickly at her, a look that was +apprehensive as if ready to meet an accusation. + +"I saw you do it," she said, expecting a denial. + +"Yes, I did it," he answered. "I wasn't going to say I didn't." + +"Why did you?" she repeated. + +"I can't beat a dumb brute when it's doing its best," he said, looking +away from her, shy and ashamed. + +"But the wagon would have gone down to the bottom of the hill. It was +going." + +"What would that have mattered? We could have taken some of the things +out and carried them up afterwards. When a horse does his best for +you, what's the sense of beating the life out of him when the load's +too heavy. I can't do that." + +"Was that why you threw it down?" + +He nodded. + +"You'd rather have carried the things up?" + +"Yes." + +She laid the sticks one on the other without replying and he said with +a touch of pleading in his tone: + +"You understand that, don't you?" + +She answered quickly: + +"Oh, of course, perfectly." + +But nevertheless she did not quite. Daddy John's action was the one +she really did understand, and she even understood why Leff swore so +violently. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +It was Sunday again and they lay encamped near the Little Blue. The +country was changing, the trees growing thin and scattered and sandy +areas were cropping up through the trail. At night they unfolded the +maps and holding them to the firelight measured the distance to the +valley of the Platte. Once there the first stage of the journey would +be over. When they started from Independence the Platte had shone to +the eyes of their imaginations as a threadlike streak almost as far +away as California. Now they would soon be there. At sunset they +stood on eminences and pointed in its direction, let their mental +vision conjure up Grand Island and sweep forward to the +buffalo-darkened plains and the river sunk in its league-wide bottom, +even peered still further and saw Fort Laramie, a faint, white dot +against the cloudy peaks of mountains. + +The afternoon was hot and the camp drowsed. Susan moving away from it +was the one point of animation in the encircling quietude. She was not +in spirit with its lethargy, stepping rapidly in a stirring of light +skirts, her hat held by one string, fanning back and forth from her +hanging hand. Her goal was a spring hidden in a small arroyo that made +a twisted crease in the land's level face. It was a little dell in +which the beauty they were leaving had taken a last stand, decked the +ground with a pied growth of flowers, spread a checkered roof of boughs +against the sun. From a shelf on one side the spring bubbled, clear as +glass, its waters caught and held quivering in a natural basin of rock. + +As she slipped over the margin, the scents imprisoned in the sheltered +depths rose to meet her, a sweet, cool tide of fragrance into which she +sank. After the glaring heat above it was like stepping into a +perfumed bath. She lay by the spring, her hands clasped behind her +head, looking up at the trees. The segments of sky between the boughs +were as blue as a turquoise and in this thick intense color the little +leaves seemed as if inlaid. Then a breeze came and the bits of +inlaying shook loose and trembled into silvery confusion. Small +secretive noises came from them as if minute confidences were passing +from bough to bough, and through their murmurous undertone the drip of +the spring fell with a thin, musical tinkle. + +Nature was dreaming and Susan dreamed with it. But her dreaming had a +certain definiteness, a distinct thought sustained its diffused +content. She was not self-consciously thinking of her lovers, not +congratulating herself on their acquirement, but the consciousness that +she had achieved them lay graciously round her heart, gave the soft +satisfaction to her musings that comes to one who has accomplished a +duty. With all modesty she felt the gratification of the being who +approaches his Destiny. She had advanced a step in her journey as a +woman. + +A hail from the bank above broke upon her reverie, but when she saw it +was David, she sat up smiling. That he should find out her hiding +place without word or sign from her was an action right and fitting. +It was a move in the prehistoric game of flight and pursuit, in which +they had engaged without comprehension and with the intense earnestness +of children at their play. David dropped down beside her, a spray of +wild roses in his hand, and began at once to chide her for thus +stealing away. Did she not remember they were in the country of the +Pawnees, the greatest thieves on the plains? It was not safe to stray +alone from the camp. + +Susan smiled: + +"The Pawnees steal horses, but I never heard anyone say they stole +girls." + +"They steal anything they can get," said the simple young man. + +"Oh, David,"--now she was laughing--"so they might steal me if they +couldn't get a horse, or a blanket, or a side of bacon! Next time I go +wandering I'll take the bacon with me and then I'll be perfectly safe." + +"Your father wouldn't like it. I've heard him tell you not to go off +this way alone." + +"Well, who could I take? I don't like to ask father to go out into the +sun and Daddy John was asleep, and Leff--I didn't see Leff anywhere." + +"I was there," he said, dropping his eyes. + +"You were under the wagon reading Byron. I wouldn't for the world take +you away from Byron." + +She looked at him with a candid smile, her eyes above it dancing with +delighted relish in her teasing. + +"I would have come in a minute," he said low, sweeping the surface of +the spring with the spray of roses. Susan's look dwelt on him, gently +thoughtful in its expression in case he should look up and catch it. + +"Leave Byron," she said, "leave the Isles of Greece where that lady, +whose name I've forgotten, 'loved and sung,' and walk in the sun with +me just because I wanted to see this spring! Oh, David, I would never +ask it of you." + +"You know I would have loved to do it." + +"You would have been polite enough to do it. You're always polite." + +"I would have done it because I wanted to," said the victim with the +note of exasperation in his voice. + +She stretched her hand forward and very gently took the branch of roses +from him. + +"Don't tell stories," she said in the cajoling voice used to children. +"This is Sunday." + +"I never tell stories," he answered, goaded to open irritation, "on +Sunday or any other day. You know I would have liked to come with you +and Byron could have--have----" + +"What?" the branch upright in her hand. + +"Gone to the devil!" + +"David!" in horror, "I never thought _you'd_ talk that way." + +She gave the branch a shake and a shower of drops fell on him. + +"There, that's to cool your anger. For I see you're angry though I +haven't got the least idea what it's about." + +He made no answer, wounded by her lack of understanding. She moved the +rose spray against her face, inhaling its fragrance, and watching him +through the leaves. After a moment she said with a questioning +inflection: + +"You were angry?" + +He gave her a quick glance, met her eyes, shining between the duller +luster of the leaves, and suddenly dumb before their innocent +provocation, turned his head away. The sense of his disturbance +trembled on the air and Susan's smile died. She dropped the branch, +trailing it lightly across the water, and wondering at the confusion +that had so abruptly upset her self-confident gayety. Held in +inexplicable embarrassment she could think of nothing to say. It was +he who broke the silence with a change of subject: + +"In a few days more we'll be at the Platte. When we started that +seemed as if it was half the journey, didn't it?" + +"We'll get there just about a month from the time we left Independence. +Before we started I thought a month out of doors this way would be like +a year. But it really hasn't seemed long at all. I suppose it's +because I've enjoyed it so." + +This again stirred him. Was there any hope that his presence might +have been the cause of some small fraction of that enjoyment? He put +out a timid feeler: + +"I wonder why you enjoyed it. Perhaps Leff and I amused you a little." + +It was certainly a humble enough remark, but it caused a slight +stiffening and withdrawal in the young girl. She instinctively felt +the pleading for commendation and resented it. It was as if a slave, +upon whose neck her foot rested, were to squirm round and recommend +himself to her tolerance. David, trying to extort from her flattering +admissions, roused a determination to keep the slave with his face in +the dust. + +"I just like being out of doors," she said carelessly. "And it's all +the more odd as I was always wanting to hurry on and catch up the large +train." + +This was a grinding in of the heel. The large train into which the +Gillespies were to be absorbed and an end brought to their independent +journeying, had at first loomed gloomily before David's vision. But of +late it had faded from the conversation and his mind. The present was +so good it must continue, and he had come to accept that first bright +dream of his in which he and Susan were to go riding side by side +across the continent as a permanent reality. His timidity was swept +away in a rush of stronger feeling and he sat erect, looking sharply at +her: + +"I thought you'd given up the idea of joining with that train?" + +Susan raised the eyebrows of mild surprise: + +"Why did you think that?" + +"You've not spoken of it for days." + +"That doesn't prove anything. There are lots of important things I +don't speak of." + +"You ought to have spoken of that." + +The virile note of authority was faint in his words, the first time +Susan had ever heard it. Her foot was in a fair way to be withdrawn +from the slave's neck. The color in her cheeks deepened and it was she +who now dropped her eyes. + +"We had arranged to join the train long before we left Rochester," she +answered. "Everybody said it was dangerous to travel in a small party. +Dr. Whitman told my father that." + +"There's been nothing dangerous so far." + +"No, it's later when we get into the country of the Sioux and the +Black-feet. They often attack small parties. It's a great risk that +people oughtn't to run. They told us that in Independence, too." + +He made no answer and she eyed him with stealthy curiosity. He was +looking on the ground, his depression apparent. At this evidence of +her ability to bring joy or sorrow to her slave she relented. + +"You'll join it, too, won't you?" she said gently. + +"I don't know. The big trains move so slowly." + +"Oh, you must. It would be dreadfully dreary to separate our parties +after we'd traveled so long together." + +"Maybe I will. I haven't thought about it." + +"But you _must_ think about it. There's no knowing now when we may +come upon them--almost any day. You don't want to go on and leave us +behind, do you?" + +He again made no answer and she stole another quick look at him. This +mastery of a fellow creature was by far the most engrossing pastime +life had offered her. There was something about him, a suggestion of +depths hidden and shut away from her that filled her with the +venturesome curiosity of Fatima opening the cupboards in Bluebeard's +castle. + +"We'd feel so lonely if you went on and left us behind with a lot of +strange people," she said, with increasing softness. "We'd miss you +so." + +The young man turned quickly on her, leaned nearer, and said huskily: + +"Would you?" + +The movement brought his face close to hers, and she shrank back +sharply, her hand ready to hold him at a distance. Her laughing +expression changed into one of offended dignity, almost aversion. At +the same time his agitation, which had paled his cheeks and burst +through his shy reserve, filled her with repulsion. For the moment she +disliked him. If he had tried to put his hand upon her she would have +struck him in quick rage at his presumption. He had not the slightest +intention of doing so, but the sudden rush of feeling that her words +had evoked, made him oblivious to the startled withdrawal of her manner. + +"Answer me," he said. "Would you miss me? Am I anything to you?" + +She leaped to her feet, laughing not quite naturally, for her heart was +beating hard and she had suddenly shrunk within herself, her spirit +alert and angrily defensive in its maiden stronghold. + +"Miss you," she said in a matter-of-fact tone that laid sentiment dead +at a blow, "of course I'd miss you," then backed away from him, +brushing off her skirt. + +He rose and stood watching her with a lover's hang-dog look. She +glanced at him, read his face and once more felt secure in her +ascendency. Her debonair self-assurance came back with a lowering of +her pulse and a remounting to her old position of condescending +command. But a parting lesson would not be amiss and she turned from +him, saying with a carefully tempered indifference: + +"And Leff, too. I'd miss Leff dreadfully. Come, it's time to go." + +Before he could answer she was climbing the bank, not looking back, +moving confidently as one who had no need of his aid. He followed her +slowly, sore and angry, his eyes on her figure which flitted in advance +clean-cut against the pale, enormous sky. + +He had just caught up with her when from a hollow near the roadside +Leff came into view. He had been after antelope and carried his rifle +and a hunting knife in his belt. During the chase he had come upon a +deserted Pawnee settlement in a depression of the prairie. Susan was +instantly interested and wanted to see it and David stood by, listening +in sulky silence while Leff pointed out the way. The sun was sinking +and they faced it, the young man's indicating finger moving back and +forth across the vagaries of the route. The prairie was cut by long +undulations, naked of verdure, save a spot in the foreground where, +beside a round greenish pool, a single tree lifted thinly clad boughs. +Something of bleakness had crept into the prospect, its gay greenness +was giving place to an austere pallor of tint, a dry economy of +vegetation. The summits of the swells were bare, the streams shrunk in +sandy channels. It was like a face from which youth is withdrawing. + +The Indian encampment lay in a hollow, the small wattled huts gathered +on both sides of a runlet that oozed from the slope and slipped between +a line of stepping stones. The hollow was deep for the level country, +the grassed sides sweeping abruptly to the higher reaches above. They +walked through it, examining the neatly made huts and speculating on +the length of time the Indians had left. David remembered that the day +before, the trail had been crossed by the tracks of a village in +transit, long lines graven in the dust by the dragging poles of the +_travaux_. He felt uneasy. The Indians might not be far and they +themselves were at least a mile from the camp, and but one of them +armed. The others laughed and Susan brought the blood into his face by +asking him if he was afraid. + +He turned from her, frankly angry and then stood rigid with fixed +glance. On the summit of the opposite slope, black against the yellow +west, were a group of mounted figures. They were massed together in a +solid darkness, but the outlines of the heads were clear, heads across +which bristled an upright crest of hair like the comb of a rooster. + +For a long, silent moment the two parties remained immovable, eying +each other across the hollow. Then David edged closer to the girl. He +felt his heart thumping, but his first throttling grip of fear loosened +as his mind realized their helplessness. Leff was the only one with +arms. They must get in front of Susan and tell her to run and the camp +was a mile off! He felt for her hand and heard her whisper: + +"Indians--there are six of them." + +As she spoke the opposite group broke and figures detached themselves. +Three, hunched in shapeless sack-forms, were squaws. They made no +movement, resting immobile as statues, the sunset shining between the +legs of their ponies. The men spoke together, their heads turning from +the trio below to one another. David gripped the hand he held and +leaned forward to ask Leff for his knife. + +"Don't be frightened," he said to Susan. "It's all right." + +"I'm not frightened," she answered quietly. + +"Your knife," he said to Leff and then stopped, staring. Leff very +slowly, step pressing stealthily behind step, was creeping backward up +the slope. His face was chalk white, his eyes fixed on the Indians. +In his hand he held his rifle ready, and the long knife gleamed in his +belt. For a moment David had no voice wherewith to arrest him, but +Susan had. + +"Where are you going?" she said loudly. + +It stopped him like a blow. His terrified eyes shifted to her face. + +"I wasn't going," he faltered. + +"Come back," she said. "You have the rifle and the knife." + +He wavered, his loosened lips shaking. + +"Back here to us," she commanded, "and give David the rifle." + +He crept downward to them, his glance always on the Indians. They had +begun to move forward, leaving the squaws on the ridge. Their approach +was prowlingly sinister, the ponies stepping gingerly down the slope, +the snapping of twigs beneath their hoofs clear in the waiting silence. +As they dipped below the blazing sunset the rider's figures developed +in detail, their bodies bare and bronzed in the subdued light. Each +face, held high on a craning neck, was daubed with vermilion, the high +crest of hair bristling across the shaven crowns. Grimly impassive +they came nearer, not speaking nor moving their eyes from the three +whites. One of them, a young man, naked save for a breech clout and +moccasins, was in the lead. As he approached David saw that his +eyelids were painted scarlet and that a spot of silver on his breast +was a medal hanging from a leathern thong. + +At the bottom of the slope they reined up, standing in a group, with +lifted heads staring. The trio opposite stared as fixedly. Behind +Susan's back Leff had passed David the rifle. He held it in one hand, +Susan by the other. He was conscious of her rigidity and also of her +fearlessness. The hand he held was firm. Once, breathing a phrase of +encouragement, he met her eyes, steady and unafraid. All his own fear +had passed. The sense of danger was thrillingly acute, but he felt it +only in its relation to her. Dropping her hand he stepped a pace +forward and said loudly: + +"How!" + +The Indian with the medal answered him, a deep, gutteral note. + +"Pawnee?" David asked. + +The same man replied with a word that none of them understood. + +"My camp is just here," said David, with a backward jerk of his head. +"There are many men there." + +There was no response to this and he stepped back and said to Susan: + +"Go slowly up the hill backward and keep your eyes on them. Don't look +afraid." + +She immediately began to retreat with slow, short steps. Leff, gasping +with fear, moved with her, his speed accelerating with each moment. +David a few paces in advance followed them. The Indians watched in a +tranced intentness of observation. At the top of the slope the three +squaws sat as motionless as carven images. The silence was profound. + +Into it, dropping through it like a plummet through space, came the +report of a rifle. It was distant but clear, and as if the bullet had +struck a taut string and severed it, it cut the tension sharp and life +flowed back. A movement, like a resumed quiver of vitality, stirred +the bronze stillness of the squaws. The Indians spoke together--a low +murmur. David thought he saw indecision in their colloquy, then +decision. + +"They're going," he heard Susan say a little hoarse. + +"Oh, God, they're going!" Leff gasped, as one reprieved of the death +sentence. + +Suddenly they wheeled, and a rush of wild figures, galloped up the +slope. The group of squaws broke and fled with them. The light struck +the bare backs, and sent splinters from the gun barrels and the noise +of breaking bushes was loud under the ponies' feet. + +Once again on the road David and Susan stood looking at one another. +Each was pale and short of breath, and it was difficult for the young +girl to force her stiffened lips into a smile. The sunset struck with +fierce brilliancy across the endless plain, and against it, the Indians +bending low, fled in a streak of broken color. In the other direction +Leff's running figure sped toward the camp. From the distance a rifle +shot again sundered the quiet. After silence had reclosed over the +rift a puff of smoke rose in the air. They knew now it was Daddy John, +fearing they had lost the way, showing them the location of the camp. + +Spontaneously, without words, they joined hands and started to where +the trail of smoke still hung, dissolving to a thread. The fleeing +figure of Leff brought no comments to their lips. They did not think +about him, his cowardice was as unimportant to them in their mutual +engrossment as his body was to the indifferent self-sufficiency of the +landscape. They knew he was hastening that he might be first in the +camp to tell his own story and set himself right with the others before +they came. They did not care. They did not even laugh at it. They +would do that later when they had returned to the plane where life had +regained its familiar aspect. + +Silently, hand in hand, they walked between the low bushes and across +the whitened patches of sandy soil. When the smoke was gone the pool +with the lone tree guided them, the surface now covered with a glaze of +gold. A deep content lay upon them. The shared peril had torn away a +veil that hung between them and through which they had been dodging to +catch glimpses of one another. Susan's pride in her ascendency was +gone. She walked docilely beside the man who, in the great moment, had +not failed. She was subdued, not by the recent peril, but by the fact +that the slave had shown himself the master. David's chance had come, +but the moment was too completely beautiful, the sudden sense of +understanding too lovely for him to break it with words. He wanted to +savor it, to take joy of its delicate sweetness. It was his +voluptuousness to delight in it, not brush its bloom away with a +lover's avowal. He was the idealist, moving in an unexpectedly +realized dream, too exquisite for words to intrude upon. So they +walked onward, looking across the long land, hand clasped in hand. + + + +END OF PART I + + + + +PART II + +The River + + +CHAPTER I + +The Emigrant Trail struck the Platte at Grand Island. From the bluffs +that walled in the river valley the pioneers could look down on the +great waterway, a wide, thin current, hardly more than a glistening +veil, stretched over the sandy bottom. Sometimes the veil was split by +islands, its transparent tissue passing between them in sparkling +strands as if it were sewn with silver threads. These separated +streams slipped along so quietly, so without noise or hurry, they +seemed to share in the large unconcern of the landscape. It was a +still, unpeopled, spacious landscape, where there was no work and no +time and the morning and the evening made the day. + +Many years ago the Frenchmen had given the river its name, Platte, +because of its lack of depths. There were places where a man could +walk across it and not be wet above the middle; and, to make up for +this, there were quicksands stirring beneath it where the same man +would sink in above his waist, above his shoulders, above his head. +The islands that broke its languid currents were close grown with small +trees, riding low in the water like little ships freighted deep with +greenery. Toward evening, looking to the West, with the dazzle of the +sun on the water, they were a fairy fleet drifting on the silver tide +of dreams. + +The wide, slow stream ran in the middle of a wide, flat valley. Then +came a line of broken hills, yellowish and sandy, cleft apart by sharp +indentations, and dry, winding arroyos, down which the buffalo trooped, +thirsty, to the river. When the sun sloped westward, shadows lay clear +in the hollows, violet and amethyst and sapphire blue, transparent +washes of color as pure as the rays of the prism. The hills rolled +back in a turbulence of cone and bluff and then subsided, fell away as +if all disturbance must cease before the infinite, subduing calm of The +Great Plains. + +Magic words, invoking the romance of the unconquered West, of the +earth's virgin spaces, of the buffalo and the Indian. In their idle +silence, treeless, waterless, clothed as with a dry pale hair with the +feathered yellow grasses, they looked as if the monstrous creatures of +dead epochs might still haunt them, might still sun their horny sides +among the sand hills, and wallow in the shallows of the river. It was +a bit of the early world, as yet beyond the limit of the young nation's +energies, the earth as man knew it when his eye was focused for far +horizons, when his soul did not shrink before vast solitudes. + +Against this sweeping background the Indian loomed, ruler of a kingdom +whose borders faded into the sky. He stood, a blanketed figure, +watching the flight of birds across the blue; he rode, a painted +savage, where the cloud shadows blotted the plain, and the smoke of his +lodge rose over the curve of the earth. Here tribe had fought with +tribe, old scores had been wiped out till the grass was damp with +blood, wars of extermination had raged. Here the migrating villages +made a moving streak of color like a bright patch on a map where there +were no boundaries, no mountains, and but one gleaming thread of water. +In the quietness of evening the pointed tops of the tepees showed dark +against the sky, the blur of smoke tarnishing the glow in the West. +When the darkness came the stars shone on this spot of life in the +wilderness, circled with the howling of wolves. + +The buffalo, driven from the East by the white man's advance and from +the West by the red man's pursuit, had congregated in these pasture +lands. The herds numbered thousands upon thousands, diminishing in the +distance to black dots on the fawn-colored face of the prairie. Twice +a day they went to the river to drink. Solemnly, in Indian file, they +passed down the trails among the sand hills, worn into gutters by their +continuous hoofs. From the wall of the bluffs they emerged into the +bottom, line after line, moving slowly to the water. Then to the river +edge the valley was black with them, a mass of huge, primordial forms, +from which came bellowings and a faint, sharp smell of musk. + +The valley was the highway to the West--the far West, the West of the +great fur companies. It led from the Missouri, whose turbid current +was the boundary between the frontier and the wild, to the second great +barrier, the mountains which blocked the entrance to the unknown +distance, where the lakes were salt and there were deserts rimed with +alkali. It stretched a straight, plain path, from the river behind it +to the peaked white summits in front. + +Along it had come a march of men, first a scattered few, then a broken +line, then a phalanx--the winners of the West. + +They were bold men, hard men, men who held life lightly and knew no +fear. In the van were the trappers and fur traders with their beaver +traps and their long-barreled rifles. They went far up into the +mountains where the rivers rose snow-chilled and the beavers built +their dams. There were mountain men in fringed and beaded buckskins, +long haired, gaunt and weather scarred; men whose pasts were unknown +and unasked, who trapped and hunted and lived in the lodges with their +squaws. There were black-eyed Canadian voyageurs in otter-skin caps +and coats made of blankets, hardy as Indian ponies, gay and light of +heart, who poled the keel boats up the rivers to the chanting of old +French songs. There were swarthy half-breeds, still of tongue, stolid +and eagle-featured, wearing their blankets as the Indians did, +noiseless in their moccasins as the lynx creeping on its prey. + +And then came the emigrants, the first white-covered wagons, the first +white women, looking out from the shade of their sunbonnets. The squaw +wives wondered at their pale faces and bright hair. They came at +intervals, a few wagons crawling down the valley and then the long, +bare road with the buffaloes crossing it to the river and the +occasional red spark of a trapper's camp fire. In '43 came the first +great emigration, when 1,000 people went to Oregon. The Indians, awed +and uneasy, watched the white line of wagon tops. "Were there so many +pale faces as this in the Great Father's country?" one of the chiefs +asked. + +Four years later the Mormons emigrated. It was like the moving of a +nation, an exodus of angry fanatics, sullen, determined men burning +with rage at the murder of their prophet, cursing his enemies and +quoting his texts. The faces of women and children peered from the +wagons, the dust of moving flocks and herds rose like a column at the +end of the caravan. Their camps at night were like the camps of the +patriarchs, many women to work for each man, thousands of cattle +grazing in the grass. From the hills above the Indians watched the red +circle of their fires and in the gray dawn saw the tents struck and the +trains "roll out." There were more people from the Great Father's +country, more people each year, till the great year, '49, when the cry +of gold went forth across the land like a trumpet call. + +Then the faces on the Emigrant Trail were as the faces on the populous +streets of cities. The trains of wagons were unbroken, one behind the +other, straight to the sunset. A cloud of dust moved with them, showed +their coming far away as they wheeled downward at Grand Island, hid +their departure as they doubled up for the fording of the Platte. All +the faces were set westward, all the eyes were strained to that distant +goal where the rivers flowed over golden beds and the flakes lay yellow +in the prospector's pan. + +The Indians watched them, cold at the heart, for the people in the +Great Father's Country were numerous as the sands of the sea, terrible +as an army with banners. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +The days were very hot. Brilliant, dewless mornings, blinding middays, +afternoons held breathless in the remorseless torrent of light. The +caravan crawled along the river's edge at a footspace, the early +shadows shooting far ahead of it, then dwindling to a blot beneath each +moving body, then slanting out behind. There was speech in the morning +which died as the day advanced, all thought sinking into torpor in the +monotonous glare. In the late afternoon the sun, slipping down the +sky, peered through each wagon's puckered canvas opening smiting the +drivers into lethargy. Propped against the roof supports, hats drawn +low over their brows they slept, the riders pacing on ahead stooped and +silent on their sweating horses. There was no sound but the creaking +of the wheels, and the low whisperings of the river into which, now and +then, an undermined length of sand dropped with a splash. + +But in the evening life returned. When the dusk stole out of the hill +rifts and the river flowed thick gold from bank to bank, when the +bluffs grew black against the sunset fires, the little party shook off +its apathy and animation revived. Coolness came with the twilight, +sharpening into coldness as the West burned from scarlet and gold to a +clear rose. The fire, a mound of buffalo chips into which glowing +tunnels wormed, was good. Overcoats and blankets were shaken out and +the fragrance of tobacco was on the air. The recrudescence of ideas +and the need to interchange them came on the wanderers. Hemmed in by +Nature's immensity, unconsciously oppressed by it, they felt the want +of each other, of speech, of sympathy, and crouched about the fire +telling anecdotes of their life "back home," that sounded trivial but +drew them closer in the bond of a nostalgic wistfulness. + +One night they heard a drum beat. It came out of the distance faint +but distinct, throbbing across the darkness like a frightened heart +terrified by its own loneliness. The hand of man was impelling it, an +unseen hand, only telling of its presence by the thin tattoo it sent +through the silence. Words died and they sat rigid in the sudden alarm +that comes upon men in the wilderness. The doctor clutched his +daughter's arm, Daddy John reached for his rifle. Then, abruptly as it +had come, it stopped and they broke into suggestions--emigrants on the +road beyond them, an Indian war drum on the opposite bank. + +But they were startled, their apprehensions roused. They sat uneasy, +and half an hour later the pad of horses' hoofs and approaching voices +made each man grip his gun and leap to his feet. They sent a hail +through the darkness and an answering voice came back: + +"It's all right. Friends." + +The figures that advanced into the firelight were those of four men +with a shadowy train of pack mules extending behind them. In fringed +and greasy buckskins, with long hair and swarthy faces, their feet +noiseless in moccasins, they were so much of the wild, that it needed +the words, "Trappers from Laramie," to reassure the doctor and make +Leff put down his rifle. + +The leader, a lean giant, bearded to the cheek bones and with lank +locks of hair falling from a coon-skin cap, gave his introduction +briefly. They were a party of trappers en route from Fort Laramie to +St. Louis with the winter's catch of skins. In skirted, leather +hunting shirt and leggings, knife and pistols in the belt and powder +horn, bullet mold, screw and awl hanging from a strap across his chest, +he was the typical "mountain man." While he made his greetings, with +as easy an assurance as though he had dropped in upon a party of +friends, his companions picketed the animals which moved on the +outskirts of the light in a spectral band of drooping forms. + +The three other men, were an ancient trapper with a white froth of hair +framing a face, brown and wrinkled as a nut, a Mexican, Indian-dark, +who crouched in his serape, rolled a cigarette and then fell asleep, +and a French Canadian voyageur in a coat made of blanketing and with a +scarlet handkerchief tied smooth over his head. He had a round ruddy +face, and when he smiled, which he did all the time, his teeth gleamed +square and white from the curly blackness of his beard. He got out his +pans and buffalo meat, and was dropping pieces of hardtack into the +spitting tallow when Susan addressed him in his own tongue, the patois +of the province of Quebec. He gave a joyous child's laugh and a +rattling fire of French followed, and then he must pick out for her the +daintiest morsel and gallantly present it on a tin plate, wiped clean +on the grass. + +They ate first and then smoked and over the pipes engaged in the +bartering which was part of the plainsman's business. The strangers +were short of tobacco and the doctor's party wanted buffalo skins. +Fresh meat and bacon changed hands. David threw in a measure of corn +meal and the old man--they called him Joe--bid for it with a hind +quarter of antelope. Then, business over, they talked of themselves, +their work, the season's catch, and the life far away across the +mountains where the beaver streams are. + +They had come from the distant Northwest, threaded with ice-cold rivers +and where lakes, sunk between rocky bulwarks, mirrored the whitened +peaks. There the three Tetons raised their giant heads and the hollows +were spread with a grassy carpet that ran up the slopes like a +stretched green cloth. There had once been the trapper's paradise +where the annual "rendezvous" was held and the men of the mountains +gathered from creek and river and spent a year's earnings in a wild +week. But the streams were almost empty now and the great days over. +There was a market but no furs. Old Joe could tell what it had once +been like, old Joe who years ago had been one of General Ashley's men. + +The old man took his pipe out of his mouth and shook his head. + +"The times is dead," he said, with the regret of great days gone, +softened by age which softens all things. "There ain't anything in it +now. When Ashley and the Sublettes and Campbell ran the big companies +it was a fine trade. The rivers was swarmin' with beaver and if the +Indians 'ud let us alone every man of us 'ud come down to rendezvous +with each mule carrying two hundred pound of skins. Them was the +times." + +The quick, laughing patter of the voyageur's French broke in on his +voice, but old Joe, casting a dim eye back over the splendid past, was +too preoccupied to mind. + +"I've knowed the time when the Powder River country and the rivers that +ran into Jackson's Hole was as thick with beaver as the buffalo range +is now with buffalo. We'd follow up a new stream and where the ground +was marshy we'd know the beaver was there, for they'd throw dams across +till the water'd soak each side, squeezin' through the willow roots. +Then we'd cut a tree and scoop out a canoe, and when the shadders began +to stretch go nosin' along the bank, keen and cold and the sun settin' +red and not a sound but the dip of the paddle. We'd set the +traps--seven to a man--and at sun-up out again in the canoe, clear and +still in the gray of the morning, and find a beaver in every trap." + +"Nothin' but buffalo now to count on," said the other man. "And what's +in that?" + +David said timidly, as became so extravagant a suggestion, that a +mountain man he had met in Independence told him he thought the buffalo +would be eventually exterminated. The trappers looked at one another, +and exchanged satiric smiles. Even the Canadian stopped in his chatter +with Susan to exclaim in amaze: "Sacre Tonnerre!" + +Old Joe gave a lazy cast of his eye at David. + +"Why, boy," he said, "if they'd been killin' them varmints since Bunker +Hill they couldn't do no more with 'em than you could with your little +popgun out here on the plains. The Indians has druv 'em from the West +and the white man's druv 'em from the East and it don't make no +difference. I knowed Captain Bonneville and he's told me how he stood +on the top of Scotts Bluffs and seen the country black with +'em--millions of 'em. That's twenty-five years ago and he ain't seen +no more than I have on these plains not two seasons back. Out as far +as your eye could reach, crawlin' with buffalo, till you couldn't see +cow nor bull, but just a black mass of 'em, solid to the horizon." + +David felt abashed and the doctor came to his rescue with a question +about Captain Bonneville and Joe forgot his scorn of foolish young men +in reminiscences of that hardy pathfinder. + +The old trapper seemed to have known everyone of note in the history of +the plains and the fur trade, or if he didn't know them he said he did +which was just as good. Lying on a buffalo skin, the firelight gilding +the bony ridges of his face, a stub of black pipe gripped between his +broken teeth, he told stories of the men who had found civilization too +cramped and taken to the wilderness. Some had lived and died there, +others come back, old and broken, to rest in a corner of the towns they +had known as frontier settlements. Here they could look out to the +West they loved, strain their dim eyes over the prairie, where the +farmer's plow was tracing its furrow, to the Medicine Way of The Pale +Face that led across the plains and up the long bright river and over +the mountains to the place of the trapper's rendezvous. + +He had known Jim Beckwourth, the mulatto who was chief of the Crows, +fought their battles and lived in their villages with a Crow wife. Joe +described him as "a powerful liar," but a man without fear. Under his +leadership the Crows had become a great nation and the frontiersmen +laid it to his door that no Crow had ever attacked a white man except +in self-defense. Some said he was still living in California. Joe +remembered him well--a tall man, strong and fleet-footed as an Indian, +with mighty muscles and a skin like bronze. He always wore round his +neck a charm of a perforated bullet set between two glass beads hanging +from a thread of sinew. + +He had known Rose, another white chief of the Crows, an educated man +who kept his past secret and of whom it was said that the lonely places +and the Indian trails were safer for him than the populous ways of +towns. The old man had been one of the garrison in Fort Union when the +terrible Alexander Harvey had killed Isidore, the Mexican, and standing +in the courtyard cried to the assembled men: "I, Alexander Harvey, have +killed the Spaniard. If there are any of his friends who want to take +it up let them come on"; and not a man in the fort dared to go. He had +been with Jim Bridger, when, on a wager, he went down Bear River in a +skin boat and came out on the waters of the Great Salt Lake. + +Susan, who had stopped her talk with the voyageur to listen to this +minstrel of the plains, now said: + +"Aren't you lonely in those quiet places where there's no one else?" + +The old man nodded, a gravely assenting eye on hers: + +"Powerful lonely, sometimes. There ain't a mountain man that ain't +felt it, some of 'em often, others of 'em once and so scairt that time +they won't take the risk again. It comes down suddint, like a +darkness--then everything round that was so good and fine, the sound of +the pines and the bubble of the spring and the wind blowing over the +grass, seems like they'd set you crazy. You'd give a year's peltries +for the sound of a man's voice. Just like when some one's dead that +you set a heap on and you feel you'd give most everything you got to +see 'em again for a minute. There ain't nothin' you wouldn't promise +if by doin' it you could hear a feller hail you--just one shout--as he +comes ridin' up the trail." + +"That was how Jim Cockrell felt when he prayed for the dog," said the +tall man. + +"Did he get the dog?" + +He nodded. + +"That's what he said anyway. He was took with just such a lonesome +spell once when he was trapping in the Mandans country. He was a pious +critter, great on prayer and communing with the Lord. And he +felt--I've heard him tell about it--just as if he'd go wild if he +didn't get something for company. What he wanted was a dog and you +might just as well want an angel out there with nothin' but the Indian +villages breakin' the dazzle of the snow and you as far away from them +as you could get. But that didn't stop Jim. He just got down and +prayed, and then he waited and prayed some more and 'ud look around for +the dog, as certain he'd come as that the sun 'ud set. Bimeby he fell +asleep and when he woke there was the dog, a little brown varmint, +curled up beside him on the blanket. Jim used to say an angel brought +it. I'm not contradictin', but----" + +"Wal," said old Joe, "he most certainly come back into the fort with a +dog. I was there and seen him." + +Leff snickered, even the doctor's voice showed the incredulous note +when he asked: + +"Where could it have come from?" + +The tall man shrugged. + +"Don't ask me. All I know is that Jim Cockrell swore to it and I've +heard him tell it drunk and sober and always the same way. He held out +for the angel. I'm not saying anything against that, but whatever it +was it must have had a pretty powerful pull to get a dog out to a +trapper in the dead o' winter." + +They wondered over the story, offering explanations, and as they talked +the fire died low and the moon, a hemisphere clean-halved as though +sliced by a sword, rose serene from a cloud bank. Its coming silenced +them and for a space they watched the headlands of the solemn landscape +blackening against the sky, and the river breaking into silvery +disquiet. Separating the current, which girdled it with a sparkling +belt, was the dark blue of an island, thick plumed with trees, a black +and mysterious oblong. Old Joe pointed to it with his pipe. + +"Brady's Island," he said. "Ask Hy to tell you about that. He knew +Brady." + +The tall man looked thoughtfully at the crested shape. + +"That's it," he said. "That's where Brady was murdered." + +And then he told the story: + +"It was quite a while back in the 30's, and the free trappers and +mountain men brought their pelts down in bull boats and mackinaws to +St. Louis. There were a bunch of men workin' down the river and when +they got to Brady's Island, that's out there in the stream, the water +was so shallow the boats wouldn't float, so they camped on the island. +Brady was one of 'em, a cross-tempered man, and he and another feller'd +been pick-in' at each other day by day since leavin' the mountains. +They'd got so they couldn't get on at all. Men do that sometimes on +the trail, get to hate the sight and sound of each other. You can't +tell why. + +"One day the others went after buffalo and left Brady and the man that +hated him alone on the island. When the hunters come home at night +Brady was dead by the camp fire, shot through the head and lyin' stiff +in his blood. The other one had a slick story to tell how Brady +cleanin' his gun, discharged it by accident and the bullet struck up +and killed him. They didn't believe it, but it weren't their business. +So they buried Brady there on the island and the next day each man +shouldered his pack and struck out to foot it to the Missouri. + +"It was somethin' of a walk and the ones that couldn't keep up the +stride fell behind. They was all strung out along the river bank and +some of 'em turned off for ways they thought was shorter, and first +thing you know the party was scattered, and the man that hated Brady +was left alone, lopin' along on a side trail that slanted across the +prairie to the country of the Loup Fork Pawnees. + +"That was the last they saw of him and it was a long time--news +traveled slow on the plains in them days--before anybody heard of him +for he never come to St. Louis to tell. Some weeks later a party of +trappers passin' near the Pawnee villages on the Loup Fork was hailed +by some Indians and told they had a paleface sick in the chief's tent. +The trappers went there and in the tent found a white man, clear +headed, but dyin' fast. + +"It was the man that killed Brady. Lyin' there on the buffalo skin, he +told them all about it--how he done it and the lie he fixed up. Death +was comin', and the way he'd hated so he couldn't keep his hand from +murder was all one now. He wanted to get it off his mind and sorter +square himself. When he'd struck out alone he went on for a spell, +killin' enough game and always hopin' for the sight of the river. Then +one day he caught his gun in a willow tree and it went off, sending the +charge into his thigh and breaking the bone. He was stunned for a +while and then tried to move on, tried to crawl. He crawled for six +days and at the end of the sixth found a place with water and knowed +he'd come to the end of his rope. He tore a strip off his blanket and +tied it to the barrel of his rifle and stuck it end up. The Pawnees +found him there and treated him kind, as them Indians will do +sometimes. They took him to their village and cared for him, but it +was too late. He wanted to see a white man and tell and then die +peaceful, and that's what he done. While the trappers was with him he +died and they buried him there decent outside the village." + +The speaker's voice ceased and in the silence the others turned to look +at the black shape of the island riding the gleaming waters like a +funeral barge. In its dark isolation, cut off from the land by the +quiet current, it seemed a fitting theater for the grim tragedy. They +gazed at it, chilled into dumbness, thinking of the murderer moving to +freedom under the protection of his lie, then overtaken, and in his +anguish, alone in the silence, meeting the question of his conscience. + +Once more the words came back to David: "Behold, He that keepeth Israel +shall neither slumber nor sleep." + +Susan pressed against her father, awed and cold, and from old Joe, +stretched in his blanket, came a deep and peaceful snore. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +Susan was riding alone on the top of the bluffs. The evening before, +three men returning from the Oregon country to the States, had +bivouacked with them and told them that the New York Company was a +day's march ahead, so she had gone to the highlands to reconnoiter. + +Just here the bluffs swept inward toward the river, contracting the +bottom to a valley only a few miles in width. Through it the road lay, +a well-worn path crossed as with black stripes by the buffalo runs. +Susan's glance, questing ahead for the New York train, ran to the +distance where the crystal glaze of the stream shrunk to a silver +thread imbedded in green velvet. There was a final point where green +and silver converged in a blinding dazzle, and over this the sun hung, +emerging from a nebulous glare to a slowly defining sphere. + +Turning to the left her gaze lost itself in the endlessness of the +plains. It was like looking over the sea, especially at the horizon +where the land was drawn in a straight, purplish line. She could +almost see sails there, small sails dark against a sky that was so +remote its color had faded to an aerial pallor. As the journey had +advanced the influence of these spacious areas had crept upon her. In +the beginning there had been times when they woke in her an unexplained +sadness. Now that was gone and she loved to ride onward, the one item +of life in the silence, held in a new correspondence with the solemn +immensity. It affected her as prayer does the devotee. Under its +inspiration she wondered at old worries and felt herself impervious to +new ones. + +With eyes on the purple horizon her thoughts went back to her home in +Rochester with the green shutters and the brasses on the door. How far +away it seemed! Incidents in its peaceful routine were like the +resurgences of memory from a previous incarnation. There was no +tenderness in her thoughts of the past, no sentiment clung to her +recollections of what was now a dead phase of her life. She was +slightly impatient of its contented smallness, of her satisfaction with +such things as her sewing, her cake making, her childish conferences +with girl friends on the vine-grown porch. They seemed strangely +trivial and unmeaning compared to the exhilarating present. She was +living now, feeling the force of a rising growth, her horizon widening +to suit that which her eyes sought, the dependence of her sheltered +girlhood gone from her as the great adventure called upon untouched +energies and untried forces. It was like looking back on another girl, +or like a woman looking back on a child. + +She had often spoken to David of these past days, and saw that her +descriptions charmed him. He had asked her questions about it and been +surprised that she did not miss the old existence more. To him it had +seemed ideal, and he told her that that was the way he should like to +live and some day would, with just such a servant as Daddy John, and a +few real friends, and a library of good books. His enthusiasm made her +dimly realize the gulf between them--the gulf between the idealist and +the materialist--that neither had yet recognized and that only she, of +the two, instinctively felt. The roughness of the journey irked David. +The toil of the days wore on his nerves. She could see that it pained +him to urge the tired animals forward, to lash them up the stream banks +and drive them past the springs. And only half understanding his +character--fine where she was obtuse, sensitive where she was +invulnerable, she felt the continued withdrawal from him, the +instinctive shrinking from the man who was not her mate. + +She had silently acquiesced in the idea, entertained by all the train, +that she would marry him. The doctor had intimated to her that he +wished it and from her childhood her only real religion had been to +please her father. Yet half a dozen times she had stopped the proposal +on the lover's lips. And not from coquetry either. Loth and reluctant +she clung to her independence. A rival might have warmed her to a more +coming-on mood, but there was no rival. When by silence or raillery +she had shut off the avowal she was relieved and yet half despised him +for permitting her to take the lead. Why had he not forced her to +listen? Why had he not seized her and even if she struggled, held her +and made her hear him? She knew little of men, nothing of love, but +she felt, without putting her thoughts even to herself, that to a man +who showed her he was master she would have listened and surrendered. + +Riding back to the camp she felt a trifle remorseful about her +behavior. Some day she would marry him--she had got far enough to +admit that--and perhaps it was unkind of her not to let the matter be +settled. And at that she gave a petulant wriggle of her shoulders +under her cotton blouse. Wasn't that his business? Wasn't he the one +to end it, not wait on her pleasure? Were all men so easily governed, +she wondered. + +Looking ahead across the grassed bottom land, she saw that the train +had halted and the camp was pitched. She could see David's tall +stooping figure, moving with long strides between the tents and the +wagons. She laid a wager with herself that he would do certain things +and brought her horse to a walk that she might come upon him +noiselessly and watch. Of course he did them, built up her fire and +kindled it, arranged her skillets beside it and had a fresh pail of +water standing close by. It only remained for him to turn as he heard +the sound of her horse's hoofs and run to help her dismount. This, for +some reason, he did not do and she was forced to attract his attention +by saying in a loud voice: + +"There was nothing to be seen. Not a sign of a wagon from here to the +horizon." + +He looked up from his cooking and said: "Oh, you're back, Susan," and +returned to the pan of buffalo tallow. + +This was a strange remissness in the slave and she was piqued. +Contrary to precedent it was her father who helped her off. She slid +into his arms laughing, trying to kiss him as she slipped down, then +standing with her hands on his shoulders told him of her ride. She was +very pretty just then, her hair loose on her sunburned brow, her face +all love and smiles. But David bent over his fire, did not raise his +eyes to the charming tableau, that had its own delightfulness to the +two participants, and that one of the participants intended should show +him how sweet Susan Gillespie could be when she wanted. + +All of which trivial matter combined to the making of momentous matter, +momentous in the future for Susan and David. Shaken in her confidence +in the subjugation of her slave, Susan agreed to his suggestion to ride +to the bluffs after supper and see the plains under the full moon. So +salutary had been his momentary neglect of her that she went in a +chastened spirit, a tamed and gentle maiden. They had orders not to +pass out of sight of the twin fires whose light followed them like the +beams of two, watchful, unwinking eyes. + +They rode across the bottom to where the bluffs rose, a broken bulwark. +That afternoon Susan had found a ravine up which they could pass. She +knew it by a dwarfed tree, a landmark in the naked country. The +moonlight lay white on the barrier indented with gulfs of darkness, +from each of which ran the narrow path of the buffalo. The line of +hills, silver-washed and black-caverned, was like a rampart thrown +across the entrance to the land of mystery, and they like the pygmy men +of fairyland come to gain an entry. It was David who thought of this. +It reminded him of Jack and the Beanstalk, where Jack, reaching the top +of the vine, found himself in a strange country. Susan did not +remember much about Jack. She was engrossed in recognizing the ravine, +scanning the darkling hollows for the dwarf tree. + +It was a steep, winding cut, the tree, halfway up its length, spreading +skeleton arms against a sky clear as a blue diamond. They turned into +it and began a scrambling ascent, the horses' hoofs slipping into the +gutter that the buffaloes had trodden out. It was black dark in the +depths with the moonlight slanting white on the walls. + +"We're going now to find the giants," David called over his shoulder. +"Doesn't this seem as if it ought to lead us up right in front of +Blunderbore's Castle?" + +"The buffalo runs are like trenches," she answered. "If you don't look +out your horse may fall." + +They tied their horses to the tree and climbed on foot to the levels +above. On the earth's floor, unbroken by tree or elevation, there was +not a shadow. It lay silver frosted in the foreground, darkening as it +receded. In the arch above no cloud filmed the clearness, the moon, +huge and mottled, dominating the sky. The silence was penetrating; not +a breath or sound disturbed it. It was the night of the primitive +world, which stirred the savage to a sense of the infinite and made +him, from shell or clay or stone, carve out a God. + +Without speaking they walked forward to a jutting point and looked down +on the river. The current sparkled like a dancer's veil spread on the +grass. They could not hear its murmur or see the shifting disturbance +of its shallows, only received the larger impression of the flat, +gleaming tide split by the black shapes of islands. David pointed to +the two sparks of the camp fires. + +"See, they're looking after us as if they were alive and knew they +mustn't lose sight of us." + +"They look quite red in the moonlight," she answered, interested. + +"As if they belonged to man and a drop of human blood had colored them." + +"What a queer idea. Let's walk on along the bluffs." + +They turned and moved away from the lights, slipping down into the +darkness of the channeled ravines and emerging onto the luminous +highlands. The solemnity of the night, its brooding aloofness in which +they held so small a part, chilled the girl's high self-reliance. +Among her fellows, in a setting of light and action, she was all proud +independence. Deprived of them she suffered a diminution of confidence +and became if not clinging, at least a feminine creature who might some +day be won. Feeling small and lonely she insensibly drew closer to the +man beside her, at that moment the only connecting link between her and +the living world with which her liens were so close. + +The lover felt the change in her, knew that the barrier she had so +persistently raised was down. They were no longer mistress and slave, +but man and maid. The consciousness of it gave him a new boldness. +The desperate daring of the suitor carried him beyond his familiar +tremors, his dread of defeat. He thrust his hand inside her arm, +timidly, it is true, ready to snatch it back at the first rebuff. But +there was none, so he kept it there and they walked on. Their talk was +fragmentary, murmured sentences that they forgot to finish, phrases +trailing off into silence as if they had not clear enough wits to fit +words together, or as if words were not necessary when at last their +spirits communed. Responding to the instigation of the romantic hour +the young girl felt an almost sleepy content. The arm on which she +leaned spoke of strength, it symbolized a protection she would have +repudiated in the practical, sustaining sunshine, but that now was very +sweet. + +David walked in a vision. Was it Susan, this soft and docile being, +close against his side, her head moving slowly as her eyes ranged over +the magical prospect? He was afraid to speak for fear the spell would +break. He did not know which way his feet bore him, but blindly went +on, looking down at the profile almost against his shoulder, at the +hand under which his had slid, small and white in the transforming +light. His silence was not like hers, the expression of a temporary, +lulled tranquility. He had passed the stage when he could delay to +rejoice in lovely moments. He was no longer the man fearful of the +hazards of his fate, but a vessel of sense ready to overflow at the +slightest touch. + +It came when a ravine opened at their feet and she drew herself from +him to gather up her skirts for the descent. Then the tension broke +with a tremulous "Susan, wait!" She knew what was coming and braced +herself to meet it. The mystical hour, the silver-bathed wonder of the +night, a girl's frightened curiosity, combined to win her to a +listening mood. She felt on the eve of a painful but necessary ordeal, +and clasped her hands together to bear it creditably. Through the +perturbation of her mind the question flashed--Did all women feel this +way? and then the comment, How much they had to endure that they never +told! + +It was the first time any man had made the great demand of her. She +had read of it in novels and other girls had told her. From this data +she had gathered that it was a happy if disturbing experience. She +felt only the disturbance. Seldom in her life had she experienced so +distracting a sense of discomfort. When David was half way through she +would have given anything to have stopped him, or to have run away. +But she was determined now to stand it, to go through with it and be +engaged as other girls were and as her father wished her to be. +Besides there was nowhere to run to and she could not have stopped him +if she had tried. He was launched, the hour had come, the, to him, +supreme and awful hour, and all the smothered passion and hope and +yearning of the past month burst out. + +Once she looked at him and immediately looked away, alarmed and abashed +by his appearance. Even in the faint light she could see his pallor, +the drops on his brow, the drawn desperation of his face. She had +never in her life seen anyone so moved and she began to share his +agitation and wish that anything might happen to bring the interview to +an end. + +"Do you care? Do you care?" he urged, trying to look into her face. +She held it down, not so much from modesty as from an aversion to +seeing him so beyond himself, and stammered: + +"Of course I care. I always have. Quite a great deal. You know it." + +"I never knew," he cried. "I never was sure. Sometimes I thought so +and the next day you were all different. Say you do. Oh, Susan, say +you do." + +He was as close to her as he could get without touching her, which, the +question now fairly put, he carefully avoided doing. Taller than she +he loomed over her, bending for her answer, quivering and sweating in +his anxiety. + +The young girl was completely subdued by him. She was frightened, not +of the man, but of the sudden revelation of forces which she did not in +the least comprehend and which made him another person. Though she +vaguely understood that she still dominated him, she saw that her +dominion came from something much more subtle than verbal command and +imperious bearing. All confusion and bewildered meekness, she melted, +partly because she had meant to, partly because his vehemence +overpowered her, and partly because she wanted to end the most trying +scene she had ever been through. + +"Will you say yes? Oh, you must say yes," she heard him imploring, and +she emitted the monosyllable on a caught breath and then held her head +even lower and felt an aggrieved amazement that it was all so different +from what she had thought it would be. + +He gave an exclamation, a sound almost of pain, and drew away from her. +She glanced up at him, her eyes full of scared curiosity, not knowing +what extraordinary thing was going to happen next. He had dropped his +face into his hands, and stood thus for a moment without moving. She +peered at him uneasily, like a child at some one suffering from an +unknown complaint and giving evidence of the suffering in strange ways. +He let his hands fall, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them +and came toward her with his face beatified. Delicately, almost +reverently, he bent down and touched her cheek with his lips. + +The lover's first kiss! This, too, Susan had heard about, and from +what she had heard she had imagined that it was a wonderful experience +causing unprecedented joy. She was nearly as agitated as he, but +through her agitation, she realized with keen disappointment that she +had felt nothing in the least resembling joy. An inward shrinking as +the bearded lips came in contact with her skin was all she was +conscious of. There was no rapture, no up-gush of anything lovely or +unusual. In fact, it left her with the feeling that it was a duty duly +discharged and accepted--this that she had heard was one of life's +crises, that you looked back on from the heights of old age and told +your grandchildren about. + +They were silent for a moment, the man so filled and charged with +feeling that he had no breath to speak, no words, if he had had breath, +to express the passion that was in him. Inexperienced as she, he +thought it sweet and beautiful that she should stand away from him with +averted face. He gazed at her tenderly, wonderingly, won, but still a +thing too sacred for his touch. + +Susan, not knowing what to do and feeling blankly that something +momentous had happened and that she had not risen to it, continued to +look on the ground. She wished he would say something simple and +natural and break the intolerable silence. Finally, she felt that she +could endure it no longer, and putting her hand to her forehead, pushed +back her hair and heaved a deep sigh. He instantly moved to her all +brooding, possessive inquiry. She became alarmed lest he meant to kiss +her again and edged away from him, exclaiming hastily: + +"Shall we go back? We've been a long time away." + +Without speech he slid his hand into the crook of her arm and they +began to retrace their steps. She could feel his heart beating and the +warm, sinewy grasp of his fingers clasped about hers. The plain was a +silver floor for their feet, in the starless sky the great orb soared. +The girl's embarrassment left her and she felt herself peacefully +settling into a contented acquiescence. She looked up at him, a tall +shape, black between her and the moon. Her glance called his and he +gazed down into her eyes, a faint smile on his lips. His arm was +strong, the way was strangely beautiful, and in the white light and the +stillness, romance walked with them. + +There was no talk between them till they reached the horses. In the +darkness of the cleft, hidden from the searching radiance, he drew her +to him, pressing her head with a trembling hand against his heart. She +endured it patiently but was glad when he let her go and she was in the +saddle, a place where she felt more at home than in a man's arms with +her face crushed against his shirt, turning to avoid its rough texture +and uncomfortably conscious of the hardness of his lean breast. She +decided not to speak to him again, for she was afraid he might break +forth into those protestations of love that so embarrassed her. + +At the camp Daddy John was up, sitting by the fire, waiting for them. +Of this, too, she was glad. Good-bys between lovers, even if only to +be separated by a night, were apt to contain more of that distressful +talk. She called a quick "Good night" to him, and then dove into her +tent and sat down on the blankets. The firelight shone a nebulous +blotch through the canvas and she stared at it, trying to concentrate +her thoughts and realize that the great event had happened. + +"I'm engaged," she kept saying to herself, and waited for the rapture, +which, even if belated, ought surely to come. But it did not. The +words obstinately refused to convey any meaning, brought nothing to her +but a mortifying sensation of being inadequate to a crisis. She heard +David's voice exchanging a low good night with the old man, and she +hearkened anxiously, still hopeful of the thrill. But again there was +none, and she could only gaze at the blurred blot of light and whisper +"I'm engaged to be married," and wonder what was the matter with her +that she should feel just the same as she did before. