The Fifth Western Novel

by Walter A. Tompkins

  The tree in which he had hidden himself was less than ten feet from the edge of the woods, and by climbing higher to a point where the foliage thinned out, he could look across the clearing and see the rock barring the entrance into the valley.

  He was climbing back down to the thicker foliage when he heard the hoofbeats of the returning horsemen. They came along slowly, single file, passing under his tree, and stopping at the edge of the clearing, where they bunched up.

  When they began talking, Webster heard one voice that he recognized. He would not soon forget Flint’s gravelly voice, and Flint was speaking as though he were the leader of the little group.

  “It’s a cinch he can’t get far without his horse,” Flint was saying. “It’s a long way out of these hills, and he don’t know his way around.”

  “Maybe he don’t want to get out right now,” came an opinion.

  Flint said, “Chock, are you sure the guy driving the wagon was the one that tangled with me at the saloon?”

  “I was looking right at him down the barrel of a rifle, wasn’t I?”

  “Yeah, but it was dark.”

  “It was breaking day. I got a good look at that hombre, and I’d know him anywhere.”

  “It’s a funny thing,” Flint argued. “Faulkner said he was all right. If he was playing ball with us, what he should have done by rights was to take one of the horses and go on back and report the robbery to Faulkner; what could he be smelling around here for?”

  “He’s got curiosity or something,” another man added. “Maybe he was one of that marshal’s gang, working under cover.”

  “No he wasn’t,” Flint argued. “Faulkner had a man watching him all the time he was in town. He never said a word to the officers, and they didn’t know him. He’s out for what he can get on his own. He could be one of them guys that likes to play a lone hand and horn in on somebody else’s show. That’s what I think about him. He’s too tough to be a law officer. He ain’t got the mark on him, somehow.”

  “Then what are we going to do?”

  “Look here, Chock. You stay right here, this time. Tie your horse up and settle down here in the edge of the trees. If he comes sneaking through again, wait till he gets past you, and get him in the back. Don’t make the mistake Benny did and let him get behind you.”

  “This is a kind of rough job,” Chock answered. “Maybe a couple of us better stay.”

  “One man’s enough if you’ve got sense enough to do what you ought to do,” Flint grumbled. “If Benny had done that he wouldn’t have got shot in the back. You stay here till dark. I’ll send that new man to relieve you then. And keep your eyes open.”

  After a little more talk, the group rode away, leaving only the one man called Chock.

  Webster kept perfectly still in his tree, following the man’s actions by sound as he dismounted and brought his horse back into the woods. The man took his horse a few feet distant, then came back and settled down to quietness. He had stopped somewhere almost under Webster, who could not see him, but guessed that fact from the small sounds he made in moving about.

  Webster was caught now, for he could hardly make any movement in the tree without revealing sounds of his own. And he was already cramped from having remained so long in his uncomfortable position in the crotch of a branch of the tree.

  Jim waited in silence, becoming more uncomfortable as time ticked slowly on. He heard a match scratch down below him, and presently the tantalizing smoke of a cigarette drifted up to him and reminded him of how long it had been since he had eaten or drunk or smoked. It was going to be a tough wait.

  But now Webster knew another thing. Since the smoke had drifted upward, the man must be beneath him. He stood it another hour, during which time it became increasingly evident to him that he could not stay motionless in his cramped position until dark. He had to escape now before his legs became so stiff that he would be severely handicapped.

  He canvassed all possibilities and rejected most of them. Then he worked a bullet loose out of his cartridge belt and was on the point of tossing it some distance from the tree in order to arouse the watcher’s curiosity. The man would go to see what it was that fell, thus giving him time to get down and face him.

  But that would mean shooting, and he did not want to again attract the attention of the bandits in the hidden valley. He would have to find some other way.

  Finally he decided on the only means possible for his own purpose. It was risky, for he stood the chance of making a noise that would instantly attract the man’s attention. But he had to risk it.

  Webster began lowering one of his feet from the limb he was on toward the limb below it. It was a long stretch, and he had to do it absolutely without sound. He took his time about getting the one foot down and then, belly hooked over his limb, he began letting the second foot down. It took him about five minutes to lower himself to the next limb, but he made it without attracting attention.

  He took another long time letting himself down another five feet, a limb at a time, and then he was low enough to see through the foliage below him.

  The guard was sitting with his back against the tree, a black hat pulled down over his face, and his rifle across his lap. Webster decided that he was either asleep or almost asleep. He was standing on the limb about ten feet above him, and there were no other limbs below on which to lower himself. He had no choice but to jump the rest of the way.

  He took his pistol out of its holster, balanced himself on the limb and let go. He landed with a thud in the man’s lap, falling as he was thrown off balance.

  His landing jolted the dozing man into confusion for a moment, and knocked off his hat. And during that time Webster scrambled on his knees beside the man. He cracked him across the head with the barrel of his pistol just as the man’s mouth opened in a yell. The cry died in his throat as Webster’s weapon smashed down over his ear.

