Stairs of Sand

by Zane Grey

  “Oh, I don’t want him to be,” she cried, bowing her head.

  “It’s love you need, Ruth,” went on Merryvale, without mercy. “Wal, make Adam love you—in the little tender ways a woman craves. Make him. Make him give in to love. Then you can fight this battle heah to beat Larey, to save your grandfather.”

  “What can I do?” cried Ruth. “All you say, and more, has filled my mind, shaming me…. I have trifled with man after man. Oh, if only I had not! … How could I sink to such miserable guile—to move and hold him?”

  “Wal, forget that past triflin’,” returned Merryvale, sternly. “An’ be earnest. Be shore of yourself. An’ for Adam, be all a woman can be. Be for him all this desert has made you. You caint escape your destiny any more than change your beauty. You have the purple eyes of a cactus flower. Your skin an’ hair are gold. You’re sweet an’ wayward, like a girl, but you have the mystery of a woman. You can make your weakness into strength, your discontent into loyalty…. This man you love is a desert eagle. Be his fit mate!”

  “Merryvale! you—you torture me,” she returned, passionately.

  “Ruth, love is torture. Life is torture,” he said, relaxing back into his chair. “You must give one an’ endure the other.”

  “You hurt—yet you uplift me,” she replied, with effort at composure. “I have stagnated here. No one made me think. If I hadn’t loathed the desert it might have taught me.”

  It satisfied Merryvale, while it caused him regret that his brutality had struck fire from Ruth. He had not dared to hope so much. What strange elements mingled in her! How at the mercy was she of an unstable emotional nature! She had potentialities for evil, and many grave faults, but she was honest, she was loving, she was still, by some saving grace of blood and breeding, an untainted woman.

  “Look! Two men coming in the gate,” she exclaimed, pointing. “Guerd Larey!”

  “Yes, an’ the other is Collishaw,” returned Merryvale, rising. “If you don’t mind I’ll jest step inside the door.” He suited words to quick action. “Don’t let them upset you, Ruth.”

  “I’m not in the least afraid to face them,” she replied, calmly.

  Merryvale took a seat on the couch where he could not be seen unless some one entered the door. Perhaps it was Larey’s plan to approach Ruth before going to her grandfather. Footsteps and low voices sounded without, and then:

  “Howdy, Ruth,” said her husband, genially. “You know Collishaw. I’ve fetched him up to see you.”

  “Good morning,” replied Ruth, coldly, with a hint of interrogation in her tone.

  “Mawnin’, Mrs. Larey,” replied Collishaw, blandly. “Reckon I haven’t seen you for weeks. An’ shore I’m the loser for that. If it were possible, you grow handsomer all the time.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Collishaw. But surely you didn’t call upon me to pay compliments,” returned Ruth, with faint sarcasm.

  “Wal, no. It’s business, an’ I’ll take your hint an’ get to it.—We’ve had a talk with your grandfather aboot buyin’ him out. He won’t listen to no reasonable offers.”

  “Why should he?” queried Ruth. “He has slaved here for years. And now when the property has suddenly increased a hundred percent in value he would be a fool to sacrifice it.”

  “You know aboot the railroad comin’?” inquired Collishaw.

  “Yes.”

  “Wal, there’s no gainsayin’ the sense in your agreement. But you don’t know every angle to this deal. This heah water-hole belonged first to an old Spanish grant. Indian Jim an’ his family didn’t have a clear title. Fact is they didn’t have anythin’ in writin’. I’ve looked it up in Yuma. That Spanish grant has gone to the state, an’ I’ve staked a claim for Larey. Wal, if Larey throws your grandfather off this land, nothin’ could be done aboot it. It’s like a minin’ claim. If you let someone jump it, you lose.”

  “I don’t believe you,” retorted Ruth.

  “Naturally. But all the same I’m speakin’ gospel.”

  “Ruth, it’s news to me, and I believe it’s a fact,” spoke up Larey, with conviction. “I know Hunt hasn’t a patent to this land. He can’t get one short of another year, if he can at all.”

  “Please come to the point,” said Ruth, impatiently. “You can’t scare me with your arguments. Why do you approach me?”

