III. The Trail of the Red Wall

by Thomas Bailey Aldrich

　　AFTER the departure of Dene and his comrades Naab decided to leave WhiteSage at nightfall. Martin Cole and the Bishop's sons tried to persuadehim to remain, urging that the trouble sure to come could be more safelymet in the village. Naab, however, was obdurate, unreasonably so, Colesaid, unless there were some good reason why he wished to strike thetrail in the night. When twilight closed in Naab had his teams ready andthe women shut in the canvas-covered wagons. Hare was to ride in an openwagon, one that Naab had left at White Sage to be loaded with grain.When it grew so dark that objects were scarcely discernible a man vaultedthe cottage fence.

　　"Dave, where are the boys?" asked Naab.

　　"Not so loud! The boys are coming," replied Dave in a whisper. "Dene iswild. I guess you snapped a bone in his arm. He swears he'll kill usall. But Chance and the rest of the gang won't be in till late. We'vetime to reach the Coconina Trail, if we hustle."

　　"Any news of Snap?"

　　"He rode out before sundown."

　　Three more forms emerged from the gloom.

　　"All right, boys. Go ahead, Dave, you lead."

　　Dave and George Naab mounted their mustangs and rode through the gate;the first wagon rolled after them, its white dome gradually dissolving inthe darkness; the second one started; then August Naab stepped to hisseat on the third with a low cluck to the team. Hare shut the gate andclimbed over the tail-board of the wagon.

　　A slight swish of weeds and grasses brushing the wheels was all the soundmade in the cautious advance. A bare field lay to the left; to the rightlow roofs and sharp chimneys showed among the trees; here and therelights twinkled. No one hailed; not a dog barked.

　　Presently the leaders turned into a road where the iron hoofs and wheelscracked and crunched the stones.

　　Hare thought he saw something in the deep shade of a line ofpoplar-trees; he peered closer, and made out a motionless horse andrider, just a shade blacker than the deepest gloom. The next instantthey vanished, and the rapid clatter of hoofs down the road told Hare hiseyes had not deceived him.

　　"Getup," growled Naab to his horses. "Jack, did you see that fellow?"

　　"Yes. What was he doing there?"

　　"Watching the road. He's one of Dene's scouts."

　　"Will Dene--"

　　One of Naab's sons came trotting back. "Think that was Larsen's pal. Hewas laying in wait for Snap."

　　"I thought he was a scout for Dene," replied August.

　　"Maybe he's that too."

　　"Likely enough. Hurry along and keep the gray team going lively.They've had a week's rest."

　　Hare watched the glimmering lights of the village vanish one by one, likeJack-o'-lanterns. The horses kept a steady, even trot on into the hugewindy hall of the desert night. Fleecy clouds veiled the stars, yettransmitted a wan glow. A chill crept over Hare. As he crawled underthe blankets Naab had spread for him his hand came into contact with apolished metal surface cold as ice. It was his rifle. Naab had placedit under the blankets. Fingering the rifle Hare found the spring openingon the right side of the breech, and, pressing it down, he felt the roundhead of a cartridge. Naab had loaded the weapon, he had placed it whereHare's hand must find it, yet he had not spoken of it. Hare did not stopto reason with his first impulse. Without a word, with silentinsistence, disregarding his shattered health, August Naab had given hima man's part to play. The full meaning lifted Hare out of hisself-abasement; once more he felt himself a man.

　　Hare soon yielded to the warmth of the blankets; a drowsiness that heendeavored in vain to throw off smothered his thoughts; sleep glued hiseyelids tight. They opened again some hours later. For a moment hecould not realize where he was; then the whip of the cold wind across hisface, the woolly feel and smell of the blankets, and finally the steadytrot of horses and the clink of a chain swinging somewhere under him,recalled the actually of the night ride. He wondered how many miles hadbeen covered, how the drivers knew the direction and kept the horses inthe trail, and whether the outlaws were in pursuit. When Naab stoppedthe team and, climbing down, walked back some rods to listen, Hare feltsure that Dene was coming. He listened, too, but the movements of thehorses and the rattle of their harness were all the sounds he could hear.Naab returned to his seat; the team started, now no longer in a trot;they were climbing. After that Hare fell into a slumber in which hecould hear the slow grating whirr of wheels, and when it ceased he awoketo raise himself and turn his ear to the back trail. By-and-by hediscovered that the black night had changed to gray; dawn was not fardistant; he dozed and awakened to clear light. A rose-red horizon layfar below and to the eastward; the intervening descent was like a rollingsea with league-long swells.

