“What business is that of yours?” McCoy snapped.
“None at all. I was just curious. Just making conver sation.”
McCoy seemed a little mollified. “I reckon it’s simple enough. I never cared for working for wages. My father was a professor and figured I would be, too, but I wasn’t having any of it.”
“A professor, eh?”
McCoy laughed. “Wouldn’t have thought it, would you? That’s how I came by my name. The old man taught history and philosophy, and he named me for some an cient Roman. I was raised on a college campus in Penn sylvania.”
Frank had thought before that McCoy talked as if he had more education than most people out here on the frontier, but he wouldn’t have guessed that the outlaw came from such a background. He had read some of the orations of Cicero himself, although as a rule he pre ferred a mite less weighty fare.
“When I got old enough, my father was determined that I’d go to college and follow in his footsteps,” McCoy went on, “but I convinced him I wanted to get my schooling at Stanford.”
Frank had heard of that university in California. It had been founded by the railroad baron Leland Stanford about a decade earlier and was supposed to be a good college.
McCoy chuckled. “He put me on the train and I headed west, but I got off in Kansas City and never looked back. Made my own way in the world, like I wanted, and drifted farther west. It didn’t take me long to figure out that I had talents of my own that didn’t have anything to do with book learning.”
Like robbery and murder, Frank thought grimly. “That’s my story,” McCoy concluded. “What’s yours, Morton?”
“Just a cowhand who went bad, I reckon you could say,” Frank replied with a shrug.
“Well, you’re a good man with a gun, and you’ve got plenty of sand. Stick with me. We’ll have us a fine time down in Mexico.”
McCoy sounded almost like he meant the offer. Frank didn’t believe it, though. And, of course, he wouldn’t have taken the outlaw up on it, even if McCoy was sincere.
He hoped things were all right back up in Buckskin. During the long, hard weeks that had passed since he left Nevada, he had thought often about old Catamount Jack and Tip Woodford and Diana and all the other citizens of Buckskin. He had come to care about them more than he ever thought he would.
At the same time, he had to admit that in a way it felt mighty good to be out here on the trail again, even riding on the edge of danger as he was. Sometimes, a good horse and open sky and a hill to beckon him on with its unknown other side were all a man really needed. An hombre who had spent years on the drift might fmally stop somewhere, but could he ever truly settle down? Or would he always feel that restlessness, deep down in his soul?
He’d have to ponder on that later, Frank told himself. After the stolen money had been recovered and Cicero McCoy had been brought back to face justice once again. Once the job was done …
Assuming he lived through it.
Most of the light had faded from the sky when McCoy fmally said, “There it is. There’s the entrance to Ambush Valley.”
To Frank it just looked like a couple of rocky ridges thrusting themselves out into the desert, with a dark mouth in between them. McCoy rode straight toward it, pushing his horse into a trot again. Frank followed.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” McCoy warned. “We could be riding into a trap.”
That was unlikely, but Frank was alert anyway. He hadn’t forgotten about those Apache renegades. As long as any of them were still alive and on this side of the border, they represented a threat.
“I’ve heard that the place is mighty rugged and easy to get lost in. How are we going to find our way around in the dark?”
“We’re not,” McCoy replied. “We’ll just go a little ways in and then make camp for the night. We won’t try to find the loot until morning.”
“You can find it, can’t you?” Frank figured a man in the role he was playing would be worried about such a thing.
“Don’t worry about that,” McCoy snapped. “I can find it. Just keep your eyes and ears open for trouble.”
A feeling of foreboding came over Frank as they en tered the gloomy canyon. From what he could see of it in the fading light, it looked like the sort of place that would be haunted by doomed souls, and he remembered those cavalrymen who had been wiped out here by the Apache ambush ten years earlier. Although he wasn’t by nature a superstitious man, a shiver ran through him as he thought about that.
