by Zane Grey
“Probably. I don’t seem to care a…er…anything about archaeology, geology, theology, or any other kind of ‘ology’,” Heftral returned ruefully.
“I’m sorry. I must not tax your mental powers so severely,” said Cherry.
“You think you’re being sarcastic. But as a matter of fact you have taxed all my powers to the limit. Powers of patience, resistance, faith…and I don’t know what all.”“What a dreadful person I am,” Cherry interposed, really in earnest. “Please, if you can’t forget it, at least you needn’t rub it in. Where do you expect to uncover this buried pueblo? Dad said you had set your heart on discovering it.”
“You don’t care two whoops for any ruin…unless it is the ruin of a man.”
“Maybe I didn’t at first. But I do now. Can’t you credit me with change or growth or something worthwhile?”
“I don’t know what to think about you,” he returned almost dejectedly.
“Assuredly you don’t. Well, I’m quite capable of coming out here and finding that ruin for you.”
“Please don’t. I’m perfectly miserable now,” he retorted grimly.
But there was a light in his eyes that belied his words. Cherry knew he was saying to himself he must not have faith in dreams.
“It would mean so much to you…finding this pueblo?” she asked.
“Yes. There’s only one thing that could mean more.”
“I don’t suppose I’d look very well digging around in this dirt,” mused Cherry. “But as you haven’t any use for me in up-to-date evening clothes perhaps you might like me all dusty and red and hot. So here goes.”
Cherry began to clamber down into the deepest trench, and when she got up to her shoulders, she grasped the pick.
“Miss Winters, can’t you be serious?” burst out Heftral. “You’re not a bit funny. And that talk about me…”
“I’m serious about making you admire me, at least,” Cherry laughed, brandishing the pick.
“Please come out of there. You’re just soiling your clothes.”
“Nope. I’m going to dig,” rejoined Cherry nonchalantly. “¿Quién sabe? I may have to marry an archaeologist someday.”
“Come out of there!” Heftral called peremptorily.
Cherry began to dig in the red earth. She dragged up stones, and presently what looked very much like a human bone. “Ugh! I declare. What’s that thing?” ejaculated Cherry.
“It’s a leg bone, of course. You’re digging in a grave. I told you that.”
“You didn’t,” Cherry retorted.
“Never mind about that. You come out of there.”
“Mister Heftral, you might send me to my own grave, but you can’t make me get out of this one.”
As she brandished the pick again, he reached down to grasp it. Cherry held on. Heftral slipped his grip down the handle until he caught her gloved hands. Whereupon he forced the pick from her and dragged her, not at all gently, up out of the trench. He let go of her rather abruptly, probably because of the look she gave him, and Cherry’s impetus, being considerable, caused her to stumble. It was a little downhill on that side. She fell right upon Heftral who caught her in his arms. The awkwardness of her action made Cherry more indignant than ever. Her sombrero fell off and her hair covered her eyes. She raised her face from his shoulder and sought to catch her balance. Suddenly Heftral bent to kiss her full on the lips.
Four
Cherry broke away from Stephen and started back. For a moment she was too conscious of unfamiliar and disturbing agitations to remember that she had adopted the rôle of actress.
“Cherry…Miss Winters,” stammered the young archaeologist. “I…I didn’t mean that. I must have been out of my head. Forgive me.”
“Now you’ve done it!” exclaimed Cherry. She was not sure yet what he had done, but it was certainly more than he felt guiltily conscious of.
“I was beside myself,” Heftral said hurriedly. “You must believe me. I…I had no such intention. I’m…I’m as…as shocked as you are. You fell right into my arms. And I…I did it involuntarily.”
“You may tell that to the marines,” Cherry replied, recovering and getting back to the business of her part.
“You won’t believe me?” he demanded, getting red in the face.
“Certainly not,” Cherry returned coldly, as she smoothed her disheveled hair. “I wouldn’t put it beyond you to treat every girl that way, especially if she was fool enough to visit you alone out here.”
He glared at her in mingled wrath and distress. “I never kissed a girl before,” he asserted stoutly.
