“I’d say you’re likely right,” said Don. “After supper, I aim to have a long talk with Dominique and Roberto. We’re pretty sure the lack of water is a problem as long as we follow the old trail as it’s laid out, but who says we must follow the old trail? It’s nearly a hundred miles across the Mojave, and there must be some water. We’re goin’ to find it.”
14
Achill wind blew from the northwest, as Elton Beavers and Arlo Dent struggled on in the darkness, seeking to escape another day of unbearable desert sun. Distant stars glittered in the deep purple of the sky. There was no moon. Dent fell to his knees, panting with exhaustion.
“Get up,” Beavers growled.
“I’m beat,” said Dent.
“You’ll be dead if we don’t get out of this desert before sun up,” Beavers said.
He slogged on through the sand, not looking back. With a sigh, Dent struggled to his feet and followed.
After breakfast the following morning, Don spoke to Dominique and Roberto. It was time for the Mexican wranglers to find water on the long trail ahead if they could.
“Arch,” said Don, “I want you to help Roberto with the pack mules and the remuda. Dominique will be riding with me.”
Don and Dominique rode west along the river, following the old trail. As expected, the river turned south after a little more than a dozen miles, while the Old Spanish Trail led west. Don and Dominique reined up, and Don spoke.
“We should be in Nevada, according to the map.”
“Si,” Dominique said. “The Mojave is not yet.”
“I’m figurin’ two days to cross Nevada,” said Don. “We leave the river in the morning, and we’ll need water for tomorrow night.”
“Si,” Dominique said. Kicking his horse into a slow gallop, he led out.
There was little vegetation, and after fifteen miles, Don didn’t trust his eyes. The patch of greenery ahead might have been a figment of his imagination. But as they drew nearer, their horses recognized the reality of it, for they broke into a fast gallop. Cool fresh water bubbled out of the ground, and there was a pool twenty feet across, but before their eyes the runoff disappeared into the sand only a few yards away.
“My God, it’s a miracle,” said Don.
“Si,” Dominique agreed.
Assured of water for two days, Don and Dominique rode back to meet the herd. When they did, the drive was only about eight miles away from where the river turned south. Dominique again joined Roberto with the pack mules and the horse remuda, allowing Arch to return to the drag. As was his custom after scouting ahead, Don spoke to all the riders by riding along one flank of the herd and back along the other to his point position. They were all concerned with the scarcity of water, and Don reassured them. The herd behaved well, and they reached the bend in the river well before sundown.
“It’s been nice, traveling along the rivers,” said Rose.
“Yes,” Mike agreed, “but this looks like the end of it.”
“The water’s there, just like Dominique and Roberto promised,” said Don, “and I swear it’s cooler and fresher than any we’ve had so far. What I don’t understand is why anybody would draw a map of this trail, without showing a water hole or stream all the way from southern Nevada to Los Angeles.”
“Maybe the hombre drawin’ the map didn’t want to encourage travel along this trail,” Bob Vines said.
“That’s enough to discourage damn near everybody but an Indian,” said Red. “Not bad for the first try. Let’s just hope Dominique and Roberto can go on drawin’ all the right cards. We ain’t reached the desert yet.”
“They claim there’s an underground river,” Don said. “It could be our salvation, if it’s the truth. Even an underground stream will surface occasionally.”
“It kind of makes sense,” said Charlie, “if our wranglers were with that sheep drive to California. I don’t know anything good about sheep, but the varmints got to have water, just like our cows.”
“Just wait until we reach that water hole tomorrow,” Don said. “All of you will be as amazed as I was.”
“Tomorrow,” said Griff, when the renegades had stopped to rest their horses, “we’ll be in Nevada’s Great Basin.”
“I hope you know where there’s water,” Quando growled. “I been through there once, and except for alkali holes, it was dry.”
“Once we’re in the basin,” said Griff, “we can always ride south until the reach the Old Spanish Trail. There’s always water.”
“I know where that is,” Hernandez said, “but suppose the trail herd’s there? They can’t be that far ahead of us.”
