The Water Hole

by Zane Grey

  How soon could that be? Not yet had she planned any further than Flagstaff. No further than the hour that would make her Stephen’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 Cherry. 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 Cherry’s rapt mood: “Come on, Cherry! We’re off!” called her father.

  Very soon then Cherry 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. Heftral and the Indians were ahead, driving the pack animals. Linn was looking after the Sarlands. Winters rode ahead of Cherry. They crossed the boulder-strewn streambed, climbed the dusty soft red trail, and wound away through cedars. Cherry 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.

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

  Soon after that a bright campfire greeted Cherry 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. Sarland was bemoaning her state; Chauncey limped to his tasks; Winters 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 around the rocks and pierced through Cherry. How good the blazing bits of sage. She was ravishingly hungry.

  Cherry 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 gaiety in the company. Linn tried to make a few facetious remarks to Mrs. Sarland, but they fell flat. Cherry edged so close to the fire that she almost burned her boots. Heftral kept back in the shadow. She felt him watching her, and needed no more to keep her spirits high. Winters huddled on the ground on the other side of the fire, and his head drooped. Chauncey was silent and dejected. Mrs. Sarland 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 queried.

  “Wal, I reckon so,” replied Linn. “Coyotes are noisy an’ they’ll come right up an’ pull at your hat, when you’re in bed.”

  “Heavens! And we must sleep on the flat ground!”

  “You might bunk up on the rock. It’ll be tolerable windy…Miss Winters, aren’t you scared and frozen stiff?”

  “Both,” laughed Cherry. “But I think this is great. I love to hear those wild coyotes.”

  “No more desert for me,” sighed Mrs. Sarland.

  “Chauncey, surely you will come back to Arizona someday?” Cherry asked curiously.

  “What for?” he queried, fixing her with gloomy eyes.

  “Of course, Miss Winters, you’ll be coming back often to see your husband digging in that heap of stones?” added Mrs. Sarland.

  “Y-yes, but not very soon,” replied Cherry. “Father is coming back shortly to start the excavating of Beckyshibeta. Aren’t you, Dad?”

  “Sure. I’m going to dig a grave for myself out here,” growled her father.

  “Haw! Haw! Haw!” bawled the trader. “Did you heah that, Heftral? Wal, folks, you’ll all come back to old Arizona. I’ve yet to see the man or woman who’d slept out on this desert an’ didn’t want to come back.”

  “You all better turn in,” said Heftral. “Firewood scarce, and you’ll be called at dawn.”

  “Gracious, I forgot about bed!” exclaimed Cherry, giving her palms a last toast over the red coals. “Stephen, where’s my downy couch?”

  “Here,” he replied, and led her a few steps.

  “Ugh, it’s windy. I hate to think of bed on the cold rocks,” returned Cherry, trying to see in the dark.

  “Yours won’t be windy or cold or hard,” he replied briefly. “Here. There’s a foot of sage under your blankets, and a thick windbreak. You’ll be comfortable.”

  “Oh! You found time to do this for me?” she asked, looking up at him. The starlight showed his face dark and troubled, his eyes sad.

  “Certainly. It was little enough.”

  “Thank you, Stephen. You are good to me,” she said softly, and held out her hand.

  Heftral gave a start, clasped her hand convulsively, and rushed away without even saying good night.

  Cherry gazed a moment at his vanishing form. Then she plumped down on her bed. “Gee,” she whispered, “I want to be careful. He might grab me…and then it would be good night.”

  Removing only her boots, Cherry slipped down into the bed. How soft and fragrant of sage! Her pillow was a fleecy sheepskin, one she had seen in Heftral’s pack. Then her feet, bravely stretching down, suddenly came in contact with something hot. It startled her. Presently she made it out to be a hot stone wrapped in canvas. Heftral had heated this and put it in her bed. Let the desert wind blow! The white stars blinked down at her from the deep blue dome above. Had she ever thought them pitiless, indifferent, mocking? The wind swept with low moans through the sage; the coyotes kept up their wild staccato barks; the campfire died out and low voices of men ceased. Tranquil, cold, beautiful night enfolded the scene. And Cherry lay there wide-eyed, watching the heavens, wondering at the beauty and mystery of Nature, at the glory of love, marveling at the happiness that had been bestowed upon her unworthy self.

  Next day about midafternoon they rode across the wide barren stretch of desert to the post, the pack train far ahead with Heftral in the lead, and Linn trying to hold Mrs. Sarland in the saddle to the last. Cherry brought up the rear, so late that, when she reached the last level, all the others had disappeared in the green grove that surrounded the post.

  Mojave met Cherry at the gate, bareheaded, respectful, but with a face of woe.

