He caught the horses, smoothed the hair on their backs with his hand, and saddled up. From time to time he glanced at Dru, who was sleeping peacefully He was amazed that he should be here, in this lonely place, with this beautiful girl. He, an orphan and foster son of an outlaw. Some movement of his must have awakened her, for her breath caught and then her eyes opened. She looked up at him with a sleepy smile. “I was tired!” She sat up and watched as he kindled a small fire in the shadow of a boulder. Using very dry wood that would offer almost no smoke, he got his small coffeepot from the pack and started coffee. Digging into his pack he found some hard biscuits and beef jerky. “Better eat what you can,” he said. “We won’t be stopping again.” She drew on her boots and stood up, shaking out her hair. Squatting by the fire he studied the terrain that lay before them, trying to recover from his memory all he had been told about it, Ducrow would have no trail to find and would have moved swiftly.
By now he would probably have reached his goal or was nearing it. When they were in the saddle again they picked up the tracks of the three horses they were following.
It was easier because the packhorse Ducrow was leading was a horse Mike remembered, and the tracks were familiar. What sign there was he could follow from the saddle, and they gained distance, moving swiftly. Dawn broke and the sky was streaked with rose and gold. The warming sun began to ease some of the stiffness from their muscles.
The trail crossed a small valley, skirted an alkali lake and dipped into a maze of boulders and rocky outcroppings before entering a pine forest. Nowhere did he see any signs of a camp. Juliana, who lacked the strength and fire of Drusilla, must be almost dead from fatigue. Obviously, the outlaw knew exactly where he was going and that his destination was not far off. He was making no effort to save his horses.
The trail became more difficult to follow.
Mike slowed his pace, then suddenly stopped.
The tracks had vanished as if the three horses had stepped off a cliff! ” Stay in the saddle.
I’ve got to look around a bit.” Mike studied the ground, then walked back to the last tracks he had seen, which he had taken care not to cross in the event he needed to examine them again.
He knew the stride of each horse now, and he measured the distance with his eye, knowing where each hoof must fall.
Nothing …
He paused, studying the ground, then the pine timber that surrounded the spot. It seemed absolutely uniform and as he would expect it to be.
Avoiding the trail ahead he went into the woods and walked a slow circle around his own horses, studying the ground, the trunks of the trees, everything.
He found no tracks.
He stopped, hands on his hips, scowling in concentration. They were gone, and seemed to have left no trail.
Dru was watching him, worried now. She started to speak but he lifted a hand. “Wait! I want to think.” He studied, inch by inch, the trail ahead and the trail on his right. Nothing offered a clue. The three horses and the two riders had vanished as if they had ridden off into space.
On the left the pine woods were thick, so dense as to offer no means of passing through. He had studied the trees and brush, and even if a horseman turned that way there was no place to go.
As the trail ahead was trackless it had to be on the right. Again he walked into the woods, and found no tracks. It was impossible, yet it had happened.
“Could they have backtracked?” Dru asked.
“There were no tracks except those going ahead.
I believe-was He stopped, swore softly.
“I’m a fool! Lend me your hat.” Puzzled, she removed her hat and handed it to him.
Using the hat as a fan he began to wave it over the pine needles, letting the wind he created move the needles. He worked for several minutes, then suddenly stopped. “Got it!” He pointed. “There they are!” Dru stepped her horse closer. With the pine needles wafted away, the tracks were plain.
“Ducrow is smart. He rode across the open space, then turned back the way he had come, riding over on the far side close to that wall of pines. Then he dismounted, and probably in his sock feet came back rind scattered pine needles over the tracks, letting the wind sift them down naturally.” Mounting again, they started back, but from time to time he dismounted to check for tracks. Suddenly the trail turned into a narrow gap in the pine forest, and they followed, winding their way through thick woods.
Once Mike indicated a scar on a tree where a stirrup had brushed. “Move as quietly as you can,” he whispered, “and don’t speak aloud. Voices carry. He may try to ambush us.” “Do you think he knows we’re following?” “I’m sure of it, and he knows I’m a tracker but not whether I am any good or not.” The trail was now no longer hard to follow and they made better time. Mike Bastian had a hard time keeping his thoughts from the girl with whom he rode.
