I Take A Lesson

: Desert Dust

From this hour's brief camp, early made, we should have turned southward,

to leave the railroad line and cross country for the Overland Stage trail

that skirted the southern edge of the worse desert before us. But Captain

Hyrum was of different mind. With faith in the Lord and bull confidence in

himself he had resolved to keep straight on by the teamster road which

through league after league ever extended fed supplies to the advan
e of

the builders.



Under its adventitious guidance we should strike the stage road at Bitter

Creek, eighty or one hundred miles; thence trundle, veering southwestward,

for the famed City of the Saints, near two hundred miles farther.



Therefore after nooning at a pool of stagnant, scummy water we hooked up

and plunged ahead, creaking and groaning and dust enveloped, constantly

outstripped by the hurrying construction trains thundering over the newly

laid rails, we ourselves the tortoise in the race.



My Lady did not join me again to-day, nor on the morrow. She abandoned me

to a sense of dissatisfaction with myself, of foreboding, and of a void

in the landscape.



Our sorely laden train went swaying and pitching across the gaunt face of

a high, broad plateau, bleak, hot, and monotonous in contour; underfoot

the reddish granite pulverized by grinding tire and hoof, over us the pale

bluish fiery sky without a cloud, distant in the south the shining tips of

a mountain range, and distant below in the west the slowly spreading vista

of a great, bared ocean-bed, simmering bizarre with reds, yellows and

deceptive whites, and ringed about by battlements jagged and rock hewn.



Into this enchanted realm we were bound; by token of the smoke blotches

the railroad line led thither. The teamsters viewed the unfolding expanse

phlegmatically. They called it the Red Basin. But to me, fresh for the

sight, it beckoned with fantastic issues. Even the name breathed magic.

Wizard spells hovered there; the railroad had not broken them--the cars

and locomotives, entering, did not disturb the brooding vastness. A man

might still ride errant into those slumberous spaces and discover for

himself; might boldly awaken the realm and rule with a princess by his

side.



But romance seemed to have no other sponsor in this plodding,

whip-cracking, complaining caravan. So I lacked, woefully lacked, kindred

companionship.



Free to say, I did miss My Lady, perched upon the stoic mule while like

an Arab chief I convoyed her. The steady miles, I admitted, were going to

be as disappointing as tepid water, when not aerated by her counsel and

piquant allusions, by her sprightly readiness and the essential elements

of her blue eyes, her facile lips, and that bright hair which no dust

could dim.



After all she was distinctly feminine--bravely feminine; and if she wished

to flirt as a relief from the cock-sure Daniel and the calm methods of her

Mormon guardians, why, let us beguile the way. I should second with eyes

open. That was accepted.



Moreover, something about her weighed upon me. A consciousness of failing

her, a woman, in emergency, stung my self-respect. She had twitted me with

being "afraid"; afraid of her, she probably meant. That I could pass

warily. But she had said that she, too, was afraid: "horribly afraid," and

an honest shudder had attended upon the words as if a real danger hedged.

She had an intuition. The settled convictions of my Gentile friends

coincided. "With Daniel in the Lion's den"--that phrase repeated itself

persistent. She had uttered it in a fear accentuated by a mirthless laugh.

Could such a left-handed wooer prove too much for her? Well, if she was

afraid of Daniel I was not and she should not think so.



I could see her now and then, on before. She rode upon the wagon seat of

her self-appointed executor. And I might see him and his paraded

impertinences.



Except for the blowing of the animals and the mechanical noises of the

equipment the train subsided into a dogged patience, while parched by the

dust and the thin dry air and mocked by the speeding construction crews

upon the iron rails it lurched westward at two and a half miles an hour,

for long hours outfaced by the blinding sun.



Near the western edge of the plateau we made an evening corral. After

supper the sound of revolver shots burst flatly from a mess beyond us, and

startled. Everything was possible, here in this lone horizon-land where

rough men, chafed by a hard day, were gathered suddenly relaxed and idle.

But the shots were accompanied by laughter.



"They're only tryin' to spile a can," Jenks reassured. "By golly, we'll go

over and l'arn 'em a lesson." He glanced at me. "Time you loosened up that

weepon o' yourn, anyhow. Purty soon it'll stick fast."



