The Heritage of the Desert: A Novel

by Zane Grey

on the threshold of the desert, with that subtle mystery

  waiting; he knew himself to be close to strenuous action on the ranges,

  companion of these sombre Mormons, exposed to their peril, making their

  cause his cause, their life his life. What of their friendship, their

  confidence? Was he worthy? Would he fail at the pinch? What a man he

  must become to approach their simple estimate of him! Because he had

  found health and strength, because he could shoot, because he had the

  fleetest horse on the desert, were these reasons for their friendship?

  No, these were only reasons for their trust. August Naab loved him.

  Mescal loved him; Dave and George made of him a brother. "They shall

  have my life," he muttered.

  The bleating of the sheep heralded another day. With the brightening

  light began the drive over the sand. Under the cliff the shade was cool

  and fresh; there was no wind; the sheep made good progress. But the

  broken line of shade crept inward toward the flock, and passed it. The

  sun beat down, and the wind arose. A red haze of fine sand eddied about

  the toiling sheep and shepherds. Piute trudged ahead leading the king-

  ram, old Socker, the leader of the flock; Mescal and Hare rode at the

  right, turning their faces from the sand-filled puffs of wind; August

  and Dave drove behind; Wolf, as always, took care of the stragglers. An

  hour went by without signs of distress; and with half the five-mile trip

  at his back August Naab's voice gathered cheer. The sun beat hotter.

  Another hour told a different story--the sheep labored; they had to be

  forced by urge of whip, by knees of horses, by Wolf's threatening bark.

  They stopped altogether during the frequent hot sand-blasts, and could

  not be driven. So time dragged. The flock straggled out to a long

  irregular line; rams refused to budge till they were ready; sheep lay

  down to rest; lambs fell. But there was an end to the belt of sand, and

  August Naab at last drove the lagging trailers out upon the stony bench.

  The sun was about two hours past the meridian; the red walls of the

  desert were closing in; the V-shaped split where the Colorado cut

  through was in sight. The trail now was wide and unobstructed and the

  distance short, yet August Naab ever and anon turned to face the canyon

  and shook his head in anxious foreboding.

  It quickly dawned upon Hare that the sheep were behaving in a way new

  and singular to him. They packed densely now, crowding forward, many

  raising their heads over the haunches of others and bleating. They were

  not in their usual calm pattering hurry, but nervous, excited, and

  continually facing west toward the canyon, noses up.

  On the top of the next little ridge Hare heard Silvermane snort as he

  did when led to drink. There was a scent of water on the wind. Hare

  caught it, a damp, muggy smell. The sheep had noticed it long before,

  and now under its nearer, stronger influence began to bleat wildly, to

  run faster, to crowd without aim.

  "There's work ahead. Keep them packed and going. Turn the wheelers,"

  ordered August.

  What had been a drive became a flight. And it was well so long as the

  sheep headed straight up the trail. Piute had to go to the right to

  avoid being run down. Mescal rode up to fill his place. Hare took his

  cue from Dave, and rode along the flank, crowding the sheep inward.

  August cracked his whip behind. For half a mile the flock kept to the

  trail, then, as if by common consent, they sheered off to the right.

  With this move August and Dave were transformed from quiet almost to

  frenzy. They galloped to the fore, and into the very faces of the

  turning sheep, and drove them back. Then the rear-guard of the flock

  curved outward.

  "Drive them in!" roared August.

  Hare sent Silvermane at the deflecting sheep and frightened them into

  line.

  Wolf no longer had power to chase the stragglers; they had to be turned

  by a horse. All along the flank noses pointed outward; here and there

  sheep wilder than the others leaped forward to lead a widening wave of

  bobbing woolly backs. Mescal engaged one point, Hare another, Dave

  another, and August Naab's roan thundered up and down the constantly

  broken line. All this while as the shepherds fought back the sheep, the

  flight continued faster eastward, farther canyonward. Each side gained,

  but the flock gained more toward the canyon than the drivers gained

  toward the oasis.

  By August's hoarse yells, by Dave's stern face and ceaseless swift

  action, by the increasing din, Hare knew terrible danger hung over the

  flock; what it was he could not tell. He heard the roar of the river

  rapids, and it seemed that the sheep heard it with him. They plunged

  madly; they had gone wild from the scent and sound of water. Their eyes

  gleamed red; their tongues flew out. There was no aim to the rush of the

  great body of sheep, but they followed the leaders and the leaders

  followed the scent. And the drivers headed them off, rode them down,

  ceaselessly, riding forward to check one outbreak, wheeling backward to

  check another.

  The flight became a rout. Hare was in the thick of dust and din, of the

  terror-stricken jumping mob, of the ever-starting, ever-widening streams

  of sheep; he rode and yelled and fired his Colt. The dust choked him,

  the sun burned him, the flying pebbles cut his cheek. Once he had a

  glimpse of Black Bolly in a melee of dust and sheep; Dave's mustang

  blurred in his sight; August's roan seemed to be double. Then

  Silvermane, of his own accord, was out before them all.

