There was another puff of smoke, and another, followed by their cracks
and echoes; a few moments' pause, and two more, with the result that
every Indian on the ledge disappeared, two of them falling prone, to lie
motionless, the others to hurry to where their companions held the reins
that had been passed to them.
Chris saw nothing of this, but at every report coming from down in the
depression his heart leaped, knowing as he did that the sharp cracks
were the reports of rifles, and that these could only be fired by his
friends.
From clinging there half stunned and perfectly inert, he felt a thrill
of energy begin to move within him--a thrill which became a spasm as all
at once he saw something moving that looked like an animal crawling over
the edge of the cliff about fifty feet diagonally away from where he
lay.
As the object passed from behind some intervening trees he could see
plainly enough that it was an Indian grasping a bow, and the top of his
quiver could be seen above his shoulder.
Chris was alert now, and grasped the fact that this was another of the
enemy making his way down to a big patch of pensile growth which would
afford him cover, from whence he could direct his arrows either at his
watcher or at those who had fired upward from the valley.
"Could I?" he asked himself, with the desire for life once more
throbbing strongly in his veins.
He began to prove his position. He had lain clinging with all his might
to that stone ever since he had fallen, in the full belief that if he
slackened his hold he would glide off into the depths and fall to the
bottom; but as in his calmer frame of mind he began to test this, he
found that loosening his desperate grasp made no difference, that where
he lay was fairly level, and that he was safe enough so long as he could
retain his nerve.
His left arm ached violently, but there was nothing the matter with his
right, and to his great satisfaction his rifle was beside him, with
pouch, pistol, and hunting-knife.
He began to examine his rifle-lock, and found all was right there, and
that by moving a little he could place the stone between himself and his
enemy so that he would not only have a breastwork over which to fire,
but a protection to turn aside arrows sent for his destruction.
He turned cautiously aside, for he felt that cunning eyes might be
watching him; but in spite of the caution he could not evade the quick
glance of the watching enemy.
Chris grasped the fact, and quick as thought, as his rifle now rested
upon the top of the stone, brought the sight to bear upon the Indian.
It was to save his life, he knew, for his enemy was as quick in his
movements as he, with the result that a well-aimed arrow flashed across
the intervening distance like a ray of light, which was quenched in the
puff of white smoke which darted from the boy's rifle. Then
simultaneously with the report there was a sharp _click_, and the tough
reed-like piece of wood glanced away, diverted from the object at which
it was aimed, while as Chris peered with starting eyes over the top of
the stone which had saved him from a grievous wound, if not from death,
he saw beneath the smoke which floated upwards another of the Indians
rolling over three or four times before descending into the depths below
with ever-gathering speed.
There was another chorus of yells from overhead, and though he could not
see them, Chris felt assured that the enemy were raging about the top of
the cliff, seeking to send arrows at him; and he had additional proof of
this being a fact, for _crack_!--_crack_!--_crack_!--_crack_! four
reports came from below, with what effect he could not tell, but it
seemed certain that his friends had fired at the enemy, whose yelling
ceased, a strange and terrible silence succeeding the cries.
Chris re-loaded his empty barrel and looked sharply in several
directions, mostly in that from which danger had shown itself, and with
the full intention of firing at the first enemy who tried to reach the
spot which commanded his resting-place. But the silence continued, and
there was no sign of a renewed attack.
Then all at once there was a fresh beating of the pony's hoofs from
below, where everything was hidden. This was followed by a sharp
scrambling sound, and again by a tremendous rush as of earth and stones
sliding down for awhile before reaching the bottom with a crash.
"My poor nag!" groaned Chris, and in imagination he saw the crushed and
bleeding body of the sturdy little steed lying motionless amidst the
heap of stones.
The fancy was so horribly vivid that he shivered as if from a cold wind
passing over him, while all the time he was bathed with perspiration.
The old dread of slipping from the narrow ledge upon which he lay came
back, and with a terrible feeling of despair he waited for the moment
when he would again be falling swiftly through the air to share the fate
of his mount.
He had just reached this point when, sounding rather faint and distant
but perfectly clear, he heard a familiar voice calling him by name.
But in his state of painful agitation he could make no reply, only lie
motionless and ready to ask himself whether he had not conjured up the
call himself.
But it was no fancy! It was his father's voice, sounding as if sent
forth with a great effort between hands held on either side of the
speaker's lips.
"Chris! Chris!" And perfectly clearly now a repetition of the words in
a husky whisper from somewhere close at hand.
The Indians were above him, he knew, and it was like telling them
exactly where he lay; but the boy felt that at all risks he must reply,
and bending over a little so as to direct his voice downwards, he
shouted--
"Ahoy! Here!"
