by Zane Grey
“It’s downhill,” whispered Dale. “An’ you’re goin’ to overshoot.”
Then Helen saw that Roy had his rifle leveled.
“Oh, don’t!” she cried.
Dale’s remark evidently nettled Roy. He lowered the rifle.
“Milt, it’s me lookin’ over this gun. How can you stand there an’ tell me I’m goin’ to shoot high? I had a dead bead on him.”
“Roy, you didn’t allow for downhill... Hurry. He sees us now.”
Roy leveled the rifle and, taking aim as before, he fired. The buck stood perfectly motionless, as if he had indeed been stone. The does, however, jumped with a start, and gazed in fright in every direction.
“Told you! I seen where your bullet hit thet pine — half a foot over his shoulder. Try again an’ aim at his legs.”
Roy now took a quicker aim and pulled trigger. A puff of dust right at the feet of the buck showed where Roy’s lead had struck this time. With a single bound, wonderful to see, the big deer was out of sight behind trees and brush. The does leaped after him.
“Doggone the luck!” ejaculated Roy, red in the face, as he worked the lever of his rifle. “Never could shoot downhill, nohow!”
His rueful apology to the girls for missing brought a merry laugh from Bo.
“Not for worlds would I have had you kill that beautiful deer!” she exclaimed.
“We won’t have venison steak off him, that’s certain,” remarked Dale, dryly. “An’ maybe none off any deer, if Roy does the shootin’.”
They resumed travel, sheering off to the right and keeping to the edge of the intersecting canuon. At length they rode down to the bottom, where a tiny brook babbled through willows, and they followed this for a mile or so down to where it flowed into the larger stream. A dim trail overgrown with grass showed at this point.
“Here’s where we part,” said Dale. “You’ll beat me into my camp, but I’ll get there sometime after dark.”
“Hey, Milt, I forgot about thet darned pet cougar of yours an’ the rest of your menagerie. Reckon they won’t scare the girls? Especially old Tom?”
“You won’t see Tom till I get home,” replied Dale.
“Ain’t he corralled or tied up?”
“No. He has the run of the place.”
“Wal, good-by, then, an’ rustle along.”
Dale nodded to the girls, and, turning his horse, he drove the pack-train before him up the open space between the stream and the wooded slope.
Roy stepped off his horse with that single action which appeared such a feat to Helen.
“Guess I’d better cinch up,” he said, as he threw a stirrup up over the pommel of his saddle. “You girls are goin’ to see wild country.”
“Who’s old Tom?” queried Bo, curiously.
“Why, he’s Milt’s pet cougar.”
“Cougar? That’s a panther — a mountain-lion, didn’t he say?”
“Shore is. Tom is a beauty. An’ if he takes a likin’ to you he’ll love you, play with you, maul you half to death.”
Bo was all eyes.
“Dale has other pets, too?” she questioned, eagerly.
“I never was up to his camp but what it was overrun with birds an’ squirrels an’ vermin of all kinds, as tame as tame as cows. Too darn tame, Milt says. But I can’t figger thet. You girls will never want to leave thet senaca of his.”
“What’s a senaca?” asked Helen, as she shifted her foot to let him tighten the cinches on her saddle.
“Thet’s Mexican for park, I guess,” he replied. “These mountains are full of parks; an’, say, I don’t ever want to see no prettier place till I get to heaven.... There, Ranger, old boy, thet’s tight.”
He slapped the horse affectionately, and, turning to his own, he stepped and swung his long length up.
“It ain’t deep crossin’ here. Come on,” he called, and spurred his bay.
The stream here was wide and it looked deep, but turned out to be deceptive.
“Wal, girls, here beginneth the second lesson,” he drawled, cheerily. “Ride one behind the other — stick close to me — do what I do — an’ holler when you want to rest or if somethin’ goes bad.”
