It would be painful to attempt to describe the experience of the lad in the cavern at the side of the canyon. As is often the case, his hunger diminished and was succeeded by a dull indifference, in which the suffering of the mind outweighed that of the body. The dreadful day at last drew to an end, and his situation and condition were much the same as earlier in the forenoon. He had not seen a living person, and had given over all hope of another visit from his merciless enemy.
"He means that I shall perish for want of food, and there is no help for it."
But with the coming of darkness the energy of the boy's nature asserted itself. It was impossible now for the Sioux or his allies to maintain a watch upon the mouth of the cavern, where the lad was observed the moment he showed himself, and Fred determined that as soon as it was fairly dark he would make an attempt that should be crowned with success or that would end his sufferings and wretchedness.
His plan was to let himself down from the ledge to the top of the nearest rock, and then try to reach the break in the canyon as he had ascended it under the guidance of his captor. It was not to be supposed that the vigilant Motoza would leave the way open for him, though his actions pointed to the belief that it was utterly impossible for the prisoner to escape by that means.
Nor in truth was it possible, for in the impenetrable gloom he was certain to miss his foothold sooner or later and be flung into the torrent, with no possibility of the good fortune that attended Jack Dudley, who had a much less distance to traverse.
It was yet early in the evening when Fred came once more and for the last time to the front of the cavern. With that attention to trifling matters which a person sometimes shows in the most trying crises he wound up his watch, examined his clothing to see that everything was right, adjusted his hat so that it was not likely to be displaced, and looked out in the gloom. All that he could see was when he gazed upward and observed a few stars twinkling in the thin streak of sky.
"Two things are certain," he mused: "that Indian does not think it possible for me to make my way out of the canyon; and, if I should succeed, he will be on the watch for me and shoot or try to force me to return. He shall never get me back here, for I will take the risk of drowning, and then——"
A thought flashed through him like an inspiration and fairly took away his breath.
Why not climb the side of the canyon?
He was so overcome by the question, which seemed born of heaven, that he stood dazed and bewildered. Then he became cool again and asked:
"Is it possible?"
He recalled that Hank Hazletine had told him he had done it during the daytime, and it must have been somewhere in this neighborhood. The task would seem easy if the sun were shining, but if it were shining Fred Greenwood would not have been permitted to make the attempt.
He was convinced of another thing: the depth of the canyon had been repeatedly referred to as being a thousand feet, but there were places where it was less than half that extent, and he remembered a depression in the earth, almost directly overhead, which must have lessened the prodigious height found at other points.
Nevertheless, a climb of several hundred feet up the perpendicular side of a canyon or mountain wall is severe work to the most powerful and best trained man, and its formidable nature was proved by the fact that some of the cowmen would not try it by daylight.
Nothing could be clearer than that Motoza had not hesitated to leave his prisoner alone in the cavern for the reason that he was certain he could not effect his escape therefrom. The last means the youth would think of employing was that of climbing the side; therefore, as Fred reasoned, that was the very means to adopt, and the only one that could possibly succeed.
"I'll try it!" was his conclusion, after a few minutes' thought.
Before setting out on the unparalleled task he fervently asked the help of the only One who could extricate him from his peril. Then he summoned his strength and courage to the tremendous work.
His dread now was that Motoza would put in an appearance before he was clear of the mouth of the cavern. Had the lad thought of the daring scheme earlier in the day he would have studied the stupendous stairs upon which all his hopes now rested, but it was too late to think of that.
Reaching upward, he grasped one of the projecting points of rock and drew himself clear of the opening in front of the cavern. Naturally muscular and active, with all his nerves in superb control, the effort was trifling. Within less time than would be supposed he had climbed fully fifty feet without meeting with any difficulty. Then the first thrill of alarm shot through him as one foot slipped and he narrowly missed falling.
He found a good place to rest, and immediately adopted a sensible precaution. Removing both shoes, he tied the strings together and slung them over his shoulder, with the fastening under his chin. This would make it rough for his stockinged feet, but it was worth it all. He was not discommoded by rifle or pistol, and could not have been better prepared for climbing.
He felt as yet no fatigue, and resumed his work as soon as he was ready. If he continued to find projections such as he had found thus far, there was no reason why he should not reach the level ground above in safety. As an evidence of how fate sometimes plays fast and loose with us, it is certain that Hank Hazletine entered the cavern while his young friend was climbing the wall overhead, without either dreaming of the actual situation.
Fred Greenwood, at the beginning of his climb for liberty, was subjected to a peculiar peril. He had rested but a moment, when he was seized with an extraordinary "panicky" feeling. He was sure that Motoza was standing on the ledge below, peering upward in the gloom, and holding his rifle ready to fire at him on the instant he could make his aim certain.