  The sheep had almost gained the victory; their keen noses were pointed

  toward the water; nothing could stop their flight; but still the drivers

  dashed at them, ever fighting, never wearying, never ceasing.

  At the last incline, where a gentle slope led down to a dark break in

  the desert, the rout became a stampede. Left and right flanks swung

  round, the line lengthened, and round the struggling horses, knee-deep

  in woolly backs, split the streams to flow together beyond in one

  resistless river of sheep. Mescal forced Bolly out of danger; Dave

  escaped the right flank, August and Hare swept on with the flood, till

  the horses, sighting the dark canyon, halted to stand like rocks.

  "Will they run over the rim?" yelled Hare, horrified. His voice came to

  him as a whisper. August Naab, sweat-stained in red dust, haggard, gray

  locks streaming in the wind, raised his arms above his head, hopeless.

  The long nodding line of woolly forms, lifting like the crest of a

  yellow wave, plunged out and down in rounded billow over the canyon rim.

  With din of hoofs and bleats the sheep spilled themselves over the

  precipice, and an awful deafening roar boomed up from the river, like

  the spreading thunderous crash of an avalanche.

  How endless seemed that fatal plunge! The last line of sheep, pressing

  close to those gone before, and yet impelled by the strange instinct of

  life, turned their eyes too late on the brink, carried over by their own

  momentum.

  The sliding roar ceased; its echo, muffled and
hollow, pealed from the

  cliffs, then rumbled down the canyon to merge at length in the sullen,

  dull, continuous sound of the rapids.

  Hare turned at last from that narrow iron-walled cleft, the depth of

  which he had not seen, and now had no wish to see; and his eyes fell

  upon a little Navajo lamb limping in the trail of the flock, headed for

  the canyon, as sure as its mother in purpose. He dismounted and seized

  it to find, to his infinite wonder and gladness, that it wore a string

  and bell round its neck. It was Mescal's pet.

  X. RIDING THE RANGES

  THE shepherds were home in the oasis that evening, and next day the

  tragedy of the sheep was a thing of the past. No other circumstance of

  Hare's four months with the Naabs had so affected him as this swift

  inevitable sweeping away of the flock; nothing else had so vividly told

  him the nature of this country of abrupt heights and depths. He

  remembered August Naab's magnificent gesture of despair; and now the man

  was cheerful again; he showed no sign of his great loss. His tasks were

  many, and when one was done, he went on to the next. If Hare had not had

  many proofs of this Mormon's feeling he would have thought him callous.

  August Naab trusted God and men, loved animals, did what he had to do

  with all his force, and accepted fate. The tragedy of the sheep had been

  only an incident in a tragical life--that Hare divined with awe.

  Mescal sorrowed, and Wolf mourned in sympathy with her, for their

  occupation was gone, but both brightened when August made known his

  intention to cross the river to the Navajo range, to trade with the

  Indians for another flock. He began his preparations immediately. The

  snow-freshets had long run out of the river, the water was low, and he

  wanted to fetch the sheep down before the summer rains. He also wanted

  to find out what kept his son Snap so long among the Navajos.

  "I'll take Billy and go at once. Dave, you join George and Zeke out on

  the Silver Cup range. Take Jack with you. Brand all the cattle you can

  before the snow flies. Get out of Dene's way if he rides over, and avoid

  Holderness's men. I'll have no fights. But keep your eyes sharp for

  their doings."

  It was a relief to Hare that Snap Naab had not yet returned to the

  oasis, for he felt a sense of freedom which otherwise would have been

  lacking. He spent the whole of a long calm summer day in the orchard and

  the vineyard. The fruit season was at its height. Grapes, plums, pears,

  melons were ripe and luscious. Midsummer was vacationtime for the

  children, and they flocked into the trees like birds. The girls were

  picking grapes; Mother Ruth enlisted Jack in her service at the pear-

  trees; Mescal came, too, and caught the golden pears he threw down, and

  smiled up at him; Wolf was there, and Noddle; Black Bolly pushed her

  black nose over the fence, and whinnied for apples; the turkeys

  strutted, the peafowls preened their beautiful plumage, the guinea-hens

  ran like quail. Save for those frowning red cliffs Hare would have

  forgotten where he was; the warm sun, the yellow fruit, the merry

  screams of children, the joyous laughter of girls, were pleasant

  reminders of autumn picnic days long gone. But, in the face of those

  dominating wind-scarred walls, he could not forget.

  That night Hare endeavored to see Mescal alone for a few moments, to see

  her once more with unguarded eyes, to whisper a few words, to say good-

  bye; but it was impossible.

