The Desire of the Moth; and the Come On Read online

  Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Leah Moser and PG Distributed Proofreaders

  THE DESIRE OF THE MOTH AND THE COME ON

  BY EUGENE MANLOVE RHODES

  ILLUSTRATIONS BY H.T. DUNN

  ILLUSTRATIONS

  They were riding hard

  "Gentlemen--be seated!"

  THE DESIRE OF THE MOTH

  Chapter I

  _"Little Next Door--her years are few-- Loves me, more than her elders do; Says, my wrinkles become me so; Marvels much at the tales I know. Says, we shall marry when she is grown----"_

  The little happy song stopped short. John Wesley Pringle, at themesa's last headland, drew rein to adjust his geography. This was newcountry to him.

  Close behind, Organ Mountain flung up a fantasy of spires,needle-sharp and bare and golden. The long straight range--saw-toothedlimestone save for this twenty-mile sheer upheaval of theOrgan--stretched away to north and south against the unclouded sky,till distance turned the barren gray to blue-black, to blue, to mistyhaze; till the sharp, square-angled masses rounded to hillocks--to ablur--a wavy line--nothing.

  More than a hundred miles to the north-west, two midget mountainswavered in the sky. John Wesley nodded at their unforgotten shapes andpieced this vast landscape to the patchwork map in his head. Those toyhills were San Mateo and Magdalena. Pringle had passed that way on abygone year, headed east. He was going west, now.

  "I'm too prosperous here," he had explained to Beebe and Ballinger,his partners on Rainbow. "I'm tedious to myself. Guess I'll take a_pasear_ back to Prescott. Railroad? Who, me? Why, son, I like totravel when I go anywheres. Just starting and arriving don't delightme any. Besides, I don't know that strip along the border. I'll ride."

  It was a tidy step to Prescott--say, as far as from Philadelphia toSavannah, or from Richmond to Augusta; but John Wesley had made manysuch rides in the Odyssey of his wonder years. Some of them had beenmade in haste. But there was no haste now. Sam Bass, his corn-fedsorrel, was hardly less sleek and sturdy than at the start, thougha third of the way was behind him. Pringle rode by easy stages, andwhere he found himself pleased, there he tarried for a space.

  With another friendly nod to the northward hills that marked a day ofhis past, Pringle turned his eyes to the westlands, outspread and vastbefore him. To his right the desert stretched away, a mighty plaindotted with low hills, rimmed with a curving, jagged range. Beyondthat range was a nothingness, a hiatus that marked the sunken valleyof the Rio Grande; beyond that, a headlong infinity of unknown ranges,tier on tier, yellow or brown or blue; broken, tumbled, huddled,scattered, with gulfs between to tell of unseen plains and hiddenhappy valleys--altogether giving an impression of rushing toward him,resistless, like the waves of a stormy sea.

  At his feet the plain broke away sharply, in a series of steplikesandy benches, to where the Rio Grande bore quartering across thedesert, turning to the Mexican sea; the Mesilla Valley here, a slenderribbon of mossy green, broidered with loops of flashing river--aribbon six miles by forty, orchard, woodland, and green field, greenerfor the desolate gray desert beyond and the yellow hills of sandedging the valley floor. Below him Las Uvas, chief town of the valley,lay basking in the sun, tiny square and street bordered with greenery:its domino houses white-walled in the sun, with larger splashes of redfrom courthouse or church or school.

  Far on the westering desert, beyond the valley, Pringle saw a whitefeather of smoke from a toiling train; beyond that a twisting gap inthe blue of the westmost range.

  "That's our road." He lifted his bridle rein. "Amble along, Sam!"

  To that amble he crooned to himself, pleasantly, half-dreamily--as ifhe voiced indirectly some inner thought--quaint snatches of old song:

  _"She came to the gate and she peeped in-- Grass and the weeds up to her chin; Said, 'A rake and a hoe and a fantail plow Would suit you better than a wife just now.'"_

  And again:

  _"Schooldays are over now, Lost all our bliss; But love remembers yet Quarrel and kiss. Still, as in days of yore----"_

  Then, after a long silence, with a thoughtful earnestness that Rainbowwould scarce have credited, he quoted a verse from what he was wont tocall Billy Beebe's Bible:

  _"One Moment in Annihilation's waste, One Moment of the Well of Life to taste-- The Stars are setting, and the Caravan Starts for the Dawn of----Nothing. Oh, make haste!"_

  After late dinner at the Gadsden Purchase, Pringle had tidings of theMotion Picture Palace; and thither he bent his steps. He was late andthe palace was a very small palace indeed; it was with difficulty thathe spied in the semidarkness an empty seat in a side section. A fatlady and a fatter man, in the seats nearest the aisle, obliginglymoved over rather than risk any attempt to squeeze by.

