--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Albert R. Lyman collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 17 number: 7 published: 1914-05 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'Albert R. Lyman, "Voice of the Intangible—XXVI," *Improvement Era* 17, no. 7 (May 1914): 628–636.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1707unse 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: improvementera1707unse start_page: 628 end_page: 636 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1914-05) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera1707unse 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—XXVI Voice of the Intangible BY ALBERT R. LYMAN Chapter XXVI. —When the Idols Moved The day of delivery was a hard one. Late in the afternoon, hungry and thirsty and g'ray with dust, Ben loped into Green- water and took a heavy drink from the spring. The deal was finished in all its details, and the Rojer brand belonged to West & Co. They had already hired Juan for the home drive. Ben might go whenever he pleased; he had the munificent check in his pocket. All hands expected him to start after supper for Clay Hill, and Juan's mouth became a half-moon of astonish- ment when young Rojer asked the outfit to take Mike and his horses along with them, at the same time announcing his own intention of going back towards the lake, and out by way of Bull Valley. West's men agreed it was a stupid thing to do, and tried to talk him out of the notion. He met their theories and opinions with a firm refusal to go down Clay Hill, and when they promised to care for his horses and his dog, he prepared three lunches in a sack and three feeds of grain in a nose-bag. With the first break of day. West started his brawling- herd for Clay Hill Pass, and Ben rattled his spurs and sent Deut on a brisk trot down Castle Gulch. He crossed Castle Hill when the desert sun began to beat fiercely clown on the sand, and turned abruptly out of the trail, and off among the scattering cedars and rock-knolls to the south. At ten o'clock he halted on a lime-stone peak, and scanned the country all around. He felt lonesome and depressed. Three miles farther on he recognized the hill up which he loped old Buck in a frenzy of fear, on that day when Stripes staid with Bowse in camp. Something of that same old feeling came back from the stillness around, and resolved itself into the words of dear old Tennyson: "Oh weary life! Oh weary death ! Oh spirit and heart made desolate!" Bull Valley came in sight at noon: a quiet, narrow, heated gulch-bottom, winding far down along the base of two ragged cliffs. Young "Rojer took one long look into the still depths. No sound, no motion, no summer breeze to stir upward from those gleaming sand-hills and whisper a word or a name. All the same VOICE OF THE INTANGIBLE 629 Ben turned away, suddenly aware that he had ridden miles and miles contrary to his strong- est impressions. He would not venture into Bull Valley, itlooked like a death-trap. We may never know what danger crouched in the rocks by young Rojer's intended trail but while he ; turned his uncertain course towards Pagahrit, he felt sure that two snaky fe- male eyes would scan the trail in vain, and two hawk tal- loned hands would weary of gripping a murderous old forty-five-ninety. He hid escaped through that valley once the trick would not bear ; repetition. Of the hazy distance on all sides, the south-west alone beckoned the wanderer on- ward and while he turned ; reluctantly towards it, a cloud of doubt settled blackly around him. He doubted the wisdom of his course, he doubted himself, he "doubted 'The rocks by young Rojer's in- truth to be a liar." "Is there tended trail." really any voice besides my own fear and prejudice?" he demanded of himself. "Have I one solid excuse for coming like a fool down among these dangerous rocks? I'm like Montana, running from some imag- inary thing, and I'm running straight towards the junction where I'll have to stop and meet 'em, or jump off the cliff." He looked at his glittering revolver and his saddle-gun, and fancying himself another Montana indeed, he reined Deut around and started for Castle Hill. But if ever the Intangible yelled a protest with reverbrating silence from the bald rock-knolls of Pagahrit, it was then. It wouldn't do and young Rojer turned ; again towards the rock-ribbed junction, though a sickening sense of fear passed over him like a shiver, and the vision of the rock- knoll rose as an unrelenting spectre before his mind. "By George! I am alone for it at last," he whispered in despair, "not even old Mike." : " 630 IM I'ROVKMEXT I'.RA He looked once more at the danger-gloom on the hills to- wards Castle Wash, and held resolutely to his course. The after- noon hung heavy with forebodings; the lunch sack jolted about untouched on the dusty saddle. From every hill-top he searched the surrounding country with its doubtful distant scars and specks, and scowled at the heat-legions for the tricks they might play upon him. He rode on the lope to dispel the gloom he slowed ; down to a walk in his efforts to become his wonted self and hear comfort from the Intan- gible. Then he tried a song, but the first half-tolerable burst dwindled into a dream- ing drivel "In the hazy distance, hidden from view, Close by the trail I am waiting for you. Waiting in and low — ambush, crouching At this juncture he roused himself and turned over the old cut-off to the old camp-ground above the lake. A SUSPICIOS-LOOKING SCAR ON A Down over the rock he rode, SMOOTH