CHAPTER I.

A DESERT PICTURE.

As far as the eye could see, and for leagues beyond the reach of vision, one of the most wonderful landscapes of the world was outspread in every direction. Castles of massive build with battlemented towers, Greek temples, slender spires, columns, arches, and walled cities with lofty buildings rising tier above tier met the view on every side. Not only were these structures of the most graceful modelling, but they were of such a brilliancy and variety of coloring as may only be seen in that land of wonders. While the prevailing tints were red or crimson, these were toned and contrasted with every shade of yellow from orange to buff, by greens, purples, and pinks, white, brown, and in fact every variety and combination of color known to nature. Some of the slender columns were even frosted as with silver, while others were surmounted by groups of statuary.

Broad avenues wound in and out among these gaudily tinted structures, and from them wide terraces--red, yellow, pink, or white--swept back and up smooth and regular, as though built of squared marble blocks. Apparently interspersed among these beautiful objects were shady groves, blue lakes, rippling streams, and cool, snow-capped mountains; but these were of such a curious nature that they came and went like the moving pictures of a vitascope. Even the solid objects that one might be certain were real were so sharply reflected in the heated atmosphere above them that it was impossible to discern where substance ended and its pictured counterfeit began.

In thorough keeping with these wonders was another close at hand, which was the strangest of all. It was nothing more nor less than a forest of prostrate trees lying in the wildest confusion, as though levelled by a hurricane. Although they were broken and scattered over a wide area, everything was there to prove that they had once been of vigorous growth and noble proportions. Great trunks, limbs, branches, and even twigs, many of them still retaining their covering of bark, were strewn on every side; but all, even to the tiniest sliver, were turned into stone. Not ordinary gray stone such as appears in the more common fossil forms, but stone of the most exquisite color and shading, such as red jasper, clouded agate, opalescent chalcedony, shaded carnelian, or banded onyx. These substances are deemed precious even in the palace of a Czar, but here they appeared in greatest profusion, many of them retaining so clearly the markings and general aspect of wood that they could not be mistaken for anything else. It was a fossil forest of what had been in some dimly remote geologic age stately pine-trees, with waving tops and whispering branches, perhaps filled with joyous birds, and sheltering the strange animal life of a prehistoric world.

Now all was silent and motionless, with no more sign of life among the fossil trees or their gorgeous surroundings than if the whole region lay beneath the spell of some evil magic. Not a blade of grass was to be seen, nor a living green thing of any kind. There was no sound of running waters, nor of birds, nor of human activity. A sky of pale blue arched overhead, and from it the sun poured down a parching heat that rose in glimmering waves above tower and turret, battlement and spire.

These things are not imaginary, nor are they located in some remote and unheard-of corner of the world, but they exist to-day right here in our own land, as terribly beautiful and changeless at the close of the nineteenth century as they were when first seen by a European nearly four hundred years ago. They are the same as when the long-vanished cliff-dwellers roamed amid their wonders, and gazed on them with reverent awe ages before history began, for this is the Painted Desert of Arizona. It is a region almost as little known as the deserts of the moon, and one shunned with superstitious dread by the Indian tribes who dwell on its borders as a place of departed spirits. So desolate is it, and so void of life or the means of sustaining life, that not more than a score of white men have ever gazed on its marvels and lived to tell of them. It is a place to be avoided by all men, and yet we must penetrate to its very heart, for there, with the opening of this story, shall we find our hero.

He is a boy not more than seventeen years of age, seated on a fossil tree trunk that, turned into jasper, resembles a huge stick of red sealing-wax, and he is gazing with despairing eyes at the terrors by which he is surrounded. Beside him, with drooping head, stands a clean-limbed pony, bridled and saddled. A rifle, a roll of blankets, a picket-rope, and a canteen are attached to the saddle, and one of the boy's arms is slipped through the bridle-rein. He is clad in a gray flannel shirt, a pair of blue army trousers that are protected to the knees by fringed buck-skin leggings, a broad-brimmed white sombrero, and well-worn walking-shoes. A silk handkerchief is loosely knotted about his neck, and a belt of cartridges, from which also depends a hunting-knife, is buckled about his waist.

