by F. M. Parker
“Maybe so, but there are six Indian warriors about three miles north of here that might not see it that way. At least they were in that location late yesterday. If they had come onto you instead of me, this parley might be going a lot worse for you. Where did you come from and which way are you going?”
She did not like his attitude, his direct questioning as if she were a child, or someone not quite right in the head. But the mentioning of the Indians so near sent a chill through her. She examined the man’s face to see if it was a joke or some trick.
Russ felt the girl’s eyes, unnaturally large and piercing, probing his thoughts. Felt them as if she were touching him, caressing him. And the thought of a caress from her caused his pulse to race. This was why the outlaws had broken their rule of only making one cattle drive to Mexico each year; it was to find a female such as this one. No, not such as this one. Russ was certain he had before him a very rare specimen. One in many thousands of young women.
But what should he do? What could he do in the short time before Raasleer arrived? The Indians must not capture her. Surely Raasleer’s gang could not be allowed to find her. And yet, there she stood, slightly scrappy, and acting as if no danger existed.
Samantha smiled to herself at the change of expression on his face. He wore a serious, worried frown.
“We have a ranch over there”—she turned to point—”at the base of the mountain where there is a big spring.”
‘I know the place. Camped there a year or so ago. You folks must have moved in recently.”
Sam nodded. “Snow was still on the ground.” She recalled the two cold months they had lived in the open until the men had hauled in the logs, and collected the rocks to build the cabin.
“Where are you heading now?”
“Down to the bottom of the valley to see if I can find any water in the creek bed.”
Russ shook his head in the negative. “Appears best to me that you should hightail it back to your ranch and tell your menfolk about the Indians. You wouldn’t want them to get scalped.” He looked sharply at her in warning. “They would also take a pretty white girl if they happened on to her.”
Should she trust what the man said? Was there some other reason he did not want her to go into Growler Valley? She cast a glance past him, down into the desert basin.
Russ saw and understood her suspicion. He was a complete stranger to her and she had no reason to believe him.
“There is one thing that I can tell you that might be helpful. Straight west of here, in the wash, there’s considerable water. It’s not on the surface, you have to dig about two feet or so down in the gravel. I dug out a hole yesterday evening and found plenty of water to supply a hundred cows or more in a permanent way. After each flood it would have to be opened up again. Lot of loose sand and gravel in the bottom that moves with the run-off and will fill any hole right back up.”
Russ replaced Iris hat. “Come. I’ll point out the place to you where I found the water. I think we can see it well enough from up here that you can find it easy when you do go down to search.”
Without a word, Sam strode to her horse and, lifting her foot up to the stirrup, hoisted herself into the saddle. Russ watched her young woman’s body move beneath the heavy cloth of her riding pants. Beautiful, he thought. Beautiful.
They rode a few hundred feet down the slope to the edge of the juniper. Sam halted the mare and sensed the man had stopped very near her. He said nothing, staring searchingly toward the north end of the valley. For a long moment he was absorbed in his scrutiny. Then, seemingly satisfied at what he had seen, or not seen, he looked down into the basin in front of them and pointed.
“Do you see that big bend in the channel, the largest one and due west of us?” he asked.
“You mean the one that curves away from us?”
“Yes, that’s it. Well, downstream about three hundred yards is where I located the water. Good water and plenty of it. I had some and it had no bad effect on me at all.”
“How do you know there is a lot of water?”
Sam saw the hint of irritation on his face and wondered why the question bothered him.
“I dug a hole large enough to take a bath in,” he said shortly. At least that was half true, he drought. “Will you please”—and he stressed the last word—”go home for now? It’s not safe for you and I must be traveling on.”
“Well, if it’s so dangerous, why are you here?”
Russ put his hand on the stock of the rifle that hung beneath his left leg. He was not afraid at all for his own safety. He was cautious, yes, and ready for action, but there was no fear of the danger that surely lay ahead. He laughed at the revelation.
Sam saw the large calloused hand fondle the weapon, heard the laugh. More strongly than ever before in her life, she sensed the immense feeling of independence, the freedom from fear that a strong man could possessed. She could never have the strength of a man, however she could acquire equal skill with weapons. Beginning immediately she would practice in earnest with rifle and pistol.
“I’ll ride back to the other side of the pass with you, if that’s all right,” said Russ.
Without speaking, Sam and Russ crossed through the pass. At the first down slope, she pulled rein and turned to look directly into the lean, hard face.
“Our house is down where the bottom flattens out and on the left side of the stream.”
“Yes, I know where the spring is,” said Russ.
Their eyes held and silence settled upon them. A breeze reached them and made pleasant sounds in the juniper. For Russ it was a very enjoyable span of time.
Was it possible she was reluctant to leave because of him? Perhaps he could ride with her partway to her home. Then the thought of the Englishman and his crew of cowboys riding hard to catch Raasleer and regain the stolen cattle pushed that idea from his mind. He had to get to the lookout. Caloon was his friend and had to be protected.
“I had better go,” said Sam and averted her face. “Goodbye.”
Russ felt a sad loss when the perfect oval of her face and the intelligent blue eyes could no longer be seen. He probably would never see her again.
