Bloom of Cactus | Page 4

of his outfit, Carmena went after her would-be stray, limping and gingerly picking her steps when she saw that the young man's back was turned. After catching her 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-top boot-moccasins with thick back-doubled toes. In a twinkling she stripped off the moccasins and thrust them down into the bottom of one of the saddlebags. With her feet uncramped and easy in her relaced boots, she sprang into the saddle and loped back up the trail.
Lennon's cache was a cavity under an overhanging ledge. Before he had blocked the opening to his satisfaction with fragments of rock the rest of his outfit had been securely packed upon the pony by Carmena. Nothing was left out except rifles, cartridge-belts and two half-gallon canteens of water.
"Keep your gun loaded and never put all your water on your horse." The girl gave her companion the two first maxims of desert travel. "Come along. No use trying to hide your cache or your trail from Apaches. Only another Apache can do that. It's high time we hit out, anyhow."
To the surprise of Lennon, she started up the arroyo. When he joined her, 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 up the arroyo like a dog.
"How about the chance of running into that murderous savage if we go this way?" Lennon inquired.
"You might be safer if you hurried back to the railroad," replied Carmena, and she swung the steepening side of the arroyo.
Lennon's lips tightened. He did not again question his guide's choice of route. But, like her, he held his rifle ready as they came up over the round of a stony ridge. Though neither could see the slightest sign of lurking Indians, Carmena hastened to lead her pony across the ridge crest and down the other side.
When safe below the skyline the girl broke into a dog trot. She held to the pace, on a long slant along the ridge side, until they came up into the mouth of a small ca?on. Between the bald ledges of the dry channel were bars of sand and gravel. Lennon pointed to the hoofprints of a horse that had come down the ca?on 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 into the Basin; and, once in, they may get behind us. Now's your chance to quit--your last chance."
This time Lennon was ready for her.
"Lead on, Miss Macduff, and--perhaps you know the rest of the quotation."
"Yes," gloomily retorted the girl. "Don't blame me if we meet up with those 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 we are 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 her lashes swept down to hide the glow in her eyes. Without a word she swung ahead, on up the ca?on. Though not a little puzzled over her abruptness, Lennon felt certain that she had been far from displeased by his matter-of-fact suggestion.
He had no chance to urge the desirability of his plan. At his first rather loud-spoken remonstrance Carmena flung back at him a curt gesture for silence and led on at a quickened pace. Her swift ascent slackened only at the twists of the narrowing ca?on; at these she would swing in close to the inner side of the bends and creep around, with her rifle half raised.
By mid-morning the bed of the ca?on had become much rougher and steeper. The pony, for all his goat-like agility and sure-footedness, found difficulty in scrambling up some of the ledges.
Neither the rapid pace nor the climbing bothered Lennon. But between the burning heat and his very natural excitement over Carmena's stealthy bearing at the turns, he became keyed to rather a high pitch.
After a last sharp turn, the ca?on broadened and flared out in a trough-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, but her 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