by Zane Grey
V. ON THE TRAIL
Shefford was awakened next morning by a sound he had never heardbefore--the plunging of hobbled horses on soft turf. It was cleardaylight, with a ruddy color in the sky and a tinge of red along thecanyon rim. He saw Withers, Lake, and the Indian driving the mustangstoward camp.
The burros appeared lazy, yet willing. But the mustangs and the muleWithers called Red and the gray mare Dynamite were determined not to bedriven into camp. It was astonishing how much action they had, how muchground they could cover with their forefeet hobbled together. Theywere exceedingly skilful; they lifted both forefeet at once, and thenplunged. And they all went in different directions. Nas Ta Bega dartedin here and there to head off escape.
Shefford pulled on his boots and went out to help. He got too close tothe gray mare and, warned by a yell from Withers, he jumped back just intime to avoid her vicious heels. Then Shefford turned his attention toNack-yal and chased him all over the flat in a futile effort to catchhim. Nas Ta Bega came to Shefford's assistance and put a rope overNack-yal's head.
"Don't ever get behind one of these mustangs," said Withers, warningly,as Shefford came up. "You might be killed.... Eat your bite now. We'llsoon be out of here."
Shefford had been late in awakening. The others had breakfasted. Hefound eating somewhat difficult in the excitement that ensued. Nas TaBega held ropes which were round the necks of Red and Dynamite. The muleshowed his cunning and always appeared to present his heels to Withers,who tried to approach him with a pack-saddle. The patience of the traderwas a revelation to Shefford. And at length Red was cornered by thethree men, the pack-saddle was strapped on, and then the packs. Redpromptly bucked the packs off, and the work had to be done over again.Then Red dropped his long ears and seemed ready to be tractable.
When Shefford turned his attention to Dynamite he decided that thiswas his first sight of a wild horse. The gray mare had fiery eyes thatrolled and showed the white. She jumped straight up, screamed, pawed,bit, and then plunged down to shoot her hind hoofs into the air as highas her head had been. She was amazingly agile and she seemed mad to killsomething. She dragged the Indian about, and when Joe Lake got a ropeon her hind foot she dragged them both. They lashed her with the endsof the lassoes, which action only made her kick harder. She plungedinto camp, drove Shefford flying for his life, knocked down two of theburros, and played havoc with the unstrapped packs. Withers ran tothe assistance of Lake, and the two of them hauled back with all theirstrength and weight. They were both powerful and heavy men. Dynamitecircled round and finally, after kicking the camp-fire to bits, felldown on her haunches in the hot embers. "Let--her--set--there!" pantedWithers. And Joe Lake shouted, "Burn up, you durn coyote!" Both menappeared delighted that she had brought upon herself just punishment.Dynamite sat in the remains of the fire long enough to get burnt, andthen she got up and meekly allowed Withers to throw a tarpaulin and aroll of blankets over her and tie them fast.
Lake and Withers were sweating freely when this job was finished.
"Say, is that a usual morning's task with the pack-animals?" askedShefford.
"They're all pretty decent to-day, except Dynamite," replied Withers."She's got to be worked out."
Shefford felt both amusement and consternation. The sun was just risingover the ramparts of the canyon, and he had already seen more difficultand dangerous work accomplished than half a dozen men of his type coulddo in a whole day. He liked the outlook of his new duty as Withers'sassistant, but he felt helplessly inefficient. Still, all he neededwas experience. He passed over what he anticipated would be pain andperil--the cost was of no moment.
Soon the pack-train was on the move, with the Indian leading. Thismorning Nack-yal began his strange swinging off to the left, preciselyas he had done the day before. It got to be annoying to Shefford, andhe lost patience with the mustang and jerked him sharply round. This,however, had no great effect upon Nack-yal.
As the train headed straight up the canyon Joe Lake dropped back to ridebeside Shefford. The Mormon had been amiable and friendly.
"Flock of deer up that draw," he said, pointing up a narrow side canyon.
Shefford gazed to see a half-dozen small, brown, long-eared objects,very like burros, watching the pack-train pass.
"Are they deer?" he asked, delightedly.
"Sure are," replied Joe, sincerely. "Get down and shoot one. There's arifle in your saddle-sheath."
Shefford had already discovered that he had been armed this morning, amatter which had caused him reflection. These animals certainly lookedlike deer; he had seen a few deer, though not in their native wildhaunts; and he experienced the thrill of the hunter. Dismounting, hedrew the rifle out of the sheath and started toward the little canyon.
"Hyar! Where you going with that gun?" yelled Withers. "That's a bunchof burros.... Joe's up to his old tricks. Shefford, look out for Joe!"
