CHAPTER XXIV
DOWN FROM THE SKY!
Drop Off Valley, its name won to it by its salient feature, was but along, narrow, and very high plateau in the mountains lying to the eastof Ranch Number Ten. It was well watered from springs at the upper endwhich wandered the entire length of the tract and spilled down thecliffs which cut in abrupt fashion across the lower end, making anatural and fearsome boundary.
From this portion of the "valley" one might kick a stone a sheer anddizzy distance down into the head-waters of Indian Creek, whichindicated the beginning of the narrow pass which led through themountains and to the misty blue hills of Old Mexico.
Here in the abundant, rich, dry feed wandered upward of two hundredhead of Ranch Number Ten and Temple Ranch cattle, mingling freely, theherds of one outfit carrying their brands in and out of the herds ofthe other. A sign and a token that at last a certain dead-line hadceased to exist.
Steve had found Andy Sprague, as crooked a little man as he looked tobe according to Bill Royce and others who should know, and had arrangedwith him for the leasing of the mountain pasturage. Less than a weeklater Sprague was back saying that he had seen Hell-Fire Packard andthat that old mountain-lion had roared at him terribly, had threatenedhim with utter ruin if ever again he helped out Steve Packard and hadbade him carry a message.
"Tell that smart young fool of a gran'son of mine," was the wordSprague gave Steve, "that right now I'm gettin' ready to polish him offfinal. Tell him what I done to him, blockin' his sale in San Juan,wasn't a patch on what I can do; tell him he'll lose more steers thanhe ever los' before. Tell him if he don't want to get hisself allmussed up in this deal he'd better come over to my place an' throw uphis han's. I'm gettin' mad!"
Before having these words from Andy Sprague's twisted mouth StevePackard had been puzzled to explain two matters: According to count, onone hand there were too few cattle by perhaps a score while on anotherhand there were too many by at least a half dozen. And, though TerryTemple was directly concerned, he had said nothing to her.
The first mystifying suggestion that some strange juggling of stock hadbeen going on came to him just before he had driven the hundred andeighty-six steers to San Juan. Rounding up his own stock and cuttingit out from Temple stock, he had had the opportunity to check upcarefully in Terry's interests.
Calves, cows, steers, and horses, he knew to the head just what Terrynumbered them. And in the round-up, going over his figures carefully,he had found that wearing the Temple brand there were six steers morethan there should be. A matter of some five or six hundred dollars.
Were it only the financial end of it Steve would have thought little ofthe matter. But, going over the herd animal by animal, he made adiscovery which shocked him. He found six big steers in the lot whichwore fairly recently burned Temple brands--crudely scrawled over thebrands of the Big Bend ranch, old man Packard's favorite outfit in thenorth.
It was impossible to know just how long ago a searing-hot iron hadaltered the range indication of ownership; Steve could merely stare andwonder and finally hazard a guess. Temple had been hard-driven; he hadsuccumbed to temptation and opportunity as he had to whiskey and manyother things. Seeing life obliquely he had no doubt told himself thathe was squaring accounts. So, in the end, Steve was inclined tobelieve.
Just what to do he did not know. It seemed best to him to bide histime, to keep his eyes open, to hope for the way out of an embarrassingsituation. He would willingly have made restitution himself, to saveTerry from knowing and to save her name from the smudge which old manPackard would eagerly put upon it were he offered the opportunity. Andright here was the trouble; he did not care to let his grandfather knowwhat had happened.
While striving with this matter the other was brought to his attention.Also at the time of the round-up Barbee reported a black-and-whitesteer missing, the prize of the beef herd, said Barbee. Strayed intosome far out-of-the-way canon, perhaps. But as the days went by othercattle, finally totalling a score, were reported missing. And Steveremembered how one evening he and Terry from a log had watched Blenhamdriving off a string of steers.
"My beloved grandfather has no love for the courts of law," mused Stevemany a time. "And he knows that in that I am like him. So to his wayof thinking it's just Packard eat Packard and the rest of the world'Hands Off.' And so he is going the limit. Well, I guess that's asgood a way as any other."
The day came when Steve put his cattle into Drop Off Valley. Theherds, his and Terry's, were counted twice, once as they filed throughthe gate of the round-up corrals, again as they were turned into theupland range. Two hundred and thirty-four head.
"Two hundred and thirty-four head where I defy Blenham or the devilhimself to steal a single one of them," said Steve positively.
For though there were no fences here nature had raised sufficientbarriers in the way of the sheer Drop Off Chasm cutting across thesouthern end of the plateau and in rocky, uninviting and all butimpassable mountain peaks on north and east and a section of thewestern boundary.
