The Light of the Western Stars Page 4

  IV. A Ride From Sunrise To Sunset

  Next morning, when Madeline was aroused by her brother, it was not yetdaybreak; the air chilled her, and in the gray gloom she had to feelaround for matches and lamp. Her usual languid manner vanished at atouch of the cold water. Presently, when Alfred knocked on her door andsaid he was leaving a pitcher of hot water outside, she replied, withchattering teeth, "Th-thank y-you, b-but I d-don't ne-need any now." Shefound it necessary, however, to warm her numb fingers before she couldfasten hooks and buttons. And when she was dressed she marked in the dimmirror that there were tinges of red in her cheeks.

  "Well, if I haven't some color!" she exclaimed.

  Breakfast waited for her in the dining-room. The sisters ate with her.Madeline quickly caught the feeling of brisk action that seemed to bein the air. From the back of the house sounded the tramp of boots andvoices of men, and from outside came a dull thump of hoofs, the rattleof harness, and creak of wheels. Then Alfred came stamping in.

  "Majesty, here's where you get the real thing," he announced, merrily."We're rushing you off, I'm sorry to say; but we must hustle back tothe ranch. The fall round-up begins to-morrow. You will ride in thebuck-board with Florence and Stillwell. I'll ride on ahead with the boysand fix up a little for you at the ranch. Your baggage will follow, butwon't get there till to-morrow sometime. It's a long ride out--nearlyfifty miles by wagon-road. Flo, don't forget a couple of robes. Wrap herup well. And hustle getting ready. We're waiting."

  A little later, when Madeline went out with Florence, the gray gloom waslightening. Horses were champing bits and pounding gravel.

  "Mawnin', Miss Majesty," said Stillwell, gruffly, from the front seat ofa high vehicle.

  Alfred bundled her up into the back seat, and Florence after her, andwrapped them with robes. Then he mounted his horse and started off."Gid-eb!" growled Stillwell, and with a crack of his whip the teamjumped into a trot. Florence whispered into Madeline's ear:

  "Bill's grouchy early in the mawnin'. He'll thaw out soon as it getswarm."

  It was still so gray that Madeline could not distinguish objects at anyconsiderable distance, and she left El Cajon without knowing what thetown really looked like. She did know that she was glad to get out ofit, and found an easier task of dispelling persistent haunting memory.

  "Here come the cowboys," said Florence.

  A line of horsemen appeared coming from the right and fell in behindAlfred, and gradually they drew ahead, to disappear from sight. WhileMadeline watched them the gray gloom lightened into dawn. All about herwas bare and dark; the horizon seemed close; not a hill nor a tree brokethe monotony. The ground appeared to be flat, but the road went up anddown over little ridges. Madeline glanced backward in the direction ofEl Cajon and the mountains she had seen the day before, and she saw onlybare and dark ground, like that which rolled before.

  A puff of cold wind struck her face and she shivered. Florence noticedher and pulled up the second robe and tucked it closely round her up toher chin.

  "If we have a little wind you'll sure feel it," said the Western girl.

  Madeline replied that she already felt it. The wind appeared topenetrate the robes. It was cold, pure, nipping. It was so thin she hadto breathe as fast as if she were under ordinary exertion. It hurt hernose and made her lungs ache.

  "Aren't you co-cold?" asked Madeline.

  "I?" Florence laughed. "I'm used to it. I never get cold."

  The Western girl sat with ungloved hands on the outside of the robe sheevidently did not need to draw up around her. Madeline thought she hadnever seen such a clear-eyed, healthy, splendid girl.

  "Do you like to see the sun rise?" asked Florence.

  "Yes, I think I do," replied Madeline, thoughtfully. "Frankly, I havenot seen it for years."

  "We have beautiful sunrises, and sunsets from the ranch are glorious."

  Long lines of pink fire ran level with the eastern horizon, whichappeared to recede as day brightened. A bank of thin, fleecy clouds wasturning rose. To the south and west the sky was dark; but every momentit changed, the blue turning bluer. The eastern sky was opalescent. Thenin one place gathered a golden light, and slowly concentrated till itwas like fire. The rosy bank of cloud turned to silver and pearl, andbehind it shot up a great circle of gold. Above the dark horizon gleamedan intensely bright disk. It was the sun. It rose swiftly, blazing outthe darkness between the ridges and giving color and distance to thesweep of land.

