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.
Our friends had hoped to make the little town of
Gerton for the night,
but the road was so bad that Wampus was obliged to
drive slowly and
carefully, and so could not make very good time.
Accidents began
to happen, too, doubtless clue to the hard usage the
machine had
received. First a spring broke, and Wampus was
obliged to halt long
enough to clamp it together with stout steel braces.
An hour later the
front tire was punctured by cactus spines, which
were thick upon the
road. Such delays seriously interfered with their
day's mileage.
Toward sunset Uncle John figured, from the
information he had received
at Prescott, that they were yet thirty miles from
Gerton, and so he
decided to halt and make camp while there was yet
sufficient daylight
remaining to do so conveniently.
"We might hunt for a ranch house and beg for
shelter," said he, "but
from the stories I've heard of the remittance men I
am sure we will
enjoy ourselves better if we rely entirely upon our
own resources."
The girls were, of course, delighted at the prospect
of such an
experience, for the silent, solitary mesa made them
feel they were
indeed "in the wilds of the Great American Desert."
The afternoon had
been hot and the ride dusty, but there was now a
cooler feeling in the
air since the sun had fallen low in the horizon.
They carried their own drinking water, kept ice-cold
in thermos
bottles, and Uncle John also had a thermos tub
filled with small
squares of ice. This luxury, in connection with
their ample supply
of provisions, enabled the young women to prepare a
supper not to be
surpassed in any modern hotel. The soup came from
one can, the curried
chicken from another, while artichokes, peas,
asparagus and plum
pudding shed their tin coverings to complete the
meal. Fruits, cheese
and biscuits they had in abundance, so there was no
hardship in
camping out on a deserted Arizona table-land, as far
as food was
concerned. The Interior of the limousine, when made
into berths for
the three girls, was as safe and cosy as a Pullman
sleeping coach.
Only the men's quarters, the "lean-to" tent, was in
any way open to
invasion.
After the meal was ended and the things washed and
put away they all
sat on folding camp chairs outside the little tent
and enjoyed the
intense silence surrounding them. The twilight
gradually deepened into
darkness. Wampus kept one of the searchlights lit to
add an element of
cheerfulness to the scene, and Myrtle was prevailed
upon to sing one
or two of her simple songs. She had a clear, sweet
voice, although not
a strong one, and they all--especially Uncle
John--loved to hear her
sing.
Afterward they talked over their trip and the
anticipated change from
this arid region to the verdure of California, until
suddenly a long,
bloodcurdling howl broke the stillness and caused
them one and all
to start from their seats. That is, all but Wampus.
The chauffeur,
sitting apart with his black cigar in his mouth,
merely nodded and
said: "Coyote."
The Major coughed and resumed his seat. Uncle John
stood looking into
the darkness as if trying to discern the creature.
"Are coyotes considered dangerous?" he asked the
Canadian.
"Not to us," replied Wampus. "Sometime, if one man
be out on mesa
alone, an' plenty coyote come, he have hard fight
for life. Coyote is
wild dog. He is big coward unless pretty hungry. If
I leave light burn
he never come near us."
"Then let it burn--all night," said Mr. Merrick.
"There he goes
again--and another with him! What a horrible wail it
is."
"I rather like it," said Patsy, with her accustomed
calmness. "It is
certainly an added experience to be surrounded by
coyotes. Probably
our trip wouldn't have been complete without it."
"A little of that serenade will suffice me,"
admitted Beth, as the
howls grew nearer and redoubled in volume.
Myrtle's eyes were big and earnest. She was not
afraid, but there was
something uncanny in being surrounded by such savage
creatures.
Nearer and nearer sounded the howls, until it was
easy to see a dozen
fierce eyes gleaming in the darkness, not a stone's
throw away from
the camp.
"I guess you girls had better go to bed," remarked
Uncle John, a bit
nervously. "There's no danger, you know--none at
all. Let the brutes
howl, if they want to--especially as we can't stop
them. But you are
tired, my dears, and I'd like to see you settled for
the night."
Somewhat reluctantly they entered the limousine,
drew the curtains and
prepared for bed. Certainly they were having a novel
experience, and
if Uncle John would feel easier to have them listen
to the howling
coyotes from inside the limousine instead of
outside, they could not
well object to his request.
Presently Wampus asked the Major for his revolver,
and on obtaining
the weapon he walked a few paces toward the coyotes
and fired a shot
into their group. They instantly scattered and made
off, only to
return in a few moments to their former position.
"Will they continue this Grand Opera chorus all
night?" asked Uncle
John.
"Perhap," said Wampus. "They hungry, an' smell food.
Coyote can no
reason. If he could, he know ver' well we never feed
him."
"The next time we come this way let us fetch along a
ton or so of
coyote feed," suggested the Major. "I wonder what
the poor brutes
would think if they were stuffed full for once in
their lives?"
