Pat reined the magnificent black stallion in and cursed the rocky trail which caused his shod hooves to echo around the canyon walls. Ezra, whose one eye had been watching the ground and scanning the slopes leading down, was puzzled.

  “You ain’t gettin’ halloosinashuns, be you, Pat?” he asked anxiously. “I ain’t seen hair ner hide of a black-hood.”

  “I did,” Pat snapped, “but damn it to hell, if we gallop up on ’im he’ll hear us comin’, and if we ride easy like, he’ll get away.”

  “How you ’spect me to find out where they went down the slope if you keep on ridin’ hell fer leather this-away?”

  “I tell you one of ’em is up ahead of us,” Pat said impatiently. “Damn these curves, can’t see a thing.”

  “I ain’t found no straight trails on a crooked canyon ledge yit,” Ezra retorted soberly and somewhat caustically.

  The snow was coming down in thick, wind-blown flakes now, covering the cold rocks before them. Ezra’s deep-socketed eye dulled with disappointment as he watched the gentle slopes leading away from the shelf road being covered.

  Cursing gruffly, Ezra said, “Reckon you seen a ghost, Pat. Ain’t no tracks in the snow ahead.”

  As he spoke, a shot rang out from below, striking against loose gravel at the edge of the slope and precipitating a small pebble-slide.

  Pat was off his horse, leaping past Ezra and answering the shot. Leaning over the edge of the trail he saw a narrow path leading down to the spruce-studded flat below.

  The snow was gaining in thick intensity, drifting over the path. Hugging the canyon wall, they rode downward until the trail ended in a thick upsweep of spruce and white-barked aspens rising from the canyon’s floor.

  “Reach fo’ your guns!” a voice shouted.

  Pat and Ezra whirled in their saddles toward the sound of a familiar voice, but could see no one.

  Then, a swarthy-black face peered around the trunk of a giant spruce and Sam’s deep-throated chuckle was blown toward them. Plodding up to them, Sam said, “You shore don’t keer how good a target you make of yourse’fs on a shelf trail. I could of shot your good eye out from where I was standin’, Ezra.”

  “Did you see Sally?” Pat asked quickly.

  “Shore I did. Didn’t you fell me to take her a message?”

  “How is she takin’ it?” Pat queried.

  “She ain’t worryin’ a mite,” Sam lied, “but I couldn’ he’p thinkin’ how purty she’s gonna look, all dressed up in black. It shore made me feel sad.” He waggled his head sorrowfully.

  “Did you see one of the hooded men come down that slope jest ahead of us?” Ezra asked.

  “I didn’ see nobody but you-all.”

  “Did you throw that hunk of lead up at us when we stopped a minute ago?” Pat demanded.

  “Shore. I wuz afeard you’d ride on past an’ I wouldn’ never be able to ketch yuh. But I knowed you’d come hurtlin’ down if I took a shot at you.”

  “You decoyed us off the trail,” Pat groaned. “We’ve got to get up on the shelf again and pick it up before the snow gets any thicker.” He touched spurs to the black’s flanks and neckreined him up the steep slope, with Ezra spurring along at his heels and Sam bringing up the rear as fast as the sorrel could make it.

  When he gained the ledge again, Pat stopped and grimly motioned to the snow-covered ground, asking Ezra, “Can you tell whether they passed here or not?”

  Ezra swung to the ground and trotted forward, stooped low and appeared to sniff the rocky ground. He dropped suddenly to his knees, yanked off his hat and carefully swept a small spot clear of snow.

  Sam came puffing up behind Pat and laughed loudly. “By gum, look at ’im. He’ll rise up on his hind laigs in a minute an’ tell us the color o’ the hawses an’ ’spect us to b’lieve he knows what he’s talkin’ about.”

  Pat made no reply. He watched Ezra hopefully, knowing from past experience that the one-eyed man’s ability to read a trail under the most trying circumstances was positively uncanny.

  Ezra came slowly to his feet and put his hat on. He nodded and his eye gleamed through the thickening flakes as Pat and Sam moved closer to him.

  “Sam’s dumbness didn’ ruin things … quite. We’re still on the trail. Five of ’em rode this way when it started to snow. Ridin’ fast an’ strung out like they knowed where they was headed.”

