Collected Works of Zane Grey

by Zane Grey

  Pecos rose with a fervent: “Thet’s just it, Terrill. Yore nerve, yore spirit, yore faith. Yu beat me all hollow. ‘Cause yu have other an’ finer feelin’s. More courage. Thet’s what kills me.... I’m prayin’ Gawd to see yu through safe.... Good- night!”

  Dead Man’s Water Hole was the next camp, reached late in the evening of a dark and dismal day. If a norther threatened, it did not materialize. That night Pecos stood hours on guard at camp, giving way to Slinger after midnight. Wolves mourned from the ridges above the restless herd. There were four cowhands on duty. Terrill was awake when Pecos noiselessly crept past the little tent. She called a good-night to him. Then he sought his own bed under a tree.

  One more day to Wild China Water Holes, then a long drive to Horsehead Crossing. That second day would be the rub. Again the signs of Indian mustangs had perturbed Pecos. And in the morning Johnson informed him that a score or more of Kiowas or Comanches had camped right on that spot two, or at the most, three, days ago.

  “Take charge, Johnson,” replied Pecos, curtly.

  Lano was fetching in the saddle horses; it was Texas Jack’s day with the cooking chores; Slinger was greasing the wagon wheels; Johnson strode off to a high point with his field-glass; the cattle grazed down the road.

  A wintry sun shone fitfully through the dreary clouds and lighted the winding road down toward the Pecos. Out of the gray blur showed dark-spotted hills and blank spaces and white streaks, all forbidding, all the menace of the Pecos.

  At breakfast Johnson unfolded his first surprise. “Men, we’ll stay heah today, rest an’ graze the stock. Everybody sleep some. We’ll make the long drive into Hosshaid tonight.”

  It was a wise move, no doubt, but it enhanced suspense and wore upon all. Pecos had to find what work offered to counteract his restlessness. He was no trail driver, and he marveled at those doughty Texans who had endured the waits, the stampedes, the toils and fights of the Chisholm Trail.

  Terrill, however, slept at least half the day. When she was about camp she seemed quiet, a little strained, but always that ready, beautiful smile flashed for Pecos.

  At sunset the caravan was on the move, with the cattle far in the lead. Terrill rode her mustang and kept close to Pecos. Lano returned on a scout far back along the road. The sun came out dully red before setting and the barren world grew ruddy. Then it faded under a steely twilight and black night.

  No stars showed. The black hills stood up against a dark sky. The wagon wheels rolled downgrade and sometimes the brakes creaked startlingly. The herd walked and trotted three miles an hour, never being allowed to graze. The dumb brutes were silent, as if they knew of the stampedes and massacres that had occurred on this lonely road.

  Terrill sat her mustang for ten dark hours, without complaint, and when the gray dawn began to lighten she had a reassuring smile for the anxious Pecos.

  Word came back to halt the wagons.

  “Hosshaid Crossin’, Terrill,” exclaimed Pecos, huskily. “Now, if we can only cross I’ll ask no more.”

  It was almost daylight when Johnson rode back alone. Pecos needed only one glance at the Ranger, even in the gloom.

  “We cain’t hold the herd,” he said. “They smell water. They’ll go down an’ drink, scatter shore, an’ mebbe stampede.”

  “What’s the deal?” asked Pecos.

  “Drive the wagons off the road, down behind thet bank of brush. Take Terrill, Louisiana, Jack, an’ Lovelace, an’ climb thet bluff there. Take water, grub, plenty of shells. An’ hide in the rocks till we come back.”

  * * * * *

  A few minutes later when the gray gloom began to show objects dimly at a distance, Pecos had his several followers upon the low bluff to which he had been directed.

  The flat summit with its rim of broken rock and fringe of brush was just about large enough to afford protection to a party of six. Pecos was swift to appreciate it as a natural defense. A few good shots with an abundance of ammunition could hold it against a considerable force without undue risk. It stood somewhat above the road and about two hundred yards or more distant. Behind was a deep ravine. To the west the land dropped off to the gray thicket-patched valley of the Pecos. On the left sheered down the brushy ravine in which the wagons had been fairly well concealed. At least they would have to be searched for, and considering that they were close under the bluff, it would go rather hard for the discoverers.

