L. Frank Baum_Aunt Jane 06 (8 page)

As they approached the automobile Uncle John was disturbed not to see
Wampus at his post. A light showed from the front of the car, but the
chauffeur seemed to be missing. Coming nearer, however, they soon
were greeted by a joyous barking from Mumbles and discovered Wampus
squatting upon the ground, puffing at the small end of the cigar and
seeming quite composed and tranquil.

"What are you doing there?" demanded the Major, raising his lantern
the better to light the scene.

"I play jailer," grunted Wampus, without moving. "Him want to steal;
Mumble he make bark noise; for me, I steal too—I steal Injun."

A dusky form, prone upon the ground, began to squirm under Wampus, who
was then discovered to be sitting upon a big Indian and holding him
prisoner. The chauffeur, partly an Indian himself, knew well how to
manage his captive and quieted the fellow by squeezing his throat with
his broad stubby fingers.

"How long have you had him there?" inquired Uncle John, looking at the
discomfited "brave" curiously.

"About an hour," was the reply.

"Let him go, then. We have no prison handy, and the man has perhaps
been punished enough."

"I have wait to ask permission to kill him," said Wampus solemnly. "He
know English talk, an' I have told him he is to die. I have describe,
sir, several torture we make on Injun who steal, which make him think
he die several time. So he is now prepare for the worst."

The Indiam squirmed again, and with a sigh Wampus arose and set him
free.

"See," he said; "you are save only by mercy of Great White Chief. You
ver' lucky Injun. But Great White Chief will leave only one eye here
when he go away. If you try to steal again the eye will see, an' then
the torture I have describe will be yours. I am Wampus. I have spoke."

The Indian listened intently and then slunk away into the darkness
without reply. The night had no further event and in spite of their
unusual experiences all slept excellently and awoke in the morning
refreshed and ready for new adventures.

From the reservation to the Grand Canyon of the Colorado was not far,
but there was no "crosscut" and so they were obliged to make a wide
detour nearly to Williams before striking the road that wound upward
to the world's greatest wonder.

Slowly and tediously the big car climbed the miserable trail to the
rim of the Grand Canyon. It was night when they arrived, for they had
timed it that way, having been told of the marvelous beauty of the
canyon by moonlight. But unfortunately the sky filled with clouds
toward evening, and they came to Bright Angel, their destination, in a
drizzling rain and total darkness. The Major was fearful Wampus might
run them into the canyon, but the machine's powerful searchlights
showed the way clearly and by sticking to the road they finally drew
up before an imposing hotel such as you might wonder to find in so
remote a spot.

Eagerly enough they escaped from the automobile where they had been
shut in and entered the spacious lobby of the hotel, where a merry
throng of tourists had gathered.

"Dinner and bed," said Patsy, decidedly. "I'm all tired out, and poor
Myrtle is worn to a frazzle. There's no chance of seeing the canyon
to-night, and as for the dancing, card playing and promiscuous gaiety,
it doesn't appeal much to a weary traveler."

The girls were shown to a big room at the front of the hotel, having
two beds in it. A smaller connecting-room was given to Myrtle, while
Patsy and Beth shared the larger apartment. It seems the hotel, big
as it was, was fairly filled with guests, the railway running three
trains a day to the wonderful canyon; but Uncle John's nieces did
not mind occupying the same room, which was comfortably and even
luxuriously furnished.

A noise of footsteps along the corridor disturbed Patsy at an early
hour. She opened her eyes to find the room dimly lighted, as by the
first streaks of dawn, and sleepily arose to raise the window shade
and see if day was breaking. Her hand still upraised to guide the
shade the girl stood as motionless as if turned to stone. With a long
drawn, gasping breath she cried: "Oh, Beth!" and then stood staring at
what is undoubtedly the most entrancing, the most awe inspiring and at
the same time the most magnificent spectacle that mortal eye has ever
beheld—sunrise above the Grand Canyon of Arizona.

