"We've been on the trail eighty-one days," said Gil, "and we've come a little less than seven hundred miles. That's about eight and a half miles a day."
"Is not bad," said Juan Alamonte.
"A month ago," Van said, "I'd have disagreed with you, but everything considered, I reckon we ain't done too bad."
"We lose many days," said Pedro Fagano.
"We did," said Gil, "but we've lost hardly any stock."
"Whilst me an' Bo was upriver fishin'," said Long John, "we seen a rattlesnake was wider'n m' leg. Rest o' ye do as ye like, but me, I'm wearin' my chaps an' stuffin' m' britches legs into m' boots from here on."
Everybody laughed dubiously. So adept was Long John, none of them could be sure when the lanky Cajun was being truthful or just running another sandy at their expense.
"Bo," Ramon asked, "is this Long John's snake, or do you see it as well?"
"It was as he says," said Bo. "This time. Long John tells the truth."
"This time?'' yelped Long John. "Ye implyin' that I usually don't?"
When the laughter subsided, Bo continued. "Only on the Amazon have I seen a reptile so large. This one, this rattlesnake, I would judge to be twenty feet in length."
Bo was shy, rarely speaking, and his eloquence seemed strange. While he was every inch a cowboy. Gil Austin suspected the little man was much more than that. Most of the outfit laughed at the strange friendship that had developed between Bo and Long John Coons. The two men were opposites in every sense of the word. Bo, shy and quiet, was well-liked. Long John, loud, arrogant, often hostile, was only tolerated, and by at least one of the riders, not even that. Estanzio purely didn't like Lone John, and had been trying for months to en-gage the Cajun in a knife fight. Certainly Long John hadn't discouraged it, but Gil had. Gil had an uneasy suspicion that if he left the two of them alone for any length of time, he'd return to find them cut to ribbons, one or both bleeding and dying.
"It's purely hard to believe there's snakes as big as that," said Van, "but I reckon in this wild country, any-thing's possible. It's just goin' to be almighty hot, wearin' leather chaps."
"Hot temporary," said Juan Padillo. "Dead permanent."
Juan had begun to develop a cowboy sense of humor like a Tejano. He even got a laugh out of Long John.
One thing a man learned quickly on the frontier, if he wanted to go on living, was that peace was never more than temporary. While this camp on the San Simon seemed secure, and they had seen no Indian sign, Gil remained as cautious as ever. He believed that when everything seemed the most tranquil, it was most prone to go to hell at any moment. That was why Gil always took the midnight-to-dawn watch. Nine times out of ten, when trouble came, it would be in the dark, small hours of the morning, when men were least prepared. Gil had made a change in the nighthawking, which some of the riders, including Van, didn't like. While the rest of the outfit still split up into two watches, Mariposa and Es-tanzio spent the entire night with the horse remuda. Gil's purpose was twofold. First, with the Indian riders securing the horse remuda, the rest of the nighthawks were free to devote their full attention to longhorns. Second, the horse remuda and the longhorns could be separated. On nights when the longhorns were skittish and troublesome, refusing to bed down, the horses picked up on it and acted accordingly. Gil believed that if the herds were separated, they'd be easier to control, that if one stampeded, it might not involve the other.
"Suppose we got hit by horse thieves?" Van had asked. "There'll never be more than two riders with the horses."
"Suppose you had cows and horses bunched together," Gil had argued, "and with every nighthawk circling the combined herds. They'll all be at different positions. How often will you have any two riders close enough to the horses to help in case of attack? Thieves would just wait until most of the nighthawks were farthest from the horses."
In Indian country they were more in danger of losing the horses than the longhorns. Gil believed they would soon vindicate his theory, or totally discredit it. The thing that made his plan so effective was the ability of Mariposa and Estanzio to virtually disappear in the darkness. However, that might be considered a flaw, inviting an attack, since the horse herd seemed unprotected. Gil dismissed that possibility, because horse thieves didn't actually attempt to take the herd from under the noses of the nighthawks. That was suicide. It was less risky to just stampede the horses, and when the outfit rode in pursuit at first light, gun them down from ambush. That allowed the thieves to gather the horses at their leisure. That is, if the outfit was green enough to allow itself to be ambushed.
