CHAPTER XXIX: A NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK
The little marshal of Haskell had the reputation of being as quick ofwit as of trigger finger. Startled as he was by that sudden apparitionappearing before them in the dark road, and at being addressed by awoman's voice, the mention of the name Cassady gave him an instantclue. There was but one Cassady in camp, and that individual'sreputation was scarcely of a kind to recommend him in the eyes of thelaw. If any woman sought that fellow in this out-of-the-way spot, itwas surely for no good purpose. Brennan caught his breath, thesethoughts flashing through his brain. He leaned forward over his saddlehorn, lowering his voice confidentially, and managing to achieve ahighly meritorious brogue.
"Sure, Oi'm Cassady," he admitted grouchily. "How iver come yer terguess thot?"
"I was sent here to meet you," she explained hurriedly, as though eagerto have her task done. "I thought maybe it wasn't you, with anotherman along. Who is he?"
"His noime's Crowley; just a friend o' moine; mebbe yer know the lad?"
"No; certainly not. Does he go along with you?"
"Fer only a bit o' ther way"; he lowered his voice to even greaterintimacy. "Shure, it's a parfectly still tongue the b'y has in thecheek o' him."
She laughed nervously.
"Well, I'm glad of that; and we'll not stand here discussing thematter. Do you know who I am?"
"Divil a thought have Oi."
"You were expecting to meet Mr. Enright, weren't you? That was whatBill Lacy told you. He was to explain to you just what you were to do."
Brennan mumbled something indistinctly, now thoroughly aroused to thesituation.
"Well, Mr. Enright couldn't come, and Lacy is over across the creekyet, hunting down Ned Beaton's murderer. I am Miss La Rue," shehurried on, almost breathlessly, "and I've brought you Lacy's note,which you are to give to that Mexican--Pasqual Mendez. You understand?You are to give it to him, and no one else. Lacy said you could killyour horse, if necessary, but the note must be there by daylightto-morrow. Here--take it."
Brennan thrust it into an inner pocket, and cleared his throat. Therewas no small risk in asking questions, yet, unless he learned more,this information might prove utterly useless. The note to Mendez meantlittle until he discovered where that bandit was to be found. He felthis flesh prickle in the intensity of his suppressed excitement.
"Shure now, miss," he said insinuatingly. "Mr. Lacy must hev' sintmore insthructions 'long with ye then them. All ther word thet ivercome ter me wus ter saddle oop, ride down here an' mate this manEnright. I don't aven know fer shure whar ol' Mendez is--likely 'noughhe be in Mexico."
"In Mexico!" indignantly. "Of course not. Lacy said you knew thetrail. It's a place they call 'Sunken Valley'--out there somewhere,"and Brennan could barely distinguish the movement of her armdesert-ward. "It's across that sand flat."
"Shoshone?"
"Yes; I couldn't remember the name. That's all I know about it, onlyLacy said you'd been there before."
"Shure, miss," assured the marshal softly, clearly realising that hehad already gone the limit, and that any further questioning must leadinevitably to trouble. "If it is Sunken Valley I'm ter ride ter,thet's aisy."
"Then it's good night."
She vanished up the side-trail, as though the wind had blown away ashadow. Except for the slight rustling of dried leaves under her feet,the two men, staring blindly through the darkness, could not have toldthe direction in which she had gone. Then all was silence, the mysteryof night. Brennan gathered up his reins, straightening his body in thesaddle. He glanced back toward the dim shade of his companion,chuckling.
"Some bit of luck that, Jim."
"Doesn't seem to me we know much more than we did before," Westcottanswered gloomily. "Only that this chap Mendez is at a place calledSunken Valley. I never heard of it; did you?"
"No; I reckon it's no spot the law has ever had any use for. I'vesupposed all along them Mexican cattle thieves had a hidden corralsomewhar in this country; but nobody has ever found it yet. Right now,thanks to this Miss La Rue, I've got a hunch that we're goin' to makethe discovery, and put Bill Lacy and ol' Mendez out of business. Butthere's no sense of our gassin' here. We got a right smart bit o'ridin' to do afore daylight."
They advanced cautiously as far as the bridge, but at that pointBrennan turned his pony's head southward, and spurred the reluctantanimal up the steep bank. Without question Westcott followed, and thetwo horses broke into a trot as soon as they attained the more levelland beyond. They were slightly above the town now, and could gazeback at the glittering lights in the valley below. The sound of men'svoices failed to reach them over the soft pounding of the ponies' hoofson the prairie sod, but suddenly the distant crackling of a half dozenshots pierced the silence, and their eyes caught the sparkle of thedischarges, winking like fireflies in the night. Before they coulddraw up their mounts, the fusillade had ended, and all beneath them wasunbroken gloom.
"Must be rushing the rock," commented Westcott.
"More likely saw something and blazed away at it, just as they did atthat log," and Brennan laughed. "Anyhow they haven't discovered wehave vanished yet. With an hour more we'll be where trails areunknown."
"In the desert?"
"That is the only safe hiding place around here. Besides we'recarrying a message to Mendez."
