Cain (Ben Blue Book 5)

by Lou Bradshaw

  I didn’t think I’d made such a bad deal by sending those sheep back. Those sheep gave the boy property. He had something of his own. Whatever he can earn from those sheep just might help him get started in life. If he wants to be a teacher, that’s a fine and noble ambition, so be it.

  I told Angelina that when she was ready to travel that I’d take her to her family, and in the meantime, she was to rest and eat and get her strength. I didn’t want to take her to her daddy’s house looking like a starved scarecrow. I’ll have nobody saying, Shad Cain didn’t know how to treat a guest proper.

  We decided to stay another week, so she could fatten up a bit and get her strength back. In the meantime, there was plenty for me to do around the place. For one thing, I’d like to finish up the hearth and get a chimney put together to carry the smoke out properly. Another thing I wanted to do was take a look farther into that cave.

  A few long and back breaking days spent on the chimney gave me what I needed, and some well placed clay and sand chinking kind of helped hold it all together. Actually, it turned out pretty sturdy and tight. My next project was to make up a bunch of torches.

  Now, I’m not a fella who likes being penned in when he needs to get out of a place. Most every critter has an escape plan… even a rat hole has a back door usually. Well this rat wanted to be able to get out if somebody was knocking down my front door. My first thought was Indians because there were still plenty of them around who didn’t much care to have all these white folks moving into their land. I couldn’t say that I blamed them much. I’m not sure I’d want me for a neighbor. But I was here and I planned to stay.

  The trouble with going into a cave as a place to get away from trouble, is a person just don’t know how long to stay in there. What may seem like days could only be hours or the other way around. With no day or night to use as a guide, a fella could just crawl out right into the mess that drove him in there to begin with.

  So I got me a bunch of good torches and went in to see what I was dealing with and maybe find a way out. I had stocked the entrance with tallow candles, several boxes of .44 cartridges, a couple of skins of water, and deer jerky wrapped up in a good leather pack.

  I told Angelina what I was planning to do, and that I might be gone for several hours. “Now, don’t you fret because I’ve got torches and a piece of chalky limestone to mark my way back.” I told her. “But if you hear me yellin’, you start bangin’ on a pan here at the opening, and hopefully, I’ll follow the noise.”

  She looked a little anxious so I said, “Alas, My Lady, I venture into the unknown.” That changed her expression to one of confusion. I remember my pa always saying that to my ma when he would leave on a hunt or other business. She would smile and sigh. Later I read it in one of his few books. It was all about knights and kings and such. I hoped I might run across that book again someday. With that, I slid through the hole and into the darkness.

  I took an extra torch and a candle with me as a backup. I planned to go left where I could. To the left was a deep canyon running higher up into the mountain than where the cabin was located. That seemed to me to be a logical place for an opening, if there was one.

  With torch held high, I started out. The tunnel I was in wasn’t very large; it was just high enough to stand upright and about as wide. It was irregular in shape, but the walls were polished smooth. The floor wasn’t flat as we usually imagine cave floors to be, but like the rest, it was irregular. It turned and twisted like a snake. Now and then, it would divide, and as was my plan, I stayed to the left and made my mark. Once I went down a false run that turned into nothing more than a crack after about a hundred yards, so I backtracked myself and rubbed out my mark.

  Several times, I had to wade through water up to my knees, so water wouldn’t be a problem. I tasted it and it was fresh and cold. It was, no doubt, seeping down from way up in Marble Mountain. I came to what seemed to be a large open room. I couldn’t see the roof. It was blacker than pitch, but I just had a feeling that it was a long way up.

  The cave floor made me feel like I was inside a huge barrel because it had a decided tilt to the right. I wasn’t comfortable with that tilt, so I picked up a rock and tossed it out into the darkness. It hit and rattled for a few bounces and stopped. I picked up another and threw it farther and got the same result. My fourth rock hit and bounced, but then it was silent for a long half second before it hit, rattled, and made a splash.

