Desert Gold

Z >> Zane Grey >> Desert Gold

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That night he climbed the lava to the topmost cone, and never
slipped on a ragged crust nor touched a choya thorn. A voice
called to him. He saw Nell's eyes in the stars, in the velvet
blue of sky, in the blackness of the engulfing shadows.
She was with him, a slender shape, a spirit, keeping step
with him, and memory was strong, sweet, beating, beautiful.
Far down in the west, faintly golden with light of the sinking moon,
he saw a cloud that resembled her face. A cloud on the desert horizon!
He gazed and gazed. Was that a spirit face like the one by his
side? No--he did not dream.

In the hot, sultry morning Yaqui appeared at camp, after long hours
of absence, and he pointed with a long, dark arm toward the west.
A bank of clouds was rising above the mountain barrier.

"Rain!" he cried; and his sonorous voice rolled down the arroyo.

Those who heard him were as shipwrecked mariners at sight of a
distant sail.

Dick Gale, silent, grateful to the depths of his soul, stood with
arm over Blanco Sol and watched the transforming west, where
clouds of wonderous size and hue piled over one another, rushing,
darkening, spreading, sweeping upward toward that white and glowing
sun.

When they reached the zenish and swept round to blot out the blazing
orb, the earth took on a dark, lowering aspect. The red of sand
and lava changed to steely gray. Vast shadows, like ripples on
water, sheeted in from the gulf with a low, strange moan. Yet
the silence was like death. The desert was awaiting a strange
and hated visitation--storm! If all the endless torrid days, the
endless mystic nights had seemed unreal to Gale, what, then, seemed
this stupendous spectacle?

"Oh! I felt a drop of rain on my face!" cried Mercedes; and
whispering the name of a saint, she kissed her husband.

The white-haired Ladd, gaunt, old, bent, looked up at the maelstrom
of clouds, and he said, softly, "Shore we'll get in the hosses,
an' pack light, an' hit the trail, an' make night marches!"

Then up out of the gulf of the west swept a bellowing wind and a
black pall and terrible flashes of lightning and thunder like the
end of the world--fury, blackness, chaos, the desert storm.

XVII

The Whistle Of A Horse

At the ranch-house at Forlorn River Belding stood alone in his
darkened room. It was quiet there and quiet outside; the sickening
midsummer heat, like a hot heavy blanket, lay upon the house.

He took up the gun belt from his table and with slow hands buckled
it around his waist. He seemed to feel something familiar and
comfortable and inspiring in the weight of the big gun against
his hip. He faced the door as if to go out, but hesitated, and
then began a slow, plodding walk up and down the length of the
room. Presently he halted at the table, and with reluctant hands
he unbuckled the gun belt and laid it down.

The action did not have an air of finality, and Belding knew it.
He had seen border life in Texas in the early days; he had been
a sheriff when the law in the West depended on a quickness of
wrist; he had seen many a man lay down his gun for good and all.
His own action was not final. Of late he had done the same thing
many times and this last time it seemed a little harder to do, a
little more indicative of vacillation. There were reasons why
Belding's gun held for him a gloomy fascination.

The Chases, those grasping and conscienceless agents of a new force
in the development of the West, were bent upon Belding's ruin,
and so far as his fortunes at Forlorn River were concerned, had
almost accomplished it. One by one he lost points for which he
contended with them. He carried into the Tucson courts the matter
of the staked claims, and mining claims, and water claims, and he
lost all. Following that he lost his government position as inspector
of immigration; and this fact, because of what he considered its
injustice, had been a hard blow. He had been made to suffer a
humiliation equally as great. It came about that he actually had
to pay the Chases for water to irrigate his alfalfa fields. The
never-failing spring upon his land answered for the needs of
household and horses, but no more.

These matters were unfortunate for Belding, but not by any means
wholly accountable for his worry and unhappiness and brooding hate.
He believed Dick Gale and the rest of the party taken into the
desert by the Yaqui had been killed or lost. Two months before
a string of Mexican horses, riderless, saddled, starved for grass
and wild for water, had come in to Forlorn River. They were a part
of the horses belonging to Rojas and his band. Their arrival
complicated the mystery and strengthened convictions of the loss
of both pursuers and pursued. Belding was wont to say that he had
worried himself gray over the fate of his rangers.

