Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  But instead he touched her softly and whispered: “Janey!”

  That saved her. She caught at her ebbing self-control; and her conscious swift thought balanced her emotion.

  “Janey,” he whispered. “Wake up. It is I — Phil.”

  She opened her eyes, not needing to pretend a start. She saw him distinctly — his face pale, rapt. He knelt beside her.

  “Oh! — Who? — What?” she faltered. “Don’t be frightened,” he said, swiftly and low. “It’s Phil. I couldn’t wait till tomorrow.”

  “You — you startled me. What is it? — Oh, I hope my father—”

  “Don’t speak so loud,” he interrupted. “There is nothing wrong. I simply could not wait till morning. I had to wake you.”

  “Why, may I ask — if all’s well?”

  “Janey, it was no dream,” he went on with deep feeling. “You were right. You have found Beckyshibeta for me.”

  “Of course. Did you wake me to tell me that?”

  He hesitated, and then went on explosively. “No... but — it — they you all go together.”

  Janey did not answer.

  “Janey, please don’t be — be—” he added, hastily.

  “What?” she asked, not encouragingly.

  “Why, cold,” he burst out. “At least don’t freeze me to death. Let me tell you — let me unburden myself.”

  “It’s quite unconventional, to put it mildly. But I haven’t ordered you out, have I?” she replied, and put a hand out to lift her pillow.

  “Thank you,” he said, huskily. “I’ll be relieved and happy to get this off my mind... Janey, you’ve made my fortune. Beckyshibeta is marvelous. I have not had time to gauge its scope, but from what I’ve discovered already, it is vastly larger and more important than I ever dreamed it would be. In fact, Beckyshibeta is one of the great ancient buried cities. It will take years to excavate, and in a scientific way is a priceless discovery. The fact that Elliot discharged me from the museum staff is particularly fortunate for me. I am all on my own. I can dictate terms. I can raise any amount of capital, but I believe I’ll accept your father’s aid. It will be a fine thing for him, too.”

  “But, Phil,” replied Janey, as he paused, “you told me all this before. When you explained what it would mean to you if you discovered the ruin.”

  “Yes, but I never dreamed of its magnitude... Janey, I’ve tried more than once to make you see how my heart was in this work. It appeals to me in so many ways. I like delving into the musty past. But I could not advance because I had neither capital nor luck. You have made my fortune. I’ll be famous. I’ll make money writing, lecturing, and I’ll have a big position offered to me. Expeditions in foreign countries, if I want, or research work all over this desert. I simply cannot think of all the advantages that will come to me. But I think you should release me from my promise not to tell you made the discovery.”

  “Certainly not. I am glad it means so much to you. You know I always wanted you to succeed, even if I didn’t appear interested. And I can feel that I returned some little good for the — the evil you did me.”

  “Janey!”

  “You have ruined my good name,” she went on, gravely. “It’s Dad’s fault, but that does not excuse you.”

  “Oh, Janey, it really all amounts to nothing — nothing,” he whispered, hoarsely. “In this age! Why, even if the kidnaping had been real, it could not have hurt you vitally.”

  “I can’t agree with you, and we needn’t discuss that.”

  “Listen. I loved you from the first moment I saw you. But I had no hopes or delusions. You remember when I saw you in New York... Well, I don’t think I’d ever have gotten over it. I’d never have cared for any other girl. But my heart would not have broken. This trip of yours out here — your father’s crazy plan — the wonderful hours in the desert — and lastly, your finding Beckyshibeta for me — I can never stand them. I can never get over them. I loved you before, but I worship you now... Janey, will you marry me?”

  Janey tried to withdraw her hand from his warm clasp, for fear that it might betray the true state of her heart.

  “I will no longer be a nonentity,” he hastened on. “Nor a poor beggar. I can offer you a home — good enough for any good girl. I can make you happy, Janey. Oh, you never fooled me. That gay idle luxurious life never brought out the best in you. There’s a lot in you, Janey. What a wonderful girl to help a man make something out of himself! To make a real American home!”

