Desert Gold and the Light of Western Stars

by Zane Grey

  Gale fetched the padre, a little, wizened, timid man who was old and without interest or penetration. Apparently he married Mercedes and Thorne as he told his beads or mumbled a prayer. It was Mrs. Belding who kept the occasion from being a merry one, and she insisted on not exciting Thorne. Gale marked her unusual pallor and the singular depth and sweetness of her voice.

  “Mother, what’s the use of making a funeral out of a marriage?” protested Belding. “A chance for some fun doesn’t often come to Forlorn River. You’re a fine doctor. Can’t you see the girl is what Thorne needed? He’ll be well to-morrow, don’t mistake me.”

  “George, when you’re all right again we’ll add something to present congratulations,” said Gale.

  “We shore will,” put in Ladd.

  So with parting jests and smiles they left the couple to themselves.

  Belding enjoyed a laugh at his good wife’s expense, for Thorne could not be kept in bed, and all in a day, it seemed, he grew so well and so hungry that his friends were delighted, and Mercedes was radiant. In a few days his weakness disappeared and he was going the round of the fields and looking over the ground marked out in Gale’s plan of water development. Thorne was highly enthusiastic, and at once staked out his claim for one hundred and sixty acres of land adjoining that of Belding and the rangers. These five tracts took in all the ground necessary for their operations, but in case of the success of the irrigation project the idea was to increase their squatter holding by purchase of more land down the valley. A hundred families had lately moved to Forlorn River; more were coming all the time; and Belding vowed he could see a vision of the whole Altar Valley green with farms.

  Meanwhile everybody in Belding’s household, except the quiet Ladd and the watchful Yaqui, in the absence of disturbance of any kind along the border, grew freer and more unrestrained, as if anxiety was slowly fading in the peace of the present. Jim Lash made a trip to the Sonoyta Oasis, and Ladd patrolled fifty miles of the line eastward without incident or sight of raiders. Evidently all the border hawks were in at the picking of Casita.

  The February nights were cold, with a dry, icy, penetrating coldness that made a warm fire most comfortable. Belding’s household usually congregated in the sitting-room, where burning mesquite logs crackled in the open fireplace. Belding’s one passion besides horses was the game of checkers, and he was always wanting to play. On this night he sat playing with Ladd, who never won a game and never could give up trying. Mrs. Belding worked with her needle, stopping from time to time to gaze with thoughtful eyes into the fire. Jim Lash smoked his pipe by the hearth and played with the cat on his knee. Thorne and Mercedes were at the table with pencil and paper; and he was trying his best to keep his attention from his wife’s beautiful, animated face long enough to read and write a little Spanish. Gale and Nell sat in a corner watching the bright fire.

  There came a low knock on the door. It may have been an ordinary knock, for it did not disturb the women; but to Belding and his rangers it had a subtle meaning.

  “Who’s that?” asked Belding, as he slowly pushed back his chair and looked at Ladd.

  “Yaqui,” replied the ranger.

  “Come in,” called Belding.

  The door opened, and the short, square, powerfully built Indian entered. He had a magnificent head, strangely staring, somber black eyes, and very darkly bronzed face. He carried a rifle and strode with impressive dignity.

  “Yaqui, what do you want?” asked Belding, and repeated his question in Spanish.

  “Señor Dick,” replied the Indian.

  Gale jumped up, stifling an exclamation, and he went outdoors with Yaqui. He felt his arm gripped, and allowed himself to be led away without asking a question. Yaqui’s presence was always one of gloom, and now his stern action boded catastrophe. Once clear of trees he pointed to the level desert across the river, where a row of campfires shone bright out of the darkness.

  “Raiders!” ejaculated Gale.

  Then he cautioned Yaqui to keep sharp lookout, and, hurriedly returning to the house, he called the men out and told them there were rebels or raiders camping just across the line.

  Ladd did not say a word. Belding, with an oath, slammed down his cigar.

  “I knew it was too good to last.… Dick, you and Jim stay here while Laddy and I look around.”

  Dick returned to the sitting-room. The women were nervous and not to be deceived. So Dick merely said Yaqui had sighted some lights off in the desert, and they probably were campfires. Belding did not soon return, and when he did he was alone, and saying he wanted to consult with the men, he sent Mrs. Belding and the girls to their rooms. His gloomy anxiety had returned.

