by Zane Grey
“Humph! That dirty-looking trader laughed in my face,” asserted Mrs. Sarland. “And as for the wasting of a whole hundred dollars…that’s your fault, too. You never knew how to bargain. You just throw money away. It drives me mad. You have no backbone, no stamina. Otherwise you’d have eloped with Cherry before her father ran off with her to this terrible place of rocks.”
“Eloped! My dear Mother, you don’t know Cherry Winters,” returned her son significantly.
“Perhaps we’d better not talk so loud or mention names,” remarked Mrs. Sarland apprehensively.
“Didn’t you try to tell that Indian guide and the car driver our family history? Hello! Here comes a white man. Tough-looking customer.”
“Oh, gracious, I hope he isn’t a desperado,” Mrs. Sarland replied in alarm.
This last from mother to son tickled Cherry so keenly that she was hard put to it to keep from hearty laughter. She peeped around the edge of her covert. Yes, Heftral was coming. He had spied the visitors, and he was peering everywhere for Cherry.
“How do you do,” greeted Heftral as he came up. “Your Indian told me of your arrival.”
“Very nice of him to find someone,” returned Mrs. Sarland gratefully.
“Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?”
“Missus Percival Smith Sarland, of New York, and her son Chauncey. Of course you’ve heard of us.”
“I regret to say I never have.”
Cherry giggled inwardly at this slight, because she had more than once told Stephen about the Sarlands.
“Indeed. I see. You’ve never been away from this raw crude Arizona,” replied Mrs. Sarland, apologizing for his ignorance. “Do many tourists come here to this Becky…something or other?”
“Very few. We don’t encourage them.”
“There, Mother. I told you so,” broke in Chauncey, who had been staring hard at Heftral.
“Is there any resort for tourists near?” asked Mrs. Sarland.
“Linn’s trading post is the nearest habitation of white folks. But you’d hardly call it a resort.”
“I should say not. We stopped there to get ready for this trip…May I ask your name?”
“Stephen Heftral, at your service, madam.”
“Heftral? Surely that’s the name we heard. You’re an archaeologist, I understand.”
“Yes, madam,” Heftral returned shortly.
“Work for the government, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re the Mister Heftral. Well, I’m sorry for you. There’s a Mister Elliott at the post now. He came the day we arrived. He’s from Washington, D.C. I heard Mister Linn say he was furious that you had gone to this Becky-place before the time scheduled, and it would likely cost you your job.”
“Mister Elliott at the post? Well, that is a surprise,” Heftral returned, quite perturbed.
“I daresay. It’s too bad. I’m sorry for you. But you might find decent work somewhere. You look stronger than those bowlegged cowboys.”
“Thank you. Yes, I think I am rather strong. You spoke of cowboys. Were they…did you see any around the post?”
“Cowboys! I rather think so. They nearly rode us down. Stopped our car to keep us from being killed by stampeding cattle. One of them was tow-headed, and pretty fresh, to say the least.”
“Cattle stampede. Oh, Lord,” Heftral muttered in distress.
“What did you say?” asked Mrs. Sarland.
“I…I was just talking to myself,” replied Heftral hastily.
“We are looking for Miss Cherry Winters and her party,” Chauncey interrupted with importance. “I’ll give you ten dollars to guide us to her camp.”
“There you go, Chauncey Sarland, flinging money to the four winds,” declared his mother.
“Miss Cherry Winters and party?” echoed Heftral.
“That’s what I said,” the young man returned testily. “Mister Winters informed me. I’m a very dear friend of Cherry’s…in fact of the family.”
“Did Winters say how many were in the…party?” inquired Heftral.
“No. I gathered there were several. People from the post. Where are they camped?”
“Not here. I have not seen any…party. Do you mean you’ve ridden all the way out here to see Miss Winters?”
“Certainly. Do you know her?” Chauncey replied suspiciously.
“I think I’ve seen the young woman,” said Heftral dryly.
“You haven’t. Any man who ever saw Cherry Winters wouldn’t think he’d seen her. He’d never forget her.”
