Deep Trouble

by Mary Connealy

Her jaw was a tight line; her lips and eyes clamped shut as she bore her pain in silence.

  He hadn’t hurt her, at least no more than simple breathing hurt her, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to do more.

  He tore his eyes away from her and was confronted with the majestic canyon. He leaned back on his heels and saw the colonnades, the terraces of every color, the rushing waters of the Colorado River. He thought of the talus slides and the treacherous terrace trails. The long, broiling day in the sun with little water. This was a place of staggering beauty and deadly danger. The bottom of the Grand Canyon was a merciless place to be against the will of God.

  He looked from the windswept glory around him and saw a wounded woman. The pretty little loco weed had opened her eyes and twisted around to look at that gap she’d identified. It looked close. If they could travel as the crow flies, they could get there in a few hours. But Gabe was getting to know this canyon. And he was no crow. They’d be days tramping to that gap, twisting and turning on ledges that clung to the side of the canyon just like today. Plenty of chances to die between now and then.

  Shannon would heal well, heal fast. But she’d had almost miraculous good fortune. God’s way of telling them to go back? Or go on?

  Whether God had intervened in Shannon’s fall or not, Gabe got the message loud and clear that they were in danger. But while Gabe had been hearing God, Shannon heard gold. From the fascinated gleam in her eyes, he was just as sure that Shannon hadn’t changed her mind one bit about her search for treasure down here in the savage belly of the earth.

  Gabe was really starting to hate this canyon.

  Eighteen

  Buck was really starting to hate Captain Hance.

  “An’ then I got to the rim of the canyon and the fog was so thick, I just walked straight off the edge of the canyon and walked across on the fog.”

  Captain Hance had been telling stories ever since they’d set out. Unfortunately, the trail was wide enough they could all hear him just fine. And the man was setting a blistering pace—with real blisters. Thanks to the blazing sun.

  He leaned close to Tyra and said, “I could really go for some fog about now.”

  She swatted his arm with the back of her hand and smiled.

  “But the fog started to burn off when I was about halfway across. I started running, but it got thinner and my feet started sinkin’ into the clouds, and I got to one of the towers in the canyon and—”

  Buck had read about the towers in the canyon. Colonnades, he’d heard them called. He’d seen a painting or two and a few photographs, but it all sounded outlandish to him. Deep canyon. Big deal. He’d seen a deep canyon before. It was as outlandish as walking across fog.

  “So there I was, trapped on that tower, and the sky turned clear and stayed clear. I had no water or food. Figured I didn’t need it just goin’ for a walk like I was. And blazin’ hot on that thing. I felt like I was being roasted over a fire. And not a lick of shade of course. I thought about tryin’ to climb down. Just then—”

  Buck kept his horse back a few paces. In addition to being full of stories only a madman would believe, Hance smelled none too good. He’d also told a story about how he’d come to be known as Captain Hance. But it was so full of tall tales and pure outright lies, Buck settled on believing the man had made the military title up. Who out there was going to challenge him? The miniature horses who lived in the canyon? The ghosts who haunted this Indian village they were going to? The sturdy fog?

  “I’d been there so long I started to think my beard might be long enough to lasso the side of the canyon, and I could swing myself across.”

  Looking sideways at Tyra, Buck arched one brow. Tyra smiled.

  “But, before it came to that, a thin fog rolled in. Normally I’d’ve never made it across on those wisps. A man needs a thick fog if’n he’s gonna walk on it. But I’d lost fifty pounds while I was up there, so gaunt I was nigh unto a shadow.”

  They both dropped back just a bit. Not far. They’d learned early on there was no real escape from Hance. The man just talked louder if someone lagged.

  “Well, I had to risk it or starve, so I stepped out, and sure enough, the fog held me up. I’ll tell you the pure truth. I ran like a man with a pack of wolves on his trail, afraid that fog would lift.”

  When they were back enough paces, but not too many, Buck leaned over and spoke very quietly. “I know just how the captain feels. Every time he starts a new story, I feel like a man with a pack of wolves on my trail. But I’ve got no choice but to stay right here.”

