The Heritage of the Desert: A Novel

by Zane Grey

it's no laughing matter." She fastened her hands in the lapels of

  his coat and her eyes grew sad. "You can never hang up your gun again."

  "No. But perhaps I can keep out of their way, especially Snap's. Mescal,

  you've forgotten Silvermane, and how he can run."

  "I haven't forgotten. He can run, but he can't beat Bolly." She said

  this with a hint of her old spirit. "Jack--you want to take me back

  home?"

  "Of course. What did you expect when you sent Wolf?"

  "I didn't expect. I just wanted to see you, or somebody, and I thought

  of the Navajos. Couldn't I live with them? Why can't we stay here or in

  a canyon across the Colorado where there's plenty of game?"

  "I'm going to take you home and Father Naab shall marry you--to--to me."

  Startled, Mescal fell back upon his shoulder and did not stir nor speak

  for a long time. "Did--did you tell him?"

  "Yes."

  "What did he say? Was he angry? Tell me."

  "He was kind and good as he always is. He said if I found you, then the

  issue would be between Snap and me, as man to man. You are still pledged

  to Snap in the Mormon Church and that can't be changed. I don't suppose

  even if he's outlawed that it could be changed."

  "Snap will not let any grass grow in the trails to the oasis," said

  Mescal. "Once he finds I've come back to life he'll have me. You don't

  know him, Jack. I'm afraid to go home."

  "My dear, there's no other place for us to go. We can't live the life of

  Indians."

  "But Jack, think of me watching you ride out from home! Think of me

  always looking for Snap! I couldn't endure it. I've grown weak in this

  year of absence."

  "Mescal, look at me." His voice rang as he held her face to face. "We

  must decide everything. Now--say you love me!"

  "Yes--yes."

  "Say it."

  "I--love you--Jack."

  "Say you'll marry me!"

  "I will marry you."

  "Then listen. I'll get you out of this canyon and take you home. You are

  mine and I'll keep you." He held her tightly with strong arms; his face

  paled, his eyes darkened. "I don't want to meet Snap Naab. I shall try

  to keep out of his way. I hope I can. But Mescal, I'm yours now. Your

  happiness--perhaps your life--depends on me. That makes a difference.

  Understand!"

  Silvermane walked into the glade with a saddle-girth so tight that his

  master unbuckled it only by dint of repeated effort. Evidently the rich

  grass of Thunder River Canyon appealed strongly to the desert stallion.

  "Here, Silver, how do you expect to carry us out if you eat and drink

  like that?" Hare removed the saddle and tethered the gray to one of the

  cottonwoods. Wolf came trotting into camp proudly carrying a rabbit.

  "Mescal, can we get across the Colorado and find a way up over

  Coconina?" asked Hare.

  "Yes, I'm sure we can. My peon never made a mistake about directions.

  There's no trail, but Navajos have crossed the river at this season, and

  worked up a canyon."

  The shadows had gathered under the cliffs, and the rosy light high up on

  the ramparts had chilled and waned when Hare and Mescal sat down to

  their meal. Wolf lay close to the girl and begged for morsels. Then in

  the twilight they sat together content to be silent, listening to the

  low thunder of the river. Long after Mescal had retired into her hogan

  Hare lay awake before her door with his head in his saddle and listened

  to the low roll, the dull burr, the dreamy hum of the tumbling waters.

  The place was like the oasis, only infinitely more hidden under the

  cliffs. A few stars twinkled out of the dark blue, and one hung,

  beaconlike, on the crest of a noble crag. There were times when he

  imagined the valley was as silent as the desert night, and other times

  when he imagined he heard the thundering roll of avalanches and the

  tramp of armies. Then the voices of Mescal's solitude spoke to him--

  glorious laughter and low sad wails of woe, sweet songs and whispers and

  murmurs. His last waking thoughts were of the haunting sound of Thunder

  River, and that he had come to bear Mescal away from its loneliness.

  He bestirred himself at the first glimpse of day, and when the gray

  mists had lifted to wreathe the crags it was light enough to begin the

  journey. Mescal shed tears at the grave of the faithful peon. "He loved

  this canyon," she said, softly. Hare lifted her upon Silvermane. He

  walked beside the horse and Wolf trotted on before. They travelled

  awhile under the flowering cottonwoods on a trail bordered with green

  tufts of grass and great star-shaped lilies. The river was still hidden,

  but it filled the grove with its soft thunder. Gradually the trees

  thinned out, hard stony ground encroached upon the sand, bowlders

  appeared in the way; and presently, when Silvermane stepped out of the

  shade of the cottonwoods, Hare saw the lower end of the valley with its

  ragged vent.

  "Look back!" said Mescal.

  Hare saw the river bursting from the base of the wall in two white

  streams which soon united below, and leaped down in a continuous

  cascade. Step by step the stream plunged through the deep gorge, a

  broken, foaming raceway, and at the lower end of the valley it took its

  final leap into a blue abyss, and then found its way to the Colorado,

  hidden underground.

