by Ralph Cotton
“Which way are you going, Burke?” Sam asked.
“Huh?” said Burke.
“To search for a path up around the slide,” Sam reminded the shaken gunman. “Which way are you going?”
“I’m going whichever way the bear ain’t,” Burke said.
The men spread out along the trail as they had started to do before the bear announced itself. It took the men four unsuccessful starts before they found a path that didn’t stop short, but rather led all the way up the bald and scathed hill and around the upper edge where the rock slide had started.
Once having found the path, the men spread out with ten yards between them and led their horses single file, silently and carefully upward. Halfway around the upper edge, Sam stopped and looked back past his two at Burke, who moved toward him almost on tiptoes. Burke kept a wary eye on the hillside still above them, much of its scree and loose stony surface held back only by a large boulder sunken to midgirth.
Looking away from the precarious boulder and forward along the path, seeing Sam had stopped and stood looking back at him, Burke grumbled under his breath. He moved forward, and when he caught up to Sam and had to stop for him, he wasted no time trying to hurry him forward.
“Why the hell are you stopped, Jones?” he asked, keeping his voice lowered.
Sam looked at him.
“Just want to tell you, I can see a trail up ahead that looks like it runs down back onto the switchbacks,” he replied.
“That’s great. Real good,” said Burke. “Can we keep moving? Do we have to stop right here?” He eyed the boulder and the large buildup of loose rock and broken pine behind it.
Sam turned and walked forward, leading his two horses.
“It’s going to be a steep downhill climb to it,” he said. “But once we make it, I believe it will take us on down to the desert floor by evening—on to the ruins by tonight.”
“Sounds good to me,” Burke said hurriedly. “Keep moving.”
“I will now that I’ve told you which way I’m headed,” Sam said, looking past Burke, back at the others. “But you’ve got to stick here until Childers catches up to you. Then you tell him, and he’ll wait here for the next one.”
“Jesus . . . ,” said Burke, not liking the idea of waiting for the next man. But looking ahead at the path and how it dropped out of sight, he realized how easy it would be to get separated up ahead. “All right, just go,” he said, forcing himself to calm down.
“You need to settle yourself down, Clyde,” Sam said quietly.
“Man! I do not want to die on this miserable godforsaken Mexican hillside,” Burke said.
Sam stared at him.
“Neither do I,” he said, seriously. Then he turned and led the horses away along the narrow rocky path.
• • •
For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, the four riders followed Sam down one steep path after another. Finally they reached a switchback where they were able to collapse for a short rest in the heat of the day. The horses milled and blew and raised their muzzles in the direction of a water hole that lay in a wide clearing along the trail on the next level down. Sam looked down and saw nothing blocking the trail between them and the water. Then he divided the contents of his canteen and served each horse from his upturned hat.
The mottled white barb took its water first. The dun poked its nose back and forth impatiently and stamped a hoof.
“I told you I’d save you both a drink,” he murmured to the horses, pushing the spare horse back and pouring the rest of the water for the dun.
As the dun sucked up the water in a fast gulp, Sam patted the horse’s lowered head. The dun nipped the inside of Sam’s hat, wanting more.
“Mind your manners, now,” Sam said. The dun slung his wet hat and bit down with its teeth until Sam managed to take the hat and shove the dun’s nose away. “We’ve got water coming. Take it easy,” he said to the parched animals.
The men stepped up into the saddles and followed Sam down the trail. They were scuffed and bruised and cut and covered with thick dust, but grateful to at last be on horseback. When they reached the small water hole on the inside of the trail, they sank their canteens into the water while their horses stood knee deep at the edge and drew their fill. The water hole stretched fifteen feet out from the trail and backed up against the stony brush-covered hillside.
Even as the thirsty animals drank, Sam noted a skittishness about them that caused him to take a step back and look all around at the boulders and stones strewn about on the hillside. He held his palm on the butt of his holstered Colt, his rifle already in hand.
“Something’s got them spooked, sure enough,” Burke said quietly to Sam, moving up close beside him, seeing how the horses were acting. He also held his rifle in hand.
Instead of answering, Sam stepped sidelong around the water’s edge and stooped down and looked at fresh elk hooves and bear paws in the softer wet dirt. He gestured Burke over to him and pointed at the tracks as he gestured his eyes toward the rocky hillside. The other men stood watching quietly as the horses filled their bellies.
Burke nodded and whispered, “Same bear, you think?”
“I don’t know,” Sam whispered. “These quakes have everything stirred up. Either way, it’s on this hillside, probably watching us right now.” He drew the other men’s attention to the hillside and ran his hand back and forth in the air, signaling them to watch the rocks. “We need to finish up here and slip away as quick as we can—”
Before he finished his words, the big grizzly stood up from behind a land-stuck rock straight across the water hole. The bear let out another loud bawl. This time its big paws were not spread wide but rather hanging almost limply at its sides. The bear’s presence was not as threatening as earlier—only a weak warning, nothing more.
“Stand still, he’s not going to charge,” Sam called out to the four gunmen, who had to grab their horses by their reins as the animals pulled back from the water to turn and race away.
