OF FLIGHT, PURSUIT, AND A LAIR IN THE CLIFFS
Straightway Jim Kendric began to understand the real Betty. He broke a
way through the bushes for her, confident that the noise of their
progress was lost in the increasing beat of hoofs and rattle of loose
stones. They stumbled into a rocky trail in the bottom of the cañon
and made what haste they could, climbing higher into the mountain
solitudes. The pursuit had swept by them; they could hear occasional
shouts and twice gunshots. They came to a pile of tumbled boulders
across their path and crawled up. There was a flattish place at the
top in which stunted plants were growing. Here they sat for a little
while, hiding and resting and listening. Hardly had they settled
themselves here when they heard again the clear tones of Zoraida's
whistle. Not more than fifty yards away they made out the form of
Zoraida's white horse.
There was a little sound from where Betty sat, and Jim thought that she
was sobbing. "Poor little kid," he had it on his lips to mutter when
the sound repeated itself and, amazed, he recognized it for a giggle of
pure delight. This from Betty, sitting on a rock in the mountains with
a crowd of outlaws riding up and down seeking her!
"You're about as logical an individual as I ever knew," was what he
said. And with a grunt, at that.
"I never claimed to be logical," retorted Betty. "I'm just a girl."
Even then, while they whispered and fell silent and watched and
listened, he began to understand the girl whom he was to come to know
very well before many days. She did not pretend at high fearlessness;
when she was afraid she was very much afraid, and had no thought to
hide the fact. Tonight her fright had come as near killing as fright
can. But then she was alone and there was no one but herself to make
the fight for her. Now it was different. Since Jim had come she had
allowed her own responsibility to shift to his shoulders. It was
instinctive in her to turn to some man, to have some man to trust and
to depend upon. Jim was looking out for her and right now, while
Zoraida and her men searched up and down, Betty clasped her arms about
her gathered-up knees and sat cozily at the side of the man whose sole
duty, as she saw it, was to guard her with his life. So Betty, close
enough to touch the rifle across Jim's arm, could giggle as she
pictured Zoraida rushing by the very spot where they hid.
"You're not afraid, then?" asked Jim.
"Not now," whispered Betty.
They did not budge for half an hour. During that time Kendric did a
deal of hard thinking. Their plight was still far from satisfactory.
No food, no water, no horses, and in the heart of a land of which they
know nothing except that it was hard and bleak and closely patrolled by
Zoraida's riders. That they could succeed now in eluding pursuit for
the rest of the night seemed assured. But tomorrow? Where there was
one man looking for them now there would be ten tomorrow. And there
were the questions of food and water. Above all else, water.
At last, when it was very still all about them, they moved on again.
They climbed over the rocks and further up the cañon. Here there were
more trees and thicker darkness, and their progress was painfully slow.
They skirted patches of thorny bushes; they went on hands and knees up
sharp inclines. They stopped frequently, panting and straining their
ears for some sound to tell them of a pursuer; they went on again, side
by side or with Kendric ahead, breaking trail.
"We'll have to dig in somewhere before dawn," said Jim once while they
rested. "Where we can stick close during daylight tomorrow."
Betty merely nodded; all such details were to be left to him. It was
his clear-cut task to take care of her; just how he did it was not
Betty's concern. So they went on, left the cañon where there was a way
out, made their toilsome way over a low ridge and slid and rolled down
into the next ravine. And here, at the bottom, they found water. A
thin trickle from a spring, wending its way down to the larger stream
in the valley. They lay down, side by side, and drank. Then they sat
back and looked at each other in the starlight.
"Betty," said Jim impulsively, "you're a brick!"
"Am I?" said Betty. And by her voice he knew that she was pleased.
"We're not as far from the house as I'd like," he said presently. "But
it will take time to locate a decent hiding place, and we've got to
stick within reach of water."
To all of this Betty agreed; personally she'd like to be a thousand
miles away from this hideous place, but they would have to make the
best of things. That willingness of hers to accept conditions without
bemoaning her fate was what had drawn from him his impulsive epithet.
"The thing to do, then," said Kendric, getting up "is to look for a
likely place to spend a long day. And it may be more than one day."
