“How long have you had him there?” inquired Uncle John, looking at the discomfited “brave” curiously.
“About an hour,” was the reply.
“Let him go, then. We have no prison handy, and the man has perhaps been punished enough.”
“I have wait to ask permission to kill him,” said Wampus solemnly. “He know English talk, an’ I have told him he is to die. I have describe, sir, several torture we make on Injun who steal, which make him think he die several time. So he is now prepare for the worst.”
The Indiam squirmed again, and with a sigh Wampus arose and set him free.
“See,” he said; “you are save only by mercy of Great White Chief. You ver’ lucky Injun. But Great White Chief will leave only one eye here when he go away. If you try to steal again the eye will see, an’ then the torture I have describe will be yours. I am Wampus. I have spoke.”
The Indian listened intently and then slunk away into the darkness without reply. The night had no further event and in spite of their unusual experiences all slept excellently and awoke in the morning refreshed and ready for new adventures.
CHAPTER IX
NATURE’S MASTERPIECE
From the reservation to the Grand Canyon of the Colorado was not far, but there was no “crosscut” and so they were obliged to make a wide detour nearly to Williams before striking the road that wound upward to the world’s greatest wonder.
Slowly and tediously the big car climbed the miserable trail to the rim of the Grand Canyon. It was night when they arrived, for they had timed it that way, having been told of the marvelous beauty of the canyon by moonlight. But unfortunately the sky filled with clouds toward evening, and they came to Bright Angel, their destination, in a drizzling rain and total darkness. The Major was fearful Wampus might run them into the canyon, but the machine’s powerful searchlights showed the way clearly and by sticking to the road they finally drew up before an imposing hotel such as you might wonder to find in so remote a spot.
Eagerly enough they escaped from the automobile where they had been shut in and entered the spacious lobby of the hotel, where a merry throng of tourists had gathered.
“Dinner and bed,” said Patsy, decidedly. “I’m all tired out, and poor Myrtle is worn to a frazzle. There’s no chance of seeing the canyon to-night, and as for the dancing, card playing and promiscuous gaiety, it doesn’t appeal much to a weary traveler.”
The girls were shown to a big room at the front of the hotel, having two beds in it. A smaller connecting-room was given to Myrtle, while Patsy and Beth shared the larger apartment. It seems the hotel, big as it was, was fairly filled with guests, the railway running three trains a day to the wonderful canyon; but Uncle John’s nieces did not mind occupying the same room, which was comfortably and even luxuriously furnished.
A noise of footsteps along the corridor disturbed Patsy at an early hour. She opened her eyes to find the room dimly lighted, as by the first streaks of dawn, and sleepily arose to raise the window shade and see if day was breaking. Her hand still upraised to guide the shade the girl stood as motionless as if turned to stone. With a long drawn, gasping breath she cried: “Oh, Beth!” and then stood staring at what is undoubtedly the most entrancing, the most awe inspiring and at the same time the most magnificent spectacle that mortal eye has ever beheld — sunrise above the Grand Canyon of Arizona.
The master painters of the world have gathered in this spot in a vain attempt to transfer the wondrous coloring of the canyon to canvas. Authors famed for their eloquent command of language have striven as vainly to tell to others what their own eyes have seen; how their senses have been thrilled and their souls uplifted by the marvel that God’s hand has wrought. It can never be pictured. It can never be described. Only those who have stood as Patricia Doyle stood that morning and viewed the sublime masterpiece of Nature can realize what those homely words, “The Grand Canyon” mean. Grand? It is well named. Since no other adjective can better describe it, that much abused one may well be accepted to incompletely serve its purpose.
Beth joined her cousin at the window and was instantly as awed and absorbed as Patsy. Neither remembered Myrtle just then, but fortunately their friend had left the connecting door of their rooms ajar and hearing them stirring came in to see if anything had happened. She found the two cousins staring intently from the window and went to the second window herself, thus witnessing the spectacle in all its glory.
