Desert Dust Part 45

"In what, dearest?"

"In this, here. I am already married, you know."

"That is another life," I reasoned. "It is long ago and under different law."

"But if we went back into it--if we escaped?"

"Then we should--but don't let's talk of that."

"Then you should forget and I should return to Benton," she said. "I have decided. I should return to Benton, where Montoyo is, and maybe find another way. But I should not live with him; never, never! I should ask him to release me."

"I, with you," I informed. "We should go together, and do what was best."

"You would? You wouldn't be ashamed, or afraid?"

"Ashamed or afraid of what?"

She cried out happily, and shivered.

"I hope we don't have to. He might kill you. Yes, I hope we don't have to.

Do you mind?"

I shook my head, smiling my response. There were tears in her eyes, repaying me.

Our conversation became more fitful. Time sped, I don't know how, except that we were in a kind of lethargy, taking no note of time and hanging fast to this our respite from the tempestuous past.

Once she dreamily murmured, apropos of nothing, yet apropos of much:

"We must be about the same age. I am not old, not really very old."

"I am twenty-five," I answered.

"So I thought," she mused.

Then, later, in manner of having revolved this idea also, more distinctly apropos and voiced with a certain triumph:

"I'm glad we drank water when we might; aren't you?"

"You were so wise," I praised; and I felt sorry for her cracked lips. It is astonishing with what swiftness, even upon the dry desert, amid the dry air, under the dry burning sun, thirst quickens into a consuming fire scorching from within outward to the skin.

We lapsed into that remarkable patience, playing the game with the Sioux and steadily viewing each other; and she asked, casually:

"Where will you shoot me, Frank?"

This bared the secret heart of me.

"No! No!" I begged. "Don't speak of that. It will be bad enough at the best. How can I? I don't know how I can do it!"

"You will, though," she soothed. "I'd rather have it from you. You must be brave, for yourself and for me; and kind, and quick. I think it should be through the temple. That's sure. But you won't wait to look, will you?

You'll spare yourself that?"

This made me groan, craven, and wipe my hand across my forehead to brush away the frenzy. The fingers came free, damp with cold sticky sweat--a prodigy of a parchment skin which puzzled me.

We had not exchanged a caress, save by voice; had not again touched each other. Sometimes I glanced at the Sioux, but not for long; I dreaded to lose sight of her by so much as a moment. The Sioux remained virtually as from the beginning of their vigil. They sat secure, drank, probably ate, with time their ally: sat judicial and persistent, as though depending upon the progress of a slow fuse, or upon the workings of poison, which indeed was the case.

Thirst and heat tortured unceasingly. The sun had pa.s.sed the zenith--this sun of a culminating summer throughout which he had thrived regal and l.u.s.tful. It seemed ign.o.ble of him that he now should stoop to torment only us, and one of us a small woman. There was all his boundless domain for him.

But stoop he did, burning nearer and nearer. She broke with sudden pa.s.sion of hoa.r.s.e appeal.

"Why do we wait? Why not now?"

"We ought to wait," I stammered, miserable and pitying.

"Yes," she whispered, submissive, "I suppose we ought. One always does.

But I am so tired. I think," she said, "that I will let my hair down. I shall go with my hair down. I have a right to, at the last."

Whereupon she fell to loosening her hair and braiding it with hurried fingers.

Then after a time I said:

"We'll not be much longer, dear."

"I hope not," said she, panting, her lips stiff, her eyes bright and feverish. "They'll rush us at sundown; maybe before."

"I believe," said I, blurring the words, for my tongue was getting unmanageable, "they're making ready now."

She exclaimed and struggled and sat up, and we both gazed. Out there the Sioux, in that world of their own, had aroused to energy. I fancied that they had palled of the inaction. At any rate they were upon their feet, several were upon their horses, others mounted hastily, squad joined squad as though by summons, and here came their outpost scout, galloping in, his blanket streaming from one hand like a banner of an Islam prophet.

They delayed an instant, gesticulating.

"It will be soon," she whispered, touching my arm. "When they are half-way, don't fail. I trust you. Will you kiss me? That is only the once."

I kissed her; dry cracked lips met dry cracked lips. She laid herself down and closed her eyes, and smiled.

"I'm all right," she said. "And tired. I've worked so hard, for only this.

You mustn't look."

"And you must wait for me, somewhere," I entreated. "Just a moment."

"Of course," she sighed.

The Sioux charged, shrieking, hammering, lashing, all of one purpose: that, us; she, I; my life, her body; and quickly kneeling beside her (I was cool and firm and collected) I felt her hand guide the revolver barrel. But I did not look. She had forbidden, and I kept my eyes upon them, until they were half-way, and in exultation I pulled the trigger, my hand already tensed to s.n.a.t.c.h and c.o.c.k and deliver myself under their very grasp. That was a sweetness.

The hammer clicked. There had been no jar, no report. The hammer had only clicked, I tell you, shocking me to the core. A missed cartridge? An empty chamber? Which? No matter. I should achieve for her, first; then, myself.

I heard her gasp, they were very near, how they shouted, how the bullets and arrows spatted and hissed, and I had convulsively c.o.c.ked the gun, she had clutched it--when looking through them, agonized and blinded as I was--looking through them as if they were phantasms I sensed another sound and with sight sharpened I saw.

Then I wrested the revolver from her. I fired pointblank, I fired again (the Colt's did not fail); they swept by, hooting, jostling; they thudded on; and rising I screeched and waved, as bizarre, no doubt, as any animated scarecrow.

It had been a trumpet note, and a cavalry guidon and a rank of bobbing figures had come galloping, galloping over an imperceptible swell.