The storm ceased with the same suddenness as it began. Hardly an hour had torrential waters lashed the cinder wastes of Pinacate when the black pall over the heavens broke away and the sun came out to suck hungrily at pools in the rocks. There was a headiness of wine in the air, a smell of wet soil mingled with spicy emanations from greasewood and palo verde. The desert’s sparse growing things exulted in the breaking of long drought. For a long time Grant and Benicia on their side of the gorge and Bim in his retreat opposite lay hidden, awaiting possible renewal of the attack which the storm had scattered. But the torrent that still raged down the bottom of the gorge had washed clean every vestige of an enemy. Quelele on his high post saw four scattered horsemen rushing pell-mell for the gateway onto the desert—last vestige of Urgo’s rurales force, each man of which gave thanks to his patron saint that he had come Quelele also saw several specks dropping earthward from the clear blue; specks which rapidly grew from the size of gnats to the spread of small aeroplanes. King condors they, who had smelled a feast from afar—loathsome birds with a wing spread covering the span of thirteen feet. The coming of one of these foul creatures to his particular banquet even the sharp eye of a Papago watcher could not discern, for the scene was hidden from him by a shoulder of the caÑon wall. A stunted palo verde tree nearly stripped of its verdure by the whips of the rain hung half-uprooted over the rapidly diminishing stream in the wash. One branch had caught and held some flotsam from the high flood, now clear of the water. Just a shapeless bundle of clothes, lolling head, arms askew where broken bones had let inert flesh sag to the current. Just a grim caricature of something which so recently had walked in the pride of his imaginings. The condor flopped clumsily to a branch stub six feet distant from the bundle of clothes, folded his great wings with a dry rustling of feathers, blinked the red lids of his The wreck in the bundle of clothes opened his lips to scream but the ghost of a groan came instead. It tried to lift a fending arm against the abomination so near; the muscles tugged at broken bones. The condor appraised these manifestations of life carefully, weighed them by contrast with his experiences with crippled sheep and helpless calves. His talons stirred restlessly on the branch. First one, then the other lifted from the bark, stretched and flexed. The king of the higher airs was impatient. He spread his wings to balance him and clumsily hopped a few feet nearer, craning his wattled neck anxiously. A shadow passed swiftly over the palo verde tree. A quick upward twist of the head gave the condor view of a putative and too-anxious fellow guest at the bounty spread there. Greediness pushed him. He spread his wings and hopped again— Then the desert exacted with cruelty recompense for the cruelties of Colonel Hamilcar Urgo. Abomination of his passing was meted him according to the abominations of his own devising. An hour after the last rain drop the flood waters in the gorge had dropped to permit of reunion between the erstwhile defenders of the pass. Grant waded waist deep with Benicia in his arms; Bim, all smiles, was stretching out a hand from the off-side rocks. “Well, folks all, looks like a pleasant time was enjoyed by all and one!” The big Arizonan’s spirits would permit of no more concrete thanksgiving for a crisis passed. It was his way to find laughter the only vehicle for suppressed emotions and whimsicalities the best conveyance for thoughts which might sound “high-falutin’.” The three stood mute, their eyes telling one another things which might have come flattened and blunted in speech. “See me welcome an old visitor just before the curtain went up on the first act?” Bim turned to Grant, his eyes shining excitement. “Who d’you think? Ole Doc Stooder!” Grant gasped in surprise. His pal’s grin faded as he added seriously: “Just about the end of his string, too. The rain sure saved him—couldn’t have lasted another hour—one chance in a thousand brought him here where they’s folks to look out for him—a friend, even, to coddle him back to health.” “No, not one chance in a thousand,” Benicia caught him up with deep seriousness in her voice. “It is the desert way—to play with destiny, I mean, and seem to cause miracles.—But let me go to him if he needs attention.” She started forward, but Bim put out a staying hand. “I wouldn’t, ma’am. The Doc’s not a purty sight right now. His body’s just drinkin’ in all the water that landed on him an’ he’s sorta in a daze—doesn’t say much of anything that makes sense. A little food which I’m goin’ to brew if I can find some dry sticks of wood anywhere’s round—” Simple charity dictated that Bim say no word of conjecture as to what brought Stooder to the desert. He guessed full well. El Doctor Coyote Belly seemed to be materialized from the rocks so noiselessly had he approached the group. The old man’s face was ashen; unguessable terrors he had fought with and hardly conquered since last the three had seen him standing in the yellow storm glare before the cave of Elder Brother. “If my daughter will come now to the house of Iitoi,” he said to the girl in his native tongue, “she may take what Iitoi gives. The god has expressed his displeasure by the storm—but he will give.” Benicia turned and put a wordless question to Grant. They started together to climb the precipitous rock ladder up the side of the gorge wall, El Doctor leading. Thirty minutes’ exhaustive effort brought them to the approach of a high-roofed cavern into which the westering sun laid a broad carpet of light. There in the shale before the cave mouth were El Doctor’s pitiful presents to the god—the arrow and prayer stick wedged upright, the beads and tobacco in a small basket. The whole ground about was littered with the shards of sacrificial pottery and scraps of basketry. Benicia motioned to El Doctor to lead the way into the cave, but he shook his head in emphatic negative. Then she gave Grant a When their eyes had become accustomed to the sudden transition from glaring sunlight into gloom a faint glimmering at the far end of the sunlight path guided them. Ankle-deep in the dust of ages they groped. The glimmer waxed stronger. Suddenly Benicia stopped with a catching of the breath. Grant stooped and lifted a heavy object from a niche of rock, bringing it into the filtered stream of radiance. It was a golden monstrance, dust coated. Faint twinkles of light glowed like firefly lamps from jewels set in the radii of a glory. A great diamond above the crystal box caught fire from the sun. As Grant hastily bent to replace the sacred vessel his hand tipped the edge of a shallow basket. From it rolled a stream of moonbeam fire out into the zone of sunshine. Liquid globules of moon-glow, round and pellucid as ice crystals, seductive as the shadowed whiteness of a woman’s throat: the green pearls of the Virgin stripped by the impiety of El Rojo Benicia slowly sank to her knees, words of prayer whispered from her lips. Prayer of thankfulness and dedication of the lost treasure to the sanctity of the Church. Grant felt his presence in this solemn moment was an intrusion. He tip-toed back to the mouth of the cave and stood looking out. All the wildness and the savagery of Altar’s secret fane of the desert god lay burning and glistening with wetness in the westering sun. The waning torrent, sardonic gesture of plenty in this ultimate citadel of thirst, splashed jewels against the lancing light. Here was a world of the primordial—Creation arrested in its first hour. A hand touched his arm lightly. He turned to find Benicia standing beside him. The sun wove an aura of vivid fire about her head. Her eyes raised to his were swimming. “Now, heart of my heart,” she whispered. And all the love fire in her flamed from her lips. THE END Title page verso: printer’s information was not supplied in the source text. A Table of Contents has been provided for the convenience of the reader. Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected. Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved. Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved. The author’s em-dash and punctuation/endquote styles have been retained. |