　　"Glad you slept some," was Naab's greeting. "No sign of Dene yet. If wecan get over the divide we're safe. That's Coconina there, Fire Mountainin Navajo meaning. It's a plateau low and narrow at this end, but itruns far to the east and rises nine thousand feet. It forms a hundredmiles of the north rim of the Grand Canyon. We're across the Arizonaline now."

　　Hare followed the sweep of the ridge that rose to the eastward, but tohis inexperienced eyes its appearance carried no sense of its nobleproportions.

　　"Don't form any ideas of distance and size yet a while," said Naab,reading Hare's expression. "They'd only have to be made over as soon asyou learn what light and air are in this country. It looks only half amile to the top of the divide; well, if we make it by midday we're lucky.There, see a black spot over this way, far under the red wall? Looksharp. Good I That's Holderness's ranch. It's thirty miles from here.Nine Mile Valley heads in there. Once it belonged to Martin Cole.Holderness stole it. And he's begun to range over the divide."

　　The sun rose and warmed the chill air. Hare began to notice theincreased height and abundance of the sagebrush, which was darker incolor. The first cedar-tree, stunted in growth, dead at the top, was thehalf-way mark up the ascent, so Naab said; it was also the forerunner ofother cedars which increased in number toward the summit. At lengthHare, tired of looking upward at the creeping white wagons, closed hiseyes. The wheels crunched on the stones; the horses heaved and labored;Naab's "Getup" was the only spoken sound; the sun beamed down warm, thenhot; and the hours passed. Some unusual noise roused Hare out of hislethargy. The wagon was at a standstill. Naab stood on the seat withoutstretched arm. George and Dave were close by their mustangs, and SnapNaab, mounted on a cream-colored pinto, reined him under August's arm,and faced the valley below.

　　"Maybe you'll make them out," said August. "I can't, and I've watchedthose dust-clouds for hours. George can't decide, either."

　　Hare, looking at Snap, was attracted by the eyes from which his fatherand brothers expected so much. If ever a human being had the eyes of ahawk Snap Naab had them. The little brown flecks danced in clear paleyellow. Evidently Snap had not located the perplexing dust-clouds, forhis glance drifted. Suddenly the remarkable vibration of his pupilsceased, and his glance grew fixed, steely, certain.

　　"That's a bunch of wild mustangs," he said.

　　Hare gazed till his eyes hurt, but could see neither clouds of dust normoving objects. No more was said. The sons wheeled their mustangs androde to the fore; August Naab reseated himself and took up the reins; theascent proceeded.

　　But it proceeded leisurely, with more frequent rests. At the end of anhour the horses toiled over the last rise to the summit and entered alevel forest of cedars; in another hour they were descending gradually.

　　"Here we are at the tanks," said Naab.

　　Hare saw that they had come up with the other wagons. George Naab wasleading a team down a rocky declivity to a pool of yellow water. Theother boys were unharnessing and unsaddling.

　　"About three," said Naab, looking at the sun. "We're in good time.Jack, get out and stretch yourself. We camp here. There's the CoconinaTrail where the Navajos go in after deer."

　　It was not a pretty spot, this little rock-strewn glade where the whitehard trail forked with the road. The yellow water with its green scummade Hare sick. The horses drank with loud gulps. Naab and his sonsdrank of it. The women filled a pail and portioned it out in basins andwashed their faces and hands with evident pleasure. Dave Naab whistledas he wielded an axe vigorously on a cedar. It came home to Hare thatthe tension of the past night and morning had relaxed. Whether toattribute that fact to the distance from White Sage or to the arrival atthe water-hole he could not determine. But the certainty was shown inAugust's cheerful talk to the horses as he slipped bags of grain overtheir noses, and in the subdued laughter of the women. Hare sent up anunspoken thanksgiving that these good Mormons had apparently escaped fromthe dangers incurred for his sake. He sat with his back to a cedar andwatched the kindling of fires, the deft manipulating of biscuit dough ina basin, and the steaming of pots. The generous meal was spread on acanvas cloth, around which men and women sat cross-legged, after thefashion of Indians. Hare found it hard to adapt his long legs to theposture, and he wondered how these men, whose legs were longer than his,could sit so easily. It was the crown of a cheerful dinner after hoursof anxiety and abstinence to have Snap Naab speak civilly to him, and tosee him bow his head meekly as his father asked the blessing. Snap ateas though he had utterly forgotten that he had recently killed a man; tohear the others talk to him one would suppose that they had forgotten italso.

