Lost Pueblo (1992)

by Grey, Zane

  Janey got up. If she had needed anything to remind her of the insufferable outrage she had sustained, she had it in sudden pains, more excruciating than any she had yet endured. The ape! He had not realized his strength. Maybe he had, though. How coldly and calmly he had gone about the beating! To wait until they had come all the way back to camp! In the light of another day his offense seemed greater.

  There was her breakfast on the fire. Janey remembered that she had sworn she would starve before she would touch Randolph's food again, but she did not see any sense in that now. As a cook she was not a genius.

  "If there was a mantelpiece here it's a cinch I'd eat my breakfast off it this morning," she said, mirthlessly.

  Dark, brooding thoughts attended the slow meal. Afterward it occurred to Janey to wash the few utensils Randolph had left for her use. There was a pan of hot water at hand. This she did and not without an almost conscious gratification. Then she stared awhile into the fading red coals of the fire. Next she walked in the sun, and could not shut out a sense of its warmth, of the sweet songs of wild birds, of the fragrance of sage and canyon thicket, of the glorious light under the walls.

  What was she going to do? There were a thousand things. But first, and of absolutely paramount importance, was the fact dawning upon her that she had to repeat the foolhardy act of yesterday. A new vague sweet self raised soft voice against it, but was howled down by Janey Endicott proper. She had to show Randolph that this so-called cave-man dominance of the past, as well as the masculine superiority of the present, were things abolished, obsolete, blazed out of the path by modern woman. This was no part she was playing. She had ceased to be an actress. That fun, that desire to turn the tables upon her father and Randolph had vanished in the night.

  Randolph was at work higher up than the day before and close to the amphitheater around which Janey had crossed to the next bench.

  She walked right past him, casually glancing in his direction. How could he guess that her heart was beating fast and that contending tides of emotion warred within her?

  If she ever saw a man surprised it was then. The last thing Randolph would imagine was that she would come back. What sweet healing balm to Janey's crushed vanity! He leaned on his pick and watched her. Would he order her back? Would he plead with her again?

  Janey was not foolish enough to underestimate the risk of this slanting narrow trail. This time, her nerve and caution, and lightness of foot, balanced the audacity of yesterday. She crossed without a slip.

  Randolph stood leaning on his pick, watching. Not a word had come from him! She could guess, of course, that he was completely routed, and probably furious. But was he disappointed? That she was an irresponsible child! Janey tossed her head. What did she care? Something hot seared her and she accepted it as hate.

  Once round the huge buttress of wall, out of Randolph's sight, she forgot him. Here was an amphitheater that dwarfed the Coliseum at Rome, and it was set against a background of magnificent forbidding walls. How silent! Janey felt that she was alone in a sepulcher. Her steps led her high, so high she marveled and thrilled, and trembled sometimes at the gigantic fissures and the leaning cliffs.

  Suddenly she spotted what appeared to be little steps cut in the rock. She was astounded, could not believe her eyes. But there they were, one after another, worn, scarcely distinguishable in the smooth stone. They had been cut by hand. Intensely absorbed, Janey mounted them, forgetting the fear of high places and crumbling walls.

  Presently she lost the little steps. She halted, breathless and flushed. Evidently she had climbed far. Before her spread a level bench most wonderful in its location and isolation. To look back and down made her gasp. How would she ever descend?

  Her quick eye grasped at once that this wide protected bench could be reached only by the slope up which she had climbed. Suddenly it dawned upon her that the predominating feature of this place was its inaccessibility. These little steps had been cut by cliff dwellers! Her heart beat faster than ever. She had discovered something. If Randolph had known of this place surely he would have told her.

  Janey began to explore. In the smooth rock she found round polished holes where grain had been ground centuries before. She found the stone pestles lying as if a hand had laid them aside only yesterday. She found the edge of a wall buried in debris. Little red stones, neatly cut and cemented! High up she sighted a cliff dwelling pasted like a mud wasp's nest against the shelf of rock. She had thought this amphitheater level, but it was not. It began to look as if a great space had been buried by avalanche or the weathering processes of ages. It would take days to explore it.