  Beyond them, as he took the end seat, Pringle was dimly aware of agirl who looked at him rather attentively.

  He turned his mind to the screen, where a natty and noble young man,with a chin, bit off his words distinctly and smote his extended palmwith folded gloves to emphasize the remarks he was making to a farless natty man with black mustaches. John Wesley rightly concludedthat this second man, who gnashed his teeth so convincingly, and atwhom an incredibly beautiful young lady looked with haughty disdain,was the villain, and foiled.

  The blond and shaven hero, with a magnificent gesture, motioned thevillain to begone! That baffled person, after waiting long enough toregister despair, spread his fingers across his brow and be-went; thehero turned, held out his arms; the scornful young beauty crept intothem. Click! On the screen appeared a scroll:

  Keep Your Seats. Two Minutes to Change Reels.

  The lights were turned on. Pringle looked at the crowd--girls,grandmas, mothers with their families, many boys, and few men;Americans, Mexicans, well-dressed folk and roughly dressed, alltogether. Many were leaving; among them Pringle's fat and obligingneighbors rose with a pleasant: "Excuse me, please!"

  A stream of newcomers trickled in through the door. As Pringle satdown the lights were dimmed again. Simultaneously the girl he hadnoticed beyond the fat couple moved over to the seat next to his own.Pringle did not look at her; and a little later he felt a hand on hissleeve.

  "Tut, tut!" said Pringle in a tolerant undertone. "Why, chicken,you're not trying to get gay with your old Uncle Dudley, are you?"

  "John Wesley Pringle!" came the answer in a furious whisper, eachindignant word a missile. "How dare you! How dare you speak to me likethat?"

  "What!" said Pringle, peering. "What! Stella Vorhis! I can hardlybelieve it!"

  "But it's oh-so-true!" said Stella, rising. "Let's go--we can't talkhere."

  "That was one awful break I made. I most sincerely and humbly beg yourpardon," Pringle said on the sidewalk.

  Stella laughed.

  "That's all right--I understand--forget it! You hadn't looked at me.But I knew you when you first came in--only I wasn't sure till thelights were turned on. Of course it would be great fun to teaseyou--pretend to be shocked and dreadfully angry, and all that--butI haven't got time. And oh, John Wesley, I'm so delighted to see youagain! Let's go over to the park. Not but what I was dreadfully angry,sure enough, until I had a second to think. Why don't you say you'reglad to see me--after five years?"

  "Stella! You know I am. Six years, please. But I thought you werestill in Prescott?"

  "We came here three years ago. Here's a bench. Now tell it to me!"

  But Pringle stood beside and looked down at her without speech, witha smile unexpected from a face so lean, so brown, so year-bitten andiron-hard--a smile which happily changed that face, and softened it.

  Th
e girl's eyes danced at him.

  "I'm so glad you've come, John Wesley! Good old Wes!"

  "So I am--both those little things. Six years!" he said slowly. "Dearme--dear both of us! That will make you twenty-five. You don't look aday over twenty-four! But you're still Stella Vorhis?"

  She met his gaze gravely; then her lids drooped and a wave of redflushed her face.

  "I am Stella Vorhis--yet."

  "Meaning--for a little while yet?"

  "Meaning, for a little while yet. That will come later, John Wesley.Oh, I'll tell you, but not just now. You tell about John Wesley,first--and remember, anything you say may be used against you. Wherehave you been? Were you dead? Why didn't you write? Has the worldused you well? Sit down, Mr. John Wesley Also-Ran Pringle, and give anaccount of yourself!"

  He sat beside her: she laid her hand across his gnarled brown fingerswith an unconscious caress.

  "It's good to see you, old-timer! Begin now--I, John Wesley Pringle,am come from going to and fro upon the earth and from walking up anddown in it. But I didn't ask you where you were living. Perhaps youhave a--home of your own now."

  John Wesley firmly lifted her slim fingers from his hand and as firmlydeposited them in her lap.

  "Kindly keep your hands to yourself, young woman," he said withstately dignity.

