So Kwasa took the long trail toward the Seven Cities alone and in the dark, for so it was thought best, since he knew the first part of the way well and would need daylight more after coming to the unknown country. And because he had thrown the chance of next value, Wiki was given the place of lesser honor, because of lesser danger, that of messenger to the Clans of the Rainbow and the Bear. CHAPTER VII On the Walpi Trail If Kwasa had not felt so proud of the honor that had been shown him, he might have feared to go down the long, dark canyons alone. But, boylike, his thoughts were not so much on the danger of his task as they were upon the rewards he might hope for when it was done, for he knew the people of the Cliffs would pay royal honors where they were due. And he never thought of failure, for surely one so high in favor with the gods could not fail, however great the task. So Kwasa picked his way with a light heart along the first well-known part of the journey. He wanted to be far from home by daybreak, and ready to undertake the unknown paths where he would need all his sharpness of sight to keep the right direction. He had received many and definite instructions from the old men, who knew the Walpi road well, and he felt confident of his ability to reach the Seven Cities without loss of time. The sun came up, hot and strong, just as he emerged from the shadows of the last wooded canyon and stepped forth upon the wide-spaced plateau that stretched away toward Walpi. There was no chance for cover now, he realized, a little startled at the thought, for he had not before considered this difference between a trail on the plateau and one through the canyons. If he had not been afraid both of delay and of losing the trail if he should attempt to follow it by night he would have liked to lie down in a hidden nook and wait for dusk again rather than to run the risk of a race across such open and dangerous country by day. But he knew no time should be lost, so, eating his breakfast from his food-bag as he went along, he swung forward with the long, easy strides of one who is accustomed to travel much by foot. It was the middle of the forenoon when a fitful gust of wind brought a strange, regular, pounding sound to his ears. He could not think what it was. Again it came, louder than before, a sharp, ringing “clickety-clicket,” that brought him to a standstill. Then, too late for flight or any chance of concealment, he recognized the sound as one that he had never heard more than once or twice in his life--the beating of hard-ridden ponies’ hoofs.