The Water Hole

by Zane Grey

  “It surely would be that for her to…to…Oh, Winters, the idea is ridiculous,” Heftral returned, beginning in bitterness and ending in anger.

  “Hear me out. If you don’t, I’ll think you, too, are just like the rest of this generation…I base my hopes on this. Cherry likes you…respects you. She makes all manner of fun of you, but underneath it there’s something deep. At least it’s deep enough to keep her from adding your scalp to her belt. You’ll forgive me, Stephen, for saying that any fancyfree girl would learn to care for you…under favorable circumstances.”

  “What are they?” queried the archaeologist.

  “Never mind details. But I mean the things that make a man. I’ll swear I don’t believe Cherry has ever met a real man…Well, to go on. I save my conscience in this case by believing she could care for you. And my plan is simply to give Cherry a terrific jar, and then human nature, with such a favorable start, will do the rest.”

  “Believe me, it would have to be a terrific jar, all right,” Heftral said with another of his resonant laughs.

  “Believe me, it is. And it’s simply this. Be as nice as pie to Cherry. Then at an opportune time just throw her on a horse and pack her off to one of your ruins in the desert. Kidnap her. Keep her out there a little while…scare her half to death…let her know what it is to be uncomfortable, hungry, helpless. Then fetch her back. She’d have to marry you. I would insist upon it. Then we’d all be happy.”

  “Mister Winters, the only sane remark you’ve made is that epithet you applied to yourself a few moments ago.”

  “It is a most wonderful opportunity. You are ambitious. This would make you.”

  “No.”

  “I will make you a most substantial settlement. You will be independent for life. You can follow up your archaeological work for the love of it. You…”

  “No!”

  “Now, Stephen, I can apply that epithet to you. May I ask why you refuse?”

  “You…I…Oh, hell! Winters, it’s because I really love Cherry. I couldn’t think of myself in such a case. If I did I’d…I’d be as weak as water. Why, Cherry would hate me.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” replied Winters sagely. “You can’t ever tell about a woman. It’s a gamble, of course. But you have the odds. Be a good sport, Stephen. Even if you lose you’ll have gained an experience that you’ll remember a lifetime.”

  “Mister Winters, you’re taking advantage of human nature,” Heftral replied with agitation.

  Cherry could hear him pacing the room, and she felt sorry for him. It pleased her that he had refused. But she knew her father, his relentless ways, and she held her breath.

  “Certainly I am,” agreed Winters, growing warmer. “Stephen, look at it this way. Consent for Cherry’s sake.”

  “But, man, I can’t believe that wonderful girl is going to hell. I can’t.”

  “Naturally. You’re in love with her. To you she’s an angel. All right. Think of it this way then. You admitted she was adorable. You just said she was wonderful. You know how beautiful she is. Well, here’s your chance to make her yours. Maybe it’s a thousand-to-one shot. Remember, you’ll do her good in any case. And you’ve that one chance in a thousand. Her mother was the most loving of women. Why, Stephen, if Cherry loved you…you would be entering the kingdom of heaven. She might.”

  “My God!” gasped the young man.

  “I am her father. I worship her. And I am begging you to do this thing.”

  “All…right. I…I’ll do it,” Heftral replied in a queer strangled voice. “It will be my ruin. But I can’t resist. Only, understand…I couldn’t accept money.”

  “Fact is, I didn’t think you would,” replied Winters quickly. “And your refusal makes me sure you are the right man. Come, shake on it, Stephen. I’ll be forever grateful to you whether we win or lose.”

  Cherry heard him rise and cross the room. Taking advantage of this, she slipped out of the hammock and ran around to the back of the house, and, entering the long corridor, she arrived at her room in a more excited and breathless state than she had ever been in all her life. Closing the door she locked it and then relaxed against it, with a hand over her throbbing breast.

  “If that wasn’t the limit!” she exclaimed, and succumbed to conflicting emotions, among which such rage as she had never felt assumed dominance.

