by John Legg
“Reckon not,” Culpepper said. “You’ve got your own duties here. If you knew where they might be holed up, I’d have accepted your help. The way it sounds, though, you’d be just as blind out there as the rest of us are. No reason to put you through that.”
“You sure?” Hammond asked solicitously.
“Yep.” Culpepper rose. “Well, Sheriff, thanks for your help, such as it was.”
Hammond nodded and shook Culpepper’s hand again, this time without getting up. “Sorry I couldn’t be of more help to you, Jonas.”
Culpepper nodded and left. He headed right to Pena’s. The hotel keeper smiled wanly at him. “Upstairs, Señor,” Pena said. “Rooms eleven and twelve.”
“Only two rooms?” Culpepper asked, annoyed.
“Sí, Señor. That’s all I have open.”
Culpepper nodded and trudged up the stairs. He opened the door to room eleven, which he reached first. Reinhardt and all the townsmen from Silverton—except Maguire—were inside.
“John’s next door with the miners,” Reinhardt said. “I figured it’d be a good idea if he kept an eye on them, considerin’ who they work for and all, Jonas.”
Culpepper nodded. “Good thinkin’, Buster.” Both men were holding up quite well and seemed none the worse for their wounds. He looked around the room. “It’s going to be a mite crowded in here tonight, boys,” he finally said sourly.
“Nothin’ we—all of us—haven’t been through before, Jonas,” Reinhardt said. “We’ll live through it.” He paused. “You can have the bed. Me and the others’ll spread out on the floor.”
Culpepper nodded acceptance. He did not even think of being a martyr and turning down the offer. “All right, now that that’s settled, let’s go line our flues. I’m hungry.”
Pena’s had a restaurant, and Culpepper had found in previous trips that it was one of the best in Durango. The food was plentiful, well cooked, and inexpensive.
By the time they finished eating, it was dark and, since it had been a long, hard couple of days on the trail, Culpepper urged everyone to go to sleep. It seemed as if all the men took his advice.
Culpepper slept surprisingly well, considering the cacophony of snores, belches, and flatulence that echoed around the cramped room. He felt pretty refreshed when he awoke. He and the men ate in Pena’s restaurant again. While he settled the bill with Pena, making sure he got receipts so he’d be reimbursed by San Juan County, Reinhardt, Maguire, and the others went to the livery to saddle the horses and pack the mule.
Culpepper and Bear waited outside the hotel for the posse to come along, which it eventually did. Then they rode out of town the same way they’d come in. When they neared the spot where Bear had tried to turn them west yesterday, Culpepper dismounted and talked quietly to the dog. “Now you can go find them boys, Bear,” he said softly. “You follow them no matter where they go. Go on now, find them.”
Bear bounded off, happy to be free again, and once more reassured that he was in his master’s favor. The men followed.
They traveled slowly, allowing Bear to keep on the track without much trouble. Culpepper didn’t want to wear the horses down too much, either. He hoped that Ellsworth’s gang had gone not much farther and then had holed up, figuring they were safe from pursuit.
They were down out of the mountainous land, where peaks rose up all over, though they were still in the high country. But it was relatively flat, and quite barren, compared with the region around Silverton. Here there were no tall, stately pines, thin, noisy aspens, or places of thick brush. The land was speckled with scrubby brush, sage and stunted, wind-twisted cedars. Not far to the north, the La Plata Mountains rose tall toward the sky. It was the only thing that even remotely resembled the Silverton area, though they were less than seventy miles from Silverton, all told.
Without the shadows of the mountains and the shady cover of trees, the heat splashed over them. Since the sun had nothing to block it, it could beat down on the men unhampered.
Culpepper, who had brought his big bear-fur coat, took it off early in the day and tied it with thongs behind his saddle. The other men—knowing that mountain nights were cold, though it was now May—had also brought heavy coats, but they, too, soon discarded them under the sun’s frightful assault.
By dark, they had covered about twenty-one miles, Culpepper guessed. So when they came to a bubbling stream, they called it a night. Bear still seemed to be willing to go on, so Culpepper was encouraged, figuring they were still on the trail. But he did not want to go stumbling around at night. There was always the chance that Ellsworth and his men were not far away.