Rather sheepishly Shefford returned to his mustang and sheathed therifle, and then took a long look at the animals up the draw. They,resembled deer, but upon second glance they surely were burros.
"Durn me! Now if I didn't think they sure were deer!" exclaimed Joe. Heappeared absolutely sincere and innocent. Shefford hardly knew how totake this likable Mormon, but vowed he would be on his guard in thefuture.
Nas Ta Bega soon led the pack-train toward the left wall of the canyon,and evidently intended to scale it. Shefford could not see any trail,and the wall appeared steep and insurmountable. But upon nearing thecliff he saw a narrow broken trail leading zigzag up over smooth rock,weathered slope, and through cracks.
"Spread out, and careful now!" yelled Withers.
The need of both advices soon became manifest to Shefford. The burrosstarted stones rolling, making danger for those below. Shefforddismounted and led Nack-yal and turned aside many a rolling rock. TheIndian and the burros, with the red mule leading, climbed steadily. Butthe mustangs had trouble. Joe's spirited bay had to be coaxed to facethe ascent; Nack-yal balked at every difficult step; and Dynamiteslipped on a flat slant of rock and slid down forty feet. Withers andLake with ropes hauled the mare out of the dangerous position. Shefford,who brought up the rear, saw all the action, and it was exciting, buthis pleasure in the climb was spoiled by sight of blood and hair onthe stones. The ascent was crooked, steep, and long, and when Sheffordreached the top of the wall he was glad to rest. It made him gasp tolook down and see what he had surmounted. The canyon floor, green andlevel, lay a thousand feet below; and the wild burros which had followedon the trail looked like rabbits.
Shefford mounted presently, and rode out upon a wide, smooth trailleading into a cedar forest. There were bunches of gray sage in the openplaces. The air was cool and crisp, laden with a sweet fragrance. He sawLake and Withers bobbing along, now on one side of the trail, now on theother, and they kept to a steady trot. Occasionally the Indian and hisbright-red saddle-blanket showed in an opening of the cedars.
It was level country, and there was nothing for Shefford to see exceptcedar and sage, an outcropping of red rock in places, and the windingtrail. Mocking-birds made melody everywhere. Shefford seemed full ofa strange pleasure, and the hours flew by. Nack-yal still wanted to beeverlastingly turning off the trail, and, moreover, now he wanted to gofaster. He was eager, restless, dissatisfied.
At noon the pack-train descended into a deep draw, well covered withcedar and sage. There was plenty of grass and shade, but no water.Shefford was surprised to see that every pack was removed; however, theroll of blankets was left on Dynamite.
The men made a fire and began to cook a noonday meal. Shefford, tiredand warm, sat in a shady spot and watched. He had become all eyes. Hehad almost forgotten Fay Larkin; he had forgotten his trouble; andthe present seemed sweet and full. Presently his ears were filled by apattering roar and, looking up the draw, he saw two streams of sheepand goats coming down. Soon an Indian shepherd appeared, riding a finemustang. A cream-colored colt bounded along behind, and presently ashaggy dog came in sight. The I
ndian dismounted at the camp, and hisflock spread by in two white and black streams. The dog went with them.Withers and Joe shook hands with the Indian, whom Joe called "Navvy,"and Shefford lost no time in doing likewise. Then Nas Ta Bega came in,and he and the Navajo talked. When the meal was ready all of them satdown round the canvas. The shepherd did not tie his horse.
Presently Shefford noticed that Nack-yal had returned to camp and wasacting strangely. Evidently he was attracted by the Indian's mustang orthe cream-colored colt. At any rate, Nack-yal hung around, tossed hishead, whinnied in a low, nervous manner, and looked strangely eager andwild. Shefford was at first amused, then curious. Nack-yal approachedtoo close to the mother of the colt, and she gave him a sounding kick inthe ribs. Nack-yal uttered a plaintive snort and backed away, to stand,crestfallen, with all his eagerness and fire vanished.
Nas Ta Bega pointed to the mustang and said something in his own tongue.Then Withers addressed the visiting Indian, and they exchanged somewords, whereupon the trader turned to Shefford:
"I bought Nack-yal from this Indian three years ago. This mare isNack-yal's mother. He was born over here to the south. That's why healways swung left off the trail. He wanted to go home. Just now herecognized his mother and she whaled away and gave him a whack for hispains. She's got a colt now and probably didn't recognize Nack-yal. Buthe's broken-hearted."
The trader laughed, and Joe said, "You can't tell what these durnmustangs will do." Shefford felt sorry for Nack-yal, and when it cametime to saddle him again found him easier to handle than ever before.Nack-yal stood with head down, broken-spirited.
