Skip Malloy was feeling relaxed. He and Pocket had succeeded in crossing the river and finding their way into the mesa. As they lay with their backs against the wheel of the wagon, enjoying the late-afternoon sunlight, he rolled himself a cigarette.
‘How are you doin’, boy?’ he said. ‘The way I see it, you can be pretty proud of yourself. There’s not many folks can say they got as far as Sawn-Off Mountain.’
‘It feels OK, but what do we do now?’
‘We don’t do anythin’ for the moment,’ Malloy replied. ‘There ain’t no rush. Let’s just savour the fact that we’re here. Tomorrow we’ll start givin’ this place a good lookin’ over.’
‘Are you expectin’ to find somethin’?’
‘Well,’ Malloy said, ‘that just remains to be seen.’ He glanced at the pinched features of the boy. ‘I figure you could do with some grub inside of you,’ he said. ‘Just let me finish this smoke and I’ll rustle us up somethin’.
‘Should I start buildin’ a fire?’ Pocket queried.
‘Good idea. It might get colder once the sun’s gone down.’
The boy got to his feet and began to forage near by. Every now and again he raised his eyes to look at the surrounding hills. Malloy took a few final drags of his cigarette before flicking away the stub. Standing up awkwardly, he reached inside the wagon for supplies.
Chapter Six
Loman and his men burst from the cover of the stables with Tulane and Jordan in the van. Tulane was braced for a salvo of gunfire but it didn’t come. There were a few sporadic shots but they flew harmlessly past. He had been right about the placement of Rockwell’s men. He only hoped that his judgement would prove equally sound about Sawn-Off Mountain. They rode hard at first, keen to put some ground between themselves and the ranch house, but soon slowed down so as not to wind the horses. There was no reason to overdo things. Loman and Tulane were united in their opinion that Rockwell would wait for his reinforcements to come up before setting off in pursuit.
‘I’d still like to get to Sawn-Off Mountain pretty quickly,’ Tulane said. ‘Give us time to check the place out and choose the best ground to take on Rockwell.’
‘With all the rain we’ve had recently,’ Loman pointed out, ‘the river could be in flood. It could make it mighty hard to get across.’
‘There’s sure to be a ford somewhere,’ Tulane replied.
Soon the unmistakable outline of Sawn-Off Mountain appeared in the distance, looking dark and menacing against the cloudy sky. They moved steadily on but it didn’t seem to come any closer. As the day wore on the sky began to clear and the mountain changed from dark purple in colour to cobalt blue. No-one spoke. They were preoccupied with what might await them in the recesses of the mysterious butte. Suddenly Hellawell gave a shout.
‘Take a look over there!’
They drew rein and turned to where he was pointing. Although the traces were faint, it looked like the grass had recently been trampled.
‘Looks to me like some kind of cattle trail,’ Loman said. Veering away from the main bunch of riders, he and Hellawell went to investigate.
‘It’s kinda faded,’ Loman said, ‘but I’d say for sure that cattle have passed this way. Not many maybe, but some.’
‘Interestin’,’ Hellawell commented. ‘Looks like we might have an answer to where those rustled cattle have been driven. It’s funny, but I kinda had a hunch they might be stashed away somewhere down this way.’
‘And I guess we’ve got a pretty good idea who’s responsible,’ Loman said.
‘Rockwell!’ Jordan snapped.
‘You bet,’ Loman said. His features were determined. ‘Come on. Let’s not waste any more time gettin’ to Sawn-Off Mountain.’
They continued riding. As darkness fell the clouds finally cleared and the stars began to emerge. Almost without their realizing it, as if it had risen up from the earth, the mountain quite suddenly seemed a lot closer and soon they heard the noise of running water. They advanced to the banks of the river and looked across. The waters were swollen and seemed to offer little prospect of a crossing.
‘There’s got to be a ford someplace,’ Tulane remarked.
Loman was still pumped up. ‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘And it’s right here.’
