Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  “Ben, I could do that myself,” replied Nevada. “Slow, mebbe, but I shore could. An’ Modoc will see their tracks without even gettin’ off his hoss. Ben, it’s all up with this Hall outfit.”

  “But Hall might lie in wait for us now. Shoot us from some thicket.”

  “Shore he might. But it ain’t likely. He never would figger anyone this close on his trail. We’ve done some all-fired ridin’, an’ made short cuts, too. Nope, he’s campin’ somewheres within five miles of us now an’ never dreamin’ we’re close. All we gotta do is stick to the Indian. I won’t lose a wink of sleep.”

  “We better stand watch, hadn’t we, turn about?”

  “Reckon we had, come to think of that. Don’t want a hoss to slip a halter at this stage.”

  Next morning proved that Hall was taking some pains to make his trail less plain, and he would have bothered an ordinary tracker. The Indian, however, lost no time.

  “Crippled man no ride like friends,” said Modoc, pointing to irregular disturbances of the pine-needle mats. “He no care. He sick. He make tracks.”

  This tracking was of a nature to swallow up the hours. Ben was set and cool now that the chase appeared to be nearing an end. He knew that Modoc calculated to come upon the rustlers at their first camp in or near one of the caves where water was to be found. This was a wise move, Ben thought, because Hall might start next morning for the high lava mountains where game and water were abundant.

  About the middle of the afternoon, Modoc, who had ridden quite far in the lead, waited for his followers, and when they came up he announced: “Me see ‘em. Ride slow. Help crippled man. He about ready drop. They stop first cave where water. Me know.”

  “How far is it, Modoc?” queried Ben, in a tense whisper, gazing round at the waving ridges of timbered pumice, as if to calculate his own estimate of the distance to the outcropping lava. It struck him that this was not far.

  “Long walk. Little ride,” replied Modoc. “Me walk. You lead hoss. No make noise. Look round good.”

  Silently Ben and Nevada watched the short, squat Indian glide through the forest. He was as much at home here as the wild creatures. He made no more noise than a bird, and always he appeared to be screened by tree trunk or shrub or pine thicket. When he had drawn away some three or four hundred yards, almost out of sight, Ben and Nevada rode slowly on, just fast enough to keep him in view.

  Thus they slowly climbed the white, green-patched, pine-barred ridges of grey pumice, until they reached a point where Modoc turned downhill. Soon Ben saw the black-and-red edges of lava, marring the soft beauty of the forest and revealing its sinister nature. Small pits, full of pine cones and needles, became common and soon dark apertures showed under outcropping ledges of lava. They had reached the edge of the caves.

  “Ben, she’s shore gettin’ hot,” whispered Nevada. “Just look at that Injun! Ain’t he grand? I’ll bet you a hoss he sees them now. I’m powerful afraid I’m itchin’ to throw a gun.”

  “You shoot when I tell you,” ordered Ben.

  “But, darn it, pard, you might be a week late! I’m in the habit of thro win’ a gun—”

  “Sssschh!” whispered Ben, gripping Nevada’s arm. “Modoc is making signs.”

  “Wal, I seen him. What was I talkin’ aboot?”

  “Nevada, I believe he means for us to tie our horses and come to him.”

  As Ben spoke Nevada was already off his horse, hitching the halter of his led horse to a sapling. Ben followed suit. Then they tied their saddle horses, and lastly Modoc’s. Ben felt a clutch on his arm and he turned to meet eyes like black diamonds on fire.

  “Pard, this will be new for you,” he whispered, hoarsely.

  “Remember we’re after men who’d kill you on sight — shoot you in the back.”

  “I savvy, Nevada,” replied Ben. “But my orders are not to kill if we can hold them up.”

  “Shore. Reckon they’ll be better for us alive than daid. We’ll make Bill Hall talk.... Come on now, easy.”

  Ben was panting when he reached the side of the crouching Indian. Before them the forest was level, with pines scattered about in stately aloofness. Scarcely a hundred rods out there in the open showed a brush-fringed depression that surely led to a cave. Ben did not recall this one, though there were so many that he might or might not have seen it.

  “Good. Cave me know,” whispered Modoc, with dark impressiveness. “Little water all time. Cave deep. Other hole far.” Here the Indian made signs that the other entrance or end of this cavern was some hundred yards off in the woods, at the edge of that level bench. “Hall no get there quick.”

