The Vision of Elijah Berl Part 16

If I didn't ring, it ain't because I ain't hollow."

He unfolded a paper bag and drawing forth some formidable sandwiches pa.s.sed one to Helen and began eating one himself. The sandwiches disposed of, he again investigated the bag. This time he brought out two large oranges.

"They do one thing s.h.i.+pshape in this country." He was eyeing Helen keenly while tearing the rind from his orange. "They do up water in mighty neat shape, but they do charge for it though. That's what they do!" he rattled on. "These yellow water-b.a.l.l.s cost me five cents apiece, they did!" He parted the segments carefully, anxious lest a drop of the juice should be wasted. Again his eyes rested thoughtfully on Helen's somber face.

"What's the trouble, Helen?"

Helen's answer was accompanied by a blended look of a.s.sent to Uncle Sid's a.s.sumption and a humorous denial of it.

"One is often absent minded over troubles that can't be explained even to one's best friends."

"Well," Uncle Sid was not wholly satisfied, "perhaps by the time I'm your best friend, you'll be ready to tell me."

"I think that may be very soon," said Helen soberly, as she finished her orange.

"Have another?" Uncle Sid held out the bag cordially.

Helen was morally certain that Uncle Sid's New England thrift was dwelling on the five cents apiece; but she took the proffered orange.

Uncle Sid rose clumsily to his feet.

"Now for the Christopher Sawyer."

The mist was rapidly clearing. Without visible means of locomotion, wisps of fog rose from the ground in the distance, trailed along like a sea-bird rising from the water, then melted in the air. They were standing on the edge of a mesa. Below them, tall cottonwoods rose in a straggling, sinuous line, their trunks matted with clinging vines, their branches loaded almost to the breaking point with cl.u.s.ters of parasitic plants. A line of shrubs, filling in between the trees, were bowed in a mat of tangled verdure that was dotted and sprinkled with rainbow colors. White-rimmed ditches appeared from behind projecting promontories of yellow sand, crawled under wire fences whose crooked, ghostly sticks, like the legs of some gigantic centipede, straggled around patches of wheat and barley. Outside these patches of green, adobe huts were surrounded by other scraggly sticks, driven into the ground and held upright by wires which were stretched out to them from occasional cottonwoods.

Back of them, Ysleta was lost to sight behind a rising grade of yellow sand, dotted by clumps of chaparral and cactus. Across the barranca, over the tops of the highest cottonwoods, the rolling mesa stretched as barren and forbidding as that on which they were standing.

"I bet that's the Christopher Sawyer!" Uncle Sid was pointing to the tangled ma.s.s of vegetation. "These are the first things I've seen that look as if they'd had enough to drink."

Helen was looking in another direction.

"How queer those cattle are acting."

She was watching a bunch of cattle about three hundred yards away. They were cl.u.s.tered thickly, their heads pointed towards herself and Uncle Sid. In front of the herd, a huge bull was pawing the sand. There was a m.u.f.fled bellowing and from beneath the nostrils of his low-hanging head, spurts of dust rose in the air.

"Those critters do look hostile, an' there ain't no fence to get over an' not a gosh-hanged tree to climb." Uncle Sid spoke uneasily.

Across the barranca, they caught sight of another cloud of dust, from which swung wildly gesticulating arms. At the same time, from one of the adobes, they saw a vaquero emerge. His arms too, were wildly waving. In response to his cries which they heard only faintly, two bunches of yapping gray fur swept across the white-rimmed ditches and rolled up the bank.

There was evidently an unwonted excitement of which Helen and Uncle Sid were an important part. Then the cattle came to a conclusion and, with lowered heads and tails sticking upright, they charged straight for Uncle Sid and Helen.

The hors.e.m.e.n, meanwhile had crossed the barranca, and the next instant, horses and riders with the yapping fur, had turned the vigorously charging cattle to an equally vigorous retreat.

Winston sprang from his horse in front of Uncle Sid. His face was white with anger.

"Where did you come from?--" he began.

"From G.o.d's country, young man, and we got lost." Uncle Sid was unabashed. Winston's face broke into a smile; then he caught sight of Helen.

"You ought to know better than this, Helen."

"Better than what, young man?"

"Better than to go walking around here. You see these cattle are more than half wild. They don't often see a footman, and when they have calves, they are dangerous. If you had been mounted, you could have ridden through the bunch and they wouldn't have noticed you."

"Well; we shall have to walk back, apparently." Helen's smile was not wholly spontaneous.

"To G.o.d's country? It's a long way." Ralph was smiling at Helen's chagrin.

Helen laughed.

"Perhaps you could show us the way?"

"You would better go down to Pedro's ranch and wait. Our supply wagons will be along shortly, and they will take you to town."

"Young man," Uncle Sid broke in, "you seem to know this country. Is that strip o' damp sand down there, the Christopher Sawyer?"

"The what?" For a moment, Ralph's face was blank astonishment, then he burst into a hearty laugh.

"Oh, the Sangre de Christo! Yes."

"They both mean the same thing. Whew! Helen, I've got another idea about this country. It's a great country for raisin' ideas, if it ain't good for anything else. It's prolific! It would make a stone man think." He paused, fanning himself vigorously. "There ain't any use talkin'; it's great! Soaks thinks full o' fog-water nights, an' then the sun comes out mornin's and boils 'em. If it wasn't for fogs 'twould roast 'em. I don't wonder 'Lige Berl gets a broad view o' Providence. You can get all sorts o' vittles in this country, roasted, boiled and dried. I bet those critters are carryin' around dried beef on their bones right now."

Ralph's look of amus.e.m.e.nt gave way to one of inquiry.

"Are you a friend of Elijah Berl?" he asked. "Helen, why don't you introduce us?"

But Uncle Sid again interrupted.

"Worse than that, young man, worse than that. It's most as bad as blood relations. Me and 'Lige Berl's folks have been brought up in the same neighborhood back in New England for ages."

Ralph started to reply to Uncle Sid, but a glance at Helen changed his mind.

"Let's get down to Pedro's ranch, in the shade. The wagons won't be along for an hour yet." He tried to walk by Helen's side, but she waited for Uncle Sid.

The last remnant of the fog had departed; the sun was blazing fiercely.

Toward Ysleta, the air was already s.h.i.+mmering over the sand. By the ditches and among the vines, was the music of many birds and the cheerful notes of Bob White.

Half stifled with the choking dust, they scuffled and slid down the steep trail that led to Pedro's adobe.

Pedro was following, his stolid face stifling his emotions. At the gate, the vaquero and Winston, drawing their reins over their ponies' heads, dropped them on the ground. Pedro stepped forward, swept his hat from his head and held the gate open for his guests to pa.s.s through.

Following them, he pointed to an inviting hammock, swung between two fruit trees. Again he swept his hat from his head.

"Perhaps the senorita will honor my poor hammock by reposing in it."

Helen stepped to the hammock. Another graceful bow from Pedro.

"At your feet, senorita."

Uncle Sid, uninvited, explored the garden. Pedro was marching to the adobe. To Helen it seemed as if she had never before experienced such a delicious sensation as the resting of her tired body in the perfectly adjusted hammock. Ralph was watching her.