Valley Of the Sun (Ss) (1995) (10 page)

"Fair enough." It was a lean, hatchet-faced hand. "This I wanta see."
.

Lee Dunn sat very still, but he was smiling
.

"Why, Matt, I reckon mebbe you're right. But you know, Matt, I've heard a sight about you
.
. never figured to meet you
.
. an' I can't help wonderin', Matt--
. A
re you faster than me?"
.

He spoke and he drew and he died falling. He hit dust and he rolled over and he was dead, but he was trying to get up, and then he rolled over again, but he had his gun out. The gun fired and the bullet plowed a furrow and that was all
.

Gerlach had not moved. His face was gray and seemed suddenly thinner. As though hypnotized, he stared at the thin tendril of smoke from the muzzle of Ryan's .44 Colt
.

Slowly, his tongue touched his dry
lips, and he swallowed
.

"You boys will be ridin' on," Ryan said quietly. "That rope you got there should be handy. There's a tree down the trail
.
. unless you want to ride out with a yella-belly."
.

"Ain't honin' to," the hatchet-faced man said. He looked down at Lee. "He made his try, Ryan. Give him a send-off, will you?"
.

Matt nodded, and Kitty walked out and stood beside him, watching them ride away, gathered around Gerlach, who sat his horse as if stunned. Only now his hands were tied
.

Matt Ryan looked down at Kitty, and he took her arm and said, "You know, you'll do to ride the river with, Kit. You're a girl to walk beside a man
.
. wherever he goes."
.

"Come in," she said, but her eyes said more than that. "I've some coffee on."
.

*
.

No Man's Mesa
.

It dominated the desert and the slim green valleys that lay between the peaks or in the canyon bottoms. It was high--over six hundred feet
.

The lower part was a talus slope, steep, but it had been climbed. The last three hundred feet was sheer except upon one corner where the rock was shattered and broken edges protruded. This, it was said, was the remnant of the ancient trail to the flat top of the mesa
.

There was, legend said, a flowing spring atop the mesa, there were trees and grass and an ancient crater, but all this was talk, for no living man had seen any of it
.

The place fostered curious stories. After the Karr boys tried to climb it, there was no rain in the country for two months. After Rison fell from the remnant of the path, there was no rain again. Cattle seemed to shun the place, and people avoided it. The few horses and cattle who did wander to the mesa were soon seen stumbling, vacant-eyed and lonely, losing flesh, growing shaggy of coat, and finally dying. Their whitened bones added to the stories. "This," Old Man Karr
often said, "wouldn't be a bad country if it wasn't for Black Mesa."
.

Matt Calou rode up to Wagonstop in a drenching downpour. When his mount was cared for he sloshed through the rain to the saloon
.

"Some storm!" Calou glanced at the four men lining the bar. "Unseasonal, ain't it?"
.

"Floodin' our gardens." The man jerked his head westward. "It's Black Mesa, that's what it is."
.

"What's that got to do with it?"
.

They shrugged. "If you lived in this country you
. w
ouldn't have to ask that question."
.

He took off his slicker and slapped rain from his hat. "Never heard of a pile of rock causin' a rainstorm."
.

They disdained his ignorance and stared into their drinks. Thunder rumbled, and an occasional lightning flash lit the gloom. Old Man Karr was there, and Wente, who owned the Spring Canyon place. And two hardcase riders from the Pitchfork outfit, Knauf and Russell. Dyer was behind the bar
.

Calou was a tall man with a rider's lean build. His face was dark and narrow with an old scar on the cheekbone
.

"Lived here long?" he asked Dyer
.

"Born here."
.

"Then you can tell me where the Rafter H
. l
ies."
.

All eyes turned. Dyer stared, then shrugged
.

"Ain't been a soul on it in fifteen years. Ain't nothin' there but the old stone buildin's and bones. Not even water."
.

Old Man Karr chuckled. "Right under the edge of Black Mesa, thataway, you couldn't give it to anybody from here. It's cursed, that's what it is."
.

Matt Calou looked incredulous. "I never put no stock in curses. Anyway, I'm goin' to live there. I bought the Rafter H."
.

"Bought it?" Dyer exploded. "Man, you've been taken. Even if it wasn't near Black Mesa, the place is without water an' overgrown with loco weed."
.

"What happened? Didn't they used to run cattle there?"
.

Dyer filled Calou's glass. "Friend," he said quietly, "you'd best learn what you're up against. Twenty-five years ago Art
Horan started the Rafter H. Folks warned him about Black Mesa but he laughed. His cattle went loco, his crops died, an' then his well dried up. Finally, he sold out an' left
.

"Feller name of Litman took over
.

Nobody saw him for a few days, an' then a passin' rider found him dead in the yard. Not a mark on him."
.

"Heart failure, maybe."
.

"Nobody knows. Litman's nephew came
. w
est, but he never liked to stay there at night. Used to spend all his time here, and sometimes he'd camp on the range rather than go near Black Mesa at night
.

"Finally, he rounded up a few head of stock, sold 'em, an' drifted. That's one funny part, stranger. Over two thousand head of stock driven to the place, an' never more than five hundred came of it." Dyer nodded his head. "Never seen hide nor hair of 'em."
.

"Tell him about Horan," Karr suggested
.

"Tell him that."
.