  “Why, Mojave, have you lost your grandmother…or something?” ejaculated Cherry.

  “I reckon it’s worse, Miss Cherry,” he replied meaningly.

  “Oh, goodness! For a moment I felt sorry for you. Mojave boy, you keep shy of Eastern girls after this. They’re no good.”

  “Most of them aren’t, I reckon. B
ut I know one who’s an angel. An’ she’s gonna be married to a…”

  “Mojave, who told you?” interrupted Cherry as she slipped out of the saddle.

  “Thet big-mouthed, lop-eared, hard-headed Linn. He came a-roarin’ it to everybody, an’ no winter cyclone could have knocked us flatter.”

  “Mojave, honest now, aren’t you glad…for my sake?” asked Cherry sweetly. She liked this frank clean-cut cowboy.

  “Wal, Miss Cherry, since you ask me…yes, I am, seein’ I cain’t have you myself,” he replied with reddening face. “I never liked thet kidnapin’ stunt an’ didn’t understand. Shore, if we’d known you was engaged all the time, there’d never been such a mix-up. Poor old Wess, he was the hardest hit, I reckon.”

  “How about him, Mojave?” Cherry asked anxiously.

  “Gone. An’ mighty shamed of himself. Asked me to tell you he’d plumb lost his haid. An’ wanted you to know it wasn’t the first time.”

  “Well! What did he mean?”

  “I reckon Wess figgered thet if you knowed he’d made a fool of hisself over a gurl before, you wouldn’t feel so bad aboot what you did to him.”

  “He was man enough to confess his weakness. I call that square of him, don’t you, Mojave?”

  “It shore is. Wal, Wess was a good sort, when he wasn’t loco over a gurl, or full of licker.”

  “How are the other boys?”

  “They wasn’t so bad, till this news came. Reckon now they’re down at the bunkhouse drownin’ their grief. They shore left the work to me an’ the boss.”

  “How funny! What did they say?”

  “Wal, I can’t recollect all, but one crack I’ll never fergit. Tay-Tay busted out like this. ‘W-w-w-what the h-h-hell you think of thet grave robber? He’s s-s-sstole our gurl an’ he’s got a face like a sick c-c-cow!’”

  “Well, I never,” laughed Cherry. “Mister Heftral ought to look well and happy, oughtn’t he?”

  “He shore ought. I reckon, though, he feels turrible bad aboot your goin’ East an’ him havin’ to stay on account of Beckyshibeta. Linn told us. You can jest bet, Miss Cherry, no cowboy would let you go off alone.”

  “I fancy not,” she said, quickly. “But you mustn’t think ill of Mister Heftral. The discovering of the pueblo has upset all our plans. It’s very important. I’m hoping to persuade him to go East with us for a few weeks, but I have some very urgent business reasons for going back immediately with Father. Please regard that as confidential, Mojave. And tell the boys we’ll be leaving early in the morning. I wouldn’t want to miss saying good bye.”

  When Mojave had left, Cherry breathed a sigh of relief. Her excuse had been a lame one, but the honest cowboy had apparently swallowed it without a second thought.

  Cherry then went on into the house, first encountering Mrs. Linn, to whose warm greeting she responded. The Indian maid showed shy gladness at Cherry’s safe return. Linn came bustling in with Winters, both of them blushing and coughing. Cherry thought her father looked much better and she guessed why. The Sarlands were evidently in their rooms, and Heftral was not in sight.

  “Mister Linn, we shall want to leave early in the morning,” said Cherry.

  “Aw, Miss Cherry. One more day,” he entreated.

  “I’m sorry, but we must go. Some other time we shall come and stay longer. Dad, I’ll change and pack now. Will you please tell Stephen I want to talk to him presently. Say in an hour. Tell him to knock at my door.”

  “All right, star-eyed enigma,” returned her father, with puzzled glance upon her.

  Cherry rushed to her room, and lost no time in bathing. She put on her most fetching gown, one of those scant creations that Heftral had hated, yet could not resist. How swiftly her blood ran! What a glow on her face! Indeed her eyes were like stars. Would Heftral see—would he be proud and wretched at once—would he betray himself? While she packed, her mind whirled, keeping pace with her racing pulse. If she had not conceived a grand finale to this desert romance, she was a poor judge of wit and humor. Her father would be completely floored and, best of all, won forever. Heftral? But no stretch of imagination could picture Heftral as she hoped to see him.

  A tap sounded on the door. It startled Cherry. She caught her breath and her hand went to her breast. She glanced at her mirror and the image she saw there quickened her agitation. But as quickly she recovered her composure.

  “Come in,” she said.

  But the door did not move, nor was the rap repeated. Cherry went swiftly and opened it. Heftral stood there. She had not seen him like this.

