CHAPTER XXV
A TIMELY DELIVERANCE
How long she lay there Beth could never have known. It seemed a timeinterminable, with the horror of the storm in all the universe. It wascertainly more than an hour before the end began to come. Then cloudsand the blizzard of sand and dust, together with all the mightyroaring, appeared to be hurled across the firmament by the final gustof fury and swept from the visible world into outer space.
Only a brisk half-gale remained in the wake of the huger disturbance.The sky and atmosphere cleared together. The sun shone forth asbefore--but low to the mountain horizon. When even the clean wind toohad gone, trailing behind its lawless brother, the desert calm becameas absolute as Beth had beheld it in the morning.
She crept from her shelter and looked about the plain. Her eyes werered and smarting. She was dusted through and through. In all thebroad, gray expanse there was not a sign of anything alive. Her marehad vanished. Beth was lost in the desert, and night was fastdescending.
Deliverance from the storm, or perhaps the storm's very rage, hadbrought her a species of calm. The fear she had was a dull, persistentdread--an all-pervading horror of her situation, too large to be acute.Nevertheless, she determined to seek for the road with all possiblehaste and make her way on foot, as far as possible, towards theStarlight highway and its possible traffic.
She was stiff from her ride and her cramped position on the earth. Shestarted off somewhat helplessly, where she felt the road must be.
She found no road. Her direction may have been wrong. Possibly thestorm of wind had swept away the wagon tracks, for they had all beenfaint. It had been but half a road at best for several miles. Herheart sank utterly. She became confused as to which way she hadtraveled. Towards a pass in the hills whence she felt she must havecome she hastened with a new accession of alarm.
She was presently convinced that she had chosen entirely wrong. Arealizing sense that she was hopelessly mixed assailed her crushingly.To turn in any direction might be a grave mistake. But to stand hereand wait--do nothing--with the sun going down--this waspreposterous--suicidal! She must go on--somewhere! She must find theroad! She must keep on moving--till the end! Till the end! Howterrible that thought appeared, in such a situation!
She almost ran, straight onward towards the hills. Out of breath verysoon, she walked with all possible haste and eagerness, all the timelooking for the road she had left, which the storm might have wipedfrom the desert. She was certain now that the mountains towards whichshe was fleeing were away from the Goldite direction.
Once more she changed her course. She realized then that such effortsas these must soon defeat themselves. At least she must stick to onedirection--go on in a line as straight as possible, till she came tosomething! Yet if she chose her direction wrong and went miles awayfrom anything----
She had to go on. She had to take the chance. She ploddedsouthwestward doggedly, for perhaps a mile, then halted at somethinglike a distant sound, and peered towards the shadows of the sunset.
There was nothing to be seen. A hope which had risen for a moment inher breast, at thought of possible deliverance, sank down in collapse,and left her more faint than before. The sun was at the very rim ofthe world. Its edge began to melt its way downward into all the solidbulk of mountains. It would soon be gone. Darkness would ensue. Themoon would be very late, if indeed it came at all. Wild animals wouldissue from their dens of hiding, to prowl in search of food. Perhapsthe sound she heard had been made by an early night-brute of thedesert, already roving for his prey!
Once more she went on, desperately, almost blindly. To keep on going,that was the one essential! She had proceeded no more than a few rods,however, when she heard that sound again--this time more like a shout.
Her heart pounded heavily and rapidly. She shaded her eyes with herhand, against the last, slanted sun-rays, and fancied she discernedsomething, far off there westward, in the purples flung eastward by themountains. Then the last bit of all that molten disk of golddisappeared in the summits, and with its going she beheld a horseman,riding at a gallop towards herself.
The relief she felt was almost overwhelming--till thoughts of such anencounter came to modify her joy. She was only an unprotectedgirl--yet--she had no appearance of a woman! This must be hersafeguard, should this man now approaching prove some rough, lawlessbeing of the mines.
She stood perfectly still and waited. A man would have hurried forwardto meet this deliverance, so unexpectedly vouchsafed. But she was tooexcited, too uncertain--too much of a girl. Then presently, when thehorseman was still a hundred yards away, her heart abruptly turned overin her bosom.
