II. White Sage

by Zane Grey

　　THE night was as a blank to Hare; the morning like a drifting of hazyclouds before his eyes. He felt himself moving; and when he awakenedclearly to consciousness he lay upon a couch on the vine-covered porch ofa cottage. He saw August Naab open a garden gate to admit Martin Cole.They met as friends; no trace of scorn marred August's greeting, andMartin was not the same man who had shown fear on the desert. Hiswelcome was one of respectful regard for his superior.

　　"Elder, I heard you were safe in," he said, fervently. "We feared--Iknow not what. I was distressed till I got the news of your arrival.How's the young man?"

　　"He's very ill. But while there's life there's hope."

　　"Will the Bishop administer to him?"

　　"Gladly, if the young man's willing. Come, let's go in."

　　"Wait, August," said Cole. "Did you know your son Snap was in thevillage?"

　　"My son here!" August Naab betrayed anxiety. "I left him home with work.He shouldn't have come. Is--is he--"

　　"He's drinking and in an ugly mood. It seems he traded horses with JeffLarsen, and got the worst of the deal. There's pretty sure to be afight."

　　"He always hated Larsen."

　　"Small wonder. Larsen is mean; he's as bad as we've got and that'ssaying a good deal. Snap has done worse things than fight with Larsen.He's doing a worse thing now, August--he's too friendly with Dene."

　　"I've heard--I've heard it before. But, Martin, what can I do?"

　　"Do? God knows. What can any of us do? Times have changed, August.Dene is here in White Sage, free, welcome in many homes. Some of ourneighbors, perhaps men we trust, are secret members of this rustler'sband."

　　"You're right, Cole. There are Mormons who are cattle-thieves. To myeternal shame I confess it. Under cover of night they ride with Dene,and here in our midst they meet him in easy tolerance. Driven fromMontana he comes here to corrupt our young men. God's mercy!"

　　"August, some of our young men need no one to corrupt them. Dene had nogreat task to win them. He rode in here with a few outlaws and now hehas a strong band. We've got to face it. We haven't any law, but he canbe killed. Some one must kill him. Yet bad as Dene is, he doesn'tthreaten our living as Holderness does. Dene steals a few cattle, killsa man here and there. Holderness reaches out and takes our springs.Because we've no law to stop him, he steals the blood of our life--water--water--God's gift to the desert! Some one must kill Holderness, too!"

　　"Martin, this lust to kill is a fearful thing. Come in, you must praywith the Bishop."

　　"No, it's not prayer I need, Elder," replied Cole, stubbornly. "I'm stilla good Mormon. What I want is the stock I've lost, and my fields greenagain."

　　August Naab had no answer for his friend. A very old man with snow-whitehair and beard came out on the porch.

　　"Bishop, brother Martin is railing again," said Naab, as Cole bared hishead.

　　"Martin, my son, unbosom thyself," rejoined the Bishop.

　　"Black doubt and no light," said Cole, despondently. "I'm of the youngergeneration of Mormons, and faith is harder for me. I see signs you can'tsee. I've had trials hard to bear. I was rich in cattle, sheep, andwater. These Gentiles, this rancher Holderness and this outlaw Dene,have driven my cattle, killed my sheep, piped my water off my fields. Idon't like the present. We are no longer in the old days. Our young menare drifting away, and the few who return come with ideas opposed toMormonism. Our girls and boys are growing up influenced by the Gentilesamong us. They intermarry, and that's a death-blow to our creed."

　　"Martin, cast out this poison from your heart. Return to your faith.The millennium will come. Christ will reign on earth again. The tentribes of Israel will be restored. The Book of Mormon is the Word ofGod. The creed will live. We may suffer here and die, but our spiritswill go marching on; and the City of Zion will be builded over ourgraves."

　　Cole held up his hands in a meekness that signified hope if not faith.

　　August Naab bent over Hare. "I would like to have the Bishop administerto you," he said.

　　"What's that?" asked Hare.

　　"A Mormon custom, 'the laying on of hands.' We know its efficacy introuble and illness. A Bishop of the Mormon Church has the gift oftongues, of prophecy, of revelation, of healing. Let him administer toyou. It entails no obligation. Accept it as a prayer."

　　"I'm willing." replied the young man.

　　Thereupon Naab spoke a few low words to some one through the open door.Voices ceased; soft footsteps sounded without; women crossed thethreshold, followed by tall young men and rosy-checked girls andround-eyed children. A white-haired old woman came forward with solemndignity. She carried a silver bowl which she held for the Bishop as hestood close by Hare's couch. The Bishop put his hands into the bowl,anointing them with fragrant oil; then he placed them on the young man'shead, and offered up a brief prayer, beautiful in its simplicty andtremulous utterance.

