The Way of a Maid With a Man

The Way of a Maid With a Man By Linda S. Fletcher Carmenita cautiously parted the branches of the thick squaw-berry bushes, behind which she had concealed herself, and peered through. Yes, there he was again, just where she had seen him the morning before. He was seated on a camp stool before an easel, working upon his painting of The Altar of Sacrifice, a magnificent pinnacle that towered be- fore them across the canyon. It is one of the many rich-hued peaks that have won for the colorful Zion Canyon the appella- tion, "Jewel of the Desert." The girl raised her eyes to the towering height — fit inspiration for artist and poet — and thought that it was indeed a rich reward for her early-morning walk to be able to see the first rays of the hidden sun turn to glowing crimson the stains that ensanguined the creamy slopes of the peak and made its arresting name sig- nificant. But best of all was the thrill she expe- rienced as she watched the slender, sensi- tive hands of the artist transfer this marvel of scenic beauty to the canvas before him. An inexplicable tenderness, accentuated no doubt by the morning's loveliness and flow- er-scented fragrance, filled Carmenita's dark eyes as she allowed them to rest on the slender, broad-shouldered figure before her, so graceful in its pongee shirt, breeches of brown corduroy, and high, laced boots, As he occasionally rose from his seat to stand back and study hist canvas, she caught glimpses of a perfect Grecian nose, lips slightly full but repressed to a mere graceful curve, and deep eyes of vivid gray- green, under red-brown brows. His hair, thick and with the suggestion of a wave in its brushed smoothness, was of the same color as his brows; and Carmenita found herself clenching her fingers, as she glimpsed that hair, to re-inforce the re- pression of her desire to run them through the shining locks. "What a leading man he would make," she thought. "The ideal lover to win the admiration of all the femininity of the world!" Carmenita was of the movies and found it easiest to express her admira- tion in terms of the screen. "Well, well, always at it so early!" It was the hearty voice of Jim Maddock, the forest ranger, who was just rounding a curve in the canyon road on his way from his home in the village below, some few miles. As he neared the artist, who smiled a welcome as he finished a careful stroke, Maddock threw the reins over his horse's head and, dismounting, came to the artist's side. There he stood gazing critically at the picture. "Hum — pretty good. You're getting the old canyon's coloring true. Most of the artists that come here don't do that. They daub on bright colors and don't make their painting natural at all." "Glad you like it, Maddock." The artist flushed boyishly at the praise; and Carmenita, in her place of concealment, murmured to herself: "How charming he is!" "That is what I want so much to do, — get it on my canvas true." His eyes glowed as he gazed in rapture at the peak. "Did you ever see anything more won- derful?" he asked. "With the sun on it, one could well believe that those red sand- stone splashes washed down the sides are indeed blood stains of the sacrificial altar." "Well, blood has mingled with those stains at that," responded Maddock. "Did you ever hear the story of the Altar of Sacrifice, Vaughn?" "Is there a story?" Julian Vaughn's voice was eager. "I should like to bear it. A story gives an emotional back- ground to a picture that makes it possible for an artist to inject into his portrayal the essence of a mysterious something that makes his picture live. At least, it always affects my work that way."