　　All had finished eating, except Snap and Dave Naab, when one of themustangs neighed shrilly. Hare would not have noticed it but for looksexchanged among the men The glances were explained a few minutes laterwhen a pattering of hoofs came from the cedar forest, and a stream ofmounted Indians poured into the glade.

　　The ugly glade became a place of color and action. The Navajos rodewiry, wild-looking mustangs and drove ponies and burros carrying packs,most of which consisted of deer-hides. Each Indian dismounted, andunstrapping the blanket which had served as a saddle headed his mustangfor the water-hole and gave him a slap. Then the hides and packs wereslipped from the pack-train, and soon the pool became a kicking,splashing melee. Every cedar-tree circling the glade and every branchserved as a peg for deer meat. Some of it was in the haunch, the bulk indark dried strips. The Indians laid their weapons aside. Every sagebushand low stone held a blanket. A few of these blankets were of solidcolor, most of them had bars of white and gray and red, the last colorpredominating. The mustangs and burros filed out among the cedars,nipping at the sage and the scattered tufts of spare grass. A group offires, sending up curling columns of blue smoke, and surrounded by acircle of lean, half-naked, bronze-skinned Indians, cooking and eating,completed a picture which afforded Hare the satisfying fulfilment ofboyish dreams. What a contrast to the memory of a camp-site on theConnecticut shore, with boy friends telling tales in the glow of thefire, and the wash of the waves on the beach!

　　The sun sank low in the west, sending gleams through the gnarled branchesof the cedars, and turning the green into gold. At precisely the momentof sunset, the Mormon women broke into soft song which had the element ofprayer; and the lips of the men moved in silent harmony. Dave Naab, theonly one who smoked, removed his pipe for the moment's grace to dyingday.

　　This simple ceremony over, one of the boys put wood on the fire, and Snaptook a jews'-harp out of his pocket and began to extract doleful discordsfrom it, for which George kicked at him in disgust, finally causing himto leave the circle and repair to the cedars, where he twanged withsupreme egotism.

　　"Jack," said August Naab, "our friends the Navajo chiefs, Scarbreast andEschtah, are coming to visit us. Take no notice of them at first.They've great dignity, and if you entered their hogans they'd sit forsome moments before appearing to see you. Scarbreast is a war-chief.Eschtah is the wise old chief of all the Navajos on the Painted Desert.It may interest you to know he is Mescal's grandfather. Some day I'lltell you the story."

　　Hare tried very hard to appear unconscious when two tall Indians stalkedinto the circle of Mormons; he set his eyes on the white heart of thecamp-fire and waited. For several minutes no one spoke or even moved.The Indians remained standing for a time; then seated themselves.Presently August Naab greeted them in the Navajo language. This was asignal for Hare to use his eyes and ears. Another interval of silencefollowed before they began to talk. Hare could see only their blanketedshoulders and black heads.

　　"Jack, come round here," said Naab at length. "I've been telling themabout you. These Indians do not like the whites, except my own family.I hope you'll make friends with them."

　　"How do?" said the chief whom Naab had called Eschtah, a stately,keen-eyed warrior, despite his age.

　　The next Navajo greeted him with a guttural word. This was a warriorwhose name might well have been Scarface, for the signs of conflict werethere. It was a face like a bronze mask, cast in the one expression ofuntamed desert fierceness.

　　Hare bowed to each and felt himself searched by burning eyes, which weredoubtful, yet not unfriendly.

　　"Shake," finally said Eschtah, offering his hand.

　　"Ugh!" exclaimed Scarbreast, extending a bare silver-braceleted arm.

　　This sign of friendship pleased Naab. He wished to enlist the sympathiesof the Navajo chieftains in the young man's behalf. In his ensuingspeech, which was plentifully emphasized with gestures, he lapsed ofteninto English, saying "weak--no strong" when he placed his hand on Hare'slegs, and "bad" when he touched the young man's chest, concluding withthe words "sick--sick."

　　Scarbreast regarded Hare with great earnestness, and when Naab hadfinished he said: "Chineago--ping!" and rubbed his hand over his stomach.

　　"He says you need meat--lots of deer-meat," translated Naab.

