Man of the Desert: A Western Story

by Robert J. Horton

  They were not molested, and saw no one during the morning, and a little after 1:00 p.m. they reached a large meadow where there was an old cabin. It was the meadow where Channing and Hope had stopped to get the burro and supplies the morning after Channing aided the girl to escape from Mendicott’s stronghold. Here Channing called a halt. Look-outs were posted, horses unsaddled, burros unpacked, and the stock turned out to graze on the rich grass. Soon a meal was under way. The men were in good humor. After dinner they loafed for an hour, lying on the grass under the trees. It was during this interval that Channing explained his plan at length, outlining every move, overlooking no detail, providing for every possible contingency. The men listened attentively and nodded in approval.

  They were a hard lot—those men. Hardy, strong-muscled miners; pale-faced gamblers, some, whose tapering fingers could close like lightning on the butt of a gun and send a bullet to its mark unerringly; grizzled prospectors who knew how to handle a rifle and had never known fear, save of the ever-present specter of the desert—thirst. The venture was not theirs for profit alone. The spirit of adventure drove them on, and they were natural fighters. Also they were respecters of fair play, and some had suffered through the wanton, ruthless deeds of Mendicott, who followed only his own wishes. They also respected Channing—and liked him. It was a friendly quality in his personality that drew them to him, as well as his reputation for fearlessness, for being an expert gun artist, for overlooking no chance to do another a good turn, for being a gambler who laughed in the face of a limit.

  When he had finished, they saddled the horses and packed the burros. The second start of the day was made, and this time they took a trail that led them straight up the mountain. It was a good trail, but steep, and they proceeded slowly, for it was hard climbing for the horses. They went up and up, with frequent stops, until they reached a great, natural shelf just below a high divide. Here they stopped and unsaddled the horses.

  “We’ll have to make it the rest of the way on foot,” Channing said. “But I reckon we can take the burros.”

  They climbed over the high ridge, leaving the horses in charge of four of their number, and descended to a rocky, miniature plateau on the crest of the junction of three ridges. Proceeding across this, they climbed again, and on the top of the next ridge Channing called the final halt.

  “There she is,” he said with a grim smile.

  They saw a hole in the rock formation. It was the exit Channing and Hope had used in getting out of the cave and subterranean passage in the escape from the rendezvous.

  As a first move the burros were unpacked. Then ropes were secured to trunks of the gnarled, wind-blown pines and lowered into the dark depths of the great cave. Men were sent to cut young fir trees on the sides of the ridge and drag them to the hole.

  Channing pointed out the necessity for working fast as the day was nearly done, and it would be impossible to light a fire on the ridge without it being seen in the rendezvous, which was situated beyond the ridge—a cup in the shoulder of the peak of which the ridge was a spur.

  He was first to lower himself into the cave, carrying a pine knot, rich in pitch, of which they had gathered many. Within the cave he lighted it, and thus aided several of the men followed him.

  There was a long slope leading down from the hole in the roof of the cave to the floor far below. Next came the work of lowering the tools, powder, and supplies. The majority of the men were now in the cave, and they formed a line from the hole in the roof down the slope to the floor. The tools, sacks of powder, and fuse and supplies were passed from hand to hand until they were all on the floor of the cave. Then came the young fir trees, which were thrown down. These were followed by saplings, and then everything required for the work was in the cave.

  The men each carried something as they started along the subterranean passage that led from the cave. The water flowing in the passage was less than a foot deep, for the snows had melted and the stream dwindled since Channing and Hope had been there. They splashed through the water, carrying their burdens, holding aloft the pine torches that lighted the way. And finally they saw a dim square of light ahead. Channing stopped them and ordered the torches put out.

  “That’s the hole in the rock wall where the stream runs out of the cup,” he said. “It’s the only way out of the place except by the narrow trail over the ridge down a piece from here. Mendicott and his outfit always use the trail. This place is mighty hard to get into when the water’s high. The trail’s just wide enough for a man on a horse. The hole at the end of this passage is just wide enough for two men to get out at once. So both places can be protected easily because a few men could pick off a million trying to get in either way. The end of the passage is probably watched, but as soon as it’s dark we’ll put the saplings across and pile up the trees for a screen so they can’t see the light from our torches.”

  They piled the tools and supplies on the dry rock banks on each side of the stream and waited for the darkness. When the square of light was all but entirely blotted out, and they knew night had descended, they moved on with the trees and saplings, and soon the work of putting up the screen was completed.

  Then the torches were lighted and Channing gave his final orders.

  “Drill your powder holes on each side of the opening and above it. There’s no danger of them hearing anything from in here . . . the trees and the ripple of the water’ll drown what sound might leak out there. But if they should get wise, or start out this way, all you have to do is douse the torches in the stream and let ’em come. They can’t come more’n two at a time, an’ they’ll be against what light there is while you’ll be in the dark and can let them have it. Drill all the holes you can. We want to blow out the whole end of this passage, open it up wide.”

