Curly Part 39

"But when I think of Balshannon's son, I realize now that he fought for his father as I fought for mine. Afterwards, blinded with pa.s.sion, I brought a charge against him, and swore that he alone was guilty of my father's death. I had no right to do that; the young chap was innocent, the charge was a put-up job. But the evil one must have possessed me entirely, for when several witnesses thought they could please me by swearing Jim's life away, I was a party to their perjuries. More, I was induced to help them with money to leave the country, and so escape arrest.

"If I sinned, I am punished, for as the robbers were Balshannon's partners, so they took sides with his son. Because I attacked the lad they abducted me. That is my punishment, Kathleen, and it is just.

"In one thing I am puzzled, because I expected to find Balshannon's son with the robbers. I have not seen him, and McCalmont swears that Jim du Chesnay took no part in this outrage.

"Kathleen, we've got to do right in this business. I want the charge against James du Chesnay withdrawn right now. When I am free I shall give him back his home and lands, all that father seized, and ask him to forget that there was ever a quarrel between our families.

"Dear love, it breaks my heart to think of your anxiety. As for my business interests, I dare not think of what may be involved by my long absence. Mavourneen, you must save me quick, or worse will happen yet.

"Your distracted lover,

"MICHAEL."

It made me sorry to think of that poor devil. You see, he tended strict to business first, then strutted awhile to show himself off to his woman, before he unfolded his crooked little soul in the part marked "Private." His letter gave me plenty to think about.

Still, I had my own concerns to worry me, for Monte took me round our herd, which had grown in surprising ways during my absence. The mares, it seemed, had gotten more prolific than usual, giving birth to full-grown horses, ready branded. On the whole I concluded that if any of the neighbours happened around, my boys would find that pasture unhealthy with symptoms of lead poisoning. I advised them to quit, so they agreed to shift the herd along eastward, and sell out in Texas.

Meanwhile, I cut out Curly's buckskin mare, and a few of my own pet runners who knew how to show their tails to any pursuers. We took twelve good stayers from the herd, and a little wall-eyed pack mule who had fallen dead in love with Curly's mare. So Curly and I were ready for our march.

As to that young person, from the moment she hit the trail out of Grave City the wound in her arm healed rapid, and she sure forgot to be an invalid. Two days we fed and rested her, but then she began to act warlike, oppressing me for sloth. On the third morning I loaded the pack mule, told the boys good-bye, and trailed off with Curly, pointing for Robbers' Roost.

When water won't cure thirst, but the juice in your mouth turns to slime caking in lumps on your lips, when the skin dries up because there's no more sweat, when your eyes ache and your brain mills round--that's Arizona. The air shakes in waves like a mist of cobwebs, and through that quiver the landscape goes all skeweye, for some of the mountains float up clear of the land, and some turn upside down standing on rows of pillars along the skyline. Then the hollows of the land fill with blue mist--blue lakes and cactus bushes change into waving palm trees by the waterside. How can a man keep his head when the world goes raving crazy all round him? You have just to keep on remembering that your eyes have quit being responsible, that your nose is a liar, that your ears are fooled, then keep a taut rein on yourself for fear your wits stampede, and your legs go chasing visions down the trail to death.

That Valley of Central Arizona got me plumb bewildered; a country of bare earth and mesquite brush like mist, with huge big trees of cactus standing in one grove a hundred miles across. Then came a hillside of black cinders lifting a hundred miles; but the top was a level mesa, surely the first place I ever seen with good gra.s.s under pine trees. I had never seen woods before, and this coconino forest is the sort of pasture I'd want to go to after this present life. I hunger none for golden pavements or any desert lay-out, nor am I wishful for a harp--having a taste for guitars--nor for flopping around on wings, nor a crown of glory--the same being ostentatious a whole lot. Pasture like this, a horse, a camp, a spring--such promises as them would lure me to being good.

