by Zane Grey
XII
THE CRATER OF HELL
THE trail led along a gigantic fissure in the side of the crater, andthen down and down into a red-walled, blue hazed labyrinth.
Presently Gale, upon turning a sharp corner, was utterly amazed to seethat the split in the lava sloped out and widened into an arroyo. Itwas so green and soft and beautiful in all the angry, contorted redsurrounding that Gale could scarcely credit his sight. Blanco Solwhistled his welcome to the scent of water. Then Gale saw a greathole, a pit in the shiny lava, a dark, cool, shady well. There wasevidence of the fact that at flood seasons the water had an outlet intothe arroyo. The soil appeared to be a fine sand, in which a reddishtinge predominated; and it was abundantly covered with a long grass,still partly green. Mesquites and palo verdes dotted the arroyo andgradually closed in thickets that obstructed the view.
"Shore it all beats me," exclaimed Ladd. "What a place to hole-up in!We could have hid here for a long time. Boys, I saw mountain sheep,the real old genuine Rocky Mountain bighorn. What do you think ofthat?"
"I reckon it's a Yaqui hunting-ground," replied Lash. "That trail wehit must be hundreds of years old. It's worn deep and smooth in ironlava."
"Well, all I got to say is--Beldin' was shore right about the Indian.An' I can see Rojas's finish somewhere up along that awful hell-hole."
Camp was made on a level spot. Yaqui took the horses to water, andthen turned them loose in the arroyo. It was a tired and somber groupthat sat down to eat. The strain of suspense equaled the wearingeffects of the long ride. Mercedes was calm, but her great dark eyesburned in her white face. Yaqui watched her. The others looked at herwith unspoken pride. Presently Thorne wrapped her in his blankets, andshe seemed to fall asleep at once. Twilight deepened. The campfireblazed brighter. A cool wind played with Mercedes's black hair, wavingstrands across her brow.
Little of Yaqui's purpose or plan could be elicited from him. But thelook of him was enough to satisfy even Thorne. He leaned against apile of wood, which he had collected, and his gloomy gaze pierced thecampfire, and at long intervals strayed over the motionless form of theSpanish girl.
The rangers and Thorne, however, talked in low tones. It wasabsolutely impossible for Rojas and his men to reach the waterholebefore noon of the next day. And long before that time the fugitiveswould have decided on a plan of defense. What that defense would be,and where it would be made, were matters over which the men consideredgravely. Ladd averred the Yaqui would put them into an impregnableposition, that at the same time would prove a death-trap for theirpursuers. They exhausted every possibility, and then, tired as theywere, still kept on talking.
"What stuns me is that Rojas stuck to our trail," said Thorne, hislined and haggard face expressive of dark passion. "He has followed usinto this fearful desert. He'll lose men, horses, perhaps his life.He's only a bandit, and he stands to win no gold. If he ever gets outof here it 'll be by herculean labor and by terrible hardship. All fora poor little helpless woman--just a woman! My God, I can't understandit."
"Shore--just a woman," replied Ladd, solemnly nodding his head.
Then there was a long silence during which the men gazed into the fire.Each, perhaps, had some vague conception of the enormity of Rojas'slove or hate--some faint and amazing glimpse of the gulf of humanpassion. Those were cold, hard, grim faces upon which the lightflickered.
"Sleep," said the Yaqui.
Thorne rolled in his blanket close beside Mercedes. Then one by onethe rangers stretched out, feet to the fire. Gale found that he couldnot sleep. His eyes were weary, but they would not stay shut; his bodyached for rest, yet he could not lie still. The night was so somber,so gloomy, and the lava-encompassed arroyo full of shadows. The darkvelvet sky, fretted with white fire, seemed to be close. There was anabsolute silence, as of death. Nothing moved--nothing outside ofGale's body appeared to live. The Yaqui sat like an image carved outof lava. The others lay prone and quiet. Would another night see anyof them lie that way, quiet forever? Gale felt a ripple pass over himthat was at once a shudder and a contraction of muscles. Used as hewas to the desert and its oppression, why should he feel to-night as ifthe weight of its lava and the burden of its mystery were bearing himdown?
He sat up after a while and again watched the fire. Nell's sweet facefloated like a wraith in the pale smoke--glowed and flushed and smiledin the embers. Other faces shone there--his sister's--that of hismother. Gale shook off the tender memories. This desolate wildernesswith its forbidding silence and its dark promise of hell on themorrow--this was not the place to unnerve oneself with thoughts of loveand home. But the torturing paradox of the thing was that this wasjust the place and just the night for a man to be haunted.