I arose with him, glad of any diversion. The circle had not yet formed at

Hyrum's fire.



"It strikes me as a useless piece of baggage," said I. "I bought it in

Benton but I haven't needed it. I can kill a rattlesnake easier with my

whip."



"Wall," he drawled, "down in yonder you're liable to meet up with a

rattler too smart for your whip, account of his freckles. 'Twon't do you

no harm to spend a few ca'tridges, so you'll be ready for business."



The men were banging, by turn, at a sardine can set up on the sand about

twenty paces out. Their shadows stretched slantwise before them,

grotesquely lengthened by the last efforts of the disappearing sun. Some

aimed carefully from under pulled-down hat brims; others, their brims

flared back, fired quickly, the instant the gun came to the level. The

heavy balls sent the loose soil flying in thick jets made golden by the

evening glow. But amidst the furrows the can sat untouched by the plunging

missiles.



We were greeted with hearty banter.



"Hyar's the champeens!"



"Now they'll show us."



"Ain't never see that pilgrim unlimber his gun yit, but I reckon he's a

bad 'un."



"Jenks, old hoss, cain't you l'an that durned can manners?"



"I'll try to oblige you, boys," friend Jenks smiled. "What you thinkin' to

do: hit that can or plant a lead mine?"



"Give him room. He's made his brag," they cried. "And if he don't plug it

that pilgrim sure will."



Mr. Jenks drew and took his stand; banged with small preparation and

missed by six inches--a fact that brought him up wide awake, so to speak,

badgered by derision renewed. A person needs must have a bull hide, to

travel with a bull train, I saw.



"Gimme another, boys, and I'll hit it in the nose," he growled sheepishly;

but they shoved him aside.



"No, no. Pilgrim's turn. Fetch on yore shootin'-iron, young feller. Thar's

yore turkey. Show us why you're packin' all that hardware."



Willy-nilly I had to demonstrate my greenness; so in all good nature I

drew, and stood, and cocked, and aimed. The Colt's exploded with

prodigious blast and wrench--jerking, in fact, almost above head; and

where the bullet went I did not see, nor, I judged, did anybody else.



"He missed the 'arth!" they clamored.



"No; I reckon he hit Montany 'bout the middle. That's whar he scored

center!"



"Shoot! Shoot!" they begged. "Go ahead. Mebbe you'll kill an Injun

unbeknownst. They's a pack o' Sioux jest out o' sight behind them hills."



And I did shoot, vexed; and I struck the ground, this time, some fifty

yards beyond the can. Jenks stepped from amidst the riotous laughter.



"Hold down on it, hold down, lad," he urged. "To hit him in the heart aim

at his feet. Here! Like this----" and taking my revolver he threw it

forward, fired, the can plinked and somersaulted, lashed into action too

late.



"By Gawd," he proclaimed, "when I move like it had a gun in its fist I can

snap it. But when I think on it as a can I lack guts."



The remark was pat. I had seen several of the men snip the head from a

rattlesnake with a single offhand shot--yes, they all carried their

weapons easily and wontedly. But the target of an immobile can lacked in

stimulation to concord of nerve and eye.



Now I shot again, holding lower and more firmly, out of mere guesswork,

and landed appreciably closer although still within the zone of ridicule.

And somebody else shot, and somebody else, and another, until we all were

whooping and laughing and jesting, and the jets flew as if from the balls

of a mitrailleuse, and the can rocked and gyrated, spurring us to haste as

it constantly changed the range. Presently it was merely a twist of ragged

tin. Then in the little silence, as we paused, a voice spoke

irritatingly.



"I 'laow yu fellers ain't no great shucks at throwin' lead."



Daniel stood by, with arms akimbo, his booted legs braggartly straddled

and his freckled face primed with an intolerant grin at our recent

efforts. My Lady had come over with him. Raw-boned, angular, cloddish but

as strong as a mule, he towered over her in a maddening atmosphere of

proprietorship.



She smiled at me--at all of us: at me, swiftly; at them, frankly. And I

knew that she was still afraid.



"Reckon we don't ask no advice, friend," they answered. Again a constraint

enfolded, fastened upon us by an unbidden guest. "Like as not you can do

better."



