Trail to Devil's Canyon

by Cole Matthews

  ‘Shoot to kill!’ Anton commanded as the bewildered Paiute jerked his knife free and yelled a frenzied warning.

  Anton’s first bullet blasted into the brave at the bedrolls, cutting short his cry of anger. Screaming with rage and realizing they had ridden into a trap, the mounted warriors pulled hard on their reins while those on foot halted in their tracks. Kozlov beaded the leading rider as Lucy grappled with the other gun. Two rifles boomed in rapid succession. Anton’s bullet hammered into the nearest warrior, ripping into his left lung. Spewing blood, the brave tried desperately to wheel his terrified pony. The effort was too much, and he fell with a dull, lifeless thud. Lucy’s bullet struck the other rider, shattering his shoulder. Suddenly a tomahawk sliced into the log, just inches from Lucy’s face. Then a bullet kicked wood splinters between Anton and Lucy as they leveled their rifles once more. The Paiute was framed in the firelight as he squinted into the darkness. His next shot went well over Kozlov’s head, and then Anton took careful aim and fired. Dead on his feet, the Paiute buckled at the knees, dropped and then sprawled into the fire.

  The corpse snuffed Lucy’s bonfire to smoking embers.

  There was a long, eerie, uncomfortable silence. Three Northern Paiute braves lay dead in the smoky half-light. The others had vanished into the night.

  They heard the snap of dry twigs and the muffled sound of hoofs in pine needles.

  ‘They are gone!’ Lucy said, almost relieved.

  ‘Stay right here,’ Anton advised.

  ‘But—’

  He gave her a stern look. ‘They won’t leave their dead behind,’ he told her. ‘They need to bury them with their possessions.’

  ‘So, they will be back?’

  ‘They believe ghosts could remain in this world and plague the livin’, unless properly buried and prayers offered,’ Anton explained.

  ‘OK, how soon?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘Real soon,’ he murmured. ‘What you are hearin’ is an old Indian trick. Slap a couple of ponies into a trot to make it sound like they have gone, and then come back on foot.’

  They waited in the silence.

  Blood and body fat from the Paiute brave who had fallen into the fire hissed in the embers. The shrill whinny of a pony came like a shriek in the night. Anton’s Hawken rifle grew cold in his hands. Lucy sat with her back to the tree trunk.

  There was a sudden rustle in the darkness, and then the braves reared out of the night with tomahawks and spears raised. Anton’s Hawken rifle thundered at point blank range, blasting a bullet into a lean, bronze chest. The Paiute warrior swayed on the balls of his feet as blood gushed down his belly. He plunged forward, collapsing over the fallen tree beside Anton. The other brave reached for Lucy. Her gun boomed and the bullet ripped into the warrior’s groin. He bore her to the ground with the weight of his body, and a glinting tomahawk flashed in the last light from the fading embers. The lethal blade thudded into the ground inches from her face, chopping off some of her flowing hair. Anton fired twice into the Paiute’s back, snapping his spine like matchwood. The frontiersman set aside his smoking rifle and dragged the lifeless figure off Lucy. She scrambled to her feet, sobbing violently, and tumbled into Anton’s arms. He let her cling to him for a full minute before he reached behind his neck to unclasp her hands.

  ‘We will find another place to make camp,’ he whispered softly.

  Chapter 4

  The Late Arrival of Lt. Reed’s Bride-to-be

  The overhang had the rank smell of animals, but none were currently in residence. The ceiling was high enough to admit the horses, and the shelter was sufficient for concealment.

  Anton Kozlov carefully stoked the small fire well back in the rear of the cave. This was another night when he would not sleep. He looked across the fire at Lucy. Exhausted by her ordeal, she was still awake under a blanket. Their eyes met and held in the fire glow. They had shared terrible danger and seen violent death. There was a bond between the two of them now.

  ‘You can sleep safely,’ Anton assured her.

  ‘I’m not sure that I could sleep,’ she said. ‘Not that I don’t feel safe with you here.’

  ‘We move out at first light,’ he said. ‘I am hopin’ those five Paiute braves were just out on their own, but you can never be sure about a thing like that. How’s the coffee pot?’ he asked.

  She looked at the pot. ‘Just about empty. I will fix us some fresh brew,’ Lucy declared.

  ‘You need to get some sleep,’ he told her directly.

