by Zane Grey
The Sarlands had thawed considerably. They hovered around Heftral, fascinated, and warming to the man’s enthusiasm. When at last they went off to their camp, Linn said: “Wal, Winters, can you dig up a drink?”
“No. I didn’t bring any,” Winters replied regretfully.
“How aboot you, Heftral?”
“I had some for possible snakebite, but it leaked out.”
Linn turned over his saddle and procured a flask. “Heah, friends, we’ll drink to Beckyshibeta!”
What a long time they were in getting ready for bed. At last Heftral was left alone. He sat for what seemed an endless hour, gazing into the ruddy dying fire. What was he thinking about? Fame and fortune, the goddesses of all men’s ambitions, thought Cherry jealously. Certainly he did not appear to remember her.
The moon soared across the narrow opening between the rims of rock above; the dark shadow on one side of the cañon moved magically across to the other. An impenetrable silence enfolded the lonely place. Cherry had sat up peeping until her back ached. Several times she lay down again, only to rise up and peep once more. Heftral was a magnet. She laughed happily under her breath as she watched him. If he but knew!
Winters and Linn lay prone in their beds, deep in slumber. It touched Cherry to see the silver of her father’s hair, bright in the moonlight.
Heftral glanced rather markedly and long at them. Then stepping noiselessly, he entered the zone of shadow and vanished. But soon the outline of his head and shoulders were silhouetted against the moonlight. Cherry gave a wild start and shrank back. He was climbing to her ledge.
The sudden burning of her face and beating of her heart accompanied a panic she could not quell. But she covered herself with the blankets and feigned sleep. To her own eyes it had been almost as bright as day up there. But Heftral, coming from the open moonlight, would find it dark. Yet if he stayed long enough. A child could read her heart in her face. She heard a slight rustling on the rock, and she began to tremble. Then ensued a long lapse in which her acute senses registered nothing. Next she felt his presence. He was there, gazing down upon her. How could she lie still? What was his intention? Then she divined that he would surely awaken her, and she sought to still her nerves. Something lightly brushed her hair. His hand or his lips? Another instant she knew, for she caught a slight sound of intense breathing very close to her face. He had kissed her hair. Cherry stiffened with the demand she made upon her sensibilities. If he dared to kiss her lips, her rigid arms would fly up around his neck. She knew it. She waited, surrendering in her heart, ready to end the fight royally.
But instead he touched her softly and whispered: “Cherry.”
That saved her. She caught at her ebbing self-control, and her conscious-swift thought balanced her emotion.
“Cherry,” he whispered. “Wake up. It is I…Stephen.”
She opened her eyes, not needing to pretend a start. She saw him distinctly—his face pale, rapt. He kneeled beside her.
“Oh! Who? What?” she faltered.
“Don’t be frightened,” he said swiftly and low. “It’s Stephen. I couldn’t wait till tomorrow.”
“Mister Heftral…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?” she queried, trying to give her voice some fitness to the words.
“Cherry, 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.”
Cherry maintained a silence, the cause of which evidently he took very differently from what it actually was.
“Cherry, 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 of my boudoir, have I?” she replied, and put a hand out to lift her pillow.
Heftral possessed himself of that hand and held it tightly. He bent over her. Cherry could see fairly well in the dim light.
“Thank you,” he said huskily. “I’ll be relieved and happy to get this off my mind…Cherry, 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 Elliott 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.”
“Mister Heftral,” Cherry replied 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…Cherry, 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. Now I have the 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.”
“I am glad. 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.”
“Cherry!”
“You have ruined my good name,” she went on gravely. “It’s Dad’s fault, but that does not excuse you.”
“Oh, Cherry, 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…Cherry, will you marry me?”
Cherry 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, Cherry. Oh, you never fooled me. That gay idle luxurious life never brought out the best in you. There’s a lot in you, Cherry. 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, Mister Heftral,” 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!”
“Stephen, 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…¿Quién sabe? But now it’s too late!”