Chapter Ten
The posse pushed a little harder the next day, covered nearly twenty-five miles as best as Culpepper could figure it, and camped for the night near the confluence of Mud Creek and the Mancos River. They had turned south when Bear had brought them that way, and soon after they had begun following the Mancos River, right from its headwaters.
In the morning, Culpepper was concerned that Bear would lose the trail, since they would have to cross either the river or the creek. Since Mud Creek was far smaller, he opted to try that first, to see if Bear could pick up the scent again.
Leaving the men in camp, Culpepper rode through the muck and mire and then across the narrow, shallow creek. Bear trotted alongside Culpepper’s horse. The mastiff was not happy with all the mud, but found the cool water of the creek to be fun. He splashed in the water a little until Culpepper called to him.
Culpepper dismounted and petted Bear for some moments. Feeling slightly foolish, he knelt and said, “Go find the trail again, Bear. Go on.”
Bear lapped at Culpepper’s face a bit, seeming unconcerned with moving right at the moment. Then he suddenly bolted toward the left. Culpepper stood, feeling some relief—until he saw Bear pounce. A moment later the mastiff was ripping a good-sized jackrabbit to shreds. “Durn stupid animal,” he muttered. He waited until Bear was finished with his impromptu meal before calling him back. “You’re a mess, dog,” he said, still annoyed. “But I’d be some more disposed to forgivin’ you this transgression was you to find that trail again.”
Holding the reins to his horse, Culpepper walked southward, close to the Mancos River. Half a mile away, Bear suddenly stopped, nose testing the breeze. He whined eagerly, then barked a couple times, his deep voice resonant in the air. The dog looked at Culpepper expectantly. “Found it, did you?” Culpepper asked with a smile of relief.
Bear quivered and whined some more, eager to be off and running. Culpepper nodded and mounted his horse. “Stay here, Bear,” he said. He turned and galloped back to Mud Creek. “Come on,” he yelled to his men across the creek. He waved his arm, urging them to speed up.
They were ready, and within moments the men of the posse had mounted and galloped across the muddy flat creek. Culpepper turned as they neared and galloped off again. When he neared Bear, he slowed to walk, and the others followed suit. “Go on, Bear,” he said firmly. “Go find them for us.”
The large dark-brindle mastiff bounced off, nose working overtime. The men followed. Before long, they entered a narrow, not too deep canyon through which the Mancos River flowed. And still they pressed on.
The canyon turned slowly west some hours later, and by late afternoon, Bear was taking them up out of the canyon, until they were riding atop a huge plateau. At times it gave them a view of hundreds of miles. It was eerie, Culpepper thought, though he said nothing. It seemed as if they were on the top of the world and would ride right off it. He finally managed to shrug off the gloom.
Not so the men, who continued to follow Bear and Culpepper docilely. But some of the posse men were beginning to grumble about all the travel, the sleeping outdoors, and all the trouble. Even the miners could see little reason for spending so much time away from their jobs and families just to recover silver and money that belonged to the Anvil Mining Company.
Culpepper couldn’t really blame them for feeling that way, and
that night, as they were sitting around the campfire, he said, “We’ll give it ’til tomorrow, boys. We don’t find those scoundrels by then, we’ll head on home.”
The men accepted that. Culpepper wasn’t sure he did. After all, it was his job to run men like Mack Ellsworth and his ilk down. He hated to give up before the job was done. He stood and walked off into the darkness, enjoying the cool temperatures and the silence. And the stars. He had always liked gazing at the heavens and wondering about the stars he saw.
Bear sat at his side. Like Culpepper, he stared heavenward. Then the mastiff let out a small, soft whine. Culpepper looked down to see Bear with his head cocked. “You hear something, Bear?” Culpepper asked quietly.
The dog shifted his head, cocking it to the other side, still intent. Culpepper shut up and listened, but he could hear nothing but the low rumble of the conversation of the posse men near the campfire. Still, the wind was blowing lightly from the west, and in a place like this, sound would carry a good long distance. He was certain that the dog had heard something, and he wondered if perhaps Ellsworth and his men were out there in the darkness somewhere.