  ‘First, I will make more coffee,’ Lucy said firmly, pulling the blanket from her body. ‘It is the least I can do before I sleep, with you staying awake to keep watch, wouldn’t you agree?’

  Anton Kozlov did not reply.

  The fire flickered as Lucy attended to the coffee pot. She looked extraordinarily beautiful in the ruddy glow. Her hair hung free. Her breasts made a delicious swell against her blouse. He was old, but not dead. He had thoughts of his Lesya. He watched as she slid the coffee pot back into the embers. Then she stood up and walked around the fire. She squatted down in front of him and with her hands, cupped his face that was flush with stubble now. For a moment, her lips hovered just inches from his mouth . . . oh, to kiss Lesya one more time.

  ‘Good night, Anton Kozlov,’ she whispered.

  She pressed her soft lips to his right cheek, lingering there. Slowly, seemingly with reluctance, she stood up and returned to her side of the fire. Saying nothing more, she retrieved her blanket and wrapped its warmth around her body. She closed her eyes.

  Kozlov watched as she drifted into sleep. She was the kind of woman most men would be proud to wed. He hoped his former stepson would appreciate Lucy Doniphon.

  The next day dawned cold and gray. They ate a quick breakfast and headed into the early-morning mist. Keeping to the timbered slopes, they pushed west over the mountains, and made camp that night by a windswept lake.

  Much of the rock that surrounded the area around them was granite or a near relative of granite. There were dividing bands of heat and pressure-altered sedimentary rock – or all that was left of a once extensive sedimentary basin – and some large areas of old volcanic rock, that had ejected out of the earth’s surface long before they had traversed them.

  It was close to noon two days later that Kozlov saw Indian signs.

  Two signals rose into the air against the snow-capped peak. Reining Socks, he read their message. Braves were being summoned. More smoke puffs were sucked into the sky from a ridge to the east. Anton picked the trail even more cautiously as the afternoon wore on. Just before sundown, he motioned Lucy to draw her mare into the shelter of three jagged rocks. Signaling her not to speak, he sat saddle and waited. Soon a big bunch of mounted Paiute Indians filtered through the pines down trail. Kozlov counted fifteen warriors, all painted for war. He waited a long time before resuming the trail under a watery moon.

  That same night, there was no fire. By first light, they were crossing a timbered ridge. Halfway through the morning, they came upon the tracks of unshod ponies. More than a dozen riders had passed less than an hour earlier.

  Because they had been forced to take the longer trail, there would be two more days and nights before they reached the end of their journey. The first of those days went without incident. On the last day, however, they came across the charred shell of a cabin. Its burnt timbers were still warm, and the old trapper’s remains were a sight which Kozlov quietly concealed from Lucy.

  An hour later, Anton spotted two warriors building a fire. He and Lucy circled them and took an old deer trail which twisted down to a shallow river. They crossed under the cover of darkness and mounted the long, steady slope which stretched to the rim. It was here, crossing the curved balcony rim that they glimpsed distant lanterns.

  ‘Devil’s Canyon,’ he said simply. ‘You will see the man you are goin’ to marry at sun-up.’

  They came into the canyon just as the swirling mist began to lift. Riding down the wooded slope with
Lucy looking eagerly ahead, Anton saw the basin for the first time after the long, dangerous journey. The north wind which had howled and whistled all night, now dropped to a cold whisper. Anton saw steers grazing on the frosty grass.

  It seemed as if the settlers of Devil’s Canyon were ignorant to any likelihood of danger. Maybe no one had spotted the distant smoke signals. Perhaps the Paiute Indians had not ranged this far west.

  They passed Burt Roberts’ place, a sprawling log house still shrouded in mist. The Reverend Burt Roberts, now into his late fifties, had been one of the first settlers to claim this canyon. Three times married, the bearded giant was probably still in bed with his latest wife, plump Henrietta, who was more than twenty years his junior.

  On a lonely ridge overlooking the river, they heard the thud of an ax splitting wood. Will Alvord was cutting firewood. His wife, Crazy Jane, stood on the front step of their ramshackle cabin with her hands on her hips. She was a half-breed Paiute.

  Anton could see his own cabin now, on the far side of the creek.

