Hopalong looked up as a shadow fell across him. It was Katie. Her face was white and worried. "Hoppy, Con Gore's up at the restaurant. He wants to talk to you."
"All right." Hopalong hitched his guns around under his hands. "How'd he act?"
"Well, all right, I guess," Katie replied. "At least he didn't seem to be looking for trouble. When I told him I wanted no trouble in my place, he said that was why he chose it, because he didn't think you'd start anything there."
Hopalong Cassidy fell in beside the girl, and they walked toward the cafe. Stopping on the walk before the restaurant, Hopalong opened the door carefully with his left hand. He stepped swiftly through the door and faced Gore, who sat at the opposite end of the room. The big hard-faced ex-convict nodded. "Howdy, Cassidy! Come and sit!"
Cassidy walked slowly across the room, then drew back a chair and dropped astride of it. "What is it, Con?"
The big man hesitated, then looked up, his face flushed with embarrassment. "This here don't set so well some ways, Cassidy," he said, "but I'm makin' peace talk.
I don't want any more trouble."
"That makes sense," Hopalong agreed. "I don't want any either."
Gore was relieved. "You figure that'll go with Ronson?" he asked. "I reckon we were wrong. Windy talked John and me into this scrap. Not that I'm blamin' him. I was just as bad. We figured that, with the Old Man dead, Ronson would quit. He had more sand than we figured on. We asked for trouble and we got it-more than we wanted."
"What about your outfit? What about Troy? He's a bad one, Con."
"Yeah." Con's lips tightened. "I guess you needn't worry about him. He's out of it."
Gore hesitated, then added, "I'm not so much. I've done time, and I've killed my man, but when Hank and I had that trouble, Troy had no call to butt in an' shoot him in the back."
"What happened?"
"Well, I give him his choice. To hit the saddle and slope it, or reach for a gun.
He was mighty nasty, but he went and saddled up. Then he grabbed iron when he figured my back was turned. I was watchin' him and-well, I beat him to it."
"All right," Hopalong said briefly. "I've talked this over with Ronson. Your cattle can run east of the Blues-and west of them, as long as you acknowledge that they are on Rockin' R range. The only thing we don't go for, Con, is somebody tryin' to shove us off. There's water and grass for all, but it's got to be for all. That clear?"
Gore was relieved. "Sure is, an' mighty fair. I always did hear you was fair and square." He shoved back his chair and got up.
Hopalong watched as Gore walked away. That was an issue well closed, but there was still Clarry Jacks, and he was the worst of them all-the man really to be feared.
That such was the case was obvious from the actions of Pony Harper. If ever Hopalong had seen a man driven by worry and fear, it was Harper.
The man had no stamina, no real courage. He was a big, smooth, easy-talking man, the kind who could plan, think, and weave a plot, and one who would not hesitate at murder if it could be done without danger to himself, but there was no real bottom to the man. He was an empty shell. Behind him Clarry Jacks loomed like something bigger, stronger, more dangerous. In gun skill the fellow definitely ranked among the best, but there was that something else about him that disturbed Hoppy.
That Jacks was insane, he had not guessed, although he had wondered a little. That Jacks had no plan to leave the country was obvious from his actions, for he could have been long gone by now. Hoppy went to the kitchen and refilled his cup of coffee and took it to a table where Harrington sat.
The mining man looked up. "Howdy, Hoppy! Sit down, will you?"
'Yeah." Hoppy tried his coffee and placed the cup back on the table. "Clarry Jacks was in town last night."
Harrington's eyes were startled. "In town? Here?"
"Uh-huh. You know this country well?"
"Sure. Lived here as a kid, then went back east to school. I worked around the country, then finally came back. What's on your mind?"
"Jacks. Nobody'll be safe as long as he's around. I don't like huntin' a man, but he's mean and he isn't leavin' the country."
"Lock will find him."
"In time, but there isn't much time. Harper's scared of every movement now. He jumps when he sees his shadow. Rawhide walks like he was on eggshells. What I want to know, where could a man hide? He's got grub, he's got ammunition, but he'll need water and a place where he can't be stumbled into. My guess would be he isn't far from here."