Then Betty made her suggestion, offering it timidly, as though she were
entering a discussion in which, rightly, she had no part:
"Up yonder," and she pointed to the abrupt ridge cutting black across
the stars, "are cliffy places. It's not too far from water. There
ought to be hiding places among the broken boulders. And," she
concluded, "we might be able to peek out and look down and see what was
happening."
No; he had not done her justice. He looked toward her, wondering for a
moment. Then he said briefly: "Right," and they drank again and began
climbing.
It was Betty who, fully an hour later, found the retreat which they
agreed to utilize. Kendric was somewhere above her, making a hazardous
way up a steep bit of cliff, when Betty's voice floated up to him.
"I think I've got it," were her words, guarded but athrill with her
triumph. "Come see. It's a great hole, hid by bushes. I don't like
to go poking into it alone. You can't tell, there might be a bear or a
snake or something inside."
He climbed down to where she stood at the edge of a little level space,
her gown gathered in a hand at each side, her pretty face thrust
forward as she sought to peer into the dark before her. He saw the
clump of bushes but not immediately the hole of which she spoke, so was
it covered and hidden. But at length he made out the irregular opening
and, thrusting the bushes aside with his rifle barrel, judged that
Betty had done well. Here was a perpendicular cleft in the rock, one
of those cracks which not infrequently result from the splitting of
gigantic masses of rock along a well-defined flaw. In some ancient
convulsion this fissure had developed, the two monster fragments of the
mountain had been divided, one had slipped a little, and thereafter
through the ages they had stood face to face, close together. Kendric
could barely squeeze his body through; he found the space slanting off
to the side; he groped forward half a dozen steps, encountered an
outjutting knob of stone, slipped by it, and found that the split in
the cliff now slanted off the other way and widened so that there was a
space five or six feet across. How far ahead the fissure extended he
could form no idea yet. He turned back for Betty and bumped into her
just inside the entrance.
"It's just the place for us tonight," he said. "Though how in the
world you stumbled onto it gets me."
"The bushes grew close to the rocks," Betty explained. "I was thinking
that we could creep back of them and find a little space where, with
the brush on one side and the cliff on the other, we'd be hidden. And
I found this hole."
"The air gets in and it's clean and fresh," he went on. "We couldn't
hope for better."
"The walls are so close," whispered Betty, with a little shudder.
"They give one the feeling they're going to press in and crush you."
"They widen a bit in a minute." He groped on ahead, came again to the
outthrust knob and pressed by. "Here we turn a little to the right and
here's room for a dozen people."
Betty hurried and stood close to him. In vain her eyes sought to
penetrate the absolute dark; no slightest detail of floor or wall was
offered save vaguely through the sense of touch.
"It's dark enough to smother you," she whispered. "I wonder what's
ahead of us? I wish we dared have a light!"
He was silent a moment.
"Maybe we do dare," he said thoughtfully. "The crookedness of this
place ought to shut off any glow from the outside. Let's go on a
little further and we'll try."
He went on slowly, feeling a cautious way with his feet, his hand on
the wall of rock at his side, Betty pressing on close behind him. Thus
they continued another dozen paces or so. Then they stopped because
they could find no means of continuing; so far as they could tell by
groping with their hands the fissure narrowed again until it was no
wider than the original entrance, and its irregularities presented
difficulties to blind progress.
"Stand here," said Kendric. "Close to the rock. Here's a match. I'll
slip back to the mouth of the place and we'll see if there's any glow
gets that far."
"Hurry, then," said Betty, with a little shiver, fingers finding his
and taking the match.
Appreciating her sensations he hurried off through the dark. He
rounded the turn, called softly to her to strike the match and went on
again until he was near the entrance. So still was it that he heard
the scratching of the match against the sole of her sandal. But no
flare of light came out to him.
"Did you light it?" he asked.
"Yes. Couldn't you see it?"
"Not a glimmer. Wait a minute and I'll bring in some stuff for a fire."
The match burned down until it warmed her fingers and went out. In the
dark she waited breathlessly. A sigh of relief escaped her when she
heard him coming.
