If 'Mona lives to be eighty the high-lights of that wild ride will neverfade from her memory. The mesas rolled in long swells as far as the eyecould see. Through the chaparral the galloping horses plunged while theprickly pear and the cholla clutched at their flanks and at the legs ofthe riders. Into water-gutted arroyos they descended, slid downbreakneck shale ridges, climbed like heather cats the banks of drywashes, pounded over white porous _malpais_ on which no vegetation grew.
Now Dinsmore was in front of her picking out the best way, now he wasbeside her with cool, easy words of confidence, now he rode between herand the naked Apaches, firing with deliberate and deadly accuracy.
"Don't look back," he warned her more than once. "My job is to look outfor them. Yours is to see yore horse don't throw you or break a leg in aprairie-dog hole. They cayn't outrun us. Don't worry about that."
The man was so easy in manner, apparently so equal to the occasion, thatas the miles slid behind them her panic vanished. She felt for the smallrevolver in her belt to make sure it was safe. If she should be thrown,or if her horse should be shot, one thing must be done instantly. Shemust send a bullet crashing into her brain.
To the right and to the left of her jets of dirt spat up where the shotsof the Indians struck the ground. Once or twice she looked back, but thesight of the bareback riders at their heels so unnerved her that sheobeyed the orders of her companion and resisted the dreadful fascinationof turning in her saddle.
It had seemed to 'Mona at first with each backward glance that theIndians were gaining fast on them, but after a time she knew this wasnot true. The sound of their shots became fainter. She no longer saw thespitting of the dust from their bullets and guessed they must be fallingshort.
Her eyes flashed a question at the man riding beside her. "We'regaining?"
"That's whatever. We'll make the canon all right an' keep goin'. Don'tyou be scared," he told her cheerfully.
Even as he spoke, Ramona went plunging over the head of her horse into abunch of shin-oak. Up in an instant, she ran to remount. The broncotried to rise from where it lay, but fell back helplessly to its side.One of its fore legs had been broken in a prairie-dog hole.
Dinsmore swung round his horse and galloped back, disengaging one footfrom the stirrup. The girl caught the hand he held down to her andleaped up beside the saddle, the arch of her foot resting lightly on thetoe of his boot. Almost with the same motion she swung astride thecow-pony. It jumped to a gallop and Ramona clung to the waist of the manin front of her. She could hear plainly now the yells of the exultantsavages.
The outlaw knew that it would be nip and tuck to reach Palo Duro, closethough it was. He abandoned at once his hopes of racing up the canonuntil the Apaches dropped the pursuit. It was now solely a question ofspeed. He must get into the gulch, even though he had to kill his broncoto do it. After that he must trust to luck and hold the redskins off aslong as he could. There was always a chance that Ellison's Rangers mightbe close. Homer Dinsmore knew how slender a thread it was upon which tohang a hope, but it was the only one they had.
His quirt rose and fell once, though he recognized that his horse wasdoing its best. But the lash fell in the air and did not burn the flankof the animal. He patted its neck. He murmured encouragement in its ear.
"Good old Black Jack, I knew you wouldn't throw down on me. Keepa-humpin', old-timer.... You're doin' fine.... Here we are at PaloDuro.... Another half-mile, pal."
Dinsmore turned to the left after they had dropped down a shale slideinto the canon. The trail wound through a thick growth of young foliageclose to the bed of the stream.
The man slipped down from the back of the laboring horse and followed itup the trail. Once he caught a glimpse of the savages coming down theshale slide and took a shot through the brush.
"Got one of their horses," he told 'Mona. "That'll keep 'em for a whileand give us a few minutes. They'll figure I'll try to hold 'em here."
'Mona let the horse pick its way up the rapidly ascending trail.Presently the canon opened a little. Its walls fell back from a small,grassy valley containing two or three acres. The trail led up a ledge ofrock jutting out from one of the sheer faces of cliff. Presently itdipped down behind some great boulders that had fallen from above sometime in the ages that this great cleft had been in the making.
A voice hailed them. "That you, Homer?"
"Yep. The 'Paches are right on our heels, Steve."
Gurley let out a wailing oath. "Goddlemighty, man, why did you comehere?"
"Driven in. They chased us ten miles. Better 'light, ma'am. We're liableto stay here quite a spell." Dinsmore unsaddled the horse and tied it toa shrub. "You're sure all in, Black Jack. Mebbe you'll never be the samebronc again. I've got this to say, old pal. I never straddled a betterhawss than you. That goes without copperin'." He patted itssweat-stained neck, fondled its nose for a moment, then turned brisklyto the business in hand. "Get behind that p'int o' rocks, Steve. I'llcover the trail up. Girl, you'll find a kind of cave under that flatboulder. You get in there an' hunt cover."
'Mona did as she was told. Inside the cave were blankets, a saddle, theremains of an old camp-fire, and a piece of jerked venison hanging froma peg driven between two rocks. There were, too, a rifle leaning againstthe big boulder and a canvas bag containing ammunition.
The rifle was a '73. She busied herself loading it. Just as she finishedthere came to her the crack of Dinsmore's repeater.