Curse of Skull Canyon

by Peter Brandvold

  “You wouldn’t be chicken,” Lonnie assured her. “You’d be smart. I oughta stay away, too, but I don’t see as I have many options other than to try to find McLory and haul him to Arapaho Creek.”

  Casey sighed. “Well, you’re gonna need help, Lonnie. If you do find him”—she gave a little shudder of revulsion as she no doubt imagined hefting the body of a dead man onto a horse—“you’re gonna need help getting him back to town.”

  “I can find another way,” Lonnie said. “I can rig a travois. It’ll just take me a little time, that’s all.”

  Casey appeared to consider this. Lonnie thought she was likely imagining the four riders getting shot out of their saddles, as he himself couldn’t help replaying inside his head. Finally, Casey shook her hair back behind her shoulders and gigged Miss Abigail up and around Lonnie. “Someone’s gotta save you from yourself. Looks like I drew the short straw!”

  “What about the mercantile?” Lonnie called after her.

  Casey glanced behind as she and the mare trotted up the trail. “Since I pulled double duty for him, Mister Hendrickson gave me the day off. Come on, Lonnie. What is it you always say? We’re burnin’ daylight!”

  Lonnie watched her wavy hair bounce across her slender back as she rode up into the shade of the pines. The sunlight flashed in those blonde tresses like nuggets of pure gold. He didn’t want her here, because he knew how dangerous it was.

  On the other hand, he wanted her here, close by his side, so badly that he could feel the need in every fiber.

  “All right,” he said, concealing his great happiness as he spurred the General ahead, “but don’t blame me if we get into the same sort of trouble we got into a year ago!”

  “Riding with you, Lonnie Gentry, there’s always going to be trouble!” Casey yelled behind her.

  Lonnie couldn’t help snickering a little at that as he galloped the General up the mountain.

  “That’s it,” Lonnie said later, when they’d reached the canyon. “That’s the cave where I left McLory.”

  Lonnie scrambled up the steep slope behind the boulders. When he’d reached the small shelf fronting the egg-shaped cavern, he threw his hand out for Casey making her way up the slope behind him. Casey took Lonnie’s hand, and he gave her a tug.

  Together, they crouched to stare into the cavern. Direct sunlight reached about five feet beyond the opening, but there was enough indirect light that they could see all the way to the stone wall at the back.

  “See—no sign of him,” Lonnie said.

  “No, there sure isn’t.” Casey turned to Lonnie. “You sure this was the cave?”

  “It’s the only cave around.”

  “You built a fire in there?”

  “Yep. Whoever took McLory, wiped the cave clear of all the fire ash, too.”

  Casey pondered this as she stared into the cave. “So . . . whoever took McLory out of the cave wanted to make sure that whoever you told about him wouldn’t find a lick of any sign of either of you. So they wouldn’t believe you about McLory.”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  Casey turned to Lonnie. “Why?”

  “The only way I can figure it is they didn’t want the law snoopin’ around and possibly finding out that they—whoever killed McLory—was out here lookin’ for the stolen army payroll. Whoever ‘they’ are—they probably killed those four riders I told you about, too. And likely hid their bodies. They don’t want the law sniffin’ around.”

  “Who could ‘they’ be?”

  “Search me. But they’re most likely wanted. That’s why they didn’t want the law around. Or were wanted, at least—if it was one of the four men I saw shot off their horses who shot McLory. I got a hunch there’s a couple of different groups searching for that gold. One might even be led up by Crawford Kinch himself.”

  Casey straightened and looked around. “Let’s find McLory and get out of here, Lonnie. It isn’t safe here.”

  “You can say that again.” Lonnie looked around, too, scouring the terrain around the cave with his eyes. “What would they have done with him?”

  “Finding a dead man around here is going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack. There’s all kinds of places they could have hid him, Lonnie.” Casey looked at him. “I’m starting to think this idea of yours is even crazier than I thought it was before we reached the canyon. I think we oughta go back to town.”

  “Yeah, I’ll go back to town so Halliday can arrest me, and Walleye can shoot me tryin’ to escape.” Lonnie chuckled dryly. “No, thanks. I’ll take my chances lookin’ for McLory.”

