The cliffs arose precipitously on either side, absolutely bare.  To the left nothing could be seen but black rock, but on the other side an open space yawned, perhaps twenty feet across, its bottom imperceptible.  The horses stumbled over the rough stones, held only by Moore’s firm grip on the reins, and the light began to fade as they descended.  At last nothing appeared above but a narrow strip of sky, and the glimmer of sun had totally vanished.  Almost at the same moment the driver released the creaking brake, and at a trot the wagon swept forward between two pinnacles of rock, and came out into an open valley.

The transition was so sudden and startling as to cause the girl to give utterance to a cry of surprise.  She had been clinging desperately to the seat in front, expecting every instant to be hurled headlong.  Intense fear gripped her and it seemed as if every drop of blood in her veins stood still.  The change was like a leap into fairy land; as though they had emerged from the mouth of hell into the beauty of paradise.  They were in a green, watered valley, a clear stream wandering here and there through its centre, shadowed by groves of trees.  All about, as far as eye could reach, stood great precipices, their bold, rugged fronts rising hundreds of feet, unbroken, and unscalable; the sun directly above bathed these with showers of gold, and cast a blanket of colour across the sheltered valley.

This valley itself was nearly square, possibly extending not over a mile in either direction, merely a great hole rimmed by desert, a strange, hidden oasis, rendered fertile and green by some outburst of fresh water from the rocks.  Emerging upon it in midst of the barren desolation through which they had been toiling for hours, blinded by alkali dust, jolted down that dangerous decline, it seemed like some beautiful dream, a fantasy of imagination.

Miss Donovan doubted the evidence of her own eyes, half convinced that she slept.  It was Moore’s voice which aroused her.

“Mendez must have got back, Joe,” he said eagerly.  “There are horses and cattle over yonder.”

The other pushed up the canvas and looked out.

“That’s right.  Must just got here, or there’d ‘a’ been a guard up above.  The fellow is comin’ now—­see?”

He was loping along carelessly, Mexican from high hat to jingling spurs, sitting the saddle as though moulded there, a young fellow, dark faced, but with a livid scar along one cheek.

“Juan Cateras, the little devil,” muttered Sikes, as the rider drew nearer.  “There’s some pot brewing if he is in it.”

The rider drew up his horse, and lifted his hat, his smiling lips revealing a row of white teeth.

“A pleasant day, senor,” he said graciously, his dark eyes searching the faces of the two men, and then dwelling with interest on the woman.  “Ah, your pardon, senorita; your presence is more than welcome here.”  He rested one hand on the wagon box, the expression of his face hardening.  “Yet an explanation might not be out of place—­the Senor Mendez may not be pleased.”