CHAPTER VI

A LONE HAND AGAINST HUNGER

Early the next morning quite a large group of tourists gathered to see the Survey party set out, it having become known that it was to make use of the old Cameron trail and endeavor to climb the other side of the Canyon. Some, who had been part of the way down the trail, were politely incredulous as to the possibility of the feat, others took an especial pleasure in prophesying disaster, and a few expressed a wish that they might accompany the party "to see how it was done."

To these various people Masseth paid no heed. Indeed he scarcely responded to questions, returning but the briefest replies, except once, when an old lady, quiet and gentle in manner, came up and laid her hand on his arm.

"You will pardon an old lady," she said, "but I should not like to think of your going down there, unless you can assure me that it is really safe."

The topographer turned to her immediately, raising his cap and smiling:

"I have been over the trail before," he said, "and indeed I have been in many worse places than this part of the Canyon, so you really need feel no alarm. It is very kind of you to be solicitous of our well-being, and I shall take your expressed interest as a happy omen for the journey."

This little speech, overheard by Roger as he came up with the head packer to say that everything was ready, gave him a quick insight into the intense graceful courtesy, which was so strong a characteristic of the man who was to be his chief for a couple of months to come. A few sentences between Masseth and the chief packer were followed by the words, spoken in a sharp tone of command, markedly different from the suavity of a moment before:

"You may start, then!"

Roger waited for instructions.

"Doughty," said the leader, "you will ride in the rear with Black, and you will do well to let him teach you how to handle the animals in rough spots. I shall go ahead, of course."

"Very well, sir," answered Roger, and cantered off to the pack train, where the assistant topographer was helping the second packer to get the mules started. The head packer had gone as far as the brink of the Canyon with the chief and there waited to deploy the animals on the trail in good order and to scrutinize every pack as it passed him, to make sure that none should become loose and slip.

The boy chatted freely with Black as they paced along behind the last of the mules, and he found his companion well-informed, as Masseth had said, but except on matters of the trail, somewhat non-communicative. In brief remarks, however, he explained to the boy many of the troubles he must expect to encounter and the best manner of meeting them, and his curt references to the lie of the land struck Roger as being of immense value. He pointed out certain striking landmarks as features of the landscape which were to be ignored, because, from any point of view, they would appear entirely different; and certain other eminences, perhaps not even as noticeable as the former, which he must remember, since, by reason of their conformation they would always appear the same and thus could be taken as absolute and certain guides.

But as soon as the trail fell over the edge there was no more speaking. Fell over the edge, Roger thought, was almost the only way to describe the road, which was precipitous and winding beyond belief. There was a supposition that the way had been made smooth for mules, but it did not seem to the lad that any four-footed animal short of a goat could keep his footing. The long line of mules treading easily in front, however, was evidence that he need not fear, so warily keeping an eye on his mule lest his mount should stumble, he preceded the assistant, following immediately after the last pack mule.

For several hundred feet the trail went down in this rough fashion, then suddenly turned sharply to the left along one of the broad terraces of rock, whereof Masseth had spoken to the boy before. After a quarter of a mile of easy going, the party came to a slope of loose shale, almost filling up the terrace. The pack mules picked their way over this without any apparent demur, but Black called out:

"Guess you'd better get off!"

Roger slipped from his saddle, and going to the mule's head started to walk beside it.

"Go in front, you chump," called the other. "If the trail's none too wide for one, how do you suppose two can go abreast?"

"But I can't help him then!" protested Roger.

This speech was greeted with a hoarse chuckle.

"Any old time a mule needs a tenderfoot to teach him where to put his feet," he said, "I want to have a front seat to watch it. Don't you ever worry about that, I guess he can walk anywhere that you can, but on a shelving bank a rider makes a beast topheavy."

Down they went into the chasm, climbing over heaps of fallen rock, pitching down slopes which seemed almost perpendicular to the boy, and as they descended the sun rose higher and the air seemed to become less tenuous and almost visible. Roger had been expecting the wonderful radiance of the valley to become tenfold richer under the noonday sun, and was surprised to note all the color fade out of the rocks and the air become as it were so solid as to refract the light of the sun. The whole atmosphere seemed to be glowing with a metallic luster which was most confusing, because of the way in which it changed the whole environment. Lines of strata became distorted and even disappeared, the buttes appeared to flatten, the minor shadows to diminish and the darker shades to turn an inky black, till, when the halt was made at noon, the boy realized that he could not have made his way back one mile by reason of the chaotic look of the abyss under the direct light of the noonday sun.

