The Water Hole

by Zane Grey

  “Perhaps I will feel well enough to ride a little.”

  “Good. I’m motoring to Flagstaff. I’ll be back before dark, I think. I’ve got important letters and telegrams to send.”

  “You won’t let me wire for Chauncey Sarland?” asked Cherry.

  “Cherry, don’t always put me at a disadvantage,” returned Winters impatiently. “You know I’d let you have anyone or anything…if you convinced me of your need. But, darling, you know Sarland would bore you to death. Be honest.”

  “I suspect he might, after he got here,” acknowledged Cherry demurely. “But, Dad, just think of the fun the cowboys would have out of him. And he’d make Stephen perfectly wild.”

  “Aha! You’ve said it, my daughter,” Winters declared, clapping his hands. “I had a hunch, as Linn says…Well, Cherry, you must excuse me. I’ve got to spend the evening writing. You can have a nice quiet hour reading.”

  “Hour! I can’t go to bed for hours.”

  “Cherry, you look perfectly wonderful, ravishing, and…well, indecent in that flimsy white gown. It’d make a first-rate handkerchief for one of these man-size Westerners. But it’s wasted on the desert air.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid my desire to look well for Stephen was wasted,” returned Cherry. “Men are no good. You can’t please them.”

  “Perhaps the emancipation of women has peeved us,” Winters remarked slyly.

  Cherry was curious to see if Heftral would come back to the living room. She hoped he would not, for he appeared to be giving her a taste of something different in masculine reactions. She talked to the Linns about the cowboys and Heftral, learning more and more for her amusement and interest. They regarded the archaeologist as one of the family and were immensely proud of his work. It might have been gold hunting, for all the store they put on it. Cherry began to gather some inkling of the importance of Heftral’s discovery of the pueblo claimed by scientists to have existed there for centuries past. She began to hope for his success.

  Heftral did not appear again and the Linns retired early. Cherry was left to her thoughts, which she found pleasant. Soon she went to her room, and to bed. Though she would not admit it to her father, the quiet of the night, the comfortable feel of wool blankets, the black darkness appealed strongly to her.

  What few words and glances it had taken to upset Stephen Heftral. If Cherry had not been so outraged her conscience might have given her a twinge. Deep within her dwelt a respect for honesty and simplicity. The idea she had given Heftral—that she had expected and hoped for a little attention from him—had completely floored him. After all it was not much of a deceit. She had expected more than a little. There was something warm and sweet in the thought of his really caring for her like that. Cherry believed that no real woman of the present or of the future would ever feel otherwise than stirred at a man’s honest love. It was in the race, and the race’s progress toward higher things depended upon it. Cherry made the mental observation that the world had not progressed very much lately.

  * * * * *

  Next morning she again delayed going into breakfast purposely to miss Heftral and her father. Cherry put on her riding clothes, taking her time about it.

  After breakfast the only one of the cowboys around the corrals was Wess.

  “’Mornin’,” he greeted her. “When did you come back to life? Us boys figgered you was daid.”

  “Me? Oh, I never let anybody get tired of me,” responded Cherry. “Can I have Patter saddled?”

  “I reckon, but I cain’t see what for. That cayuse is no good. He’s got a mean eye when he rolls it. Now my little roan…”

  “Wess, you boys can’t fool me any longer about the horses. They’re all good. Please saddle Patter for me.”

  While Wess went to fetch the horse, Cherry walked into the trading post, always and increasingly interesting to her. Linn was selling supplies to the Indians. Cherry liked to hear the low strange voices. One of the Indians was nothing if not frankly admiring. He was a tall, slim, loose-jointed individual, wearing corduroys and moccasins, a huge-buckled and silver-ornamented belt, a garnet-colored velveteen shirt, and a black sombrero with a bright-braided band. He had a lean face like a hawk, dark and clear, and piercing black eyes. Cherry had been advised not to appear interested in the Indian men—that they misunderstood it, and had been known to give Eastern women some rude shocks. As usual Cherry disregarded advice.

