by Caleb Rand
Mollie shuddered with misery and futility. The Bolas boss’s words had somehow expressed the fear that nagged her, that Hog Flats was against her, conspiring to keep her from warning Will Chalk. She was tired now, but she cantered along, not sparing a glance for anything or anyone.
After five minutes, she turned to Ogden who was still riding beside her. ‘If I give you my word that I just want to see Henri . . . take him into town to the doc’s, will you let me through?’ she asked.
Ogden cleared his throat. ‘No. You wouldn’t mean it. You’re too desperate.’
‘How many men have you got working on Bolas for no pay?’ Mollie continued.
‘How’d you mean?’ Ogden reined in. They were only a few miles from town now, and he felt it safe to let her continue alone.
‘You know I have no money to pay riders. And you know I have four men working at the ranch . . . two of them crawling through Condor Pass. Ask yourself this. How would it be if you couldn’t pay for your gunmen.’ Mollie smiled bitterly. ‘You think they’d stay for water and biscuits . . . for loyalty? No, you might be a winner in the here and now, Ogden, but sure as hell you’re a loser at most else. Think on it.’
Ogden blustered for a moment. ‘It’s different. Have you considered how your saddle tramps got so eager for combat?’
‘By encountering men like you, maybe,’ Mollie replied dryly. ‘You’re tossing a rotten apple into the barrel.’ She watched thoughts spinning uncontrollably in his mind. When he wheeled away and rode off, she sat there silently until he disappeared in the vaporous heat.
Without pausing to look at the town, Mollie rode on past the rough-hewn bridge. She turned right a few hundred yards beyond, struck out for the open range land where Will should be waiting at the line cabin. Knowing that time was running out, Mollie accepted she had to ride the tough way there.
Chapter 15
Bruno Ogden’s search was beginning. Will Chalk knew it as soon as he saw the Bolas riders gathering in the home yard of Bluestem. From the doorway of the line shack, he lowered his spyglass, turned to face the prospect of the land above and beyond. The foothills were a bleak territory strewn with tanzanite, stunt pine and shifting scree. The ice was thinly sheeted on pools of standing water, the snowline no more than an hour’s ride.
‘Latch. We’re moving out,’ he said.
Henri woke up, raised himself on an elbow. With his other hand he fingered the crust of bandaging around his lower neck, forced his eyes to the gloom of the cabin. ‘There was a time when this kind o’ life went with the job,’ he said with a grim smile. ‘But nowadays I’m really too long in the peg. Do I thank you for all this?’
‘You can if you want,’ Latch answered. ‘You only lost a pinch o’ flesh. How you feelin’?’ Latch crouched down beside the metis. Then he turned to look at Will, confusion in his voice. ‘Move? We’ve only just got here.’
‘Come see this.’ Will beckoned Latch to the door, handed him the spyglass. ‘You don’t want to be hanging around when they get here,’ he said. The Bolas riders were strung out now, a dozen men riding in single file, urging their horses up from the flats. The sun glinted on the rifle barrels and saddle conchas, and it was quite obvious that Bruno Ogden knew where he was going.
‘Does look like they know somethin’,’ Latch said.
‘Yeah, sure does.’ Will went back into the windowless shack and stared pensively at Henri.
‘I’ll saddle us up then.’ As Latch spoke, he drew in his belt another notch, as if in readiness. ‘An’ always when I’m hungry.’
‘Do you reckon you can hold out?’ Will asked of Henri. ‘We didn’t have much choice getting you here. Now I’m obliged to ask.’
The Bluestem metis saw the openness in Will’s face. ‘From here on, you’ll play hell gettin’ anywhere without me. I know these hills better’n my own pillow.’
‘Can you track into Bolas?’
‘Like I said, there ain’t a dead trail to someone with Indian blood.’
‘Bolas?’ Latch blasted. ‘What the hell you thinkin’ of now, Will?’
‘Ogden’s down there . . . or soon will be. Him and practically every one of his paid followers, by the looks of it.’
‘Yeah, gotcha.’ Latch went back to the door and stared out across the valley.
Will looked down at Henri. ‘Of course there is a place he won’t come looking. The man-made barrier.’
Henri’s eyes brightened as he staggered to his feet. ‘The headwaters o’ the Cholla? That’s where they shot Lew Redbone. I’ll take you.’