No sooner had Sam gotten his words out of his mouth than Montana’s rifle barked and bucked in his hands. The bullet hit the bear high in its shoulder, half turning the animal on its hind legs.
“Don’t shoot!” Sam shouted, although he knew the shot couldn’t be taken back. Across the water, the big bear staggered a step forward, appearing to stare straight across at Montana. Without hesitation, Montana fired again, then a third time as the bear bolted forward two steps, splashed into the water and fell forward on its face.
Sam and the others stood in silence as the sound of the rifle fire echoed and bounced away along the high hilltops.
“He’s cooked us,” Burke said with a deep sigh. He stepped over to where Black stood holding the reins to his and Burke’s horses. Burke took his horse’s reins and glared at Montana.
“What?” Montana said. “The bear was coming at me! I shot him. I did it without even thinking.”
“I can believe that,” Burke said, still glaring. The other men settled their horses and watched the two stare each other down.
To keep down any trouble, Sam took a coil of rope from his saddle horn, stepped over between the two and looked all along the high cliff edges and hilltops.
“All right, let’s finish up and go,” he said. As he spoke, he dropped coil after coil of rope.
“What’s this you’re doing?” Burke asked, eyeing Sam’s rope.
“We’ve got to pull the bear from the water hole, keep it from ruining the water,” Sam replied. “Like as not, there’s no one around near enough who cares about us after that quake.”
“Then what’s our hurry?” Childers called out.
“It’s just in case I’m wrong,” Sam said, stooping, grabbing his full canteen from the water and screwing the cap down on it. He threw his hat off his head so that it hung on his back from its string and splas
hed water on his dusty face. Then he trudged into the water and made his way out to the bear, his rope trailing out behind him.
“Son of a bitch,” Burke growled. He grabbed a rope from his saddle horn and splashed out into the water behind Sam. “I’d never live in a place where you can’t shoot a gun without every pig-licking bastard coming to see why.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Montana called out, taking down his rope as well. “The bear was coming at us. I shot him! Who can blame me?” He walked through the water toward Sam and Burke. The three began tying the rope to the bear.
“Nobody blames you, Montana,” Sam said. “Any one of us might have done the same.” He swung up atop the dun and turned both horses toward the trail with Burke.
“Well, now, that’s damn big of you, Jones,” Montana said with sarcasm. “I’ll be damn sure to get your approval anytime I go to shoot something—”
“Shut up, Montana,” Burke snapped at him, jerking his horse around toward him, his hand on his Colt. “We’re all worn plumb to the bone and still got a long ride ahead of us.”
Montana settled himself, staring at Sam.
“Jones, I wish I hadn’t fired those shots, but I did. There’s nothing I can do that’ll change it,” he said, his voice taking on a calmer tone.
“Forget it, Montana,” Sam said. “Like Clyde says, we’re all worn out.” He turned and walked the rope back to the water’s edge and tied it off to his saddle horn.
Montana shook his head and walked back and tied the rope off to his saddle horn as well. So did Burke. Black and Childers stood guard, looking back and forth along the wavering desert floor, rifles in hand.
In minutes the three had pulled the dead bear out of the water and onto a bed of gravel and small rock. They gathered their wet ropes and recoiled them. As Burke and Sam mounted their horses and rode away, their trousers dripping water, Montana let out a breath and hung his coiled rope back on his saddle horn.
“If there was one place on me that’s not sore, I’d stab myself there just to make everything match,” he said. “How much gold are we talking about?” he asked Childers, having heard Childers ask Sam that same question the night before. Beside them Stanley Black mounted his watered horse and rode away behind Burke.
“Talk to Clyde about it,” Childers replied to Montana, swinging up into his saddle, giving Montana the same answer he’d gotten from Sam.
The two mounted and rode off behind the others, each man keeping a ten-yard interval between himself and the man in front of him.
Fifty yards farther down the winding trail, they bunched up again at the edge of an overgrown cliff ledge. Sam and Burke sat their horses, looking through a sheltering stand of young pine at a wide desert stretched below.
“What do you think?” Black asked, pulling his horse up on Sam’s left.
Sam studied the empty desert floor, his wrists crossed on his saddle horn. Below them, long evening shadows encroached out onto beds of gravel and farther out through embedded stones the size of steers. Sand the color of copper and pearls lay wind-banked among the stones. Pale dry sage clung to the desert floor as if in a last stand before tumbling off to parts unknown.
“Make a dark camp until midnight,” Sam replied to both Burke and Black. He spoke sparingly, knowing he’d have to repeat himself when the other two arrived.
Black let out a tired sigh.
“That’s sort of what I figured,” he said. “I hope folks are still drinking hot coffee by the time we get out of this wilderness.”
They waited as Childers rode and stopped, followed a moment later by the Montana Kid.
Sam looked around at them, then back out across the low rolling sand flats.
“We’ll stick up here and rest a few hours,” he said. “After midnight, we go down and lead our horses along the rocks, stay this side of the gravel beds.”
The men gave a low collective groan.
“The longer we lead these horses, the longer it’ll take us to get to the ruins,” Childers pointed out.
