Chapter XIV. West Wind

by Zane Grey

　　When the storm abated Venters sought his own cave, and late inthe night, as his blood cooled and the stir and throb and thrillsubsided, he fell asleep.

　　With the breaking of dawn his eyes unclosed. The valley laydrenched and bathed, a burnished oval of glittering green. Therain-washed walls glistened in the morning light. Waterfalls ofmany forms poured over the rims. One, a broad, lacy sheet, thinas smoke, slid over the western notch and struck a ledge in itsdownward fall, to bound into broader leap, to burst far belowinto white and gold and rosy mist.

　　Venters prepared for the day, knowing himself a different man.

　　"It's a glorious morning," said Bess, in greeting.

　　"Yes. After the storm the west wind," he replied.

　　"Last night was I--very much of a baby?" she asked, watching him.

　　"Pretty much."

　　"Oh, I couldn't help it!"

　　"I'm glad you were afraid."

　　"Why?" she asked, in slow surprise.

　　"I'll tell you some day," he answered, soberly. Then around thecamp-fire and through the morning meal he was silent; afterwardhe strolled thoughtfully off alone along the terrace. He climbeda great yellow rock raising its crest among the spruces, andthere he sat down to face the valley and the west.

　　"I love her!"

　　Aloud he spoke--unburdened his heart--confessed his secret. Foran instant the golden valley swam before his eyes, and the wallswaved, and all about him whirled with tumult within.

　　"I love her!...I understand now."

　　Reviving memory of Jane Withersteen and thought of thecomplications of the present amazed him with proof of how far hehad drifted from his old life. He discovered that he hated totake up the broken threads, to delve into dark problems anddifficulties. In this beautiful valley he had been living abeautiful dream. Tranquillity had come to him, and the joy ofsolitude, and interest in all the wild creatures and crannies ofthis incomparable valley--and love. Under the shadow of the greatstone bridge God had revealed Himself to Venters.

　　"The world seems very far away," he muttered, "but it'sthere--and I'm not yet done with it. Perhaps I never shallbe....Only--how glorious it would be to live here always andnever think again!"

　　Whereupon the resurging reality of the present, as if in irony ofhis wish, steeped him instantly in contending thought. Out of itall he presently evolved these things: he must go to Cottonwoods;he must bring supplies back to Surprise Valley; he must cultivatethe soil and raise corn and stock, and, most imperative of all,he must decide the future of the girl who loved him and whom heloved. The first of these things required tremendous effort, thelast one, concerning Bess, seemed simply and naturally easy ofaccomplishment. He would marry her. Suddenly, as from roots ofpoisonous fire, flamed up the forgotten truth concerning her. Itseemed to wither and shrivel up all his joy on its hot, tearingway to his heart. She had been Oldring's Masked Rider. ToVenters's question, "What were you to Oldring?" she had answeredwith scarlet shame and drooping head.

　　"What do I care who she is or what she was!" he cried,passionately. And he knew it was not his old self speaking. Itwas this softer, gentler man who had awakened to new thoughts inthe quiet valley. Tenderness, masterful in him now, matched theabsence of joy and blunted the knife-edge of entering jealousy.Strong and passionate effort of will, surprising to him, heldback the poison from piercing his soul.

　　"Wait!...Wait!" he cried, as if calling. His hand pressed hisbreast, and he might have called to the pang there. "Wait! It'sall so strange--so wonderful. Anything can happen. Who am I tojudge her? I'll glory in my love for her. But I can't tellit--can't give up to it."

