Devil's Canyon

by Ralph Compton

  “Damn them,” said Shanghai, “they got us between a rock and a hard place. They’ll be knowin’ we can’t afford to leave the wagons and all of us go after them, nor do we dare split our forces.”

  “In that case, Faro,” Collins said, “since we’re still in danger of Indian attack, I think your scouting ahead every day is a needless risk.”

  “Maybe,” said Faro, “but we need to know that these riders are still far enough ahead of us to rule out an ambush. We can’t be sure of that, unless I trail them. As for Indians, that’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

  “I can do some of the scouting,” Collins said.

  “That’s generous of you,” said Faro, “but I can handle it.”

  Tarno laughed. “Faro ain’t much for blowin’ his own horn. What he won’t tell you is, for four years, he was a scout for John Mosby.”

  “My God,” Collins said, “The Gray Ghost. Please do your own scouting, Mr. Duval.”

  The wagons moved on, covering another fifteen miles before reining up for the night. Durham had kept his silence, mulling over what Faro Duval had said about the outlaws and their obvious intention of staying far ahead. Durham wondered if the outlaws had been near enough to have heard the shot, and if they had witnessed his fall from grace. He had to believe they had washed their hands of him, for now there was no way he would be able to rendezvous with Slade. That meant when the outlaws decided an ambush was in order, Durham would be just another target in the sights of their rifles. Double-crossing Slade was no longer a possibility. Like it or not, he must cast his lot with these teamsters, if he was to survive. To that end, immediately after supper, he began mending his fences. Going to Faro Duval, he spoke in as friendly a manner as he could.

  “Duval, I’ve been doin’ some thinking, and I owe you and Mr. Collins an apology. The deal I made with you in Santa Fe was legitimate, and I was wrong, trying to back out of it. If we’re attacked by Indians—or anyone else—I’ll take part in the defense, and I’ll do my best. I’ll take over the wagon again, if you wish.”

  “Far as I’m concerned,” said Faro, “your apology’s accepted.”

  “Mr. Duval speaks for me, as well,” Collins said.

  “Well, there don’t neither of you speak for me,” said Odessa McCutcheon. “I like this teamsterin’, and I reckon I’ll stay with the wagon.”

  “Since it’s your wagon,” Durham said, “I can’t argue with that.”

  “Praise be to God,” said Mamie, “he’s admitted it.”

  Durham’s apparent repentant attitude did much to lighten the mood of the camp, but Mamie and Odessa McCutcheon still viewed the gambler with distrust. It was a fair night, with moon and stars, and during the first watch, Mamie McCutcheon took the opportunity to speak to Shanghai, Tarno, and Dallas.

  “Durham’s got a lyin’ tongue. Don’t believe nothin’ the little sidewinder says, and if Duval or Collins will listen to you, warn them. He knows them outlaws was trailin’ you for some reason, and he’s makin’ peace so’s he can hang around and find out why.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Dallas said. “I still think he’s the varmint that crept up and slugged Collins.”

  “I think so, too,” said Shanghai, “but there’s no proof.”

  “There might have been,” Tarno said. “We should have searched the varmint.”

  “Without givin’ away any secrets,” said Mamie, “could he have taken something from Collins that might tell him where these wagons is goin’, and why?”

  “My God, yes,” Dallas said, recalling the little sack of gold ore. “He could have taken part of something that wouldn’t have been missed.”

  “He done it, then,” said Mamie.

  “I believe you’re right,” Shanghai said. “I wish you’d talk to Faro.”

  “Odessa will do that,” said Mamie. “The varmint’s slick as calf slobber, and we purely don’t believe for a minute he’s reformed. He’s just waitin’ for a chance to turn somethin’ to his advantage, and he’ll back-shoot any one or all of us, if he has to.”

  “Faro can fool you,” Tarno said, “and I think Collins is deeper than he looks. I won’t be surprised if they’re thinkin’ like you and Odessa. Whatever Durham has in mind, I can promise you, he won’t get the jump on all of us.”

  Mamie laughed softly. “I didn’t think so. You hombres has been over the mountain and seen the bear. The kind of men we knowed in Texas before the war.”

