The Heritage of the Desert: A Novel

by Zane Grey

canyons,"

  said Dave to his father.

  "I haven't any idea," answered August, dubiously.

  "Five thousand head."

  "Dave!" His father's tone was incredulous.

  "Yes. You know we haven't been back in there for years. The stock has

  multiplied rapidly in spite of the lions and wolves. Not only that, but

  they're safe from the winter, and are not likely to be found by Dene or

  anybody else."

  "How do you make that out?"

  "The first cattle we drove in used to come back here to Silver Cup to

  winter. Then they stopped coming, and we almost forgot them. Well,

  they've got a trail round under the Saddle, and they go down and winter

  in the canyon. In summer they head up those rocky gullies, but they

  can't get up on the mountain. So it isn't likely any one will ever

  discover them. They are wild as deer and fatter than any stock on the

  ranges."

  "Good! That's the best news I've had in many a day. Now, boys, we'll

  ride the mountain slope toward Seeping Springs, drive the cattle down,

  and finish up this branding. Somebody ought to go to White Sage. I'd

  like to know what's going on, what Holderness is up to, what Dene is

  doing, if there's any stock being driven to Lund."

  "I told you I'd go," said Snap Naab.

  "I don't want you to," replied his father. "I guess it can wait till

  spring, then we'll all go in. I might have thought to bring you boys out

  some clothes and boots. You're pretty ragged. Jack there, especially,

  looks like a scarecrow. Has he worked as hard as he looks?"

  "Father, he never lost a day," replied Dave, warmly, "and you know what

  riding is in these canyons."

  August Naab looked at Hare and laughed. "It'd be funny, wouldn't it, if

  Holderness tried to slap you now? I always knew you'd do, Jack, and now

  you're one of us, and you'll have a share with my sons in the cattle."

  But the generous promise failed to offset the feeling aroused by the

  presence of Snap Naab. With the first sight of Snap's sharp face and

  strange eyes Hare became conscious of an inward heat, which he had felt

  before, but never as now, when there seemed to be an actual flame within

  his breast. Yet Snap seemed greatly changed; the red flush, the swollen

  lines no longer showed in his face; evidently in his absence on the

  Navajo desert he had had no liquor; he was good-natured, lively, much

  inclined to joking, and he seemed to have entirely forgotten his

  animosity toward Hare. It was easy for Hare to see that the man's evil

  nature was in the ascendancy only when he was under the dominance of

  drink. But he could not forgive; he could not forget. Mescal's dark,

  beautiful eyes haunted him. Even now she might be married to this man.

  Perhaps that was why Snap appeared to be in such cheerful spirits.

  Suspense added its burdensome insistent question, but he could not bring

  himself to ask August if the marriage had taken place. For a day he

  fought to resign himself to the inevitability of the Mormon custom, to

  forget Mescal, and then he gave up trying. This surrender he felt to be

  something crucial in his life, though he could not wholly understand it.

  It was the darkening of his spirit; the death of boyish gentleness; the

  concluding step from youth into a forced manhood. The desert

  regeneration had not stopped at turning weak lungs, vitiated blood, and

  flaccid muscles into a powerful man; it was at work on his mind, his

  heart, his soul. They answered more and more to the call of some

  outside, ever-present, fiercely subtle thing.

  Thenceforth he no longer vexed himself by trying to forget Mescal; if

  she came to mind he told himself the truth, that the weeks and months

  had only added to his love. And though it was bitter-sweet there was

  relief in speaking the truth to himself. He no longer blinded himself by

  hoping, striving to have generous feelings toward Snap Naab; he called

  the inward fire by its real name--jealousy--and knew that in the end it

  would become hatred.

  On the third morning after leaving Silver Cup the riders were working

  slowly along the slope of Coconina; and Hare having driven down a bunch

  of cattle, found himself on an open ridge near the temporary camp.

  Happening to glance up the valley he saw what appeared to be smoke

  hanging over Seeping Springs.

  "That can't be dust," he soliloquized. "Looks blue to me."

  He studied the hazy bluish cloud for some time, but it was so many miles

  away that he could not be certain whether it was smoke or not, so he

  decided to ride over and make sure. None of the Naabs was in camp, and

  there was no telling when they would return, so he set off alone. He

  expected to get back before dark, but it was of little consequence

  whether he did or not, for he had his blanket under the saddle, and

  grain for Silvermane and food for himself in the saddle-bags.

  Long before Silvermane's easy trot had covered half the distance Hare

  recognized the cloud that had made him curious. It was smoke. He thought

  that range-riders were camping at the springs, and he meant to see what

  they were about. After three hours of brisk travel he reached the top of

  a low rolling knoll that hid Seeping Springs. He remembered the springs

  were up under the red wall, and that the pool where the cattle drank was

  lower down in a clump of cedars. He saw smoke rising in a column from

  the cedars, and he heard the lowing of cattle.