  She noticed when she left the post that the Indian sauntered out to watch her. Cherry thought if Stephen Heftral would act that way, she would be highly gratified. Patter was saddled waiting for her, a fine little bay mustang.

  “What’s Smoky followin’ you for?” Wess queried gruffly.

  “Smoky, who’s he?”

  “Thet blamed Navey.”

  “Oh, I see. I don’t know, Wess. I certainly didn’t ask him to. It’s quite flattering, though. But not complimentary to you boys.”

  “Wal, miss, if you excuse me I’ll say thet’s not funny an’ you ain’t ridin’ out alone,” said Wess.

  “Indeed. Wess, you can be most disagreeable at times. It spoils a perfectly wonderful man. I am going to ride alone.”

  “Nope. If you won’t listen to me, I’ll tell Linn.”

  “Aren’t you just inventing an opportunity to ride with me?”

  “Reckon not. I don’t care particular aboot ridin’ with you, after the deal you gave me last time.”

  “What was that, Wess? I forget.”

  “Wal, never mind…Now this Indian Smoky is a bad hombre an’ it’s really because he’s not all there. He’s not to be trusted. He might foller you around jes’ curious. But if you got too nice to him, things might happen. If he annoys you, he’ll be a daid redskin damn’ quick.”

  “Thank you, Wess. I’ll say that’s talking,” responded Cherry. “But tell me, what do you do to white men out here, when they insult Eastern girls?”

  “Wal, miss, white men…that is, Westerners don’t insult girls from anywhere,” Wess returned forcefully.

  “But they do. I’ve heard and read of lots of things. Suppose now, just for example, you were to kidnap me and pack me off into the desert. What would happen to you?”

  “If I didn’t get strung up to a cottonwood, I’d shore be beat till I was near daid. But, Miss Cherry, you needn’t worry none about me. I’ve learned to fight my natural instincts.”

  Cherry laughed merrily. Some of these cowboys were full of wit and humor. “Wess, I’ll compromise this ride with you,” said Cherry. “I want to surprise Mister Heftral at his work. So you take me out and show me where he is. But you must wait some little distance away. But won’t I be taking you from your own work?”

  “Boss’ orders are that I look after you, Miss Cherry,” Wess said with emphasis on the personal pronouns. “I’ll throw a saddle an’ be heah pronto.”

  They rode out along the fenced ground, where Linn kept stock at times, and came upon Tay-Tay, Lorenzo, and Zoroaster digging post holes. If there was anything a cowboy hated more than that, Wess declared he did not know what it was. The trio doffed their sombreros to Cherry, and grinned because they could not help it, but they were galled at the situation.

  “Reckon that’s fair to middlin’,” declared Wess, eying the post holes. “But you ain’t diggin’ them deep enough.”

  Zoroaster glared at Wess and threw down the long-handled shovel.

  Lorenzo wiped the sweat from his face. “Say, are you foreman on this ranch?” he asked scornfully.

  “G-g-g-go along w-w-w-with you or you’ll g-get h-h-h-hurt,” stuttered Tay-Tay.

  “Wal, as I don’t care to have Miss Winters see you boys any wuss than you are now, reckon I’ll move along,” drawled Wess.

  Cherry gave each in turn a ravishing smile, intended to convey the impression that she wished he were her escort rather than Wess. Then she trotted Patter
out on the desert after Wess.

  They climbed a gradual ascent to the level of the vast valley and faced the great red wall of rock that loomed a few miles westward. She rode abreast of Wess for a couple of miles, talking the while, then, reaching uneven ground, she had to fall behind on the rough trail. Wess halted at a clump of cedars.

  “Reckon this is as far as you’ll want me to go,” he announced. “Follow the trail right to where it goes into the cañon. You’ll see a big cave in the wall. That’s the old cliff dwellin’ where Mister Heftral is diggin’ around.”

  “Thank you, Wess. Will you wait for me?”

  “Wal, not if you’re ridin’ back with him,” Wess returned reluctantly. “But I want to be shore about it.”

  “I think you’d better wait. I’ll not be long.”