Right in the heart of this forest there's a bunch of dead volcanoes called the San Francisco peaks, lifting their frosty heads into the sky, and round the skirts of lava at their feet lies broken country. Curly showed good judgment in making camps, but hereabouts I thought she had lost her wits, for she led me over broken lava flows, heart-breaking ground for the horses, where we had to dismount and climb. Then all of a sudden we dropped down, hid from all the world, into a meadow walled around with lava. This tract had escaped when the rest was overflowed; so happened there was gra.s.s among the bull pines, and right at the head of the field a little cave with s.p.a.ce of floor for camping beside a bubbling spring. We struck the place at noon and camped, my partner concluding to lie over until she could make a night scout in search of news. She slept through the afternoon while I stood guard outside.

Up to that time we had been scared to make a fire at night or show a smoke by day, except for the minutes we needed boiling coffee. Besides that, we could never camp within ten miles of a water-hole, but had to ride on after drinking to win the nearest gra.s.s, this country being all ate up around the pools. Here we had gra.s.s and water, the cave to hide our fire, and certainty besides of not being caught without warning. It was mighty fine to set around the fire after supper.

"You Chalkeye"--Curly lit up a cigarette and broke into silence which had lasted days--"what does it feel like, being safe?"

"We're safe enough here, lil' partner."

"Till I hit the trail for this scouting. But I mean, to live safe day after day without n.o.body ever wanting to kill you. Ain't it some monotonous?"

"Not to hurt."

"It must feel sort of--neglected. I read a book onced about folks in England, which I kep' on readin' and readin' to see if anythin' happened 'cept meals and go-to-bed and get-up-in-the-mawning. The girl was a sure enough fool, and as to the boy--well, he wore government socks, and didn't love the Lawd. Then he mar'ied a widow by mistake, which she had a forked tongue, a bad eye, and parted her ha'r on one side lookin'

rather cute. That boy just aimed to cut his throat for seventy-three pages, then didn't after all, which was plumb discouraging. 'Stead of that he got a government job inspectin' the clouds and drawin' salary.

Then the widdy she talked herself to death, and quit out. Afterwards that boy took sixty-one pages to get a kiss from the heroine. Thar was a deanery in it and a funny parrot--I reckon that's all the story."

"They mar'ied?"

"Sure, and nothin' happened ever afterwards, 'cept kids. Them characters was awful safe from gettin' excited. Will it be that a-way when I get tame enough to mar'y Jim?"

Feeling that said Jim was a lot unworthy of her, I strayed out to study how much our camp was visible. It seemed like we couldn't be attacked without our visitors cussing around first in the lava. They'd bark their shins, and we'd hear gentle protests.

When I came back, Curly was brooding still about her Jim.

"He'll be a dook like the old patrone," says she, "and sure as I'm a lady I'll be tired of life. Robes goes with that job, and a golden crown such as the angels wear."

"I reckon that's only for Sunday best," I told her.

"To go to church? Wall, now, ain't that jest fine? And how my wolves would laugh to see!" She stood up swaggering before the fire, her hand on her revolver, her laugh ringing echoes round the cave. "Jest you think," says she, "of me--a lady! Footman at the church door to announce us 'Lord and Lady Balshannon!' and Jim and me goes b.u.t.tin'

along to our pew. Then the preacher he rears up to talk his sermon. 'My lord, my lady, and you common or'nary brethren.' Cayn't you see Jim spit on his crown and give it a rub with his sleeve, and me snarled up in my robe like a roped hawss? Then we ride off home to the castle, and Jim says, 'Be-shrew thee! go to, thou varlet, and wrastle the grub pile 'fore I shoot the cook!' Then the valet says there's a deputy-marshal come to arrest us both for stealin' cows, so Jim has him hung in the moat. Afterwards we put in the hull afternoon shootin' foxes, and other British sports until it's time for supper, then play stud poker beside the parlour stove. You're to come and stop with us, Chalkeye."

