Coyote Falls

by Colin Bainbridge

  ‘They’ve discovered we’re gone,’ Calhoun said. ‘Time we got movin’.’

  They began to jog at a steady pace away from the direction of the way station. It was very dark, and difficult to see more than a few yards ahead. They seemed to be on some sort of level plateau with the dark shapes of hills outlined against the louring sky. Further off were the mountain ranges and, bearing in mind that they had come down from some of the higher peaks, Calhoun set his course in the opposite direction, vaguely thinking to lead any pursuit away from the silver mines and the deserted town. After a time they heard the sound of horses’ hoofs still some distance away.

  ‘They must have followed some trail which took them along the side of the hill,’ Calhoun said. ‘We could be making straight for them. I think the best thing would be to wait till daylight. I want to get some idea of the lie of the land.’

  Calhoun could hear the sound of water and, following it, they arrived at a little hollow where some aspen trees grew.

  ‘This will do,’ Calhoun said.

  There was a little spring and, squatting on their haunches, they drank from it. It was not much more than a trickle but it was cold and fresh and they felt better for it. Afterwards they hunkered down out of the wind.

  ‘Wish we could build a fire,’ Calhoun said, ‘but it would be too dangerous.’

  ‘What I’d give for a cup of coffee,’ Bingley replied.

  ‘What I’d give for a hoss,’ Calhoun said.

  They lapsed into silence. It was damp and cold. The leaves whispered in the wind as the two men drifted into an uneasy slumber.

  Dawn was beginning to streak the sky when Calhoun awoke. He was stiff and cold and if he hadn’t already been aware of it he knew now that they had little chance of survival without horses and supplies. He considered returning to the way station but it was too risky. For the present it was important to start moving to restore their circulation and stave off the cold, so, after he had awakened Bingley with a good shake, they began to move again.

  The country was generally flat, grass-covered with scattered clumps of trees and stands of willow and cottonwood, indicating the presence of water. Calhoun’s plan was to head away from the mountains in what he judged was the course they had been following when they came to the way station. By tending towards an easterly direction he hoped to come round the side of the hills and then work back towards the town of Coyote Falls.

  He didn’t want to involve Norah in further trouble by heading that way and he felt reasonably comfortable about her and the cougar. If they made it back to Coyote Falls they could return to the disused diggings with a posse. He wondered whether the marshal had recovered from his injuries and what Mary was doing. It wasn’t the first time she had been on his mind.

  Towards mid-morning they heard the sound of horses once again. Calhoun indicated some boulders and they hid behind them. From their position they had a good view over the country which sloped gently downhill and presently they saw riders coming towards them up the incline. Calhoun drew the gun from his belt. He noticed for the first time that it was an old-fashioned Whitneyville Walker, .44-calibre, large and heavy. It seemed an odd choice but he had no time to think about it.

  ‘Now’s our chance to get us some hosses,’ he whispered.

  As the riders came closer he could see that there were three of them. He checked the cylinder. Three riders, six shots. Not much room for error.

  ‘There’s nothin’ you can do,’ he said to Bingley. ‘Just stay down out of sight.’

  He looked back at the approaching horsemen. Something was wrong. They had drawn to a halt and one of them was pointing in their direction. Another one produced a rifle. The next moment there was a flash of flame followed by a booming reverberation among the rocks and Bingley’s hat went flying into the air.

  ‘You idiot!’ Calhoun breathed. ‘I told you to stay out of sight.’ As an afterthought he added: ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘That hat cost me sixteen dollars,’ Bingley replied.

  Another shot rang out and went whistling just over their heads. Calhoun waited. Next moment a whole fusillade of shots went singing into the rocks and Calhoun ducked as a ricochet kicked up shards of granite near his head. Still Calhoun did not reply. He needed to make every shot count. He was hoping that the riders would carry on coming, perhaps believing that he was unarmed, but they had slipped from their horses and were taking shelter behind some trees and bushes in a little dip in the ground. It was a good position and it was hard for him either to be able to see them or get a decent shot in. One of them might be able to outflank him by crawling to his right under cover of the slight ridge which continued in that direction.

  ‘Keep a lookout to the left!’ Calhoun shouted to Bingley.

  Shots began to ring out and Calhoun was tempted to reply, but he realized he would probably be wasting his bullets. Then he had a thought. If the gunmen were in a position to outflank them, maybe they could do the same. The horses were standing a short distance away from where the gunmen were concealed. If they kept real low they might be able to slither their way towards them. The ridge would work to their advantage. Quickly he explained the plan to Bingley.

  ‘They don’t know for sure whether we are carrying arms,’ Calhoun said. ‘They’re a little confused. That gives us an edge.’

  He was talking up the situation for the benefit of the greener, but, to give him his due, Bingley didn’t show any trace of fear or reluctance.

  ‘This time really keep low and follow me,’ Calhoun said.

  On his belly, he slithered out from behind the rock and began to work his slow way towards the horses. There had been a few moments of respite from firing but now shots began to ring out, whining among the rocks they had just vacated. Just as well, Calhoun reflected. There was a big danger of ricochets back there. Very gradually they continued to work their way forward.