With that he spurred into the thicket. Bo went next and Helen followed. The willows dragged at her so hard that she was unable to watch Roy, and the result was that a low-sweeping branch of a tree knocked her hard on the head. It hurt and startled her, and roused her mettle. Roy was keeping to the easy trot that covered ground so well, and he led up a slope to the open pine forest. Here the ride for several miles was straight, level, and open. Helen liked the forest to-day. It was brown and green, with patches of gold where the sun struck. She saw her first bird — big blue grouse that whirred up from under her horse, and little checkered gray quail that appeared awkward on the wing. Several times Roy pointed out deer flashing gray across some forest aisle, and often when he pointed Helen was not quick enough to see.
Helen realized that this ride would make up for the hideous one of yesterday. So far she had been only barely conscious of sore places and aching bones. These she would bear with. She loved the wild and the beautiful, both of which increased manifestly with every mile. The sun was warm, the air fragrant and cool, the sky blue as azure and so deep that she imagined that she could look far up into it.
Suddenly Roy reined in so sharply that he pulled the bay up short.
“Look!” he called, sharply.
Bo screamed.
“Not thet way! Here! Aw, he’s gone!”
“Nell! It was a bear! I saw it! Oh! not like circus bears at all!” cried Bo.
Helen had missed her opportunity.
“Reckon he was a grizzly, an’ I’m jest as well pleased thet he loped off,” said Roy. Altering his course somewhat, he led to an old rotten log that the bear had been digging in. “After grubs. There, see his track. He was a whopper shore enough.”
They rode on, out to a high point that overlooked canuon and range, gorge and ridge, green and black as far as Helen could see. The ranges were bold and long, climbing to the central uplift, where a number of fringed peaks raised their heads to the vast bare dome of Old Baldy. Far as vision could see, to the right lay one rolling forest of pine, beautiful and serene. Somewhere down beyond must have lain the desert, but it was not in sight.
“I see turkeys ‘way down there,” said Roy, backing away. “We’ll go down and around an’ mebbe I’ll get a shot.”
Descent beyond a rocky point was made through thick brush. This slope consisted of wide benches covered with copses and scattered pines and many oaks. Helen was delighted to see the familiar trees, although these were different from Missouri oaks. Rugged and gnarled, but not tall, these trees spread wide branches, the leaves of which were yellowing. Roy led into a grassy glade, and, leaping off his horse, rifle in hand, he prepared to shoot at something. Again Bo cried out, but this time it was in delight. Then Helen saw an immense flock of turkeys, apparently like the turkeys she knew at home, but these had bronze and checks of white, and they looked wild. There must have been a hundred in the flock, most of them hens. A few gobblers on the far side began the flight, running swiftly off. Helen plainly heard the thud of their feet. Roy shot once — twice — three times. Then rose a great commotion and thumping, and a loud roar of many wings. Dust and leaves whirling in the air were left where the turkeys had been.
“Wal, I got two,” said Roy, and he strode forward to pick up his game. Returning, he tied two shiny, plump gobblers back of his saddle and remounted his horse. “We’ll have turkey to-night, if Milt gets to camp in time.”
The ride was resumed. Helen never would have tired riding through those oak groves, brown and sear and yellow, with leaves and acorns falling.
“Bears have been workin’ in here already,” said Roy. “I see tracks all over. They eat acorns in the fall. An’ mebbe we’ll run into one yet.”
The farther down he led the wilder and thicker grew the trees, so that dodging branches was no li
ght task. Ranger did not seem to care how close he passed a tree or under a limb, so that he missed them himself; but Helen thereby got some additional bruises. Particularly hard was it, when passing a tree, to get her knee out of the way in time.
Roy halted next at what appeared a large green pond full of vegetation and in places covered with a thick scum. But it had a current and an outlet, proving it to be a huge, spring. Roy pointed down at a muddy place.
“Bear-wallow. He heard us comin’. Look at thet little track. Cub track. An’ look at these scratches on this tree, higher ‘n my head. An old she-bear stood up, an’ scratched them.”
Roy sat his saddle and reached up to touch fresh marks on the tree.
“Woods’s full of big bears,” he said, grinning. “An’ I take it particular kind of this old she rustlin’ off with her cub. She-bears with cubs are dangerous.”
