Читать книгу Lost Pueblo - Zane Grey - Страница 4

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From that moment events multiplied. Janey could not keep track of them. She was having the time of her life. And every now and then it burst upon her what really innocent fun it was, compared to the high pressure of life in the East.

She had disrupted the even tenor of the trading post. Bennet averred that something must be done about it. His cowboys had gone crazy. If they remembered their work it was to desert it or do it wrong. They manufactured the most ridiculous excuses to ride away from the ranch, when it chanced that Janey was out riding. When she was at home they each and every one fell victim to all the ailments under the sun.

Janey saw very little of Randolph during her first days at the post. He always left before she got up in the morning, and returned from his excavating work late in the afternoon. She met him, of course, at dinner, when they all sat at a long table, and in the living room afterward, but never alone. Janey was quite aware of the humor with which he regarded her flirtation with the cowboys. She did not like his attitude, and wasted a thought now and then as to how she would punish him.

On the whole, however, she was too happy to even remember her father’s reason for fetching her out to the desert. The actual reasons for her peculiar happiness she had not yet analyzed.

It was all so new. She rode for hours every day, sometimes alone, which was a difficult thing to maneuver—and often with her father, and the cowboys. The weather was glorious; the desert strangely, increasingly impelling; the blue sky and white clouds, the vivid colors and magnificent formations of the rock walls had some effect she was loath to acknowledge.

When had she been so hungry and tired at nightfall? She went to bed very early because everybody did so; and she slept as never before. Her skin began to take on a golden brown, and she gained weight. Both facts secretly pleased her. The pace at home had kept her pale and thin. Janey gazed in actual amazement and delight at the face that smiled back at her from the mirror. Once she mused, “I’ll say this Painted Desert has got the beauty shops beaten all hollow.”

Her father had asked her several times to ride over to Sagi Canyon, where Randolph was excavating. But Janey had pretended indifference as to his movements. As a matter of fact, she was curious to see what his work was like—what in the world could make a young man prefer digging in the dust to her company? There was another reason why she would not go, and it was because the more she saw of Phillip Randolph and heard about him from the cowboys and Bennet—who were outspoken in their praise—the better she liked him and the more she resented liking him.

For the present, however, the cowboys were more than sufficient for Janey. They were an endless source of interest, fun and wholesome admiration.

In ten days not a single one of them had attempted to hold her hand, let alone kiss her. Janey would rather have liked them, one and all, to hold her hand; and she would not have run very far to keep from being kissed. But it began to dawn upon her that despite an utter prostration of each cowboy at her feet, so to speak, there was never even a hint of familiarity, such as was natural as breathing to the young men of her set.

First it struck Janey as amusing. Then she sought to break it down. And before two weeks were up she began to take serious thought of something she had not supposed possible to the genus Homo, young or old, East or West.

Janey did not care to be forced to delve into introspection, to perplex herself with the problem of modern youth. She had had quite enough of that back East. Papers, magazines, plays, sermons, and lectures, even the movies, had made a concerted attack upon the younger generation. It had been pretty sickening to Janey. How good to get away from that atmosphere for a while! Perhaps here was a reason why she liked the West. But there seemed to be something working on her, which sooner or later she must face.

One afternoon Janey returned from her ride earlier than usual, so that she did not have to hurry and dress for dinner. She had settled herself in the hammock when her father and Randolph rode in from the opposite direction. The hammock was hidden under the vines outside the living-room window. They did not see Janey and she was too lazy or languid to call to them.

A little later she heard them enter the living room. The window there was open.

“Janey must be dressing,” said Endicott. “She’s back. I saw her saddle. We have time for a little chat. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

“Go ahead. I’m glad our ride didn’t tire you. By the way, what did you think of my Sagi?”

“Beautiful but dumb, as Janey would say. Quietest place I ever saw. Why, it was positively silent as a grave.”

“Yes. It is a grave. That’s why I dig around there so much,” replied Randolph, with a laugh. Janey remembered that laugh, though she had heard it very seldom. It was rather rich and pleasant; and scarcely fitted the character she had given him. She had two sudden impulses, one to make them aware of her presence, and another not to do anything of the kind. Second impulses were mostly the stronger with Janey.

“Randolph, I’m very curious about you. What is there in it for you—in this grave-digging work, I mean?”

“Oh, it’s treasure hunting in a way. I suppose an archaeologist is born. I seldom think of reward. But, really, if I discovered the prehistoric ruin I know is buried here somewhere it would be a big thing for me.”

