The Dangerous Land

by Ralph Compton

  “Great. So, when do we head down there and get . . . whatever it is that you’re here for?”

  “It’s not going to be that easy.”

  “Right. We’ll wait until nightfall.”

  Now that all three of them were close enough, Paul could speak so he didn’t feel that his voice was echoing back through the boulders and down into the basin. “It’s guarded,” he said. “By at least three armed men.”

  “Six,” Red Feather said. “There were more behind some of the tents and within the crevice.”

  “How big is this camp?” Hank asked. “Wait. Don’t tell me. I’ll see it for myself. No need to get all worked up until it’s absolutely necessary.”

  “We’ll backtrack a ways and find a spot to make a camp for ourselves,” Paul said.

  “Right,” Hank added. “Keep the fire down low to keep from sending up too much smoke or making too much light. After we’ve got some good shadows to maneuver in, we can slip into that basin and slip right back out again. Six guards really ain’t too much, especially since they don’t even know we’re coming.”

  “There’s more than six guards,” Paul said.

  “Oh? Seven?”

  “Starkweather is there too. I didn’t see the Mexican, but it would be safe to assume he’s around there somewhere also.”

  Suddenly Hank didn’t seem so anxious to proceed with the plan.

  Chapter 30

  The fire they built was barely large enough to take the chill off when Paul was sitting less than an inch away from it. Of course, part of that was due to the extraordinary cold that had swept in as soon as the sun went down. Having given up on warming his hands, Paul went to the spot where the small campsite they’d found met up with the trail that led back to the ridge. He tapped Red Feather on the shoulder and sent the Comanche back to the fire to eat his share of lukewarm beans that was their supper.

  When he heard footsteps behind him, Paul said, “Go on and eat. I’m fine right where I’m at.”

  “Already ate,” Hank said. “And I’d rather forget the experience.”

  Paul nodded. “Thought you were Red Feather.”

  “He’s already packing away the rest of them beans. Probably better than the mess he usually eats.”

  “One of these times, he’s going to split your lip when you say something like that.”

  “And I’ll deserve whatever I get,” Hank chuckled.

  “You’re either a real brave man or a real stupid one.”

  “The great ones usually are a little of both, ain’t they?”

  After a few moments of consideration, Paul had to admit, “Yeah. I suppose they are. It just seems strange to see you two talking instead of trying to kill each other. I thought for sure one of you would have gone your own way by now.”

  “But that would mean the other had won and we can’t have that. You mind if I make an observation?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “You seem . . . nervous.”

  Paul laughed under his breath. “I think I’d be stupid if I wasn’t.”

  “But you seem to have lost a bit of that fire you had in you before. For one thing, you haven’t mentioned your young’uns for a little while. Why is that?”

  “Because I figure anyone in their right mind would have been sick of hearing about them by now.”

  “Every man’s got to stay close to what drives him on,” Hank pointed out. “Otherwise he just tends to drift. I’ve been in plenty of situations where I had no business making it out alive and the only thing that saw me through was whatever kept pushing me forward when everyone else took a moment to catch their breath. You had that before.”

  “And now?” Paul asked tentatively.

  “Now . . . I’m concerned. If you’ve lost your steam, then I sure as hell don’t have any reason to be here.”

  “Why are you here? You should know I appreciate any help I can get, but this isn’t exactly your fight.”

  “I’m here because I’m selfish,” Hank replied. “Always have been. Then again, everyone is. They do what they’ll do for as long as they can get away with it. You know what I was doing when our paths first crossed?”

  “Looking for Indians?”

  “That’s right. Men like me have killed a number of them and they’ve killed plenty of us. The reason why it all started don’t matter anymore. Not to the ones doing most of the shooting. I stayed in it because I’m good at it and when you’re good at killing, you got to be real careful how you ply your trade. There’s a fine line between getting paid for providing that service and getting hanged for it.”

  Paul was taken aback. It wasn’t so much that he was surprised by any sort of revelation, but he hadn’t expected Hank or any other man to own up to something like that so readily.

  “You want to know why I’m here?” Hank continued. “Probably for the same reason that anyone else has been helping you get this far. There’s been a fire in your eyes and a justness in your cause that’s pretty damn rare. Some men go their whole lives without finding something so pure. Love, hate, rage, whatever it is, it can drive a man to the ends of the earth so long as it’s pure. I’ll be honest and say I stuck with you at first because it was the quickest way to get out of a sticky situation with them Comanche. After a while, though, I liked being on the good side of a fight for a change. Let’s face it; even the men that pay someone to weed out a bunch of Indians don’t respect the man that does the weeding. But someone helping a man with a pure cause? That’s something else, my friend.”

  “I’m in a line of work where you have to be a good judge of character,” Paul said, “and I never would have pegged you as someone who likes to talk so much.”

  “Just trying to see if there’s any of that fire left in you, is all. Because if you lost it and we’re a short ride away from a camp full of men who’d like to gun us down, then I will point my horse in any other direction and start riding.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Paul asked. “Beg you to stay?”

  “I want to make certain you’ve got what it takes to make it through this alive. Being in on a just cause is one thing, but I’m in no rush to die in a blaze of gunfire.”

