The Enchanted Canyon

by Honoré Willsie Morrow

  "Jonas is delighted that we are returning to Washington. He says we are to keep house. I am a great responsibility to Jonas. He is very firm with me, but I think he's as fond of me as I am of him.

  "Lucy, how am I to go on, year after year like this, with only my dream of you? How am I to do my work like a man, with only half a man's life to live? What can all the admiring plaudits mean to me when I know that you are only a dream, only a dream?"

  Enoch sat forward in his chair, laid the book on the desk, opened to the last entry and seized his pen.

  "So your name is not Lucy, but Diana! Oh, my dearest, and you did not recognize me at all, while my very heart was paralyzed with emotion! You must have been a very lovely little girl that the memory of you should have been so impressed on my subconsciousness. Oh, how beautiful you are! How beautiful! And to think that I must never let you know what you are to me. Never! Never! The strain stops with me."

  He dropped his pen abruptly and, turning off the light, flung himself down on his bed. Jonas, listening long at the door, waited for the full, even breathing that would mark the end of his day's work. But it did not come, and dawn struggling through the hall window found Jonas sitting on the floor beside the half-opened door, his black head drooping on his breast, but his eyes open.

  Enoch reached his office on the stroke of nine, as usual. His face was a little haggard and set but he came in briskly and spoke cheerfully to Charley Abbott.

  "A little hotter than ever, eh, Abbott? I think you're looking dragged, my boy. When are you going to take your vacation?"

  "In the fall, after you have had yours, Mr. Secretary." The two men grinned at each other.

  "Did the Indian Commissioner find work for Miss Allen?" asked Enoch abruptly.

  "Oh, yes! And she was as surprised and pleased as a child."

  "How do you know that?" demanded the Secretary.

  Charley looked a little confused. "I took her out to lunch, Mr. Huntingdon. Jove, she's the most beautiful woman I ever saw!"

  "Well, let's finish off that report to the President, Mr. Abbott. That must go to him to-morrow, regardless of whom or what I have to neglect to-day."

  Abbott opened his note book. But the dictation hardly had begun when the telephone rang and Enoch was summoned to the White House. It was noon when he left the President. Washington lay as if scorching under a burning glass. The dusty leaves drooped on the trees. Even the carefully cherished White House lawn seemed to have forgotten the recent rains. Enoch dismissed his carriage and crossed slowly to Pennsylvania Avenue. It had occurred to him suddenly that it had been many weeks since he had taken the noon hour outside of his office. He had found that luncheon engagements broke seriously into his day's work. He strolled slowly along the avenue, watching the sweltering noon crowds unseeingly, entirely unconscious of the fact that many people turned to look at him. He paused before a Johnstown Lunch sign, wondering whimsically what Jonas would say if it were reported that the boss had eaten here. And as he paused, the incessantly swinging door emitted Miss Diana Allen.

  Enoch's pause became a full stop. "How do you do, Miss Allen?" he said.

  Diana flushed a little. "How do you do, Mr. Secretary! Were you looking for a cheap lunch?"

  "Jonas provides the cheapest lunch known to Washington," said Enoch. "I was looking for some one to walk up Pennsylvania Avenue with me."

  "You seem to be well provided with company." Diana glanced at the knot of people who were eagerly watching the encounter.

  Enoch did not follow her glance. His eyes were fastened on Diana's lovely curving lips. "And I want to hear about the work in the Indian Bureau."

  Diana fell into step with him. "I think the work is going to be interesting. Mr. Watkins is more than kind about my pictures. I'm to send home for the best of my collection and he is going to give an exhibition of them."

  "Is he giving you a decent salary?" asked Enoch.

  "Ample for all my needs," replied Diana.

  "Do your needs stop with the Johnstown Lunch?" demanded Enoch.

  "Well," replied Diana, "if you'd lived on the trail as much as I have, you'd not complain of the Johnstown Lunch. I've made worse coffee myself, and I've seen more flies, too."

  Enoch chuckled. "What does Watkins call your job?"

  "I'm a special investigator for the Indian Bureau."

  Enoch chuckled again. "Right! And that title Watkins counts as worth at least five dollars a week. The remainder is the equivalent of a stenographer's salary. I know him!"

