The Phantom Campfire

I was lost and trying to fight off fear. Gardner had assured me there was water to be found, even in this God - forsaken desert, if I let my horse do the searching.

"The only 'dumb animals' in this country are the two-legged variety," he'd said, patting Blackie's rump with confidence. I didn't much like the description of me he implied, but it gave me a thread of hope. And, as a matter of fact, I was feeling dumb.

When I broke camp that morning, eager to get on to Tucson, I could smell something in the air. It was hot, heavy, menacing. It didn't feel like a storm; they were rare enough in this region anyway. But it was like something was waiting to happen, something unpleasant. I had a safe camp where I was. The sloping wall of the canyon reached up above me making a natural shelter. A small pool fed by a spring at the foot of the canyon wall meant there was plenty of water; and there was no hurry about getting to Tucson. There wasn't any hurry about getting anywhere. Not with Maria gone. So why had I left safety?

Blackie was nervous. His nostrils quivered, sensing the same thing I did--only I didn't know what it was. The dust was in our noses; that was part of it. My sweaty bandana helped keep some of it out, but it was still hard breathing. But the stillness was like somebody was holding down a lid over us, shutting out breath, shutting out air, shutting out sound. We were moving down a dry wash that had no sign of visitors. And

there should have been signs somewhere. That's what was making me nervous.

There'd been no horses this way, no mountain lion. I couldn't even find tracks of a coyote! Where the hell were we? Back at Kearney, Gardner had told me to head south till I hit Canijone. There I'd find a burned out cabin and a scarred rock like a saddle horn pointing toward the sunset. He assured me that passed the rock I'd need no trail; just give Blackie his head and he'd head right for the outskirts of Oracle where I could find the road to Tucson.

We'd found the cabin and the rock all right, and beyond there Blackie turned into the mouth of an arroyo that twisted toward the south and Tucson. I thought I could see the faint line of a mountain ridge where I expected to reach Oracle and Saunder's Peak. But the heat and the dust had become more and more oppressive as we made our way down the wash; and I was getting more and more anxious as all signs of life disappeared. There wasn't even a buzzard in the sky.

The sky had been coppery all day. I'd never really seen the sun, only a hot orange glow that was brighter than the surrounding sky. After we left Canijone even that faded. Dust had thickened, and visibility was more and more limited. Cactus appeared out of the dimness of the dust and receded into the blankness of grey and brown. I strained my ears for any sound of wind or life, but the stillness remained unbroken. A horned toad on a rock skirted away from us as we went by and I felt grateful for his company.

What in hell was I doing here? I wondered. It was Maria who had wanted to go to Tucson, not me. She wanted to start over again with new friends and nothing to remind her of the past. But I knew there's no running away from the past, it rides with you on its own tireless horse. It was riding with me now, here in this grey and brown inferno.

Blackie shied and snorted nervously. He wasn't acting too sure of himself. The edges of the wash had widened out, like a dusty plate whose rim arched away to right and left and there was no sign to guide us, no feel of which way to go. We moved forward hesitantly searching for something, anything to assure us we were on the right track. The stillness was awful, like the end of creation.

Finally he stopped and waited, his head up, as mine was, sniffing, feeling, willing something to happen, but nothing did. I was really frightened now. The emptiness of the desert was too immense. I knew we couldn't be that far from civilization, but for the moment there was no clue which way to go. We could be moving in an endless circle, without water or food, and no place to shelter. I'd have gone back to Canijone if I'd thought I could find it, but even that path seemed lost to me. The dust was so thick I could scarcely see our tracks.

But surely they wouldn't be that hard to find, I thought, as I urged Blackie to turn around. If we could retrace our trail we'd be at the burned out cabin before it was too dark. Surely something would look familiar somewhere. We could bed down for the night, see if the air wouldn't clear a little, if the sun wouldn't at least give us a clue where we were.

Blackie was reluctant to turn, but I was insistent. We were lost and it was foolish to keep going on in this grey nothing. Signs of our passing were faint in the dust, but they were better than nothing. I peered anxiously down for more.

