Nan and Rex wandered down the cañon below where they had first entered it, but were unable to find a way out. After a supreme effort they were able to climb back over the rocks to where the slide ended, but were unable to go any farther.
‘It doesn’t look very promising,’ said Rex wearily.
Nan sat down on a rock, tired out from the climb. She realized better than Rex did what they were up against. Unless help came to them, they were doomed to starvation in the bottom of Coyote Cañon. She knew that it was only through a great piece of luck that Rex had been able to kill those quail.
‘If we even had a gun,’ she said helplessly. ‘Perhaps they could hear the echo of it.’
‘But there must be a way out,’ insisted Rex. ‘It seems to be an impassable pocket, but there must be a way. I almost wish we were buzzards,’ he said. ‘They are able to fly out with scarcely any effort.’
‘They are not the only buzzards in this country,’ said Nan.
‘You mean—human buzzards, Nan?’
‘Yes. Whoever shot your horse must know we are down here. They don’t know whether we are alive or dead. How did the crazy man get down here, I wonder? That must be his horse.’
‘Yes, it is all very queer. I wonder if he is still alive? Perhaps he knows a way out, Nan. It seems a brutal thing to leave him up there alone in that cave. But what can we do? At least, he is unconscious, and does not seem to be suffering. But I wish he would wake up sane again, because he might know a way out.’
‘He wouldn’t know. I guess we better go back to the cave and gather a supply of wood. All we can do is to pray that some one will look down here for us.’
They went back to the bottom of the cañon and had a drink at the little spring. A copper-colored rattler, stretched out on the top of a boulder, waiting for the sunshine, looked them over with beady eyes as they went past. They did not see the snake, and the snake was too torpid from the cold to sound a warning.
They climbed up from the bottom of the cañon near the old waterfall, and twisted their way around the huge boulder. Nan was in the lead, and, as she circled an outcropping of sandstone, she cried out sharply and stepped back, bumping Rex sideways.
A man was standing against the sandstone, covering them with a rifle, and so close was he that Nan’s elbow struck the barrel of the rifle as she jerked back. Her first impression was that it was the crazy man, but a second glance dissipated this idea.
The man was masked with a big bandanna handkerchief, with jagged eye-holes, and his slouch hat was pulled low over his forehead. For several moments he did not move or speak. Rex put his arms around Nan, and tried to draw her behind him.
‘Don’t move,’ warned the man harshly.
‘Who are you?’ demanded Rex.
‘Ne’mind who I am. Keep yore hands up and foller me.’
He backed slowly to the open hillside below the cave, which was not visible from there. Rex had shoved the empty revolver inside the waist-band of his trousers, and now the man stepped over and yanked it away. A quick glance showed him that the gun was empty.
‘Where’d yuh git that?’ he asked.
‘I—I found it,’ lied Rex.
‘Uh-huh.’
The man flung it far off down the cañon.
‘How did you git down here?’ he asked.
Rex explained how they happened to be there.
‘Yuh came all the way down that slide, eh?’
‘It was quite a slide,’ agreed Rex. ‘Now, I hope you will show us the way out.’
‘Yuh hope so, do yuh? Who shot yore horse up there?’
‘We haven’t any idea.’
‘Anybody gunnin’ for yuh?’
‘I don’t know why they should.’
Nan noticed that the man had a lariat wrapped around his waist, and now he began unwrapping it.
‘We just want to find the way out of here,’ said Rex.
‘Thasso?’ The man seemed amused. He shifted his gaze to Nan.
‘Set down on the rock!’ he snapped harshly. ‘Set down there and set still.’
He shook the last coil of the rope loose, catching the hondo and quickly making his loop. Neither of them had any idea of what he was intending to do. He flipped the twist out of the loop, and with a jerk of his wrist he flung the loop over Rex’s shoulders, yanking it tight. Rex stumbled forward, his arms cinched to his sides, and the man kicked his feet from under him, throwing him heavily.
‘Stay there, damn yuh!’ he snarled. He gave Nan a sharp glance. She had jumped to her feet now, as though intending to help Rex.
‘You stay put,’ warned the man. ‘Set down there!’
Nan sank back on the rock and watched the man deftly hog-tie Rex. He knew ropes, and in a few moments Rex was completely helpless.
‘I reckon that’ll hold you,’ said the man.
‘But what has he ever done to you?’ asked Nan. ‘Why are you tying him up? He never harmed you.’
‘Who in Hell’s doin’ this? Keep yore face out of it.’
‘But why are you tying him up?’ persisted Nan. ‘He never harmed you. All we want is a chance to get out of here.’
She left the rock and came close to him. He watched her through the jagged slits in the handkerchief.
‘Keep away from me,’ he growled. ‘I never hit no woman. Never thought a man ort to hit a woman. But I got to protect myself.’
‘Oh, I’m not going to fight with you,’ wearily. ‘I just want to explain things.’
‘Yeah? You set down. I’ve gotta figure out somethin’.’
‘But won’t you let him go—please?’
‘Hell, I can’t! Set down. If I had another rope, I’d tie you, too.’