　　The ceremony ended, the onlookers came forward with pleasant words ontheir lips, pleasant smiles on their faces. The children filed by hiscouch, bashful yet sympathetic; the women murmured, the young men graspedhis hand. Mescal flitted by with downcast eye, with shy smile, but noword.

　　"Your fever is gone," said August Naab, with his hand on Hare's cheek.

　　"It comes and goes suddenly," replied Hare. "I feel better now, only I'moppressed. I can't breathe freely. I want air, and I'm hungry."

　　"Mother Mary, the lad's hungry. Judith, Esther, where are your wits?Help your mother. Mescal, wait on him, see to his comfort."

　　Mescal brought a little table and a pillow, and the other girls soonfollowed with food and drink; then they hovered about, absorbed in caringfor him.

　　"They said I fell among thieves," mused Hare, when he was once morealone. "I've fallen among saints as well." He felt that he could neverrepay this August Naab. "If only I might live!" he ejaculated. Howrestful was this cottage garden! The green sward was a balm to his eyes.Flowers new to him, though of familiar springtime hue, lifted fresh faceseverywhere; fruit-trees, with branches intermingling, blended the whiteand pink of blossoms. There was the soft laughter of children in thegarden. Strange birds darted among the trees. Their notes were new, buttheir song was the old delicious monotone--the joy of living and love ofspring. A green-bowered irrigation ditch led by the porch and unseenwater flowed gently, with gurgle and tinkle, with music in its hurry.Innumerable bees murmured amid the blossoms.

　　Hare fell asleep. Upon returning drowsily to consciousness he caughtthrough half-open eyes the gleam of level shafts of gold sunlight lowdown in the trees; then he felt himself being carried into the house tobe laid upon a bed. Some one gently unbuttoned his shirt at the neck,removed his shoes, and covered him with a blanket. Before he had fullyawakened he was left alone, and quiet settled over the house. Alanguorous sense of ease and rest lulled him to sleep again. In anothermoment, it seemed to him, he was awake; bright daylight streamed throughthe window, and a morning breeze stirred the faded curtain.

　　The drag in his breathing which was always a forerunner of acoughing-spell warned him now; he put on coat and shoes and went outside,where his cough attacked him, had its sway, and left him.

　　"Good-morning," sang out August Naab's cheery voice. "Sixteen hours ofsleep, my lad!"

　　"I did sleep, didn't I? No wonder I feel well this morning. Apeculiarity of my illness is that one day I'm down, the next day up."

　　"With the goodness of God, my lad, we'll gradually increase the days up.Go in to breakfast. Afterward I want to talk to you. This'll be a busyday for me, shoeing the horses and packing supplies. I want to start forhome to-morrow."

　　Hare pondered over Naab's words while he ate. The suggestion in them,implying a relation to his future, made him wonder if the good Mormonintended to take him to his desert home. He hoped so, and warmed anew tothis friend. But he had no enthusiasm for himself; his future seemedhopeless.

　　Naab was waiting for him on the porch, and drew him away from the cottagedown the path toward the gate

　　"I want you to go home with me."

　　"You're kind--I'm only a sort of beggar--I've no strength left to work myway. I'll go--though it's only to die."

　　"I haven't the gift of revelation--yet somehow I see that you won't dieof this illness. You will come home with me. It's a beautiful place, myNavajo oasis. The Indians call it the Garden of Eschtah. If you can getwell anywhere it'll be there."

　　"I'll go but I ought not. What can I do for you?

　　"No man can ever tell what he may do for another. The time may come--well, John, is it settled?" He offered his huge broad hand.

　　"It's settled--I--" Hare faltered as he put his hand in Naab's. TheMormon's grip straightened his frame and braced him. Strength andsimplicity flowed from the giant's toil-hardened palm. Hare swallowedhis thanks along with his emotion, and for what he had intended to say hesubstituted: "No one ever called me John. I don't know the name. Callme Jack."

　　"Very well, Jack, and now let's see. You'll need some things from thestore. Can you come with me? It's not far."

　　"Surely. And now what I need most is a razor to scrape the alkali andstubble off my face."

