The Zane Grey Megapack

by Zane Grey

  Navvy dropped to his knees and leaned over the rim. We followed suit. I found myself looking down at a straight wall, then a narrow shelf of debris, and below that a small grassy plot of ground which sloped to the main rim-wall.

  Ken Ward let out a bursting yell of joy. Then I saw Hal lying on one side of the plot. There was a bloody wound on the side of his cheek and temple.

  “Ah, there!” he said, faintly, and he smiled a smile that was as feeble as his voice.

  I could not tell what the greeting was we shouted down to him, for the reason that we all shouted at once. Then we leaped up from the rim, ready for action. The first thing Ken Ward did was to give the Navajo such a hug that I made sure he would crush the Indian’s ribs. Navvy smiled at this rough treatment as if he knew what it meant to lose and find a brother.

  “Cool down now, youngster,” said Hiram, “an’ let me engineer this bizness.”

  Jim was more agitated than I had ever seen him. He kept peeping over the rim.

  “Hiram, he shore ain’t moved a hand or foot since we got here,” whispered Jim.

  “Mebbe he’s too weak,” replied Hiram.

  The old hunter carefully tied up two lassoes, then two more, and putting these together he made a double rope more than fifty feet long.

  “Ken, we’ll let you down,” he said, running a noose under Ken’s arms.

  With Hiram and Jim holding the rope Ken slipped over the rim and soon reached the shelf below.

  “Hal, old boy, are you hurt—very much?” asked Ken, as he knelt by his brother.

  “Water! Water!” whispered Hal.

  “Pitch me the canteen, quick,” called Ken. Hiram took it from Navvy and carefully poised it.

  “Make sure, youngster. It might hit a rock an’ bounce down the slope.”

  “Pitch it!” cried Ken in scornful distraction. “Have I played ball all these years for nothing? Pitch it!”

  “Thar,” called Hiram, and he pitched the canteen. Ken caught it with steel like clutch, and then he was kneeling by Hal, holding up the boy’s head and helping him to drink. From the length of that drink Hal must have been pretty thirsty.

  “Hal, tell me now—where are you hurt?” asked Ken.

  The boy whispered something that only Ken heard. And we saw that Ken began to feel for broken bones and search for injuries.

  “Hiram, all I can find is the bruise on his face and a bad ankle. It’s black and blue and swollen out of shape. I’m afraid it’s broken. He can move all over, so his spine can’t be hurt.”

  “Good! Now, youngster, you take off your coat an’ put it round Hal, under his arms, whar the rope goes.… Thar, thet’s right. Now you lift him an’ git him straight under us.… Steady now.… Help me lift him, Jim. An’ Leslie, you stand ready to grab him when we git him up.”

  In less than two minutes we had Hal lying on the rim above. I hardly recognized his face. It was pallid except for the bloody bruise, and his eyes were deep-set with a strained expression of pain, and his lips were drawn. He had changed terribly.

  “Oh, I’m all—here,” he whispered. But it was only a faint likeness of his old spirit.

  “Say! throw me the rope,” yelled Ken. Hiram threw it over, and, while he and I held firmly, Ken came up hand over hand.

  “Leslie, you lead back an’ break a trail through the brush,” directed I Hiram, as he carefully lifted Hal in his arms. We were not long in getting to the horses. Here Hiram placed Hal astride his roan, and walked, with an arm steadying the lad, while Jim rode alongside and helped. This procession was very slow in reaching camp.

  When we arrived there, Hiram made a thorough examination of the boy and to our great relief announced that there were no serious injuries.

  “He’s got a knock on the side of his head, an’ a sprained ankle, an’ mebbe he’s sufferin’ from shock, but he’ll be around in a few days.”

  We washed the blood from Hal’s face and bathed his ankle in hot water. His face was so painful and his lips so swollen that it was difficult for him to eat, but after he had forced down some potato soup and a few mouthfuls of coffee he appeared to gather a little strength. We were so overjoyed to have him back alive and comparatively well that all thought of his delinquencies had been forgotten. But, evidently, Hal had not forgotten, for he looked wistfully at Ken and Hiram. It appeared to me that Hal wanted to be helped out in his confession. None of us, however, asked him a question.

