# South, West and North/Part 3/Chapter 1

Adventure magazine, 30 Oct 1924, pp. 52-56.
BOUND NORTH

### I

THE Valley of Mercy was not originally named with an eye to irony. It consisted of a long, deep and winding gash in the volcanic desert-table of Lower California; a mile distant was the Sea of Cortez, the Vermilion Sea, now becoming the Gulf of California. All around this narrow arroyo was empty sea or emptier and more terrible desert. No travelers came this way; none of the ancient caminos of the padres, linking the Jesuit missions, ran near this valley. The gold-seekers who landed farther south, trying to reach California overland, died ere reaching here.
In other days, Indians had stolen palm-shoots from the missions that the Borgia gold had founded, so that now although the Indians were gone, stately date-palms towered along the narrow cañon bed. Here too were vineyards and fruit-trees and garden beds, strung out along the floor of the arroyo. Beneath the sharp, high side walls of the lower valley stretched yellow-gray adobe houses and barracks. Farther up at a curve lay the new house of Doña Hermana.
From this hidden valley, which ran down and widened into nothing near the desolate shore, a trail ran parallel to the coast until it reached the little hidden haven which was known as Puerto Escondido. Into this harbor came Dick Hampton, and, not knowing that the sad voyage was ended, eyed the dreary coast in sullen despair.
Nothing was in sight save sun-smitten rock, sand, pale and cheerless brush, thorny scrub and cactus. The desert began at the shore and ran back into low peaks of varigated hues, fiery and unutterably barren in the white afternoon sunlight.
Hampton was not the same man who had come aboard this schooner in Panama Bay: that long traverse up the coast had wrought changes. Had it not been for the memory of that last scene with his father, of the promise there sealed with a kiss, he would have lacked strength to endure; yet now he did not lack. He was held by long chains from his ankles to a ring-bolt in the for deck. Sun, wind and sea had worked full will upon him; he was black as any Indian, foul and unkempt and tattered, bearded, and through the rags of his shirt showed skin that was seared and scarred by whips. Only his eyes were the same—cool and undaunted eyes of gray agate that blazed from his haggard face.
The woman to whom he owed his present plight, she whom men called Doña Hermana del Diablo, stood by the rail looking at him, a cruel smile hidden in her eyes. This cruelty of hers, like her beauty, was a singular and terrible thing, unlightened by any womanly gentleness or tenderness. As the wife of Potiphar must have gazed upon Joseph in his cell, so Doña Hermana stood on the schooner's deck, regarding Dick Hampton with a malignant eye.
The anchor splashed down, and a boat was lowered overside. The woman gave an order, and two of her men unfastened Hampton's chains at the ring-bolt, and jerked him toward the rail. He went, unresistant, and clambered down a rope ladder into the bow. Four men followed, taking the oars, and Doña Hermana descended into the stern. Another boat was lowered, into which tumbled the rest of the crew, and set out after the first boat for the shore.
The eager words of the four rowers apprized Hampton of the truth, and he stared wonderingly at this desolate coast, perplexed by the seeming absence of life. Glancing back at the schooner, he saw that a scrap of yellow bunting flew at her bowsprit—a signal to those ashore, no doubt. Then he caught a sharp, knowing smile from Doña Hermana, realized that she was watching him, and turned again to the shore.
The boat drew in and scraped the sandy verge. Hampton clambered out, the men followed and ran up the boat, and the señora set foot on land. She came straight to Hampton and handed him a key.
“Take off your chains, for they are no longer needed,” she said. “You are free. You may go where you will—but if you do not follow us closely, you will suffer.”
These words were accompanied by an enigmatic smile, and a burst of guffaws from the men around told Hampton of some deep and bitter meaning. Without response, he stooped and freed himself of the irons, which one of the men then took and carried. The second boat came in and ran her nose on the sand.
A gun banged somewhere among the rocks, and as the bullet whistled overhead, the men laughed uproariously. Hampton heard, like too-sharp echoes, the reports of other guns that dwindled in the distance on the hot afternoon—a signal was being passed. Now a man mounted on a mule appeared, riding down from the rocks to the shore. He was a half-breed, dark with Indian blood, wearing gold-laced sombrero and much tarnished finery. He dismounted, swept the dust with his wide hat to the señora, and presented her with the mule. He then greeted the other men, gave Hampton an incurious glance, and remained leaning on his rifle.
Doña Hermana, after mounting, put the mule to a hardly visible trail that went back from the shore, winding here and there among the groups of cacti, and finally becoming a wider and better defined trail that struck straight down the shore. The men followed, carrying various burdens. Hampton, ignored by them, trailed along. He perfectly understood the bitter irony of his freedom; sharks guarded the water, hunger and thirst guarded the land. It was better to slave for Señor Dias and Doña Hermana, then to perish in miserable torture. Also, Hampton had learned a frightful lesson on that voyage north from Panama. He had discovered that to these men around him he was not a man, but a beast to be tortured and tormented at the end of a leash whenever he would tug—so he no longer tugged at the leash. He accepted what came in stoic silence, which made no sport for them; and they, thinking his spirit so broken that he would no longer fight, presently ceased to find his suffering of amusement.