  He swung into the saddle, paying no heed to Sam’s loud snort of pretended disbelief.

  “We’ll have to follow the shelf trail and hope they didn’t turn down off it.” Pat spurred his black into the lead, ducking his head low over the saddlehorn to keep the stinging snowflakes from his eyes.

  The trail wound around the side of the canyon at about the same level and the storm grew more violent as they rode on. The rocky slopes above and below were quickly carpeted with a thick white covering and it was impossible to tell whether any other trails led up or down, but Pat pressed on as swiftly as he dared, trusting to luck that there would be some indication of the turn-off when they reached it.

  He reined his black in suddenly as the ledge made a sharp turn to the left and cut through a stand of aspen. He turned in the saddle to Ezra and gestured ahead.

  “There’s forks here. Looks like the ledge goes on along the main canyon, but here’s a deep gulch comin’ in from the left. Can you tell which way they went.”

  “I dunno,” Ezra responded phlegmatically. “I kin try.” Again, he slid from his horse and cautiously picked his way ahead, bending low and examining the surface of the snow, pausing now and then to brush away a cleared space which he studied intently, sniffing all the while.

  “He cain’t do nothin’ but guess this time, fer shore,” Sam scoffed as he reined up beside Pat. “An’ I’m hopin’ he guesses they kep’ on the shelf. That trail leadin’ up the gulch looks plumb bad to me. Once we get in there ’round the bend they won’t be no gettin’ out. If I was choosin’ a ambush, I’d shore choose it there.”

  “We’ve got to chance it if Ezra says they went that way,” Pat responded briskly. “That is, I’ll risk it to come to grips with the hooded gang. You weren’t invited along, nohow.”

  “Better let ’im ride ’long with us, Pat,” Ezra put in with a malicious gleam in his eye. “No tellin’ when we might want some more messages delivered.”

  “You want I should stay behind so’s you-all kin collect the reward,” Sam growled. “Nothin’ doin’. You cain’t get rid o’ me that easy.”

  Pat turned his face away to hide the broad grin spreading involuntarily over it. He knew the talk of a reward was just a sham to hide the swarthy man’s intense loyalty, though neither of them would have mentioned the subject aloud.

  Then Ezra was beckoning to them, stamping his feet in the snow to keep them from freezing to the ground.

  “They turned up this here gulch,” he stated positively. His eye glared up at Sam. “An’ if you ast me how I know I’ll take a sock at you.”

  “I’ll ride ahead,” Pat said quickly. “You fellers string out behind at a good distance. If it’s a trap I’ll spring it on myself, an’ you fellows can clean up behind me.”

  He swung his horse past Ezra without waiting for a reply, turned sharply to the left between the yawning rock walls of a precipitous gorge, followed the twisting course of a boulder-strewn stream-bed that snaked along the floor of the chasm.

  He spurred his horse to a reckless gallop, for there was no longer the need of watching for a fork in the trail once a rider turned into the narrow gulch.

  The snow came straight down in great sodden flakes in the protected ravine, and it was less bitterly cold than out in the open where the cold wind blew furiously.

  But the snow was much deeper here, where no sunlight ever penetrated, piled in drifts along the steep rock walls which extended up hundreds of feet, bulging menacingly in places so that the slightest reverberation might bring the great mass tumbling down to block the chasm floor.

  Pat Stevens rode on at the same furious gait, with no thought of personal danger, warmed by the slow-burning anger that had been fused to flame within him by the indignities he had already suffered at the hands of the hooded gang.

  There was only one thought in his mind, one implacable purpose that drove him on … to get the gang at gunpoint and have it out with them. It appeared certain that this was a blind chasm, for it was very unlikely that there could be another trail out from the gorge that cut deeper and deeper into the very heart of the mountain. If it was a blind chasm, that meant the hooded terrors of Dusty Canyon were trapped and could not escape.

  A sudden snort and a sidewise swerve of the black brought Pat’s head up with a jerk, and one hand went to the butt of a six-gun.