  Lonnie looked around again. “I’m thinkin’ they wouldn’t have taken him far. No one wants to be haulin’ a dead man around for longer than is absolutely necessary. They might have dragged him somewhere nearby, and tossed some brush or rocks on him.”

  Lonnie continued to move on along the base of the ridge, behind the boulders shielding him from the canyon floor.

  “You’re wasting your time, Lonnie.”

  “Maybe so, but at least I still have time. In town, I’d be livin’ on borrowed ti—oh, crap!”

  “Lonnie!” Casey screamed.

  Lonnie had tripped over a boot-sized rock. Trying to maintain his balance, he’d stepped onto a downward slope covered with talus. That foot slid out from under him. Lonnie hit the ground on his belly and rolled down the slope. It was so steep that there was nothing he could do to stop or even ease his descent.

  Fortunately, the slope was only about a twenty-foot drop. There was a boulder at the base of it. Lonnie slammed against the base of the boulder with a dull smack!

  He grunted.

  He found himself lying belly down against the boulder’s base, in a small area that rainwater had likely eroded away to form a dip. When Lonnie turned over on his back, groaning at the pain in his limbs and head, he snapped his eyes wide, and gasped.

  A pale hand hovered over his face, the dusty fingers curled toward the palm.

  “Lonnie!” Casey yelled from atop the slope. “Are you all right?”

  Lonnie stared in horror at the stiff hand. Then he eased himself out from under it, gazing at the limb in shock.

  “Yeah,” Lonnie said dully. “Yeah, I’m all right. But I, uh . . . I think I found McLory!”

  CHAPTER 25

  Wincing, Lonnie gained his feet and stared down at the arm he’d partially uncovered when he’d rolled up against and sort of under the boulder, where erosion had dug out a crevice beneath it.

  Apparently, whoever had found McLory in the cave had shoved him into the crevice and kicked slide rock down on top of him, covering the body. Lonnie saw bits of ash and charred wood, as well. This is also where they’d deposited the remains of the fire.

  Casey dropped to her butt and slid down the steep slope behind Lonnie. When she gained the bottom, she crumpled her face as she pointed. “Is . . . that . . . what . . . I think it is?”

  “McLory’s hand.”

  “Oh, my gosh.”

  Lonnie looked at her. “You squeamish?”

  Casey nodded. “When it comes to baiting my own fishhook, no. When it comes to handling dead men, yes.”

  “I’m gonna need help getting him out of here, Casey.”

  Still staring down at the uncovered hand and part of an arm, Casey flopped her hands against her thighs and said blandly, “Well, that’s what I came here for.”

  Reluctantly, Lonnie dropped to his knees and began carefully removing debris from over McLory’s body. His heart fluttered as he worked. He felt his innards recoil as he revealed more and more of the dead young man’s body. Finally, he removed the last rock and chunk of charred firewood from over the young man’s pale, dusty face.

  Dust clung to McLory’s hair. It was like a thin cap pulled tightly over his head.

  Casey removed more debris from over McLory’s legs.

  She and Lonnie sat back on their heels, regarding the body now fully uncovered before them, a dark stain of blood showi
ng through the remaining dirt and sand.

  “Well, at least you weren’t hallucinating, Lonnie,” Casey said. “I was beginning to wonder.”

  “Yeah, so was I.”

  “How’re we gonna get him out of that crevice? He looks pretty snug in there.”

  “Good question.”

  Lonnie leaned forward and, making a face as he put his hands on Cade McLory’s stiff, lifeless body, he tried to pry the man out of the crevice. The body moved a little but didn’t budge from the crevice.

  “Good question,” Lonnie repeated, sitting back on his heels once more.

  “Maybe if we dig the dirt out from under him,” Casey said.

  “Might as well give it a try.”

  Lonnie and Casey used their gloved hands to scoop the coarse red dirt and gravel out from under McLory. When they’d dug a trench about ten inches wide and roughly as long as McLory himself, Casey tugged on the dead man’s boots while Lonnie hunkered low beneath the boulder, hooking an arm around the man’s neck, and tugged on his upper body.