  Channing left in the hour after he had seen the work begun. He made his way back to the cave and climbed out. He hurried back to where the horses had been left, selected a horse other than Major, and started along a trail leading below the divide. He rode in the darkness between the trees for an hour or so, and then turned up on the divide. He followed this south for another hour and again took a trail leading below the high ridge. In this way he worked south, keeping close to the crest, and making steady progress without having to descend into the foothills.

  Finally he came to where the going was easier, and here he pushed his horse. Soon he again turned up to the divide, lower now, and rode along its crest. His horse picked its way among boulders and rock outcroppings with ease, aided by instinct and the starlight. Thus Channing came finally to where Irvine and his men were stationed, having been guided by Crossley, who was with them. He ordered Crossley back to the ranch.

  He led the others back up the divide, and then, at a point about a mile above the head of the narrow, perilous trail out of the rendezvous, he stopped them and gave his final instructions. They were going near the head of the trail and remaining on guard. They were not to attempt to go down the trail, but they were to stop anyone from riding out. This could be done as easily from the head of the trail as from below. After they had heard the explosions below, they were to await a signal indicating that the outlaws all were engaged in the battle in the cup, and then go down the trail. Thus the bandits were to be trapped and surrounded or shot to death.

  Having given his instructions, Channing led them by the secret path to a point near the head of the trail, but sheltered from sight of a look-out there by a rock spur from the divide. He half expected a volley of shots, but none came. He was struck by the panicky thought that the gang might have left the rendezvous. Then he remembered that Crossley would have certainly spied their going on his scouting trip of the night before, and they could hardly have left during the day without encountering one of the two parties. Nevertheless, he could not shake off a feeling of uneasiness as he rode back to the shelf under the high ridge where the horses of the men in his detachment had been left. He hurried back up the high ridge and down into the cave.

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p; When he reached the end of the passage where the men were working, he found that excellent progress was being made. The miners were working in relays, drilling the holes for the powder. They promised every hole would be drilled and loaded before dawn. They were the cream of the Yellow Daisy miners—this crew. Channing had trusted them to do their work well without directions from Sam Irvine, because they knew their business. He had left Irvine in charge of the other men because he realized that they would need a strong man at their head, and he had to be in the passage to direct the attack on the rendezvous. The miners were true to their word. It lacked half an hour of daylight when the last stick of dynamite was tamped in, with its cap and fuse ready to set it off.

  Two men volunteered to light the fuses. The fuses were of different lengths, and the longest were to be lighted first, so that when all were lighted, they would be burning about evenly. There were four holes above the aperture, six on either side, two great holes at the bottom on either side where several sticks were to be exploded, and six holes in the roof near the opening. As the rock opened, or curved in on each side inside the aperture and the roof swelled upward, it was expected that the shots would tear the hole open to ten times its size, which would permit a dozen men to leave or enter the passage at a time.

  Channing led all of the men, except the two who were to light the fuses, back to the cave. Here there were two strong currents of air, both circulating down the stream—a coincidence that showed that there was another opening somewhere in the mountain, but that Channing never had been able to find. The air currents would quickly sweep out the fumes and gases of the explosion.

  They waited quietly, the great cave alive with shadows cast by the flaming torches, for the remaining quarter of an hour preceding the explosion. The fuses were in long lengths to give the men who set them off time to run back to the cave.

  “They’re coming!” one of the men cried. “I see their torches.”

  In another minute the men had joined the party in the cave. There was a breathless pause. Men stared at each other in expectancy, and crowded back toward the center of the big cavern. It seemed as though hours passed, but the time could be reckoned in seconds, actually. Channing stood nearest the stream and the passage that led toward the opening into the rendezvous. His eyes were slightly narrowed. One of the men drew his revolver. Channing shook his head.

  “No need of that till you get up there. Now, men”—and he faced them all—“throw your torches in the stream when you get near the opening. They’re likely to be there ahead of us, but we’ll have ’em out in the light and we’ll be in the dark. That gives us an advantage. But they’ll drop back, and we’ll have to fight it out in the open.”

  A low rumble came to their ears and gradually swelled to a roar that seemed to tear through the passage and the cave and lose itself in distant mutterings and reverberations. It came again and again, like the rolling of thunder in the high heavens. A pungent odor struck their nostrils as the sounds ceased. Thin smoke streamed past. And then suddenly the air was clear.

  “All right!” called Channing. “Come on!”

  They dashed into the stream in the passage and ran toward the opening. As they went on, the air again became rancid. Then they saw light ahead, and a rousing cheer went up that echoed shrilly in the passage. The opening was no longer small and square. It looked as if a great, jagged hole had been punched in the wall of rock. It was fully ten times its original size.

  They threw their torches into the stream, drew their guns, and plunged on in the light that filtered in through the opening—the gray light of dawn. A vast quantity of rock had been loosened and was banked in the passageway. But this merely served as a bulwark behind which they could fire as if from a fort if they could reach it ahead of the outlaws.

  When they had almost reached the fallen rock, several men appeared upon it. Shots echoed in the passage. A man stumbled and fell. The others turned loose their guns. The men with the rifles drew to one side, stopped, and took careful aim. Two of the heads behind the rock rampart disappeared. Then they reached the fallen rock.

