Chapter VIII. Surprise Valley

by Zane Grey

　　Back in that strange canyon, which Venters had found indeed avalley of surprises, the wounded girl's whispered appeal, almosta prayer, not to take her back to the rustlers crowned the eventsof the last few days with a confounding climax. That she shouldnot want to return to them staggered Venters. Presently, aslogical thought returned, her appeal confirmed his firstimpression--that she was more unfortunate than bad-- and heexperienced a sensation of gladness. If he had known before thatOldring's Masked Rider was a woman his opinion would have beenformed and he would have considered her abandoned. But his firstknowledge had come when he lifted a white face quivering in aconvulsion of agony; he had heard God's name whispered byblood-stained lips; through her solemn and awful eyes he hadcaught a glimpse of her soul. And just now had come the entreatyto him, "Don't--take--me--back--there!"

　　Once for all Venters's quick mind formed a permanent conceptionof this poor girl. He based it, not upon what the chances of lifehad made her, but upon the revelation of dark eyes that piercedthe infinite, upon a few pitiful, halting words that betrayedfailure and wrong and misery, yet breathed the truth of a tragicfate rather than a natural leaning to evil.

　　"What's your name?" he inquired.

　　"Bess," she answered.

　　"Bess what?"

　　"That's enough--just Bess."

　　The red that deepened in her cheeks was not all the flush offever. Venters marveled anew, and this time at the tint of shamein her face, at the momentary drooping of long lashes. She mightbe a rustler's girl, but she was still capable of shame, shemight be dying, but she still clung to some little remnant ofhonor.

　　"Very well, Bess. It doesn't matter," he said. "But thismatters--what shall I do with you?"

　　"Are--you--a rider?" she whispered.

　　"Not now. I was once. I drove the Withersteen herds. But I lostmy place--lost all I owned--and now I'm--I'm a sort of outcast.My name's Bern Venters."

　　"You won't--take me--to Cottonwoods--or Glaze? I'd be--hanged."

　　"No, indeed. But I must do something with you. For it's not safefor me here. I shot that rustler who was with you. Sooner orlater he'll be found, and then my tracks. I must find a saferhiding-place where I can't be trailed."

　　"Leave me--here."

　　"Alone--to die!"

　　"Yes."

　　"I will not." Venters spoke shortly with a kind of ring in hisvoice.

　　"What--do you want--to do--with me?" Her whispering grewdifficult, so low and faint that Venters had to stoop to hearher.

　　"Why, let's see," he replied, slowly. "I'd like to take you someplace where I could watch by you, nurse you, till you're allright."

　　"And--then?"

　　"Well, it'll be time to think of that when you're cured of yourwound. It's a bad one. And--Bess, if you don't want to live--ifyou don't fight for life--you'll never--"

　　"Oh! I want--to live! I'm afraid--to die. But I'drather--die--than go back--to--to--"

　　"To Oldring?" asked Venters, interrupting her in turn.

　　Her lips moved in an affirmative.

　　"I promise not to take you back to him or to Cottonwoods or toGlaze."

　　The mournful earnestness of her gaze suddenly shone withunutterable gratitude and wonder. And as suddenly Venters foundher eyes beautiful as he had never seen or felt beauty. They wereas dark blue as the sky at night. Then the flashing changed to along, thoughtful look, in which there was a wistful, unconscioussearching of his face, a look that trembled on the verge of hopeand trust.

　　"I'll try--to live," she said. The broken whisper just reachedhis ears. "Do what--you want--with me."

　　"Rest then--don't worry--sleep," he replied.

　　Abruptly he arose, as if words had been decision for him, andwith a sharp command to the dogs he strode from the camp. Venterswas conscious of an indefinite conflict of change within him. Itseemed to be a vague passing of old moods, a dim coalescing ofnew forces, a moment of inexplicable transition. He was both castdown and uplifted. He wanted to think and think of the meaning,but he resolutely dispelled emotion. His imperative need atpresent was to find a safe retreat, and this called foraction.

