by Abe Dancer
But he spooked a cougar feeding on a deer it had downed and the animal had taken off. A glimpse of it silhoutted against the stars told him it was a female, heavily pregnant, which probably explained its willingness to flee – even wild cats had a powerful mother-instinct to make sure no harm came to the babies.
But the cat had shown him the way out of the scrambled knot of gulches: minutes later, he saw the spired rock rearing against the stars. He was closer than he had expected and now he dismounted and led the black by the reins up the first slopes of the mountain that hid the crooked, winding canyon Larry Creed had spoken of. Surprisingly, the black came willingly and it was not difficult to lead it through scattered rocks so that its hoofs did not disturb them.
When he reached the top and the downslope fell away into the start of the canyon, Cole pushed the rifle back into the saddle scabbard, punched in the top of his hat and filled it with water from his canteen. The black slurped it up, then Cole took the sawn-off shotgun from the left hand saddlebag and a handful of shells from his pocket. He broke the gun and thumbed home two loads, but did not close the action fully: there was no safety and this was the only way he could make sure the gun wouldn’t accidentally discharge if he stumbled or fell.
It was a long, snaking canyon and he had no idea where Creed’s pards had holed up. It was a safe bet that it would be somewhere high on the slopes, so they could keep an eye on the approaches. This meant he had to travel slowly and watch both sides, hoping for some sign of a camp, but he figured they would have it well hidden.
The horse was growing restless now, had rested enough and was eager to be running again, cutting an exhilarating passage through the wind. The hoofs clattered a couple of times, freezing Cole in his tracks, ears straining.
The black was beginning to assert itself now, tugged at the reins, almost pulling him off balance. He stumbled, just managed to hold his tight grip on the shotgun, cursed the big animal.
‘Damn you! I should’ve run you till you couldn’t stand! Now, behave, goddammit!’
His efforts were puny against the strength of the horse, which was enjoying itself now, straining back with arched neck, keeping the reins taut so Cole couldn’t get any slack, the leather starting to slide inexorably through his hands.
He suddenly let go and the horse stumbled, forefeet crossing as it tried to find solid footing after the unexpected release of pressure. In a flash, Cole was in the saddle, had the reins taut, throwing his weight back, the bit hard against the back of the black’s mouth. Surprisingly, it accomodated his movements, settled, standing four-square solid now, head up, as if eagerly awaiting Cole’s command.
He almost made the mistake of touching the spurs to the sweating flanks. But he stopped in time, settled the shotgun across his legs and flicked the reins.
‘You’re a playful devil, ain’t you? Just like to let me know who’s really in charge. OK, we go up, at an angle towards that….’ Cole stood in the stirrups, staring unbelievingly.
There was a red spark up there, this side of the crest, at least twenty feet below. A red spark – that could only be coals of a banked campfire, or one that hadn’t been fully extinguished earlier. The black’s antics had occurred over a considerable area of ground, taken them more than halfway through the winding canyon.
That had to be Creed’s cronies’ camp, maybe outside a cave or overhang of rock. He couldn’t risk the black’s deciding to put on another demonstration of its independence, so he ground-hitched the horse. He could see the animal wasn’t pleased.
‘You stay put and be ready to carry me, and, hopefully, a young boy not more’n forty-fifty pounds….’
He patted the muzzle and almost had his hand bitten. He smiled ruefully and started up the slope. It was awkward carrying the shotgun, but he had figured it for the best weapon to use in the confines of the canyons.
The slope was steeper than it looked and he had to make his progress in a series of slow zigzags across. His breath burned the back of his throat with his efforts and the wounded leg was acting up, aching, not as strong as it had been originally. It gave way unexpectedly and, leaning forward, he had to put down a hand to keep from falling.
It saved his life.
A rifle crashed not five yards above and he heard the ripping sounds of the bullets passing over his back. He dropped and rolled now, snapping the shotgun closed, coming over onto his belly. The gun flashed above him again and the bullet kicked stones and dirt against his side.
Then the shotgun thundered and he glimpsed the dark shape of the guard up there, doubled over as if kicked in the belly by a cranky mustang. The man gave a strangled croak and fell forward, rolling part-way down the slope.
