Dave sat there for a long time, scanning the canyon floor. It was too far below him to distinguish tracks or other signs of cattle. The south wall must be the barricade between this mysterious trough and Ruins Canyon. There was no other trace of smoke. He cased his glasses and started back toward the hide-out canyon.
The trip down the canyon was enough to gray Dave’s hair. He hit the bottom in a shower of gravel and sat down to wipe the sweat from his face. He limped toward the camp and stopped short as he saw a familiar bayo coyote mare with a Double W brand. Monte came out of the shelter. “Hi, Mountain Goat,” he said with a wide grin.
“Whose cayuse?” asked Dave.
“Yuh got a visitor, amigo.”
Leslie came out of the shetler. Her hair was smoothly braided and her wide-brimmed hat hung at her back. “I had to see you, Dave,” she said.
Dave came closer to her. “It’s good to see you, but why did you come?” A long hunger was appeased as he looked down at her.
“I was in Deep Spring when Monte came in to see Cass. He told me about lying when Bart Edrick arrested you. I’m afraid, Dave. Jesse acts as though the Double W is already his. He wants me to give him a power of attorney. I refused and he sulked for a whole day. Those men of his frighten me. They seem anxious to start trouble.”
“I warned you about him, Leslie.”
She looked up at him with troubled eyes. “I should have listened to you. Most of my cattle are gone. Vidal and his men do very little except sit around and play cards. Mack Muir tried to see me and they fired at him.”
“We’re working on the rustling,” he said. “Until we clear it up we’ll have to wait to deal with him.”
“He’s dangerous. I had to steal away from the ranch to see Cass. Jesse tries to keep me on the ranch. He has asked me to marry him every day since you left. What shall I do?”
“You can’t stay here. Can’t you stay with Cass and his wife?”
She shook her head. “He’d only come after me. He has told people that we’re engaged. He talks constantly of what he plans to do with the Double W. Now that you and Monte are gone I have no one to turn to.”
“She oughta stay with us,” said Monte. “I know that skunk. She isn’t safe there, Dave.”
Dave looked at Monte. “What did you learn in town?”
“The association had their meeting. Some of the boys are on their way south to the end of the canyon. Some of them are standing by waiting for word to block the north end of Twelve Mile. Andrews will be in charge of them. All we can do is wait until more cows are rustled and then move in on them. What did you find upstairs?”
Dave glanced at the cliff. “I thought it was a mesa between here and Ruins Canyon. But, between here and Ruins, is another canyon trending to the west. Plenty of water and grazing in it. No cows. I saw some smoke, or thought I did. But there doesn’t seem to be any entrance to the east, and possibly from the west.”
Leslie shrugged. “Another dead end.”
“You’d better start back, Leslie,” said Dave.
“Let her stay, Dave,” said Monte.
She looked eagerly at Dave.
Dave shook his head. “It’s too rough and dangerous.”
“Aw, let her stay, Dave,” said Monte. “Anyways I’m tired of cooking.”
Dave scratched his jaw. “All right then. But if anything happens you must head for Deep Spring. Cass will take care of you.” He picked up his Spencer. “I’m going to scout along Twelve Mile.”
She watched him as he saddled Brazos. Monte crawled into the shelter and brought out a shirt, trousers, a pair of boots and a set of spurs. He held them up to Dave. “I was gettin’ ashamed to be seen with you, Dave.”
“Thanks, amigo.” Dave swung up on Brazos and rode away from the little camp.
Long shadows were creeping into Twelve Mile when Dave saw dust rising half a mile north of his position. He kneed Brazos in behind a rock ledge and loaded his Spencer. The beating of hoofs came toward him. One horseman rounded a bend in the canyon. He was about to pass Dave’s position when Brazos stamped hard and neighed shrilly. The man turned. It was big Dan Edrick. He jerked his reins and spurred his bay into the brush on the far side of the canyon.
Minutes drifted past. Dave worked his way through the brush on foot. He saw Edrick’s hat crown showing above the brush. He rounded behind it. “All right, Dan,” he said. “The game is up. Come on out.”