"It have never happen, sir," observed Wampus,
shaking his head
gravely. "Coyote all born hungry; he live hungry; he
die hungry. If
ever coyote was not hungry he would not be coyote."
"In that case, Major," said Uncle John, "let us go
to bed and try to
sleep. Perhaps in slumber we may forget these
howling fiends."
"Very well," agreed Major Doyle, rising to enter the
little tent.
Wampus unexpectedly interposed. "Wait," called the
little chauffeur.
"Jus' a minute, if you please."
While the Major and Mr. Merrick stood wondering at
the request, the
Canadian, who was still holding the revolver in one
hand, picked a
steel rod from the rumble of the automobile and
pushing aside the flap
of the little tent entered. The tail-lamp of the car
burned inside,
dimly lighting the place.
The Major was about to follow Wampus when a revolver
shot arrested
him. This sound was followed by a quick thumping
against the ground of
the steel bar, and then Wampus emerged from the tent
holding a dark,
squirming object on the end of the rod extended
before him.
"What is it?" asked Mr. Merrick, somewhat startled.
"Rattlesnake," said Wampus, tossing the thing into
the sagebrush. "I
see him crawl in tent while you eat supper."
"Why did you not tell us?" cried the Major
excitedly.
"I thought him perhaps crawl out again. Him sometime
do that. But no.
Mister snake he go sleep in tent which is reserve
for his superior. I
say nothing, for I do not wish to alarm the young
ladies. That is why
I hold the dog Mumble so tight, for he small eye see
snake too, an'
fool dog wish to go fight him. Rattlesnake soon eat
Mumble up--eh? But
never mind; there is no worry. I am Wampus, an' I am
here. You go to
bed now, an' sleep an' be safe."
He said this rather ostentatiously, and for that
reason neither of the
others praised his watchful care or his really brave
act. That Wampus
was proving himself a capable and faithful servant
even the Major was
forced to admit, yet the man's bombast and
self-praise robbed him of
any word of commendation he justly earned.
"I think," said Uncle John, "I'll bunk on the front
seat to-night. I'm
short, you see, and will just about curl up in the
space. I believe
snakes do not climb up wheels. Make my bed on the
front seat, Wampus."
The man grinned but readily obeyed. The Major
watched him
thoughtfully.
"For my part," he said, "I'll have a bed made on top
the roof."
"Pshaw!" said Uncle John; "you'll scratch the
paint."
"That is a matter of indifference to me," returned
the Major.
"You'll roll off, in your sleep, and hurt yourself."
"I'll risk that, sir."
"Are you afraid, Major?"
"Afraid! Me? Not when I'm awake, John. But what's to
prevent more of
those vermin from crawling into the tent during the
night?"
"Such thing very unusual." remarked Wampus, placing
the last blanket
on Mr. Merrick's improvised bed. "Perhaps you sleep
in tent a week an'
never see another rattler."
"Just the same," concluded the Major, "I'll have my
bed on top the
limousine."
He did, Wampus placing blankets and a pillow for him
without a word of
protest. The Major climbed over Uncle John and
mounted to the roof of
the car, which sloped to either side but was broad
and long enough
to accommodate more than one sleeper. Being an old
campaigner and a
shrewd tactician, Major Doyle made two blankets into
rolls, which he
placed on either side of him, to "anchor" his body
in position. Then
he settled himself to rest beneath the brilliant
stars while the
coyotes maintained their dismal howling. But a tired
man soon becomes
insensible to even such annoyances.
The girls, having entered the limousine from the
door opposite the
tent, were all unaware of the rattlesnake episode
and supposed the
shot had been directed against the coyotes. They
heard the Major
climbing upon the roof, but did not demand any
explanation, being deep
in those bedtime confidences so dear to all girls.
Even they came
to disregard the persistent howls of the coyotes,
and in time fell
asleep.
Wampus did not seem afraid of snakes. The little
chauffeur went to bed
in the tent and slept soundly upon his cot until
daybreak, when the
coyotes withdrew and the Canadian got up to make the
coffee.
The Major peered over the edge of the roof to watch
him. He had a
sleepy look about his eyes, as if he had not rested
well. Uncle John
was snoring with gentle regularity and the girls
were still asleep.
"Wampus," said the Major, "do you know the proper
definition of a
fool?"
Wampus reflected, stirring the coffee carefully.
"I am not--what you call him?--a dictionairre; no.
But I am Wampus. I
have live much in very few year. I would say a fool
is man who think
he is wise. For what is wise? Nothing!"
The Major felt comforted.
"It occurred to me," he said, beginning to climb
down from the roof,
"that a fool was a man who left a good home for this
uncomfortable
life on a barren desert. This country wasn't made
for humans; it
belongs to the coyotes and the rattlesnakes. What
right have we to
intrude upon them, then?"
Wampus did not reply. It was not his business to
criticise his
employers.
