by Zane Grey
“Ruth” — Shefford took up the Mormon’s unfinished whisper— “if we plan to save her — if we need you — will you help?”
Ruth turned white, but an instant and splendid fire shone in her eyes.
“Try me,” she whispered back. “I’ll change places with her — so you can get her away. They can’t do much to me.”
Shefford wrung her hands. Joe licked his lips and found his voice: “We’ll come back later.” Then he led the way out and Shefford followed. They were silent all the way back to camp.
Nas Ta Bega sat in repose where they had left him, a thoughtful, somber figure. Shefford went directly to the Indian, and Joe tarried at the camp-fire, where he raked out some red embers and put one upon the bowl of his pipe. He puffed clouds of white smoke, then found a seat beside the others.
“Shefford, go ahead. Talk. It’ll take a deal of talk. I’ll listen. Then I’ll talk. It’ll be Nas Ta Bega who makes the plan out of it all.”
Shefford launched himself so swiftly that he scarcely talked coherently. But he made clear the points that he must save Fay, get her away from the village, let her lead him to Surprise Valley, rescue Lassiter and Jane Withersteen, and take them all out of the country.
Joe Lake dubiously shook his head. Manifestly the Surprise Valley part of the situation presented a new and serious obstacle. It changed the whole thing. To try to take the three out by way of Kayenta and Durango was not to be thought of, for reasons he briefly stated. The Red Lake trail was the only one left, and if that were taken the chances were against Shefford. It was five days over sand to Red Lake — impossible to hide a trail — and even with a day’s start Shefford could not escape the hard-riding men who would come from Stonebridge. Besides, after reaching Red Lake, there were days and days of desert-travel needful to avoid places like Blue canyon, Tuba, Moencopie, and the Indian villages.
“We’ll have to risk all that,” declared Shefford, desperately.
“It’s a fool risk,” retorted Joe. “Listen. By tomorrow noon all of Stonebridge, more or less, will be riding in here. You’ve got to get away to-night with the girl — or never! And to-morrow you’ve got to find that Lassiter and the woman in Surprise Valley. This valley must be back, deep in the canyon country. Well, you’ve got to come out this way again. No trail through here would be safe. Why, you’d put all your heads in a rope!... You mustn’t come through this way. It’ll have to be tried across country, off the trails, and that means hell — day-and-night travel, no camp, no feed for horses — maybe no water. Then you’ll have the best trackers in Utah like hounds on your trail.”
When the Mormon ceased his forceful speech there was a silence fraught with hopeless meaning. He bowed his head in gloom. Shefford, growing sick again to his marrow, fought a cold, hateful sense of despair.
“Bi Nai!” In his extremity he called to the Indian.
“The Navajo has heard,” replied Nas Ta Bega, strangely speaking in his own language.
With a long, slow heave of breast Shefford felt his despair leave him. In the Indian lay his salvation. He knew it. Joe Lake caught the subtle spirit of the moment and looked up eagerly.
Nas Ta Bega stretched an arm toward the east, and spoke in Navajo. But Shefford, owing to the hurry and excitement of his mind, could not translate. Joe Lake listened, gave a violent start, leaped up with all his big frame quivering, and then fired question after question at the Indian. When the Navajo had replied to all, Joe drew himself up as if facing an irrevocable decision which would wring his very soul. What did he cast off in that moment? What did he grapple with? Shefford had no means to tell, except by the instinct which baffled him. But whether the Mormon’s trial was one of spiritual rending or the natural physical fear of a perilous, virtually impossible venture, the fact was he was magnificent in his acceptance of it. He turned to Shefford, white, cold, yet glowing.
“Nas Ta Bega believes he can take you down a canyon to the big river — the Colorado. He knows the head of this canyon. Nonnezoshe Boco it’s called — canyon of the rainbow bridge. He has never been down it. Only two or three living Indians have ever seen the great stone bridge. But all have heard of it. They worship it as a god. There’s water runs down this canyon and water runs to the river. Nas Ta Bega thinks he can take you down to the river.”
“Go on,” cried Shefford breathlessly, as Joe paused.
