Part 40 (1/2)

”Has the Navajos broke out?”

”No, the pale-face has broke out; it's a hull epidemic, and there's an outfit on the war trail in Utah, another on the San Juan in Colorado--and they're going to eat up Robbers' Roost--and you, Chalkeye, lookin' glum as a new-laid widow! Scat, you!”

”Has they gawn mad?” I asked. ”The moment they make a break for Robbers'

Roost, McCalmont will kill this Ryan, scatter his wolves, and vanish.

This must be only the escort for Ryan's ransom.”

”It's plumb ridiculous, but--there ain't no ransom.”

”Yo're dreaming, Curly. This projeck of troops is sure death to Ryan.

They'd risk the killin' of a common or'nary man--but a millionaire!”

”That's where the joke comes--he ain't a millionaire!”

I saw her quit her breakfast all untasted.

”Cayn't you be serious, child, for once?” I asked, but it made me ache to see her face that way.

”I daren't be serious, I daren't think, I daren't. Just you look at them papers.”

I s.n.a.t.c.hed at the nearest paper, opened it, and thought I must have been locoed. There were the headlines:--

”Ryan Combine Smashed. Collapse of the Trust.”--”Panic on 'Change. The Kidnapped Millionaire, a Confessed Perjurer and Corrupter of Witnesses, admits that He swore away the Life of an Innocent Man.”--”Behold thy Financial G.o.ds, O Israel!”

I read on, dazed with the news. ”Public Confidence at an End.”--”Investors jump from Under.”--”Ryan Debentures a Frost.”--”Shares thrown on the Ash-heap.”--”Pet.i.tion in Bankruptcy.”--”Mrs. Ryan abandons all Hope of a Ransom.”--”Federal Government pledged to wipe out the Bandits.”--”Movement of Troops.”--”Sheriff Joe Beef interviewed on the Situation.”--”Forces taking the Field.”--”One of the Robbers offers Himself as a Guide.”

Curly was pulling my sleeve. ”Come here,” she said, and there was surely something awful in her voice. ”Look, see that dragon-fly,” she whispered, ”and all them flowers usin' the spring for a mirror, bendin'

low. And hear the bull pines whisper, smell the great strong scent, look thar at the blue sky, and the cloud herds grazin'. That's like my home, ole Chalkeye--sech sounds, sech good smells, sech woods, and sech a heaven overhead. The boys air gentlin' hawsses in the big corral, or ridin' out to get a deer for supper. My fatheh sets in the doorway strummin' hymns on his old guitar, his dawgs around him, his lil' small cat pawin' around to help. And Jim is thar, my Jim--cayn't I be serious?

Don't I think? Ain't I seein' that, all blackened ruins--b.l.o.o.d.y ground--daid corpses rotting down by the corrals--shadows of black wings acrost the yard? Oh, G.o.d of Mercy, spare 'em, spare my wolves, my home, my fatheh! And Jim is thar!”

She turned against me raging. ”What air you waiting for? Has you jest got to stand round all day? Yo're scart--that's what's the matter with you-all--afraid to even carry a warning! What d'ye want to pack the kitchen for? I'm shut of you. Stay thar!”

She jumped to her horse, she sprang to the saddle, she lashed her spurs for blood, and whirled away to the northward.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE STRONGHOLD

My words are only crawling for lack of wings; my brain's like ashes when it needs to be live fire. I have no brains or words to talk of what I've seen, and I reckon I'm a lot incompetent. The men who wrote the Bible ought to be turned loose on this earth again to make another book. Then folks who have not seen might understand such places as the Painted Desert, the Rock City, and the Grand Canon of the Colorado.

What with delays in packing and driving I had to track Curly for maybe thirty miles before I caught her up at Clay Flat by the edge of the forest. Her horse was dead, and she sat beside him, her stone-white face set cold, staring straight ahead. Below us lay the Painted Desert, so wide that the further edge was lost in mist. We rode down to the trickle of water at the bottom, then up the further side, and all the rock lay in belts red as flame, yellow as gold, purple as violets, which seemed to s.h.i.+ne of their own light, burning us. The men who stop in that country mostly go mad, the which is natural. Beyond we came out on a mesa of naked rock and sand-drifts, where we found a pool between high cliffs, splashed through it, and maybe a dozen miles beyond found after nightfall a few plants of gra.s.s. We had covered a hundred and ten miles at a tearing pace that day, changing horses, robber fas.h.i.+on, at every halt we made.

Next morning we met up with small bunches of Navajo Indians, a strange breed of people, dressed up in their private brown skins, with great plenty of turquoise necklace, silver harness, and a wisp of breech clout, riding with bows and arrows to hunt rabbits. They handed a few arrows after us; but their ponies could not run, so we quit their company.

Then we came to the City of Rocks, flaming red, and high as mountains; their thousand-foot walls sheer to the desert, all carved in needle spires, towers, castles, palaces. The street was six miles wide, I reckon, and we rode along it maybe fifty miles, like crawling flies in the sand.