CHAPTER XLV
THE GREAT SHOW-DOWN
Down the slope from the wind-swept summit into the valley rode the posseof Jake Bush. Their horses, too, were gaunted with scant feed and hardwork. Like the men who had preceded them these were unkempt, strained ofeye. Rennie rode in the lead, his eyes on the trail. The eyes of theothers prodded and tested the valley into which they were descending.
By various signs they knew they were closing the gap which separatedthem from their quarry. When they reached the abandoned camp theydismounted and Rennie and Bush tested the ashes.
"Warm where they ain't wet," said Bush. "This is the earliest we've everstruck their camp yet. They made slow time yesterday. Can't be manyhours ahead."
"Looks to me like their horses is playin' out," Rennie agreed. "Well,let's get goin'."
They rode on down the valley. The trail was plain, and the tracks ofhorses in the vanishing light snow. They strung along at a steady jog.
From the left, clean and sharp came the vibrant crash of a rifle shot.Instantly the hills took it up, flinging it in echoes back and forth.But with the echoes came other shots, not clear but blunt, muffled,multiplying the riot of sound. They jerked their horses to a standstill.
"Not more 'n a mile away," said Rennie. "Them boys is further ahead. Itcan't be them."
"We'll darn soon see," said Bush.
They turned in the direction of the shots, spreading out riding slowly.And presently they came upon a pony standing with dropped reins.
"Why," Turkey exclaimed, "it's Paul Sam's! I'd know that cayuseanywhere."
There was no mistaking the calico pony. Angus, too recognized it. IfPaul Sam were there it could be but for one purpose.
"Ride slow," Bush advised. "We don't want to overlook anything."
But in less than five hundred yards they came upon tragedy. Paul Sam andBlake lay as they had fallen. In the background a gaunt horse raised hishead for a moment from his browsing.
They dismounted, ringing the prostrate figures around. Bush removed hishat, not out of respect for the dead, but to scratch his head.
"Gosh!" he observed inadequately. Rennie loosened the old fingers fromthe knife haft and made a swift examination. He picked up a riflecartridge, unexploded, with the cap faintly dinted.
"Missed fire!" he said. "Then Blake took the gun away from him and wentfor his six-shooter and the old man went for his knife. Lord!"
Angus said nothing. He felt he had been defrauded, hardly used. By dayand by night one vision had haunted him--Faith's soft throat, bruisedand discolored. Just so he had made up his mind to kill Blake, with hishands, repaying him measure for measure. His disappointment was bitter.
"The old man beat you to it," said Rennie, "but I guess he had the rightto, if he could."
Angus nodded. It was true enough. But Turkey was picking up thescattered money which Blake had let fall. It opened a field forspeculation. No doubt this was some of Braden's money, and the brothershad divided with Blake. But why had Blake quit them? Bush made a shrewdguess.
"Blake wasn't no game bird," he said. "He'd quit any time rather than goto a show-down. Mabbe that was what he was tryin' to do."
"And bumped into one," said Rennie. "But I wonder! We're gettin' close,and it ain't so far to the Cache now. It wouldn't do 'em no good to getthere with us right behind. They might make a stand and take a chance."
"Or bushwhack us," the deputy suggested. "Us ridin' along single file insome bad place and them shootin' from cover--hell! we'd be down andkickin' before we could draw a gun."
"That's so," Rennie replied thoughtfully. "We'd better go careful. Well,I s'pose we better try to bury these dead folks while we're here."
"The Injun, anyway," said Bush. "Give him the best of it."
They did the best they could, and built above with stones. Then theywent back and took up the pursuit, holding on till darkness hid thetrail. By daylight they were away, and even earlier than before theycame upon the deserted camp.
And now the old trail began to ascend. It led into a country wild andrugged, the jagged vertebrae of a mountain range seamed and scarred withgulch and canon. It was very bad for horses and very hard work foreverybody. But signs showed that they were very near their quarry.
"We're darn near on top of 'em," said Rennie, and thereafter he rodewith gun in hand.
But it was late in the afternoon when they got their first glimpse ofthe fugitives, who were rounding a bare shoulder ahead and above them.Two were riding and one was leading his horse. They themselves were notseen for a growth of brush at that point of the trail intervened. Theylooked to Bush for instructions.
