by J. T. Edson
After the dreary, restless hours of darkness dragged away, Winnie rose cold and stiff in the light of the early morning. In one respect she could thank the Kaddo; their roaming bands scared off most of the larger wild life, including bears, cougar or wolves, all of which possessed a taste for horseflesh. Saddling the dun took time and she did not dare ride at any speed. Nor could she if she hoped to following the windings of the small stream. She decided against leaving the water for fear of again losing her direction.
Noon came and went without a sight of the river. Just as despair began to fill the girl, she saw water glinting through the trees ahead. More water than ran in the little stream. Feeling almost like crying with relief, she came on to the bank of the Pedernales River. Once again she decided to ride by the water, taking her chance on running into more Indians rather than risk losing her way.
Holding her horse to a steady trot, which slowed to a walk as the sun rose towards its noon height, Winnie followed the flow of the river. She saw no sign of human beings of any kind and slowly started to lose her fear. An animal track led through sassafras bushes and she rode along it with more confidence than she had felt since beginning her flight at Pegler’s trading post.
Suddenly a man lunged up from among the bushes, catching hold of the dun’s reigns and bringing it to a halt. Even as Winnie opened her mouth to scream, she realized that he was no Indian. Tall, well-built, young looking despite a beard, clad in range clothes and belting two Army Colts, she recognized him as one of Wycliffe’s men. More than that, he had been the one Churn Wycliffe treated as an equal—and accompanied Billy when the party split up.
‘Just look who’s here, will you,’ said Billy’s voice from the other side of the trail. ‘It looks like she done snuck off from Loney, and with my hoss.’
‘There’s more to it than that, from the look of her,’ replied the bearded man as his companions came into sight. ‘Where’s Loney and the boys, gal?’
‘Got killed by the Injuns,’ Winnie answered.
‘How’d you get away?’ Billy demanded, slouching up with a stocky hard-case on his heels.
‘Mark Counter and an Indian called Tejas saved me.’
‘Where’re they now?’ the bearded man, Augie by name, snapped.
‘At Pegler’s trading post. There were more Injuns there,’ Winnie replied.
‘Any of our boys there?’ Augie wanted to know, although the other two showed more interest in the girl’s back trail than for their companions’ welfare.
‘Th—Three of them,’ the girl told him.
‘Uncle Churn?’
‘Not that I know of. It was the other one—’
‘Cousin Evan,’ Billy growled. ‘They get him?’
‘They got all of them, Mark, the Indian—I got to my hoss and ran.’
‘When was this, gal?’ Augie inquired gently.
‘Yesterday. I’ve been riding and hiding ever since.’
‘See any Injuns?’
‘Only one bunch. They went riding towards the trading post.’
‘That bunch we saw were headed up-river,’ commented the hard case.
‘Sure did, Rags,’ Augie agreed. ‘Took with the smoke we saw going up, it could be their chiefs’re calling them in to the camp.’
‘What’re we going to do?’ Rags inquired and it was significant that he turned to Augie for advice.
‘Go to the trading post and see if Churn’s made it there,’ Augie answered.
‘I say we head back down the river,’ Billy put in.
‘How about Churn and the other boys?’ Augie growled. ‘The gal said they’re all cashed—’
‘Only Loney and Evan’s bunches,’ Augie pointed out. ‘If Churn’s alive, he’s likely headed for the post. Six guns stand a better chance than three.’
‘I’ve thought all along this was a damned fool game!’ Billy spat out. ‘Now I say we get the hell back towards Lake Travis and head for home.’
‘Nobody’s stopping you going, Billy boy,’ Augie replied. ‘Just turn your hoss and ride.’
‘How about you, Rags?’ Billy asked.
‘I’m with Augie.’
‘It’s your scalp. Me ’n’ the gal—’
The gal stays with us,’ interrupted Augie. ‘You do what you want.’