  The night wore on. Shanghai, Tarno, and Dallas felt some better for having talked to Mamie McCutcheon. Odessa seemed even more forceful, and they had little doubt that the outspoken woman would be equally convincing to Faro Duval and Levi Collins.

  The Sevier River, southwestern Utah.

  August 6, 1870.

  “My God,” Isaac Puckett groaned, “don’t them Utes ever let up? If we had dynamite, and Levi was here, we still couldn’t work the claim.”

  “That’s been botherin’ me some,” said Felix Blackburn, feeding more shells into his Winchester. “Levi’s been gone near three weeks, and we ain’t accomplished a damn thing.”

  “I ain’t been much help,” Josh Snyder said, “layin’ here with a stiff shoulder and sore arm. I can’t even comb my hair left-handed.”

  “I wouldn’t complain too much,” said Blackburn. “You could have took that Ute arrow in your belly, or through a lung. Besides, it might have been Isaac or me, instead of you.”

  “Yeah,” Puckett said, “and we’d best all lay low, because we got no more whiskey for fightin’ infection. At least, not until Levi brings us supplies from Santa Fe.”

  “I got all the confidence in the world in Levi,” said Snyder, “but we got to face the possibility that he never got to Santa Fe, that these damn Utes got to him first.”

  “Well, hell,” Blackburn said, irritated, “why don’t we just surrender to these Utes and let ’em have their way with us? If Levi don’t bring us some ammunition, we’ll soon end up throwin’ rocks.”

  “Don’t be talkin’ agin Levi,” said Puckett. “I reckon he’d of backed off and let either of you go, instead of him, if you’d wanted to. If you aim to lay here and sweat over what might go wrong, chew on this for a while. I’d bet my share of the claim that Levi made it to Santa Fe. What concerns me is that he may not find a teamster in all of Santa Fe with the sand to risk comin’ into these mountains.”

  “We give him the authority to swap a quarter of the strike, in return for wagons and mules, if he has to,” Snyder said.

  “True,” said Puckett, “but there must be some limit as to how far a man will go for gold, or the promise of it.”

  Blackburn laughed. “Damn right. Was I in Santa Fe, knowin’ what I’ve learned about these Utes, I’d think long and hard about takin’ teams and a wagon into this godforsaken country. For a quarter claim, a half claim, or a full claim. All the gold in the world ain’t worth havin’ an arrow drove through your brisket.”

  Blackburn had raised up just a little, so that the crown of his hat was visible above a boulder behind which he had taken cover. Suddenly an arrow whipped the hat from his head, and he fired.

  “Get him?” Puckett inquired.

  “No, damn it,” said Blackburn. “I should have saved the ammunition.”

  “I think that’s their game,” Snyder said. “They know they’re no match for our rifles, but they also got to suspect there’s a limit to our shells. I think the varmints tempt us to shoot, even when we ain’t got a chance of hittin’ one of ’em.”

  “I wish you hadn’t brought that up,” said Puckett. “There’s a little more than two hundred rounds for each of us, and we’ll be out of ammunition for our Winchesters. Two more weeks, and if Levi don’t show, we’re dead men.”

  * * *

  Durham continued to ride behind the last wagon, and when disaster struck, it was he who first became aware of it.

  “Indians!” the gambler shouted.

  Odessa was the first to rein up her team. Seizing
her Winchester, she stepped off the wagon box and dropped to the ground, as arrows began to fly. The nearest cover was a windblown pine behind which Hal Durham had already crouched, firing his Winchester. In the seconds it took Odessa to fire twice, two Indian ponies galloped away, riderless. Each of the teamsters had bellied down, with or without cover, and their rapid fire took its toll. Their losses had been too great, and the attacking Indians wheeled their horses and rode back the way they had come.

  “They’re finished,” Faro shouted. “Anybody hurt?”

  Nobody had been hit.

  “Durham,” said Collins, “that was fast work.”

  “Yes,” Faro said. “That’s the way you stay alive in Indian country. Our Winchesters can cut them down before we’re within range of their arrows, but only if we see them in time.”

  Durham said nothing. Odessa McCutcheon eyed him with as much distaste as ever. But Faro had something more to say.

  “We’ve been concerned with Indians ahead of us. Now we know there’s just as much danger from our back trail. Durham, I want you to continue riding behind the last wagon, and sing out when you see anything or anybody suspicious. Collins, if you’ll take over the wagon for a while, I’ll scout ahead.”