Without waiting for a reply he drove his horse down the shallow banks and into the water, which quickly came flowing over the animal’s flanks. The horse was swimming and the watching men could sense the effort it was making as it strained against the pull of the current, which was carrying them downstream. Fearing that Loman might be in difficulties Tulane spurred his mustang and splashed into the river. The water surged around him and spray was flung into his face. He felt the bedrock slip away but the mustang was strong. He was gaining on Loman but the situation was not looking good.
As the waters deepened Tulane splashed water into the mustang’s face on the upstream side in an attempt to keep him going in the direction he wanted. Towards the middle of the stream the waters were circling in a kind of vortex and there was danger from debris. A tree branch struck Tulane’s horse and for a few moments he got entangled in it before the force of the current tore it away. Looking up, Tulane saw that Loman had been carried further away.
The situation was becoming serious when suddenly he felt a change as the mustang rallied and began to rise up out of the river. Its feet had bottomed and as he looked again towards Loman, he saw that he too seemed to have steadied his mount and to be travelling in a straighter line. He felt a surge of relief. The deeper water was not as wide as he had supposed and they both began to emerge from the river.
As he gained the further bank, Tulane came alongside the rancher, who grinned and let out a whoop. The men on the other side began to cheer as they dismounted. Tulane felt the same surge of elation but was sufficiently aware of the situation to realize how close they had come to disaster.
‘What in hell were you doin?’ he barked.
Loman was still grinning. ‘We got across, didn’t we?’
‘It was a damned fool thing to do,’ Tulane replied. He looked across to the other side of the river. Jordan and a couple of the men were about to enter the river but he waved them back.
‘It’s too dangerous!’ he shouted. ‘There’s got to be a better crossing. You boys find it and we’ll wait here!’
Loman’s grin faded and he looked at Tulane. ‘Who are you to give orders?’ he rasped. ‘Those boys ride for me and the Pitchfork.’
‘There’s nothin’ to be gained,’ Tulane replied. ‘Are you prepared to take the risk of losin’ some of them? There’s nothin’ we can do anyway till mornin’.’
Loman looked about him. Night had fallen and starlight sparkled on the dark waters. Looking across at the men on the opposite shore, he waved his arm in confirmation of Tulane’s instructions. They turned their horses and began to ride away along the banks of the river.
‘Guess we’d better be makin’ camp,’ Tulane said when they had gone.
In response, Loman strode to his horse and mounted. ‘You can make camp,’ he said. ‘I’m ridin’ the rest of the way to the mountain.’
‘What about the men?’ Tulane replied.
‘They’ll find us.’
Tulane didn’t move.
‘Come on,’ Loman said. ‘You’ve had your way about them crossin’ the river. You can let me have my way on this one.’
Tulane hesitated for a moment longer. ‘It would make more sense to wait here,’ he said.
Loman looked up at the towering mass of the mesa. ‘Since when did sense come into any of this?’ he said.
Tulane nodded. He made his way to the mustang and climbed into leather.
Although the night was bright, it was dark in the shadow of the butte. Sheer walls of rock towered over their heads as they searched for an opening.
‘Are none of your boys familiar with the place?’ Tulane asked.
‘Nope. Nobody comes this way.’
Loman looked intently along t
he line of the cliffs. He seemed peculiarly eager to push on.
‘Seems kinda strange that so few people have been here,’ Tulane continued.
‘It’s got a bad reputation,’ Loman said.
‘Assumin’ they found someplace to cross the river, the rest of the boys should be here pretty soon. I think we should set up camp and wait for them. They’ll be able to see our fire.’
‘So will Rockwell.’
‘Rockwell ain’t gonna be here till sometime tomorrow. Besides, he’s got the river to cross too.’
‘Maybe you’re right. Let’s just ride a little further and if we don’t find anythin’ we’ll do as you say.’
Tulane shrugged. ‘It’s dark. We should wait till daylight.’
Loman didn’t reply but spurred his horse forwards. Tulane followed. They were both scouring the base of the mountain, looking for an opening, but the walls were unbroken. Suddenly there was a disturbance and something sprang up in front of them. Instinctively they reached for their guns, then Tulane saw what it was.
