The Water Hole

by Zane Grey

  He did not turn to see her outstretched arms, her convulsed face. And as Cherry could not speak, he bolted out in ignorance. Cherry closed her eyes, slowly recovering.

  “I thought…that was…my finish,” she whispered pantingly. “Poor boy…he never looked at me. Well, it’ll only be…all the sweeter.”

  Sixteen

  The sun had set when the car entered the heavy forest of pine that skirted the mountains. Snow was blowing. The wind was bitter cold, and moaned in the trees. How the car hummed on. Night fell, and the forest was black. The headlights cast broad gleams into the forest at the curves of the road, making specters of the dark pines.

  Soon, then, the street lamps of Flagstaff terminated that wonderful ride.

  In the hotel lobby, Cherry, indifferent to loungers there, held frozen ungloved hands to the open fire. She had learned the real good of fire, its dire necessity, as she had begun the learning of many other things.

  As Cherry turned, she saw a tall stoop-shouldered man, rather lean and scholarly, rise from a chair to accost Heftral.

  “How do you do, Mister Elliott,” Heftral said constrainedly. “How are you? This is my friend…and patron, I may add…Mister Winters, of New York.”

  “Ah! How do you do, Mister Winters,” returned Elliott rather slowly, extending his hand to meet Winters’s. “Patron? Of what, may I ask?”

  “Hardly patron, just yet,” Winters replied. “Heftral is a little previous, naturally.”

  “Yes, he is, indeed,” the doctor returned, not without sarcasm. “Overzealous, I may say, in estimating things. Dreamy when he should be scientific. Witness the ridiculous rumor just phoned in from Cameron.”

  “Rumor? What was it?” asked Heftral tersely.

  Cherry liked the lift of his head, and grew interested. No doubt this was the museum director who had discharged Stephen.

  “Some nonsense about your having discovered Beckyshibeta,” replied Elliott with a dry laugh. “It was telephoned in to the newspaper by a chauffeur. Annoying to me, to say the least.”

  Heftral glanced at Winters and said: “We stopped at Cameron for gas.”

  “Must have been the driver, Bill,” Winters replied sprightly, with a shrewd eye upon Elliott.

  “Yes, Doctor Elliott, it was…rather previous,” said Heftral in as dry a tone as the director’s. But there was fire in his eye.

  “Ahem. I’m waiting here for two of our men due from New Mexico. Expect to put them on the job from which I removed you. I trust Mister Linn, the trader, informed you of this move.”

  “Yes, Linn told me you had fired me. Mister Winters here will corroborate it.”

  Winters nodded in reply to the doctor’s questioning look, but he did not speak. Cherry knew the gleam in her father’s eye. He would say something presently.

  “Heftral, I was very sorry indeed to remove you,” Elliott went on blandly. “There’s no need to repeat my reasons. You’ve been advised often enough.”

  “Doctor Elliott, you need not distress yourself over doing what you considered your duty,” rejoined Heftral. “It certainly doesn’t distress me. In fact it was the only lucky thing that ever happened to me since my connection with the museum.”

  “Indeed. Excuse me if I fail to see any good fortune in that for you,” replied Elliott stiffly.

  “You never could see much about me. Perhaps you will when I tell you that after you removed me I discovered Beckyshibeta.”

  “What!” Elliott exclaimed incredulously.

  “I discovered Beckyshibeta,” Heftral repeated forcefully, truth clear in his paling face and piercing eye. “Probably the greatest of all pueblo ruins. I have my proof. Mister Winters and his daughter can substantiate my claim. Linn, the cowboys, and a Missus Sarland with her son were all there.”

  Speechlessly Dr. Elliott turned to Winters for corroboration of this astounding assertion.

  “Fact,” Winters said shortly. “I’m about to wire Doctor Bushnell, head of the museum. Also Jackson, a good friend of mine. Want them to know that I stand behind Heftral. It remains to be decided whether we shall let the museum in on the excavation work.”

  “Doctor Bushnell! Jackson!” ejaculated Elliott weakly. “May I ask…are you Mister Elijah Winters?”

  “The same, sir,” returned Winters, bowing, and abruptly left the astounded director to join Cherry beside the fire.

