by Zane Grey
The rain poured down again, so thick and heavy that Cherry could only dimly discern the pack horse scarcely fifteen paces ahead. Cherry’s saddle held a pool of cold water. It rained down inside her chaps into her shoes. What a miserable sensation that was. It pelted her back and ran in a stream off the brim of her hat. Patiently she waited, praying for a lull. But none came. And her state became one of utter wretchedness. All she asked now was to live long enough to choke her father and murder Heftral.
Cherry was to learn something undreamed of—the latent endurance of a human being. She managed to stick on her horse, to keep up without screaming. But she knew another gorge, if they encountered one, would be her finish. She would just fall off her horse and sink out of Heftral’s sight. Maybe that would touch the indifferent brute.
No more cañons were met with, however, though the rock walls grew mountainous. All at once Cherry seemed to realize the dull gray light was darkening. The day was ended, and the storm appeared to increase in fury. At times the great walls afforded protection, but largely they rode in the open. Surefoot now kept on the heels of the pack horse. When Heftral at last halted, Cherry had an overpowering sense of huge black walls, and a roaring of wind or water.
“It’s been some rotten day,” said Heftral as he reached to take her from the saddle.
Cherry could see his face dimly in the gloom. When she tried to get out of the saddle, she simply slid off into Heftral’s arms. He carried her a few steps and set her upright on a rock.
“You’re a game kid, anyway,” he muttered as if speaking to himself. Then he disappeared. Cherry found she could lean back against a wall, which she did in unutterable relief. Evidently they were under some kind of shelter, for it was dry. She smelled dust that had never been wet. The blackness above was split by a pale band, which must have been the sky. Sounds of wind and water filled the place with hollow roar. She was very cold, miserable, inert, and hungry, but had arrived at a state where she did not care. If she could only sleep or die. Her wretchedness was a horror. She could scarcely lift a hand. Every bone in her body seemed broken, every muscle bruised. And she was so wet, she knew presently she would melt.
Suddenly a light pierced the blackness, and she heard a crackling. Heftral’s figure showed in a dim flare. He had kindled a fire. Wonderful man to find dry wood in a deluge. She saw a blue-gold blaze leap up through a tangle of brush and sticks. In a moment the place was illumined by a roaring fire. It had a subtle effect upon Cherry. She saw sheer walls of rock on three sides, and a black void on the other.
Heftral approached her, and drew her to the fire. “Get dry and warm. It’ll make a difference,” he said, and he placed one of the canvas packs for her to sit upon. But Cherry, weak as she was, stood up to the blaze, extending cold trembling hands.
“It feels good,” she replied.
Indeed she wanted to walk into that blazing pile of sticks. What had she ever known about a fire? Of its singular beauty, its power to cheer, its wonderful property to warm cold flesh. It was the difference between death and life. She understood the barbarians who first invented, or found it. She knew now why she loved the sun.
Her wet clothes began to steam. She turned from one side to the other, as long as she could stand the burn.
“Sit down and let me pull off the chaps,” suggested Heftral.
When he had accomplished this task, which was not easy, in view of the fact that Cherry had to hold desperately on to the pack to keep from being dragged off, she felt almost as if she were undressed. The short skirt of woolen material had shrunk and wrinkled until it was a spectacle that made Cherry shriek with laughter, despite her woes. Heftral laughed with her, but evidently avoided looking at her. After wringing the water out of her skirt as best she could, Cherry approached the fire, standing as close as she dared. She turned around and around, sat down upon the pack until she rested, then repeated the performance. It was amazing how quickly her clothes dried. And equally amazing was the effect upon her spirits.
Meanwhile Heftral was cooking a meal with an extreme celerity that suggested lack of firewood or some other reason for haste.
“What’s the rush?” asked Cherry. “Looks as if we’d have to stay here tonight, anyhow.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
“Famished.”
“Well, that’s reason enough.”
“You’re awfully good to me…Where are we?”
“Beckyshibeta.”
