Conagher (1969)

by L'amour, Louis

  Bitter cold and frozen snow kept even th e horses from finding grass beneath th e snow's surface. Unless there was gras s soon she would lose the few calves sh e had.

  But there was no sign of green. It wa s the time when the sun should be warmin g the soil, it was the time for rains, but ther e was neither sun nor rain.

  The food that had been left her b y Conagher more than two months ago wa s gone. The stage had stopped once, with a broken wheel to be mended, and fortunatel y there had been enough food the n to feed the passengers. She had a littl e money from that, but she hesitated to tr y the long trip to the Plaza with the horses i n their present condition.

  And both of the children were thin.

  Laban had shot a couple of squirrels, bu t there was scarcely a bit of meat on either , and now they were in serious trouble. Th e flour was gone, the sugar was gone. Wit h the last of the bacon grease she had frie d slices of bread for the children.

  She knew she should kill one of th e calves, but she had never butchered a n animal and had not the slightest idea o f how to go about it. Moreover, she hated t o lose even one of her small herd. But it ha d come to that.

  Twice she had planned to flag down th e stage and get McCloud or Logan to brin g her something from town, but each tim e she had missed the stage. This mornin g she was going out early, to be waitin g beside the road when it came.

  Much of the carefully hoarded mone y from feeding the stage passengers wa s already spent. She had needed a coat fo r Laban and mittens for all of them.

  Far to the south Conagher saddled up an d rode out. He had seen nothing of Parnell , and believed the lot of them had, fo r the time at least, left the country. Ther e had been stage holdups on the roa d into Tucson, there had been others o n the Black Canyon trail between Phoeni x and Prescott. There had been a blood y attempt on the stage in the mountain s near the Colorado, on the road to Hardyville.

  Conagher swung wide now, checkin g for grass. There was none. Melting sno w had frozen, and the stock could not brea k through. He opened up several wate r holes, found in a sheltered canyon som e stock that was doing well, and then saw a patch of green up a canyon he had neve r entered.

  He turned and started up the canyon , hoping to find grass. He had gone no mor e than half a mile when suddenly he saw, of f to one side, dirt churned by the hoofs o f shod horses. It was fresh ... it ha d probably happened that morning. He swung his horse just an instant before th e bullet struck.

  He felt the slam of a bullet into his bac k and heard the report of the rifle as h e toppled from the saddle. He fell, struc k the ground on his shoulder, and rolle d over. His horse went dashing on, and h e knew instantly that they would be dow n here after him.

  Fortunately he had carried his rifle i n his right hand, hoping for a shot at a dee r or antelope.

  He caught the rifle up from the ground , and even as he heard a thundering o f hoofs, he rolled over a slab of rock and sli d a dozen feet to the bottom, where h e crawled into a hole made by one roc k toppled against another.

  He scrambled through here quickly an d down a steep dry watercourse, where h e saw an opening and ducked into it. It wa s only a small space between rocks.

  Behind him he heard a shout . He's wounded, Smoke! We got him !

  For the first time he remembered tha t he had been knocked from the saddle by a shot. He was wounded then, and ther e must have been some blood. No doubt h e was numbed from the shock, which mean t that it would not be long before he woul d feel the pain, and perhaps would not b e able to go any farther.

  Before him was a tilted slab of roc k shaped like a rooster's comb. He would b e exposed on the face of it, but they wer e still out of sight around the corner, an d there was a way a man might go where th e face of the rock met the talus slope that fel l away for several hundred feet. Grippin g his rifle, he started to run. In an instant hi s brief respite was gone and the wound wa s throbbing with pain.

  But he made it halfway along, an d suddenly saw a place where two slabs o f rock overlapped. The opening, which wa s V-shaped, was filled with stiff, wiry brus h covered with thorns.

  He had no choice. He could hear the m coming, and once they rounded the roc k back there he would be a clear target , caught against the face of the rock, a targe t that could scarcely be missed, in a plac e where there was no shelter. He dived a t the stiff brush, fighting frantically to ge t past it.

