Logan knelt then and fumbled through a saddlebag for a candle and a match. Of the few essentials he had removed from the mule at Garcia's, none would be as useful as the candles. When he had packed the large candle supply at their cabin in Micah, entering the Apache Water had seemed only a vague possibility, but he had prepared, and now he could reap the profit from that simple planning.
With the candle lit and steadied in a rock crevice, Logan gripped the heavy cap stone and tipped it back into place. The lid settled with a satisfying thud, and sighting around the lid's edges, Logan could detect light at only one point. When he wished, he could climb the rock slide and determine if it were day or night. That single ray would be valuable to help prove the passage of time.
His plan was to wait and rest until the hunters had given up or moved on. If he could last a week, Logan believed he would have the mountains to himself. His practical sense told him that everyone would be gone from the mountains after only two days of fruitless searching, but Logan remembered the Apaches abandoning their lair to stumble into the deadly fire of he and Barkley Sweet. That blunder, Logan intended to avoid.
Logan started down the rock slide that lead to the floor of the Apache Water and found himself stepping over the mummified bodies of the Apaches he and Sweet had killed. When he had dumped them in they had fallen and slid away. Now they lay broken and twisted, dried and shriveled reminders of what they had been.
All had rotted at the center of their bodies, but whatever maggoty life had devoured them was itself long dead, and when he moved an arm of an expired Apache, Logan wondered if the atrophied limb might not burn as would a pine stick.
The dead Apaches would not bother him. The dead never rose, and never interfered; Logan had lived long enough and seen enough death to know that.
The water still ran, and Logan recognized his tremendous relief. He knelt in the flickering light of his single candle and drank deeply. Cold, sweetly and deliciously cold and fresh. The water flushed into his dried out body better than any nectar he could remember.
He chose to establish his camp close beside the water, exactly where the Apaches had slept. He spread the horse blanket on the ground and laid his own blanket handy for a covering. A saddlebag would make a perfect pillow and he would rest as comfortable as he would in any camp.
Logan was too tired to consider further. He washed his face and hands in the cold water, but for now he needed rest more than cleanliness. He had not eaten for ... he could not calculate the time, not now. Now he would sleep. Logan also had to keep his candles in mind. He could not stay in total darkness too long, and once his candles burned down he, like the Apaches, would have to come out.
Logan removed his moccasins with weary satisfaction. Despite his sense of safety, he placed his pistol close beside his right hand and laid the Spencer at his left. His matches were carefully positioned so that he would not fumble for light. He could not imagine failing to detect the lid to the Apache Water being opened, but he had survived by planning ahead. He pinched out the candle and let the utter dark envelope him.
For a long moment the thought of a bounty hunter tossing a stick of dynamite in on him plagued Logan's thoughts, but then he slept as if dead.
Logan slept in safety, but his sleep was so deep that if an intruder had been extremely cautious, Josh Logan might not have detected the lid being opened or a deadly opponent creeping into his hiding place.
Punto had not hurried his own small band in their crossing, but the hired bounty hunters continued to compete, and most flogged their mounts to their utmost in hope of being the first to overtake Sombra Preta.
All were defeated by the night, and camps were made across the valley floor. A number of the best mounted made it to the Zapata Water, and Punto saw their fire lifting high. He wondered what they were burning with such reckless abandon, and imagined Josh Logan again laying in the shadows and shooting into their camp as he had into Punto's band.
In the morning, the hunters would be after Logan in bunches, and it was not likely that the man could again evade the rush. Punto wondered how close to Logan they might be. The man was cunning, and he could have circled in the dark and now be en route to Caliente, or even back into the mountain he had recently abandoned. Dark Shadow could be just beyond his own camp, and Punto was wise enough not to risk a fire.
Juan of one eye had been more like himself this day. The Yaqui's recuperative powers were astonishing, and Punto planned to have the Indian on Logan’s trail. There were other trackers among the vaqueros, but none would compare with Juan.
Yet, Punto would not risk the Indian. There were now only three of them from his distant ranchero, and the vaquero they called Tonto, which could be interpreted as Stupid in Spanish, was useful only in a melee sort of battle where bullets flew and thinking was of little importance. Punto needed Juan of one eye alive and strong, but the Yaqui could find Logan’s trail and point it out to others.
Punto broke camp with the dawn. Their course took them past the ambush site near the Zapata Water, and they found the body of Diego the rat half buried in the hole where he had hidden.
Juan rode to the base of the cliffs and found the body of the ambusher left there. The third remained missing, but Punto did not doubt that his rotting carcass lay not far away. Joshua Logan was more than cunning, he was also formidable, and Punto hoped to soon hear shooting that would announce his entrapment by some of the hunters. After that, it would be only a matter of time until the trap completely closed.
No man successfully fought thirty or more, and this battle would not be one with Logan lying at long range and picking off the unsuspecting. For the rewards Punto offered, hard riding bounty seekers would risk their lives to get in the killing bullet.
Then, of course, Punto and his faithful pair would fade away. They would need to be far distant when the hoax was discovered at the Caliente store.
