by Brett Waring
After riding for maybe twenty minutes, they were much closer to the river as it looped in a wide arc and they paused on a small rise to plan their strategy.
“Figure they would’ve grazed their way through the draw since we saw ’em yesterday,” Bonney said. “If we can surprise ’em there and drive ’em on through to that sand-pit area an’ drop the brush down through the pass, we’ll have ’em.”
“We’d best cut the brush and have it in place along the rim of the pass. We both set ’em runnin’, then we go up one each side and start droppin’ the brush in before they can turn by the river.”
Bonney nodded and began to roll a cigarette. “You know, Cody, I never did figure why you never stuck with hosses. ’Stead of followin’ the owlhoot, I mean. You could make plenty money bustin’ broncs.”
“An’ get my innards tied in a knot doin’ it,” Cody grinned, then reached out and lifted tobacco sack and papers from Bonney’s shirt pocket. “Too much like hard work, Cress.”
“Not as hard as that damn rock pile.”
Cody grinned. “Builds the muscles. You got free room and board, what you complainin’ about?”
“It was enough for me, Cody. I ain’t goin’ back. I vowed that. I been tolerably straight since then, and now I’m hitched to Liz I aim to keep strictly to the straight-and-narrow.”
“Wish you luck, Cress.” Cody stuffed the tobacco back into Bonney’s shirt, took out a vesta and fired his cigarette. “With a woman like Liz backin’ you, I reckon you’ll make it. She’s a real fine woman.”
“Still puzzles me how she agreed to tie the knot with the likes of me. I’d sure like to give her a lot more than I have so far, Cody. If I pull this hoss deal, she’ll be able to get herself a couple of dresses and I aim to try an’ ship her in one of them new treadle sewin’ machines so’s she can make her own clothes. I might not be able to give her all I’d like, but I’ll sure as hell try ...”
Cody Mann reached out and placed a hand on Bonney’s shoulder. He frowned as he looked towards the river.
“Hey! What’s that pokin’ up out of the water? Looks like a wagon wheel.”
Bonney squinted. “Some pilgrim caught by the flood crossin’ the river, I guess ... Mebbe we better take a look. A lot of bodies wash down after heavy rains up in the breaks.”
Cody Mann shrugged. “Up to you. It’s your time.”
Bonney lifted the reins and urged his mount forward. “Better make sure. I pulled one feller out last Spring and he was still alive. Just. Liz pulled him through.”
Cody put his mount after Bonney and they rode to the river’s edge.
“Looks like a buckboard,” Bonney said.
Cody pointed upstream, to what looked like a bundle of clothes caught up on a deadfall jammed among some rocks.
Bonney quickly dismounted, ran into the shallows and plunged towards the object.
“It’s a man,” he yelled. “Been shot in the chest... Oh, Judas Priest!”
Cody dismounted and waded to where Bonney was trying to lift the sodden body free of the deadfall.
“What’s wrong?” Cody asked, heaving the tree aside with a massive rippling of shoulder muscles. “Old feller, huh?”
“Yeah. Old Man Jarvess,” Bonney said as they lifted the water-logged outlaw between them and carried him back towards the bank.
“You know him?” Cody asked as he helped place the outlaw on the sand and saw the raw bullet hole high into the chest. The water had long since washed away any blood and the flesh was grayish blue.
Cody glanced at Bonney. “Still kickin’?”
Bonney swiftly pressed his ear to the cold, bony chest and looked up, “Only just. Gimme a blanket, Cody.”
He started rubbing the old limp wrists while Cody fetched blankets from their bedrolls and wrapped him up warmly.
“He’s Jarvess the outlaw,” said Bonney. “I—er—sold him an’ his boys a bunch of hosses a little while back. I knew who he was, and he knew I knew. He paid cash on the knocker—and said he might want another bunch of really fast broncs in about a month. Which would be about now, I reckon. Liz didn’t want a bar of it. She knew the old hombre and his bunch must be up to somethin’ and she didn’t want to get involved, but I figured we’d be all right ... He took a shine to Liz. Said she reminded him of his daughter ...”
He broke off as Jarvess gave a sudden cough and a thin watery stream of blood appeared at one corner of the leathery mouth.
“Better get him back to camp,” Cody advised.
They loaded him across Bonney’s saddle, then the rancher frowned at Cody and looked upstream.
