The Man of the Desert

by Grace Livingston Hill

  “I saw him, but it’s no use. He has a three- or four-mile head start, and he’s climbed a steep hill. When he reaches the top of the next mesa he has a straight course in front of him, and it’s probably downhill after that. It might take me three or four hours to catch him, and I’m not even sure I could then. We’ll have to get along with Billy. Do you feel equal to riding now? Or should you rest again?”

  “Oh, I can ride, but—I can’t take your horse. What will you do?”

  “I’ll do nicely,” he answered, smiling again. “Our progress will be slower than if we had both horses, of course. I wish I’d taken off his saddle! It would be more comfortable for you than this. But I was searching so anxiously for the rider that I didn’t give much attention to the horse except to hobble him quickly. And when I found you, you needed all my attention. Now it might be good for you to lie down and rest until I get packed up. It won’t take me long.”

  She curled down to rest until he was ready to fold up the canvas she was lying on, watching his easy movements as he put together the few articles of the pack and arranged the saddle for her comfort. Then he strode over to her.

  “With your permission,” he said and, stooping, picked her up lightly in his arms and placed her on the horse.

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you’re not up to the exertion of mounting in the ordinary way. You’ll need every bit of strength for the ride. You’re weaker than you realize.”

  Her laugh rippled out faintly.

  “You make me feel like a baby. I didn’t know what was happening until you put me here. You must have the strength of a giant. I never felt so little before.”

  “You’re not a burden,” he said, smiling. “Now are you comfortable? If so, we’ll start.”

  Billy arched his neck and turned his head to survey his new rider, with a gentle look on his bay face and in his eye.

  “Oh, isn’t he a beauty!” exclaimed the girl, reaching out a timid hand to pat his neck.

  The horse bowed, and Brownleigh noticed the gleam of a jewel on the little hand.

  “Billy’s my good friend and constant companion,” he said. “We’ve faced some long, hard days together. He wants to tell you now that he’s proud to carry you.”

  Billy bowed up and down, and Hazel laughed out loud with pleasure. Then her face grew sober again.

  “But you’ll have to walk,” she said. “I can’t take your horse and let you walk. I won’t do that. I’m going to walk with you.”

  “And use up what strength you have so you couldn’t even ride?” he said pleasantly. “No, I couldn’t allow that, and I’m pleased to walk with a companion. A missionary’s life is pretty lonesome sometimes. Come, Billy. We must be starting, for we want to make a good ten miles before we stop to rest, if our guest can stand the journey.”

  Billy started out with stately steps, and Brownleigh walked by his side, taking long, easy strides and watching the path ahead. He also kept furtive watch of the girl’s face, for he knew her strength must be limited after the previous day’s ride.

  On top of the mesa, Hazel caught her breath as she looked toward the great mountains and the expanse of seemingly infinite shades and colorings.

  Brownleigh called her attention to various points of interest. The slender dark line across the plain was mesquite. He told her that once they entered it, it would seem to spread out as though it filled the valley. Then, looking back, the grassy slope below them would appear to be an insignificant yellow streak. He told her it was always that way in this land, that the kind of landscape one was passing through filled the whole view and seemed the only thing in life. He said he supposed it was that way in our lives, that the immediate present filled the whole view of the future until we came to something else.

  The look in his eyes as he spoke those words made her turn from the landscape and wonder about him and his life.

  Then he stooped and pointed to a clump of soapweed and idly broke off a bit of another bush, handing it to her.

  “The Indians call it ‘the weed that wasn’t scared,’” he said. “Isn’t it an odd name?”

  “It must be a brave little weed indeed to live out here all alone under this big sky. I wouldn’t like it even if I were only a weed,” she said, looking around and shivering at the thought of her fearful ride alone in the night. But she tucked the little spray of green into the buttonhole of her riding habit where it rested proudly against the rich green cloth.