This night, the horse remuda was three-quarters of a mile downriver from the longhorns. Far enough, Gil believed, so that a disturbance among one herd might not affect the other. There was one point on which not a man in the outfit disagreed. If night riders spooked the horses, it took far less time to recover the horses than to gather the longhorns. But let the longhorns stampede with the horses, and it meant at least two days shot to hell. Maybe longer, depending on what direction the brutes decided to run.
The moon had already set, and the stars had begun to distance themselves from the coming dawn. It was that darkest hour when a man's night vision simply was not enough, and it was at that moment the night riders hit the horse herd. There were shots, shouts, and a clatter of hoofs. But there were cries of anguish too. Sudden as the attack had been, Mariposa and Estanzio hadn't al-lowed the thieves to escape without payment. Every rider followed Gil's prior orders, remaining where he was. Gil found it difficult to follow his own orders, wanting to ride to the aid of Estanzio and Mariposa. It was the most deadly, the most effective means of countering a surprise attack. Keep your own forces stationary, deploy a few good men, and let them kill anything that moved. Some of the longhorns had lumbered to their feet, but for a change the wind was friendly. It carried the sound away from the cattle, and after a few anxious moments, they settled down. Gil sensed rather than saw one of the Indian riders.
"Some horse run," said Estanzio. "Third, mebbe. Mejicano thieves. Two die."
It was the facts, simply stated, but every man recognized the accomplishment. Long John acknowledged it.
"Wal, we got't' give our segundo credit fer knowin' what he's doin'. If we all had a gone skalleyhootin' after them thieves in the dark, we wouldn't of got a one. Likely, we'd of ended up shootin' at one another."
"Cows no run," said Ramon. "Is biggest blessing of all."
"Soon as it's light enough," said Gil, "we'll go after our horses."
He said no more, nor did he need to. Every man had a lariat on his saddle, and every man knew how to tie a thirteen-knot noose.
* * *
The outfit waited impatiently for first light, riding the moment the Indian riders could pick up the trail. There had been eleven rustlers, the swift action of Mariposa and Estanzio having reduced their number to nine. Gil had taken Mariposa, Estanzio, Long John, Bo, and Vicente Gomez. There would be no pitched battle, where they would have to face all the rustlers at once. The thieves couldn't gather the scattered horses in the dark, and working from first light, there simply wouldn't be enough time. There had to be an ambush, calculated to slow the pursuers, lest they ride blindly into it. Gil Aus-tin welcomed the ambush. The sooner they eliminated it, the sooner they could recover their horses and bring this chase to a close. His instructions to Mariposa and Estanzio were simple.
"Once you know where the ambush is, circle them and come in from the south. I doubt they'll leave more than three or four men. Once you're near enough, cut down on them, and we'll advance. I'll call them out once; after that, it's shoot to kill."
The first shots came quickly, perhaps not seeking a target, but to warn Gil the ambush had been located. It also was calculated to shake the confidence of the outlaws. Caught in a cross fire, they could no longer devote all their attention to the back trail. The outlaws had holed up behind some rocks, and once they were within rifle range, Gil reined up. While all his men had rifles, the relo
ading time made them impractical for close fighting.
"Long John," said Gil, "you and Bo take your rifles and put some lead in amongst those coyotes. While you're reloading, Vicente and me will give 'em another dose."
There was return fire from three rifles, and that told Gil what he most wanted to know. They faced three men, and they also had to reload. Gil and Vicente fired their rifles into the outlaw stronghold, but there was no return fire. Gil dismounted, the others following.
"This is gettin' us nowhere," said Gil. "They know we're out here, and that'll give Mariposa and Estanzio an edge. Boot your rifles, fan out, and we'll advance on foot. If we can't overrun them, we can draw their attention, givin' Mariposa and Estanzio a chance."
The four riders spread out, using what cover there was. The slope was dotted with greasewood and yucca, Gil had drawn his Colt, and when he thought he saw some movement, he sent lead screaming in among the rocks. His three companions followed, and the outlaws behind the rocks returned the fire. It was time for a challenge.
