The Chalice Of Courage: A Romance of ColoradoBrady, Cyrus Townsend
General
The Chalice Of Courage: A Romance of Colorado
Brady, Cyrus Townsend
Colorado -- Fiction; Love stories; Western stories
Drink of the Chalice of Courage!
The mead of mothers and men,
And the sinewed might
Of the Victor's might,
Be yours, again and again.
Marie Hemstreet
BOOK I
THE HIGHER LAW
CHAPTER I
THE CUP THAT WOULD NOT PASS
The huge concave of the rocky wall towering above them threw the woman's
scream far into the vast profound of the cañon. It came sharp to the
man's ear, yet terminated abruptly; as when two rapidly moving trains
pass, the whistle of one is heard shrill for one moment only to be cut
short on the instant. Brief as it was, however, the sound was
sufficiently appalling; its suddenness, its unexpectedness, the awful
terror in its single note, as well as its instantaneity, almost stopped
his heart.
With the indifference of experience and long usage he had been riding
carelessly along an old pre-historic trail through the cañon, probably
made and forgotten long before the Spaniards spied out the land.
Engrossed in his thoughts, he had been heedless alike of the wall above
and of the wall below. Prior to that moment neither the over-hanging
rock that curved above his head nor the almost sheer fall to the river a
thousand feet beneath the narrow ledge of the trail had influenced him
at all. He might have been riding a country road so indifferent had
been his progress. That momentary shriek dying thinly away into a
strange silence changed everything.
The man was riding a sure-footed mule, which perhaps somewhat accounted
for his lack of care, and it seemed as if the animal must also have
heard and understood the meaning of the woman's scream, for with no
bridle signal and no spoken word the mule stopped suddenly as if
petrified. Rider and ridden stood as if carved from stone.
The man's comprehending, realizing fear almost paralyzed him. At first
he could scarcely force himself to do that toward which his whole being
tended--look around. Divining instantly the full meaning of that sudden
cry, it seemed hours before he could turn his head; really her cry and
his movement were practically simultaneous. He threw an agonized glance
backward on the narrow trail and saw--nothing! Where there had been
life, companionship, comradeship, a woman, there was now vacancy.
The trail made a little bend behind him, he could see its surface for
some distance, but not what lay beneath. He did not need the testimony
of his eyes for that. He knew what was down there.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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