Hidden Water

by Dane Coolidge

  CHAPTER XIV

  FOREBODINGS

  To the Eastern eye, blinded by local color, the Four Peaks countrylooked like a large and pleasantly variegated cactus garden, sparselypopulated with rollicking, fun-loving cowboys who wore theirinteresting six-shooters solely to keep their balance in the saddle.The new grass stood untrampled beneath the bushes on Bronco Mesa,there were buds and flowers everywhere, and the wind was as sweet anduntainted as if it drew out of Eden. But somewhere, somewhere in thatgreat wilderness of peaks which lay to the south and through whichonly the dogged sheepmen could fight their way, stealthily hidden, yetwatching, lay Jasper Swope and his sheep. And not only Jasper with hispet man-killing Chihuahuano and all those low-browed _compadres_ whomhe called by circumlocution "brothers," but Jim, sore with his defeat,and many others--and every man armed.

  After the first rain they had disappeared from the desert absolutely,their tracks pointing toward the east. The drought had hit them hard,and the cold of Winter; yet the ewes had lambed in the springtime,and as if by magic the tender grass shot up to feed their little ones.Surely, God was good to the sheep. They were ranging far, now that theshearing was over, but though they fed to the topmost peaks of theSuperstitions, driving the crooked-horned mountain sheep from theirpastures, their destiny lay to the north, in the cool valleys of theSierra Blancas; and there in the end they would go, though they lefthavoc in their wake. Once before the sheep had vanished in this sameway, mysteriously; and at last, travelling circuitous ways and dealingmisery to many Tonto cowmen, they had poured over the very summit ofthe Four Peaks and down upon Bronco Mesa. And now, though they werehidden, every man on the round-up felt their presence and knew thatthe upper range was in jeopardy.

  After amusing the ladies with inconsequential tales, the _rodeo_outfit therefore rose up and was gone before the light, raking theexposed lowland for its toll of half-fed steers; and even Rufus Hardy,the parlor-broke friend and lover, slipped away before any of themwere stirring and rode far up along the river. What a river it wasnow, this unbridled Salagua which had been their moat and rampart forso many years! Its waters flowed thin and impotent over the rapids,lying in clear pools against the base of the black cliffs, and thecurrent that had uprooted trees like feathers was turned aside by asnag. Where before the sheep had hung upon its flank hoping at last toswim at Hidden Water, the old ewes now strayed along its sandy bed,browsing upon the willows. From the towering black buttes that walledin Hell's Hip Pocket to the Rio Verde it was passable for a springlamb, and though the thin grass stood up fresh and green on the mesasthe river showed nothing but drought. Drought and the sheep, thosewere the twin evils of the Four Peaks country; they lowered the priceof cattle and set men to riding the range restlessly. For the droughtis a visitation of God, to be accepted and endured, but sheep may beturned back.

  As he rode rapidly along the river trail, halting on each ridge tosearch the landscape for sheep, Hardy's conscience smote him for thesingle day he had spent in camp, dallying within sight of Kitty ortalking with Lucy Ware. One such day, if the sheepmen were prepared,and Bronco Mesa would be a desert. Threats, violence, strategy, wouldbe of no avail, once the evil was done; the sheep must be turned backat the river or they would swarm in upon the whole upper range. Oneman could turn them there, for it was the dead line; but once acrossthey would scatter like quail before a hawk, crouching and hiding inthe gulches, refusing to move, yet creeping with brutish stubbornnesstoward the north and leaving a clean swath behind. There were fourpasses that cut their way down from the southern mountains to thebanks of the river, old trails of Apaches and wild game, and to quiethis mind Hardy looked for tracks at every crossing before he turnedChapuli's head toward camp.

  The smoke was drifting from the chimney when, late in the afternoon,he rode past the door and saw Lucy Ware inside, struggling with aniron kettle before the fireplace. Poor Lucy, she had undertaken a hardproblem, for there is as much difference between camp cooking and homecooking as there is between a Dutch oven and a steel range, and acooking-school graduate has to forget a whole lot before she can catchthe knack of the open fire. For the second time that day Rufus Hardy'sconscience, so lately exercised over his neglect of the sheep, rose upand rebuked him. Throwing Chapuli into the corral he kicked off hisspurs and shaps and gave Lucy her first lesson in frontier cookery;taught her by the force of his example how to waste her wood and saveher back; and at the end of the short demonstration he sat downwithout ceremony, and fell to eating.

