He read it, and then he refilled my beer glass. “The wagon belongs to Rolon Taylor.
He has a ranch near Good pasture. He has many cows, excellent cows. It is said they sometimes have three or four calves a year.”
“That’s a lot of calves.”
“Si, it is many.” He shrugged and sipped his own beer. “Maybe his cows are better.
Or maybe his vaqueros swing a wider loop.
“He not only has many calves, he has many vaqueros who do not seem to work very hard but they have mucho dinero.
Often they come here and always with money. I think if you ride that way, amigo, you are to ride with care. But who am I to tell you, Milo Talon?”
“I shall find the girl and return her to Maggie’s,” I said. “As for Felipe, he is my friend also. He did a thing to help me when help was needed. I shall not forget.
A good man or a bad man I do not know, but he did the right thing at the right time.”
I finished my beer. “Whether I talk to him or not, he has a friend in me.”
It had been in my mind to recruit him to help me with what lay ahead, but as we talked I realized I could do no such thing. Where I was going there would be trouble and no doubt the man had troubles enough of his own without shouldering mine.
Good pasture lay not far from the valley where I had gone to see Anne, and I had seen a wooden slab with the name painted on it and an arrow showing the direction when I was riding to see her.
There was no longer any idea of going back into the valley to see Anne. My reception had not been exactly what I’d hoped for. A pretty girl she certainly was, but if she had any interest in me she concealed it very well.
Stopping by Maggie’s, I picked up the grub he’d packed for me. I’d no need to ask what it was. German had been a chuck-wagon cook too long not to know what was needed.
This time I rode due south, skirted the Hollow, and headed for Chicosa Creek. If anybody was watching I had mild hopes of confusing them a mite. That night I made camp on the Huerfano River, and was sitting over coffee in the morning when I noticed a couple of stray horses edging toward my fire, ears up.
My horse whinnied and they responded and walked on in. They were Shelby horses, lost when the herd was scattered. Unsure what I’d best do, I put ropes on them and decided to take them along. Pablo was responsible and as he was not here it was up to me.
Also, I might use a couple of spares. In fact, I decided to switch my rigging right there and leave on a fresh mount.
Within an hour I was getting into scattered trees, advance scouts feeling their way into the plains from the legions that covered the mountain slopes.
Taking my time, not anxious to stir up dust that might attract attention, I did not get to the Greenhorn until late afternoon, and there I made camp. Up to now I’d been riding across country, but starting from now I’d be heading into what might be called enemy country. It was still a good distance to Good pasture, but Rolon Taylor had a good many hands and they covered a lot of country.
Before daybreak I was up and riding, astride a fresh horse again. Keeping to low ground, I scouted toward the mountains until I came upon what I was seeking, an old trappers’ trail that led due north toward the St. Charles.
That river lay in the bottom of a canyon, and a man had to know the country to find a way to cross. The old trail I was riding was one Pa had told me of long ago, and the years had not treated it well. Only here and there could I see any sign of it, but enough to hold my course.
They had used it to move through Indian country with less chance of being seen, and that was exactly what I wanted.
Now I began scouting for wagon tracks. Up to this point I had avoided the used trails, not wanting to be seen. Time to time I paused to listen and study the country around.
The trail I was following did not seem to have been used, and with luck I could get close to Taylor’s place without being seen. If I was I’d simply tell them I was rounding up Shelby’s horses. It was a plausible excuse, although they might not believe me.
It wasn’t until I was coming up to Turtle Buttes that I saw wagon tracks. I’d walked across those tracks back at Larkin’s when heading for the train, and a tracker has a memory for such things. This was either the same wagon or one mighty like it.
The trouble was this wagon had gone into Fisher’s Hole and had returned, heading northeast. Northeast was where Rolon Taylor’s outfit had its headquarters, but why go into Fisher’s Hole first?
Sitting my saddle in the shade of some pines, I studied those tracks, looked the country over, and tried to make up my mind.
If they had Molly Fletcher in that wagon, and I’d every reason for believing it, why go to Fisher’s Hole? A four-horse team and a wagon does not move fast, and nobody goes out of his way or just wanders around in one. If they went into Fisher’s Hole it was to deliver something or get something.
My attention returned to that something that dropped to the floor in Anne’s cabin and the startled reaction on all their faces.
Was Molly a prisoner there? Had she heard my voice and tried to attract attention?
But why at Anne’s? Of all places. She had nothing to do with this.
Or did she?
Chapter Sixteen.
Cloud shadows made islands upon the valley floor, and far off a rain-shower marched across the distance shading a space of the horizon into deeper blue. My horse stamped his hoofs, restless to be moving, yet I waited, watching, considering.
I was alone upon the land. My one ally, Pablo, lay wounded and ill, and somewhere Molly Fletcher was a prisoner, perhaps marked to die.
What was at stake here I did not know except that men were willing to kill for whatever it was, to kill and to hire men to kill. They had money, knowledge, and power; against them I had nothing, or next to nothing. What I needed most was to know, to know what the fight was about, to even know who my enemies were.
