The Angel of the Gila: A Tale of Arizona

by Cora Marsland

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW

  At the close of the religious service, the following day, Estherlearned of many cases of sickness, in and about Gila, and especiallyalong the water courses. A sort of a fever, the people told her. Sheresolved to make neighborhood calls the following day, and to takewith her a case of medicine. She found many people sick with whatseemed to be the same malady; and, thereupon, began a thoroughinvestigation. The result was that she persuaded the people to let hercall a physician.

  On the following day, Dr. Mishell drove into camp, and Esther made therounds with him. As she suspected, the malady proved to be typhoidfever.

  "These people must have intelligent care," the physician said grufflyto her. "Do you know anything about nursing?"

  She told him she had nursed two patients through typhoid fever.

  "You know how to take respiration and temperature, then?" he saidbrusquely.

  She assured him she did.

  Then he wrote out directions for each patient, especially noting whatto do, if certain conditions should arise.

  "You know the importance of sponging patients?" he asked shortly.

  "Yes."

  "Any alcohol?"

  "I can get it."

  And so Esther Bright was installed head nurse in Gila. Helpers ralliedto her aid.

  School was dismissed at an early hour each day, so that Esther couldmake the rounds daily.

  The heat grew almost intolerable, but the delicate girl went on herway as if made of iron. Dr. Mishell looked her over with a nod ofapproval.

  "A woman of sense," he said, in speaking of her to Kenneth Hastings.

  The physician came again in three days, only to find many new cases.Esther Bright's task was becoming enormous.

  "Can you do it?" the physician had asked. And quietly she hadanswered:

  "I can do it as long as anyone needs my care."

  Again the physician nodded approvingly, and muttered:

  "Some women do have some sense."

  When this second visit drew to a close, he looked sharply at Esther,and said in a crusty tone:

  "You are working too hard."

  She protested.

  "I say you _are_!" he reiterated. "I'm going to find someone to comehelp you. Mr. Clayton wishes it. Are you a Catholic?"

  "No, a Quaker."

  "Quaker! Quaker!" he repeated. "No objections to a Catholic, Isuppose?"

  "No objections to any human being who serves humanity."

  The old man left her abruptly. As he untied his horse, preparatory toleaving, he muttered to himself:

  "A very unusual woman. A _very_ unusual woman!"

  Late on the following day, when Esther returned from her rounds, shefound the Mexican, who had come to the Christmas entertainment,awaiting her. After learning that his Indian wife was sick, shegathered up her medical outfit, and started with him up the canyon. Itwas a long and fatiguing tramp.

  The Indian woman proved to be another fever patient. She refused themedicine, but drank the beef juice the nurse offered her. After tryingto make the Mexican understand what to do till she came again, Estherstarted down the canyon alone.

  It was nearly dark. After walking some distance, she heard the cry ofwolves. The cries came nearer. She quickened her pace to a run, when,catching her foot, she was thrown violently forward into the streambelow.

  She struggled to regain her footing, to climb to the bowlder fromwhich she had fallen; but suddenly discovered that she had in some waytwisted her ankle, and that she could not bear her weight on thatfoot. What was she to do? She was still over a mile from ClaytonRanch. If she called, no one could hear her. Oh, those wolves! Theircries sent a chill of terror through her. Again she struggled to climbup on the bank, but the bowlder above her was slippery, and there wasnothing to cling to. At last she sent a loud cry for help echoing downthe canyon. Then she listened. Suddenly she heard a step above her. Itwas the young Apache who had visited the school. His coming was aboutas welcome to her as the wolves would be.

  "N[=e]-sh[=e]-aed-nl[)e]h'," he said, beckoning her to join him. Sheshook her head, pointed to her ankle, and again tried to climb. Herefforts were futile. Then the Indian lifted her, carried her to alevel place, and set her down. She was unable to bear her weight onthe injured foot, and fell. She pointed to her ankle, then downtowards Gila, hoping the Indian might make her plight known to thepeople in camp.