“So soon!” Cherry exclaimed, gazing around her. The flare from the fire showed yellow walls, dark caverns, cracks, and in front a space of rock-strewn ground leading to dimly outlined trees, and then a blankness.
“So it was your life’s ambition to fetch me here?” Cherry said incredulously. “Gee, men are queer. You might have accomplished much more by taking me to the Ritz!”
“Any man could do that,” replied Heftral. “At least you’ll remember this trip.”
“I’ll say I will.”
The rain had ceased and there appeared to be a cessation of wind. Cherry heard a low, dull rumble. Heftral informed her it was thunder and that they were in for the very deuce of a storm.
“But we’re safe and dry, unless we get flooded out. That’s happened here before.”
“Indeed. Interesting place.”
“Are you dry?”
“Just about, I guess. And burned to a crisp.”
“Come to the festal board, then,” he concluded.
The wants of primitive peoples must have been very few. Shelter, warmth, food, and something to wear. Yet what cardinally important wants these were. Cherry was so grateful for the former that she almost reconciled herself to the lack of the last. She reflected that if her skirt shrunk any shorter she would have to don Heftral’s chaps permanently or else look like one of the chorus girls in the Follies. She did not care, after all. It would only be more to the sum of Heftral’s iniquity.
Cherry was thinking along that line, and eating prodigiously, when something happened. All went dazzlingly, blindingly white. She lost her sight. Deep blackness again, then an awful terrific crash. The great walls seemed to be falling. Cherry screamed, yet did not hear her own voice. A tremendous boom and bang resolved into concatenated thunder, which rolled away, leaving Cherry weak and paralyzed with fear.
“W-what was…th-that?” she faltered.
“Just a little lightning and thunder,” he replied. “They’ll get bothersome presently, when the streaks of lightning come down like the rain. Better finish your supper. Then you can crawl under your blankets and shut out the flashes, anyhow.”
Cherry’s appetite had been effectually checked, but she swallowed the rest of her meal, every moment dreading another earth-riving crash. But it did not come at once. She had surprise added to dread. The stillness and darkness became most oppressive.
“Where’s…my bed?” asked Cherry, rising.
“I haven’t unrolled it yet,” replied Heftral, jumping up.
Just then a sudden silver-blue blaze struck Cherry blind. She stood as one stricken, every muscle, nerve, and brain cell in abeyance to the expected crash. Such a shock came that it knocked Cherry flat. And when she became conscious of sound again a mighty rumbling of thunder boomed at the walls. Heftral was trying to lift her. Cherry opened her tight-shut eyes and clung to Heftral. He had got her to her knees when another white flash and awful clap made her collapse in his arms.
Heftral carried her a few steps back and put her down. But she still clung to him. “It’s only a storm…just lightning and thunder,” he was saying most earnestly. “We’re safe. We can’t be struck or hurt. There’s only one danger…that of being caught here in a flood. But it’d have to rain a long time…Cherry, don’t be such a child. Why…”
It did not do any good, so far as comforting Cherry. She knew it, too. She had been worn out physically. And from childhood she had always
dreaded a storm. That fear had been born in her. And never had she seen or heard anything to compare with this lightning and thunder. They were blinding, deafening, nerve-racking, and absolutely stunning. That was why Cherry had her face on Heftral’s breast and clung to him with all the strength she had left. She was aware that he tried to disengage himself—that he kept on talking, but both action and voice augmented her terror. They would come again, and she wanted to be hidden, to be held. They did come, and Cherry, even with her eyes shut and face pressed hard against Heftral’s breast, saw the intense white light. Then followed the stupendous crash. The earth shook under her. The whole world seemed full of staggering sound. It clapped back and forth from wall to wall, and rolled away like a mountain of stone.
Cherry had a last lingering recollection of the part she had meant to play, of a wicked hope for this very opportunity.
“Y-you’ve taken m-me from m-myself,” she faltered.
