by Zane Grey
She took opportunity during that long ride to find out if the young man had known Rosa Rogers before; but he frankly told her that he had just come West to visit his sister, was bored to death because he didn’t know a soul in the whole State, and until he had seen her had not laid eyes on one whom he cared to know. Yet while she could not help enjoying the gay badinage, she carried a sense of uneasiness whenever she thought of the young girl Rosa in her pretty fairy pose, with her fluttering pink fingers and her saucy, smiling eyes. There was something untrustworthy, too, in the handsome face of the man beside her.
There was just one shadow over this bit of a holiday. Margaret had a little feeling that possibly some one from the camp might come down on Saturday or Sunday, and she would miss him. Yet nothing had been said about it, and she had no way of sending word that she would be away. She had meant to send Mom Wallis a letter by the next messenger that came that way. It was all written and lying on her bureau, but no one had been down all the week. She was, therefore, greatly pleased when an approaching rider in the distance proved to be Gardley, and with a joyful little greeting she drew rein and hailed him, giving him a message for Mom Wallis.
Only Gardley’s eyes told what this meeting was to him. His demeanor was grave and dignified. He acknowledged the introductions to the rest of the party gracefully, touched his hat with the ease of one to the manner born, and rode away, flashing her one gleam of a smile that told her he was glad of the meeting; but throughout the brief interview there had been an air of question and hostility between the two men, Forsythe and Gardley. Forsythe surveyed Gardley rudely, almost insolently, as if his position beside the lady gave him rights beyond the other, and he resented the coming of the stranger. Gardley’s gaze was cold, too, as he met the look, and his eyes searched Forsythe’s face keenly, as though they would find out what manner of man was riding with his friend.
When he was gone Margaret had the feeling that he was somehow disappointed, and once she turned in the saddle and looked wistfully after him; but he was riding furiously into the distance, sitting his horse as straight as an arrow and already far away upon the desert.
“Your friend is a reckless rider,” said Forsythe, with a sneer in his voice that Margaret did not like, as they watched the speck in the distance clear a steep descent from the mesa at a bound and disappear from sight in the mesquite beyond.
“Isn’t he fine-looking? Where did you find him, Miss Earle?” asked Mrs. Temple, eagerly. “I wish I’d asked him to join us. He left so suddenly I didn’t realize he was going.”
Margaret felt a wondering and pleasant sense of possession and pride in Gardley as she watched, but she quietly explained that the young stranger was from the East, and that he was engaged in some kind of cattle business at a distance from Ashland. Her manner was reserved, and the matter dropped. She naturally felt a reluctance to tell how her acquaintance with Gardley began. It seemed something between themselves. She could fancy the gushing Mrs. Temple saying, “How romantic!” She was that kind of a woman. It was evident that she was romantically inclined herself, for she used her fine eyes with effect on the young officer who rode with her, and Margaret found herself wondering what kind of a husband she had and what her mother would think of a woman like this.
There was no denying that the luxury of the ranch was a happy relief from the simplicity of life at the Tanners’. Iced drinks and cushions and easy-chairs, feasting and music and laughter! There were books, too, and magazines, and all the little things that go to make up a cultured life; and yet they were not people of Margaret’s world, and when Saturday evening was over she sat alone in the room they had given her and, facing herself in the glass, confessed to herself that she looked back with more pleasure to the Sabbath spent with Mom Wallis than she could look forward to a Sabbath here. The morning proved her forebodings well founded.
Breakfast was a late, informal affair, filled with hilarious gaiety. There was no mention of any church service, and Margaret found it was quite too late to suggest such a thing when breakfast was over, even if she had been sure there was any service.
After breakfast was over there were various forms of amusement proposed for her pleasure, and she really felt very much embarrassed for a few moments to know how to avoid what to her was pure Sabbath-breaking. Yet she did not wish to be rude to these people who were really trying to be kind to her. She managed at last to get them interested in music, and, grouping them around the piano after a few preliminary performances by herself at their earnest solicitation, coaxed them into singing hymns.
After all, they really seemed to enjoy it, though they had to get along with one hymn-book for the whole company; but Margaret knew how to make hymn-singing interesting, and her exquisite voice was never more at its best than when she led off with “My Jesus, as Thou Wilt,” or “Jesus, Saviour, Pilot Me.”
“You would be the delight of Mr. Brownleigh’s heart,” said the hostess, gushingly, at last, after Margaret had finished singing “Abide With Me” with wonderful feeling.
“And who is Mr. Brownleigh?” asked Margaret. “Why should I delight his heart?”