That feeling wasn’t helped by the eerie wail of the wind around towering rock formations deeper in the valley. Frank had heard such sounds before and recognized them for what they were, but still, a part of him wondered if they might be the cries of those doomed souls he’d been thinking about. Logically, he knew better … but logic didn’t always come into play at a time like this.
The canyonlike mouth of the valley widened out into the valley itself. Frank couldn’t see much. Some of those rock spires loomed against the night sky, blotting out the stars in places. When he and McCoy had penetrated half a mile or so into the valley, the bank robber drew rein and said, “This is far enough. We’ll wait here for morn ing. Any farther and I run the risk of getting turned around in the dark.”
“I don’t reckon we want that,” Frank said as he stretched in the saddle to ease weary muscles.
“No, we sure as hell don’t. Get lost in here and you might never find your way out. It’s a hellhole, that’s for sure.”
The men unsaddled their horses. There was no graze here, nothing to eat for man or beast. Frank’s belly growled from hunger. He sipped a little water from one of the canteens and told himself to ignore the pangs. Then he took a picket stake from his saddlebags, drove it into a crack in the rocks, and tied his horse’s reins to it to keep the animal from wandering off in search of grass. McCoy did likewise. Everybody would just have to go hungry tonight. They could put up with that, in ex change for the payoff that was waiting when the sun came up and McCoy located the stolen bank money.
They took turns standing guard again. “Indians some times avoid places that they think might be haunted, but the Apaches aren’t bothered by Ambush Valley,” said McCoy. “At least that’s what Cortez told me. They’re the ones who wiped out the soldiers who were lured in here. Anyway, they don’t really think that white men have spirits that can be left behind to wander the earth after they’re dead. Only their own people do.”
Frank knew that McCoy was right about that. Those renegades wouldn’t think twice about venturing in here, unless they were worried about getting lost. That meant a cold camp again-but he and McCoy didn’t have any food to cook, anyway. A fire would have been nice for warding off the chill, but they could get along just fine without one.
McCoy took the first watch. Frank dozed off without worrying too much about what the outlaw might do. If McCoy wanted to murder him in his sleep, there had been plenty of chances before now to do just that. McCoy still wanted him around, just in case, until he ac tually had his hands on that loot again.
But after that … all bets were off.
“Are we goin’ in there?” Ben Coleman asked ner vously as he stared at the mouth of Ambush Valley. Full night had fallen, but the dark gap that marked the west ern end of the valley was still visible in the starlight.
Abner Hoyt shook his head and said, “No, I don’t reckon there’s any need to. Bob and Joaquin saw Morgan and McCoy ride in there at dusk, and they didn’t come out. We know the loot is in there somewhere. So we’ll just wait right here for them to come out with it.”
“Then we grab it, eh?” Deke Mantee asked with a grim chuckle.
“That’s right. We grab McCoy, too, so he can go back to Yuma Prison where he belongs.”
Mantee looked over in the darkness at the Coleman brothers, who looked back at him. Even though the men couldn’t see each other’s faces very well, each of them knew what the others were thinking. They had talked about it enough whenever they could catch a mo
ment out of earshot of the others. There was a nine-thousand dollar reward riding on this job.
But there were eighty thousand dollars in bank notes and gold double eagles hidden somewhere in that valley. Nine grand versus eighty …
It wasn’t a very difficult choice, at least not for some men.
“You reckon those Apaches are still around some where?” Bardwell asked.
Earlier in the day, they had heard the shots in the dis tance and closed in to see what was going on. It wouldn’t do any good for them to hang back if McCoy got himself killed before he could recover the money. Until that loot was found, McCoy’s life was the most important of all.
The bounty hunters had arrived on the scene in time to see Frank Morgan and McCoy make their daring escape as the Indians tried to surround them. They had followed as the Apaches gave chase to the two fugitives, still ready to step in if their help was needed.