Only for a moment did anger show on Billy’s face. Then he made an effort and regained control of himself. Although his uncle gave him nominal command of the trio, Augie had taken over as their leader almost from leaving the rest of the band. Nor had Billy objected for the bearded man’s guidance had kept them safe despite the fact that they saw plenty of Indian sign. Billy figured himself to be good with a gun, but knew Augie to be better. So he accepted the other’s quiet-spoken order with as good grace as he could manage.
‘All right, already,’ he said. ‘I’ll go along with you.’
‘Take the point, Rags,’ Augie ordered. ‘Ride careful and if you see anything at all get back here pronto.’
‘Sure, Augie,’ Rags replied and disappeared into the bushes.
‘You ride ahead of me and the girl, Billy,’ the bearded man went on.
‘Yeah!’ grunted the young man.
Collecting their horses, the three men started to put Augie’s orders into operation. Tired, frightened, hungry, Winnie kept her horse at the bearded man’s side and prayed that they might meet up with Churn Wycliffe’s party before reaching the trading post.
‘Rags’ coming!’ Billy hissed, twisting around in his saddle.
Galloping up, Rags slid his horse to a halt before reaching the others. He signaled and Augie told the girl to dismount. Then he left Billy to watch her and joined the other man. Whatever news Rags brought, he clearly did not want the girl to hear it. Dropping his voice to a whisper, he passed on his information to Augie.
‘Are you sure?’ the bearded man snapped.
‘I didn’t stick around long, but I’m sure enough.’
‘What’s up?’ Billy called worriedly.
‘Get your rifle and bring mine,’ Augie answered. ‘Rags, stick by the gal and keep her quiet.’
Fourteen – A Primitive Piece of Mining Equipment
After the exertion of making the tremendous throw with the log, Mark had stayed on the ground. He wanted a few seconds to recover from his great effort, knowing the need to be fully alert before tangling in a gunfight. Hearing the shooting, he thrust himself erect in time to see Shever killed and his horse go racing off out of the valley. Even as the situation sank home and he started forward, sounds behind him gave a grim warning. Before he could turn to investigate, something hissed through the air. The loop of a hair rope dropped over his head, tightened about his upper arms, then jerked him backwards.
With an effort Mark caught his balance and twisted around, his arms forcing against the constriction of the rope. Several Kaddo bucks rushed at him and, to his surprise, they came without weapons in their hands. A brawny buck gripped the rope which trapped Mark’s arms, leaning back in his attempt to maintain the loop’s grip. Mark threw his weight backwards, jerking the rope-wielder towards him. In the background stood a warbonnet chief with a Winchester rifle cradled across his arm. He yelled something to the braves, but made no attempt to use the weapon.
Having gained some slack on the loop, Mark stabbed his hands towards the Colt’s butts. Deftly the brave holding the rope halted his forward progress, flexing and snapping back with his arms. Just as Mark’s hands closed on the ivory handles, the rope’s loop tightened. While loose it slipped lower and gripped just below the elbows, effectively preventing him from drawing the Colts. Showing a skill equal to any cowhand, the Kaddo flicked the rope to send a coil snaking along it. Although Mark knew what the brave intended, he could not counter the move. Twirling over his head, the coil tightened about his upper arms and added to the grip of the loop.
Screeching in triumph, the rest of the braves descended on Mark. They flung themselves at the blond giant and bore him to the ground. Hands closed upon his bo
dy, others wrenched the Colts from their holsters. Knowing the penalty for being taken alive by hostile Indians, Mark put up a tremendous struggle. Two braves went flying, thrown through the air by his powerful legs, but not even the big Texan’s strength could prevail against such odds. With his arms free he might have done more, but the two turns of rope held fast. At last sheer weight of numbers wore him down. The Kaddo worked fast, securing his ankles and wrists with knots that would not slip.
Bound and helpless, Mark watched the Kaddo chief walk in his direction. The braves drew back and their leader gave orders to them. Some of the party turned and faded off into the woods from which they had stalked to capture him.
‘Will you ride, big one, or be thrown across the back of a horse?’ asked the chief in Spanish.
