"Where is Surprise Valley?... How were you taken from Jane Withersteen and La.s.siter?... I know they"re alive. But where?"
She seemed to turn to stone.
"Fay!--FAY LARKIN!... I KNOW YOU!" he cried, brokenly.
She slipped off the stone to her knees, swayed forward blindly with her hands reaching out, her head falling back to let the moon fall full upon the beautiful, snow-white, tragically convulsed face.
XIII. THE STORY OF SURPRISE VALLEY
"... Oh, I remember so well! Even now I dream of it sometimes. I hear the roll and crash of falling rock--like thunder.... We rode and rode.
Then the horses fell. Uncle Jim took me in his arms and started up the cliff. Mother Jane climbed close after us. They kept looking back. Down there in the gray valley came the Mormons. I see the first one now.
He rode a white horse. That was Tull. Oh, I remember so well! And I was five or six years old.
"We climbed up and up and into dark canon and wound in and out. Then there was the narrow white trail, straight up, with the little cut steps and the great, red, ruined walls. I looked down over Uncle Jim"s shoulder. I saw Mother Jane dragging herself up. Uncle Jim"s blood spotted the trail. He reached a flat place at the top and fell with me.
Mother Jane crawled up to us.
"Then she cried out and pointed. Tull was "way below, climbing the trail. His men came behind him. Uncle Jim went to a great, tall rock and leaned against it. There was a b.l.o.o.d.y hole in his hand. He pushed the rock. It rolled down, banging the loose walls. They crashed and crashed--then all was terrible thunder and red smoke. I couldn"t hear--I couldn"t see.
"Uncle Jim carried me down and down out of the dark and dust into a beautiful valley all red and gold, with a wonderful arch of stone over the entrance.
"I don"t remember well what happened then for what seemed a long, long time. I can feel how the place looked, but not so clear as it is now in my dreams. I seem to see myself with the dogs, and with Mother Jane, learning my letters, marking with red stone on the walls.
"But I remember now how I felt when I first understood we were shut in for ever. Shut in Surprise Valley where Venters had lived so long. I was glad. The Mormons would never get me. I was seven or eight years old then. From that time all is clear in my mind.
"Venters had left supplies and tools and grain and cattle and burros, so we had a good start to begin life there. He had killed off the wildcats and kept the coyotes out, so the rabbits and quail multiplied till there were thousands of them. We raised corn and fruit, and stored what we didn"t use. Mother Jane taught me to read and write with the soft red stone that marked well on the walls.
"The years pa.s.sed. We kept track of time pretty well. Uncle Jim"s hair turned white and Mother Jane grew gray. Every day was like the one before. Mother Jane cried sometimes and Uncle Jim was sad because they could never be able to get me out of the valley. It was long before they stopped looking and listening for some one. Venters would come back, Uncle Jim always said. But Mother Jane did not think so.
"I loved Surprise Valley. I wanted to stay there always. I remembered Cottonwoods, how the children there hated me, and I didn"t want to go back. The only unhappy times I ever had in the valley were when Ring and Whitie, my dogs, grew old and died. I roamed the valley. I climbed to every nook upon the mossy ledges. I learned to run up the steep cliffs.
I could almost stick on the straight walls. Mother Jane called me a wild girl. We had put away the clothes we wore when we got there, to save them, and we made clothes of skins. I always laughed when I thought of my little dress--how I grew out of it. I think Uncle Jim and Mother Jane talked less as the years went by. And after I"d learned all she could teach me we didn"t talk much. I used to scream into the caves just to hear my voice, and the echoes would frighten me.
"The older I grew the more I was alone. I was always running round the valley. I would climb to a high place and sit there for hours, doing nothing. I just watched and listened. I used to stay in the cliff-dwellers" caves and wonder about them. I loved to be out in the wind. And my happiest time was in the summer storms with the thunder echoes under the walls. At evening it was such a quiet place--after the night bird"s cry, no sound. The quiet made me sad but I loved it. I loved to watch the stars as I lay awake.
"So it was beautiful and happy for me there till--till...
"Two years or more ago there was a bad storm, and one of the great walls caved. The walls were always weathering, slipping. Many and many a time have I heard the rumble of an avalanche, but most of them were in other canon. This slide in the valley made it possible, Uncle Jim said, for men to get down into the valley. But we could not climb out unless helped from above. Uncle Jim never rested well after that. But it never worried me.
"One day, over a year ago, while I was across the valley, I heard strange shouts, and then screams. I ran to our camp. I came upon men with ropes and guns. Uncle Jim was tied, and a rope was round his neck.