　　The wide street, bordered by cottages peeping out of green and whiteorchards, stretched in a straight line to the base of the ascent whichled up to the Pink Cliffs. A green square enclosed a gray church, aschool-house and public hall. Farther down the main thoroughfare wereseveral weather-boarded whitewashed stores. Two dusty men were ridingalong, one on each side of the wildest, most vicious little horse Harehad ever seen. It reared and bucked and kicked, trying to escape fromtwo lassoes. In front of the largest store were a number of mustangs allstanding free, with bridles thrown over their heads and trailing on theground. The loungers leaning against the railing and about the doorswere lank brown men very like Naab's sons. Some wore sheepskin "chaps,"some blue overalls; all wore boots and spurs, wide soft hats, and intheir belts, far to the back, hung large Colt's revolvers.

　　"We'll buy what you need, just as if you expected to ride the ranges forme to-morrow," said Naab. "The first thing we ask a new man is, can heride? Next, can he shoot?"

　　"I could ride before I got so weak. I've never handled a revolver, but Ican shoot a rifle. Never shot at anything except targets, and it seemedto come natural for me to hit them."

　　"Good. We'll show you some targets--lions, bears, deer, cats, wolves.There's a fine forty-four Winchester here that my friend Abe has beentrying to sell. It has a long barrel and weighs eight pounds. Ourdesert riders like the light carbines that go easy on a saddle. Most ofthe mustangs aren't weight-carriers. This rifle has a great range; I'veshot it, and it's just the gun for you to use on wolves and coyotes.You'll need a Colt and a saddle, too."

　　"By-the-way," he went on, as they mounted the store steps, "here's thekind of money we use in this country." He handed Hare a slip of bluepaper, a written check for a sum of money, signed, but without registerof bank or name of firm. "We don't use real money," he added. "There'svery little coin or currency in southern Utah. Most of the Gentileslately come in have money, and some of us Mormons have a bag or two ofgold, but scarcely any of it gets into circulation. We use these checks,which go from man to man sometimes for six months. The roundup of a checkmeans sheep, cattle, horses, grain, merchandise or labor. Every man getshis real money's value without paying out an actual cent."

　　"Such a system at least means honest men," said Hare, laughing hissurprise.

　　They went into a wide door to tread a maze of narrow aisles between boxesand barrels, stacks of canned vegetables, and piles of harness and drygoods; they entered an open space where several men leaned on a counter.

　　"Hello, Abe," said Naab; "seen anything of Snap?"

　　"Hello, August. Yes, Snap's inside. So's Holderness. Says he rode inoff the range on purpose to see you." Abe designated an open doorway fromwhich issued loud voices. Hare glanced into a long narrow room full ofsmoke and the fumes of rum. Through the haze he made out a crowd of menat a rude bar. Abe went to the door and called out: "Hey, Snap, your dadwants you. Holderness, here's August Naab."

　　A man staggered up the few steps leading to the store and swayed in. Hislong face had a hawkish cast, and it was gray, not with age, but with thesage-gray of the desert. His eyes were of the same hue, cold yet burningwith little fiery flecks in their depths. He appeared short of staturebecause of a curvature of the spine, but straightened up he would havebeen tall. He wore a blue flannel shirt, and blue overalls; round hislean hips was a belt holding two Colt's revolvers, their heavy, darkbutts projecting outward, and he had on high boots with long, cruelspurs.

　　"Howdy, father?" he said.

　　"I'm packing to-day," returned August Naab. "We ride out to-morrow. Ineed your help."

　　"All-l right. When I get my pinto from Larsen."

　　"Never mind Larsen. If he got the better of you let the matter drop."

　　"Jeff got my pinto for a mustang with three legs. If I hadn't been drunkI'd never have traded. So I'm looking for Jeff."

　　He bit out the last words with a peculiar snap of his long teeth, acircumstance which caused Hare instantly to associate the savage clickingwith the name he had heard given this man. August Naab looked at him withgloomy eyes and stern shut mouth, an expression of righteous anger,helplessness and grief combined, the look of a man to whom obstacles hadbeen nothing, at last confronted with crowning defeat. Hare realized thatthis son was Naab's first-born, best-loved, a thorn in his side, a blacksheep.

　　"Say, father, is that the spy you found on the trail?" Snap's pale eyesgleamed on Hare and the little flames seemed to darken and leap.

　　"This is John Hare, the young man I found. But he's not a spy."

　　"You can't make any one believe that. He's down as a spy. Dene's spy!His name's gone over the ranges as a counter of unbranded stock. Denehas named him and Dene has marked him. Don't take him home, as you'vetaken so many sick and hunted men before. What's the good of it? Younever made a Mormon of one of them yet. Don't take him--unless you wantanother grave for your cemetery. Ha! Ha!"