The man on the horse was Van. She knew him--knew that impudent pose,that careless grace and oneness with his broncho! She did not know hewas chasing that flying roof which had frightened her horse from herside; that he had bought an old cabin, far from his claim, to move itto the "Laughing Water" ground--only to see it wrenched from his holdby the mighty gale and flung across the world. She knew nothing ofthis, but she suddenly knew how glad was her whole tingling being, howbounding was the blood in her veins! And she also knew, abruptly, thatnow if ever she must play the man. She had all but forgotten she wasangry with Van. That, and a hundred reasons more, made it absolutelyimperative now that he should not know her for herself!
She made a somewhat wild attempt at a toilet of her hair--in case thewind had ripped the tell-tale strands from beneath her hat. Then withutter faintness in her being, and weakness in her knees, she preparedto give him reception.
He had slowed his horse to a walk. He rode up deliberately,scrutinizing in obvious puzzlement the figure before him in the sand.
"Hullo," he said, while still a rod away, "what in blazes are you doinghere, man--are you lost?"
Beth nodded. "I'm afraid I am." Her utterance was decidedly girlish,and quavering.
"Lost your voice somewhere, too, I reckon," said Van. "Where are yougoing? Where are you from?"
"Starlight," answered Beth, at a loss for a better reply, and making aneffort to deepen her tones as she talked. "I lost my horse in thestorm."
Van looked around the valley.
"Did, hey? Didn't happen to see a stray roof, anywhere, did you? Ilost one."
"I--haven't seen anything," faltered Both, whose only wish was to havehim say something about her escape from this terrible place. "Butsomething frightened my pony."
"I was curious to see how far that roof would hike, that's all," hetold her by way of explanation of his presence here on his horse, andhe turned to look at her again. "Didn't you know this so-calledcut-off to Starlight would take you more time than the road?"
"No, I--I didn't know it," said Beth, afraid he must presentlypenetrate her masquerade if he looked like that upon her. "What do youadvise me to do?"
He ignored her question, demanding:
"Say, is your name Kent?--Glenmore Kent?"
Beth felt her heart begin new gymnastics. This was her cue.
"Why, yes. But--how did you know--know me?"
"I've met your sister, in Goldite. You can't get to Starlightto-night."
She had passed muster! A herd of wild emotions were upon her. Butfirst here was her predicament--and what he said was not at allreassuring. Certain alarms that his coming had banished returned in avague array.
She showed her dread in her eyes. "Perhaps I could get to Goldite."
"How?" He was half unconsciously patting Suvy, the horse, whoseecstasy thereat was not to be concealed.
Beth knew not how. She wished Van would cease that study of her face.Perhaps she could think more clearly.
"Why--I suppose I could walk--if I knew the way," she said. "Is itvery far? I admit I'm bewildered. I was lost."
"It would be a long ride," he told her. "A lost man is hopeless. Icouldn't even show you the way so you could keep it--especially atnight."
New fears came surging upon her in all t
heir force and numbers.
"But--what shall I do?"
Van reflected.
"My claim is the nearest camp from here, since the wind took down thatshack. And that was abandoned anyway. Can you hike some twenty-oddmiles?"
Twenty-odd miles!--on foot! For a second she was almost tempted todisclose herself, and beg him, for something a trifle more sympatheticthan what he seemed to be offering another fellow man. But that couldnot be done. And night was descending rapidly. The twilight wasbrief--and on the wane.
"Why--perhaps so," she answered, attempting to smile. "I'll try."
Something in her smile went straight to his heart--he wondered why. Tofeel as he did towards this unknown man, even the brother of the girlhe madly loved--this was certainly absurd. It was not to be explained;it was simply upon him, that was enough. He dismounted.
"Here, get on my horse and ride. I want to walk and stretch my legs."
Beth all but gasped. She!--ride on Suvy!--the horse she had seen sonearly kill this man!--a horse that might perhaps permit no otherliving thing upon his back! Yet she knew not how to refuse--and towalk very far would be impossible.
"I'm--afraid I'm a very poor horseman," she admitted guardedly. "Ifyour pony should happen----"
Van had thought that Suvy might resent a stranger's liberties. Heturned to the broncho peculiarly.
"How about it, boy?" he asked the horse gravely. "I want you to standfor it, savvy?" He looked at the animal inquiringly. How he knew thatSuvy consented was only for him to comprehend. He squared about toBeth, who was watching with wonder, and something far softer, in herheart. "Get on," he said. "He was raised as a cradle for babies."
Beth was pale, but she had to be a man. She stepped to the broncho'sside and mounted to the saddle. Suvy trembled in every sinew of hisbeing.
Van gave him a pat on the neck again, turned his back and startedstraight northward. The pony followed at his heels like a dog with amaster he loves.