Shadow River

by Ralph Cotton

  Chapter 14

  With his loose rope wrapped a turn around his forearm, and the other two ropes tied around him chest high, Sam climbed down the side of the crevice, feeding his rope out a little at a time. Above him on the other side, Burke and Black handled their ropes expertly, keeping tension even on both ropes and feeding them out sparingly as they watched him descend.

  Sam found good footing step after step, lowering himself smoothly, slowly, steadily. Eighteen feet down the rocky dirt wall, he stopped on a two-foot-wide stone ledge that had been to the floor of the crevice back when he’d hidden the gold there. Now, looking down, sunlight spilling deeper into the gaping chasm, he still saw no bottom, only a narrowness that sank deep into the hillside, then appeared to gradually close over two hundred feet below.

  “Is that the spot?” Burke called down, getting anxious, excited.

  “It’s the spot,” Sam said, standing sidelong at the thinner crevice in the rocky wall. He rooted his arm and shoulder into the wall and pulled four fist-sized rocks one at a time and let them fall behind him. “And here’s the gold,” he called up to Burke and Black.

  Watching intently, the two saw him pull out a large bulging canvas sack, then a second, then a third, pitching each one down onto the ledge at his feet.

  “Holy Mother Amanda!” Burke said to Black, his eyes wide. “I have to be honest, Stanley. I didn’t believe it would happen.”

  “Well, it sure enough has,” Black said, equally elated at their good fortune. “What do you need us to do for you, Jones?” he called down to Sam.

  “Nothing right now . . . stand by,” Sam replied up the wall.

  He drew his rope up and cut a length of it off with the brass-handled knife from his boot well, leaving plenty of rope length to accomplish what he needed to do.

  “What’s he doing?” Burke asked Black, both of them staring down as Sam tied the sacks together.

  “I don’t know, Clyde,” Black said, getting a little bit put out with Burke. “You see everything I’m seeing.”

  “Don’t get cross with me, Stanley,” Burke warned.

  Black ignored him and watched Sam down on the narrow ledge. Sam hefted the length of rope over his shoulder, two bags hanging down his chest and one down his back for balance.

  “Get ready up there,” he called out to the two faces peering down at him.

  “Tell us what you need, Jones,” Black replied.

  “Take a taut hold on me,” Sam said. “I’m going to back off this ledge onto your ropes and let myself fall slowlike, over the other side. Soon as I get there, start hauling me up. I’ll be climbing too, to help pull me up.”

  “Hold up, Jones! I’m getting a bad feeling about this,” Burke called down to him.

  “You’d better get yourself a good feeling about it, Clyde,” Sam called back to him. “I’m coming up with the gold, or I’m staying down here with it.”

  “Don’t pay him any mind. We’ve both got you, Jones,” Black called down, reassuring him.

  “Tighten up, then,” Sam said. “Here I come.”

  The two drew the ropes tight as Sam let himself step back off the ledge. They watched gravity draw him across the open crevice as Sam held firm on his rope and let it out slowly.

  “Why, hell, this ain’t nothing,” Burke said, seeing things move along nice and easy.

  “Don’t get cocky on me,” Black said. “Be ready to pull him up when he tells us to.”

  “I’m not being cocky,” Burke said sourly. “I could have done the same as he’s doing it, now that I see how—”

  No sooner had he finished his words than the familiar rumble moved along the hill line under their feet.

  “Oh no,” said Black. “Not now!”

  Sam felt the rumble down in the crevice just as he felt the opposite wall against his back and started to turn around to it.

  “Tie me off, fast,” he called up to Black and Burke. The two scrambled backward, keeping their weight against the ropes. They took up the slack and wrapped the ropes quickly around the same rocks they were tied to.

  “You’re tied,” Black called down as the ground beneath them trembled a little.

  Sam felt the tremor as he turned and stood out against the wall with both feet.

  “Keep the slack out,” he said. “But haul me up before it gets worse.”

  The two pulled with all their weight, hand over hand, as Sam climbed hard to keep up with them. Another tremor rippled deep through the hill line. Sam ignored it, continuing to climb. The two gunmen pulled up on their rope for all they were worth. They wrapped the slack around the holding rocks, keeping the ropes taut.

