by Zane Grey
“Now’s your chance,” I yelled. “Rope a hind foot! I can hold him.”
In a second Ken had a noose fast on both hind paws, and then passed his rope to me. While I held the lion he again climbed the tree, untied the knot that had caused so much trouble, and shortly we had our obstinate captive stretched out between two trees. After which we took a much-needed breathing spell.
“Not very scientific,” I said, by way of apologizing for our crude work, “but we had to get him some way.”
“Dick, do you know, I believe Hiram put up a job on us?” said Ken.
“Well, maybe he did. We had the job all right. But we’ll make short work of him now.”
While Ken held the chain I muzzled the lion with a stick and strands of lasso.
“Now for the hardest part of it,” said I—“packing him up.”
We toiled painfully upward, resting every few yards, wet with sweat, burning with heat, parching for water. We slipped and fell, got up, to slip and fall again. The dust choked us. Unheedingly we risked our lives on the brinks of precipices. We had no thought save to get the lion up.
We had to climb partly sidewise, with the pole in the hollow of our elbows. The lion dragged head downward, catching in the brush and on the stones. Our rests became more frequent. I had the downward end of the pole, and therefore thrice the weight, and I whistled when I drew breath. Half the time I saw red mist before my eyes. How I hated the sliding stones!
“Wait,” I panted once. “You’re younger—than I—wait!”
At last we dropped our burden in the shade of a cedar where the other lions lay, and we stretched ourselves for a long, sweet rest.
“Wonder—where Jim is?” I said.
Then I heard the lions wheezing, coughing.
“Ken! Look! The lions are choking. They’re choking of thirst. They’ll die if we don’t get water.… That’s where Jim is—hunting water.”
“Water in this dry place? Where will we find it?” implored Ken.
After all our efforts and wonderful good luck the thought of losing those beautiful cougars for lack of a little water was almost sickening.
“Ken, I can’t do another lick. I’m played out. You must find water. Don’t hope and wait for Jim. Go yourself. It snowed yesterday.”
Then into my mind flashed a picture of the many little pockets beaten by rains into the shelves and promontories of the canyon rim.
When I told Ken he leaped up and ran like a startled deer. I watched him with curious pride and faith. What an athlete he was! He swung up over boulders, he drew himself up by grasping branches, he walked straight up steep slides. The roar of a starting avalanche came from under his heels. Then he reached the rim and disappeared.
For what seemed a long time he remained out of my sight; then he appeared carrying his cap in both hands. He had found water.
He began the downward journey. Like a tightrope performer he balanced himself on crumbling stones. He stepped with the skill of a goat; he zigzagged weathered slopes; he leaped fissures and ran along yellow slides. The farther down he got, the faster he came, until it seemed as if he had wings. Places that in an ordinary moment would have seemed impassable he sailed over with the light touch of sure feet. Then he bore down upon me with an Indian yell of triumph.
“Ken, old boy, you’re a wonder!” I exclaimed.
He grasped a lion by the ears and held his head up. I saturated my handkerchief and squeezed the water into his mouth. He wheezed, coughed, choked, but to our joy he swallowed. He had to swallow. One after another we served them so, seeing with unmistakable relief the sure signs of recovery. Their eyes cleared and brightened; the dry coughing that distressed us so ceased; the froth came no more. Spitfire, as we had christened the savage brute which had fought us to a standstill, raised his head, the gold in his beautiful eyes glowed like fire, and he growled in token of returning life and defiance.
Ken and I sank back in unutterable relief.
“Waa-hoo!” Hiram’s yell came breaking the warm quiet of the slope. Our comrade appeared riding down. The voice of the Indian calling to Marc mingled with the ringing of iron-shod hoofs on the stones.
Then Jim, stooping under the cedars, appeared from the opposite direction.
“Hello! Shore I’ve been huntin’ water, an’ couldn’t find none. Hevn’t you seen the need of it?” Suddenly he grasped the situation, and his red face relaxed and beamed.
Hiram surveyed the small level spot in the shade of the cedars. He gazed from the lions to us, and his dry laugh split the air.
“Dog-gone me if you didn’t do it!”