It seemed the simplest matter in the world here with but ordinarydiligence and vigilance on the part of his cowboys to make good Steve'svow. Therefore, with Barbee in charge of the men here and underinstructions to keep the eyes of trusted night riders always open,Steve thought to have heard the last of cattle losses.
The steers were to be counted every day if Barbee thought necessary; somuch Steve had said coolly, merely for the emphasis of the words.Barbee had looked at him curiously, making no rejoinder and going abouthis business with a puzzled look on his face.
A week later Barbee reported to Steve down at Ranch Number Ten.
"Five steers gone," he said succinctly, his eyes hard and expectant,challenging his employer's.
"Gone?" repeated Steve. "Where? And when?"
"I don't know," replied Barbee. "I missed 'em four days ago. Iwouldn't believe they'd gone for good. I didn't see how they could ofgone. I've looked for 'em ever since; I've rode into an' out of everycanon an' pass; I've been everywhere they could go. But--they're gone.Five big steers."
For a moment their eyes, Steve's as hard as Barbee's, held steady andunwinking in a deeply probing gaze.
"Barbee," said Steve after a little, "remember the night Blenham triedto bribe you with a thousand-dollar bill?"
Barbee flushed and nodded.
"I get you," he said quietly. "Think he's bought me up, maybe?"
"I don't know what to think. But this much is clear; If you are on thelevel it's up to you to see that I don't lose any more stock. And it'salso up to you to find where those five steers went. And get themback. Every single hoof of them."
That night Steve himself spent in Drop Off Valley, a rifle over hisarm. He had ordered his men to carry guns, and if Blenham or anotherman were detected driving off his cattle, to shoot and to shoot to kill.
But the next day he returned to the home ranch. He trusted hiscowboys--all but Barbee, and in Barbee's case he was not sure what tothink--and it was only too clear to him that there were enough menthere to cope with the situation without his interference. Two dayslater Barbee reported to him again.
The boy's face was haggard and drawn, his eyes burned sullenly.
"Six head more gone!" he announced defiantly. His look said plainly:"What are you going to say about it? They're gone."
"So you've turned cattle-thief, have you, Barbee?" was what Steve said.
A sickly flush stained Barbee's hollow cheeks.
"No!" he snapped hotly. "I ain't. But----"
He swung on his heel and started to the door. Steve called him back.
"What are you going to do, Barbee?"
"I'm goin' an' get Blenham," said Barbee between his teeth. "I beenwantin' him a long time. Now this is his work an' he makes it looklike it's mine. I'm goin' an' get him."
"If it is Blenham," Steve offered coldly, "and if you are playingsquare with me, how does it happen that he can get away wi
th a thinglike this? Right under your nose--and you not know? It sounds-- Youknow how it sounds, Barbee."
"I don't know how he does it," growled Barbee. "I don't know how a mancould run off a string of cows like that in them mountains an' notleave no tracks. Why, there ain't half-a-dozen places where they couldbe drove out'n the valley an' through the cliffs, an' I been watchin'every one of them places myself all night an' keepin' the other boysridin' until they're saddle-weary. An'--an' six head more gone----"
"You're either a clever little actor, Mr. Barbee," muttered Stevesharply, "or you are straight, and I'm hanged if I know which. Justleave Blenham alone for a while; go back to your job."
Barbee, his spurs dragging disconsolately, went out. Steve saw how theboy's shoulders slumped and again asked himself if Barbee were actingor if Blenham were simply too sharp for him? In the end he decidedthat he had better move his headquarters to Drop Off Valley.
That same day there came a cowboy riding from the Big Bend ranchbringing a brief note from Steve's grandfather. It ran:
DEAR STEPHEN: Better not go too far, my boy. Eye for an eye isfirst-class gospel. And there ain't no game yet I ever been bluffedout on. Guess you understand.
PACKARD.
Steve didn't altogether understand but the messenger could add nothingsave that the old man was chuckling with Blenham when he gave themessage. Steve, in no mood to hear of his grandfather's high goodhumor, tore the letter to bits, distributed them upon the afternoonwind and told the lean cowboy that he could tell Grandfather Packardand Blenham to go straight to everlasting blazes. The cowboy laughedand rode away.
Steve, riding slowly through the lengthening shadows falling throughthe pines of the mountain slopes before one comes to Drop Off Valley,was overtaken by Terry Temple riding furiously. Terry's horse wasdripping with sweat; Terry's face was troubled; there was a look almostof terror in her eyes.
"Steve Packard," she cried out as she came abreast of him and theystared into each other's eyes in the dusk under the big trees. "Tellme everything you know about those stolen steers! Everything."