_Ahoy! Here_!
The softly-whispered echo of the cry, not from close at hand, but from
the face of the cliff far away.
But there was another and more ominous sound, or rather burst of sounds,
at this, for a chorus of savage yells arose from the top of the cliff
above him, and he knew that the Indians must have exposed themselves
once more, for a couple of shots rang out from far below, raising
strange echoes from the end of the valley, and once more there was the
terrible silence in which Chris crouched hopelessly, for more than ever
now he felt the crux in which he was placed--to attempt to move was to
fall or expose himself to the arrows waiting for him on the top of the
cliff.
The next minute the black cloud of hopelessness seemed to be cut by the
voice which came up out of the depths--the voice that told him his
friends were watching and waiting--as he felt must be the case--to fire
at the first Indian who showed himself above the top of the cliff.
"Chris!" So low and distant, but so clear. "Chris!"
"Ahoy! _Coo-ee_!" shouted the boy downward, and from between his hands.
This time there was no answering yell, and Chris listened to the words
that came up, sending a thrill of joy through him, but at the same time
a strange tremor of fear.
"Can you hear?" came now.
"Yes."
"Then--listen," came with very slow emphasis. "You--must--creep--
gully--lower--self--down."
Chris was silent as he sat staring down as it seemed into nothing but
the clear air, for the stone to which he had clung projected from the
cliff-face, just as the parts above him overhung as if about to fall.
"Hear?" came from below.
The single word was so sharp and imperative that the boy replied at
once, shouting the one word, "Can't!" And then, as if ashamed of
himself for so shrinking a reply, he alluded to one only of the dangers
which hemmed him in by crying out, "Indians!"
Chris's heart leaped again, and hope grew brighter, for he more fully
grasped his situation from the next words that came, though he had
pretty well understood it before.
"Dare--not--show."
But the words had hardly been uttered before Chris felt that he knew
more than his friends, for his strained and wandering eyes, which shrank
from gazing down into the awful depths below, suddenly became aware of a
slight movement amongst the pensile growth between the summit and the
spot from which the Indians had shot at him.
He was in doubt for a few moments, and he held his breath as he
cautiously brought his rifle to bear upon the hanging bush. But it did
not stir, and it seemed evident that he had only imagined the danger.
He had held his breath painfully while he watched, and now, feeling that
he was wrong, and must say something to those below, he breathed again
freely and was about to speak when his heart seemed to stand still
again, for one swinging bough was slightly agitated and pressed aside,
showing the glistening, copper-hued skin of an Indian's shoulder, with
the strap of a quiver-sling plainly in view.
The man was evidently crawling like a short thick serpent to reach a
spot from which he could shoot; but it was not to be, for covering the
Indian's side the boy waited a full minute to see if a better
opportunity presented itself; and it came, for after lying perfectly
still for awhile the man raised himself a little as if to clear
something in his way, and then gave a spasmodic jerk, rolled over
sidewise, and came gliding out from beneath the hanging growth, to fall
like those who had gone before.
"How horrible!" thought Chris with a shudder, as he re-charged the
barrel he had just fired. Then bitterly, "More horrible for poor father
if it had been Chris Lee."
The excitement of this fresh attempt to reach him roused him to try
whether he could not obey the order that had been shouted from below,
while the needed spur was now applied in the shape of the one word which
rose up, perfectly clear--
"Try!"
The boy's answer took the form of obedience.
Glancing upward to see that he was quite hidden, and again at the ledge
from which the arrows had come, Chris passed his rifle-sling over his
head and one shoulder, got the piece well over his back, and flattening
himself down upon his chest, edged himself along to get his head a
little beyond the stone of shelter so that he could look down, when he
turned icy with the shiver that ran up his spine. For he was gazing
down a perpendicular portion of the cliff-face to a patch of bushes
fully two hundred feet below.
"Oh, it's impossible!" he cried; but as he uttered the words once more
the command came up--
"Try!"
"Ah, he doesn't know," groaned the boy despairingly, as he shrank
shivering back to his old position, to lie still for a minute, feeling
the palms of his hands grow wet. But the sound of that word _try_
seemed to be echoing on his ear, and thrusting himself more away from
the edge of the shelf over which he had peered, he wrenched his head
round to see whether there was any possible ledge or slope on the other
side of the stone where he had looked before and had seen as it were
that it projected right out.
Once more his heart seemed to leap, for as he looked after backing a
little more, he could see that his feet rested on a ledge formed by one
band of the shale projecting about a foot beyond that above, while two
yards or so beyond this ledge was broken sharply away.
