by Zane Grey
XV. WILD JUSTICE
A crescent moon hung above the lofty peak over the valley and a trainof white stars ran along the bold rim of the western wall. A few youngfrogs peeped plaintively. The night was cool, yet had a touch of balmyspring, and a sweeter fragrance, as if the cedars and pinyons hadfreshened in the warm sun of that day.
Shefford and Fay were walking in the aisles of moonlight and the patchesof shade, and Nas Ta Bega, more than ever a shadow of his white brother,followed them silently.
"Fay, it's growing late. Feel the dew?" said Shefford. "Come, I musttake you back."
"But the time's so short. I have said nothing that I wanted to say," shereplied.
"Say it quickly, then, as we go."
"After all, it's only--will you take me away soon?"
"Yes, very soon. The Indian and I have talked. But we've made noplan yet. There are only three ways to get out of this country. ByStonebridge, by Kayenta and Durango, and by Red Lake. We must chooseone. All are dangerous. We must lose time finding Surprise Valley. Ihoped the Indian could find it. Then we'd bring Lassiter and Jane hereand hide them near till dark, then take you and go. That would give us anight's start. But you must help us to Surprise Valley."
"I can go right to it, blindfolded, or in the dark.... Oh, John, hurry!I dread the wait. He might come again."
"Joe says--they won't come very soon."
"Is it far--where we're going--out of the country?"
"Ten days' hard riding."
"Oh! That night ride to and from Stonebridge nearly killed me. But Icould walk very far, and climb for ever."
"Fay, we'll get out of the country if I have to carry you."
When they arrived at the cabin Fay turned on the porch step and, withher face nearer a level with his, white and sweet in the moonlight, withher eyes shining and unfathomable, she was more than beautiful.
"You've never been inside my house," she said. "Come in. I've somethingfor you."
"But it's late," he remonstrated. "I suppose you've got me a cake orpie--something to eat. You women all think Joe and I have to be fed."
"No. You'd never guess. Come in," she said, and the rare smile on herface was something Shefford would have gone far to see.
"Well, then, for a minute."
He crossed the porch, the threshold, and entered her home. Her dim,white shape moved in the darkness. And he followed into a room where themoon shone through the open window, giving soft, mellow, shadowy light.He discerned objects, but not clearly, for his senses seemed absorbed inthe strange warmth and intimacy of being for the first time with her inher home.
"No, it's not good to eat," she said, and her laugh was happy. "Here--"
Suddenly she abruptly ceased speaking. Shefford saw her plainly, and theslender form had stiffened, alert and strained. She was listening.
"What was that?" she whispered.
"I didn't hear anything," he whispered back.
He stepped softly nearer the open window and listened.
Clip-clop! clip-clop! clip-clop! Hard hoofs on the hard path outside!
A strong and rippling thrill went over Shefford. In the soft light hereyes seemed unnaturally large and black and fearful.
Clip-clop! clip-clop!
The horse stopped outside. Then followed a metallic clink of spuragainst stirrup--thud of boots on hard ground--heavy footsteps upon theporch.
A swift, cold contraction of throat, of breast, convulsed Shefford. Hisonly thought was that he could not think.
"Ho--Mary!"
A voice liberated both Shefford's muscle and mind--a voice of strange,vibrant power. Authority of religion and cruelty of will--theseMormon attributes constituted that power. And Shefford suffered atransformation which must have been ordered by demons. That sudden flameseemed to curl and twine and shoot along his veins with blasting force.A rancorous and terrible cry leaped to his lips.
"Ho--Mary!" Then came a heavy tread across the threshold of the outerroom.
Shefford dared not look at Fay. Yet, dimly, from the corner of his eye,he saw her, a pale shadow, turned to stone, with her arms out. If helooked, if he made sure of that, he was lost. When had he drawn his gun?It was there, a dark and glinting thing in his hand. He must fly--notthrough cowardice and fear, but because in one more moment he wouldkill a man. Swift as the thought he dove through the open window. And,leaping up, he ran under the dark pinyons toward camp.
Joe Lake had been out late himself. He sat by the fire, smoking hispipe. He must have seen or heard Shefford coming, for he rose withunwonted alacrity, and he kicked the smoldering logs into a flickeringblaze.
Shefford, realizing his deliverance, came panting, staggering into thelight. The Mormon uttered an exclamation. Then he spoke, anxiously, butwhat he said was not clear in Shefford's thick and throbbing ears. Hedropped his pipe, a sign of perturbation, and he stared.
But Shefford, without a word, lunged swiftly away into the shadow of thecedars. He found relief in action. He began a steep ascent of the eastwall, a dangerous slant he had never dared even in daylight, and heclimbed it without a slip. Danger, steep walls, perilous heights, night,and black canyon the same--these he never thought of. But somethingdrove him to desperate effort, that the hours might seem short.