  “Terrill, yu lay low behind this rock,” ordered Pecos. “An’ if yu get careless I’ll bang yu on the haid.”

  “Don’t worry, Pecos,” she retorted.

  “Wal, I’m worried already. Cain’t yu see this means a scrap? ... Jack, yu watch the river side.”

  “Si Señor,” replied Texas Jack, crawling toward his stand.

  “Lovelace, yu an’ Louisiana face the road. An’ now let’s all get set for whatever Johnson has a hunch aboot.”

  Day had broken, meanwhile, a morning with good visibility, but no indication of sunshine. It was still too early for sunrise, though by this time there should have been a ruddy glow on the horizon. But the east was black.

  Pecos felt a reluctance to look at the river. If he had ever felt love for this God-forsaken secret river that feeling was in abeyance now. Nevertheless, he raised himself to peep over the rock, quite aware of Terrill’s tugging remonstrance. There! The well-remembered river-sweep in the shape of a horse’s head. It gleamed dark in the cold morning light. It meandered out of gray obscurity into the wide open break of the valley and meandered on into the gray confines. That river had a treacherous soul. It seemed to know that this ford was the only sure one for hundreds of miles, that in itself and the few fountains it drained out of the stony earth, there hid the only allaying of thirst for beast and man in all that aloof and inscrutable country.

  It was this soul, this sublime arrogance in its power, that lay like a mantle over the endless banks of sand, its gray ridges, its patches of green. For that dominated.

  Up from the river thin pale lines, broken here and there, paralleled the road. Bleached bones. Skulls of cattle. For three hundred years, ever since the Spaniards had staked off the stark and deadly L’lano Estacado, cattle had perished there. They had dropped within sight of the river they had killed themselves to reach. It was a place where death stalked. No Indian teepee, no herder’s tent, no cowman’s stone shack, no habitation had ever marked Horsehead Crossing. Men had to cross the Pecos there, but they shunned it as a pestilence. As it had been, so would it always be, used but hated, a dire necessity. On the sunniest of days this place could not but repel. And on this drear dawn the dominance of loneliness and solitude, with its attributes of ghastly gray, prevailed to weigh down the heart of man, to warn him that nature respected only survival; to appall his sight with desolation, to flaunt the invisible shadow of the Pecos over all.

  “Look, boss,” whispered Texas Jack.

  There was that in the vaquero’s voice which caused Pecos to start and duck down to roll over to the watcher’s side, a matter of six feet.

  “Kiowas,” whispered Jack.

  Through a crack in the rock they could see into a ravine that paralleled the road. It curved round the mound from behind and had a high fringe of brush on the left bank. In fact the narrow gully could not be seen from the road. Jack’s finger indicated this place, which was no doubt one of the coverts the Indians used to ambush travelers.

  “Bunch sneakin’ up the gully,” whispered Jack. “Leadin’ their hosses. They’re behind the brush now.”

  Pecos beckoned Lovelace and Louisiana to crawl over on this side of the narrow space. And he had to make a fierce gesture to keep Terrill from following suit.

  “Where’n hell did Johnson an’ his outfit go?” queried Pecos, impatiently.

  “Boss, you can bet they’re watchin’ them Injuns,” replied Texas Jack. “Johnson was a buffalo-hunter an’ Injun-fighter before he became a Ranger. He’s had fights with Comanches right heah, an’ he’s up to their tricks.”

&
nbsp; “Last night’s drive put us right, boss,” interposed Lovelace. “Shore as shootin’ these redskins never expected us till tonight. An’ they’ve just heerd an’ seen our cattle. So they’re sneakin’ up to see what it’s all aboot.”

  “Boss, I see color again,” whispered Texas Jack, pointing. “Hey, keep your noodle low.”

  Pecos had been searching the lower end of the gully, which part was within rifle range of their position. But it was toward the farther end that Texas Jack pointed.

  Suddenly Pecos’ burning eyes caught a movement of something through the bushy bend of the gully.

  “I see ’em, boss,” whispered Lovelace, as cool as if he had just espied some deer they were hunting.

  “How aboot you, Louisiana?”

  “I’se sho waitin’ fer orders, boss,” replied the negro vaquero.