  Tyra stifled a laugh, and they dropped back a bit farther. She whispered, “He’s going to get us there fast. Doba told me the man knows exactly where Gabe must have been heading. Hance swears he knows the only trail off the east rim. We may have to listen to some tall tales, but it’ll be worth it.”

  They’d been at it all day, and who knew how long it would be until they reached their destination. Mr. Kinlichee admitted to not knowing much about the canyon in this direction. And Doba seemed to be a man who at least acted like an expert on any subject, so Buck feared the information for this trail was scarce. Yes, finding Captain Hance as a guide was a godsend. Even if it was going to make Buck lose his mind.

  “Thar she is.” Hance picked up the pace as if he was excited to be home. The most desolate home imaginable.

  Buck couldn’t really see what Hance was so excited about. Rugged ground, cactus, sand, rocks—he’d seen enough of those to last a lifetime. Hance stopped then Tyra’s father and brother-in-law, who’d ridden alongside Hance.

  And then Buck came up beside Abe Lasley and saw the canyon. And was stunned into stillness.

  Tyra gasped, her voice swept away by the scudding wind.

  They stared. The towers, some pointed, some level, the lines and layers of color. Buck’s eyes followed the nearest colonnade down to see the depths shrouded by fog. The white did look thick enough to walk on. How far down did it go? The towers seemed to grow out of the clouds as if they weren’t attached to the ground, instead floating in the sky.

  Time stood still. Buck knew they held in place for a long time, but it had no meaning because there was no number of hours sufficient to see it all and absorb it all.

  “Let’s git on down.” Hance cackled with laughter like an old hen.

  It violated a sacred moment.

  “Not yet.” Lucas Morgan said it clearly as an order, and even Hance held his silence then. For a while.

  “We’ll lose the light afore we git to the bottom of the trail if’n we don’t go now.”

  “We need to look just a little longer,” Tyra whispered. Like her gasp earlier, her words seemed to be caught and tossed away, lost in the vastness.

  Buck didn’t think he could move. Then he suddenly wanted to go down, be a part of that city built on the clouds. He’d studied the Pilgrims in school and remembered John Winthrop’s immortal words about America being a shining city on a hill. Surely there could be no greater city, no greater shining light than this place.

  Even as Buck knew what he looked upon was stone—there was no sign that it was a true building inhabited by either God or man—he wanted to enter the canyon, be part of it, just as his faith gave him assurance he’d enter into heaven when God called him home.

  “It could really be true.” He tore his gaze away from the staggering beauty and looked at his companions. “A city might well be lost in the depths of this place. Shannon could be right.” His Shannon, whom he’d indulged and patronized and mainly considered spoiled and a bit loony but with a good heart, could be on the trail to a city of gold.

  “They is a trail.” Hance laughed again. “I tole you so. I seen it, and I’ll take you there or my name ain’t Captain John Hance.”

  His words broke the spell, and the group began talking at once.

  “Let’s go, Captain Hance,” Buck said. “Lead the way.”

  Hance’s response to that was to put two fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-pie
rcing whistle that made the horses jump and mill around. Buck had his hands full keeping control.

  Once his mount settled down, he glared at Hance. “Why’d you do that?”

  Two Indians appeared from around a rock.

  Buck braced himself for an attack. Had Hance brought them out here to be robbed and killed?

  Hance swung down from his horse and handed the reins to the first brave who approached him. The men wore little clothing. Their hair was contained in black braids. Each man had two hanging down his chest. One of them wore a Stetson that looked like a horse had trampled over it. The other was bare-headed and carried a tomahawk in the belt of what could only be described as a loincloth. At least that’s all that the clothing covered.

  “Hance, what’s going on here?” Tyra’s father demanded.

  With a glance over his shoulder, Hance must have figured out they were all suspicious because he started laughing. That went on until the man coughed. Then his throat must’ve tripped over his laughing and coughing because for a while, Buck wondered if the man would choke to death. At last he got control of himself, and with eyes gleaming with tears of laughter he said, “You didn’t think we could ride a horse down there did’ja?”

