Dark Shadow

by Roy F. Chandler

  Juan found two men who had fought with guns during the wars against the Mexican government. Yaquis like himself, the men were brothers, and anything they lacked in thinking ability they made up for in courage and willingness to kill. Senor Seer armed them with Winchester carbines. Unless Logan, the shadow, again shot at long distance, he could not pass the brothers to reach Senor Seer.

  Juan sent the brothers, Tomas and Tomasito, east to the edges of Seer land and even beyond. They offered immediate reward to anyone who reported the presence of an old gringo carrying a rifle with a long tube above the barrel.

  Then Juan rode out himself to repeat and reinforce the offers of reward. Within a week of his and Senor Seer's return, the one eye could believe that if Joshua Logan came, he would be seen and he would be reported. When that happened, Juan would place the brothers between Logan and the hacienda, but he, himself, would begin his hunt, and when Sombra Preta did arrive at the hacienda, it would be with his head on a long pole carried by Juan of one eye.

  Juan's insistence that Joshua Logan would come made Wesley Seer uneasy. He became aware of the flowering vines that overran his defensive walls and had the vines chopped away. He ordered that the gate be freed of its weeds, and that it be closed each night at sunset.

  His own activities encouraged Seer to do more. He stocked his keep with food and water. If he was seriously attacked, he would retreat to the safety of his impenetrable walls and wait in comfort until relief arrived. That relief would come from the town of Guaymos nearly twenty miles distant.

  Senor Seer rode to the town and made arrangements. Seer explained that an insane gringo was loose in the western foothills, and that the crazy American shot with a rifle capable of killing at great range. If a message came from the Seer Hacienda, the mayor would rally his militia and his police and ride to the rescue.

  Seer also gathered his ranch hands. He included everyone, even the house servants and herd tenders who seldom returned to the hacienda. He called upon them to keep watch for a crazy gringo who might appear, and if they saw such a man to immediately warn the hacienda. If the hacienda came under attack, men were to mount the best horses and ride to Guaymos with warning so that help would come.

  Of course, Seer offered a reward to the first reporting the gringo. It was not the impossible reward of Caliente, but even a few dollars could raise a peon high among his people. Dark Shadow would not approach unnoticed.

  His horse had loosened a shoe. Logan worked the iron loose and stored it in a saddlebag. Until he found a blacksmith, he chose softer ground or walked leading both horse and mule.

  Logan watched the smith add iron to the worn shoe, and decided the man knew his work. In Texas a worn horse or mule shoe was tossed aside and the metal used for other purposes, but among poorer people animal shoes were repaired.

  The smith worked beneath a giant shade tree, and Logan made himself comfortable nearby. He intended to keep an eye on the shoeing. A poorly directed nail could cripple an animal or allow the shoe to again work loose.

  Shoeing was familiar to the old horse, and although it occasionally rolled an eye in Logan's direction, the animal stood for the work.

  The blacksmith chattered in a language unintelligible to Logan, and after a few moments Logan no longer listened. He had been so long alone that the voices of others intruded on his thoughts, and lately he had been remembering earlier times with newfound pleasure.

  Erni most often appeared in his dreaming. Their years together had been his best. They had been a good match with neither caring much about material possessions. Erni had her church, and Logan had his hunting, shooting, and roaming. Their time with each other was rich with shared experiences, and their few disagreements were soon settled without angry residues to chew at their caring.

  The old county, too, was often in Logan's mind. As a boy, he had longed for a bigger land with higher mountains and strange people. The Apache wars had taught him different. When he had ridden home to Perry County, the need to see other lands had been tempered, and there had been contentment living on the peach farm with his brother and having old friends nearby.

  The steadiness of the old county appealed to him these days. Maybe . . . maybe if he somehow lived through this campaign he would again go home. His mind shrugged. Where else was there to go?

  It would be nice to sit near Erni's grave. He would feel closer to her there, but he knew also that she was not in that hole in the dry earth of Micah. Erni's soul soared; perhaps she was near him now, and perhaps she watched over him and did what she could to help him along.