SAND-STONE. and up instinctively to a tree below his cave. He threw the reins over a limb, climbed the hill, and was anticipating some form of relief, when his eye met the glare of a spitting wild-cat cornered in the back of the cavern, and all but. ready to spring upon him. He must kill the cat or leave the cave, and not liking to hazzard the noise of a shot, he staggered back down the hill. With his hand on the saddle- horn, he looked earnestly and imploringly all around, kneeled on the dry willows by Deut's hoofs, and then, almost to his — own disappointment, and contrary to all he might explain, rode briskly out of the gulch and on towards the impassible barrier, where the gorge of the San Juan opens at an acute angle into the gorge of the Colorado. When the sun sank out of sight, and the dim moon-light fell again on the sand-hills, he still rode on, wearily into the night, up and down, over hill and rock veering now to the right to pass ; a rough ledge, turning now to the left to avoid a bald, smooth knoll.' a VOICE OF THE INTANGIBLE 631 The moon went down and the hills became strange, — strange, dark, frowning, lonesome world. All afternoon he had steered straight for the perilous corner, but now all directions were dark and uncertain alike, and he drew rein, lowered himself from the saddle, and kneeled on the warm sand. "Oh Heaven!" he cried, looking up at the distant glitter of — stars, " 'having eyes, see not, and ears, hear not' if ever I should see and hear it is now, and I am stupid and blind, and lost in this dreary wilderness." The words choked in his thirsty throat, and lowering his face on his wrists, he sobbed like the little Ben Rojer who loped Buck frantically up the sand-hill. In those days he heard no re- sponse to his grief, but now to his sobs and his tears, came tender answer from somewhere in the dark expanse. A soothing some- — thing seemed to draw caressingly near, to hover above his weary, kneeling self, and speak in a strange, comforting language. He loathed the thought of food because of his feverish thirst, but he gave Deut a feed of grain, hobbled him closely and stretched full length on the warm sand. If he might judge by sound, he and his brown horse were the only living creatures on earth; why not sleep? the atmosphere whispered temporary se- curity. Feeling no further fear, and no reason for a continuous vigil, Ben dropped his head on his wrists, and the perils of his situation vanished in the dream of a cool spring, from which he drank without quenching his thirst. Several times in the night he awakened, and made sure that the brown horse was not wandering too far away. Towards morning the sand became uncomfortably cool, and before the first doubtful nimbus crowned the eastern horizon, Deut stood saddled and ready to act, as soon as the daylight should indicate what that action ought to be. Gradually the distorted face of nature assumed its old-time expression. Slick Rock materialized on the right, and off to the left, towards the lake and the sun, The Idols, little Ben Rojer's "Egyptian idols," stood up side by side on their hump-backed pyramid of sand and rock. But even before the sun came up be- hind them into that clear sky, spreading out a morning as fair as Paradise might desire, — even when the light preceding the sun itself, shone so mildly and softly over and between those idols, that Ben could look straight towards them, silhouetted against the glory of infant-day, they had an unnatural appear- ance. Of course, the eastern desert horizon is peculiarly liable to mirage in the morning, and it might be mirage that lent the idols their perverted shape. At all events they were not as Ben remembered them, and once or twice, if his eyes did not deceive him, they grew tall and short, fat and lean, in a manner truly remarkable, — and more re- ! 632 IML'kOVKMKNT ERA markable because the surrounding country retained its familiar shape. But he had seen idols grow fat and lean before, he had seen the dancing spirit-legions of heat transform themselves into the real, copper-faced Soorowits, in the days when Toorah's charred remains lingered fresh in his recollection. In those days every tree and rock refused to be anything but Soorowits, till young Rojer drew tremblingly near and made them ac- knowledge their identity. Now, in his weight of apprehension, he could expect nothing better from the morning mirage at ; least he thought so, as the blazing sun rose up behind those doubtful figures, out-dazzling his efforts to watch them. He could not afford to become a Don Quixote, and quake before every tree and rock as he used to do and looking on to the west ; he saw the cotton-woods above Maverick Tank, which suggested the possibility of a drink. As he rode down the last sand-hill towards the verdure of the shallow gulch and the trees, the word and the feeling leaped back and forth on his nerves, "spotted." He was no more con- scious of his raging thirst, than of the fact that human eyes watched his course down each draw, and over each unavoidable raise between him and the coveted water. As he rode down the last sand-hill towards the verdure of the gulch, the very trees were full of still voices, and from the jungle of oak and bull-berry on the hill-side, arose a hushing sigh as when a congregation draws a long breath of dreadful expectancy. The soft morning breeze up the gulch, became a multitude of whispered questions and answers ;and the limbs nodded their affirmative, or swayed their negative answers to the — matted growth by the low cliff. It was of tragedy of