Daniel laughed boisterously, his mouth widely open.



"I couldn't do wuss. I seen yu poppin' at that can. Hadn't but one hole in

it till yu all turned loose an' didn't give it no chance. Haw haw! I 'laow

for a short bit I'd stand out in front o' that greenie from the States an'

let him empty two guns at me."



"S'pose you do it," friend Jenks promptly challenged. "By thunder, I'll

hire ye with the ten cents, and give him four bits if he hits you."



"He wouldn't draw on me, nohaow," scoffed Daniel. "I daren't shoot for

money, but I'll shoot for fun. Anybody want to shoot ag'in me?"



"Wasted powder enough," they grumbled.



"Ever see me shoot?" He was eager. "I'll show ye somethin'. I don't take

back seat for ary man. Yu set me up a can. That thar one wouldn't jump to

a bullet."



In sullen obedience a can was produced.



"How fur?"



"Fur as yu like."



It was tossed contemptuously out; and watching it, to catch its last roll,

I heard Daniel gleefully yelp "Out o' my way, yu-all!"--half saw his hand

dart down and up again, felt the jar of a shot, witnessed the can jump

like a live thing; and away it went, with spasm after spasm, to explosion

after explosion, tortured by him into fruitless capers until with the

final ball peace came to it, and it lay dead, afar across the twilight

sand.



Verily, by his cries and the utter savagery and malevolence of his

bombardment, one would have thought that he took actual lust in fancied

cruelty.



"I 'laow thar's not another man hyar kin do that," he vaunted.



There was not, judging by the silence again ensuing. Only--



"A can's a different proposition from a man, as I said afore," Jenks

coolly remarked. "A can don't shoot back."



"I don't 'laow any man's goin' to, neither." Daniel reloaded his smoking

revolver, bolstered it with a flip; faced me in turning away. "That's

somethin' for yu to l'arn on, ag'in next time, young feller," he

vouchsafed.



If he would have eyed me down he did not succeed. His gaze shifted and he

passed on, swaggering.



"Come along, Edna," he bade. "We'll be goin' back."



A devil--or was it he himself?--twitted me, incited me, and in a moment,

with a gush of assertion, there I was, saying to her, my hat doffed:



"I'll walk over with you."



"Do," she responded readily. "We're to have more singing."



The men stared, they nudged one another, grinned. Daniel whirled.



"I 'laow yu ain't been invited, Mister."



"If Mrs. Montoyo consents, that's enough," I informed, striving to keep

steady. "I'm not walking with you, sir; I am walking with her. The only

ground you control is just in front of your own wagon."



"Yu've been told once thar ain't no 'Mrs. Montoyo,'" he snarled. "And

whilst yu're l'arnin' to shoot yu'd better be l'arnin' manners. Yu comin'

with me, Edna?"



"As fast as I can, and with Mr. Beeson also, if he chooses," said she. "I

have my manners in mind, too."



"By gosh, I don't walk with ye," he jawed. And in a huff, like the big boy

that he was, he flounced about, vengefully striding on as though punishing

her for a misdemeanor.



She dropped the grinning group a little curtsy. A demure sparkle was in

her eyes.



"The entertainment is concluded, gentlemen. I wish you good-night."



Yet underneath her raillery and self-possession there lay an appeal, the

stronger because subtle and unvoiced. It seemed to me every man must

appreciate that as a woman she invoked protection by him against an

impending something, of which she had given him a glimpse.



So we left them somewhat subdued, gazing after us, their rugged faces

sobered reflectively.



"Shall we stroll?" she asked.



"With pleasure," I agreed.



Daniel was angrily shouldering for the Mormon wagons, his indignant

figure black against the western glow. She laughed lightly.



"You're not afraid, after all, I see."



"Not of him, madam."



"And of me?"



"I think I'm more afraid for you," I confessed. "That clown is getting

insufferable. He sets out to bully you. Damn him," I flashed, with

pardonable flame, "and he ruffles at me on every occasion. In fact, he

seems to seek occasion. Witness this evening."



