Captives of the Desert. Zane Grey
You sound like you meant that you do.”
“I think so. And I want to continue to think so, because it means peace—it makes me brave enough to meet life. . . . It’s something a person has to find out for himself.”
Mary rose with a quick smile. “The moon is so lovely,” she continued. “I’d like to stay with it forever, but I’d only fall asleep and miss it all. I’m not a desert owl like you, Katharine. I’m a very domestic bird, and go to my roost early. Will you say good night to Wilbur for me and explain that the men are to sleep in the dormitories?”
Katharine understood Mary’s message. For her sake she stayed and talked with Curry until Wilbur had come, and she had told him, and he had seen.
* * * *
The next morning Curry and Jenkins were moving about before the sun came up. Katharine, from her room in the rear, heard them enter the kitchen by the back way, and then whispers and the opening of cupboards and an occasional clatter followed by an exclamation of disgust. She identified the voices. The two were stealing a march—preparing breakfast while everyone else still slept. Katharine was amused and delighted at the idea of two men cooking breakfast for four capable women, and such truly masculine men, too! The whole social order seemed reversed. She rose hurriedly.
Mary appeared before Katharine was fully dressed. She was an early riser, accustomed daily to greet the sun. And presently Mr. Jenkins gave a tremendous bellow which ended in the summons, “Time to get up!”
The girls set the table, though Mr. Jenkins at first objected, claiming they had no right to have risen so soon and to spoil half his fun.
How different this man was from Wilbur, who came in when breakfast was half over, expressing mild surprise that he was the last to arrive. It pleased Katharine that the young students, not wholly without guile, had seated themselves one on each side of Mary. Katharine sat next, with Curry on her right. They were well barricaded. Wilbur, frowningly, took the vacant chair opposite.
The offending carburetor having been repaired by Curry the minute it was hauled to the shed at Leupp, everything was in readiness for both parties to move on. A silent rage evidently was burning within Wilbur that he must continue to accept Curry’s favors. Katharine could tell by the two red spots that showed in his usually pale face. Curry offered to ride at the pace Wilbur set all the way to Oraibi, so he could be of assistance if necessary, and Wilbur received the courteous offer boorishly.
Mr. Jenkins, driving the government truck, went with them as far as the Little Colorado, whither at his request several Navaho Indians had come with a team and a high-bodied wagon. The wagon fascinated Katharine. It was a tremendous wooden box set on wheels and without protective covering.
Ford the Little Colorado! She was beginning to understand what such a thrilling experience would mean. Mary explained that although the river seemed wide it was low and shallow, a fact easily conceivable, after studying the topography of the land. For compared to the great, wide sandy wash through which it moved so sluggishly, the river had indeed but a narrow span, and the long slopes from the bank of the wash showed how far from its flood height the river had receded.
“It’s the quicksand that’s worrisome,” said Mary. “These Navahos know the river well, but that doesn’t eliminate the risk.”
The Indians awaited orders with stolid indifference. They were exceptionally picturesque in their bright velvet tunics and the careless twist of gay bands that encircled their foreheads. One wore elaborate silver ornaments and another a string of turquoise. Prosperous Navahos these obviously were.
Jenkins told them to ride on across the wash to the place they had picked as a crossing while the cars followed. The horses and wagon traveled easily over the trail, but at times the wheels of the automobiles, buried deep in the sand, spun ineffectually. When at last the two cars reached the river their engines had to be cooled before attempting the ford.
“Now folks,” dictated Jenkins, “the cars must be cleared of everything and everybody except the drivers. We’ll get them over first, and then cart you and the baggage in the wagon. I reckon we’d better make two trips of that, too.”
The New York girl understood the process as soon as she saw Jenkins and the Indians hitching the team to Curry’s car. The automobiles could not make the crossing under their own power. They must be towed.
Viewed from the river bank, the country was barren. The only visible breaks in the monotonous stretch of terrain were a few clumps of greasewood on the rim of the wash which made lacy prints against the sky. Katharine thought of the majestic view she had had yesterday from the top of the red butte, that now they had left far behind them in the desert. How remote they were from civilization!
Curry and the professor unloaded the cars. Wilbur meanwhile kept busy giving unnecessary advice to Jenkins and the Indians. Katharine, with Mary and the older women, looked about for a shady secluded place, and finding none took refuge in the shadow of the wagon. From there they watched the activities of the men.
As soon as the horses were securely hitched, each was mounted by an Indian, and Curry took his place behind the wheel of the first car. With shouts and kicks the Indians got their horses started. The car progressed ever so slowly under its own power until the front wheels slid into the water; then Curry turned off the ignition. The rest was up to the horses. They strained and pulled and panted, and breasted the lazy current stoutly. The advance was scarcely perceptible; but slowly the water rose around the wheels of the machine, reached the hubs, and crept up to submerge the four wheels.
“Won’t that water flood the body and engine and everything?” Katharine asked. She was really more worried about the Indians and Curry, but pretended that it was the car about which she was concerned.
“Indeed it will flood the body,” returned Mary. “The cover Mr. Curry put over the hood and radiator will protect the engine some. He’ll open everything up the minute he makes the other side. The sun will dry things in no time.”
“Talked it all over with Curry, I suppose,” drawled Wilbur. “Oh, he’s shore smart, and he’d waste no time telling you about it.”
Jenkins, who was standing near, wheeled quickly. “Look-a-here, Newton, what that hombre is talks so loud in all the fine things he does that he don’t have to go round shootin’ his mouth off about himself to folks.”
One of the maiden ladies peered at them, and Katharine wished devoutly that she had not asked her stupid question.
“Look! They’re stuck, aren’t they?” Mary exclaimed.
Katharine followed Mary’s intent gaze past Wilbur, whose suddenly compressed lips and narrowed eyes expressed malevolent pleasure, out to the middle of the river where the horses tossed heads and strained without advancing. The car might have been a boat anchored in midstream. Only part of the body was visible. The Indians yelled and beat the horses frantically. Behind them Curry held fast to the wheel.
“Quicksand! I’ll be blowed!” muttered Jenkins.
“Head ’em with the current, you fools!” he shouted. And when the Indians turned, he gesticulated wildly, pointing downstream.
There were more high staccato yells and frantic blows. The bewildered beasts staggered and swayed. Each time they jerked their heads forward they met the water. Curry was straining at the steering wheel to turn the front wheels of the car. His action seemed to frighten the horses, a lucky circumstance, because they pawed and reared so violently that the car moved with them and they were on their way again, making surer progress on to firmer bottom. A few rods, and the horses and the car began slowly to emerge from the muddied stream.
Katharine gasped her relief and turned to find a similar expression of relief registered in Mary’s eyes. The professor and his sisters too were showing their concern.
“That’s a terribly dangerous crossing, Mr. Jenkins,” one of the women declared. “I’m not so sure that I want to try it.”
“Don’t you be worryin’, Miss. It’s them cars that play