  "He is quite all right," said Diana quickly. "It must be extremely difficult to manage a budget. No matter how large they are, they're always too small. To administer the affairs of a dying race with inadequate funds--"

  Diana hesitated.

  "And in entire ignorance of the race itself," added Enoch quietly. "I know! But I had to choose between a rattling good administrator and a rattling good ethnologist."

  Diana nodded slowly. "Your choice was inevitable, I suppose. And Mr. Watkins seems very efficient."

  "Well, and where does your princely salary permit you to live?" Enoch concluded.

  "On New Jersey Avenue, in a brown stone front with pansies in front and cats in the rear, an old Confederate soldier in the basement and rats in the attic. As for odors and furniture, any kind whatever, provided one is not too particular."

  "My word! how you are going to miss the Canyon!" exclaimed Enoch.

  Diana nodded. "Yes, but after all one's avocation is the most important thing in life."'

  "Is it?" asked Enoch. "I've tried to make myself believe that, but so far I've failed."

  "You mean," Diana spoke quickly, "that I ought to have stayed with my father?"

  "No, I don't!" returned Enoch, quite as quickly. "At least, I mean that I know nothing whatever about that. I would say as a general principle, though, that parents who have adequate means, are selfish to hang on the necks of their grown children."

  "Father misses mother so," murmured Diana, with apparent irrelevance.

  Enoch said nothing. They were opposite the Post Office now and Diana paused. "I must go to the Post Office! Good-by, Mr. Secretary."

  "Good-by, Miss Allen," said Enoch, taking off his hat and holding out his hand. "Let me know if there is anything further I can do for you!"

  "Oh, I'm quite all right and shall not bother you again, thank you," replied Diana cheerfully.

  Enoch was very warm when he reached his office. Jonas and the bottle of milk were awaiting him. "How come you to be so hot, boss?" demanded Jonas.

  "I walked back. It was very foolish," replied Enoch meekly.

  "I don't dare to let you out o' my sight," said Jonas severely.

  "I think I do need watching," sighed Enoch, beginning his belated luncheon.

  That night the Secretary wrote to Diana's father.

  "My dear Frank: Diana came and I found a job for her in the Indian office. I feel like a dog to have broken my word with you, but her work is very interesting and very important, and I feel that she ought to have her few months of study in Washington. She is very beautiful, Frank, and very fine. You must try to forgive me. Faithfully yours,

  "ENOCH HUNTINGDON."

  CHAPTER V

  A PHOTOGRAPHER OF INDIANS

  "When I tutored boys I wondered most at their selfishness and their generosity. They had so much of both! And I believe that as men they lose none of either."--_Enoch's Diary_.

  Enoch knew what it was to fight himself. Perhaps he knew more about such lonely, unlovely battles than any man of his acquaintance. The average man is usually too vain and too spiritually lazy to fight his inner devils to the death. But Enoch had fought so terribly that it seemed to him that he could surely win this new struggle. Nothing should induce him to break his vow of celibacy. He cursed himself for a weak fool in not obeying Frank Allen's request. Then he gathered together all his resources, to protect Diana from himself.

  A week or so went by, during which Enoch made no attempt to see Di
ana or to hear from her. The office routine ground on and on. The Mexican cloud thickened. Alaska developed a threatening attitude over her coal fields. The farmers of Idaho suddenly withdrew their proposals regarding water power. Calmly and with clear vision, Enoch met each day's problems. But the lines about his mouth deepened.

  One day, early in August, Charley Abbott came to the Secretary's desk. "Miss Diana Allen would like to see you for a few moments, Mr. Secretary."

  Enoch did not look up. "Ask her to excuse me, Mr. Abbott, I am very busy."

  Charley hesitated for an instant, then went quickly out.

  "Luncheon is served, boss," said Jonas, shortly after.

  "Is Abbott gone?" asked Enoch.

  "Yes, sir! He's took that Miss Allen to lunch, I guess. He's sure gone on that young lady. How come everybody thinks she's so beautiful, boss?"

  "Because she is beautiful, Jonas, very, very beautiful."