Nan sat down while the man perched on a convenient boulder. Rex was lying on his side, facing them. He was still bewildered, but unable to move. The man in the mask rolled a cigarette, but discovered that he would have to move his mask aside in order to smoke, and tossed the unlighted cigarette aside.
He made no mention of the cave, and Nan decided that he had not discovered it. For possibly five minutes they sat there silently. At times the man leaned forward, rubbing his face through the handkerchief, as though unable to arrive at a decision. At times he turned his head and looked at the buzzards, which were circling about. Finally he got to his feet, walked over and looked at the knotted rope, and then turned to Nan.
‘I’m goin’ to take yuh out,’ he said.
‘Going to take me out?’ Nan got to her feet quickly.
‘What about him?’ pointing at Rex.
The man shook his head. ‘He stays.’
‘But we can’t leave him here alone.’
‘The hell we can’t? What’ll stop us?’
‘Why, he will die. Don’t you understand? We can’t leave him there.’
‘He stays, do yuh sabe that? I’ll take you out.’
‘Go ahead, Nan,’ panted Rex. ‘You—you can tell where I am, don’t you see?’
‘A hell of a lot of good it’ll do,’ laughed the man. He pointed at the circling buzzards meaningly. Nan knew what he meant, and her face went white.
‘I won’t go without him,’ she said firmly.
‘Yuh won’t? Well, I’ll be damned! What’s the idea? Are you—aw, have a little sense, can’tcha? No use of both of yuh cashin’ in down here. I’m willin’ to take yuh out, and you act like a fool ove this white-faced jigger. I don’t git yore idea. What does he amount to, anyway?’
‘If he stays—I stay.’
Nan’s eyes were filled with tears, but her voice was firm. The man came closer to her, peering through his mask.
‘You ain’t gone loco, have yuh?’
‘No, I am perfectly sane.’
‘And you’d give up a chance to git home safe—for that?’ He pointed disgustedly at Rex.
‘I—I’ll stay with him,’ she said chokingly.
‘Well, f’r God’s sake!’
The man looked around, as though asking the wide world if the girl wasn’t crazy. He looked at Nan and at Rex, who was watching Nan, wide-eyed.
‘Of all the loco things I ever heard of,’ grunted the man. ‘Listen, sister: is this on the square? Would you give up—say, don’tcha know there ain’t a chance of yuh ever gettin’ out of here unless somebody guides yuh? You’ll die here, and the buzzards will strip yore bones. Do yuh realize that? Do yuh? And still you’d stay with that damn weak-kneed tenderfoot? Slough off a chance to git home safe? Yuh would? Well, I’d like to know why.’
‘Because,’ said Nan wearily, ‘I love him.’
The man jerked forward. ‘You what? You love him? You love——’
‘I have told you why I will stay,’ said Nan. ‘If he stays here, I stay, too.’
‘Well, good God!’ exploded the man. ‘With all the reg’lar men in the State of Arizona—you pick that.’
He moved back and sat down on the rock, where he rolled another cigarette, only to toss it aside. After a long silence he said softly:
‘Well, I’ll be damned!’
‘Won’t you cut him loose?’ begged Nan. ‘Can’t you see those ropes are cutting him?’
‘Pretty soft-skinned. Why in hell didn’t he stay where he belonged?’
But he made no move to release Rex; he was studying Nan, humped on the rock, her hands between her knees, as she looked at Rex, her eyes filled with tears.
Finally the masked man got to his feet, looking down at Rex.
‘I ain’t got the sense that Gawd gave geese in Ireland,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ve knowed lotsa married folks, and I’ve had me a girl once or twicet; but I never knowed that any damn woman ever cared enough f’r a man to slough off a chance to save her life—f’r him.’ He stepped over to Rex and quickly unfastened the ropes.
‘You’re not going to leave him here?’ asked Nan, hardly believing that such was his intention.
‘Not if yuh want him that damn bad. T’ me, he don’t amount to a damn, and I’d jist as soon use him for buzzard bait as not; but if you—you two wait here. I’ve got to git my bronc. There’s a way out the lower end of this cañon, if I can remember it. It’s a long ways around, but it can’t be helped.’
He picked up his rope, swung it over his arm, grasped his rifle, and went stumbling up the cañon, while Nan and Rex stood there, looking at each other.
‘Thank God!’ breathed Nan.
‘Did you mean what you told him, Nan? Did you mean that you love me?’
‘Well, I would have stayed,’ she said simply.
Hashknife had little trouble in following Morgan, although Morgan seemed to be traveling more by guess than from any pretense of following a trail. It was so steep that a horse was obliged to almost sit on his rump and keep angling from one side to another to keep from going headlong into the cañon.
About halfway down the side of the cañon, Hashknife’s gray horse shoved loose a boulder of considerable size, which went bounding down the steep slope, crashing through the brush, and splitting itself on the boulders at the bottom.
Hashknife realized that Dave Morgan would have to be deaf not to have heard it; but there was no turning back now. He was riding the rump of the gray, his feet drawn back as far as possible to escape the brush.