  The grass was just long enough to provide cover although Calhoun had known Indians who could stay concealed where there was no grass at all. He had learned something from them. He knew how to find directions even from that angle of vision and he had no doubts that the two of them would fetch up where he wanted.

  The outlaws were still firing in the direction of the rocks so they had not detected anything so far. They were still protected too by that slight ridge which, while it offered concealment for the outlaws, also served to disguise their passage. Calhoun could hear Bingley’s heavy breathing from behind. He was starting to find things difficult. Calhoun stopped for a few moments to give him a rest, reminding him again to stay as low as possible.

  ‘Now I know what a snake feels like,’ Bingley said.

  ‘Just hope we don’t run into a real one,’ Calhoun whispered.

  They slid forward once again. Now Calhoun could smell the horses, then, through the grass, he could see their legs. One of them began to blow and Calhoun, raising his eyes, could see that they were getting restless as they sensed the presence of two men in the grass. Now was the moment of real danger. They would have to leap to their feet and dash the few remaining yards to the horses, running the gauntlet of the outlaws’ fire. They would need to spring aboard as quickly as possible and ride as hard as they could away from the barrage of shots that would follow them. Calhoun explained all this to Bingley.

  ‘Are you sure you know what to do?’

  Bingley nodded.

  ‘OK. Now!’

  In an instant they were both on their feet and running pell-mell through the grass towards the horses, but they hadn’t gone more than a couple of steps before the outlaws realized what was happening and turned their fire on them. Shots pinged through the air and tore up the ground around them.

  The horses were on the move, jostling one another in their fear and edging sideways. One of them went down, neighing as a stray bullet caught it. Calhoun was abreast of a big palomino and with one bound he was in the saddle. Bingley’s foot was in the stirrup of a bay but it was beginning to buck and he was having a p
roblem getting on board.

  For a moment Calhoun thought he was going to fall, but the next moment he had succeeded in swinging his leg over and they were off, turning their horses away from the trees and bushes where the outlaws were concealed.

  A barrage of shots banged out in their rear and bullets went whining close by. Calhoun instinctively twisted in the saddle to return fire, but then he remembered how little ammunition he had available. Slapping the sides of the horse with his hat and applying his spurs, he rode on just behind Bingley whom he had allowed to take the lead. Bingley was a good rider, however, and soon they were beyond range of the pursuing fire.

  Allowing their horses to slow to a trot they carried on riding till they struck an east-west trail and drew rein. There were tracks in the trail dust indicating that riders had passed along it fairly recently, and Calhoun was reminded that they were still deep in enemy territory.

  It was a pity that the riders had taken their rifles from the scabbards. It meant that Calhoun still only had the Whitneyville Walker for weaponry. However there were strips of jerky in one of the saddle-bags and, on reaching a brook, they decided to stop and eat. They took the horses to the water and filled up the canteens. By the time they had finished they were feeling a lot happier.

  They set off again. They were still going downhill, although the slope was gentle. Presently they came to a point where the trail they were following branched and a thinner trail led down to a more substantial stretch of water than they had come across so far. They rode their horses into the water. Calhoun knew that anyone with any expertise in following sign would be able to pick up their trail quite easily but he doubted that any of the outlaws would be so skilled. The further along the stream they rode, the higher grew the slopes on either side.

  ‘I reckon if we follow this down we’ll come out on level ground at the foot of the hills. If we circle south and west it should bring us round the shoulder of the hills back towards town,’ Calhoun observed.

  ‘Reckon it’ll take us mighty close to the Crutch Bar,’ Bingley replied. ‘I wonder if my uncle got that message?’

  Calhoun thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, you could be right,’ he said. ‘Sounds easy but there’s still a whole parcel of gunslicks between us and the ranch and they’ll be doing their damndest to get their hands back on that map.’

  He paused. ‘Goldarn it,’ he said. ‘I’d clean forgotten about that map. I reckon it’s about time we took a look at the thing.’

  They carried on riding. Night was descending and it was getting dark in the coulee. Eventually they halted, stripped the saddles from the horses and made camp beside some flat rocks.

  ‘OK,’ Calhoun said. ‘I think it’s about time we took a look at the map.’

  The light was fading fast but there was still enough for them to see. Calhoun reached into his pocket and brought out the little wrapped parcel. He carefully undid it. Inside was a folded sheet of paper. Calhoun opened it out, expecting to find the plans to the mine and the treasure it contained. Instead there was a scrawled message written in pencil:

  The Falls. Saturday 29th September. Noon.

  Calhoun looked at Bingley. ‘What the hell?’ he said.

  ‘Check that there’s nothing else,’ Bingley replied.

  Calhoun looked carefully inside the pouch but it was empty. ‘No plans, no map,’ he said. ‘What do you make of it?’

  Bingley took the piece of paper and read the brief message once more. ‘Looks like it’s been written in a hurry,’ he said, ‘and torn from a notebook.’

  ‘What’s today’s date?’ Calhoun asked.

  Bingley thought for a moment. ‘The twenty first, I think,’ he answered. ‘I ain’t too sure.’

