Spirit Valley (Ben Blue Book 7)

by Lou Bradshaw

  I continued down the slope, and then I joined Angel at the point. But first, I retrieved my hat, and it was well ventilated.

  “What’re your thoughts?” I asked Baca.

  “Three dead and one out of bullets… maybe wounded.”

  “My thinkin’ exactly… I’ll go drag those bodies out of the village. The chance of scoring a hit with a rat pistol from up there are almost none.”

  “Why bother with the bodies… the buzzards will take care of them.”

  “It wouldn’t be respectful to the memories of the people that lived in this place.”

  “Si… I understand. You tend to the bodies of those lost souls, and I will go tend the soul that may not be free of its body yet… If I find it I will free it.”

  “Are you sure you want to go up there after a wounded animal?”

  “De nada… it is nothing. I try to always finish my kills… besides there may be a reward.”

  I pulled the two bodies out of the houses, collected our horses, and I rounded up theirs. Draping the bodies over the backs of three of them, I led them to the far end of the valley. There I piled rocks on top of them, since once again I hadn’t brought a shovel.

  Baca was just coming down when I returned from the burying. I asked what he’d found up there and he told me, “I found his rifle… it was empty, and he had smashed it against a tree… There was much blood. He has been hit, and he is running. He is going higher up, but there is no place to go. I do not chase a wounded puma into its den at night…. I will go after him in the morning.”

  “If there is a reward, I’d be willing to call it a kill. As far as I’m concerned, he’s as good as dead… If he’s still alive, he’ll be trapped in this valley for the rest of his life with a few rounds of ammunition to last him forever. I’m closing this valley behind us when we leave.”

  “You can do that?” he asked.

  “Pretty sure I can…if I live through it.”

  He just looked at me with a one sided grin. “If you say so, Benito.”

  “We can camp here tonight and be out of here while the shadows are still long.”

  I walked out and stood near the incline that closed off that end of the valley. The pine covered slope went up several hundred feet, and then it rose straight up for three or four hundred feet. The entire valley on the west side was that way… there was just no way out. The east side was even worse, it went up a thousand feet or more. The only vegetation on that side was a small rim of brush and a few pines and cedars that grew among the talus and boulders that had fallen from higher up.

  Cupping my hands in front of my mouth, I shouted up into the trees. “Cope! You can come down now, or you can stay here forever… When we leave here in the morning, I’m closing this valley so that no one will be able to get in or out again… You’ve got five minutes to give me your answer.”

  It didn’t take him long, a bullet splatted into the soft damp earth some ten or fifteen feet in front of me. I looked up in time to hear the pop as the blue smoke drifted away.

  “Better save your bullets” I shouted, and I turned and walked back to where Angel was building a fire.

  “You think that crazy devil will try to crawl down here in the dark?” he asked.

  “We’d better stand guard, I wouldn’t put it past him… I think he’s lost his mind.”

  “I went into some of those cliff houses and found this in the one Collins had used.” He said, and tossed a leather pouch which landed at my feet.

  Picking it up, I untied the thongs that bound it and opened it. It was full of money, all greenbacks of large denominations. There was probably more than ten thousand dollars in it. The only thought that came to my mind, was something I’d said to a rustler we’d left barefoot and horseless years ago… “Wages of sin.”

  He looked up, chuckled and said, “Si.”

  “Well, this will go a long way toward making to some whose horses were stolen and shipped out to California or Oregon… That’ll give the US Marshal’s office something to do.”

  “I think it is why Rivera shot him. Collins was hoping to come back and get it.” He added.

  ~~~~~ o ~~~~~

  I was standing first watch, and all was quiet. The horses were nearby and they were peacefully cropping grass. The fire was low, just hot enough to keep the coffee warm. There was enough moonlight to see across this end of the valley, but there was nothing moving except the grass.

  My Winchester was cradled in my left arm as I bent down to toss a small piece of wood into the fire. As I raised up, I got the shock of my life. The strange Indian was standing across the fire from me, just as he had twice before. This time, there was a slight trace of a smile on his face. He lowered his head enough that I took it as a bow of some degree. There were a few words spoken, which of course I couldn’t understand.

  “RáwT-hawné?” I asked.

  His smile was a little more prominent, and he lowered his head again. I smiled back at him and pointed off into the darkness. I set my rifle down, and then I made a show of bringing my two hands slowly together so that the palms met firm and tight.

  He smiled and lowered his head again, and then he turned and walked away. The moon was giving enough light to create shadows, and I should have been able to see his form for some distance. But after a few steps he slowly disappeared. It was like he had walked into a fog bank. But there was no fog.

  I picked up my rifle and sat down on a large stone. Looking around, I saw Angel was propped up on his elbow looking at me.

  “Did you see him?” I asked.

  “No,” he said after some hesitation, “but I believe he was there, and I believe you saw him.” He crossed himself and rolled over. He was asleep in minutes.

  ~~~~~ o ~~~~~

  Angel touched my arm and I was awake. The sky was turning lighter, and bacon was frying. The sky was clear, and a soft breeze was blowing. It would be a great day for traveling. Eating breakfast and breaking camp didn’t take long. We both lingered over the last of the coffee, but we finally tossed the dregs into the fire and finished by smothering it out with dirt.

  The outlaw’s horses had been stripped of anything manmade except for their shoes. We’d herd them out through the crack. What they did after that would be their business, or they could tag along with us. I just didn’t want to have them trapped in that valley. We headed them toward the crack and rode along the eastern side of the valley.

