Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  BRANDETH EVIDENTLY TOOK Noggin’s statement as favorable to a reconciliation, or if not that, to a split that would present a new phase of the complicated situation.

  “Wal, take your time, Arizona, but don’t you be onreasonable, too,” he said. “I ain’t pushin’ nobody.”

  “I’m thinkin’ a lot, Steele,” replied Ames, agreeably, and that was true.

  “My pore head is near busted,” confessed the robber, plaintively. “I never could stand much worryin. An’ I’m sure glad it’s over. . . . Heady, you rustle some firewood, an’, Amos, you throw some grub together.”

  The shadows lengthened and deepened. The gold slipped up over the rim wall. Twilight gathered quickly, unusually thick. Low long rumble of thunder broke the oppressive silence.

  “Say, was thet rock slippin’ somewheres or thunder?” queried Brandeth.

  “We’re in for a storm,” replied Heady.

  “Good. It’ll cool the air, fill up the water holes — an hide our tracks.”

  Ames deducted from these words that Brandeth had decided upon action. Presently the cook called them to supper. Meanwhile darkness set in, black as pitch between the walls of the Canyon. Thunder threatened and muttered and rumbled far in the distance. Noggin did not speak during the meal, nor afterward. Brandeth made a civil remark to him, which he ignored, and presently he thumped out of camp, to disappear in the gloom. This procedure drew a doubtful wag of Brandeth’s head.

  “Ames, can you always back-trail yourself?” he queried.

  “If I cain’t I’ll eat my chaps,” laughed Ames.

  “Wal, could four men drive a bunch of hosses down into the Canyon, an’ swim them acrost the river, an’ out up on the other side?”

  “Four men?” asked Ames.

  “I said four. Me an’ you an’ Heady an’ Amos.”

  “Shore we could, if the horses were not wild.”

  “Swimmin’ the river now. Is thet some hell of a job?”

  “It’s no fun. But with plenty of time, an’ workin’ up the bank to take advantage of the current — which I didn’t do — it could be done.”

  “Was the Colorado high?”

  “No. An’ it was failin’.”

  “How about grass an’ water?”

  “Poor for a couple of days. Then once in the brakes the finest any horseman would want to see.”

  “Ahuh. — Wal, Ames, I reckon the Providence thet protects hoss-thieves sent you to me. Heady knows all this country from Hurricane Ledge north. But we couldn’t figger on south because he’d never been over it. . . . Could we sell hosses across the Canyon?”

  “In Arizona? Mormon horses? Say, man, you could sell a thousand, an’ no questions asked.”

  “Amos, have we got two weeks’ grub?” called Brandeth to the cook.

  “With some meat we can stretch it to three weeks, boss.”

  “Heady, see hyar,” said Brandeth, to the wide-eyed Mormon. “This camp you say is our base, an’ only a day’s ride to Morgan’s canyon corral?”

  “Yes, it’s the best hidin’ hole I know,” replied the Mormon. “It ain’t often any riders happen in here.”

  “If we decide to drive south instead of north, would it be out of our way to come back hyar?”

  “No. It’d be safer,” returned Heady, with an eagerness which betrayed his fear of the north. “I know a trail below where we can climb out. Wild-hoss hunters used to work in an’ out there. They had a narrow place fenced in. We could drive the stock down there, an’ out by here the next day. After thet Ames would have to guide you.”

  “Ahuh. Wal, we’ll crawl out before daylight tomorrer, an’ do the job — Noggin or no Noggin,” concluded the chief, in stubborn relief.

  “Reckon we’re in fer a storm.”

  “Won’t thet be all the better? What you think, Arizona?”

  “Whenever I steal any livestock I always like failin’ weather,” replied Ames, nonchalantly. “I shore aim to hide my tracks.”

  “Ames, why in the darnation cats couldn’t you say thet in front of Noggin?”

  “Noggin? Huh! I’d prefer he keeps on thinkin’ whatever he thinks.”

  “Wal, thet is, you’re a two-faced hombre. You’re not on the dodge. You’re one of these wanderin’, line-ridin’, adventure-huntin’, gurl-lovin’, gun-throwin’ cowboys!”

  “Gosh! but he shore flatters me. I’m glad, ‘cause I was afraid he thought worse.”

