Riders Of the Dawn (1980) (14 page)

Mulvaney had been studying the country. "I prospecte d through here, boy." He indicated a line of low hills to th e east. "Those are the Sweet Alice Hills. There are ruins ahea d of us, and away yonder is. beef basin."

"We'll go slow. My guess is we're not far behind him."

As if in acknowledgment of my comment, a rifle sho t rang out sharply in the clear air! We heard no bullet, but onl y the shot, and then another, closer, sharper!

"He's not shootin' at us!" Mulvaney said, staring wit h shielded eyes. "Where is he?"

"Let's move!" I called. "I don't like this spot!"

Recklessly, we plunged down the steep trail into th e canyon. Down, down, down! We went racing around elbo w turns of the switchback trail, eager only to get off the skylin e and into the shelter. If the unknown rider had not fired at us , whom had he fired at?

Who was the rider? Why was he shooting?

Chapter
11

Tired as my buckskin was, he seemed to grasp the need fo r getting under cover, and he rounded curves in that trail tha t made my hair stand on end. At the bottom we drew up in a thick cluster of trees and brush, listening. Even our horse s felt the tension, for their ears were up, their eyes alert.

All was still. Some distance away a stone rattled. Swea t trickled behind my ear, and I smelt the hot aroma of dust an d baked leaves. My palms grew sweaty and I dried them, bu t there was no sound. Careful to let my saddle creak as little a s possible, I swung down, Winchester in hand. With a 'notio n to wait, I moved away.

From the edge of the trees I could see no more tha n thirty yards in one direction and no more than twenty in th e other. Rock walls towered above, and the canyon lay 'hot an d still under the midday sun. From somewhere came the soun d of trickling water, but there was no other sound or movement. My neck felt hot and sticky, and my shirt clung to m y shoulders. Shifting the rifle in my hands, I studied the roc k walls with misgiving. Drying my hands on my jeans, I took a chance and moved out of my cover, moving to a narrow , six-inch band of shade against the far wall. Easing myself t o the bend of the rock. I peered around.

Sixty yards away stood a saddled horse, head hanging.

My eves searched and saw nothing, and then, just visibl e beyond a white, water-worn boulder, I saw a hoot and part o f a leg. Cautiously, I advanced, wary for any trick, ready t o shoot instantly. There was no sound but an occasional chuckl e of water over rocks. Then suddenly I could see the dead man.

His skull was bloody. He had been shot over the ey e with a rifle and at fairly close range. He had probably neve r known what hit him. There was vague familiarity to him, an d his skull bore a swelling. This had been one of Slade's men , whom I had slugged on the trail to Hattan's.

The bullet had struck over the eye and ranged downward , which meant he had been shot from ambush, from a hidin g place high on the canyon wall. Lining up the position, I l ocated a tuft of green that might be a ledge.

Mulvaney was approaching me. "He wasn't the man w e followed," he advised. "This one was comin' from the othe r way.

"He's one of the Slade crowd. Drygulched."

"Whoever he is," Mulvaney assured me, "we can't tak e chances. The fellow who killed this man shot for keeps."

We started on, but no longer were the tracks disguised.

The man we followed was going more slowly now. Suddenly I s potted a boot print. "Mulvaney!" I whispered hoarsely. "That'
s the track of the man who killed Bud Maclaren!"

"But Morgan Park is in the hoosegow!" Mulvane y protested.

"Unless he's broken out. But I'd swear that was the trac k found near Maclaren's body. The one Canaval found!"

My buckskin's head came up and his nostrils dilated.

Grabbing his nose, I stifled the neigh, and then stared up th e canyon. Less than a hundred yards away a dun horse wa s picketed near a patch of bunchgrass. Hiding our horses in a box canyon, we scaled the wall for a look around. Fro m the top of the badly fractured mesa we could see all th e surrounding country. Under the southern edge of the mes a was a cluster of ancient ruins and beyond them some dee p canyons. With my glasses shielded from sun reflection by m y hat, I watched a man emerge from a crack in the earth , carrying a heavy sack. Placing it on the ground he remove d his coat and with a pick and bar began working at a slab o f rock.

