Читать книгу Lahoma - J. Breckenridge Ellis - Страница 14

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When he awoke, a bar of sunshine which at first he mistook for an outcropping of Spanish gold, glowed against the granite wall of his mountain-top retreat. He rose in leisurely fashion—henceforth there would be plenty of time, years of it, running to waste with useless days. After eating and partaking sparingly of the brackish water of the keg, he nailed together two long sideboards of the dismembered wagon; and having secured these end to end, he fastened in parallel strips to the surface short sticks as steps to his ladder. This finished, he made a rope-ladder. The ladder of boards was for use in leaving the cave; the rope-ladder, which he meant to hide under some boulder near the crevice, could be used in making the descent.

The formless mass of inchoate debris, the result of his toilsome journeys of the night before, was left as it had fallen—there would be time enough to sort all that, a hundred times. At present, he would venture forth with the sole object of examining his surroundings. "This suits me exactly," he muttered, with a good-humored chuckle; "just doing one thing at a time, and being everlasting slow about doing that."

Fastening the rope-ladder about his waist, he scaled the boards, and on reaching the top, cast them down. First, he looked all about, but no living creature was in sight. "This is just to my hand," he said aloud, seeking a suitable hiding-place for the rope-ladder; "I always did despise company."

Stowing away the rope-ladder in a secure fissure between two giant blocks of granite, each the size of a large two-story house, he crossed to the first ridge, and looked out over the prairie, to triumph over the vacant spot where the covered wagon had stood fifteen hours before. "No telling what a man can do," he exclaimed admiringly, "that is to say, if his name is Brick Willock."

His eyes wandered to the mound of stones built over the woman's grave. His prayer recurred to his mind. "Well, God," he said, looking up at the cloudless sky, "I guess you're doing it!" After this expression of faith, he turned about and set forth to traverse the mountain range. Passing the ridge which he already looked upon as home, he crossed other ridges of varying height, and at the end of a mile reached the southern limit of the mountain. Like the northern side the southern elevation was nearly four hundred feet, as if the granite sea had dashed upward in fiercest waves, in a last futile attempt to inundate the plain. The southern wall was precipitous, and Willock, looking down the cedar-studded declivity, could gaze directly on the verdant levels that came to the very foot.

He stood at the center of an enormous horseshoe formed on the southwest by the range curving farther toward the south, and on his left hand, by the same range sweeping in a quarter-circle toward the southeast. The mouth of this granite half-circle was opened to the south, at least a quarter-mile in width; but on his left, a jutting spur almost at right angles to the main range, and some hundreds of yards closer to his position, shot across the space within the horseshoe bend, in such fashion that an observer, standing on the plain, would have half his view of the inner concave expanse shut off, except that part of the high north wall that towered above the spur.

Nor was this all. Behind the perpendicular arm, or spur, that ran out into the sea of mesquit, rose a low hill that was itself in the nature of an inner spur although, since it failed to reach the mountain, it might be regarded as a long flat island, surrounded by the calm green tide. This innermost arm, or island, was so near the mountain, that the entrance to it opened into a curved inner world of green, was narrow and strongly protected. The cove thus formed presented a level floor of ten or twelve acres, and it was directly down into this cove that Willock gazed. It looked so peaceful and secure, and its openness to the sunshine was so alluring, that Willock resolved to descend the steep wall. To do so at that point was impractical, but the ridge was unequal and not far to the right, sank to a low divide, while to the left, a deep gully thickly set with cedars, elms, scrub-oaks and thorn trees invited him with its steep but not difficult channel, to the ground.

"Here's a choice," observed Willock, as he turned toward the divide; "guess I'll go by the front, and save the back stairs for an emergency." The gully was his back stairs. He was beginning to feel himself rich in architectural possibilities. When he reached the plain he was outside of a line of hummocks that effectually hid the cove from sight, more effectually because of a dense grove of pecans that stood on either side of the grass-grown dunes. Instead of crossing the barrier, he started due south for the outer prairie, and when at last he stood midway between the wide jaws of the mountain horseshoe, he turned and looked intently toward the cove.