He went down on his knees and made a very small heap of the dry leaves
and twigs he had scraped up. When he set fire to it and straightened
up they watched the flames eagerly. There was scarcely more light than
a candle casts but even that faint illumination brought something of
cheeriness with it. They looked about them curiously. They could see
dimly the passageway along which they had come; they could make out its
narrowing continuation on into the mass of the mountain. They looked
up and saw an ever dwindling space merging with darkness and finally
lost in utter obscurity. Underfoot was debris, rocky soil worn away
from the cliffs throughout the ages, here and there fallen slivers and
scale of rock. Shadows moved somberly, misshapen and grotesque, like
brooding spirits of evil stirring in nightmare.
Kendric threw on a little more fuel and, to make doubly sure, went
outside again, standing in the open beyond the fringe of bushes.
"Never a flicker gets through," he announced when he returned. "A man
would have to come close enough to hear the wood crackle or smell the
smoke to ever guess we had a fire going. And even the smoke is taken
care of." They tilted back their heads to see how it crept lazing up
and up until it was dissipated among the lofty shadows. "If we can
manage water and food," he went on, "I think we would be safe here a
year. The lazy devils taking Zoraida's pay can't make it up this way
on horseback, and they're not going to climb on foot up every steep bit
of mountainside hereabouts, looking for us."
"A year?" gasped Betty.
"I hope not." He became conscious of a sudden sense of relief after
all that the night had offered and his old joyous laughter shone in his
eyes. "But there may be wisdom in sticking close for a few days.
Until they decide we've gone clear."
It was the time, inevitable though it may be long delayed, of relaxing
nerves and muscles. Betty sat down limply, her hands loose in her lap,
her eyes drawn to their fire, looking tired and wistful. Kendric,
looking at her, felt a hot rush of anger at Zoraida for being the cause
of their present condition. Betty lifted her head and caught the
expression molding his face. She was wrapped about with her red gown
and Zoraida's cloak; her ankles were bare; then were scratches on them;
her sandals looked already worn out; her hair was tumbled and snarled.
She shook it loose and began combing it through with her fingers, then
twisting it up into two loose brown braids.
"If we do have to stay a while," said Betty, gathering her courage in
both hands, looking up at him an managing a smile, "I'll show you how I
can cozy the place up. Tomorrow, while you're doing the man's part and
finding us something to eat, I'll show you what a housekeeper I can be.
Why, I can make this just like home; you'll see."
While he was doing the man's part! In her mind, then, it was all
simplified and reduced to that. His, naturally, was to be the task of
furnishing food, for nothing was clearer than that they must eat and
that filling the larder was Jim's affair and not Betty's. Where he was
to get food and how and what kind of food it might be was to be left to
him. There was Betty for you, quite content to leave such matters
where they properly belonged--in a man's hands. But he might rest
assured that whatever he brought in, be it a handful of acorns or pine
nuts or the carcass of a lean ground squirrel, would be, in Betty's
eye, splendid!
"Somehow," he burst out, "in spite of Zoraida and all the bandits in
Mexico, we'll carry on!"
"Of course," said Betty.
He saw that she was leaning back against the rocks, that her whole body
drooped, that she looked wearied out.
"I'm going out for some boughs, the softest I can find handy," he said.
"We'll have to sleep on them. And while I'm doing that I've got to
figure out a way to bring some water up here. We don't know what's
ahead and we'd be in hard luck bottled up here all day tomorrow with
nothing to drink. Lord, I'd give a lot for a tin bucket!"
He made a little heap of dead wood close to her hand so that she could
keep her fire going, and put down on the other side of her his rifle
and the long obsidian knife, planning to use his pocket knife for the
work at hand.
"You won't go far?" asked Betty.
"Only a few steps," he assured her. "I'll hear if you call. And you
have the rifle handy."
He was going out when Betty's voice arrested him.
"It's the housekeeper's place to have the buckets ready," was what she
said.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
"I'll show you when you come back. You'll hurry, won't you?"
"Sure thing," he answered. And went about his task.
