by Galloway
Nobody was likely to find me here, but the question was, and it was an almighty
big question, how was I going to to get out? I'd no food left and not much
strength, but for the moment I was safe. So I curled up on the sand, pulled the
remnants of my hides over me and went to sleep.
And in my sleep I dreamed that I heard a sound of horses, the whimper of a dog
or wolf, and the sound of falling water.
When I awakened it was a long time later. I was cold, shivering cold, and the
water was gray with late evening. There was a waterfall near ... not that it
mattered. This was one I wasn't going to get out of.
Galloway, where are you?
Chapter V
"There's a town," Shadow said, "or what passes for a town."
"Flagan don't know nothing about a town. When he taken out he was stark naked
an' running his heart out, but if I know Flagan he'll take to the hills. There's
places to hide and a better chance of rustling some grub."
"Nevertheless, he's apt to come upon some tracks, and if he follows them he'll
find some prospector's camp or a ranch."
"Ranch?"
"They're coming in. The Dunn outfit have laid claim to a wide stretch of range
and they're bringing in cattle." Shadow rode around a tree, pulling up to let
Galloway ride abreast. "There's some others, too."
"There's room for all."
"Not if you listen to the Dunns. They're a tough lot. From Kansas."
There was the shadow of a trail, long unused. It wound among the rocks and
boulders, following the contour of the land. Under the trees it was shadowed and
still. Occasionally they drew up to give their horses a breather, for the
altitude was high.
"I was talking with an old Ute," Shadow commented, "and showed him a picture of
the castle where I was born. He said there were bigger castles back in the
mountains."
"Castles?"
"Big houses," he said, "bigger than any dozen houses he had ever seen, bigger
than twice that many, he claimed."
"You'd never guess it. Not in this country. He was probably tellin' you a tall
tale."
"Maybe."
Hours later they came down off the mesa into a wide, grassy valley. Almost at
once they saw tracks. A dozen riders on shod horses had passed, and not too long
before.
Nick Shadow drew up and studied the tracks. Then he looked north in the
direction they had gone. "Some of that Dunn outfit," he said. "Stay away from
them, Sackett. They're trouble."
"Isn't likely I'll run into them." They mounted a ridge as Galloway spoke and he
pointed off to the west. "River over there?"
"The Mancos. Mesa Verde is just beyond. That's where the old Indian told me the
castles could be found. Someday I'm going to ride over and have a look."
After a moment Shadow added, "You'd best not hope too much. Your brother didn't
have much chance."
"He's a tough man. He's had his tail in a crack before this. If I know him he's
a comin', and somehow or other he'll keep himself alive. Up to us to find him,
no matter how long. No Sackett ever left another in a bind. Leastways, none from
my part of the country."
They had turned eastward, and high upon the right, but back from where they
rode, the mountains lifted, bold peaks, their rugged flanks streamered with
snow, forested almogt to the top. They rode cautiously, knowing it was Ute
country but also that the Dunns were here.
"I've met none of them," Shadow said, "but they've a name for being a
quarrelsome lot. Rocker Dunn killed a man over near Pagosa Springs a year back,
and they say he'd killed a couple in Kansas before they came west. There's talk
that several of them rode with Quantrill."
"Where's that town?"
"South of us. East and south. It lies over close to the La Plata. They've called
it Shalako after one of the Kachinas."
Galloway was thinking of Flagan. Back in those mountains somewhere he was
fighting to keep alive ... if he was alive. Without weapons, in a rugged country
where the only humans he found were apt to be enemies, his chances of survival
depended upon himself and his own energies.
They had grown up together, fighting each other's battles, working together,
struggling together, and no man could know another so well as Galloway knew
Flagan. He knew what Flagan must do to survive because he knew what he would do.
And there was no easy way.
Flagan would be struggling for every mouthful of food, thinking, conniving,
planning. And he would be working his way north, staying with the kind of
country where he could find a living, and slowly moving toward the destination
for which they had set out.
Shalako lay on the flat with a backdrop of trees and towering mountains. The
flat was green, dotted with clumps of oak brush, and the metropolis itself was
composed of three buildings, two short stretches of boardwalk, one log cabin, a
dugout, and several outbuildings of obvious intent.
"Now look at that," Nick Shadow commented. "It shows you how fast this country
is growing. This town has increased one-third since I saw it only a few months
ago. Somebody built a barn."
"Livery stable, looks like."
"Well, what more do you want? A saloon, a general store, and a livery stable.
That's enough for any town."
"And looks like there's folks in town," Sackett commented. "Four, five horses in
front of the saloon, and a buckboard yonder by the store. Business is boomin'."