“Might be someone on his backtrail, Cody. You fancy climbin’ yonder butte an’ keepin’ an eye out? I mean, I don’t want a posse ridin in an’ findin’ me doctorin’ Old Man Jarvess, not with the dodgers on him ...”
“Sure, Cress. Sounds like a good idea. You head on back to camp and I’ll keep lookout.”
Old Man Jarvess wasn’t going to make it, that much was obvious even to Cress Bonney with his limited knowledge of medicine.
The old outlaw’s lungs had been torn to shreds—and he was only just breathing. Each shuddering gasp for air brought pink bubbles to his purple lips and formed a thin, browning scale as they dried.
He was constantly shivering and moaning as Cress Bonney got a fire going, propped a flat slab of rock behind it to reflect the heat—and made sure the Old Man was covered with blankets. Finally, some color came back to his sunken cheeks, but his pulse seemed to be weakening. It raced wildly for a spell, then settled back into its irregular fluttering.
Bonney hunkered on his hams and rolled a cigarette, while he looked at the dying outlaw.
“You’ve had a wild, tough life, old-timer. But looks like you’re at trail’s end now. I hope it ain’t too rough for you. You never done me no harm an’ you sure seemed to take a shine to Liz ...”
The Old Man’s left eyelid flickered, opened, closed, and opened again, then the right one lifted. His glazing, pain filled eyes stared up at the hot, cloudless blue vault above him. It was possible he also saw part of the canyon rim.
“Mr. Jarvess?” Bonney said, leaning forward swiftly, placing a hand on the bony shoulder that had once been thick and iron-hard with muscle. “How you feel?”
The old head slowly turned. But the eyes didn’t focus: they still remained glazed, milky, looking elsewhere.
“You ... Tag?” Jarvess rasped hoarsely.
“No, Mr. Jarvess, it’s ...”
“Chet, boy? That ... you? I ... I can’t see proper ...”
“Take it easy, Mr. Jarvess. It’s me—Cress Bonney. You bought some of my hosses not long ago ...”
The oldster was silent for a spell but he kept his head turned in Bonney’s direction.
“We pulled you out of the river. My pard an’ me,” Bonney told him quietly. “You were clingin’ to a log, but there was a buckboard in the water. You been lung-shot ...”
Jarvess remained silent for a long time then asked in a surprisingly strong voice, “Am I gonna make it, Cress?”
Bonney hesitated, and then shook his head. “No, sir. I’m sorry to say you ain’t.”
Old Man Jarvess nodded very slowly. “Surprised I ... made it—this far ... You—you’d best leave me, boy. They—they’ll be lookin’ for me ...”
“Who? A posse?”
Bonney was shocked when Jarvess made a rasping, almost cackling sound that trailed off into a violent spasm of coughing. He was startled to realize that Jarvess had tried to laugh. The coughing brought more blood and by the time the fit was over, Jarvess was gasping for breath, strange, whistling noises coming from his throat and the bullet hole.
He groped about feebly with one hand and Bonney grabbed it and held it tightly.
“Cress—lis ... listen,” the old man gagged, his body shuddering. “Just lis-ten, boy—We was—jumped. My boys an’ me. Three—hard cases—bushwhacked us—Wyatt, Tyler—Mar-Marlowe. Remember them—names—They—they might
show. Bury me somewheres they won’t see—”
“Look, Mr. Jarvess, I ...”
“Listen, damnit!” croaked the oldster, coughing again. “Not much—time. Cath-cathedral an’ altar. Line-line ’em up ... Hole-in-the-wall behind—br-brush. Inside ... flat rock, quartz streak—G-gold—it—it’s yours. An’—your wife’s ... Y-you been—dec-cent ... All yours ... Don’-don’t let Tyler—know ... L-Liz—just like my—my li’l gal ... M-my wife was ...”
His words became completely unintelligible, but a few seconds later he suddenly sat up, pointed, and said very clearly:
“Gimme some more o’ that there roast beef, darlin’—I thank y’ kindly ...”
Then he fell back dead, his mouth twitching in a brief smile before sagging open.
Bonney tightened his lips as he sighed and pulled the blankets over the old man’s face. He went around the fire and kicked over the flat rock. There was no longer any need to reflect heat onto Old Man Jarvess. Likely he was a lot warmer where he’d gone ...
