“Pete,” he gasped out, “we’ve been blind all day. There’s a bridge for us. You see? That pine tree can be cut down, and if it falls across the gulch we can cross it.”
Pete Reeve leaped to his feet and then shook his head with a groan.
“Can’t be done, Bull. That wind will knock it sidewise and it’ll simply drop down into the cañon.”
“It’s got to be tried,” said Bull Hunter, and he took his ax from his pack.
Chapter XXXII
The Chasm
It was an ax specially made for him. The haft was twice the ordinary circumference, and the head had the weight of a sledge hammer. Yet, standing with his feet braced for the work, he made the mighty weapon play like a feather about his head.
The girl and Pete Reeve sat silently to watch, not daring to speak, not daring even to hope. And so the first blow fell with power that almost buried the ax head in the wood. Then the steel was pried out with a wrench, and the second blow bit out a great chip that leaped out of sight in the void of the cañon.
After that the chips flew regularly until the tree was well nigh eaten through, and the top of it swayed crazily in the wind. Then Bull Hunter stopped, for if he continued cutting till the trunk was severed, the tree, as Pete Reeve had said, would blow sidewise in the cañon. So he waited.
”Pray for one breath of south wind,” he told the others. “Pray for that. If it comes we’re saved.”
They nodded and sat about with their eyes glued to the top of the tree, hoping against hope that they would see the wind abate from the north and swing.
“No hope,” said Bull Hunter at last. “We’d be fools to wait for the wind to swing. Mary, lie down there between those two rocks with your revolver, and if you see any one show a head down the hill, shoot as close to them as you can. Pete, get your ax, and as soon as the wind falls off to nothing, you start chopping, and I’ll try to give the tree a start from this side.”
They obeyed him silently. Reeve stood ready with his ax. The girl with her revolver before her, lay between the rocks to keep watch, Bull Hunter stood waiting for the wind to cease before he gave the word. The Ghost, as though he realized that the girl was taking his own old post of sentinel, came sniffing beside her and lay down with his head dropped on his paws, close to the head of the girl. And big Diablo, apparently guessing that salvation was somehow connected with the cutting of the tree, came with his ears pricking and sniffed the raw would in the side of the tree. Then he backed away to watch and wait, his eyes fixed in steady confidence on Bull Hunter.
So, when the wind fell away for a moment, Pete Reeve attacked the slender remnant of the trunk which remained whole, and Bull Hunter, reaching as far as he could up the tree, thrust with his whole weight against it. At that angle he could do little, but the small impulse might decide the entire direction of the fall. And so the trunk was bitten through, deep on the one side, and Pete Reeve, stepping around to Hunter’s side of the pine, gave half a dozen short, sharp, back strokes. There was a great rending, and the top of the pine staggered and began to fall.
At the same time the unlucky north wind, which had been blowing most of the afternoon, sprang up again and swung the tree sidewise. Yet the impetus of the fall had already been received. The pine fell at a sharp angle, but it spanned the gulch from side to side. Still it was by no means a comfortable bridge. The Ghost sped across it with a bound and sat down on the far side, grinning back an invitation to follow. The three laughed in spite of themselves, but their laughter was drowned by a shout of rage down the slope.
It had taken their besiegers this time to realize the meaning of the cutting of the tree, and now, after the first yell of anger, a confused babel of voices swept up to them.
“They know what we’re going to try to do,” said Pete Reeve, “and they’ll press us pretty close and”
His words were interrupted by the explosion of Mary Hood’s revolver, answered by a shout of mocking defiance.
“Some one tried to edge higher up the hill,” she explained, through tight lips. “I hit the rock above him, and he ducked back.”
“Do you think they’ll try to rush?” Bull asked anxiously of little Reeve.
“They don’t rush Pete Reeve in broad daylight. Nope, not if they was a hundred of ‘em. The price is too high!” He waved to Bull. “I’m the lightest, and I’m next across.”
“Good luck, Pete, but wait a minute. Mary goes with you. Mary!”
She came at once, but shrank back from the edge of the cañon.
“Don’t look down,” Reeve cautioned her. “Look straight ahead. Look at The Ghost on the far side, and you’ll keep your head. There’s plenty of time. Get down on your hands and knees, and crawl. I’m here behind you. Now, steady!”
She obeyed without a word, casting one glance at Bull Hunter. Then they started, with Pete Reeve moving close behind her, waiting for a slip. But the trunk was far more firmly lodged than they had imagined. Once in the center, feeling the quiver of the tree beneath her, the girl paused, trembling, but the steady voice of Reeve gave her courage, and she went on. A moment later she was on the far side waving back to Bull Hunter.
He waved in return and then, from between the rocks, poured half a dozen shots down the slope.
“They’re getting restless. That’ll keep ‘em for a while,” Pete Reeve explained to the girl. “And now comes the hardest part for poor Charlie Hunter.”
“Why the hardest part?”
“He has to leave Diablo, and that goes hard against the grain.”
“Yes, I know,” said the girl sadly, “just as I have to leave Nancy.”
“It ain’t the same,” said Pete. “Diablo is more than just hoss to Bull. He’s sort of a pal, too. Combination of partner and slave that’s hard to beat. Look there - if the hoss don’t know that Bull is giving him up.”
For as Bull Hunter approached the tree trunk, the great stallion pushed in before him with ears laid flat back and made a pretense of biting him, his teeth closing on the shoulder of his master. Bull Hunter patted the velvet muzzle and stroked the forelock. Then he turned and made a gesture of despair to the two on the other side.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, “but I can’t go. Pete, I’d rather see Diablo dead than have Hal Dunbar ride him.”
“There’s no other way, Bull,” said Reeve sadly. “And if Dunbar gets him, you’ll get him back before long.”
Bull Hunter shook his head, passed his hand for the last time along the smooth, shining neck of the stallion, and then stepped out on the fallen pine. Diablo, fooled by the petting of his master, wheeled and started in pursuit - but Bull Hunter was already beyond reach of his teeth. The stallion reared and struck at the thin air. Then he danced in an ecstasy of rage and disappointment, while Nancy and Reeve’s horse backed as far away as possible and in amazement watched this exhibition.
Next the stallion came to the trunk and placed both forefeet upon it as though he would try to cross, though a glance into the depths below made him shrink. The sunlight trembled along his glossy coat.
“Poor devil!” muttered Pete Reeve.
But Bull Hunter had lowered his head and could not look.
“Let’s start,” he said. “Takes the joy out of life to leave that horse, Pete, and I’ll never see him again. Dunbar won’t be able to ride him, and he’ll go so crazy mad that he’ll kill him. I know!”
He turned away among the rocks with the girl and Reeve following in silence, but they were stopped by a great neigh from across the gulch.