XII. Echo Cliffs

by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

　　WHEN thought came clearly to him he halted irresolute. For Mescal's sakehe must not appear to have had any part in her headlong flight, or anyknowledge of it.

　　With stealthy footsteps he reached the cottonwoods, stole under thegloomy shade, and felt his way to a point beyond the twinkling lights.Then, peering through the gloom until assured he was safe fromobservation, and taking the dark side of the house, he gained the hall,and his room. He threw himself on his bed, and endeavored to composehimself, to quiet his vibrating nerves, to still the triumphant bell-beatof his heart. For a while all his being swung to the palpitatingconsciousness of joy--Mescal had taken her freedom. She had escaped theswoop of the hawk.

　　While Hare lay there, trying to gather his shattered senses, the merrysound of voices and the music of an accordion hummed from the bigliving-room next to his. Presently heavy boots thumped on the floor ofthe hall; then a hand rapped on his door.

　　"Jack, are you there?" called August Naab.

　　"Yes."

　　"Come along then."

　　Hare rose, opened the door and followed August. The room was bright withlights; the table was set, and the Naabs, large and small, were standingexpectantly. As Hare found a place behind them Snap Naab entered withhis wife. She was as pale as if she were in her shroud. Hare caughtMother Ruth's pitying subdued glance as she drew the frail little womanto her side. When August Naab began fingering his Bible the whisperingceased.

　　"Why don't they fetch her?" he questioned.

　　"Judith, Esther, bring her in," said Mother Mary, calling into thehallway.

　　Quick footsteps, and the girls burst in impetuously, exclaiming:"Mescal's not there!"

　　"Where is she, then?" demanded August Naab, going to the door. "Mescal!"he called.

　　Succeeding his authoritative summons only the cheery sputter of thewood-fire broke the silence.

　　"She hadn't put on her white frock," went on Judith.

　　"Her buckskins aren't hanging where they always are," continued Esther.

　　August Naab laid his Bible on the table. "I always feared it," he saidsimply.

　　"She's gone!" cried Snap Naab. He ran into the hall, into Mescal's room,and returned trailing the white wedding-dress. "The time we thought shespent to put this on she's been--"

　　He choked over the words, and sank into a chair, face convulsed, handsshaking, weak in the grip of a grief that he had never before known.Suddenly he flung the dress into the fire. His wife fell to the floor ina dead faint. Then the desert-hawk showed his claws. His hands tore atthe close scarf round his throat as if to liberate a fury that wasstifling him; his face lost all semblance to anything human. He began tohowl, to rave, to curse; and his father circled him with iron arm anddragged him from the room.

　　The children were whimpering, the wives lamenting. The quiet mensearched the house and yard and corrals and fields. But they found nosign of Mescal. After long hours the excitement subsided and all soughttheir beds.

　　Morning disclosed the facts of Mescal's flight. She had dressed for thetrail; a knapsack was missing and food enough to fill it; Wolf was gone;Noddle was not in his corral; the peon slave had not slept in his shack;there were moccasin-tracks and burro-tracks and dog-tracks in the sand atthe river crossing, and one of the boats was gone. This boat was notmoored to the opposite shore. Questions arose. Had the boat sunk? Hadthe fugitives crossed safely or had they drifted into the canyon? DaveNaab rode out along the river and saw the boat, a mile below the rapids,bottom side up and lodged on a sand-bar.

　　"She got across, and then set the boat loose," said August. "That's theIndian of her. If she went up on the cliffs to the Navajos maybe we'llfind her. If she went into the Painted Desert--" a grave shake of hisshaggy head completed his sentence.

　　Morning also disclosed Snap Naab once more in the clutch of his demon,drunk and unconscious, lying like a log on the porch of his cottage.

　　"This means ruin to him," said his father. "He had one chance; he wasmad over Mescal, and if he had got her, he might have conquered histhirst for rum."