Culpepper finally shook his head. “Come on, Bear. Time for sleepin’.” They headed back to the camp.
The morning’s ride was slow, but even the men seemed to be more eager today. Culpepper wondered if it was because they sensed they would find the outlaws, or if it was because they figured they’d be heading back toward Silverton the next day.
The plateau they traveled on had far more vegetation than the stark flats they had been on a couple days ago. There were forests of piñons and junipers and cedars, plus plenty of brush, most of it scrubby, but some quite large. Wildflowers were growing in a colorful profusion.
Bear ranged out ahead of the posse by a hundred yards or more, wandering with his nose to the ground, or occasionally in the air. He stopped now and again, cocking his head, as if listening for something. The latter gave Culpepper hope that they might be able to run the outlaws down today.
They turned almost due north, passing around the end of another steep, narrow canyon, and pushed on. Just before noon, they skirted some mud ruins that held little attraction for any of the men. They spotted some more of them a few minutes later, and Bear headed toward them.
Riding a hundred fifty yards or so behind his dog, Culpepper began to feel uneasy. He touched his heels to the horse and broke into a trot. The others looked at each other in surprise, but then spurred their own horses to catch up to Culpepper.
Less than fifty yards from the ruins, a shot suddenly rang out. The bullet kicked up earth a few feet from Bear. The mastiff dodged to the side and then stood growling.
“Durn it, Bear!” Culpepper shouted. “Get your tail back here!”
Another shot came, and Luke Brown tumbled from his horse.
Culpepper dismounted. “Ride, boys! Ride!” he roared. “Back to them other ruins. Go!”
“What about you?” Reinhardt asked.
“I’ll be on your tails as soon as I grab Luke. Go!”
The posse wheeled and raced off. The men hunched their backs, each waiting for a bullet to strike them.
Culpepper grabbed Brown, noting straight off that Brown was dead. He threw the body across Brown’s horse. Holding Brown’s horse’s reins, he jumped back on his own mount’s back. Lying low over his horse’s neck, Culpepper slapped the reins on the animal’s withers and raced off, toward the ruins. Bear ran along close behind.
Culpepper stopped inside the ruins and dismounted. He pulled Brown’s body down and set it gently on the ground, out of the way. Reinhardt took the two horses and put them with the others. Three men were guarding the animals in an open space surrounded by crumbling walls, a place that apparently had been a room in some long bygone time. The rest of the men were lining the walls facing the ruins where the shots had come from.
Culpepper joined them, noting almost without looking that the walls of the old abode were stone, covered with mud, much of which had washed away in rains or was worn away in the ever-present wind. The other ruins were less than a quarter of a mile away. Like the ones sheltering Culpepper’s men, they appeared to be made of the same material. They could be easily seen, since there was nothing between the two sets of ruins—nothing but open space and brush. A few scattered cedars and clumps of brush would not provide much, if any, cover. That was both good and bad. While it meant that the outlaws could not sneak up on the posse, the posse could not sneak up on the outlaws. It was a Mexican standoff, at least for the time being.
Culpepper turned and sank to the ground, sitting with his back against the wall.
Reinhardt and Maguire joined him, the former lighting up a cigarette. “I think we found those bastards, Jonas,” Reinhardt said, his words accompanied by puffs of smoke.
“I’d say so,” Culpepper said flatly.
“What’re we gonna do, Jonas?” Maguire asked.
“That’s what I’m tryin’ to figure out. For now, though, John, I’d like you to keep lookout on the wall. You’re the best rifle shot I know. Keep alert. One of those pukin’ scoundrels shows his face, put a bullet in it for him.”
Maguire shrugged and rose. He walked to his horse and pulled his rifle out of the scabbard. Then he took up his position along the wall, right where he had been sitting, his rifle lying flat on some rocks that formed the wall.