“Any money in it?” inquired the New York businessman.

“Not directly. At least not at once. I suppose articles and lectures could be translated into money. It would give me prestige, though.”

“Hum. Well, prestige is all right for a young man starting in life but it doesn’t produce much bread and butter. Do you get a salary, in addition to your remuneration for articles and lectures?”

“You could call it a salary by courtesy. But besides bread-and-butter fare of the simplest kind, it wouldn’t buy stockings for a young lady I know,” returned Randolph, and again he laughed, the same nice infectious laugh.

“Now you’re talking,” responded Endicott, with animation. “The young lady, of course, being Janey.... Randolph, we’re getting to be good friends. Let’s be confidential. Did you ever ask my daughter to marry you?”

“Lord, no!” ejaculated Randolph.

“Well, that’s a satisfaction. It’s good for a young man to have individuality. I’m glad you’re different from the many. ... May I ask—forgive my persistence; the awful responsibility of being this girl’s father, you know—weren’t you in love with her?”

There was quite a long silence in which Janey’s heart beat quickly and her ears tingled. She had never really been sure of Randolph. That, perhaps, was his chief charm.

“Yes, Mr. Endicott,” replied the archaeologist, constrainedly. “I was in love with Janey. Not, however, as those young men were in the East. But very terribly, deeply in love.”

“Fine! ... Oh, excuse me, Phillip,” rejoined Endicott. “I mean—that’s what I thought. That’s why I liked you. These young lounge lizards play at love. They make me sick. Between you and me I’ve a sneaking suspicion they make Janey sick, too.... Now, Phil, here’s the vital question. Is all that past tense?”

Janey made the discovery that she was trembling, and imagined it was from the shame of being an unwitting eavesdropper. How impossible now to call out! Yet she might have slipped away. But she did not.

“No. I never got over it. And now it’s worse,” said Randolph, not without a tragic note.

“Phil! By heavens, you are a loyal fellow. Would it surprise you to know I’m pleased?”

“Thank you, Mr. Endicott. But I fear that I’m more than surprised.”

“See here, Phil, you want to be prepared for jars, not only from Janey, but also me. I’m her Dad, you know.... Listen, I brought Janey out to your desert with barefaced deliberate intent. To marry her to you and save her from that pack of wolves back there ... Incidentally, of course, to make both of you happy!”

“My God!” gasped Randolph. He was not the only one who gasped. Janey in her excitement nearly fell out of the hammock.

“It’s an honest fact and I’m not ashamed,” went on Endicott, getting earnest.

“But, Mr. Endicott—you do me honor. You are most wonderfully kind—but you are quite out of your head.”

“Maybe I am. I don’t care. I mean it. I love Janey and I’d go to any extreme to save her. Then I like you immensely. Your father was my dearest friend in college and until he died. I’d get a good deal of happiness out of putting a spoke in your wheel of fortune.”

“Save her!” ejaculated Randolph.

“For God’s sake, Randolph, don’t say you think it’s too late,” appealed Endicott, in sudden distress.

No quick response came, and Janey’s heart stood still as she waited for Randolph’s answer. What did that fool think, anyway? She was getting a little sick with anger and fear when Randolph burst out: “Endicott, you’re crazy. I—I meant—what did you mean when you said save her?”

“I meant a lot, my boy, and don’t overlook it.... Tell me straight, Randolph. This is a serious matter for us all. Do you think Janey is still a good girl?”

“I don’t think. I know,” returned Randolph, ringingly. “Your question is an insult to her, Mr. Endicott.”

“I wonder whether or not any question is that, in regard to young women in this age,” went on Endicott, soberly. “I gave you credit for being a brainy clear-eyed fellow, for all your grave-digging propensity. I saw how you disapproved of Janey—her friends and habits.”

“Yes, I did—deplorably so. But nevertheless—”

“Love is blind, my son,” interposed Endicott. “You think more of Janey than she deserves. All the same I’m glad. That’ll help us out. I regard you as an anchor.”

“Mr. Endicott, I—I don’t know what to say. I’m overwhelmed.”

“Well, I dare say you’ve reason to be. But all the same you listen to me patiently. Will you?”

“Why, certainly.”

