CHAPTER VII
THE DESERT
"If I had a son, I would teach him obedience as heaven's first law, forso only can a man be trained to obey his own better self."--_Enoch'sDiary_.
The Secretary had no intention of waking the strange little village atnight. He thought that, once he had relocated it, he would wait untildawn before rousing any one. But he had not counted on the villagedogs. These set up such an outcry that, while Enoch leaned quietlyagainst a rude corral fence waiting for the hullaballoo to cease, thedoor of the house nearest opened, and a man came out. He stood for amoment very deliberately staring at the Secretary, whose polite "Goodmorning" could not be heard above the dogs' uproar.
Enoch, with a half grin, dropped his satchel and held up both hands.The man, half smiling in response, kicked and cursed the dogs intosilence. Then he approached Enoch. He was a small, swarthy chap, cladin overalls and an undershirt.
"You're a Pueblo Indian?" asked the Secretary.
The Indian nodded. "What you want?"
"I want to buy a horse."
"Where you come from?"
"Off that train that went through a while ago."
"This not Ash Fork," said the Indian. "You make mistake. Ash Forkthat way," jerking his thumb westward. "You pass through Ash Fork."
Enoch nodded. "You sell me a horse?"
"I rent you horse. You leave him at Hillers' in Ash Fork. I get him."
"No, I want to buy a horse. Now I'm in the desert I guess I'll see alittle of it. Maybe I'll ride up that way," waving a careless armtoward the north. "Maybe you'll sell me some camping things, blanketsand a coffee pot."
"All right," said the Indian. "When you want 'em?"
"Now, if I can get them."
"All right! I fix 'em."
He spoke to one of the other Indians who were sticking curious headsout of black doorways. In an incredibly short time Enoch was thepossessor of a thin, muscular pony, well saddled, two blankets, one anArmy, the other a Navajo, a frying pan, a coffee pot, a canteen andenough flour, bacon and coffee to see him through the day. He alsoachieved possession of a blue flannel shirt and a pair of overalls. Hepaid without question the price asked by the Indians. Dawn was justbreaking when he mounted his horse.
"Where does that trail lead?" he asked, pointing to one that startednorth from the corral.
"To Eagle Springs, five miles," answered the Indian.
"And after that?"
"East to Allman's ranch, north to Navajo camp."
"Thanks," said Enoch. "Good-by!" and he turned his pony to the trail.
The country became rough and broken almost at once. The trail led upand down through draws and arroyos. There was little verdure savecactus and, when the sun was fully up, Enoch began to realize that astrenuous day was before him. The spring boasted a pepper tree, alovely thing of delicate foliage, gazing at itself in the mirrored blueof the spring. Enoch allowed the horse to drink its fill, then heunrolled the blankets and clothing and dropped them into the waterbelow the little falls that gushed over the rocks, anchoring them withstones. After this, awkwardly, but recalling more and more clearly hiscamping lore, he prepared a crude breakfast.
He sat long at this meal. His head felt a little light from the lackof sleep and he was physically weary. But he could not rest. For daysa jingling couplet had been running through his mind:
"Rest is not quitting this busy career. Rest is the fitting of self to one's sphere."
Enoch muttered this aloud, then smiled grimly to himself.
"That's the idea!" he added. "There's a bad spot somewhere in myphilosophy that'll break me yet. Well, we'll see if I can locate it."
The sun was climbing high and the shade of the pepper tree wasgrateful. The spring murmured for a few feet beyond the last quiveringshadow of the feathery leaves, then was swallowed abruptly by theburning sand. Enoch lifted his tired eyes. Far on every side lay theuneven, rock strewn desert floor, dotted with cactus and greasewood.To the east, vivid against the blue sky, rose a solitary mountain peak,a true purple in color, capped with snow. To the north, a green blackshadow was etched against the horizon. Except for the slight rustle ofthe pepper tree, the vague murmur of the water, the silence wascomplete.