Like all such emotions, it was opposed to common sense. According to his belief it was out of the power of the Sioux to obtain the most shadowy glimpse of him, and the youth ought to have felt as secure against being picked off as if in his home, hundreds of miles away; but the feeling for a time was uncontrollable, and, yielding to it, he began frantically climbing, never abating his efforts until he had gone fully fifty feet higher. By that time he was all a-tremble, and so weak that he was forced to pause for rest. Thus far he had been extremely fortunate in meeting with no difficulty, the projections affording abundant support for hands and feet. Moreover, he had again attained a ledge where he was able to sustain himself with comparative ease.
He paused, panting, trembling and exhausted. Thrusting out his head as far as was safe, he looked downward. Nothing but impenetrable gloom met his eye. He could hear the torrent rushing against the rocks and boulders in its path, and flinging itself against the walls of the canyon, but he could distinguish nothing, and his strong sense now came to his rescue.
"If he is down there he cannot see me; he will not dream I have started to climb the wall, and therefore will not follow. If he does, he must appear below me, and I will kick him loose the minute I see him. How foolish to be afraid!"
In a few minutes his nerves became calmer, but he began to realize the nature of the terrifying task before him. There was no thought of retreat on his part, and he was determined to keep on, so long as the work was possible.
His feet were paining him, and were certain to pain him a good deal more before he reached the top; but healthy, rugged youth has elastic muscles, and in a short time Fred was ready to resume his work. His panic was gone, and he exerted himself with the deliberate care which he should have shown from the first.
As nearly as he could judge he had climbed some twenty paces, when he was startled, upon extending his hand upward, to encounter only the smooth face of the wall. Hitherto there had been more projections than he required, but now the steps appeared to vanish, leaving him without any support.
Could it be he would have to abandon his effort after making so fine a start? Must he pick his way down the side of the canyon, again, to the cavern, and there meekly resume the torture of waiting for death from starvation? Failure was too terrible to be thought of, and he resumed his searching for the indispensable support.
Certainly there was nothing directly above him that would serve, and he passed his right hand to one side. Ah! he caught the sharp edge, after groping for a few seconds. Leaning over, he reached out as far as possible and found the projection extended indefinitely.
"It will do!" he muttered, with a thrill, and, without pausing to reflect upon the fearful risk of the thing, he swung himself along, sustained for an instant by his single hand; but the other was immediately alongside of it, and it was easy to hold himself like a pendulum swaying over the frightful abyss. But there was nothing upon which to rest his feet. He did not wish anything, and, swinging sideways, threw one leg over the ledge beside his hands, and, half-rolling over, raised himself securely for the time on his perch.
"Gracious!" he exclaimed, pausing from the effort; "if I had stopped to think, I shouldn't have dared to try it. If this ledge had been smaller I shouldn't have found room for my body, and there is no way of getting back to the stone on which I was standing. I must go on now, for I cannot go back."
It was plain sailing for a few minutes. The flinty excrescences were as numerous as ever, and he never paused in his ascent until prudence whispered that it was wise to take another breathing spell. It was a source of infinite comfort to feel that when he thus checked himself he was not compelled to do so for lack of support.
There was no way of determining how far he had climbed, and he based his calculation on hope rather than knowledge. The roar of the canyon was notably fainter, and, when he looked aloft, the ribbon of starlit sky appeared nearer than at first. There could be no doubt that he was making his ascent at the most favorable point, for the height was much less than at most of the other places, and he believed this was the portion where Hank Hazletine had climbed from the bottom to the top of the gorge. Could he have been certain of the latter, all misgiving would have vanished.
Not a trace of his panic remained. If Motoza had returned to the cavern, and, discovering the flight of his prisoner, set out to follow him, there was little prospect of his success, for the fugitive had varied from a direct line, and the Sioux might pass within arm's length without being aware of the fact.
There was one peril to which Fred was exposed, and it was fortunate it never entered his mind. Supposing Motoza was standing on the ledge at the bottom of the canyon and gazing upward, weapon in hand, it was quite probable that he would be able to locate the youth. This would be not because of any superiority of vision, but because of that patch of sky beyond, acting as a background for the climber. With his inky figure thrown in relief against the stars, his enemy could have picked him off as readily as if the sun were shining.
This possibility, we say, did not present itself to Fred Greenwood, and, more providential than all, Motoza was not in the canyon.
The slipping of one foot tore most of the sole from the stocking, and his foot had henceforth no protection against the craggy surface.
"I don't mind the stocking," grimly reflected the youth, "for there is another pair in camp and plenty of them at the ranch, but how it hurts!"
He would have been altogether lacking in the pluck he had displayed thus far had he been deterred by physical suffering from pushing his efforts to the utmost. He would have kept on through torture tenfold worse, and he showed himself no mercy.
