Chapter IV. Deception Pass

by Zane Grey

　　The rider thundered up and almost threw his foam-flecked horse inthe sudden stop. He was a giant form, and with fearless eyes.

　　"Judkins, you're all bloody!" cried Jane, in affright. "Oh,you've been shot!"

　　"Nothin' much Miss Withersteen. I got a nick in the shoulder. I'msome wet an' the hoss's been throwin' lather, so all this ain'tblood."

　　"What's up?" queried Venters, sharply.

　　"Rustlers sloped off with the red herd."

　　"Where are my riders?" demanded Jane.

　　"Miss Withersteen, I was alone all night with the herd. Atdaylight this mornin' the rustlers rode down. They began to shootat me on sight. They chased me hard an' far, burnin' powder allthe time, but I got away."

　　"Jud, they meant to kill you," declared Venters.

　　"Now I wonder," returned Judkins. "They wanted me bad. An' itain't regular for rustlers to waste time chasin' one rider."

　　"Thank heaven you got away," said Jane. "But my riders--where arethey?"

　　"I don't know. The night-riders weren't there last night when Irode down, en' this mornin' I met no day-riders."

　　"Judkins! Bern, they've been set upon--killed by Oldring's men!"

　　"I don't think so," replied Venters, decidedly. "Jane, yourriders haven't gone out in the sage."

　　"Bern, what do you mean?" Jane Withersteen turned deathly pale.

　　"You remember what I said about the unseen hand?"

　　"Oh!...Impossible!"

　　"I hope so. But I fear--" Venters finished, with a shake of hishead.

　　"Bern, you're bitter; but that's only natural. We'll wait to seewhat's happened to my riders. Judkins, come to the house with me.Your wound must be attended to."

　　"Jane, I'll find out where Oldring drives the herd," vowedVenters.

　　"No, no! Bern, don't risk it now--when the rustlers are in suchshooting mood."

　　"I'm going. Jud, how many cattle in that red herd?"

　　"Twenty-five hundred head."

　　"Whew! What on earth can Oldring do with so many cattle? Why, ahundred head is a big steal. I've got to find out."

　　"Don't go," implored Jane.

　　"Bern, you want a hoss thet can run. Miss Withersteen, if it'snot too bold of me to advise, make him take a fast hoss or don'tlet him go."

　　"Yes, yes, Judkins. He must ride a horse that can't be caught.Which one--Black Star--Night?"

　　"Jane, I won't take either," said Venters, emphatically. "Iwouldn't risk losing one of your favorites."

　　"Wrangle, then?"

　　"Thet's the hoss," replied Judkins. "Wrangle can outrun BlackStar an' Night. You'd never believe it, Miss Withersteen, but Iknow. Wrangle's the biggest en' fastest hoss on the sage."

　　"Oh no, Wrangle can't beat Black Star. But, Bern, take Wrangle ifyou will go. Ask Jerd for anything you need. Oh, be watchfulcareful.... God speed you."

　　She clasped his hand, turned quickly away, and went down a lanewith the rider.

　　Venters rode to the barn, and, leaping off, shouted for Jerd. Theboy came running. Venters sent him for meat, bread, and driedfruits, to be packed in saddlebags. His own horse he turned looseinto the nearest corral. Then he went for Wrangle. The giantsorrel had earned his name for a trait the opposite ofamiability. He came readily out of the barn, but once in the yardhe broke from Venters, and plunged about with ears laid back.Venters had to rope him, and then he kicked down a section offence, stood on his hind legs, crashed down and fought the rope.Jerd returned to lend a hand.

　　"Wrangle don't git enough work," said Jerd, as the big saddlewent on. "He's unruly when he's corralled, an' wants to run. Waittill he smells the sage!"

　　"Jerd, this horse is an iron-jawed devil. I never straddled himbut once. Run? Say, he's swift as wind!"

　　When Venters's boot touched the stirrup the sorrel bolted, givinghim the rider's flying mount. The swing of this fiery horserecalled to Venters days that were not really long past, when herode into the sage as the leader of Jane Withersteen's riders.Wrangle pulled hard on a tight rein. He galloped out of the lane,down the shady border of the grove, and hauled up at thewatering-trough, where he pranced and champed his bit. Ventersgot off and filled his canteen while the horse drank. The dogs,Ring and Whitie, came trotting up for their drink. Then Ventersremounted and turned Wrangle toward the sage.

