Shadow Mountain Part 27

A gaunt row of cottonwoods rose up suddenly before him, their leaves whispering and clacking in the wind, and at this brave promise all fear for water left him and he drained his canteen to the bottom. Then he strode on up the canyon, that was deep and dark as a pocket, following the trail that should lead him to the spring; but as one mile and two dragged along with no water, he stopped and hid his rifle among the rocks. A little later he hid his belt with its heavy row of cartridges, and the sack of dry, useless food. What he needed was water and when he had drunk his fill he could come back and collect all his possessions.

Two miles, five miles, he toiled up the creek bed with the cottonwoods rustling overhead; but though their roots were in the water, the sand was still dry and his tongue was swelling with thirst.

He stumbled against a stone and fell weakly to the ground, only to leap to his feet again, frightened. Already it was coming, the stupifying la.s.situde, the reckless indifference to his fate, and yet he was hardly tired. The Valley had not been hot, any more than usual, and he had walked twice as far before; but now, with water just around the corner, he was lying down in the sand. He was sleepy, that was it, but he must get to water first or his pores would close up and he would die. He stripped off his pistol and threw it in the sand, and his hat, and the bottle of fiery whiskey; and then, head down, he plunged blindly forward, rushing on up the trail to find water.

The sun rose higher and poured down into the narrow valley with its fringe of deceptive green; but though the trees became bigger and bushier in their tops the water did not come to the surface. It was underneath the sand, flowing along the bed-rock, and all that was needed was a solid reef of country-rock to bring it up to the surface. It would flow over the d.y.k.e in a beautiful water-fall, leaping and gurgling and going to waste; and after he had drunk he would lie down and wallow and give his whole body a drink. He would soak there for hours, sucking it up with his parched lips that were cracked now and bleeding from the drought; and then--he woke up suddenly, to find himself digging in the sand. He was going mad then, so soon after he was lost, and with water just up the stream. The creek was dry, where he had found himself digging, but up above it would be full of water. He hurried on again and, around the next turn, sure enough, he found a basin of water.

It was hollowed from the rock, a round pool, undimpled, and upon its surface a pair of wasps floated about with airy grace. Their legs were outstretched and on the bottom of the hole he could see the round shadows of their tracks. It was a new kind of water, with a skin that would bend down and hold up the body of a wasp, and yet it seemed to be wet. He thrust in a finger and the wasps flew away--and then he dropped down and drank deep. When he woke from his madness the pool was half empty and the water was running down his face. He was wet all over and his lips were bleeding afresh, as if his very blood had been dry; but his body was weak and sick, and as he rose to his feet he tottered and fell down in the sand. When he roused up again the pool was filled with water and the wasps were back, floating on its surface.

When he looked around he was in a little cove, shut in by towering walls; and, close against the cliff where the rock had been hollowed out, he saw an abandoned camp. There were ashes between the stones, and tin cans set on boxes, and a walled-in storage place behind, and as he looked again he saw a man's tracks, leading down a narrow path to the water. They turned off up the creek--high-heeled boots soled with rawhide and bound about with thongs--and Wiley rushed recklessly at the camp. When he had eaten last he could hardly remember, (it was a day or two back at the best), and as he peered into cans and found them empty he gave vent to a savage curse. He was weak, he was starving, and he had thrown away his food--and this man had hidden what he had. He kicked over the boxes and plunged into the store-room, throwing beans and flour sacks right and left, and then in the corner behind a huge pile of pinon nuts he found a single can of tomatoes.

Whoever had treasured it had kept it too long, for Wiley's knife was already out and as he cut out the top he tipped it slowly up and drained it to the bottom.

"Hey, there!" hailed a voice and Wiley started and laid down the can.

Was it possible the officers had followed him? "Throw up your hands!"

yelled the voice in a fury. "Throw 'em up, or I'll kill you, you scoundrel!"

Wiley held up his hands, but he raised them reluctantly and the fighting look crept back into his eyes.

"Well!" he challenged, "they're up--what about it?"

A tall man with a pistol stepped out from behind a tree and advanced with his gun raised and c.o.c.ked. His hair was hermit-long, his white beard trembled, and his voice cracked and shrilled with helpless rage.

"What about it!" he repeated. "Well, by Jupiter, if you sa.s.s me, I'll shoot you for a camp-robbing hound!"