  “Uh-oh, here’s the big one!” Black said, knowing the feel of the quakes by now, and what to expect. “Don’t lose your footing,” he shouted at Burke.

  “I won’t,” Burke shouted in reply. “Don’t lose yours!” They strained and pulled as a large distant rumble bored along the hill line like a charging locomotive.

  Sam climbed hard, as if running up the side of the wall. As the underground rumble grew closer, he felt large tree roots sticking out of the dirt and stone wall. He climbed the roots as if they were some wildly shaped ladders.

  Atop the edge, the rumble worsened; both gunmen swayed with their ropes, losing strength and balance. They heard their horses whinnying in fear.

  “Hold tight, pull!” Black shouted loudly, the rumble roaring in their ears.

  But as the earth jarred and swayed, there was nothing they could do. The earth pitched them aside. They held the ropes, yet they were powerless to pull or even hold the slack tight for a moment.

  “He’s gone!” Black shouted, noting the weight of their climber had gone slack between them and the crevice edge. As suddenly as the rumble had come upon them, it was gone. The hills gave their familiar shake and settled, then halted with a hard, sudden jar.

  Black and Burke looked at each other even as they began to pull frantically on their ropes. But there was nothing on the other end now.

  “Jones is dead,” Black said in sickened tone. “We lost him.”

  “Our gold too,” Burke said. He turned and leaned against the rock, his rope hanging loose in his hand.

  “Hey . . . I’m not dead . . . over here,” Sam called out just below the edge of the broken ground.

  The two raced to the edge, seeing a dirty scratched-up hand reach over the edge and grasp at the dirt.

  “We got you, Jones!” shouted Black, leaping to the edge, Burke right beside him.

  The two grabbed Sam, one by his outstretched hand, the other by his forearm and his shoulder. With a long, hard pull they dragged him up, gold sacks and all, over onto the edge. The sacks of gold jingled like bags full of bells when he flattened onto his back on the sack he’d hung behind him.

  Sam pushed the two sacks off his chest, Black and Burke helping him. He sat up, coughing and spitting dirt and bits of pine roots from his lips.

  “Damn!” said Black. “We thought for sure we’d lost you. The ropes went slack. We couldn’t do nothing while the quake was under us.”

  “I figured . . . as much,” Sam said, catching his breath. “I climbed some tree roots . . . held on until it was all over.”

  Black pulled the sacks of gold off Sam, and he and Burke pulled him to his feet and steadied him for a moment. Burke untied one of the sacks from the other two. He loosened the top of the sack and pulled it open.

  “My, my,” he said as if in awe. “Look at all these pretty Mexican monedas.” He dug a hand down into the bag, raised a palm full of gold coins and let them trickle from his hand. The coins jingled as they fell back into the sack.

  “How much do you figure is here?” Black asked. He took the sack from Burke and hefted it in his hand.

  But before either Sam or Burke could answer, a thin tremor moved under their feet.

&nb
sp; The three looked at one another. Burke lifted two sacks of gold onto his shoulder. Black held the one Burke had opened.

  “More quakes coming?” Black asked Sam.

  “I don’t know,” Sam said. “But let’s pick up and get out of here just in case.” Even as he spoke, another tremor rippled along deep inside the hill line.

  • • •

  With their rifles, ropes and sacks of gold, the three hurried back along the path behind the boulder. But when they got to the clearing and looked toward the place where they had tied the animals, they found that the horses were gone.

  “Oh no!” said Black looking all around, the sack of gold hanging from his right hand. “The quake spooked them. They’ve broke loose.”

  Sam and Burke gave each other a look.

  “I don’t think so, Stanley,” Burke said quietly, the two other sacks of gold hanging down from his shoulder.

  Sam started to raise his rifle as he looked all around. He saw their horses standing hitched to a pine on the other side of the terrace where someone had moved them to. Just out of reach, he told himself. This is bad. . . .

  From behind the stand of ironwood, Sergeant Bolado stepped out, hatless and dirty, with a thin line of dark dried blood on his forehead. He held Sam’s big Colt cocked and aimed in his right hand.