　　He gave orders for the sheep to be driven up on the plateau, and for hissons to ride out to the cattle ranges. He bade Hare pack and get inreadiness to accompany him to the Navajo cliffs, there to search forMescal.

　　The river was low, as the spring thaws had not yet set in, and thecrossing promised none of the hazard so menacing at a later period.Billy Naab rowed across with the saddle and packs. Then August had tocrowd the lazy burros into the water. Silvermane went in with a rush,and Charger took to the river like an old duck. August and Jack sat inthe stern of the boat, while Billy handled the oars. They crossedswiftly and safely. The three burros were then loaded, two with packs,the other with a heavy water-bag.

　　"See there," said August, pointing to tracks in the sand. The imprintsof little moccasins reassured Hare, for he had feared the possibilitysuggested by the upturned boat. "Perhaps it'll be better if I never findher," continued Naab. "If I bring her back Snap's as likely to kill heras to marry her. But I must try to find her. Only what to do with her--"

　　"Give her to me," interrupted Jack.

　　"Hare!"

　　"I love her!"

　　Naab's stern face relaxed. "Well, I'm beat! Though I don't see why youshould be different from all the others. It was that time you spent withher on the plateau. I thought you too sick to think of a woman!"

　　"Mescal cares for me," said Hare.

　　"Ah! That accounts. Hare, did you play me fair?"

　　"We tried to, though we couldn't help loving."

　　"She would have married Snap but for you."

　　"Yes. But I couldn't help that. You brought me out here, and saved mylife. I know what I owe you. Mescal meant to marry your son when I leftfor the range last fall. But she's a true woman and couldn't. AugustNaab, if we ever find her will you marry her to him--now?"

　　"That depends. Did you know she intended to run?"

　　"I never dreamed of it. I learned it only at the last moment. I met heron the river trail."

　　"You should have stopped her."

　　Hare maintained silence.

　　"You should have told me," went on Naab.

　　"I couldn't. I'm only human."

　　"Well, well, I'm not blaming you, Hare. I had hot blood once. But I'mafraid the desert will not be large enough for you and Snap. She'spledged to him. You can't change the Mormon Church. For the sake ofpeace I'd give you Mescal, if I could. Snap will either have her or killher. I'm going to hunt this desert in advance of him, because he'lltrail her like a hound. It would be better to marry her to him than tosee her dead."

　　"I'm not so sure of that."

　　"Hare, your nose is on a blood scent, like a wolf's. I can see--I'vealways seen--well, remember, it's man to man between you now."

　　During this talk they were winding under Echo Cliffs, gradually climbing,and working up to a level with the desert, which they presently attainedat a point near the head of the canyon. The trail swerved to the leftfollowing the base of the cliffs. The tracks of Noddle and Wolf wereplainly visible in the dust. Hare felt that if they ever led out intothe immense airy space of the desert all hope of finding Mescal must beabandoned.

　　They trailed the tracks of the dog and burro to Bitter Seeps, a shallowspring of alkali, and there lost all track of them. The path up thecliffs to the Navajo ranges was bare, time-worn in solid rock, and showedonly the imprint of age. Desertward the ridges of shale, the washes ofcopper earth, baked in the sun, gave no sign of the fugitives' course.August Naab shrugged his broad shoulders and pointed his horse to thecliff. It was dusk when they surmounted it.

　　They camped in the lee of an uplifting crag. When the wind died down thenight was no longer unpleasantly cool; and Hare, finding August Naabuncommunicative and sleepy, strolled along the rim of the cliff, as hehad been wont to do in the sheep-herding days. He could scarcelydissociate them from the present, for the bitter-sweet smell of tree andbush, the almost inaudible sigh of breeze, the opening and shutting ofthe great white stars in the blue dome, the silence, the sense of theinvisible void beneath him--all were thought-provoking parts of that pastof which nothing could ever be forgotten. And it was a silence whichbrought much to the ear that could hear. It was a silence penetrated byfaint and distant sounds, by mourning wolf, or moan of wind in asplintered crag. Weird and low, an inarticulate voice, it wailed up fromthe desert, winding along the hollow trail, freeing itself in the wideair, and dying away. He had often heard the scream of lion and cry ofwildcat, but this was the strange sound of which August Naab had toldhim, the mysterious call of canyon and desert night.

