by Zane Grey
“There. Now, Mister Zoroaster, give me a few pointers, please,” Cherry suggested winningly.
“It’s easy, miss,” he said, extending his gloved hands. “Keep one foot forward, an’ lead with your left hand. Keep yore eyes on my gloves an’ duck.”
Cherry affected practice while Zoroaster circled her. Plainly he was not a scientific boxer, and Cherry, who had had many a bout with the club instructor, saw some fun ahead. Suddenly she ceased her pretense and went for Zoroaster, swift and light as a cat, and grasped at once that she could hit him when and where she pleased.
“Ride ’em, cowgirl. Oh, my!” cried Mojave.
“Thet’s placin’ one, miss!” shouted Wess in great glee.
“S-s-s-soak him fer me,” stuttered Tay-Tay in delight.
“Señorita, you ees one grand boxer,” Lorenzo declared dramatically.
Zoroaster’s fear and amazement helped to put him at Cherry’s mercy. She danced around the transfixed Mormon, raining taps upon his handsome nose. Finally she struck him smartly with her left, and followed that up with as hard a right swing as she could muster. It landed square on Zoroaster’s nose and all but upset him.
The cowboys, instead of roaring, seemed suddenly paralyzed. Cherry, glowing and panting, turned to see what was wrong. Her father stood in the doorway, horrified, completely robbed of the power of speech. Zoroaster bolted out of the front door, followed by his cowboy comrades.
Cherry’s mirth was not one whit lessened by the sight of her father’s face. Gaily she ran to him, extending the gloves to be untied.
“Weren’t they something? I love ’em all, and that handsome red-headed devil best. Oh, bless you, Dad. I’ll stay here forever!”
Two
From that moment events multiplied. Cherry could not keep track of them. She was having the time of her life. And every now and then it burst upon her what really innocent fun it was, compared to the high pressure of life in the East.
She had disrupted the even tenor of the trading post. Linn averred that something must be done about it. His cowboys had gone crazy. If they remembered their work, it was to desert it or do it wrong. They manufactured the most ridiculous excuses to ride away from the ranch, when it chanced that Cherry was out riding. When she was at home, they each and every one fell victim to all the ailments under the sun.
Cherry saw very little of Heftral during her first days at the post. He always left before she got up in the morning, and returned from his excavating work late in the afternoon. She met him, of course, at dinner, when they all sat at a long table, and in the living room afterward, but never alone. Cherry was quite aware of the humor with which he regarded her flirtation with the cowboys. She did not like his attitude, and wasted a thought now and then as to how she would punish him.
On the whole, however, she was too happy even to remember her father’s reason for fetching her out to the desert. The actual reasons for her peculiar happiness she had not yet analyzed.
It was all so new. She rode for hours every day, sometimes alone, which was a difficult thing to maneuver—and often with her father, and the cowboys. The weather was glorious; the desert strangely, increasingly impelling; the blue sky and white clouds, the vivid colors and magnificent formations of the rock walls had some effect she was loath to acknowledge.
When had she been so hungry and tired at nightfall? She went to bed very early because everybody did so, and she slept as never before. Her skin began to take on a golden brown, and she gained weight. Both facts secretly pleased her. The pace at home had kept her pale and thin. Cherry gazed in actual amazement and delight at the face that smiled back at her from the mirror. Once she mused: I’ll say this Painted Desert has got the beauty shops beaten all hollow.
Her father had asked her several times to ride over to Sagi Cañon, where Heftral was excavating. But Cherry had pretended indifference as to his movements. As a matter of fact, she was curious to see what his work was like—what in the world could make a young man prefer digging in the dust to her company? There was another reason why she would not go, and it was because the more she saw of Stephen Heftral and heard about him from the cowboys and Linn—who were outspoken in their praise—the better she liked him and the more she resented liking him.
For the present, however, the cowboys were more than sufficient for Cherry. They were an endless source of interest, fun, and wholesome admiration.