  "Something wrong here," he muttered. Following the trail, he rode

  through the cedars to come upon the dry hole where the pool had once

  been. There was no water in the flume. The bellowing cattle came from

  beyond the cedars, down the other side of the ridge. He was not long in

  reaching the open, and then one glance made all clear.

  A new pool, large as a little lake, shone in the sunlight, and round it

  a jostling horned mass of cattle were pressing against a high corral.

  The flume that fed water to the pool was fenced all the way up to the

  springs.

  Jack slowly rode down the ridge with eyes roving under the cedars and up

  to the wall. Not a man was in sight.

  When he got to the fire he saw that it was not many hours old and was

  surrounded by fresh boot and horse tracks in the dust. Piles of slender

  pine logs, trimmed flat on one side, were proof of somebody's intention

  to erect a cabin. In a rage he flung himself from the saddle. It was not

  many moments' work for him to push part of the fire under the fence, and

  part of it against the pile of logs. The pitch-pines went off like

  rockets, driving the thirsty cattle back.

  "I'm going to trail those horse-tracks," said Hare.

  He tore down a portion of the fence enclosing the flume, and gave

  Silvermane a drink, then put him to a fast trot on the white trail. The

  tracks he had resolved to follow were clean-cut. A few inches of snow

  had fallen in the valley, and melting, had softened the hard ground.

  Silvermane kept to his gait with the tirelessness of a desert horse.

  August Naab had once said fifty miles a day would be play for the

  stallion. All the afternoon Hare watched the trail speed towar
d him and

  the end of Coconina rise above him. Long before sunset he had reached

  the slope of the mountain and had begun the ascent. Half way up he came

  to the snow and counted the tracks of three horses. At twilight he rode

  into the glade where August Naab had waited for his Navajo friends.

  There, in a sheltered nook among the rocks, he unsaddled Silvermane,

  covered and fed him, built a fire, ate sparingly of his meat and bread,

  and rolling up in his blanket, was soon asleep.

  He was up and off before sunrise, and he came out on the western slope

  of Coconina just as the shadowy valley awakened from its misty sleep

  into daylight. Soon the Pink Cliffs leaned out, glimmering and vast, to

  change from gloomy gray to rosy glow, and then to brighten and to redden

  in the morning sun.

  The snow thinned and failed, but the iron-cut horsetracks showed plainly

  in the trail. At the foot of the mountain the tracks left the White Sage

  trail and led off to the north toward the cliffs. Hare searched the red

  sage-spotted waste for Holderness's ranch. He located it, a black patch

  on the rising edge of the valley under the wall, and turned Silvermane

  into the tracks that pointed straight toward it.

  The sun cleared Coconina and shone warm on his back; the Pink Cliffs

  lifted higher and higher before him. From the ridge-tops he saw the

  black patch grow into cabins and corrals. As he neared the ranch he came

  into rolling pasture-land where the bleached grass shone white and the

  cattle were ranging in the thousands. This range had once belonged to

  Martin Cole, and Hare thought of the bitter Mormon as he noted the snug

  cabins for the riders, the rambling, picturesque ranch-house, the large

  corrals, and the long flume that ran down from the cliff. There was a

  corral full of shaggy horses, and another full of steers, and two lines

  of cattle, one going into a pond-corral, and one coming out. The air was

  gray with dust. A bunch of yearlings were licking at huge lumps of brown

  rock-salt. A wagonful of cowhides stood before the ranch-house.

  Hare reined in at the door and helloed.

  A red-faced ranger with sandy hair and twinkling eyes appeared.

  "Hello, stranger, get down an' come in," he said.

  "Is Holderness here?" asked Hare.

  "No. He's been to Lund with a bunch of steers. I reckon he'll be in

  White Sage by now. I'm Snood, the foreman. Is it a job ridin' you want?"

  "No."

  "Say! thet hoss--" he exclaimed. His gaze of friendly curiosity had

  moved from Hare to Silvermane. "You can corral me if it ain't thet

  Sevier range stallion!"

  "Yes," said Hare.

  Snood's whoop brought three riders to the door, and when he pointed to

  the horse, they stepped out with good-natured grins and admiring eyes.

  "I never seen him but onc't," said one.

  "Lordy, what a hoss!" Snood walked round Silvermane. "If I owned this

  ranch I'd trade it for that stallion. I know Silvermane. He an' I hed

  some chases over in Nevada. An', stranger, who might you be?"

  "I'm one of August Naab's riders."

  "Dene's spy!" Snood looked Hare over carefully, with much interest, and

  without any show of ill-will. "I've heerd of you. An' what might one of

  Naab's riders want of Holderness?"

  "I rode in to Seeping Springs yesterday," said Hare, eying the foreman.

