The Heritage of the Desert: A Novel

by Zane Grey

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  skin, but in the bird-of-prey cast of his features and the wildness of

  his glittering eyes. Naab gave him a bag from one of the packs, spoke a

  few words in Navajo, and then slapped the burros into the trail.

  The climb thenceforth was more rapid because less steep, and the trail

  now led among broken fragments of cliff. The color of the stones had

  changed from red to yellow, and small cedars grew in protected places.

  Hare's judgment of height had such frequent cause for correction that he

  gave up trying to estimate the altitude. The ride had begun to tell on

  his strength, and toward the end he thought he could not manage to stay

  longer upon Noddle. The air had grown thin and cold, and though the sun

  was yet an hour high, his fingers were numb.

  "Hang on, Jack," cheered August. "We're almost up."

  At last Black Bolly disappeared, likewise the bobbing burros, one by

  one, then Noddle, wagging his ears, reached a level. Then Hare saw a

  gray-green cedar forest, with yellow crags rising in the background, and

  a rush of cold wind smote his face. For a moment he choked; he could not

  get his breath. The air was thin and rare, and he inhaled deeply trying

  to overcome the suffocation. Presently he realized that the trouble was

  not with the rarity of the atmosphere, but with the bitter-sweet

  penetrating odor it carried. He was almost stifled. It was not like the

  smell of pine, though it made him think of pine-trees.

  "Ha! that's good!" said Naab, expanding his great chest. "That's air for

  you, my lad. Can you taste it? Well, here's camp, your home for many a

  day, Jack. There's Piute--how do? how're the sheep?"

  A short, squat Indian, good-humored of face, shook his black head till

  the silver rings danced in his ears, and replied: "Bad--damn coyotee!"

  "Piute--shake with Jack. Him shoot coyote--got big gun," said Naab.

  "How-do-Jack?" replied Piute, extending his hand, and then straightway

  began examining the new rifle. "Damn--heap big gun!"

  "Jack, you'll find this Indian one you can trust, for all he's a Piute

  outcast," went on August. "I've had him with me ever since Mescal found

  him on the Coconina Trail five years ago. What Piute doesn't know about

  this side of Coconina isn't worth learning."

  In a depression sheltered from the wind lay the camp. A fire burned in

  the centre; a conical tent, like a tepee in shape, hung suspended from a

  cedar branch and was staked at its four points; a leaning slab of rock

  furnished shelter for camp supplies and for the Indian, and at one end a

  spring gushed out. A gray-sheathed cedar-tree marked the entrance to

  this hollow glade, and under it August began preparing Hare's bed.

  "Here's the place you're to sleep, rain or shine or snow," he said. "Now

  I've spent my life sleeping on the ground, and mother earth makes the

  best bed. I'll dig out a little pit in this soft mat of needles; that's

  for your hips. Then the tarpaulin so; a blanket so. Now the other

  blankets. Your feet must be a little higher than your head; you really

  sleep down hill, which breaks the wind. So you never catch cold. All you

  need do is to change your position according to the direction of the

  wind. Pull up the blankets, and then the long end of the tarpaulin. If

  it rains or snows cover your head, and sleep, my lad, sleep to the song

  of the wind!"

  From where Hare lay, resting a weary body, he could see down into the

  depression which his position guarded. Naab built up the fire; Piute

  peeled potatoes with deliberate care; Mescal, on her knees, her brown

  arms bare, kneaded dough in a basin; Wolf crouched on the ground, and

  watched his mistress; Black Bolly tossed her head, elevating the bag on

  her nose so as to get all the grain.

  Naab called him to supper, and when Hare set to with a will on the bacon

  and eggs, and hot biscuits, he nodded approvingly. "That's what I want

  to see," he said approvingly. "You must eat. Piute will get deer, or you

  may shoot them yourself; eat all the venison you can. Remember what

  Scarbreast said. Then rest. That's the secret. If you eat and rest you

  will gain strength."

  The edge of the wall was not a hundred paces from the camp; and when

  Hare strolled out to it after supper, the sun had dipped the under side

  of its red disc behind the desert. He watched it sink, while the golden-

  red flood of light grew darker and darker. Thought seemed remote from

  him then; he watched, and watched, until he saw the last spark of fire

  die from the snow-slopes of Coconina. The desert became dimmer and

  dimmer; the oasis lost its outline in a bottomless purple pit, except

  for a faint light, like a star.

  The bleating of sheep aroused him and he returned to camp. The fire was

  still bright. Wolf slept close to Mescal's tent; Piute was not in sight;

  and Naab had rolled himself in blankets. Crawling into his bed, Hare

  stretched aching legs and lay still, as if he would never move again.

  Tired as he was, the bleating of the sheep, the clear ring of the bell

  on Black Bolly, and the faint tinkle of lighter bells on some of the

  rams, drove away sleep for a while. Accompanied by the sough of the wind

  through the cedars the music of the bells was sweet, and he listened

  till he heard no more.