Shefford was the first to ride up out of the draw, and once upon thetop of the ridge he halted to gaze, wide-eyed and entranced. A rolling,endless plain sloped down beneath him, and led him on to a distantround-topped mountain. To the right a red canyon opened its jagged jaws,and away to the north rose a whorled and strange sea of curved ridges,crags, and domes.
Nas Ta Bega rode up then, leading the pack-train.
"Bi Nai, that is Na-tsis-an," he said, pointing to the mountain. "NavajoMountain. And there in the north are the canyon."
Shefford followed the Indian down the trail and soon lost sight of thatwide green-and-red wilderness. Nas Ta Bega turned at an intersectingtrail, rode down into the canyon, and climbed out on the other side.Shefford got a glimpse now and then of the black dome of the mountain,but for the most part the distant points of the country were hidden.They crossed many trails, and went up and down the sides of many shallowcanyon. Troops of wild mustangs whistled at them, stood on ridge-tops towatch, and then dashed away with manes and tails flying.
Withers rode forward presently and halted the pack-train. He had someconversation with Nas Ta Bega, whereupon the Indian turned his horse andtrotted back, to disappear in the cedars.
"I'm some worried," explained Withers. "Joe thinks he saw a bunch ofhorsemen trailing us. My eyes are bad and I can't see far. The Indianwill find out. I took a roundabout way to reach the village because I'malways dodging Shadd."
This communication lent an added zest to the journey. Shefford couldhardly believe the truth that his eyes and his ears brought to hisconsciousness. He turned in behind Withers and rode down the roughtrail, helping the mustang all in his power. It occurred to him thatNack-yal had been entirely different since that meeting with his motherin the draw. He turned no more off the trail; he answered readily to therein; he did not look afar from every ridge. Shefford conceived a likingfor the mustang.
Withers turned sidewise in his saddle and let his mustang pick the way.
"Another time we'll go up round the base of the mountain, where you canlook down on the grandest scene in the world," said he. "Two hundredmiles of wind-worn rock, all smooth and bare, without a single straightline--canyon, caves, bridges--the most wonderful country in the world!Even the Indians haven't explored it. It's haunted, for them, and theyhave strange gods. The Navajos will hunt on this side of the mountain,but not on the other. That north side is consecrated ground. My wifehas long been trying to get the Navajos to tell her the secret ofNonnezoshe. Nonnezoshe means Rainbow Bridge. The Indians worship it, butas far as she can find out only a few have ever seen it. I imagine it'dbe worth some trouble."
"Maybe that's the bridge Venters talked about--the one overarching theentrance to Surprise Valley," Said Shefford.
"It might be," replied the trader. "You've got a good chance of findingout. Nas Ta Bega is the man. You stick to that Indian. ... Well, westart down here into this canyon, and we go down some, I reckon. Inhalf an hour you'll see sago-lilies and Indian paint-brush and vermilioncactus."
. . . . . . . . . . .
About the middle of the afternoon the pack-train and its drivers arrivedat the hidden Mormon village. Nas Ta Bega had not returned from hisscout back along the trail.
Shefford's sensibilities had all been overstrained, but he had left inhim enthusiasm and appreciation that made the situation of this villagea fairyland. It was a valley, a canyon floor, so long that he couldnot see the end, and perhaps a quarter of a mile wide. The air was hot,still, and sweetly odorous of unfamiliar flowers. Pinyon and cedar treessurrounded the little log and stone houses, and along the walls of thecanyon stood sharp-pointed, dark-green spruce-trees. These walls weresingular of shape and color. They were not imposing in height, but theywaved like the long, undulating swell of a sea. Every foot of surfacewas perfectly smooth, and the long curved lines of darker tinge thatstreaked the red followed the rounded line of the slope at the top. Farabove, yet overhanging, were great yellow crags and peaks, and betweenthese, still higher, showed the pine-fringed slope of Navajo Mountainwith snow in the sheltered places, and glistening streams, like silverthreads, running down.
All this Shefford noticed as he entered the valley from round a cornerof wall. Upon nearer view he saw and heard a host of children, who,looking up to see the intruders, scattered like frightened quail. Longgray grass covered the ground, and here and there wide, smooth pathshad been worn. A swift and murmuring brook ran through the middle of thevalley, and its banks were bordered with flowers.
Withers led the way to one side near the wall, where a clump ofcedar-trees and a dark, swift spring boiling out of the rocks and banksof amber moss with purple blossoms made a beautiful camp site. Herethe mustangs were unsaddled and turned loose without hobbles. It wascertainly unlikely that they would leave such a spot. Some of the burroswere unpacked, and the others Withers drove off into the village.