“Oh, excuse me, perhaps I’m wrong. The person I saw was about twenty, and acted fifteen, and dressed as if she were ten. Very coy and vivacious, and wild, I may say. She was not bad-looking.”
“Miss Winters is strikingly beautiful, one of the loveliest girls in New York. Why Ziegfeld wanted to put her in the Follies,” young Sarland declared grandly.
The expression on Heftral’s face was something that made Cherry want to shout with glee.
Mrs. Sarland had been looking at the bits of broken pottery and stone utensils that lay carefully arranged on a flat rock.
“Is this the kind of bric-a-brac you dig for?” she inquired. “You appear to be careless with it.”
“It’s broken when we find it, madam. I could not be careless with such priceless relics.”
“Priceless? That lot of junk!” Chauncey interposed in amazement.
“We would like to see a little of your…your place here,” said Mrs. Sarland graciously. “Then I will engage you to find Miss Winters’s camp for us.”
“Beckyshibeta is very dangerous,” returned Heftral. “You have to climb over rough rocks.”
“Excuse me from climbing. But we’ll take a look. Come, Son.”
“I don’t care anything about Bechyshib- or Beckysharp,” responded Chauncey. “I want to see Cherry Winters.”
“What? After our long journey out here to see this wonderful place?”
“You called it beastly before Professor Heftral dropped in,” Chauncey replied scornfully.
“Oh, dear, this young generation. No appreciation of art or love of the beautiful.”
“I’ll have a look up the cañon to see if Miss Winters…and party…are camped near,” Heftral said, moving away with Mrs. Sarland.
Chauncey at last bent himself to the task of unsaddling his horse, which performance defined his status as a horseman. Cherry, convinced that the Sarlands would find her sooner or later, preferred to surprise Chauncey. So she took advantage of his occupation with horse and saddle to run back the way she had come. Then she boldly turned around the corner. Sarland was sauntering here and there, inspecting the camp, plainly nonplussed. Presently he heard Cherry’s step and wheeled.
“Oh!” Cherry cried, starting back.
“Cherry!” he burst out rapturously. “What luck! By heaven, I’m glad to see you!”
“Young man, you frightened me,” returned Cherry. “What are you doing here?”
Suddenly his gaze took in her apparel and his eyes popped. Cherry had not realized until that moment what a scarecrow she really was.
“Cherry Winters! Some get-up you’ve got on. You look like a ballet dancer. Lord, Mother will have a fit…Why, you’re showing bared, dirty, red knees!”
“See here, young fellow, you’re pretty impudent.”
“Why all the bluff, Cherry?” he asked with a laugh. “It’s great to see you again, even if you are a sight to make Fifth Avenue weep.” He approached her with outstretched arms and unmistakable intention.
“Don’t you dare. I’ll yell for my husband,” cried Cherry.
“Husband?”
“I said my husband.”
“Cherry Winters with a husband? Impossible!”
“I’m Missus Stephen Heftra
l, wife of the archaeologist in charge of the excavation here. You impudent young upstart!”
“Wife? Stephen Heftral? Good God! But you’re Cherry Winters. Your father said you were here.”
“You’re crazy. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“No, I’m not crazy, but you are.”
Cherry pointed imperiously down the cañon. “Take your horse and get out of here.”
“Cherry Winters, you can’t stall me like that,” he replied hotly. “I’ve come clear across the country to rescue you from your father. This is what I get! This is how I find you! It has a darned queer look!” His eyes held a sharp suspecting glint of anger and jealous doubt.
“Poor boy,” Cherry said solicitously. “You must have gotten away from your keeper. There. There. Run along and find him.”
Chauncey pointed to Cherry’s left hand. “If you’re Missus Heftral, where’s your wedding ring?”
“In the years I’ve lived here with my husband, I never saw the like of you,” declared Cherry. “Either you’re an escaped lunatic or a college freshman trying to impersonate Tom Mix. I’m going to call my husband.”