  Several places along the way, I spotted what looked like blood smears on rocks and boulders. The slope was brush covered with a few trees here and there. It was a perfect place to hide and move without being seen. I motioned to Baca, and we moved out into the middle of the valley. If Cope was laying for us, I didn’t want to make it easy for him. We were far enough out so as to be out of accurate pistol range.

  “What if he had made it through the crack?” Angel asked.

  “When we get close, we’ll look for signs… If he’s gone through, we’ll send the extra horses out in a rush. If that doesn’t flush him, I’ll have to track him. It’ll be tedious, but we’ll get him.”

  We held up near the mouth of the crack, and I scouted for tracks. It wasn’t as sandy in valley as it had been in the canyon, and prints would hold better in the dirt. The newest prints I could find were our own from when we had come in the day before. There was nothing going out less than a week old. I’d stake my reputation as a tracker that Cope was still in the valley… if he was even still alive.

  The riderless horses were sent ahead, and we kept them moving from behind. They didn’t like it anymore than we did, but they kept moving. When the lead horse saw the light of the end ahead, it quickened the pace and we were all out in the main canyon shortly thereafter. We breathed a lot easier… all of us, including the horses.

  Moving off a ways, we stopped and I got down. Reaching into my saddle bag I pulled out the remaining six sticks of dynamite, a cap, and what I hoped was enough fuse. I wrapped the sticks in a bundle with some rawhide, and t
hen I put the cap on the center stick. There was about eight foot of fuse in the coil. I’d only used a fuse once, and I couldn’t remember how fast it burned. A lot would depend on how far I went and how fast I could run.

  “Amigo, I pray you know what you are doing.” Angel told me from a distance.

  “That makes two of us, friend.”

  I took my bundle and walked back into the mouth of the crack. A few seconds to build up my nerve and a couple of deep breaths, and I went in. What I wanted was a nice deep and wide crack. I’d seen a few on the way out, but I couldn’t recall exactly how far in they were. Coming through that crack was enough to make a fella miss some of the details of the trip.

  The first one I found was about fifty yards from the entrance, and that was about as far as I cared to go. I could cover that ground in a hurry if I had to, and I had a feeling that I had to. I was as ready as I would ever be, so I got down on my knees and shoved that bundle in as far as my arm would reach. I strung out the fuse and looked at it. With almost half of it in the crack, it didn’t look near long enough. But it was all I had, and it would have to do.

  Pulling a match from my vest pocket, I got to my feet and took another deep breath. I held the end of the fuse and scratched the match on the rock wall. Holding the end of the fuse in my left hand, I nervously touched the match to it. There were a few sparks and then a lot of sparks. I took off running as fast as I possibly could. It came to my mind as I was running, that I had dropped the match still burning. I hoped it didn’t start a fire… I realized how stupid that was and ran all the faster.

  Tearing around the end of the crack, I stopped and dove for cover. And I heard Cope screaming down in the crack, “Blue! Help me! Get these devils off me!… Blue…” Then I heard two shots and then another shot.

  “Blue!… I’m coming out… get off me … get back or I’ll shoot…. Blue!”

  I was up and running toward the crack. I stopped and looked down into the shadows, and made a move to go after him, when I was blindsided by something that felt like a bull buffalo. Whatever it was took me off my feet and slammed me to the ground well past the far side of the opening. I hit the ground, and the wind came out of me. I couldn’t breathe, but I could hear and feel. I heard the KaaWhuump of the explosion, and I felt the ground jump up under me.

  Stones as big as washtubs came flying out of the crack and over the top. It was raining down dirt, dust and gravel, on everything and everyone. When I could see again and had spit out as much dirt as I had swallowed, I looked around to see what had hit me.

  Angel was sitting up a few yards beyond me spitting dirt and trying to get the dust out of his eyes.

  “Gracias, amigo.” I said, “I can’t imagine what I was thinking.”

  “I believe you were not.” Then he laughed and stood up, trying to beat the dust off himself with his sombrero… a futile effort.

  We stood at the gateway to the crack and looked in as the dirt and dust settled. A few stones still rattled down from higher up. There was no way anyone would ever want to go in there again. A man on foot might be able to make it, but I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to. A horse would never be able to go up that pile of broken rock. Great slabs of granite had fallen from the higher levels and formed a sort of tent at the top. If any of those started to move, there would be no safe ground for anyone trying to climb up.

  “I guess I can certify Cope as officially dead… if there is a reward. If the blast didn’t kill him… they did.”

  “Well, my friend,” I said, “we’ll probably meet the posse in by the end of day… and we can be in Taos in time for the big celebration… maybe even get to hear the sheriff’s speech… if our luck goes sour.”

  He held up a canteen and said, Here’s to a little bad luck.”

  The End.

  About the author

  It might be said that Lou Bradshaw is a late bloomer, but in reality, he has been a story teller his entire life. Lou was making things up from the time he was old enough to put two words together and form a simple sentence. To tell someone of a happening was not just a statement of fact. It became an adventure in embellishment and hyperbole. He just didn’t start writing things down until he was 64 years old.

  According to him, all he ever wanted to be was cowboy, but in the small town where he lived there weren’t any cowboy jobs to be had. And when he married the lovely Avon Thomas, she really didn’t want to live in a bunkhouse. So he turned to his second career choice, that being a commercial illustrator. After years in the graphic arts industry, he worked himself into management positions. Deadlines, employee relations, budgets, and many other problems meant many sleepless nights. He found that creating stories in his head helped him fall asleep. Soon, those stories became so complex and expansive; he had to write them down…. The rest is history.

  When asked why he hadn’t started sooner he replied, “Nobody ever told me I could write… Then I realized that nobody ever told me… I couldn’t.”