Dark Shadow

by Roy F. Chandler

  "To the man who kills Josh Logan," Punto paused to build the suspense, "there will be one thousand dollars in gold waiting at Tobias Brisbane's store."

  A man whispered, "Madre De Dios!" The bounty was immense. A man could start a ranch with that amount of gold.

  A doubter asked, "How do we know the money will be here?"

  Punto was ready. "I will be along on the hunt, and the money will be deposited with Brisbane before we leave."

  The same man said, "What do you mean, 'Before we leave,' must we all start out together?"

  "Not together, but with a plan that will snare Logan, or keep him from running ahead of us until he wears out. Now here is the way I see it."

  Punto could feel their hunger for the money. Hell, he could taste it. Gold, a lot of gold, always had that effect. If someone had offered him a chance to gain one thousand dollars in gold his tongue would have been licking lips, just as theirs were.

  "It is too dark to find Logan, but there are precautions we should take. First, we should hurry men far to the south. Send at least three so that they can kill Logan if he appears."

  A foreman volunteered. "I have men that can do that." The others stirred restlessly.

  Punto said, "We believe that Logan went south because he shot from that direction, but he is a clever killer. Logan could have circled and now be to our north, so men should immediately ride toward the Zapata Water in case he chose that direction. Again we must have at least three because if they cannot kill Logan, they must hold him until others can arrive."

  There was nodding agreement, but no one volunteered, so Punto added, "I will send three of my company to the north." His willingness to move his own men in that direction made everyone else uneasy with suspicion that they should have seized the opportunity for themselves.

  Punto said, "Those men will ride immediately. They will be armed with good rifles, and they will be ready to shoot the instant they see Logan."

  "How will they know it is Logan?"

  Punto shrugged. "He is an old man, and he has a rifle with a telescopic sight. There will be only one like that."

  Punto continued, "At first light those who have trackers should start them on Logan's trail. There is a man who lives on this street. He saw Logan hidden in the shadows, but Logan killed before he could send a warning to anyone. The man has shown us where Logan stood. The trackers can begin there.

  "When we are sure of Logan's direction, it [ J can be announced, and each of you can use your own plan." Punto paused to catch their eyes.

  "My band will move with some caution because we have seen Logan shoot, but once he is cornered, we will come on hard because the bounty includes my own men as well as yours.

  "Those who move swiftly may have the best chances for success, but they will also be the most exposed to Logan's long shooting. I believe that this hunt may require more than a day. If Logan takes cover in a high spot he will be hard to dislodge, but to the man who kills Dark Shadow-one thousand dollars in American gold double eagles payable as fast as we can return here to Caliente."

  The foremen left in a rush, and one of Punto's band immediately asked to be included in the trio riding north.

  In a better humor, Punto gathered his men close. "No one rides north or in any other direction. You have seen Logan shoot. Whoever encounters him first will die. Those who come later will be the ones who kill Sombra Preta."

  His voice almost a whisper, Punto added, "Let the vaqueros lead. Let them charge Josh Logan, and let them die at it. If one of them succeeds?" Punto's eyebrow rose in quizzical amusement, "One or two of us will simply take our dollars from him." Smirks and chuckles rewarded him, but Punto's glance held Juan of one eye's, who had not joined the circle.

  Juan's lips thinned in understanding. He could not know exactly how Punto planned it, but the Yaqui had been with Senor Wesley Seer on too many raids to believe that Punto would allow anyone to ride away with any of his money.

  Within a half hour, horses were heard galloping north and south. Punto shrugged and said, "You see, others will do the work for us. We will sleep and be rested and fresh for the trail. When we find Dark Shadow we will kill him and return here to celebrate. "Again Punto's eyes met Juan's, awareness was traded, and the Yaqui knew that neither he nor Punto would ever return to Caliente.

  Punto did not seek his own bed. To reach it he would have had to leave the security of the Rooster and its many gunned denizens.

