The Frontier Boys in the Grand Canyon Part 16

"A half hour," laughed Jim, scornfully, "you've been in the West all this time and can't tell distance better than that. It will take us a good three hours to reach it."

Jim hit it about right, for it took us three hours and a half before we came within striking distance of the mesa.

"It looks like quite a town up there," said Jim, "but n.o.body seems to be at home."

I took off my sombrero and began to brush down my shock of light hair.

"I must slick up," I announced, "if we are going into society. Lend me your mirror, Tommy."

"I'll lend you a kick," he offered, as he rode alongside, and shot his moccasined foot out, but missed me and hit Coyote in the flanks, making him jump.

"You do that again to my horse and I'll b.u.mp your nose for you," I cried, hotly.

I would not have minded it if he had landed on me. Tom knew that I meant business and refrained from further exercises along that line.

"Just look at the dust on your clothes, Thomas, I'm ashamed of you," I continued, after a moment, "and you have no more polish on your moccasins than you have on your manners."

"Stop your kidding, Jo," commanded Jim, "you and Tom can do your sc.r.a.pping in camp."

"Beware of the Boss, he bites," I said, warningly.

Jim grinned, his only response.

"Look out, Tom, he's showing his teeth."

But we forgot our little controversy as we drew near to the great mesa.

It was as impregnable as a powerful battleship of these later days.

There was nothing to detract from its impressiveness as it rose in clear cut symmetry and sheer walls from the level plain. We gazed up at it in admiration.

"How high are those walls, do you suppose, Jim?" I asked.

"All of five hundred feet," he answered, "but I don't see how we are going to get up."

"Get up!" I exclaimed, "what for, we haven't got any relatives up there that we want to meet."

"Why Jo," expostulated Jim, "don't you want to meet and converse with our red brothers and have a great powwow. You know they are the original Americans?"

"All Americans are original," I retorted. "I thought you were in a hurry to see the river."

"I am," replied Jim, "perhaps we can see it if we climb up there. Then I want to see this village; you can't make out much from here. Looks something like swallow nests built in the rafters of the old barn."

"How do you suppose the Indians get up there?" I asked, "ladders?"

"Hardly," replied Jim. "Let's look around and find out. You and Tom go around the north end and I'll ride the other way."

"All right," we responded.

So we separated after we had arrived at the middle of the east wall. We rode slowly along, but found no break in the solid grey masonry of the wall. Before rounding the northern end we waved our hats to Jim in a given signal indicating that we had found nothing so far.

The mesa must have been three quarters of a mile in length and the ends about a quarter of a mile. As we came to the west side we saw Jim riding slowly along; as yet he had found nothing. Then I saw him wave his sombrero.

"He's found it," I cried, and we started our horses at full gallop, looking like little pygmies beside the ma.s.siveness of the great mesa that loomed above us.

"Here's the main traveled road," he cried, as we galloped up.

"Can we make it?" cried Tom.

"Gee! she's narrow," I commented.

It extended a mere pencil line zigzaging up the face of the rock.

"Come on," cried Jim.

I knew expostulation was useless, a mere waste of breath, so I followed behind Jim, as he started up. It was barely wide enough for our horses and though we had taken a few narrower trails in the mountains, we had never followed one up a precipitous cliff before and I vowed we never would again if we ever got down safely.

Fortunately our horses were as sure footed as goats, but I shall not easily forget the sense of dizziness I felt as I looked down. One slip of Coyote and I would fall like Lucifer, never to rise again.

In some places there was nothing but the narrow two-foot width of rock, with nothing to stop a slide but the earth way down below, but in most places the path was cut into a little gully deepened by the corrosion of the rains.

I think that Jim by the time we had got up several hundred feet repented himself, of his foolhardy attempt. But there was nothing to do but go on, it was impossible for us to back down, but if Jim felt worried he did not show it by word or action to us.

There was no wind stirring and the early afternoon sun beat against the blank wall with blinding effect. It was surprisingly hot, intense and dry.

Every once in awhile we had to stop to spell our horses and they stood with heads held level, and one bent hindfoot, panting with the steep climb.

"If the Indians up there don't want us they can just toss us down," I said. "It looks suspicious to me. Something like an ambush."

"I don't see the bush," replied Jim, "I guess they are taking their siesta. Fine view, isn't it?"

I suppose it was, but it did not interest me just then, as I kept my eyes riveted on Coyote's ears, not caring to look out or down. If you want to get an idea of how I felt, step out on the jamb of a window of a twenty story building and look down at the street, where the people appear like crawling ants and the street cars like big c.o.c.kroaches.

We were now nearing the top when Jim stopped his horse and the whole line halted. He gave a low whistle of surprise.

"What's the matter?" I asked, anxiously.

"Washout on the line," he said.

"We're in for it now," I said. "Is it dry?"

Jim dismounted gingerly from his horse and went forward a few steps.

Then I saw a broken place in the trail with a sheer fall. We were check-mated.

It was impracticable for us to go back with the horses, though we could easily go back on foot. It was also impossible to go forward.

Then I saw Jim step back a ways, and with a short run, he made the leap across. It was only five feet, but in such cramped quarters it was very difficult. My heart stopped as Jim jumped. His foot slipped as he landed and he saved himself from being killed, by grabbing the outer edge of the trail, a thin knife of rock, then he scrambled up, his moccasined feet aiding him to a secure foothold.

"Never say die!" he yelled to me. "I'm going to investigate."

Then he disappeared on top of the mesa. In a few minutes he came back dragging two round poles with him. "Lend a hand, Jo," he urged.