CHAPTER 10. A SHEPHERD OF THE DESERT
It had been Helen Messiter's daily custom either to take a ride on herpony or a spin in her motor car, but since Bannister had been quarteredat the Lazy D her time had been so fully occupied that she had giventhis up for the present. The arrival of Nora Darling, however, took somuch work off her hands that she began to continue her rides and drives.
Her patient was by this time so far recovered that he did not need herconstant attendance and there were reasons why she decided it best tospend only a minimum of her time with him. These had to do with herincreasing interest in the man and the need she felt to discourage it.It had come to a pretty pass, she told herself scornfully, when shefound herself inventing excuses to take her into the room where thismost picturesque of unhanged scamps was lying. Most good women are atheart puritans, and if Helen was too liberal to judge others narrowlyshe could be none the less rigid with herself. She might talk to him ofher duty, but it was her habit to be frank in thought and she knew thatsomething nearer than that abstraction had moved her efforts in hisbehalf. She had fought for his life because she loved him. She coulddeny it no longer. Nor was the shame with which she confessed itunmingled with pride. He was a man to compel love, one of the moodimperative, chain-armored in the outdoor virtues of strength andendurance and stark courage. Her abasement began only where hissuperlation ended. That a being so godlike in equipment should have beenfashioned without a soul, and that she should have given her heart tohim. This was the fount of her degradation.
It was of these things she thought as she drove in the late afternoontoward those Antelope Peaks he had first pointed out to her. She sweptpast the scene of the battle and dipped down into the plains for a runto that western horizon behind the jagged mountain line of which the sunwas radiantly setting in a splash of glorious colors. Lost in thought,space slipped under her wheels unnoticed. Not till her car refused thespur and slowed to a despondent halt did she observe that velvet nightwas falling over the land.
She prowled round the machine after the fashion of the motorist,examining details that might be the cause of the trouble. She discoveredsoon enough with instant dismay that the gasolene tank was empty. Reddy,always unreliable, must have forgotten to fill it when she told him to.
By the road she must be thirty miles from home if she were a step;across country as the crow flies, perhaps twenty. She was a young womanof resolution, and she wasted no time in tears or regrets. The XIXranch, owned by a small "nester" named Henderson, could not be more thanfive or six miles to the southeast. If she struck across the hills shewould be sure to run into one of the barblines. At the XIX she couldget a horse and reach the Lazy D by midnight. Without any hesitation shestruck out. It was unfortunate that she did not have on her heavy lacedhigh boots, but she realized that she must take things as shefound them. Things might have been a good deal worse, she reflectedphilosophically.
And before long they were worse, for the increasing darkness blotted outthe landmarks she was using as guides and she was lost among the hillwaves that rolled one after another across the range. Still she did notgive way, telling herself that it would be better after the moon wasup. She could then tell north from south, and so have a line by which totravel. But when at length the stars came out, thousands upon thousandsof them, and looked down on a land magically flooded with chillmoonlight, the girl found that the transformation of Wyoming into thissense of silvery loveliness had toned the distant mountain line to anindefinite haze that made it impossible for her to distinguish one peakfrom another.
She wandered for hours, hungry and tired and frightened, though thislast she would not confess.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," she told herself over and over. "Evenif I have to stay out all night it will do me no harm. There's no needto be a baby about it."
But try to evade it as she would, there was something in the lonelinessof this limitless stretch of hilltop that got on her nerves. Thevery shadows cast by the moonshine seemed too fantastic for reality.Something eerie and unearthly hovered over it all, and before she knewit a sob choked up her throat.
Vague fancies filtered through her mind, weird imaginings born of thenight in a mind that had been swept from the moorings of reason. Sothat with no sensible surprise there came to her in that moonlit sea ofdesert the sound of a voice a clear sweet tenor swelling bravely in songwith the very ecstacy of pathos.
It was the prison song from "Il Trovatore," and the desolation of itslifted appeal went to the heart like water to the roots of flowers.
Ah! I have sigh'd to rest me. Deep in the quiet grave.
The girl's sob caught in her breast, stilled with the awe of thatheavenly music. So for an instant she waited before it was borne in onher that the voice was a human one, and that the heaven from which itdescended was the hilltop above her.
