Miriam turned away sharply. Not for a minute did she believe in that understanding, yet if Shoyer was going to remain, then she must try to warn Swante Taggart before he returned.
How long had he been gone? It was only when she realized the hour that she was really worried. He had left well before daylight … it must have been about three or a little later. And it was now past noon. Where could he be?
And then she remembered the dust cloud, forgotten in the sudden arrival of Shoyer and Consuelo. There was no dust cloud now.
“What about the Apaches?” she asked Shoyer.
He considered the question and then said, “Taggart picked a good place, and I don’t believe they’ll find us here. We’ll stay out the day and take off from here just after nightfall. At daybreak we’ll be in Globe.”
There was time then … time for Swante to return. Maybe he had found Adam. She could not believe Adam was dead, and would not believe it until she had seen his body.
Shoyer had taken her rifle, and there was nothing she could do but wait until Taggart returned and hope to find some way to warn him. It must be some way that Shoyer would not expect … but what?
She sat down, realizing that the first problem was not to give Pete Shoyer any idea as to her intentions. He did not know her, and she doubted that he had discussed her with Connie … there was too much else for them to talk about. So he might not expect trouble from her. She tried to consider what might be done, but nothing occurred to her that seemed either practical or possible.
But there was one thing she thought she could do, and must do, and that was to win Consuelo away from Shoyer.
The Mexican girl had unusual courage … Miriam had seen her stand unafraid in many cases of trouble and danger, yet because of her childhood experiences she had a wild, unreasoning fear of the Apaches. It was this, Miriam believed, that had made her desert Adam and try to escape. The very fact that they were here was evidence that she had gained little by the attempt.
As for Pete Shoyer, she knew little of such men, but enough to know that for him the law had been a way of life, despite the fact that the way he had enforced the law had in itself often been lawless. She had seen men influenced by their own professed beliefs and habits of thinking. Shoyer, regardless of anything else, had acted for the law. And in the present circumstance this was now a weakness, for some part of his mind must be given over to worry.
The first fear she hoped had been implanted by her suggestion that a reward would soon be offered for him, and that bounty-hunters would then be on his trail. To a man-hunter, knowing the forces arrayed against him better than any ordinary cowhand turned rustler, this idea could not but be disturbing.
Some sudden movement by Shoyer caught her eye. Then the man was absolutely still, listening. As she started to move, he lifted a hand to stop her, and she too listened.
Consuelo stood as if frozen. Better than any of them, she knew the sound they now heard. It was a sound of unshod hoofs upon stone. Then came a mutter of voices, Apache voices. It sounded as if they were arguing about something, but they passed on.
Pete Shoyer looked to Consuelo. “Did you get any of that?” he asked.
“I get all of it,” Consuelo replied bitterly. “Some of them think we are near, and they are going to camp while they look for us.”
Shoyer considered that. “They’ll find us, then. No way they can miss, because sure as shootin’ one of them will come up here to have a look around the country. That means we’ve got to make a fight for it.”
“You took my rifle,” Miriam said.
“If you need it, you’ll get it back, but not until then.”
Shoyer crawled to the lip of the basin and lay there. Whatever she might have done for Swante, Miriam knew she could do nothing now, for now she was fighting for her own life as well. Let this be settled first, and then they could fight things out among themselves.
As for Consuelo, she had gone out of one kind of trouble into a worse kind. They had all had their chance to escape, and had they continued without interruption they might now be near Globe, or even safely within the town. The action by Shoyer and Consuelo had cut off their escape, and now those two were themselves caught and faced with a fight for their lives. Only Taggart and Adam Stark were no longer with them.
“I wish Adam was here,” Miriam said.
Consuelo’s chin lifted, but she made no reply. Miriam was not planning to drop the subject. “You had a good man,” she said. “He always kept us out of trouble, and you would have been in Globe now if you had not run off.”
Consuelo turned her head and glanced at Miriam stonily from her magnificent black eyes. But she said nothing at all.
