by Jack Martin
~*~
Cole crouched down and thumbed tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.
He brought a match to it and watched in which direction the smoke drifted. This wasn’t right, he thought, as he looked around in the darkness and realized he was very much lost. He smiled at his own foolishness. He had thought he knew this cave system as well as any man alive and yet here he was with no clear idea of which way to go.
He smoked his pipe and again laughed.
Here he was hiding out from Bowden’s men and he’d gotten himself so well hidden that he couldn’t even find himself.
‘Damn,’ he said and puffed hard on the pipe, allowing the smoke to linger in his mouth before drifting off in a direction that suggested freedom. ‘If that sure don’t beat it all.’
He had wandered into the caves at least an hour ago.
He’d eaten breakfast and then set about gathering wood for the fire, forming a large pile so that he had enough to last him the next two days. And then, after tending to his horse he had found himself at a loose end. He’d spent almost an hour filing the sears, the catch that released the hammer in his guns, to improve the action of the Colts and then decided that a little exploration into the caves was the thing to do.
Hiding out from the Bowden’s was all very well but it was finding something to pass the time that was the problem.
He’d explored the caves many times in the past and always enjoyed the experience. It was like stepping into a different world. It always filled him with wonder and he had visited the caves as much as he could but lately opportunities had been slim. So it had seemed a good idea to take advantage of the spare time that had been forced onto his hands.
He was familiar with the caves and knew how far into the mountains they went, was aware of how careful a man had to be not to get lost in the miles and miles of underground caves and cavernous tunnels, but for some reason he just couldn’t figure his way back out. It was as if the layout of the caves had been altered since he’d last been here which, barring some seismic activity, was not really possible. It was far more probable that his current predicament was down to the fact that he was getting old and had been careless.
He wasn’t panicking, not quite yet. On the contrary the situation seemed humorous to him. He froze when he thought he’d heard some sort of movement coming from the darkness ahead but as he listened all that greeted him was silence.
‘Getting jumpy in your old age.’ He said.
He’d get out of here soon.
He was sure he’d figure it out sooner rather than later. He’d just been a bit absent-minded is all and needed to think about it. He sat there for some time, enjoying both his pipe and the total silence.
~*~
Em steered the big roan onto the grassland and then stopped dead and peered at what he was certain was movement against the far horizon. It was too far away for him to make it out but it looked like a bunch of riders.
‘Damn.’ The old man cursed and wished he had one of those tubes that made everything seem closer. He’d used one once but couldn’t remember what they were called. .Steady, steady.’ He patted the roan’s neck and continued to watch the horizon.
Could it be the posse? It if was then they hadn’t gone in the direction he’d imagined they’d take and were heading directly for Squaw Mountain. And that was where Em figured Cole would be holed up.
Em had visited Squaw and its caves many times with Cole and knew the younger man felt content while wandering the cave system. He’d often said it was the last new place to explore now that the frontier was shrinking under the might of the encroaching civilization.
It was the natural place for him to go if he wanted to keep out of sight for awhile.
Em reached into his shirt and pulled out a plug of chewing tobacco. He bit a chunk off and returned the remainder to his pocket. He urged the horse slowly forward, not taking his eyes of what were merely tiny black specks in the distance.
It was definitely riders, he decided after some time, but now they had vanished.
If it was the posse then how did they know where to look, had they picked up on a trail of some kind?
He couldn’t see one but then it was possible Cole had ridden further North before turning and heading for the mountains in order to leave a false trail for an eventual pursuer to follow. If that was the case then the posse hadn’t been fooled and had found evidence that he had made a sharp turn, effectively doubling back on himself, towards the mountains.
The posse would need a damn good tracker if that was the case.
Once again Em thought about the two strangers. They had looked nothing like cowboys, the way they dressed, held themselves, suggested hired guns or even bounty killers. Was that what they were? Had Clem Bowden hired them to lead the hunt for Cole? And one of them, the one who appeared to be the leader, had been an half-breed, some sort of Indian blood flowing in his veins.
Was he the tracker?
Indians were renowned for reading the slightest clue in the ground.
‘Son-of-a-bitch.’ Em said and spurred his horse on a little faster.
~*~
Cole pushed forward, having to squeeze through a section of tunnel that was so narrow he feared getting jammed in at one point. He’d remain there trapped forever, dying of starvation or thirst, imprisoned for all eternity between the two jagged cave walls. The thought had given him a new impetus and he wriggled and felt his flesh tear as he emerged from the narrow section and came out in another cavern.
He fell to his knees and for several moments remained there, panting, catching his breath and feeling his aches and pains more than ever. His head felt cloudy and he had to take several minutes before he could even think of moving off again.
There it was that movement again and this time there was no mistaking it. Someone or something was moving about in the darkness up ahead. He remained perfectly still, breathing lightly, listening but whatever had made the sound it had stopped.
Cole had never been this far into the caves before and the situation was starting to worry him. He didn’t know how he’d done it but he had somehow gone wrong, took a wayward turn, and ended up in a part of the caves that previously he’d never known existed.
