THE END OF A TRAIL
Johnny ducked down behind a bowlder, for a horseman, sharply
silhouetted against the crimson glow of the sunset, rode parallel to
the edge of the cliff; and, judging from the way he was scrutinizing
the ground, he was looking for tracks. While he searched, another
horseman rode from the north and joined him. They made a splendid
picture, rugged, lean, hard; their sharply-cut profiles, the jaunty
set of the big sombreros, their alert and wiry cow-ponies, silhouetted
against the crimson and gold sky; but to the hidden watcher there was
no poetry, no art, in the picture, for to him it was a thing of danger,
a menace. Their voices, carelessly raised, floated to him distinctly.
"Find anythin'?" asked Ben Gates ironically.
"Just what I reckoned I'd find, which was nothin'," answered Harrison.
"Ackerman's loco. But I reckon it's better than loafin' around down
below. I was gettin' plumb fed up on that."
"It's all cussed nonsense. Nelson's cleared out for good. He ain't no
fool; an' there's too many of us."
"Seen th' others?"
"Only when they left. They ought to be ridin' back purty soon I reckon.
This finishes this side, don't it?"
"Yes; they'll comb th' west side tomorrow; an' then take th' north
end. Ridin' in daylight ain't so bad; but I got a fine chance seein'
anythin' at night. An' I hope he _has_ cleared out; a man on a bronc
looks as big as a house."
"Don't ride at all; lay up somewhere near th' canyon, trail an' let
_him_ do th' movin'. But, h--l! He's gone out of this country."
"That's just what I was aimin' to do. I could ride within ten feet of a
man in th' dark, with all th' cover there is up here, an' not see him.
Don't you worry about yore Uncle Nat; he's shore growed up. But it's
all fool nonsense, just th' same."
"Oh, well; it'll make things pleasanter down below," grinned Gates.
"It'll stop th' arguin'. Quigley's gettin' near as nervous as Ackerman.
He's gettin' scared of shadows since Jim laced it into him. Well, I'm
goin' on; if I meets Holbrook I'll tell him to take th' south end. So
long."
They separated and went their respective ways, and while Johnny watched
them he suddenly heard a murmur of voices below him, and he squirmed
between two big bowlders as the sounds came nearer.
"Well, we've shore combed this side," said one of the newcomers. "An'
that ends part of a fool's errand."
"We shore have," grunted another. "An' it did us good, too. We all have
been gettin' too cussed lazy for any account. I reckon a certain amount
of work is th' best friend a man has got."
"Mebby; anyhow, I know that my appetite is standin' on its hind laigs
yellin' for help," laughed the third. "An' we have th' satisfaction of
knowin' everythin' is all right out here. Cussed if I couldn't eat a
raw skunk!"
"But that ain't what I'm drivin' at," said the first speaker, his voice
growing fainter as they rode on. "I claims if he is workin' for th' CL
he only has to get one look in our valley to tell him all he wants to
know. If he's up here, or has been up here, that would be enough. He
wouldn't stay here day after day like a dead dog in a well."
As the words died out in the distance Johnny started to slip out from
between the bowlders, when a sharp _spang!_ rang out at a rock near his
waist, and a whining scream soared skyward. An opening made by a split
in the bowlder had partly revealed his moving body to a pair of very
keen eyes on the lookout for just such a sign. A second later the flat
report of the shot cracked against his ears, but he was on the other
side of the bowlders and leaping down the steep hillside when he heard
it. As he cleared a big rock he landed almost upon a slinking coyote,
which instantly destroyed distance at an unbelievable speed. It shot
up the hill, over the crest, and sped like an arrow of haze across the
open table-land. Another shot rang out and a laughing voice shouted
greeting.
"Hi-yi! Who-o-p-e-e-e! Scoot, you streak of lightnin'! Cookie's layin'
for you with nine buckshot in each barrel. But I'm a drunk Injun if you
didn't fool me."
A peeved voice raised loudly in the twilight. "Hey! D--n you! Look out
where yo're shootin'! That slug ricochetted plumb between our heads!
Ain't you got no sense a-tall?"