  To my estimation, I was about thirty feet from the edge of the drop off, which was at least that far or farther above the water. It was good information, so I made a note of it. I followed the side of that barrel I was in with the wall always on my left. I found a flat sandy spot cut back into the wall. I turned into it, more out of curiosity that anything else.

  For a second, I was wishing I hadn’t, the sand was disturbed by what looked to be tracks. They weren’t the kind of tracks you’d find in corral or out on the open range. No, these were people tracks, but they weren’t right for that either. They were old, very very old. Moisture from the cave and clay combined with a good deal of time had given those tracks a bit of substance. They were like eggshells… hard and fragile on the outside. Walking into that little alcove was like walking on crusted snow, it had a slight crunch.

  Beneath that outer shell was coarse sand which gave way easily to the weight of a man. Holding my torch higher I could see where the low roof had been blackened by smoke from a far away past. In the front center of the area was a place where fires had been. I found pieces of long cold embers and chunks of wood, blackened and brittle.

  Along the walls were drawings and marks that were barely visible under a cover of soot, dust, and something like a varnish. I could make out some things like a bear, big horned sheep, but there was no sign of a horse that I could see.

  Farther back, the alcove narrowed and finally became a crack between two massive walls of rock. When those walls came together, it must have been a real smasher because there was all kind of rubble and debris at the base of it. That ruble wasn’t near as old as the foot prints or the drawings.

  People had either lived in this cave or had used it for some purpose hundreds or thousands of years ago. I’d have loved to stand there and contemplate the possibilities, but my torch was beginning to sputter, so it was time to backtrack and come out of my rat hole. I hadn’t found my back door, but I was pretty sure there was one.

  I lit my other torch from the one that was dying, and made my way back to the cabin. Angelina was sure happy to see this face coming out of that opening. I wasn’t sure if it was my face or just any face to take away the lonesomes that made her smile. I figured she was getting comfortable with this face and trusted it…. that was enough for me.

  After telling her what I’d found, I explained that I hadn’t found a way out yet, but I’d go back the next day and go deeper. I’d already gone over a quarter mile in, and it was all uphill, which was what I had hoped for. My thinking was that the water would be running down that canyon and into openings to this cave higher up. If any of those openings were large enough to squeeze a body through, I may be in business. If not… I could hole up in there for some time.

  “Do you have to go back in there, Shad? I was so worried while you were gone.” It was the first time she had called me anything but Senor Cain. It sounded good coming from her. I guess she’d heard me reading it out loud as I wrote Antonio’s bill of sale.

  No matter how good it sounded, it was time to lay it on the line to the senora. “Ma’am… that one boy back there, the one called, Bud, was the little brother of a very bad outlaw. He’s the leader of a pack of banditos, the likes of which this part of the country hasn’t seen before. They’re every bit as savage as any bunch of Indians we might know about.”

  “About a month ago, one of them wanted to kill me up in Creede, for no other reason than that I looked at him. I finally had to kill him and his saddle partner. Now, if that fella you cut up, back at their camp, lives and gets back
to the others. Frank Daveys is going to throw his whole bunch at us. Now that amounts to eight or more men, and they’re hard cases from way back.”

  “That’s one reason, I wanted Antonio out of here. He’s a good boy and I didn’t want him getting killed because of me…. I thought that if I could get you back to your people, and to safety, then I could take to the high country, and take my chances…. I’m not an easy man to kill up there…. But if they find us before we can get you to safety, we’ll need that cave… we’ll have a chance there.”

  She stood staring at me from those big dark eyes, which were starting to well up with tears. “Oh… I am so sorry to have brought all this on you.” She said. “What can I do? It is all my fault because I am a woman.”

  “Well, that seems to be the cause, but that’s not your fault. That bunch only knows one way of life, and that’s to take what they want no matter who it belongs to, or who tries to stop ‘em. I killed four of Frank Davey’s men, and two of them, had nothing to do with you.”

