Tales of Lonely Trails | Page 5

slide. His
momentum jerked the rope from the hands of Wetherill and the Indian.
But Joe Lee held on. Joe was a giant and being a Mormon he could not
let go of anything he had. He began to slide with the horse, holding
back with all his might.
[Illustration: THE WIND-WORN TREACHEROUS SLOPES ON
THE WAY TO NONNEZOSHE]
It seemed that both man and beast must slide down to where the slope
ended in a yawning precipice. Chub was snorting or screaming in terror.
Our mustangs were frightened and rearing. It was not a place to have
trouble with horses.

I had a moment of horrified fascination, in which Chub turned clear
over. Then he slid into a little depression that, with Joe's hold on the
lasso, momentarily checked his descent. Quick as thought Joe ran
sidewise and down to the bulge of rock, and yelled for help. I got to
him a little ahead of Wetherill and Nas ta Bega; and together we pulled
Chub up out of danger. At first we thought he had been choked to death.
But he came to, and got up, a bloody, skinned horse, but alive and safe.
I have never seen a more magnificent effort than Joe Lee's. Those
fellows are built that way. Wetherill has lost horses on those
treacherous slopes, and that risk is the only thing about the trip which is
not splendid.
We got over that bad place without further incident, and presently came
to a long swell of naked stone that led down to a narrow green split.
This one had straight walls and wound away out of sight. It was the
head of a canyon.
"Nonnezoshe Boco," said the Indian.
This then was the Canyon of the Rainbow Bridge. When we got down
into it we were a happy crowd. The mode of travel here was a selection
of the best levels, the best places to cross the brook, the best places to
climb, and it was a process of continual repetition. There was no trail
ahead of us, but we certainly left one behind. And as Wetherill picked
out the course and the mustangs followed him I had all freedom to see
and feel the beauty, color, wildness and changing character of
Nonnezoshe Boco.
My experiences in the desert did not count much in the trip down this
strange, beautiful lost canyon. All canyons are not alike. This one did
not widen, though the walls grew higher. They began to lean and bulge,
and the narrow strip of sky above resembled a flowing blue river. Huge
caverns had been hollowed out by water or wind. And when the brook
ran close under one of these overhanging places the running water
made a singular indescribable sound. A crack from a hoof on a stone
rang like a hollow bell and echoed from wall to wall. And the croak of
a frog--the only living creature I noted in the canyon--was a weird and
melancholy thing.

"We're sure gettin' deep down," said Joe Lee.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Here are the pink and yellow sego lilies. Only the white ones are
found above."
I dismounted to gather some of these lilies. They were larger than the
white ones of higher altitudes, of a most exquisite beauty and fragility,
and of such rare pink and yellow hues as I had never seen.
"They bloom only where it's always summer," explained Joe.
That expressed their nature. They were the orchids of the summer
canyons. They stood up everywhere star-like out of the green. It was
impossible to prevent the mustangs treading them under foot. And as
the canyon deepened, and many little springs added their tiny volume
to the brook, every grassy bench was dotted with lilies, like a green sky
star-spangled. And this increasing luxuriance manifested itself in the
banks of purple moss and clumps of lavender daisies and great mounds
of yellow violets. The brook was lined by blossoming buck-brush; the
rocky corners showed the crimson and magenta of cactus; and there
were ledges of green with shining moss that sparkled with little white
flowers. The hum of bees filled the fragrant, dreamy air.
But by and bye, this green and colorful and verdant beauty, the almost
level floor of the canyon, the banks of soft earth, the thickets and
clumps of cottonwood, the shelving caverns and bulging walls--these
features were gradually lost, and Nonnezoshe began to deepen in bare
red and white stone steps. The walls sheered away from one another,
breaking into sections and ledges, and rising higher and higher, and
there began to be manifested a dark and solemn concordance with the
nature that had created this old rent in the earth.
There was a stretch of miles where steep steps in hard red