  “Well, well, my friends the gringo pistoleros,” Bolado said with a tight humorless grin. He eyed the gold. “And look what they have brought for me.”

  As the sergeant spoke, soldiers in dusty bloodstained uniforms appeared slowly all around the rocky terrace. They stepped from behind rock and brush and formed a half circle around Sam and the other two gunmen. Aside from Bolado, Sam counted seven soldiers, each of them bloodied, bandaged and battered from narrowly escaping Marcos and his rebel army’s ambush. Each stood with a rifle in his hands, cocked, poised and ready.

  “I vowed I would shoot you with your own gun,” the sergeant said, wiggling Sam’s bone-handled Colt in his hand. “And look, my vow has been fulfilled.”

  Sam looked down at himself, examining, spreading his hand a little.

  “Funny, I don’t feel shot,” he said.

  “Ah, that is a good one, gringo Jones,” Bolado said. “You show us all what a brave, bold pistolero you are. But it serves you no purpose. Still you must all die. There is no other way.” He gave a slight shrug.

  On Sam’s right, he heard the jingle of gold coins as Burke and Black dropped the sacks of gold to the ground. The sergeant and his men snapped their eyes toward the sound.

  “Begging your pardon, these are heavy,” Burke said to both Sam and Bolado.

  “Yeah,” Black said. “If you two are going to palaver all day . . .”

  Sam raised his gaze back up to Bolado, managing to keep his right hand poised near the Army Colt standing holstered on his hip. He wondered if Bolado realized he’d just taken a position—he was ready, and if he’d learned anything about these two gunmen at his side, he knew they were ready too. He didn’t have to check, or wonder. When he heard the coins hit the ground, he knew. All he had to do now was make his move. Blood would spill.

  But Sergeant Bolado was confident and cool to the point of arrogance. He chuffed and grinned. He raised a finger and wagged it slowly.

  “Ah, you gringos, always with the bravado, eh?” He eyed each of them in turn.

  Stanley Black stood poised, ready, his expression cold, resolved.

  The sergeant cut his eyes to Clyde Burke. Burke stood ready too, wearing the same expression as Black. But as the sergeant looked at him, Burke spat at the ground in his direction.

  Bolado gave a short, tight laugh, his eyes taking on an excited glint.

  “I have always wished to find myself in such a bold standoff as this,” Bolado said seriously. “Killing devil Apache is fun, yes, it is true. But this! This is what a true fighting man wishes for in his life.”

  “Probably not as much fun as you’ve built it up to be,” Sam said quietly.

  All around Bolado, the soldiers held ready, but they were not as eager for action as their sergeant. Sam saw it in their eyes. Fighting the Apache and Marcos’ rebels had more than sated any thirst they might have had for blood. Bolado hadn’t offered them part of the gold, huh-uh . . . , Sam told himself. The fighting spirit Bolado was counting on wasn’t there. Sam was certain of it.

  Here goes. . . .

  Sam snatched the Army Colt up from the black slim-jim holster. Bolado saw his move and wasted no time making his own. Beside Sam, Black and Burke drew as one. Shots erupted back and forth between the gunmen and the soldiers.

  Sam’s first shot nailed Bolado a split second ahead of Bolado getting his shot off. Sam’s bullet hit Bolado high in the right shoulder, knocking out the sergeant’s aim. Sam felt Bolado’s bullet zip past his cheek. Another bullet from a soldier’s rifle hit the tall-crowned sombrero and knocked it backward off Sam’s head. The sombrero hung behind his shoulders by a rawhide hat string.

  Sam had to turn from the wounded sergeant and fire at the soldier before another rifle shot came flying his way. Sam’s bullet hit the soldier dead center and sent him sprawling backward on the rocky ground. Now other soldiers fired at Sam, avenging one of their own, as Burke and Black fired relentlessly and more soldiers fell to the ground.

  Sam swung the smoking Colt back at Bolado and fired as Bolado staggered in place, but raised the bone-handled Colt and got off another round at him. This time Sam’s bullet hit Bolado squarely in his chest. Bolado went down with a mist of his lifeblood swirling in the air.