Few people who have not been called upon to undertake such a work can form an idea of its exhausting nature. It would be hard to think of anyone better prepared than Fred Greenwood to stand the terrific draught upon his strength; but while a long way from the top, and while there was no lack of supports for his hands and feet, and in the face of his unshakable resolve, he was compelled to doubt his success. It seemed as if the dizzy height did not diminish. When he had climbed for a long time and stopped, panting and suffering, the stars appeared to be as far away as ever. He felt as if he ought to have been out of the ravine long before, but the opening looked to be as unattainable as at the beginning.
His whole experience was remarkable to that extent that it can be explained only on the ground that the intense mental strain prevented his seeing things as they were. He had subjected his muscles to such a tension that he was obliged to pause every few minutes and rest. One of his feet was scarified and bleeding, and the other only a little better. When he looked upward his heart sank, for a long distance still interposed between him and the ground above.
"I must have picked the place where the canyon is deepest," was his despairing conclusion; "I feel hardly able to hang on, and would not dare do what I did further below."
He now yielded to a curious whim. Instead of continually gazing at the sky, that he might measure the distance remaining to be traversed, he resolved not to look at it at all until he had climbed a long way. He hoped by doing this to discover such a marked decrease in the space that it would reanimate him for the remaining work.
Accordingly he closed his eyes, and, depending on the sense of feeling alone, which in truth was his reliance from the first, he toiled steadily upward. Sometimes he had to grope with his hands for a minute or two before daring to leave the support on which his feet rested, but one of his causes for astonishment and thankfulness was that such aids seemed never to be lacking.
He continued this blind progress until his wearied muscles refused to obey further. He must rest or he would drop to the bottom from exhaustion. He hooked his right arm over the point of a rock, sat upon a favoring projection below, and decided to wait until his strength was fully restored.
He could not resist the temptation to look up and learn how much yet remained to do.
Could he believe his senses? He was within a dozen feet of the top!
He gasped with amazement, grew faint, and then was thrilled with hope. He even broke into a cheer, for the knowledge was like nectar to the traveller perishing of thirst in the desert—it was life itself.
All pain, all suffering, all fatigue were forgotten in the blissful knowledge. He bent to his work with redoubled vigor. If the supports continued, his stupendous task was virtually ended.
And they did continue. Not once did the eagerly-feeling hands fail to grasp a projection of some form which could be made to serve his purpose. Up, up he went, until the clear, cool air fanned his temples, when, with a last effort, he drew himself from the canyon, and, plunging forward on his face, fainted dead away.
He lay in a semi-conscious condition for nearly an hour. Then, when his senses slowly returned, he raised himself to a sitting position and looked around. It was too early for the moon, and the gloom prevented his seeing more than a few paces in any direction.
But how the pain racked him! It seemed as if every bone was aching and every muscle sore. The feet had been wholly worn from each stocking, and his own feet were torn and bleeding. He had preserved his shoes, but when he came to put them on he groaned with anguish. His feet were so swollen that it was torture to cover them, and he could not tie the strings; but they must be protected, and he did not rise until they were thus armored.
He was without any weapons, but the torment of his wounds drove that fact from his mind. All that he wanted now was to get away from the spot where he could not help believing he was still in danger of recapture. But when he stood erect and the agony shot through his frame, he asked himself whether it was possible to travel to the plateau without help; and yet the effort must be made.
He had a general knowledge of his situation, and, bracing himself for the effort, he began the work. It was torture from the first, but after taking a few steps his system partly accommodated itself to the requirement and he progressed better than he anticipated. He was still on the wrong side of the canyon, which it was necessary to leave before rejoining his friends. He was wise enough to distrust his own capacity after the fearful strain, and did not make the attempt until he found a place where the width was hardly one-half of the extent leaped by him and Jack Dudley. As it was, the jump, into which he put all his vigor, landed him just clear of the edge, a fact which did much to lessen the sharp suffering caused by alighting on his feet.
He yearned to sit down and rest, but was restrained by the certainty that it would make his anguish more intense when he resumed his tramp toward camp. Furthermore, as he believed himself nearing safety, his impatience deepened and kept him at work when he should have ceased.
As he painfully trudged along, his thoughts reverted to his climb up the side of the canyon and he shuddered; for, now that it was over, he could not comprehend how he dared ever make the effort. Not for the world would he repeat it, even by daylight.
"Heaven brought me safely through," was his grateful thought.
But as he drew near the plateau his musings turned thither. He had counted upon finding Jack Dudley and the guide there; but they might be miles away, and he would not see them for days. He knew he needed attention from his friends and could not sustain himself much longer. If he should be unable to find them——
But all these gloomy forebodings were scattered a few minutes later by the glimmer of the camp-fire on the other side of the plateau. One of his friends at least must be there, and providentially it proved that both were present.
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