from this hour’s brief camp, early made, we should have turned southward, to leave the railroad line and cross country for the overland stage trail that skirted the southern edge of the worse desert before us. but captain hyrum was of different mind. with faith in the lord and bull confidence in himself he had resolved to keep straight on by the teamster road which through league after league ever extended fed supplies to the advance of the builders.

under its adventitious guidance we should strike the stage road at bitter creek, eighty or one hundred miles; thence trundle, veering southwestward, for the famed city of the saints, near two hundred miles farther.

therefore after nooning at a pool of stagnant, scummy water we hooked up and plunged ahead, creaking and groaning and dust enveloped, constantly outstripped by the hurrying construction trains thundering over the newly laid rails, we ourselves the tortoise in the race.

my lady did not join me again to-day, nor on the morrow. she abandoned me to a sense of dissatisfaction with myself, of foreboding, and of a void in the landscape.

our sorely laden train went swaying and pitching across the gaunt face of a high, broad plateau, bleak, hot, and monotonous in contour; underfoot the reddish granite pulverized by grinding tire and hoof, over us the pale bluish fiery sky without a cloud, distant in the south the shining tips of a mountain range, and distant below in the west the slowly spreading vista of a great, bared ocean-bed, simmering bizarre with reds, yellows and deceptive whites, and ringed about by battlements jagged and rock hewn.

into this enchanted realm we were bound; by token of the smoke blotches the railroad line led thither. the teamsters viewed the unfolding expanse phlegmatically. they called it the red basin. but to me, fresh for the sight, it beckoned with fantastic issues. even the name breathed magic. wizard spells hovered there; the railroad had not broken them—the cars and locomotives, entering, did not disturb the brooding vastness. a man might still ride errant into those slumberous spaces and discover for himself; might boldly awaken the realm and rule with a princess by his side.

but romance seemed to have no other sponsor in this plodding, whip-cracking, complaining caravan. so i lacked, woefully lacked, kindred companionship.

free to say, i did miss my lady, perched upon the 207stoic mule while like an arab chief i convoyed her. the steady miles, i admitted, were going to be as disappointing as tepid water, when not aërated by her counsel and piquant allusions, by her sprightly readiness and the essential elements of her blue eyes, her facile lips, and that bright hair which no dust could dim.

after all she was distinctly feminine—bravely feminine; and if she wished to flirt as a relief from the cock-sure daniel and the calm methods of her mormon guardians, why, let us beguile the way. i should second with eyes open. that was accepted.

moreover, something about her weighed upon me. a consciousness of failing her, a woman, in emergency, stung my self-respect. she had twitted me with being “afraid”; afraid of her, she probably meant. that i could pass warily. but she had said that she, too, was afraid: “horribly afraid,” and an honest shudder had attended upon the words as if a real danger hedged. she had an intuition. the settled convictions of my gentile friends coincided. “with daniel in the lion’s den”—that phrase repeated itself persistent. she had uttered it in a fear accentuated by a mirthless laugh. could such a left-handed wooer prove too much for her? well, if she was afraid of daniel i was not and she should not think so.

i could see her now and then, on before. she rode upon the wagon seat of her self-appointed executor.and i might see him and his paraded impertinences.

except for the blowing of the animals and the mechanical noises of the equipment the train subsided into a dogged patience, while parched by the dust and the thin dry air and mocked by the speeding construction crews upon the iron rails it lurched westward at two and a half miles an hour, for long hours outfaced by the blinding sun.

near the western edge of the plateau we made an evening corral. after supper the sound of revolver shots burst flatly from a mess beyond us, and startled. everything was possible, here in this lone horizon-land where rough men, chafed by a hard day, were gathered suddenly relaxed and idle. but the shots were accompanied by laughter.

“they’re only tryin’ to spile a can,” jenks reassured. “by golly, we’ll go over and l’arn ’em a lesson.” he glanced at me. “time you loosened up that weepon o’ yourn, anyhow. purty soon it’ll stick fast.”

i arose with him, glad of any diversion. the circle had not yet formed at hyrum’s fire.

