CHAPTER II
OFF TRAIL
By the time the two reached the dead burro again the somber mood of thegirl had lightened.
"First thing is to sort over your pack," she said. "We'll cull outwhat's not needed."
The girths of the packsaddle were cut loose, and the animal was draggedclear of the pack. When Lennon's very creditable diamond-hitch had beenthrown off, the girl overhauled the pack and made quick decisions.
"We'll leave most of the flour. You can stock up at the ranch withcornmeal. Same with your cooking outfit. Throw out all but one drill andall the giant powder--no, keep half a dozen sticks."
"But, Miss Farley, I can't begin to lug a quarter of----"
"Don't forget my pony," cut in Carmena.
"He can't carry you and all this truck of mine," remonstrated Lennon."I'll not permit you to walk. You must have hurt your foot. I saw youlimp."
"I'm not asking your permission, thanks."
As she unbuckled her spurs Lennon noticed that the girl's boots were notbuilt with the usual cowboy high heels. They would be suitable forwalking.
The pony had wandered some distance down the wash, cunningly twitchinghis trailing reins to one side, clear of his hoofs. While Lennon startedto cache his packsaddle and the other discarded articles of his outfit,Carmena went after her would-be stray, limping and gingerly picking hersteps when she saw that the young man's back was turned. After catchingher pony she crouched down behind a corner of rock to unlace her boots.They came off with difficulty.
Inside the boots, she had been wearing a pair of curious high-topboot-moccasins with thick back-doubled toes. In a twinkling she strippedoff the moccasins and thrust them down into the bottom of one of thesaddlebags. With her feet uncramped and easy in her relaced boots, shesprang into the saddle and loped back up the trail.
Lennon's cache was a cavity under an overhanging ledge. Before he hadblocked the opening to his satisfaction with fragments of rock the restof his outfit had been securely packed upon the pony by Carmena. Nothingwas left out except rifles, cartridge-belts and two half-gallon canteensof water.
"Keep your gun loaded and never put all your water on your horse." Thegirl gave her companion the two first maxims of desert travel. "Comealong. No use trying to hide your cache or your trail from Apaches. Onlyanother Apache can do that. It's high time we hit out, anyhow."
To the surprise of Lennon, she started up the arroyo. When he joinedher, the pony, whose reins had been tied to the pack, snorted and shied.But at a call from Carmena, the skittish beast followed his mistress upthe arroyo like a dog.
"How about the chance of running into that murderous savage if we gothis way?" Lennon inquired.
"You might be safer if you hurried back to the railroad," repliedCarmena, and she swung the steepening side of the arroyo.
Lennon's lips tightened. He did not again question his guide's choice ofroute. But, like her, he held his rifle ready as they came up over theround of a stony ridge. Though neither could see the slightest sign oflurking Indians, Carmena hastened to lead her pony across the ridgecrest and down the other side.
When safe below the skyline the girl broke into a dog trot. She held tothe pace, on a long slant along the ridge side, until they came up intothe mouth of a small canon. Between the bald ledges of the dry channelwere bars of sand and gravel. Lennon pointed to the hoofprints of ahorse that had come down the canon at a gallop.
"This must be the trail of our renegade," he said.
Carmena paused to fix him with a somber gaze.
"The whole bunch of bronchos may be up here, but it's the only way intothe Basin; and, once in, they may get behind us. Now's your chance toquit--your last chance."
This time Lennon was ready for her.
"Lead on, Miss Macduff, and--perhaps you know the rest of thequotation."
"Yes," gloomily retorted the girl. "Don't blame me if we meet up withthose broncs. The joke will be on you."
"How about your safety? Wouldn't you have a better chance if mounted?"
"Want to back out, do you?"
"By no means. My idea is to dump the pack from your pony. Then, if weare attacked, I may be able to hold the renegades while you gallop off."
The girl's rich colour deepened into a flush. The thick fringe of herlashes swept down to hide the glow in her eyes. Without a word she swungahead, on up the canon. Though not a little puzzled over her abruptness,Lennon felt certain that she had been far from displeased by hismatter-of-fact suggestion.
He had no chance to urge the desirability of his plan. At his firstrather loud-spoken remonstrance Carmena flung back at him a curt gesturefor silence and led on at a quickened pace. Her swift ascent slackenedonly at the twists of the narrowing canon; at these she would swing inclose to the inner side of the bends and creep around, with her riflehalf raised.
By mid-morning the bed of the canon had become much rougher and steeper.The pony, for all his goat-like agility and sure-footedness, founddifficulty in scrambling up some of the ledges.
Neither the rapid pace nor the climbing bothered Lennon. But between theburning heat and his very natural excitement over Carmena's stealthybearing at the turns, he became keyed to rather a high pitch.
After a last sharp turn, the canon broadened and flared out in atrough-like valley at the top of a high, cedar-clad, ridge-rimmed mesa.
"Wait!" Lennon exclaimed. "Look ahead, Miss Farley--all bare and open!Not a bit of shelter until we cross to the trees!"
The girl faced about, her red lips twisted in a smile of contempt, buther eyes clouded with disappointment.
"I told you, down at the lower end, it was your last chance to quit."
"Quite true. I've burnt my bridges. The question now is one of advance,not retreat. What if there are Indian watchers on those ridges? Would itnot be best for me to hold their attention by going straight up the openvalley, while you take the horse around through the cedars?"
Carmena met his proposal with a chuckle that brought a flush intoLennon's lean face. But her troubled eyes had cleared and there was anote of relief underlying her mirth.
