The trail through the fields for three or four miles was easy to find in the starlight. The valley narrowed as it rose and finally Lost Chief and Black Devil thrust foot to foot in a narrow canyon. Douglas did not enter the canyon but twined upward to the right along the timber line that clothed the ankles of Black Devil. The moon had not yet risen when the timber disappeared at the foot of the first shoulder. Douglas pulled up the panting horses, turned back to the wind and rested for a few moments, then put Tom to the climb. The snow was without crust but it was knee-deep and Tom didn't like it. He floundered and snorted, but Douglas spurred him relentlessly and they crested the shoulder without pause. Here, however, Doug decided to wait for the moon.
He moved into the shelter of a rock heap, for the wind was huge, and, beating his arms across his chest, waited with what patience he could muster. Where was she now? Could even her splendid courage stand up against the eerie loneliness. If only he could see her now, returning defeated, though still defiant. But he knew that he would not meet her so. She would not give up while she had strength to pursue the adventure.
There was no view of the peak from this spot. Before him lifted a dark, shadowy wall, sloping interminably to the remote heavens. To the east, Lost Chief Range was silhouetted against a faint glow that told of the coming moon. To the west was a chaos of unfamiliar peaks. When the dusk of the mountain-slope before him turned to radiant silver, Douglas started the horses on and spurred Tom relentlessly. And if he had known how to pray, he told himself, he would have asked the Almighty to give him strength for the tremendous venture which lay before him.
CHAPTER XVII
BLACK DEVIL PASS
"They can stand the curse of being women, but they're revolting against men's being stupid."
—The Mormon's Wife.
Douglas spurred Tom relentlessly until the snow was belly-deep and both animals began to fight obstinately to turn back. Douglas dismounted and fastened the horses to a scrub cedar. Then he wallowed forward afoot to break trail. The wind increased constantly with the elevation, but even higher than its eerie note sounded the wild call of a solitary coyote. Douglas heard the call but remotely. His mind was fastened on Judith fighting as he was fighting. He beat trail until his lungs protested, then he brought the horses forward, halted, and beat trail again. His nose was bleeding slightly when he at last won to the crest of the first shoulder.
This was blown clear of snow and he mounted and rode well up on the second shoulder before the horses again balked. Lost Chief Range now had dropped so that dimly beyond he could glimpse the Indian peaks. The strange peaks to the right were subsiding to be dwarfed by still other peaks against which the stars floated, pendulous and brilliant. And still Black Devil's top was invisible beyond the terraced ridge that opposed the little cavalcade.
When, after infinite effort, Douglas surmounted the third shoulder, he paused, appalled by the loneliness and danger of the position. The ridge had narrowed until its top offered barely a foothold, with sides dropping to unthinkable depths. The snow had blown clear and the wind was almost insupportable. A cedar stood before them like a sentinal guarding the eternal loneliness beyond. Tom made for this as if it were his last hope. As the horses brought up in the shelter of the tree, Douglas gave a hoarse cry of relief and dismounted. Some charred sticks and the remains of a cottontail had not yet blown away. Douglas examined the traces of the hasty camp, then chuckled.