  “Wal, the whole deal hangs on you, Mrs. Larey,” continued Collishaw.

  “Ruth, that’s true, but he doesn’t put it very nicely,” said Larey, suavely. “Hunt and I did not get along well, as you know. I have not pressed claims against him for the simple reason that I’ve not despaired of a reconciliation with you. But this railroad proposition forces my hand. The freighting business will be killed, eventually, but the water right is worth a fortune. Now I’ll agree, if you’ll come back to me, not to drive Hunt off this property.”

  A moment of tense silence ensued, during which Merryvale felt the blood boil in his veins.

  Collishaw cleared his throat: “There you are, Mrs. Larey. You see how the deal hangs on your going back to your husband.”

  “Back to him,” retorted Ruth, in ringing scorn. “I never was his wife.”

  “Wal, he gave me a different notion aboot that.”

  “I’ve heard so from other sources. He lied.”

  “Aw now, Ruth,” interposed Larey, “don’t get riled. I didn’t mean what—”

  “I know what you meant. When I ran out of your house on your wedding night you lied to save your face. You lied to save your vanity. You lied to make me out what I was not.”

  “Mrs. Larey, I shore apologize,” returned Collishaw, gruffly, as if aggrieved. “I’m from Texas where a woman’s word an’ a woman’s honor mean somethin’. If Larey lied aboot—”

  “Look at his face!”

  “Damn you, Ruth Virey!” ground out Larey. “Of course I lied. What could you expect? You ran off from me two hours after you married me. You made me the laughing-stock of gamblers, greasers, freighters, all the riff-raff of this desert. And I’ve never forgiven you. And what’s more I’ll drag you back by the hair—if you—”

  “See heah, Larey,” interrupted Collishaw, heatedly. “I cain’t stand heah an’ listen to you talk to a woman that way. Reckon I belong to the gamblin’ riff-raff myself. But I know what’s due a lady. You’d get shot in Texas—”

  “To hell with Texas,” rasped out Larey. “We’re in California, and on the desert. You get out and leave this lady to me. I didn’t want you to come. I knew your soft talk would queer me. After this, you stick to the business end of our relation. Leave this cat to me. What she needs is to be tamed.”

  “Wal, Guerd, you’ll excuse me for interferin’,” came Collishaw’s stiff reply. “But I’ll have one word. I’m not surprised at the regard this lady has for you. An’ I’ll bet you a million you’ll never tame her.”

  Quick firm footfalls of heavy boots broke the ensuing silence, and died away down the path. Collishaw had gone; and if Merryvale knew anything about Texans the choleric Mr. Larey had not strengthened friendship.

  “Now, Mrs. Larey, we’ll have it out,” began Larey, with a change of tone.

  “As far as I am concerned, Mr. Larey, we’re already out,” returned Ruth, in weary indifference.

  “Listen. I’m not going to quarrel with you again. I’m through. My patience is gone. For three years I’ve begged. I’ve accepted your insults. I’ve watched you flirt with this and that man, and swallowed my jealousy—when I wanted to kill. I took my medicine. I’d have hated you if I could. But the rottener you were to me the more I loved you. That’s what brought me to your feet. All my life women have been like ripe grapes to me. I had only to reach. But you—you made me love you until it has nearly killed me…. Do you understand that? I could be as noble and good as I am base and crooked—if you loved me. I have that in me. You couldn’t believe me. I see the ridicule in your eyes. Guerd Larey to change his spots! That’s the cursed paradox of my miserable state. I could do it. But all th
at is of no avail…. I’m at the end of my rope. Will you give in to me to save your grandfather?”

  “No. Not to save his life or mine!”

  “Very well. I’m answered. Now answer this. Here we are on the desert. What is to prevent me from dragging you to my house and holding you prisoner there? At least long enough to drag you down to my level. Every man in this wretched hole would laugh and uphold my action.”

  “Not quite every man,” replied Ruth, mockingly.

  “The majority would. But answer—what’s to prevent me from doing it?”

  “I’d kill you!”

  “Maybe you would. It’s not so easy for a woman to kill a man who knows her. And the more of a tigress you’d be, the sweeter I’d find it to break you.”

  “The desert has certainly found the beast in you, Guerd Larey.”