  "Wal, wal," drawled Stillwell, and stretched his huge arms as if he hadjust awakened, "thet's somethin' like."

  Florence nudged Madeline and winked at her.

  "Fine mawnin', girls," went on old Bill, cracking his whip. "MissMajesty, it'll be some oninterestin' ride all mawnin'. But when we getup a bit you'll sure like it. There! Look to the southwest, jest overthet farthest ridge."

  Madeline swept her gaze along the gray, sloping horizon-line to wheredark-blue spires rose far beyond the ridge.

  "Peloncillo Mountains," said Stillwell. "Thet's home, when we getthere. We won't see no more of them till afternoon, when they rise upsudden-like."

  Peloncillo! Madeline murmured the melodious name. Where had she heardit? Then she remembered. The cowboy Stewart had told the little Mexicangirl Bonita to "hit the Peloncillo trail." Probably the girl had riddenthe big, dark horse over this very road at night, alone. Madeline had alittle shiver that was not occasioned by the cold wind.

  "There's a jack!" cried Florence, suddenly.

  Madeline saw her first jack-rabbit. It was as large as a dog, and itsears were enormous. It appeared to be impudently tame, and the horseskicked dust over it as they trotted by. From then on old Bill andFlorence vied with each other in calling Madeline's attention to manythings along the way. Coyotes stealing away into the brush; buzzardsflapping over the carcass of a cow that had been mired in a wash; queerlittle lizards running swiftly across the road; cattle grazing in thehollows; adobe huts of Mexican herders; wild, shaggy horses, with headshigh, watching from the gray ridges--all these things Madeline lookedat, indifferently at first, because indifference had become habitualwith her, and then with an interest that flourished up and insensiblygrew as she rode on. It grew until sight of a little ragged Mexican boyastride the most diminutive burro she had ever seen awakened her tothe truth. She became conscious of faint, unmistakable awakening oflong-dead feelings--enthusiasm and delight. When she realized that, shebreathed deep of the cold, sharp air and experienced an inward joy. Andshe divined then, though she did not know why, that henceforth there wasto be something new in her life, something she had never felt before,something good for her soul in the homely, the commonplace, the natural,and the wild.

  Meanwhile, as Madeline gazed about her and listened to her companions,the sun rose higher and grew warm and soared and grew hot; the horsesheld tirelessly to their steady trot, and mile after mile of rollingland slipped by.

  From the top of a ridge Madeline saw down into a hollow where a few ofthe cowboys had stopped and were sitting round a fire, evidently busy atthe noonday meal. Their horses were feeding on the long, gray grass.

  "Wal, smell of thet burnin' greasewood makes my mouth water," saidStillwell. "I'm sure hungry. We'll noon hyar an' let the hosses rest.It's a long pull to the ranch."

  He halted near the camp-fire, and, clambering down, began to unharnessthe team. Florence leaped out and turned to help Madeline.

  "Walk round a little," she said. "You must be cramped from sitting stillso long. I'll get lunch ready."

  Madeline got down, glad to stretch her limbs, and began to stroll about.She heard Stillwell throw the harness on the ground and slap his horses."Roll, you sons-of-guns!" he said. Both horses bent their fore legs,heaved down on their sides, and tried to roll over. One horse succeededon the fourth try, and then heaved up with a satisfied snort and shookoff the dust and gravel. The other one failed to roll over, and gave itup, half rose to his feet, and then lay down on the other side.

  "He's sure going to
feel the ground," said Florence, smiling atMadeline. "Miss Hammond, I suppose that prize horse of yours--WhiteStockings--would spoil his coat if he were heah to roll in thisgreasewood and cactus."

  During lunch-time Madeline observed that she was an object of manifestlygreat interest to the three cowboys. She returned the compliment,and was amused to see that a glance their way caused them painfulembarrassment. They were grown men--one of whom had white hair--yetthey acted like boys caught in the act of stealing a forbidden look at apretty girl.