  The faithful steward looked keenly at the Secretary. He had not missed the appearance of a line in the face that was the whole world to him.

  "Boss," he said, "don't you ever think you ought to marry?"

  Enoch looked up into Jonas' face. "A man with my particular history had best leave women alone, Jonas."

  Jonas' mouth twitched. "They ain't the woman ever born fit to darn your socks, boss."

  Enoch smiled and finished his lunch in silence. He would have given a month of his life to know what errand had brought Diana to his office. But Charley Abbott, returning at two o'clock with the complacent look of a man who has lunched with a beautiful girl, showed no intention of mentioning the girl's name. And Enoch went on with his conferences. But it was many days before he opened the black book again.

  Diana's exhibition must have been of unusual quality, for jaded and cynical Washington learned of its existence, spoke of it and went to see it. It seemed to Enoch that every one he met took special delight in mentioning it to him.

  Even Jonas, one night, as he brought in the bed-time pitcher of ice water, said, "Boss, I saw Miss Allen's pictures this evening. They sure are queersome. That must be hotter'n Washington out there. How come you ain't been, Boss?"

  "How do you know I haven't seen them, Jonas?" asked Enoch quickly.

  "Don't I know every place you go, boss? Didn't you tell me that was my job, years ago? How come you think I'd forget?" Jonas was eyeing the Secretary warily. "Mr. Abbott, he's got a bad case on that Miss Allen. He's give me at least a dollar's worth of ten cent cigars lately so's I'll stand and smoke and let him talk to me about her."

  Enoch grunted.

  "He says she--" Jonas rambled on.

  Enoch looked up quickly. "I don't want to hear it, Jonas." Jonas drew himself up stiffly. The Secretary laid his own broad palm over the black hand that still held the handle of the water pitcher. "Spare me that, old friend," he said.

  Jonas put his free hand on Enoch's shoulder. "Are you sure you're right, boss?" he asked huskily.

  "I know I'm right, Jonas."

  "Well, I don't see it your way, boss, but what's right for you is right for me. Good night, sir," and shaking his head, Jonas slowly left the room.

  But Enoch was destined to see the pictures after all. One day, after Cabinet meeting, the President, in his friendly way, clapped Enoch on the shoulder.

  "First time in a great many years, Huntingdon, that the Indian Bureau has distinguished itself for anything but trouble! I saw Miss Allen's pictures last night. My word! What a sense of heat and peace and, yes, by jove, passion! those photographs tell. The Bureau ought to own those pictures, old man. Especially the huge enlargement of Bright Angel trail and the Navaho hunters. Eh?"

  "Well, to tell the truth, Mr. President," said Enoch slowly, "I haven't seen the pictures."

  "Not seen them! Why some one said you discovered Miss Allen!"

  "In a way I did, but I don't deserve any credit for that."

  "Not if he saw her first!" exclaimed the Secretary of State, who had loitered behind the others.

  The President nodded. "She is very lovely. I saw her at a distance, and I want to meet her. Now, Mr. Huntingdon, it's very painful for me to have to chide you for dereliction in office. But a man who will neglect those pictures for the--well, the coal fields of Alaska, should be dealt with severely."

  "Hear! Hear!" cried the Secretary of State.

  The President laughed. "And so I must ask you, Mr. Huntingdon, to bring Miss Allen to see me, after you have gone carefully over the pictures. Jokes aside, you know my keen interest in Indian ethnology?" Enoch nodded, and the President went on. "If this girl has the brains and breadth of vision I'm sure she must have to produce a series of photographs like those, I want to know her and do what I can to push her work. So neglect Mexico and Alaska for a little while, tomorrow, will you, Huntingdon?"

  Enoch's laughter was a little grim, but with a quick leap of his heart, he answered. "A man can but obey the Commander in Chief, I suppose!"

  As the door swung to behind him, the President said to the Secretary of State, "Huntingdon is working too hard, I'm afraid. Does he ever play?"

  "Horseback riding and golf. But he's a woman hater. At least, if not a hater, an avoider!"

  "I like him," said the President. "I want him to play."