"You know most of the water holes yourself." Harrington rubbed his jaw. The fact that Jacks was alive and around worried him. He needed money and was planning a big shipment. "North of here, the Rockin' R outfit has the range well covered; he'd never find a hideout there. South, the country is too open, and there are too many passes through the mountains and too much travel. East is the country you know, the ruins of the Patch, Unionville, Star City."
"He was up in there," Hopalong said. "I think he's left those mountains for some place closer. My idea is that he's plannin' a strike. What about west of here?"
"Well," Harrington said slowly, "there's the Black Sand Desert, narrow to the northwest, not any water until you get across."
"Too far. What about further south?"
Harrington studied the problem. "Due west of here," he said, "are the lava beds.
I don't know. You couldn't walk a hundred yards into them without risk. There's lava rock bubbles thin as glass, some of them. A wrong step and you go right through.
And the rock is sharp as razors. Cut a man's shoes to nothing."
"No water?"
"Yes, there's water on the edge. East and just a shade north of here, there's a spring.
Follow the edge of the beds and you couldn't miss it. So far as anybody knows, there's nothing back there. The stretch is about ten miles along and two to three miles wide, with some good peaks among 'em."
After Harrington had gone, Hopalong sat over his second cup and studied the situation.
The more he considered it, the more he thought the lava beds were the place. A man could always come out of them for water, or there might be water back inside. Down in New Mexico there were some lava beds, with numerous little hollows where there was water, grass, and even trees, although a man might wander for days and never find even one of them if he did not know where to look. Such a place, if one existed in this lava bed, would make an ideal hideout.
The next morning Hopalong was not surprised to find Ben Lock sitting over a cup of coffee at Katie Regan's.
"Shorty was right," he said. "They were at the High Card mine but they pulled out days ago."
Hopalong strolled closer and sat down. "I've got an idea. Want to hear it?"
"Anything. I'm fresh out."
Ben grinned at Katie as she refilled his cup. "Reckon my time's short around here,"
Ben said. "You ever think about livin' in the mountains, Katie?"
"It wouldn't be a bad place to live," Katie agreed noncommittally. "I've thought about a lot of places."
"When I come back from this hunt, I reckon I'm goin' home. Maybe I'll be goin' alone, maybe not."
Hopalong grinned as he lifted his cup, and he caught Katie looking at him suspiciously.
He winked, then said, "Nobody ought to be alone in the mountains. Not for long, anyway.
A man needs company."
"What are you two gettin' at?" Katie demanded, concealing her smile. "Talkin" in riddles." She started for the kitchen, then hesitated. "Anybody who has any ideas about livin' in the mountains should start for them right soon. A man can wait too long. He can go to the well too often."
Chapter 13
Finish Fight.
From the kitchen came the sputter of eggs in the pan. Hopalong studied Lock.
He was a clean-cut, handsome young man under his stubble of beard. His clothes were worn but clean, and he had gravely humorous gray eyes that regarded the world with a thoughtful amusement and understanding.
Katie, he reflected, could do a lot worse.
"What's on your mind?" Lock demanded. "Was it about Jacks?"
Hopalong explained the theory he had concocted from his talk with Harrington. "Now," he added, "it may be a wild guess, but he might be there. My idea is to ride over and see what's what. But there may be some hombres friendly to him around town, so we'd better be mighty careful and not leave town together."
Hopalong Cassidy took the trail to the Rocking R, but only three miles out of town the trail dropped into a gulch, and Hopalong took this opportunity to turn the gelding up the bank and into the junipers.
From there he angled under cover of the trees, across a long slope to the crest of the ridge, going over it swiftly and descending into a hollow beyond. At the head of steep-walled Mule Canyon there was a perfect view of the lava beds, which were not five miles away. Heat waves danced in the air, but from this altitude, with his glass, a fair view of the black sea of lava could be had. Several peaks towered above the lava, their shoulders black with it, but they gave promise of water within the beds themselves. From this distance the area looked black and gloomy, and Hopalong could well understand the feelings of the people who avoided the beds. Moreover, there could be no earthly reason for anyone approaching them, which would be all the better for Clarry Jacks.