What would she think when she discovered her father was an outlaw? And that he himself had been raised to be an outlaw? Pine trees thinned, and before them was a vast misty blue distance. Mike stepped down from the saddle and walked forward on moccasined feet. On the rim of the canyon were a few cedars and a pinyon pine or two. Scouting the rim he stopped suddenly, feeling the hair prickle on the back of his neck. Had they gone down that? He knelt on the rock. Yes, it was the scar of a horse’s shoe on the rock. He moved a little further, looking down. The cliff fell away for hundreds of feet, but the trail was there, a rock ledge scarcely three feet wide.
He walked back and explained. Dru nodded. “If you are ready, I am.” She paused.
“Mike, he may be waiting for us. We may get shot.” He shrugged. “I knew that when I started, Dru. These are rough men, and Ducrow has reason to hate me. Of course, he will try to kill me.” “But you needn’t have come, Mike.” He shrugged again. “I didn’t think much about it.
Your sister was kidnapped. I was there and knew what to do. It is as simple as that.” “Who are you, Mike? Uncle Voyle seemed to know about you, and that man, the one who tried to kill you, he knew you. And I heard you say Ben Curry sent you to stop them from raiding the ranch. Who is Ben Curry? And are you an outlaw?” For as long as a man might have counted to a slow ten Mike looked out over the canyon. “No,” he said at last, “I am not an outlaw, although I was raised to be one. Ben Curry raised me like his own son, planning that I should inherit the leadership.” “You lived with them?” “When I wasn’t out in the woods. Ben Curry taught me and had me taught. How to shoot, track, ride, even to open locks and safes.” “What is he like, this Ben Curry?” Dru asked. Mike hesitated, and then said, “In any other time he might have been considered a great man. In his own way, he is. Back in the days of robber barons he would have wound up with a title, I expect. “When he came west it was wild, there was little law and much of that was enforced by men big enough to get away with it. If they rustled cattle they were building their herds. If a cowboy did it he was rustling. He had a small outfit and he branded loose cattle like they all did, but the trouble was he wasn’t big enough. They came after him and he fought. He fought altogether too well, but that made him an outlaw. “He accepted the role, but he’s one of these men who can do nothing small. Soon he was organizing a bigger outfit, planning the jobs like a general plans a campaign, arranging getaways.
“He no longer went out himself, he was behind the scenes, planning it all. I doubt if any other man could have done it, for outlaws do not take to organization, and when they have money they want to spend it where there are bright lights.” “He has killed men?” “Two, that I know of. One was a justified killing. The second one? Well, he was in a hurry.” “Are you apologizing for him? After all, he was an outlaw and a killer of men.” “He was all of that, but I am not apologizing for him. He’s a man who always stood on his own two feet.
“He may have been wrong but he was always good to me.
He took me in when I had no place to go, and he cared for me.” “Was he a big man, Mike? A big old mane” His eyes avoided he
rs. So she knew, then?
“In many ways he was one of the biggest men I ever knew …. We’d better get started.” It was like stepping off into space, but the horses accepted it calmly enough. After all, they were mountainbred and would go anywhere as long as there was a foothold.
The canyon gaped to receive them, and they went down the narrow, switchback trail. Here and there Mike could see that work had been done. Somebody with a pick and perhaps high explosives of some kind had made a trail where none had been before.
It was late afternoon when they started down, and soon shadows began to creep up the canyon walls, reaching with hungry fingers for the vanishing sunlight. At a wider spot Mike dismounted and Dru did also. Mike carried his rifle in his right hand, ready for instant use. What was to happen could begin at any moment and he had not wanted to be caught in the saddle on a narrow trail where a wounded horse might rear and fall. His eyes sought the shadows, searching the canyon below for some sign of a house, for a fire, for movement. He saw nothing.
Supposing they were not here at all? That Ducrow had tricked him somehow? He shook his head. He could not accept that. He had to be right. He thought of Juliana and Ducrow. She could never cope with such a man. Dru, now He grinned despite himself.