“Cherry, you can’t be so little as that,” he pleaded, in torture. “If you liked me at all, it must 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…Mister Heftral, 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.”
Cherry knew that was true, and just then hated herself for the passion that held her to her pride and revenge. She knew also that she must end this talk abruptly or yield to him.
“Mister Heftral, 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, alas! I shall insist that you take me to Flagstaff at once…and give me the protection of your name. I shall go to New York, and free you there.”
“Oh, Cherry!” 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 Missus Stephen Heftral,” he answered bitterly, and went silently down the ledge, disappearing in the shadow.
Fifteen
Cherry 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 satisfiedv 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 Stephen 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 Stephen worshiped her—and how thrillingly she believed it—dared not yield to it!—a few more days on the desert and then that marvelous climax she must devise to follow their marriage in Flagstaff 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!
And when that last thought swiftly passed, Cherry let herself go. She scarcely divined it, but that was the moment of her change. Long she had guessed its proximity. Would it not be a receding of the flesh? But when she succumbed to love, when she descended from selfishness, egotism, independence to the humble grateful adoring woman she climbed immeasurably. She had a long sweet hour of revel in Stephen’s love, in his manliness, his honesty, his ambition, and lastly in his faith that not even she could destroy. How glorious that was to Cherry! Never had she been anywhere so good and worthy as he believed her, but she would attain that height in this very hour of submission, of humanity, of gratitude.
Following that best and happiest hour of Cherry’s life came a flashing illumination to her mind. And it took only a flash to see where she had been wrong, and what was wrong with the life she had led. In the tumult of her heart and the transition of her character she saw hope for all her friends, for everyone. Modern life and materialism, with their leaning to the fleshpots of Egypt, could not destroy wholly the best thing in any woman—love
Cherry lay long awake. Sleep would have robbed her. The night wore on. The silver gleam on the walls paled, darkened, vanished. And the cañon grew black, mysterious, silent as a tomb. But by intense concentration Cherry heard a very faint 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 cañon.
Cherry 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. Heftral acquainted me with your wishes and intentions. We will leave for the post and Flagstaff 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.”
Cherry 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 Heftral should continue to be sad about her and the mess she was going to make out of her life.
Cherry 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 Stephen.
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. Cherry did not need to hide her feelings any longer. She would let Heftral and her father make their own deductions regarding her happiness.
As she descended the ledge she heard Mrs. Sarland squeal with delight. Something had excited her. Heftral and Linn were busy packing. Breakfast steamed on the fire. The Indians were coming up with the horses. A pang tore Cherry’s heart. Only an hour more, perhaps less, of these gleaming cañon walls! But she would come back. The gentlemen were not blind to her changed attire and mood, though they did not make any demonstration over her. Indeed she could not catch Heftral’s eye.
Mrs. Sarland 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 Cherry, surprised and pleased, as she took her ring. “I’m very glad for you, Missus Sarland. 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. Sarland fervently.
Chauncey came up and tipped his sombrero to Cherry. But his sour look did not fit his graceful gesture. Cherry did not need to be told that her father had passed on the important news. The Sarlands might be civil, but Chauncey, at least, would never forgive her. Cherry reflected that it might not matter how they felt or what they did. She would be careful, however, to make it plain to Heftral and her father that she feared the Sarlands and desired to placate them.
Cherry had her breakfast alone. One of the Indians left his task and stood nearby, apparently fascinated at the sight of her. Heftral kept his back turned and worked hard on the packs.
“Stephen, 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.”
“Linn made this coffee,” replied Heftral brusquely.
“Oh.” But nothing could have hurt Cherry this wonderful morning. Nothing except leaving her cañon. She went aside by herself so that she could feel and think, unaffected by Heftral 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 around. 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 cañon swifts darted by, their wings shining in the sunlight, the sweet dry sage fragrance filled her nostrils.
Cherry 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 Stephen 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 cañon.