By and by Gale rose and walked down a shadowy aisle between themesquites. On his way back the Yaqui joined him. Gale was notsurprised. He had become used to the Indian's strange guardianship.But now, perhaps because of Gale's poignancy of thought, the contendingtides of love and regret, the deep, burning premonition of deadlystrife, he was moved to keener scrutiny of the Yaqui. That, of course,was futile. The Indian was impenetrable, silent, strange. Butsuddenly, inexplicably, Gale felt Yaqui's human quality. It was aloof,as was everything about this Indian; but it was there. This savagewalked silently beside him, without glance or touch or word. Histhought was as inscrutable as if mind had never awakened in his race.Yet Gale was conscious of greatness, and, somehow, he was reminded ofthe Indian's story. His home had been desolated, his people carriedoff to slavery, his wife and children separated from him to die. Whathad life meant to the Yaqui? What had been in his heart? What was nowin his mind? Gale could not answer these questions. But thedifference between himself and Yaqui, which he had vaguely felt as thatbetween savage and civilized men, faded out of his mind forever. Yaquimight have considered he owed Gale a debt, and, with a Yaqui's austereand noble fidelity to honor, he meant to pay it. Nevertheless, thiswas not the thing Gale found in the Indian's silent presence.Accepting the desert with its subtle and inconceivable influence, Galefelt that the savage and the white man had been bound in a tie whichwas no less brotherly because it could not be comprehended.
Toward dawn Gale managed to get some sleep. Then the morning brokewith the sun hidden back of the uplift of the plateau. The horsestrooped up the arroyo and snorted for water. After a hurried breakfastthe packs were hidden in holes in the lava. The saddles were leftwhere they were, and the horses allowed to graze and wander at will.Canteens were filled, a small bag of food was packed, and blankets madeinto a bundle. Then Yaqui faced the steep ascent of the lava slope.
The trail he followed led up on the right side of the fissure, oppositeto the one he had come down. It was a steep climb, and encumbered asthe men were they made but slow progress. Mercedes had to be lifted upsmooth steps and across crevices. They passed places where the rims ofthe fissure were but a few yards apart. At length the rims widened outand the red, smoky crater yawned beneath. Yaqui left the trail andbegan clambering down over the rough and twisted convolutions of lavawhich formed the rim. Sometimes he hung sheer over the precipice. Itwas with extreme difficulty that the party followed him. Mercedes hadto be held on narrow, foot-wide ledges. The choya was there to hinderpassage. Finally the Indian halted upon a narrow bench of flat, smoothlava, and his followers worked with exceeding care and effort down tohis position.
At the back of this bench, between bunches of choya, was a niche, ashallow cave with floor lined apparently with mold. Ladd said theplace was a refuge which had been inhabited by mountain sheep for manyyears. Yaqui spread blankets inside, left the canteen and the sack offood, and with a gesture at once humble, yet that of a chief, heinvited Mercedes to enter. A few more gestures and fewer wordsdisclosed his plan. In this inaccessible nook Mercedes was to behidden. The men were to go around upon the opposite rim, and block thetrail leading down to the waterhole.
Gale marked the nature of this eyrie. It w
as the wildest and mostrugged place he had ever stepped upon. Only a sheep could have climbedup the wall above or along the slanting shelf of lava beyond. Belowglistened a whole bank of choya, frosty in the sunlight, and itoverhung an apparently bottomless abyss.
Ladd chose the smallest gun in the party and gave it to Mercedes.
"Shore it's best to go the limit on bein' ready," he said, simply. "Thechances are you'll never need it. But if you do--"
He left off there, and his break was significant. Mercedes answeredhim with a fearless and indomitable flash of eyes. Thorne was the onlyone who showed any shaken nerve. His leave-taking of his wife wasaffecting and hurried. Then he and the rangers carefully stepped inthe tracks of the Yaqui.
They climbed up to the level of the rim and went along the edge. Whenthey reached the fissure and came upon its narrowest point, Yaquishowed in his actions that he meant to leap it. Ladd restrained theIndian. They then continued along the rim till they reached severalbridges of lava which crossed it. The fissures was deep in some parts,choked in others. Evidently the crater had no direct outlet into thearroyo below. Its bottom, however, must have been far beneath thelevel of the waterhole.
After the fissure was crossed the trail was soon found. Here it ranback from the rim. Yaqui waved his hand to the right, where along thecorrugated slope of the crater there were holes and crevices andcoverts for a hundred men. Yaqui strode on up the trail toward ahigher point, where presently his dark figure stood motionless againstthe sky. The rangers and Thorne selected a deep depression, out ofwhich led several ruts deep enough for cover. According to Ladd it wasas good a place as any, perhaps not so hidden as others, but freer fromthe dreaded choya. Here the men laid down rifles and guns, and,removing their heavy cartridge belts, settled down to wait.
Their location was close to the rim wall and probably five hundredyards from the opposite rim, which was now seen to be considerablybelow them. The glaring red cliff presented a deceitful and bafflingappearance. It had a thousand ledges and holes in its surfaces, andone moment it looked perpendicular and the next there seemed to be along slant. Thorne pointed out where he thought Mercedes was hidden;Ladd selected another place, and Lash still another. Gale searched forthe bank of choya he had seen under the bench where Mercedes's retreatlay, and when he found it the others disputed his opinion. Then Galebrought his field glass into requisition, proving that he was right.Once located and fixed in sight, the white patch of choya, the bench,and the sheep eyrie stood out from the other features of that ruggedwall. But all the men were agreed that Yaqui had hidden Mercedes whereonly the eyes of a vulture could have found her.
