The Whispering Bandit

by Franklin D. Lincoln

Caleb wasted no time in riding back to the draw where he suspected the horse swap had taken place. He easily found the tracks of the horse they had followed, where it had emerged from the draw. He rode in between the rock walls and found the tracks of a second horse; probably the one they had followed to the Ladder A, and probably the one the bandit was riding the day before when Caleb had been rescued by the bandit. There were boot tracks all around where the rider had waited for quite some time, obviously impatiently, for he had paced around quite a bit. He had small feet.

  Tracks showed where the bandit’s horse had entered the draw when the posse was following. It was evident that a switch had been made. The bandit had then mounted his own horse and ridden out the other way. Caleb turned his dun and rode on following the bandit’s horse’s tracks.

  The Whispering Bandit was unmasked! Caleb’s heart leaped in his breast with excitement as he watched the bandit tending to the big black stallion who was now penned in a makeshift wooden rail corral, nearly hidden in the middle of a clump of sumac and dense shrubbery.

  Caleb was lying prone on his stomach in the shade of a pine tree on top of a high ridge. The lower branches hung close above him, almost brushing his back and shoulders. Once again he had gone most of the day without food, though he did chew a bit on a slab of beef jerky that he carried in his saddle bags. He was glad he had had a hearty breakfast, but his stomach was beginning to growl and he had felt a bit lightheaded and woozy in the hot afternoon sun while he had been tracking the bandit and black horse.

  The trail had taken Caleb Gant due east from where the horses had been switched. The country had become rougher, covered by rocks, trees and shrubbery as the trail led into high country. This was sort of a no man’s land. Not much good for anything. No wonder a bandit would choose this country to hide out in.

  It had been a hard trudge for Gant’s horse as they climbed higher and higher with only pale blue sky looming ahead. Caleb hadn’t realized how high they had climbed until they gained the top of the ridge and rode out into a small clearing.

  Spread out below was a vast expanse of color as the landscape spread out as far as the eye could see. Green rolling hills covered with pine glistened in the afternoon sun. Further away flat grassland range could be seen and to the west behind him the jagged rock covered tapestry fell away to deep canyons and a river far below.

  But, directly below was what had interested Caleb. It was a deep basin and down at the bottom of the pocket was a broken down old shack that had probably been a line shack in its day, but now practically abandoned with weeds growing up around it and all but hiding it completely from sight. If it hadn’t been for Caleb’s high vantage point, it would have gone totally unnoticed, just as the little corral had.

  Knowing he could be seen sky lined against the sky as he sat the ridge, Caleb had turned his horse and had ridden him a short distance back down the rough side of the hill and picketed him in the shade of an aspen tree. There was short grass there for him to crop.

  Gant then crawled back up the slope and keeping low he advanced a short distance down the wooded slope and crawled under the shade of the pine tree where he now laid. His eyes had searched the mountainside before him over and over, looking for a way down. There was no trail to be seen anywhere. The tree stand and foliage was much too thick to maneuver a horse through and the steep incline, itself, presented too much of a challenge to make the descent. To make the trek on foot would take the rest of the day.

  Time ticked away slowly as Caleb Gant lay there watching. It was the horse in the makeshift corral that he had spotted first. He was sure he was The Whispering Bandit’s horse, but there had been no sign of the bandit or anyone else for that matter. Either the horse had been left there or his owner was inside the shack.

  Caleb had waited patiently, basking in the coolness of shade from the pine tree; the sun behind him blotted out by the tips of the ridgeline jutting pines.

  His wait had finally panned out, when the shack’s door opened and a figure clad all in black stepped outside and strode across the way toward the corral and black horse. The sunlight reflected off the bare face of the bandit. The hooded mask was not in place. But, the bandit was still too far away for Gant to get a good look at the face. He noticed, however, something about the way the bandit moved.

  The outlaw was removing the rail barrier that held the black inside the corral. The horse was led outside and the bandit went to work bridling and saddling the horse.

  Caleb knew he’d have to get there fast before the bandit got away, but how? Before he could decide on a course of action the bandit was already in the saddle and turning the big stallion toward the north.