　　"Sick," repeated Eschtah, whose English was intelligible. He appeared tobe casting about in his mind for additional words to express his knowledgeof the white man's tongue, and, failing, continued in Navajo: "Tohodena--moocha--malocha."

　　Hare was nonplussed at the roar of laughter from the Mormons. Augustshook like a mountain in an earthquake.

　　"Eschtah says, 'you hurry, get many squaws--many wives.'"

　　Other Indians, russet-skinned warriors, with black hair held close bybands round their foreheads, joined the circle, and sitting before thefire clasped their knees and talked. Hare listened awhile, and then,being fatigued, he sought the cedar-tree where he had left his blankets.The dry mat of needles made an odorous bed. He placed a sack of grainfor a pillow, and doubling up one blanket to lie upon, he pulled theothers over him. Then he watched and listened. The cedar-wood burnedwith a clear flame, and occasionally snapped out a red spark. The voicesof the Navajos, scarcely audible, sounded "toa's" and "taa's"--syllableshe soon learned were characteristic and dominant--in low, deep murmurs.It reminded Hare of something that before had been pleasant to his ear.Then it came to mind: a remembrance of Mescal's sweet voice, and thatrecalled the kinship between her and the Navajo chieftain. He lookedabout, endeavoring to find her in the ring of light, for he felt in her afascination akin to the charm of this twilight hour. Dusky forms passedto and fro under the trees; the tinkle of bells on hobbled mustangs rangfrom the forest; coyotes had begun their night quest with wild howls; thecamp-fire burned red, and shadows flickered on the blanketed Indians; thewind now moaned, now lulled in the cedars.

　　Hare lay back in his blankets and saw lustrous stars through the networkof branches. With their light in his face and the cold wind waving hishair on his brow he thought of the strangeness of it all, of itsremoteness from anything ever known to him before, of its inexpressiblewildness. And a rush of emotion he failed wholly to stifle proved to himthat he could have loved this life if--if he had not of late come tobelieve that he had not long to live. Still Naab's influence exorcisedeven that one sad thought; and he flung it from him in resentment.

　　Sleep did not come so readily; he was not very well this night; the flushof fever was on his cheek, and the heat of feverish blood burned hisbody. He raised himself and, resolutely seeking for distraction, oncemore stared at the camp-fire. Some time must have passed during hisdreaming, for only three persons were in sight. Naab's broad back wasbowed and his head nodded. Across the fire in its ruddy flicker satEschtah beside a slight, dark figure. At second glance Hare recognizedMescal. Surprise claimed him, not more for her presence there than forthe white band binding her smooth black tresses. She had not worn suchan ornament before. That slender band lent her the one touch which madeher a Navajo. Was it worn in respect to her aged grandfather? What didthis mean for a girl reared with Christian teaching? Was it desertblood? Hare had no answers for these questions. They only increased themystery and romance. He fell asleep with the picture in his mind ofEschtah and Mescal, sitting in the glow of the fire, and of August Naab,nodding silently.

　　"Jack, Jack, wake up." The words broke dully into his slumbers; wearilyhe opened his eyes. August Naab bent over him, shaking him gently.

　　"Not so well this morning, eh? Here's a cup of coffee. We're all packedand starting. Drink now, and climb aboard. We expect to make SeepingSprings to-night."

　　Hare rose presently and, laboring into the wagon, lay down on the sacks.He had one of his blind, sickening headaches. The familiar lumbering ofwheels began, and the clanking of the wagon-chain. Despite jar and jolthe dozed at times, awakening to the scrape of the wheel on the leathernbrake. After a while the rapid descent of the wagon changed to a roll,without the irritating rattle. He saw a narrow valley; on one side thegreen, slow-swelling cedar slope of the mountain; on the other theperpendicular red wall, with its pinnacles like spears against the sky.All day this backward outlook was the same, except that each time heopened aching eyes the valley had lengthened, the red wall and greenslope had come closer together in the distance. By and by there came ahalt, the din of stamping horses and sharp commands, the bustle andconfusion of camp. Naab spoke kindly to him, but he refused any food,lay still and went to sleep.

　　Daylight brought him the relief of a clear head and cooled blood. Thecamp had been pitched close under the red wall. A lichen-covered cliff,wet with dripping water, overhung a round pool. A ditch led the waterdown the ridge to a pond. Cattle stood up to their knees drinking;others lay on the yellow clay, which was packed as hard as stone; stillothers were climbing the ridge and passing down on both sides.