Belding's unhappiness could hardly be laid to material loss. He
had been rich and was now poor, but change of fortune such as that
could not have made him unhappy. Something more somber and
mysterious and sad than the loss of Dick Gale and their friends had
come into the lives of his wife and Nell. He dated the time of
this change back to a certain day when Mrs. Belding recognized in
the elder Chase an old schoolmate and a rejected suitor. It took
time for slow-thinking Belding to discover anything wrong in his
household, especially as the fact of the Gales lingering there
made Mrs. Belding and Nell, for the most part, hide their read
and deeper feelings. Gradually, however, Belding had forced on
him the fact of some secret cause for grief other than Gale's loss.
He was sure of it when his wife signified her desire to make a
visit to her old home back in Peoria. She did not give many reasons,
but she did show him a letter that had found its way from
old friends. This letter contained news that may or may not have
been authentic; but it was enough, Belding thought, to interest
his wife. An old prospector had returned to Peoria, and he had told
relatives of meeting Robert Burton at the Sonoyta Oasis fifteen
years before, and that Burton had gone into the desert never to
return. To Belding this was no surprise, for he had heard that
before his marriage. There appeared to have been no doubts as to
the death of his wife's first husband. The singular thing was that
both Nell's father and grandfather had been lost somewhere in the
Sonora Desert.

Belding did not oppose his wife's desire to visit her old home.
He thought it would be a wholesome trip for her, and did all in his
power to persuade Nell to accompany her. But Nell would not go.

It was after Mrs. Belding's departure that Belding discovered in
Nell a condition of mind that amazed and distressed him. She had
suddenly become strangely wretched, so that she could not conceal
it from even the Gales, who, of all people, Belding imagined, were
the ones to make Nell proud. She would tell him nothing. But
after a while, when he had thought it out, he dated this further
and more deplorable change in Nell back to a day on which he had
met Nell with Radford Chase. This indefatigable wooer had not
in the least abandoned his suit. Something about the fellow made
Belding grind his teeth. But Nell grew not only solicitously,
but now strangely, entreatingly earnest in her importunities to
Belding not ot insult or lay a hand on Chase. This had bound
Belding so far; it had made him think and watch. He had never
been a man to interfere with his women folk. They could do as
they liked, and usually that pleased him. But a slow surprise
gathered and grew upon him when he saw that Nell, apparently,
was accepting young Chase's attentions. At least, she no longer
hid from him. Belding could not account for this, because he was
sure Nell cordially despised the fellow. And toward the end
he divined, if he did not actually know, that these Chases
possessed some strange power over Nell, and were using it.
That stirred a hate in Belding--a hate he had felt at the very first
and had manfully striven against, and which now gave him over to
dark brooding thoughts.

Midsummer passed, and the storms came late. But when they arrived
they made up for tardiness. Belding did not remember so terrible
a storm of wind and rain as that which broke the summer's drought.

In a few days, it seemed, Altar Valley was a bright and green expanse,
where dust clouds did not rise. Forlorn River ran, a slow, heavy,
turgid torrent. Belding never saw the river in flood that it did
not give him joy; yet now, desert man as he was, he suffered a
regret when he thought of the great Chase reservoir full and
overflowing. The dull thunder of the spillway was not pleasant. It
was the first time in his life that the sound of falling water
jarred upon him.

Belding noticed workmen once more engaged in the fields bounding
his land. The Chases had extended a main irrigation ditch down
to Belding's farm, skipped the width of his ground, then had gone
on down through Altar Valley. They had exerted every influence to
obtain right to connect these ditches by digging through his land,
but Belding had remained obdurate. He refused to have any dealings
with them. It was therefore with some curiosity and suspicion that
he was a gang of Mexicans once more at work upon these ditches.

At daylight next morning a tremendous blast almost threw Belding
out of his bed. It cracked the adobe walls of his house and broke
windows and sent pans and crockery to the floor with a crash.
Belding's idea was that the store of dynamite kept by the Chases
for blasting had blown up. Hurriedly getting into his clothes, he
went to Nell's room to reassure her; and, telling her to have a
thought for their guests, he went out to see what had happened.

The villagers were pretty badly frightened. Many of the poorly
constructed adobe huts had crumbled almost into dust. A great
yellow cloud, like smoke, hung over the river. This appeared
to be at the upper end of Belding's plot, and close to the river.
When he reached his fence the smoke and dust were so thick he
could scarcely breathe, and for a little while he was unable to
see what had happened. Presently he made out a huge hole in the
sand just abut where the irrigation ditch had stopped near his
line. For some reason or other, not clear to Belding, the Mexicans
had set off an extraordinarily heavy blast at that point.