  It increased Pecos’ excitement and impatience to realize that all his men had gotten a line on these skulking savages before he had. Yet their positions behind the rocks were not markedly different. Pecos had kept his gaze glued to that brushy bend, behind which the movement and color had disappeared. Then so easily did a bunch of lean redskinned forms creep into view that Pecos had to stifle a yelp.

  “Kiowas, all right,” said Texas Jack, in a low voice. “Wasn’t shore, but now I am. I know them birds. Suits me they ain’t Comanches.”

  “Hold on, boys. Thet’s a long shot for these rifles,” warned Pecos. “We might spoil Johnson’s idee, whatever thet is.”

  “There ain’t so many in thet bunch,” whispered Lovelace.

  “Aboot a dozen, but shore there’s more around thet bend,” rejoined Jack. “Looks to me like it’s taps fer these reddys.”

  “Taps. What’s thet, Jack?” asked Pecos.

  “Boss, I served three years in the army.”

  “Ahuh. An’ thet’s where yu had yore Injun-fightin’?”

  “Most of it. But I rode with — Say, look, boss. Look!”

  “Yes, I see. Somethin’ scared ’em. They was leary enough before.”

  “More comin’ along. Must be twenty.... Wal, if Johnson has draped his outfit where I reckon he has the boot will shore be on the other foot.”

  Pecos watched the dark line of Kiowas with mingled emotions.

  “I see them, Pecos,” whispered Terrill, tremulously.

  “Be careful, yu little devil,” ordered Pecos. He did not see how she could be any more careful, as she was lying flat and peeping low down between brush-screened rocks. She should have been thoroughly frightened, but she was not. She had her new rifle and did not look averse to breaking it in.

  Then Pecos sheered his gaze back to the Kiowas. From some source they had become acquainted with imminent peril. Their first movements had indicated that they were bent on ambushing the drivers of the cattle herd now spilling over the banks of the river. But now there had come a great difference. First Pecos had noted the arrival of a lean tall Kiowa, evidently a leader, for as he glided round the bend the others wheeled to him. What violent, eloquent, significant gestures! They might have been surrounded, to judge from this chief’s expressive arms and hand. From the ambushers they might have become ambushed. Still it was evident that they still believed that they were unseen. They were particularly apprehensive of the winding sweep of the ravine below. But to Pecos’ position they paid scant attention. For one thing, it was too far distant to be a menace, and secondly it was from the river that they sensed danger.

  “Funny deal, ain’t it?” queried Texas Jack, amused. “The reds are goin’ to get a dose of their own medicine, an’ I’d say it was aboot time.”

  “If Johnson drives them down thet gully or up on the road this way it’s — —”

  “Boss,” interrupted Louisiana, “I sho seen somethin’ black bob up ober de bank. Sho’s I libe it wuz one of dem Slaughter boys’ noggins.”

  “Where?” queried Pecos. What was the matter with his eyes, anyway, that he could discover nothing? One distraction was caused by the slender Terrill lying prone behind him. His attention was divided.

  “Way down de gully, boss,” replied Louisiana.

  “Look out yu don’t take one of our outfit for a redskin,” warned Pecos. “There! ... My gosh! it’s Abe Slaughter. He’s wavin’ his hat at us.”

  “So he is. Thet’s to post us to his whereaboots. Wal, Abe, we’re wise, but yu gotta guess it ‘cause we cain’t get up heah an’ dance for yu.”

  “Two fellers thar, boss. Both the Slaughter boys,” said Lovelace.

  “Thet leaves Johnson, Slinger, an’ Lano somewhere else,” mused Pecos. Then he glanced back at Terrill. She gave him a bright look from her darkly purple eyes. “Terrill, somebody shore will open the ball soon, but we want to keep out of the dance at first.”

  “Thet’s a good idee, boss,” agreed Texas Jack. “‘Cause if them Kiowas come pilin’ either down the gully or the road under us it’ll be most damn bad for them.”

  “They won’t go down the gully,” averred Lovelace. “They’ll be quick to get lines on where the shootin’ is comin’ from. An’ they’ll break away in the other direction.”

  “Darn if Johnson didn’t figger this nice,” ejaculated Pecos, gratefully.

  “Boss, them Kiowas has given up ambushin’ us,” rejoined Jack, gleefully. “If it just ain’t too slick for anythin’!”

  Pecos entertained something of the same enthusiastic acclaim of Johnson’s coup. It was easy to see through the situation now.