  “Not long ago you thought me all that was bad,” she replied, scornfully.

  “I did not. I never even took you for what you appeared to be on the face of it.”

  “I remember what you said, Phil,” she returned, sadly.

  “I don’t care what I said. God knows I had provocation enough for anything. I don’t care what I thought, either. The inspiration of your discovery of Beckyshibeta has given me vision. I see clearly. I know you as you are in your heart. You are deceiving yourself, not me... I beg you, listen to me. I’ll never importune you again. I love you. I worship you. If you will only rise to the beauty and splendor of what I see!”

  “Phil, you don’t allow for a woman’s feelings,” she returned, earnestly. “I respected you — liked you. And I proved it by letting you alone. If you had refused Dad’s miserable advances. If you had told me. If you had borne with me and been my friend — Quien sabe? — But now it’s too late!”

  “Janey, you can’t be so little as that,” he pleaded, in torture. “If you liked me at all, it might be lasting.”

  “You forget you — you beat me!” she whispered, and felt the hot blood move up to her cheeks.

  “No, I don’t forget,” he said, stubbornly. “I’m sorry, of course. But I’d do it again under the same circumstances. Only I want you to understand I didn’t beat you. I spanked you. There is a very great difference.”

  “I don’t care about the difference... Phil, do you honestly believe I oughtn’t hate you for that?”

  “Hate me? Good heavens, no! My love for you robs that terrible humiliation of any hate.”

  Janey knew that was true, and just then hated herself for the passion which held her to her pride and revenge. She knew also that she must end this talk abruptly or yield to him.

  “Phil, any moment you may awaken the others,” she said, managing a hauteur that must have been sickening to him. “But take my answer. It is all too late for the beautiful thing you vision. Too late!... I shall insist that you take me to Flagerstown at once — and give me the protection of your name. I shall go to New York, and free you there.”

  “Oh, Janey!” he cried, in passionate disappointment, and threw her hand from him.

  “You will — do that much — for me?” she asked, unsteadily.

  “Yes, I’ll make you Mrs. Phillip Randolph,” he answered, bitterly, and went silently down the ledge, disappearing in the shadow.

  Janey lay back with a long sigh. The ordeal was over. She realized that in a few moments she would be gloriously happy. Just the instant she had satisfied her insistent modern mind! As she settled back, and drew the blankets close about her shoulders, she felt the quivering of her body. She was cold and exhausted. But for the darkness she could never have carried on that intimate talk with Phillip to the climax it had attained. She had deceived him. She had tortured him with the hint of what might have been. The assurance of his love had been what she craved. Her breast swelled and her conscience flayed her as she recalled his words, his emotion, his faith. She would take exceeding great care that no word or act of hers would do anything but increase his remorse and love. Nevertheless she would go clear to the very last minute with her revenge. No longer revenge, but fun, simply love itself, something to enhance her surrender to him with the sweetest and most unforgettable turning of the tables.

  A thought flashed by — was this trifling with her happiness — going too far, risking too much? No! If Phillip worshiped her — and how thrillingly she believed it — dared not yie
ld to it! — a few more days on the desert and then that marvelous climax she must devise to follow their marriage in Flagerstown, would make him more miserable, more lovelorn, more wholly hers. How she must rack her brain to make her victory complete — something for which he could only love her more!

  Janey lay long awake. Sleep would have robbed her. The night wore on. The silver gleam on the walls paled, darkened, vanished. And the canyon grew black, mysterious, silent as a tomb. But by intense concentration Janey managed to hear a very low murmur of running water and then the faintest of mournful winds. How wonderful the night, the darkness, the loneliness and wildness, the meaning of these old walls, the echo of past life there, the living powerful love in her heart, and the intimation that nothing died!

  Then, as if by magic, the gray dawn came, the brightening of the canyon.

  Janey lay in bed and thought and dreamed, and smiled, and pinched herself to prove she was awake. Presently she became aware of sounds of camp stirring below. They were early this morning. But she was loath to leave the warm blankets, and would rather have lingered there with her thoughts.

