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Mine with the Iron Door

<h2>CHAPTER XIII THE AWAKENING</h2> <div class="blockquot">She understood now why the old prospectors had never talked to her of her parents or told her how she happened to be their partnership daughter. </div> MARTA began that day with such buoyant happiness that even her fathers, accustomed as they were to her habitually joyous nature, commented on it. The air was tingling with the fresh and vigorous sweetness of the early morning. From the kitchen door, as she prepared breakfast, she saw the mountain tops, golden in the first waves of the sunshine flood that a few hours later would fill the sky from rim to rim and cover the earth from horizon to horizon with its dazzling beauty. From some shelf on the cañon wall, a cañon wren loosed a flood of joyous silvery music, gracing his song with runs and flourishes, rich and vibrant, as if the very spirit of the hour was in his melody, and while the cañon echoed and reëchoed to the wondrous, ringing music of the tiny minstrel and the girl, with happy eyes and smiling lips, listened, she saw a thin column of smoke rise from that neighboring cabin and knew that her neighbor, too, was beginning his day. Like the puff of air that stirred the yellow blossom{121} of the whispering bells beside the creek, the thought came: Was he enjoying with her the beauty and the sweetness of the morning? Was he sharing her happiness in the new day? Then, as she watched, Hugh appeared in the cabin doorway with a bucket in his hand. He was going for water to make his coffee. She saw him pause and look toward her, and her face was radiant with gladness as her voice rang out in merry greeting. All that forenoon she went about her household work with a singing heart. When the midday meal was over, her fathers saddled Nugget and, as soon as she had washed the dishes, she set out for Oracle to purchase some needed supplies. When the girl stopped at his cabin, as she always did, to ask if she could bring anything for him from the store, Edwards thought she had never looked so radiantly beautiful. Glowing with the color of her superb health and rich vitality—animated and eager with the fervor of her joyous spirit—she was so alluring that the man was sorely tempted to say to her those things that he had sternly forbidden himself even to think. Lest his eyes betray the feeling he had sentenced himself to suppress, he made pretext of giving some small attention to her horse’s bridle, so that from the saddle she could not see his face. As she rode on up the trail, he stood there watching her. When she had passed from sight around a sharp angle of the cañon wall, he went slowly to the place where through the long days he labored in his{122} search for the grains of yellow metal that had come to mean so much more to him than mere daily bread. Where the trail to the little white house on the hill branches off from the main road to Oracle, Marta checked her horse. She wanted to go to Saint Jimmy and Mother Burton. She wanted them to know and share her happiness. She wanted to tell them how grateful she was for their love—for all that they had done to save her from the ignorant, undisciplined and dangerously impulsive creature she would have been but for their patient teaching. In the fullness of her heart she told herself that without Saint Jimmy and his mother she could never have known the joy and gladness that had come to her. Without conscious reasoning, she realized that it was their teaching, their love, their understanding of her needs, that had fitted her for that time of her awakening to the glad call of those deeper emotions that now moved her young womanhood. But above Mount Lemmon and back of Rice Peak, huge cumulus clouds were rolling up, and the girl knew that she must continue on the more direct way if she would finish her errand at the store and return before the storm that might come later in the day. On her way back, she could stop at the Burtons, for then, if the storm came, it would not so much matter. Through narrow, rocky ravines and tree-shaded draws and sandy washes, up the steep sides of mountain spurs and along the ridges, Nugget carried{123} her, out of the Cañon of Gold to the higher levels. And everywhere about her as she rode, the mountain sides were bright with the blossoms of the “Little Spring.” Sego lilies and sulphur flowers, wild buckwheat, thistle poppies and bee plant, and, most exquisitely beautiful of all, perhaps, the violet-tinted blue larkspur—Espuela del caballero—Cavalier’s spur—the early Spaniards called it. In George Wheeler’s pasture, not far from the corrals with the windmill and the water tank, she met the sturdy, red-cheeked Wheeler boys and Turquoise, one of the ranch dogs, playing Indian. From their ambush behind a granite rock, they shot at her with their make-believe guns, and charged with such savage fury and fierce war whoops that Nugget danced in quick excitement. While she was laughing with them and they were courteously opening the big gate for her, their father shouted a genial greeting from the barn, and Mrs. Wheeler from the front porch called a cheery invitation for her to stop awhile. But she answered that it looked as if it were going to rain, and that she must be home in time for supper, and rode on her way to the little mountain village. In the wide space in front of the store, a group of saddle horses stood with heads down and hanging bridle