  "Excuse me," he said, "if I seem to be greedy, but I had my breakfastbefore sun-up. Where's your father, and Kitty?"

  "Oh, they had the Mexican boy catch their horses for them and haveridden up the valley to watch for the cattle. I stayed behind tomake my first water color, and then--I thought you would be comingback soon, so I tried to cook supper instead. I'm a pretty goodhousekeeper--at home," she said apologetically.

  Hardy watched her as she experimented painstakingly with the fire,scooping out shovelfuls of coal from beneath the glowing logs andplanting her pots and kettles upon them with a hooked stick, accordingto instructions.

  "You look like a picture of one of our sainted Puritan ancestors," heobserved, at last, "and that's just exactly the way they cooked,too--over an open fire. How does it feel to be Priscilla?"

  "Well, if Priscilla's hands looked like mine," exclaimed Lucydespairingly, "John Alden must have been madly in love with her. How_do_ you keep yours clean?"

  "That's a secret," replied Hardy, "but I'll tell you. I never touchthe outside of a pot--and I scour them with sandsoap. But I wish you'dstop cooking, Lucy; it makes me feel conscience-stricken. You are myguests, remember, even if I do go off and neglect you for a whole day;and when you go back to Berkeley I want you to have something moreinteresting than housekeeping to talk about. Didn't I see two ladies'saddles out in the wagon?"

  Miss Lucy's eyes lighted up with pleasure as, anticipating his drift,she nodded her head.

  "Well then," said Hardy, with finality, "if you'll get up early in themorning, I'll catch you a little pony that I gentled myself, and wecan ride up the river together. How does that strike you?"

  "Fine!" exclaimed Lucy, with sudden enthusiasm.

  "Oh, Rufus," she cried impulsively, "if you only knew how weak andhelpless a thing it is to be a woman--and how glad we are to benoticed! Why, I was just thinking before you came in that about theonly really helpful thing a woman could do in this world was just tostay around home and cook the meals."

  "Well, you just let me cook those meals for a while," said Rufus, withbrotherly authority, "and come out and be a man for a change. Can youride pretty well?"

  Lucy glanced at him questioningly, and thought she read what was inhis mind.

  "Yes," she said, "I can ride, but--but I just couldn't bring myself todress like Kitty!" she burst out. "I know it's foolish, but I can'tbear to have people notice me so. But I'll be a man in everythingelse, if you'll only give me a chance." She stood before him,radiant, eager, her eyes sparkling like a child's, and suddenly Hardyrealized how much she lost by being always with Kitty. Seen by herselfshe was as lithe and graceful as a fairy, with a steady gaze very rarein women, and eyes which changed like the shadows in a pool, answeringevery mood in wind and sky, yet always with their own true light. Hercheeks glowed with the fresh color which her father's still retained,and she had inherited his generous nature, too; but in mind andstature she took after her dainty mother, whose exquisite grace andbeauty had made her one of the elect. Perhaps it was this quality ofthe petite in her which appealed to him--for a little man cannotendure to be laughed at for his size, even in secret--or perhaps itwas only the intuitive response to a something which in hisprepossession he only vaguely sensed, but Rufus Hardy felt his heartgo out to her in a moment and his voice sank once more to thecaressing fulness which she most loved to hear.

  "Ah, Lucy," he said, "you need never try to be a man in order to ridewith me. It would be hard luck if a woman like you had to ask twicefor anyt
hing. Will you go out with me every day? No? Then I shall askyou every day, and you shall go whenever you please! But you know howit is. The sheepmen are hiding along the river waiting for a chanceto sneak across, and if I should stay in camp for a single day theymight make a break--and then we would have a war. Your father doesn'tunderstand that, but I do; and I know that Jeff will never submit tobeing sheeped out without a fight. Can't you see how it is? I shouldlike to stay here and entertain you, and yet I must protect yourfather's cattle, and I must protect Jeff. But if you will ride outwith me when it is not too hot, I--it--well, you'll go to-morrow,won't you?"

  He rose and took her hand impulsively, and then as quickly dropped itand turned away. The muffled _chuck, chuck,_ of a horse's feetstepping past the door smote upon his ear, and a moment later a clearvoice hailed them.

  "What _are_ you children chattering about in there?" cried KittyBonnair, and Hardy, after a guilty silence, replied:

  "The ways of the weary world. Won't you come in and have the lastword?"

  He stepped out and held Pinto by the head, and Kitty dropped off andsank wearily into a rawhide chair.