  Not long afterward her father knocked on the door. Cherry did not answer. He knocked again, and called anxiously: “Cherry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dinner is ready. We’re waiting.”

  “I don’t want any,” she replied.

  “Why, what is the matter?”

  “I’ve a headache.”

  “Headache! You? Never heard of the like before.”

  “Maybe it’s a toothache.”

  “Oh,” he returned, and discreetly retired.

  When Cherry’s anger had finally subsided so that she could think, she found she was deeply wounded. Things for her had come to a very sad pass indeed, if her father could go to such extremes. But were they so bad for her? How perfectly absurd. There was not anything wrong with her. Yet all the same an awakened consciousness refused to accept her indignant assurance. She knew she was the pride and joy of her father’s life. He was a trying parent, indeed; nevertheless she could not seriously say he had neglected her or given her a bad example. He was just thick-headed, and too much concerned about her affairs. Cherry, however, dodged for the present any serious thought concerning her friends and acquaintances at home. They were as good as any other crowd.

  Heftral. She could overcome her shame and resentment enough to feel sorry for him. What chance had he against her father, especially if he was genuinely attracted to her? Cherry blushed in the loneliness of her room. Heftral had saved his character, in her estimation, by scorning her father’s opinions, by resisting his subtle attack, by refusing any consideration of a material gain in his outrageous proposals.

  Then Cherry happened to remember what Heftral had said about spanking her. In a sudden fury she leaped up and began to pace the little room. There was not very much in the way of disgust, contempt, amazement, pride, wrath, that did not pass through her mind. What an atrocious insult! He had been in earnest. He talked as if she were a nine-year-old child. Her cheeks burned. She refused in the heat of the moment to answer a query that knocked at her ears.

  “Oh, I won’t do a thing to Stephen Heftral,” she said under her breath, and, as she said it, she caught sight of her face in the mirror. When had she looked like that? Only the other day she had fancied she wore a tired bored look. At least she was indebted to Heftral for a glow and a flash of radiance.

  A hundred thoughts whirled through her mind. One of them was to run off from her father and punish him that way. Another was actually to be what he feared she was or might become. The former appeared too easy on him and the second unworthy of her. It stung her acutely that she was compelled to prove to him how really different she was. But revenge first. She would show them. She would play up to their infamous plot. She would walk right into their little trap. Then—she would frighten her clever parent out of his wits. And as for Heftral. She would reduce him to such a state of love-sick misery that he would want to die. She would be ten thousand times herself and everything else she could lend herself to. She would help him on with the little scheme, make him marry her, and then, when he and her father were at the top of their bent and ridiculously sure of her so-called salvation, she would calmly announce to them that she had known all about it beforehand. She would denounce them, and go home and divorce Heftral.

  The next morning Cherry saw Heftral and her father ride away on their horses, evidently well pleased with themselves over something. Then she went late to her breakfast, finding it necessary to play the actress with the solicitous Mrs. Linn. She would have to be a brilliant actress, anyway, so she might
as well begin. She might develop histrionic ability, and make a name on the stage.

  She did not ride that morning. Part of the time she spent in her room, and the other walking in the shade of the cottonwoods.

  After lunch Cherry tried to read. All the books and magazines she had appeared to be full of humor or tragedy of the younger generation. One after another she slammed them on the floor.

  “This business is getting damned serious!” ejaculated Cherry.

  All the preachers, editors, physicians, philosophers were explaining either how horrible the young people were, or else how misunderstood, or abandoned by money-mad parents to their dark fate. Even college boys and girls were writing about themselves. Something was wrong somewhere, and, as the thought struck Cherry, she found herself reaching for a cigarette. With swift temper she threw the little box against the wall. She would have to quit smoking—which meant nothing at all to Cherry. She could quit anything. She remembered, however, that in accordance with the plan to avenge herself upon her father and Heftral, she must smoke like a furnace. So she took the trouble to pick up the cigarettes. Still, she did not smoke one then.

