---
title: Improvement Era
description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930.
authors:
  - Lyman, Albert R.
collections:
  - periodicals
tags:
  - magazine
  - improvement-era
periodical: Improvement Era
volume: 17
number: 4
published: 1914-02
publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations
publisher_place: Salt Lake City
language: en
type: magazine
reference: 'Albert R. Lyman, "Voice of the Intangible—XXII," *Improvement Era* 17, no. 4 (February 1914): 300–303.'
source:
  url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1704unse
  transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers.
  identifier: improvementera1704unse
start_page: 300
end_page: 303
rights:
  status: public-domain
  basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1914-02)
  source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1704unse
  publication_year: 1914
  note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1914, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright.
---

# Voice of the Intangible—XXII

<!-- page:300 -->

Voice of the Intangible
r.v Al.P.KRT R. LYMAN
Chapter XXII— A Track in the Sand
Dent's heart was not broken by the big run. Six weeks of
feed ami rest and care, made him the same invincible creature that
kicked the Texas bull's horn spinning over the grease-woods, — the
same powerful brute that carried Montana safely through the San
Juan rapids at Rincone. And he was not too old to learn, or to
appreciate the love young Rojer lavished upon him. He soon grew
to regard Mike as a splendid fellow; and Mike, at Ben's suggestion, formed the habit of sleeping in the manger, and currying
the favor of the brown horse.
Young Rojer took pride in assuring himself that Mike and
Dent were even firmer friends than Stripes and Bowse had been,
for the little dog-worshiping Ben Rojer still lived in the stalwart
man. who rode the brown horse to the envy of all who saw them.
Flossy and lings ranked high as cow-horses, but Dent simply
had no rival within a hundred miles of the four corners.
Ben had admired Montana's skill with shooting-irons, and to
make his own more useful and pleasant, he often shot off-hand
with the rifle, or emptied his revolver into a stump as he rode Dent
by on the lope. This practice brought him an accuracy and speed
of which he felt a secret pride. "I must shoot straight and quick
or not at all," he mused to himself, and kept his belt well stuffed
with cartridges.
The winter trip began on the nineteenth of January, with mild
weather and no snow. As the outfit crossed the sand skirting the
river, and took up the trail into the broken country towards the
Ridge, Ben hardly knew whether he felt better or worse than he
had felt on that same trail exactly a year before. To be sure, Jud
had gone, and a menacing shape loomed up on the horizon of probabilities ; voting Rojer had a biting appreciation of those things.
But they had come gradually, and his courage had "mounted with
each new occasion."
He was not yet alone ; he had the sharp-nosed dog and the
brown horse, he hud the invincible "Chili con carne." the doubleaction Pintos and the hickory-hearted buckskin. Better, still, he had
an undefined assurance that somehow it would come out all right. —
that by some hook or crook it would all be for the best, if only

<!-- page:301 -->

VOICE OF THE INTANGIBLE 301
he did his best, and kept his soul in tune with the whispering
Voice of the hills.
And yet in the sides of all this, like a festering thorn, hung
those murderous weapons on which he had doted, and in the
expert use of which he had taken pride in spite of himself. His assurance was not without a dark cloud of uncertainty, and while
he clung to such comfort as it afforded, he still looked with dread
to the hazy distance, where Soorowits had no doubt found a lair
for his feline help-meet and her boisterous whelps.
"Don't you got no scart uv dat blame Injun?" queried Juan
the next morning.
"Oh I guess we'll camp up in the rocks and be safe enough,"
answered Ben, feigning an unconcern which he did not feel at all.
They did camp up among the rocks, making their first stop,
in the Pagahrit region, in a sheltered cove far down towards the
old crossing, and every evening they cut a sign all around it to
make sure no one had discovered it during the day.
After the third night in the sheltered cove, they moved late
in the evening to Little Mountain, and camped in a dry basin high
up among the rock-knolls ; always taking care to be quiet, and
to use fire in such a way and time, that its smoke would not betray
them by day, nor its glimmer by night. Buck's bell staid firmly
gagged, and Mike never barked at his imagination as Bowse had
done.
Often in the still of the evening Ben would mount the knolls
near camp, — look away into the wild, shadowy world all around,
and hark with his ears of soul to sentiments borne on the wind,
or traveling without wind through the quiet night. Once he
saw a spark, but how near or how far, he made no guess ; nor did
he make sure it was not a fire-fly from Lake Gulch. He did make
sure from those sentiments of silence, that danger skulked behind
the hills, for the hush or moaning of the darkness said plainly,
"Beware ! Beware !"
"Oh, I love these hills," he whispered, "I love the voices
which have blessed' me here, — but a fiend is in ambush among
them ; I feel his presence like a foul odor on the desert air."
After the second night in the rock-knoll basin, when young
Roier cut his sign along the fringe of sand looking for tracks,
Mike stopped at a certain place with his sharp nose to the ground,
and uttered. a low, threatening growl. That glass-eyed dog had
never done the like before, and Ben swung down promptly to
investigate.
The sand lay so shallow on the rock, that the slight impress
of a human foot might easily escape notice, and in this carefully
chosen place, a mocassined foot had rested. It had gone both
ways: in to discover the camp, and. out to plot against it.

