After I'd eaten, I packed a bait of grub for morning, fixed over my snowshoes a mite, and settled down for the night, stowing the book away in my saddlebag.
A good hour before suntime I rolled out of my soogan and stowed it away. I fixed myself some breakfast and went down to the creek with the horses. Breaking a hole with my axe, I watered them there, I knocked some grass free of snow and ice, but it wasn't enough . . . the day wasn't long enough to get enough.
Strapping on the snowshoes and slinging a pack, I took a length of rope and my Winchester and started out. It was shy of daybreak when I reached the trail into the canyon.
The first thing I saw was a smear on the snow of the trail, almost halfway down. Something had fallen on the trail.
Carefully, using hand-holds on the rock wall where I could find them, I started down the trail, and when I got to the smear I could see a little snow had already blown over it. So it must have happened during the night. And whatever it was had fallen over the edge.
I edged close to the rim. Here and there the wind had piled the snow until it had built up a cornice. If a man should rest his weight on it, down he would go. Leaning over, I looked down.
It was Ange.
She was lying on a ledge maybe twenty feet down. Snow had blown over her. That red-gold hair lay like a flame on the snow, caught in the first light that filtered through the dawn clouds.
Putting my rifle down, I hunted around, till I found a mess of bristle-cone roots exposed by a slide. I knotted my rope to them and went over the side, landing beside her in a shower of snow. The ledge on which she lay was deep in snow and not over six or seven feet across, and maybe three times that long.
She was not dead.
I picked her up in my arms and held her close, trying to get her warm, and whispered all sorts of nonsense to her.
I tied a bowline around her body under her arms, snug enough so she couldn't slip through. Then, hand over hand, clambering for foot-holds in the rock, I pulled myself back up to the trail. When I had caught my breath, I hoisted her up.
By the time I had her on the trail it was day and there was plenty of light Unknotting the bowline, I coiled my rope, strapped on my snowshoes, and picked her up. She had a bad knot on her head, but the thickness of her hair and the snow had probably cushioned the blow, so I doubted if she was hurt much.
I hadn't taken two steps before I heard a shout, far below, and a rifle shot that must have been very low, because it came nowhere near me. I turned, and saw several black figures against the snow of the canyon, far below. Ange stirred, and opened her eyes. Quickly, pulling back as far as I could against the cliff wall, I put her down on her feet.
Tell? Tell, is it really you? I thought--"
"You all right?"
I fell... I thought I fell over the edge."
"You did." Rifle in one hand, and her hand in the Other, I eased along the trail, hugging the rocks. Another shot put a bullet close to me, and I could see men running for the trail's end. One of them fell, but the others did not stop.
"Who is it down there?"
It's Mr. Tuthill and those others. Ira Bigelow and Tom. That man named Boyd and two others I don't know. One of them they call Ben."
Ben obes?
"They made me bring them, Tell. They threatened me. Besides . . . you hadn't come back and I was afraid."
It was growing colder. The clouds were breaking and the wind was mounting. It was slow going because of the ice beneath the snow. At the top of the trail, I got out of the snowshoes and tied them on Ange.
I thought back to the men who by now were making their way up the trail. There were six men down there, and they wanted the gold; but most of all, they wanted to kill me. Under the circumstances, they must kill Ange, too.
"Who knows you came with them?"
"Nobody does. Mr. Tuthill heard us talking, and he must have known about the gold already. But from what I said to you, he could tell that I knew about it too. He came to my cabin and offered to become my partner and get all the gold for us. I refused.
"He went away, and then when it was dark he came back with those other men. He told me to get dressed, and to dress warmly. He said he would kill me if I didn't... and he meant it.
"I had no idea what he intended to do until we were outside. And then I found out what had happened. They tried to follow you, and you got away from them, so they came back after me.
The only way I knew was back the way we came out, and I was not very sure of that. When we got in the mountains it was turning colder and the rain was falling. We got to the cave, and by that time, they were half-frozen and arguing among themselves.
"Boyd stayed on watch, but he fell asleep and I slipped out. I knew you were up here somewhere."
We struggled through the snow, with her talking fast, nervous and scared. "Tell, they mean to kill you. I was wrong. Tell! I didn't understand what kind of men they were!"
The fire was down to the merest coals when we got to the cave. From my stacked fuel I built up the fire to warm the place, and put some snow on to melt for coffee water.
When I looked up from the fire, Ange was standing there looking at me. "Tell, I'm sorry. I didn't understand."
"What could you think? I just up and shot those men. Of course, they were hunting it. They figured to kill me. I'm sorry you had to see it."
* I walked to the opening and looked out. The
sky was bright, the air was sharp with cold, but
was no sign of Tuthill and the others. "Back east," I said, "folks still have duels now again, only they arrange them . . . everything out pretty and conducted like a ceremony, difference is that out here we don't bother fixing it up proper. Back where most everyone is known, it's different. Out here most of us are strangers and nobody knows if the man he has A difficulty with is a gentleman, or not. So he just ups and shoots."
"That's what Joe told me. I ... I wouldn't listen at first. It seemed so ... so brutal." "Yes, ma'am. It is brutal. Only I never could see sense in having folks look at your tombstone and say, "He was a man who didn't believe in violence. He's a good man... and dead.'"
