by Zane Grey
In the piercing cold of that altitude, blown upon by the strong northwind, Nophaie gazed out and down upon the naked earth below. Dim, abysmal, obscure the depths from which he had toiled! Beauty and color were naught. Distance was lost. The great canyons were dark purple threads. Over all the immensity of ghastly desert brooded a spirit of desolation and death and decay. The sun blazed down a terrible truthfulness of light.
What Nophaie had climbed so desperately for seemed never to have been. He had spent the forces of his nature–the physical instincts. For that hour, perhaps forever, he had conquered. On the heights came a regurgitation of emotion, a flashing back of thought. There was blood on the worn edges of his moccasins; his finger nails were worn to the quick. The ache in his bones, the pang in his lungs, the deadness of his muscles attested to the nature of that climb. Hours could be measured as years!
Long after dark that night Nophaie dragged his bruised and weary body into camp, there to crawl into his bed and stretch his limbs, as if never to move them again. Sleep and rest, for days and nights, restored his strength, yet he knew that climb had been the supreme physical effort of his life. The strain of a hard football game had been as nothing. A hundred-mile run across the desert had been as nothing. Likewise Nophaie realized that he could never again climb the north wall of Nothsis Ahn. Powerful, fleet, sure, agile, enduring, keen- sighted and Indian-sinewed as he was, these faculties did not alone account for that superhuman task. The very inspiration for the climb had receded somehow, dimmed and paled back into the secret and mystic springs of his nature. But as the days and nights multiplied in the shadow of the silent walls Nophaie learned that the noble proof of his love for Marian was not in surrender to it. He would not drag her down to his level. Utterly impossible for him was a life among white men. He had been wronged, robbed, deprived of his inheritance. He saw the incredible brutality and ruthlessness of white men toward his race. He saw that race vanishing. He was the Vanishing American. He had no God, no religion, no hope. That strange hope born there in the canyon had been burned out in the fire kindled by Marian’s offer of love. Nature had fostered that hope. It had deluded him. It had been a veiled beautiful face lifted to him.
The silent walls heard Nophaie’s denial–and how strange a light gleamed on their faces! Benow di cleash loved him and he must break her heart. But grief would give her strength that his burden could never give. Nature in her inscrutable way had drawn Nophaie and the white girl together; and no doubt that merciless Nature divined a union which would further her evolutional designs. Nature recognized no religion, no God. Nature desired only birth, reproduction, death, in every living creature. Love was the blind and imperious tool of Nature. How could that love endure with age and death?
Days passed into weeks and weeks into months. Three times the Pahute came, and three times a white, thick letter stormed Nophaie’s soul–yet left him stronger.
He measured the passing of winter by the roar of wind on the slope of Nothsis Ahn, by the circling back of the sun, by the earlier dawns, by the hot days and the peeping of frogs at nightfall. He lived that swiftly flying time in his simple camp tasks, in wandering and climbing as if the unattainable would one day be his, in dreaming of Marian and writing thoughts and experiences for her, in study of the nature of his stone-walled retreat.
Not until a late day of his sojourn there did he explore the one remaining arm of canyon. What was his amaze and regret to find it beyond comparison with any of the others.
Three miles or more of exceedingly rough travel brought Nophaie to a point where this canyon changed its color, its height and width, its bed, its skyline, its every feature. Nophaie named it “Canyon of Gleams.” Its hue was the strange one of pale marble in the moonlight; its height sheerly perpendicular and incredible; its width six feet at the base, gradually widening in V-shape to perhaps fifty feet at the top; its bed was solid, smooth, grayish rock hard as iron, worn into deep smooth ruts by the rushing stream; and its skyline was a long, even, straight lane of blue as far as Nophaie could see. No bird, no lizard, no beetle or bee, no frog or insect, no living creature or sprig of vegetation crossed Nophaie’s vision. The hollow, reverberating, mocking voice of the stream was the only sound that could be heard. There was no wind. The uneven stream bed gleamed, the water gleamed, the walls gleamed, the band of sky gleamed.