“Good-bye.” Sam set a fast pace down the rocky trail. Her father and grandfather had to he warned about the Indians. If they were as close as the man had said, there was no time to waste.
She suddenly yanked the mare back on her haunches and looked up the mountainside. Why hadn’t she asked the man’s name? Jerking off her hat, she waved it vigorously back and forth above her head in a large arc.
Almost instantly she saw movement in the edge of the juniper and could make out the man waving his hat in return. Then he vanished into the trees.
CHAPTER 12
Russ rode hurriedly, yet cautiously, climbing steeply around the west side of the mountain. The morning was far advanced and he was unsure how close Raasleer might be. Or the Englishman, who would surely be trailing the rustlers or riding fast to head them off from reaching the safety of Mexico.
Half an hour later, Russ was seated on the highest, most western extremity of the towering bulk of the mountain. He aimed the telescope out across the sun-drenched desert and methodically began to glass the terrain.
Close in, the sparse cactus and brush gave the flat land of the valley a faint pastel-green tinge. The color changed to a dark brown as the field of the spyglass ranged miles to the north. One odd-shaped patch of brown, too far away to determine its exact nature, stirred his interest. He carefully marked its location for later checking.
He turned the glass down along the side of the mountain, trying to spot the horses he had left in a grassy cove just below the pass. They were there, contentedly grazing.
Russ again swiveled his spyglass to the north and after a time the brown patch took form, becoming a tall, wavering column of dust sailing two or three hundred feet up on the heated air. At the base of the dust cloud, the forms of cows like small red ants steadily approached.
Russ w
as surprised and dismayed at the quantity of the dust. That aerial mark could be seen for miles by the Englishman, or the Indians. Russ judged the only question was which one of them would locate the herd first.
The Englishman would be coming from the north. Russ looked in that direction. Try as he might, he could see no sign of pursuit.
At some time short o£ noon, with the stolen herd large in the telescope, Russ made one last effort to spot the rightful owner of the cattle or any other moving thing. He detected no sign of danger. The Indians, however, could be waiting in ambush in any one of innumerable hidden places. He left the lookout and traveled down from the mountain, collecting the horses from the glade as he went.
He reached the water hole first and waited for the herd and riders to arrive. They were soon visible, picking their way through the brush, their shapes wavering and indistinct in pale streamers of dust.
Caloon rode three or four hundred yards out in front on point, as he had said he would. His plan was laid. If Russ was not there, he would spur like hell to get away from Raasleer and the remainder of the gang. Then he saw Russ sitting his horse on a small rise near the dry watercourse.
Russ watched Caloon draw close, saw the dust lying heavy on man and horse. Caloon looked at him with tired eyes, red holes in his sun-browned face.
“You damn fool,” Caloon said curtly, “why are you still here?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued on past and down to the water.
Russ was astonished at Caloon’s unfriendly greeting and the words rankled him. What he did was his own business. He followed Caloon into the wash, but stayed some distance behind, watching the man kneel and bathe his face in the fresh water.
Raasleer and the remainder of the rustler gang, abandoning the cows which had not yet smelled the water, spurred in swiftly. They climbed down from their mounts and gathered stiff and weary in a group on the lip of the water hole. Then with a wild whoop, they unbuckled their bolstered six-guns, let them fall, and charged into the clean, clear water.
Finally, Raasleer rose to his feet and looked at Russ. “Have you see, anything? Is the Englishman after us yet?”
“Nothing in sight as late as an hour ago when I left the mountain,” answered Russ.
“In an hour a man on horseback can travel a long ways and so could be very close. Anything else I should know?”
“I saw the tracks of six Indian ponies yesterday afternoon on the north end of the Growler. I crossed the same tracks again about two miles back. They were heading to the south. I would guess the braves are looking for trouble. The dust from the heifers may draw them.”
“The Englishman behind, and Indians ahead. That doesn’t sound very good. Corddry told me he heard there was a new ranch on the Growlers. Have you seen any cows or riders?”
Raasleer’s knowledge of the existence of the ranch surprised Russ and he hesitated in answering. The girl had to be protected, so he chose his words carefully.
“Nope. I saw neither cows nor men. I wouldn’t think the Growlers would be a good place to start a ranch.”
“Maybe not, but there’s always fools around that will try anything. No one is going to set up a spread any place close to the route I use to get to Mexico. That would mean they could see my comings and goings and be dangerous to me. We’ll look the other side of the mountain over carefully on our way back. Anyone there is going to get a hard time.”
Russ wondered if they were fools or very brave people. He thought the latter was more accurate.
Raasleer picked up his hat and put it on his wet head. “For now, the men and animals must have rest. You go partway back up the side of the mountain and keep watch for another four hours or so. Then come down and help us drive south. If you see anything wrong you come whipping and spurring to warn us.”
Russ led his roan to the eight fresh horses tied on the bank above the wash. He needed a change of mounts and since the gray gelding had proven itself a strong, reliable animal, the saddle was quickly swapped to its broad back.
The heifers had finally sensed the water and came trotting tiredly past Russ as he left the wash. Good quality breeding stock, he thought. The Englishman will certainly be coming with many armed men to take them back.