“Go ahead. It’ll be great when Mother claps eyes on you. Cherry, it’s your wheels that are twisted, not mine.” Then he seemed to become genuinely concerned. “You know, Cherry, you do look strained and queer. My God! You might have lost your memory. Cherry, you used to smoke too much!”
Cherry backed away, trying to elude him, but he got in front of her.
“No, you won’t escape that way. I’m going to make you remember.”
“Let me by!” Cherry cried wildly. She was really possessed with an infernal glee. What would Stephen say to this? “Get out, or I’ll have my Stephen decapitate you.”
“Cherry, dear, you’re strange. Your eyes. Try to concentrate. I’m Chauncey. Chauncey Sarland. Something terrible has been done to you or you’d remember me and how I love you. Why I couldn’t hurt a hair of your lovely head.”
Cherry kept maneuvering for a loophole to dodge through. “If you touch me, I’ll scream!”
Chauncey made a lunge and captured her, and, before Cherry could thwart his intention, he had grasped her hand and looked at her ring. “There! You are Cherry Winters. I know that diamond as well as if it were my own. It was a present from your father.”
“Stop mauling me,” cried Cherry, breaking free from him. “I don’t know you. I never saw you in my life! I’ll bet you’re one of those movie-mad boys and you’re trying to steal my ring.”
“You do it well, Cherry, if you’re not truly mad. There’s a nigger in the wood pile here, young lady, and I’m going to drag him out.”
Indeed there was, Cherry thought, and never in her wildest flights of imagination could she have planned anything so good. She almost wanted to hug Chauncey for happening along at this opportune hour. Then voices drew Chauncey’s attention and he hurried to meet Heftral, of whom Cherry caught a glimpse among the cedars. She ran up the rock slope to hide in a niche where she could not be easily discovered. When she got herself satisfactorily crouched, she peeped out with eyes that fairly danced. This was better than any comedy-drama she had ever seen. Chauncey and Heftral were approaching. Plain it was that Heftral was extremely annoyed or pretending to be. He had a sort of baffled look. His sweeping gaze about camp explained to Cherry one of the reasons he was so concerned. She wondered what had become of Mrs. Sarland.
Chauncey viewed the desert camp in dismay. “I’ll be damned!” he ejaculated.
“Will you please produce the young lady?” demanded Heftral stiffly.
“She’s gone.”
“My dear young fellow, she was never here.”
“I tell you she was,” Sarland retorted angrily. “Cherry,” he yelled. “You come back here. This has gone far enough.”
“I agree with you,” said Heftral.
“She was here. I talked with her, though she denied she was Cherry. She looked awful. Her clothes were soiled and torn…dress up to her neck. Most disgraceful! And either her reason’s gone or she’s a clever actress.”
At this point Mrs. Sarland appeared, red and puffing, and evidently of ruffled temper.
“Chauncey…this Mister Heftral…talks strange,” she panted. “He left me a few minutes ago most unceremoniously. There’s no other camp. Cherry isn’t here.”
“Yes she is, Mother. Or she was a moment ago,” Chauncey asserted positively. “But now she’s gone.”
“Gone! Where?”
“I haven’t an idea. She just vanished.”
“Why don’t you find her? You’ve chased her long and far…why not a little more? My son, you act queer.”
“There you are,” interposed Heftral with exaggerated conviction. “Why don’t you chase this hallucination of yours? I’m sorry indeed to see a fine young fellow like you, laboring under mental aberration.”
“What?” snapped Chauncey.
Heftral turned to Mrs. Sarland. “Have you ever had your son under observation or er…examined, you know?”
“You…you…commoner! How dare you!” burst out Mrs. Sarland.
“Really, I don’t mean offense. If he was all right, then it’s the long ride, the heat, the loneliness of the desert. These things act powerfully upon some persons, especially any who are not strong mentally and physically.”
Chauncey strode forward to confront Heftral with dark and angry mien. “See here, sir,” he said, “cut that stuff. You’re trying to string me. But you can’t do it. I tell you there was a girl here not ten minutes ago. If she wasn’t Cherry Winters then I am out of my head. But it was Cherry, and it’s she who is crazy. She doesn’t know who she is. She forgot she’s engaged to marry me.”