‘I’ll ride,’ Mark answered.
Sat astride a horse there might be a slight chance of escape. Certainly riding offered a greater opportunity than being taken along slung bodily over a saddle. Mark wondered a little at the cause of the offer, also why the Indians went to the trouble of taking him alive. He could guess what happened. Most probably the Kaddo left scouts to watch the cabin, with the main body waiting close by ready to strike at the most favorable moment. Seeing Mark’s arrival, the scouts alerted their chief and he gave orders which sent braves moving in silence to grab any advantage offered to them.
After checking on the ropes holding his arms, the braves freed Mark’s ankles and helped him to his feet. Turning, he looked across the valley to learn what had happened to his friends. Already scalping knives had done their work and loot from the bodies had been gathered. A brave, carrying Tejas’ Spencer and the Cooper-loaded gunbelt, came up the slope and approached the chief. Although unable to follow the conversation, Mark guessed from various gestures at its meaning. He decided that the brave mentioned Winnie and asked what they should do about her. Looking at the top of the other slope, Mark saw two braves appear leading Tejas’ horse. From all signs the girl must have fled and the brave wanted to know whether they should take out after her. With something like relief Mark watched the chief shake his head, rattle out a few words and point to the west.
‘Your woman has run away, big one,’ the chief told Mark.
‘Are you fixing to follow her?’ asked Mark.
‘No. By the time my men bring horses she will be far away. There are more of our warriors down the river. If they do not find her, she will die in the woods.’
‘And what of me?’
‘You are coming to our place of medicine.’
Which left a whole heap unexplained and gave Mark food for conjecture. He could guess at the reason for taking him with them now they had him prisoner, but still felt puzzled at their actions. Like all Indians, the Kaddo tortured prisoners but Mark had never heard of them going out of their way to capture men to do it. Just about the only consolation left was that Winnie appeared to have made good her escape. Given just one mite of luck the girl ought to reach the Pedernales River and follow it down to safety.
A faint grin creased Mark’s face as he saw the mount selected to carry him. Although it carried a saddle, the boney scrub possessed none of the qualities he normally expected in a riding horse. With that sorry bang-tail between his knees he could not hope to out-ride his captors; which, as he well knew, was why they put him on it. Being a smart fighting man, Mark understood when he must sit back and do nothing. As long as life remained, there was hope. He did not doubt that the Kaddos would kill him if he made trouble for them.
Pushing their horses hard, the Indians led Mark to the west. They passed through wooded land and along rocky valleys, winding their way along with complete assurance through what seemed almost like a maze to their prisoner. At last they turned into the mouth of a canyon. Passing around a corner Mark found they had arrived at their destination.
Tepees scattered in an untidy circle across the floor of the canyon, which appeared to be blind, having its further end closed by a rock wall. Although a few young women appeared from the tepees, Mark saw most of the camp’s occupants were men of warrior age.
‘Get down,’ ordered the chief, halting the party before one of the largest tepees and looking at Mark.
A man stepped from inside the tepee. Although he wore the dress of a Kaddo chief, he had a white man’s face, especially about the cheeks and lips. While the chief spoke in rapid Kaddo, Mark studied the white man and a suspicion arose. Mark could guess that he was the subject of the conversation for both chief and white man directed long glances in his direction. It seemed that the chief told of how Mark threw the log on to the cabin, for he went through the motions of bending, raising and heaving something heavy and used his hands to indicate the bulk of the object.
‘Bear Killer here tells me you’re a real mighty man, feller,’ the white man finally remarked, turning to Mark.
‘You could say that, Mr. Pegler,’ the blond giant answered, putting his theory to the test.
Surprise etched itself on the man’s face and Mark knew that his guess at the other’s identity proved correct.
‘You’re smarter than the other one,’ Pegler growled. ‘Him and me’ve played poker in the same game a couple of times and he didn’t recognize me. Only I don’t even remember ever meeting you afore.’