"It's not a calming atmosphere," thought Enoch, "as I remember theCanyon to have been. It's feverish and restless. But I'll give it atry. For to-day, I'll not think. I'll concern myself entirely withgetting to this Navajo camp. First of all, I'll dry the blankets andclothing."
He had pulled off his tweed coat some time before. Now he hung hisvest on the pepper tree and went about his laundry work. He drapedblankets and garments over the greasewood, then moved by a suddenimpulse, undressed himself and lay down under the tiny falls. Thewater, warmed by its languid trip through the pool above, wasrefreshing only in its cleansing quality. But Enoch, lying at lengthin the sand, the water trickling ceaselessly over him, felt his tautmuscles relax and a great desire to sleep came upon him. But he wasstill too close to the railroad and possible discovery to allow himselfthis luxury. By the time he had finished his bath the overalls weredry and the blue flannel shirt enough so for him to risk donning it.He rolled up his tweed suit and tied it to the saddle, fastened theblankets on in an awkward bunch, the cooking utensils danglinganywhere, the canteen suspended from the pommel. Then he smiled at hisreflection in the morning pool.
The overalls, a faded brown, were patched and, of course, wrinkled anddrawn. The blue shirt was too small across the chest and Enoch foundit impossible to button the collar. The soft hat was in keeping withcostume, but the Oxford ties caused him to shake his head.
"A dead give-away! I'll have to negotiate for something else when Ifind the Navajos. All right, Pablo," to the horse, "we're off," andthe pony started northward at a gentle canter.
The desert was new to Enoch. Neither his Grand Canyon experience norhis hunting trips in Canada and Maine had prepared him for thehardships and privations of desert travel. Sitting at ease on theIndian pony, his hat well over his eyes, his pots and pans clanginggently behind him, he was entirely oblivious to the menace that laybehind the intriguing beauty of the burning horizon. He was givingsmall heed, too, to the details of the landscape about him. He wasconscious of the heat and of color, color that glowed and quivered andwas ever changing, and he told himself that when he was rested he wouldfind the beauty in the desert that Diana's pictures had said was there.But for now, he was conscious only of pain and shame, the old, oldshame that the Canyon had tried to teach him to forget. He wasdetermined that he would stay in the desert until this shame was goneforever.
It was a fall and not a summer sun, so the pony was able to keep asteady pace until noon. Gradually the blur of green that Enoch hadobserved to the north had outlined itself more and more vividly, and atnoon he rode into the shade of a little grove of stunted pinon andjuniper. He could find no water but there was a coarse dried grassgrowing among the trees that the horse cropped eagerly. Enoch removedthe saddle and pack from Pablo, and spread his half dried blankets onthe ground. Then he threw himself down to rest before preparing hismidday meal. In a moment slumber overwhelmed him.
He was wakened at dusk by the soft nuzzling of the pony against hisshoulder.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed softly. "What a sleep!" He jumped to his feetand began to gather wood for his fire. He was stiff and hisunaccustomed fingers made awkward work of cooking, but he managed,after an hour's endeavor, to produce an unsavory meal, which hedevoured hungrily. He wiped out the frying pan with dried grass,repacked his outfit, and hung it on the horse.
"It's up to you, Pablo, old boy, to get us to water, if you want anyto-night," he said, as he mounted, and headed Pablo north on the trail.
The pony was quite of Enoch's opinion, and he started forward at aneager trot. The trail was discernible enough in the starlight, butEnoch made no attempt to guide Pablo, who obviously knew the countrybetter than his new owner.