It was hot now, and the horses were restless. The mules, content with nothing to do, stood idly near the pool. No sound reached them now, and Miriam walked to the outer edge of the basin near the rim of the mesa. From here, except for a small ledge about fifty feet down, it was an almost sheer drop of six hundred feet. Off to the south, toward Globe, she thought she saw smoke rising, but it might be much nearer than the town.
Shoyer came to look out over the vast area below. Nothing moved. He walked back and stood beside Consuelo, pushing his hat back on his head.
“Don’t you worry none,” he said. “We’ll get out of here, and all the gold with us.”
Consuelo offered no comment, and he continued, “Once those ’Paches pull out, we can take the trail through the basin and down Nugget Wash. Be out of here in no time. You’ll be eating supper in Globe.”
“You think.” There was an undertone of contempt in the comment which Shoyer did not notice. “If we had taken only one mule we would be in Globe now.”
“And leave all the rest of it?” Shoyer chuckled. “Not on your life. That there is more money than most folks see in a lifetime, even to look at. Most banks don’t carry that much, and this is ours, every bit of it.”
“I do not care.”
“You’ll care. And don’t you worry none about those ’Paches.”
Miriam glanced around and saw her rifle lying against a boulder near the basin’s rim. Turning, she walked slowly toward it. Just as she was about to pick it up, she raised her eyes.
An Apache rider sat on his horse at the edge of the mesa.
CHAPTER 12
IT WAS WELL after daylight when Swante Taggart found Adam Stark. He discovered him by the broken brush above where he lay, and the broken limbs of a pine tree close under the rim of the trail.
Leaving his horse, Taggart struggled up through the rocks of an ancient lava flow that lay below the cliff. Here and there pines were growing up through the chunks of black lava as though through a pile of old burned-out clinkers. The marks of Stark’s fall were clearly seen.
It was that broken brush and the broken branches where the body had fallen clear that allowed Taggart to hope, for he knew how little is required to break a man’s fall and save his life. The breaking brush had slowed his tumble, and when he fell clear of the cliff face the branches he had broken in falling had deflected his fall. He had landed in the sand at the bottom of a dry waterfall where run-off water had come down from the mountain.
It took Taggart almost an hour before he got to Stark. Adam lay sprawled on the sand and there was a dark stain of blood in his hair and on the sand beneath him. Scrambling over the lava, Taggart knelt beside him and very gently turned him over. As he did so, Stark muttered and his eyes opened. For a moment he lay still, and then his eyes moved to Taggart.
“Lie quiet,” Taggart said. “You had a bad fall.”
He examined Stark swiftly, but could find nothing that seemed to be more than bad bruises and some abrasions. Just the same he was worried. Often he had seen a man able to get up from a bad fall when there had been something to break the fall; but there might be internal injuries.
In answer to the questioning look on Stark’s face, he spoke to reassure him.
“Miriam is on top of the mountain with the mules. She’s alone,
and all the mules are there but one treasure mule. The place seems safe for a while.”
“Connie?”
“Shoyer took her off somewhere. She’s a badly frightened girl, Stark. How you ever got her up here in the first place is beyond me … as afraid of Apaches as she is.”
Adam Stark struggled and sat up, Taggart watching him warily for some indication of injury. He allowed him to sit still, and as they waited he talked, partly to calm Stark and partly to let him know what the situation was.
“There’s a lot of movement around,” Taggart said, speaking softly. “We’ve got to get out of here and up on top of the mountain, and in broad daylight that’s going to take time.”
He had brought his canteen and now he handed it to Adam, who took a long drink, then put the cork back in place. “Let’s get at it, then,” Adam said.
Helped by Taggart he got to his feet, staggered a bit, and then slumped heavily. “Dizzy,” he said. “Head going in circles.”