　　Hare recoiled with a shock. Snap Naab swayed to the door, and steppeddown, all the time with his face over his shoulder, his baleful glance onHare; then the blue haze swallowed him,

　　The several loungers went out; August engaged the storekeeper inconversation, introducing Hare and explaining their wants. Theyinspected the various needs of a range-rider, selecting, in the end, notthe few suggested by Hare, but the many chosen by Naab. The lastpurchase was the rifle Naab had talked about. It was a beautiful weapon,finely polished and carved, entirely out of place among the plaincoarse-sighted and coarse-stocked guns in the rack.

　　"Never had a chance to sell it," said Abe. "Too long and heavy for theriders. I'll let it go cheap, half price, and the cartridges also, twothousand."

　　"Taken," replied Naab, quickly, with a satisfaction which showed he likeda bargain.

　　"August, you must be going to shoot some?" queried Abe. "Somethingbigger than rabbits and coyotes. Its about time--even if you are anElder. We Mormons must--" he broke off, continuing in a low tone: "Here'sHolderness now."

　　Hare wheeled with the interest that had gathered with the reiteration ofthis man's name. A new-comer stooped to get in the door. He out-toppedeven Naab in height, and was a superb blond-bearded man, striding withthe spring of a mountaineer.

　　"Good-day to you, Naab," he said. "Is this the young fellow you pickedup?"

　　"Yes. Jack Hare," rejoined Naab.

　　"Well, Hare, I'm Holderness. You'll recall my name. You were sent to Lundby men interested in my ranges. I expected to see you in Lund, butcouldn't get over."

　　Hare met the proffered hand with his own, and as he had recoiled fromSnap Naab so now he received another shock, different indeed butimpelling in its power, instinctive of some great portent. Hare wasimpressed by an indefinable subtlety, a nameless distrust, as colorlessas the clear penetrating amber lightness of the eyes that bent upon him.

　　"Holderness, will you right the story about Hare?" inquired Naab.

　　"You mean about his being a spy? Well, Naab, the truth is that was hisjob. I advised against sending a man down here for that sort of work.It won't do. These Mormons will steal each other's cattle, and they'vegot to get rid of them; so they won't have a man taking account of stock,brands, and all that. If the Mormons would stand for it the rustlerswouldn't. I'll take Hare out to the ranch and give him work, if hewants. But he'd do best to leave Utah."

　　"Thank you, no," replied Hare, decidedly.

　　"He's going with me," said August Naab.

　　Holderness accepted this with an almost imperceptible nod, and he sweptHare with eyes that searched and probed for latent possibilities. It wasthe keen intelligence of a man who knew what development meant on thedesert; not in any sense an interest in the young man at present. Thenhe turned his back.

　　Hare, feeling that Holderness wished to talk with Naab, walked to thecounter, and began assorting his purchases, but he could not help hearingwhat was said.

　　"Lungs bad?" queried Holderness.

　　"One of them," replied Naab.

　　'He's all in. Better send him out of the country. He's got the name ofDene's spy and he'll never get another on this desert. Dene will killhim. This isn't good judgment, Naab, to take him with you. Even yourfriends don't like it, and it means trouble for you."

　　"We've settled it," said Naab, coldly.

　　"Well, remember, I've warned you. I've tried to be friendly with you,Naab, but you won't have it. Anyway, I've wanted to see you lately tofind out how we stand."

　　"What do you mean?"

　　"How we stand on several things--to begin with, there Mescal."

　　"You asked me several times for Mescal, and I said no."

　　"But I never said I'd marry her. Now I want her, and I will marry her."

　　"No," rejoined Naab, adding brevity to his coldness.

　　"Why not?" demanded Holderness. "Oh, well, I can't take that as aninsult. I know there's not enough money in Utah to get a girl away froma Mormon. . . . About the offer for the water-rights--how do we stand?I'll give you ten thousand dollars for the rights to Seeping Springs andSilver Cup."

　　"Ten thousand!" ejaculated Naab. "Holderness, I wouldn't take a hundredthousand. You might as well ask to buy my home, my stock, my range,twenty years of toil, for ten thousand dollars!"

　　"You refuse? All right. I think I've made you a fair proposition," saidHolderness, in a smooth, quick tone. "The land is owned by theGovernment, and though your ranges are across the Arizona line theyreally figure as Utah land. My company's spending big money, and theGovernment won't let you have a monopoly. No one man can control thewater-supply of a hundred miles of range. Times are changing. You wantto see that. You ought to protect yourself before it's too late."

　　"Holderness, this is a desert. No men save Mormons could ever have madeit habitable. The Government scarcely knows of its existence. It'll befifty years before man can come in here to take our water."

