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

  Chapter III

  Being a child must have been great fun--once. Nowadays one would aslief be a Strasburg goose. When you and I went to school it was notquite so bad. True, neither of us could now extract a cube root witha stump puller, and it is sad to reflect how little call life has madefor duodecimals. Sometimes it seems that all our struggle with moodyverbs and insubordinate conjunctions was a wicked waste--poor littlesleepy puzzleheads! But there were certain joyous facts which weremember yet. Lake Erie was very like a whale; Lake Ontario was aseal; and Italy was a boot.

  The great Chihuahuan desert is a boot too; a larger boot than Italy.The leg of it is in Mexico, the toe is in Arizona, the heel in NewMexico; and the Jornado is in the boot-heel.

  El Jornado del Muerto--the Journey of the Dead Man! From what dim oldlegend has the name come down? No one knows. The name has outlived thestory.

  Perhaps some grim, hard-riding Spaniard made his last ride here; wearyat last of war, turned his dead face back to Spain and the pleasantvalleys of his childhood. We have a glimpse of him, small in themighty silence; his faithful few about him, with fearful backwardglances; a gray sea of waving grama breaking at their feet; the greatmountains looking down on them. Plymouth Rock is unnamed yet.--Thenthe mist shuts down.

  The Santa Fe Trail reaches across the Jornado; tradition tells ofvague, wild battles with Apache and Navajo; there are grave-cairnson lone dim ridges, whereon each passer casts a stone. Young mothersdreamed over the cradles of those who now sleep here, undreaming; hereis the end of all dreams.

  Doniphan passed this way; Kit Carson rode here; the Texans journeyednorth along that old road in '62--to return no more.

  These were but passers-by. The history of the Jornado, of indwellersnamed and known, begins with six Americans, as follows: Sandoval, aMexican; Toussaint, a Frenchman; Fest, a German; Martin, a German;Roullier, a Swiss; and Teagardner, a Welshman.

  You might have thought the Jornado a vast and savage waste or apleasant place and a various. That depended upon you. Materials foreither opinion were plenty; lava flow, saccaton flats, rolling sandhills sage-brush, mesquite and yucca, bunch grass and shallow lakes,bench and hill, ridge and groundswell and wandering draw; always thegreat mountains round about; the mountains and the warm sun over all.

  A certain rich man desired to be President--to please his wife,perhaps. He was a favorite son sure of his home-state vote in anygrand old national convention. He gave largely to charities andcampaign funds, and his left hand would have been justly astonished toknow what his right hand was about.

  Those were bargain-counter days. Fumbling the wares, our candidatesaw, among other things, that New Mexico had six conventional votes:He sent after them.

  So the Bar Cross Cattle Company was founded; range, the Jornado. Ourcandidate provided the money and a manager, also ambidextrous withinstructions to get those votes and incidentally to double the money,as a good and faithful manager should.

  He got the six votes, but our candidate never became president.Poor fellow, his millions could not bring him happiness. He died, anembittered and disappointed man, in the obscurity of the United StatesSenate.

  The Bar Cross brand was the sole fruit of that ambition. Other rancheshad dwindled or vanished; favored by environment the Bar Cross, almostalone, withstood the devastating march of progress. It was still amark of distinction to be a Bar Cross man. The good old customs--andcertain bad old customs, too--still held on the Bar Cross Range, fiftymiles by one hundred, on the Jornado. Scattered here and there weresmaller ranches: among them the V H--the Vorhis Ranch.

  Stella Vorhis and John Wesley, far out on the plain, rode throughthe pleasant afternoon. The V H. Ranch was in sight now, huddledlow before them; beyond, a cluster of low hills rose from the plain,visible center of a world fresh, eager, and boundless.

  The girl's eye kindled with delight as it sought the far horizons,the misty parapets gleaming up through the golden air; she was onewho found dear and beautiful this gray land, silent and ensunned. Sheflung up her hand exultingly.

  "Isn't it wonderful, John Wesley? Do you know what it makes me thinkof? This:

  _"'... Magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn!'_

  "Think, John! This country hasn't changed a bit since the day Columbusset out from Spain."