Heftral’s reply was drowned in another explosion. But Cherry felt him take her closely in his arms and hold her tightly. Then it seemed the storm broke into incessant flash and crash, until there was no darkness or silence again. That period, long or short, was the worst Cherry had ever experienced by a most exceeding degree. When the storm passed, she seemed dazed. But she felt Heftral lay her down and cover her with blankets. And that was the last thing she knew.
When she awakened, the sun was shining somewhere, for she saw a gold-crowned rim of lofty wall. She remembered instantly where she was and how she had gotten there. Yet the place was as weird and magnificent as any dream. Great walls and columns of colored stone rose above her. Only a narrow strip of blue sky could she see. She heard a sullen roar of waters and smelled wood smoke.
“So this is Paris…I mean Beckyshibeta,” Cherry murmured wonderingly. And she tried to rise so that she could look about her. But with the movement such a pang shot through her body that she fell back, uttering a sharp little cry. She was so cramped and stiff that the slightest sudden effort caused pain. Whereupon she moved her aching limbs very cautiously and stretched her sore body likewise.
Cherry was swearing softly to herself when she espied her muddy shoes on a rock beside her bed. She did not recall taking them off. Heftral had done that. Her coat, too, was under her head. Then she ascertained with relief that these two kindly services constituted the extent of Heftral’s activities as lady’s maid.
She heard a step grate on rock. Then Heftral appeared to gaze anxiously down upon her.
“Did you call?” he asked quickly.
“I just squealed,” she replied, gazing up at him, careful to draw the blankets close to her chin.
“Good morning,” he went on as an afterthought.
“Good morning,” returned Cherry sweetly.
“How are you?”
“I’m not sure, but I think I’m dead.”
“You’re sure a live and handsome corpse,” he said bluntly. “Lord, I wonder if anything could mar your beauty.”
His tone was one of exasperating resignation, as well as reluctant admiration. To Cherry it was like a drink of wine.
“Stephen, are you calling on the Lord?”
“I sure am.”
“Well, I think it’s a sacrilege, blasphemous. What a nerve you have.”
“In extreme cases the most degraded of men might naturally express himself so. I own it was silly of me. I can’t expect any succor,” he said solemnly.
“You shouldn’t expect mercy, either, from the Lord…or me.”
“Probably you’ll be more inclined to be merciful if I fetch you a nice hot breakfast,” he said tentatively.
“Yes. Your cooking is your one redeeming virtue.”
“Thanks,” he replied, and turned to go.
“Stephen, wait!” she called. “What did I do last night?”
“Do? Why, nothing in particular.”
“I remember being knocked flat by a stroke of lightning. That must have dazed me, for the rest seems a sort of dim horror.”
“It was a bad electric storm even for this desert. No wonder you were shocked. You see it’s very much worse when you’re walled in by cliffs. The echoes crack from cliff to cliff…truly terrific.”
“Was I frightened?”
“Rather.”
“Did I scream or…say anything?”
“You told me I had taken you from yourself,” he replied gloomily.
“Heavens! What did I do?” she exclaimed, intensely curious.
“I fear it would embarrass you.”
“No doubt. That’s why I insist. I want to know.”
“Well, I picked you up, intending to carry you up here, where it’s more sheltered. But you grabbed me…hid your face…and hung on as if for dear life. So I just held you till the storm was over.”
“What do you mean by ‘hung on’?”
“To be frank you hugged me outrageously.”
“Indeed! Did the storm last long?”
“Hours.”
Cherry gave him an inscrutable glance and smile. “I presume you would have a storm like that every night.”
“Yes. I would…if I had the power,” he said intensely.
“You would be worse than cruel,” she rejoined gravely. “My mother was a very highly organized and sensitive person. Inordinately afraid of lightning and thunder. I was marked before my birth. And prematurely born after a storm…One of the recollections of my childhood is that Mother used to take me into a dark hallway during a storm.”
“I’m sorry I said that,” he replied, and left. Presently he fetched up her breakfast and retired rather hurriedly, without speaking again. Cherry struggled to a sitting posture, and applied herself diligently to the ham and eggs, toasted biscuit, well-buttered, and coffee. Truly Mr. Heftral was astounding. Where did he get fresh eggs? Of course he had fetched them. But how? Perhaps he believed that the way to a woman’s heart lay through her stomach.