  Logan pulled his thoughts to the present. The smith positioned the hot shoe, making the hoof sizzle until the fit was flat and perfect. He chose new nails, and Logan watched carefully as they were driven into the neatly trimmed hoof.

  Good job. He relaxed while the smith examined the other hooves.

  Like almost everyone in Mexico, the blacksmith was poor. His hut was, of course, adobe, and he had many children, some of whom worked in small nearby fields. The man's feet were bare, but hand-woven hemp sandals lay nearby. Logan expected that money of any kind was rare in the family. A pole corral held a single burro, and a recently skinned cowhide was draped over the corral's top pole.

  Logan took in the hide’s brand without awareness. Then he came alert, as if bee stung. The brand was the wavy "S" he had been searching for. Punto's brand and on a cow. Cattle might wander, but they rarely departed their own range. Perhaps he had found Punto's hiding place. Not this humble adobe in the foothills, of course, but probably close by.

  Questioning the blacksmith without alarming the man was difficult. With different languages they struggled to comprehend, but Logan believed he understood.

  The cow had come from the west. A drover came through at odd times, and he always herded a few head of cattle. This time, the blacksmith had been paid with the hide of a slaughtered cow.

  Had the smith seen the brand before?

  “Of course, Senor. The drover always herds the same brand. Probably the drover has a ranchero beyond the hills where the land is flat and there is said to be much water. Once, the drover brought sheep, but they, of course, had no brands.”

  Drover, hell. Logan recognized a rustler. The man stole a few head and drove them into the mountains. He probably had buyers willing to take the cattle without question. If a cow went down, the rustler skinned it out, took what meat he could use, and sold the hide. Logan wondered if Punto was involved. Unlikely. The raider would be after bigger games than rustling cows hardly worth stealing.

  Somewhere to the west there was an "S" ranch, and Punto and some of his men had ridden horses with that brand. Logan had lost sense of distance, but the mountains had become ridges, and the valleys were widening. Grasslands could be getting close. There he would find the ranch using the "S" brand.

  Of course, Punto could have stolen his horses, or someone else, another like the cow rustler, could have stolen horses and sold them to Punto, but Tobias Brisbane had claimed that Punto Negra had always ridden an "S" branded horse. Logan believed that when he found the right ranch, he would find Punto the raider nearby.

  Again on the trail, Logan had to repeatedly slow his pace. A hunger to hunt was on him, and he could feel the bitter bile of inward rage burning brighter. Punto could be there, perhaps just beyond the next range of hills. It was time to think about what he would do once he located the raider.

  Punto had never shown himself a fool. Logan doubted that the man would be expecting Dark Shadow to appear these hundreds of miles and many mountain ranges from where they had fought, but Punto would always have his guard up. He would have men, and he would know the country.

  What Logan had to do was to locate the "S" ranch, but then he could not simply ride into the ranch headquarters and announce that he hunted an American with a scarred face. If he did that, Punto would almost certainly learn of Logan's arrival before Logan could get to him. In fact, the ranch owners might hold him for Punto or even shoot him d
own, if Punto happened to be that close a friend. This was Mexico, and law was thin and unevenly applied. Logan would be very careful about who he saw and to whom he spoke.

  When he found the ranch that ran "S" branded cattle, he might watch the place, if the terrain allowed it. If not, he would ride in posing as a simple traveler tired of his own company and willing to pay for shelter and a few meals.

  There was another difficulty. The Indians in this part of Mexico were Yaqui. Logan recognized the look and the adornment that was similar to that worn by Juan of one eye. A Spanish speaker had named a wide river he had forded as the Yaqui. This, then, could be Juan of one eye's country, and word of Logan's presence could seep through the quiet talk into the one eye's ears. If that happened, Logan did not doubt that Juan, the Yaqui, would try to hunt him down.

  Until he found "S" branded steers, Logan would ride in the open and during daylight. Once he believed himself getting close, Logan resolved to use the night to move ahead and to be seen as little as possible. He would limit his daylight to observing, and if absolutely necessary, asking questions.

