by Tim Champlin
By mid-morning they had found the abandoned cabin. It was backed against a steep hillside and faced a gently sloping, short-grass meadow that ended at the creek, two hundred yards away. The long-gone mountain men had chosen well for a place to build. The back of the one-room log structure was protected from the northwest by the hillside. It was situated near grass and water and protected on three sides by large cottonwood trees. In fact, if Gorraiz had not directed them, Jay could very well have missed the cabin, so well was it hidden in the trees and brush that had grown up around it.
Gorraiz was still feeling the effects of his concussion, so Jay helped him off the mule and into the cabin. The remainder of the flock spread out and went to grazing peacefully on the grassy meadow as Chuck circled to keep them contained in the immediate area.
The door of the cabin was missing, but someone had hung a piece of canvas from the top of the doorframe to cover the opening. Inside, Gorraiz walked slowly to one of two bunks, saw that there was no mattress and said, “I think I would rather lie down on the grass outside in the shade.”
Jay dutifully helped him back outside and found a shady spot to spread the herder’s blanket, and Gorraiz eased himself down onto it with a soft groan. “I think I’ll just rest a little while,” he murmured with closed eyes.
Fletcher Hall walked up, leading the mule with the pack still on its back. “What’s the plan?” he demanded in his usual abrupt manner.
“We can rest here. The sheep will be all right. Chuck will keep them close,” Gorraiz muttered almost unintelligibly as he faded into sleep.
Jay and Fletcher Hall looked at one another and Jay motioned for him to move back toward the cabin, away from the sleeping man. They went through the hanging flap of canvas into the low room.
“He needs rest,” Jay said. “And this is probably the best place around here for him to get it. He seems to have all his wits about him, so I guess there was no serious damage. It’ll probably take a few days for that head to heal up. He’s pretty tough. He’ll be as good as new.”
Hall shifted his weight from one foot to the other and leaned heavily against the post of the bunk beds. “And just what do we do in the mean time? Stay here with him? Go for help? Maybe fortify this cabin against another attack? What if those men who attacked the train come this way again?”
“You’re asking all the questions,” Jay retorted. “Why don’t you try supplying some answers? Do you expect me to make all the decisions?”
“This is your play. You didn’t hesitate to make the decisions back at the train—decisions that got my balloon wrecked and got us in this mess.”
Oddly enough, this reply did not even irritate Jay. He hardly heard it; he was thinking about what they should do.
The injured man could not be left alone for at least a day or so until he could take care of himself. Even then, Gorraiz would be in danger from any night riders who wanted to gun down his sheep, or him. One man would be helpless against several mounted gunmen. If the Basque’s cousin was expected to meet him here in a few days and bring some supplies, perhaps the two of them could defend themselves and the sheep, or move out of the area. He silently ground his teeth in frustration as he pulled over a homemade wooden chair and sat down.
Gorraiz had not been in any hurry to get out of the area of the Jacob Wright ranch. It was as if he had a fatalistic attitude about it. He certainly couldn’t be thinking of challenging the power of the big rancher who apparently claimed these foothills and grazing lands for miles around. Whatever range Wright ran his cattle on was appropriated by prior right of occupation, and woe to the man who said otherwise. As long as Gorraiz was in the mountains on summer range, there was no contact and no problems, since the cattlemen had no reason to covet the high mountain valleys and meadows. But now that the sheepherder was coming down to winter pasture, the trouble had started.
