The Desert Valley

by Jackson Gregory

  Chapter XI

  Seeking

  Alan Howard got a lantern from the wagon and said briefly to SandyWeaver: 'Show me the place.' For he knew that for once Weaver was notlying. When together they came to the hollow where the dead calf layhe dismounted, made a light and verified all that had been told him.He saw dimly the track of the bare human foot where Sandy had left itundisturbed; he passed from that to the other tracks. As his cowboyhad said, they resembled a wolf's but were unusually large. As Howardnoted for himself, the front feet had made the larger, deeper imprint;the hind tracks were narrower, longer, less clearly defined.

  'It carries the bulk of its weight up forward,' he said thoughtfully.'It would be heavy-chested, big-shouldered, slim in the barrel andsmall in the hips. And it is the same It that made those other tracksby Superstition Pool--where some gent was scared half out of his hideand clean out of any desire to linger or eat supper.'

  'What's all that?' demanded Sandy. 'Seen tracks like that before?'

  Howard nodded and went back to his horse in silence. And silent heremained during the ride back to camp, despite Sandy's chatter. Foralready he had a vague theory and he was seeking stubbornly to renderthat theory less vague. When they had ridden back to the herd hesingled out Chuck Evans and moved with him out of hearing of the others.

  'Chuck,' he said soberly, 'I've got a job for you. I've got to go onwith the herd to San Juan and I don't know just when I'll be back.To-morrow you move the extra horses up into the hills; it's time,anyway, to feed off the grass in the canons. And I want you to keep intouch with the Longstreets. At night-time make your camp withincalling distance of theirs. And keep your eyes and ears open.'

  'I get you,' said Chuck, 'only I don't. What's going to hurt them?'

  'Nothing that I know of. But I want you on the job. I don't quitelike the idea of the old professor and his daughter being out therealone.' And that was all the explanation he gave.

  The next afternoon the drive began. Sitting a little aside as his menstarted the slow procession toward the San Juan trail, Howard watchedhis carefully bred cattle go by and drew from the moment a full senseof success achieved. As they crowded by in bellowing scores heestimated that they were going to net him above ten thousand dollars,and that every cent of that ten thousand was going to John Carr as aworth-while payment upon Desert Valley. From his own funds in the bankHoward would draw for the purchase of his calves and for runningexpenses. He would be close-hauled again, but he would have earned along breathing spell. As the tail-enders pushed by him he dropped inbehind them to be engulfed in the rising clouds of dust and to do hisown part of his own work.

  The wagon had gone ahead to the place appointed for to-night's camp.Since the herd was large, while days were hot and water-holes scarce,Howard had planned the devious way by Middle Springs, Parker's Gulch,the end of Antelope Valley, across the little hills lying to the northof Poco Poco and on into San Juan by the chain of mud-holes where theold Mexican corrals were. Hence, he counted upon being at least fourdays on the road to San Juan. There his responsibilities would cease,as there the buyers had promised to meet him, taking the herd on intothe railroad.

  During the days which followed he was as busy as a man should care tobe, for the task of moving a large herd across a dry and baking countryand through it all keeping the cattle in first-class condition, is nosmall one. And busy in mind was he when the stars were out and campwas pitched. He lay with his head on his saddle, his pipe in histeeth, his thoughts withdrawn from his business of stock-selling andcentred elsewhere. The second night out the boys noted a change in AlHoward; the third night they asked one another 'what had come over theold man.' For whereas formerly his had always been the gayest voicearound the camp fire, his the tongue to spin a yarn or start a cowboyballad, now he withdrew after a silent supper and threw himself down onthe ground and stared at the stars, his thoughts his own behind thelocked guard of his shut teeth.

  'He's figgering on something--hard,' said Dave Terril. 'Might be aboutJim Courtot.'

  'Or them tracks,' suggested Sandy Weaver. 'The barefoot's and thegigantic wolf.'

  'Or,' put in a chuckling voice from the shadows, 'a girl, huh? Havingtook a good look at old man Longstreet's girl, I wouldn't blame Alovermuch.'

  By the time the adobe walls of picturesque San Juan swam into viewacross the dry lands Alan Howard had at least reshaped and clarifiedhis theory of the tracks, had made up his mind concerning Jim Courtotand had dreamed through many an hour of Helen. As to Helen, he meantto see a very great deal of her when he returned to Desert Valley. Asto Jim Courtot, he meant to end matters one way or another without anygreat delay. For to a man of the type of Alan Howard the presentcondition was unbearable. He knew that Courtot was 'looking for him';that Courtot had gone straight to the ranch-house and had sat down withhis gun in front of him, waiting for Howard's step on the porch; thatwhen the first opportunity arose Jim Courtot would start shooting. Itwas not to his liking that Courtot should have things all his way. Thegambler would shoot from the dark, as he had done before, if he had thechance. That chance might come to-night or a year from now, andconstant expectancy of this sort would, soon or late, get on a man'snerves. In short, if Courtot wanted to start something, Howard fullymeant to have it an even break; if Courtot were looking for him hecould expedite matters by looking for Courtot.