  Buck looked back at their horses, pack horses loaded with supplies and water. His four hired men were each leading a pack horse, and the men were right now looking at the Indians and the canyon suspiciously. If the horses weren’t going, either the supplies got left behind or—

  “Let’s get these horses unloaded. My Yavapai friends’ll tend ‘em for us while we’re gone.” Hance turned to a leather pack on his horse, pulled it loose, and strapped it on his back. “We’ll have to carry the supples.”

  Buck exchanged a doubtful look with Tyra. Lucas looked at the Indians calmly helping Hance and shrugged. “Let’s get unpacked.”

  With a resigned sigh and another look over the edge of the world, Buck swung down and pulled his saddlebags off his horse, trying to think what he could use for a pack. There were bags on the pack horses. He’d rig one of those to—

  “Buck.” One of the men his mother had hired interrupted his planning.

  “Yes?” These men were tough. Mother had chosen well. And they’d finally stopped calling him Boss or Bucky.

  “The boys and I have talked it over, and we’re not going down into that canyon on foot. Fool idea.”

  Buck was startled. He’d never considered this. “You’re abandoning me?”

  The man shrugged. Buck noticed then that they’d been working some, but none of them had fashioned a pack for himself. They’d kept busy unloading supplies. In fact, they’d unloaded all of them, which Buck now realized was a bad sign. It left them free to ride away on unloaded horses without being accused of stealing supplies or leaving Buck to starve.

  “We aren’t climbing down a cliff, and we don’t want to hand our horses over to a pack of savages.”

  “They seem like decent men.” Buck glanced doubtfully at the Indians.

  One of his men snorted. “Without horses, we’ll starve or die of thirst trying to walk back to that Navajo settlement, and even then we’d have a long way to go to Flagstaff and the closest train.”

  “We could walk back without starving,” Buck said hopefully.

  “And all that won’t get a chance to go wrong if we go down into that canyon. The canyon looks to us like a killer, and once down there you want to find whatever it is you’re looking for and get back up here alive. Then we worry about walking out.”

  “None of that will happen if the Indians bring our horses back.”

  Another sound of sheer doubt.

  The spokesman for the group shook his head. “No one can pay a man enough money for his life.”

  The Indian men Hance had summoned had been fairly civilized. He’d called them Yavapai, which meant absolutely nothing to Buck. Doba Kinlichee had been Navajo. Buck was sure of that. But these men were obviously acquainted with Hance, and he trusted them. So, unless Hance was in cahoots with them… “They seem honest to me.”

  That rude snort again. It was starting to irritate Buck.

  “We wouldn’t leave you alone, Boss, but you’ve got enough help. We’ll make sure folks know you came out here. If you turn up missing, they’ll know where to start looking.

  Buck thought of the canyon he was planning to climb down to find Shannon, a needle in a haystack if ever there was one. He could only hope that the city Hance claimed he knew of was the same place Shannon was heading. His deserting men wouldn’t be a lot of help to a search party.

  Buck nodded. What other choice did he have?

  The men mounted up and rode away.

  Tyra came up beside him. “Where are they going?”

  Buck explained what was going on.

  “Small groups do better down there anyway. Better they should head back.” Hance kept making his pack larger while he talked.

  The men leaving barely stopped them in their packing. Buck was learning that western men and women didn’t spend a whole lot of time fussing about things they could do nothing about.

  Tyra came and helped him fill a satchel then used leather strips to hang it on his back. “That’s all you’ve got room for.” Tyra looked at all they were leaving behind.

  It twisted Buck’s stomach. “How far are we going down into that pit?”

  “Fill your canteens,” Hance shouted. “Water’s what you’ll need most.”

  “Does that mean water is hard to find? The Colorado River is down there somewhere.” Buck picked up two full canteens. Then he saw a few more things and decided he could take one more armload of supplies.