  “Ken,” he said, finally, and his voice was strangely weak, “I ran off bull-headed mad, but I didn’t stay away for spite. I chased some kind of a young animal—a young coyote, I think and I fell over the rim.”

  “Forget it,” replied Ken, cheerfully.

  “I yelled and yelled,” went on Hal. “Then I knew you wouldn’t be hunting for me, because you’d all figure I was playing a trick, trying to scare you. So I stopped yelling. The pain wasn’t so bad. I could have stood that. But the thought of you not hunting for me for a long time—that hurt. It made me sick. Then after the first night and the next day I got thirsty. I had a fever, I guess, for I was flighty. Pretty soon I believed—you’d never find me. Then—then—”

  He never completed that sentence, but his look was eloquent. Hal Ward had been face to face with his first real tragedy in life. The lesson that Jim had prophesied had been a terrible one.

  “Ken,” he said, after a long silence, “I broke my promise to you. One thing I did promise, you know. That was to be careful.”

  “It’s all right, kid,” replied Ken.

  “Jim,” he went on, after another silence, “I guess you won’t let me ‘rustle’ with you—any more?”

  “Shore I will—shore,” replied Jim, hurriedly, as he fumbled aimlessly with his pipe.

  Then there was a third silence, this one the longest.

  “Hiram,” said Hal, “do you remember—you called me a young Injun once, and then I heard you say the only good Injun was a dead one?”

  “Wal, lad, what about it?” asked Hiram, kindly.

  “When I lay down in that dark hole, at night, with the stars shining in my lace I never slept a wink—I thought of what you had said—of your advice—and I made up my mind if I ever got out alive I’d fool you about being a good Injun.… I’m goin’ to be one.”

  “Amen,” cried Ken Ward, fervently.

  CHAPTER XIX

  KEN AND PRINCE

  Next morning Hiram was out bright and early, yelling to Navvy to hurry with the horses, calling to the hounds and lions and routing us from warm blankets.

  Navvy had come into his own: he received his full meed of praise from all of us. Even Jim, reluctantly feeling the place in his hip where he carried a pellet of Indian lead, acknowledged that Navvy had been invaluable. “Shore, he’s the only good redskin I ever seen, an’ I guess I’ll hey to change my mind about liftin’ his scalp.”

  “Tohodena!” said Navvy, mimicking Hiram. Perhaps we all contrasted this jocular use of the word with the grim meaning he had given to it the day before.

  As we sat down to breakfast he loped off into the forest, and before we got up the bells of the horses were jingling in the hollow.

  “Shore, it’s goin’ to be cloudy,” said Jim.

  “If it’s just the same to you fellows, I’ll keep camp,” remarked Hal.

  “Wal, lad, I reckon so,” was Hiram’s reply.

  Indeed, we carried Hal out of Hiram’s tent and propped him up with blankets. It would probably be several days before he could use his injured ankle. He was haggard, and the bruise had grown blacker. But the terrible, strained shadow of pain in his eyes had given place to something brighter and softer.

  “Shore I’m goin’ to keep camp with you,” drawled Jim, presently.

  “That will be fine—but Ken and Hiram and Dick will need you.”

  “They can need an’ be darned. I’m tired climbin’ out of them gashes. My heart ain’t right yet, after luggin’ thet cougar eleven miles or less straight up in the air.”

  “
Wal, youngster,” said Hiram to Ken—it was strange and incomprehensible why he called Hal ‘lad’ and Ken ‘youngster,’ but so it was—“I reckon we’ve got more sassy cougars right now than we can pack off this plateau. Packin’ them out—thar’ll be some fun.”

  “Everything yet has been fun except some of my stunts,” replied Hal.

  After breakfast we made a comfortable lounging place for Hal and left him in care of Jim. Then Ken, Hiram, and I rode down the ridge to the left of Middle Canyon. All the way we had trouble with the hounds. First they ran foul of a coyote, which was the one and only beast they could not resist. Spreading out to head them off, we separated. I cut into a hollow and rode to its end, and there I went up. I heard the hounds and presently saw a big white coyote making fast time through the forest glades. It looked as if he would cross close to me, so I dismounted and knelt with my rifle ready. The coyote saw me and shied off. I sent several singing, zipping bullets after him, which only served to make him run the faster. Remounting I turned toward my companions, now hallooing from a ridge below.