I paused, peering at the trees opposite. "No, Ange, if the folks who believe in law, justice, and a decent life for folks are to be shot down by those who believe in violence, nothing makes much sense. I believe in justice, I believe in being tolerating of other folks, but I pack a big pistol, ma'am, and will use it when needed."
There was no sign of those men yet. Either they were having trouble on the trail, or they were In-juning up on me and would settle down to shooting most any time. The snow and ice had covered the piles of waste rock thrown out of the tunnel so it wasn't likely they would guess first off that this was where the mine was.
Ange saw my Blackstone and picked it up. "Are you studying this?" She looked up at me curiously.
"Yes, ma'am. It's books like that which make a man proud of being a man."
"Are you going to be a lawyer?"
"No ... my brother Orrin made himself into one, but Orrin always was a talker. He had the gift, the Welsh tongue. I don't have any gift, ma'am, I'm just a man tries to do the right thing as well as he knows. Only, the way I figure, no man has the right to be ignorant. In a country like this, ignorance is a crime. If a man is going to vote, if he's going to take part in his country and its government, then it's up to him to understand.
"I had no schooling, ma'am, so I'm making out with this book and a few others. Some day"--I felt myself getting red around the gills--"I hope to have children and they'll have schooling, and I don't aim they should be ashamed of their Pa."
"How could they be?" Ange demanded. "You're good, you're brave, and--"
"Here they come," I said, and settled down behind the woodpile.
We could hear their boots crunching through the snow. There were five of them. Tuthill I recognized at once, and the two men beside him were probably the Bigelows. Will Boyd looked done up from the climbing and the cold. Behind him was Ben Hobes.
The only one missing was that white-haired youngster with the guns.
I watched them come, chewing on a bit of stick, my Winchester in my hands. They were playing the fool, for at that distance...
"Come on out, Sackett! We want to talk."
"I can hear you."
"Come on out here."
"And leave this warm fire? I'm comfortable."
They started arguing among themselves. Then Tuthill started toward the cave, so I put a bullet into the snow at his feet and he stopped so quick he almost fell.
"You boys have got bigger problems than me," I commented, conversationally. "A sight of snow fell since you came into the mountains. How do you plan to get out?"
"Look here, Sackett," Tuthill said, "we know you're sitting on a rich claim. Well, all we want is a piece of it. Why be foolish? There's enough for us
"Why share it? I've got it, and all you boys have
a chance to die in the snow." I eased my position a little. Tuthill, you don't to understand. When you came in here you came into a trap. The passes are closed, and we're all going to spend the winter. I hope you brought grub for five or six months."
"If you don't come out, Sackett," Tuthill threatened, "we're coming in." "If I shoot again, Tuthill, I'll shoot to kill." It was cold. Knowing this kind of country as I did, I knew what we could expect. It had cleared It was cold now--at least ten below. In a few it might drop to fifty below.
"Ben," I called, "you're no pilgrim. Tell them how cold it can get at ten or eleven thousand feet on a still night. We are all stuck for the winter, and you might as well get used to the idea.
You're going to need shelter, fuel, and food. The game won't stay this high, it will all head for lower ground. If you make a run for it, you might still get out."
The pile of fire-wood covered half the tunnel mouth to a height of more than four feet, and made a crude windbreak and shelter from gunfire. The tunnel, in following the vein, had taken a slight bend--enough to shelter one person--and I whispered to Ange to get back behind it.
While partly open, the walls of rock acted as reflectors and threw heat back upon us. Moreover, in our struggle to live, I would have three priceless assets not available to them--the pick, shovel, and axe.
They had come to take a mine away from me. I had come to work the mine.
I knew there were at least two things they could do that would be terribly dangerous to us. They could direct a heavy fire at the walls and roof of the tunnel, causing the bullets to ricochet within the small space. Such bullets tear like the jagged pieces of hot metal they are.
And they could kill the horses.
Killing them in the tunnel mouth could obscure our vision, and might even block escape. It might be they were doomed to die anyway, but I was going to get them out if I could.
Somewhere up on the slope a tree branch cracked in the cold. It was very still ... an icy stillness.
Boyd stamped his feet and complained. Boyd would be the first to go. He simply hadn't the guts for the long pull. Of them all, Ben Hobes was the one to last.
Suddenly, they turned around and started for trees. / should nail one of them, I thought. it was too late, and they were under three large trees and behind some brush where I could hear branches breaking as they built a fire. They would need more than a fire. Where was the kid?
There had been six ... one had tripped and fallen down below. That whole lower canyon was of boulders and logs, covered now with snow.
The bullet hit the butt end of a cut log just an instant before the report racketed against the hills. I reached over for the coffeepot and filled my cup. Nursing it in my hands to keep my fingers warm, I sat tight. A volley of shots came next, and one of them struck above the entrance, showering the woodpile with chipped rock.
back there, Ange. Don't move unless you have to."
"Tell? Are we going to get out of this?"
"Ange, I could lie to you, but I don't know. If any of us get out, we'll be lucky."
