XVII. THE TRAIL TO NONNEZOSHE
When Shefford awoke next morning and sat up on his bed of pinyon boughsthe dawn had broken cold with a ruddy gold brightness under the trees.Nas Ta Bega and Lassiter were busy around a camp-fire; the mustangs werehaltered near by; Jane Withersteen combed out her long, tangled tresseswith a crude wooden comb; and Fay Larkin was not in sight. As shehad been missing from the group at sunset, so she was now at sunrise.Shefford went out to take his last look at Surprise Valley.
On the evening before the valley had been a place of dusky red veils andpurple shadows, and now it was pink-walled, clear and rosy and greenand white, with wonderful shafts of gold slanting down from the notchedeastern rim. Fay stood on the promontory, and Shefford did not break thespell of her silent farewell to her wild home. A strange emotion abidedwith him and he knew he would always, all his life, regret leavingSurprise Valley.
Then the Indian called.
"Come, Fay," said Shefford, gently.
And she turned away with dark, haunted eyes and a white, still face.
The somber Indian gave a silent gesture for Shefford to make haste.While they had breakfast the mustangs were saddled and packed. And soonall was in readiness for the flight. Fay was given Nack-yal, Jane thesaddled horse Shefford had ridden, and Lassiter the Indian's roan.Shefford and Nas Ta Bega were to ride the blanketed mustangs, and thesixth and last one bore the pack. Nas Ta Bega set off, leading thishorse; the others of the party lined in behind, with Shefford at therear.
Nas Ta Bega led at a brisk trot, and sometimes, on level stretches ofground, at an easy canter; and Shefford had a grim realization ofwhat this flight was going to be for these three fugitives, now sounaccustomed to riding. Jane and Lassiter, however, needed no watching,and showed they had never forgotten how to manage a horse. The Indianback-trailed yesterday's path for an hour, then headed west to the left,and entered a low pass. All parts of this plateau country looked alike,and Shefford was at some pains to tell the difference of this strangeground from that which he had been over. In another hour they got outof the rugged, broken rock to the wind-worn and smooth, shallow canyon.Shefford calculated that they were coming to the end of the plateau.The low walls slanted lower; the canyon made a turn; Nas Ta Begadisappeared; and then the others of the party. When Shefford turned thecorner of wall he saw a short strip of bare, rocky ground with only skybeyond. The Indian and his followers had halted in a group. Sheffordrode to them, halted himself, and in one sweeping glance realized themeaning of their silent gaze. But immediately Nas Ta Bega starteddown; and the mustangs, without word or touch, followed him. Shefford,however, lingered on the promontory.
His gaze seemed impelled and held by things afar--the greatyellow-and-purple corrugated world of distance, now on a level withhis eyes. He was drawn by the beauty and the grandeur of that scene andtransfixed by the realization that he had dared to venture to find away through this vast, wild, and upflung fastness. He kept looking afar,sweeping the three-quartered circle of horizon till his judgment ofdistance was confounded and his sense of proportion dwarfed one momentand magnified the next. Then he withdrew his fascinated gaze to adoptthe Indian's method of studying unlimited spaces in the desert--to lookwith slow, contracted eyes from near to far.
His companions had begun to zigzag down a long slope, bare of rock, withyellow gravel patches showing between the scant strips of green, andhere and there a scrub-cedar. Half a mile down, the slope merged intogreen level. But close, keen gaze made out this level to be a rollingplain, growing darker green, with blue lines of ravines, and thin,undefined spaces that might be mirage. Miles and miles it swept andrelied and heaved to lose its waves in apparent darker level. A round,red rock stood isolated, marking the end of the barren plain, andfarther on were other round rocks, all isolated, all of different shape.They resembled huge grazing cattle. But as Shefford gazed, and his sightgained strength from steadily holding it to separate features theserocks were strangely magnified. They grew and grew into mounds, castles,domes, crags--great, red, wind-carved buttes. One by one they drew hisgaze to the wall of upflung rock. He seemed to see a thousand domes of athousand shapes and colors, and among them a thousand blue clefts, eachone a little mark in his sight, yet which he knew was a canyon. So farhe gained some idea of what he saw. But beyond this wide area of curvedlines rose another wall, dwarfing the lower, dark red, horizon--long,magnificent in frowning boldness, and because of its limitless deceivingsurfaces, breaks, and lines, incomprehensible to the sight of man. Awayto the eastward began a winding, ragged, blue line, looping back uponitself, and then winding away again, growing wider and bluer. Thisline was the San Juan Canyon. Where was Joe Lake at that moment? Had heembarked yet on the river--did that blue line, so faint, so deceiving,hold him and the boat? Almost it was impossible to believe. Sheffordfollowed the blue line all its length, a hundred miles, he fancied, downtoward the west where it joined a dark, purple, shadowy cleft. And thiswas the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. Shefford's eye swept along withthat winding mark, farther and farther to the west, round to the left,until the cleft, growing larger and coming closer, losing its deception,was seen to be a wild and winding canyon. Still farther to the left, ashe swung in fascinated gaze, it split the wonderful wall--a vast plateaunow with great red peaks and yellow mesas. The canyon was full of purplesmoke. It turned, it gaped, it lost itself and showed again in thatchaos of a million cliffs. And then farther on it became again a cleft,a purple line, at last to fail entirely in deceiving distance.
