They reached the point where the west cave narrowed, sped on. Slade could hear the beat of Parr’s boots well to the front. He raised his gun to risk a shot.
Then he heard something else—the low, ominous mutter he had heard once before. He spun about and once more ran for his life.
“Back!” he shouted to Ross and Lopez. “Back! Run! Run!”
The order was obeyed without question, but the surging water was above their knees when they panted up the slope of the main cave to safety.
“Blazes! What an infernal hole this is!” gasped Ross, swabbing at the sweat which streamed down his face. “I never want to see it again. Never heard of the like.”
“There’s a somewhat similar formation on the coast of Borneo,” Slade observed. “It’s called the Blue Grotto, somewhat resembling the famous one on the Island of Capri, but dangerous, whereas the one on Capri is safe. Water does funny things to a limestone formation. Chances are the whole thing will fall in some day and be blocked. Incidentally, this entire coastline is changing rapidly, due to tides and the filling up of the channel. Fifty years from now, persons living today wouldn’t recognize it if they happened to be still alive and riding this way. Quite likely the trail will be gone, and where there is now grassland will be marshes and bayous. Tides are fierce in the bay, although they will become gentler as the channel fills, and are eating away the coast rapidly. Well, it looks like Señor Parr has wide-looped his last bunch of sheep. He’s taking a long, long trip.”
“I wonder why he did it?” remarked Lopez. “He must have known the danger.”
“Perhaps he got confused and turned the wrong way,” Slade hazarded. “Then again he may have figured he could reach the sea mouth and swim with that smooth off-shore current to the waiting ship. A strong swimmer could likely do it. Well, it doesn’t matter, so long as he and his hell-raising are finished. Let’s go see how the boys made out with the prisoners. I want to talk to them.”
They found everything under control, six of the outlaws dead. Slade questioned the two prisoners, who were voluble enough.
With the bodies of the slain outlaws roped to their horses and the three captives closely guarded, they headed for town.
“Everything about as I figured,” Slade told Sheriff Ross as they rode together, a little to the rear. “Parr heard about that peculiar cave formation and the resulting currents from an old prospector. He figured how he could put it to use, just as he figured he could play on the superstitious fears of the herders with his men of steel masquerade. So he set up in business in Port Lavaca and had a good thing going. He stole that flock of sheep from a ranch over to the east and ran it on the open range to, as I thought, distract attention from his other activities, for things were getting a mite hot for him.”
“After the arrival of El Halcón,” the sheriff put in. Slade smiled.
“I got the name of the ship that transported the stolen woollies and cows,” Slade resumed. “She’s the “Isabella” out of Nautla, Mexico. You can notify the Customs people, and they’ll run her down. The cows were sold in Mexico, the sheep run to Parr’s packing plant, of course. The wrecked ship, the “Compostella,” was coming back after a run to Mexico with contraband goods. The unscrupulous hellion heard of it and lured her onto the rocks and grabbed off the money in the safe after murdering the captain and the crew. He planned other wrecking ventures, the prisoners told me. They’ll tie up any loose ends for you in hope of saving their own necks. So I guess that about completes the chore.”
“And what do you plan to do now?” Ross asked.
“I’m riding north,” Slade answered. “Captain Jim will have another chore lined up for me by the time I get back to the post; I’ve taken overly long on this one.”
With the led horses, progress was rather slow, and it was noon when they rode into Port Lavaca, where astounded citizens listened to the story they had to tell and showered Slade and the sheriff with praise.
The horses were cared for, the prisoners locked up. Then everybody trooped into the Post Hole for a hefty surrounding, after which Ross and his deputies went to bed. Waring and his hands decided they weren’t too tired and that a mite of celebration was in order. Lopez and the other flock owners elected to join them.
After he was sure Shadow was sufficiently rested, Slade got the rig on and led him from the stable and to the rack in front of the Post Hole. He called Waring out and drew him aside.
“Tell Marie for me that I’ll be seeing her soon, I hope,” he said.
“But, blast it! I’d hoped you’d stay here and sign on with me,” the disappointed rancher complained.
“Not just yet,” Slade said, swinging into the saddle. He gestured to the north, where in the far distance a tall hill glowed golden in the low-lying sun.
“Phil, there’s something calling from the other side of that top,” he said smilingly as he spoke to Shadow and gathered up the reins.
He did not see fit to explain it was the voice of duty that called.
Bullets for a Ranger_A Walt Slade Western Page 15
