Cultus was a little dubious himself about that climb up the fissure in
the canyon wall, but he realised it was their one best bet. He watched
Jane prepare for the climb and was silent in his admiration for this
young woman, whose face was white with fear of those dizzy heights, but
who was willing to go ahead.
“I’m sure we can make it,” she said evenly.
“That puts us over half-way up right now,” he smiled as he tied their
boots to the back of his belt. “There’s just one thing to remember;
don’t look up nor down. Keep yore eyes on the wall in front of yuh, and
remember that I’m right under yuh. I won’t let yuh fall.”
“All right.”
Cultus smiled grimly at her faith in his ability to save her in case of
a slip. Those shallow niches in the walls of the fissure merely afforded
a toe-hold and in case she fell, the odds were sadly against him being
able to sustain her weight and his balance at the same time. It was sort
of as though they were climbing up a chimney, less than three feet
across; they could easily touch the wall in front of them, but there was
nothing but empty space in back of them.
But they went up and up, staring at the blank sandstone wall before
their eyes, feeling for the niches, testing each one carefully. At time
the sand broke away at the edges, and they could hear it trickling to
the bottom far below them. Sweat poured down their faces, but as they
climbed higher a draught seemed to whirl past them from below.
They didn’t dare look down, and to look up would throw them off their
balance.
“Rest,” ordered Cultus. “We’re half-way to the top, Jane.”
“Only half-way?” she whispered weakly.
“I think that’s pretty danged good, if yuh ask me.”
He could see her knees trembling under the strain.
“Yo’re the gamest woman I ever met, Jane Kelton. And when we clear Blaze
Nolan, I’m goin’ to bring him up to this place and show him the kind of
a woman he’s got.”
The knees stiffened a little.
“Up,” said Cultus softly. “Don’t try to hurry, and remember I’m right
below yuh.”
“Thank you, Cultus Collins.”
“Yo’re welcome, Miss Cliff Dweller.”
Cultus watched her feet and tried to keep as close to her as possible.
His legs ached from the strain of gripping, gripping all the time, his
body tensed to take the shock, in case she slipped. He stole a look down
the shaft and was appalled at the distance they had already climbed.
The niches were not over eighteen inches apart on each side. Some of
them were six inches deep, which afforded a good footing, while others
were barely deep enough for their toes to take a grip.
Lift and brace, lift and brace, feet lifting cautiously from one niche,
groping, groping for the next niche; sand drifting down, elbows bleeding
from scraping along the rough sandstone walls. Would the top never come?
Her knees were trembling, toes bleeding through her worn stockings.
Then Jane stopped.
“Tired?” whispered Cultus.
“It’s the top,” she breathed. “The top, Cultus Collins.”
“Keep yore nerve,” he warned her, trying to look up. “There’s more
niches in the wall. Don’t quit now. Keep goin’ as long as they last.”
Three more niches. She spurred her aching feet to grope for them. Cultus
could see the end now.
“Grip yore right foot tight and hook yore right elbow over the edge. Put
yore left foot on my shoulder. Don’t be afraid to brace yourself. Take
it easy now. Can yuh lean over the edge? Fine! Lay out flat and
wriggle.”
Cultus braced himself and waited until the pressure of her left foot was
released from his back. His knees were weak as he cautiously clawed his
way up to the top. He hooked his right foot, swayed to the right and
sprawled beside Jane, who was still crumpled up on her face, crying
softly.
Cultus relaxed for a while before he sat up to consider their
surroundings. A shelf of sandstone blocked their view of the canyon. To
the left was a series of natural sandstone steps, leading to another
crevice through the rocks.
He unhooked their boots and put his on. There was little left of his
socks, and the ends of his toes were raw and bleeding. Finally Jane sat
up cautiously, her hands still gripping at the rocks. Her face was dirty
from a mixture of tears and dust, and her eyes looked as though she had
just awakened from a terrible nightmare.
“That shore was a climb,” Cultus said wearily. “Want to take a peek and
see where we come up?”
She shut her eyes quickly.
“I don’t want to ever see it again. I don’t even want to ever climb a
ladder again. I--I thought I’d never make it. Can’t I just stay here a
while?”
“Tired?”
“I don’t know. I’m just shaking inside, but the rest of me is just
numb.”
“Well, let’s take it easy. I feel the same way.”
He rolled a cigarette, stretched out and relaxed.
“How are we ever going to get down?” she asked suddenly.
“I’ve been wonderin’ the same thing. We might have to go down the same
way we came up.”
“Not me!” Jane looked at him wildly. “I’d starve first.”
“We won’t worry about that part of it. There must be other ways to get
down.”
After an hour of relaxation, in which the sun had dropped below the
western peaks, Jane managed to put on her boots, and they got to their
feet. Her feet were swollen and very sore, but she hobbled bravely after
Cultus, who was as badly off in that respect as she.
