The valley of Arcana

by Arthur Preston Hankins

Here followed a brief account of the doctor’s imprisonment in the adobe hut at Tanburt Ranch and of his subsequent release by Shirttail Henry and Mary Temple.

“Marvellous Mary Temple!” continued the letter. “Suffering agonies because of her broken rib, she nevertheless refused to give in until she and Henry had ridden to the ranch, after her spectacular hold-up of the prospectors, and set me free. Old Gus Tanburt was mooning about the house, I guess, and we got away from the ranch after dark with little difficulty. Then I relieved Shirttail Henry of his horse—or, rather, Tanburt’s horse—and Mary and I rode all night to Diamond H Ranch. Henry, I suppose, walked back to his camp in the buttes, with fifty dollars that I gave him for another drunk. He said he had spent all of the two hundred and fifty that you gave him for his services as guide. Poor old Henry! Mary says one more hot day will finish him!

“At Diamond H we got my car and I drove Mary to the city, where I rushed her to a hospital and commanded her to stay there. Then I got what I needed from my laboratory, having in the meantime thought of trying to float medicine and other things to you down Lost River in brass cylinders, provided I should fail to reach you by airplane. It all depended on whether Lost River actually ran underground to the Valley of Arcana. I knew that it was snowing hard in the mountains, but that it was too late for me to get in afoot.

“I was fortunate in being able to hire a government monoplane, but the pilot was doubtful about the mountain blizzards from the outset. However, he was game and willing to do his best, and we set out hopefully.

“In a surprisingly short time the mountains were below us, and I thought of all the hardships you and I had gone through in covering the same distance. But the storms were raging; we could see almost nothing of the land beneath us. It was impossible to make a landing anywhere, but when a blizzard caught us we made one nevertheless.

“I thought my last day had come when we swooped down at terrific speed. But the pilot regained control of the thing, and, though we could not rise again, we came down much more slowly. We landed in a snowdrift high up in the mountains, and my pilot was knocked senseless, having struck his head on something in the fall. I was completely unhurt.

“I was a long time locating ourselves. I had to work alone, because Lieutenant Cantenwine, the pilot, was helpless. But finally, wandering about, I came upon a streak through the forest where trees had been felled and brush cut, indicating a trail under the snow. I followed it, and it led me to an Indian village.

“I had stumbled upon the reservation that Henry told us about at Shirttail Bend. The Indians were kind and readily offered to help me. The entire tribe, I believe, accompanied me back to Cantenwine and the airplane. It was the biggest day in their lives.

“They carried the lieutenant to the reservation on a stretcher, where I put him to bed. His skull is not fractured, but he has had a terrible shaking-up and was out of business. I had no way of knowing whether the plane was damaged or not, for I know nothing about airplanes. So I paid no attention to that, but next day questioned the Indians about Lost River, and was told that the source of it was not many miles away. They offered to take me to it on snowshoes, and we set out early through a driving storm.

“We reached it, and, with the awed natives standing about, I launched two of the cylinders. Two days later I went again with a guide and launched the third. Since then I have spent the greater part of my time doctoring Cantenwine and, since the weather has cleared, watching for the second stream of smoke, which never rose.