  "How true! Fine old bird, Columbus--he saw America first. Great headhe showed, too, getting himself named Christopher. Otherwise you mighthave said, 'the day Antony discovered Cleopatra'--or something likethat. Wise old Chris!"

  Stella's eyes narrowed reflectively.

  "John Wesley, you've been reading! You never used to know anythingabout Mark Antony."

  "I cribbed that remark from Billy Beebe and he swiped it from amagazine. I don't know much about Mark, even this very yet. Good oldeasy Mark!"

  "That's the how of it. You've been absorbing knowledge from thosepardners of yours. Your talk shows it. You're changed a lot--that way.Every other way you're the same old Wes!"

  "Now, that sounds better!" said Pringle in his most complacent tones."I want to talk about myself, always, Stella May Vorhis; we've comethirty miles and I've heard Christopher Foy, Foy, Foy, all the way!It's exasperating! It's sickening!"

  But Stella was not to be flustered. She held her head proudly.

  "It's you that have been talking about him. I told you you'd like him,John Wesley."

  "Yes, you did--and I do. He's a self-starter. He's a peppermist. He'sa regular guy. It wasn't only the way he smashed those thugs--takenby surprise and all--but that he had judgment enough not to shoot whenthere was no need for it; that's what gets me! And then he went andspoiled it all."

  "How?"

  "Hiking on up to the ranch with the Major, without even waking you up.Why, if it was me, do you s'pose I'd leave another man--no matter howold and safe he was--to tell such a story as that his own way and hogall the credit for himself? That Las Uvas push is a four-flush--heneedn't stir a peg for them. No, sir! I'd have stayed right there tillyou got ready to come--and every time I'd narrate that tale about thescrap it would get scarier and scarier."

  "I know, without telling, what my Chris does is the brave thing, thebest thing," said the girl, with softly shining eyes. "And henever brags--any more than you do, Wes. You're always making fun ofyourself. And I'm afraid you don't know how serious a menace this LasUvas gang is. It isn't what Chris may do or may not do. All they wantis a pretext. Why, John, there are men down there who are reallyquite truthful--as men go--till they get on the witness stand. But theminute they're under oath they begin to lie. Force of habit, I guess.The whole courthouse ring hates Chris and fears him--especially MattLisner, the sheriff. In the old trouble, whenever he was outwitted oroutfought, Chris did it. Besides----" She paused; the color swept toher cheek.

  "Besides--you. Yes, yes," grumbled Pringle. "Might have been expected.These women! Does the Foy-boy know?"

  "He knows that Lisner wanted to marry me," said Stella. Neck and cheekwere crimson now; but it was characteristic that her level eyes metPringle's fearlessly. "But before that--he--he persecuted me, John.Chris must not know. He would kill him. But I wanted you to know incase anything happened to Chris. There is nothing they will stick at,these men. Lisner is the vilest; he hates Chris worst of all." She wasin deep distress; there were tears in her eyes as she smiled at him."And I wish--oh, John Wesley, you don't know how I wish you werestaying here--dear old friend!"

  "As a dear and highly valuable old friend," said Pringle sedately,"let me point out how shrewd and sensible a plan it would be for youand your Chris to go on a honeymoon at once--and never come back."

  "I am beginning to think so. Up to last night I had only my fears togo on."

  "But now you know. We managed to make a joke of last night--but whatthat push had in mind was plain murder. I would dearly like," saidJohn Wesley, "to visit Las Uvas--some dark night--in a Zeppelin."

  * * * * *

  At the c
orral gate the Major met them, with a face so troubled thatStella cried out in alarm:

  "Father! What is it? Chris?"

  "Stella--be brave! Dick Marr was killed at midnight--and they'reswearing it off on Chris."

  "But John Wesley was with him."

  "That's just it. Applegate and Creagan tell it that they saw Chrisleaving town at eleven o'clock, that he said he was coming up here,and that he made a war-talk about Marr. But not a word about Pringleor the fight at the hotel. Joe Espalin doesn't appear--no claim thathe saw Foy at all."

  "That looks ugly," observed Pringle.