  Cherry had not ridden a hundred paces farther before she forgot all about Wess. The trail led down into a red-walled wash where muddy water flowed over quicksand, which she had to cross. She had already crossed this stream at a different point, though not alone. Here she had to use her own judgment. She made Patter trot across. Even then he floundered in the quicksand and splashed muddy water all over Cherry. Once he went in to his knees and Cherry’s heart leaped to her throat. But he plowed out safely. It was this sort of thing that so excited and pleased Cherry. All so new. And being alone made it tenfold more thrilling. The dusty trail, the zigzag climb, the winding in and out among rocks and through the cedars, with the great red wall looming higher and closer, the dry fragrance of desert and sage, the loneliness and wildness, meant more to Cherry this day than ever before. Not for anything would she let Stephen Heftral and her father into the secret that she was actually learning to love Arizona. The beauty and color and solitude, the vastness of it had called to something deep in her. First she had complained of the dust, the wind, the emptiness, the absence of people. But she had forgotten these. She was now not so sure but that she might like the hardship and primitiveness of the desert.

  Presently she rode out of the straggling cedars so that she could see fully the great wall. Cherry threw back her head to gaze upward.

  “Oh…wonderful!” she exclaimed. “I thought the New York buildings were high. But this!”

  It was a sheer red wall, rising with breaks and ledges to a cedar-fringed rampart high against the blue sky. The base was a slope of talus, where rocks of every size appeared about to totter and roll down upon her. Then Cherry discovered the cave. It was the most enormous hole she had ever seen, and she calculated that Trinity Church would be lost in it. The upper part disappeared in shadow; the lower showed a steep slope and ruined rock walls, which Cherry guessed were the remains of the cliff-dwellers’ homes. She was being impressed by the weirdness of the scene when she heard a shout and then spotted a man standing at the foot of the cave. It was Heftral. He waved to her and began to descend the slide of weathered rock. As he drew nearer to her level Cherry saw that he had indeed been working. How virile he looked. She quite forgot the object of her visit, and almost persuaded herself that if he was particularly nice she would climb up to see him at his work.

  “Howdy, Stephen!” she called, imitating the trader as nearly as possible. It struck Cherry then that Stephen did not appear overjoyed to see her.

  “Is your father with you?” he asked.

  “No. He went to town.”

  “I hope to goodness you didn’t ride up here alone,” he said.

  “Sure I did. And a dandy ride it was.”

  “Cherry!” he ejaculated.

  “Yes, Cherry,” she returned.

  He did not grasp any flippancy on her part. “Why did you do it?” he asked almost angrily.

  “Well, come to think of it I guess I wanted to see you and your work,” she returned innocently.

  “But you’ve been told not to ride out alone…away from the post.”

  “I know I have, and it makes me sick. Why not? I’m not a child, you know. Besides, there aren’t any kidnapers about, are there?”

  “Yes. Kidnapers and worse…Frankly, Miss Winters, I think you ought to have a good stiff lecture.”

  “I’m in a very good humor. So fire away.”

  “You’re a headstrong, willful girl,” he declared bluntly.

  “Stephen, you’re not very kind, considering that, well…I relented a little, and rode out here to see you,” she replied reproachfully.

  “I am thinking of you. Somebody has to stop you from taking these risks. The cowboys let you do anything, though they have been ordered to watch you, guard you. If your father can’t make you behave, somebody else must.”

  “And you’ve got a hunch you’re the somebody?” inquired Cherry laconically.

  “It seems presumptuous, absurd,” he answered stubbornly. “But I really fear I am.”

  “We’re both going to have a wonderful time,” Cherry said with a gay laugh. “But before you break loose on this reforming task let me confess I came alone only part way. I left Wess back down the trail at that gully.”

  “You did? But you told me…you lied…”

  “I wanted to see how you would take it,” she said as he hesitated.

  Heftral sat down on a slab of rock and regarded her as one baffled. “That’s the worst of you,” he asserted. “A man can’t quite give you up in despair or disgust. There always seems to be something wholesome under this damned frivolity of yours.”