For several minutes they kept up a hammering and I let them shoot, holding my cup in my and waiting. Finally, they stopped, and we could hear them arguing.
Would they believe us dead? That was what I hoped.
Tuthill called out, but I made no sound. A couple searching shots came then, one striking the rock the opening again, the other hitting just inside the
Again Tuthill yelled, and I finished my coffee, peering through openings in the woodpile.
Another shot. This one struck deep into the cave with an angry smack.
There was more arguing. The voices could be heard, but not the words. Then the bushes parted and Tom Bigelow was coming toward the cave, a pistol in his hand.
He slowed as he came nearer, worried by what he was doing. He paused, threw up his pistol, and fired. It was a quick, testing shot, and it struck the rock at the side of the opening.
Bigelow hesitated, then came on, walking fast. He was within a dozen steps when I spoke out "All right, Bigelow. Drop that gun!"
He pulled up sharp, starting to tilt the gun.
"Drop it!"
He could see the rifle muzzle now. At that distance even a child couldn't miss with a Winchester. He dropped the gun.
"Your brother was killed because he tried to bottom deal on me, and I told him he'd better not grab iron. He tried it. I didn't want to kill him."
Tom Bigelow said nothing.
"Unloose your gun belt," I said.
He unfastened the belt and let it fall.
"All right, I'm letting you go back. But before you go, you might tell me what you boys are going to do for something to eat. Your passes are closed. You can't take our grub, and if you could, there isn't enough to last out a week."
"We can get back."
"Ask Ben Hobes. Ask him about Al Packer."
"Who's he?"
"He started across the mountains in the winter with a party. They ran out of grub. He ate all five of the others. These same mountains. Are you ready for that, Bigelow?"
"You're lyin'!"
"All right, go on back."
One less gun they had, and maybe eighteen to twenty less ca'tridges. Come night time they would try and close in on me. Of course, on the white snow...
"Did they bring any pack horses?" I asked Ange.
"No," she said, "they planned to go right back."
They would be short of grub then. Whatever they did, they must do at once.
Suddenly, as Bigelow disappeared into the trees, I levered three fast, searching shots over there, waited an instant, then fired again, holding the rifle a little lower.
Shivering, I added fuel to the fire. The hungry flames crept slowly along the branches, then finding a piece of pitch pine, blazed up. A shot struck the roof, ricocheted down, and scattered fire. I brushed the sparks from my clothing and the bed, and felt a sharp tug at my sleeve as a second bullet came, striking just beyond the fire.
Through the trees I could see their fire. Lying prone on the cold floor, and taking my time, I drew a careful bead on a dark spot at the edge. It might be a log or a stump. It might also be a man.
For a moment I relaxed. Then, taking a long breath, I gathered trigger-slack, let the breath out slowly, and squeezed off the shot.
The cry was hoarse, choking . . . followed by a horrible retching sound such as I had never heard from anything, animal or human.
There was a volley in reply. I fired four more shots that covered an area about four feet back from the fire, and then a final shot across the fire itself.
"Ange," I said, "you'll find some cold flour in my pack. Take it and some of that meat and cook them up together. When it gets dark, we're going to get out."
"Can we?"
"We can try."
Worried as I was about what Tuthill and the rest of them might do, I was more worried about the cold.
Somehow we had to escape. We had to try. We had to try while we had our strength.
Ange was in no condition to attempt a winter in the moun
tains. We lacked the food for it, lacked the proper clothing and equipment. Yet bad off as we were, those others must be suffering more by now. For his own sake, I hoped the man I shot was dead.
Frightened by the firing, the horses had drawn away from the cave mouth. Now they started back, but before they could reach us, two quick shots put them down. The pack horse first, then the appaloosa.
For the first time in months I swore. Pa was never strong on cussing, and Ma was dead set against it, so we boys kind of grew up without doing much of that, but I said some words this time. They were good horses, and they had done no harm to anyone. But I knew why they were killed. Those men over there, they were realizing how much they needed grub . . . and horse meat was still meat, and not bad eating at that.
Night came. Stars appeared, wind came flowing like icy water over the rim of the mountain. The moon was not visible to us yet, but shone white upon the mountain tops. Twice I dusted the woods with gunfire; and then Ange and me, we ate what we could. What was left of the jerked meat I stowed away in a pack, and made another pack of our blankets and the ammunition.
With a long pole I'd used a couple of times for fishing, I reached out and snagged Tom Bigelow's gun belt, then the pistol. I shucked the shells from the gun belt, and used them to fill empty loops in my own belt. Emptying the shells into my hand from the cylinder, I took my axe and smashed the firing pin.
Then I made a loop on my pack from which to hang the axe, and covered over the shovel and pick with rock waste from the floor of the tunnel. They would probably find them, but I had no intention of making anything easy.
Occasionally a shot hit the back wall or struck into the woodpile. Only at long intervals I returned their fire ... I wanted them to become accustomed to long waiting.
There was every chance they would try an attack under cover of darkness, although their dark figures would be visible on the snow for a time. However if they managed to cross far down the valley and worked toward us along the wall...
"Be ready to move," I whispered to Ange. "I think they will try something now, and after that we're pulling out."
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