The Zane Grey Megapack

by Zane Grey

  “Señor, señor!” suddenly whispered Mercedes, clinging to him. “Listen! I hear horses coming!”

  CHAPTER III

  A FLIGHT INTO THE DESERT

  Uneasy and startled, Gale listened and, hearing nothing, wondered if Mercedes’s fears had not worked upon her imagination. He felt a trembling seize her, and he held her hands tightly.

  “You were mistaken, I guess,” he whispered.

  “No, no, señor.”

  Dick turned his ear to the soft wind. Presently he heard, or imagined he heard, low beats. Like the first faint, far-off beats of a drumming grouse, they recalled to him the Illinois forests of his boyhood. In a moment he was certain the sounds were the padlike steps of hoofs in yielding sand. The regular tramp was not that of grazing horses.

  On the instant, made cautious and stealthy by alarm, Gale drew Mercedes deeper into the gloom of the shrubbery. Sharp pricks from thorns warned him that he was pressing into a cactus growth, and he protected Mercedes as best he could. She was shaking as one with a severe chill. She breathed with little hurried pants and leaned upon him almost in collapse. Gale ground his teeth in helpless rage at the girl’s fate. If she had not been beautiful she might still have been free and happy in her home. What a strange world to live in—how unfair was fate!

  The sounds of hoofbeats grew louder. Gale made out a dark moving mass against a background of dull gray. There was a line of horses. He could not discern whether or not all the horses carried riders. The murmur of a voice struck his ear—then a low laugh. It made him tingle, for it sounded American. Eagerly he listened. There was an interval when only the hoofbeats could be heard.

  “It shore was, Laddy, it shore was,” came a voice out of the darkness. “Rough house! Laddy, since wire fences drove us out of Texas we ain’t seen the like of that. An’ we never had such a call.”

  “Call? It was a burnin’ roast,” replied another voice. “I felt low down. He vamoosed some sudden, an’ I hope he an’ his friends shook the dust of Casita. That’s a rotten town Jim.”

  Gale jumped up in joy. What luck! The speakers were none other than the two cowboys whom he had accosted in the Mexican hotel.

  “Hold on, fellows,” he called out, and strode into the road.

  The horses snorted and stamped. Then followed swift rustling sounds—a clinking of spurs, then silence. The figures loomed clearer in the gloom. Gale saw five or six horses, two with riders, and one other, at least, carrying a pack. When Gale got within fifteen feet of the group the foremost horseman said:

  “I reckon that’s close enough, stranger.”

  Something in the cowboy’s hand glinted darkly bright in the starlight.

  “You’d recognize me, if it wasn’t so dark,” replied Gale, halting. “I spoke to you a little while ago—in the saloon back there.”

  “Come over an’ let’s see you,” said the cowboy curtly.

  Gale advanced till he was close to the horse. The cowboy leaned over the saddle and peered into Gale’s face. Then, without a word, he sheathed the gun and held out his hand. Gale met a grip of steel that warmed his blood. The other cowboy got off his nervous, spirited horse and threw the bridle. He, too, peered closely into Gale’s face.

  “My name’s Ladd,” he said. “Reckon I’m some glad to meet you again.”

  Gale felt another grip as hard and strong as the other had been. He realized he had found friends who belonged to a class of men whom he had despaired of ever knowing.

  “Gale—Dick Gale is my name,” he began, swiftly. “I dropped into Casita tonight hardly knowing where I was. A boy took me to that hotel. There I met an old friend whom I had not seen for years. He belongs to the cavalry stationed here. He had befriended a Spanish girl—fallen in love with her. Rojas had killed this girl’s father—tried to abduct her.… You know what took place at the hotel. Gentlemen, if it’s ever possible, I’ll show you how I appreciate what you did for me there. I got away, found my friend with the girl. We hurried out here beyond the edge of town. Then Thorne had to make a break for camp. We heard bugle calls, shots, and he was away without leave. That left the girl with me. I don’t know what to do. Thorne swears Casita is no place for Mercedes at night.”