So she knew, too? Yet he had cautioned Barbee not to talk and toinstruct the other boys to keep their mouths shut until such time asthey could understand this hand being played in the dark.
"Who told you?" he asked quickly.
"I saw them!" she told him, her spirit shining like fire in her eyes."The whole six of them. I knew they were not our cattle. I saw howthe brands had been worked, clumsily worked. Oh, my God, StevePackard, what does it mean?"
Now it flashed upon him. Terry was not speaking of the cattle lostfrom the upland valley; she referred to those half-dozen big steersroaming on the Temple ranch whose brands had been crudely altered fromthe sign of the Big Bend outfit to the sign of her father's. Slowlythe red blood of shame, shame for her, crept up into his cheeks, duskyunder his tan.
"Terry," he began lamely.
But she halted him with the word, her ear catching the subtle note ofsympathy, her hand upflung, her temper flaring out that he, of all men,should think shame of her blood.
"My father was never a thief!" she cried hotly, her voice ringing clearand certain. "Not that, Steve Packard. Don't you dare say that! Andyet-- You saw them, you knew, and you didn't say a word to me, toanybody?"
"I didn't know what to say or what to do,", he explained gently. "Ithought it best just to wait, to hope for the sense of all thisinfernal jumble. I hoped----"
"You big fool!" she called him with all due emphasis. "Just like allof the rest of your blundering sex. If the good Lord had stopped withthe job of making Adam, his whole creation wouldn't have been worth thesnap of my thumb and finger."
"It isn't, anyway," said Steve. "I wouldn't swap your little fingerfor a king's gold crown----"
"Moonshine," cut in Terry. "Listen to me, Steve Packard: You saw thoseswapped brands and you kept your mouth shut."
"It is generally considered----"
"I said to listen to me! You didn't say a word to me because youbelieved my dad was a cattle-thief!"
Steve, despite himself, shifted uneasily in his saddle and finallydropped his eyes. Terry sat there staring at him fixedly, her own eyeswide open and again harboring that look that was almost fear.
"You--you--Oh, Steve Packard! This is contemptible of you!"
Then he lifted his eyes and looked at her solely enough.
"Terry Temple," he said very gently, "I pray God that you are right andthat I am wrong. I did not know, I only saw what I saw, and wonderedand kept my mouth shut. But--listen to me now, Terry Temple. You arenot the one to dodge an issue, no matter how hard it is to face it.Tell me: If your father did not shift those brands, then who did? Andwhy? Don't you see that is what it amounts to, that is what we've gotto answer?"
"Blenham!" she told him swiftly, hardly waiting for him to finish."Blenham, under orders. Orders from your precious old thief of agrandfather!"
He smiled back at her, hoping to coax an answering smile to her lipsand into her troubled eyes. But she only shook her head and went onsteadily.
"Recrimination of a sort----"
"Recrimination is quite some word, no matter what it means," sniffedTerry. "But we can leave it out. In words of one syllable, your oldthief of a grandfather ordered his pet dog and sub-thief to go tiesomething on poor old dad. And you fell for it! You ought to go to aschool for the simple-minded."
"Just what," demanded Steve equably, "do you suppose a play like thatwould win for anybody? Any time my old thief of a grandfather, as youcall him, hands an enemy of his several hundred dollars in beef cattle,why, just please wake me up."
"A play like that is just what old Hell-Fire would be up to right aboutnow," she told him positively. "You have been proving something toomuch for him to swallow whole and boots on; your chipping in with usthat time you took the mortgage over made him hungrier than ever togobble up the crowd of us. So he plays the dirty trick of making itappear my father is a cattle-thief."
"Blenham might do a trick like that. My grandfather wouldn't. Thatis, I don't think he would."
"Better hedge! Wouldn't he, though! He's always been as mean asgar-broth; the older he gets the meaner and nastier he is. He'd doanything to double-cross a Temple and you know it. It's one crookedplay; there'll be more like it. Just you see, Steve Packard. And thenext one--at least if it concerns me--you see that you let me knowabout it instead of going around like a dumb man."
Then he blurted out word of the recent losses from Drop Off Valley.For her herds mingled there with his and a part of the losses were tobe borne by her.
"I'm on my way there now," he concluded. "I've an idea----"
"You haven't!" she interrupted. "Steve Packard, I don't believe youever had an idea in your life. Don't you know--don't you know what'sgoing with those steers up there?"
"Do you?"
"You just bet your life I do! It's that crook of a Yellow Barbee, incahoots with that crook of a Blenham who's taking orders from thatcrook of an old Hell-Fire Packard! Can't you see their play?"