  "Oh, I'm too tired to talk, riding around trying to find thosecattle--and just as I was tired out we saw them coming, away out onThe Rolls. Lucy, do put on your riding habit and go back onPinto--you haven't been out of the house to-day!"

  As half an hour later Lucy Ware trotted obediently away, riding up thecanyon toward the distant bawling of cattle, Kitty turned suddenly uponHardy with half-closed, accusing eyes.

  "You seem to be very happy with Lucy," she said, with an aggrievedsmile. "But why," she continued, with quickening animus, "why shouldyou seek to avoid me? Isn't it enough that I should come clear downhere to see you? But when I want to have a word with you after ourlong silence I have to scheme and manage like a gypsy!"

  She paused, and flicked her booted leg with the lash of a horsehairquirt, glancing at him furtively with eyes that drooped with anappealing sadness.

  "If I had known how hard-hearted you could be," she said, after asilence, "I should never have spoken as I did, if the words choked me.But now that I have come part way and offered my poor friendshipagain, you might--oh Rufus, how could you be so inconsiderate! No onecan ever know what I suffered when you left that way. Every one knewwe were the best of friends, and several people even knew that you hadbeen to see me. And then, without a word, without a sign, with noexplanation, to leave and be gone for years--think what they musthave thought! Oh, it was too humiliating!"

  She paused again, and to Hardy's apprehensive eyes she seemed on theverge of tears. So he spoke, blindly and without consideration, filledwith a man's anxiety to stave off this final catastrophe.

  "I'm sorry," he began, though he had never meant to say it, "but--butthere was nothing else to do! You--you told me to go. You said younever wanted to see me again, and--you were not very kind to me,then." He paused, and at the memory of those last words of hers,uttered long ago, the flush of shame mantled his cheeks.

  "Every man has his limit," he said bluntly, "and I am no dog, to bescolded and punished and sent away. I have been ashamed many times forwhat I did, but I had to keep my own respect--and so I left. Is it toomuch for a man to go away when he is told?"

  Kitty Bonnair fixed him with her dark eyes and shook her head sadly.

  "Ah, Rufus," she sighed, "when will you ever learn that a woman doesnot always mean all she says? When you had made me so happy by yourtender consideration--for you could be considerate when you chose--Isaid that I loved you; and I did, but not in the way you thought. Idid mean it at the moment, from my heart, but not for life--it was nosurrender, no promise--I just loved you for being so good and kind.But when, taking advantage of what I said in a moment of weakness, youtried to claim that which I had never given, I--I said more than Imeant again. Don't you understand? I was hurt, and disappointed, and Ispoke without thinking, but you must not hold that against me forever!And after I have come clear down here--to avoid me--to always go outwith Lucy and leave me alone--to force me to arrange a meeting--"

  She stopped, and Hardy shifted uneasily in his seat. In his heart ofhearts he had realized from the first his inequality in this losingbattle. He was like a man who goes into a contest conquered already byhis ineptitude at arms--and Kitty would have her way! Never but oncehad he defied her power, and that had been more a flight than avictory. There was fighting blood in his veins, but it turned to waterbefore her. He despised himself for it; but all the while, in ashifting, browbeaten way, he was seeking for an excuse to capitulate.

  "But, Kitty," he pleaded, "be reasonable. I have my duties downhere--the sheep are trying to come in on us--I have to patrol theriver. This morning before you were awake I was in the saddle, andnow I have just returned. To-morrow I shall be off again, so how can Iarrange a meeting?"

  He held out his hands to her appealingly, carried away by the force ofhis own logic.

  "You might at least invite me to go with you," she said. "Unless youexpect me to spend all my time getting lost with Judge Ware," sheadded, with a plaintive break in her voice.

  "Why, yes--yes," began Hardy haltingly. "I--I have asked Lucy to gowith me to-morrow, but--"

  "Oh, thank you--thank you!" burst out Kitty mockingly. "But what?"

  "Why, I thought you might like to come along too," suggested Hardyawkwardly.

  "What? And rob her of all her pleasure?" Kitty smiled bitterly asshe turned upon him. "Why, Rufus Hardy," she exclaimed, indignantly,"and she just dotes on every word you say! Yes, she does--any onecan see that she simply adores you. I declare, Rufus, your lack ofperception would make an angel weep--especially if it was a ladyangel. But you may as well understand once and for all that I willnever deprive dear, patient, long-suffering Lucy of anything she setsher heart on. No, I will _not_ go with you the next day. If youhaven't consideration enough to invite me first, I have sense enoughto stay away. It was only yesterday that you took Lucy up to HiddenWater, and to-day I find you with her again; and to-morrow--well, Iperceive that I must amuse myself down here. But--oh, look, look!There's a cowboy--up on that high cliff!"