After the march had been resumed and the afternoon was drawing to a close, however, the true witchery of the scene struck deep into Roger's mind. As the evening clouds began to gather and the twilight shadows deepened, the Titanic temples and cloisters seemed to awake and stretch themselves to meet the expected vesper. Little by little the atmosphere lost its density and the rocks behind began to glow, the colossal buttes assumed their due proportions; while a thousand bizarre forms, that had not been observable in the intense light of day, thrust themselves forward into an uncouth prominence. Then the sun disappeared from the view of the travelers, though still shining on the rocks above. Black cantered up beside the boy.

"Now watch," he said: "here's where you see the greatest display of color in the whole world."

"But how can it be brighter than it is now?" queried Roger, on whom the bold and striking scene was creating a profound impression.

"The best is yet to come," answered his companion, "and look, it begins now!"

For the first time since morning Roger was able to look upwards without being blinded by the sunlight. The sloping rays now fell full upon the upper part of the Canyon, at the crest of which a vivid yellow cut athwart the transparent blue of the sky and underneath its pallid brilliancy ran a soft belt of pale rose. The deep vibrating red of the body of the Canyon seemed to pulse with life as a faint blue haze began to gather in the dusk, changing second by second into the countless differing hues of crimson lakes and ruby violets, deepening as the hastening twilight passed. Strange and metallic gleams of burnished bronze and green gloomed from the intervening lines, all yielding place little by little to the veil of azure mist. And beneath all, the glowing red, now changed to imperial purple, as though the world were bathed in a regal radiance at the crowning of a universe's king.

It was not until the dark had really come and the stars were shining brightly that the boy awakened to the consciousness of a trail and felt that he could speak. He turned to the assistant.

"And that's been going on every day for years!" he said, struck by the wastefulness of such a sight to so few eyes.

"For thousands upon thousands of years that went on before any man saw it," replied Black, smiling slightly, "and it will go on when the present civilizations are deemed but musty antiquities."

The night was well advanced when the party reached the crest of the Canyon on the north side. The journey, as Masseth had said, was one devoid of special risk because of the numbers of the party and the known trail, though, in truth, it needed a keen eye at times to discern that such apparently impassable ground was intended for a trail. The top reached, however, a hasty camp pitched, the packs and saddles taken off, the mules and the animals hobbled to graze on the rich herbage of the Kaibab plateau, Roger sank to sleep without loss of time, and it seemed to him hardly ten minutes before the cook aroused him for the camp breakfast.

"You know something about the work of a rodman, and of the handling of the tape?" asked Masseth, after breakfast, referring to the 300-foot steel tape used in measuring distances in wooded areas.

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Masseth."

"Of course you realize that the tape is generally impracticable in such a country as this, and that all the work must be done by the computing of angles with continual astronomical verification. As topographic aid you can learn as much as you are able of the use of instruments, at such times as you are not carrying out levels." And Masseth, questioning closely, elicited the mathematical ability of the lad. The boy had always hated arithmetic and its kindred studies, not realizing the value of the higher branches, but with the incentive before him, he found his chief's teaching markedly interesting.

The next day a semi-permanent camp was pitched, and there the supplies were kept. The head packer, who became a teamster as soon as things were settled, immediately left for the village of Kanab in Utah, over a hundred miles away, where a heavy wagon was in waiting, and whence the provisions were to be drawn for the party during the two months it should be on the north side of the Canyon. As it was a three days' journey there and the same returning, the teamster was a busy man, having but one day comparatively free and camping on the trail five nights out of seven.

Roger, of course, went out with the other men every day, scaling points picked out for him by the chief as places he desired occupied, measuring from the rod elevated by the boy, who then, at a signal, was ordered to go to the next point scheduled. To a boy as fond of climbing as was Roger, for a day or two this was good fun, but the novelty soon passed by and he did his day's work with a persistent regularity, which, though it brought forth the results required, was lacking in the adventurous. In short, the continuity of risky work became monotonous.

It was due to this cause, perhaps, that one afternoon, when this sort of thing had been proceeding for several weeks, Roger, passing from one outjutting piece of rock to another, but a few feet away, jumped carelessly, twisted his ankle beneath him and fell, spraining his wrist. Despite the sprain, however, he reached the point to which he had been sent, and then, instead of going on, returned to the topographer.

"What's the matter?" called Masseth, who had seen him fall, as soon as he came in hearing. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"Sprained my wrist, I think, Mr. Masseth," answered the boy. "Beastly sorry, but I'm afraid I'll have to lay off for the rest of the afternoon."

"Let's see, son." The topographer felt the wrist, then feeling that no bones were broken, and that a day or two would set it all right again, bade Roger go to the main camp and let the cook change places with him for a few days.

"I'll write to Mr. Mitchon, and tell him of your promotion to camp cook," called Masseth, laughing as Roger rode away.

