Jim Waring of Sonora-Town; Or, Tang of Life

by Henry Herbert Knibbs

  Chapter XXV

  _The Little Fires_

  With the coming of winter the Blue Mesa reclaimed its primordialsolitude. Mount Baldy's smooth, glittering roundness topped a world thatswept down in long waves of dark blue frosted with silver; the serriedminarets of spruce and pine bulked close and sprinkled with snow.Blanketed in white, the upland mesas lay like great, tideless lakes,silent and desolate from green-edged shore to shore. The shadowy cavernsof the timberlands, touched here and there with a ray of sunlight,thrilled to the creeping fingers of the cold. Tough fibers of thestiff-ranked pines parted with a crackling groan, as though unable tobear silently the reiterant stabbing of the frost needles. The frozengum of the black spruce glowed like frosted topaz. The naked whips ofthe quaking asp were brittle traceries against the hard blue of the sky.

  Below the rounded shoulders of the peaks ran an incessant whispering asthin swirls of powdered snow spun down the wind and sifted through themoving branches below.

  The tawny lynx and the mist-gray mountain lion hunted along snow-bankedranger trails. The blue grouse sat stiff and close to the tree-trunk,while gray squirrels with quaintly tufted ears peered curiously atsinuous forms that nosed from side to side of the hidden trail below.

  The two cabins of the Blue Mesa, hooded in white, thrust their leanstovepipes skyward through two feet of snow. The corrals were shallowfortifications, banked breast-high. The silence seemed not the silenceof slumber, but that of a tense waiting, as though the whole winterworld yearned for the warmth of spring.

  No creak of saddle or plod of hoof broke the bleak stillness, save whensome wandering Apache hunted the wild turkey or the deer, knowing thatwinter had locked the trails to his ancient heritage; that the whiteman's law of boundaries was void until the snows were thin upon thehighest peaks.

  Thirty miles north of this white isolation the low country glowed in asun that made golden the far buttes and sparkled on the clay-red watersof the Little Colorado. Four thousand feet below the hills cattledrifted across the open lands.

  Across the ranges, to the south, the barren sands lay shimmering in ablur of summer heat waves; the winter desert, beautiful in its goldenlights and purple, changing shadows. And in that Southern desert, wherethe old Apache Trail melts into the made roads of ranchland and town,Bronson toiled at his writing. And Dorothy, less slender, moresprightly, growing stronger in the clean, clear air and the sun,dreamed of her "ranger man" and the blue hills of her autumn wonderland.With the warmth of summer around her, the lizards on the rocks, and thechaparral still green, she could hardly realize that the Blue Mesa couldbe desolate, white, and cold. As yet she had not lived long enough inthe desert to love it as she loved the wooded hills, where to her eachtree was a companion and each whisper of the wind a song.

  She often wondered what Lorry was doing, and whether Bondsman would cometo visit her when they returned to their cabin on the mesa. She oftenrecalled, with a kind of happy wonderment, Bondsman's singular visit andhow he had left suddenly one morning, heedless of her coaxing. The bigAiredale had appeared in Jason the day after Bud Shoop had returned fromCriswell. That Bondsman should know, miles from the town, that hismaster had returned was a mystery to her. She had read of suchhappenings; her father had written of them. But to know them for thevery truth! That was, indeed, the magic, and her mountains were toweringcitadels of the true Romance.

  Long before Bronson ventured to return to his mountain camp, Lorry wasriding the hill trails again as spring loosened the upland snows andfilled the canons and arroyos with a red turbulence of waters bearingdriftwood and dead leaves. With a companion ranger he mended trail androde along the telephone lines, searching for sagging wires; made notesof fresh down timber and the effect of the snow-fed torrents on themajor trails.

  Each day the air grew warmer. Tiny green shoots appeared in the rustytangle of last season's mesa grasses. Imperceptibly the dull-hued mesasbecame fresh carpeted with green across which the wind bore a subtlysoft fragrance of sun-warmed spruce and pine.

  To Lorry the coming of the Bronsons was like the return of old friends.Although he had known them but a short summer season, isolation hadbrought them all close together. Their reunion was celebrated with anold-fashioned dinner of roast beef and potatoes, hot biscuit and honey,an apple pie that would have made a New England farmer dream of hisancestors, and the inevitable coffee of the high country.