  Then Jim was on him, and the bandit was fighting desperately for his hand gun. Webster yanked it out of its holster and threw it aside into the brush.

  The man whose Indian blood showed in his gleaming black eyes and his reddish skin fought viciously. He was large and thick through the chest, and the blows that he rained on Webster had a sting in them. He was on his back and Webster was over him, but the man was far from out, and he was giving Jim almost as much punishment as he was taking.

  When his blows failed to slow Webster up, he changed his tactics, bringing his hands up to claw at Jim’s face. He was going for his eyes with his clawing when Webster saw that he would have to stop things in short order. He buried his face in the protection of the man’s chest and pounded him over the head with his gun barrel until he had beat him into insensibility.

  The guard finally went limp and rolled over on his side, losing all interest in the fight. He was out cold, his head and face a mass of bloody scars.

  “Sorry, Injun,” Webster said. “That’s for being in bad company. I’ll see you again if you live over this.”

  The Indian did not answer. He was unconscious.

  Webster caught him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him back off the trail, then found the Indian’s horse and brought him along. He cut a couple of lengths of rope from his lariat and tied him hand and foot, then threw him bodily across his own saddle and led the horse deeper into the woods, farther off the trail.

  Satisfied with a large clump of elderbrush and pokeweeds growing rank below a bubbling spring, he took the man off his horse and carried him into the thicket, where he examined the knots on his wrists and feet, and then tied him with his back against the trunk of a large persimmon tree. Then he took his kerchief and made a gag out of it, stuffing it into his mouth and tying it tightly.

  Jim examined his handiwork and knew that the man could neither escape nor make any noise to attract any passing friends. Satisfied that he would not be able to do him any damage, he to
ok the man’s horse and went looking for a safer place for himself.

  He had decided more firmly than ever now that he was going to have a good look inside that valley. It was like sticking his head into the jaws of a steel bear trap, but he meant to do it as soon as it became dark.

  This place was tied up with the crooks in Woodbine, and was therefore of legitimate interest to him. He gave a thought to Clanton and Nix, now dead, and he knew that they would have liked to be here with him on this trip.

  He drank at the spring, ate some of his cheese and slept in a safe clump of brush until almost dark when he went back and took up his position alongside the trail, waiting for the man who was to relieve Chock on guard duty.

  The man came riding out from behind the big rock a little after dusk and came into the trail. Behind a tree, Webster waited with his gun drawn.

  The bandit stopped his horse and dismounted, apparently not very alert. He whistled, apparently a signal for Chock, and then began tying his horse to a tree. He had got the knot made in the reins when Webster stepped out from his concealment and walked toward him, gun aimed at the man’s back.

  “Just keep your hands frozen to that tree,” he ordered.

  The man looked back over his shoulder, his eyes widening. He kept his hands on the knotted reins while Webster approached and lifted his gun.

  “Just be quiet now,” Webster warned him, “and you’ll live to get to be good friends with me yet. Just open your mouth and you’ll join Chock.”

  “You killed him?”

  “You’ll never find out if you don’t stand hitched. Now just put your hands on your hat while I see if I remember what to do with a rope.”

  In fifteen minutes Webster had the man tied and gagged and roped to the same tree that Chock was tied to. Chock had revived somewhat now, and was following Webster’s movements with venomous eyes.

  “I’ll tell you boys something,” Webster said. “Things are not always like they sometimes look like they are. You gents and I might turn out to be saddlemates yet. You never know what might happen, do you?”

  And, being gagged, neither answered.

  Webster laughed at them, and led the last man’s horse on out of the brush. It was dark now, and the hidden valley lay before him, holding a secret it was his job to unfathom.

  CHAPTER VIII

  Thieves’ Paradise

  Webster waited a while longer, then dismounting and leading his horse, he skirted the edge of the open rock field and came at last to the big boulder blocking the entrance to the valley. Here he left the horse and, with pistol in hand, kept to the darkest shadows and worked his way silently along the face of the cliff until he had reached the big stone. The important thing now was to see if another man blocked the mouth of the valley.

  He had to cross a space which was exposed enough for the stars to give it a little light, and here the danger point lay. But there was no way to avoid the risk.

  Jim moved with sudden swiftness as he crossed the lighted space, and his boot kicked up and rattled a small rock. He clicked the hammer back and lifted his gun, sweeping the darkness before him. But his noisy progress raised no sound of alarm.

  He walked on into the mouth of the valley between the portals of the break in the cliff, and still met no resistance. It was evident that the bandits felt that the guard at the path was enough protection.

  He went back and got his horse and rode unmolested into the valley. Remembering it from his one quick view of it by daylight, he recalled that the lake lay just about straight forward, in the middle of the great bowl-shaped valley. It had been partially surrounded by small willows and other trees, and there had been a number of cows grazing about it.