 
; Enoch had dreamed of Diana, and now, the reins drooping limply from hishands, he gave his mind over to thought of her. There was no one onearth whom he desired to see so much or so little as Diana! No oneelse to whom in his trouble his whole heart and mind turned with suchunutterable longing or such iron determination never to see again. Hehad no intention of searching for her in the desert. He knew that herwork would keep her in the Grand Canyon country. He knew that it wouldbe easy to avoid her. And, in spite of the fact that every fiber ofhis being yearned for her, he had not the slightest desire to see her!She would, he knew, see the Brown story. No matter what her father mayhave told her, the newspaper story, with its vile innuendoes concerninghis adult life, must sicken her. There was one peak of shame whichEnoch refused to achieve. He would not submit himself either toDiana's pity or to her scorn. But there was, he was finding, apeculiar solace in merely traveling in Diana's desert. He had completefaith that here he would find something of the sweet philosophy thathad written itself in Diana's face.
For Enoch had not come to middle life without learning that on a man'sphilosophy rests his ultimate chance for happiness, or if not forhappiness, content. He knew that until he had sorted and separatedfrom each other the things that mattered and the things that did notmatter, he must be the restless plaything of circumstance. In hisyounger days he had been able to persuade himself that if his point ofview on his life work were right and sane, nothing else could hurt himtoo much. But now, easing himself to the pony's gentle trot andstaring into the exquisite blue silence of the desert night, he toldhimself that he had been a coward, and that his cowardice had made himshun the only real experience of life.
Public service? Yes, it had been right for him to make that his lifework. And such service from such men as himself he knew to be the onlyvital necessity in a nation's life. But the one vital necessity in aman's spiritual life he had missed. If he had had this, he toldhimself, life's bludgeons, however searching, however devastating, hecould have laughed at. A man must have the thought of some goodwoman's love to sustain him. But for Enoch, the thought of any woman'slove, Luigi had tainted at its source. He had neither mother nor mate,and until he had evolved some philosophy which would reconcile him todoing without both, his days must be feverish and at the mercy of themob.
Pablo broke into a canter and Enoch roused himself to observe a glow offire far ahead on the trail. His first impulse was to pull the horsein. He did not want either to be identified or to mingle with humanbeings. Then he smiled ruefully as he recalled the poverty of hisoutfit and he gave Pablo his way again. In a short time Pablo hadreached a spring at a little distance from the fire. As the horseburied his nose in the water, a man came up. Enoch judged by the longhair that he was an Indian.
"Good evening," said Enoch. "Can you tell me where I can buy somefood?"
"What kind of grub?" asked the Indian.
"Anything I can cook and eat," replied Enoch, dismounting stiffly."What kind of camp is this?"
"Navajo. What your name?"
"Smith. What's yours?"
"John Red Sun. How much you pay for grub?"
"Depends on what kind and how much. Which way are you folks going?"
"We take horses to the railroad," replied John Red Sun. "Me and mybrother, that's all, so we haven't got much grub. You come over by thefire." Enoch dropped the reins over Pablo's head and followed to thefire. An Indian, who was boiling coffee at the little blaze, looked upwith interest in his black eyes.
"Good evening," said Enoch. "My name is Smith."
The Indian nodded. "You like a cup of coffee? Just done."
"Thanks, yes." Enoch sat down gratefully by the fire. The desertnight was sharp.
"Where you going, Mr. Smith?" asked John Red Sun.
"I'm an Easterner, a tenderfoot," replied Enoch. "I am very tired andI thought I'd like to rest in the desert. I was on the train when theidea struck me, and I got off just as I was. I bought the horse andthese clothes from an Indian."
"Where you going?" repeated John's brother. "To see Injun villages?"
"No, I don't think so. I just want to be by myself."
"It's foolish for tenderfoot to go alone in desert," said John. "Youdon't know where to get water, get grub."
"Oh, I'll pick it up as I go."
The Indians stared at Enoch in the firelight. His ruddy hair wastumbled by the night wind. His face was deep lined with fatigue thatwas mental as well as physical.
"You mustn't go alone in desert." John Red Sun's voice was earnest."You sleep here to-night. We'll talk it over."
"You're very kind," said Enoch. "I'll unsaddle my pony. Ought I tohobble him or stake him out?"
"I fix 'im. You drink your coffee." The brother handed Enoch a tincup as he spoke. "Then you go to sleep. You mucho tired."
