ace--where they shot at us. And they came up--on a bad slope."

Shefford described the slope and the deep chasm and how Shadd led up to
the point where he saw his mistake and then how the catastrophe fell.

"I shot--and missed," repeated Shefford, with the sweat in beads on
his pale face. "I missed Shadd. Maybe I hit the horse. He
plunged--reared--fell back--a terrible fall--right upon that bunch of
horses and men below.... In a horrible, wrestling, screaming tangle they
slid over the rim! I don't know how many. I saw some men running along.
I saw three other horses plunging. One slipped and went over. ... I have
no idea how many, but Shadd and some of his gang went to destruction."

"Shore thet's fine!" said Lassiter. "But mebbe I won't get to use them
guns, after all."

"Hardly on that gang," laughed Shefford. "The two Piutes and what others
escaped turned back. Maybe they'll meet a posse of Mormons--for of
course the Mormons will track us, too--and come back to where Shadd
lost his life. That's an awful place. Even the Piute got lost--couldn't
follow Nas Ta Bega. It would take any pursuers some time to find how we
got in here. I believe we need not fear further pursuit. Certainly not
to-night or to-morrow. Then we'll be far down the canyon."

When Shefford concluded his earnest remarks the faces of Fay and Jane
had lost the signs of suppressed dread.

"Nas Ta Bega, make camp here," said Shefford. "Water--wood--grass--why,
this 's something like.... Fay, how's your arm?"

"It hurts," she replied, simply.

"Come with me down to the brook and let me wash and bind it properly."

They went, and she sat upon a stone while he knelt beside her and untied
his scarf from her arm. As the blood had hardened, it was necessary to
slit her sleeve to the shoulder. Using his scarf, he washed the blood
from the wound, and found it to be merely a cut, a groove, on the
surface.

"That's nothing," Shefford said, lightly. "It'll heal in a day. But
there'll always be a scar. And when we--we get back to civilization,
and you wear a pretty gown without sleeves, people will wonder what made
this mark on your beautiful arm."

Fay looked at him with wonderful eyes. "Do women wear gowns without
sleeves?" she asked.

"They do."

"Have I a--beautiful arm?"

She stretched it out, white, blue-veined, the skin fine as satin, the
lines graceful and flowing, a round, firm, strong arm.

"The most beautiful I ever saw," he replied.

B