The next place to stir Helen to enthusiasm was the glen at the bottom of this canuon. Beech-trees, maples, aspens, overtopped by lofty pines, made dense shade over a brook where trout splashed on the brown, swirling current, and leaves drifted down, and stray flecks of golden sunlight lightened the gloom. Here was hard riding to and fro across the brook, between huge mossy boulders, and between aspens so close together that Helen could scarce squeeze her knees through.
Once more Roy climbed out of that canuon, over a ridge into another, down long wooded slopes and through scrub-oak thickets, on and on till the sun stood straight overhead. Then he halted for a short rest, unsaddled the horses to let them roll, and gave the girls some cold lunch that he had packed. He strolled off with his gun, and, upon returning, resaddled and gave the word to start.
That was the last of rest and easy traveling for the girls. The forest that he struck into seemed ribbed like a washboard with deep ravines so steep of slope as to make precarious travel. Mostly he kept to the bottom where dry washes afforded a kind of trail. But it was necessary to cross these ravines when they were too long to be headed, and this crossing was work.
The locust thickets characteristic of these slopes were thorny and close knit. They tore and scratched and stung both horses and riders. Ranger appeared to be the most intelligent of the horses and suffered less. Bo’s white mustang dragged her through more than one brambly place. On the other hand, some of these steep slopes, were comparatively free of underbrush. Great firs and pines loomed up on all sides. The earth was soft and the hoofs sank deep. Toward the bottom of a descent Ranger would brace his front feet and then slide down on his haunches. This mode facilitated travel, but it frightened Helen. The climb out then on the other side had to be done on foot.
After half a dozen slopes surmounted in this way Helen’s strength was spent and her breath was gone. She felt light-headed. She could not get enough air. Her feet felt like lead, and her riding-coat was a burden. A hundred times, hot and wet and throbbing, she was compelled to stop. Always she had been a splendid walker and climber. And here, to break up the long ride, she was glad to be on her feet. But she could only drag one foot up after the other. Then, when her nose began to bleed, she realized that it was the elevation which was causing all the trouble. Her heart, however, did not hurt her, though she was conscious of an oppression on her breast.
At last Roy led into a ravine so deep and wide and full of forest verdure that it appeared impossible to cross. Nevertheless, he started down, dismounting after a little way. Helen found that leading Ranger down was worse than riding him. He came fast and he would step right in her tracks. She was not quick enough to get away from him. Twice he stepped on her foot, and again his broad chest hit her shoulder and threw her flat. When he began to slide, near the bottom, Helen had to run for her life.
“Oh, Nell! Isn’t — this — great?” panted Bo, from somewhere ahead.
“Bo — your — mind’s — gone,” panted Helen, in reply.
Roy tried several places to climb out, and failed in each. Leading down the ravine for a hundred yards or more, he essayed another attempt. Here there had been a slide, and in part the earth was bare. When he had worked up this, he halted above, and called:
“Bad place! Keep on the up side of the hosses!”
This appeared easier said than done. Helen could not watch Bo, because Ranger would not wait. He pulled at the bridle and snorted.
“Faster you come the better,” called Roy.
Helen could not see the sense of that, but she tried. Roy and Bo had dug a deep trail zigzag up that treacherous slide. Helen made the mistake of starting to follow in their tracks, and when she realized this Ranger was climbing fast, almost dragging her, and it was too late to get above. Helen began to labor. She slid down right in front of Ranger. The intelligent animal, with a snort, plunged out of the trail to keep from stepping on her. Then he was above her.
“Lookout down there,” yelled Roy, in warning. “Get on the up side!”
But that did not appear possible. The earth began to slide under Ranger, and that impeded Helen’s progress. He got in advance of her, straining on the bridle.
“Let go!” yelled Roy.
Helen dropped the bridle just as a heavy slide began to move with Ranger. He snorted fiercely, and, rearing high, in a mighty plunge he gained solid ground. Helen was buried to her knees, but, extricating herself, she crawled to a safe point and rested before climbing farther.
“Bad cave-in, thet,” was Roy’s comment, when at last she joined him and Bo at the top.
Roy appeared at a loss as to which way to go. He rode to high ground and looked in all directions. To Helen, one way appeared as wild and rough as another, and all was yellow, green, and black under the westering sun. Roy rode a short distance in one direction, then changed for another.