  "Cowboys are sure all flirts," said Florence, as if stating anuninteresting fact. But Madeline detected a merry twinkle in her cleareyes. The cowboys heard, and the effect upon them was magical. Theyfell to shamed confusion and to hurried useless tasks. Madeline foundit difficult to see where they had been bold, though evidently they werestricken with conscious guilt. She recalled appraising looks of criticalEnglish eyes, impudent French stares, burning Spanish glances--gantletswhich any American girl had to run abroad. Compared with foreign eyesthe eyes of these cowboys were those of smiling, eager babies.

  "Haw, haw!" roared Stillwell. "Florence, you jest hit the nail on thehaid. Cowboys are all plumb flirts. I was wonderin' why them boys noonedhyar. This ain't no place to noon. Ain't no grazin' or wood wuth burnin'or nuthin'. Them boys jest held up, throwed the packs, an' waitedfer us. It ain't so surprisin' fer Booly an' Ned--they're young an'coltish--but Nels there, why, he's old enough to be the paw of both yougirls. It sure is amazin' strange."

  A silence ensued. The white-haired cowboy, Nels, fussed aimlessly overthe camp-fire, and then straightened up with a very red face.

  "Bill, you're a dog-gone liar," he said. "I reckon I won't stand to beclassed with Booly an' Ned. There ain't no cowboy on this range thet'smore appreciatin' of the ladies than me, but I shore ain't ridin' outof my way. I reckon I hev enough ridin' to do. Now, Bill, if you've sichdog-gone good eyes mebbe you seen somethin' on the way out?"

  "Nels, I hevn't seen nothin'," he replied, bluntly. His levitydisappeared, and the red wrinkles narrowed round his searching eyes.

  "Jest take a squint at these hoss tracks," said Nels, and he drewStillwell a few paces aside and pointed to large hoofprints in the dust."I reckon you know the hoss thet made them?"

  "Gene Stewart's roan, or I'm a son-of-a-gun!" exclaimed Stillwell, andhe dropped heavily to his knees and began to scrutinize the tracks. "Myeyes are sure pore; but, Nels, they ain't fresh."

  "I reckon them tracks was made early yesterday mornin'."

  "Wal, what if they was?" Stillwell looked at his cowboy. "It's sure asthet red nose of yourn Gene wasn't ridin' the roan."

  "Who's sayin' he was? Bill, its more 'n your eyes thet's gettin' old.Jest foller them tracks. Come on."

  Stillwell walked slowly, with his head bent, muttering to himself.Some thirty paces or more from the camp-fire he stopped short and againflopped to his knees. Then he crawled about, evidently examining horsetracks.

  "Nels, whoever was straddlin' Stewart's hoss met somebody. An' theyhauled up a bit, but didn't git down."

  "Tolerable good for you, Bill, thet reasonin'," replied the cowboy.

  Stillwell presently got up and walked swiftly to the left for some rods,halted, and faced toward the southwest, then retraced his steps. Helooked at the imperturbable cowboy.

  "Nels, I don't like this a little," he growled. "Them tracks makestraight fer the Peloncillo trail."

  "Shore," replied Nels.

  "Wal?" went on Stillwell, impatiently.

  "I reckon you know what hoss made the other tracks?"

  "I'm thinkin' hard, but I ain't sure."

  "It was Danny Mains's bronc."

  "How do you know thet?" demanded Stillwell, sharply. "Bill, the leftfront foot of thet little hoss always wears a shoe thet sets crooked.Any of the boys can tell you. I'd know thet track if I was blind."

  Stillwell's ruddy face clouded and he kicked at a cactus plant.

  "Was Danny comin' or goin'?" he asked.

  "I reckon he was hittin' across country fer the Peloncillo trail. But Iain't shore of thet without back-trailin' him a ways. I was jest waitin'fer you to come up."

  "Nels, you don't think the boy's sloped with thet little hussy, Bonita?"

  "Bill, he shore was sweet on Bonita, same as Gene was, an' Ed Lintonbefore he got engaged, an' all the boys. She's shore chain-lightnin',that little black-eyed devil. Danny might hev sloped with her all right.Danny was held up on the way to town, an' then in the shame of it he gotdrunk. But he'll shew up soon."