. . . . . . . . . . .
The red sun was tipping the eastern wall when he returned to camp, andhe was neither calm nor sure of himself nor ready for sleep or food.Only he had put the night behind him.
The Indian showed no surprise. But Joe Lake's jaw dropped and his eyesrolled. Moreover, Joe bore a singular aspect, the exact nature of whichdid not at once dawn upon Shefford.
"By God! you've got nerve--or you're crazy!" he ejaculated, hoarsely.
Then it was Shefford's turn to stare. The Mormon was haggard, grieved,frightened, and utterly amazed. He appeared to be trying to make certainof Shefford's being there in the flesh and then to find reason for it.
"I've no nerve and I am crazy," replied Shefford. "But, Joe--what do youmean? Why do you look at me like that?"
"I reckon if I get your horse that'll square us. Did you come back forhim? You'd better hit the trail quick."
"It's you now who're crazy," burst out Shefford.
"Wish to God I was," replied Joe.
It was then Shefford realized catastrophe, and cold fear gnawed at hisvitals, so that he was sick.
"Joe, what has happened?" he asked, with the blood thick in his heart.
"Hadn't you better tell me?" demanded the Mormon, and a red wave blottedout the haggard shade of his face.
"You talk like a fool," said Shefford, sharply, and he strode right upto Joe.
"See here, Shefford, we've been pards. You're making it hard for me.Reckon you ain't square."
Shefford shot out a long arm and his hand clutched the Mormon's burlyshoulder.
"Why am I not square? What do you mean?"
Joe swallowed hard and gave himself a shake. Then he eyed his comradesteadily.
"I was afraid you'd kill him. I reckon I can't blame you. I'll help youget away. And I'm a Mormon! Do you take the hunch?... But don't deny youkilled him!"
"Killed whom?" gasped Shefford.
"Her husband!"
Shefford seemed stricken by a slow, paralyzing horror. The Mormon'schanging face grew huge and indistinct and awful in his sight. He wasclutched and shaken in Joe's rude hands, yet scarcely felt them. Joeseemed to be bellowing at him, but the voice was far off. Then Sheffordbegan to see, to hear through some cold and terrible deadness that hadcome between him and everything.
"Say YOU killed him!" hoarsely supplicated the Mormon.
Shefford had not yet control of speech. Something in his gaze appearedto drive Joe frantic.
"Damn you! Tell me quick. Say YOU killed him!... If you want to knowmy stand, why, I'm glad!... Shefford, don't look so stony! ... For HERsake, say you killed him!"
Shefford stood with a face as gray and still as stone. With a groan theMormon drew away from him and sank upon a l
og. He bowed his head; hisbroad shoulders heaved; husky sounds came from him. Then with a violentwrench he plunged to his feet and shook himself like a huge, savage dog.
"Reckon it's no time to weaken," he said, huskily, and with the words adark, hard, somber bitterness came to his face.
"Where--is--she?" whispered Shefford.
"Shut up in the school-house," he replied.
"Did she--did she--"
"She neither denied nor confessed."
"Have you--seen her?"
"Yes."
"How did--she look?"
"Cool and quiet as the Indian there.... Game as hell! She always hadstuff in her."
"Oh, Joe!... It's unbelievable!" cried Shefford. "That lovely, innocentgirl! She couldn't--she couldn't."
"She's fixed him. Don't think of that. It's too late. We ought to havesaved her."
"God!... She begged me to hurry--to take her away."
"Think what we can do NOW to save her," cut in the Mormon.
Shefford sustained a vivifying shock. "To save her?" he echoed.
"Think, man!"
"Joe, I can hit the trail and let you tell them I killed him," burst outShefford in panting excitement.
"Reckon I can."
"So help me God I'll do it!"
The Mormon turned a dark and austere glance upon Shefford.
"You mustn't leave her. She killed him for your sake.... You must fightfor her now--save her--take her away."
"But the law!"
"Law!" scoffed Joe. "In these wilds men get killed and there's no law.But if she's taken back to Stonebridge those iron-jawed old Mormons willmake law enough to--to... Shefford, the thing is--get her away. Once outof the country, she's safe. Mormons keep their secrets."
"I'll take her. Joe, will you help me?"
Shefford, even in his agitation, felt the Mormon's silence to be aconsent that need not have been asked. And Shefford had a passionategratefulness toward his comrade. That stultifying and blinding prejudicewhich had always seemed to remove a Mormon outside the pale of certainvirtue suffered final eclipse; and Joe Lake stood out a man, strange andcrude, but with a heart and a soul.
