IV. The Oasis

by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

　　AUGUST NAAB'S oasis was an oval valley, level as a floor, green with leafand white with blossom, enclosed by a circle of colossal cliffs of vividvermilion hue. At its western curve the Colorado River split the redwalls from north to south. When the wind was west a sullen roar, remoteas of some far-off driving mill, filled the valley; when it was east adreamy hollow hum, a somnolent song, murmured through the cottonwoods;when no wind stirred, silence reigned, a silence not of serene plain ormountain fastness, but shut in, compressed, strange, and breathless.Safe from the storms of the elements as well as of the world was thisGarden of Eschtah.

　　Naab had put Hare to bed on the unroofed porch of a log house, but routedhim out early, and when Hare lifted the blankets a shower ofcotton-blossoms drifted away like snow. A grove of gray-barked treesspread green canopy overhead, and through the intricate web shone crimsonwalls, soaring with resistless onsweep up and up to shut out all but ablue lake of sky.

　　"I want you to see the Navajos cross the river," said Naab.

　　Hare accompanied him out through the grove to a road that flanked thefirst rise of the red wall; they followed this for half a mile, andturning a corner came into an unobstructed view. A roar of rushingwaters had prepared Hare, but the river that he saw appalled him. It wasred and swift; it slid onward like an enormous slippery snake; itsconstricted head raised a crest of leaping waves, and disappeared in adark chasm, whence came a bellow and boom.

　　"That opening where she jumps off is the head of the Grand Canyon," saidNaab. "It's five hundred feet deep there, and thirty miles below it'sfive thousand. Oh, once in, she tears in a hurry! Come, we turn up thebank here."

　　Hare could find no speech, and he felt immeasurably small. All that hehad seen in reaching this isolated spot was dwarfed in comparison. This"Crossing of the Fathers," as Naab called it, was the gateway of thedesert. This roar of turbulent waters was the sinister monotone of themighty desert symphony of great depths, great heights, great reaches.

　　On a sandy strip of bank the Navajos had halted. This was as far as theycould go, for above the wall jutted out into the river. From here thehead of the Canyon was not visible, and the roar of the rapids wasaccordingly lessened in volume. But even in this smooth water the riverspoke a warning.

　　"The Navajos go in here and swim their mustangs across to that sand bar,"explained Naab. "The current helps when she's high, and there's athree-foot raise on now."

　　"I can't believe it possible. What danger they must run--those littlemustangs!" exclaimed Hare.

　　"Danger? Yes, I suppose so," replied Naab, as if it were a new idea."My lad, the Mormons crossed here by the hundreds. Many were drowned.This trail and crossing were unknown except to Indians before the Mormonexodus."

　　The mustangs had to be driven into the water. Scarbreast led, and hismustang, after many kicks and reluctant steps, went over his depth,wetting the stalwart chief to the waist. Bare-legged Indians waded inand urged their pack-ponies. Shouts, shrill cries, blows mingled withsnorts and splashes.

　　Dave and George Naab in flat boats rowed slowly on the down-stream sideof the Indians. Presently all the mustangs and ponies were in, theprocession widening out in a triangle from Scarbreast, the leader. Thepack-ponies appeared to swim better than the mounted mustangs, or elsethe packs of deer-pelts made them more buoyant. When one-third wayacross the head of the swimming train met the current, and the line ofprogress broke. Mustang after mustang swept down with a rapidity whichshowed the power of the current. Yet they swam steadily with flanksshining, tails sometimes afloat, sometimes under, noses up, and ridersholding weapons aloft. But the pack-ponies labored when the currentstruck them, and whirling about, they held back the Indians who wereleading them, and blocked those behind. The orderly procession of thestart became a broken line, and then a rout. Here and there a Navajoslipped into the water and swam, leading his mustang; others pulled onpack-ponies and beat their mounts; strong-swimming mustangs forged ahead;weak ones hung back, and all obeyed the downward will of the current.

　　While Hare feared for the lives of some of the Navajos, and pitied theladen ponies, he could not but revel in the scene, in its vivid actionand varying color, in the cries and shrill whoops of the Indians, and thesnorts of the frightened mustangs, in Naab's hoarse yells to his sons,and the ever-present menacing roar from around the bend. The wildness ofit all, the necessity of peril and calm acceptance of it, stirred withinHare the call, the awakening, the spirit of the desert.

　　August Naab's stentorian voice rolled out over the river. "Ho! Dave--theyellow pinto--pull him loose--George, back this way--there's a packslipping--down now, downstream, turn that straggler in--Dave, in thattangle--quick! There's a boy drowning-- his foot's caught-- he's beenkicked-- Hurry! Hurry There's a pony under--Too late, George, let that one go-- let him go, I tell you!"