　　"You look as if you enjoyed that water," remarked Naab, when Harepresented himself at the fire. "Well, it's good, only a little salty.Seeping Springs this is, and it's mine. This ridge we call The Saddle;you see it dips between wall and mountain and separates two valleys.This valley we go through to-day is where my cattle range. At the otherend is Silver Cup Spring, also mine. Keep your eyes open now, my lad."

　　How different was the beginning of this day! The sky was as blue as thesea; the valley snuggled deep in the embrace of wall and mountain. Haretook a place on the seat beside Naab and faced the descent. The line ofNavajos, a graceful straggling curve of color on the trail, led the wayfor the white-domed wagons.

　　Naab pointed to a little calf lying half hidden under a bunch of sage."That's what I hate to see. There's a calf, just born; its mother hasgone in for water. Wolves and lions range this valley. We lose hundredsof calves that way."

　　As far as Hare could see red and white and black cattle speckled thevalley.

　　"If not overstocked, this range is the best in Utah," said Naab. "I sayUtah, but it's really Arizona. The Grand Canyon seems to us Mormons tomark the line. There's enough browse here to feed a hundred thousandcattle. But water's the thing. In some seasons the springs go almostdry, though Silver Cup holds her own well enough for my cattle."

　　Hare marked the tufts of grass lying far apart on the yellow earth;evidently there was sustenance enough in every two feet of ground tosupport only one tuft.

　　"What's that?" he asked, noting a rolling cloud of dust with blackbobbing borders.

　　"Wild mustangs," replied Naab. "There are perhaps five thousand on themountain, and they are getting to be a nuisance. They're almost as badas sheep on the browse; and I should tell you that if sheep pass over arange once the cattle will starve. The mustangs are getting tooplentiful. There are also several bands of wild horses."

　　"What's the difference between wild horses and mustangs?"

　　"I haven't figured that out yet. Some say the Spaniards left horses inhere three hundred years ago. Wild? They are wilder than any naturallywild animal that ever ran on four legs. Wait till you get a look atSilvermane or Whitefoot."

　　"What are they?"

　　"Wild stallions. Silvermane is an iron gray, with a silver mane, themost beautiful horse I ever saw. Whitefoot's an old black shaggy demon,with one white foot. Both stallions ought to be killed. They fight myhorses and lead off the mares. I had a chance to shoot Silvermane on theway over this trip, but he looked so splendid that I just laid down myrifle."

　　"Can they run?" asked Hare eagerly, with the eyes of a man who loved ahorse.

　　"Run? Whew! Just you wait till you see Silvermane cover ground! He canlook over his shoulder at you and beat any horse in this country. TheNavajos have given up catching him as a bad job. Why--here! Jack! quick,get out your rifle--coyotes!"

　　Naab pulled on the reins, and pointed to one side. Hare discerned threegrayish sharp-nosed beasts sneaking off in the sage, and he reached backfor the rifle. Naab whistled, stopping the coyotes; then Hare shot. Theball cut a wisp of dust above and beyond them. They loped away into thesage.

　　"How that rifle spangs!" exclaimed Naab. "It's good to hear it. Jack,you shot high. That's the trouble with men who have never shot at game.They can't hold low enough. Aim low, lower than you want. Ha! There'sanother--this side--hold ahead of him and low, quick!--too high again."

　　It was in this way that August and Hare fell far behind the other wagons.The nearer Naab got to his home the more genial he became. When he wasnot answering Hare's queries he was giving information of his own accord,telling about the cattle and the range, the mustangs, the Navajos, andthe desert. Naab liked to talk; he had said he had not the gift ofrevelation, but he certainly had the gift of tongues.

　　The sun was in the west when they began to climb a ridge. A shortascent, and a long turn to the right brought them under a bold spur ofthe mountain which shut out the northwest. Camp had been pitched in agrove of trees of a species new to Hare. From under a bowlder gushed thesparkling spring, a grateful sight and sound to desert travellers. In aniche of the rock hung a silver cup.

　　"Jack, no man knows how old this cup is, or anything about it. We namedthe spring after it--Silver Cup. The strange thing is that the cup hasnever been lost nor stolen. But--could any desert man, or outlaw, orIndian, take it away, after drinking here?"

　　The cup was nicked and battered, bright on the sides, moss-green on thebottom. When Hare drank from it he understood.

