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what I want to know is--shall I leave him to you, or put off work and come up
here to wait for him myself?"
"Why--" said Jack, slowly, "whatever you say. If you think you can safely
leave him to me--I'm willing."
"A grizzly won't be pleasant to face. I never knew one of those sheep-killers
that wouldn't run at a man, if wounded."
"Tell me what to do."
"If he comes down it's more than likely to be after dark. Don't risk hunting
him then. Wait till morning, and put Wolf on his trail. He'll be up in the
rocks, and by holding in the dog you may find him asleep in a cave. However,
if you happen to meet him by day do this. Don't waste any shots. Climb a
ledge or tree if one be handy. If not, stand your ground. Get down on your
knee and shoot and let him come. Mind you, he'll grunt when he's hit, and
start for you, and keep coming till he's dead. Have confidence in yourself
and your gun, for you can kill him.
Aim low, and shoot steady. If he keeps on coming there's always a fatal shot,
and that is when he rises. You'll see a bare spot on his breast.
Put a forty-four into that, and he'll go down."
August had spoken so easily, quite as if he were explaining how to shear a
yearling sheep, that Jack's feelings fluctuated between amazement and
laughter. Verily this desert man was stripped of all the false fears of
civilization.
"Now, Jack, I'm off. Good-bye and good luck. Mescal, look out for him. . . .
So-ho! Noddle! Getup! Biscuit!" And with many a cheery word an d slap he urged
the burros into the forest, where they and his tall form soon disappeared
among the trees.
Piute came stooping toward camp so burdened with coyotes that he could
scarcely be seen under the gray pile. With a fervent "damn" he tumbled them
under a cedar, and trotted back into the forest for another load.
Jack insisted on assuming his share of the duties about camp; and Mescal
assigned him to the task of gathering firewood, breaking red-hot sticks of
wood into small pieces, and raking them into piles of live coals.
Then they ate, these two alone. Jack did not do justice to the supper;
excitement had robbed him of appetite. He told Mescal how he had crept upon
the coyotes, how so many had eluded him, how he had missed a gray wolf. He
plied her with questions about the sheep, and wanted to know if there would be
more wolves, and if she thought the "silvertip" would come. He was quite
carried away by the events of the day.
The sunset drew him to the rim. Dark clouds were mantling the desert like
rolling smoke from a prairie-fire. He almost stumbled over Mescal, who sat
with her back to a stone. Wolf lay with his head in her lap, and he growled.
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"There's a storm on the desert," she said. "Those smoky streaks are flying
sand. We may have snow to-night. It's colder, and the wind is north. See,
I've a blanket. You had better get one."
He thanked her and went for it. Piute was eating his supper, and the peon had
just come in. The bright campfire was agreeable, yet Hare did not feel cold.
But he wrapped himself in a blanket and returned to
Mescal and sat beside her. The desert lay indistinct in the foreground,
inscrutable beyond; the canyon lost its line in gloom. The solemnity of the
scene stilled his unrest, the strange freedom of longings unleashed that day.
What had come over him? He shook his head; but with the consciousness of self
returned a feeling of fatigue, the burning pain in his chest, the bitter-sweet
smell of black sage and juniper.
"You love this outlook?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Do you sit here often?"
"Every evening."
"Is it the sunset that you care for, the roar of the river, just being here
high above it all?"
"It's that last, perhaps; I don't know."
"Haven't you been lonely?"
"No."
"You'd rather be here with the sheep than be in Lund, or Salt Lake City, as
Esther and Judith want to be?"
"Yes."
Any other reply from her would not have been consistent with the impression
she was making on him. As yet he had hardly regarded her as a young girl; she
had been part of this beautiful desert-land. But he began to see in her a
responsive being, influenced by his presence. If the situation was wonderful
to him what must it be for her? Like a shy, illusive creature, unused to men,
she was troubled by questions, fearful of the sound of her own voice. Yet in
repose, as she watched the lights and shadows, she was serene, unconscious;
her dark, quiet glance was dreamy and sad, and in it was the sombre, brooding
strength of the desert.
Twilight and falling dew sent them back to the camp. Piute and Peon were
skinning coyotes by the blaze of the fire. The night wind had not yet risen;
the sheep were quiet; there was no sound save the crackle of burning cedar
sticks. Jack began to talk; he had to talk, so, addressing
Piute and the dumb peon, he struck at random into speech, and words flowed
with a rush. Piute approved, for he said "damn" whenever his intelligence
grasped a meaning, and the peon twisted his lips and fixed his diamond eyes
upon Hare in rapt gaze. The sound of a voice was welcome to the sentinels of
that lonely sheep-range. Jack talked of cities, of ships, of people, of [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]