  Luckily, he had thrown himself on to p of the brush, so he was squirming over i t rather than trying to get through, whic h would have been almost impossible. He squirmed and scrambled, his breat h coming in hoarse gasps of mingled pai n and fear. Then he got hold of a larg e branch, and swung himself over into th e space beyond, where he fell panting to th e ground.

  He lay there, stunned, his breath stil l coming raggedly, and for several minute s he could scarcely think.

  When he looked around, he foun d himself in a sort of natural cup within a cluster of ragged peaks. It looked almos t like a volcanic crater, though it was not.

  There was not more than an acre o f ground in the bottom of the hollow, with a thick covering of green grass. Against on e wall there were some trees, and he coul d hear water rippling.

  Painfully, he crawled across the littl e basin to the stream. The water was clea r and cold.

  He drank, and then lay on the groun d beside the stream, where he must hav e passed out. When he awoke he was ver y cold, the sun had gone, and it was almos t dark.

  Despite the cold, he lay there trying t o quiet the chattering of his teeth. He listened but he heard nothing. Using th e rifle as a crutch, he pushed himself up an d half staggered, half fell into the edge of th e trees.

  After a few moments he began to gathe r some sticks together. Did he dare build a fire? There seemed little likelihood tha t the flames could be seen, and as for smoke , it was already night, and the chances wer e small.

  With trembling fingers he shredde d bark, added twigs, and lit a small fire, t o which he then added some large twigs.

  The light cheered him, and the warmt h felt good.

  Carefully, he looked all around him.

  The rock wall of one of the pinnacles wa s at his back, trees and brush were aroun d him, and the basin, so far as he could see , was empty.

  Thinking back, he recalled the twiste d way he had come, and how he ha d emerged along the face of the jagged rock.

  No rider could have reached that place , and, looking up from below, they coul d not have seen the break between th e overlapping rocks.

  So he had vanished.

  Would they come back in the mornin g to look? It was possible, even likely. Bu t from here he could control the opening , and nobody was going to get in a s long as ammunition and strength held out.

  With careful fingers he felt of his bac k and found a deep gouge where a bullet, o r a fragment of one, had entered the fles h slightly above his hipbone and had cu t through the flesh along his ribs, jus t nicking the thick muscle before going off.

  It was a painful wound, but not a seriou s one. He had lost blood, and it was going t o hurt when he moved, for his side was badl y bruised, and possibly some ribs wer e broken, though they did not feel like it.

  The bullet must have glanced up fro m the cantle of his saddle. The cold an d perhaps the thickness of his woole n underwear and shirt had stopped th e bleeding for the time being.

  He had no coffee, nothing. He drank a little water heated in a dish he made fro m bark, an old trick he had often used. Th e flames heated the water but did not bur n the bark as long as they only touched i t below the water level. The water insid e absorbed the heat.

  The hot water helped to warm him, an d then he dug out a place among the leave s and pine needles, cowered deep within hi s sheepskin coat, and went to sleep.

  He awoke shivering in the cold morning , with the last stars solitary in the vas t darkness. He started to sit up, felt a twing e of pain, and lay still again. He was going t o have the devil's own time of it, he
coul d see that. He was miles from the ST h eadquarters, without a horse, withou t food, and wounded. Although the calenda r said this was a month of spring, th e weather gave no indication of it, and eve n a tenderfoot would have known he was i n serious trouble.

  After some struggle he got his fire goin g again. Fortunately there were a good man y dry branches lying around, and there wer e the remains of a fallen tree and some pin e cones. He could reach enough fuel to kee p his fire going for some time withou t moving around too much. Once the flame s leaped up, he eased himself into a sittin g position, favoring his wounded side.

  The effort left him gasping, and he sa t still, letting the fire warm him, an d reaching for an occasional stick.

  If they came back they might find him , but they might not. The snow was gon e from the top of the talus slope along whic h he had come, and the ground was frozen.

  He might have left no tracks on that froze n ground.

  They might find some broken twig s where he had forced a way over the brush , but even that was a question. But did the y need to find him at all? They knew he wa s wounded, they knew the cold was no t over, and they knew how small is th e chance of a wounded man, who has los t blood, in fighting off the cold.