“Well!” exclaimed Cherry, in simulated contemptuous doubt, when really she was thrilled with what seemed the truth in his eye and voice. “You must have a poor opinion of my intelligence. If you had come out like a man and told me straight that you couldn’t resist such an opportunity and were glad of it, I might have forgiven you. It’s nothing to be kissed. But you’ve pretended to be so self-righteous. You’ve scorned my young men friends. You’ve deceived me into thinking highly of you…respecting you. And I honestly believe I did like you. Now I’m quite sure I ought never ride out alone.”
Heftral groaned. Then he leaped into the trench, and, seizing the pick, he began to dig with great violence, making the stones fly and the dust rise. Cherry spoke again, but either he did not or would not hear her, whereupon she recovered her sombrero and turned to find her way down the slope. She had just reached the rough part, and was searching for the trail when she heard Heftral behind her.
“I quite forgot. I can’t let you attempt getting down here alone,” he said.
“Mister Heftral, I’d fall and break my neck before I’d let you help me,” Cherry returned loftily.
“I warn you not to fall again within my reach,” he declared grimly.
Cherry started down, aware that he followed closely. She was glad she had her face turned away from him. When she got to the broken sections of rock, she performed apparent feats of balancing that would have put a tightrope walker to shame. She would sway this way and that, and almost fall. Then she leaped the fissures, and took some chances of hurting herself. But she descended the jumble of rocks safely, and then the rest of the slope with ease. Heftral had halted about a third of the way from the bottom, and when Cherry looked over the saddle of her horse, she saw him sitting on a stone, watching her.
“Good bye, wild woman!” he called.
“Good bye, cave man,” she retorted.
Mounting, she rode away without looking back, which was an act that required willpower. Once in the cedars, out of sight and alone, she reveled in the unexpected turn and success of her venture. Heftral was simply an honest boy, very much in love, and at the mercy of his feelings. He had helped along her little plan by placing himself at a disadvantage. How astounded he had been, then furious at himself and her. Cherry remembered that he had winced when she said it was nothing to be kissed. Well, she had lied in that. It was a great deal to be kissed, as she began to realize now. She had chosen to lead him to believe kissing was merely a casual and familiar thing in her young life, when in reality she had preserved the sanctity of her lips except when her own indiscretion forced the attenuation upon her.
Cherry believed she was angrier than ever with Heftral, a great deal more so now than at her father. Yet there was a tempering voice she would not listen to. It was piercing her armor to some extent when she rode right upon Wess, so abruptly that she was surprised. That ended her meditations, for Wess appeared to be curious and keen about her visit to the archaeologist. It did not occur to Cherry to tantalize Wess, or to stop and torment the cowboys at their fence-post digging, a fact that dawned upon her with peculiar significance. By the time she was again at ease in her room, she realized the cowboys had begun to fade out of the picture. Cherry did not regret it, though she wondered at herself. Naturally, however, if a g
irl was going to be abducted against her will, and maltreated, and finally married, she must be quite interested in the man who was daring to do all this.
At lunch she was outspoken about her visit to Heftral’s cave. The Linns were much pleased. Plain indeed was it that they were fond of Heftral and proud of his archaeological work.
“Wal, if you liked that Sagi hole you shore ought to see Beckyshibeta,” remarked Linn.
“Beckyshibeta. Goodness, that’s a jawbreaker,” replied Cherry with a laugh. “What and where is it?”
“Beckyshibeta means cow water. It’s Navajo for a water hole. I never saw it when it wasn’t muddy an’ shore tastin’ of cows. Reckon it’s about sixty miles by trail, nearer across country. Wild rocky place where the Indians seldom go. Heftral thinks they’ve a reason for avoiding it, same as in the case of Nonnezoshe, the great Rainbow Bridge. He has a notion there might be a buried pueblo at Beckyshibeta. There are cliff dwellin’s still in good state of preservation, an’ many ruins. We seldom recommend Beckyshibeta to our visitors. It’s far off. The cowboys hate the rocky country because they have to pack hoss feed and water. An’ shore there are places interestin’ enough near at hand, an’ comfortable for camp. But before you an’ Mister Winters leave, you want to see both Nonnezoshe an’ Beckyshibeta.”
