“Where’s Sid, John—coming along?” inquired Colonel Colvin, surprisedly, as Big John dismounted and pulled at the saddle thongs that held his buck in place.
“Nope!” he grinned. “Sid’s gone locoed, Colonel. Got a lonesome fit. Shore, nawthin’d do but he must steal a haunch of my buck an’ take a bag of pinole that he’s got hitched to his belt, and off he goes for a couple of days, all by his lonesome! He says fer us to pick him up in the Canyon.”
Red Jake wagged his head approvingly. “Which the same is the right layout,” he put in. “I’m admirin’ that kid’s sperrit! Ain’t nawthin’ to hurt him, ’scusin’ p’rhaps a cinnamon b’ar that’d run away as quick as he would, in these parts.”
“I ain’t worryin’ none, either, Jake,” grinned Big John. “It’s been for a long time my the’ry that thet boy’s borned to be hung,—an’ the good Lord ain’t goin’ to let nothin’ happen to him to cheat the halter, you bet!”
“But how will we find him?” asked the Colonel uneasily. “If it’s the Canyon, we’ve got a mighty lot of room to pick him up in. At Monument Canyon, you say, John? Well, I’m going out to-morrow. I can’t feel as easy as you do about him, John. Major Hinchman can’t get away for the trip, I’m sorry to say, so it’ll be just you and Scotty and myself,—and Sid when we find him. Get together all the horses and dog gear you need, and this afternoon we’ll go over the grub.”
It was early next morning when their little cavalcade, preceded by the four dogs, trotted out from the hospitable gates of Hinchman’s ranch and followed the left bank of the river. Colonel Colvin led the line on his big roan, with the bulging pockets of his cavalry saddle secured by their leather yoke over the cantle hook, and above that hung his bed roll and tarp in a long, low bundle. After him came four pack animals, with the water cans in their panniers, now filled with oats, to be used later on the desert, crossing to Grand Canyon. The grub and duffel bags were piled across the saddle trees under tarps, with the diamond hitch thrown over them. Big John brought up the rear, with Scotty as outrider. The way led up some of the roughest bad lands Scotty had ever seen until it reached the rim of a high plateau to the east. The horses labored and grunted; even the dogs stopped now and then with panting tongues, and once or twice the pack animals tried to roll over in protest. But once on the plateau they found themselves in a typical open stand of western yellow pine, the tall, well-formed trees standing far apart from each other, gigantic and imposing spires of dark green. The floor of the plateau was flat and covered with sparse bayeta grass.
Presently the horses broke into a run of their own accord, even the pack animals bobbing along in an enthusiastic burst of speed. Far under the distant tree trunks Ruler and his three pups galloped tirelessly, noses down, snuffing old scents, heels flying, ears flapping, the pups now and then giving tongue as they struck recent jack rabbit or deer sign.
Scotty and Colonel Colvin galloped hard after them, heading off the pups from all trails with slashing quirt and bellowed command, for it was essential to get them rabbit and deer proof before going over to the lion country of the Grand Canyon. Mile after mile of this exhilarating open forest riding kept up. Twice during the morning deeper and thicker banks of trees showed up ahead, where small canyons intervened, with dense growths of spruce rising out of them. Or, there would be a hazy void ahead and they would find themselves on the brink of a vast chasm, where some tributary to Red Valley would cut its gigantic ravine through the belted forest of the plateau. Then Big John would lead the train in detours of miles to the eastward around the head of it. This way was much longer and more circuitous than Sid’s route down Red Valley, but it served the double purpose of striking Canyon Cheyo far up near its head and reaching at the same time Neyani’s hogan, which lay to the eastward of it, for Colonel Colvin had agreed to look up Neyani and see what could be done about the Medicine Panther for Major Hinchman.
It was four in the afternoon when Big John at length turned west and the pack train began to descend the head slope of a ravine which led down in steep declivities into the Canyon Cheyo floor hundreds of feet below.
“We ought to name this ravine ‘Yellow Canyon,’ all right, sir!” said Scotty to the Colonel as they dismounted and led their horses down the almost perpendicular slopes. “Look at those buttes—all of yellow clay, and worn as smooth as cakes of soap! See how the trees manage to grow, out of every crack and cranny and all their trunks turn up the cliff faces!”