Devil Rising

by R. B. Conroy

  “Maybe there weren’t any tracks,” Ed said. “Could be we’re the only ones that have been up here lately.”

  Jon took a couple of steps toward a cut out area and kneeled down. “Look over here, Ed.”

  Ed stepped over.

  “This area’s covered, rain doesn’t hit back here. Look here at all the hoof prints.”

  Ed bent over, his eyes examined the prints. “Yea,, and they’re plenty fresh, just a few days old. We got boot prints, too. You’re the tracker Jon. How many horses and men?”

  Jon studied the area for a minute. “Looks like three horses and three men. Three men came in, but only two went out.”

  “What?” Ed sounded puzzled.

  “Over here,” Jon said as he moved to his left.

  Ed stepped over and leaned down next to his partner.

  “There’s three horses comin’ in. One’s a pack, see the smaller prints?”

  “Yea I see ’em,” Ed replied.

  “The small prints are deeper coming in then going out, see that?”

  “I guess they are,” Ed replied. “Go on!”

  “That means the pack was heavier coming in than going out. Something went off of him,” Jon replied.

  “Hmmm.” Ed rubbed his chin.

  “There’s two different sets of boot prints, but look here.” Jon scooted over near the edge of canyon wall. “There’s a line grooved out in the dust, see that?”

  Ed moved over and looked down. “Yea.”

  “Looks like the two sets of boots drug someone over here to the edge of the canyon wall,” Jon continued.

  Ed nodded.

  “The groove’s smooth and wide, not narrow and deep. The person they drug was wearing moccasins, not boots.”

  “Little Bear?” asked Ed.

  “Think so. The groove goes right off the edge. Faraday’s henchmen killed Little Bear and then they dumped his body in the canyon thinking nobody would ever find him.”

  “Let’s go get those no accounts!” Ed barked.

  “Hold on Partner, we still can’t prove it was them. We need more evidence,” Jon said. He stood up and walked over to his horse. He reached inside his saddlebag and pulled out a pair of field glasses. He stepped back over to the canyon’s edge and scanned the steep wall below for any sign of Little Bear.

  “Ummm.... I think I got something, take a look,” Jon said as he tossed the glasses to Ed. “See that formation that looks like a pitch fork? Just to the right of that.”

  Ed’s eyes scanned the area, suddenly he looked away. “My God!” he said. “Is that him?”

  Half way down the canyon wall, a body was impaled on a sharp, dagger-like formation. Unfortunately for Faraday and his gang, the body never made it to the bottom.

  “It’s Little Bear alright, brown leather head band and three white Eagle feathers,” Jon said.

  “It’s gruesome,” Ed said somberly. “Little Bear was a good man.”

  “The best,” Big Jon shook his head. “We’ll never get him out of there.”

  “Maybe we can,” Ed said. “The Piutes get in and out of this canyon all the time; it’s sacred to them. I’ll ask Chief Yellow Dog to try and get the body. He liked Little Bear; I think he’ll do it.”

  “Sounds good, Ed, but we still got a problem,” Jon said quietly.

  “What’s that?”

  “I still can’t prove Faraday’s boys did it.” He frowned.

  “We need to squeeze a confession outa one of them,” Ed said, as he handed the field glasses to Jon, untied and mounted up.

  “We’ll let Faraday’s boys know what we got. One of them may think its enough, get nervous and start singing,” Jon said as he put his foot in the stirrup iron and mounted up. “Okay girl, it’ll be over fore we know it!” He gently patted Babe’s neck. He and Ed inched along the treacherous trail on the canyon’s edge.

  * * *

  Butch Canady sat sunning himself on a big rock about two hundred yards from the canyon entrance. He reached inside his black vest and pulled out a strip of jerky. He clamped onto the jerky, ripped a piece off and began to chew. Hearing voices, he sat up, looking down to the mouth of the canyon. Jon and Ed were just coming out. Canady slid off the warm rock and fell quietly behind some bushes.

  “Dry run,” he whispered, confident that Little Bear’s body had not been found. He cackled quietly as he sat and watched the two lawmen ride out of sight.

  * * *

  The sheriff and deputy galloped into town, hooves pounding. Jon looked at Ed. “Stables,” he shouted.

  Ed nodded. They thundered past the jail to the livery stable, and reined to a stop.