Their hospitality touched Enoch. "You're very kind," he repeatedgratefully, and he drank the vile coffee without blinking. Then,conscious that he was trembling with weariness, he rolled himself inhis blankets. But he slept only fitfully. The sand was hard, and hislong afternoon's nap had taken the edge from his appetite for sleep.He spent much of the night wondering what Washington, what thePresident was saying about him. And his sunburned face was new dyedwith his burning sense of shame.
At the first peep of dawn, John Red Sun rose from the other side of thefire, raked the ashes and started a blaze going. Enoch discovered thatthe camp lay at the foot of a mesa, close in whose shadow a small herdof scraggly, unkempt ponies was staked. The two Indians moved aboutdeftly. They watered the horses, made coffee and cakes and friedbacon. By the time Enoch had shaved, a pie tin was waiting for him inthe ashes.
"We sell you two days' grub," said John. "One day north on this trailgo two men up to the Canyon, to placer mine. They're good men. I know'em many years. They got good outfit, but burros go slow, so you caneasy overtake 'em to-day. You tell 'im you want a job. Tell 'im JohnRed Sun send you. Then you get rested in the desert. Not good for anywhite man to go alone and do nothing in the desert. He'll go loco.See?"
Enoch suddenly smiled. "I do see, yes. And I must say you're mightykind and sensible. I'll do as you suggest. By the way, will you sellme those boots of yours? I'll swap you mine and anything you say,beside. I believe our feet are the same size."
Red Sun's brother was wearing Navajo moccasins reaching to the knee,but Red Sun was resplendent in a pair of high laced boots, into whichwere tucked his corduroy pants. The Indians both looked at Enoch'ssmart Oxford ties with eagerness. Then without a word, Red Sun beganrapidly to unlace his boots. It would be difficult to say which madethe exchange with the greater satisfaction, Enoch or the Indian. Whenit was done Enoch, as far as his costume was concerned, might have beena desert miner indeed, looking for a job.
The sun was not over an hour high when Pablo and Enoch started northonce more, the little horse loaded with supplies and Enoch loaded withsuch trail lore as the two Indians could impress upon him in the shorttime at their command. Enoch was not deeply impressed by their adviceexcept as to one point, which they repeated so often that it reallypenetrated his distraught and weary mind. He was to keep to the trail.No matter what or whom he thought he saw in the distance, he was tokeep to the trail. If a sand storm struck him, he was to campimmediately and on the trail. If he needed water, he was to keep tothe trail in order to find it. At night, he must camp on the trail.The trail! It was, they made him understand, a tenderfoot's onlychance of life in this section. And, thus equipped, Enoch rode awayinto the lonely, shimmering, intriguing morning light of the desert.
He rode all the morning without dismounting. The trail was verycrooked. It seemed to him at such moments as he took note of thisfact, he would save much time by riding due north, but he could notforget the Indian brothers' reiterated warnings. And, although hecould not throw off a sense of being driven, the desire to arrivesomewhere quickly, still he was strangely content to let Pablo set thepace.
At noon he dismounted, fed Pablo half the small bag of oats John hadgiven him, and ate the cold bacon and biscuits John's brother had urgedon him. There was no water for the horse, but Enoch drank deeply fromthe canteen and allowed Pablo an hour's rest. Then he mounted andpushed on, mindful of the necessity of overtaking the miners.
His mind was less calm than it had been the day before, and histhinking less orderly. He had begun to be nagged by recollections ofoffice details that he should have settled, of important questions thatawaited his decision. And something deep within him began to tell himthat he was not playing a full man's part in running away. But to thishe replied grimly that he was only seeking for strength to go back.And finally he muttered that give him two weeks' respite and he wouldgo back, strength or no strength. And over and about all his brokenthinking played an unceasing sense of loss. The public had invaded hislast privacy. The stronghold wherein a man fights his secret weaknessshould be sacred. Not even a clergyman nor a wife should invade itsprecincts uninvited. Enoch's inner sanctuary had been laid open to theidle view of all the world. The newspaper reporter had pried where noreal man would pry. The Brown papers had published that from which adecent editor would turn away for very compassion. Only a very dirtyman will with no excuse whatever wantonly and deliberately breakanother man.
