The Forbidden Trail

It was starlight when Roger and Peter reached the top of the range. Beyond dimly lay another range.

Roger resolved to camp for the night in the valley below. Peter was reluctant to go farther. In fact for the last hour, Roger had been obliged to lead him. The way down was very precipitous and they had not covered a third of it when Roger slipped and fell. He did not lose his grip on the lead rope and at the sudden jerk the little burro pitched forward after Roger. But Peter got his balance immediately and threw himself back on his shoulders, bracing his feet against the roots of a giant cactus and stood fast.

Roger dangled helplessly over a black drop for a few seconds, then with the aid of the lead rope he crawled up to the root of another cactus where he lay for a moment. Then he started on downward, zig-zagging carefully this time as one should descend a trailless mountain.

Roger slept fitfully in the sand at the bottom of the valley, waking and rising at the first peep of dawn. Peter had fared rather well. There were grass tufts growing at the roots of the great cacti, around about. Roger ate a cold breakfast. He found a rough hollow in a rock, where he gave Peter a small drink of water, then he started on. But, although he cursed the little burro roundly, Peter again was reluctant to move westward, and Roger had again to take hold of the lead rope.

All day long, he continued the march westward. This range was like the Coyote Range, though there were more passes through the ridges, so that had he been able to find a trail, he could have moved rapidly. But the way underfoot was inconceivably rough and by noon Roger's shoes were cut and his feet bruised and bleeding. But he never for a moment considered turning back. He was through--through with the old work which had brought him only disappointment, through with the old affections which had only played him false. Even Peter who had come with him voluntarily was now trying to turn back.

It was late afternoon when they reached a low mountain shoulder. As they breasted its crest, Peter raised his tail and brayed, starting forward at a trot. Roger followed to the mountain edge. The valley of the Colorado lay before him, a narrow valley here, with a range of mountains on the opposite side lifting brilliant peaks against the afternoon sky. The valley was sandy and the river looked shallow and slow moving, with arrow-weed growing along its edge.