On arriving at the camp and giving his message to the cook, the latter readily agreed to help for a few days.

"I'll go at once," he said, "the teamster should be back to-morrow, and while things are running pretty short, I guess you'll have enough to hold out."

The following morning early, after having told Roger everything he was to look after, the cook started for the side camp to take Roger's place, while the latter looked after the camp. Long and weary seemed the morning to the boy, so inactive it was after the strenuous life he had been leading for some weeks, and, though the teamster usually got in before noon, when evening came he had not arrived. Roger, who had counted on the cook's knowledge of the teamster's time, found himself almost without food for supper, and made a very light repast. He was just about to turn in for a sleep, when he heard the sound of horses' hoofs and went out to greet the teamster.

"Is that you, Jim?" he called out.

"Guess not, pardner," answered a strange voice, and a cowman loped into the circle of light. "This here a United States camp?" he queried.

"Yes," answered the boy.

"An' who's running the shebang?"

"I am just at present," Roger answered. "But I expected the teamster here to-day."

"You are? No offense, but you don't look more'n a yearling. Well, it's not so worse to brand 'em young."

The lad explained the circumstances of his being alone, pointing out that the rest of the party were only three or four hours' ride away, and the stranger nodded.

"Which I was a plumb forgettin' to explain is that the gent what you was a-greetin' with the airy name of Jim, won't come none this week to camp, but he allowed as you-all had a-plenty."

"What's the matter with him?"

"Which I ain't a sharp as a doc. Took a spell or somethin'. I opine he's a goin' to continue cavortin' around this Vale of Tears some more, though he has been figurin' on procurin' a brace of wings."

"He's getting better, though?" asked the boy.

"Which he holds a good hand for a long life."

"But I haven't got any extra supply of grub," continued Roger in some dismay.

"Shore!" The stranger, who was just gathering up his reins, half turned in the saddle. "I wouldn't bet a small white chip for any gent's success in a dooel with hunger. Which it is some uncomfortable to ignore the chuck-wagon. But this here Jim he relates that he toted a big jag last time, and it must be cached."

"It must be here somewhere, then," said Roger dubiously, "and I'll look. But it doesn't sound good to me."

"Which if you don't locate, saunter over to the Bar X Double N and we will supply the existin' demand a whole lot," and with a wave of his hand the rider cantered away into the darkness, without giving Roger a chance even to ask where the ranch might be.

But youth is little accustomed to troubled dreams, and Roger slept soundly enough, awakening the next morning, not to a hot and well-cooked breakfast, but to having to prepare his own. Laying hands on everything that he could find, the boy made out a breakfast and then started on a search for other provision. He doubted its existence for the cook had told him that it was nearly all gone. At last, in his rummaging he found a little notebook, marked on the outside, "Record of Supplies," and thinking that this might give a clew, he opened it.

There, under a date of a few days before, was an entry to the effect that the cook had sold to a passing party a large supply of surplus provision, thinking that the teamster would make his regular trip. It was small wonder, Roger thought, that the teamster was not at all anxious, because he made sure that the provision was still in the camp, and of course the cook was not disturbed because he supposed that the teamster would come the next day.

The situation was gloomy enough so far as Roger was concerned, for he was practically without food, but what rendered the matter doubly serious was that the rest of the party would come in from the side camp two days hence with their supply of provision exhausted, only to find the camp barren, and leaving five men a long way from getting food instead of one. The more Roger thought over the matter, the more determined he was that he must procure supplies. The question was, where?

If the lad had known the country at all, there were undoubtedly ranches somewhat near at hand to which he could appeal at a pinch, but he had wisdom enough to know that it would be the height of folly to ride out upon the north Arizona plateau without the faintest idea of a destination. There was the ranch to which he had been told to come, and he had heard of it often enough to know that it was one of the largest ranches in the country, but who would direct him there? He feared that a blind try in the plain might put him out of touch of water as well as food, a condition insupportable.

There was only one bright spot in the position, and that was the presence of Jack. Jack was a burro, apparently of extreme age, who had been found one morning near the camp, and who had attached himself to the party. Of course all the rest of the animals were away, the cook having ridden back to the side camp the horse on which Roger had come from there. True, there was this burro, but what could he do with it, where could he go?

As he asked himself this question, an answer shot into the boy's mind which turned him hot and cold. He looked over the plateau to the plains and shook his head, then quietly went into the tent to think over the best course for him to pursue. Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, then with jaw hard-set and lips compressed Roger walked to where the burro was grazing, and slipped a halter over his head. Obediently the patient animal followed him to the edge of the rift of the Canyon, and there Roger looked down and across. Nine miles away, across those fearful chasms and lurid cliffs lay food and necessaries not only for himself, but for the party.