Indeed, as he stared at the stony trail, the cactus, the far peaks, the hot white sand, Hampton had only one thought. Close at hand, at the end of this path, was Nelly Barnes. Knowing what he now did of the brutes around him, he dreaded, rather than hoped, to see his brother Eli again. Luckily, he had no idea of how close upon him was that meeting with Eli. All his thought was of the girl.
The trail wound on, keeping parallel to the shore. Aside from the “Hidden Harbor” behind its little island, there was no anchorage or shelter for vessels, which sufficiently explained the distance between the port and the settlement of Dias. Presently the ground became appreciably higher, the sea dropped from sight, and the trail wound through a tremendous thicket of spiny bush, such as overlies the Lower California deserts in vast and matted segments. Emerging from this, Hampton found that the others had halted, Doña Hermana speaking with another rifle-armed man who had appeared; and he stared in amazement at the scene which lay before and below him.
The halt took place on an open shelf of bare rock, which lay at the verge of a chasm in the earth; this chasm was the Valley of Mercy. All around was the desert, quivering in the hot afternoon sunlight. Below, however, could be glimpsed the unwonted sweetness of green things—tree-tops, fields in bearing, the sparkle of water. Hampton stared down at the sight, then at a sudden chorus of voices swung around. Approaching the shelf of bare rock by a winding and narrow trail that mounted the cliff-side, where a number of men mounted on mules—and at their head was James Day.
Yet, after the first glance, Hampton realized fully that he was no longer facing James Day, but Señor Dias. Gone was every mark of dress or bearing that had stamped the man as an American; now, from huge sombrero to silver-studded tapideros, the renegade was in every aspect a Mexican. A new-grown dark mustache graced his upper lip, emphasizing the arrogance of his features, and those peculiarly glassy eyes held all the latent ferocity of an Apache.
Slipping from his mount, Dias bowed low to his señora, kissed her hand, and greeted her with evident delight—but all in the restrained fashion of the country. They might have parted but yesterday, so far as the warmth of meeting went. Doña Hermana, indeed, whose reboso was close-drawn, had donned with it all the demure aloofness of a Mexican woman.
“But how have you come?” demanded Dias. “Surely, the schooner——”
“I took another schooner,” she returned calmly. “Ours will follow. The story is too long to be told now—see, I have brought you a gift! Look at it, then join me and ride on home, for I wish to talk with you.”
Following her pointing finger, Dias looked at Dick Hampton with puzzled eyes. Suddenly recognition leaped into his face, and one astounded oath burst from him.
“—— take me, I thought you were dead long ago!” he exclaimed in English, as he stared.
He took a step forward, his predatory gaze drinking in every detail of Hampton's figure. Then his teeth flashed out in a wide laugh.
“What a meeting, what a meeting!” he cried. “And how excellently this good wife of mine seems to have entertained you——”
Doña Hermana put out a hand and touched his shoulder.
“Talk to me, not to him,” she said quietly. “Come!”
“Certainly, mi querida,” responded Dias, and waved his hand to Hampton. “You are free, my friend! Enjoy your freedom. Go where you please. If you wish food and water, come and talk with me below.”
He turned to his mule, mounted, and started for the path, Doña Hermana at his side. Hampton caught a jesting word from one of the men that was illuminating.
“This little sister of the devil puts our master in leading strings, eh? Now we shall see some fun down below!”
They started down the trail, and Hampton followed, understanding perfectly why Dias needed no fetters for his slave-gang. The ghastly mockery of those few words about food and water, explained many things. The rifle-armed guards were not posted to watch for any who might escape from the cañon , but to give notice of any who arrived. The very stones of this terrible desert were impassable to any one not wearing the native hide footgear of the peninsula; even during this short march, Hampton's poor remnants of shoes had been cut to ribbons and rags by the incredibly sharp flints of the desert trail.
The down-path was not a long one, but was narrow and meandering along the cliff face, so that a few men might have held it against an army. Down below, Hampton caught glimpses of a fair-sized little creek, whose waters were conducted by acequias into fields of cane and lucerne and corn; date-palms nodded somnolently, fruit trees were in bearing, and the low adobe houses stood dead-gray here and there. Of the upper cañon at the bend of the creek, where stood the great house of Doña Hermana, he could see nothing.
Then, upon reaching the floor of the lower cañon, Hampton found that those ahead had halted and were awaiting him expectantly. Toiling up the cañon toward them, from where its lower reaches merged with the coast, were two carts, drawn by mules, and escorted by ragged figures. Each two-wheeled cart bore a number of stone blocks; the wheels were iron-bound segments of solid wood, whose ungreased axles filled the cañon with dismal shriekings.
