by Zane Grey
“I’m sure I’d love to,” responded Janey.
She did not meet the cowboys again that day until after supper when she walked out to see the sunset, and to look for her father. This was always an attractive hour at the post. Indians were riding up and departing; the picturesque cowboys, mostly through with work for the day, were lounging about on the bales of wool and blankets. The moment Janey arrived they became animated as one man. Janey did not take much notice of them, despite their transparent acts and words. Strolling a little way she halted at the hitching rail to watch the pageant in the gold-and-purple West.
“Mighty cool evenin’,” remarked Mohave, in a voice that came clearly to Janey.
“Say, fellars, did anythin’ hit you in the eye, kinda like a chunk of ice?” drawled Zoroaster.
“S-s-s-some of y-y-y-youse hombres has done s-s-s-somethin’,” stuttered Tay-Tay, belligerently.
“Our gracious Señorita is in one of her grand moods,” Diego said.
“Aw, you punchers are locoed,” added Ray, scornfully. “Cain’t you tell when to get off and walk?”
Janey moved on out of earshot of her loyal cavaliers. It was the first time she had not paid attention to one or all of them. What had happened to her? But she soothed both conscience and concern with former arguments.
In the west the bulge of desert waved black as ebony against the intense gold flare of sky. Above this belt, a broken reef of purple clouds appeared beaten upon by contending tides of silver and rose. Through a ragged rent the sinking sun sent shafts of radiant light down behind the horizon.
In the east the panorama was no less striking and beautiful. The desert sent its walls and domes and monuments of red rock far up into the sky of gorgeous pink and white clouds.
Janey drew a deep full breath. Yes, Arizona was awakening her to something splendid and compelling. How vast and free and windswept this colored desert! She had learned to recognize a faint fragrance of sage, which came only in a north breeze. It was sweet and cool now in her face. Then up over a near- by ridge appeared a black silhouette of an Indian and mustang, wild and lonely. Next the hum of a motorcar broke her absorption. No doubt it was the trader’s Studebaker returning with her father.
“Look here, peaches,” quizzically remarked her father, when they had gotten indoors. “Anyone would think I’d been absent a month. What’s the bright idea?”
“Oh! Did I make such a fuss over you — as that?” asked Janey, merrily.
“You sure did. Fact is you never welcomed me like that, even on my returns from Europe... Have you been lonely and blue again? Is that why?”
“Not today,” returned Janey. “No, I was just happy and unconscious of it, Dad... I guess maybe I did miss you a lot.”
“Well, you can bet I’m glad, whatever it is.”
Janey left him in the dining room, too hungry for conversation. Then she delved a little into her mind. She had absolutely forgotten her new role. She was supposed to be very angry with her father, but she wasn’t. She had not been in the least lonely for him or homesick. In reality she had skipped about ten years of her life and had met him as a child. Janey’s deductions took her back through the eventful day at the tilt with Phil, and then she got no further. It was rather confusing. But at length she assuaged her wounded vanity by accepting her remarkable fine spirits as due to the way she was turning the tables on Phil and her father.
“Maybe I’m kidding myself,” murmured Janey, with a snicker. “Ye Gods! Could I have been so happy because he kissed me?”
Janey was wholly at ease again when her father joined her in the living room. He was full of his trip to town, and claimed the ride in — looking the opposite way to that in which they had come — was even more beautiful. Telegraph communications from New York had been eminently satisfactory.
“How’s your day been?” he asked, when he had concluded about his own.
“Mine? Oh, rich, immense,” replied Janey. “I hope you haven’t played any more hob with these cowboys.”
“Oh, dear, no. I’ve scarcely seen them, but once or twice... I did take Ray, and rode out to see Phil’s cave. Surprised him. I left Ray below a little way and went on alone.”
“You did!” exclaimed Endicott, surprised and pleased. “That was nice of you. What did you think of Phil’s cave? I’ve been there, you know.”
“An awful hole! Just suits him to a ‘T.’ He’s a cave man. Don’t you overlook that, darling Papa.”
“Cave man? Phil Randolph! Why, he’s the gentlest and mildest of men.”
“Not so you’d notice it. At least for me,” replied Janey, giggling. “No, Dad, you’re vastly mistaken in Phil’s character. He’s a bad hombre.”
“Did you quarrel?” Endicott probed, his curiosity overcoming his doubt of her.
“Oh, we scrapped as usual. He wasn’t at all tickled to see me. Made some idiotic remarks about being a lover of beauty in woman — one woman. Naturally I kidded him, and when he got wise to that he was sore. Well, finally, to prove my interest in his old cave I climbed down in one of his graves. I took the pick and began to dig. Do you know, Dad, he didn’t like that a bit.”
Endicott let out a hearty laugh. “Janey, you are incorrigible. No wonder he wasn’t tickled to see you. Why, he wouldn’t let even me dig in one of those holes. Said I might break a piece of precious pottery. Besides in your case he wouldn’t like you to soil your clothes and blister your hands.”
