Blue Norther (Ben Blue Book 4)

by Lou Bradshaw

  While I was snooping around some of those huge slabs of rock, I walked around the end of one and decided I’d gone as far as I needed. So I turned around to walk back where Tate and the horses were. The rock was on my right side, and normally I would have turned away to my left, turning away from it on making that kind of move, but this time I turned right and stood there looking at a perfect little tunnel into that tangle of slabrock and boulders.

  The way the slabs of rock were wedged against one another a crude arch was formed of rocks supporting many tons of rock. Brush and cedars had grown up around the opening, so that if I hadn’t been standing where I was…. I’d have never seen it. I could see tracks in the floor of that arch, which was composed of poor thin soil gravel and sand. I whistled to get Carson’s attention and bring him back.

  We led our nervous horses through the arch. There it opened into a maze of rocks and boulders. The course that they had taken wasn’t much wider than a man on horseback at some places and would open up at others. It was as if we were just snaking our way along a single twisting winding trail, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but there were branches coming in from both directions. It looked like rain and snow melt had flowed down hill, and as water will always seek out the least resistance, it just naturally flowed around those big rocks.

  I’d read about how some English folks had planted shrubs along little paths to create gardens which were mazes… sort of like big green puzzles. This could have been a big gray puzzle. The big difference was that we could stumble into a bunch of bullets at any turn. That would be a poor prize for solving the puzzle.

  After a while, we were leading our animals, with Spade Carson out in front looking for any sign of scrape of scuff on the rocky surface. I cautioned JL to keep watching his back trail because things are going to look a lot different on the way out. I picked up a piece of soft stone, and started using it to mark our way.

  Over the next three hours, we had barely covered a little over two miles and probably not more than a mile as the crow flies. We were constantly climbing, but it wasn’t really a problem since we weren’t dealing with hills of any great height. There was little soil as we got higher, and where there was some, a bush or cedar had taken root. Sometimes, it seemed like we were in a small canyon or rock walled gully. At other times we were out in the open on bare rock.

  We rounded the shoulder of one of those hills and found ourselves going down into a different kind of landscape. We were heading into a huge bowl of sorts. It was rumpled with hills, but it was definitely a valley. The vegetation had changed as well; there was a mixture of brush and undergrowth of course, but there were a great number of pine and cedar trees. I wouldn’t call it a lush forest by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a damned site lusher than the other side of that hill. I’d seen places like that back in the Ozarks. You’d be on one side of a hill and you’d be in the middle of a typical Ozark hardwood forest, but on the other side it was like a desert with yucca and prickly pear, sand and gravel underfoot, and nothing but bare rock to look at above waist high. Nature does things as nature wants them to be done.

  One of those men ahead of us must have been pretty familiar with the area to have ever found this spot. He must have lived around here for years. I couldn’t imagine that Chambers would have known of it. I’d only met him once, but I got the impression that he was a city fella. Of course, if this was an outlaw hideout, then any of them might have known of it and used it. There was always the possibility that the Comanche introduced one of them to it.

  It was late afternoon, and we were working our way through those wooded hills. The tracking had become much easier with a softer surface. We came over a little ridge and looked down on a fine little meadow. It wasn’t more than ten or twelve acres in total area, but it sure was pretty. On the far side, against the bulk of the next hill, we could see standing water. So there must be a spring nearby. There was plenty of tall thick grass, and the whole thing was encircled with pine, cedar, and budding hardwood trees.

  Pulling out my field glasses, I looked it over, and then I handed them to Carson. “I saw three horses in the trees near the pool.” I told him. “You see any more?”

  “Just the three.” He said. “Don’t see any men though. Their fire’s out… They surely wouldn’t go off and leave their horses behind…. That just don’t make any sense at all.”….I agreed.

  We sure didn’t want to go busting into that camp by way of the front door, so we chose to go back a little way and work our way down the side of the hill. That way, we could come in by way of a line of trees and brush.