　　A wide, white trail wound away down the slope. One keen, sweepingglance told Venters that there was neither man nor horse norsteer within the limit of his vision, unless they were lying downin the sage. Ring loped in the lead and Whitie loped in the rear.Wrangle settled gradually into an easy swinging canter, andVenters's thoughts, now that the rush and flurry of the startwere past, and the long miles stretched before him, reverted to acalm reckoning of late singular coincidences.

　　There was the night ride of Tull's, which, viewed in the light ofsubsequent events, had a look of his covert machinations; Oldringand his Masked Rider and his rustlers riding muffled horses; thereport that Tull had ridden out that morning with his man Jerryon the trail to Glaze, the strange disappearance of JaneWithersteen's riders, the unusually determined attempt to killthe one Gentile still in her employ, an intention frustrated, nodoubt, only by Judkin's magnificent riding of her racer, andlastly the driving of the red herd. These events, to Venters'scolor of mind, had a dark relationship. Remembering Jane'saccusation of bitterness, he tried hard to put aside his rancorin judging Tull. But it was bitter knowledge that made him seethe truth. He had felt the shadow of an unseen hand; he hadwatched till he saw its dim outline, and then he had traced it toa man's hate, to the rivalry of a Mormon Elder, to the power of aBishop, to the long, far-reaching arm of a terrible creed. Thatunseen hand had made its first move against Jane Withersteen. Herriders had been called in, leaving her without help to driveseven thousand head of cattle. But to Venters it seemedextraordinary that the power which had called in these riders hadleft so many cattle to be driven by rustlers and harried bywolves. For hand in glove with that power was an insatiate greed;they were one and the same.

　　"What can Oldring do with twenty-five hundred head of cattle?"muttered Venters. "Is he a Mormon? Did he meet Tull last night?It looks like a black plot to me. But Tull and his churchmenwouldn't ruin Jane Withersteen unless the Church was to profit bythat ruin. Where does Oldring come in? I'm going to find outabout these things."

　　Wrangle did the twenty-five miles in three hours and walkedlittle of the way. When he had gotten warmed up he had beenallowed to choose his own gait. The afternoon had well advancedwhen Venters struck the trail of the red herd and found where ithad grazed the night before. Then Venters rested the horse andused his eyes. Near at hand were a cow and a calf and severalyearlings, and farther out in the sage some straggling steers. Hecaught a glimpse of coyotes skulking near the cattle. The slowsweeping gaze of the rider failed to find other living thingswithin the field of sight. The sage about him was breast-high tohis horse, oversweet with its warm, fragrant breath, gray whereit waved to the light, darker where the wind left it still, andbeyond the wonderful haze-purple lent by distance. Far acrossthat wide waste began the slow lift of uplands through whichDeception Pass cut its tortuous many-canyoned way.

　　Venters raised the bridle of his horse and followed the broadcattle trail. The crushed sage resembled the path of a monstersnake. In a few miles of travel he passed several cows and calvesthat had escaped the drive. Then he stood on the last high benchof the slope with the floor of the valley beneath. The opening ofthe canyon showed in a break of the sage, and the cattle trailparalleled it as far as he could see. That trail led to anundiscovered point where Oldring drove cattle into the pass, andmany a rider who had followed it had never returned. Venterssatisfied himself that the rustlers had not deviated from theirusual course, and then he turned at right angles off the cattletrail and made for the head of the pass.

　　The sun lost its heat and wore down to the western horizon, whereit changed from white to gold and rested like a huge ball aboutto roll on its golden shadows down the slope. Venters watched thelengthening of the rays and bars, and marveled at his ownleague-long shadow. The sun sank. There was instant shading ofbrightness about him, and he saw a kind of cold purple bloomcreep ahead of him to cross the canyon, to mount the oppositeslope and chase and darken and bury the last golden flare ofsunlight.

　　Venters rode into a trail that he always took to get down intothe canyon. He dismounted and found no tracks but his own madedays previous. Nevertheless he sent the dog Ring ahead andwaited. In a little while Ring returned. Whereupon Venters ledhis horse on to the break in the ground.