  And Dorothy had so much to tell him of the wonderful winter desert; theold Mexican who looked after their horses, and his wife who cooked forthem. Of sunshine and sandstorms, the ruins of ancient pueblos in whichthey discovered fragments of pottery, arrowheads, beads, and trinkets,of the lean, bronzed cowboys of the South, of the cattle and sheep,until in her enthusiasm she forgot that Lorry had always known of thesethings. And Lorry, gravely attentive, listened without interrupting heruntil she asked why he was so silent.

  "Because I'm right happy, miss, to see you lookin' so spry and pretty.I'm thinkin' Arizona has been kind of a heaven for you."

  "And you?" she queried, laughing.

  "Well, it wasn't the heat that would make me call it what it was up herelast winter. I rode up once while you was gone. Gray Leg could just makeit to the cabin. It wasn't so bad in the timber. But comin' across themesa the cinchas sure scraped snow."

  "Right here on our mesa?"

  "Right here, miss. From the edge of the timber over there to this sideit was four feet deep on the level."

  "And now," she said, gesturing toward the wavering grasses. "But why didyou risk it?"

  Lorry laughed. He had not considered it a risk. "You remember that bookyou lent me. Well, I left it in my cabin. There was one piece that kep'botherin' me. I couldn't recollect the last part about those 'LittleFires.' I was plumb worried tryin' to remember them verses. When I gotit, I sure learned that piece from the jump to the finish."

  "The 'Little Fires'? I'm glad you like it. I do.

  "'From East to West they're burning in tower and forge and home, And on beyond the outlands, across the ocean foam; On mountain crest and mesa, on land and sea and height, The little fires along the trail that twinkle down the night.'

  "And about the sheep-herder; do you remember how--

  "'The Andalusian herder rolls a smoke and points the way, As he murmurs, "Caliente," "San Clemente," "Santa Fe," Till the very names are music, waking memoried desires, And we turn and foot it down the trail to find the little fires. Adventuring! Adventuring! And, oh, the sights to see! And little fires along the trail that wink at you and me.'"

  "That's it! But I couldn't say it like that. But I know some of themlittle fires."

  "We must make one some day. Won't it be fun!"

  "It sure is when a fella ain't hustlin' to get grub. That poem soundsbetter after grub, at night, when the stars are shinin' and the horsesgrazin' and mebby the pack-horse bell jinglin' 'way off somewhere. Thenone of them little fires is sure friendly."

  "Have you been reading this winter?"

  "Oh, some. Mostly forestry and about the war. Bud was tellin' me to readup on forestry. He's goin' to put me over west--and a bigger job thissummer."

  "You mean--to stay?"

  "About as much as I stay anywhere."

  Dorothy pouted. She had thought that the Blue Mesa and the timberlandswere more beautiful than ever that spring, but to think that theneighboring cabin would be vacant all summer! No cheery whistling and nowood smoke curling from the chimney and no blithe voice talking to theponies. No jolly "Good-mornin', miss, and the day is sure startin' outproud to see you." Well, Dorothy had considered Mr. Shoop a friend. Shewould have a very serious talk with Mr. Shoop when she saw him.

  She had read of Waring's fight in the desert and of his slow recovery,and that Waring was Lorry's father; matters that she could not speak ofto Lorry, but the knowledge of them lent a kind of romance to her rangerman. At times she studied Lorry, endeavoring to find in him some traceof his father's qualities. She had not met Waring, but she imagined much
from what she had heard and read. And could Lorry, who had such kindgray eyes and such a pleasant face, deliberately go out and kill men ashis father had done? Why should men kill each other? The world was sobeautiful, and there was so much to live for.

  Although the trail across the great forest terraces below was open clearup to the Blue Mesa, the trails on the northern side of the range werestill impassable. The lookout man would not occupy his lonely cabin onMount Baldy for several weeks to come, and Lorry's work kept him withina moderate radius of the home camp.

  Several times Dorothy and her father rode with Lorry, spending the daysearching for new vistas while he mended trail or repaired the telephoneline that ran from Mount Baldy to the main office. Frequently they wouldhave their evening meal in Bronson's camp, after which Lorry alwaysasked them to his cabin, where Dorothy would play for them while theysmoked contentedly in front of the log fire. To Dorothy it seemed thatthey had always lived in a cabin on the Blue Mesa and that Lorry hadalways been their neighbor, whom it was a joy to tease because he nevershowed impatience, and whose attitude toward her was that of a brother.