But Morgan and McCoy outran the war party, and the Apaches veered off to the west after giving rip the pur suit. The bounty hunters watched them disappear into the distance, and Hoyt hoped they kept going until they were back over the border in Mexico. The bloodthirsty rene gades were an unneeded, unwanted complication.
“I think those Apaches took off for the tall and uncut,” Hoyt said in answer to Bardwell’s question. “There were only ten or twelve of them left. We can handle a bunch that size if we have to.”
Leaf said, “If need be, I can probably pick most of them offbefore they ever come in range of those rifles they’ve captured in their raids over the years.”
Hoyt nodded. “Kill ‘em before they kill you,” he said. “Words to live by.
The night passed quietly, except for the eldritch howl ing of the wind among the rocks. By dawn, the air was so cold that Frank’s breath fogged in front of his face as he moved around the makeshift camp. He was tired. With no blankets and only his saddle for a pillow, his sleep had been restless. Today might see the end of this quest, and he was looking forward to that.
The chill in the air vanished almost as soon as the sun crept above the horizon. Heat began to build immedi ately. Frank knew that by the middle of the afternoon, Ambush Valley would be like a frying pan. He hoped that he and McCoy would be out of there by then.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do once we’ve got our hands on the loot?” McCoy asked as he saddled his weary-looking horse. The animals seemed to be as tired and worn out from the long, dangerous ride as the humans were. “Coming to Mexico with me?”
“I sure might,” Frank said, hedging a little.
“That would be best. That way we wouldn’t have to divvy up the money right now. We could make the split after we’re safely across the border.”
“Yeah,” Frank said. “That makes sense.”
He wondered-was McCoy really playing square with him? Was it possible that the bank robber didn’t plan to double-cross him? Frank felt certain that McCoy had be trayed the men who’d been riding with him when he held up the bank in Tucson. But maybe a bond of sorts had formed between him and Frank because of the dangers they had faced together, the times they had fought side by side. Such things happened sometimes. Frank didn’t believe that McCoy had an ounce of true human compas sion in him. The man was a brutal, cold-blooded killer who cared more about money than anything else.
But he was tough as hell and didn’t have any back up in him, either, and while Frank could never respect McCoy as a man, he acknowledged the outlaw’s ability as a fighter.
That wouldn’t stop him from taking McCoy back to prison, once they had recovered the bank money. McCoy needed to be locked up where he could never hurt anyone else.
Once the horses were saddled, they let the animals drink a little and then mounted up. Frank’s empty stom ach let out a rumble, causing McCoy to grin over at him. “We’ll be stuffing our bellies with enchiladas before the sun goes down tonight, compadre.”
With McCoy leading the way, they pushed on deeper into Ambush Valley. The place lived up to everything Frank had heard about it. Stark, desolate, and unforgiv ing, it was an alien landscape, so harsh that it didn’t look like it even belonged on earth. During his travels, Frank had seen places just as bad, but thankfully they were few and far between.
He had a frontiersman’s instinct for direction and knowing where he was, and he tried to keep track of the twists and turns in the trail that McCoy followed. But even so, after a while, Frank had to admit that he would be hard put to find his way out of here. He was confident that he could sooner or later … but in this hellish waste land with no food or water, later might be too late.
By midmorning, McCoy wore a frown on his raw boned face. “Something wrong?” Frank asked.
“I haven’t found the landmarks I’ve been looking for,” McCoy replied in a worried tone. “It hasn’t even been two months since I was here. The landscape shouldn’t have changed in that amount of time.”
“Maybe you’ve just forgotten,” Frank said.
“Forget how to find eighty grand? Not hardly!” A stubborn tone came into McCoy’s voice. “I know where I’m going.”
Frank bit back the ironic laugh that tried to come from his throat. What if McCoy couldn’t find the money? Then all the time, all the dangers Frank had faced, would have been for nothing. The loot would go unrecovered. If that was how things turned out, all Frank could do would be to take McCoy back to prison. Conrad would just have to be satisfied with that.
