At this critical moment Shefford decided to fire.  He meant to kill Shadd, hoping if the leader was gone the others would abandon the pursuit.  The rifle wavered a little as he aimed, then grew still.  He fired.  Shadd never flinched.  But the fiery mustang, perhaps wounded, certainly terrified, plunged down with piercing, horrid scream.  Shadd fell under him.  Shrill yells rent the air.  Like a thunderbolt the sliding horse was upon men and animals below.

A heavy shock, wild snorts, upflinging heads and hoofs, a terrible tramping, thudding, shrieking melee, then a brown, twisting, tangled mass shot down the slant over the rim!

Shefford dazedly thought he saw men running.  He did see plunging horses.  One slipped, fell, rolled, and went into the chasm.

Then up from the depths came a crash, a long, slipping roar.  In another instant there was a lighter crash and a lighter sliding roar.

Two horses, shaking, paralyzed with fear, were left upon the narrow level.  Beyond them a couple of men were crawling along the stone.  Up on the level stood the two Indians, holding down frightened horses, and staring at the fatal slope.

And Shefford lay there under the cedar, in the ghastly grip of the moment, hardly comprehending that his ill-aimed shot had been a thunderbolt.

He did not think of shooting at the Piutes; they, however, recovering from their shock, evidently feared the ambush, for they swiftly drew up the slope and passed out of sight.  The frightened horses below whistled and tramped along the lower level, finally vanishing.  There was nothing left on the bare wall to prove to Shefford that it had been the scene of swift and tragic death.  He leaned from his covert and peered over the rim.  Hundreds of feet below he saw dark growths of pinyons.  There was no sign of a pile of horses and men, and then he realized that he could not tell the number that had perished.  The swift finale had been as stunning to him as if lightning had struck near him.

Suddenly it flashed over him what state of suspense and torture Fay and Jane must be in at that very moment.  And, leaping up, he ran out of the cedars to the slope behind and hurried down at risk of limb.  The sun had set by this time.  He hoped he could catch up with the party before dark.  He went straight down, and the end of the slope was a smooth, low wall.  The Indian must have descended with the horses at some other point.  The canyon was about fifty yards wide and it headed under the great slope of Navajo Mountain.  These smooth, rounded walls appeared to end at its low rim.