  The teamsters mounted their wagon boxes and again took the trail. Faro rode ahead, and Durham loped his horse alongside Odessa McCutcheon’s wagon. He grinned at her.

  “You heard him,” Odessa snapped. “You’re to ride behind the wagon, so’s I don’t have to look at you.”

  “Pardon me if I don’t take Duval seriously,” said Durham. “He’s so concerned with possible Indian attacks from behind, why is he riding ahead? So the rest of us can get shot full of arrows?”

  “Durham,” Odessa said pityingly, “you’d have to go to school and study some, before you could work your way up to ignorant. The big attack, when it comes, will be from up ahead somewhere. They struck from behind, hopin’ to rattle us.”

  “You know so damn much about Indians,” said Durham spitefully, “why don’t you just keep one eye on the teams, and the other on the back trail?”

  “Durham,” Odessa said, drawing her Colt, “if you don’t drop back behind this wagon so’s I don’t have to hear you or look at you, I’ll shoot you.”

  For emphasis, she cocked the Colt, and Durham slowed his horse, allowing the wagon to move ahead.

  * * *

  “From that shootin’,” Hindes said, “I’d say that bunch with the wagons has had ’em a taste of Ute. Ain’t it funny, us ridin’ miles ahead, and the Indians strikin’ them from behind?”

  “You’ll likely be laughin’ out of the other side of your mouth, ’fore we’re done,” said Slade. “I’ve had some experience with Utes, and it just tickles hell out of them to do what you ain’t expecting. Just when you think they’re behind you, they’ll start bloomin’ like yucca on a rise ahead of you.”

  “It’s the God’s truth,” Kritzer said. “The Comanches are treacherous as hell, but they can’t hold a candle to the Utes for pure cussedness. Once was, they’d sell their captives into slavery. Now I hear they’ll burn you at the stake, just to hear you scream.”

  “It’s enough to give a man the creeps,” said Withers, “knowin’ they’re up here somewhere, never knowin’ when they’ll strike.”

  “My God,” Peeler said, “if they’re already striking, what’ll they be like, as we ride on deeper into their stompin’ ground?”

  Slade laughed. “Anybody that’s gettin’ cold feet, feel free to just ride on back to Santa Fe. But keep in mind, them Utes is somewhere behind us. You could end up fightin’ ’em all by your lonesome.”

  “Great God Almighty,” Kritzer groaned, “them that’s behind us ain’t the problem.”

  The four outlaws reined up, speechless. On the rise ahead of them a dozen mounted Indians had appeared. Behind them, an equal number waited.

  “They got rifles, by God,” said Hindes, “and if my eyes ain’t failin’ me, the varmint with that bunch up ahead is a white man.”

  “If we’re aimin’ to make a move,” Withers said, “now’s the time.”

  “No,” said Slade. “They’re armed with rifles, and we’re within range. We’ll wait and see what they have in mind.”

  The white man rode to meet them, and they could only stare, for his face had been horribly mutilated. His right ear was missing, he wore a patch over his left eye, and a long, hideous scar ran from just above his good eye to the corner of his mouth. His lips had drawn downward into a perpetual leer. There were other scars on his face and neck, and they all contributed to his overall terrible appearance. As in the days of old Mexico, across his chest were crossed bandoliers of shells. Two Colts rode in a buscadera rig, and under his arm was a Winchester. He laughed, and then he spoke.

  “Feast your eyes, amigos. Have you ever seen a man so ugly? My Ute compañeros call me Perro Cara. That’s Dog Face, in English.”

  “I won’t say we’re pleased to meet you,” said Slade, “with them Utes behind you. I’d like to know why you’re stoppin’ us. What do you want?”

  “The Utes don’t care a damn why you’re here,” Dog Face said. “They’d as soon kill you and be done with it. Me, I’m different. Convince me there’s a reason why any of you should go on livin’. Make it worth my while, and I’ll speak up for you.”

  “We stuck up a bank in Tucumcari,” said Slade, “and a man was killed. We’re on the run. Is that reason enough for you?”

  “No,” Dog Face said. “You varmints has been pussyfootin’ around them wagons ever since they left Santa Fe. You could of already ambushed ’em and took their freight, if you had that in mind. Now what are you really after?”