　　Daylight showed Echo Cliffs to be of vastly greater range than the sisterplateau across the river. The roll of cedar level, the heave of craggyridge, the dip of white-sage valley gave this side a diversity widelydiffering from the two steps of the Vermillion tableland. August Naabfollowed a trail leading back toward the river. For the most part thickcedars hid the surroundings from Hare's view; occasionally, however, hehad a backward glimpse from a high point, or a wide prospect below, wherethe trail overlooked an oval hemmed-in valley.

　　About midday August Naab brushed through a thicket, and came abruptly ona declivity. He turned to his companion with a wave of his hand.

　　"The Navajo camp," he said. "Eschtah has lived there for many years.It's the only permanent Navajo camp I know. These Indians are nomads.Most of them live wherever the sheep lead them. This plateau ranges fora hundred miles, farther than any white man knows, and everywhere, in thevalleys and green nooks, will be found Navajo hogans. That's why we maynever find Mescal."

　　Hare's gaze travelled down over the tips of cedar and crag to a pleasantvale, dotted with round mound-like white-streaked hogans, from which lazyfloating columns of blue smoke curled upward. Mustangs and burros andsheep browsed on the white patches of grass. Bright-red blankets blazedon the cedar branches. There was slow colorful movement of Indians,passing in and out of their homes. The scene brought irresistibly toHare the thought of summer, of long warm afternoons, of leisure that tookno stock of time.

　　On the way down the trail they encountered a flock of sheep driven by alittle Navajo boy on a brown burro. It was difficult to tell which wasthe more surprised, the long-eared burro, which stood stock-still, or theboy, who first kicked and pounded his shaggy steed, and then jumped offand ran with black locks flying. Farther down Indian girls started upfrom their tasks, and darted silently into the shade of the cedars.August Naab whooped when he reached the valley, and Indian bravesappeared, to cluster round him, shake his hand and Hare's, and lead themtoward the centre of the encampment.

　　The hogans where these desert savages dwelt were all alike; only thechief's was larger. From without it resembled a mound of clay with a fewwhite logs, half imbedded, shining against the brick red. August Naabdrew aside a blanket hanging over a door, and entered, beckoning hiscompanion to follow. Inured as Hare had become to the smell and smart ofwood-smoke, for a moment he could not see, or scarcely breathe, so thickwas the atmosphere. A fire, the size of which attested the desertIndian's love of warmth, blazed in the middle of the hogan, and sent partof its smoke upward through a round hole in the roof. Eschtah, withblanket over his shoulders, his lean black head bent, sat near the fire.He noted the entrance of his visitors, but immediately resumed hismeditative posture, and appeared to be unaware of their presence.

　　Hare followed August's example, sitting down and speaking no word. Hiseyes, however, roved discreetly to and fro. Eschtah's three wivespresented great differences in age and appearance. The eldest was awrinkled, parchment-skinned old hag who sat sightless before the fire;the next was a solid square squaw, employed in the task of combing anaked boy's hair with a comb made of stiff thin roots tied tightly in around bunch. Judging from the youngster's actions and grimaces, thiscombing process was not a pleasant one. The third wife, much younger,had a comely face, and long braids of black hair, of which, evidently,she was proud. She leaned on her knees over a flat slab of rock, andholding in her hands a long oval stone, she rolled and mashed corn intomeal. There were young braves, handsome in their bronze-skinned way,with bands binding their straight thick hair, silver rings in their ears,silver bracelets on their wrists, silver buttons on their moccasins.There were girls who looked up from their blanket-weaving with shycuriosity, and then turned to their frames strung with long threads.Under their nimble fingers the wool-carrying needles slipped in and out,and the colored stripes grew apace. Then there were younger boys andgirls, all bright-eyed and curious; and babies sleeping on blankets.Where the walls and ceiling were not covered with buckskin garments,weapons and blankets, Hare saw the white wood-ribs of the hoganstructure. It was a work of art, this circular house of forked logs andbranches, interwoven into a dome, arched and strong, and all covered andcemented with clay.