"Sure's pretty nice," said Joe, wiping his sweaty face. "I'll neverwant to leave. It suits me to lie on this moss.... Take a drink of thatspring."
Shefford complied with alacrity and found the water cool and sweet,and he seemed to feel it all through him. Then he returned to the mossybank. He did not reply to Joe. In fact, all his faculties were absorbedin watching and feeling, and he lay there long after Joe went off tothe village. The murmur of water, the hum of bees, the songs ofstrange birds, the sweet, warm air, the dreamy summer somnolence of thevalley--all these added drowsiness to Shefford's weary lassitude, and hefell asleep. When he awoke Nas Ta Bega was sitting near him and Joe wasbusy near a camp-fire.
"Hello, Nas Ta Bega!" said Shefford. "Was there any one trailing us?"
The Navajo nodded.
Joe raised his head and with forceful brevity said, "Shadd."
"Shadd!" echoed Shefford, remembering the dark, sinister face of hisvisitor that night in the Sagi. "Joe, is it serious--his trailing us?"
"Well, I don't know how durn serious it is, but I'm scared to death,"replied Lake. "He and his gang will hold us up somewhere on the wayhome."
Shefford regarded Joe with both concern and doubt. Joe's words were atvariance with his looks.
"Say, pard, can you shoot a rifle?" queried Joe.
"Yes. I'm a fair shot at targets."
The Mormon nodded his head as if pleased. "That's good. Theseoutlaws are all poor shots with a rifle. So 'm I. But I can handle asix-shooter. I reckon we'll make Shadd sw
eat if he pushes us."
Withers returned, driving the burros, all of which had been unpackeddown to the saddles. Two gray-bearded men accompanied him. One of themappeared to be very old and venerable, and walked with a stick. Theother had a sad-lined face and kind, mild blue eyes. Shefford observedthat Lake seemed unusually respectful. Withers introduced these Mormonsmerely as Smith and Henninger. They were very cordial and pleasant intheir greetings to Shefford. Presently another, somewhat younger, manjoined the group, a stalwart, jovial fellow with ruddy face. There wascertainly no mistaking his kindly welcome as he shook Shefford's hand.His name was Beal. The three stood round the camp-fire for a while,evidently glad of the presence of fellow-men and to hear news from theoutside. Finally they went away, taking Joe with them. Withers took upthe task of getting supper where Joe had been made to leave it.
"Shefford, listen," he said, presently, as he knelt before the fire. "Itold them right out that you'd been a Gentile clergyman--that you'd goneback on your religion. It impressed them and you've been well received.I'll tell the same thing over at Stonebridge. You'll get in right. Ofcourse I don't expect they'll make a Mormon of you. But they'll try to.Meanwhile you can be square and friendly all the time you're trying tofind your Fay Larkin. To-morrow you'll meet some of the women. They'regood souls, but, like any women, crazy for news. Think what it is to beshut up in here between these walls!"
"Withers, I'm intensely interested," replied Shefford, "and excited,too. Shall we stay here long?"
"I'll stay a couple of days, then go to Stonebridge with Joe. He'llcome back here, and when you both feel like leaving, and if Nas Ta Begathinks it safe, you'll take a trail over to some Indian hogans and packme out a load of skins and blankets.... My boy, you've all the timethere is, and I wish you luck. This isn't a bad place to loaf. I alwaysget sentimental over here. Maybe it's the women. Some of them arepretty, and one of them--Shefford, they call her the Sago Lily. Herfirst name is Mary, I'm told. Don't know her last name. She's lovely.And I'll bet you forget Fay Larkin in a flash. Only--be careful. Youdrop in here with rather peculiar credentials, so to speak--as my helperand as a man with no religion! You'll not only be fully trusted, butyou'll be welcome to these lonely women. So be careful. Remember it'smy secret belief they are sealed wives and are visited occasionally atnight by their husbands. I don't know this, but I believe it. And you'renot supposed to dream of that."
"How many men in the village?" asked Shefford.
"Three. You met them."
"Have they wives?" asked Shefford, curiously.
"Wives! Well, I guess. But only one each that I know of. Joe Lake is theonly unmarried Mormon I've met."
"And no men--strangers, cowboys, outlaws--ever come to this village?"
"Except to Indians, it seems to be a secret so far," replied the trader,earnestly. "But it can't be kept secret. I've said that time after timeover in Stonebridge. With Mormons it's 'sufficient unto the day is theevil thereof.'"
"What'll happen when outsiders do learn and ride in here?"
