Passin' Through (1985) (24 page)

Yet I did not move. Tilting my head back, I soaked up the warmth, feeling the stiffness slowly leaving my muscles. When I began to move I was almost unconscious of it. Some inner drive for survival started me and pushed me on. Using a stick found in the debris around the spruce trees, I hobbled down the slope, found the Little Bear Trail, and started along it.

The yellow-bellied marmot was out on his rocks to see me go, nose twitching. He whistled sharply when I first moved, then simply watched as if aware I was no problem demanding attention. Dully I thought this was no different than a few days ago on the ridge back of the ranch. Then cold realization seeped into my consciousness. It was different. It was very difficult. Here there was no welcoming ranch, no bunk, no waiting rest and comfort. All that was miles away, miles of forest, streams, brush, deadfalls, slide rock, and in all that vast area, nobody.

Yet, the movement had its effect. Slow though it was, my blood began to circulate and consciousness returned.

Janet Le Caudy had gone to Durango. She had an aunt there. Reed Bell was planning to arrest Mrs. Hollyrood, Clinton, and Matty as soon as the sheriff returned. In the meantime, they were still at large.

Would they give up and try to evade capture? Or did they know the law was coming for them? From their standpoint they had only two problems, Janet and me. Without Janet they might make their will stand as the rightful one and still keep title to the ranch. That also meant eliminating me as a witness, but I was certain now that my elimination had been planned all along so she could have whatever money I had left from my stake.

By nightfall I had covered scarcely more than a mile. Yet now I could build a fire, and I did. A small shelter against a cutbank, using it as reflector for my fire. Gradually as the evening drew on, I made my fire longer until it was burning over a good six feet, and when I decided it had been burning long enough I moved the fire over, brought it back to a reasonable size, and after making sure no burning coals remained, stretched out on the warm ground where the fire had been.

At daybreak I awakened feeling much rested. Again I started, but this time when the trail divided I took the lower, which followed the creek. My loss of blood and general weakness had left me thirsty and I could drink as often as I wished.

Badly wounded, I dared not try to remain where I was. To stay here was to die. It was as simple as that. Snow could begin falling at any time at this altitude and this time of year, and if it did there was a good chance I'd never get out. It was late September and the leaves had started turning on the aspen.

Nobody ever told me life was easy, and for me it had never been, but I was, I think, the stronger because of it. One learns to succeed by succeeding in small things first. Mostly a person learns to succeed by simply overcoming failure.

Getting down the mountain couldn't be done by wishing, and the chances of anybody finding me were slight. Besides, who would look? Most of the folks I knew figured I'd left the country, and the others wished I had.

Yet I did have one hope, one chance I could think of for help, but it was neither man or woman. It was that blue roan. He had found me once before. Of course, that was only within a few yards, but he had come looking. Where the Burrows boys had driven my stock, I don't know. I doubted they'd drive it far because they'd not want to be seen with my stock in the event the law started making queries. Somebody, sooner or later, would find my body and that would start talk, so they'd get shut of those horses soon as they could. And that blue roan an' me, well, we'd developed a feelin' for each other.

Nevertheless, a thing like that couldn't be depended upon, so I just kept hobbling along, never looking back because I knew the sight of how little I'd done would discourage me. My eyes were on the trail ahead, as they'd always been.

The sun was warm, even down in the canyon, and I worked along, taking my time, content with every foot I made, not thinking of all the miles yet to be done.

Mostly it was downhill, which helped. Now and again I rested. Sure, I was hungry, but I'd been hungry before. I'd ridden that trail many a time in my years, often because I just didn't have the money to buy food, just as often because I wasn't where it could be had.

Walking in the bottom of the canyon, I did not notice when the sky began to overcast. By that time I'd come out of Little Bear into Bear Canyon and was headed downstream. Somewhere ahead should be the Dolores River, and there was a well-traveled trail alongside the river. I did notice when the snow began to fall.

It came down easy, there at first. Just a few lazy, drifting flakes that landed and melted as they landed. I felt ghostly wet fingers of snow touch my cheek. Weak as a cat, I just sat down on a rock. I sat down and leaned my forearms on my thighs, easing my wounded leg a bit.

It seemed like the last straw. Snow could pile up pretty fast in these canyons.

The rocks underfoot would be slippery and travel that much harder. Getting up, I started on. It was snowing steady now, a lazy fall of big flakes but they did not stop. Judging by the growth, I was down to a bit over eight thousand feet, and the Dolores Trail couldn't be more than a mile or two further along.

Brushing the snow from a fallen log, I sat down. My legs wouldn't stop trembling. The thought came that I should build a fire but I shook it off. The Dolores Trail could not be far ahead, not that it promised much because I'd still be a long way from anywhere.

It was cold, and getting colder. All I had was my suit coat and vest. One leg of my jeans was stiff with dried blood, and I felt weak and sick. My fingers fumbled at my face. A stubble of beard. Looking at my hand, I saw it trembling and closed it tight into a fist to stop it.

After a moment, growing colder, I struggled to my feet, swayed a bit, then started on.

How much farther I got, I don't know. Somehow my foot tripped over a root and I fell face-down in the fresh snow. I remembered trying to get up, but my leg hurt something awful and I just passed out.

The next thing I knew I was lying on a bed and somebody was working over me. My eyes opened and all I could realize was the softness of that bed compared to frozen ground, and that I was warm. When I looked around I saw the person working on me was an Indian woman. As I was trying to turn over, she put a hard hand on my shoulder and pushed me back, saying something in Ute. I looked at her again, and it was the woman whose man I'd buried back along the trail, the one who cut me down when I was hanged.

She spoke and two Ute men came in from the next room along with a white man and, of all things, Janet Le Caudy.