Jim Lash crawled into a little strip of shade and bided the timetranquilly. Ladd was restless and impatient and watchful, every littlewhile rising to look up the far-reaching slope, and then to the right,where Yaqui's dark figure stood out from a high point of the rim.Thorne grew silent, and seemed consumed by a slow, sullen rage. Galewas neither calm nor free of a gnawing suspense nor of a waiting wrath.But as best he could he put the pending action out of mind.
It came over him all of a sudden that he had not grasped the stupendousnature of this desert setting. There was the measureless red slope,its lower ridges finally sinking into white sand dunes toward the bluesea. The cold, sparkling light, the white sun, the deep azure of sky,the feeling of boundless expanse all around him--these meant highaltitude. Southward the barren red simply merged into distance. Thefield of craters rose in high, dark wheels toward the dominating peaks.When Gale withdrew his gaze from the magnitude of these spaces andheights the crater beneath him seemed dwarfed. Yet while he gazed itspread and deepened and multiplied its ragged lines. No, he could notgrasp the meaning of size or distance here. There was too much to stunthe sight. But the mood in which nature had created this convulsedworld of lava seized hold upon him.
Meanwhile the hours passed. As the sun climbed the clear, steelylights vanished, the blue hazes deepened, and slowly the glisteningsurfaces of lava turned redder. Ladd was concerned to discover thatYaqui was missing from his outlook upon the high point. Jim Lash cameout of the shady crevice, and stood up to buckle on his cartridge belt.His narrow, gray glance slowly roved from the height of lava down alongthe slope, paused in doubt, and then swept on to resurvey the wholevast eastern dip of the plateau.
"I reckon my eyes are pore," he said. "Mebbe it's this damn red glare.Anyway, what's them creepin' spots up there?"
"Shore I seen them. Mountain sheep," replied Ladd.
"Guess again, Laddy. Dick, I reckon you'd better flash the glass upthe slope."
Gale adjusted the field glass and began to search the lava, beginningclose at hand and working away from him. Presently the glass becamestationary.
"I see half a dozen small animals, brown in color. They look likesheep. But I couldn't distinguish mountain sheep from antelope."
"Shore they're bighorn," said Laddy.
"I reckon if you'll pull around to the east an' search under that longwall of lava--there--you'll see what I see," added Jim.
The glass climbed and circled, wavered an instant, then fixed steady asa rock. There was a breathless silence.
"Fourteen horses--two packed--some mounted--others without riders, andlame," said Gale, slowly.
Yaqui appeared far up the trail, coming swiftly. Presently he saw therangers and halted to wave his arms and point. Then he vanished as ifthe lava had opened beneath him.
"Lemme that glass," suddenly said Jim Lash. "I'm seein' red, I tellyou.... Well, pore as my eyes are they had it right. Rojas an' hisoutfit have left the trail."
"Jim, you ain't meanin' they've taken to that awful slope?" queriedLadd.
"I sure do. There they are--still comin', but goin' down, too."
"Mebbe Rojas is crazy, but it begins to look like he--"
"Laddy, I'll be danged if the Greaser bunch hasn't vamoosed. Gone outof sight! Right there not a half mile away, the whole caboodle--gone!"
"Shore they're behind a crust or have gone down into a rut," suggestedLadd. "They'll show again in a minute. Look sharp, boys, for I'mfiggerin' Rojas 'll spread his men."
Minutes passed, but nothing moved upon the slope. Each man crawled upto a vantage point along the crest of rotting lava. The watchers werecareful to peer through little notches or from behind a spur, and theconstricted nature of their hiding-place kept them close together.Ladd's muttering grew into a growl, then lapsed into the silence thatmarked his companions. From time to time the rangers lookedinquiringly at Gale. The field glass, however, like the naked sight,could not catch the slightest moving object out there upon the lava. Along hour of slow, mounting suspense wore on.
"Shore it's all goin' to be as queer as the Yaqui," said Ladd.
Indeed, the strange mien, the silent action, the somber character ofthe Indian had not been without effect upon the minds of the men. Thenthe weird, desolate, tragic scene added to the vague sense of mystery.And now the disappearance of Rojas's band, the long wait in thesilence, the boding certainty of invisible foes crawling, circlingcloser and closer, lent to the situation a final touch that made itunreal.
"I'm reckonin' there's a mind behind them Greasers," replied Jim. "Ormebbe we ain't done Rojas credit... If somethin' would only come off!"
That Lash, the coolest, most provokingly nonchalant of men in times ofperil, should begin to show a nervous strain was all the moreindicative of a subtle pervading unreality.
"Boys, look sharp!" suddenly called Lash. "Low down to the left--mebbethree hundred yards. See, along by them seams of lava--behind thechoyas. First off I thought it was a sheep. But it's the Yaqui!...Crawlin' swift as a lizard! Can't you see him?"