"That's right! Start kickin'!" retorted Gates at the top of his voice,
"Didn't you ever hear a slug before? Don't you know that th' slug you
can hear is past you?"
"That so? How'd _you_ like to listen to one _now_?" angrily shouted the
objector. "How do _I_ know that th' _next_ one is goin' past?"
"Ah, go to h--l!" jeered Gates. "Little things make big bumps on _you_,
you sage hen!"
"_Little_ things!" roared a second voice. "_Little_ things! Would you
_lissen_ to him? It sounded like a train of cars to me, d--d if it
didn't!"
"Thinks he's treed another cougar," laughed a third voice.
The three appeared upon the plateau and rode toward the disgruntled
marksman, their hands up over their heads in mock anxiety and
surrender. Down from the north rolled a swift, rhythmic drumming, and
Harrison, eagerly alert, his rifle balanced in his hands, slid to a
dusty stop.
"What is it?" he demanded.
"Reckon it was Cookie's pet ki-yote," grinned Gates. "There ain't
nothin' with wings, even, can beat 'em. He just melted."
"Yo're a d--d fool!" swore Harrison angrily.
"Huh! I could 'a' told you that long ago," observed Purdy. "You just
catchin' on?"
"I saw somethin' move," retorted Gates. "It slid past that crack an'
th' sun caught it purty fair, so I let drive. How th' devil do you
suppose _I_ knowed it was a ki-yote? Think I'm one of them mejums an'
has second sight?"
"Never!" chuckled Fleming. "People make mistakes, but th' man don't
live, free an' unrestrained, that would think you had second sight.
He might even be doubtful about th' first sight. You want to practice
second _look_. Look twice, pray, an' then count ten, Dan'l, old
trapper."
"He oughta be penned up nights," growled Sanford. "He's a cussed sight
more dangerous than a plague."
Another rider joined them from the south. "Dan'l Boone at it again?" he
asked, grinning.
"He is!" snapped Purdy.
Harrison quieted his horse. "You fellers take him home with you, an'
keep him there. He shoots at anythin' that moves! I'm goin' to take
root right here till he gets down below. Mebby he might take me for
somethin' suspicious."
"If I'd 'a' got that chicken-thief," placidly remarked Gates, "I'd 'a'
slipped it into Cookie's coop tonight, cussed if I wouldn't!"
"You keep away from his coop," warned Fleming, with a solemn shake of
his head. "He's another that shoots at anythin' that moves."
Holbrook looked at Harrison. "You takin' th' north end tonight?"
"Yes; but I'm stayin' right here till Davy Crockett gets down on th'
range. Don't you move, Frank; he'll likely blow you apart if you do."
"Glad he ain't ridin' in yore place. Good night, fellers."
The group split up and four of the riders rode toward the canyon trail.
"Take th' lead. Art," said Purdy. "You know that ledge better'n we do."
Holbrook and Harrison watched them disappear, consulted a few moments
and then separated.
At the bottom of the steep eastern bank of the plateau, Johnny, a vague
blur in the fading light, hastened stealthily into the brush. When
assured that he was safe from observation he swung north and made the
best time possible in the darkness over such ground, eager to reach his
horse, which was picketed more than a mile away.
"Huh!" he grunted. "So they're combin' th' country an' patrolin'.
Hereafter an' henceforth I've got to play Injun for all I'm worth.
An' if they comb th' west side tomorrow I've got to move my camp at
daylight."
To the southwest of the rustlers' ranch Ackerman and his new friend
had sworn day after day, for they found no tracks to follow. After
riding up several creeks to their head-waters they gave up such careful
searching and went blindly ahead in the direction Ackerman thought
their enemy would take; and the ashes of dead camp-fires from time to
time told them that they had decided right.
At last they came to a point due west of the little valley of the
burned cabin, and Ackerman did not choose to pass the stream which
flowed from that direction. As the day was about done they camped on
the bank of the little tributary and planned the next day's work.
Arising early the following morning Ackerman divided the supplies and
gave part of them to Long Pete.
"Well," he said, smiling grimly; "here's where we separate. We're north
of Twin Buttes, an' that means we are about even with th' south end of
our ranch. He could 'a' turned off any place from here on because when
he got this far he had just about arrived.