  As if in answer to her pantomimic request, he lifted her easily in hisarms, and strode swiftly down the canyon. Could it be that he hadrescued her in order to return her to her friends? It seemed so.

  At last it occurred to her to sing her call for help, to attract theattention of any miner, or charcoal tender who might chance to begoing up or down the canyon. So with all the volume she could muster,she sang words, telling her plight.

  Every little while the Apache would repeat the words:

  "N[=e]-sh[=e]-aed-nl[)e]h'."

  What could he mean?

  About the time Esther was caring for the sick squaw, Kenneth Hastingslearned from Wathemah that the teacher had gone to the Mexican's shackup the canyon. He was filled with alarm.

  "What's that ye are sayin', Wathemah?" asked Pete Tompkins, who,passing along, had overheard the conversation.

  "Me teacher up canyon. Mexican. Sick squaw," replied the childlaconically.

  "Are you sure, Wathemah?" questioned Kenneth.

  The child nodded his head, and pointed toward the canyon.

  "Them devilish Apaches has been about camp all day," said PeteTompkins, stopping to speak to Kenneth. "I seen some of 'em goin' upcanyon jest 'fore dark."

  "We must go to Miss Bright's rescue at once!" said Kenneth excitedly.

  "I'm with ye," said Pete Tompkins. "If a blanked savage harms that airschoolma'am I'll smash his skull with the butt o' my gun. I'll jiney'r party. Let's take all the hounds. We're likely ter run acrossmore'n one Apache. Hello, kids!" he called out. "Jine a rescue party.The schoolma'am's went up canyon ter tend sick squaw,--the Mexican'swoman. Them devilish Apaches is up through the canyon, an' we'reafeared they'll capture schoolma'am."

  Ten well-armed men, some mounted, some unmounted, started up thecanyon. On their way, they met John Clayton, who joined them. Hishorse was neck and neck with Kenneth's.

  "Good God!" said the former to his companion. "What may have happenedto Miss Bright? What may yet happen to her?"

  Kenneth made no reply, but his face was tense.

  These two men were in advance, closely followed by Jack Harding andPete Tompkins, on their Mexican ponies.

  Suddenly, the party heard the distant cry of wolves, and--was it ahuman voice?--they strained their ears to hear. It was a human voice,a woman's voice. They dug their spurs into their horses' sides, andfairly flew.

  As they were journeying up the canyon, the savage, with his captive inhis arms, was speeding down the canyon. Suddenly he turned, and tookthe trail leading towards the Apache reservation.

  Esther's song for help died on her lips. Every moment seemed eternity;every step, miles away from hope of rescue. Then with the energy bornof despair, she sang again so that her song reached the ears of herrescuers:

  "Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide. The darkness deepens-- Lord, with me abide! When other helpers fail and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O, abide with me!"

  Then she listened. Could it be the baying of hounds she heard? Herheart beat faster. She was not mistaken; she had heard the hounds. Andnow she heard the shouts of men. She began to sing again, but theIndian pressed his hand over her mouth, and tightening his hold withhis other arm, started to run with her. She struggled desperately. Heheld her like a vise. She screamed for help, as she continued tostruggle.

  "Courage!" came ringing back in response to her cry. She knew thevoice. It was the voice of Kenneth Hastings.

  Again the Apache muttered in her ear:

  "N[=e]-sh[=e]-aed-nl[)e]h'."

&nbs
p; She realized that the men were gaining rapidly upon them, andstruggled more violently to free herself.

  As the Apache ran, his breath came harder. It was no easy task tocarry his struggling captive, and escape his pursuers. Still he keptup a remarkable speed.

  A moment more, the hounds came upon him. He kicked desperately, butcould not free himself from them. Then, winding his fingers aroundEsther's throat, he choked her, and threw her to the ground. He liftedhis gun, faced his pursuers, and fired. The ball entered the chest ofKenneth Hastings, who was in hot pursuit, and nearing the Indian.Kenneth fell from his horse, and the savage escaped.