CHAPTER XVIII
HAL’S LESSON
It was a strange procession that soon emerged from Left Canyon. Stranger to us than the lion heads bobbing out of the sacks was the sight of Navvy riding in front of the lions. I kept well in the rear, for if anything happened, which I thought more than likely, I wanted to see it. Before we had reached the outskirts of the pines, I observed that the piece of lasso round Spitfire’s nose had worked loose.
I was about to speak when the lion opened a corner of his mouth and fastened his teeth in the Navajo’s overalls. He did not catch the flesh, for when Navvy turned he wore only the expression of curiosity. But when he saw Spitfire chewing at him he uttered a shrill scream and fell sidewise off his horse.
Then there were two difficulties; to catch the frightened horse and to persuade the Indian he had not been bitten. We failed in the latter. Navvy gave us and the lions a wide berth, and walked to camp.
Hal was waiting for us, and said he had chased a lion south along the rim till the hound got away from him.
Spitfire, having already been chained, was the first lion we endeavored to introduce to our family of captives. He raised such a fearful row that we had to take him quite a little distance from the others.
“We hey two dog chains,” said Hiram, “but not a collar or a swivel in camp. We can’t chain the lions without swivels. They’d choke themselves in two minutes.”
Once more for the hundredth time he came to the rescue with his inventive and mechanical skill. He took the largest pair of hobbles we had, and with an axe, a knife, and wire nippers fashioned two collars with swivels that in strength and serviceability were an improvement on those we had bought.
Darkness was enveloping the forest when we finished supper. I fell into my bed and, despite the throbbing and burning of my body, soon relapsed into slumber. And I crawled out next morning late for breakfast, stiff, worn out, crippled. The boys, too, were crippled, but happy. Six lions roaring in concert were enough to bring contentment.
Hiram engaged himself upon a new pair of trousers, which he contrived to produce from two of our empty meal-bags. The lower half of his overalls had gone to decorate the cedar spikes and brush, and these new bag-leg trousers, while somewhat remarkable for design, answered the purpose well enough. His coat was somewhere along the canyon rim, his shoes were full of holes, his shirt in strips, and his trousers in rags. Jim looked like a scarecrow. Ken looked as if he had been fired from a cannon. But, fortunately for him, he had an extra suit.
Hal spent the afternoon with the lions, photographing them, listening to their spitting and growling, and watching them fight their chains, and roll up like balls of fur. From different parts of the forest he tried to creep unsuspected upon them; but always when he peeped out from behind a tree or log, every pair of ears would be erect, every pair of eyes gleaming and suspicious.
Spitfire afforded more amusement than all the others. He had indeed the temper of a king; he had been born for sovereignty, not slavery. He tried in every way to frighten Hal, and, failing, he always ended with a spring to the length of his chain. This means was always effective. Hal simply could not stand still when the lion leaped; and in turn he tried every artifice he could think of to make him back away and take refuge behind his tree. He ran at him with a club as if he were going to kill him. Spitfire waited crouching and could not be budged. Finally Hal bethoug
ht himself of a red flannel hood that Hiram had given him, saying he might have use for it on cold nights. It was a weird, flaming head-gear, falling, cloak-like, down over Hal’s shoulders. Hal started to crawl on all fours toward Spitfire. This was too much for the cougar. In his astonishment he forgot to spit and growl, and he backed behind the little pine, from which he regarded Hal with growing perplexity.
“Youngster, I hey been watchin’ you fer the last hour or so,” remarked Hiram. “An’ I want to give you a piece of advice. Thar’s sech a thing as bein’ foolhardy brave. You don’t seem to reckon that them critters are cougars, wild cougars, an’ not pets.”
“But I’m not afraid,” replied Hal, boldly.
“Wal, I noticed thet. Mebbe you don’t know what danger is. Let me tell you a story I read. Thar was a time onct in the old country when officers of the great French army was reviewin’ the troops as they marched out to battle. Presently a big corporal strutted by, bold an’ important, swaggerin’ himself, an’ lookin’ fight all over.
“‘Thet’s a brave soldier,’ said one of the officers to Napoleon. The Emperor shook his head, an’ said: ‘No!’ Arter a while a little drummer boy marched by. He was drummin’ away fer dear life, as if by drummin’ hard he could keep up his courage. But he was white as a sheet, an’ his eyes stuck out, an’ he was sweatin’, an’ every step he took seemed to be with leaden feet.