Shefford imagined there was no scene in all the world to equal that. Thetranquillity of lesser spaces was not here manifest. Sound, movement,life, seemed to have no fitness here. Ruin was there and desolationand decay. The meaning of the ages was flung at him, and a man becamenothing. When he had gazed at the San Juan Canyon he had been appalledat the nature of Joe Lake's Herculean task. He had lost hope, faith.The thing was not possible. But when Shefford gazed at that sublime andmajestic wilderness, in which the Grand Canyon was only a dim line, hestrangely lost his terror and something else came to him from across theshining spaces. If Nas Ta Bega led them safely down to the river, ifJoe Lake met them at the mouth of Nonnezoshe Boco, if they survived therapids of that terrible gorge, then Shefford would have to face his souland the meaning of this spirit that breathed on the wind.
He urged his mustang to the descent of the slope, and as he went down,slowly drawing nearer to the other fugitives, his mind alternatedbetween this strange intimation of faith, this subtle uplift of hisspirit, and the growing gloom and shadow in his love for Fay Larkin. Notthat he loved her less, but more! A possible God hovering near him,like the Indian's spirit-step on the trail, made his soul the darker forFay's crime, and he saw with light, with deeper sadness, with sternertruth.
More than once the Indian turned on his mustang to look up the slopeand the light flashed from his dark, somber face. Shefford instinctivelylooked back himself, and then realized the unconscious motive of theaction. Deep within him there had been a premonition of certain pursuit,and the Indian's reiterated backward glance had at length brought thefeeling upward. Thereafter, as they descended, Shefford gradually addedto his already wrought emotions a mounting anxiety.
No sign of a trail showed where the base of the slope rolled out tomeet the green plain. The earth was gravelly, with dark patches of heavysilt, almost like cinders; and round, black rocks, flinty and glassy,cracked away from the hoofs of the mustangs. There was a level bench amile wide, then a ravine, and then an ascent, and after that, roundedridge and ravine, one after the other, like huge swells of a monstroussea. Indian paint-brush vied in its scarlet hue with the deep magentaof cactus. There was no sage. Soapweed and meager grass and a bunch ofcactus here and there lent the green to that barren; and it was greenonly at a distance. Nas Ta Bega kept on a steady, even trot. The sunclimbed. The wind rose and whipped dust from under the mustangs.
Shefford looked back often, and the farther out in the plain he reachedthe higher loomed the plate
au they had descended; and as he faced aheadagain the lower sank the red-domed and castled horizon to the fore.The ravines became deeper, with dry rock bottoms, and the ridge-topssharper, with outcroppings of yellow, crumbling ledges. Once across thecentral depression of that plain a gradual ascent became evident, andthe round rocks grew clearer in sight, began to rise shine and grow. Andthereafter every slope brought them nearer.
The sun was straight overhead and hot when Nas Ta Bega halted the partyunder the first lonely scrub-cedar. They all dismounted to stretch theirlimbs, and rest the horses. It was not a talkative group, Lassiter'scomments on the never-ending green plain elicited no response. JaneWithersteen looked afar with the past in her eyes. Shefford felt Fay'swistful glance and could not meet it; indeed, he seemed to want to hidesomething from her. The Indian bent a falcon gaze on the distantslope, and Shefford did not like that intent, searching, steadfastwatchfulness. Suddenly Nas Ta Bega stiffened and whipped the halter heheld.
"Ugh!" he exclaimed.
All eyes followed the direction of his dark hand. Puffs of dust rosefrom the base of the long slope they had descended; tiny dark specksmoved with the pace of a snail.
"Shadd!" added the Indian.
"I expected it," said Shefford, darkly, as he rose.
"An' who's Shadd?" drawled Lassiter in his cool, slow speech.
Briefly Shefford explained, and then, looking at Nas Ta Bega, he added:
"The hardest-riding outfit in the country! We can't get away from them."
Jane Withersteen was silent, but Fay uttered a low cry. Shefford didnot look at either of them. The Indian began swiftly to tighten thesaddle-cinches of his roan, and Shefford did likewise for Nack-yal. ThenShefford drew his rifle out of the saddle-sheath and Joe Lake's big gunsfrom the saddle-bag.