Now Jim Kendric knew as well as any man that there is no bed to compare
with the bed a man may make for himself in the forestlands. But here
was no forest, no thicket of young firs aromatic and springy, nothing
but the harsher vegetation of a hard land where agaves, the _maguey_ of
Mexico, and their kin thrive, where the cactus is the characteristic
growth. He'd be in luck to find some small pines or even the
dry-looking sparse cedars of the locality. These with handfuls of dry
leaves and grass, perhaps some tenderer shoots from the hillside sage,
with Zoraida's cloak spread over them, might make for Betty a couch on
which she could manage to sleep. It was too dark for picking and
choosing and his range was limited to what scant growth found root on
these uplands close by.
When he returned with the first armful of branches he informed Betty
cheerily that outside her fire was hidden as though a sturdy oak panel
shut their door for them. Betty was bending busily over her cloak and
still thus occupied when he brought in the second and third trailing
armful of boughs. He stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at
her curiously. And as at last Betty glanced up brightly there was an
air of triumph about her.
"The bucket is ready for the water," she said.
He came closer and she held out something toward him, and again he
adjusted his views to fit the companion whom he was growing to know.
She had spoiled a very beautiful and expensive cloak, but of it she had
improvised something intended to hold water. Not for very long,
perhaps; but long enough for the journey here from the creek, if a man
did not loiter on the way. With the ancient sacrificial knife she had
hacked at a stringy, fibrous bit of vegetation growing near the mouth
of their den; she had managed a tough loop some eight or ten inches in
diameter. Then she had ripped a square of silk from the cloak which
she had shaped cunningly like a deep pocket, binding it securely into
the fiber rim by thrusting holes through the silk and running bits of
the green fiber through like pack thread. The final result looked
something less like a bucket than some strange oriole's hanging nest.
"It _will_ hold water," vowed Betty, ready for argument. "I've worn
bathing caps of a lot poorer grade of silk and never a drop got
through. Besides I put a thickness of silk, then a layer of these
broad leaves, then another piece of silk, to make sure."
"Fine," he said. "Yes, it will hold water for a while. But it's a
long time from daylight until dark, and I'm afraid----"
"As if I hadn't thought of that!" said Betty. "I knew that if I looked
around I'd find something. I thought of your boots, of course; and I
thought of your rifle barrel. But you'll need the boots and may need
the gun. Come and I'll show you our reservoir."
She put a handful of leaves and twigs on the fire for the sake of more
light, and led the way toward the narrowing fissure further back in
their retreat. Here she stopped before a great rudely egg-shaped
boulder five or six feet through that lay in a shallow depression in
the ground.
"Our water bottle," said Betty.
He supposed that she referred to the depression in the rock floor,
since the boulder did not fit in it so exactly as to preclude the
possibility of the big rude basin holding water. The word
"evaporation" was on his lips when Betty explained. She had hoped to
find somewhere a cavity in a rock that would hold their water supply;
she had noted this boulder and a flattish place at its top. There her
questing fingers had discovered what Kendric's, at her direction, were
exploring now. There was a fairly round hole, a couple of inches
across. The edges were surprisingly smooth; Kendric could not guess
how deep the hole was.
"Poke a stick into it," Betty commanded.
Obeying, he learned that the hole extended eighteen inches or more.
Here was a fairly regular cylinder let into a block of hard rock that
would contain something like two quarts of water--certainly enough to
keep the life in two people for twenty-four hours.
"We'll make a plug to fit into the mouth of it," he said, catching her
idea and immediately was as enthusiastic over it as Betty. "And while
we're out getting the water we'll find something for straws. There are
wild grasses, oats or something that looks like oats, in the cañon."
The night was well spent; dawn would come early. And with the dawn,
they had no doubt, the mountain trails would fill with Zoraida's men,
questing like hounds. Hence Betty and Jim lost no more time in making
their trip down the steep slope to the trickle of water. They drank
again, lying side by side at a pool. Then Jim filled Betty's "bucket"
and they returned to their place of refuge. Kendric arranged the
boughs for Betty and made her lie down. By the time he had carved and
fitted a plug into their "water bottle" Betty was asleep.