  "My God!" exclaimed John Clayton, as he came up. He sprang from hissaddle, and knelt by Kenneth's side. A little farther on lay Esther,unconscious. Her face was ghastly in the dim light, her clothing wet.

  "Brandy!" he called. "Any one got brandy?"

  "Here," said Pete Tompkins, stepping forward; "here's a flask."

  "With shaking hand, John Clayton tried to staunch the wound inKenneth's shoulder. Then he put brandy between his lips, then betweenEsther's. She was like ice.

  "The brute!" he exclaimed. "I fear he has killed her!"

  Then he pulled off his coat and wrapped it about the girl, saying ashe did so:

  "If she is not dead, the warmth may do her good. Some one ride aheadand prepare Mrs. Clayton."

  "I'll go, sir," said a Scotch miner, mounting one of the ponies.

  "Thank you. Tell Mrs. Clayton that Miss Bright and Mr. Hastings havemet with an accident, and both are unconscious. Tell her to have hotwater and blankets ready."

  "Come, John," he said, turning to Jack Harding. "Just help me liftMiss Bright to my saddle." Mechanically the cowboy obeyed.

  "Can one of you fellows carry Hastings on his horse?"

  Jack Harding volunteered.

  Few words were spoken by any of the men, as they made their way backto camp.

  Pete Tompkins had noisily boasted that he would kill the Indian; but,hearing no reply from any one, he subsided. In spite of his coarsenessand vulgarity, he was touched by the tragic ending of the youngteacher's life, and by the evident sorrow of his companions. He lookedat the still, white face, and something tugged at his heart.

  As they passed Keith's house, Mrs. Keith ran out.

  "'Ere!" she said. "Wrap 'er in this 'ere warm shawl."

  Wathemah ran after them, asking anxiously:

  "Me teacher sick?"

  "Yes, very sick, Wathemah," answered Clayton.

  Just as they reached the Clayton home, Esther roused, and said in adazed way:

  "Where am I?"

  "You are at home," answered her host, as he carried her into thehouse. "Do you feel better?" he asked, as he laid her on the couch.

  "What has happened?" she asked, showing no sign of recognition.

  "We don't know," said Mrs. Clayton, bending over her.

  She moaned.

  "Don't you remember the Indian who came to the schoolhouse?"questioned Mr. Clayton anxiously.

  "Indian? Schoolhouse?" she repeated in a perplexed way. "Where am I?"

  "Here with Mrs. Clayton," said her hostess.

  "Mrs. Clayton? Who is _she_?" asked Esther, vacantly.

  The group about her exchanged troubled glances.

  John Harding was already on his way to the railway station totelegraph for Dr. Mishell.

  Kenneth Hastings, now conscious, was lying on a bed in the Claytonhome. John Clayton bent over him, staunching the blood the best hecould. In the midst of this, they heard a sharp cry from Esther.

  "What is it?" questioned Kenneth.

  "Miss Bright!" exclaimed John Clayton, starting towards the room wherethe teacher and his wife were. Returning, he explained that Esther hadapparently sprained her ankle, for it was badly swollen, and probablyvery painful, when Mrs. Clayton attempted to remove her shoe.

  Kenneth made no response, but, for a while, lay with eyes closed. Hestarted when John Clayton told him that, as yet, Esther had notrecognized any of the family.

  It was a long and anxious night for the ones who watched. In themorning, when Esther wakened, she called her companion by name.

  "Carla," she said, "I dreamed something dreadful had happened."

  As she spoke, she attempted to rise. A twinge of pain in her footstopped her.

  "What has happened?" she asked.

  "You sprained your ankle yesterday," Carla explained.

  "Yesterday?" she repeated, in a puzzled way, as if trying to think ofsomething. "Strange, but I can't recall yesterday."

  "Dr. Mishell is coming to look at your ankle soon."

  "Dr. Mishell! Dr. Mishell!" Esther said, slowly. Then a light cameinto her face. "Oh, yes! Now I remember. He came to Gila to see oursick people once, didn't he? I must dress so as to make the roundswith him."