  Then her father appeared on the ledge, carrying her riding habit and boots.

  “Hello, you’re awake,” he said.

  “Good morning, Father,” she replied, demurely peeping from behind the edge of her blanket. He did not look happy and the smile he usually had for her was wanting.

  “We’re breaking camp. Randolph acquainted me with your wishes and intentions. We will leave for the post and Flagerstown at once.”

  “So soon! Leave Beckyshibeta today?” she exclaimed, in dismay.

  “Assuredly. I daresay you will appreciate this place — and some other things — after you have lost them. Hurry and dress yourself. Breakfast is waiting.”

  Janey stared after his retreating form rather blankly. “Well!” she soliloquized. Then she laughed. What could she have expected? He was tremendously disappointed in her. All the better! Things were working out magnificently. She would certainly teach him a lesson that would last for life. Yet she was very glad indeed that he was so disappointed. She could endure a little longer that he and Randolph should continue to be sad about her and the mess she was going to make out of her life.

  Janey got into her riding habit and boots with extraordinary pleasure and satisfaction. What a transformation! The scant garb she had been wearing did not harmonize with dignity, and certainly had not enhanced her good looks. All the same she would keep that shrunken skirt and torn blouse and the soiled stockings. She rolled them in the blankets. The worn shoes, too! Some distant future day she would don them to surprise and delight Phil.

  Her little mirror showed a golden-tanned face, with glad eyes and a glorious smile; and shiny rippling hair, all the prettier for being wayward and free. Janey did not need to hide her feelings any longer. She would let Randolph and her father make their own deductions regarding her happiness.

  As she descended the ledge she heard Mrs. Durland squeal with delight. Something had excited her. Randolph and Bennet were busy packing. Breakfast steamed on the fire. The Indians were coming up with the horses. A pang tore Janey’s heart. Only an hour more, perhaps less, of these gleaming canyon walls! But she would come back. The gentlemen were not blind to her changed attire and mood, though they did not fuss over her. Indeed she could not catch Randolph’s eye.

  Mrs. Durland came up almost running, breathless, triumphant, and radiant. “Oh, my dear, how different — you look!” she panted. “What do you think? — That villain Black Dick forgot to take our money — and jewels. My bag was hanging on a cedar twig. Imagine! I was simply overcome ... and here’s your diamond ring.”

  “Well, of all the luck!” cried Janey, surprised and pleased, as she took the ring. “I’m very glad for you, Mrs. Durland. Of course my loss would have been little... So our desperado forgot to take what he stole? Well, he was a queer one.”

  “I can almost forgive him now,” replied Mrs. Durland, fervently.

  Bert came up and tipped his sombrero to Janey. But his sour look did not fit his graceful gesture. Janey did not need to be told that her father had passed on the important news. The Durlands might be civil, but Bert, at least, would never forgive her. Janey reflected that it might not matter how they felt or what they did. She would be careful, however, to make it plain to Randolph and her father that she feared the Durlands and desired to placate them.

  Janey had her breakfast alone. One of the Indians left his work and stood nearby, apparently fascinated at the sight of her. Randolph kept his back turned and worked hard on the packs.

  “Phil, please get me another cup of coffee,” she called.

  He hurriedly complied and fetched it to her.

  “You make such lovely coffee,” she said, looking up at him. “I’ll miss that, at least, when I’m home again.”

  “Bennet made this coffee,” replied Randolph, brusquely.

  “Oh!” But nothing could have hurt Janey this wonderful morning. Nothing except leaving her canyon! She went aside by herself so that she could feel and think, unaffected by Randolph or her father. The gleaming walls spoke to her. The great red corner of rock that led off toward Beckyshibeta beckoned for her to come. And she went far enough to peep round. How wild and ragged and rocky! It was a wilderness of broken stones. Yet for her they had a spirit and a voice. The stream murmured from the gorge, the canyon swifts darted by, their wings shining in the sunlight, the sweet dry sage fragrance filled her nostrils.