‘It’s only a deer,’ he said.
The shadowy outline of the deer moved towards the cliff face and vanished as suddenly as it had come.
‘Where’s it gone?’ Loman snapped.
‘I don’t know. Let’s take a look.’
They rode towards the spot where the deer had disappeared behind a corner of the cliff.
‘I think we found something,’ Loman said.
Beyond the outcropping of rock was a deep cleft in the face of the precipice. Without waiting for discussion, Loman rode his horse into the crevice. Tulane had misgivings but, seeing that Loman was not to be deterred, rode into the cleft after him. It was rough going in the dark but the crevice soon widened. The moon had risen and poured light on to the cliff walls. They rode on into a narrow valley, the trail winding its way upwards. The horses picked their way cautiously. They were both good night horses but Tulane was concerned for their safety.
He was about to say something to Loman when there was a sudden flash of light and a booming crash reverberated from the cliffs. Loman’s horse went down, throwing its rider to the ground as Tulane quickly threw himself sideways. More shots echoed round the canyon and both horses went galloping away along the trail.
‘Are you hurt?’ Tulane said.
By way of reply Loman rose to his feet but Tulane pulled him back down again.
‘Don’t be a fool,’ he said.
‘What about the horses?’
‘Don’t worry about the horses. We can catch them later. They won’t go far.’
‘Who could have fired those shots?’
‘I don’t know, but we’d better take cover.’
As if to reinforce his words, more shots rang out, striking the ground but not too closely. Tulane observed the stabs of flame on the mountainside.
‘I figure there’s only one of them,’ he said. ‘He was probably just lucky with that first shot, but we’d better not take any risks.’
‘I don’t get it,’ Loman replied. ‘Who could be up there?’
‘I guess we’ll find out soon enough. I only wish I’d grabbed my rifle when I left the saddle. Come on.’
There was plenty of cover on both sides of the trail and they soon found shelter. They drew their six-guns and waited, but nothing happened.
‘What do we do? Try and make our way back to the entrance to the cleft?’ Loman said.
‘Yup. I figure whoever took those shots has gone.’
‘He might get reinforcements. There could be others.’
‘Who knows?’
Loman suddenly blew out his cheeks. ‘It could be one of Rockwell’s men. We saw that cow trail. Maybe they’re hidin’ the critters up here someplace.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I was thinkin’,’ Tulane replied, ‘in which case maybe I was wrong about makin’ our stand here. We could have just have ridden into a whole fresh bunch of trouble comin’ this way.’
‘Let’s round up the horses and get back,’ Loman said.
Tulane suddenly chuckled. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘I ain’t had a chance to give it much attention, but I’m gettin’ kinda hungry.’
Carefully, they made their way through the brush to where the horses stood further down the trail with their heads hanging.
‘Yours ain’t hurt, is he?’ Tulane asked.
Loman was running his hand over the horse’s hide.
‘Nope,’ he replied. ‘I figure the bullet might have just grazed him or maybe it was the noise scared him.’
They quickly mounted and began to make their way down the trail, watching the sides of the cliffs closely for any telltale signs of ambush. Tulane was fairly certain that their attacker had left and it seemed he was right. They reached the entrance to the cleft without further mishap. Choosing a spot close to the wall of the butte, they soon had a fire going. Loman placed some strips of bacon into a pan while Tulane boiled water in a blackened kettle. While they were eating, they watched out for signs of the others.
The moon was bright and they could see it sparkling on the river. The sounds of rushing waters were faint but clear. Even allowing for the fact that they were overhung by steep cliffs, it seemed to be peculiarly dark in the immediate vicinity although the landscape beyond was luminous. From time to time they both looked up at the towering, menacing wall of rock above them, conscious of its oppressive presence.
It was only when they had finished the bacon and beans and drunk a couple of mugs of coffee that they heard the sounds of horses and presently discerned the dim form of riders coming towards them from the direction of the river.
