This boat was not
moored to the opposite shore. Questions arose. Had the boat sunk? Had
the fugitives crossed safely or had they drifted into the canyon? Dave
Naab rode out along the river and saw the boat, a mile below the rapids,
bottom side up and lodged on a sand-bar.
"She got across, and then set the boat loose," said August. "That's the
Indian of her. If she went up on the cliffs to the Navajos maybe we'll
find her. If she went into the Painted Desert--" a grave shake of his
shaggy head completed his sentence.
Morning also disclosed Snap Naab once more in the clutch of his demon,
drunk and unconscious, lying like a log on the porch of his cottage.
"This means ruin to him," said his father. "He had one chance; he was
mad over Mescal, and if he had got her, he might have conquered his
thirst for rum."
He gave orders for the sheep to be driven up on the plateau, and for his
sons to ride out to the cattle ranges. He bade Hare pack and get in
readiness to accompany him to the Navajo cliffs, there to search for
Mescal.
The river was low, as the spring thaws had not yet set in, and the
crossing promised none of the hazard so menacing at a later period.
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