  “Laddy’s gone over to scout around and try to find out who the outfit belongs to and how many are in it,” said Belding.

  “I reckon if they’re raiders with bad intentions we wouldn’t see no fires,” remarked Jim, calmly.

  “It’d be useless, I suppose, to send for the cavalry,” said Gale. “Whatever’s coming off would be over before the soldiers could be notified, let alone reach here.”

  “Hell, fellows! I don’t look for an attack on Forlorn River,” burst out Belding. “I can’t believe that possible. These rebel-raiders have a little sense. They wouldn’t spoil their game by pulling U.S. soldiers across the line from Yuma to El Paso. But, as Jim says, if they wanted to steal a few horses or cattle they wouldn’t build fires. I’m afraid it’s—”

  Belding hesitated and looked with grim concern at the cavalryman.

  “What?” queried Thorne.

  “I’m afraid it’s Rojas.”

  Thorne turned pale but did not lose his nerve.

  “I thought of that at once. If true, it’ll be terrible for Mercedes and me. But Rojas will never get his hands on my wife. If I can’t kill him, I’ll kill her!… Belding, this is tough on you—this risk we put upon your family. I regret—”

  “Cut that kind of talk,” replied Belding, bluntly. “Well, if it is Rojas he’s acting damn strange for a raider. That’s what worries me. We can’t do anything but wait. With Laddy and Yaqui out there we won’t be surprised. Let’s take the best possible view of the situation until we know more. That’ll not likely be before to-morrow.”

  The women of the house might have gotten some sleep that night, but it was certain the men did not get any. Morning broke cold and gray, the 19th of February. Breakfast was prepared earlier than usual, and an air of suppressed waiting excitement pervaded the place. Otherwise the ordinary details of the morning’s work continued as on any other day. Ladd came in hungry and cold, and said the Mexicans were not breaking camp. He reported a good-sized force of rebels, and was taciturn as to his idea of forthcoming events.

  About an hour after sunrise Yaqui ran in with the information that part of the rebels were crossing the river.

  “That can’t mean a fight yet,” declared Belding. “But get in the house, boys, and make ready anyway. I’ll meet them.”

  “Drive them off the place same as if you had a company of soldiers backin’ you,” said Ladd. “Don’t give them an inch. We’re in bad, and the bigger bluff we put up the more likely our chance.”

  “Belding, you’re an officer of the United States. Mexicans are much impressed by show of authority. I’ve seen that often in camp,” said Thorne.

  “Oh, I know the white-livered Greasers better than any of you, don’t mistake me,” replied Belding. He was pale with rage, but kept command over himself.

  The rangers, with Yaqui and Thorne, stationed themselves at the several windows of the sitting-room. Rifles and smaller arms and boxes of shells littered the tables and window seats. No small force of besiegers could overcome a resistance such as Belding and his men were capable of making.

  “Here they come, boys,” called Gale, from his window. “Rebel-raiders I should say, Laddy.”

  “Shore. An’ a fine outfit for buzzards!”

  “Reckon there’s about a dozen in the bunch,” observed the c
alm Lash. “Some hosses they’re ridin’. Where’n the hell do they get such hosses, anyhow?”

  “Shore, Jim, they work hard an’ buy ’em with real silver pesos,” replied Ladd, sarcastically.

  “Do any of you see Rojas?” whispered Thorne.

  “Nix. No dandy bandit in that outfit.”

  “It’s too far to see,” said Gale.

  The horsemen halted at the corrals. They were orderly and showed no evidence of hostility. They were, however, fully armed. Belding stalked out to meet them. Apparently a leader wanted to parley with him, but Belding would hear nothing. He shook his head, waved his arms, stamped to and fro, and his loud, angry voice could be heard clear back at the house. Whereupon the detachment of rebels retired to the bank of the river, beyond the white post that marked the boundary line, and there they once more drew rein. Belding remained by the corrals watching them, evidently still in a threatening mood. Presently a single rider left the troop and trotted his horse back down the road. When he reached the corrals he was seen to halt and pass something to Belding. Then he galloped away to join his comrades.

  Belding looked at whatever it was he held in his hand, shook his burly head, and started swiftly for the house. He came striding into the room holding a piece of soiled paper.

  “Can’t read it and don’t know as I want to,” he said, savagely.