  Janey stepped into a hole up to her knee. It appeared to her the ground had given way under her. Pulling her leg out she was overcome to discover that she had stepped through a roof over something. Carefully she brushed aside the dirt and dust. She found poles of wood, close together, and as rotten as punk.

  "Ah--huh! That's something," she ejaculated.

  The hole made by her foot stared at her like a black eye. It spoke. Janey began to thrill and shake. She dropped a little stone in it. No sound! She tried a large stone. She heard it strike far down. Then this was a kiva. Well? Then Janey's mind bristled into action. "Beckyshibeta!" she whispered, in awe.

  She sat down, suddenly overcome. She had discovered the ancient pueblo for which Randolph had been searching so diligently. It stunned her. How strange! What luck! There seemed a destiny in the willfulness that had led her to this place. It must be more than chance.

  Then she remembered boasting to Randolph that she would find Beckyshibeta for him. She had done so. She had not a single doubt. And suddenly her joy equaled her amazement and transcended it. What a perfectly wonderful thing for Randolph. She was so happy she laughed and cried at once. It was not a delusion. Here opened the black mysterious eye of a kiva.

  Janey was consumed with only one desire. To tell Randolph! She climbed, she ran. The little steps cut in the stone slope had no terror for her now. In bad places she sat down and slid, unmindful of her dress or skin. Yet how long it took to get down. Once on the bench below she could not go fast. It was too rough. And at that she got more than one knock from a rock. At last she got round the last corner of wall, out of breath, panting so that she had to rest a moment.

  Randolph was there, digging, digging, digging. Presently he would have something to dig for. With her breast heaving, Janey watched him. The moment was somehow rich, sweet, beautiful, far reaching and inscrutable. Then she cupped her hands and called through them piercingly.

  "Mr.--Randolph."

  He heard her, for he straightened up, looked, and then resumed work with his pick.

  "Come! Come over!" called Janey. He looked again, but did not reply.

  "Phillip. Come over!"

  Here he quit his labors and leaned upon his pick, evidently nonplused.

  "Phil! Please come!" shrilled Janey.

  "No. Not. Never. Nix!" he called, imitating her.

  "Phil, I want you," she went on. "Nothing doing."

  "If you come over--you--you--you'll have the surprise of your life."

  "I don't care for your kind of surprises, Miss Endicott," he replied after a jarring pause.

  "But you will, I tell you."

  "Not on your life!"

  "Honest. Only come," she called, now pleadingly.

  No answer. Randolph stood like a statue. Janey could hardly contain herself any longer. He was making it so perfectly wonderful for her. What a climax! She must lead him to her discovery. In her excitement she was quite capable of going to unheard-of limits to accomplish her purpose. Beckyshibeta had changed the world for Janey. She had no time to stop to analyze the transformation.

  "I'll make you happy, Phil," she trilled, persuadingly.

  "You've got another guess coming, Miss Endicott," he said.

  What a stubborn creature a man could be anyway! And this one with his dream of ambition waiting for him! Janey had a wild notion that she might inc
lude herself in the finding of Beckyshibeta. Assuredly there was need of her discovering herself now.

  "Phillip, dear. Come," she called, despairingly.

  "I told you not to go over there," he answered. "Now you can get back by yourself."

  "I'm terribly scared, Phillip. I--I've sort of found out--something."

  "Fly over," he replied, mockingly. "Is that nice--when I want you?" "Janey Endicott, every word you utter is a lie."

  "No. I've stopped lying. Come and see."

  "I tell you I'm as unmovable as these rocks," he shouted, in a tone that signified considerable strain.

  He just imagined he was, thought Janey, but still he might carry his stubbornness to a point of spoiling her little plan. Nevertheless, if she could not move him now, she would have the pleasure of keeping it secret longer.

  "Phil, dearest," she called.

  "You go to the devil!" he yelled, using her very words, but his tone was vastly different.

  "My darling!" cried Janey, at the end of her rope. If that did not fetch him!