"Joe, tell me what to do," said Shefford, with a simplicity that meanthe needed only to be directed.
"Pull yourself together. Get your nerve back," replied Joe. "Reckonyou'd better show yourself over there. No one saw you come in thismorning--your absence from camp isn't known. It's better you seemcurious and shocked like the rest of us. Come on. We'll go over. Andafterward we'll get the Indian, and plan."
They left camp and, crossing the brook, took the shaded path toward thevillage. Hope of saving Fay, the need of all his strength and nerveand cunning to effect that end, gave Shefford the supreme courage toovercome his horror and fear. On that short walk under the pinyons toFay's cabin he had suffered many changes of emotion, but never anythinglike this change which made him fierce and strong to fight, deep andcrafty to plan, hard as iron to endure.
The village appeared very quiet, though groups of women stood at thedoors of cabins. If they talked, it was very low. Henninger and Smith,two of the three Mormon men living in the village, were standingbefore the closed door of the school-house. A tigerish feeling thrilledShefford when he saw them on guard there. Shefford purposely avoidedlooking at Fay's cabin as long as he could keep from it. When he had tolook he saw several hooded, whispering women in the yard, and Beal, theother Mormon man, standing in the cabin door. Upon the porch lay thelong shape of a man, covered with blankets.
Shefford experienced a horrible curiosity.
"Say, Beal, I've fetched Shefford over," said Lake. "He's pretty muchcut up."
Beal wagged a solemn head, but said nothing. His mind seemed absent orsteeped in gloom, and he looked up as one silently praying.
Joe Lake strode upon the little porch and, reaching down, he strippedthe blanket from the shrouded form.
Shefford saw a sharp, cold, ghastly face. "WAGGONER!" he whispered.
"Yes," replied Lake.
Waggoner! Shefford remembered the strange power in his face, and, nowthat life had gone, that power was stripped of all disguise. Death, inShefford's years of ministry, had lain under his gaze many times and ina multiplicity of aspects, but never before had he seen it stamped sostrangely. Shefford did not need to be told that here was a man whobelieved he had conversed with God on earth, who believed he had adivine right to rule women, who had a will that would not yield itselfto death utterly. Waggoner, then, was the devil who had come masked toSurprise Valley, had forced a martyrdom upon Fay Larkin. And this wasthe Mormon who had made Fay Larkin a murderess. Shefford had hatedhim living, and now he hated him dead. Death here was robbed of allnobility, of pathos, of majesty. It was only retribution. Wild justice!But alas! that it had to be meted out by a white-soled girl whoseinnocence was as great as the unconscious savagery which she hadassimilated from her lonely and wild environment. Shefford laid adespairing curse upon his own head, and a terrible remorse knocked athis heart. He had left her alone, this girl in whom love had made thegreat change--like a coward he had left her alone. That curse he visitedupon himself because he had been the spirit and the motive of this wildjustice, and his should have been the deed.
Joe Lake touched Shefford's arm and pointed at the haft of a knifeprotruding from Waggoner's breast. It was a wooden haft. Shefford hadseen it before somewhere.
Then he was struck with what perhaps Joe meant him to see--the singularimpression the haft gave of one sweeping, accurate, powerful stroke. Astrong arm had driven that blade home. The haft was sunk deep; there wasa little depression in the cloth; no blood showed; and the weapon lookedas if it could not be pulled out. Shefford's thought went fatally andirresistibly to Fay Larkin's strong arm. He saw her flash that white armand lift the heavy bucket from the spring with an ease he wondered at.He felt the strong clasp of her hand as she had given it to him in aflying leap across a crevice upon the walls. Yes, her fine hand and theround, strong arm possessed the strength to have given that bladeits singular directness and force. The marvel was not in the physicalaction. It hid inscrutably in the mystery of deadly passion rising outof a gentle and sad heart.
Joe Lake drew up the blanket and shut from Shefford's fascinated gazethat spare form, that accusing knife, that face of strange, cruel power.
"Anybody been sent for?" asked Lake of Beal.
"Yes. An Indian boy went for the Piute. We'll send him to Stonebridge,"replied the Mormon.
"How soon do you expect any one here from Stonebridge?"
"To-morrow, mebbe by noon."
"Meantime what's to be done with--this?"
"Elder Smith thinks the body should stay right here where it fell tillthey come from Stonebridge."
"Waggoner was found here, then?"
"Right here."
"Who found him?"
"Mother Smith. She came over early. An' the sight made her scream. Thewomen all came runnin'. Mother Smith had to be put to bed."
"Who found--Mary?"
"See here, Joe, I told you all I knowed once before," replied theMormon, testily.
"I've forgotten. Was sort of bewildered. Tell me again.... Whofound--her?"