In ten days not a single one of them had attempted to hold her hand, let alone kiss her. Cherry would rather have liked them, one and all, to hold her hand, and she would not have run very far to keep from being kissed. But it began to dawn upon her that despite an utter prostration of each cowboy at her feet, so to speak, there was never even a hint of familiarity, such as was natural as breathing to the young men of her set.
First it struck Cherry as amusing. Then she sought to break it down. And before two weeks were up she began to take serious thought of something she had not supposed possible to the genus Homo, young or old, East or West.
Cherry did not care to be forced to delve into introspection, to perplex herself with the problem of modern youth. She had had quite enough of that back East. Papers, magazines, plays, sermons, and lectures, even the movies, had made a concerted attack upon the younger generation. It had been pretty sickening to Cherry. How good to get away from that atmosphere for a while. Perhaps here was a reason why she liked the West. But there seemed to be something working on her, which sooner or later she must face.
One afternoon Cherry returned from her ride earlier than usual, so that she did not have to hurry and dress for dinner. She had settled herself in the hammock when her father and Heftral rode in from the opposite direction. The hammock was hidden under the vines outside the living room window. They did not see Cherry and she was too lazy or languid to call to them.
A little later she heard them enter the living room. The window there was open.
“Cherry must be dressing,” said Winters. “She’s back. I saw her saddle. We have time for a little chat. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“Go ahead. I’m glad our ride didn’t tire you. By the way, what did you think of my Sagi?”
“Beautiful but dumb, as Cherry would say. Quietest place I ever saw. Why, it was positively silent as a grave.”
“Yes. It is a grave. That’s why I dig around there so much,” Heftral replied with a laugh.
Cherry remembered that laugh, though she had heard it very seldom. It was rather rich and pleasant, and scarcely fitted the character she had given him. She had two sudden impulses, one to make them aware of her presence, and another not to do anything of the kind. Second impulses were mostly the stronger with Cherry.
“Heftral, I’m very curious about you. What is there in it for you…in this grave-digging work, I mean?”
“Oh, it’s treasure hunting in a way. I suppose an archaeologist is born. I seldom think of reward. But, really, if I discovered the prehistoric ruin I know is buried here somewhere, it would be a big thing for me.”
“Any money in it?” inquired the New York businessman.
“Not directly. At least not at once. I suppose articles and lectures could be translated into money. It would give me prestige, though.”
“Hum. Well, prestige is all right for a young man starting in life but it doesn’t produce much bread and butter. Do you get a salary, in addition to your remuneration for articles and lectures?”
“You could call it a salary by courtesy. But besides bread-and-butter fare of the simplest kind, it wouldn’t buy stockings for a young lady I know,” returned Heftral, and again he laughed, the same nice infectious laugh.
“Now you’re talking,” Winters responded with animation. “The young lady, of course, being Cherry…Heftral, we’re getting to be good friends. Let’s be confidential. Did you ever ask my daughter to marry you?”
“Lord,
no!” ejaculated Heftral.
“Well, that’s a satisfaction. It’s good for a young man to have individuality. I’m glad you’re different from the many…May I ask…forgive my persistence…the awful responsibility of being this girl’s father, you know…weren’t you in love with her?”
There was quite a long silence in which Cherry’s heart beat quickly and her ears tingled. She had never really been sure of Heftral. That, perhaps, was his chief charm.
“Yes, Mister Winters,” replied the archaeologist constrainedly. “I was in love with Cherry. Not, however, as those young men were in the East. But very terribly, deeply in love.”
“Fine! Oh, excuse me, Stephen,” rejoined Winters. “I mean…that’s what I thought. That’s why I liked you. These young lounge lizards play at love. They make me sick. Between you and me, I’ve a sneaking suspicion they make Cherry sick, too…Now, Stephen, here’s the vital question. Is all that past tense?”
Cherry made the discovery that she was trembling, and imagined it was from the shame of being an unwitting eavesdropper. How impossible now to call out. Yet she might have slipped away. But she did not.