  It took every bit of a half hour to get into a position to be able to approach the camp undetected. Tying the horses a good hundred yards back from the camp, we started closing in. What wind there was down in that little valley seemed to be coming from all directions, which was typical of a bowl like this. We could only hope that our horses were far enough away so that their horses couldn’t smell them, or the other way around.

  Working our way through the trees, we moved as swiftly and as quietly as we could. I wished I’d had my moccasins, but they were with the rest of my gear back at the boarding house. Well, you just can’t think of everything. Carson had taken the point and a little ahead. JL Tate was a little back and on the right, while I took the left; we all carried rifles with a round in the chambers and the hammers pulled back.

  When we got to the edge of the meadow, I moved farther left and JL moved right. We were hoping to spot the outlaws before they knew we were here. From where I was, I couldn’t see their cold fire site because of rocks and trees. So I moved farther to my left hoping to be able to get the drop on anyone sitting there.

  I’d circled nearly a quarter of the way around when I spotted a boot sticking out from behind a boulder in the campfire area. It was a left boot and it was on its side pointing away from me, sort of like the man was laying on his side asleep. I thought, if we could catch them in the middle of a siesta, we’d save a lot of trouble. Signaling to Spade Carson, I let him know that I spotted someone and was moving in.

  Shifting my Winchester to my left hand, I eased my sixgun out of the holster and eased the hammer back hoping that it wouldn’t make too much noise. I’d turned away and most of the noise was cancelled by my body. Turning back, I started creeping closer to the rocks in a crouch. It was one foot softly and patiently in front of the other. With each step, I would cringe at how clumsy those high healed riding boots were. I kept sweeping the surrounding area for any tell-tale signs of movement. The only movement came from those horses off to my left. They were unsaddled, and they were picketed so they could reach the water.

  It seemed like the closer I got, the lower I crouched, until I was almost walking like a duck. Believe me, being three inches over six feet has its drawbacks sometimes. I was at last, up against the boulder that the man who owned that foot was shielded by. Leaning my rifle against the rock, so as to be able to get to it quickly, I raised a little and stepped around the boulder.

  Chapter 18

  The foot and the rest of the man were sprawled out facing the cold ashes of the fire; his other leg was thrust out in front of him in an awkward and uncomfortable position. But he wasn’t concerned about comfort. Half of his brains were splattered on the rock behind him. Another man, not four feet to his right, had met a similar fate, but he was laying face down in a pool of dried blood. There were at least three entry wounds in second man’s back. He lay on his blood soaked ground sheet, with his blanket tangled in his feet. The first shot must have woke him and he started thrashing, but the other two shots left him still.

  I looked around at the encircling trees and brush and motioned Carson and JL to come on in. Retrieving my rifle, I kept watch for any movement while they came in. It wasn’t until they were in the camp site that I spotted the other man. He had been off to my left about twenty feet from where I’d entered the scene. He was rolled up in a ball on his side. I could see by the amount of blood that he was
n’t trying to keep warm. He’d been shot more than once. Again, his bedding was in evidence, these men were shot while they slept. I recognized the first and third men from the ranch, so they were members of the gang.

  Tate walked over to the third man and nudged him with his toe to turn him, but the man in the curled up ball groaned and made a spastic move with his leg. JL jumped back like he’d stepped on a rattler. “My God, boss, this guy’s alive!” he yelled. I was there in three strides, and Carson was right behind me.

  The three of us were able to move him and make him a little more comfortable without being too heavy handed with him. Carson was able to get a little water in him and his eyes fluttered open for a few unseeing seconds. We got his blanket around him and built a fire in hopes that he might come out of it long enough to give us an idea where Banks was heading.

