Book: The Rainbow Trail

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Shefford looked back often, and the farther out in the plain he
reached the higher loomed the plateau they had descended; and as he
faced ahead again the lower sank the red-domed and castled horizon to
the fore. The ravines became deeper, with dry rock bottoms, and the
ridge-tops sharper, with outcroppings of yellow, crumbling ledges.
Once across the central depression of that plain a gradual ascent
became evident, and the round rocks grew clearer in sight, began to
rise shine and grow. And thereafter every slope brought them nearer.

The sun was straight overhead and hot when Nas Ta Bega halted the
party under the first lonely scrub-cedar. They all dismounted to
stretch their limbs, and rest the horses. It was not a talkative
group, Lassiter's comments on the never-ending green plain elicited no
response. Jane Withersteen looked afar with the past in her eyes.
Shefford felt Fay's wistful glance and could not meet it; indeed, he
seemed to want to hide something from her. The Indian bent a falcon
gaze on the distant slope, and Shefford did not like that intent,
searching, steadfast watchfulness. Suddenly Nas Ta Bega stiffened
and whipped the halter he held.

"Ugh!" he exclaimed.

All eyes followed the direction of his dark hand. Puffs of dust rose
from the base of the long slope they had descended; tiny dark specks
moved 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 did
not look at either of them. The Indian began swiftly to tighten the
saddle-cinches of his roan, and Shefford did likewise for Nack-yal.
Then Shefford drew his rifle out of the saddle-sheath and Joe Lake's
big guns from 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 grew
clawlike as he reached for the guns. He threw open the cylinders,
spilled out the shells, snapped back the cylinders. Then he went
through motions too swift for Shefford to follow. But Shefford heard
the hammers falling so swiftly they blended their clicks almost in one
sound. Lassiter reloaded the guns with a speed comparable with the
other actions. A remarkable transformation had come over him. He did
not seem the same man. The mild eyes had changed; the long, shadowy,
sloping lines were tense cords; and there was a cold, ashy shade on
his face,

"Twelve years!" he muttered to himself. "I dropped them old guns back
there where I rolled the rock. . . . Twelve years!"

Shefford realized the twelve years were as if they had never been. And
he would rather have had this old gun-man with him than a dozen
ordinary men.

The Indian spoke rapidly in Navajo, saying that once in the rocks they
were safe. Then, after another look at the distant dust-puffs, he
wheeled his mustang.

It was doubtful if the party could have kept near him had they been
responsible for the gait of their mounts. The fact was that the way
the called to his mustang or some leadership in the one rode drew the
others to a like trot or climb or canter. For a long time Shefford
did not turn round; he knew what to expect. And when he did turn he
was startled at the gain made by the pursuers. But he was encouraged
as well by the looming, red, rounded peaks seemingly now so close.
He could see the dark splits between the sloping curved walls, the
pinyon patches in the amphitheater under the circled walls. That was
a wild place they were approaching, and, once in there, he believed
pursuit would be useless. However, there were miles to go still,
and those hard-riding devils 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 the others to be indistinguishable.

At last only a long, gently rising slope separated the fugitives from
that labyrinthine network of wildly carved rock. But it was the clear
air that made the distance seem short. Mile after mile the mustangs
climbed, and when they were perhaps half-way across that last slope to
the 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 Bega
kept his mustang at a steady walk, in spite of the gaining pursuers.
There came a point, however, when the Indian, reaching comparatively
level ground, put his mount to a swinging canter. The other mustangs
broke into the same gait.

It became a race then, with the couple of miles between fugitives
and pursuers only imperceptibly lessened. Nas Ta Bega had saved his
mustangs and Shadd had ridden his to the limit. Shefford kept looking
back, gripping his rifle, hoping it would not come to a fight, yet
slowly losing that reluctance.

Sage began to show on the slope, and other kinds of brush and cedars
straggled everywhere. The great rocks loomed closer, the red color
mixed with yellow, and the slopes lengthening out, not so steep, yet
infinitely longer than they had seemed at a distance.