“it strikes me as a useless piece of baggage,” said i. “i bought it in benton but i haven’t needed it. i can kill a rattlesnake easier with my whip.”

“wall,” he drawled, “down in yonder you’re liable to meet up with a rattler too smart for your whip, account of his freckles. ’twon’t do you no harm to 209spend a few ca’tridges, so you’ll be ready for business.”

the men were banging, by turn, at a sardine can set up on the sand about twenty paces out. their shadows stretched slantwise before them, grotesquely lengthened by the last efforts of the disappearing sun. some aimed carefully from under pulled-down hat brims; others, their brims flared back, fired quickly, the instant the gun came to the level. the heavy balls sent the loose soil flying in thick jets made golden by the evening glow. but amidst the furrows the can sat untouched by the plunging missiles.

we were greeted with hearty banter.

“hyar’s the champeens!”

“now they’ll show us.”

“ain’t never see that pilgrim unlimber his gun yit, but i reckon he’s a bad ’un.”

“jenks, old hoss, cain’t you l’an that durned can manners?”

“i’ll try to oblige you, boys,” friend jenks smiled. “what you thinkin’ to do: hit that can or plant a lead mine?”

“give him room. he’s made his brag,” they cried. “and if he don’t plug it that pilgrim sure will.”

mr. jenks drew and took his stand; banged with small preparation and missed by six inches—a fact that brought him up wide awake, so to speak, badgered by derision renewed. a person needs must have a bull hide, to travel with a bull train, i saw.

“gimme another, boys, and i’ll hit it in the nose,” he growled sheepishly; but they shoved him aside.

“no, no. pilgrim’s turn. fetch on yore shootin’-iron, young feller. thar’s yore turkey. show us why you’re packin’ all that hardware.”

willy-nilly i had to demonstrate my greenness; so in all good nature i drew, and stood, and cocked, and aimed. the colt’s exploded with prodigious blast and wrench—jerking, in fact, almost above head; and where the bullet went i did not see, nor, i judged, did anybody else.

“he missed the ’arth!” they clamored.

“no; i reckon he hit montany ’bout the middle. that’s whar he scored center!”

“shoot! shoot!” they begged. “go ahead. mebbe you’ll kill an injun unbeknownst. they’s a pack o’ sioux jest out o’ sight behind them hills.”

and i did shoot, vexed; and i struck the ground, this time, some fifty yards beyond the can. jenks stepped from amidst the riotous laughter.

“hold down on it, hold down, lad,” he urged. “to hit him in the heart aim at his feet. here! like this——” and taking my revolver he threw it forward, fired, the can plinked and somersaulted, lashed into action too late.

“by gawd,” he proclaimed, “when i move like it had a gun in its fist i can snap it. but when i think on it as a can i lack guts.”

the remark was pat. i had seen several of the men 211snip the head from a rattlesnake with a single offhand shot—yes, they all carried their weapons easily and wontedly. but the target of an immobile can lacked in stimulation to concord of nerve and eye.

now i shot again, holding lower and more firmly, out of mere guesswork, and landed appreciably closer although still within the zone of ridicule. and somebody else shot, and somebody else, and another, until we all were whooping and laughing and jesting, and the jets flew as if from the balls of a mitrailleuse, and the can rocked and gyrated, spurring us to haste as it constantly changed the range. presently it was merely a twist of ragged tin. then in the little silence, as we paused, a voice spoke irritatingly.

“i ’laow yu fellers ain’t no great shucks at throwin’ lead.”

daniel stood by, with arms akimbo, his booted legs braggartly straddled and his freckled face primed with an intolerant grin at our recent efforts. my lady had come over with him. raw-boned, angular, cloddish but as strong as a mule, he towered over her in a maddening atmosphere of proprietorship.

she smiled at me—at all of us: at me, swiftly; at them, frankly. and i knew that she was still afraid.