So far I had just been around where things were happening, so far I had only resisted when my friend and his horse herd were attacked, but once I rode from the shadow of the pines I would have committed myself. No longer would I be considered merely a suspicious bystander, but an avowed enemy, for when I moved out of these pines I would be moving against them, riding into enemy country where I must win or die.
It was not an easy thought. I had never considered myself a daring man. I did what was necessary at the time, and it was I who advised Molly Fletcher to buy a partnership in Maggie’s Place and stay in town. Had she gone on to Denver she would now be free.
The wagon had gone in to Fisher’s Hole. The evidence pointed to Molly being a prisoner in that wagon. The wagon had returned from the Hole and gone on, apparently, to Rolon Taylor’s ranch. The only reason I could think of for taking the trip into the Hole would be to make a delivery. Hence, Molly must be in the Hole.
Something had fallen to the floor when I was in the house, and for some reason all had been startled and alarmed. Suppose, as I had thought before, Molly heard my voice and deliberately knocked something to the floor to warn or alert me?
Riding out from the pines, I turned my horse up the narrow trail into Fisher’s Hole.
I hoped I would not be too late.
Once within the Hole I turned sharply left and took a dim trail up into the trees close to the flank of the Hogback. Here there was some concealment. Night was coming on and I hoped to get within sight of the house before it was completely dark. The horse I rode was new to me but a good mountain horse who seemed alert and seemed to be satisfied with his rider. My other horses followed on a lead rope.
Branches hung low and often I had to lie along my horse’s neck to pass under them.
Here, under the trees, there were shadows, although light still bathed the crest of the Hogback, and the bottom of the Hole was still light. My horses walked upon pine needles, making no sound, and the creak of my saddle could be heard no more than a few feet away. Several times I reined in to listen.
; What I would do once I got into the valley and in position I had no idea. First, I must scout the ranch, and, judging by the man with the shotgun, it would be well-guarded.
Emerging from the thick stand of trees into a space only partly screened, I saw a lamp had been lighted in the house. Although some distance away, I heard a door slam and heard the creak of a windlass of somebody at a well. Turning, I rode out on a small point comprising about an acre of ground, partly fringed by trees and brush.
From where I sat my saddle my view of the ranch below was excellent, while my outline must merge with the bulk of the mountain and the forest behind me.
For a moment I sat my horse, hands resting on the pommel. What was I getting into?
After all, this was Anne’s home, or the place where she lived. What would she think if I was found sneaking about, spying on her home? Certainly the wagon had come into the Hole, but maybe it had gone elsewhere, and the falling object might have been knocked off by a cat. I was being a fool.
Yet why were they so alert for trouble? Who were the men with Anne?
My welcome down below had certainly not been warm. I mean, nobody tried to make me feel at home. They fed me and got rid of me.
Somehow I had to get down there, prowl around, and discover if I could who if anyone was in that other room. I’d seen no dog, for which I was profoundly grateful.
Dismounting, I picketed my horses, and taking my rifle, I walked to the edge of the woods. Already the valley below had become gray shading into black and only two lighted windows. It-showed from the house, neither of which seemed to be the room where I heard the sound.
There was a fallen log and I seated myself, watching the house. A door opened throwing a patch of light across what must have been a small back porch, and a man came out carrying a lantern. He walked toward the low shed and disappeared inside … feeding the horses? Or saddling up?
The shed door was pushed open and a man emerged leading several horses. If I was not mistaken there were four horses. Tying them, he returned for a fifth horse. They were leaving then.”
Swearing softly, I pulled my picket pins and slid my rifle into its scabbard, then coiled the lines and mounted. There was a trail down the mountain, a game or cattle trail, that I had recognized earlier. It would bring me to the back of the ranch in the opposite direction from the way they would ride.
Leading my spare horses, I went down the trail at a fast walk. Reaching the bottom, I started across a meadow of tall grass, then drew up, listening.
A door slammed, and although still a good two hundred yards off, I heard someone say, “Better put out the light, Charlie.”
“Aw, why bother? Make ‘em think we’re still here.”
“Make who think?” someone asked sarcastically. “There’s nobody within miles.”
“That gent … the one who was here. He might come back.”
“Him? Anne said she knew him. Just a harmless cowpoke who was kind of sweet on her up the road some time back. No need to worry about him.”
“So you think. Me, I worry. He looked too damn’d smart to suit me.”
“Come on! Let’s get out of here!”
“Please, gentlemen! We must be going! I want us off the roads by daylight.”
There was some activity in the darkness that I could not see and then somebody said, “Tie her hands to the pommel.”
Somebody swung into the saddle as I suddenly saw the dark body loom against the sky.
“Charlie? Will you take the lead, please? You know these trails better than we do.”
“Hell, who knows ‘em at all? We takin’ the route up North Creek?”
“If that’s what they call it.”
In the clear mountain air the voices were faint but distinguishable as I walked my horses nearer. I pulled up again, thinking of what I must do. Pablo had said something about another hole, somewhat west and higher than this … or had he said higher?