"What's he doin'?" Mulvaney demanded, squinting hi s "Pryin' a slab of rock," I told him, and even as I spok e the rock slid, rumbled with other debris, and then settled i n front of the crack. After a careful inspection the man concealed his tools, picked up his sack and rifle, and starte d back. Studying him, I could see he wore black jeans, ver y dusty now, and a small hat. His face was not visible. He bor e no resemblance to anyone I had seen before.

He disappeared near the base of the mountain, and for a long time we heard nothing.

"He's gone," I said.

"We'd best be mighty careful," Mulvaney warned uneasily.
"That's no man to be foolin' with, I'm thinkin'!"

A shot shattered the clear, white radiance of the afternoon. One shot, and then another.

We stared at each other, amazed and puzzled. Ther e was no other sound, no further shots. Then uneasily w e began our descent of the mesa, sitting ducks if he was waitin g for us. To the south and west the land shimmered with heat , looking like a vast and unbelievable city, long fallen to ruin.

We slid into the canyon where we'd left the horses, and the n the shots were explained.

Both horses were on the ground, sprawled in pools o f their own blood. Our canteens had been emptied and smashe d with stones. We were thirty miles from the nearest ranch , and the way lay through some of the most ragged country o n earth.

"There's water in the canyons," Mulvaney said at last , but no way to carry it. You think he knew who we were?"

"If he lives in this country he knows that buckskin o f mine," I said bitterly. "He was the best horse I ever owned."

To have hunted for us and found us, the unknown ma n would have had to take a chance on being killed himself, bu t by this means he left us small hope of getting out alive.

"We'll have a look where he worked," I said. "No us e leaving without knowing about that."

It took us all of an hour to get there, and night was nea r before we had dug enough behind the slab of rock to get a t the secret. Mulvaney cut into the bank with his pick. Rippin g out a chunk and grabbing it, he thrust it under my eyes, hi s own glowing with enthusiasm. "Silver!" he said hoarsely.

"Look at it! If the vein is like that for any distance, this is th e biggest strike I ever saw! Richer than Silver Reef!"

The ore glittered in his hand. There was what had kille d Rud Maclaren and all the others. "It's rich," I agreed, "bu t I'd settle for the Two Bar."

Mulvaney agreed. "But still," he said, "the silver is a handsome sight."

"Pocket it, then," I said dryly, "for it's a long walk w e have." "But a walk we can do!" He grinned at me. "Shall we start n ow?" "Tonight," I said, "when the walking will be cool."

We let the shadows grow long around us while we walke d and watched the thick blackness choke the canyons and deepe n in the shadows of trees. We walked on steadily, with littl e talk, up Ruin Canyon and over a saddle of the Sweet Alic e Hills, and down to the spring on the far side of the hills.

There we rested, and we drank several times. From th e stars I could see that it had taken us better than two hours o f walking to make less than five miles. But now the trail woul d be easier along Dark Canyon Plateau--and then I remembered Slade's camp. What if they were back there again , holed up in the same place?

It was a thought, and to go down the canyon towar d them was actually none out of the way. Although the walkin g might be rougher at times, we would have the stream besid e us, a thing to be considered. Mulvaney agreed, and w e descended into the canyon.

Dark it was there, and quiet except for the rustle o f water over stones, and there was a cool dampness that wa s good to our throats and skins after the heat. We walked on , taking our time, for we'd no records to break. And then w e heard singing before we saw the reflection of the fire.

We walked on, moving more carefully, for the canyo n walls caught and magnified every sound.

Three men were about the fire, and one of them wa s Jack Slade. Two were talking while one man sang as h e cleaned his rifle. We reached the edge of the firelight befor e they saw us, and I had my Winchester on them, and Mulvane y that cannon like four-shot pistol of his. "Grab the sky, Slade!"

I barked the order at him, and his hand dropped and the n froze.

"Who is it?" he demanded hoarsely, straining his eyes a t us. Our faces being shielded by the brims of our hats, h e could not see enough of them. I stepped nearer so th e firelight reached under my hat brim.