　　So the crossing of the Navajos proceeded, never an instant free fromdanger in that churning current. The mustangs and ponies flounderedsomewhat on the sand-bar and then parted the willows and appeared on atrail skirting the red wall. Dave Naab moored his boat on that side ofthe river, and returned with George.

　　"We'll look over my farm," said August, as they retraced their steps. Heled Hare through fields of alfalfa, in all stages of growth, explainingthat it yielded six crops a year. Into one ten-acre lot pigs and cowshad been turned to feed at will. Everywhere the ground was soggy; littlestreams of water trickled down ditches. Next to the fields was anorchard, where cherries were ripe, apricots already large, plum-treesshedding their blossoms, and apple-trees just opening into bloom. Naabexplained that the products of his oasis were abnormal; the ground wasexceedingly rich and could be kept always wet; the reflection of the sunfrom the walls robbed even winter of any rigor, and the spring, summer,and autumn were tropical. He pointed to grape-vines as large as a man'sthigh and told of bunches of grapes four feet long; he showed sproutingplants on which watermelons and pumpkins would grow so large that one mancould not lift them; he told of one pumpkin that held a record of takingtwo men to roll it.

　　"I can raise any kind of fruit in such abundance that it can't be used.My garden is prodigal. But we get little benefit, except for our ownuse, for we cannot transport things across the desert."

　　The water which was the prime factor in all this richness came from asmall stream which Naab, by making a dam and tunnelling a corner ofcliff, had diverted from its natural course into his oasis.

　　Between the fence and the red wall there was a wide bare plain whichstretched to the house. At its farthest end was a green enclosure, whichHare recognized as the cemetery mentioned by Snap. Hare counted thirtygraves, a few with crude monuments of stone, the others marked by woodenhead-pieces.

　　"I've the reputation of doctoring the women, and letting the men die,"said Naab, with a smile." I hardly think it's fair. But the fact is nowomen are buried here. Some graves are of men I fished out of the river;others of those who drifted here, and who were killed or died keepingtheir secrets. I've numbered those unknown graves and have kept adescription of the men, so, if the chance ever comes, I may tell some onewhere a father or brother lies buried. Five sons of mine, not one ofwhom died a natural death, found graves here--God rest them! Here's thegrave of Mescal's father, a Spaniard. He was an adventurer. I helpedhim over in Nevada when he was ill; he came here with me, got well, andlived nine years, and he died without speaking one word of himself ortelling his name."

　　"What strange ends men come to!" mused Hare. Well, a grave was a grave,wherever it lay. He wondered if he would come to rest in that quietnook, with its steady light, its simple dignity of bare plain gravesfitting the brevity of life, the littleness of man.

　　"We break wild mustangs along this stretch," said Naab, drawing Hareaway. "It's a fine run. Wait till you see Mescal on Black Bolly tearingup the dust! She's a Navajo for riding."

　　Three huge corrals filled a wide curved space in the wall. In one corralwere the teams that had hauled the wagons from White Sage; in anotherupward of thirty burros, drooping, lazy little fellows half asleep; inthe third a dozen or more mustangs and some horses which delighted Hare.Snap Naab's cream pinto, a bay, and a giant horse of mottled whiteattracted him most.

　　"Our best stock is out on the range," said Naab. "The white is Charger,my saddle-horse. When he was a yearling he got away and ran wild forthree years. But we caught him. He's a weight-carrier and he can runsome. You're fond of a horse--I can see that."

　　"Yes," returned Hare, "but I--I'll never ride again." He said itbrightly, smiling the while; still the look in his eyes belied thecheerful resignation.

　　"I've not the gift of revelation, yet I seem to see you on a big grayhorse with a shining mane." Naab appeared to be gazing far away.

　　The cottonwood grove, at the western curve of the oasis, shaded the fivelog huts where August's grown sons lived with their wives, and his owncabin, which was of considerable dimensions. It had a covered porch onone side, an open one on the other, a shingle roof, and was a roomy andcomfortable habitation.

　　Naab was pointing out the school-house when he was interrupted bychildish laughter, shrieks of glee, and the rush of little feet.

　　"It's recess-time," he said.

　　A frantic crowd of tousled-headed little ones were running from the logschool-house to form a circle under the trees. There were fourteen ofthem, from four years of age up to ten or twelve. Such sturdy, glad-eyedchildren Hare had never seen. In a few moments, as though their happyscreams were signals, the shady circle was filled with hounds, and astring of puppies stepping on their long ears, and rufflingturkey-gobblers, that gobbled and gobbled, and guinea-hens with theirshrill cries, and cackling chickens, and a lame wild goose that hobbledalong alone. Then there were shiny peafowls screeching clarion callsfrom the trees overhead, and flocks of singing blackbirds, and pigeonshovering over and alighting upon the house. Last to approach were awoolly sheep that added his baa-baa to the din, and a bald-faced burrothat walked in his sleep. These two became the centre of clamor. Aftermany tumbles four chubby youngsters mounted the burro; and the others,with loud acclaim, shouting, "Noddle, Noddle, getup! getup!" endeavoredto make him go. But Noddle nodded and refused to awaken or budge. Thenan ambitious urchin of six fastened his hands in the fur of the sheep andessayed to climb to his back. Willing hands assisted him. "Ride him,Billy, ride him. Getup, Navvy, getup!"