Culpepper looked at Maguire and nodded to himself. One of the reasons Culpepper had often used John Maguire as a special deputy was because of Maguire’s abilities with that old .44-90 Sharps rifle. The twelve-pound Sharps with the extra-heavy barrel and the adjustable rear sight was a relic from Maguire’s days as a buffalo hunter. Maguire was a slightly older man—in his forties, which to a man of Culpepper’s age was slightly older. He had fought in the Civil War, and had been something of a hero, Culpepper had heard. But these days, Maguire generally led a quiet, reserved life, running a general store with his wife, Caroline, and raising four children, the oldest of whom had struck out on his own a year ago. The youngest was nine. He was a good man to have around, Culpepper thought.
As was Reinhardt. Culpepper relied on Buster Reinhardt quite a bit. Even more so than Maguire. Reinhardt was short and stocky, with a wide face and a ready smile. He was jovial much of the time, but could be as hard a man as Culpepper ever saw. He didn’t like violence, though Culpepper had heard Reinhardt had made his way in life with a gun for some years. That was before he’d met Vera Carruthers, who had tamed him and made a decent husband out of him. Reinhardt now made his living selling and repairing guns—and being a special deputy for Culpepper when needed.
“You come up with any bright ideas yet, Jonas?” Reinhardt asked.
Culpepper grinned a little. “Shooting you so’s you won’t ask no more darn fool questions comes to mind.”
Reinhardt chuckled, then grew serious. “You know we ain’t got a hope in hell of takin’ them boys from here, don’t you?”
Culpepper nodded. He didn’t figure that really needed a verbal answer.
“Then we got us only two choices—hope they come at us and that we can take ’em, or get the hell out of here and go after those bastards another day.”
“I didn’t come all this way to give up without a fight,” Culpepper said evenly.
“We’ve got one dead already. And for what? Some goddamn silver and cash that belongs to Anvil Minin’? Shit, Jonas, that ain’t worth riskin’ our necks for.”
“No, Buster. No, it’s not worth it. But there’s more to it than that.”
“Like what?”
“Like bein’ true to our word. I gave my word when I became sheriff to do this kind of thing. I don’t have to like it, but I ought to do it, since I give my word. So did you and John, even if the others didn’t. I swear you two rascals in every time I hire you as deputies. In doin’ so, you give your word, too.”
“Yep, there’s that, isn’t there.” It was not framed as a question. “It’s hell bein’ an honest man, ai
n’t it?” he said with another sudden chuckle.
“At times it is, my friend, yes.”
“So, what do we do, Jonas?”
“I got an idea, I think.” He paused, then nodded. “We’ll start takin’ a few potshots at those pukin’ scoundrels for the rest of the afternoon. Just enough to keep them from chargin’ our position. Then, as soon as it gets dark, me, you, and John’ll sneak on over there and see if we can’t encourage those maggots to surrender to the forces of good.”
“You’ve been out in the sun too long, Jonas,” Reinhardt said with a laugh.
“I have, have I?” Culpepper countered. “You gone yeller in your old age?”
“Old age?” Reinhardt snorted. “You’re older’n I am by a few years.”
“True,” Culpepper agreed. “Well, have you turned yeller since you’ve up and got a wife and children?”
“Tell you the truth, Jonas,” Reinhardt said with a rueful smile, “I’d rather face those goddamn outlaws over there than face Vera when she’s on one of her tirades. Not that it happens too often, you understand, but when it does, goddamn if it ain’t a humdinger.”
Culpepper laughed a little. “So, you agree to the plan?”
“Well, if that cockamamie idea you come up with is a plan, I guess I got to go along with it.”
Culpepper looked up. “How about you, John?” he asked.
Culpepper knew that Maguire had been listening to every word, even while keeping his lookout.
“Well, hell, if that knob headed young punk there’s goin’ along with you, I might’s well do so, too. Somebody’s got to keep an eye on you two damn fools.”
Chapter Eleven
John Maguire picked off one of the outlaws late in the afternoon. The man had gotten either brave or stupid and stood up to yell insults. Maguire let him go for about two minutes, letting the man fill himself with bravado. Then Maguire punched a hole in the man’s head.