‘Rooster!’ someone called from a deeper black patch above the coals of the campfire, which he could see now. ‘Who the hell is that?’
If the man expected an answer he was disappointed. Cole could make out the entrance to a cave now and the man lurched out, rifle butt braced against his hip, lever working as he fired again and again, raking the slope.
Cole spun away to one side and while still on his left side, triggered the shotgun’s second barrel. The gunman staggered as if he had hit a wall, but he wasn’t about to give up.
He took a couple more steps, getting off two wild shots, the last one pointing to the ground. Cole dropped the shotgun, palmed up his Colt and fired once.
The man fell, rolling and sliding down past Cole, the rifle clattering after him.
Cole ignored him, started up the slope, hoping there had been only two guards. Crouching by the cave entrance, he called warily,
‘Donny? Donny? You in there?’
No answer, but someone coughed deep inside the cave.
‘It’s Sheriff Cole, Donny. Are you OK?’
‘I – I’m OK, Sher’ff,’ called a shaky, thin voice from back in the darkness. ‘Only – I ain’t Donny. I’m Sam Bale.’
CHAPTER 12
HOME ON THE
RANGE
The kid was a mess. He was still wearing Donny Charlton’s jacket but it was stained with mud and red rock dust, the seam was torn on one shoulder and a pocket was starting to break away.
He had a black eye and his face was smeared with dirt. Large front teeth and freckles, a formless kid’s nose and eyebrows that were barely discernible – this was Sammy Bale. His hair was tow-coloured like Donny’s, but there must be at least another dozen boys of varying ages in town with the same colour hair.
Cole could see how simple it would be for the kidnappers to make a mistake: likely they had been cowboys or hardcases hired for the abduction and not actually knowing Donny Charlton by sight; they would have been told to look for a tow-haired seven-year-old, probably wearing a reasonably new jacket if it was in the cool of evening near the start of the night-time fireworks’ show.
Sammy Bale had a heavy cold; he was sniffling and coughing occasionally even as Cole cleaned him up and gave him some food, It was obvious from the way Sam ate that he hadn’t been fed much lately.
‘What happened, Sam?’
The boy swallowed the last of his fifth corn dodger, wiped the back of a wrist across his mouth and started to use the same wrist on his moist nostrils. Cole stopped him, gave him a kerchief. Sam blew into it and offered it back. Cole lifted a hand.
‘Consider it a gift, Sam. Now tell me how come you were snatched instead of Donny?’
‘I dunno. I mean, I fell in the river and Donny pulled me out and I was shiverin’ with this cold an’ he give me his new jacket to wear.’ The boy’s bright-blue eyes lit up. ‘It’s a beauty. I wish it was mine.’
‘You ask Donny could you keep it on?’
‘Sort of.’ He hung his head a little, watching Cole’s face from under his thin eyebrows. ‘I – I said I was still cold and put on a bit of a wheeze or two. Donny said I could keep it on but I’d have to give it back when his ma showed up. She’s kinda – snooty, Donny’s ma, you know?’
‘Haven’t had much to do with
her but I got that impression.’
Sam gave a quick smile, glad to have Cole agree with him. ‘Anyway, we was scavengin’ around for some spare rockets and these two fellers come up and said they had found three or four unfired ones. We started to go with ’em, but one grabbed Donny by the arm and lifted him clear off the ground, carried him off somewhere behind a wagon. I got scared and tried to run but I tripped and I hit my head.’ He pulled his hair back and a bruise and slight swelling were still obvious. ‘I was knocked out, I guess. When I come round I’m lyin’ over this dark feller’s lap on his hoss with my wrists tied behind my back. They brought me to this cave an’ I been here ever since.’
‘Know who the man was?’
‘Rooster – the first one you killed. The other was Blackie someone.’
Cole rolled a cigarette, lit up and smoked thoughtfully. Sam started eating again.
‘Not too much, too fast. If your belly’s been starved for a few days, you go easy.’
Sam looked as if he would argue but then thought better of it, wiped his hands down the front of the stained jacket.
‘Donny’s ma’ll throw a fit when she sees this.’