“We’ll just have to wait for them to move on,” said Griff. “I didn’t say this is the best way, but it’s considerably better than fighting Paiutes.”
There was little evidence that Beavers and Dent were free of the dread desert, for in the darkness the land seemed as barren as ever. But in the first gray light of dawn, all that changed. The two exhausted outlaws had fallen to their knees for a moment of rest, and as they looked eastward, they couldn’t believe their eyes. They squinted, expecting the little patch of green to disappear, but it did not. Beavers and Dent stumbled to their feet, shouldering their saddlebags.
“I don’t know how far away it is,” Beavers croaked, “but it’s there.”
Dent again fell to his knees, got to his feet, and somehow managed to go on. The last three hundred yards, the two of them were on hands and knees, for they hadn’t strength enough to rise. Reaching the runoff, they dropped their heads into it, allowing cool water to flow over them. Finally, when they could, they drank. They then crept into the bushes near the pool, and in the welcome shade, slept the sleep of the dead.
“Tonight,” said Don, during breakfast, “we’ll reach the waterhole Dominique and I were at yesterday. Today, Roberto will ride with me, and we’ll go beyond that waterhole, looking for water for tomorrow. Les, take Roberto’s place with the pack mules and the horse remuda until we return.”
Soon as the herd had again taken the trail, Don and Roberto rode ahead. Don allowed the Mexican to lead, for once they were beyond the known waterhole, all would depend on him. But when they were within sight of the vegetation surrounding the water, Roberto pointed south.
“We’ll be leaving the trail then,” Don said.
“Si,” said Roberto.
They rode south, and as far as the eye could see, there was only sand and sky. From the brush surrounding the waterhole they had bypassed, Elton Beavers and Arlo Dent were cursing their luck.
“If they’d just come close enough,” Dent groaned, “we could of shot them and had the horses we need.”
“Beats me why they didn’t stop long enough to water their horses,” said Beavers. “I’d bet they ain’t another drop of water within fifty miles.”
“Maybe they’ll be back,” Dent said hopefully. “Then they’ll stop for sure.”
“Maybe,” Beavers said. “If they don’t, come dark we’ll fill our canteens and go on.”
“You’re crazy,” said Dent. “We’ll never make it to Santa Fe afoot.”
“Without horses, we got no choice,” Beavers replied.
Don rode behind Roberto, becoming increasingly conscious of the utter desolation that surrounded them. There wasn’t a blade of grass, not even a weed, and no sign that the parched earth had ever seen rain. Far above them, buzzards drifted lazily, as though their ages-old wisdom exceeded that of the foolish humans below. The only change that Don could see in the endless panorama that lay before them was what appeared to be a hump. But as they drew nearer, the hump became a rock formation. Their horses, thirsty now, broke into a fast gallop. From beneath a lip of solid rock, water bubbled out into a stream that soon vanished into the sand.
“Rio bajo,” said Roberto.
“Underground river, fifteen miles off the trail, and no grass,” Don said.
Roberto shrugged his shoulders helplessly and said nothing. There was no help for it, and wh
eeling their horses, they rode back the way they had come.
The sun bore down with a vengeance, and the longhorns were becoming thirsty. There were more and more bunch-quitters as many remembered the water they had so recently left and sought to return to it. While still more than four miles from the nearest water, a stray breeze brought the smell of it, and the herd stampeded. The drag riders, seeing all was lost, devoted their efforts to helping Dominique and Les hold the horse remuda and the pack mules. The sun was still an hour-high when the longhorns thundered toward the distant waterhole.
“Tarnation,” Dent shouted, from his hiding place in the brush, “look yonder!”
“I am lookin’,” said Beavers. “They’ll trample us, if we don’t get out of here.”
The two outlaws ran, distancing themselves from the waterhole, as the longhorns converged on it.
“There’ll be riders comin’,” Dent said. “Maybe they’ll sell us horses.”
“Just keep your mouth shut and let me do the talkin’,” said Beavers. “We got to tell ’em something they’ll believe. One way or another, we’ll get some horses.”