Belding pondered. He did not now for a moment consider an accidental
discharge of dynamite. But why had this blast been set off? The
loose sandy soil had yielded readily to shovel; there were no rocks;
as far as construction of a ditch was concerned such a blast
would have odne more harm than good.

Slowly, with reluctant feet, Belding walked toward a green hollow,
where in a cluster of willows lay the never-failing spring that
his horses loved so well, and, indeed, which he loved no less.
He was actually afraid to part the drooping willows to enter the
little cool, shady path that led to the spring. Then, suddenly
seized by suspense, he ran the rest of the way.

He was just in time to see the last of the water. It seemed to sink
as in quicksand. The shape of the hole had changed. The tremendous
force of the blast in the adjoining field had obstructed or diverted
the underground stream of water.

Belding's never-failing spring had been ruined. What had made
this little plot of ground green and sweet and fragrant was now
no more. Belding's first feeling was for the pity of it. The
pale Ajo lilies would bloom no more under those willows. The
willows themselves would soon wither and die. He thought how many
times in the middle of hot summer nights he had come down to the
spring to drink. Never again!

Suddenly he thought of Blanco Diablo. How the great white
thoroughbred had loved this spring! Belding straightened up and
looked with tear-blurred eyes out over the waste of desert to the
west. Never a day passed that he had not thought of the splendid
horse; but this moment, with its significant memory, was doubly
keen, and there came a dull pang in his breast.

"Diablo will never drink here again!" muttered Belding.

The loss of Blanco Diablo, though admitted and mourned by Belding,
had never seemed quite real until this moment.

The pall of dust drifting over him, the din of the falling water up
at the dam, diverted Belding's mind to the Chases. All at once he
was in the harsh grip of a cold certainty. The blast had been set
off intentionally to ruin his spring. What a hellish trick! No
Westerner, no Indian or Mexican, no desert man could have been
guilty of such a crime. To ruin a beautiful, clear, cool, never-failing
stream of water in the desert!

It was then that Belding's worry and indecision and brooding were
as if they had never existed. As he strode swiftly back to the
house, his head, which had long been bent thoughtfully and sadly,
was held erect. He went directly to his room, and with an air
that was now final he buckled on his gun belt. He looked the gun
over and tried the action. He squared himself and walked a little
more erect. Some long-lost individuality had returned to Belding.

"Let's see," he was saying. "I can get Carter to send the horses
I've left back to Waco to my brother. I'll make Nell take what
money there is and go hunt up her mother. The Gales are ready
to go--to-day, if I say the word. Nell can travel with them part
way East. That's your game, Tom Belding, don't mistake me."

As he went out he encountered Mr. Gale coming up the walk. The
long sojourn at Forlorn River, despite the fact that it had been
laden with a suspense which was gradually changing to a sad certainty,
had been of great benefit to Dick's father. The dry air, the heat,
and the quiet had made him, if not entirely a well man, certainly stronger
than he had been in many years.

"Belding, what was that terrible roar?" asked Mr. Gale. "We were
badly frightened until Miss Nell came to us. We feared it was an
earthquake."

"Well, I'll tell you, Mr. Gale, we've had some quakes here, but
none of them could hold a candle to this jar we just had."

Then Belding explained what had caused the explosion, and why it
had been set off so close to his property.

"It's an outrage, sir, an unspeakable outrage," declared Mr. Gale,
hotly. "Such a thing would not be tolerated in the East. Mr.
Belding, I'm amazed at your attitude in the face of all this
trickery."

"You see--there was mother and Nell," began Belding, as if apologizing.
He dropped his head a little and made marks in the sand with the
toe of his boot. "Mr. Gale, I've been sort of half hitched, as
Laddy used to say. I'm planning to have a little more elbow room
round this ranch. I'm going to send Nell East to her mother. Then
I'll-- See here, Mr. Gale, would you mind having Nell with you
part way when you go home?"

"We'd all be delighted to have her go all the way and make us a
visit," replied Mr. Gale.

"That's fine. And you'll be going soon? Don't take that as if I
wanted to--" Belding paused, for the truth was that he did want
to hurry them off.