But that ‘gold’ he’d mentioned. Must be stolen; it would have to be if Old Man Jarvess had hidden it. Anyway, it didn’t make much sense—line up the cathedral and the altar—Bonney shook his head slowly. There was an old Mission ruins said to be somewhere in these hills but he didn’t know of anyone who had actually seen them. It was one of those legends that had grown out of the misty past, something to do with the old Spanish Padres when they had tried to spread Christianity north from Mexico ...
Bonney whirled, his hand streaking towards his gun butt, at the sound of a racing horse. Then he relaxed some as he saw the rider was Cody Mann. The big man skidded his horse to a stop and looked down at the blanket-draped form of Old Man Jarvess.
“Din’t make it, huh?”
“No. Too old I guess ... What’s your hurry?”
“Three riders coming along the river an’ they’re searchin’, Cress. Lookin’ for somethin’. They’re beatin’ the brush and checking overhangs on the banks—all the places where a body could get caught. Seems to me they might be kind of lookin’ for him.” He gestured towards Jarvess.
Bonney tensed. “Hell, he said three men had bushwhacked him and his sons and that they’d be after him.” He was looking around swiftly as he spoke. “Gimme a hand to cave-in that cutbank and bury him out of sight, Cody?”
Bonney was already dragging the corpse around the remains of the campfire towards the bank of the canyon. Cody dismounted quickly and picked up the old man’s feet.
“What the hell’s the hurry?” he panted. “He’s dead. Those hombres come in, we give them his body and that’s it. Why bury him?”
“’Cause there’s more to it than just wantin’ him dead,” Bonney gasped, lowering the corpse hard against the inward curve of the bank beneath the overhang. “He’s hid some gold an’ my guess is they’re after it. If they figure we know, we’ll be in trouble.”
Cody frowned. “You mean he talked?”
Bonney nodded jerkily. “He told me where to find his cache—But I couldn’t make head nor tail of it ... Now, move, Cody. Those hombres are killers.”
Cody hesitated, then climbed the bank and stood on the overhang. He began to jump up and down, kicking at the edges. Great clods broke away and Bonney snatched a pickaxe and began undermining the bank with hard-swinging blows.
He leapt back after several minutes as the whole bank suddenly gave way beneath Cody’s weight. The big man yelled as he toppled down with the hundreds of pounds of earth and rubble. He spilled away from the wall, spitting, and clawing grit out of his eyes.
Bonney ran across and helped him to his feet.
“Okay, Cody?”
Mann brushed himself down, and nodded. Then he looked at the fall and noticed how it stood out against the rest of the weathered wall. The darker soil was a dead giveaway, but there was little they could do about it.
The three riders were already in sight, working back and forth along the river’s edge. Any minute they would spot the camp ...
Bonney checked his six-gun then went to his horse and took the rifle from the saddle. Cody also checked his Colt and stood watching the rim.
“Listen, Cress, what was the gold Jarvess was talkin’ about? I mean, if it’s his loot from all the jobs he’s pulled, it’ll be worth hundreds. Maybe thousands—”
Bonney was too nervous about the approaching trio to pay a lot of attention to Cody’s questions. “I dunno what he meant. He might’ve been ravin’ ...”
“But you said he told you how to find it.”
“Not really. It didn’t make sense what he said ... Look, Cody, if these hombres are Wyatt, Tyler and Marlowe, they’re the ones killed Jarvess all right. We’ll be damn lucky to get out of this with our hides, so don’t prod ’em, savvy?”
Cody gave a short laugh. “Prod ’em? Could be I know ’em, Cress. There was a hombre called Trace Wyatt I used to run with for a spell, an’ he had a sidekick name of Tyler. Red I think he was called ...”
“Well, you’ll know in a minute,” Bonney cut in and gestured as the three riders came into the canyon at a lope, with rifles balanced on their knees. Cress Bonney licked his lips and tightened his grip on his rifle.
Cody Mann was shading his eyes, studying the three newcomers. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I think that’s Trace Wyatt an’ the hombre in the lead’s got red hair. Looks like Tyler as I recollect ... They’re sonuvers, Cress, so better let me handle it.”
Bonney nodded, feeling knotted-up inside, and dry-mouthed. Outwardly, he looked calm enough as he stood beside the fire watching the three men stop their mounts on the other side of the fire.
“Howdy,” said Red Tyler curtly.
“Howdy, yourself,” Cody Mann retorted. “Why, dog me! Red Tyler, ain’t it? An’, Judas, it is you Trace.”
