“Most likely they’d ’ve run screamin’ the other way soon as they clapped their eyes on me.”
“Umm,” Nighthawk said.
“You’re right,” Audie said. He gave the pot a stir. “The stew does indeed appear to be ready.”
* * *
A couple of days later, they came to a good-sized stream that followed a twisting path between two rocky bluffs topped by scrubby brush. Preacher scouted out a spot where the northern bluff had fallen in on itself enough to create a trail. The wagons would be able to get down it, although the descent would be a rough, jolting one. The drivers would have to take it slow and easy or risk breaking an axle.
“Hold on,” Jamie told Fletch Wylie before the young man could start down the rugged slope. Jamie lifted a hand to reinforce the order to stop.
Fletch hauled back on the lines and brought the team to a halt. “Don’t we have to get across this stream to continue going south?”
“Yeah, but it’s not a good idea to start down into a canyon like that when you don’t know if there’s another way out. Preacher and Dog have gone on ahead to look for one.” Jamie hipped around in the saddle and pointed to a low, grayish-blue line on the western horizon. “See those little mountains over yonder? All it would take is a good-sized thunderstorm over there for a flash flood to come rampaging along this river and fill up the whole canyon.”
Clementine leaned forward on the seat and peered toward the stream. “I hoped we might make camp down there tonight. I can see some little trees and some shade and grass. It actually looks pleasant.”
“It does,” Jamie agreed, “but it’s not worth the risk until we know more.”
She beckoned him closer and lowered her voice to say, “I thought maybe I could go up around that bend and . . . and take a bath in the stream. I feel like I have at least an inch of trail dust on me!”
“Well, you might be able to do that,” Jamie allowed. “One person could climb out of there a lot faster than we could break camp and get the wagons and mules and horses out.”
“Make that two people,” Fletch said. “Clementine’s not going to do that without me going along to stand guard.”
“We’ll see.” Jamie wasn’t going to make up his mind or even discuss the matter any more until Preacher got back from scouting for a spot on the southern bank the wagons could handle. “For now we’ll just wait here.”
He didn’t have to explain to the other frontiersmen why they were stopping, but Noah Stuart was curious and asked about it. Jamie explained again. Stuart nodded, seeming to grasp the danger of flash floods right away.
Chester Merrick pointed to the distant mountains. “But the sky is clear over there. There aren’t any storms.”
“They can blow up in a hurry,” Jamie said, “and they can dump a lot of rain in just a little while.”
Merrick shook his head. “It’s so dry around here, you’d think that it never rained.”
“It doesn’t very often. I reckon that’s why it tries to make up for that when it does.”
The men loosened their cinches but didn’t unsaddle their horses, since they didn’t know how long it would be before Preacher returned. Some of them walked down to the stream to fill their canteens. Fletch brought up a bucket of water and let all the animals drink from it.
“If Preacher can’t find a way out of the canyon on the other side,” Clementine said to Jamie, “what will we do?”
“We’ll have to go one way or the other and follow the river until the canyon peters out and we can get across.”
“But that could take us miles out of our way, couldn’t it?”
“It could,” Jamie agreed. “But we don’t have to be anywhere at any particular time.”
“I know.” Worry lines creased Clementine’s forehead, and her teeth caught at her bottom lip for a second. “I was just thinking . . . We don’t know what happened with my brothers back up in Santa Fe.”
“I’m hoping the judge threw them in jail for thirty days for disturbing the peace the way they did.”
“But he could have sentenced them to less time than that, or even dropped the charges against them entirely.” Clementine turned, shaded her eyes with her hand, and gazed to the north as if she could see all those miles they had covered since leaving Santa Fe. “They could be coming up behind us right now.”
“They could be,” Jamie said, “but you’ve got to remember, you’re traveling with eighteen armed men. Those brothers of yours would have to be plumb loco to try anything with a bunch like that protecting you.”
“You don’t know them the way I do, Mr. MacCallister,” Clementine said solemnly. “Plumb loco may be the nicest way anybody could describe them.”