"There ain't much sun left and they'll be goin' into camp soon," thedeputy said. "We'll leave the horses here with one man, and the rest ofus go ahead. While they're makin' camp we'll stand 'em up. What say,Dave?"
"Who stays with the horses?"
"Turkey," Bush decided. "He's the youngest."
"I'm damned if I do," Turkey rebelled. "Stay yourself. You're theoldest."
Bush grinned. "Can't, sonny, though I'd love to." He drew a dilapidatedpack of cards from his pocket and spread them fanwise. "Draw one. Lowstays. Deuce is low."
Drury drew low, cursed his luck. McClintock on one knee lacing ashoepack grinned at him.
"I wisht you'd sponge off my cayuse's back, Joe. He's gettin' sore.While you're about it, with nothin' else to do, you might go over thewhole lot."
Drury's retort put his first outburst in the shade. Laughter stirred himto fresh efforts.
"Now, boys!" said Bush.
He took the lead, Rennie behind him, then Angus.
Angus was glad to be out of the saddle, and glad, too, that the end ofthe chase was at hand. With the death of Blake much of his interest init had vanished. There was still Gavin, who if Braden's dyingdeclaration was to be believed had killed his father. But strangelyenough he felt little or no enmity toward him. He thought he shouldfeel more. Turkey, behind him, spoke.
"I guess this is the finish of that bunch. If they start anything, wewant to get Gavin--if he killed father."
Angus was silent for a moment. There was the possibility that it wouldnot be a one-sided affair. He was not troubled for himself, but Turkeywas rash.
"Don't take any chances, kid, if there is trouble."
"Not a chance," Turkey replied cheerfully. "Anybody that beats me to thetrigger will have to go some."
"That wasn't what I meant. Look after yourself. Don't get hurt."
"Are you trying to tell me to play it safe?" Turkey demanded withvirtuous indignation. "Why I ought to report you to Bush. Look afteryourself. You're married. Play it safe! Huh! You bet I will--with a fastgun."
But the sun was going down. Unless the fugitives suspected somethingthey would soon be making camp. Now and then Bush stopped to listen.None now spoke above a whisper. It was like the last hundred yards of along, hard stalk of big game. In this case the game was big enough, anddangerous. Mistakes could not be afforded.
Bush stopped suddenly. Distinct in the stillness came the quick"lick-lock" of an ax. The deputy nodded.
They came upon the camp. It was on a little flat at the mouth of a wilddraw, a little glade fringed with brush, through which ran a trickle ofa spring creek. At one side the horses, unsaddled, grazed. Gavin, at theother side, was dragging in a dry pole for firewood. Gerald knelt besidea freshly kindled fire. Larry was getting food from a sack.
It was Larry who saw them almost at the instant they saw him. He cried awarning. Gerald rose swiftly. Gavin dropped his pole. Bush steppedforward and held up his hand.
"I want you boys," he said.
"You can't have us," Gerald replied. "That's cold, Bush."
"Don't be foolish," Bush advised. "I want you, and I'm going to get you.And that's cold, too."
"Then fly at it!" Gerald cried, and with the words jerked his gun andfired.
Bush staggered, twisted and went down; but he drew his gun as he did soand began to shoot from the groun
d. The lonely mountain camp became aninferno of shattering, rolling sound.
Angus felt his hat lift as in a sudden squall. At the same moment Turkeyspun half around and against him, destroying his aim.
"I'm all right!" the youngster gasped, and in proof of his assertionfired.
Bustede, his right arm hanging, had dropped his rifle and was strugglingto draw his six-shooter with his left hand. McClintock, on one knee, wasworking the lever of his rifle like a saw. Rennie, a gun in either hand,unhooked them in a rattling roar.
Suddenly Gerald pitched forward on his face. Larry doubled up and wentdown. But Gavin was apparently unhurt. He saw his brothers fall. For aninstant he stood looking at them. Then he turned and bounded for thesheltering brush. With the rush of a bull moose he crashed into it whilea sleet of lead cut twigs around him, and disappeared.
"Git him!" Bush croaked from the ground. "Git him, somebody. Oh, sink mysoul for all rotten shootin'! Six guns-and he makes the timber! Agh-r!"