“Engaged to you!” Heftral ejaculated, taken aback.
“Yes, to me. Ask Mother.”
Heftral turned bewildered with a voiceless query.
“There was an understanding between my son and Miss Winters,” replied Mrs. Sarland. “No formal announcement, but all their friends knew.”
Heftral seemed stunned.
“Look here, Heftral,” Chauncey spoke up suddenly. “Are you a married man?”
“Certainly not,” replied Heftral, surprised into the truth.
“So! That’s it!” Chauncey shouted triumphantly. “I’ve a hunch you’re a damned villain. Wait until I find that girl!” He rushed to and fro, and finally disappeared around the corner.
“Missus Sarland, don’t you think I had better stop him?” queried Heftral in real concern. “This cañon is a big place. He could get lost or fall off a cliff. He’s so slim, he could almost slip down into a gopher hole.”
“I don’t care what happens,” Mrs. Sarland complained. “I’m overcome at this shocking turn of affairs. I’m beginning to think Cherry Winters was here. The fools men make of themselves over that girl…I wish I’d never come to your miserable old ruin. I’ll crumble myself before I get away.”
“Courage, madam. All is not lost!”
“Stop calling me madam,” replied the woman testily. “My name is Missus Sarland.”
“Pardon…Shall I endeavor to locate your son before he…?”
Chauncey hove in sight at that moment high up on the shelving rock. Cherry had caught sight of him before the others, and she tried to melt into the niche. But she was a little too substantial. Part of her protruded and young Sarland saw it.
“Aha!” he shouted, leaping down the slope. Cherry wanted least to show her face, because she was fighting a wild laugh, but, as soon as Chauncey laid rough hands on her, she blazed with wrath.
“Here you are. Come out of it,” he said exultantly. “Hey, you down there. I’ve found her.”
“Let go of me, you nincompoop!” cried Cherry.
“You shameless thing! No wonder you can’t face me…Out you come!”
“Let go! Stephen!” Cherry shrieked as Chauncey dragged her out. She wrenched free to glare at him.
“Sarland, I’ll knock your head off!” Heftral called loudly.
“So he is your party?” sneered Chauncey in jealous contempt. “I’m on to you, Cherry Winters. This beats any stunt you ever pulled back East. Came out West for a real kick, eh? Won’t it sound sweet back home?”
“Yes, and you’ll be just about the kind of fellow to blab it,” retorted Cherry.
“Come on down here. You’ve got to face them,” he said, snatching at her.
Cherry resisted until he was pulling her off her balance, and then she had almost to run to save herself. Sarland did not release her even when they reached a level. In fact, he dragged her in a most undignified, if not actually brutal way, toward his mother.
“Stephen!” Cherry cried in pain and mortification.
Heftral intercepted Sarland and gave him a resounding slap that was certainly equivalent to a blow. Sarland went down in a heap. His grand sombrero rolled in the dust.
“You blackguard!” Mrs. Sarland screamed. “To strike my son! You’ll suffer for this.”
Chauncey got tangled up in his long spurs and with difficulty restored his equilibrium.
“Say, you confounded young jackass,” Heftral declared coolly. “If you touch this lady again, I’ll take a real crack at you.”
“Don’t hit him, Stephen,” interposed Cherry, trying to recover her humor. “I don’t want his death on my hands.”
Then ensued an awkward silence. Chauncey went from white to red. He brushed the dust from his immaculate riding breeches, and picked up the huge velvet sombrero. Meanwhile, Mrs. Sarland was staring in wide-eyed recognition at Cherry.
“Well, Mother, do you know the young lady? Was I right or wrong?”
“Right, my son,” snapped Mrs. Sarland.
Whereupon Chauncey turned to the others. “Cherry, I’ve got the goods on you,” he said. “You needn’t take the trouble to keep up the farce any longer. What I can’t understand is that your father should tell us you were here.”