"The women folks. She laid right inside the door, in a dead faint. Shehadn't undressed. There was blood on her hands an' a cut or scratch. Thewomen fetched her to. But she wouldn't talk. Then Elder Smith come an'took her. They've got her locked up."
Then Joe led Shefford away from the cabin farther on into the village.When they were halted by the somber, grieving women it was Joe who didthe talking. They passed the school-house, and here Shefford quickenedhis step. He could scarcely bear the feeling that rushed over him. Andthe Mormon gripped his arm as if he understood.
"Shefford, which one of these younger women do you reckon your bestfriend? Ruth?" asked Lake, earnestly.
"Ruth, by all means. Just lately I haven't seen her often. But we'vebeen close friends. I think she'd do much for me."
"Maybe there'll be a c
hance to find out. Maybe we'll need Ruth. Let'shave a word with her. I haven't seen her out among the women."
They stopped at the door of Ruth's cabin. It was closed. When Joeknocked there came a sound of footsteps inside, a hand drew aside thewindow-blind, and presently the door opened. Ruth stood there, dressedin somber hue. She was a pretty, slender, blue-eyed, brown-haired youngwoman.
Shefford imagined from her pallor and the set look of shock upon herface, that the tragedy had affected her more powerfully than it had theother women. When he remembered that she had been more friendly withFay Larkin than any other neighbor, he made sure he was right in hisconjecture.
"Come in," was Ruth's greeting.
"No. We just wanted to say a word. I noticed you've not been out. Do youknow--all about it?"
She gave them a strange glance.
"Any of the women folks been in?" added Joe.
"Hester ran over. She told me through the window. Then I barred my doorto keep the other women out."
"What for?" asked Joe, curiously.
"Please come in," she said, in reply.
They entered, and she closed the door after them. The change that cameover her then was the loosing of restraint.
"Joe--what will they do with Mary?" she queried, tensely.
The Mormon studied her with dark, speculative eyes. "Hang her!" herejoined in brutal harshness.
"O Mother of Saints!" she cried, and her hands went up.
"You're sorry for Mary, then?" asked Joe, bluntly.
"My heart is breaking for her."
"Well, so's Shefford's," said the Mormon, huskily. "And mine's kind ofdamn shaky."
Ruth glided to Shefford with a woman's swift softness.
"You've been my good--my best friend. You were hers, too. Oh, I know!... Can't you do something for her?"
"I hope to God I can," replied Shefford.
Then the three stood looking from one to the other, in a strong andsubtly realizing moment drawn together.
"Ruth," whispered Joe, hoarsely, and then he glanced fearfully around,at the window and door, as if listeners were there. It was certainthat his dark face had paled. He tried to whisper more, only to fail.Shefford divined the weight of Mormonism that burdened Joe Lake then.Joe was faithful to a love for Fay Larkin, noble in friendship toShefford, desperate in a bitter strait with his own manliness, but thepower of that creed by which he had been raised struck his lips mute.For to speak on meant to be false to that creed. Already in his heart hehad decided, yet he could not voice the thing.
"Ruth"--Shefford took up the Mormon's unfinished whisper--"if we plan tosave her--if we need you--will you help?"
Ruth turned white, but an instant and splendid fire shone in her eyes.
"Try me," she whispered back. "I'll change places with her--so you canget her away. They can't do much to me."
Shefford wrung her hands. Joe licked his lips and found his voice:"We'll come back later." Then he led the way out and Shefford followed.They were silent all the way back to camp.
Nas Ta Bega sat in repose where they had left him, a thoughtful, somberfigure. Shefford went directly to the Indian, and Joe tarried at thecamp-fire, where he raked out some red embers and put one upon the bowlof his pipe. He puffed clouds of white smoke, then found a seat besidethe others.
"Shefford, go ahead. Talk. It'll take a deal of talk. I'll listen. ThenI'll talk. It'll be Nas Ta Bega who makes the plan out of it all."
Shefford launched himself so swiftly that he scarcely talked coherently.But he made clear the points that he must save Fay, get her away fromthe village, let her lead him to Surprise Valley, rescue Lassiter andJane Withersteen, and take them all out of the country.
Joe Lake dubiously shook his head. Manifestly the Surprise Valley partof the situation presented a new and serious obstacle. It changed thewhole thing. To try to take the three out by way of Kayenta and Durangowas not to be thought of, for reasons he briefly stated. The Red Laketrail was the only one left, and if that were taken the chances wereagainst Shefford. It was five days over sand to Red Lake--impossible tohide a trail--and even with a day's start Shefford could not escape thehard-riding men who would come from Stonebridge. Besides, after reachingRed Lake, there were days and days of desert-travel needful to avoidplaces like Blue Canyon, Tuba, Moencopie, and the Indian villages.