‘Yeah, could be. I’m wondering what happened to Donny. Everyone’s convinced he was the one kidnapped. And how come your ma didn’t raise hell when you went missing?’
‘Aw – I dunno.’ Small shoulders shrugged; he didn’t seem unduly worried that his mother hadn’t reported him missing. He wouldn’t meet Cole’s gaze.
‘You been running off from home now and again?’ Cole asked suddenly and the way Sam jumped and moved a little away from him gave him his answer. ‘You been skedaddling off for so long that your ma’s gotten used to it, no longer bothers if you don’t show up till you’re good and ready. That it?’
Cole’s voice had anger in it and the boy started to cringe, head on one side as if expecting a cuff. Cole immediately relented.
‘Hey, boy, don’t do that! I ain’t gonna hit you. Is that why you run away every now and again? Because your ma whips you?’
‘She don’t, but he does sometimes when he’s been at the likker.’
‘Who’s “he”?’
Sam took his time answering, pulled some grass and tore up the blades one by one as he spoke, eyes downcast.
‘Well, sir, my ma – she never been married, see?’ He waited, challengingly, but Cole’s face remained blank. ‘My pa was killed before he could marry her and she said she never wanted no other man for a husband….’
‘It’s OK, Sam. I understand. She feels the need now and again for a man’s company, is that it?’
Sam looked relieved and smiled briefly. ‘I guess. But this feller, this Winston, says he’s my uncle. He’s been hangin’ around, don’t seem to wanna leave. I know Ma wants to get rid of him but he’s sort of – taken over. She told me we’d run off if the farm wasn’t all she had in the world, and she wants to keep it – for me.’
There was a hint of tears in the boy’s eyes and voice now. He paused, gulping.
‘Sam, your ma sounds like a good woman to me. But we’ve got to get outta here before some other men involved in your kidnapping turn up. And I’ve got to find Donny Charlton! You any idea where the hell he could be?’
Sam didn’t and Cole figured it was time they were somewhere else. He stood, dropped the cigarette butt and crushed it.
‘C’mon, kid. I’ll take you home.’
‘Where the hell is he goin’?’ Red Carlin snapped irritably as Quinlan led the way down the dark slope. ‘Would be better if the damn moon was still out.’
‘Be a whole lot better if you kept your mouth shut!’ Quinlan growled.
‘We ain’t gonna pick up any trail in the dark, Quick,’ said the third man, Smoky Hill, trying to sound reasonable. No one wanted to stir Quinlan’s temper; when the man was crazy mad he didn’t differentiate between friend and foe.
‘Where d’you think he’s going?’ Quinlan asked, his deep voice rasping. ‘He’s gonna take the kid back home, for Chrissakes.’
There was silence and, riding side by side, Red and Smoky exchanged a glance, or as much of one as each could see in the dark.
‘Quick,’ Red said, licking his lips. ‘We heard his hoss while gettin’ our own mounts, and it wasn’t goin’ back towards Barberry.’
‘That’s a fact, Quick,’ added Smoky quietly.
Quinlan reined down, yanking the reins so hard his mount snorted and pranced in protest.
‘Is that right? Well, he had to find his way outta the canyon, didn’t he? It twists and turns like a snake with colic. After he clears it is where we’ll pick up his proper trail. It ought to be light enough then, and it’ll lead back to Barberry. Don’t make sense any other way.’
Smoky and Red were silent, then Smoky leaned out and nudged Red’s leg, urging him by nods of his head to speak up. After a few moments he heard Red clear his throat.
‘Quick, he could be makin’ his way back to the Bale farm.’ Quinlan snapped his head up and Red added, quickly, ‘All along that kid reckoned he was Sammy Bale, not the Charlton brat.’
‘Little swine was just actin’ up ornery,’ Quinlan said, harshly. ‘D. Charlton was sewed into the collar of the coat he was wearing. He was just trying to be smart so’s we’d let him go.’
Red sighed, glanced at Smoky for some back-up but Hill remained quiet. Red swore softly; now he was left alone to argue with Quinlan and he didn’t know too many men who’d won such a contest. Didn’t know any! But he had spoken now and had to back up his reasoning.