  For an instant, the missionary studied the picture of the lovely girl on the horse and forgot he was only a missionary. Then with a start he came to himself. They must be getting on, for the sun had already passed its zenith, and the trail ahead was long. Then he remembered.

  “By the way, is this yours?” he asked and pulled the velvet cap out of his pocket.

  “Oh, where did you find it?” she cried, settling it on her head like a touch of velvet in a crown. “I dropped it in front of a tiny little cabin when I lost all hope. I called and called, but the wind threw my voice back into my throat, and no one came out to answer me.”

  “It was my house,” he said. “I found it on a sagebrush a few feet from my door. How I wish I’d been home to answer your call!”

  “Your house!” she exclaimed. “It couldn’t have been. It wasn’t big enough for anybody—not anybody like you—to live in. Why, it wasn’t more than a—a shed—just a little board shanty.”

  “Exactly, my shack!” he said half apologetically, half comically. “You should see the inside. It’s not as bad as it looks. I wish I could take you that way, but it’s somewhat out of the way to the railroad. And we must take the shortcut if we want to keep your father from more worry. Can you go on further now?”

  “Oh yes,” she said with sudden trouble in her face. “Papa will be very worried, and Aunt Maria—oh, Aunt Maria will be wild with fear. She’ll tell me this is just what she expected from my going out riding in this heathen land. She warned me not to go. She said it wasn’t ladylike.”

  As they continued she told him about her people, describing even the little idiosyncrasies of her aunt, her brother, her father, her maid, and even the big cook. The young man soon had a picture of the private car with all its luxuries and the story of a journey that was one long fairy tale of pleasure. Only the man Hamar wasn’t mentioned; but the missionary hadn’t forgotten him. Somehow he’d disliked him from the first mention of his name. He blamed him fiercely for not coming after the girl, yet he blessed the fortune that had given him that honor.

  They were descending into the canyon now, but not by the steep trail the horse took her on the night before. It was rough enough, however, and the descent, though it was into the heart of nature’s beauty storehouse, frightened Hazel. She started at every steep place and clutched at the saddle, pressing her teeth hard into her lower lip until it grew white. Her face was white also, and a sudden faintness seemed to come upon her.

  Brownleigh noticed instantly. Walking close behind the horse and guiding his steps, he put his free arm around her to steady her. Then he asked her to lean toward him and not be afraid.

  His strength steadied her and gave her confidence, and his pleasant voice pointing out the sights along the way helped her forget her fear. He made her look up and showed her the great ferns hanging over in a green fringe at the top of the bare rocks above, their delicate lacery standing out like green fretwork against the blue sky. He pointed to a cave in the rocks high up and told her about cave dwellers who had once hollowed it out for a home. He described the stone axes, clay jars, corn mills, and woven yucca sandals found there and told about other curious cave dwellings in this part of the country. And he responded to her questions with the most curious information, the likes of which she’d never heard.

  When they reached the shadows of the canyon floor he brought her a cooling drink of spring water in the tin cup and lifted her unexpectedly from the horse. Then he had her sit on a mossy spot where sweet flowers clustered, so she could rest for a few mi
nutes. He knew the ride down the steep path had tried her nerves.

  Yet he performed his attentions to her, whether lifting her into or out of the saddle or putting his arm about her to support her on the ride, with such courteous grace as to remove all personality from his touch. She marveled at it while she sat and rested and watched him from the distance, watering Billy at a noisy stream that chattered through the canyon.

  He put her on the horse again, and they made their way through the cool beauty of the canyon along the stream’s edge, threading among the trees and over boulders and rough places, until at last in the late afternoon they came out again upon the plain.

  The missionary looked anxiously at the sun. It took longer to travel through the canyon than he’d anticipated. The day was waning. He quickened Billy into a trot and settled into a long athletic run beside him, while the girl’s cheeks flushed with the exercise and wind. And her admiration for her escort grew.

  “Aren’t you tired?” she asked at last when he slowed down and made Billy walk again.

