Part 35 (2/2)
The following morning when the party was again under way, Helen rode up to Uncle Sid.
”Uncle Sid, you ride down to the camp with the crowd, and I'll meet you there at noon. I'm going this way.” She pointed to a trail which branched off from the main line.
”What for?” Uncle Sid asked bluntly.
Helen could hardly answer satisfactorily to herself much less to Uncle Sid.
”Oh,” she replied, ”because I want to. Won't that do?”
”You'd better come along with us,” Uncle Sid protested. ”You might meet some more dried beef.”
”I'm not afraid; besides I'm mounted now.” Then they parted.
The trail which Helen had chosen, followed the ca.n.a.l. For a distance it was squeezed tight between the walls of the steep-sloped, cedar-tufted barranca. The bed was dry now; but when the water should be turned on, this trail would be impa.s.sable. A little further, and the gorge opened into a deep arroyo which the ca.n.a.l bridged, then turned and followed the opposite bank.
Helen had followed this trail for two reasons. In the first place, she wanted to be alone. Then, this was the trail over which she had ridden with Ralph when he had first shown her his work. The head of the arroyo was clad with a thicket of cedars, so dense as to be almost impenetrable. As the last foot-fall sounded on the bridge, Helen's pony halted abruptly, and with swelling nostrils and forward pointing ears, whinnied a short, sharp challenge. There was an answering whinny, and Helen's eyes followed the direction of the sound. Almost hidden by the dull leaves of the cedars, was a draggled looking pony, saddled, with the reins trailing on the ground. At first, Helen hardly noticed the figure squatting limply beside the pony. His dishevelled clothing was stuck full of gray needles, like those scattered on the ground, whence the figure had evidently just risen to a sitting posture. The man raised his eyes and Helen's heart stood still. In the gray, drawn face, the dull, l.u.s.terless eyes, she recognized Elijah Berl. As she looked wonderingly at him, in spite of the knowledge of his misdeeds, a great wave of womanly pity swept over her heart. A single glance at the pitiful figure, with the knowledge that had come to her from her a.s.sociations with him, told her the struggle he had lived through, a struggle that had unbalanced his reason and left him lower than the beasts of the field.
”Oh, Elijah! Why weren't you at the dam?” Her voice was tremulous, in spite of her efforts to control it.
The answer to her words was a vacant, uncomprehending stare.
”Every one missed you,” she continued. ”Every one was asking for you.”
Again she paused, eagerly searching her soul for words that would bring the light of reason to the listless eyes.
There was no response, save a dropping of the dull eyes, an aimless picking of the fingers at the needles that clung to his garments.
Helen reined her pony close to the abutment of the bridge, and dismounting, trailed the bridle on the stones. She trembled at what she was about to do, but the spirit of atonement forced her on. Another moment, and she was beside the limp figure, one hand resting on the bowed shoulders.
”Elijah, listen! I have something to tell you. Listen, for you must not miss a single word. Go back to Ysleta, go back to Amy. You are free. Mr.
Seymour--”
At the name, Elijah sprang to his feet, his hands clenched and knotted, his eyes s.h.i.+ning with maniacal rage.
”Curse him!” he shouted, ”Curse him, curse him! Curse them all for a pack of ravening wolves! He has done it; they have done it! The Philistines be upon them! They be of them who would gather where I have strewn, who would reap of the harvest I have sown. The day of wrath is upon them, the consuming anger of a terrible G.o.d. Listen!” He seized Helen's hand, crus.h.i.+ng it in his fierce grasp, as he bent forward toward the canon of the Sangre de Cristo. His eyes were strained, his lips parted.
Helen was half conscious of a sudden silence. The roaring waters were stilled. She was beginning to comprehend the reason and the import of the hushed waters. Elijah dropped the clasped hand; he stood triumphant, his head thrown back, his eyes raised to the cloudless sky.
”It is done! 'I will tell you what I have done for my vineyard; I will take away the hedge thereof, and it shall be eaten up; and I will break down the wall thereof, and it shall be trodden down. And I will lay it waste; it shall not be pruned nor digged, but there shall come up briars and thorns. h.e.l.l hath enlarged herself and opened her mouth without measure; and their glory and their mult.i.tude, and their pomp, and he that rejoiceth, shall descend into it!'”
The words were chanted, rather than spoken; chanted with the resonant triumph of him who has fought and won. He yet stood, with clenched, outspread hands; but the color was dying from the drawn cheeks, the fierce light fading from the gleaming eyes. Then he stood as before, dull, listless, apathetic. The momentary fire had burned itself to ashes.
Helen stood with every sense strained to catch the full import of Elijah's changing moods. What was he about to do? What had he done? She must prevent his purpose if possible, nullify it if--this was not to be thought of now. She must read, and read quickly, the flickering light of reason that burned fitfully through the chaos of his soul. She was certain that reason had departed; was it beyond recall? She must try.
Precious as she felt the moments to be, she must yet try. She took one of Elijah's hands in her own firm grasp.
”You don't understand, Elijah. He is not your enemy.” She dared not use Seymour's name again. ”He is your friend. He and Ralph have sent out men to find you; they are searching for you now. They are looking for you to tell you that the money has been restored. They say that--” Helen hesitated, but the pause was imperceptible, ”you did the best thing, the best thing for the company, in buying the Pico ranch; that you saw farther than they did.”
Helen was hesitating mentally, but her words went on without pause. She was watching intently for a sign of comprehension in the stolid, pa.s.sionless face. With her last words, the light came again to the eyes she was searching. Not the fierce pa.s.sion-blaze of unchained fury, only the peaceful glow of returning reason. He spoke slowly, stumblingly, as one waking from a dream.
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