by David Cross
Some time back in the late 50s the forming of the Arizona Rangers had cleaned out the outlaws at Black Canyon and most of them had left the Mogollan Rim country about the same time. He had only ventured into the country a few short years after, but there had still been a few rustlers who had hung on, making a meager existence from stealing cattle from the ranches along the rim. Most of them had been caught and hanged and the rest had decided it was extremely unhealthy to remain in the rim country.
Jake had his suspicions that Murdock had been one of the rustlers that had held on and make a place for himself by homesteading a place and using it to run stolen cattle through. This was just supposition on his part, which he had never voiced to anyone. For the last years before he had gone away to the war, Murdock had steered clear of his ranch, making offers to buy him out on a couple of occasions, but nothing more.
He was a good forty miles from Black Canyon when dark overtook him, forcing him to halt for the night. He could not see the tracks in the dark, and he didn’t want to lose it, and maybe have to backtrack to pick up the trail again. It would not do him any good to have his horse step in a gopher, or prairie dog hole either. It was hard for him to use reason, when his only thoughts were to run Murdock and his gunman to ground and end this. He wanted to get on with his life, make up for all the lost time with his wife, and settle down to raising cows and kids.
He tethered his horse on a long lead so the animal could graze. He made his camp near a small stream that ran down from the high country. The land was getting more arid as he dropped from the higher climes, taking on more of the aspects of the desert. There were now saguaro cactus, looking like lonely sentinels standing guard over an encampment, or perhaps a buried treasure, dotting the landscape across which he rode.
To the south of him was Phoenix, a cattle town of some size, built on the edge of the desert. It was large enough, offering the comforts not to be found in most places. It was a very fast growing place, and as a crossroads to the east, was a gathering place for the riff raff that stopped there, as well as the honest ranchers that came into town to buy their supplies.
There were places to gamble, drink, and one could find women of the night. It was a place to relax after weeks of hard work on a ranch, and a collection point for many travelers, passing through to California in search of a better life, or perhaps to Mexico, looking for something they could not describe, but ever searching for. The land surrounding Phoenix was a hard land, and it took hard men to carve out a place in its wilderness and desert region, but it was being done.
Small settlements were beginning to pop up here and there, and men of strong fortitude fought against the severity of the arid land to make a living. Some would go broke, and wander on in search of an impossible dream, but others with a will to sink roots would stay and fight for a place in this country. That was the kind of man Jake Killman was. A man who would sink his roots, fight for his right to live on the land and wrest a living from it.
Lying in his sugan, he tried to reason what Murdock was up to. He knew he had depleted the ranks of his gunmen, knew he would have to recruit more men and join with the men he probably had in reserve. Maybe he was headed for Phoenix on a recruiting foray, or maybe for Wickenburg. Either place had an abundance of hard cases, ready to hire their guns without asking too many questions.
He drifted into a light sleep, his senses alert to anything that moved in the night, thinking of the job ahead of him and wondering further, why Murdock might have headed in this direction. Was he going to meet hired guns he kept in reserve? What was in his mind? Would he return to Strawberry to send more gunmen to do his killing? The last thought was almost a certainty. He had too much invested in his ranch to abandon it. His last thoughts before drifting off were of Sarah, of the womanly smell of her, and the soft warmth of her in his arms at night.
He awoke during the night, unable to sleep any more, because of the wound in his arm. It had definitely been a long day, but he felt secure Sarah’s being safe. He sat smoking a cigarette, watching the glow of the fiery tip, waiting for the light to come. It was not cold now, the snow had long gone, and the warmth of summer was on the land. It was a beautiful time of year, but at this moment, he had no appreciation for such things. He could only think of Murdock; hunting him down, and ending the feud.
As soon as the sky had lightened enough for him to distinguish the tracks, he was in the saddle, bending low to the ground to see the faint trail he followed. The notched shoe was plain enough to see, but the countryside was turning to rock as he rode, making his task harder, and harder. A couple of after breaking camp, it disappeared altogether, among the rocky crags east of Black Rock. He was disappointed at the loss of the trail, but he figured it was ultimately leading him to the Black Rock Trading Post.
He rode purposefully now, intent on reaching his destination quickly; before Murdock could move on to some other place, or just possibly contact the rest of his gang of gunnies. The last thought sobered him a bit, giving him pause to wonder why he had not hightailed it to where they were camped. Could it be that they were encamped near Black Rock, maybe some place close to Black Rock Butte, or could it be that he really had depleted his henchmen to the point that he had to recruit? There were surely enough places for hideout among the canyons and arroyos under that tall monolith, Black Rock Butte.
It was late afternoon when he reached the trading post, and he slowed his horse a bit, pulling her behind a boulder. Taking out his scope again, he trained it on the building and the surrounding area, but there was only one lone horse tied at the rail, standing hipshot as though it had been there for some time and four horses in the corral in back. All the smaller out buildings and storage sheds, seemed quiet. If they were there, it sure wasn’t obvious.