"Nobody ever figured that out. After Horan
. s
old out an' then Litman died an' the nephew
. l
eft, nobody went near the place. One night
.

Wente here, he rode past Black Mesa--"
.

"I'll never do it again!" Wente stated emphatically. "Never again!"
.

"He was close to the cliff when he heard a scream, fair make a man's blood run cold, then a crash. He was takin' off when he heard a faint cry, then moanin'. He rode back, an' there on the rocks a man was layin'. He looked up at Wente an' said, "It got me, too!"' an' then he died. The man was Art Horan. Now you figure that out."
.

"Nobody has lived there since?"
.

"An' nobody will."
.

Calou chuckled. "I'll live there. I've
. g
ot to. Every dime I could beg, borrow, or steal went into that place. I'm movin' in tomorrow."
.

There was animosity in their eyes. The animosity of men who hear their cherished superstitions derided by a stranger. "You think again," Karr replied. "We folks won't allow it. It'll bring bad luck to all of us."
.

"That's drivel!" Calou replied shortly
.

"Let me worry about it."
.

Karr's old face was ugly. "I lost two boys who tried to climb that mesa, an' many a crop lost, an' many a steer because of it. You stay away from there. There's Injun ha'nts atop it, where there was a village once, long ago. They don't like it."
.

Knauf looked around. "That goes for the Pitchfork, too, mister. Move onto that place an' we'll take steps."
.

"Such as what?" Calou asked deliberately
.

Knauf placed his glass carefully on the
. b
ar. "I don't like the way you talk, stranger, an' I reckon it's time you started learnin'."
.

He was stocky, with thick hands, but when he turned toward Matt Calou there was surprising swiftness in his movements. As he stepped forward he threw a roundhouse right. Matt Calou was an old hand at this. Catching the swing on his left forearm, he chopped his iron-hand left fist down to Knauf's chin, then followed it with a looping right. Knauf hit the floor and rolled over, gagging
.

"Sorry," Calou said. "I wasn't huntin' trouble."
.

Russell merely stared, then as Calou turned he said, "You'll have the Pitchfork on you now."
.

"He'll have the whole country on him!" Old Man Karr spat. "Nobody'll sell to you, nobody'll talk to you. If you ain't off this range in one week, you get a coat o' tar an' feathers."
.

The rain had slackened when Matt Calou rode down into a shallow wash. Water was running knee-high to his horse, but it was not running fast. He crossed and rode through the greasewood of the flat toward the buildings glimpsed in occasional flashes of lightning. Beyond them, dwarfing the country, loomed the towering mass of Black Mesa. When he was still a mile from the house he found the first whitened bones. He counted a dozen skeletons
.

Rain pattered on his slicker as he rode into the yard and up to the old stone house. There was a stable, smokehouse, and rock corrals, all built from the talus of the mesa
.

Leaving his horse in the stable where it was warm and dry, Matt spilled a bit of grain from a sack behind the saddle into a feed box. "You'll make out on that," he said. "See you in the mornin'."
.

Rifle under his slicker, he walked
to the house. The backdoor lock was rusted, and he braced his foot against the jamb and ripped the lock loose. Once inside, there was a msty smell, but the house floors were solid and the place was in good shape. Opening a window for air, he spread his soogan on the floor and was soon asleep
.

It was still raining when he awakened, but washing off the dusty pots and pans, he prepared a hasty breakfast, then saddled up and rode toward the mesa. As he skirted the talus slope he heard water trickling, but when he reached the place where it should have been, there was none. Dismounting, he climbed the slope
.

At once he found the stream of runoff. Following it, he found a place where the little stream doubled back and poured into a dark hole at the base of the tower. Listening, he could hear it falling with a roar that seemed to indicate a big, stone-enclosed space. He walked thoughtfully back to his horse
.

"Well, what did you find?"
.

Startled at the voice, Matt looked around
. t
o see a girl in a rain-darkened gray hat and slicker. Moreover, she had amazingly blue eyes and lovely black hair
.

She laughed at his surprise. "I haunt the place," she said, "haven't you heard?"
.

"They said there were ghosts, but if I'd known they looked like you I'd have been here twice as fast."
.

She smiled at him. "Oh, I'm not an official gho/! In fact, nobody is even supposed to know I come here, although I suspect a few people do know."
.

"They've been trying to make the place as unattractive as possible," he said, grinning. "So if they did know, they said nothing."
.

"I'm Susan Reid. My father has a cabin about five miles from here. He's gathering information on the Indians--theirthe customs, religious beliefs, and folklore."
.

"And this morning?"
.

"We saw somebody moving, and Dad's always
. h
oping somebody will climb it so he can get any artifacts there may be up there."
.

"Any what?"
.

"Artifacts. Pieces of old pottery,
. s
tone tools, or weapons. Anything the Indians might have used."
.

Together, they rode toward the ranch, talking of the country andof rain. In a few minutes
Matt Calou learned more about old Indian pottery than he had imagined anybody could know
.

At the crossroads before the Rafter H, they drew up. The rain had ceased, and the sun was struggling to get through. "Matt," she said seriously, "you've started something, so don't underrate the superstition around here. The people who settled here are mostly people from the eastern mountains and they have grown up on such stories. Moreover, some strange things have happened here, and they have some reason for their beliefs. When they talk of running you out, they are serious."
.