Joe pointed—‘See that bunch of trees yonder? They in there. Horses hobbled to the west. You Injun up on ’em from here. I goin’ around south.’
‘What cover is there between me an’ them?’
‘Grass. Jest grass—so keep your fat ass down or they sure will shoot it off.’ He gave one of his rare chuckles and slapped Mart on the arm.
Mart said: ‘this is the most damn-fool thing we ever did, Joe. Do you know that?’
‘Do I know it?’
He went, silently and fast.
Mart bellied down into the grass and started to edge his way forward. He didn’t think this was the smartest thing he had ever done in his life. He couldn’t really believe that two, no longer very young, married, mature men could contemplate bracing five professional hardcases. For that, he was convinced, lay ahead of them.
He had covered no more than a dozen yards when he caught sight of the glimmer of the fire among the trees and he knew that one of the men was throwing on fuel before he started breakfast. The thought of crisp bacon made the saliva run freely.
He stopped crawling and listened.
Listening intently, he thought he must have been mistaken. He could have sworn that he heard a sound behind him. He turned around and stared back at the brush which he had just left. There was enough light for him to see it now.
He told himself that he was a fool and that his nerves were hearing for him. Then he heard the murmur of a voice. Another replied.
They were not voices belonging to his own kind.
The only possibility sent a stream of ice down his spine.
There were Indians back there in the brush.
Questions started to tumble through his mind—Did Joe know they were there? If he didn’t, would he make his attack on the camp and find himself between two fires? Were there other Indians around? Some over by the horses? That was the way he would carry out the raid if he were an Indian—a diversion against the camp while some of the others ran the horses off. As for himself, he could not fail to be discovered as the Indians rode down on the men in the trees.
He was startled by a sudden sound to the west. A horse running. Almost in the same instant, a man shouted among the trees in alarm. Then there were more horses on the move. A shrill cry. Suddenly, the Indians behind him were on the move, crashing through the brush, shouting. He pressed himself into the grass as deeply as he could and prayed they might miss him in the uncertain light.
Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw a horseman emerging from the brush, riding at an angle to him. There was a bright flash of color, the flutter of a feather, the mouth of the man wide with excitement, the rolling eyes of the horse. Another rider followed almost immediately behind this one. Then there were more and Mart pressed himself hard down in the grass.
A gun went off. Whether it was from the Indian or the white side, Mart had no idea. From the west came a stutter of shots. Suddenly all the riders were past him and he was almost sure he had not been seen.
Lifting his head, he saw the riders swooping in toward the trees. Guns seemed to be going off all over. Hastily, he got to his feet and ran back toward the brush. As soon as he reached cover, he turned to survey the scene and saw that, although one Indian had reached the trees, most of them had swept past and turned north. The Indian who had gone into the trees burst out again and followed his companions quirting his horse hard. The firing died down. The hoofbeats faded into distance. Silence settled; smoke drifted slowly.
Mart waited, not caring greatly for what had happened. Now Harvey Dana and his crew were alerted. Nobody could get near that camp without receiving unwelcome lead in his brisket. Maybe the Indians had cleared off and maybe they hadn’t.
Ten minutes passed.
There was a sound to his left. He whirled, rifle ready for a shot. It was Joe.
‘Jesus,’ Mart said, ‘you sure gave me a start.’
Joe nodded—‘Utes an’ loaded for bear, every goddam one of ’em. They ain’t through neither.’
‘Is that a good thing?’
‘Maybe—so long’s they don’t see us’ns.’
‘What happened over yonder?’
‘They run them white boys’ horses off. Harvey Dana ain’t a-goin’ no place. We play our cards right an’ we can brace them fellers without no trouble. Maybe them Utes kill two-three of ’em for us.’
‘Yeah,’ said Mart, ‘an’ maybe they kill us too.’
‘Could be,’ said Joe without emotion.
Mart sweated a little.
‘You sure do encourage a fellow.’ He listened. ‘they’re takin’ their time if they aim to make another try.’
‘They did what they want a-horseback,’ Joe told him. ‘If they aims to lift the white boys’ hair, they come in afoot, quiet-like.’
As if to prove him right, there came a shot and a shout from among the trees. They had a glimpse of a man running through the trees. It looked like a white man to Mart, but he couldn’t be sure.
‘It would be a good idea,’ he suggested gently, ‘to walk back to our horses and quietly get the Hell outa here.’
‘You know better’n that,’ Joe said reprovingly. ‘We come for Dana an’ we ain’t a-goin’ back without him.’
‘You could be talkin’ for yourself,’ Mart told him.
There was a flash of color among the trees. Another shot and another.
A man screamed.
Mart flinched a little at the sound. Joe grinned fleetingly—‘They usin’ arrers.’
Mart said: ‘Joe, if we hold off, them Indians is goin’ to kill all them men. That means we took this ride for nothin’.’
Joe looked at him.
‘You see what your white education did for you. Why this ole nigger didn’t never think of that. Maybe you’re right. Maybe we should ought to take a hand.’
‘Forget it,’ said Mart. ‘Why do I have to open my big mouth?’