  A thin coating of frost crackled on his bed when he awakened; and out

  from under the shelter of the cedar all the ground was hoar-white. As he

  slipped from his blankets the same strong smell of black sage and

  juniper smote him, almost like a blow. His nostrils seemed glued

  together by some rich piny pitch; and when he opened his lips to breathe

  a sudden pain, as of a knife-thrust, pierced his lungs. The thought

  following was as sharp as the pain. Pneumonia! What he had long

  expected! He sank against the cedar, overcome by the shock. But he

  rallied presently, for with the reestablishment of the old settled

  bitterness, which had been forgotten in the interest of his situation,

  he remembered that he had given up hope. Still, he could not get back at

  once to his former resignation. He hated to acknowledge that the

  wildness of this desert canyon country, and the spirit it sought to

  instil in him, had wakened a desire to live. For it meant only more to

  give up. And after one short instant of battle he was himself again. He

  put his hand under his flannel shirt and felt of the soreness of his

  lungs. He found it not at the apex of the right lung, always the one

  sensitive spot, but all through his breast. Little panting breaths did

  not hurt; but the deep inhalation, which alone satisfied him filled his

  whole chest with thousands of pricking needles. In the depth of his

  breast was a hollow that burned.

  When he had pulled on his boots and coat, and had washed himself in the

  runway of the spring, his hands were so numb with cold they refused to

  hold his comb and brush; and he presented himself at the roaring fire

  half-frozen, dishevelled, trembling, but cheerful. He would not tell

  Naab. If he had to die to-day, to-morrow or next week, he would lie down

  under a cedar and die; he could not whine about it to this m
an.

  "Up with the sun!" was Naab's greeting. His cheerfulness was as

  impelling as his splendid virility. Following the wave of his hand Hare

  saw the sun, a pale-pink globe through a misty blue, rising between the

  golden crags of the eastern wall.

  Mescal had a shy "good-morning" for him, and Piute a broad smile, and

  familiar "how-do"; the peon slave, who had finished breakfast and was

  about to depart, moved his lips in friendly greeting that had no sound.

  "Did you hear the coyotes last night?" inquired August. "No! Well, of

  all the choruses I ever heard. There must be a thousand on the bench.

  Jack, I wish I could spare the time to stay up here with you and shoot

  some. You'll have practice with the rifle, but don't neglect the Colt.

  Practice particularly the draw I taught you. Piute has a carbine, and he

  shoots at the coyotes, but who ever saw an Indian that could hit

  anything?"

  "Damn--gun no good!" growled Piute, who evidently understood English

  pretty well. Naab laughed, and while Hare ate breakfast he talked of the

  sheep. The flock he had numbered three thousand. They were a goodly part

  of them Navajo stock: small, hardy sheep that could live on anything but

  cactus, and needed little water. This flock had grown from a small

  number to its present size in a few years. Being remarkably free from

  the diseases and pests which retard increase in low countries, the sheep

  had multiplied almost one for one for every year. But for the ravages of

  wild beasts Naab believed he could raise a flock of many thousands and

  in a brief time be rich in sheep alone. In the winter he drove them down

  into the oasis; the other seasons he herded them on the high ranges

  where the cattle could not climb. There was grass enough on this plateau

  for a million sheep. After the spring thaw in early March, occasional

  snows fell till the end of May, and frost hung on until early summer;

  then the July rains made the plateau a garden.

  "Get the forty-four," concluded Naab, "and we'll go out and break it

  in."

  With the long rifle in the hollow of his arm Jack forgot that he was a

  sick man. When he came within gunshot of the flock the smell of sheep

  effectually smothered the keen, tasty odor of black sage and juniper.

  Sheep ranged everywhere under the low cedars. They browsed with noses in

  the frost, and from all around came the tinkle of tiny bells on the

  curly-horned rams, and an endless variety of bleats.

  "They're spread now," said August. "Mescal drives them on every little

  while and Piute goes ahead to pick out the best browse. Watch the dog,

  Jack; he's all but human. His mother was a big shepherd dog that I got

  in Lund. She must have had a strain of wild blood. Once while I was

  hunting deer on Coconina she ran off with timber wolves and we thought

  she was killed. But she came back, and had a litter of three puppies.

  Two were white, the other black. I think she killed the black one. And

  she neglected the others. One died, and Mescal raised the other. We

  called him Wolf. He loves Mescal, and loves the sheep, and hates a wolf.

  Mescal puts a bell on him when she is driving, and the sheep know the

  bell. I think it would be a good plan for her to tie something red round

  his neck--a scarf, so as to keep you from shooting him for a wolf."