"We'll have to risk all that," declared Shefford, desperately.
"It's a fool risk," retorted Joe. "Listen. By tomorrow noon all ofStonebridge, more or less, will be riding in here. You've got to getaway to-night with the girl--or never! And to-morrow you've got to findthat Lassiter and the woman in Surprise Valley. This valley must beback, deep in the canyon country. Well, you've got to come out thisway again. No trail through here would be safe. Why, you'd put all yourheads in a rope!... You mustn't come through this way. It'll have to betried across country, off the trails, and that means hell--day-and-nighttravel, no camp, no feed for horses--maybe no water. Then you'll havethe best trackers in Utah like hounds on your trail."
When the Mormon ceased his forceful speech there was a silence fraughtwith hopeless meaning. He bowed his head in gloom. Shefford, growingsick again to his marrow, fought a cold, hateful sense of despair.
"Bi Nai!" In his extremity he called to the Indian.
"The Navajo has heard," replied Nas Ta Bega, strangely speaking in hisown language.
With a long, slow heave of breast Shefford felt his despair leave him.In the Indian lay his salvation. He knew it. Joe Lake caught the subtlespirit of the moment and looked up eagerly.
Nas Ta Bega stretched an arm toward the east, and spoke in Navajo.But Shefford, owing to the hurry and excitement of his mind, could nottranslate. Joe Lake listened, gave a violent start, leaped up with allhis big frame quivering, and then fired question after question at theIndian. When the Navajo had replied to all, Joe drew himself up as iffacing an irrevocable decision which would wring his very soul. What didhe cast off in that moment? What did he grapple with? Shefford had nomeans to tell, except by the instinct which baffled him. But whether theMormon's trial was one of spiritual rending or the natural physicalfear of a perilous, virtually impossible venture, the fact was he wasmagnificent in his acceptance of it. He turned to Shefford, white, cold,yet glowing.
"Nas Ta Bega believes he can take you down a canyon to the bigriver--the Colorado. He knows the head of this canyon. Nonnezoshe Bocoit's called--canyon of the rainbow bridge. He has never been down it.Only two or three living Indians have ever seen the great stone bridge.But all have heard of it. They worship it as a god. There's water runsdown this canyon and water runs to the river. Nas Ta Bega thinks he cantake you down to the river."
"Go on," cried Shefford breathlessly, as Joe paused.
"The Indian plans this way. God, it's great!... If only I can do myend!... He plans to take mustangs to-day and wait with them for youto-night or to-morrow till you come with the girl. You'll go getLassiter and the woman out of Surprise Valley. Then you'll strike eastfor Nonnezoshe Boco. If possible, you must take a pack of grub. You maybe days going down--and waiting for me at the mouth of the canyon, atthe river."
"Joe! Where will you be?"
"I'll ride like hell for Kayenta, get another horse there, and ridelike hell for the San Juan River. There's a big flatboat at the Durangocrossing. I'll go down the San Juan in that--into the big river. I'lldrift down by day, tie up by night, and watch for you at the mouth ofevery canyon till I come to Nonnezoshe Boco."
Shefford could not believe the evidence of his ears. He knew thetreacherous San Juan River. He had heard of the great, sweeping,terrible red Colorado and its roaring rapids.
"Oh, it seems impossible!" he gasped. "You'll just lose your life fornothing."
"The Indian will turn the trick, I tell you. Take my hunch. It's nothingfor me to drift down a swift river. I worked a ferry-boat once."
Shefford, to whom flying straws would have seemed stable, caught theinflection of defiance and daring and hope of the Mormon's spi
rit.
"What then--after you meet us at the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco?" hequeried.
"We'll all drift down to Lee's Ferry. That's at the head of MarbleCanyon. We'll get out on the south side of the river, thus avoidingany Mormons at the ferry. Nas Ta Bega knows the country. It's opendesert--on the other side of these plateaus. He can get horses fromNavajos. Then you'll strike south for Willow Springs."
"Willow Springs? That's Presbrey's trading-post," said Shefford.
"Never met him. But he'll see you safe out of the Painted Desert. ...The thing that worries me most is how not to miss you all at the mouthof Nonnezoshe. You must have sharp eyes. But I forget the Indian. A birdcouldn't pass him.... And suppose Nonnezoshe Boco has a steep-walled,narrow mouth opening into a rapids!... Whew! Well, the Indian willfigure that, too. Now, let's put our heads together and plan how to turnthis end of the trick here. Getting the girl!"
After a short colloquy it was arranged that Shefford would go to Ruthand talk to her of the aid she had promised. Joe averred that this aidcould be best given by Ruth going in her somber gown and hood to theschool-house, and there, while Joe and Shefford engaged the guardsoutside, she would change apparel and places with Fay and let her comeforth.