  The flower-scented breeze and the rumbling of the river persisted long

  after the valley lay behind and above, but these failed at length in the

  close air of the huge abutting walls. The light grew thick, the stones

  cracked like deep bell-strokes; the voices of man and girl had a hollow

  sound and echo. Silvermane clattered down the easy trail at a gait which

  urged Hare now and then from walk to run. Soon the gully opened out upon

  a plateau through the centre of which, in a black gulf, wound the red

  Colorado, sullen-voiced, booming, never silent nor restful. Here were

  distances by which Hare could begin to comprehend the immensity of the

  canyon, and he felt lost among the great terraces leading up to mesas

  that dwarfed the Echo Cliffs. All was bare rock of many hues burning

  under the sun.

  "Jack, this is mescal," said the girl, pointing to some towering plants.

  All over the sunny slopes cacti lifted slender shafts, unfolding in

  spiral leaves as they shot upward and bursting at the top into plumes of

  yellow flowers. The blossoming stalks waved in the wind, and black bees

  circled round them.

  "Mescal, I've always wanted to see the Flower of the Desert from which

  you're named. It's beautiful."

  Hare broke a dead stalk of the cactus and was put to instant flight by a

  stream of bees pouring with angry buzz from the hollow centre. Two big

  fellows were so persistent that he had to beat them off with his hat.

  "You shouldn't despoil their homes," said Mescal, with a peal of

  laughter.

  "I'll break another stalk and get stung, if you'll laugh again," replied

  Hare.

  They traversed the remaining slope of the plateau, and entering the head

  of a ravine, descended a steep cleft of flinty rock, rock so hard that
/>
  Silvermane's iron hoofs not so much as scratched it. Then reaching a

  level, they passed out to rounded sand and the river.

  "It's a little high," said Hare dubiously. "Mescal, I don't like the

  looks of those rapids."

  Only a few hundred rods of the river could be seen. In front of Hare the

  current was swift but not broken. Above, where the canyon turned, the

  river sheered out with a majestic roll and falling in a wide smooth

  curve suddenly narrowed into a leaping crest of reddish waves. Below

  Hare was a smaller rapid where the broken water turned toward the nearer

  side of the river, but with an accompaniment of twisting swirls and

  vicious waves.

  "I guess we'd better risk it," said Hare, grimly recalling the hot rock,

  the sand, and lava of the desert.

  "It's safe, if Silvermane is a good swimmer," replied Mescal. "We can

  take the river above and cut across so the current will help."

  "Silvermane loves the water. He'll make this crossing easily. But he

  can't carry us both, and it's impossible to make two trips. I'll have to

  swim."

  Without wasting more words and time over a task which would only grow

  more formidable with every look and thought, Hare led Silvermane up the

  sand-bar to its limit. He removed his coat and strapped it behind the

  saddle; his belt and revolver and boots he hung over the pommel.

  "How about Wolf? I'd forgotten him."

  "Never fear for him! He'll stick close to me."

  "Now, Mescal, there's the point we want to make, that bar; see it?"

  "Surely we can land above that."

  "I'll be satisfied if we get even there. You guide him for it. And,

  Mescal, here's my gun. Try to keep it from getting wet. Balance it on

  the pommel--so. Come, Silver; come, Wolf."

  "Keep up-stream," called Mescal as Hare plunged in. "Don't drift below

  us."

  In two steps Silvermane went in to his saddle, and he rolled with a

  splash and a snort, sinking Mescal to her hips. His nose level with the

  water, mane and tail floating, he swam powerfully with the current.

  For Hare the water was just cold enough to be delightful after the long

  hot descent, but its quality was strange. Keeping up-stream of the horse

  and even with Mescal, he swam with long regular strokes for perhaps one-

  quarter of the distance. But when they reached the swirling eddies he

  found that he was tiring. The water was thick and heavy; it compressed

  his lungs and dragged at his feet. He whirled round and round in the

  eddies and saw Silvermane doing the same. Only by main force could he

  breast his way out of these whirlpools. When a wave slapped his face he

  tasted sand, and then he knew what the strange feeling meant. There was

  sand here as on the desert. Even in the depths of the canyon he could

  not escape it. As the current grew rougher he began to feel that he

  could scarcely spread his arms in the wide stroke. Changing the stroke

  he discovered that he could not keep up with Silvermane, and he changed

  back again. Gradually his feet sank lower and lower, the water pressed

  tighter round him, his arms seemed to grow useless. Then he remembered a

  saying of August Naab that the Navajos did not attempt to swim the river

  when it was in flood and full of sand. He ceased to struggle, and

  drifting with the current, soon was close to Silvermane, and grasped a

  saddle strap.

  "Not there!" called Mescal. "He might strike you. Hang to his tail!"