"Here, Lassiter, maybe you haven't forgotten how to use these," he said.
The old gun-man started as if he had seen ghosts. His hands grewclawlike as he reached for the guns. He threw open the cylinders,spilled out the shells, snapped back the cylinders. Then he went throughmotions too swift for Shefford to follow. But Shefford heard the hammersfalling so swiftly they blended their clicks almost in one sound.Lassiter reloaded the guns with a speed comparable with the otheractions. A remarkable transformation had come over him. He did not seemthe same man. The mild eyes had changed; the long, shadowy, slopinglines were tense cords; and there was a cold, ashy shade on his face.
"Twelve years!" he muttered to himself. "I dropped them old guns backthere where I rolled the rock.... Twelve years!"
Shefford realized the twelve years were as if they had never been. Andhe would rather have had this old gun-man with him than a dozen ordinarymen.
The Indian spoke rapidly in Navajo, saying that once in the rocksthey were safe. Then, after another look at the distant dust-puffs, hewheeled his mustang.
It was doubtful if the party could have kept near him had they beenresponsible for the gait of their mounts. The fact was that the way theIndian called to his mustang or some leadership in the one rode drew theothers to a like trot or climb or canter. For a long time Shefford didnot turn round; he knew what to expect. And when he did turn he wasstartled at the gain made by the pursuers. But he was encouraged as wellby the looming, red, rounded peaks seemingly now so close. He could seethe dark splits between the sloping curved walls, the pinyon patches inthe amphitheater under the circled walls. That was a wild place theywere approaching, and, once in there, he believed pursuit would beuseless. However, there were miles to go still, and those hard-ridingdevils behind made alarming decrease in the intervening distance.Shefford could see the horses plainly now. How they made the dust fly!He counted up to six--and then the dust and moving line caused theothers to be indistinguishable.
At last only a long, gently rising slope separated the fugitives fromthat labyrinthine network of wildly carved rock. But it was the clearair that made the distance seem short. Mile after mile the mustangsclimbed, and when they were perhaps half-way across that last slope tothe rocks the first horse of the pursuers mounted to the level behind.In a few moments the whole band was strung out in sight. Nas Ta Begakept his mustang at a steady walk, in spite of the gaining pursuers.There came a point, however, when the Indian, reaching comparativelylevel ground, put his mount to a swinging canter. The other mustangsbroke into the same gait.
It became a race then, with the couple of miles between fugitives andpursuers only imperceptibly lessened. Nas Ta Bega had saved his mustangsand Shadd had ridden his to the limit. Shefford kept looking back,gripping his rifle, hoping it would not come to a fight, yet slowlylosing that reluctance.
Sage began to show on the slope, and other kinds of brush and cedarsstraggled everywhere. The great rocks loomed closer, the red colormixed with yellow, and the slopes lengthening out, not so steep, yetinfinitely longer than they had seemed at a distance.
Shefford ceased to feel the dry wind in his face. They were already inthe lee of the wall. He could see the rock-squirrels scampering to theirholes. The mustangs valiantly held to the gait, and at last the Indiandisappeared between two rounded comers of cliff. The others were closebehind. Shefford wheeled once more. Shadd and his gang were a mile inthe rear, but coming fast, despite winded horses.
Shefford rode around the wall into a widening space thick with cedars.It ended in a bare slope of smooth rock. Here the Indian dismounted.When the others came up with him he told them to lead their horses andfollow. Then he began the ascent of the rock.
It was smooth and hard, though not slippery. There was not a crack.Shefford did not see a broken piece of stone. Nas Ta Bega climbedstraight up for a while, and then wound around a swell, to turn this wayand that, always going up. Shefford began to see similar mounds of rockall around him, of every shape that could be called a curve. There wereyellow domes far above, and small red domes far below. Ridges ran fromone hill of rock to another. There were no abrupt breaks, but holesand pits and caves were everywhere, and occasionally, deep down, anamphitheater green with cedar and pinyon. The Indian appeared to havea clear idea of where he wanted to go, though there was no vestige ofa trail on those bare slopes. At length Shefford was high enough to seeback upon the plain, but the pursuers were no longer in sight.
Nas Ta Bega led to the top of that wall, only to disclose to hisfollowers another and a higher wall beyond, with a ridged, bare, wild,and scalloped depression between. Here footing began to be precariousfor both man and beast. When the ascent of the second wall began it wasnecessary to zigzag up, slowly and carefully, taking advantage of everylevel bulge or depression. They must have consumed half an hour mountingthis slope to the summit. Once there, Shefford drew a sharp breath withboth backward and forward glances. Shadd and his gang, in single file,showed dark upon the bare stone ridge behind. And to the fore theretwisted and dropped and curved the most dangerous slopes Shefford hadever seen. The fugitives had reached the height of stone wall, of thedivide, and many of the drops upon this side were perpendicular and toosteep to see the bottom.