  “Beldin’, shore we’d better read it,” replied Ladd. “What we want is a line on them Greasers. Whether they’re Campo’s men or Salazar’s, or just a wanderin’ bunch of rebels—or Rojas’s bandits. Sabe, señor?”

  Not one of the men was able to translate the garbled scrawl.

  “Shore Mercedes can read it,” said Ladd.

  Thorne opened a door and called her. She came into the room followed by Nell and Mrs. Belding. Evidently all three divined a critical situation.

  “My dear, we want you to read what’s written on this paper,” said Thorne, as he led her to the table. “It was sent in by rebels, and—and we fear contains bad news for us.”

  Mercedes gave the writing one swift glance, then fainted in Thorne’s arms. He carried her to a couch, and with Nell and Mrs. Belding began to work over her.

  Belding looked at his rangers. It was characteristic of the man that, now when catastrophe appeared inevitable, all the gloom and care and angry agitation passed from him.

  “Laddy, it’s Rojas all right. How many men has he out there?”

  “Mebbe twenty. Not more.”

  “We can lick twice that many Greasers.”

  “Shore.”

  Jim Lash removed his pipe long enough to speak.

  “I reckon. But it ain’t sense to start a fight when mebbe we can avoid it.”

  “What’s your idea?”

  “Let’s stave the Greasers off till dark. Then Laddy an’ me an’ Thorne will take Mercedes an’ hit the trail for Yuma.”

  “Camino del Diablo! That awful trail with a woman! Jim, do you forget how many hundreds of men have perished on the Devil’s Road?”

  “I reckon I ain’t forgettin’ nothin’,” replied Jim. “The water-holes are full now. There’s grass, an’ we can do the job in six days.”

  “It’s three hundred miles to Yuma.”

  “Beldin’, Jim’s idea hits me pretty reasonable,” interposed Ladd. “Lord knows that’s about the only chance we’ve got except fightin’.”

  “But suppose we do stave Rojas off, and you get safely away with Mercedes. Isn’t Rojas going to find it out quick? Then what’ll he try to do to us who’re left here?”

  “I reckon he’d find out by daylight,” replied Jim. “But, Tom, he ain’t agoin’ to start a scrap then. He’d want time an’ hosses an’ men to chase us out on the trail. You see, I’m figgerin’ on the crazy Greaser wantin’ the girl. I reckon he’ll try to clean up here to get her. But he’s too smart to fight you for nothin’. Rojas may be nutty about women, but he’s afraid of the U.S. Take my word for it he’d discover the trail in the mornin’ an’ light out on it. I reckon with ten hours’ start we could travel comfortable.”

  Belding paced up and down the room. Jim and Ladd whispered together. Gale walked to the window and looked out at the distant group of bandits, and then turned his gaze to rest upon Mercedes. She was conscious now, and her eyes seemed all the larger and blacker for the whiteness of her face. Thorne held her hands, and the other women were trying to still her tremblings. No one but Gale saw the Yaqui in the background looking down upon the Spanish girl. All of Yaqui’s looks were strange; but this was singularly so. Gale marked it, and felt he would never forget. Mercedes’s beauty had never before struck him as being so exquisite, so alluring as now when she lay stricken. Gale wondered if the Indian was affected by her loveliness, her helplessness, or her terror. Yaqui had seen Mercedes only a few times, and upon each of these he had appeared to be fascinated. Could the strange Indian, because his hate for Mexicans was so great, be gloating over her misery? Something about Yaqui—a noble austerity of countenance—made Gale feel his suspicion unjust.

  Presently Belding called his rangers to him, and then Thorne.

  “Listen to this,” he said, earnestly. “I’ll go out and have a talk with Rojas. I’ll try to reason with him; tell him to think a long time before he sheds blood on Uncle Sam’s soil. That he’s now after an American’s wife! I’ll not commit myself, nor will I refuse outright to consider his demands, nor will I show the least fear of him. I’ll play for time. If my bluff goes through … well and good.… After dark the four of you, Laddy, Jim, Dick and Thorne, will take Mercedes and my best white horses, and, with Yaqui as guide, circle round through Altar Valley to the trail, and head for Yuma.… Wait now, Laddy. Let me finish. I want you to take the white horses for two reasons—to save them and to save you. Savvy? If Rojas should follow on my horses he’d be likely to catch you. Also, you can pack a great deal more than on the bronchs. Also, the big horses can travel faster and farther on little grass and water. I want you to take the Indian, because in a case of this kind he’ll be a godsend. If you get headed or lost or have to circle off the trail, think what it’d mean to have a Yaqui with you. He knows Sonora as no Greaser knows it. He could hide you, find water and grass, when you would absolutely believe it impossible. The Indian is loyal. He has his debt to pay, and he’ll pay it, don’t mistake me. When you’re gone I’ll hide Nell so Rojas won’t see her if he searches the place. Then I think I could sit down and wait without any particular worry.”

