Lost Pueblo (1992) Page 7

  "Wildcat!" shouted Randolph, roused to battle, and then he closed with her. Janey was strong, lithe, supple as a panther, and she fought him fiercely. It was no longer pretense. The rough contact of his hands and her own violent action brought her blood up, gushing and hot. He was endeavoring to subdue her and she was struggling to get away. At the same time she beat and tore at him with all her might. She scratched his face. She got both hands in his hair and pulled. Naturally the fight could not last long, for he was overpowering her. When he got his left arm under her right and around her waist to grasp her left he had her nearly helpless. Then he put his other arm under her knees and lifted her.

  His hair stood up like the mane of a lion; his face was bloody from the scratches; his eyes gleamed with fire.

  "My God!" he panted. "Who'd have--thought it in you."

  "Let me down!" cried Janey, straining and writhing.

  "Will you get--on that horse?"

  "No--you wild-west boob!"

  "Boob?--Ha! Ha! You've hit it," he replied, wildly. "Very well--my Eastern princess--take this from the Western boob." He bent his head and kissed her quickly then again, crushing his hot lips on hers.

  "I'll--kill--you!" gasped Janey, when she could speak.

  "Kill and be damned. I wish you would," he returned, passionately. Then he surrendered to the contact and possession of her. Clasping her tight he rained kisses on her lips and neck. Janey felt the wet blood from his scratched face on her cheek. Her muscles grew rigid. She was like bent steel about to spring. Suddenly she sank limp. His passion had overcome her where his strength had failed. But Janey did not lose her wits. It was as if she knew she had to keep playing her part. Yet her collapse and the shaking of her relaxed body had nothing to do with reasoning. He had surprised her into the primitiveness of a savage. The change in her reaction struck him, and he released her.

  Janey slipped down, as it chanced, to her knees. The thing could not have happened better.

  "I--I--understand now," gasped Janey. "You mean--to--"

  "My God!" cried Randolph, staggering back, in horror.

  "Phillip," went on Janey, piteously. "I--I'm not the girl I--I've made you believe. This is as much--my fault--as yours. But have mercy. Don't be a brute."

  "Shut up!" shouted Randolph, his face changing to a dusky red.

  He backed against a stone and sat down, to cover his face with his hands, deeply and terribly shaken.

  Janey sank back herself, to rest a moment, and to straighten her disheveled apparel. Her rage had died a sudden death. She was still conscious of disturbing unfamiliar sensations, which, however, were gradually subsiding. Much had happened that had not been down on the program. She realized that Randolph had not intended even the least insult, let alone the assault on her. And certainly in her plan Janey had not dreamed of making him think she believed him capable of more. Even at that troubled moment Janey realized that more could come of this incident than had been expected. Both of them were trifling with deep and unknown instincts. They might pass from jest to earnest. But Randolph had not the slightest inkling of Janey's duplicity.

  "You've blood on your face," said Randolph, suddenly.

  "Yes, it's yours. If I had my way I'd have your blood on my hands," returned Janey, murderously.

  "Wipe it off," he ordered, getting up. Janey produced a wisp of a handkerchief. "Where is it?" she asked.

  "On your cheek--the left one. Here, let me rub it off. That inch-square rag is no good." He had a silk scarf, which he used to remove the blood from her cheek. He applied considerable force, and his action was that of a man trying to remove a stain of guilt.

  "You scratched me like--like a wildcat," he said, harshly.

  "Did you expect me to purr?" she returned, with sarcasm. Then she rose to her feet. "You tore my sleeve half off. I hope you happen to have a needle and thread."

  Ignoring her facetiousness he picked up her coat and sombrero, and handed them to her.

  "Get on that horse," he ordered.

  Chapter 5

  Without comment and as one subdued Janey went up to the horse and mounted. Her skirt slipped halfway above her knees. She stood in the stirrups and pulled it down, but at best it was so short that it exposed several inches of bare skin above her stockings.

  "Is this supposed to be a movie or a leg show?" she asked, bitingly.

  "I can't help it if you've no decent clothes," he replied.