  As to his theory of the tracks; he connected them, too, with JimCourtot. He knew that for the past three months Courtot haddisappeared from his familiar haunts; these were La Casa Blanca, JimGalloway's gambling-house in San Juan, and similar places in Tecolote,Big Run, Dos Hermanos and San Ramon. He knew that only recently,within the week, Courtot had returned from his pilgrimage; that he hadcome up to Big Run from King Canon way. He knew that the man who hadfled Superstition Pool had turned out in the direction of King Canon,and that that man might or might not have been Jim Courtot. Finally,he had Sandy Weaver's word for it that Courtot went deathly-white whenhe heard of the slain calf and the tracks, and that forthwith Courtothad again disappeared. The imprint of a man's bare foot spelled anIndian from the northern wastes, and Courtot, during the three monthsof his disappearance, had had ample time to go far into the north. ToHoward it seemed a simple thing to imagine that Courtot had committedsome deed which had brought after him the unsleeping vengeance of adesert Indian.

  In San Juan Howard found a representative of Doan, Rockwell and Haight,the cattle buyers, awaiting him; and the same day the deal wascompleted, a cheque placed in his hands and the cattle turned over tothe buyers' drivers. His men he dismissed to their own devices,knowing that they would amuse themselves in San Juan, perhaps stir up afight with a crowd of miners, and thereafter journey homeward, fullycontent. They were not to wait for him, as he had business to delayhim a day or so. From the corrals he went to the bank, placing hischeque for collection with his old friend, John Engle. Thereafter,while his horse rested and enjoyed its barley at the stables, he turnedto the Casa Blanca. For it was always possible that Jim Courtot wasthere.

  As he stepped in at the deep, wide doorway Howard's hat was low-drawn,its brim shading his eyes, and he was ready to step swiftly to right orleft, to spring forward or back, to shoot quickly if shooting were inthe cards. But he knew upon the moment that Courtot was not here. Atthe bar were his own men ranged up thirstily; they saw him and calledto him and had no warning to give. So he passed on down the long roomuntil he stopped at a little table where three men sat. One of them, athick, squat fellow with a florid face and small mean eyes, looked upat him and glowered.

  'Where's Courtot, Yates?' asked Howard coolly.

  Yates stared and finally shrugged.

  'Left town day before yesterday,' he replied shortly.

  'So he was here? I heard he wanted to see me. Know which way he hasgone?'

  Yates studied him keenly. Then again he lifted his ponderous shoulders.

  'He was looking for you,' he said, his meaning clear in th
e hardness ofhis eyes. 'And, if you want to know, he's up Las Palmas way.'

  'That happens to be lucky,' Alan told him, turning away. 'I'm going upthere now to look at some calves in French Valley. If I happen to misshim and you see him you can tell him for me that I'm ready to talk withhim any time.'

  He went out in dead silence. Many eyes followed him, many eyes whichwhen his tall form had passed through the door came back to other eyesnarrowed and thoughtful. For Alan Howard was well known here in SanJuan, and never before had a man of them seen him wearing a gun at hiship. There were bets offered and taken before he was half-way to thestable. His own men, hearing, were thoughtful and said nothing. Allexcept Bandy O'Neil, who smashed his big fist on the bar and staredangrily into the florid face of Yates and cried out loudly that JimCourtot was a card sharp and a crook and that Jim Courtot's friendswere as Jim Courtot. Yates for the third time shrugged his thickshoulders. But his look was like a knife clashing with the cowboy's.

  Though it was dusk when he resaddled and Las Palmas was twenty-fivemiles away, Howard's impatience hastened him on. It appeared thatCourtot had made up his mind and, further, was publishing the factacross a wide sweep of country. Then there was no going back for himand Courtot, and like a man borne along in a swift current whichoffered rapids ahead, he was afire to get them behind him. If Courtotwere still in Las Palmas he would find him to-night.

  But again, at the end of a tedious ride, he learned that the man hesought had come and gone. No one knew just where, but at the onelodging-house which the little settlement possessed, it was hinted thatCourtot had headed still further north, perhaps to Los Robles. Howardwent to bed that night wondering what it was that impelled the gamblerto this hurried travelling across the land. Was it something thatlured and beckoned? Was it something that drove and harassed? Hislast thoughts were of the tracks he had seen by a dead calf and of thetale Sandy Weaver had told.

  Early the next morning he rode out to French Valley for a look at TonyVaca's calves. They proved to be about what he had expected of them,close to a hundred, of mixed breeding, but for the most part goodbeef-making stock in fair condition and all under a year old. Vaca wasshort of pasture this year, hence, he declared, forced to sell at abargain. Howard nodded gravely, considered briefly, and in ten minutesbought the herd, agreeing to take them at ten per cent. less thanTony's bargain price provided they were delivered in Desert Valleywithin a week.

  Now all of his business of buying and selling was done and thereremained but to go home or to look further for Courtot. He rode backinto Las Palmas and breakfasted at the lunch counter. There he learnedthat Courtot had probably gone on up to Quigley, another twenty-fivemiles to the north-east. And, very largely because of the geographicallocation of Quigley, Howard decided on the instant to continue at leastthat far his quest. For, coming the way he had from his ranch, he haddescribed a wide arc, almost a semicircle, and by the same trail,should he retrace it, was a hundred and fifty miles from Desert Valley.But, if he went on to Quigley, a mining-town in the bare mountains, hewould be at the mouth of Quigley Pass, which led to a little-used trailthrough the mountains and almost in a straight line across the arm ofthe desert known locally as the Bad Lands. Though he had never crossedthese weary, empty miles, and though there were no towns and fewwater-holes within their blistered scope, Howard judged that he couldsave close to fifty miles of the return trip. So he slipped his footinto the stirrup and swung out toward Quigley, hopeful of findingCourtot and confident of a short cut home.