And he wasn’t alone.
There was someone or something here with him.
Course the caves went on forever and there were legends of vast fortunes in gold hidden far into the bowels of the earth, this was supposedly protected by the ghost of the squaw who gave the area its name. Was that what he’d heard, the Indian ghost?
Getting foolish now, Cole told himself.
Every other time his explorations had not led him upon this place. The tunnels he’s covered to get here were all new to him.
This section was now large enough for him to stand up and he did so, groaning as he straightened his back for the first time in several hours. He looked around him in despair but then smiled when he heard birdsong coming from somewhere straight ahead.
Mystery solved—that must have been the movement he’d heard.
He moved quickly, leaving the cavern, and found himself having to climb a precarious section of rock, gripping the walls for the sheer love of life. Twice he’d almost lost his footing and feared he’d fall into the cavern below. But he climbed on, gritting his teeth and then pulled himself up onto a thin ledge. As he lay there gathering his breath he was welcomed by the sight of pale sunlight flowing through a hole in the ground ahead of him. There were large twisted tree roots and the hole had formed around them but the gap was just big enough for a man to squeeze through. Just.
Cole was about to attempt squeezing through the hole when he heard the sound of sudden movement behind him and this time it was much closer and coming closer still. He tried to turn around but there was not enough room and he looked over his shoulder and saw the largest wolf he’d ever seen . There wasn’t even enough room to draw his weapon, he couldn’t fit his outstretched arm between the cave walls and his body, he was stu
ck like a plug in a hole.
He started shouting, hoping to scare the animal off.
The wolf kept coming and Cole saw the saliva dripping from its vicious looking fangs; its lupine eyes glinted as the sunlight struck them. It pounced up at the ledge Cole lay on and grabbed one of the man’s legs. It bit down onto the hard leather of Cole’s boots and its teeth pierced the heel.
Cole kicked out with his free leg, connecting with the beast’s head and causing it to whine and snap at the offending leg. He kicked again and again but he had no leverage and all he managed to do was distract the beast so it couldn’t get a clean bite into his flesh. Cole struggled, kicking frantically , and then he struck lucky and sent the wolf flying backwards off the ledge and down into the darkness below.
Cole quickly made for the hole that led to freedom. He squeezed himself through, getting stuck at one point, but pushing with his feet against the walls to force himself through. If the wolf came back now, with him trapped like this, it would be able to tear his legs off and Cole wouldn’t be able to defend himself. He pushed again and came out of the hole, landing on the ground with a painful thud. Ignoring his discomfort he whooped and hollered when he found himself out in the open air.
He drew a Colt and stared at the hole for a moment but there was no sight of the wolf. The fall from the ledge may very well have killed it but Cole doubted that. More than likely it would have been stunned and had run off back to its lair.
Cole fell back on the ground and lay there for some time, the sun warming upon his face. After so long in the darkness of the caves he could almost taste the fresh air and he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of the faint breeze, the bird song, the warmth of the afternoon running through his hair and drying the sweat upon his brow. He checked his leg where the wolf had struck but apart from some damage to his boot he was fine.
After almost thirty minutes Cole stood up and looked around. He knew instantly where he was. He was a good distance from where he had camped, he recognized the trail snaking around the mountain. A large cedar tree emerged from the hole, it limbs once covered in green were now dead, like charred skeletal arms, and Cole noticed that there was fresh earth around its trunk.
He hadn’t noticed it on the way up but the hole must have appeared during the winter rains, the earth washing away from the dying plant. It would fill up again when the tree finally succumbed to gravity and fell forward, the roots tearing from the ground.
He estimated he was at least a half a mile further downhill of where he’d camped and wearily; he started to climb back up. He’d have to make sure his horse was safe now that he knew there were wolves around.
Once he reached the camp he considered going back into the caves to try and figure out where it was he had gone wrong but decided against it. It would be useful to know but that was for another time. Maybe one day he’d come back here with Em and explore this new section, see where it led them.
You never know, they could maybe find some of that fabled gold.
Chapter Eleven
Cole figured one more day as he bedded down for the night. And then he’d move out and meet the stage. A good thing too—he was running short on supplies and had just finished the last of the beans and was coming to the end of both Arbuckle’s and jerky.
He kept the fire burning low and spread himself out in his bedroll. Still fearful of further wolves he kept his Colts close to hand. He filled a pipe and lay there, smoking and listening to the myriad sounds the night produced.
So far so good, he thought and wondered what would be happening back at Squaw.
How would Jessie be?
Had Bowden and his men badgered here at all?
He didn’t think they would, couldn’t see the point of it. Left to Sam Bowden then he was sure the man would have moved in, tried to scare Jessie into telling him all she knew of his (Cole’s) whereabouts but Clem was cleverer than that. The old man was not as bombastic as his son and would never let blind rage get the better of him. In many ways that made him all the more dangerous and Cole was sure the old man would not shy away from murder if it suited him He would ensure his own hands were kept clean, though and for that reason Cole didn’t think Jessie was in any danger.