"Witness this evening," she murmured. "I'm afraid, too. Yes," she

breathed, confronted by a portent, "I'm afraid. I never have been afraid

before. I didn't fear Montoyo. I've always been able to take care of

myself. But now, here----"



"You have your revolver?" I suggested.



"No, I haven't. It's gone. Mormon women don't carry revolvers."



"They took it from you?"



"It's disappeared."



"But you're not a Mormon woman."



"Not yet." She caught quick breath. "God forbid. And sometimes I fear God

willing. For I do fear. You can't understand. Those other men do, though,

I think. Do you know," she queried, with sudden glance, "that Daniel means

to marry me?"



"He?" I gasped. "How so? With your--consent, of course. But you're not

free; you have a husband." My gorge rose, regardless of fact. "You

scarcely expect me to congratulate you, madam. Still he may have points."



"Daniel?" She shrugged her shoulders. "I cannot say. Pedro did. Most men

have. Oh!" she cried, impulsively stopping short. "Why don't you learn to

shoot? Won't you?"



"I've about decided to," I admitted. "That appears to be the saving

accomplishment of everybody out here."



"Of everybody who stays. You must learn to draw and to shoot, both. The

drawing you will have to practice by yourself, but I can teach you to

shoot. So can those men. Let me have your pistol, please."



I passed it to her. She was all in a flutter.



"You must grasp the handle firmly; cover it with your whole palm, but

don't squeeze it to death; just grip it evenly--tuck it away. And keep

your elbow down; and crook your wrist, in a drop, until your trigger

knuckle is pointing very low--at a man's feet if you're aiming for his

heart."



"At his feet, for his heart?" I stammered. The words had an ugly sound.



"Certainly. We are speaking of shooting now, and not at a tin can. You

have to allow for the jump of the muzzle. Unless you hold it down with

your wrist, you over shoot; and it's the first shot that counts. Of

course, there's a feel, a knack. But don't aim with your eyes. You won't

have time. Men file off the front sight--it sometimes catches, in the

draw. And it's useless, anyway. They fire as they point with the finger,

by the feel. You see, they know."



"Evidently you do, too, madam," I faltered, amazed.



"Not all," she panted. "But I've heard the talk; I've watched--I've seen

many things, sir, from Omaha to Benton. Oh, I wish I could tell you more;

I wish I could help you right away. I meant, a dead-shot with the revolver

knows beforehand, in the draw, where his bullet shall go. Some men are

born to shoot straight; some have to practice a long, long while. I wonder

which you are."



"If there is pressing need in my case," said I, "I shall have to rely upon

my friends to keep me from being done for."



"You?" she uttered, with a touch of asperity. "Oh, yes. Pish, sir!

Friends, I am learning, have their own hides to consider. And those

gentlemen of yours are Gentiles with goods for Salt Lake Mormons. Are they

going to throw all business to the winds?"



"You yourself may appeal to his father, and to the women, for protection

if that lout annoys you," I ventured.



"To them?" she scoffed. "To Hyrum Adams' outfit? Why, they're Mormons and

good Mormons, and why should I not be made over? I'm under their

teachings; I am Edna, already; it's time Daniel had a wife--or two, for

replenishing Utah. Rachael calls me 'sister,' and I can't resent it. Good

at heart as she is, even she is convinced. Why," and she laughed

mirthlessly, "I may be sealed to Hyrum himself, if nothing worse is in

store. Then I'll be assured of a seat with the saints."



"You can depend upon me, then. I'll protect you, I'll fight for you, and

I'll kill for you," I was on the point of roundly declaring; but didn't.

Her kind, I remembered, had spelled ruin upon the pages of men more

experienced than I. Therefore out of that super-caution born of Benton, I

stupidly said nothing.



She had paused, expectant. She resumed.



"But no matter. Here I am, and here you are. We were speaking of shooting.

This is a lesson in shooting, not in marrying, isn't it? As to the

pressing need, you must decide. You've seen and heard enough for that. I

like you, sir; I respect your spirit and I'm sorry I led you into

misadventure. Now if I may lend you a little something to keep you from

being shot like a dog, I'll feel as though I had wiped out your score

against me. Take your gun." I took it, the butt warm from her clasp.

"There he is. Cover him!"