  “The girl ain’t no peon, no common Greaser?” interrupted Ladd.

  “No. Her name is Castaneda. She belongs to an old Spanish family, once rich and influential.”

  “Reckoned as much,” replied the cowboy. “There’s more than Rojas’s wantin’ to kidnap a pretty girl. Shore he does that every day or so. Must be somethin’ political or feelin’ against class. Well, Casita ain’t no place for your friend’s girl at night or day, or any time. Shore, there’s Americans who’d take her in an’ fight for her, if necessary. But it ain’t wise to risk that. Lash, what do you say?”

  “It’s been gettin’ hotter round this Greaser corral for some weeks,” replied the other cowboy. “If that two-bit of a garrison surrenders, there’s no tellin’ what’ll happen. Orozco is headin’ west from Agua Prieta with his guerrillas. Campo is burnin’ bridges an’ tearin’ up the railroad south of Nogales. Then there’s all these bandits callin’ themselves revolutionists just for an excuse to steal, burn, kill, an’ ride off with women. It’s plain facts, Laddy, an’ bein’ across the U.S. line a few inches or so don’t make no hell of a difference. My advice is, don’t let Miss Castaneda ever set foot in Casita again.”

  “Looks like you’ve shore spoke sense,” said Ladd. “I reckon, Gale, you an’ the girl ought to come with us. Casita shore would be a little warm for us tomorrow. We didn’t kill anybody, but I shot a Greaser’s arm off, an’ Lash strained friendly relations by destroyin’ property. We know people who’ll take care of the señorita till your friend can come for her.”

  Dick warmly spoke his gratefulness, and, inexpressibly relieved and happy for Mercedes, he went toward the clump of cactus where he had left her. She stood erect, waiting, and, dark as it was, he could tell she had lost the terror that had so shaken her.

  “Señor Gale, you are my good angel,” she said, tremulously.

  “I’ve been lucky to fall in with these men, and I’m glad with all my heart,” he replied. “Come.”

  He led her into the road up to the cowboys, who now stood bareheaded in the starlight. They seemed shy, and Lash was silent while Ladd made embarrassed, unintelligible reply to Mercedes’s thanks.

  There were five horses—two saddled, two packed, and the remaining one carried only a blanket. Ladd shortened the stirrups on his mount, and helped Mercedes up into the saddle. From the way she settled herself and took the few restive prances of the mettlesome horse Gale judged that she could ride. Lash urged Gale to take his horse. But this Gale refused to do.

  “I’ll walk,” he said. “I’m used to walking. I know cowboys are not.”

  They tried again to persuade him, without avail. Then Ladd started off, riding bareback. Mercedes fell in behind, with Gale walking beside her. The two pack animals came next, and Lash brought up the rear.

  Once started with protection assured for the girl and a real objective point in view, Gale relaxed from the tense strain he had been laboring under. How glad he would have been to acquaint Thorne with their good fortune! Later, of course, there would be some way to get word to the cavalryman. But till then what torments his friend would suffer!

  It seemed to Dick that a very long time had elapsed since he stepped off the train; and one by one he went over every detail of incident which had occurred between that arrival and the present moment. Strange as the facts were, he had no doubts. He realized that before that night he had never known the deeps of wrath undisturbed in him; he had never conceived even a passing idea that it was possible for him to try to kill a man. His right hand was swollen stiff, so sore that he could scarcely close it. His knuckles were bruised and bleeding, and ached with a sharp pain. Considering the thickness of his heavy glove, Gale was of the opinion that so to bruise his hand he must have struck Rojas a powerful blow. He remembere
d that for him to give or take a blow had been nothing. This blow to Rojas, however, had been a different matter. The hot wrath which had been his motive was not puzzling; but the effect on him after he had cooled off, a subtle difference, something puzzled and eluded him. The more it baffled him the more he pondered. All those wandering months of his had been filled with dissatisfaction, yet he had been too apathetic to understand himself. So he had not been much of a person to try. Perhaps it had not been the blow to Rojas any more than other things that had wrought some change in him.