　　So he set out. It still wanted several hours before dark. Thistrip he turned to the left and wended his skulking way southwarda mile or more to the opening of the valley, where lay thestrange scrawled rocks. He did not, however, venture boldly outinto the open sage, but clung to the right-hand wall and wentalong that till its perpendicular line broke into the longincline of bare stone.

　　Before proceeding farther he halted, studying the strangecharacter of this slope and realizing that a moving black objectcould be seen far against such background. Before him ascended agradual swell of smooth stone. It was hard, polished, and full ofpockets worn by centuries of eddying rain-water. A hundred yardsup began a line of grotesque cedar-trees, and they extended alongthe slope clear to its most southerly end. Beyond that endVenters wanted to get, and he concluded the cedars, few as theywere, would afford some cover.

　　Therefore he climbed swiftly. The trees were farther up than hehad estimated, though he had from long habit made allowance forthe deceiving nature of distances in that country. When he gainedthe cover of cedars he paused to rest and look, and it was thenhe saw how the trees sprang from holes in the bare rock. Ages ofrain had run down the slope, circling, eddying in depressions,wearing deep round holes. There had been dry seasons,accumulations of dust, wind-blown seeds, and cedars rosewonderfully out of solid rock. But these were not beautifulcedars. They were gnarled, twisted into weird contortions, as ifgrowth were torture, dead at the tops, shrunken, gray, and old.Theirs had been a bitter fight, and Venters felt a strangesympathy for them. This country was hard on trees--and men.

　　He slipped from cedar to cedar, keeping them between him and theopen valley. As he progressed, the belt of trees widened and hekept to its upper margin. He passed shady pockets half full ofwater, and, as he marked the location for possible future need,he reflected that there had been no rain since the winter snows.From one of these shady holes a rabbit hopped out and squatteddown, laying its ears flat.

　　Venters wanted fresh meat now more than when he had only himselfto think of. But it would not do to fire his rifle there. So hebroke off a cedar branch and threw it. He crippled the rabbit,which started to flounder up the slope. Venters did not wish tolose the meat, and he never allowed crippled game to escape, todie lingeringly in some covert. So after a careful glance below,and back toward the canyon, he began to chase the rabbit.

　　The fact that rabbits generally ran uphill was not new to him.But it presently seemed singular why this rabbit, that might haveescaped downward, chose to ascend the slope. Venters knew thenthat it had a burrow higher up. More than once he jerked over toseize it, only in vain, for the rabbit by renewed effort eludedhis grasp. Thus the chase continued on up the bare slope. Thefarther Venters climbed the more determined he grew to catch hisquarry. At last, panting and sweating, he captured the rabbit atthe foot of a steeper grade. Laying his rifle on the bulge ofrising stone, he killed the animal and slung it from his belt.

　　Before starting down he waited to catch his breath. He hadclimbed far up that wonderful smooth slope, and had almostreached the base of yellow cliff that rose skyward, a hugescarred and cracked bulk. It frowned down upon him as if toforbid further ascent. Venters bent over for his rifle, and, ashe picked it up from where it leaned against the steeper grade,he saw several little nicks cut in the solid stone.

　　They were only a few inches deep and about a foot apart. Ventersbegan to count them--one--two--three--four--on up to sixteen.That number carried his glance to the top of his first bulgingbench of cliff-base. Above, after a more level offset, was stillsteeper slope, and the line of nicks kept on, to wind round aprojecting corner of wall.