  “I can’t see that the desert has made an angel of you, my lady. Take, for instance, your affair with Stone. If that boy hadn’t been a jackass he could have won you. I saw you hanging on to him. Aw—you needn’t blaze at me with your damned eyes! You don’t know what you are—what you’re capable of. Like as not you’ll get sweet on Stone again.”

  “Surely. And perhaps many another man. But never you!”

  Larey cursed mutteringly and his heels savagely crunched the gravel. Ruth came stumbling into the room, to slam the door, and sink upon the couch beside Merryvale. Then she slipped to her knees on the floor, quivering all over, with eyes tight shut yet streaming tears, and her face drawn by conflicting passions.

  “Ruth, lass,” said Merryvale, drawing her head to his shoulder and holding her with tender hand. But in the stress of his own feeling he could not think of any word of comfort. So he just held her closely and that moment grew marvelously sweet to him. Merryvale did not blind himself to Ruth’s imperfections, but he loved her because it was impossible not to love her. There was a woman now and then, he believed, who exacted this from men. Perhaps it was her beauty alone—perhaps the indescribable charm that haunted her voice, her look, her action—perhaps the very unattainableness which deceived and allured. Larey had betrayed his reason for loving her.

  The silent storm subsided at length, and she raised her wet face from his shoulder.

  “You heard it all?” she asked.

  “Every word, Ruth.”

  “I wasn’t afraid, but I couldn’t control myself. The very look of that man infuriates me. His green-toad eyes! They seem to—to strip me.”

  “Wal, Ruth lass, you shore gave him a flayin’ with your tongue. It frightened me for you. Larey is dangerous. He has laid his cairds on the table. Now how are we goin’ to play against him?”

  “I don’t know. We must think. But this I beg of you,” she replied, passionately eloquent. “Don’t tell Adam about this. Promise me, Merryvale.”

  “Ruth, I’m afraid I caint promise that,” rejoined Merryvale, feeling troubled.

  “I can only stand so much,” she persisted. “I couldn’t bear for Adam to know of Larey’s brutal threats—of his vile lie.”

  “Why couldn’t you, Ruth? I reckon sooner or later Adam is goin’ to find out for himself.”

  “Oh, I pray to God he doesn’t. I must see that he never does.”

  “You’re afraid he might—”

  “I know, Merryvale. I know,” she cried, wildly. “Adam would kill this brother he still loves!”

  Merryvale weakened. “Wal, then, I promise I’ll not say a word to Adam aboot what jest happened heah.”

  “Thank you,” she replied gratefully.

  “I’ll go now an’ see what’s doin’ at the post,” said Merryvale. “Keep careful lookout from now on. Don’t meet Larey again when you’re alone. Lock yourself in, if anyone you don’t know comes. I’ll be heah at dark to take you to meet Adam.”

  Before Merryvale entered the freighting post he heard Guerd Larey’s voice raised in loud angry tones.

  Merryvale hastened in. Dabb was there, standing stock-still, in the attitude of one so intent on listening that he did not note Merryvale’s entrance. The office, from whence the voice emanated, was a partitioned-off little room, open at the top. Larey was in there, evidently with Hunt, and no doubt also Collishaw.

  “— — — anyhow,” Larey was cursing. “You held up a big deal for me with the steamboat company, — — — you’re not going to do it here.”

  “I refuse to be partner to dishonest business,” declared Hunt, forcibly, and he struck a table with his fist. “I’ll not accept supplies, especially liquor, smuggled across the border.”

  “Hell, man. You wouldn’t need to know what those cases contained,” fumed Larey.

  “I would know, and that’s enough.”

  “Once more, you tight-fisted old geezer, will you go in with us on this new deal?”

  “No. Moreover I’m about through with you, Larey.”

  “You are through. I’ll throw you out of this office in a minute,” shouted Larey. “But first listen to Collishaw.”

  Thereupon the Texan began to hold forth rapidly, forcibly, in speech of which the content was not always distinguishable. There was enough, however, for Merryvale to gather that it concerned Hunt’s invalid title to the water rights on the former Spanish land grant.

  “It’s a devilish scheme to ruin me,” declared Hunt, shrilly. But his voice rang with shock and alarm.