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +The dawn was gray when Susan woke the next morning. It was cold and +she cowered under her blankets, watching the walls of the tent grow +light, and the splinter between the flaps turn from white to yellow. +She came to consciousness quickly, waking to an unaccustomed depression. + +At first it had no central point of cause, but was reasonless and +all-permeating like the depression that comes from an unlocated +physical ill. Her body lay limp under the blankets as her mind lay +limp under the unfamiliar cloud. Then the memory of last night took +form, her gloom suddenly concentrated on a reason, and she sunk beneath +it, staring fixedly at the crack of growing light. When she heard the +camp stirring and sat up, her heart felt so heavy that she pressed on +it with her finger tips as if half expecting they might encounter a +strange, new hardness through the soft envelope of her body. + +She did not know that this lowering of her crest, hitherto held so high +and carried so proudly, was the first move of her surrender. Her +liberty was over, she was almost in the snare. The strong feminine +principle in her impelled her like an inexorable fate toward marriage +and the man. The children that were to be, urged her toward their +creator. And the unconquered maidenhood that was still hers, recoiled +with trembling reluctance from its demanded death. Love had not yet +come to lead her into a new and wonderful world. She only felt the +sense of strangeness and fear, of leaving the familiar ways to enter +new ones that led through shadows to the unknown. + +When she rode out beside her father in the red splendors of the +morning, a new gravity marked her. Already the first suggestion of the +woman--like the first breath of the season's change--was on her face. +The humility of the great abdication was in her eyes. + +David left them together and rode away to the bluffs. She followed his +figure with a clouded glance as she told her father her news. Her +depression lessened when he turned upon her with a radiant face. + +"If you had searched the world over you couldn't have found a man to +please me better. Seeing David this way, day by day, I've come to know +him through and through and he's true, straight down to the core." + +"Of course he is," she answered, tilting her chin with the old +sauciness that this morning looked a little forlorn. "I wouldn't have +liked him if he hadn't been." + +"Oh, Missy, you're such a wise little woman." + +She glanced at him quickly, recognizing the tone, and to-day, with her +new heavy heart, dreading it. + +"Now, father, don't laugh at me. This is all very serious." + +"Serious! It's the most serious thing that ever happened in the world, +in our world. And if I was smiling--I'll lay a wager I wasn't +laughing--it was because I'm so happy. You don't know what this means +to me. I've wanted it so much that I've been afraid it wasn't coming +off. And then I thought it must, for it's my girl's happiness and +David's and back of theirs mine." + +"Well, then, if you're happy, I'm happy." + +This time his smile was not bantering, only loving and tender. He did +not dream that her spirit might not be as glad as his looking from the +height of middle-age to a secured future. He had been a man of a +single love, ignorant save of that one woman, and she so worshiped and +wondered at that there had been no time to understand her. Insulated +in the circle of his own experience he did not guess that to an +unawakened girl the engagement morn might be dark with clouds. + +"Love and youth," he said dreamily, "oh, Susan, it's so beautiful! +It's Eden come again when God walked in the garden. And it's so short. +_Eheu Fugaces_! You've just begun to realize how wonderful it is, just +said to yourself 'This is life--this is what I was born for,' when it's +over. And then you begin to understand, to look back, and see that it +was not what you were born for. It was only the beginning that was to +give you strength for the rest--the prairie all trees and flowers, with +the sunlight and the breeze on the grass." + +"It sounds like this journey, like the Emigrant Trail." + +"That's what I was thinking. The beautiful start gives you courage for +the mountains. The memory of it carries you over the rough places, +gives you life in your heart when you come to the desert where it's all +parched and bare. And you and your companion go on, fighting against +the hardships, bound closer and closer by the struggle. You learn to +give up, to think of the other one, and then you say, '_This_ is what I +was born for,' and you know you're getting near the truth. To have +some one to go through the fight for, to do the hard work for--that's +the reality after the vision and the dream." + +The doctor, thinking of the vanished years of his married life, and his +daughter, of the unknown ones coming, were not looking at the subject +from the same points of view. + +"I don't think you make it sound very pleasant," she said, from +returning waves of melancholy. "It's nothing but hardships and danger." + +"California's at the end of it, dearie, and they say that's the most +beautiful country in the world." + +"It will be a strange country," she said wistfully, not thinking alone +of California. + +"Not for long." + +"Do you think we'll ever feel at home in it?" + +The question came in a faint voice. Why did California, once the goal +of her dreams, now seem an alien land in which she always would be a +stranger? + +"We're bringing our home with us--carrying some of it on our backs like +snails and the rest in our hearts like all pioneers. Soon it will +cease being strange, when there are children in it. Where there's a +camp fire and a blanket and a child, that's home, Missy." + +He leaned toward her and laid his hand on hers as it rested on the +pommel. + +"You'll be so happy in it," he said softly. + +A sudden surge of feeling, more poignant than anything she had yet +felt, sent a pricking of tears to her eyes. She turned her face away, +longing in sudden misery for some one to whom she could speak plainly, +some one who once had felt as she did now. For the first time she +wished that there was another woman in the train. Her instinct told +her that men could not understand. Unable to bear her father's glad +assurance she said a hasty word about going back and telling Daddy John +and wheeled her horse toward the prairie schooner behind them. + +Daddy John welcomed her by pushing up against the roof prop and giving +her two thirds of the driver's seat. With her hands clipped between +her knees she eyed him sideways. + +"What do you think's going to happen?" she said, trying to compose her +spirits by teasing him. + +"It's going to rain," he answered. + +This was not helpful or suggestive of future sympathy, but at any rate, +it was not emotional. + +"Now, Daddy John, don't be silly. Would I get off my horse and climb +up beside you to ask you about the weather?" + +"I don't know what you'd do, Missy, you've got that wild out here on +the plains--just like a little buffalo calf." + +He glimpsed obliquely at her, his old face full of whimsical +tenderness. She smiled bravely and he saw above the smile, her eyes, +untouched by it. He instantly became grave. + +"Well, what's goin' to happen?" he asked soberly. + +"I'm going to be married." + +He raised his eyebrows and gave a whistle. + +"That is somethin'! And which is it?" + +"What a question! David, of course. Who else could it be?" + +"Well, he's the best," he spoke slowly, with considering phlegm. "He's +a first-rate boy as far as he goes." + +"I don't think that's a very nice way to speak of him. Can't you say +something better?" + +The old man looked over the mules' backs for a moment of inward +cogitation. He was not surprised at the news but he was surprised at +something in his Missy's manner, a lack of the joyfulness, that he, +too, had thought an attribute of all intending brides. + +"He's a good boy," he said thoughtfully. "No one can say he ain't. +But some way or other, I'd rather have had a bigger man for you, Missy." + +"Bigger!" she exclaimed indignantly. "He's nearly six feet. And girls +don't pick out their husbands because of their height." + +"I ain't meant it that way. Bigger in what's in him--can get hold o' +more, got a bigger reach." + +"I don't know what you mean. If you're trying to say he's not got a +big mind you're all wrong. He knows more than anybody I ever met +except father. He's read hundreds and hundreds of books." + +"That's it--too many books. Books is good enough but they ain't the +right sort 'er meat for a feller that's got to hit out for himself in a +new country. They're all right in the city where you got the butcher +and the police and a kerosene lamp to read 'em by. David 'ud be a fine +boy in the town just as his books is suitable in the town. But this +ain't the town. And the men that are the right kind out here ain't +particularly set on books. I'd 'a' chose a harder feller for you, +Missy, that could have stood up to anything and didn't have no soft +feelings to hamper him." + +"Rubbish," she snapped. "Why don't you encourage me?" + +Her tone drew his eyes, sharp as a squirrel's and charged with quick +concern. Her face was partly turned away. The curve of her cheek was +devoid of its usual dusky color, her fingers played on her under lip as +if it were a little flute. + +"What do you want to be encouraged for?" he said low, as if afraid of +being overheard. + +She did not move her head, but looked at the bluffs. + +"I don't know," she answered, then hearing her--voice hoarse cleared +her throat. "It's all--so--so--sort of new. I--I--feel--I don't know +just how--I think it's homesick." + +Her voice broke in a bursting sob. Her control gone, her pride fell +with it. Wheeling on the seat she cast upon him a look of despairing +appeal. + +"Oh, Daddy John," was all she could gasp, and then bent her head so +that her hat might hide the shame of her tears. + +He looked at her for a nonplused moment, at her brown arms bent over +her shaken bosom, at the shield of her broken hat. He was thoroughly +discomfited for he had not the least idea what was the matter. Then he +shifted the reins to his left hand and edging near her laid his right +on her knee. + +"Don't you want to marry him?" he said gently. + +"It isn't that, it's something else." + +"What else? You can say anything you like to me. Ain't I carried you +when you were a baby?" + +"I don't know what it is." Her voice came cut by sobbing breaths. "I +don't understand. It's like being terribly lonesome." + +The old frontiersman had no remedy ready for this complaint. He, too, +did not understand. + +"Don't you marry him if you don't like him," he said. "If you want to +tell him so and you're afraid, I'll do it for you." + +"I do like him. It's not that." + +"Well, then, what's making you cry?" + +"Something else, something way down deep that makes everything seem so +far away and strange." + +He leaned forward and spat over the wheel, then subsided against the +roof prop. + +"Are you well?" he said, his imagination exhausted. + +"Yes, very." + +Daddy John looked at the backs of the mules. The off leader was a +capricious female by name Julia who required more management and +coaxing than the other five put together, and whom he loved beyond them +all. In his bewildered anxiety the thought passed through his mind +that all creatures of the feminine gender, animal or human, were +governed by laws inscrutable to the male, who might never aspire to +comprehension and could only strive to please and placate. + +A footfall struck on his ear and, thrusting his head beyond the canvas +hood, he saw Leff loafing up from the rear. + +"Saw her come in here," thought the old man, drawing his head in, "and +wants to hang round and snoop." + +Since the Indian episode he despised Leff. His contempt was unveiled, +for the country lout who had shown himself a coward had dared to raise +his eyes to the one star in Daddy John's firmament. He would not have +hidden his dislike if he could. Leff was of the outer world to which +he relegated all men who showed fear or lied. + +He turned to Susan: + +"Go back in the wagon and lie down. Here comes Leff and I don't want +him to see you." + +The young girl thought no better of Leff than he did. The thought of +being viewed in her abandonment by the despised youth made her scramble +into the back of the wagon where she lay concealed on a pile of sacks. +In the forward opening where the canvas was drawn in a circle round a +segment of sky, Daddy John's figure fitted like a picture in a circular +frame. As a step paused at the wheel she saw him lean forward and +heard his rough tones. + +"Yes, she's here, asleep in the back of the wagon." + +Then Leff's voice, surprised: + +"Asleep? Why, it ain't an hour since we started." + +"Well, can't she go to sleep in the morning if she wants? Don't you go +to sleep every Sunday under the wagon?" + +"Yes, but that's afternoon." + +"Mebbe, but everybody's not as slow as you at getting at what they +want." + +This appeared to put Susan's retirement in a light that gave rise to +pondering. There was a pause, then came the young man's heavy +footsteps slouching back to his wagon. Daddy John settled down on the +seat. + +"I'm almighty glad it weren't him, Missy," he said, over his shoulder. +"I'd 'a' known then why you cried." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +Late the same day Leff, who had been riding on the bluffs, came down to +report a large train a few miles ahead of them. It was undoubtedly the +long-looked-for New York Company. + +The news was as a tonic to their slackened energies. A cheering +excitement ran through the train. There was stir and loud talking. +Its contagion lifted Susan's spirits and with her father she rode on in +advance, straining her eyes against the glare of the glittering river. +Men and women, who daily crowded by them unnoted on city streets, now +loomed in the perspective as objective points of avid interest. No +party Susan had ever been to called forth such hopeful anticipation. +To see her fellows, to talk with women over trivial things, to demand +and give out the human sympathies she wanted and that had lain +withering within herself, drew her from the gloom under which she had +lain weeping in the back of Daddy John's wagon. + +They were nearing the Forks of the Platte where the air was dryly +transparent and sound carried far. While yet the encamped train was a +congeries of broken white dots on the river's edge, they could hear the +bark of a dog and then singing, a thin thread of melody sent aloft by a +woman's voice. + +It was like a handclasp across space. Drawing nearer the sounds of men +and life reached forward to meet them--laughter, the neighing of +horses, the high, broken cry of a child. They felt as if they were +returning to a home they had left and that sometimes, in the stillness +of the night or when vision lost itself in the vague distances, they +still longed for. + +The train had shaped itself into its night form, the circular coil in +which it slept, like a thick, pale serpent resting after the day's +labors. The white arched prairie schooners were drawn up in a ring, +the defensive bulwark of the plains. The wheels, linked together by +the yoke chains, formed a barrier against Indian attacks. Outside this +interlocked rampart was a girdle of fires, that gleamed through the +twilight like a chain of jewels flung round the night's bivouac. It +shone bright on the darkness of the grass, a cordon of flame that some +kindly magician had drawn about the resting place of the tired camp. + +With the night pressing on its edges it was a tiny nucleus of life +dropped down between the immemorial plains and the ancient river. Home +was here in the pitched tents, a hearthstone in the flame lapping on +the singed grass, humanity in the loud welcome that rose to meet the +newcomers. The doctor had known but one member of the Company, its +organizer, a farmer from the Mohawk Valley. But the men, dropping +their ox yokes and water pails, crowded forward, laughing deep-mouthed +greetings from the bush of their beards, and extending hands as hard as +the road they had traveled. + +The women were cooking. Like goddesses of the waste places they stood +around the fires, a line of half-defined shapes. Films of smoke blew +across them, obscured and revealed them, and round about them savory +odors rose. Fat spit in the pans, coffee bubbled in blackened pots, +and strips of buffalo meat impaled on sticks sent a dribble of flame to +the heat. The light was strong on their faces, lifted in greeting, +lips smiling, eyes full of friendly curiosity. But they did not move +from their posts for they were women and the men and the children were +waiting to be fed. + +Most of them were middle-aged, or the trail had made them look +middle-aged. A few were very old. Susan saw a face carved with +seventy years of wrinkles mumbling in the framing folds of a shawl. +Nearby, sitting on the dropped tongue of a wagon, a girl of perhaps +sixteen, sat ruminant, nursing a baby. Children were everywhere, +helping, fighting, rolling on the grass. Babies lay on spread blankets +with older babies sitting by to watch. It was the woman's hour. The +day's march was over, but the intimate domestic toil was at its height. +The home makers were concentrated upon their share of the +activities--cooking food, making the shelter habitable, putting their +young to bed. + +Separated from Susan by a pile of scarlet embers stood a young girl, a +large spoon in her hand. The light shot upward along the front of her +body, painting with an even red glow her breast, her chin, the under +side of her nose and finally transforming into a coppery cloud the +bright confusion of her hair. She smiled across the fire and said: + +"I'm glad you've come. We've been watching for you ever since we +struck the Platte. There aren't any girls in the train. I and my +sister are the youngest except Mrs. Peebles over there," with a nod in +the direction of the girl on the wagon tongue, "and she's married." + +The woman beside her, who had been too busy over the bacon pan to raise +her head, now straightened herself, presenting to Susan's eye a face +more buxom and mature but so like that of the speaker that it was +evident they were sisters. A band of gold gleamed on her wedding +finger and her short skirt and loose calico jacket made no attempt to +hide the fact that another baby was soon to be added to the already +well-supplied train. She smiled a placid greeting and her eye, lazily +sweeping Susan, showed a healthy curiosity tempered by the +self-engrossed indifference of the married woman to whom the outsider, +even in the heart of the wilderness, is forever the outsider. + +"Lucy'll be real glad to have a friend," she said. "She's lonesome. +Turn the bacon, Lucy, it makes my back ache to bend"; and as the sister +bowed over the frying pan, "move, children, you're in the way." + +This was directed to two children who lay on the grass by the fire, +with blinking eyes, already half asleep. As they did not immediately +obey she assisted them with a large foot, clad in a man's shoe. The +movement though peremptory was not rough. It had something of the +quality of the mother tiger's admonishing pats to her cubs, a certain +gentleness showing through force. The foot propelled the children into +a murmurous drowsy heap. One of them, a little girl with a shock of +white hair and a bunch of faded flowers wilting in her tight baby +grasp, looked at her mother with eyes glazed with sleep, a deep look as +though her soul was gazing back from the mysteries of unconsciousness. + +"Now lie there till you get your supper," said the mother, having by +gradual pressure pried them out of the way. "And you," to Susan, +"better bring your things over and camp here and use our fire. We've +nearly finished with it." + +In the desolation of the morning Susan had wished for a member of her +own sex, not to confide in but to feel that there was some one near, +who, if she did know, could understand. Now here were two. Their +fresh, simple faces on which an artless interest was so naively +displayed, their pleasant voices, not cultured as hers was but women's +voices for all that, gave her spirits a lift. Her depression quite +dropped away, the awful lonely feeling, all the more whelming because +nobody could understand it, departed from her. She ran back to the +camp singing and for the first time that day looked at David, whose +presence she had shunned, with her old, brilliant smile. + +An hour later and the big camp rested, relaxed in the fading twilight +that lay a yellow thread of separation between the day's high colors +and the dewless darkness of the night. It was like a scene from the +migrations of the ancient peoples when man wandered with a woman, a +tent, and a herd. The barrier of the wagons, with its girdle of fire +sparks, incased a grassy oval green as a lawn. Here they sat in little +groups, collecting in tent openings as they were wont to collect on +summer nights at front gates and piazza steps. The crooning of women +putting babies to sleep fell in with the babblings of the river. The +men smoked in silence. Nature had taught them something of her large +reticence in their day-long companionship. Some few lounged across the +grass to have speech of the pilot, a grizzled mountain man, who had +been one of the Sublette's trappers, and had wise words to say of the +day's travel and the promise of the weather. But most of them lay on +the grass by the tents where they could see the stars through their +pipe smoke and hear the talk of their wives and the breathing of the +children curled in the blankets. + +A youth brought an accordion from his stores and, sitting cross-legged +on the ground, began to play. He played "Annie Laurie," and a woman's +voice, her head a black outline against the west, sang the words. Then +there was a clamor of applause, sounding thin and futile in the +evening's suave quietness, and the player began a Scotch reel in the +production of which the accordion uttered asthmatic gasps as though +unable to keep up with its own proud pace. The tune was sufficiently +good to inspire a couple of dancers. The young girl called Lucy rose +with a partner--her brother-in-law some one told Susan--and facing one +another, hand on hip, heads high, they began to foot it lightly over +the blackening grass. + +Seen thus Lucy was handsome, a tall, long-limbed sapling of a girl, +with a flaming crest of copper-colored hair and movements as lithe and +supple as a cat's. She danced buoyantly, without losing breath, +advancing and retreating with mincing steps, her face grave as though +the performance had its own dignity and was not to be taken lightly. +Her partner, a tanned and long-haired man, took his part in a livelier +spirit, laughing at her, bending his body grotesquely and growing red +with his caperings. Meanwhile from the tent door the wife looked on +and Susan heard her say to the doctor with whom she had been conferring: + +"And when will it be my turn to dance the reel again? There wasn't a +girl in the town could dance it with me." + +Her voice was weighted with the wistfulness of the woman whose endless +patience battles with her unwillingness to be laid by. + +Susan saw David's fingers feeling in the grass for her hand. She gave +it, felt the hard stress of his grip, and conquered her desire to draw +the hand away. All her coquetry was gone. She was cold and subdued. +The passionate hunger of his gaze made her feel uncomfortable. She +endured it for a space and then said with an edge of irritation on her +voice: + +"What are you staring at me for? Is there something on my face?" + +He breathed in a roughened voice: + +"No, I love you." + +Her discomfort increased. Tumult and coldness make uncongenial +neighbors. The man, all passion, and the woman, who has no answering +spark, grope toward each other through devious and unillumined ways. + +He whispered again: + +"I love you so. You don't understand." + +She did not and looked at him inquiringly, hoping to learn something +from his face. His eyes, meeting hers, were full of tears. It +surprised her so that she stared speechlessly at him, her head thrown +back, her lips parted. + +He looked down, ashamed of his emotion, murmuring: + +"You don't understand. It's so sacred. Some day you will." + +She did not speak to him again, but she let him hold her hand because +she thought she ought to and because she was sorry. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +The next morning the rain was pouring. The train rolled out without +picturesque circumstance, the men cursing, the oxen, with great heads +swinging under the yokes, plodding doggedly through lakes fretted with +the downpour. Breakfast was a farce; nobody's fire would burn and the +women were wet through before they had the coffee pots out. One or two +provident parties had stoves fitted up in their wagons with a joint of +pipe coming out through holes in the canvas. From these, wafts of +smoke issued with jaunty assurance, to be beaten down by the rain, +which swept them fiercely out of the landscape. + +There was no perspective, the distance invisible, nearer outlines +blurred. The world was a uniform tint, walls of gray marching in a +slant across a foreground embroidered with pools. Water ran, or +dripped, or stood everywhere. The river, its surface roughened by the +spit of angry drops, ran swollen among its islands, plumed shapes seen +mistily through the veil. The road emerged in oases of mud from long, +inundated spaces. Down the gullies in the hills, following the beaten +buffalo tracks, streams percolated through the grass of the bottom, +feeling their way to the river. + +Notwithstanding the weather a goodly company of mounted men rode at the +head of the train. They were wet to the skin and quite indifferent to +it. They had already come to regard the vagaries of the weather as +matters of no import. Mosquitoes and Indians were all they feared. On +such nights many of them slept in the open under a tarpaulin, and when +the water grew deep about them scooped out a drainage canal with a hand +that sleep made heavy. + +When the disorder of the camping ground was still in sight, Susan, with +the desire of social intercourse strong upon her, climbed into the +wagon of her new friends. They were practical, thrifty people, and +were as comfortable as they could be under a roof of soaked canvas in a +heavily weighted prairie schooner that every now and then bumped to the +bottom of a chuck hole. The married sister sat on a pile of sacks +disposed in a form that made a comfortable seat. A blanket was spread +behind her, and thus enthroned she knitted at a stocking of gray yarn. +Seen in the daylight she was young, fresh-skinned, and not uncomely. +Placidity seemed to be the dominating note of her personality. It +found physical expression in the bland parting of her hair, drawn back +from her smooth brow, her large plump hands with their deliberate +movements and dimples where more turbulent souls had knuckles, and her +quiet eyes, which turned upon anyone who addressed her a long +ruminating look before she answered. She had an air of almost oracular +profundity but she was merely in the quiescent state of the woman whose +faculties and strength are concentrated upon the coming child. Her +sister called her Bella and the people in the train addressed her as +Mrs. McMurdo. + +Lucy was beside her also knitting a stocking, and the husband, Glen +McMurdo, sat in the front driving, his legs in the rain, his upper half +leaning back under the shelter of the roof. He looked sleepy, gave a +grunt of greeting to Susan, and then lapsed against the saddle propped +behind him, his hat pulled low on his forehead hiding his eyes. In +this position, without moving or evincing any sign of life, he now and +then appeared to be roused to the obligations of his position and +shouted a drowsy "Gee Haw," at the oxen. + +He did not interfere with the women and they broke into the talk of +their sex, how they cooked, which of their clothes had worn best, what +was the right way of jerking buffalo meat. And then on to personal +matters: where they came from, what they were at home, whither they +were bound. The two sisters were Scotch girls, had come from Scotland +twenty years ago when Lucy was a baby. Their home was Cooperstown +where Glen was a carpenter. He had heard wonderful stories of +California, how there were no carpenters there and people were flocking +in, so he'd decided to emigrate. + +"And once he'd got his mind set on it, he had to start," said his wife. +"Couldn't wait for anything but must be off then and there. That's the +way men are." + +"It's a hard trip for you," said Susan, wondering at Mrs. McMurdo's +serenity. + +"Well, I suppose it is," said Bella, as if she did not really think it +was, but was too lazy to disagree. "I hope I'll last till we get to +Fort Bridger." + +"What's at Fort Bridger?" + +"It's a big place with lots of trains coming and going and there'll +probably be a doctor among them. And they say it's a good place for +the animals--plenty of grass--so it'll be all right if I'm laid up for +long. But I have my children very easily." + +It seemed to the doctor's daughter a desperate outlook and she eyed, +with a combination of pity and awe, the untroubled Bella reclining on +the throne of sacks. The wagon gave a creaking lurch and Bella nearly +lost count of her stitches which made her frown as she was turning the +heel. The lurch woke her husband who pushed back his hat, shouted "Gee +Haw" at the oxen, and then said to his wife: + +"You got to cut my hair, Bella. These long tags hanging down round my +ears worry me." + +"Yes, dear, as soon as the weather's fine. I'll borrow a bowl from +Mrs. Peeble's mother so that it'll be cut evenly all the way round." + +Here there was an interruption, a breathless, baby voice at the wheel, +and Glen leaned down and dragged up his son Bob, wet, wriggling, and +muddy. The little fellow, four years old, had on a homespun shirt and +drawers, both dripping. His hair was a wet mop, hanging in rat tails +to his eyes. Under its thatch his face, pink and smiling, was as fresh +as a dew-washed rose. Tightly gripped in a dirty paw were two wild +flowers, and it was to give these to his mother that he had come. + +He staggered toward her, the wagon gave a jolt, and he fell, clasping +her knees and filling the air with the sweetness of his laughter. Then +holding to her arm and shoulder, he drew himself higher and pressed the +flowers close against her nose. + +"Is it a bu'full smell?" he inquired, watching her face with eyes of +bright inquiry. + +"Beautiful," she said, trying to see the knitting. + +"Aren't you glad I brought them?" still anxiously inquiring. + +"Very"--she pushed them away. "You're soaked. Take off your things." + +And little Bob, still holding his flowers, was stripped to his skin. + +"Now lie down," said his mother. "I'm turning the heel." + +He obeyed, but turbulently, and with much pretense, making believe to +fall and rolling on the sacks, a naked cherub writhing with laughter. +Finally, his mother had to stop her heel-turning to seize him by one +leg, drag him toward her, roll him up in the end of the blanket and +with a silencing slap say, "There, lie still." This quieted him. He +lay subdued save for a waving hand in which the flowers were still +imbedded and with which he made passes at the two girls, murmuring with +the thick utterance of rising sleep "Bu'full flowers." And in a moment +he slept, curled against his mother, his face angelic beneath the wet +hair. + +When Susan came to the giving of her personal data--the few facts +necessary to locate and introduce her--her engagement was the item of +most interest. A love story even on the plains, with the rain +dribbling in through the cracks of the canvas, possessed the old, +deathless charm. The doctor and his philanthropies, on which she would +have liked to dilate, were given the perfunctory attention that +politeness demanded. By himself the good man is dull, he has to have a +woman on his arm to carry weight. David, the lover, and Susan, the +object of his love, were the hero and heroine of the story. Even the +married woman forgot the turning of the heel and fastened her mild gaze +on the young girl. + +"And such a handsome fellow," she said. "I said to Lucy--she'll tell +you if I didn't--that there wasn't a man to compare with him in our +train. And so gallant and polite. Last night, when I was heating the +water to wash the children, he carried the pails for me. None of the +men with us do that. They'd never think of offering to carry our +buckets." + +Her husband who had appeared to be asleep said: + +"Why should they?" and then shouted "Gee Haw" and made a futile kick +toward the nearest ox. + +Nobody paid any attention to him and Lucy said: + +"Yes, he's very fine looking. And you'd never met till you started on +the trail? Isn't that romantic?" + +Susan was gratified. To hear David thus commended by other women +increased his value. If it did not make her love him more, it made her +feel the pride of ownership in a desirable possession. There was +complacence in her voice as she cited his other gifts. + +"He's very learned. He's read all kinds of books. My father says it's +wonderful how much he's read. And he can recite poetry, verses and +verses, Byron and Milton and Shakespeare. He often recites to me when +we're riding together." + +This acquirement of the lover's did not elicit any enthusiasm from +Bella. + +"Well, did you ever!" she murmured absently, counting stitches under +her breath and then pulling a needle out of the heel, "Reciting poetry +on horseback!" + +But it impressed Lucy, who, still in the virgin state with fancy free +to range, was evidently inclined to romance: + +"When you have a little log house in California and live in it with him +he'll recite poetry to you in the evening after the work's done. Won't +that be lovely?" + +Susan made no response. Instead she swallowed silently, looking out on +the rain. The picture of herself and David, alone in a log cabin +somewhere on the other side of the world, caused a sudden return of +yesterday's dejection. It rushed back upon her in a flood under which +her heart declined into bottomless depths. She felt as if actually +sinking into some dark abyss of loneliness and that she must clutch at +her father and Daddy John to stay her fall. + +"We won't be alone," with a note of protest making her voice plaintive. +"My father and Daddy John will be there. I couldn't be separated from +them. I'd never get over missing them. They've been with me always." + +Bella did not notice the tone, or maybe saw beyond it. + +"You won't miss them when you're married," she said with her benign +content. "Your husband will be enough." + +Lucy, with romance instead of a husband, agreed to this, and arranged +the programme for the future as she would have had it: + +"They'll probably live near you in tents. And you'll see them often; +ride over every few days. But you'll want your own log house just for +yourselves." + +This time Susan did not answer, for she was afraid to trust her voice. +She pretended a sudden interest in the prospect while the unbearable +picture rose before her mind--she and David alone, while her father and +Daddy John were somewhere else in tents, somewhere away from her, out +of reach of her hands and her kisses, not there to laugh with her and +tease her and tell her she was a tyrant, only David loving her in an +unintelligible, discomforting way and wanting to read poetry and admire +sunsets. The misery of it gripped down into her soul. It was as the +thought of being marooned on a lone sand bar to a free buccaneer. They +never could leave her so; they never could have the heart to do it. +And anger against David, the cause of it, swelled in her. It was he +who had done it all, trying to steal her away from the dear, familiar +ways and the people with whom she had been so happy. + +Lucy looked at her with curious eyes, in which there was admiration and +a touch of envy. + +"You must be awfully happy?" she said. + +"Awfully," answered Susan, swallowing and looking at the rain. + +When she went back to her own wagon she found a consultation in +progress. Daddy John, streaming from every fold, had just returned +from the head of the caravan, where he had been riding with the pilot. +From him he had heard that the New York Company on good roads, in fair +weather, made twenty miles a day, and that in the mountains, where the +fodder was scarce and the trail hard, would fall to a slower pace. The +doctor's party, the cow long since sacrificed to the exigencies of +speed, had been making from twenty-five to thirty. Even with a drop +from this in the barer regions ahead of them they could look forward to +reaching California a month or six weeks before the New York Company. + +There was nothing to be gained by staying with them, and, so far, the +small two-wagon caravan had moved with a speed and absence of accident, +which gave its members confidence in their luck and generalship. It +was agreed that they should leave the big train the next morning and +move on as rapidly as they could, stopping at Fort Laramie to repair +the wagons which the heat had warped, shoe the horses, and lay in the +supplies they needed. + +Susan heard it with regret. The comfort of dropping back into the +feminine atmosphere, where obvious things did not need explanation, and +all sorts of important communications were made by mental telepathy, +was hard to relinquish. She would once again have to adjust herself to +the dull male perceptions which saw and heard nothing that was not +visible and audible. She would have to shut herself in with her own +problems, getting no support or sympathy unless she asked for it, and +then, before its sources could be tapped, she would have to explain why +she wanted it and demonstrate that she was a deserving object. + +And it was hard to break the budding friendship with Lucy and Bella, +for friendships were not long making on the Emigrant Trail. One day's +companionship in the creaking prairie schooner had made the three women +more intimate than a year of city visiting would have done. They made +promises of meeting again in California. Neither party knew its exact +point of destination--somewhere on that strip of prismatic color, not +too crowded and not too wild but that wanderers of the same blood and +birth might always find each other. + +In the evening the two girls sat in Susan's tent enjoying a last +exchange of low-toned talk. The rain had stopped. The thick, bluish +wool of clouds that stretched from horizon to horizon was here and +there rent apart, showing strips of lemon-colored sky. The ground was +soaked, the footprints round the wagons filled with water, the ruts +brimming with it. There was a glow of low fires round the camp, for +the mosquitoes were bad and the brown smudge of smoldering buffalo +chips kept them away. + +Susan gave the guest the seat of honor--her saddle spread with a +blanket--and herself sat on a pile of skins. The tent had been pitched +on a rise of ground and already the water was draining off. Through +the looped entrance they could see the regular lights of the fires, +spotted on the twilight like the lamps of huge, sedentary glow worms, +and the figures of men recumbent near where the slow smoke spirals +wound languidly up. Above the sweet, moist odor of the rain, the tang +of the burning dung rose, pungent and biting. + +Here as the evening deepened they comfortably gossiped, their voices +dropping lower as the camp sunk to rest. They exchanged vows of the +friendship that was to be renewed in California, and then, drawing +closer together, watching the fires die down to sulky red sparks and +the sentinel's figure coming and going on its lonely beat, came to an +exchange of opinions on love and marriage. + +Susan was supposed to know most, her proprietorship of David giving her +words the value of experience, but Lucy had most to say. Her tongue +loosened by the hour and a pair of listening ears, she revealed herself +as much preoccupied with all matters of sentiment, and it was only +natural that a love story of her own should be confessed. It was back +in Cooperstown, and he had been an apprentice of Glen's. She hadn't +cared for him at all, judging by excerpts from the scenes of his +courtship he had been treated with unmitigated harshness. But her +words and tones--still entirely scornful with half a continent between +her and the adorer--gave evidence of a regret, of self-accusing, uneasy +doubt, as of one who looks back on lost opportunities. The listener's +ear was caught by it, indicating a state of mind so different from her +own. + +"Then you did like him?" + +"I didn't like him at all. I couldn't bear him." + +"But you seem sorry you didn't marry him." + +"Well-- No, I'm not sorry. But"--it was the hour for truth, the still +indifference of the night made a lie seem too trivial for the effort of +telling--"I don't know out here in the wilds whether I'll ever get +anyone else." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +By noon the next day the doctor's train had left the New York Company +far behind. Looking back they could see it in gradual stages of +diminishment--a white serpent with a bristling head of scattered +horsemen, then a white worm, its head a collection of dark particles, +then a white thread with a head too insignificant to be deciphered. +Finally it was gone, absorbed into the detailless distance where the +river coiled through the green. + +Twenty-four hours later they reached the Forks of the Platte. Here the +trail crossed the South Fork, slanted over the plateau that lay between +the two branches, and gained the North Fork. Up this it passed, +looping round the creviced backs of mighty bluffs, and bearing +northwestward to Fort Laramie. The easy faring of the grassed bottom +was over. The turn to the North Fork was the turn to the mountains. +The slow stream with its fleet of islands would lose its dreamy +deliberateness and become a narrowed rushing current, sweeping round +the bases of sandstone walls as the pioneers followed it up and on +toward the whitened crests of the Wind River Mountains, where the snows +never melted and the lakes lay in the hollows green as jade. + +It was afternoon when they reached the ford. The hills had sunk away +to low up-sweepings of gray soil, no longer hiding the plain which lay +yellow against a cobalt sky. As the wagons rolled up on creaking +wheels the distance began to darken with the buffalo. The prospect was +like a bright-colored map over which a black liquid has been spilled, +here in drops, there in creeping streams. Long files flowed from the +rifts between the dwarfed bluffs, unbroken herds swept in a wave over +the low barrier, advanced to the river, crusted its surface, passed +across, and surged up the opposite bank. Finally all sides showed the +moving mass, blackening the plateau, lining the water's edge in an +endless undulation of backs and heads, foaming down the faces of the +sand slopes. Where the train moved they divided giving it right of +way, streaming by, bulls, cows, and calves intent on their own +business, the earth tremulous under their tread. Through breaks in +their ranks the blue and purple of the hills shone startlingly vivid +and beyond the prairie lay like a fawn-colored sea across which dark +shadows trailed. + +The ford was nearly a mile wide, a shallow current, in some places only +a glaze, but with shifting sands stirring beneath it. Through the +thin, glass-like spread of water the backs of sand bars emerged, smooth +as the bodies of recumbent monsters. On the far side the plateau +stretched, lilac with the lupine flowers, the broken rear line of the +herd receding across it. + +The doctor, feeling the way, was to ride in the lead, his wagon +following with Susan and Daddy John on the driver's seat. It seemed an +easy matter, the water chuckling round the wheels, the mules not wet +above the knees. Half way across, grown unduly confident, the doctor +turned in his saddle to address his daughter when his horse walked into +a quicksand and unseated him. It took them half an hour to drag it +out, Susan imploring that her father come back to the wagon and change +his clothes. He only laughed at her which made her angry. With +frowning brows she saw him mount again, and a dripping, white-haired +figure, set out debonairly for the opposite bank. + +The sun was low, the night chill coming on when they reached it. Their +wet clothes were cold upon them and the camp pitching was hurried. +Susan bending over her fire, blowing at it with expanded cheeks and, +between her puffs, scolding at her father, first, for having got wet, +then for having stayed wet, and now for being still wet, was to David +just as charming as any of the other and milder apotheoses of the Susan +he had come to know so well. It merely added a new tang, a fresh spice +of variety, to a personality a less ravished observer might have +thought unattractively masterful for a woman. + +Her fire kindled, the camp in shape, she lay down by the little blaze +with her head under a lupine plant. Her wrath had simmered to +appeasement by the retirement of the doctor into his wagon, and David, +glimpsing at her, saw that her eyes, a thread of observation between +black-fringed lids, dwelt musingly on the sky. She looked as if she +might be dreaming a maiden's dream of love. He hazarded a tentative +remark. Her eyes moved, touched him indifferently, and passed back to +the sky, and an unformed murmur, interrogation, acquiescence, casual +response, anything he pleased to think it, escaped her lips. He +watched her as he could when she was not looking at him. A loosened +strand of her hair lay among the lupine roots, one of her hands rested, +brown and upcurled, on a tiny weed its weight had broken. She turned +her head with a nestling movement, drew a deep, soft breath and her +eyelids drooped. + +"David," she said in a drowsy voice, "I'm going to sleep. Wake me at +supper time." + +He became rigidly quiet. When she had sunk deep into sleep, only her +breast moving with the ebb and flow of her quiet breath, he crept +nearer and drew a blanket over her, careful not to touch her. He +looked at the unconscious face for a moment, then softly dropped the +blanket and stole back to his place ready to turn at the first foot +fall and lift a silencing hand. + +It was one of the beautiful moments that had come to him in his wooing. +He sat in still reverie, feeling the dear responsibilities of his +ownership. That she might sleep, sweet and soft, he would work as no +man ever worked before. To guard, to comfort, to protect her--that +would be his life. He turned and looked at her, his sensitive face +softening like a woman's watching the sleep of her child. Susan, all +unconscious, with her rich young body showing in faint curves under the +defining blanket, and her hair lying loose among the roots of the +lupine bush, was so devoid of that imperious quality that marked her +when awake, was so completely a tender feminine thing, with peaceful +eyelids and innocent lips, that it seemed a desecration to look upon +her in such a moment of abandonment. Love might transform her into +this--in her waking hours when her body and heart had yielded +themselves to their master. + +David turned away. The sacred thought that some day he would be the +owner of this complex creation of flesh and spirit, so rich, so fine, +with depths unknown to his groping intelligence, made a rush of +supplication, a prayer to be worthy, rise in his heart. He looked at +the sunset through half-shut eyes, sending his desire up to that +unknown God, who, in these wild solitudes, seemed leaning down to +listen: + +"Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep." + +The sun, falling to the horizon like a spinning copper disk, was as a +sign of promise and help. The beauty of the hour stretched into the +future. His glance, shifting to the distance, saw the scattered dots +of the disappearing buffalo, the shadows sloping across the sand hills, +and the long expanse of lupines blotting into a thick foam of lilac +blue. + +Susan stirred, and he woke from his musings with a start. She sat up, +the blanket falling from her shoulders, and looking at him with +sleep-filled eyes, smiled the sweet, meaningless smile of a +half-awakened child. Her consciousness had not yet fully returned, and +her glance, curiously clear and liquid, rested on his without +intelligence. The woman in her was never more apparent, her seduction +never more potent. Her will dormant, her bounding energies at low ebb, +she looked a thing to nestle, soft and yielding, against a man's heart. + +"Have I slept long?" she said stretching, and then, "Isn't it cold." + +"Come near the fire," he answered. "I've built it up while you were +asleep." + +She came, trailing the blanket in a languid hand, and sat beside him. +He drew it up about her shoulders and looked into her face. Meeting +his eyes she broke into low laughter, and leaning nearer to him +murmured in words only half articulated: + +"Oh, David, I'm so sleepy." + +He took her hand, and it stayed unresisting against his palm. She +laughed again, and then yawned, lifting her shoulders with a supple +movement that shook off the blanket. + +"It takes such a long time to wake up," she murmured apologetically. + +David made no answer, and for a space they sat silent looking at the +sunset. As the mists of sleep dispersed she became aware of his hand +pressure, and the contentment that marked her awakening was marred. +But she felt in a kindly mood and did not withdraw her hand. Instead, +she wanted to please him, to be as she thought he would like her to be, +so she made a gallant effort and said: + +"What a wonderful sunset--all yellow to the middle of the sky." + +He nodded, looking at the flaming west. She went on: + +"And there are little bits of gold cloud floating over it, like the +melted lead that you pour through a key on all Hallowe'en." + +He again made no answer, and leaning nearer to spy into his face, she +asked naively: + +"Don't you think it beautiful?" + +He turned upon her sharply, and she drew back discomposed by his look. + +"Let me kiss you," he said, his voice a little husky. + +He was her betrothed and had never kissed her but once in the +moonlight. It was his right, and after all, conquering the inevitable +repugnance, it did not take long. Caught thus in a yielding mood she +resolved to submit. She had a comforting sense that it was a rite to +which in time one became accustomed. With a determination to perform +her part graciously she lowered her eyelids and presented a dusky +cheek. As his shoulder touched hers she felt that he trembled and was +instantly seized with the antipathy that his emotion woke in her. But +it was too late to withdraw. His arms closed round her and he crushed +her against his chest. When she felt their strength and the beating of +his heart against the unstirred calm of her own, her good resolutions +were swept away in a surge of abhorrence. She struggled for freedom, +repelling him with violent, pushing hands, and exclaiming breathlessly: + +"Don't, David! Stop! I won't have it! Don't!" + +He instantly released her, and she shrunk away, brushing off the bosom +of her blouse as if he had left dust there. Her face was flushed and +frowning. + +"Don't. You mustn't," she repeated, with heated reproof. "I don't +want you to." + +David smiled a sheepish smile, looking foolish, and not knowing what to +say. At the sight of his crestfallen expression she averted her eyes, +sorry that she had hurt him but not sufficiently sorry to risk a +repetition of the unpleasant experience. He, too, turned his glance +from her, biting his lip to hide the insincerity of his smile, +irritated at her unmanageableness, and in his heart valuing her more +highly that she was so hard to win. Both were exceedingly conscious, +and with deepened color sat gazing in opposite directions like children +who have had a quarrel. + +A step behind them broke upon their embarrassment, saving them from the +necessity of speech. Daddy John's voice came with it: + +"Missy, do you know if the keg of whisky was moved? It ain't where I +put it." + +She turned with a lightning quickness. + +"Whisky! Who wants whisky?" + +Daddy John looked uncomfortable. + +"Well, the doctor's took sort of cold, got a shiver on him like the +ague, and he thought a nip o' whisky'd warm him up." + +She jumped to her feet. + +"There!" flinging out the word with the rage of a disregarded prophet, +"a chill! I knew it!" + +In a moment all the self-engrossment of her bashfulness was gone. Her +mind had turned on another subject with such speed and completeness +that David's kiss and her anger might have taken place in another world +in a previous age. Her faculties leaped to the sudden call like a +liberated spring, and her orders burst on Daddy John: + +"In the back of the wagon, under the corn meal. It was moved when we +crossed the Big Blue. Take out the extra blankets and the medicine +chest. That's in the front corner, near my clothes, under the seat. A +chill--out here in the wilderness!" + +David turned to soothe her: + +"Don't be worried. A chill's natural enough after such a wetting." + +She shot a quick, hard glance at him, and he felt ignominiously +repulsed. In its preoccupation her face had no recognition of him, not +only as a lover but as a human being. Her eyes, under low-drawn brows, +stared for a second into his with the unseeing intentness of inward +thought. Her struggles to avoid his kiss were not half so chilling. +Further solacing words died on his lips. + +"It's the worst possible thing that could happen to him. Everybody +knows that"--then she looked after Daddy John. "Get the whisky at +once," she called. "I'll find the medicines." + +"Can't I help?" the young man implored. + +Without answering she started for the wagon, and midway between it and +the fire paused to cry back over her shoulder: + +"Heat water, or if you can find stones heat them. We must get him +warm." + +And she ran on. + +David looked about for the stones. The "we" consoled him a little, but +he felt as if he were excluded into outer darkness, and at a moment +when she should have turned to him for the aid he yearned to give. He +could not get over the suddenness of it, and watched them forlornly, +gazing enviously at their conferences over the medicine chest, once +straightening himself from his search for stones to call longingly: + +"Can't I do something for you over there?" + +"Have you the stones?" she answered without raising her head, and he +went back to his task. + +In distress she had turned from the outside world, broken every lien of +interest with it, and gone back to her own. The little circle in which +her life had always moved snapped tight upon her, leaving the lover +outside, as completely shut out from her and her concerns as if he had +been a stranger camped by her fire. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +The doctor was ill. The next day he lay in the wagon, his chest +oppressed, fever burning him to the dryness of an autumn leaf. To the +heads that looked upon him through the circular opening with a +succession of queries as to his ailment, he invariably answered that it +was nothing, a bronchial cold, sent to him as a punishment for +disobeying his daughter. But the young men remembered that the journey +had been undertaken for his health, and Daddy John, in the confidential +hour of the evening smoke, told them that the year before an attack of +congestion of the lungs had been almost fatal. + +Even if they had not known this, Susan's demeanor would have told them +it was a serious matter. She was evidently wracked by anxiety which +transformed her into a being so distant, and at times so cross, that +only Daddy John had the temerity to maintain his usual attitude toward +her. She would hardly speak to Leff, and to David, the slighting +coldness that she had shown in the beginning continued, holding him at +arm's length, freezing him into stammering confusion. When he tried to +offer her help or cheer her she made him feel like a foolish and +tactless intruder, forcing his way into the place that was hers alone. +He did not know whether she was prompted by a cruel perversity, or held +in an absorption so intense she had no warmth of interest left for +anybody. He tried to explain her conduct, but he could only feel its +effect, wonder if she had grown to dislike him, review the last week in +a search for a cause. In the daytime he hung about the doctor's wagon, +miserably anxious for a word from her. He was grateful if she asked +him to hunt for medicine in the small, wooden chest, or to spread the +blankets to air on the tops of the lupine bushes. + +And while she thus relegated him to the outer places where strangers +hovered, a sweetness, so gentle, so caressing, so all pervading that it +made of her a new and lovely creature, marked her manner to the sick +man. There had always been love in her bearing to her father, but this +new tenderness was as though some hidden well of it, sunk deep in the +recesses of her being, had suddenly overflowed. David saw the hardness +of the face she turned toward him transmute into a brooding passion of +affection as she bent over the doctor's bed. The fingers he did not +dare to touch lifted the sick man's hand to her cheek and held it there +while she smiled down at him, her eyes softening with a light that +stirred the lover's soul. The mystery of this feminine complexity awed +him. Would she ever look at him like that? What could he do to make +her? He knew of no other way than by serving her, trying unobtrusively +to lighten her burden, effacing himself, as that seemed to be what she +wanted. And in the night as he lay near the wagon, ready to start at +her call, he thought with exalted hope that some day he might win such +a look for himself. + +The doctor was for going on. There was no necessity to stay in camp +because one man happened to wheeze and cough, he said, and anyway, he +could do that just as well when they were moving. So they started out +and crossed the plateau to where the road dropped into the cleft of Ash +Hollow. Here they stopped and held a conference. The doctor was +worse. The interior of the wagon, the sun beating on the canvas roof, +was like a furnace, where he lay sweltering, tossed this way and that +by the jolting wheels. Their dust moved with them, breezes lifting it +and carrying it careening back to them where it mingled with new dust, +hanging dense like a segment of fog in the scene's raw brilliancy. + +Ash Hollow looked a darkling descent, the thin pulsations of the little +leaves of ash trees flickering along its sides. The road bent downward +in sharp zigzags, and somewhere below the North Fork ran. The plain +was free, blue clothed and blue vaulted, with "the wonderful winds of +God" flowing between. The conference resulted in a unanimous decision +to halt where they were, and stay in camp till the doctor improved, +moving him from the wagon to a tent. + +For four days he lay parched with fever, each breath drawn with a +stifled inner rustling, numerous fine wrinkles traced in a network on +his dried cheeks. Then good care, the open air, and the medicine chest +prevailed. He improved, and Susan turned her face again to the world +and smiled. Such was the changefulness of her mood that her smiles +were as radiant and generously bestowed as her previous demeanor had +been repelling. Even Leff got some of them, and they fell on David +prodigal and warming as the sunshine. Words to match went with them. +On the morning of the day when the doctor's temperature fell and he +could breathe with ease, she said to her betrothed: + +"Oh, David, you've been so good, you've made me so fond of you." + +It was the nearest she had yet come to the language of lovers. It made +him dizzy; the wonderful look was in his mind. + +"You wouldn't let me be good," was all he could stammer. "You didn't +seem as if you wanted me at all." + +"Stupid!" she retorted with a glance of beaming reproach, "I'm always +like that when my father's sick." + +It was noon of the fifth day that a white spot on the plain told them +the New York Company was in sight. The afternoon was yet young when +the dust of the moving column tarnished the blue-streaked distance. +Then the first wagons came into view, creeping along the winding ribbon +of road. As soon as the advance guard of horsemen saw the camp, pieces +of it broke away and were deflected toward the little group of tents +from which a tiny spiral of smoke went up in an uncoiling, milky skein. +Susan had many questions to answer, and had some ado to keep the +inquirers away from the doctor, who was still too weak to be disturbed. +She was sharp and not very friendly in her efforts to preserve him from +their sympathizing curiosity. + +Part of the train had gone by when she heard from a woman who rode up +on a foot-sore nag that the McMurdo's were some distance behind. A +bull boat in which the children were crossing the river had upset, and +Mrs. McMurdo had been frightened and "took faint." The children were +all right--only a wetting--but it was a bad time for their mother to +get such a scare. + +"I'm not with the women who think it's all right to take such risks. +Stay at home _then_," she said, giving Susan a sage nod out of the +depths of her sunbonnet. + +The news made the young girl uneasy. A new reticence, the "grown-up" +sense of the wisdom of silence that she had learned on the trail, made +her keep her own council. Also, there was no one to tell but her +father, and he was the last person who ought to know. The call of +unaided suffering would have brought him as quickly from his buffalo +skins in the tent as from his bed in the old home in Rochester. Susan +resolved to keep it from him, if she had to stand guard over him and +fight them off. Her philosophy was primitive--her own first, and if, +to save her own, others must be sacrificed, then she would aid in the +sacrifice and weep over its victims, weep, but not yield. + +When the train had disappeared into the shadows of Ash Hollow, curses, +shouts, and the cracking of whips rising stormily over its descent, the +white dot of the McMurdo's wagon was moving over the blue and green +distance. As it drew near they could see that Glen walked beside the +oxen, and the small figure of Bob ran by the wheel. Neither of the +women were to be seen. "Lazy and riding," Daddy John commented, spying +at them with his far-sighted old eyes. "Tired out and gone to sleep," +David suggested. Susan's heart sank and she said nothing. It looked +as if something was the matter, and she nerved herself for a struggle. + +When Glen saw them, his shout came through the clear air, keen-edged as +a bird's cry. They answered, and he raised a hand in a gesture that +might have been a beckoning or merely a hail. David leaped on a horse +and went galloping through the bending heads of the lupines to meet +them. Susan watched him draw up at Glen's side, lean from his saddle +for a moment's parley, then turn back. The gravity of his face +increased her dread. He dismounted, looking with scared eyes from one +to the other. Mrs. McMurdo was sick. Glen was glad--he couldn't say +how glad--that it was their camp. He'd camp there with them. His wife +wasn't able to go on. + +Susan edged up to him, caught his eye and said stealthily: + +"Don't tell my father." + +He hesitated. + +"They--they--seemed to want him." + +"I'll see to that," she answered. "Don't you let him know that +anything's the matter, or I'll never forgive you." + +It was a command, and the glance that went with it accented its +authority. + +The prairie schooner was now close at hand, and they straggled forward +to meet it, one behind the other, through the brushing of the knee-high +bushes. The child recognizing them ran screaming toward them, his +hands out-stretched, crying out their names. Lucy appeared at the +front of the wagon, climbed on the tongue and jumped down. She was +pale, the freckles on her fair skin showing like a spattering of brown +paint, her flaming hair slipped in a tousled coil to one side of her +head. + +"It's you!" she cried. "Glen didn't know whose camp it was till he saw +David. Oh, I'm so glad!" and she ran to Susan, clutched her arm and +said in a hurried lower key, "Bella's sick. She feels terribly bad, +out here in this place with nothing. Isn't it dreadful?" + +"I'll speak to her," said Susan. "You stay here." + +The oxen, now at the outskirts of the camp, had come to a standstill. +Susan stepping on the wheel drew herself up to the driver's seat. +Bella sat within on a pile of sacks, her elbows on her knees, her +forehead in her hands. By her side, leaning against her, stood the +little girl, blooming and thoughtful, her thumb in her mouth. She +withdrew it and stared fixedly at Susan, then smiled a slow, shy smile, +full of meaning, as if her mind held a mischievous secret. At Susan's +greeting the mother lifted her head. + +"Oh, Susan, isn't it a mercy we've found you?" she exclaimed. "We saw +the camp hours ago, but we didn't know it was yours. It's as if God +had delayed you. Yes, my dear, it's come. But I'm not going to be +afraid. With your father it'll be all right." + +The young girl said a few consolatory words and jumped down from the +wheel. She was torn both ways. Bella's plight was piteous, but to +make her father rise in his present state of health and attend such a +case, hours long, in the chill, night breath of the open--it might kill +him! She turned toward the camp, vaguely conscious of the men standing +in awkward attitudes and looking thoroughly uncomfortable as though +they felt a vicarious sense of guilt--that the entire male sex had +something to answer for in Bella's tragic predicament. Behind them +stood the doctor's tent, and as her eyes fell on it she saw Lucy's body +standing in the opening, the head and shoulders hidden within the +inclosure. Lucy was speaking with the doctor. + +Susan gave a sharp exclamation and stopped. It was too late to +interfere. Lucy withdrew her head and came running back, crying +triumphantly: + +"Your father's coming. He says he's not sick at all. He's putting on +his coat." + +Following close on her words came the doctor, emerging slowly, for he +was weak and unsteady. In the garish light of the afternoon he looked +singularly white and bleached, like a man whose warm, red-veined life +is dried into a sere grayness of blood and tissue. He was out of +harmony with the glad living colors around him, ghostlike amid the +brightness of the flowering earth and the deep-dyed heaven. He met his +daughter's eyes and smiled. + +"Your prisoner has escaped you, Missy." + +She tried to control herself, to beat down the surge of anger that +shook her. Meeting him she implored with low-toned urgence: + +"Father, you can't do it. Go back. You're too sick." + +He pushed her gently away, his smile gone. + +"Go back, Missy? The woman is suffering, dear." + +"I know it, and I don't care. You're suffering, you're sick. She +should have known better than to come. It's her fault, not ours. +Because she was so foolhardy is no reason why you should be victimized." + +His gravity was crossed by a look of cold, displeased surprise, a look +she had not seen directed upon her since once in her childhood when she +had told him a lie. + +"I don't want to feel ashamed of you, Missy," he said quietly, and +putting her aside went on to the wagon. + +She turned away blinded with rage and tears. She had a dim vision of +David and fled from it, then felt relief at the sight of Daddy John. +He saw her plight, and hooking his hand in her arm took her behind the +tent, where she burst into furious words and a gush of stifled weeping. + +"No good," was the old man's consolation. "Do you expect the doctor to +lie comfortable in his blanket when there's some one around with a +pain?" + +"Why did she come? Why didn't she stay at home?" + +"That ain't in the question," he said, patting her arm; "she's here, +and she's got the pain, and you and I know the doctor." + +The McMurdo's prairie schooner rolled off to a place where the lupines +were high, and Glen pitched the tent. The men, not knowing what else +to do to show their sympathy, laid the fires and cleaned the camp. +Then the two younger ones shouldered their rifles and wandered away to +try and get some fresh buffalo meat, they said; but it was obvious that +they felt out of place and alarmed in a situation where those of their +sex could only assume an apologetic attitude and admit the blame. + +The children were left to Susan's care. She drew them to the cleared +space about the fires, and as she began the preparations for supper +asked them to help. They took the request very seriously, and she +found a solace in watching them as they trotted up with useless pans, +bending down to see the smile of thanks to which they were accustomed, +and which made them feel proud and important. Once she heard Bob, in +the masterful voice of the male, tell his sister the spoon she was so +triumphantly bringing was not wanted. The baby's joy was stricken from +her, she bowed to the higher intelligence, and the spoon slid from her +limp hand to the ground, while she stood a figure of blank +disappointment. Susan had to set down her pan and call her over, and +kneeling with the soft body clasped close, and the little knees +pressing against her breast, felt some of the anger there melting away. +After that they gathered broken twigs of lupine, and standing afar +threw them at the flames. There was a moment of suspense when they +watched hopefully, and then a sad awakening when the twigs fell about +their feet. They shuffled back, staring down at the scattered leaves +in a stupor of surprise. + +Sunset came and supper was ready. Daddy John loomed up above the lip +of Ash Hollow with a load of roots and branches for the night. Lucy +emerged from the tent and sat down by her cup and plate, harrassed and +silent. Glen said he wanted no supper. He had been sitting for an +hour on the pole of David's wagon, mute and round-shouldered in his +dusty homespuns. No one had offered to speak to him. It was he who +had induced the patient woman to follow him on the long journey. They +all knew this was now the matter of his thoughts. His ragged figure +and down-drooped, miserable face were dignified with the tragedy of a +useless remorse. As Lucy passed him he raised