‘We work our way north,’ Joe said. ‘they left their horses thataway. We hit their horses an’ they is sure a-goin’ to be diverted.’
‘It could be a good idea,’ Mart offered, ‘not to kill too many Utes. They wouldn’t take kindly to that. Harrison’s talkin’ to ’em right now. Could be he talked some sense into ’em.’
‘Could be they raised his hair.’
Mart had to admit that was true. He found himself following Joe through the brush and the rocks, doing his best to act the part of the stalking brave. He decided that he was not enjoying himself. He was now married to a good wife and he was getting too old for this kind of foolery. In future he would let the young men do the volunteering. He’d broken for the hills after Harvey Dana like a young buck out for glory. He’d had all the glory he needed. All he wanted was a soft bed and a good living.
Joe stopped and pointed. They had climbed a little and they were looking down into a shallow gully in which there stood some dozen horses. Which showed the size of the party they were up against. Mart felt even more discouraged.
Joe said: ‘You cover me good, boy. I’m a-goin’ down there to settle that Injun’s hash.’
‘I don’t see no Indian.’
‘Neither do I, but I’ll bet my bottom dollar they ain’t left them horses without no guard.’
‘You know you’re a damn fool, Widbee?’
Joe nodded—‘Born one.’
He went away doubled up, moving fast and making no more noise than a stalking lion. Mart felt a pang of sympathy for the Ute buck down there.
Time passed. After a while, the horses down there started milling around a little and one of them whickered. Then, suddenly, Joe came into view, waving to Mart, who at once stood up. Joe waved him back into cover again. Mart obeyed and watched the Negro. Joe was acting strangely to say the least. It looked as if he were dividing up the horses into two bunches.
What the Hell? Mart thought.
Suddenly, Joe drew his gun and took off his hat. Mart was even more puzzled. Then Joe was yelling and firing. One bunch of horses took off
up the gully, going north. The other bunch raced out of the gully as if the devil himself was after them.
That beat all, Mart thought. Then light came and he saw what Joe intended. He was robbing the Indians of some of their horses and giving them some. He was cutting down their fighting potential, but leaving them enough horses to escape on.
Mart moved now, darting southward to get a view of what would happen.
As he broke from cover, he saw some six or seven horses racing across a flat of grass, going south. No sooner did he see this, than several Indians broke from the trees and stood watching their horses galloping toward them. In spite of the distance, Mart could hear their shrill cries of alarm. Another Indian broke cover. A couple of them ran forward, trying to catch their mounts. One succeeded and swung aboard.
Joe was firing his rifle now. Showing the Indians that they were now fighting on two fronts and, if they were smart, they would depart from the vicinity in a hurry. Mart followed his example and also started shooting. He could see the panic down there now. He didn’t think he hit anybody and he wasn’t trying very hard, but those Utes weren’t to know that and they got away from their in a hurry, some on foot and some in the saddle. The last Mart saw of them, the mounted men were leaning down to swing those afoot up behind them. That was an arrangement that suited Mart fine. In fact, he felt a good deal better.
He ran down onto the flat and joined Joe.
‘Now can we creep up on them?’ he demanded.
‘No, sir,’ Joe replied. ‘We saved them varmints. We their rescuers. We walk in open-like and they thank us nicely. They sure goin’ to be grateful. Till we point a gun right at ’em.’
Mart looked at him in admiration, even though he felt some trepidation.
‘You just ain’t to be trusted, you treacherous devil you,’ he said.
‘That’s a fac’,’ Joe said with some pride.
They started shouting hello the camp and suchlike phrases that men used when approaching a camp from which they might conceivably receive hostile shots. After a short space, they were hailed back and they thought it safe to approach.
They found the camp deep in the trees.
There were four men there and one was dead with an arrow through his throat and another through his belly. He looked like he’d died badly and that didn’t surprise Mart much.
He knew Harvey Dana right off. Not because he had ever seen him that he knew of, but because he had heard the man described many times. In Mart’s former profession, a man got to hear about his peers.
The three men on their feet had rifles in their hands, which wasn’t quite the way Mart wanted it.
They just stared at him and Joe.
Mart said: ‘sure lucky for you fellers we happened along.’
They all stared some more and Dana said: ‘You can say that again. We’re mighty beholden to you.’
Mart’s eye fell on the coffee pot, still on the fire.
‘That coffee sure smells good.’
‘Help yourself. Bert, go keep an eye out for them Indians.’
Joe palmed his revolver and Mart wasn’t a split second behind him.
‘We’ll hold it right there,’ Mart said.
They froze. They’d seen the way those guns jumped from leather and they were impressed.
‘Drop they rifles,’ Joe said.
The rifles dropped. One of the men looked so disgusted at being suckered in this simple and direct way that he looked like he could puke. Dana stood still and cold. It wasn’t the first time in his life he had found himself in this kind of situation and he didn’t doubt it wouldn’t be the last. He was staring hard at Mart.
‘Don’t I know you?’ he asked.
‘No reason why not,’ Mart said indifferently. ‘It does happen.’
‘You’re Mart Storm.’
‘Bull’s-eye,’ said Mart.
‘You’re not ?’