More than a dozen riders milled at the base of the mountain path. Dark Shadow had killed again and barely after dark it was said. Two others had heard a shot but had been unable to investigate until dawn. A vaquero called Chico lay with his skull smashed.
Juan of one eye scouted with his nose close to the trampled earth. He found blood. Logan had been hit. His trail led up the path. He was afoot, and Juan said that he limped badly. The Yaqui backtracked and found Logan's saddle and bridle. It was true, Dark Shadow was wounded and without a horse. He might lie dead just beyond view. The temptation was too great to resist, and riders swarmed their mounts up the mountain path.
Punto did not challenge the mountain. If he was above, Logan could shoot into anyone close to the mountain base, and as leader, Punto would not again risk himself until the ridge top was known to be clear.
Juan of one eye was not content to accept that Logan had climbed the path. He ranged about making certain that Logan had not laid a false trail to again lure followers to where he was not. Juan followed Logan's horse and found it grazing within brambly growth near the Zapata Water. Logan had gone up the rugged trail. With their quarry afoot it could not be long.
Punto waited well beyond even Logan's range, and as the remainder of the posse arrived he pointed them to the trail and reminded them that Logan had to be close and that he had not been taken. Their chances were still as good as anyone's.
The day drew out, and Punto's impatience finally forced him into the mountains. From a higher point he looked across the twisted ridges and hollows, none with decent cover, and only their depth and twistings to give concealment. He saw bounty hunters riding in all directions. They were like ants on sugar, and he knew that Logan could not escape.
The day wore down, and still Logan had not been found. Cursing riders returned to the valley to water and rest their horses at the Zapata. Others chose lookouts where they would spend the night sending a single man to fill gourds and canteens. A number rode on into the deeper valleys to be certain that they would be ahead of Dark Shadow who must be scurrying through smaller cuts struggling to
outdistance their pursuit.
Juan of one eye chafed to search on foot, but Punto forbade it. The hunters were looking for someone afoot, and they would surely fire on any figure that did not have a horse under it.
Tonto went to the Zapata with their water bottles, and Punto and Juan made their camp almost at the rim of the mountains. Punto thought that Logan had originally fired from somewhere near their sleeping place, and he wished Dark Shadow would attempt to return. If he tried, Juan would have him in a heartbeat.
The second day proved no better, and Juan ranged widely, attempting to sense Logan's direction among the scalding, sun-heated rocks, but even the lizards and spiders had retreated to their secret dens, and the Yaqui returned unsuccessful.
For the second night, Punto joined others at the Zapata. He sat well away from the firelight where he would not tempt bullets and listened to the talk. The temper of the hunt was turning sour. Men spoke of the old stories of Sombra Preta who had alone killed off the wild Apaches. Sombra Preta who appeared and disappeared as if the spirits themselves transported him from place to place.
Men argued that Logan surely had hidden a fresh horse in the mountains and was long away.
Others sneered and asked aloud why it was that Dark Shadow’s horse had left no fresh manure piles for them to discover. Obviously, there had been no horse.
Perhaps Dark Shadow had descended a cliff and was again on the plain. It was a logical explanation, but Punto knew it had not happened. Juan of one eye had found only Logan’s scramble down to kill the ambushers. That trace was too old, and there were no others. Logan was still on top.
Inevitably, someone wondered aloud why Sombra Preta, the savior of the old people, was hunted by anyone?
There was rough laughter and mention of a thousand dollars in gold, but Punto recognized that the end approached. Sombra Preta was gone, most knew it in their hearts, and plodding through more days of stunning heat to find nothing lacked attraction. His hunters were losing interest.
Punto summoned his men, and they quietly broke their camp. Tonto thoroughly watered their horses and brought them to the edge of the thicket. They loaded and moved away. A voice questioned, and Punto announced their intent to camp at the base of the path so that they could be on top with the rising sun.
The voice wished them good hunting, and there was more rough laughter.
Beyond the thicket, they changed course. Juan set their new direction. He headed west, aiming for the break in the mountains that would lead them into the next desert and from there into the vastness of the first Sierra Madre Range.
Their journey to the hacienda north of Guaymos was long, but they would leave Josh Logan behind, probably still trudging east to escape the bounty hunters.
During the night ride, Juan spoke little, but before they made a morning camp he turned his dark features to his master and said, "Sombra Preta will come, Senor Seer. He has only turned away. We will have another chance to kill Sombra Preta, and I will be ready."
Wesley Seer doubted it. Guaymos was half a continent away, and Joshua Logan could not know where to hunt.
Still, it was comforting to know that Juan of one eye would be watching and eager to make Logan merely a fading memory.
Sombra Preta, Dark Shadow, Joshua Logan—Wesley Seer truly hated the names.
17
When he woke, Logan knew instantly where he was, and the lack of light did not weigh on him as he expected it might. He attempted to stretch, but his entire body groaned in protest. He lit his candle and took stock of himself.
He could not recall ever being as lame. He ached to his bones, and his calves would not allow him to move his toes. His thighs barely responded, his back ached, his mouth was foul, he had days of scratchy beard, and his body smelled of ancient sweat and probably accumulated fear. Fortunately, he did not have a mirror. Josh Logan would not be nice to look upon.