"We would have been gone before this, but for you," said Mr. Gale.
"Long ago we gave up hope of--of Richard ever returning. And I
believe, now we're sure he was lost, that we'd do well to go home
at once. You wished us to remain until the heat was broken--till
the rains came to make traveling easier for us. Now I see no
need for further delay. My stay here has greatly benefited my
health. I shall never forget your hospitality. This Western trip
would have made me a new man if--only--Richard--"

"Sure. I understand," said Belding, gruffly. "Let's go in and
tell the women to pack up."

Nell was busy with the servants preparing breakfast. Belding
took her into the sitting-room while Mr. Gale called his wife
and daughter.

"My girl, I've some news for you," began Belding. "Mr. Gale is
leaving to-day with his family. I'm going to send you with
them--part way, anyhow. You're invited to visit them. I think
that 'd be great for you--help you to forget. But the main thing
is--you're going East to join mother."

Nell gazed at him, white-faced, without uttering a word.

"You see, Nell, I'm about done in Forlorn River," went on Belding.
"That blast this morning sank my spring. There's no water now.
It was the last straw. So we'll shake the dust of Forlorn River.
I'll come on a little later--that's all."

"Dad, you're packing your gun!" exclaimed Nell, suddenly pointing
with a trembling finger. She ran to him, and for the first time
in his life Belding put her away from him. His movements had lost
the old slow gentleness.

"Why, so I am," replied Belding, coolly, as his hand moved down
to the sheath swinging at his hip. "Nell, I'm that absent-minded
these days!"

"Dad!" she cried.

"That'll do from you," he replied, in a voice he had never used
to her. "Get breakfast now, then pack to leave Forlorn River."

"Leave Forlorn River!" whispered Nell, with a thin white hand
stealing up to her breast. How changed the girl was! Belding
reproached himself for his hardness, but did not speak his thought
aloud. Nell was fading here, just as Mercedes had faded before
the coming of Thorne.

Nell turned away to the west window and looked out
across the desert toward the dim blue peaks in the distance.
Belding watched her; likewise the Gales; and no one spoke.
There ensued a long silence. Belding felt a lump rise in his
throat. Nell laid her arm against the window frame, but gradually
it dropped, and she was leaning with her face against the wood.
A low sob broke from her. Elsie Gale went to her, embraced her,
took the drooping head on her shoulder.

"We've come to be such friends," she said. "I believe it'll be
good for you to visit me in the city. Here--all day you look out
across that awful lonely desert....Come, Nell."

Heavy steps sounded outside on the flagstones, then the door rattled
under a strong knock. Belding opened it. The Chases, father and
son, stood beyond the threshold.

"Good morning, Belding," said the elder Chase. "We were routed
out early by that big blast and came up to see what was wrong. All
a blunder. The Greaser foreman was drunk yesterday, and his
ignorant men made a mistake. Sorry if the blast bothered you."

"Chase, I reckon that's the first of your blasts I was ever glad
to hear," replied Belding, in a way that made Chase look blank.

"So? Well, I'm glad you're glad," he went on, evidently puzzled.
"I was a little worried--you've always been so touchy--we never
could get together. I hurried over, fearing maybe you might think
the blast--you see, Belding--"

"I see this, Mr. Ben Chase," interrupted Belding, in curt and
ringing voice. "That blast was a mistake, the biggest you ever
made in your life."

"What do you mean?" demanded Chase.

"You'll have to excuse me for a while, unless you're dead set on
having it out right now. Mr. Gale and his family are leaving, and
my daughter is going with them. I'd rather you'd wait a little."

"Nell going away!" exclaimed Radford Chase. He reminded Belding
of an overgrown boy in disappointment.

"Yes. But--Miss Burton to you, young man--"

"Mr. Belding, I certainly would prefer a conference with you right
now," interposed the elder Chase, cutting short Belding's strange
speech. "There are other matters--important matters to discuss.
They've got to be settled. May we step in, sir?"

"No, you may not," replied Belding, bluntly. "I'm sure particular
who I invite into my house. But I'll go with you."

Belding stepped out and closed the door. "Come away from the house
so the women won't hear the--the talk."

The elder Chase was purple with rage, yet seemed to be controlling
it. The younger man looked black, sullen, impatient. He appeared
not to have a thought of Belding. He was absolutely blind to the
situation, as considered from Belding's point of view. Ben Chase
found his voice about the time Belding halted under the trees out
of earshot from the house.

"Sir, you've insulted me--my son. How dare you? I want you to
understand that you're--"

"Chop that kind of talk with me, you ------- ------- ------- -------!"
interrupted Belding. He had always been profane, and now he
certainly did not choose his language. Chase turned livid, gasped,
and seemed about to give way to fury. But something about Belding
evidently exerted a powerful quieting influence. "If you talk
sense I'll listen," went on Belding.