A wild laugh, followed by an oath, cut the dying echoes of the song. Shecould hear the swish of a quirt falling again and again, and the soundof trampling hoofs thudding on the hard, sun-cracked ground. Startled,she sprang to her feet, and saw silhouetted against the skyline a horseand his rider fighting for mastery.
The battle was superb while it lasted. The horse had been a famousoutlaw, broken to the saddle by its owner out of the sheer passionfor victory, but there were times when its savage strength rebelled atabject submission, and this was one of them. It swung itself skyward,and came down like a pile-driver, camel-backed, and without joints inthe legs. Swiftly it rose again lunging forward and whirling in the air,then jarred down at an angle. The brute did its malevolent best, a furyincarnate. But the ride, was a match, and more than a match, for it. Hesat the saddle like a Centaur, with the perfect: unconscious grace of aborn master, swaying in his seat as need was, and spurring the horse toa blinder fury.
Sudden as had been the start, no less sudden was the finish of thebattle. The bronco pounded to a stiff-legged standstill, trembled fora long minute like an aspen, and sank to a tame surrender, despite thesharp spurs roweling its bloody sides.
"Ah, my beauty. You've had enough, have you?" demanded the cruel,triumphant voice of the rider. "You would try that game, would you? I'llteach you."
"Stop spurring that horse, you bully."
The man stopped, in sheer amazement at this apparition which had leapedout of the ground almost at his feet. His wary glance circled the hillsto make sure she was alone.
"Ce'tainly, ma'am. We're sure delighted to meet up with you. Ain't we,Two-step?"
For himself, he spoke the simple truth. He lived in his sensations,spurring himself to fresh ones as he had but just now been spurringhis horse to sate the greed of conquest in him. And this high-spirited,gallant creature--he could feel her vital courage in the very ringof her voice--offered a rare fillip to his jaded appetite. The dusky,long-lashed eyes which always give a woman an effect of beauty, thesplendid fling of head, and the piquant, finely cut features, with theirunconscious tale of Brahmin caste, the long lines of the supple body,willowy and yet plump as a partridge--they went to his head like strongwine. Here was an adventure from the gods--a stubborn will to bend, thepride of a haughty young beauty to trail in the dust, her untamed heartto break if need be. The lust of the battle was on him already. She wasa woman to dream about,
"Sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, Or Cytherea's breath,"
he told himself exultantly as he slid from his horse and stood bowingbefore her.
And he, for his part, was a taking enough picture of devil-may-caregallantry gone to seed. The touch of jaunty impudence in his humility,not less than the daring admiration of his handsome eyes and the easy,sinuous grace of his flexed muscles, labeled him what he was--a man boldand capable to do what he willed, and a villain every inch of him.
Said she, after that first clash of stormy eyes with bold, admiringones:
"I am lost--from the Lazy D ranch."
"Why, no, you're found," he corrected, white teeth flashing in a smile.
"My motor ran
out of gasolene this afternoon. I've been"--there was acatch in her voice--"wandering ever since."
"You're played out, of course, and y'u've had no supper," he said, hisquiet close gaze on her.
"Yes, I'm played out and my nerve's gone." She laughed a littlehysterically. "I expect I'm hungry and thirsty, too, though I hadn'tnoticed it before."
He whirled to his saddle, and had the canteen thongs unloosed in amoment. While she drank he rummaged from his saddle-bags some sandwichesof jerky and a flask of whiskey. She ate the sandwiches, he the whilewatching her with amused sympathy in his swarthy countenance.
"You ain't half-bad at the chuck-wagon, Miss Messiter," he told her.
She stopped, the sandwich part way to her mouth. "I don't remember yourface. I've met so many people since I came to the Lazy D. Still, I thinkI should remember you."
He immediately relieved of duty her quasi apology. "You haven't seenmy face before," he laughed, and, though she puzzled over the doublemeaning that seemed to lurk behind his words and amuse him, she couldnot find the key to it.
It was too dark to make out his features at all clearly, but she wassure she had seen him before or somebody that looked very much like him.
