The Coolidge examiner., 1932-07-15
CHAPTER !
Jornada ce la Muerte

ert.
Beyond the level waste were sun
drenched Tomas In the draws of
which patches Of shadow rested, well
come to the spirit in a landscape so
flooded with light. Up one of these
arroyos he would ride to the Frio
River country where his father,
Peter McCann, was lord of the Mid
die justice, the High and the Low.
The young man shifted his seat
so that one foot was lifted from the
stirrup and the other supported part
of his weight. The dark brown face
was hard. with lean Jaw set tight.
Nothing of the thoughts behind
were, mirrored in the inscrutable
gray eyes.
Unmoving, he sat for many min
utes. The desert held for him fas-
cinatlon. II was the dominating In
fuence not only of his own life but
of that Of all living near. At times
he hated everything 1t stood for
drought. starvation. and bleaching
bones, fierce struggle, temporary vic
tory, certain and final defeat. None
the less II was a magnet TO his
thoughts What was the mystery
OF its enticement? How could he
find the key to its hidden meaning7
Jornada de la Muerte had come
down from early days as the name
OF the desert. Those who lived on
its border rarely used the Spanish
designation for 1t. To call this sand
stretch the Journey OF Death would
have been a concession to sentiment
and dread that few cared to make.
Painted desert was the word these
grim taclturn men preferred.
But the Spanish name was we'll
chosen. For everything within reach
OF its dry winds fought for exist
ence.
The desert set the conditions for
men, too, young McCann thought
bitterly. To survive he must have
in him something Of the tough skin
of the cholla, of the poison of the
side-winder. Of the pouncing lust
TO kill Of the wild cat. He must
endure heat and thirst and hunger
or must perish.
Through the stiffness of the
drowsy land a shot rang out sharp
ly. McCann listened, intent and
crouched. In this wilderness the
explosion might mean one Of many
things: a man In a hill pocket. his
back TO a rock wall, flinging def
ance at a circle of enemies; a bui-
let fiung from ambush and u
sprawled figure huddled on the dry
sand; a pilgrim lost and panic
stricken; or the mere wanton exu-
berance of a vaQuero.
A second and a third shot fol-
lower. at intervals. evenly spaced.
1t was distress signal, a call for
help.
McCann drew his revolver and
fired into the air to LET the one in
need know that help was on the
way. Then. swiftly. but without pam
icky haste, he turned and rode along
the bench.
Presently another shot echoed
down the ravine up which he was
moving. This was meant to direct
him, McCann guessed and he fired
once more for assurance to the one
in distress.
Go to II. Jim-Dandy," he urged.
and put his horse at the steep in
cline leading up from the arroyo.
A gentle slope led from the edge
of the arroyo to the base of a hog
back which rose knobbily like ema-
ciated vertebrae of Mother Earth's
spine. The quick eye of the rider
searched for and found way up.
From the summit McCann looked
down on a small grassy park. This
was old Jim Yerby's place. In
what seemed to this young fellow
prehistoric days he had settled
here because of spring that mad
not even in the most arid years
dried entirely. Among the live oaks
nestled a low adobe cabin.
In front Of the hut a woman was
standing. She had in her hands
rifle.
The rider looked across the little
park and discovered that the WON
an was young, almost a girl. slender
and graceful of figure. He won
dered who she could be.
Jim Yerby's hurt" she said
waiting for no introduction. He's
broken his leg. Horse fell on him."
While she elaborated the fact the
young mans train of Thought still
clung to her. What was she doing
here? Where had she come from?
How did it happen he did not know
her. since residents were few in this
end Of the country. and he was ac-
Quainted with them all?
McCann followed her into the
cabin. 1t was a one-room shack,
rectangular, with two small four
pane windows. A man lay on
homemade bed In one corner of the