CHAPTER 20
Preacher returned late that afternoon, with Dog trotting along beside Horse. The big cur’s tongue lolled out redly because of the heat.
Jamie saw them coming and walked to the head of the trail to meet them. “Have any luck?” he asked the mountain man as he held up a hand in greeting.
Preacher reined the stallion to a halt and turned in the saddle to point toward the west. “There’s a place about a mile over yonder where the wagons can get up to the top of the bluff. It’ll be even rougher ’n this trail, but they can make it, I reckon. Be a good idea to unload the wagons and hitch both teams to ’em, one at a time, when they go to pullin’ up.”
Jamie nodded slowly as he considered what Preacher had just told him. “That’s a job that’ll take awhile. It’s too late in the day to start on it now.”
“That’s what I’m thinkin’, too,” the mountain man agreed.
“We’ll stay here tonight and cross the canyon first thing in the morning. We can reach that trail you found on the south side without any trouble?”
“Yeah, the bank’s wide enough for the wagons on both sides, and there’s a place part of the way where the river widens out a mite and shallows down. Good solid bed for fordin’. That won’t be a problem.”
Jamie was glad to hear it. While Preacher dismounted and began unsaddling Horse, Jamie went to inform the others of the plan.
“So we’ll make camp right here tonight,” he concluded, “and head down into the canyon in the morning.”
“You say we’re going to unload the wagons before they start up on the other side?” Edgerton asked.
“That’s right.”
“That means we’ll have to carry all the supplies up, crate by crate and bag by bag.”
Jamie nodded. “That’s about the size of it. You have a problem with that?”
“I didn’t sign on to be a pack mule,” the jug-eared frontiersman said.
A few of the other men nodded, expressing the same sentiment, and Dog Brother grunted.
“Shoot, don’t worry about that,” Greybull said. “I don’t mind totin’ the supplies up the slope. They won’t seem so heavy to a fella as big as me.”
“Ummm,” Nighthawk added.
“Nighthawk volunteers, as well,” Audie said.
For a moment, Jamie regarded the group with narrowed eyes. Then he shook his head and a harsh note entered his voice as he said, “Everybody does his part. Nobody’s going to sit around while Greybull and Nighthawk do extra shares of the work.” He fixed his gaze on Edgerton. “And anybody who doesn’t like that is free to turn around and ride back to Santa Fe.”
“I never said I wouldn’t do my share,” Edgerton responded in a surly tone. “Just said I didn’t much cotton to it, that’s all. I don’t have to like everything that comes out of your mouth, do I, MacCallister?”
“Nope. You’ve just got to do as you’re told.”
Edgerton stared coolly at him for a second, then shrugged. “Sure. Never intended otherwise.”
Jamie nodded, glad that Edgerton hadn’t forced the issue. He wasn’t afraid of the man, but where they were going, with the task they were facing, he couldn’t afford even a hint of mutiny among the group. It was best that they all understood that now.
The
y began unsaddling their horses and unhitching the mule teams for the night. Clementine searched among the brush for broken branches that would provide fuel for a fire. She came back with an armful of them and headed toward a cluster of rocks that would make a good location for the fire.
Ramirez watched her go about this chore with open admiration, Jamie noted. The gunfighter admired Clementine too much. That was liable to lead to trouble.
That thought had just passed through Jamie’s mind when a gunshot suddenly blasted. He’d been looking in Ramirez’s direction but hadn’t even seen the man’s gun hand move. The Mexican had a Colt gripped in his fist and powder smoke wisped from the barrel.
Clementine had cried out when the shot sounded, and in her surprise, she had flung the armload of firewood into the air. It clattered down around her as the echoes of the shot rolled away.
Instinct caused several of the men to react, as well. Jamie’s Walker Colt was in his hand, and Preacher had pulled his Dragoons. Deadlead gripped his revolver, as did Dog Brother. Some of the mountain men lifted their rifles.