  “Arizona, I don’t mind tellin’ you I ain’t over well-acquainted with Noggin. He owns up thet ain’t his real name. I’ve a hunch he’s Bill Ackers. You’ve sure heerd of him?”

  “Name doesn’t sound as if I just heahed it first. An’ who’s Bill Ackers?”

  “Wal, he’s all of Nevada thet’s no good. A secret, long-armed, high-hat gambler who don’t stay nowhere long. Who gambles while he makes deals. They say he has a slick gang. But I never seen Ackers. Noggin claims he has.”

  “Why don’t you spring it on him, sudden-like — an’ watch his face?” asked Ames.

  “Never thought of thet. It’s not a bad idee.”

  The return of the individual whom they were discussing precluded more talk. Ames went off to his bed, with the intention of lying there a while to listen. But he preferred to sleep somewhere in a safer place, which he had been careful to pick out that day.

  Contrary to usual custom, Brandeth maintained silence. The cook and Heady conversed in low tones while packing supplies.

  “Packin’ up, eh?” snarled Noggin, at length, as if goaded.

  “You’ve got sharp eyes when you want to see,” replied the chief. An edge of aloofness hinted of alienation.

  “When are you leavin’?”

  “Before daylight.”

  “Where are you goin’?”

  “Wal, I was talkin’ it over with Ames. An’ we’re goin’ over hyar in the Siwash to gather wild flowers.”

  “Ha! Ha!” laughed Noggin, with brutal suggestion. “I’ll tell you, Brandeth, if you had this Arizona galoot sized up correct you’d think gatherin’ flowers was most damn appropriate.”

  “Thet so. An’ why?” rejoined the other, gruffly.

  “Figure it out. You’ve no more imagination than sense.”

  “Wal, I never laid no claim to be extra bright.”

  “I asked you where you’re goin’?”

  “I heerd you.”

  “Heady, what’re you packin’ that grub up for?”

  “Boss’ orders. We’re goin’ to hide these packs up in the cracks of the rocks.”

  “What for?”

  “Somebody might ride along tomorrer. It happens once in a blue moon. An’ we’ll need the grub if we drive out across the Canyon.”

  Noggin hopped like a huge ant upon a hot griddle.

  “Brandeth, you’re double-crossin’ me!” he shouted.

  “Wal, seems to me it’s t’other way round. But I’m goin’ after Morgan’s hosses, an’ if I have luck I’ll drive them acrost the river.”

  “You are like hell!” shrieked Noggin.

  “I am like hell!”

  “Who made this deal? Who outfitted this gang?”

  “Reckon you did. But you never told me the straight of it. I ain’t squeamish, an’ dead men don’t take no trails. Reckon, though, I shy at the gurl end of it. So I’m goin’ to do my own way.”

  “What am I goin’ to do?”

  “Don’t ask me riddles. Haw! Haw!”

  “Brandeth, that Arizona tricker put you up to this.”

  “Hell, no. Can’t I have an idee of my own? You shan’t blame Ames. You’ve only yourself to blame.”

  “Is Ames goin’ to guide you across the river?”

  “He says he can an’ I reckon he will. But he hain’t promised yet.”

  “I can go plumb to hell?”

  “You can go plumb to hell.”

  “Ho! Ho! If that isn’t rich? Suppose I tip Morgan off?”

  “Thet wouldn’t be healthy if I ever found out,” replied B
randeth, darkly. “But you can’t block us. It’s half a day longer to Morgan’s ranch than to the Canyon where he hides them hosses.”

  Noggin cursed impotently, eloquent of his realization of the fact Brandeth sardonically imparted. That ended the quarrel, and in Ames’ estimation any further possible friendship between the two men. This afforded Ames immense gratification. If he knew such men they would destroy themselves. Neither of them had exhibited any marked quality of greatness. In such a situation as this, Rankin would long ago, and at the first sign of antagonism, have shot his way out of the difficulty.

  Both Noggin and Brandeth went to bed, and soon afterward the other two followed suit. The dying camp fire sent ghostly shadows upon the cavern walls. Soon the last flickering light died. Ames waited until he was sure the others had fallen asleep and then noiselessly he gathered up his blankets and felt his way to the place he had selected. There he composed himself to safety, and the comfort of sleeping without keeping one eye open.

  Lightning flared across the purple sky and a wind moaned through the Canyon. Raindrops blew in under the shelving rock to wet his face. The sultry air had cooled and the sage gave forth a damp fresh fragrance.