“I know,” Sam said. “But anybody wants to find our trail, at least they’ll have to work for it.”
The tired, battered men nodded in agreement.
“Each of us stands an hour of guard,” Sam said, having their attention, knowing he was in charge. “When the last man has stood guard, we move down from here and get under way.”
“You got it, Jones,” Burke said. “I’ll take guard first, unless anybody objects.” He looked at each exhausted dust-caked face in turn, then gave a thin, tired chuckle and said, “I didn’t think so.”
Chapter 5
They slept the short night four men at a time, while the fifth man sat awake, wrapped in a blanket and backed against a rock. Sam had pulled his hour of guard third in line. At three in the morning, he arose from his spot among the rocks where the other sleepers lay sprawled like dead men awaiting burial and walked quietly to where the Montana Kid sat blanket-wrapped, his rifle hugged against himself like some talisman meant to ward away evil in the wide desert night.
“I’m awake,” Montana said in a lowered tone, as if denying an accusation before it was made.
“I figured you were,” Sam whispered in reply. “It’s time we shake them out.”
Montana reached beneath his blanket, took out a pocket watch, opened it and cocked it against the pale moonlight.
“I make it five more minutes,” he said, a man suddenly dedicated to the precision and distribution of time.
Sam leaned against the rock beside Montana and gazed out through the purple-black-striped desert floor below them. Overhead, stars lay spread on a wide silken trail leading off into the endless depths of the heavens. A three-quarter moon dozed, its cleaved edge leaning against the western sky. On the ground below them, Sam watched as a shadowy black line of coyotes rose and fell in their silent stride, their red eyes darting upward toward the scent of man infringing on their domain.
“They make a ten-minute circle,” Montana said quietly. “Seeing if our smell is changing any—figuring us for fresh kill.” He paused, then said, “Might be catching some of Childers’ dried shoulder blood on the air.”
“Their scenting don’t miss a thing,” Sam offered, watching the coyotes file out of sight into the greater blackness of rock shadow.
“Sons a’ bitches hunt with their nose better than we can with our eyes,” Montana said. He paused, then added, “All we’ve got is brains, and they don’t work right half the time.”
“You’d choose to be a coyote instead of a man?” Sam asked.
“I never choose either one,” said Montana. He stood up and gestured a nod in the coyotes’ direction. “Neither did they.” He cocked the watch against the pale moonlight again, then snapped it shut soundlessly and put it away under his blanket. “Now it’s time to shake them out,” he said.
Sam nodded and walked away. From one sleeper to the next he walked, kicking each man’s feet as he passed.
“S’wrong?” Burke mumbled when Sam gave him a wake-up kick. He jerked upright in his blanket, but kept his voice lowered.
“Nothing. Time to go,” Sam whispered.
“Damn it. I feel like I just lay down,” Burke grumbled as Sam walked away.
At the horses, Sam drew the cinch on his saddle and laid the stirrup down the dun’s side. He took out the remainder of the goat meat and shared it with the others. The men twisted off a small portion and passed it along. They wolfed the meat down or held it between their teeth as they readied their horses for the trail.
Clyde Burke took his bite of meat and swallowed dry and shook his head. “I always said a big breakfast can ruin a man’s whole day.”
The men gave a sleepy half laugh. The worn horses grumbled and blew and scraped their hooves.
Sam took his bite of meat, downed it and stood waiting with the lead rope to the white barb in
hand. When the men had shaken off their sleep and bridled and saddled their animals, he led his horse around and stood waiting. A moment later, Burke stepped up into his saddle, saw his mistake and swung back to the ground. He cursed under his breath and led his horse over behind Sam’s.
One by one the others stumbled over, leading their horses, and fell into line like lost souls searching for the other side. Finally, without a word, Sam walked away from the dark, cold camp onto the thin path leading to the last stretch of the downhill trail.
As dark as it was on the upper hillside, it turned darker yet over the next hour as they moved down with the moon standing on the other side of the hill line. What moonlight lingered lay sliced and darkened out by black shadows of boulder and cliff shelves lining the winding trail. Another half hour and the darkness waned around them as the larger boulders grew sparse as if having abandoned their rugged domicile one and two at a time, taken over by the long beds of scree sloping on either side of the trail.
Where those loose talus beds banked against the rounded steer-sized rock the men had become acquainted with, a wide bed of gravel and sand lined the lower slopes and spilled and spread out into stands of brush and low cactus garnishing the wide desert floor. When the men reached the long gravelly boulevard near the bottom of the hill, in the east the first thin wreath of silver-gold began to glow below the black edge of the earth.
“I make it we’ll all have one leg shorter than the other by the time we’re off this hillside,” Burke whispered to Sam, walking a few feet behind him. “I’m thinking I’ll walk backward a ways just to make up.”
They trod the gravel bed two miles to its end, their boots and the horses’ hooves leaving a low crunching sound in the silent darkness. When the crunching gravel turned quiet and the land turned stiff and rocky beneath them, Sam led his horses a few feet to the side and waited until the last man and horse filed past him.