Presently he stopped.
“Wal, I’m shore turned round,” he said.
“You’re not lost?” cried Bo.
“Reckon I’ve been thet for a couple of hours,” he replied, cheerfully. “Never did ride across here I had the direction, but I’m blamed now if I can tell which way thet was.”
Helen gazed at him in consternation.
“Lost!” she echoed.
CHAPTER IX
A SILENCE ENSUED, fraught with poignant fear for Helen, as she gazed into Bo’s whitening face. She read her sister’s mind. Bo was remembering tales of lost people who never were found.
“Me an’ Milt get lost every day,” said Roy. “You don’t suppose any man can know all this big country. It’s nothin’ for us to be lost.”
“Oh!... I was lost when I was little,” said Bo.
“Wal, I reckon it’d been better not to tell you so offhand like,” replied Roy, contritely. “Don’t feel bad, now. All I need is a peek at Old Baldy. Then I’ll have my bearin’. Come on.”
Helen’s confidence returned as Roy led off at a fast trot. He rode toward the westering sun, keeping to the ridge they had ascended, until once more he came out upon a promontory. Old Baldy loomed there, blacker and higher and closer. The dark forest showed round, yellow, bare spots like parks.
“Not so far off the track,” said Roy, as he wheeled his horse. “We’ll make camp in Milt’s senaca to-night.”
He led down off the ridge into a valley and then up to higher altitude, where the character of the forest changed. The trees were no longer pines, but firs and spruce, growing thin and exceedingly tall, with few branches below the topmost foliage. So dense was this forest that twilight seemed to have come.
Travel was arduous. Everywhere were windfalls that had to be avoided, and not a rod was there without a fallen tree. The horses, laboring slowly, sometimes sank knee-deep into the brown duff. Gray moss festooned the tree-trunks and an amber-green moss grew thick on the rotting logs.
Helen loved this forest primeval. It was so still, so dark, so gloomy, so full of shadows and shade, and a dank smell of rotting wood, and sweet fragrance of spruce. The great windfalls, where trees were jammed together in dozens, showed the savagery of the storms. Wherever a single monarch lay uprooted
there had sprung up a number of ambitious sons, jealous of one another, fighting for place. Even the trees fought one another! The forest was a place of mystery, but its strife could be read by any eye. The lightnings had split firs clear to the roots, and others it had circled with ripping tear from top to trunk.
Time came, however, when the exceeding wildness of the forest, in density and fallen timber, made it imperative for Helen to put all her attention on the ground and trees in her immediate vicinity. So the pleasure of gazing ahead at the beautiful wilderness was denied her. Thereafter travel became toil and the hours endless.
Roy led on, and Ranger followed, while the shadows darkened under the trees. She was reeling in her saddle, half blind and sick, when Roy called out cheerily that they were almost there.
Whatever his idea was, to Helen it seemed many miles that she followed him farther, out of the heavy-timbered forest down upon slopes of low spruce, like evergreen, which descended sharply to another level, where dark, shallow streams flowed gently and the solemn stillness held a low murmur of falling water, and at last the wood ended upon a wonderful park full of a thick, rich, golden light of fast-fading sunset.
“Smell the smoke,” said Roy. “By Solomon! if Milt ain’t here ahead of me!”
He rode on. Helen’s weary gaze took in the round senaca, the circling black slopes, leading up to craggy rims all gold and red in the last flare of the sun; then all the spirit left in her flashed up in thrilling wonder at this exquisite, wild, and colorful spot.
Horses were grazing out in the long grass and there were deer grazing with them. Roy led round a corner of the fringed, bordering woodland, and there, under lofty trees, shone a camp-fire. Huge gray rocks loomed beyond, and then cliffs rose step by step to a notch in the mountain wall, over which poured a thin, lacy waterfall. As Helen gazed in rapture the sunset gold faded to white and all the western slope of the amphitheater darkened.
Dale’s tall form appeared.
“Reckon you’re late,” he said, as with a comprehensive flash of eye he took in the three.