“I should think he would have liked that,” returned Janey. “Once he called me fastidious and elegant. Another time one of the idle rich. He held my hand once and had the nerve to say it was a beautiful useless thing. Well, to go on, he ordered me out of the grave. I paid no attention to him. Then he took hold of the pick, pulled me up till he could reach me. Next he yanked me out. Gentle? You should have seen him. But he let go of me too quick and I stumbled. Like a ninny I fell into his arms. Did he gently set me upon my feet? I should snicker not. This paragon of yours, this nice quiet gentleman, grabbed me and kissed me smack on my mouth — as I never was kissed in my whole life!”
Whereupon Janey’s father exploded with mirth. Recovering and seeing her face he apologized contritely.
“Janey, it’s just too good,” he added. “I think a lot more of Phil for having the nerve to do it. I wonder, now, did that make you so happy?”
“Rot!” exclaimed Janey, with hot cheeks. “It wasn’t nerve in him. He just went loco. Then he swore he’d never kissed any girl before. Fancy that?... Well, I’ve told you. I don’t quite know what to do about it.”
“I shall congratulate Phil on punishing you properly.”
“I don’t take punishment easily,” said Janey, with menacing hauteur.
“Lord. Be easy on the poor chap, Janey.”
Bennet interrupted them at this point and asked if they would require any or all of the cowboys for any especial trip the next few days.
“I want to drive some cattle out, an’ reckon this is about the best time,” he added. “I’ve got some tourist parties comin’ soon, an’ the boys will take them to Nonnezoshe. After that the rains will be here.”
“Thanks, Bennet. We can do very well without the cowboys,” returned Endicott, brightly. Janey guessed why her father felt so chipper about that news.
“Do you have a rainy season here on this desert?” inquired Janey, aghast.
“Nothin’ to concern you, Miss,” replied the trader. “Reckon you’ll like the thunderstorms, the clouds an’ rainbows. But for us the rains are sometimes bad, because the washes get full of water an’ quicksand, so we can’t move the stock.”
“Thunderstorms? I love them. It will be great to be out in one here,” said Janey.
Janey was lying in bed reading when she heard Randolph come in and go to his room. The hour was rather late for him. She wondered if he had gone supperless.
Next morning when she went in to breakfast her father and Randolph were there. If Janey had expected him to be downcast or embarrassed
she had reckoned without her host. He was neither. He greeted her as if nothing unusual had occurred and he gave her a cool steady stare. Janey’s quick intuition grasped that Randolph had burned his bridges behind him. It did not seem likely that her father could have had much to do with this late decision in Randolph. Janey had bidden him good night at his door, and he was not an early riser. So she concluded Randolph had fought out something with himself and the die was cast. It stirred Janey as had nothing she could recall. She was ready, even eager for the adventure.
“When is Bennet sending out the cowboys?” inquired Randolph.
“Today,” replied Endicott, with a meaning glance at his young friend. “It’ll be terrible for Janey to be left without anybody to pick on. Phil, suppose you knock off work and stay home to amuse her.”
“Very happy to,” returned the archaeologist. “I’m sure I can think up something that will amuse even the blasé Miss Endicott.”
“You needn’t concern yourself about me,” said Janey, spiritedly. “And I’ll have you know I’m not blasé. Did you ever see me look old or bored?”
“Certainly not old, but bored — yes indeed, and with your humble servant, myself.”
“You don’t bore me any more, Phillip,” replied Janey. “You have become a mystery. Your possibilities are unlimited.”
“Much obliged,” rejoined Randolph, with nonchalance. “I hope I can live up to your idea of my development.”
“When will you start amusing me?” asked Janey, with a provoking little smile.
“There’s no time like the present.”
“Very well, begin. You have only to be perfectly natural.”
“That is what I thought. So I need not exert myself. After breakfast come with me for a walk. I know where to find some horned toads.”
“How far is it?”
“Quite near. In the big wash over the ridge. But I advise you to change that child’s dress for something comfortable and protecting.”
“Goodness! This is a tennis skirt and blouse.”
“Who’d guess it,” returned Randolph, dryly. “Be ready in about an hour.”
Janey went to her room. Phillip had been quite businesslike. She had fancied he would take her for a long ride someday, which would give him better opportunity to make off with her. Surely he would not attempt the abduction while on a short stroll near the post. But she felt uncertain about him. She had best be prepared. To this end she considered what it would be best to wear. If she donned riding clothes and boots, which she heartily wanted to do, it would rouse Randolph’s suspicions. Outside of that all her clothes were unsuitable for the kind of a jaunt she was likely to have. She gave Randolph about one day and one night before fetching her back to the post. That, however, was long enough for his purpose, though she remembered her father hinting otherwise. Janey searched among her things, and finally found an old woolen outing skirt, absurdly short. It would have to do. She selected the heaviest stockings she could find, which were thin at that, tennis shoes, a blouse with high collar and long sleeves. She put on a soft felt hat and gloves. Then as an afterthought she slipped a vanity case into the pocket of her short sport coat, and tried to choose the things she would need badly, in case she were kidnaped. But pocket space was limited. Thus equipped, and full of suppressed mirth, yet not free from other agitation, she sallied forth to meet Mr. Randolph.