Nas Ta Bega led along the ridge-top and then started down, following thewaves in the rock. He came out upon a round promontory from which therecould not have been any turning of a horse. The long slant leading downwas at an angle Shefford declared impossible for the animals. Yet theIndian started down. His mustang needed urging, but at last edged uponthe steep descent. Shefford and the others had to hold back and wait. Itwas thrilling to see the intelligent mustang. He did not step. He slidhis fore hoofs a few inches at a time and kept directly behind theIndian. If he fell he would knock Nas Ta Bega off his feet and theywould both roll down together. There was no doubt in Shefford's mindthat the mustang knew this as well as the Indian. Foot by foot theyworked down to a swelling bulge, and here Nas Ta Bega left his mustangand came back for the pack-horse. It was even more difficult to get thisbeast down. Then the Indian called for Lassiter and Jane and Fay to comedown. Shefford began to keep a sharp lookout behind and above, and didnot see how the three fared on the slope, but
evidently there was nomishap. Nas Ta Bega mounted the slope again, and at the moment sight ofShadd's dark bays silhouetted against the sky caused Shefford to callout:
"We've got to hurry!"
The Indian led one mustang and called to the others. Shefford steppedclose behind. They went down in single file, inch by inch, foot by foot,and safely reached the comparative level below.
"Shadd's gang are riding their horses up and down these walls!"exclaimed Shefford.
"Shore," replied Lassiter.
Both the women were silent.
Nas Ta Bega led the way swiftly to the right. He rounded a huge dome,climbed a low, rolling ridge, descended and ascended, and came out uponthe rim of a steep-walled amphitheater. Along the rim was a yard-widelevel, with the chasm to the left and steep slope to the right. Therewas no time to flinch at the danger, when an even greater danger menacedfrom the rear. Nas Ta Bega led, and his mustang kept at his heels.One misstep would have plunged the animal to his death. But he wassurefooted and his confidence helped the others. At the apex of thecurve the only course led away from the rim, and here there was nolevel. Four of the mustangs slipped and slid down the smooth rock untilthey stopped in a shallow depression. It cost time to get them out, tostraighten pack and saddles. Shefford thought he heard a yell in therear, but he could not see anything of the gang.
They rounded this precipice only to face a worse one. Shefford's nervewas sorely tried when he saw steep slants everywhere, all apparentlyleading down into chasms, and no place a man, let alone a horse, couldput a foot with safety. Nevertheless the imperturbable Indian neverslacked his pace. Always he appeared to find a way, and he never had toturn back. His winding course, however, did not now cover much distancein a straight line, and herein lay the greatest peril. Any moment Shaddand his men might come within range.
Upon a particularly tedious and dangerous side of rocky hill thefugitives lost so much time that Shefford grew exceedingly alarmed.Still, they accomplished it without accident, and their pursuers did notheave in sight. Perhaps they were having trouble in a bad place.
The afternoon was waning. The red sun hung low above the yellow mesa tothe left, and there was a perceptible shading of light.
At last Nas Ta Bega came to a place that halted him. It did not lookso bad as places they had successfully passed. Yet upon closer studyShefford did not see how they were to get around the neck of the gullyat their feet. Presently the Indian put the bridle over the head of hismustang and left him free. He did likewise for two more mustangs, whileLassiter and Shefford rendered a like service to theirs. Then the Indianstarted down, with his mustang following him. The pack-animal came next,then Fay and Nack-yal, then Lassiter and his mount, with Jane and hersnext, and Shefford last. They followed the Indian, picking their stepsswiftly, looking nowhere except at the stone under their feet. The rightside of the chasm was rimmed, the curve at the head crossed, and thenthe real peril of this trap had to be faced. It was a narrow slant ofledge, doubling back parallel with the course already traversed.
A sharp warning cry from Nas Ta Bega scarcely prepared Shefford forhoarse yells, and then a rattling rifle-volley from the top of the slopeopposite. Bullets thudded on the cliff, whipped up red dust, and spangedand droned away.
Fay Larkin screamed and staggered back against the wall. Nack-yal washit, and with frightened snort he reared, pawed the air, and came down,pounding the stone. The mustang behind him went to his knees, sank withhis head over the rim, and, slipping off, plunged into the depths. In aninstant a dull crash came up.
