A Voice in the Wilderness | Page 2

reaching out helpless hands, then dropped them
at her sides and gazed after the fast-retreating train, the light on its last
car swinging tauntingly, blinking now and then with a leer in its eye,
rapidly vanishing from her sight into the depth of the night.
She gasped and looked about her for the station that but a short moment
before had been so real to her mind; and, lo! on this side and on that
there was none!
The night was wide like a great floor shut in by a low, vast dome of
curving blue set with the largest, most wonderful stars she had ever
seen. Heavy shadows of purple-green, smoke-like, hovered over earth
darker and more intense than the unfathomable blue of the night sky. It
seemed like the secret nesting-place of mysteries wherein no human
foot might dare intrude. It was incredible that such could be but
common sage-brush, sand, and greasewood wrapped about with the
beauty of the lonely night.
No building broke the inky outlines of the plain, nor friendly light
streamed out to cheer her heart. Not even a tree was in sight, except on
the far horizon, where a heavy line of deeper darkness might mean a
forest. Nothing, absolutely nothing, in the blue, deep, starry dome
above and the bluer darkness of the earth below save one sharp shaft
ahead like a black mast throwing out a dark arm across the track.
As soon as she sighted it she picked up her baggage and made her
painful way toward it, for her knees and wrist were bruised and her
baggage was heavy.
A soft drip, drip greeted her as she drew nearer; something plashing
down among the cinders by the track. Then she saw the tall column
with its arm outstretched, and looming darker among the sage-brush the

outlines of a water-tank. It was so she recognized the engine's
drinking-tank, and knew that she had mistaken a pause to water the
engine for a regular stop at a station.
Her soul sank within her as she came up to the dripping water and laid
her hand upon the dark upright, as if in some way it could help her. She
dropped her baggage and stood, trembling, gazing around upon the
beautiful, lonely scene in horror; and then, like a mirage against the
distance, there melted on her frightened eyes a vision of her father and
mother sitting around the library lamp at home, as they sat every
evening. They were probably reading and talking at this very minute,
and trying not to miss her on this her first venture away from the home
into the great world to teach. What would they say if they could see
their beloved daughter, whom they had sheltered all these years and let
go forth so reluctantly now, in all her confidence of youth, bound by
almost absurd promises to be careful and not run any risks.
Yet here she was, standing alone beside a water-tank in the midst of an
Arizona plain, no knowing how many miles from anywhere, at
somewhere between nine and ten o'clock at night! It seemed incredible
that it had really happened! Perhaps she was dreaming! A few moments
before in the bright car, surrounded by drowsy fellow-travelers, almost
at her journey's end, as she supposed; and now, having merely done as
she thought right, she was stranded here!
She rubbed her eyes and looked again up the track, half expecting to
see the train come back for her. Surely, surely the conductor, or the
porter who had been so kind, would discover that she was gone, and do
something about it. They couldn't leave her here alone on the prairie! It
would be too dreadful!
That vision of her father and mother off against the purple-green
distance, how it shook her! The lamp looked bright and cheerful, and
she could see her father's head with its heavy white hair. He turned to
look at her mother to tell her of something he read in the paper. They
were sitting there, feeling contented and almost happy about her, and
she, their little girl--all her dignity as school-teacher dropped from her
like a garment now--she was standing in this empty space alone, with

only an engine's water-tank to keep her from dying, and only the barren,
desolate track to connect her with the world of men and women. She
dropped her head upon her breast and the tears came, sobbing, choking,
raining down. Then off in the distance she heard a low, rising howl of
some snarling, angry beast, and she lifted her head and stood in
trembling terror, clinging to the tank.
That sound was coyotes or wolves howling. She had read about them,
but had not expected to experience them in such