Shadow Mountain

“Wait till you hear it all,” broke in Wiley, bitterly, “and you’re likely to change your mind. No, I’m busted, I tell you, and the best thing I can do is drift and never come back.”

“And Virginia?” inquired the Colonel. “Am I right in supposing─”

“No,” he flared up. “Friend Virginia has quit me, along with─”

“Why, Wiley!” cried Virginia, and he started and fell silent as he met her reproachful gaze. For the sake of the Colonel they were supposed to be lovers, whose quarrel had been happily made up, but this was very unloverlike.

“Well, I don’t deserve it,” he muttered at last, “but friend Virginia has promised to stay with me.”

“Yes, I’m going to stay with him,” spoke up Virginia quickly, “because it was all my fault. I’m going to go with him, father, wherever he goes and─”

“God bless you, my daughter!” said the Colonel, smiling proudly, “and never forget you’re a Huff!”

CHAPTER XXXIII

The Fiery Furnace

To be a Huff, of course, was to be brave and true and never go back on a friend; but as the Colonel that evening began to speak on the subject, Virginia crept off to bed. She was tired from her night trip across the Sink of Death Valley, with only Crazy Charley for a guide; but it was Wiley, the inexorable, who drove her off weeping, for he would not take her hand. His mind was still fixed on the Gethsemane of the soul that he had gone through in Blount’s bank at Vegas, and strive as she would she could not bring him back to play his poor part as lover. Whether she loved him or not was not the question–not even if she was willing to throw away her life by following him in his wanderings. Three times he had trusted her and three times she had played him false–and was that the honor of the Huffs?

She was penitent now and, in the presence of her father, more gentle and womanly than seemed possible; but next week or next month or in the long years to come, was she the woman he could trust? They passed before his eyes in a swift series of images, the days when he had trusted her before; and always, behind her smile, there was something else, something cold and calculating and unkind. Her eyes were soft now, and gentle and imploring, but they had looked at him before with scorn and hateful laughter, when he had staked his soul on her word. He had trusted her–too far–and before Blount and all his sycophants she had made him a mock and a reviling.

The Colonel was talking, for his mood was expansive, but at last he fell silent and waited.

“Wiley, my boy,” he said when Wiley looked up, “you must not let the past overmaster you. We all make mistakes, but if our hearts are right there is nothing that should cause vain regrets. I judged from what you said once that your present disaster is due to a misplaced trust–in fact, if I remember, to a woman. But do not let this treachery, this betrayal of a trust, turn your mind against all womankind. I have known many noble and high-minded women whom I would trust with my very life; and since Virginia, as I gather, has offered to bind up your wounds, I hope you will not remain embittered. She is my daughter, of course, and my love may have blinded me; but in all the long years she has been at my side, I can think of no instance in which she has played me false. Her nature is passionate, and she is sometimes quick to anger, but behind it all she is devotion itself and you can trust her absolutely.”

He paused expectantly, but as Wiley made no response he rose up and knocked out his pipe.

“Well, good night,” he said. “It is time we were retiring if we are to cross the Valley to-morrow. Have a drink? Well, all right; it’s just as well. You’re a good boy, Wiley; I’m proud of you.”

He clapped him on the shoulder as he went off to bed, but Wiley sat brooding by the fire. Death Valley Charley took his blankets and rolled up in the creek bed, so that his burros could not sneak by him in the night, and Heine laid down beside him; but when all was quiet Wiley rose up silently and tiptoed about the camp. He strapped on his pistol and picked up his gun, but as he was groping in the darkness for his canteen Heine trotted up and flapped his ears. It was his sign of friendship, like wagging his tail, and Wiley patted him quietly; but when he was gone, he lifted the canteen and slung it over his shoulder. In the land where he was going there were more dangers than one, but lack of water was the greatest. He stepped out into the moonlight and then, from the cave, he heard a muffled sound. Virginia was there and he was running away from her. He listened again–she was crying! Not weeping aloud or in choking sobs but in stifled, heart-broken sighs. He lowered his gun and stood scowling and irresolute, then he turned back and went to bed.