They went up the sandstone steps and through the crevice, where they
came out on sort of a ledge, overshadowed by a projecting ledge, like
the eaves of a huge dwelling. Under this ledge was the well preserved
home of an ancient cliff dweller. Cultus had seen them before, but
possibly not in such good state of preservation.
Fine dust was a foot deep on the hard-packed floor, where no moisture
had ever reached it. But they were not interested in prehistoric
dwellings just now; so they followed the sandstone trail to the west,
where it forked, and then they followed the left-hand trail, which led
up over a stretch of broken sandstone to another higher tier of
dwellings.
Up here the dwellings were not as well preserved, owing to the fact that
no ledge projected over their tops. They could not see the canyon,
except by climbing to the tops of the dwellings, and neither of them
felt like climbing any more that day.
They worked back to the east, following the old pathways, which were
almost obliterated, but wondering where they led. It was getting late
now, and they were both growing hungry. Jane was so stiff she could
hardly walk, and when they came to the last of the dwellings she decided
that her feet were too sore to carry her farther that day.
“I was shore hopin’ that there might be a way down from this end,” said
Cultus, “but there don’t seem to be. Anyway, it’s too late to look any
further. We’ll just have to make a dry camp, tighten our belts and wait
till mornin’.”
“I’m just ready to drop,” confessed Jane, sitting down on a boulder of
sandstone. “I’m hungry and thirsty, but I’m tired the most.”
Cultus nodded seriously. He was tired too.
“I reckon this place is as good as any other,” he said. “There ain’t a
darn thing to bed down on, Jane. Use the ground for a mattress and the
sky for a blanket. We’ll get in beside that sandstone wall, where the
wind can’t hit us, and we’ll be all right.”
They talked of many things as the Arizona night closed down upon them,
and the stars seemed to dangle against the tops of the higher cliffs.
And then the moon came up to flood the world with a blue light. As far
as warmth was concerned they were comfortable, but sandstone makes a
poor bed, and they were hungry.
Finally Jane fell asleep. Cultus rolled another cigarette and walked out
along the sandstone parapet. The world seemed unreal up there in the
moonlight, which made the place almost as bright as daylight. Cultus was
at a loss to know who had attacked them. He had been suspicious of that
note, and now he swore at himself for being fool enough ever to have
entered the canyon. The losing of the note was an accident.
His big problem now was to get down. He felt sure that Jane would never
be able to negotiate a descent where they came up. Cultus was doubtful
of his own ability to go safely down that funnel. At least, he was
assured that nobody could or would follow them up that ladder, and that
they had given up trying to find them by this time.
Cultus was sitting on the edge of that sandstone parapet, finishing his
cigarette, when he saw something move below him; something which threw a
heavy shadow against the blue-white of the broken rocks. That it might
be a lion flashed through his mind, and he wondered how the lion ever
got down for his hunting.
Then the thing came out in plain view--a man. It was quite a shock to
see a man up there, and Cultus wondered if it was one of the men who had
fired the shots at him and Jane. It was possibly a hundred feet from
where Cultus sat to where the man stood, and between them was a yawning
abyss.
Cultus sat perfectly still and watched the man. It was impossible to
determine whether it was a big man or a small one. Finally the man
started westward, disappearing behind the broken sandstone. Cultus slid
back to the trail and went cautiously back, trying to see the man again.
After a while he again saw him. From his actions he was either looking
for something or examining something. Cultus and Jane had not been along
where this man was; so it was evident he was not tracking them. Finally
he turned and went back the way he came. Cultus paralleled him back to
where he had first seen him, and then the man disappeared, still going
east.
Cultus went back to Jane and shook her by the shoulder. He had some
difficulty in arousing her and making her realise where she was. Then he
told her about the man.
“Is he looking for us?” she asked anxiously.
“Mebby he is, Jane; but no matter what he’s doin’, there’s a way off
these cliffs, and we’re goin’ to follow him right now. We’ve got to go
back quite a ways to get down to the level where I saw him. Can yuh walk
that far?”
She got to her feet, every muscle protesting.
“If we don’t go too fast,” she said painfully.
Cultus led the way back to a place where they might climb down to a
lower trail. They both walked like people with wooden feet. The twisting
way seemed endless, and they tried to go cautiously. Finally they came
to the spot where Cultus had first seen the man, but there was no sign
of him now. Still that broken old trail continued, twisting around
spires of broken sandstone, and always going down.
Cultus went first, six-shooter in hand, eyes strained to see any
movement on the trail ahead, which began to be more steep, angling back
and forth down the sides of the cliffs, but always masked from the
canyon. They did not talk now. Every foot downward seemed to bring them
nearer to the level of Painted Valley.
