CHAPTER XVI

A PATH THROUGH THE ROCKS

Following the first shock of surprise and terror, Dick reached out and clutched Sandy’s arm.

“Now is the time to cross the ravine,” he whispered tersely. “Our best chance. Come!”

The remainder of the descent to the floor of the ravine was made at the cost of bruised bodies and torn garments, but with a speed and dispatch that made caution utterly impossible. Dick’s shins and knuckles were bleeding as he helped Sandy to his feet and spoke again in a low voice.

“Are you there, Toma?”

“Yes.”

“All right, we’ll make a bee-line for it. Ready!”

Three shadowy forms moved out to the level floor of the ravine, hesitated a split-second, then bolted for the opposite side.

Crash!

The report thundered in Dick’s ears. His own gun flamed into the night with a loud, reverberating roar. Four or five wavering figures, who had attempted to check their flight, fell back suddenly, making a path for them. First Sandy, then Dick, then Toma—each in turn fired his rifle into the air as he sprinted for the safety of the rocks.

They were clambering up presently, side by side, in the first flurry of a drenching Spring rain. The wind whipped about them, tearing fitfully at their soiled and rent clothing. Somewhere, miles up the river valley, a crooked flare of light lit up the sky.

It was a smothering downpour long before they had reached the top. It seemed now as if the earth was slipping under their feet. Water and gravel! Curious little patches of sliding wet clay! In places, thick mud, ankle deep, oozing out of crevices in the rocks! Yet they went on somehow through a breath-taking torture of exhaustion, contriving finally to pull themselves up over the edge of the canyon wall to the firm, grass-grown space beyond.

They had struggled to safety and were, for the present, at least, beyond the fear of immediate pursuit. Something very much like a prayer breathed from Dick’s lips. Sandy had thrown himself to the ground, his body shaking with sobs. With the exception of Toma, who, even in this extremity, possessed the untamed, unbeaten spirit of the wild, the little party had spent its last ounce of endurance and its last spark of courage.

Yet, they had made good their escape. They had come through the Indian lines, less than a quarter of a mile from the main encampment. It was an achievement worth while. Dick, recovering his breath, sat perfectly still, thrilled and happy as he looked out into the storm.

He was recalled from his abstraction by Toma’s voice, almost at his ear.

“We go pretty soon an’ find dry place to sleep. What you think?”

“Yes,” he answered, “but let Sandy rest for a while. This warm rain won’t hurt us.”

The youngest member of the trio rolled over, propping himself up on one elbow.

“I’m all right now. I’m ready to go on. I’m so happy I can’t think. If there was ever a time to feel glad for the sparing of three no-account lives, it’s tonight.”

Not long afterward, they crawled into a dense thicket which, though far from dry, afforded some protection from the steadily falling rain.

“Wake me up early,” Sandy muttered sleepily, as he snuggled down like a young lynx and closed his eyes.

Dick had started to follow his example, when he noticed that Toma still sat like the graven statue of a Hindu god.

“Aren’t you going to lie down?” he asked.

“No,” came the rather startling answer, “Toma no sleepy tonight.”

Dick stared his unbelief.

“How can that be?” he asked incredulously. “Toma, if it wasn’t so blamed dark, I could look into your face and convince myself you’re lying.”

“No dare go sleep tonight.”

“Why?”

“Forget to wake up. First thing we know Indian come. Just so soon get light, Scar-Face send out party look everywhere. He try find us. We too close encampment yet.”

“Why, you deceiving old rascal——” Dick choked, deeply impressed by the other’s unselfishness. “Do you mean to tell me you’d sit here all night and keep watch alone?”

“Yes,” answered Toma, “I sit here so I wake you and Sandy before it get light. Then we travel fast. When Indian start look for us we be many miles away.”

“So you intend to sacrifice your own comfort for us?”

“Toma no understand.”

Dick crawled over and put his arms about the statuesque figure.

“Lie down, you miserable deceiver,” he purred. “Lie down before I pull out my hunting knife and scalp you. No wonder we hate you—Sandy and I.”

“Stinging rattlesnakes!” gasped a sleepy voice. “Have you gone suddenly mad, Dick? What was that you just said to Toma?”

Dick laughed.

“Listen, Sandy, do you know what this lump of uselessness purposes to do?”

“No.”

“Stay up all night so he’ll be sure to wake us before dawn.”

“But what’s the big idea?”

“He doesn’t think we’re safe here, so close to the Indian encampment. He thinks Scar-Face’ll send out a scouting party at daybreak.”

“I never thought of that. Of course, he will,” Sandy had become genuinely alarmed.

“So Toma is going to watch while we two lazybones sleep,” Dick concluded.

“Like fun he is.”

“I’ve come to the conclusion,” Dick commented dryly, “that Toma is taking too much responsibility upon himself. He’s not satisfied with doing most of the work; he must do most of the thinking too.”

“It’s a terrible state of affairs,” Sandy growled. “What will we do with him?”

“As duly appointed judge sitting on this case, I propose to make an example of you, John Toma. Prisoner before the bar, with malice aforethought, I do hereby sentence you to four hours of solitary slumber.”

“Without benefit of clergy,” supplemented Sandy.

“Without benefit of clergy and with his boots on.”

“Moccasins, your honor,” corrected the prosecuting attorney.

“All right,” Dick laughed, “without clergy and with moccasins tightly strapped about his ankles. Take him to his cell, sheriff.”

