But if Tharon went to the Cañons, there lay his trail, too. If she went down False Ridge to death in the pits and waterless cuts, he asked no better lot than to follow––the faithful dog at her foot, the shadow at her shoulder.
And so it was that dawn crept up the blue-velvet of the night sky and sent its steel-blue light 244 deep in the painted splits, and they rode unerringly forward up the sounding passes.
When the light increased enough to show the way they came abruptly to the spot where it was necessary to leave the horses. The floor of the cañon up which they were traveling lifted sharply in one huge step, breast-high to a man.
Tharon in the lead halted and looked for a moment all up and down the wondrous maze of pale, tall openings that encompassed them all round.
She turned in her saddle and looked back the way they had come. There was darker shadow, going downward, but here and there those pale mouths gaped, long ribbons of space dropping from the heights above down to their level.
Up any one a man might turn and lose himself completely, for they in turn were cut and ribboned with other mouths, leaving spires and walls and faces a thousand-fold on every hand.
Tharon, even in the tensity and preoccupation of the hour, drew in her breath and the pupils of her blue eyes spread.
“Th’ Cañon Country!” she said softly, “I always knew it would be like this––too great to tell about! I knew it would hold somethin’ for me––always knew it––either life an’ its best––or death.” 245
There was a simple grandeur about the earnest words, and Billy, his face grey in the steely light, felt the heart in his breast thrill with their portent.
No matter what the Cañons held for her––either that glorious fulfillment of life, or the simple austerity of death––he would have a part in it, would have served her to the last, true to the love he bore her, true to himself.