Nophaie penetrated this gigantic split in the vast bulk of rock until his progress was impeded by a further narrowing of the canyon and a depth of water that would make it necessary to swim if he went on. By placing a foot on each wall and hitching himself up Nophaie reached a height from which he could see that the canyon extended a long way, with increasing obstacles. Did he hear a faint roar of waterfall? He determined to swim through there some day when the water lost its edge of ice.
This Canyon of Gleams grew to have an insatiable fascination for Nophaie. He wandered there often, never to find it altogether the same. The hollow bellow of water never changed. But all else! No direct sunlight ever penetrated that colossal rent. At night it was so black he had to feel his way out to the open part. Afternoon seemed the most wonderful there, by reason of some conformation of the rims above reflecting a thick, rich, tangible, gleaming light with tinge of gold. The gleams of water and wall were as mutable as the shades of sunset. Here Nophaie felt least the encroachment of the white man, the dominance of his knowledge, the loss of faith, the sacrifice of love, the imminence of unabatable grief.
The vast walls pressed close upon him, to give him the fear they might suddenly slip together and bury him forever in the bowels of the rock-ribbed earth. They were not dead things, these walls. They had a spiritual power, and were more beautiful than paintings. Indeed they seemed to be painted windows through which the soul of nature gleamed. Silent–always silent to Nophaie yet full of unuttered sounds! The Indian in him was comrade of the rocks. The earth was his mother. And all the sands of the sea and grains of the desert were rock, the vast upheaved magnificence of Nothsis Ahn was rock, and the desert. The earth itself was rock, and rock its foundations. Therefore the solid wall was his mother and the gleams were her smiles and the silence her unutterable voices.
Spring! The water of the brook swelled and lost its green for hint of yellow; the frogs changed their peeping to solemn croak and sweeter trill. The white primrose and the lavender daisy bloomed in sunny places. Blades of grass shot up as if by magic and the cottonwoods lost their gray. Nophaie grew restive. The hold of the silent walls lessened. In him were contending tides. Silence and solitude had dragged him to the verge. Forgetfulness, and the thoughtlessness of the Indian, had closely infringed upon his memory. Nature had importuned with all her insidious and supreme mastery over the senses. Hate and unbelief had trampled in vain on his soul. He was still free.
The day came when a loud call awoke the drowsy echoes of the silent canyon. It startled Nophaie. That had not been the voice of an Indian. Had the long solitude worked upon his mind? Nophaie ran to the wide gateway between the red walls. He saw horses, mules with packs, an Indian–and then out from the shade of a cedar strode Withers, mopping his heated face.
“Howdy, Nophaie!” he said, with smile and earnest gaze. “You look fine.”
Nophaie stirred to the warmth of the trader’s close handclasp. He returned it and that was all his response. Utterance seemed difficult. Long had his voice been silent. Besides, Withers bore a look of intense strain. He was thinner, older. A suppressed passion seemed rampant in him.
“Come out of the sun,” said Withers, turning. “It’s hot and I’ve ridden hard.”
A LOUD CALL AWOKE THE DROWSY ECHOES OF THE SILENT CANYON. NOPHAIE RAN TO THE GATEWAY BETWEEN THE WALLS. HE SAW HORSES, MULES WITH PACKS, AN INDIAN
Nophaie followed him to a seat on a flat rock in the shade. The moment seemed to hinge on strange events. The trader’s presence might mean that which must add to Nophaie’s burden.
“Throw saddles and packs right here,” said Withers to the Indian who had come wit
h him. “Nophaie, where is your horse?”
“Gone,” replied Nophaie. “I have not seen him for a long time.”
“I figured on that and I fetched one for you.”
“Withers, why did you bring me a horse?” queried Nophaie, conscious of an inward tremor.
“Because I think you’ll hit the trail back with me,” replied the trader, significantly.
“Has anything happened to Marian?”
“Sure–a lot’s happened. But she’s O.K.–well and fine.”
“Withers, it’s a long rough ride here. You’ve got a strong reason for coming yourself. Tell me.”