“‘Thar’s a brave soldier,’ said Napoleon. ‘He knows the danger.’”
Hiram’s story did not appear to have any great effect on Hal. For a while the lad left the lions alone, but presently he was back tormenting them. He was not at all mean or vicious in his teasing; it was simply that they fascinated him and he could not let them alone. Finally, when Hal slipped, in one of his escapes, just eluding Spitfire by the narrowest margin. Hiram ordered him to keep away from them altogether. Whereupon Hal strode off in anger.
“I never seen sich a youngster,” explained Hiram.
“Shore he needs a lesson, an’ he’s goin’ to git it,” said Jim. “If the boy only hes the temper cooled in him, an’ not broke outright, he’ll be fine.”
Ken gave one of his short laughs.
“That kid is powder, brimstone, dynamite, and chain-lightning all mixed with a compound, concentrated solution of deviltry. Why, he has positively been good so far on this trip.”
Hiram groaned.
“Ken, a few years ago you were almost exactly the same kid that Hal is now,” I said, with a smile.
“I was not,” declared Ken, hotly.
“Youngster, ’pears to me you did some tall scrappin’ fer this same bad kid brother,” remarked Hiram.
“That’s different. I can fight for Hal and still condemn his trickiness, can’t I?”
The afternoon passed, then sunset, and the shades spread darkly under the pines; suppertime went by, darkness came on, the camp-fire blazed—and still Hal Ward did not come back. We were not especially worried on this score, but when bedtime rolled around and no Hal, then both Ken and Hiram showed anxiety.
Morning dawned without his return. We had a late breakfast purposely, as we expected him to be in by the time Navvy drove up the horses. But there was no sign of Hal.
“Something has happened to him, sure,” Ken said.
Both Jim and I took a different view, agreeing that the lad had slept out for fun, perhaps to cause us concern, and that he would not come in until he was hungry.
Hiram had no comment to make, but it was plain that he did not like the possibilities. Ken showed no desire for lion-hunting, so we did not go out that day. When night came again and Hal had not returned we were at our wits’ end. But knowing his singular propensity for tricks, and believing that he would do almost anything in the way of mischief, we still remained in camp, hoping that he would get as tired of the joke as we were, and return.
Next morning Hiram routed us out early.
“Fellars, I think we’ve been good an’ wrong fer hangin’ around here waitin’ fer the youngster, tricks or no tricks. It’s been growin’ on me thet somethin’ onusual hes come off. We could hey follered his tracks yesterday a tarnal sight better than today. Leslie, you an’ Ken rim the plateau-wall. Look fer tracks, an’ keep signalin’. Jim an’ me’ll search the pine, an’ the cedar thickets, an’ the hollers.”
“What are you going to search the thickets and hollows for?” demanded Ken, with wide eyes of misgiving.
When Hiram had no answer for him Ken grew greatly perturbed.
“Hiram, you don’t think—it possible—a cougar could have jumped the boy?”
“Possible? Sartinly it’s possible. It’s not likely, though. But I’ve knowed more than one feller to be attacked by a hungry cougar. I’ve hed one foller me, more than onct.… Now, youngster, don’t look sick thet way. Thet boy hed to hey somethin’ happen to him somethin’ serious. It was jest plain as the nose on his face. I hope, an’ believe, of course, thet we’ll find him safe. But you’d better prepare yourself fer a jar.”
The expression of Ken’s face made me almost sick, too; and what little hope I had oozed out.
“Leslie, you’d better see if any hosses hey come up or gone down the trail at the Saddle,” called Hiram, as Ken and I rode off.
“I tell you, Dick, I’m afraid Hiram takes a bad meaning from Hal’s absence,” said Ken. “He meant by what he said to you that those rangers, Belden and Sells, might have got hold of Hal.”
“I hope they have, because then we’d get only a scare, and Hal wouldn’t be hurt much.… Well, go slow now, Ken, and keep up hope.”
We separated at the rim and took different directions. It was high noon when we met again on the other side of the plateau. Neither of us had found a trace of Hal. We turned for camp, hoping against hope that Hiram and Jim would have a different story.
