At length Ben reached a point where he could see down out of the forest to a vast belt of lava beds below. Miles and miles of ghastly ragged lava rolled away toward the gray expanse of sage. In color it was blue, black, red, like rusty iron, seamed and fissured, caked and broken, a rough file–surfaced place over which travel was almost impossible.

Modoc soon led into the region of the ice caves. Huge holes gaped abruptly; black vacant apertures stared from under ledges; windows of mysterious depths showed right out of the gray pumice. Each and every cavern was a blow–hole that had formed in the cooling lava. It was an uncanny region where riding a horse did not feel safe. Some of the holes were fifty feet deep and twice as long, black and jagged–walled, brush–filled, with the dark doors of caves somewhere at the bottom. Every one of them led into a cave. And down in these caves there was always supposed to be ice, from which cold crystal water flowed.

As to this latter fact, however, it transpired that Modoc had his doubts. He dismounted beside several holes and laboriously descended to seek water. At last he found one. But the water was not accessible for a horse, and must be drawn up with rope and bucket. Here camp was pitched. Modoc slipped away on foot to see if he could locate the wild horses. Along this canyon slope the bleached grass grew in sufficient quantity to furnish feed. Ben could not help but believe a lucky star was rising for him. Upon Modoc’s return he was sure. The Indian wore a smile.

“Good—most dry time—ever see,” he panted. “Find old Modoc cave—trail—water…. We make trap—catch plenty horse.”

Chapter Six

BEN and Nevada were intensely eager to see the trap Modoc spoke of with such assurance, but they were advised by the Indian to wait until a more favorable time. What little wind there was appeared to favor the horses. Toward late afternoon, however, it veered to the west and freshened a little. Whereupon Modoc took up an ax and some large nails, and bidding his comrades follow he set off on foot.

Modoc led them down out of the forest upon the lava. Like a tumultuous iron–crusted sea it waved and billowed before them, presenting a most sinister aspect. Once molten, it was now hard as steel, and broken into every conceivable manner of split, fissure, crack, cave, and cavern, colored in rusty drab lanes. Pine trees, saplings, and brush grew marvelously right out of the crevices, apparently without earth as sustenance and foundation for their roots. Many of the pines had lately died, and as many more were beginning to turn yellow at the tops, betraying starvation by thirst.

As the hunters with difficulty progressed westward, the violence of the lava stream gradually smoothed out, but the great blow–holes grew larger and more numerous. Ben peered into caves huge enough to hide a church. The whole stratum of lava appeared to be honeycombed into a labyrinthine maze of holes, passages, caves.