  “Oh, it’s you, Stephen. I’d forgotten. Come in. I want to talk to you.”

  He did not make any move to enter and apparently he was dumb.

  “Well, you’re very reserved…and considerate, all of a sudden,” she said sarcastically. “Pray don’t be shy about entering my bedroom now…Please come in.”

  Heftral entered reluctantly. There was no bully about him now. “What do you want? Was it necessary to ask me here?”

  “Yes, I think so. The living room is not private. And I want to ask a particular favor of you. Will you grant it?”

  He went to the window and looked out. Then presently he turned with an almost grim look. “Yes…anything.”

  “Thank you, Stephen,” she went on, going close to him, quite closer than was necessary. Every moment made Cherry more sure of herself. There was a strange and magical sweetness in this sincerity of deceit. Yet was it deceit? She risked a great deal, trusting to his mood, his humility. It was a woman’s perverse thrilling desire to tempt him. But if he should seize her in his arms…Even so, she would carry out her plan.

  “Before I ask the favor, I want to tell you that I would rather have had this otherwise.”

  “Ha! Maybe I wouldn’t!” he exclaimed. “But what do you mean?”

  “It’s hard to say. Partly I’d like to have spared you this.”

  “Never mind about me. What’s the favor you’d ask?”

  “Stephen, you are going to marry me…aren’t you?”

  “Certainly. Unless you change your mind.”

  “Everybody knows it. Everybody thinks we’ve been engaged.”

  “That appears to be the way Linn and your father have spread it on,” he replied in bitterness.

  “What is the object of this marriage?” she asked, proudly lifting her head.

  “Your father says…and you say…to save your reputation.”

  “Yes. My honor…And I fear your sacrifice will fail if you continue to look and act as you do. You are no happy bridegroom to be. Tay-Tay said you had a face like a sick cow. You certainly look wretched. If you don’t cheer up and change…act and look like a lover…the Sarlands will guess the truth. So will the cowboys. Not to mention those in Flagstaff with whom we come in contact. It is a tremendous bluff we are playing. I can do my part. You see that I look happy, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do,” he answered miserably. “And so help me God, I can’t understand you. Always you seem a lie.”

  “All women are actresses, Stephen. I shall not fail here. And I ask this last favor of you. Look and play the part of an accepted lover. For my sake.”

  “My God! Cherry Winters, you can ask that of a man whose only crime has been to love you so well? And who must lose you!”

  “Stephen, if you loved me that well, you could die for me.”

  “I could, far more easily than do what you ask. It is almost an insupportable ordeal you set me. I was never much at hiding my feelings.”

  “Stephen, the Sarlands and the cowboys must not guess this marriage is a…a fake.”

  “I grant that. And I know I look like a poor lost devil. But I thought that’d seem natural to everybody. They all heard I was not going East.”

  “You don’t know women, my desert friend. Missus Sarland is keen as a whip. If
you can deceive her…make this engagement seem real and of long standing, you will stop her wagging tongue. Then after I get to New York, I can find ways socially to please her. Right here is the danger.”

  “Perhaps you see it more clearly than I,” Heftral said mournfully. “Anyway, I’ll accept your judgment.”

  “Then you will grant my favor?” asked Cherry, beginning to succumb to repressed emotion.

  “Favor? I call it the hardest job ever given me. Marrying you will be nothing, compared to this damned hypocrisy you ask.”

  “I do ask, Stephen. I beg of you. Now at the last I confess I’m not so brazen. I’m afraid of scandal. Nothing bad ever has touched my name yet. All this modern stuff about freedom, independence, license is rot. Face to face with the truth, I beg of you…do this thing for me. At any cost.”

  “Yes…Cherry,” he gulped, and leaned against the window.

  Cherry’s reserve strength had oozed out in expression. She waited in suspense. She saw his lean jaw quiver and the cords set in his neck. He turned to transfix her with accusing eyes.

  “On one condition,” he said.

  “Condition. What?” she whispered.

  “This, then, is the last time you and I will ever be alone together?” he asked huskily.

  She was past falsehood and could only stare mutely at him.

  “Of course it must be. Well, my price for your favor is that you let me…No! I will not bargain…You lovely heartless thing…you’d only refuse. I’ll take what will give me strength to do your bidding.”

  Cherry backed against the wall, her hands against her breast, as if to ward him off. But when like a whirlwind he seized her in his arms, he never knew those trembling hands locked around his neck. Mad with grief and unrequited love, he crushed her to his breast and pressed wild unsatisfied kisses upon her closed eyes, her parted lips, her neck. And releasing her as suddenly, he staggered to the door, like a blinded man, and leaned his face against it, sobbing: “Cherry! Cherry! Cherry!”