Out of the Depths

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Transcriber's note:

The author consistently refers to a handgun as a "Colt's." This is a Colt's revolver, though the word "revolver" is not used.

OUT OF THE DEPTHS

A Romance of Reclamation

by

ROBERT AMES BENNET

Author of "Out of the Primitive," "The Shogun's Daughter," "Which One," Etc.

With Illustrations by George Brehm

[Illustration: It was a wild race [Page 32]]

Chicago A. C. McClurg & Co. 1913

Copyright A. C. McClurg & Co. 1913

Published March, 1913

Copyrighted in Great Britain

Press of the Vail Company Coshocton, U. S. A.

TO

"THE SONS OF MARTHA"

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE I. Deep Canyon 1 II. A Yearling Sold 9 III. Queen of What? 20 IV. Downhill and Up 32 V. Into the Depths 39 VI. A Test of Caliber 52 VII. The Chance of Reclamation 68 VIII. A Man's Size Horse 81 IX. The Snake 93 X. Coming Events 110 XI. Self-Defense 125 XII. The Meeting 138 XIII. The Other Lady's Husband 148 XIV. A Descent 162 XV. Levels and Slants 176 XVI. Metal and Mettle 185 XVII. A Shot in the Dusk 197 XVIII. On the Brink 207 XIX. The Plotters 218 XX. Indian Shoes 232 XXI. Madonna Dolorosa 244 XXII. A Real Wolf 254 XXIII. The Temptation 268 XXIV. Blind Love 280 XXV. The Descent Into Hell 291 XXVI. In the Gloom 303 XXVII. Lower Depths 315 XXVIII. Light in the Darkness 327 XXIX. The Climber 339 XXX. Lurking Beasts 349 XXXI. Confessions 357 XXXII. Over the Brink 366 XXXIII. Friends in Need 374 XXXIV. Reclamation 388

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

It was a wild race Frontispiece

It sounded its shrill, menacing rattle 106

"You have something to tell me--your voice--your eyes--" 286

Another desperate clutch at the rope--still another 328

OUT OF THE DEPTHS

CHAPTER I

DEEP CANYON

The hunter was riding leisurely up the steep mountain side above Dry Mesa. On such an ascent most city men would have preferred to climb afoot. But there was a month's layer of tan on the hunter's handsome, supercilious face. He balanced himself lightly on his flat English saddle, and permitted the wiry little cow pony to pick the best path over the ledges and up the stiff slopes between the scattered pines.

In keeping with his saddle, the hunter wore English riding breeches and leggins. Otherwise he was dressed as a Texas cowboy of the past generation. His sombrero was almost Mexican in its size and ornateness. But his rifle was of the latest American pattern, and in place of the conventional Colt's he carried an automatic pistol. As his horse patiently clambered with him up towards the top of the escarpment the man gazed indolently about between half-closed eyelids and inhaled the smoke from an unbroken "chain" of gilt-tipped cigarettes.

The pony scrambled up the last ledges and came to a halt on the rim of High Mesa. It had been a long, hard climb. Tough as he was and mountain bred, the beast's rough coat was lathered with sweat and his flanks were heaving. The hunter's gaze roamed carelessly over the hilly pine-clad plateau of the upper mesa, while he took a nip of brandy from a silver-cased flask and washed it down with a drink of the tepid water in his canteen.

Having refreshed himself, he touched a patent lighter to another cigarette, chose a direction at random, and spurred his pony into a canter. The beast held to the pace until the ascent of a low but steep ridge brought him down to a walk. With the change of gait the hunter paused in the act of lighting a fresh cigarette, to gaze up at the sapphire sky. The air was reverberating with a muffled sound like distant thunder. Yet the crystal-clear dome above him showed no trace of a cloud all across from the magnificent snowy ranges on the east and north to the sparsely wooded mountains and sage-gray mesas to the south and west.

"Can't be thunder," he murmured--"no sign of a storm. Must be a stream. Ah! cool, fresh water!"