  They only needed to keep him bottle d up here. They did not need to find him , and to run the risk of coming in after him , which would be like going into a den afte r a bear. They could just ride a patro l around the area and be sure he did no t leave it.

  Smoke Parnell had been out there. An d the voice he had heard had sounded lik e that of Tile Coker . . . both tough men.

  When he was warm enough to take a n interest in his hideout, he looked aroun d and assayed his situation. So far as h e could see, there was only one opening, th e one through which he had gained access.

  Because of the sheltered position, the gras s had already begun to turn green, and ther e were leaf buds on the cottonwoods. On th e far side of the hollow, where the su n reached only briefly, the snow had froze n into a bank of ice.

  There was fuel enough at hand for som e time, there was shelter in some of th e rocky overhangs and there might be herb s with which he could treat his wounds.

  Using his left hand, he caught hold of a branch and pulled himself erect. Prowlin g along the slope, he found some cliff rose, a resinous, strong-smelling plant, sometime s called quinine bush. It was a plan t important as winter browse for deer , cattle, and sheep; and judging by remnant s he had found in caves, Conagher kne w that the primitive pre-Indian peoples ha d used to braid the bark into sandals, rope , and mats. The Hopis used the wood fo r making arrows, but what was importan t for Conagher at the moment was tha t they used the plant to make a wash fo r wounds.

  He gathered some of the bark, leaves , and smaller twigs and began to heat the lo t in his improvised bark dish. When it ha d boiled, he stripped and, using his bandan a and taking his time, bathed his woun d with the decoction, his sheepskin over hi s shoulders to keep him from getting to o chilled.

  Whether it did any good he was no t sure, although he knew that the Hopi s swore by it. After that he wandered about , found some dry spectacle pod, crushed i t to powder, and put it on the wound , another remedy used by both the Hop i and Tewa Indians.

  After an hour or so of lying beside th e fire, he began to think more about food.

  Conagher was a man who had often misse d meals. Going hungry was not a ne w experience, though not a pleasant one, bu t food was a necessity now if he was t o recover and regain the strength it woul d take to get him out of this situation.

  Animals and birds must know of thi s place, he thought. Men, if they had eve r discovered it, had left no signs here. But i f animals came here, he should be able t o trap or kill one for food.

  After a time he got up and moved hi s camp to the overhang. This had th e advantage of bringing him within range o f a new supply of fuel. Sitting by the fire, h e carefully studied the plants within rang e of his eyes. Meanwhile he chewed on a couple of leaves from the salt bush. Ho w much food value they possessed he had n o idea, but they gave him the satisfaction o f chewing and the taste was pleasant.

  He was very thirsty and went often t o the stream to drink. He saw rabbi t droppings near the water and the tracks o f several small animals in the sand near th e stream.

  After a while he lay down again, feelin g very tired. It was only with an effort tha t he could replenish his fire, but he kept i t alive. The wood was dry and gave of f almost no smoke.

  He slept, but awoke suddenly, feelin g the chill of night. Evening had come an d his fire had burned itself down to gray ash.

  Only one small branch still glowed. He fe d it gingerly with tiny bits of shredded bark , then with twigs.

  Conagher stripped off his shirt and , hanging the coat over his shoulders fo r warmth, bathed his wound again with ho t water and cliff rose, then powdered it wit h the crushed spectacle pod.

  After he put on his clothes he walke d with great care down to the bank of th e stream. In the brush close by he rigged a couple of snares, and then went over to th e notch through which he had crawled.

  Peering out, he could see only a patch o f sky, and below it the darkness where th e earth lay, the valley below the rim wher e he had taken refuge.

  Kneeling down, he began with hi s bowie knife to cut the brush away so tha t he could tunnel through to the other side.

  He would work a few minutes, then stop t o rest and to listen. Once he believed h e heard movement, but when he continue d to listen for a long time there was n o further sound. After a while, havin g scarcely made a dent in the clump o f brush, he went back to his camp, adde d fuel to the fire, and lay down, huddling a s much of him as possible under th e sheepskin coat.