"Now I reckon I better keep on follerin' th' big creek, for I got a
feelin' that I know purty well just about where he's located. But we
can't overlook no bets. You foller this crick to th' end, or till you
see where he left it. An' you meet me tonight, if you can, at th' south
end of that big butte up there, th' one with th' humpback.
"I've told you he's dangerous, chain-lightnin' with his guns; an' I'm
tellin' you now to make shore you won't forget it. If you run across
him, shoot first, as soon as you see him. You can't beat him on th'
draw; an' while I don't like to shoot a man that way, I'm swallerin' my
pride in this case because he's a spy, or else he'd never ride up th'
cricks for forty miles. I never heard of anybody bein' so cautious an'
patient _all_ th' time. We got to get him; if we don't there'll be h--l
to pay."
"Don't you get no gray hair about me," growled Long Pete. "I know what
it means, d--n him!" A smile flitted across his face. "But I shore
has to laugh at th' son-of-a-gun! An' me thinkin' he was a prospector,
an' loco! I'd feel ashamed of myself if I really _did_ think he was a
prospector. You see, I've seen prospectors before. You mustn't mind
me makin' a break like that once in a while; I've had to fool so many
folks I can't sort of get my bearin's now. I'd be prouder of gettin' a
man like him than anythin' I ever done. Did you gimme plenty of grub?
All right; I'm movin' on now. So long."
"So long; an' good luck," replied Ackerman, going north along the creek.
Long Pete rode carefully up his own watery way, thoroughly alert and
closely scrutinizing both banks.
"Settin' on a cayuse, out here, don't set well on my stummick," he
muttered uneasily. "I'd mebby be more prominent cavortin' around on a
mountain top, or ridin' upside down on th' under side of a cloud, but I
ain't hankerin' after no prominence. Nope; I'm a shrinkin' wiolet. An'
_splash! splash!_ says th' bronc. _Splash! splash!_ reg'lar as a watch,
for th' whole wide world to hear, observe, an' think about. Long Pete,
yo're a fool. Long Pete, yo're several, all kinds of fools. What you
should oughta do is picket th' bronc an' perceed with more caution, on
yore belly like a silent worm, or at least on yore kneecaps an' han's,
like a--like a--a--who th' h--l cares what? Day after day we been
temptin' Providence. 'Hurry up!' says he. 'Hurry be d--d!' thought I.
But we hurried. Yes sir. But it must be did. D--n th' _must_. All my
sinful life there was a _must_ or a _mustn't_. It's a _must-y_ world.
He-he! That ain't a bad one, or I'm a liar!
"All serene. Both banks lovely. Lush grass an' mosquitoes an' _flies_.
_Splash! Splash!_ _Ker_-splash! _Ker_-splash! Slop inter it, bronc.
Don't mind my stummick. Keep lungin' on, pluggin' right ahead, stubborn
as th' workin's of hell. _Long Pete! Long Pete! Ker-splash! Here's Long
Pete!_ Tell him, bronc; grease th' chute for yore boss. Even th' frogs
got more sense; they shut up when they hears us. It's a gamble, bronc;
a toss-up. Our friend, Mr. James Ackerman, says: 'Here, Long Pete. We
done reached th' partin' of th' ways. He could 'a' left th' crick any
place, now. Over east yonder is where he was burned out. You take that
way, an' I'll go on north where I reckon I know mebby where he oughta
be.' That's what he _said_, bronc. But what he kept a damp, dark, deep
secret was: 'But I know he ain't. He's east, where he knows th' lay of
th' land. Where he feels at home. An' anyhow, Long Pete, you know too
d--d much about our affairs.' He's a friend of ours, bronc; we know
that--but he's a better friend of hisself.
"We must watch both banks, bronc; watch 'em close. All right; but this
time we'll just bust h--l out of Mr. Must. We'll square up, right now,
for th' way Mr. Must has horned inter our affairs all our fool life.
Come on; get out of this! That's right. Now you stand there an' drip.