“Sure will, Yeamans,” said Edrick from behind Dave. Dave whirled. Dan was standing hatless not ten feet away from him with leveled rifle. Dave cursed. He had been taken in by one of the oldest tricks in the book. “You try for a shot, Yeamans, and I’ll let daylight through you.”
Dave gripped his Spencer. Edrick grinned. “Still,” he said, “I might miss, and you might drill me with that car been.”
“It’s possible.”
“You’re a cool one, Yeamans.”
There was no other sound in the canyon except the occasional click of a rock as a horse moved.
“I’m alone, Yeamans,” said Edrick. “I want to palaver with you.”
“We’ve got a hell of a lot to talk about, Edrick.”
Edrick lowered his rifle and eased the hammer down. “Sho? Maybe we can settle some things.”
Dave leaned on his grounded Spencer. “Talk,” he said.
Edrick took out the makings, rolled a smoke and passed the makings to Dave. “You know I coulda strung you up the first time we met.”
“You had nothing on me.”
“Any stranger in this country is open to suspicion. Shorty Ganoe woulda strung you up if I hadn’t stopped him.”
“True enough.”
Edrick lit his cigarette. “I never believed you shot Slim Edwards.”
“Why?”
“You ain’t the type.”
“What about Charlie Mitchell?”
Edrick looked quickly at Dave. “Who did kill him?”
“Mort Hastings.”
“I’ll take your word on that.”
“Why all the kindness?” asked Dave.
Edrick grinned. “I figgered you was a troublemaker. I wanted to buy the Double W. I still do, as a matter of fact, but I ain’t one to war on wimmen, although I’d as lief plug that bastard Vidal as look at him.”
“I’m with you on that, Edrick.”
“He cut in on the Waite filly, eh?”
“Never mind.”
Edrick rubbed his right ear. “Lots of folks think I’m behind this rustling. Silly, ain’t it? I got money. I got the best spread in this country. Useta have a fine big herd. All shot to hell now,” he said ruefully. “However, here’s why I wanted to palaver. I’ve thought a lot about you. You had the guts to face down my brother Bart with Ganoe and Ochoa backin’ him up. It took guts to teach Shorty a boxin’ lesson there in Deep Spring. It took more guts for you to stay around this country with the Lazy E and Jesse Vidal chousing you.”
“Thanks for the sugar. Get to the point.”
Edrick glanced keenly at Dave. “The thing that finally sold me on you was that night in Deep Spring when you coulda killed me by squeezing a finger. You gave me a fair deal although you damned near cracked my skull.”
Dave puffed at his cigarette. “You’ve got a hard head, Dan, in more than one way.”
“I agree. Another thing that made me change my mind was you being so thick with Cass Simmons. Now Cass is a cantankerous old vinegarroon, but he’s honest, which is mor’n I can say for most of the people around Deep Spring. I got to figgerin’ and thought to myself that Dave Yeamans may be just the man I want.”
“Don’t softsoap me, you old mossyhorn!”
Edrick waved a huge paw. “I ain’t! Frankly, Dave, I’m in a hell of a mess. I’m losing money on this rustling deal. My boys ain’t done a thing to clear it up. Bart ain’t worth a continental. He’s too busy polishing that star of his and making eyes at the young fillies in Deep Spring to worry about me. Me, who’s paying the bills, and who engineered
that job for him in the first place. I can’t hardly get him to stick his fat rump on a saddle no more to go look for them sticky loopers.”
“I thought Shorty was doing all the looking?”
Edrick rolled another smoke. “What happened when Shorty and Mick Ochoa trailed you down?”
“Let Shorty tell you.”
“You killed Mick, didn’t you?”
“It was him or me, Dan.”
“Yeh, I can see where it woulda been.”
“I thought Shorty was hit bad.”
Edrick shrugged. “Your slug hit his belt buckle, knocked his wind out and gave him a helluva bruise.”
“Maybe you’ll stop sending men after me now.”
Edrick lit his smoke. “I didn’t send them after you that time. I didn’t know a thing about it.”
The wind rustled the brush. A bird chirped nervously. “Then who did?” asked Dave.
Edrick shrugged. “Maybe it was personal on their part. I don’t know. I sent them after you once into Ruins Canyon. But the time they ran you down had nothing to do with my orders.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Keep on as you are. But know this: I’m depending on you, like a lot of other people, to clean up this mess. You get information on these long loopers and I’ll back you with the whole damned Lazy E corrida. Fair enough?”