  After much straining and grunting and groaning, they managed to pry McLory up to the edge of the trench.

  Now, he was at least free of the crevice beneath the boulder. But they still had to find a way to get him down off this steep slope and onto the General’s back.

  Lonnie and Casey discussed it. Then Lonnie scrambled along the shoulder of the slope to where the stallion waited patiently with Miss Abigail. Lonnie removed his lariat from where it hung coiled over his saddle horn, dallied one end around the horn and the other end around Cade McLory’s ankles.

  As he worked, Casey said, “This is sure some way to treat a dead man.”

  “I know,” Lonnie said, sheepish. “But I figure since he’s dead, he doesn’t know what’s happening to him. And me doin’ this will help me not end up in his same condition. We sort of got to know each other the other night. I got a feelin’ he wouldn’t mind helpin’ me out.”

  “He doesn’t look very old,” Casey remarked, staring pensively down at McLory’s waxen, dusty features. “Maybe only a couple of years older than me. Now he’s dead when he had a whole long life ahead of him not all that long ago.”

  “Ain’t that the way it goes, though,” Lonnie said, straightening. He looked down at Casey kneeling beside McLory. “Will you help guide him around the boulder when I start leadin’ the General down the slope?”

  Casey nodded.

  Lonnie scrambled back over to the General. He turned the buckskin around and started leading him downslope. As he did, the rope drew taut. McLory’s body lurched straight out away from the boulder, feet first. It sort of fishtailed around another, smaller boulder around which Lonnie had snaked the rope.

  When it got hung up on the boulder and Casey couldn’t free the body herself, Lonnie went over and helped her. Once free of the smaller boulder, Casey gave a clipped scream as McLory rolled down the steep slope toward where the General waited, halfway down the incline toward the canyon floor.

  McLory rolled on past the General before piling up, belly down, a few yards beyond the startled stallion, who switched his tail edgily, whickering at the smell of a dead man.

  Dust roiled in the body’s wake.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Lonnie said.

  “Well, that was one way to get him down off this bluff.”

  Lonnie and Casey glanced at each other then laughter exploded from them both at the same time. It wasn’t that there was anything funny about what they’d done to poor McLory. It was a mutual acknowledgment of the situation’s gruesomeness and of their haplessness in effecting the maneuver.

  When their brief burst of laughter had died, Lonnie shook his head and started down the slope toward where the General was lowering his head to sniff the dead man. Lonnie rolled the corpse over onto its back. Casey moved down the steep bluff, grabbing large rocks to break her fall. Breathless, she came up to stand beside Lonnie.

  “Now, to get him up on the General’s back,” Lonnie said, joyless at the prospect.

  “Yeah, that should be fun.”

  Lonnie fetched the tarpaulin that he’d strapped beneath his bedroll before he’d left the ranch. He unrolled the tarp and wrapped McLory’s body in it, tying the canvas closed with several lengths of rope. It took him and Casey at least ten minutes and several tries to hoist the body up onto the General’s back. They dropped poor McLory several times, but Lonnie kept reminding himself that the man was dead and couldn’t feel it.

  Still, he felt ashamed for the way he and Casey were treating the body. But it wasn’t like they intended to be disrespectful. Lonnie soothed his battered conscience by silently assuring McLory that he’d make sure he was respectfully laid to a peaceful rest in a proper grave in Arapaho Creek.

  When McLory’s wrapped body was lying belly down over the General’s back, behind the saddle, Lonnie and Casey took a breather and long drinks from Lonnie’s canteen. Using more rope, Lonnie secured the body to the General’s back while Casey fetched Miss Abigail. They mounted their horses, splashed across the creek, and headed for the canyon mouth that seemed to beckon warmly to Lonnie though he secretly couldn’t keep his mind off the stolen army loot and the possible reward being offered for it.

  It was pointless to think about it, however. What he had to concentrate on was convincing Sheriff Halliday not to arrest him for shooting Walleye. Now that he had McLory’s body, which proved he hadn’t lied about that, anyway, he likely had a good chance of convincing Halliday that he’d only shot Walleye in self-defense before he’d known whom he’d been shooting at.