  “Cherry, old girl, did you get that?” he whispered. “I’m simply tickled pink, as you say…Now listen to Stephen lay him out cold.”

  Dr. Elliott seemed to be in the throes of amazement and consternation.

  “Ah! Indeed! So it’s true,” he began, floundering to retrieve himself. “Most remarkable. Incredible, I may say. But of course, I understand…a fact. You are most fortunate, Heftral, in your discovery and to have gained the interest of Elijah Winters. I congratulate you. And I…er…ahem…perhaps it is I who is somewhat previous. Pray forget your hasty dismissal. It really was not authentic…going through a third party. Somewhat irregular. We can adjust the matter amicably. In fact I…I’d consider it a favor if you will not mention the matter to our New York office.”

  “I’ve accepted my release, Doctor Elliott, thank you, and shall wire the museum to that effect,” Heftral replied with cold dignity, and bowed himself away.

  The director looked a dazed, beaten, and frightened man.

  “Say, Cherry, didn’t Stephen look great?” crowed Winters with gleeful pride. “What a coup for him. That will cost Elliott his job. And by gad, I’ll see that it’s offered to Heftral.”

  “Daddy, you like Stephen, don’t you?” Cherry asked softly.

  “Love him, you icicle. And you bet I’ll push him for keeps.”

  “You’re kind and good. I’m glad you…you care for him,” responded Cherry, and turned to gaze into the fire. “It’s too bad you…Stephen…I…Oh, words are idle and useless.”

  “Cherry, darling, just then you reminded me of your mother,” said her father with feeling. “It’s a long time since you’ve done that.”

  “Mother? I’m glad, Daddy. Perhaps…after this…this lesson of yours I will grow more like her.”

  “Cherry,” Winters whispered, bending over her, “you mean to go on with this cruel marriage and…”

  “Yes,” she returned, dropping her eyes.

  “It will kill Stephen.”

  “Nonsense. Men don’t die of unrequited love.”

  “If your mother had led me to the altar…and left me…I’m sure I’d never have lived to face it.”

  “Stephen Heftral is made of sterner stuff. Besides, he has a brilliant future…I’m tired now, Dad, and very hungry.”

  * * * * *

  The sunshine poured in at Cherry’s window, telling her that she had slept late, though this was to be the day of days. She lay watching the gold shadows on the curtain, aware of the fresh cool dry air on her face. Her active mind took up the development of plans where the night before she had left off. Her father had secured a Pullman drawing room on the Limited. The securing of this, or at least a compartment on the train, was of paramount importance. Only one more detail to arrange—the strongest link in the chain to her climax.

  Cherry arose, conscious of inward excitation and suspense. After all, she could not be sure of anything until she was Stephen’s wife. That would be the consummation of hopes, the allaying of fears. The rest would be like the denouement of a good play.

  She looked out of her window. How blue the sky. The mountain peaks stood up like dark spears. Patches of snow shone in the sunlight, running down to the edge of the vast green belt of forest land. She could see into the fields adjacent to town. Horses were romping with manes flying in the wind; red and white cattle were grazing on a grassy hill; the scattered pine trees seemed to call to her to come and ride. Cut-over timberlands led her gaze to distant foothills and thes
e to far-off black bluffs and hazy desert. Arizona! There was no place in the world so full of romance and beauty, and the natural things that stirred the soul.

  Cherry went into the little open parlor of the hotel, where her father sat before a cozy fire, reading a newspaper.

  “What a lazy bride-to-be,” he said good-humoredly. “We had breakfast long ago.”

  “’Mawnin’, Dad,” drawled Cherry. “Reckon I’ll have a cup of coffee and some toast up heah.”

  “You look very sweet and lovely for a prospective murderess,” he said. “Cherry, old dear, I give up forever trying to figure women.”

  “Fine. Now you will be the best of fathers. Where’s Stephen?”

  “He was here a moment ago with the marriage license. Lord, but he’s funny. Like a sleepwalker. I have made a ten o’clock appointment with a minister…Doctor Cardwell. Nice old chap. He’s from Connecticut. Came here years ago with lung trouble. His life had been despaired of in the East. But he’s hale and hearty now. I tell you, Cherry, this Arizonie, as Linn calls it, is a wonderful country.”