  “Howdy Camp,” Jon said as he got off Babe.

  Sweat dripped off Camp’s face as he walked out the big door, hammer in hand. “Howdy Jon, looks like you worked ’em a little,” he said as he rubbed the foam off Babe’s neck.

  “Yea, we’ve been out to the canyon.” Jon scowled as he looked around the stable. “Anybody here?” he asked.

  “Nope, I’m alone,” Camp replied as he moved closer to Jon and Ed. “What’s up?”

  “Found Little Bear.”

  “In the canyon?” Camp asked.

  “Yep, impaled about half way down the canyon wall,” Jon replied.

  “Faraday’s boys?” Camp asked.

  “Think so; can’t prove it yet. Keep this under your hat.”

  “No problem, Jon,” the young stable hand replied. “By the way, I was down at Faraday’s last evening.”

  “Uh....huh,” Jon said. He yanked the billet straps loose and pulled the saddle off.

  “Canady was there, drunker’n skunk. He was tellin’ everyone that’d listen that your days are numbered,” Camp’s eyes widened as he looked over at Jon.

  “That so,” Jon replied.

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll take care of Butch Canady soon enough. Right now I got me a murder to solve,” Jon replied calmly. “Cards at noon?”

  “I’ll be there,” an excited Camp exclaimed.

  “Can’t play long,” Jon said. “We’ll take a few deals.”

  Ed grunted as he lifted the saddle off Ed’s horse. His fingers gripped tightly to the saddle as he carried it over and dropped it next to Jon’s. “Hurry it up Camp,” Ed prodded the youngster. “I can’t wait to get in the sheriff’s pockets.”

  “Soon as I groom these two crowbaits, I’ll be there.” Camp grinned as he gathered up the reins and led the warm steeds inside.

  “Crowbaits, you say?”

  Camp ducked as a tin can flew by his head. Jon and Ed roared. Jon pulled out a fresh cigar; he drug a match along the leg of his levis, it exploded into flame. He cupped the flame and moved it up to the waiting cigar. Jon took several hard drags, tipped his head back and blew smoke into the air. “Let’s go buddy,” he said to Ed. The two men walked slowly toward the Barbee.

  The swinging doors flew open as they entered the raucous saloon. The faro and keno tables were humming; most every poker table was full. It was noon in the desert - gambling time.

  Several heads turned, voices could be heard coming from around the bar.

  “Howdy Sheriff!” “Howdy Ed!” the men shouted at he and his deputy. They moseyed on over to the end of the bar. Sam put a couple of shots in front of them.

  “Good to see you fellas,” Sam said. “Got ribs and taters taday.”

  “Sounds good.” Jon looked at Ed.

  “Make it two,” the deputy replied.

  Smoke rose as Jon poked his cigar out in the metal ash tray and downed his shot. “What’s new round here Sam?”

  “Nothin’ much. Bill Webster said he saw you ridin’ by his store this morning.”

  “Yea, Ed and I took a little ride out to the canyon.” Jon scanned the room looking for potential assassins. With his reputation, he couldn’t be too careful.

  “Bill said Canady rode out a short time later.”

  “Hmmm... is that right?” Jon was puzzled. “Probably just coincidence.”
>
  “Could be, but Bill said he came back ’bout the same time.” Sam looked intently at Jon.

  “That probably isn’t a coincidence.” Jon scowled. “Nice to know, but I can’t book a man for leavin’ town and coming back.”

  “Guess not,” the amicable bartender replied. “Just seems funny to me.

  The cook stepped out of the kitchen, the smell was delicious as the hot food hit the bar in front of the men. “Couple of beers,” Jon shouted as they picked up the hot plates and headed over to their corner table.

  * * *

  Down at Faraday’s, Alex fidgeted nervously with his black silk tie. He, Cook and Canady were seated at his large black oak table on the mezzanine overlooking the gambling tables, a favorite perch for Faraday. It was just above the casino and gave a full view of the goings on in his popular saloon.

  “Judge will be here tomorrow,” Faraday said. “Web should be out by evening.”

  “You sound awfully confident, Faraday,” Canady snapped.

  “Yes, Butch, I am. The judge and I have a little history.” The smoke rose, his cheeks pruned, as he took a drag off his pipe.

  “Oh yea, what’s that all about?” Canady pressed.

