Robber's Roost (1989)

by Grey, Zane

  "I would if there was any chance of a fight. . . . Take Sparrow's pack-hoss, an' mine, too."

  In a few more minutes all the men leaving were mounted. The pack- animals, with packs gray against the darkness, straggled up the trail. Jim tried hard to get a look at Hays' face, but the lights were out and gloom hung thick everywhere.

  "Wait at your camp till sunup," said Hays, conclusively. "An' if I'm not there I'll meet you about noon shore at head of Red Canyon."

  Without more words or ado Smoky led off behind the pack-horses, and the five riders followed. Once across the brook, all horses took to a brisk trot. Jim Wall looked back. The cabin faded in the gloom under the bench. Not for a mile or more did Jim glance over his shoulder again. Then he saw a bright light on the bench. That was from Herrick's house. He and his sister would be sitting in the living-room, reading or talking. After all, how easy for Hank Hays to corner them there! Jim's reluctance, his uneasiness, would not down. An unfamiliar sensation, like a weight of cold lead in his breast, baffled Jim. He knew he was glad that he would never see Helen Herrick again.

  The spring night waxed cold as the hours wore on and the riders took to the slope. When they got up above the valley, out of the gray mists and shadows, the stars shone bright and white. A steady clip-clop of hoofs broke the silence. The riders proceeded in single file and seldom was a word spoken, except to a lagging pack- horse.

  About midnight Smoky turned the pack-animals up the slope into the woods, and after a mile of rough going emerged into an open canyon head. Water splashed somewhere down over rocks.

  "Hyar we air," said Smoky, making leather creak as he wearily slid off. "Throw things an' git to sleep. I'll stand first guard."

  Evidently the horses were not to be turned loose. Nevertheless, Jim put hobbles on Bay. The men spoke in subdued voices while they unsaddled and threw the packs. Jim overheard Brad Lincoln offer to bet that Hays would not show up at sunrise. Gradually they quieted down, one by one. Jim unrolled his bed beside a rock and, pulling off his boots and unbuckling his gun-belt, he crawled under the blanket. He was neither tired nor sleepy. White stars blinked down pitilessly and mockingly. Would he ever lie down again without the face of Helen Herrick before him, without the lingering fragrance and softness of her lips on his? But that was something different to remember. He welcomed it. And he lived over everything leading up to that kiss, and after it that fierce attack he had made upon her lips. Lastly came her amazing request to him not to leave Star Ranch, and this abode with him until he fell asleep.

  Crack of ax and Happy Jack's voice pierced his slumber, both recognized before he opened his eyes. The sun was topping the eastern range. Jim sat up, stretched, and reaching for his boots he gazed around. The camp was an open draw, with level floor narrowing to a timber belt below. Behind rose shrubby limestone walls, in a crack of which poured a gush of water. The men were stirring, two around the camp fire and others among the horses.

  Happy Jack fetched an armload of wood; Bridges was slicing bacon.

  Jim smelled a mixture of wood smoke and coffee.

  "Wal, long past sunup," said Slocum as he approached the fire.

  "Who was it bet Brad thet Hank wouldn't show up?"

  "Nobody," replied Lincoln.

  "Jim, suppose you take your rifle an' sneak down an' knock over a deer," suggested Smoky. "I see a buck an' three does a minnit ago.

  If you get one, gut it an' leave it lay. We'll throw it on a hoss as we go down. We're gonna need fresh meat. But shore step out of the woods first an' see if Hank's comin', or anybody."

  Three hundred yards down the slope Jim emerged into the open. Such a wonderful blaze of sun! The valley burned purple and red. There were no riders on the winding, white trail. Jim took a long look at the lilac-hazed, canyoned abyss to his left. It was a sight to make even a hardened rider gasp. It was enough to make Westerners love their wilderness. There seemed to be no reality in the endless black link of Wild Horse Mesa.

  Stealthily working back into the timber, he soon espied two deer about sixty paces distant, long ears erect. He killed the buck standing, and sent a quick shot after the bounding doe, but missed.

  Upon his return to camp, Smoky greeted him with a grin. "I jest bet Brad thet you busted two."

  "Sorry; you lose, I missed the doe. Buck's big and fat, though."

  "Fine. We got two extra pack-horses. Wal, Jim, gobble some grub.

  We're on the prod."

  "How far to Red Canyon?" asked Jim.