　　Navvy evidently had never been ridden, for he began a fair imitation of abucking bronco. Billy held on, but the smile vanished and he corners ofhis mouth drew down

　　"Hang on, Billy, hang on," cried August Naab, in delight. Billy hung ona moment longer, and then Navvy, bewildered by the pestering crowd abouthim, launched out and, butting into Noddle, spilled the four youngstersand Billy also into a wriggling heap.

　　This recess-time completed Hare's introduction to the Naabs. There wereMother Mary, and Judith and Esther, whom he knew, and Mother Ruth and hertwo daughters very like their sisters. Mother Ruth, August's secondwife, was younger than Mother Mary, more comely of face, and more sad andserious of expression. The wives of the five sons, except Snap Naab'sfrail bride, were stalwart women, fit to make homes and rear children.

　　"Now, Jack, things are moving all right," said August. "For the presentyou must eat and rest. Walk some, but don't tire yourself. We'llpractice shooting a little every day; that's one thing I'll spare timefor. I've a trick with a gun to teach you. And if you feel able, take aburro and ride. Anyway, make yourself at home."

　　Hare found eating and resting to be matters of profound enjoyment.Before he had fallen in with these good people it had been a year sincehe had sat down to a full meal; longer still since he had eaten wholesome food. And now he had come to a "land overflowing with milk andhoney," as Mother Ruth smilingly said. He could not choose between roastbeef and chicken, and so he waived the question by taking both; and whatwith the biscuits and butter, apple-sauce and blackberry jam, cherry pieand milk like cream, there was danger of making himself ill. He told hisfriends that he simply could not help it, which shameless confessionbrought a hearty laugh from August and beaming smiles from hiswomen-folk.

　　For several days Hare was remarkably well, for an invalid. He won goldenpraise from August at the rifle practice, and he began to take lessons inthe quick drawing and rapid firing of a Colt revolver. Naab waswonderfully proficient in the use of both firearms; and his skill indrawing the smaller weapon, in which his movement was quicker than theeye, astonished Hare. "My lad," said August, "it doesn't follow becauseI'm a Christian that I don't know how to handle a gun. Besides, I liketo shoot."

　　In these few days Hare learned what conquering the desert made of a man.August Naab was close to threescore years; his chest was wide as a door,his arm like the branch of an oak. He was a blacksmith, a mechanic, acarpenter, a cooper, a potter. At his forge and in his shop, everywhere,were crude tools, wagons, farming implements, sets of buckskin harness,odds and ends of nameless things, eloquent and pregnant proof of the factthat necessity is the mother of invention. He was a mason; the leveethat buffeted back the rage of the Colorado in flood, the wall thatturned the creek, the irrigation tunnel, the zigzag trail cut on the faceof the cliff--all these attested his eye for line, his judgment ofdistance, his strength in toil. He was a farmer, a cattle man, a grafterof fruit-trees, a breeder of horses, a herder of sheep, a preacher, aphysician. Best and strangest of all in this wonderful man was theinstinct and the heart to heal. "I don't combat the doctrine of theMormon church," he said, "but I administer a little medicine with myhealing. I learned that from the Navajos." The children ran to him withbruised heads, and cut fingers, and stubbed toes; and his blacksmith'shands were as gentle as a woman's. A mustang with a lame leg claimed hisserious attention; a sick sheep gave him an anxious look; a steer with agored skin sent him running for a bucket of salve. He could not pass bya crippled quail. The farm was overrun by Navajo sheep which he hadfound strayed and lost on the desert. Anything hurt or helpless had inAugust Naab a friend. Hare found himself looking up to a great andluminous figure, and he loved this man.

　　As the days passed Hare learned many other things. For a while illnessconfined him to his bed on the porch. At night he lay listening to theroar of the river, and watching the stars. Twice he heard a distantcrash and rumble, heavy as thunder, and he knew that somewhere along thecliffs avalanches were slipping. By day he watched the cotton snow downupon him, and listened to the many birds, and waited for the merry showat recess-time. After a short time the children grew less shy and camereadily to him. They were the most wholesome children he had everknown. Hare wondered about it, and decided it was not so much Mormonteaching as isolation from the world. These children had never been outof their cliff-walled home, and civilization was for them as if it werenot. He told them stories, and after school hours they would race to himand climb on his bed, and beg for more.