Taggart let him rest while he searched around for his rifle. He found it, smashed beyond use. But he got at the magazine and shucked the .44’s out of it and into his palm. There were fifteen shells. He passed them to Stark, who shoved them down in his pocket.
The rawhide thong had been in place and his pistol had not fallen from the holster. Stark removed the gun and spun the cylinder. “No damage there,” he said. “But my head’s aching like all get-out.”
There was a cut along the side of his head almost at the crown, and where his jacket was torn there was a blood-stain. Later they would probably find plenty of damage, but Taggart’s one idea was to get him moving before the shock wore off and he really began to feel his hurts.
Without further delay they moved out. Anxious as he was about Stark, Taggart could not keep his thoughts from Miriam. He was sure they would hear a shot if she were attacked, and there had been none; but they would have to travel at least a couple of miles, roundabout, to get where she was. He helped Stark over the rocks, and it was obvious that one leg was very stiff. He knew it was not broken, but it undoubtedly was badly bruised.
When they reached the horse, Taggart said to Stark, “You mount up. I’ll walk.” Despite Stark’s protests, it was obvious they would travel faster with him in the saddle, and Taggart did not want to ride double … not yet.
Rifle in hand, Swante Taggart walked ahead of the horse. Carefully he worked his way along through the trees below the cliff, but now the cliff was less abrupt. Keeping under cover of the pines, pausing every few feet to study the country, they moved toward the point where Taggart had come down from above.
The sun was high now and Taggart was growing more and more worried. There was no hope of running now. Stark could make a fight of it from cover but, as he could tell from an occasional glance at the injured man, he must be feeling considerable pain.
By now the country would be alive with Apaches, and they were better than any hound on a scent, and far less easy to discourage. There was no evidence of Shoyer, but then, there was no reason for him to be down on this level of the mountain.
They paused under a huge, wind-racked pine, and Taggart studied their surroundings with care. Directly before them was a dim trail, visible only by the break in the vegetation, and it wound through the brush and back into a notch in the hills. Swante Taggart searched back through his memory but could remember nothing of such a trail, although it was likely this was a trail that came up along Wood Springs Wash. If so, it must cut around the end of the mountain where he had left Miriam.
Leaving the horse with Stark slumped in the saddle, Taggart went forward and scouted along the trail. To all appearances it had been long since anyone had used it. He turned back to where he had left Stark, and led the horse into the trail.
It was well covered. Here and there the pines stretched like a wall along either side, and occasionally a sycamore would reach long branches out to shade the trail. It was quiet here. It was too quiet.
He felt jumpy, and from time to time he paused, trying to steady himself, and keeping the rifle handy. Constantly he searched the country around for any movement. Stark was slumped in the saddle, obviously stifling his pain.
The vague trail now turned more to the northeast, and the mountain where Miriam waited was close by on their left. Finding what seemed a passable route, Taggart led the horse off the trail.
“Stark,” he spoke softly, “from here on we’re in trouble. Can you make it, or should I leave you here and come back for you?”
“I can make it.” Stark stiffened himself in the saddle. “Just never knew a man could hurt in so many places. You lead on, Taggart. I’m with you.”
Every step now was a danger, yet it seemed almost incredible, for all around them the country was so still in the warm sun. The air smelled fresh and clean of pines and sage, and there was no sound but an occasional stirring of wind.
Suddenly, a bird veered up sharply, and instantly Taggart was behind the bole of a tree, his Winchester ready. Stark had not moved for fear the saddle would creak, but his pistol was out and balanced easy in his hand.
After a moment, Taggart cat-footed it forward and paused. Not fifty feet away were three Apaches, but they faced in the opposite direction and were looking up the mountain ahead of them. This was the mountain where Miriam was and the Indians had seen something there. They moved away swiftly into the brush, climbing higher on the mountain.
“Looks like we got here just in time,” Taggart said, and after another moment they went on.