  Janey gazed all around and upward, everywhere, with deep reverence for this lonely chasm in the rock crust of the earth. She would return soon, and often thereafter while Randolph was at work on the excavation of the ruined pueblo. She would like to plan her future, her home, her usefulness in the world, here under the spell of her canyon.

  How soon would that be? Not yet had she planned any farther than Flagerstown. No farther than the hour which would make her Phil’s wife! The tumultuousness of that thought had inhibited a completion of her plan. But was not that the climax — the end? It did not satisfy Janey. It entailed confession, total surrender, both of which she would be glad to give, yet — . Suddenly she had an inspiration. It absolutely dazzled her. It swept her away. It was a perfect solution to her problem, and she could have laughed her joy to these watching jealous walls. But — was it possible? Could she accomplish it? How strange she had not thought of it before! Easy as it was wonderful! Whereupon she gave herself up to a mute reverent farewell to Beckyshibeta.

  A lusty shout interrupted Janey’s rapt mood: “Come on, Janey. We’re off!” called her father.

  Very soon then Janey was astride a horse, comfortable and confident in her riding outfit, going down the trail through the cedars. She was the last of the cavalcade. Randolph and the Indians were ahead, driving the pack animals. Bennet was looking after the Durlands. Endicott rode ahead of Janey. They crossed the boulder-strewn stream bed, climbed the dusty soft red trail, and wound away through cedars. Janey did not look back. It would not have been any use, for her eyes were blinded by tears. They did not wholly clear until she rode out of the rock walls, up on to the desert.

  Janey rode alone all day. And surely it was the fullest and sweetest day of all her life. Forty miles of sage to traverse to the next camp — purple color and wondrous fragrance all around — red and gold walls beckoning from the horizons — the sweep and loneliness of vast stretches — sometimes all by herself on the trail, far behind the others — these were the splendid accompaniments of her happy dreams and thoughts, of long serious realizations, of the permanent settling of convictions and ideals, of consciousness of a softened and exalted heart.

  Sunset fell while they were yet upon the trail — one of the incomparable Arizona sunsets that Janey had come to love. A black horizon-wide wall blocked the West. The red and golden rays of sunlight swept down over it, spreading light over the desert. Above masses of purple cloud with silver edges hid the sky. And it all gloriously faded into dusk.


  A flock of black and white sheep crossed the trail in front of Janey. The shepherds were a little Indian boy and girl both mounted on the same pony. How wild and shy! The dogs barked at Janey. The sheep trooped over the ridge top. And lastly the little shepherds and their pony stood silhouetted against the afterglow. Janey waved and waved. The little girl answered — a fleeting shy flip of hand. Then they were gone.

  Soon after that a bright campfire greeted Janey from a bend in the trail. She rode into camp and dismounted, to discover she felt no fatigue, no aches, no pains — and that the exhilaration of the morning had not worn away in that long ride. Mrs. Durland was bemoaning her state; Bert limped to his tasks; and Bennet showed the effect of long sitting in a saddle. The Westerners were active.

  The camp was in the open desert, in the lee of some low rocks. Coyotes were wailing and yelping out in the darkness. A cold wind swept round the rocks and pierced through Janey. How good the blazing bits of sage. She was ravishingly hungry.

  Janey ate her supper sitting on an uncomfortable pack, and she had to eat it quickly while it stayed warm. Firewood appeared to be scarce, and the desert wind grew colder. There was little or no gayety in the company. Bennet tried to make a few facetious remarks to Mrs. Durland, but they fell flat. Janey edged so close to the fire that she almost burned her boots. Randolph kept in the shadow. She felt him watching her, and needed no more to keep her spirits high. Endicott huddled on the ground on the other side of the fire, and his head dropped. Bert was silent and dejected. Mrs. Durland complained of the awful effects of the ride, the food, the cold, the wind and everything.

  “Are those terrible wild creatures going to keep that din up all night?” she asked.