It was a full moment before Jim's companions could locate the Indian.Flat as a snake Yaqui wound himself along with incredible rapidity.His advance was all the more remarkable for the fact that he appearedto pass directly under the dreaded choyas. Sometimes he paused to lifthis head and look. He was
directly in line with a huge whorl of lavathat rose higher than any point on the slope. This spur was a quarterof a mile from the position of the rangers.
"Shore he's headin' for that high place," said Ladd. "He's goin' slownow. There, he's stopped behind some choyas. He's gettin' up--no,he's kneelin'.... Now what the hell!"
"Laddy, take a peek at the side of that lava ridge," sharply calledJim. "I guess mebbe somethin' ain't comin' off. See! There's Rojasan' his outfit climbin'. Don't make out no hosses.... Dick, use yourglass an' tell us what's doin'. I'll watch Yaqui an' tell you what hismove means."
Clearly and distinctly, almost as if he could have touched them, Galehad Rojas and his followers in sight. They were toiling up the roughlava on foot. They were heavily armed. Spurs, chaps, jackets, scarfswere not in evidence. Gale saw the lean, swarthy faces, the black,straggly hair, the ragged, soiled garments which had once been white.
"They're almost up now," Gale was saying. "There! They halt on top.I see Rojas. He looks wild. By ----! fellows, an Indian!... It's aPapago. Belding's old herder!... The Indian points--this way--thendown. He's showing Rojas the lay of the trail."
"Boys, Yaqui's in range of that bunch," said Jim, swiftly. "He'sraisin' his rifle slow--Lord, how slow he is!... He's covered some one.Which one I can't say. But I think he'll pick Rojas."
"The Yaqui can shoot. He'll pick Rojas," added Gale, grimly.
"Rojas--yes--yes!" cried Thorne, in passion of suspense.
"Not on your life!" Ladd's voice cut in with scorn. "Gentlemen, youcan gamble Yaqui 'll kill the Papago. That traitor Indian knows thesesheep haunts. He's tellin' Rojas--"
A sharp rifle shot rang out.
"Laddy's right," called Gale. "The Papago's hit--his arm falls--There,he tumbles!"
More shots rang out. Yaqui was seen standing erect firing rapidly atthe darting Mexicans. For all Gale could make out no second bullettook effect. Rojas and his men vanished behind the bulge of lava.Then Yaqui deliberately backed away from his position. He made noeffort to run or hide. Evidently he watched cautiously for signs ofpursuers in the ruts and behind the choyas. Presently he turned andcame straight toward the position of the rangers, sheered off perhaps ahundred paces below it, and disappeared in a crevice. Plainly hisintention was to draw pursuers within rifle shot.
"Shore, Jim, you had your wish. Somethin' come off," said Ladd. "An'I'm sayin' thank God for the Yaqui! That Papago 'd have ruined us.Even so, mebbe he's told Rojas more'n enough to make us sweat blood."
"He had a chance to kill Rojas," cried out the drawn-faced, passionateThorne. "He didn't take it!... He didn't take it!"
Only Ladd appeared to be able to answer the cavalryman's poignant cry.
"Listen, son," he said, and his voice rang. "We-all know how you feel.An' if I'd had that one shot never in the world could I have picked thePapago guide. I'd have had to kill Rojas. That's the white man of it.But Yaqui was right. Only an Indian could have done it. You cangamble the Papago alive meant slim chance for us. Because he'd ledstraight to where Mercedes is hidden, an' then we'd have left cover tofight it out... When you come to think of the Yaqui's hate forGreasers, when you just seen him pass up a shot at one--well, I don'tknow how to say what I mean, but damn me, my som-brer-ro is off to theIndian!"
"I reckon so, an' I reckon the ball's opened," rejoined Lash, and nowthat former nervous impatience so unnatural to him was as if it hadnever been. He was smilingly cool, and his voice had almost acaressing note. He tapped the breech of his Winchester with a sinewybrown hand, and he did not appear to be addressing any one inparticular. "Yaqui's opened the ball. Look up your pardners there,gents, an' get ready to dance."
Another wait set in then, and judging by the more direct rays of thesun and a receding of the little shadows cast by the choyas, Gale wasof the opinion that it was a long wait. But it seemed short. The fourmen were lying under the bank of a half circular hole in the lava. Itwas notched and cracked, and its rim was fringed by choyas. It slopeddown and opened to an unobstructed view of the crater. Gale had theupper position, fartherest to the right, and therefore was bestshielded from possible fire from the higher ridges of the rim, somethree hundred yards distant. Jim came next, well hidden in a crack.The positions of Thorne and Ladd were most exposed. They kept sharplookout over the uneven rampart of their hiding-place.
The sun passed the zenith, began to slope westward, and to grow hotteras it sloped. The men waited and waited. Gale saw no impatience evenin Thorne. The sultry air seemed to be laden with some burden orquality that was at once composed of heat, menace, color, and silence.Even the light glancing up from the lava seemed red and the silence hadsubstance. Sometimes Gale felt that it was unbearable. Yet he made noeffort to break it.