“No. I never got over it. And now it’s worse,” Heftral said not without a tragic note.
“Stephen, by heavens, you are a loyal fellow. Would it surprise you to know I’m pleased?”
“Thank you, Mister Winters. But I fear that I’m more than surprised.”
“See here, Stephen, you want to be prepared for jars, not only from Cherry, but also me. I’m her Dad, you know…Listen, I brought Cherry out to your desert with bare-faced deliberate intent. To marry her to you and save her from that pack of wolves back there. Incidentally, of course, to make both of you happy.”
“My God!” gasped Heftral. He was not the only one who gasped. Cherry in her excitement nearly fell out of the hammock.
“It’s an honest fact and I’m not ashamed,” Winters went on, getting earnest.
“But, Mister Winters…you do me honor. You are most wonderfully kind, but you are quite out of your head.”
“Maybe I am. I don’t care. I mean it. I love Cherry and I’d go to any extreme to save her. Then I like you immensely. Your father was my dearest friend in college and until he died. I’d get a good deal of happiness out of putting a spoke in your wheel of fortune.”
“Save her!” ejaculated Heftral.
“For God’s sake, Heftral, don’t say you think it’s too late,” Winters appealed in sudden distress.
No quick response came, and Cherry’s heart stood still as she waited for Heftral’s answer. What did that fool think, anyway? She was getting a little sick with anger and fear when Heftral burst out: “Winters, you’re crazy. I…I meant…what did you mean when you said save her?”
“I meant a lot, my boy, and don’t overlook it…Tell me straight, Heftral. This is a serious matter for us all. Do you think Cherry is still a good girl?”
“I don’t think. I know,” Heftral returned ringingly. “Your question is an insult to her, Mister Winters.”
“I wonder whether or not any question is that, in regard to young women in this age,” Winters went on soberly. “I gave you credit for being a brainy clear-eyed fellow, for all your grave-digging propensity. I saw how you disapproved of Cherry…her friends and habits.”
“Yes, I did…deplorably so. But nevertheless…”
“Love is blind, my son,” interposed Winters. “You think more of Cherry than she deserves. All the same I’m glad. That’ll help us out. I regard you as an anchor.”
“Mister Winters, I…I don’t know what to say. I’m overwhelmed.”
“Well, I dare say you’ve reason to be. But all the same you listen to me patiently. Will you?”
“Why, certainly.”
“You were justified in being shocked at my question about Cherry. But I wouldn’t blame anyone for a pretty raw opinion of modern girls. I have it myself…To be brief, they have gotten under my skin, if you know what that means. Cherry’s generation is beyond my understanding. They have developed something new. They are eliminating right and wrong. They have no respect for their parents, and so far as I can see very little affection. They have a positive hatred for all restraint. They will not stand to be controlled. They have no faith in our old standards. As a rule they have no religion. They wear indecent clothes, or I might say very few clothes at all. They dance all night, drown themselves in booze, pet and neck indiscriminately, and most of them go the limit.”
“Mister Winters!” Heftral expostulated, somewhat taken aback by the elder man’s outburst.