  Channing crawled up and cautiously looked over. He had a splendid view of the lower end of the cup. Men were running toward the opening. He motioned to the others to move up, and they turned their guns upon the outlaws.

  Four men just below them threw up their hands. One was too late and fell forward on his face. Channing looked at the other three quickly and then turned his gaze on the clearing ahead. He was looking for a small man in riding pants and military boots. His brow wrinkled as he failed to see him among those who were running down the little stream from the cabins in the center of the rendezvous.

  The men with the rifles began to fire. Two more of the outlaws dropped. The others stopped, and then they turned as of one accord and swept back to the shelter of the trees.

  “Come on!” Channing yelled, and vaulted over the top of the rock barrier. “Hold those three fellows one of you!” he cried as the others swarmed over after him.

  Then the invaders, cheering and yelling, swept out on the floor of the cup and started for the screen of trees behind which the outlaws had taken refuge.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Channing shouted and gestured to his men to take shelter behind the trees that grew in clumps about the cottonwoods along the banks of the stream. In the first excitement of the encounter they had forgotten their instructions. Now they remembered and began to run by twos and threes to the pines and firs around the edge of the cup. In this way they shut off the outlaws in the lower end so that they could not make a dash for the trail or the opening to the passage without being subjected to a withering fire.

  Several men came riding down the trail, and there was firing above. Channing, with three others, ran for the lower end of the trail, but the riders evaded them and galloped on toward the cottonwoods.

  “I reckon that’s all that was up there,” said Channing in a satisfied voice. “Now I’ll go up myself and give Irvine the signal to come down. If they make a break for it, let ’em have it.”

  He hurried up the trail, and, when he was halfway up, he saw Irvine and his men. He waved to them and fired his gun three times. He waited until he saw they were coming down the trail, and then returned to the floor of the basin.

  There were scattering shots, but evidently no damage was being done. Channing had estimated that there would be between thirty and forty men in the rendezvous. He wondered that Mendicott did not give the order to charge. It was probable, though, that the outlaws would race down on their horses. But Irvine and his men were coming down the trail fast, and the remainder of the detachment was concealed in the trees. Thus Mendicott had missed the opportune moment for a rush. If he charged now, he would but charge into an ambush.

  When Irvine and his men reached the bottom of the trail, Channing sent them along the trees south of the creek.

  “When you see me wave my hat, riddle the cottonwoods,” he told them. “Just keep shooting into ’em and that’ll drive ’em back to the cabins.”

  He ran around the lower end, taking advantage of every bit of cover, and saw that his men were all below the line of fire that would come from the south side. He issued the same orders to his own men. Then he waved his hat.

  Bullets poured into the cottonwoods from two angles, subjecting the hiding outlaws to what was most certainly a deadly crossfire. At first there was a return volley, but the firing from the cottonwoods ceased almost as soon as it started. Then, in response to signals from Channing, the men on the lower end began to move forward, and those on the south came in until they reached the meadow. There they stopped, but Channing and his detachment moved on into the cottonwoods. The outlaws had taken up their stand among the cabins. But they had left several dead and wounded under the cottonwoods.

  Channing stopped before a man sitting on the ground, his face pale, his left hand clasped about his right arm. The wounded man’s jaw dropped as he recognized Channing.

  “You’re no
t mussed up much, are you?” asked Channing coolly. “Hit anywhere else ’cept in that arm?”

  The man shook his head.

  “All right, get up,” commanded Channing, and he helped the man to his feet. “How many are in here?” he asked.

  The man still appeared too bewildered to speak.

  “C’mon, talk up,” said Channing sharply. “How many? Forty?”

  “Not more’n twenty-five or -six now, I guess,” muttered the man.

  Channing whistled softly. “Where’s the bunch? Is Mendicott here?” The other shook his head.

  “What’s that?” cried Channing, grasping the man by his good arm. “You say Mendicott’s not here? Don’t lie.”

  “He went out last night,” said the other, and Channing knew that he spoke the truth.

  “Who was with him?”

  “Brood an’ half a dozen others,” replied the man.

  Channing’s face froze into grim lines. For several moments he thought steadily. Then he loosened his grip on the other.

  “You walk back there and tell that bunch we’ve got a hundred men here, and they’re all aching to cut loose. Tell ’em if they don’t march out on that meadow without their guns, we’ll close in on ’em an’ blow ’em to bits if it takes all week. We’ve got thirty rifles an’ thirty men tied to ’em that know how to use ’em. Tell ’em who sent the message and tell ’em I’ll give ’em five minutes to make up their minds. Now beat it.”

  The man hurried off toward the cabins, holding his arm, which was bleeding. Channing walked nervously back and forth under the trees. The quarry had escaped! Mendicott had gone! But it wasn’t like Mendicott to leave the rendezvous and forsake his men. Channing laughed harshly at the thought. Little Mendicott cared for his men, save to use them to serve his own ends. No, Mendicott had had something in view. Channing suddenly stopped in his tracks and his jaw snapped shut; he pressed his lips tightly together. He heard a cheer from the men behind him, and through the weaving branches of the cottonwoods he saw the outlaws marching into the meadow holding their hands above their heads.