He had an idea Dru would have made Ducrow wish he’d never been born. She was lovely, but there was steel in her, too. They could hear the river now, not the roaring that he heard when crossing on the cable, but swift, silent, rushing water. Silent, at least, by comparison.
The tracks led back from the river and into a highwalled, almost hidden canyon. It seemed only a gap in the canyon walls, but it angled off to the east. He followed the tracks. It would soon be dark. The canyon turned a little and he glimpsed a fire reflecting from canyon walls.
He paused and passed the reins to Dru. “You will have to stay with the horses.” Is-is it them?” “It couldn’t be anyone else.” He paused.
“I’ll have to kill him, you know. his “Don’t you be killed.” He started forward and she caught his arm. “Mike, let me go. Maybe he would listen.” “He won’t. You know that. I’ve got it to do.” “Why are you doing this? She isn’t your sister.” “No … but she’s yours.” His moccasins made no sound in the sand or on the rocks. He could see a figure moving about the fire. Then he saw Juliana, her head on her arms, sitting near the fire. Ducrow glanced over at her, then said impatiently, “Get some of this coffee into you! This is where you stay, here in Peach Meadow Canyon. You’re my woman now)” He straightened up from the fire. “Monson an” Clatt! They ran like scared foxes) No bottom to them) I come for a woman an’ I got one)” “Why don’t you let me go?” Juliana lifted a tear streaked face. “My father is a wealthy man. He will pay you well.” “Your pa? I thought Voyle Ragan was your uncle?” “He is. My father is Ben Ragan.
He ranches north of the canyon.” “North of the canyon? Not unless he’s a Mormon, he don’t.” Suddenly he straightened from the fire again.
“What’s he look like, this pa of yours?” “He’s a great big man with gray hair, a heavy jaw-was She stopped talking, staring at Ducrow. “What’s the matter with you?” “Your pa, this Ben Ragan-a big man with a scar on his jaw. That him?” “Oh, yes) Take me to him. He will pay you well)” Ducrow was laughing. “Well, I’ll be damned) So I latched onto the old rooster’s chick, did I?” He chuckled sourly. “Now I’m really goin’ to enjoy this here. So the old devil had hisself a family, did he? I thought all he had was that damned brat, that Mike Bastian!” Kim Baca was on the town. It had been three years since he leaned on a bar in Denver, and he had headed for Gahan’s opposite the courthouse.
He was known there, and friends often dropped in.
Moreover, it was a place to pick up news and information, and that was what he wanted. With money in his pocket and time on his hands, Kim was content. He played a couple of games of pool, bowled a little, had a few drinks here and there, and ate in some of the best restaurants. He spoke to old acquaintances, talked with some of the girls along the street. But it was not until he reached the bar at Gahan’s that he actually heard anything. Kim was young, he was attractive, and he was friendly. He had removed the badge from his vest and carried it in his pocket, as he did not want to inhibit any old friends or arouse suspicion in others. At Gahan’s he ordered a beer and looked around.
George Devo! was having a drink with two shady-looking characters at a nearby table, and at the other end of the bar Bill Cody was surrounded by a group of friends. It was as Kim had remembered it.
He was thinking of another beer when a man stopped beside him and a low voice said, “Rounded up any good stock lately?” Kim glanced around and found himself looking into Doe Middleton’s smiling face. Doe was said to be the most successful horse thief in the west, but they both knew Kim had been every bit as good and perhaps better. “Not so’s you could notice,” Kim said.
“I resigned in your favor. You were makin’ the competition too tough.” Doe chuckled. “Your only trouble was you loved fine horses,” he said. “I took “em an” sold “em and went back for more. You just had to have the best horses in the country, and such horses are remembered. No way you could get away with it.” Doe turned his back to the bar and leaned his elbows on it, watching the crowd. “I see you ain’t wearin” your badge. You quit?” “No,” Kim replied. “I think I’m locked in for good, Doc, so do me a favor and stay away from my town, will you?