　　A casual glance would have passed by these little dents; ifVenters had not known what they signified he would never havebestowed upon them the second glance. But he knew they had beencut there by hand, and, though age-worn, he recognized them assteps cut in the rock by the cliff-dwellers. With a pulsebeginning to beat and hammer away his calmness, he eyed thatindistinct line of steps, up to where the buttress of wall hidfurther sight of them. He knew that behind the corner of stonewould be a cave or a crack which could never be suspected frombelow. Chance, that had sported with him of late, now directedhim to a probable hiding-place. Again he laid aside his rifle,and, removing boots and belt, he began to walk up the steps. Likea mountain goat, he was agile, sure-footed, and he mounted thefirst bench without bending to use his hands. The next ascenttook grip of fingers as well as toes, but he climbed steadily,swiftly, to reach the projecting corner, and slipped around it.Here he faced a notch in the cliff. At the apex he turnedabruptly into a ragged vent that split the ponderous wall clearto the top, showing a narrow streak of blue sky.

　　At the base this vent was dark, cool, and smelled of dry, mustydust. It zigzagged so that he could not see ahead more than a fewyards at a time. He noticed tracks of wildcats and rabbits in thedusty floor. At every turn he expected to come upon a huge cavernfull of little square stone houses, each with a small aperturelike a staring dark eye. The passage lightened and widened, andopened at the foot of a narrow, steep, ascending chute.

　　Venters had a moment's notice of the rock, which was of the samesmoothness and hardness as the slope below, before his gaze wentirresistibly upward to the precipitous walls of this wide ladderof granite. These were ruined walls of yellow sandstone, and sosplit and splintered, so overhanging with great sections ofbalancing rim, so impending with tremendous crumbling crags, thatVenters caught his breath sharply, and, appalled, heinstinctively recoiled as if a step upward might jar theponderous cliffs from their foundation. Indeed, it seemed thatthese ruined cliffs were but awaiting a breath of wind tocollapse and come tumbling down. Venters hesitated. It would be afoolhardy man who risked his life under the leaning, waitingavalanches of rock in that gigantic split. Yet how many years hadthey leaned there without falling! At the bottom of the inclinewas an immense heap of weathered sandstone all crumbling to dust,but there were no huge rocks as large as houses, such as restedso lightly and frightfully above, waiting patiently andinevitably to crash down. Slowly split from the parent rock bythe weathering process, and carved and sculptured by ages of windand rain, they waited their moment. Venters felt how foolish itwas for him to fear these broken walls; to fear that, after theyhad endured for thousands of years, the moment of his passingshould be the one for them to slip. Yet he feared it.

　　"What a place to hide!" muttered Venters. "I'll climb--I'll seewhere this thing goes. If only I can find water!"

　　With teeth tight shut he essayed the incline. And as he climbedhe bent his eyes downward. This, however, after a little grewimpossible; he had to look to obey his eager, curious mind. Heraised his glance and saw light between row on row of shafts andpinnacles and crags that stood out from the main wall. Someleaned against the cliff, others against each other; many stoodsheer and alone; all were crumbling, cracked, rotten. It was aplace of yellow, ragged ruin. The passage narrowed as he went up;it became a slant, hard for him to stick on; it was smooth asmarble. Finally he surmounted it, surprised to find the wallsstill several hundred feet high, and a narrow gorge leading downon the other side. This was a divide between two inclines, abouttwenty yards wide. At one side stood an enormous rock. Ventersgave it a second glance, because it rested on a pedestal. Itattracted closer attention. It was like a colossal pear of stonestanding on its stem. Around the bottom were thousands of littlenicks just distinguishable to the eye. They were marks of stonehatchets. The cliff-dwellers had chipped and chipped away at thisboulder fill it rested its tremendous bulk upon a mere pin-pointof its surface. Venters pondered. Why had the little stone-menhacked away at that big boulder? It bore no semblance to a statueor an idol or a godhead or a sphinx. Instinctively he put hishands on it and pushed; then his shoulder and heaved. The stoneseemed to groan, to stir, to grate, and then to move. It tipped alittle downward and hung balancing for a long instant, slowlyreturned, rocked slightly, groaned, and settled back to itsformer position.