‘He had a good explanation for the coat, Quick. The Charlton kid lendin’ it to him after he fell in the river, ’cause he had a cold – and you can’t deny he sure does have a bad cold, snotty-nosed little hellion.’
‘Red, I’m convinced we had Donny or Danny Charlton, whatever the hell his name is. But, as I said, it’ll be light enough to read Cole’s tracks soon. Then we decide which way we go. Now, that’s it! Both of you shut up till we get outta these damn canyons!’
Red and Smoky were glad to obey.
*
Mattie Bale was in her late twenties, quite good-looking, though careworn from long years of hard work and worry about everyday living. The farm wasn’t large but it was a lot of work for one woman, with only the occasional help of an active eight-year-old boy, when she could nail him down for long enough.
She had actually been glad when Winston Bale had turned up, brother of Steven, Sammy’s father. He had been obliging enough at first, pitching in, making the place more like a farm should be – and then he moved into her bed.
‘I’d be your brother-in-law if Steve hadn’t been killed and you know a man’s brother can claim his rights from his sister-in-law when she’s widowed.’
‘That’s not a law!’ she argued. ‘It’s what some folk want to believe, is all.’
He was a handsome man, Winston. His smile had won him many a throbbing female heart since he was in his teens. He always had his way with women – always. And Mattie would be no different. ‘Well, I believe it,’ he told her, flashing that smile. ‘I surely do.’
And, in the end, the smile worked for him once again.
But his original eagerness to work and build up the farm had its edge blunted soon after and he spent a lot of time lounging around the cabin, or fishing down at the creek. He was good to Sammy, took him fishing with him, but didn’t care whether it was a school day or not and Sammy lost a deal of education. And he didn’t mind boxing the boy’s ears when Sam annoyed him in some way, either.
Mattie found she was working harder than ever now there were three of them – tending her vegetable patch, trapping rabbits and possums and squirrels and other small game just to put meat on the table. Once or twice Winston brought in a fish big enough to share, and one time he actually hunted down and killed a deer.
But mostly he did little around the farm and began to boss both Mattie and Sammy: ‘Time to milk the cow, boy. Get it done.’ ‘Go collect some more eg
gs from the chicken pen Mattie, I fancy a big omelette for my lunch.’ ‘Go into town and bring me back some fresh tobacco – oh, and a bottle of Mannering’s rye – he’ll give you credit.’
‘I hate going near that saloon,’ Mattie complained and his dark eyes narrowed.
‘You do what I say, woman! And tell Judd Reason I want to see him, too.’
She stiffened when he said that. ‘Why d’you want to see that snide land dealer?’
‘Why d’you just ask for a smack in the mouth by givin’ me an argument! You do what I say!’
She knew what he was about: he was negotiating the sale of the farm, somehow going to fix it with Judd Reason, although the farm title was in her name. But Winston Bale had some way around that, and she knew she and Sammy wouldn’t see any money from such a sale.
But it never came to that, for Winston devised a bigger plan to make him rich beyond his dreams, right after she arrived back from the Fourth of July hoedown in Barberry, and they found a frightened Donny Charlton hiding under the tarp in the rear of the buckboard.
‘Who the hell’s this? Where’s Sammy?’ Winston grabbed young Donny by his shirt and shook him, glaring at Mattie.
‘I didn’t know he was there, Winston! I swear!’
‘Where the hell is Sammy?’
‘I – I couldn’t find him,’ she explained, voice trembling. ‘You know what he’s like, always running off and hiding. I – I couldn’t find Donny here, neither, to ask where Sam was. I thought they’d both run off together. You know Sam always comes back after a few days….’
Winston shook Donny. ‘What’re you doin’ here, boy? Where’s Sam?’
‘They – they kidnapped, him. They thought he was me.’
Mattie and Winston stared, Mattie gasping.
‘Two men – they jumped us, said they had some sky rockets for us. But one grabbed Sam and t’other dragged me off and cuffed me hard – said I was to keep my mouth shut or some night he’d come an’ slit my throat. He showed me his knife an’ everything. He thought I was Sammy. I was scared and hid under the tarp in your buckboard, but I din’ know it was yours, Mrs Bale, honest Injun….’