Logan fought himself erect, and made his legs carry him across the bottom of his cavern. The Apaches killed in other skirmishes were lined where their companions had placed them, and the bodies he had thrown in littered the rocky slope leading to the cap rock. Despite their morbid presence, Logan was more concerned with loosening his muscles enough to enable him to peer through the slit in the cover to see whether it was day or night.
Logan believed he had slept long, but when he looked, daylight showed through. What did that mean? Was it not yet dark, or had he slept through a day and a night? He had wakened into heavy dozing off and on, but could he have slept twenty-four hours straight? Doubtful, he decided, and assumed the first day's hunt for him was still underway.
His stomach rumbled reminding him of the need to eat. He had enough food because as long as he had water a man could live for weeks on nearly nothing. Logan made a meal of dried goat meat and a number of the stone-like crackers softened in water. Lacking a cup or bowl, Logan used a clay pot left by the dead Apaches.
He found his soap sliver, stripped to the skin, and scrubbed himself with soap and sand from the spring bottom. He noted that there was a decided drop near the center of the moving stream which in effect created two water pools. By doing his cleaning in the lower pool, he kept his drinking water clean.
Shaving in cold water is never comfortable, but Logan had no need to hurry or to make a perfect job. He nicked himself here and there, but felt better for ridding himself of the itchy growth.
By the time he had finished his toilet, Logan was again tired. He was pleased by that. Now that he was safe and regaining strength, he might become overly anxious to return to the land of the living. The more he slept, the quicker the days and nights would pass.
Logan lasted for what he believed to be three days, but when the fourth night offered its protection from prying eyes, he could resist no longer. He eased the stone lid aside and sat in his hole sucking in fresh night air and watching stars move across the heavens. For this night it would be enough, but Logan promised himself that during the next dark he would explore at least a little way beyond what he could see from his entrance.
For his first night foray, Logan chose a high point from which he could see a longer distance and into different valleys. To reach the lookout he crossed more than a half mile of open ground, but he moved with caution taking special pleasure in being outside.
Most of his physical discomfort had worn itself away, and his hip felt merely stiff rather than painful. He had been right, all his hip had needed was a bit of rest. His chest wounds had scabbed over, and the gouge in his biceps had at least stopped weeping. He was getting well.
Logan looked for fire glow, just as he had twenty years earlier, but as then, he found none. Logan expected the possemen had abandoned the mountains, and if they still searched for Dark Shadow, they searched somewhere else.
Yet, he would take no chances. He could last another day. Then he would again test the night for strangeness, and if all seemed well he would begin his return to civilization and the hunt.
Logan timed his final departure from the cave with care and reached the rim of the mountains above the Zapata Water as dawn broke. He used his telescope to first examine the path up the mountain, and finding it empty he turned his attention to the valley floor. There was a distant dust rising, but it was not headed his way.
The Zapata Water appeared empty, but he located two horses grazing nearby. One horse was saddled, but a single rein dragged, and the other was gone. Logan expected the mount had broken its tie and escaped its rider. The second horse sent pleasure shooting through his soul. The animal was his faithful old mount.
Logan found a spot that gave him a look nearly straight down. He saw his saddle and bridle where he had placed them. Well, almost where he had left them. Someone had pulled them into view, but as best he could judge both were intact. He had expected to walk, perhaps all the way to Caliente, a place where he did not wish to go, but now he would have his horse, and perhaps another.
He did not immediately rush down the mountain. Logan glassed unt
il the sun rose high but saw nothing human. Could there be another ambusher buried in the dirt, waiting for Sombra Preta to reappear? The trick had failed the first time, and it would be beyond even an Indian's patience to stay in ambush for these many days. A last look showed the horses still in company, but now at the water itself. Logan took only his Spencer and went for them.
His old horse pricked ears at his whistle, and immediately walked to him. Josh guessed the mount was as pleased to see him as he was to find the horse. He rolled onto the animal bareback, finding that his hip barely twinged. He gathered the other horse's single rein and took the animal in tow to where his saddle lay.
Someone had emptied a gun into the saddle, but the shooter had not shattered the wooden tree and a few holes in the leather would matter little. The girth had also been cut and tossed aside, but Logan could not complain. He had done the same to the mountain climber a week earlier.
He unsaddled the extra horse and replaced his ruined girth with the stranger's girth. In his own saddle and on his own horse, Logan felt almost ready to again take the trail.
He rode back up the path to recover his equipment and to accomplish one other essential task.
If he had an advantage over those chasing him or those that he hunted, it was his ability to shoot at extreme ranges. Since Logan had last fired his long barreled Sharps the rifle had been roughly treated. It was improbable that the rifle was still in zero. Before he left the protection of his mountains, Josh Logan would have to restore his rifle's accuracy.
When he and Billy Sweger had perfected the long shooting Sharps, their greatest accomplishment had been in securing a truly remarkable screw to adjust elevation. Most telescopic sights mounted an elevation adjustment on the tang of the action, but Sweger had reasoned that the scope would be more secure if both front and rear mounts were attached to the thick and rigid rifle barrel. If the mounts did not move, it followed that the scope would be just that much more secure.
Dark Shadow Page 18