“I’m sure I’d love to,” responded Cherry.
She did not meet the cowboys again that day until after supper when she walked out to see the sunset, and to look for her father. This was always an attractive hour at the post. Indians were riding up and departing; the picturesque cowboys, mostly through with work for the day, were lounging about on the bales of wool and blankets. The moment Cherry arrived they became animated as one man. Cherry did not take much notice of them, despite their transparent acts and words. Strolling a little way, she halted at the hitching rail to watch the pageant in the gold and purple West.
“Mighty cool evenin’,” remarked Mojave in a voice that came clearly to Cherry.
“Say, fellars, did anythin’ hit you in the eye, kinda like a chunk of ice?” drawled Zoroaster.
“S-s-s-some of y-y-y-youse hombres has done s-ss-somethin’,” Tay-Tay stuttered belligerently.
“Our gracious señorita is in one of her grand moods,” Lorenzo said.
“Aw, you ’punchers are locoed,” Wess added scornfully. “Cain’t you tell when to get off and walk?”
Cherry moved on out of earshot of her loyal cavaliers. It was the first time she had not been vastly interested in one or all of them. What had happened to her? But she soothed both conscience and concern with former arguments.
In the west the bulge of desert waved black as ebony against the intense gold flare of sky. Above this belt, a broken reef of purple clouds appeared beaten upon by contending tides of silver and rose. Through a ragged rent the sinking sun sent shafts of radiant light down behind the horizon.
In the east the panorama was no less striking and beautiful. The desert sent its walls and domes and monuments of red rock far up into the sky of gorgeous pink and white clouds.
Cherry drew a deep full breath. Yes, Arizona was awakening her to something splendid and compelling. How vast and free and wind-swept this colored desert. She had learned to recognize a faint fragrance of sage, which came only in a north breeze. It was sweet and cool now in her face. Then up over a nearby ridge came a black silhouette of an Indian and mustang, wild and lovely. Next the hum of a motorcar broke her absorption. No doubt it was the trader’s Studebaker returning with her father.
“Look here, peaches,” quizzically remarked her father, when they had gotten indoors. “Anyone would think I’d been absent a month. What’s the bright idea?”
“Oh! Did I make such a fuss over you…as that?” Cherry asked merrily.
“You sure did. Fact is you never welcomed me like that, even on my returns from Europe. Have you been lonely and blue again? Is that why?”
“Not today,” returned Cherry. “No, I was just happy…and unconscious of it, Dad. I guess maybe I did miss you a lot.”
“Well, you can bet I’m glad, whatever it is.”
Cherry left him in the dining room, too hungry for conversation. Then she delved a little into her mind. She had absolutely forgotten her new rôle, as she had been quite unlike her old self. In truth she was very angry with her father, another fact that had slipped her memory. She had not been in the least lonely for him or homesick. In reality she had skipped about ten years of her life and had met him as a child. Cherry’s relentless deductions took her back through the eventful day to the tift with Heftral, and then she got no further. It was rather confusing. But at length she assuaged her wounded vanity by accepting her remarkably fine spirits as due to the way she was turning the tables on Heftral and her father.
“Maybe I’m jollying myself,” murmured Cherry with a snicker. “Good heavens on earth. Could I have been so happy because he kissed me?”
Cherry was wholly at ease again when her father joined her in the living room. He was full of his trip to town, and claimed the ride in—looking the opposite way to that in which they had come—was even more beautiful. Telegraph communications from New York had been eminently satisfactory.
“How’s your day been?” he queried, when he had concluded about his own.
“Mine? Oh, rich, immense,” replied Cherry.
“I hope you haven’t played any more hob with these cowboys.”
“Oh, dear, no. I’ve scarcely seen them, but once or twice…I did take Wess, and rode out to see Heftral’s cave. Surprised him. I left Wess below a little way and went on alone.”