  He could see nothing untoward through the heavy curtain of snowflakes ahead, but the black was prancing uneasily, snorting through distended nostrils, and Pat glanced up uneasily at the towering walls rising sheerly on either side which had been gradually closing in on the gulch until it was now no more than a slit in the side of the mountain.

  Then, he heard a loud hoarse warning from Ezra. Turning in the saddle he saw them dimly through the snow as they hurried toward him. “Hey … whoa … turn back!” Ezra shouted again.

  Pat raised his voice in a loud oath. “I told you two rannies to stay back a good ways so’s you’d be in the clear if anything happened. Why the devil? …”

  The concerted blast of half a dozen six-guns from a few hundred feet ahead cut Pat’s angry shout short.

  Yet, there was no sound of bullets, no evidence that the shots had been directed at the trio.

  Again and again the salvo rang out through the silence while echoes were thrown back and forth between the steep walls of the narrow gorge. Through it all, Pat could hear Ezra shouting, but could distinguish no words above the uproar.

  Pat pulled his gun and started forward grimly, but was halted by a loud bellow from Ezra who now rode up close beside him.

  “Look out, Pat! Git back! Look up above. God-’lmighty, the hull world’s cavin’ in on us.”

  His final words were drowned out in a thunderous, groaning roar from high above. A precariously hanging wall of snow had been loosened by the vibrations of the gunshots from ahead, and a huge avalanche was thundering down upon the three men trapped in the gorge, uprooting trees and loosening huge boulders as it rushed downward.

  Pat whirled and spurred desperately away, yelling to Sam and Ezra to follow him. But he knew it was too late … he could never lead them out of the path of the mountainous snowslide before it reached the bottom.

  There was a chance that they might have escaped if they had left Pat alone to his fate, but instead of turning and making a run for it, Sam and Ezra had spurred forward to warn him, a reckless and mad gesture of defiance in the face of death, made without thought and without reason.

  In that terrible instant while the world was tottering and threatening to collapse upon them, Pat’s desperate gaze caught sight of a small round opening in the side of the gorge not ten feet above the floor.

  Yelling for Sam and Ezra to dismount and follow him, he leaped from his saddle into the snow.

  A huge boulder crashed past the mouth of the tunnel as Pat reached it. He bent low and leaped inside, turned and saw Sam knocked sprawling by another boulder in the vanguard of the thundering avalanche. He darted out again, past Ezra, and gave him a shove to safety, then caught Sam’s hand and dragged him inside.

  Other rocks crashed past the opening and jammed into the snow at the other side of the gorge, followed by a great slab of frozen snow.

  The three men stood helplessly inside the cave and watched the horses being crushed by ice and rocks and debris, watched while the very mountain itself seemed to tumble down until at last the opening was closed solidly.

  Frantically Pat worked to keep a small opening for air, but as the deafening roar continued, the shaft was shut off from the outside world and became impenetrable.

  EIGHT

  Sally felt a little foolish about her plan to smuggle the Sutton gold out of Dusty Canyon when she had time to think it over. It seemed too simple, too easy of accomplishment, and she feared that her imagination had run away with her common sense. Besides, the more she thought of it the more she believed she had dreamt it instead of working it out logically.

  Martha, however, was bubbling over with enthusiasm as she hurriedly dressed and linked her arm in Sally’s to lead her to the big home-made chest where the silk was laid away.

  Sally sniffed when Martha lifted the heavy lid and a puff of clean cedar odor rose up, and made a sharp exclamation of admiration when Martha placed the red silk in her arms.

  “What a rich color!” she cried. She caught one thickness of the material between thumb and forefinger and said, “It’s heavy, too. I’m sure the gold dust won’t sift through. Maybe the plan will work after all.”

  “Of course it’ll work,” Martha said with assurance. “I would never have thought of such a marvelous idea. What do you think of the blue piece?” she asked, holding the material out to Sally.

  “It’s a heavenly blue,” Sally breathed.

  “It matches your eyes,” Martha declared gaily, holding it close to Sally’s face. “I’ll take the red, and we’ll make the blue for you. I have two petticoats with hoops. One was Mother’s and I’ve kept it all this time.”