It was dark, and they would be strung out along the trail. Charlie would be first, and he was the big one, the Shotgun Man. I had a special dislike for him.
Five … and I had to be wrong about the big man. She had called him Sam, so there was Charlie, Sam, and the man in the store-bought suit. And the big woman.
Charlie was leading off, somebody would follow him, just in case, and then it would be likely they’d have Molly, if that’s who their prisoner was. Nine chances out of ten the big woman was her particular guard and she would follow Molly with Anne and Sam bringing up the rear. That was a lot of guessulation, if a body could call it that.
Somehow, without me really planning, an idea was taking shape. Probably because behind it all I was a good deal of a damned fool, probably because I didn’t know where they were taking her or why. I just had a feeling I should act now without any waiting around.
Maybe if I’d been a whole sight smarter I could have come; up with some clever trick, but I just wasn’t having any bright ideas. All I knew was to plunge in and let the devil count the dead.
They moved out, and me after them, but keeping a safe distance. Someone had spoken of the trail up North Creek, and I remembered Pablo had mentioned it as a regular access trail to the hole. The way I had come and the way they brought the wagon in was little more than a trail, and only a knowing man would think of taking a wagon over it, although I’d noticed signs of work along the way.
What they figured to do I had no idea, but if I could get Molly free of them we could take out for the way I’d come in, and once in that narrow trail I could make them hunt cover^ while Molly took off for town. I turned my spare horses loose and suddenly with a whoop and a yell stampeded them right, into the front of that column.
It was almighty dark, the first thing they could have heard} was running hoofs, then a whoop as I started those horses into them.
The horses charged in, tried to reverse direction, and some of the ridden horses took off, buck-jumping and scared. Spot; ting Molly’s horse, I went in fast, grabbed for the lead-rope and started off, but that big woman, she came at me swinging a whip. I ducked and she charged on by. Grabbing the lead-rope, I took off. Somebody fired, and I saw a man loom up near” me and cut at him with my six-gun barrel just as his horse swung broadside to mine. It fetched him a glancing blow, but as he started to fall he latched on to the saddle-horn to keep from falling off. He vanished into the night, his horse running.
Somebody yelled “Don’t shoot!” and it sounded like that city man. In that melee anybody might get hit and he wasn’t anxious to be the one.
There were some trees there, and I went around them and headed south. Seeing another dark patch, I picked our way around it, then pulled up and cut Molly loose. “You all right?”|”
“ii “What will they do?”
“Try to catch us.” I’d started walking my horse and hers, too. “We’d better get to the pass. I can stop them while you get away.”
“No.”
“What?”
“I want to stay with you. Milo, I’m scared.”
Maybe she was. Probably she was, for she had reason to be, but she was keeping her head and there were no hysterics or anything like it. Whatever else she was, she was no giddy-headed little fool. We started on, picking our way, and I tried to keep in the grass so we’d make less sound.
We found what must have been the North St. Charles and followed it down. Once, when we paused to listen, I heard them, heard their horses. They’d found a trail and were gaining on us.
When we came close to Turtle Buttes we took a sharp turn to the south on the trail I’d followed before, pausing long enough to wipe out any tracks and scatter dust over what I had done and the tracks we’d left. The chances were that coming in the dark as they were they’d not even see the dim trail that led off to the south but would follow the one that led toward the railroad and the Arkansas River.
We headed south, following the flank of the mountains until we crossed Greenhorn Creek, then we angled off to the west. Using every bit of cover w
e could find and riding in sandy arroyos that left almost no tracks, we slowed our pace.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
“You found my note? You seemed to notice everything and I thought you’d see the coat.
It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else.”
“I found the note.”
“They were in my room and when I tried to slip by they caught me. They warned me that if I made any fuss it would not help and I’d just get somebody killed, so I didn’t. They brought me here.”
“What do they want?”
She hesitated and rode on for several yards. It was very dark, but our eyes were accustomed to the light and the stars were out. “They said they were protecting me from Jefferson Henry. They said he was looking for me.”
“He was right there in town. If he’d been looking for you, he’d have found you.”
“I told them that. They said he just didn’t realize who I was. They said they were afraid for me, and for themselves, too, if Henry found where they were.”
“So they took you, anyway?”
“They would not listen. They said I had no choice. Some men had been murdered and that I would also be killed.” I didn’t believe that. Not entirely.
“Of course, Newton Henry was killed … murdered. That was when I ran away.”
“You knew him?”
“I never liked him. He hated Uncle Nathan. I knew that.”
“Uncle?”
“He told me to call him that. My mother kept house for him, and he was very lonely after Stacy ran away with Newton. She took Nancy with her and Uncle Nathan was very lonely. He missed them dreadfully. He said so, several times.”
Far away to the east a few lights showed where the town lay. A train seemed to be standing on the side-track there. I was tired, dead beat. I was hungry, too, but that could wait. All I wanted now was to fall into bed and sleep.
“Back there,” I said, “they kept you tied.”
“They were going to kill me. I just couldn’t believe it at first, but they were.
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