Upon a particularly tedious and dangerous side of rocky hill the fugitives lost so much time that Shefford grew exceedingly alarmed.  Still, they accomplished it without accident, and their pursuers did not heave in sight.  Perhaps they were having trouble in a bad place.

The afternoon was waning.  The red sun hung low above the yellow mesa to the left, and there was a perceptible shading of light.

At last Nas Ta Bega came to a place that halted him.  It did not look so bad as places they had successfully passed.  Yet upon closer study Shefford did not see how they were to get around the neck of the gully at their feet.  Presently the Indian put the bridle over the head of his mustang and left him free.  He did likewise for two more mustangs, while Lassiter and Shefford rendered a like service to theirs.  Then the Indian started down, with his mustang following him.  The pack-animal came next, then Fay and Nack-yal, then Lassiter and his mount, with Jane and hers next, and Shefford last.  They followed the Indian, picking their steps swiftly, looking nowhere except at the stone under their feet.  The right side of the chasm was rimmed, the curve at the head crossed, and then the real peril of this trap had to be faced.  It was a narrow slant of ledge, doubling back parallel with the course already traversed.

A sharp warning cry from Nas Ta Bega scarcely prepared Shefford for hoarse yells, and then a rattling rifle-volley from the top of the slope opposite.  Bullets thudded on the cliff, whipped up red dust, and spanged and droned away.

Fay Larkin screamed and staggered back against the wall.  Nack-yal was hit, and with frightened snort he reared, pawed the air, and came down, pounding the stone.  The mustang behind him went to his knees, sank with his head over the rim, and, slipping off, plunged into the depths.  In an instant a dull crash came up.

For a moment there was imminent peril for the horses, more in the yawning hole than in the spanging of badly aimed bullets.  Lassiter drew Jane up a little slope out of the way of the frightened mustangs, and Shefford, risking his neck, rushed to Fay.  She was holding her arm, which was bleeding.  Unheeding the rain of bullets, he half carried, half dragged her along the slope of the low bluff, where he hid behind a corner till the Indian drove the mustangs round it.  Shefford’s swift fingers were wet and red with the blood from Fay’s arm when he had bound the wound with his scarf.  Lassiter had gotten around with Jane and was calling Shefford to hurry.

It had been Shefford’s idea to halt there and fight.  But he did not want to send Fay on alone, so he hurried ahead with her.  The Indian had the horses going fast on a long level, overhung by bulging wall.  Lassiter and Jane were looking back.  Shefford, becoming aware of a steep slope to his left, looked down to see a narrow chasm and great crevices in the cliffs, with bunches of cedars here and there.