　　Venters divined its significance. It had been meant for defense.The cliff-dwellers, driven by dreaded enemies to this last stand,had cunningly cut the rock until it balanced perfectly, ready to bedislodged by strong hands. Just below it leaned a tottering cragthat would have toppled, starting an avalanche on an acclivitywhere no sliding mass could stop. Crags and pinnacles, splinteredcliffs, and leaning shafts and monuments, would have thundered downto block forever the outlet to Deception Pass.

　　"That was a narrow shave for me," said Venters, soberly. "Abalancing rock! The cliff-dwellers never had to roll it. Theydied, vanished, and here the rock stands, probably littlechanged....But it might serve another lonely dweller of thecliffs. I'll hide up here somewhere, if I can only find water."

　　He descended the gorge on the other side. The slope was gradual,the space narrow, the course straight for many rods. A gloom hungbetween the up-sweeping walls. In a turn the passage narrowed toscarce a dozen feet, and here was darkness of night. But lightshone ahead; another abrupt turn brought day again, and then wideopen space.

　　Above Venters loomed a wonderful arch of stone bridging thecanyon rims, and through the enormous round portal gleamed andglistened a beautiful valley shining under sunset gold reflectedby surrounding cliffs. He gave a start of surprise. The valleywas a cove a mile long, half that wide, and its enclosing wallswere smooth and stained, and curved inward, forming great caves.He decided that its floor was far higher than the level ofDeception Pass and the intersecting canyons. No purple sagecolored this valley floor. Instead there were the white ofaspens, streaks of branch and slender trunk glistening from thegreen of leaves, and the darker green of oaks, and through themiddle of this forest, from wall to wall, ran a winding line ofbrilliant green which marked the course of cottonwoods andwillows.

　　"There's water here--and this is the place for me," said Venters."Only birds can peep over those walls, I've gone Oldring onebetter."

　　Venters waited no longer, and turned swiftly to retrace hissteps. He named the canyon Surprise Valley and the huge boulderthat guarded the outlet Balancing Rock. Going down he did notfind himself attended by such fears as had beset him in theclimb; still, he was not easy in mind and could not occupyhimself with plans of moving the girl and his outfit until he haddescended to the notch. There he rested a moment and looked abouthim. The pass was darkening with the approach of night. At thecorner of the wall, where the stone steps turned, he saw a spurof rock that would serve to hold the noose of a lasso. He neededno more aid to scale that place. As he intended to make the moveunder cover of darkness, he wanted most to be able to tell whereto climb up. So, taking several small stones with him, he steppedand slid down to the edge of the slope where he had left hisrifle and boots. He placed the stones some yards apart. He leftthe rabbit lying upon the bench where the steps began. Then headdressed a keen-sighted, remembering gaze to the rim-wall above.It was serrated, and between two spears of rock, directly in linewith his position, showed a zigzag crack that at night would letthrough the gleam of sky. This settled, he put on his belt andboots and prepared to descend. Some consideration was necessaryto decide whether or not to leave his rifle there. On the return,carrying the girl and a pack, it would be added encumbrance; andafter debating the matter he left the rifle leaning against thebench. As he went straight down the slope he halted every fewrods to look up at his mark on the rim. It changed, but he fixedeach change in his memory. When he reached the first cedar-tree,he tied his scarf upon a dead branch, and then hurried towardcamp, having no more concern about finding his trail upon thereturn trip.

　　Darkness soon emboldened and lent him greater speed. It occurredto him, as he glided into the grassy glade near camp and head thewhinny of a horse, that he had forgotten Wrangle. The big sorrelcould not be gotten into Surprise Valley. He would have to beleft here.

　　Venters determined at once to lead the other horses out throughthe thicket and turn them loose. The farther they wandered fromthis canyon the better it would suit him. He easily descriedWrangle through the gloom, but the others were not in sight.Venters whistled low for the dogs, and when they came trotting tohim he sent them out to search for the horses, and followed. Itsoon developed that they were not in the glade nor the thicket.Venters grew cold and rigid at the thought of rustlers havingentered his retreat. But the thought passed, for the demeanor ofRing and Whitie reassured him. The horses had wandered away.