  And without realizing it, Lorry grew to love the sprightly, slenderDorothy with a wholesome, boyish affection. When she was well, he washappy. When she became over-tired, and was obliged to stay in her room,he was miserable, blaming himself for suggesting some expedition thathad been too much for her strength, so often buoyed above its naturallevel by enthusiasm. At such times he would blame himself roundly. Andif there seemed no cause for her depression, he warred silently with thepower that stooped to harm so frail a creature. His own physical freedomknew no such check. He could not quite understand sickness, save when itcame through some obvious physical injury.

  Bronson was glad that there was a Lorry; both as a companion to himselfand as a tower of strength to Dorothy. Her depression vanished in theyoung ranger's presence. It was a case of the thoroughbred endeavoringto live up to the thoroughbred standard. And Bronson considered anythingthoroughbred that was true to type. Yet the writer had known menphysically inconsequent who possessed a fine strain of courage, loyalty,honor. The shell might be misshapen, malformed, and yet the spirit burnhigh and clear. And Bronson reasoned that there was a divinity of blood,despite the patents of democracy.

  Bronson found that he had to go to Jason for supplies. Dorothy asked togo with him. Bronson hesitated. It was a long ride, although Dorothy hadmade it upon occasion. She teased prettily. Lorry was away. She wasn'tafraid to stay alone, but she would be lonesome. If she kissed him threetimes, one right on top of the other, would he let her come? Bronsongave in to this argument. They would ride slowly, and stay a day longerin Jason to rest.

  When they arrived at Jason, Dorothy immediately went to bed. She wantedto be at her best on the following day. She was going to talk with Mr.Shoop. It was a very serious matter.

  And next morning she excused herself while her father bought supplies.She called at the supervisor's office. Bud Shoop beamed. She was soalert, so vivacious, and so charming in her quick slenderness. Thegenial Bud placed a chair for her with grandiloquent courtesy.

  "I'm going to ask a terrible favor," she began, crossing her legs andclasping her knee.

  "I'm pow'ful scared," said Bud.

  "I don't want favors that way. I want you to like me, and then I willtell you."

  "My goodness, missy! Like you! Who said I didn't?"

  "No one. But you have ordered Lorry Adams to close up his camp and goover to work right near the Apache Reservation."

  "I sure did."

  "Well, Mr. Shoop, I don't like Apaches."

  "You got comp'ny, missy. But what's that got to do with Lorry?"

  "Oh, I suppose he doesn't care. But what do you think his _mother_ wouldsay to you if he--well, if he got _scalped_?"

  A slow grin spread across Bud's broad face. Dorothy looked solemndisapproval. "I can't help it," he said as he shook all over. Two tearswelled in the corner of his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. "I can'thelp it, missy. I ain't laughin' at you. But Lorry gettin' scalped! Why,here you been livin' up here, not five miles from the Apache line, and Iain't heard you tell of bein' scared of Injuns. And you ain't no biggerthan a minute at that."

  "That's just it! Suppose the Apaches did come over the line? What couldwe do if Lorry were gone?"

  "Well, you might repo't their trespassin' to me. And I reckon your daddymight have somethin' to say to 'em. He's been around some."

  "Oh, I suppose so. But there is a lot of work to do in Lorry's district,I noticed, coming down. The trails are in very bad condition."

  "I know it. But he's worth more to the Service doin' bigger work. I gota young college man wished onto me that can mend trails."

  "Will he live at Lorry's cabin?"

  "No. He'll head in from here. I ain't givin' the use of my cabin and mypiano to everybody."

  Dorothy's eyes twinkled. "If Lorry were away some one might steal yourpiano."

  "Now, see here, missy; you're joshin' your Uncle Bud. Do you know thatyou're tryin' to bribe a Gov'ment officer? That means a pow'ful bigpenalty if I was to repo't to Washington."

  Dorothy wrinkled her nose. "I don't care if you do! You'd get what-for,too."

  "Well, I'll tell you, missy. Let's ask Bondsman about this here hocus.Are you willin' to stand by what he says?"

  "Oh, that's not fair! He's _your_ dog."

  "But he's plumb square in his jedgments, missy. Now, I'll tell you.We'll call him in and say nothin'. Then you ask him if he thinks I oughtto put Lorry Adams over west or leave him to my camp this summer. Now,if Bondsman wiggles that stub tail of his, it means, 'yes.' If he don'twiggle his tail, he says, 'no,'--huh?"