“Why, he is our missionary—that is, the missionary for this region—and you would delight his heart because you are so religious and sing so well,” said the superficial little woman. “Mr. Brownleigh is really a very cultured man. Of course, he’s narrow. All clergymen are narrow, don’t you think? They have to be to a certain extent. He’s really quite narrow. Why, he believes in the Bible literally, the whale and Jonah, and the Flood, and making bread out of stones, and all that sort of thing, you know. Imagine it! But he does. He’s sincere! Perfectly sincere. I suppose he has to be. It’s his business. But sometimes one feels it a pity that he can’t relax a little, just among us here, you know. We’d never tell. Why, he won’t even play a little game of poker! And he doesn’t smoke! Imagine it—not even when he’s by himself, and no one would know! Isn’t that odd? But he can preach. He’s really very interesting; only a little too Utopian in his ideas. He thinks everybody ought to be good, you know, and all that sort of thing. He really thinks it’s possible, and he lives that way himself. He really does. But he is a wonderful person; only I feel sorry for his wife sometimes. She’s quite a cultured person. Has been wealthy, you know. She was a New York society girl. Just imagine it; out in these wilds taking gruel to the dirty little Indians! How she ever came to do it! Of course she adores him, but I can’t really believe she is happy. No woman could be quite blind enough to give up everything in the world for one man, no matter how good he was. Do you think she could? It wasn’t as if she didn’t have plenty of other chances. She gave them all up to come out and marry him. She’s a pretty good sport, too; she never lets you know she isn’t perfectly happy.”
“She is happy; mother, she’s happier than anybody I ever saw,” declared the fourteen-year-old daughter of the house, who was home from boarding-school for a brief visit during an epidemic of measles in the school.
“Oh yes, she manages to make people think she’s happy,” said her mother, indulgently; “but you can’t make me believe she’s satisfied to give up her house on Fifth Avenue and live in a two-roomed log cabin in the desert, with no society.”
“Mother, you don’t know! Why, any woman would be satisfied if her husband adored her the way Mr. Brownleigh does her.”
“Well, Ada, you’re a romantic girl, and Mr. Brownleigh is a handsome man. You’ve got a few things to learn yet. Mark my words, I don’t believe you’ll see Mrs. Brownleigh coming back next month with her husband. This operation was all well enough to talk about, but I’ll not be surprised to hear that he has come back alone or else that he has accepted a call to some big city church. And he’s equal to the city church, too; that’s the wonder of it. He comes of a fine family himself, I’ve heard. Oh, people can’t keep up the pose of saints forever, even though they do adore each other. But Mr. Brownleigh ce
rtainly is a good man!”
The vapid little woman sat looking reflectively out of the window for a whole minute after this deliverance. Yes, certainly Mr. Brownleigh was a good man. He was the one man of culture, education, refinement, who had come her way in many a year who had patiently and persistently and gloriously refused her advances at a mild flirtation, and refused to understand them, yet remained her friend and reverenced hero. He was a good man, and she knew it, for she was a very pretty woman and understood her art well.
Before the day was over Margaret had reason to feel that a Sabbath in Arizona was a very hard thing to find. The singing could not last all day, and her friends seemed to find more amusements on Sunday that did not come into Margaret’s code of Sabbath-keeping than one knew how to say no to. Neither could they understand her feeling, and she found it hard not to be rude in gently declining one plan after another.
She drew the children into a wide, cozy corner after dinner and began a Bible story in the guise of a fairy-tale, while the hostess slipped away to take a nap. However, several other guests lingered about, and Mr. Temple strayed in. They sat with newspapers before their faces and got into the story, too, seeming to be deeply interested, so that, after all, Margaret did not have an unprofitable Sabbath.
But altogether, though she had a gay and somewhat frivolous time, a good deal of admiration and many invitations to return as often as possible, Margaret was not sorry when she said good night to know that she was to return in the early morning to her work.
Mr. Temple himself was going part way with them, accompanied by his niece, Forsythe, and the young officer who came over with them. Margaret rode beside Mr. Temple until his way parted from theirs, and had a delightful talk about Arizona. He was a kindly old fellow who adored his frivolous little wife and let her go her own gait, seeming not to mind how much she flirted.
The morning was pink and silver, gold and azure, a wonderful specimen of an Arizona sunrise for Margaret’s benefit, and a glorious beginning for her day’s work in spite of the extremely early hour. The company was gay and blithe, and the Eastern girl felt as if she were passing through a wonderful experience.
They loitered a little on the way to show Margaret the wonders of a fern-plumed cañon, and it was almost school-time when they came up the street, so that Margaret rode straight to the school-house instead of stopping at Tanners’. On the way to the school they passed a group of girls, of whom Rosa Rogers was the center. A certain something in Rosa’s narrowed eyelids as she said good morning caused Margaret to look back uneasily, and she distinctly saw the girl give a signal to young Forsythe, who, for answer, only tipped his hat and gave her a peculiar smile.
In a moment more they had said good-by, and Margaret was left at the school-house door with a cluster of eager children about her, and several shy boys in the background, ready to welcome her back as if she had been gone a month.
In the flutter of opening school Margaret failed to notice that Rosa Rogers did not appear. It was not until the roll was called that she noticed her absence, and she looked uneasily toward the door many times during the morning, but Rosa did not come until after recess, when she stole smilingly in, as if it were quite the thing to come to school late. When questioned about her tardiness she said she had torn her dress and had to go home and change it. Margaret knew by the look in her eyes that the girl was not telling the truth, but what was she to do? It troubled her all the morning and went with her to a sleepless pillow that night. She was beginning to see that life as a school-teacher in the far West was not all she had imagined it to be. Her father had been right. There would likely be more thorns than roses on her way.