  Randolph desperately jumped into the hole he had been digging. She could see his pick move up and down, with speed that implied tremendous effort. Janey realized that her plan was useless for the time being, so she decided she had better husband her resources and attack him later. What she could not accomplish at such long range would be easy enough by close contact.

  Whereupon she stepped out on the narrow strip. As she did so her eye, for the first time, caught the perilous depth and the jagged rocks far beneath. Janey stepped back with a sudden cold sensation. Life might have grown singularly full all at once, but death was still only a step away. But she was not one to lose her head during excitement. She crossed this dangerous bridge with coolness and courage, taking no chances, and unmindful of her sore knees. She made it successfully.

  Randolph's back was turned. She approached and hiding behind a large rock, peeped out at him. For what seemed long moments he did not look. But at last he straightened up and gazed around evidently to see where she had gone. Janey took good care to keep hidden. She was tingling all over. He concluded that she had passed him and gone on out of sight. Then he sat down on the edge of the hole, removed his sombrero and wiped his face. He sat there idle, lost in thought. How sad his expression! His trouble in this unguarded moment was there to read. Janey conquered her impulse to rush out and tell him there were at least a couple of reasons why he should be tickled to death. But the moment gave her a glimpse into his heart. And it stirred Janey so deeply, so strangely, that she wished to escape being seen by Randolph. At length, wearily and without hope, he looked again in the direction he supposed Janey had taken, and then resumed his work. Janey slipped away noiselessly and rounded the corner of wall without being seen.

  Soon she yielded to a desire to sit down and think about herself. What had happened? She went over it all. Where had vanished the delight, the inexplicable joy she had anticipated? Randolph's sad face had checked her, changed the direction of her thoughts. She felt so sorry for him that she wanted to weep. Resuming her journey back to camp she went on a little way, then stopped again. Something was wrong. Her breast seemed oppressed, her heart too full. She felt it pound. Surely she had not exerted herself enough for that. No--the commotion was emotional. She had sustained an unaccountable transition. She was no longer the old Janey Endicott. A last time she sat down to fight it out--to face her soul. After all how easy! Only to be honest! For the first time in her life, she was honestly, deeply, truly in love. No need of wild wonderings, of whirling repudiations! She had fallen in love with this adventure, with the glorious desert, with the lonely soul-transforming canyons, and with Phillip Randolph.

  The instant the solution flashed out of her brooding mind she knew it was the truth. It seemed annihilation of self-catastrophe, yet it held a paralyzing sweetness. Janey received the blow of her consciousness, like a soldier, full in the face, while she was gazing down the canyon, now magnifying its gold and purple, its wonderful speaking cliffs.

  Then she heard the thud of hoofs. A horse! Startled, she turned the corner of the wall that separated her from camp. Her alarm vanished in amazement at sight of a dudish young man dismounting from a pinto mustang as flashy as its rider. He wore a ten-gallon sombrero that appeared to make him top heavy; white moleskin riding trousers, tight at the knees, high shiny boots and enormous spurs that tripped him as he walked. Janey then recognized this young man, Bert Durland, the darling of many week-end parties, a slick, dark, dapper youth just out of college. Also she heard more thuds of hoofs and voices coming. Cursing to herself, Janey slipped in behind a section of rock that had split from the cliff, and ran along it to the far end, where she crouched down to peep through a crack.

  Chapter 8

  Janey was amazed, curious, resentful at this rude disruption of her rapture. Bert was a nice kid, but to meet him here! Where she was alone with Randolph!

  Two riders appeared above the bulge of the bench, off to the left. One was an Indian, leading a pack horse. Presently Janey made out the second rider to be a woman. Mrs. Durland! No human creature could have looked more out of place, or uncomfortable, or ridiculous. Mrs. Durland's marked characteristic had been dressing and playing a part to improve the family fortunes. Here, if Janey had not been suddenly furious, she could have shrieked. They approached camp. The Indian dismounted and began to slip the pack. Bert went to his mother's assistance. Manifestly it was no joke to get her off a horse. She was heavy, and looked as if her bones had stiffened.