Suddenly this dead stillness was rent by a shot, clear and stinging,close at hand. It was from a rifle, not a carbine. With startlingquickness a cry followed--a cry that pierced Gale--it was so thin, sohigh-keyed, so different from all other cries. It was the involuntaryhuman shriek at death.
"Yaqui's called out another pardner," said Jim Lash, laconically.
Carbines began to crack. The reports were quick, light, like sharpspats without any ring. Gale peered from behind the edge of hiscovert. Above the ragged wave of lava floated faint whitish clouds,all that was visible of smokeless powder. Then Gale made out roundspots, dark against the background of red, and in front of them leapedout small tongues of fire. Ladd's .405 began to "spang" with itsbeautiful sound of power. Thorne was firing, somewhat wildly Galethought. Then Jim Lash pushed his Winchester over the rim under achoya, and between shots Gale could hear him singing: "Turn the lady,turn--turn the lady, turn!... Alaman left!... Swing your pardners!...Forward an' back!... Turn the lady, turn!" Gale got into the fighthimself, not so sure that he hit any of the round, bobbing objects heaimed at, but growing sure of himself as action liberated somethingforced and congested within his breast.
Then over the position of the rangers came a hail of steel bullets.Those that struck the lava hissed away into the crater; those that camebiting through the choyas made a sound which resembled a sharp rippingof silk. Bits of cactus stung Gale's face, and he dreaded the flyingthorns more than he did the flying bullets.
"Hold on, boys," called Ladd, as he crouched down to reload his rifle."Save your shells. The greasers are spreadin' on us, some goin' downbelow Yaqui, others movin' up for that high ridge. When they get upthere I'm damned if it won't be hot for us. There ain't room for allof us to hide here."
Ladd raised himself to peep over the rim. Shots were now scattering,and all appeared to come from below. Emboldened by this he rosehigher. A shot from in front, a rip of bullet through the choya, aspat of something hitting Ladd's face, a steel missle hissingonward--these inseparably blended sounds were all registered by Gale'ssensitive ear.
With a curse Ladd tumbled down into the hole. His face showed a greatgray blotch, and starting blood. Gale felt a sickening assurance ofdesperate injury to the ranger. He ran to him calling: "Laddy! Laddy!"
"Shore I ain't plugged. It's a damn choya burr. The bullet knocked itin my face. Pull it out!"
The oval, long-spiked cone was firmly imbedded in Ladd's cheek. Bloodstreamed down his face and neck. Carefully, yet with no thought ofpain to himself, Gale tried to pull the cactus joint away. It was asfirm as if it had been nailed there. That was the damnable feature ofthe barbed thorns: once set, they held on as that strange plant heldto its desert life. Ladd began to writhe, and sweat mingled with theblood on his face. He cursed and raved, and his movements made italmost impossible for Gale to do anything.
"Put your knife-blade under an' tear it out!" shouted Ladd, hoarsely.
Thus ordered, Gale slipped a long blade in between the imbedded thorns,and with a powerful jerk literally tore the choya out of Ladd'squivering flesh. Then, where the ranger's face was not red and raw, itcertainly was white.
A volley of shots from a diff
erent angle was followed by the quick ringof steel bullets striking the lava all around Gale. His first idea, ashe heard the projectiles sing and hum and whine away into the air, wasthat they were coming from above him. He looked up to see a number oflow, white and dark knobs upon the high point of lava. They had notbeen there before. Then he saw little, pale, leaping tongues of fire.As he dodged down he distinctly heard a bullet strike Ladd. At thesame instant he seemed to hear Thorne cry out and fall, and Lash'sboots scrape rapidly away.
Ladd fell backward still holding the .405. Gale dragged him into theshelter of his own position, and dreading to look at him, took up theheavy weapon. It was with a kind of savage strength that he grippedthe rifle; and it was with a cold and deadly intent that he aimed andfired. The first Greaser huddled low, let his carbine go clatteringdown, and then crawled behind the rim. The second and third jerkedback. The fourth seemed to flop up over the crest of lava. A dark armreached for him, clutched his leg, tried to drag him up. It was invain. Wildly grasping at the air the bandit fell, slid down a steepshelf, rolled over the rim, to go hurtling down out of sight.
Fingering the hot rifle with close-pressed hands, Gale watched the skyline along the high point of lava. It remained unbroken. As hispassion left him he feared to look back at his companions, and the coldchill returned to his breast.
"Shore--I'm damn glad--them Greasers ain't usin' soft-nose bullets,"drawled a calm voice.
Swift as lightning Gale whirled.
"Laddy! I thought you were done for," cried Gale, with a break in hisvoice.
"I ain't a-mindin' the bullet much. But that choya joint took mynerve, an' you can gamble on it. Dick, this hole's pretty high up,ain't it?"