  Hare dropped behind, and catching Silvermane's tail held on firmly. The

  stallion towed him easily. The waves dashed over him and lapped at

  Mescal's waist. The current grew stronger, sweeping Silvermane down out

  of line with the black wall which had frowned closer and closer. Mescal

  lifted the rifle, and resting the stock on the saddle, held it upright.

  The roar of the rapids seemed to lose its volume, and presently it died

  in the splashing and slapping of broken water closer at hand. Mescal

  turned to him with bright eyes; curving her hand about her lips she

  shouted:

  "Can't make the bar! We've got to go through this side of the rapids.

  Hang on!"

  In the swelling din Hare felt the resistless pull of the current. As he

  held on with both hands, hard pressed to keep his grasp, Silvermane

  dipped over a low fall in the river. Then Hare was riding the rushing

  water of an incline. It ended below in a red-crested wave, and beyond

  was a chaos of curling breakers. Hare had one glimpse of Mescal

  crouching low, shoulders narrowed and head bent; then, with one white

  flash of the stallion's mane against her flying black hair, she went out

  of sight in leaping waves and spray. Hare was thrown forward into the

  backlash of the wave. The shock blinded him, stunned him, almost tore

  his arms from his body, but his hands were so twisted in Silvermane's

  tail that even this could not loosen them. The current threw him from

  wave to wave. He was dragged through a caldron, blind from stinging

  blows, deaf from the tremendous roar. Then the fierce contention of

  waves lessened, the threshing of crosscurrents straightened, and he

  could breathe once more. Silvermane dragged him steadily; and, finally,

  his feet touched the ground. He could scarcely see, so full were his

  eyes of the sandy water, but he made out Mescal rising from the river on

  Silvermane, as with loud snorts he climbed to a bar. Hare staggered up

  and fell on the sand.

  "Jack, are you all right?" inquired Mescal.

  "All right, only pounded out of breath, and my eyes are full of sand.

  How about you?"

  "I don't think I ever was any wetter," replied Mescal, laughing. "It was

  hard to stick on holding the rifle. That first wave almost unseated me.

  I was afraid we might strike the rocks, but the water was deep.

  Silvermane is grand, Jack. Wolf swam out above the rapids and was

  waiting for us when we landed."

  Hare wiped the sand out of his eyes and rose to his feet, finding

  himself little the worse for the adventure. Mescal was wringing the

  water from the long straight braids of her hair. She was smiling, and a

  tint of color showed in her cheeks. The wet buckskin blouse and short

  skirt clung tightly to her slender form. She made so pretty a picture

  and appeared so little affected by the peril they had just passed

  through that Hare, yielding to a tender rush of pride and possession,

  kissed the pink cheeks till they flamed.

  "All wet," said he, "you and I, clothes, food, guns--everything."

  "It's hot and we'll soon dry," returned Mescal. "Here's the canyon and

  creek we must follow up to Coconina. My peon mapped them in the sand for

  me one day. It'll probably be a long climb."

  Hare poured the water out of his boots, pulled them on, and helping

  Mescal to mount Silvermane, he took the bridle over his arm and led the

  way into a black-mouthed canyon, through which flowed a stream of clear

  water. Wolf splashed and pattered along beside him. Beyond the marble

  rock this canyon opened out to great breadth and wonderful walls. Hare

  had eyes only for the gravelly bars and shallow levels of the creek;

 
; intent on finding the easy going for his horse he strode on and on

  thoughtless of time. Nor did he talk to Mescal, for the work was hard,

  and he needed his breath. Splashing the water, hammering the stones,

  Silvermane ever kept his nose at Hare's elbow. They climbed little

  ridges, making short cuts from point to point, they threaded miles of

  narrow winding creek floor, and passed under ferny cliffs and over

  grassy banks and through thickets of yellow willow. As they wound along

  the course of the creek, always up and up, the great walls imperceptibly

  lowered their rims. The warm sun soared to the zenith. Jumble of

  bowlders, stretches of white gravel, ridges of sage, blocks of granite,

  thickets of manzanita, long yellow slopes, crumbling crags, clumps of

  cedar and lines of pinon--all were passed in the persistent plodding

  climb. The canon grew narrower toward its source; the creek lost its

  volume; patches of snow gleamed in sheltered places. At last the yellow-

  streaked walls edged out upon a grassy hollow and the great dark pines

  of Coconina shadowed the snow.

  "We're up," panted Hare. "What a climb! Five hours! One more day--then

  home!"

  Silvermane's ears shot up and Wolf barked. Two gray deer loped out of a

  thicket and turned inquisitively. Reaching for his rifle Hare threw back

  the lever, but the action clogged, it rasped with the sound of crunching

  sand, and the cartridge could not be pressed into the chamber or

  ejected. He fumbled about the breach of the gun and his brow clouded.

  "Sand! Out of commission!" he