  “Can’t carry no more’n that.” Hance shook his head at the sight of Buck with his pack loaded and his arms full. “You’re gonna need your hands free when we go crawlin’ down the side of a cliff.”

  That image sent Buck’s stomach dancing.

  “What do I leave behind?”

  He shouldn’t have asked. Hance was all too willing to help, and it was humiliating to see what the old man considered a necessity. Buck had very different ideas, but he let the man pick and choose what was to be left behind. He couldn’t stand to think of how they were going to survive down there with little more than water, guns, and bedrolls. Back in St. Louis, they had running water in the house. He could turn a nozzle and get a tub full of hot water.

  Home. He really missed it.

  The Indian braves began leading the horses away, and Buck wondered if they’d ever see the animals again. It was a long, long walk back to St. Louis.

  His eyes fell closed on a heartfelt prayer. If Hance was luring them into that canyon for nefarious purposes, they were going to need a merciful God more than ever.

  Hance took off, and they followed like brainless sheep.

  After Hance, Tyra’s father fell into line.

  Abe Lasley next. Abe would’ve gone first if he’d had half a chance. The big brother.

  Buck had a flash of sympathy for Gabe being the youngest. Abe and Gabe. Tyra had said there were seven brothers. Buck wondered what the others were named—Babe, Cabe, Dabe, Fabe, and Habe?

  Shaking his head, Buck let Tyra go next. Then with one envious glance back at the trail his men had taken back to Flagstaff, he followed.

  When he took his first step over the rim, he felt like he’d gone over the edge of the world.

  Lurene stalked back and forth and back and forth trying to figure out how to get over the edge of the cliff. She fumed, ready to explode from Cutter’s slow pace. They’d trailed the Navajos easily enough, right up to the edge of the canyon. Then they’d stopped dead. There was no way forward.

  “They must have gone on to the north or south.” She slapped her gloves in her hand and paced, and slapped and fumed. They’d been here two hours and nothing had changed.

  “I see no sign of it. It looked to me like they just walked straight off the edge of that cliff.” Cutter ran one of his beefy hands over the beard he’d grown since they started
this. He’d been clean cut when he was charming the Dysart woman into hiring them. But he’d quit shaving and bathing from the minute they’d headed west. All of them had. But on Cutter it was worse somehow. He’d gone from a civilized man to a savage.

  Lurene had always respected him, and fear was part of that respect. But lately, in the heat and the slow travel and Ginger’s constant harping, fear had gained strength while Lurene’s respect had worn thin.

  The Lloyd brothers had found shade by a tumble of rocks, and Ginger sat with them. Randy appeared to be asleep. His head was tipped back, the brim of his Stetson pulled low. Darrel sat with his knees pulled up, chewing on a strip of beef jerky. Ginger was stabbing at the sandy ground.

  Lurene was sick of her constant movements. The woman wasn’t even still in her sleep. The sun burned down on Lurene until she thought her brains might be baking.

  “Let’s take a break, Cutter. We’ve got to decide what to do.”

  Muttering short, crude words, Cutter rose from a crouch and stalked toward the group in the shade. With the sun moving lower in the west, the rock’s shade stretched enough that Lurene and Cutter could sit down facing the other three.

  “Do we give up or keep hunting?” Lurene could taste the defeat. She hated it. The harder it was to catch up to that woman the more she was determined to do it. Shannon Dysart was a weakling, a woman who should have been lost and alone. Finding her should have been as easy as running after a baby on its hands and knees.

  The silence was thick, a solid wall. It reminded Lurene of that monstrous canyon. A canyon so deep she wondered if they went into the depths of it, would it lead them straight to the devil?

  “I’m sicka’ this heat.” Ginger of course spoke first. Her face was burned bright red, blistered, and peeling in spots. The dirt on her face was streaked with sweat and smeared into mud. Her hair was pulled back into a knot at the base of her skull, but curls escaped in all directions. “Let’s forget the Dysart woman and get outta here.”

  Lurene had asked a serious question, but Ginger couldn’t bother to give serious thought to it. She just reacted to whatever she felt in the moment.