  The Kiowas had gotten wind of Pecos’ caravan or some other, and had proceeded on to Horsehead Crossing, where the facilities for ambush were particularly favorable. All day long they would have had lookouts on the watch for cattle in the distance. But Johnson’s night drive had been an innovation. These savages had been in camp somewhere back from the river and had been surprised by a vanguard of cattle at daybreak. Whereupon they had made haste for their ambush, only to meet with uncertain and puzzling circumstances which now had augmented to either hearing or sight of white men who were hunting instead of hunted men.

  Obviously the three avenues of escape were up and down the gully, both of which the Kiowas showed a decided reluctance to approach, and the high brushy bank to the road, which they likewise feared because it might bring them into sight of enemies located behind the high bare bank toward the river.

  Pecos’ sharp eyes caught stealthy movement of one Kiowa scout working under the lea of the bank down the gully. No doubt the same reconnoitering was being done in the other direction.

  “Ah — h!” came from Texas Jack.

  Pecos saw a puff of bluish-white smoke spout from behind the bank at the head of the gully. Next instant, crack! went a rifle.

  “She’s opened, boys,” said Pecos, grimly.

  “Pick your partner,” added Lovelace.

  “No. Hold your fire. Wow! Listen to thet!”

  Five or six heavy rifle-shots spread along the bank, and instantly pandemonium broke loose down in the gully. The horrid screams and snorts of wounded and frightened mustangs, the threshing, hideous war-cries and gunshots. Pecos saw Indians stagger and fall into the brush before a dust cloud obscured that bend of the gully behind which the Kiowas had concentrated.

  “They’ll break an’ run, fellers,” said Texas Jack, disgustedly, “an’ we won’t git a chance.”

  “Sho will. They’re gonna come by heah,” replied Louisiana.

  “Let’s pile down an’ bust ’em comin’ up,” suggested Lovelace.

  “Say, yu roosters, listen to the boss,” declared Pecos. Indian-fighting had been out of his line. What a fire-eating outfit he had collected! It added mightily to the thrill of the moment.

  “Pecos, come here,” piped up Terrill, just as coolly as either of the three who had spoken. “I see horses breaking the brush down there.”

  He lost no time crawling to Terrill’s side. After that first heavy volley the shooting from the gully had become desultory. Smoke and dust hid the bend. Johnson’s men were pouring as rapid
fire as possible into that cloud.

  “Look out, Abe, old boy, or you’ll git it,” said Texas Jack, from his side.

  “Damn fool! What’s he want to show himself thet way for?” ejaculated Lovelace.

  “I doan see no more arrers,” added Louisiana.

  Pecos had marked the flight of arrows, like swallows streaking up from the gully, but in the excitement he had not made note of when this defense ceased. From beside Terrill he could not see down into all the gully. She had a perfectly steady finger pointing toward the heavy thicket of brush that lined the road. It was not altogether Terrill’s finger that directed Pecos’ attention to the important spot, but a shaking of brush, and then lean, dark, wild heads of mustangs.

  “Heah, boys, quick,” called Pecos, sharply. “They’re shore goin’ to make a dash.” The three men crawled swiftly to his side. “Now look. See thet yellow rock with the cow skull stickin’ on top? — Look beyond it a hundred steps, mebbe, on this side of the road where — —”

  “Whoopee! I got ’em,” shouted Jack, under his breath.

  “Me too! — Gosh, if they was only closer!”

  “Dey’s close enuff fer dis nigger,” remarked Louisiana, dryly. “I sho doan lub dem red debbils.”

  “Terrill, yu shore did a good piece of scout work,” said Pecos, with great pride. “Heah I been thinkin’ aboot yore blueblooded grandmother an’ the delicate feelin’s yu inherited! An’ all the time yu’re one of them greatest of women — a Texas pioneer’s wife-to-be!”

  “Haw! Haw! She’s shore Texas, all right, boss,” declared Jack.

  “I reckon from this heah day she’ll be Texas Terrill,” drawled Lovelace.

  “She doan gib me no creeps,” added the negro vaquero. And thus the status of Terrill seemed established by practical hard men during a time of stress, at the wildest place along the wild Pecos.

  The shooting ceased. No doubt Johnson’s men were expecting the Kiowa band to burst out somewhere from under that pall of dust.