Skip Malloy clambered slowly and with some difficulty to the top of the ridge, pausing only once to look behind him. The two riders had taken cover. He could see their horses standing a considerable way off. Then he made his way back down a winding trail to where he had left the wagon and the boy. Pocket was looking anxiously into the darkness.
‘I heard shots,’ he said when the oldster came up. ‘I was gettin’ worried. I thought . . . then I figured it was maybe you doin’ the shootin’.’
The oldster leaned towards Pocket. He was having some difficulty observing the movement of his lips in the dark. When Pocket had repeated his question, Malloy shook his head.
‘Now why would I do that? It would only give away the fact that we’re here.’
Pocket looked puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘You figure it out. If it wasn’t me or those men we saw, then somebody else musta been doin’ it.’
Loman and his men had not been the only ones to have observed the cattle trail. Malloy had noticed it too and drawn the same conclusion: that rustled cattle were being driven down to Sawn-Off Mountain. He had observed Tulane and Loman ride towards the butte and assumed they were two of the rustlers. Now he was as confused as the boy. They couldn’t have been cattle rustlers. The rustlers themselves must have been responsible for the shots – probably some lookout. So who were the two newcomers?
‘Listen carefully to me, boy,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what in tarnation is goin’ on here, but it’s not how I thought it would be. Things could get mighty awkward. We gotta hide that wagon as best we can and then find someplace to make ourselves scarce till things blow over.’ He looked about him. ‘There must be plenty of places we can hide.’
‘What about the horse?’
‘He comes with us.’
Pocket wasn’t sure how to react. He felt scared but at the same time excited. This was an adventure. He trusted the oldster.
‘Come on,’ Malloy said. ‘We got work to do.’
With the coming of dawn, Loman and his cowboys were on the move. The shadow of the butte lay dark and heavy across the landscape and the growing light somehow did little to dispel the gloom. With Loman and Tulane taking the lead, they arrived at the narrow cleft leading into the mesa and entered it, riding in single file. It was dark in the defile but as they rode the canyon broadened. The air was cool but Tul
ane sensed that as the sun rose higher, it would grow hot. He looked up at the canyon walls, looking for the location of the previous night’s unknown gunman. Water was trickling from somewhere high above them. The others glanced about them also, knowing that there was risk of coming under attack.
They rode on for a further mile or so. The canyon continued to open out and the going became easier. Soon they were splashing through a shallow run off; they were following a stream bed which would normally have been dry but was flowing from the previous rains. Just as they were beginning to relax a little the trail took a turn and they were faced a little way ahead by a wall of rock.
‘Hell,’ Loman said. ‘It’s a box canyon. Looks like we’ll have to turn right round.’
‘There’s got to be a way through,’ Tulane said. ‘Let’s carry on followin’ the stream.’
The way ahead certainly looked blocked but as they approached the rock wall they saw that the meandering waters were fed by a narrow rill which came down the mountainside and seemed to offer a way up.
‘What do you think, Tulane?’ Loman said. ‘You figure we could get the horses up there?’
Tulane’s eyes were screwed up in concentration. ‘It’ll be difficult,’ he said, ‘but I figure we can do it. At least let’s give it a try and see how far we get.’
Loman turned to the others. ‘OK men!’ he shouted. ‘Follow me.’ He spurred his horse forward and Tulane closed up behind.
By the time he had found the ford and got across the river, Marsden Rockwell was in a thoroughly bad mood. Loman and his men had escaped his attack on the Pitchfork L and forced him to embark on an unwelcome and drawn-out ride. The arrival of reinforcements had boosted his bunch of hardened gunslicks and they were a sizeable force, but he now had the inconvenience of having to track Loman right into the heart of Sawn-Off Mountain. It was getting late. He was faced with a choice: whether to carry on or call a halt for the day. While the last of the bunch were crossing the river, he called Folsom to his side.
‘What do you reckon?’ he asked. ‘Do we press on or let the boys rest up till mornin’?’
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