  “If he wanted you to know, he’d tell you!” Clive Cook said as he glared at Canady.

  Canady’s eyes shot back at Cook, his hand went to his gun.

  “Calm down, boys! It’s okay, it’s okay.” The angry stares slowly subsided. Both men looked back at Faraday; he continued.

  “Tom Baldwin tells me the judge’s name is Tom Walker. I knew Walker back in Colorado, long before he became a judge. I staked him in a land deal up in Cripple Creek; the deal went bust. So far, he’s only paid me nickels on the dollar. He owes me big time!”

  “Don’t mean he’ll lie for ya.” Canady sneered as he twisted his handlebar mustache.

  “My dear man, I am not asking for a lie. I’m just asking that he see things from our point of view,” Faraday said smugly. “And I’m sure when I remind him of the ten thousand dollars he owes me, he’ll do just that.”

  “Hope so, Commissioner,” Canady said sarcastically.

  “I’m sure he will,” Faraday replied. “Meanwhile we’ve got a much bigger problem.”

  “Sheriff Stoudenmire?” Cook asked

  “Yes Clive, who else? Alex sneered at the embarrassed Cook. “With the special election less than a week away, our fearless sheriff is doing everything he can to pin those murders on us. He has to be stopped!”

  “What do you have in mind?” Cook asked as he nervously fiddled with a stack of poker chips.

  “I don’t know yet,” Alex said quietly. Ashes flew as he emptied his pipe bowl in the metal ashtray. “I don’t know, but that man has to be stopped - the sooner the better!” He pounded the warm empty bowl in the palm of his hand and repeated, “He must be stopped!”

  Chapter 18

  Jon squinted in the hot desert sun; he wiped the sweat off his face and neck and stuffed the handkerchief in his pocket. He looked over and smiled at the old chief. “Thank you, Yellow Dog.”

  Yellow Dog nodded, and Jon handed the Chief two bags of coffee and sugar. Yellow Dog grunted something to his men; two warriors carefully laid the stiff body of Little Bear in the coroner’s wagon. The latch clicked as County Coroner Jake Nussbaum pushed the tailgate shut.

  “Good bye, Brave Bear,” Chief Yellow Dog said, raising his spear to the legendary lawman. Brave Bear was the name given to Jon by the Piutes for his courage and size.

  “Until we meet again,” Jon replied, tipping his hat.

  The friendly chief and his small band of Piute warriors rode quickly away.

  Jon tuned toward the meticulous coroner, “Bullet in the head?”

  “Yes, it appears as though there is gun trauma to the back of Little Bear’s head,” Jake replied.

  “I’d like to keep this quiet ’til we know more,” Jon suggested.

  “No problem Jon. I’ll take the back way into town. It should be okay. Besides, I’m always bringing bodies in; no one will think much about it,” Jake said as he carefully unfolded a wool blanket and laid it over the rancid body.

  “Preciate it, Jake, see you later,” Jon replied.

  Jake jumped up on the wooden seat, cracked the whip and the two horses leaped forward. The wagon turned and headed for the little used back road to town.

  Jon turned in the saddle, searching the surrounding rocks. “I think somebody’s watching us,” he whispered to Babe. A bright, blinding light flashed. Jon’s hand went up to his eyes as he struggled to locate the light. “Gun barrel,” Jon said under his breath.

  He grabbed the butt of his rifle and slid it out of the holster. He jumped off Babe; he hit the ground and rolled toward some nearby rocks.

  The dust flew as two bullets crashed into the ground near Babe’s hooves. The brave horse whinnied but didn’t move. “Go Babe, go!” Jon shouted. Hearing his command, she reluctantly moved behind some rocks.

  Jon fired a shot to establish his location and then he rolled up on all fours and crawled rapidly around the rocks.

  Sparks flew as hot lead ricocheted off the rocks above Jon’s head. That’s a Remington, first two were a Winchester, got two shooters, Jon thought. Sweating profusely, Jon moved swiftly to his left. Ready to climb, he found a notch in the rock above. His finger tips slipped into the notch, and he pulled himself up to the ledge. His belly pushed up the rock as he moved up to eye level for a look. Hat in hand, he peeked over the top of the large boulder. Once again, a bright reflection temporarily blinded him. He squinted into the light and saw a shadowy figure near the domed rock. Jon ducked down; his Carbine went up to shooting position. Time only allowed for a couple of shots, he had to make them good. Breathing rapidly, Jon rose up, took aim and fired two shots at the shadowy figure.