Shefford ceased to feel the dry wind in his face. They were already
in the lee of the wall. He could see the rock-squirrels scampering to
their holes. The mustangs valiantly held to the gait, and at last the
Indian disappeared between two rounded comers of cliff. The others
were close behind. Shefford wheeled once more. Shadd and his gang
were a mile in the 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 and
follow. 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 climbed
straight up for a while, and then wound around a swell, to turn this
way and that, always going up. Shefford began to see similar mounds
of rock all around him, of every shape that could be called a curve.
There were yellow domes far above, and small red domes far below.
Ridges ran from one hill of rock to another. There were no abrupt
breaks, but holes and pits and caves were everywhere, and occasionally,
deep down, an amphitheater green with cedar and pinyon. The Indian
appeared to have a clear idea of where he wanted to go, though there
was no vestige of a trail on those bare slopes. At length Shefford
was high enough to see back 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 his
followers another and a higher wall beyond, with a ridged, bare, wild,
and scalloped depression between. Here footing began to be precarious
for both man and beast. When the ascent of the second wall began it
was necessary to zigzag up, slowly and carefully, taking advantage of
every level bulge or depression. They must have consumed half an hour
mounting this slope to the summit. Once there, Shefford drew a sharp
breath with both backward and forward glances. Shadd and his gang, in
single file, showed dark upon the bare stone ridge behind. And to the
fore there twisted and dropped and curved the most dangerous slopes
Shefford had ever seen. The fugitives had reached the height of stone
wall, of the divide, and many of the drops upon this side were
perpendicular and too steep to see the bottom.

Nas Ta Bega led along the ridge-top and then started down, following
the waves in the rock. He came out upon a round promontory from which
there could not have been any turning of a horse. The long slant
leading down was at an angle Shefford declared impossible for the
animals. Yet the Indian started down. His mustang needed urging, but
at last edged upon the steep descent. Shefford and the others had to
hold back and wait. It was thrilling to see the intelligent mustang.
He did not step. He slid his fore hoofs a few inches at a time and
kept directly behind the Indian. If he fell he would knock Nas Ta
Bega off his feet and they would both roll down together. There was
no doubt in Shefford's mind that the mustang knew this as well as the
Indian. Foot by foot they worked down to a swelling bulge, and here
Nas Ta Bega left his mustang and came back for the pack-horse. It was
even more difficult to get this beast down. Then the Indian called for
Lassiter and Jane and Fay to come down. Shefford began to keep a sharp
lookout behind and above, and did not see how the three fared on the
slope, but evidently there was no mishap. Nas Ta Bega mounted the
slope again, and at the moment sight of Shadd's dark bays silhouetted
against the sky caused Shefford to call out:

"We've got to hurry!"

The Indian led one mustang and called to the others. Shefford stepped
close 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 upon
the rim of a steep-walled amphitheater. Along the rim was a yard-wide
level, with the chasm to the left and steep slope to the right. There
was no time to flinch at the danger, when an even greater danger
menaced from 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 was surefooted and his confidence helped the others. At the apex
of the curve the only course led away from the rim, and here there was
no level. Four of the mustangs slipped and slid down the smooth rock
until they stopped in a shallow depression. It cost time to get them
out, to straighten pack and saddles. Shefford thought he heard a yell
in the rear, but he could not see anything of the gang.

They rounded this precipice only to face a worse one. Shefford's
nerve was sorely tried when he saw steep slants everywhere, all
apparently leading down into chasms, and no place a man, let alone a
horse, could put a foot with safety. Nevertheless the imperturbable
Indian never slacked his pace. Always he appeared to find a way, and
he never had to turn back. His winding course, however, did not now
cover much distance in a straight line, and herein lay the greatest
peril. Any moment Shadd and his men might come within range.

Upon a particularly tedious and dangerous side of rocky hill the
fugitives lost so much time that Shefford grew exceedingly alarmed.
Still, they accomplished it without accident, and their pursuers
did not heave in sight. Perhaps they were having trouble in a
bad place.

The afternoon was waning. The red sun hung low above the yellow
mesa to the left, and there was a perceptible shading of light.

At last Nas Ta Bega came to a place that halted him. It did not look
so bad as places they had successfully passed. Yet upon closer study
Shefford did not see how they were to get around the neck of the gully
at their feet. Presently the Indian put the bridle over the head of
his mustang and left him free. He did likewise for two more mustangs,
while Lassiter and Shefford rendered a like service to theirs. Then
the Indian started down, with his mustang following him. The pack-
animal came next, then Fay and Nack-yal, then Lassiter and his mount,
with Jane and hers next, and Shefford last. They followed the Indian,
picking their steps swiftly, looking nowhere except at the stone under
their feet. The right side of the chasm was rimmed, the curve at the
head crossed, and then the real peril of this trap had to be faced.
It was a narrow slant of ledge, doubling back parallel with the course
already traversed.

A sharp warning cry from Nas Ta Bega scarcely prepared Shefford for
hoarse yells, and then a rattling rifle-volley from the top of the
slope opposite. Bullets thudded on the cliff, whipped up red dust,
and spanged and droned away.

Fay Larkin screamed and staggered back against the wall. Nack-yal was
hit, and with frightened snort he reared, pawed the air, and came down,
pounding the stone. The mustang behind him went to his knees, sank
with his head over the rim, and, slipping off, plunged into the depths.
In an instant a dull crash came up.