They were both in camp when we arrived, and they ran out under the pines to meet us. It was plain that they hoped to receive the news from us which we had hoped to hear from them.
It was a gloomy meeting.
“I failed to foller Hal’s tracks, an’ Jim, he failed, too, an’ Jim ain’t no slouch on follerin’ tracks. It would take an Injun—”
The same thought came to us and we all shouted: “Put Navvy on Hal’s trail.”
Hiram called the Navajo and began to try to tell him, by signs and speech, that Hal was lost and that we wanted his trail followed.
“Me savvy,” said the Indian.
He threw the bridle of Ken’s mustang over his arm, and then, bending over the faint imprints of Hal’s boots, he slowly walked into the forest leading the mustang.
“Don’t foller him. Let him alone,” said Hiram, as Ken and I pressed forward.
The Navajo’s snail-like progress was intolerable to watch, yet it was hopeful, too, for it meant that he was able to pick out Hal’s trail. A long hour passed before Navvy disappeared in the forest. Another passed, still longer. And a third went by that seemed interminable.
“Wal, them desert Navajos hev the sharpest eyes in the world fer a trail.… Youngster, he’ll find your brother.”
Suddenly I saw a black streak darting in the forest.
“Look!”
It shot across an open space, disappeared, came in sight again. It was a horse.
“Wild hoss, I’m afeard,” said Hiram.
“No, it’s the mustang,” said Jim. “I guess mebbe I hevn’t often seen a redskin pushin’ a mustang to his limit.”
“Oh! it’s Navvy,” exclaimed Ken. “Look at him come!”
“Youngster, now you’re seein’ some real ridin’,” said Hiram.
The beautiful black mustang swept toward camp at the speed of the wind. He ran on a straight line, sailing over logs, splitting through the bunch of juniper with flying mane and tail. The dark Indian crouched low and rode as if he were part of the mustang. There was something wild in that fleet approach, something thrilling and full of hope. The Navajo gained the camp circle, pulled up the mustang until he slid on hi
s haunches, and leaped from the saddle.
We crowded toward him. He said a few words in Navajo, which none of us could translate. There was no telling anything from his dark, impassive face. Then he made motions with his hands and his meaning became at once clear. Hal had fallen over the rim.
“Oh! Oh!” cried Ken Ward, covering his face with his hands.
It was a black moment for all of us. I Hiram and Jim glanced compassionately at Ken, but I could not bear to look at him. As I turned away I saw the Indian pick up two lassoes and a canteen.
“Tohodena! Tohodena!” (“Hurry—hurry!”), said the Navajo.
That put new life into us.
“Look, Ken, the Indian’s grabbed up canteen and ropes. That means Hal is alive.”
Ken’s face seemed transfigured. He darted for Hal’s mustang, which was with our other horses, threw on a saddle and buckled it with nervous haste. We were mounted as soon as Ken. Navvy swung his quirt and the race was on. It was a race and a mad one to keep the Indian in sight. Our lion chases were tame beside this wild ride. The pines blurred all about me; the brown sward seemed to shoot backwards under me; the wind howled in my ears. I kept close at the heels of Hiram’s thundering roan. The Indian with marvelous skill held to a straight line. Logs and thickets and hollows, even deep gulches did not make him swerve. Once I got a good look ahead, and there was Ken riding Wings almost a rod ahead of Jim, who had a lead over Hiram. I thought at the moment how proud Hal would have been of Wings. But fast as Ken was driving him the pinto could not catch the mustang.
The pines thinned out and clumps of cedar appeared with patches of sage. The Navajo reined in, leaped off, and waited till we raced up. In a twinkling we were oil ready to follow. He carried the lassoes and the canteen.
We were directly above a cape of crumbling rim rock. To me the great abyss, with its purple clefts and gold domes and red walls, had never appeared so sinister and menacing. The Indian led down a short slope of sage and then went out upon a jutting section of wall. This cape appeared to be cut up into crags and castles and columns of yellow stone. One crumbling mass resembled a ruined pipe-organ of grand proportions. We wound in and out, always dangerously near the precipice, following the rim-wall of this cape. The Indian halted upon the edge of a kind of cove, a cut-in some fifty yards across at the widest, where it opened out into the chasm. I saw that the wall on the opposite side was perpendicular and almost forty feet high.