Jay shook his head and looked up. Hall was sitting glumly on the edge of the lower bunk, smoking his pipe and staring at nothing. Jay’s eyes fell on the two sandbags he had draped over his knee when he sat down. He had been so busy worrying about Gorraiz and his sheep and the raiding cattlemen, he had almost forgotten about the Wells Fargo treasure that he somehow had to protect and get back safely. He wondered if the train robbers had given up the search for them yet. It was very likely they had found the downed balloon tangled in the big pine trees, but only an expert tracker could have followed their trail over the carpet of soft pine needles and the rocks and brushy meadows where they had gone from there. One thing was sure—he and Hall had to stay near cover as they worked their way back toward the railroad or Rawlings. If they were caught out on foot in the open, it was all over. Maybe they could travel at night over the plateau and sleep under the thick sage during the day until they reached a town on the railroad. But that was a very chancy thing. What were the alternatives? Staying here until they were found by a posse, or someone a little less friendly? Wait for the herder’s cousin to show up with a wagon as Gorraiz had suggested? That might be another week or more, if at all.
He took a closer look at the interior of the cabin. Someone had made this place fit to live in, and it had been done in the recent past. Some of the rotten shelving had been replaced with new wood. The chair he was sitting in had been repaired with a brace made from a fresh sapling. Canned food was on the shelves—tomatoes, beans, and pickled beef. And the tin containers were only barely speckled with rust. They had not been there long. The canvas that hung in the door frame was even fairly new. Unless Gorraiz or some other herder had done this, it had to have been done by some of the hands from one of the ranches in the area, very likely someone from the Wright ranch, since they were probably no more than a dozen miles from the ranchhouse, as Gorraiz had described it. If the ranchhands used this place for shelter or sleeping, Gorraiz appeared to be bearding the lion in his den by stopping here also. It was almost as if he wanted to provoke a confrontation. Even though the stocky Basque was a quiet man who enjoyed reading and meditating on the beauties of nature, Jay had the feeling that he was not one to let someone push him around, if he felt he was in the right. This whole question of who had the right to the public lands would have to be settled sooner or later, and it was clashes between men like Gorraiz and Wright that would probably force the issue and eventually decide it.
Jay got up and walked over to the crude rock fireplace at the end of the room. No attempt had been made to repair its crumbling mortar, but fluffy ashes remained in it. No rain down the chimney had yet compacted them. Some remains of burnt cigarette papers littered the puncheon floor. He turned away with the uneasy feeling that he wanted to get out of here.
“I think we should leave tonight,” he said to Hall.
“And go where?”
“North. Toward the railroad. We’ll take one of the canteens. It may take us two or three nights, but we’ll hit the railroad and then follow it east toward Rawlings.”
To Jay’s surprise, Hall got up, sucking at his pipe that had gone cold and said, “I’m ready. I can’t wait to be gone from here.” He knocked the dottle from his pipe bowl against the post of the bunks. “But what about Gorraiz? Even if his head’s okay, are we going to leave him here without a weapon? The rifle was stolen, remember?”
Jay realized that Vincent Gorraiz planned to move his flock farther, but there was probably no way he could move far enough or fast enough to avoid the wide-ranging riders from Wright’s ranch, or whatever rancher had sent the night riders. They might even have been in the employ of the Cattlemen’s Association, in which case no place in the Wyoming Territory would be a safe haven. Maybe Gorraiz knew this and that was why he was in no hurry. He was planning to stop right here, let his sheep crop the grass short and wait for his cousin to show up with his winter supplies. They couldn’t leave the man alone and unarmed, with only a sheep dog for protection. For all the night riders knew, it was Gorraiz who had shot one of them from the dark last night. If they came back at all, it would be with blood in thei
r eyes. Next time it wouldn’t be just the sheep. Reluctantly, Jay had to concede that he and Hall would have to stay and give the man whatever protection they could and hope a posse from Rawlings or somewhere found them before anyone else did.
“Well?” Hall asked, as the silence stretched out between them.
“You’re right,” Jay finally said, nodding. “We can’t leave him. We’ll have to stay for now. Let’s give it a day or two, and see what happens. Then, if we decide to go, we’ll leave him one of our pistols and some ammunition. If he insists on staying here, there’s not much we can do. We can’t guard him from now on. Even if they attack again while we’re here, I doubt if we can hold them off with two pistols among us.”
“It’s decided then,” Hall agreed.