“The Indian plans this way. God, it’s great!... If only I can do my end!... He plans to take mustangs to-day and wait with them for you to-night or to-morrow till you come with the girl. You’ll go get Lassiter and the woman out of Surprise Valley. Then you’ll strike east for Nonnezoshe Boco. If possible, you must take a pack of grub. You may be days going down — and waiting for me at the mouth of the canyon, at the river.”
“Joe! Where will you be?”
“I’ll ride like hell for Kayenta, get another horse there, and ride like hell for the San Juan River. There’s a big flatboat at the Durango crossing. I’ll go down the San Juan in that — into the big river. I’ll drift down by day, tie up by night, and watch for you at the mouth of every canyon till I come to Nonnezoshe Boco.”
Shefford could not believe the evidence of his ears. He knew the treacherous San Juan River. He had heard of the great, sweeping, terrible red Colorado and its roaring rapids.
“Oh, it seems impossible!” he gasped. “You’ll just lose your life for nothing.”
“The Indian will turn the trick, I tell you. Take my hunch. It’s nothing for me to drift down a swift river. I worked a ferry-boat once.”
Shefford, to whom flying straws would have seemed stable, caught the inflection of defiance and daring and hope of the Mormon’s spirit.
“What then — after you meet us at the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco?” he queried.
“We’ll all drift down to Lee’s Ferry. That’s at the head of Marble canyon. We’ll get out on the south side of the river, thus avoiding any Mormons at the ferry. Nas Ta Bega knows the country. It’s open desert — on the other side of these plateaus. He can get horses from Navajos. Then you’ll strike south for Willow Springs.”
“Willow Springs? That’s Presbrey’s trading-post,” said Shefford.
“Never met him. But he’ll see you safe out of the Painted Desert. ... The thing that worries me most is how not to miss you all at the mouth of Nonnezoshe. You must have sharp eyes. But I forget the Indian. A bird couldn’t pass him.... And suppose Nonnezoshe Boco has a steep-walled, narrow mouth opening into a rapids!... Whew! Well, the Indian will figure that, too. Now, let’s put our heads together and plan how to turn this end of the trick here. Getting the girl!”
After a short colloquy it was arranged that Shefford would go to Ruth and talk to her of the aid she had promised. Joe averred that this aid could be best given by Ruth going in her somber gown and hood to the school-house, and there, while Joe and Shefford engaged the guards outside, she would change apparel and places with Fay and let her come forth.
“What’ll they do to Ruth?” demanded Shefford. “We can’t accept her sacrifice if she’s to suffer — or be punished.”
“Reckon Ruth has a strong hunch that she can get away with it. Did you notice how strange she said that? Well, they can’t do much to her. The bishop may damn her soul. But — Ruth—”
Here Lake hesitated and broke off. Not improbably he had meant to say that of all the Mormon women in the valley Ruth was the least likely to suffer from punishment inflicted upon her soul.
“Anyway, it’s our only chance,” went on Joe, “unless we kill a couple of men. Ruth will gladly take what comes to help you.”
“All right; I consent,” replied Shefford, with emotion. “And now after she comes out — the supposed Ruth — what then?”
“You can be natural-like. Go with her back to Ruth’s cabin. Then stroll off into the cedars. Then climb the west wall. Meanwhile Nas Ta Bega will ride off with a pack of grub and Nack-yal and several other mustangs. He’ll wait for you or you’ll wait for him, as the
case may be, at some appointed place. When you’re gone I’ll jump my horse and hit the trail for Kayenta and the San Juan.”
“Very well; that’s settled,” said Shefford, soberly. “I’ll go at once to see Ruth. You and Nas Ta Bega decide on where I’m to meet him.”
“Reckon you’d do just as well to walk round and come up to Ruth’s from the other side — instead of going through the village,” suggested Joe.
Shefford approached Ruth’s cabin in a roundabout way; nevertheless, she saw him coming before he got there and, opening the door, stood pale, composed, and quietly bade him enter. Briefly, in low and earnest voice, Shefford acquainted her with the plan.
“You love her so much,” she said, wistfully, wonderingly.
“Indeed I do. Is it too much to ask of you to do this thing?” he asked.
“Do it?” she queried, with a flash of spirit. “Of course I’ll do it.”