The ranger's blouse was open at the neck, and on his right shoulderunder the collar bone was a small hole just beginning to bleed.
"Sure it's high, Laddy," replied Gale, gladly. "Went clear through,clean as a whistle!"
He tore a handkerchief into two parts, made wads, and pressing themclose over the wounds he bound them there with Ladd's scarf.
"Shore it's funny how a bullet can floor a man an' then not do anydamage," said Ladd. "I felt a zip of wind an' somethin' like a pat onmy chest an' down I went. Well, so much for the small caliber withtheir steel bullets. Supposin' I'd connected with a .405!"
"Laddy, I--I'm afraid Thorne's done for," whispered Gale. "He's lyingover there in that crack. I can see part of him. He doesn't move."
"I was wonderin' if I'd have to tell you that. Dick, he went down hardhit, fallin', you know, limp an' soggy. It was a moral cinch one of uswould get it in this fight; but God! I'm sorry Thorne had to be theman."
"Laddy, maybe he's not dead," replied Gale. He called aloud to hisfriend. There was no answer.
Ladd got up, and, after peering keenly at the height of lava, he strodeswiftly across the space. It was only a dozen steps to the crack inthe lava where Thorne had fallen head first. Ladd bent over, went tohis knees, so that Gale saw only his head. Then he appeared risingwith arms round the cavalryman. He dragged him across the hole to thesheltered corner that alone afforded protection. He had scarcelyreached it when a carbine cracked and a bullet struck the flinty lava,striking sparks, then singing away into the air.
Thorne was either dead or unconscious, and Gale, with a contractingthroat and numb heart, decided for the former. Not so Ladd, who probedthe bloody gash on Thorne's temple, and then felt his breast.
"He's alive an' not bad hurt. That bullet hit him glancin'. Shorethem steel bullets are some lucky for us. Dick, you needn't look soglum. I tell you he ain't bad hurt. I felt his skull with my finger.There's no hole in it. Wash him off an' tie-- Wow! did you get thewind of that one? An' mebbe it didn't sing off the lava!... Dick, lookafter Thorne now while I--"
The completion of his speech was the stirring ring of the .405, andthen he uttered a laugh that was unpleasant.
"Shore, Greaser, there's a man's size bullet for you. No slim,sharp-pointed, steel-jacket nail! I'm takin' it on me to believeyou're appreciatin' of the .405, seein' as you don't make no fuss."
It was indeed a joy to Gale to find that Thorne had not received awound necessarily fatal, though it was serious enough. Gale bathed andbound it, and laid the cavalryman against the slant of the bank, hishead high to lessen the probability of bleeding.
As Gale straightened up Ladd muttered low and deep, and swung the heavyrifle around to the left. Far along the slope a figure moved. Laddbegan to work the lever of the Winchester and to shoot. At every shotthe heavy firearm sprang up, and the recoil made Ladd's shoulder giveback. Gale saw the bullets strike the lava behind, beside, before thefleeing Mexican, sending up dull puffs of dust. On the sixth shot heplunged down out of sight, either hit or frightened into seeking cover.
"Dick, mebbe there's one or two left above; but we needn't figure muchon it," said Ladd, as, loading the rifle, he jerked his fingers quicklyfrom the hot breech. "Listen! Jim an' Yaqui are hittin' it up livelydown below. I'll sneak down there. You stay here an' keep about halfan eye peeled up yonder, an' keep the rest my way."
Ladd crossed the hole, climbed down into the deep crack where Thornehad fallen, and then went stooping along with only his head above thelevel. Presently he disappeared. Gale, having little to fear from thehigh ridge, directed most of his attention toward the point beyondwhich Ladd had gone. The firing had become desultory, and the lightcarbine shots outnumbered the sharp rifle shots five to one. Gale madea note of the fact that for some little time he had not heard theunmistakable report of Jim Lash's automatic. Then ensued a longinterval in which the desert silence seemed to recover its grip. The.405 ripped it asunder--spang--spang--spang. Gale fancied he heardyells. There were a few pattering shots still farther down the trail.Gale had an uneasy conviction that Rojas and some of his band might gostraight to the waterhole. It would be hard to dislodge even a few menfrom that retreat.
There seemed a lull in the battle. Gale ventured to stand high, andscreened behind choyas, he swept the three-quarter circle of lava withhis glass. In the distance he saw horses, but no riders. Below him,down the slope along the crater rim and the trail, the lava was bare ofall except tufts of choya. Gale gathered assurance. It looked as ifthe day was favoring his side. Then Thorne, coming partly toconsciousness, engaged Gale's care. The cavalryman stirred and moaned,called for water, and then for Mercedes. Gale held him back with astrong hand, and presently he was once more quiet.