　　The opening into Deception Pass was one of the remarkable naturalphenomena in a country remarkable for vast slopes of sage,uplands insulated by gigantic red walls, and deep canyons ofmysterious source and outlet. Here the valley floor was level,and here opened a narrow chasm, a ragged vent in yellow walls ofstone. The trail down the five hundred feet of sheer depth alwaystested Venters's nerve. It was bad going for even a burro. ButWrangle, as Venters led him, snorted defiance or disgust ratherthan fear, and, like a hobbled horse on the jump, lifted hisponderous iron-shod fore hoofs and crashed down over the firstrough step. Venters warmed to greater admiration of the sorrel;and, giving him a loose bridle, he stepped down foot by foot.Oftentimes the stones and shale started by Wrangle buried Ventersto his knees; again he was hard put to it to dodge a rollingboulder, there were times when he could not see Wrangle for dust,and once he and the horse rode a sliding shelf of yellow,weathered cliff. It was a trail on which there could be no stops,and, therefore, if perilous, it was at least one that did nottake long in the descent.

　　Venters breathed lighter when that was over, and felt a suddenassurance in the success of his enterprise. For at first it hadbeen a reckless determination to achieve something at any cost,and now it resolved itself into an adventure worthy of all hisreason and cunning, and keenness of eye and ear.

　　Pinyon pines clustered in little clumps along the level floor ofthe pass. Twilight had gathered under the walls. Venters rodeinto the trail and up the canyon. Gradually the trees and cavesand objects low down turned black, and this blackness moved upthe walls till night enfolded the pass, while day still lingeredabove. The sky darkened; and stars began to show, at first paleand then bright. Sharp notches of the rim-wall, biting like teethinto the blue, were landmarks by which Venters knew where hiscamping site lay. He had to feel his way through a thicket ofslender oaks to a spring where he watered Wrangle and drankhimself. Here he unsaddled and turned Wrangle loose, having nofear that the horse would leave the thick, cool grass adjacent tothe spring. Next he satisfied his own hunger, fed Ring and Whitieand, with them curled beside him, composed himself to awaitsleep.

　　There had been a time when night in the high altitude of theseUtah uplands had been satisfying to Venters. But that was beforethe oppression of enemies had made the change in his mind. As arider guarding the herd he had never thought of the night'swildness and loneliness; as an outcast, now when the full silenceset in, and the deep darkness, and trains of radiant stars shonecold and calm, he lay with an ache in his heart. For a year hehad lived as a black fox, driven from his kind. He longed for thesound of a voice, the touch of a hand. In the daytime there wasriding from place to place, and the gun practice to whichsomething drove him, and other tasks that at least necessitatedaction, at night, before he won sleep, there was strife in hissoul. He yearned to leave the endless sage slopes, the wildernessof canyons, and it was in the lonely night that this yearninggrew unbearable. It was then that he reached forth to feel Ringor Whitie, immeasurably grateful for the love and companionshipof two dogs.

　　On this night the same old loneliness beset Venters, the oldhabit of sad thought and burning unquiet had its way. But from itevolved a conviction that his useless life had undergone a subtlechange. He had sensed it first when Wrangle swung him up to thehigh saddle, he knew it now when he lay in the gateway ofDeception Pass. He had no thrill of adventure, rather a gloomyperception of great hazard, perhaps death. He meant to findOldring's retreat. The rustlers had fast horses, but none thatcould catch Wrangle. Venters knew no rustler could creep upon himat night when Ring and Whitie guarded his hiding-place. For therest, he had eyes and ears, and a long rifle and an unerring aim,which he meant to use. Strangely his foreshadowing of change didnot hold a thought of the killing of Tull. It related only towhat was to happen to him in Deception Pass; and he could no morelift the veil of that mystery than tell where the trails led toin that unexplored canyon. Moreover, he did not care. And atlength, tired out by stress of thought, he fell asleep.

　　When his eyes unclosed, day had come again, and he saw the rim ofthe opposite wall tipped with the gold of sunrise. A few momentssufficed for the morning's simple camp duties. Near at hand hefound Wrangle, and to his surprise the horse came to him. Wranglewas one of the horses that left his viciousness in the homecorral. What he wanted was to be free of mules and burros andsteers, to roll in dust-patches, and then to run down the wide,open, windy sage-plains, and at night browse and sleep in thecool wet grass of a springhole. Jerd knew the sorrel when he saidof him, "Wait till he smells the sage!"

　　Venters saddled and led him out of the oak thicket, and, leapingastride, rode up the canyon, with Ring and Whitie trottingbehind. An old grass-grown trail followed the course of a shallowwash where flowed a thin stream of water. The canyon was ahundred rods wide, its yellow walls were perpendicular; it hadabundant sage and a scant growth of oak and pinon. For five milesit held to a comparatively straight bearing, and then began aheightening of rugged walls and a deepening of the floor. Beyondthis point of sudden change in the character of the canyonVenters had never explored, and here was the real door to theintricacies of Deception Pass.