  "Of course he'll wiggle his tail. He always does when I talk to him."

  "Then suppose I do the talkin'?"

  "Oh, you can make him do just as you wish. But all right, Mr. Shoop.And you will really let Bondsman decide?"

  "'Tain't accordin' to rules, but seein' it's you--"

  Bud called to the big Airedale. Bondsman trotted in, nosed Dorothy'shand, and looked up at his master.

  "Come 'ere!" commanded Shoop brusquely. "Stand right there! Now, quittryin' to guess what's goin' on and listen to the boss. Accordin' toyour jedgment, which is plumb solid, do I put Lorry to work over on theline this summer?"

  Bondsman cocked his ears, blinked, and a slight quiver began at hisshoulders, which would undoubtedly accentuate to the affirmative when itreached his tail.

  "Rats!" cried Dorothy.

  The Airedale grew rigid, and his spike of a tail cocked up straight andstiff.

  Bud Shoop waved his hands helplessly. "I might 'a' knowed it! A lady canalways get a man steppin' on his own foot when he tries to walk around aargument with her. You done bribed me and corrupted Bondsman. But I'mstayin' right by what I said."

  Dorothy jumped up and took Bud's big hand in her slender ones. "You'rejust lovely to us!" And her brown eyes glowed softly.

  Bud coughed. His shirt-collar seemed tight. He tugged at it, and coughedagain.

  "Missy," he said, leaning forward and patting her hand,--"missy, Iwould send Lorry plumb to--to--Phoenix and tell the Service to go findhim, just to see them brown eyes of yours lookin' at me like that. Butdon't you say nothin' about this here committee meetin' to nobody. Ireckon you played a trick on me for teasin' you. So you think Lorry is aright smart hombre, eh?"

  "Oh," indifferently, "he's rather nice at times. He's company forfather."

  "Then I reckon you set a whole lot of store by your daddy. Now, I wonderif I was a young, bow-legged cow-puncher with kind of curly hair andlookin' fierce and noble, and they was a gal whose daddy was plumblonesome for company, and I was to get notice from the boss that I wasto vamose the diggin's and go to work,--now, I wonder who'd ride twentymiles of trail to talk up for me?"

  "Why, I would!"

  "You got everything off of me but my watch," laughed Bud. "I reckonyou'll let me keep that?"

  "Is it a good watch?" she asked, a
nd her eyes sparkled with a greatidea.

  "Tol'able. Cost a dollar. I lost my old watch in Criswell. I reckon thecity marshal got it when I wa'n't lookin'."

  "Well, you may keep it--for a while yet. When are you coming up to visitus?"

  "Just as soon as I can, missy. Here's your daddy. I want to talk to hima minute."

  Three weeks later, when the wheels of the local stage were beginning tothrow a fine dust, instead of mud, as they whirred from St. Johns toJason, Bud Shoop received a tiny flat package addressed in an unfamiliarhand. He laid it aside until he had read the mail. Then he opened it. Ina nest of cotton batting gleamed a plain gold watch. A thin watch,reflecting something aristocratic in its well-proportioned simplicity.As he examined it his genial face expressed a sort of childishwonderment. There was no card to show from where it had come. He openedthe back of the case, and read a brief inscription.

  "And the little lady would be sendin' this to me! And it's that slim andsmooth; nothin' fancy, but a reg'lar thoroughbred, just like her."

  He laid the watch carefully on his desk, and sat for a while gazing outof the window. It was the first time in his life that a woman had madehim a present. Turning to replace the watch in the box, he saw somethingglitter in the cotton. He pulled out a layer of batting, and discovereda plain gold chain of strong, serviceable pattern.

  That afternoon, as Bud came from luncheon at the hotel, a townsmanaccosted him in the street. During their chat the townsman commentedupon the watch-chain. Bud drew the watch from his pocket and exhibitedit proudly.

  "Just a little present from a lady friend. And her name is inside thecover, along with mine."

  "A lady friend, eh? Now, I thought it was politics mebby?"

  "Nope. Strictly pussonel."

  "Well, Bud, you want to watch out."

  "If you're meanin' that for a joke," retorted Bud, "it's that kind of ajoke what's foundered in its front laigs and can't do nothin' but walkaround itself. I got the same almanac over to my office."