　　"Why can't he? The water doesn't belong to any one. Why can't he?"

　　"Because of the unwritten law of the desert. No Mormon would refuse youor your horse a drink, or even a reasonable supply for your stock. Butyou can't come in here and take our water for your own use, to supplantus, to parch our stock. Why, even an Indian respects desert law!"

　　"Bah! I'm not a Mormon or an Indian. I'm a cattleman. It's plainbusiness with me. Once more I make you the offer."

　　Naab scorned to reply. The men faced each other for a silent moment,their glances scintillating. Then Holderness whirled on his heel,jostling into Hare.

　　"Get out of my way," said the rancher, in the disgust of intenseirritation. He swung his arm, and his open hand sent Hare reelingagainst the counter.

　　"Jack," said Naab, breathing hard, "Holderness showed his real selfto-day. I always knew it, yet I gave him the benefit of the doubt. . . .For him to strike you! I've not the gift of revelation, but I see--let usgo."

　　On the return to the Bishop's cottage Naab did not speak once; thetransformation which had begun with the appearance of his drunken son hadreached a climax of gloomy silence after the clash with Holderness. Naabwent directly to the Bishop, and presently the quavering voice of the oldminister rose in prayer.

　　Hare dropped wearily into the chair on the porch; and presently fell intoa doze, from which he awakened with a start. Naab's sons, with MartinCole and several other men, were standing in the yard. Naab himself wasgently crowding the women into the house. When he got them all inside heclosed the door and turned to Cole.

　　"Was it a fair fight?"

　　"Yes, an even break. They met in front of Abe's. I saw the meeting.Neither was surprised. They stood for a moment watching each other.Then they drew--only Snap was quicker. Larsen's gun went off as he fell.That trick you taught Snap saved his life again. Larsen was no slouch onthe draw."

　　"Where's Snap now?"

　　"Gone after his pinto. He was sober. Said he'd pack at once. Larsen'sfriends are ugly. Snap said to tell you to hurry out of the village withyoung Hare, if you want to take him at all. Dene has ridden in; heswears you won't take Hare away."

　　"We're all packed and ready to hitch up," returned Naab. "We could startat once, only until dark I'd rather take chances here than out on thetrail."

　　"Snap said Dene would ride right into the Bishop's after Hare."

　　"No. He wouldn't dare."

　　"Father!" Dave Naab spoke sharply from where he stood high on a grassybank. "Here's Dene now, riding up with Culver, and some man I don'tknow. They're coming in. Dene's jumped the fence! Look out!"

　　A clatter of hoofs and rattling of gravel preceded the appearance of ablack horse in the garden path. His rider bent low to dodge the vines ofthe arbor, and reined in before the porch to slip out of the saddle withthe agility of an Indian. It was Dene, dark, smiling, nonchalant.

　　"What do you seek in the house of a Bishop?" challenged August Naab,planting his broad bulk square before Hare.

　　"Dene's spy!"

　　"What do you seek in the house of a Bishop?" repeated Naab.

　　"I shore want to see the young feller you lied to me about," returnedDene, his smile slowly fading.

　　"No speech could be a lie to an outlaw."

　　"I want him, you Mormon preacher!"

　　"You can't have him."

　　"I'll shore get him."

　　In one great stride Naab confronted and towered over Dene.

　　The rustler's gaze shifted warily from Naab to the quiet Mormons and backagain. Then his right hand quivered and shot downward. Naab's act waseven quicker. A Colt gleamed and whirled to the grass, and the outlawcried as his arm cracked in the Mormon's grasp

　　Dave Naab leaped off the bank directly in front of Dene's approachingcompanions, and faced them, alert and silent, his hand on his hip.

　　August Naab swung the outlaw against the porch-post and held him therewith brawny arm.

　　"Whelp of an evil breed!" he thundered, shaking his gray head. "Do youthink we fear you and your gunsharp tricks? Look! See this!" He releasedDene and stepped back with his hand before him. Suddenly it moved,quicker than sight, and a Colt revolver lay in his outstretched palm. Hedropped it back into the holster. "Let that teach you never to draw on meagain." He doubled his huge fist and shoved it before Dene's eyes. "Oneblow would crack your skull like an egg-shell. Why don't I deal it?Because, you mindless hell-hound, because there s a higher law thanman's--God's law--Thou shalt not kill! Understand that if you can. Leaveme and mine alone from this day. Now go!"

　　He pushed Dene down the path into the arms of his companions.

　　"Out with you!" said Dave Naab. "Hurry! Get your horse. Hurry! I'm notso particular about God as Dad is!"