"What'll they do to Ruth?" demanded Shefford. "We can't accept hersacrifice if she's to suffer--or be punished."
"Reckon Ruth has a strong hunch that she can get away with it. Did younotice how strange she said that? Well, they can't do much to her. Thebishop may damn her soul. But--Ruth--"
Here Lake hesitated and broke off. Not improbably he had meant to saythat of all the Mormon women in the valley Ruth was the least likely tosuffer from punishment inflicted upon her soul.
"Anyway, it's our only chance," went on Joe, "unless we kill a couple ofmen. Ruth will gladly take what comes to help you."
"All right; I consent," replied Shefford, with emotion. "And now aftershe comes out--the supposed Ruth--what then?"
"You can be natural-like. Go with her back to Ruth's cabin. Then strolloff into the cedars. Then climb the west wall. Meanwhile Nas Ta Begawill ride off with a pack of grub and Nack-yal and several othermustangs. He'll wait for you or you'll wait for him, as the case may be,at some appointed place. When you're gone I'll jump my horse and hit thetrail for Kayenta and the San Juan."
"Very well; that's settled," said Shefford, soberly. "I'll go at once tosee Ruth. You and Nas Ta Bega decide on where I'm to meet him."
"Reckon you'd do just as well to walk round and come up to Ruth's fromthe other side--instead of going through the village," suggested Joe.
Shefford approached Ruth's cabin in a roundabout way; nevertheless, shesaw him coming before he got there and, opening the door, stood pale,composed, and quietly bade him enter. Briefly, in low and earnest voice,Shefford acquainted her with the plan.
"You love her so much," she said, wistfully, wonderingly.
"Indeed I do. Is it too much to ask of you to do this thing?" he asked.
"Do it?" she queried, with a flash of spirit. "Of course I'll do it."
"Ruth, I can't thank you. I can't. I've only a faint idea what you'rerisking. That distresses me. I'm afraid of what may happen to you."
She gave him another of the strange glances. "I don't risk so much asyou think," she said, significantly.
"Why?"
She came close to him, and her hands clasped his arms and she looked upat him, her eyes darkening and her face growing paler. "Will you swearto keep my secret?" she asked, very low.
"Yes, I swear."
"I was one of Waggoner's sealed wives!"
"God Almighty!" broke out Shefford, utterly overwhelmed.
"Yes. That's why I say I don't risk so much. I will make up a story totell the bishop and everybody. I'll tell that Waggoner was jealous, thathe was brutal to Mary, that I believed she was goaded to her mad deed,that I thought she ought to be free. They'll be terrible. But what canthey do to me? My husband is dead... and if I have to go to hell to keepfrom marrying another married Mormon, I'll go!"
In that low, passionate utterance Shefford read the death-blow to theold Mormon polygamous creed. In the uplift of his spirit, in the joy atthis revelation, he almost forgot the stern matter at hand. Ruth and JoeLake belonged to a younger generation of Mormons. Their nobility in thisinstance was in part a revolt at the conditions of their lives. Doubtwas knocking at Joe Lake's heart, and conviction had come to this youngsealed wife, bitter and hopeless while she had been fettered, strong andmounting now that she was free. In a flash of inspiration Shefford sawthe old order changing. The Mormon creed might survive, but that part ofit which was an affront to nature, a horrible yoke on women's necks,was doomed. It could not live. It could never have survived more than ageneration or two of religious fanatics. Shefford had marked a differentforce and religious fervor in the younger Mormons, and now he understoodthem.
"Ruth, you talk wildly," he said. "But I understand. I see. You are freeand you're going to stay free.... It stuns me to think of that man ofmany wives. What did you feel when you were told he was dead?"
"I dare not think of that. It makes me--wicked. And he was good tome.... Listen. Last night about midnight he came to my window and wokeme. I got up and let him in. He was in a terrible state. I thought hewas crazy. He walked the floor and called on his saints and prayed. WhenI wanted to light a lamp he wouldn't let me. He was afraid I'd see hisface. But I saw well enough in the moonlight. And I knew somethinghad happened. So I soothed and coaxed him. He had been a man asclose-mouthed as a stone. Yet then I got him to talk.... He had goneto Mary's, and upon entering, thought he heard some one with her. Shedidn't answer him at first. When he found her in her bedroom she waslike a ghost. He accused her. Her silence made him furious. Then heberated her, brought down the wrath of God upon her, threatened her withdamnation. All of which she never seemed to hear. But when he tried totouch her she flew at him like a she-panther. That's what he called her.She said she'd kill him! And she drove him out of her house.... He wasall weak and unstrung, and I believe scared, too, when he came to me.She must have been a fury. Those quiet, gentle women are furies whenthey're once roused. Well, I was hours up with him and finally hegot over it. He didn't pray any more. He paced the room. It was justdaybreak when he said the wrath of God had come to him. I tried to keephim from going back to Mary. But he went.... An hour later the women ranto tell me he had been found dead at Mary's door."