reins, waiting with sleepy patience for their riders who were lounging on the high platform that, with steps at either end, was built across the front of the building. As she drew near, Marta recognized the Lizard. Then, as they watched her approaching,{124} she saw the Lizard say something to his companions, and the company of idlers broke into loud laughter. The girl’s face flushed with the uncomfortable feeling that she was the victim of the fellow’s uncouth wit. Two of the men arose and stood a little apart from the Lizard and his fellow loungers. When the girl stopped her horse, a sudden hush fell over the group, and as she dismounted she was conscious that every eye was fixed upon her. With burning cheeks and every nerve in her body smarting with indignant embarrassment, the girl went quickly up the steps and into the store. As she passed them, the two cowboys who stood apart lifted their hats. The girl was just inside the open doorway when the Lizard spoke again, and again his companions roared with unclean mirth at the vulgar jest—and this time Marta heard. She stopped as if some one had struck her. Stunned with the shock, she stood hesitating, trembling, not knowing what to do. For the first time in her life the girl was frightened and ashamed. Two women of the village who were buying groceries regarded her coldly for a moment, then, turning their backs, whispered together. Timidly the girl went to the farther end of the room where, to hide her emotions until she could gain control of herself, she pretended an interest in the contents of a show case.   Before the laughter of the Lizard’s crowd had ceased, one of the cowboys who had raised his hat{125} walked up to them. With an expression of unspeakable disgust and contempt upon his bronzed face, the rider looked the Lizard up and down. Those who had laughed sat motionless and silent. Slowly the man from Arkansas got to his feet. The cowboy spoke in a low voice, as if not wishing his words to be heard in the store. “That’ll be about all from you—you stinkin’ son of a polecat. Never mind yer gun,” he added sharply as the Lizard’s hand crept toward the leg of his chaps. “Thar ain’t goin’ to be no trouble—not here and now. I’m jest tellin’ you this time that such remarks are out of order a heap, here in Arizona. They may be customary back where you come from, but they won’t make you popular in this country—except, mebby, with varmints of your own sort.” He included the Lizard’s friends in his look of cool readiness. Not a man moved. The cowboy carefully rolled a cigarette. Calmly he lighted a match, and with the first deep inhalation of smoke, flipped the burnt bit of wood at the Lizard. To the others he said: “I notice you hombres are thinkin’ it over. You’d best keep right on thinkin’. As for you——“ He again looked the man from Arkansas up and down with slow, contemptuous eyes. Then, without another word, he deliberately turned his back upon the Lizard and his friends and walked leisurely to his horse. As the cowboy and his companion rode away{126} another chorus of laughter came from the group of idlers and this time their merriment was caused, not by anything the Lizard said, but was directed at the Lizard himself. “Better not let Steve Brodie catch you again,” advised one. “He’ll sure climb your frame if he does,” said another. “Steve’s a-ridin’ fer the Three C now, ain’t he?” asked another, seemingly anxious to change the subject. “Uh-huh—Good man, Steve,” came from another. With an oath, the Lizard slouched away to his horse and, mounting, rode off in the direction of his home.   In the store, Marta struggled desperately to regain at least a semblance of composure. The two women, when they had made their purchases, were in no haste to go, and, under the pretext of taking advantage of their meeting for a friendly chat, furtively watched the Pardners’ girl. Marta, pretending to examine some dress goods displayed on a table behind the stove, tried to hide herself. When the kindly clerk came to wait on her she started and blushed. Trembling and confused, she could not remember what it was that she had come to buy. The clerk looked at her curiously. The women whispered again and tittered. At last, in desperation, the girl stammered that{127} she did not want anything—that she must go—that she would come in again before she started home. With downcast eyes and burning cheeks, she fled. As she passed the men on the platform and walked swiftly to her horse she kept her eyes on the ground. She was so weak that she could scarcely raise herself to the saddle. But the men were not watching her now. With their faces turned away they were, with one accord, interested in something that held their gaze in another direction. Perplexed and troubled, Marta made her way slowly back toward the cañon. When Nugget, thinking quite likely of his supper, or perhaps observing the dark storm clouds that now hid the mountain tops, would have broken into a swifter pace, she pulled him down to a walk. Annoyed at the unusual restraint, the little horse fretted, tossed his head, and tugged at the bit. But she would not let him go. The girl wanted to think. She felt that she must think. What was the meaning of that incident at the store? Why did those men laugh in just that way when they first saw her? Why had they watched her like that when she dismounted? Why had they looked at her so as she passed them? Why did those women refuse to speak to her?