Russ worked upward toward a high vantage point. Often he looked at the divide between the two main peaks of the mountain where the girl had been. She and her family were in great peril and he did not know what to do about it, how he could help them, or if he should.
For days, ever since the killing of the two marshals, Russ had been wandering aimlessly. Now with a surge of excitement, he knew what he could do to make his life have some meaning, a purpose. He would become the protector of the girl of the mountain.
Russ knew the danger was very real. Soon, the livestock of the girl’s family would be grazing in Growler Valley, easily found by the rustler gang. What would Raasleer do when he discovered them? Russ knew the answer. The rustler would steal the cattle and whoever tried to stop him would be killed. Unless Russ stopped him.
She would never know, but he would always be in the place most likely to give him a chance to help her, and the gun that had killed by mistake would kill again if needed. He felt lighthearted with his decision. For the first time in many days, he felt somewhat good about himself.
* * *
Raasleer was awake and on guard when Russ returned to the herd of cattle. All the other men had changed their riding gear to rested horses and now slept on the hard ground in the scant shade cast by the brush and cactus. The cattle lay scattered about resting.
“Nothing in sight,” said Russ to Raasleer’s unasked question. “The Englishman must not have checked on his livestock today.”
Raasleer nodded. “Or maybe he looked at them late in the day and is on his way. He’ll inspect them tomorrow for sure.” He glanced up, marking the height of the sun. “It will be dark in five hours or so. If we can stay clear of trouble and not get hit for that long, well have the whole night to travel and be in Mexico before dawn.”
“How much of a drive do we have to make once we’re across the border?”
“Takes two days or so to a Mex town I know where they will bay these critters without one question being asked about where they came from. Are you looking forward to the pretty, dark-eyed Mexican girls?”
Russ grinned to hide his thoughts and pictured in his mind the beautiful face of the girl on the mountain. That was who he would like to see again. But she would want nothing to do with a killer and thief. He could not blame her.
Raasleer’s voice broke in on Russ. “Get all the heifers rounded up and heading south while I wake the men.”
As Russ rode into the brush, he heard Raasleer calling loudly to the men. “On your feet. You can sleep in two more days. And you’ll have company in your beds.” He laughed coarsely.
The exhausted heifers did not want to move and Russ practically had to ride his horse right on top of them before they climbed reluctantly to their feet. He had not located all of them in the high brush before Caloon and most of the other men came to assist in the search.
Two men rapidly began to fill in the hole Russ had so laboriously dug. When they finished, several horses were led back and forth across the location until all sign of the excavation was erased.
Soon, the herd was moving, plodding at a slow man’s walk. The hundreds of hooves spun a new pall of dust that rose up to be sharply outlined against the pale blue sky.
The white puffy clouds that had begun to form shortly after midday continued to grow and move to the north. Russ, noting the darkening shadows, looked up to measure the towering masses of moisture. The larger ones were thick, boiling up with great vigor.
Immediately south, a score of miles, an especially large cloud was dark gray and shaped like a mammoth anvil. Its flatly beveled base stretched for a space greater than the width of the Growler Mountains. Above the thick base, the trunk of the cloud climbed vertically for more than four miles, daringly reaching into the cold u
pper sky where only ice crystals could exist. Its extreme top was deformed, blown outward to the north in a sharp, overhanging lip by winds more violent than the surface of the earth had ever experienced.
Raasleer, observing the direction of Russ’s view, spoke. “We’ll have thunderstorms before the evening is over.”
“Yes,” agreed Russ. “And there could be hail, too.”
Lightning, like the flash of a rifle at night, bridged the gap between the cloud and the ground. Thunder rumbled menacingly.
As the storm cloud closed in on the riders and cows, the wind picked up strength, catching the dust and rolling it forward like the fog off a winter sea. Russ could not see Raasleer or the heifers in the gritty brown maelstrom.
A shot rang out, then a flurry of them crashed. Loud voices, screaming maniacally, sliced through the wind. The dust, suddenly split by some sudden quirk of the air current, exposed the herd and half a dozen Indians on horseback charging through the mass of animals from the right.
The front part of the frightened herd stampeded straight ahead down the valley toward Mexico. A few animals raced ahead of the Indians in the direction of the Growlers. Fifty or so spooked back the way they had so wearily trod.
Before Russ could touch his gray horse with spurs and try to stop the runaway heifers, one Indian brave, just a boy, raced past, thirty or forty yards in front of Raasleer and himself.
The outlaw leader drew and fired in one fluid movement. The Indian jerked at the strike of the bullet and fell sideways from his running mustang. He caught himself just when there seemed no chance for recovery and pulled himself back up into the saddle. The warrior threw himself forward and clasped the powerful neck of the horse with both arms. The horse plunged into the dust and disappeared.
“Goddamn it. Only winged him,” cursed Raasleer as the brown dust swirled in to reduce their vision to a few feet.
Russ marveled at the skill of the outlaw, drawing his six-gun and hitting a man on a running horse at that long range. And yet Raasleer was angry that he had only wounded the Indian.