"They're ruining the country," Shadow agreed. "A year or two ago a man could
ride a hundred miles through here and not see anybody, or even hear anybody but
the Indians who shot at him. Now look at it You can hardly walk without falling
over people.
"And by the way," he added, as he drew up before the saloon, "that's a Rocking D
brand ... the Dunn outfit."
They swung down, whipped the dust from their clothes, two tall men. Nick Shadow,
man of the world, educated, refined, and immaculate ... not even the long dusty
ride had robbed him of that appearance. And Galloway Sackett, in a buckskin
coat, a dark blue shirt, shotgun-fringed chaps and boots. On his head a black,
flat-crowned hat. He wore his gun tied down, and carried a Bowie knife at his
belt. The fact that he had another one, an Arkansas toothpick with a long
slender blade, was not obvious. It was suspended between his shoulderblades, the
haft within easy grasp below his shirt collar. This was a Tinker-made knife.
Tying their horses they crossed the boardwalk and entered the saloon. Outside it
had a false front, behind it a peaked roof, and inside there was no ceiling,
just the heavy beams overhead.
There was a long bar, a dozen tables, and chairs. The bartender was a
broad-faced man with corn yellow hair, massive forearms resting on the bar. At
the end of the bar was a wiry old man with a thin face and high cheekbones, in
buckskins.
At a table were three men, obviously cowhands.
"Rye," Shadow said, "for two."
The bartender reached down for a bottle without taking the other arm off the bar
and came up with the bottle and two glasses. He put the glasses do
wn and poured,
all with his left hand.
Galloway glanced at him thoughtfully, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Good
country around here," he said, speaking to Shadow. "I can see why Tell liked
it."
"Tell?" The bartender asked. "You don't mean Tell Sackett?"
"I do mean him." Galloway said. "You know him?"
"Sure do ... and a good man, too. You mean to say he's been in this country?"
"Several years back. Fact is, Tyrel rode through here one time, too. He'd taken
off and was riding around the country, before he got married. And his pa was
here long before that, back around 1840."
One of the men at the table, a pugnacious, curly-baked boy of about Galloway's
age turned sharply around. "1840? There was nobody here that early."
"My uncle," Galloway said, "was a mountain man. He came down from the north with
some other trappers, hunting beaver peltries. He described all of this country
to us."
"As a matter of fact," Shadow commented, "there were many here earlier than
that. Rivera was up here as early as 1769, and Father Escalante traveled right
through here when he was looking for a trail to Monterey, in California."
The young man looked sullen. "I never heard of that. I don't believe it."
"Your privilege," Shadow said. "I realize that education is hard to come by in
this part of the country."
The young man had started to turn back to his table. Now he turned sharply
around. "What do you mean by that? You sayin' I got no education?"
Nick Shadow smiled. "Of course not. I assumed you were a rather bright young
man, and you assumed I was mistaken about Rivera and Escalante. No doubt we were
both mistaken."
Shadow turned his back on him, and Galloway said to the bartender, who was
trying to hide a smile. "I'm hunting my brother. He got away from the 'Paches
away down south of here and headed into the mountains. He'd be in mighty bad
shape. Have you heard anything of such a man?"
"No. And I would have heard, I'm sure. There aren't many people around here.
There's the Dunn outfit you were just talking to, and there's Lute Pitcher ...
he's got a place a couple of miles over in the hills beyond the river."
"If he shows up, lend a hand. I'll stand good for anything he wants."
The curly-headed man looked around. He had the feeling he had been made a fool
of and it rankled. "An' who'll stand good for you?"
Galloway Sackett smiled. "Just me. I think that's enough."
"I don't think it is," the curly-haired one said, "I don't think that's enough
at all."
"It is for me," the bartender said calmly. "Sackett is a respected name." And
then he added, "Curly, I'd let it alone if I were you."
Curly Dunn got to his feet. "You ain't me, and I don't think much of the name of
Sackett." He put his gaze on Galloway. "You want to make something out of that?"
Galloway grinned. "When I do, you'll be the first to know."
He turned to Shadow. "Shall we ride?"
They started for the door, and Curly Dunn shouted after them. "If you're
thinkin' of land in this country, you'd better think again. This here is Dunn
country!"
Galloway turned. "Are you Dunn?"
"You're durned tootin' I am!"
"Glad to hear it. I'm just beginning." He went out and let the door swing to
behind him. Crossing the street to the general store they entered, buying what
supplies they needed. The owner of the store was a slender young man,
loose-jointed and friendly.
"My first business," he said. "Pa, he doesn't think I can cut the mustard, but
he offered to set me up. Well, I'd saved some, and the rest I borrowed under my
own name. I plan to succeed without his help.
"Not," he added, "that there's trouble between us. It's just that I wanted to
make it without his help." He grinned. "All I need is more customers."