“You were justified in being shocked at my question about Janey. But I wouldn’t blame anyone for a pretty raw opinion of modern girls. I have it myself.... To be brief, they have gotten under my skin, if you know what that means. Janey’s generation is beyond my understanding. They have developed something new. They are eliminating right and wrong. They have no respect for their parents, and so far as I can see very little affection. They have a positive hatred for all restraint. They will not stand to be controlled. They have no faith in our old standards. As a rule they have no religion. They wear indecent clothes, or I might say very few clothes at all. They dance all night, drown themselves in booze, pet and neck indiscriminately, and most of them go the limit.”

“Mr. Endicott!” expostulated Randolph, somewhat taken aback by the elder man’s outburst.

“Phil, I’m telling you straight. This is not my theory. I know. I’ve got this young crowd figured that far, at least. I have no patience at all with the fatuous mamas and papas who claim the young people are all right. They are not all right. They are a fast crowd and the nation that depends on them and can’t change them is slated for hell. These wise-acres who say there is no flagrant immorality are far off the track. Those who claim young women of today are no different from yesterday are simply blind. They are different, and I don’t mean wholly the emancipation of women since the war. I was always for woman suffrage.... Well, I’m not concerned with the causes, as whether or not we parents are to blame. I’ve done my damnedest for Janey and it hurts to think maybe I’ve failed. I’m honest in believing I’ve not been a bad example for my child. But sometimes Janey makes me crawl into a dark corner and hide.... I’m concerned with the facts of what I’m telling you. I want to see Janey married to a good and straight and industrious young man. Janey says he doesn’t exist.... Her mother was like Janey, though not so beautiful. She was willful, intelligent, bewildering. But she had no vices.... Now I take it Janey is about as fascinating as a young woman could be. Perhaps she is all the more so because of this complexity of modern times. She knows it. I wouldn’t call Janey conceited. She’s not really vain. She’s rather a merciless gay modern young woman who takes pleasure in wading through a mob of men. If she heard her friends speak of a man who was not likely to fall for her, as they call it, Janey would yell, ‘Lead me to him!’ Despite all this I feel and hope Janey can be saved. Lord, fancy her hearing me say that! To my mind if she drifts with her crowd she’ll never amount to anything. She would probably divorce one husband after another. I don’t like the idea. Janey’s mother left her something which she will have control of in another year. And then of course she’ll get all I possess, which isn’t inconsiderable. Her prospects then, and her beauty, make her a mark for the men she comes in contact with, and their name is legion. I have tried to keep her away from the worst of them. But it’s impossible.”

“Why impossible?” broke in Phillip, tersely.

“I gave up because when I’d tell Janey a certain young fellow was no fit acquaintance for her I would only stimulate interest. She’d say, ‘Dad, you think you know a lot, but I’ll have to see for myself’—and you bet she would.”

“Then Janey wouldn’t obey you?” asked Randolph.

“Obey!” echoed Endicott, in surprise. “Most certainly she would not.”

“Then indeed you are to blame for what she is.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you or anybody else make Janey obey.”

“I could and I would,” declared Randolph.

“My dear young Arizona archaeologist! May I ask how?” returned Endicott, not without sarcasm and amusement.

“I’d take that young lady across my knee and spank her soundly.”

“Good Lord! You don’t know what you’re saying.... Why, if I subjected Janey to such indignity she’d—she’d—well, what wouldn’t she do? Wrecking the place where it happened would be the least.... Yet, oh—how I have wanted to do that same little thing!”

“Mr. Endicott, your daughter is a spoiled child,” asserted Randolph, in a tone that made Janey want to shriek.

“Spoiled—yes—and everything else,” agreed Endicott, helplessly. “But with it all she is adorable. Have you noticed that, Phil?”

“Why, come to think of it I believe I have,” he answered, with dry humor.

“Well, we are agreed on a few things, anyway. We can dismiss her demerits by acknowledging that, and her intelligence, truthfulness, and other cardinal virtues which she has in common with all the young people today. It may be that they are too advanced for us of the older generation to understand. It might be that something wonderful will come of such a paradox. But I can’t see it, and my problem is to check Janey’s mad career.... Ha!—Ha!”

“If I may presume to advise you, Mr. Endicott, you are undertaking a perfectly impossible task,” said Randolph.

“No! Why, Phil, I am sometimes damn fool enough to believe Janey might do all I ask just because she loves me. I know she does. But I always put things to her in a way that makes her furious. So I’ve quit it.... This is my last card—my trump.”

“This?” asked Randolph, with curiosity.

“This trip, and the plan I’ve decided upon. Here it is! I’m going to marry Janey to you.”

There was an absolute blank silence. Janey felt what a shock this must have been to Randolph. It was no less a shock to her.