"Ruth--she was mad--driven--she didn't know what she--was doing," saidShefford, brokenly.
"She was always a strange girl, more like an Indian than any one Iever knew. We called her the Sago Lily. I gave her the name. She was sosweet, lovely, white and gold, like those flowers.... And to think!Oh, it's horrible for her! You must save her. If you get her away therenever will be anything come of it. The Mormons will hush it up."
"Ruth, time is flying," rejoined Shefford, hurriedly. "I must go backto Joe. You be ready for us when we come. Wear something loose, easilythrown off, and don't forget the long hood."
"I'll be ready and watching," she said. "The sooner the better, I'dsay."
He left her and returned toward camp in the same circling route by whichhe had come. The Indian had disappeared and so had his mustang. Thissignificant fact augmented Shefford's hurried, thrilling excitement.But one glance at Joe's face changed all that to a sudden numbness, asinking of his heart.
"What is it?" he queried.
"Look there!" exclaimed the Mormon.
Shefford's quick eye caught sight of horses and men down the valley. Hesaw several Indians and three or four white men. They were making camp.
"Who are they?" demanded Shefford.
"Shadd and some of his gang. Reckon that Piute told the news. Byto-morrow the valley will be full as a horse-wrangler's corral.... LuckyNas Ta Bega got away before that gang rode in. Now things won't lookas queer as they might have looked. The Indian took a pack of grub, sixmustangs, and my guns. Then there was your rifle in your saddle-sheath.So you'll be well he
eled in case you come to close quarters. Reckonyou can look for a running fight. For now, as soon as your flight isdiscovered, Shadd will hit your trail. He's in with the Mormons. Youknow him--what you'll have to deal with. But the advantage will all beyours. You can ambush the trail."
"We're in for it. And the sooner we're off the better," repliedShefford, grimly.
"Reckon that's gospel. Well--come on!"
The Mormon strode off, and Shefford, catching up with him, kept at hisside. Shefford's mind was full, but Joe's dark and gloomy face did notinvite communication. They entered the pinyon grove and passed thecabin where the tragedy had been enacted. A tarpaulin had been stretchedacross the front porch. Beal was not in sight, nor were any of thewomen.
"I forgot," said Shefford, suddenly. "Where am I to meet the Indian?"
"Climb the west wall, back of camp," replied Joe. "Nas Ta Bega took theStonebridge trail. But he'll leave that, climb the rocks, then hide theoutfit and come back to watch for you. Reckon he'll see you when you topthe wall."
They passed on into the heart of the village. Joe tarried at the windowof a cabin, and passed a few remarks to a woman there, and then heinquired for Mother Smith at her house. When they left here the Mormongave Shefford a nudge. Then they separated, Joe going toward theschool-house, while Shefford bent his steps in the direction of Ruth'shome.
Her door opened before he had a chance to knock. He entered. Ruth, whiteand resolute, greeted him with a wistful smile.
"All ready?" she asked.
"Yes. Are you?" he replied, low-voiced.
"I've only to put on my hood. I think luck favors you. Hester was hereand she said Elder Smith told some one that Mary hadn't been offeredanything to eat yet. So I'm taking her a little. It'll be a good excusefor me to get in the school-house to see her. I can throw off this dressand she can put it on in a minute. Then the hood. I mustn't forget tohide her golden hair. You know how it flies. But this is a big hood....Well, I'm ready now. And--this 's our last time together."
"Ruth, what can I say--how can I thank you?"
"I don't want any thanks. It'll be something to think of always--to makeme happy.... Only I'd like to feel you--you cared a little."
The wistful smile was there, a tremor on the sad lips, and a shadow ofsoul-hunger in her eyes. Shefford did not misunderstand her. She didnot mean love, although it was a yearning for real love that she mutelyexpressed.
"Care! I shall care all my life," he said, with strong feeling. "I shallnever forget you."
"It's not likely I'll forget you.... Good-by, John!"
Shefford took her in his arms and held her close. "Ruth--good-by!" hesaid, huskily.
Then he released her. She adjusted the hood and, taking up a little traywhich held food covered with a napkin, she turned to the door. He openedit and they went out.
They did not speak another word.