  The afternoon slowly waned. It had been an upsetting day for Cherry. She had changed a hundred times, like the shifting of a wind vane. But the thing most permanent was the stab to her pride. Not soon would she get over that hurt. She did not realize yet just why or how she had been so mortally offended, but she guessed it would come to her eventually.

  For the first time in years Cherry missed her mother. Was she self-sufficient as she had supposed? She certainly was not, for she fought an hour against rather strange symptoms, and then succumbed to a good old-fashioned crying spell.

  Three

  That evening a little before suppertime, when Heftral walked into the living room, Cherry made it a point to be there. She had adorned herself with a gown calculated to make him gasp. She perceived that he had difficulty in concealing his dismay. The day of mental stress, without the usual exercise and contact with the open, had left her pale with faint purple shadows under her eyes. Cherry thought she could take care of the rest.

  “I’m sorry you were indisposed,” Heftral said solicitously. “I see you haven’t been out today. That’s too bad.”

  “It has been a lonely, awful day,” replied Cherry pathetically.

  “I hope you haven’t been very ill. You looked so…so wonderful yesterday. You’re pale now. No doubt you’ve overdone this riding around with the cowboys.”

  “I guess I’m not so strong as Dad thinks I am. But I’m really not tired…that is, physically.”

  “No? What’s wrong then?”

  Cherry transfixed Heftral with great melancholy eyes. “I’m dying of homesickness. This place is dead. It’s a ruin. You could dig right here and find a million bones.”

  “Dead? Oh, yes, indeed, it is rather quiet for a girl used to New York,” he returned, plainly disappointed. “I rather expected you would like it…for a while, and, really, you seemed to be enjoying yourself. I know your father thinks you’re having the time of your life.”

  “I was. But it didn’t last. Nothing happens. I imagined there’d be some excitement. Why, I can’t even get a kick out of a horse,” complained Cherry.

  “Take care about that,” Heftral said seriously. “Linn has seen to it that you’ve had only gentle horses. I heard him rake the cowboys about this. None of their tricks.”

  “Mister Heftral,” returned Cherry, sweetly explaining, “I didn’t mean that kind of a kick. I’d like a horse to run off with me…since there’s no man out here to do it.”

  Cherry was blandly innocent, and apparently unconscious of Heftral’s slight start and quick look. She was going to enjoy this better than she had expected.

  “I…I daresay the cowboys…and all Westerners…couldn’t understand you, Miss Cherry,” rejoined Heftral. “They will exert themselves to amuse you…take care of you. But never dream…of…how…”

  “That a New York girl requires some stimulant,” interposed Cherry. “Oh, I get that. These nice dumb cowboys. I thought they were going to be regular fellows. But, do you know, Mister Heftral, not a single one of them has attempted to kiss me!”

  “Indeed. From what I know of them, I think that’d be the last thing they’d attempt. They are gentlemen, Miss Winters,” said Heftral rather stiffly.

  “What’s that got to do with kissing a girl?” Cherry retorted, hard put to restrain her laughter. “It’d be fun to see their line of work. And in the case of that handsome Zoroaster…well, I might let him get away with it.”

  Heftral stared at her incredulously, with infinite disapproval.

  “Outside of yourself, Mister Zoroaster is the only good-looking man around the place. And as you don’t seem to be aware of my presence here, I’d rather welcome a little attention from him.”

  “Miss Winters!” ejaculated Heftral. “You are complimentary…and rather otherwise, all in one breath. It is you who have not been aware of my presence.”

  “What could you expect?” Cherry queried with a bewildering confusion. “I might flirt with a cowboy. But I couldn’t…well…throw myself at a man of your intelligence and culture. All the same I’ve been hoping you’d take me around a little. To your ruins and interesting places. Maybe amuse me in the evenings, or at least do something to kill the awful monotony. In New York you seemed to like me. I daresay Dad has talked about me…queered me with you.”