Dias must have had an unpleasant chat on the way down, for he faced his mule about and regarded Hampton with a sudden burst of fury in his face.
“You are very clever, you dog!” he said, yet in a well-controlled voice. “You played a fine little game in Panama, eh? You thought the señora would believe whatever you said, eh? Well, you have learned something by this time, and you shall soon learn more. Speak up, you dog! Do you wish to earn your food and drink here, or not?”
“Yes,” said Hampton, meeting those glassy eyes and knowing the horrible futility of words.
“After this,” said Dias, “when you speak to me you do not say only 'Si!' but 'Si, señor amo!' Here you are a dog, nothing more, and it is I who am obeyed. You understand?”
“Si, señor amo,” said Hampton. At these words the men standing around broke into wide grins; to hear upon the lips of a gringo Yankee these words, used chiefly by broken-spirited Indian peons, gratified their cruelty and pride—for these ruffians had pride of a sort.
“You have evidently been well trained by the señora,” and Dias grinned. “So you wish to work for me, eh? Very well. I shall send for you in the morning. In the meantime, we shall ask this man in charge of the stone-cutting to take care of you overnight.”
Dias turned his mule toward the approaching carts and began to roll a cigarito. In his air was a cruel expectancy, in the manner of the ruffians around was gleeful watching. Hampton met the gaze of Doña Hermana, and read a horrible hidden laughter in her dark eyes. He turned away gladly enough toward the carts, yet sensed that something frightful was in store for him.
Riding on one of the carts was an overseer armed with a long whip, but it was not at him that Dias beckoned with imperative hand. It was, rather, at the man in advance of the carts—a bent, sun-blackened, bearded figure clad in ragged trousers and serape, whose face was all in dark shadow beneath the wide hat of plaited grass.
At the gesture from Dias, this creature broke into a shambling, uneven run, and advanced toward the party with hat flap ping and tattered hide footgear slapping the dust. Coming straight to Dias, he seized the latter's hand and kissed it effusively, with a babble of Spanish.
“Si señor amo! I am here at your command—and here is the señora! Beautiful señora, I kiss your feet and welcome you home. All that I have is yours, señora——”
Suiting action to words, the man bent over the stirrup of Doña Hermana and kissed her toe, then laughed and babbled vapid compliments. With a sudden shrinking sensation, Hampton realized that this creature was an idiot.
“To me, Bobo!” said Dias, and the man answered with a cackling laugh to the name of fool. Dias lighted his cigarito and exhaled a thin cloud of smoke. “I have brought you a present, Bobo—a new and strong man to help you with your work. He is a gringo, and his name is Señor Hampton, Ricardo Hampton. You will treat him like a brave caballero, extend all the hospitality of your quarters to him, and bring him before me at nine in the morning. Look at him, Bobo, and welcome him among us!”
Hampton was wondering what refinement of cruelty lay behind all this—for he sensed such a thing very distinctly, and knew that all eyes were now turned upon him. The idiot turned and came toward him, shambling, hands hanging. Then Dias spoke again.
“Off with your hat, Bobo, and greet our guest politely!”
Obediently, Bobo doffed his wide hat and bowed in mocking welcome. A shiver passed over Hampton, and his eyes widened at sight of the hatless man. Despite the beard, despite the long hair, the haggard features, that face struck into him with frightful recognition; he stood paralyzed, speechless, incredulous, in the grasp of a stiffling horror that mounted and mounted as the fool gibbered at him. Hampton put a hand to his eyes as though to wipe away the vision—looked again, was conscious of the laughter of Dias and the men around, but heeded it not. A spasm of unutterable agony seized upon Hampton as he realized the truth.
In this poor creature he had found his brother.
“Eli!” he exclaimed, dry-lipped. “Eli! Is it you——”
“Welcome, señor, welcome!” cackled the other. “We shall give you of our best——”
A wild cry burst from Hampton.
“You devil, you devil!” he gasped out, as he turned and leaped straight for Dias. So swift and unexpected was his action that it succeeded; in blind and frantic agony of rage he caught Dias by the throat and half tugged him from the saddle.
Then the men around were upon him, kicking and striking, cursing as they drove in blows. Dias himself, freed of that grip, regained his seat and looked on, but his face was slightly pallid.
“Enough!” he said presently, and the men fell back from the half-senseless bloody figure of Hampton. “Take good care of him, Bobo!”
“Evidently,” observed Doña Hermana, as she shook the reins of her mule, “the man needs a hundred lashes or so.”
“All things in due time,” said Dias, and furtively put brown fingers to his throat. “Dios, the man has strength! Yes, he must be broken still further—in due time.”
They rode away side by side, the men following them afoot. And Hampton, as he lifted himself dizzily from the dust, heard the vapid laughter of Bobo at his side.