The Heart of the Desert

by Honoré Morrow

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE HEART'S OWN BITTERNESS

  "I'm not worrying," answered Rhoda stoutly, "except about you. You areshaking with exhaustion while I am as fit as can be."

  "Oh, don't bother about me!" exclaimed John. "I'm just a little tired."

  But Rhoda was not to be put off.

  "How much did you sleep last night?"

  "Not much," admitted DeWitt. "I haven't been a heavy sleeper at timesever since you disappeared, strange as that may seem!" Then hegrinned. It was pleasant to have Rhoda bully him.

  Yet the big fellow actually was sinking with weariness. The fearfulhardships that he had undergone had worked havoc with him. Now thatthe agonizing nerve-strain was lifted he was going to pieces. He stoodwavering for a minute, then he slowly sat down in the sand.

  Rhoda stood beside him uncertainly and looked from the man to theimmovably distant mountain peak. She realized that, in stopping, therisk of recapture was great, yet her desert experiences told her thatJohn must regain some of his strength before the sun caught them. Shehad little faith that they would tumble upon the camp as easily as Johnthought, and wanted to prepare for a day of desert heat.

  "If we were sure just where the camp lay," she said, "I would go on forhelp. But as we aren't certain, I'm afraid to be separated from you,John."

  John looked up fiercely with his haggard eyes.

  "Don't you dare to move six inches from me, Rhoda. It will kill me tolose you now."

  "Of course I won't," said Rhoda. "I've had my lesson about losingmyself in the desert. But you must have some sleep before we go anyfarther."

  Rhoda spoke with a cheerfulness she did not feel. She looked about fora comfortable resting-place but the desert was barren.

  "There's no use trying to find a comfortable bed," she said. "You hadbetter lie down right where you are."

  "Honey," said John, "I've no idea of sleeping. It will be time enoughfor that when we reach camp. But if you think you could stand guardfor just ten minutes I will lie flat in the sand and rest. You take mywatch and time me."

  "That's splendid!" said Rhoda, helping him to clear of rocks and cactusa space long enough to lie in.

  "Just ten minutes," said DeWitt, and as he spoke he sank to sleep.

  Rhoda stood in the moonlight looking into the man's unconscious face.His new-grown beard gave him a haggard look that was enhanced by thedark circles under his eyes. That wan face touched Rhoda much morethan the healthy face of former days. The lines of weariness and painthat never could be fully erased were all for her, she thought with alittle catch of her breath. Then with a pitying, affectionate look atthe sleeping man came a whimsical smile. Once she had thought no onecould equal John in physical vigor. Now she pictured Kut-le's pantherstrength and endurance, and smiled.

  She looked at the watch. Five hours till dawn. She would let Johnhave the whole of that time in which to sleep. His ten minutes wouldbe worse than useless, while to find the camp after the moon had setwould be quite out of the question. Her own eyes were wide andsleepless. She sat in the sand beside DeWitt until driven by the coldto pace back and forth. John slept without stirring; the sleep ofcomplete exhaustion. Rhoda was not afraid, nor did she feel lonely.The desert was hers now. There was no wind, but now and again thecactus rustled as if unseen wings had brushed it. The dried heaps ofcholla stirred as if unseen paws had pressed them. From afar came thedemoniacal laughter of coyotes on their night hunts. But still Rhodawas not afraid.

  At first, in the confusion of thoughts that the day's events hadcrowded on her, her clearest sense was of thankfulness. Then she fellto wondering what had happened to Porter and Kut-le. Suddenly shecaught her breath with a shiver. If Porter won there could be but oneanswer as to Kut-le's fate. John's attitude of mind told that. Rhodatwisted her hands together.

  "I will not have him killed!" she whispered. "No! No! I will nothave him killed!"

  For many minutes she paced back and forth, battling with her fears.Then she suddenly recalled the fact that vengeance was to be saved forJohn. This uncanny thought comforted her. She had little fear butthat she could manage John.