Angus stooped for an instant over Turkey. The youngster, very white offace, was sitting on the ground; but he was outcursing Bush.
"Are you hurt much? Where?"
"Not much. My shoulder. Get him, damn him! Get him for father!"
Angus found Rennie running beside him. It was impossible to trail thefugitive. All they could do was to keep on up the draw and trust toluck. But the pace and the rough ground soon told on Rennie.
"I can't travel no more," he gasped. "Too old. You go ahead."
"Go back and help the boys," Angus said. "There's a moon to-night and Imay not be back. If I don't find him I'll come in in the morning."
"Be darn sure you do come in. Don't take no chances."
Angus ran on up the draw. Now that he was alone he began to put forthhis strength and speed while the light should last. He was sure thatGavin would make for the higher ground. He would cross the summit ofthat range, and go ahead for the Cache. Though he had neither food noroutfit he had his six-shooter and presumably ammunition and matches.Angus knew that he himself would suffer little more than inconvenienceif he were in Gavin's place.
The draw narrowed, and steep hills closed in on either hand. He turnedto the right and began to climb. Darkness overtook him and he stopped.The cold chilled his sweating body with the cessation of motion, butGavin was as badly off. When the moon rose he went on again, but it wasslow work. Objects were distorted. Shadows lay where he would have hadlight. Once he slipped and fell, slithering twenty feet and barelysaving himself from an almost perpendicular drop of a hundred. Hecrawled back with difficulty, but his rifle was gone. He had heard itclang far below him. However, he had his belt gun, and so was on a parwith Gavin.
His objective was what seemed to be a notch in the summit. It was whathe would make for were he in Gavin's place. He toiled upwardmethodically, without hurry now, for there might be a long trail ahead.If Gavin could go to the Cache so could he. The timber began to thinout, to stunt. Trees were dwarfed, twisted by the mountain winds, mereminiatures. Presently they ceased altogether. He was above timberline.
There the thin snow partially covered the ground, increasing thedifficulty of travel. But its actinic qualities gave more light. It waspast midnight, and the moon was well up. He had been traveling for morethan seven hours.
For a moment he paused to rest, his lungs feeding greedily on the thin,cold air, and surveyed the scene below. It was a black fur of tree-tops,rolling, undulating, cleft with lines of greater darkness indicatinggreater depths. He could look over the tops of lesser mountains. Abovewere the peaks of the range, whitened spires against the sky.
In those far heights of the mountain wilderness one seemed to touch therim of space itself. The moon, the night, the height produced an effectof unspeakable vastness. It seemed to press in, to enfold the tiny atomcrawling upon and clinging to the surface of the earth. There finite andinfinite made contact. It was like the world's end, the _Ultima Thule_of ancient man.
Some such thoughts, vague, scarcely formed, passed through his mind.The ranch, ploughed land, houses, seemed to belong to another world.
Once more he began to climb, and now that he was close to the summit thegoing was easier. Suddenly he stopped. There, clear in the moonlight,was the track of a moccasin-clad foot.
There was no doubt that it was Gavin's. Knowing his own pace Angus knewthat the big man could not be far ahead. No doubt he would keep going,over the summit and down the other side, for timber. Once in the timber,with a fire, he would rest. His trail across would be covered by thefirst wind. He would not suspect that any one would or could follow himby night.
Angus followed the trail easily by the bright moonlight, noting grimlythat the length of the stride was almost identical with his own. Theprints were clean, showing that the feet had been cleanly lifted and setdown, token of energy unimpaired.
When he reached the summit he took a careful survey. It was a desolateplateau, swept and scoured by the winds and rains and snow of unnumberedcenturies. On it nothing grew. Here and there bowlders loomed blackly.But nothing moved. Apparently, it was as bare of life as the deadmountains of the moon. The trail led straight on.
Satisfied of this, Angus followed the trail at speed. Now and then itturned out to avoid a bowlder, but otherwise it went straight ahead, asthough no doubt of direction existed in its maker's mind. Presently itswung around a huge rock and then turned north. Angus glanced casuallyat the bowlder and passed by; but he had taken no more than threestrides in the new direction when a voice behind him commanded:
"Stop! Put up your hands!"
The Land of Strong Men Page 45