  "Wal, mebbe you an' the boys are right. I believe you are. Nels, thereain't no doubt on earth about who was ridin' Stewart's hoss?"

  "Thet's as plain as the hoss's tracks."

  "Wal, it's all amazin' strange. It beats me. I wish the boys would easeup on drinkin'. I was pretty fond of Danny an' Gene. I'm afraid Gene'sdone fer, sure. If he crosses the border where he can fight it won'ttake long fer him to get plugged. I guess I'm gettin' old. I don't standthings like I used to."

  "Bill, I reckon I'd better hit the Peloncillo trail. Mebbe I can findDanny."

  "I reckon you had, Nels," replied Stillwell. "But don't take more 'n acouple of days. We can't do much on the round-up without you. I'm shortof boys."

  That ended the conversation. Stillwell immediately began to hitch up histeam, and the cowboys went out to fetch their strayed horses. Madelinehad been curiously interested, and she saw that Florence knew it.

  "Things happen, Miss Hammond," she said, soberly, almost sadly.

  Madeline thought. And then straightway Florence began brightly to hum atune and to busy herself repacking what was left of the lunch. Madelineconceived a strong liking and respect for this Western girl. She admiredthe consideration or delicacy or wisdom--what-ever it was--which keptFlorence from asking her what she knew or thought or felt about theevents that had taken place.

  Soon they were once more bowling along the road down a gradual incline,and then they began to climb a long ridge that had for hours hidden whatlay beyond. That climb was rather tiresome, owing to the sun and thedust and the restricted view.

  When they reached the summit Madeline gave a little gasp of pleasure. Adeep, gray, smooth valley opened below and sloped up on the other sidein little ridges like waves, and these led to the foothills, dotted withclumps of brush or trees, and beyond rose dark mountains, pine-fringedand crag-spired.

  "Wal, Miss Majesty, now we're gettin' somewhere," said Stillwell,cracking his whip. "Ten miles across this valley an' we'll be in thefoothills where the Apaches used to run."

  "Ten miles!" exclaimed Madeline. "It looks no more than half a mile tome."

  "Wal, young woman, before you go to ridin' off alone you want to getyour eyes corrected to Western distance. Now, what'd you call them blackthings off there on the slope?"

  "Horsemen. No, cattle," replied Madeline, doubtfully.

  "Nope. Jest plain, every-day cactus. An' over hyar--look down thevalley. Somethin' of a pretty forest, ain't thet?" he asked, pointing.

  Madeline saw a beautiful forest in the center of the valley toward thesouth.

  "Wal, Miss Majesty, thet's jest this deceivin' air. There's no forest.It's a mirage."

  "Indeed! How beautiful it is!" Madeline strained her gaze on the darkblot, and it seemed to float in the atmosphere, to have no clearlydefined margins, to waver and shimmer, and then it faded and vanished.

  The mountains dropped down again behind the horizon, and presently theroad began once more to slope up. The horses slowed to a walk. There wasa mile of rolling ridge, and then came the foothills. The road ascendedthrough winding valleys. Trees and brush and rocks began to appear inthe dry ravines. There was no water, yet all along the sandy washes wereindications of floods at some periods. The heat and the dust stifledMadeline, and she had already become tired. Still she looked with allher eyes and saw birds, and beautiful quail with crests, and rabbits,and once she saw a deer.

  "Miss Majesty," said Stillwell, "in the early days the In
dians made thiscountry a bad one to live in. I reckon you never heerd much about themtimes. Surely you was hardly born then. I'll hev to tell you some dayhow I fought Comanches in the Panhandle--thet was northern Texas--an' Ihad some mighty hair-raisin' scares in this country with Apaches."

  He told her about Cochise, chief of the Chiricahua Apaches, the mostsavage and bloodthirsty tribe that ever made life a horror for thepioneer. Cochise befriended the whites once; but he was the victim ofthat friendliness, and he became the most implacable of foes. Then,Geronimo, another Apache chief, had, as late as 1885, gone on thewar-path, and had left a bloody trail down the New Mexico and Arizonaline almost to the border. Lone ranchmen and cowboys had been killed,and mothers had shot their children and then themselves at the approachof the Apache. The name Apache curdled the blood of any woman of theSouthwest in those days.