  So saying, she started again to rise, but sank back with a pale face.

  "My foot, and head, and throat are so painful. It's so queer. I feelill, too. What has happened?" she asked again.

  "You were injured, somehow," explained Carla, "and were unconscious,when found. Mr. Hastings was unconscious, too."

  "Mr. Hastings? Is he here?"

  "Yes."

  "And sick?"

  "Very. Dr. Mishell and Sister Mercy, the Catholic sister, are with himnow."

  "I must help take care of Mr. Hastings, Carla."

  "By and by, perhaps," said the girl, soothingly. "You must get wellyourself first."

  Kenneth Hastings' condition proved to be more serious than theythought, and Dr. Mishell looked grave. He had removed the bullet, andSister Mercy had assisted him. When at last the wound was dressed, Dr.Mishell visited the other patient. He examined her ankle, andpronounced it a bad sprain. He examined her head, and looking towardsMrs. Clayton, said:

  "It is as you surmised, concussion. Probably due to a fall."

  He gave a few directions to Sister Mercy, and after a few gruff, butkindly, words, departed, to look after his other patients in Gila.

  Now, Carla Earle began her career as a nurse, and soon herministrations were known in every house, and shack, where fever hadentered.

  After Esther learned the details of her rescue, and of how KennethHastings had again risked his life for hers, she grew abstracted,talked little, and ate less. And after she had learned that he wascritically ill, delirious, as a result of the wound received inrescuing her, her sorrow became patent to all. Could she not see him?But Sister Mercy guarded her patient, and watched, and prayed theprayers of her church. Physician and nurse both knew that Kenneth'slife hung by a thread. The sick man talked in his delirium; and hisheart story lodged in the heart of the nurse, who watched by him, andwho nursed him back to life.

  When Esther was able to go about on crutches, she visited her patientswho were nearest to Clayton Ranch. One day Patrick Murphy called onher.

  "How are Brigham and Kathleen?" she asked, as she greeted him. "I hopethey are better."

  "No betther, Miss," he said, struggling for composure. "The doctherhas been lavin' av his midicine, an' Carla (I mean Miss Earle) hascame each day (the saints bliss her!) but still the faver is bad. An'Brigham--"

  He could say no more. After a while, he continued:

  "An' Brigham begs me ter bring yez to him. He insists upon callin' yezhis Christ teacher, ma'am. He asks ivery day has yez come, an' crieswid disappointmint, whin he foinds yez are not there. I told him Iwould bring yez back wid me if yez could come."

  "I'll go with you," she promised, "as soon as I speak to Mrs.Clayton."

  When Esther entered the sick room at the Murphy home, she found twocritical cases of typhoid fever. Their temperature was so high she wasfilled with alarm. She questioned the mother closely, as to what hadthus far been done for the children.

  "Did you follow the doctor's directions?" she asked.

  "No, Miss, I didn't think it worth while. Back East where I wuz riz,they didn't think it necessary ter wash sick folks with sody an' waterevery day, an' alkyhol besides. T
hey jest let sick folks be in peace,an' give 'em a good washin' after they was corpses."

  "But you see, Mrs. Murphy, we must sponge typhoid patients with waterand with alcohol, to lower their temperature. Brigham's fever is veryhigh."

  "I done all I could fur him," sniffled the mother.

  "Yes, I know," said Esther, kindly. "What has he eaten? Did you givehim the beef juice?"

  "No, mum. That wuz no eatin' at all. I give him meat an' potatoes an'cabbage, jest the way he liked 'em cooked," she said, wiping her eyeson her apron. "He ain't eat none sence. He jest cries an' cries furye, Miss."

  "Brigham is very sick," the teacher said, gently. "He may not recover.Shall I take care of him?"

  "Yes, Miss, I wisht yer would."

  Esther called for water and clean linen. She sponged the children,made the necessary changes, ventilated the room, and closed the doorinto the living room; and for the first time since their illnessbegan, the children had quiet. The angel of Death hovered near, andthe Murphy family were filled with an indefinable fear.