“You did!” exclaimed Winters, surprised and pleased. “That was nice of you. What did you think of Stephen’s cave? I’ve been there, you know.”
“An awful hole! Just suits him to a T. He’s a cave man. Don’t you overlook that, darling Papa.”
“Cave man? Stephen Heftral? Why, he’s the gentlest and mildest of men.”
“Not so you’d notice it. At least for me,” Cherry replied, giggling. “No, Dad, you’re vastly mistaken in Stephen’s character. He’s a bad hombre.”
“Did you quarrel?” queried Winters, his curiosity overcoming his doubt of her.
“Oh, we scrapped as usual. He wasn’t at all tickled to see me. Made some idiotic remarks about being a lover of beauty in woman…one woman. Naturally I kidded him, and when he got wise to that, he was sore. Well, finally, to prove my interest in his old cave, I climbed down in one of his graves. I took the pick and began to dig. Do you know, Dad, he didn’t like that a bit.”
Winters let out a hearty laugh. “Cherry, you are incorrigible. No wonder he wasn’t tickled to see you. Why, he wouldn’t let even me dig in one of those holes. Said I might break a piece of precious pottery. Besides, in your case he wouldn’t like you to soil your clothes and blister your hands.”
“I should think he would have liked that,” returned Cherry. “Once he called me fastidious and elegant. Another time one of the idle rich. He held my hand once and had the nerve to say it was a beautiful useless thing. Well, to go on, he ordered me out of the grave. I paid no attention to him. Then he took hold of the pick, pulled me up till he could reach me. Next he yanked me out. Gentle? You should have seen him. But he let go of me too quick and I stumbled. Like a ninny in the movies I fell into his arms. Did he gently set me upon my feet? I should snicker not. This paragon of yours, this nice quiet Westerner, grabbed me and kissed me smack on my mouth…like I never was kissed in my whole life!”
Whereupon Cherry’s father exploded with mirth. Recovering and seeing her face, he apologized contritely. “Cherry, it’s just too good,” he added. “I think a lot more of Stephen for having the nerve to do it. I wonder, now, did that make you so happy?”
“Rot!” exclaimed Cherry with hot cheeks. “It wasn’t nerve in him. He just went loco. Then he swore he’d never kissed any girl before
. Fancy that? Well, I’ve told you. I don’t quite know what to do about it.”
“I shall congratulate Stephen on punishing you properly.”
“I don’t take punishment easily,” said Cherry, with menacing hauteur.
“Lord. Be easy on the poor chap, Cherry.”
Linn interrupted them at this point and asked if they would require any or all of the cowboys for any especial trip the next few days. “I want to drive some cattle out, an’ reckon this is about the best time,” he added. “I’ve got some tourist parties comin’ soon, an’ the boys will take them to Nonnezoshe. After that the rains will be here.”
“Thanks, Linn. We can do very well without the cowboys,” Winters returned brightly. Cherry guessed why her father felt so chipper about that news.
“Do you have a rainy season here on this desert?” inquired Cherry, aghast.
“Nothin’ to concern you, miss,” replied the trader. “Reckon you’ll like the thunderstorms, the clouds, an’ rainbows. But for us the rains are sometimes bad, because the washes get full of water an’ quicksand, so we can’t move the stock.”
“Thunderstorms? I love them. It will be great to be out in one here,” said Cherry.
* * * * *
Cherry was lying in bed reading when she heard Heftral come in and go to his room. The hour was rather late for him. She wondered if he had gone supperless.
Next morning when she went in to breakfast, her father and Heftral were there. If Cherry had expected him to be downcast or embarrassed, she had reckoned without her host. He was neither. He greeted her as if nothing unusual had occurred and he gave her a cool steady stare. Cherry’s quick intuition grasped at the imminence of the catastrophe. Heftral had burned his bridges behind him. It did not seem likely that her father could have had much to do with this late decision in Heftral. Cherry had bidden him good night at his door, and he was not an early riser. So she concluded Heftral had fought out something with himself and the die was cast. It stirred Cherry as had nothing she could recall. She was ready, even eager for the adventure. And she would react to it at Heftral’s provocation.