　　Certainly he could not then decide her future. Marrying her wasimpossible in Surprise Valley and in any village south ofSterling. Even without the mask she had once worn she wouldeasily have been recognized as Oldring's Rider. No man who hadever seen her would forget her, regardless of his ignorance as toher sex. Then more poignant than all other argument was the factthat he did not want to take her away from Surprise Valley. Heresisted all thought of that. He had brought her to the mostbeautiful and wildest place of the uplands; he had saved her,nursed her back to strength, watched her bloom as one of thevalley lilies; he knew her life there to be pure and sweet--shebelonged to him, and he loved her. Still these were not all thereasons why he did not want to take her away. Where could theygo? He feared the rustlers--he feared the riders--he feared theMormons. And if he should ever succeed in getting Bess safelyaway from these immediate perils, he feared the sharp eyes ofwomen and their tongues, the big outside world with its problemsof existence. He must wait to decide her future, which, afterall, was deciding his own. But between her future and hissomething hung impending. Like Balancing Rock, which waiteddarkly over the steep gorge, ready to close forever the outlet toDeception Pass, that nameless thing, as certain yet intangible asfate, must fall and close forever all doubts and fears of thefuture.

　　"I've dreamed," muttered Venters, as he rose. "Well, whynot?...To dream is happiness! But let me just once see thisclearly wholly; then I can go on dreaming till the thing falls.I've got to tell Jane Withersteen. I've dangerous trips to take.I've work here to make comfort for this girl. She's mine. I'llfight to keep her safe from that old life. I've already seen herforget it. I love her. And if a beast ever rises in me I'll burnmy hand off before I lay it on her with shameful intent. And, byGod! sooner or later I'll kill the man who hid her and kept herin Deception Pass!"

　　As he spoke the west wind softly blew in his face. It seemed tosoothe his passion. That west wind was fresh, cool, fragrant, andit carried a sweet, strange burden of far-off things--tidings oflife in other climes, of sunshine asleep on other walls--of otherplaces where reigned peace. It carried, too, sad truth of humanhearts and mystery--of promise and hope unquenchable. SurpriseValley was only a little niche in the wide world whence blew thatburdened wind. Bess was only one of millions at the mercy ofunknown motive in nature and life. Content had come to Venters inthe valley; happiness had breathed in the slow, warm air; love asbright as light had hovered over the walls and descended to him;and now on the west wind came a whisper of the eternal triumph offaith over doubt.

　　"How much better I am for what has come to me!" he exclaimed."I'll let the future take care of itself. Whatever falls, I'll beready."

　　Venters retraced his steps along the terrace back to camp, andfound Bess in the old familiar seat, waiting and watching for hisreturn.

　　"I went off by myself to think a little," he explained.

　　"You never looked that way before. What--what is it? Won't youtell me?"

　　"Well, Bess, the fact is I've been dreaming a lot. This valleymakes a fellow dream. So I forced myself to think. We can't livethis way much longer. Soon I'll simply have to go to Cottonwoods.We need a whole pack train of supplies. I can get--"

　　"Can you go safely?" she interrupted.

　　"Why, I'm sure of it. I'll ride through the Pass at night. Ihaven't any fear that Wrangle isn't where I left him. And once onhim--Bess, just wait till you see that horse!"

　　"Oh, I want to see him--to ride him. But--but, Bern, this is whattroubles me," she said. "Will--will you come back?"

　　"Give me four days. If I'm not back in four days you'll know I'mdead. For that only shall keep me."

　　"Oh!"

　　"Bess, I'll come back. There's danger--I wouldn't lie to you--butI can take care of myself."

　　"Bern, I'm sure--oh, I'm sure of it! All my life I've watchedhunted men. I can tell what's in them. And I believe you can rideand shoot and see with any rider of the sage. It's not--not thatI--fear."

　　"Well, what is it, then?"

　　"Why--why--why should you come back at all?"

　　"I couldn't leave you here alone."

　　"You might change your mind when you get to the village--amongold friends--"

　　"I won't change my mind. As for old friends--" He uttered ashort, expressive laugh.

　　"Then--there--there must be a--a woman!" Dark red mantled theclear tan of temple and cheek and neck. Her eyes were eyes ofshame, upheld a long moment by intense, straining search for theverification of her fear. Suddenly they drooped, her head fell toher knees, her hands flew to her hot cheeks.

　　"Bess--look here," said Venters, with a sharpness due to theviolence with which he checked his quick, surging emotion.