The snake caught me by surprise. His coiled warning was almost unheeded; but Blackie heard it. He bolted and lurched off to the right. His sudden movement stirred up a denser cloud of dust and in my fear I lost my sense of direction. I could hear the rattle of the snake but didn't know if it was before us, or behind. Blackie was rearing upward in a panic and I had hard work staying in the saddle.

Then, almost as if we'd pressed a button, a gust of wind hit us in the face. It was more than a gust, it was a blast that kept on blowing. What had been stillness was now a howling scream. It was like all the forces of hell had hit us taking our breath and strength.

Blackie swerved and bolted, maddened by the stinging sand and the whistling wind. The rattler, wherever he was, was forgotten. The best I could do was hold on and hope there was no hole, no cactus, no barrier in our way. We raced through the screaming dust cloud, man and beast, maddened into a frenzy of speed. Surely it will stop soon, I thought, but it didn't. The race of wind and dust and Blackie and me was an endless whirl. And when it was over, my trembling muscles still raced though Blackie was standing stock still.

I had slipped from the saddle and was crouched on the ground, coughing and gasping for air. I couldn't believe the stillness that surrounded me, the deadly silence that pushed down on top of me. When my heart stopped racing I realized the air was clearing. The fiery ball of the sun even pierced the dust at the rim of the horizon and burst into clear sky. As I watched, it was as if a dirty membrane was being pealed off the dome of heaven arching above me. Objects around me came into sharp focus. I could breathe.

And ahead of me, about a thousand yards, light flickered, like the light of a campfire.

I didn't stop to wonder how that could be; I began walking toward the flicker, leading Blackie. It felt good to have my feet on the ground and to move my aching muscles. Gradually the tension eased out of my legs and thighs and I felt my body relaxing. God knew where we were, but we were going to be all right.

The fire had been carefully laid, and extra firewood was there by the side. A welcome sight was a tiny spring oozing from the ground near a large rock that provided some protection from the wind. There was no one there, no sign of anyone having ever been there, but the fire was bright and inviting. The sun had slipped down below the horizon by the time I reached the campsite, and as oppressive as the heat had been, now that the wind had cleared the air of its smothering dust, I could tell how chill the desert air would become as the darkness deepened.

Whose campfire was this, I wondered. There were no belongings, no food, no horse near by. It was only a fire, and extra wood. I had a little food of my own, and was more than ready to share it with whomever had prepared the fire when he came back. But as night settled in on us it began to look more and more like we'd be the only ones at the campsite.

I suppose I should have been more suspicious, more cautious, than to roll out my bedroll and stretch out for sleep. After all, there was no telling who might be coming back to this handy fire. And surely someone would come; it hadn't built itself here in the wild. But my long and anxious ride had worn me out. I'd have to trust whoever my host might prove to be that I was welcome and would not be harmed.

But sleep did not come quickly. For some reason my mind did not want to stop its jumble of thoughts. For one thing, I had to find my way out of this empty place, and I had no idea how to do it. Gardner was too optimistic by far. Perhaps he knew his way through this desert, but Blackie and I did not.

I didn't know much about Gardner, when I thought of it. A rough, trail-hardened stranger, he'd joined me at Tonto Basin and shared the trail with me until we reached Sonora. He was ready enough with advice about the wild, (I'd told him I was new in this country, trying to outride a ghost) and seemed to know each inch of the trail we covered. He filled my head with tales and legends of men both Indian and White, who had lived here and made this place their home. But of himself and his home he said nothing. Odd I hadn't noticed that before. Then how did he know so much about the trail to Tucson? And what made him so certain Blackie could find his way to Oracle and Saunder's Peak?

It would have been just my luck to be misled. Always trusting, I never met a stranger. And this hadn't been the first time my trust was betrayed. There had been Maria, with her gold hair and laughing eyes, and lips that burned me with their touch. I'd trusted her, too, and let her urge me to take her to Tucson where we could be married by a priest she once knew there. She promised so much and my heart felt so full with her in my arms, I was willing to do it, willing to cross the hot and dusty land with her to give her the wedding she always dreamed of.

There'd be no wedding now. And no Maria. Why I still moved on toward Tucson I scarcely knew. Perhaps it was because this was the road she wanted to take, and as long as I followed it, she went too, inside me. She stayed warm and smiling with gold glinting in her sun-tipped hair.

