“Do you think we can find where they lived if we keep on through the cave?”
He shrugged. “There’s no village near the cabin, and none down in the canyon, either, although I wouldn’t expect it there. These people didn’t care for canyons. That came later.”
He listened, but there was no sound.
“I’ve been all over this country, and several times I’ve found smashed-in skulls in the rows of ancient ruined houses. I think they were attacked and driven out. Over west of here there are some great houses built in hollows under the overhanging cliffs. I think they moved there and built them to defend themselves.”
He shouldered the sacks, took up his lantern, and ducked into the tunnel beyond. There was little room to spare, and often the sacks on his shoulder brushed the roof. He counted his steps, and when he reached a hundred, with no widening of the tunnel or change in direction, he paused.
It was hot and close in here. The air was difficult to breathe. He mopped perspiration from his forehead, and started on. The lanterns had grown dimmer … there was less oxygen.
Another hundred paces, but this time he did not stop. Still another hundred. How far had they come? He had been keeping track, and judged that they must now be about eight or nine hundred yards into the mountain. He was not sure of their direction, but the tunnel seemed to be going east, away from the ranch.
When he had gone another hundred steps he stopped. The lights were very low, and his breath was coming in gasps. Fan’s cheeks were streaked with perspiration and dust.
“We’ve got to keep on,” he said. “There’s no point in turning back.”
He shouldered the sacks again and went on. The tunnel suddenly took a sharp turn and opened out into a large chamber.
“Ruble . .. look! The lanterns!” Fan exclaimed.
The flames had flared up, as if the rounding of the corner had brought them into better air. And even as they flared, the flames seemed to bend a little. At the same time he felt a faint, fresher coolness on his cheek.
Hurrying on, they came suddenly to a ledge at the cave mouth. The ledge overhung a valley several hundred feet below, a valley Ruble Noon had never seen before. It was narrow, and the ledge itself was no more than fifteen feet across. The cave mouth was merely a gouge in the side of the cliff.
At the side there was a crack that provided a steep, hair-raising climb to the top of the mesa, more than a hundred feet above. Here on the ledge was a small spring, and they saw that there had been fires here, too. Scattered about were shards of broken pottery, most of them having a red and black design.
He glanced up the steep chimney that led to the top of the mesa. One misstep in the climb might send one crashing down and over the brink into the valley below; and anyone caught midway in the climb by someone approaching from above would be helpless.
“Will they follow us?” Fan asked.
“They’ve got to be rid of us. We know too much, and Ben Janish knows I’ve been sent to kill him.”
“Could we get out if we went back there?”
“I doubt it. I dropped the rope, and I hope they accept that as an accident and think we’re trapped. If they buy that idea they won’t follow us. In any case, a man with a rifle could shoot down that long passage and stop them.”
“But you’re not back there . . . why?”
He shrugged again. “Maybe I just don’t want to kill unless I have to … maybe I’m hoping there’s a way out up there.” He indicated the chimney.
It was about four feet wide at the bottom, narrowing to less than three toward the top. Broken rock, all of it loose and jagged, lay along the bottom or along the side along which they must climb. Behind them as they climbed would be the vast gulf of the canyon, its bottom far below.
Obviously the people who had come to this spring, the growers of corn and the makers of the black-on-red pottery, had climbed this chute, but conditions at that long-ago time might have been far different. Much erosion had taken place, and wind and rain, ice and roots had operated here; and once they started to climb, rocks and earth in the chute might suddenly give way and slide right over them, and there would be no escape.
He lay down and took a long drink from the cold water of the spring. When he rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked up at the chute. “Will you try that with me?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Once we start, there will be no turning back. Climbing down would be just as hard as climbing up. We’ll have to keep going.”
“All right.”
Still he hesitated. Perhaps as Ruble Noon, the hunter of outlaws, he had been fearless; but if so he was not fearless now. He knew how uncertain such slides can be; he realized well the danger.
“Isn’t it strange?” Fan said. “I know so little about you, but I feel safe with you. I always have.”
“I don’t know much about myself. I do know that my name was once Jonas Mandrin, that I had been a journalist of sorts, and that later I had an arms company. But that doesn’t tell very much.”
“May I call you Jonas?”
“If you like.” He took up one of the sacks, “We’d better be going now. I have no idea what’s waiting up there. They could have found another route to head us off.”
“How would they know where we will appear?”
That was true, but he did not underrate Niland, nor Ben Janish either. They were shrewd men, and Niland was playing a dangerous game, risking not only his respectable reputation but his life.
“You’d better go first,” he said. “If you slip I might be able to catch you.”
He had two sacks, but would leave one behind now. He changed the extra ammunition to the sack he was to carry, and slid a side of bacon in, too. There was food enough for several days if they were careful. The sack would make balance difficult, especially as it could not easily be strapped on.
Suddenly he heard them. The sound was distant, but it was distinct enough. They were coming along the passage!
Abruptly he turned toward the chute. “Let’s go,” he said.
Fan looked at the chute, and then said, “You go first … please.”
There was no time to argue. He tested a rock with his foot – it seemed solid. He swung his weight to it and began to climb. One step, two … three.
Using his hands to feel for good grips, he worked his way up the steep incline. Once a stone rolled under him, and he glanced back. Fan was close behind him, and beyond her was the dark depth of the canyon.
He started climbing once more. The top was such a few feet away, but the distance seemed enormous. He felt for another grip, hoisted the sack a bit to let it rest, then went on. The chute was even steeper than it had seemed. Perspiration was streaming down his face, down his ribs underneath his shirt, and his wounded shoulder was stiff. Gasping with effort, he paused again to rest for a moment. Glancing up, he could see the rim, now so close. If Niland and Janish found them now they could be shot like frogs in a tub.
He felt for a foothold, and started to push himself up when the rock gave way suddenly. He felt himself going, and with a wild grab at the wall, caught his fingers over a thin edge of rock and clung tight. Even as he grasped the edge, he felt a hand close on his ankle. Behind them he could hear rocks cascading down plunge into the canyon below.
He tugged himself a little higher. The walls of the chute were closer together here and he got one foot against the rock wall opposite and pushed himself back until his shoulders were against the wall behind him.
Braced there, he drew his other leg up, with Fan clinging to his foot, but helping with her own foot.
He swung the sack over and up, landing it a couple of feet above him on the slide. Fan had her own grip now, and was edging up closer. Using his hands against the rock wall behind him and his feet on the one opposite, he hitched himself higher … a foot, two feet.
Bracing himself, he grasped the sack and swung it again, gaining only a few inches. He hitched higher, and heard voices from below. They were wondering how their quarry had disappeared, but it would be only a moment until they were discovered.