The longhorns reached the water well ahead of the riders, and some were hooking the others in a frenzied attempt to be the first to drink. Bob Vines, Jim Roussel, and Mike Horton were the first to notice Beavers and Dent.
“Who in thunder are they?” Horton wondered.
“Maybe we’d better find out,” said Bob Vines.
The trio trotted their horses around the impatient longhorns, reining up before Beavers and Dent, who had retreated about three hundred yards beyond the waterhole. The pair had saddlebags and canteens slung over their shoulders. Neither made a move toward the revolver thonged down on his right hip. Beavers spoke.
“We’re almighty glad to see you gents. Our horses give out on the desert, and we’re needin’ another pair to get us to Santa Fe. I’m Beavers, and this is Dent.”
“You’ll need to talk to our trail boss, and he’s not here right now,” said Bob. “But I can tell you we’re shy some horses ourselves and need all we have for our remuda.”
“We’ll talk to your trail boss,” Beavers said.
“Don and Roberto’s comin’ now,” Mike Horton said.
Don reined up, while Roberto rode on to help with the pack mules and horse remuda.
“Don,” said Bob, “this is Beavers and Dent. They were here at the waterhole when we arrived. They’re bound for Santa Fe, and are needin’ horses. I’ve already told ’em we’re shy some mounts ourselves.”
“Sorry, gents,” Don said, “but I can’t improve on that. How did you get here without horses?”
“We lost ours in the desert,” said Beavers.
“I don’t have any sympathy for a man that’s afoot after ridin’ his horse to death,” Don said.
“We didn’t have no choice,” said Beavers hastily. “We been prospectin’ in California and was tryin’ to get away with our earnings when a bunch of thieves took after us. We had to ride for our lives.”
“That doesn’t change anything,” Don said. “We still can’t spare you any horses, and if you had them, you’d never reach Santa Fe alive. We’ve spent the last few days fighting the Paiutes, and the Utes before them. The two of you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“I reckon that’ll be up to us,” said Beavers. “Looks like we’ll have to waylay some of the varmints and get us a couple of horses.”
Bob Vines and Jim Roussel only looked disgusted, while Mike Horton laughed. It was Don who eventually spoke.
“Whatever you decide to do,” Don said, “the two of you are welcome to have supper with us.”
“We’re obliged,” said Beavers.
The women had just arrived and were dismounting. Beavers and Dent eyed them with interest. The rest of the riders had dismounted and were driving some of the longhorns from the water so that the horses and mules could drink. Dominique and Roberto soon had cook fires going, using wood they had gathered previously. Eventually, Beavers and Dent were alone, and it was Dent who spoke.
“You done all the talkin’, and I can’t see it’s got us anywhere. We still got no horses, damn it.”
“We’ll have some ’fore morning,” Beavers said. “After supper, we’ll grab us a pair of them gals and put a pistol to their heads. I reckon these hombres will saddle us a couple of horses and be glad to do it.”
“You reckon they was tellin’ the truth about Indian trouble?”
“No matter if they was or wasn’t,” said Beavers. “We won’t be lettin’ no grass grow under our feet gettin’ back to Santa Fe. They had a trail herd slowin’ ’em down. Anyway, we got to go on. We can’t go back to California.”
But Don Webb didn’t trust Beavers and Dent. He managed to speak to all the riders, as well as the women. He specifically warned Dominique and Roberto to cross-hobble and carefully watch the remuda horses during the night. But Beavers and Dent didn’t intend to simply steal horses in the dark of the night.
“Beavers and Dent look like owlhoots to me,” Jim Roussel said, when he had a chance to speak to Don alone. “We have those two remuda horses that belonged to Eli. Why not sell ’em to these hombres and be rid of them?”
“Because they’re not ours to sell,” said Don. “They belonged to Eli, and when I return to Texas, they’ll be taken to Eli’s kin. As for Beavers and Dent, I don’t like the looks of them myself, but I can’t in good conscience leave them afoot. I’m going to offer them the chance to go on to California with us. They can ride those two extra horses that far.”