  The pack lost some time on old trails, but we reached the cedars about eight o’clock, and as the sky was overcast with low dun-colored clouds and the air cool, we were sure it was not too late.

  Soon we were in the thick of dense cedars. There, with but a single bark to warn us, Prince got out of sight and hearing. While we separated to look for him the remainder of the pack hit a trail, and then they were off. I kept them in hearing for some time. Meanwhile Hiram and Ken might as well have vanished off the globe for all I could see or hear of them. Occasionally I halted to let out a signal.

  “Waa-hoo!”

  Away on the dry air pealed the cry, piercing the cedar forest, splitting sharp in the walled canyons and clapping back and forth from wall to wall, rolling on to lose power, to die away in mocking silence.

  I rode to and fro, up this gully and down that one. I rimmed what seemed a thousand canyons and yelled till I was out of breath, but I could not find a trace or hear a sound that belonged to my companions or the hounds.

  So I turned my horse toward camp, and it was noon when I got there. About three o’clock Curley came in, foot-sore and weary. Next was Queen and she could scarcely touch her crippled foot to the ground. An hour after her arrival Ringer came in. He was worn out, dusty, and panting with thirst and heat.

  “Shore everybody was huntin’ fer himself today,” remarked Jim.

  At five o’clock Hiram’s gaunt charger snapped the dead wood in the hollow. The tall hunter got off and untied two cougar skins from the back of his saddle.

  “Whar were you an’ the youngster?” he demanded. “Thet’s what I want to know.”

  “I lost you both and couldn’t hit your trail again,” I replied.

  “Wal, the hounds got up cougar chases fer themselves today. Prince lit out an’ thet settled it. I lost ’em all but Mux an’ Tan.”

  As he spoke the two hounds limped into camp.

  “I reckon Ken is sittin’ under a cedar, holdin’ Prince, an’ yellin’ fer us to come an’ help him git his cougar.… It’s been another queer huntin’ day. Dog-gone it! this plateau is a curious split-up place, an’ no wonder we can’t do nuthin’. I hed to kill the two cougars I treed, arter I waited hours fer you an’ Ken.… Wal, I’ll rest a little an’ then git supper.”

  “Gee! Hiram, I hope Ken’s all right,” exclaimed Hal, anxiously.

  “Don’t you worry, lad. He’ll be ridin’ in soon.”

  Hiram had just taken the steaming supper off the fire when the barking of the hounds announced Ken’s appearance. He rode wearily under the pines and Prince trotted wearily behind.

  “Jest in time, youngster,” called the old hunter, cheerily.

  Ken fell rather than dismounted, and he slipped to the ground and stretched out so slowly, so painfully, so gratefully, that it was easy to see what he had been through. His clothes were in tatters and he was white and spent. To our solicitations he whispered: “Wait!” And he lay there for full five minutes before he crawled to the supper-cloth.

  We were all curious, and Hal was wild to hear Ken’s adventure. There was something about Ken Ward, before a time of stress, or after hard action, that thrilled one with its significance. When supper was over and we sat in a circle round the ruddy camp-fire, with the cool wind singing in the pines and the shadows of night darkening, Hiram said: “Wal, youngster, I reckon we want to hyar about it.”

  Ken was still silent and there was a brooding grimness about his thoughtful face. As we waited for Ken to take his time Prince edged nearer the fire for the air was chill—and when the great hound laid his splendid head on Ken’s knee and looked up with somber eyes, the boy seemed to burst out involuntarily: “Prince saved my life!”

  “He did?” breathed Hal, his shining eyes full on his brother. “Tell me—everything!”

  Ken settled back and began his story.

  “Sometime this morning I lost Hiram and the hounds. I found myself in a dark, gloomy forest. After a while this forest got all but impenetrable. Dead cedars lay in windfalls; live cedars, branches touching the ground, grew close together. I lost my bearings. I turned and turned, crossed my own back-trail, which I followed, coming out of the cedars at a deep canyon.

