But the train was well under way. She looked after it half in envy. It could go on with its work and not have to stop in this wild waste.
She gazed about again with the frightened look a child deserted3 gives before it puckers4 its lips and screams.
Hazel was talking composedly with the rough-looking man on the platform, who wore a wide felt hat and a pistol in his belt. He didn't look even respectable to Amelia Ellen's provincial6 eyes. And behind him, horror of horrors! loomed7 a real live Indian, long hair, high cheek bones, blanket and all, just as she had seen them in the geography! Her blood ran cold! Why, oh why, had she ever been left to do this daring thing—to leave civilization and come away from her good man and the quiet home awaiting her to certain death in the desert. All the stories of horrid8 scalpings she had ever heard appeared before her excited vision. With a gasp9 she turned again to the departing train, which had become a mere10 speck11 on the desert, and even as she looked vanished around a curve and was lost in the dim foot-hills of a mountain![234]
Poor Amelia Ellen! Her head reeled and her heart sank. The vast prairie engulfed12 her, as it were, and she stood trembling and staring in dazed expectancy13 of an attack from earth or air or sky. The very sky and ground seemed tottering14 together and threatening to extinguish her, and she closed her eyes, caught her breath and prayed for Peter. It had been her habit always in any emergency to pray for Peter Burley.
It was no better when they took her to the eating-house across the track. She picked her way among the evil-looking men, and surveyed the long dining table with its burden of coarse food and its board seats with disdain15, declined to take off her hat when she reached the room to which the slatternly woman showed them because she said there was no place to lay it down that was fit; scorned the simple bed, refused to wash her hands at the basin furnished for all, and made herself more disagreeable than Hazel had dreamed her gentle, serviceable Amelia Ellen ever could have been. No supper would she eat, nor would she remain long at the table after the men began to file in, with curious eyes towards the strangers.
She stalked to the rough, unroofed porch in the front and stared off at the dark vast[235]ness, afraid of the wild strangeness, afraid of the looming16 mountains, afraid of the multitude of stars. She said it was ridiculous to have so many stars. It wasn't natural. It was irreverent. It was like looking too close into heaven when you weren't intended to.
And then a blood-curdling sound arose! It made her very hair stand on end. She turned with wild eyes and grasped Hazel's arm, but she was too frightened to utter a sound. Hazel had just come out to sit with her. The men out of deference17 to the strangers had withdrawn18 from their customary smoking place on the porch to the back of the wood-pile behind the house. They were alone—the two women—out there in the dark, with that awful, awful sound!
Amelia Ellen's white lips framed the words "Indians"? "War-whoop"? but her throat refused her sound and her breath came short.
"Coyotes!" laughed Hazel, secure in her wide experience, with almost a joyous20 ring to her voice. The sound of those distant beasts assured her that she was in the land of her beloved at last and her soul rejoiced.
"Coy—oh——" but Amelia Ellen's voice was lost in the recesses21 of her skimpy pillow whither she had fled to bury her startled ears. She had heard of coyotes, but she had never[236] imagined to hear one outside of a zoölogical garden, of which she had read and always hoped one day to visit. There she lay on her hard little bed and quaked until Hazel, laughing still, came to find her; but all she could get from the poor soul was a pitiful plaint about Burley. "And what would he say if I was to be et with one of them creatures? He'd never forgive me, never, never s'long 's I lived! I hadn't ough' to 'a' come. I hadn't ough' to 'a' come!"
Nothing Hazel could say would allay22 her fears. She listened with horror as the girl attempted to show how harmless the beasts were by telling of her own night ride up the canyon23, and how nothing harmed her. Amelia Ellen merely looked at her with frozen glance made fiercer by the flickering24 candle flare25, and answered dully: "An' you knew 'bout2 'em all 'long, an' yet you brung me! It ain't what I thought you'd do! Burley, he'll never fergive me s'long 's I live ef I get et up. It ain't ez if I was all alone in the world, you know. I got him to think of an' I can't afford to run no resks of bein' et, ef you can."