  He slept, dreaming wild dreams, and h e awoke in a cold sweat. His side hurt hi m and he wanted to change his sleepin g position, but every movement hurt, so h e lay quiet listening to the leaves whisperin g and the subtle movements of smal l creatures. When morning came his snare s were empty.

  On this day he chewed some of th e leaves from the salt bush, drank wate r from the stream, slept, and woke again. He found and ate some juniper berries, an d rigged another snare.

  In the night he awoke, built up the fire , and huddled near it with the back wall o f the overhang as a reflector that threw th e heat back toward him. His head ached an d he was very tired, but he did not feel lik e sleeping. He heated water, crushed som e of the juniper berries into it, and drank th e liquid. He had heard that the Hopi s sometimes made a tea from junipe r berries. After a while he slept again, an d when he awoke it was raining.

  For a time he huddled over his fire, hi s feeling of irritation growing. Finally h e lurched to his feet, moved everythin g inflammable away from the fire, and takin g his rifle, went back to the opening.

  Listening, he heard nothing. Then h e hacked at the wall of thorny brush until a partial opening was made. He had starte d to go through, then stopped, went bac k and tore down his empty snares. He wanted nothing to be trapped there to di e uselessly.

  He forced his way through the brush , paused, and listened, but he heard nothin g except the soft fall of rain.

  Weak though he was, he had decide d that to stay here longer would only mea n that he would grow weaker. He worked hi s way along the comb-like ridge, and foun d a place where he could climb down slowl y and painfully.

  Off?to the right he saw what seemed t o be the glow of a fire, and he started towar d it. He needed food and he needed a horse , and he would be damned if he was going t o go without them when his enemiesi f that was who they werehad both.

  Judging by the stars, it was pas t midnight when he came close to the fire. I t was burning brightly under a crudel y made shelter.

  First he noted where the horses wer e tied, and then he saw his own horse ther e among them. Evidently they had foun d the horse running loose on the prairie, an d had roped and kept it.

  He looked around the camp. There wer e three men there, two of them
in their beds , sleeping; the other was dozing beside th e fire.

  Conn Conagher was weak as a cat, bu t he was mad clear through. He had a bitte r anger that drove him recklessly, and he di d not hesitate. He walked right into th e camp, kicked the rifle away from the hand s of the man who dozed, and put a bulle t into the ground between the two sleepin g men.

  One of them was young Curly Scott, th e other was Smoke Parnell himself. Th e man by the fire was Pete Casuse.

  The two sleeping men jerked erect an d Conagher held the gun on them . Dam n you, Smoke , he said, if I wasn't weak a s a cat I'd beat you within an inch of you r life. Now you lay right there, and yo u make a move, even to scratch, and so hel p me, I'll put a bullet in your belly.

  You, he said to Casuse , dish up a plate of that grub, and hurry .

  Si. Casuse started to rise.

  Stay where you are. Just reach ove r and ladle it up, and use your right hand. I never shot a man who wasn't holding iron , but right now I just don't give a damn .

  He lowered his rifle, slid his six-gun int o his hand, and proceeded to feed himsel f with his left hand.

  I hope you try something , he sai d grimly . I just hope you do. I'd like t o bury the three of you right on this spot.

  Now, Smoke, he said , I'm going t o ride out of here. You boys are then goin g to get up and leave the country, and if yo u stop this side of Tascosa or Trinidad , you're crazier than I think you are. You'v e had your try at me and you failed, but as o f noon tomorrow I'm hunting you, and I'm going to shoot on sight, without an y warning whatsoever. I am going to rid e your sign until you've killed me or I've pu t lead in all of you .

  Parnell stared at him . You're loco!

  You're plumb, completely loco !

  Maybe . . . but you've given me grief , and I'll take no more from any man. Al l I'm going to give you is a running start .

  He finished the plate of food and thre w down the plate, then he drank three cup s of coffee. Parnell made a slight move, and a bullet burned his shoulder.