Even after the magnificent coloring of sunrise had faded the sight was one to rivet the attention. The hotel seemed built at the very edge of the canyon, and at their feet the ground appeared to fall away and a great gulf yawned that was tinted on all its diverse sides with hues that rivaled those of the rainbow. Across the chasm they could clearly see the trees and hills; yet these were fully thirteen miles distant, for here is one of the widest portions of the great abyss.
“I’m going to dress,” said Beth, breaking the silence at last. “It seems a sin to stay cooped up in here when such a glorious panorama is at one’s feet.”
The others did not reply in words, but they all began to dress together with nervous haste, and then made their way down to the canyon’s brink. Others were before them, standing upon the ample porches in interested groups; but such idleness would not content our girls, who trooped away for a more intimate acquaintance with the wonderful gorge.
“Oh, how small — how terribly small — I am!” cried Patsy, lost in the immensity of the canyon’s extent; but this is a common cry of travelers visiting Bright Angel. You might place a baker’s dozen of the huge Falls of Niagara in the Grand Canyon and scarcely notice they were there. All the vast cathedrals of Europe set upon its plateau would seem like pebbles when viewed from the brink. The thing is simply incomprehensible to those who have not seen it.
Presently Uncle John and the Major came out to join them and they all wandered along the edge until they came to a huge rock that jutted out far over the monster gulf. On the furthermost point of this rock, standing with his feet at the very brink, was a tall, thin man, his back toward them. It seemed a fearful thing to do — to stand where the slightest slip would send him reeling into the abyss.
“It’s like tempting fate,” whispered Patsy, a safe distance away. “I wish he would step back a little.”
As if he had overheard her the man half turned and calmly examined the group. His eyes were an almost colorless blue, his features destitute of any expression. By his dress he seemed well-to-do, if not prosperous, yet there was a hint of melancholy in his poise and about him a definite atmosphere of loneliness.
After that one deliberate look he turned again and faced the canyon, paying no attention to the interested little party that hovered far enough from the edge to avoid any possible danger.
“Oh, dear!” whispered Myrtle, clinging to Beth’s arm with trembling fingers, “I’m afraid he’s going to — to commit suicide!”
“Nonsense!” answered Beth, turning pale nevertheless.
The figure was motionless as before. Uncle John and the Major started along the path but as Beth attempted to follow them Myrtle broke away from her and hobbled eagerly on her crutches toward the stranger. She did not go quite to the end of the jutting rock, but stopped some feet away and called in a low, intense voice:
“Don’t!”
The man turned again, with no more expression in his eyes or face than before. He looked at Myrtle steadily a moment, then turned and slowly left the edge, walking to firm ground and back toward the hotel without another glance at the girl.
“I’m so ashamed,” said Myrtle, tears of vexation in her eyes as she rejoined her friends. “But somehow I felt I must warn him — it was an impulse I just couldn’t resist.”
“Why, no harm resulted, in any event, my dear,” returned Beth. “I wouldn’t think of it again.”
They took so long a walk that all were nearly famished when they returned to the hotel for breakfast.
Of course Patsy and Beth want
ed to go down Bright Angel Trail into the depths of the canyon, for that is the thing all adventurous spirits love to do.
“I’m too fat for such foolishness,” said Uncle John, “so I’ll stay up here and amuse Myrtle.”
The Major decided to go, to “look after our Patsy;” so the three joined the long line of daring tourists and being mounted on docile, sure-footed burros, followed the guide down the trail.
Myrtle and Uncle John spent the morning on the porch of the hotel. At breakfast the girl had noticed the tall man they had encountered at the canyon’s edge quietly engaged in eating at a small table in a far corner of the great dining room. During the forenoon he came from the hotel to the porch and for a time stood looking far away over the canyon.
Aroused to sympathy by the loneliness of this silent person, Uncle
John left his chair and stood beside him at the railing.
“It’s a wonderful sight, sir,” he remarked in his brisk, sociable way; “wonderful indeed!”