I’d hate to jail an old friend.” “If you could catch me.” Doc’s expression changed and he turned around, facing the mirror. “You workin’ with Bord Chantry?” “I am.” “I like him. When he was ranchin’ down there he always set a good table. I put my feet under it time to time when ridin’ the country.” Doe turned and looked into his eyes. “This is no time for you to be away from home, Baca. Bord’s goin’ to need all the help he can get.” “What is it, Doc?” “You know about Ben Curry’s outfit?” “just talk around. Not much.” “It’s been big, the biggest, but the whisper is that it’s breakin’ up. The whisper is that the bank in your town is the next one up, and tire outfit ridin’ that way are sayin’ Ben’s lost his grip an’ that he was a fool, anyway, him wantin’ no shootin’.” “When?” “Next couple of days. Maybe tomorrow.
Remember Clatt? Yeah, he’s one of them.
He’s talkin’ it around that he’s going to kill Bord if Chantry so much as shows on the street.” Doe Middleton touched the spot on Kim’s vest where the badge had been pinned. “I never wore one of those, but some of the men who do are mighty square.
I’ve been treated right here an’ there. “Far as that goes”-he spoke more softly-“as I come up the street I ran into Bat Masterson. We shook hands, talked over old buffalo huntin’ days, and then he suggested I not stay around Denver too long.
Too many people know me.
“He knows I’m wanted, but we also fit a couple of Injun fights together. He’s square.” Kim Baca nodded. “Know him myself. He’s a good man.” His thoughts were racing ahead. He was miles from home and Bord would need him, need him desperately. There was no way He swore. Why couldn’t he remember the train?
Just hadn’t got used to the idea, and the telegraph, too. He thought the thing through quickly, running over in his mind his every move. First, the telegraph station, then a ticket on tire train.
“Damn it!” he said bitterly. “I had me a bed in a fine hotel and was fixin’ for a late breakfast of whatever was available. Now I got to light out.” “Was I you, with Borden Chantry for a friend, I wouldn’t waste around.” Kim finished his beer and left a coin on the bar.
“Thanks, Doe. I’ll not forget this.” “You just tell Bord that I didn’t forget.
Monson an’ Clatt have never been anything but trouble. Bord Chantry’s a good man.” Kim Baca went outside, heading for the railroad. At the dispatcher’s office he sent his telegram.
Not five. Seven or eight. Monson and Clan, today or tomorrow. Coaxing a-running. KB “When’s the next train goin’
east?” The despatches looked up from under his green eyeshade. “Tomorrow mornin’, eight o’clock.” “I need one tonight.” Baca flashed his badge.
“I need anything that will roll, a place for myself and a horse. Will it help if I call Dave Cook?” “What’s goin’ on?” Briefly, Baca explained. The despatches replied, “Monson an’ Clatt, is it? I’ll get the trainmaster. We’ll see.” He started for the door and over his shoulder he said, “They’ve robbed trains. Four, maybe five years back Clatt killed one of our boys.” An hour later, with his horse in a stockcar and himself in a caboose, Kim Baca was racing east.
With luck he would make it. There was only the locomotive, the stockcar, and the caboose, but they had a clear track.
There was coffee on the stove. Bata found a cup and helped himself. Somewhere out there Monson and Clatt with several friends were riding for Chantry’s town.
He had warned Bord there would be seven or eight but that was guessing. With Ben Curry it was nearly always five men to a job, but Ben was no longer the big man, and Clatt had always run with a gang.
He would take all he could get together and they would plan to hit fast and hard. Monson and Clatt would be shooting to kill.
If Bord got his telegram he would do some planning and round up a couple of good men. The bank was opposite the store, and the building next to the store was the express office. A man placed there could cover the door of the bank and the side door as well.
If Bord was at the jail, where his office was, he could cover the bank door as well as the other side of the bank. With a man at the big barn, which was behind the bank and a little further along, they could cover the front, both sides, and the rear. He finished his coffee and stretched out on a bunk. He was thinking of how the men should be placed and the probable action when he fell asleep. He was awakened by a slowing of the train. He sat up abruptly. Taking out his watch, he glanced at it. They were scarcely an hour out of Denver. The brakeman, watching the track, spoke to him. “Bata? Fire up ahead, right alongside the track, one man and a horse.
Son Of a Wanted Man (1984) Page 12