Shortly before supper, Don approached Beavers and Dent with his proposal.
“If you want to go on to California with us, we have two horses you’re welcome to ride. That’s all I can offer because these animals belonged to one of our riders who died in a stampede. They’ll have to be returned to his kin. You can ride back to California, or you can go on to Santa Fe, through Indian country afoot. What’s it going to be?”
“I reckon we’ll be ridin’ back to California with you,” said Beavers.
“Then we’ll count on that,” Don said. “Supper will be ready pretty soon.”
“Damn it,” said Dent, when Don had left them alone, “you know better than that. We don’t dare go back to California. Why did you tell him we would?”
“To throw him off guard and ease his suspicions,” Beavers said. “Didn’t you see him makin’ the rounds, talkin’ to his outfit? He don’t trust us. Once they bed down for the night, he’ll have the horses and mules watched. After supper, we’ll grab us a couple of them gals and get the horses we need.”
“Soon as we’re gone, they’ll ride us down and string us up,” said Dent.
Beavers laughed. “Not if we take them gals with us a ways. It’ll be dark by then, and they’ll play hell catchin’ us. We’ll have all night to get away, and by dawn, we’ll be so far ahead, they’ll have to give it up.”
Dent said nothing. It seemed the only choice they had. They were half-starved, having had little to eat while on the run. They ate heartily, and when they were finished, managed to work their way near where the women were helping Dominique and Roberto clean up after supper. Suddenly, Beavers seized Rose, while Dent grabbed Sarah. Using the women as shields, both men drew and cocked their revolvers.
“Now, trail boss,” Beavers said, “you get us a couple of horses saddled. You make any wrong moves, and it won’t go well with these ladies.”
“Red, you and Charlie saddle two horses,” said Don. “Bob, you and Mike back off.”
Vines and Horton had their hands near their Colts, but realizing the futility of what they had been about to do, they yielded. Red and Charlie had each saddled one of their own remuda horses, using their own saddles.
“Drop the reins and back away,” Beavers ordered.
Red and Charlie obeyed. Beavers and Dent, careful to keep their hostages in front of them, moved forward and took the reins of the horses.
“You have what you want,” said
Don. “Let the women go.”
Beavers laughed. “I reckon you’ll give us your word you won’t gun us down. I don’t think so, trail boss. We got somethin’ better. These little ladies will be goin’ with us far enough so’s you hombres don’t get ideas. But we won’t take ’em too far. These horses has got to get us to Santa Fe.”
Beavers and Dent caught up the reins, but rather than risk mounting, began backing away into the darkness, the horses following. When they were so far away that nobody could shoot without the risk of hitting Rose or Sarah, the outlaws lifted the women up to the horses and mounted behind them. Kicking the horses into a fast gallop, they rode away to the east.
“Bob, you and Mike saddle up and follow them,” said Don. “Don’t get too close and don’t do anything foolish. Just be ready to rescue Rose and Sarah when they’re let go.”
“You got more confidence in that pair than I do,” Mike said bitterly.
Bob said nothing. Quickly they saddled their horses and rode away into the night.
“Red and Charlie won’t be much help from here on to California without saddles,” said Les Brown.
“I hate you, Les Brown,” Millie Nettles shouted. “You’re more concerned with a pair of saddles than with the lives of Rose and Sarah.”
“Yeah,” said Red. “I should have used your saddle instead of mine.”
“That’s enough,” Don said. “This is no time for bickering among ourselves. The first and most important thing is to get Rose and Sarah back alive.”
“Maybe more of us should have gone after them,” said Jim Roussel.”
“No,” Don said. “Mike and Bob can bring Rose and Sarah back. There’s nothing more we can do. Beavers and Dent will have all night to get ahead of us. By then, they’ll be in Paiute country.”
Beavers and Dent, after several miles, slowed their horses to a trot.
“That was easy,” said Dent. “Why don’t we just take these gals on with us, until we stop for the night? We can have some fun ’fore we let ’em go.”
The Old Spanish Trail Page 21