  "Why didn't you suggest I wear my riding clothes?"

  "I didn't think of that. But you'd have suspected something."

  "Me? No. I'm much too stupid. If I had been capable of thinking I'd have known you were a villain... To force a girl to ride a horse with her dress--this way!"

  "I don't care how you look," he flashed, hotly, stung at her retort. "At that you don't look much worse than usual."

  He picked up Janey's coat, which she had dropped, and hung it on the pommel, and draped it over her knees.

  "That'll keep you from sunburn, at least."

  "You're very thoughtful and kind, Mr. Randolph," said Janey, sweetly. "And may I inquire our destination?"

  "Start up the wash," he rejoined, gruffly. "You take the lead."

  "Want to watch me, eh? You think I might run off? I note you've given me a plug of a horse that probably never ran in its life."

  "You might do anything, Miss Endicott," he said.

  "What wonderful trust you have in me!" exclaimed Janey.

  Whereupon she rode on up the deepening gully. Randolph followed her, leading the pack horse.

  So the great adventure was actually on! Janey could not have believed it but for the bruises she had sustained in the fight with Randolph, and her torn blouse, and this ridiculous skirt that had begun to have resemblance to a ballet dancer's.

  After she had taken stock of her physical state she delved a bit into the mental. She found she was still trembling ever so slightly. Her heart beat high. And her mind was racing. She was stirred by bitterness toward her father, and resentment toward this man who had been led to believe she was no good and needed this kind of a lesson. They thought they had her number, mused Janey, defiantly. Pretty but vain! Intelligent, yet too languorous to think or work! Adorable, though probably immoral! Modern, still there were hopes!

  An alarming thought struck her which she had experienced vaguely before. It was barely possible that these accusations were justified. Janey swore, and refused to listen to such a treacherous voice.

  Something more pleasant to dwell upon was a genuine pity for Randolph. He had been a perfectly straightforward, fine and promising young man until he met her father. He was now in line to become a first-rate villain. No doubt when Janey finally divorced him there would be no hope whatever. She decided, in order to make it impossible that he ever could recover, she would delay the divorce proceeding for a time--and meanwhile be very sweet and sorrowful and might-have-been-loving to him, so that he would be abjectly crushed.

  Her meditations on this phase of the experience were decidedly pleasant. And it was most agreeable to be on horseback again. She had been rather unjust to the horse, for he was turning out to be docile, easy-gaited and willing. He had struck into a trail which wound up the gorge.

  The walls were perceptibly higher and changing their character somewhat. The sand slopes were disappearing. Presently this wash turned at right angles and opened into a canyon. It was deep, yellow-walled, and rugged, and through the center of it meandered a thin stream of water. Janey believed this creek was the Sagi, which she had crossed a number of times above. But she had not seen this canyon. The very sight of it was exciting and disturbing. There was sure to be quicksand. Janey hoped she would have some narrow escapes, so that she would find out what Randolph was made of. If no risks came along naturally she would make some.

  The sand in the creek bed, however, was disappointingly solid. In the next hour Janey crossed this water a dozen or more times, without a mishap. Her horse was a much better judge of places than she.
Meanwhile the canyon grew wider and deeper.

  It also grew hot. Janey began to feel the burn of the sun. And as the movement of the horse often jolted her coat from its protective service her knees began to get red. This was a novelty, and she was divided between concern and a satisfaction that she could presently show Randolph more objective proofs of his cruelty.

  Unobtrusively, at moments when the trail made a short turn, she saw Randolph in the rear. He did not look in the least like a bold bad man. He drooped. Apparently he did not see her, let alone watch closely against any attempt she might make to escape. Perhaps he was disgusted now and hoped she would run off. This was embarrassing. Janey did not want to escape. She was getting a tremendous kick out of being kidnaped. But she would not let him know that. She considered the advisability of attempting to get away. It did not strike her favorably. If Randolph did not or would not catch her, there would be something of a different predicament. She would be lost, unless she could go back as they had come.