A loud, metallic ratcheting sound broke the stillness and Jay whirled toward the door, his hand halfway to his gun. A cocked Winchester was pointed at him around the edge of the door flap.
“The only thing’s decided is that you two are coming with us,” Bowlegs said, stepping into the room, holding the rifle.
Chapter Eighteen
Jay’s heart sank as he caught movement out of the corner of his eye at the nearest window. Another man had thrown his leg over the sill of the other window and had a long-barrelled Colt trained on them.
Jay’s hands went to shoulder level and stayed there. The would-be train robbers were back. He ground his teeth in frustration. What a fool he had been! Did he think these men would not return? They had shown up the first time during daylight; why not the second? A few minutes of inattention had been his undoing. Now, the three men surrounded them. Through the paneless window, Jay could see a fourth man outside, walking near Gorraiz, who still slept beneath a tree on his blanket. He wondered how these men had gotten so close to them without his hearing. They must have left their horses some distance off and walked up quietly on the flock so as not to startle the dog or the sheep. He had not heard Chuck bark, but either the dog had somehow been disabled or he just wasn’t trained as a guard dog and did not set off an alarm at the sight of approaching strangers. Jay recalled that the dog had made no sound when they had walked into camp in the dark the first night with Gorraiz.
“What do you want?” Jay asked as the first man backed him toward the fireplace with the barrel of his rifle.
“Thought you were pretty clever, didn’t ya?” the man sneered. “Flyirf off in that balloon like that.”
The man was short and squatty and decidedly bowlegged, Jay noted.
“Figured after we peppered that balloon full of holes, you’d be coming down soon. Well, it took a little longer than we figured, but we gotcha now.”
“What do you want?” Jay asked again. He scarcely dared look at the two sacks he had left lying by the chair when he had walked to the fireplace.
“I’ll just take your gun. Slide it out real easy with two fingers and hand it over, slowly.”
“The same goes for you,” the second man said to Fletcher who also stood with his hands raised.
Jay did as he was instructed.
“Now, get over there with your pardner and turn around,” Bowlegs ordered.
Jay experienced a moment of panic when he thought they were to be shot in the back. Sweat began to break out on his forehead and under his arms. He looked for some way to make a desperate break.
“Gotta make sure you don’t have a hide-out knife or a Derringer up your sleeve.”
Jay let out a breath in relief but kept his face a mask.
Bowlegs checked them both for hidden weapons and found only Jay’s barlow knife, which he confiscated. He also took Hall’s matches.
“Stand right where you are. Don’t turn around.”
Jay could hear the three men walking around the room.
“Well, what do we have here?” Bowlegs said. “Open those sacks,” he commanded one of the others. Bowlegs was clearly the man in charge. “Dump it out on the table.”
Jay heard a few seconds of scuffling.
“Damn, Jack, look at this! Stacks of bank notes and a pouch of gold coins. Must be worth thousands.”
“Let me see.”
Jay could hear someone pawing through the loot, and chanced a peek over his shoulder. All three men were grouped around the table, looking at the haul. No one was watching the prisoners. Bowlegs still held the rifle in his left hand, but he had let down the hammer on the weapon. The other two had holstered their pistols. He quickly gauged the distance to Bowlegs. If he could jump him and use him as a shield against the guns of the other two . . . but they would fire on Hall or the sheepherder.
Before he could decide anything, the moment was lost. One of the outlaws turned and read the look on his face.
“Don’t try it, mister,” he said, yanking his pistol. “He looked like he was about to jump you, Jack,” the man said to Bowlegs. This outlaw was whip-thin and had a long, drooping mustache.
“Keep him covered,” Jack Bowlegs replied absently as he continued raking through the contents of the sacks.
“Ah, here it is!” Jack held up the small, bamboo tube. He examined it carefully and then started to unwrap the brown paper from one end. The paper was torn and loose.
“This has been opened.” He looked at Jay and Fletcher. “Who’s been into this package?” he demanded, sharply.
