noon
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 .