For a moment there was no reply.
“It seems to call one,” said the man at length, as if to himself. “It calls one.”
“It’s a wonder to me it doesn’t call more people to see it,” observed Mr. Merrick, cheerfully. “Think of this magnificent thing — greater and grander than anything the Old World can show, being here right in the heart of America, almost — and so few rush to see it! Why, in time to come, sir,” he added enthusiastically, “not to have seen the Grand Canyon of Arizona will be an admission of inferiority. It’s — it’s the biggest thing in all the world!”
The stranger made no reply. He had not even glanced at Uncle John. Now he slowly turned and stared fixedly at Myrtle for a moment, till she cast down her eyes, blushing. Then he re-entered the hotel; nor was he again seen by them.
The little man was indignant at the snub. Rejoining Myrtle he said to her:
“That fellow wasn’t worth saving — if you really saved him, my dear. He says the canyon calls one, and for all I care he may go to the bottom by any route he pleases.”
Which speech showed that gentle, kindly Mr. Merrick was really annoyed. But a moment later he was all smiles again and Myrtle found him a delightful companion because he knew so well how to read people’s thoughts, and if they were sad had a tactful way of cheering them.
The girls and the Major returned from their trip to the plateau full of rapture at their unique experiences.
“I wouldn’t have missed it for a million dollars!” cried the Major; but he added: “and you couldn’t hire me to go again for two million!”
“It was great,” said Patsy; “but I’m tuckered out.”
“I had nineteen narrow escapes from sudden death,” began Beth, but her cousin interrupted her by saying: “So had everyone in the party; and if the canyon had caved in we’d all be dead long ago. Stop your chattering now and get ready for dinner. I’m nearly starved.”
Next morning they took a farewell view of the beautiful scene and then climbed into their automobile to continue their journey. Many of the tourists had wondered at their temerity in making such a long trip through a poorly settled country in a motor car and had plied them with questions and warnings. But they were thoroughly enjoying this outing and nothing very disagreeable had happened to them so far. I am sure that on this bright, glorious morning you could not have hired any one of the party to abandon the automobile and finish the trip by train.
CHAPTER X
A COYOTE SERENADE
The roads were bad enough. They were especially bad west of Williams. Just now an association of automobile tourists has been formed to create a boulevard route through from the Atlantic to the Pacific coast, but at the time of this story no attention had been given the roads of the far West and only the paths of the rancheros from town to town served as guides. On leaving Williams they turned south so as to avoid the more severe mountain roads, and a fine run through a rather uninteresting country brought them to Prescott on the eve of the second day after leaving the Canyon. Here they decided to take a day’s rest, as it was Sunday and the hotel was comfortable; but Monday morning they renewed their journey and headed southwesterly across the alkali plains — called “mesa” — for Parker, on the boundary line between Arizona and California.
Towns of any sort were very scarce in this section and the country was wild and often barren of vegetation for long stretches. There were some extensive ranches, however, as this is the section favored for settlement by a class of Englishmen called “remittance men.” These are mostly the “black sheep” or outcasts of titled families, who having got into trouble of some sort at home, are sent to America to isolate themselves on western ranches, where they receive monthly or quarterly remittances of money to support them. The remittance men are poor farmers, as a rule. They are idle and lazy except when it comes to riding, hunting and similar sports. Their greatest industry is cattle raising, yet these foreign born “cowboys” constitute an entirely different class from those of American extraction, found in Texas and on the plains of the Central West. They are educated and to an extent cultured, being “gentlemen born” but sad backsliders in the practise of the profession. Because other ranchers hesitate to associate with them they congregate in settlements of their own, and here in Arizona, on the banks of the Bill Williams Branch of the Colorado River, they form almost the total population.
Our friends had hoped to make the little town of Gerton for the night, but the road was so bad that Wampus was obliged to drive slowly and carefully, and so could not make very good time. Accidents began to happen, too, doubtless clue to the hard usage the machine had received. First a spring broke, and Wampus was obliged to halt long enough to clamp it together with stout steel braces. An hour later the front tire was punctured by cactus spines, which were thick upon the road. Such delays seriously interfered with their day’s mileage.
