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Riders of the Purple Sage-Part15_Zane Gray(1872-1939)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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that it had a burrow higher up. More than once he jerked over to



seize it, only in vain, for the rabbit by renewed effort eluded

his grasp. Thus the chase continued on up the bare slope. The



farther Venters climbed the more determined he grew to catch his

quarry. At last, panting and sweating, he captured the rabbit at



the foot of a steeper grade. Laying his rifle on the bulge of

rising stone, he killed the animal and slung it from his belt.



Before starting down he waited to catch his breath. He had

climbed far up that wonderful smooth slope, and had almost



reached the base of yellow cliff that rose skyward, a huge

scarred and cracked bulk. It frowned down upon him as if to



forbid further ascent. Venters bent over for his rifle, and, as

he picked it up from where it leaned against the steeper grade,



he saw several little nicks cut in the solid stone.

They were only a few inches deep and about a foot apart. Venters



began to count them--one--two--three--four--on up to sixteen.

That number carried his glance to the top of his first bulging



bench of cliff-base. Above, after a more level offset, was still

steeper slope, and the line of nicks kept on, to wind round a



projecting corner of wall.

A casual glance would have passed by these little dents; if



Venters had not known what they signified he would never have

bestowed upon them the second glance. But he knew they had been



cut there by hand, and, though age-worn, he recognized them as

steps cut in the rock by the cliff-dwellers. With a pulse



beginning to beat and hammer away his calmness, he eyed that

indistinct line of steps, up to where the buttress of wall hid



further sight of them. He knew that behind the corner of stone

would be a cave or a crack which could never be suspected from



below. Chance, that had sported with him of late, now directed

him to a probable hiding-place. Again he laid aside his rifle,



and, removing boots and belt, he began to walk up the steps. Like

a mountain goat, he was agile, sure-footed, and he mounted the



first bench without bending to use his hands. The next ascent

took grip of fingers as well as toes, but he climbed steadily,



swiftly, to reach the projecting corner, and slipped around it.

Here he faced a notch in the cliff. At the apex he turned



abruptly into a ragged vent that split the ponderous wall clear

to the top, showing a narrow streak of blue sky.



At the base this vent was dark, cool, and smelled of dry, musty

dust. It zigzagged so that he could not see ahead more than a few



yards at a time. He noticed tracks of wildcats and rabbits in the

dusty floor. At every turn he expected to come upon a huge cavern



full of little square stone houses, each with a small aperture

like a staring dark eye. The passage lightened and widened, and



opened at the foot of a narrow, steep, ascending chute.

Venters had a moment's notice of the rock, which was of the same



smoothness and hardness as the slope below, before his gaze went

irresistibly upward to the precipitous walls of this wide ladder



of granite. These were ruined walls of yellow sandstone, and so

split and splintered, so overhanging with great sections of



balancing rim, so impending with tremendous crumbling crags, that

Venters caught his breathsharply, and, appalled, he



instinctively recoiled as if a step upward might jar the

ponderous cliffs from their foundation. Indeed, it seemed that



these ruined cliffs were but awaiting a breath of wind to

collapse and come tumbling down. Venters hesitated. It would be a



foolhardy man who risked his life under the leaning, waiting

avalanches of rock in that gigantic split. Yet how many years had



they leaned there without falling! At the bottom of the incline

was an immense heap of weathered sandstone all crumbling to dust,



but there were no huge rocks as large as houses, such as rested

so lightly and frightfully above, waitingpatiently and



inevitably to crash down. Slowly split from the parent rock by

the weathering process, and carved and sculptured by ages of wind



and rain, they waited their moment. Venters felt how foolish it

was for him to fear these broken walls; to fear that, after they



had endured for thousands of years, the moment of his passing

should be the one for them to slip. Yet he feared it.



"What a place to hide!" muttered Venters. "I'll climb--I'll see

where this thing goes. If only I can find water!"






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