  She started up, pointing at a horseman who was spurring furiouslyalong the side of the canyon after a runaway steer.

  "Oh, look!" she cried again, as Hardy surveyed him indifferently. "Heis whirling his lasso. Oh! He has thrown it over that big cow's horns!Goodness me, where is my horse? No, I am going on foot, then! Oh,Lucy--Lucy dear," she screamed, waving her hand wildly, "do let mehave Pinto, just for a moment! All right--and Lucy--wasn't that Mr.Creede?" She lingered on the ground long enough to give her anecstatic kiss and then swung up into the saddle. "Yes, I knew it--andisn't he just perfectly grand on that big horse? Oh, I've been wantingto see this all my life--and I owe it all to you!"

  With a smile and a gay salutation, she leaned forward and galloped outinto the riot and confusion of the _rodeo_, skirting the edge of thebellowing herd until she disappeared in the dust. And somehow, even bythe childlike obliviousness with which she scampered away, shemanaged to convey a pang to her errant lover which clutched at hisheart for days.

  And what days those were for Jefferson Creede! Deep and devious as washis knowledge of men in the rough, the ways of a woman in love were ascryptic to him as the poems of Browning. The first day that Miss Kittyrode forth to be a cowboy it was the _rodeo_ boss, indulgent, butaware of the tenderfoot's ability to make trouble, who soberlyassigned his fair disciple to guard a pass over which no cow couldpossibly come. And Kitty, sensing the deceit, had as soberly amusedherself by gathering flowers among the rocks. But the next day, havinglearned her first lesson, she struck for a job to ride, and it was thegiddy-headed lover who permitted her to accompany him--although notfrom any obvious or selfish motives.

  Miss Bonnair was the guest of the ranch, her life and welfare beingplaced for the time in the keeping of the boss. What kind of a foremanwould it be who would turn her over to a hireling or intrust herinnocent mind to a depraved individual like Bill
Lightfoot? And allthe decent cowmen were scared of her, so who was naturally indicatedand elected but Jefferson D. Creede?

  There wasn't any branding at the round corral that night. The gatherwas a fizzle, for some reason, though Miss Kitty rode Pinto to afinish and killed a rattlesnake with Creede's own gun. Well, theynever did catch many cattle the first few days,--after they had pickedup the tame bunch that hung around the water,--and the dry weatherseemed to have driven the cows in from The Rolls. But when they camein the second afternoon, with only a half of their gather, Creede rodeout from the hold-up herd to meet them, looking pretty black.

  It is the duty of a _rodeo_ boss to know what is going on, if he hasto ride a horse to death to find out; and the next day, after sendingevery man down his ridge, Jeff left Kitty Bonnair talking lion huntwith old Bill Johnson who had ridden clear over from Hell's Hip Pocketto gaze upon this horse-riding Diana, and disappeared. As a result,Bat Wings was lathered to a fine dirt-color and there was one man inparticular that the boss wanted to see.

  "Jim," he said, riding up to where one of the Clark boys was sullenlylashing the drag with his _reata_, "what in the hell do you mean bylettin' all them cattle get away? Yes, you did too. I saw you tryin'to turn 'em back, so don't try to hand me anything like that. I usedto think you was a good puncher, Jim, but a man that can't keep a herdof cows from goin' through a box pass ought to be smokin' cigaretteson the day herd. You bet ye! All you had to do was be there--andthat's jest exactly where you wasn't! I was up on top of that rockybutte, and I know. You was half a mile up the canyon mousin' around inthem cliffs, that's where you was, and the only question I want to askis, Did you find the Lost Dutchman? No? Then what in hell was youdoin'?"

  The _rodeo_ boss crowded his horse in close and thrust his faceforward until he could look him squarely in the eye, and Clark jerkedback his head resentfully.

  "What is it to you?" he demanded belligerently.

  "Oh, nawthin'," returned the boss lightly, "jest wanted to know."

  "Uhr!" grunted the cowboy contemptuously. "Well, I was killin' snakes,then! What ye goin' to do about it?"

  "Snakes!" cried Creede incredulously. "Killin' snakes! Since when didyou call a feud on them?"