He replaced the glass, and rode down to meet whatever was there, hidden or not. He almost hoped Murdock and his crony were here, and then it could end, once and for all. He tied his mount in front, thumbed the thong from his pistol, loosened it in its holster, squared his shoulders and walked through the front door. His eyes quickly scanned the inside of the large store, with its bar in one corner, finding only one lone drinker bellied up to the bar.
The place smelled of dust, spices, and the stink of sweat. The proprietor was standing behind the bar talking animatedly to the lone customer on the other side, and Jake could see no one else, except an Indian squaw, sorting skins at the back of the store, tying them into bundles. She glanced up from her work with a deadpan look and then returned to her chores. Jake moved through the store, coming to a stop at the bar, beside the other customer.
“What’ll it be mister?” inquired the storekeeper, as he glanced up.
“Whiskey,” Jake responded, “and a bit of information.”
“I’ve got the whiskey,” he replied with a chuckle, “Can’t say I know too much though, or I wouldn’t have taken over this place.” Again the chuckle rumbled from his chest.
“I’m looking for a man that might have ridden through here within the last day. He’s a tall man, with reddish grey hair and a sour disposition. He was probably riding with another man about an inch or so taller with two guns tied low. Seen anyone like that?
“Yep, you’re in luck. There were two hombres that pretty well fit that description in here last night late. They camped down near the spring, but they were gone when I went down for water this morning.”
Jake tossed off his drink, set the glass on the bar, and dropped a half dollar on the bar beside it, thanking the storekeeper for the information.
The customer standing beside Jake looked up from his drink, stared into Jake’s steel blue eyes, and asked, “What you want them for mister?”
“Just some business that needs tending to,” Jake answered shortly, putting on his hat to leave.
“No business of mine, not really, but I might be able to shed some light on where they’s headed though,” he shrugged.
Jake stared at the man with renewed interest. “Where are they go
ing?” he asked softly, careful to keep his tone polite, even though his excitement was running at a high peak.
“I overheard one of them say they had to get to Lost Woman Crossing by today. Seems they had an appointment with a couple other fellers. The gray headed feller, the one that seemed to be in charge, was nervous and agitated some, like he had ants in his pants.”
“Where is this Lost Woman Crossing and how far is it from here?”
“That’s about sixty or seventy miles northwest of us, where the trail crosses Shadow Creek,” the storekeeper interrupted. That’s on the south side of Devil’s Tower. Here, let me draw you a map.”
He took the stub of a pencil from his apron pocket, touched it to his tongue, and laboriously started to draw a crude map on the back of a piece of brown wrapping paper. Jake followed his movements with interest, trying to make something of the map he was drawing, but it was hopeless. When the map was finished, the storekeeper went over it with him, pointing out the landmarks and making the terrain much clearer to Jake by his words than his map could.
He thanked the two men, folded the map and left. In the saddle once more, he rode out of the Black Canyon Trading Post, picking up the little used trail to the northwest. The storekeeper had told him that the two men had purchased enough supplies to last a week and four boxes of cartridges, before riding to where they had camped by the springs. Jake didn’t think they knew he was on their trail, but he couldn’t take any chances. If he was riding to meet some of the hired guns, and had a hunch that he was being trailed, Murdock would lay an ambush for him, or leave someone behind to take care of the problem.
Riding the trail, he kept checking for the notched print of the horse he was following, but could not make out any of the scrapes in the hard ground. The rocky terrain only showed recent passage of horses, with no prints that were distinguishable, or readable. He kept checking the sparse foliage of chaparral, saguaro, stunted pine, and palo verde for hidden traps, but the country seemed to be peaceful, with no sign of humans about.
By late afternoon he found the landmark the storekeeper had pointed out as being The Needle, and knew he was nearing his destination. Here, he left the trail and moved deeper into the brush, barely keeping the trail in sight, as it meandered along a creek. Dismounting, he led his mare, moving up on the crossing quietly. He saw no one near the crossing, but smoke came from a campfire, a few hundred yards past the ford, and a little way down from it.
He could hear voices, as they drifted on the hot wind of the arid mountainous country the closer he drew. They sounded as if they were in a quite a heated discussion and he fervently hoped it was the two men he sought. He squatted and took off his spurs, placing them in his saddlebags. He led his horse deeper into the chaparral, where he tethered him to the low limb of a stunted cottonwood, leaving enough rein for the horse to move around and browse on the leaves of the nearby acacias. Removing the rawhide thong from the hammer of his Colt, he loosened it and moved cautiously forward toward the sound of the voices.
He rounded a huge cottonwood and was about to step out when a cold barrel pressed into his neck and a voice came from behind him like the sound of a hissing snake. He cursed under his breath at his stupidity. If he could hear the voices near at hand, he should have been aware that there would be a guard of some sort.
“Freeze hombre!”
Jake stiffened, raising his hands slowly, not wanting to spook the man behind him. He was caught flat-footed and his anger at himself boiled up inside his stomach. He silently cursed himself for a fool. He had been so anxious to get at Murdock that he had forgotten everything he had learned in the military, about checking the lay of the land. He felt his Colt being lifted from its resting place in the holster, and thought of trying to turn the tables on the man behind him until he felt the nudge of the gun barrel at his back, urging him forward.
