The Big Hunt

by J. T. Edson

  “Indians?” asked Lord Henry.

  “Not according to the scout,” Dalby replied. “According to him, the men rode shod horses and wore boots. The way he read it, there’d been a scuffle either just before, or after, the horse got free. Then the ladies mounted on one horse and the whole bunch rode off.”

  “Let’s get going, Henry,” Kerry said quietly.

  “Let’s learn everything we can first,” the peer answered. “We’ll want fresh horses, Dobe, and——”

  “I’ve got them waiting,” Killem said. “Food’s ready and waiting.”

  “Damn it, there’s not time for food, with Beryl in danger!” Kerry roared.

  “Calamity’s in danger, too,” Lord Henry pointed out. “But rushing off with empty bellies and on leg-weary horses won’t get us to them any quicker.”

  Kerry’s protests died away unsaid, for he knew Lord Henry spoke the truth. There was no way of knowing how long they might be on the trail, or what lay at the end of it. Fresh horses, a meal, spare food would prepare them the better for what lay ahead.

  “I’ll get the horses saddled,” Killem told the hunters. “What rifles do you want along?”

  “I’ll take the Remington and the Winchester,” answered Lord Henry. “How about you, Kerry?”

  “Get my Sharps and the bullet box from the wagon, Dobe,” Kerry said. “I’ve got the carbine, too. That should do me.”

  “All the crew reckon they’re coming,” Killem commented, before going to obey his orders.

  “We may need them,” Lord Henry replied, and headed for the fire. “Mr. Dalby, will you join us?”

  “Thank you, sir,” Dalby answered.

  “How many men did your scout reckon them to be?” Kerry inquired. “Where is he? I don’t see him around.”

  “Did he go alone?” Lord Henry asked.

  “Sure. Figured it would be the best way. I know all he saw, though.”

  “Tell us about it, mister,” ordered the peer, taking the plate of food from the cook.

  “There seemed to be about half a dozen of them,” said Dalby. “But—look there, it’s my scout!”

  Coming up at a gallop, a tall, buckskin-clad scout dropped from his lathered horse. “Lost ’em, mister,” he said. “They took to some rocky ground that wouldn’t hold tracks. But afore they did, they’d met up with another bunch. I reckon it’s that crowd we’ve been hearing about.”

  “What crowd’s that?” Kerry asked.

  “There’s a rumor of a bunch of bad whites holing up this way,” explained Dalby. “Deserters from the Army, outlaws, riff-raff run out of the construction camps, that kind. Not that anybody’s seen them, but there’s been talk. A couple of immigrant families have disappeared going through this way. One of our patrols came on a burned-out wagon, but couldn’t find any sign of who did it. I believe that Indians were responsible.”

  “You could be wrong, mister,” Kerry growled. “Only a week back we saw a bunch who just about fitted your description. Run them out of our camp. If Beryl’s in their hands——”

  “How many men are supposed to be in this band?” Lord Henry asked.

  “It’s only rumor, but that says about thirty or more,” the officer replied.

  “Big odds for us,” the peer commented. “Especially if they reach their main camp.” His eyes went to the soldiers, then swung back to Dalby. “Your troop could be of assistance, Mr. Dalby.”

  “Yes, sir,” agreed the officer, doubtfully.

  Taking the President’s letter from his pocket, Lord Henry held it toward Dalby. “This will indemnify you against disobeying any orders you may have.”

  On reading the President’s instructions, Lieutenant Dalby showed relief, surprise, and the fact that he felt impressed. He had wanted to help, but served under a martinet colonel who insisted on punctuality from patrols sent out. In the face of that letter, his colonel could raise no objections if he failed to return on the appointed day.

  “We’ll ride with you, sir,” he stated.

  “And I’ll accompany you to Fort Baker to explain to your commanding officer why you left your ordered patrol,” promised Lord Henry. “Make ready for leaving, mister. I want to ride out in thirty minutes.”

  In the time allocated by Lord Henry, everything was prepared. A corporal and three men remained with the wagons, but all the rest of the party went along. Only Sassfitz Kane did not ride on the rescue attempt, he not having returned from skinning the cougar.

