Lost Pueblo (1992) (3 page)

"W-w-what y-y-you w-w-want me for?" stuttered Tay-Tay, rebelliously.

"Yore time's come. I've been layin' fer you. An' right now we can have it out," returned the grim Mormon.

"W-w-why right now more'n another time?" asked Tay-Tay.

"Wal," spoke up Ray, "I reckon a blind man could see thet. Lope on outdoors, Tay, an' get yours."

Diego showed his white teeth in a gleaming smile.

"Geeve the gloves to Ray an' Mohave. They're lookeen for trouble."

"It's me who's lookin' fer trouble, an' after I'm through with Tay I'll take any of you on. Savvy?"

"B-b-but if I w-w-want to q-q-quit in the m-m-middle of a round I won't be able to say s-s-s-stop," replied Tay-Tay.

"Aw, yore jest plain backin' out before this lady.... Wal, who of you will put them on?"

Zoroaster looked from one to the other. They all appeared to have become absentminded. Janey had an inspiration, and rose, radiant, from the window seat.

"I will, Mr. Zoroaster," she said.

The Mormon cowboy's face turned redder than his hair. He was dumbfounded, and plainly fought to keep from running. But Janey's smile chained him. If she saw in the boxing bout an opportunity to get acquainted with Zoroaster, he evidently saw one to outdo the other zealous suitors for her favor. Awkwardly he thrust a pair of gloves at her.

"All right, Miss. You're shore showin' these hombres up. But I'll be careful not to hurt you."

Janey was athletic and, as it happened, was the best boxer in her club. Pretending unfamiliarity with boxing gloves she begged someone to help her put them on. All save Ray rushed to her assistance.

He stared, open-mouthed, and finally ejaculated, "Wal, for Gawd's sake!"

"There! Now, Mr. Zoroaster, give me a few pointers, please," suggested Janey, winningly.

"It's easy, Miss," he said, extending his gloved hands. "Keep one foot forward, an' lead with your left hand. Keep yore eyes on my gloves an' duck."

Janey affected practice while Zoroaster circled her. Plainly he was not a scientific boxer; and Janey, who had had many a bout with the club instructor, saw some fun ahead. Suddenly she ceased her pretense and went for Zoroaster, swift and light as a cat, and grasped at once that she could hit him when and where she pleased.

"Ride 'em, cowgirl. Oh, my!" cried Mohave.

"Thet's placin' one, Miss," shouted Ray, in great glee.

"S-s-s-soak him fer me," stuttered Tay-Tay, in delight.

"Senorita, you ees one grande boxer," declared Diego, dramatically.

Zoroaster's fear and amazement helped to put him at Janey's mercy. She danced around the transfixed Mormon, raining taps upon his handsome nose. Finally she struck him smartly with her left, and followed that up with as hard a right swing as she could muster. It landed square on Zoroaster's nose and all but upset him.

The cowboys, instead of roaring, seemed suddenly paralyzed. Janey, glowing and panting, turned to see what was wrong. Her father stood in the doorway, horrified, completely robbed of the power of speech. Zoroaster bolted out of the front door, followed by his cowboy comrades.

Janey's mirth was not one whit lessened by the sight of her father's face. Gayly she ran to him, extending the gloves to be untied.

"Weren't they something? I love 'em all, and that handsome red-headed devil best. Oh, bless you, Dad. I'll stay here forever!"

Chapter
2

From that moment events multiplied. Janey could not keep track of them. She was having the time of her life. And every now and then it burst upon her what really innocent fun it was, compared to the high pressure of life in the East.

She had disrupted the even tenor of the trading post. Bennet averred that something must be done about it. His cowboys had gone crazy. If they remembered their work it was to desert it or do it wrong. They manufactured the most ridiculous excuses to ride away from the ranch, when it chanced that Janey was out riding. When she was at home they each and every one fell victim to all the ailments under the sun.