Jay looked as blank as he was capable of looking. He glanced at Hall who took his cue and shrugged.
Jack Bowlegs pulled back the wrapping and shook the tube. Then he ran a finger inside and extracted the piece of paper, unfolded and read it. He glanced up at Jay, apparently attempting to hide the disappointment in his face. It was obvious to Jay that the cryptic note, “Palace Windsor Twelve Oaks” meant no more to this outlaw than it had to Jay and Hall. He folded the paper, put it back into the tube and carefully slipped the tube into his vest pocket.
“All right, let’s go,” he said, motioning with the rifle.
Jay and Hall moved toward the door.
“Jack, aren’t we taking the money?” his coyote-faced companion asked, bewildered.
“No. Leave it. We got what we came for.”
“But . . .”
“I said, leave it, Rafe!” Jack snapped. “The sheepherder can do whatever he wants with it. We’re not taking it.”
The third man grumbled something under his breath as he eyed the pile of loot. Rafe’s hand reached out for the bag of gold coins.
Bowlegs swung on him with a snarl, shoving the Winchester muzzle under the man’s chin.
“Are you hard of hearing?” The tone was deadly.
Fear and hate crossed Rafe’s countenance as he slowly withdrew his hand and backed away out the door.
Jay and Fletcher followed him outside. Vincent Gorraiz was sitting up on his blanket, staring at the fourth man who was leaning casually against the big cottonwood, holding a Remington .44 loosely in one hand and smoking a cigarette.
“Let’s go, you two,” Jack Bowlegs said. “You can ride double on that mule.”
“What do you want with us?” Jay asked. “You got what you wanted—whatever it was.”
“I think our boss might want to talk to you.”
“Who’s your boss?”
“You’ll find out.”
“Why us?”
“I think one of you opened that package and looked at what was inside.”
Jay shrugged. “Why would we do that? It was just . . .”
“Shut up and get on that mule!” Jack Bowlegs interrupted.
Jay went toward the hobbled mule with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was thinking of another reason they were being taken along—they had seen the faces of the train robbers.
“You gonna steal this man’s mule and leave him without a pack animal?” Hall asked.
“You just do as you’re told and keep your mouth shut!” Coyote-face retorted, obviously still smarting from the rebuke by his leader.
Vincent Gorraiz did not look as if he had fully recovered. But he was alert to e
verything that was going on. He had gotten to his feet and watched in silence as Jay placed a hackamore with its lead rope on the mule and freed the animal from its hobbles. The man who had been guarding Gorraiz had gone to bring up the horses and, when he returned with them, they all mounted, Jay helping the aeronaut up behind him on the mule’s bare back.
Jack Bowlegs led out, followed by Rafe Coyote-face, then the mule carrying double with the other two riders bringing up the rear. As Jay glanced back, Gorraiz gave him a silent thumbs-up sign. The gesture gave Jay a strange, comforting sensation as he turned back and settled in to follow wherever their captors were taking them. Somehow that signal told him Gorraiz understood and would not leave them to their fate. He didn’t know what Gorraiz had in mind, but the sheepherder had kept silent through the whole ordeal. Gorraiz was a steady, cool head. And best of all, he knew this part of the country and the people who were both friend and foe. Jay began to look forward to whatever was coming with a ray of hope.
Chapter Nineteen
Jay estimated they rode about twelve miles, but it seemed much farther astraddle the bouncing backbone of the mule. The route followed the valley floor, winding around. Had they been able to ride cross-country, the distance would have been much shorter. Jay was able to keep track of the directions by the sun, but, if he had been asked to find his way back to the sheep camp, he would have been unable to do so without a lot of blundering around and guessing, and backtracking. The pace never slackened, and, by early afternoon, they reined up at a stout log ranchhouse facing out over a broad valley and with its back to a steeply-rising ridge that quickly climbed even higher into the mountains to the east.
“Get down,” Bowlegs ordered after he had dismounted and tied his own chestnut to the hitching rail.