“Strong! Wal, it sure is strong,” retorted the trader, grimly.
“Why did you come?” demanded Nophaie.
“War!” flashed Withers.
In one bound Nophaie was on his feet, transfixed and thrilling.
“No!” he exclaimed.
“Yes, by God!” returned the other, and he too rose from his seat. A steel- gray flinty light shone from his eyes.
“Germany–and the United States?”
“Nophaie, you’ve said it!”
“Blucher–and the Indians?” Nophaie’s voice was quick and ringing.
“I haven’t a damned word to say about Blucher,” burst out Withers, passionately. “But I’ll tell you a few facts outside the reservation.... Germany sunk the Lusitania with American men, women, and children aboard.... She has torpedoed American trading vessels–threatened and bullied President Wilson–insulted the American flag.... Then she sent submarines to our very shores.... The President and Congress have declared war!”
Nophaie recalled Marian’s letters. Certain passages now seemed limned on his memory in letters of fire!–German militarism! Downfall of civilization! Death of freedom! Slavery of Americans!–By every right and law and heritage he- -Nophaie–was the first and best blood of America. The depths of his whole soul roused to strange fierce passion.
Withers held out a shaking hand.
“My son has gone,” he said, thickly. “Already!... He did not wait for the draft.”
“Draft! What is that?”
“A new law. A war law. Every young man between twenty-one and thirty-one is called to army and navy–to fight for his country.”
“Will this draft affect the Indians?” queried Nophaie, sharply.
“No. They can’t be drafted. But the government has appealed to all Indians to register. That means, as I understand it, an enrolling of the names and numbers of Indians–their horses and stock, so that the government can have this information for reference–for some use that is not clear to me. We’re all drawn into the war–whites and Indians. But no Indian can be compelled to go to war.”
“Can they go if they want?”
“Yes. And the call is strong for Indians to enlist.”
“I will go!”
Withers forced that shaking hand down on Nophaie’s shoulder, where it gripped hard. For an instant speech was beyond him. How strange the agitation of his rugged face! The unplumbed passions of the man had been upheaved.
“Nophaie, you don’t have to enlist. You owe nothing to the people of the United States. They have wronged you.”
“I am an American,” replied Nophaie sonorously.
“I didn’t come to ask you to go to war,” responded Withers, in earnest passion. “But I came to tell you this... the Nopahs are being lied to. They do not understand the idea of registering. They are being made to believe it is a ruse, a trick to get their names, their thumb marks on paper. They are being deceived into believing this register is only another white man lie–and if they sign they can be drafted.... Old Etenia met me on the way here. He said: ‘If the Big Chief at Washington wants my young braves for war why did he not ask them to go? The Nopahs have been warriors. But never have they been forced to fight.’ Another old Indian said, ‘Let the Germans kill all the Americans. Then we can get our land back and live in peace.'... Nophaie, this tribe of yours numbers over twenty thousand. They must not be made to believe they can be unjustly driven to war. The truth must be told them. This false rumor of government treachery–this damned propaganda must not spread further.”
Nophaie understood why the trader’s lips were sealed as to what he knew. Marian had prepared Nophaie for understanding of this fostering of hostility among the Indians.
“I will tell the Nopahs the truth,” he said. “I will take Indians with me to war.”
CHAPTER XVII
Nophaie bade a long farewell to his Canyon of Silent Walls. At the eastern portal–high above the narrow defile between ragged cliffs–he gazed down at the green valley with its wavy confines of red, and fixed that picture on his memory forever. A faint cold sensation–was it tremor or sinking of heart? went over him. Was it mystic portent that he would never again dream under those silent gleaming walls? He cast out the vague thought.
He and Withers made a record ride to the camp of the Pahutes, where they stayed overnight. Nophaie began his work there. None of the few Pahute men present, however, came within the prescribed limits of the war demands.
Another day brought Nophaie and the trader across the upland sage to the range of Etenia. The old Nopah had sons and relatives, and more horses and cattle than any other Indian in this quarter of the reservation. It was important that he be persuaded to accede to the act Withers had called registration.