his eyes, but said +nothing. Then, as the others drew together round the circle of tin +cups and plates, a groan came suddenly from the tent. He leaped up, +made a gesture of repelling something unendurable, and ran away, +scudding across the plain not looking back. The group round the fire +were silent. But the two children did not heed. With their blond +heads touching, they held their cups close together and argued as to +which one had the most coffee in it. + +When the twilight came there was no one left by the fire but Susan and +the children. She gathered them on a buffalo robe and tucked a blanket +round them watching as sleep flowed over them, invaded and subdued them +even while their lips moved with belated, broken murmurings. The +little girl's hand, waving dreamily in the air, brushed her cheek with +a velvet touch, and sank languidly, up-curled like a rose petal. With +heads together and bodies nestled close they slept, exhaling the +fragrance of healthy childhood, two sparks of matter incased in an +envelope of exquisite flesh, pearly tissue upon which life would trace +a pattern not yet selected. + +Darkness closed down on the camp, pressing on the edges of the +firelight like a curious intruder. There was no wind, and the mound of +charring wood sent up a line of smoke straight as a thread, which +somewhere aloft widened and dissolved. The stillness of the wilderness +brooded close and deep, stifling the noises of the day. When the +sounds of suffering from the tent tore the airy veil apart, it +shuddered full of the pain, then the torn edges delicately adhered, and +it was whole again. Once Lucy came, haggard and tight-lipped, and +asked Susan to put on water to heat. Bella was terribly sick, the +doctor wouldn't leave her. The other children were nothing to this. +But the Emigrant Trail was molding Lucy. She made no complaints, and +her nerves were steady as a taut string. It was one of the hazards of +the great adventure to be taken as it came. + +After she had gone, and the iron kettle was balanced on a bed of heat, +Susan lay down on her blanket. Fear and loathing were on her. For the +first time a shrinking from life and its requirements came coldly over +her, for the first time her glad expectancy knew a check, fell back +before tremendous things blocking the path. Her dread for her father +was submerged in a larger dread--of the future and what it might bring, +of what might be expected of her, of pains and perils once so far away +they seemed as if she would never reach them, now suddenly close to +her, laying a gripping hand on her heart. + +Her face was toward the camp, and she could not see on the plain behind +her a moving shadow bearing down on the fire's glow, visible for miles +in that level country. It advanced noiselessly through the swaying +bushes, till, entering the limits of the light, it detached itself from +the darkness, taking the form of a mounted man followed by a pack +animal. The projected rays of red played along the barrel of a rifle +held across the saddle, and struck answering gleams from touches of +metal on the bridle. So soundless was the approach that Susan heard +nothing till a lupine stalk snapped under the horse's hoof. She sat up +and turned. Over the horse's ears she saw a long swarthy face framed +in hanging hair, and the glint of narrowed eyes looking curiously at +her. She leaped to her feet with a smothered cry, Indians in her mind. +The man raised a quick hand, and said: + +"It's all right. It's a white man." + +He slid off his horse and came toward her. He was so like an Indian, +clad in a fringed hunting shirt and leggings, his movements lithe and +light, his step noiseless, his skin copper dark, that she stood alert, +ready to raise a warning cry. Then coming into the brighter light she +saw he was white, with long red hair hanging from the edge of his cap, +and light-colored eyes that searched her face with a hard look. He was +as wild a figure as any the plains had yet given up, and she drew away +looking fearfully at him. + +"Don't be afraid," he said in a deep voice. "I'm the same kind as you." + +"Who are you?" she faltered. + +"A mountain man. I'll camp with you." Then glancing about, "Where are +the rest of them?" + +"They're round somewhere," she answered. "We have sickness here." + +"Cholera?" quickly. + +She shook her head. + +Without more words he went back and picketed his horses, and took the +pack and saddle off. She could see his long, pale-colored figure +moving from darkness into light, and the animals drooping with +stretched necks as their bonds were loosened. When he came back to the +fire he dropped a blanket and laid his gun close to it, then threw +himself down. The rattle of the powder horn and bullet mold he wore +hanging from his shoulder came with the movement. He slipped the strap +off and threw it beside the gun. Then drew one foot up and unfastened +a large spur attached to his moccasined heel. He wore a ragged +otter-skin cap, the animal's tail hanging down on one side. This he +took off too, showing his thick red hair, damp and matted from the heat +of the fur. With a knotted hand he pushed back the locks pressed down +on his forehead. The skin there was untanned and lay like a white band +above the darkness of his face, thin, edged with a fringe of red beard +and with blue eyes set high above prominent cheek bones. He threw his +spur on the other things, and looking up met Susan's eyes staring at +him across the fire. + +"Where are you going?" he asked. + +"To California." + +"So am I." + +She made no answer. + +"Were you asleep when I came?" + +"No, I was thinking." + +A sound of anguish came from the tent, and Susan set her teeth on her +underlip stiffening. He looked in its direction, then back at her. + +"What's the matter there?" he asked. + +"A child is being born." + +He made no comment, swept the background of tents and wagon roofs with +an investigating eye that finally came to a stop on the sleeping +children. + +"Are these yours?" + +"No, they belong to the woman who is sick." + +His glance left them as if uninterested, and he leaned backward to pull +his blanket out more fully. His body, in the sleekly pliant buckskins, +was lean and supple. As he twisted, stretching an arm to draw out the +crumpled folds, the lines of his long back and powerful shoulders +showed the sinuous grace of a cat. He relaxed into easeful full +length, propped on an elbow, his red hair coiling against his neck. +Susan stole a stealthy glance at him. As if she had spoken, he +instantly raised his head and looked into her eyes. + +His were clear and light with a singularly penetrating gaze, not bold +but intent, eyes not used to the detailed observation of the peopled +ways, but trained to unimpeded distances and to search the faces of +primitive men. They held hers, seeming to pierce the acquired veneer +of reserve to the guarded places beneath. She felt a slow stir of +antagonism, a defensive gathering of her spirit as against an intruder. +Her pride and self-sufficiency responded, answering to a hurried +summons. She was conscious of a withdrawal, a closing of doors, a +shutting down of her defenses in face of aggression and menace. And +while she rallied to this sudden call-to-arms the strange man held her +glance across the fire. It was she who spoke slowly in a low voice: + +"Where do you come from?" + +"From Taos, and after that Bent's Fort." + +"What is your name?" + +"Low Courant." + +Then with an effort she turned away and bent over the children. When +she looked back at him he was rolled in his blanket, and with his face +to the fire was asleep. + +Lucy came presently for the hot water with a bulletin of progress +growing each moment more direful. Her eyes fell on the sleeping man, +and she said, peering through the steam of the bubbling water: + +"Who's that?" + +"A strange man." + +"From where?" + +"Taos, and after that Bent's Fort," Susan repeated, and Lucy forgot him +and ran back to the tent. + +There was a gray line in the east when she returned to say the child +was born dying as it entered the world, and Bella was in desperate +case. She fell beside her friend, quivering and sobbing, burying her +face in Susan's bosom. Shaken and sickened by the dreadful night they +clung together holding to each other, as if in a world where love +claimed such a heavy due, where joy realized itself at such exceeding +cost, nothing was left but the bond of a common martyrdom. Yet each of +them, knowing the measure of her pain, would move to the head of her +destiny and take up her heavy engagement without fear, obeying the +universal law. + +But now, caught in the terror of the moment, they bowed their heads and +wept together while the strange man slept by the fire. + + + +END OF PART II + + + + +PART III + +The Mountains + + +CHAPTER I + +Fort Laramie stood where the eastern roots of the mountains start in +toothed reef and low, premonitory sweep from the level of the plains. +Broken chains and spurs edged up toward it. Far beyond, in a faint +aerial distance, the soaring solidity of vast ranges hung on the +horizon, cloudy crests painted on the sky. Laramie Peak loomed closer, +a bold, bare point, gold in the morning, purple at twilight. And the +Black Hills, rock-ribbed and somber, dwarf pines clutching their +lodges, rose in frowning ramparts to the North and West. + +It was a naked country, bleak and bitter. In winter it slept under a +snow blanket, the lights of the fort encircled by the binding, +breathless cold. Then the wandering men that trapped and traded with +the Indians came seeking shelter behind the white walls, where the furs +were stacked in storerooms, and the bourgeois' table was hospitable +with jerked meat and meal cakes. When the streams began to stir under +the ice, and a thin green showed along the bottoms, it opened its gates +and the men of the mountains went forth with their traps rattling at +the saddle horn. Later, when the spring was in waking bloom, and each +evening the light stayed longer on Laramie Peak, the Indians came in +migrating villages moving to the summer hunting grounds, and in painted +war parties, for there was a season when the red man, like the Hebrew +kings, went forth to battle. + +It was midsummer now, the chalk-white walls of the fort were bathed in +a scorching sunshine, and the nomads of the wilderness met and picked +up dropped threads in its courtyard. It stood up warlike on a rise of +ground with the brown swiftness of a stream hurrying below it. Once +the factors had tried to cultivate the land, but had given it up, as +the Indians carried off the maize and corn as it ripened. So the +short-haired grass grew to the stockade. At this season the +surrounding plain was thick with grazing animals, the fort's own +supply, the ponies of the Indians, and the cattle of the emigrants. +Encampments were on every side, clustering close under the walls, +whence a cannon poked its nose protectingly from the bastion above the +gate. There was no need to make the ring of wagons here. White man +and red camped together, the canvas peaks of the tents showing beside +the frames of lodge poles, covered with dried skins. The pale face +treated his red brother to coffee and rice cakes, and the red brother +offered in return a feast of boiled dog. + +Just now the fort was a scene of ceaseless animation. Its courtyard +was a kaleidoscopic whirl of color, shifting as the sun shifted and the +shadow of the walls offered shade. Indians with bodies bare above the +dropped blankets, moved stately or squatted on their heels watching the +emigrants as they bartered for supplies. Trappers in fringed and +beaded leather played cards with the plainsmen in shady corners or +lounged in the cool arch of the gateway looking aslant at the emigrant +girls. Their squaws, patches of color against the walls, sat docile, +with the swarthy, half-breed children playing about their feet. There +were French Canadians, bearded like pirates, full of good humor, +filling the air with their patois, and a few Mexicans, who passed the +days sprawled on serapes and smoking sleepily. Over all the bourgeois +ruled, kindly or crabbedly, according to his make, but always +absolutely the monarch of a little principality. + +The doctor's train had reached the fort by slow stages, and now lay +camped outside the walls. Bella's condition had been serious, and they +had crawled up the valley of the North Platte at a snail's pace. The +gradual change in the country told them of their advance--the intrusion +of giant bluffs along the river's edge, the disappearance of the many +lovely flower forms, the first glimpses of parched areas dotted with +sage. From the top of Scotts Bluffs they saw the mountains, and stood, +a way-worn company, looking at those faint and formidable shapes that +blocked their path to the Promised Land. It was a sight to daunt the +most high-hearted, and they stared, dropping ejaculations that told of +the first decline of spirit. Only the sick woman said nothing. Her +languid eye swept the prospect indifferently, her spark of life burning +too feebly to permit of any useless expenditure. It was the strange +man who encouraged them. They would pass the mountains without effort, +the ascent was gradual, South Pass a plain. + +The strange man had stayed with them, and all being well, would go on +to Fort Bridger, probably to California, in their company. It was good +news. He was what they needed, versed in the lore of the wilderness, +conversant with an environment of which they were ignorant. The train +had not passed Ash Hollow when he fell into command, chose the camping +grounds, went ahead in search of springs, and hunted with Daddy John, +bringing back enough game to keep them supplied with fresh meat. They +began to rely upon him, to defer to him, to feel a new security when +they saw his light, lean-flanked figure at the head of the caravan. + +One morning, as the doctor rode silently beside him, he broke into a +low-toned singing. His voice was a mellow baritone, and the words he +sung, each verse ending with a plaintive burden, were French: + +"Il y a longtemps que je t'ai aime jamais je ne t'oublierai." + +Long ago the doctor had heard his wife sing the same words, and he +turned with a start: + +"Where did you learn that song?" + +"From some voyageur over yonder," nodding toward the mountains. "It's +one of their songs." + +"You have an excellent accent, better than the Canadians." + +The stranger laughed and addressed his companion in pure and fluent +French. + +"Then you're a Frenchman?" said the elder man, surprised. + +"Not I, but my people were. They came from New Orleans and went up the +river and settled in St. Louis. My grandfather couldn't speak a +sentence in English when he first went there." + +When the doctor told his daughter this he was a little triumphant. +They had talked over Courant and his antecedents, and had some argument +about them, the doctor maintaining that the strange man was a +gentleman, Susan quite sure that he was not. Dr. Gillespie used the +word in its old-fashioned sense, as a term having reference as much to +birth and breeding as to manners and certain, ineradicable instincts. +The gentleman adventurer was not unknown on the plains. Sometimes he +had fled from a dark past, sometimes taken to the wild because the +restraints of civilization pressed too hard upon the elbows of his +liberty. + +"He's evidently of French Creole blood," said the doctor. "Many of +those people who came up from New Orleans and settled in St. Louis were +of high family and station." + +"Then why should he be out here, dressed like an Indian and wandering +round with all sorts of waifs and strays? I believe he's just the same +kind of person as old Joe, only younger. Or, if he does come from +educated people, there's something wrong about him, and he's had to +come out here and hide." + +"Oh, what a suspicious little Missy! Nothing would make me believe +that. He may be rough, but he's not crooked. Those steady, +straight-looking eyes never belonged to any but an honest man. No, my +dear, there's no discreditable past behind him, and he's a gentleman." + +"Rubbish!" she said pettishly. "You'll be saying Leff's a gentleman +next." + +From which it will be seen that Low Courant had not been communicative +about himself. Such broken scraps of information as he had dropped, +when pieced together made a scanty narrative. His grandfather had been +one of the early French settlers of St. Louis, and his father a +prosperous fur trader there. But why he had cut loose from them he did +not vouchsafe to explain. Though he was still young--thirty +perhaps--it was evident that he had wandered far and for many years. +He knew the Indian trails of the distant Northwest, and spoke the +language of the Black Feet and Crows. He had passed a winter in the +old Spanish town of Santa Fe, and from there joined a regiment of +United States troops and done his share of fighting in the Mexican War. +Now the wanderlust was on him, he was going to California. + +"Maybe to settle," he told the doctor. "If I don't wake up some +morning and feel the need to move once more." + +When they reached the fort he was hailed joyously by the bourgeois +himself. The men clustered about him, and there were loud-voiced +greetings and much questioning, a rumor having filtered to his old +stamping ground that he had been killed in the siege of the Alamo. The +doctor told the bourgeois that Courant was to go with his train to +California, and the apple-cheeked factor grinned and raised his +eyebrows: + +"Vous avez de la chance! He's a good guide. Even Kit Carson, who +conducted the General Fremont, is no better." + +The general satisfaction did not extend to Susan. The faint thrill of +antagonism that the man had roused in her persisted. She knew he was a +gain to the party, and said nothing. She was growing rapidly in this +new, toughening life, and could set her own small prejudices aside in +the wider view that each day's experience was teaching her. The +presence of such a man would lighten the burden of work and +responsibility that lay on her father, and whatever was beneficial to +the doctor was accepted by his daughter. But she did not like Low +Courant. Had anyone asked her why she could have given no reason. He +took little notice of any of the women, treating them alike with a +brusque indifference that was not discourteous, but seemed to lump them +as necessary but useless units in an important whole. + +The train was the focus of his interest. The acceleration of its +speed, the condition of the cattle, the combination of lightness and +completeness in its make-up were the matters that occupied him. In the +evening hour of rest these were the subjects he talked of, and she +noticed that Daddy John was the person to whom he talked most. With +averted eyes, her head bent to David's murmurings, she was really +listening to the older men. Her admiration was reluctantly evoked by +the stranger's dominance and vigor of will, his devotion to the work he +had undertaken. She felt her own insignificance and David's also, and +chafed under the unfamiliar sensation. + +The night after leaving Ash Hollow, as they sat by the fire, David at +her side, the doctor had told Courant of the betrothal. His glance +passed quickly over the two conscious faces, he gave a short nod of +comprehension, and turning to Daddy John, inquired about the condition +of the mules' shoes. Susan reddened. She saw something of +disparagement, of the slightest gleam of mockery, in that short look, +which touched both faces and then turned from them as from the faces of +children playing at a game. Yes, she disliked him, disliked his manner +to Lucy and herself, which set them aside as beings of a lower order, +that had to go with them and be taken care of like the stock, only much +less important and necessary. Even to Bella he was off-hand and +unsympathetic, unmoved by her weakness, as he had been by her +sufferings the night he came. Susan had an idea that he thought +Bella's illness a misfortune, not so much for Bella as for the welfare +of the train. + +They had been at the fort now for four days and were ready to move on. +The wagons were repaired, the mules and horses shod, and Bella was +mending, though still unable to walk. The doctor had promised to keep +beside the McMurdos till she was well, then his company would forge +ahead. + +In the heat of the afternoon, comfortable in a rim of shade in the +courtyard, the men were arranging for the start the next morning. The +sun beat fiercely on the square opening roofed by the blue of the sky +and cut by the black shadow of walls. In the cooling shade the motley +company lay sprawling on the ground or propped against the doors of the +store rooms. The open space was brilliant with the blankets of +Indians, the bare limbs of brown children, and the bright serapes of +the Mexicans, who were too lazy to move out of the sun. In a corner +the squaws played a game with polished cherry stones which they tossed +in a shallow, saucerlike basket and let drop on the ground. + +Susan, half asleep on a buffalo skin, watched them idly. The game +reminded her of the jack-stones of her childhood. Then her eye slanted +to where Lucy stood by the gate talking with a trapper called Zavier +Leroux. The sun made Lucy's splendid hair shine like a flaming nimbus, +and the dark men of the mountains and the plain watched her with +immovable looks. She was laughing, her head drooped sideways. Above +the collar of her blouse a strip of neck, untouched by tan, showed in a +milk-white band. Conscious of the admiring observation, she +instinctively relaxed her muscles into lines of flowing grace, and +lowered her eyes till her lashes shone in golden points against her +freckled cheeks. With entire innocence she spread her little lure, +following an elemental instinct, that, in the normal surroundings of +her present life, released from artificial restraints, was growing +stronger. + +Her companion was a voyageur, a half-breed, with coarse black hair +hanging from a scarlet handkerchief bound smooth over his head. He was +of a sinewy, muscular build, his coppery skin, hard black eyes, and +high cheek bones showing the blood of his mother, a Crow squaw. His +father, long forgotten in the obscurity of mountain history, had +evidently bequeathed him the French Canadian's good-humored gayety. +Zavier was a light-hearted and merry fellow, and where he came laughter +sprang up. He spoke English well, and could sing French songs that +were brought to his father's country by the adventurers who crossed the +seas with Jacques Cartier. + +The bourgeois, who was aloft on the bastion sweeping the distance with +a field glass, suddenly threw an announcement down on the courtyard: + +"Red Feather's village is coming and an emigrant train." + +The space between the four walls immediately seethed into a whirlpool +of excitement. It eddied there for a moment, then poured through the +gateway into the long drainlike entrance passage and spread over the +grass outside. + +Down the face of the opposite hill, separated from the fort by a narrow +river, came the Indian village, streaming forward in a broken torrent. +Over its barbaric brightness, beads and glass caught the sun, and the +nervous fluttering of eagle feathers that fringed the upheld lances +played above its shifting pattern of brown and scarlet. It descended +the slope in a broken rush, spreading out fanwise, scattered, +disorderly, horse and foot together. On the river bank it paused, the +web of color thickening, then rolled over the edge and plunged in. The +current, beaten into sudden whiteness, eddied round the legs of horses, +the throats of swimming dogs, and pressed up to the edges of the +travaux where frightened children sat among litters of puppies. Ponies +bestrode by naked boys struck up showers of spray, squaws with lifted +blankets waded stolidly in, mounted warriors, feathers quivering in +their inky hair, indifferently splashing them. Here a dog, caught by +the current, was seized by a sinewy hand; there a horse, struggling +under the weight of a travaux packed with puppies and old women, was +grasped by a lusty brave and dragged to shore. The water round them +frothing into silvery turmoil, the air above rent with their cries, +they climbed the bank and made for the camping ground near the fort. + +Among the first came a young squaw. Her white doeskin dress was as +clean as snow, barbarically splendid with cut fringes and work of bead +and porcupine quills. Her mien was sedate, and she swayed to her horse +lightly and flexibly as a boy, holding aloft a lance edged with a +flutter of feathers, and bearing a round shield of painted skins. +Beside her rode the old chief, his blanket falling away from his +withered body, his face expressionless and graven deep with wrinkles. + +"That's Red Feather and his favorite squaw," said the voice of Courant +at Susan's elbow. + +She made no answer, staring at the Indian girl, who was handsome and +young, younger than she. + +"And look," came the voice again, "there are the emigrants." + +A long column of wagons had crested the summit and was rolling down the +slope. They were in single file, hood behind hood, the drivers, +bearded as cave men, walking by the oxen. The line moved steadily, +without sound or hurry, as if directed by a single intelligence +possessed of a single idea. It was not a congeries of separated +particles, but a connected whole. As it wound down the face of the +hill, it suggested a vast Silurian monster, each wagon top a vertebra, +crawling forward with definite purpose. + +"That's the way they're coming," said the voice of the strange man. +"Slow but steady, an endless line of them." + +"Who?" said Susan, answering him for the first time. + +"The white men. They're creeping along out of their country into this, +pushing the frontier forward every year, and going on ahead of it with +their tents and their cattle and their women. Watch the way that train +comes after Red Feather's village. That was all scattered and broken, +going every way like a lot of glass beads rolling down the hill. This +comes slow, but it's steady and sure as fate." + +She thought for a moment, watching the emigrants, and then said: + +"It moves like soldiers." + +"Conquerors. That's what they are. They're going to roll over +everything--crush them out." + +"Over the Indians?" + +"That's it. Drive 'em away into the cracks of the mountains, wipe them +out the way the trappers are wiping out the beaver." + +"Cruel!" she said hotly. "I don't believe it." + +"Cruel?" he gave her a look of half-contemptuous amusement. "Maybe so, +but why should you blame them for that? Aren't you cruel when you kill +an antelope or a deer for supper? They're not doing you any harm, but +you just happen to be hungry. Well, those fellers are hungry--land +hungry--and they've come for the Indian's land. The whole world's +cruel. You know it, but you don't like to think so, so you say it +isn't. You're just lying because you're afraid of the truth." + +She looked angrily at him and met the gray eyes. In the center of each +iris was a dot of pupil so clearly defined and hard that they looked to +Susan like the heads of black pins. "That's exactly what he'd say," +she thought; "he's no better than a savage." What she said was: + +"I don't agree with you at all." + +"I don't expect you to," he answered, and making an ironical bow turned +on his heel and swung off. + +The next morning, in the pallor of the dawn, they started, rolling out +into a gray country with the keen-edged cold of early day in the air, +and Laramie Peak, gold tipped, before them. As the sky brightened and +the prospect began to take on warmer hues, they looked ahead toward the +profiles of the mountains and thought of the journey to come. At this +hour of low vitality it seemed enormous, and they paced forward a +silent, lifeless caravan, the hoof beats sounding hollow on the beaten +track. + +Then from behind them came a sound of singing, a man's voice caroling +in the dawn. Both girls wheeled and saw Zavier Leroux ambling after +them on his rough-haired pony, the pack horse behind. He waved his +hand and shouted across the silence: + +"I come to go with you as far as South Pass," and then he broke out +again into his singing. It was the song Courant had sung, and as he +heard it he lifted up his voice at the head of the train, and the two +strains blending, the old French chanson swept out over the barren land: + + "A la claire fontaine! + M'en allant promener + J'ai trouve l'eau si belle + Que je me suis baigne!" + + +Susan waved a beckoning hand to the voyageur, then turned to Lucy and +said joyously: + +"What fun to have Zavier! He'll keep us laughing all the time. Aren't +you glad he's coming?" + +Lucy gave an unenthusiastic "Yes." After the first glance backward she +had bent over her horse smoothing its mane her face suddenly dyed with +a flood of red. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +Everybody was glad Zavier had come. He brought a spirit of good cheer +into the party which had begun to feel the pressure of the long march +behind them, and the still heavier burden that was to come. His gayety +was irrepressible, his high spirits unflagging. When the others rode +silent in the lifeless hours of the afternoon or drooped in the midday +heats, Zavier, a dust-clouded outline on his shaggy pony, lifted up his +voice in song. Then the chanted melody of French verses issued from +the dust cloud, rising above the rattling of the beaver traps and the +creaking of the slow wheels. + +He had one especial favorite that he was wont to sing when he rode +between the two girls. It recounted the adventures of _trois +cavalieres_, and had so many verses that Zavier assured them neither he +nor any other man had ever arrived at the end of them. Should he go to +California with them and sing a verse each day, he thought there would +still be some left over to give away when he got there. Susan learned +the first two stanzas, and Lucy picked up the air and a few words. +When the shadows began to slant and the crisp breath of the mountains +came cool on their faces, they sang, first Zavier and Susan, then Lucy +joining in in a faint, uncertain treble, and finally from the front of +the train the strange man, not turning his head, sitting straight and +square, and booming out the burden in his deep baritone: + + "Dans mon chemin j'ai recontre + Trois cavalieres bien montees, + L'on, ton laridon danee + L'on, ton laridon dai. + + "Trois cavalieres bien montees + L'une a cheval, l'autre a pied + L'on, ton, laridon danee + L'on ton laridon dai." + + +Zavier furnished another diversion in the monotony of the days, +injected into the weary routine, a coloring drop of romance, for, as he +himself would have said, he was _diablement epris_ with Lucy. This was +regarded as one of the best of Zavier's jokes. He himself laughed at +it, and his extravagant compliments and gallantries were well within +the pale of the burlesque. Lucy laughed at them, too. The only one +that took the matter seriously was Bella. She was not entirely pleased. + +"Talk about it's being just a joke," she said to Susan in the bedtime +hour of confidences. "You can joke too much about some things. +Zavier's a man just the same as the others, and Lucy's a nice-looking +girl when she gets rested up and the freckles go off. But he's an +Indian if he does speak French, and make good money with his beaver +trapping." + +"He's not _all_ Indian," Susan said soothingly. "He's half white. +There are only a few Indian things about him, his dark skin and +something high and flat about his cheek bones and the way he turns in +his toes when he walks." + +"Indian enough," Bella fumed. "And nobody knows anything about his +father. We're respectable people and don't want a man with no name +hanging round. I've no doubt he was born in a lodge or under a pine +tree. What right's that kind of man to come ogling after a decent +white girl whose father and mother were married in the Presbyterian +Church?" + +Susan did not take it so much to heart. What was the good when Lucy +obviously didn't care? As for Zavier, she felt sorry for him, for +those keen observing faculties of hers had told her that the voyageur's +raillery hid a real feeling. Poor Zavier was in love. Susan was +pensive in the contemplation of his hopeless passion. He was to leave +the train near South Pass and go back into the mountains, and there, +alone, camp on the streams that drained the Powder River country. In +all probability he would never see one of them again. His trapping did +not take him West to the great deserts, and he hated the civilization +where man became a luxurious animal of many needs. Like the buffalo +and the red man he was restricted to the wild lands that sloped away on +either side of the continent's mighty spine. His case was sad, and +Susan held forth on the subject to Lucy, whom she thought callous and +unkind. + +"It's terrible to think you'll never see him again," she said, looking +for signs of compassion. "Don't you feel sorry?" + +Lucy looked down. She had been complaining to her friend of Zavier's +follies of devotion. + +"There are lots of other men in the world," she said indifferently. + +Susan fired up. If not yet the authorized owner of a man, she felt her +responsibilities as a coming proprietor. The woman's passion for +interference in matters of sentiment was developing in her. + +"Lucy, you're the most hard-hearted girl! Poor Zavier, who's going off +into the mountains and may be killed by the Indians. Don't you feel +any pity for him? And he's in love with you--truly in love. I've +watched him and I know." + +She could not refrain from letting a hint of superior wisdom, of an +advantage over the unengaged Lucy, give solemnity to her tone. + +Lucy's face flushed. + +"He's half an Indian," she said with an edge on her voice. "Doesn't +everyone in the train keep saying that every ten minutes? Do you want +me to fall in love with a man like that?" + +"Why no, of course not. You couldn't. That's the sad part of it. He +seems as much like other men as those trappers in the fort who were all +white. Just because he had a Crow mother it seems unjust that he +should be so sort of on the outside of everything. But of course you +couldn't marry him. Nobody ever heard of a girl marrying a half-breed." + +Lucy bent over the piece of deer meat that she was cutting apart. They +were preparing supper at the flaring end of a hot day, when the wagons +had crawled through a loose alkaline soil and over myriads of crickets +that crushed sickeningly under the wheels. Both girls were tired, +their throats parched, their hair as dry as hemp, and Lucy was +irritable, her face unsmiling, her movement quick and nervous. + +"What's it matter what a man's parents are if he's kind to you?" she +said, cutting viciously into the meat. "It's a lot to have some one +fill the kettles for you and help you get the firewood, and when you're +tired tell you to go back in the wagon and go to sleep. Nobody does +that for me but Zavier." + +It was the first time she had shown any appreciation of her swain's +attentions. She expressed the normal, feminine point of view that her +friend had been looking for, and as soon as she heard it Susan adroitly +vaulted to the other side: + +"But, Lucy, you _can't_ marry him!" + +"Who says I'm going to?" snapped Lucy. "Do I have to marry every +Indian that makes eyes at me? All the men in the fort were doing it. +They hadn't a look for anyone else." + +Susan took this with reservations. A good many of the men in the fort +had made eyes at her. It was rather grasping of Lucy to take it all to +herself, and in her surprise at the extent of her friend's claims she +was silent. + +"As for me," Lucy went on, "I'm dead sick of this journey. I wish we +could stop or go back or do something. But we've got to keep on and on +to the end of nowhere. It seems as if we were going forever in these +tiresome old wagons or on horses that get lame every other day, and +then you have to walk. I don't mind living in a tent. I like it. But +I hate always going on, never having a minute to rest, getting up in +the morning when I'm only half awake, and having to cook at night when +I'm so tired I'd just like to lie down on the ground without taking my +clothes off and go to sleep there. I wish I'd never come. I wish I'd +married the man in Cooperstown that I wouldn't have wiped my feet on +then." + +She slapped the frying pan on the fire and threw the meat into it. Her +voice and lips were trembling. With a quick, backward bend she stooped +to pick up a fork, and Susan saw her face puckered and quivering like a +child's about to cry. + +"Oh, Lucy," she cried in a burst of sympathy. "I didn't know you felt +like that," and she tried to clasp the lithe uncorseted waist that +flinched from her touch. Lucy's elbow, thrown suddenly out, kept her +at a distance, and she fell back repulsed, but with consolations still +ready to be offered. + +"Let me alone," said Lucy, her face averted. "I'm that tired I don't +know what I'm saying. Go and get the children for supper, and don't +let them stand round staring at me or they'll be asking questions." + +She snatched the coffee pot and shook it upside down, driblets of +coffee running out. With her other hand she brushed the tears off her +cheeks. + +"Don't stand there as if you never saw a girl cry before," she said, +savagely. "I don't do it often, and it isn't such a wonderful sight. +Get the children, and if you tell anyone that I feel this way I'll +murder you." + +The children were at some distance lying on the ground. Such +unpromising materials as dust and sage brush had not quenched their +inventive power or hampered their imaginations. They played with as an +absorbed an industry here as in their own garden at home. They had +scraped the earth into mounded shapes marked with the print of baby +fingers and furrowed with paths. One led to a central mound crowned +with a wild sunflower blossom. Up the path to this Bob conducted twigs +of sage, murmuring the adventures that attended their progress. When +they reached the sunflower house he laid them carefully against its +sides, continuing the unseen happenings that befell them on their +entrance. The little girl lay beside him, her cheek resting on an +outflung arm, her eyes fixed wistfully on the personally conducted +party. Her creative genius had not risen to the heights of his, and +her fat little hands were awkward and had pushed the sunflower from its +perch. So she had been excluded from active participation, and now +looked on, acquiescing in her exclusion, a patient and humble spectator. + +"Look," Bob cried as he saw Susan approaching. "I've builded a house +and a garden, and these are the people," holding up one of the sage +twigs, "they walk fru the garden an' then go into the house and have +coffee and buf'lo meat." + +Susan admired it and then looked at the baby, who was pensively +surveying her brother's creation. + +"And did the baby play, too?" she asked. + +"Oh, no, she couldn't. She doesn't know nuffing, she's too small," +with the scorn of one year's superiority. + +The baby raised her solemn eyes to the young girl and made no attempt +to vindicate herself. Her expression was that of subdued humility, of +one who admits her short-comings. She rose and thrust a soft hand into +Susan's, and maintained her silence as they walked toward the camp. +The only object that seemed to have power to rouse her from her +dejected reverie were the broken sage stalks in the trail. At each of +these she halted, hanging from Susan's sustaining grasp, and stubbed +her toe accurately and carefully against the protruding root. + +They would have been silent that evening if it had not been for Zavier. +His mood was less merry than usual, but a stream of frontier anecdote +and story flowed from him, that held them listening with charmed +attention. His foreign speech interlarded with French words added to +the picturesqueness of his narratives, and he himself sitting +crosslegged on his blanket, his hair hanging dense to his shoulders, +his supple body leaning forward in the tension of a thrilling climax, +was a fitting minstrel for these lays of the wild. + +His final story was that of Antoine Godin, one of the classics of +mountain history. Godin was the son of an Iroquois hunter who had been +brutally murdered by the Blackfeet. He had become a trapper of the +Sublette brothers, then mighty men of the fur trade, and in the +expedition of Milton Sublette against the Blackfeet in 1832 joined the +troop. When the two bands met, Godin volunteered to hold a conference +with the Blackfeet chief. He chose as his companion an Indian of the +Flathead tribe, once a powerful nation, but almost exterminated by wars +with the Blackfeet. From the massed ranks of his warriors the chief +rode out for the parley, a pipe of peace in his hand. As Godin and the +Flathead started to meet him, the former asked the Indian if his piece +was charged, and when the Flathead answered in the affirmative told him +to cock it and ride alongside. + +Midway between the two bands they met. Godin clasped the chief's hand, +and as he did so told the Flathead to fire. The Indian levelled his +gun, fired, and the Blackfeet chief rolled off his horse. Godin +snatched off his blanket and in a rain of bullets fled to the Sublette +camp. + +"And so," said the voyageur with a note of exultation in his voice, +"Godin got revenge on those men who had killed his father." + +For a moment his listeners were silent, suffering from a sense of +bewilderment, not so much at the story, as at Zavier's evident approval +of Godin's act. + +It was Susan who first said in a low tone, "What an awful thing to do!" +This loosened Bella's tongue, who lying in the opening of her tent had +been listening and now felt emboldened to express her opinion, +especially as Glen, stretched on his face nearby, had emitted a snort +of indignation. + +"Well, of all the wicked things I've heard since I came out here that's +the worst." + +Zavier shot a glance at them in which for one unguarded moment, race +antagonism gleamed. + +"Why is it wicked?" he said gently. + +David answered heatedly, the words bursting out: + +"Why, the treachery of it, the meanness. The chief carried the pipe of +peace. That's like our flag of truce. You never heard of any +civilized man shooting another under the flag of truce." + +Zavier looked stolid. It was impossible to tell whether he +comprehended their point of view and pretended ignorance, or whether he +was so restricted to his own that he could see no other. + +"The Blackfeet had killed his father," he answered. "They were +treacherous too. Should he wait to be murdered? It was his chance and +he took it." + +Sounds of dissent broke out round the circle. All the eyes were +trained on him, some with a wide, expectant fixity, others bright with +combative fire. Even Glen sat up, scratching his head, and remarking +sotto voce to his wife: + +"Ain't I always said he was an Indian?" + +"But the Blackfeet chief wasn't the man who killed his father," said +the doctor. + +"No, he was chief of the tribe who did." + +"But why kill an innocent man who probably had nothing to do with it?" + +"It was for vengeance," said Zavier with unmoved patience and careful +English. "Vengeance for his father's death." + +Several pairs of eyes sought the ground giving up the problem. Others +continued to gaze at him either with wonder, or hopeful of extracting +from his face some clew to his involved and incomprehensible moral +attitude. They suddenly felt as if he had confessed himself of an +alien species, a creature as remote from them and their ideals as a +dweller in the moon. + +"He had waited long for vengeance," Zavier further explained, moving +his glittering glance about the circle, "and if he could not find the +right man, he must take such man as he could. The chief is the biggest +man, and he comes where Godin has him. 'My father is avenged at last,' +he says, and bang!"--Zavier levelled an imaginary engine of destruction +at the shadows--"it is done and Godin gets the blanket." + +The silence that greeted this was one of hopelessness; the blanket had +added the final complication. It was impossible to make Zavier see, +and this new development in what had seemed a boyish and light-hearted +being, full to the brim with the milk of human kindness, was a thing to +sink before in puzzled speechlessness. Courant tried to explain: + +"You can't see it Zavier's way because it's a different way from yours. +It comes out of the past when there weren't any laws, or you had to +make 'em yourself. You've come from where the courthouse and the +police take care of you, and if a feller kills your father, sees to it +that he's caught and strung up. It's not your business to do it, and +so you've got to thinking that the man that takes it into his own hands +is a desperate kind of criminal. Out here in those days you wiped out +such scores yourself or no one did. It seems to you that Godin did a +pretty low down thing, but he thought he was doing the right thing for +him. He'd had a wrong done him and he'd got to square it. And it +didn't matter to him that the chief wasn't the man. Kill an Indian and +it's the tribe's business to settle the account. The Blackfeet killed +his father and it was Godin's business to kill a Blackfeet whenever he +got the chance. I guess when he saw the chief riding out to meet him +what he felt most was, that it was the best chance he'd ever get." + +The faces turned toward Courant--a white man like themselves! So deep +was their disapproving astonishment that nobody could say anything. +For a space they could only stare at him as though he, too, were +suddenly dropping veils that had hidden unsuspected, baleful depths. + +Then argument broke out and the clamor of voices was loud on the night. +Courant bore the brunt of the attack, Zavier's ideas being scanty, his +mode of procedure a persistent, reiteration of his original +proposition. Interruptions were furnished in a sudden, cracked laugh +from Daddy John, and phrases of dissent or approval from Glen and Bella +stretching their ears from the front of the tent. Only Lucy said +nothing, her head wrapped in a shawl, her face down-drooped and pale. + +Late that night Susan was waked by whispering sounds which wound +stealthily through her sleep feeling for her consciousness. At first +she lay with her eyes shut, breathing softly, till the sounds +percolated through the stupor of her fatigue and she woke, +disentangling them from dreams. She threw back her blankets and sat +alert thinking of Indians. + +The moon was full, silver tides lapping in below the tent's rim. She +stole to the flap listening, then drew it softly open. Her tent had +been pitched beneath a group of trees which made a splash of shadow +broken with mottlings of moonlight. In the depths of this shadow she +discerned two figures, the white flecks and slivers sliding along the +dark oblong of their shapes as they strayed with loitering steps or +stood whispering. The straight edge of their outline, the unbroken +solidity of their bulk, told her they were wrapped in the same blanket, +a custom in the Indian lover's courtship. Their backs were toward her, +the two heads rising from the blanket's folds, showing as a rounded +pyramidal finish. As she looked they paced beyond the shadow into the +full unobscured light, and she saw that the higher head was dark, the +other fair, crowned with a circlet of shining hair. + +Her heart gave an astounded leap. Her first instinct was to draw back, +her second to stand where she was, seemly traditions overwhelmed in +amazement. The whispering ceased, the heads inclined to each other, +the light one drooping backward, the dark one leaning toward it, till +they rested together for a long, still moment. Then they separated, +the woman drawing herself from the blanket and with a whispered word +stealing away, a furtive figure flitting through light and shade to the +McMurdo tents. The man turned and walked to the fire, and Susan saw it +was Zavier. He threw on a brand and in its leaping ray stood +motionless, looking at the flame, a slight, fixed smile on his lips. + +She crept back to her bed and lay there with her heart throbbing and +her eyes on the edges of moonlight that slipped in over the trampled +sage leaves. Zavier was on sentry duty that night, and she could hear +the padding of his step as he moved back and forth through the sleeping +camp. On the dark walls of the tent the vision she had seen kept +repeating itself, and as it returned upon her mental sight, new +questions surged into her mind. A veil had been raised, and she had +caught a glimpse of something in life, a new factor in the world, she +had never known of. The first faint comprehension of it, the first +stir of sympathy with it, crept toward her understanding and tried to +force an entrance. She pushed it out, feeling frightened, feeling as +if it were an intruder, that once admitted would grow dominant and +masterful, and she would never be her own again. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The next morning Susan could not help stealing inquiring looks at Lucy. +Surely the participant in such a nocturnal adventure must bear some +signs of it upon her face. Lucy had suddenly become a disturbing and +incomprehensible problem. In trying to readjust her conception of the +practical and energetic girl, Susan found herself confronted with the +artifices of a world-old, feminine duplicity that she had never before +encountered, and knew no more of than she did of the tumult that had +possession of poor Lucy's tormented soul. Here was the heroine of a +midnight rendezvous going about her work with her habitual nervous +capability, dressing the children, preparing the breakfast, seeing that +Bella was comfortably disposed on her mattress in the wagon. She had +not a glance for Zavier. Could a girl steal out to meet and kiss a man +in the moonlight and the next morning look at him with a limpid, +undrooping eye as devoid of consciousness as the eye of a preoccupied +cat? + +The standards of the doctor's daughter were comparative and their range +limited. All she had to measure by was herself. Her imagination in +trying to compass such a situation with Susan Gillespie as the heroine, +could picture nothing as her portion but complete abasement and, of +course, a confession to her father. And how dreadful that would have +been! She could feel humiliation stealing on her at the thought of the +doctor's frowning displeasure. But Lucy had evidently told no one. +Why had she not? Why had she pretended not to like Zavier? Why? Why? +Susan found her thoughts trailing off into a perspective of questions +that brought up against a wall of incomprehension above which Lucy's +clear eyes looked at her with baffling secretiveness. + +It was a warm morning, and the two girls sat in the doctor's wagon. +Lucy was knitting one of the everlasting stockings. In the heat she +had unfastened the neck of her blouse and turned the edges in, a +triangle of snowy skin visible below her sunburned throat. She looked +thin, her arms showing no curve from wrist to elbow, the lines of her +body delicately angular under the skimpy dress of faded lilac cotton. +The sun blazing through the canvas cast a tempered yellow light over +her that toned harmoniously with the brown coating of freckles and the +copper burnish of her hair. Her hands, vibrating over her work with +little hovering movements like birds about to light, now and then +flashing out a needle which she stabbed into her coiffure, were +large-boned and dexterous, the strong, unresting hands of the +frontierswoman. + +Susan was lazy, leaning back on the up-piled sacks, watching the quick, +competent movements and the darts of light that leaped along the +needles. Before they had entered the wagon she had decided to speak to +Lucy of what she had overseen. In the first place she felt guilty and +wanted to confess. Besides that the need to give advice was strong +upon her, and the natural desire to interfere in a matter of the heart +was another impelling impulse. So she had determined to speak for +conscience, for friendship, for duty, and it is not beyond the bounds +of possibility, for curiosity. + +But it was a hard subject to approach, and she was uncomfortable. +Diplomacy had not been one of the gifts the fairies gave her when they +gathered at her cradle. Looking at the quivering needles she tried to +think of a good beginning, and like most direct and candid people +concluded there was no better one than that of the initial fact, before +the complicating intrusion of inference: + +"I woke up in the middle of the night last night." + +Lucy knit unmoved. + +"The moonlight was as bright as day. Out beyond the shadow where my +tent was I could see the weeds and little bunches of grass." + +"How could you see them when you were in your tent?" This without +stopping her work or raising her head. + +Susan, feeling more uncomfortable than ever, answered, her voice +instinctively dropping, "I got up and looked out of my tent." + +She kept her eyes on the busy hands and saw that the speed of their +movements slackened. + +"Got up and looked out? What did you do that for?" + +The time for revelation had come. Susan was a little breathless. + +"I heard people whispering," she said. + +The hands came to a stop. But the knitter continued to hold them in +the same position, a suspended, waiting expectancy in their attitude. + +"Whispering?" she said. "Who was it?" + +"Oh, Lucy, you know." + +There was a pause. Then Lucy dropped her knitting and, raising her +head, looked at the anxious face opposite. Her eyes were quiet and +steady, but their look was changed from its usual frankness by a new +defiance, hard and wary. + +"No, I don't know. How should I?" + +"Why, why"--Susan now was not only breathless but pleading--"it was +you." + +"Who was me?" + +"The woman--Lucy don't look at me like that, as if you didn't +understand. I saw you, you and Zavier, wrapped in the blanket. You +walked out into the moonlight and I _saw_." + +Lucy's gaze continued unfaltering and growing harder. Under the +freckles she paled, but she stood her ground. + +"What do you mean? Saw me and Zavier? Where?" + +"Under the trees first and then you went out into the moonlight with +the blanket wrapped round your shoulders." + +"You didn't see me," the hardness was now in her voice. "It was some +one else." + +A feeling of alarm rose in the other girl. It was not the lie alone, +it was the force behind it, the force that made it possible, that gave +the teller will to hold her glance steady and deny the truth. A +scaring sense of desperate powers in Lucy that were carrying her +outside the familiar and established, seized her friend. It was all +different from her expectations. Her personal repugnance and +fastidiousness were swept aside in the menace of larger things. She +leaned forward and clasped Lucy's knee. + +"Don't say that. I saw you. Lucy, don't say I didn't. Don't bother +to tell me a lie. What did it mean? Why did you meet him? What are +you doing?" + +Lucy jerked her knee away. Her hands were trembling. She took up the +knitting, tried to direct the needles, but they shook and she dropped +them. She made a sharp movement with her head in an effort to avert +her face, but the light was merciless, there was no shade to hide in. + +"Oh, don't bother me," she said angrily. "It's not your affair." + +Susan's dread rose higher. In a flash of vision she had a glimpse into +the storm-driven depths. It was as if a child brought up in a garden +had unexpectedly looked into a darkling mountain abyss. + +"What are you going to do?" she almost whispered. "You mustn't. You +must stop. I thought you didn't care about him. You only laughed and +everybody thought it was a joke. Don't go on that way. Something +dreadful will happen." + +Lucy did not answer. With her back pressed against the roof arch and +her hands clinched in her lap--she sat rigid, looking down. She seemed +gripped in a pain that stiffened her body and made her face pinched and +haggard. Under the light cotton covering her breast rose and fell. +She was an embodiment of tortured indecision. + +Susan urged: "Let me tell my father and he'll send Zavier away." + +Lucy raised her eyes and tried to laugh. The unnatural sound fell with +a metallic harshness on the silence. Her mouth quivered, and putting +an unsteady hand against it, she said brokenly, + +"Oh, Missy, don't torment me. I feel bad enough already." + +There was a longer pause. Susan broke it in a low voice: + +"Then you're going to marry him?" + +"No," loudly, "no. What a question!" + +She made a grab at her knitting and started feverishly to work, the +needles clicking, stitches dropping, the stocking leg trembling as it +hung. + +"Why, he's an Indian," she cried suddenly in a high, derisive key. + +"But"--the questioner had lost her moment of vision and was once again +floundering between ignorance and intuition--"Why did you kiss him +then?" + +"I didn't. He kissed me." + +"You let him. Isn't that the same thing?" + +"No, no. You're so silly. You don't know anything." She gave a +hysterical laugh and the bonds of her pride broke in a smothered cry: +"I couldn't help it. I didn't want to. I didn't mean to. I didn't +mean to go out and meet him and I went. I--" she gathered up the +stocking and, needles and all, buried her face in it. It was the only +thing she could find to hide behind. "I'm so miserable," she sobbed. +"You don't know. It's such a terrible thing first feeling one way and +then the other. I'm so mixed up I don't know what I feel. I wish I +was dead." + +There was a sound of men's voices outside, and the wagon came to a +jolting halt. Daddy John, on the driver's seat, silhouetted against +the circle of sky, slipped the whip into its ring of leather and turned +toward the girls. Lucy threw herself backward and lay with her face on +the sacks, stifling her tears. + +"What are you two girls jawing about in there?" he asked, squinting +blindly from the sun dazzle into the clear, amber light of the canvas +cavern. + +"We're just telling stories and things," said Susan. + +The old man peered at Lucy's recumbent figure. + +"Ain't she well?" he queried. "Thought I heard crying." + +"Her head aches, it's so hot." + +"Let her stay there. We'll do her cooking for her. Just stay where +you are, Lucy, and don't worrit about your work." + +But the voices outside demanded her. It was the noon halt and Lucy was +an important factor in the machinery of the train. Glen's call for her +was mingled with the fresh treble of Bob's and Bella's at a farther +distance, rose in a plaintive, bovine lowing. She stretched a hand +sideways and gripped Susan's skirt. + +"I can't go," she gasped in a strangled whisper. "I can't seem to get +a hold on myself. Ask Zavier to build the fire and cook. He'll do it, +and Courant will help him. And tell the others I'm sick." + +Lucy's headache lasted all through the dinner hour, and when the train +started she still lay in the back of the doctor's wagon. For once she +seemed indifferent to the comfort of her relatives. The clamor that +rose about their disorderly fire and unsavory meal came to her ears +through the canvas walls, and she remained deaf and unconcerned. When +Susan crept in beside her and laid a cool cheek on hers, and asked her +if she wanted anything, she said no, she wanted to rest that was all. +Daddy John turned his head in profile and said: + +"Let her alone, Missy. She's all tuckered out. They've put too much +work on her sence her sister took sick. You let her lie there and I'll +keep an eye to her." + +Then he turned away and spat, as was his wont when thoughtful. He had +seen much of the world, and in his way was a wise old man, but he did +not guess the secret springs of Lucy's trouble. Women on the trail +should be taken care of as his Missy was. Glen McMurdo was the kind of +man who let the women take care of him, and between him and the +children and the sick woman they'd half killed the girl with work. +Daddy John had his opinion of Glen, but like most of his opinions he +kept it to himself. + +Susan had no desire for talk that afternoon. She wanted to be alone to +muse on things. As the train took the road for the second stage, she +drew her horse back among the sage and let the file of wagons pass her. +She saw hope gleaming in Leff's eye, and killed it with a stony glance, +then called to her father that she was going to ride behind. David was +hunting in the hills with Courant, Zavier driving in his stead. The +little caravan passed her with the dust hovering dense around it and +the slouching forms of the pack horses hanging fringe-like in its rear. + +They were nearing the end of their passage by the river, shrunk to a +clear, wild stream which they came upon and lost as the trail bore +westward. Their route lay through an interminable sequence of plains +held together by channels of communication that filtered through the +gaps in hills. The road was crossed by small streams, chuckling at the +bottom of gullies, the sides of which were cracked open like pale, +parched lips gasping for air. The limpid transparency of the prospect +was blotted by the caravan's moving dust cloud. Beyond this the plain +stretched, empty as the sky, a brown butte rising here and there. + +Susan heard hoof beats behind her and turned. Courant was riding +toward her, his rifle across his saddle. She made a motion of +recognition with her hand and turned away thinking how well he matched +the surroundings, his buckskins melting into the fawn-colored shading +of the earth, his red hair and bronzed face toning with the umber +buttes and rustlike stains across the distance. He was of a piece with +it, even in its suggestion of an unfeeling, confidant hardness. + +He joined her and they paced forward. It was the first time he had +ever sought any conversation with her and she was conscious and +secretly shy. Heretofore it had been his wont to speak little to her, +to sweep an indifferent eye over her which seemed to include her in the +unimportant baggage that went to the making of the train. Now, though +his manner was brusque, he spoke simply and not discourteously of the +hunt in the hills. He had got nothing, but David had killed a +black-tailed deer, and possessed by the passion of the chase, was +following the tracks of a second. The girl flushed with pleasure. + +"David's a very good shot," she said complacently, not at all sure of +her statement, for David did not excel in the role of Nimrod. "He kept +us supplied with buffalo meat all the way up the Platte." + +This was a falsehood. Daddy John and Leff had been the hunters of the +party. But Susan did not care. Courant had never said a word in her +hearing derogatory to David, but she had her suspicions that the +romantic nature of her betrothed was not of the stuff the mountain man +respected. + +"First rate," he said heartily. "I didn't know it. I thought he +generally rode with you or drove the wagon." + +To an outsider the tone would have seemed all that was frank and open. +But Susan read irony into it. She sat her horse a little squarer and +allowed the muse to still further possess her: + +"David can shoot anything, an antelope even. He constantly brought +them in when we were on the Platte. It was quite easy for him. Daddy +John, who's been in all sorts of wild places, says he's never seen a +better shot." + +A slight uneasiness disturbed the proud flow of her imagination at the +thought that Daddy John, questioned on this point, might show a +tendency to contradict her testimony. But it didn't matter. The joy +of proving David's superiority compensated. And she was setting +Courant in his place which had a separate and even rarer charm. + +His answer showed no consciousness of the humbling process: + +"You think a lot of David, don't you?" + +Susan felt her color rising. This time she not only sat squarer in her +saddle, but raised her shoulders and chin a trifle. + +"Yes. I am engaged to be married to him." + +"When will you be married?" said the uncrushable man. + +She inclined her head from its haughty pose just so far that she could +command his face from an austere eye. Words were ready to go with the +quelling glance, but they died unspoken. The man was regarding her +with grave, respectful attention. It is difficult to suddenly smite a +proud crest when the owner of the crest shows no consciousness of its +elevation. + +"When we get to California," she said shortly. + +"Not till then? Oh, I supposed you were going to marry him at Bridger +or along the road if we happened to meet a missionary." + +The suggestion amazed, almost appalled her. It pierced through her +foolish little play of pride like a stab, jabbing down to her secret, +sentient core. Her anger grew stronger, but she told herself she was +talking to one of an inferior, untutored order, and it was her part to +hold herself in hand. + +"We will be married when we get to California," she said, seeing to it +that her profile was calm and carried high. "Sometime after we get +there and have a home and are settled." + +"That's a long time off." + +"I suppose so--a year or two." + +"A year or two!" he laughed with a careless jovial note. "Oh, you +belong to the old towns back there," with a jerk of his head toward the +rear. "In the wilderness we don't have such long courtships." + +"We? Who are we?" + +"The mountain men, the trappers, the voyageurs." + +"Yes," she said, her tone flashing into sudden scorn, "they marry +squaws." + +At this the man threw back his head and burst into a laugh, so deep, so +rich, so exuberantly joyous, that it fell upon the plain's grim silence +with the incongruous contrast of sunshine on the dust of a dungeon. +She sat upright with her anger boiling toward expression. Before she +realized it he had leaned forward and laid his hand on the pommel of +her saddle, his face still red and wrinkled with laughter. + +"That's all right, little lady, but you don't know quite all about us." + +"I know enough," she answered. + +"Before you get to California you'll know more. There's a mountain man +and a voyageur now in the train. Do you think Zavier and I have squaw +wives?" + +With the knowledge that Zavier was just then so far from contemplating +union with a squaw, she could not say the contemptuous "yes" that was +on her tongue. As for the strange man--she shot a glance at him and +met the gray eyes still twinkling with amusement. "Savage!" she +thought, "I've no doubt he has"--and she secretly felt a great desire +to know. What she said was, "I've never thought of it, and I haven't +the least curiosity about it." + +They rode on in silence, then he said, + +"What's made you mad?" + +"Mad? I'm not mad." + +"Not at all?" + +"No. Why should I be?" + +"That's what I want to know. You don't like me, little lady, is that +it?" + +"I neither like nor dislike you. I don't think of you." + +She immediately regretted the words. She was so completely a woman, so +dowered with the instinct of attraction, that she realized they were +not the words of indifference. + +"My thoughts are full of other people," she said hastily, trying to +amend the mistake, and that was spoiled by a rush of color that +suddenly dyed her face. + +She looked over the horse's head, her anger now turned upon herself. +The man made no answer, but she knew that he was watching her. They +paced on for a silent moment then he said: + +"Why are you blushing?" + +"I am not," she cried, feeling the color deepening. + +"You've told two lies," he answered. "You said you weren't angry, and +you're mad all through, and now you say you're not blushing, and your +face is as pink as one of those little flat roses that grow on the +prairie. It's all right to get mad and blush, but I'd like to know why +you do it. I made you mad someway or other, I don't know how. Have +_I_ made you blush, too?" he leaned nearer trying to look at her. +"How'd I do that?" + +She had a sidelong glimpse of his face, quizzical, astonished, full of +piqued interest. She struggled with the mortification of a petted +child, suddenly confronted by a stranger who finds its caprices only +ridiculous and displeasing. Under the new sting of humiliation she +writhed, burning to retaliate and make him see the height of her +pedestal. + +"Yes, I _have_ told two lies," she said. "I was angry and I _am_ +blushing, and it's because I'm in a rage with you." + +The last touch was given when she saw that his surprise contained the +bitter and disconcerting element of amusement. + +"Isn't that just what I said, and you denied it?" he exclaimed. "Now +_why_ are you in a rage with me?" + +"Because--because--well, if you're too stupid to know why, or are just +pretending, I won't explain. I don't intend to ride with you any more. +Please don't try and keep up with me." + +She gave her reins a shake and her horse started on a brisk canter. As +she sped away she listened for his following hoof beats, for she made +no doubt he would pursue her, explain his conduct, and ask her pardon. +The request not to keep up with her he would, of course, set aside. +David would have obeyed it, but this man of the mountains, at once +domineering and stupid, would take no command from any woman. She kept +her ear trained for the rhythmic beat in the distance and decided when +she heard it she would increase her speed and not let him catch her +till she was up with the train. Then she would coldly listen to his +words of apology and have the satisfaction of seeing him look small, +and probably not know what to say. + +Only it didn't happen that way. He made no attempt to follow. As she +galloped across the plain he drew his horse to a walk, his face dark +and frowning. Her scorn and blush had left his blood hot. Her last +words had fired his anger. He had known her antagonism, seen it in her +face on the night when Bella was sick, felt its sting when she turned +from him to laugh with the others. And it had stirred him to a secret +irritation. For he told himself she was only a baby, but a pretty +baby, on whose brown and rosy face and merry slits of eyes a man might +like to look. Now he gazed after her swearing softly through his beard +and holding his horse to its slowest step. As her figure receded he +kept his eyes upon it. They were long-sighted eyes, used to great +distances, and they watched, intent and steady, to see if she would +turn her head. + +"Damn her," he said, when the dust of the train absorbed her. "Does +she think she's the only woman in the world?" + +After supper that evening Susan called David over to sit on the edge of +her blanket. This was a rare favor. He came hurrying, all alight with +smiles, cast himself down beside her and twined his fingers in her warm +grasp. She answered his hungry glance with a sidelong look, glowingly +tender, and David drew the hand against his cheek. Nobody was near +except Daddy John and Courant, smoking pipes on the other side of the +fire. + +"Do you love me?" he whispered, that lover's text for every sermon +which the unloving find so irksome to answer, almost to bear. + +But now she smiled and whispered, + +"Of course, silly David." + +"Ah, Susan, you're awakening," he breathed in a shaken undertone. + +She again let the soft look touch his face, sweet as a caress. From +the other side of the fire Courant saw it, and through the film of pipe +smoke, watched. David thought no one was looking, leaned nearer, and +kissed her cheek. She gave a furtive glance at the man opposite, saw +the watching eyes, and with a quick breath like a runner, turned her +face to her lover and let him kiss her lips. + +She looked back at the fire, quiet, unflurried, then slowly raised her +lids. Courant had moved his pipe and the obscuring film of smoke was +gone. Across the red patch of embers his eyes gazed steadily at her +with the familiar gleam of derision. Her tenderness died as a flame +under a souse of water, and an upwelling of feeling that was almost +hatred, rose in her against the strange man. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +The last fording of the river had been made, and from the summit of the +Red Buttes they looked down on the long level, specked with sage and +flecked with alkaline incrustings, that lay between them and the +Sweetwater. Across the horizon the Wind River mountains stretched a +chain of majestic, snowy shapes. Desolation ringed them round, the +swimming distances fusing with the pallor of ever-receding horizons, +the white road losing itself in the blotting of sage, red elevations +rising lonely in extending circles of stillness. The air was so clear +that a tiny noise broke it, crystal-sharp like the ring of a smitten +glass. And the sense of isolation was intensified as there was no +sound from anywhere, only a brooding, primordial silence that seemed to +have remained unbroken since the first floods drained away. + +Below in the plain the white dots of an encampment showed like a growth +of mushrooms. Near this, as they crawled down upon it, the enormous +form of Independence Rock detached itself from the faded browns and +grays to develop into a sleeping leviathan, lost from its herd and +fallen exhausted in a sterile land. + +Courant was curious about the encampment, and after the night halt rode +forward to inspect it. He returned in the small hours reporting it a +train of Mormons stopped for sickness. A boy of fifteen had broken his +leg ten days before and was now in a desperate condition. The train +had kept camp hoping for his recovery, or for the advent of help in one +of the caravans that overhauled them. Courant thought the boy beyond +hope, but in the gray of the dawn the doctor mounted, and with Susan, +David, and Courant, rode off with his case of instruments strapped to +his saddle. + +The sun was well up when they reached the Mormon camp. Scattered about +a spring mouth in the litter of a three days' halt, its flocks and +herds spread wide around it, it was hushed in a sullen dejection. The +boy was a likely lad for the new Zion, and his mother, one of the wives +of an elder, had forgotten her stern training, and fallen to a common +despair. Long-haired men lolled in tent doors cleaning their rifles, +and women moved between the wagons and the fires, or sat in rims of +shade sewing and talking low. Children were everywhere, their spirits +undimmed by disaster, their voices calling from the sage, little, +light, half-naked figures circling and bending in games that babies +played when men lived in cliffs and caves. At sight of the mounted +figures they fled, wild as rabbits, scurrying behind tent flaps and +women's skirts, to peep out in bright-eyed curiosity at the strangers. + +The mother met them and almost dragged the doctor from his horse. She +was a toil-worn woman of middle age, a Mater Dolorosa now in her hour +of anguish. She led them to where the boy lay in a clearing in the +sage. The brush was so high that a blanket had been fastened to the +tops of the tallest blushes, and under its roof he was stretched, +gray-faced and with sharpened nose. The broken leg had been bound +between rough splints of board, and he had traveled a week in the +wagons in uncomplaining agony. Now, spent and silent, he awaited +death, looking at the newcomers with the slow, indifferent glance of +those whose ties with life are loosening. But the mother, in the +ruthless unbearableness of her pain, wanted something done, anything. +An Irishman in the company, who had served six months as a helper in a +New York hospital, had told her he could amputate the leg, as he had +seen the operation performed. Now she clamored for a doctor--a real +doctor--to do it. + +He tried to persuade her of its uselessness, covering the leg in which +gangrene was far advanced, and telling her death was at hand. But her +despair insisted on action, her own suffering made her remorseless. +The clamor of their arguing voices surrounded the moribund figure lying +motionless with listless eyes as though already half initiated into new +and profound mysteries. Once, his mother's voice rising strident, he +asked her to let him rest in peace, he had suffered enough. + +Unable to endure the scene Susan left them and joined a woman whom she +found sewing in the shade of a wagon. The woman seemed unmoved, +chatting as she stitched on the happenings of the journey and the +accident that had caused the delay. Here presently David joined them, +his face pallid, his lips loose and quivering. Nothing could be done +with the mother. She had insisted on the operation, and the Irishman +had undertaken it. The doctor and Courant would stay by them; Courant +was to hold the leg. He, David, couldn't stand it. It was like an +execution--barbarous--with a hunting knife and a saw. + +In a half hour Courant came walking round the back of the wagon and +threw himself on the ground beside them. The leg had been amputated +and the boy was dying. Intense silence fell on the camp, only the +laughter and voices of the children rising clear on the thin air. Then +a wail arose, a penetrating, fearful cry, Rachel mourning for her +child. Courant raised his head and said with an unemotional air of +relief, "he's dead." The Mormon woman dropped her sewing, gave a low +exclamation, and sat listening with bitten lip. Susan leaned against +the wagon wheel full of horror and feeling sick, her eyes on David, +who, drawing up his knees, pressed his forehead on them. He rested +thus, his face hidden, while the keening of the mother, the cries of an +animal in pain, fell through the hot brightness of the morning like the +dropping of agonized tears down blooming cheeks. + +When they ceased and the quiet had resettled, the Mormon woman rose and +put away her sewing. + +"I don't seem to have no more ambition to work," she said and walked +away. + +"She's another of his wives," said Courant. + +"She and the woman whose son is dead, wives of the same man?" + +He nodded. + +"And there's a younger one, about sixteen. She was up there helping +with water and rags--a strong, nervy girl. She had whisky all ready in +a tin cup to give to the mother. When she saw it was all up with him +she went round collecting stones to cover the grave with and keep the +wolves off." + +"Before he was dead?" + +"Yes. They've got to move on at once. They can't lose any more time. +When we were arguing with that half-crazy woman, I could see the girl +picking up the stones and wiping off her tears with her apron." + +"What dreadful people," she breathed. + +"Dreadful? What's dreadful in having some sense? Too bad about the +boy. He set his teeth and didn't make a sound when that fool of an +Irishman was sawing at him as if he was a log. I never saw such grit. +If they've got many like him they'll be a great people some day." + +David gave a gasping moan, his arms relaxed, and he fell limply +backward on the ground. They sprang toward him and Susan seeing his +peaked white face, the eyes half open, thought he was dead, and dropped +beside him, a crouched and staring shape of terror. + +"What is it? What's the matter?" she cried, raising wild eyes to +Courant. + +"Nothing at all," said that unmoved person, squatting down on his heels +and thrusting his hand inside David's shirt. "Only a faint. Why, +where's your nerve? You're nearly as white as he is." + +His eyes were full of curiosity as he looked across the outstretched +figure at her frightened face. + +"I--I--thought for a moment he was dead," she faltered. + +"And so you were going to follow his example and die on his body?" He +got up. "Stay here and I'll go and get some water." As he turned away +he paused and, looking back, said, "Why didn't you do the fainting? +That's more your business than his," gave a sardonic grin and walked +off. + +Susan raised the unconscious head and held it to her bosom. Alone, +with no eye looking, she pressed her lips on his forehead. Courant's +callousness roused a fierce, perverse tenderness in her. He might +sneer at David's lack of force, but she understood. She crooned over +him, moved his hair back with caressing fingers, pressing him against +herself as if the strength of her hold would assure her of the love she +did not feel and wanted to believe in. Her arms were close round him, +his head on her shoulder when Courant came back with a dipper of water. + +"Get away," he said, standing over them. "I don't want to wet you." + +But she curled round her lover, her body like a protecting shield +between him and danger. + +"Leave go of him," said Courant impatiently. "Do you think I'm going +to hurt him with a cup full of water?" + +"Let me alone," she answered sullenly. "He'll be all right in a +minute." + +"You can be any kind of a fool you like, but you can't make me one. +Come, move." He set the dipper on the ground. + +He leaned gently over her and grasped her wrists. The power of his +grip amazed her; she was like a mouse in the paws of a lion. Her puny +strength matched against his was conquered in a moment of futile +resistance. + +"Don't be a fool," he said softly in her ear. "Don't act like a silly +baby," and the iron hands unclasped her arms and drew her back till +David's head slid from her knees to the ground. + +"There! We're all right now." He let her go, snatched up the dipper +and sent a splash of water into David's face. + +"Poor David," he said. "This'll spoil his good looks." + +"Stop," she almost screamed. "I'd rather have him lie in a faint for +an hour than have you speak so about him." + +Without noticing her, he threw another jet of water and David stirred, +drew a deep breath and opened his eyes. They touched the sky, the +wagon, the nearby sage, and then Susan's face. There they rested, +recognition slowly suffusing them. + +"What happened?" he said in a husky voice. + +"Fainted, that was all," said Courant. + +David closed his eyes. + +"Oh, yes, I remember now." + +Susan bent over him. + +"You frightened me so!" + +"I'm sorry, Missy, but it made me sick--the leg and those awful cries." + +Courant emptied the dipper on the ground. + +"I'll see if they've got any whisky. You'll have to get your grit up, +David, for the rest of the trail," and he left them. + +A half hour later the cry of "Roll out" sounded, and the Mormon camp +broke. The rattling of chains and ox yokes, and the cursing of men +ruptured the stillness that had gathered round the moment of death. +Life was a matter of more immediate importance. Tents were struck, the +pots and pans thrown into the wagons, the children collected, the stock +driven in. With ponderous strain and movement the great train formed +and took the road. As it drew away the circle of its bivouac showed in +trampled sage and grass bitten to the roots. In the clearing where the +boy had lain was the earth of a new-made grave, a piece of wood thrust +in at the head, the mound covered with stones gathered by the elder's +young wife. The mountain tragedy was over. + +By the fire that evening Zavier employed himself scraping the dust from +a buffalo skull. He wiped the frontal bone clean and white, and when +asked why he was expending so much care on a useless relic, shrugged +his shoulders and laughed. Then he explained with a jerk of his head +in the direction of the vanished Mormons that they used buffalo skulls +to write their letters on. In the great emigration of the year before +their route was marked by the skulls set up in prominent places and +bearing messages for the trains behind. + +"And are you going to write a letter on that one?" Susan asked. + +"No; I do not write English good, and French very bad. But maybe some +one else will use it," and he laughed boyishly and laid the skull by +the fire. + +In the depth of the night Susan was wakened by a hand on her shoulder +that shook her from a dreamless sleep. She started up with a cry and +felt another hand, small and cold on her mouth, and heard a whispering +voice at her ear, + +"Hush. Don't make a sound. It's Lucy." + +She gripped at the figure, felt the clasp of trembling arms, and a +cheek chill with the night cold, against her own. + +"Lucy," she gasped, "what's the matter?" + +"I want to speak to you. Be quiet." + +"Has anything happened? Is some one sick?" + +"No. It's not that. I'm going." + +"Going? Going where--" She was not yet fully awake, filaments of +sleep clouded her clearness. + +"Into the mountains with Zavier." + +The filaments were brushed away in a rough sweep. But her brain +refused to accept the message. In the dark, she clutched at the body +against her, felt the beat of pulses distinct through the clothing, the +trembling of the hands going down through her flesh and muscle to her +heart. + +"What do you mean? Where?" + +"I don't know, into the mountains somewhere." + +"With Zavier? Why?" + +"Because he wants me to and I must." + +"But-- Oh, Lucy--" she struggled from the blanket to her knees--"Oh, +Lucy!" + +Her voice rose high and the hand felt for her mouth. She caught it and +held it off, her head bent back straining her eyes for the face above +her. + +"Running away with him?" + +"Yes. I couldn't go without telling you. I had to say good-by." + +"Going with him forever, not coming back?" + +"No, never!" + +"But where--where to?" + +"I don't know. In the mountains somewhere. There's a trail here he +knows. It branches off to the north and goes up to the places where +they get the skins." + +"I don't believe you." + +"It's true. The horses are waiting outside." + +"Lucy, you've gone crazy. Don't--don't"-- She clung to the hand she +held, grasped upward at the arm. Both were cold and resistant. Her +pleading struck back from the hardness of the mind made up, the +irrevocable resolution. + +"But he's not your husband." + +Even at this moment, keyed to an act of lawlessness that in the +sheltered past would have been as impossible as murder, the great +tradition held fast. Lucy's answer came with a sudden flare of shocked +repudiation: + +"He will be. There are priests and missionaries up there among the +Indians. The first one we meet will marry us. It's all right. He +loves me and he's promised." + +Nothing of her wild courage came to the other girl, no echo of the call +of life and passion. It was a dark and dreadful fate, and Susan +strained her closer as if to hold her back from it. + +"It's been fixed for two days. We had to wait till we got here and +crossed the trail. We're going right into the mountains and it's +summer, and there's plenty of game." + +"The Indians?" + +"We'll be in the Crow's country, and Zavier's mother was a Crow." + +The words proved the completeness of her estrangement--the acceptance +of the alien race as no longer alien. + +"Oh, Lucy, don't, don't. Wait till we get to Fort Bridger and marry +him there. Make him come to California with us. Don't do such an +awful thing--run away into the mountains with a half-breed." + +"I don't care what he is. There's no one else for me but him. He's my +man and I'll go with him wherever he wants to take me." + +"Wait and tell Bella." + +"She wouldn't let me go. There'd be nothing but fighting and misery. +When you've made up your mind to do a thing you've got to do it +yourself, not go by what other people think." + +There was a silence and they hung upon each other. Then Lucy put her +face against her friend's and kissed her. + +"Good-by," she whispered, loosening her arms. + +"I can't let you go. I won't. It'll kill you." + +"I must. He's waiting." + +She struggled from the embrace, pulling away the clasping hands +noiselessly, but with purpose. There was something of coldness, of the +semblance but not the soul of affection, in the determined softness +with which she sought release. She stole to the tent flap and peered +out. Her thoughts were already outside, flown to the shape hiding in +the shadow like birds darting from a cage. She did not turn at Susan's +strangled whisper. + +"We'll never see you again, Bella, nor I, nor the children." + +"Perhaps, some day, in California. He's there. I must go." + +"Lucy!" She leaped after her. In the tent opening they once more +clasped each other. + +"I can't let you go," Susan moaned. + +But Lucy's kiss had not the fervor of hers. The strength of her being +had gone to her lover. Friendship, home, family, all other claims hung +loose about her, the broken trappings of her maidenhood. The great +primal tie had claimed her. + +A black figure against the pallor of the night, she turned for a last +word. + +"If you tell them and they come after us, Zavier'll fight them. He'll +fight if he kills them. They'll know to-morrow. Good-by," and she was +gone, a noiseless shadow, flitting toward the denser group of shadow +where her heart was. + +Susan, crouched at the tent flap, saw her melt into the waiting +blackness, and then heard the muffled hoof beats growing thinner and +fainter as the silence absorbed them. + +She sat thus till the dawn came. Once or twice she started up to give +the alarm, but fell back. Under the tumult of her thoughts a +conviction lay that Lucy must follow her own wild way. In the welter +of confused emotion it was all that was clear. It may have come from +that sense of Lucy's detachment, that consciousness of cords and +feelers stretching out to a new life which commanded and held closer +than the old had ever done. All she knew was that Lucy was obeying +some instinct that was law to her, that was true for her to obey. If +they caught her and brought her back it would twist her life into a +broken form. Was it love? Was that what had drawn her over all +obstacles, away from the established joys and comforts, drawn her like +a magnet to such a desperate course? With wide eyes the girl saw the +whiteness of the dawn, and sat gripped in her resolution of silence, +fearful at the thought of what that mighty force must be. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +The cross, drowsy bustle of the camp's uprising was suddenly broken by +a piercing cry. It came from Bella, who, standing by the mess chest, +was revealed to her astonished companions with a buffalo skull in her +hands, uttering as dolorous sounds as ever were emitted by that animal +in the agony of its death throes. Her words were unintelligible, but +on taking the skull from her the cause of her disturbance was made +known. Upon the frontal bone were a few words scrawled in +pencil--Lucy's farewell. + +It came upon them like a thunderbolt, and they took it in different +ways--amazed silence, curses, angry questionings. The skull passed +from hand to hand till Courant dropped it and kicked it to one side +where Leff went after it, lifted it by the horns and stood spelling out +the words with a grin. The children, at first rejoicing in the new +excitement, soon recognized the note of dole, lifted up their voices +and filled the air with cries for Lucy upon whom, in times at +tribulation, they had come to look. Glen broke into savage anger, +called down curses on his sister-in-law, applying to her certain terms +of a scriptural simplicity till the doctor asked him to go afield and +vent his passion in the seclusion of the sage. Bella, sunk in heavy, +uncorseted despair upon the mess chest, gripped her children to her +knees as though an army of ravishers menaced the house of McMurdo. Her +words flowed with her tears, both together in a choked and bitter flood +of wrath, sorrow, and self-pity. She bewailed Lucy, not only as a +vanished relative but as a necessary member of the McMurdo escort. And +doubts of Zavier's lawful intentions shook her from the abandon of her +grief, to furious invective against the red man of all places and +tribes whereso'er he be. + +"The dirty French-Indian," she wailed, "to take her off where he knows +fast enough there's no way of marrying her." + +Courant tried to console her by telling her there was a good chance of +the fugitives meeting a Catholic missionary, but that, instead of +assuaging, intensified her woe. + +"A Catholic!" she cried, raising a drenched face from her apron. "And +ain't that just as bad? My parents and hers were decent Presbyterians. +Does their daughter have to stand up before a priest? Why don't you +say a Mormon elder at once?" + +The McMurdos' condition of grief and rage was so violent, that the +doctor suggested following the runaways. Bella rose in glad assent to +this. Catch Lucy and bring her back! She was cheered at the thought +and shouted it to Glen, who had gone off in a sulky passion and stood +by his oxen swearing to himself and kicking their hoofs. The men +talked it over. They could lay off for a day and Courant, who knew the +trails, could lead the search party. He was much against it, and Daddy +John was with him. Too much time had been lost. Zavier was an +experienced mountain man and his horses were good. Besides, what was +the use of bringing them back? They'd chosen each other, they'd taken +their own course. It wasn't such a bad lookout for Lucy. Zavier was a +first-rate fellow and he'd treat her well. What was the sense of +interfering? Bella was furious, and shouted, + +"The sense is to get her back here and keep her where it's civilized, +since she don't seem to know enough to keep there herself." + +Daddy John, who had been listening, flashed out: + +"It don't seem to me so d--d civilized to half kill her with work." + +Then Bella wept and Glen swore, and the men had pulled up the picket +stakes, cinched their girths tight and started off in Indian file +toward the distant spurs of the hills. + +Susan had said little. If it did not violate her conscience to keep +silent, it did to pretend a surprise that was not hers. She sat at her +tent door most of the day watching for the return of the search party. +She was getting supper when she looked up and saw them, gave a low +exclamation, and ran to the outskirts of the camp. Here she stood +watching, heard Daddy John lounge up behind her and, turning, caught +his hand. + +"Is she there?" she said in an eager whisper. + +"I can't see her." + +They both scrutinized the figures, small as toy horsemen, loping over +the leathern distance. + +"Ain't there only four?" he said. "You can see better'n I." + +"Yes," she cried. "Four. I can count them. She isn't there. Oh, I'm +glad!" + +The old man looked surprised: + +"Glad! Why?" + +"I don't know. Oh, don't tell, Daddy John, but I wanted her to get +away. I don't know why, I suppose it's very wicked. But--but--it +seemed so--so--as if she was a slave--so unfair to drag her away from +her own life and make her lead some one else's." + +Lucy gone, lost as by shipwreck in the gulfs and windings of the +mountains, was a fact that had to be accepted. The train moved on, for +on the Emigrant Trail there was no leisure for fruitless repining. +Only immediate happenings could fill the minds of wanderers struggling +across the world, their energies matched against its primal forces. + +The way was growing harder, the animals less vigorous, and the strain +of the journey beginning to tell. Tempers that had been easy in the +long, bright days on the Platte now were showing sharp edges. Leff had +become surly, Glen quarrelsome. One evening Susan saw him strike Bob a +blow so savage that the child fell screaming in pain and terror. Bella +rushed to her first born, gathered him in her arms and turned a +crimsoned face of battle on her spouse. For a moment the storm was +furious, and Susan was afraid that the blow would be repeated on the +mother. She tried to pacify the enraged woman, and David and the +doctor coaxed Glen away. The child had struck against an edge of stone +and was bleeding, and after supper the father rocked him to sleep +crooning over him in remorseful tenderness. But the incident left an +ugly impression. + +They were passing up the Sweetwater, a mountain stream of busy +importance with a current that was snow-cold and snow-pure. It wound +its hurrying way between rock walls, and then relaxed in lazy coils +through meadows where the grass was thick and juicy and the air musical +with the cool sound of water. These were the pleasant places. Where +the rocks crowded close about the stream the road left it and sought +the plain again, splinding away into the arid desolation. The wheels +ground over myriads of crickets that caked in the loose soil. There +was nothing to break the eye-sweep but the cones of rusted buttes, the +nearer ones showing every crease and shadow thread, the farther +floating detached in the faint, opal shimmer of the mirage. + +One afternoon, in a deep-grassed meadow they came upon an encamped +train outflung on the stream bank in wearied disarray. It was from +Ohio, bound for California, and Glen and Bella decided to join it. +This was what the doctor's party had been hoping for, as the slow pace +of the McMurdo oxen held them back. Bella was well and the doctor +could conscientiously leave her. It was time to part. + +Early in the morning the two trains rolled out under a heavy drizzle. +Rain fell within the wagons even as it did without, Susan weeping among +the sacks behind Daddy John and Bella with her children whimpering +against her sides, stopping in her knitting to wipe away her tears with +the long strip of stocking leg. They were to meet again in +California--that everyone said. But California looked a long way off, +and now.--For some reason or other it did not gleam so magically bright +at the limit of their vision. Their minds had grown tired of dwelling +on it and sank down wearied to each day's hard setting. + +By midday the doctor's wagons had left the others far behind. The rain +fell ceaselessly, a cold and penetrating flood. The crowding crowns +and crests about them loomed through the blur, pale and slowly +whitening with falling snow. Beyond, the greater masses veiled +themselves in cloud. The road skirted the river, creeping through a +series of gorges with black walls down which the moisture spread in a +ripple-edged, glassy glaze. Twice masses of fallen rock blocked the +way, and the horses had to be unhitched and the wagons dragged into the +stream bed. It was heavy work, and when they camped, ferociously +hungry, no fire could be kindled, and there was nothing for it but to +eat the hard-tack damp and bacon raw. Leff cursed and threw his piece +away. He had been unusually morose and ill-humored for the last week, +and once, when obliged to do sentry duty on a wet night, had flown into +a passion and threatened to leave them. No one would have been sorry. +Under the stress of mountain faring, the farm boy was not developing +well. + +In the afternoon the rain increased to a deluge. The steady beat on +the wagon hoods filled the interior with a hollow drumming vibration. +Against the dimmed perspective the flanks of the horses undulated under +a sleek coating of moisture. Back of the train, the horsemen rode, +heads lowered against the vicious slant, shadowy forms like drooping, +dispirited ghosts. The road wound into a gorge where the walls rose +straight, the black and silver of the river curbed between them in +glossy outspreadings and crisp, bubbling flashes. The place was full +of echoes, held there and buffeted from wall to wall as if flying back +and forth in a distracted effort to escape. + +David was driving in the lead, Susan under cover beside him. The +morning's work had exhausted him and he felt ill, so she had promised +to stay with him. She sat close at his back, a blanket drawn over her +knees against the intruding wet, peering out at the darkling cleft. +The wagon, creaking like a ship at sea, threw her this way and that. +Once, as she struck against him he heard her low laugh at his ear. + +"It's like a little earthquake," she said, steadying herself with a +grab at his coat. + +"There must have been a big earthquake here once," he answered. "Look +at the rocks. They've been split as if a great force came up from +underneath and burst them open." + +She craned her head forward to see and he looked back at her. Her face +was close to his shoulder, glowing with the dampness. It shone against +the shadowed interior rosily fresh as a child's. Her eyes, clear black +and white, were the one sharp note in its downy softness. He could see +the clean upspringing of her dark lashes, the little whisps of hair +against her temple and ear. He could not look away from her. The +grinding and slipping of the horses' hoofs did not reach his senses, +held captive in a passionate observation. + +"You don't curl your hair any more?" he said, and the intimacy of this +personal query added to his entrancement. + +She glanced quickly at him and broke into shamefaced laughter. A +sudden lurch threw her against him and she clutched his arm. + +"Oh, David," she said, gurgling at the memory. "Did _you_ know that? +I curled it for three nights on bits of paper that I tore out of the +back of father's diary. And now I don't care what it looks like. See +how I've changed!" + +And she leaned against him, holding the arm and laughing at her past +frivolity. His eyes slid back to the horses, but he did not see them. +With a slight, listening smile he gave himself up to the intoxication +of the moment, feeling the pressure of her body soft against his arm. + +The reins which hung loose suddenly jerked through his fingers and the +mare fell crashing to her knees. She was down before he knew it, head +forward, and then with a quivering subsidence, prone in a tangle of +torn harness. He urged her up with a jerked rein, she made a +struggling effort, but fell back, and a groan, singularly human in its +pain, burst from her. The wagon behind pounded almost on them, the +mules crowding against each other. Daddy John's voice rising in a +cracked hail. Courant and Leff came up from the rear, splashing +through the river. + +"What's happened?" said the former. + +"It's Bess," said David, his face pallid with contrition. "I hope to +God she's not hurt. Up, Bess, there! Up on your feet, old girl!" + +At her master's voice the docile brute made a second attempt to rise, +but again sank down, her sides panting, her head strained up. + +Leff leaped off his horse. + +"Damn her, I'll make her get up," he said, and gave her a violent kick +on the ribs. The mare rolled an agonized eye upon him, and with a +sudden burst of fury he rained kick after kick on her face. + +David gave a strange sound, a pinched, thin cry, as if wrung from him +by unbearable suffering, and leaped over the wheel. He struck Leff on +the chest, a blow so savage and unexpected that it sent him staggering +back into the stream, where, his feet slipping among the stones, he +fell sprawling. + +"Do that again and I'll kill you," David cried, and moving to the horse +stood over it with legs spread and fists clinched for battle. + +Leff scrambled to his knees, his face ominous, and Courant, who had +been looking at the mare, apparently indifferent to the quarrel, now +slipped to the ground. + +"Let that hound alone," he said. "I'm afraid it's all up with Bess." + +David turned and knelt beside her, touching her with hands so tremulous +he could hardly direct them. His breath came in gasps, he was shaken +and blinded with passion, high-pitched and nerve-wracking as a woman's. + +Leff rose, volleying curses. + +"Here you," Courant shifted a hard eye on him, "get out. Get on your +horse and go," then turning to Bess, "Damn bad luck if we got to lose +her." + +Leff stood irresolute, his curses dying away in smothered mutterings. +His skin was gray, a trickle of blood ran down from a cut on his neck, +his face showed an animal ferocity, dark and lowering as the front of +an angry bull. With a slow lift of his head he looked at Susan, who +was still in the wagon. She met the glance stonily with eyes in which +her dislike had suddenly crystallized into open abhorrence. She gave a +jerk of her head toward his horse, a movement of contemptuous command, +and obeying it he mounted and rode away. + +She joined the two men, who were examining Bess, now stretched +motionless and uttering pitiful sounds. David had the head, bruised +and torn by Leff's kicks, on his knees, while Courant with expert hands +searched for her hurt. It was not hard to find. The left foreleg had +been broken at the knee, splinters of bone penetrating the skin. There +was nothing to do with Bess but shoot her, and Courant went back for +his pistols, while Daddy John and the doctor came up to listen with +long faces. It was the first serious loss of the trip. + +Later in the day the rain stopped and the clouds that had sagged low +with its weight, began to dissolve into vaporous lightness, float +airily and disperse. The train debouched from the gorge into one of +the circular meadows and here found Leff lying on a high spot on the +ground, his horse cropping the grass near him. He made no remark, and +as they came to a halt and began the work of camping, he continued to +lie without moving or speaking, his eyes fixed on the mountains. + +These slowly unveiled themselves, showing in patches of brilliant color +through rents in the mist which drew off lingeringly, leaving filaments +caught delicately in the heights. The sky broke blue behind them, and +clarified by the rain, the shadows brimmed high in the clefts. The low +sun shot its beams across the meadow, leaving it untouched, and +glittering on the remote, immaculate summits. + +In exhaustion the camp lay resting, tents unpitched, the animals nosing +over the grass. David and Daddy John slept a dead sleep rolled in +blankets on the teeming ground. Courant built a fire, called Susan to +it, and bade her dry her wet skirts. He lay near it, not noticing her, +his glance ranging the distance. The line of whitened peaks began to +take on a golden glaze, and the shadows in the hollow mounted till the +camp seemed to be at the bottom of a lake in which a tide of some gray, +transparent essence was rising. + +"That's where Lucy's gone," he said suddenly without moving his head. + +Susan's eyes followed his. + +"Poor Lucy!" she sighed. + +"Why is she poor?" + +"Why?" indignantly. "What a question!" + +"But why do you call her poor? Is it because she has no money?" + +"Of course not. Who was thinking of money? I meant she was +unfortunate to run away to such a life with a half-breed." + +"She's gone out into the mountains with her lover. I don't call that +unfortunate, and I'll bet you she doesn't. She was brave enough to +take her life when it came. She was a gallant girl, that Lucy." + +"I suppose that's what you'd think." + +And in scorn of more words she gave her attention to her skirt, +spreading its sodden folds to the heat. Courant clasped his hands +behind his head and gazed ruminantly before him. + +"Do you know how she'll live, that 'poor Lucy'?" + +"Like a squaw." + +He was unshaken by her contempt, did not seem to notice it. + +"They'll go by ways that wind deep into the mountains. It's wonderful +there, peaks and peaks and peaks, and down the gorges and up over the +passes, the trails go that only the trappers and the Indians know. +They'll pass lakes as smooth as glass and green as this hollow we're +in. You never saw such lakes, everything's reflected in them like a +mirror. And after a while they'll come to the beaver streams and +Zavier'll set his traps. At night they'll sleep under the stars, great +big stars. Did you ever see the stars at night through the branches of +the pine trees? They look like lanterns. It'll seem to be silent, but +the night will be full of noises, the sounds that come in those wild +places, a wolf howling in the distance, the little secret bubbling of +the spring, and the wind in the pine trees. That's a sad sound, as if +it was coming through a dream." + +The girl stirred and forgot her skirt. The solemn beauty that his +words conjured up called her from her petty irritation. She looked at +the mountains, her face full of a wistful disquiet. + +"And it'll seem as if there was no one else but them in the world. Two +lovers and no one else, between the sunrise and the sunset. There +won't be anybody else to matter, or to look for, or to think about. +Just those two alone, all day by the river where the traps are set and +at night under the blanket in the dark of the trees." + +Susan said nothing. For some inexplicable reason her spirits sank and +she felt a bleak loneliness. A sense of insignificance fell heavily +upon her, bearing down her high sufficiency, making her feel that she +was a purposeless spectator on the outside of life. She struggled +against it, struggled back toward cheer and self-assertion, and in her +effort to get back, found herself seeking news of less picturesque +moments in Lucy's lot. + +"But the winter," she said in a small voice like a pleading child's, +"the winter won't be like that?" + +"When the winter comes Zavier'll build a hut. He'll make it out of +small trees, long and thin, bent round with their tops stuck in the +ground, and he'll thatch it with skins, and spread buffalo robes on the +floor of it. There'll be a hole for the smoke to get out, and near the +door'll be his graining block and stretching frame to cure his skins. +On a tree nearby he'll hang his traps, and there'll be a brace of +elkhorns fastened to another tree that they'll use for a rack to hang +the meat and maybe their clothes on. They'll have some coffee and +sugar and salt. That's all they'll need in the way of eatables, for +he'll shoot all the game they want, _les aliments du pays_, as the fur +men call it. It'll be cold, and maybe for months they'll see no one. +But what will it matter? They'll have each other, snug and warm way +off there in the heart of the mountains, with the big peaks looking +down at them. Isn't that a good life for a man and a woman?" + +She did not answer, but sat as if contemplating the picture with fixed, +far-seeing gaze. He raised himself on his elbow and looked at her. + +"Could you do that, little lady?" he said. + +"No," she answered, beating down rebellious inner whisperings. + +"Wouldn't you follow David that way?" + +"David wouldn't ask it. No civilized man would." + +"No, David wouldn't," he said quietly. + +She glanced quickly at him. Did she hear the note of mockery which she +sensed whenever he alluded to her lover? She was ready at once to take +up arms for David, but the face opposite was devoid of any expression +save an intent, expectant interest. She dropped her eyes to her dress, +perturbed by the closeness of her escape from a foolish exhibition +which would have made her ridiculous. She always felt with Courant +that she would be swept aside as a trivial thing if she lost her +dignity. He watched her and she grew nervous, plucking at her skirt +with an uncertain hand. + +"I wonder if you could?" he said after a pause. + +"Of course not," she snapped. + +"Aren't you enough of a woman?" + +"I'm not enough of a fool." + +"Aren't all women in love fools--anyway for a while?" + +She made no answer, and presently he said, his voice lowered: + +"Not enough of a woman to know how to love a man. Doesn't even for a +moment understand it. It's 'poor Susan.'" + +Fury seized her, for she had not guessed where he was leading her, and +now saw herself not only shorn of her dignity but shorn of her woman's +prerogative of being able to experience a mad and unreasonable passion. + +"You're a liar," she burst out before she knew what words were coming. + +"Then you think you could?" he asked without the slightest show of +surprise at her violence, apparently only curious. + +"Don't I?" she cried, ready to proclaim that she would follow David to +destruction and death. + +"I don't know," he answered. "I've been wondering." + +"What business have you got to wonder about me?" + +"None--but," he leaned toward her, "you can't stop me doing that, +little lady; that's one of the things you _can't_ control." + +For a moment they eyed each other, glance held glance in a smoldering +challenge. The quizzical patronage had gone from his, the gleam of a +subdued defiance taken its place. Hers was defiant too, but it was +openly so, a surface thing that she had raised like a defense in haste +and tremor to hide weakness. + +David moved in his blanket, yawned and threw out a languid hand. She +leaped to her feet and ran to him. + +"David, are you better?" she cried, kneeling beside him. "Are you +better, dear?" + +He opened his eyes, blinking, saw the beloved face, and smiled. + +"All right," he said sleepily. "I was only tired." + +She lifted one of the limp hands and pressed it to her cheek. + +"I've been so worried about you," she purred. "I couldn't put my mind +on anything else. I haven't known what I was saying, I've been so +worried." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +South Pass, that had been pictured in their thoughts as a cleft between +snow-crusted summits, was a wide, gentle incline with low hills sweeping +up on either side. From here the waters ran westward, following the sun. +Pacific Spring seeped into the ground in an oasis of green whence +whispering threads felt their way into the tawny silence and subdued by +its weight lost heart and sank into the unrecording earth. + +Here they found the New York Company and a Mormon train filling up their +water casks and growing neighborly in talk of Sublette's cut off and the +route by the Big and Little Sandy. A man was a man even if he was a +Mormon, and in a country so intent on its own destiny, so rapt in the +calm of contemplation, he took his place as a human unit on whom his +creed hung like an unnoticed tag. + +They filled their casks, visited in the two camps, and then moved on. +Plain opened out of plain in endless rotation, rings of sun-scorched +earth brushed up about the horizon in a low ridge like the raised rim on +a plate. In the distance the thin skein of a water course drew an +intricate pattern that made them think of the thread of slime left by a +wandering snail. In depressions where the soil was webbed with cracks, a +livid scurf broke out as if the face of the earth were scarred with the +traces of inextinguishable foulness. An even subdual of tint marked it +all. White had been mixed on the palette whence the colors were drawn. +The sky was opaque with it; it had thickened the red-browns and yellows +to ocher and pale shades of putty. Nothing moved and there were no +sounds, only the wheeling sun changed the course of the shadows. In the +morning they slanted from the hills behind, eagerly stretching after the +train, straining to overtake and hold it, a living plaything in this +abandoned land. At midday a blot of black lay at the root of every sage +brush. At evening each filigreed ridge, each solitary cone rising +detached in the sealike circle of its loneliness, showed a slant of +amethyst at its base, growing longer and finer, tapering prodigiously, +and turning purple as the earth turned orange. + +There was little speech in the moving caravan. With each day their words +grew fewer, their laughter and light talk dwindled. Gradual changes had +crept into the spirit of the party. Accumulations of habit and custom +that had collected upon them in the dense life of towns were dropping +away. As the surface refinements of language were dying, so their faces +had lost a certain facile play of expression. Delicate nuances of +feeling no longer showed, for they no longer existed. Smiles had grown +rarer, and harder characteristics were molding their features into +sterner lines. The acquired deceptiveness of the world of men was +leaving them. Ugly things that they once would have hidden cropped out +unchecked by pride or fear of censure. They did not care. There was no +standard, there was no public opinion. Life was resolving itself into a +few great needs that drove out all lesser and more delicate desires. +Beings of a ruder make were usurping their bodies. The primitive man in +them was rising to meet the primitive world. + +In the young girl the process of elimination was as rapid if not as +radical as in the case of the men. She was unconsciously ridding herself +of all that hampered and made her unfit. From the soft feminine tissue, +intricacies of mood and fancy were being obliterated. Rudimentary +instincts were developing, positive and barbaric as a child's. In the +old days she had been dainty about her food. Now she cooked it in +blackened pans and ate with the hunger of the men. Sleep, that once had +been an irksome and unwelcome break between the pleasures of well-ordered +days, was a craving that she satisfied, unwashed, often half-clad. In +Rochester she had spent thought and time upon her looks, had stood before +her mirror matching ribbons to her complexion, wound and curled her hair +in becoming ways. Now her hands, hardened and callous as a boy's, were +coarse-skinned with broken nails, sometimes dirty, and her hair hung +rough from the confining teeth of a comb and a few bent pins. When in +flashes of retrospect she saw her old self, this pampered self of crisp +fresh frocks and thoughts moving demurely in the narrow circle of her +experience, it did not seem as if it could be the same Susan Gillespie. + +All that made up the little parcel of her personality seemed gone. In +those days she had liked this and wanted that and forgotten and wanted +something else. Rainy weather had sent its ashen sheen over her spirit, +and her gladness had risen to meet the sun. She remembered the sudden +sweeps of depression that had clouded her horizon when she had drooped in +an unintelligible and not entirely disagreeable melancholy, and the +contrasting bursts of gayety when she laughed at anything and loved +everybody. Hours of flitting fancies flying this way and that, hovering +over chance incidents that were big by contrast with the surrounding +uneventfulness, the idleness of dropped hands and dreaming eyes, the +charmed peerings into the future--all were gone. Life had seized her in +a mighty grip, shaken her free of it all, and set her down where she felt +only a few imperious sensations, hunger, fatigue, fear of danger, love of +her father, and-- She pulled her thoughts to obedience with a sharp jerk +and added--love of David and hatred of Courant. + +These two latter facts stood out sentinel-wise in the foreground. In the +long hours on horseback she went over them like a lesson she was trying +to learn. She reviewed David's good points, dwelt on them, held them up +for her admiration, and told herself no girl had ever had a finer or more +gallant lover. She was convinced of it and was quite ready to convince +anybody who denied it. Only when her mental vision--pressed on by some +inward urge of obscure self-distrust--carried her forward to that future +with David in the cabin in California, something in her shrank and +failed. Her thought leaped back as from an abhorrent contact, and her +body, caught by some mysterious internal qualm, felt limp and faintly +sickened. + +She dwelt even more persistently on Courant's hatefulness, impressed upon +herself his faults. He was hard and she had seen him brutal, a man +without feeling, as he had shown when the Mormon boy died, a harsh and +remorseless leader urging them on, grudging them even their seventh day +rest, deaf to their protests, lashing them forward with contempt of their +weakness. This was above and apart from his manner to her. That she +tried to feel was a small, personal matter, but, nevertheless, it stung, +did not cease to sting, and left an unhealed sore to rankle in her pride. +He did not care to hide that he held her cheaply, as a useless futile +thing. Once she had heard him say to Daddy John, "It's the women in the +train that make the trouble. They're always in the way." And she was +the only woman. She would like to see him conquered, beaten, some of his +heady confidence stricken out of him, and when he was humbled have stood +by and smiled at his humiliation. + +So she passed over the empty land under the empty sky, a particle of +matter carrying its problem with it. + +It was late afternoon when they encamped by the Big Sandy. The march had +been distressful, bitter in their mouths with the clinging clouds of +powdered alkali, their heads bowed under the glaring ball of the sun. +All day the circling rim of sky line had weaved up and down, undulating +in the uncertainty of the mirage, the sage had blotted into indistinct +seas that swam before their strained vision. When the river cleft showed +in black tracings across the distance, they stiffened and took heart, +coolness and water were ahead. It was all they had hope or desire for +just then. At the edge of the clay bluff, they dipped and poured down a +corrugated gully, the dust sizzling beneath the braked wheels, the +animals, the smell of water in their nostrils, past control. The impetus +of the descent carried them into the chill, purling current. Man and +beast plunged in, laved in it, drank it, and then lay by it resting, +spent and inert. + +They camped where a grove of alders twinkled in answer to the swift, +telegraphic flashes of the stream. Under these the doctor pitched his +tents, the hammering of the pegs driving through the sounds of man's +occupation into the quietude that lapped them like sleeping tides. The +others hung about the center of things where wagons and mess chests, pans +and fires, made the nucleus of the human habitation. + +Susan, sitting on a box, with a treasure of dead branches at her feet, +waited yet a space before setting them in the fire form. She was sunk in +the apathy of the body surrendered to restoring processes. The men's +voices entered the channels of her ears and got no farther. Her vision +acknowledged the figure of Leff nearby sewing up a rent in his coat, but +her brain refused to accept the impression. Her eye held him in a heavy +vacuity, watched with a trancelike fixity his careful stitches and the +armlong stretch of the drawn thread. + +Had she shifted it a fraction, it would have encountered David squatting +on the bank washing himself. His long back, the red shirt drawn taut +across its bowed outline, showed the course of his spine in small regular +excrescences. The water that he raised in his hands and rinsed over his +face and neck made a pleasant, clean sound, that her ear noted with the +other sounds. Somewhere behind her Daddy John and Courant made a noise +with skillets and picket pins and spoke a little, a sentence mutteringly +dropped and monosyllabically answered. + +David turned a streaming face over his shoulder, blinking through the +water. The group he looked at was as idyllically peaceful as wayfarers +might be after the heat and burden of the day. Rest, fellowship, a +healthy simplicity of food and housing were all in the picture either +visibly or by implication. + +"Throw me the soap, Leff," he called, "I forgot it." + +The soap lay on the top of a meal sack, a yellow square, placed there by +David on his way to the water. It shone between Susan and Leff, standing +forth as a survival of a pampered past. Susan's eye shifted toward it, +fastened on it, waiting for Leff's hand to come and bear it away. But +the hand executed no such expected maneuver. It planted the needle +deliberately, pushed it through, drew it out with its long tail of +thread. Surprise began to dispel her lethargy. Her eye left the soap, +traveled at a more sprightly speed back to Leff, lit on his face with a +questioning intelligence. + +David called again. + +"Hurry up. I want to light the fire." + +Leff took another considered stitch. + +"I don't know where it is," he answered without looking up. + +The questioning of Susan's glance became accusative. + +"It's there beside you on the meal sack," she said. "Throw it to him." + +Leff raised his head and looked at her. His eyes were curiously pale and +wide. She could see the white round the fixed pupil. + +"Do it yourself," he answered, his tone the lowest that could reach her. +"Do it or go to Hell." + +She rested without movement, her mouth falling slightly open. For the +moment there was a stoppage of all feeling but amazement, which invaded +her till she seemed to hold nothing else. David's voice came from a far +distance, as if she had floated away from him and it was a cord jerking +her back to her accustomed place. + +"Hurry up," it called. "It's right there beside you." + +Leff threw down his sewing and leaped to his feet. Leaning against the +bank behind him was his gun, newly cleaned and primed. + +"Get it yourself and be d--d to you!" he roared. + +The machinery of action stopped as though by the breaking of a spring. +Their watches ticked off a few seconds of mind paralysis in which there +was no expectancy or motive power, all action inhibited. Sight was all +they used for those seconds. Leff spoke first, the only one among them +whose thinking process had not been snapped: + +"If you keep on shouting for me to do your errands, I'll show you"--he +snatched up the gun and brought it to his shoulder with a lightning +movement--"I'll send you where you can't order me round--you and this +d--d ------ here." + +The inhibition was lifted and the three men rushed toward him. Daddy +John struck up the gun barrel with a tent pole. The charge passed over +David's head, spat in the water beyond, the report crackling sharp in the +narrow ravine. David staggered, the projection of smoke reaching out +toward him, his hands raised to ward it off, not knowing whether he was +hurt or not. + +"That's a great thing to do," he cried, dazed, and stubbing his foot on a +stone stumbled to his knees. + +The two others fell on Leff. Susan saw the gun ground into the dust +under their trampling feet and Leff go down on top of it. Daddy John's +tent pole battered at him, and Courant on him, a writhing body, grappled +and wrung at his throat. The doctor came running from the trees, the +hammer in his hand, and Susan grabbed at the descending pole, screaming: + +"You're killing him. Father, stop them. They'll murder him." + +The sight of his Missy clinging to the pole brought the old man to his +senses, but it took David and the doctor to drag Courant away. For a +moment they were a knot of struggling bodies, from which oaths and +sobbing breaths broke. Upright he shook them off and backed toward the +bank, leaving them looking at him, all expectant. He growled a few +broken words, his face white under the tan, the whole man shaken by a +passion so transforming that they forgot the supine figure and stood +alert, ready to spring upon him. He made a movement of his head toward +Leff. + +"Why didn't you let me kill him?" he said huskily. + +It broke the tension. Their eyes dropped to Leff, who lay motionless and +unconscious, blood on his lips, a slip of white showing under his +eyelids. The doctor dropped on his knees beside him and opened his +shirt. Daddy John gave him an investigating push with the tent pole, and +David eyed him with an impersonal, humane concern. Only Susan's glance +remained on Courant, unfaltering as the beam of a fixed star. + +His savage excitement was on the ebb. He pulled his hunting shirt into +place and felt along his belt for his knife, while his broad breast rose +like a wave coming to its breakage then dropped as the wave drops into +its hollow. The hand he put to his throat to unfasten the band of his +shirt shook, it had difficulty in manipulating the button, and he ran his +tongue along his dried lips. She watched every movement, to the outward +eye like a child fascinated by an unusual and terrifying spectacle. But +her gaze carried deeper than the perturbed envelope. She looked through +to the man beneath, felt an exultation in his might, knew herself kindred +with him, fed by the same wild strain. + +His glance moved, touched the unconscious man at his feet, then lifting +met hers. Eye held eye. In each a spark leaped, ran to meet its +opposing spark and flashed into union. + +When she looked down again the group of figures was dim. Their talk came +vaguely to her, like the talk of men in a dream. David was explaining. +Daddy John made a grimace at him which was a caution to silence. The +doctor had not heard and was not to hear the epithet that had been +applied to his daughter. + +"He's sun mad," the old man said. "Half crazy. I've seen 'em go that +way before. How'll he get through the desert I'm asking you?" + +There were some contusions on the head that looked bad, the doctor said, +but nothing seemed to be broken. He'd been half strangled; they'd have +to get him into the wagon. + +"Leave him at Fort Bridger," came Courant's voice through the haze. +"Leave him there to rot." + +The doctor answered in the cold tones of authority: + +"We'll take him with us as we agreed in the beginning. Because he +happens not to be able to stand it, it's not for us to abandon him. It's +a physical matter--sun and hard work and irritated nerves. Take a hand +and help me lift him into the wagon." + +They hoisted him in and disposed him on a bed of buffalo robes spread on +sacks. He groaned once or twice, then settled on the softness of the +skins, gazing at them with blood-shot eyes of hate. When the doctor +offered him medicine, he struck the tin, sending its contents flying. +However serious his hurts were they had evidently not mitigated the +ferocity of his mood. + +For the three succeeding days he remained in the wagon, stiff with +bruises and refusing to speak. Daddy John was detailed to take him his +meals, and the doctor dressed his wounds and tried to find the cause of +his murderous outburst. But Leff was obdurate. He would express no +regret for his action, and would give no reason for it. Once when the +questioner asked him if he hated David, he said "Yes." But to the +succeeding, "Why did he?" he offered no explanation, said he "didn't know +why." + +"Hate never came without a reason," said the physician, curious and +puzzled. "Has David wronged you in any way?" + +"What's that to you?" answered the farm boy. "I can hate him if I like, +can't I?" + +"Not in my train." + +"Well there are other trains where the men aren't all fools, and the +women----" + +He stopped. The doctor's eye held him with a warning gleam. + +"I don't know what's the matter with that boy," he said afterwards in the +evening conference. "I can't get at him." + +"Sun mad," Daddy John insisted. + +Courant gave a grunt that conveyed disdain of a question of such small +import. + +David couldn't account for it at all. + +Susan said nothing. + +At Green River the Oregon Trail broke from the parent road and slanted +off to the northwest. Here the Oregon companies mended their wagons and +braced their yokes for the long pull across the broken teeth of mountains +to Fort Hall, and from there onward to the new country of great rivers +and virgin forests. A large train was starting as the doctor's wagons +came down the slope. There was some talk, and a little bartering between +the two companies, but time was precious, and the head of the Oregon +caravan had begun to roll out when the California party were raising +their tents on the river bank. + +It was a sere and sterile prospect. Drab hills rolled in lazy waves +toward the river where they reared themselves into bolder forms, a line +of ramparts guarding the precious thread of water. The sleek, greenish +current ate at the roots of lofty bluffs, striped by bands of umber and +orange, and topped with out-croppings of rock as though a vanished race +had crowned them with now crumbling fortresses. At their feet, sucking +life from the stream, a fringe of alder and willows decked the sallow +landscape with a trimming of green. + +Here the doctor's party camped for the night, rising in the morning to +find a new defection in their ranks. Leff had gone. Nailed to the mess +chest was a slip of paper on which he had traced a few words announcing +his happiness to be rid of them, his general dislike of one and all, and +his intention to catch up the departed train and go to the Oregon +country. This was just what they wanted, the desired had been +accomplished without their intervention. But when they discovered that, +beside his own saddle horse, he had taken David's, their gladness +suffered a check. It was a bad situation, for it left the young man with +but one horse, the faithful Ben. There was nothing for it but to abandon +the wagon, and give David the doctor's extra mount for a pack animal. +With silent pangs the student saw his books thrown on the banks of the +river while his keg of whisky, sugar and coffee were stored among the +Gillespies' effects. Then they started, a much diminished train--one +wagon, a girl, and three mounted men. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +It was Sunday afternoon, and the doctor and his daughter were sitting +by a group of alders on the banks of the little river called Ham's +Fork. On the uplands above, the shadows were lengthening, and at +intervals a light air caught up swirls of dust and carried them +careening away in staggering spirals. + +The doctor was tired and lay stretched on the ground. He looked +bloodless and wan, the grizzled beard not able to hide the thinness of +his face. The healthful vigor he had found on the prairie had left +him, each day's march claiming a dole from his hoarded store of +strength. He knew--no one else--that he had never recovered the +vitality expended at the time of Bella's illness. The call then had +been too strenuous, the depleted reservoir had filled slowly, and now +the demands of unremitting toil were draining it of what was left. He +said nothing of this, but thought much in his feverish nights, and in +the long afternoons when his knees felt weak against the horse's sides. +As the silence of each member of the little train was a veil over +secret trouble, his had hidden the darkest, the most sinister. + +Susan, sitting beside him, watching him with an anxious eye, noted the +languor of his long, dry hands, the network of lines, etched deep on +the loose skin of his cheeks. Of late she had been shut in with her +own preoccupations, but never too close for the old love and the old +habit to force a way through. She had seen a lessening of energy and +spirit, asked about it, and received the accustomed answers that came +with the quick, brisk cheeriness that now had to be whipped up. She +had never seen his dauntless belief in life shaken. Faith and a +debonair courage were his message. They were still there, but the +effort of the unbroken spirit to maintain them against the body's +weakness was suddenly revealed to her and the pathos of it caught at +her throat. She leaned forward and passed her hand over his hair, her +eyes on his face in a long gaze of almost solemn tenderness. + +"You're worn out," she said. + +"Not a bit of it," he answered stoutly. "You're the most +uncomplimentary person I know. I was just thinking what a hardy +pioneer I'd become, and that's the way you dash me to the ground." + +She looked at the silvery meshes through which her fingers were laced. + +"It's quite white and there were lots of brown hairs left when we +started." + +"That's the Emigrant Trail," he smothered a sigh, and his trouble found +words: "It's not for old men, Missy." + +"Old!" scornfully; "you're fifty-three. That's only thirty-two years +older than I am. When I'm fifty-three you'll be eighty-five. Then +we'll begin to talk about your being old." + +"My little Susan fifty-three!" He moved his head so that he could +command her face and dwell upon its blended bloom of olive and clear +rose, "With wrinkles here and here," an indicating finger helped him, +"and gray hairs all round here, and thick eyebrows, and--" he dropped +the hand and his smile softened to reminiscence, "It was only yesterday +you were a baby, a little, fat, crowing thing all creases and dimples. +Your mother and I used to think everything about you so wonderful that +we each secretly believed--and we'd tell each other so when nobody was +round--that there _had_ been other babies in the world, but never +before one like ours. I don't know but what I think that yet." + +"Silly old doctor-man!" she murmured. + +"And now my baby's a woman with all of life before her. From where you +are it seems as if it was never going to end, but when you get where I +am and begin to look back, you see that it's just a little journey over +before you've got used to the road and struck your gait. We ought to +have more time. The first half's just learning and the second's where +we put the learning into practice. And we're busy over that when we +have to go. It's too short." + +"Our life's going to be long. Out in California we're going to come +into a sort of second childhood, be perennials like those larkspurs I +had in the garden at home." + +They were silent, thinking of the garden behind the old house in +Rochester with walks outlined by shells and edged by long flower beds. +The girl looked back on it with a detached interest as an unregretted +feature of a past existence in which she had once played her part and +that was cut from the present by a chasm never to be bridged. The man +held it cherishingly as one of many lovely memories that stretched from +this river bank in a strange land back through the years, a link in the +long chain. + +"Wasn't it pretty!" she said dreamily, "with the line of hollyhocks +against the red brick wall, and the big, bushy pine tree in the corner. +Everything was bright except that tree." + +His eyes narrowed in wistful retrospect: + +"It was as if all the shadows in the garden had concentrated +there--huddled together in one place so that the rest could be full of +color and sunshine. And when Daddy John and I wanted to cut it down +you wouldn't let us, cried and stamped, and so, of course, we gave it +up. I actually believe you had a sentiment about that tree." + +"I suppose I had, though I don't know exactly what you mean by a +sentiment. I loved it because I'd once had such a perfect time up +there among the branches. The top had been cut off and a ring of +boughs was left round the place, and it made the most comfortable seat, +almost like a cradle. One day you went to New York and when you came +back you brought me a box of candy. Do you remember it--burnt almonds +and chocolate drops with a dog painted on the cover? Well, I wanted to +get them at their very best, enjoy them as much as I could, so I +climbed to the seat in the top of the pine and ate them there. I can +remember distinctly how lovely it was. They tasted better than any +candies I've ever had before or since, and I leaned back on the boughs, +rocking and eating and looking at the clouds and feeling the wind +swaying the trunk. I can shut my eyes and feel again the sense of +being entirely happy, sort of limp and forgetful and _so_ contented. I +don't know whether it was only the candies, or a combination of things +that were just right that day and never combined the same way again. +For I tried it often afterwards, with cake and fruit tart and other +candies, but it was no good. But I couldn't have the tree cut down, +for there was always a hope that I might get the combination right and +have that perfectly delightful time once more." + +The doctor's laughter echoed between the banks, and hers fell in with +it, though she had told her story with the utmost sedateness. + +"Was there ever such a materialist?" he chuckled. "It all rose from a +box of New York candy, and I thought it was sentiment. Twenty-one +years old and the same baby, only not quite so fat." + +"Well, it was the truth," she said defensively. "I suppose if I'd left +the candy out it would have sounded better." + +"Don't leave the candy out. It was the candy and the truth that made +it all Susan's." + +She picked up a stone and threw it in the river, then as she watched +its splash: "Doesn't it seem long ago when we were in Rochester?" + +"We left there in April and this is June." + +"Yes, a short time in weeks, but some way or other it seems like ages. +When I think of it I feel as if it was at the other side of the world, +and I'd grown years and years older since we left. If I go on this way +I'll be fully fifty-three when we get to California." + +"What's made you feel so old?" + +"I don't exactly know. I don't think it's because we've gone over so +much space, but that has something to do with it. It seems as if the +change was more in me." + +"How have you changed?" + +She gathered up the loose stones near her and dropped them from palm to +palm, frowning a little in an effort to find words to clothe her vague +thought. + +"I don't know that either, or I can't express it. I liked things there +that I don't care for any more. They were such babyish things and +amounted to nothing, but they seemed important then. Now nothing seems +important but things that are--the things that would be on a desert +island. And in getting to think that way, in getting so far from what +you once were, a person seems to squeeze a good many years into a few +weeks." She looked sideways at him, the stones dropping from a +slanting palm. "Do you understand me?" + +He nodded: + +"'When I was a child I thought as a child--now I have put away childish +things.' Is that it?" + +"Yes, exactly." + +"Then you wouldn't like to go back to the old life?" + +She scattered the stones with an impatient gesture: + +"I couldn't. I'd hate it. I wouldn't squeeze back into the same +shape. I'd be all cramped and crowded up. You see every day out here +I've been growing wider and wider," she stretched her arms to their +length, "widening out to fit these huge, enormous places." + +"The new life will be wide enough for you. You'll grow like a tree, a +beautiful, tall, straight tree that has plenty of room for its branches +to spread and plenty of sun and air to nourish it. There'll be no +crowding or cramping out there. It's good to know you'll be happy in +California. In the beginning I had fears." + +She picked up a stone and with its pointed edge drew lines on the dust +which seemed to interest her, for she followed them with intent eyes, +not answering. He waited for a moment, then said with an undernote of +pleading in his voice, "You think you will be happy, dearie?" + +"I--I--don't--know," she stammered. "Nobody can tell. We're not there +yet." + +"I can tell." He raised himself on his elbow to watch her face. She +knew that he expected to see the maiden's bashful happiness upon it, +and the difference between his fond imaginings and the actual facts +sickened her with an intolerable sense of deception. She could never +tell him, never strike out of him his glad conviction of her +contentment. + +"We're going back to the Golden Age, you and I, and David. We'll live +as we want, not the way other people want us to. When we get to +California we'll build a house somewhere by a river and we'll plant our +seeds and have vines growing over it and a garden in the front, and +Daddy John will break Julia's spirit and harness her to the plow. Then +when the house gets too small--houses have a way of doing that--I'll +build a little cabin by the edge of the river, and you and David will +have the house to yourselves where the old, white-headed doctor won't +be in the way." + +He smiled for the joy of his picture, and she turned her head from him, +seeing the prospect through clouded eyes. + +"You'll never go out of my house," she said in a low voice. + +"Other spirits will come into it and fill it up." + +A wish that anything might stop the slow advance to this roseate future +choked her. She sat with averted face wrestling with her sick +distaste, and heard him say: + +"You don't know how happy you're going to be, my little Missy." + +She could find no answer, and he went on: "You have everything for it, +health and youth and a pure heart and David for your mate." + +She had to speak now and said with urgence, trying to encourage +herself, since no one else could do it for her, + +"But that's all in the future, a long time from now." + +"Not so very long. We ought to be in California in five or six weeks." + +To have the dreaded reality suddenly brought so close, set at the limit +of a few short weeks, grimly waiting at a definite point in the +distance, made her repugnance break loose in alarmed words. + +"Longer than that," she cried. "The desert's the hardest place, and +we'll go slow, very slow, there." + +"You sound as if you wanted to go slow," he answered, his smile +indulgently quizzical, as completely shut away from her, in his man's +ignorance, as though no bond of love and blood held them together. + +"No, no, of course not," she faltered. "But I'm not at all sure we'll +get through it so easily. I'm making allowance for delays. There are +always delays." + +"Yes, there may be delays, but we'll hope to be one of the lucky trains +and get through on time." + +She swallowed dryly, her heart gone down too far to be plucked up by +futile contradition [Transcriber's note: contradiction?]