  "Ugly! Your testimony is to be thrown out as a lie made of wholecloth. Espalin and the barkeeper don't appear. They're afraid theMexican will get tangled up, and Max will swear he didn't see Chris atall. It's cut and dried. You are to be canceled. Marr was found thismorning at the first crossroad above town. His watch was stopped atten minutes to twelve--mashed, it seemed, where it hit on a stone whenhe fell. If they had told about the mix-up with you and Chris lastnight, I might have thought they really believed Chris killed Marr--orsuspected it. As it stands, we know the whole thing is a black, rottenconspiracy."

  "But where's Chris?" demanded Stella, trembling.

  "We have none of us seen Chris--you want to remember that. You won'thave to lie, Stella--you didn't see him. Pringle, I bank on you."

  "Sure! I can lie and stick to it, though I'm sadly out of practice,"said Pringle. "But hadn't we better fix up the same history to tell?And where's your man Hargis that stays here? Will he do?"

  "Unsaddle and I'll tell you. We've only got a few minutes. I saw thedust of them coming down from the north as I drove in this bunchof saddle horses. Some of them went up by train to Upham, you know.Hargis has gone to the round-up, and I'm just as well pleased. I'm notsure he can be trusted. We are to know not the first word of what hashappened. We haven't seen Chris and haven't heard of the murder. Comein--we'll start dinner and be taken by surprise. Pringle, throw yourgun over on the bunk. Stella, get that look off your face. After youhear the news you can look any old way and it'll be natural enough.But you've got to be unconcerned and unsuspicious when they firstcome."

  He started a fire. Stella set about preparing dinner.

  "Who brought the news?" she asked.

  "Joe Cowan--and a relay. Someone rode to Jeff Isaack's ranch as fastas ever a horse could go. Jeff came to Quartzite; Dodd passed the wordon to Goldenburg's and Cowan came here. At every ranch they droveall the fresh saddle horses out of the way, so a posse couldn't get aremount without losing time. Kitty Foy has got good friends, and theydon't believe he'd shoot any man in the back."

  "And Foy's drifted with Cowan?"

  "He hadn't a chance to get clear," said the Major. "We had no freshhorses here. They've sworn in a small army of deputies. Nearly ahundred men are out hunting for him by this time. One posse was to goup the San Andres on the east, leaving a man at every waterhole. Thesheriff wired for a special train, took a carload of saddle horsesand dropped a couple of men off at every station. At Upham the restof them were to unload and string out across the Jornado, so as tocut Chris off from the Bar Cross round-up at Alaman. It's some of thatbunch I saw coming, I guess. And the others were to scatter out andcome up the middle of the plain. They'll drag the Jornado with afine-toothed comb."

  "How's he to get away, then?"

  "Cowan took Kit's horse and led his own, which was about give out. Heturned back east, up a draw where he won't be seen unless somebody'sright on top of him. Eight or ten miles out he'll turn Foy's horseloose; he'll carry the extra saddle on a ways and drop it in awashout. They'll find Foy's horse and think he's roped a fresh one.Then Cowan will start up a fresh bunch of mares and raise big dust. Hewill ride straight to the first posse he sees, claiming he's run hishorse down chasing the mares. That'll let him out--maybe."

  "And Foy?"

  "We rode my horse double to the edge of the hills, to where he couldwalk on a ledge and leave no tracks," said the Major. "Then I wenton. I rounded up this bunch of saddle horses and brought them back. Hewent up on Little Thumb Butte. It's all bluffs and bowlders there. Upon the highest big cliff, at the very top, is a deep crack that windsup in a cave like a tunnel. You know the place, Stella?"

  "Yes. But, dad, they'll hunt out the hills the first thing."

  "They will not!" said the Major triumphantly. "They'll read our sign;they'll see where four shod horses came up the road. I'll claim one ofthem was a horse I was leading--that'll be that bald-faced roan out inthe corral. We all want to stick to that."

  "But he's bigger than any of our horses," objected Pringle. "They'llknow better by the tracks."

  "Exactly! So they'll find a fresh-shod track going east--a trackmatching the fourth track we left on the road. They'll reason thatwe're trying to keep them from following that track. So they'll followit up; they'll find Kit's give-out horse and then they'll know they'reright."

  "It seems to me," said Pringle reflectively, "that friend Cowan mayhave an interesting time if they get him."