  His meeting with Thorne; the wonderful black eyes of a Spanish girl; her appeal to him; the hate inspired by Rojas, and the rush, the blow, the action; sight of Thorne and Mercedes hurrying safely away; the girl’s hand pressing his to her heaving breast; the sweet fire of her kiss; the fact of her being alone with him, dependent upon him—all these things Gale turned over and over in his mind, only to fail of any definite conclusion as to which had affected him so remarkably, or to tell what had really happened to him.

  Had he fallen in love with Thorne’s sweetheart? The idea came in a flash. Was he, all in an instant, and by one of those incomprehensible reversals of character, jealous of his friend? Dick was almost afraid to look up at Mercedes. Still he forced himself to do so, and as it chanced Mercedes was looking down at him. Somehow the light was better, and he clearly saw her white face, her black and starry eyes, her perfect mouth. With a quick, graceful impulsiveness she put her hand upon his shoulder. Like her appearance, the action was new, strange, striking to Gale; but it brought home suddenly to him the nature of gratitude and affection in a girl of her blood. It was sweet and sisterly. He knew then that he had not fallen in love with her. The feeling that was akin to jealousy seemed to be of the beautiful something for which Mercedes stood in Thorne’s life. Gale then grasped the bewildering possibilities, the infinite wonder of what a girl could mean to a man.

  The other haunting intimations of change seemed to be elusively blended with sensations—the heat and thrill of action, the sense of something done and more to do, the utter vanishing of an old weary hunt for he knew not what. Maybe it had been a hunt for work, for energy, for spirit, for love, for his real self. Whatever it might be, there appeared to be now some hope of finding it.

  The desert began to lighten. Gray openings in the border of shrubby growths changed to paler hue. The road could be seen some rods ahead, and it had become a stony descent down, steadily down. Dark, ridged backs of mountains bounded the horizon, and all seemed near at hand, hemming in the plain. In the east a white glow grew brighter and brighter, reaching up to a line of cloud, defined sharply below by a rugged notched range. Presently a silver circle rose behind the black mountain, and the gloom of the desert underwent a transformation. From a gray mantle it changed to a transparent haze. The moon was rising.

  “Señor I am cold,” said Mercedes.

  Dick had been carrying his coat upon his arm. He had felt warm, even hot, and had imagined that the steady walk had occasioned it. But his skin was cool. The heat came from an inward burning. He stopped the horse and raised the coat up, and helped Mercedes put it on.

  “I should have thought of you,” he said. “But I seemed to feel warm… The coat’s a little large; we might wrap it round you twice.”

  Mercedes smiled and lightly thanked him in Spanish. The flash of mood was in direct contrast to the appealing, passionate, and tragic states in which he had successively viewed her; and it gave him a vivid impression of what vivacity and charm she might possess under happy conditions. He was about to start when he observed that Ladd had halted and was peering ahead in evident caution. Mercedes’ horse began to stamp impatiently, raised his ears and head, and acted as if he was about to neigh.

  A warning “hist!” from Ladd bade Dick to put a quieting hand on the horse. Lash came noiselessly forward to join his companion. The two then listened and watched.

  An uneasy yet thrilling stir ran through Gale’s veins. This scene was not fancy. These men of the ranges had heard or seen or scented danger. It was all real, as tangible and sure as the touch of Mercedes’s hand upon his arm. Probably for her the night had terrors beyond Gale’s power to comprehend. He looked down into the desert, and would have felt no surprise at anything hidden away among the bristling cactus, the dark, winding arroyos, the shadowed rocks with their moonlit tips, the ragged plain leading to the black bold mountains. The wind appeared to blow softly, with an almost imperceptible moan, over the desert. That was a new sound to Gale. But he heard nothing more.

  Presently Lash went to the rear and Ladd started ahead. The progress now, however, was considerably slower, not owing to a road—for that became better—but probably owing to caution exercised by the cowboy guide. At the end of a half hour this marked deliberation changed, and the horses followed Ladd’s at a gait that put Gale to his best walking-paces.