  "0 mercy! My muscles--my flesh!" she wailed.

  "Cheer up, Mother. We're here at last," replied Bert, with satisfaction.

  "This is the place then?" she asked, peering round in disgust.

  "Beckyshibeta."

  "It looks like it sounds. I don't see much of a camp. Mr. Endicott said his daughter was here with some friends."

  "Perhaps this is the guides' camp. We'll look around and find them. My word! It'll be good to see Janey!"

  "Bert, our Indian is riding away!" exclaimed Mrs. Durland, in alarm.

  "I understood he was going to see his family."

  "Suppose he doesn't come back? Suppose we don't find Miss Endicott and party! Here we are in a godforsaken hole a hundred and ninety miles from a railroad. Nothing but a lot of wild Indians around. We may get scalped."

  "You needn't worry, Mother," returned Bert. "You'd never get scalped. You can take off your hair and hand it over. I'm the one to worry."

  "Bert Durland! How dare you talk that way? You ought at least be respectful after my being good enough to let you drag me out here."

  "Pardon, Mother," said the youth, contritely. "I'm sore. This beastly trip through all that horrible desert! And no sign of comfort here. It's most annoying."

  "Whose fault is it?" queried Mrs. Durland, as she carefully looked round a rock to see if there were snakes or bugs present. Then very wearily she sat down.

  "Yours," returned young Durland, looking at his drooping horse. "I suppose I'll have to remove that awful saddle."

  "My fault? You miserable boy!" exclaimed his mother, highly indignant. "You know I'm doing it all for you. Chasing this worthless girl! I've suffered agonies on this ride. And that horrid place where we tried to sleep last night! Will I ever forget it? And this awful sunburn!"

  "Janey isn't quite worthless, Mother dear," rejoined Bert, complacently. "Her dad has several millions. And Janey is pretty well fixed. You know that's why you're here."

  "There's gratitude for you," declared Mrs. Durland, witheringly. "Here I am trying to make it easy for you. You who've gone through most of your father's money. Now you make it appear I'm doing this for myself."

  "All right! All right!" said Bert, impatiently. "But don't blame me for bringing you on this particular wild-goose chase. I didn't like the idea, believe me. I told you in New York that Endicott was taking Janey to a tourist hotel. That's what I believed then."

  "Didn't you say Janey told you her father wa
s taking her into one of the loneliest places in the world?"

  "I sure did. Mother, Arizona looks to me to be about half of the United States. And it's lonely all right, all right. Imagine fine-combing this desert all to hunt up a girl! That fellow who charged a hundred dollars for a car ride that scrambled my insides! I'd like to get hold of him. Mother, I've an idea Endicott and that trader Bennet were laughing at us up their sleeves."

  "Humph! That dirty-looking trader laughed in my face," asserted Mrs. Durland. "And as for the wasting of a whole hundred dollars that's your fault, too. You never knew how to bargain. You just threw money away. It drives me mad. You have no backbone, no stamina. Otherwise you'd have eloped with Janey before her father ran off with her to this terrible place of rocks."

  "Eloped! My dear Mother, you don't know Janey Endicott," returned her son, significantly.

  "Perhaps we'd better not talk so loud or mention names," remarked Mrs. Durland, apprehensively.

  "Didn't you try to tell that Indian guide and the car driver our family history?... Hello! Here comes a white man! Tough-looking customer!"

  "Oh, dear, I hope he isn't a desperado," replied Mrs. Durland, in alarm.

  This last from mother to son tickled Janey so keenly that she was hard put to it to keep from side-splitting laughter. She peeped round the edge of her covert. Yes, Phil was coming. He had spied the visitors, and he was peering everywhere for Janey.

  "How do you do," greeted Randolph, as he came up. "Your Indian told me of your arrival."

  "Very nice of him to find someone," returned Mrs. Durland, gratefully.

  "Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?"

  "Mrs. Percival Smith Durland, of New York, and her son Bertrand. Of course you've heard of us."

  "I regret to say I never have."

  Janey giggled inwardly at this slight, because she had more than once told Phil about the Durlands.