"There'll be trouble--maybe bloodshed. Mormon women are absolutely good,but they're human, and want and need a little life. And, strange to say,Mormon men are pig-headedly jealous.... Why, if some of the cowboys Iknew in Durango would ride over here there'd simply be hell. But that'sa long way, and probably this village will be deserted before news of itever reaches Colorado. There's more danger of Shadd and his gang comingin. Shadd's half Piute. He must know of this place. And he's got somewhite outlaws in his gang.... Come on. Grub's ready, and I'm too hungryto talk."
Later, when shadows began to gather in the valley and the lofty peaksabove were gold in the sunset glow, Withers left camp to look after thestraying mustangs, and Shefford strolled to and fro under the cedars.The lights and shades in the Sagi that first night had moved him toenthusiastic watchfulness, but here they were so weird and beautifulthat he was enraptured. He actually saw great shafts of gold and shadowsof purple streaming from the peaks down into the valley. It was day onthe heights and twilight in the valley. The swiftly changing colors werelike rainbows.
While he strolled up and down several women came to the spring andfilled their buckets. They wore shawls or hoods and their garments weresomber, but, nevertheless, they appeared to have youth and comeliness.They saw him, looked at him curiously, and then, without speaking,went back on the well-trodden path. Presently down the path appeared awoman--a girl in lighter garb. It was almost white. She was shapely andwalked with free, graceful step, reminding him of the Indian girl,Glen Naspa. This one wore a hood shaped like a huge sunbonnet and itconcealed her face. She carried a bucket. When she reached the springand went down the few stone steps Shefford saw that she did not have onshoes. As she braced herself to lift the bucket her bare foot clung tothe mossy stone. It was a strong, sinewy, beautiful foot, instinct withyouth. He was curious enough, he thought, but the awakening artist inhim made him more so. She dragged at the full bucket and had difficultyin lifting it out of the hole. Shefford strode forward and took thebucket-handle from her.
"Won't you let me help you?" he said, lifting the bucket. "Indeed--it'svery heavy."
"Oh--thank you," she said, without raising her head. Her voice seemedsingularly young and sweet. He had not heard a voice like it. She moveddown the path and he walked beside her. He felt embarrassed, yet morecurious than ever; he wanted to say something, to turn and look at her,but he kept on for a dozen paces without making up his mind.
Finally he said: "Do you really carry this heavy bucket? Why, it makesmy arm ache."
"Twice every day--morning and evening," she replied. "I'm very strong."
Then he stole a look out of the corner of his eye, and, seeing that herface was hidden from him by the hood, he turned to observe her at betteradvantage. A long braid of hair hung down her back. In the twilight itgleamed dull gold. She came up to his shoulder. The sleeve nearest himwas rolled up to her elbow, revealing a fine round arm. Her hand, likeher foot, was brown, strong, and well shaped. It was a hand that hadbeen developed by labor. She was full-bosomed, yet slender, and shewalked with a free stride that made Shefford admire and wonder.
They passed several of the little stone and log houses, and womengreeted them as they went by and children peered shyly from the doors.He kept trying to think of something to say, and, failing in that,determined to have one good look under the hood before he left her.
"You walk lame," she said, solicitously. "Let me carry the bucketnow--please. My house is near."
"Am I lame?... Guess so, a little," he replied. "It was a hard ride forme. But I'll carry the bucket just the same."
They went on under some pinyon-trees, down a path to a little houseidentical with the others, except that it had a stone porch. Sheffordsmelled fragrant wood-smoke and saw a column curling from the low, flat,stone chimney. Then he set the bucket down on the porch. "Thank you,Mr. Shefford," she said. "You know my name?" he asked. "Yes. Mr. Withersspoke to my nearest neighbor and she told me."
"Oh, I see. And you--"
He did not go on and she did not reply. When she stepped upon the porchand turned he was able to see under the hood. The face there was inshadow, and for that very reason he answered to ungovernable impulse andtook a step closer to her. Dark, grave, sad eyes looked down at him, andhe felt as if he could never draw his own glance away. He seemed notto see the rest of her face, and yet felt that it was lovely. Then adownward movement of the hood hid from him the strange eyes and theshadowy loveliness.
"I--I beg your pardon," he said, quickly, drawing back. "I'm rude. ...Withers told me about a girl he called--he said looked like a sago-lily.That's no excuse to stare under your hood. But I--I was curious. Iwondered if--"
He hesitated, realizing how foolish his talk was. She stood a moment,probably watching him, but he could not be sure, for her face washidden.
"They call me that," she said. "But my name is Mary."
"Mary--what?" he asked.
"Just Mary," she said, simply. "Good nigh
t."
He did not say good night and could not have told why. She took up thebucket and went into the dark house. Shefford hurried away into thegathering darkness.
