Those weeks on the trail with old Gunnison and the pack train of two horses and a mule were full of joy to the city-bred man, who had rarely escaped the pavements. The high altitudes, the vivid desert colors, the beauty and the savage wildness of this little-known part of the world filled him with ecstatic happiness as well as abounding health. He became hard and rugged, losing the pallor of the city man and all the petty physical weakness that had contributed largely to his fits of depression. Health made a new man of him in mind as well as in body. He hardly recognized himself when he awoke in the morning. Never before had he known what it was to be heartily in love with life, thoroughly vital, eager to act, to plan, to embrace the struggle of living; so light and free from distressing doubts, so willing to test what destiny held in store for him! Just as the exciting events of his sudden journey and his hours in Krutzmacht’s office had awakened his will and his self-reliance, so these weeks of wandering free through the desert and the mountains were the best sort of preparation for a strong, active manhood. Fortunately they had come to him before it was too late, before his character had finally settled into its groove, and new powers were evoked in him, even physical possibilities, that he might never have suspected to be his.
The nights under the glittering cover of the Arizona heavens, the long days of peaceful activity in the sunlight, the silence and the majesty of these vast desert spaces appealed to him strongly, satisfied that love of beauty and of mystery that had been crushed hitherto. Lying awake beneath the stars, his head pillowed on his bag, which had rapidly lost its suspicious appearance of newness, he speculated upon much that had never before entered his head. And his feeling about Krutzmacht and the accident that had brought them together changed. It was no longer a mere wild jaunt, something unreal, like an adventure in piracy. It was part of the great enfolding mystery of the universe that had touched him and enlisted his life. It seemed that he had embarked upon a mission that must end in a great experience.
At this time of life, with the blood flowing actively through his body, his mind awake to all the voices of the earth, it was but natural that woman should enter into the affair. Krutzmacht’s last mumbled word,—that dubious “Melody,”—served him as point of departure for romantic dreams. Forgetting altogether his reasonable hypothesis that it might prove to be the name of some firm of German bankers he assumed that “Melody” must be the name of a woman. A queer name, doubtless, especially for one in any way connected with the old German, who seemed to have no affinity for fine art or even womanhood, other than the common stenographer of his office. Nevertheless, in obedience to the desire of his heart, Brainard created a person to fit the name, and thought of Melody as a woman.
From this his thoughts wandered occasionally to the little girl who had guided him to old Gunnison’s. He saw her slight, wistful figure as she stood motionless watching the procession of trains, heard her soft voice and gurgling laugh. He resolved to return some day to this wonderful country, his mission fulfilled, and discover that abandoned mining town of Monument, and find there the little girl on the pony who had come to his rescue in the darkness. He had probed old Gunnison for more exact information about the girl, but either he knew nothing more than that “she belonged up Moniment way” or did not care to tell what he knew.
On other matters he was more communicative. He had been long in the country, knew it in the old days before it had been invaded by railroads and large mining companies. He had prospected from the Colorado River south to Chihuahua in old Mexico. He had driven cattle from Texas to Nebraska, and latterly worked on the railroad. He knew Indians, “greasers,” miners, cowboys, and for hour after hour he talked of what he had seen “before it got so dern ceevilized in these parts.” In other words, before there was a railroad line two hundred miles to the east and another three or four hundred miles west! He knew where to camp and where supplies could be got without arousing undue curiosity. He knew horses and mules and men. And he taught the young man some of these useful things that he knew so that when they parted in the city of Guadalajara Brainard felt more grateful to him than to any one of the regular instructors of youth, who had given him his so-called “education.” He paid him liberally for his services, and the old man, sticking the bills beneath the band of his felt hat, made a few final remarks to his patron:
“I don’t know where you come from, my son,—hain’t asked yer, and I don’ want to know. You’ve treated me right, and I’ve treated you right. I guess if you keep free of cards, and drink, and women, and keep on agoin’ due saouth, you’ll likely strike the City of Mexico, before you be much older, and keep your belongin’s with yer,” he added, smiling upon the bag that Brainard had so carefully guarded.
“I think I’ll try the railroad for a change,” Brainard laughed back.
“It’s quicker—sometimes,” the old man admitted, “if you don’t find too many troublesome persons traveling the same way!”
With this last hint he waved farewell and started northwards for the States.