  And then in the utter silence of the desert night, staring at thesinking moon, Rhoda asked herself why, when she should have been madwith joy over her own rescue, she was giving all her thoughts toKut-le's plight! For a moment the question brought a flood ofconfusion. Then, standing alone in the night beauty of the desert, thegirl acknowledged the truth that she had denied even to herself solong. The young Indian's image returned to her endowed with all thedignity of his remarkable physical perfection. She knew now that fromthe first this physical beauty of his had had a strong appeal to her.She knew now that all his unusual characteristics that at first hadseemed so strange to her were the ones that had drawn her to him. Hisstrange mental honesty, his courage, his brutal incisiveness, all hadfascinated her. All her days with him returned to her, days ofweakness, of anger, then the weeks on the ledge, and the day when shehad found the desert, and finally the day just past, to the very momentwhen Billy Porter had come upon them on the ledge.

  Rhoda stood with unseeing eyes while before her inward vision passed amagnificent panorama of the glories through which Kut-le had led her.Chaos of mountain and desert, resplendent with color; cool, sweet depthof canon; burning height of tortured peak; slope of pungent pinonforest--all wrapped in the haze which is the desert's own.

  Rhoda knew the truth; knew that she loved Kut-le! She knew that sheloved him with all the passionate devotion for which her rebirth hadgiven her the capacity.

  With this acknowledgment, all her calm was swept away. With fingersclasped against her breast, with wide eyes on the brooding night, shewished that she might tell him this that had come to her. If only oncemore the inscrutable tenderness of his black eyes were upon her! Ifthe deep imperative voice were but sounding in her ears again! If onlyshe could feel now the touch of his powerful arms as he carried her thelong sick miles to Chira. Trembling with longing, her gaze fell uponthe man sleeping at her feet. She drew a sudden troubled breath. Mustshe renounce this new rapture of living? Must she?

  "Have I found new life in the desert only to lose it?" she whispered."O Kut-le! Kut-le!"

  DeWitt slept on, unmoving, and Rhoda watched him with tragedy-strickeneyes.

  "What shall I do!" she whispered, lips quivering, shaking handstwisting together. "Oh, what shall I do!"

  She tried to picture a future with Kut-le. She saw his tenderness, hispurposefulness, the bigness of his mind and spirit. Then with a coldclutch at her throat came the thought of race barrier, and in a momentRhoda was plunged into the oldest, the most hopeless, the leastsolvable of all love's problems. Minute after minute went by and thegirl, standing by the sleeping man, fought a fight that shook herslender body and racked her soul. At last she raised her face to thesky.

  "I want to do what is right!" she said piteously. "It doesn't matterabout me, if only I can decide what is right!" Then after, a pause, "Iwill marry John! I will!" like a child that has been punished andpromises to be good. Still another pause, then, "So that part of me isdead!" and she put her fingers before her eyes and fell to crying, notwith the easy tears of a woman but with the deep, agonizing sobs of aman over his dead.

  "Kut-le, I wanted you! I wanted you for my mate! If I could haveheard you, seen you, felt you once more! Nothing else would havemattered. I wanted you!"

  A long hour passed in which Rhoda sat in the sand, limp and quiescent,as though all but wrecked by the storm through which she had passed.Dawn came at last. The air was pregnant with new hope, with a vagueuplifting of sense and being that told of the coming of a new day. Theeast quivered with prismatic colors and suddenly the sun appeared.

  Rhoda rose and stooped over DeWitt to smooth the hair back from hisforehead.

  "Come," she said softly. "It's breakfast time!"

  DeWitt sat up bewildered. Then his senses returned.


  "Rhoda," he exclaimed, "what do you mean by this!"

  Rhoda's smile was a little wan.

  "You needed the rest and I didn't!"

  DeWitt rose and shook himself like a great dog, then looked at Rhodawonderingly.

  "And you don't look much done up! But you had no right to do such athing! I told you to give me ten minutes. I feel like a brute. Liedown now and get a little sleep yourself."

  "Lie in the sun? Thank you, I'd rather push on to the camp and havesome breakfast. How do you feel?"

  "Much better! It was fine of you, dear, but it wasn't a fair deal."

  "I'll be good from now on!" said Rhoda meekly. "What would you likefor breakfast?"

  DeWitt looked about him. Already the desert was assuming its brazenaspect.

  "Water will be enough for me," he answered, "and nothing else. I amseriously considering a rigid diet for a time."

  They both drank sparingly of the water in Rhoda's canteen.