"We're moving into this country," Galloway said. "We mean to run cattle."
Johnny Kyme glanced at him. "Have you talked to the Dunns about that? They say
this is Dunn country."
"We met Curly over yonder," Galloway said dryly. "He sort of led us to believe
they figured thataway, but we sort of left the thought with him that we figured
to stick around."
Galloway explained about Flagan. "If he shows up, give him whatever he wants.
It's good."
They made camp that night in a hollow alongside the rushing waters of the La
Plata, with a scattering of aspen about them.
When they had their blankets spread Galloway pulled off his boots and placed
them carefully beside him and within easy reach. "I take it kindly, Nick, that
you've come along with me."
"I like to ride lonesome country. It's built in me, I guess."
"You born in a castle, and all, I'd figure you for the big towns."
"It wasn't my castle, Sackett. My father owned it and had the title. My mother
was the daughter of a younger son who had gone off to sea, lost a leg in a sea
battle and came back to set himself up as a woodworker.
"My father had two legitimate sons who looked nothing like him, nor acted it,
either. I was his image. His wife met me outside the town once where I was
exercising a horse for a man. She asked me to leave the country. My mother had
passed on, and I'd no taste for woodworking, and she explained to me that I was
too much like her husband not to cause comment. She said she loved her husband,
and she offered to give me a good sum of money if I'd leave.
"Well, I'd been wanting just that, though doubtful if I'd ever get it. I'd gone
to good schools, but had no taste for business. So I thanked her, took the money
and came to America.
"I've never told anyone else that, and probably never will again."
"How about your grandpa?"
"He hated to see me go, but he would have done the same. I'd have come to
nothing there, unless it was trouble. I wrote to him, sent him money when I had
it. He died a few years ago. The countess wrote and explained, asking if I
wished to come back. One of her sons had been killed when he was thrown from a
horse. Another got in trouble and left the country, and the third was not a well
man."
"You could go back."
Shadow nodded. "She said my father would make me legitimate, which might mean
I'd inherit. I'm no longer cut out for it, Sackett. This is my country. Besides,
I'd have trouble back east. There was a little affair in Missouri, a corpse and
cartridge occasion ... his family was prominent and they would like to find me."
Neither man spoke for some time, and Shadow smoked in silence, then put out his
pipe and crawled into his blankets.
"Sackett," Shadow said suddenly, "you've got to see the high country around here
to believe it. There is nothing more fantastically beautiful. There are towering
peaks, valleys no white man has ever seen, and streams that run to God knows
where. I've seen the Alps and the Pyrenees, but there's nothing anywhere like
these mountains."
Galloway was silent. Somewhere out in these mountains, perhaps even within a few
miles, Flagan was fighting for his life, for his very existence. Slowly he began
once more, trying to picture in his brain what must ha
ve been happening.
Flagan was a good runner, and he was always in excellent shape. He would have
made good time, gotten enough of a lead so they would have a hard time catching
up. Food would be harder to come by, but in the mountains they had often rustled
their own food.
Somehow Flagan would survive. He must survive.
Chapter VI
For just awhile I lay there shivering in the cold. It was in that last hour
before dawn, judging by the few stars I could see. My muscles were stiff and
sore, and my feet hurt. I pulled myself painfully to a sitting position and took
a slow look around my little island.
The only sound was the rustle of falling water, just loud enough to make it hard
to hear anything else that might be stirring around. And then, far off over the
mountains, I heard the deep rumble of thunder.
The last thing I wanted right now was a rainstorm, me without any clothes, and
cold as all get out. Worst of all, I seemed to be trapped in this place and from
the looks of the cave walls around me the water in here sometimes rose several
feet higher than I could stand. It didn't even have to rain right here to make
trouble for me. The water coming down that waterfall I could hear would pour
into this basin.
Time to time in my life I'd come up against trouble, but this here seemed about
the worst. And my strength was drained by the poor food I'd had, and the beating
I'd taken from both the Indians and the wilderness. I'd been bad off before, but
at least I'd been out on solid ground where I could travel and maybe rustle a
bite to eat. I'd gotten away from the Indians but I'd jumped right into a trap.
Thunder growled deep in the faroff canyons, and I turned my head and began a
slow, inch-by-inch check of this place in which I was trapped.
I was on that small bit of sandy beach against the back wall of an overhang that
seemed to be of solid rock. From where I sat I could see no break in the wall of
the bowl into which I'd jumped, although as water poured into the basin, there
must be a way for it to get out.
Finally, I slipped off into the water. Once in the water I was warmer than on
the beach, and slowly I swam out into the open air. The rocky edge above me was
only a rough six feet above the water, but the wall was sheer, polished by water
and worn smooth. Here and there were cracks in the walls, but they were