  “It’s perfect,” Sally said, her eyes shining. With woman’s work at hand and the prospect of having a new blue silk dress, she forgot, for the moment, to worry about Pat. She smiled to herself thinking of what Pat would say when he saw her wearing it.

  They took the silk into the bedroom and spread it out on Martha’s bed. While the younger girl went for the scissors, Sally creased one end of the material, then doubled it over, gauging the width the ruffles should be. She then measured the yards off by stretching one end out between her fingers, using her nose for a yardstick.

  When Martha returned, Sally said, “I think there’ll be plenty to put ruffles from the hipline down. But we’d better test some of the gold dust in a scrap to see if it’ll hold. Have you got a pouch of it handy?”

  Martha didn’t answer at once, and Sally looked up to see her face pale and her eyes frightened. “Why … Papa has it hidden. He moved it from under the loose floor board. That’s where nearly all the miners kept it, and Papa thought … it would be safer some place else … if the black-hoods came.”

  “If our scheme is going to work,” Sally said sensibly, “we’ll have to get him to bring some of it out.”

  “Maybe Papa won’t approve of it,” Martha said dubiously. “I’ll go ask him. What’ll we do if he doesn’t think we should?”

  After a moment of deep thought, Sally said, “Maybe I’d better talk to him about it.”

  “I think you’d better,” the younger girl assented, the dark fright still in her wide eyes.

  “Here … you can be cutting the ruffles for the blue dress while I’m gone. I’ve creased the material there at one end for the width. Be sure to measure them.”

  As Sally went past the window she saw that a light snow had begun to fall. She put on a heavy coat and went out the kitchen door, calling Mr. Sutton.

  He answered from the small corral where he kept a span of blooded horses for the purpose of drawing an old top-buggy and for Martha to ride.

  Sally told him of her plan, keeping her voice convincing, hoping that she would not betray any of the small inner doubts assailing her.

  Mr. Sutton listened with interest, but she could see that he did not approve. When she finished, he said:

  “I don’t think you should orta take the responsibility, Miz Stevens. Them low-down murderers’ll be a-watchin’ ever’ move anybody makes away from here. They’d be shore to suspect somethin’ if they saw you an’ Marthy all dressed up an’ a-goin’ to town.”

  “But even if they did see us … if they tried to search us,” Sally argued, a bright flush creeping into her cheeks at the thought of being searched by the bandits, “they wouldn’t find any evidence that we were smuggling the gold out. I’m trying so hard to help you, and I can’t think of a better plan.”

  “I cain’t quite see how you ’spect to hide the gold in dresses,” Mr. Sutton acknowledged with a puzzled frown.

  “If you’ll let me have a pouch of the dust I think I can convince you,” Sally said quickly when he displayed such interest and appeared to be relenting slightly. “We can even conceal quite a bit of gold dust in the bands of puffed sleeves. What I want to do now is test it to see whether any will come through the material.”

  The old man shook his head sadly. “I don’t like it, Miz Stevens. Murderin’ an’ thievin’ ain’t the only crimes them devils has committed here in Dusty Canyon. There ain’t a man dares to let his women folks out o’ his sight.”

  “Mr. Sutton, I’ve got a gun and I can shoot it. I believe I can protect Martha and myself against them from here to Pueblo. I won’t be caught as I was on the way out here. I’ll keep my gun in my hand.”

  “Well, awright,” Mr. Sutton conceded, “but I don’t want you nor Marthy to see me a-gettin’ it out. If them devils comes here I don’t want neither one o’ you to know where the dust is. Then they cain’t possible make you tell.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Sally said. “I’ll go on in the house and wait. We’ll work it out together, and if you still think we shouldn’t do it, we’ll have to try to think of something else.”

  Returning to the bedroom, Sally found that Martha had cut the ruffles neatly and had the rest of the material on the floor with a pattern spread over it. Looking up at her, Martha said, “We’re about the same size. I think my pattern will do for both of us.”

  Sally laughed. “I’m afraid some of my curves have gone slatty, working on the ranch, but we can take the seams in. You were sweet to give me the blue, but you can have it back after we’ve finished the job. We probably will have to cut off the edges of the ruffles, anyway, to get the dust out. Both dresses may be ruined.”