  He glanced down canyon at three other cabins. Dave Calhoun’s stone and log place was sheltered by a pine grove. Calhoun kept to himself. Some said he used to ride the owl hoot trail from time to time. Grayson Weathers and his young wife, Clara, owned the next spread, and beyond their lands, Jed Bliss had built a soddy. Canyon talk said that Bliss was another with an Indian squaw to warm his bed.

  Anton slowed his sorrel, Socks.

  He looked briefly south, past all the cabins to the dark, high walls of the stockade. It was the outpost the soldiers had raised well before the canyon was settled. They called it the last outpost west. A couple of years later, Fort Bighorn was built, and the stockade relinquished. The blue-coats had wanted to burn it to the ground, but a deputation of newly-arrived settlers persuaded Major Amos Peabody to leave it standing. They figured the stockade could be useful in the event of an Indian raid.

  The two riders splashed across the creek.

  Riding the narrow track which led to Anton’s land, they saw five horses tethered outside his cabin. Smoke curled from his chimney, and a soldier lounged near the door. The front door had been carelessly left open, and Anton’s mongrel dog was tied to a post. Lieutenant Judd Reed and his men had obviously made themselves at home. Anton Kozlov was angry, but he decided to keep his annoyance in check. He didn’t want to spoil this moment for Lucy Doniphon.

  ‘Anton,’ she said as they rode closer, ‘I am scared.’

  ‘Of the lieutenant? There is no reason to be,’ he offered.

  ‘What if he doesn’t like me?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘No chance of that,’ the old mountain man assured her.

  The soldier at the door saw their approach. He straightened and called the men inside. Two more soldiers ambled out of the cabin. Anton and Lucy headed across the last stretch of waving grass. Another trooper emerged from the cabin, followed closely by Judd.

  Shrugging into his blue tunic, he pushed his way through his men and stood with arms folded, awaiting the two riders.

  ‘There he is, Lucy,’ Anton announced as they rode closer. ‘Lieutenant in the United States Army, cavalry trooper, and your future husband, Judd Reed.’

  ‘He – looks a fine man,’ Lucy said as they slowed their mounts.

  They rode between the two towering spruce trees which dwarfed the cabin. They moved around a small vegetable patch. Finally, with the dog barking a welcome, they drew rein half a dozen paces from the cabin.

  For a long moment, Judd’s eyes raked his young bride. Then he gave a satisfied grin. His expression changed when he looked at his stepfather.

  ‘You are late with my woman!’

  Anton exhaled. ‘Yeah, we ran into some trouble.’

  The trooper turned his eyes to Anton. ‘What kinda trouble?’

  ‘Double trouble, Judd,’ Anton said. ‘We will talk inside.’

  ‘First,’ Judd announced, taking some folded notes from his tunic pocket, ‘I will pay you the fifty bucks you are owed.’

  ‘I reckon that first you ought to help Lucy down,’ Anton suggested. ‘She has been a long time in the saddle.’

  Ignoring that advice, Judd walked stiffly up to the horse.

  ‘I don’t like owing any man,’ he said, shoving the bank notes into his former stepfather’s hand. ‘And that includes you, Old Moscow.’

  ‘Since you have taken over my cabin,’ Anton observed coldly, ‘I hope the coffee’s hot.’

  ‘Been hot for over a day,’ Trooper Hal Yacey muttered.

  Anton eased himself out of the saddle while the grinning, soon-to-be groom walked casually to Lucy’s horse.

  ‘Well, well, so you are the woman they sent me,’ Judd Reed said approvingly. ‘You are sure worth the twenty bucks I paid to that agency!’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said pleasantly. ‘I think.’

  Judd reached up and clapped a possessive hand on her left arm.

  ‘Old Moscow here says I oughta lift you down, Lucy,’ Judd said, his fingers biting into her flesh. ‘I reckon he is right.’

  Anton looped his reins around a hitching post. The four troopers stood grinning as Lucy put her hands tentatively on her future husband’s thick shoulders. Judd’s big hands found her waist and he lifted her clean out of the saddle. The burly blue-coat lowered her until her feet touched the ground. He did not release her. In fact, he clutched her hard to his heavy body. He crushed so tightly that she could barely breathe.

  Finally, Judd relaxed his grip. Lucy stepped back from his bear-like embrace.