In the following few moments of silence they heard the distinctive ring of a horse’s hoof, the anxious whinnying of their own nearby mounts.
‘Now you come see,’ Latch said, pressing his back against the open door.
The approaching horse slowed down. Then it stopped and pawed the ground in uncertainty. Mollie Broad looked enquiringly at the three part-saddled horses.
Will cursed quietly. ‘She’ll make someone a good scout. Either that or a goddamn bell mule,’ he said, removing his hand from the butt of his Colt.
Mollie was about to ask what was going on when her glance fell away to follow Will’s outstretched, pointing finger. She saw the line of horsemen working their way up the slopes, quickly realized the appearance of a mistake she could have made.
‘I didn’t bring them,’ she said as a response to her own thoughts. ‘I waited until Ogden and the other two had rode on. For the best part, I used the old Indian trail.’
‘Hmm, why not. I guess it’s her neck o’ the woods too,’ Latch replied as they stepped into the sunshine.
‘Well, we were just leaving,’ Will murmured. ‘I hope you can make it back the way you came.’
‘I came to tell you that Mower’s going to put Ben on the Whiterod stage, three days from now.’
‘Three days?’ There was no more annoyance in Will’s voice. ‘That gives us time.’
Latch grinned at Mollie. ‘How do, ma’am. You can take a look at your Henri, as you’re here. The fever’s up an’ gone.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Mollie spoke softly, averting her face from Will. At the door she looked back, saw the Bolas riders were lost from sight, then hurried inside. Ten minutes later she came out with Henri behind her. Will’s attention was instantly drawn to the clean, fresh dressing, and he smiled. A fragment of lace nestled in the nape of the man’s neck, showed up bright against the relative darkness of his skin.
‘Thank you. Now we can all get going,’ Will said.
‘Yes, don’t worry about me.’ Mollie climbed into the saddle, adjusted her skirt and glanced from one face to the other. ‘What shall I tell Ben?’
Will returned a poker face. ‘Tell him Whiterod’s not all it’s cracked up to be. That he’s not to worry if he doesn’t get there.’
Mollie nodded once. She turned her horse and rode away, dejected at not being more involved.
A cloud rolled up over the mountains and blotted the sun. Dark shadows and meagre rays of sunlight scarred the ground, the valley faded into a setting of indefinite shapes and sizes.
Latch grinned. ‘Well, if you ain’t the darndest, Henri. You really ain’t lookin’ your best.’ He held the horse until Henri was in the saddle, then he swung up on to his own mount. ‘An’ I’m gettin’ too old for this,’ he added.
‘You wouldn’t be if I suggested we ride to the Bello Hotel,’ Will said. ‘It’s time we moved out.’ Will heeled his horse and motioned to Henri. ‘Break us a trail.’
Henri kept away from any sign of a trail. He rode miles to avoid crossing a cattle track, slowly leading the way across the mountain borders of Far Creek. It was first dark when the juniper stands appeared. The three men ducked into the welcoming gloom, the tang of resin, working their way towards the roar of water up ahead.
‘The Cholla.’ Henri slid wearily from the saddle, looked up at his companions. ‘So what do we do now?’
‘What we came here for.’ Will kept his voice down,
led the way silently through the thick duff, with nothing but the sound of water to act as guide. ‘Ogden used dynamite to collapse the bank in over the logs. I’m hoping there’s a stick or two left over,’ he said.
‘We go to Bolas?’ Latch asked.
‘No. He won’t keep explosives anywhere near there for an enquiring lawman to find,’ Will replied. ‘There’ll be a cabin, a tool store.’
‘An’ how’d you figure on gettin’ across that stream?’ Latch asked. ‘The rain’s been here . . . water’s up an’ runnin’.’
Will turned his face to the sky, felt the flecks of rain in the air. ‘It’s still here,’ he replied. ‘And a sierra storm would do the job for us,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘But we can’t wait. I’ll use the dam . . . go across the top of it.’
‘I can crawl pretty good right now,’ Henri said. ‘If there are any guards they won’t see me. If they do, I’ll be lookin’ like a fat ol’ log.’
‘What’s our chance of gettin’ away with this, Will?’ Latch asked. ‘The truth.’
