Part 33 (1/2)
There came a leaden glow high up on the right. It paled swiftly as a streak of silver flared up behind the jagged crests of the mountains, here and there caught by a snow mantle to gleam in virgin white. On the left lay abysmal darkness, like a lake of ink, and slowly out of it pushed ranks of treetops as the dawn rolled downward and the mountain fogs dissolved in dew. Deep canons, sheer precipices; long streaks on mountain sides where resistless avalanches had sc.r.a.ped all greenery from the glistening rock; green amphitheaters, fit for fairy pageants; velvety knolls and jewels of mountain pastures lay below them, with here and there the crystal gleam of ribbon-like mountain brooks, their waters embarked on a long, depressing journey through capricious oceans of billowy sands and the salty leagues of desert wastes. Birds flashed among the branches, chipmunks chattered furiously at these unheeding invaders of their mountain fastness; high up on a beetling crag a bighorn ram was silhouetted in rigid majesty, and over all lazily drifted an eagle against the paling western sky, symbolical of freedom.
There came the musical tinkle of falling water and Hank stopped, raising his hand. Into the little mountain dell the caravan wound and in a moment muscles tired and cramped from long, hard riding found relief in a score of little duties. While the animals were relieved of saddles and packs and securely picketed, and a fire made of dry wood from a bleached windfall, Hank climbed swiftly up the mountain side for a view of the back trail. Perched on an out-thrust finger of rock high above the dell he knelt motionless, searching with keen and critical eyes every yard of that windswept trail, following it along its sloping length until it shrunk into a hair line across the frowning mountain sides and then faded out entirely. Below him grotesque figures moved about like gnomes performing incantations around a tiny blaze; dwarfed horses cropped the plentiful gra.s.s and succulent leaves, and a timid streamer of pale blue smoke arose like a plumb line until the cruising gusts above the treetops tore it into feathery wisps and carried it away. Across the valley the rising sun pushed golden floods of light into crevices, among the rocks, and turned the pines and cedars into glistening cones of green on stems of jet.
”Wall,” said a voice below him, ”hyar I am. Go down an' feed. See anythin'?”
Hank leaned over and looked down at the climbing figure, whose laborious progress sent a noisy stream of clicking pebbles behind him like sparks from a rocket.
”Nothin' I ain't plumb glad ter see,” replied Hank. ”This hyar beats th'
settlements all ter h.e.l.l.” As Jim's horrible face peered over the edge of the rock balcony Hank eyed it critically and shook his head. ”I've seen some plumb awful lookin' 'Rapahoes; but nothin' ter stack up ag'in you. Vermillion mebby is yer favorite color, but it don't improve yer looks a hull lot. Neither does that sorrel juice. How's th' gal?”
”Full o' s.p.u.n.k an' gittin' chipper as a squirrel,” answered Jim. ”Who's goin' ter git th' blame fer last night's fandango?”
”Four murderin' Injuns, a-plunderin' an' a-kidnappin',” chuckled Hank.
”Woodson's goin' ter raise h.e.l.l about th' hull Cooper fambly bein'
stole. Armijo'll keep his mouth shet an' pa.s.s th' crime along ter us, an' make a great show o' gittin' us; but,” he winked knowingly at his accomplice in the night's activities, ”chasin' four desperite Injuns along an open trail, whar his sojers kin spread out an' take advantage o' thar bein' twenty ter one is _one_ thing; chasin' 'em along a trail like this, whar they has ter ride Injun fas.h.i.+on, is a hull lot diff'rent. They've had thar bellies full o' chasin' along Injun trails in th' mountings. Th' Apaches, Utes, an' Comanches has showed 'em it don't pay. Thar's sharpshooters that can't be got at; thar's rollin'
rocks, an' ambushes; an' chasin' murderin' Injuns afoot up mounting sides ain't did in this part o' th' country.”
”Meanin' we won't be chased?” demanded Jim, incredulously.