It was invisible, and his highest hopes were realized. From this extended mouth he could clearly see where the first spur shot out into the sand, and beyond that, he could see how, at a distance, the sheer wall of granite rose to the sky; but there was nothing to suggest that behind that scarred arm another projection parallel to it might be discovered. He walked toward the spur, always watching for a possible glimpse of the cove. When he stood on the inner side, his spirits rose higher. The long flat island that he had discerned from the mountain-top was here not to be defined because, on account of its lowness and of the abrupt wall beyond, it was mingled indistinguishably with the perspective of the range. Concealment was made easier from the fact that the ground of the cove was lower than all the surrounding land.

Willock now advanced on the cove and found himself presently in a snug retreat that would have filled with delight the heart of the most desperate highwayman, or the most timid settler. On the north was, of course, the towering mountain-wall, broken by the gully in the protection of whose trees one might creep up or down without detection. On the east, the same mountain-wall curved in high protection. In front was the wide irregular island, low, indeed, but happily high enough to shut out a view of the outside world. At the end of this barricade there was a gap, no wider than a wagon-road, along the side of which ran the dry channel of a mountain stream—the continuation of the gully that cut the mountain-wall from top to base—but even this gap was high enough to prevent observation from the plain.

No horsemen could enter the cove save by means of that low trench, cut as by the hand of man in the granite hill, and as Indian horsemen were the only enemies to be dreaded, his watchfulness need be concentrated only on that one point. "Nothing like variety," observed Willock cheerfully.

"This will do capital for my summer home! I'm going to live like a lord—while I'm living."

He examined the ground and found that it was rich and could be penetrated easily, even to the very foot of the mountain. "I'll just get my spade," he remarked, "as I ain't got nothing else to do." In deliberate slowness he returned up the divide, and got the spade from his retreat, then brought it to the cove. Selecting a spot near the channel of the dried-up torrent, he began to dig, relieved to find that he did not strike rock.

"I guess," he said, stopping to lean on his spade as he stared at the mountain, "the earth just got too full of granite and biled over, but was keerful to spew it upwards, so's to save as much ground as it could, while relieving its feelings."

Presently the earth on his blade began to cling from dampness. "When I digs a well," he remarked boastingly, "what I want is water, and that's what I gets. As soon as it's deep enough I'll wall her up with rocks and take the longest drink that man ever pulled off, that is to say, when it was nothing but common water. They ain't nothing about water to incite you to keep swallowing when you have enough. Of a sudden you just naturally leggo and could drown in it without wanting another drop. That's because it's nature. Art is different. I reckon a nice clean drinking-joint and a full-stocked bar is about the highest art that can stimulate a man. But in nature, you know when you've got enough."

After further digging he added, "And I got about enough of THIS! I mean the mountains and the plains and the sand and the wind and the cave and the cove—" he wiped away the dripping sweat and looked at the sun. "Yes, and of you, too!" He dropped the spade, and sat down on the heap of dirt. "Oh, Lord, but I'm lonesome! I got plenty to say, but nobody to listen at me."

He clasped his great hands about his knee, and stared sullenly at the surrounding ramparts of red and brown granite, dully noting the fantastic layers, the huge round stones that for ages had been about to roll down into the valley but had never started, and others cut in odd shapes placed one upon another in columns along the perpendicular wall. The sun beat on the long matted hair of his bared head, but the ceaseless wind brought relief from its pelting rays. He, however, was conscious neither of the heat nor of the refreshing touch.

At last he rose slowly to his towering legs and picked up the spade. "You're a fool, Brick Willock," he said harshly. "Ain't you got that well to dig? And then can't you go for your kaig and bring it here, and carry it back full of fresh water? Dinged if there ain't enough doings in your world to furnish out a daily newspaper!" He began to dig, adding in an altered tone: "And Brick, HE says—'Nothing ain't come to the worst, as long as you're living,' says Brick!"

He was proud of the well when it was completed; the water was cold and soft as it oozed up through clean sand, and the walls of mud-mortised rocks promised permanency. One did not have to penetrate far into the bottom-lands of that cove to find water which for unnumbered years had rushed down the mountainside in time of rain-storms to lie, a vast underground reservoir, for the coming of man. Willock could reach the surface of the well by lying on his stomach and scooping with his long arm. He duly carried out his program, and when the keg was filled with fresh water, it was time for dinner.

After a cold luncheon of sliced boiled ham and baker's bread, he returned to the cove, where he idled away the afternoon under the shade of tall cedar trees whose branches came down to the ground, forming impenetrable pyramids of green.