  He again would use no fires after dark, and he would always move from where he ate his evening meal. He would have to change directions to avoid making his intentions known. He would watch his back trail as much as he looked ahead, and his sleep would be as light as an evening breeze. He would sniff at the air and watch for smoke and dust.

  If he had ever been Dark Shadow, Josh Logan would need to resurrect those abandoned skills. Locating, stalking, and killing Punto the raider might be as difficult as wiping out the rogue Apaches.

  Getting Punto Negra might be even harder because Logan had known what the Apaches were. Here, Punto might have friends, or he might live in a town, or he might. . . that was the point, Logan could not know. No band of scouts gave him support, and he had no border to retreat across. On this hunt, Josh Logan was as alone as he had ever been.

  Days later, Logan’s horse stopped and stood rigidly, ears forward and looking closely. Ghostly silent, an immense longhorn bull stepped from the brush. Logan already had his Sharps raised. The scope would be useless if the animal charged, but at point blank range Logan would simply sight along the barrel. He was gratified that he had loaded a hunting bullet. He would need all of the penetration the Sharps could give. An exploding man killer round might not drop such an animal.

  The bull snorted, head lowered and weaving slightly as if sighting on his enemy. A forefoot pawed the dirt, and Logan said soothingly, "Toro, Toro."

  Eyes red with rage glared at horse and rider, and Logan guessed the bull’s gigantic horns might measure five feet from tip to tip. His first shot would be his only shot, and Logan knew it had better go just right. Even a dying bull's charge would take the animal across where horse and rider stood. Logan would have to kill the bull in his tracks.

  Then the bull turned and was gone into the brush as swiftly and as silently as a deer. Logan stayed ready, but after a moment, his horse's ears relaxed and the animal resumed his usual walk.

  Only an angry grizzly bear should be feared more than a wild range bull. Logan felt sweat on his hands. That quickly his long hunt could have been over, and he and his horse could have been gored and stomped.

  Then Josh Logan found himself smiling. As scared as he had been, and as fast as the bull had turned away, Logan had seen the brand on his hip.

  Once the great bull had been young and small. Men had branded him then, and it might be that the bull had never forgotten the burn of the branding iron.

  The brand was a crudely drawn "S." Punto Negra might be close at hand.

  22

  A peon rode his donkey nearly to death bringing word. A gringo with a musket had been seen, and the gun had a tube on top as long as the barrel. The gringo was old, and he trailed a mule carrying packs.

  The gringo had been spoken with by herders two days riding to the east. By now, the man could be close, but the message carrier reported that the gringo rode only at a walk while he had driven his burro as none had before.

  Juan of one eye took the peon to Senor Seer who rewarded the messenger, and the Yaqui saw that the man had a fresh burro to replace his exhausted beast.

  Senor Seer paced his courtyard as if possessed, and Juan could smell the man’s worry. The one eye did not share his master's apprehension. Sombra Preta had acted as expected, now he would die, also as expected.

  Juan saddled his horse, hung a water gourd from his saddle horn, placed jerky and refried beans in his saddlebag, and rode east. From there he would hunt Joshua Logan. When night fell, he would enter Logan's camp and kill him. If he did not find Logan on the first day, he would locate him on the second. If he could not enter Dark Shadow's camp the second night, he would on the third. Juan would wrap in his serape for sleeping. With meat, water, and beans, he could hunt forever.

  From the first ridges Logan could not be seen. Juan decided that the man was moving slowly, and he hurried his horse to the second ridge. From that height he could see far to the east.

  Unlike the desert country where they had first hunted Sombra Preta, this land did not raise dust clouds. Juan studied the sprawl of earth rolls for many hours and gave up only when the shadows grew too long. By then he had decided that he might better find the slow moving gringo by picking up the trail where the man had last been seen. The distance was not great for a horse, and when the sun again rose, he would be close behind Joshua Logan.