THE WAY OF A MAID WITH A MAN 765 "Well, I dunno but what I might as well tell you that story now, seeing that I have stopped for a while. It is more habit than necessity that brings- me into the canyon so early. That moving picture bunch I told you about want me to help them today, but they won't be working yet awhile." He eased his rather stiff, tall, bony body to the vegetation-covered ground. When he was comfortably seated on the hardy mountain verdure, he took off his wide-brimmed hat, revealing an expanse of hairless dome above his kindly weath- erbeaten countenance, drew his sandy- lashed blue eyes to mere slits, as if he would concentrate on his narrative, and began: "This happened a great many years ago, when the whites first set out to subdue this- southern country. The thieving Piute Indians were not very friendly, and we got into a great many scraps. At that time they had living with them up in this part of the country a white girl in whose veins flowed some Indian blood, — father was a quarter breed, I believe. He had come back to live with the Indians after the death of his white wife, bringing the girl with him. She loved the wild beauty of the country and seemed happy enough with the Indians; but after her father's- death. she spent most of the time by herself, wandering around on her buckskin pony. She especially loved this canyon and, un- like the Indians, did not fear it. An old legend makes them afraid to come here after night-fall. But Ronda, that was the girl's name, often came here to watch the moonlight on the peaks-. It was she who first found the Retreat. You have seen the waterfall back of the camp?" Julian nodded. "And she spent much of her time there. "One day while in the canyon, she met a cowboy who was tending his small herd of cattle on the heights above and had ridden down a rough trail to explore the country below. A romance developed at once. They spent many moon-lit hours on the white sands of the Retreat. She even showed him her secret trail to the top of the peak we call The Altar of Sacrifice." "But you have not described her to me," Julian interrupted. "Was she beautiful.''" Maddock smiled. "There spoke the artist. But I was seeing her so plainly that I forgot you could not visualize her, too. Her Indian blood was- apparent only in the straightness of her blue-black hair and the dusky depths of her luminous eyes. Her skin was fair, her nose exquisitely straight and slender, and her mouth a luscious thing of inviting curves-. The deep carmine of her cheeks may have held something of Indian heritage. Ah, the lithe grace of her! The cowboy fell madly in love with her sweetness and wild charm." Carmenita started. He might have been describing her own dark beauty. She recalled the preview of her most noted picture, — the picture in which her char- acterization of the sort of Indian maiden Maddock had described had won for her the coveted stardom. She was now in the canyon making pictures for her first starring vehicle. But Maddock had re- sumed: "Well things went on this way for some time. One night, however, when the cow- boy returned from his tryst with the maiden, he found a band of young braves driving off the cattle he had gathered into a corral preparatory to driving them to the settlement. "Incensed at the thievery, he drew his gun and gave chase. The fierce bark of his weapon meant the death of one of the thieves: and the others turned on him in fury, their courage reviving when they found that they had but one pursuer. Knowing that it was folly to try to stand against so many, the cowboy turned and retreated into the canyon. The Indians dared not pursue him in the dark, and he made his way down the dangerous trail, escaping unhurt. "The next morning at dawn he climbed the secret trail to the top of The Altar. The Indians searched the canyon for him all day but fruitlessly. When evening came, they set guards at all the canyon outlets in order that he might not escape.

766 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Ronda learned what had happened and guessed where her lover had taken refuge. She made no sign: but when night came, made her way up the difficult trail, carry- ing food and drink. She told him of his predicament and begged him to stay where he was until she could arrange his escape. "The next day she carried word, — secretly, she thought, because she supposed none of the Indians knew of her love affair — of the situation to the settlement near the mouth of the canyon and asked that armed men be sent to the cowboy's aid. But she was spied upon, the Indians learned of her treachery to them; and that night when she started into the canyon with the message of hope and more food for her lover, a bullet from the gun of a concealed Indian dealt her a mortal wound. On she rode, however, and at last reached her lover's hiding place, only to fall from her pony into his arms, — almost spent. She told him that help would come with the dawn, asked him to kiss her, and died in his arms." For a few moments after the story had ceased, the two men sat musing in silence. Then Maddock rose to his feet, replacing his sombrero. "And that's a true story," he com- mented, "for that cowboy was my uncle and I've often heard him tell it." The sun was just showing an arc of crystal purity through the rock-broken horizon above them. "Well, those movie people will want to get to work while the sun shines," con- tinued the ranger, "so I'd better be mosey- ing along." He turned to his pony. "Haven't decided yet to come up and meet the actors, have you? My invitation won't hold good much longer for they'll soon be through, now." Julian shook his head. "They do not interest me. But thanks for the story; I enjoyed it, even if it has ended my painting for this morning. I shall think of Ronda with each stroke of my brush as I paint this picture and the other one I am doing of the waterfall by moonlight. I shall work there, tonight." "Perhaps, then," said the