  The rangers approved of Belding’s plan, and Thorne choked in his effort to express his gratitude.

  “All right, we’ll chance it,” concluded Belding. “I’ll go out now and call Rojas and his outfit over.… Say, it might be as well for me to know just what he said in that paper.”

  Thorne went to the side of his wife.

  “Mercedes, we’ve planned to outwit Rojas. Will you tell us just what he wrote?”

  The girl sat up, her eyes dilating, and with her hands clasping Thorne’s, she said:

  “Rojas swore—by his saints and his virgin—that if I wasn’t given—to him—in twenty-four hours—he would set fire to the village—kill the men—carry off the women—hang the children on cactus thorns!”

  A moment’s silence followed her last halting whisper.

  “By his saints an’ his virgin!” echoed Ladd. He laughed—a cold, cutting, deadly laugh—significant and terrible.

  Then the Yaqui uttered a singular cry. Gale had heard this once before, and now he remembered it was at the Papago Well.

  “Look at the Indian,” whispered Belding, hoarsely. “Damn if I don’t believe he understood every word Mercedes said. And, gentlemen, don’t mistake me, if he ever gets near Señor Rojas there’ll be some gory Aztec knife work.”

  Yaqui had moved close to Mercedes, and stood beside her as she leaned against her husband. She seemed impelled to meet the Indian’s gaze, and evidently it was so powerful or hypnotic that it wrought irresistibly upon her. But she must have seen or di
vined what was beyond the others, for she offered him her trembling hand. Yaqui took it and laid it against his body in a strange motion, and bowed his head. Then he stepped back into the shadow of the room.

  Belding went outdoors while the rangers took up their former position at the west window. Each had his own somber thoughts, Gale imagined, and knew his own were dark enough. A slow fire crept along his veins. He saw Belding halt at the corrals and wave his hand. Then the rebels mounted and came briskly up the road, this time to rein in abreast.

  Wherever Rojas had kept himself upon the former advance was not clear; but he certainly was prominently in sight now. He made a gaudy, almost a dashing figure. Gale did not recognize the white sombrero, the crimson scarf, the velvet jacket, nor any feature of the dandy’s costume; but their general effect, the whole ensemble, recalled vividly to mind his first sight of the bandit. Rojas dismounted and seemed to be listening. He betrayed none of the excitement Gale had seen in him that night at the Del Sol. Evidently this composure struck Ladd and Lash as unusual in a Mexican supposed to be laboring under stress of feeling. Belding made gestures, vehemently bobbed his big head, appeared to talk with his body as much as with his tongue. Then Rojas was seen to reply, and after that it was clear that the talk became painful and difficult. It ended finally in what appeared to be mutual understanding. Rojas mounted and rode away with his men, while Belding came tramping back to the house.

  As he entered the door his eyes were shining, his big hands were clenched, and he was breathing audibly.

  “You can rope me if I’m not locoed!” he burst out. “I went out to conciliate a red-handed little murderer, and damn me if I didn’t meet a—a—well, I’ve no suitable name handy. I started my bluff and got along pretty well, but I forgot to mention that Mercedes was Thorne’s wife. And what do you think? Rojas swore he loved Mercedes—swore he’d marry her right here in Forlorn River—swore he would give up robbing and killing people, and take her away from Mexico. He has gold—jewels. He swore if he didn’t get her nothing mattered. He’d die anyway without her.… And here’s the strange thing. I believe him! He was cold as ice, and all hell inside. Never saw a Greaser like him. Well, I pretended to be greatly impressed. We got to talking friendly, I suppose, though I didn’t understand half he said, and I imagine he gathered less what I said. Anyway, without my asking he said for me to think it over for a day and then we’d talk again.”