“reckon we don’t ask no advice, friend,” they answered. again a constraint enfolded, fastened upon us by an unbidden guest. “like as not you can do better.”

daniel laughed boisterously, his mouth widely open.212

“i couldn’t do wuss. i seen yu poppin’ at that can. hadn’t but one hole in it till yu all turned loose an’ didn’t give it no chance. haw haw! i ’laow for a short bit i’d stand out in front o’ that greenie from the states an’ let him empty two guns at me.”

“s’pose you do it,” friend jenks promptly challenged. “by thunder, i’ll hire ye with the ten cents, and give him four bits if he hits you.”

“he wouldn’t draw on me, nohaow,” scoffed daniel. “i daren’t shoot for money, but i’ll shoot for fun. anybody want to shoot ag’in me?”

“wasted powder enough,” they grumbled.

“ever see me shoot?” he was eager. “i’ll show ye somethin’. i don’t take back seat for ary man. yu set me up a can. that thar one wouldn’t jump to a bullet.”

in sullen obedience a can was produced.

“how fur?”

“fur as yu like.”

it was tossed contemptuously out; and watching it, to catch its last roll, i heard daniel gleefully yelp “out o’ my way, yu-all!”—half saw his hand dart down and up again, felt the jar of a shot, witnessed the can jump like a live thing; and away it went, with spasm after spasm, to explosion after explosion, tortured by him into fruitless capers until with the final ball peace came to it, and it lay dead, afar across the twilight sand.

verily, by his cries and the utter savagery and 213malevolence of his bombardment, one would have thought that he took actual lust in fancied cruelty.

“i ’laow thar’s not another man hyar kin do that,” he vaunted.

there was not, judging by the silence again ensuing. only—

“a can’s a different proposition from a man, as i said afore,” jenks coolly remarked. “a can don’t shoot back.”

“i don’t ’laow any man’s goin’ to, neither.” daniel reloaded his smoking revolver, bolstered it with a flip; faced me in turning away. “that’s somethin’ for yu to l’arn on, ag’in next time, young feller,” he vouchsafed.

if he would have eyed me down he did not succeed. his gaze shifted and he passed on, swaggering.

“come along, edna,” he bade. “we’ll be goin’ back.”

a devil—or was it he himself?—twitted me, incited me, and in a moment, with a gush of assertion, there i was, saying to her, my hat doffed:

“i’ll walk over with you.”

“do,” she responded readily. “we’re to have more singing.”

the men stared, they nudged one another, grinned. daniel whirled.

“i ’laow yu ain’t been invited, mister.”

“if mrs. montoyo consents, that’s enough,” i informed, striving to keep steady. “i’m not walking with you, sir; i am walking with her. the only ground you control is just in front of your own wagon.”

“yu’ve been told once thar ain’t no ‘mrs. montoyo,’” he snarled. “and whilst yu’re l’arnin’ to shoot yu’d better be l’arnin’ manners. yu comin’ with me, edna?”

“as fast as i can, and with mr. beeson also, if he chooses,” said she. “i have my manners in mind, too.”

“by gosh, i don’t walk with ye,” he jawed. and in a huff, like the big boy that he was, he flounced about, vengefully striding on as though punishing her for a misdemeanor.

she dropped the grinning group a little curtsy. a demure sparkle was in her eyes.

“the entertainment is concluded, gentlemen. i wish you good-night.”

yet underneath her raillery and self-possession there lay an appeal, the stronger because subtle and unvoiced. it seemed to me every man must appreciate that as a woman she invoked protection by him against an impending something, of which she had given him a glimpse.

so we left them somewhat subdued, gazing after us, their rugged faces sobered reflectively.

“shall we stroll?” she asked.

“with pleasure,” i agreed.

daniel was angrily shouldering for the mormon 215wagons, his indignant figure black against the western glow. she laughed lightly.

“you’re not afraid, after all, i see.”

“not of him, madam.”

“and of me?”

“i think i’m more afraid for you,” i confessed. “that clown is getting insufferable. he sets out to bully you. damn him,” i flashed, with pardonable flame, “and he ruffles at me on every occasion. in fact, he seems to seek occasion. witness this evening.”