  "I don't know. About fifteen miles--Utah miles, haw! haw! Don't you remember thet heavy grove of cedars leadin' down into a red hole?"

  "Reckon I do. If Hays joins us there, it'll mean he comes by another trail, doesn't it?"

  "If! So you figger he might not?--course he'd come around the mountain, or mebbe over another pass. He shore knows trails thet we don't."

  "Aw, Hank'll show up on time."

  "Wonder if he stayed back to plug Heeseman? He hates thet rustler."

  In less than an hour the riders were on the move down the mountain.

  Packing on the deer Jim had slain occasioned a little delay for all, because Smoky kept them close together. At the edge of the timber belt he halted them again while he peeped out to reconnoiter. Then he called, "Come hyar, a couple of you long- sighted fellers."

  They all rode out to join him, where he sat his horse, pointing to a faint blur on the purple valley floor. "Is thet dust?"

  Most of the riders inclined to the opinion that it was just haze.

  "Ten miles or more back and hard to make out," spoke up Jim. "If this was my range, I'd say it wasn't haze or smoke."

  "Wish I had Hank's glasses. My eyes are no good any more fer long shots. Wal, let's mozey. At thet distance we don't give a damn what it is."

  Nevertheless, Jim noted that Smoky led to the left, across the ravine, along the edge of the timber belt over a ridge, and then down to the trail. Soon they turned a yellow corner of wall to come out at the point where Hays had described the expanse to Jim.

  It had been wonderful enough then, at noonday, when all was pale and dim in the white, solemn light, but now, just after sunrise, it seemed a dazzling world of rainbow wheels, glorious to the gaze.

  So different was it that Jim could not recognize any particular point Hays had designated. There were now a thousand striking landmarks rising out of the colorful chaos.

  To Jim's regret, however, this spectacle soon dropped behind gray foothills.

  Smoky pushed the pack-horses at a trot. They wound in and out of the brushy hills, at length to leave them for the long slant of greasewood and gravel which led down into the brakes. Here on the left the great bulk of the black white-tipped Henrys towered majestically, lost in perpetual clouds. Once Jim caught sight of the winding serrated wall of rock across the ghastly barrens, and it was a brilliant purple, except at the far-distant end, where it paled to lavender. Far ahead a black fringe of cedars thickened to a grove above a red jagged line which was the canyon head where the riders had a rendezvous with Hays.

  When they reached another turn from which it was possible to look back for five miles or more, Smoky halted while the others caught up.

  "Jeff, you hang right hyar," he said, "an' keep your eyes peeled on the back trail. I ain't so shore thet gray patch back on the valley was haze. It sort of moved to me. An' there wasn't a lick of wind. Wal, from round this corner you can easy see the cedar grove where we'll hang up fer the boss. An' if you ketch sight of any more'n a couple riders on the back stretch, you come ridin' hell-bent for election. Don't stay long after noon."

  Perhaps another five miles down the slope lay their objective to which they headed. The gait was slowed a little, if anything, yet in somewhat over an hour the riders arrived at the cedars. Jim recalled the place, but it was not, as he had imagined, the point where Hays had led up out of the brakes of the Dirty Devil.

  The hour was still some time before noon. Smoky scanned the slope to the south and east. It
would not have been possible to see riders at any distance, as the rocks, brush, ridges, and washes intervened profusely.

  "What'll we do, Smoky? Throw the packs or not?" queried one of the riders.

  "Dog-gone if I know," replied Slocum, peevishly. "It's a rummy deal. Hot as hell now an' gettin' hotter. I forgot to ask Hank.

  Reckon you'd better herd the hosses an' we'll wait. I'll keep a lookout fer the boss."

  Jim tied his horse in the shade of a cedar, and climbed a jumble of rocks so he could command a better view. Almost at once he sighted riders coming down a wash about a mile away, and he had opened his mouth to shout the good tidings, when something checked him so abruptly that he bit his tongue.

  He rubbed his eyes and looked again. Three riders! Assuming that two of them were Hays and Latimer, who could the third be? They disappeared behind a corner of bank. Jim sank down in a cold sweat. Perhaps these men were Indians, or strangers from Hankville, or prospectors. But he had not seen any pack-animals.