The lad's name is Todd Chalmers, his home is in Baltimore, and on the day before our introduction to him he was a member of a well-equipped scientific expedition that was traversing the valley of the Colorado Chiquito in the interests of a great Eastern college. Mortimer Chalmers, Todd's elder and only brother, and a distinguished geologist, is in charge of the expedition. Our lad, who is an honest, well-meaning fellow, but of an adventurous disposition and extremely impatient of control, had never been West until now, and only by persistent effort had he induced his brother to allow him to accompany his exploring party and remain with it during the long summer vacation. Three-fourths of the journey to their point of destination had been made by rail, and only ten days have elapsed since the party left the cars at Holbrook, where they purchased an equipment of pack and saddle animals. From there they set forth on their independent progress into the wild regions of the Colorado Chiquito, whose valley bounds the Painted Desert on the south.

For a few days, or until the first novelty of this new life wore off, all went well with Todd, who proved obedient to orders and attentive to the duties devolving upon him. Then came trouble. One of the party left camp on a private hunting expedition, became lost, and was only found after a long delay and much organized searching. To provide against further accidents of a similar nature, Mortimer Chalmers ordered that thereafter no member of the party should stroll alone more than one hundred yards from camp, or from the pack-train when it was in motion, without receiving permission from him.

Now Todd was passionately fond of hunting, and, as already stated, was impatient of restraint. He had anticipated unrestricted opportunities for indulging in his favorite sport on this expedition. At the same time not being a paid member of the party he did not feel bound in quite the same way as the others to obey the orders of one whom he regarded with the familiarity of a brother rather than with the respect due one in authority. Therefore the order regarding hunting had hardly been issued before he disobeyed it by galloping half a mile from the pack-train in pursuit of a jack-rabbit, which he finally got, and with which he returned in triumph.

In answer to his brother's query why he had thus disobeyed orders, the boy replied that he did not suppose that particular order applied to him, and that at any rate he was perfectly well able to take care of himself.

"Do you mean, Todd, that you intend to continue in your disobedience of orders?" asked the chief of party, sternly.

"Certainly not, when they are reasonable," answered the lad, flushing at the other's tone. "But you know, Mort, I came out here especially for the hunting, and it does seem rather hard--"

"No matter how it seems," interrupted the other. "I asked you if you intended to continue in your disobedience of my orders."

"And I gave you my answer," replied Todd.

"Which means that you propose to pass your own judgment on them, and then obey them or not, as seems to you best?"

"You can think as you please about it," retorted the other, angrily. "I know, though, that I am not going to submit to being treated like a child by my own brother just because he happens to be a few years older than I am."

"Very well," replied the chief of party, calmly; "unless you will promise implicit obedience to any order I may see fit to issue for the welfare of the party, I shall disarm you, at the same time forbidding you to borrow any other rifle or go upon any sort of a hunting expedition until you do promise what I ask."

"I certainly sha'n't promise to obey any order so foolish as the one in question, and if you choose to play the tyrant, why, you can, that's all. Only remember, if anything unpleasant happens in consequence, the fault will be wholly yours." Thus saying, the lad flung himself out of the tent in which this unhappy interview had taken place, and strode angrily away.

So the boy's cherished rifle was taken from him, and, filled with mingled rage, mortification, and repentance, he passed a very unhappy night. Although impatient and quick-tempered, he was not of a sullen disposition, nor one who could long cherish anger. He was manly enough to acknowledge to himself that he was wholly in the wrong, but was too proud, or rather too cowardly--which is what so-called pride generally means--to confess his fault to his brother and ask his forgiveness.

In vain did Mortimer Chalmers gaze wistfully at his younger brother on the following morning, and long for a reconciliation. As for himself, he could not weaken his authority by showing partiality toward any one member of his party, and must be even more strict with Todd than with the others because of the relationship between them. Thus his position forbade his making the first friendly advances, and when the younger brother, assuming a careless cheerfulness that he did not feel, pointedly avoided him, the other turned to his own duties with a heavy heart.

In the early afternoon of that day, when the leader was riding at some distance in advance of his party, a small herd of black-tailed deer, alarmed by the echoes behind them, suddenly sprang from a small side cañon or ravine, halted abruptly on the edge of the bottom-land, gazed for a moment in startled terror at the strange beings not fifty yards from them, and then dashed madly back into the place whence they had come.

"Give me a shot--quick!" cried Todd to his nearest neighbor, and snatching the other's rifle as he spoke, he fired wildly at the retreating animals. Then clapping spars to his pony, he bounded after them in hot pursuit.