  Janey rejected the idea. Too much risk! And she adopted another, equally feminine, and very much better. When a turn of the trail hid her from Randolph's sight she selected a soft place in the sand and slid off her horse, careful to make it look as if she had fallen.

  Presently she heard the hoofs of Randolph's horse padding closer. Then Janey made herself look as much like a limp sack as she could. From under the brim of her sombrero she saw him come into sight. He gave a violent start. Leaping out of the saddle he ran to her. His action, his look were unaccountably sweet to Janey. It was hard to close her eyes.

  Evidently he stopped to gaze down upon her a moment, for there was a silence, then he knelt to lay a hand on her shoulder.

  "Now, what's the matter?" he inquired, with more doubt than sympathy.

  Janey stirred and sat up.

  "I fell off my horse," she said.

  "What for?"

  "Guess I got dizzy or something. You must have hurt me internally. Or I wrenched my side--anyway I had a terrible pain."

  "That's too bad. I'm sorry. I never calculated on any weakness, physical or mental." He was studying her face with deep inscrutable eyes, and despite his words he was not sympathetic.

  "Weak! Why I'm bordering on nervous collapse right now," returned Janey.

  "Yes, I observed how weak you were--physically," he said. "You could probably throw me in a catch-as-catch-can wrestling match. And when you hit me on my nose--with your fist--well, you came very near being alone for a while."

  Janey gave him a searching look. "Will you take me back to the post?"

  "Certainly not."

  "But if I'm hurt or ill."

  "You're going to Beckyshibeta in any event."

  "Beckyshibeta? Why, that's a long way, you told me."

  "Sure. It's far away, and lonely too, believe me. No one will find us there."

  "How long do we--do you mean to keep me prisoner there?"

  "I have no idea how long it will take for you to change--or die."

  "Oh!... Very well, you can bury me at Beckyshibeta," concluded Janey, getting up wearily.

  She refused his proffered assistance, and made a fine effort at mounting, as if some of her bones were broken. And she rode on, thinking that the weak-sister stuff would not work with Phil Randolph. She must slowly recover her strength and become a veritable amazon. Perhaps some accident would occur that might be calculated to frighten even her, though she could not imagine what it could be. Then she would try the clinging vine. Even Phil Randolph would fall for that. But it must be something over which a modern girl could safely lose her nerve. A terrible storm or a flood! Janey prayed for both. Phil Randolph must be reduced to a state of perfect misery.

  Janey rode on, gradually recovering her poise in the saddle. The canyon opened wide, with the walls far away. There were flats of green grass and cedar groves to cross. In one place she saw several deserted hogans. Indians had lived there. She had a desire to peep in at the dark door, facing the east.

  The trail came to a point where it forked. Janey waited for Randolph to come up.

  "Which way, Sir Geraint?" she inquired.

  "Left," he said. "And I don't think you're a bit like Enid. She was meek. Besides she was Geraint's wife."

  "Well, Geraint drove Enid ahead, so she would encounter all the risks and dangers first. No doubt the similarity of our ride to theirs ends right there."

  "The only danger here, Miss Endicott, is the one I'm incurring. And it's too late to avoid that."

  Danger! What did he mean? Perhaps the wrath of the cowboys, for it was certain they could not have been let into the secret. How would they take this stunt of Randolph's? Janey began to wonder why she had not thought of that before. True, they had ridden away with a herd of cattle, but they must return sooner or later, and find out. Here was a factor her father had not considered. Even if he did have to tell them she knew the cowboys, especially Ray, would not stand for it. On the other hand, perhaps Randolph had meant the danger to be love of her. And he had said it was too late to avoid it. She was very glad, and if it were actually true she would see to it that he suffered more and more.

  They took the left-hand fork of the trail and entered an interesting canyon, which narrowed until the crumbling walls seemed ready to tumble down upon her. Soon the trail became so rough that Janey had to pay heed to it and have a care for her horse. The ascent increased until it was steeper than any Janey had ridden. As she climbed, the trail took to a zigzag course up the slope and often she could look directly down upon Randolph, who was not having the best of luck with the pack animal.

