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joke； isn't it？ Don't go away and leave me； Buck。 I've done you dirt。
Cut my heart out； if you want to； I won't say a word； but don't leave me
here for the sun〃
His voice was drowned in a piercing scream； as Estrella came to
herself and understood。 Always the rawhide had possessed for her an
occult fascination and repulsion。 She had never been able to touch it
without a shudder； and yet she had always been drawn to experiment with
it。 The terror of her doom had now added to it for her all the vague and
premonitory terrors which heretofore she had not understood。 The
richness of the dawn had flowed to the west。 Day was at hand。 Breezes
had begun to play across the desert； the wind devils to raise their straight
columns。 A first long shaft of sunlight shot through a pass in the
Chiricahuas； trembled in the dust…moted air； and laid its warmth on the
rawhide。 Senor Johnson roused himself from his gloom to speak his first
words of the episode。 〃There； damn you！〃 said he。 〃I guess you'll be
close enough together now！〃 He turned away to look for his horse。
CHAPTER FOURTEEN THE DESERT
Button was a trusty of Senor Johnson's private animals。 He was
never known to leave his master in the lurch； and so was habitually
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allowed certain privileges。 Now； instead of remaining exactly on the spot
where he was 〃tied to the ground；〃 he had wandered out of the dry arroyo
bed to the upper level of the plains； where he knew certain bunch grasses
might be found。 Buck Johnson climbed the steep wooded bank in search
of him。 The pony stood not ten feet distant。 At his master's abrupt
appearance he merely raised his head； a wisp of grass in the corner of his
mouth； without attempting to move away。 Buck Johnson walked
confidently to him； fumbling in his side pocket for the piece of sugar with
which he habitually soothed Button's sophisticated palate。 His hand
encountered Estrella's letter。 He drew it out and opened it。
〃Dear Buck；〃 it read； 〃I am going away。 I tried to be good； but I can't。
It's too lonesome for me。 I'm afraid of the horses and the cattle and the
men and the desert。 I hate it all。 I tried to make you see how I felt
about it； but you couldn't seem to see。 I know you'll never forgive me；
but I'd go crazy here。 I'm almost crazy now。 I suppose you think I'm a
bad woman； but I am not。 You won't believe that。 Its' true though。
The desert would make anyone bad。 I don't see how you stand it。
You've been good to me； and I've really tried； but it's no use。 The country
is awful。 I never ought to have come。 I'm sorry you are going to think
me a bad woman； for I like you and admire you； but nothing； NOTHING
could make me stay here any longer。〃 She signed herself simply
Estrella Sands； her maiden name。 Buck Johnson stood staring at the
paper for a much longer time than was necessary merely to absorb the
meaning of the words。 His senses； sharpened by the stress of the last
sixteen hours； were trying mightily to cut to the mystery of a change going
on within himself。 The phrases of the letter were bald enough； yet they
conveyed something vital to his inner being。 He could not understand
what it was。
Then abruptly he raised his eyes。 Before him lay the desert； but a
desert suddenly and miraculously changed； a desert he had never seen
before。 Mile after mile it swept away before him； hot； dry； suffocating；
lifeless。 The sparse vegetation was grey with the alkali dust。 The heat
hung choking in the air like a curtain。 Lizards sprawled in the sun；
repulsive。 A rattlesnake dragged its loathsome length from under a
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mesquite。 The dried carcass of a steer； whose parchment skin drew tight
across its bones； rattled in the breeze。 Here and there rock ridges showed
with the obscenity of so many skeletons； exposing to the hard； cruel sky
the earth's nakedness。 Thirst； delirium； death； hovered palpable in the
wind； dreadful； unconquerable； ghastly。 The desert showed her
teeth and lay in wait like a fierce beast。 The little soul of man shrank in
terror before it。
Buck Johnson stared； recalling the phrases of the letter； recalling the
words of his foreman； Jed Parker。 〃It's too lonesome for me；〃 〃I'm
afraid；〃 〃I hate it all；〃 〃I'd go crazy here；〃 〃The desert would make
anyone bad；〃 〃The country is awful。〃 And the musing voice of the old
cattleman； 〃I wonder if she'll like the country！〃 They reiterated
themselves over and over； and always as refrain his own confident reply；
〃Like the country？ Sure！ Why SHOULDN'T she？〃 And then he
recalled the summer just passing； and the woman who had made no
fuss。 Chance remarks of hers came back to him； remarks whose meaning
he had not at the time grasped； but which now he saw were desperate
appeals to his understanding。 He had known his desert。 He had never
known hers。 With an exclamation Buck Johnson turned abruptly
back to the arroyo。 Button followed him； mildly curious； certain that his
master's reappearance meant a summons for himself。 Down the
miniature cliff the man slid； confidently； without hesitation； sure of
himself。 His shoulders held squarely； his step elastic； his eye bright； he
walked to the fearful； shapeless bundle now lying motionless on the flat
surface of the alkali。 Brent Palmer had fallen into a grim silence； but
Estrella still moaned。 The cattleman drew his knife and ripped loose the
bonds。 Immediately the flaps of the wet rawhide fell apart； exposing to
the new daylight the two bound together。 Buck Johnson leaned over to
touch the woman's shoulder。 〃Estrella；〃 said he gently。 Her
eyes came open with a snap； and stared into his； wild with the surprise of
his return。 〃Estrella；〃 he repeated； 〃how old are you？〃 She
gulped down a sob； unable to comprehend the purport of his question。
〃How old are you； Estrella？〃 he repeated again。 〃Twenty…one；〃
she gasped finally。 〃Ah！〃 said he。 He stood for a
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moment in deep thought； then began methodically； without haste； to cut
loose the thongs that bound the two together。 When the man and
the woman were quite freed； he stood for a moment； the knife in his hand；
looking down on them。 Then he swung himself into the saddle and rode
away； straight down the narrow arroyo； out beyond its lower widening；
into the vast plains the hither side of the Chiricahuas。 The alkali dust
was snatched by the wind from beneath his horse's feet。 Smaller and
smaller he dwindled； rising and falling； rising and falling in the
monotonous cow…pony's lope。 The heat shimmer veiled him for a
moment； but he reappeared。 A mirage concealed him； but he emerged on
the other side of it。 Then suddenly he was gone。 The desert had
swallowed him up。
End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Arizona Nights by Stewart Edward
White
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