  All of their gold was not in coins, and he ransacked Juan of one eye's saddle bags to find one thousand and five hundred dollars worth. The money represented a large part of the profit from their months of raiding, and Punto despised risking it. Hell, he despised even showing it because his own men were not above attempting to claim such wealth.

  The Yaqui roused himself enough to watch his captain's preparations. "It will be easy, Juan. They will see what they wish to see. If Logan does not kill them, they will return to find nothing, and they will probably blame Brisbane for their loss." He explained what was to happen, then chose a chair close to a wall and slept.

  The foremen and all that could crowd into the rooster appeared at first light. One thousand and five hundred dollars! The amount dazzled simple men. For a fourth of it any of them would have fought for a year.

  Punto sat at a table near his wounded Indian tracker. When all were present, he emptied a hide drawstring bag of its wealth of coins. The double eagles clunked solidly on the wooden table, announcing their value with the heaviness of their strike. A foreman fingered a few, and one tried their softness with his teeth. Breathing grew heavy at the sight of such a fortune. Punto counted out the coins. One thousand and five hundred in gold. He replaced the coins in the bag, drew the drawstring, tied a tight square knot., and placed the bag in front of him.

  He asked, "Are your trackers out?"

  "They are out, and they have found the trail. We will know soon."

  "Good enough." Punto stood, and reached for his coat. "First the money must go to the storekeeper. Then we will begin the hunt." Men rose, and Juan of one eye attempted to rise. He staggered to his feet, rocked wildly and crashed forward taking Punto's table and two men down with him.

  Men cursed and jumped aside. The Indian flailed himself to his feet, but Punto's hand restrained him. "Later, amigo. Rest now, and let the drug leave your mind. I will come for you before we ride."

  Men impatiently helped the Indian. Punto waited patiently, the gold bag in his hand. Then he led the way to Brisbane's store.

  Brisbane said, "For a fee, I will hold your money bag. I have done this before, but gamblers have sometimes accused me of helping myself to the deposit. I do not take kindly to such inferences.

  "So, I have precautions. First, I will collect my ten dollars before the bag goes in my safe." Unhesitatingly, Punto proffered the ten dollars in Yankee paper money. Preferring gold, Brisbane grunted, but the money was good.

  "Next, I will place the money in my safe." He did so. Next, one of you will choose a new padlock from my wares. The new lock will be run through the extra hasp on the safe, and one of you will keep the keys." That too was accomplished, but the man hunters were clearly eager to be away.

  "Finally, you must choose a guard to protect the safe. Choose anyone, I do not care who he is as long as you trust him."

  After some squabbling, an elderly Mexican of gentlemanly demeanor was produced and placed in a chair before the safe.

  Satisfied, the foremen stormed from the Mercantile. A tracker waited hat in hand, and behind him a virtual horde of riders held their eager mounts in check. Punto could manage only a "Good God," because in his wildest dreams he had not imagined such an army of riders, and all hungry to bring down Dark Shadow.

  The tracker was brief. He spoke directly to his own foreman, but everyone heard. "Sombra Preta rode south, Jefe, but he then turned north. He rode slowly on a horse with a mule behind. The others now follow his trail toward the Zapata Water."

  Like a stampeded herd the bo
unty hunters leaped into saddles and raced from the village.

  Punto strode through their dust to the Rooster where his own men impatiently waited. Inside the cantina, Juan was alert and on his feet. Punto laughed aloud, and was pleased by the Yaqui's grim smile.

  "No one saw the switch, Juan. When the table went over, they were too concerned with getting out of the way. You were excellent"

  It had been smoothly done. A duplicate of the money pouch had rested between Punto's knees. When Juan fell across the table taking men with him, Punto had snatched the money pouch with one hand, and the bullet filled pouch with the other. He had dropped the money pouch beside his chair, and pushed the blanket he had used during the night over it. Then he carefully kept the lead filled pouch in full view, as if making certain that it never left anyone's sight. Of course, no one had questioned. Hurry and the reward filled their minds, and the tightly drawn square knot assured all that no money could leave the pouch.