For a moment there was imminent peril for the horses, more in the
yawning hole than in the spanging of badly aimed bullets. Lassiter
drew Jane up a little slope out of the way of the frightened mustangs,
and Shefford, 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 behind a corner till the Indian drove the mustangs round it.
Shefford's swift fingers were wet and red with the blood from Fay's
arm when he had bound the wound with his scarf. Lassiter had gotten
around with Jane and was calling Shefford to hurry.

It had been Shefford's idea to halt there and fight. But he did not
want to send Fay on alone, so he hurried ahead with her. The Indian
had the horses going fast on a long level, overhung by bulging wall.
Lassiter and Jane were looking back. Shefford, becoming aware of a
steep slope to his left, looked down to see a narrow chasm and great
crevices in the cliffs, with bunches of cedars here and there.

Presently Nas Ta Bega disappeared with the mustangs. He had evidently
turned off to go down behind the split cliffs. Shefford and Fay caught
up with Lassiter and Jane, and, panting, hurrying, looking backward
and then 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, and then through one of the narrow cracks to come out upon
the rim, among cedars. Here the Indian waited for them. He pointed
down another long swell of naked stone to a narrow green split which
was evidently different from all these curved pits and holes and
abysses, for this one had straight walls and wound away out of sight.
It was the head of a canyon.

"Nonnezoshe Boco!" said the Indian.

"Nas Ta Bega, go on!" replied Shefford. "When Shadd comes out on
that slope above he can't see you--where you go down. Hurry on with
the horses and women. Lassiter, you go with them. And if Shadd
passes me and comes up with you--do your best. . . . I'm going to
ambush that Piute and his gang!"

"Shore you've picked out a good place," replied Lassiter.

In another moment Shefford was alone. He heard the light, soft pat and
slide of the hoofs of the mustangs as they went down. Presently that
sound ceased.

He looked at the red stain on his hands--from the blood of the girl he
loved. And he had to stifle a terrible wrath that shook his frame. In
regard to Shadd's pursuit, it had not been blood that he had feared,
but capture for Fay. He and Nas Ta Bega might have expected a shot if
they resisted, but to wound that unfortunate girl--it made a tiger out
of him. When he had stilled the emotions that weakened and shook him
and reached cold and implacable control of himself, he crawled under
the cedars 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 had escaped from that murderous volley. But Shadd did not come.

The sun had lost its warmth and was tipping the lofty mesa to his
right. Soon twilight would make travel on those walls more perilous
and darkness would make it impossible. Shadd must hurry or abandon
the pursuit for that day. Shefford found himself grimly hopeful.

Suddenly he heard the click of hoofs. It came, faint yet clear, on
the still air. He glued his sight upon that corner where he expected
the pursuers to appear. More cracks of hoofs pierced his ear, clearer
and sharper this time. Presently he gathered that they could not
possibly come from beyond the corner he was watching. So he looked
far to the left of that place, seeing no one, then far to the right.
Out over a bulge of stone he caught sight of the bobbing head of a
horse--then another--and still another.

He was astounded. Shadd had gone below that place where the attack
had been made and he had come up this steep slope. More horses
appeared--to the number of eight. Shefford easily recognized a low,
broad, squat rider to be Shadd. Assuredly the Piute did not know this
country. Possibly, however, he had feared an ambush. But Shefford
grew convinced that Shadd had not expected an ambush, or at least did
not fear it, and had mistaken the Indian's course. Moreover, if he
led his gang a few rods farther up that slope he would do worse than
make a mistake--he would be facing a double peril.

What fearless horsemen these Indians were! Shadd was mounted, as were
three others of his gang. Evidently the white men, the outlaws, were
the ones on foot. Shefford thrilled and his veins stung when he saw
these pursuers come passing what he considered the danger mark. But
manifestly they 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 nor could they turn back. The alternative was to
climb the slope, and that was a desperate chance.

They came up, now about on a level with Shefford, and perhaps three
hundred yards distant. He gripped his rifle with a fatal assurance
that he could kill one of them now. Still he waited. Curiosity
consumed him because every foot they advanced heightened their peril.
Shefford wondered if Shadd would have chosen that course if he had
not supposed the Navajo had chosen it first. It was plain that one
of the walking Piutes stooped now and then to examine the rock. He
was looking for some faint sign of a horse track.

Shadd halted within two hundred yards of where Shefford lay hidden.
His keen eye had caught the significance of the narrowing level
before he had reached the end. He pointed and spoke. Shefford
heard his voice. The others replied. They all looked up at the
steep slope, down into the chasm right below them, and across into
the cedars. The Piute in the rear succeeded in turning his horse,
went back, and began to circle up the slope. The others entered into
an argument and they became more closely grouped upon the narrow bench.
Their mustangs were lean, wiry, wild, vicious, and Shefford calculated
grimly upon what a stampede might mean 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 started
back, apparently to circle round and up. The others of the gang
appeared uncertain. They yelled hoarsely at Shadd, who halted on the
steep slant some twenty paces above them. He spoke and made motions
that evidently meant the climb was easy enough. It looked easy for
him. His dark face flashed red in the rays of the sun.

