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The Heritage of the Desert-Part26_Zane Gray(1872-1939)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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walked out into lighter space upon level rock. To his infinite relief

Silvermane appeared rounding a corner out of the dark passage, and was



soon beside him.

Hare cried aloud in welcome.



The canyon widened; there was a clear demarcation where the red walls

gave place to yellow; the brook showed no outlet from its subterranean



channel. Sheer exhaustion made Hare almost forget his mission; the

strength of his resolve had gone into mechanical toil; he kept on,



conscious only of the smart of bruised hands and feet and the ache of

laboring lungs.



Time went on and the sun hung in the midst of the broadening belt of blue

sky. A long slant of yellow slope led down to a sage-covered level,



which Hare crossed, pleased to see blooming cacti and wondering at their

slender lofty green stems shining with gold flowers. He descended into a



ravine which became precipitous. Here he made only slow advance. At the

bottom he found himself in a wonderful lane with an almost level floor;



here flowed a shallowstream bordered by green willows. Wolf took the

direction of the flowing water. Hare's thoughts were all of Mescal, and



his hopes began to mount, his heart to beat high.

He gazed ahead with straining eyes. Presently there was not a break in



the walls. A drowsy hum of falling water came to Hare, strange reminder

of the oasis, the dull roar of the Colorado, and of Mescal.



His flagging energies leaped into life with the canyon suddenly opening

to bright light and blue sky and beautiful valley, white and gold in



blossom, green with grass and cottonwood. On a flower-scented wind

rushed that muffled roar again, like distant thunder.



Wolf dashed into the cottonwoods. Silvermane whistled with satisfaction

and reached for the long grass.



For Hare the light held something more than beauty, the breeze something

more than sweet scent of water and blossom. Both were charged with



meaning--with suspense.

Wolf appeared in the open leaping upon a slender brown-garbed form.



"Mescal!" cried Hare.

With a cry she ran to him, her arms outstretched, her hair flying in the



wind, her dark eyes wild with joy.

XVI



THUNDER RIVER

For an instant Hare's brain reeled, and Mescal's broken murmurings were



meaningless Then his faculties grew steady and acute; he held the girl as

if he intended never to let her go. Mescal clung to him with a wildness



that gave him anxiety for her reason; there was something almost fierce

in the tension of her arms, in the blind groping for his face.



"Mescal! It's Jack, safe and well," he said. "Let me look at you."

At the sound of his voice all her rigid strength changed to a yielding



weakness; she leaned back supported by his arms and looked at him. Hare

trembled before the dusky level glance he remembered so well, and as



tears began to flow he drew her head to his shoulder. He had forgotten

to prepare himself for a different Mescal. Despite the quivering smile



of happiness, her eyes were strained with pain. The oval contour, the

rich bloom of her face had gone; beauty was there still, but it was the



ghost of the old beauty.

"Jack--is it--really you?" she asked.



He answered with a kiss.

She slipped out of his arms breathless and scarlet. "Tell me all--"



"There's much to tell, but not before you kiss me. It has been more than

a year."



"Only a year! Have I been gone only a year?"

"Yes, a year. But it's past now. Kiss me, Mescal. One kiss will pay



for that long year, though it broke my heart."

Shyly she raised her hands to his shoulders and put her lips to his.



"Yes, you've found me, Jack, thank God! just in time!"

"Mescal! What's wrong? Aren't you well?"



"Pretty well. But if you had not come soon I should have starved."

"Starved? Let me get my saddle-bags--I have bread and meat."



"Wait. I'm not so hungry now. I mean very soon I should not have had

any food at all."



"But your peon--the dumb Indian? Surely he could find something to eat.

What of him? Where is he?"



"My peon is dead. He has been dead for months, I don't know how many."

"Dead! What was the matter with him?"



"I never knew. I found him dead one morning and I buried him in the




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