  "Since thet young lady come," replied Clark, glancing around to see ifany one had the nerve to laugh. "I heerd her say she was collectin'rattles; an' I thought, while I was waitin', I might as well rustle upa few. Oh, you don't need to look pop-eyed--they's others!"

  He rolled his eyes significantly at the group of assembled cowboys,and Creede took it all in at a flash. There _were_ others--he himselfhad a set of rattles in his shap pocket that were not two hours fromthe stump. The situation called for diplomacy.

  "Well," he drawled, scratching his bushy head to cover his confusion,"this reflects great credit on your bringin' up, Jim, and I'm sureMiss Bonnair will appreciate what you've done for her, especiallyas I happened to notice a couple o' head of your own cows in thatbunch, but it's a mighty expensive way to collect snake-tails. Weain't gittin' the cattle, boys; that's the size of it, and they're asmuch yours as they are mine. Now I suggest that we run these fewwe've got down to the corral and brand 'em quick--and then the wholeshootin'-match goes over to the big white cliff and rounds up everyrattlesnake in the rock pile! Is it a go?"

  "Sure!" yelled the bunch impetuously, and as they charged down uponthe herd Creede quietly fished out his snake-tail and dropped it inthe dirt.

  If he lacked a virtue he could feign it, anyhow--but there was nodoubt about it, Miss Kitty was putting his _rodeo_ on the bum. Therehad never been so many men to feed and so few calves to brand in thehistory of Hidden Water. Even old Bill Johnson had got the fever fromhearing the boys talk and was hanging around the fire. But then, whatwere a few head of cows compared to--well, what was it, anyway? Theonly man who could stay away was Rufe, and he was in good company.

  Yet Creede was not satisfied with this explanation. Miss Kitty wasalways asking questions about Rufe--they had known each other well inBerkeley--and at the same time the little partner with whom he hadbeen so friendly never came around any more. He was always verypolite, and she called him by his first name--and then one of themrode up the river and the other followed the round-up.

  The night after the big snake-killing Jefferson Creede picked up hisblankets and moved quietly back to the _ramada_ with Hardy.

  "Them locoed punchers have been skinnin' rattlers and stretchin' theirhides," he said, "until the camp stinks like a buzzard roost. I'm dueto have some bad dreams to-night anyhow, on the strength of thissnake-killin', but it'd give me the jumpin' jimjams if I had to sleepnext to them remains. Didn't git back in time to join in, did ye?Well, no great loss. I always did intend to clean out that snake holeover'n the cliff, and the boys was stoppin' every time they heard onesing, anyhow, in order to git the rattles for Miss Bonnair, so Ithought we might as well git it off our minds before somethin' worseturned up. See any sheep tracks?"

  He kicked off his boots, poked his six-shooter under his pillow, andsettled down comfortably for the night.

  "Nary one, eh?" he repeated musingly. "Well, when you see one you'llsee a million--that's been my experience. But say, Rufe, why don't youcome and ride with the boys once in a while? The _rodeo_ has beengoin' rotten this year--we ain't gittin' half of 'em--and you'd comein mighty handy. Besides, I've been braggin' you up to Miss Bonnair."

  He dropped this last as a bait, but Hardy did not respond.

  "I told her you was the best bronco-buster in the Four Peaks country,"continued Creede deliberately, "and that you could drift Chapuli overthe rocks like a sand lizard; but I'm too heavy for anything like thatnow, and Bill Lightfoot has been puttin' up the fancy work, so far.You know how I like Bill."

  Once more he waited for an answer, but Hardy was wrestling with thoseelementary passions which have been making trouble since Helen of Troyleft home, and he received the remark in silence.

  "I'll tell you, Rufe," said Creede, lowering his voice confidentially."Of course I see how it is with you and Miss Ware, and I'm glad of it;but things ain't goin' so lovely for me. It ain't my fault if MissBonnair happens to like my company, but Bill and some of the otherboys have got their backs up over it, and they've practically gone ona strike. Leastwise we ain't gittin' the cattle, and God knows therange won't more 'n carry what's left. I've got to git out and do someridin', and at the same time I want to do the right thing by MissBonnair, so if you could jest kindly come along with us to-morrow I'llbe much obliged."

  The elemental passions--man-love, jealousy, the lust for possession--areugly things at best, even when locked in the bosom of a poet. In theirsimplest terms they make for treachery and stealth; but whencomplicated with the higher call of friendship and duty they gall aman like the chains of Prometheus and send the dragon-clawed eaglesof Jove to tear at his vitals. Never until this naive confession hadHardy suspected the sanity of his friend nor the constancy of KittyBonnair. That she was capable of such an adventure he had neverdreamed--and yet--and yet--where was there a more masterful man thanJeff? Anything can happen in love; and who was there more capable ofwinning a romantic woman's regard than good-natured, impulsive,domineering Jeff?