When toward sundown Enoch saw a thread of smoke rising far ahead ofhim, again his first thought was to stop and make camp. He wished thatit were possible for him to spend the next few weeks without seeing awhite man. But he did not yield to the impulse and Pablo pushed onsteadily.
The camp was set in the shelter of a huge rock pile, purple, black,yellow and crimson in color, with a single giant ocotilla growing fromthe top. A man in overalls was bending over the fire, while anotherwas bringing a dripping coffee pot from a little spring that bubbledfrom under the rocks. A number of burros were grazing among the cactusroots.
Enoch rode up slowly and dismounted stiffly. "Good evening," he said.
The two men stared at him frankly. "Good evening, stranger!"
"John Red Sun told me to ask you people for work in return forpermission to trail with your outfit."
"Oh, he did, did he!" grunted the older man, eying Enoch intently. "Myname is Mackay, and my pardner's is Field."
"Mine is Smith," said Enoch.
"Just Smith?" grinned the man Field.
"Just Smith," repeated Enoch firmly.
"Well, Mr. Just Smith," Mackay nodded affably, as though pleased by hisappraisal of the newcomer, "wipe your feet on the door mat and come inand have supper with us. We'll talk while we eat."
"You're very kind," murmured Enoch. "I--er--I'm a tenderfoot, soperhaps you'd tell me, shall I hobble this horse or--"
"I'll take care of him for you," said Field. "You look dead tuckered.Sit down till supper's ready."
Enoch sat down on a rock and eyed his prospective bosses. Mackay was atall, thin man of perhaps fifty. He was smooth shaven except for aniron gray mustache. His face was thin, tanned and heavily lined, andhis keen gray eyes were deep set under huge, shaggy eyebrows. He worea gray flannel shirt and a pair of well worn brown corduroys, tuckedinto the tops of a pair of ordinary shoes. Field was younger, probablyabout Enoch's own age. He was as tall as Mackey but much heavier. Hewas smooth shaven and ruddy of skin, with a heavy thatch of curly blackhair and fine brown eyes. His clothing was a replica of his partner's.
Mackay gave his whole attention to the preparation of the supper, whileField unpacked Pablo and hobbled him.
"You're just in time for a darn good meal, Mr. Smith," said Field."Mack is a great cook. If he was as good a miner as he is cook--"
"Dry up, Curly, and get Mr. Smith's cup and plate for him. We're shyon china. Grub's ready, folks. Draw up."
They ate sitting in the sand, with their backs against the rocks, theirfeet toward the fire, for the evening was cold. Curly had notexaggerated Mack's ability. The hot biscuits, baked in a dutch oven,the fried potatoes, stewed tomatoes, the bacon, the coffee were eachdeliciously prepared. Enoch ate as though half starved, then helped towash the dishes. After this was finished, the three establishedthemselves with their pipes before the fire.
"Now," said Mack, "we're in a condition to consider your proposition,Mr. Smith. Just where was you aiming for?"
"I have a two or three weeks' vacation on my hands," replied Enoch,"and I'm pretty well knocked up with office work. I wanted to rest inthe desert. I thought I could manage it alone, but it looks as if Iwere too green. I don't know why John Red Sun thought I could intrudeon you folks, unless--" he hesitated.
"John an old friend of yours?" asked Curly.
"No, I met him on the trail. He was exceedingly kind and hospitable."
Curly whistled softly. "You must have been in bad shape. John's notnoted for kindness, or hospitality either."
"I wasn't in bad shape at all!" protested Enoch. The two men, eyingEnoch steadily, each suppressed a smile.