  “I’m glad you are so optimistic,” returned Cherry.

  “No need to ask you how you are feeling,” Heftral observed. “Yesterday you were pale, drooping. Your father was really worried. And I…But today you look like a sago lily.”

  “Sago? That’s the name of your cañon, isn’t it? And what kind of a flower? Is it pretty?”

  “I think it the most exquisite in the world. Rare, rich, vivid. It blooms in the deep cañons in summer. I daresay you’ll not stay long enough to see one.”

  “Stephen, I never guessed you could be eloquent, or so good at blarney,” she said, studying him gravely. “I’m beginning to believe there are unknown possibilities in you for good…and maybe evil, too.”

  “Sure. You can never tell what a man may do…or be driven to.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me to get down and come in?” she asked archly.

  “You must pardon my manners,” he said, rising.

  Cherry slipped out of the saddle without accepting the hand he offered, and, leading Patter to a nearby cedar, she tied the bridle to a branch.

  “I want to see your cave.”

  “It’s pretty much of a climb.”

  “I suppose yesterday will stump you for some time,” she replied. “Can’t I have an off day once in a while without being considered a weakling? Come on, let’s go.”

  Cherry soon found that it was indeed a climb. Distances deceived her so strangely here in Arizona. There was a trail up to the cave, but it wound steep and rough, with many high steps from rock to rock. She was glad to accept Heftral’s hand, and when they surmounted the slope, she was breathless and hot. Heftral held her hand longer than necessary.

  “Oh-h gee!” Cherry panted, flopping down on a rock in the shade. “Some climb.”

  “You made it without a stop,” Heftral returned admiringly. “Your heart and lungs are sure all right…if your mind is gone.”

  “Mister Heftral!”

  “That’s your father’s assumption,” Heftral said dryly. “I don’t exactly share it.”

  “Maybe I am…just a healthy…moron,” Cherry laughed, removing her sombrero. “Wouldn’t it be fine if the desert and you developed me into a real woman?”

  “Morons don’t develop,” he replied, ignoring her intimation.

  Cherry now took stock of the archaeologist’s cave. It was an amazing cavern. She sat at the lower edge of the slope of its back wall, yet the vaulted roof, far overhead, reac
hed out into the cañon. A dry, dusty, musty odor, not unpleasant, permeated the place. The débris from the walls and slopes was red and yellow. Far up, Cherry discerned the remains of walls. In the largest section a small black window, like a vacant eye, stared down at her. It gave her a queer sensation. Human eyes had gazed out of that window ages ago. She saw a trench near her, with pick and shovel lying where Heftral had thrown them.

  “Mister Heftral, were you in the war?” Cherry asked suddenly.

  “Yes, a little while. Long enough to learn to dig. That’s about the only real good the service did me,” he replied somewhat bitterly.

  “You should be grateful. My friends who went to France came back no good. You certainly seem free of any injury.”

  “I am, I guess, except a twist in my mind. I only knew of it recently…last winter in fact.”

  “Indeed. And how does it affect you?” Cherry asked doubtfully.

  “I think it developed a latent weakness for beauty.”

  “In Nature?”

  “Oh, no. I always had that. It must be in…woman.”

  “Any woman. Well, that is no weakness. It’s a very commendable thing, and gives you a kinship with most men.”

  “Miss Winters, I didn’t say in any woman,” returned Heftral sharply.

  “Didn’t you? Very well, it doesn’t matter. Now, show me around the place and tell me all about your work.”

  Heftral had something on his mind. He did not seem natural. It was as if he had been compelled to be someone he was not. Cherry half regretted that she had not encouraged him to tell more about the woman he had a weakness for. So far she was inwardly elated with the success of her machinations.

  “You wouldn’t make much of a hit as a guide for lady tourists,” remarked Cherry after Heftral had shown her the several trenches he had dug, some bits of pottery, dry as powder, and the ruined walls.

  “On the contrary, I was a decided success for a party of schoolteachers who visited me here last summer,” declared Heftral.

  “Oh, then I have some inhibitory effect upon you,” remarked Cherry.