  After a long, anxious watch he saw the three reappear in the wash, considerably closer. The one in the middle rode a gray horse and otherwise contrasted sharply with the dark mounts and dark clothes of the other two. A second time the trio disappeared. Smoky was peering about in a desultory manner, but he was too low down to sight the riders. Jim was now shaking. An awful premonition attacked him. He had met it and almost overcome it as another unaccountable attack of nerves when the foremost horseman emerged from behind a bank. He recognized the stalwart figure, the wide, black sombrero, the poise in the saddle. That man was Hank Hays.

  Jim scarcely dared shift his gaze back to the second rider, but he was irresistibly forced to. A slighter figure in tan, drooping in the saddle!

  "So help me God!" he whispered, and sank down on the stone. That center rider was Helen Herrick. For a moment a hell rioted in Jim Wall's breast. How he cursed himself for a vacillating idiot! His intuition had been right. He had seen through this robber leader's behavior at Star Ranch. But like a fool he had not trusted himself. That trick spelled death for Hank Hays. Jim grew cold to his very marrow. Yet his intelligence did not wholly succumb to his fury. He strove to think. This black-hearted hound had gotten Helen, just how, it was useless to conjecture. But to kill him then, right on the spot? That gave Jim Wall pause. Hays' men would roar at this deal, involving them in the abduction of a woman; still, they would hardly go so far as to resist him with arms. He would be cocky, radiant, conciliatory now. Jim crushed down his deadly impulse. He would wait. He would hear what the others had to say. He would bide his time.

  Well indeed had it been for Jim to espy this trio long before they reached him. He had time to recover, to think what was best. If Hank Hays had come upon Jim suddenly, it would have been to his doom.

  One of the pack-animals neighed shrilly and then all the horses stuck up their ears.

  "Say, I heerd a hoss-shoe ring on a stone," called Mac, who had ears as keen as a horse.

  "What's thet?" queried Smoky, sharply. He leaped up.

  "Look! Riders comin'," exclaimed Brad Lincoln.

  "Can't be nobody but Hank."

  Jim leaped off the rock, crashing down behind the watching men, startling them. "Smoky, it's Hays. I saw him a mile off."

  "Why'n hell didn't you say somethin', then?" retorted Slocum, gruffly.

  "I was too flabbergasted," replied Jim, coolly, as he joined them.

  "It's Hank, all right," said Mac.

  "Shore, I see him now. Thet's Hank."

  "Jim, what flabbergasted you?" demanded Slocum.

  "THREE RIDERS!" flashed Jim.

  "Wal! . . . So I see. What you make of thet?" ejaculated Slocum.

  The three emerged clearly from behind the cedars. A blank silence ensued. Jim at last got the tigerish nerves under control. His thoughts were whirling.

  "Humph! Little rider in between," commented Lincoln.

  "Thet's Sparrowhawk behind."

  "Who's the third party?"

  "Hank shore is a queer duck, takin' up with strangers like he does."

  "Somebody with a mask on!"

  "An' a long slicker."

  "Fellers," rasped out Slocum, "thet's a woman with a veil!"

  Jim thought the moment had come. "Men, Hank has doublecrossed us.

  He's stolen Herrick's sister!"

  "The ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----!" cursed Slocum.

  No more was said after that profane outburst. It probably voiced the unity of the watchers. Hank Hays led his two followers to within a few feet of the cluster of riders, when he leaped off and checked the gray horse. Sparrowhawk came right on. Jim's lightning-swift glance took the three in, their dust-caked horses, and flashed back to fasten upon Miss Herrick. Her features were not visible through the veil. The linen coat showed the wear and tear of contact with brush. To Jim's incredulous amaze, she had on riding-boots and overalls. She sat free in the saddle, with neither hands nor feet bound. The gray horse carried a long pack folded over the cantle.

  "Wal, you're all here but Jeff," began Hays. He had a bold front, a piercing eye. Fear of man or beast or God did not abide in him then.

  "Jeff'll be comin' by now," replied Smoky.

  "We ain't got a hell of a lot of time to wait," said Hays.

  "Whar you aimin' fer?"

  "Brakes of the Dirty Devil."

  "But we was goin' around an' head thet hot hell hole."

  "No time."

  Brad Lincoln thrust himself forward, black of face, hitching his gun-belt. "Who's the third party?"

  "Wal, you can guess," leered Hays.

  "I take it you've fetched Herrick's sister."

  "You're a bright boy. Go to the head of the class."