"Field and I are on a kind of vacation too," said Mack. "I'm asuperintendent of a zinc mine, and he's running the mill for me. Wehad to shut down for three months--bottom's dropped clean out of theprice of zinc. We've been talking about prospecting for placer gold upon the Colorado, for ten years. Now we're giving her a try."
He paused, and both men looked at Enoch expectantly. "In other words,"said Enoch, refilling his pipe, "you two fellows are off for the kindof a trip you don't want an utter stranger in on. Well, I don't blameyou."
"Depends altogether on what kind of a chap the stranger is," suggestedCurly.
"I have no letters of recommendation." Enoch's smile was grim. "I'ddo my share of the work, and pay for my board. I might not be the bestof company, for I'm tired. Very tired."
His massive head drooped as he spoke and his thin fine lips betrayed apain and weariness that even the fitful light of the fire could notconceal. There was a silence for a moment, then a burro screamed, andMackay got to his feet.
"There's Mamie burro making trouble again. Come and help me catch her,Curly."
Enoch sat quietly waiting while a low voiced colloquy that did not seemrelated to the obstreperous Mamie went on in the shadow beyond therocks. Then the two men came back.
"All right, Smith," said Mack. "We're willing to give it a try. Acamping trip's like marriage, you know, terrible trying on the nerves.So if we don't get on together, it's understood you'll turn back, eh?"
"Yes," Enoch nodded.
"All right! We'll charge you a dollar and a half a day for yourselfand your horse. We're to share and share alike in the work."
"I'm exceedingly grateful!" exclaimed Enoch.
"All right! We hope you'll get rested," said Curly. "And I advise youto begin now. Have you been sleeping well? How long have you beenout?"
"Three nights. I've slept rottenly."
"I thought so. Let me show you how to scoop out sand so's to make ahollow for your hips and your shoulders, and I'll bet you'll sleep."
And Enoch did sleep that night better than for several weeks. He wasstiff and muscle sore when he awoke at dawn, but he felt clearer headedand less mentally feverish than he had the previous day. Curly andMack were still asleep when he stole over to the spring to wash andshave. It was biting cold, but he felt like a new man when he hadfinished his toilet and stood drawing deep breaths while he watched thedawn approach through the magnificent desert distances. He gatheredsome greasewood and came back to build the fire, but his camp mates hadforestalled him. While he was at the spring the men had both wakenedand the fire was blazing merrily.
Breakfast was quickly prepared and eaten. Enoch established himself asthe camp dish washer, much to the pleasure of Curly, who hitherto hadborne this burden. After he had cleaned and packed the dishes, Enochwent out for Pablo, who had strayed a quarter of a mile in his searchfor pasturage. After a half hour of futile endeavor Mack came to hisrescue, and in a short time the cavalcade was ready to start.
> They were not an unimposing outfit. Mack led. The half dozen burros,with their packs followed, next came Curly, and Enoch brought up therear. There was little talking on the trail. The single file, theheavy dust, and the heat made conversation too great an effort. AndEnoch was grateful that this was so.
To-day he made a tremendous endeavor to keep his mind off Luigi and theBrown papers. He found he could do this by thinking of Diana. And sohe spent the day with her, and resolved that if opportunity arose thatnight, to write to her, in the black diary.
The trail, which gradually ascended as they drew north, grew rougherand rougher. During the latter part of the day sand gave way to rock,and the desert appeared full of pot holes which Mack claimed led tosubterranean rivers.
They left these behind near sunset, and came upon a huge, rude,cave-like opening in a mesa side. A tiny pool at the back and theevidence of many camp fires in the front announced that this was one ofthe trail's established oases. There was no possible grazing for theanimals, so they were watered, staked, and fed oats from the packs.
"Well, Mr. Just Smith," said Curly, after the supper had beendispatched and cleared up and the trio were established around thefire, pipes glowing, "well, Mr. Just Smith, are you getting rested?"He grinned as he spoke, but Mack watched their guest soberly. Enoch'sgreat head seemed to fascinate him.