He rolled over, bone weary from his expedition of the caves, but sleep was hard come by and he kept churning things over and over in his mind, thinking about Jessie back in Squaw and worrying about the fecundity of his own plan.
There would be a fight, that much was inevitable, but if he rode back into Squaw with the judge then he was sure major bloodshed could be avoided. Sam Bowden would go to prison for a very long time and his father would learn that times were changing, that that he didn’t own the law in Squaw any more.
Cole remembered that first time he had gone up against Sam Bowden. He was barely into his second week as sheriff of Squaw. He had been having dinner with Jessie, course he had only just met the schoolteacher then and was still very much in the delicious phase of learning things about the woman who would eventually become his fiancé and, assuming he survived all this, his wife.
He had been taking coffee prior to leaving for the jailhouse when gunfire sounded in the street. He had seen the concern in her eyes and he had smiled, politely bid her goodnight, and stepped out into the street ready to do his duty.
The street was deserted, the only sounds coming from the saloon, but the smell of cordite was heavy in the air. Then Cole heard another shot coming from the direction of the Majestic, the busiest and wildest of the town’s saloons. Cole had taken a deep breath and walked towards the batwings.
Inside Cole got his first real look at Sam Bowden and he didn’t like the man there and then. He knew that he would come up against him time and time again until one of those clashes resulted in bloodshed; either Bowden’s or his own.
Sam Bowden had a several of the saloon girls up on stage, dancing to a tune played by a terrified doleful looking man at the piano. Sam Bowden had a large pistol in his hands, a civil war model, and was laughing and firing wildly into the air. From the look of the place a bullet had smashed a barrel upon a shelf behind the counter and several cowboys were fighting to get their glasses beneath the pouring liquid.
‘Dance, dance, dance.’ Sam Bowden yelled, manically. He’d set off another shot, firing into the ceiling and sending plaster down, like snow, into the room.
Cole had stood there for a moment watching, taking in the terrified look of the girls on the stage, the anger of the barkeep who was just that little too scared to do anything about the wayward cowboy. And then he removed one of his Colts, he always wore two, tied down to the leg gunslinger style, the result of a youth misspent, and sent yet another bullet into the ceiling.
Bowden had spun on his feet, his own gun in hand, and faced the new sheriff for the first time.
‘I wouldn’t.’ Cole said when it looked as if the man would reach for his gun. Years of living with a gun in the hand had honed Cole’s reflexes until he was as fast as the best of them.
‘Do you know who I am, Sheriff?’
Cole had smiled. ‘Don’t really care.’ He said and walked towards Bowden, keeping his gaze firm into the other man’s eyes. He didn’t blink as he crossed that room.
People stood aside to let him through, parting like the waves of the sea for a holy man.
‘Give me your gun.’ Cole had said and stood there before Bowden, his hand outstretched.
‘What?’ For a moment Bowden look confused but then he snarled and… it was unclear if he was going to hand his gun over or make a play since Cole did the deciding for him, when he brought the butt of his Colt crashing into the side of the man’s face with blinding force.
Sam Bowden’s legs buckled, his eyes rolled back into their sockets, and he fell to the floor and lay there as harmless as a newborn baby.
Cole had dragged him through the street that night and then deposited him, bruised, muddy, and stinking like a hog, in a cell before making out an arrest report, the first of m
any that would carry the name of Samuel Bowden.
And now, here in the present, Cole lay there and cursed the Bowden name. That one event, of which there had been many more, had sowed the seed that had led to the current situation.
From that first catalytic meeting things had been leading to the here and now.
One time Sam had been drinking and decided it would be a mighty fine thing to ride down Main Street wearing nothing but a hat and gun belt. When Cole tried to arrest him for indecent exposure he pulled a gun and started shooting wildly. No one was hurt but Cole had to spend several tense minutes hidden behind a building while Sam shot off all his bullets.
Cole had then wrestled the man from his horse and dragged him, naked, kicking and screaming to the jailhouse. It was fast becoming a home from home for the loco cowboy.
It was after that incident that Cole had first met Clem Bowden.
The old man had come storming into the jailhouse the next morning, demanding his son be released, screaming about letting high spirits go and the heavy handed attitude of the sheriff.
‘Heavy handed doesn’t come into it.’ Cole had told him. ‘Your boy was shooting off in all directions, his pecker jumping every which way. It’s only a miracle no one was killed.’ He had then taken pleasure in pointing out to the old man that there was a small matter of a fine before he could even consider releasing his son.
Bowden had paid up there and then, peeling the bills from a large wad. With each dollar he handed over the anger in his eyes seemed to intensify until his face had the color of a hurricane about to make landfall.
Cole then smiled and reminded the old man that his son was currently buck-naked with only a blanket in the cell to cover his modesty. He simply couldn’t release him until suitable clothes were found. Why if he did that he’d have to arrest him all over again as soon as he stepped out into the street.
That had angered the old man even more and Cole, despite his better instincts, found himself enjoying the situation.