  Paul clenched his fists until his fingernails dug deep into his palms. “I’m not a killer. I can barely fire a gun with any proficiency. I got no business whatsoever being out here and stepping up to those men in that camp.”

  “You’re not a doctor either,” Hank said. “But you insist you know what’s best to get your kids healthy again.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Nah. I don’t think it is. You handled yourself well enough when a fight was thrust upon you, but this here is different. This is us sitting and waiting and thinking about the fight before walking straight into it. I’ve done this a few times myself and it ain’t ever easy. The first time for me was when I was still riding with the cavalry in the Dakota territories.”

  “You wore an army uniform?” Paul asked.

  “And made it look damn good too! Is that so hard to believe?”

  Not wanting to open that particular can of worms, Paul kept his mouth shut and motioned for the other man to continue.

  “One of the older riflemen, not the commanding officer but some grizzled old dog who looked like he’d been chewed up and spit out a few times over, had some advice for me that helped. He looked me in the eye and told me without a flinch that we were all dead men.”

  “That . . . doesn’t seem very helpful,” Paul said.

  “Not at first, but it puts things into perspective. If we charge into that camp or if we sit here and stare at the stars, we’ll eventually die of something. Those kids of yours are in the same boat. They’re dead too.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It’s nothing new, Paul. It’s the oldest truth there is. And as soon as you really take it
in for what it is, that’s when you yank the teeth straight out of its head. Do you fret about falling asleep? Gettin’ hungry? Bumping your head? No! Because that sort of thing is just gonna happen. Live with it and move on.”

  “I should live with the fact that I’m already dead?” Paul asked. “That’s about the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “Isn’t it, though? But knowing that makes the rest easier to bear, right?”

  Paul’s first reaction was to disagree. Then he simply realized that he couldn’t.

  “Your young’uns,” Hank said. “Tell me about ’em.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “Why do you want to know about them?” Paul asked.

  Hank let out a short snort of a laugh. “After coming all this way to help bring them back into good health, don’t I have a right to know a little something about the folks I’m putting my neck on the block for?”

  “I suppose so. Abigail is my daughter and she’s becoming more willful every day. More beautiful too.”

  “I bet,” Hank said with a toothy grin. When he saw the warning glare from Paul, he quickly added, “Not in that sense! I just mean in the way that every daughter can charm her papa. Lord knows my sister had that knack.”

  Paul nodded. “She’s smart too. Well . . . she could stand to do better in school. It’s more like she’s wise. Wiser than she should be.”

  “What about your boy?”

  Without wanting to, Paul hung his head slightly and pressed his lips together into a tight line.

  “Ahhh,” Hank said. “Looks like there’s a bit of friction between you two.”

  “Sometimes.”

  Hank leaned back and made a dismissing wave with one hand. “Ain’t nothing new with that. I don’t know any man who didn’t lock horns with his father on a regular basis.”

  “It’s not like that. We don’t really fight. Of course, he’s still young.”

  “Then what’s making you turn sour just by thinking about him?”

  “It shouldn’t be anything,” Paul sighed. “He’s a good boy. Does well in his studies. Reads every book he can get his hands on. It’s just that . . . he’s afraid.”

  “I’d imagine he is!” Hank said. “Sounds to me like the boy’s real sick. Anyone would be afraid when them fever dreams start to come.”

  “It’s not that. He’s always afraid. He’s afraid of the dark, afraid of animals, afraid of the wind blowing outside.”

  “When I was a boy, I used to be afraid of the scarecrow in the field next to our barn,” Hank said wistfully. “Used to always think the damn thing would yank itself out from the ground and take a run at the house.”

  Looking over at Hank, Paul said, “David’s afraid to go to the outhouse alone, and when he gets there, he wants the door open. He’s afraid of every other noise he hears. He’s afraid of moths.”

  “Hmm,” Hank grunted as he scratched behind one ear. “Can’t say as I ever knew of anyone who was afraid of moths.”

  “Now you do. He’s just so . . . timid. I try to tell him there’s nothing to get so worked up about, but it never helps. Every time I see him cringe the way he does or cower on account of absolutely nothing, I just want to . . .”

  “Smack him in the face?”

  “No!” Paul snapped.

  “That’s what my papa used to do to me when he didn’t like something I was doing.”

  “And look how good you turned out.”

  Hank looked down and scratched a shape into the dirt. “Yeah. Good point.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just don’t like folks speaking ill of my boy . . . not even me . . . and I’m afraid that that’s just what they’ll do if he grows up to be a weak little man who flinches at every shadow, including his own.”

  “He lost his mama, ain’t that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he know her very well?”

  Smiling at even the slightest memory of his Joanna, Paul said, “Well enough to miss her.”

  “Well, you told me he’s a smart boy. He probably knows a lot about a lot of things. This is a harsh world, and after it took his mama away from him, he knows just how harsh it can get. There’s a lot of things to be scared of, especially when most everything is bigger than you.”

  “Except for moths,” Paul chuckled.

  “Right. Do you honestly think your boy will be just like he is now when he grows to be a man?”