Mother Jane was lying on the ground. I thought she was dead until I heard her moan. I was not afraid. I screamed and flew at Uncle Jim to tear the ropes off him. The men held me back. They called me a pretty cat. Then they talked together, and some were for hanging La.s.siter--that was the first time I ever knew any name for him but Uncle Jim--and some were for leaving him in the valley. Finally they decided to hang him.
But Mother Jane pleaded so and I screamed and fought so that they left off. Then they went away and we saw them climb out of the valley.
"Uncle Jim said they were Mormons, and some among them had been born in Cottonwoods. I was not told why they had such a terrible hate for him.
He said they would come back and kill him. Uncle Jim had no guns to fight with.
"We watched and watched. In five days they did come back, with more men, and some of them wore black masks. They came to our cave with ropes and guns. One was tall. He had a cruel voice. The others ran to obey him. I could see white hair and sharp eyes behind the mask. The men caught me and brought me before him.
"He said La.s.siter had killed many Mormons. He said La.s.siter had killed his father and should be hanged. But La.s.siter would be let live and Mother Jane could stay with him, both prisoners there in the valley, if I would marry the Mormon. I must marry him, accept the Mormon faith, and bring up my children as Mormons. If I refused they would hang La.s.siter, leave the heretic Jane Withersteen alone in the valley, and take me and break me to their rule.
"I agreed. But Mother Jane absolutely forbade me to marry him. Then the Mormons took me away. It nearly killed me to leave Uncle Jim and Mother Jane. I was carried and lifted out of the valley, and rode a long way on a horse. They brought me here, to the cabin where I live, and I have never been away except that--that time--to--Stonebridge. Only little by little did I learn my position. Bishop Kane was kind, but stern, because I could not be quick to learn the faith.
"I am not a sealed wife. But they"re trying to make me one. The master Mormon--he visited me often--at night--till lately. He threatened me. He never told me a name--except Saint George. I don"t--know him--except his voice. I never--saw his face--in the light!"
Fay Larkin ended her story. Toward its close Shefford had grown involuntarily restless, and when her last tragic whisper ceased all his body seemed shaken with a terrible violence of his joy. He strode to and fro in the dark shadow of the stone. The receding blood left him cold, with a p.r.i.c.king, sickening sensation over his body, but there seemed to be an overwhelming tide acc.u.mulating deep in his breast--a tide of pa.s.sion and pain. He dominated the pa.s.sion, but the ache remained. And he returned to the quiet figure on the stone.
"Fay Larkin!" he exclaimed, with a deep breath of relief that the secret was disclosed. "So you"re not a wife!... You"re free! Thank Heaven! But I felt it was sacrifice. I knew there had been a crime. For crime it is.
You child! You can"t understand what crime. Oh, almost I wish you and Jane and La.s.siter had never been found. But that"s wrong of me. One year of agony--that shall not ruin your life. Fay, I will take you away."
"Where?" she whispered.
"Away from this Mormon country--to the East," he replied, and he spoke of what he had known, of travel, of cities, of people, of happiness possible for a young girl who had spent all her life hidden between the narrow walls of a silent, lonely valley--he spoke swiftly and eloquently till he lost his breath.
There was an instant of flashing wonder and joy on her white face, and then the radiance paled, the glow died. Her soul was the darker for that one strange, leaping glimpse of a glory not for such as she.
"I must stay here," she said, shudderingly.
"Fay!--How strange to SAY Fay aloud to YOU!--Fay, do you know the way to Surprise Valley?"
"I don"t know where it is, but I could go straight to it," she replied.
"Take me there. Show me your beautiful valley. Let me see where you ran and climbed and spent so many lonely years."
"Ah, how I"d love to! But I dare not. And why should you want me to take you? We can run and climb here."
"I want to--I mean to save Jane Withersteen and La.s.siter," he declared.
She uttered a little cry of pain. "Save them?"
"Yes, save them. Get them out of the valley, take them out of the country, far away where they and YOU--"
"But I can"t go," she wailed. "I"m afraid. I"m bound. It CAN"T be broken. If I dared--if I tried to go they would catch me. They would hang Uncle Jim and leave Mother Jane alone there to starve."
"Fay, La.s.siter and Jane both will starve--at least they will die there if we do not save them. You have been terribly wronged. You"re a slave.
You"re not a wife."
"They--said I"ll be burned in h.e.l.l if I don"t marry him.... Mother Jane never taught me about G.o.d. I don"t know. But HE--he said G.o.d was there.
I dare not break it."
"Fay, you have been deceived by old men. Let them have their creed. But YOU mustn"t accept it."
"John, what is G.o.d to you?"
"Dear child, I--I am not sure of that myself," he replied, huskily.