Tabitha Read Free Page A

down in the tent’s scanty
profile, the single refuge to be found for miles.
    Every hour of the day I had to shift the box upon which I
sat so as to remain within the tent’s shadow; every hour of the day the sun’s
blazing furnace intensified.
    When blessed night arrived, the stifling heat retreated but
slightly; by daybreak the temperature was already clawing its way up to blister
and torture the land—and us—once more.
    And we had been camped in this awful place for two weeks. I
lifted my dry eyes to the path that led up the craggy hillside.
    Still no sign of Cray.
     
     
    Four months back, Cray had begged me to leave my folks. He
pleaded with me to leave them, leave their pretty little patch of land
alongside a seasonal Texas creek, and venture west with him to seek fortune and
glory in the Arizona gold fields.
    “There’s gold to be had in Arizona Territory, Tabitha, just
by pickin’ it out of the sides of hills,” he bragged with shining eyes, “and
the price of gold is goin’ up like fireworks on the Fourth o’ July. Why, once I
get my share, we’ll be set for life. I’ll never have t’ work again.”
    The first time Cray came to call on me, my folks had studied
him with misgivings. They were not educated people and they did not come out
and say as much, but I knew they did not care for Cray.
    Then I overheard Daddy tell Mama, “Thet boy ain’t got the
sense God give him.” A moment later he added, “And he’s wild. A dreamer. Too
much like her .”
    It was true. I had an unruly streak as wide as the day was
long, and I was drawn to Cray, pulled to him by the thrilling, adventurous future
he painted for me. Life on my folk’s little spread was spare and it was
good—but it was the same, always the same , day in and day out,
year after year.
    I rebelled against a life of monotony, of that dreary
sameness—a future that held nothing different, only more of what I already knew
and, with youthful contempt, despised.
    My wild streak was companion to an even wilder temper, and I
often allowed my temper to rule me. I was an only child—spoiled, headstrong,
and willful. My folks loved me, but they scarcely knew how to curb the
unrestrained young woman I was growing into.
    To listen to my mother, my hot, rebellious disposition was a
great weakness. I know now how right she was, but at that time? When I heard
what Daddy said—about Cray being too much like me?—it rankled my temper, and I
set my jaw and my obstinate will against my folks’ wisdom.
    And Cray? I think he was bedazzled by my red hair. He raved
over what he called “the unflawed beauty of my milky complexion” and “the
glowing flames of my long tresses.” My young, inexperienced ego swelled, and I
preened under such high praise.
    Cray certainly had a way with words! And as the days went
by, he pressed me harder to leave with him.
    The life Cray promises will be better than this dismal
old farm , I had assured myself when Conscience raised its unwelcome head.
Oh, I knew that running off with Cray was not right. It went against everything
Mama had taught me about decency, and I told Cray as much. I challenged him to
prove my folks wrong.
    In response Cray had pledged me a ring, a church wedding,
and a house. Oh, he promised so many things! But always, “As soon as I make my
fortune.”
    Finally, I gave in.
    One cool morning, Cray and I headed for the Arizona gold
fields. I rode behind Cray on his pony until we reached the southwest edge of
the New Mexico Territory and entered Arizona Territory. There Cray traded his
pony for a pack mule named Sassy. He poured most all of his cash into the tools
and supplies he would need to work his mine. Last of all, he bought a claim, a
claim that (he was told) would yield more than enough gold to set us up for
life.
    What we had found when we arrived at the claim was
uninhabitable desert, vast wastelands, and an empty, gutted pit in the side of
a mountain. The claim may have boasted of gold at one