  "I have three shots in my Colt," said DeWitt, "but I want to save themfor an emergency. But if we don't strike camp pretty soon, I'll try topot a jack-rabbit."

  "We can eat desert mice," said Rhoda. "I know how to catch and cookthem!"

  "Heaven forbid!" ejaculated DeWitt. "Let's start on at once, if you'renot too tired."

  So they began the day cheerfully. As the morning wore on and theyfound no trace of the camp, they began to watch the canteen carefully.Gradually their thirst became so great that the desire for food wasquite secondary to it and they made no attempt to hunt for a rabbit.They agreed toward noon to save the last few drops in the canteen untilthey could no longer do without it.

  Hour after hour they toiled in the blinding heat, the strange deep blueof the sky reflecting the brazen light of the desert. In their carefulavoiding of the mountain where they had rested at sunset the nightbefore, they gradually worked out into a wide barren space with dunesand rock heaps interchanging.

  "This won't do at all," said Dewitt at last, wearily. "We had bettertry for any old mountain at all in the hope of finding water."

  They stood panting, staring at the distant haze of a peak. Tracklessand tortuous, the way underfoot was incredibly difficult. Yet thedistances melted in ephemeral slopes as lovely in their tints as theywere accursed in their reality of cruelty. Rhoda, unaccustomed to daytravel, panted and gasped as they walked. But she held her own fairlywell, while DeWitt, sick and overstrained at the start, was failingrapidly.

  "It's noon now," said John a little thickly. "You had better lie inthe shade of that rock for an hour."

  "You sleep too!" pleaded Rhoda.

  "I'm too hot to sleep. I'll wake you in an hour."

  When Rhoda awoke it was to see DeWitt leaning against the rock heap,his lips swollen, his eyes uncertain.

  Weak and dizzy herself, she rose and laid her hand on John's, everymaternal instinct in her stirring and speaking in her gray eyes.

  "Come, dear boy, we mustn't give up so easily."

  John lifted the little hand to his cheek.

  "I won't give up," he said uncertainly. "I'll take care of you, honeygirl!"

  "Come on, then!" said Rhoda. "You see that queer bunch of chollayonder? Let's get as far as that before we stop again!"

  With a great effort, DeWitt gathered himself together and, fixing hiseyes on the fantastic cactus growth, he plodded desperately through thesand. At the cholla bunch, Rhoda pointed to a jutting lavender rock.

  "At that we'll rest for a minute. Come on, John!"

  John's sick eyes did not waver but his trembling legs described manycircles in their journey to the jutting rock. Distances were so manytimes what they seemed that Rhoda's little scheme carried them over amile of desert before DeWitt sank to his knees.

  "I'm a sick man," he said huskily as he fell in a limp heap.

  Nothing could have appeared more opportunely than this new hardship totake Rhoda's mind off her misery of the night. Nothing could havebrought John so near to her as this utter helplessness brought aboutthrough his toiling for her. She looked at him with tears of pity inher eyes, while her heart sank with fright. She knew the terribledanger that menaced them. But she closed her lips firmly and lookedthoughtfully at the mite of water that remained to them. Then she heldthe canteen to DeWitt's lips. He pushed it away from him and inanother moment or so he rose.

  Rhoda, fastening their hopes to another distant cholla, led the way onagain. But she too was growing a little light-headed. The distantcactus danced grotesquely and black spots flitted between her and themolten iron over which, her fancy said they traveled. Suddenly shelaughed crazily:

  "'Twas brillig, and the slythy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe!"

  DeWitt laughed hoarsely.

  "That's just the way it looks to me, Rhoda. But you're just as crazyas I am."

  Rhoda jerked herself together and tried to moisten her lips with herswollen tongue.

  "We must take it turn about. When you are crazy I must try to be sane!"

  "Good idea!" croaked DeWitt, "only I'm crazy all the time!"

  "'O frabjous day! Calloo! Collay! He chortled in his joy!'"

  Rhoda patted his hand.

  "Poor John! Oh, my poor John! I was not worth all this. You may nothave an Apache's strength, but your heart is right!" Two great tearsrolled down her cheeks.

  DeWitt looked at her seriously.

