The Desert Valley | Page 9

the way up to Tecolote, that if you will come here a
certain moonlight night of the year and will watch the water of the pool,
you'll see a vision sent up by the gods of the Underworld. They'll even
tell you how a nice little old god by the name of Pookhonghoya appears
now and then by night, hunting souls of enemies--and running by the
side of the biggest, strangest wolf that human eyes ever saw.'
Helen looked at him swiftly. He had added the last item almost as an
afterthought. She imagined that he had embellished the old tale from
his own recent experience, and, further, that Mr. Alan Howard was
making fun of them and was no adept in the science of fabrication.

'They go further,' Howard spun out his tale. 'Somewhere in the desert
country to the north there is, I believe, a tribe of Hidden People that the
white man has never seen. The interesting thing about them is that they
are governed by a young and altogether maddeningly pretty goddess
who is white and whose name is Yahoya. When they come right down
to the matter of giving names,' he added gravely, 'how is a man to go
any further than just say, "_Quién sabe_?"'
'That is stupid.' said Longstreet irascibly. 'It's a man's chief affair in life
to know. These absurd legends----'
'Don't you think, papa,' said Helen coolly, 'that instead of taxing Mr.
Howard's memory and--and imagination, it would be better if you
asked him about our way from here on?'
Howard chuckled. Professor Longstreet set aside his cup, cleared his
throat and agreed with his daughter.
'I am prospecting,' he announced, 'for gold. We are headed for what is
known as the Last Ridge country. I have a map here.'
He drew it from his pocket, neatly folded, and spread it out. It was a
map such as is to be purchased for fifty cents at the store in San Juan,
showing the main roads, towns, waterholes and trails. With a blue
pencil he had marked out the way they planned to go. Howard bent
forward and took the paper.
'We are going the same way, friend,' he said as he looked up. 'What is
more, we are going over a trail I know by heart. There is a good chance
I can save you time and trouble by making it a party of three. Am I
wanted?'
'It is extremely kind of you,' said Longstreet appreciatively. 'But you
are on horseback and we travel slowly.'
'I can spare the time,' was the even rejoinder. 'And I'll be glad to do it.'
During the half-hour required to break camp and pack the two horses,

Alan Howard gave signs of an interest which now and then mounted
almost to high delight. He made no remark concerning the elaborate
system of water-bottles and canteens, but his eyes brightened as he
aided the professor in making them fast. When the procession was
ready to start he strode on ahead, leading his own horse and hiding
from his new friends the widening grin upon his face.
The sun was up; already the still heat of the desert was in the air.
Behind the tall rancher and his glossy mare came Professor Longstreet
driving his two pack animals. Just behind him, with much grave
speculation in her eyes, came Helen. A new man had swum all
unexpectedly into her ken and she was busy cataloguing him. He
looked the native in this environment, but for all that he was plainly a
man of her own class. No illiteracy, no wild shy awkwardness marked
his demeanour. He was as free and easy as the north wind; he might,
after all, be likeable. Certainly it was courtois of him to set himself on
foot to be one of them. The mare looked gentle despite her high life;
Helen wondered if Alan Howard had thought of offering her his
mount?
They had come to the first of the low-lying hills.
'Miss Longstreet,' called Howard, stopping and turning, 'wouldn't you
like to swing up on Sanchia? She is dying to be ridden.'
The trail here was wide and clearly defined; hence Longstreet and his
two horses went by and Helen came up with Howard. Hers was the
trick of level, searching eyes. She looked steadily at him as she said
evenly:
'So her name is Sanchia?'
For an instant the man did not appear to understand. Then suddenly
Helen was treated to the sight of the warm red seeping up under his tan.
And then he slapped his thigh and laughed; his laughter seeming
unaffected and joyous.
'Talk about getting absent-minded in my old age,' he declared. 'Her

name did use to be Sanchia; I changed it to Helen. Think of my sliding