　　Under the clump of silver spruces a denser mantle of darkness,yet not so thick that Venter's night-practiced eyes could notcatch the white oval of a still face. He bent over it with aslight suspension of breath that was both caution lest hefrighten her and chill uncertainty of feeling lest he find herdead. But she slept, and he arose to renewed activity.

　　He packed his saddle-bags. The dogs were hungry, they whinedabout him and nosed his busy hands; but he took no time to feedthem nor to satisfy his own hunger. He slung the saddlebags overhis shoulders and made them secure with his lasso. Then hewrapped the blankets closer about the girl and lifted her in hisarms. Wrangle whinnied and thumped the ground as Venters passedhim with the dogs. The sorrel knew he was being left behind, andwas not sure whether he liked it or not. Venters went on andentered the thicket. Here he had to feel his way in pitchblackness and to wedge his progress between the close saplings.Time meant little to him now that he had started, and he edgedalong with slow side movement till he got clear of the thicket.Ring and Whitie stood waiting for him. Taking to the open aislesand patches of the sage, he walked guardedly, careful not tostumble or step in dust or strike against spreadingsage-branches.

　　If he were burdened he did not feel it. From time to time, whenhe passed out of the black lines of shade into the wan starlight,he glanced at the white face of the girl lying in his arms. Shehad not awakened from her sleep or stupor. He did not rest untilhe cleared the black gate of the canyon. Then he leaned against astone breast-high to him and gently released the girl from hishold. His brow and hair and the palms of his hands were wet, andthere was a kind of nervous contraction of his muscles. Theyseemed to ripple and string tense. He had a desire to hurry andno sense of fatigue. A wind blew the scent of sage in his face.The first early blackness of night passed with the brightening ofthe stars. Somewhere back on his trail a coyote yelped, splittingthe dead silence. Venters's faculties seemed singularlyacute.

　　He lifted the girl again and pressed on. The valley bettertraveling than the canyon. It was lighter, freer of sage, andthere were no rocks. Soon, out of the pale gloom shone a stillpaler thing, and that was the low swell of slope. Venters mountedit and his dogs walked beside him. Once upon the stone he slowedto snail pace, straining his sight to avoid the pockets andholes. Foot by foot he went up. The weird cedars, like greatdemons and witches chained to the rock and writhing in silentanguish, loomed up with wide and twisting naked arms. Venterscrossed this belt of cedars, skirted the upper border, andrecognized the tree he had marked, even before he saw his wavingscarf.

　　Here he knelt and deposited the girl gently, feet first andslowly laid her out full length. What he feared was to reopen oneof her wounds. If he gave her a violent jar, or slipped and fell!But the supreme confidence so strangely felt that night admittedno such blunders.

　　The slope before him seemed to swell into obscurity to lose itsdefinite outline in a misty, opaque cloud that shaded into theover-shadowing wall. He scanned the rim where the serrated pointsspeared the sky, and he found the zigzag crack. It was dim, onlya shade lighter than the dark ramparts, but he distinguished it,and that served.

　　Lifting the girl, he stepped upward, closely attending to thenature of the path under his feet. After a few steps he stoppedto mark his line with the crack in the rim. The dogs clung closerto him. While chasing the rabbit this slope had appearedinterminable to him; now, burdened as he was, he did not think oflength or height or toil. He remembered only to avoid a misstepand to keep his direction. He climbed on, with frequent stops towatch the rim, and before he dreamed of gaining the bench hebumped his knees into it, and saw, in the dim gray light, hisrifle and the rabbit. He had come straight up without mishap orswerving off his course, and his shut teeth unlocked.

　　As he laid the girl down in the shallow hollow of the littleridge with her white face upturned, she opened her eyes. Wide,staring black, at once like both the night and the stars, theymade her face seem still whiter.