“witness this evening,” she murmured. “i’m afraid, too. yes,” she breathed, confronted by a portent, “i’m afraid. i never have been afraid before. i didn’t fear montoyo. i’ve always been able to take care of myself. but now, here——”

“you have your revolver?” i suggested.

“no, i haven’t. it’s gone. mormon women don’t carry revolvers.”

“they took it from you?”

“it’s disappeared.”

“but you’re not a mormon woman.”

“not yet.” she caught quick breath. “god forbid. and sometimes i fear god willing. for i do fear. you can’t understand. those other men do, though, i think. do you know,” she queried, with sudden glance, “that daniel means to marry me?”

“he?” i gasped. “how so? with your—consent, of course. but you’re not free; you have a husband.” 216my gorge rose, regardless of fact. “you scarcely expect me to congratulate you, madam. still he may have points.”

“daniel?” she shrugged her shoulders. “i cannot say. pedro did. most men have. oh!” she cried, impulsively stopping short. “why don’t you learn to shoot? won’t you?”

“i’ve about decided to,” i admitted. “that appears to be the saving accomplishment of everybody out here.”

“of everybody who stays. you must learn to draw and to shoot, both. the drawing you will have to practice by yourself, but i can teach you to shoot. so can those men. let me have your pistol, please.”

i passed it to her. she was all in a flutter.

“you must grasp the handle firmly; cover it with your whole palm, but don’t squeeze it to death; just grip it evenly—tuck it away. and keep your elbow down; and crook your wrist, in a drop, until your trigger knuckle is pointing very low—at a man’s feet if you’re aiming for his heart.”

“at his feet, for his heart?” i stammered. the words had an ugly sound.

“certainly. we are speaking of shooting now, and not at a tin can. you have to allow for the jump of the muzzle. unless you hold it down with your wrist, you over shoot; and it’s the first shot that counts. of course, there’s a feel, a knack. but don’t aim with your eyes. you won’t have time. men file off the front sight—it sometimes catches, in the draw. and it’s useless, anyway. they fire as they point with the finger, by the feel. you see, they know.”

“evidently you do, too, madam,” i faltered, amazed.

“not all,” she panted. “but i’ve heard the talk; i’ve watched—i’ve seen many things, sir, from omaha to benton. oh, i wish i could tell you more; i wish i could help you right away. i meant, a dead-shot with the revolver knows beforehand, in the draw, where his bullet shall go. some men are born to shoot straight; some have to practice a long, long while. i wonder which you are.”

“if there is pressing need in my case,” said i, “i shall have to rely upon my friends to keep me from being done for.”

“you?” she uttered, with a touch of asperity. “oh, yes. pish, sir! friends, i am learning, have their own hides to consider. and those gentlemen of yours are gentiles with goods for salt lake mormons. are they going to throw all business to the winds?”

“you yourself may appeal to his father, and to the women, for protection if that lout annoys you,” i ventured.

“to them?” she scoffed. “to hyrum adams’ outfit? why, they’re mormons and good mormons, 218and why should i not be made over? i’m under their teachings; i am edna, already; it’s time daniel had a wife—or two, for replenishing utah. rachael calls me ’sister,’ and i can’t resent it. good at heart as she is, even she is convinced. why,” and she laughed mirthlessly, “i may be sealed to hyrum himself, if nothing worse is in store. then i’ll be assured of a seat with the saints.”

“you can depend upon me, then. i’ll protect you, i’ll fight for you, and i’ll kill for you,” i was on the point of roundly declaring; but didn’t. her kind, i remembered, had spelled ruin upon the pages of men more experienced than i. therefore out of that super-caution born of benton, i stupidly said nothing.

she had paused, expectant. she resumed.

“but no matter. here i am, and here you are. we were speaking of shooting. this is a lesson in shooting, not in marrying, isn’t it? as to the pressing need, you must decide. you’ve seen and heard enough for that. i like you, sir; i respect your spirit and i’m sorry i led you into misadventure. now if i may lend you a little something to keep you from being shot like a dog, i’ll feel as though i had wiped out your score against me. take your gun.” i took it, the butt warm from her clasp. “there he is. cover him!”