Will crooked a smile. ‘At best, not good. At worst, zilch. But then I’m always hoping to get lucky.’
Henri checked his big Army Colt, pushed it securely back into his holster. He took off his hat, and re-tied his bandana loosely around his neck to cover his dressings. ‘There. You ever work with dynamite before?’ he asked.
Will shook his head. ‘How about you?’
‘Powder man with the Great Northern. Came to Bluestem from the Yellowstone. I’d say I just got elected for the job.’
Henri started to move off, held up his hand as Will attempted to dissuade him. ‘I’m a Broad rider with a Bolas hole in him, so I won’t be talked out o’ this. You understand?’
‘Yeah,’ Will conceded. ‘I was going to suggest we do it together,’ he said, just as resolute.
With Latch using the spyglass to keep an eye on the landscape below them, the three men worked their way to the crown of the Cholla. The creek was wider with higher banks. Less than a mile upstream, the fluffy spume heads of water boiled into the excavations. They could see where the rock slide had stripped the mountain to bare bedrock, formed the main holding for the log jam.
The Cholla was choked with tons of rock and scree, below it the dam had backed up the waters to form a small lake, which raced out of sight around a bend in the hills.
If there were guards, a skeleton crew, they were nowhere to be seen. But wagon tracks plainly led down into the far reaches of the canyon. Will sized up the rocky terrain between him and the dam. To be seen on that slippery, mossy slope would be dangerous, but time was running out and they had to take a chance.
‘We’ll cross one at a time,’ Will said, and checked his carbine and the cylinder of his Colt. He skittered downhill towards the dam, for a time belly down, sometimes crawling. He went on cautiously until he was at the brim, above the dropping wall of the Cholla. He looked down on the upper side of the dam, and in the clear, still water saw the logs and branches, rock and rubble which created the outer bulwarks.
Will pointed down, turned and motioned Latch and Henri to get closer.
Moving up, Latch turned his weathered face towards Henri. ‘This ain’t much more’n a wily ol’ beaver’s den.’
‘Yeah. Knock out its legs, an’ pouf!’ Henri described with a short waving lift of his arm.
Will pondered his next move. An attempt to rush in could mean taking a bullet from any guard that Ogden kept posted. Then there was the canyon guard. An exchange of gunfire would bring the man out, or, worse still, send him straight after Ogden to bring back the Bolas gunmen.
‘Can’t be any shooting,’ he whispered, his voice nearly drowned out by the growling water, the increasing hiss and patter of rain through the trees. ‘We’ll split up . . . get them before they know we’re here or how many of us there are.’
‘I hope they’re not sayin’ the same thing about us,’ Latch muttered back. ‘If they’re not stickin’ to drive times, maybe there’s somethin’ hot on a plate. Let’s go find out.’
Will grinned. ‘That’s your mission in life, Latch. Food an’ drink. Bean master in a joint of the finest fixings.’
But Latch didn’t hear. He was crawling across the dam, towards the high bank on the other side, moving snake-like towards the food and coffee smells he imagined drifting through the trees.
Chapter 16
A blanket of mist spread down from the peaks of Condor Pass, and Bruno Ogden shifted uneasily in his saddle. He’d placed a ring of men around the shack, and Deavis and Copper John were inside.
‘Deavis,’ he called out.
‘No sign of ’em,’ Deavis replied from the open doorway. He held up a dirty, discarded handful of bandage. ‘Looks like someone got their damage taken care of.’
‘Goddamnit,’ Ogden climbed from the saddle, his slicker gleaming, hugging his legs. He looked hard at the surrounding land, back to Deavis who was indicating back into the cabin.
‘There was four of ’em . . . can’t be certain,’ he said.
‘Three. Three men and a woman.’ Ogden corrected impatiently. He walked into the shack and flared a vesta. He knew that Mollie Broad had been there, could almost discern the imprint of her boots. ‘She was waiting, or more probably came in later,’ he added. ‘Timely enough to carry a warning . . . help her trusty retainer.’
‘What do you want to do?’ Deavis asked.
‘Not waste any more time.’ Ogden’s voice was edgy again. ‘They’re up here, all right. I can almost smell ’em.’ He walked outside, peered into the damp cling of mist. ‘But where?’