"What's the matter with you, too, keeping under cover?" she rallied."Besides, we don't go to the head of the valley. We slant up to the leftthrough that notch in the ridge."
This banter, coupled with the assurance that the girl knew exactly whatshe was about, cooled Lennon's excitement. His high strung nervesrelaxed.
"No need to remind you I'm a tenderfoot," he jibed at himself. "Comingup the canon I've been shooting Apaches at every bend."
The mirth left Carmena's face. Her lips straightened in hard lines andher eyes flashed.
"It's no joke," she said. "I'm right glad you're steadying down. If wemeet that bunch of bronchos, there's just one thing to do--shoot first.It'll be time enough to ask questions afterward. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly, Miss Farley. I have you to consider, and I presume nopeaceful Indians come into these bad lands."
"Pimas and Moquis cut their hair square across the forehead. If you seeany others, shoot--to kill!"
"I will," said Lennon, certain that he understood the cause of thegirl's almost fierce insistence. He knew that the treatment of capturedwomen by renegade Indians is a far worse fate than death.
Carmena took note of his set jaw, drew in a deep breath, and swungaround to angle up the slope at the side of the canon head. Half an hourof winding advance through the midst of the scraggly low-growing treesbrought them to the notch in the rim-ridge. Below this break the mesaside pitched steeply into a great basin that was blotched with whitealkali flats, wave-marked with sand dunes, and broken with jagged hillsand skeleton-like ridges.
The air was so dry and clear that even far out in the Basin, many milesaway, Lennon could distinguish patches of green. Nearer at hand appearedblurs of a grayish vegetation. But at his pleased exclamation Carmenatold him that he was looking at no oasis. What he saw was only the greenof mesquite and palo verde, the fluted columns of the giant sahuaro, a
ndthe gray of sagebrush. In all that wide waste of desolation notrickling rill or even the smallest of pools glinted under the fiercerays of the mid-day sun.
Over beyond the north side of the Basin, above the lesser peaks andbuttes, appeared a higher mountain. The top, dwarfed by distance but asclear cut in outline as a cameo, was divided into three thick tower-likemasses.
"There's your Triple Butte," said Carmena.
"What! So near as that? We can make it by mid-afternoon."
The girl smiled. "You might, if you hurried enough. It's only fortymiles away on a beeline."
Lennon stared, openly incredulous: "Forty miles?"
"Near fifty-five by way of the water-holes--forty to the ranch. We'llstrike for the nearest tank. I've noticed your canteen has been emptysome time. Here's mine."
Though Lennon's throat was parched, he sought to refuse the offeredcanteen, which was still half full. Carmena dropped it at his feet andbegan to zigzag down the mesa side.
Noon had passed before they gained the foot of the steep slope. Carmenafollowed out along a ridge of bare rock, past scattered growths ofthornscrub and cactus, to where windblown sand lay in sterile driftsalongside the ledges. Here she turned up a narrow cleft of the ridge andentered the mouth of a small cave.
She knelt to dip her hat down a hole in the bottom of the cave. The hatcame up brimful of water. She drank deeply, refilled the hat, and backedout past Lennon to water the eager pony.
"I'll thank you to fill the canteens and give the bronc as much more ashe can drink," she directed. "There's firewood on around that point ofrocks. Keep your gun handy."
Lennon was already drinking from a refilled canteen. He found thecliff-shaded water of the spring pure and deliciously cool. The wateringof the pony took no little time and patience. Though the beast was toothirsty to show any of his former skittishness, Lennon's sombrero wasleaky from the bullet holes.
When at last he drove the pony on along Carmena's trail, he noticed tinycloudlets of dark smoke, like the puffs of a giant's pipe, risingstraight up in the still air from behind the point of rocks. By the timehe rounded the corner the smoke had thinned and lightened to an almostinvisible haze.
A bright little fire of dry sticks was blazing in a sandy hollow.Carmena knelt beside it, leaning on the muzzle of her rifle. Her darkeyes were gazing off across the desert basin in a look that betrayedboth eagerness and dread.
"Hello. Ready for the frying pan?" sang out Lennon. Then he perceivedthe tenseness of the girl's attitude and hastened to swing up his rifle."What is it? Sighted another Apache?"
"No. But I put greasewood on the fire. You saw the smoke?"
"A few puffs--yes."
The girl rose and eyed him somberly.
"Few puffs, you say.... If that bunch of bronchos is anywhere withinfifteen miles--with a clear view this way--we can expect a visit."
"Should we not cut and run?"
"Why? We couldn't hide our tracks. Even if the devils aren't mounted,they'd soon overtake us. An Indian can lope along all day, like acoyote."
Lennon looked deliberately around at the ridge and sat down to clean andreload his rifle. Carmena's eyes flashed.
"You've got the idea," she said. "We'll eat and back up to the spring.The cave is an easy place to hold. You said you can shoot?"
"Rather well. Very long range rifle, too. I've knocked over a caribouwith it at nearly a mile, up on Hudson Bay."
Carmena glanced at the high-power weapon and then raised her flashingeyes to gaze over the bent head of its owner. Midway out across thedesolate Basin, from the top of a craggy hill to the right of the lineof Triple Butte, puffs of smoke were rising into the cloudlesssteel-blue sky.
The girl hastened to loosen her pony's pack and take from her saddlebagsa frying pan, several slices of bacon, and a big chunk of corn pone.