  Presently it took Janey's breath to gaze down and she quit it. The trail sometimes led along a ledge so narrow that she wondered how the horse could stick to it. But he never made a misstep or a slip, and appeared unconcerned about the heights. Janey christened him Surefoot.

  At last the trail led up to a level again, from which Janey gazed back and down at the red slope, the huge rocks, the slides of weathered stone, the cedars, and the winding dry stream bed at the bottom. Janey had to look awhile to locate Randolph. It was no trail for a pack horse, or rather the horse was not one for such a narrow steep obstructed trail. Randolph was walking, dragging at the animal. When he finally reached the summit he was red-faced and panting.

  "I note the way of a transgressor is hard," observed Janey.

  "Why--didn't you--run off?" he asked.

  "I'd only have got lost. Besides I think it'd be unwise to leave the commissary department. Also I have an absorbing desire to see what is going to happen to you."

  "That'll be nothing compared to what's coming to you," he returned, as he mounted again. "Oh, by the way, how is that internal injury I gave you?"

  "It's better. But I can bear it for your sake, Phil. I want so much to help you make a success of this cradle-snatching stunt."

  "Say, you flatter yourself," he retorted.

  "Well, yes, I'm not exactly an infant. But I'll be good practice for you, so that later, when the tourists come, you may be able to manage some of the girls pretty well."

  "Would you mind riding on, and not talking so much," he said, with asperity.

  "I certainly wouldn't have waited for you, if there'd been any trail. But it's disappeared."

  "Ride straight toward those red rocks," he returned, pointing.

  Janey did as she was bidden, glad to be able once more to let her horse look out for himself, so that she could attend to the surroundings. The sun was slanting westward, toward a high wall that ran away to the northward. The desert stretched level ahead of her, with a horizon line matched by red rocks. Not far in front, a growth of purple brush began to show sparsely and to thicken in the distance. It was very fragrant and beautiful. Presently Janey recognized the fragrance of sage.

  Huge clouds had rolled up, and except in the west they were black and stormy. Dark curtains hung down from them to the floor of the desert. They must be rain. The afternoon was hot and sultry, without a breath of wind. By
and by the clouds hid the sun and turned duskily red.

  Janey was somewhat surprised to have Randolph catch up and pass her.

  "Better trot your horse, if you're not too weak to hang on," he said. "It's going to storm and we must reach the shelter of the rocks."

  "How lovely! I hope it rains cats and dogs," she returned amiably.

  "Don't worry. You'll be scared stiff when night comes, if it does."

  Janey was about to laugh at him scornfully, but happened to remember that she really was afraid of storms.

  "Are desert storms bad?" she inquired, anxiously.

  "Terrible... You can't see. You get half drowned. Rocks roll down the cliffs and floods roar down the washes."

  "How lovely!... I imagine one of your brilliant ideas to keep me interested."

  Surefoot had an easy trot, for which Janey was devoutly thankful. She had begun to realize that she was not made of leather. And the faster gait had a businesslike look of getting somewhere.

  Meanwhile the sun disappeared wholly behind massing clouds, and thunder rolled in the distance. Drops of rain began to fall, and the warm air perceptibly cooled. Janey put on her coat; and was once more reminded of the annoying brevity of her skirt. What a picture she must make! How her riding friends would have howled to see her mounted in this rig! She wondered what Randolph would do if it rained heavily. Janey had a sneaking suspicion that he would let her get as wet as if she were under Niagara. But after all a warm rain would not be such a hardship. Thunder and lightning, however, made her nervous, even indoors.

  The storm quartered slowly across the desert, a wonderful sight to eyes used to close walls and crowded streets. Janey breathed deeply. The sage fragrance seemed to intoxicate her. The misty rain felt sweet on her hot cheeks. The growing breeze brought a breath of wet dust.

  Randolph was trotting his horse at as fast a clip as the pack animal could keep up. Janey set Surefoot to a lope. Then she experienced an exhilaration. She was astounded that she was not thinking about the possibility of being wretchedly wet and uncomfortable.