Janey saw very little of Randolph during her first days at the post. He always left before she got up in the morning, and returned from his excavating work late in the afternoon. She met him, of course, at dinner, when they all sat at a long table, and in the living room afterward, but never alone. Janey was quite aware of the humor with which he regarded her flirtation with the cowboys. She did not like his attitude, and wasted a thought now and then as to how she would punish him.

On the whole, however, she was too happy to even remember her father's reason for fetching her out to the desert. The actual reasons for her peculiar happiness she had not yet analyzed.

It was all so new. She rode for hours every day, sometimes alone, which was a difficult thing to maneuver--and often with her father, and the cowboys. The weather was glorious; the desert strangely, increasingly impelling; the blue sky and white clouds, the vivid colors and magnificent formations of the rock walls had some effect she was loath to acknowledge.

When had she been so hungry and tired at nightfall? She went to bed very early because everybody did so; and she slept as never before. Her skin began to take on a golden brown, and she gained weight. Both facts secretly pleased her. The pace at home had kept her pale and thin. Janey gazed in actual amazement and delight at the face that smiled back at her from the mirror. Once she mused, "I'll say this Painted Desert has got the beauty shops beaten all hollow."

Her father had asked her several times to ride over to Sagi Canyon, where Randolph was excavating. But Janey had pretended indifference as to his movements. As a matter of fact, she was curious to see what his work was like--what in the world could make a young man prefer digging in the dust to her company? There was another reason why she would not go, and it was because the more she saw of Philip Randolph and heard about him from the cowboys and Bennet--who were outspoken in their praise the better she liked him and the more she resented liking him.

For the present, however, the cowboys were more than sufficient for Janey. They were an endless source of interest, fun and wholesome admiration.

In ten days not a single one of them had attempted to hold her hand, let alone kiss her. Janey would rather have liked them, one and all, to hold her hand; and she would not have run very far to keep from being kissed. But it began to dawn upon her that despite an utter prostration of each cowboy at her feet, so to speak, there was never even a hint of familiarity, such as was natural as breathing to the young men of her set.

First it struck Janey as amusing. Then she sought to break it down. And before two weeks were up she began to take serious thought of something she had not supposed possible to the genus Homo, young or old, East or West.

Janey did not care to be forced to delve into introspection, to perplex herself with the problem of modern youth. She had had quite enough of that back East. Papers, magazines, plays, sermons, and lectures, even the movies, had made a concerted attack upon the younger generation. It had been pretty sickening to Janey. How good to get away from that atmosphere for a while! Perhaps here was a reason why she liked the West. But there seemed to be something working in her, which sooner or later she must face.

One afternoon Janey returned from her ride earlier than usual, so that she did not have to hurry and dress for dinner. She had settled herself in the hammock when her father and Randolph rode in from the opposite direction. The hammock was hidden under the vines outside the living-room window. They did not see Janey and she was too lazy or languid to call to them.

A little later she heard them enter the living room. The window there was open. "Janey must be dressing," said Endicott.

"She's back. I saw her saddle. We have time for a little chat. I've been wanting to talk to you."

"Go ahead. I'm glad our ride didn't tire you. By the way, what did you think of my Sagi?"

"Beautiful but dumb, as Janey would say. Quietest place I ever saw. Why, it was positively silent as a grave."

"Yes. It is a grave. That's why I dig around there so much," replied Randolph, with a laugh. Janey remembered that laugh, though she had heard it very seldom. It was rather rich and pleasant; and scarcely fitted the character she had given him. She had two sudden impulses, one to make them aware of her presence, and another not to do anything of the kind. Second impulses were mostly the stronger with Janey.

"Randolph, I'm very curious about you. What is there in it for you--in this grave-digging work, I mean?"

"Oh, it's treasure hunting in a way. I suppose an archaeologist is born. I seldom think of reward. But, really, if I discovered the prehistoric ruin I know is buried here somewhere it would be a big thing for me."

"Any money in it?" inquired the New York businessman.