"Without the slightest knowledge of where that party is."
"Well, hardly that, Jim. I may not know exactly, but I've got aglimmer of a notion about where the cuss hangs out, an' I'm going tohave a hunt for it. There's five thousand dollars posted down inArizona for that fellow, dead or alive; an' I need the money. Besides,I reckon this yere Miss Donovan, an' yer ol' partner--what's hisname?--sure, Cavendish--will be mighty glad to see us. You're game fora try, ain't yer?"
"I shall never stop until I do find them, Dan," said the otherearnestly, the very tone of his voice carrying conviction. "Every centof reward is yours; it will be satisfaction enough for me to know thosetwo are safe."
"That's how I figured it. Now let's trot on; we ain't gaining nothingby sittin' our saddles here. We can talk while we travel."
There was a few moments of silence, both men evidently busied withtheir thoughts; then Westcott asked:
"What is your idea, Dan?"
The marshal rode steadily, humped up over his saddle-horn, his eyes onthe uncertainties in front.
"I ain't really got none," he admitted doggedly, "less it be a blindtrust in Divine Providence; still I got a medium strong grip on a fewthings. That Capley girl told you that Matt Moore drove out on theridge road?"
"Yes; I asked her about that twice."
"Well, he likely was headed for this yere Sunken Valley. That's pointnumber one. But he never followed the ridge road very far, for itskirts the desert. He must have turned off south--but where?"
"Near the lone cottonwood is my guess."
"Why?"
"Because there is a swale there of hard sand, which is easily followed,and leaves no trail. On either side for miles the sand is in drifts,and no two horses would ever pull a wagon through it. This hard ridge,which is more rock than sand, goes straight south to Badger Springs,the only place to get water. I was there once, three years ago."
"You've hit it, old man," exclaimed the other confidently. "That'sexactly how I had it doped out. He'd have to use that swale, or go tenmiles farther east. I never was at Badger myself, but I've travelledthat ridge road some, with my eyes open. Then, I take it, that ourcourse is already laid out pretty straight as far as them springs.Beyond there the general lay of the land may help us, and I aim toreach that point along about daylight. Accordin' to Miss La Rue--she'sthat blond female I seen at the hotel, ain't she--Cassady was expectedto reach this place where Mendez is about dawn, if he had to kill hishoss to do it. That would mean some considerable of a ride, I reckon."
"And yet," put in Westcott, with increasing interest, "would seemnaturally to limit the
spot to within a radius of ten miles from BadgerSprings."
"Likely enough--yes; either south, southeast, or southwest; what sorto' country is it?"
"Absolutely barren; a desolate waste as far as the eye can see, exceptthat range of mountains away to the south, fifty miles or more off. Itwould be a dead level, except for the sand-hills; that's all the memoryI've got of it."
"Well, thar's allers some landmark to a trail, an' I used ter be apretty fair tracker. Speed yer hoss up a bit, Jim; we've got to ridefaster than this."
"How about the note she gave you?"
"We'll wait a while to read that. I don't want to strike no light justyet. Maybe it had best be kept till daybreak."
The men rode steadily, and mostly in silence, a large part of the wayside by side. The animals they bestrode were fairly mated, quitecapable of maintaining their gait for several hours, and needing littleurging. The night air was cool, and a rather stiff breeze swept overthe wide extent of desert, occasionally hurling spits of loosened sandinto their faces, and causing them to ride with lowered heads. Thenight gloom enveloped them completely; their strained eyes werescarcely able to trace the dim outlines of the ridge road, but thehorses were desert broke, and held closely to the beaten track, Beforethey arrived at the lone cottonwood, Westcott's pony, which carried byfar the heavier load, began to show signs of fatigue. They drew uphere, and the marshal dismounted, searching about blindly in thedarkness.
"Too damn dark," he said, coming back, and catching up his rein. "Acat couldn't find anything there; but there's firm sand. Wait aminute; I've got a pocket compass."
He struck a match, sheltering the sputtering blaze with one hand. Thelight illuminated his face for an instant, and then went out, leavingthe night blacker than before.
"That's south," he announced, snapping the compass-case shut, "and thisblame wind is southeast; that ought to keep us fairly straight."
"The ponies will do that; they'll keep where the travelling is good.Shift this bag back of your saddle, Dan. You ride lighter, and myhorse is beginning to pant already; that will ease him a few pounds."
The transfer was made, and the two men rode out into the rear desert,urging their animals forward, trusting largely to their naturalinstinct for guidance. They would follow the hard sand, and beforelong the scent of water would as certainly lead them directly towardthe spring. With reins dangling and bodies crouched to escape theblast of the sharp wind, neither spoke as they plunged through thegloom which circled about them like a black wall.
Yet it was not long until dawn began to turn the desert grey, graduallyrevealing its forlorn desolation. Westcott lifted his head, and gazedabout with wearied eyes, smarting still from the whipping of thesand-grit. On every side stretched away a scene of utter desolation,unrelieved by either shrub or tree--an apparently endless ocean ofsand, in places levelled by the wind, and elsewhere piled intofantastic heaps. There were no landmarks, nothing on which the mindcould concentrate--just sand, barren, shapeless, ever-changing form,stretching to the far horizons. The breeze slackened somewhat as thesun reddened the east, and the ponies threw up their heads and whinniedslightly, increasing their speed. Westcott saw the marshal arousehimself, straighten in the saddle, and stare about, his eyes still dulland heavy.
