Changes At Forlorn River The first of March saw the federal occupation of the garrison at Casita. After a short, decisive engagement the rebels were dispersed into small bands and driven eastward along the boundary line toward Nogales.
It was the destiny of Forlorn River, however, never to return to the slow, sleepy tenor of its former existence. Belding's predictions came true. That straggling line of home-seekers was but a forerunner of the real invasion of Altar Valley. Refugees from Mexico and from Casita spread the word that water and wood and grass and land were to be had at Forlorn River; and as if by magic the white tents and red adobe houses sprang up to glisten in the sun.
Belding was happier than he had been for a long time. He believed that evil days for Forlorn River, along with the apathy and lack of enterprise, were in the past. He hired a couple of trustworthy Mexicans to ride the boundary line, and he settled down to think of ranching and irrigation and mining projects. Every morning he expected to receive some word form Sonoyta or Yuma, telling him that Yaqui had guided his party safely across the desert.
Belding was ******-minded, a man more inclined to action than reflection. When the complexities of life hemmed him in, he groped his way out, never quite understanding. His wife had always been a mystery to him. Nell was sunshine most of the time, but, like the sun-dominated desert, she was subject to strange changes, wilful, stormy, sudden. It was enough for Belding now to find his wife in a lighter, happier mood, and to see Nell dreamily turning a ring round and round the third finger of her left hand and watching the west. Every day both mother and daughter appeared farther removed from the past darkly threatening days. Belding was hearty in his affections, but undemonstrative.
If there was any sentiment in his make-up it had an outlet in his memory of Blanco Diablo and a longing to see him. Often Belding stopped his work to gaze out over the desert toward the west. When he thought of his rangers and Thorne and Mercedes he certainly never forgot his horse. He wondered if Diablo was running, walking, resting; if Yaqui was finding water and grass.
In March, with the short desert winter over, the days began to grow warm. The noon hours were hot, and seemed to give promise of the white summer blaze and blasting furnace wind soon to come.
No word was received from the rangers. But this caused Belding no concern, and it seemed to him that his women folk considered no news good news.
Among the many changes coming to pass in Forlorn River were the installing of post-office service and the building of a mescal drinking-house. Belding had worked hard for the post office, but he did not like the idea of a saloon for Forlorn River. Still, that was an inevitable evil. The Mexicans would have mescal. Belding had kept the little border hamlet free of an establishment for distillation of the fiery cactus drink. A good many Americans drifted into Forlorn River--miners, cowboys, prospectors, outlaws, and others of nondescript character; and these men, of course, made the saloon, which was also an inn, their headquarters.
Belding, with Carter and other old residents, saw the need of a sheriff for Forlorn River.
One morning early in this spring month, while Belding was on his way from the house to the corrals, he saw Nell running Blanco Jose' down the road at a gait that amazed him.
She did not take the turn of the road to come in by the gate.
She put Jose' at a four-foot wire fence, and came clattering into the yard.
"Nell must have another tantrum," said Belding. "She's long past due."
Blanco Jose, like the other white horses, was big of frame and heavy, and thunder rolled from under his great hoofs. Nell pulled him up, and as he pounded and slid to a halt in a cloud of dust she swung lightly down.
It did not take more than half an eye for Belding to see that she was furious.
"Nell, what's come off now?" asked Belding.
"I'm not going to tell you," she replied, and started away, leading Jose toward the corral.
Belding leisurely followed. She went into the corral, removed Jose's bridle, and led him to the watering-trough. Belding came up, and without saying anything began to unbuckle Jose's saddle girths. But he ventured a look at Nell. The red had gone from her face, and he was surprised to see her eyes brimming with tears.
Most assuredly this was not one of Nell's tantrums. While taking off Jose's saddle and hanging it in the shed Belding pondered in his slow way. When he came back to the corral Nell had her face against the bars, and she was crying. He slipped a big arm around her and waited. Although it was not often expressed, there was a strong attachment between them.
"Dad, I don't want you to think me a--a baby any more," she said.
"I've been insulted."
With a specific fact to make clear thought in Belding's mind he was never slow.
"I knew something unusual had come off. I guess you'd better tell me."
"Dad, I will, if you promise."
"What?"
"Not to mention it to mother, not to pack a gun down there, and never, never tell ****."
Belding was silent. Seldom did he make promises readily.
"Nell, sure something must have come off, for you to ask all that."
"If you don't promise I'll never tell, that's all," she declared, firmly.
Belding deliberated a little longer. He knew the girl.
"Well, I promise not to tell mother," he said, presently; "and seeing you're here safe and well, I guess I won't go packing a gun down there, wherever that is. But I won't promise to keep anything from **** that perhaps he ought to know."
"Dad, what would **** do if--if he were here and I were to tell him I'd--I'd been horribly insulted?"
"I guess that 'd depend. Mostly, you know, **** does what you want. But you couldn't stop him--nobody could--if there was reason, a man's reason, to get started. Remember what he did to Rojas!...Nell, tell me what's happened."
Nell, regaining her composure, wiped her eyes and smoothed back her hair.