In the morning they started late, resting in the shade of the Gateway until the sun had swung to the west; and then, as the shadow of the Panamints stretched out across the Valley, they repacked and started down the slope. In the lead went old Jinny, the mother of the bunch, and Jack and Johnny and Baby; and following behind his burros, paced Death Valley Charley with a long, willow club in his hand. The Colonel strode ahead, his mind on weighty matters; and behind him came Virginia on her free-footed burro with Wiley plodding silently in the rear. At irregular intervals Heine would drop back from the lead and sniff at them each in turn, but nothing was said, for the air was furnace dry and they were saving their strength for the sand.

At sundown they reached the edge of the first yielding sand-dune that presaged the long pull to come and Death Valley Charley stopped and opened up a water-can while the burros gathered eagerly around. Then he poured each of them a drink in his shapeless old hat and started them across the Sink.

“Now, you see?” he said, “you see where Jinny goes? She heads straight for Stovepipe Hole. She knows she gits water there and that makes her hurry–and the others they tag along behind.”

He took another drink from the Colonel’s private stock and smiled as he smacked his lips. “It’s hot to-day,” he observed, squinting down his eyes and gazing ahead through the haze; “yes, it’s hot for this time of year. But Virginia, you ride; and when Tom won’t go no further, git off and he’ll lead you to camp.”

He went on ahead, swinging his club and laughing, and Heine trotted soberly at his side; and as he followed the trough of sand-wave after sand-wave, the rest plodded along behind. A dry, baking heat seemed to rise up from the ground and the air was heavy and still; the burros began to groan as they toiled up the slope and their flanks turned wet with sweat; and then, as they topped a wave, they felt the scorching breath of the Sink. It came in puffs like the waves of some great sea upon whose shores they had set their feet; a seething, heaving sea of heat, breathing death along its lonely beach. It struck through their clothes like a blast of wind or the shimmering glow of a furnace and at each drink of water the sweat damped their brows and trickled in streams down their faces. A wearied burro halted and, as Charley chased him with his club, the rest rushed ahead to escape; and then, as they came to the crest of the wave, Virginia’s burro stopped dead.

“I’ll lead him,” she said as Wiley came up, and started after the pack. Wiley walked along beside her, for he saw that she was spent; and as her slender feet sank deep in the yielding sand she lagged and slowed down, and stopped. Then as she turned to take her canteen from the saddle, she swayed and clutched at the horn.

“You’d better ride,” he said and, taking her in his arms, he lifted her to the saddle like a child. Then he walked along behind, flogging the burro into action, but still they lagged to the rear. The moon rose up gleaming and cast black shadows along the sand-dunes, and in the lee of the wind-wracked mesquite trees; and from the darkness ahead of them they could hear crazy shoutings as Charley belabored his fleeing animals. They showed dim and ghostly, as they topped a distant ridge; and then Wiley and Virginia were alone. The pack-train, the Colonel and Death Valley Charley had vanished behind the crest of a wave; and as Wiley stopped to listen Virginia drooped in the saddle and fell, very gently, into his arms.

He held her a moment, overcome with sudden pity, and then in a rush of unexpected emotion, he crushed her to his breast and kissed her. She was his, after all, to cherish, and protect; a frail reed, broken by his hand; and as he gave her water and bathed her face he remembered her weeping in the night. Her tears had been for him, whom she had followed so far only to find him harsh and unforgiving; and now, weak from grief, she had fainted in his arms, which had never reached out to console her. He gathered her to his breast in a belated atonement and as he kissed her again she stirred. Then he put her down, but when she felt his hands slacken she reached up and caught him by the neck. So she held him a while, until something gave way within him and he pressed his lips to hers.