“Now—now I know what’s the matter,” said Randolph, finally, in a queer voice.

“What?”

“You really are out of your mind!”

“Well, that may be,” returned Endicott, with good humor. “But I’ll stand by my guns. I’ve sense enough to understand that you will at first indignantly refuse such a proposition. Won’t you?”

“I certainly do,” replied Randolph, bluntly.

“Randolph, no young man who knew and loved Janey could refuse for any other reason than he thought it preposterous.... That she didn’t care two straws for him?”

“Exactly. In my case one straw.”

“The only weakness in my proposition is the hope, the dream, that Janey might love you someday. You must remember I know her as I knew her mother. Janey, too, is capable of the most extraordinary things.”

“It surely would be that for her to—to—Oh, Endicott, the idea is ridiculous,” returned Randolph, beginning in bitterness and ending in anger.

“Hear me out. If you don’t I’ll think you, too, are just like the rest of this generation.... I base my hopes on this. Janey likes you—respects you. She makes all manner of fun of you, but underneath it there’s something deep. At least it’s deep enough to keep her from adding your scalp to her belt. ... You’ll forgive me, Phil, for saying that any fancy-free girl would learn to care for you—under favorable circumstances.”

“What are they?” queried the archaeologist.

“Never mind details. But I mean the things that make a man. I’ll swear I don’t believe Janey has ever met a real man. ... Well, to go on. I save my conscience in this case by believing she could care for you. And my plan is simply to give Janey a terrific jar—and then nature, with such a favorable start, will do the rest.”

“Believe me, it would have to be a terrific jar, all right,” said Randolph, with another of his resonant laughs.

“Believe me, it is. And it’s simply this. Be as nice as pie to Janey. Then at an opportune time just throw her on a horse and pack her off to one of your ruins in the desert. Kidnap her! Keep her out there a little while—scare her half to death—let her know what it is to be uncomfortable, hungry, helpless. Then fetch her back. She’d have to marry you. I would insist upon it.... Then we’d all be happy.”

“Mr. Endicott, the only sane remark you’ve made is that epithet you applied to yourself a few moments ago.”

“It is a most wonderful opportunity. You are ambitious. This would make you.”

“No.”

“I will make you a most substantial settlement. You will be independent for life. You can follow up your archaeological work for the love of it. You—”

“No!”

“Now, Phil, I can apply that epithet to you. May I ask why you refuse?”

“You—I—Oh, hell! ... Endicott, it’s because I really love Janey. I couldn’t think of myself in such a case. If I did I’d—I’d be as weak as water.... Why, Janey would hate me.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” replied Endicott, sagely. “You can’t ever tell about a woman. It’s a gamble, of course. But you have the odds. Be a good sport, Phil. Even if you lose you’ll have gained an experience that you’ll remember a lifetime.”

“Mr. Endicott, you’re taking advantage of human nature,” replied Randolph, with agitation. Janey could hear him pacing the room, and she felt sorry for him. It pleased her that he had refused. But she knew her father, his relentless ways, and she held her breath.

“Certainly I am,” agreed Endicott, growing warmer. “Phil, look at it this way. Consent for Janey’s sake!”

“But man, I can’t believe that wonderful girl is going to hell. I can’t.”

“Naturally. You’re in love with her. To you she’s an angel. All right. Think of it this way then. You admitted she was adorable. You just said she was wonderful. You know how beautiful she is. Well, here’s your chance to make her yours. Maybe it’s a thousand-to-one shot. Remember, you’ll do her good in any case. And you’ve that one chance in a thousand. Her mother was the most loving of women. Why, Phil, if Janey loved you—you would be entering the kingdom of heaven. She might.”

“My—God!” gasped the young man.

“I am her father. I worship her. And I am begging you to do this thing.”

“All—right. I—I’ll do it,” replied Randolph, in a queer strangled voice. “It will—be my ruin. But I can’t resist.... Only, understand—I couldn’t accept money.”

“Fact is, I didn’t think you would,” replied Endicott, quickly. “And your refusal makes me sure you are the right man. Come, shake on it, Phil. I’ll be forever grateful to you whether we win or lose.”

Janey heard him rise and cross the room. Taking advantage of this she slipped out of the hammock and ran round to the back of the house, and entering the long corridor she arrived at her room in a more excited and breathless state than she had ever been in all her life. Closing the door she locked it and then relaxed against it, with a hand over her throbbing breast.