  ‘I have been looking forward to meeting you,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘You sure are a sight for sore eyes, and you feel good too,’ Judd said as she flushed scarlet and the trooper snickered. ‘Now let’s see if you know how to look after a man’s stomach! We haven’t eaten since supper last night, so you can rustle us up some grub. The stove’s hot, and there is a frying pan. . . .’

  ‘Hold on, Judd,’ Anton interrupted. ‘Lucy’s had one helluva long ride. She might need a rest before she starts on chores.’

  ‘She is my woman, Anton,’ the cavalry officer snapped. ‘I know what is good for her.’

  The two men exchanged heated glances.

  ‘It is all right, Anton,’ Lucy said. ‘I need to show my future husband I am a good cook.’

  Judd frowned because Lucy had called the old mountain man by his first name.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Anton replied.

  Anton walked into his home. He wasn’t exactly given to tidiness, but he bristled at the way Judd’s troop had turned his cabin into a pigsty. The place stank of stale tobacco. Unwashed plates, playing cards, discarded food and even dirty clothes littered the floor. Sparks must have fallen from the untended stove – the floorboards were charred.

  ‘Sorry about the mess, Old Moscow, but you know how soldiers are,’ Judd said offhandedly. ‘You used to be one yourself.’ Judd Reed folded his arms. ‘I will get my woman to clean up the place for you.’

  ‘I will take care of it myself, after you move out,’ Anton Kozlov decided.

  ‘I insist,’ Reed said. ‘It will be no trouble for the future Mrs. Judd Reed.’

  ‘I told you no,’ snapped Anton rather coldly.

  ‘OK,’ Judd shrugged as Lucy busied herself at the stove.

  ‘Was your mission successful?’ Anton asked, as he rolled a cigarette.

  ‘Sure enough was,’ Trooper Yacey said, as he slurped lukewarm coffee. ‘We caught up with the yellow-bellied bastards.’

  ‘And where are they now?’ Anton asked.

  ‘Six feet under,’ Judd put in casually.

  ‘More like a few feet under,’ laughed Tuck Gravens.

  ‘I thought you said you were takin’ them back to face a court martial?’ Anton pursued.

  ‘I made a command decision,’ Reed said crisply. ‘We trailed them to a canyon. They had guns, and I wasn’t about to risk the lives of four good soldiers here.’

  ‘So you gunned t
hem down?’ asked Anton.

  ‘We saved a lot of time and trouble,’ Lieutenant Reed snapped.

  Lucy began to fry venison steak in the pan. White-faced, she looked from Anton to the man she was set to marry. Judd’s eyes had narrowed to twin slits, and his fleshy lips twitched nervously.

  ‘It is army business, old man,’ Judd said coldly.

  ‘Like Old Bootleg Canyon?’

  There was a long, icy silence. Lieutenant Judd Reed stared at the old mountain man who had once been married to his mother, briefly, and thrust a cigar between his lips. Trooper Yacey exchanged glances with Ben Copeland. There was a sneer on Tuck Gravens’ lips. Alan Loomis looked bewildered at Anton’s remark.

  ‘Hurry up with that grub, woman,’ Judd said irritably. ‘We are all hungry men.’

  ‘I am doing my best,’ Lucy said as Judd kept his brooding eyes fixed on the old mountain man.

  Anton walked to the stove and poured himself some coffee.

  ‘You said there were reasons why you were late,’ Judd remarked.

  ‘The stage never made Bear Creek Pass,’ Anton explained. ‘It was wrecked along the trail and the passengers walked to Sylvester Earhart’s place. Earhart took a shine to your bride-to-be, and he came after us with some other hard cases. There was gunplay, and I had to bury them.’

  ‘Anton risked his life for me, Judd,’ Lucy said earnestly as she turned the steaks in the pan.

  Judd ignored her and addressed Anton again.

  ‘You said there was double trouble.’

  ‘Yep . . . I did . . . Indians,’ Anton said, sipping his coffee. The soldiers all listened intently now. ‘They killed a wagonload of settlers travelin’ alone and then came after the two of us.’

  ‘Well, you made it, so I figure the Indians are now buzzard bait,’ Judd said nonchalantly.

  Anton nodded. ‘I set a trap which they rode right into.’

  ‘So did you learn that from the United States Army or from your old Russian days?’ Judd asked cuttingly.

  Anton let the jibe pass. His eyes swept over the troopers, wiping the smirks from their faces. There was another long, cold silence.