<!-- page:302 -->

302 [MPROVEMEN1 ERA
"We're spotted," Ben mused with a creepy sensation, and
looked up through the gloaming expecting to make out a black
face glaring over rifle-sights from behind a rock. "We'll lay
for 'em; yes siree!" he whispered with a vengeance, "we'll snip
the two of 'cm when they come sneaking back between now and
morning. It's the only thing to do."
When Rido heard of the track, he thought the "snipping"
plan a good one, and as the gloom of night thickened over their
"spotted" camp, the horses were tied to a tree and Mike to a stone,
and everything made ready like a trap to be sprung on the unsuspecting. The beds stretched in their usual places, with the
appearance of being occupied, and the camp looked peaceful
enough as the two cowboys, in a hush of chilly intensity, repaired
to their ambuscade ; and settled themselves for the long or the
short vigil and the bloody business at the end of it.
Their position was a good one. They could not be approached
nor seen from either side or behind, and a sturdy breastwork of
ragged rocks stood up in front. Furthermore, the camp and the
approach to it, lay in full sight and at close range.
"I'll pick off the head one, and you take the next, "whispered
young Rojer as the two rifles came into position. Juan gave his
consent with a relish, and became a dark, still, fixture. Was he
asleep? Never! To sing would have been madness, but there
is no doubt that his being throbbed in its vigil to the unsleeping,
undying beat of "Chile con carne y leche con pan."
No sound disturbed the quiet darkness — no sound but from
the restless horses around the cedar. The chilly winter air seized
upon Ben's fingers and toes, and his limbs began to ache from
being so long cramped and still. The hot pulse which boiled up at
sight of the track, was no longer sufficient to keep him warm, or
prevent the better ways of his wonted self.
He harked for the Intangible. Into the heavy silence of night
he turned his anxious ear, and cudgeled his mind to the effort. No
force moved the machinery of his brain to lofty thought or new
truth ; he felt only the hard spirit of revenge — he. heard no voice —
he clung desperately to the frail fabric of his own cold-blooded,
fallible, judgment.
Fearful as he had been that Juan would fall asleep, and often
as he had sounded the dark figure to ascertain whether the step
and swing of the "Chili con carne" had begun to lag,< — he leaned
his own tired head on the stock of his rifle, and lapsed into a profound doze.
On his dreaming eye awoke the light of a cloudy winter morning, and staring blankly up and gape-mouthed at those clouds, lay
Soorowits and Buhre. their greasy shirts smeared in various
places with steaming blood. Ben himself stood over them, gun in
hand, and a sickening chill of terror passed into his system like

<!-- page:303 -->

VOICE OF THE INTANGIBLE 303
a blight. He had no glad exulting thought of victory or deliverance, he felt only a cold horror of the deed he had done, — he saw
only the two still, dreadful things which lay doubled or sprawling
where they had fallen under fire from his ambush.
"Oh I did it ! I did it ! and I can never ! never ! forget it !" he
sobbed in a convulsion of dismay.
His sobbing, or his words, must have made a fearful break in
the time of the "Chili con carne," for, half waking himself with
the fuss he was making, he came back with a leap to the world
of real things, when Juan's sinewey hand gripped his arm, and
Tuan's voice in a loud whisper struck his ear, "What de hell ees
it?"
The intensity of a vivid climax had left Ben's brain in a
state of keen activity. He grasped the situation with his waking
breath, and reached a conclusion before Rido's question had time
to expect an answer. He knew that from the Mexican point of
view, there would be no course but to hug that ambush, — that in
one way only could the invincible "Chili con carne" be moved from
it. So with promptness and force, and lending to his words the
terror he felt, "By George! Juan, it's the devil!" he declared in
a hoarse whisper, "I saw 'im plain as day — we've got to get out
of this in a rush."
Ben was never given to joking or lying, and the simple Rido
believed him implicitly, especially so when Ben admitted the existence of "el diablo," the only thing about which they had ever
disagreed. No sooner did young Rojer mention the dreaded name,
than Juan made a frog-leap over the breastworks, and stood ready
to run. Ben's mind, still spurred to its noblest effort, recalled how
the lash-ropes whistled in and out to the invincible greaser tune,
and quick in the same undertone he gave command, "You pack
up, and I'll stand guard."
The best thing ever given before by Juan Rido to the diamond-hitch, was a snail to a hound when compared to the way
saddles and packs flew into place by the magic Mexican touch.
If the tune to which panniers and rope and canvas whirled, had
been sung aloud, it would have been altogether too fast for
comprehension.
Young Rojer in his ambush, felt an assurance that time
would not fail them, — that the rattle and uproar would not give
them away. Being really free from the awful things of his
dream, seemed like a privilege from Heaven to try again on a
piece of work badly done. He believed the privilege too good in
other respects to fail in length.
It would be interesting to know just how many minutes Juan
consumed in packing and saddling horses, before young Rojer