  It had been a dangerous moment, and exposure might have initiated a tremendous shoot out, but the risk had been worthwhile. Dark Shadow had to be killed, and the vaqueros had to believe they would be hugely rewarded for it. Of course, none of Punto's gold could be endangered.

  Punto's voice was almost lighthearted. At least thirty men had ridden in pursuit of Josh Logan. For one thousand dollars they would risk everything. Dark Shadow had about the same chance as fat in a fire.

  Punto hurried his men along. His bounty hunters were already out of sight. Their dust collected a mile north of the village, and Punto supposed they spoke with the trackers. Then the dust spread left and right in an immense fan that promised to trap anything within its span. As they rode from town, Punto saw the dust cloud moving north and moving swiftly.

  The vaqueros could ride like mounted devils, and ancient Josh Logan had about as much chance of eluding them as would the cattle they regularly corralled.

  Soon they would have Logan cornered, and the man would fight, and he would kill with his long gun, and when they closed with him he would kill more with his Spencer. No matter, the fight would go on, and Logan would be overwhelmed.

  Punto planned on hanging around until he was sure. Then he and Juan and their only surviving raider from Ranchero Seer would ride west and never again come this way.

  14

  Logan had again slept poorly, and the vigor of the previous day had not returned. He had bedded down with only his blanket because his heavy buffalo robe was lashed to the mule, which was staked out a half mile behind Logan and his horse. His hip ached with the now familiar dull annoyance, but he was learning to ignore it.

  Logan's route to a lookout from which he could view Caliente's street had been circuitous. He had ridden a mile north along the usual road until he had struck a ravine heading generally west. The gully had taken him further from town, but as the ground rose toward the mountains he found an overlook from which he could see into Caliente. At night there were only a few lights, but at dawn he expected to make out moving figures. Sooner or later some would ride out after him. Logan expected Punto would be among them. Because his camp was far removed from the north and south road, Logan knew nothing of the ambushers that had earlier ridden toward the Zapata Water, and his first hint that something unusual was afoot appeared when the sun rose enough to enable his telescope to clearly examine Caliente's street

  The town was in turmoil. Horsemen were saddling and dragging mounts from every corral. The hitch racks along the street were already crowded, and men bustled between buildings, all bent on some sort of urgent business. Logan heard himself mutter, "What in hell?" Swearing was fitting because Caliente boiled with unexpected activity.

  Logan turned away and relaxed against his dirt bank to allow thinking. He ate canned peaches and chewed crackers so hard the peach juice failed to soften them. They must have been ancient military rations, but Logan barely noticed, for now he was interested only in sustenance.

  Logan found it hard to doubt that he was the reason for the stirred-ants'-nest activity, but who were the riders and what was their intent? In places like Caliente, the gunning down of a bandido in the street raised few hackles. The town would not be roiling because of that.

  He could find no answer, but it would be best to play a safe hand. If the horde of riders came after him, Logan recognized that he was far too close to town and way too far from the relative safety of the mountains. Until he could decide what was going on, a retreat was in order.

  Dust rose along the valley road, and Logan suspected withdrawal to the eastern mountains was already blocked. To the west then. Those mountains were similar with only a few routes available, but once within, the ridges were more regular than his favored mountains, and it would be harder to lose determined hunters.

  Logan gathered his camp and moved swiftly to his horse. He strapped his blanket behind the saddle and mounted. A quick glance over the ravine’s ridge showed nothing changed in Caliente, but Logan walked his mount more swiftly than usual and then headed west and north toward the mountains’ sanctuary.

  He had traveled nearly an hour with the approaches to the first mountain ridge providing higher ground before he saw the huge dust cloud depart Caliente. Again, Logan heard himself wondering, "Who in hell?" but he had no answers.

  He stuck to the lower ground of ravines and flats which raised less dust, kept his animals at a stiff walk, and aimed toward the pass he knew best. If he kept his lead he would be on top by noon, but the sun was still beginning its climb, and Logan regularly weighed the distance against the probable speed of his pursuers.

  The race could be close. Far behind him the horsemen had fanned into an arc but were coming on hard. Logan judged they were galloping their horses, and if he could reach the summit with his animal still fresh he might lose wearied pursuers within the ridges.