For a moment there was imminent peril for the horses, more in theyawning hole than in the spanging of badly aimed bullets. Lassiter drewJane up a little slope out of the way of the frightened mustangs, andShefford, risking his neck, rushed to Fay. She was holding her arm,which was bleeding. Unheeding the rain of bullets, he half carried,half dragged her along the slope of the low bluff, where he hid behinda corner till the Indian drove the mustangs round it. Shefford's swiftfingers were wet and red with the blood from Fay's arm when he had boundthe wound with his scarf. Lassiter had gotten around with Jane and wascalling Shefford to hurry.
It had been Shefford's idea to halt there and fight. But he did not wantto send Fay on alone, so he hurried ahead with her. The Indian had thehorses going fast on a long level, overhung by bulging wall. Lassiterand Jane were looking back. Shefford, becoming aware of a steep slopeto his left, looked down to see a narrow chasm and great crevices in thecliffs, with bunches of cedars here and there.
Presently Nas Ta Bega disappeared with the mustangs. He had evidentlyturned off to go down behind the split cliffs. Shefford and Fay caughtup with Lassiter and Jane, and, panting, hurrying, looking backward andthen forward, they kept on, as best they could, in the Indian's course.Shefford made sure they had lost him, when he appeared down to the left.Then they all ran to catch up with him. They went around the chasm, andthen through one of the narrow cracks to come out upon the rim, amongcedars. Here the Indian waited for them. He pointed down anotherlong swell of naked stone to a narrow green split which was evidentlydifferent from all these curved pits and holes and abysses, for thisone had straight walls and wound away out of sight. It was the head of acanyon.
"Nonnezoshe Boco!" said the Indian.
"Nas Ta Bega, go on!" replied Shefford. "When Shadd comes out on thatslope above he can't see you--where you go down. Hurry on with thehorses and women. Lassiter, you go with them. And if Shadd passes me andcomes up with you--do your best.... I'm going to ambush that Piute andhis gang!"
"Shore you've picked out a good place," replied Lassiter.
In another moment Shefford was alone. He heard the light, soft pat andslide of the hoofs of the mustangs as they went down. Presently thatsound ceased.
He looked at the red stain on his hands--from the blood of the girl heloved. And he had to stifle a terrible wrath that shook his frame. Inregard to Shadd's pursuit, it had not been blood that he had feared, butcapture for Fay. He and Nas Ta Bega might have expected a shot if theyresisted, but to wound that unfortunate girl--it made a tiger out ofhim. When he had stilled the emotions that weakened and shook him andreached cold and implacable control of himself, he crawled under thecedars to the rim and, well hidden, he watched and waited.
Shadd appeared to be slow for the first time since he had been sighted.With keen eyes Shefford watched the corner where he and the others hadescaped from that murderous volley. But Shadd did not come.
The sun had lost its warmth and was tipping the lofty mesa to hisright. Soon twilight would make travel on those walls more perilousand darkness would make it impossible. Shadd must hurry or abandon thepursuit for that day. Shefford found himself grimly hopeful.
Suddenly he heard the click of hoofs. It came, faint yet clear, on thestill air. He glued his sight upon that corner where he expected thepursuers to appear. More cracks of hoofs pierced his ear, clearer andsharper this time. Presently he gathered that they could not possiblycome from beyond the corner he was watching. So he looked far to theleft of that place, seeing no one, then far to the right. Out over abulge of stone he caught sight of the bobbing head of a horse--thenanother--and still another.
He was astounded. Shadd had gone below that place where the attack hadbeen made and he had come up this steep slope. More horses appeared--tothe number of eight. Shefford easily recognized a low, broad, squatrider to be Shadd. Assuredly the Piute did not know this country.Possibly, however, he had feared an ambush. But Shefford grew convincedthat Shadd had not expected an ambush, or at least did not fear it, andhad mistaken the Indian's course. Moreover, if he led his gang a fewrods farther up that slope he would do worse than make a mistake--hewould be facing a double peril.
What fearless horsemen these Indians were! Shadd was mounted, as werethree others of his gang. Evidently the white men, the outlaws, were theones on foot. Shefford thrilled and his veins stung when he saw thesepursuers come passing what he considered the danger mark. But manifestlythey could not see their danger.
Assuredly they were aware of the chasm;however, the level upon which they were advancing narrowed gradually,and they could not tell that very soon they could not go any farther norcould they turn back. The alternative was to climb the slope, and thatwas a desperate chance.
They came up, now about on a level with Shefford, and perhaps threehundred yards distant. He gripped his rifle with a fatal assurance thathe could kill one of them now. Still he waited. Curiosity consumedhim because every foot they advanced heightened their peril. Sheffordwondered if Shadd would have chosen that course if he had not supposedthe Navajo had chosen it first. It was plain that one of the walkingPiutes stooped now and then to examine the rock. He was looking for somefaint sign of a horse track.