ranger, as he mounted his horse, "you'll get to see her; the story goes on to say that, when the moon shines bright, Ronda waits for her lover at the old trysting place, — the water- fall." Carmenita clasped her hands and her dark eyes gleamed with excitement. Then giving a vigorous nod of her head, she sped back to camp to prepare for the day's work with the movie company. The time spent before the camera that day was unusually fatiguing, but Car- menita went through her scenes with unquenchable vivacity. Work ended early, as the sun does not long illumine this canyon of sky-piercing heights; and she forgot her weariness at the end of exacting scenes, so well was she sustained by an inner elation. She asked the maid to bring her dinner to the house-tent she occupied, however, and sent word to the director that she planned to retire early. Shortly after dark, Julian Vaughn made his way to the Retreat, a boulder-enclosed bit of beauty back of the Wiley camps. As he rounded the huge rock at the en- trance, he paused in wonder. On the white sands of the sheltered nook, stood a slim figure, attired in some indistinct garb that looked like fringe- bordered khaki. Her bare, white arms were raised toward heaven and her lumin- ous, dark eyes gazed in the same direction. Two thick, black braids made sooty lines against her dress, nearly to her knees. As if at once sensing his presence, her arms dropped to her sides, she bent a wistful look upon Julian, and then fled straight into the waterfall, which at once engulfed her in its shimmering silver. But somehow Julian felt her presence as he sat before the cascade, studying its every phase, making a mental picture to transfer to his canvas on the morrow. Under het spell, the scene before him became a wonder from Fairyland, potent to awaken feelings of enchantment and glamorous romance. As he let this sensa- tion permeate his being, he prayed word- lessly that he might be able to incorporate something of its mysticism into his paint- ing when he should attempt to reproduce the scene the next day. It was with a sigh of regret that he at last arose to go,

THE WAY OF A MAID WITH A MAN 767 when the moon no longer illumined the enclosure. As he made his way back to the cara- van-automobile in which he was making a tour of the beauty spots of the West, he took a pathway of his own and avoided the camp. A thought was struggling for credence in his mind, but he shook his head as he sought to dismiss it. "Of course such beautiful things do not happen," he muttered. "I have been so long alone, that my imagination is getting the better of my common sense." Carmenita could not resist taking the trail the next morning that led to Julian's easel. She wanted to see more of him and this» time was hers. On location, she playfully reminded Maddock that he had not as yet produced the artist friend he had told her about. "Well," the old ranger explained, "he's just wrapped up in his pictures and don't seem to care for anything else. In the morning, he works at his picture of The Altar, and in the afternoon, he is busy with "The Waterfall by Moonlight." He noticed the girl's eager interest. A shrewd light came into his eyes. "Would you like to meet him, Miss Carewe? I'm sure if he saw you he would forget all about scenery and want to paint you. Shall we just casually call upon him?" Carmenita looked up rougishly. "No, no, we mustn't do that," she negated. "We would not wish to disregard Mr. Vaughn's unmistakable wish for solitude." Her dimples twinkled as she turned away. "And surely you would not ask any maid to pursue, so obviously, any man." She disappeared in the direction of her tent. * * * That night Julian tried to discourage the hope that kept singing in his heart. He stamped along determinedly, remind- ing himself vigorously that he was indeed a dreaming fool to expect a repetition of his experience of the night before. But hope was persistent. And there she was as on the night pre- ceding, but this time she was watching the entrance intently. He did not advance but spoke softly, yet distinctly to her. "Spirit of the waterfall, I need you for my picture. Won't you stay awhile and let me sketch you?" After a short moment of indecision, the vision nodded uncertainly but moved closer to the fall, wading into the water with slender bare feet, as if she wished to convey to him that she would vanish into the cascade should he alarm her. Julian advanced a little and set up his camp stool. Then he set to work on his sketch, penciling rapidly, as if he would use to the fullest the precious moments of bright moonlight. His model said nothing until she saw him glance impatiently at the fast dis- appearing moon. His time for sketching was over. Then her voice, seeming but the echo of the rhapsody of the waterfall, made music for his ears: "Why would you paint me," she asked; "thou who hast eyes like my love's but comest in strange guise?" "Because I would catch for my own your beauty and grace while the opportun- ity is afforded," he answered. "Can you not imagine how much loveliness you will add to my picture? 'The Nymph of the Waterfall,' I shall call it." Sud- denly there awakened in Julian's soul a strange hunger. He must not let her go — He stepped nearer and held out his hand. "Won't you be kind and let me feel your hand in mine?" he pleaded. "Surely one so lovely will not leave me to think her impalpable — unreal — " But the vision eyed him haughtily. "You drive me away, rash mortal," she flung at him, and vanished as before into the waterfall. * * * As he worked next morning, Julian paused frequently, his eyes fixed on The Altar. In fancy he saw, on its summit, a slender figure with dark braids, poised for flight. And as he tried to paint, that day, always before him, blotting out the pic- ture on his canvas, was the moon-il- lumined face of the nymph of the water- fall. The sweet coolness of early evening came at last, and he still dreamed of her as he waited for the moon.