"Life on the range ain't just what y'u can call exciting," he continued,"and when a young lady fresh from back East drops among us while sixgunsare popping, breaks up a likely feud and mends right neatly all theventilated feudists it's a corollary to her fun that's she is going tobecome famous."
What he said was true enough. The unsolicited notoriety her exploit hadbrought upon her had been its chief penalty. Garbled versions of it hadappeared with fake pictures in New York and Chicago Sunday supplements,and all Cattleland had heard and discussed it. No matter into whatunfrequented canon she rode, some silent cowpuncher would look at heras they met with admiring eyes behind which she read a knowledge of thestory. It was a lonely desolate country, full of the wide deep silencesof utter emptiness, yet there could be no footfall but the whisper of itwas bruited on the wings of the wind.
"Do you know where the Lazy D ranch is from here?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Can you take me home?"
"I surely can. But not to-night. You're more tired than y'u know. We'llcamp here, and in the mo'ning we'll hit the trail bright and early."
This did not suit her at all. "Is it far to the Lazy D?" she inquiredanxiously.
"Every inch of forty miles. There's a creek not more than two hundredyards from here. We'll stay there till morning," he made answer in amatter of course voice, leading the way to the place he had mentioned.
She followed, protesting. Yet though it was not in accord with hercivilized sense of fitness, she knew that what he proposed was thecommon sense solution. She was tired and worn out, and she could seethat his broncho had traveled far.
Having reached the bank of the creek, he unsaddled, watered his horseand picketed it, and started a fire. Uneasily she watched him.
"I don't like to sleep out. Isn't there a ranchhouse near?"
"Y'u wouldn't call it near by the time we had reached it. What's tohinder your sleeping here? Isn't this room airy enough? And don't y'ulike the system of lighting? 'Twas patented I forget how many millionyears ago. Y'u ain't going to play parlor girl now after getting thereputation y'u've got for gameness, are y'u?"
But he knew well enough that it was no silly schoolgirl fear she had,but some deep instinct in her that distrusted him and warned her tobeware. So, lightly he took up the burden of the talk while he gatheredcottonwood branches for the fire.
"Now if I'd only thought to bring a load of lumber and somecarpenters--and a chaperon," he chided himself in burlesque, his boldeyes closely on the girl's face to gloat on the color that flew to hercheeks at his suggestion.
She hastened to disclaim lightly the feeling he had unmasked in her. "Itis a pity, but it can't be helped now. I suppose I am cross and don'tseem very grateful. I'm tired out and nervous, but I am sure that I'llenjoy sleeping out. If I don't I shall not be so ungenerous as to blameyou."
He soon had a cup of steaming coffee ready for her, and the heat of itmade a new woman of her. She sat in the warm fire glow, and beganto feel stealing over her a delightful reaction of languor. She toldherself severely it was ridiculous to have been so foolishly prim aboutthe inevitable.
"Since you know my name, isn't it fair that I should know yours?" shesmilingly asked, more amiably than she had yet spoken to him.
"Well, since I have found the lamb that was lost, y'u may call me ashepherd of the desert."
"Then, Mr. Shepherd, I'm very glad to meet you. I don't remember whenI ever was more glad to meet a stranger." And she added with a littlelaugh: "It's a pity I'm too sleepy to do my duty by you in a socialway."
"We'll let that wait till to-morrow. Y'u'll entertain me plenty then.I'll make your bunk up right away."
She was presently lying with her feet to the fire, snugly rolled in hissaddle blankets. But though her eyes were heavy, her brain was stilltoo active to permit her to sleep immediately. The excitement of heradventure was too near, the emotions of the day too poignantly vivid, tolose their hold on her at once. For the first time in her life shelay lapped in the illimitable velvet night, countless unwinking starslighting the blue-black dream in which she floated. The enchantment ofthe night's loveliness swept through her sensitive pulses and thrilledher with the mystery of the great life of which she was an atom. Aweheld her a willing captive.