The master painters of the world have gathered in this spot in a vain
attempt to transfer the wondrous coloring of the canyon to canvas.
Authors famed for their eloquent command of language have striven as
vainly to tell to others what their own eyes have seen; how their
senses have been thrilled and their souls uplifted by the marvel that
God's hand has wrought. It can never be pictured. It can never be
described. Only those who have stood as Patricia Doyle stood that
morning and viewed the sublime masterpiece of Nature can realize what
those homely words, "The Grand Canyon" mean. Grand? It is well named.
Since no other adjective can better describe it, that much abused one
may well be accepted to incompletely serve its purpose.

Beth joined her cousin at the window and was instantly as awed
and absorbed as Patsy. Neither remembered Myrtle just then, but
fortunately their friend had left the connecting door of their
rooms ajar and hearing them stirring came in to see if anything had
happened. She found the two cousins staring intently from the window
and went to the second window herself, thus witnessing the spectacle
in all its glory.

Even after the magnificent coloring of sunrise had faded the sight was
one to rivet the attention. The hotel seemed built at the very edge of
the canyon, and at their feet the ground appeared to fall away and a
great gulf yawned that was tinted on all its diverse sides with hues
that rivaled those of the rainbow. Across the chasm they could clearly
see the trees and hills; yet these were fully thirteen miles distant,
for here is one of the widest portions of the great abyss.

"I'm going to dress," said Beth, breaking the silence at last. "It
seems a sin to stay cooped up in here when such a glorious panorama is
at one's feet."

The others did not reply in words, but they all began to dress
together with nervous haste, and then made their way down to the
canyon's brink. Others were before them, standing upon the ample
porches in interested groups; but such idleness would not content our
girls, who trooped away for a more intimate acquaintance with the
wonderful gorge.

"Oh, how small—how terribly small—I am!" cried Patsy, lost in
the immensity of the canyon's extent; but this is a common cry of
travelers visiting Bright Angel. You might place a baker's dozen of
the huge Falls of Niagara in the Grand Canyon and scarcely notice they
were there. All the vast cathedrals of Europe set upon its plateau
would seem like pebbles when viewed from the brink. The thing is
simply incomprehensible to those who have not seen it.

Presently Uncle John and the Major came out to join them and they all
wandered along the edge until they came to a huge rock that jutted
out far over the monster gulf. On the furthermost point of this rock,
standing with his feet at the very brink, was a tall, thin man, his
back toward them. It seemed a fearful thing to do—to stand where the
slightest slip would send him reeling into the abyss.

"It's like tempting fate," whispered Patsy, a safe distance away. "I
wish he would step back a little."

As if he had overheard her the man half turned and calmly examined the
group. His eyes were an almost colorless blue, his features destitute
of any expression. By his dress he seemed well-to-do, if not
prosperous, yet there was a hint of melancholy in his poise and about
him a definite atmosphere of loneliness.

After that one deliberate look he turned again and faced the canyon,
paying no attention to the interested little party that hovered far
enough from the edge to avoid any possible danger.

"Oh, dear!" whispered Myrtle, clinging to Beth's arm with trembling
fingers, "I'm afraid he's going to—to commit suicide!"

"Nonsense!" answered Beth, turning pale nevertheless.

The figure was motionless as before. Uncle John and the Major started
along the path but as Beth attempted to follow them Myrtle broke away
from her and hobbled eagerly on her crutches toward the stranger. She
did not go quite to the end of the jutting rock, but stopped some feet
away and called in a low, intense voice:

"Don't!"

The man turned again, with no more expression in his eyes or face than
before. He looked at Myrtle steadily a moment, then turned and slowly
left the edge, walking to firm ground and back toward the hotel
without another glance at the girl.

"I'm so ashamed," said Myrtle, tears of vexation in her eyes as she
rejoined her friends. "But somehow I felt I must warn him—it was an
impulse I just couldn't resist."

"Why, no harm resulted, in any event, my dear," returned Beth. "I
wouldn't think of it again."

They took so long a walk that all were nearly famished when they
returned to the hotel for breakfast.

Of course Patsy and Beth wanted to go down Bright Angel Trail into the
depths of the canyon, for that is the thing all adventurous spirits
love to do.

"I'm too fat for such foolishness," said Uncle John, "so I'll stay up
here and amuse Myrtle."

The Major decided to go, to "look after our Patsy;" so the three
joined the long line of daring tourists and being mounted on docile,
sure-footed burros, followed the guide down the trail.