"It's Matt Sabre," I said, "and I'm not wanting to kill yo u or anybody. We want two horses. You can lend them to us , or we'll take them. Our horses were shot by the same ma n that killed your partner."

Slade jerked, his eyes showing incredulity. "Killed? Lot t killed?"

"That's right. Intentionally or otherwise he met up wit h the hombre we were following. He drilled your man righ t over the eyes. We followed on, and he found where we lef t our horses and shot them both to leave us afoot."

"Damn a man that'll kill a horse," Slade said. "Who wa s he?"

"Don't know," I admitted. "Only he leaves a track lik e Morgan Park. At least, he's got a small foot."

"But Park's in jail," Mulvaney added.

"Not now he isn't:' Slade said. "Morgan Park broke jai l within an hour after darkness last night. He pulled one o f those iron bars right out of that old wall, stole a horse, an d got away. He's on the loose and after somebody's scalp."

Park free! But the man we had followed had not been a s big as Park was. I did not tell them that. "How about th e horses?" I asked.

"You can have them, Sabre," Slade said grudgingly. "I'
m clearing out. I've no stomach for this sort of thing."

"Are they spares?"

Slade nodded. "We've a half dozen extras. In our business it . pays to keep fresh horses." He grinned. "No har d feelin's, Sabre?"

"Not me," I said. "Only don't you boys get any wil d ideas about jumping game. My trigger finger is right jittery."

Slade shrugged wryly. "With two guns on us? Not likely.

I don't know whether your partner can shoot or not, but wit h a cannon that big he doesn't need to. What kind of gun i s that, anyway?"

"She's my own make," Mulvaney said cheerfully, "bu t the slug kills just as dead."

"Give this hombre an old stovepipe and he'd make a cannon." I told them. "He's a genius with tools."

While Mulvaney got the horses I stood over the camp.

"Any other news in town?" I asked Slade.

"Plenty!" he admitted. "Some Army officer came int o town claimin' Park killed his brother. Seems a right salt y gent, And"--his eyes flickered to mine--"Bodie Miller i s talkin' it big around town. He says you're his meat."

"He's a heavy eater, that boy," I said carelessly. "H
e may tackle something one of these days that will give hi m indigestion."

Jack Slade shrugged and watched Mulvaney lead th e horses up. As we mounted, I glanced back at him. "We'l l leave these horses at the corral of the livery stable in town, i f you like."

Slade's eyes twinkled a little. "Better not. First time yo u get a chance take 'em to a corral you'll find in the woods bac k of Armstrong's. Towns don't set well with me, nor me wit h them."

The horses were fresh and ready to go, and we let the m run. Daylight found us riding up the street of Hattan's, a town that was silent and waiting. The loft was full of hay, an d both of us headed for it. Two hours later I was wide awake.

Splashing water on my face I headed for O'Hara's. The firs t person I saw as we came through the door was Key Chapin.

Olga Maclaren was with him.

Chapin looked up as we entered. -Sorry, Sabre," h e said. "I've just heard."

"Heard what?" I was puzzled.

"That you're losing the Two Bar."

"Are you crazy? What are you talking about?"

"You mean you haven't heard? Jake Booker showed u p the other day and filed a deed to the Two Bar. He purchase d the rights to it from Ball's nephew, the legitimate heir. H
e also has laid claim to the Bar M, maintaining that it was neve r actually owned by Rud Maclaren, but belonged to his brother-i n-law, now dead. Booker has found some relative of th e brother-in-law and bought his right to the property."

"Well, of all the-- That's too flimsy, Chapin. He can'
t hope to get away with that! What's on his mind?"

Chapin shrugged. "If he goes to court he can make i t tough. You have witnesses to the fact that Ball gave you th e ranch, but whether that will stand in court, I don't know , especially, with a shrewd operator like Booker fighting it. A s to Maclaren, it turns out he did leave the ranch to hi s brother-in-law during a time some years ago when he wa s suffering from a gunshot wound, and apparently never mad e another will. What's important right now is that Jake is goin g to court to get both you and Olga off the ranches, and h e plans to freeze all sales, bank accounts, and other money o r stock until the case is settled."