“Ruth, I can’t thank you. I can’t. I’ve only a faint idea what you’re risking. That distresses me. I’m afraid of what may happen to you.”
She gave him another of the strange glances. “I don’t risk so much as you think,” she said, significantly.
“Why?”
She came close to him, and her hands clasped his arms and she looked up at him, her eyes darkening and her face growing paler. “Will you swear to keep my secret?” she asked, very low.
“Yes, I swear.”
“I was one of Waggoner’s sealed wives!”
“God Almighty!” broke out Shefford, utterly overwhelmed.
“Yes. That’s why I say I don’t risk so much. I will make up a story to tell the bishop and everybody. I’ll tell that Waggoner was jealous, that he was brutal to Mary, that I believed she was goaded to her mad deed, that I thought she ought to be free. They’ll be terrible. But what can they do to me? My husband is dead... and if I have to go to hell to keep from marrying another married Mormon, I’ll go!”
In that low, passionate utterance Shefford read the death-blow to the old Mormon polygamous creed. In the uplift of his spirit, in the joy at this revelation, he almost forgot the stern matter at hand. Ruth and Joe Lake belonged to a younger generation of Mormons. Their nobility in this instance was in part a revolt at the conditions of their lives. Doubt was knocking at Joe Lake’s heart, and conviction had come to this young sealed wife, bitter and hopeless while she had been fettered, strong and mounting now that she was free. In a flash of inspiration Shefford saw the old order changing. The Mormon creed might survive, but that part of it which was an affront to nature, a horrible yoke on women’s necks, was doomed. It could not live. It could never have survived more than a generation or two of religious fanatics. Shefford had marked a different force and religious fervor in the younger Mormons, and now he understood them.
“Ruth, you talk wildly,” he said. “But I understand. I see. You are free and you’re going to stay free.... It stuns me to think of that man of many wives. What did you feel when you were told he was dead?”
“I dare not think of that. It makes me — wicked. And he was good to me.... Listen. Last night about midnight he came to my window and woke me. I got up and let him in. He was in a terrible state. I thought he was crazy. He walked the floor and called on his saints and prayed. When I wanted to light a lamp he wouldn’t let me. He was afraid I’d see his face. But I saw well enough in the moonlight. And I knew something had happened. So I soothed and coaxed him. He had been a man as close-mouthed as a stone. Yet then I got him to talk.... He had gone to Mary’s, and upon entering, thought he heard some one with her. She didn’t answer him at first. When he found her in her bedroom she was like a ghost. He accused her. Her silence made him furious. Then he berated her, brought down the wrath of God upon her, threatened her with damnation. All of which she never seemed to hear. But when he tried to touch her she flew at him like a she-panther. That’s what he called her. She said she’d kill him! And she drove him out of her house.... He was all weak and unstrung, and I believe scared, too, when he came to me. She must have been a fury. Those quiet, gentle women are furies when they’re once roused. Well, I was hours up with him and finally he got over it. He didn’t pray any more. He paced the room. It was just daybreak when he said the wrath of God had come to him. I tried to keep him from going back to Mary. But he went.... An hour later the women ran to tell me he had been found dead at Mary’s door.”
“Ruth — she was mad — driven — she didn’t know what she — was doing,” said Shefford, brokenly.
“She was always a strange girl, more like an Indian than any one I ever knew. We called her the Sago Lily. I gave her the name. She was so sweet, lovely, white and gold, like those flowers.... And to think! Oh, it’s horrible for her! You must save her. If you get her away there never will be anything come of it. The Mormons will hush it up.”
“Ruth, time is flying,” rejoined Shefford, hurriedly. “I must go back to Joe. You be ready for us when we come. Wear something loose, easily thrown off, and don’t forget the long hood.”
“I’ll be ready and watching,” she said. “The sooner the better, I’d say.”
He left her and returned toward camp in the same circling route by which he had come. The Indian had disappeared and so had his mustang. This significant fact augmented Shefford’s hurried, thrilling excitement. But one glance at Joe’s face changed all that to a sudden numbness, a sinking of his heart.
“What is it?” he queried.
“Look there!” exclaimed the Mormon.