  Logan's plan to ride at night and observe and sleep during daylight was not working. He did not sleep well during the day, and his observings revealed only a few herders and an occasional adobe settlement.

  He had changed directions with regularity, and at special opportunities. Once he had encountered a muddy stream that allowed him to hide his route. He rode the stream in daylight so that he could be sure of leaving no tracks. When he left the water he came out on a rock ledge, and he moved his animals across it gently so that their iron shoes were unlikely to leave scrapes. Of course, the mule decided to leave a lengthy deposit just as they left the water. If he was being followed, mule manure would not be mistaken for wild horse droppings, and Logan had to carry the manure to the stream and wash away remaining traces.

  Logan spoke to a few peons. He asked the name of the ranchero, on which he traveled and was told it was Ranchero Seer. None that he spoke with had actually seen Senor Seer, but they knew he was an American. Had Senor Seer a burned face? None knew. Did they know of an American with an old wound on his face? None did.

  Maybe, Logan thought. And just as possible the peons were lying and immediately sending word of the approach of a gringo to their master or to Punto who might live nearby.

  Logan guessed he would have to change his approach. Continuing as he had been might never find the raider, who might not have anything to do with the Seer ranch anyway. Instead of sleeping the day away, Logan saddled and rode straight west.

  Late in the day he smelled the ocean, but was not sure until he saw the sea and almost immediately struck a major road paralleling the water.

  He had crossed Mexico, and Logan rode onto the sands to taste the salt of the ocean he had only heard about. The sand beach was also a marvel, but there was no shelter for boats, and the thin strip of sand would disappear when storms raged. Magnificent but completely worthless, Logan judged. He returned to the road, and for lack of a better plan turned north.

  Ahead, a trio of riders approached. Everyone in Mexico was not a bandit, and parties openly traveling this major road were unlikely to be dangerous, but. . . Logan slung his Sharps and placed the faster shooting Spencer across his saddlebow.

  The first rider rode a blooded horse, and he had silver on his saddle. His companions were clearly of lesser stock. They gripped short barreled carbines and assumed suspicious demeanors. Logan removed his hat and surrendered the road to the trio. When they came close he hailed them in his best Spanish, and the important personage drew his horse to a halt. His bodyguards spread slightly, which
made Logan a little nervous. If things went bad, he would prefer to have his targets in one spot— which, of course, was why the guards spread out.

  Senor Pofirio Escobar was from the grand city of Guaymos, only a little way to the south. The American traveler?

  Logan introduced himself as Joshua Logan seeking a fellow American whose name he had not remembered. The American had said he lived near a ranch which used the "S" brand on their horses. His acquaintance had terribly burned his face many years before, and the scar was difficult not to see. Did Senor Escobar know of such an American?

  The wealthy Escobar laughed aloud. Of course he knew Senor Wesley Seer, who in his modesty had not announced that Ranchero Seer was his own property, and if Senor Logan would continue north to the next road to the east he would find the hacienda Seer only twenty kilometers away.

  They spoke of the weather, and Logan mentioned the difficulty of riding across the Sierra Madre Mountains. They agreed that the government should build roads and proceed with railroads. They parted, and Logan watched the trio continue south.

  So, he had ridden past the ranch headquarters without knowing. That could be good. If he had been reported, his appearance from the west would not be expected.

  Wesley Seer. Logan had a name, and he had dogged the raider to his hideout. Logan had to smile at his description. Pofirio Escobar's recognition of Seer had left no doubt that Seer was an important figure in this corner of Mexico.

  Logan recognized another detail. Seer would have all of the law and probably most of the people on his side. Logan would have to strike quickly and be gone. He remembered the tenacity of Colonel O'Cortez's mounted infantry. He would not like running from soldiers as disciplined as those. Logan hoped the colonel and any others like him were deep in the interior hunting legitimate bandits.

  Logan judged he could be at the hacienda gates well before dark, but that would not be his plan. Hammering on Punto's portal would not bring the master to the door. Guards would probably appear, and Logan did not wish to have to fight his way to Seer.