768 IMPROVEMENT ERA When the time came for his walk to the Retreat, the loveliness of the walled- off canyon seemed intensified even to his responsive senses. Was its hcauty so poig- nant because of the tryst of delight that he could but hope awaited him? The stars in the narrow strip of sky above seemed to twinkle with a restless secret; the patriarchal peaks were more mysterious than ever, and the hum in the leaf-en- shrouded darkness of shrubbery seemed to speak of fairy conversation. And he was going with a song in his heart to meet whom? Someone as misty and elusive as the moonlight — a phantom? She seemed real enough, standing there before him. Did he but fancy the flush on her cheeks — the light in her eyes? — were they but tricks of the sense-enthralling moonlight? As he advanced, she again retreated to the very spot where she had posed the night before. But Julian yearned for the music of her voice. It seemed more urgent that she should talk to him than that he should use the precious minutes in sketch- ing, even though it was almost his last night for work. "Won't you tell me something about yourself?" he asked — and he held his pencil suspended. The sighing of zephyrs was in her voice, an ache of longing in her pose, as she answered: "I but wait for my true love to come to me. The years of waiting are so long." "I that have come so eagerly at your call — could not I be he?" The vision smiled, faintly and so wist- fully. "But you tarried so long. How can I be sure that you are he?" "I would do anything that you ask. Try me and see." Julian's voice was sincere and half-pleading. She seemed to consider. "Then listen. I would that you should finish the picture you are making of me and then show it to the quaint friend that passes you each day. Perhaps I shall then become real — " Julian said no more but worked as fast as possible. When the Retreat was at last nearly in shadow, his sketch was com- plete enough to be recognizable as the Vision. "Does this please you?" he asked, as he held it out. She hesitated. "Surely you can trust me now?" — Julian pleaded. Without a moment's pause she came forward and took the sketch. She studied it intently. "It will do," she nodded, as she handed it back to him. She retreated but turned as she neared the cascade. "Do not fail to do as I have bidden," she admonished. "I could not wish that this parting would be forever." And the water took her into itself, as before — It was an unusually flushed and starry- eyed Carmenita that watched from the squawberry thicket the next morning as dawn reddened the sky. Julian seemed to forget his painting this morning, when he appeared. He placed his sketch of the Vision on the easel in front of the Altar painting, and sat gazing at it intently, lost in thought. As the time for sunrise approached, he kept an impatient watch of the curve where Mad- dock would first appear. When, after what seemed a time of end- less waiting, the familiar pinto pony with its khaki-clad burden came in sight, Julian sprang to his feet in eager welcome. Maddock was nonplused at his recep- tion. Always before, — although the art- ist's greeting had been cordial enough — Julian had been too engrossed with his work to leave it to assert his welcome; but now his grey-green eyes were black with excitement. The ranger was frankly puzzled. "Well, well," he exclaimed; "you look as upset as if you had seen a ghost. I am flattered that you prefer me to that pic- ture, for it is mighty good; but this is the first time you have let me think you did." "Now look here," responded Julian good-naturedly, but with something of impatience; "don't talk this morning. I

THE WAY OF A MAID WITH A MAN 769 want you to look at something, so get off that horse and do it as quickly as you can." "May I talk, after I look?" asked Mad- dock quizzically, as he dismounted. "All you want to, then." answered Julian, as he paused before the easel. "What can you tell me about this pic- ture!1" Maddock studied the sketch thought- fully. "Derned if it doesn't look as I always imagined that Ronda girl would look in real life," he vouchsafed, stroking his chin, and studying Julian out of the corner of his eye. Julian's voice held a note of sharp rebuke as he turned on the ranger. "Don't tell me that that is all you know about the girl whose picture you see before you." Pleading crept into his tones. "Surely you know something about her — I am certain you can tell me who she is!" "Did you paint her from imagination?" Maddock asked after a silent scrutiny of the picture. He seemed to be feeling his way. "I must have!" Julian's voice held the bitterness that comes from disappointment. The ranger looked at him questioningly. "Did you ever see any of these moving pictures?" — the interrogation seemed ir- relevant. "Never seemed to have time to bother about them." Julian answered. "Why do you ask?" "Well, I think your experiences have been too limited for your own peace of mind." returned Maddock. He paused and studied Julian, who seemed trying to fathom his meaning. Maddock continued. "I happen to know that they are making some tests, up at Wiley's tonight, of the pictures they have made here in the canyon. Better come up." Julian was impatient and somewhat be- wildered. "But what can that possibly have to do with my problem?" he demanded. Maddock chose to be non-committal. "Come and see," he advised, as he mounted and rode away. The day seemed interminably long to the restless Julian. What could the ranger have meant by his advice? It seemed idiotically irrelevant, but the Vision had bade him consult Maddock, and there seemed nothing more to do. There was no moon, as Julian walked to camp that night. The gloom of the canyon was as unfathomable as the gloom that shrouded his spirits. Why had a creature of moonlight and magic come into his life to take away his enthusiasm for his work and his contentment in solitude? The showing of the picture in the large tent dining hall was in progress when he reached camp. The place was crowded. No doubt the picture-people had yielded to the importunities of the camp helpers, the summer visitors at the park, and the men and boys employed on the trails — the existence of whom had been but vague incidents to the seclusion-seeking Julian — and had invited them all to be present at the showing. Strange how these pic- tures appealed to those who had to seek without themselves for something to il- lumine life. Julian realized, with a start, that his self-sufficiency was also a thing of naught; and he was seeking the pictures. He hesitated at the door, but Maddock came to his side from a back seat. "Been watching for you. There's a seat in here." Julian followed him to a chair, and sat down. The settings of the scenes being flashed before him were familiar enough, but the story was disjointed and uninteresting. Julian wondered why he was there. Maddock explained: "Of course all of the story is missing except the sequences taken here. They are just trying these out before leaving location, to see if they need to be retaken. We're so far from the studio that it wouldn't do to have to come back and retake them." Julian merely nodded assent, for sud- denly a figure on the sheet that was being used for a screen caught his attention.