“Cody Mann,” said Trace Wyatt suddenly grinning. “Well, smoke me! You remember Cody from down on the Brazos that time, Red ...?”
Tyler was studying Mann coldly and he nodded jerkily. “Yeah. Seems I do. Long time, Mann.”
“Yeah, been a few seasons come an’ go since them wild days. Who’s your sidekick? Dunno him, do I?”
“Name of Marlowe,” Wyatt said briefly and added for Marlowe’s benefit. “Cody Mann. Rode with us once.”
Marlowe nodded jerkily, holding his gaze on Cress Bonney. “Who’s he?”
Cody introduced Bonney briefly, saying, “We met in Yuma. Cress sort of runs a small spread tucked away back here. He sells the odd fast hoss to fellers driftin’ through, if you knows what I mean.” And Cody winked.
All three outlaws looked hard at Bonney but it was Tyler who spoke.
“Yeah, we’ve heard of you, Bonney. You sold some broncs to Jarvess ’bout a month back, din’ you?”
Bonney shrugged. “Might’ve. Don’t always ask the names of folk who buy.”
“Hell, Red, you can’t expect him to admit to that kinda thing,” chuckled Cody Mann. “You gonna step down an’ have some coffee?”
Wyatt started to dismount but stopped at a curt sign from the unsmiling Tyler. Marlowe looked as if he, too, would have accepted the invitation but for Tyler.
“We’re lookin’ for someone,” Tyler said and looked from Cody to Bonney—but neither man responded. “Old Man Jarvess, matter of fact. He was in some kinda trouble. With the law I guess. His two boys got killed an’ he was totin’ lead in the chest, far as we could see. He was in a runaway buckboard an’ we tried to catch up with it but it went clear off a cliff into the river. Some miles upstream. We been searchin’ the banks, thinkin’ maybe he’s been washed up.”
He watched the mustang men closely. Cody pursed his lips and shook his head.
“Sounds to me like you’d be lookin’ for a corpse—if he went over a cliff an’ already had lead in his brisket.”
“Hell, yeah. The fall likely would’ve finished him,” Bonney said, finding it hard to keep the nervousness out of his voice.
“I reckon so, too,” Wyatt said, “but R
ed thinks he might still be alive.”
“He’s a tough old coot,” Tyler said shortly.
“Well, even if he did survive, he wouldn’t be in any too good a shape, I’d allow,” Bonney said. “I’ve seen them cliffs upstream an’ they’re high. Damned if I’d care to drop off one, even without lead in me.”
“Then you ain’t seen him?” Tyler asked.
“Us? Hell, no,” said Cody Mann. “We’re catchin’ an’ bustin’ hosses, that’s all.”
Tyler’s eyes narrowed. “Found part of the buckboard down in the river yonder.”
Bonney looked swiftly at Cody but the big man didn’t flinch. “Aw, yeah. I know what you mean—That wheel stickin’ up, right? I thought it was a wagon wheel. You sure it ain’t Red?”
“Damn sure.”
Cody shrugged. “Well, I guess it’d float some. Body’d sink long before it got down this far, I’d think.”
“Sure it would,” Bonney agreed.
“Not if he managed to grab onto a floatin’ log or somethin’.”
“N-no, guess not. But would he be conscious an’ able to do that after a fall off a cliff an’ bein’ lung-shot?”
Tyler stiffened. “Who said anythin’ about him bein’ lung shot?”
Cody blinked and Bonney’s face tightened, aware that the big man had made a slip.
“Hell, din’ you?” Cody countered.
Red Tyler slowly shook his head. Wyatt and Marlowe flicked their eyes towards him as if waiting for a signal.
Cody scratched his head.
“Well, I dunno. You said he was shot in the chest. I guess I just figured he’d be lung-shot. Usually happens with chest wounds.”
Tyler’s hard gaze roved round the camp and settled on the newly caved-in cutbank, the fresh earth standing out like a signpost against the sun baked wall.
“What happened there?”
“Er—cave-in,” Bonney stammered. “Just out of the blue. Guess the rain must’ve undermined it.”
“Somethin’ did,” Marlowe said tightly and he put his mount across, leaned down and worked at something jutting out of the soil that had settled some since its fall. It had exposed the handle of the pickaxe that had been torn from Bonney’s hands. Marlowe lifted it free of the loose earth and flung it at Bonney’s feet. “You work at underminin’ it, Bonney?”