  “Shore it’s only your poor haid for business,” returned Collishaw, speaking freely now. “I advise you to accept Larey’s offer. If you don’t you’ll get put off the property without anythin’.”

  “How—how could you put me off?” asked Hunt, quaveringly.

  “Wal, didn’t I jest tell you that Larey had the claim now? An’ besides, you owe him money.”

  “It’s a lie,” rejoined Hunt, hoarsely. “I owe him nothing. He has cheated me out of thousands. He is worse than a bandit.”

  Larey laughed coarsely. “Prove it, Caleb. Now you get out of here.”

  A chair scraped the floor, a shuffling of feet and an exclamation followed. The door flew open and Hunt catapulted out. His face was red, his white hair ruffled, his demeanor one of mingled fury and alarm.

  Merryvale had slipped behind a pile of bales, from which vantage point he saw Larey make good his threat. Hunt was shoved out, if not thrown, and with violence.

  “Caleb, you can tell Ruth you’ve got one chance to keep your land,” said Larey, sharply, scanding in the doorway. “That’s for her to come back to me!”

  Larey wheeled then to espy Dabb, who had begun making pretence of searching on a shelf.

  “Didn’t I tell you to get out?” demanded Larey.

  “Yes, sir, but I came back. You didn’t say—”

  “How much did you hear?”

  “Only your last words, sir.”

  “Well, you leave us alone for an hour. When you come back I’ll talk to you about taking Hunt’s job.”

  Dabb hurried into the ware-room and shut the door. Then Larey and Collishaw returned to the office.

  “That’s done, and it’s a damn good riddance,” said Larey, with a clap of his hands. “Do you think we can trust Dabb?”

  “No. You caint trust any man if you are not straight yourself,” replied Collishaw.

  “Say, are you giving me a hunch?” snarled Larey.

  “Dabb was listenin’, you can bet on that.”

  “What do I care for these two-bit hang-dog fellows? I’ll give Dabb a chance.”

  “Guerd, I’m shore afraid you’re crackin’,” said Collishaw, with gravity. “You never used to fly off the handle like this. You’re reckless an’ sort of desperate. It’s the woman!”

  “Ha! Look for the woman, when every man breaks!”

  “Wal, I don’t like the way the cairds show,” went on Collishaw. “An’ shore that goes without your drinkin’ hard an’ your mind bein’ cluttered up aboot Ruth.”

  “Leave her out of our business,” returned Larey, with passion.

  “Wal, all right, for the
present. But later I’ll tell you aboot an idee I have, concernin’ her, that’ll fetch you…. Now aboot Hunt. You’ve got rid of him heah, an’ he caint prove nothin’. But go slow with the Spanish grant bluff. It might work in the end. But don’t you throw him off his land like you did out of this place. He might have friends. An’ your sweet little wife is no damn fool, let me tell you that. If she’d ever wake up an’ forget herself long enough to think, she’d raise more hell than ten men. Fact is, Larey, I’m afraid of her.”

  “Will you shut up harping on Ruth?” demanded Larey, in extreme irritation. “Let’s find Hunt’s books and go over them.”

  Merryvale glided stealthily from his post and gained the door without betraying his presence.

  “Whew!” he muttered, moving leisurely away. At first he meant to find Hunt, but on second thought he went on toward the Indian shack, where he lodged, and seated himself on his bed to ponder over what he had learned.

  The Spanish grant claim as set forth by Collishaw was evidently a ruse to discourage Hunt and render Larey’s scheme easier of accomplishment.

  Indeed it had worried Merryvale, for it might well have been true. Hunt had showed himself vulnerable in this regard. Nevertheless, even if it was false, the very idea itself had powerful advantages for an unscrupulous man. Sooner or later Larey would act upon it, despite Collishaw’s advice. Then, all depended on what happened to Ruth, whether or not Adam would stalk into the scene. A leap of Merryvale’s pulse attended the thought of seeing Adam meet his brother. To Merryvale there did not seem to be anything more desirable, outside of Ruth’s happiness, than the death of this treacherous Guerd Larey. The thought again seized Merryvale’s imagination and this time took root in fertile soil.