"You hombres in the rocks, shouted Gil, "drop your guns and come out. You're finished."
It drew exactly the response Gil had expected. They were now within pistol range, and the three rustlers concentrated their fire on the scant cover that concealed Gil. There had been no more firing from beyond the outlaws' position, and Gil thought he knew why. Mari-posa and Estanzio were using each burst of gunfire as a means of creeping closer. Suddenly there was a screech of mortal agony, two frantic shots, and after sounds of a struggle, silence. The next sound they heard was Mari-posa speaking.
"Ambush is finish.''
"Bueno, hombres," said Gil. "Now let's go after our horses."
Within an hour the six of them were within sight of their horses and the six Mexican horse thieves. One of the rustlers looked back and saw the hard-riding cowboys in pursuit. Gil heard his shout of alarm, saw the other five riders turn in their saddles. They had lost two men when they had stampeded the horses, their ambush had beer, wiped out, and they now had a decision to make. Were they to live or to die? They abandoned the stolen horses and rode for their lives.
"Lookit 'em run!" shouted Long John. "The yellow coyotes."
"We got five of them," said Gil, "and recovered the horses. The rest of them ought to have their necks stretched, but they'll scatter like quail, and we have a trail drive waitin' for us. Let's turn this bunch of cayuses around and take 'em home."
Chapter 11
Even with the time it took to chase the border outlaws and recover the horses, Gil and his riders were back with the outfit by mid-morning.
"You've done well," Van said, "but we're more than three hours into the day, with a twenty-mile drive to water. Do we risk it?"
"We do," said Gil. "The longhorns have had a day of rest. We'll delay just long enough for these twenty-one cayuses we just drove in to catch their wind. Then we'll water them and move out."
When the sun was noon high, they topped a ridge and beheld a scene of broken, desolate beauty. On the downward slope ahead, and on the rising slope beyond, there wasn't a single tree or bush. Instead, there was an army of giant saguaros, in some strange formation of their own choosing, their arms raised heavenward as though in surrender. Not to be outdone, yucca shot spires a dozen feet high, each topped with a cluster of white blooms, like tall old men with silvery hair.
Rosa sighed. "Never have I seen anything so beautiful."
Even Long John, not given to sentiment, was impressed.
"It do kind of git a man down wher' he lives," said the Cajun.
No got water, said Manposa, less impressed. "Desierto."
"All the more reason we can't travel at night," said Gil. "Imagine ridin' headlong into a cactus as big as a tree trunk."
"They grow so big," said Ramon. "How can there be no water below?"
"It's far below," said Gil, "if at all. From what I know, there's just one tree that's a sure sign of water, and that's the Joshua."
"I want the cactus with two arms," said Rosa. "I wish to take one back to Texas with me."
"A leetle one," teased Long John, "er one that's full-growed, an' tall as a house?"
"A full-growed one," Rosa replied, imitating him, "and when you're digging it up, just be careful that you do not harm any of the roots."
"You start now, Long John," said Juan Padillo, "and you be just about done when we ride back from California."
Gil pushed the longhorns hard, and despite their late start, he believed they would yet reach the water Mari-posa and Estanzio had found, before darkness forced them into dry camp. Gil rode well ahead of the horse remuda, concerned with the rough terrain over which they would travel. Some of the slopes had thin ledges of rock, and a sudden crumbling of slate or sandstone might cripple a horse or cow. The trouble with broken country, Gil quickly learned, was that in avoiding one trail that appeared treacherous, you often were faced with another just as dangerous, if not more so. Time after time he found himself choosing a way not because it suited him, but because it was the best of a poor lot.