　　That evening there was rude merriment around the campfire. Snap Naabbuzzed on his jews'-harp and sang. He stirred some of the younger bravesto dancing, and they stamped and swung their arms, singing, "hoya-heeya-howya," as they moved in and out of the firelight.

　　Several of the braves showed great interest in Snap's jews'-harp andrepeatedly asked him for it. Finally the Mormon grudgingly lent it to acurious Indian, who in trying to play it went through such awkwardmotions and made such queer sounds that his companions set upon him andfought for possession of the instrument. Then Snap, becoming solicitousfor its welfare, jumped into the fray. They tussled for it amid theclamor of a delighted circle. Snap, passing from jest to earnest, grewso strenuous in his efforts to regain the harp that he tossed the Navajosabout like shuttle-cocks. He got the harp and, concealing it, sought tobreak away. But the braves laid hold upon him, threw him to the ground,and calmly sat astride him while they went through his pockets. AugustNaab roared his merriment and Hare laughed till he cried. The incidentwas as surprising to him as it was amusing. These serious Mormons andsilent Navajos were capable of mirth.

　　Hare would have stayed up as late as any of them, but August's saying tohim, "Get to bed: to-morrow will be bad!" sent him off to his blankets,where he was soon fast asleep. Morning found him well, hungry, eager toknow what the day would bring.

　　"Wait," said August, soberly.

　　They rode out of the gray pocket in the ridge and began to climb. Harehad not noticed the rise till they were started, and then, as the horsesclimbed steadily he grew impatient at the monotonous ascent. There wasnothing to see; frequently it seemed that they were soon to reach thesummit, but still it rose above them. Hare went back to his comfortableplace on the sacks.

　　"Now, Jack," said August.

　　Hare gasped. He saw a red world. His eyes seemed bathed in blood. Redscaly ground, bare of vegetation, sloped down, down, far down to a vastirregular rent in the earth, which zigzagged through the plain beneath.To the right it bent its crooked way under the brow of a black-timberedplateau; to the left it straightened its angles to find a V-shaped ventin the wall, now uplifted to a mountain range. Beyond this earth-rivenline lay something vast and illimitable, a far-reaching vision of whitewastes, of purple plains, of low mesas lost in distance. It was theshimmering dust-veiled desert.

　　"Here we come to the real thing," explained Naab. "This is Windy Slope;that black line is the Grand Canyon of Arizona; on the other side is thePainted Desert where the Navajos live; Coconina Mountain shows his flathead there to the right, and the wall on our left rises to the VermillionCliffs. Now, look while you can, for presently you'll not be able tosee."

　　"Why?"

　　"Wind, sand, dust, gravel, pebbles--watch out for your eyes!"

　　Naab had not ceased speaking when Hare saw that the train of Indianstrailing down the slope was enveloped in red clouds. Then the whitewagons disappeared. Soon he was struck in the back by a gust whichjustified Naab's warning. It swept by; the air grew clear again; oncemore he could see. But presently a puff, taking him unawares, filled hiseyes with dust difficult of removal. Whereupon he turned his back to thewind.

　　The afternoon grew apace; the sun glistened on the white patches ofCoconina Mountain; it set; and the wind died.

　　"Five miles of red sand," said Naab. "Here's what kills the horses.Getup."

　　There was no trail. All before was red sand, hollows, slopes, levels,dunes, in which the horses sank above their fetlocks. The wheelsploughed deep, and little red streams trailed down from the tires. Naabtrudged on foot with the reins in his hands. Hare essayed to walk also,soon tired, and floundered behind till Naab ordered him to ride again.Twilight came with the horses still toiling.

　　"There! thankful I am when we get off that strip! But, Jack, thattrailless waste prevents a night raid on my home. Even the Navajos shunit after dark. We'll be home soon. There's my sign. See? Night orday we call it the Blue Star."

　　High in the black cliff a star-shaped, wind-worn hole let the blue skythrough.

　　There was cheer in Naab's "Getup," now, and the horses quickened with it.Their iron-shod hoofs struck fire from the rosy road. "Easy, easy--soho!" cried Naab to his steeds. In the pitchy blackness under theshelving cliff they picked their way cautiously, and turned a corner.Lights twinkled in Hare's sight, a fresh breeze, coming from water,dampened his cheek, and a hollow rumble, a long roll as of distantthunder, filled his ears.

　　"What's that?" he asked.

　　"That, my lad, is what I always love to hear. It means I'm home. It'sthe roar of the Colorado as she takes her first plunge into the Canyon."