  “Did they go down?” asked Ben with a leap in his blood. “Yes. Lead hoss an’ hold crippled man. They about down now; soon hoss drink — then come up for grass. Modoc think best run quick — hood ’em up.”

  “Ahuh. Now you’re talkin’, Injun,” ejaculated Nevada, looking to the breech of his rifle.

  “How about the other hole?” queried Ben, sharply, tightening his belt.

  “Hole far. No get there quick. Me go after little. Roll rock — shut hole up.”

  “Is there only one trail down into this hole? And on this side?”

  “Yes, same as wild-hoss trap. Good,” replied the Indian. “Come on, then. Not so fast. Don’t get out of breath. If we meet them coming out — hold them up.”

  Despite his warning, the agile Indian and the long-legged rider covered ground rapidly, so that Ben had to run fast to keep up with them. His skin felt tight and wet, tingling underneath, and his feet seemed to have no weight at all. They reached the brush and kneeling abreast crawled quickly to peep over into the hole. Ben saw black lava very steep, directly opposite; then to his right a wide shelving cavern, the floor of which slowly descended toward a large dark opening.

  “Seen the last hoss go down,” whispered Nevada, who had been first to peep over the rim. “An’ heah’s the trail — pretty dam narrow an’ steep. Made to order.... An’, Ben, look at that pack. The size of it! Not enough grub there to feed a jack rabbit for a week.”

  “It is pretty small,” whispered Ben, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. “Maybe they had another pack.”

  “Nope. Only one. That’s it. Aw, how easy! Aw, how slick! Aw, shame to take the money!... Now, Ben Ide, you listen.” He changed, suddenly, to a fierce whisper. “I don’t see that crippled fellar. Mebbe he’s too far back under this side. ‘Cause shore they wouldn’t pack him way down to the water. He’s layin’ heah, somewhere. Now we’ll let them get their drink an’ come up. We want them hosses to run up out of heah. Men can eat hoss flesh, you know. I’ve done it. Wal, it’s pretty shore the hosses will come up first. We’ll wait an’ see how the men foller. Mebbe we can hold them up. But the place ain’t good for that. Anyway, we’ll begin shootin’ pronto, to scare the hosses out. Then we’ve got Hall abso-lute-tel-lee.” Ben had no fault to find with Nevada’s plan for the finish. It looked perfect. The rustlers were trapped in a place that one wide-awake guard could hold indefinitely. Ben could scarcely choke down his emotion. In the silence of suspense that ensued he heard faint hollow voices from the dark aperture — ring of iron shoe on lava — snort of horse — voice of man. He listened with strained ears, holding his breath. How interminably the moments dragged! Modoc lay as quietly relaxed as if this were rest. Nevada was whispering to himself. At last the crack of hoofs rang oftener and louder. Ben saw shadows back in the hole. They emerged. Then six horses clamped over the rough lava floor and out upon the soft pumice, where their hoofs scarcely made a sound.

  Ben quivered slightly at sight of another shadow. It merged into a man — short, heavy-bodied, dark-garbed, with face hid by black slouch hat.

  “Hey, Bill,” called a weak voice, from directly under where the watchers crouched, “I heerd somethin’ above.”

  “What’d ye hear?” demanded Hall, stopping short to whip out a gun. Shadows appeared behind him, growing clear.

  “Sounded like footsteps b
ack on top — an’ then whisperin’,” replied the other.

  Suddenly Nevada’s body strung as if he meant to leap.

  “HANDS UP!” he roared, in stentorian voice.

  Hall’s answer was to shoot and leap in one swift action. It carried him out of sight behind the shelving edge of the cavern. A bullet hit the branch above Ben’s head and, spang, it sped off into the forest. Nevada began to fire as rapidly as he could work the lever of his Winchester. Then Modoc chimed in with his heavy gun. Answering shots rang from below. The horses stampeded, and snorting in terror, plunging and pounding, they crowded up the trail, raising a cloud of dust, under which they fled into the forest. Ben reserved his rifle fire. He heard the bullets of his comrades spotting on the walls of the cavern, and the whiz and zip of the bullets from the rustlers. These were coming uncomfortably close. Ben drew back, and hauled Modoc and then Nevada out of danger.

  That ended the shooting. Modoc calmly reloaded. Nevada began to take shells from his belt, while he looked with bright eyes at Ben.