“What in blazes!” Jamie barked. “Ramirez, drop that gun!” He trained the Walker on the Mexican gunfighter. “Now!”
Ramirez didn’t drop the gun, but he slid it back into its holster. With a sneer, he said, “What you should be doing instead of threatening me, Señor MacCallister, is asking what I was shooting at.”
“Well? What were you shooting at?”
Instead of answering directly, Ramirez smiled at Clementine and said, “Look at the ground beside you, Señora Wylie.”
Clementine looked down, then cried out again and jumped away from the rocks where she’d intended to place the firewood.
Jamie looked, too, and saw the long, thick, scaly shape still writhing there. A couple of strides took him to Clementine’s side. The gunfighter’s shot had blasted the snake’s head away completely, but the rattles on its tail, still buzzing faintly as the body spasmed, identified it clearly.
Pugh reached down, picked up the dead snake, and with a flick of the knife in his hand, cut off the rattles. He held them up and counted to twelve. “Dadgum!” he exclaimed. “This varmint was an ol’ grandpa.”
“How . . . how can you tell that?” Clementine asked. She was still clearly shaken.
“One year for ever’ rattle,” Pugh explained. He held out the grisly souvenir. “Here you go, Miss Clementine, if you want it.”
She shuddered. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I’ll take it,” Ramirez said as he stepped forward and took the rattles from Pugh. “I killed the thing, after all.” He smirked at Clementine again. “And saved your life, in all likelihood, señora.”
Fletch had been tending to the mules when the shot rang out, but had reached her side. He tried to put a comforting hand on Clementine’s shoulder, but she didn’t seem to notice that as she stepped over to Ramirez and lightly rested her fingertips on his forearm for a second.
“Thank you, Señor Ramirez,” she said. “I don’t know how you spotted that terrible creature among the rocks, but I’m certainly glad you did.”
“My pleasure,” Ramirez said. “It would have been a shame if it had bitten you.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Fletch put in, but his gratitude sounded pretty grudging.
Jamie figured the young man was relieved and grateful that Clementine was all right but wished that he had been the one to save her instead of Ramirez.
“Rattlers are all over this part of the country,” Preacher said. “Keep your eyes on the ground, watch where you’re steppin’, and don’t never stick your hand in a bunch of rocks without pokin’ around in there first with a branch or a rifle barrel. A bite from one o’ them critters won’t always kill a man, but more often than not, it does.”
“I suppose I should pick up this firewood I threw all over the place . . .” Clementine began.
“Lemme do that for you, ma’am,” Pugh offered. He took his hat off and held it in front of his chest as he volunteered.
“Thank you, Mr. Pugh. You’re a . . . a gentleman.”
“Well, I may not smell like one, but I got a good heart.”
While Pugh was doing that, Dog Brother picked up the dead snake and studied it.
Ramirez, who held the rattles in his left hand, said, “Are you going to eat that, Indian?”
“Rattlesnake’s not bad eating,” Dog Brother replied, “but I was thinking the skin would make a good band for my hat. Unless you believe it belongs to you as well.”
“Take it, savage. I have no use for it.”
Dog Brother tensed at the insult. Jamie and Preacher watched as the two men stared coldly at each other. They were ready to step in if gunplay threatened to erupt. They couldn’t afford to be killing each other off when they hadn’t even found any Apaches yet.
But then Dog Brother turned and strode away.
Preacher watched him go and said quietly, “Them two’s gonna get right down to it one o’ these days.”
“As long as it’s after we’ve done our job, they can shoot each other to doll rags for all I care,” Jamie said.
* * *
Once the fire was built, Audie got started preparing supper, so Clementine went to Jamie and asked if she could go down into the canyon and take that bath she had mentioned earlier.
“Is Fletch still going with you?”
“Of course.”
Jamie nodded. “Go ahead, then. Since we’re not camping down there, no need to go around the bend. Just move upstream or down a ways. Don’t take a long time about it, though. The sun’ll be down in less than an hour, and it’ll get dark down there sooner than it will up here.”