  “Uhggg!” The shootist grabbed his chest, his rifle dropped out of his hands. As if in slow motion, his body rolled off the side of the rock. With an awful thud, it landed on the hard, jagged rocks below.

  Jon sat still for a minute and then he heard a voice.

  “Gitty up!” A voice came out of the rocks, the pounding hooves of a galloping horse could be heard leaving the scene. The second man had lost nerve and ran away.

  Jon grabbed his hat and slipped off the ledge. He ran back to the opening. “Babe!” he shouted. The big steed charged from between several large rocks and stopped at her master’s side. Jon’s boot hit the stirrup iron; he quickly mounted Babe and rode up the hill toward the shooters. They came to a sudden stop, Jon jumped off and sprinted toward the domed rock, looking for any sign of the downed gunman.

  “Gawd!” he exclaimed loudly, his eyes looked away. The bloody, battered body of the attempted assassin lay in a grotesque position in the middle of the jagged rocks.

  Face contorted, Jon stepped over near the body. He pushed on the dead man’s shoulder with the barrel of his gun. The body rolled over on its back, his arms fell to the ground, his face pointed skyward.

  Don’t know him, must be a hired gun, Jon thought as he looked at the lifeless face.

  Jon hurried back down the hill. His boot hit the top of a large boulder as he hopped onto Babe. “Let’s do a little tracking,” he said.

  * * *

  Back at the Barbee, Ed and Camp were enjoying a noon day game of stud with a couple of miners.

  “Need a good one,” Camp said, waiting on his next hit. The dealer flipped the next card, an ace of hearts landed face up in front of the young stable hand. His right thumb bent up the corner of the hole card ever so slightly revealing the ace of clubs.

  “Two dollars,” he said, the two shiny silver coins landed on the growing pot.

  “I’m out,” Camp said disgustedly. He flipped his hole card over. “Got nothin’ again.”

  Four dollars hit the pot as both remaining players called Ed.

  “Aces up,” Ed said quietly.

  “Beats me,” one of the miners said.

  “Kings up,�
� the other man said as he dejectedly tossed in his cards.

  A grin broke out on Ed’s square face as he drug the pot in. He glanced over at Camp, “Gotta go, got a court hearing in ten minutes,” he said.

  “Oh yea!” Camp replied. “That’s why you ain’t drinkin’, huh?”

  “Yea, Judge Walker’s havin’ a preliminary hearing on Web Norton’s case,” Ed said as he carefully tossed his winnings in a wooden cigar box.

  “Hmm... Faraday promised to get ’em off.”

  “Yea, he sure did,” Ed replied. “I guess the judge was down at Faraday’s for over two hours last night. Someone said he and Alex are old friends.”

  “Uh oh! That doesn’t sound good.” Smoke rose to the ceiling as Camp poked out his cigarette. “We better get down to the jail, Jon should be back soon.”

  The two men folded and headed down to the jail to wait on the sheriff.

  Jon arrived a short time later. His eyes immediately went to Web Norton’s empty center cell. “Well, I’ll be. The son of a buck did it. What happened, Ed?”

  Ed frowned. “The judge said there wasn’t enough evidence, it was our word against his. He said he would be derelict in his duties if he held a man for trial on no more evidence then we had. So he dropped the charges. Web Norton got off scott free. Clive Cook came in a few minutes ago and picked him up. I sure hated to open that cell.”

  “I’ll bet you did,” Jon replied. Jack handed him a cup of hot coffee. Jon walked over and plopped down in his swivel chair. He disgustedly tossed his hat on the desk. “They’ve gotta be stopped,” he said quietly.

  “How’d it go out there with Little Bear?” Jack asked, anxious to change the subject.

  “Okay at first. I tell you, it was something watching those Injuns climb down in that canyon.” Jon frowned. “Had a little problem later on.”

  “Oh yea, what happened?’ Malone asked.

  “The Piutes put Little Bear’s body in Jake’s wagon and he headed for town. Then the Injuns hightailed it out of there. When I mounted up to leave, I had a funny feeling someone was watching me.” Jon took a sip of coffee. “First thing I knew I was ducking rifle shots.”