Lost Pueblo (1992) (20 page)

A bright campfire dispelled the gloom under the cliff if not that in the minds of the captives. Janey, at last, stole away to be alone. Her heart was full--full of what she knew not. Yet some of it was mischief and a great overwhelming lot was a deep rich emotion that seemed strange and stingingly sweet. It threatened to take charge of her wholly; therefore, rebelliously, finding it real and true, not to be denied, she compromised by putting off resignation until later. Very difficult was it to crush down this feeling, to resist the most amazingly kindly feelings toward the Durlands, to scorn forgiving her poor old dad, who had erred only in his love for her, and to fight off generally an avalanche of softness.

What could be expected to happen?--that was the question. Randolph had settled down to a waiting game, and he would stick there if they all starved. After all, he had been tempted into this thing; there were excuses for him, though, of course, no excuse whatever for the atrocious punishment he had meted out to her. The mask of night hid Janey's blush, but she felt its heat. Contemplation of that would not stay before her consciousness.

Indians might drop in upon them, or tourists, or sheepmen, or possibly roving riders of doubtful character. The possibility of any or all of these occurrences was remote, but anything could happen. The cowboys would surely come. Janey wanted that, yet she feared it. There was no hope of Randolph keeping up his deception for any considerable length of time. So Janey was in a quandary. She wanted the Durlands to have a good scare and leave Arizona under the impression they now entertained. She wanted dire and multiple punishments to fall upon Randolph's head. If it pleased her to assuage them later, that was aside from the question. If he could be reduced to abject abasement, to want really to be hanged, as he said, to taste the very bitterest of repentance, then would be the time for her denouement. For although he had not the slightest inkling, even the remotest hope, of his two driving passions, Janey knew. Janey herself had done the discovering of Beckyshibeta and of the true state of her heart, but that did not make them any the less his. What a profound thought! Janey trembled with it. There was a bigness about these discoveries that began to divorce her from the old Janey Endicott. She would, she must, have her revenge; she fought this subtle changing, as it seemed, of her very nature. She still hated, but the trouble was she could not be sure what. Janey sighed. Oh, what a fall this would be! Janey Endicott, on a pedestal of modern thought, freedom, independence, equality--crash!

Nevertheless, despite everything, Janey sought her bed, happy. For a while she sat on the ledge and gazed down into the campfire lightened circle. Mrs. Durland and her son huddled there, keeping the blaze bright, whispering, gazing furtively out into the black shadows, obviously afraid to seek their beds. Presently Randolph strode out of the gloom. Janey tingled at sight of him. She marveled at herself--that any man could make her feel as she did.

"Madam, the hour grows late," declared Randolph, harshly, to the cowering woman. "Must I put you to bed?"

Whereupon Mrs. Durland made hasty retreat to her bed, which was under the ledge out of Janey's sight.

"Young fellar, you sit up and keep watch," continued Randolph, as he unrolled his camp bed near the fire. "And remember, no shenanigans. I always sleep with one eye open."

When Janey took a last look, Randolph appeared to be sleeping peacefully while Bert was nailed to the martyrdom of night watch.

The shadows flickered above Janey on the stone wall, played and danced and limned stories there. If she could have chosen she would rather have been here in this bed than anywhere else in the world. But all the strangeness and sweetness of the present at Beckyshibeta could not suffice to keep her awake.

Janey's slumbers were disrupted by a loud voice. Randolph was calling his captives to breakfast. Janey sat up and made herself as presentable as possible. The face that smiled at her from the little mirror did not require make-up. It was acquiring a beautiful golden tan. Her eyes danced with delight.

She went down to breakfast. Randolph did not glance up, at least while she was close. Bert was heavy-eyed and somber, and Mrs. Durland was a wreck.

"Good heavens, you look like you've slept," was Mrs. Durland's reply to Janey's greeting.

"I sure have," returned Janey, and then ate her breakfast with a will.

"Lord preserve me from another such night," prayed Mrs. Durland, fervently. "I lay on the rocks--turned from side to side. My body is full of holes, I know. Mosquitoes devoured me. Some kind of animals crawled over me. I nearly froze to death. And I never closed an eye."