  “Why the hell should I tell you anything?” said Slade. “You’d root us out, and take it all for yourself.”

  “Then I reckon you’ll just have to take your chances,” Dog Face said ominously. “If you don’t speak up pronto, I’ll have the lot of you shot out of your saddles.”

  “Damn it,” said Slade, “for now, you win.”

  Carefully, from his shirt pocket, he removed the small chunk of gold-laced ore that Durham had taken from Levi Collins. He tossed it to Dog Face, and he held it close to his good eye. He whistled long and low, and his free hand had dropped to the butt of one of his Colts. Slade and his companions swallowed hard, expecting the worst. Suddenly Dog Face laughed, and then he spoke.

  “I reckon I’ll let you live. For a while, anyhow. I got to warn you, though. These Utes is distrustful of whites. If they catch you tryin’ to sneak off agin my wishes, they’ll kill you. Now all of you ride on ahead of me, and don’t even think about pullin’ a gun. I can give any man of you a start, and still kill you.”

  When all the Utes came together, Slade and his companions swallowed hard, for there were more than two dozen. But that wasn’t the worst of it. When they eventually reached the camp in a distant canyon, there were more Indians, as well as two more renegades of the same stripe as Dog Face.

  “My God,” Hindes groaned, “there must be fifty of ’em.”

  Slade and his men reined up, dismounting when given the order.

  “Now,” said Dog Face, “tell us your names.”

  Slade spoke first, and the others followed.

  “My amigos is Sangre and Hueso,” Dog Face said, “an’ don’t let their friendly faces throw you. They’d as soon slit your throats or gut-shoot you as look at you. But stacked up to these Utes, them an’ me is the best friends you got. Keep that in mind.”

  Sangre and Hueso said nothing, but their evil faces spoke volumes. Sangre had little pig eyes, not a hair on his head or face, and without his boots, wouldn’t have stood even five feet tall. But he made up in girth what he lacked in height, and he carried two Colts in a buscadera rig. The butt of a third revolver and the haft of a Bowie were barely visible above his wide belt. Hueso was all the name implied, his bones being the most prominent parts of his anatomy. He was gangling, standing more than a foot taller than Sa
ngre, and he had the look of an albino. He might have been skinned, rendered, and his hide stretched back over his bones. On his right hip was a butt-forward, thonged-down Colt, and on his left, a sawed-off shotgun. Every Ute was armed with at least a Winchester, while some of them had revolvers shoved under the waistbands of their buckskins. They were truly a formidable bunch, and Dog Face laughed.

  “We heard shootin’ a while back,” Slade said. “Did you and this bunch of Utes attack them wagons?”

  “No,” said Dog Face. “We can take the wagons anytime. Like I told you, I knew all that grub an’ supplies was bein’ freighted in for some reason, an’ now I know what that reason is. I reckon we’ll just do what you hombres was doin’. We’ll foller along, until we know where them wagons is headed. The grub an’ goods will satisfy the Utes, leavin’ the gold for Sangre, Hueso, an’ me.”

  “Gold?” Sangre and Hueso shouted in a single voice.

  “Yeah, gold,” said Dog Face. “I was gettin’ around to tellin’ you.”

  He tossed the hunk of gold-laced ore, and Hueso caught it in a bony hand. It took but a moment for the greedy pair to comprehend. Their hands on the butts of their guns, they turned hard eyes on Slade and his companions.

  “We don’t know where it is,” Slade shouted.

  “Back off,” said Dog Face. “He ain’t lyin’.”

  “If we’re follerin’ the wagons to the gold,” Sangre gritted, “what’n hell good is these varmints?”

  “Yeah,” said Hueso, we ain’t splittin’ with them.”

  “I’ll decide who we split with, an’ who we don’t,” Dog Face said. “I broke both of you bastards out of a California jail, because I owed you, but by God, I don’t owe you no more.”

  It seemed Slade and his companions might have a small advantage, and Kritzer spoke.

  “Why can’t we throw in with you? The law’s after us, and we got nowhere to go.”

  “I’ll study on it,” Dog Face said.

  “While you’re studyin’,” said Sangre, “study on this bunch double-crossin’ you when the time’s right.”