  As Lonnie and Casey rode out of the canyon mouth, Lonnie felt his shoulders loosen in relief. Then they tightened again. He reined the General to a sudden stop.

  “What is it?” Casey said, stopping her chestnut beside him.

  Lonnie stared straight out from the canyon mouth, where he could see three shadows moving in the trees on the far side of Ingrid Creek, about a hundred yards away and moving in Lonnie and Casey’s direction.

  “Quick!” Lonnie reined the General around and, as much as he didn’t want to, he yelled, “Back to the canyon!”

  CHAPTER 26

  Lonnie rode the General back through the canyon mouth, glancing back over his shoulder at Casey, who was galloping after him. “Did you see ’em?” he asked.

  Casey nodded. “You suppose they’re headed for the canyon?”

  “Looked that way.”

  When they’d ridden around a slight bulge in the eastern ridge wall, Lonnie stopped the General and swung down from his saddle. Casey moved on ahead and then reined the mare in, as well. Lonnie tossed his reins to her.

  “Wait here—I’m gonna check it out.”

  Lonnie stepped back around the bulge in the ridge wall, and stopped. He dropped to his haunches as he stared toward the canyon mouth gaping out on a small, grassy meadow through which the creek ran, and the pine forest beyond.

  He could see the three riders crossing the creek, coming on slowly, one trailing a packhorse. Lonnie had been afraid that they might have seen him and Casey, but it didn’t look that way. They were moving at a leisurely pace, spread out about ten feet apart. They were too far away for Lonnie to make out much about them except that one was riding a big Palomino and was wearing a black opera hat, very much out of place out here.

  Lonnie waited, worrying a stone in his hand, as he gazed at the three riders who continued to move toward him. When they did not swerve to either side but rode on into the canyon, Lonnie stepped back behind the bulge in the ridge wall and turned to where Casey sat her mare, gazing toward him with a worried expression.

  “They’re comin’, all right.” Lonnie held his hand up for his reins, which Casey tossed to him. “We’d best ride on.”

  “Deeper into the canyon?”

  “Where else we gonna go? Those men might or might not be the fellas who shot those four riders off their horses, but they’re likely looking for the loot. I for one don’t cotton to the idea of hanging around
here to find out if they’re friendly. We’d best hole up somewhere out of sight, and try to sneak out around them.”

  Lonnie had just turned out his left stirrup and was about to poke his boot through it, when he heard the thuds of galloping horses growing louder. He frowned and stared back in the direction of the canyon mouth, crickets of apprehension playing hopscotch along his spine.

  He glanced at Casey and then walked back to the bulge in the ridge wall. He eased a cautious glance out around it.

  The three riders were now galloping toward him.

  The man in the top hat snapped a rifle to his shoulder. The carbine belched loudly. The slug screeched toward Lonnie and hammered the ridge wall only a few feet from his face.

  Lonnie lurched backward, heart racing.

  “Lonnie!” Casey yelled.

  “Go!” Lonnie got his boot tangled up as he twisted around and started to run. He dropped hard on his belly, then lifted his head to yell louder, “Go, Casey! Ride!”

  Casey neck-reined the mare around, and rammed her heels into the horse’s flanks, lurching into an instant gallop. Hearing more shooting behind him as well as the smashing of the slugs into the ridge wall only a few feet away, Lonnie scrambled to his feet and up onto the General’s back.

  The stallion required no urging to flee. Even before Lonnie was set, the stallion broke into a ground-swallowing run, nearly throwing Lonnie. When the boy had recovered, he hunkered low in the saddle and followed Casey and the mare along the gradually rising canyon floor. The ridge walls widened around them, and Ingrid Creek slid away on Lonnie’s left. They crossed a clearing and then entered a mix of conifers and aspens.

  Lonnie ground his molars as the reports of rifles echoed behind him.

  He glanced back and drew a sharp, shallow breath. The three riders were galloping hell-for-leather after him and Casey, the one trailing a packhorse lagging a ways behind the other two.

  Their bullets plumed dirt and spanged off rocks wickedly close to the General’s scissoring hooves. That was the encouragement the General needed to run even faster. Lonnie could feel the horse lunging ahead, chewing up the ground and overtaking Casey.