　　"Is--it--you?" she asked, faintly.

　　"Yes," replied Venters.

　　"Oh! Where--are we?"

　　"I'm taking you to a safe place where no one will ever find you.I must climb a little here and call the dogs. Don't be afraid.I'll soon come for you."

　　She said no more. Her eyes watched him steadily for a moment andthen closed. Venters pulled off his boots and then felt for thelittle steps in the rock. The shade of the cliff above obscuredthe point he wanted to gain, but he could see dimly a few feetbefore him. What he had attempted with care he now went at withsurpassing lightness. Buoyant, rapid, sure, he attained thecorner of wall and slipped around it. Here he could not see ahand before his face, so he groped along, found a little flatspace, and there removed the saddle-bags. The lasso he took backwith him to the corner and looped the noose over the spur ofrock.

　　"Ring--Whitie--come," he called, softly.

　　Low whines came up from below.

　　"Here! Come, Whitie--Ring," he repeated, this time sharply.

　　Then followed scraping of claws and pattering of feet; and out ofthe gray gloom below him swiftly climbed the dogs to reach hisside and pass beyond.

　　Venters descended, holding to the lasso. He tested its strengthby throwing all his weight upon it. Then he gathered the girl up,and, holding her securely in his left arm, he began to climb, atevery few steps jerking his right hand upward along the lasso. Itsagged at each forward movement he made, but he balanced himselflightly during the interval when he lacked the support of a tautrope. He climbed as if he had wings, the strength of a giant, andknew not the sense of fear. The sharp corner of cliff seemed tocut out of the darkness. He reached it and the protruding shelf,and then, entering the black shade of the notch, he moved blindlybut surely to the place where he had left the saddle-bags. Heheard the dogs, though he could not see them. Once more hecarefully placed the girl at his feet. Then, on hands and knees,he went over the little flat space, feeling for stones. Heremoved a number, and, scraping the deep dust into a heap, heunfolded the outer blanket from around the girl and laid her uponthis bed. Then he went down the slope again for his boots, rifle,and the rabbit, and, bringing also his lasso with him, he madeshort work of that trip.

　　"Are--you--there?" The girl's voice came low from the blackness.

　　"Yes," he replied, and was conscious that his laboring breastmade speech difficult.

　　"Are we--in a cave?"

　　"Yes."

　　"Oh, listen!...The waterfall!...I hear it! You've brought meback!"

　　Venters heard a murmuring moan that one moment swelled to a pitchalmost softly shrill and the next lulled to a low, almostinaudible sigh.

　　"That's--wind blowing--in the--cliffs," he panted. "You're farfrom Oldring's--canyon."

　　The effort it cost him to speak made him conscious of extremelassitude following upon great exertion. It seemed that when helay down and drew his blanket over him the action was the lastbefore utter prostration. He stretched inert, wet, hot, his bodyone great strife of throbbing, stinging nerves and burstingveins. And there he lay for a long while before he felt that hehad begun to rest.

　　Rest came to him that night, but no sleep. Sleep he did not want.The hours of strained effort were now as if they had never been,and he wanted to think. Earlier in the day he had dismissed aninexplicable feeling of change; but now, when there was no longerdemand on his cunning and strength and he had time to think, hecould not catch the illusive thing that had sadly perplexed aswell as elevated his spirit.

　　Above him, through a V-shaped cleft in the dark rim of the cliff,shone the lustrous stars that had been his lonely accusers for along, long year. To-night they were different. He studied them.Larger, whiter, more radiant they seemed; but that was not thedifference he meant. Gradually it came to him that thedistinction was not one he saw, but one he felt. In this hedivined as much of the baffling change as he thought would berevealed to him then. And as he lay there, with the singing ofthe cliff-winds in his ears, the white stars above the dark, boldvent, the difference which he felt was that he was no longeralone.