　　He exhausted his supply of fairy-stories and animal stories; and hadbegun to tell about the places and cities which he had visited when theeager-eyed children were peremptorily called within by Mother Mary. Thispained him and he was at a loss to understand it. Enlightenment came,however, in the way of an argument between Naab and Mother Mary which heoverheard. The elder wife said that the stranger was welcome to thechildren, but she insisted that they hear nothing of the outside world,and that they be kept to the teachings of the Mormon geography--whichmade all the world outside Utah an untrodden wilderness. August Naab didnot hold to the letter of the Mormon law; he argued that if the childrencould not be raised as Mormons with a full knowledge of the world, theywould only be lost in the end to the Church.

　　Other developments surprised Hare. The house of this good Mormon wasdivided against itself. Precedence was given to the first and elderwife--Mother Mary; Mother Ruth's life was not without pain. The men wereout on the ranges all day, usually two or more of them for several daysat a time, and this left the women alone. One daughter taught theschool, the other daughters did all the chores about the house, fromfeeding the stock to chopping wood. The work was hard, and the girlswould rather have been in White Sage or Lund. They disliked Mescal, andsaid things inspired by jealousy. Snap Naab's wife was vindictive, andcalled Mescal "that Indian!"

　　It struck him on hearing this gossip that he had missed Mescal. What hadbecome of her? Curiosity prompting him, he asked little Billy about her.

　　"Mescal's with the sheep," piped Billy.

　　That she was a shepherdess pleased Hare, and he thought of her as free onthe open range, with the wind blowing her hair.

　　One day when Hare felt stronger he took his walk round the farm with newzest. Upon his return to the house he saw Snap's cream pinto in theyard, and Dave's mustang cropping the grass near by. A dusty pack lay onthe ground. Hare walked down the avenue of cottonwoods and was about toturn the corner of the old forge when he stopped short.

　　"Now mind you, I'll take a bead on this white-faced spy if you send himup there."

　　It was Snap Naab's voice, and his speech concluded with the click ofteeth characteristic of him in anger.

　　"Stand there!" August Naab exclaimed in wrath. "Listen. You have beendrinking again or you wouldn't talk of killing a man. I warned you. Iwon't do this thing you ask of me till I have your promise. Why won'tyou leave the bottle alone?"

　　"I'll promise," came the sullen reply.

　　"Very well. Then pack and go across to Bitter Seeps."

　　"That job'll take all summer," growled Snap.

　　"So much the better. When you come home I'll keep my promise."

　　Hare moved away silently; the shock of Snap's first words had kept himfast in his tracks long enough to hear the conversation. Why did Snapthreaten him? Where was August Naab going to send him? Hare had nomeans of coming to an understanding of either question. He was disturbedin mind and resolved to keep out of Snap's way. He went to the orchard,but his stay of an hour availed nothing, for on his return, afterthreading the maze of cottonwoods, he came face to face with the man hewanted to avoid.

　　Snap Naab, at the moment of meeting, had a black bottle tipped high abovehis lips.

　　With a curse he threw the bottle at Hare, missing him narrowly. He wasdrunk. His eyes were bloodshot.

　　"If you tell father you saw me drinking I'll kill you!" he hissed, andrattling his Colt in its holster, he walked away.

　　Hare walked back to his bed, where he lay for a long time with his wholeinner being in a state of strife. It gradually wore off as he strove forcalm. The playground was deserted; no one had seen Snap's action, andfor that he was glad. Then his attention was diverted by a clatter ofringing hoofs on the road; a mustang and a cloud of dust wereapproaching.

　　"Mescal and Black Bolly!" he exclaimed, and sat up quickly. The mustangturned in the gate, slid to a stop, and stood quivering, restive, tossingits thoroughbred head, black as a coal, with freedom and fire in everyline. Mescal leaped off lightly. A gray form flashed in at the gate,fell at her feet and rose to leap about her. It was a splendid dog, hugein frame, almost white, wild as the mustang.

　　This was the Mescal whom he remembered, yet somehow different. Thesombre homespun garments had given place to fringed and beaded buckskin.

　　"I've come for you," she said.

　　"For me?" he asked, wonderingly, as she approached with the bridle of theblack over her arm.

　　"Down, Wolf!" she cried to the leaping dog. "Yes. Didn't you know?Father Naab says you're to help me tend the sheep. Are you better? Ihope so-- You're quite pale."

　　"I--I'm not so well," said Hare.

　　He looked up at her, at the black sweep of her hair under the white band,at her eyes, like jet; and suddenly realized, with a gladness new andstrange to him, that he liked to look at her, that she was beautiful.