I'm going to travel humble an' quiet. I don't want no fife an' drum to
lead _me_ to war; no ma'am; not a-tall."
Long Pete's low, muttered chatter ceased as he wriggled through the
cover. Minutes passed as he went ahead, glancing continually at the
banks of the small creek for the telltale signs. He wormed around
some scattered bowlders and came to the edge of a small, rock-floored
clearing, where he paused.
A movement half-way up on a mesa close by caught his eye, and he backed
over his trail, wriggled around the little clearing and began to stalk
that particular mesa ledge. Yard after yard was put behind him, nearer
and nearer he approached the ledge and a nest of bowlders three hundred
yards from it. The bowlders were his objective, for, once among them,
he would have the view he wished. Leading to them was a brush-covered
ridge and toward this he cautiously advanced, rifle at the ready and
every sense alert. But he never reached it.
Behind him and two hundred yards to his right a man slowly arose from
behind a rock and, resting a rifle on the bulwark, took slow and
careful aim at the gray shirt crawling close to the ridge. There was a
flash, a puff of smoke, a sharp report. Pete, a look of great surprise
on his face, tried to rise and turn to pay his debt, crumpled suddenly
and lay inert, sprawled grotesquely on the ground.
The man behind the rock mechanically reloaded and walked slowly toward
his victim, waving his sombrero in a short arc. On his face was an
expression of triumphant joy. Up on the ledge of the mesa wall another
man arose, acknowledged the signal and began to climb down the wall as
hurriedly as safety would permit. When he reached the prostrate figure
he found the successful marksman standing like a man in a trance, a
look of blank wonderment on his face, his lower jaw sagging loosely.
"Good for you!" said the man from above; and then he paused. "What's
th' matter?" A ghastly suspicion flashed into his mind and he leaped
forward to see who the victim was. He arose relieved, but as surprised
as his companion. "Lord! I was scared you'd got one of th' boys, from
th' way you looked! Who th' devil is _this_ feller? An' what's he doin'
up _here_? I've seen him before; who th' devil _is_ he?"
The other drew a long breath. "It's Long Pete, of th' Circle S; but
what he's doin' up here is past me. Look at his shirt, his hat, an' say
he don't look like Nelson from th' back! He only wears one gun, but I
couldn't see that; th' grass an' brush hid it. But, just th' same, he
was stalkin' you! If you'd 'a' shoved up yore head, he'd 'a' drilled
it, _shore_!"
"But why should he stalk _me_?" demanded Harrison. "He didn't have
no business up here; he didn't have no reason to sneak along, an'
he didn't have no call to stalk me! Say! Mebby he's throwed in with
Nelson! If he has, mebby his outfit has throwed in, too! Mebby they're
up here strong, an' closin' in from all directions, for a show-down! We
better warn th' boys, an' get back to Quigley; an' d--d quick!"
"Go ahead," said Gates. "I'll get his cayuse an' foller close. Where's
Art an' Frank?"
"They went on north--I'm off after 'em," snapped Harrison. "Let his
cayuse be. You hot-foot it to Quigley!"
"Come on!" growled Gates, wheeling. "They may be on both sides of th'
ranch!"
Jim Ackerman, riding slowly along the bank of the main creek, saw
everything that could be seen by a man with keen eyes; and he felt
nervous. There was cover all about him, good cover; and any of it might
be sheltering the man he was hunting. There was no sense for him to
ride along the bank, an inviting target that a boy hardly could miss;
there was no sense in riding at all; so he picketed his horse and went
ahead on foot.
Gaining Humpback Butte, the meeting place he had mentioned to Long
Pete, he worked along its eastern base, noiselessly, cautiously,
alertly; and he stopped suddenly as he caught sight of the ashes of
a dead fire; stopped and looked and listened and sniffed. It did not
smell like a fire that had been dead very long, he thought; and then a
playful little whirlwind, simulating ferocity, spun across the partly
covered ashes and caught up a bit of charcoal which glowed suddenly as
if winking about what it knew and could tell.
