romantic girl to be lured by shadows?
She was.
The dream gives its magic until the dream is realized, but even then something o f the dream remains ... the aura, the nostalgic, half-realized longing, that stays.
And this silent rider, dark upon his horse, until a word was spoken he was hers , and hers alone.
Moments passed, and she was motionless, and the rider sat on his saddle. She sa w him replace his hat and her throat tightened at the thought that he might now rid e on, that replacing the hat was preliminary to a touch of the heel. His cigarett e glowed briefly again like a campfire's spark arrested in flight.
"A night like this is like no other night. There is a beauty in it that is scarcel y real."
It was a moment before Miriam realized the rider had spoken, and she was startle d ... for in this brief standing still of time he had become almost a creation of he r fantasy.
"It is the desert."
There was a silence then that neither broke for minutes. Then he said, "It is lat e for you to be out."
It was something that might have been said to a young girl in New England, in som e village there, after midnight. In this place, under the circumstances it bordere d on the ridiculous. "I am not a child, you know."
"You are a woman ... an Apache would even brave the dark for a young woman."
"I am not afraid. "
"Fear is not a bad thing. It is fear that saves men's lives ... it prepares a ma n for trouble."
"How do you come to be here? At this place, I mean? Why did you stop?"
"My horse told me you were there. He also told me you were a woman."
"That's impossible."
"No. My horse does not like the smell of Indians, and he knows that smell, but h e likes women because he was raised by a woman who made a pet of him.
"When he stopped I knew it was for a reason, and I had been looking for you. My hors e was curious but not afraid, and he looked toward you with his ears up, so I kne w you were a white person. Had it been a lion or a wolf he would have indicated i t by his fear or by his willingness to fight; and of an Indian he would have been afraid , and pulled away. But he was eager to go toward you, and from that I knew you wer e a woman. "
"You said you had been looking for me?"
"I found your wagon, and figured you would be close by." "You must be hungry."
"Yes. '
"We can offer food, but not much more."
"Wait . . . there will be time enough to eat, but who knows how long it will be agai n before I talk to a woman in the night?"
Bats swirled in the cool night sky, and a few scattered clouds obscured the stars , and the man on horseback vanished in the greater darkness.
"We saw you earlier today," she said tentatively, as if to test his presence.
"You were on the mountain then," he said. "Yes . . . we saw Apaches, too."
He offered no explanation, and she valued him the more for this. It was enough tha t he was here, and must somehow have eluded them. The reason for his presence her e at all remained unanswered, and her curiosity prodded her to ask, but she waited , feeling that he would explain in his own time.
"We thought our trail was hidden."
"I have lived among the Shoshones and the Nez Perce." He paused to inhale, then snuffe d out his cigarette against a boot and dropped it into the sand. "It is well hidden , but there are trails that do not lie upon the ground."
Beyond the mountains there was a moon, and the sky across the saw-toothed ridge s grew pale, long shadows reaching out toward them, darker by reason of the growin g paleness from where the moon would be. A faint wind stirred among the mesquite an d cedar, a faint testing push of wind that died away almost at once as if it was no t worth the effort.
"I may bring trouble," he said then. "You are followed?"
"Yes." She accepted that ... there could be no other reason for a lone man in thi s wild land. So he was an outlaw. But who would follow a man into such an area? Th e Army?
He swung down from his horse and stood still beside the saddle
She was.
The dream gives its magic until the dream is realized, but even then something o f the dream remains ... the aura, the nostalgic, half-realized longing, that stays.
And this silent rider, dark upon his horse, until a word was spoken he was hers , and hers alone.
Moments passed, and she was motionless, and the rider sat on his saddle. She sa w him replace his hat and her throat tightened at the thought that he might now rid e on, that replacing the hat was preliminary to a touch of the heel. His cigarett e glowed briefly again like a campfire's spark arrested in flight.
"A night like this is like no other night. There is a beauty in it that is scarcel y real."
It was a moment before Miriam realized the rider had spoken, and she was startle d ... for in this brief standing still of time he had become almost a creation of he r fantasy.
"It is the desert."
There was a silence then that neither broke for minutes. Then he said, "It is lat e for you to be out."
It was something that might have been said to a young girl in New England, in som e village there, after midnight. In this place, under the circumstances it bordere d on the ridiculous. "I am not a child, you know."
"You are a woman ... an Apache would even brave the dark for a young woman."
"I am not afraid. "
"Fear is not a bad thing. It is fear that saves men's lives ... it prepares a ma n for trouble."
"How do you come to be here? At this place, I mean? Why did you stop?"
"My horse told me you were there. He also told me you were a woman."
"That's impossible."
"No. My horse does not like the smell of Indians, and he knows that smell, but h e likes women because he was raised by a woman who made a pet of him.
"When he stopped I knew it was for a reason, and I had been looking for you. My hors e was curious but not afraid, and he looked toward you with his ears up, so I kne w you were a white person. Had it been a lion or a wolf he would have indicated i t by his fear or by his willingness to fight; and of an Indian he would have been afraid , and pulled away. But he was eager to go toward you, and from that I knew you wer e a woman. "
"You said you had been looking for me?"
"I found your wagon, and figured you would be close by." "You must be hungry."
"Yes. '
"We can offer food, but not much more."
"Wait . . . there will be time enough to eat, but who knows how long it will be agai n before I talk to a woman in the night?"
Bats swirled in the cool night sky, and a few scattered clouds obscured the stars , and the man on horseback vanished in the greater darkness.
"We saw you earlier today," she said tentatively, as if to test his presence.
"You were on the mountain then," he said. "Yes . . . we saw Apaches, too."
He offered no explanation, and she valued him the more for this. It was enough tha t he was here, and must somehow have eluded them. The reason for his presence her e at all remained unanswered, and her curiosity prodded her to ask, but she waited , feeling that he would explain in his own time.
"We thought our trail was hidden."
"I have lived among the Shoshones and the Nez Perce." He paused to inhale, then snuffe d out his cigarette against a boot and dropped it into the sand. "It is well hidden , but there are trails that do not lie upon the ground."
Beyond the mountains there was a moon, and the sky across the saw-toothed ridge s grew pale, long shadows reaching out toward them, darker by reason of the growin g paleness from where the moon would be. A faint wind stirred among the mesquite an d cedar, a faint testing push of wind that died away almost at once as if it was no t worth the effort.
"I may bring trouble," he said then. "You are followed?"
"Yes." She accepted that ... there could be no other reason for a lone man in thi s wild land. So he was an outlaw. But who would follow a man into such an area? Th e Army?
He swung down from his horse and stood still beside the saddle
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