"Where?" I asked. "Who?"



"There, before you. Oh, anybody! Think of his heart and cover him. I want

to see you hold."



I aimed, squinting.



"No, no! You'll not have time to close an eye; both eyes are none too

many. And you are awkward; you are stiff." She readjusted my arm and

fingers. "That's better. You see that little rock? Hit it. Cock your

weapon, first. Hold firmly, not too long. There; I think you're going to

hit it, but hold low, low, with the wrist. Now!"



I fired. The sand obscured the rock. She clapped her hands, delighted.



"You would have killed him. No--he would have killed you. Quick! Give it

to me!"



And snatching the revolver she cocked, leveled and fired instantly. The

rock split into fragments.



"I would have killed him," she murmured, gazing tense, seeing I knew not

what. Wrenching from the vision she handed back the revolver to me. "I

think you're going to do, sir. Only, you must learn to draw. I can tell

you but I can't show you. The men will. You must draw swiftly, decisively,

without a halt, and finger on trigger and thumb on hammer and be ready to

shoot when the muzzle clears the scabbard. It's a trick."



"Like this?" I queried, trying.



"Partly. But it's not a sword you're drawing; it's a gun. You may draw

laughing, if you wish to dissemble for a sudden drop; they do, when they

have iron in their heart and the bullet already on its way, in their mind.

I mustn't stay longer. Shall we go to the fire now? I am cold." She

shivered. "Daniel is waiting. And when you've delivered me safe you'd

better leave me, please."



"Why so?"



She smiled, looking me straight in the eyes.



"Quien sabe? To avoid a scene, perhaps; perhaps, to postpone. I have an

idea that it is better so. You've baited Daniel far enough for to-night."



We walked almost without speaking, to the Hyrum Adams fire. Daniel lifted

upper lip at me as we entered; his eyes never wandered from my face. I

marked his right hand quivering stiffly; and I disregarded him. For if I

had challenged him by so much as an overt glance he would have burst

bonds.



Rachael's eyes, the older woman's eyes, the eyes of all, men and women,

curious, admonitory, hostile and apprehensive, hot and cold

together--these I felt also amidst the dusk. I was distinctly unwelcome.

Accordingly I said a civil "Good-evening" to Hyrum (whose response out of

compressed lips was scarce more than a grunt) and raising my hat to My

Lady turned my back upon them, for my own bailiwick.



The other men were waiting en route.



"Didn't kill ye, did he?"



"No."



"Wall," said one, "if you can swing a rattler by the tail, all right. But

watch his haid."



Friend Jenks paced on with me to our fire.



"We were keepin' cases on you, and so was he. He saw that practice--damn,

how he did crane! She was givin' you pointers, eh?"



"Yes; she wanted amusement."



"It'll set Bonnie Bravo to thinkin'--it'll shorely set him to thinkin',"

Jenks chuckled, mouthing his pipe. "She's a smart one." He comfortably

rocked to and fro as we sat by the fire. "Hell! Wall, if you got to kill

him you got to kill him and do it proper. For if you don't kill him he'll

kill you; snuff you out like a--wall, you saw that can travel."



"I don't want to kill him," I pleaded. "Why should I?"



Jenks sat silent; and sitting silent I foresaw that kill Daniel I must. I

was being sucked into it, irrevocably willed by him, by her, by them all.

If I did not kill him in defense of myself I should kill him in defense of

her. Yet why I had to, I wondered; but when I had bought my ticket for

Benton I had started the sequence, to this result. Here I was. As she had

said, here I was, and here she was. I might not kill for love--no, not

that; I was going to kill for hate. And while I never had killed a man,

and in my heart of hearts did not wish to kill a man, since I had to kill

one, named Daniel, even though he was a bully, a braggart and an infernal

over-stepper it was pleasanter to think that I should kill him in hot

blood rather than in cold.



Jenks spat, and yawned.



"I can l'arn you a few things; all the boys'll help you out," he

proffered, "When you git him you'll have to git him quick; for if you

don't--adios. But we'll groom ye."



Could this really be I? Frank Beeson, not a fortnight ago still living at

jog-trot in dear Albany, New York State? It was puzzling how detached and

how strong I felt.



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