"Well, go ahead then," burst out Wiley defiantly, "if that's the way you feel--all I took was one can of tomatoes!"

"Yes! One can! Wasn't that all I had? And you robbed me before, you rascal!"

"I did not!" retorted Wiley, and as the old man looked him over he hesitated and lowered his gun.

"Say, who are you, anyway?" he asked at last and glanced swiftly at Wiley's tracks in the sand. "Well--that's all right," he ran on hastily, "I see you aren't the man. There was a renegade came through here on the twentieth of last July and stole everything I had. I trailed him, dad-burn him, clear to the edge of Death Valley--he was riding my favorite burro--and if it hadn't been for a sandstorm that came up and stopped me, I'd have bored him through and through. He stole my rifle and even my letters, and valuable papers besides; but he went to his reward, or I miss my guess, so we'll leave him to the mercy of h.e.l.l. As for my tomatoes, you're welcome, my friend; it's long since I've had a guest."

He held out his hand and advanced, smiling kindly, but Wiley stepped back--it was Colonel Huff.

CHAPTER x.x.x

AN EVENING WITH SOCRATES

How the Colonel had come to be reported dead it was easy enough now to surmise. Some desperate fugitive, or rambling hobo miner seeking a crosscut to the Borax Mines below, had raided his camp in his absence; and, riding off on his burro, had met his death in a sandstorm. His were the tracks that the Indians had followed and somewhere in Death Valley he lay beneath the sand dunes in place of a better man. But the Colonel--did he know that his family had mourned him as dead, and bandied his stock back and forth? Did he know that the Paymaster had been bonded and opened up, and lost again to Blount? And what would be his answer if he knew the man before him was the son of Honest John Holman? Wiley closed down his lips, then he took the outstretched hand and looked the Colonel straight in the eye.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, "that I can't give you my name or tell you where I'm from; but I've got a bottle of whiskey that will more than make up for the loss of that can of tomatoes!"

"Whiskey!" shrilled the Colonel and then he smiled benignly and laid a fatherly hand upon his shoulder. "Never mind, my young friend, what you have done or not done; because I'm sure it was nothing dishonorable--and now if you will produce your bottle we'll drink to our better acquaintance."

"I threw it away," answered Wiley apologetically, "but it can't be very far down the trail. I was short of water and lost, you might say, and--well, I guess I was a little wild."

"And well you might be," replied the Colonel heartily, "if you crossed Death Valley afoot; and worn out and hungry, to boot. I'll just take the liberty of going after that bottle myself, before some skulking Shoo-shonnie gets hold of it."

"Do so," smiled Wiley, "and when you've had your drink, perhaps you'll bring in my rifle and the rest."

"Whatever you've dropped," returned the Colonel cordially, "if it's only a cartridge from your belt! And while I am gone, just make yourself at home. You seem to be in need of rest."

"Yes, I am," agreed Wiley, and before the Colonel was out of sight he was fast asleep on his bed.

It was dark when he awoke and the light of a fire played and flickered on the walls of his cave. The wind brought to his nostrils the odor of cooking beans and as he rose and looked out he saw the Colonel pacing up and down by the fire. His hat was off, his fine head thrown back and he was humming to himself and smiling.

"Come out, sir; come out!" he cried upon the moment. "I trust you have enjoyed your day's rest. And now give me your hand, sir; I regret beyond words my boorish conduct of this morning."

He shook hands effusively, still continuing his apologies for having taken Wiley for less than a gentleman; and while they ate together it became apparent to Wiley that the Colonel had had his drink. If there was anything left of the pint bottle of whiskey no mention was made of the fact; but even at that the liquor was well spent, for it had gained him a friend for life.

"Young man," observed the Colonel, after looking at him closely, "I am a fugitive in a way, myself, but I cannot believe, from the look on your face, that your are anything else than honest. I shall respect your silence, as you respect mine, for your past is nothing to me; but if at any time I can a.s.sist you, just mention the fact and the deed is as good as done. I am a man of my word and, since true friends are rare, I beg of you not to forget me."

