"Luck again!" he whispered. "The wind's in your face, Jim. The
horses won't scent you. Go slow. Don't crack a stone. Keep close
under the wall. Try to get up as high as this at the other end.
Wait till daylight before riskin' a loose slope. I'll be ridin' the
job early. That's all."
Ladd's cool, easy speech was scarcely significant of the perilous
undertaking. Lash moved very slowly away, leading his horse.
The soft pads of hoofs ceased to sound about the time the gray
shape merged into the black shadows. Then Ladd touched Dick's
arm, and turned back up the trail.
But Dick tarried a moment. He wanted a fuller sense of that
ebony-bottomed abyss, with its pale encircling walls reaching
up to the dusky blue sky and the brilliant stars. There was
absolutely no sound.
He retraced his steps down, soon coming up with Ladd; and together
they picked a way back through the winding recesses of cliff. The
campfire was smoldering. Ladd replenished it and lay down to get
a few hours' sleep, while Gale kept watch. The after part of the
night wore on till the paling of stars, the thickening of gloom indicated
the dark hour before dawn. The spot was secluded from wind, but
the air grew cold as ice. Gale spent the time stripping wood from
a dead mesquite, in pacing to and fro, in listening. Blanco Sol
stamped occasionally, which sound was all that broke the stilliness.
Ladd awoke before the faintest gray appeared. The rangers ate
and drank.
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