  "You aren't as dry as I am. I haven't enough moisture in me to moistenmy eyeballs, let alone cry! I am so cracked and dry that you will haveto soak me in the first spring we come to before I'll hold water."

  Rhoda laughed weakly and John turned away with a hurt look.

  "It's not a joke!" he said.

  How long they were, in their staggering, circuitous course, in reachingtheir goal of cholla, Rhoda never knew. She knew that each heavy foot,tingling and scorched, seemed to drag her back a step for every onethat she took forward. She knew that she repeatedly offered the lastof their water to John and that he repeatedly refused it, urging it onher. She knew that the pulp of the barrel cactus that she tried tochew turned to bitter sawdust in her mouth and sickened her. Thensuddenly, as she struggled to refocus her wandering wits on the cholla,it appeared within touch of her hand.

  Afraid to pause, she adopted a new goal in a far mesa, and clutchingDeWitt's unresponsive fingers she struggled forward.

  And so on and on toward a never nearing goal; now falling, now rising,now pausing to strive to hush Dewitt's cracked voice that wanderedaimlessly through all the changes of verse that seemed to his deliriumappropriate to the occasion. It seemed to Rhoda that her own brain wasreeling as she watched the illimitable space through which they moved.John's voice did not cease.

  "Alone! Alone! All, all, alone! Alone on a wide, wide sea! So lonely 'twas that God himself, Scarce seemed there to be!"

  "Hush, John! Hush!" pleaded Rhoda.

  "Alone! Alone! All, all alone!"

  repeated the croaking voice.

  "But I'm with you, John!" Rhoda pleaded, but DeWitt rambled onunheeding.

  The way grew indescribably rough. The desert floor became a series ofsand dunes, a rise and fall of sea-like billows over which they climbedlike ants over a new-plowed field. In the hollow of each wave theyrested, sinking in the sand, where, breathless and scorching, the airscintillated above their motionless forms. At the crest of each theyrested again, the desert wind hurtling the hot sand against theirparched skins. Frequently John refused to rise and Rhoda in her halfdelirium would sink beside him until the mist lifted from her brain andonce more the distant mesa forced itself upon her vision.

  "Come, John, we will soon be there. We can't keep on this way foreverand not reach some place. Please come, dear!"

  "'He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me besidestill waters. He restoreth my soul--'"

  "Perhaps there will be water there! O John, dear John
, if you love me,come!"

  "I don't love you, little boy! I love Rhoda Tuttle.

  "O for a draught of vintage that hath been Cooled a long age in deep delved earth!"

  "Please, John! I'm so sick!"

  The man, after two or three attempts, staggered to his feet and stoodswaying.

  "God help me!" he said. "I can do no more!"

  "Yes, you can, John! Yes, you can! Perhaps there is a whole fountainof water there on the mesa!"

  The glazed look returned to DeWitt's eyes.

  "'Or the pitcher be broken at the fountain,'" he muttered, "'or thewheel broken at the cistern--or the pitcher broken at the fountain, orthe wheel--'"

  Rhoda threw her arm across her eyes.

  "Oh, not that, John! I can't bear that one!"

  Again, she stood upon the roof at Chira, looking up into Kut-le's face.Again the low wailing of the Indian women and the indescribable depthand hunger of those dear black eyes. Again the sense of protection andcontent in his nearness.

  "O Kut-le! Kut-le!" she moaned.

  Instantly sanity returned to John's eyes.

  "Why did you say Kut-le?" he demanded thickly.

  "Were you thinking of him?"

  "Yes," answered Rhoda simply. "Come on, John!"

  DeWitt struggled on bravely to the crest of the next dune.

  "I hate that Apache devil!" he muttered. "I am going to kill him!"

  Rhoda quickly saw the magic of Kut-le's name.

  "Why should you want to kill Kut-le?" she asked as Dewitt paused at thetop of the next dune. Instantly he started on.

  "Because I hate him! I hate him, the devil!"

  "See how near the mesa is, John! Only a little way! Kut-le would saywe were poor stuff!"

  "No doubt! Well, I'll let a gun give him my opinion of him!"

  The sand dunes had indeed beaten themselves out against the wall of agiant mesa. Rhoda followed blindly along the wall and stumbled upon aprecipitous trail leading upward.