“Stephen, I’m telling you straight. This is not my theory. I know. I’ve got this young crowd figured that far, at least. I have no patience at all with the fatuous mamas and papas who claim the young people are all right. They are not all right. They are a fast crowd and the nation that depends on them and can’t change them is slated for hell. These wiseacres who say there is no flagrant immorality are far off the track. Those who claim young women of today are no different from yesterday are simply blind. They are different, and I don’t mean wholly the emancipation of women since the war. I was always for woman suffrage…Well, I’m not concerned with the causes, as whether or not we parents are to blame. I’ve done my damnedest for Cherry and it hurts to think maybe I’ve failed. I’m honest in believing I’ve not been a bad example for my child. But sometimes Cherry makes me crawl into a dark corner and hide…I’m concerned with the facts of what I’m telling you. I want to see Cherry married to a good and straight and industrious young man. Cherry says he doesn’t exist…Her mother was like Cherry, though not so beautiful. She was willful, intelligent, bewildering. But she had no vices. Now I take it Cherry is about as fascinating as a young woman could be. Perhaps she is all the more so because of this complexity of modern times. She knows it. I wouldn’t call Cherry conceited. She’s not really vain. She’s rather a merciless gay modern young woman who takes pleasure in wading through a mob of men. If she heard her friends speak of a man who was not likely to fall for her, as they call it, Cherry would yell…‘Lead me to him!’ Despite all this I feel and hope Cherry can be saved. Lord, fancy her hearing me say that. To my mind, if she drifts with her crowd, she’ll never amount to anything. She would probably divorce one husband after another. I don’t like the idea. Cherry’s mother left her something that she will have control of in another year. And then of course she’ll get all I possess, which isn’t inconsiderable. Her prospects then, and her beauty, make her a mark for the men she comes in contact with, and their name is legion. I have tried to keep her away from the worst of them. But it’s impossible.”
“Why impossible?” broke in Stephen tersely.
“I gave up because when I’d tell Cherry a certain young fellow was no fit acquaintance for her I would only stimulate interest. She’d say…‘Dad, you think you know a lot, but I’ll have to see for myself’…and you bet she would.”
“Then Cherry wouldn’t obey you?” asked Heftral.
“Obey?” Winters echoed in surprise. “Most certainly she would not.”
“Then indeed you are to blame for what she is.”
“Ha! I’d like to see you or anybody else make Cherry obey.”
“I could and I would,” declared Heftral.
“My dear young Arizona archaeologist, may I ask how?” returned Winters, not without sarcasm and amusement.
“I’d take that young lady across my knee and spank her soundly.”
“Good Lord! You don’t know what you’re saying…Why, if I subjected Cherry to such indignity she’d…she’d…well, what wouldn’t she do? Wrecking the place where it happened would be the least. Yet, oh…how I have wanted to do that same little thing.”
“Mister Winters, your daughter is a spoiled child,” Heftral asserted in a tone that made Cherry want to shriek.
“Spoiled…yes…and everything else,�
� agreed Winters helplessly. “But with it all she is adorable. Have you noticed that, Stephen?”
“Why, come to think of it I believe I have,” he answered with dry humor.
“Well, we are agreed on a few things, anyway. We can dismiss her demerits by acknowledging that, and her intelligence, truthfulness, and other cardinal virtues that she has in common with all the young people today. It may be that they are too advanced for us of the older generation to understand. It might be that something wonderful will come of such a paradox. But I can’t see it, and my problem is to check Cherry’s mad career…Ha! Ha!”
“If I may presume to advise you, Mister Winters, you are undertaking a perfectly impossible task,” said Heftral.
“No! Why, Stephen, I am sometimes damn’ fool enough to believe Cherry might do all I ask just because she loves me. I know she does. But I always put things to her in a way that makes her furious. So I’ve quit it…This is my last card…my trump.”
“This?” Heftral asked with curiosity.
“This trip, and the plan I’ve decided upon. Here it is. I’m going to marry Cherry to you.”
There was an absolute blank silence. Cherry felt what a shock this must have been to Heftral. It was no less a shock to her.
“Now I know what’s the matter,” Heftral said finally in a queer voice.
“What?”
“You really are out of your mind.”
“Well, that may be,” Winters returned with good humor. “But I’ll stand by my guns. I’ve sense enough to understand that you will at first indignantly refuse such a proposition. Won’t you?”
“I certainly do,” replied Heftral bluntly.
“Heftral, no young man who knew and loved Cherry could refuse for any other reason than he thought it preposterous…That she didn’t care two straws for him?”
“Exactly. In my case one straw.”
“The only weakness in my proposition is the hope, the dream, that Cherry might love you someday. You must remember I know her as I knew her mother. Cherry, too, is capable of the most extraordinary things.”