“Well, I wasn’t scared, it was the horse,” replied Polly, briefly. “You needn’t think that every time we hang back it’s my fault.”
“I’ve known times when it was a sign of good sense to be scared,” retorted Scott, as he turned his horse’s nose toward the upward climb.
“That man can use up more good gray matter trying to dodge paying one a compliment than most men use in thinking up one,” decided Polly.
The way through the chaparral was trying. The trail was very faint, the stiff brush hit one in the face and almost tore one’s clothing. It was necessary for Scott to go first in order to keep the trail, while the girl fell considerably into the rear to escape the blows from the brush which flew back after he had disturbed it. On either side of them, above the brush, rose walls formed by foothills, growing higher as they went. They were evidently going directly into the mountains.
“Of course, we crossed two ranges when we came from Athens to Casa Grande,” reasoned Polly, “and we’ve got to cross them again going back. But this doesn’t look as though we were going through any gaps as we did on the other trail. We’re evidently going straight up. It’s going to be hard on the horses.”
It was hard on the horses. It was getting on in the afternoon and the sun was still very hot. They had seen no water since leaving the little river. The trail had come out of the brush and become a narrow—a very narrow ledge on the side of the mountain, while on the other side one looked down into a ravine deep enough to make one’s head swim if one looked too long. Scott ploughed along ahead, looking back whenever the trail showed a nasty place, ready to jump off and go to the girl’s rescue if necessary.
“She’s a plucky one all right,” he said to himself. “This is no trail for a tenderfoot. I hope we don’t run into anything worse before we get through. How are you coming?” he called back.
They had come to a turn in the trail. Huge boulders poised on the edge of the narrow ledge with that utter disregard for gravity displayed now and then by rocks which look big enough to know better. Scott had dismounted and stood looking into the ravine which had widened into a valley. In front of him, on the narrow turn, it seemed but a step to the tree-tops of the valley below. Further ahead, lay the next range of mountains, higher than the ones through which they were passing. Back of them, the winding trail seemed to flutter like a brown ribbon. Polly hopped down and joined him. Together they drank in the scene.
“It’s too lovely. It hurts,” said the girl, with wet eyes.
“Isn’t it? I didn’t know myself that there was anything around here like this.”