The Valiant RunawaysAtherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
General
The Valiant Runaways
Atherton, Gertrude Franklin Horn
California -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
Roldan peered cautiously into each of the huts in turn; all were empty.
Then the boys started for the corral, which the soldiers would not have
passed either on their way to the pueblo or in pursuit of the runaways.
They found the Indians in charge sound asleep in their hut, and did not
think it worth while to awaken them. The two mustangs they led forth,
vicious brutes at best, were very restless from prolonged inactivity.
Roldan's submitted to the saddle, but bolted as soon as he felt a
determined pair of legs about his sides; and as our adventurer had
neither whip nor spurs, all he could do was to hang on and shout to
Adan to follow close. This was the only thing that Adan's mustang was
willing to do, and the boys were borne blindly on, down one path, up
another, plunging deeper into the black recesses of the forest until
they knew no more of their whereabouts than if they had dropped from
another sphere.
After many weary miles the mustangs slackened, and the boys dismounted
and cut two slender but stinging whips. After that they rose once more
to the proud supremacy of man over brute. But the situation was full of
peril. They were hopelessly lost, the redwoods were the home of the
grizzly and the panther, and they might come upon the soldiers at any
moment. But there was nothing to do but to ride on, and at least they
had horses and food.
They descended whenever descent was possible, for at the foot of the
mountain lay the open valley; but there were no trails; in all
likelihood they were where no man, red or white, had ever been before;
they had to force their way where the brush was thinnest, and as often
their flight was toward loftier heights.
As the day wore on the temperature fell, even in those forest depths
where the sun had not penetrated for a thousand years. The beauty of
the forest palled upon Roldan: those everlasting aisles with their grey
motionless columns, their green sinister light, the delicate fern wood
below, the dense mat of branch and leaf so high above. The redwoods
oppress and terrify when they have man completely at their mercy. They
look as if they could speak if they would, roar louder than the storms
that have never shaken them. But they know the value of silence, and
the silence of their inmost depths is awful.
After many hours the boys rode out upon a bare peak. But its outlook
told them nothing. Behind rose other peaks, below was the dense
primeval forest, rising and falling on other slopes. There was no
glimpse of valley anywhere. The sky was heavy with the grey lurid
clouds of concentrated storm.
"We will eat," said Roldan, briefly; "but not too much."
They tethered the mustangs that the beasts might eat of the abundant
grass, and consumed a small quantity of their store. Then they
stretched at full length on the ground to rest their weary bodies.
"Let us stay here the night," said Adan, with a cavernous yawn.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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