“where?” i asked. “who?”

“there, before you. oh, anybody! think of his heart and cover him. i want to see you hold.”

i aimed, squinting.

“no, no! you’ll not have time to close an eye; both eyes are none too many. and you are awkward; you are stiff.” she readjusted my arm and fingers. “that’s better. you see that little rock? hit it. cock your weapon, first. hold firmly, not too long. there; i think you’re going to hit it, but hold low, low, with the wrist. now!”

i fired. the sand obscured the rock. she clapped her hands, delighted.

“you would have killed him. no—he would have killed you. quick! give it to me!”

and snatching the revolver she cocked, leveled and fired instantly. the rock split into fragments.

“i would have killed him,” she murmured, gazing tense, seeing i knew not what. wrenching from the vision she handed back the revolver to me. “i think you’re going to do, sir. only, you must learn to draw. i can tell you but i can’t show you. the men will. you must draw swiftly, decisively, without a halt, and finger on trigger and thumb on hammer and be ready to shoot when the muzzle clears the scabbard. it’s a trick.”

“like this?” i queried, trying.

“partly. but it’s not a sword you’re drawing; it’s a gun. you may draw laughing, if you wish to dissemble for a sudden drop; they do, when they have iron in their heart and the bullet already on its way, in their mind. i mustn’t stay longer. shall we go to 220the fire now? i am cold.” she shivered. “daniel is waiting. and when you’ve delivered me safe you’d better leave me, please.”

“why so?”

she smiled, looking me straight in the eyes.

“quién sabe? to avoid a scene, perhaps; perhaps, to postpone. i have an idea that it is better so. you’ve baited daniel far enough for to-night.”

we walked almost without speaking, to the hyrum adams fire. daniel lifted upper lip at me as we entered; his eyes never wandered from my face. i marked his right hand quivering stiffly; and i disregarded him. for if i had challenged him by so much as an overt glance he would have burst bonds.

rachael’s eyes, the older woman’s eyes, the eyes of all, men and women, curious, admonitory, hostile and apprehensive, hot and cold together—these i felt also amidst the dusk. i was distinctly unwelcome. accordingly i said a civil “good-evening” to hyrum (whose response out of compressed lips was scarce more than a grunt) and raising my hat to my lady turned my back upon them, for my own bailiwick.

the other men were waiting en route.

“didn’t kill ye, did he?”

“no.”

“wall,” said one, “if you can swing a rattler by the tail, all right. but watch his haid.”

friend jenks paced on with me to our fire.

“we were keepin’ cases on you, and so was he. he saw that practice—damn, how he did crane! she was givin’ you pointers, eh?”

“yes; she wanted amusement.”

“it’ll set bonnie bravo to thinkin’—it’ll shorely set him to thinkin’,” jenks chuckled, mouthing his pipe. “she’s a smart one.” he comfortably rocked to and fro as we sat by the fire. “hell! wall, if you got to kill him you got to kill him and do it proper. for if you don’t kill him he’ll kill you; snuff you out like a—wall, you saw that can travel.”

“i don’t want to kill him,” i pleaded. “why should i?”

jenks sat silent; and sitting silent i foresaw that kill daniel i must. i was being sucked into it, irrevocably willed by him, by her, by them all. if i did not kill him in defense of myself i should kill him in defense of her. yet why i had to, i wondered; but when i had bought my ticket for benton i had started the sequence, to this result. here i was. as she had said, here i was, and here she was. i might not kill for love—no, not that; i was going to kill for hate. and while i never had killed a man, and in my heart of hearts did not wish to kill a man, since i had to kill one, named daniel, even though he was a bully, a braggart and an infernal over-stepper it was pleasanter to think that i should kill him in hot blood rather than in cold.

jenks spat, and yawned.

“i can l’arn you a few things; all the boys’ll help you out,” he proffered, “when you git him you’ll have to git him quick; for if you don’t—adios. but we’ll groom ye.”

could this really be i? frank beeson, not a fortnight ago still living at jog-trot in dear albany, new york state? it was puzzling how detached and how strong i felt.