　　At a touch of August's hand Hare turned to the old chief; and awaited hisspeech. It came with the uplifting of Eschtah's head, and the offeringof his hand in the white man's salute. August's replies were slow andlabored; he could not speak the Navajo language fluently, but heunderstood it.

　　"The White Prophet is welcome," was the chief's greeting. "Does he comefor sheep or braves or to honor the Navajo in his home?"

　　"Eschtah, he seeks the Flower of the Desert," replied August Naab."Mescal has left him. Her trail leads to the bitter waters under thecliff, and then is as a bird's."

　　"Eschtah has waited, yet Mescal has not come to him."

　　"She has not been here?"

　　"Mescal's shadow has not gladdened the Navajo's door."

　　"She has climbed the crags or wandered into the canyons. The whitefather loves her; he must find her."

　　"Eschtah's braves and mustangs are for his friend's use. The Navajo willfind her if she is not as the grain of drifting sand. But is the WhiteProphet wise in his years? Let the Flower of the Desert take root in thesoil of her forefathers."

　　"Eschtah's wisdom is great, but he thinks only of Indian blood. Mescalis half white, and her ways have been the ways of the white man. Nordoes Eschtah think of the white man's love."

　　"The desert has called. Where is the White Prophet's vision? Whiteblood and red blood will not mix. The Indian's blood pales in the whiteman's stream; or it burns red for the sun and the waste and the wild.Eschtah's forefathers, sleeping here in the silence, have called theDesert Flower."

　　"It is true. But the white man is bound; he cannot be as the Indian; hedoes not content himself with life as it is; he hopes and prays forchange; he believes in the progress of his race on earth. ThereforeEschtah's white friend smelts Mescal; he has brought her up as his own;he wants to take her home, to love her better, to trust to the future."

　　"The white man's ways are white man's ways. Eschtah understands. Heremembers his daughter lying here. He closed her dead eyes and sent wordto his white friend. He named this child for the flower that blows inthe wind of silent places. Eschtah gave his granddaughter to his friend.She has been the bond between them. Now she is flown and the WhiteFather seeks the Navajo. Let him command. Eschtah has spoken."

　　Eschtah pressed into Naab's service a band of young braves, under theguidance of several warriors who knew every trail of the range, everywaterhole, every cranny where even a wolf might hide. They swept theriver-end of the plateau, and working westward, scoured the levels,ridges, valleys, climbed to the peaks, and sent their Indian dogs intothe thickets and caves. From Eschtah's encampment westward the hogansdiminished in number till only one here and there was discovered, hiddenunder a yellow wall, or amid a clump of cedars. All the Indians met withwere sternly questioned by the chiefs, their dwellings were searched, andthe ground about their waterholes was closely examined. Mile after milethe plateau was covered by these Indians, who beat the brush andpenetrated the fastnesses with a hunting instinct that left scarcely arabbit-burrow unrevealed. The days sped by; the circle of the sun archedhigher; the patches of snow in high places disappeared; and the searchproceeded westward. They camped where the night overtook them, sometimesnear water and grass, sometimes in bare dry places. To the westward theplateau widened. Rugged ridges rose here and there, and seared cragssplit the sky like sharp sawteeth. And after many miles of wildup-ranging they reached a divide which marked the line of Eschtah'sdomain.