  ‘Eight days,’ Calhoun said. ‘I don’t know what this is all about, but I guess we’d better be at Coyote Falls by then.’

  Early next morning they rode on, following the course of the stream which was bringing them out into a widening valley. Away to their right a spur of the hills jutted out into the flatlands and their way would lead round it. Calhoun was watchful, studying the trail ahead and the slopes on either side. Bingley was more thoughtful, considering the strange message on the paper. They had talked about it for a good while the previous night but it still made no sense to either of them. Suddenly Calhoun pointed ahead.

  ‘Riders,’ he said. ‘Plenty of ’em.’

  Bingley looked where Calhoun was indicating.

  ‘To the right, comin’ along the spur.’

  Bingley saw them. They were riding almost parallel to them but high up along a ledge. Presently they disappeared from sight.

  ‘They’ll have seen us,’ Calhoun said, ‘and they’ll be lookin’ to cut us off at the spur. We got two choices. Either we turn back or we try and beat ’em to it.’

  ‘The Crutch Bar lies in this direction.’

  ‘Yeah. Let’s dust.’

  They splashed the horses across the stream and set off at a steady trot. Calhoun didn’t want to exhaust their mounts, but to keep something back in reserve for when they would really need it. The spur of the hills lay not more than three miles away. It would be a question of who reached it first.

  A shot rang out from high above but the outlaws were too far off for it to present a problem. Probably one of them had caught a glimpse of them and tried a chance shot. Presently the outlaws emerged into view again. They drew to a halt and then some of them began to urge their horses down the hillside. Apparently they had decided to get down at this point but the slope was too steep and they gave up the attempt. Regaining the ground they had lost, they bunched up with the rest of the gang.

  They were riding in a fairly tight formation except when they strung out to avoid an obstacle. Sometimes they disappeared from view only to emerge once again further along. Occasionally there was a flash of sunlight from their rifles. They were ahead of Calhoun and Bingley but they would have to ride down the spur of the mountain.

  Calhoun looked anxiously at the trail ahead, concerned that another group of riders might appear, cutting off their route. They were getting close to the spur now. Shots were being aimed in their direction and some of them were dangerously near. The outlaws had reached the highest point of the ridge and were about to start their descent.

  Calhoun decided that the time had come to put their horses to the test. Calling to Bingley to follow him, he applied his spurs to the palomino’s flanks and set off at a dead run for the angle of the spur.

  The outlaws, perceiving what was happening, spurred their horses forward, but it was more difficult for them as they had the slope to contend with. Calhoun and Bingley had chosen two good horses. They were galloping ahead at a fast rate and the spur was coming up at a startling speed. Foam was flying from their horses’ mouths as they ran flat out with no sign of any breaks in their rapid stride.

  The wind whipped at their faces. Shots were raining down off the hillside. A bullet zipped by Calhoun’s head. He glanced sideways. It was going to be touch and go who won the race.

  Reaching down, he drew the Walker from his belt and for the first time in two encounters with the outlaws he returned fire. A horse went down, throwing its rider who went bouncing head over heels down the hillside till his headlong passage was halted by a large boulder. Still it looked as though the outlaws would outrun them. Then Calhoun realized that the angle at which they were approaching was deceptive and that the outlaws had further to go than he had thought. There were ridges in the long slope of the hill which couldn’t be seen from below.

  With a whoop Calhoun and Bingley were round the end of the spur and galloping across the range lands beyond. The first few of the outlaws were reaching the flats behind them. A bullet whistled past and then another embedded itself in the leather of Bingley’s saddle. His horse veered to one side but then, startled, picked up even more speed and went thundering on.

  Calhoun turned and fired. His bullet found its mark and the leading horse shied, then slowed almost to a halt. The horse be
hind clattered into it while a couple of others veered round. In the moments of confusion that followed Calhoun and Bingley made further ground on their pursuers. Calhoun’s concern was for the horses. They were still charging on and showing no sign of slackening, but for how long could they keep it up?

  But then the outlaws would have to ask themselves the same question. Some of the pursuers were fanning out but Calhoun was not concerned. Instead, he regarded this as a sign that the outlaws were getting desperate, attempting to outflank them. He pondered whether to take another shot but the outlaws had fallen behind and it wasn’t likely he would be successful firing at that range from a plunging horse.

  Bent low over their horses’ manes they rode on, the horses’ hoofs drumming a muffled rhythm, their flanks lathered and their breaths starting to come in great heaves. Calhoun took another look behind but there was no sign of their pursuers. After galloping a little further, he gave the signal to stop and allow the horses to blow.

  ‘What do you think?’ Bingley gasped. ‘Reckon we’ve outrun them?’

  ‘Yup, for the time bein’.’

  Calhoun looked around. There was a stand of cottonwoods a little way ahead but not much else. In contrast to the country they had been riding through this was flat and featureless.

  ‘We’ll haze ’em over to the trees,’ Calhoun said, knowing there would be water there.

  They let the horses rest and drink, and then rode out again, keeping the hills on their right, riding into the declining sun and letting the horses go at their own pace. They had been riding like this for what seemed a long time when suddenly Calhoun stiffened. Ahead of them was what looked like a cloud smudged against the skyline.