However, a few minutes later, McCoy let out a tri umphant laugh. “There,” he said, pointing. “We follow that ravine.”
So far they had avoided the razor-edged slashes in the earth, but now McCoy sent his horse half-sliding down a slope into one of the forbidding passages. Frank fol lowed. The walls of the narrow cut pressed closely on both sides of the riders. In places they had to proceed single file.
After a while, the ravine became wider as it snaked along through the valley. The two men followed it for a good long while, although it was impossible to say how much ground they were actually covering since the ravine turned back on itself so sharply. Eventually, though, McCoy held up a hand to signal a halt and grinned as he said, “Listen.”
Frank listened. A frown appeared on his face. “Is that water I hear?” he asked.
“Yeah, and that means we’re close. Come on.”
McCoy got his horse moving again. Frank was close behind him as they rounded yet another bend and found themselves entering a clearing of sorts where the ravine widened out to an area about forty feet across. The trickle of water Frank had heard came from the rocky face and dripped down to keep a small pool filled. The thirsty sand of the ravine floor soaked up some of the liquid, but the spring was strong enough to keep the pool from drying up. With its scrubby trees and sparse grass, the area was a veritable oasis in this arid wasteland known as Ambush Valley.
McCoy let out a whoop. He and Frank both had to hold their horses back to keep the animals from lunging at the water and the grass. Frank knew from the look of jubilation on McCoy’s rugged face that the bank robber was excited about more than finding the spring.
This had to be where the loot was hidden as well.
He was more convinced of that than ever when he saw the corpses of two men lying on the ground, well away from the pool. Insects had been at them. Bone gleamed white in the sun. The clothes they wore were faded and hung loosely on bodies that had dried out and shrunk as the days passed.
“Who are those hombres?” Frank asked. His face was taut and grim as he looked at the dead men.
“Names were Cortez and Beck,” McCoy replied. “They rode with me for a while. They were both wounded when that posse was chasing us, and they made it this far before they cashed in their chips.”
Frank didn’t really believe what McCoy was saying. His doubts grew even stronger when he noticed the ugly hole in the back of one man’s skull. Anyone shot like that would die immediately. He wouldn’t have been able to ride all the way in here before succumbing t
o such an injury.
But that was exactly the sort of wound a man would have who’d been taken by surprise and gunned down from behind by someone he considered a partner.
Frank looked away from the dried-out bodies and mut tered, “Damn shame. I’m sure they were good men.”
“Yeah, they were,” McCoy said, “but they’re dead and gone now, so there’s no point in worrying about them. What say we let these horses drink a little before they go loco?”
They watered the horses and then let them loose to graze on the grass. The horses wouldn’t wander off. not with something to eat here. Frank and McCoy drank some of the cool, clear spring water, too, and then hun kered on their heels next to the pool.
“So,” Frank said, “where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
Frank laughed, and after a second McCoy joined in the laughter.
“Yeah, I guess that was sort of dumb, wasn’t it?” the bank robb.er said. “What else would you be talking about but the thing we came all this way to find?” He nodded toward several large rocks on the far side of the pool. “All we have to do is move one of those boulders.”
“The money’s underneath it,” Frank guessed.
“That’s right.” McCoy straightened and came to his feet. “Give me a hand. I’m eager to see what eighty thou sand dollars looks like again.”
“I never even saw a tenth that much loot” Frank said, which wasn’t strictly true. Eighty grand was a lot of money, to be sure, but he had much more than that in his accounts in Denver and San Francisco. He’d never felt any desire to go and look at it, though. To his way of thinking, money was only as good as what you spent it for.
The two men went around the pool. McCoy pointed out which rock needed to be moved, and they bent to put their shoulders against it. With grunts of effort, they started it rolling. When the boulder was clear, McCoy dropped to his knees and began using his hands to dig in the slight depression that the rock left behind where it had been resting. Frank joined him, and sand began to fly as they scooped it out and a hole started to form..
Ambush Valley Page 20