  At the place where the girls had been taken, Kerry left his horse and examined the ground. He found that the scout gave an accurate picture of what happened, but learned nothing to tie the girls’ abductors with the party who visited their camp a week before.

  Even with so large a party, trailing them over springy turf did not come easily. The scout led the way, taking them for almost a mile before showing where more men joined the bunch they followed and then rode on to an area of shale. That surface would not hold tracks and it covered a large piece of ground with no way of the following party knowing which way the pursued went once on it.

  “We could scatter and search for sign of them leaving,” Dalby suggested.

  “It’d be dark before we could cover half of this lot,” Lord Henry replied. “If there was only some way we could follow them over the rocks.”

  “There’s one way we might,” Kerry put in, dropping from his horse. “It’s a long shot, but better than nothing. Shaun!”

  Obediently the big dog followed its master. Moving ahead of the party, but before stepping on to the shale, Kerry took the dog by the scruff of its neck and forced its head down toward the tracks.

  “What’s he doing?” asked Dalby.

  “Wait and see if it works,” the peer answered. “Pray God it does.”

  “Lay to it, boy!” Kerry ordered, as Shaun sniffed the ground.

  While catching the scent picture, Shaun could not at first arouse any interest in it. Deer, cougar, bear, buffalo, he had tracked them all and understood the attraction, but never that mingled picture of men and horses. However, willingness to work had always been one of the wolfhound’s good points and he moved forward slowly. Among the other scents, he caught wind of one familiar to him. By luck, Calamity had ridden Beryl’s paint that morning while the blonde took Kerry’s mare. On more than one occasion Shaun walked alongside the paint and knew its odor. Mingled with the odor came that of Beryl and Calamity—and mixed among it fear. All Shaun’s protective instincts came to the fore. Moving forward, nose to the ground, he followed the scent-picture on to the shale.

  “Can he do it?” breathed Dalby, watching the dog hesitate.

  “He’s hunted down animals before,” Kerry replied. “Maybe he can follow them.”

  “Is there anything we can do?” Lord Henry inquired.

  “Not a thing. He’ll have to work his way across the shale, there’s nothing we can do to help him except keep out of his way.”

  Chapter 14

  A PAIR OF DESPERATE WOMEN

  SEATED AHEAD OF BERYL, HER WRISTS SECURED BY cords and feet lashed to the stirrup irons, Calamity knew that she was in the tightest spot of her life. Behind her, Beryl moved in an effort to find a more comfortable way of sitting, her arms around Calamity’s waist and wrists fastened.

  From the moment Calamity saw the men, as she and Beryl stood looking at the elk dropped by the girl, she guessed what they were. The presence of Kerry’s ex-skinner, Potter, did nothing to lessen Calamity’s concern at falling into their hands. However, covered by two rifles, the girls could not escape.

  Give Beryl her due, she acted in a mighty cool manner and did not lose her head. Even Calamity failed to guess what the blonde intended to do as she went to the horse. Seeing Beryl knot the reins around the saddlehorn gave Calamity a hint and when the blonde started the horse running, she pitched in with flying fists and feet. By the time the men managed to subdue the girls, it took all six of them, there was no chance of their capturing the fast-fleeing mare.
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br />   Like Calamity, Potter knew the chances of the mare finding Killem and the wagons was slight, but he preferred not to take the chance. So, although he and his companions cursed and threatened the girls, they did no more. Later they might try to put the threats into practice.

  After butchering the elk and loading it on their spare horses, the men fastened both girls on Calamity’s mount and pulled out. They had been gone less than half an hour when the soldiers arrived, although none of them knew that.

  Just before reaching an area of shale over which Calamity knew no man could follow tracks, the men met up with another party. Any hopes Calamity raised at the first sight of the newcomers soon ended. If anything, they added to the seriousness of the situation. From what she heard, Calamity gathered that the second party had met up with a wagon load of whisky headed for some fort’s sutler. Bottles clinked on every saddle and four horses each carried a load of kegs. The attitude and manner of the second party told Calamity that some sampling of the loot had been done.