CHAPTER XX
The first time Lance Gardley met Rosa Rogers riding with Archie Forsythe he thought little of it. He knew the girl by sight, because he knew her father in a business way. That she was very young and one of Margaret’s pupils was all he knew about her. For the young man he had conceived a strong dislike, but as there was no reason whatever for it he put it out of his mind as quickly as possible.
The second time he met them it was toward evening and they were so wholly absorbed in each other’s society that they did not see him until he was close upon them. Forsythe looked up with a frown and a quick hand to his hip, where gleamed a weapon.
He scarcely returned the slight salute given by Gardley, and the two young people touched up their horses and were soon out of sight in the mesquite. But something in the frightened look of the girl’s eyes caused Gardley to turn and look after the two.
Where could they be going at that hour of the evening? It was not a trail usually chosen for rides. It was lonely and unfrequented, and led out of the way of travelers. Gardley himself had been a far errand for Jasper Kemp, and had taken this short trail back because it cut off several miles and he was weary. Also, he was anxious to stop in Ashland and leave Mom Wallis’s request that Margaret would spend the next Sabbath at the camp and see the new curtains. He was thinking what he should say to her when he saw her in a little while now, and this interruption to his thoughts was unwelcome. Nevertheless, he could not get away from that frightened look in the girl’s eyes. Where could they have been going? That fellow was a new-comer in the region; perhaps he had lost his way. Perhaps he did not know that the road he was taking the girl led into a region of outlaws, and that the only habitation along the way was a cabin belonging to an old woman of weird reputation, where wild orgies were sometimes celebrated, and where men went who loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil.
Twice Gardley turned in his saddle and scanned the desert. The sky was darkening, and one or two pale stars were impatiently shadowing forth their presence. And now he could see the two riders again. They had come up out of the mesquite to the top of the mesa, and were outlined against the sky sharply. They were still on the trail to old Ouida’s cabin!
With a quick jerk Gardley reined in his horse and wheeled about, watching the riders for a moment; and then, setting spurs to his beast, he was off down the trail after them on one of his wild, reckless rides. Down through the mesquite he plunged, through the darkening grove, out, and up to the top of the mesa. He had lost sight of his quarry for the time, but now he could see them again riding more slowly in the valley below, their horses close together, and even as he watched the sky took on its wide night look and the stars blazed forth.
Suddenly Gardley turned sharply from the trail and made a detour through a grove of trees, riding with reckless speed, his head down to escape low branches; and in a minute or two he came with unerring instinct back to the trail some distance ahead of Forsythe and Rosa. Then he wheeled his horse and stopped stock-still, awaiting their coming.
By this time the great full moon was risen and, strangely enough, was at Gardley’s back, making a silhouette of man and horse as the two riders came on toward him.
They rode out from the cover of the grove, and there he was across their path. Rosa gave a scream, drawing nearer her companion, and her horse swerved and reared; but Gardley’s black stood like an image carved in ebony against the silver of the moon, and Gardley’s quiet voice was in strong contrast to the quick, unguarded exclamation of Forsythe, as he sharply drew rein and put his hand hastily to his hip for his weapon.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Forsythe”—Gardley had an excellent memory for names—“but I thought you might not be aware, being a new-comer in these parts, that the trail you are taking leads to a place where ladies do not like to go.”
“Really! You don’t say so!” answered the young man, insolently. “It is very kind of you, I’m sure, but you might have saved yourself the trouble. I know perfectly where I am going, and so does the lady, and we choose to go this way. Move out of the way, please. You are detaining us.”
But Gardley did not move out of the way. “I am sure the lady does not know where she is going,” he said, firmly. �
��I am sure that she does not know that it is a place of bad reputation, even in this unconventional land. At least, if she knows, I am sure that her father does not know, and I am well acquainted with her father.”
“Get out of the way, sir,” said Forsythe, hotly. “It certainly is none of your business, anyway, whoever knows what. Get out of the way or I shall shoot. This lady and I intend to ride where we please.”
“Then I shall have to say you cannot,” said Gardley; and his voice still had that calm that made his opponent think him easy to conquer.
“Just how do you propose to stop us?” sneered Forsythe, pulling out his pistol.
“This way,” said Gardley, lifting a tiny silver whistle to his lips and sending forth a peculiar, shrilling blast. “And this way,” went on Gardley, calmly lifting both hands and showing a weapon in each, wherewith he covered the two.
Rosa screamed and covered her face with her hands, cowering in her saddle.
Forsythe lifted his weapon, but looked around nervously. “Dead men tell no tales,” he said, angrily.
“It depends upon the man,” said Gardley, meaningly, “especially if he were found on this road. I fancy a few tales could be told if you happened to be the man. Turn your horses around at once and take this lady back to her home. My men are not far off, and if you do not wish the whole story to be known among your friends and hers you would better make haste.”
Forsythe dropped his weapon and obeyed. He decidedly did not wish his escapade to be known among his friends. There were financial reasons why he did not care to have it come to the ears of his brother-in-law just now.