"I'm feeling better, thanks. And I'm trying hard to behave."
"You're doing very well," returned Curly. "I can't recommend you yetas a horse wrangler, but if I permit you to bring Mamie in everymorning, perhaps you'll sabez better."
"This is sure one devil of a country," said Mack. "The Spanish calledit the death trail. Wow! What it must have been before they opened upthese springs! Even the Indians couldn't live here."
"I'd like to show it to old Parsons," said Curly. "He claims thereain't a spot in Arizona that couldn't grow crops if you could get waterto it. He's a fine old liar! Why, this country don't even growcactus! I'd like to hobble him out here for a week."
"Those Survey fellows were up here a few years back trying to fix it toget water out of those pot holes," said Mack.
"Nuts! Sounds like a government bunch!" grunted Curly.
"What came of it?" asked Enoch.
"It ended in a funny kind of a row," replied Mack. "Some folks thinkthere's oil up here, and there was a bunch here drilling for wells,when the government men came along. They got interested in the oilidea, and they began to study the country and drill for oil too. Andthat made these other chaps mad. This was government land, of course,but they didn't want the government to get interested in developing oilwells. Government oil would be too cheap. So they got some Mexicansto start a fight with these Survey lads. But the Survey boys turnedout to be well armed and good fighters and, by Jove, they drove thewhole bunch of oil prospectors out of here. Everybody got excited, andthen it turned out there was no oil here anyhow. That was Fowler'sbunch, by the way, that got run out. Nobody ever thought he'd beSecretary of State!"
"But Fowler is not an Arizona man!" exclaimed Enoch.
"No," said Curly, "but he came out here for his health for a few yearswhen he was just out of college. He and my oldest brother were lawpardners in Phoenix. I always thought he was crooked. All lawyersare."
Enoch smiled to himself.
"Fowler sent his prospectors into Mexico after that," Mack went onreminiscently. "Curly and I were in charge of the silver mine near RioChacita where they struck some gushers. They were one tough crowd. Weall slept in tents those days, and I remember none of us dared to lighta lamp or candle because if one of those fellows saw it, they'd take apot shot at it. One of my foremen dug a six-foot pit and set his tentover it. Then he let 'em shoot at will. Those were the days!"
"Government ought to keep out of business," said Curly. "Let theStates manage their own affairs."
"What's Field sore about?" asked Enoch of Mack.
"He's just ignorant," answered Mack calmly. "Hand me some tobacco,Curly, and quit your beefing. When you make your fortune washing goldup in the Colorado, you can get yourself elected to Congress and doFowler up. In the meantime--"
"Aw, shut up, Mack," drawled Curly good-naturedly. "What are youtrying to do, ruin my reputation with Just Smith here? By the way,Just, you haven't told us what your work is."
"I'm a lawyer," said Enoch solemnly.
The three men stared at each other in the fire glow. Suddenly Enochburst into a hearty laugh, in which the others joined.
"What was the queerest thing you've ever seen in the desert, Mack?"asked Enoch, when they had sobered down.
Mack sat in silence for a time. "That's hard to judge," he saidfinally. "Once, in the Death Valley country, I saw a blind priestriding a burro fifty miles from anywhere. He had no pack, just acanteen. He said he was doing a penance and if I tried to help him,he'd curse me. So I went off and left him. And once I saw a fat womanin a kimono and white satin high heeled slippers chasing her horse overthe trackless desert. Lord!"
"Was that any queerer sight than Just Smith chasing Pablo thismorning?" demanded Curly.
"Or than Field tying a stone to Mamie's tail to keep her from brayingto-night?" asked Enoch.
"You're improving!" exclaimed Curly, "Dignity's an awful thing to takeinto the desert for a vacation."
"Let's go to bed," suggested Mack, and in the fewest possible minutesthe camp was at rest.
