The girl turned and gazed out across the white surface of the mountain coulee. Her whole attention was upon the wall of tattered rock across the frozen watercourse, where it rose above the lower tree-tops. The gap they intended to enter was there, plainly visible in the moonlight.
“Maybe I’m scared,” she said. “Ther’s only three folks in the world know this place, and two of them are back in Buffalo Coulee—asleep.”
“Let’s get right on.”
Fyles had no patience. He saw no sense in any waste of time. He wanted to get back to quarters where he could think and reason with himself and forget the repugnant human instrument that had lent itself to his work.
The pinto moved on. It passed down onto the snow-covered ice of the river and went forward. The mare was close behind. And in a few moments the narrow bed of the river was abandoned for a bush pathway that was little more than a track.
After a short, winding passage the bush gave on to the forest of lofty pine trees, and the moonlight faded out under the dense canopy of foliage that roofed the woods. The horses and riders moved on like ghostly figures in procession, and then came the rift in the wall of rock. Annette again drew rein.
“You need to follow close,” she warned in hushed tones. “It’s a path. Ther’ ain’t any sort of roadway. An’ ther’s a drop of nigh eight foot to the stream on the right.”
Fyles listened and nodded. He had no desire to question. He had no desire to do anything but push on. The difficulties they might encounter in reaching their objective gave him no concern whatever. It was sufficient that the girl’s cayuse should lead the way. His mare would follow.
The procession moved on and became lost in the shadows. Fyles was aware of the great overhang of rock which left a narrow, starry belt alone visible above. His keen mind was busy registering for reference. Every yard of the way testified to Annette’s veracity. And he was uncomfortably aware of it. The path over which they were travelling was desperately uneven and uncertain under the drifted snow. There was the stiff, snow-laden bush to one side, and, on the other, the drop of which the girl had told. It was strange. The man knew he would have been glad enough of excuse to discredit her.
Presently the starry belt overhead widened. And with the widening came more light. The moon searched the depths of the rift, and flung pitch-black shadows. The stream bed turned away in a wide bend. Then the two horses passed down the sharp incline, and moved in single file along the snow-laden watercourse itself.