　　He reined Wrangle to a walk, halted now and then to listen, andthen proceeded cautiously with shifting and alert gaze. Thecanyon assumed proportions that dwarfed those of its first tenmiles. Venters rode on and on, not losing in the interest of hiswide surroundings any of his caution or keen search for tracks orsight of living thing. If there ever had been a trail here, hecould not find it. He rode through sage and clumps of pinon treesand grassy plots where long-petaled purple lilies bloomed. Herode through a dark constriction of the pass no wider than thelane in the grove at Cottonwoods. And he came out into a greatamphitheater into which jutted huge towering corners of aconfluences of intersecting canyons.

　　Venters sat his horse, and, with a rider's eye, studied this wildcross-cut of huge stone gullies. Then he went on, guided by thecourse of running water. If it had not been for the main streamof water flowing north he would never have been able to tellwhich of those many openings was a continuation of the pass. Incrossing this amphitheater he went by the mouths of five canyons,fording little streams that flowed into the larger one. Gainingthe outlet which he took to be the pass, he rode on again underover hanging walls. One side was dark in shade, the other lightin sun. This narrow passageway turned and twisted and opened intoa valley that amazed Venters.

　　Here again was a sweep of purple sage, richer than upon thehigher levels. The valley was miles long, several wide, andinclosed by unscalable walls. But it was the background of thisvalley that so forcibly struck him. Across the sage-flat rose astrange up-flinging of yellow rocks. He could not tell which wereclose and which were distant. Scrawled mounds of stone, likemountain waves, seemed to roll up to steep bare slopes andtowers.

　　In this plain of sage Venters flushed birds and rabbits, and whenhe had proceeded about a mile he caught sight of the bobbingwhite tails of a herd of running antelope. He rode along the edgeof the stream which wound toward the western end of the slowlylooming mounds of stone. The high slope retreated out of sightbehind the nearer protection. To Venters the valley appeared tohave been filled in by a mountain of melted stone that hadhardened in strange shapes of rounded outline. He followed thestream till he lost it in a deep cut. Therefore Venters quit thedark slit which baffled further search in that direction, androde out along the curved edge of stone where it met the sage. Itwas not long before he came to a low place, and here Wranglereadily climbed up.

　　All about him was ridgy roll of wind-smoothed, rain-washed rock.Not a tuft of grass or a bunch of sage colored the dullrust-yellow. He saw where, to the right, this uneven flow ofstone ended in a blunt wall. Leftward, from the hollow that layat his feet, mounted a gradual slow-swelling slope to a greatheight topped by leaning, cracked, and ruined crags. Not for sometime did he grasp the wonder of that acclivity. It was no lessthan a mountain-side, glistening in the sun like polishedgranite, with cedar-trees springing as if by magic out of thedenuded surface. Winds had swept it clear of weathered shale, andrains had washed it free of dust. Far up the curved slope itsbeautiful lines broke to meet the vertical rim-wall, to lose itsgrace in a different order and color of rock, a stained yellowcliff of cracks and caves and seamed crags. And straight beforeVenters was a scene less striking but more significant to hiskeen survey. For beyond a mile of the bare, hummocky rock beganthe valley of sage, and the mouths of canyons, one of whichsurely was another gateway into the pass.

　　He got off his horse, and, giving the bridle to Ring to hold, hecommenced a search for the cleft where the stream ran. He was notsuccessful and concluded the water dropped into an undergroundpassage. Then he returned to where he had left Wrangle, and ledhim down off the stone to the sage. It was a short ride to theopening canyons. There was no reason for a choice of which one toenter. The one he rode into was a clear, sharp shaft in yellowstone a thousand feet deep, with wonderful wind-worn caves lowdown and high above buttressed and turreted ramparts. Farther onVenters came into a region where deep indentations marked theline of canyon walls. These were huge, cove-like blind pocketsextending back to a sharp corner with a dense growth ofunderbrush and trees.

　　Venters penetrated into one of these offshoots, and, as he hadhoped, he found abundant grass. He had to bend the oak saplingsto get his horse through. Deciding to make this a hiding-place ifhe could find water, he worked back to the limit of the shelvingwalls. In a little cluster of silver spruces he found a spring.This inclosed nook seemed an ideal place to leave his horse andto camp at night, and from which to make stealthy trips on foot.The thick grass hid his trail; the dense growth of oaks in theopening would serve as a barrier to keep Wrangle in, if, indeed,the luxuriant browse would not suffice for that. So Venters,leaving Whitie with the horse, called Ring to his side, and,rifle in hand, worked his way out to the open. A carefulphotographing in mind of the formation of the bold outlines ofrimrock assured him he would be able to return to his retreateven in the dark.