  There had to be way out of the basin, so there had to be away in. Caleb reasoned that if he were to continue northward along the ridge, he should eventually find where this high country should wind down to the lower country and from there he should either find his way into the stronghold or pick up the bandit’s trail.

  He scooted back out from under the tree, stood erect and raced to where he had left his horse. In less than a minute, Caleb was mounted and heading along the trail as fast as the dun could carry him.

  Gradually the trail began to wind downward and the high ground gave way to a sloping hogback. Rock and gravel slipped away under the dun’s hoofs and his hip dipped low. He whinnied shrilly and his neck doubled back as he tried to compensate for the lost footing. His hind haunches sagged and his forelegs lifted off the ground rearing high. His back sloped straight back and Caleb felt himself sliding backward out of the saddle. He fought to regain his balance, winding the reins around his fists and pulling back with a hard tug but he let it go when he had realized that the horses unsure footing had actually saved his life.

  Bullets sliced through the air where Gant would have been sitting had the horse not stumbled. Somewhere in his confused brain, as he fell backward, he heard the trailing thunder of rifle shots. He kicked his feet free of the stirrups, letting himself fall backward over the dun’s rump. As he went, his right hand curled over the small of his own rifle’s wooden stock and snaked it free from its scabbard.

  He hit the ground hard, on his shoulder, and rolled out from under the flailing hoofs of his horse.

  Bullets plowed into the ground, all around him as he rolled onto his stomach, shielding his head with his left arm as the dun’s sharp hoofs passed over him, barely missing him. As the horse cleared his body, Caleb rolled again, as his horse raced on down the rocky incline. He pushed himself into a half sitting position, raising his rifle and pouring lead indiscriminately in the direction of his attackers, until he could locate them in his sight.

  Lead had been falling all around him, but as he returned fire, the attackers seemed to let up with a momentary respite. Just long enough for Caleb to locate the attackers, take a bead and send hot lead spewing around their heads.

  Again, they were two men on horseback and too far away, to see their faces. Caleb was getting tired of this, Who were these men? And, why were they after him? If they were the same men who had been dogging him, these past days, they certainly were persistent.

  Caleb cursed himself for not realizing they were once again on his trail and letting them get this close. He fired again and again, gunsmoke curling up from his rifle barrel and fogging his vision.

  The two attackers, pulled their mounts back, lifting their rifles to return fire, but failing to do so as the nervous horses beneath them stamped and twisted about, kicking up dust around them. As they fought to bring their mounts under control, Caleb pushed himself to his feet and ran headlong down the slope in the direction his horse had taken.

  As the two men regained control of their horses, they saw their quarry running. Gant was almost out of rifle shot range now. Without a word to each other they spurred their mounts forward and sent them forward, half galloping and half sliding down the rocky scree holding them back just enough to keep them under control and continuing to advance the descent.

  Running fo
r Caleb Gant was a challenge, to say the least. Sliding shale beneath his boots tripped him up and he fell headlong forward down the slope and tumbled head over heels and rolled on down the embankment, just as bullets, again, began to whistle above his head as the horsemen gained ground on him.

  In flashing, fleeting glimpses, Caleb saw the two men almost upon him as he rolled into a large boulder on a flat stretch of ground. The impact racked his shoulder and he automatically clutched at it in reflex. Bullets spanged off the rock just above his head and granite chips flew past his aching shoulder. The riders were almost on him, now. Suddenly, he realized that he had lost his rifle as he rolled down the slope.

  He pulled his pistol from its sheath as he scooted to the side and rolled behind the large rock. He reached around the other side of the rock and fired twice. The two horsemen pulled up, slid from their horses and took cover; each of them diving for refuge. One jumped behind a fallen log and returned fire while the other found cover behind another large boulder. They fired a couple of times at Gant’s cover, knowing it was futile, if he didn’t show himself. They just wanted to send the message that they had him pinned down. Then they held their fire and waited. Their horses drifted away in the wake of thundering gunfire and the stench of cordite as gunsmoke dissipated into the air.

  Caleb was breathing heavily as he watched his attackers take cover. He held back on firing. He was going to have to conserve ammunition. This could be a long siege. His only hope was to out wait them or catch them off guard. Maybe he could trick them into making a mistake.