  A soldier fell as Sam swung the Colt toward him, Black having nailed the man as he levered another round into his rifle. Burke hit a soldier in his hand; severed fingers flew away in a string of blood. The man fell back among the brush, dropping his rifle, squeezing his hand.

  Bullets streaked through the black smoke looming above the terrace, stirring it, reshaping it. Sam saw three soldiers on the ground. He saw others trying to get back to the cover they’d appeared out of, still firing, but taking no close aim. Once inside the cover of rock and brush, Sam noted there was no gunfire coming from them. He’d been right; they’d had enough gunfighting. They didn’t want more—not like this anyway.

  Turning toward Black and Burke, Sam waved them toward cover. They moved back beside the boulder but kept firing, keeping the soldiers moving down the trail away from the four horses. After a moment, Sam stopped firing and held the empty Army Colt up beside him, keeping the smoke away from his face.

  “They’re leaving. Let them go,” he said. “Unless they start firing again.” As he spoke, he took bullets from the bandolier hanging from his shoulder and reloaded the Colt as he walked toward Bolado lying groaning on the ground. Across the clearing three soldiers lay dead.

  “Was it everything you’d hoped it’d be?” he asked flatly, spinning the loaded Army Colt’s cylinder, then cocking the hammer.

  “You gringo son of a—” A bloody cough stopped him from finishing his words. The sound of the soldiers’ horses raced away on the hill trail.

  “Shhh, too late for cussing,” Sam said to Sergeant Bolado, hushing him. “Let me ask you something,” he said. “Did you think those two would give the gold up without a fight?” He nodded toward Black and Burke.

  “Those two?” The sergeant looked confused. “What . . . about you?”

  “Yeah, what about me . . . ?” Sam said. He brushed the question aside and let out a breath. Holstering the Army Colt, he reached down and picked up his bone-handled Colt from beside the dying sergeant’s wrist. “Obliged you brought it back to me,” he said, turning his Colt in his hand, inspecting it. He looked back at the sergeant and saw his dead eyes staring up at the sky. Behind him he heard Burke’s voice and looked around.

  “Stanley, get up. Don’t be fooling around,” Burke said. “Look, I brought you your horse and everything.”


  Black stood leaning back atop a rock, his feet spread apart on the ground, supporting him.

  “I’m not fooling around, Clyde. I’m shot,” he said. “I’m not making it up.”

  Sam stood and walked over to them, noting Black holding a forearm tight across his stomach. Burke stood holding the reins to their four horses. Seeing the question in Sam’s eyes, Burke gave a bewildered shrug.

  “Says he’s shot, but he won’t show me where,” Burke said. Sam saw a worried look on his face.

  “I don’t have to show you, Clyde,” Black said. “Take my word for it, I’m shot through, and I’m about gone here.” The sacks of gold lay on the ground between his spread boots.

  Sam stepped around behind him, saw the gaping exit wound in his lower back and gave Burke a look.

  “Can you move your legs if you try?” Sam asked Black.

  “Hell no,” said Black. “Not unless I want to fall over on my face.” He gave a weak grin. “Tell him what you see, Jones,” he said.

  Sam didn’t say, he just stared at Burke and shook his head.

  Seeing the look on both their faces, Black reached inside his shirt, took out a pair of wire-rim spectacles and began wiping dust off them. He looked down at the sacks of gold on the ground between his boots.

  “We would’ve had ourselves a hell of a time with all that,” he said with regret. He slid the spectacles onto his face, batted his eyes and stared back and forth. “I meant to try these out months ago.”

  “Want some water?” Burke asked. “A swig of rye?”

  “Nope, I don’t want nothing,” Black said. “Go on and get out of here. I was standing on my feet the last time you saw me,” he said. He looked from Burke to Sam and gave a grin. “I had gold lying at my feet, didn’t I . . . ?” His voice trailed away.

  Sam only nodded.

  “You sure as hell did,” Burke said quietly.

  The two stood in silence as Black’s eyes closed slowly. He started to topple sidelong off the rock, but the two caught him and eased him to the ground. They stood a moment longer. Burke reached out and pulled the brim of the straw sombrero down over Black’s face.