From their actions, he decided there were few Apaches in this area. No doubt they had spread out to cover a wider range, and on sighting the pack train they would send up a smoke to bring the others to the fight. If his guess was right, that smoke would be going up soon.
The trees were thinning out, and before them loomed the bald mountain from which the mesa rose. Still all was quiet. Taggart led the horse beyond the last gathering of pines and into the sparse brush that straggled beyond the edge of the trees.
Three Apaches sat their horses some hundred yards away, and an Indian on foot was talking with them. While Taggart and Stark waited, another Indian came from the woods and joined them. Suddenly, from high on the mountain, there was a rifle shot.
The sound racketed down the rocks, and Taggart saw an Apache come tumbling down the slope, his body bringing up against a rock. The Indian struggled to pull himself erect, and then slumped back, losing hold on his rifle, which slid and rattled over the rocks.
Instantly, the others started forward, and Taggart lifted his rifle and took careful aim. It was an easy shot, but he made it with care, wanting to be sure of this one at least of their enemies. He dropped the first Apache. Almost as if the rifle shot had been a magician’s wand, the others vanished.
“Wait …” Taggart lifted a hand.
They stayed still, and nothing stirred.
“All right,” Taggart said, “let’s go!”
He left the brush on the run, keeping low, feeling that due to the lay of the ground, he had a chance of reaching the trail without being seen. But he had taken no more than a dozen steps before a bullet splattered against a rock near him and whined away through the hot afternoon. Stark was firing, and then from the rim of the mesa above there was a burst of rifle that startled Taggart.
Miriam was not alone! Pete Shoyer had come back, then.
They went up the slope, Stark on his horse and Taggart running, and they climbed up the mesa covered by rifle fire from the rim. He raced up and was a dozen steps over the flat top before he stopped and turned. Miriam was at Adam’s side helping him from the saddle. The movement had started him bleeding. He looked over to Taggart. “I’ll be all right,” he said, and fainted.
Consuelo went to him quickly. “Let me,” she said. And when Miriam hesitated, she added, “Por favor?”
Miriam stepped back a little. “All right, Connie,” she said, and picked up her rifle again.
Taggart stood facing Shoyer. “There’s plenty
of them down there, but we’re getting out. This could be a death trap.”
“You’ll go when I tell you,” Shoyer replied. “We haven’t a chance!”
“We’re going out of here now, and we’re taking that chance,” Taggart said. “They’ll be sending up a smoke within the next few minutes and have half the Apaches in Arizona coming down on us. You do what you please. I’m taking them out of here, and I’m taking their gold with them.”
The two men faced each other in the hot afternoon sun. For the first time Pete Shoyer saw Swante Taggart as he was, as something other than just another scalp to be taken in. He realized he was facing a tough and dangerous man … and a man whose side was right.
Taggart put it plain. “The gold is not yours, Shoyer. The woman is not yours. You make another stab at taking either and you’re an outlaw.”
“I’ve taken that step,” Shoyer replied coolly. “I’m taking both the woman and the gold, only I’m taking it all. You had your chance. I told you to stay out of my way and I’d stay out of yours… . Well, you’re wanting trouble. You asked for it by staying on … now you’ve got it.”
“Why, sure!” Taggart replied. “I’m ready for it. Make your move.”
“Stop it!” Miriam had her rifle on them. “The first one who touches a gun I’ll kill. We’ve got Indians to fight.”
“And I’ll kill the other one.” Stark was sitting up, pistol in hand.
Taggart turned abruptly away and went to the mules, where he began tightening the loosened cinches. Pete Shoyer stared after him, his face dark and impassive, his eyes utterly cold.
“I’ll kill you,” he said conversationally. “I’ll take your scalp back to New Mexico and collect on it.”
Taggart ignored him. Stark switched to his own horse and Taggart mounted up. For a moment they glanced at each other.
“Look!” Miriam pointed.
A thin column of smoke was rising, and as it lifted, it broke.
Novel 1959 - Taggart (V5.0) Page 12