"Sing to me, Curly," says I, because her voice was sweet enough to gentle a grizzly bear, and it always smoothed my fur. It seems to me I can see her now, her eyes green and flame in the firelight, her face--I can't describe her face.

"Here's a moccasin track in the drifts, It's no more than the length of me hand, An' her instep--just see how it lifts-- If that ain't jest the best in the land!

For the maid ran as free as the wind, And her foot was as light as the snow, Why, as sure as I follow, I'll find Me a kiss whar her red blushes grow.

"Here's two small little feet and a skirt, Here's a soft little heart all aglow; See me trail down the dear little flirt By the sign which she left in the snow!

Did she run? 'Twas a hint to make haste, An' why, bless her!--I'm sure she won't mind!

If she's got any kisses to waste, Why, she knew that a man was behind!

"Did she run 'cause she's only afraid?

No, for sure 'twas to set me the pace!

And I've fallen in love with a maid When I ain't had a sight of her face.

There she is! And I knew she was near; Will she pay me a kiss to be free?

Will she hate? will she love? will she fear?

Why, the darling! she's waiting to see!"

In all the thousands of camp fires dotted along the trail of my life, that one is best to think of. Surely I believe that the Big Spirit sent us poor little spirits loose on the earth to be kicked and educated, not to have nice times. Looking around at present facts, we see how Life is a cold, hard, business proposition, so we have to keep a mighty sharp look-out for fear of being kicked off the premises. The future glows with hope gay as a sunrise, the past is full of memories shining glorious like the setting sun. Seems to me that in Eternity, when the cold present is mixed up with all the rainbow colours of Past and Future--why, then I'll hear Curly's voice come soft through the pines, and see her face in the fire where I camp.

So in my poor way I dream in this lone camp where I sit at present.

Perhaps, says you, I'd better wake up right now and tend to my story.

At midnight Curly rode into the town of Flagstaff. Afterwards, following the Grand Canon trail at daybreak, she happened by accident on a stage-coach broken down with a load of tourists. The driver chanced to be a retired robber, gone tame with rheumatism, so she helped him to fix his linch pin which had snapped. As to the tourists, they were plumb content to find a "real live cowboy" who would talk to them. Most punchers steer shy of tourists, but Curly enjoyed them. She was always curious as a young antelope at anything unusual in the way of game, so she borrowed all their newspapers "to read to her dying mother"--which was me. Then she told them good advice about keeping alert at night to watch for robbers. On that the teamster cheered them up by divulging how robbers drink human blood to keep their courage boiling, and how they like a baby when they are staled on pork. Curly imparted a few particulars and rode away with a high tail.

I was still asleep when she came whirling into camp, whooping for breakfast ravenous.

"Show a laig," says she, "and set out the grub pile swift while I go wrangle the hawsses. We get a move on ourselves right after breakfast!"

There was something unusual, I thought, about the way she talked, a sort of high-strung excitement. As to her face, that was pale as ashes.

By the time I'd cooked bacon and slapjacks she had the horses in, and fresh mounts saddled.

"How's Flagstaff?" I asked, while she washed herself at the spring.

"Ain't this just purty?" she said to the bubbling water. "Flagstaff?

Why, it sure is the craziest town I ever seen." Her laugh was harsh to hear.

"You been showin yo' face in the street?"

"Wall partly, but I covered up half my complexion to look like the toothache--so!" She stuffed a ball of a handkerchief into her near cheek, bound the towel around her jaw, and looked most miserable. "Oh, throw me a dentist!" she howled, then broke out laughing. "I sh.o.r.ely did act pitiful."

"And why for is this town locoed?" I felt the girl was laughing so as not to cry.

"Well," says she, "there's Joe Beef, the Utah sheriff, and a lot of lil'

no-account sheriffs, there's a fat United States Marshal with a chin whisker and a heap of deputies, there's cowboys, scouts, and trackers, reporters, ambulances, dawgs, pony-soldiers----"