770 IMPROVEMENT ERA It was a girl, and she seemed, somehow, familiar; but he could not see her face as it was turned from him. He found him- self in breathless suspense for her to turn around. She seemed to be fleeing from a pur- suer. Over the canyon boulders she clambered in frightened haste until she came to — yes. it was the rim of the Re- treat. Down the rocky wall she hurried with- out pausing, and her broad-brimmed hat hid her face. Small stones and earth, loosened by her descent, swept to the ground below as she slid down. Rushing to the waterfall she threw aside her hat and turned for one last look at the brutal face that had appeared on the rocks above. It was — The Vision. Though dressed in shirt and breeches, she was st ill unmistakably the girl of the waterfall. The look of fear deepening in her eyes, she turned in desperation and fled — straight into the foam of the cascade. "Not many know there's a cave back of the waterfall." It was Maddock's voice explaining, and Julian turned on him. "Who is she?" — his voice was con- trolled to a mere murmur, but it trembled with excitement. "Derned if it didn't look like the girl in your picture!" Maddock's voice was thoughtful. "Where is she?" Julian's second ques- tion was impatient and he rose and strode to the door. Maddock following. "You mean Miss Carewe?" Maddock asked, dropping subterfuge. "Yes. if that is the name of the girl we just saw." "Why, she told me she would like to meet that artist chap she had heard me talk so much about, so I reckon I can find her for you. Might have met her before, but I couldn't get you to take any interest in — moving pictures — " Julian grinned in the dark as he fol- lowed the ranger. "You might have found a way of con verting me to them," he suggested. Maddock chuckled, as he led the way to where a hammock hung under the big trees. The soft glow of a carbide jet re- vealed to Julian that the hammock held a mist of white, radiant as moon-glow; and he strode forward, while Maddock, with a knowing smile, lagged behind. Carmenita was made a little breathless by the abandon with which Julian knelt at her feet and took her extended hands in his. "To know that you are real," he said, and his voice told all the wonder he felt at the discovery, as if he had half feared to hope that he would find her so. "Yes, I'm a shadow only in r-e-e-1 life," laughed Carmenita softly, but there were tears trimming her lashes. Maddock hurried up. "Why, you haven't been properly in- troduced!" he exclaimed in mock dismay. "But, then," he continued, as they smiled at him. "if Miss Carewe is leaving in the morning, of course there isn't time to waste — " "But Miss Carewe is not leaving in the morning." Carmenita announced archly. "She is staying in the canyon for her well- earned vacation." Julian smiled contentedly at her. "Well the canyon is surely a good place in which to spend a vacation," Maddock replied, approvingly, as he turned away. Facts About Utah The yield of Utah farms per year is more than $10,000,000; livestock, $25,000,000. Manufactured products yield the state each year approximately $300,000,000. Utah ranks second in the United States in the production of silver, third in lead, fourth in copper, and sixth in gold. Some of the finest building stone in the world is found in Utah. Granite, sandstone and varied shades of marble, together with onyx and traverine are found in abundance. Almost every cereal known can be raised in this state. The average yield in oats is 50 bushels per acre, barely 44 bushels. In the yield of potatoes Utah stands second. Utah produces enough evaporated milk each year to make an unbroken line of cans from Salt Lake City to Paris, France.