  “Arizona. Mellow, golden, sustaining, beautiful, clean with desert wind,” murmured Cherry, gazing down into the fire. “Presently I shall tell you what it has done for me.”

  “I’ll fetch your coffee and toast,” returned Winters with alacrity.

  The moments passed with Cherry musing. Presently her father entered, carrying a small tray. Heftral also came in. He wore a dark suit that showed his stalwart form to advantage. Cherry admired again the clean-shaven tanned face, lean and strong.

  “Good morning, Miss Winters,” he said with courtesy, but his steady gaze made Cherry almost feel a little uneasy in spite of herself. She gazed at him over her cup of coffee.

  “Howdy, Stephen. Are the horses ready?”

  “No,” he flashed. “But the taxi is.”

  Cherry laughed, her composure restored. How eager Heftral was to get this awful business settled. “Dad, you said our train left at seven something, didn’t you?”

  “Seven-ten. It’s the Limited and always on time,” he replied.

  “So long to wait. I wish for Mister Heftral’s sake it left hours earlier.”

  “Don’t worry about Stephen, my dear,” returned Winters. “We’ve got a lot to talk over and won’t bother you.”

  “Thank you. I’ll get my things on and be back pronto,” Cherry said, and hurried away to her room.

  Heftral showed that the strain was wearing upon him. Cherry thought it would be wise for her to see as little as possible of him after the wedding up until nearly train time. She felt nervous and tense herself. It wanted but a few minutes to 10:00. She put on her coat and hat, and a veil, which she carefully arranged. How white her face and big her eyes. Then she hurried back to join the gentlemen, who rose at her entrance.

  “I’m ready,” she said rather tremulously. “Is…everything arranged?”

  “Why, I’m sure it is, Cherry,” replied her father, turning to Heftral. “There’s not so much. Minister, license, taxi. What else?”

  “Mister Heftral, did you purchase a wedding ring?”

  “No,” he replied with the strangest of glances at her.

  “Then you must do so at once. I’ll go with you. Surely there’s a jeweler here.”

  “I have a wedding ring,” Heftral interrupted. “It was my mother’s. It hardly matters whether it fits or not.”

  “Doesn’t it? That’s all you know,” said Cherry. Her hands were trembling while she tried it on. “Oh, it’s a perfect fit…What a pretty ring! I like old-fashioned wedding rings best.”

  “Old-fashioned weddings, too,” added her father. “Lord, Cherry, I always dreaded one of those swell weddings for you. Might have saved myself a lot of worry. Come on. We’ll have this over in a jiffy.”

  He led her downstairs, through the lobby, and out to a waiting taxi. Heftral had evidently stopped behind for something. Presently he came out, and, squeezing into the taxi, he laid something on Cherry’s knee without a word. She tucked aside a corner of her veil and opened the loose paper package on her lap. Flowers of some kind. Then she thrilled. The tiny bouquet was composed of bits of cedar and juniper foliage, with their green and lavender berries, several wild roses, and a sprig of sage with the exquisite rare purple blossoms. Cherry was so deeply touched that she could not speak, and she quickly dropped the corner of veil, lest Stephen should see the havoc wrought by these sweet symbols from the desert.

  * * * * *

  The short ride, the simple brief ceremony, and the return to the hotel were like changing moments of a trance to Cherry. She would not have exchanged the simplicity of her marriage for all the pomp of royalty.

  Once more safe in her room she laid aside the bouquet, flung her gloves, tore off the veil, and threw aside hat and coat. And she did not recognize the face in the mirror. Cherry had never raved about her looks, but she gloried in them now.

  “It’s over. I’m his wife,” she whispered, kissing the slim band of gold on her finger. “Now. Now I’m safe…and oh, so unutterably happy! How can I wait to tell him? Suppose he ran off to his desert before I could. Oh, my bursting heart!”

  Cherry wept in the exaltation of that hour. It was long before composure returned, and then it was such composure as she had never known. No one would have guessed that she had cried like an overjoyous girl.

  Her father knocked at her door and called: “Cherry, we’ve arranged a lunch over here at a restaurant! Will you come?”

