Bemidji Daily Pioneer Newspaper, October 20, 1922, Page 3

% i I Y LR ~ But once down on th 04 0w - x!.:‘;eh :11:23 hf:\;:l(:’ 2:: g::?:;l:(]:r er;nl‘: ihide mioney travelleg gound With Bis | (een' of this ,n,l‘_‘,y“\‘i’,[:',i;gl ‘_:‘;;g-, S[‘];"é x:nldl torment of his" passion- e T | Poggls Lok L - Qeiven soul. He hod.come. into the| SUBSCRIBE FOR THE PIONEER the wilderness. . This man never |© —z-: ° i . i i ; 2 - S - rumhled at. the hea D, = = s B S & i Romance and Cameron resented the breaking of his fim,ng i fie s"')u‘r“ew';"'t“::v :::f‘ ~ the thrill of ad- lonely campfire vigil, but he respect- | seant fare. He was tirels 1u\'ll(-m i i ! venture have ‘nov ed’lthhe law of the desert. brooding. % J — — departed from the [he stranger thanked him, and then Cameron’s aw: mSensela—— West. There are slipped the pack from his burro. | yome to him fl?: e;end“::;i;?tt?‘;‘;“?“ - recesses of the Then he rolled out his pack and began years he had shunned companionsl for e | southwestern des- preparations for a meal. The camp-| 1" those years only three ‘me' »1"1‘» . 5 ert known ' only fire burst into a bright blaze, and by | \Guidered ‘into the desert “'m‘ l!"“ to Yaqui’ and its light Cameron saw a man whose | ;)4 these had left their b U him, Papago . Indians. gray hair somehow did not seem to | o0 i the “shifting sands, (“"_"93’.'0 These ultra-arid make him .old, and whose stooped bad not céred to know th~eh~ ‘“"L.lflu sections contain- shoulders did not detract from an Im- | put tne more he studled t“sel“'ms- g perils as great as pression of rugged strength. Cotirade the Tiore B hega t:;s atest | when, the. enflre Another of those strange desert| yn;¢ ne might have mlsged snr::flx:lexf: o ZANE GREY expanse was a trackless waste. \ At times the 'border between the United States and Mexico becomes a veritable “No Man’s Land,” .as-dan- gerous as any territory that existed in pioneer days. ~There is. a great unwritten history of the experiences of present-day settlers, rangers and soldiers that is fine- material. for the. novelist, especially for one’ with the talents of Zane Grey, who loves his modern West, who has ' caught its spirit, and who sees it in all its as- pects with a clear eye. Zanesville, Ohio, was his birthplace, and he is descended from the famous' Zane family which figured so largely in pioneer history. Although he passed: through the public schools of his na- tive place and graduated from the Uni- versity of Pennsylvania with credit, _he had more fondness for outdoor sports than for studies, and became a distinguished player of amateur, col- lege and professional baseball. After a short residence in New York city he became attracted to the West and adopting a writing career, has become about the most prominent exponent in America of virile, western literature. He is better able than any other novel- ist to présent its more stirring phases romantically, interestingly and with- out resorting to exaggeration. PROLOGUE 1 A face haunted Cameron—a wom- an's face. It was there in the white heart of the dying campfire; it hung in the shadows that hovered over the flickering light; it drifted In the dark- ness beyond. a This hour, when the day had closed and the lonely desert night set in with its dead silence, was one in which Cameron’s mind was thronged with memories of a time long past—of a home back in Peoria, ot a woman he had wronged and lost, and loved too late. He was a prospector for gold, a hunter of solitude, a lover of the dread, rock-ribbed infinitude, because he wanted to be alone to remember. Then a sharp clink of metal on stone and soft pads of hoofs in sand prompted Cameron to reach for his gun, and to move out of the light of the waning campfire. Figures darker than the gloom ap- proached and took shape, and in the light turned out to be those of a white man and a heavily packed burro. “Hello there,” the man called, as he came to a halt and gazed about him. “I saw your fire. May I make camp here?” Cameron came “forth out of-‘the shadow and greeted his or, whom GOLD ZANE GREY Riders of the Purple Sage. Wildfire, Etc; Hiustrations by —Wrwin Myers prospectors in whom there was some relentless driving power besides the. lust for gold! Cameron-felt that be- tween this man and himself there was a subtle affinity, vague‘and undefined," perhaps -born of the divination that here was a desert wanderer like him- self, perliaps born of a:deeper, an un: intelligible’ relation- having its’ roots back in the past. ‘A long-forgotten sensation ‘stirred ip: Cafuéron’s breast, one so long forgoiten ‘that he could not recognize it. But it was akin to pain. . ) u ‘When: he’ awakened: he: found; to’ his* surprise, that his corpanion had de-- parted. A trail in the'sand’ led’ off to the morth. There was' o watet in that direction: Camieron shrugged his® shoulders; it was' not- his- affair; he had his own problems. And’ straight wiy he forgot his' strange’ visltor. Cameron begati his’ day, -grateful for| the solitude that was® now" unbroket. for the canon-furrowed; cactus:spired’ scene that now showed no’ sign of life. While it wes yet light, and’ he was digging in a molst: white-bordere wash for \valer,\ he was® brought sharply up by hearing thé” crack’ of'| hard hoofs on stone. There down the' canon came a man on a‘burro. Cam-| eron recognized them. “Hello, friend,” called the man, halt- ing. “Our trails crossed again—that's good.” \ “Hello,” replied Cameron slowly. “Any mineral sign today?