  Esther watched over the two children throughout the night. Brigham wasdelirious. Once he seemed terrified, and called out:

  "Mamma, don't hurt my teacher! Wathemah, what did my teacher tell yerabout Jesus? Has my teacher come?"

  At daybreak, when Esther gave him his medicine, he knew her andsmiled. As she bent over him, he said:

  "I knowed ye'd come. Is Jesus near?"

  "Yes, very near, dear," she answered, softly.

  "An' He loves little childern?"

  "Yes, dear, loves them dearly."

  "I am so glad." He closed his eyes and seemed smiling in his sleep.Rousing again, he said in a weak voice:

  "I am so tired. Will yer carry me ter Jesus?"

  "Yes, dear."

  Then tenderly the teacher's arms went around the little form. Shesaid, aloud:

  "Dear Jesus, I have brought you little Brigham, because you lovelittle children. He is too tired to go any farther alone, so I havebrought him to you. Please carry him the rest of the way home."

  Gently, she drew her arm away. The child smiled as if satisfied, anddozed off again.

  It was late in the morning, when Dr. Mishell reached Murphy Ranch. Helooked grave as he watched Brigham.

  "Better remain here if you can, Miss Bright. Good nursing will savethe girl, and may save the boy; but it is doubtful. You realize he isin a critical condition."

  "Yes. I will remain, Doctor; but Miss Earle will need help with theother patients."

  "Oh, Miss Earle is doing finely," he assured her. "And with oneexception, none of the cases are as serious as these two."

  "Who is the exception?"

  "I believe his name is Clifton. A cowboy by the name of Harding hasgone to his shack, to-day, to nurse him."

  "Just like him," she thought.

  She made no reply. As the day wore on, Kathleen's fever decreased, butBrigham's increased. The boy again grew delirious. He repeatedlycalled Wathemah and his teacher. As night drew near, he grew worse.The parents stood near the bed, weeping. Suddenly the child cried out:

  "Papa, won't yer bring my teacher? She knows the way ter heaven."

  "She's here, lad," he said, taking one of Brigham's hands in his. Thenthe father repeated the prayers of his church.

  At dawn, Brigham lifted his arms, and smiled. He had found the OpenDoor.

  When the Murphy children knew their brother was dead, they were filledwith awe, and huddled in one corner of the living room. The mothersobbed aloud, but refused to come near or touch the still littlefigure.

  The teacher, with tears rolling down her cheeks, prepared her littlefriend's body for burial. Then she spoke again to the father,reminding him of further preparations. He rose, and, going into theroom, where the family were gathered, said:

  "We must have a wake. Poor Brigham."

  "No, yer won't have no Cath'lic doin's with Brigham," responded hiswife.

  "Suppose," interposed the teacher, "we have a funeral service forBrigham in the schoolhouse, among the children he loved."

  "Shure!" responded the father, wiping his eyes, "that'd be jist thething."

  "Do you approve, Mrs. Murphy?" asked the teacher.

  "Yes, Miss. That'd please Brigham, I know." And again she sobbed.

  So Brigham was carried to the schoolhouse. The teacher placed acrucifix at the head of the coffin, and lighted several candles. Itwas the first time religious services for the dead had ever been heldin Gila. Heretofore, the dead had simply been buried.

  The schoolroom was filled to its uttermost. The girl preacher rose andtold them of Brigham's lovely life ever since she had known him, ofhis interest in Jesus, and of his desire to know the way to heaven.She told of his last words, and how he asked her to carry him toJesus. As she spoke, tears rolled quietly down the bronzed cheeks ofmany a man and woman whose life had been one long record of sin.

  Near the coffin, stood Wathemah, his eyes riveted upon the face of hislittle comrade. The teacher saw the child take off his string of beadsand lay it in the coffin.

  They buried Brigham on the foothills, and left him alone;--no, notalone, for Wathemah remained standing like a sentinel beside the graveof his little friend.