Belding was frankly curious. He did not think any argument or
inducement offerd by Chase could change his mind on past dealings
or his purpose of the present. But he believed by listening he
might get some light on what had long puzzled him. The masterly
effort Chase put forth to conquer his aroused passions gave Belding
another idea of the character of this promoter.

"I want to make a last effort to propitiate you," began
Chase, in his quick, smooth voice. That was a singular change to
Belding--the dropping instantly into an easy flow of speech.
"You've had losses here, and naturally you're sore. I don't blame
you. But you can't see this thing from my side of the fence.
Business is business. In business the best man wins. The law
upheld those transactions of mine the honesty of which you questioned.
As to mining and water claims, you lost on this technical point--that
you had nothing to prove you had held them for five years. Five
years is the time necessary in law. A dozen men might claim the
source of Forlorn River, but if they had no house or papers to
prove their squatters' rights any man could to in and fight them
for the water. ....Now I want to run that main ditch along the
river, through your farm. Can't we make a deal? I'm ready to be
liberal--to meet you more than halfway. I'll give you an interest
in the company. I think I've influence enough up at the Capitol
to have you reinstated as inspector. A little reasonableness on
your part will put you right again in Forlorn River, with a chance
of growing rich. There's a big future here....My interest, Belding,
has become personal. Radford is in love with your step-daughter.
He wants to marry her. I'll admit now if I had foreseen this
situation I wouldn't have pushed you so hard. But we can square
the thing. Now let's get together not only in business, but in
a family way. If my son's happiness depends upon having this girl,
you may rest assured I'll do all I can to get her for him. I'll
absolutely make good all your losses. Now what do you say?"

"No," replied Belding. "Your money can't buy a right of way across
my ranch. And Nell doesn't want your son. That settles that."

"But you could persuade her."

"I won't, that's all."

"May I ask why?" Chases's voice was losing its suave quality, but
it was even swifter than before.

"Sure. I don't mind your asking," replied Belding in slow
deliberation. "I wouldn't do such a low-down trick. Besides, if
I would, I'd want it to be a man I was persuading for. I know
Greasers--I know a Yaqui I'd rather give Nell to than your son."

Radford Chase began to roar in inarticulate rage. Belding paid no
attention to him; indeed, he never glanced at the young man. The
elder Chase checked a violent start. He plucked at the collar of
his gray flannel shirt, opened it at the neck.

"My son's offer of marriage is an honor--more an honor, sir, than
you perhaps are aware of."

Belding made no reply. His steady gaze did not turn from the long
lane that led down to the river. He waited coldly, sure of himself.

"Mrs. Belding's daughter has no right to the name of Burton,"
snapped Chase. "Did you know that?"

"I did not," replied Belding, quietly.

"Well, you know it now," added Chase, bitingly.

"Sure you can prove what you say?" queried Belding, in the same
cool, unemotional tone. It struck him strangely at the moment what
little knowledge this man had of the West and of Western character.

"Prove it? Why, yes, I think so, enough to make the truth plain
to any reasonable man. I come from Peoria--was born and raised
there. I went to school with Nell Warren. That was your wife's
maiden name. She was a beautiful, gay girl. All the fellows
were in love with her. I knew Bob Burton well. He was a splendid
fellow, but wild. Nobody ever knew for sure, but we all supposed
he was engaged to marry Nell. He left Peoria, however, and soon
after that the truth about Nell came out. She ran away. It was
at least a couple of months before Burton showed up in Peoria.
He did not stay long. Then for years nothing was heard of either
of them. When word did come Nell was in Oklahoma, Burton was in Denver.
There's chance, of course, that Burton followed Nell and married her.
That would account for Nell Warren taking the name of Burton. But it
isn't likely. None of us ever heard of such a thing and wouldn't have
believed it if we had. The affair seemed destined to end unfortunately.
But Belding, while I'm at it, I want to say that Nell Warren was one of
the sweetest, finest, truest girls in the world. If she drifted to
the Southwest and kept her past a secret that was only natural.
Certainly it should not be held against her. Why, she was only
a child--a girl--seventeen--eighteen years old....In a moment of
amazement--when I recognized your wife as an old schoolmate--I
blurted the thing out to Radford. You see now how little it matters
to me when I ask your stepdaughter's hand in marriage for my son."

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