It was not a long walk from Ruth's home to the school-house, yet if itwere to be measured by Shefford's emotion the distance would have beenunending. The sacrifice offered by Ruth and Joe would have been nobleunder any circumstances had they been Gentiles or persons with noparticular religion, but, considering that they were Mormons, that Ruthhad been a sealed-wife, that Joe had been brought up under the strange,secret, and binding creed, their action was no less than tremendous inits import. Shefford took it to mean vastly more than loyalty to himand pity for Fay Larkin. As Ruth and Joe had arisen to this height,so perhaps would other young Mormons, have arisen. It needed only thesituation, the climax, to focus these long-insulated, slow-developingand inquiring minds upon the truth--that one wife, one mother ofchildren, for one man at one time was a law of nature, love, andrighteousness. Shefford felt as if he were marching with the wholeyounger generation of Mormons, as if somehow he had been a humbleinstrument in the working out of their destiny, in the awakening thatwas to eliminate from their religion the only thing which kept it frombeing as good for man, and perhaps as true, as any other religion.
And then suddenly he turned the corner of school-house to encounter Joetalking with the Mormon Henninger. Elder Smith was not present.
"Why, hello, Ruth!" greeted Joe. "You've fetched Mary some dinner. Nowthat's good of you."
"May I go in?" asked Ruth.
"Reckon so," replied Henninger, scratching his head. He appeared to betractable, and probably was good-natured under pleasant conditions. "Sheought to have somethin' to eat. An' nobody 'pears--to have rememberedthat--we're so set up."
He unbarred the huge, clumsy door and allowed Ruth to pass in.
"Joe, you can go in if you want," he said. "But hurry out before ElderSmith comes back from his dinner."
Joe mumbled something, gave a husky cough, and then went in.
Shefford experienced great difficulty in presenting to this mild Mormona natural and unagitated front. When all his internal structure seemedto be in a state of turmoil he did not see how it was possible to keepthe fact from showing in his face. So he turned away and took aimlesssteps here and there.
"'Pears like we'd hev rain," observed Henninger. "It's right warm an'them clouds are onseasonable."
"Yes," replied Shefford. "Hope so. A little rain would be good for thegrass."
"Joe tells me Shadd rode in, an' some of his fellers."
"So I see. About eight in the party."
Shefford was gritting his teeth and preparing to endure the ordeal ofcontrolling his mind and expression when the door opened and Joe stalkedout. He had his sombrero pulled down so that it hid the upper half ofhis face. His lips were a shade off healthy color. He stood there withhis back to the door.
"Say, what Mary needs is quiet--to be left alone," he said. "Ruth saysif she rests, sleeps a little, she won't get fever.... Henninger, don'tlet anybody disturb her till night."
"All right, Joe," replied the Mormon. "An' I take it good of Ruth an'you to concern yourselves."
A slight tap on the inside of the door sent Shefford's pulses tothrobbing. Joe opened it with a strong and vigorous sweep that meantmore than the mere action.
"Ruth--reckon you didn't stay long," he said, and his voice rang clear."Sure you feel sick and weak. Why, seeing her flustered even me!"
A slender, dark-garbed woman wearing a long black hood steppeduncertainly out. She appeared to be Ruth. Shefford's heart stood stillbecause she looked so like Ruth. But she did not step steadily, sheseemed dazed, she did not raise the hooded head.
"Go home," said Joe, and his voice rang a little louder. "Take her home,Shefford. Or, better, walk her round some. She's faintish .... And seehere, Henninger--"
Shefford led the girl away with a hand in apparent carelessness on herarm. After a few rods she walked with a freer step and then a swifter.He found it necessary to make that hold on her arm a real one, so asto keep her from walking too fast. No one, however, appeared to observethem. When they passed Ruth's house then Shefford began to lose hisfear that this was not Fay Larkin. He was far from being calm orclear-sighted. He thought he recognized that free step; nevertheless,he could not make sure. When they passed under the trees, crossedthe brook, and turned down along the west wall, then doubt ceased inShefford's mind. He knew this was not Ruth. Still, so strange was hisagitation, so keen his suspense, that he needed confirmation of ear, ofeye. He wanted to hear her voice, to see her face. Yet just as strangelythere was a twist of feeling, a reluctance, a sadness that kept off themoment.
They reached the low, slow-swelling slant of wall and started to ascend.How impossible not to recognize Fay Larkin now in that swift grace andskill on the steep wall! Still, though he knew her, he perversely clungto the unreality of the moment. But when a long braid of dead-gold hairtumbled from under the hood, then his heart leaped. That identifiedFay Larkin. He had freed her. He was taking her away. Then a sadnessembittered his joy.
As always before, she distanced him in the ascent to the top. She wenton without looking back. But Shefford had an irresistible desire to tookagain and the last time at this valley where he had
suffered and lovedso much.