The trail for the next two days grew rougher and rougher, while thebrilliancy of color in rock and sand increased in the same ratio as thearidity. Enoch, pounding along at the rear of the parade, hour afterhour, was still in too anguished and abstracted a frame of mind to heeddetails. He knew only that the vast loveliness and the naked austerityof the desert were fit backgrounds, the first for this thought ofDiana, the second for his bitter retrospects.
Mid-morning on the third day, after several hours of silent trekking,Curly turned in his saddle:
"Just, have you noticed the mirage?" pointing to the right.
Far to the east where the desert was most nearly level appeared thesea, waters of brilliant cobalt blue lapping shores clad in richestverdure, waves that broke in foam and ran softly up on quiet shores.Upon the sea, silhouetted against the turquoise sky were ships withsails of white, of crimson, of gold. Then, as the men stared withparted lips, the picture dimmed and the pitiless, burning desertshimmered through.
The unexpected vision lifted Enoch out of himself for a little whileand he listened, interested and amused, while Curly, half turned in hissaddle, discanted on mirages and their interpretations. Nor did Enochfor several hours after meditate on his troubles. Not an hour afterthe mirage had disappeared the sky darkened almost to black, thenturned a sullen red. Lightning forked across the zenith and thethunder reverberated among the thousand mesas, the entangled gorges,until it seemed almost impossible to endure the uproar. Rain did notbegin to fall until noon. There was not a place in sight that wouldprovide shelter, so the men wrapped their Navajos about them and forcedthe reluctant animals to continue the journey. The storm held withfury until late in the afternoon. The wind, the lightning and the rainvied with one another in punishing the travelers. Again and again, theburros broke from trail.
"Get busy, Just!" Curly would roar. "Come out of your trance!" andEnoch would ride Pablo after the impish Mamie with a skill thatdeveloped remarkably as the afternoon wore on. Enoch could not recallever having been so wretchedly uncomfortable in his life. He wassodden to the skin, aching with weariness, shivering with cold. But hemade no murmur of protest. It was Curly who, about five o'clock,called:
"Hey, Mack! I've gone my limit!"
Mack pulled up and seemed to hesitate. As he did so, the storm, with asuddenness that was unbelievable, stopped. A last flare of lightningseemed to blast the clouds from the sky. The rain ceased and the sunenveloped mesas, gorges, trail in a hundred rainbows.
"How about a fire?" asked Mack, grinning, with chattering teet
h.
"It must be done somehow," replied Curly. "Come on, Just, shake it up!"
"Look here, Curly," exclaimed Mack, pausing in the act of throwing hisleg over the saddle, "I think you ought to treat Mr. Smith with morerespect. He ain't your hired help."
"The dickens he isn't!" grinned Curly.
"It's all right, Mack! I enjoy it," said Enoch, dismounting stiffly.
"If you do," Mack gave him a keen look, "you aren't enjoying it the wayCurly thinks you do."
Enoch returned Mack's gaze, smiled, but said nothing further. Mack,however, continued to grumble.
"I'm as good as the next fellow, but I don't believe in givingeverybody a slap on the back or a kick in the pants to prove it. Youmay be a lawyer, all right, Mr. Smith, but I'll bet you're on thebench. You've got that way with you. Not that it's any of mybusiness!"
He was leading the way, as he spoke, toward the face of a mesa thatabutted almost on the trail. Curly apparently had not paid theslightest attention to the reproof. He was already hobbling his horse.
They made no attempt to look for a spring. The hollows of the rockswere filled with rain water. But the search for wood was long andarduous. In fact, it was nearly dusk before they had gathered enoughto last out the evening. But here and there a tiny cedar or mesquiteyielded itself up and at last a good blaze flared up before the mesa.The men shifted to dry underwear, wrung out their outer clothing andput it on again, and drank copiously of the hot coffee. In spite ofdamp clothing and blankets Enoch slept deeply and dreamlessly, and rosethe next day none the worse for the wetting. Even in this short timehis physical tone was improving and he felt sure that his mind mustfollow.