Shefford’s quick eye caught sight of horses and men down the valley. He saw several Indians and three or four white men. They were making camp.
“Who are they?” demanded Shefford.
“Shadd and some of his gang. Reckon that Piute told the news. By to-morrow the valley will be full as a horse-wrangler’s corral.... Lucky Nas Ta Bega got away before that gang rode in. Now things won’t look as queer as they might have looked. The Indian took a pack of grub, six mustangs, and my guns. Then there was your rifle in your saddle-sheath. So you’ll be well heeled in case you come to close quarters. Reckon you can look for a running fight. For now, as soon as your flight is discovered, Shadd will hit your trail. He’s in with the Mormons. You know him — what you’ll have to deal with. But the advantage will all be yours. You can ambush the trail.”
“We’re in for it. And the sooner we’re off the better,” replied Shefford, grimly.
“Reckon that’s gospel. Well — come on!”
The Mormon strode off, and Shefford, catching up with him, kept at his side. Shefford’s mind was full, but Joe’s dark and gloomy face did not invite communication. They entered the pinon grove and passed the cabin where the tragedy had been enacted. A tarpaulin had been stretched across the front porch. Beal was not in sight, nor were any of the women.
“I forgot,” said Shefford, suddenly. “Where am I to meet the Indian?”
“Climb the west wall, back of camp,” replied Joe. “Nas Ta Bega took the Stonebridge trail. But he’ll leave that, climb the rocks, then hide the outfit and come back to watch for you. Reckon he’ll see you when you top the wall.”
They passed on into the heart of the village. Joe tarried at the window of a cabin, and passed a few remarks to a woman there, and then he inquired for Mother Smith at her house. When they left here the Mormon gave Shefford a nudge. Then they separated, Joe going toward the school-house, while Shefford bent his steps in the direction of Ruth’s home.
Her door opened before he had a chance to knock. He entered. Ruth, white and resolute, greeted him with a wistful smile.
“All ready?” she asked.
“Yes. Are you?” he replied, low-voiced.
“I’ve only to put on my hood. I think luck favors you. Hester was here and she said Elder Smith told some one that Mary hadn’t been offered anything to eat yet. So I’m taking her a little. It’ll be a good excuse for me to get in the school-house to see her. I can throw off this dress and she can put it on in a minute. The
n the hood. I mustn’t forget to hide her golden hair. You know how it flies. But this is a big hood.... Well, I’m ready now. And — this ‘s our last time together.”
“Ruth, what can I say — how can I thank you?”
“I don’t want any thanks. It’ll be something to think of always — to make me happy.... Only I’d like to feel you — you cared a little.”
The wistful smile was there, a tremor on the sad lips, and a shadow of soul-hunger in her eyes. Shefford did not misunderstand her. She did not mean love, although it was a yearning for real love that she mutely expressed.
“Care! I shall care all my life,” he said, with strong feeling. “I shall never forget you.”
“It’s not likely I’ll forget you.... Good-by, John!”
Shefford took her in his arms and held her close. “Ruth — good-by!” he said, huskily.
Then he released her. She adjusted the hood and, taking up a little tray which held food covered with a napkin, she turned to the door. He opened it and they went out.
They did not speak another word.
It was not a long walk from Ruth’s home to the school-house, yet if it were to be measured by Shefford’s emotion the distance would have been unending. The sacrifice offered by Ruth and Joe would have been noble under any circumstances had they been Gentiles or persons with no particular religion, but, considering that they were Mormons, that Ruth had been a sealed-wife, that Joe had been brought up under the strange, secret, and binding creed, their action was no less than tremendous in its import. Shefford took it to mean vastly more than loyalty to him and pity for Fay Larkin. As Ruth and Joe had arisen to this height, so perhaps would other young Mormons, have arisen. It needed only the situation, the climax, to focus these long-insulated, slow-developing and inquiring minds upon the truth — that one wife, one mother of children, for one man at one time was a law of nature, love, and righteousness. Shefford felt as if he were marching with the whole younger generation of Mormons, as if somehow he had been a humble instrument in the working out of their destiny, in the awakening that was to eliminate from their religion the only thing which kept it from being as good for man, and perhaps as true, as any other religion.