Bodie Miller.
The muzzling of my horse awakened me, and the cold light of a new day was beginning.
âAll, right, Buck,â I whispered. âIâm awake. Iâm alive.â
And I wasâ¦just barely.
My weakness frightened me. If they came upon me now they would not hesitate to kill me, nor could I fight them off.
Lying on my back I breathed heavily, trying to find some way out. I had no doubt they were coming, and that they could not be far behind.
They might have trouble with the trail, but they would figure that I was hurt and unconscious, that my horse was finding his own way. Then they would come fast.
High up the canyon wall there was a patch of green, perhaps a break in the rock. My eyes had been on it for some time before it began to register on my awareness. Sudden hope brought me struggling to my elbow. My eyes studied the break in the wall, if that was what it was. There was green there, foothold for a tree or two, and there seemed to be a ledge below.
Rolling over, I crawled along the ground to the waterhole and drank deep and long, then I filled my canteen. Now I had only to get into the saddle, but first, I tried to wipe out all the tracks I had left. I knew I could not get rid of allâ¦but there was a chance I could throw them off my trail.
Getting to my knees, I caught the buckskinâs stirrup and pulled myself erect. Then I got a foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle.
For an instant my head spun crazily as I clung to the saddlehorn. Then my brain seemed to clear and I lifted my heavy head, slowly walking the horse forward. There was a trail, very narrow, littered at places with talus from above, but a trail. Kneeing the horse into it, I urged him forward. Mountain-bred, he started up, blowing a little, and stepping gingerly.
Several minutes passed and I clung to the pommel, unable to lift my head, needing all my strength to maintain my feeble hold. Then suddenly we rounded a boulder and stood in a high, hanging valley.
A great crack in the rock of the mesa, caused by some ancient earth-shock, it was flat-floored and high-walled, but the grass was rich and green. I could hear water running somewhere back in the rock.
The area of the place was not over seven or eight acres, and there was another opening on the far side, partly covered by a slide of rock. What I had found was a tiny oasis in the desert, but I was not the first to use this hideaway. An instant later I realized that.
Before me, almost concealed by the cliff against which it stood, was a massive stone tower. Square, it was almost sixty feet tall, and blackened by age and fire.
The prehistoric Indians who had built that tower knew a good thing when they found it, for here was water, forage, and firewood. Moreover, the place was ideal for defense. Nobody could come up the trail I had used, in the face of a determined defender.
Near the tower grew some stunted maize, long since gone native. Nowhere was there any evidence that a human foot had been here for centuries.
Riding close to the tower, I found the water. It fell from a crack in the rock into a small pool maybe ten feet across and half that deep.
Carefully, I lowered myself to the ground, then I loosened the cinch and let the saddle fall from the buckskinâs back. When I had the bridle off I crawled to a place on the grass and stretched out.
There was still much to do, but my efforts had left me exhausted. Nevertheless, as I lay there I found myself filled with a fierce determination to live, to fight back, to win. I was no animal to be hunted and killed, nor was I to be driven from what was rightfully mine.
Regardless of what my enemies might do now, I must rest and regain my strength. Let them have the victory for the present.
There was food in my saddlebagsâjerked beef, a little dried fruit, some hardtack. There was maize here that I could crush to meal to make a kind of pinole. There was squaw cabbage and breadroot. There were some
The muzzling of my horse awakened me, and the cold light of a new day was beginning.
âAll, right, Buck,â I whispered. âIâm awake. Iâm alive.â
And I wasâ¦just barely.
My weakness frightened me. If they came upon me now they would not hesitate to kill me, nor could I fight them off.
Lying on my back I breathed heavily, trying to find some way out. I had no doubt they were coming, and that they could not be far behind.
They might have trouble with the trail, but they would figure that I was hurt and unconscious, that my horse was finding his own way. Then they would come fast.
High up the canyon wall there was a patch of green, perhaps a break in the rock. My eyes had been on it for some time before it began to register on my awareness. Sudden hope brought me struggling to my elbow. My eyes studied the break in the wall, if that was what it was. There was green there, foothold for a tree or two, and there seemed to be a ledge below.
Rolling over, I crawled along the ground to the waterhole and drank deep and long, then I filled my canteen. Now I had only to get into the saddle, but first, I tried to wipe out all the tracks I had left. I knew I could not get rid of allâ¦but there was a chance I could throw them off my trail.
Getting to my knees, I caught the buckskinâs stirrup and pulled myself erect. Then I got a foot into the stirrup and swung into the saddle.
For an instant my head spun crazily as I clung to the saddlehorn. Then my brain seemed to clear and I lifted my heavy head, slowly walking the horse forward. There was a trail, very narrow, littered at places with talus from above, but a trail. Kneeing the horse into it, I urged him forward. Mountain-bred, he started up, blowing a little, and stepping gingerly.
Several minutes passed and I clung to the pommel, unable to lift my head, needing all my strength to maintain my feeble hold. Then suddenly we rounded a boulder and stood in a high, hanging valley.
A great crack in the rock of the mesa, caused by some ancient earth-shock, it was flat-floored and high-walled, but the grass was rich and green. I could hear water running somewhere back in the rock.
The area of the place was not over seven or eight acres, and there was another opening on the far side, partly covered by a slide of rock. What I had found was a tiny oasis in the desert, but I was not the first to use this hideaway. An instant later I realized that.
Before me, almost concealed by the cliff against which it stood, was a massive stone tower. Square, it was almost sixty feet tall, and blackened by age and fire.
The prehistoric Indians who had built that tower knew a good thing when they found it, for here was water, forage, and firewood. Moreover, the place was ideal for defense. Nobody could come up the trail I had used, in the face of a determined defender.
Near the tower grew some stunted maize, long since gone native. Nowhere was there any evidence that a human foot had been here for centuries.
Riding close to the tower, I found the water. It fell from a crack in the rock into a small pool maybe ten feet across and half that deep.
Carefully, I lowered myself to the ground, then I loosened the cinch and let the saddle fall from the buckskinâs back. When I had the bridle off I crawled to a place on the grass and stretched out.
There was still much to do, but my efforts had left me exhausted. Nevertheless, as I lay there I found myself filled with a fierce determination to live, to fight back, to win. I was no animal to be hunted and killed, nor was I to be driven from what was rightfully mine.
Regardless of what my enemies might do now, I must rest and regain my strength. Let them have the victory for the present.
There was food in my saddlebagsâjerked beef, a little dried fruit, some hardtack. There was maize here that I could crush to meal to make a kind of pinole. There was squaw cabbage and breadroot. There were some
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