Myrtle and Uncle John spent the morning on the porch of the hotel. At
breakfast the girl had noticed the tall man they had encountered at
the canyon's edge quietly engaged in eating at a small table in a far
corner of the great dining room. During the forenoon he came from the
hotel to the porch and for a time stood looking far away over the
canyon.

Aroused to sympathy by the loneliness of this silent person, Uncle
John left his chair and stood beside him at the railing.

"It's a wonderful sight, sir," he remarked in his brisk, sociable way;
"wonderful indeed!"

For a moment there was no reply.

"It seems to call one," said the man at length, as if to himself. "It
calls one."

"It's a wonder to me it doesn't call more people to see it," observed
Mr. Merrick, cheerfully. "Think of this magnificent thing—greater and
grander than anything the Old World can show, being here right in the
heart of America, almost—and so few rush to see it! Why, in time to
come, sir," he added enthusiastically, "not to have seen the Grand
Canyon of Arizona will be an admission of inferiority. It's—it's the
biggest thing in all the world!"

The stranger made no reply. He had not even glanced at Uncle John. Now
he slowly turned and stared fixedly at Myrtle for a moment, till she
cast down her eyes, blushing. Then he re-entered the hotel; nor was he
again seen by them.

The little man was indignant at the snub. Rejoining Myrtle he said to
her:

"That fellow wasn't worth saving—if you really saved him, my dear. He
says the canyon calls one, and for all I care he may go to the bottom
by any route he pleases."

Which speech showed that gentle, kindly Mr. Merrick was really
annoyed. But a moment later he was all smiles again and Myrtle found
him a delightful companion because he knew so well how to read
people's thoughts, and if they were sad had a tactful way of cheering
them.

The girls and the Major returned from their trip to the plateau full
of rapture at their unique experiences.

"I wouldn't have missed it for a million dollars!" cried the Major;
but he added: "and you couldn't hire me to go again for two million!"

"It was great," said Patsy; "but I'm tuckered out."

"I had nineteen narrow escapes from sudden death," began Beth, but her
cousin interrupted her by saying: "So had everyone in the party;
and if the canyon had caved in we'd all be dead long ago. Stop your
chattering now and get ready for dinner. I'm nearly starved."

Next morning they took a farewell view of the beautiful scene and then
climbed into their automobile to continue their journey. Many of the
tourists had wondered at their temerity in making such a long trip
through a poorly settled country in a motor car and had plied them
with questions and warnings. But they were thoroughly enjoying this
outing and nothing very disagreeable had happened to them so far. I am
sure that on this bright, glorious morning you could not have hired
any one of the party to abandon the automobile and finish the trip by
train.

The roads were bad enough. They were especially bad west of Williams.
Just now an association of automobile tourists has been formed to
create a boulevard route through from the Atlantic to the Pacific
coast, but at the time of this story no attention had been given the
roads of the far West and only the paths of the rancheros from town to
town served as guides. On leaving Williams they turned south so as to
avoid the more severe mountain roads, and a fine run through a rather
uninteresting country brought them to Prescott on the eve of the
second day after leaving the Canyon. Here they decided to take a day's
rest, as it was Sunday and the hotel was comfortable; but Monday
morning they renewed their journey and headed southwesterly across the
alkali plains—called "mesa"—for Parker, on the boundary line between
Arizona and California.

Towns of any sort were very scarce in this section and the country was
wild and often barren of vegetation for long stretches. There were
some extensive ranches, however, as this is the section favored for
settlement by a class of Englishmen called "remittance men." These are
mostly the "black sheep" or outcasts of titled families, who having
got into trouble of some sort at home, are sent to America to isolate
themselves on western ranches, where they receive monthly or quarterly
remittances of money to support them. The remittance men are poor
farmers, as a rule. They are idle and lazy except when it comes to
riding, hunting and similar sports. Their greatest industry is cattle
raising, yet these foreign born "cowboys" constitute an entirely
different class from those of American extraction, found in Texas and
on the plains of the Central West. They are educated and to an extent
cultured, being "gentlemen born" but sad backsliders in the practise
of the profession. Because other ranchers hesitate to associate with
them they congregate in settlements of their own, and here in Arizona,
on the banks of the Bill Williams Branch of the Colorado River, they
form almost the total population.