"You're awake!" she exclaimed.

"Seems like," I said, "although you're a dream."

She flushed and looked impatient. "We had an awful time finding you, and if it hadn't been for the Utes we never would have.

"It seems," she commented, "you did something for them at some time."

Well, I didn't respond to that except to say they were good folks and they'd done something for me, too. And how did she get here, anyway?

"Your horses came back to town. I think they were on the way to the ranch. I knew something had happened, but nobody would come with me to look for you. They said it was going to snow and we'd be trapped in the high country. Anyway, they said you'd be dead or your horses wouldn't have come back all saddled and packed.

"The Dutchman saw the Burrows boys go through with a couple of wounded men and another across a saddle. Then when your horses showed up he was sure they had killed you. I didn't believe it so I went to the Utes."

"Why them? What made you -"

"My uncle knew them and traded with them. He liked them. I grew up speaking their language, too, so when I went to them for help, they listened. And when I told them you were riding the blue roan they seemed to know who you were."

"We met one time."

"We caught your horses and backtracked them, then lost the trail. The Utes said you would come down Bear Creek, so we tried that and found you."

"Where are we now?"

"In a ranch house. You were only about a mile from it when you fell."

We were silent for a while, and the Utes left the room and I could hear some stirring around and smell coffee. Suddenly I was hungry, but hungry as I was I just didn't want to even move. I just wanted to lie there and rest. There was another voice and I asked who it was.

"We're at a ranch house. It's the owner. At least, the man who is living here."

All in as I was, I fell asleep again, and when I opened my eyes, on the chair beside the bed was a fresh pair of my own jeans and one of the new shirts I'd bought. Janet had evidently gotten them from my pack. So I got dressed.

The Utes were gone but Janet was there. I dropped into a chair, exhausted by the few feet I'd walked from the bed. She brought me coffee.

"You speak Ute? I thought you were eastern?"

"I lived with my aunt and uncle out here for a while when I was very young. I played with Ute children."

Over coffee she brought me up-to-date. "Reed Bell and the sheriff went out to the ranch, and they arrested Mrs. Hollyrood. It seems under that gray wig that was always done so beautifully that she's a brunette."

"Somebody said she was a blonde. I heard the woman Bell was looking for was a-"

"Blonde? She was, but women bleach their hair or dye it." She smiled at me. "Few women are content with what they are or how they look. They always seem to think a change is for the better."

Well, I could believe that, little as I knew about womenfolks. They did always seem to be switching things around. Men are more often content with what is familiar, in their homes, anyway.

Janet brought me up-to-date on some things. Nobody had seen Clinton. The general idea was that he had left the country. Nobody had anything on him, anyway. That he had tried to keep Janet a prisoner was something that could not be proved. She had gone to the ranch willingly, and there just wasn't any solid evidence against him. Nor was there anything against Matty. They might try to get her for aiding and abetting, but I was prepared to testify she had warned me away and had objected to what was being planned by Mrs. Hollyrood.

"We've got to get back," Janet said. "I was frightened for you and came away when I should be in Parrott City or at the ranch."

"Tomorrow," I said.

My leg wasn't in as bad shape as a body would suspect, and that Indian woman, she put some kind of a poultice on it made from herbs.

What I needed most was just rest, and I slept most of the day and all night. Come daylight I rolled out. I was never much on lyin' abed anyway. Always wanted to be up an' doin', so I took my time dressing, ate a quick breakfast, and got into the saddle. There were three Ute men and the woman, and they rode alongside as we started back.

When we finally rode into Parrott I was used up. We'd camped out along the way, and I was surely glad to have the Utes along because, weak as I was, I certainly wasn't of much account. When we started up La Plata Canyon the Utes rode off, and we came into town, just the two of us.

The Dutchman was dipping red-hot iron into his tank when we rode by, and he just straightened up and looked, but he had nothing to say. Some men got up from their benches along the storefronts and walked to the edge of the boardwalk to look. Most of them never moved at all.

Cookie looked up when we came in to eat and brought coffee to the table. "You look kind of wore out," he commented. "Somebody treat you bad?"

"Kind of," I said. "It's gettin' cold in the mountains."

"Saw the Burrows boys ride through. Had a body over a saddle."

"Well, what d'you know? They must have run into trouble."

"They looked kind of beat up and shot up.

"I don't know what the young folks are comin' to, these days. All kinds of gallivantin' about. Restless, that's what they are, restless. They ought to have more chores to do."

Saw some of the usual faces around and some strangers, miners, mostly. Men rustlin' work in some of the holes up on the mountains. There at the table I took out that other will and gave it to Janet. She stared at it, then tears came into her eyes. "It was like him," she said. "I could never believe he had disowned me."

"Half the ranch was yours, anyway."

We ate in silence there for a while, and folks came and went around us. Each of us busy with thinking what we were going to do, I expect. At least, I was.

It was time to light a shuck for the high country. No sooner had I told myself that than I recalled it was too late in the season and it would be right chilly up there. The high country would have to wait for another year. Anyway, there was Phoenix, that Arizona town named by the Englishman, Darrell Duppa.

Phoenix, like the bird it was named for, was rising from the ashes of an ancient town built by the Hohokam or some such people. It would be warm and pleasant down thataway, a place for a lone-riding man to live out the cold months.

"You'll be workin' the ranch?" I asked.

"Of course. I love the place. It needs work but nothing that I can't get done with a couple of good hands." She looked at me out of those blue eyes, and I looked away real quick. "And you?" she asked.

"I was just passin' through when I rode in here, so I reckon' I'll just tip my hat to the hills, roll up my ball of yarn, an' keep on passin'.