Shadd halted within two hundred yards of where Shefford lay hidden. Hiskeen eye had caught the significance of the narrowing level before hehad reached the end. He pointed and spoke. Shefford heard his voice.The others replied. They all looked up at the steep slope, down intothe chasm right below them, and across into the cedars. The Piute in therear succeeded in turning his horse, went back, and began to circleup the slope. The others entered into an argument and they became moreclosely grouped upon the narrow bench. Their mustangs were lean, wiry,wild, vicious, and Shefford calculated grimly upon what a stampede mightmean in that position.
Then Shadd turned his mustang up the slope. Like a goat he climbed.Another Indian in the rear succeeded in pivoting his steed and startedback, apparently to circle round and up. The others of the gang appeareduncertain. They yelled hoarsely at Shadd, who halted on the steep slantsome twenty paces above them. He spoke and made motions that evidentlymeant the climb was easy enough. It looked easy for him. His dark faceflashed red in the rays of the sun.
At this critical moment Shefford decided to fire. He meant to killShadd, hoping if the leader was gone the others would abandon thepursuit. The rifle wavered a little as he aimed, then grew still. Hefired. Shadd never flinched. But the fiery mustang, perhaps wounded,certainly terrified, plunged down with piercing, horrid scream. Shaddfell under him. Shrill yells rent the air. Like a thunderbolt thesliding horse was upon men and animals below.
A heavy shock, wild snorts, upflinging heads and hoofs, a terribletramping, thudding, shrieking melee, then a brown, twisting, tangledmass shot down the slant over the rim!
Shefford dazedly thought he saw men running. He did see plunging horses.One slipped, fell, rolled, and went into the chasm.
Then up from the depths came a crash, a long, slipping roar. In anotherinstant there was a lighter crash and a lighter sliding roar.
Two horses, shaking, paralyzed with fear, were left upon the narrowlevel. Beyond them a couple of men were crawling along the stone. Upon the level stood the two Indians, holding down frightened horses, andstaring at the fatal slope.
And Shefford lay there under the cedar, in the ghastly grip of themoment, hardly comprehending that his ill-aimed shot had been athunderbolt.
He did not think of shooting at the Piutes; they, however, recoveringfrom their shock, evidently feared the ambush, for they swiftly drew upthe slope and passed out of sight. The frightened horses below whistledand tramped along the lower level, finally vanishing. There was nothingleft on the bare wall to prove to Shefford that it had been the sceneof swift and tragic death. He leaned from his covert and peered over therim. Hundreds of feet below he saw dark growths of pinyons. There was nosign of a pile of horses and men, and then he realized that he could nottell the number that had perished. The swift finale had been as stunningto him as if lightning had struck near him.
Suddenly it flashed over him what state of suspense and torture Fay andJane must be in at that very moment. And, leaping up, he ran out of thecedars to the slope behind and hurried down at risk of limb. The sun hadset by this time. He hoped he could catch up with the party before dark.He went straight down, and the end of the slope was a smooth, low wall.The Indian must have descended with the horses at some other point. Thecanyon was about fifty yards wide and it headed under the great slope ofNavajo Mountain. These smooth, rounded walls appeared to end at its lowrim.
Shefford slid down upon a grassy bank, and finding the tracks of thehorses, he followed them. They led along the wall. As soon as he hadassured himself that Nas Ta Bega had gone down the canyon he abandonedthe tracks and pushed ahead swiftly. He heard the soft rush of runningwater. In the center of the canyon wound heavy lines of bright-greenfoliage, bordering a rocky brook. The air was close, warm, and sweetwith perfume of flowers. The walls were low and shelving, and soon lostthat rounded appearance peculiar to the wind-worn slopes above. Sheffordcame to where the horses had plowed down a gravelly bank into the clear,swift water of the brook. The little pools of water were still muddy.Shefford drank, finding the water cold and sweet, without the bitterbite of alkali. He crossed and pushed on, running on the grassy levels.Flowers were everywhere, but he did not notice them particularly. Thecanyon made many leisurely turns, and its size, if it enlarged at all,was not perceptible to him yet. The rims above him were perhaps fiftyfeet high. Cottonwood-trees began to appear along the brook, andblossoming buck-brush in the corners of wall.
He had traveled perhaps a mile when Nas Ta Bega, appearing to come outof the thicket, confronted him.
"Hello!" called Shefford. "Where're Fay--and the others?"
The Indian made a gesture that signified the rest of the party werebeyond a little way. Shefford took Nas Ta Bega's arm, and as theywalked, and he panted for breath, he told what had happened back on theslopes.
The Indian made one of his singular speaking sweeps of hand, and hescrutinized Shefford's face, but he received the news in silence. Theyturned a corner of wall, crossed a wide, shallow, boulder-strewn placein the brook, and mounted the bank to a thicket. Beyond this, from aclump of cottonwoods, Lassiter strode out with a gun in each hand. Hehad been hiding.