death. It was that awe and terror of the human heart, when the blood of life is about to be spilled Ben rode straight to the water. The fever of his thirst and the faintness from his hunger, led him on among the voices like a man in a spell. He heard them all, 'tis true, but the mind in time of heated action may not dwell unduly on one thing it ; must take prompt account of the whole situation. When the bit was removed from Deut's mouth, young Rojer sprawled on the sand and lowered his own face to the water within three feet of the brown horse's nose. While that great brown horse still drank, in his slow, swallow-at-a-time fashion, Ben dropped the reins and climbed to the brow of the opposite cliff. The idols towered in full view, the same familiar shapes which had stood for years on that hill, but below them on the sand, two specks came racing pell-mell. — "Well I'll be " he checked a long gasp of surprise, "that's what they build 'em for. Come you ! I won't run a step farther." VOICE OF THE INTANGIBLE 633 The vision of the rock-knoll found no place In his crowded brain at that moment, though he knew one of those specks was Soorowits coming from the distance, and he knew that he himself was very much alone. This latter thought occupied small place in his mind, however it was crowded out by the furious pulse of ; a gnashing desire for blood, —a passionate eagerness to riddle those beings who followed wolf-like on his track. He came down the cliff as he had gone up it, like a squir- rel, bridled Deut and looked around. Fifty yards up the gulch, a big cool patch of shade spread over a forest of weeds and grass, sloping down on two sides to the bottom of the crooked sand-wash. From the weed-slope, with his eye, he followed the eastern cliff back to where it was concealed by the jungle of bull- berry and wood-bine just above him. Then he sprang to the saddle, loped up to the shade and the weeds, writhed his jumper from his shoulders, and putting it with his wide black hat, improvised what appealed to be his own self asleep on his wrists, his lower limbs and all but his shoulders and hat, hidden by a short thick growth of sun-flowers. When he had made sure it lay in full view, and natural enough for a fifty- yard scrutiny, he mounted again, bare-headed and in his shirt- sleeves, and rode back along the cliff and into the brush. The brush being tall and in bunches, Ben found no difficulty in concealing himself and his horse from any possible view- point, and soon selected the forks of a limb through which to rest his saddle-gun for a dead shot. But Duet might whinney and spoil the whole plan Ben's — hand flew to his pocket for a string. There was no string in it, so he cut one from the saddle, and tied it firmly around the brown upper lip. The kind horse-eyes looked wonderingly at his master in this performance ; but soon that upper-lip began to twist and twitch in the very discomfort young Rojer had hoped to produce. One more item of uncertainty would those two specks fol- : low his tracks up the gulch as he had supposed, or would they ride cautiously along on the top and look in ? They might choose the latter course — he would anticipate it. Ten steps brought him to the ledge, which, at this particular place, presented a broken, shattered surface up which a horse might possibly go. Still warily screening himself, young Rojer peeped out at the sand- hill over which they must come, and on the side of which they would undoubtedly veer from his tracks if they preferred the cliff-brow to^ the gulch-bottom. Time had begun to drag and fill the lone watchman with many uneasy misgivings, when, over the hill, came two speck- like two wolves on a fresh trail. They were no longer specks, however, but wild men on tired cayuses, and they held to the — 634 IMPROVEMENT ERA tracks straight for the water. He waited only long enough to make sure of their course, before cat-footing it back to the bull- berries and pushing his Winchester through the accommodating forks. His position commanded almost a full view of the situa- tion, and he moved the muzzle of his gun from side to side, to ascertain whether any stray limb would limit his range on the right or the left. A cold chill of terror passed over Ben Rojer as he recognized the faces of Soorowits and Buhhre, in spite of their stripes of red and yellow paint reaching from ear to ear. No sooner did they see the dummy in the weeds, than both dismounted, dropping the reins carelessly to the sand; and glided forward, guns in hand, with all the noiseless ease of a snake in the grass. That he had reached the supreme moment of years, Ben felt in every tissue, —drawing all the time a finer bead on one of Soorowit's greasy shirt-buttons. How still! how infinitely still that lonely gulch! and, as if the mighty hush had stayed the wheels of time, a hundred thoughts found passage through his brain, and a hundred scenes moved vision-like before him. Yet he never lost sight of that bead on his rifle, nor of that black, murderous eye, now fairly beaming with anticipation of long-sought revenge. He missed no item of their dress, nor one movement telling of the pitiless hearts with which they might be sneaking "on a sleeping rabbit. He never overlooked the face of the ''smiling, damned villain" ebhind, though on the breast in front he held an aim surprisingly sure to himself. They seemed to wear the same tattered clothes they had worn at Pea vine years before, only now there was a strata of blood and grease to represent each killing and each feast since that time. Even the tread of their