At this critical moment Shefford decided to fire. He meant to kill
Shadd, hoping if the leader was gone the others would abandon the
pursuit. The rifle wavered a little as he aimed, then grew still. He
fired. Shadd never flinched. But the fiery mustang, perhaps wounded,
certainly terrified, plunged down with piercing, horrid scream. Shadd
fell under him. Shrill yells rent the air. Like a thunderbolt the
sliding horse was upon men and animals below.

A heavy shock, wild snorts, upflinging heads and hoofs, a terrible
tramping, thudding, shrieking melee, then a brown, twisting, tangled
mass 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
another instant there was a lighter crash and a lighter sliding roar.

Two horses, shaking, paralyzed with fear, were left upon the narrow
level. Beyond them a couple of men were crawling along the stone.
Up on the level stood the two Indians, holding down frightened horses,
and staring at the fatal slope.

And Shefford lay there under the cedar, in the ghastly grip of the
moment, hardly comprehending that his ill-aimed shot had been a
thunderbolt.

He did not think of shooting at the Piutes; they, however, recovering
from their shock, evidently feared the ambush, for they swiftly drew
up the slope and passed out of sight. The frightened horses below
whistled and tramped along the lower level, finally vanishing. There
was nothing left on the bare wall to prove to Shefford that it had
been the scene of swift and tragic death. He leaned from his covert
and peered over the rim. Hundreds of feet below he saw dark growths
of pinyons. There was no sign of a pile of horses and men, and then
he realized that he could not tell the number that had perished. The
swift finale had been as stunning to him as if lightning had struck
near him.

Suddenly it flashed over him what state of suspense and torture Fay
and Jane must be in at that very moment. And, leaping up, he ran out
of the cedars to the slope behind and hurried down at risk of limb.
The sun had set 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. The canyon was about fifty yards wide
and it headed under the great slope of Navajo Mountain. These smooth,
rounded walls appeared to end at its low rim.

Shefford slid down upon a grassy bank, and finding the tracks of the
horses, he followed them. They led along the wall. As soon as he had
assured himself that Nas Ta Bega had gone down the canyon he abandoned
the tracks and pushed ahead swiftly. He heard the soft rush of running
water. In the center of the canyon wound heavy lines of bright-green
foliage, bordering a rocky brook. The air was close, warm, and sweet
with perfume of flowers. The walls were low and shelving, and soon
lost that rounded appearance peculiar to the wind-worn slopes above.
Shefford came 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 bitter bite of alkali. He crossed and pushed on, running on the
grassy levels. Flowers were everywhere, but he did not notice them
particularly. The canyon made many leisurely turns, and its size, if
it enlarged at all, was not perceptible to him yet. The rims above
him were perhaps fifty feet high. Cottonwood-trees began to appear
along the brook, and blossoming buck-brush in the corners of wall.

He had traveled perhaps a mile when Nas Ta Bega, appearing to come out
of 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 were
beyond a little way. Shefford took Nas Ta Bega's arm, and as they
walked, and he panted for breath, he told what had happened back on
the slopes.

The Indian made one of his singular speaking sweeps of hand, and he
scrutinized Shefford's face, but he received the news in silence.
They turned a corner of wall, crossed a wide, shallow, boulder-strewn
place in the brook, and mounted the bank to a thicket. Beyond this,
from a clump of cottonwoods, Lassiter strode out with a gun in each
hand. He had been hiding.

"Shore I'm glad to see you," he said, and the eyes that piercingly
fixed on Shefford were now as keen as formerly they had been mild.

"Gone! Lassiter--they're gone," broke out Shefford. "Where's Fay--
and Jane?"

Lassiter called, and presently the women came out of the thick brake,
and Fay bounded forward with her swift stride, while Jane followed
with eager step and anxious face. Then they all surrounded Shefford.

"It was Shadd--and his gang," panted Shefford. "Eight in all. Three
or four Piutes--the others outlaws. They lost track of us. Went
below the place--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
to the point where he saw his mistake and then how the catastrophe
fell.

"I shot--and missed," repeated Shefford, with the sweat in beads on
his pale face. "I missed Shadd. Maybe I hit the horse. He plunged
--reared--fell back--a terrible fall--right upon that bunch of horses
and men below. . . . In a horrible, wrestling, screaming tangle they
slid 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 have no idea how many, but Shadd and some of his gang went
to destruction."

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