  “As soon as they learn who I am and where I am, they’ll be coming. There’s no law in these mountains to go running to, so I got it to do my ownself. Daveys has to come after me, even if I’d only shot one of his men. If he didn’t he couldn’t stay the leader of that bunch. But the fact that one of those men was his brother makes it personal. He’ll be coming for revenge.”

  “What should we do?” she asked.

  “The best thing we can do is get you home to your family. The chances are, Daveys doesn’t know if you’re alive or dead or who you are.” I told her. “They have stolen many women, and most likely killed them when they grew tired of them. To them, a woman isn’t a person; she is property to be owned and to be used. When she is no longer useful, they simply get rid of her.”

  “Senora, do you know how to shoot a rifle?” I asked. “Have you ever used a gun?”

  “I shot at a wolf once, but I did not hit him.”

  I took one of the remaining outlaw rifles and showed her how to load it and aim it. Then I showed her how to hit what she was aiming at. After several attempts, she hit the tree she was aiming at. It wasn’t good marksmanship, but it was fire power, and that may be the difference.

  “Chances are you won’t want to shoot at somebody with the intention of killing them… most folks have a hard time with purposely killing someone. But you have to remember who they are and what they are, and when the shooting starts; they’ll be trying to kill us. And if they should take you as a prisoner…. Well, you already know what they’ll do.

  I worked with her for a while, and she became a pretty fair shot. I had no idea how she would be when she wasn’t shooting at a tree that couldn’t shoot back, but she knew how to use a rifle, and that was something.

  We packed everything we might need inside the cave, including more torches and more food. I put an extra length of rope in there along with that third outlaw’s rifle. I’d made a sling for Angelina’s rifle, so that she would have it with her as she moved about the shelf. I told her, “Never be anywhere without your rifle… we just don’t know when they might show up.”

  I planned to go back into the cave, the next day.

  Chapter 13

  The following morning, as I was getting ready to go back into the cave, I changed my mind and went down the slope to the valley for a look around. I had gone down after Antonio left and made sure we’d left no trace of our comings and goings. There’s always something that was overlooked by even the sharpest eye. All you can do is hope that the next sharp eye that comes looking things over misses it too.

  I had done the usual things, but there was a nagging doubt that could only be put to rest by taking another look.

  As I approached the valley, I saw movement beyond the aspens. When I was able to get in position for a look at whatever was moving around down there, I almost ran into it. It was another old mountain man, by the name of Barrow. We called him Barrel because of his shape. He was short and fat and gave the impression of a cracker barrel… squat and round.

  “Cain!” he gasped, “You near scared me to death! What’er you doin’ out this way, boy?”

  “I might ask you the same thing, Barrel… this is a little out of your territory, ain’t it?”

  “A little… I reckon. I been workin’ with a bunch of freebooters… back yonder.” He said as he nodded over to the west. “Couple of our boys got bushwhacked by a gunslick, out this way… one of ‘em was the kid brother of the bossman. He’s some riled up. How bout you?”

  “Oh, I’m just passing through on my way to Arizona.” I told him. “What do you know about this gunhawk that done your boys?”

  “Not much.” He said. “He hit ‘em real quick, shot one, tommyhawked one… both of them dead, and bashed the other boy in the head.” Then he chuckled and went on. “He, he… and while that fella was out cold, that bushwhacker cut him and threw his oysters in the fire… Said he never really got a look at him.” Hmmm… I thought… face to face wasn’t close enough, I guess.

  “Now, Barrel, I’d just as soon not get in their way, while they’re out searchin’ for that monster. Where they campin’, so I don’t stumble onto ‘em?

  “Waal,” he said, “they’d be bout six or so miles back yonder, they’s buryin’ the boys. They’s waitin’ fer me to come back when I find anything that we can latch onto. I picked up the trail here an there… looks like he’s headin’ east… That boy’s purddy good at hidin’ trail.”