  Madeline shuddered, and was glad when the old frontiersman changedthe subject and began to talk of the settling of that country by theSpaniards, the legends of lost gold-mines handed down to the Mexicans,and strange stories of heroism and mystery and religion. The Mexicanshad not advanced much in spite of the spread of civilization to theSouthwest. They were still superstitious, and believed the legends oftreasures hidden in the walls of their missions, and that unseen handsrolled rocks down the gullies upon the heads of prospectors who dared tohunt for the lost mines of the padres.

  "Up in the mountains back of my ranch there's a lost mine," saidStillwell. "Mebbe it's only a legend. But somehow I believe it's there.Other lost mines hev been found. An' as fer' the rollin' stones, I sureknow thet's true, as any one can find out if he goes trailin' up thegulch. Mebbe thet's only the weatherin' of the cliffs. It's a sleepy,strange country, this Southwest, an', Miss Majesty, you're a-goin' tolove it. You'll call it ro-mantic, Wal, I reckon ro-mantic is correct. Afeller gets lazy out hyar an' dreamy, an' he wants to put off work tillto-morrow. Some folks say it's a land of manana--a land of to-morrow.Thet's the Mexican of it.

  "But I like best to think of what a lady said to me onct--an eddicatedlady like you, Miss Majesty. Wal, she said it's a land where it's alwaysafternoon. I liked thet. I always get up sore in the mawnin's, an' don'tfeel good till noon. But in the afternoon I get sorta warm an' likethings. An' sunset is my time. I reckon I don't want nothin' any finerthan sunset from my ranch. You look out over a valley that spreads widebetween Guadalupe Mountains an' the Chiricahuas, down across the redArizona desert clear to the Sierra Madres in Mexico. Two hundred miles,Miss Majesty! An' all as clear as print! An' the sun sets behind allthet! When my time comes to die I'd like it to be on my porch smokin' mypipe an' facin' the west."

  So the old cattleman talked on while Madeline listened, and Florencedozed in her seat, and the sun began to wane, and the horses climbedsteadily. Presently, at the foot of the steep ascent, Stillwell got outand walked, leading the team. During this long climb fatigue claimedMadeline, and she drowsily closed her eyes, to find when she opened themagain that the glaring white sky had changed to a steel-blue. The sunhad sunk behind the foothills and the air was growing chilly. Stillwellhad returned to the driving-seat and was chuckling to the horses.Shadows crept up out of the hollows.

  "Wal, Flo," said Stillwell, "I reckon we'd better hev the rest of thetthere lunch before dark."

  "You didn't leave much of it," laughed Florence, as she produced thebasket from under the seat.

  While they ate, the short twilight shaded and gloom filled the hollows.Madeline saw the first star, a faint, winking point of light. The skyhad now changed to a hazy gray. Madeline saw it gradually clear anddarken, to show other faint stars. After that there was perceptibledeepening of the gray and an enlarging of the stars and a brightening ofnew-born ones. Night seemed to come on the cold wind. Madeline was gladto have the robes close around her and to lean against Florence. Thehollows were now black, but the tops of the foothills gleamed pale ina soft light. The steady tramp of the horses went on, and the creak ofwheels and crunching of gravel. Madeline grew so sleepy that she couldnot keep her weary eyelids from falling. There were drowsier spells inwhich she lost a feeling of where she was, and these were disturbed bythe jolt of wheels over a rough place. Then came a blank interval, shortor long, which ended in a more violent lurch of the buckboard. Madelineawoke to find her head on Florence's shoulder. She sat up laughing andapologizing for her laziness. Florence assured her they would soon reachthe ranch.

  Madeline observed then that the horses were once more trotting. The windwas colder, the night darker, the foot-hills flatter. And the sky wasnow a wonderful deep velvet-blue blazing with millions of stars. Someof them were magnificent. How strangely white and alive! Again Madelinefelt the insistence of familiar yet baffling associations. These whitestars called strangely to her or haunted her.