Mart nodded—‘I’m uncle to the person you ... I guess you should check on folk’s kin before you start foolin’ around, Harve.’
‘You bounty huntin’ too?’
‘I ain’t indifferent to money, that’s a fact.’
One of the men said, nervously: ‘What you aimin’ to do, mister?’
‘You don’t have horses, so you walk the trail back to Three Creeks,’ Mart informed him.
Dana said calmly and reasonably: ‘There’s the Indians. You didn’t choose exactly a good time to jump us. They ain’t through with us yet. They’ll be back.’
Mart said: ‘We’ll take that chance. Unbuckle your gun-belts.’
They unbuckled their gun-belts with the shamed look of men taking their pants down in public. With his belt still in his hands, Dana said: ‘Storm, there’s a gun pointed at you from yonder. You move an’ you get your back broke.’ He spoke tentatively, like a man committing an indiscretion. He was facing two cocked guns, one of which was pointed at his belly and his position was not an enviable one. Mart didn’t move. Dana’s trick could be the oldest one in the world. On the other hand he could be telling the truth and nobody knew it better than Mart.
Joe said: ‘White boy, it don’t matter a damn if they’s ten guns behind us. You’re dead if they fires. You believe that.’
Dana looked a little sick and he licked his lips.
‘Let’s don’t do nothin’ hasty,’ he said. His tone was suddenly conciliatory. ‘It’s the truth. There is a gun behind you.’ He was fully aware of the terrible danger he was in. One wrong move* even one wrong look and a leaden bullet could plow its death-path into his belly. It wasn’t a prospect any man liked. He looked past Mart and said: ‘Cock your gun, Charlie, so the man can hear it.’
Mart and Joe heard a gun come to full cock. It looked like a Mexican stand-off.
Mart said: ‘I’d ruther cash in my chips than let a stinkin’ polecat like you stay alive.’
Chapter Eleven
Mart’s rider Saul Hoddick rode south to inform Manuela, Prescott Harrison’s wife, that Harrison had disappeared into the hills to talk with the Utes. Saul told her what the position was and she sent back urgent word for the women and children to join her at her place so that they would be safe. By this time, Clay Storm had come in with his wife and little son and they all talked it over together. Martha said yes she’d go when the time came, but it hadn’t come to that yet. Will didn’t like that and he said by the time she made up her mind, it could be too late. Just the same she said she’d stay right where she was and Will knew there would be no moving her.
Looking around him, he felt reassured, for he had some pretty doughty fighting men there and if the Utes came across the creek loaded for bear, they’d have a pretty warm reception. He prayed that Prescott would be able to locate some influential chief and talk to him before that same influential chief lifted his hair. Harrison had left the Utes under a cloud as you might say when Jody had fallen foul of them and Harrison had thrown in his lot with him. It was that little adventure that had gotten Harrison his wife, so he didn’t grumble.
Though he reckoned that their position was pretty strong, Will had a number of reasons to be a very worried man. First, the gold-hunters were pouring into the upper end of the valley. He daily sent a rider to inspect them and each day it seemed they came into the valley in increasing numbers. Within a week, it seemed, there were nearly a thousand men not more than a few miles from the house tearing frenziedly at the surface of the earth and panning for gold in the creek. Three or four times Will rode out with several armed men and stopped miners coming south near the house. The only result was that they spread out across the valley and started searching around the easterly creek that ran past Clay’s house. Later, it was reported that they were hunting through the breaks and into the broken country beyond.
His second and most desperate worry was Mart and Joe. They seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. He blamed himself and told himself that he should never have let them go. But he knew that once those two fools had made up their minds nothi
ng on earth beyond a bullet would stop them. And, as the days passed, he began to wonder if that wasn’t what had happened.
Then he woke one morning and found that there were men almost at his door. It was also the morning that Pete Hasso took a turn for the worse. Will began to wonder if the Storm luck hadn’t turned for the worse and would stay turned.
Martha woke him. He had overslept, something he hadn’t done in years and that started him off in an irritable mood. Her news turned the irritability into anger.
‘there’s men,’ she told him, ‘right here, Will. Right on our water.’
He didn’t say a word. He pulled on his pants and boots, stuck a pistol in his belt and stamped into the big room for his rifle. When he went outside, all his own people were there, standing around and looking across at the twin creeks. Meredith Quentin, Saul Hoddick, Gregorio Nunez, Riley Brack, Clay, Jody, George. They all had rifles in their hands. They all looked grim.
As Will looked beyond them, he felt grim.
And amazed. He didn’t see how so many men could have come within rifle-shot of the house without their being heard. There were tents between the creeks and all along the wall of the valley. Smoke rose from their fires. There were men down in the water and there were men sinking mines. It looked like a rabbit-warren.
‘We waited for you, Miz Storm,’ Meredith said.
Clay, the level-headed one, said: ‘Kind of tricky, pa. That’s a heap of men to run off.’
Will was so violently shaken with rage that he scared himself. He knew that if he lost his head now, there could be men killed. And that meant his men, his sons. There wasn’t a man grubbing for gold there who didn’t carry a gun. Maybe they would stick together and maybe they wouldn’t. But it would be a risky business finding out.
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