Tales of Lonely Trails | Page 6

rock
alternated with long levels of round boulders. Here, one by one, the
mustangs went lame and we had to walk. And we slipped and stumbled
along over these loose, treacherous stones. The hours passed; the toil

increased; the progress diminished; one of the mustangs failed and was
left. And all the while the dimensions of Nonnezoshe Boco magnified
and its character changed. It became a thousand-foot walled canyon,
leaning, broken, threatening, with great yellow slides blocking passage,
with huge sections split off from the main wall, with immense dark and
gloomy caverns. Strangely it had no intersecting canyons. It jealously
guarded its secret. Its unusual formations of cavern and pillar and
half-arch led me to expect any monstrous stone-shape left by avalanche
or cataclysm.
Down and down we toiled. And now the stream-bed was bare of
boulders and the banks of earth. The floods that had rolled down that
canyon had here borne away every loose thing. All the floor, in places,
was bare red and white stone, polished, glistening, slippery, affording
treacherous foothold. And the time came when Wetherill abandoned
the stream-bed to take to the rock-strewn and cactus-covered ledges
above.
The canyon widened ahead into a great ragged iron-lined amphitheater,
and then apparently turned abruptly at right angles. Sunset rimmed the
walls.
I had been tired for a long time and now I began to limp and lag. I
wondered what on earth would make Wetherill and the Indians tired. It
was with great pleasure that I observed the giant Joe Lee plodding
slowly along. And when I glanced behind at my straggling party it was
with both admiration for their gameness and glee for their disheveled
and weary appearance. Finally I got so that all I could do was to drag
myself onward with eyes down on the rough ground. In this way I kept
on until I heard Wetherill call me. He had stopped--was waiting for me.
The dark and silent Indian stood beside him, looking down the canyon.
I saw past the vast jutting wall that had obstructed my view. A mile
beyond, all was bright with the colors of sunset, and spanning the
canyon in the graceful shape and beautiful hues of the rainbow was a
magnificent natural bridge.
"Nonnezoshe," said Wetherill, simply.

This rainbow bridge was the one great natural phenomenon, the one
grand spectacle which I had ever seen that did not at first give vague
disappointment, a confounding of reality, a disenchantment of contrast
with what the mind had conceived.
But this thing was glorious. It absolutely silenced me. My body and
brain, weary and dull from the toil of travel, received a singular and
revivifying freshness. I had a strange, mystic perception that this
rosy-hued, tremendous arch of stone was a goal I had failed to reach in
some former life, but had now found. Here was a rainbow magnified
even beyond dreams, a thing not transparent and ethereal, but solidified,
a work of ages, sweeping up majestically from the red walls, its
iris-hued arch against the blue sky.
[Illustration: FIRST SIGHT OF THE GREAT NATURAL BRIDGE]
[Illustration: NONNEZOSHE]
Then we plodded on again. Wetherill worked around to circle the huge
amphitheater. The way was a steep slant, rough and loose and dragging.
The rocks were as hard and jagged as lava, and cactus hindered
progress. Soon the rosy and golden lights had faded. All the walls
turned pale and steely and the bridge loomed dark.
We were to camp all night under the bridge. Just before we reached it
Nas ta Bega halted with one of his singular motions. He was saying his
prayer to this great stone god. Then he began to climb straight up the
steep slope. Wetherill told me the Indian would not pass under the arch.
When we got to the bridge and unsaddled and unpacked the lame
mustangs twilight had fallen. The horses were turned loose to fare for
what scant grass grew on bench and slope. Firewood was even harder
to find than grass. When our simple meal had been eaten there was
gloom gathering in the canyon and stars had begun to blink in the pale
strip of blue above the lofty walls. The place was oppressive and we
were mostly silent.
Presently I moved away into the strange dark shadow cast by the bridge.

It was a weird black belt, where I imagined I was invisible, but out of
which I could see. There was a slab of rock upon which I composed
myself, to watch, to feel.
A stiffening of my neck made me aware that I had been continually
looking up at the looming arch. I found that it never seemed the same
any two moments. Near at hand it was too vast a thing for immediate
comprehension. I wanted to