  The thoughts flashed through his brain with the rapidity oflightning, and only his instinct of reserve protected him from hisblundering tongue.

  "I--I was--" he began, and stopped short. The idea of loyalty hadruled his mind so long that it had become a habit, ill suited to thecause of a jealous lover; and Jeff had confided to him as a childmight run to its mother. Should a man take advantage of his friend'sinnocence to deprive him of that for which they both strove? Hardyfought the devil away and spoke again, quietly.

  "I was going up the river to-morrow, Jeff," he said. "Seemed to me Isaw a kind of smoke, or dust, over south of Hell's Hip Pocket thisafternoon--and we can't take any chances now. That would take all day,you know."

  He lay still after that, his brain whirling with contending emotions.Each evening as he listened to the
music of her laughter he hadresolved to quit his lonely watch and snatch from life the pleasure ofa single day with Kitty, such days as they used to have when he washer unacknowledged lover and all the world was young. Then he couldalways please her. He could bend to her moods like a willow, bravingthe storms of her displeasure, which only drew them closer in the end,secure in the hope of her ultimate yielding. But now the two barrenyears lay between; years which had stiffened his jaw and left himrough in his ways; years which had wrought some change in her, he knewnot what. A single day might solve the crux--nay, it might bring thegreat happiness of which he dreamed. But each morning as he woke withthe dawn he saw that mighty army without banners, the sheep, marchingupon their stronghold, the broad mesa which fed the last of Jeff'scows, and Judge Ware's, and Lucy's--and sprang from his blankets. Andwhen the sun rose and Kitty came forth he was far away. But now--

  He was awakened from his dreams by the voice of Creede, low, vibrant,full of brotherly love.

  "Rufe," he was saying, "Miss Bonnair has told me a lot about you--alot I didn't know. She likes you, boy, and she's a good woman. I neverknowed but one like her, and that was Sallie Winship. You mustn't letanything that's happened stand between you. Of course she never saidanything--never said a word--but I'm wise that way; I can tell bytheir voice, and all that. You want to let them dam' sheep go for aday or two and git this thing patched up."

  He paused, and Hardy's mind whirled backward, upsetting his fears,unmaking his conclusions. It was Jeff the friend who spoke, Jeffthe peacemaker, who had stampeded him by the equivocation of hiswords. But now the voice broke in again, apologetic, solicitous,self-seeking.

  "Besides, that son-of-a-gun, Bill Lightfoot, has been tryin' to cut meout."

  God! There it hit him hard. Kitty, the immaculate, the exquisite, thefriend of poets and artists, the woman he had loved and cherished inhis dreams--striven for by Jeff and Bill, revelling in the homage ofMexicans and hard-drinking round-up hands, whose natural language wasastench with uncleanliness. It was like beholding a dainty flower inthe grime and brutality of the branding pen.

  "I'm sorry, Jeff," he said, in a far-away voice. "I--I'd do anything Icould for you--but I'm afraid of those sheep."

  He dragged miserably through the remnant of their conversation andthen lay staring at the stars while his hulk of a partner, this greatbear who in his awkward good nature had trampled upon holy ground,slept peacefully by his side. The Pleiades fled away before Orion, theScorpion rose up in the south and sank again, the Morning Star blinkedand blazed like a distant fire, such as shepherds kindle upon theridges, and still Hardy lay in his blankets, fighting with himself.The great blackness which precedes the first glow of dawn found himhaggard and weary of the struggle. He rose and threw wood on thecoals of last night's fire, cooked and ate in silence, and rode away.There was a great burden upon his soul, a great fire and anger in hisheart, and he questioned the verities of life. He rode up the rivergloomily, searching the southern wilderness with frowning, bloodshoteyes, and once more, far to the east where the jagged cliffs of theSuperstitions sweep down to the gorge of the Salagua and Hell's HipPocket bars the river's sweep, he saw that vague, impalpable haze--asmoke, a dust, a veil of the lightest skein, stirred idly by somewandering wind, perhaps, or marking the trail of sheep. And as helooked upon it his melancholy gaze changed to a staring, hawk-likeintentness; he leaned forward in the saddle and Chapuli steppedeagerly down the slope, head up, as if he sniffed the battle.