"One hell of a view, Jim," he said disgustedly, "but I reckon we can'tbe a great ways from that spring. We've been ridin' right smart."
"It's not far ahead; the ponies sniff water. Did you ever see anythingmore dismal and desolate?"
"Blamed if I see how even a Mex can run cattle through here."
"They know the trails, and the water-holes--ah! there's a bunch o'green ahead; that'll likely be Badger Springs."
Assured they were beyond pursuit, the two unsaddled, and turned theponies out to crop the few handfuls of wire grass which the sweet waterbubbling up from a slight depression had coaxed into stunted growth.There was no wood to be had, although they found evidence of severalcamp-fires, and consequently they were obliged to content themselveswith what they could find eatable in their bag. It was hardly asatisfying meal, and their surroundings did not tend toward a joyfulspirit. Except for a few sentences neither spoke, until Brennan,having partially satisfied his appetite, produced the note given him byMiss La Rue, and deliberately slashed open the sealed envelope.
"In the name of the law," he said grimly, hauling out the enclosure."Now we'll see what's the row. Holy smoke! it's in Spanish! Here,Jim, do you read that lingo?"
"I know words here and there," and Westcott bent over the paper, hisbrows wrinkling. "Let's see, it's not quite clear, but the sense isthat Mendez will be paid a thousand dollars for something--I can't makeout what, only it has to do with prisoners. Lacy says he'll be thereto confer with him some time to-night."
"Where? At Sunken Valley?"
"The place is not mentioned."
"Lacy write it?"
"Yes; at least he signed it; there's a message there about cattle, too,but I can't quite make it out."
"Well, we don't care about that. If Lacy aims to meet Mendez to-night,he ought to be along here soon after nightfall. How'd it do to hide inthese sand-hills, and wait?"
"We can do that, Dan, if we don't hit any trail," said Westcott,leaning over, his hand on the other's knee, "but if we can get thereearlier, I'd rather not waste time. There's no knowing what a devillike Mendez may do. Let's take a scout around anyhow."
They started, the one going east, the other west, and made a semicircleuntil they met, a hundred yards or so, south of the spring, havingfound nothing. Again they circled out, ploughing their way through thesand, and all at once Brennan lifted his hand into the air and called.Westcott hurried over to where he stood motionless, staring down at thetrack of a wagon-wheel. It had slid along a slight declivity, and lefta mark so deep as not yet to be obliterated. They traced it for thirtyfeet before it entirely disappeared.
"Still goin' south," affirmed the marshal, gazing in that direction."Don't look like there's nothin' out there, but we might try--what doyou say?"
"I vote we keep moving; that wagon is bound to leave a trail here andthere, and so long as we get the general direction, we can't go farwrong."
"I reckon you're right. Come on then; let's saddle up."
It was a blind trail, and progress was slow. The men separated, ridingback and forth, leaning forward in the saddles, scanning the sand forthe slightest sign. Again and again they were encouraged by somediscovery which proved they were on the right track--the clear print ofa horse's hoof; a bit of greasy paper which might have been tied rounda lunch, and thrown away; impresses in the sand which bore resemblanceto a man's footprints; a tin can, newly opened, and an emptiedtobacco-pouch. Twice they encountered an undoubted wheel mark, andonce traces of the whole four wheels were plainly visible. These couldbe followed easily for nearly a quarter of a mile, but then as quicklyvanished as the wagon came again to an outcropping of rock. Yet thiswas assured--the outfit had headed steadily southward.
This was desperately slow work, and beyond that ridge of rock theydiscovered no other evidence. An hour passed, and not the slightestsign gave encouragement. Could the wagon have turned in some otherdirection? In the shadow of a sand-dune they halted finally to discussthe situation. Should they go on? Or explore further to the east andwest? Might it not even be better to retrace their way to the springs,and wait the coming of Lacy? All in front of them the vast sand plainstretched out, almost as level as a floor. So far as the eye wouldcarry there was no visible sign of any depression or change inconformity. Certainly there was no valley in that direction. Beyondthis dune, in whose shelter they stood, there was nothing on which thegaze could rest; all was utter desolation, apparently endless.
Brennan was for turning back, arguing the uselessness of going further,and the necessity of water for the ponies.
"Come on, Jim," he urged. "Be sensible; we've lost the trail, andthat's no fault o' ours. An Apache Indian couldn't trace a herd
o'steers through this sand. And look ahead thar! It's worse, an' moreof it. I'm for stalking Lacy at the springs." He stopped suddenly,staring southward as though he had seen a vision. "Holy smoke! What'sthat? By God! It's a wagon, Jim; an' it come right up out of theearth. There wasn't no wagon there a second ago."
The Strange Case of Cavendish Page 29