  “Pard, time of my life!” he said. “You know I hate to shoot for keeps an’ this is fun. Now, I’ve got a big hunk of lava picked out, a little way past the haid of the trail. I’ll crawl round where I can see down an’ be safe behind cover. You lay low heah till I call.”

  “Me go,” whispered Modoc, and glided away noiselessly after Nevada like a snake.

  Ben remained where he had last crouched. He could see part of the cavern floor, but nothing of the shelf under which the rustlers were hidden. Turning to look the other way, he watched Nevada and Modoc crawl to positions behind a bulge of lava on the rim. It was a stand that surely commanded the whole situation.

  “Hey, Hall,” yelled Nevada, in a ringing voice that corroborated just what Ben had decided, “got you daid to rights!”

  “Who’n the hell are you?” came in rough, hoarse query.

  “Me? Aw, I’m only one of a big outfit. Sheriffs, deputies, cowboys, Injuns — an’ one gunman I shore know of.”

  “Wal, what you want?”

  “Surrender. Throw your guns out heah where I can see them. An’ walk out one at a time, with hands up.”

  “Ahhaw! An’ s’pose we don’t?” queried the thick voice.

  “Last an’ only chance you get,” retorted Nevada. “We’ll shore shoot on sight.”

  “Shoot an’ be damned,” growled the rustler, and a low angry hum of voices attested to argument among his men.

  “Heah’s this crippled pard of yours, right in sight. Shall I bore him?”

  “Shoot him an’ be damned — if you’re that kind of a sheriff.”

  “Wal, reckon I’ll let him off. Once more, now, will you surrender an’ save yourselves an’ us a lot of trouble? ‘Cause we shore can starve you out.”

  The answer to this sally of Nevada’s was a medley of cursing that Ben had never heard approached in all his life. It made his heart beat high, his blood run riot, for it was proof of the extremity of the rustlers. It lasted several moments, then gradually died down.

  “Wal, how aboot it?” drawled Nevada.

  “Wal, Mister Sweet Voice,” drawled Hall, in scornful imitation, “we ain’t agreed down heah, but I say come down an’ git us!”

  CHAPTER XIII

  NEVADA ACCEPTED THE rustler chief’s ultimatum as if it was exactly what he had expected, and he wasted no more words in that quarter. Calling Ben over to his side, he said:

  “Hall knows, if his men don’t, that we’ve got them corralled. Now let’s put our haids together.”

  “Question of time and close watch,” replied Ben, thoughtfully.

  “Yep. Some one of us must have an eye on that cave hole day an’ night.”

  “Modoc, you say there’s a back door to this cave?”

  “Yes. Me shut ’em so Hall no get out.”

  “Good! When you do that fetch our horses and outfit up. We’ll camp right here under the pines. Then take the horses to another cave, water them, and hobble them on the best grass near.”

  Without a word the Indian crawled away from the rim, and presently rising he glided away through the forest.

  “Ben, did we fetch any nails?” asked Nevada.

  “Sure. There’s a handful of spikes in the horseshoe bag.”

  “Wal, we’ll cut poles an’ make some kind of contraption with sharp ends an’ jam it tight in the narrow part of the trail. Hall might try to slip out at night or charge us. But we’ll block that. Fact is, he cain’t climb out one darn place but this heah trail. Talk aboot luck! Why, it’s smotherin’ us!”

  “You think he’ll surrender?”

  “Absolute-tel-lee,” replied Nevada, lingering over his best-beloved word. “Reckon, though, he’ll take time. He’ll work every dodge. Might risk a fight before the grub gives out. But when it does give out he shore won’t last long.”

  “You figure he can get the pack of grub after night?”

  “Easy. Though I might heah them. An’ I’m pretty shore I seen a stack of firewood when I first peeped over the rim. Reckon we could see it better from heah. But I don’t advise playin’ giraffe.”

  “Modoc never made a mistake I can recall,” mused Ben, as if trying to assure himself of this phenomenal good fortune.

  “Ben, we’re gamblin’ on the Indian,” replied Nevada, with serious certainty. “It’s a thousand to one we’ll win.”

  “We must, Nevada. It means all the world to us both.”

  “Your dad an’ Ina’s dad are drawin’ bad cards this very minnit,” declared the cowboy, almost fiercely. “An’ Setter — damn him! it’s a worse deal for him.”

  “Even if Judd and his man should track us here — we couldn’t lose.”