Ben Lock was waiting for him at the mouth of Mule Canyon. He got to his feet, grinning, as Hoppy rode up. "Made it, I see." He jerked his head over his shoulder toward the lava beds. "Miserable-lookin' place. I reckon we're goin' to find our man."
"Likely." Hopalong squatted by the small fire Lock had built. The dry sticks of greasewood made no smoke. "Move across tonight and hide out somewhere on the edge of the bed."
"Yeah. They'll be watchin' by day." Lock looked quizzically at Hoppy. "That Katie's quite a gal, ain't she?"
Hopalong chuckled. "Well, she makes the best coffee around here. If I were you I'd stake that claim quick."
Lock scowled. "I hear Shorty's pretty thick with her."
"A man can hear anything!" Hoppy turned his head toward the strip of blackness that was the lava beds. "Pay no attention."
The day drew on and the sun lowered itself in a great red ball above the lava beds.
The shadows grew long and the sunlight faded and left purple mountains behind. A nighthawk swept by, darting swiftly about in pursuit of some insect. Hopalong got up and saddled Topper.
"Give it twenty minutes," he said, "with the background of these mountains, and they couldn't see us until we were well out in the open."
At last they moved out, neither man in a talkative mood. The first stars were appearing before they had gone a mile, and for luck Hopalong changed course suddenly, heading farther north. If they had been seen and it was believed they were headed for the lava beds, the change of course would make it impossible for a trap to be laid for them.
At a few minutes before ten o'clock they watered their horses at the spring, then withdrew them into a grassy notch in the lava, where they were partly concealed.
Lock clambered up on the lava and stared off across the waste. It was wild and lonely, impossibly beautiful, like some landscape on the moon. Jagged ridges of lava, then rolling swells like a vast ocean frozen into instant rigidness. No tree, no shrub, no blade of grass, only the rolling, dull black rock, yet edged and spined like broken glass.
Lock stared gloomily over the lava, remembering Jesse. Jesse had always loved the wild country. Then he was shot down when his life was scarcely begun! Behind him Cassidy mounted the rock, and they stood together, the comforting of the hard-bitten gunfighter sensed only in his quiet presence.
"They'll be here," Cassidy said, nodding. "Somewhere out there they've found a spot.
We know that Jacks is really Vasco Graham and that he ran through this country with Dakota Jack, who knew it better than the Piutes."
Ben Lock nodded, looking into the distance. "Yeah, but where?"
Hopalong nodded toward the nearest peak. "We'll try that area. There'll be drainage off that peak, perhaps some subirrigation. At the foot of the mountain there'll be water, the chances are. Anyway, it's a place to start."
Lock lifted his hand suddenly. "Listen!"
Hopalong listened for a long moment, and then the shrill yapping of a coyote sounded someplace behind them, and then, faint and far away, the blows of an ax!
"It's out there," he agreed. "They must have wood, but where would they get it back in there? Could be a water hole and some trees."
"Yes."
Lock threw down his cigarette. "Hoppy," he said quietly, "a man never knows what comes next. Perhaps I'm slated to get mine this time. Those boys are rugged. If anything happens to me, you get that Jacks for me, will you?"
"Somebody's got to," Hopalong agreed. "The man's runnin' mad."
"And tell Katie-" Ben's voice slowed and stopped. Then he shrugged. "Aw, the dickens with it! I'll tell her myself!"
Cassidy chuckled. "Sure. I knew that."
Lock looked at the gunfighter curiously. "Hoppy, don't you ever worry about cashin' in? You don't show it."
Hopalong shrugged. "I reckon not. When it comes it will come. I don't think about this fate business. I just ride along, take no chances I don't have to take, and what happens will happen."
The morning sun was a pale half-moon over the lava beds when their fire was warming.
Lock put coffee on, and Hopalong wandered out into the desert to pick up some dried bits of greasewood and juniper.