  Ames, owing to his long nap during the day, and the thought-provoking climax these robbers were precipitating, was wakeful part of the time. He slept on and off till the dark hour before dawn. The ring of an ax assured him some one was up. He lay yet awhile, thinking. The brooding desert storm still hung over the Canyon. It had not broken.

  With his mind refreshed by rest Ames went briefly over the contingencies most likely to arise. It was altogether possible that Brandeth and Noggin would come to a deadlock, and obligingly erase themselves from an ugly scene, of which Ames had already wearied. If they did not — ! Ames left it sufficient to that moment.

  The thud of hoofs attested to the bringing in of the horses. That roused Ames with a jump. With the blankets under his arm he worked his way along the cliff and soon saw a bright camp fire. When he reached it he found that neither Noggin nor Brandeth were up yet. Amos had a cheery word for Ames. Soon the horses were pounding the ground just outside the cavern and could be seen dimly in the edge of the flare of light.

  Ames hurried to find his horse. Cappy whinnied before Ames espied him. Whereupon Ames led him to one side, and returning for saddle and bridle soon had him ready for travel. Then Ames sought the cook.

  “How aboot some grub to pack?” he asked, and straightway had hard biscuits, salt, meat, dried apples, and a canteen thrust upon him. This genial cook had taken a liking to him. Ames made a mental reservation that he would remember it.

  Brandeth appeared at the camp fire, grim and silent, brushing his long unkempt hair. He spoke once, to order Heady to saddle his horse. Noggin arrived from a direction opposite that from which Ames had looked for him, a circumstance which Ames vowed would not happen again. How almost impossible to exercise eternal vigilance! Habit was more powerful, in the long run, than the most implacable of wills.

  The cook yelled lustily, and was instantly cursed by Brandeth, who had not begun this day amiably. Then the men ate standing, hurriedly, and with never a word.

  “Let’s git out of this,” ordered Brandeth.

  Ames, standing back, caught the expression of both Brandeth and Noggin, in the firelight. His lips tightened and a current quickened down his frame. What fools they were! How blindly set on their selfish ends! One and probably both of them would not be blindly set upon anything at the close of that day.

  “Air you goin’ with us?” demanded Brandeth of Noggin.

  “You know —— —— —— I am,” came the terse reply.

  “How far?”

  “That’s my business.”

  “Ahuh. Wal, you can keep company with our Mormon guide,” concluded Brandeth, sarcastically.

  The dark hour before dawn had passed. A dim pale opaque gloom possessed the canyon. Ames mounted and rode out behind Brandeth, who had followed his guide and Noggin. Amos brought up the rear.

  Ames, once in the saddle, behind the man he desired to watch, relaxed from tense strain. The hour had not yet struck. But he divined that he was not riding forth on a horse-stealing expedition, but a stark tragedy, in which he was exceedingly likely to become involved.

  A smell of rum assailed his nostrils. It bore witness to a custom of such men, to fortify their courage and augment their passion by a false stimulation. Ames’ dark meditation elicited the cold fact that if he were about to force an enemy he could ask no more of fortune than for him to drink.

  Compared with those of many wild cowboys, gun-fighters, rustlers, and other notorious characters Ames had met in his ten years of wandering, his own experience, his actual encounters had been few and far between. But they had been dominated by a clear sight, a clear head, and a nerve as keen as wrought steel.

  “Else I wouldn’t be heah,” he muttered to himself.

  They rode at a trot down the canyon, over a good trail that followed the meanderings of the wash. The day broke gloomy, drab, under clouds that hung low over the ramparts. Soon the wide chasm narrowed to sheer perpendicular walls, where darkness was loath to surrender. The grass was thick and heavy; water babbled over rocks; deer went crashing through the sage. When the riders came to a fence of poles Ames remembered its significance, and understood why Brandeth called back to Amos, “Shet thet gate.”

  Once again the canyon opened to grand proportions. Clouds hid the tips of magnificent towers. Heady got off his horse to lead him up a rocky slide. Noggin looked upward, then slowly followed suit.

  “Git off an’ climb,” said Brandeth.