She thought of many things, of her past life and its incongruity withthe present, of the man who lay wounded at the Lazy D, of this otherwide-shouldered vagabond who was just now in the shadows beyond thefirelight, pacing up and down with long, light even strides as he lookedto his horse and fed the fire. She watched him make an end of the thingshe found to do and then take his place opposite her. Who and what washe, this fascinating scamp who one moment flooded the moonlit desertwith inspired snatches from the opera sung in the voice of an angel, andthe next lashed at his horse like a devil incarnate? How reconcile theoutstanding inconsistencies in him? For his every inflection, everymotion, proclaimed the strain of good blood gone wrong and trampledunder foot of set, sardonic purpose, indicated him a man of culture ina hell of his own choosing. Lounging on his elbow in the flickeringshadows, so carelessly insouciant in every picturesque inch of him, heseemed to radiate the melodrama of the untamed frontier, just as herguest of tarnished reputation now at the ranch seemed to breathe forthits romance.
"Sleep well, little partner. Don't be afraid; nothing can harm you,"this man had told her.
Promptly she had answered, "I'm not afraid, thank you, in the least";and after a moment had added, not to seem hostile, "Good night, bigpartner."
But despite her calm assurance she knew she did not feel so entirelysafe as if it had been one of her own ranch boys on the other side ofthe fire, or even that other vagabond who had made so direct an appealto her heart. If she were not afraid, at least she knew some vague hintof anxiety.
She was still thinking of him when she fell asleep, and when sheawakened the first sound that fell on her ears was his tuneful whistle.Indeed she had an indistinct memory of him in the night, wrapping theblankets closer about her when the chill air had half stirred her fromher slumber. The day was still very young, but the abundant desert lightdismissed sleep summarily. She shook and brushed the wrinkles out of herclothes and went down to the creek to wash her face with the inadequatefacilities at hand. After redressing her hair she returned to the fire,upon which a coffee pot was already simmering.
She came up noiselessly behind him, but his trained senses were apprisedof her approach.
"Good mo'ning! How did y'u find your bedroom?" he asked, without turningfrom the bacon he was broiling on the end of a stick.
"Quite up to the specifications. With all Wyoming for a floor and thesky for a ceiling, I never had a room I liked better. But have you eyesin the back of your head?"
He laughed grimly. "I have to be all eyes
and ears in my business."
"Is your business of a nature so sensitive?"
"As much so as stocks on Wall Street. And we haven't any ticker to warnus to get under cover. Do you take cream in your coffee, Miss Messiter?"
She looked round in surprise. "Cream?"
"We're in tin-can land, you know, and live on air-tights. I milk my cowwith a can-opener. Let me recommend this quail on toast." He handed hera battered tin plate, and prepared to help her from the frying-pan.
"I suppose that is another name for pork?"
"No, really. I happened to bag a couple of hooters before you wakened."
"You're a missionary of the good-foods movement. I shall name yourmission St. Sherry's-in-the-Wilderness."
"Ah, Sherry's! That's since my time. I don't suppose I should know myway about in little old New York now."
She found him eager to pick up again the broken strands that hadconnected him with the big world from which he had once come. It hadbeen long since she had enjoyed a talk more, for he expressed himselfwith wit and dexterity. But through her enjoyment ran a note ofapprehension. He was for the moment a resurrected gentleman. But whatwould he be next? She had an insistent memory of a heavenly flood ofmusic broken by a horrible discord of raucous oaths.
It was he that lingered over their breakfast, loath to make the firstmove to bring him back into realities; and it was she that had tosuggest the need of setting out. But once on his feet, he saddled andpacked swiftly, with a deftness born of experience.
"We'll have to ask Two-step to carry double to-day," he said, as hehelped her to a place behind him.
Two-step had evidently made an end of the bronco spree upon which hehad been the evening before, for he submitted sedately to his unusualburden. The first hilltop they reached had its surprise to offer thegirl. In a little valley below them, scarce a mile away, nestled a ranchwith its corrals and buildings.
"Look!" she exclaimed; and then swiftly, "Didn't you know it was there?"
"Yes, that's the Hilke place," he answered with composure. "It hasn'tbeen occupied for years."
"Isn't that some one crossing to the corral now?"
"No. A stray cow, I reckon."
They dropped into a hollow between the hills and left the ranch on theirleft. She was not satisfied, and yet she had not grounds enough uponwhich to base a suspicion. For surely the figure she had seen had beenthat of a man.