  "Hank Hays, after all you doublecrossed us," roared Smoky.

  "Wal, if I did--turn about is fair play."

  "Fair play--hell! You're a liar. You're a cheat. You're a ----.

  You think you can drag us in on a deal like this. I thought you acted powerful queer. So it was this double-breasted gurl you tricked us fer? . . . You ---- ---- ----!"

  Jim Wall strode forward and aside, his swift action menacingly significant.

  "Hays, your jig's up. She goes back!" he thundered.

  "You can all go to hell," the robber replied, stridently. "Stick or quit, if you want. But if you give me a word edgeways I'll say somethin'. I fetched this gurl fer ransom. She come willin', 'cause if she hadn't I'd killed Herrick. He'll pay twenty-five mebbe fifty thousand for her. Is thet to be sneezed at?"

  "So thet was your deal?" queried Slocum.

  "Thet, an' nothin' else. Now what're you goin' to do about it?"

  "Hank, on the face of it thet's different. All the same you doublecrossed us."

  "Same as you did me. I swore to get even with you."

  Jim interposed again. "Hays, you're a dirty liar. You didn't steal this girl for ransom," he called out fiercely.

  "Well, I can allow fer you all bein' riled. But I can't stand names like thet forever."

  Jim turned to the dejected figure on the gray horse. "Miss Herrick, is he telling the truth?"

  "Yes, he stole me for ransom," she replied, with emotion. "They broke into my room--one through the window--the other at the door.

  They threatened me with guns. . . . If I screamed they'd kill me!

  If I didn't come with them they'd kill my brother! . . . I agreed.

  I had to dress before them--the beasts! They forced me to dress for riding. . . . And I've been on this horse since midnight."

  "What'd they do to Herrick?"

  "Oh, I didn't see. I don't know whether they told the truth or lied."

  "Jim, if you're so damn pert to know everythin', I'll waste more time by tellin' you," interposed Hays. "We tied Herrick up before we got the gurl. An' after, we made him promise to pay handsome.

  An'--"

  "That's enough," snapped Jim. "Give me a man or two. We'll take her back and get the money."

  "Hold on. Thet was somethin' I h
ad in mind," drawled Hays. "But it didn't work. I had to kill Progar. An'--"

  "Who's Progar?"

  "Wal, he's Heeseman's right-hand man. Now it happened thet foxy Heeseman was plannin' the same trick I pulled. Progar an' another feller ketched us takin' the gurl out. The other feller got away."

  "---- ---- ----! Thet's wuss than ever," screamed Smoky.

  "Heeseman will find out."

  "Huh! I should smile in perticular thet he will. We seen his outfit on your trail!"

  "Shet up! Hosses comin'!"

  "Grab your rifles an' dig fer cover!"

  The ensuing rush was quelled by Smoky's ringing order. "Hold on!

  It's Jeff!"

  "Lordy! Look at him come! No wonder he sounded like a stampede."

  An opening in the grove showed Bridges plunging upon them. Wild- eyed and snorting smoke, his big charger threw gravel all over them.

  "Heeseman's outfit trailin' us," he announced. "Back about five miles when I left my post."

  Smoky turned in cold fury upon their leader. "Now ---- ---- YOU!

  See what you've got us up ag'in'!"

  Chapter 9

  From that speech, Jim calculated, dated the beginning of a definite breach between Hank Hays and his lieutenant, Slocum.

  "Wal, it's no time to cuss me," snarled the robber leader.

  "By Gawd! I wish I had some," replied Slocum, bitterly. "Fellers, grab your rifles an' take to cover."

  "There ain't no cover, Smoky," asserted Brad Lincoln.

  "This place won't do," interposed Jim, sharply. "Miss Herrick might be hit. We'd better make for a canyon."

  "No sense in a fight, anyhow," rejoined Hays.

  "But, man, we'll have to fight," rasped out Slocum. "Heeseman's ridin' light. We've got this pack outfit. He'll ketch us shore.

  An' I say let's hide behind these trees an' wait fer him."

  There was no gainsaying the little rider's wisdom, and Jim would have backed him up but for the girl. If she fell into Heeseman's power she would be as badly off, if not worse.

  "Jeff, air they comin'?" queried Hays of Bridges, who was standing in his saddle, peering back.

  "Nope. But I see dust over the ridge, an' I reckon thet's him."