"Not directly. At least not at once. I suppose articles and lectures could be translated into money. It would give me prestige, though."

"Hum. Well, prestige is all right for a young man starting in life but it doesn't produce much bread and butter. Do you get a salary, in addition to your remuneration for articles and lectures?"

"You could call it a salary by courtesy. But besides bread-and-butter fare of the simplest kind, it wouldn't buy stockings for a young lady I know," returned Randolph, and again he laughed, the same nice infectious laugh.

"Now you're talking," responded Endicott, with animation. "The young lady, of course, being Janey... Randolph, we're getting to be good friends. Let's be confidential. Did you ever ask my daughter to marry you?"

"Lord, no!" ejaculated Randolph.

"Well, that's a satisfaction. It's good for a young man to have individuality. I'm glad you're different from the many... May I ask--forgive my persistence; the awful responsibility of being this girl's father, you know--weren't you in love with her?"

There was quite a long silence in which Janey's heart beat quickly and her ears tingled. She had never really been sure of Randolph. That, perhaps, was his chief charm.

"Yes, Mr. Endicott," replied the archaeologist, constrainedly. "I was in love with Janey. Not, however, as those young men were in the East. But very terribly, deeply in love."

"Fine!... Oh, excuse me, Phillip," rejoined Endicott. "I mean--that's what I thought. That's why I liked you. These young lounge lizards play at love. They make me sick. Between you and me I've a sneaking suspicion they make Janey sick, too... Now, Phil, here's the vital question. Is all that past tense?"

Janey made the discovery that she was trembling, and imagined it was from the shame of being an unwitting eavesdropper. How impossible now to call out! Yet she might have slipped away. But she did not.

"No. I never got over it. And now it's worse," said Randolph, not without a tragic note.

"Phil! by heavens, you are a loyal fellow. Would it surprise you to know I'm pleased?"

"Thank you, Mr. Endicott. But I fear that I'm more than surprised."

"See here, Phil, you want to be prepared for jars, not only from Janey, but also me. I'm her Dad, you know... Listen, I brought Janey out to your desert with barefaced deliberate intent. To marry her to you and save her from that pack of wolves back there... Incidentally, of course, to make both of you happy!"

"My God!" gasped Randolph. He was not the only one who gasped. Janey in her excitement nearly fell out of the hammock.

"It's an honest fact and I'm not ashamed," went on Endicott, getting earnest.

"But, Mr. Endicott--you do me honor. You are most wonderfully kind--but you are quite out of your head."

"Maybe I am. I don't care. I mean it. I love Janey and I'd go to any extreme to save her. Then I like you immensely. Your father was my dearest friend in college and until he died. I'd get a good deal of happiness out of putting a spoke in your wheel of fortune."

"Save her!" ejaculated Randolph.

"For God's sake, Randolph, don't say you think it's too late," appealed Endicott, in sudden distress.

No quick response came, and Janey's heart stood still as she waited for Randolph's answer. What did that fool think, anyway? She was getting a little sick with anger and fear when Randolph burst out: "Endicott, you're crazy. I I meant--what did you mean when you said save her?"

"I meant a lot, my boy, and don't overlook it... Tell me straight, Randolph. This is a serious matter for us all. Do you think Janey is still a good girl?"

"I don't think. I know," returned Randolph, ringingly. "Your question is an insult to her, Mr. Endicott."

"I wonder whether or not any question is that, in regard to young women in this age," went on Endicott, soberly. "I gave you credit for being a brainy clear-eyed fellow, for all your grave-digging propensity. I saw how you disapproved of Janey--her friends and habits."

"Yes, I did--deplorably so. But nevertheless--"

"Love is blind, my son," interposed Endicott. "You think more of Janey than she deserves. All the same I'm glad. That'll help us out. I regard you as an anchor."

"Mr. Endicott, I--I don't know what to say. I'm overwhelmed."

"Well, I dare say you've reason to be. But all the same you listen to me patiently. Will you?"