Stretched out on the short buffalo-grass he watched the white flecks follow one another across the sky; he observed the shadows lengthening from the base of the western arm of the horseshoe till they threatened to swallow up him and his bright speck of world; he looked languidly after the flights of birds, and grinned as he saw the hawks dart into round holes in the granite wall not much larger than their bodies—those mysterious holes perforating the precipice, seemingly bored there by a giant auger.

"Go to bed, pards," he called to the hawks. "I reckon it's time for me, too!" He got up—the sun had disappeared behind the mountain. He stretched himself, lifting his arms high above his head and slowly drawing his fists to his shoulder, his elbows luxuriously crooked. "One thing I got," he observed, "is room, plenty! Well—" he started toward the divide for his upward climb, "I've lived a reasonable long life; I am forty-five; but I do think that since I laid down under that tree, I have thought of everything I ever done or said since I was a kid. Guess I'll save the future for another afternoon—and after that, the Lord knows what I'm going to do with my brain, it's that busy."

The next day he began assorting the contents of his granite home, moving to the task with conscientious slowness, stopping a dozen times to make excursions into the outside world. By diligent economy of his working moments, he succeeded in covering almost two weeks in the labor of putting his house into order. His bedroom was next to the barricade that separated the long stone excavation from the bottomless abyss. Divided from the bedroom by an imaginary line, was the store-room of provisions. The cans and boxes were arranged along the floor with methodical exactitude. Different varieties of fruit and preserves were interspersed in such fashion that none was repeated until every variety had been passed.

"I begins with this can of peaches," said Willock, laying his finger upon the beginning of the row—"then comes apples, pears, plums; then peaches, apples, pears, plums; then peaches, apples, pears, plums; then peaches—blest if I don't feel myself getting sick of 'em already. … And now my meats: bacon, ham. My breadstuffs: loaves, crackers. My fillers: sardines, more sardines, more sardines, likewise canned tomatoes. Let me see—is it too much to say that I eats a can of preserves in two days? Maybe three. That is, till I sickens. I begins with peach-day. This is Monday. Say Thursday begins my apple-days. I judge I can worm myself down through the list by this time next month. One thing I am sot on: not to save nothing if I can bring my stomach to carry the burden with a willing hand. I'll eat mild and calm, but steadfast. Brick Willock he says, 'Better starve all at once, when there's nothing left, than starve a little every day,' says Brick. 'When it's a matter of agony,' says he, 'take the short cut.'"

In arranging his retreat, he had left undisturbed the wagon-tongue, since removing it from the end of the floor for a more secure barricade; it had stood with several of the sideboards against the wall, as if Brick meditated using them for a special purpose. Such was indeed his plan, and it added some zest to his present employment to think of what he meant to do next; this was nothing less than to make a dugout in the cove.

To this enterprise he was prompted not only by a desire to vary his monotonous days, but to insure safety from possible foes. Should a skulking savage, or, what would be worse, a stray member of the robber band catch sight of him among the hills, the spy would spread the news among his fellows. A relentless search would be instituted, and even if Willock succeeded in escaping, the band would not rest till it had discovered his hiding-place. If they came on the dugout, their search would terminate, and his home in the crevice would escape investigation; but if there was no dugout to satisfy curiosity, the crevice would most probably be explored.

"Two homes ain't too many for a character like me, nohow," remarked Brick, as he set the wagon-tongue and long boards on end to be drawn up through the crevice. "Cold weather will be coming on in due time—say three or four months—and what's that to me? a mere handful of time! Well, I don't never expect to make a fire in my cave, I'll set my smoke out in the open where it can be traced without danger to my pantry shelves."

He was even slower about building the dugout than he had been in arranging the miscellaneous objects in the cavern on top of the mountain. Transporting the timbers across a mile of ridges and granite troughs was no light work; and when his tools and material were in the cove, the digging of the dugout was protracted because of the closeness of water to the surface. At last he succeeded in excavating the cellar at a spot within a few yards of the mountain, without penetrating moistened sand. He leveled down the walls till he had a chamber about twelve feet square. Over this he placed the wagon-tongue, converting it into the ridge-pole, which he set upon forks cut from the near-by cedars. Having trimmed branches of the trees in the grove, he laid them as close together as possible, slanting from the ridge-pole to the ground, and over these laid the bushy cedar branches. This substantial roof he next covered with dirt, heaping it up till no glimpse of wood was visible tinder the hard-packed dome. The end of the dugout was closed up in the same way except for a hole near the top fitted closely to the stovepipe and packed with mud.