But it was foolish. She lay behind me, somewhere, God knew the place. Still smiling, as if she were having a pleasant dream, she lay in the grave I dug for her. She knew she was sick and hadn't wanted to tell me, hadn't want to miss the chance to go with me, be with me, love me as I loved her.

"I know we can do it," she urged me, "I'm sure of it. I know every mile of the way. It'll be like going home. Please trust me."

I'd laughed and lied and said I was sure she did know the way. But I was a tenderfoot, unused to the desert. God knew it would be a miracle if I came through this trek alive.

"You will," she promised, "I won't let anything bad happen to you."

But she hadn't been able to keep her promise. The bad had already happened, and I was just the shell of a man, following the instructions of a dusty stranger from nowhere who had left me abandoned--just like Maria had--in this lonely desert place. I'd be lucky if Blackie didn't abandon me too. Poor thing, he looked pretty worn down by our day's adventure. Thank God for the fire some unknown hand had lit for us, and the little spring. We'd be all right at least one more day.

The night sounds dimmed and I fell asleep, still wondering who my host might be.

Dawn burst on us like a glory. No dust clouded this morning sky. The air was clear and crisp, and I could see for miles and miles. The campfire had burned down--in fact its ashes were cold, and looked as if the dust from the day before had covered them over. I kicked them looking for any live coals, but there were none. And the extra wood was all used up. I hadn't realized I'd used that much the night before. Too bad for my host. There was still no sign of him, nor tracks of his horse. He had vanished with the night.

Blackie looked refreshed by his night's rest and his visit to the little spring. I stooped to get some more water and saw that it was almost gone. I wet my lips and face, and watched as the sand seemed to turn dry under my gaze. Such springs did that sometimes. They appeared for a day, then sank back into the dry ground. One could wonder if it had all been an illusion.

I packed up my gear and mounted Blackie. We knew our direction now, the sun gave us clear sign. And to the South, a thin blue line soon grew until we could tell there were mountains there. With mountains on the horizon Oracle could not be that far away. We'd reach Saunder's Peak before dark.

* * * * *

I never knew who my host was that night, nor could I ever learn from anyone where that little spring had been.

"Sounds like you got lost in Devil's Basin," one fellow told me.

"Don't be a damn fool," another argued, "There ain't no water in Devil's Basin. There ain't nothing there."

"No one's ever gotten through there," the third one offered as his contribution to the conversation. "Not even Indians."

"But where else could he have been, if he come down from Canijone? That's all there is down there," the first fellow insisted. "Sounds to me like that Gardner fellow gave you some bad advice."

Another round of drinks was ordered and my new companions continued their argument about Devil's Basin.

"You hear funny things about that place. I'm scared of it myself," said the second man. "If that's where you really was, you're the luckiest damn fool I ever met. You oughta be dead."

The other two nodded their heads in agreement and gave me a speculative look, as if wondering if I was safe to have a drink with.

"And you said someone had built a campfire for you out there?"

"They sure had," I replied. "I'd a never found the water hole without it."

"But whoever it was never came back?"

"No, never did."

The three men stared thoughtfully at me and shook their heads.

"Damnedest thing I ever heard. You wouldn't take us back there and show us the place, would you?"

"I wouldn't mind." I said.

And I tried too. Blackie and I led the three oldtimers back up our trail into that wide space of emptiness under the Arizona sky. Our tracks were clear so I was sure of the place we'd stopped. We all could see the mark of my bedroll on the ground, and the place where Blackie had cropped dry tufts of grass.

But there was no sign of a campfire, and no spring. All there was was dirt and the rock and the end of Blackie's tracks. It looked as if we'd been dropped there out of the sky and started life right on that spot.

It was strange, and my new companions were none to happy with what they saw. It was plain they thought I'd pulled a fast one on them and they didn't like it.

But as we made our way back to Oracle I remembered something, something I hadn't paid any attention to at the time. I'd told Maria it would be a miracle if I got through this trek alive, and she promised "You will, I won't let anything bad happen to you."

The way I figure it, she kept her promise.