Toward sunset Uncle John figured, from the information he had received at Prescott, that they were yet thirty miles from Gerton, and so he decided to halt and make camp while there was yet sufficient daylight remaining to do so conveniently.
“We might hunt for a ranch house and beg for shelter,” said he, “but from the stories I’ve heard of the remittance men I am sure we will enjoy ourselves better if we rely entirely upon our own resources.”
The girls were, of course, delighted at the prospect of such an experience, for the silent, solitary mesa made them feel they were indeed “in the wilds of the Great American Desert.” The afternoon had been hot and the ride dusty, but there was now a cooler feeling in the air since the sun had fallen low in the horizon.
They carried their own drinking water, kept ice-cold in thermos bottles, and Uncle John also had a thermos tub filled with small squares of ice. This luxury, in connection with their ample supply of provisions, enabled the young women to prepare a supper not to be surpassed in any modern hotel. The soup came from one can, the curried chicken from another, while artichokes, peas, asparagus and plum pudding shed their tin coverings to complete the meal. Fruits, cheese and biscuits they had in abundance, so there was no hardship in camping out on a deserted Arizona table-land, as far as food was concerned. The Interior of the limousine, when made into berths for the three girls, was as safe and cosy as a Pullman sleeping coach. Only the men’s quarters, the “lean-to” tent, was in any way open to invasion.
After the meal was ended and the things washed and put away they all sat on folding camp chairs outside the little tent and enjoyed the intense silence surrounding them. The twilight gradually deepened into darkness. Wampus kept one of the searchlights lit to add an element of cheerfulness to the scene, and Myrtle was prevailed upon to sing one or two of her simple songs. She had a clear, sweet voice, although not a strong one, and they all — especially Uncle John — loved to hear her sing.
Afterward they talked over their trip and the anticipated change from this arid region to the verdure of California, until suddenly a long, bloodcurdling howl broke the stillness a
nd caused them one and all to start from their seats. That is, all but Wampus. The chauffeur, sitting apart with his black cigar in his mouth, merely nodded and said: “Coyote.”
The Major coughed and resumed his seat. Uncle John stood looking into the darkness as if trying to discern the creature.
“Are coyotes considered dangerous?” he asked the Canadian.
“Not to us,” replied Wampus. “Sometime, if one man be out on mesa alone, an’ plenty coyote come, he have hard fight for life. Coyote is wild dog. He is big coward unless pretty hungry. If I leave light burn he never come near us.”
“Then let it burn — all night,” said Mr. Merrick. “There he goes again — and another with him! What a horrible wail it is.”
“I rather like it,” said Patsy, with her accustomed calmness. “It is certainly an added experience to be surrounded by coyotes. Probably our trip wouldn’t have been complete without it.”
“A little of that serenade will suffice me,” admitted Beth, as the howls grew nearer and redoubled in volume.
Myrtle’s eyes were big and earnest. She was not afraid, but there was something uncanny in being surrounded by such savage creatures.
Nearer and nearer sounded the howls, until it was easy to see a dozen fierce eyes gleaming in the darkness, not a stone’s throw away from the camp.
“I guess you girls had better go to bed,” remarked Uncle John, a bit nervously. “There’s no danger, you know — none at all. Let the brutes howl, if they want to — especially as we can’t stop them. But you are tired, my dears, and I’d like to see you settled for the night.”
Somewhat reluctantly they entered the limousine, drew the curtains and prepared for bed. Certainly they were having a novel experience, and if Uncle John would feel easier to have them listen to the howling coyotes from inside the limousine instead of outside, they could not well object to his request.
Presently Wampus asked the Major for his revolver, and on obtaining the weapon he walked a few paces toward the coyotes and fired a shot into their group. They instantly scattered and made off, only to return in a few moments to their former position.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 467