  Ames had no hatred of slopes, as Brandeth’s tone made clear he had. Soon they were toiling up a zigzag trail, seldom used, full of stones and ruts; and it was noticeable that Brandeth kept at the heels of Noggin. When Heady halted, which was often, they all had to do the same. The horses heaved; the men panted. No one spoke again during that long strenuous hour to the top.

  But once up, they all more or less exploded; and Ames’ contribution was an irresistible encomium to the astounding and magnificent scene which burst upon his gaze.

  He faced the east, out of which weird and wonderful red rays shone from broken massed clouds. The desert floor heaved away, divided by a ruddy track of light, in shape if not in hue resembling a moon track on waters. The sun had not yet cleared the horizon, and the strange effulgence it spread seemed not of earth. Hurricane Ledge towered into the storm clouds, which apparently gave it a false height, and a peculiar effect that Ames could liken only to the approach of a hurricane. A sinister pale red sheen enveloped the distant mesas and buttes, a veil that was unreal and beautiful.

  Thunder rolled out of the east, heavy, detonating; and wicked, forked lightning zigzagged across the purple cloud. There was no breeze to fan the hot faces of the panting men. The early morning had a sultry, muggy weight, oppressive in the extreme.

  It seemed unnatural that no word was exchanged on the rim of the canyon before the riders mounted. Ames gazed back into the hole. The strange lights affected even it, magnifying the depth and its stark nudity. They rode on, and all the phenomena of storm and desert gathered strength. Ames tried to assure himself of what was true — that he only faced sunrise during a storm in a bleak and terrible region of the earth.

  They came soon to where the level desert bulged into the base of Hurricane Ledge, that had loomed, yet seemed far away. By the time they had rounded its northern point the sun had risen to burn through the clouds. West of the Ledge, opened up the gulf of the canyon country, vast and awful at that moment. North sloped and spread and rolled and upflung that barren splendor of the earth called Utah. Far away black peaks and pink walls stood up, and endless lines of desert wandered away from them.

  Suddenly Ames became aware that the guide had halted.

  “Trail splits here,” he said, pointing. “This one leads to the hoss canyon, a good four hours’ ride, downhill. An’ thet fork leads to Morgan’s ranch
, twice as far, but better goin’.”

  “Ahuh. So I see,” replied Brandeth. “Partin’ of the ways!”

  The undercurrent of his tone, caustic as vitriol, rather than the content of his words, directed all eyes upon Noggin. Ames suddenly reverted to the deadly issue that had hung in the balance. In a flash the moment had arrived. Brandeth had flung the gauntlet in his partner’s teeth.

  Noggin baffled Ames. If he had worn a mask, which was now off, he presented on the moment a more impenetrable man than before. Unfortunately, the brim of his hat shaded the wonderful eyes which Ames had never trusted.

  Brandeth slipped out of his saddle and in one stride stood clear. Yet Ames felt that he was too close to him. Those ferret-eyes of Noggin’s could command his movements as well as Brandeth’s.

  “Steele, will you compromise on the deal?” asked Noggin.

  “Wal, I ain’t much on compromisin’, but what’s your idee?”

  Noggin’s horse was mettlesome, but any cowboy could have seen that it was not only his spirit that kept him on the move. Did Noggin want to line up those four men? The idea seemed preposterous to Ames, but he grew acutely curious. From something that emanated from Noggin’s manner or appearance, Ames conceived an impression which operated upon him as subtly as actual menace. Indeed, the place, the hour were menacing.

  “I’ll go with you for half your share as well as one-fourth for me,” said Noggin.

  “No. . . . And one-fourth! — Say, can’t you count? There’s five of us.”

  “Only four. Ames will change his mind when he finds out that I’m . . . Bill Ackers.”

  “Bill Ackers?”

  “I am.”

  “Ha! I’ll bet you Ames won’t care a hoot if you are Ackers. No more than me!”

  “Ask him if he’s goin’ with us.”

  Ames recognized craft here utterly beyond the ruffled Brandeth. And he had an inspiration. Noggin’s game was not yet clear, but most certainly it was inimical to the leader of that quartet. Noggin had read Ames’ mind, or else he knew absolutely that Arizona Ames would not lend himself to horse-stealing. Brandeth should never have matched wits with any one, most certainly not Noggin.

  “Ames, tell the beady-eyed little skinflint you care no more’n me fer Bill Ackers, an’ thet you’re goin’ with me,” said Brandeth, irately.