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capable of recovering from terrible shocks. For almost immediately she showed
faint signs of gathering strength. There was one more waiting day, in which he
doubted, and spent long hours by her side as she slept, and watched the gentle
swell of her breast rise and fall in breathing, and the wind stir the tangled
chestnut curls. On the next day he knew that she would live.
Upon realizing it he abruptly left the cave and sought his accustomed seat
against the trunk of a big spruce, where once more he let his glance stray
along the sloping terraces. She would live, and the somber gloom lifted out of
the valley, and he felt relief that was pain. Then he roused to the call of
action, to the many things he needed to do in the way of making camp fixtures
and utensils, to the necessity of hunting food, and the desire to explore the
valley.
But he decided to wait a few more days before going far from camp, because he
fancied that the girl rested easier when she could see him near at hand. And
on the first day her languor appeared to leave her in a renewed grip of life.
She awoke stronger from each short slumber; she ate greedily, and she moved
about in her bed of boughs; and always, it seemed to Venters, her eyes
followed him. He knew now that her recovery would be rapid. She talked about
the dogs, about the caves, the valley, about how hungry she was, till Venters
silenced her, asking her to put off further talk till another time. She
obeyed, but she sat up in her bed, and her eyes roved to and fro, and always
back to him.
Upon the second morning she sat up when he awakened her, and would not permit
him to bathe her face and feed her, which actions she performed for herself.
She spoke little, however, and Venters was quick to catch in her the first
intimations of thoughtfulness and curiosity and appreciation of her situation.
He left camp and took Whitie out to hunt for rabbits. Upon his return he was
amazed and somewhat anxiously concerned to see his invalid sitting with her
back to a corner of the cave and her bare feet swinging out. Hurriedly he
approached, intending to advise her to lie down again, to tell her that
perhaps she might overtax her strength. The sun shone upon her, glinting on
the little head with its tangle of bright hair and the small, oval face with
its pallor, and dark-blue eyes underlined by dark-blue circles. She looked at
him and he looked at her. In that exchange of glances he imagined each saw the
other in some different guise. It seemed impossible to Venters that this frail
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girl could be Oldring s Masked Rider. It flashed over him that he had made a
mistake which presently she would explain.
 Help me down, she said.
 But  are you well enough? he protested.  Wait  a little longer.
 I m weak  dizzy. But I want to get down.
He lifted her  what a light burden now!  and stood her upright beside him,
and supported her as she essayed to walk with halting steps. She was like a
stripling of a boy; the bright, small head scarcely reached his shoulder. But
now, as she clung to his arm, the rider s costume she wore did not contradict,
as it had done at first, his feeling of her femininity. She might be the
famous Masked Rider of the uplands, she might resemble a boy; but her outline,
her little hands and feet, her hair, her big eyes and tremulous lips, and
especially a something that Venters felt as a subtle essence rather than what
he saw, proclaimed her sex.
She soon tired. He arranged a comfortable seat for her under the spruce that
overspread the camp-fire.
 Now tell me  everything, she said.
He recounted all that had happened from the time of his discovery of the
rustlers in the canyon up to the present moment.
 You shot me  and now you ve saved my life?
 Yes. After almost killing you I ve pulled you through.
 Are you glad?
 I should say so!
Her eyes were unusually expressive, and they regarded him steadily; she was
unconscious of that mirroring of her emotions and they shone with gratefulness
and interest and wonder and sadness.
 Tell me  about yourself? she asked.
He made this a briefer story, telling of his coming to Utah, his various
occupations till he became a rider, and then how the Mormons had practically
driven him out of Cottonwoods, an outcast.
Then, no longer able to withstand his own burning curiosity, he questioned
her in turn.
 Are you Oldring s Masked Rider?
 Yes, she replied, and dropped her eyes.
 I knew it  I recognized your figure  and mask, for I saw you once. Yet I
can t believe it! & But you never were really that rustler, as we riders knew
him? A thief  a marauder  a kidnapper of women  a murderer of sleeping
riders!
 No! I never stole  or harmed any one  in all my life. I only rode and
rode 
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 But why  why? he burst out.  Why the name? I understand Oldring made you
ride. But the black mask  the mystery  the things laid to your hands  the
threats in your infamous name  the night-riding credited to you  the evil
deeds deliberately blamed on you and acknowledged by rustlers  even Oldring
himself! Why? Tell me why?
 I never knew that, she answered low. Her drooping head straightened, and
the large eyes, larger now and darker, met Venters s with a clear, steadfast
gaze in which he read truth. It verified his own conviction.
 Never knew? That s strange! Are you a Mormon?
 No.
 Is Oldring a Mormon?
 No.
 Do you  care for him?
 Yes. I hate his men  his life  sometimes I almost hate him!
Venters paused in his rapid-fire questioning, as if to brace him self to ask
for a truth that would be abhorrent for him to confirm, but which he seemed
driven to hear.
 What are  what were you to Oldring?
Like some delicate thing suddenly exposed to blasting heat, the girl wilted;
her head dropped, and into her white, wasted cheeks crept the red of shame.
Venters would have given anything to recall that question. It seemed so
different  his thought when spoken. Yet her shame established in his mind
something akin to the respect he had strangely been hungering to feel for her.
 D n that question!  forget it! he cried, in a passion of pain for her and
anger at himself.  But once and for all  tell me  I know it, yet I want to
hear you say so  you couldn t help yourself?
 Oh no.
 Well, that makes it all right with me, he went on, honestly.  I  I want
you to feel that& you see  we ve been thrown together  and  and I want to
help you  not hurt you. I thought life had been cruel to me, but when I think
of yours I feel mean and little for my complaining. Anyway, I was a lonely
outcast. And now! & I don t see very clearly what it all means. Only we are
here  together. We ve got to stay here, for long, surely till you are well.
But you ll never go back to Oldring. And I m sure helping you will help me,
for I was sick in mind. There s something now for me to do. And if I can win
back your strength  then get you away, out of this wild country  help you
somehow to a happier life  just think how good that ll be for me!
Chapter 10
Love [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]