　　Bunches of scattered sage covered the center of the canyon, andamong these Venters threaded his way with the step of an Indian.At intervals he put his hand on the dog and stopped to listen.There was a drowsy hum of insects, but no other sound disturbedthe warm midday stillness. Venters saw ahead a turn, more abruptthan any yet. Warily he rounded this corner, once again to haltbewildered.

　　The canyon opened fan-shaped into a great oval of green and graygrowths. It was the hub of an oblong wheel, and from it, atregular distances, like spokes, ran the outgoing canyons. Here adull red color predominated over the fading yellow. The cornersof wall bluntly rose, scarred and scrawled, to taper into towersand serrated peaks and pinnacled domes.

　　Venters pushed on more heedfully than ever. Toward the center ofthis circle the sage-brush grew smaller and farther apart He wasabout to sheer off to the right, where thickets and jumbles offallen rock would afford him cover, when he ran right upon abroad cattle trail. Like a road it was, more than a trail, andthe cattle tracks were fresh. What surprised him more, they werewet! He pondered over this feature. It had not rained. The onlysolution to this puzzle was that the cattle had been driventhrough water, and water deep enough to wet their legs.

　　Suddenly Ring growled low. Venters rose cautiously and lookedover the sage. A band of straggling horsemen were riding acrossthe oval. He sank down, startled and trembling. "Rustlers!" hemuttered. Hurriedly he glanced about for a place to hide. Near athand there was nothing but sage-brush. He dared not risk crossingthe open patches to reach the rocks. Again he peeped over thesage. The rustlers--four--five--seven--eight in all, wereapproaching, but not directly in line with him. That was relieffor a cold deadness which seemed to be creeping inward along hisveins. He crouched down with bated breath and held the bristlingdog.

　　He heard the click of iron-shod hoofs on stone, the coarselaughter of men, and then voices gradually dying away. Longmoments passed. Then he rose. The rustlers were riding into acanyon. Their horses were tired, and they had several packanimals; evidently they had traveled far. Venters doubted thatthey were the rustlers who had driven the red herd. Olding's bandhad split. Venters watched these horsemen disappear under a boldcanyon wall.

　　The rustlers had come from the northwest side of the oval.Venters kept a steady gaze in that direction, hoping, if therewere more, to see from what canyon they rode. A quarter of anhour went by. Reward for his vigilance came when he descriedthree more mounted men, far over to the north. But out of whatcanyon they had ridden it was too late to tell. He watched thethree ride across the oval and round the jutting red corner wherethe others had gone.

　　"Up that canyon!" exclaimed Venters. "Oldring's den! I've foundit!"

　　A knotty point for Venters was the fact that the cattle tracksall pointed west. The broad trail came from the direction of thecanyon into which the rustlers had ridden, and undoubtedly thecattle had been driven out of it across the oval. There were notracks pointing the other way. It had been in his mind thatOldring had driven the red herd toward the rendezvous, and notfrom it. Where did that broad trail come down into the pass, andwhere did it lead? Venters knew he wasted time in pondering thequestion, but it held a fascination not easily dispelled. Formany years Oldring's mysterious entrance and exit to DeceptionPass had been all-absorbing topics to sage-riders.

　　All at once the dog put an end to Venters's pondering. Ringsniffed the air, turned slowly in his tracks with a whine, andthen growled. Venters wheeled. Two horsemen were within a hundredyards, coming straight at him. One, lagging behind the other, wasOldring's Masked Rider.

　　Venters cunningly sank, slowly trying to merge into sage-brush.But, guarded as his action was, the first horse detected it. Hestopped short, snorted, and shot up his ears. The rustler bentforward, as if keenly peering ahead. Then, with a swift sweep, hejerked a gun from its sheath and fired.

　　The bullet zipped through the sage-brush. Flying bits of woodstruck Venters, and the hot, stinging pain seemed to lift him inone leap. Like a flash the blue barrel of his rifle gleamed leveland he shot once--twice.

　　The foremost rustler dropped his weapon and toppled from hissaddle, to fall with his foot catching in a stirrup. The horsesnorted wildly and plunged away, dragging the rustler through thesage.

　　The Masked Rider huddled over his pommel slowly swaying to oneside, and then, with a faint, strange cry, slipped out of thesaddle.