“You got yourself in the fire some Killman. I think mister Murdock will be pleased to see you. You’ve been a real thorn in his side. I’m a little surprised though. The way everybody at the ranch talked about you, you’re supposed to be a real tail twister. I had begun to take it to heart when we met earlier, but now I see you are prone to mistakes just like the rest of us common folk. You ain’t so tough now that your fangs has been pulled.”
Jake said nothing, but moved along in front of his antagonist, watching for any opportunity that would give him a chance to turn the tide in his favor. He could do nothing for now but bide his time and hope for his captor to make a mistake. He had no doubts what would happen to him if he didn’t escape. Murdock would take great pleasure in killing him; taking over his ranch and making all out war against the rest of the ranchers near his spread.
He pretended to stumble on a rock, falling to his knees, but as he fell he could see that the man behind him wasn’t going to be tricked. He wasn’t close enough for him to take advantage of the situation and the gun in his hand never wavered from Jake’s head.
“Be careful where you step Killman. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you before Murdock had a chance to toy with you. I come close to blowing your head off just now. You stumble one more time though and I’ll put a bullet in your brain and drag your carcass back to the camp! It makes no difference to me if you’re alive or dead when I bring you in.”
Killman rose to his feet, brushed the sand from his trousers and moved forward again. He really had himself in the soup this time, he thought. He would not get out of this mess as easily as a cheap trick like pretending to fall. The man behind him was a pro and would be alert to any ruse he might try. It would take a lot more than a trick to get the upper hand with this ranny.
He stumbled along in front of his adversary until they reached a small clearing beside the clear running stream a few hundred feet in front of them. Three men stood close to a campfire ringed with rocks, a pot of coffee boiling on the fire. The smell of the coffee reminded Jake of how long it had been since he had eaten anything.
One of the men was Rance Waite, and Murdock stood off to one side. The other two he did not know, but the man had captured Jake was the one that rode the horse with the built up shoe, the same man who had kept he and Sarah pinned down in the cave a few days past. The other two had to be hired guns that worked for Murdock, probably a couple of his lieutenants.
“Well, Well! Look what the cat dragged in,” Murdock chuckled, tossing the remains of his coffee on the ground. “Didn’t expect you to come all this way just to give up to my men. I could have saved you the long ride Killman. I was coming back for you as soon as I got a few more men together.”
“Hello Murdock,” Jake growled. Still hiding behind your hired guns I see. I think your days on the Mogollan are numbered. You might not like the reception your neighbors have planned for you. You Killed Hector Mendoza in town. He was Catano’s long time friend, so he’ll come gunning for you with all his riders and half your neighbors along the rim.”
“Catano don’t scare me. You don’t scare me. In fact, no one on the Mogollan scares me. All of you two bit ranchers are like fleas on a dog. You’re just an irritant that causes me to scratch. It’s about time for me to smoke out the fleas and get rid of the irritation,” he said with a wave of his hand.
“You on the other hand have cost me a good part of my men. You have been much more than an irritant, but that is about to change very soon. Rance, tie this hombre to a tree and lets get on with our plans.” The contempt was plain as he turned away with a sneer.
The tall ranch foreman stepped around his boss, grabbed his wrists roughly and tied them with a rawhide piggin thong. Jake could feel the rough, dry rawhide bite into his wrists, but he did not let on that it was a discomfort. Rance pushed him toward a large piñon and made him sit on the ground at its base. Taking a lariat from his horse, he looped it over Jake’s shoulders and wound it around the tree and Jake a few times before tying it off.
As soon as Rance left, Jake started working the rawhide on his wrists, trying to create enough moisture to m
ake it stretch. Rawhide, used when dry, would stretch considerably when wet, and as hot as the weather was at this time of year, and with the sweat that it created, there was plenty of moisture running down his body and arms to wet the rawhide.
They left him alone, as Murdock and his men walked back to the campfire and began discussing their plans loudly, arguing the merits of different ideas. It was obvious to Killman that they were planning on recruiting enough guns to take over most of the country around Strawberry for miles in every direction. He couldn’t let this happen. He had to get loose and stop this madman from killing any more innocent people.
He sat against the tree he was tied to, sweating and pulling at the rawhide binding his hands, until he was able to slip one hand out of the wet slick leather and quickly worked on freeing the other hand. He lay still for a long time, letting the circulation return to his hands, not wanting to give away his newfound freedom, though he had to get out of the lariat Rance had used to bind him to the tree.
As the sun sank into the west, it took away the worst of the heat. Night would afford him his best chance to escape. It would be harder to spot him in the dark and even harder to hit him. He said a silent pryer that they would not post a guard on him. If that happened, he might have to spend another day or two waiting for a chance.
He made tentative plans for his escape, thought about stealing a gun from one of the sleeping men, but remembered that he had a spare pistol in his saddlebags. There would be less chance of someone waking up and losing his advantage if he went for his spare. For now, he would conserve his strength until everyone was asleep.
They had not bothered to feed him and his stomach was growling something fierce. He counted his blessings though, for at least they had not killed him yet, but he didn’t know how long he would have before Murdock decided to get rid of him. He was certain it wouldn’t take them long to get around to dealing with him though.