"I rather think I can. But I don't happen to be as positive about theunknown as you do."
"You're just a man," said Terry. "That's why. And now you are on yourway to the feeding-grounds up there, to come in and say, 'Here I am,Barbee, come to watch you and see that you don't steal any more stockfor me to-night.' That the idea?"
Steve laughed.
"Not exactly. I had intended leaving my horse before I got to the rimof the valley and going on on foot, not telling everybody what I wasabout."
"And you'd come to the rim of the valley either by Hell Gate pass orthrough the old Indian Trail, wouldn't you? And Barbee or Blenhamwould see that both ways were watched."
"You seem to know the trails rather well," he began, but she merelybroke in:
"That's not all I know about this neck of the woods, either, StevePackard. Maybe it's lucky for you and for me too that you told me allthis. I'll
take you into Drop Off Valley to-night, and Blenham andYellow Barbee can watch all they please and never guess we're there.For there's a way up that not even Blenham knows and where they willnever look for us. Come on, Steve Packard; use a spur."
She shot by him, leading the way.
So Steve and Terry rode through the forests, passing from the dullfringe of the day into the calm glory of the night, feeling the airgrow cooler and sweeter against their faces, sensing the shutting-inabout them of the gentle serenity of the wilderness. They followedlittle-travelled trails where she rode ahead and he, following close ather horse's heels, was glad each time that an open space beyond or aridge crested showed him her form pricked clearly against the sky.
They spoke less and less as they went on. Deeper grew the silencesinto which they made their way, with only the gush of a mountain brookor the fluttering of a startled bird or the rustle of dead leaves undersome alert little wild thing, just these sounds occasionally and everthe soft thud of shod hoofs on leaf mould and loose soil.
The stars multiplied swiftly, grew in brilliancy. But down here closeto the face of the earth where the shadows were, the dark wasimpenetrable.
For many a mile Terry led the way through the forests. Steve was onthe verge of suggesting that she had lost her way, when she turned offto the right and down a long slope in so decided a fashion that heclosed his lips to his suspicion.
She knew where she was going; as he once again saw her body against apatch of sky--she had gone down the slope and climbed a ridgeahead--and as he noted her carriage and the poise of a chin for theinstant clearly outlined, he knew that she was sure of herself. Well,she was that sort of a girl; she might have confidence in herself and aman might place his confidence with hers.
So at last Terry brought him down into a creek-bed and the bottom on asteep-sided canon. He merely said, "I'll take your word for it!" whenshe told him that this was the deep-cleft ravine which lay like a gashat the base of the sheer Drop Off Cliffs.
Yonder, perhaps a mile ahead and yet prominently asserting itself totheir view because of a certain widening and straightening of the canonhere, a bold head of cliffs stood out like a monster carving in ebony.Up there, at the top of these cliffs, was the southern end of Drop OffValley.
"And it is up those cliffs that we are going," Terry announced when,having drawn nearer, they stopped again to gaze upward. "There's atrail climbing straight up from the bed of the pass; a trail to gohand-and-foot style. Once on top we'll be among Barbee's herds, Barbeeguessing nothing of our coming since he'll be busy watching the otherways in. And-- Look!"
They were close together and she gripped his arm in her suddenamazement while she threw out one hand pointing. He heard her littlegasp; he looked upward; an astonished ejaculation broke from his ownlips. A breathless moment and already the thing, appearing from theblack nothingness, silhouetted but a moment against the sky, was goneand he vaguely saw Terry's face turned toward him while they sought tofind each other's eyes and know if each had seen what the other hadglimpsed.
"It's impossible!" he muttered. "We are imagining things."
"Wait!" said Terry. "Maybe after all----"
They waited impatiently, their blood atingle. And in a very fewmoments there was, seeming absurd and impossible, a repetition of thevision which had so startled them: a black form at the head of thecliffs, the field of star-strewn sky back of it limning it into vividdistinctness--the ebon bulk of a steer moving straight out from the topof the precipice, straight out a half-dozen feet into nothingness ofempty space, then slowly descending through the air, gone silently inthe deeper shadows of the canon below!
"Block and tackle!" muttered Steve abruptly. "A small steel cable.Two or three men up there; a man on horseback down below. And whileBarbee and the boys guard the other end----"
"Blenham puts one across on us down here!" Terry finished it for him.
"Only here's where we put one over on Blenham," rejoined Steve hotly.He threw a cartridge into his rifle-barrel and spurred ahead of her."You stay here, Terry. I----"
"Will I?" Terry retorted with animation. "Not on your life, StevePackard! If this is the beginning of Blenham's finish-- Well, I'm inon it."
Man to Man Page 24