　　As if compelled against her will--answering to an irresistiblevoice-- Bess raised her head, looked at him with sad, dark eyes,and tried to whisper with tremulous lips.

　　"There's no woman," went on Venters, deliberately holding herglance with his. "Nothing on earth, barring the chances of life,can keep me away."

　　Her face flashed and flushed with the glow of a leaping joy; butlike the vanishing of a gleam it disappeared to leave her as hehad never beheld her.

　　"I am nothing--I am lost--I am nameless!"

　　"Do you want me to come back?" he asked, with sudden sterncoldness. "Maybe you want to go back to Oldring!"

　　That brought her erect, trembling and ashy pale, with dark, proudeyes and mute lips refuting his insinuation.

　　"Bess, I beg your pardon. I shouldn't have said that. But youangered me. I intend to work--to make a home for you here--to bea--a brother to you as long as ever you need me. And you mustforget what you are-- were--I mean, and be happy. When youremember that old life you are bitter, and it hurts me."

　　"I was happy--I shall be very happy. Oh, you're so goodthat--that it kills me! If I think, I can't believe it. I growsick with wondering why. I'm only a let me say it--only a lost,nameless--girl of the rustlers. Oldring's Girl, they called me.That you should save me--be so good and kind--want to make mehappy--why, it's beyond belief. No wonder I'm wretched at thethought of your leaving me. But I'll be wretched and bitter nomore. I promise you. If only I could repay you even alittle--"

　　"You've repaid me a hundredfold. Will you believe me?"

　　"Believe you! I couldn't do else."

　　"Then listen!...Saving you, I saved myself. Living here in thisvalley with you, I've found myself. I've learned to think while Iwas dreaming. I never troubled myself about God. But God, or somewonderful spirit, has whispered to me here. I absolutely deny thetruth of what you say about yourself. I can't explain it. Thereare things too deep to tell. Whatever the terrible wrongs you'vesuffered, God holds you blameless. I see that--feel that in youevery moment you are near me. I've a mother and a sister 'wayback in Illinois. If I could I'd take you to them--to-morrow."

　　"If it were true! Oh, I might--I might lift my head!" she cried.

　　"Lift it then--you child. For I swear it's true."

　　She did lift her head with the singular wild grace always a partof her actions, with that old unconscious intimation of innocencewhich always tortured Venters, but now with something more--aspirit rising from the depths that linked itself to his bravewords.

　　"I've been thinking--too," she cried, with quivering smile andswelling breast. "I've discovered myself--too. I'm young--I'malive--I'm so full--oh! I'm a woman!"

　　"Bess, I believe I can claim credit of that lastdiscovery--before you," Venters said, and laughed.

　　"Oh, there's more--there's something I must tell you."

　　"Tell it, then."

　　"When will you go to Cottonwoods?"

　　"As soon as the storms are past, or the worst of them."

　　"I'll tell you before you go. I can't now. I don't know how Ishall then. But it must be told. I'd never let you leave mewithout knowing. For in spite of what you say there's a chanceyou mightn't come back."

　　Day after day the west wind blew across the valley. Day after daythe clouds clustered gray and purple and black. The cliffs sangand the caves rang with Oldring's knell, and the lightningflashed, the thunder rolled, the echoes crashed and crashed, andthe rains flooded the valley. Wild flowers sprang up everywhere,swaying with the lengthening grass on the terraces, smiling wanlyfrom shady nooks, peeping wondrously from year-dry crevices ofthe walls. The valley bloomed into a paradise. Every singlemoment, from the breaking of the gold bar through the bridge atdawn on to the reddening of rays over the western wall, was oneof colorful change. The valley swam in thick, transparent haze,golden at dawn, warm and white at noon, purple in the twilight.At the end of every storm a rainbow curved down into theleaf-bright forest to shine and fade and leave lingeringly somefaint essence of its rosy iris in the air.

　　Venters walked with Bess, once more in a dream, and watched thelights change on the walls, and faced the wind from out of thewest.