For the first time in hours, as it seemed, Gale took note of thephysical aspect of his surroundings. He began to look upon themwithout keen gaze strained for crouching form, or bobbing head, orspouting carbine. Either Gale's sense of color and proportion hadbecome deranged during the fight, or the encompassing air and thedesert had changed. Even the sun had changed. It seemed lowering,oval in shape, magenta in hue, and it had a surface that gleamed likeoil on water. Its red rays shone through red haze. Distances that hadformerly been clearly outlined were now dim, obscured. The yawningchasm was not the same. It circled wider, redder, deeper. It was aweird, ghastly mouth of hell. Gale stood fascinated, unable to tellhow much he saw was real, how much exaggeration of overwroughtemotions. There was no beauty here, but an unparalleled grandeur, asublime scene of devastation and desolation which might have had itscounterpart upon the burned-out moon. The mood that gripped Gale nowadded to its somber portent an unshakable foreboding of calamity.
He wrestled with the spell as if it were a physical foe. Reason andintelligence had their voices in his mind; but the moment was not onewherein these things could wholly control. He felt life strong withinhis breast, yet there, a step away, was death, yawning, glaring, smoky,red. It was a moment--an hour for a savage, born, bred, developed inthis scarred and blasted place of jagged depths and red distances andsilences never meant to be broken. Since Gale was not a savage hefought that call of the red gods which sent him back down the long agestoward his primitive day. His mind combated his s
ense of sight and thehearing that seemed useless; and his mind did not win all the victory.Something fatal was here, hanging in the balance, as the red haze hungalong the vast walls of that crater of hell.
Suddenly harsh, prolonged yells brought him to his feet, and theunrealities vanished. Far down the trails where the crater rims closedin the deep fissure he saw moving forms. They were three in number.Two of them ran nimbly across the lava bridge. The third staggered farbehind. It was Ladd. He appeared hard hit. He dragged at the heavyrifle which he seemed unable to raise. The yells came from him. Hewas calling the Yaqui.
Gale's heart stood still momentarily. Here, then, was the catastrophe!He hardly dared sweep that fissure with his glass. The two fleeingfigures halted--turned to fire at Ladd. Gale recognized the foremostone--small, compact, gaudy. Rojas! The bandit's arm was outstretched.Puffs of white smoke rose, and shots rapped out. When Ladd went downRojas threw his gun aside and with a wild yell bounded over the lava.His companion followed.
A tide of passion, first hot as fire, then cold as ice, rushed overGale when he saw Rojas take the trail toward Mercedes's hiding-place.The little bandit appeared to have the sure-footedness of a mountainsheep. The Mexican following was not so sure or fast. He turned back.Gale heard the trenchant bark of the .405. Ladd was kneeling. He shotagain--again. The retreating bandit seemed to run full into aninvisible obstacle, then fell lax, inert, lifeless. Rojas sped onunmindful of the spurts of dust about him. Yaqui, high above Ladd, wasalso firing at the bandit. Then both rifles were emptied. Rojasturned at a high break in the trail. He shook a defiant hand, and hisexulting yell pealed faintly to Gale's ears. About him there wassomething desperate, magnificent. Then he clambered down the trail.
Ladd dropped the .405, and rising, gun in hand, he staggered toward thebridge of lava. Before he had crossed it Yaqui came bounding down theslope, and in one splendid leap he cleared the fissure. He ran beyondthe trail and disappeared on the lava above. Rojas had not seen thissudden, darting move of the Indian.
Gale felt himself bitterly powerless to aid in that pursuit. He couldonly watch. He wondered, fearfully, what had become of Lash.Presently, when Rojas came out of the cracks and ruts of lava theremight be a chance of disabling him by a long shot. His progress was nowslow. But he was making straight for Mercedes's hiding-place. Whatwas it leading him there--an eagle eye, or hate, or instinct? Why didhe go on when there could be no turning back for him on that trail?Ladd was slow, heavy, staggering on the trail; but he was relentless.Only death could stop the ranger now. Surely Rojas must have knownthat when he chose the trail. From time to time Gale caught glimpsesof Yaqui's dark figure stealing along the higher rim of the crater. Hewas making for a point above the bandit.
Moments--endless moments dragged by. The lowering sun colored only theupper half of the crater walls. Far down the depths were murky blue.Again Gale felt the insupportable silence. The red haze became atransparent veil before his eyes. Sinister, evil, brooding, waiting,seemed that yawning abyss. Ladd staggered along the trail, at times hecrawled. The Yaqui gained; he might have had wings; he leaped fromjagged crust to jagged crust; his sure-footedness was a wonderful thing.
But for Gale the marvel of that endless period of watching was thepurpose of the bandit Rojas. He had now no weapon. Gale's glass madethis fact plain. There was death behind him, death below him, deathbefore him, and though he could not have known it, death above him. Henever faltered--never made a misstep upon the narrow, flinty trail.When he reached the lower end of the level ledge Gale's poignant doubtbecame a certainty. Rojas had seen Mercedes. It was incredible, yetGale believed it. Then, his heart clamped as in an icy vise, Galethrew forward the Remington, and sinking on one knee, began to shoot.He emptied the magazine. Puffs of dust near Rojas did not even makehim turn.