  “I hope not.”

  “Of course he won’t,” Hank said. “If that’s how it worked, this would be a mighty strange place we live in.”

  Paul laughed and nodded.

  “It don’t take a professor to figure what has been eating at you,” Hank went on to say. “You’re worried your young ones won’t be there when you get back home. That right?”

  Reluctantly Paul said, “Part of me wants to get on my horse and ride back home as fast as I can. The other part doesn’t ever want to see Keystone Pass again because of all the pain it already holds . . . and all that is probably waiting for me when I go back.”

  “Answer one question,” Red Feather called out in a voice that drifted on the wind like so much smoke. “When the loud one told you your children were already dead, did you think he was right?”

  “No,” Paul said almost immediately. “I . . . I thought it wasn’t true.”

  “Then you have your answer,” the Comanche said. “There is work to be done. Soon . . . we do it.”

  “That’s what I was going to say,” Hank grumbled. “Eventually.”

  “The loud one speaks in many circles,” Red Feather said. “Sooner or later, every patch of land will be covered.”

  “Right!” Hank scowled in the direction of the Comanche. “Wait a second. Was that an insult?”

  “I don’t think so,” Paul said in a voice that wasn’t nearly as heavy as it had been a few moments before. “Let’s get a bit of rest and then head out again. Hopefully we can get this whole thing settled before much longer.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Hank replied. “Long as that Injun over there keeps quiet long enough for us to rest.”

  The only sound Red Feather made was a rough exhale that could just as easily have been a laugh as a discontented grunt.

  Once Hank had left him alone, Paul sat and drew shapes in the dirt at his feet. His thoughts were no longer darkened by fearful images of what horrors may await him back home. He didn’t think about the many ways his life could end right there in those mountains. The shapes he drew were rough sketches of what he could remember in regard to the layout of the nearby mining camp. He planned ways to get around the armed men and how best to approach those shacks with the chimneys.

  He listened for anyone coming for them and watched for any sign that he or the other two men had been discovered. It was a busy way to spend a couple of hours, but it sharpened Paul’s mind better than a blade against a whetstone.

  Chapter 31

  It was well past midnight when Paul and Red Feather crept away from their camp and climbed the boulders framing the path they’d ridden earlier that day. Paul was chilled down to the bone, and scurrying along rocks that seemed to have soaked up every last bit of that cold didn’t help him warm up. Even with the luminescent glow drifting down from the stars and moon above, he had to concentrate just to make out the slightest detail of the route in front of him.

  “Maybe we should wait until daybreak,” he whispered. “At least at first light, we’ll be able to see something.”

  “And the men in that camp will be able to see us as well,” Red Feather replied. “If we move slowly, we can cover much ground. It is not much farther until we can get a look at what is happening in that basin.”

  “Easy for you to say. I feel like I’m gonna slip and fall to my death at any second.”

  �
��Then just watch me instead of trying to watch everything else. Step where I step. Do what I do.”

  “Yeah,” Paul grunted as his foot skidded on a loose patch of gravel. “That’s really gonna help.” When he got a scolding backward glance from Red Feather, he hunkered down to mimic the Comanche’s stance and moved onward as best he could.

  Actually watching Red Feather did help. It not only showed him how to move and where to step, but it kept his mind too busy to dwell on all the worries that had plagued him before. It wasn’t a complete solution to his woes, but it served well enough to get him across the tops of the boulders and down to a narrow ledge that led into the basin.

  “Guards,” Red Feather whispered. He then pointed to his right and left.

  Following the Comanche’s gestures, Paul spotted two figures standing several paces away. One was close to the shacks that were still spewing smoke from their chimneys and the other was posted near a pen where several horses were tethered. The man near the horses was shivering and stomping his feet. Judging by the other one’s lack of movement and steady current of steam that issued from his mouth, he was either dozing off or getting real close to it.

  “I want to get a look inside one of those shacks,” Paul said. “I should be able to slip by that guard, so you can take a look around here and see what we’re up against.”

  “No,” Red Feather replied. “I am coming with you.”

  “There are only two of us. We need to split up and cover more ground.”

  “Yes. There are only two of us. If something happens to one, the other is vulnerable. I have raided many bluecoat camps. I know how to do it.”

  “Fine. Come along with me. I shouldn’t take long anyway.”

  Red Feather nodded once and continued moving onward. They reached the basin floor in good time. Thanks to a howling wind, they were able to move faster without worrying about making too much noise. In fact, the sound of the wind was even louder at the bottom of the basin. Before he knew it, Paul found himself approaching one of the shacks from behind.

  By now, his eyes were as used to the dark as they were likely to get. When he took a few steps closer to the row of shacks, the smell of burning chemicals washed over him. Fortunately the swirling winds changed direction and took the stench away from his nose before he started hacking. As Paul approached the closest shack, that same wind tugged at his hat and loosened it from his head. Paul reflexively slapped his hand down on top of it to keep it from rolling into open ground like tumbleweed. After being in the cold for so long, his hat was stiff as a board and the impact of his hand against it made a sound like a piece of wood being dropped onto the ground.