  “Here I fired my revolver, but no answering shot came. There was nothing for me to do but wander along in the hope of finding Hiram or Dick. I was riding on when I saw Prince come trotting to me.

  “‘Hello, old boy,’ I said. Prince seemed to be as glad to see me as I was to see him. He flopped down and panted with a dripping tongue jerking out of his mouth. He was covered with dust and flecked with froth.

  “‘All in, Prince?’ I asked. ‘We’ll rest awhile.’ Then I discovered blood on his ear and found the ear slit. He had been pushing a cougar too hard that morning.

  “I filled my hat with water from my canteen and gave Prince a drink. Four times he emptied the hat before he was satisfied. Then he laid his head against me and rested.

  “Prince got up Finally of his own accord, and with a wag of his tail set of westward. I kept my mustang as close to Prince as the rough going permitted. We came out in the notch of the great curve we had named the Bay. I was just about to shout for you when I saw Prince with his hair bristling. He took a dozen jumps, then yelping broke down the steep gorge and disappeared.

  “I found a fresh track of the big lion that we have chased so often, and decided to follow Prince. I tied my mustang and took off my coat and spurs and chaps, and fastened a red bandana to the top of a dead cedar to show me where to come up on my way back.

  “I went down about five hundred feet until a precipice stopped me. From it I heard Prince baying and almost instantly saw a lion in a treetop.

  “That roused me and I yelled, ‘Hi! Hi! Hi!’ to encourage Prince.

  “I thought it would be wise to look before I leaped. The Bay lay under me, a mile wide where it opened into the big smoky Canyon. It seemed like an awful, bottomless pit. I tell you for a moment the sight shook my nerve, but I had to go after Prince. I ran along to the left and came to where the cliff ended in a weathered slope.

  “Once started in dead earnest, it was like playing a game that had to be won. My boots struck fire from the rocks. I slid and hung on and let go to slide again. I started avalanches of weathered rock and then outfooted them.

  “But soon I had to go slower and climb over things. Prince bayed once in a while, and I yelled to him to let him know I was coming. A white bank of decayed limestone led down to a runway, where I made up time. Here Prince’s bay kept me going. Flying down this to a clump of cedars, I ran in among them and saw Prince standing with fore paws against a big cedar. I saw a lion moving down. Then the crash and rattle of stones told me he had jumped. Prince ran after him.

  “I dashed down, dodged under cedars, and threaded openings in the rocks to come to a ravine with a bare, water-worn floor. Patches of sand showed the tracks of Prince and the lion. Those of the lion were so la
rge they made my blood run cold. They were twice the size of any tracks I had seen before. Running down this dry stream-bed was the easiest going yet. Every rod or so the stream-bed dropped from four to ten feet, often more, and these places I slid down.

  “The cougar didn’t appear to tree any more. I feared every moment to hear the sounds of a fight, for I remembered that Hiram had said an old cougar would get tired running and stop to kill the hound.

  “Down, down, down I went. I saw that we were almost to the real jump-off, the great, wide main canyon, and I wondered what would happen when we reached it. Suddenly I came upon Prince baying wildly under a piñon on the brink of a deep cove.

  “Looking up I had the fright of my life. The cougar was immense and so old that his color was almost gray. His head was huge, his paws short and round. He did not spit, nor snarl, nor growl; he did not look at Prince, but kept his half-shut eyes on me.

  “Before I had time to move he left his perch and hit the ground with a thud. At first I made sure he intended to attack me, and I jerked out my revolver. But he walked slowly past Prince and without a moment’s hesitation leaped down into the cove. A rattling crash of sliding stones came up with a cloud of dust. Then I saw him leisurely picking his way among the rough stones.

  “Prince came whining to me, and together we went along the cove till we found a place where we could get down. We crawled and jumped and fell till we reached the bottom, and again Prince took the trail.

  “Almost before I knew what I was about I stood on the second wall of the canyon, with nothing but thin air under me. I tell you it made me gasp.

  “Prince’s bark came to me, and I turned round a corner of cliff wall and saw him on a narrow shelf. He was coming, and when he got to me he faced about and barked fiercely. The hair on his neck stuck up.