"That's too bad," replied Janey. "But you'll get used to it after a while. Won't she, Mr. Black Dick?"

"Wise men say a human being can get used to any kind of suffering, but I don't believe it myself," astonishingly replied the supposed outlaw, with somber accusing eyes piercing Janey in a quick look.

"Mr. Black Dick, you were a better man once?" ventured Mrs. Durland, almost with sympathy.

"Yes. Much better. I was ruined by a woman," he replied, somberly.

This startling revelation enjoined silence for a while, which was broken by the sound of hoofs cracking the rocks.

"Indians coming down the canyon," said Randolph, who had arisen.

"Oh, gracious! Are they hostile?" cried Mrs. Durland.

"Well, about half-friendly Navajos," returned Randolph.

Three picturesque riders rode from the cedars into camp. One of them, particularly, caught Janey's eye, as he dismounted in a sinuous action. He was tall with a ponderous head that made him appear top heavy. He wore brown moccasins, corduroy trousers, a leather belt with large silver buckle and shields, and a maroon-colored velveteen shirt. His huge sombrero with ornamented band hid his features, but Janey could discern that his face was red.

"Better eat while the eating is good," warned Randolph.

Then he spoke to the Indians in Navajo. Their actions then signified that he had asked them to partake of the meal. Janey was glad she had about finished hers. The meat, the biscuits, the potatoes disappeared as if by magic. Mrs. Durland, who had filled her plate, but had scarcely tasted anything, appeared electrified to see her portion of breakfast disappear with the rest. To do the Indians justice, however, she was not holding the plate at the moment. She had set it on a rock by the campfire.

"Ugh!" grunted the big Indian after each bite. Randolph had made fair-sized biscuits, but one bite sufficed for each.

"That wretch appropriated all my breakfast," declared Mrs. Durland, astounded and angry. Evidently she took it for granted that these Navajos could neither speak nor understand English.

"Of all the hogs!" ejaculated young Durland. "Mother, that Indian made away with nine biscuits. I counted them."

"Mr. Dick said they were half friendly," complained Mrs. Durland. "I declare I don't see it."

Randolph contrived in an aside to whisper to Janey: "That big Indian is smart. Keep your mouth shut and for that matter stay right here."

"Don't worry, Phil," whispered Janey. "I'll stay in camp. What's his name?"

"The cowboys call him Ham-face."

Presently Janey had opportunity to get a good look at him. The sobriquet was felicitous. He certainly had a face that resembled a ham. But it was also a record for desert life. Janey could not decide whether he was young or old. He had great black eyes, piercing and bold, yet somehow melancholy. There were sloping lines of strength and he had a thoughtful brow. Seating himself before Mrs. Durland he spoke to her in Navajo.

"What'd he say?" she asked, half fascinated and half frightened.

"Mrs. Durland, I regret I do not translate Navajo well," replied Randolph. "But he wanted to know something or other about why you wore men's pants."

Janey did not believe a word of that. She could tell when Phil was lying.

"The impudent savage!" ejaculated the woman, indignantly.

Ham-face addressed her again, gravely, with a face like a mask.

"He wants to know if you are any man's squaw," explained Randolph.

"Mother, you've made a conquest," laughed young Durland.

That affronted his mother who got up from beside the Navajo and left the campfire. Ham-face followed her, much fascinated, evidently, by her general appearance. It was to be admitted, Janey thought, that Mrs. Durland in tailored riding breeches, much too small for her portly figure, was nothing, if not a spectacle. When she became aware she was being followed she grew greatly perturbed, and hastened this way and that, though not far from the others. Ham-face pursued her.

"What's the fool traipsing after me for?" she cried.

Finally in sheer fright she came back to the seat beside her son, and sat there fuming, tapping the ground with her boot. Ham-face continued to walk around her and study her with grave eyes.

"Talk about the noble red men!" she exclaimed. "They're abominably rude... Why don't they go away?"