As Gale began to reload he was horror-stricken by a low cry fromThorne. The cavalryman had recovered consciousness. He was halfraised, pointing with shaking hand at the opposite ledge. Hisdistended eyes were riveted upon Rojas. He was trying to utter speechthat would not come.
Gale wheeled, rigid now, steeling himself to one last forlornhope--that Mercedes could defend herself. She had a gun. He doubtednot at all that she would use it. But, remembering her terror of thissavage, he feared for her.
Rojas reached the level of the ledge. He halted. He crouched. It wasthe act of a panther. Manifestly he saw Mercedes within the cave.Then faint shots patted the air, broke in quick echo. Rojas went downas if struck a heavy blow. He was hit. But even as Gale yelled insheer madness the bandit leaped erect. He seemed too quick, too suppleto be badly wounded. A slight, dark figure flashed out of the cave.Mercedes! She backed against the wall. Gale saw a puff ofwhite--heard a report. But the bandit lunged at her. Mercedes ran,not to try to pass him, but straight for the precipice. Her intentionwas plain. But Rojas outstripped her, even as she reached the verge.Then a piercing scream pealed across the crater--a scream of despair.
Gale closed his eyes. He could not bear to see more.
Thorne echoed Mercedes's scream. Gale looked round just in time toleap and catch the cavalryman as he staggered, apparently for the steepslope. And then, as Gale dragged him back, both fell. Gale saved hisfriend, but he plunged into a choya. He drew his hands away full ofthe great glistening cones of thorns.
"For God's sake, Gale, shoot! Shoot! Kill her! Kill her!...Can't--you--see--Rojas--"
Thorne fainted.
Gale, stunned for the instant, stood with uplifted hands, and gazedfrom Thorne across the crater. Rojas had not killed Mercedes. He wasoverpowering her. His actions seemed slow, wearing, purposeful. Herswere violent. Like a trapped she-wolf, Mercedes was fighting. Shetore, struggled, flung herself.
Rojas's intention was terribly plain.
In agony now, both mental and physical, cold and sick and weak, Galegripped his rifle and aimed at the struggling forms on the ledge. Hepulled the trigger. The bullet struck up a cloud of red dust close tothe struggling couple. Again Gale fired, hoping to hit Rojas, prayingto kill Mercedes. The bullet struck high. A third--fourth--fifth timethe Remington spoke--in vain! The rifle fell from Gale's racked hands.
How horribly plain that fiend's intention! Gale tried to close hiseyes, but could not. He prayed wildly for a sudden blindness--to faintas Thorne had fainted. But he was transfixed to the spot with eyesthat pierced the red light.
Mercedes was growing weaker, seemed about to collapse.
"Oh, Jim Lash, are you dead?" cried Gale. "Oh, Laddy!... Oh, Yaqui!"
Suddenly a dark form literally fell down the wall behind the ledgewhere Rojas fought the girl. It sank in a heap, then bounded erect.
"Yaqui!" screamed Gale, and he waved his bleeding hands till the bloodbespattered his face. Then he choked. Utterance became impossible.
The Indian bent over Rojas and flung him against the wall. Mercedes,sinking back, lay still. When Rojas got up the Indian stood betweenhim and escape from the ledge. Rojas backed the other way along thenarrowing shelf of lava. His manner was abject, stupefied. Slowly hestepped backward.
It was then that Gale caught the white gleam of a knife in Yaqui'shand. Rojas turned and ran. He rounded a corner of wall where thefooting was precarious. Yaqui followed slowly. His figure was darkand menacing. But he was not in a hurry. When he passed off the ledgeRojas was edging farther and farther along the wall. He was clingingnow to the lava, creeping inch by inch. Perhaps he had thought to workaround the buttress or climb over it. Evidently he went as far aspossible, and there he clung, an unscalable wall above, the abyssbeneath.
The approach of the Yaqui was like a slow dark shadow of gloom. If itseemed so to the stricken Gale what must it have been to Rojas? Heappeared to sink against the wall. The Yaqui stole closer and closer.He was the savage now, and for him the moment must have been glorified.Gale saw him gaze up at the great circling walls of the crater, thendown into the depths. Perhaps the red haze
hanging above him, or thepurple haze below, or the deep caverns in the lava, held for Yaquispirits of the desert, his gods to whom he called. Perhaps he invokedshadows of his loved ones and his race, calling them in this moment ofvengeance.
Gale heard--or imagined he heard--that wild, strange Yaqui cry.
Then the Indian stepped close to Rojas, and bent low, keeping out ofreach. How slow were his motions! Would Yaqui never--never end it?...A wail drifted across the crater to Gale's ears.
Rojas fell backward and plunged sheer. The bank of white choyas caughthim, held him upon their steel spikes. How long did the dazed Gale sitthere watching Rojas wrestling and writhing in convulsive frenzy? Thebandit now seemed mad to win the delayed death.
When he broke free he was a white patched object no longer human, aball of choya burrs, and he slipped off the bank to shoot down and downinto the purple depths of the crater.