  Wathemah did not return to Mrs. Keith's as usual for supper. Neitherwas he in his little bunk that night. No Wathemah appeared forbreakfast. Inquiries began to be circulated. Where was Wathemah?Esther grew very uneasy, and started out to search for him herself.She returned disappointed. An hour later, Jack Harding returned withthe child. He had found him keeping watch by Brigham's grave. So deepis the Apache's affection, so real his grief.

  Esther gathered Wathemah in her arms, and talked to him long ofBrigham. Henceforth, to that little child, as to many of his race, theheavens would be full of the Great Spirit.

  "Can Brigham see me from the sky?" asked Wathemah.

  "I think so, dear. You'll want to be a good boy, won't you?"

  For answer, he burst into tears, and she mingled her own with his.

  From that time on, Wathemah loved the stars at night, and would standwatching them with deepening wonder and awe. Then began hisquestioning of things eternal, that upreach of the soul, that links itto the Divine.

  The day after Esther's return to Clayton Ranch, Dr. Mishell asked herto go with him to the shack of Mark Clifton.

  "He cannot recover," he said. "He realizes that. He has repeatedlyasked to see you."

  As they approached the shack, they heard a voice. Jack Harding wasreading aloud from the Bible.

  On the walls of the shack, were guns, hides, and coarse pictures; inone corner, were a case of whiskey bottles, and a pack of cards. Thesick man seemed to be a man of about thirty. He greeted his visitorscourteously, and at once turned to Esther.

  "I have asked to see you," he said. "I think I cannot recover. I amnot prepared to die. I have attended your meetings since you have heldthem in the timber. I believe there is something in your religion; Ibelieve in God."

  His voice was faint.

  "Is there any hope for me?" he asked, searching her face with his keenblack eyes.

  She shrank from his bold gaze, then answered gently:

  "There is hope for every one who repents of his sins and turns toChrist."

  "But," he said, impatiently, "I haven't done so very much to repentof. I haven't committed any crime, don't you know? The world doesn'thold such high ideals of what a fellow ought to be as you do. I am nobetter nor worse than the rest of men. I came to that conclusion longago."

  "Indeed!" She spoke coldly. "Is that all? Then you do not need me."She rose to go.

  "No, it is not all!" interrupted Jack Harding. "Miss Bright, show himhis sin; show him the way of repentance, as you did me."

  Suddenly the cowboy knelt by the bunk, and poured forth such aheartfelt prayer for the man before him, all were touched. Clifton laywith eyes closed. Esther spoke again.

  "Mr. Clifton, have you done nothing to repent of? Think. You lured tothis country the
sixteen-year-old orphan daughter of a clergyman. Youpromised to marry her, if she would join you here. You placed her toboard in a saloon. You refused to marry her! Thank God, the child issafe at last!"

  There was no mistaking her tone.

  "Marry _her_?" he repeated, contemptuously. "Marry _her_? I'd as soonmarry a cat. I think too much of my family. I wouldn't disgrace themby marrying her, the daughter of a poverty-stricken curate."

  Then they saw Esther Bright's eyes flash. Her face grew as stern asthe granite hills of her native state. She spoke slowly, and eachword--as Dr. Mishell afterwards said--seemed to weigh a ton apiece.

  "Your family?" she said. "Your family?" she repeated with scorn. "Your_family_? This girl is a child of God!"

  And turning, she left the shack.

  Jack Harding remained all through the night, talking and praying, atintervals, with Clifton.

  At dawn, the sick man cried out again and again:

  "God be merciful to me a sinner!"

  Then, at last, he said:

  "Jack, I want to atone for my wrong to Miss Earle as much as I can. Isee it all now. Send for a clergyman. I can't live, I know. If MissEarle becomes my wife, it will remove the stigma, and she will inherita fortune willed to me. Send for her. Perhaps she will forgive me,before I die."

  At the sunset hour, word passed throughout the village that MarkClifton had just died, and that before his death he had been marriedto Carla Earle. The clergyman who attended the dying man wrote to hisparents, telling them of their son's marriage and death, and of hisfarewell messages to them. He added:

  "Your son died a repentant man."