  What with one thing and another, the combined parties did not make good time after winding a difficult track route across the shale. Night came and the men showed no sign of stopping. Although passing the bottle freely among them, the men made no attempt to molest the girls, but Calamity knew it to be only a matter of time before something broke.

  Around midnight they rode along the bottom of a wide, sheer-ended gorge. A fast-flowing stream ran to their right, tumbling in a noisy waterfall from the lip of the gorge. Once by the waterfall, the gorge swung in a gentle curve and widened out. After a quarter of a mile or so ahead, lights glinted and from the way the party’s horses perked up, Calamity guessed that they approached the end of the journey.

  Halfway to the lights, a voice called a challenge and received an answer from a surly, sleepy-sounding Potter. If the gang maintained that look-out permanently, sneaking up on them would be practically impossible. Not, Calamity mused, that there was any chance of her friends arriving to sneak up in the near future. Lord Henry and the others would be unlikely to start worrying about the girls’ non-arrival until night fell, and by that time could not hope to find them. It would be morning at the earliest before the start of a search could be made, then the men must locate the place of the abduction and start following tracks.

  “Is there nothing we can do, Calamity?” Beryl whispered, her voice calm, if tired, and mouth close to the other’s ear.

  “Not a blasted thing, gal,” Calamity answered. “We’ll just have to sit back and watch our chances.”

  “What’re you pair yapping about?” demanded Potter, his voice slurred with sleep and drink.

  “Just wondering which of Kerry, Lord Hank or Dobe Killem is going to tear out your guts when they come here,” Calamity replied.

  “They have to find us first, gal,” the ex-skinner sneered. “Which same by morning that springy turf’ll growed back up and there won’t be no sign. And even if they get up here, there’s three look-outs watching—and this’s the only way in here.”

  Which ought to make the gang safe from the girls’ friends. Already Potter’s party had more men than Lord Henry could muster, and it seemed that the half-circle of cabins held more of them. Without the element of surprise to back them, Lord Henry and the others could accomplish nothing. The presence of the look-outs made surprise unlikely, if not impossible.

  Straining her eyes, Calamity tried to pierce the darkness and learn more about the gang’s hideout. She could see little for the gorge ended in a wall beyond the cabins and its shadow hit the details she wished to learn. From what she saw, the cabins had been built to mutually support each other in the event of an attack. Most likely beaver-hunting mountain men first erected them, not that Calamity cared at the moment. There appeared to be little sign of life around the place, but some laughter and talk came from the center building. Knowing something of defense against Indian attack, Calamity concluded that the horses would be corralled behind the houses in a position where the men using the camp could prevent them being run off. Nothing she saw filled her with any great hope of rescue, or escape.

  Light flooded from the door of the center cabin, illuminating the new arrivals. Several men emerged from the building, including two at least the girls recognized.

  “Hey now,” said Jenkins, his scarred face twisting into a leer. “What’ve we got here?”

  “Back off, Jenkins!” snarled Potter, as the other advanced toward the girls. “They’re mine.”

  “Yours?” Jenkins spat back. “You know our rules here. Nobody owns a thing. It’s share and share alike.”

  “I caught her!” Potter objected, guessing that Jenkins had designs on Beryl rather than the slightly less attractive but far more dangerous Calamity.

  “We all took a hand in it,” one of the party pointed out.

  “Hold it, all of you!” Varley said from the door of the building. “We’ll follow our usual procedure and draw lots for her.” He could see the idea did not meet with general approval and sought for something to divert attention. “What’ve you brought in, Mr. Weiss?”

  “Whisky,” replied the leader of the second party. “We jumped this feller with a wagon loaded with it. Figured he might be going to sell it to the Injuns——”

  “No excuses are necessary here,” Varley interrupted. “Our precepts are that all goods are the property of the community as a whole, not of the individual, and we are within our rights to take what we want.”