  Nimble, alert, the big white dog was not still a moment. His duty was to

  keep the flock compact, to head the stragglers and turn them back; and

  he knew his part perfectly. There was dash and fire in his work. He

  never barked. As he circled the flock the small Navajo sheep, edging

  ever toward forbidden ground, bleated their way back to the fold, the

  larger ones wheeled reluctantly, and the old belled rams squared

  themselves, lowering their massive horns as if to butt him. Never,

  however, did they stand their ground when he reached them, for there was

  a decision about Wolf which brooked no opposition. At times when he was

  working on one side a crafty sheep on the other would steal out into the

  thicket. Then Mescal called and Wolf flashed back to her, lifting his

  proud head, eager, spirited, ready to take his order. A word, a wave of

  her whip sufficed for the dog to rout out the recalcitrant sheep and

  send him bleating to his fellows.

  "He manages them easily now," said Naab, "but when the lambs come they

  can't be kept in. The coyotes and wolves hang out in the thickets and

  pick up the stragglers. The worst enemy of sheep, though, is the old

  grizzly bear. Usually he is grouchy, and dangerous to hunt. He comes

  into the herd, kills the mother sheep, and eats the milk-bag--no more!

  He will kill forty sheep in a night. Piute saw the tracks of one up on

  the high range, and believes this bear is following the flock. Let's get

  off into the woods some little way, into the edge of the thickets--for

  Piute always keeps to the glades--and see if we can pick off a few

  coyotes."

  August cautioned Jack to step stealthily, and slip from cedar to cedar,

  to use every bunch of sage and juniper to hide his advance.

  "Watch sharp, Jack. I've seen two already. Look for moving things. Don't

  try to see one quiet, for you can't till after your eye catches him

  moving. They are gray, gray as the cedars, the grass, the ground. Good!

  Yes, I see him, but don't shoot. That's too far. Wait. They sneak away,

  but they return. You can afford to make sure. Here now, by that stone--

  aim low and be quick."

  In the course of a mile, without keeping the sheep near at hand, they

  saw upward of twenty coyotes, five of which Jack killed in as many

  shots.

  "You've got the hang of it," said Naab, rubbing his hands. "You'll kill

  the varmints. Piute will skin and salt the pelts. Now I'm going up on

  the high range to look for bear sign. Go ahead, on your own hook."

  Hare was regardless of time while he stole under the cedars and through

  the thickets, spying out the cunning coyotes. Then Naab's yell pealing

  out claimed his attention; he answered and returned. When they met he

  recounted his adventures in mingled excitement and disappointment.

  "Are you tired?" asked Naab.

  "Tired? No," replied Jack.

  "Well, you mustn't overdo the very first day. I've news for you. There

  are some wild horses on the high range. I didn't see them, but found

  tracks everywhere. If they come down here you send Piute to close the

  trail at the upper end of the bench, and you close the one where we came

  up. There are only two trails where even a deer can get off this

  plateau, and both are narrow splits in the wall, which can be barred by

  the gates. We made the gates to keep the sheep in, and they'll serve a

  turn. If you get the wild horses on the bench send Piute for me at

  once."

  They passed the Indian herding the sheep into a corral built against an

  uprising ridge of stone. Naab dispatched him to look for the dead

  coyotes. The three burros were in camp, two wearing empty pack-saddles,

  and Noddle, for once not asleep, was eating from Mescal's hand.

  "Mescal, hadn't I better take Black Bolly home?" asked August.

  "
Mayn't I keep her?"

  "She's yours. But you run a risk. There are wild horses on the range.

  Will you keep her hobbled?"

  "Yes," replied Mescal, reluctantly. "Though I don't believe Bolly would

  run off from me."

  "Look out she doesn't go, hobbles and all. Jack, here's the other bit of

  news I have for you. There's a big grizzly camping on the trail of our

  sheep. Now what I want to know is--shall I leave him to you, or put off

  work and come up here to wait for him myself?"

  "Why--" said Jack, slowly, "whatever you say. If you think you can

  safely leave him to me--I'm willing."

  "A grizzly won't be pleasant to face. I never knew one of those sheep-

  killers that wouldn't run at a man, if wounded."

  "Tell me what to do."

  "If he comes down it's more than likely to be after dark. Don't risk

  hunting him then. Wait till morning, and put Wolf on his trail. He'll be

  up in the rocks, and by holding in the dog you may find him asleep in a

  cave. However, if you happen to meet him by day do this. Don't waste any

  shots. Climb a ledge or tree if one be handy. If not, stand your ground.

  Get down on your knee and shoot and let him come. Mind you, he'll grunt

  when he's hit, and start for you, and keep coming till he's dead. Have

  confidence in yourself and your gun, for you can kill him. Aim low, and

  shoot steady. If he keeps on coming there's always a fatal shot, and

  that is when he rises. You'll see a bare spot on his breast. Put a

  forty-four into that, and he'll go down."

  August had spoken so easily, quite as if he were explaining how to shear

  a yearling sheep, that Jack's feelings fluctuated between amazement and

  laughter. Verily this desert man was stripped of all the false fears of

  civilization.

  "Now, Jack, I'm off. Good-bye and good luck. Mescal, look out for

  him....