  JL made some coffee and started fixing something to eat. It sure was comforting to have him on the trail… he was a pretty fair cow camp cook. There wasn’t much we could do for the wounded outlaw. He was pretty much a gonner. From the looks of things they had all been shot either early morning or before daylight. Eight or ten hours of steady bleeding from three gunshot wounds, left very little hope of recovery or anything else. I was surprised that he was still alive.

  We went ahead and put the other two in a triple grave site leaving room for the wounded one. It was just a low spot with rocks piled on. With no shovel or anything to dig with, it was the best we could do. We figured the next few hours we would finish the grave site, was just a matter of time. Down in that cup, it got dark mighty quick. So we sat by the light of the fire and talked over what we saw and what we suspected. It looked to me like they had a falling out, and these three lost. Carson sat for a bit and pondered the matter. I have a good deal of respect for Carson’s knowledge and his experience as a lawman, and that doesn’t even take in his toughness and tracking skills. So when he offered an opinion, I listened.

  “Blue, I think these boys were just out and out murdered. It probably happened while they slept. I figger they were at the point of divvying up the money, and Banks decided that wasn’t a good plan, and that he could travel faster without draggin’ these boys along… You look at that boy over there that was shot in the back. He’d had his head restin’ on something for a pillow. You can see where it was drug out from under him… most likably it was his saddle bag with his cut in it…. I’d make a bet that we don’t find saddle bags for any of them…. Greed, Red, it was pure greed.”

  I considered that and it made as much sense as any theory I’d come up with. Having had little contact with Banks or Chambers, I really didn’t know either of them all that well, but seeing the business of fraud, gunrunning, raiding, they had been conducting, I wouldn’t put it past them. Now, why did I include Chambers in this bunch?

  We knew he was on the run, but we hadn’t seen any sign that he’d joined up. But it made sense that he would…. And from the way those men were shot up, it would have taken more than one gun in the hands of a really good gunman. It was possible but I started thinking about two shooters. I said as much to Carson, and he had been thinking along the same lines.

  Tate took the first watch, and he nudged me at half past midnight. My eyes popped open, and I took a second to get my bearings. My right hand automatically found my sixgun. Looking up, I saw him back at the fire and moving the coffeepot onto some hot coals. Pulling back my blankets I crawled out and stretched. By the time I was awake enough to walk to the fire, the boy had filled a cup and was handing it to me. Yep, he was a keeper.

  “Anything going on?” I asked. “Anything I need to know about?”

  “Nuthin’ to put in a newspaper. But that one,” he indicated the wounded outlaw, “he’s been mumblin’ some. Couldn’t make head nor tail out of it, but it sounds like he’s trying to come around.”

  JL tossed his grounds and went to his blankets for some well earned sleep. Taking my cup and my rifle, I moved over near the dying outlaw. If he could give us a direction or a destination, we could either track them down or alert the law in those parts. But it was a pretty slim chance of this fella ever waking up.

  I sat nearby, for a while, and then I set down my cup and made a walk around the perimeter. I’d stop from time to time to listen and sniff out the night. I stopped near their horses and thought, Banks and Chambers just left these horses tied and rode off. That takes a man with a lot of mean in him. They just left these horses there to starve to death eventually, if they weren’t mauled and killed by a cougar first. I made a promise to those critters that when we left, they’d be free to go where they wanted and do whatever they wanted.

  Continuing my cautious stroll around that little park, I found no reason to be concerned, which only made me more concerned. Guess I’m just a born worrier. I heard a fella say one time, “What you don’t know… won’t hurt you.” I remember thinking, what a fool he was, until I realized that he was only joking. A good joke is a fine thing sitting around a chuck wagon at roundup or with a beer in front of you and friends around you, but when there might be a Comanche warrior or a renegade white man behind that tree over there, it was a whole nuther thing.

  I’d made my tour of the perimeter, and poured myself another cup of that strong black coffee. Then I settled down near the wounded man in hopes that he might wake up. After about a half hour, I was getting ready to make another circle, when the outlaw started moaning and mumbling. I tried to get some water in him, but he choked and gagged. Coughing and spitting some blood, he came out of it. I didn’t have to look around, I could sense and almost feel Carson and Tate come out of their slumber and move in behind me.

