Presently Nas Ta Bega disappeared with the mustangs.  He had evidently turned off to go down behind the split cliffs.  Shefford and Fay caught up with Lassiter and Jane, and, panting, hurrying, looking backward and then forward, they kept on, as best they could, in the Indian’s course.  Shefford made sure they had lost him, when he appeared down to the left.  Then they all ran to catch up with him.  They went around the chasm, and then through one of the narrow cracks to come out upon the rim, among cedars.  Here the Indian waited for them.  He pointed down another long swell of naked stone to a narrow green split which was evidently different from all these curved pits and holes and abysses, for this one had straight walls and wound away out of sight.  It was the head of a canyon.

“Nonnezoshe Boco!” said the Indian.

“Nas Ta Bega, go on!” replied Shefford.  “When Shadd comes out on that slope above he can’t see you—­where you go down.  Hurry on with the horses and women.  Lassiter, you go with them.  And if Shadd passes me and comes up with you—­do your best. . . .  I’m going to ambush that Piute and his gang!”

“Shore you’ve picked out a good place,” replied Lassiter.

In another moment Shefford was alone.  He heard the light, soft pat and slide of the hoofs of the mustangs as they went down.  Presently that sound ceased.

He looked at the red stain on his hands—­from the blood of the girl he loved.  And he had to stifle a terrible wrath that shook his frame.  In regard to Shadd’s pursuit, it had not been blood that he had feared, but capture for Fay.  He and Nas Ta Bega might have expected a shot if they resisted, but to wound that unfortunate girl—­it made a tiger out of him.  When he had stilled the emotions that weakened and shook him and reached cold and implacable control of himself, he crawled under the cedars to the rim and, well hidden, he watched and waited.

Shadd appeared to be slow for the first time since he had been sighted.  With keen eyes Shefford watched the corner where he and the others had escaped from that murderous volley.  But Shadd did not come.

The sun had lost its warmth and was tipping the lofty mesa to his right.  Soon twilight would make travel on those walls more perilous and darkness would make it impossible.  Shadd must hurry or abandon the pursuit for that day.  Shefford found himself grimly hopeful.

Suddenly he heard the click of hoofs.  It came, faint yet clear, on the still air.  He glued his sight upon that corner where he expected the pursuers to appear.  More cracks of hoofs pierced his ear, clearer and sharper this time.  Presently he gathered that they could not possibly come from beyond the corner he was watching.  So he looked far to the left of that place, seeing no one, then far to the right.  Out over a bulge of stone he caught sight of the bobbing head of a horse—­then another—­and still another.