  The mule was slowing him seriously, and Logan was considering turning the animal loose when he realized another possibility. Jose Garcia, the goat herder’s shack was in this area. Logan tried to remember, but the land offered no special clues. He drove ahead, picking up the pace, but with the mule continually tugging at his lead rope.

  A wider ravine came down from the foothills, and Logan thought he knew the gully. If he was correct, the ravine shallowed slightly in the direction he was going before opening into a series of brush tangles-the very kind that Garcia had described as his family’s hiding places. He turned up the ravine with some expectation, but if this was not Garcia’s camp he would still turn the mule loose and hope that he could recover the animal when the posse had given up.

  The idea of a posse jerked at his mind. Had Punto somehow turned the law on him? What law? There was none in or around Caliente, and the mob he had seen saddling and riding were not military.

  What else was there? And Logan thought he had it. Bounty hunters, they had to be, but what an army of them! Punto must have offered a large reward for his aging hide.

  Punto was afraid, and that gave Logan heart, which he needed because until he reached the mountains and lost himself inside he too was afraid. How hard would they come after him within the barren ridges? Logan peered over his shoulder and the dust was closer. Very hard, he expected. These were men expecting big rewards.

  Without warning, the ravine broadened into a flat, and a hundred yards inside squatted a crude adobe hut. Goats and a pig wandered about, and chickens scratched near a dampish wallow. Almost dizzy with relief, Logan began calling with all of his lung power. "Garcia, Jose Garcia, it is Josh Logan. Come quickly, Jose." There was no answer and no sign of life. Logan hauled his animals to a halt and released the mule. He transferred one of the five gallon canteens to his horse, and shifted a few other items he hoped to need. He was about to slap the mule on the rump and wish it good fortune when Garcia appeared.

  The place had been empty, then Garcia was standing at the edge of the brush tangle, hat in hand, as if he had always stood there.

  Logan had no time for lengthy explanations, but he filled his
hat with water from the canteen on the mule and watered his horse from his hat. He watched anxiously, but the animal had not been extended and took the water normally.

  "Jose, there is an army of riders on my trail. They will be here within an hour. The mule is too slow. Will you take him and try to hide him? If you can do that without risk, I will come for him after this chase is finished." Logan did not offer reward. This would be a thing of friendship, and Logan would not insult Garcia.

  Garcia also did not spare words. "Ride like the wind, Sombra Preta. I will hide the mule." He had the animal’s hackamore and was tugging the mule away before Logan could mount. Logan called after him only a single word. "Amigo," but Garcia did not even pause.

  Now Logan pressed the horse. He trotted the miles away, trot the horse, leap off and lead at a human trot, and when his legs and lungs faltered, mount and again trot the animal. It was an old scout and cavalry system that could eat up miles while saving a mount, but it was designed for younger men and those without an already sore hip. The brutal strain of forcing himself continually uphill sucked the guts out of Josh Logan.

  The rising ground gave him a clear view of the land behind, and Logan watched the dust cloud descend on Jose Garcia’s thicket. Most of it held there, but smaller wisps moved ahead. The hungriest had not paused, and Logan counted a serious number of them.

  Later, he saw smoke, and the volume grew until it obscured the dust. Logan cursed to himself. The posse probably found the mule’s tracks into the thicket, and they were burning Garcia's brush tangle to flush out whoever was hiding inside.

  Once afire the flames would spread like poured oil. The flames would flare fiercely consuming the dry stalks, then die almost as quickly into spottily glowing beds of hotter coals. He could do nothing, but he might have unwittingly cost Garcia dearly. Logan could only hope that the goat keeper and his family had recognized the probability, perhaps they had experienced it before, and knew how to save themselves.

  Even as he watched, the dust cloud again moved forward. Logan wondered about their horses’ condition. The animals had been pushed unmercifully to make up the miles between them. He had no doubt that upon occasion the pursuers saw his dust, and knowing that their quarry was almost within reach drove them on.