  “That fella that lost his stuff,” I asked, “you suppose there was woman trouble? That sounds almighty personal thing to do, for no reason other than plain meanness.”

  “Naaw, there wouldn’t be no woman involved. They knowed the rules… whatever you find, you bring it in for share and share alike. Young Bud knowed better ‘caus Frank would a beat the hell outta him.”

  His face changed, just a little, but it was enough to send a warning. His hand casually moved to his rifle, which was resting in front of him across the saddle. My rifle was cradled in the crook of my right arm, but my tomahawk was hanging in my left hand along my leg.

  “If I r’member right, boy, you used to be real good at readin’ sign an better at hidin’ trails… Why don’t you come on with me and help us find that feller...” His voice trailed off, and his rifle was coming up, so I let that hatchet fly.

  It struck him at the base of the throat. He sat there in the saddle for a second or two as his eyes lost their focus. “I reckon not.” I said.

  I was there beside him in about three strides. Taking the reins, I kept his horse steady, so it wouldn’t take off. I retrieved my hatchet and went about tying him to the saddle. Then I led his horse down to what passed for a trail, pointed it east with the reins tied to the saddle horn, and gave a cruel whack with a switch. I hated to do that to a good horse… or any horse, but I wanted that critter to run hard and run a long way. The longer he runs, the better chance I’ll have of getting Angelina back to the safety of her family.

  I was up the slope and saddling the horses a lot faster than I thought I could be. I called out to Angelina, “Senora, they’re on to us, we need to get out of here.”

  She was beside me before I finished my words. She was carrying what little baggage she had, which was almost nothing. She had changed into the buckskin shirt in anticipation of going into the cave this morning. “How much time do we have?” she asked.

  “Maybe a day.” I told her. “I had a run in with their advanced scout down there.”

  “He will tell them?” she asked.

  “The only one he’ll be telling anything to is the devil.”

  Within a quarter on an hour we were on the trail going up and over the shoulder of Marble Mountain heading northeast. From the directions Angelina had given me, we would have to go half way around Marble, skirt the north side of Sheep Mountain, and swing wide east around some pretty rough country. Then we’d go northwest to her village, which was on the western slope of Bennet Peak.

  By my calculation
s, it was only about fifteen miles as the crow flies, but it was roughly fifty miles by the route we’d have to take. And I doubted that any one of those miles was an easy one.

  There were no regular trails to follow, so we had to follow the contour of the landscape. Not many if any white men had been through these mountains and passes, and damned few brown ones either. There were game trails, and a few old Indian trails, but there wasn’t a road sign in sight.

  The going was rough, even taking the low road; it was still often a thousand feet above the river, stream, or gully below. Looking up was no less intimidating than looking down. What may be a thousand feet of nothing but trees and rock on one side was more than ten thousand feet of trees and more rock on the other side. And there was always the knowledge that we would have to either go up there or down there sometime today or tomorrow.

  We made camp that evening, on the north face of Sheep Mountain. A small fire was made, but there was little to worry about at this point. As I told the senora, “They’re not likely to go lookin’ for Barrow until tomorrow, and by the time they find him and work out the way to the cabin, it should be another day. We’ll be two days closer to your village by then.

  I had brought almost everything I owned, which wasn’t much, the only things I’d left were my few pieces of crude furniture and the things I’d stashed in the cave. I wasn’t about to leave either of my horses behind and I couldn’t see any sense in taking an empty pack animal along, so I loaded him up. I even brought the guns and ammunition I’d taken off Barrow before I whacked his horse… he wasn’t gonna need it.

  We sat across from each other with the small fire between us; she was working with needle and thread, still trying to mend her shredded clothing. I was sitting with my back to a boulder and whittling on a piece of cottonwood. It seems that since I was old enough to use a sharp knife, I had been whittling or carving on something. Pa would laugh at me for working the knife with my left hand. He’d say, “Shad, there’s only one thing more against nature than being wrong handed, and that’s being red haired. Lord help you, if you was both.”