What was beyond he could not see, but the ledge was certainly safer than
the spot he occupied, there being room for him to lie down, and, better
still, he could see that he would be better screened from any attack
made from the ledge or the clump of bushes, the stone and an angle of
the cliff being between the ledge and the dangerous foes.
It was a case of its being only the first step that costs. Chris had
begun to try, and forcing himself backward along the ledge inch by inch,
he soon had the satisfaction of feeling that he was more hidden from the
danger of being shot at than he expected, while the cliff-wall at whose
foot he lay completely screened him from above.
There was a hopefulness about this, a feeling of being rewarded for his
effort to try, which nerved the boy to continue, in spite of the
difficulties attending his backward progress and the way in which his
rifle caught against the wall, and his having to stop again and again to
readjust the holster of his revolver, which kept on slipping round.
"This going backward is horrible," he said to himself at last, as he
paused rather out of breath to look anxiously about him, but felt in
better heart upon again seeing how thoroughly he was screened from the
Indians. The danger was not there, and he had nothing to mind on one
side where the rock-wall went right up, probably to the tableland above,
which, for aught he knew to the contrary, might come right to the edge
of the mass of earth and stone. That which he had to fear was the
horrible vacancy on his left, over which, had he cared to, he could have
stretched out his hand; but though more than once tempted to do so, he
shrank from it with a shudder.
"But I must do something," he thought. "I can't go on backwards like
this."
He waited a little while to let his breath come and go more easily, and
while he lay there resting upon his chest he thought. He reasoned with
himself in a kind of argument and appeal to his common-sense.
"This natural shelf," he said, "is about a foot wide, and if it were
only just above the ground I should feel not the slightest nervousness,
but be ready to stand up and run along it, instead of creeping back like
a worm. Suppose it does go down hundreds of feet, what then? There is
just as much room, and it only wants pluck. If I couldn't run along it
I might walk steadily. I will."
But he did not begin. The horror of that great unknown depth was too
hard to master; but he raised himself slowly on all fours to see if he
could not turn himself round so as to crawl the rest of the way head
first instead of feet.
It seemed very simple, but at the first trial his rifle caught tightly,
and he was attacked by a sensation as of something thrusting at him
hard, so that he closed his eyes and remained for some seconds with his
head projecting over the edge of the shelf before he shuffled himself
back into his former position, and then lay panting till the
breathlessness that had attacked him passed away, leaving a sensation of
anger against himself for his want of firmness.
"Oh, it's cowardly," he muttered fiercely. "I can't go on backwards,
and I must and will do it. But how?"
He thought more calmly at last, and it seemed plain enough. All he had
to do, it seemed, was to take fast hold of some projection in the rock,
so as to steady himself, and then--
No, that wouldn't do.
"I see," he panted the next minute. "Turn over on my back. But is
there room?"
This required a good deal of anxious thought, for failure meant plunging
down at once into the depths below.
"There must be room enough," he panted, "if I keep on edging myself
close to this great wall of rock."
He hesitated no longer, but setting his teeth hard and moving by inches,
and battling with the hindrances offered by the weapons he carried, he
wrenched himself round till he lay flat upon his back, gazing upward
calmly enough in spite of one terrible half-minute he had passed, when
it seemed to him that his rifle was acting as a lever to thrust him
right off.
"But that was only fancy," he said to himself now the danger was past,
"and all I have got to do is to take hold tightly of the rock with my
right-hand and of some block or projection in this wall with my left,
let my legs glide over the edge, and sit up. It only means my legs
swinging over the gulf. Then I can get on to my hands and knees and go
forward easily enough, while my rifle won't be in the way.
"Only means my legs swinging over the gulf," said Chris again, this time
aloud, in a peevish, low voice. "Only! Oh, I can't do it," he groaned,
and then breathlessly and without giving himself an opportunity to
shrink, he said aloud, "I will."
The next minute he had begun making the effort--seizing the edge of the
rock and reaching up overhead to feel about till his fingers sank into a
crevice, and then, panting heavily, he made one brave effort, holding on
tightly and letting his legs glide over, while he stiffly raised himself
up, moving as it were upon a pivot, that pivot being the base of his
spine.
"There," he cried triumphantly, as the result of his effort was that he
was sitting upright on the ledge with his feet in the air, but not
swinging, for he pressed his heels hard against the rock beneath him, as
he glanced sidewise to think of how he was to make his next movement.
"Chris! Ahoy! Chris!" came faintly from below, and at the same moment
there was a sharp crack, and the ledge upon which he was sitting gave
way, dropping down with its burden, many feet on either side of him
parting clean from the wall of rock, just as if it had been riven off by
some mighty wedge.