  To his left, that is, between the lake and the north wall of the bowl, the riders who had discovered him had emerged from a scattered group of trees that seemed to run from the precipitous wall of the valley almost down to the lake. Webster calculated that there must be houses or some kind of shelter for the outlaws hidden in these trees. He wanted to have a good look at some of those cows, and then he wanted to see where the men hung out.

  Calculating that they felt secure enough not to have guards milling around the floor of the valley itself, he cut his horse boldly across the grass in the direction of the lake, which he could barely make out by starlight a half mile distant.

  As he approached a group of cattle now lying down near the lake, he untied the lariat on the saddle and shook out a loop. As he came nearer, the cattle got to their feet suspiciously. He dabbed his loop over the neck of the nearest one and pulled his horse to a halt. And he gave thanks to the man he had stolen it from for riding an animal that knew how to work cows. The horse took up the slack in the rope and held it, backing off as the angry cow jumped about, fighting the lariat.

  Webster was on the ground, following the taut rope down with his hand, and had a horn hold on the cow before she could make out his purpose. He gave her neck one quick twist and threw her on her side, while he examined the two brands he had seen dimly on her shoulder.

  The first brand, an old one, was a Double H Connected, made by four uprights and a horizontal bar running from the center of the first straight through to the center of the last one. He had seen a brand somewhat similar once which had been called the Picket Fence. It was a hard brand for a thief to cover, for any overbrand made of straight lines which might be applied would have a suspicious look, and any brand with curved lines could not hide the original straight ones.

  But the Double H had not been tampered with. Instead, it had been stamped out with an X iron, a sign of the sale of the animal, and another brand placed below it. The other brand was fresh, the skin still peeling off, and was a simple three-link chain in a straight row. It would have been difficult for that brand to cover any other one.

  Webster released the cow and caught up three or four more, finding one more Double H, and a couple of other brands he did not recognize. But they all had their old brands X’d out and the Chain stamped under them.

  The story those brands would tell was that various outfits had sold cattle to an outfit using the Chain. That was all the brands would reveal.

  But they had told Webster enough for the present. He turned the last cow loose and rode on around the lake, heading toward the woods which he suspected of housing the thieves who had chased him earlier in the day.

  At the edge of the woods he dismounted and tied his horse, wanting to explore the area quietly. He judged that the woods did not cover more than five acres, and that was not too much for a man to explore afoot, even in high-heeled boots.

  Leaving his horse in the thick darkness under the edge of the trees, he worked his way toward the rim of the valley, quartering the rough five acres of timber back and forth from the point nearest the lake toward the high rim.

  He had traversed what he judged to be more than half the patch when he came upon a pole corral having a pole shed at one end. He climbed over the fence and went among the dozen or so horses grazing within, and examined their brands, all of which were strange to him, but which he memorized.

  Then he climbed out and made his way on foot toward the valley’s rim. Where there were saddle horses, there had to be men to use them.

  He had not gone far before he heard the low sound of music, and he stopped to identify it. Somewhere off ahead of him a fiddle and guitar were doing a bad job of playing an old range song in unison.

  He walked more carefully now, darting from shadow to shadow under the trees. And he came upon the first house before he realized it.

  Everything was dark here, but he was standing near a small cabin made of pine boards. He saw a tiny crack of L-shaped light, showing around a side and the top of a window which had been covered with some kind of material, perhaps a horse blanket. There were voices in the shack, and as he made his way to the window, he heard the conversation and the sounds of a poker game, t
he shuffle of cards and the clink of money being thrown onto a table as the game progressed. He judged that there were at least a half dozen men in the game. He went on, finding four or five more of the small one-room shacks, all dark.

  And then he came near to the canyon wall and, standing in the darkness under a tree, he studied the thing he saw in the light of the stars. Here was the source of the music.

  There was a long store building projecting out from the flat face of the perpendicular rock which walled in the valley, a building which was by far too large for any such small settlement as could be here under the trees. He examined it more closely from a distance, and noted another peculiar thing which held his gaze and aroused his curiosity as he listened to the music.

  He could see stars directly above the roof of the building, hanging low enough in the sky so that they would not have been visible to him if the rimrock were as high at this point as it was elsewhere.

  He got the impression that the store sat in a notch or opening in the wall of the valley, similar, perhaps, to the one through which he had entered. Making his way out of the trees, he reached the safety of the deeper blackness beside the building and began his explorations.

  He learned first that his surmise had been correct; the building actually acted as a kind of closure, some sixty feet wide, to an opening in the rock. He walked along the wall of the building searching for windows, but there seemed to be none, on this side, at least.

  He started to go around the near end of the building, but checked himself as he rounded the corner, slipping back quickly. There was a door at this end, and it had been opened while two men came out, revealing the yellow light of lamps inside. The men stood on the porch a few minutes, then went back inside, again revealing the lamplight as they opened the door momentarily.

  Webster waited a moment to see that nobody else came out, then crossed in front of the porch and set about examining the other side of the building.

  There was a wide lean-to shed on this side, which interested him greatly. The shed was empty, and he stepped into it, concealed now by darkness so complete that he could not see his hand in front of his face.