　　Always it brought softly to him strange, sweet tidings of far-offthings. It blew from a place that was old and whispered of youth.It blew down the grooves of time. It brought a story of thepassing hours. It breathed low of fighting men and praying women.It sang clearly the song of love. That ever was the burden of itstidings--youth in the shady woods, waders through the wetmeadows, boy and girl at the hedgerow stile, bathers in thebooming surf, sweet, idle hours on grassy, windy hills, longstrolls down moonlit lanes--everywhere in far-off lands, fingerslocked and bursting hearts and longing lips--from all the worldtidings of unquenchable love.

　　Often, in these hours of dreams he watched the girl, and askedhimself of what was she dreaming? For the changing light of thevalley reflected its gleam and its color and its meaning in thechanging light of her eyes. He saw in them infinitely more thanhe saw in his dreams. He saw thought and soul and nature--strongvision of life. All tidings the west wind blew from distance andage he found deep in those dark-blue depths, and found themmysteries solved. Under their wistful shadow he softened, and inthe softening felt himself grow a sadder, a wiser, and a betterman.

　　While the west wind blew its tidings, filling his heart full,teaching him a man's part, the days passed, the purple cloudschanged to white, and the storms were over for that summer.

　　"I must go now," he said.

　　"When?" she asked.

　　"At once--to-night."

　　"I'm glad the time has come. It dragged at me. Go--for you'llcome back the sooner."

　　Late in the afternoon, as the ruddy sun split its last flame inthe ragged notch of the western wall, Bess walked with Ventersalong the eastern terrace, up the long, weathered slope, underthe great stone bridge. They entered the narrow gorge to climbaround the fence long before built there by Venters. Farther thanthis she had never been. Twilight had already fallen in thegorge. It brightened to waning shadow in the wider ascent. Heshowed her Balancing Rock, of which he had often told her, andexplained its sinister leaning over the outlet. Shuddering, shelooked down the long, pale incline with its closed-in, topplingwalls.

　　"What an awful trail! Did you carry me up here?"

　　"I did, surely," replied he.

　　"It frightens me, somehow. Yet I never was afraid of trails. I'dride anywhere a horse could go, and climb where he couldn't. Butthere's something fearful here. I feel as--as if the place waswatching me."

　　"Look at this rock. It's balanced here--balanced perfectly. Youknow I told you the cliff-dwellers cut the rock, and why. Butthey're gone and the rock waits. Can't you see--feel how it waitshere? I moved it once, and I'll never dare again. A strong heavewould start it. Then it would fall and bang, and smash that crag,and jar the walls, and close forever the outlet to DeceptionPass!"

　　"Ah! When you come back I'll steal up here and push and push withall my might to roll the rock and close forever the outlet to thePass!" She said it lightly, but in the undercurrent of her voicewas a heavier note, a ring deeper than any ever given mere playof words.

　　"Bess!...You can't dare me! Wait till I come back with supplies--then roll the stone."

　　"I--was--in--fun." Her voice now throbbed low. "Always you mustbe free to go when you will. Go now...this place presses onme--stifles me."

　　"I'm going--but you had something to tell me?"

　　"Yes....Will you--come back?"

　　"I'll come if I live."

　　"But--but you mightn't come?"

　　"That's possible, of course. It'll take a good deal to kill me. Aman couldn't have a faster horse or keener dog. And, Bess, I'veguns, and I'll use them if I'm pushed. But don't worry."

　　"I've faith in you. I'll not worry until after four days. Only--because you mightn't come--I must tell you--"

　　She lost her voice. Her pale face, her great, glowing, earnesteyes, seemed to stand alone out of the gloom of the gorge. Thedog whined, breaking the silence.

　　"I must tell you--because you mightn't come back," she whispered."You must know what--what I think of your goodness--of you.Always I've been tongue-tied. I seemed not to be grateful. It wasdeep in my heart. Even now--if I were other than I am--I couldn'ttell you. But I'm nothing--only a rustler'sgirl--nameless--infamous. You've saved me-- and I'm--I'm yours todo with as you like....With all my heart and soul--I love you!"