  He lay there, his eyes were open, and he was trying to get some sense of where he was and what had happened. We’d put a blanket from one of their saddles under his head to keep it elevated, hoping it would keep him from drowning in his own blood. He just lay there and stared at the fire. His lips started moving and he seemed to be wanting to say something, but he started coughing and spitting again. This time when I gave him water, he took a few swallows, but never took his eyes off the fire.

  “Am I in hell?” he croaked out.

  “Not yet,” Carson answered, “but you’re real close.” That Carson had one hell of a sense of humor. If it hadn’t been such a serious situation, I’d have laughed like a hyena.

  “What happened here, Mister?”

  He rolled his eyes over to me and away from the fire. It took him a few seconds to realize that I’d asked him a question, and then it took more seconds to figure out how to answer it. Finally, he licked his dry lips and said, “Woke up to shootin’…. Didn’t even have my gun… Chamers…. Uh… Chambes come over….stood there wi his gun on me…took my saddle bags… took the money. Banks slung it over his shoder with the others.” I gave him more water and let him rest a little.

  “Chambers, he just stood there… Banks, he walk away. Chambers starts shootin’ in me… ‘tsall I know…” He drifted off again.

  Tate and Carson crawled back in their blankets, and I took another tour around the perimeter. At three o’clock, I woke Carson for the next watch. I lay back down with no intention of going back to sleep, but as I lay there wondering what in the hell I was doing out here in this wild land chasing down outlaws and killers. I should be back there in town watching Sam mend and get stronger, so we could go get us some of those sorrel colored white faced cows.

  The next thing I knew, Carson was hunkered down sitting on his heels shaking my shoulder. I looked up at him and said, “Unless my boots are on fire, don’t say anything till I get my coffee ‘cause I won’t know what the hell you’re sayin’.”

  He chuckled and said, “Fair ‘nuff.” While I had myself a muscle wrenching stretch and some magnificent scratching, he poured me a cup of what had turned to tar, but served the purpose.

  He watched while I grimaced at the first sip, and then as I faked a smile for the second sip. He asked, “You think you can understand what a fella might be s
ayin’ in Texas flavored English now?” I nodded and he went on. “That renegade died ‘bout a half a hour ago… but he came around before he checked out, and he talked…. Seems that they were talkin’ about goin’ to El Paso…. It ain’t much to go on, but it’s all we got.”

  “What do you suppose our chances are of catchin’ up with them before they get too far gone?”

  “Slim to none.” He said. “They know where they’re goin’, and we’ll be losing hours and days just trackin’ ‘em across this or the next rock pile…. We need to give it a try though.”

  I agreed with his thinking. So the two of kicked JL Tate to a state of irritated wakefulness, and Carson and me carried the last of the dead outlaws back to his grave and put him in with his pards. Next we piled rocks on him to keep the coyotes off. All the while I was working up a sweat and an appetite, I couldn’t help wondering how many men or women had been killed by these men and left lying where they fell. I couldn’t think on that too much, or I’d go back and uncover them. Besides, there wasn’t anything I could do about those bleached bones out in the desert except bury them as I find them.

  By the time that was done, Tate had the fire up and fresh coffee almost ready with bacon in the pan…. Bless that boy.

  When we broke camp the sun was just finding its way into that little cup of a valley. True to the promise I’d made to those horses, I went over and removed their picket lines. Two of them moved off to some fresh grass, but the third stood with his head up looking at me. I mounted and moved off with the others. As I looked back, I could see that horse still looking our way. The going wasn’t as tough leaving the valley as it was getting into it. We were traveling on a regular trail. Well, maybe not much of a trail but it showed some use. We were going out on the western side of that range of hills, and though it was still pretty rocky, there was a good deal more vegetation.