Two riders approached, their horses steaming and breathing heavily. ‘There’s sign, boss. One horse headin’ towards White Mesa,’ the first man said.
‘That’ll be Mollie Broad,’ Ogden replied with little satisfaction.
‘Remove her,’ Deavis drawled. Then he caught the expression across Ogden’s face. ‘You may be sorry for runnin’ up against this Will Chalk hombre,’ he added less ominously.
‘Why’d you say that?’
‘It’s goin’ to be a nightmare findin’ him in this, an’ he knows it. Like a dust devil.’ Deavis jerked his head towards a long, dark cloud nudging the peaks. ‘Right now, we don’t know where he is, but he sure as hell knows where we are.’
‘Your point? You’ve obviously got one,’ Ogden pressed.
‘Bring the girl in, an’ they’ll come to you,’ Deavis continued. ‘Why put up with this when we can all get hunkered at Bluestem?’
‘Not Bluestem. At Bolas.’ Ogden pulled the neck of his slicker tight, then the front brim of his sodden hat down over his eyes. ‘Take someone and bring her in,’ he said, turning to look at Copper John. ‘We’ll ride back across Far Creek.’
An hour’s ride away from the line shack, the chill rain seeped into Ogden’s bones. The tang of wet horse beset his senses, his jaw was aching, his teeth starting to chatter. And it was galling to stare through a break in the mist, see the flats bright with sunshine. When they came to the timber, every low-lying branch flicked its water across his hands and face.
‘If we stop at the dam, we can at least get a warm-up.’ Deavis lifted his hat, slapped the rain from it.
‘OK. Tomorrow, take the men you need and gather that Bluestem herd.’ Ogden’s tone had dulled a bit. He looked at Deavis, snorted at the inquiring look. ‘Get the girl to Bolas and the beef to Mower’s pens. We’ll get it moved on before anything else.’
Deavis was about to interrupt, changed his mind.
‘Yeah, near a thousand head of scrawny stock, and I want them off my hands.’ Ogden said, as a rumbling noise echoed through the trees. Fine showers of water showered from the branches, and he dragged on the reins as his horse crow-hopped at the thunder.
‘That’s all we need,’ Deavis remarked. ‘Reckon it’s the end o’ the goddamn drought.’
Ogden ducked his head, cursed and rode moodily on.
Latch tied the catch ropes together, jerked the
knots and grinned at the two Bolas guards. ‘Huh, don’t know about servin’ up biscuits an’ gravy,’ he muttered. ‘Seems I’ve got me a gift for parcellin’.’
Not understanding, the restrained men looked at each other and shook their heads.
‘Those ropes could hold a half ton o’ beef. Should be enough to stop you turkeys from goin’ anywhere,’ Latch added.
Henri walked from the guards’ Sibley tent, his face serious. ‘I think you’re wrong about this, Will. Why don’t you let me do it?’ he asked.
‘You’d be a sitting target if your neck or your back suddenly snagged.’
‘Who from?’
‘The canyon guard, if he came along. We can’t take the risk.’ Will ducked into the old army tent, and dragged a box outside. ‘Everything here ready?’
‘Sure,’ the man confirmed, lifting the lid on sticks of dynamite nestling in a bed of sawdust. ‘I’ve set a three-minute burnin’ time.’
‘That’s enough is it . . . three minutes?’ Will picked up the box, looped its rope handles through the end of Latch’s line.
‘If it isn’t, you’ll be back up here a lot quicker’n you went down.’
‘Now, tell me again. We all know this ain’t a goddamn rehearsal.’ Will stood at the rim of the dam, staring down into the canyon beyond. He was attentive to its depth, being lowered down on the end of a line with a case of explosives.
‘Scrape a hole big enough to take most o’ the box,’ Henri repeated. ‘Mix up enough mud to cover the lot. There’ll be plenty of it down there. An’ give us time to haul you up before you light it.’
‘Water won’t put it out?’
‘No. Chinese use it on the railroad to blow up lakes an’ redirect rivers. It’ll burn OK.’
They waited until Latch had returned from along the opposite bank to fetch the horses. Wrapping the pommel end of the line securely around the saddle horn of his own mount, Latch nodded. Will handed over his hat and started his descent. Minutes later he reached the canyon floor, the line slackened and Latch eased off paying out the rope.