"Shore I'm glad to see you," he said, and the eyes that piercingly fixedon Shefford were now as keen as formerly they had been mild.
"Gone! Lassiter--they're gone," broke out Shefford. "Where's Fay--andJane?"
Lassiter called, and presently the women came out of the thick brake,and Fay bounded forward with her swift stride, while Jane followed witheager step and anxious face. Then they all surrounded Shefford.
"It was Shadd--and his gang," panted Shefford. "Eight in all. Three orfour Piutes--the others outlaws. They lost track of us. Went below theplace--where they shot at us. And they came up--on a bad slope."
Shefford described the slope and the deep chasm and how Shadd led up tothe point where he saw his mistake and then how the catastrophe fell.
"I shot--and missed," repeated Shefford, with the sweat in beads onhis pale face. "I missed Shadd. Maybe I hit the horse. Heplunged--reared--fell back--a terrible fall--right upon that bunch ofhorses and men below.... In a horrible, wrestling, screaming tangle theyslid over the rim! I don't know how many. I saw some men running along.I saw three other horses plunging. One slipped and went over. ... I haveno idea how many, but Shadd and some of his gang went to destruction."
"Shore thet's fine!" said Lassiter. "But mebbe I won't get to use themguns, after all."
"Hardly on that gang," laughed Shefford. "The two Piutes and what othersescaped turned back. Maybe they'll meet a posse of Mormons--for ofcourse the Mormons will track us, too--and come back to where Shaddlost his life. That's an awful place. Even the Piute got lost--couldn'tfollow Nas Ta Bega. It would take any pursuers some time to find how wegot in here. I believe we need not fear further pursuit. Certainly notto-night or to-morrow. Then we'll be far down the canyon."
When Shefford concluded his earnest remarks the faces of Fay and Janehad lost the signs of suppressed dread.
"Nas Ta Bega, make camp here," said Shefford. "Water--wood--grass--why,this 's something like.... Fay, how's your arm?"
"It hurts," she replied, simply.
"Come with me down to the brook and let me wash and bind it properly."
They went, and she sat u
pon a stone while he knelt beside her and untiedhis scarf from her arm. As the blood had hardened, it was necessary toslit her sleeve to the shoulder. Using his scarf, he washed the bloodfrom the wound, and found it to be merely a cut, a groove, on thesurface.
"That's nothing," Shefford said, lightly. "It'll heal in a day. Butthere'll always be a scar. And when we--we get back to civilization,and you wear a pretty gown without sleeves, people will wonder what madethis mark on your beautiful arm."
Fay looked at him with wonderful eyes. "Do women wear gowns withoutsleeves?" she asked.
"They do."
"Have I a--beautiful arm?"
She stretched it out, white, blue-veined, the skin fine as satin, thelines graceful and flowing, a round, firm, strong arm.
"The most beautiful I ever saw," he replied.
But the pleasure his compliment gave her was not communicated to him.His last impression of that right arm had been of its strength, andhis mind flashed with lightning swiftness to a picture that hauntedhim--Waggoner lying dead on the porch with that powerfully driven knifein his breast. Shefford shuddered through all his being. Would thisphantom come often to him like that? Hurriedly he bound up her arm withthe scarf and did not look at her, and was conscious that she felt asubtle change in him.
The short twilight ended with the fugitives comfortable in a camp thatfor natural features could not have been improved upon. Darkness foundFay and Jane asleep on a soft mossy bed, a blanket tucked around them,and their faces still and beautiful in the flickering camp-fire light.Lassiter did not linger long awake. Nas Ta Bega, seeing Shefford'sexcessive fatigue, urged him to sleep. Shefford demurred, insisting thathe share the night-watch. But Nas Ta Bega, by agreeing that Sheffordmight have the following night's duty, prevailed upon him.
Shefford seemed to shut his eyes upon darkness and to open themimmediately to the light. The stream of blue sky above, the gold tintson the western rim, the rosy, brightening colors down in the canyon,were proofs of the sunrise. This morning Nas Ta Bega proceededleisurely, and his manner was comforting. When all was in readinessfor a start he gave the mustang he had ridden to Shefford, and walked,leading the pack-animal.
The mode of travel here was a selection of the best levels, the bestplaces to cross the brook, the best banks to climb, and it was a processof continual repetition. As the Indian picked out the course and themustangs followed his lead there was nothing for Shefford to do but takehis choice between reflection that seemed predisposed toward gloom andan absorption in the beauty, color, wildness, and changing character ofNonnezoshe Boco.