‘You never did,’ Mark admitted. ‘I heard you wore a bushy beard. Your face hasn’t tanned since you shaved it off.’
‘Smart thinking. Is that why Churn Wycliffe brought you along?’
‘Nope.’
‘You're working with ole Churn to find my silver mine though, aren’t you?’
‘Nope,’ repeated Mark. ‘I came after him and his bunch.’
‘Now why’d anybody want to come after a mean bunch like them?’ Pegler asked, for the word ‘after’ used in such a manner meant only one thing, hunting down the other party for some serious purpose. ‘Light down from that saddle and rest your butt end. I’d say you’re used to something better in hoss-flesh than that crow-bait they gave you.’
‘You never said a truer word,’ Mark replied sincerely, tossing his right leg across the saddle and dropping to the ground. ‘I wouldn’t wish even a Kansas fighting-pimp x to have to ride that horse.’
‘You fixing to tell me what brought you after the Wycliffes?’ Pegler asked.
‘Billy killed an old pard of mine and I figured on asking why. Only I didn’t count on running into Indian fuss like this.’
‘Just one man and you figured to take on the Wycliffe bunch?’
‘There were two of us, your bucks killed the other at the trading post.’
Before any more could be said, the chief spoke and pointed along the canyon. Following the other men’s gaze, Mark saw a strange sight. A wide ledge around eight feet high ran the length of the end wall, with a set of steps carved up from the ground at one end. Roughly in the center of the ledge a slot maybe four feet wide and three deep had been cut—it formed too perfect a rectangle to be entirely natural—into the rock. Above the slot stood what looked like an exceptionally strong and powerful windlass for a well, with handles on either end of the spindle. The rope around the spindle was of greater strength than ever seen on a well; and needed to be, for its end appeared to be connected to the top of a block of rock which stood on the ledge and had been shaped to pass up and down the slot.
‘You find it interesting?’ Pegler asked.
‘I might if I knew what the hell it was,’ Mark replied.
‘It’s a primitive piece of mining equipment. I’d bet you’ve never seen its like before.’
‘You’d win.’
‘Few people would know its purpose,’ Pegler grinned and his voice took on the tone of an educated man. ‘In fact it wasn’t until I saw the raw silver Bear Killer brought in to trade that I realized what it was.’
‘Feel like telling me?’ Mark asked.
‘It’s a press for crushing the ore-bearing rock. I rigged it up again in the hope of … Say, you know me, but I don’t know you.’
/> ‘Matt—Smith,’ Mark answered.
‘Is that your summer name?’
‘It does well enough any time.’
‘Come on into my tepee, you look like you could take a meal.’
‘Won’t the Injuns object?’ Mark asked.
‘Not as long as you don’t try any fool stunts,’ Pegler replied and spoke to the chief. At first Bear Killer seemed inclined to object, but finally grunted and walked away. Pegler grinned at Mark, ‘Go on inside.’
‘How about cutting me free?’
‘Sure. Only don’t try anything stupid like making a run for it. I’ve got an offer for you if you’re interested.’
‘I’m interested in anything that’ll keep me alive,’ Mark admitted frankly.
‘Play along with me and you’ll not only be kept alive, I’ll make you rich too,’ Pegler promised, taking the knife from his belt sheath and cutting the ropes which bound the blond giant’s arms.
Mark looked at Pegler with interest as the ropes fell away. Clearly the man had some hold over the Indians, for none raised any objections to his actions. Further proof came with the arrival of bowls of hot, nourishing stew. While Mark ate, Pegler left the tepee to return carrying the blond giant’s gunbelt with its Colts in the holsters. However, Pegler placed them at the far side of the tepee.
‘They’ve no caps on and the loads’ve been drawn,’ the trader warned. ‘Later I’ll see you’re given powder and shot.’
‘How’re you going to make me rich?’ Mark asked. ‘And why?’
‘Why’s easy. I’m going to need a good man backing me in the future.’
‘And I’m a good man?’