“I no understand what you try say me,” said the prisoner, a little bewildered.

“You’re to sleep four hours without stopping while Dick and I keep watch,” Sandy explained.

It was exactly three o’clock by Dick’s watch when the three boys emerged from the thicket to continue their interrupted flight. The rain had ceased falling and a few stars peeped out from between dark clouds, scudding before the wind.

“We’ll make a nice wet trail through the wet grass,” Sandy grumbled sleepily. “Almost anybody could follow us.”

“It may be more difficult than you think,” Dick was of the opinion. “The sun will be up in an hour, and it won’t take long to dry things off.”

Their course away from the river—almost due west—led them across a rolling plain in the direction of a high range of hills, beyond which were the mountains. With the coming of daylight, they discerned the gray outline of the nearest hill, not more than two miles away.

The hill was steep and wide, more like a lofty plateau than a hill. Trees and vegetation covered its lower portion, but towards its summit the earth and rocks were perfectly bare.

“We’re going to have a good, stiff climb,” Dick remarked. “Do you feel equal to it, Sandy?”

The person addressed shifted his pack over chafed and burning shoulders.

“If I had something to eat, I could make it better.”

“No eat ’till we get to top,” said Toma. “We hide better up there. Indians see where we are if stop here.”

It took an hour of exhausting effort to make the ascent. Very much out of breath, limbs shaking with weariness, they stumbled forward a few paces, then threw off their shoulder-packs and proceeded to bring forth the meagre store of food that remained to them. Dick divided a bannock and a small chunk of bacon.

“We’ll have to eat the bacon raw,” he declared, a slight quaver in his voice. “There’s no firewood here.”

“Or water either that I can see,” added Sandy. “It’s a good thing we filled our water bottles on the way over.”

Towards the close of the inadequate, barely satisfying meal, Dick, who had been gazing curiously about him, pointed to an opening in the rocks a few yards away.

“It looks as if a sort of path runs through there,” he remarked.

“Deer-run,” suggested Sandy.

“What would deer be doing up here?” Dick wanted to know.

“Mebbe salt-lick somewhere,” Toma bore out Sandy’s conjecture.

Investigation proved that there was a path, clearly defined and well-beaten, a path which wound away towards the center of the plateau. Following it for a while, the three weary explorers passed through a narrow, broken defile and emerged at length to an opening amongst the rocks. They paused in wonder.

Immediately ahead sparkling like a jewel under the bright rays of the morning sun, was a pool or small lake. A perpendicular wall of sandstone rose sheer on one side, but on the other, a little to the right of where the boys were standing, the shoreline was practically unbroken and level, sloping slightly upward over a grass- and tree-grown space to another wall of sandstone. The whole effect was that of a huge hole or depression sunk into the earth: The small lake occupied one-half of this depression and the green slope the remaining half.

The boys stood for several minutes, struck with the beauty and novelty of the scene.

“I don’t care whether that pond’s a thousand feet deep and cold as a cake of ice,” Sandy suddenly decided. “I’m going to have a swim in it. A cool plunge right now would make me feel like a million dollars.”

He laughed as he spoke, but a surprised grunt from Toma quickly drew his attention to another quarter. As the guide pointed out the cause of his startled ejaculation, both Dick and Sandy gasped in wonder.

Twenty feet to their right, a heavy wooded cross reared its awesome shape above a mound of earth and rocks.

“A grave!” whispered Sandy.

“I’m not sure it is a grave,” said Dick a moment later, as they approached to examine the cross.

“Why not?” asked Sandy.

“Because,” Dick looked about carefully, “there’s no indication of one. The mound and pile of rocks support the cross.”

“If that’s the case,” argued Sandy, “what was it put here for? People don’t build crosses just for the fun they get out of it.”

“I realize that. But where’s the grave?”

“It’s here somewhere. I feel sure of it.”

“There’s no name carved on the cross,” Dick pointed out. “And it isn’t a regular cross either. Look here,” he indicated one of the arms. “The end of this is pointed; the other isn’t. It looks like a marker or sign of some sort.”

Sandy stood perfectly still, head on one side, and examined the cross speculatively.

“Do you suppose——” he began.

Dick jumped.

“A marker for the mine! Good heavens! I never thought of that!”

“It might be,” said Sandy in an awed, breathless tone.

“Yes, it might.”

“It points over there at that perpendicular wall on the other side of the lake.”

“The mine couldn’t be under water,” protested Dick.

“No, of course not. But it could easily be off somewhere in that general direction.”

“Over on the other side of the cliff, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Tell you what,” Dick had become heir to a strange excitement, “let’s continue following the path up out of this hole and see what we can see. We’ll skirt around to the back of the lake.”

“It certainly wouldn’t do any harm.”

The path led away across the slope, swerved sharply to the left and came to an abrupt stop at the foot of a wall of solid sandstone, more than forty feet in height. Cut into the sandstone, to the boys’ utter amazement, was a rough flight of steps.

“May wonders never cease!” gasped Sandy. “Who do you suppose did this?”

“A path leading down to the water,” cried Dick. “Sandy, we’re closer now. I’m convinced of it.”

“Dick, I’m shaking like a leaf.”

They went up the steps slowly, Sandy in the lead. Reaching the top, they paused again, looking carefully about them.

With a wildly beating heart, Dick noticed that the path still threaded its way through a veritable graveyard of broken rocks and tomb-shaped ridges of sandstone.