Nophaie found himself received with a respect and deference. It augured well for the success of his new work among the Indians. Nophaie sought council with Etenia, which was granted; and the old Indian asked the honor of the trader’s presence. Nophaie had gone over in mind an exhortation he believed to be honest, eloquent, and persuasive, and which he believed would appeal to the Indians. This he delivered to Etenia with all the force he could muster.
The old Nopah smoked in silence. He had been deeply impressed, and could not at once reply to such a strong discourse. At last he spoke.
“Nophaie sees with the mind of the white man–far and wide. He should sit in the councils of the Nopahs. Etenia believes and will register his name. He will sell cattle and horses to the government. He will say to his sons–‘One of you shall go fight for America, for the white people, for the land where they keep us.’ Etenia will say his sons shall draw lots for him who is to go to war.”
That night Etenia had all his sons and relatives at his hogan in honor of Nophaie and to hear him speak. He ordered a feast to which Withers was invited. They ate and made merry and sang. Then the old Nopah rose to address the assembly. He was solemn and austere, darkly impassive, chieftainly in his dignity.
“Sons–and sons of my people–Etenia has come to many years. He has worked hard and he is rich. He owes no white man so much as a silver button. He owes no Indian.... Etenia has not the wisdom of the gods. He cannot heal like the medicine men. Etenia’s age makes him want to trust younger men. Therefore has he heeded Nophaie.
“Our white Father at Washington has declared war on a wicked people far across the broad water where the sun rises. These wicked people are warriors. They have long worked at the arts of war–they have long made guns and bullets and powder to prepare for war.... For three years now they have fought their neighbors–the white peoples who have sought to live in peace. And they are driving these good peoples out of their homes, killing men, women, and children. They will win the war unless our white Father at Washington sends many young warriors across the broad waters.
“Lies have been told us. Etenia’s sons do not have to go to war. The white men who have spread such lies are snakes in the grass. Their forefathers belonged to that wicked people who practice war. They are not Americans. They are not friends of the Indian.
“Etenia’s people are asked to register–to give their names to the government–and the number of their horses and cattle. Etenia believes Nophaie and the white trader. These men are not liars. Nophaie will ride over the ranges to carry truth to those who are being deceived. Etenia will register and he tells
his sons and all Indians to follow in his footsteps. He will give one of his sons to go to war with Nophaie.”
Then Nophaie rose to make his address, deeply stirred by the words of Etenia. And with ringing voice he damned the evil force at work on the reservation, and brought home to the dark, still-faced Nopahs the truth of the real danger that menaced them. He did not appeal directly to the Indians to enlist. But he finished his speech with a trenchant statement of his own stand.
“Nophaie will go to war. Nophaie and all the Nopahs are the first of Americans. He will fight for them. And he will believe he is fighting no more for the white people than he is fighting for the Indian and his land.”
When lots were drawn among the sons of Etenia it turned out that the youngest, the favorite of the old Nopah, the joy of his declining years, must be the one to go with Nophaie.
“Etenia says it is well,” declared the father, with lofty pride.
At Kaidab there was a crowd of Indians, and an unrest and excitement totally new and strange to the trading post.
Nophaie found the white people stirred and upset, under the stress of an emotion that none could control. Nophaie talked with all of them. The trader’s wife showed the strain of worry, and a mother’s fear for her son, and a suppressed anger and concern over the Indian situation. The Indians were excited. They collected in little groups and talked. Every hour saw more Nopahs ride into the trading post, and Nophaie found them sullen, distrustful, and hard to approach. But for his late rise to the dignity of one worth listening to he could not have gotten their ear at all. A subtle and powerful influence had been at work among them. Nophaie had guessed its origin and he discovered how and by whom it was being propagated. He realized at once that he had been too late to influence the Indians in a body and would have a difficult task to persuade them to register, let alone go to war. Nevertheless, he did not allow this unfortunate circumstance to deter him from his great task.