Not a wink26 of sleep did she get that night and when the morning dawned and to the horrors of the night were added a telegram[237] from a neighbour of Burley's saying that Burley had fallen from the haymow and broken his leg, but he sent his respects and hoped they'd have a good journey, Amelia Ellen grew uncontrollable. She declared she would not stay in that awful country another minute. That she would take the first train back—back to her beloved New Hampshire which she never again would leave so long as her life was spared, unless Burley went along. She would not even wait until Hazel had delivered her message. How could two lone19 women deliver a message in a land like that? Never, never would she ride, drive or walk, no, nor even set foot on the sand of the desert. She would sit by the track until a train came along and she would not even look further than she need. The frenzy27 of fear which sometimes possesses simple people at sight of a great body of water, or a roaring torrent28 pouring over a precipice29, had taken possession of her at sight of the desert. It filled her soul with its immensity, and poor Amelia Ellen had a great desire to sit down on the wooden platform and grasp firm hold of something until a train came to rescue her from this awful emptiness which had tried to swallow her up.
Poor Peter, with his broken leg, was her[238] weird30 cry! One would think she had broken it with the wheels of the car in which she had travelled away from him by the way she took on about it and blamed herself. The tragedy of a broken vow33 and its consequences was the subject of her discourse34. Hazel laughed, then argued, and finally cried and besought35; but nothing could avail. Go she would, and that speedily, back to her home.
When it became evident that arguments and tears were of no use and that Amelia Ellen was determined36 to go home with or without her, Hazel withdrew to the front porch and took counsel with the desert in its morning brightness, with the purple luring37 mountains, and the smiling sky. Go back on the train that would stop at the station in half an hour, with the desert there, and the wonderful land, and its strange, wistful people, and not even see a glimpse of him she loved? Go back with the letter still in her possession and her message still ungiven? Never! Surely she was not afraid to stay long enough to send for him. The woman who had fed them and sheltered them for the night would be her protector. She would stay. There must be some woman of refinement38 and culture somewhere near by to whom she could go for a few days until her errand[239] was performed; and what was her training in the hospital worth if it did not give her some independence? Out here in the wild free West women had to protect themselves. She could surely stay in the uncomfortable quarters where she was for another day until she could get word to the missionary39. Then she could decide whether to proceed on her journey alone to California, or to go back home. There was really no reason why she should not travel alone if she chose; plenty of young women did and, anyway, the emergency was not of her choosing. Amelia Ellen would make herself sick fretting40 over her Burley, that was plain, if she were detained even a few hours. Hazel came back to the nearly demented Amelia Ellen with her chin tilted41 firmly and a straight little set of her sweet lips which betokened42 stubbornness. The train came in a brief space of time, and, weeping but firm, Amelia Ellen boarded it, dismayed at the thought of leaving her dear young lady, yet stubbornly determined to go. Hazel gave her the ticket and plenty of money, charged the conductor to look after her, waved a brave farewell and turned back to the desert alone.
A brief conference with the woman who had entertained them, who was also the wife[240] of the station agent, brought out the fact that the missionary was not yet returned from his journey, but a message received from him a few days before spoke43 of his probable return on the morrow or the day after. The woman advised that the lady go to the fort where visitors were always welcomed and where there were luxuries more fitted to the stranger's habit. She eyed the dainty apparel of her guest enviously44 as she spoke, and Hazel, keenly alive to the meaning of her look, realized that the woman, like the missionary, had judged her unfit for life in the desert. She was half determined to stay where she was until the missionary's return, and show that she could adapt herself to any surroundings, but she saw that the woman was anxious to have her gone. It probably put her out to have a guest of another world than her own.
The woman told her that a trusty Indian messenger was here from the fort and was riding back soon. If the lady cared she could get a horse and go under his escort. She opened her eyes in wonder when Hazel asked if there was to be a woman in the party, and whether she could not leave her work for a little while and ride over with them if she would pay her well for the service.[241]
"Oh, you needn't bring none o' them fine lady airs out here!" she declared rudely. "We-all ain't got time fer no sech foolery. You needn't be afraid to go back with Joe. He takes care of the women at the fort. He'll look after you fine. You'll mebbe kin5 hire a horse to ride, an' strop yer baggage on. Yer trunk ye kin leave here."
Hazel, half frightened at the position she had allowed herself to be placed in, considered the woman's words, and when she had looked upon the Indian's stolid45 countenance46 decided47 to accept his escort. He was an old man with furrowed48 face and sad eyes that looked as if they could tell great secrets, but there was that in his face that made her trust him, she knew not why.
An hour later, her most necessary baggage strapped49 to the back of the saddle on a wicked-looking little pony50, Hazel, with a sense of deep excitement, mounted and rode away behind the solemn, silent Indian. She was going to the fort to ask shelter, until her errand was accomplished51, of the only women in that region who would be likely to take her in. She had a feeling that the thing she was doing was a most wild and unconventional proceeding
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XIII THE CALL OF THE DESERT
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XV THE WAY OF THE CROSS
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