“All right. Thank you, Mr. MacCallister. I just can’t stand all this dirt any longer.”
Jamie smiled. “Hate to tell you this, but where we’re going, it’s liable to be even drier and dirtier.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll deal with that when the time comes.” She went to the wagon, took a clean shirt from one of the bags in the back, and told Fletch, “Let’s go. Mr. MacCallister said not to waste any time.”
Fletch grinned and said, “Am I gonna wash your back for you?”
She gave him a stern look. “I don’t think there’s time for that today.”
“Well, all right,” he said as he shook his head disappointedly. He carried Clementine’s rifle as they started down into the canyon, while she took the clean shirt, a towel, and a hunk of soap.
Neither of them were aware that two pairs of eyes were watching them intently, one pair from the camp and the other from the rugged bluff along the southern side of the river.
CHAPTER 21
“Turn around,” Clementine said when they had gone a couple of hundred yards downstream.
“Turn around?” Fletch repeated. “I’m your husband. I don’t have to turn around!”
“You do if I ask you to,” she insisted. “You’re supposed to be standing guard, and that means watching for trouble. You can’t do that if you’re staring at me.”
Reluctantly, he said, “I reckon you’re right. But like Mr. Edgerton said earlier about toting supplies, I don’t have to like it.”
Clementine nodded. “That’s what every woman wants to be compared to. Toting supplies.” She twirled a finger. “Turn around.”
Fletch sighed and turned around. He heard slight sounds and knew his wife was taking her clothes off.
“Maybe I’ll make it up to you later,” Clementine said. Water splashed softly as she waded into the river. “It’s cold! How can the water be cold when we’re in the middle of this country that’s almost a desert?”
“The stream comes from those mountains back to the west, and they’ve still got snow on ’em at this time of year. That goes into the water as it starts to melt.”
“I suppose. I’m getting used to it, anyway.”
Fletch stood there looking up and down the canyon as he listened to the splashing of Clementine bathing in the river. He tried to watch the tops of th
e bluffs as well, but other images kept crowding into his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about how Clementine probably looked right now. He could just imagine the fading reddish-gold light playing over her wet, fair skin . . .
A faint rustling in the brush along the stream about twenty yards away suddenly intruded on those pleasant thoughts. Fletch turned quickly toward the sound and was in time to see a branch moving. Something—or someone—was back there, and to Fletch’s mind, the only reason for anybody to be lurking along this stretch of river was to spy on Clementine bathing.
He immediately thought of Ramirez and the way the gunfighter had been eyeing her ever since they’d started on this journey, but it could be one of the other men, too. All of them had cast lustful glances Clementine’s way at one time or another, or so it seemed to Fletch, anyway.
A part of him wanted to bring the rifle to his shoulder and send a slug whistling through that growth, just to teach whoever it was a lesson, but he knew he couldn’t do that. Angry though he might be, he didn’t want to risk killing anybody. But he called over his shoulder, “Clementine, get down in the water as much as you can!” and charged toward the spot where he’d seen the brush moving.
He heard her exclaim, “Fletch, what in the world—” behind him, but then he didn’t have time to pay attention to anything else she might have said. Holding the rifle at a slant across his chest as he hurried forward, he shouted, “Whoever you are, mister, come on out of there!”
At that moment, his right foot came down on a rock that rolled underneath him. Thrown off balance, he stumbled and leaned far to his right as he struggled to stay on his feet.
That near-mishap turned out to be lucky, because it saved his life. The arrow that whipped out of the brush missed him by only inches as it flew past him on the left. If he hadn’t stumbled, it would have driven deep into his chest.
Fletch barely caught a glimpse of the feathered shaft, and it took his stunned mind a second to realize what he had just seen. He finally caught his balance as a wiry, almost naked Apache warrior burst out of the brush and lunged toward him, the knife in his hand upraised to strike.
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