  "There was a new pond, fenced in. Our cattle couldn't drink. There were

  a lot of trimmed logs. Somebody was going to build a cabin. I burned the

  corrals and logs--and I trailed fresh tracks from Seeping Springs to

  this ranch."

  "The h--l you did!" shouted Snood, and his face flamed. "See here,

  stranger, you're the second man to accuse some of my riders of such

  dirty tricks. That's enough for me. I was foreman of this ranch till

  this minute. I was foreman, but there were things gain' on thet I didn't

  know of. I kicked on thet deal with Martin Cole. I quit. I steal no

  man's water. Is thet good with you?"

  Snood's query was as much a challenge as a question. He bit savagely at

  his pipe. Hare offered his hand.

  "Your word goes. Dave Naab said you might be Holderness's foreman, but

  you weren't a liar or a thief. I'd believe it even if Dave hadn't told

  me."

  "Them fellers you tracked rode in here yesterday. They're gone now. I've

  no more to say, except I never hired them."

  "I'm glad to hear it. Good-day, Snood, I'm in something of a hurry."

  With that Hare faced about in the direction of White Sage. Once clear of

  the corrals he saw the village closer than he had expected to find it.

  He walked Silvermane most of the way, and jogged along the rest, so that

  he reached the village in the twilight. Memory served him well. He rode

  in as August Naab had ridden out, and arrived at the Bishop's barn-yard,

  where he put up his horse. Then he went to the house. It was necessary

  to introduce himself for none of the Bishop's family recognized in him

  the young man they had once befriended. The old Bishop prayed and

  reminded him of the laying on of hands. The women served him with food,

  the young men brought him new boots and garments to replace those that

  had been worn to tatters. Then they plied him with questions about the

  Naabs, whom they had not seen for nearly a year. They rejoiced at his

  recovered health; they welcomed him with warm words.

  Later Hare sought an interview alone with the Bishop's sons, and he told

  them of the loss of the sheep, of the burning of the new corrals, of the

  tracks leading to Holderness's ranch. In turn they warned him of his

  danger, and gave him information desired by August Naab. Holderness's

  grasp on the outlying ranges and water-rights had slowly and surely

  tightened; every month he acquired new territory; he drove cattle

  regularly to Lund, and it was no secret that much of the stock came from

  the eastern slope of Coconina. He could not hire enough riders to do his

  work. A suspicion that he was not a cattle-man but a rustler had slowly

  gained ground; it was scarcely hinted, but it was believed. His

  friendship with Dene had become offensive to the Mormons, who had

  formerly been on good footing with him. Dene's killing of Martin Cole

  was believed to have been at Holderness's instigation. Cole had

  threatened Holderness. Then Dene and Cole had met in the main street of

  White Sage. Cole's death ushered in the bloody time that he had

  prophesied. Dene's band had grown; no man could say how many men he had

  or who they were. Chance and Culver were openly his lieutenants, and

  whenever they came into the village there was shooting. There were ugly

  rumors afloat in regard to their treatment of Mormon women. The wives

  and daughters of once peaceful White Sage dared no longer venture out-

  of-doors after nightfall. There was more money in coin and more whiskey

  than ever before in the village. Lund and the few villages northward

  were terrorized as well as White Sage. It was a bitter story.

  The Bishop and his sons tried to persuade Hare next morning to leave the

  village without seeing Holderness, urging the futility of such a

  meeting.

/>   "I will see him," said Hare. He spent the morning at the cottage, and

  when it came time to take his leave he smiled into the anxious faces.

  "If I weren't able to take care of myself August Naab would never have

  said so."

  Had Hare asked himself what he intended to do when he faced Holderness

  he could not have told. His feelings were pent-in, bound, but at the

  bottom something rankled. His mind seemed steeped in still thunderous

  atmosphere.

  How well he remembered the quaint wide street, the gray church! As he

  rode many persons stopped to gaze at Silvermane. He turned the corner

  into the main thoroughfare. A new building had been added to the several

  stores. Mustangs stood, bridles down, before the doors; men lounged

  along the railings.

  As he dismounted he heard the loungers speak of his horse, and he saw

  their leisurely manner quicken. He stepped into the store to meet more

  men, among them August Naab's friend Abe. Hare might never have been in

  White Sage for all the recognition he found, but he excited something

  keener than curiosity. He asked for spurs, a clasp-knife and some other

  necessaries, and he contrived, when momentarily out of sight behind a

  pile of boxes, to whisper his identity to Abe. The Mormon was

  dumbfounded. When he came out of his trance he showed his gladness, and

  at a question of Hare's he silently pointed toward the saloon.

  Hare faced the open door. The room had been enlarged; it was now on a

  level with the store floor, and was blue with smoke, foul with the fumes

  of rum, and noisy with the voices of dark, rugged men.

  A man in the middle of the room was dancing a jig.

  "Hello, who's this?" he said, straightening up.

  It might have been