Roger was conscious that prudent judgment would counsel his return to the side camp for the purpose of informing the party of the situation, so that they could cross by the old trail to renew supplies, but the boy knew that Masseth was working against time. Beside this, it would be a great achievement and the lad was burning with a desire to shine before the Survey. The old trail was the better way, but it had been night when they debouched on the plateau and Roger could not have told where the trail entered. He feared he might lose time by hunting for that faint trail, and decided to direct his whole strength into an attempt to force his way straight across the cleft in defiance of the decree that it had never been done and could never be done.

About a mile away along the bank there was a deep fault which could be entered a few hundred yards back on the plateau. The lad knew about this, for the spring whence the camp got its water was close by. Into this Roger turned with his burro, casting one long glance at the camp just visible in the distance, before he took his courage in both hands and plunged into the almost inaccessible ravine.

"They call this Bright Angel Canyon, Jack," he said aloud. "I'd like to have a pair of their wings right now."

The little gray burro looked at him for a moment, then went on picking his steps carefully. It was rough but not perilous for a few hundred yards and the boy's spirits rose until in an hour or so he came to an obstruction about ten feet high, but this puny ten feet, which had looked simply like a little ridge of dirt, baffled him for hours. He traveled up and down, but found the terrace continuous, and it seemed as though his quest would fail almost before it had well begun.

Suddenly there flashed into the boy's mind one of the old fables, and, as before, he took his rough-haired friend into his confidence.

"We can't jump it or knock it down, Jack, old boy," he said. "It's up to us to climb it some way."

With immense toil and labor he carried stone and rock and bits of boulders, and though hours were spent on the task he built up a kind of shaky and insecure pile up which the burro, following him patiently, reached the top. There luck was with him, for, by picking his steps carefully for twenty yards or so, he was enabled to reach a newly fallen piece of cliff, by which he got to firm ground on the other side. Stopping to rest, this obstacle over, the boy's ears were greeted by the musical and grateful sound of falling water, and hurrying to the place, he found a little stream fed by springs and gurgling merrily in tiny cascades to the river.

Although he knew but little of geology, Roger's sense speedily showed him that, by following this little tributary, he probably would have a fair path down to the river, or at least, while he would probably find many drops downward, there would be no walls across his path unless it were one through which the little creek had tunneled. So, ankle deep in the grooved bed, they started down the streamlet on its way to the bottom of the valley.

It was perhaps fortunate for the lad that he was not too well-informed in the customary ways of the burro, and was entirely unaware of the animal's intense objection to running water. Had he known this, in all probability he would have left the burro behind, which would have resulted grievously. But this old burro, as it fortunately chanced, must have belonged to some prospector working in a mountain country, for he evinced no fear of or dislike to the stream. One hundred and seven times did Roger and the burro cross Bright Angel Creek, each crossing growing swifter and deeper than the last. Dusk was falling as they reached the bank of the Colorado River at the base of the Canyon.

Before it became entirely dark, the boy climbed up a peak of rock to make sure of the direction of his objective point, a matter hard to be determined because of the windings of the river, and on descending laid several stones in a row pointing to the direction sought. Then, supperless and almost spent, he resolutely refrained from eating the few last morsels he had brought with him, and flinging himself down beneath an overhanging ledge he fell asleep.

In spite of the strangeness of his position it was bright daylight when he awoke and the burro was standing patiently near by. Taking from his wallet the solitary crust of bread and the few biscuits that remained, and noting that Jack had found some grass just at the water's edge, Roger put on his shoes and walked gravely to the edge of the river. There is only one Colorado River in the world, and it is perhaps the most violent stream in the two hemispheres. It was not at its height at this time, but it ran like a mill race with a vicious swirl and spume, and was ugly to look at. Roger was no mean swimmer, but his heart sank at the thought of plunging into it.

"Jack," he said, "I'd as soon try to swim the Niagara gorge," and the burro looked wonderingly at his master.

So up and down the bank for several hundred yards he went, striving to find some rapids that might be forded, but only at one place did it even appear possible and that, the boy thought, had large odds against it. Still, it was all he saw, and he put the burro at it. But Jack refused, point-blank, and as the obstinacy of a burro needs some considerable persuasion to overcome, things looked black for the boy.

There was just the river between him and safety, for Roger had heard the men speak of an Indian trail which paralleled the river on the southern side and whence he could reach one of the three trails that ascended the plateau, and not only safety, but the welfare of the party, which he felt was intrusted to his care. The burro would not try the ford. Very well, then, he would cross himself. On this side of that torrent, hunger, defeat, and death, on the other food, success, and reputation. Come what might, he would cross!