  On the morrow he rode out of the red cliff gate with Dave and the pack-

  horses, a dull ache in his heart; for amid the cheering crowd of

  children and women who bade them good-bye he had caught the wave of

  Mescal's hand and a look of her eyes that would be with him always. What

  might happen before he returned, if he ever did return! For he knew now,

  as well as he could feel Silvermane's easy stride, that out there under

  the white glare of desert, the white gleam of the slopes of Coconina,

  was wild life awaiting him. And he shut his teeth, and narrowed his

  eyes, and faced it with an eager joy that was in strange contrast to the

  pang in his breast.

  That morning the wind dipped down off the Vermillion Cliffs and whipped

  west; there was no scent of river-water, and Hare thought of the

  fatality of the sheep-drive, when, for one day out of the year, a

  moistened dank breeze had met the flock on the narrow bench. Soon the

  bench lay far behind them, and the strip of treacherous sand, and the

  maze of sculptured cliff under the Blue Star, and the hummocky low

  ridges beyond, with their dry white washes. Silvermane kept on in front.

  Already Hare had learned that the gray would have no horse before him.

  His pace was swift, steady, tireless. Dave was astride his Navajo mount,

  an Indian-bred horse, half mustang, which had to be held in with a firm

  rein. The pack train strung out far behind, trotting faithfully along,

  with the white packs, like the humps of camels, nodding up and down.

  Jack and Dave slackened their gait at the foot of the stony divide. It

  was an ascent of miles, so long that it did not appear steep. Here the

  pack-train caught up, and thereafter hung at the heels of the riders.

  From the broad bare summit Jack saw the Silver Cup valley-range with

  eyes which seemed to magnify the winding trail, the long red wall, the

  green slopes, the dots of sage and cattle. Then he made allowance for

  months of unobstructed vision; he had learned to see; his eyes had

  adjusted themselves to distance and dimensions.

  Silver Cup Spring lay in a bright green spot close under a break in the

  rocky slope that soon lost its gray cliff in the shaggy cedared side of

  Coconina.

  The camp of the brothers was situated upon this cliff in a split between

  two sections of wall. Well sheltered from the north and west winds was a

  grassy plot which afforded a good survey of the valley and the trails.

  Dave and Jack received glad greetings from Zeke and George, and

  Silvermane was an object of wonder and admiration. Zeke, who had often

  seen the gray and chased him too, walked round and round him, stroking

  the silver mane, feeling the great chest muscles, slapping his flanks.

  "Well, well, Silvermane, to think I'd live to see you wearing a saddle

  and bridle! He's even bigger than I thought. There's a horse, Hare!

  Never will be another like him in this desert. If Dene ever sees that

  horse he'll chase him to the Great Salt Basin. Dene's crazy about fast

  horses. He's from Kentucky, somebody said, and knows a horse when he

  sees one."

  "How are things?" queried Dave.

  "We can't complain much," replied Zeke, "though we've wasted some time

  on old Whitefoot. He's been chasing our horses. It's been pretty hot and

  dry. Most of the cattle are on the slopes; fair browse yet. There's a

  bunch of steers gone up on the mountain, and some more round toward the

  Saddle or the canyon."

  "Been over Seeping Springs way?"

  "Yes. No change since your trip. Holderness's cattle are ranging in the

  upper valley. George found tracks near the spring. We believ
e somebody

  was watching there and made off when we came up."

  "We'll see Holderness's men when we get to riding out," put in George.

  "And some of Dene's too. Zeke met Two-Spot Chance and Culver below at

  the spring one day, sort of surprised them."

  "What day was that?"

  "Let's see, this's Friday. It was last Monday."

  "What were they doing over here?"

  "Said they were tracking a horse that had broken his hobbles. But they

  seemed uneasy, and soon rode off."

  "Did either of them ride a horse with one shoe shy?"

  "Now I think of it, yes. Zeke noticed the track at the spring."

  "Well, Chance and Culver had been out our way," declared Dave. "I saw

  their tracks, and they filled up the Blue Star waterhole--and cost us

  three thousand sheep."

  Then he related the story of the drive of the sheep, the finding of the

  plugged waterhole, the scent of the Colorado, and the plunge of the

  sheep into the canyon.

  "We've saved one, Mescal's belled lamb," he concluded.

  Neither Zeke nor George had a word in reply. Hare thought their silence

  unnatural. Neither did the mask-like stillness of their faces change.

  But Hare saw in their eyes a pointed clear flame, vibrating like a

  compass-needle, a mere glimmering spark.

  "I'd like to know," continued Dave, calmly poking the fire, "who hired

  Dene's men to plug the waterhole. Dene couldn't do that. He loves a

  horse, and any man who loves a horse couldn't fill a waterhole in this

  desert."

  Hare entered upon his new duties as a range-rider with a zeal that

  almost made up for his lack of experience; he bade fair to develop into

  a right-hand man for Dave, under whose watchful eye he worked. His

  natural qualifications were soon shown; he could ride, though his seat

  was awkward and clumsy compared to that of the desert rangers, a fault

  that Dave said would correct itself as time fitted him close to the

  saddle and to the swing of his horse. His sight had become

  extraordinarily keen for a new-comer on the ranges, and when