Captives of the Desert. Zane Grey
with Mary in his arms. When he sat her down gently on her feet, she collapsed against him. Katharine rode up, her eyes smarting with tears.
“My God, that was close,” Curry cried hoarsely to the girl, but he was looking at Mary’s pale face resting against his shoulder. There was something more than tenderness in his eyes, something that bordered on despair. “I thought there’d be two of you to handle. Didn’t savvy you had control.”
“An Indian turned us back down there and lashed Mrs. Newton’s horse. I don’t know what I was going to do. I was following, trying my best to overtake her,” murmured Katharine, fighting back the tears.
“It’s my fault,” Curry declared. “I should have told you not to go so far in that direction. That’s the cleaning field. Sacred ceremonies going on down there, and they won’t stand to have any of us butting in.”
Would he never look away from Mary? People were approaching mounted and on foot, and Wilbur was riding in the lead. Distracted, Katharine was about to tell him they were not alone. But Mary stirred, opened her eyes and swayed from him.
“Why did you do it?” she asked dazedly. “Why did you risk your life for me?”
Curry met her question serenely. “I’d have done as much for Miss Winfield, or any other woman, I reckon. Only with you it was different. I was sure I’d save you. I had to. I was plain selfish about it. You’ve done a lot for me. I’ve got to keep on knowing that you’re on this same desert with me even if it happened that I never saw you again.”
“I—I—” Mary’s attempt to reply failed. Then Wilbur came striding toward her.
“Can’t you be left alone for a few hours without trying to make a fool of yourself and me?” he demanded.
“Newton, don’t you know horses well enough to prevent your wife from riding an animal like that?” interrupted Curry. “Blame yourself instead of blaming her.”
“No one’s asking any advice from you, Curry,” Wilbur replied coldly. “Seems to me that you and my wife are staging quite a few of these horseback affairs. How about it?”
Curry would have struck Wilbur if Mary had not quickly stepped between the two angry men. It was Curry she faced, and to him she said, “Won’t you please escort me down from the mesa, Mr. Curry. I’ll ride your horse if you don’t mind. Mr. Newton will escort Miss Winfield.” Then she walked away, and Curry followed her.
When the others came up, Katharine was talking animatedly about the Snake Dance, plainly aware that the absent-minded, disconcerted man to whom she spoke did not hear a word.
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