CHAPTER XXXIV

A Clean-up

A cool breeze drew down through Emigrant Wash and soothed the fever heat of Death Valley, and as the morning star rose up like a blazing beacon, Wiley carried Virginia to Stovepipe. They had sat for hours on the crest of a sand-hill, looking out over the sea of waves that seemed to ride on and mingle in the moonlight, and with no one to listen they had talked out their hearts and pledged the future in a kiss. Then they had gazed long and rested, looking up at the countless stars that obscured the Milky Way with their pin-points; and when the Colonel had found them Wiley was carrying her in his arms as if her weight were nothing.

They camped at Stovepipe that day while Virginia gained back her strength, and at last they came in sight of Keno. She was riding now and Wiley was walking, with his head bowed down in thought; but when he looked up she reached out, smiling wistfully, and touched him with her hand. But the Colonel strode ahead, his head held high, his eagle eyes searching the distance; and when people ran out to greet him he thrust them aside, for he had spied Samuel Blount in the crowd.

Blount was standing just outside the Widow’s gate and a voice, unmistakable, was demanding in frantic haste the return of certain shares of stock. It was hardly the time for a business transaction, for her husband was returning as from the dead, but a sudden sense of her misused stewardship had driven the Widow to distraction.

“What now?” demanded the Colonel, as he appeared upon the scene and his wife made a rush to embrace him. “Is this the time for scolding? Why, certainly I was alive–why should anybody doubt it? You may await me in the house, Aurelia!”

“But Henry!” she wailed. “Oh, I thought you were dead–and this devil has robbed me of everything!”

She pointed a threatening finger at Blount, who stepped forward, his lower lip trembling.

“Why, how are you, Colonel!” he exclaimed with affected heartiness. “Well, well; we thought you were dead.”

“So I hear!” observed the Colonel, and looked at him so coldly that Blount blushed and withdrew his outstretched hand. “So I hear, sir!” he repeated, “but you were misinformed–I have come back to protect my rights.”

“He took all your stock,” cried the Widow, vindictively, “on a loan of eight hundred dollars. And now he won’t give it back.”

“Never mind,” returned the Colonel. “I will attend to all that if you will go in and cook me some dinner. And next time I leave home I would recommend, Madam, that you leave my business affairs alone.”

“But Henry,” she began, but he gazed at her so sternly that she turned and slipped away.

“And you, sir,” continued the Colonel, his words ringing out like pistol shots as he unloosed his wrath upon Blount, “I would like to inquire what excuse you have to offer for imposing on my wife and child? Is it true, as I hear, that you have taken my stock on a loan of eight hundred dollars?”

“Why–why, no! That is, Colonel Huff─”

“Have you the stock in your possession?” demanded the Colonel peremptorily. “Yes or no, now; and no ‘buts’ about it!”

“Why, yes; I have,” admitted Blount in a scared voice, “but I came by it according to law!”

“You did not, sir!” retorted the Colonel, “because it was all in my name and my wife had no authority to transfer it. Do you deny the fact? Well, then give me back my stock or I shall hold you, sir, personally responsible!”

Blount started back, for he knew the import of those dread words, and then he heaved a great sigh.

“Very well,” he said, “but I loaned her eight hundred dollars─”

“Wiley!” called the Colonel, beckoning him quickly from the crowd. “Give me the loan of eight hundred dollars.”

And at that Blount opened up his eyes.

“Oho!” he said, “so Wiley is with you? Well, just a moment, Mr. Huff.” He turned to a man who stood beside him. “Arrest that man!” he said. “He killed my watchman, George Norcross.”

“Not so fast!” rapped out the Colonel, fixing the officer with steely eyes. “Mr. Holman is under my protection. Ah, thank you, Wiley–here is your money, Mr. Blount, with fifty dollars more for interest. And now I will thank you for that stock.”

“Do you set yourself up,” demanded Blount with sudden bluster, “as being above the law?”

“No, sir, I do not,” replied the Colonel tartly. “But before we go any further I must ask you to restore my stock. Your order is sufficient, if the certificates are elsewhere─”