. He mused a +moment, seeking the best method of broaching a subject that had been +growing in his mind for the past week. Frankness seemed the most +simple, and he said: + +"I've something to suggest to you. I've been thinking of it since we +left the Pass. Bridger is a large post. They say there are trains +there from all over the West and people of all sorts, and quite often +there are missionaries." + +"Missionaries?" in a faint voice. + +"Yes, coming in and going out to the tribes of the Northwest. Suppose +we found one there when we arrived?" + +He stopped, watching her. + +"Well?" her eyes slanted sideways in a fixity of attention. + +"Would you marry David? Then we could all go on together." + +Her breath left her and she turned a frightened face on him. + +"Why?" she gasped. "What for?" + +He laid his hand on hers and said quietly: + +"Because, as you say, the hardest part of the journey is yet to come, +and I am--well--not a strong man any more. The trip hasn't done for me +what I hoped. If by some mischance--if anything should happen to +me--then I'd know you'd be taken care of, protected and watched over by +some one who could be trusted, whose right it was to do that." + +"Oh, no. Oh, no," she cried in a piercing note of protest. "I +couldn't, I couldn't." + +She made as if to rise, then sank back, drawn down by his grasping +hand. He thought her reluctance natural, a girl's shrinking at the +sudden intrusion of marriage into the pretty comedy of courtship. + +"Susan, I would like it," he pleaded. + +"No," she tried to pull her hand away, as if wishing to draw every +particle of self together and shut it all within her own protecting +shell. + +"Why not?" + +"It's--it's--I don't want to be married out here in the wilds. I want +to wait and marry as other girls do, and have a real wedding and a +house to go to. I should hate it. I couldn't. It's like a squaw. +You oughtn't to ask it." + +Her terror lent her an unaccustomed subtlety. She eluded the main +issue, seizing on objections that did not betray her, but that were +reasonable, what might have been expected by the most unsuspicious of +men: + +"And as for your being afraid of falling sick in these dreadful places, +isn't that all the more reason why I should be free to give all my time +and thought to you? If you don't feel so strong, then marrying is the +last thing I'd think of doing. I'm going to be with you all the time, +closer than I ever was before. No man's going to come between us. +Marry David and push you off into the background when you're not well +and want me most--that's perfectly ridiculous." + +She meant all she said. It was the truth, but it was the truth +reinforced, given a fourfold strength by her own unwillingness. The +thought that she had successfully defeated him, pushed the marriage +away into an indefinite future, relieved her so that the dread usually +evoked by his ill health was swept aside. She turned on him a face, +once again bright, all clouds withdrawn, softened into dimpling +reassurance. + +"What an idea!" she said. "Men have no sense." + +"Very well, spoiled girl. I suppose we'll have to put it off till we +get to California." + +She dropped back full length on the ground, and in the expansion of her +relief laid her cheek against the hand that clasped hers. + +"And until we get the house built," she cried, beginning to laugh. + +"And the garden laid out and planted, I suppose?" + +"Of course. And the vines growing over the front porch." + +"Why not over the second story? We'll have a second story by that +time." + +"Over the whole house, up to the chimneys." + +They both laughed, a cheerful bass and a gay treble, sweeping out +across the unquiet water. + +"It's going to be the Golden Age," she said, in the joy of her respite +pressing her lips on the hand she held. "A cottage covered with vines +to the roof and you and I and Daddy John inside it." + +"And David, don't forget David." + +"Of course, David," she assented lightly, for David's occupancy was +removed to a comfortable distance. + +After supper she and David climbed to the top of the bank to see the +sunset. The breeze had dropped, the dust devils died with it. The +silence of evening lay like a cool hand on the heated earth. Dusk was +softening the hard, bright colors, wiping out the sharpness of +stretching shadows the baked reflection of sun on clay. The West +blazed above the mountains, but the rest of the sky was a thick, pure +blue. Against it to the South, a single peak rose, snow-enameled on a +turquoise background. + +Susan felt at peace with the moment and her own soul. She radiated the +good humor of one who has faced peril and escaped. Having postponed +the event that was to make her David's forever, she felt bound to offer +recompense. Her conscience went through one of those processes by +which the consciences of women seek ease through atonement, prompting +them to actions of a baleful kindliness. Contrition made her tender to +the man she did not love. The thought that she had been unfair added a +cruel sweetness to her manner. + +He lay on the edge of the bluff beside her, not saying much, for it was +happiness to feel her within touch of his hand, amiable and gentle as +she had been of late. It would have taken an eye shrewder than David's +to have seen into the secret springs of her conduct. He only knew that +she had been kinder, friendlier, less withdrawn into the sanctuary of +her virgin coldness, round which in the beginning he had hovered. His +heart was high, swelled by the promise of her beaming looks and ready +smiles. At last, in this drama of slow winning she was drawing closer, +shyly melting, her whims and perversities mellowing to the rich, sweet +yielding of the ultimate surrender. + +"We ought to be at Fort Bridger now in a few days," he said. "Courant +says if all goes well we can make it by Thursday and of course he +knows." + +"Courant!" she exclaimed with the familiar note of scorn. "He knows a +little of everything, doesn't he?" + +"Why don't you like him, Missy? He's a fine man for the trail." + +"Yes, I dare say he is. But that's not everything." + +"Why don't you like him? Come, tell the truth." + +They had spoken before of her dislike of Courant. She had revealed it +more frankly to David than to anyone else. It was one of the subjects +over which she could become animated in the weariest hour. She liked +to talk to her betrothed about it, to impress it upon him, warming to +an eloquence that allayed her own unrest. + +"I don't know why I don't like him. You can't always tell why you like +or dislike a person. It's just something that comes and you don't know +why." + +"But it seems so childish and unfair. I don't like my girl to be +unfair. Has he ever done anything or said anything to you that +offended you?" + +She gave a petulant movement: "No, but he thinks so much of himself, +and he's hard and has no feeling, and-- Oh, I don't know--it's just +that I don't like him." + +David laughed: + +"It's all prejudice. You can't give any real reason." + +"Of course I can't. Those things don't always have reasons. You're +always asking for reasons and I never have any to give you." + +"I'll have to teach you to have them." + +She looked slantwise at him smiling. "I'm afraid that will be a great +undertaking. I'm very stupid about learning things. You ask father +and Daddy John what a terrible task it was getting me educated. The +only person that didn't bother about it was this one"--she laid a +finger on her chest-- "She never cared in the least." + +"Well I'll begin a second education. When we get settled I'll teach +you to reason." + +"Begin now." She folded her hands demurely in her lap and lifting her +head back laughed: "Here I am waiting to learn." + +"No. We want more time. I'll wait till we're married." + +Her laughter diminished to a smile that lay on her lips, looking stiff +and uncomfortable below the fixity of her eyes. + +"That's such a long way off," she said faintly. + +"Not so very long." + +"Oh, California's hundreds of miles away yet. And then when we get +there we've got to find a place to settle, and till the land, and lay +out the garden and build a house, quite a nice house; I don't want to +live in a cabin. Father and I have just been talking about it. Why +it's months and months off yet." + +He did not answer. She had spoken this way to him before, wafting the +subject away with evasive words. After a pause he said slowly: "Why +need we wait so long?" + +"We must. I'm not going to begin my married life the way the emigrant +women do. I want to live decently and be comfortable." + +He broke a sprig off a sage bush and began to pluck it apart. She had +receded to her defenses and peeped nervously at him from behind them. + +"Fort Bridger," he said, his eyes on the twig, "is a big place, a sort +of rendezvous for all kinds of people." + +She stared at him, her face alert with apprehension, ready to dart into +her citadel and lower the drawbridge. + +"Sometimes there are missionaries stopping there." + +"Missionaries?" she exclaimed in a high key. "I hate missionaries!" + +This was a surprising statement. David knew the doctor to be a +supporter and believer in the Indian missions, and had often heard his +daughter acquiesce in his opinions. + +"Why do you hate them?" + +"I don't know. There's another thing you want a reason for. It's +getting cold up here--let's go down by the fire." + +She gathered herself together to rise, but he turned quickly upon her, +and his face, while it made her shrink, also arrested her. She had +come to dread that expression, persuasion hardened into desperate +pleading. It woke in her a shocked repugnance, as though something had +been revealed to her that she had no right to see. She felt shame for +him, that he must beg where a man should conquer and subdue. + +"Wait a moment," he said. "Why can't one of those missionaries marry +us there?" + +She had scrambled to her knees, and snatched at her skirt preparatory +to the jump to her feet. + +"No," she said vehemently. "No. What's the matter with you all +talking about marriages and missionaries when we're in the middle of +the wilds?" + +"Susan," he cried, catching at her dress, "just listen a moment. I +could take care of you then, take care of you properly. You'd be my +own, to look after and work for. It's seemed to me lately you loved me +enough. I wouldn't have suggested such a thing if you were as you were +in the beginning. But you seem to care now. You seem as if--as if--it +wouldn't be so hard for you to live with me and let me love you." + +She jerked her skirt away and leaped to her feet crying again, "No, +David, no. Not for a minute." + +He rose too, very pale, the piece of sage in his hand shaking. They +looked at each other, the yellow light clear on both faces. Hers was +hard and combative, as if his suggestion had outraged her and she was +ready to fight it. Its expression sent a shaft of terror to his soul, +for with all his unselfishness he was selfish in his man's longing for +her, hungered for her till his hunger had made him blind. Now in a +flash of clairvoyance he saw truly, and feeling the joy of life +slipping from him, faltered: + +"Have I made a mistake? Don't you care?" + +It was her opportunity, she was master of her fate. But her promise +was still a thing that held, the moment had not come when she saw +nothing but her own desire, and to gain it would have sacrificed all +that stood between. His stricken look, his expression of nerving +himself for a blow, pierced her, and her words rushed out in a burst of +contrition. + +"Of course, of course, I do. Don't doubt me. Don't. But-- Oh, +David, don't torment me. Don't ask anything like that now. I can't, I +can't. I'm not ready--not yet." + +Her voice broke and she put her hand to her mouth to hide its +trembling. Over it, her eyes, suddenly brimming with tears, looked +imploringly into his. + +It was a heart-tearing sight to the lover. He forgot himself and, +without knowing what he did, opened his arms to inclose her in an +embrace of pity and remorse. + +"Oh, dearest, I'll never ask it till you're willing to come to me," he +cried, and saw her back away, with upheld shoulders raised in defense +against his hands. + +"I won't touch you," he said, quickly dropping his arms. "Don't draw +back from me. If you don't want it I'll never lay a finger on you." + +The rigidity of her attitude relaxed. She turned away her head and +wiped her tears on the end of the kerchief knotted round her neck. He +stood watching her, struggling with passion and foreboding, reassured +and yet with the memory of the seeing moment, chill at his heart. + +Presently she shot a timid glance at him, and met his eyes resting +questioningly upon her. Her face was tear stained, a slight, +frightened smile on the lips. + +"I'm sorry," she whispered. + +"Susan, do you truly care for me?" + +"Yes," she said, looking down. "Yes--but--let me wait a little while +longer." + +"As long as you like. I'll never ask you to marry me till you say +you're willing." + +She held out her hand shyly, as if fearing a repulse. He took it, and +feeling it relinquished to his with trust and confidence, swore that +never again would he disturb her, never demand of her till she was +ready to give. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Fort Bridger was like a giant magnet perpetually revolving and sweeping +the western half of the country with its rays. They wheeled from the +west across the north over the east and down to the south. Ox teams, +prairie schooners, pack trains, horsemen came to it from the barren +lands that guarded the gates of California, from the tumultuous rivers +and fragrant forests of the Oregon country, from the trapper's paths +and the thin, icy streams of the Rockies, from the plains where the +Platte sung round its sand bars, from the sun-drenched Spanish deserts. +All roads led to it, and down each one came the slow coil of the long +trains and the pacing files of mounted men. Under its walls they +rested and repaired their waste, ere they took the trail again intent +on the nation's work of conquest. + +The fort's centripetal attraction had caught the doctor's party, and +was drawing it to the focus. They reckoned the days on their fingers +and pressed forward with a feverish hurry. They were like wayworn +mariners who sight the lights of a port. Dead desires, revived, blew +into a glow extinguished vanities. They looked at each other, and for +the first time realized how ragged and unkempt they were, then dragged +out best clothes from the bottom of their chests and hung their +looking-glasses to the limbs of trees. They were coming to the surface +after a period of submersion. + +Susan fastened her mirror to the twig on an alder trunk and ransacked +her store of finery. It yielded up a new red merino bodice, and the +occasion was great enough to warrant breaking into her reserve of +hairpins. Then she experimented with her hair, parted and rolled it in +the form that had been the fashion in that long dead past--was it +twenty years ago?--when she had been a girl in Rochester. She +inspected her reflected image with a fearful curiosity, as if expecting +to find gray hairs and wrinkles. It was pleasant to see that she +looked the same--a trifle thinner may be. And as she noted that her +cheeks were not as roundly curved, the fullness of her throat had +melted to a more muscular, less creased and creamy firmness, she felt a +glow of satisfaction. For in those distant days--twenty-five years ago +it must be--she had worried because she was a little _too_ fat. No one +could say that now. She stole a look over her shoulder to make sure +she was not watched--it seemed an absurdly vain thing to do--and turned +back the neck of her blouse. The faintest rise of collar bone showed +under the satiny skin, fine as a magnolia petal, the color of faintly +tinted meerschaum. She ran her hand across it and it was smooth as +curds yielding with an elastic resistance over its bedding of firm +flesh. The young girl's pride in her beauty rose, bringing with it a +sense of surprise. She had thought it gone forever, and now it still +held, the one surviving sensation that connected her with that other +Susan Gillespie who had lived a half century ago in Rochester. + +It was the day after this recrudescence of old coquetry that the first +tragedy of the trail, the tragedy that was hers alone, smote her. + +The march that morning had been over a high level across which they +headed for a small river they would follow to the Fort. Early in the +afternoon they saw its course traced in intricate embroidery across the +earth's leathern carpet. The road dropped into it, the trail grooved +deep between ramparts of clay. On the lip of the descent the wayward +Julia, maddened with thirst, plunged forward, her obedient mates +followed, and the wagon went hurling down the slant, dust rising like +the smoke of an explosion. The men struggled for control and, seized +by the contagion of their excitement, the doctor laid hold of a wheel. +It jerked him from his feet and flung him sprawling, stunned by the +impact, a thin trickle of blood issuing from his lips. The others saw +nothing, in the tumult did not hear Susan's cry. When they came back +the doctor was lying where he had fallen, and she was sitting beside +him wiping his lips with the kerchief she had torn from her neck. She +looked up at them and said: + +"It's a hemorrhage." + +Her face shocked them into an understanding of the gravity of the +accident. It was swept clean of its dauntless, rosy youth, had +stiffened into an unelastic skin surface, taut over rigid muscles. But +her eyes were loopholes through which anguish escaped. Bending them on +her father a hungry solicitude suffused them, too all-pervading to be +denied exit. Turned to the men an agonized questioning took its place. +It spoke to them like a cry, a cry of weakness, a cry for succor. It +was the first admission of their strength she had ever made, the first +look upon them which had said, "You are men, I am a woman. Help me." + +They carried the doctor to the banks of the stream and laid him on a +spread robe. He protested that it was nothing, it had happened before, +several times. Missy would remember it, last winter in Rochester? Her +answering smile was pitiable, a grimace of the lips that went no +farther. She felt its failure and turned away plucking at a weed near +her. Courant saw the trembling of her hand and the swallowing movement +of her throat, bared of its sheltering kerchief. She glanced up with a +stealthy side look, fearful that her moment of weakness was spied upon, +and saw him, the pity surging from his heart shining on his face like a +softening light. She shrank from it, and, as he made an involuntary +step toward her, warned him off with a quick gesture. He turned to the +camp and set furiously to work, his hands shaking as he drove in the +picket pins, his throat dry. He did not dare to look at her again. +The desire to snatch her in his arms, to hold her close till he crushed +her in a passion of protecting tenderness, made him fear to look at +her, to hear her voice, to let the air of her moving body touch him. + +The next morning, while lifting the doctor into the wagon, there was a +second hemorrhage. Even the sick man found it difficult to maintain +his cheery insouciance. Susan looked pinched, her tongue seemed +hardened to the consistency of leather that could not flex for the +ready utterance of words. The entire sum of her consciousness was +focused on her father. "Breakfast?"--with a blank glance at the +speaker--"is it breakfast time?" The men cooked for her and brought +her a cup of coffee and her plate of food. She set them on the +driver's seat, and when the doctor, keeping his head immovable, and +turning smiling eyes upon her, told her to eat she felt for them like a +blind woman. It was hard to swallow the coffee, took effort to force +it down a channel that was suddenly narrowed to a parched, resistent +tube. She would answer no one, seemed to have undergone an ossifying +of all faculties turned to the sounds and sights of life. David +remembered her state when the doctor had been ill on the Platte. But +the exclusion of the outer world was then an obsession of worry, a +jealous distraction, as if she resented the well-being of others when +hers were forced to suffer. This was different. She did not draw away +from him now. She did not seem to see or hear him. Her glance lit +unknowing on his face, her hand lay in his, passive as a thing of +stone. Sometimes he thought she did not know who he was. + +"Can't we do anything to cheer her or take her mind off it?" he said to +Daddy John behind the wagon. + +The old man gave him a glance of tolerant scorn. + +"You can't take a person's mind off the only thing that's in it. She's +got nothing inside her but worry. She's filled up with it, level to +the top. You might as well try and stop a pail from overflowing that's +too full of water." + +They fared on for two interminable, broiling days. The pace was of the +slowest, for a jolt or wrench of the wagon might cause another +hemorrhage. With a cautious observance of stones and chuck holes they +crawled down the road that edged the river. The sun was blinding, +beating on the canvas hood till the girl's face was beaded with sweat, +and the sick man's blankets were hot against the intenser heat of his +body. Outside the world held its breath spellbound in a white dazzle. +The river sparkled like a coat of mail, the only unquiet thing on the +earth's incandescent surface. When the afternoon declined, shadows +crept from the opposite bluffs, slanted across the water, slipped +toward the little caravan and engulfed it. Through the front opening +Susan watched the road. There was a time when each dust ridge showed a +side of bright blue. To half-shut eyes they were like painted stripes +weaving toward the distance. Following them to where the trail bent +round a buttress, her glance brought up on Courant's mounted figure. +He seemed the vanishing point of these converging stripes, the object +they were striving toward, the end they aimed for. Reaching him they +ceased as though they had accomplished their purpose, led the woman's +eyes to him as to a symbolical figure that piloted the train to succor. + +With every hour weakness grew on the doctor, his words were fewer. By +the ending of the first day, he lay silent looking out at the vista of +bluffs and river, his eyes shining in sunken orbits. As dusk fell +Courant dropped back to the wagon and asked Daddy John if the mules +could hold the pace all night. Susan heard the whispered conference, +and in a moment was kneeling on the seat, her hand clutched like a +spread starfish on the old man's shoulder. + +Courant leaned from his saddle to catch the driver's ear with his +lowered tones. "With a forced march we can get there to-morrow +afternoon. The animals can rest up and we can make him comfortable and +maybe find a doctor." + +Her face, lifted to him, was like a transparent medium through which +anxiety and hope that was almost pain, shone. She hung on his words +and breathed back quick agreement. It would have been the same if he +had suggested the impossible, if the angel of the Lord had appeared and +barred the way with a flaming sword. + +"Of course they can go all night. They must. We'll walk and ride by +turns. That'll lighten the wagon. I'll go and get my horse," and she +was out and gone to the back of the train where David rode at the head +of the pack animals. + +The night was of a clear blue darkness, suffused with the misty light +of stars. Looking back, Courant could see her upright slenderness +topping the horse's black shape. When the road lay pale and unshaded +behind her he could decipher the curves of her head and shoulders. +Then he turned to the trail in front, and her face, as it had been when +he first saw her and as it was now, came back to his memory. Once, +toward midnight, he drew up till they reached him, her horse's muzzle +nosing soft against his pony's flank. He could see the gleam of her +eyes, fastened on him, wide and anxious. + +"Get into the wagon and ride," he commanded. + +"Why? He's no worse! He's sleeping." + +"I was thinking of you. This is too hard for you. It'll wear you out." + +"Oh, I'm all right," she said with a slight movement of impatience. +"Don't worry about me. Go on." + +He returned to his post and she paced slowly on, keeping level with the +wheels. It was very still, only the creaking of the wagon and the hoof +beats on the dust. She kept her eyes on his receding shape, watched it +disappear in dark turns, then emerge into faintly illumined stretches. +It moved steadily, without quickening of gait, a lonely shadow that +they followed through the unknown to hope. Her glance hung to it, her +ear strained for the thud of his pony's feet, sight and sound of him +came to her like a promise of help. He was the one strong human thing +in this place of remote skies and dumb unfeeling earth. + +It was late afternoon when the Fort came in sight. A flicker of +animation burst up in them as they saw the square of its long, low +walls, crowning an eminence above the stream. The bottom lay wide at +its feet, the river slipping bright through green meadows sprinkled +with an army of cattle. In a vast, irregular circle, a wheel of life +with the fort as its hub, spread an engirdling encampment. It was +scattered over plain and bottom in dottings of white, here drawn close +in clustering agglomerations, there detached in separate spatterings. +Coming nearer the white spots grew to wagon hoods and tent roofs, and +among them, less easy to discern, were the pointed summits of the +lodges with the bunched poles bristling through the top. The air was +very still, and into it rose the straight threads of smoke from +countless fires, aspiring upwards in slender blue lines to the bluer +sky. They lifted and dispersed the smell of burning wood that comes to +the wanderer with a message of home, a message that has lain in his +blood since the first man struck fire and turned the dry heap of sticks +to an altar to be forever fixed as the soul of his habitation. + +They camped in the bottom withdrawn from the closer herding of tents. +It was a slow settling, as noiseless as might be, for two at least of +their number knew that the doctor was dying. That afternoon Daddy John +and Courant had seen the shadow of the great change. Whether Susan saw +it they neither knew. She was full of a determined, cold energy, +urging them at once to go among the camps and search for a doctor. +They went in different directions, leaving her sitting by her father's +feet at the raised flap of the tent. Looking back through the +gathering dusk Courant could see her, a dark shape, her body drooping +in relaxed lines. He thought that she knew. + +When they came back with the word that there was no doctor to be found, +darkness was closing in. Night came with noises of men and the +twinkling of innumerable lights. The sky, pricked with stars, looked +down on an earth alive with answering gleams, as though a segment of +its spark-set shield had fallen and lay beneath it, winking back +messages in an aerial telegraphy. The fires leaped high or glowed in +smoldering mounds, painting the sides of tents, the flanks of +ruminating animals, the wheels of wagons, the faces of men and women. +Coolness, rest, peace brooded over the great bivouac, with the guardian +shape of the Fort above it and the murmur of the river at its feet. + +A lantern, standing on a box by the doctor's side, lit the tent. +Through the opening the light from the fire outside poured in, sending +shadows scurrying up the canvas walls. Close within call David sat by +it, his chin on his knees, his eyes staring at the tongues of flames as +they licked the fresh wood. There was nothing now for him to do. He +had cooked the supper, and then to ease the pain of his unclaimed +sympathies, cleaned the pans, and from a neighboring camp brought a +piece of deer meat for Susan. It was the only way he could serve her, +and he sat disconsolately looking now at the meat on a tin plate, then +toward the tent where she and Daddy John were talking. He could hear +the murmur of their voices, see their silhouettes moving on the canvas, +gigantic and grotesque. Presently she appeared in the opening, paused +there for a last word, and then came toward him. + +"He wants to speak to Daddy John for a moment," she said and dropping +on the ground beside him, stared at the fire. + +David looked at her longingly, but he dared not intrude upon her somber +abstraction. The voices in the tent rose and fell. Once at a louder +phrase from Daddy John she turned her head quickly and listened, a +sheaf of strained nerves. The voices dropped again, her eye came back +to the light and touched the young man's face. It contained no +recognition of him, but he leaped at the chance, making stammering +proffer of such aid as he could give. + +"I've got you some supper." + +He lifted the plate, but she shook her head. + +"Let me cook it for you," he pleaded. "You haven't eaten anything +since morning." + +"I can't eat," she said, and fell back to her fire-gazing, slipping +away from him into the forbidding dumbness of her thoughts. He could +only watch her, hoping for a word, an expressed wish. When it came it +was, alas! outside his power to gratify: + +"If there had only been a doctor here! That was what I was hoping for." + +And so when she asked for the help he yearned to give, it was his fate +that he should meet her longing with a hopeless silence. + +When Daddy John emerged from the tent she leaped to her feet. + +"Well?" she said with low eagerness. + +"Go back to him. He wants you," answered the old man. "I've got +something to do for him." + +He made no attempt to touch her, his words and voice were brusque, yet +David saw that she responded, softened, showed the ragged wound of her +pain to him as she did to no one else. It was an understanding that +went beneath all externals. Words were unnecessary between them, heart +spoke to heart. + +She returned to the tent and sunk on the skin beside her father. He +smiled faintly and stretched a hand for hers, and her fingers slipped +between his, cool and strong against the lifeless dryness of his palm. +She gave back his smile bravely, her eyes steadfast. She had no desire +for tears, no acuteness of sensation. A weight as heavy as the world +lay on her, crushing out struggle and resistance. She knew that he was +dying. When they told her there was no doctor in the camp her +flickering hope had gone out. Now she was prepared to sit by him and +wait with a lethargic patience beyond which was nothing. + +He pressed her hand and said: "I've sent Daddy John on a hunt. Do you +guess what for?" + +She shook her head feeling no curiosity. + +"The time is short, Missy." + +The living's instinct to fight against the acquiescence of the dying +prompted her to the utterance of a sharp "No." + +"I want it all arranged and settled before it's too late. I sent him +to see if there was a missionary here." + +She was leaning against the couch of robes, resting on the piled +support of the skins. In the pause after his words she slowly drew +herself upright, and with her mouth slightly open inhaled a deep +breath. Her eyes remained fixed on him, gleaming from the shadow of +her brows, and their expression, combined with the amaze of the dropped +underlip, gave her a look of wild attention. + +"Why?" she said. The word came obstructed and she repeated it. + +"I want you to marry David here to-night." + +The doctor's watch on a box at the bed head ticked loudly in the +silence. They looked at each other unconscious of the length of the +pause. Death on the one hand, life pressing for its due on the other, +were the only facts they recognized. Hostility, not to the man but to +the idea, drove the amazement from her face and hardened its softness +to stone. + +"Here, to-night?" she said, her comprehension stimulated by an +automatic repetition of his words. + +"Yes. I may not be able to understand tomorrow." + +She moved her head, her glance touching the watch, the lantern, then +dropping to the hand curled round her own. It seemed symbolic of the +will against which hers was rising in combat. She made an involuntary +effort to withdraw her fingers but his closed tighter on them. + +"Why?" she whispered again. + +"Some one must take care of you. I can't leave you alone." + +She answered with stiffened lips: "There's Daddy John." + +"Some one closer than Daddy John. I want to leave you with David." + +Her antagonism rose higher, sweeping over her wretchedness. Worn and +strained she had difficulty to keep her lips shut on it, to prevent +herself from crying out her outraged protests. All her dormant +womanhood, stirring to wakefulness in the last few weeks, broke into +life, gathering itself in a passion of revolt, abhorrent of the +indignity, ready to flare into vehement refusal. To the dim eyes +fastened on her she was merely the girl, reluctant still. He watched +her down-drooped face and said: + +"Then I could go in peace. Am I asking too much?" + +She made a negative movement with her head and turned her face away +from him. + +"You'll do this for my happiness now?" + +"Anything," she murmured. + +"It will be also for your own." + +He moved his free hand and clasped it on the mound made by their locked +fingers. Through the stillness a man's voice singing Zavier's Canadian +song came to them. It stopped at the girl's outer ear, but, like a +hail from a fading land, penetrated to the man's brain and he stirred. + +"Hist!" he said raising his brows, "there's that French song your +mother used to sing." + +The distant voice rose to the plaintive burden and he lay motionless, +his eyes filmed with memories. As the present dimmed the past grew +clearer. His hold on the moment relaxed and he slipped away from it on +a tide of recollection, muttering the words. + +The girl sat mute, her hand cold under his, her being passing in an +agonized birth throe from unconsciousness to self-recognition. Her +will--its strength till now unguessed--rose resistant, a thing of iron. +Love was too strong in her for open opposition, but the instinct to +fight, blindly but with caution, for the right to herself was stronger. + +His murmuring died into silence and she looked at him. His eyes were +closed, the pressure of his fingers loosened. A light sleep held him, +and under its truce she softly withdrew her hand, then stole to the +tent door and stood there a waiting moment, stifling her hurried +breathing. She saw David lying by the fire, gazing into its smoldering +heart. With noiseless feet she skirted the encircling ropes and pegs, +and stood, out of range of his eye, on the farther side. Here she +stopped, withdrawn from the light that came amber soft through the +canvas walls, slipping into shadow when a figure passed, searching the +darkness with peering eyes. + +Around her the noises of the camp rose, less sharp than an hour +earlier, the night silence gradually hushing them. The sparks and +shooting gleams of fires still quivered, imbued with a tenacious life. +She had a momentary glimpse of a naked Indian boy flinging loose his +blanket, a bronze statue glistening in a leap of flame. Nearer by a +woman's figure bent over a kettle black on a bed of embers, then a +girl's fire-touched form, with raised arms, shaking down a snake of +hair, which broke and grew cloudy under her disturbing hands. A +resounding smack sounded on a horse's flank, a low ripple of laughter +came tangled with a child's querulous crying, and through the walls of +tents and the thickness of smoke the notes of a flute filtered. + +Her ear caught the pad of a footstep on the grass, and her eyes seized +on a shadow that grew from dusky uncertainty to a small, bent shape. +She waited, suffocated with heartbeats, then made a noiseless pounce on +it. + +"Daddy John," she gasped, clutching at him. + +The old man staggered, almost taken off his feet. + +"Is he worse?" he said. + +"He's told me. Did you find anyone?" + +"Yes--two. One's Episcopal--in a train from St. Louis." + +A sound came from her that he did not understand. She gripped at his +shoulders as if she were drowning. He thought she was about to swoon +and put his arm around her saying: + +"Come back to the tent. You're all on a shake as if you had ague." + +"I can't go back. Don't bring him. Don't bring him. Don't tell +father. Not now. I will later, some other time. When we get to +California, but not now--not to-night." + +The sentences were cut apart by breaths that broke from her as if she +had been running. He was frightened and tried to draw her to the light +and see her face. + +"Why, Missy!" he said with scared helplessness, "Why, Missy! What's +got you?" + +"Don't get the clergyman. Tell him there isn't any. Tell him you've +looked all over. Tell him a lie." + +He guessed the trouble was something more than the grief of the moment, +and urged in a whisper: + +"What's the matter now? Go ahead and tell me. I'll stick by you." + +She bent her head back to look into his face. + +"I don't want to marry him now. I can't. I can't. I _can't_." + +Her hands on his shoulders shook him with each repetition. The force +of the words was heightened by the suppressed tone. They should have +been screamed. In these whispered breaths they burst from her like +blood from a wound. With the last one her head bowed forward on his +shoulder with a movement of burrowing as though she would have crawled +up and hidden under his skin, and tears, the most violent he had ever +seen her shed, broke from her. They came in bursting sobs, a +succession of rending throes that she struggled to stifle, swaying and +quivering under their stress. + +He thought of nothing now but this new pain added to the hour's +tragedy, and stroked her shoulder with a low "Keep quiet--keep quiet," +then leaned his face against her hair and breathed through its tangles. + +"It's all right, I'll do it. I'll say I couldn't find anyone. I'll +lie for you, Missy." + +She released him at once, dropped back a step and, lifting a distorted +face, gave a nod. He passed on, and she fell on the grass, close to +the tent ropes and lay there, hidden by the darkness. + +She did not hear a step approaching from the herded tents. Had she +been listening it would have been hard to discern, for the feet were +moccasin shod, falling noiseless on the muffling grass. A man's figure +with fringes wavering along its outline came round the tent wall. The +head was thrust forward, the ear alert for voices. Faring softly his +foot struck her and he bent, stretching down a feeling hand. It +touched her shoulder, slipped along her side, and gripped at her arm. +"What's the matter?" came a deep voice, and feeling the pull on her arm +she got to her knees with a strangled whisper for silence. When the +light fell across her, he gave a smothered cry, jerked her to her feet +and thrust his hand into her hair, drawing her head back till her face +was uplifted to his. + +There was no one to see, and he let his eyes feed full upon it, a thief +with the coveted treasure in his hands. She seemed unconscious of him, +a broken thing without sense or volition, till a stir came from the +tent. Then he felt her resist his grasp. She put a hand on his breast +and pressed herself back from him. + +"Hush," she breathed. "Daddy John's in there." + +A shadow ran up the canvas wall, bobbing on it, huge and wavering. She +turned her head toward it, the tears on her cheeks glazed by the light. +He watched her with widened nostrils and immovable eyes. In the mutual +suspension of action that held them he could feel her heart beating. + +"Well?" came the doctor's voice. + +The old servant answered: + +"There weren't no parsons anywhere, I've been all over and there's not +one." + +"Parsons?" Courant breathed. + +She drew in the fingers spread on his breast with a clawing movement +and emitted an inarticulate sound that meant "Hush." + +"Not a clergyman or missionary among all these people?" + +"Not one." + +"We must wait till to-morrow, then." + +"Yes--mebbe there'll be one to-morrow." + +"I hope so." + +Then silence fell and the shadow flickered again on the canvas. + +She made a struggle against Courant's hold, which for a moment he tried +to resist, but her fingers plucked against his hand, and she tore +herself free and ran to the tent opening. She entered without +speaking, threw herself at the foot of the couch, and laid her head +against her father's knees. + +"Is that you, Missy?" he said, feeling for her with a groping hand. +"Daddy John couldn't find a clergyman." + +"I know," she answered, and lay without moving, her face buried in the +folds of the blanket. + +They said no more, and Daddy John stole out of the tent. + +The next day the doctor was too ill to ask for a clergyman, to know or +to care. At nightfall he died. The Emigrant Trail had levied its +first tribute on them, taken its toll. + + + +END OF PART III + + + + +PART IV + +The Desert + + +CHAPTER I + +They were camped on the edges of that harsh land which lay between the +Great Salt Lake and the Sierra. Behind them the still, heavy reach of +water stretched, reflecting in mirrored clearness the mountains +crowding on its southern rim. Before them the sage reached out to dim +infinities of distance. The Humboldt ran nearby, sunk in a stony bed, +its banks matted with growths of alder and willow. The afternoon was +drawing to the magical sunset hour. Susan, lying by the door of her +tent, could see below the growing western blaze the bowl of the earth +filling with the first, liquid oozings of twilight. + +A week ago they had left the Fort. To her it had been a blank space of +time, upon which no outer interest had intruded. She had presented an +invulnerable surface to all that went on about her, the men's care, the +day's incidents, the setting of the way. Cold-eyed and dumb she had +moved with them, an inanimate idol, unresponsive to the observances of +their worship, aloof from them in somber uncommunicated musings. + +The men respected her sorrow, did her work for her, and let her alone. +To them she was set apart in the sanctuary of her mourning, and that +her grief should express itself by hours of drooping silence was a +thing they accepted without striving to understand. Once or twice +David tried to speak to her of her father, but it seemed to rouse in +her an irritated and despairing pain. She begged him to desist and got +away from him as quickly as she could, climbing into the wagon and +lying on the sacks, with bright, unwinking eyes fastened on Daddy +John's back. But she did not rest stunned under an unexpected blow as +they thought. She was acutely alive, bewildered, but with senses keen, +as if the world had taken a dizzying revolution and she had come up +panting and clutching among the fragments of what had been her life. + +If there had been some one to whom she could have turned, relieving +herself by confession, she might have found solace and set her feet in +safer ways. But among the three men she was virtually alone, guarding +her secret with that most stubborn of all silences, a girl's in the +first wakening of sex. She had a superstitious hope that she could +regain peace and self-respect by an act of reparation, and at such +moments turned with expiatory passion to the thought of David. She +would go to California, live as her father had wished, marry her +betrothed, and be as good a wife to him as man could have. And for a +space these thoughts brought her ease, consoled her as a compensating +act of martyrdom. + +She shunned Courant, rarely addressing him, keeping her horse to the +rear of the train where the wagon hood hid him from her. But when his +foot fell on the dust beside her, or he dropped back for a word with +Daddy John, a stealthy, observant quietude held her frame. She turned +her eyes from him as from an unholy sight, but it was useless, for her +mental vision called up his figure, painted in yellow and red upon the +background of the sage. She knew the expression of the lithe body as +it leaned from the saddle, the gnarled hand from which the rein hung +loose, the eyes, diamond hard and clear, living sparks set in leathery +skin wrinkled against the glare of the waste. She did not lie to +herself any more. No delusions could live in this land stripped of all +conciliatory deception. + +The night before they left the Fort the men had had a consultation. +Sitting apart by the tent she had watched them, David and Daddy John +between her and the fire, Courant beyond it. His face, red lit between +the hanging locks of hair, his quick eyes, shifting from one man to the +other, was keen with a furtive anxiety. At a point in the murmured +interview, he had looked beyond them to the darkened spot where she +sat. Then Daddy John and David had come to her and told her that if +she wished they would turn back, take her home to Rochester, and stay +there with her always. There was money enough they said. The doctor +had left seven thousand dollars in his chest, and David had three to +add to it. It would be ample to live on till the men could set to work +and earn a maintenance for them. No word was spoken of her marriage, +but it lay in the offing of their argument as the happy finale that the +long toil of the return journey and the combination of resources were +to prelude. + +The thought of going back had never occurred to her, and shocked her +into abrupt refusal. It would be an impossible adaptation to outgrown +conditions. She could not conjure up the idea of herself refitted into +the broken frame of her girlhood. She told them she would go on, there +was nothing now to go back for. Their only course was to keep to the +original plan, emigrate to California and settle there. They returned +to the fire and told Courant. She could see him with eager gaze +listening. Then he smiled and, rising to his feet, sent a bold, +exultant glance through the darkness to her. She drew her shawl over +her head to shut it out, for she was afraid. + +They rested now on the lip of the desert, gathering their forces for +the last lap of the march. There had been no abatement in the pressure +of their pace, and Courant had told them it must be kept up. He had +heard the story of the Donner party two years before, and the first of +September must see them across the Sierra. In the evenings he +conferred with Daddy John on these matters and kept a vigilant watch on +the animals upon whose condition the success of the journey depended. + +David was not included in these consultations. Both men now realized +that he was useless when it came to the rigors of the trail. Of late +he had felt a physical and spiritual impairment, that showed in a +slighted observance of his share of the labor. He had never learned to +cord his pack, and day after day it turned under his horse's belly, +discharging its cargo on the ground. The men, growling with +irritation, finally took the work from him, not from any pitying +consideration, but to prevent further delay. + +He was, in fact, coming to that Valley of Desolation where the body +faints and only the spirit's dauntlessness can keep it up and doing. +What dauntlessness his spirit once had was gone. He moved wearily, +automatically doing his work and doing it ill. The very movements of +his hands, slack and fumbling, were an exasperation to the other men, +setting their strength to a herculean measure, and giving of it without +begrudgment. David saw their anger and did not care. Fatigue made him +indifferent, ate into his pride, brought down his self-respect. He +plodded on doggedly, the alkali acrid on his lips and burning in his +eyeballs, thinking of California, not as the haven of love and dreams, +but as a place where there was coolness, water, and rest. When in the +dawn he staggered up to the call of "Catch up," and felt for the buckle +of his saddle girth, he had a vision of a place under trees by a river +where he could sleep and wake and turn to sleep again, and go on +repeating the performance all day with no one to shout at him if he was +stupid and forgot things. + +Never having had the fine physical endowment of the others all the +fires of his being were dying down to smoldering ashes. His love for +Susan faded, if not from his heart, from his eyes and lips. She was as +dear to him as ever, but now with a devitalized, undemanding affection +in which there was something of a child's fretful dependence. He rode +beside her not looking at her, contented that she should be there, but +with the thought of marriage buried out of sight under the weight of +his weariness. It did not figure at all in his mind, which, when +roused from apathy, reached forward into the future to gloat upon the +dream of sleep. She was grateful for his silence, and they rode side +by side, detached from one another, moving in separated worlds of +sensation. + +This evening he came across to where she sat, dragging a blanket in an +indolent hand. He dropped it beside her and threw himself upon it with +a sigh. He was too empty of thought to speak, and lay outstretched, +looking at the plain where dusk gathered in shadowless softness. In +contrast with his, her state was one of inner tension, strained to the +breaking point. Torturings of conscience, fears of herself, the +unaccustomed bitterness of condemnation, melted her, and she was ripe +for confession. A few understanding words and she would have poured +her trouble out to him, less in hope of sympathy than in a craving for +relief. The widening gulf would have been bridged and he would have +gained the closest hold upon her he had yet had. But if she were more +a woman than ever before, dependent, asking for aid, he was less a man, +wanting himself to rest on her and have his discomforts made bearable +by her consolations. + +She looked at him tentatively. His eyes were closed, the lids +curiously dark, and fringed with long lashes like a girl's. + +"Are you asleep?" she asked. + +"No," he answered without raising them. "Only tired." + +She considered for a moment, then said: + +"Have you ever told a lie?" + +"A lie? I don't know. I guess so. Everybody tells lies sometime or +other." + +"Not little lies. Serious ones, sinful ones, to people you love." + +"No. I never told that kind. That's a pretty low-down thing to do." + +"Mightn't a person do it--to--to--escape from something they didn't +want, something they suddenly--at that particular moment--dreaded and +shrank from?" + +"Why couldn't they speak out, say they didn't want to do it? Why did +they have to lie?" + +"Perhaps they didn't have time to think, and didn't want to hurt the +person who asked it. And--and--if they were willing to do the thing +later, sometime in the future, wouldn't that make up for it?" + +"I can't tell. I don't know enough about it. I don't understand what +you mean." He turned, trying to make himself more comfortable. "Lord, +how hard this ground is! I believe it's solid iron underneath." + +He stretched and curled on the blanket, elongating his body in a mighty +yawn which subsided into the solaced note of a groan. "There, that's +better. I ache all over to-night." + +She made no answer, looking at the prospect from morose brows. More at +ease he returned to the subject and asked, "Who's been telling lies?" + +"I," she answered. + +He gave a short laugh, that drew from her a look of quick protest. He +was lying on his side, one arm crooked under his head, his eyes on her +in a languid glance where incredulity shone through amusement. + +"Your father told me once you were the most truthful woman he'd ever +known, and I agree with him." + +"It was to my father I lied," she answered. + +She began to tremble, for part at least of the story was on her lips. +She clasped her shaking hands round her knees, and, not looking at him, +said "David," and then stopped, stifled by the difficulties and the +longing to speak. + +David answered by laughing outright, a pleasant sound, not guiltless of +a suggestion of sleep, a laugh of good nature that refuses to abdicate. +It brushed her back into herself as if he had taken her by the +shoulders, pushed her into her prison, and slammed the door. + +"That's all imagination," he said. "When some one we love dies we're +always thinking things like that--that we neglected them, or slighted +them, or told them what wasn't true. They stand out in our memories +bigger than all the good things we did. Don't you worry about any lies +you ever told your father. You've got nothing to accuse yourself of +where he's concerned--or anybody else, either." + +Her heart, that had throbbed wildly as she thought to begin her +confession, sunk back to a forlorn beat. He noticed her dejected air, +and said comfortingly: + +"Don't be downhearted, Missy. It's been terribly hard for you, but +you'll feel better when we get to California, and can live like +Christians again." + +"California!" Her intonation told of the changed mind with which she +now looked forward to the Promised Land. + +His consolatory intentions died before his own sense of grievance at +the toil yet before them. + +"Good Lord, it does seem far--farther than it did in the beginning. I +used to be thinking of it all the time then, and how I'd get to work +the first moment we arrived. And now I don't care what it's like or +think of what I'm going to do. All I want to get there for is to stop +this eternal traveling and rest." + +She, too, craved rest, but of the spirit. Her outlook was blacker than +his, for it offered none and drew together to a point where her +tribulations focused in a final act of self-immolation. There was a +pause, and he said, drowsiness now plain in his voice: + +"But we'll be there some day unless we die on the road, and then we can +take it easy. The first thing I'm going to do is to get a mattress to +sleep on. No more blankets on the ground for me. Do you ever think +what it'll be like to sleep in a room again under a roof, a good, +waterproof roof, that the sun and the rain can't come through? The way +I feel now that's my idea of Paradise." + +She murmured a low response, her thoughts far from the flesh pots of +his wearied longing. + +"I think just at this moment," he went on dreamily, "I'd rather have a +good sleep and a good meal than anything else in the world. I often +dream of 'em, and then Daddy John's kicking me and it's morning and I +got to crawl out of the blanket and light the fire. I don't know +whether I feel worse at that time or in the evening when we're making +the last lap for the camping ground." His voice dropped as if +exhausted before the memory of these unendurable moments, then came +again with a note of cheer: "Thank God, Courant's with us or I don't +believe we'd ever get there." + +She had no reply to make to this. Neither spoke for a space, and then +she cautiously stole a glance at him and was relieved to see that he +was asleep. Careful to be noiseless she rose, took up a tin water pail +and walked to the river. + +The Humboldt rushed through a deep-cut bed, nosing its way between +strewings of rock. Up the banks alders and willows grew thick, +thrusting roots, hungry for the lean deposits of soil, into cracks and +over stony ledges. By the edge the current crisped about a flat rock, +and Susan, kneeling on this, dipped in her pail. The water slipped in +in a silvery gush which, suddenly seething and bubbling, churned in the +hollowed tin, nearly wrenching it from her. She leaned forward, +dragging it awkwardly toward her, clutching at an alder stem with her +free hand. Her head was bent, but she raised it with a jerk when she +heard Courant's voice call, "Wait, I'll do it for you." + +He was on the opposite bank, the trees he had broken through swishing +together behind him. She lowered her head without answering, her face +suddenly charged with color. Seized by an overmastering desire to +escape him, she dragged at the pail, which, caught in the force of the +current, leaped and swayed in her hand. She took a hurried upward +glimpse, hopeful of his delayed progress, and saw him jump from the +bank to a stone in mid-stream. His moccasined feet clung to its +slippery surface, and for a moment he oscillated unsteadily, then +gained his balance and, laughing, looked at her. For a breathing space +each rested motionless, she with strained, outstretched arm, he on the +rock, a film of water covering his feet. It was a moment of physical +mastery without conscious thought. To each the personality of the +other was so perturbing, that without words or touch, the heart beats +of both grew harder, and their glances held in a gaze fixed and +gleaming. The woman gained her self-possession first, and with it an +animal instinct to fly from him, swiftly through the bushes. + +But her flight was delayed. A stick, whirling in the current, caught +between the pail's rim and handle and ground against her fingers. With +an angry cry she loosed her hold, and the bucket went careening into +midstream. That she had come back to harmony with her surroundings was +attested by the wail of chagrin with which she greeted the accident. +It was the last pail she had left. She watched Courant wade into the +water after it, and forgot to run in her anxiety to see if he would get +it. "Oh, good!" came from her in a gasp as he caught the handle. But +when he came splashing back and set it on the rock beside her, it +suddenly lost its importance, and as suddenly she became a prey to +low-voiced, down-looking discomfort. A muttered "thank you," was all +the words she had for him, and she got to her feet with looks directed +to the arrangement of her skirt. + +He stood knee-high in the water watching her, glad of her down-drooped +lids, for he could dwell on the bloom that deepened under his eye. + +"You haven't learned the force of running water yet," he said. "It can +be very strong sometimes, so strong that a little woman's hand like +yours has no power against it." + +"It was because the stick caught in the handle," she muttered, bending +for the pail. "It hurt my fingers." + +"You've never guessed that I was called 'Running Water,' have you?" + +"You?" she paused with look arrested in sudden interest. "Who calls +you that?" + +"Everybody--you. _L'eau courante_ means running water, doesn't it? +That's what you call me." + +In the surprise of the revelation she forgot her unease and looked at +him, repeating slowly, "L'eau courante, running water. Why, of course. +But it's like an Indian's name." + +"It is an Indian's name. The Blackfeet gave it to me because they said +I could run so fast. They were after me once and a man makes the best +time he can then. It was a fine race and I won it, and after that they +called me, 'The man that goes like Running Water.' The voyageurs and +coureurs des bois put it into their lingo and it stuck." + +"But your real name?" she asked, the pail forgotten. + +"Just a common French one, Duchesney, Napoleon Duchesney, if you want +to know both ends of it. It was my father's. He was called after the +emperor whom my grandfather knew years ago in France. He and Napoleon +were students together in the military school at Brienne. In the +Revolution they confiscated his lands, and he came out to Louisiana and +never wanted to go back." He splashed to the stone and took up the +bucket. + +She stood absorbed in the discovery, her child's mind busy over this +new conception of him as a man whose birth and station had evidently +been so different to the present conditions of his life. When she +spoke her mental attitude was naively displayed. + +"Why didn't you tell before?" + +He shrugged. + +"What was there to tell? The mountain men don't always use their own +names." + +The bucket, swayed by the movement, threw a jet of water on her foot. +He moved back from her and said, "I like the Indian name best." + +"It is pretty," and in a lower key, as though trying its sound, she +repeated softly, "_L'eau Courante_, Running Water." + +"It's something clear and strong, sometimes shallow and then again +deeper than you can guess. And when there's anything in the way, it +gathers all its strength and sweeps over it. It's a mighty force. You +have to be stronger than it is--and more cunning too--to stop it in the +way it wants to go." + +Above their heads the sky glowed in red bars, but down in the stream's +hollow the dusk had come, cool and gray. She was suddenly aware of it, +noticed the diminished light, and the thickening purplish tones that +had robbed the trees and rocks of color. Her warm vitality was invaded +by chill that crept inward and touched her spirit with an eerie dread. +She turned quickly and ran through the bushes calling back to him, "I +must hurry and get supper. They'll be waiting. Bring the pail." + +Courant followed slowly, watching her as she climbed the bank. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +For some days their route followed the river, then they would leave it +and strike due west, making marches from spring to spring. The country +was as arid as the face of a dead planet, save where the water's course +was marked by a line of green. Here and there the sage was broken by +bare spaces where the alkali cropped out in a white encrusting. Low +mountains edged up about the horizon, thrusting out pointed scarps like +capes protruding into slumbrous, gray-green seas. These capes were +objects upon which they could fix their eyes, goals to reach and pass. +In the blank monotony they offered an interest, something to strive +for, something that marked an advance. The mountains never seemed to +retreat or come nearer. They encircled the plain in a crumpled wall, +the same day after day, a low girdle of volcanic shapes, cleft with +moving shadows. + +The sun was the sun of August. It reeled across a sky paled by its +ardor, at midday seeming to pause and hang vindictive over the little +caravan. Under its fury all color left the blanched earth, all shadows +shrunk away to nothing. The train alone, as if in desperate defiance, +showed a black blot beneath the wagon, an inky snake sliding over the +ground under each horse's sweating belly. The air was like a stretched +tissue, strained to the limit of its elasticity, in places parting in +delicate, glassy tremblings. Sometimes in the distance the mirage hung +brilliant, a blue lake with waves crisping on a yellow shore. They +watched it with hungry eyes, a piece of illusion framed by the bleached +and bitter reality. + +When evening came the great transformation began. With the first +deepening of color the desert's silent heart began to beat in +expectation of its hour of beauty. Its bleak detail was lost in +shrouding veils and fiery reflection. The earth floor became a golden +sea from which the capes reared themselves in shapes of bronze and +copper. The ring of mountains in the east flushed to the pink of the +topaz, then bending westward shaded from rosy lilac to mauve, and where +the sunset backed them, darkened to black. As the hour progressed the +stillness grew more profound, the naked levels swept out in wilder +glory, inundated by pools of light, lines of fire eating a glowing way +through sinks where twilight gathered. With each moment it became a +more tremendous spectacle. The solemnity attendant on the passage of a +miracle held it. From the sun's mouth the voice of God seemed calling +the dead land to life. + +Each night the travelers gazed upon it, ragged forms gilded by its +radiance, awed and dumb. Its splendors crushed them, filling them with +nostalgic longings. They bore on with eyes that were sick for a sight +of some homely, familiar thing that would tell them they were still +human, still denizens of a world they knew. The life into which they +fitted and had uses was as though perished from the face of the earth. +The weak man sunk beneath the burden of its strangeness. Its beauty +made no appeal to him. He felt lost and dazed in its iron-ringed +ruthlessness, dry as a skeleton by daylight, at night transformed by +witchfires of enchantment. The man and woman, in whom vitality was +strong, combatted its blighting force, refused to be broken by its +power. They desired with vehemence to assert themselves, to rebel, not +to submit to the sense of their nothingness. They turned to one +another hungry for the life that now was only within themselves. They +had passed beyond the limits of the accustomed, were like detached +particles gone outside the law of gravity, floating undirected through +spaces where they were nothing and had nothing but their bodies, their +passions, themselves. + +To a surface observation they would have appeared as stolid as savages, +but their nerves were taut as drawn violin strings. Strange +self-assertions, violences of temper, were under the skin ready to +break out at a jar in the methodical routine. Had the train been +larger, its solidarity less complete, furious quarrels would have taken +place. With an acknowledged leader whom they believed in and obeyed, +the chances of friction were lessened. Three of them could meet the +physical demands of the struggle. It was David's fate that, unable to +do this, he should fall to a position of feeble uselessness, endurable +in a woman, but difficult to put up with in a man. + +One morning Susan was waked by angry voices. An oath shook sleep from +her, and thrusting her head out of the wagon where she now slept, she +saw the three men standing in a group, rage on Courant's face, disgust +on Daddy John's, and on David's an abstraction of aghast dismay that +was not unlike despair. To her question Daddy John gave a short +answer. David's horses, insecurely picketed, had pulled up their +stakes in the night and gone. A memory of the young man's exhaustion +the evening before, told the girl the story; David had forgotten to +picket them and immediately after supper had fallen asleep. He had +evidently been afraid to tell and invented the explanation of dragged +picket pins. She did not know whether the men believed it, but she saw +by their faces they were in no mood to admit extenuating circumstances. +The oath had been Courant's. When he heard her voice he shut his lips +on others, but they welled up in his eyes, glowering furiously on the +culprit from the jut of drawn brows. + +"What am I to do?" said the unfortunate young man, sending a despairing +glance over the prospect. Under his weak misery, rebellious ill humor +was visible. + +"Go after them and bring them back." + +Susan saw the leader had difficulty in confining himself to such brief +phrases. Dragging a blanket round her shoulders she leaned over the +seat. She felt like a woman who enters a quarrel to protect a child. + +"Couldn't we let them go?" she cried. "We've still my father's horse. +David can ride it and we can put his things in the wagon." + +"Not another ounce in the wagon," said Daddy John. "The mules are +doing their limit now." The wagon was his kingdom over which he ruled +an absolute monarch. + +Courant looked at her and spoke curtly, ignoring David. "We can't lose +a horse now. We need every one of them. It's not here. It's beyond +in the mountains. We've got to get over by the first of September, and +we want every animal we have to do it. _He's_ not able to walk." + +He shot a contemptuous glance at David that in less bitter times would +have made the young man's blood boil. But David was too far from his +normal self to care. He was not able to walk and was glad that Courant +understood it. + +"I've got to go after them, I suppose," he said sullenly and turned to +where the animals looked on with expectant eyes. "But it's the last +time I'll do it. If they go again they'll stay gone." + +There was a mutter from the other men. Susan, full of alarm, scrambled +into the back of the wagon and pulled on her clothes. When she emerged +David had the doctor's horse saddled and was about to mount. His face, +heavy-eyed and unwashed, bore an expression of morose anger, but +fatigue spoke pathetically in his slow, lifeless movements, the droop +of his thin, high shoulders. + +"David," she called, jumping out over the wheel, "wait." + +He did not look at her or answer, but climbed into the saddle and +gathered his rein. She ran toward him crying, "Wait and have some +breakfast. I'll get it for you." + +He continued to pay no attention to her, glancing down at his foot as +it felt for the stirrup. She stopped short, repulsed by his manner, +watching him as he sent a forward look over the tracks of the lost +horses. They wound into the distance fading amid the sweep of +motionless sage. It would be a long search and the day was already +hot. Pity rose above all other feelings, and she said: + +"Have they told you what they're going to do? Whether we'll wait here +or go on and have you catch us up?" + +"I don't know what they're going to do and don't care," he answered, +and touching the horse with his spur rode away between the brushing +bushes. + +She turned to Daddy John, her eyes full of alarmed question. + +"He knows all about it," said the old man with slow phlegm, "I told him +myself. There's food and water for him packed on behind the saddle, I +done that too. He'd have gone without it just to spite himself. We'll +rest here this morning, and if he ain't back by noon move on slow till +he catches us up. Don't you worry. He done the wrong thing and he's +got to learn." + +No more was said about David, and after breakfast they waited doing the +odd tasks that accumulated for their few periods of rest. Susan sat +sewing where the wagon cast a cooling slant of shade. Daddy John was +beyond her in the sun, his sere old body, from which time had stripped +the flesh, leaving only a tenuous bark of muscle, was impervious to the +heat. In the growing glare he worked over a broken saddle, the +whitening reaches stretching out beyond him to where the mountains +waved in a clear blue line as if laid on with one wash of a saturated +paint brush. Courant was near him in the shadow of his horse, cleaning +a gun, sharp clicks of metal now and then breaking into the stillness. + +As the hours passed the shadow of the wagon shrunk and the girl moved +with it till her back was pressed against the wheel. She was making a +calico jacket, and as she moved it the crisp material emitted low +cracklings. Each rustle was subdued and stealthy, dying quickly away +as if it were in conspiracy with the silence and did not want to +disturb it. Courant's back was toward her. He had purposely set his +face away, but he could hear the furtive whisperings of the stirred +calico. He was full of the consciousness of her, and this sound, which +carried a picture of her drooped head and moving hands, came with a +stealing unquiet, urgently intrusive and persistent. He tried to hold +his mind on his work, but his movements slackened, grew intermittent, +his ear attentive for the low rustling that crept toward him at +intervals like the effervescent approach of waves. Each time he heard +it the waves washed deeper to his inner senses and stole something from +his restraining will. For days the desert had been stealing from it +too. He knew it and was guarded and fearful of it, but this morning he +forgot to watch, forgot to care. His reason was drugged by the sound, +the stifled, whispering sound that her hands made moving the material +from which she fashioned a covering for her body. + +He sat with his back turned to her, his hands loose on the gun, his +eyes fixed in an unseeing stare. He did not know what he looked at or +that the shadow of the horse had slipped beyond him. When he heard her +move his quietness increased to a trancelike suspension of movement, +the inner concentration holding every muscle in spellbound rigidness. +Suddenly she tore the calico with a keen, rending noise, and it was as +if her hands had seized upon and so torn the tension that held him. +His fists clinched on the gun barrel, and for a moment the mountain +line undulated to his gaze. Had they been alone, speech would have +burst from him, but the presence of the old man kept him silent. He +bowed his head over the gun, making a pretense of giving it a last +inspection, then, surer of himself, leaped to his feet and said gruffly: + +"Let's move on. There's no good waiting here." + +The other two demurred. Susan rose and walked into the glare sweeping +the way David had gone. Against the pale background she stood out a +vital figure, made up of glowing tints that reached their brightest +note in the heated rose of her cheeks and lips. Her dark head with its +curly crest of hair was defined as if painted on the opaque blue of the +sky. She stood motionless, only her eyes moving as they searched the +distance. All of life that remained in the famished land seemed to +have flowed into her and found a beautified expression in the rich +vitality of her upright form, the flushed bloom of her face. Daddy +John bent to pick up the saddle, and the mountain man, safe from +espial, looked at her with burning eyes. + +"David's not in sight," she said. "Do you think we'd better go on?" + +"Whether we'd better or not we will," he answered roughly. "Catch up, +Daddy John." + +They were accustomed to obeying him like children their master. So +without more parley they pulled up stakes, loaded the wagon, and +started. As Susan fell back to her place at the rear, she called to +Courant: + +"We'll go as slowly as we can. We mustn't get too far ahead. David +can't ride hard the way he is now." + +The man growled an answer that she did not hear, and without looking at +her took the road. + +They made their evening halt by the river. It had dwindled to a +fragile stream which, wandering away into the dryness, would creep +feebly to its sink and there disappear, sucked into secret subways that +no man knew. To-morrow they would start across the desert, where they +could see the road leading straight in a white seam to the west. David +had not come. The mules stood stripped of their harness, the wagon +rested with dropped tongue, the mess chest was open and pans shone in +mingled fire and sunset gleams, but the mysteries of the distance, over +which twilight veils were thickening, gave no sign of him. Daddy John +built up the desert fire as a beacon--a pile of sage that burned like +tinder. It shot high, tossed exultant flames toward the dimmed stars +and sent long jets of light into the encircling darkness. Its wavering +radiance, red and dancing, touched the scattered objects of the camp, +revealing and then losing them as new flame ran along the leaves or +charred branches dropped. Outside the night hung, deep and silent. +Susan hovered on the outskirts of the glow. Darkness was thickening, +creeping from the hills that lay inky-edged against the scarlet of the +sky. Once she sent up a high cry of David's name. Courant, busy with +his horses, lifted his head and looked at her, scowling over his +shoulder. + +"Why are you calling?" he said. "He can see the fire." + +She came back and stood near him, her eyes on him in uneasy scrutiny: +"We shouldn't have gone on. We should have waited for him." + +There was questioning and also a suggestion of condemnation in her +voice. She was anxious and her tone and manner showed she thought it +his fault. + +He bent to loosen a girth. + +"Are you afraid he's lost?" he said, his face against the horse. + +"No. But if he was?" + +"Well! And if he was?" + +The girth was uncinched and he swept saddle and blanket to the ground. + +"We'd have to go back for him, and you say we must lose no time." + +He kicked the things aside and made no answer. Then as he groped for +the picket pins he was conscious that she turned again with the nervous +movement of worry and swept the plain. + +"He was sick. We oughtn't to have gone on," she repeated, and the note +of blame was stronger. "Oh, I wish he'd come!" + +Their conversation had been carried on in a low key. Suddenly Courant, +wheeling round on her, spoke in the raised tone of anger. + +"And am I to stop the train because that fool don't know enough or care +enough to picket his horses? Is it always to be him? Excuses made and +things done for him as if he was a sick girl or a baby. Let him be +lost, and stay lost, and be damned to him." + +Daddy John looked up from the sheaf of newly gathered sage with the +alertness of a scared monkey. Susan stepped back, feeling suddenly +breathless. Courant made a movement as if to follow her, then stopped, +his face rived with lines and red with rage. He was shaken by what to +her was entirely inexplicable anger, and in her amazement she stared +vacantly at him. + +"What's that, what's that?" chirped Daddy John, scrambling to his feet +and coming toward them with chin thrust belligerently forward and +blinking eyes full of fight. + +Neither spoke to him and he added sharply: + +"Didn't I hear swearing? Who's swearing now?" as if he had his doubts +that it might be Susan. + +Courant with a stifled phrase turned from them, picked up his hammer +and began driving in the stakes. + +"What was it?" whispered the old man. "What's the matter with him? Is +he mad at David?" + +She shook her head, putting a finger on her lip in sign of silence, and +moving away to the other side of the fire. She felt the strain in the +men and knew it was her place to try and keep the peace. But a sense +of forlorn helplessness amid these warring spirits lay heavily on her +and she beckoned to the old servant, wanting him near her as one who, +no matter how dire the circumstances, would never fail her. + +"Yes, he's angry," she said when they were out of earshot. "I suppose +it's about David. But what can we do? We can't make David over into +another man, and we can't leave him behind just because he's not as +strong as the rest of us. I feel as if we were getting to be savages." + +The old man gave a grunt that had a note of cynical acquiescence, then +held up his hand in a signal for quiet. The thud of a horse's hoofs +came from the outside night. With a quick word to get the supper +ready, she ran forward and stood in the farthest rim of the light +waiting for her betrothed. + +David was a pitiable spectacle. The dust lay thick on his face, save +round his eyes, whence he had rubbed it, leaving the sockets looking +unnaturally sunken and black. His collar was open and his neck rose +bare and roped with sinews. There was but one horse at the end of the +trail rope. As he slid out of the saddle, he dropped the rope on the +ground, saying that the other animal was sick, he had left it dying he +thought. He had found them miles off, miles and miles--with a weak +wave of his hand toward the south--near an alkaline spring where he +supposed they had been drinking. The other couldn't move, this one he +had dragged along with him. The men turned their attention to the +horse, which, with swollen body and drooping head, looked as if it +might soon follow its mate. They touched it, and spoke together, brows +knit over the trouble, not paying any attention to David, who, back in +the flesh, was sufficiently accounted for. + +Susan was horrified by his appearance. She had never seen him look so +much a haggard stranger to himself. He was prostrate with fatigue, and +throughout the day he had nursed a sense of bitter injury. Now back +among them, seeing the outspread signs of their rest, and with the good +smell of their food in his nostrils, this rose to the pitch of +hysterical rage, ready to vent itself at the first excuse. The sight +of the girl, fresh-skinned from a wash in the river, instead of +soothing, further inflamed him. Her glowing well-being seemed bought +at his expense. Her words of concern spoke to his sick ear with a note +of smug, unfeeling complacence. + +"David, you're half dead. Every thing'll be ready in a minute. Sit +down and rest. Here, take my blanket." + +She spread her blanket for him, but he stood still, not answering, +staring at her with dull, accusing eyes. Then, with a dazed movement, +he pushed his hand over the crown of his head throwing off his hat. +The hand was unsteady, and it fell, the hooked forefinger catching in +the opening of his shirt, dragging it down and showing his bony breast. +If he had been nothing to her she would have pitied him. Sense of +wrongs done him made the pity passionate. She went to him, the +consoling woman in her eyes, and laid her hand on the one that rested +on his chest. + +"David, sit down and rest. Don't move again. I'll get you everything. +I never saw you look as you do to-night." + +With an angry movement he threw her hand off. + +"You don't care," he said. "What does it matter to you when you've +been comfortable all day? So long as you and the others are all right +I don't matter." + +It was so unlike him, his face was so changed and charged with a +childish wretchedness, that she felt no check upon her sympathy. She +knew it was not David that spoke, but a usurping spirit born of evil +days. The other men pricked their ears and listened, but she was +indifferent to their watch, and tried again to take his hand, saying, +pleadingly: + +"Sit down. When I get your supper you'll be better. I'll have it +ready in a few minutes." + +This time he threw her hand off with violence. His face, under its +dust mask, flamed with the anger that had been accumulating through the +day. + +"Let me alone," he cried, his voice strangled like a wrathful child's. +"I don't want anything to do with you. Eat your supper. When I'm +ready I'll get mine without any help from you. Let me be." + +He turned from her, and moving over the blanket, stumbled on its folds. +The jar was the breaking touch to his overwrought nerves. He +staggered, caught his breath with a hiccoughing gasp, and dropping his +face into his hands burst into hysterical tears. Then in a sudden +abandonment of misery he threw himself on the blanket, buried his head +in his folded arms and rending sobs broke from him. For a moment they +were absolutely still, staring at him in stupefied surprise. Daddy +John, his neck craned round the blaze, surveyed him with bright, sharp +eyes of unemotional query, then flopped the bacon pan on the embers, +and said: + +"He's all done." + +Courant advanced a step, looked down on him and threw a sidelong glance +at Susan, bold with meaning. After her first moment of amazement, she +moved to David's side, drew the edge of the blanket over him, touched +his head with a light caress, and turned back to the fire. The plates +and cups were lying there and she quietly set them out, her eye now and +then straying for a needed object, her hand hanging in suspended search +then dropping upon it, and noiselessly putting it in its place. +Unconsciously they maintained an awed silence, as if they were sitting +by the dead. Daddy John turned the bacon with stealthy care, the +scrape of his knife on the pan sounding a rude and unseemly intrusion. +Upon this scrupulously maintained quietude the man's weeping broke +insistent, the stifled regular beat of sobs hammering on it as if +determined to drive their complacency away and reduce them to the low +ebb of misery in which he lay. + +They had almost finished their meal when the sounds lessened, dwindling +to spasmodic, staggering gasps with lengthening pauses that broke +suddenly in a quivering intake of breath and a vibration of the +recumbent frame. The hysterical paroxysm was over. He lay limp and +turned his head on his arms, too exhausted to feel shame for the shine +of tears on his cheek. Susan took a plate of food and a coffee cup and +stole toward him, the two men watching her under their eyelids. She +knelt beside him and spoke very gently, "Will you take this, David? +You'll feel stronger after you've eaten." + +"Put it down," he said hoarsely, without moving. + +"Shall I give you the coffee?" She hung over him looking into his +face. "I can hold the cup and you can drink it." + +"By and by," he muttered. + +She bent lower and laid her hand on his hair. + +"David, I'm so sorry," she breathed. + +Courant leaped to his feet and walked to where his horses stood. He +struck one of them a blow on the flank that after the silence and the +low tones of the girl's crooning voice sounded as violent as a pistol +shot. They all started, even David lifted his head. + +"What's the matter now?" said Daddy John, alert for any outbreak of man +or beast. + +But Courant made no answer, and moved away into the plain. It was some +time before he came back, emerging from the darkness as noiselessly as +he had gone. David had eaten his supper and was asleep, the girl +sitting beyond him withdrawn from the fire glow. Daddy John was +examining the sick horse, and Courant joined him, walking round the +beast and listening to the old man's opinions as to its condition. +They were not encouraging. It seemed likely that David's carelessness +would cost the train two valuable animals. + +To the outward eye peace had again settled on the camp. The low +conferrings of the two men, the dying snaps of the charred twigs, were +the only sounds. The night brooded serene about the bivouac, the large +stars showing clear now that the central glare had sunk to a red heap +of ruin. Far away, on the hills, the sparks of Indian fires gleamed. +They had followed the train for days, watching it like the eyes of +hungry animals, too timid to come nearer. But there was no cause for +alarm, for the desert Indians were a feeble race, averse to bloodshed, +thieves at their worst, descending upon the deserted camping grounds to +carry away what the emigrants left. + +Nevertheless, when the sound of hoof beats came from the trail both men +made a quick snatch for their rifles, and Susan jumped to her feet with +a cry of "Some one's coming." They could see nothing, the darkness +hanging like a curtain across their vision. Courant, with his rifle in +the hollow of his arm, moved toward the sounds, his hail reaching clear +and deep into the night. An answer came in a man's voice, the hoof +beats grew louder, and the reaching light defined approaching shapes. +Daddy John threw a bunch of sage on the fire, and in the rush of flame +that flew along its branches, two mounted men were visible. + +They dropped to the ground and came forward. "From California to the +States," the foremost said to Susan, seeing a woman with fears to be +allayed. He was tall and angular with a frank, copper-tanned face, +overtopped by a wide spread of hat, and bearded to the eyes. He wore a +loose hickory shirt and buckskin breeches tucked into long boots, +already broken from the soles. The other was a small and comical +figure with an upstanding crest of sunburned blond hair, tight curled +and thick as a sheep's fleece. When he saw Susan he delayed his +advance to put on a ragged army overcoat that hung to his heels, and +evidently hid discrepancies in his costume not meet for a lady's eye. +Both men were powdered with dust, and announced themselves as hungry +enough to eat their horses. + +Out came pans and supplies, and the snapping of bacon fat and smell of +coffee rose pungent. Though, by their own account, they had ridden +hard and far, there was a feverish energy of life in each of them that +roused the drooping spirits of the others like an electrifying current. +They ate ravenously, pausing between mouthfuls to put quick questions +on the condition of the eastward trail, its grazing grounds, what +supplies could be had at the Forts. It was evident they were new to +journeying on the great bare highways of the wilderness, but that fact +seemed to have no blighting effect on their zeal. What and who they +were came out in the talk that gushed in the intervals of feeding. The +fair-haired man was a sailor, shipped from Boston round the Horn for +California eight months before. The fact that he was a deserter +dropped out with others. He was safe here--with a side-long laugh at +Susan--no more of the sea for him. + +He was going back for money, money and men. It was too late to get +through to the States now? Well he'd wait and winter at Fort Laramie +if he had to, but he guessed he'd make a pretty vigorous effort to get +to St. Louis. His companion was from Philadelphia, and was going back +for his wife and children, also money. He'd bring them out next +spring, collect a big train, stock it well, and carry them across with +him. + +"And start early, not waste any time dawdling round and talking. Start +with the first of 'em and get to California before the rush begins." + +"Rush?" said Courant. "Are you looking for a rush next year?" + +The man leaned forward with upraised, arresting hand, "The biggest rush +in the history of this country. Friends, there's gold in California." + +Gold! The word came in different keys, their flaccid bodies stiffened +into upright eagerness-- Gold in the Promised Land! + +Then came the great story, the discovery of California's treasure told +by wanderers to wanderers under the desert stars. Six months before +gold had been found in the race of Sutter's mill in the foothills. The +streams that sucked their life from the snow crests of the Sierras were +yellow with it. It lay, a dusty sediment, in the prospector's pan. It +spread through the rock cracks in sparkling seams. + +The strangers capped story with story, chanted the tales of fantastic +exaggeration that had already gone forth, and up and down California +were calling men from ranch and seaboard. They were coming down from +Oregon along the wild spine of the coast ranges and up from the Mission +towns strung on highways beaten out by Spanish soldier and padre. The +news was now en route to the outer world carried by ships. It would +fly from port to port, run like fire up the eastern coast and leap to +the inland cities and the frontier villages. And next spring, when the +roads were open, would come the men, the regiments of men, on foot, +mounted, in long caravans, hastening to California for the gold that +was there for anyone who had the strength and hardihood to go. + +The bearded man got up, went to his horse and brought back his pack. +He opened it, pulled off the outer blanketing, and from a piece of +dirty calico drew a black sock, bulging and heavy. From this in turn +he shook a small buckskin sack. He smoothed the calico, untied a +shoestring from the sack's mouth, and let a stream of dun-colored dust +run out. It shone in the firelight in a slow sifting rivulet, here and +there a bright flake like a spangle sending out a yellow spark. +Several times a solid particle obstructed the lazy flow, which broke +upon it like water on a rock, dividing and sinking in two heavy +streams. It poured with unctious deliberation till the sack was empty, +and the man held it up to show the powdered dust of dust clinging to +the inside. + +"That's three weeks' washing on the river across the valley beyond +Sacramento," he said, "and it's worth four thousand dollars in the +United States mint." + +The pile shone yellow in the fire's even glow, and they stared at it, +wonderstruck, each face showing a sudden kindling of greed, the longing +to possess, to know the power and peace of wealth. It came with added +sharpness in the midst of their bare distress. Even the girl felt it, +leaning forward to gloat with brightened eyes on the little pyramid. +David forgot his injuries and craned his neck to listen, dreams once +more astir. California became suddenly a radiant vision. No longer a +faint line of color, vaguely lovely, but a place where fortune waited +them, gold to fill their coffers, to bring them ease, to give their +aspirations definite shape, to repay them for their bitter pilgrimage. +They were seized with the lust of it, and their attentive faces +sharpened with the strain of the growing desire. They felt the onward +urge to be up and moving, to get there and lay their hands on the +waiting treasure. + +The night grew old and still they talked, their fatigue forgotten. +They heard the tale of Marshall's discovery and how it flew right and +left through the spacious, idle land. There were few to answer the +call, ranches scattered wide over the unpeopled valleys, small traders +in the little towns along the coast. In the settlement of Yerba Buena, +fringing the edge of San Francisco Bay, men were leaving their goods at +their shop doors and going inland. Ships were lying idle in the tide +water, every sailor gone to find the golden river. The fair-haired man +laughed and told how he'd swam naked in the darkness, his money in his +mouth, and crawled up the long, shoal shore, waist high in mud. + +The small hours had come when one by one they dropped to sleep as they +lay. A twist of the blanket, a squirming into deeper comfort, and rest +was on them. They sprawled in the caked dust like dead men fallen in +battle and left as they had dropped. Even the girl forgot the habits +of a life-long observance and sunk to sleep among them, her head on a +saddle, the old servant curled at her feet. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +In the even dawn light the strangers left. It was hail and farewell in +desert meetings. They trotted off into the ghostlike stillness of the +plain which for a space threw back their hoof beats, and then closed +round them. The departure of the westward band was not so prompt. +With unbound packs and unharnessed animals, they stood, a dismayed +group, gathered round a center of disturbance. David was ill. The +exertions of the day before had drained his last reserve of strength. +He could hardly stand, complained of pain, and a fever painted his +drawn face with a dry flush. Under their concerned looks, he climbed +on his horse, swayed there weakly, then slid off and dropped on the +ground. + +"I'm too sick to go on," he said in the final collapse of misery. "You +can leave me here to die." + +He lay flat, looking up at the sky, his long hair raying like a +mourning halo from the outline of his skull, his arms outspread as if +his soul had submitted to its crucifixion and his body was in +agreement. That he was ill was beyond question. The men had their +suspicions that he, like the horses, had drunk of the alkaline spring. + +Susan was for remaining where they were till he recovered, the others +wanted to go on. He gave no ear to their debate, interrupting it once +to announce his intention of dying where he lay. This called forth a +look of compassion from the girl, a movement of exasperation from the +mountain man. Daddy John merely spat and lifted his hat to the faint +dawn air. It was finally agreed that David should be placed in the +wagon, his belongings packed on his horse, while the sick animal must +follow as best it could. + +During the morning's march no one spoke. They might have been a +picture moving across a picture for all the animation they showed. The +exaltation of the evening before had died down to a spark, alight and +warming still, but pitifully shrunk from last night's high-flaming +buoyancy. It was hard to keep up hopes in these distressful hours. +California had again receded. The desert and the mountains were yet to +pass. The immediate moment hemmed them in so closely that it was an +effort to look through it and feel the thrill of joys that lay so far +beyond. It was better to focus their attention on the lone +promontories that cut the distance and gradually grew from flat +surfaces applied on the plain to solid shapes, thick-based and shadow +cloven. + +They made their noon camp at a spring, bubbling from a rim of +white-rooted grass. David refused to take anything but water, groaning +as he sat up in the wagon and stretching a hot hand for the cup that +Susan brought. The men paid no attention to him. They showed more +concern for the sick horse, which when not incapacitated did its part +with good will, giving the full measure of its strength. That they +refrained from open anger and upbraiding was the only concession they +made to the conventions they had learned in easier times. Whether +David cared or not he said nothing, lying fever-flushed, his wandering +glance held to attention when Susan's face appeared at the canvas +opening. He hung upon her presence, querulously exacting in his +unfamiliar pain. + +Making ready for the start their eyes swept a prospect that showed no +spot of green, and they filled their casks neck high and rolled out +into the dazzling shimmer of the afternoon. The desert was widening, +the hills receding, shrinking away to a crenelated edge that fretted a +horizon drawn as straight as a ruled line. The plain unrolled more +spacious and grimmer, not a growth in sight save sage, not a trickle of +water or leaf murmur, even the mirage had vanished leaving the distance +bare and mottled with a leprous white. At intervals, outstretched like +a pointing finger, the toothed summit of a ridge projected, its base +uplifted in clear, mirrored reflection. + +The second half of the day was as unbroken by speech or incident as the +morning. They had nothing to say, as dry of thought as they were +despoiled of energy. The shadows were beginning to lengthen when they +came to a fork in the trail. One branch bore straight westward, the +other slanted toward the south, and both showed signs of recent travel. +Following them to the distance was like following the tracks of +creeping things traced on a sandy shore. Neither led to +anything--sage, dust, the up-standing combs of rocky reefs were all the +searching eye could see till sight lost itself in the earth's curve. +The girl and the two men stood in the van of the train consulting. The +region was new to Courant, but they left it to him, and he decided for +the southern route. + +For the rest of the afternoon they followed it. The day deepened to +evening and they bore across a flaming level, striped with gigantic +shadows. Looking forward they saw a lake of gold that lapped the roots +of rose and lilac hills. The road swept downward to a crimsoned butte, +cleft apart, and holding in its knees a gleam of water. The animals, +smelling it, broke for it, tearing the wagon over sand hummocks and +crackling twigs. It was a feeble upwelling, exhausted by a single +draught. Each beast, desperately nosing in its coolness, drained it, +and there was a long wait ere the tiny depression filled again. +Finally, it was dried of its last drop, and the reluctant ooze stopped. +The animals, their thirst half slaked, drooped about it, looking with +mournful inquiry at the disturbed faces of their masters. + +It was a bad sign. The men knew there were waterless tracts in the +desert that the emigrant must skirt. They mounted to the summit of the +butte and scanned their surroundings. The world shone a radiant floor +out of which each sage brush rose a floating, feathered tuft, but of +gleam or trickle of water there was none. When they came down David +lay beside the spring his eyes on its basin, now a muddied hole, the +rim patterned with hoof prints. When he heard them coming he rose on +his elbow awaiting them with a haggard glance, then seeing their blank +looks sank back groaning. To Susan's command that a cask be broached, +Courant gave a sullen consent. She drew off the first cupful and gave +it to the sick man, his lean hands straining for it, his fingers +fumbling in a search for the handle. The leader, after watching her +for a moment, turned away and swung off, muttering. David dropped back +on the ground, his eyes closed, his body curved about the damp +depression. + +The evening burned to night, the encampment growing black against the +scarlet sky. The brush fire sent a line of smoke straight up, a long +milky thread, that slowly disentangled itself and mounted to a final +outspreading. Each member of the group was still, the girl lying a +dark oblong under her blanket, her face upturned to the stars which +blossomed slowly in the huge, unclouded heaven. At the root of the +butte, hidden against its shadowy base, the mountain man lay +motionless, but his eyes were open and they rested on her, not closing +or straying. + +When no one saw him he kept this stealthy watch. In the daytime, with +the others about, he still was careful to preserve his brusque +indifference, to avoid her, to hide his passion with a jealous +subtlety. But beneath the imposed bonds it grew with each day, +stronger and more savage as the way waxed fiercer. It was not an +obsession of occasional moments, it was always with him. As pilot her +image moved across the waste before him. When he fell back for words +with Daddy John, he was listening through the old man's speech, for the +fall of her horse's hoofs. Her voice made his heart stop, the rustle +of her garments dried his throat. When his lowered eyes saw her hand +on the plate's edge, he grew rigid, unable to eat. If she brushed by +him in the bustle of camp pitching, his hands lost their strength and +he was sick with the sense of her. Love, courtship, marriage, were +words that no longer had any meaning for him. All the tenderness and +humanity he had felt for her in the days of her father's sickness were +gone. They were burned away, as the water and the grass were. When he +saw her solicitude for David, his contempt for the weak man hardened +into hatred. He told himself that he hated them both, and he told +himself he would crush and kill them both before David should get her. +The desire to keep her from David was stronger than the desire to have +her for himself. He did not think or care what he felt. She was the +prey to be won by cunning or daring, whose taste or wishes had no place +in the struggle. He no longer looked ahead, thought, or reasoned. The +elemental in him was developing to fit a scene in which only the +elemental survived. + +They broke camp at four the next morning. For the last few days the +heat had been unbearable, and they decided to start while the air was +still cool and prolong the noon halt. The landscape grew barer. There +were open areas where the soil was soft and sifted from the wheels like +sand, and dried stretches where the alkali lay in a caked, white crust. +In one place the earth humped into long, wavelike swells each crest +topped with a fringe of brush, fine and feathery as petrified spray. +At mid-day there was no water in sight. Courant, standing on his +saddle, saw no promise of it, nothing but the level distance streaked +with white mountain rims, and far to the south a patch of yellow--bare +sand, he said, as he pointed a horny finger to where it lay. + +They camped in the glare and opened the casks. After the meal they +tried to rest, but the sun was merciless. The girl crawled under the +wagon and lay there on the dust, sleeping with one arm thrown across +her face. The two men sat near by, their hats drawn low over their +brows. There was not a sound. The silence seemed transmuted to a +slowly thickening essence solidifying round them. It pressed upon them +till speech was as impossible as it would be under water. A broken +group in the landscape's immensity, they were like a new expression of +its somber vitality, motionless yet full of life, in consonance with +its bare and brutal verity. + +Courant left them to reconnoiter, and at mid afternoon came back to +announce that farther on the trail bent to an outcropping of red rock +where he thought there might be water. It was the hottest hour of the +day. The animals strained at their harness with lolling tongues and +white-rimmed eyeballs, their sweat making tracks on the dust. To +lighten the wagon Daddy John walked beside it, plodding on in his +broken moccasins, now and then chirruping to Julia. The girl rode +behind him, her blouse open at the neck, her hair clinging in a black +veining to her bedewed temples. Several times he turned back to look +at her as the only other female of the party to be encouraged. When +she caught his eye she nodded as though acknowledging the salutation of +a passerby, her dumbness an instinctive hoarding of physical force. + +The red rock came in sight, a nicked edge across the distance. As they +approached, it drew up from the plain in a series of crumpled points +like the comb of a rooster. The detail of the intervening space was +lost in the first crepuscular softness, and they saw nothing but a +stretch of darkening purple from which rose the scalloped crest painted +in strange colors. Courant trotted forward crying a word of hope, and +they pricked after him to where the low bulwark loomed above the +plain's swimming mystery. + +When they reached it he was standing at the edge of a caverned +indentation. Dead grasses dropped against the walls, withered weeds +thickened toward the apex in a tangled carpet. There had once been +water there, but it was gone, dried, or sunk to some hidden channel in +the rock's heart. They stood staring at the scorched herbage and the +basin where the earth was cracked apart in its last gasping throes of +thirst. + +David's voice broke the silence. He had climbed to the front seat, and +his face, gilded with the sunlight, looked like the face of a dead man +painted yellow. + +"Is there water?" he said, then saw the dead grass and dried basin, and +met the blank looks of his companions. + +Susan's laconic "The spring's dry," was not necessary. He fell forward +on the seat with a moan, his head propped in his hands, his fingers +buried in his hair. Courant sent a look of furious contempt over his +abject figure, then gave a laugh that fell on the silence bitter as a +curse. Daddy John without a word moved off and began unhitching the +mules. Even in Susan pity was, for the moment, choked by a swell of +disgust. Had she not had the other men to measure him by, had she not +within her own sturdy frame felt the spirit still strong for conflict, +she might still have known only the woman's sympathy for the feebler +creature. But they were a trio steeled and braced for invincible +effort, and this weakling, without the body and the spirit for the +enterprise, was an alien among them. + +She went to the back of the wagon and opened the mess chest. As she +picked out the supper things she began to repent. The lean, bent +figure and sunken head kept recurring to her. She saw him not as David +but as a suffering outsider, and for a second, motionless, with a +blackened skillet in her hand, had a faint, clairvoyant understanding +of his soul's desolation amid the close-knit unity of their endeavor. +She dropped the tin and went back to the front of the wagon. He was +climbing out, hanging tremulous to the roof support, a haggard +spectacle, with wearied eyes and skin drawn into fine puckerings across +the temples. Pity came back in a remorseful wave, and she ran to him +and lifted his arm to her shoulder. It clasped her hard and they +walked to where at the rock's base the sage grew high. Here she laid a +blanket for him and spread another on the top of the bushes, fastening +it to the tallest ones till it stretched, a sheltering canopy, over +him. She tried to cheer him with assurances that water would be found +at the next halting place. He was listless at first, seeming not to +listen, then the life in her voice roused his sluggish faculties, his +cheeks took color, and his dull glance lit on point after point in its +passage to her face, like the needle flickering toward the pole. + +"If I could get water enough to drink, I'd be all right," he said. +"The pains are gone." + +"They _must_ find it soon," she answered, lifting the weight of his +fallen courage, heavy as his body might have been to her arms. "This +is a traveled road. There _must_ be a spring somewhere along it." + +And she continued prying up the despairing spirit till the man began to +respond, showing returning hope in the eagerness with which he hung on +her words. When he lay sinking into drowsy quiet, she stole away from +him to where the camp was spread about the unlit pyre of Daddy John's +sage brush. It was too early for supper, and the old man, with the +accouterments of the hunt slung upon his person and his rifle in his +hand, was about to go afield after jack rabbit. + +"It's a bad business this," he said in answer to the worry she dared +not express. "The animals can't hold out much longer." + +"What are we to do? There's only a little water left in one of the +casks." + +"Low's goin' to strike across for the other trail. He's goin' after +supper, and he says he'll ride all night till he gets it. He thinks if +he goes due that way," pointing northward, "he can strike it sooner +than by goin' back." + +They looked in the direction he pointed. Each bush was sending a +phenomenally long shadow from its intersection with the ground. There +was no butte or hummock to break the expanse between them and the +faint, far silhouette of mountains. Her heart sank, a sinking that +fatigue and dread of thirst had never given her. + +"He may lose us," she said. + +The old man jerked his head toward the rock. + +"He'll steer by that, and I'll keep the fire going till morning." + +"But how can he ride all night? He must be half dead now." + +"A man like him don't die easy. It's not the muscle and the bones, +it's the grit. He says it's him that made the mistake and it's him +that's goin' to get us back on the right road." + +"What will he do for water?" + +"Take an empty cask behind the saddle and trust to God." + +"But there's water in one of our casks yet." + +"Yes, he knows it, but he's goin' to leave that for us. And we got to +hang on to it, Missy. Do you understand that?" + +She nodded, frowning and biting her underlip. + +"Are you feelin' bad?" said the old man uneasily. + +"Not a bit," she answered. "Don't worry about me." + +He laid a hand on her shoulder and looked into her face with eyes that +said more than his tongue could. + +"You're as good a man as any of us. When we get to California we'll +have fun laughing over this." + +He gave the shoulder a shake, then drew back and picked up his rifle. + +"I'll get you a rabbit for supper if I can," he said with his cackling +laugh. "That's about the best I can do." + +He left her trailing off into the reddened reaches of the sage, and she +went back to the rock, thinking that in some overlooked hollow, water +might linger. She passed the mouth of the dead spring, then skirted +the spot where David lay, a motionless shape under the canopy of the +blanket. A few paces beyond him a buttress extended and, rounding it, +she found a triangular opening inclosed on three sides by walls, their +summits orange with the last sunlight. There had once been water here +for the grasses, and thin-leafed plants grew rank about the rock's +base, then outlined in sere decay what had evidently been the path of a +streamlet. She knelt among them, thrusting her hands between their +rustling stalks, jerking them up and casting them away, the friable +soil spattering from their roots. + +The heat was torrid, the noon ardors still imprisoned between the +slanting walls. Presently she sat back on her heels, and with an +earthy hand pushed the moist hair from her forehead. The movement +brought her head up, and her wandering eyes, roving in morose +inspection, turned to the cleft's opening. Courant was standing there, +watching her. His hands hung loose at his sides, his head was drooped +forward, his chin lowered toward his throat. The position lent to his +gaze a suggestion of animal ruminance and concentration. + +"Why don't you get David to do that?" he said slowly. + +The air in the little cleft seemed to her suddenly heavy and hard to +breathe. She caught it into her lungs with a quick inhalation. +Dropping her eyes to the weeds she said sharply, "David's sick. He +can't do anything. You know that." + +"He that ought to be out in the desert there looking for water's lying +asleep under a blanket. That's your man." + +He did not move or divert his gaze. There was something singularly +sinister in the fixed and gleaming look and the rigidity of his +watching face. She plucked at a weed, saw her hand's trembling and to +hide it struck her palms together shaking off the dust. The sound +filled the silent place. To her ears it was hardly louder than the +terrified beating of her heart. + +"That's the man you've chosen," he went on. "A feller that gives out +when the road's hard, who hasn't enough backbone to stand a few days' +heat and thirst. A poor, useless rag." + +He spoke in a low voice, very slowly, each word dropping distinct and +separate. His lowering expression, his steady gaze, his deliberate +speech, spoke of mental forces in abeyance. It was another man, not +the Courant she knew. + +She tried to quell her tremors by simulating indignation. If her +breathing shook her breast into an agitation he could see, the look she +kept on him was bold and defiant. + +"Don't speak of him that way," she cried scrambling to her feet. "Keep +what you think to yourself." + +"And what do _you_ think?" he said and moved forward toward her. + +She made no answer, and it was very silent in the cleft. As he came +nearer the grasses crackling under his soft tread were the only sound. +She saw that his face was pale under the tan, the nostrils slightly +dilated. Stepping with a careful lightness, his movements suggested a +carefully maintained adjustment, a being quivering in a breathless +balance. She backed away till she stood pressed against the rock. She +felt her thoughts scattering and made an effort to hold them as though +grasping at tangible, escaping things. + +He stopped close to her, and neither spoke for a moment, eye hard on +eye, then hers shifted and dropped. + +"You think about him as I do," said the man. + +"No," she answered, "no," but her voice showed uncertainty. + +"Why don't you tell the truth? Why do you lie?" + +"No," this time the word was hardly audible, and she tried to impress +it by shaking her head. + +He made a step toward her and seized one of her hands. She tried to +tear it away and flattened herself against the rock, panting, her face +gone white as the alkaline patches of the desert. + +"You don't love him. You never did." + +She shook her head again, gasping. "Let me out of here. Let go of me." + +"You liar," he whispered. "You love me." + +She could not answer, her knees shaking, the place blurring on her +sight. Through a sick dizziness she saw nothing but his altered face. +He reached for the other hand, spread flat against the stone, and as +she felt his grasp upon it, her words came in broken pleading: + +"Yes, yes, it's true. I do. But I've promised. Let me go." + +"Then come to me," he said huskily and tried to wrench her forward into +his arms. + +She held herself rigid, braced against the wall, and tearing one hand +free, raised it, palm out, between his face and hers. + +"No, no! My father--I promised him. I can't tell David now. I will +later. Don't hold me. Let me go." + +The voice of Daddy John came clear from outside. "Missy! Hullo, +Missy! Where are you?" + +She sent up the old man's name in a quavering cry and the mountain man +dropped her arm and stepped back. + +She ran past him, and at the mouth of the opening, stopped and leaned +on a ledge, getting her breath and trying to control her trembling. +Daddy John was coming through the sage, a jack rabbit held up in one +hand. + +"Here's your supper," he cried jubilant. "Ain't I told you I'd get it?" + +She moved forward to meet him, walking slowly. When he saw her face, +concern supplanted his triumph. + +"We got to get you out of this," he said. "You're as peaked as one of +them frontier women in sunbonnets," and he tried to hook a +compassionate hand in her arm. But she edged away from him, fearful +that he would feel her trembling, and answered: + +"It's the heat. It seems to draw the strength all out of me." + +"The rabbit'll put some of it back. I'll go and get things started. +You sit by David and rest up," and he skurried away to the camp. + +She went to David, lying now with opened eyes and hands clasped beneath +his head. When her shadow fell across him he turned a brightened face +on her. + +"I'm better," he said. "If I could get some water I think I'd soon be +all right." + +She stood looking down on him with a clouded, almost sullen, expression. + +"Did you sleep long?" she asked for something to say. + +"I don't know how long. A little while ago I woke up and looked for +you, but you weren't anywhere round, so I just lay here and looked out +across to the mountains and began to think of California. I haven't +thought about it for a long while." + +She sat down by him and listened as he told her his thoughts. With a +renewal of strength the old dreams had come back--the cabin by the +river, the garden seeds to be planted, and now added to them was the +gold they were to find. She hearkened with unresponsive apathy. The +repugnance to this mutually shared future which had once made her +recoil from it was a trivial thing to the abhorrence of it that was now +hers. Dislikes had become loathings, a girl's whims, a woman's +passions. As David babbled on she kept her eyes averted, for she knew +that in them her final withdrawal shone coldly. Her thoughts kept +reverting to the scene in the cleft, and when she tore them from it and +forced them back on him, her conscience awoke and gnawed. She could no +more tell this man, returning to life and love of her, than she could +kill him as he lay there defenseless and trusting. + +At supper they measured out the water, half a cup for each. There +still remained a few inches in the cask. This was to be hoarded +against the next day. If Courant on his night journey could not strike +the upper trail and a spring they would have to retrace their steps, +and by this route, with the animals exhausted and their own strength +diminished, the first water was a twelve hours' march off. Susan and +Courant were silent, avoiding each other's eyes, torpid to the outward +observation. But the old man was unusually garrulous, evidently +attempting to raise their lowered spirits. He had much to say about +California and the gold there, speculated on their chances of fortune, +and then carried his speculations on to the joys of wealth and a future +in which Susan was to say with the Biblical millionaire, "Now soul take +thine ease." She rewarded him with a quick smile, then tipped her cup +till the bottom faced the sky, and let the last drop run into her mouth. + +The night was falling when Courant rode out. She passed him as he was +mounting, the canteen strapped to the back of his saddle. "Good-by, +and good luck," she said in a low voice as she brushed by. His +"good-by" came back to her instilled with a new meaning. The reserve +between them was gone. Separated as the poles, they had suddenly +entered within the circle of an intimacy that had snapped round them +and shut them in. Her surroundings fell into far perspective, losing +their menace. She did not care where she was or how she fared. An +indifference to all that had seemed unbearable, uplifted her. It was +like an emergence from cramped confines to wide, inspiring spaces. He +and she were there--the rest was nothing. + +Sitting beside David she could see the rider's figure grow small, as it +receded across the plain. The night had come and the great level +brooded solemn under the light of the first, serene stars. In the +middle of the camp Daddy John's fire flared, the central point of +illumination in a ring of fluctuant yellow. Touched and lost by its +waverings the old man's figure came and went, absorbed in outer +darkness, then revealed his arms extended round sheaves of brush. +David turned and lay on his side looking at her. Her knees were drawn +up, her hands clasped round her ankles. With the ragged detail of her +dress obscured, the line of her profile and throat sharp in clear +silhouette against the saffron glow, she was like a statue carved in +black marble. He could not see what her glance followed, only felt the +consolation of her presence, the one thing to which he could turn and +meet a human response. + +He was feverish again, his thirst returned in an insatiable craving. +Moving restlessly he flung out a hand toward her and said querulously: + +"How long will Low be gone?" + +"Till the morning unless he finds water by the way." + +Silence fell on him and her eyes strained through the darkness for the +last glimpse of the rider. He sighed deeply, the hot hand stirring +till it lay spread, with separated fingers on the hem of her dress. He +moved each finger, their brushing on the cloth the only sound. + +"Are you in pain?" she asked and shrunk before the coldness of her +voice. + +"No, but I am dying with thirst." + +She made no answer, resting in her graven quietness. The night had +closed upon the rider's figure, but she watched where it had been. +Over a blackened peak a large star soared up like a bright eye spying +on the waste. Suddenly the hand clinched and he struck down at the +earth with it. + +"I can't go without water till the morning." + +"Try to sleep," she said. "We must stand it the best way we can." + +"I can't sleep." + +He moaned and turned over on his face and lying thus rolled from side +to side as if in anguish that movement assuaged. For the first time +she looked at him, turning upon him a glance of questioning anxiety. +She could see his narrow, angular shape, the legs twisted, the arms +bent for a pillow, upon which his head moved in restless pain. + +"David, we've got to wait." + +"The night through? Stay this way till morning? I'll be dead. I wish +I was now." + +She looked away from him seized by temptation that rose from contrition +not pity. + +"If you cared for me you could get it. Low's certain to find a spring." + +"Very well. I will," she said and rose to her feet. + +She moved softly to the camp the darkness hiding her. Daddy John was +taking a cat nap by the fire, a barrier of garnered sage behind him. +She knew his sleep was light and stole with a tiptoe tread to the back +of the wagon where the water cask stood. She drew off a cupful, then, +her eye alert on the old man, crept back to David. When he saw her +coming he sat up with a sharp breath of satisfaction, and she knelt +beside him and held the cup to his lips. He drained it and sank back +in a collapse of relief, muttering thanks that she hushed, fearful of +the old man. Then she again took her seat beside him. She saw Daddy +John get up and pile the fire high, and watched its leaping flame throw +out tongues toward the stars. + +Midnight was past when David woke and again begged for water. This +time she went for it without urging. When he had settled into rest she +continued her watch peaceful at the thought that she had given him what +was hers and Courant's. Reparation of a sort had been made. Her mind +could fly without hindrance into the wilderness with the lonely +horseman. It was a luxury like dearly bought freedom, and she sat on +lost in it, abandoned to a reverie as deep and solemn as the night. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +She woke when the sun shot its first rays into her eyes. David lay +near by, breathing lightly, his face like a pale carven mask against +the blanket's folds. Down below in the camp the fire burned low, its +flame looking ineffectual and tawdry in the flushed splendor of the +sunrise. Daddy John was astir, moving about among the animals and +pausing to rub Julia's nose and hearten her up with hopeful words. + +Susan mounted to a ledge and scanned the distance. Her figure caught +the old man's eye and he hailed her for news. Nothing yet, she +signaled back, then far on the plain's rose-brown limit saw a dust blur +and gave a cry that brought him running and carried him in nimble +ascent to her side. His old eyes could see nothing. She had to point +the direction with a finger that shook. + +"There, there. It's moving--far away, as if a drop of water had been +spilled on a picture and made a tiny blot." + +They watched till a horseman grew from the nebulous spot. Then they +climbed down and ran to the camp, got out the breakfast things and +threw brush on the fire, speaking nothing but the essential word, for +hope and fear racked them. When he was within hail Daddy John ran to +meet him, but she stayed where she was, her hands making useless darts +among the pans, moistening her lips that they might frame speech easily +when he came. With down-bent head she heard his voice hoarse from a +dust-dried throat: he had found the trail and near it a spring, the +cask he carried was full, it would last them for twelve hours. But the +way was heavy and the animals were too spent for a day's march in such +heat. They would not start till evening and would journey through the +night. + +She heard his feet brushing toward her through the sage, and smelled +the dust and sweat upon him as he drew up beside her. She was forced +to raise her eyes and murmur a greeting. It was short and cold, and +Daddy John marveled at the ways of women, who welcomed a man from such +labors as if he had been to the creek and brought up a pail of water. +His face, gaunt and grooved with lines, made her heart swell with the +pity she had so freely given David, and the passion that had never been +his. There was no maternal softness in her now. The man beside her +was no helpless creature claiming her aid, but a conqueror upon whom +she leaned and in whom she gloried. + +After he had eaten he drew a saddle back into the rock's shade, spread +a blanket and threw himself on it. Almost before he had composed his +body in comfort he was asleep, one arm thrown over his head, his sinewy +neck outstretched, his chest rising and falling in even breaths. + +At noon Daddy John in broaching the cask discovered the deficit in the +water supply. She came upon the old man with the half-filled +coffee-pot in his hand staring down at its contents with a puzzled +face. She stood watching him, guilty as a thievish child, the color +mounting to her forehead. He looked up and in his eyes she read the +shock of his suspicions. Delicacy kept him silent, and as he rinsed +the water round in the pot his own face reddened in a blush for the +girl he had thought strong in honor and self-denial as he was. + +"I took it," she said slowly. + +He had to make allowances, not only to her, but to himself. He felt +that he must reassure her, keep her from feeling shame for the first +underhand act he had ever known her commit. So he spoke with all the +cheeriness he could command: + +"I guess you needed it pretty bad. Turning out as it has I'm glad you +done it." + +She saw he thought she had taken it for herself, and experienced relief +in the consciousness of unjust punishment. + +"You were asleep," she said, "and I came down and took it twice." + +He did not look at her for he could not bear to see her humiliation. +It was his affair to lighten her self-reproach. + +"Well, that was all right. You're the only woman among us, and you've +got to be kept up." + +"I--I--couldn't stand it any longer," she faltered now, wanting to +justify herself. "It was too much to bear." + +"Don't say no more," he said tenderly. "Ain't you only a little girl +put up against things that 'ud break the spirit of a strong man?" + +The pathos of his efforts to excuse her shook her guarded self-control. +She suddenly put her face against his shoulder in a lonely dreariness. +He made a backward gesture with his head that he might toss off his hat +and lay his cheek on her hair. + +"There, there," he muttered comfortingly. "Don't go worrying about +that. You ain't done no harm. It's just as natural for you to have +taken it as for you to go to sleep when you're tired. And there's not +a soul but you and me'll ever know it, and we'll forget by to-night." + +His simple words, reminiscent of gentler days, when tragic problems lay +beyond the confines of imagination, loosed the tension of her mood, and +she clasped her arms about him, trembling and shaken. He patted her +with his free hand, the coffee-pot in the other, thinking her agitation +merely an expression of fatigue, with no more knowledge of its complex +provocation than he had of the mighty throes that had once shaken the +blighted land on which they stood. + +David was better, much better, he declared, and proved it by helping +clear the camp and pack the wagon for the night march. He was kneeling +by Daddy John, who was folding the blankets, when he said suddenly: + +"If I hadn't got water I think I'd have died last night." + +The old man, stopped in his folding to turn a hardening face on him. + +"Water?" he said. "How'd you get it?" + +"Susan did. I told her I couldn't stand it, and she went down twice to +the wagon and brought it to me. I was at the end of my rope." + +Daddy John said nothing. His ideas were readjusting themselves to a +new point of view. When they were established his Missy was back upon +her pedestal, a taller one than ever before, and David was once and for +all in the dust at its feet. + +"There's no one like Susan," the lover went on, now with returning +forces, anxious to give the mead of praise where it was due. "She +tried to talk me out of it, and then when she saw I couldn't stand it +she just went quietly off and got it." + +"I guess you could have held out till the morning if you'd put your +mind to it," said the old man dryly, rising with the blankets. + +For the moment he despised David almost as bitterly as Courant did. It +was not alone the weakness so frankly admitted; it was that his action +had made Daddy John harbor secret censure of the being dearest to him. +The old man could have spat upon him. He moved away for fear of the +words that trembled on his tongue. And another and deeper pain +tormented him--that his darling should so love this feeble creature +that she could steal for him and take the blame of his misdeeds. This +was the man to whom she had given her heart! He found himself wishing +that David had never come back from his search for the lost horses. +Then the other man, the real man that was her fitting mate, could have +won her. + +At sunset the train was ready. Every article that could be dispensed +with was left, a rich find for the Indians whose watch fires winked +from the hills. To the cry of "Roll out," and the snap of the long +whip, the wagon lurched into motion, the thirst-racked animals +straining doggedly as it crunched over sage stalks and dragged through +powdery hummocks. The old man walked by the wheel, the long lash of +his whip thrown afar, flashing in the upper light and descending in a +lick of flame on the mules' gray flanks. With each blow fell a phrase +of encouragement, the words of a friend who wounds and wounding himself +suffers. David rode at the rear with Susan. The two men had told him +he must ride if he died for it, and met his offended answer that he +intended to do so with sullen silence. In advance, Courant's figure +brushed between the bushes, his hair a moving patch of copper color in +the last light. + +Darkness quickly gathered round them. The bowl of sky became an +intense Prussian blue that the earth reflected. In this clear, deep +color the wagon hood showed a pallid arch, and the shapes of man and +beast were defined in shadowless black. In the west a band of +lemon-color lingered, and above the stars began to prick through, great +scintillant sparks, that looked, for all their size, much farther away +than the stars of the peopled places. Their light seemed caught and +held in aerial gulfs above the earth, making the heavens clear, while +the night clung close and undisturbed to the plain's face. Once from +afar the cry of an animal arose, a long, swelling howl, but around the +train all was still save for the crackling of the crushed sage stalks, +and the pad of hoofs. + +It was near midnight when Susan's voice summoned Daddy John. The wagon +halted, and she beckoned him with a summoning arm. He ran to her, +circling the bushes with a youth's alertness, and stretched up to hear +her as she bent from the saddle. David must go in the wagon, he was +unable to ride longer. The old man swept him with a look of +inspection. The starlight showed a drooping figure, the face hidden by +the shadow of his hat brim. The mules were at the limit of their +strength, and the old man demurred, swearing under his breath and +biting his nails. + +"You've got to take him," she said, "if it kills them. He would have +fallen off a minute ago if I hadn't put my arm around him." + +"Come on, then," he answered with a surly look at David. "Come on and +ride, while the rest of us get along the best way we can." + +"He can't help it," she urged in an angry whisper. "You talk as if he +was doing it on purpose." + +David slid off his horse and made for the wagon with reeling steps. +The other man followed muttering. + +"Help him," she called. "Don't you see he can hardly stand?" + +At the wagon wheel Daddy John hoisted him in with vigorous and ungentle +hands. Crawling into the back the sick man fell prone with a groan. +Courant, who had heard them and turned to watch, came riding up. + +"What is it?" he said sharply. "The mules given out?" + +"Not they," snorted Daddy John, at once all belligerent loyalty to +Julia and her mates, "it's this d--d cry baby again," and he picked up +the reins exclaiming in tones of fond urgence: + +"Come now, off again. Keep up your hearts There's water and grass +ahead. Up there, Julia, honey!" + +The long team, crouching in the effort to start the wagon, heaved it +forward, and the old man, leaping over the broken sage, kept the pace +beside them. Courant, a few feet in advance, said over his shoulder: + +"What's wrong with him now?" + +"Oh, played out, I guess. She," with a backward jerk of his head, +"won't have it any other way. No good telling her it's nerve not body +that he ain't got." + +The mountain man looked back toward the pathway between the slashed and +broken bushes. He could see Susan's solitary figure, David's horse +following. + +"What's _she_ mind for?" he said. + +"Because she's a woman and they're made that way. She's more set on +that chump than she'd be on the finest man you could bring her if you +hunted the world over for him." + +They fared on in silence, the soft soil muffling their steps. The +wagon lurched on a hummock and David groaned. + +"Are you meaning she cares for him?" asked Courant. + +"All her might," answered the old man. "Ain't she goin' to marry the +varmint?" + +It was an hour for understanding, no matter how bitter. Daddy John's +own dejection made him unsparing. He offered his next words as +confirmation of a condition that he thought would kill all hope in the +heart of the leader. + +"Last night he made her get him water--the store we had left if you +hadn't found any. Twict in the night while I was asleep she took and +gave it to him. Then when I found it out she let me think she took it +for herself," he spat despondently. "She the same as lied for him. I +don't want to hear no more after that." + +The mountain man rode with downdrooped head. Daddy John, who did not +know what he did, might well come to such conclusions. _He_ knew the +secret of the girl's contradictory actions. He looked into her +perturbed spirit and saw how desperately she clung to the letter of her +obligation, while she repudiated the spirit. Understanding her +solicitude for David, he knew that it was strengthened by the +consciousness of her disloyalty. But he felt no tenderness for these +distracted feminine waverings. It exhilarated him to think that while +she held to the betrothed of her father's choice and the bond of her +given word, her hold would loosen at his wish. As he had felt toward +enemies that he had conquered--crushed and subjected by his will--he +felt toward her. It was a crowning joy to know that he could make her +break her promise, turn her from her course of desperate fidelity, and +make her his own, not against her inclination, but against her pity, +her honor, her conscience. + +The spoor left by his horse the night before was clear in the +starlight. He told Daddy John to follow it and drew up beside the +track to let the wagon pass him. Motionless he watched the girl's +approaching figure, and saw her rein her horse to a standstill. + +"Come on," he said softly. "I want to speak to you." + +She touched the horse and it started toward him. As she came nearer he +could see the troubled shine of her eyes. + +"Why are you afraid?" he said, as he fell into place beside her. +"We're friends now." + +She made no answer, her head bent till her face was hidden by her hat. +He laid his hand on her rein and brought the animal to a halt. + +"Let the wagon get on ahead," he whispered. "We'll follow at a +distance." + +The whisper, so low that the silence was unbroken by it, came to her, a +clear sound carrying with it a thrill of understanding. She trembled +and--his arm against hers as his hand held her rein--he felt the +subdued vibration like the quivering of a frightened animal. The wagon +lumbered away with the sifting dust gushing from the wheels. A stirred +cloud rose upon its wake and they could feel it thick and stifling in +their nostrils. She watched the receding arch cut down the back by the +crack in the closed canvas, while he watched her. The sound of crushed +twigs and straining wheels lessened, the stillness gathered between +these noises of laboring life and the two mounted figures. As it +settled each could hear the other's breathing and feel a mutual throb, +as though the same leaping artery fed them both. In the blue night +encircled by the waste, they were as still as vessels balanced to a +hair in which passion brimmed to the edge. + +"Come on," she said huskily, and twitched her reins from his hold. + +The horses started, walking slowly. A strip of mangled sage lay in +front, back of them the heavens hung, a star-strewn curtain. It seemed +to the man and woman that they were the only living things in the +world, its people, its sounds, its interests, were in some undescried +distance where life progressed with languid pulses. How long the +silence lasted neither knew. He broke it with a whisper: + +"Why did you get David the water last night?" + +Her answer came so low he had to bend to hear it. + +"He wanted it. I had to." + +"Why do you give him all he asks for? David is nothing to you." + +This time no answer came, and he stretched his hand and clasped the +pommel of her saddle. The horses, feeling the pull of the powerful +arm, drew together. His knee pressed on the shoulder of her pony, and +feeling him almost against her she bent sideways, flinching from the +contact. + +"Why do you shrink from me, Missy?" + +"I'm afraid," she whispered. + +They paced on for a moment in silence. When he tried to speak his lips +were stiff, and he moistened them to murmur: + +"Of what?" + +She shrunk still further and raised a hand between them. He snatched +at it, pulling it down, saying hoarsely: + +"Of me?" + +"Of something--I don't know what. Of something terrible and strange." + +She tried to strike at her horse with the reins, but the man's hand +dropped like a hawk on the pommel and drew the tired animal back to the +foot pace. + +"If you love me there's no need of fear," he said, then waited, the +sound of her terrified breathing like the beating of waves in his ears, +and murmured lower than before, "And you love me. I know it." + +Her face showed in dark profile against the deep sky. He stared at it, +then suddenly set his teeth and gave the pommel a violent jerk that +made the horse stagger and grind against its companion. The creaking +of the wagon came faint from a wake of shadowy trail. + +"You've done it for weeks. Before you knew. Before you lied to your +father when he tried to make you marry David." + +She dropped the reins and clinched her hands against her breast, a +movement of repression and also of pleading to anything that would +protect her, any force that would give her strength to fight, not the +man alone, but herself. But the will was not within her. The desert +grew dim, the faint sounds from the wagon faded. Like a charmed bird, +staring straight before it, mute and enthralled, she rocked lightly to +left and right, and then swayed toward him. + +The horse, feeling the dropped rein, stopped, jerking its neck forward +in the luxury of rest, its companion coming to a standstill beside it. +Courant raised himself in his saddle and gathered her in an embrace +that crushed her against his bony frame, then pressed against her face +with his, till he pushed it upward and could see it, white, with closed +eyes, on his shoulder. He bent till his long hair mingled with hers +and laid his lips on her mouth with the clutch of a bee on a flower. + +They stood a compact silhouette, clear in the luminous starlight. The +crack in the canvas that covered the wagon back widened and the eye +that had been watching them, stared bright and wide, as if all the life +of the feeble body had concentrated in that one organ of sense. The +hands, damp and trembling, drew the canvas edges closer, but left space +enough for the eye to dwell on this vision of a shattered world. It +continued to gaze as Susan slid from the encircling arms, dropped from +her horse, and came running forward, stumbling on the fallen bushes, as +she ran panting out the old servant's name. Then it went back to the +mountain man, a black shape in the loneliness of the night. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A slowly lightening sky, beneath it the transparent sapphire of the +desert wakening to the dawn, and cutting the blue expanse the line of +the new trail. A long butte, a bristling outline on the paling north, +ran out from a crumpled clustering of hills, and the road bent to meet +it. The air came from it touched with a cooling freshness, and as they +pressed toward it they saw the small, swift shine of water, a little +pool, grass-ringed, with silver threads creeping to the sands. + +They drank and then slept, sinking to oblivion as they dropped on the +ground, not waiting to undo their blankets or pick out comfortable +spots. The sun, lifting a bright eye above the earth's rim, shot its +long beams over their motionless figures, "bundles of life," alone in a +lifeless world. + +David alone could not rest. Withdrawn from the others he lay in the +shadow of the wagon, watching small points in the distance with a +glance that saw nothing. All sense of pain and weakness had left him. +Physically he felt strangely light and free of sensation. With his +brain endowed with an abnormal activity he suffered an agony of spirit +so poignant that there were moments when he drew back and looked at +himself wondering how he endured it. He was suddenly broken away from +everything cherished and desirable in life. The bare and heart-rending +earth about him was as the expression of his ruined hopes. And after +these submergences in despair a tide of questions carried him to +livelier torment: Why had she done it? What had changed her? When had +she ceased to care? + +All his deadened manhood revived. He wanted her, he owned her, she was +his. Sick and unable to fight for her she had been stolen from him, +and he writhed in spasms of self pity at the thought of the cruelty of +it. How could he, disabled, broken by unaccustomed hardships, cope +with the iron-fibered man whose body and spirit were at one with these +harsh settings? _He_ was unfitted for it, for the heroic struggle, for +the battle man to man for a woman as men had fought in the world's dawn +into which they had retraced their steps. He could not make himself +over, become another being to appeal to a sense in her he had never +touched. He could only plead with her, beg mercy of her, and he saw +that these were not the means that won women grown half savage in +correspondence with a savage environment. + +Then came moments of exhaustion when he could not believe it. Closing +his eyes he called up the placid life that was to have been his and +Susan's, and could not think but that it still must be. Like a child +he clung to his hope, to the belief that something would intervene and +give her back to him; not he, he was unable to, but something that +stood for justice and mercy. All his life he had abided by the law, +walked uprightly, done his best. Was he to be smitten now through no +fault of his own? It was all a horrible dream, and presently there +would be an awakening with Susan beside him as she had been in the +first calm weeks of their betrothal. The sweetness of those days +returned to him with the intolerable pang of a fair time, long past and +never to come again. He threw his head back as if in a paroxysm of +pain. It could not be and yet in his heart he knew it was true. In +the grip of his torment he thought of the God that watching over Israel +slumbered not nor slept. With his eyes on the implacable sky he tried +to pray, tried to drag down from the empty gulf of air the help that +would bring back his lost happiness. + +At Susan's first waking movement he started and turned his head toward +her. She saw him, averted her face, and began the preparations for the +meal. He lay watching her and he knew that her avoidance of his glance +was intentional. He also saw that her manner of preoccupied bustle was +affected. She was pale, her face set in hard lines. When she spoke +once to Daddy John her voice was unlike itself, hoarse and throaty, its +mellow music gone. + +They gathered and took their places in silence, save for the old man, +who tried to talk, but meeting no response gave it up. Between the +three others not a word was exchanged. A stifling oppression lay on +them, and they did not dare to look at one another. The girl found it +impossible to swallow and taking a piece of biscuit from her mouth +threw it into the sand. + +The air was sultry, light whisps of mist lying low over the plain. The +weight of these vaporous films seemed to rest on them heavy as the +weight of water, and before the meal was finished, Susan, overborne by +a growing dread and premonition of tragedy, rose and left her place, +disappearing round a buttress of the rock. Courant stopped eating and +looked after her, his head slowly moving as his eye followed her. To +anyone watching it would have been easy to read this pursuing glance, +the look of the hunter on his quarry. David saw it and rose to his +knees. A rifle lay within arm's reach, and for one furious moment he +felt an impulse to snatch it and kill the man. But a rush of +inhibiting instinct checked him. Had death or violence menaced her he +could have done it, but without the incentive of the immediate horror +he could never rise so far beyond himself. + +Susan climbed the rock's side to a plateau on its western face. The +sun beat on her like a furnace mouth. Here and there black filigrees +of shade shrank to the bases of splintered ledges. Below the plain lay +outflung in the stupor of midday. On its verge the mountains +stretched, a bright blue, shadowless film. A mirage trembled to the +south, a glassy vision, crystal clear amid the chalky streakings and +the rings of parched and blanching sinks. Across the prospect the +faint, unfamiliar mist hung as if, in the torrid temperature, the earth +was steaming. + +She sat down on a shelf of rock not feeling the burning sunshine or the +heat that the baked ledges threw back upon her. The life within her +was so intense that no impressions from the outside could enter, even +her eyes took in no image of the prospect they dwelt on. Courant's +kiss had brought her to a place toward which, she now realized, she had +been moving for a long time, advancing upon it, unknowing, but impelled +like a somnambulist willed toward a given goal. What was to happen she +did not know. She felt a dread so heavy that it crushed all else from +her mind. They had reached a crisis where everything had stopped, a +dark and baleful focus to which all that had gone before had been +slowly converging. The whole journey had been leading to this climax +of suspended breath and fearful, inner waiting. + +She heard the scraping of ascending feet, and when she saw David stared +at him, her eyes unblinking in stony expectancy. He came and stood +before her, and she knew that at last he had guessed, and felt no fear, +no resistance against the explanation that must come. He suddenly had +lost all significance, was hardly a human organism, or if a human +organism, one that had no relation to her. Neither spoke for some +minutes. He was afraid, and she waited, knowing what he was going to +say, wishing it was said, and the hampering persistence of his claim +was ended. + +At length he said tremulously: + +"Susan, I saw you last night. What did you do it for? What am I to +think?" + +That he had had proof of her disloyalty relieved her. There would be +less to say in this settling of accounts. + +"Well," she answered, looking into his eyes. "You saw!" + +He cried desperately, "I saw him kiss you. You let him. What did it +mean?" + +"Why do you ask? If you saw you know." + +"I don't know. I want to know. Tell me, explain to me." He paused, +and then cried with a pitiful note of pleading, "Tell me it wasn't so. +Tell me I made a mistake." + +He was willing, anxious, for her to lie. Against the evidence of his +own senses he would have made himself believe her, drugged his pain +with her falsehoods. What remnant of consideration she had vanished. + +"You made no mistake," she answered. "It was as you saw." + +"I don't believe it. I can't. You wouldn't have done it. It's I +you're promised to. Haven't I your word? Haven't you been kind as an +angel to me when the others would have let me die out here like a dog? +What did you do it for if you didn't care?" + +"I was sorry," and then with cold, measured slowness, "and I felt +guilty." + +"That's it--you felt guilty. It's not your doing. You've been led +away. While I've been sick that devil's been poisoning you against me. +He's tried to steal you from me. But you're not the girl to let him do +that. You'll come back to me--the man that you belong to, that's loved +you since the day we started." + +To her at this naked hour, where nothing lived but the truth, the +thought that he would take her back with the other man's kisses on her +lips, made her unsparing. She drew back from him, stiffening in +shocked repugnance, and speaking with the same chill deliberation. + +"I'll never come back to you. It's all over, that love with you. I +didn't know. I didn't feel. I was a child with no sense of what she +was doing. Now everything's different. It's he I must go with and be +with as long as I live." + +The hideousness of the discovery had been made the night before. Had +her words been his first intimation they might have shocked him into +stupefied dumbness and made him seem the hero who meets his fate with +closed lips. But hours long he had brooded and knew her severance from +him had taken place. With the mad insistance of a thought whirling on +in fevered repetition he had told himself that he must win her back, +urge, struggle, plead, till he had got her where she was before or lose +her forever. + +"You can't. You can't do it. It's a temporary thing. It's the desert +and the wildness and because he could ride and get water and find the +trail. In California it will be different. Out there it'll be the +same as it used to be back in the States. You'll think of this as +something unreal that never happened and your feeling for him--it'll +all go. When we get where it's civilized you'll be like you were when +we started. You couldn't have loved a savage like that then. Well, +you won't when you get where you belong. It's horrible. It's +unnatural." + +She shook her head, glanced at him and glanced away. The sweat was +pouring off his face and his lips quivered like a weeping child's. + +"Oh, David," she said with a deep breath like a groan, "_this_ is +natural for me. The other was not." + +"You don't know what you're saying. And how about your promise? _You_ +gave that of your own free will. Was it a thing you give and take back +whenever you please? What would your father think of your breaking +your word--throwing me off for a man no better than a half-blood +Indian? Is that your honor?" Then he was suddenly fearful that he had +said too much and hurt his case, and he dropped to a wild pleading: +"Oh, Susan, you can't, you can't. You haven't got the heart to treat +me so." + +She looked down not answering, but her silence gave no indication of a +softened response. He seemed to throw himself upon its hardness in +hopeless desperation. + +"Send him away. He needn't go on with us. Tell him to go back to the +Fort." + +"Where would we be now without him?" she said and smiled grimly at the +thought of their recent perils with the leader absent. + +"We're on the main trail. We don't need him now. I heard him say +yesterday to Daddy John we'd be in Humboldt in three or four days. We +can go on without him, there's no more danger." + +She smiled again, a slight flicker of one corner of her mouth. The +dangers were over and Courant could be safely dispensed with. + +"He'll go on with us," she said. + +"It's not necessary. We don't want him. I'll guide. I'll help. If +he was gone I'd be all right again. Daddy John and I are enough. If I +can get you back as you were before, we'll be happy again, and I _can_ +get you back if he goes." + +"You'll never get me back," she answered, and rising moved away from +him, aloof and hostile in the deepest of all aversions, the woman to +the unloved and urgent suitor. He followed her and caught at her dress. + +"Don't go. Don't leave me this way. I can't believe it. I can't +stand it. If I hadn't grown into thinking you were going to be my wife +maybe I could. But it's just unbearable when I'd got used to looking +upon you as mine, almost as good as married to me. You can't do it. +You can't make me suffer this way." + +His complete abandonment filled her with pain, the first relenting she +had had. She could not look at him and longed to escape. She tried to +draw her dress from his hands, saying: + +"Oh, David, don't say any more. There's no good. It's over. It's +ended. I can't help it. It's something stronger than I am." + +He saw the repugnance in her face and loosened his hold, dropping back +from her. + +"It's the end of my life," he said in a muffled voice. + +"I feel as if it was the end of the world," she answered, and going to +the pathway disappeared over its edge. + +She walked back skirting the rock's bulk till she found a break in its +side, a small gorge shadowed by high walls. The cleft penetrated deep, +its mouth open to the sky, its apex a chamber over which the cloven +walls slanted like hands with finger tips touching in prayer. It was +dark in this interior space, the floor mottled with gleaming sun-spots. +Across the wider opening, unroofed to the pale blue of the zenith, the +first slow shade was stretching, a creeping gray coolness, encroaching +on the burning ground. Here she threw herself down, looking out +through the entrance at the desert shimmering through the heat haze. +The mist wreaths were dissolving, every line and color glassily clear. +Her eyes rested vacantly on it, her body inert, her heart as heavy as a +stone. + +David made no movement to follow her. He had clung to his hope with +the desperation of a weak nature, but it was ended now. No +interference, no miracle, could restore her to him. He saw--he had to +see--that she was lost to him as completely as if death had claimed +her. More completely, for death would have made her a stranger. Now +it was the Susan he had loved who had looked at him with eyes not even +indifferent but charged with a hard hostility. She was the same and +yet how different! Hopeless!--Hopeless! He wondered if the word had +ever before voiced so abject a despair. + +He turned to the back of the plateau and saw the faint semblance of a +path leading upward to higher levels, a trail worn by the feet of other +emigrants who had climbed to scan with longing eyes the weary way to +the land of their desire. As he walked up it and the prospect widened +on his sight, its message came, clearer with every mounting step. Thus +forever would he look out on a blasted world uncheered by sound or +color. The stillness that lapped him round was as the stillness of his +own dead heart. The mirage quivered brilliant in the distance, and he +paused, a solitary shape against the exhausted sky, to think that his +dream of love had had no more reality. Beautiful and alluring it had +floated in his mind, an illusion without truth or substance. + +He reached the higher elevation, barren and iron hard, the stone hot to +his feet. On three sides the desert swept out to the horizon, held in +its awful silence. Across it, a white seam, the Emigrant Trail wound, +splindling away into the west, a line of tortuous curves, a loop, a +straight streak, and then a tiny thread always pressing on to that +wonderful land which he had once seen as a glowing rim on the world's +remotest verge. It typified the dauntless effort of man, never +flagging, never broken, persisting to its goal. He had not been able +to thus persist, the spirit had not reached far enough to know its aim +and grasp it. He knew his weakness, his incapacity to cope with the +larger odds of life, a watcher not an actor in the battle, and +understanding that his failure had come from his own inadequacy he +wished that he might die. + +On one side the eminence broke away in a sheer fall to the earth below. +At its base a scattering of sundered bowlders and fragments lay, veiled +by a growth of small, bushy shrubs to which a spring gave nourishment. +Behind this the long spine of the rock tapered back to the parent ridge +that ran, a bristling rampart, east and west. He sat down on the edge +of the precipice watching the trail. He had no idea how long he +remained thus. A shadow falling across him brought him back to life. +He turned and saw Courant standing a few feet from him. + +Without speech or movement they eyed one another. In his heart each +hated the other, but in David the hate had come suddenly, the hysteric +growth of a night's anguish. The mountain man's was tempered by a +process of slow-firing to a steely inflexibility. He hated David that +he had ever been his rival, that he had ever thought to lay claim to +the woman who was his, that he had ever aspired to her, touched her, +desired her. He hated him when he saw that, all unconsciously, he had +still a power to hold her from the way her passion led. And back of +all was the ancient hatred, the heritage from ages lost in the +beginnings of the race, man's of man in the struggle for a woman. + +David rose from his crouching posture to his knees. The other, all his +savage instincts primed for onslaught, saw menace in the movement, and +stood braced and ready. Like Susan he understood that David had +guessed the secret. He could judge him only by his own measure, and he +knew the settling of the score had come. There was no right or justice +in his claim, only the right of the stronger to win what he wanted, but +that to him was the supreme right. + +David's sick fury shot up into living flame. He judged Susan innocent, +a tool in ruthless hands. He saw the destroyer of their lives, a devil +who had worked subtly for his despoilment. The air grew dark and in +the center of the darkness, his hate concentrated on the watching face, +and an impulse, the strongest of his life, nerved him with the force to +kill. For once he broke beyond himself, rose outside the restrictions +that had held him cowering within his sensitive shell. His rage had +the vehemence of a distracted woman's, and he threw himself upon his +enemy, inadequate now as always, but at last unaware and unconscious. + +They clutched and rocked together. From the moment of the grapple it +was unequal--a sick and wounded creature struggling in arms that were +as iron bands about his puny frame. But as a furious child fights for +a moment successfully with its enraged elder, he tore and beat at his +opponent, striking blindly at the face he loathed, writhing in the grip +that bent his body and sent the air in sobbing gasps from his lungs. +Their trampling was muffled on the stone, their shadows leaped in +contorted waverings out from their feet and back again. Broken and +twisted in Courant's arms, David felt no pain only the blind hate, saw +the livid plain heaving about him, the white ball of the sun, and +twisting through the reeling distance the pale thread of the Emigrant +Trail, glancing across his ensanguined vision like a shuttle weaving +through a blood-red loom. + +They staggered to the edge of the plateau and there hung. It was only +for a moment, a last moment of strained and swaying balance. Courant +felt the body against his weaken, wrenched himself free, and with a +driving blow sent it outward over the precipice. It fell with the arms +flung wide, the head dropped backward, and from the open mouth a cry +broke, a shrill and dreadful sound that struck sharp on the plain's +abstracted silence, spread and quivered across its surface like +widening rings on the waters of a pool. The mountain man threw himself +on the edge and looked down. The figure lay limp among the bushes +thirty feet below. He watched it, his body still as a panther's +crouched for a spring. He saw one of the hands twitch, a loosened +sliver of slate slide from the wall, and cannoning on projections, leap +down and bury itself in the outflung hair. The face looking up at him +with half-shut eyes that did not wink as the rock dust sifted into +them, was terrible, but he felt no sensation save a grim curiosity. + +He stole down a narrow gulley and crept with stealthy feet and +steadying hands toward the still shape. The shadows were cool down +there, and as he touched the face its warmth shocked him. It should +have been cold to have matched its look and the hush of the place. He +thrust his hand inside the shirt and felt at the heart. No throb rose +under his palm, and he sent it sliding over the upper part of the body, +limp now, but which he knew would soon be stiffening. The man was dead. + +Courant straightened himself and sent a rapid glance about him. The +bushes among which the body lay were close matted in a thick screen. +Through their roots the small trickle of the spring percolated, +stealing its way to the parched sands outside. It made a continuous +murmuring, as if nature was lifting a voice of low, insistent protest +against the desecration of her peace. + +The man standing with stilled breath and rigid muscles listened for +other sounds. Reassured that there were none, his look swept right and +left for a spot wherein to hide the thing that lay at his feet. At its +base the rock wall slanted outward leaving a hollow beneath its eave +where the thin veneer of water gleamed from the shadows. He took the +dead man under the arms and dragged him to it, careful of branches that +might snap under his foot, pausing to let the echoes of rolling stones +die away--a figure of fierce vitality with the long, limp body hanging +from his hands. At the rock he crouched and thrust his burden under +the wall's protecting cope, the trickle of the water dying into a +sudden, scared silence. Stepping back he brushed the bushes into +shape, hiding their breakage, and bent to gather the scattered leaves +and crush them into crevices. When it was done the place showed no +sign of the intruder, only the whispering of the streamlet told that +its course was changed and it was feeling for a new channel. + +Then he crept softly out to the plain's edge where the sunlight lay +long and bright. It touched his face and showed it white, with lips +close set and eyes gleaming like crystals. He skirted the rock, making +a soft, quick way to where the camp lay. Here the animals stood, heads +drooped as they cropped the herbage round the spring. Daddy John sat +in the shade of the wagon, tranquilly cleaning a gun. The mountain +man's passage was so soundless that he did not hear it. The animals +raised slow eyes to the moving figure, then dropped them indifferently. +He passed them, his step growing lighter, changing as he withdrew from +the old man's line of vision, to a long, rapid glide. His blood-shot +eyes nursed the extending buttresses, and as he came round them, with +craned neck and body reaching forward, they sent a glance into each +recess that leaped round it like a flame. + +Susan had remained in the same place. She made no note of the passage +of time, but the sky between the walls was growing deeper in color, the +shadows lengthening along the ground. She was lying on her side +looking out through the rift's opening when Courant stood there. He +made an instant's pause, a moment when his breath caught deep, and, +seeing him, she started to her knees with a blanching face. As he came +upon her she held out her hands, crying in uprising notes of terror, +"No! No! No!" But he gathered her in his arms, stilled her cries +with his kisses, and bending low carried her back into the darkened +cavern over which the rocks closed like hands uplifted in prayer. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +Till the afternoon of the next day they held the train for David. When +evening fell and he did not come Daddy John climbed the plateau and +kindled a beacon fire that threw its flames against the stars. Then he +took his rifle and skirted the rock's looming bulk, shattering the +stillness with reports that let loose a shivering flight of echoes. +All night they sat by the fire listening and waiting. As the hours +passed their alarm grew and their speculations became gloomier and more +sinister. Courant was the only one who had a plausible theory. The +moving sparks on the mountains showed that the Indians were still +following them and it was his opinion that David had strayed afar and +been caught by a foraging party. It was not a matter for desperate +alarm as the Diggers were harmless and David would no doubt escape from +them and join a later train. This view offered the only possible +explanation. It was Courant's opinion and so it carried with the other +two. + +Early in the evening the girl had shown no interest. Sitting back from +the firelight, a shawl over her head, she seemed untouched by the +anxiety that prompted the old man's restless rovings. As the night +deepened Daddy John had come back to Courant who was near her. He +spoke his fears low, for he did not want to worry her. Glancing to see +if she had heard him, he was struck by the brooding expression of her +face, white between the shawl folds. He nodded cheerily at her but her +eyes showed no responsive gleam, dwelling on him wide and unseeing. As +he moved away he heard her burst into sudden tears, such tears as she +had shed at the Fort, and turning back with arms ready for her +comforting, saw her throw herself against Courant's knees, her face +buried in the folds of her shawl. He stood arrested, amazed not so +much by the outburst as by the fact that it was to Courant she had +turned and not to him. But when he spoke to her she drew the shawl +tighter over her head and pressed her face against the mountain man's +knees. Daddy John had no explanation of her conduct but that she had +been secretly fearful about David and had turned for consolation to the +human being nearest her. + +The next day her anxiety was so sharp that she could not eat and the +men grew accustomed to the sight of her mounted on the rock's summit, +or walking slowly along the trail searching with untiring eyes. When +alone with her lover he kissed and caressed her fears into abeyance. +As he soothed her, clasped close against him, her terrors gradually +subsided, sinking to a quiescence that came, not alone from his calm +and practical reassurances, but from the power of his presence to drug +her reason and banish all thoughts save those of him. He wanted her +mind free of the dead man, wanted him eliminated from her imagination. +The spiritual image of David must fade from her thoughts as his +corporeal part would soon fade in the desiccating desert airs. Alone +by the spring, held against Courant's side by an arm that trembled with +a passion she still only half understood, she told him of her last +interview with David. In an agony of self-accusation she whispered: + +"Oh, Low, could he have killed himself?" + +"Where?" said the man. "Haven't we searched every hole and corner of +the place? He couldn't have hidden his own body." + +The only evidence that some mishap had befallen David was Daddy John's, +who, on the afternoon of the day of the disappearance had heard a cry, +a single sound, long and wild. It had seemed to come from the crest of +the rock, and the old man had listened and hearing no more had thought +it the yell of some animal far on the mountains. This gave color to +Courant's theory that the lost man had been seized by the Diggers. +Borne away along the summit of the ridge he would have shouted to them +and in that dry air the sound would have carried far. He could have +been overpowered without difficulty, weakened by illness and carrying +no arms. + +They spent the morning in a fruitless search and in the afternoon +Courant insisted on the train moving on. They cached provisions by the +spring and scratched an arrow on the rock pointing their way, and +underneath it the first letters of their names. It was useless, the +leader said, to leave anything in the form of a letter. As soon as +their dust was moving on the trail the Diggers would sweep down on the +camp and carry away every scrap of rag and bone that was there. This +was why he overrode Susan's plea to leave David's horse. Why present +to the Indians a horse when they had only sufficient for themselves? +She wrung her hands at the grewsome picture of David escaping and +stealing back to find a deserted camp. But Courant was inexorable and +the catching-up went forward with grim speed. + +She and the old man were dumb with depression as the train rolled out. +To them the desertion seemed an act of appalling heartlessness. But +the mountain man had overcome Daddy John's scruples by a picture of +their own fate if they delayed and were caught in the early snows of +the Sierras. The girl could do nothing but trust in the word that was +already law to her. He rode beside her murmuring reassurances and +watching her pale profile. Her head hung low on her breast, her hat +casting a slant of shadow to her chin. Her eyes looked gloomily +forward, sometimes as his words touched a latent chord of hope, turning +quickly upon him and enveloping him in a look of pathetic trust. + +At the evening halt she ate nothing, sitting in a muse against the +wagon wheel. Presently she put her plate down and, mounting on the +axle, scanned the way they had come. She could see the rock, rising +like the clumsy form of a dismantled galleon from the waters of a +darkling sea. For a space she stood, her hand arched above her eyes, +then snatched the kerchief from her neck and, straining an arm aloft, +waved it. The white and scarlet rag flapped with a languid motion, an +infinitesimal flutter between the blaze of the sky and the purpling +levels of the earth. Her arm dropped, her signal fallen futile on the +plain's ironic indifference. + +During the next day's march she constantly looked back, and several +times halted, her hand demanding silence as if she were listening for +pursuing footsteps. Courant hid a growing irritation, which once +escaped him in a query as to whether she thought David, if he got away +from the Indians, could possibly catch them up. She answered that if +he had escaped with a horse he might, and fell again to her listening +and watching. At the night camp she ordered Daddy John to build the +beacon fire higher than ever, and taking a rifle moved along the +outskirts of the light firing into the darkness. Finally, standing +with the gun caught in the crook of her arm, she sent up a shrill call +of "David." The cry fell into the silence, cleaving it with a note of +wild and haunting appeal. Courant went after her and brought her back. +When they returned to the fire the old man, who was busy with the +cooking, looked up to speak but instead gazed in silence, caught by +something unusual in their aspect, revivifying, illuminating, like the +radiance of an inner glow. It glorified the squalor of their clothing, +the drawn fatigue of their faces. It gave them the fleeting glamour of +spiritual beauty that comes to those in whom being has reached its +highest expression, the perfect moment of completion caught amid life's +incompleteness. + +In the following days she moved as if the dust cloud that inclosed her +was an impenetrable medium that interposed itself between her and the +weird setting of the way. She was drugged with the wine of a new life. +She did not think of sin, of herself in relation to her past, of the +breaking with every tie that held her to her old self. All her +background was gone. Her conscience that, in her dealings with David, +had been so persistently lively, now, when it came to herself, was +dead. Question of right or wrong, secret communings, self judgment, +had no place in the exaltation of her mood. To look at her conduct and +reason of it, to do anything but feel, was as impossible for her as it +would have been to disengage her senses from their tranced +concentration and restore them to the composed serenity of the past. + +It was not the sudden crumbling of a character, the collapse of a +structure reared on a foundation of careful training. It was a logical +growth, forced by the developing process of an environment with which +that character was in harmony. Before she reached the level where she +could surrender herself, forgetful of the rites imposed by law, +unshocked by her lover's brutality, she had been losing every ingrafted +and inherited modification that had united her with the world in which +she had been an exotic. The trials of the trail that would have dried +the soul and broken the mettle of a girl whose womanhood was less rich, +drew from hers the full measure of its strength. Every day had made +her less a being of calculated, artificial reserves, of inculcated +modesties, and more a human animal, governed by instincts that belonged +to her age and sex. She was normal and chaste and her chastity had +made her shrink from the man whose touch left her cold, and yield to +the one to whom her first antagonism had been first response. When she +had given Courant her kiss she had given herself. There was no need +for intermediary courtship. After that vacillations of doubt and +conscience ended. The law of her being was all that remained. + +She moved on with the men, dust-grimed, her rags held together with +pins and lacings of deer hide. She performed her share of the work +with automatic thoroughness, eating when the hour came, sleeping on the +ground under the stars, staggering up in the deep-blue dawn and +buckling her horse's harness with fingers that fatigue made clumsy. +She was more silent than ever before, often when the old man addressed +her making no reply. He set down her abstraction to grief over David. +When he tried to cheer her, her absorbed preoccupation gave place to +the old restlessness, and once again she watched and listened. These +were her only moods--periods of musing when she rode in front of the +wagon with vacant eyes fixed on the winding seam of the trail, and +periods of nervous agitation when she turned in her saddle to sweep the +road behind her and ordered him to build the night fire high and bright. + +The old servant was puzzled. Something foreign in her, an inner +vividness of life, a deeper current of vitality, told him that this was +not a woman preyed upon by a gnawing grief. He noted, without +understanding, a change in her bearing to Courant and his to her. +Without words to give it expression he saw in her attitude to the +leader a pliant, docile softness, a surreptitious leap of light in the +glance that fell upon him in quick welcome before her lids shut it in. +With Courant the change showed in a possessive tenderness, a brooding +concern. When, at the morning start, he waited as she rode toward him, +his face was irradiated with a look that made the old man remember the +dead loves of his youth. It was going to be all right Daddy John +thought. David gone, whether forever or for an unknown period, the +mountain man might yet win her. And then again the old man fell a +wondering at something in them that did not suggest the unassured +beginnings of courtship, a settled security of relation as of complete +unity in a mutual enterprise. + +One afternoon a faint spot of green rose and lingered on the horizon. +They thought it a mirage and watched it with eyes grown weary of the +desert's delusions. But as the road bore toward it, it steadied to +their anxious gaze, expanded into a patch that lay a living touch on +the earth's dead face. By the time that dusk gathered they saw that it +was trees and knew that Humboldt was in sight. At nightfall they +reached it, the first outpost sent into the wilderness by the new +country. The red light of fires came through the dusk like a welcoming +hail from that unknown land which was to be theirs. After supper Daddy +John and Courant left the girl and went to the mud house round which +the camps clustered. The darkness was diluted by the red glow of fires +and astir with dusky figures. There were trains for California and +Oregon and men from the waste lands to the eastward and the south, +flotsam and jetsam thrown up on the desert's shore. Inside, where the +air was thick with smoke and the reek of raw liquors, they heard again +the great news from California. The old man, determined to get all the +information he could, moved from group to group, an observant listener +in the hubbub. Presently his ear was caught by a man who declared he +had been on the gold river and was holding a circle in thrall by his +tales. Daddy John turned to beckon to Courant and, not seeing him, +elbowed his way through the throng spying to right and left. But the +mountain man had gone. Daddy John went back to the gold seeker and +drew him dry of information, then foregathered with a thin individual +who had a humorous eye and was looking on from a corner. This stranger +introduced himself as a clergyman, returning from the East to Oregon by +way of California. They talked together. Daddy John finding his new +acquaintance a tolerant cheery person versed in the lore of the trail. +The man gave him many useful suggestions for the last lap of the +journey and he decided to go after Courant, to whom the route over the +Sierra was unknown ground. + +The camps had sunk to silence, the women and children asleep. He +skirted their tents, bending his course to where he saw the hood of his +own wagon and the shadowy forms of Julia and her mates. The fire still +burned bright and on its farther side he could make out the figures of +Susan and Courant seated on the ground. They were quiet, the girl +sitting with her feet tucked under her, idly throwing scraps of sage on +the blaze. He was about to hail Courant when he saw him suddenly drop +to a reclining posture beside her, draw himself along the earth and +curl about her, his elbow on the ground, his head propped on a +sustaining hand. With the other he reached forward, caught Susan's and +drawing it toward him pressed it against his cheek. Daddy John watched +the sacrilegious act with starting eyes. He would have burst in upon +them had he not seen the girl's shy smile, and her body gently droop +forward till her lips rested on the mountain man's. When she drew back +the old servant came forward into the light. Its reflection hid his +pallor, but his heart was thumping like a hammer and his throat was +dry, for suddenly he understood. At his step Susan drew away from her +companion and looked at the advancing shape with eyes darkly soft as +those of an antelope. + +"Where have you been?" she said. "You were a long time away." + +"In the mud house," said Daddy John. + +"Did you find anyone interesting there?" + +"Yes. When I was talkin' with him I didn't know he was so powerful +interestin', but sence I come out o' there I've decided he was." + +They both looked at him without much show of curiosity, merely, he +guessed, that they might not look at each other and reveal their secret. + +"What was he?" asked Courant. + +"A clergyman." + +This time they both started, the girl into sudden erectness, then held +her head down as if in shame. For a sickened moment, he thought she +was afraid to look at her lover for fear of seeing refusal in his face. +Courant leaned near her and laid his hand on hers. + +"If there's a clergyman here we can be married," he said quietly. + +She drew her hand away and with its fellow covered her face. Courant +looked across the fire and said: + +"Go and get him, Daddy John. He can do the reading over us now." + + + +END OF PART IV + + + + +PART V + +The Promised Land + + +CHAPTER I + +In the light of a clear September sun they stood and looked down on +it--the Promised Land. + +For days they had been creeping up through defiles in the mountain +wall, crawling along ledges with murmurous seas of pine below and the +snow lying crisp in the hollows. On the western slope the great +bulwark dropped from granite heights to wooded ridges along the spines +of which the road wound. Through breaks in the pine's close ranks they +saw blue, vaporous distances, and on the far side of aerial chasms the +swell of other mountains, clothed to their summits, shape undulating +beyond shape. + +Then on this bright September afternoon a sun-filled pallor of empty +space shone between the tree trunks, and they had hurried to the summit +of a knoll and seen it spread beneath them--California! + +The long spurs, broken apart by ravines, wound downward to where a flat +stretch of valley ran out to a luminous horizon. It was a yellow +floor, dotted with the dark domes of trees and veined with a line of +water. The trail, a red thread, was plain along the naked ridges, and +then lost itself in the dusk of forests. Right and left summit and +slope swelled and dropped, sun-tipped, shadow filled. Slants of light, +rifts of shade, touched the crowded pine tops to gold, darkened them to +sweeps of unstirred olive. The air, softly clear, was impregnated with +a powerful aromatic scent, the strong, rich odor of the earth and its +teeming growths. It lay placid and indolent before the way-worn trio, +a new world waiting for their conquering feet. + +The girl, with a deep sigh, dropped her head upon her husband's +shoulder and closed her eyes. She weakened with the sudden promise of +rest. It was in the air, soft as a caress, in the mild, beneficent +sun, in the stillness which had nothing of the desert's sinister quiet. +Courant put his arm about her, and looking into her face, saw it drawn +and pinched, all beauty gone. Her closed eyelids were dark and seamed +with fine folds, the cheek bones showed under her skin, tanned to a dry +brown, its rich bloom withered. Round her forehead and ears her hair +hung in ragged locks, its black gloss hidden under the trail's red +dust. Even her youth had left her, she seemed double her age. It was +as if he looked at the woman she would be twenty years from now. + +Something in the sight of her, unbeautiful, enfeebled, her high spirit +dimmed, stirred in him a new, strange tenderness. His arm tightened +about her, his look lost its jealous ardor and wandering over her +blighted face, melted to a passionate concern. The appeal of her +beauty gave place to a stronger, more gripping appeal, never felt by +him before. She was no longer the creature he owned and ruled, no +longer the girl he had broken to an abject submission, but the woman he +loved. Uplifted in the sudden realization he felt the world widen +around him and saw himself another man. Then through the wonder of the +revelation came the thought of what he had done to win her. It +astonished him as a dart of pain would have done. Why had he +remembered it? Why at this rich moment should the past send out this +eerie reminder? He pushed it from him, and bending toward her murmured +a lover's phrase. + +She opened her eyes and they met an expression in his that she had felt +the need of, hoped and waited for, an answer to what she had offered +and he had not seen or wanted. It was completion, arrival at the goal, +so longed for and despaired of, and she turned her face against his +shoulder, her happiness too sacred even for his eyes. He did not +understand the action, thought her spirit languished and, pointing +outward, cried in his mounting gladness: + +"Look--that's where our home will be." + +She lifted her head and followed the directing finger. The old man +stood beside them also gazing down. + +"It's a grand sight," he said. "But it's as yellow as the desert. +Must be almighty dry." + +"There's plenty of water," said Courant. "Rivers come out of these +mountains and go down there into the plain. And they carry the gold, +the gold that's going to make us rich." + +He pressed her shoulder with his encircling arm and she answered +dreamily: + +"We are rich enough." + +He thought she alluded to the Doctor's money that was hidden in the +wagon. + +"But we'll be richer. We've got here before the rest of 'em. We're +the first comers and it's ours. You'll be queen here, Susan. I'll +make you one." His glance ranged over the splendid prospect, eager +with the man's desire to fight and win for his own. She thought little +of what he said, lost in her perfect content. + +"When we've got the gold we'll take up land and I'll build a house for +you, a good house, my wife won't live in a tent. It'll be of logs, +strong and water tight, and as soon as they bring things in--and the +ships will be coming soon--we'll furnish it well. And that'll be only +the beginning." + +"Where will we build it?" she said, catching his enthusiasm and +straining her eyes as if then and there to pick out the spot. + +"By the river under a pine." + +"With a place for Daddy John," she cried, stretching a hand toward the +old man. "He must be there too." + +He took it and stood linked to the embracing pair by the girl's warm +grasp. + +"I'll stick by the tent," he said; "no four walls for me." + +"And you two," she looked from one to the other, "will wash for the +gold and I'll take care of you. I'll keep everything clean and +comfortable. It'll be a cozy little home--our log house under the +pine." + +She laughed, the first time in many weeks, and the clear sound rang +joyously. + +"And when we've got all the dust we want," Courant went on, his spirit +expanding on the music of her laughter, "we'll go down to the coast. +They'll have a town there soon for the shipping. We'll grow up with +it, build it into a city, and as it gets richer so will we. It's going +to be a new empire, out here by the Pacific, with the gold rivers back +of it and the ocean in front. And it's going to be ours." + +She looked over the foreground of hill and vale to the shimmering sweep +of the rich still land. Her imagination, wakened by his words, passed +from the log house to the busy rush of a city where the sea shone +between the masts of ships. It was a glowing future they were to march +on together, with no cloud to mar it now that she had seen the new look +in his eyes. + +A few days later they were in the Sacramento Valley camped near the +walls of Sutter's Fort. The plain, clad with a drab grass, stretched +to where the low-lying Sacramento slipped between oozy banks. Here +were the beginnings of a town, shacks and tents dumped down in a helter +skelter of slovenly hurry. Beyond, the American river crept from the +mountains and threaded the parched land. Between the valley and the +white sky-line of the Sierra, the foot hills swelled, indented with +ravines and swathed in the matted robe of the chaparral. + +While renewing their supplies at the fort they camped under a live oak. +It was a mighty growth, its domed outline fretted with the fineness of +horny leaves, its vast boughs outflung in contorted curves. The river +sucked about its roots. Outside its shade the plain grew dryer under +unclouded suns, huge trees casting black blots of shadow in which the +Fort's cattle gathered. Sometimes vaqueros came from the gates in the +adobe walls, riding light and with the long spiral leap of the lasso +rising from an upraised hand. Sometimes groups of half-naked Indians +trailed through the glare, winding a way to the spot of color that was +their camp. + +To the girl it was all wonderful, the beauty, the peace, the cessation +of labor. When the men were at the Fort she lay beneath the great tree +watching the faint, white chain of the mountains, or the tawny valley +burning to orange in the long afternoons. For once she was idle, come +at last to the end of all her journeyings. Only the present, the +tranquil, perfect present, existed. What did not touch upon it, fit in +and have some purpose in her life with the man of whom she was a part, +was waste matter. She who had once been unable to endure the thought +of separation from her father could now look back on his death and say, +"How I suffered then," and know no reminiscent pang. She would have +wondered at herself if, in the happiness in which she was lapped, she +could have drawn her mind from its contemplation to wonder at anything. +There was no world beyond the camp, no interest in what did not focus +on Courant, no people except those who added to his trials or his +welfare. The men spent much of their time at the Fort, conferring with +others en route to the river bed below Sutter's mill. When they came +back to the camp there was lively talk under the old tree. The silence +of the trail was at an end. The pendulum swung far, and now they were +garrulous, carried away by the fever of speculation. The evening came +and found them with scattered stores and uncleaned camp, their voices +loud against the low whisperings of leaves and water. + +Courant returned from these absences aglow with fortified purpose. +Reestablished contact with the world brightened and humanized him, +acting with an eroding effect on a surface hardened by years of lawless +roving. In his voluntary exile he had not looked for or wanted the +company of his fellows. Now he began to soften under it, shift his +viewpoint from that of the all-sufficing individual to that of the +bonded mass from which he had so long been an alien. The girl's +influence had revivified a side almost atrophied by disuse. Men's were +aiding it. As her sympathies narrowed under the obsession of her +happiness, his expanded, awaked by a reversion to forgotten conditions. + +One night, lying beside her under the tent's roof, he found himself +wakeful. It was starless and still, the song of the river fusing in a +continuous flow of low sound with the secret, self-communings of the +tree. The girl's light breathing was at his ear, a reminder of his +ownership and its responsibilities. In the idleness of the unoccupied +mind he mused on the future they were to share till death should come +between. It was pleasant thinking, or so it began. Then, gradually, +something in the darkness and the lowered vitality of night caused it +to lose its joy, become suffused by a curious, doubting uneasiness. He +lay without moving, given up to the strange feeling, not knowing what +induced it or from whence it came. It grew in poignancy, clearer and +stronger, till it led him like a clew to the body of David. + +For the first time that savage act came back to him with a surge of +repudiation, of scared denial. He had a realizing sense of how it +would look to other men--the men he had met at the Fort. Distinctly, +as if their mental attitude were substituted for his, he saw it as they +would see it, as the world he was about to enter would see it. His +heart began to thump with something like terror and the palms of his +hands grew moist. Turning stealthily that he might not wake her, he +stared at the triangle of paler darkness that showed through the tent's +raised flap. He had no fear that Susan would find out. Even if she +did, he knew her securely his, till the end of time, her thoughts to +take their color from him, her fears to be lulled at his wish. But the +others--the active, busy, practical throng into which he would be +absorbed. His action, in the heat of a brutal passion, had made him an +outsider from the close-drawn ranks of his fellows. He had been able +to do without them, defied their laws, scorned their truckling to +public opinion--but now? + +The girl turned in her sleep, pressing her head against his shoulder +and murmuring drowsily. He edged away from her, flinching from the +contact, feeling a grievance against her. She was the link between him +and them. Hers was the influence that was sapping the foundations of +his independence. She was drawing him back to the place of lost +liberty outside which he had roamed in barbarous content. His love was +riveting bonds upon him, making his spirit as water. He felt a revolt, +a resistance against her power, which was gently impelling him toward +home, hearth, neighbors--the life in which he felt his place was gone. + +The next day the strange mood seemed an ugly dream. It was not he who +had lain wakeful and questioned his right to bend Fate to his own +demands. He rode beside his wife at the head of the train as they +rolled out in the bright, dry morning on the road to the river. There +were men behind them, and in front the dust rose thick on the rear of +pack trains. They filed across the valley, watching the foot hills +come nearer and the muffling robe of the chaparral separate into +checkered shadings where the manzanita glittered and the faint, bluish +domes of small pines rose above the woven greenery. + +Men were already before them, scattered along the river's bars, waist +high in the pits. Here and there a tent showed white, but a blanket +under a tree, a pile of pans by a blackened heap of fire marked most of +the camps. Some of the gold-hunters had not waited to undo their packs +which lay as they had been dropped, and the owners, squatting by the +stream's lip, bent over their pans round which the water sprayed in a +silver fringe. There were hails and inquiries, answering cries of good +or ill luck. Many did not raise their eyes, too absorbed by the hope +of fortune to waste one golden moment. + +These were the vanguard, the forerunners of next year's thousands, +scratching the surface of the lower bars. The sound of their voices +was soon left behind and the river ran free of them. Pack trains +dropped from the line, spreading themselves along the rim of earth +between the trail and the shrunken current. Courant's party moved on, +going higher, veiled in a cloud of brick-colored dust. The hills swept +up into bolder lines, the pines mounted in sentinel files crowding out +the lighter leafage. At each turn the vista showed a loftier uprise, +crest peering above crest, and far beyond, high and snow-touched, the +summits of the Sierra. The shadows slanted cool from wall to wall, the +air was fresh and scented with the forest's resinous breath. Across +the tree tops, dense as the matted texture of moss, the winged shadows +of hawks floated, and paused, and floated again. + +Here on a knoll under a great pine they pitched the tent. At its base +the river ran, dwindled to a languid current, the bared mud banks +waiting for their picks. The walls of the canon drew close, a drop of +naked granite opposite, and on the slopes beyond were dark-aisled +depths, golden-moted, and stirred to pensive melodies. The girl +started to help, then kicked aside the up-piled blankets, dropped the +skillets into the mess chest, and cried: + +"Oh, I can't, I want to look and listen. Keep still--" The men +stopped their work, and the music of the murmurous boughs and the +gliding water filled the silence. She turned her head, sniffing the +forest's scents, her glance lighting on the blue shoulders of distant +hills. + +"And look at the river, yellow, yellow with gold! I can't work now, I +want to see it all--and feel it too," and she ran to the water's edge +where she sat down on a rock and gazed up and down the canon. + +When the camp was ready Courant joined her. The rock was wide enough +for two and he sat beside her. + +"So you like it, Missy?" he said, sending a side-long glance at her +flushed face. + +"Like it!" though there was plenty of room she edged nearer to him, +"I'm wondering if it really is so beautiful or if I just think it so +after the trail." + +"You'll be content to stay here with me till we've made our pile?" + +She looked at him and nodded, then slipped her fingers between his and +whispered, though there was no one by to hear, "I'd be content to stay +anywhere with you." + +He was growing accustomed to this sort of reply. Deprived of it he +would have noticed the omission, but it had of late become so common a +feature in the conversation he felt no necessity to answer in kind. He +glanced at the pine trunks about them and said: + +"If the claim's good, we'll cut some of those and build a cabin. +You'll see how comfortable I can make you, the way they do on the +frontier." + +She pressed his fingers for answer and he went on: + +"When the winter comes we can move farther down. Up here we may get +snow. But there'll be time between now and then to put up something +warm and waterproof." + +"Why should we move down? With a good cabin we can be comfortable +here. The snow won't be heavy this far up. They told Daddy John all +about it at the Fort. And you and he can ride in there sometimes when +we want things." + +These simple words gratified him more than she guessed. It was as if +she had seen into the secret springs of his thought and said what he +was fearful she would not say. That was why--in a spirit of testing a +granted boon to prove its genuineness--he asked with tentative +questioning: + +"You won't be lonely? There are no people here." + +She made the bride's answer and his contentment increased, for again it +was what he would have wished her to say. When he answered he spoke +almost sheepishly, with something of uneasy confession in his look: + +"I'd like to live in places like this always. I feel choked and +stifled where there are walls shutting out the air and streets full of +people. Even in the Fort I felt like a trapped animal. I want to be +where there's room to move about and nobody bothering with different +kinds of ideas. It's only in the open, in places without men, that I'm +myself." + +For the first time he had dared to give expression to the mood of the +wakeful night. Though it was dim in the busy brightness of the +present--a black spot on the luster of cheerful days--he dreaded that +it might come again with its scaring suggestions. With a nerve that +had never known a tremor at any menace from man, he was frightened of a +thought, a temporary mental state. In speaking thus to her, he +recognized her as a help-meet to whom he could make a shamed admission +of weakness and fear no condemnation or diminution of love. This time, +however, she made the wrong reply: + +"But we'll go down to the coast after a while, if our claim's good and +we get enough dust out of it. I think of it often. It will be so nice +to live in a house again, and have some one to do the cooking, and wear +pretty clothes. It will be such fun living where there are people and +going about among them, going to parties and maybe having parties of +our own." + +He withdrew his hand from hers and pushed the hair back from his +forehead. Though he said nothing she was conscious of a drop in his +mood. She bent forward to peer into his face and queried with bright, +observing eyes: + +"You don't seem to like the thought of it." + +"Oh, it's not me," he answered. "I was just wondering at the queer way +women talk. A few minutes ago you said you'd be content anywhere with +me. Now you say you think it would be such fun living in a city and +going to parties." + +"With you, too," she laughed, pressing against his shoulder. "I don't +want to go to the parties alone." + +"Well, I guess if you ever go it'll have to be alone," he said roughly. + +She understood now that she had said something that annoyed him, and +not knowing how she had come to do it, felt aggrieved and sought to +justify herself: + +"But we can't live here always. If we make money we'll want to go back +some day where there are people, and comforts and things going on. +We'll want friends, everybody has friends. You don't mean for us +always to stay far away from everything in these wild, uncivilized +places?" + +"Why not?" he said, not looking at her, noting her rueful tone and +resenting it. + +"But we're not that kind of people. You're not a real mountain man. +You're not like Zavier or the men at Fort Laramie. You're Napoleon +Duchesney just as I'm Susan Gillespie. Your people in St. Louis and +New Orleans were ladies and gentlemen. It was just a wild freak that +made you run off into the mountains. You don't want to go on living +that way. That part of your life's over. The rest will be with me." + +"And you'll want the cities and the parties?" + +"I'll want to live the way Mrs. Duchesney should live, and you'll want +to, too." He did not answer, and she gave his arm a little shake and +said, "Won't you?" + +"I'm more Low Courant than I am Napoleon Duchesney," was his answer. + +"Well, maybe so, but whichever you are, you've got a wife now and +_that_ makes a great difference." + +She tried to infuse some of her old coquetry into the words, but the +eyes, looking sideways at him, were troubled, for she did not yet see +where she had erred. + +"I guess it does," he said low, more as if speaking to himself than her. + +This time she said nothing, feeling dashed and repulsed. They +continued to sit close together on the rock, the man lost in morose +reverie, the girl afraid to move or touch him lest he should show +further annoyance. + +The voice of Daddy John calling them to supper came to both with +relief. They walked to the camp side by side, Low with head drooped, +the girl at his elbow stealing furtive looks at him. As they +approached the fire she slid her hand inside his arm and, glancing +down, he saw the timid questioning of her face and was immediately +contrite. He laid his hand on hers and smiled, and she caught her +breath in a deep sigh and felt happiness come rushing back. Whatever +it was she had said that displeased him she would be careful not to say +it again, for she had already learned that the lion in love is still +the lion. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +Their claim was rich and they buckled down to work, the old man +constructing a rocker after a model of his own, and Courant digging in +the pits. Everything was with them, rivals were few, the ground +uncrowded, the season dry. It was the American River before the +Forty-niners swarmed along its edges, and there was gold in its sands, +sunk in a sediment below its muddy deposit, caked in cracks through the +rocks round which its currents had swept for undisturbed ages. + +They worked feverishly, the threat of the winter rains urging them on. +The girl helped, leaving her kettle settled firm on a bed of embers +while the water heated for dish washing, to join them on the shore, +heaped with their earth piles. She kept the rocker in motion while the +old man dipped up the water in a tin ladle and sent it running over the +sifting bed of sand and pebbles. The heavier labor of digging was +Courant's. Before September was over the shore was honeycombed with +his excavations, driven down to the rock bed. The diminishing stream +shrunk with each day and he stood in it knee high, the sun beating on +his head, his clothes pasted to his skin by perspiration, and the thud +of his pick falling with regular stroke on the monotonous rattle of the +rocker. + +Sometimes she was tired and they ordered her to leave them and rest in +the shade of the camp. She loitered about under the spread of the pine +boughs, cleaning and tidying up, and patching the ragged remnants of +their clothes. Often, as she sat propped against the trunk, her sewing +fell to her lap and she looked out with shining, spell-bound eyes. The +men were shapes of dark importance against the glancing veil of water, +the soaked sands and the low brushwood yellowing in the autumn's soft, +transforming breath. Far away the film of whitened summits dreamed +against the blue. In the midwash of air, aloft and dreaming, too, the +hawk's winged form poised, its shadow moving below it across the sea of +tree tops. + +She would sit thus, motionless and idle, as the long afternoon wore +away, and deep-colored veils of twilight gathered in the canon. She +told the men the continuous sounds of their toil made her drowsy. But +her stillness was the outward sign of an inner concentration. If +delight in rest had replaced her old bodily energy, her mind had gained +a new activity. She wondered a little at it, not yet at the heart of +her own mystery. Her thoughts reached forward into the future, busied +themselves with details of the next twelve months, dwelt anxiously on +questions of finance. The nest-building instinct was astir in her and +she pondered on the house they were to build, how they must arrange +something for a table, and maybe fashion armchairs of barrels and red +flannel. Finally, in a last voluptuous flight of ecstasy, she saw +herself riding into Sacramento with a sack of dust and abandoning +herself to an orgie of bartering. + +One afternoon three men, two Mexicans and an Australian sailor from a +ship in San Francisco cove, stopped at the camp for food. The +Australian was a loquacious fellow, with faculties sharpened by +glimpses of life in many ports. He told them of the two emigrant +convoys he had just seen arrive in Sacramento, worn and wasted by the +last forced marches over the mountains. Susan, who had been busy over +her cooking, according him scant attention, at his description of the +trains, suddenly lifted intent eyes and leaned toward him: + +"Did you see a man among them, a young man, tall and thin, with black +hair and beard?" + +"All the men were tall and thin, or any ways thin," said the sailor, +laughing. "How tall was he?" + +"Six feet," she replied, her face devoid of any answering smile, "with +high shoulders and walking with a stoop. He had a fine, handsome face, +and long black hair to his shoulders and gray eyes." + +"Have you lost your sweetheart?" said the man, who did not know the +relations of the party. + +"No," she said gravely, "my friend." + +Courant explained: + +"She's my wife. The man she's speaking of was a member of our company +that we lost on the desert. We thought Indians had got him and hoped +he'd get away and join with a later westbound train. His name was +David." + +The sailor shook his head. + +"Ain't seen no one answering to that name, nor to that description. +There wasn't a handsome-featured one in the lot, nor a David. But if +you're expecting him along, why don't you take her in and let her look +'em over? They told me at the Fort the trains was mostly all in or +ought to be. Any time now the snow on the summit will be too deep for +'em. If they get caught up there they can't be got out, so they're +coming over hot foot and are dumped down round Hock Farm. Not much to +see, but if you're looking for a friend it's worth trying." + +That night Courant was again wakeful. Susan's face, as she had +questioned the sailor, floated before him on the darkness. With it +came the thought of the dead man. In the silence David called upon him +from the sepulcher beneath the rock, sent a message through the night +which said that, though he was hidden from mortal vision, the memory of +him was still alive, imbued with an unquenchable vitality. His +unwinking eyes, with the rock crumbs sifting on them, looked at those +of his triumphant enemy and spoke through their dusted films. In the +moment of death they had said nothing to him, now they shone--not +angrily accusing as they had been in life--but stern with a vindictive +purpose. + +Courant began to have a fearful understanding of their meaning. Though +dead to the rest of the world, David would maintain an intense and +secret life in his murderer's conscience. He had never fought such a +subtle and implacable foe, and he lay thinking of how he could create +conditions that would give him escape, push the phantom from him, make +him forget, and be as he had been when no one had disputed his +sovereignty over himself. He tried to think that time would mitigate +this haunting discomfort. His sense of guilt, his fear of his wife, +would die when the novelty of once again being one with the crowd had +worn away. It was not possible that he, defiant of man and God, could +languish under this dread of a midnight visitation or a discovery that +never would be made. It was the reentering into the communal life that +had upset his poise--or was it the influence of the woman, the softly +pervasive, enervating influence? He came up against this thought with +a dizzying impact and felt himself droop and sicken as one who is faced +with a task for which his strength is inadequate. + +He turned stealthily and lay on his back, his face beaded with sweat. +The girl beside him waked and sat up casting a side glance at him. By +the starlight, slanting in through the raised tent door, she saw his +opened eyes and, leaning toward him, a black shape against the faintly +blue triangle, said: + +"Low, are you awake?" + +He answered without moving, glad to hear her speak, to know that sleep +had left her and her voice might conjure away his black imaginings. + +"Why aren't you sleeping?" she asked. "You must be half dead after +such work as you did today." + +"I was thinking--" then hastily, for he was afraid that she might sense +his mood and ply him with sympathetic queries: "Sometimes people are +too tired to sleep. I am, and so I was lying here just thinking of +nothing." + +His fears were unnecessary. She was as healthily oblivious of his +disturbance as he was morbidly conscious of it. She sat still, her +hands clasped round her knees, about which the blanket draped blackly. + +"I was thinking, too," she said. + +"Of what?" + +"Of what that man was saying of David." + +There was a silence. He lay motionless, his trouble coming back upon +him. He wished that he might dare to impose upon her a silence on that +one subject. David, given a place in her mind, would sit at every +feast, walk beside them, lie between them in their marriage bed. + +"Why do you think of him?" he asked. + +"Because--" her tone showed surprise. "It's natural, isn't it? Don't +you? I'm sure you do. I do often, much oftener than you think. I'm +always hoping that he'll come." + +"You never loved him," he said, in a voice from which all spring was +gone. + +"No, but he was my friend, and I would like to keep him so for always. +I think of his kindness, his gentleness, all the good part of him +before the trail broke him down. And, I think, too, how cruel I was to +him." + +The darkness hid her face, but her voice told that she, too, had her +little load of guilt where David was concerned. + +The man moved uneasily. + +"That's foolishness. You only told the truth. If it was cruel, that's +not your affair." + +"He loved me. A woman doesn't forget that." + +"That's over and done with. He's probably here somewhere, come through +with a train that's scattered. And, anyway, you can't do any good by +thinking about him." + +This time the false reassurances came with the pang that the dead man +was rousing in tardy retribution. + +"I should like to know it," she said wistfully, "to feel sure. It's +the only thing that mars our happiness. If I knew he was safe and well +somewhere there'd be nothing in the world for me but perfect joy." + +Her egotism of satisfied body and spirit jarred upon him. The passion +she had evoked had found no peace in its fulfillment. She had got what +he had hoped for. All that he had anticipated was destroyed by the +unexpected intrusion of a part of himself that had lain dead till she +had quickened it, and quickening it she had killed his joy. In a flash +of divination he saw that, if she persisted in her worry over David, +she would rouse in him an antagonism that would eventually drive him +from her. He spoke with irritation: + +"Put him out of your mind. Don't worry about him. You can't do any +good, and it spoils our love." + +After a pause, she said with a hesitating attempt at cajolery: + +"Let me and Daddy John drive into the valley and try and get news of +him. We need supplies and we'll be gone only two or three days. We +can inquire at the Fort and maybe go on to Sacramento, and if he's been +there we'll hear of it. If we could only hear, just hear, he was safe, +it would be such a relief. It would take away this dreary feeling of +anxiety, and guilt too, Low. For I feel guilty when I think of how we +left him." + +"Where was the guilt? You've no right to say that. You understood we +had to go. I could take no risks with you and the old man." + +"Yes," she said, slowly, tempering her agreement with a self-soothing +reluctance, "but even so, it seemed terrible. I often tell myself we +couldn't have done anything else, but----" + +Her voice dropped to silence and she sat staring out at the quiet +night, her head blurred with the filaments of loosened hair. + +He did not speak, gripped by his internal torment, aggravated now by +torment from without. He wondered, if he told her the truth, would she +understand and help him to peace. But he knew that such knowledge +would set her in a new attitude toward him, an attitude of secret +judgment, of distracted pity, of an agonized partisanship built on +loyalty and the despairing passion of the disillusioned. He could +never tell her, for he could never support the loss of her devoted +belief, which was now the food of his life. + +"Can I go?" she said, turning to look at him, smiling confidently as +one who knows the formal demand unnecessary. + +"If you want," he answered. + +"Then we'll start to-morrow," she said, and, leaning down, kissed him. + +He was unresponsive to the touch of her lips, lay inert as she nestled +down into soft-breathing, child-like sleep. He watched the tent +opening pale into a glimmering triangle wondering what their life would +be with the specter of David standing in the path, an angel with a +flaming sword barring the way to Paradise. + +Two days later she and Daddy John, sitting on the front seat of the +wagon, saw the low drab outlines of the Fort rising from the plain. +Under their tree was a new encampment, one tent with the hood of a +wagon behind it, and oxen grazing in the sun. As they drew near they +could see the crouched forms of two children, the light filtering +through the leafage on the silky flax of their heads. They were +occupied over a game, evidently a serious business, its floor of +operations the smooth ground worn bare about the camp fire. One of +them lay flat with a careful hand patting the dust into mounds, the +other squatted near by watching, a slant of white hair falling across a +rounded cheek. They did not heed the creak of the wagon wheels, but as +a woman's voice called from the tent, raised their heads listening, but +not answering, evidently deeming silence the best safeguard against +interruption. + +Susan laid a clutching hand on Daddy John's arm. + +"It's the children," she cried in a choked voice. "Stop, stop!" and +before he could rein the mules to order she was out and running toward +them, calling their names. + +They made a clamor of welcome, Bob running to her and making delighted +leaps up at her face, the little girl standing aloof for the first +bashful moment, then sidling nearer with mouth upheld for kisses. +Bella heard them and came to the tent door, gave a great cry, and ran +to them. There were tears on her cheeks as she clasped Susan, held her +oft and clutched her again, with panted ejaculations of "Deary me!" and +"Oh, Lord, Missy, is it you?" + +It was like a meeting on the other side of the grave. They babbled +their news, both talking at once, not stopping to finish sentences, or +wait for the answer to questions of the marches they had not shared. +Over the clamor they looked at each other with faces that smiled and +quivered, the tie between them strengthened by the separation when each +had longed for the other, closer in understanding by the younger's +added experience, both now women. + +Glen was at the Fort and Daddy John rolled off to meet him there. The +novelty of the moment over, the children returned sedately to their +play, and the women sat together under the canopy of the tree. Bella's +adventures had been few and tame, Susan's was the great story. She was +not discursive about her marriage. She was still shy on the subject +and sensitively aware of the disappointment that Bella was too +artlessly amazed to conceal. She passed over it quickly, pretending +that she did not hear Bella's astonished: + +"But why did you get married at Humboldt? Why didn't you wait till you +got here?" + +It was the loss of David that she made the point of her narrative, +anxiously impressing on her listener their need of going on. She stole +quick looks at Bella, watchful for the first shade of disapprobation, +with all Low's arguments ready to sweep it aside. But Bella, with +maternal instincts in place of a comprehensive humanity, agreed that +Low had done right. Nature, in the beginning, combined with the needs +of the trail, had given her a viewpoint where expediency counted for +more than altruism. She with two children and a helpless man would +have gone on and left anyone to his fate. She did not say this, but +Susan, with intelligence sharpened by a jealous passion, felt that +there was no need to defend her husband's action. As for the rest of +the world--deep in her heart she had already decided it should never +know. + +"You couldn't have done anything else," said Bella. "I've learned that +when you're doing that sort of thing, you can't have the same feelings +you can back in the States, with everything handy and comfortable. You +can be fair, but you got to fight for your own. They got to come +first." + +She had neither seen nor heard anything of David. No rumor of a man +held captive by the Indians had reached their train. She tried not to +let Susan see that she believed the worst. But her melancholy +headshake and murmured "Poor David--and him such a kind, whole-hearted +man" was as an obituary on the dead. + +"Well," she said in pensive comment when Susan had got to the end of +her history, "you can't get through a journey like that without some +one coming to grief. It's not in human nature. But your father--that +grand man! And then the young feller that would have made you such a +good husband--" Susan moved warningly--"Not but what I'm sure you've +got as good a one as it is. And we've got to take what we can get in +this world," she added, spoiling it all by the philosophical acceptance +of what she evidently regarded as a make-shift adjusting to Nature's +needs. + +When the men came back Glen had heard all about the gold in the river +and was athirst to get there. Work at his trade could wait, and, +anyway, he had been in Sacramento and found, while his services were in +demand on every side, the materials wherewith he was to help raise a +weatherproof city were not to be had. Men were content to live in +tents and cloth shacks until the day of lumber and sawmills dawned, and +why wait for this millennium when the river called from its golden +sands? + +No one had news of David. Daddy John had questioned the captains of +two recently arrived convoys, but learned nothing. The men thought it +likely he was dead. They agreed as to the possibility of the Indian +abduction and his future reappearance. Such things had happened. But +it was too late now to do anything. No search party could be sent out +at this season when at any day the mountain trails might be neck high +in snow. There was nothing to do but wait till the spring. + +Susan listened with lowered brows. It was heavy news. She did not +know how she had hoped till she heard that all hope must lie in +abeyance for at least six months. It was a long time to be patient. +She was selfishly desirous to have her anxieties at rest, for, as she +had told her husband, they were the only cloud on her happiness, and +she wanted that happiness complete. It was not necessary for her peace +to see David again. To know he was safe somewhere would have satisfied +her. + +The fifth day after leaving the camp they sighted the pitted shores of +their own diggings. Sitting in the McMurdos' wagon they had speculated +gayly on Low's surprise. Susan, on the seat beside Glen, had been +joyously full of the anticipation of it, wondered what he would say, +and then fell to imagining it with closed lips and dancing eyes. When +the road reached the last concealing buttress she climbed down and +mounted beside Daddy John, whose wagon was some distance in advance. + +"It's going to be a surprise for Low," she said in the voice of a +mischievous child. "You mustn't say anything. Let me tell him." + +The old man, squinting sideways at her, gave his wry smile. It was +good to see his Missy this way again, in bloom like a refreshed flower. + +"Look," she cried, as her husband's figure came into view kneeling by +the rocker. "There he is, and he doesn't see us. Stop!" + +Courant heard their wheels and, turning, started to his feet and came +forward, the light in his face leaping to hers. She sprang down and +ran toward him, her arms out. Daddy John, slashing the wayside bushes +with his whip, looked reflectively at the bending twigs while the +embrace lasted. The McMurdos' curiosity was not restrained by any such +inconvenient delicacy. They peeped from under the wagon hood, grinning +appreciatively, Bella the while maintaining a silent fight with the +children, who struggled for an exit. None of them could hear what the +girl said, but they saw Courant suddenly look with a changed face, its +light extinguished, at the second wagon. + +"He don't seem so terrible glad to see us," said Glen. "I guess he +wanted to keep the place for himself." + +Bella noted the look and snorted. + +"He's a cross-grained thing," she said; "I don't see what got into her +to marry him when she could have had David." + +"She can't have him when he ain't round to be had," her husband +answered. "Low's better than a man that's either a prisoner with the +Indians or dead somewhere. David was a good boy, but I don't seem to +see he'd be much use to her now." + +Bella sniffed again, and let the squirming children go to get what good +they could out of the unpromising moment of the surprise. + +What Low had said to Susan was an angry, + +"Why did you bring them?" + +She fell back from him not so crestfallen at his words as at his dark +frown of disapproval. + +"Why, I wanted them," she faltered, bewildered by his obvious +displeasure at what she thought would be welcome news, "and I thought +you would." + +"I'd rather you hadn't. Aren't we enough by ourselves?" + +"Yes, of course. But they're our friends. We traveled with them for +days and weeks, and it's made them like relations. I was so glad to +see them I cried when I saw Bella. Oh, do try and seem more as if you +liked it. They're here and I've brought them." + +He slouched forward to greet them. She was relieved to see that he +made an effort to banish his annoyance and put some warmth of welcome +into his voice. But the subtlety with which he could conceal his +emotions when it behooved him had deserted him, and Bella and Glen saw +the husband did not stand toward them as the wife did. + +It was Susan who infused into the meeting a fevered and fictitious +friendliness, chattering over the pauses that threatened to fall upon +it, leaving them a reunited company only in name. She presently swept +Bella to the camp, continuing her nervous prattle as she showed her the +tent and the spring behind it, and told of the log house they were to +raise before the rains came. Bella was placated. After all, it was a +lovely spot, good for the children, and if Glen could do as well on a +lower bend of the river as they had done here, it looked as if they had +at last found the Promised Land. + +After supper they sat by Daddy John's fire, which shot an eddying +column of sparks into the plumed darkness of the pine. It was like old +times only--with a glance outward toward the water and the star-strewn +sky--so much more--what was the word? Not quiet; they could never +forget the desert silence. "Homelike," Susan suggested, and they +decided that was the right word. + +"You feel as if you could stay here and not want to move on," Bella +opined. + +Glen thought perhaps you felt that way because you knew you'd come to +the end and couldn't move much farther. + +But the others argued him down. They all agreed there was something in +the sun maybe, or the mellow warmth of the air, or the richness of +wooded slope and plain, that made them feel they had found a place +where they could stay, not for a few days' rest, but forever. Susan +had hit upon the word "homelike," the spot on earth that seemed to you +the one best fitted for a home. + +The talk swung back to days on the trail and finally brought up on +David. They rehearsed the tragic story, conned over the details that +had begun to form into narrative sequence as in the time-worn lay of a +minstrel. Bella and Glen asked all the old questions that had once +been asked by Susan and Daddy John, and heard the same answers, leaning +to catch them while the firelight played on the strained attention of +their faces. With the night pressing close around them, and the +melancholy, sea-like song sweeping low from the forest, a chill crept +upon them, and their lost comrade became invested with the unreality of +a spirit. Dead in that bleak and God-forgotten land, or captive in +some Indian stronghold, he loomed a tragic phantom remote from them and +their homely interests like a historical figure round which legend has +begun to accumulate. + +The awed silence that had fallen was broken by Courant rising and +walking away toward the diggings. This brought their somber pondering +to an end. Bella and Glen picked up the sleeping children and went to +their tent, and Susan, peering beyond the light, saw her man sitting on +a stone, dark against the broken silver of the stream. She stole down +to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. He started as if her touch +scared him, then saw who it was and turned away with a gruff murmur. +The sound was not encouraging, but the wife, already so completely part +of him that his moods were communicated to her through the hidden +subways of instinct, understood that he was in some unconfessed trouble. + +"What's the matter, Low?" she asked, bending to see his face. + +He turned it toward her, met the penetrating inquiry of her look, and +realized his dependence on her, feeling his weakness but not caring +just then that he should be weak. + +"Nothing," he answered. "Why do they harp so on David?" + +"Don't you like them to?" she asked in some surprise. + +He took a splinter from the stone and threw it into the water, a small +silvery disturbance marking its fall. + +"There's nothing more to be said. It's all useless talk. We can do no +more than we've done." + +"Shall I tell them you don't like the subject, not to speak of it +again?" + +He glanced at her with sudden suspicion: + +"No, no, of course not. They've a right to say anything they please. +But it's a waste of time, there's nothing but guessing now. What's the +use of guessing and wondering all through the winter. Are they going +to keep on that way till the spring?" + +"I'll tell them not to," she said as a simple solution of the +difficulty. "I'll tell them it worries you." + +"Don't," he said sharply. "Do you hear? Don't. Do you want to act +like a fool and make me angry with you?" + +He got up and moved away, leaving her staring blankly at his back. He +had been rough to her often, but never before spoken with this note of +peremptory, peevish displeasure. She felt an obscure sense of trouble, +a premonition of disaster. She went to him and, standing close, put +her hand inside his arm. + +"Low," she pleaded, "what's wrong with you? You were angry that they +came. Now you're angry at what they say. I don't understand. Tell me +the reason of it. If there's something that I don't know let me hear +it, and I'll try and straighten things out." + +For a tempted moment he longed to tell her, to gain ease by letting her +share his burden. The hand upon his arm was a symbol of her hold upon +him that no action of his could ever loose. If he could admit her +within the circle of his isolation he would have enough. He would lose +the baleful consciousness of forever walking apart, separated from his +kind, a spiritual Ishmaelite. She had strength enough. For the moment +he felt that she was the stronger of the two, able to bear more than +he, able to fortify him and give him courage for the future. He had a +right to claim such a dole of her love, and once the knowledge hers, +they two would stand, banished from the rest of the world, knit +together by the bond of their mutual knowledge. + +The temptation clutched him and his breast contracted in the rising +struggle. His pain clamored for relief, his weakness for support. The +lion man, broken and tamed by the first pure passion of his life, would +have cast the weight of his sin upon the girl he had thought to bear +through life like a pampered mistress. + +With the words on his lips he looked at her. She met the look with a +smile that she tried to make brave, but that was only a surface +grimace, her spirit's disturbance plain beneath it. There was pathos +in its courage and its failure. He averted his eyes, shook his arm +free of her hand, and, moving toward the water, said: + +"Go back to the tent and go to bed." + +"What are you going to do?" she called after him, her voice sounding +plaintive. Its wistful note gave him strength: + +"Walk for a while. I'm not tired. I'll be back in an hour," and he +walked away, down the edge of the current, past the pits and into the +darkness. + +She watched him, not understanding, vaguely alarmed, then turned and +went back to the tent. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +The stretch of the river where the McMurdos had settled was richer than +Courant's location. Had Glen been as mighty a man with the pick, even +in the short season left to him, he might have accumulated a goodly +store. But he was a slack worker. His training as a carpenter made +him useful, finding expression in an improvement on Daddy John's +rocker, so they overlooked his inclination to lie off in the sun with +his ragged hat pulled over his eyes. In Courant's camp Bella was +regarded as the best man of the two. To her multiform duties she added +that of assistant in the diggings, squatting beside her husband in the +mud, keeping the rocker going, and when Glen was worked out, not above +taking a hand at the shovel. Her camp showed a comfortable neatness, +and the children's nakedness was covered with garments fashioned by the +firelight from old flour sacks. + +There was no crisp coming of autumn. A yellowing of the leafage along +the river's edge was all that denoted the season's change. Nature +seemed loth to lay a desecrating hand on the region's tranquil beauty. +They had been told at the Fort that they might look for the first rains +in November. When October was upon them they left the pits and set to +work felling trees for two log huts. + +Susan saw her home rising on the knoll, a square of logs, log roofed, +with a door of woven saplings over which canvas was nailed. They built +a chimney of stones rounded by the water's action, and for a hearth +found a slab of granite which they sunk in the earth before the +fireplace. The bunk was a frame of young pines with canvas stretched +across, and cushioned with spruce boughs and buffalo robes. She +watched as they nailed up shelves of small, split trunks and sawed the +larger ones into sections for seats. The bottom of the wagon came out +and, poised on four log supports, made the table. + +Her housewife's instincts rose jubilant as the shell took form, and she +sang to herself as she stitched her flour sacks together for towels. +No princess decked her palace with a blither spirit. All the little +treasures that had not been jettisoned in the last stern march across +the desert came from their hiding places for the adornment of the first +home of her married life. The square of mirror stood on the shelf near +the door where the light could fall on it, and the French gilt clock +that had been her mother's ticked beside it. The men laughed as she +set out on the table the silver mug of her baby days and a two-handled +tankard bearing on its side a worn coat of arms, a heritage from the +adventurous Poutrincourt, a drop of whose blood had given boldness and +courage to hers. + +It was her home--very different from the home she had dreamed of--but +so was her life different from the life she and her father had planned +together in the dead days of the trail. She delighted in it, gloated +over it. Long before the day of installation she moved in her +primitive furnishings, disposed the few pans with an eye to their +effect as other brides arrange their silver and crystal, hung her +flour-sack towels on the pegs with as careful a hand as though they had +been tapestries, and folded her clothes neat and seemly in her father's +chest. Then came a night when the air was sharp, and they kindled the +first fire in the wide chimney mouth. It leaped exultant, revealing +the mud-filled cracks, playing on the pans, and licking the bosses of +the old tankard. The hearthstone shone red with its light, and they +sat drawn back on the seats of pine looking into its roaring +depths--housed, sheltered, cozily content. When Glen and Bella retired +to their tent a new romance seemed to have budded in the girl's heart. +It was her bridal night--beneath a roof, beside a hearth, with a door +to close against the world, and shut her away with her lover. + +In these days she had many secret conferrings with Bella. They kept +their heads together and whispered, and Bella crooned and fussed over +her and pushed the men into the background in a masterful, aggressive +manner. Susan knew now what had waked the nest-building instinct. The +knowledge came with a thrilling, frightened joy. She sat apart +adjusting herself to the new outlook, sometimes fearful, then uplifted +in a rapt, still elation. All the charm she had once held over the +hearts of men was gone. Glen told Bella she was getting stupid, even +Daddy John wondered at her dull, self-centered air. She would not have +cared what they had said or thought of her. Her interest in men as +creatures to snare and beguile was gone with her lost maidenhood. All +that she had of charm and beauty she hoarded, stored up and jealously +guarded, for her husband and her child. + +"It'll be best for you to go down to the town," Bella had said to her, +reveling discreetly in her position as high priestess of these +mysteries, "there'll be doctors in Sacramento, some kind of doctors." + +"I'll stay here," Susan answered. "You're here and my husband and +Daddy John. I'd die if I was sent off among strangers. I can't live +except with the people I'm fond of. I'm not afraid." + +And the older woman decided that maybe she was right. She could see +enough to know that this girl of a higher stock and culture, plucked +from a home of sheltered ease to be cast down in the rude life of the +pioneer, was only a woman like all the rest, having no existence +outside her own small world. + +So the bright, monotonous days filed by, always sunny, always warm, +till it seemed as if they were to go on thus forever, glide into a +winter which was still spring. An excursion to Sacramento, a big day's +clean up, were their excitements. They taught little Bob to help at +the rocker, and the women sat by the cabin door sewing, long periods of +silence broken by moments of desultory talk. Susan had grown much +quieter. She would sit with idle hands watching the shifting lights +and the remoter hills turning from the afternoon's blue to the rich +purple of twilight. Bella said she was lazy, and urged industry and +the need of speed in the preparation of the new wardrobe. She laughed +indolently and said, time enough later on. She had grown indifferent +about her looks--her hair hanging elfish round her ears, her blouse +unfastened at the throat, the new boots Low had brought her from +Sacramento unworn in the cabin corner, her feet clothed in the ragged +moccasins he had taught her to make. + +In the evening she sat on a blanket on the cabin floor, blinking +sleepily at the flames. Internally she brimmed with a level content. +Life was coming to the flood with her, her being gathering itself for +its ultimate expression. All the curiosity and interest she had once +turned out to the multiple forms and claims of the world were now +concentrated on the two lives between which hers stood. She was the +primitive woman, a mechanism of elemental instincts, moving up an +incline of progressive passions. The love of her father had filled her +youth, and that had given way to the love of her mate, which in time +would dim before the love of her child. Outside these phases of a +governing prepossession--filial, conjugal, maternal--she knew nothing, +felt nothing, and could see nothing. + +Low, at first, had brooded over her with an almost ferocious +tenderness. Had she demanded a removal to the town he would have given +way. He would have acceded to anything she asked, but she asked +nothing. As the time passed her demands of him, even to his help in +small matters of the household, grew less. A slight, inscrutable +change had come over her: she was less responsive, often held him with +an eye whose blankness told of inner imaginings, when he spoke made no +answer, concentrated in her reverie. When he watched her withdrawn in +these dreams, or in a sudden attack of industry, fashioning small +garments from her hoarded store of best clothes, he felt an alienation +in her, and he realized with a start of alarmed divination that the +child would take a part of what had been his, steal from him something +of that blind devotion in the eternal possession of which he had +thought to find solace. + +It was a shock that roused him to a scared scrutiny of the future. He +put questions to her for the purpose of drawing out her ideas, and her +answers showed that all her thoughts and plans were gathering round the +welfare of her baby. Her desire for its good was to end her +unresisting subservience to him. She was thinking already of better +things. Ambitions were awakened that would carry her out of the +solitudes, where he felt himself at rest, back to the world where she +would struggle to make a place for the child she had never wanted for +herself. + +"We'll take him to San Francisco soon"--it was always "him" in her +speculations--"We can't keep him here." + +"Why not?" he asked. "Look at Bella's children. Could anything be +healthier and happier?" + +"Bella's children are different. Bella's different. She doesn't know +anything better, she doesn't care. To have them well fed and healthy +is enough for her. _We're_ not like that. _Our_ child's going to have +everything." + +"You're content enough here by yourself and you're a different sort to +Bella." + +"For myself!" she gave a shrug. "I don't care any more than Bella +does. But for my child--my son--I want everything. Want him a +gentleman like his ancestors, French and American"--she gave his arm a +propitiating squeeze for she knew he disliked this kind of talk--"want +him to be educated like my father, and know everything, and have a +profession." + +"You're looking far ahead." + +"Years and years ahead," and then with deprecating eyes and +irrepressible laughter, "Now don't say I'm foolish, but sometimes I +think of him getting married and the kind of girl I'll choose for +him--not stupid like me, but one who's good and beautiful and knows all +about literature and geography and science. The finest girl in the +world, and I'll find her for him." + +He didn't laugh, instead he looked sulkily thoughtful: + +"And where will we get the money to do all this?" + +"We'll make it. We have a good deal now. Daddy John told me the other +day he thought we had nearly ten thousand dollars in dust beside what +my father left. That will be plenty to begin on, and you can go into +business down on the coast. They told Daddy John at the Fort there +would be hundreds and thousands of people coming in next spring. +They'll build towns, make Sacramento and San Francisco big places with +lots going on. We can settle in whichever seems the most thriving and +get back into the kind of life where we belong." + +It was her old song, the swan song of his hopes. He felt a loneliness +more bitter than he had ever before conceived of. In the jarring +tumult of a growing city he saw himself marked in his own eyes, aloof +in the street and the market place, a stranger by his own fireside. In +his fear he swore that he would thwart her, keep her in the wild +places, crush her maternal ambitions and force her to share his chosen +life, the life of the outcast. He knew that it would mean conflict, +the subduing of a woman nerved by a mother's passion. And as he worked +in the ditches he thought about it, arranging the process by which he +would gradually break her to his will, beat down her aspirations till +she was reduced to the abject docility of a squaw. Then he would hold +her forever under his hand and eye, broken as a dog to his word, +content to wander with him on those lonely paths where he would tread +out the measure of his days. + +Toward the end of November the rains came. First in hesitant showers, +then in steadier downpourings, finally, as December advanced, in +torrential fury. Veils of water descended upon them, swept round their +knoll till it stood marooned amid yellow eddies. The river rose +boisterous, swirled into the pits, ate its way across the honey-combed +reach of mud and fingered along the bottom of their hillock. They had +never seen such rain. The pines bowed and wailed under its assault, +and the slopes were musical with the voices of liberated streams. Moss +and mud had to be pressed into the cabin's cracks, and when they sat by +the fire in the evening their voices fell before the angry lashings on +the roof and the groaning of the tormented forest. + +Daddy John and Courant tried to work but gave it up, and the younger +man, harassed by the secession of the toil that kept his body wearied +and gave him sleep, went abroad on the hills, roaming free in the +dripping darkness. Bella saw cause for surprise that he should absent +himself willingly from their company. She grumbled about it to Glen, +and noted Susan's acquiescence with the amaze of the woman who holds +absolute sway over her man. One night Courant came back, drenched and +staggering, on his shoulders a small bear that he had shot on the +heights above. The fresh bear meat placated Bella, but she shook her +head over the mountain man's morose caprices, and in the bedtime hour +made dismal prophecies as to the outcome of her friend's strange +marriage. + +The bear hunt had evil consequences that she did not foresee. It left +Courant, the iron man, stricken by an ailment marked by shiverings, +when he sat crouched over the fire, and fevered burnings when their +combined entreaties could not keep him from the open door and the cool, +wet air. When the clouds broke and the landscape emerged from its +mourning, dappled with transparent tints, every twig and leaf washed +clean, his malady grew worse and he lay on the bed of spruce boughs +tossing in a sickness none of them understood. + +They were uneasy, came in and out with disturbed looks and murmured +inquiries. He refused to answer them, but on one splendid morning, +blaring life like a trumpet call, he told them he was better and was +going back to work. He got down to the river bank, fumbled over his +spade, and then Daddy John had to help him back to the cabin. With +gray face and filmed eyes he lay on the bunk while they stood round +him, and the children came peeping fearfully through the doorway. They +were thoroughly frightened, Bella standing by with her chin caught in +her hand and her eyes fastened on him, and Susan on the ground beside +him, trying to say heartening phrases with lips that were stiff. The +men did not know what to do. They pushed the children from the door +roughly, as if it were their desire to hurt and abuse them. In some +obscure way it seemed to relieve their feelings. + +The rains came back more heavily than ever. For three days the heavens +descended in a downpour that made the river a roaring torrent and isled +the two log houses on their hillocks. The walls of the cabin trickled +with water. The buffets of the wind ripped the canvas covering from +the door, and Susan and Daddy John had to take a buffalo robe from the +bed and nail it over the rent. They kept the place warm with the fire, +but the earth floor was damp to their feet, and the tinkle of drops +falling from the roof into the standing pans came clear through the +outside tumult. + +The night when the storm was at its fiercest the girl begged the old +man to stay with her. Courant had fallen into a state of lethargy from +which it was hard to rouse him. Her anxiety gave place to anguish, and +Daddy John was ready for the worst when she shook him into wakefulness, +her voice at his ear: + +"You must go somewhere and get a doctor. I'm afraid." + +He blinked at her without answering, wondering where he could find a +doctor and not wanting to speak till he had a hope to offer. She read +his thoughts and cried as she snatched his hat and coat from a peg: + +"There must be one somewhere. Go to the Fort, and if there's none +there go to Sacramento. I'd go with you but I'm afraid to leave him." + +Daddy John went. She stood in the doorway and saw him lead the horse +from the brush shed and, with his head low against the downpour, vault +into the saddle. The moaning of the disturbed trees mingled with the +triumphant roar of the river. There was a shouted good-by, and she +heard the clatter of the hoofs for a moment sharp and distinct, then +swallowed in the storm's high clamor. + +In three days he was back with a ship's doctor, an Englishman, who +described himself as just arrived from Australia. Daddy John had +searched the valley, and finally run his quarry to earth at the Porter +Ranch, one of a motley crew waiting to swarm inland to the rivers. The +man, a ruddy animal with some rudimentary knowledge of his profession, +pronounced the ailment "mountain fever." He looked over the doctor's +medicine chest with an air of wisdom and at Susan with subdued +gallantry. + +"Better get the wife down to Sacramento," he said to Daddy John. "The +man's not going to last and you can't keep her up here." + +"Is he going to die?" said the old man. + +The doctor pursed his lips. + +"He oughtn't to. He's a Hercules. But the strongest of 'em go this +way with the work and exposure. Think they can do anything and don't +last as well sometimes as the weak ones." + +"Work and exposure oughtn't to hurt him. He's bred upon it. Why +should he cave in and the others of us keep up?" + +"Can't say. But he's all burned out--hollow. There's no rebound. +He's half gone now. Doesn't seem to have the spirit that you'd expect +in such a body." + +"Would it do any good to get him out of here, down to the valley or the +coast?" + +"It might--change of air sometimes knocks out these fevers. You could +try the coast or Hock Farm. But if you want my opinion I don't think +there's much use." + +Then on the first fine day the doctor rode away with some of their dust +in his saddlebags, spying on the foaming river for good spots to locate +when the rains should cease and he, with the rest of the world, could +try his luck. + +His visit had done no good, had given no heart to the anguished woman +or roused no flicker of life in the failing man. Through the weakness +of his wasting faculties Courant realized the approach of death and +welcomed it. In his forest roamings, before his illness struck him, he +had thought of it as the one way out. Then it had come to him vaguely +terrible as a specter in dreams. Now bereft of the sustaining power of +his strength the burden of the days to come had grown insupportable. +To live without telling her, to live beside her and remain a partial +stranger, to live divorcing her from all she would desire, had been the +only course he saw, and in it he recognized nothing but misery. Death +was the solution for both, and he relinquished himself to it with less +grief at parting from her than relief at the withdrawal from an +existence that would destroy their mutual dream. What remained to him +of his mighty forces went to keep his lips shut on the secret she must +never know. Even as his brain grew clouded, and his senses feeble, he +retained the resolution to leave her her belief in him. This would be +his legacy. His last gift of love would be the memory of an undimmed +happiness. + +But Susan, unknowing, fought on. The doctor had not got back to the +Porter Ranch before she began arranging to move Low to Sacramento and +from there to the Coast. He would get better care, they would find +more competent doctors, the change of air would strengthen him. She +had it out with Bella, refusing to listen to the older woman's +objections, pushing aside all references to her own health. Bella was +distracted. "For," as she said afterwards to Glen, "what's the sense +of having her go? She can't do anything for him, and it's like as not +the three of them'll die instead of one." + +There was no reasoning with Susan. The old willfulness was +strengthened to a blind determination. She plodded back through the +rain to Daddy John and laid the matter before him. As of old he did +not dispute with her, only stipulated that he be permitted to go on +ahead, make arrangements, and then come back for her. He, too, felt +there was no hope, but unlike the others he felt the best hope for his +Missy was in letting her do all she could for her husband. + +In the evening, sitting by the fire, they talked it over--the stage +down the river, the stop at the Fort, then on to Sacramento, and the +long journey to the seaport settlement of San Francisco. The sick man +seemed asleep, and their voices unconsciously rose, suddenly dropping +to silence as he stirred and spoke: + +"Are you talking of moving me? Don't. I've had twelve years of it. +Let me rest now." + +Susan went to him and sat at his feet. + +"But we must get you well," she said, trying to smile. "They'll want +you in the pits. You must be back there working with them by the +spring." + +He looked at her with a wide, cold gaze, and said: + +"The spring. We're all waiting for the spring. Everything's going to +happen then." + +A silence fell. The wife sat with drooped head, unable to speak. +Daddy John looked into the fire. To them both the Angel of Death +seemed to have paused outside the door, and in the stillness they +waited for his knock. Only Courant was indifferent, staring at the +wall with eyes full of an unfathomable unconcern. + +The next day Daddy John left. He was to find the accommodations, get +together such comforts as could be had, and return for them. He took a +sack of dust and the fleetest horse, and calculated to be back inside +two days. As he clattered away he turned for a last look at her, +standing in the sunshine, her hand over her eyes. Man or devil would +not stop him, he thought, as he buckled to his task, and his seventy +years sat as light as a boy's twenty, the one passion of his heart +beating life through him. + +Two days later, at sundown, he came back. She heard the ringing of +hoofs along the trail and ran forward to meet him, catching the bridle +as the horse, a white lather of sweat, came to a panting halt. She did +not notice the lined exhaustion of the old man's face, had no care for +anything but his news. + +"I've got everything fixed," he cried, and then slid off holding to the +saddle for he was stiff and spent. "The place is ready and I've found +a doctor and got him nailed. It'll be all clean and shipshape for you. +How's Low?" + +An answer was unnecessary. He could see there were no good tidings. + +"Weaker a little," she said. "But if it's fine we can start to-morrow." + +He thought of the road he had traveled and felt they were in God's +hands. Then he stretched a gnarled and tremulous claw and laid it on +her shoulder. + +"And there's other news, Missy. Great news. I'm thinking that it may +help you." + +There was no news that could help her but news of Low. She was so +fixed in her preoccupation that her eye was void of interest, as his, +bright and expectant, held it: + +"I seen David." + +He was rewarded. Her face flashed into excitement and she grabbed at +him with a wild hand: + +"David! Where?" + +"In Sacramento. I seen him and talked to him." + +"Oh, Daddy John, how wonderful! Was he well?" + +"Well and hearty, same as he used to be. Plumped up considerable." + +"How had he got there?" + +"A train behind us picked him up, found him lyin' by the spring where +he'd crawled lookin' for us." + +"Then, it wasn't Indians? Had he got lost?" + +"That's what I says to him first-off--'Well, gol darn yer, what +happened to yer?' and before he answers me he says quick, 'How's +Susan?' It ain't no use settin' on bad news that's bound to come out +so I give it to him straight that you and Low was married at Humboldt. +And he took it very quiet, whitened up a bit, and says no words for a +spell, walkin' off a few steps. Then he turns back and says, 'Is she +happy?'" + +Memory broke through the shell of absorption and gave voice to a +forgotten sense of guilt: + +"Oh, poor David! He always thought of me first." + +"I told him you was. That you and Low was almighty sot on each other +and that Low was sick. And he was quiet for another spell, and I could +see his thoughts was troublesome. So to get his mind off it I asked +him how it all happened. He didn't answer for a bit, standin' thinkin' +with his eyes lookin' out same as he used to look at the sunsets before +he got broke down. And then he tells me it was a fall, that he clum up +to the top of the rock and thinks he got a touch o' sun up there. For +first thing he knew he was all dizzy and staggerin' round, goin' this +side and that, till he got to the edge where the rock broke off and +over he went. He come to himself lying under a ledge alongside some +bushes, with a spring tricklin' over him. He guessed he rolled there +and that's why we couldn't find him. He don't know how long it was, or +how long it took him to crawl round to the camp--maybe a day, he +thinks, for he was 'bout two thirds dead. But he got there and saw we +was gone. The Indians hadn't come down on the place, and he seen the +writing on the rock and found the cache. The food and the water kep' +him alive, and after a bit a big train come along, the finest train he +even seen--eighteen wagons and an old Ashley man for pilot. They was +almighty good to him; the women nursed him like Christians, and he rid +in the wagons and come back slow to his strength. The reason we didn't +hear of him before was because they come by a southern route that took +'em weeks longer, moving slow for the cattle. They was fine people, he +says, and he's thick with one of the men who's a lawyer, and him and +David's goin' to the coast to set up a law business there." + +The flicker of outside interest was dying. "Thank Heaven," she said on +a rising breath, then cast a look at the cabin and added quickly: + +"I'll go and tell Low. Maybe it'll cheer him up. He was always so +worried about David. You tell Bella and then come to the cabin and see +how you think he is." + +There was light in the cabin, a leaping radiance from the logs on the +hearth, and a thin, pale twilight from the uncovered doorway. She +paused there for a moment, making her step light and composing her +features into serener lines. The gaunt form under the blanket was +motionless. The face, sunk away to skin clinging on sharp-set bones, +was turned in profile. He might have been sleeping but for the glint +of light between the eyelids. She was accustomed to seeing him thus, +to sitting beside the inanimate shape, her hand curled round his, her +eyes on the face that took no note of her impassioned scrutiny. Would +her tidings of David rouse him? She left herself no time to wonder, +hungrily expectant. + +"Low," she said, bending over him, "Daddy John's been to Sacramento and +has brought back wonderful news." + +He turned his head with an effort and looked at her. His glance was +vacant as if he had only half heard, as if her words had caught the +outer edges of his senses and penetrated no farther. + +"He has seen David." + +Into the dull eyes a slow light dawned, struggling through their apathy +till they became the eyes of a live man, hanging on hers, charged with +a staring intelligence. He made an attempt to move, lifted a wavering +hand and groped for her shoulder. + +"David!" he whispered. + +The news had touched an inner nerve that thrilled to it. She crouched +on the edge of the bunk, her heart beating thickly: + +"David, alive and well." + +The fumbling hand gripped on her shoulder. She felt the fingers +pressing in stronger than she had dreamed they could be. It pulled her +down toward him, the eyes fixed on hers, searching her face, glaring +fearfully from blackened hollows, riveted in a desperate questioning. + +"What happened to him?" came the husky whisper. + +"He fell from the rock; thinks he had a sunstroke up there and then +lost his balance and fell over and rolled under a ledge. And after a +few days a train came by and found him." + +"Is that what he said?" + +Her answering voice began to tremble, for the animation of his look +grew wilder and stranger. It was as if all the life in his body was +burning in those hungry eyes. The hand on her shoulder clutched like a +talon, the muscles informed with an unnatural force. Was it the end +coming with a last influx of strength and fire? Her tears began to +fall upon his face, and she saw it through them, ravaged and fearful, +with new life struggling under the ghastliness of dissolution. There +was an awfulness in this rekindling of the spirit where death had set +its stamp that broke her fortitude, and she forgot the legend of her +courage and cried in her agony: + +"Oh, Low, don't die, don't die! I can't bear it. Stay with me!" + +The hand left her shoulder and fumblingly touched her face, feeling +blindly over its tear-washed surface. + +"I'm not going to die," came the feeble whisper. "I can live now." + +Half an hour later when Daddy John came in he found her sitting on the +side of the bunk, a hunched, dim figure against the firelight. She +held up a warning hand, and the old man tiptoed to her side and leaned +over her to look. Courant was sleeping, his head thrown back, his +chest rising in even breaths. Daddy John gazed for a moment, then bent +till his cheek was almost against hers. + +"Pick up your heart, Missy," he whispered. "He looks to me better." + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +From the day of the good news Courant rallied. At first they hardly +dared to hope. Bella and Daddy John talked about it together and +wondered if it were only a pause in the progress of his ailment. But +Susan was confident, nursing her man with a high cheerfulness that +defied their anxious faces. + +She had none of their fear of believing. She saw their doubts and +angrily scouted them. "Low will be all right soon," she said, in +answer to their gloomily observing looks. In her heart she called them +cowards, ready to join hands with death, not rise up and fight till the +final breath. Her resolute hope seemed to fill the cabin with light +and life. It transformed her haggardness, made her a beaming presence, +with eyes bright under tangled locks of hair, and lips that hummed +snatches of song. He was coming back to her like a child staggering to +its mother's outheld hands. While they were yet unconvinced "when Low +gets well" became a constant phrase on her tongue. She began to plan +again, filled their ears with speculations of the time when she and her +husband would move to the coast. They marveled at her, at the +dauntlessness of her spirit, at the desperate courage that made her +grip her happiness and wrench it back from the enemy. + +They marveled more when they saw she had been right--Susan who had been +a child so short a time before, knowing more than they, wiser and +stronger in the wisdom and strength of her love. + +There was a great day when Low crept out to the door and sat on the +bench in the sun with his wife beside him. To the prosperous passerby +they would have seemed a sorry pair--a skeleton man with uncertain feet +and powerless hands, a worn woman, ragged and unkempt. To them it was +the halcyon hour, the highest point of their mutual adventure. The +cabin was their palace, the soaked prospect a pleasance decked for +their delight. And from this rude and ravaged outlook their minds +reached forward in undefined and unrestricted visioning to all the +world that lay before them, which they would soon advance on and +together win. + +Nature was with them in their growing gladness. The spring was coming. +The river began to fall, and Courant's eyes dwelt longingly on the +expanding line of mud that waited for his pick. April came with a +procession of cloudless days, with the tinkling of streams shrinking +under the triumphant sun, with the pines exhaling scented breaths, and +a first, faint sprouting of new green. The great refreshed landscape +unveiled itself, serenely brooding in a vast, internal energy of +germination. The earth was coming to life as they were, gathering +itself for the expression of its ultimate purpose. It was rising to +the rite of rebirth and they rose with it, with faces uplifted to its +kindling glory and hearts in which joy was touched by awe. + +On a May evening, when the shadows were congregating in the canon, +Susan lay on the bunk with her son in the hollow of her arm. The +children came in and peeped fearfully at the little hairless head, +pulling down the coverings with careful fingers and eying the newcomer +dubiously, not sure that they liked him. Bella looked over their +shoulders radiating proud content. Then she shooed them out and went +about her work of "redding up," pacing the earthen floor with the proud +tread of victory. Courant was sitting outside on the log bench. She +moved to the door and smiled down at him over the tin plate she was +scouring. + +"Come in and sit with her while I get the supper," she said. "Don't +talk, just sit where she can see you." + +He came and sat beside her, and she drew the blanket down from the +tiny, crumpled face. They were silent, wondering at it, looking back +over the time when it had cried in their blood, inexorably drawn them +together, till out of the heat of their passion the spark of its being +had been struck. Both saw in it their excuse and their pardon. + +She recovered rapidly, all her being revivified and reinforced, coming +back glowingly to a mature beauty. Glimpses of the Susan of old began +to reappear. She wanted her looking-glass, and, sitting up in the bunk +with the baby against her side, arranged her hair in the becoming knot +and twisted the locks on her temples into artful tendrils. She would +sew soon, and kept Bella busy digging into the trunks and bringing out +what was left of her best things. They held weighty conferences over +these, the foot of the bunk littered with wrinkled skirts and jackets +that had fitted a slimmer and more elegant Susan. A trip to Sacramento +was talked of, in which Daddy John was to shop for a lady and baby, and +buy all manner of strange articles of which he knew nothing. + +"Calico, that's a pretty color," he exclaimed testily. "How am I to +know what's a pretty color? Now if it was a sack of flour or a +spade--but I'll do my best, Missy," he added meekly, catching her eye +in which the familiar imperiousness gleamed through softening laughter. + +Soon the day came when she walked to the door and sat on the bench. +The river was settling decorously into its bed, and in the sunlight the +drenched shores shone under a tracery of pools and rillets as though a +silvery gauze had been rudely torn back from them, catching and tearing +here and there. The men were starting the spring work. The rocker was +up, and the spades and picks stood propped against the rock upon which +she and Low had sat on that first evening. He sat there now, watching +the preparations soon to take part again. His lean hand fingered among +the picks, found his own, and he walked to the untouched shore and +struck a tentative blow. Then he dropped the pick, laughing, and came +back to her. + +"I'll be at it in a week," he said, sitting down on the bench. "It'll +be good to be in the pits again and feel my muscles once more." + +"It'll be good to see you," she answered. + +In a week he was back, in two weeks he was himself again--the mightiest +of those mighty men who, sixty years ago, measured their strength along +the American River. The diggings ran farther upstream and were richer +than the old ones. The day's takings were large, sometimes so large +that the men's elation beat like a fever in their blood. At night they +figured on their wealth, and Susan listened startled to the sums that +fell so readily from their lips. They were rich, rich enough to go to +the coast and for Courant to start in business there. + +It was he who wanted this. The old shrinking and fear of the city were +gone. Now, with a wife and child, he turned his face that way. He was +longing to enter the fight for them, to create and acquire for them, to +set them as high as the labor of his hands and work of his brain could +compass. New ambitions possessed him. As Susan planned for a home and +its comforts, he did for his work in the market place in competition +with those who had once been his silent accusers. + +But there was also a strange humbleness in him. It did not weaken his +confidence or clog his aspiration, but it took something from the hard +arrogance that had recognized in his own will the only law. He had +heard from Daddy John of that interview with David, and he knew the +reason of David's lie. He knew, too, that David would stand to that +lie forever. Of the two great passions that the woman had inspired the +one she had relinquished was the finer. He had stolen her from David, +and David had shown that for love of her he could forego vengeance. +Once such an act would have been inexplicable to the mountain man. Now +he understood, and in his humility he vowed to make the life she had +chosen as perfect as the one that might have been. Through this last, +and to him, supremest sacrifice, David ceased to be the puny weakling +and became the hero, the thought of whom would make Courant "go softly +all his days." + +The summer marched upon them, with the men doing giant labor on the +banks and the women under the pine at work beside their children. The +peace of the valley was broken by the influx of the Forty-niners, who +stormed its solitudes, and changed the broken trail to a crowded +highway echoing with the noises of life. The river yielded up its +treasure to their eager hands, fortunes were made, and friendships +begun that were to make the history of the new state. These bronzed +and bearded men, these strong-thewed women, were waking from her sleep +the virgin California. + +Sometimes in the crowded hours Susan dropped her work and, with her +baby in her arms, walked along the teeming river trail or back into the +shadows of the forest. All about her was the stir of a fecund earth, +growth, expansion, promise. From beneath the pines she looked up and +saw the aspiration of their proud up-springing. At her feet the ground +was bright with flower faces completing themselves in the sunshine. +Wherever her glance fell there was a busyness of development, a +progression toward fulfillment, a combined, harmonious striving in +which each separate particle had its purpose and its meaning. The +shell of her old self-engrossment cracked, and the call of a wider life +came to her. It pierced clear and arresting through the fairy flutings +of "the horns of elfland" that were all she had heretofore heard. + +The desire to live as an experiment in happiness, to extract from life +all there was for her own enjoying, left her. Slowly she began to see +it as a vast concerted enterprise in which she was called to play her +part. The days when the world was made for her pleasure were over. +The days had begun when she saw her obligation, not alone to the man +and child who were part of her, but out and beyond these to the +diminishing circles of existences that had never touched hers. Her +love that had met so generous a response, full measure, pressed down +and running over, must be paid out without the stipulation of +recompense. Her vision widened, dimly descried horizons limitless as +the prairies, saw faintly how this unasked giving would transform a +gray and narrow world as the desert's sunsets had done. + +So gradually the struggling soul came into being and possessed the +fragile tissue that had once been a girl and was now a woman. + +They left the river on a morning in September, the sacks of dust making +the trunk heavy. The old wagon was ready, the mess chest strapped to +the back, Julia in her place. Bella and the children were to follow as +soon as the rains began, so the parting was not sad. The valley +steeped in crystal shadow, the hills dark against the flush of dawn, +held Susan's glance for a lingering minute as she thought of the days +in the tent under the pine. She looked at her husband and met his eyes +in which she saw the same memory. Then the child, rosy with life, +leaped in her arms, bending to snatch with dimpled hands at its +playmates, chuckling baby sounds as they pressed close to give him +their kisses. + +Daddy John, mounting to his seat, cried: + +"There's the sun coming up to wish us God-speed." + +She turned and saw it rising huge and red over the hill's shoulder, and +held up her son to see. The great ball caught his eyes and he stared +in tranced delight. Then he leaped against the restraint of her arm, +kicking on her breast with his heels, stretching a grasping hand toward +the crimson ball, a bright and shining toy to play with. + +Its light fell red on the three faces--the child's waiting for life to +mold its unformed softness, the woman's stamped with the gravity of +deep experience, the man's stern with concentrated purpose. They +watched in silence till the baby gave a cry, a thin, sweet sound of +wondering joy that called them back to it. Again they looked at one +another, but this time their eyes held no memories. The thoughts of +both reached forward to the coming years, and they saw themselves +shaping from this offspring of their lawless passion what should be a +man, a molder of the new Empire, a builder of the Promised Land. + + + + +FINIS + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Emigrant Trail, by Geraldine Bonner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE EMIGRANT TRAIL *** + +***** This file should be named 19113.txt or 19113.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/1/1/19113/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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