“If that wasn’t the limit!” she exclaimed, and succumbed to conflicting emotions, among which such rage as she had never felt assumed dominance.

Not long afterward her father knocked on the door. Janey did not answer. He knocked again, and called anxiously.

“Janey?”

“Yes.”

“Dinner is ready. We’re waiting.”

“I don’t want any,” she replied.

“Why, what is the matter?”

“I’ve a headache.”

“Headache! ... You? Never heard of the like before.”

“Maybe it’s a toothache.”

“Oh!” he returned, and discreetly retired.

When Janey’s anger had finally subsided so that she could think, she found she was deeply wounded. Things for her had come to a very sad pass indeed, if her father could go to such extremes. But were they so bad for her? How perfectly absurd! There was not anything wrong with her. Yet all the same an awakened consciousness refused to accept her indignant assurance. She knew she was the pride and joy of her father’s life. He was a trying parent indeed; nevertheless she could not seriously say he had neglected her or given her a bad example. He was just thick-headed, and too much concerned about her affairs. Janey, however, dodged for the present any serious thought concerning her friends and acquaintances at home. They were as good as any other crowd.

Randolph! She could overcome her shame and resentment enough to feel sorry for him. What chance had he against her father, especially if he was genuinely attracted to her? Janey blushed in the loneliness of her room. Randolph had saved his character, in her estimation, by scorning her father’s opinions, by resisting his subtle attack, by refusing any consideration of a material gain in his outrageous proposals.

Then Janey happened to remember what Randolph had said about spanking her. In a sudden fury she leaped up and began to pace the little room. There was not very much in the way of disgust, contempt, amazement, pride, wrath, that did not pass through her mind. What an atrocious insult! He had been in earnest. He talked as if she were a nine-year-old child. Her cheeks burned. She refused in the heat of the moment to answer a query that knocked at her ears.

“Oh, I won’t do a thing to Phillip Randolph!” she said, under her breath, and as she said it she caught sight of her face in the mirror. When had she looked like that? Only the other day she had fancied she wore a tired bored look. At least she was indebted to Randolph for a glow and a flash of radiance.

A hundred thoughts whirled through her mind. One of them was to run off from her father and punish him that way. Another was to actually be what he feared she was or might become. The former appeared too easy on him and the second unworthy of her. It stung her acutely that she was compelled to prove to him how really different she was. But revenge first! She would show them. She would play up to their infamous plot. She would walk right into their little trap. Then—she would frighten her clever parent out of his wits. And as for Randolph! She would reduce him to such a state of lovesick misery that he would want to die. She would be ten thousand times herself and everything else she could lend herself to. She would help him on with the little scheme, make him marry her; and then, when he and her father were at the top of their bent and ridiculously sure of her so-called salvation, she would calmly announce to them that she had known all about it beforehand. She would denounce them, and go home and divorce Randolph.

The next morning Janey saw Randolph and her father ride away on their horses, evidently well pleased with themselves over something. Then she went late to her breakfast, finding it necessary to play the actress with the solicitous Mrs. Bennet. She would have to be a brilliant actress, anyway, so she might as well begin. She might develop histrionic ability, and make a name on the stage.

She did not ride that morning. Part of the time she spent in her room, and the other walking in the shade of the cottonwoods.

After lunch Janey tried to read. All the books and magazines she had appeared to be full of humor or tragedy of the younger generation. One after another she slammed them on the floor.

“This business is getting damn serious,” ejaculated Janey.

All the preachers, editors, physicians, philosophers, were explaining either how horrible the young people were, or else how misunderstood, or abandoned by money-mad parents to their dark fate. Even college boys and girls were writing about themselves. Something was wrong somewhere; and as the thought struck Janey she found herself reaching for a cigarette. With swift temper she threw the little box against the wall. She would have to quit smoking—which meant nothing at all to Janey. She could quit anything. She remembered, however, that in accordance with the plan to revenge herself upon her father and Randolph, she must smoke like a furnace. So she took the trouble to pick up the cigarettes. Still, she did not smoke one then.

The afternoon slowly waned. It had been an upsetting day for Janey. She had changed a hundred times, like the shifting of a wind vane. But the thing most permanent was the stab to her pride. Not soon would she get over that hurt. She did not realize yet just why or how she had been so mortally offended, but she guessed it would come to her eventually.

For the first time in years Janey missed her mother. Was she self-sufficient as she had supposed? She certainly was not, for she fought an hour against rather strange symptoms, and then succumbed to a good old-fashioned crying spell.