Assuredly his experience in the desert did not count in it a trip downinto a strange, beautiful, lost canyon such as this. It did not widen,though the walls grew higher. They began to lean and bulge, and thenarrow strip of sky above resembled a flowing blue river. Huge cavernshad been hollowed out by some work of nature, what, he could not tell,though he was sure it could not have been wind. And when the brook ranclose under one of these overhanging places the running water made asingular, indescribable sound. A crack from a hoof on a stone rang likea hollow bell and echoed from wall to wall. And the croak of a frog--theonly living creature he had so far noted in the canyon--was a weird andmelancholy thing.
Fay rode close to him, and his heart seemed to rejoice when she spoke,when she showed how she wanted to be near him, yet, try as he might,he could not respond. His speech to her--what little there was--didnot come spontaneously. And he suffered a remorse that he could not behonestly natural to her. Then he would drive away the encroaching gloom,trusting that a little time would dispel it.
"We are deeper down than Surprise Valley," said Fay.
"How do you know?" he asked.
"Here are the pink and yellow sago-lilies. You remember we went once tofind the white ones? I have found white lilies in Surprise Valley, butnever any pink or yellow."
Shefford had seen flowers all along the green banks, but he had notmarked the lilies. Here he dismounted and gathered several. They werelarger than the white ones of higher altitudes, of the same exquisitebeauty and fragility, of such rare pink and yellow hues as he had neverseen. He gave the flowers to Fay.
"They bloom only where it's always summer," she said.
That expressed their nature. They were the orchids of the summer canyon.They stood up everywhere starlike out of the green. It was impossibleto prevent the mustangs treading them under hoof. And as the canyondeepened, and many little springs added their tiny volume to thebrook, every grassy bench was dotted with lilies, like a green skystar-spangled. And this increasing luxuriance manifested itself in thebanks of purple moss and clumps of lavender daisies and great clustersof yellow violets. The brook was lined by blossoming buck-rush; therocky corners showed the crimson and magenta of cactus; ledges weregreen with shining moss that sparkled with little white flowers. The humof bees filled the air.
But by and by this green and colorful and verdant beauty, the almostlevel floor of the canyon, the banks of soft earth, the thickets andthe clumps of cotton-woods, the shelving caverns and the bulgingwalls--these features gradually were lost, and Nonnezoshe Boco began todeepen in bare red and white stone steps, the walls sheered away fromone another, breaking into sections and ledges, and rising higher andhigher, and there began to be manifested a dark and solemn concordancewith the nature that had created this rent in the earth.
There was a stretch of miles where steep steps in hard red rockalternated with long levels of round boulders. Here one by one themustangs went lame. And the fugitives, dismounting to spare the faithfulbeasts, slipped and stumbled over these loose and treacherous stones.Fay was the only one who did not show distress. She was glad to be onfoot again and the rolling boulders were as stable as solid rock forher.
The hours passed; the toil increased; the progress diminished; oneof the mustangs failed entirely and was left; and all the while thedimensions of Nonnezoshe Boco magnified and its character changed. Itbecame a thousand-foot walled canyon, leaning, broken, threatening, withgreat yellow slides blocking passage, with huge sections split off fromthe main wall, with immense dark and gloomy caverns. Strangely, it hadno intersecting canyon. It jealously guarded its secret. Its unusualformations of cavern and pillar and half-arch led the mind to expect anymonstrous stone-shape left by an avalanche or cataclysm.
Down and down the fugitives toiled. And now the stream-bed was bare ofboulders, and the banks of earth. The floods that had rolled down thatcanyon had here borne away every loose thing. All the floor was bare redand white stone, polished, glistening, slippery, affording treacherousfoothold. And the time came when Nas Ta Bega abandoned the stream-bed totake to the rock-strewn and cactus-covered ledges above.
Jane gave out and had to be assisted upon the weary mustang. Fay waspersuaded to mount Nack-yal again. Lassiter plodded along. The Indianbent tired steps far in front. And Shefford traveled on after him,footsore and hot.
The canyon widened ahead into a great, ragged, iron-hued amphitheater,and from there apparently turned abruptly at right angles. Sunset rimmedthe walls. Shefford wondered dully when the Indian would halt to camp.And he dragged himself onward with eyes down on the rough ground.
When he raised them again the Indian stood on a point of slope withfolded arms, gazing down where the canyon veered. Something in Nas TaBega's pose quickened Shefford's pulse and then his steps. He reachedthe Indian and the point where he, too, could see beyond that vastjutting wall that had obstructed his view.
A mile beyond all was bright with the colors of sunset, and spanningthe canyon in the graceful shape arid beautiful hues of a rainbow was amagnificent stone bridge.
"Nonnezoshe!" exclaimed the Navajo, with a deep and sonorous roll in hisvoice.