—they knew her. And what had they whispered after turning their backs upon her? She had never before been conscious of anything like this. All her life she had{128} met rough men. She had not been unaccustomed to rude jests. She had been, in the presence of men, like a young boy—unconscious of her sex. The only close association with men she had ever known was with Saint Jimmy and her fathers—until Edwards came. It could not be that these people were any different to-day than on other days when she had gone to the store. It must be that she herself was different. “Yes,” she told herself at last, “she was different.” Just as she had found a deeper happiness than she had ever before known, she had found a new consciousness—a new capacity for feeling—that had made her blush when the men looked at her—that had made her ashamed when she had heard the Lizard’s jest. And then her mind went back to consider things which she had always accepted as a matter of course, without question or particular thought—as she had accepted her two fathers. Why had she never been invited to the parties and dances at Oracle? Why was it that, except for Mother Burton and good Mrs. Wheeler, she had no women friends? Only men had attempted to be friendly with her, and they had approached her only when she met them by chance, alone. She knew them all—they all knew her. Suddenly she remembered how Saint Jimmy had warned her once—long before Hugh Edwards had come to the Cañada del Oro: “You must be always very careful in your friend{129}ships, dear. Before you permit an acquaintance with any man to develop into anything like intimacy, you must know about his past. And by past, I mean parentage—family—ancestors, as well as his own personal record. For let me tell you that no one can escape these things. We are all what the past has made us.” The inevitable question came in a flash. What was her own past—her parentage—her family? The conclusion came as quickly. She understood now why the old prospectors had never talked to her of her own parents, nor told her how she happened to be their partnership daughter. She understood now the significance of her name, Hillgrove—her two fathers had given her their names because she had no name of her own. Nothing else could so clearly explain the attitude of the people which had been so forcefully impressed upon her by her new consciousness. Just as the young woman reached this point in her reasoning, her horse stopped of his own volition. The girl had been so engrossed with her thoughts that she had not seen the Lizard ride from behind a thick screen of low cedars beside the trail and check his horse directly across the path. She was not at all frightened when she looked up and saw him waiting there, barring her way. Indeed, she regarded the fellow with a new interest. It was as if one factor in her sad problem had suddenly presented itself in a very definite and tangible form. “Well,” she said at last, “what do you want?{130}” The Lizard’s wide-mouthed, leering grin was not in the least reassuring. “I knowed ye’d be a-comin’ along directly,” he said, “an’ ’lowed we’d ride t’gether.” “But what if I do not care to ride with you?” she returned curiously. “Oh, that ain’t a-botherin’ me none. I ain’t noways thin-skinned,” he returned, reining his horse aside from the trail to make room for her. “Come along—ye might as well be sociable like. I know I can’t make much of a-showin’ in eddication an’ fine school talk like you been used to, but I’m jist as good as that lunger Saint Jimmy, er that there fancy neighbor of yourn any day.” Something in the fellow’s face, or some quality in his tone, brought the blood to Marta’s cheeks. “Thank you,” she said curtly, “but I prefer to ride alone.” She lifted the bridle rein and Nugget started forward. But the Lizard again pulled his mount across the trail and the man’s ratlike face was twisted now, with sudden rage. “Oh, you do, do you? Wall, let me tell you I’ve stood all I’m a-goin’ t’ stand on your account to-day.” “Why, what do you mean?” she demanded, amazed. “Never you mind what I mean, my lady. You jist listen to what I got t’ say. You’ve been a-playin’ th’ high an’ mighty with me long enough. D’ ye think I don’t know what you are? D’ ye think I{131} don’t know all about your carryin’ on. My Gawd a’mighty, hit’s a disgrace t’ any decent neighborhood. A pretty one you are t’ be a-puttin’ on airs with me. Why, you poor little fool, everybody knows what you are. Who’s yer father? Who’s yer mother? Decent people has got decent folks, an’ you—you ain’t got none. You ain’t even got a name of yer own—Hillgrove—two fathers. Yer jist low-down trash an’ nobody that’s decent won’t have nothin’ t’ do with you. You prefer t’ ride alone, do you? All right, my fine lady, you needn’t worry none, you’re goin’ t’ ride alone all right. I wouldn’t be seen within a mile of you.” With the last brutal word, he whirled his horse about and set off down the trail as fast as the animal could run. The girl, with her head bowed low over the saddlehorn, sat very still. Her trembling fingers nervously twisted a lock of Nugget’s mane. Here was confirmation, indeed, of all the doubts and fears to which she had been led by her own painful thoughts. Here was the answer to all her questions. Here at last was the explanation of those emotions which were to her so new and strange.{132} <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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