Lassiter was leading the horse up a smooth slope toward cedar trees of twisted and bleached appearance.  Among these he halted.

“Jane, give me the girl en’ get down,” he said.  As if it wrenched him he unbuckled the empty black guns with a strange air of finality.  He then received Fay in his arms and stood a moment looking backward.  Tull’s white horse mounted the ridge of round stone, and several bays or blacks followed.  “I wonder what he’ll think when he sees them empty guns.  Jane, bring your saddle-bag and climb after me.”

A glistening, wonderful bare slope, with little holes, swelled up and up to lose itself in a frowning yellow cliff.  Jane closely watched her steps and climbed behind Lassiter.  He moved slowly.  Perhaps he was only husbanding his strength.  But she saw drops of blood on the stone, and then she knew.  They climbed and climbed without looking back.  Her breast labored; she began to feel as if little points of fiery steel were penetrating her side into her lungs.  She heard the panting of Lassiter and the quicker panting of the dogs.

“Wait—­here,” he said.

Before her rose a bulge of stone, nicked with little cut steps, and above that a corner of yellow wall, and overhanging that a vast, ponderous cliff.

The dogs pattered up, disappeared round the corner.  Lassiter mounted the steps with Fay, and he swayed like a drunken man, and he too disappeared.  But instantly he returned alone, and half ran, half slipped down to her.

Then from below pealed up hoarse shouts of angry men.  Tull and several of his riders had reached the spot where Lassiter had parted with his guns.

“You’ll need that breath—­mebbe!” said Lassiter, facing downward, with glittering eyes.

“Now, Jane, the last pull,” he went on.  “Walk up them little steps.  I’ll follow an’ steady you.  Don’t think.  Jest go.  Little Fay’s above.  Her eyes are open.  She jest said to me, ’Where’s muvver Jane?’”

Without a fear or a tremor or a slip or a touch of Lassiter’s hand Jane Withersteen walked up that ladder of cut steps.

He pushed her round the corner of the wall.  Fay lay, with wide staring eyes, in the shade of a gloomy wall.  The dogs waited.  Lassiter picked up the child and turned into a dark cleft.  It zigzagged.  It widened.  It opened.  Jane was amazed at a wonderfully smooth and steep incline leading up between ruined, splintered, toppling walls.  A red haze from the setting sun filled this passage.  Lassiter climbed with slow, measured steps, and blood dripped from him to make splotches on the white stone.  Jane tried not to step in his blood, but was compelled, for she found no other footing.  The saddle-bag began to drag her down; she gasped for breath, she thought her heart was bursting.  Slower, slower yet the rider climbed, whistling as he breathed.  The incline widened.  Huge pinnacles and monuments of stone stood alone, leaning fearfully.  Red sunset haze shone through cracks where the wall had split.  Jane did not look high, but she felt the overshadowing of broken rims above.  She felt that it was a fearful, menacing place.  And she climbed on in heartrending effort.  And she fell beside Lassiter and Fay at the top of the incline in a narrow, smooth divide.