The three Navajos appeared to be in no hurry. Ham-face kept devoting himself to Mrs. Durland, while the other two smoked cigarettes and talked in low tones to Randolph. Janey had taken refuge behind the packs, from which only her head protruded. Bert was interested despite his alarm. At length Ham-face's attention to Mrs. Durland became so marked that the nervous high-strung woman burst into a tirade that might have been directed at the whole Indian race.

Ham-face imperturbably lighted a cigarette and blew a puff of smoke upward. "Pardon me, Madam, if I seem to stare," he remarked in English as fluent as her own. "But you are the most peculiar-looking old lady I've seen. I'd like to introduce you to my squaws. When I was in New York and Paris, during the war, I met some modern up-to-date women, but you've got them beaten a mile!"

Mrs. Durland's jaw dropped, her eyes popped, and with a gasp she collapsed. Janey, standing behind the packs, stuffed her handkerchief in her mouth to keep from shouting in glee. Ham-face was assuredly one of the educated Navajos whom the cowboys had mentioned.

After that he ceased annoying Mrs. Durland, but presently, after an enigmatical look at Janey, he joined Randolph and his two comrades near the horses. They conversed a little longer. Then the Indians mounted and rode away. Ham-face turned to wave a hand at Mrs. Durland.

"Adios, little Eva," he called.

When they disappeared Mrs. Durland came out of her trance.

"That long-haired dirty ragged savage!" she raged. "To think he understood every word I uttered and then talked just like a white man!... He added insult to injury. Oh, this hideous Arizona with its lying traders, cowboys, Indians, outlaws and pitfalls!... Oh, my son, my son, get me out of this mess!"

"Mother, I've a feeling the worst is yet to come," replied her young hopeful.

Janey got up from where she had sprawled, and tried to catch Randolph's eye. But his face was averted and he stood motionless in a strained attitude of one listening.

"What is it?" whispered Janey.

"I thought I heard a horse," he replied. "Not the Indians'. It came from down the canyon."

"Hands up!" rasped out a hard voice from behind them.

Janey stood paralyzed. She saw Randolph extend his arms high, and then slowly turn.

His ruddy tan fled. "My God--it's really Black Dick himself!" he breathed, huskily.

Janey's heart skipped beating and then leaped. Turning, she saw two men in rough rider's garb. The foremost was heavy and broad, with what seemed a black blotch for a face. He held a gun which was pointed at Randolph.

"Howdy, Professor," he said. "Jest stand steady-like while Snitz gets your gun."

The second man, a little red-faced, redheaded, bow-legged person, with a greasy blue leather shirt, appropriated Randolph's weapon, and then very deftly his wallet.

"Hum! Looks flatter'n a pancake to me," said the robber, eying the latter with disdain. "Wal, mebbe these hyar tenderfeet will be better heeled."

Mrs. Durland and Bert stood rigid, with hands high and startled expressions.

"Reckon Willie Whitepants ought to have a lot of money, an' if he hain't Mrs. Hatchet-face will."

A swift search of Bert brought to light a few bills of small denomination and some change.

"Wal, if he ain't a two-bit sport," exclaimed the leader, in disgust. "All them fine togs an' no yellow coin!... Say, lady, have you any money an' vallables?"

"Not h-h-here," stammered Mrs. Durland. It was plain that not only was she lying but very frightened.

"Scuse us, lady, fer gettin' so familiar when we ain't even been introduced. I'm Black Dick, from the border, an' this hyar pard of mine is Snitz Jones."

"Oh, my! There are two Black Dicks!" groaned Mrs. Durland.

"Wal, there's only one real Black Dick an' I'm the gent," returned the robber, with lofty humor.

"He calls himself Black Dick," burst out the woman, dropping a weak hand to point it at Randolph.

"Y-yes--so--he does," corroborated Bert, impressively.

"The hell you say! Wal, now, I call that complimentary. But, folks, he was only josh-in' you. Mabbe havin' fun with my rep!"

"You--you mean he isn't Black Dick and you are?" faltered Mrs. Durland.