IV
The vaquero guided the boys rapidly through the canon. The almost
perpendicular walls, black with a dense growth of brush and scrub trees,
towered so high above them that the atmosphere was damp and the long
strip of sky was like a pale-blue banner. The trail was well worn, and
there was nothing to impede their progress. The mustangs responded to
the lifted bridle and ran at breakneck speed. They emerged at the end of
half an hour. It was an abrupt sally, and the great level plain before
them seemed a blaze of sunlight.
"Bueno," said the vaquero, halting. "Ride straight ahead. Keep to the
trail. At night you will come to a river. Before you reach it all trace
of you will be lost, because between now and there are many side trails,
and as the ground is so hard they cannot tell which you take. Cross the
river and take the trail to the left. That will bring you to the
Mission--about twenty miles farther--where the good padres will let you
rest and give you fresh horses. The senor, meanwhile, will throw the
officers off the scent. But if you are wise, you will make for the
Sierras and hide there. Adios, senor, adios, senor;" and he wheeled
about and disappeared into the darkness of the canon.
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