  “Indeed I will. Just a minute, Dad, and I’ll join you.” She dispensed with the veil this time. Let them be mystified at the glow on her face and the light in her eyes. They were only men who knew nothing of the wondrous strength and generosity of a woman’s heart. Then she went out.

  “My word, Cherry, but you look great!” Winters exclaimed with conscious pride.

  Heftral stared at her as if she were an impenetrable stone image hiding the truth of woman. Nevertheless, once seated at table, the constraint eased, and they enjoyed a capital luncheon.

  “Well, that was fine,” Winters said with satisfaction. “Now, Cherry, we’ll take you back to the hotel, where Stephen and I must go into an important conference over plans for work at Beckyshibeta.”

  “I shall not be lonely. I’ll visit the stores…and look out for cowboys,” replied Cherry gaily.

  “You’ll find cowboys on every corner,” warned Winters. “Be careful, Cherry,” he grimaced.

  “Wait, Dad, please,” Cherry replied, catching his sleeve. “I’ve something to tell you and…my husband.”

  Heftral winced at the first use of that word between them. Winters dropped back in his chair, sure of catastrophe.

  Cherry transfixed them with a glance in which long-past resentment and pain blended now with some emotion they could not name. “Gentlemen, do you recall one late afternoon at Linn’s trading post when you planned to kidnap me?”

  Heftral looked stricken and Winters gulped: “No. Can’t say I do.”

  “Tax your memory, Dad,” Cherry went on dryly. “It never was good. But this was a special occasion.”

  Heftral coughed uneasily. “I remember, Miss Winters.”

  “I am no longer Miss Winters,” corrected Cherry.

  “Pardon, Missus Heftral,” he corrected himself mockingly.

  “Dad, I was lying out in the hammock beside the open window when you made your infamous offer to Stephen Heftral,” said Cherry.

  “My God, no!” her father cried, thunderstruck. “I don’t believe you.”

  “Listen. You’ll believe your very own words,” replied Cherry, and went on to repeat many things that had been burned indelibly on her memory.

  “That’s enough,” suddenly interrupted her father, very red in the face. “I can see you were there.”

  “All the time you knew!” Heftral exclaimed, wide
-eyed and ashamed.

  “All the time,” replied Cherry, smiling at them.

  “Lord save me from another daughter,” burst out Winters helplessly.

  “I’ll run along now,” Cherry added, rising. “Thanks for the luncheon. I’ll remember it…Dad, we will wait for dinner on the train…Mister Heftral, you will go to the train with us to say good bye? Please. It will look better. Must I remind you…?”

  “No, you needn’t remind me of anything,” Heftral interrupted almost violently, dark and passionate pain and reproach in his eyes. “I’ll be at the train to bid…good bye…to my wife…forever.”

  “Ah…Thank you. Then all is well,” replied Cherry, averting her eyes. “Adiós till then.”

  As she glided away from them, out into the main restaurant, she heard her father say: “Stephen, my God…I need a drink.”

  Heftral’s reply followed with a sudden scrape of a chair on the floor. “Eli, you old villain, I’ll need two,” he said weakly. “And we’ll drink to all that’s left to me…Beckyshibeta.”

  * * * * *

  Cherry went out, tingling, blushing, glowing. It was even more fun, more satisfaction than she had anticipated. How flabbergasted her father had been. And she had dared only one fleeting look at the stricken Heftral. “All the time you knew,” he had cried. Cherry reflected that when he had returned to sanity, he would recall many things that might embarrass her. But she would take good care he never recovered his sanity. Then she went about the last few tasks needed to insure this blissful future for Heftral.

  First she engaged the hotel porter to fetch Heftral’s bag to the train with hers and her father’s. She made it clear to the bright-eyed colored lad—as well as remunerative—that Heftral was not to see this removal of baggage. Next she set out to look for some cowboys.

  But not until actually embarked on this quest did she realize its absurdity and risk, not to consider embarrassment. It was an early afternoon hour on Saturday. Flagstaff appeared full of cowboys and those she passed on the street were certainly not unaware of her presence. Finally, near the post office, Cherry located three typical cowboys standing beside a motion-picture advertisement that graced the corner of the block. It happened to be a vacant lot, which accounted, perhaps, for the cowboys being comparatively alone.