  That evening Enoch went to see the pictures. There were perhaps a hundred of them, telling the story of the religion of the Navahos. Only one whom the Indians loved and trusted could have procured such intimate, such dramatic photographs. They were as unlike the usual posed portraits of Indian life as is a stage shower unlike an actual thunder storm. There was indeed a subtle passion and poignancy about the pictures that it seemed to Enoch as well as to the President, only a fine mind could have found and captured. He had made the rounds of the little room twice, threading his way abstractedly through the crowd, before he came upon Diana. She was in white, standing before one of the pictures, answering questions that were being put to her by a couple of reporters. She bowed to Enoch and he bowed in return, then stood so obviously waiting for the reporters to finish that they actually withdrew.

  Enoch came up and held out his hand. "These are very fine, Miss Allen."

  "I thought you were not coming to see them," said Diana. "It makes me very happy to have you here!"

  "Does it?" asked Enoch quickly. "Why?"

  "Because--" here Diana hesitated and looked from Enoch's stern lips to his blue eyes.

  "Yes, go on, do!" urged Enoch. "For heaven's, sake, treat me as if I were a human being and not--"

  It was his turn to hesitate.

  "Not the Washington Monument?" suggested Diana.

  Enoch laughed. "Am I as bad as that?" he asked.

  Diana nodded. "Very nearly! Nevertheless, for some reason I don't understand, I've had the feeling that you would like the pictures and get what I was driving at, better than any one."

  "Thank you," said Enoch slowly. "I do like them. So much so that I wish that I might own them, instead of the Indian Bureau. The President, to-day, told me the Indian Bureau ought to buy them. And also, he asked me to bring you to see him to-morrow."

  A sudden flush made roses in Diana's beautifully modeled cheeks.

  "Did he! Mr. Huntingdon, how am I ever going to thank you?"

  "I deserve no thanks at all. It was entirely the President's own idea. In fact, I had not intended to come to your exhibition."

  "No? Why not? Do you dislike me so much as that? And, after all, Mr. Secretary, if the pictures are interesting, the fact that a woman took them should not prejudice you against them."

  "Abbott's been giving me a bad reputation, I see," said Enoch. "I'll have to get Jonas to tell you what a really gentle and affectionate and er--mild, person I am. I've a notion to reduce Abbott's salary."

  "Charley Abbott is a dear, and he's a devoted admirer of yours," Diana exclaimed.

  "And of yours," rejoined Enoch.

  "He's very discerning," said Diana, her eyes twinkling and the corners of her mouth deepening. "But y
ou shall not evade me this way, Mr. Huntingdon. Why didn't you want to see my pictures?"

  "I didn't say that I didn't want to see them. Women are always inaccurate, or at least, so I have heard."

  "I would say that Mr. Abbott had a great deal more data on the general subject of women than you, Mr. Secretary. You really ought to get him to check you up! Please, why didn't you intend to come to my exhibition?"

  "I have been swamped with extra work of late," answered Enoch.

  "Yes?" Diana's eyebrows rose and her intelligent great eyes were fastened on Enoch's with an expression so discerning and so sympathetic, that he bit his lip and turned from her to the Navaho, who prayed in the burning desert before him. The reporters, who had been hovering in the offing, closed in on Diana immediately. When she was free once more, Enoch turned back and held out his hand.

  "Good night, Miss Allen. If you don't mind coming over to my office at twelve to-morrow, I can take you to the White House then."

  "I shall not mind!--too much! Good night, Mr. Secretary," replied Diana, with the deepening of the corners of her mouth that Enoch now recalled had belonged to the little girl Diana.

  Enoch made an entry in the black book that night.

  "I wonder, Diana, how much Frank has told you of me and my unhappy history. I wonder how you would feel if a man whose mother was a harlot who died of an unspeakable disease were to ask you to marry him. Oh, my dear, don't be troubled! I shall never, never, ask you. Your pictures moved me more than I dared try to express to you. It was as if you had carried me in a breath to the Canyon and once more I beheld the wonder, the kindliness, the calm, the inevitableness of God's ways. I'm going to try, Diana, to make a friend of you. I believe that I have the strength. What I am very sure of is that I have not the strength to know that you are in Washington and never see you."