Janey knew she had occupied more than an hour, but she was surprised to find he was not waiting for her. Nor was her father anywhere in sight. “Something’s up I’ll bet,” soliloquized Janey. She went out to see the cowboys ride away with Bennet. They were a disconsolate lot, and gazed at her from afar.
Upon her return to the house she met Randolph. His boots were dusty, and his face heated from exertion. He looked too grim and tense for a little walk. Unless he meant to propose to her! Or else carry out her father’s plan. Janey knew it was one or the other; and she trembled. But Phil seemed too concerned with himself to note that she was not wholly at ease. And in another instant Janey regained composure.
“Here you are,” he said, as he met her. “Glad you’re a little more sensibly dressed.”
“I thought maybe you’d have me digging round in the sand after horned toads,” she replied.
“Daresay you’ll be digging round for more than that before we get back.”
He led her out the side exit of the yard, where the foliage of peach trees and the house obscured their departure from anyone who might have been looking from the post.
“Horned toads are really one of the wonders of the desert,” he said, as he walked briskly out toward the rise of ground. “They have protective coloration. It is very difficult to see them. They are beautiful, with eyes like jewels. At rare times when angry one will emit blood from its eyes.”
While he talked he was leading Janey up the ridge. Then in a few moments they were over and going down on the other side, out of sight of the post. He talked horned toads until he had exhausted his fund of natural history, then he switched to desert scenery. Janey knew he was only marking time, endeavoring to absorb her so that she would scarcely notice the distance they had come and that it was still far to any break in the floor of the desert. She helped him by listening intently. It was a full ten miles to the wash.
“Phil, didn’t you say it was only a little walk?” she asked, innocently.
“Why, yes. Isn’t it?”
“If you’d ask me I’d say it was long. Where do we go from here?” returned Janey, gazing down into the sandy void. There was no trail she could see, though in the sand just below she discerned horse tracks. Randolph jumped down off the bank to the slope, which was several feet under the level.
“Come,” he said, and Janey detected a slight change of tone.
“Gee. I can’t get down there,” she replied, fearfully.
“If you won’t let me lift you down, why, slide.”
“Slide! — Mr. Randolph, I’m not a baseball player.”
Quick as a flash, then, he reached for her, clasped her knees and lifted her so that she fell over his shoulder.
“Oh!” cried Janey, in genuine surprise. How powerful he was! She might have been a sack of potatoes. He carried her several strides down before Janey began to protest and squirm. She would have kicked if her legs had been free. At any rate her struggle and the steep soft slope of sand caused Randolph to lose his balance and fall sidewise. Janey rolled off his shoulder and sat up. Randolph stumbled to his feet, and seeing her sitting there wide-eyed and blank he burst into laughter. Janey could not help following suit.
“Mr. Randolph, is this how you hunt horned toads?” she asked sternly.
“No. But why did you overbalance me? I could have packed you down to the bottom.”
“My position was scarcely dignified. In the future if it is necessary to pack me, as you call it, please give me a moment to prepare.”
“All right. Come on. Let’s see if you’re any good on seven-league boots,” he said, and strode down with giant steps.
Janey tried to imitate him, succeeded admirably, and reached the bottom of the wash in good time.
“My shoes are full of sand,” she announced, and sat down to remove them.
“Don’t let a little thing like that fuss you. It may happen again.”
“You’re quite gay, all of a sudden,” remarked Janey, as she shook the sand out of her shoes.
“Yes. Why not? It’s something to see Miss Janey Endicott as she is this morning,” he responded, eying her with a glint of admiration.
“I suppose you mean me in this short skirt,” she returned, calmly. “But you needn’t look. It was the only old thing I had.”
Soon she was following him down the wash. It appeared to be quite deep, with a dry stream bed of rock and gravel at the bottom. Desert plants grew sparsely along the banks. Randolph did not look back nor speak, and he walked a little too swiftly for Janey who lost a few paces. Presently they turned a corner, and Janey spotted what she had been
expecting — two saddled horses. Later she saw another animal carrying a pack.
Janey plodded on, pretending not to see them. How foolish! Nevertheless she was aware of a palpitating heart, of a rush of blood, of prickling skin. A quick glance up showed Randolph had halted beside the horses. Janey strove to find wits and nerve to meet this situation as she had planned. Where was her anger? It had oozed out of her trembling finger tips. But that was only momentary. Sight of Randolph rallied her courage. She would deceive him, punish him and her father if it took all the spirit and endurance she could muster.
“Whose horses?” asked Janey, as she reached Randolph, and sat down on the slope of sand. She did not look at him directly. “It’s pretty warm — for a short walk. When do we hunt horned toads?”
As he did not answer she glanced up at him. Assuredly he was tense and altogether too pale. Janey suddenly realized that despite what he had undertaken he was afraid of her and of the outrageous indignity he had been persuaded to attempt. That acted as a spur to her. It was the stimulus she needed.
“What’s the matter, Phil? You look strange. Your eyes! You’re staring at me. It’s the second time. I can’t complain of lack of attention right now.”
“Better late than never.”
“Come here, Mr. Archaeologist. I won’t hurt you,” said Janey, beckoning.
“You want me? Over there?”
