e
cruelest, the most deceitful kind of ground to travel.

It was rotten, yet it had corners as hard and sharp as pikes. It was
rough, yet as slippery as ice. If there was a foot of level surface,
that space would be one to break through under a horse's hoofs. It was
seamed, lined, cracked, ridged, knotted iron. This lava bed resembled
a tremendously magnified clinker. It had been a running sea of molten
flint, boiling, bubbling, spouting, and it had burst its surface into a
million sharp facets as it hardened. The color was dull, dark, angry
red, like no other red, inflaming to the eye. The millions of minute
crevices were dominated by deep fissures and holes, ragged and rough
beyond all comparison.

The fugitives made slow progress. They picked a cautious, winding way
to and fro in little steps here and there along the many twists of the
trail, up and down the unavoidable depressions, round and round the
holes. At noon, so winding back upon itself had been their course,
they appeared to have come only a short distance up the lava slope.

It was rough work for them; it was terrible work for the horses. Blanco
Diablo refused to answer to the power of the Yaqui. He balked, he
plunged, he bit and kicked. He had to be pulled and beaten over many
places. Mercedes's horse almost threw her, and she was put upon Blanco
Sol. The white charger snorted a protest, then, obedient to Gale's
stern call, patiently lowered his noble head and pawed the lava for a
footing that would hold.

The lava caused Gale toil and worry and pain, but he hated the choyas.
As the travel progressed this species of cactus increased in number of
plants and in size. Everywhere the red lava was spotted with little
round patches of glistening frosty white. And under every bunch of
choya, along and in the trail, were the discarded joints, like little
frosty pine cones covered with spines. It was utterly impossible always
to be on the lookout for these, and when Gale stepped on one, often as
not the steel-like thorns pierced leather and flesh. Gale came almost
to believe what he had heard claimed by desert travelers--that the
choya was alive and leaped at man or beast. Certain it was when Gale
passed one, if he did not put all attention to avoiding it, he was
hooked through his chaps and held by barbed thorns. The pain was
almost unendurable. It was like no other. It burned, stung,
beat--almost seemed to freeze. It made useless arm or l