* X N z They made camp together, ate their frugal meal, smoked a pipe, and rolled in their blankets without exchanging many words. In the morning the same reticence, the samealeofness charac- terized the manner of both. But Cam- eron’s companion, when he had packed his burro and was ready-to start, faced | about and said: “We might stay to- | gethér, if it’s all right with you.” “I never take a partoer,”- replied | Cameron. { “You're alone; I'm alone,” said the other mildly. “It's.a big'place. If we find gold there'll be enough for two.” “I dom’t go dOWm into' the desert ! for gold alone,” rejofned - Cameron, His companion’s deep-set, luminous eyes emitted | a° singular flash. It moved Cameron to say that in the years of his wandering he had met no man who could endure equally with him the blasting heat, the blinding dust storms, the wildérness of sand and rock and lava and cactus, the ter- rible silence and desolation of the desert. *“I may strike through the Sonora desert. I may head for Pina- cate or north for the Colorado basin. T don' country, but to me one place Is the same as another,” sana. and Three feet the sand comradle dug In th he dug—four—five, “What 4 gift for 2 man M the des- ert!” Cameron’s comrade smiled—the sec- look fnto his unquiet soul without bit- terness. So now he did not marvel at desert to remember -a woman. She appeared to him “then as_ she “had looked when first.she entered his life replied his companion, Then with v dRrk o { a slow stir stealing warmer along hi: l grew dark, then moist. At six feet g g hiy -hal {rl, Dlue-eyed entle slaps he drove his buri - e ond time In all those days. velus g a golden:haired ~ girl, Dblue-eyed, | 8 P ro In be- | water begz‘l.n 10 geep through. biey entéredd realon where milne veins, and at the premonition that per- chite-skinned, - red-lpped, * tall and hind Cameron. “Yes, I'm old. I'm lonely, too. It's come to me just lately. But, friend. I can stili travel, and for a few days my company won't hurt you.” “Have it your way,” sald Cameron, They began a slow march down into the desert. At sunset they camped under the lee of a low mesa. Cam- , eron was glad his comrade had the | Indian habit of silenge. Another day's travel found tbe prospéctors deep in thé ‘wilderness. Then there ‘came a "breaKing of reserve, :poticeable in the elder man. almost imperceptibly grad- ualin, Cameron. And so, as Cameron -hegan to respond to the influence of | @ desert Tess lonely than habitual, he ~hegan to take keeper. note of his com- in the others. In his own driving pas: sion to take his secret into the limit- less abode of silence and desolation, where he could be alone with it, he had forgotten that life dealt shocks to other men. Somehow this silent com- rade reniinded him. One afternoon late, after they had tolled up a white, winding wash of sand and gravel, they came upon a “Hello, Friend,” Called the Man, Halt- ing. “Our Trails Crossed Again— That’s Good.” dry waterhole, Cameron dug deep into the sand, but without avail. He was turning to retrace weary steps back. to the last water when his com- rade asked him to walf. Cameron watcheil him search in his pack and bring forth w appeared to be a small, forked branch of a peach tree. He grasped the prongs of the fork and heldy them before him with the end standing straight out, and then he began to wilk along the stream bed. Cameron, at first amused, then amazed, then pitying, and at last cu- rious, kept pace with the prospector. He saw a strong tension of his com- rade’s wrists, as if he was bholding hard against a considerable force. The end of the peach branch began to quiver and turn, kept turning, and at length pointed to the ground. “Dig here,” said the prospector. “What ! ejaculated Cameron, the man lost his mind? Had You are an old man.” Then Cameron. stood by while his — “Get the little basket In my pack,” he said. Cameron complied, and saw his comrade, drop the basket Into the\deep hole, where it kept the sides from caving in and allowed the wateR to; seep thraugh. While Cameron watclied, thie basket nglo’nl. Of all t.e stringe incldents of his desert career this was: the strangest. Cdriously be picked up | the pefch branch and held it ag he had seen it held. The thing, how- ever, was dead in his hands. 3 “I'see you haven’t got it,” remarked his .comrade. “Few men have. Back in Jllinois an old German uyged o do that to locate wells. He showed me J:NAd the same power. I can’t ex- plain. The old -German I spoke of eral abounded, and thelr march be- came slower. Generally they took the course of a wash, one on each side, and let the burros travel leisurely along nipping at the bleached blades of scant grass, or at sage or cactus, | while they searched in the canons and under’ the ledges for signs of gold. Each succeeding day and. night Cameron felt himself more and more, drawn to this strange man. He found | that after hours of burning toil he had insensibly ‘grown nearer to his” ébm- | rade. weeks In the desert he had'dlways become a different man. Toelviliz: tion, in the rough mining camps, he' had been a prey to unrest and glootu He reflected thatr after g few'| haps he and this man, alone on the desert, driven there by life’s mysterl- ous and remorseless motive, were to see each other through God's eyes. One night they were encamped at the head of a canon. The day had been exceedingly hot, and long after sundown the radiations of heat from the_vocks persisted. Cameron watched his -comtaie, ‘and_$elded to”interest he had not hevetofote ‘yofeed.’ “Pardner, what drives you-into the desext? Dogyou gor”@»((orxeg‘.“‘ X softly exclaimed Cameron, Always he seénied to‘have kiown that. He said’ né more, but grew acuiely conselous of “the pang In RIS owp breast, of the fire in his heart. the slender gand beautiful.’ He had never forgotten, and an old, sickening re- morse knocked at his heart. He rose and climbed out of the canon and to the top of the mesa, where he paced to and fro and looked down into the weird and mystic shadows, like the * darkness of his passion, and ‘farther’ on down the moon track and thegfit! tering stretches -that" vanished - I itth -7 cold blue horizon: -In" fhdt “éfrdles sllent hall af “desert “thovd] W3 # gpirlt; and “Cameéron felt ~hovering 82 & near -him what he phantoms of pesd¢ 2 He teturiied” to ‘camp’ and his_comrade. Ll 12t imagined (Continued in Next lesue? 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