Below -- hundreds of feet below -- lay the
canon bottom, a solid bed of chaparral, looking soft and even as a
bed of moss. Giant sycamore-trees lifted their heads, at intervals,
above this; and far out in the plain glistened the loops of the river,
whose sources, unknown to the world, seen of but few human
eyes, were to be waters of comfort to these fugitives this day.
Alessandro was cheered. The trail was child's play to him. At the
first tread of Baba's dainty steps on the rolling stones, he saw that
the horse was as sure-footed as an Indian pony. In a few short
hours, now, they would be all at rest. He knew where, under a
sycamore-clump, there was running water, clear as crystal, and
cold,-- almost colder than one could drink,-- and green grass too;
plenty for two days' feed for the horses, or even three; and all
California might be searched over in vain for them, once they were
down this trail. His heart full of joy at these thoughts, he turned, to
see Ramona pallid, her lips parted, her eyes full of terror. He had
forgotten that her riding had hitherto been only on the smooth
ways of the valley and the plain, There she was so fearless, that he
had had no misgiving about her nerves here; but she had dropped
the reins, was clutching Baba's mane with both hands, and sitting
unsteadily in her saddle.
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