  “Tired!” Brownleigh answered and laughed. “Not consciously. I’m good for several miles yet myself. I haven’t had such a good time in three years, not since I left home—and Mother,” he added softly.

  His eyes held a look that made the girl long to know more.

  “Oh, then you have a mother!”

  “Yes, I have a mother—a wonderful mother!” He breathed the words like a blessing.

  The girl looked at him in awe. She had no mother. Her own had died before she could remember. Aunt Maria was her only idea of a mother.

  “Is she out here?” she asked.

  “No, she’s at home up in New Hampshire in a quiet country town, but she’s a wonderful mother.”

  “And have you no one else, no other family out here with you?”

  Hazel didn’t realize how anxiously she awaited the answer to that question. Somehow she felt a jealous dislike of anyone who might belong to him, even a mother—and a sudden thought of sister or wife who might share the cabin with him made her watch his face narrowly.

  But the answer was quick, with almost a shadow like deep longing on his face. “Oh no, I have no one. I’m alone. And sometimes, if it weren’t for Mother’s letters, it would seem a long way from home.”

  The girl didn’t know why it was pleasant to know this and why her heart went out in instant sympathy for him.

  “Oh-oo!” she said gently. “Tell me about your mother, please!”

  And so he told her, as he walked beside her, of his invalid mother whose frail body and its needs bound her to a couch in her old New England home, helpless and tended by a devoted nurse she loved and who loved her. Her strong spirit had risen to the sacrifice of sending her only son out to the desert on his chosen commission.

  They were climbing a long, sloping hill and, by the story’s end, reached the top where they could look abroad again over a wide expanse of country. The kingdoms of the whole world seemed to lie there before Hazel’s awed gaze. A brilliant sunset was spreading a great silver light behind the purple mountains in the west, red and blue in flaming luxury, with billows of white clouds floating above. Over that, in sharp contrast, the sky was velvet black with a storm. To the south the rain was falling in a brilliant shower like yellow gold, and to the east two more patches of rain fell rosy pink, like petals of some wondrous flowers. A half rainbow arched over them. Turning slightly toward the north, they could see the rain falling from dark blue clouds in great streaks of white light.

  “Oh-oo!” breathed the girl. “How wonderful! I never saw anything like that before.”

  But the missionary had no time to answer. He unstrapped the canvas quickly from behind the saddle, watching the clouds as he did so.

  “We’re going to get soaked!” he exclaimed, looking anxiously at the girl.

  Chapter 6

  Camp

  It came before he was ready for it. But he managed to throw the canvas over the horse and the girl, asking her to hold it on one side while he, standing close under the improvised tent, held the other side, leaving an opening in front for air. The girl laughed as the first great splashes struck her face. Then she retreated into the shelter as she was asked and sat quietly watching and wondering over it all. Thus they managed to keep tolerably dry, while two storms met overhead and poured down a torrent upon them.

  Here she was, a carefully nurtured daughter of society, until now never stepping one inch beyond the line of conventionality, sitting far away from her friends and family on a wide desert plain under canvas, with a strange missionary’s arm around her. And she was as secure and contented, even happy, as if she were in her own cushioned chair in her New York sitting room. Of course, the arm was around her to hold down the canvas and keep out the rain, but it had a wonderful security and sense of strength that filled her with a strange new joy. And it made her wish the storm would keep on raging in brilliant display about her head a little longer, if she might then continue to feel the strength of that fine presence near and about her. She was weary, so she put all other thoughts out of her mind for the time and leaned back against the strong arm, knowing she was safe in the midst of the storm.

  The missionary wore his upward look. No word passed between them as the panorama of the storm swept by. Only God knew what was passing in his soul and that, from the lovely girl’s nearness, a great longing was born to have her always near him, his right to protect her from the storms of life.

  But he was a man of marked self-control. He held even his thoughts in obedience to a higher power. So while his heart’s wild wish swept over him he stood calmly and handed it back to heaven, as though he knew it were a wandering wish, a testing of his true self.

