On touching _terra firma_, and finding plenty of space around, they
scrambled from off the pile of loose stones and stalks cast down by the
Indians, and commenced groping their way about. Again touching the firm
surrounding of rock, they groped searchingly along it.
They were not long engaged in their game of blind-man's buff, when the
necessity of trusting to the touch came abruptly to an end--as if the
handkerchief had been suddenly jerked from their eyes. The change was
caused by a light streaming in through a side gallery into which they
had strayed. It was at first dim and distant, but soon shone upon them
with the brilliance of a flambeau.
Following the passage through which it guided them, they reached an
aperture of irregular roundish shape, about the size, of the cloister
window of a convent. They saw at once that it was big enough to allow
the passage of their bodies. They saw, too, that it was admitting the
sunbeams--admonishing them that it was still far from night.
They had brought all their traps down along with them--their knives and
pistols, with Hamersley's gun still carefully kept. But they hesitated
about going out. There could be no difficulty in their doing so, for
there was a ledge less than three feet under the aperture, upon which
they could find footing. It was not that which caused them to hesitate,
but the fact of again falling into the hands of their implacable
enemies.
That these were still upon the plain they had evidence. They could hear
their yells and whooping, mingled with peals of wild demon-like
laughter. It was at the time when the firewater was in the ascendant,
and the savages were playing their merry game with the pieces of
despoiled cotton goods.
There was danger in going out, but there might be more in staying in.
The savages might return upon their search, and discover this other
entrance to the vault. In that case they would take still greater pains
to close it and besiege the two fugitives to the point of starvation.
Both were eager to escape from a place they had lately looked upon as a
living tomb.
Still, they dared not venture out of it. They could not retreat by the
plain so long as the Indians were upon it. At night, perhaps, in the
darkness, they might. Hamersley suggested this.
"No," said Walt, "nor at night eyther. It's moontime, you know; an'
them sharp-eyed Injuns niver all goes to sleep thegither. On that sand
they'd see us in the moonlight 'most as plain as in the day. Ef we wait
at all, we'll hev to stay till they go clar off."
Wilder, while speaking, stood close to the aperture, looking cautiously
out. At that moment, craning his neck to a greater stretch, so as to
command a better view of what lay below, his eye caught sight of an
object that elicited an exclamation of surprise.
"Darn it," he said, "thar's my old clout lyin' down thar on the rocks."
It was the red kerchief he had plucked from his head to put the pursuers
on the wrong track.
"It's jest where I flinged it," he continued; "I kin recognise the
place. That gully, then, must be the one we didn't go up."
Walt spoke the truth. The decoy was still in the place where he had set
it. The square of soiled and faded cotton had failed to tempt the
cupidity of the savages, who knew that in the waggons they had captured
were hundreds of such, clean and new, with far richer spoil besides.
"S'pose we still try that path, Frank. It may lead us to the top arter
all. If they've bin up it they've long ago gone down agin; I kin tell
by thar yelpin' around the waggons. They've got holt of our corn afore
this; and won't be so sharp in lookin' arter us."
"Agreed," said Hamersley.
Without further delay the two scrambled out through the aperture, and,
creeping along the ledge, once more stood in the hollow of the ravine,
at the point of its separation into the forks that had perplexed them in
their ascent. Perhaps, after all, they had chosen the right one. At
the time of their first flight, had they succeeded in reaching the plain
above, they would surely have been seen and pursued; though with
superior swiftness of foot they might still have escaped.
Once more they faced upward, by the slope of the ravine yet untried.
On passing it, Walt laid hold of his "clout," as he called it, and
replaced it, turban fashion, on his head.
"I can only weesh," he said, "I ked as convenient rekiver my rifle; an',
darn me, but I would try, ef it war only thar still. It ain't, I know.
Thet air piece is too precious for a Injun to pass by. It's gone back
to the waggons."
They could now more distinctly hear the shouts of their despoilers; and,
as they continued the ascent, the narrow chine in the cliff opened
between them and the plain, giving them a glimpse of what was there
going on.
They could see the savages--some on foot, others on horseback--the
latter careering round as if engaged in a tournament.
They saw they were roystering, wild with triumph, and maddened with
drink--the fire-water they had found in the waggons.
"Though they be drunk, we mustn't stay hyar so nigh 'em," muttered Walt.
"I allers like to put space atween me and seech as them. They mout get
some whimsey into their heads, an' come this ways. They'll take any
amount o' trouble to raise ha'r; an' maybe grievin' that they hain't got
ourn yit, an' mout think they'd hev another try for it. As the night's
bound to be a mooner, we can't git too far from 'em. So let's out o'
this quick's we kin."
"On, then!" said Hamersley, assenting; and the next moment the two were
rapidly ascending the gorge, Wilder leading the way.
This time they were more fortunate. The ravine sloped on up to the
summit of the cliff, debouching upon a level plain. They reached this
without passing any point that could bring them under the eyes of the
Indians.
They could still hear the shouts of triumph and wild revelry; but as
they receded from the crest of the cliff these grew fainter and fainter,
until they found themselves fleeing over an open table-land, bounded
above by the sky, all round them silent as death--silent as the heart of
a desert.