  Heftral had been reduced to a state of speechlessness. He actually blushed, and there leaped to his eyes a light that made them very warm and appealing. At this point Mr. Winters came in. He looked unusually bright and cheerful, but at sight of Cherry his smile faded.

  “Cherry, dear, you look sort of down,” he commiserated, kissing her. “I forgot you had a headache or something.”

  “Dad, I’ve just been complaining to Stephen. But he doesn’t care whether I’m sick or homesick, or what.”

  “Stephen? Homesick? Why Cherry!” exclaimed Winters, quite taken aback.

  “Dad, will you let me go home?” she asked mournfully.

  “Cherry!”

  “Don’t look like that. What do you think anyway? You’ve dragged me out to this dead hole. Nothing happens. You said Stephen would be tickled pink to run around with me.”

  “I didn’t say anything of the kind,” her father declared, turning a little pink himself.

  “Oh, I mean words to that effect,” replied Cherry airily. “But, as you’ve seen, he has studiously avoided me as if I was a pestilence. Left me to the mercy of these cowboys.”

  “I’m sure there is a misunderstanding,” returned Winters, divided between doubt and exultation.

  “There certainly is,” added Heftral emphatically. “I hope it isn’t too late for me to correct it.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Cherry said with eyes on him. “Else how could I ever have told you?”

  “Nonsense,” spoke up her father. “Cherry, you must be a little off your feed or something.”

  “Dad, I’m not a horse or a cow…and I would like a little fruit salad or a lobster.” Suddenly she clapped her hands. “I’ve an idea. Perfectly delicious. Let me send for Chauncey?”

  “What? That last faint gasp of the Sarland family?”

  “Dad, I’d have a perfectly glorious time riding around with him.”

  “Humph! I don’t believe it. You don’t know what you do want.”

  “Please, Daddy. Chauncey would at least amuse me.”

  “He would. And us, too. But no, Cherry. I can’t see it,” declared Winters.

  “Very well, Father,” agreed Cherry. She never called him “Father” except in cases like this. “I’ve done my best to please you. The consequences will be upon your head.”

  Winters grunted, gave Cherry a baffled glance, and stepped out the open door to view the afterglow of the su
nset. Heftral was perturbed. Cherry enjoyed the assurance that her new line had been effective. No man could resist subtle flattery.

  “Miss Cherry…if you…if I…if there has been a misunderstanding…let me make it right,” Heftral began with a sincerity that made Cherry feel villainous. “Frankly I…I didn’t think you cared two straws about my work, or the ruins…or me, either. So I never asked you. You remember I used to try to interest you in the desert. Indeed there is much here to interest you…if you will only see. Suppose you ride out with me tomorrow.”

  Cherry fixed sad eyes upon his earnest face. “No, Stephen. I told you…it’s too late. You’d never have thought of it, if I hadn’t gone down and out. I’m sorry, but I can’t accept solicited attention.”

  “You’re very unkind, at least,” rejoined Heftral, vexed and hurt. “You’ve scarcely looked at me, since your arrival. Now you complain of my…my neglect. I tell you…to accuse me of indifference is perfectly ridiculous.”

  Then the little Indian maid called them to supper. When Winters followed them in and caught a glimpse of Heftral’s face, he threw up his hands, then he laughed heartily. Cherry understood him. It was a return to good humor and the hopelessness of ever doing anything with her. His mirth, however, did not infect Heftral, who scarcely said another word, ate but little, and soon excused himself.

  “Say, honey, what’d you do to Stephen?” Winters inquired genially.

  “Nothing.”

  “Which means a whole lot. Well, tell me.”

  “I let him know I did like him very much…that his indifference has hurt me deeply…and that now…”

  “Ah, I see. Now, in the vernacular of your charming crowd there’s nothing doing,” interrupted her father. “Cherry, dear, if I were Stephen I’d be encouraged. I remember your mother. When I was most in despair my chances were brightest. Only I didn’t know it.”

  “Dad, I did like Stephen,” Cherry murmured dreamily.

  “It’s too bad you don’t any more…What are you going to do tomorrow?”