　　Naab's dogged persistence and the Navajos' faithfulness carried them intothe country of the Moki Indians, a tribe classed as slaves by the proudrace of Eschtah. Here they searched the villages and ancient tombs andruins, but of Mescal there was never a trace.

　　Hare rode as diligently and searched as indefatigably as August, but henever had any real hope of finding the girl. To hunt for her, however,despite its hopelessness, was a melancholy satisfaction, for never wasshe out of his mind.

　　Nor was the month's hard riding with the Navajos without profit. He madefriends with the Indians, and learned to speak many of their words. Thena whole host of desert tricks became part of his accumulating knowledge.In climbing the crags, in looking for water and grass, in loosingSilvermane at night and searching for him at dawn, in marking tracks onhard ground, in all the sight and feeling and smell of desert things helearned much from the Navajos. The whole outward life of the Indian wasconcerned with the material aspect of Nature--dust, rock, air, wind,smoke, the cedars, the beasts of the desert. These things made up theIndians' day. The Navajos were worshippers of the physical; the sun wastheir supreme god. In the mornings when the gray of dawn flushed to rosyred they began their chant to the sun. At sunset the Navajos werewatchful and silent with faces westward. The Moki Indians also, Hareobserved, had their morning service to the great giver of light. In thegloom of early dawn, before the pink appeared in the east, and all waswhitening gray, the Mokis emerged from their little mud and stone hutsand sat upon the roofs with blanketed and drooping heads.

　　One day August Naab showed in few words how significant a factor the sunwas in the lives of desert men.

　　"We've got to turn back," he said to Hare. "The sun's getting hot andthe snow will melt in the mountains. If the Colorado rises too high wecan't cross."

　　They were two days in riding back to the encampment. Eschtah receivedthem in dignified silence, expressive of his regret. When their time ofdeparture arrived he accompanied them to the head of the nearest trail,which started down from Saweep Peak, the highest point of Echo Cliffs.It was the Navajos' outlook over the Painted Desert.

　　"Mescal is there," said August Naab. "She's there with the slave Eschtahgave her. He leads Mescal. Who can follow him there?"

　　The old chieftain reined in his horse, beside the time-hollowed trail,and the same hand that waved his white friend downward swept up in slowstately gesture toward the illimitable expanse. It was a warrior'ssalute to an unconquered world. Hare saw in his falcon eyes the stillgleam, the brooding fire, the mystical passion that haunted the eyes ofMescal.

　　"The slave without a tongue is a wolf. He scents the trails and thewaters. Eschtah's eyes have grown old watching here, but he has seen noIndian who could follow Mescal's slave. Eschtah will lie there, but noIndian will know the path to the place of his sleep. Mescal's trail islost in the sand. No man may find it. Eschtah's words are wisdom.Look!"

　　To search for any living creatures in that borderless domain of coloreddune, of shifting cloud of sand, of purple curtain shrouding mesa anddome, appeared the vainest of all human endeavors. It seemed averitable rainbow realm of the sun. At first only the beauty stirredHare--he saw the copper belt close under the cliffs, the white beds ofalkali and washes of silt farther out, the wind-ploughed canyons anddust-encumbered ridges ranging west and east, the scalloped slopes of theflat tableland rising low, the tips of volcanic peaks leading the eyebeyond to veils and vapors hovering over blue clefts and dim line oflevel lanes, and so on, and on, out to the vast unknown. Then Haregrasped a little of its meaning. It was a sun-painted, sun-governedworld. Here was deep and majestic Nature eternal and unchangeable. Butit was only through Eschtah's eyes that he saw its parched slopes, itsterrifying desolateness, its sleeping death.

　　When the old chieftain's lips opened Hare anticipated the austere speech,the import that meant only pain to him, and his whole inner being seemedto shrink.

　　"The White Prophet's child of red blood is lost to him," said Eschtah."The Flower of the Desert is as a grain of drifting sand."