“I can’t believe it.”
Edrick thrust out a paw. “Remember the first day we met? At your camp? You said you was wounded at Chickamauga?”
“Yes.”
“I knew you wasn’t lyin’ then. I was with the old Third Arkansas in your division for a time.”
Dave gripped the big hand. “A damned good regiment, almost as good as the Fifth Texas.”
“Sho? Maybe we can argue about it over a bottle of red-eye some day.”
“Whenever you say.”
“I been mighty high-handed, Dave. A man has to be to make his way around here, fightin’ Apaches, hoss thieves, weather and rustlers. But somethin’ happened to me when John Waite was strung up.”
“Who did it, Dan?”
“Quien sabe? But if I find the bastard that did it I’ll cut him down like a sunflower!”
“Let me get first crack at him.”
Edrick went to his horse. “I can’t work with you in the open, Dave. You know why. I know all about Cass Simmons and his association. I knew Mort was in with them. I had nothing to do with his death either. But when the chips are down, and the shootin’ begins, you can depend on Daniel Armstrong Edrick, amigo.” Edrick mounted with a smash of leather and spurred the bay, riding north in the shadowy canyon.
Dave went to Brazos. He stroked the claybank’s mane. “Brazos, the older you get the more puzzled you get. You know, I actually believed that damned Arkansas rebel.” He mounted and rode back toward the hideout canyon. The sun was almost gone and a cool wind scouted through the dim canyon. An owl drifted high overhead on noiseless wings. A coyote raised its mournful cry up the canyon.
fourteen
THE HIDE-OUT CANYON was deep in shadowy darkness when Dave guided Brazos toward the camp. Now and then the wind carried the odor of the fire to him. Suddenly he saw the embers of the fire, but there was a quietness about the place that warned him. He dismounted and stood in the brush eyeing the silent camp. The wind rose a little, fanning the fire which illuminated the interior of the shelter. It was empty.
Dave drew his Starr and walked slowly toward the camp. “Monte! Leslie!” he called. There was nothing but silence and the flickering fire.
A rock clicked against another. Dave dropped, thrusting out his Starr. A gun flamed. The bullet smashed into a stunted tree inches from Dave. Dave ripped out two shots. A man cursed. Another gun roared from behind the shelter. Dave rolled over, jumped to his feet and fired three times through the back of the shelter. There was a hoarse scream and something thrashed in the brush.
A man ran through the brush. Dave snapped out his last shot. He dropped to the ground and crawled toward the base of the cliff. He crouched behind a rock and reloaded slowly, peering up the canyon. Boots grated on gravel. A horse whinnied. Suddenly there was a clatter of hoofs and a dark shape materialized moving swiftly toward the camp. A handgun was thrust past the horse’s head. It flamed twice illuminating the hard face of Tom Bowman, the Double W hand. Dave fired from the ground. Bowman cursed. He slapped his horse on the flank with the barrel of his pistol. He sank in the hooks, leaning low as the pinto raced for the canyon entrance. Dave stood up, leveled the Starr across his left forearm and squeezed off. Bowman jerked upright, threw up his arms and slid sideways from the saddle into the brush. The pinto raced on, dragging Bowman by one foot twisted in the stirrup.
Dave ran toward the canyon entrance. Bowman was flung free from the excited horse. He crashed into a hollow. Dave walked up to him. He lit a lucifer. Bowman’s head was out of shape. He stared unseeingly at Dave. Dave went back to the shelter. He pushed aside the brush which formed the back. Jonce Wilde lay in the brush. His hands were twisted in the bloody shirt front. He was dead.
“Dave! Dave Yeamans!” the voice came faintly from farther up the canyon.
Dave whirled and faded into the brush.
“Dave!” It was Monte Hollis.
Dave walked toward the sound of the voice. Monte was face down in the brush, his hands tied behind him. He moaned a little as Dave cut him loose and rolled him over. Dave lit a match. Monte had been thoroughly worked over. His swollen face was bloody. “Where‘s Leslie?” asked Dave.