  "Here is an exact account of all my time since I saw you: I have beenhungry, thirsty, sleepy, tired. To remedy these evils, upon expertadvice I have eaten, drunk, slept, and rested. I have worked andplayed, been dull and gay, busy and idle, foolish and unwise.That's all. Oh, yes--I'm living in Rainbow Mountain; cattle. Twopardners--nice boys but educated. Had another one; he's married now,poor dear--and just as happy as if he had some sense."

  "You're not?"

  "Not what--happy or married?"

  "Married, silly!"

  "And I'm not. Now it's your turn. Where do you live? Here in town?"

  "Oh, no. Dad's got a farm twenty miles up the river and a ranch outon the flat. I just came down on the morning train to do a littleshopping and go back on the four-forty-eight--and I'll have to bestarting soon. You'll walk down to the station with me?"

  "But the sad story of your life?" objected Pringle.

  "Oh, I'll tell you that by installments. You're to make us a long,long visit, you know--just as long as you can stay. You're horseback,of course? Well, then, ride up to-night. Ask for Aden Station. We livejust beyond there."

  "But the Major was a very hostile major when I saw him last."

  "Oh, father's got all over that. He hadn't heard your side of it then.He often speaks of you now and he'll be glad to see you."

  "To-morrow, then. My horse is tired--I'll stay here to-night."

  "You'll find dad changed," said the girl. "This is the first time inhis life he has ever been at ease about money matters. He's reallyquite well-to-do."

  "That's good. I'm doing well in that line too. I forgot to tell you."There was no elation in his voice; he looked back with a pang to thebold and splendid years of their poverty. "Then the Major will quitwandering round like a lost cat, won't he?"

  "I think he likes it here--only for the crazy-mad political feeling;and I think he's settled down for good."

  "High time, I think, at his age."

  "You needn't talk! Dad's only ten years older than you are." Sheleaned her cheek on her hand, she brushed back a little stray tendrilof midnight hair from her dark eyes, and considered him thoughtfully."Why, John Wesley, I've known you nearly all my life and you don'tlook much older now than when I first saw you."

  "That was in Virginia City. You were just six years old and your ponyran away with you. We were great old chums for a month or so. The nexttime I saw you was--"

  "At Bakersfield--at mother's funeral," said the girl softly. "Then youcame to Prescott, and you had lost your thumb in the meantime; and Iwas Little Next Door to you--"

  "And Prescott and me, we agreed it was best for both of us that Ishould go away."

  "Yes; and when you came back you were going to stay. Why didn't youstay, John Wesley?"

  "I think," said Pringle reflectively, "that I have forgotten that."

  "Do you know, John Wesley, I have never been back to any place we haveleft once? And of all the people I have ever known, you are the onlyone I have ever lost track of and found again. And you're always justthe same old John Wesley; always gay and cheerful; nearly always introuble; always strong and resourceful--"

  "How true!" said Pringle. "Yes, yes; go on!"

  "Well, you are! And you're so--so reliable; like Faithful John in thefairy story. You're different from anyone else I know. You're a goodboy; when you are grown up you shall have a yoke of oxen, over andabove your wages."

  "This is very gratifying indeed," observed Pringle. "But--a sweetlysolemn thought comes to me. You were going to tell me about anotherboy--the onliest little boy?"

  "He's not a boy," said Stella, flushing hotly. "He's a man--a man'sman. You'll like him, John Wesley--he's just your kind. I'm not goingto tell you. You'll see him at our house, with the others. And he'llbe the very one you'd pick out for me yourself. Of course you'll wantto tease me by pretending to guess someone else; but you'll know whichone he is, without me telling you. He stands out apart from all othermen in every way. Come on, John Wesley--it's time to go down to thestation."

  Pringle caught step with her.

  "And how long--if a reliable old faithful John may ask--before youbecome Stella Some-One-Else?"

  "At Christmas. And I am a very lucky girl, John. What an absurdconvention it is that people are never supposed to congratulate thegirl--as if no man was ever worth having! Silly, isn't it?"

  "Very silly. But then, it's a silly world."

  "A delightful world," said Stella, her eyes sparkling. "You don't knowhow happy I am. Or perhaps you do know. Tell me honestly, did you everl--like anyone, this way?"

  "I refuse to answer, by advice of counsel," said John Wesley. "I'llsay this much, though. X marks no spot where any Annie Laurie gave meher promise true."

  When the train had gone John Wesley wandered disconsolately backto his hotel and rested his elbows on the bar. The white-apronedattendant hastened to serve him.

  "What will it be, sir?"

  "Give me a gin pitfall," said John Wesley.