"I'll remember that," said Wiley, and went on with his eating as the Colonel paced up and down. He was a n.o.ble-looking man of the Southern type, tall and slender, with flashing blue eyes; and the look that he gave him reminded Wiley of Virginia, only infinitely more kind and friendly. He had been, in his day, a prince of entertainers, of the rich and poor alike; and the kick of the whiskey had roused up those genial qualities which had made him the first citizen of Keno. He laughed and told stories and cracked merry jests, yet never for a moment did he forget his incognito nor attempt to violate Wiley's. They were gentlemen there together in the heart of the desert, and as such each was safe from intrusion. The rifle and cartridge belt, Wiley's pistol and the sack of food, were fetched and placed in his hands; and then at the end the Colonel produced the flask of whiskey which had been slightly diluted with water.

"Now," he said, "we will drink a toast, my far-faring-knight of the desert. Shall it be that first toast: 'The Ladies--G.o.d bless them!'

or----"

"No!" answered Wiley, and the Colonel silently laughed.

"Well said, my young friend," he replied, nodding wisely. "Even at your age you have learned something of life. No, let it be the toast that Socrates drank, and that rare company who sat at the Banquet. To Love!

they drank; but not to love of woman. To love of mankind--of Man! To Friendship! In short, here's to you, my friend, and may you never regret this night!"

They drank it in silence, and as Wiley sat thinking, the Colonel became reminiscent.

"Ah, there was a company," he said, smiling mellowly, "such as the world will never see again. Agatho and Socrates, Aristophanes and Alcibiades, the picked men of ancient Athens; lying comfortably on their couches with the food before them and inviting their souls with wine. They began in the evening and in the morning it was Socrates who had them all under the table. And yet, of all men, he was the most abstemious--he could drink or let it alone. Alcibiades, the drunkard, gave witness that night to the courage and hardihood of Socrates--how he had carried him and his armor from the battlefield of Potidaea, and outfaced the enemy at Delium; how he marched barefoot through the ice while the others, well shod, froze; and endured famine without complaining; yet again, in the feasts at the military table, he was the only person that appeared to enjoy them. There was a man, my friend, such as the world has never seen, the greatest philosopher of all time; but do you know what philosophy he taught?"

"No, I don't," admitted Wiley, and the Colonel sighed as he poured out a small libation.

"And yet," he said, "you are a man of parts, with an education, very likely, of the best. But our schools and Universities now teach a man everything except the meaning and purpose of life. When I was in school we read our Plato and Xenophon as you now read your German and French; but what we learned, above the language itself, was the thought of that ancient time. You learn to earn money and to fight your way through life, but Socrates taught that friendship is above everything and that Truth is the Ultimate Good. But, ah well; I weary you, for each age lives unto itself, and who cares for the thoughts of an old man?"

"No! Go on!" protested Wiley, but the Colonel sighed wearily and shook his head gloomily in thought.

"I had a friend once," he said at last, "who had the same rugged honesty of Socrates. He was a man of few words but I truly believe that he never told a lie. And yet," went on the Colonel with a rueful smile, "they tell me that my friend recanted and deceived me at the last!"

"_Who_ told you?" put in Wiley, suddenly rousing from his silence and the Colonel glanced at him sharply.

"Ah, yes; well said, my friend! Who told me? Why, all of them--except my friend himself. I could not go to him with so much as a suggestion that he had betrayed the friendship of a lifetime; and he, no doubt, felt equally reluctant to explain what had never been charged. Yet I dared not approach him, for it was better to endure doubt than to suffer the certainty of his guilt. And so we drifted apart, and he moved away; and I have never seen my good friend since."

Wiley sat in stunned silence, but his heart leapt up at this word of vindication for Honest John. To be sure his father had refused him help, and rebuked him for heckling the Widow, but loyalty ran strong in the Holman blood and he looked up at the Colonel and smiled.

"Next time you go inside," he said at last, "take a chance and ask your friend."

"I'll do that," agreed the Colonel, "but it won't be for some time because--well, I'm hiding out."

"Here, too," returned Wiley, "and I'm _never_ going back. But say, listen; I'll tell _you_ one now. You trusted your friend, and the bunch told you that he'd betrayed you; I trusted my girl, and she told me to my face that she'd sold me out for fifty thousand dollars. Fifty thousand, at the most; and I lost about a million and killed a man over it, to boot. You take a chance with your friends, but when you trust a woman--you don't take any chance at all."