  “Hope they do. We’ll let them go down an’ arrest the rustlers. Haw! Haw!”

  “About the other hole to this cave. Could Modoc alone roll stones big enough to hold these men in?”

  “Trust that Injun, Ben. But we’ll see to satisfy ourselves. I reckon Modoc will cover the other hole with poles or brush, an’ then so many chunks of lava that a hundred men couldn’t budge them.”

  Ben’s fears one by one were allayed.

  “All now depends on our vigilance. We must not be caught napping.”

  “Huh! I could lay heah twelve hours at a stretch an’ never bat an eye. Ben, we’ll keep two of us watchin’ all the time, while the other fellar sleeps an’ gets water an’ grub, looks after the hosses an’ so forth. Reckon as soon as Modoc comes with the outfit an’ tends to the hosses we’d better take turns on makin’ somethin’ to close this trail.”

  The hours of this eventful day passed swiftly, and there was never a moment that two pairs of sharp eyes were not watchful.

  Toward sunset Nevada smelled smoke, and as Modoc had not yet started a camp fire for them, the only inference was that the rustlers had one down in the cave. It was Nevada’s assumption presently, that as they would not need or want a camp fire without their supplies, they were burning wood for torches.

  The night fell and Ben and Nevada held watch together behind the bulge of lava along the rim. Soon the hole was as black as pitch. Nevada heard something which caused him to touch Ben lightly. Straining his ears, Ben caught a faint scraping sound, which he decided was caused by canvas sliding over a rough surface.

  “They’re getting their grub, all right,” said Ben.

  For answer Nevada rose on one knee and rapidly fired several shots down into the black void. Ben, lying flat at the right of the bulge of lava, with his rifle over the rim, saw bright red flashes of answering shots from the vigilant rustlers. Instantly he aimed at the point where he had seen the last flash. A lusty yell attested to the fact that he had come dangerously close to a man if he had not actually hit one. Then silence ensued.

  “Say, did you heah them bullets whiz past?” queried Nevada grimly.

  “No.”

  “Wal, I did. One on each side of me. Hall was watchin’ an’ he shot quicker’n lightnin’. An’ say, mebbe I didn’t
duck! — Ben, I reckon that sizes Hall up, huh?”

  “Don’t take any more chances,” replied Ben. “We’ll play it safe.”

  At midnight Modoc relieved Ben, and when dawn came Ben cooked and carried breakfast to his watching comrades, then relieved Nevada so he could have his turn at sleep. The rustlers had secured their pack of supplies, and had also removed the crippled one of their number back into the cave. This established the siege. It required infinite vigilance on the part of the besiegers, but the stake was so tremendous that they never lost for a moment their keen zest and mounting hope. The hours passed swiftly. Each man took his turn at camp fire duties, but Modoc attended to the horses and carried water. On the third day he returned to camp with the information that he had caught and hobbled the rustlers’ horses.

  “Aw-aw-aw!” jubilated Nevada to this good news, and he gave Ben a dig in the ribs that hurt for hours.

  On the afternoon of this day, Ben, following careful direction from Modoc, found the place where the Indian had blocked the far outfit to the cave. The aperture must have been small and Modoc had covered it with tons of lava. If there were indeed no other entrances and exits to this particular cavern, Hall and his gang must soon surrender or fight. And in a fight the odds were all against them. Nevada’s plan for blocking the trail appeared wholly effective, and if the rustlers rushed it at night they would only get shot for their pains. Ben had only one anxiety and this was that there might be another exit unknown to Modoc. Upon returning to camp he put this forcibly to the Indian.

  “Mebbe so,” replied Modoc. “But far-away far. No Indian find yet.”

  “Huh! You can bet your boots it’s far,” said Nevada. “Reckon they’ve searched every corner of this cave.”

  During the first stage of their vigil Ben and his comrades had ample evidence of the presence of their prisoners. The smell of smoke, and often the blue smoke itself, emerged from the cave. Voices sometimes penetrated to the outside, and more rarely the sound of an axe splitting wood. Several times on the darkest nights faint noises down in the hole brought rifle shots from the watchful guard. Indeed, Nevada often fired his rifle by way of assuring the trapped rustlers how keen were their captors. The longer, however, that Hall waited to attempt escape by the trail the keener Nevada bade his allies watch. Hall’s apparent inaction and his incredible patience invited extra suspicion.