  Meanwhile the moon soared high above the black corrugated peaks. The gray, the gloom, the shadow whitened. The clearing of the dark foreground appeared to lift a distant veil and show endless aisles of desert reaching down between dim horizon-bounding ranges.

  Gale gazed abroad, knowing that as this night was the first time for him to awake to consciousness of a vague, wonderful other self, so it was one wherein he began to be aware of an encroaching presence of physical things—the immensity of the star-studded sky, the soaring moon, the bleak, mysterious mountains, and limitless slope, and plain, and ridge, and valley. These things in all their magnificence had not been unnoticed by him before; only now they spoke a different meaning. A voice that he had never heard called him to see, to feel the vast hard externals of heaven and earth, all that represented the open, the free, silence and solitude and space.

  Once more his thoughts, like his steps, were halted by Ladd’s actions. The cowboy reined in his horse, listened a moment, then swung down out of the saddle. He raised a cautioning hand to the others, then slipped into the gloom and disappeared. Gale marked that the halt had been made in a ridged and cut-up pass between low mesas. He could see the columns of cactus standing out black against the moon-white sky. The horses were evidently tiring, for they showed no impatience. Gale heard their panting breaths, and also the bark of some animal—a dog or a coyote. It sounded like a dog, and this led Gale to wonder if there was any house near at hand. To the right, up under the ledges some distance away, stood two square black objects, too uniform, he thought, to be rocks. While he was peering at them, uncertain what to think, the shrill whistle of a horse pealed out, to be followed by the rattling of hoofs on hard stone. Then a dog barked. At the same moment that Ladd hurriedly appeared in the road a light shone out and danced before one of the square black objects.

  “Keep close an’ don’t make no noise,” he whispered, and led his horse at right angles off the road.

  Gale followed, leading Mercedes’s horse. As he turned he observed that Lash also had dismounted.

  To keep closely at Ladd’s heels without brushing the cactus or stumbling over rocks and depressions was a task Gale found impossible. After he had been stabbed several times by the bayonetlike spikes, which seemed invisible, the matter of caution became equally one of self-preservation. Both the cowboys, Dick had observed, wore leather chaps. It was no easy matter to lead a spirited horse through the dark, winding lanes walled by thorns. Mercedes horse often balked and had to be coaxed and carefully guided. Dick concluded that Ladd was making a wide detour. The position of certain stars grown familiar during the march veered round from one side to another. Dick saw that the travel was fast, but by no means noiseless. The pack animals at times crashed and ripped through the narrow places. It seemed to Gale that any one within a mile could have heard these sounds. From the tops of knolls or ridges he looked back, trying to locate the mesas where the light had danced and the dog had barked alarm. He could not distinguish these two rocky eminences from among many rising in the background.

  Presently Ladd let out into a wider lane that appeared to run strai
ght. The cowboy mounted his horse, and this fact convinced Gale that they had circled back to the road. The march proceeded then once more at a good, steady, silent walk. When Dick consulted his watch he was amazed to see that the hour was still early. How much had happened in little time! He now began to be aware that the night was growing colder; and, strange to him, he felt something damp that in a country he knew he would have recognized as dew. He had not been aware there was dew on the desert. The wind blew stronger, the stars shone whiter, the sky grew darker, and the moon climbed toward the zenith. The road stretched level for miles, then crossed arroyos and ridges, wound between mounds of broken ruined rock, found a level again, and then began a long ascent. Dick asked Mercedes if she was cold, and she answered that she was, speaking especially of her feet, which were growing numb. Then she asked to be helped down to walk awhile. At first she was cold and lame, and accepted the helping hand Dick proffered. After a little, however, she recovered and went on without assistance. Dick could scarcely believe his eyes, as from time to time he stole a sidelong glance at this silent girl, who walked with lithe and rapid stride. She was wrapped in his long coat, yet it did not hide her slender grace. He could not see her face, which was concealed by the black mantle.