The Crater of Hell

The trail led along a gigantic fissure in the side of the crater, and
then down and down into a red-walled, blue hazed labyrinth.

Presently Gale, upon turning a sharp corner, was utterly amazed to see
that the split in the lava sloped out and widened into an arroyo. It
was so green and soft and beautiful in all the angry, contorted red
surrounding that Gale could scarcely credit his sight. Blanco Sol
whistled his welcome to the scent of water. Then Gale saw a great
hole, a pit in the shiny lava, a dark, cool, shady well. There was
evidence of the fact that at flood seasons the water had an outlet into
the arroyo. The soil appeared to be a fine sand, in which a reddish
tinge predominated; and it was abundantly covered with a long grass,
still partly green. Mesquites and palo verdes dotted the arroyo and
gradually closed in thickets that obstructed the view.

"Shore it all beats me," exclaimed Ladd. "What a place to hole-up in!
We could have hid here for a long time. Boys, I saw mountain sheep,
the real old genuine Rocky Mountain bighorn. What do you think of
that?"

"I reckon it's a Yaqui hunting-ground," replied Lash. "That trail we
hit must be hundreds of years old. It's worn deep and smooth in iron
lava."

"Well, all I got to say is--Beldin' was shore right about the Indian.
An' I can see Rojas's finish somewhere up along that awful hell-hole."

Camp was made on a level spot. Yaqui took the horses to water, and
then turned them loose in the arroyo. It was a tired and somber group
that sat down to eat. The strain of suspense equaled the wearing
effects of the long ride. Mercedes was calm, but her great dark eyes
burned in her white face. Yaqui watched her. The others looked at her
with unspoken pride. Presently Thorne wrapped her in his blankets, and
she seemed to fall asleep at once. Twilight deepened. The campfire
blazed brighter. A cool wind played with Mercedes's black hair, waving
strands across her brow.