“She got away. Vidal and that bastard Chili Vegas went after her.”
Dave helped Monte to the camp and placed wood on the fire. He went to get Brazos and took the Spencer from its sheath. Monte rubbed his wrists and wiped some of the blood from his face. “They jumped us an hour ago. Vidal wanted you. I was sick thinkin’ you’d walk into the trap. Chili worked me over whilst I was tied up.”
Dave held Monte’s head and looked at his battered face. “The yellow bastard!” he said.
Monte winced. “Busted some of my teeth. Damn him! I’ll kill him for this!”
“You all right now?”
Monte spat blood. “It’ll take more than that tinhorn to stop me. Give me a gun!”
“Take it easy.”
“You get them two?”
“Yes.”
“Bueno! They was goin’ to bushwhack you. Vidal’s orders.”
“I’m going after Vidal.”
“Not without me you ain’t!”
“Somebody has to stay here.”
Monte shook a fist. “Yeh. But what about Leslie?”
“I’ll go. You stay here and watch for cattle.”
“Save Vegas for me.”
“If there’s anything left you can have it.”
Monte raised his head. “Listen!”
From Twelve Mile they heard the low thunder of many hoofs, broken by the bawling of cattle.
“Goddammit!” said Dave. “Here they come!” He snatched up his repeater and swung up on Brazos, spurring it through the dark canyon. Monte threw sand on the fire.
Bitter dust swirled into the canyon from Twelve Mile as Dave neared the canyon mouth. The herd was south of the hide-out canyon now, traveling fast. Dave spurred Brazos, riding recklessly through the pall of dust. Suddenly he saw two horsemen turning back toward him. A rifle flamed. He kneed Brazos into the brush. Slugs whispered through the darkness as the horsemen poured lead toward Dave. The herd was still moving swiftly. The two riflemen vanished like phantoms into the dusty darkness.
Dave listened to the sound of the receding herd. There was the promise of a moon showing in the east. Dave led Brazos forward. Half a mile farther on he was met again by the rear guard. Slugs slapped against rocks. Again he hit the dirt.
Dave waited half an hour and then advanced again. The canyon still was filled with the bitter odor of the dust. He left Brazos in a deep cleft and went forward afoot to hide in the brush at the entrance to Ruins Canyo
n. Dust drifted from the canyon. Dave heard the faint sound of beating hoofs and the bawling of cattle and then there was silence.
When the moon illuminated the canyon country Dave scouted into Ruins Canyon. The air was still thick with dust. But nowhere in the canyon was a single steer. Dave shoved back his hat. He rubbed his chin. Monte’s ghost stories came back to him. He padded out into the open without thinking and cursed as a rifle flatted off, awakening the canyon echoes as the sound of the report slammed back and forth between the towering walls. Dave cursed as he back-tracked. He needed help.
Monte was missing from the canyon when Dave returned. His horse was not picketed in the hollow. Dave headed north up Twelve Mile. The moon revealed three men riding hard toward him. “They’re in here I tell yuh!” one of them yelled. It was Frank Andrews. Dave held up his Spencer. “Frank!” he called out. “It’s Yeamans!”
Andrews drew his pistol. “Hell, you gave us a jolt, Dave!”
Dave drew rein beside them as they drew in their plunging mounts. “Carl Winters and George Gunther,” said Andrews jerking his head at his two companions.
Dave pointed south. “The cows were driven into Ruins Canyon. Disappeared like chisos! I was choused out of there by rifle fire.”
“Ain’t no way outa Ruins,” said Gunther suspiciously. “It’s a box.”
“Goddammit!” roared Dave. “I know it! But they went in there, I tell you!”
Andrews spat. “This beats all,” he said in disgust. “You game to go after them?”
“You’ll be bushwhacked.”
“What can we do?”
“Are the others down at the south end of Twelve Mile?”
“They been camping there a couple of days.”
“Bueno! Sit tight here until I come back. If you go near Ruins watch yourself. It’s a cinch they can’t fly out of this country.”
“We met Hollis near the creek,” said Frank.
Dave nodded. “There’s one thing I’ve got to do before I find those cows. See you.” Dave spurred Brazos to the north.
Range Rebel (Prologue Western) Page 12