  At the first instant of relief from the storm he took his arm away. He didn’t presume a single second to hold the canvas after the wind subsided. She liked him better for it, and her trust in him grew deeper as he gently shook the raindrops from their temporary shelter.

  The rain lasted only a few minutes, and as the clouds cleared, the earth grew lighter for a space. Gently melting into the silver, amethyst, and emerald of the sky, the rainbow faded, and now they hurried on. Brownleigh wanted to reach a certain spot where he hoped to find dry shelter for the night. He saw that the excitement of travel and the storm had spent the girl’s strength and she needed rest, so he urged the horse forward and hurried along by his side.

  But suddenly he halted the horse and looked into his companion’s face in the dying light.

  “You’re very tired,” he said. “You can hardly sit up any longer.”

  She smiled faintly. Her whole body was slumping with weariness, and a strange sick faintness had overcome her.

  “We must stop here,” he said and glanced around for a suitable spot. “Well, this will do. It’s dry here under this big rock. The rain came from the other direction, and the ground around here didn’t even get sprinkled. That group of trees will do for a private room for you. We’ll soon have a fire and some supper, and then you’ll feel better.”

  With that he stripped off his coat and, spreading it on the dry ground under the rock, lifted the girl from the saddle and laid her gently on the coat.

  She closed her eyes and sank back. In truth she was closer to fainting than she’d ever been.

  “It’s nothing,” she murmured, opening her eyes and trying to smile. “I was just tired, and my back ached with so much riding.”

  “Don’t talk!” he said gently. “I’ll give you something to strengthen you in a minute.”

  He quickly gathered sticks and soon had a blazing fire not far from where she lay. Its glow played over her face and her hair, while he prepared a second cup of beef extract. He was glad he’d filled his canteen with water at the spring in the canyon, in case no water was close by. But while he was getting supper, Billy, who was hobbled but could edge about slowly, discovered a waterhole and settled that difficulty. Brownleigh sighed with relief and then smiled when he saw his patient revive un
der the influence of the hot drink and a few minutes’ rest.

  “I can go on a little farther,” she said, sitting up with an effort, “if you think we should tonight. I really don’t feel bad at all anymore.”

  “I’m so glad,” he said. “I was afraid I’d made you travel too far. No, we’ll not go farther till daylight, I think. This is as good a place to camp as any, and there’s water nearby. You’ll find your own private room just inside that group of trees, and in half an hour or so the canvas will be dry enough for your bed. I spread it out close to the fire on the other side there. And it wasn’t wet through. The blanket was protected, so it’ll be warm and dry. I think we can make you comfortable. Have you ever slept under the stars before—that is, of course, with the exception of last night? I don’t suppose you really enjoyed that experience.”

  Hazel shuddered at the thought.

  “I don’t remember much, only awful darkness and howling. Will those creatures come this way, do you think? I think I’ll die of fright if I have to hear them again.”

  “You may hear them in the distance, but not close,” he answered reassuringly. “They don’t like the fire. They won’t come near or disturb you. Besides, I’ll be here all night. I’m used to listening and waking in the night. I’ll keep a bright fire blazing.”

  “But you—you—what will you do? You’re planning to give me the canvas and blanket and stay awake keeping watch. You walked all day while I rode, and you’re nurse and cook as well, while I’ve been good for nothing. And now you want me to rest comfortably all night while you sit up.”

  The ring in the young man’s voice thrilled her heart.

  “Oh, I’ll be all right,” he said, and his voice was joyous. “And I’ll have the greatest night of my life taking care of you. I count it a privilege. Many nights I’ve slept alone under the stars with no one to guard, and I felt lonely. Now I’ll always have this to remember. Besides, I won’t sit up. I’m used to throwing myself down anywhere. My clothing’s warm, and my saddle’s used to acting as a pillow. I’ll sleep and rest, but I’ll still be alert to keep up the fire and hear any sound that comes close.”