Finally, Gil reached a barren stretch that, with a little improvement, could have become a desert. It was a barren valley several miles wide, and except for an occasional saguaro, nothing grew there. The land was littered with rock in varying sizes, up to and including huge boulders higher than a man's bead In ages past,
Gil thought, it looked as though God had flung them in this valley and forgotten them. Ahead, among the gray of the stones and seeming out of place, was something white. Gil dismounted, and leading his horse, discovered he was looking at the smooth top of a human skull. The rest of the skeleton was there too, but the bones had become scattered by coyotes and buzzards. While the arm and leg bones had been separated, the bony hands and feet were still in a position that no frontiersman could overlook. The man had been spread-eagled, maybe over an anthill. Or he might have had a fire built in his crotch. When it came to inflicting pain, Indians were creative. While the eye sockets of the skull were empty, the bleached jaws were sprung in a silent scream of agony that time and the elements could not quell. The shafts of nine Indian arrows, feathers long gone, bristled out of the skeleton's rib cage and pelvic area. His captors had stood over this poor bastard and had shot arrows through his dead or dying body, literally spiking him to the ground. There was no way of knowing who he was, or how many months and years he had been claimed by this lonely, desolate land. The handiwork of Apaches? Probably, and if you accepted Long John's good Apache and bad Apache thinking, then this unknown pilgrim had had the misfortune to run into a bunch of "bad'uns."
Gil was about to turn back, to check on the herd, when a breath of west wind brought a stench that almost gagged him. Something was dead enough to stink, yet there wasn't a sign of a buzzard. It was a mystery that bore some looking into. Gil went on, determined to at least reach the farthest side of this desolate valley before he returned to the drive. Suddenly his horse shied and reared, and Gil drew his Colt. But the horse balked, unwilling to go a step farther. However dead the smell, whatever evil that was ahead was very much alive. Concluding that the horse was the more intelligent of the two of them, Gil looped the reins around a stone as big as a Dutch oven and went ahead alone. He cocked the
Colt, trying to see into the jumble of rock ahead. In less than a heartbeat the hidden enemy struck. The ugly brown head was larger than Gil's own, the lethal fangs like curved sabers. The snake's strike fell short, but Gil backed away a dozen paces before he felt safe. It was the biggest rattler he'd ever seen, big enough that Long John could have described it truthfully. Why had the snake struck at him without sounding a warning? They did that at shedding time, of course, but this was much too early. In Texas, "dog days" came in August. Gil backtracked, then advanced ahead about as far as he had when the snake had struck. He must reach a point where he could see this monster without it being able to get at him. For sure, he had to kill it or drive it away. Otherwise, no horse or cow would ever set foot in this bleak valley.
This damn snake, he thought grimly, had managed to obstruct the only decent trail. If they were unable to cross here, they might be forced to travel many extra miles, and that meant a dry camp for tonight. If it was snake or dry camp, he decided, the snake had to go.
Gil found a series of boulders that stair-stepped him high enough to see over the jumble of stones behind which the rattier was concealed. He caught his breath when he saw the size of the reptile. If Bo's estimate of twenty feet was accurate, his and Long John's snake would have to grow some to match this one! This rattler was writhing constantly, but going nowhere. Something or somebody had dealt the snake a fearful body blow, and its spine was broken. There had been no warning rattle because the rattler had lost control of the tail. Its strikes were clumsy, and it struck at everything in mad fury, even the nearby boulders. Finally it twisted around until Gil had a better look at the body wound. Where the spine was broken, the flesh had begun to rot away toward head and tail, and that accounted for the dead smell. The snake was dying, but for now the coyotes and buzzards seemed to have business elsewhere. Gil made his way back to his horse and got his rifle from the saddle boot. Climbing back up his rocky stairs, he returned to his previous position. His rifle was a .50 caliber Sharps, heavy but accurate, given a decent target. He had shot snakes before, but never from so great a distance that he needed a rifle. And never at a crazy-mad target that was not still for a second. Gil followed the snake's erratic movements until the big Sharps had his arms numb with strain and his patience had hit bottom. He fired, watching in disgust as the lead struck a rock and whanged off in ricochet. But that gave him an idea. If he couldn't draw a bead on the big bastard, maybe he could ricochet lead off the rocks like shrapnel, killing him a little at a time. Even if he dared get close enough, he wasn't sure he could hit this plunging, writhing target with his Colt. His first two shots with the Sharps didn't seem to accomplish anything, but when he was reloaded and ready for a third shot, he could tell the big rattler was slowing down. On the rusty hide there were patches of blood. His lead was taking its toll. He was frozen in the very act of firing when a voice behind him spoke.
California Trail Page 14