  “Yeah,” Weiss grinned. He was a big, bulky hard-case. “Figuring that way, I reckon I’ll just take me that blonde gal——”

  “The hell you do!” Potter barked. “I caught her and she’s mine.”

  “I’m boss here!” Jenkins burst in.

  “Boss?” queried Weiss, lips drawn back in a challenging snarl. “Way your pard tells it, we’re all equal and there’s no bosses.”

  Just as Calamity hoped for the start of a fight which might give them an opportunity to escape, Varley stepped in. While lacking strength or physical courage, he possessed one thing the others lacked: the ability to use his brains.

  From the start he found that his community did not come up to expectations in the matter of noble self-sacrifice necessary to make his ideals work. While all showed willingness to share other people’s property, they tended to cling to their own. Since leaving the railroad, finding the cabins and gathering in a prime assortment of riff-raff and cut-throats, he had been forced to learn how to handle the lowest, most vicious and selfish type of men. There was only one way to do it, play them off against each other.

  “There’s no need to argue among ourselves,” he told them, and they had sufficient regard for his brains to listen. “We’ll put them in with the other women and settle the matter amicably.”

  “Not until we’re all here!” put in a man wearing a filthy U.S. Cavalry uniform. “Some of my pards aren’t in yet.”

  His protest came less out of loyalty to his friends than from a fear of being cut out of the proceedings. While sharing the cabins and other property for mutual self-preservation, the men tended to be members of separate groups with but one thing in common, distrust of the others and determination to get their fair—meaning slightly more than the others if possible—share of whatever came into the camp.

  “Naturally none of us want to make other members miss sharing,” Varley replied—which might be true in his case. “I propose that we leave things as they are until morning, gentlemen.”

  Probably none of the others would have agreed, if he, or his group, could have been sure of forcing their will upon the rest and each section realized that any attempt on their part to force the issue would unite the remainder in opposition.

  “All right,” Jenkins said suddenly.

  “I’ll go with that,” Potter continued, and the remainder rumbled agreement.

  “Then it’s decided. We toss them into the hut with the other women and leave them until after a democratic decision on who uses them first,” Varley an
nounced. “Shall I hold the key to the cabin?”

  “We’ll leave it on the hook like always,” Weiss answered, and that too met with general approval.

  Although Calamity felt like making a fight, she knew the futility of it. So she allowed herself to be freed and dropped off the horse. Beryl also jumped down, moving stiffly but landing on her feet despite, like Calamity, still having her wrists fastened—she had been ordered to lift her hands over the other girl’s head while Calamity’s feet were freed from the stirrups.

  Still without making trouble, Calamity and Beryl allowed themselves to be taken to a cabin at the end of the line. A lantern hung on one hook, a key to the large padlock which secured the door on another, and a coiled bull whip upon the third. Seeing the last, Calamity wished that her hands were free. If they had been and she could once lay hands on the whip, she reckoned she could make some of them wish they had never been born.

  No such opportunity presented itself. Varley unlocked the door and Weiss threw it open.

  “Get in!” Varley ordered.

  “Are you leaving us tied like this?” Calamity asked.

  “They can’t get out,” Jenkins sneered. “It’s been tried. Turn ’em loose.”

  Calamity bit down a gasp as the blood started to circulate freely on the removal of her bonds. Before she could make a move, even if she intended to, Weiss thrust her into the cabin and a moment later Beryl joined her. The door slammed and the girls turned to look around them. What they saw handed them maybe the worst shock of the abduction.

  Some eight or so women slumped around in a bare, unfurnished room in attitudes of complete dejection. Dull, lifeless eyes in faces which showed almost inhuman suffering studied the girls without hope or interest.

  “My God!” Beryl gasped. “What’s happened to them?”

  After answering the question in pungent, blistering words, Calamity went on, “They’ll have to kill me first. Let’s see if we can get out of here.”

  One look told them both that escape would be almost impossible. Underfoot the cabin’s floor might be earth, but it had been packed so hard that only a pick might make an impression upon it; and even then it would be a slow process. Every window had been boarded over and securely nailed, while the walls were built of stout timber and made to last.