The smell of the fire was good, and the coffee was better. Lock rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shivered against the morning chill. "Got to be a way in there," he said. "We'll have to scout for it."
Hopalong considered the situation. "No telling which way it'll be, either. This lava could have stopped anywhere. Looks like the flow was split by one of those peaks, so there could be an open space between the two halves. Might be only a few feet wide; mightn't be there at all. It's durned treacherous stuff, too. There's bubbles in it. The top is thin as an eggshell, some of 'em. You step on one and the next thing you're lyin' in the got tom of a hole and nobody is goin' to find you. You'll have to carry a stick and tap on the rock with it. See if she sounds hollow."I
"They never crossed the lava."
"Maybe not, but if we slip up on 'em, we might have to."
While Lock saddled the horses Hoppy kicked out the fire and obliterated all signs of it. He mounted, then turned. "You ride north," he said, "and I'll head south.
If you find an opening, step out in the desert and set up a cairn. I'll do the same."
Ben Lock mounted. "Okay. Luck!" he said, and moved away along the swell of the lava.
Hopalong turned south. The lava here was a wall, like a lofty parapet with black blocks and cubes of lava rock scattered at its base. Then this wall gave way to a black swell like a frozen wave, corrugated and cruel. For over an hour he drifted along, and when about to give up and start north, he saw the print of a huge paw.
Dropping from his white horse, he studied it and the other prints he could see. It was the track of a mountain lion, and it was heading right back into the lava!
Following on foot, Hopalong trailed the big cat back into a notch that finally seemed to end in a small clump of juniper. Pushing through it, Hopalong saw that here there was a space between the flows of lava that seemed to go deep inside. Re turning, he built his cairn and then led Topper through the junipers after him. The track of the lion was steady along the narrow path, and knowing the nature of the big cat, Hopalong knew it was going to a den. There was no possibility of prey back in these wilds, and only a den or water would lead it into the wasteland. There was no evidence that any other living creature had ever advanced along this trail.
For a half hour he followed the trail, but then it suddenly began to slant steeply down and he saw the green tops of pines. In a hollow that barely had room for his horse to turn he picketed the animal; then, lying down, he wormed over the lava toward the treetops.
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Below him lay a bowl-like depression no more than three acres in extent and walled around with pines. A few scattered trees through the center and, against the far wall, a half-ruined rock house. A stream of water trickled from a crack in the rock, a formation of limestone and sandstone around which the lava had flowed, leaving behind the walled-in space where the grass was rich and green, the trees tall. Five horses grazed nearby, and as he watched, Hopalong saw a man come from the rock house and throw out a pan of water. It was Dud Leeman.
Returning to the break in the flow across which he had come, Hopalong worked his way back up it until he arrived at the bowl he had seen from above. It ended among a jumble of rocks and a dense growth of manzanita and pine. He took a step forward and heard a low snarl of warning. Turning his head, he saw the mountain lion crouched on a rock above him and to his left. The cat was big. He could see only the head and shoulders, but they were sufficient to tell him that the cat was one of the largest he had ever seen. With its ears lying back, it stared at him from green, malignant eyes, then snarled, showing its fangs.
He stood flat-footed and stared at it. A mountain lion will rarely attack a man.
Yet this one might consider himself cornered and, in such a case, would most certainly fight. A shot would warn Jacks, and then it would be a bitter fight for his life against three outlaws as well as the cat. He waited, his gun in his hand. The cat snarled again and seemed in doubt what to do. Hopalong stood perfectly still, giving the cat neither the invitation of retreat nor the fear of advance.
After a moment the cat rose from its crouch and then, after a long look, drew back and disappeared. Hopalong let go a heavy sigh of relief.
He worked his way through the trees within easy shooting distance of the house. He knew the range of his own gun and knew there wasn't a point in that three acres he could not cover, but he wanted to be close up.
Duck Bale came out of the house and walked directly toward him, then stooped to pick up an armful of wood. Some sixth sense must have warned him because he looked up.
the Trail to Seven Pines (1972) Page 18