  The Major permitted himself a grin.

  "He yanked the shoes off his horse before he left. Once he mixes histracks up with a bunch of wild mares he'll be all right. They maythink, but they can't prove anything. And Foy'll be all right--if onlythe posse follows the plain trail."

  "It's too much to hope," said Stella. "They'll split up. Some of themwill hunt out the hills anyway--to-morrow, if not to-day."

  "That's my idea of it," said Pringle.

  "They won't find the cave if they do," said Vorhis hopefully. "If hecan get to the Bar Cross they'll see him through, once they hear hisstory. Not telling about that clean-up you and Kit made last night isa dead give-away."

  "Any chance of Foy slipping out afoot?"

  "Too far. But he could stand a siege till we could get word to hisfriends if, by any chance, the posse should find his cave. He tookmy rifle. He can see them coming; he'll have every advantage againstattack; and there's another way out of the cave, up on top of thehill. There's just one thing against him. There wasn't even a canteenhere. He took some jerky and canned stuff--but only one measly beerbottle of water. When that's used up it's going to be a dull time forhim. We can't get water to him very handy without leaving some sign.We mustn't get hostile with the posse. Take it easy--you especially,Pringle. Stella and me, they know where we stand. But you're astranger. Maybe they'll let you go on. If you once get away--bring theBar Cross boys and they'll take Foy out of here in broad day."

  "Very pretty--but there's four men in Las Uvas that know me--andthree of them are police. Maybe they'll stay in the city though--beingpolice?"

  "No, they won't," said the Major gloomily. "They'll bealong--deputized, of course. Maybe they won't be in the first batchthough. Your part is to be the disinterested traveler, wanting to beon your way."

  "It won't work, Major. This is a put-up job. Even if Applegate and hisstrikers aren't along they've given my description. Somebody will knowI was with Foy last night, and they'll know I'm lying."

  The Major sighed. "That's so, too. I'm afraid you're in for trouble."

  "I'm used to that," said Pringle lightly. "Once, in Arizona----"

  "Don't throw it up to me, John," said the Major a trifle sheepishly."I'll say this though: I wouldn't ask for a better man in a tight thanyou."

  "Thanks so much!" murmured Pringle. "And that Sir Hubert Stanleything."

  "One more point, John: You don't know Foy. I do. Foy'll never give up.He's desperate--and he's not pleased. There's no question of surrenderand standing trial; understand that. He'd be lynched, probably, ifthey ever got him in Las Uvas. A trial, even, would be just lynchingunder another name. They don't want to capture him anyway--they want achance to kill him."

  "I wouldn't want the job," said Pringle.

  "Hush!" said Stella. "I hear them coming. Talk about somethingelse--the war in Europe."

  The Major picked up a paper.

  "What do you think about the United States building
a big navy, John?"he asked casually.

  Stealthy footsteps rustled without.

  "Fine!" said Pringle. "I'm strong for it. We want dreadnoughts, andlots of 'em--biggest we can build. But that ain't all. When we makethe navy appropriations we ought to set by about fifty-some-oddmillion and build a big multiple-track railroad, so we can carry ournavy inland in case of war. The ocean is no place for a battleshipthese days."

  "Stop your kidding!"

  "I'm not kidding," said John Wesley indignantly. "I never was twice asserious in my whole life. My plan is sound, statesman-like--"

  "Shut up, you idiot! I want to read."

  "Oh, very well, then! I'll grind the coffee."

  Men crept close to the open door on each side of the kitchen. Stellaslipped a pan of biscuits in the oven; she laid the table briskly,with a merry clatter of tinware; her face was cheerful and unclouded.The Major leaned back in one chair, his feet on another; he was deepin the paper; he puffed his pipe. John Wesley Pringle twirled thecoffee mill between his knees and sang a merry tune:

  _"There were three little mice, playing in the barn-- Inky, dinky, doodum, day! Though they knew they were doing what was very, very wrong-- Inky, dinky, doodum, day! And the song of the owls, it sounded so nice That closer and closer crept the three little mice. And the owls came and gobbled them----"_

  A shadow fell across the floor.

  "Hands up!" said the sheriff of Dona Ana. "We want Chris Foy!"