Cherry had intended to stay in bed and rest. But one look over the bulge of rock up at lofty golden rims and down into a wilderness of bright green cañon put idleness out of the question. She would explore Beckyshibeta if she had to drag herself around. Consulting her little mirror, she saw that her face had been sunburned, but not unbecomingly so. And the other sunburn did not matter, even if it did hurt, any more than her shriveled and shrunken garments. There was no danger of any critical and supercilious woman seeing her. Suppose Chauncey Sarland’s mother could see her in this rig! Cherry giggled. It would be rich. Nevertheless she did not care for that catastrophe.
She got up groaning. Muscles and bones were no doubt essential to the human frame, but this morning she would rather have dispensed with them. She was weak, lame, sore, and burned. The band of sunburn above her knees was particularly annoying. She reflected that it was a new-style scarlet garter, and would have created a sensation at Atlantic City.
“Oooo!” moaned Cherry as she tortured herself erect. “Why did I leave home?”
It was serious business, this treatment she had given her body. She could not have stood much more without being totally incapacitated. Heftral had called her a game kid, which was an appellation that gave her extreme pride, both because it was natural it should, and secondly because it had been reluctantly wrenched from the archeologist. That was one reason why she did not go back to bed, instead of suffering excruciating pangs.
Finally she wore off the stiffness to the extent of being able to navigate, then she laboriously climbed down to a level and gazed about her. The place appeared to be simply an enormous cavern with a dome higher than that of the Grand Central Station, which was going some, Cherry admitted. It opened on a level bench that extended out over a green cañon, perhaps half a mile wide and twice as long. How refreshing and colorful the different kinds of foliage. It contrasted beautifully with the red and gold of gorgeous colossal cliffs that shee
red up as if to the very sky. A sullen roar of water greeted Cherry’s ears. She heard the twitter of birds in the cedars and cottonwoods. All appeared bright and clean, with a warm sun shining after the storm. Thin yellow waterfalls were dropping over the cliffs, and at the apex of the cañon, its upper end, a heavy torrent was tumbling down over the broken masses of rocks.
These were Cherry’s first impressions and sensations. She walked out of the shade into the sunshine. Every step was an effort, but fetched wonderful reward in an enlargement of her view of the weird and magnificent surroundings. The stone walls were higher than the Singer Building. They were full of great caverns and hollows near their base, and above were cracked and stained and covered with moss, with niches and ledges where green growths grew. Cherry stood spellbound. Beckyshibeta! What a marvelous place! It was majestic, grand, and increased in beauty and wonder as she grasped its true perspective. The cañon stunned her, too, with its shut-in solitude.
“Oh, glorious,” murmured Cherry. “I had no idea it was like this. He never said so. Mister Linn didn’t lead me to expect much. But this!”
Cherry sat down in the sun, and time was as nothing. She might have been there minutes or an hour. It was long, however, for cramped muscles told her so. She breathed it all in. Her eyes feasted. Something seemed transformed within her. What had she missed all these idle years? Never, except in a highly colored romance or two, had she read of such places as this, and she had believed them merely fiction. But no pen, no brush could do justice to the truth of Beckyshibeta.
Cherry felt that she would be unutterably grateful to Heftral always. Still she could not let him know. He was a terrible scamp, but…Where was he anyhow? For a sheik who had made off with a maiden, he was certainly elusive.
She went in search of him. Owing to her crippled condition and the awesome nature of the place, Cherry did not make much progress. She got around an immense corner of wall, below the cavern he had chosen for their camp, and found another cave higher and larger than the first one. It was full of the ruins of sections of wall that had fallen. Cherry threaded slow passage between blocks of rock and over weathered slides to another projecting corner that she thought hid the mouth of the cañon. The roar of water grew louder. Her way was so beset with obstacles that she was long in reaching her objective. But at last she got around the corner.