Jane did not complain; she was content to hobble along behind Cultus.
Suddenly he stopped and sniffed at the air. An acrid smell, something he
had smelt before, but could not place now. Jane sniffed at the tainted
air.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I dunno. Smells familiar, somehow.”
They went on along the trail, which doubled back below the place where
they had smelt the queer odour, and then continued well to the westward
again.
Suddenly the whole world behind them seemed to erupt in one great
explosion, which rocked the very cliffs. Cultus was knocked to his
knees, but turned quickly and grasped Jane, who had been knocked against
him. The air was full of sand and dust, and in a dazed sort of a way,
they could hear the rocks falling down the canyon walls. Neither of them
spoke for several moments. Jane trembled violently. Cultus sneezed
rackingly.
“I know that smell now,” he told her. “It was a fuse burnin’; dynamite
fuse.”
“But why the explosion?” breathed Jane. “What was it, Cultus? What does
it all mean? Were they trying to kill us again?”
The sounds had died away now and the air seemed very still.
“I dunno,” he replied. “Let’s keep on goin’.”
They went on again, following the trail, down and down, until there
seemed no end to it. And then it ended abruptly against a thick screen
of mesquite. Cultus lighted a match and made an examination. Some one
had gone around the right-hand side of the thicket. The marks of his
boots on the soft ground told this much.
They followed him as well as they could. The moonlight did not strike
down there. Then they came out suddenly on flat ground, the level of
Padre Canyon. They could see the moonlight on the peaks and spires as
they stood there hand in hand, looking foolishly at each other. Cultus
looked back at the spot, wondering where their trail had been, but only
the tangle of mesquite and sheer walls stared back at them.
But who had caused the explosion, and why, he wondered? Who would be
dynamiting those cliffs at night? Who could be the man who---- Suddenly
it struck him.
“Jane, do you know what we’ve done? We’ve come down over the Lost Trail!
Just as sure as fate.”
“The Lost Trail? You mean, we’ve found it? But who----” She hesitated
for a moment, and then whispered, as though afraid some one else might
hear, “Blaze Nolan knew. Maybe he told Kendall Marsh where it was, and,
for fear they might not give him a chance to tell us he dynamited it
to-night, Cultus. Don’t you understand? Blaze Nolan has fixed the Lost
Trail so that no man can use it again.”
“Well, that’s a good theory,” whimsically.
“Maybe he knew we were up there, and he waited until we got past the
spot before he blew it up.”
“Yeah, he might have done that, Jane.”
But Cultus knew better. The man who had set off that blast had used
enough slow-burning fuse to allow himself plenty of time to get off the
cliffs, and the gods of luck had allowed them to get past the danger
point before it exploded.
“Do yuh think yuh can stand it to walk to yore ranch, or will yuh wait
here until I can get there and bring a horse?” he asked.
“I’ll walk. I can spend the rest of my life resting. But I’ll never
close my eyes without seeing that cliff man’s ladder. I get weak all
over when I think about it. That last ten feet was a nightmare.”
“It shore twisted my nerves,” laughed Cultus, “and I hope I’ll never
have to do a thing like that again. Can yuh imagine the nerve of the man
who cut them niches? Climb two and cut two, all the way to the top.”
They started toward the entrance to the canyon, limping along, avoiding
the heavier brush. Suddenly Cultus halted and grasped Jane by the arm.
Just in front of them, not fifty feet away, a man was mounting a horse;
a tall, gray, ghost-like animal in the moonlight. It reared with him, as
he managed to scramble on its back, and whirled wildly.
It was then that Cultus whistled a shrill note; the same note he had
whistled at the Circle M the day he wanted to prove ownership of the
tall gray animal.
The gray lunged wickedly, and the rider went sprawling in some low bush.
Again came the shrill note, and the tall gray threw up its head,
circling nervously. The rider gained his feet, and it must have been
that he saw Cultus and Jane, because he scuttled down through the brush
like a frightened rabbit.
“Amigo!” called Cultus sharply, and the gray horse came toward them,
treading cautiously.
“Hello, compadre,” said Cultus, and the horse came willingly now. He
came up close to Cultus, muzzling at him.
“Your horse?” queried Jane wonderingly. “The horse you had stolen from
you?”
“This is Amigo, Jane; the horse of horses.”
“You recognised him in the moonlight?”
“Shore. I knew he was in the valley.”
“That’s wonderful, Cultus. The man was riding him bareback, too.”
“Playin’ safe. Yuh can identify a saddle, yuh know. C’mere and I’ll help
yuh get on.”
“Will he ride double?”
“Amigo will carry all _I_ put on him.”
The horse stood patiently until they were on, and then moved away slowly
while Cultus kept a close watch. Once clear of the canyon, the horse
swung into an easy lope down across the moonlit hills.