  Turning to look back over his shoulder, Caleb could see the dun, idling about a hundred feet away along the flat. Reins were trailing and it was apparent that they had snagged against a root or upcropping piece of rock. Whatever it was, he had been prevented from drifting too far away.

  Somehow, Caleb was going to have to make it to the horse and get out of there, if he was going to have a chance of survival. He quickly formulated a plan. Hopefully, it would work. If not he would in all probability, not make it off this mountain alive.

  Gant checked his six gun, replacing his spent cartridges and making sure all was in working order. With a sudden lurch, he lifted himself above the rock and sent two slugs at each of his attackers and ducked down, removing his hat, placing it on his gun barrel and pushing it just over the top of the rock as the gunmen lifted and returned fire.

  A bullet sliced through Caleb’s hat as he pulled it back from sight and letting out a yelp. Then keeping the rock between himself and the line of vision of the ambushers, he put his hat back on, sheathed his weapon and scooted back away the rock, just far enough to drop into a shallow trough and waited silently.

  After a few moments, the gunmen must have decided they had in fact gotten their quarry. Slowly and cautiously the one behind the boulder stood up warily. He waited a moment, then his partner stood up from behind the log. This one waited, too. Finally, they nodded to each other and slowly approached the rock where Caleb had been hiding. They kept their six guns ready, having abandoned their rifles with the horses when they took cover.

  They were almost to Gant’s rock when the two men finally began to relax a bit, having decided they had in fact gotten their job done. Their pace quickened just a bit as Gant raised up from his hiding place and fired rapidly without taking aim. It was quick and he still didn’t take time to identify his attackers.

  The two turned and ran back for cover. Caleb took this time to spring up and run for the dun.

  He was just settling into the saddle by the time the two gunmen took cover and realized they had been duped.

  Caleb sent the dun off, racing across the flat. The two men came out of cover, firing after him, but Gant was already out of range. They holstered their weapons and set off to find their horses.

  Caleb pushed the big horse onward as fast as he could, but as the flat narrowed out into a trail skirting a rim that gave way to a shear drop off that fell away to towering cliffs above a rushing river far below, on the left, he had to slow the horse to a walk. The dun was tired and his coat foamed heavily with lather.

  From time to time, Caleb had checked his back trail. At first he hadn’t seen his pursuers. He didn’t dare assume he had alluded them. That was wise, for it took little time before he could see they were hot on his trail and now that the going was slower, he could see they were gaining on him.

  He tried to move the dun along faster, but it was to be to no avail. Up ahead of him, wide open sky loomed like giant wall of pale blue. The trail was spilling out onto wide ledge that fanned out wide enough to turn a horse around, but that would be of no use to Gant. Forward progress was totally impossible as the cliff before him fell away to the raging river abyss below.

  Behind him the gunmen were coming closer. They had their rifles out again and they let fire as they came almost into range. Not quite close enough, but soon. Caleb Gant had two choices. Turn and ride back into them or……………..

  Bullets flew over his head as he lifted the reins, rising high and standing in the stirrups. With savage lashes of the reins over the horse’s neck and spurring hard, he urged the big animal over the edge.

  The horse’s eyes bulged with raging fear, screaming shrilly as solid ground disappeared from under him.

  Down, down they plunged through empty air. The dun bent his neck, tucking his head to his chest. His hind haunches splayed out behind him, stretching wide; tail streaming behind him, with hind legs bent, revealing iron shoes on each hoof glinting in the sun.

  As they fell, Gant half fell and half jumped from the saddle, freefalling wide away from the plunging horse. His hat lifted from his head and fluttered away in the rushing breeze as Caleb fell the rest of the way, feet first, legs set straight.

  Horse and man hit the water almost simultaneously; Gant splashing into the water first, followed by the gigantic splash of the horse. They both disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

  The two riders drew to a halt at the rim’s edge and gazed down into the swirling waters below.

  At first, there was no sign of Gant down there. The horse was floundering in the water; his neck was outstretched, holding his head above the water, swimming toward the shore at the base of the cliff. After a few moments, Gant’s hat floated to the top of the waters and bobbed in the ripples.

  The two men sheathed their weapons, turned their mounts and rode off back the way they had come.

  ****

  Chapter Twelve