Slipping and sliding, careening from side to side, the tall gray took him safely to the bottom of the cañon, where he dismounted. He had lost Morgan’s trail, and there did not seem to be any way of recovering it. The bottom of the cañon at this point was a jumble of broken sandstone, boulders, and brush, which seemed an impassable barrier to man and beast; but Hashknife knew there must be a way out.
The cañon was about six miles in length, and Hashknife had entered it at about a mile below the north end. After waiting a while, trying to figure out where Morgan had gone, Hashknife picked up his reins and started trying to pick out a route down the cañon.
It was slow traveling. Time after time he was obliged to retrace his steps and select a new route. For over a mile he managed to find his way. But he was paying for it. His overall-clad legs were flapping rags, and the knees of the tall gray were torn and bleeding.
‘Tough goin’, Ghost,’ grinned Hashknife. ‘If we ever go the length of this cañon, we deserve a medal.’
At last he came to a place where he could not find a way through. The cañon narrowed to a box-like affair, not over sixty feet in width, with perpendicular sides, a hundred feet high.
Back went Hashknife and the gray horse to a point about three hundred yards away, where they began climbing the east side of the cañon. It was slow work, but they managed to get above the perpendicular sides of the box cañon.
And it was here that Hashknife was rewarded for his labor. Cut deeply in the side of the hill were the tracks of a horse which had come down the side of the cañon at this point. Hashknife studied the situation, and from his point of view Dave Morgan had cut back to the top of the cañon again, and had tried the descent at another place.
But this time Hashknife was careful to follow the tracks, which kept to the side of the hill, until reaching the sheer cliffs, less than a mile above where Nan and Rex had found the cave, where they descended again to the bottom of the cañon. Hashknife stopped near the cliffs and scanned the country. Far above him and across the cañon, he could see the tiny scars which indicated graded curves on the wagon road. Far down the cañon he could see a few buzzards, spiraling upward from the cañon bed.
That was where he wanted to go—down where the buzzards were. It was another hard slide down the cañon, but they made it in safety. For some distance the trail led down the bottom of the cañon, where the tracks in the sand made it easy to follow the spoor of the other horse.
The buzzards were getting closer all the time. Again the trail led from the bottom, and Hashknife was obliged to dismount to follow, leading his horse. The last few hundred yards required nearly an hour to negotiate, and he suddenly broke through the brush on the very spot where the buzzards had been feeding on the roan horse from the 6X6, across the cañon bottom from the cave.
Hashknife watched the big birds leave their meal, and then examined the carcass. He found the strip of skin, which carried the 6X6 brand, and he sat down to ponder over it. There was no question in his mind that this horse had slid down from the grades, as the bones of the legs were broken, and, as far as he was able to determine, the neck had also been broken. The saddle bore no name, and had been badly damaged.
Hashknife left the carcass and tied his horse to a snag. Sliding down into the bottom of the cañon, he discovered Nan’s tracks, which were very plain. This proved to him that Nan was still alive, and he heaved a sigh of satisfaction. Fifty feet farther down the cañon he found the empty revolver, where the masked man had thrown it. From the way it had skidded in the sand, he knew it had been thrown from the west side of the cañon.
Hashknife felt sure that neither Nan nor Rex had been armed when they left the ranch; and this gun, with six empty shells in the cylinder, proved that some one had been doing some shooting in the cañon.
He climbed the west bank and came out almost under the overhang of the cave. After a careful survey of the surrounding country, he climbed up over the shelves of sandstone to the entrance of the cave.
Here was an odor of wood-smoke, although the fire had long since died out. Cautiously he advanced into the shallow cave, gun in hand. It was light enough for him to see the outstretched form of Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs near the pile of ashes.
He had been tied securely with a length of lariat rope, with the loop drawn tightly around his neck. Napoleon Bonaparte Briggs was as dead as a man might be, and Hashknife could see that he had died from strangulation, although he had been badly battered.
Hashknife loosened the ropes. In spite of the battered face, Hashknife was able to recognize the old 6X6 cook. On the left side of his head was a furrow which seemed to have been made by a bullet, but with so many cuts and bruises it was difficult to say which was the worst.
The old man’s coat had been almost torn from his body, but in the inside pocket Hashknife found several folded papers, which he took to the cave entrance to examine.
For perhaps five minutes he sat on a sandstone ledge, pondering deeply over them, while the shadows of the buzzards drifted back and forth across the slope below him.
Finally he pocketed the papers and went back into the cave, where he dragged the old man’s body farther away from the entrance.
‘Mebby you’ll be a mummy by the time yuh get out of here, old-timer,’ he said. ‘I’d take yuh out, if I could; but I can’t. So-long.’
Hashknife went back down the slope, where he found the track of a horse, going down the cañon. It went down past the old waterfall, where the tracks were plainly outlined in the sand.
‘Must be a way out the lower end,’ he decided. ‘If I can get Ghost down into this danged place, I’ll try my luck. It can’t be any worse than the way I came in—and it must be shorter.’
He managed to pick out a possible place to get down, and went back for the gray horse.