poorly-moccasined feet seemed to strike sharply on Ben's ears. — And still he listened and waited as if in a trance, listened through the long moments it took those wild men to take a step, listened as if to the voices of eternity, with his finger on the trigger, the hammer raised, and the leaden contents of his rifle aimed with deadly precision at a human heart. The great intangible Something of desert and mountain, hovered over that gulch and spoke clear and strong like a soul — alarmed. It echoed the past it echoed the words of lips made still by death or by distance. Even in the tree-tops and behind him and around him a pleading sound: "Oh my son! My son!" "Oh kid, I done it I done it I can't forget it I hear it ! ! ! in the winds of the night, an' I'm weak as a woman." It takes my slumbering pen long to tell these things, but they happened in a brief, tense moment. "But what shall I do?" called Ben in the same silent voice, VOICE OF THE INTANGIBLE 635 thinking instinctively of the broken hill behind him. It offered a "ghost of a show" for a horse to get up, especially a sharp-shod horse with the nerve of old Deut. Quietly, ever so quietly he lowered the hammer to half-cock, withdrew the gun from its rest and sprang to the saddle. A kind touch to the brown neck, a mere motion of the spurs, and the steel-shod hoofs struck fire from the rocks, and sent their sharp clattering sound up and down the gulch. Ben had no time to pick the best way up the hill, and he sent the brown horse full drive on a slick sidling rock, where he half fell and caught himself, and reached the top by the merest chance against great odds. Also on the top he came for a moment in full view of the wild men below, and a second later their guns rang out in loud report but whether they thought the horse ; riderless, and with that opinion fired at the unoffending coat and jumper, or whether they saw young Rojer and tried to bore him in the back, he could not tell. He knew only that on the top the very sun shone brighter, and the voices of sorrow changed to tones of joy, cheering him wildly onward, and assuring him of triumph. He drove straight for the nearest hollow, and doubtless would have reached it before the first black heads peeped up be- hind, if the two cayuses, frightened with the noise of the guns, had not come charging up the sand-hill at right angles towards him. Even then he was all but ready to pass them as things too dispicable for notice, when something in the lively influence all around, suggested that they were lawful contraband of war. He acted quick on the suggestion, and his long-offensive six-shooter became for once useful while he slowed up just enough to empty the six chambers into those foaming mustangs, leaving them kicking and struggling on the sand. The smoke of the last act in this pony-killing performance had not passed away, when young Rojer caught sight of the first Pahute to poke his gun-muzzle over the hill-top from the gulch. He "socked" his spurs with a vengeance into Dent's cinch, all the time keepng his eye on that gun behind, and when the little cloud the of smoke appeared, he threw himself quickly to one side in quick- saddle, at the same time turning the brown horse with a ness which knew no mercy. Though the ball sang idly by, it told the brown horse the full peril of the situation,— a situation he knew by experience. Before they reached the hollow, he "tacked" twice of his own violence as almost accord, each time with such suddenness and to throw Ben sprawling. A last look before they plunged over the bank showed two dupes full length on the hill, guns at shoul- bullets missed him by der, and young Rojer felt that one of their about the breadth' of a gnat's heel. 636 IMPROVEMENT \< \ Dent burnt the earth around the first and second turn of that sand-draw, and then gradually yielded to the rein. Still there flashed in his eye the eagerness and power which had no doubt saved Montana, as it now saved Ben, from firing pursuers. A mile and a half up the draw, young Rojer turned straight for the lake, steering purposely over a hill-top, from which he saw two specks moving forlornly over the sand behind him. ' 'Walk, you suckers, walk,' " he said, beginning at the same time to untie his lunch-sack, for which he felt a gnawing desire. And while he ate with ravenous appetite, he fancied two cayuses puffing up like baking-powder biscuits in the sun, and four poorly- moccasined feet sinking ankle-deep in the soft, hot sank But they would never overtake him, and wherever the snake-eyes and hawk-tallons might be, they were not between him and Castle Hill for the country beamed with light and invitation the gloom ; ; of yesterday had gone. Young Rojer ate heartily without stopping. The nodding flowers invited him onward, the voices from all around bade him make good time, and he obeyed them. He passed the lake by the cut-off, and at length on Castle Hill halted for a last look at the heated regions behind. "This chapter's closing fast," he mused, "Deut's tracks'll blow full of sand, and the rain'll wash 'em off the earth. It'll wear out Alec's bones, and maybe the date on the wall, too." Pagahrit would again be the home of the outlaw, and the Intan- gible would sing its pleading dirge, and call from the bald knoll to ears dull of hearing. Also the heat-legions of seraphs would soar to and fro over the heated waste, but from the old crossing to Little Mountain, and from Slick Rock to Castle Hill, they would pass no human eyes that could see. ("Adios" is the title of the next and last chapter of this story.)