Ackerman flitted back into the brush and when he again reached the
side of the butte he was north of the camp, and had viewed it from all
angles. Pausing for a moment he started back again, on a longer radius,
and soon found Pepper's newly made tracks in a moist patch of sand, and
hurried along the trail until he saw where it entered the creek. No
need for him to wonder which way the submerged and obliterated trail
led; for it must lead north. Otherwise he would have met his enemy.
Swearing in sudden exultation he whirled and ran at top speed to gain
his horse.
Ackerman knew Humpback Butte and its surrounding valley and canyons
as he knew the QE ranch, for he had spent days hunting all over that
country; and he knew that the great slopes of the valley grew steadily
steeper as they reached northward until they became sheer cliffs
without a single way up their walls that a horse could master. A mile
above Humpback Butte the walls curved inward until only a scant six
hundred yards lay between them; and on the southern side of the eastern
cliff, which jutted out into the valley, hidden behind an out-thrust
point, was a narrow canyon leading into the valley which formed the
northwestern outlet of the QE ranch. For nearly five miles north of
Humpback Butte extended the valley, now a great, wide canyon; and not
one of the several blind canyons in its great walls gave a way out.
Anyone passing the hidden canyon would hunt in vain for an exit and
have to return again.
Reaching his horse, Ackerman mounted and rode north at top speed,
guiding the animal over grass as he threaded his way in and out among
the obstructions. Speed was the pressing need now, for if he could
gain the hidden canyon before his enemy found it on his return, he had
him trapped. There was an up-thrust mass of rock, covered with brush
and scrub timber, which lay before the entrance of the canyon; once up
on that he could command both the canyon and the valley, the greatest
range not over five hundred yards.
Dismounting in a thicket close to the entrance, he slipped to the
canyon and looked for tracks. Finding none he clambered up on the mass
of rock and searched the valley for sight of Nelson. For a quarter
of a mile he could follow the winding creek and he watched for a few
minutes, studying the whole width of the valley.
"I've beat him; an' he ain't come back yet," he chuckled grimly. "I got
five minutes to look in th' canyon an' be dead shore!"
For a hundred yards the little creek flowed along the north wall of the
canyon and he wasted no time on it; any man who would ride for forty
miles in creeks would not forsake the water for a mere hundred yards.
Running at top speed he dashed around a bend, eager for what he would
find. There was a six-foot drop in the bottom of the canyon, and a
small waterfall, where a rider would be forced to forsake the creek to
climb the ridge. A quick glance at a wide belt of sand running out from
the ledge at a place where it had crumbled into a steep slope told him
that no one had passed that way, and he wheeled and ran back to gain
the great pile of rock outside.
"Got you!" he panted triumphantly. "Yo're a clever man, Mr. Nelson; but
you can't beat a stacked deck. Here's where I pay for a certain day in
Hastings!"
As he reached the mouth of the canyon he heard a crashing in the
brush near where he had left his horse and he dove into cover like a
frightened rabbit. The crashing continued and then he heard the animal
tearing off leaves, and the swish of the released branches. As he
slipped forward, cursing under his breath, the horse emerged and walked
slowly up on a ridge, where it paused to look calmly around.
"D--n you!" raged Ackerman, leaping forward. "I'll learn you to stay
where I put you! H--l of a cow-pony _you_ are!"
Grabbing the reins he kicked the horse on the ribs and dragged it back
into the thicket, where he tied it short to a tree. As soon as the
knots were drawn tight he scurried along the ridge, slipped through a
clump of scattered brush and climbed frantically up the side of the
mass of rock. A swift glance about reassured him, and, settling behind
a rock, he patted his rifle and softly laughed.
An hour passed, and then suddenly he heard a plunging in the thicket
below him. Pivoting like a flash, he faced about and threw himself
flat on the ground, his rifle cuddled against his cheek. To his utter
amazement his own horse walked into view again, the broken reins
dangling and dragging along the ground. A gust of rage swept over him
and he came within a hair of shooting the animal; only the need for
silence kept his tightening trigger-finger from pressing that last
hundredth of an inch. White with rage, choking with curses, he writhed
behind his breastwork, for the horse was on the ridge again, a bold,
skyline target for any eye within a mile.
"Th' journey home will be yore last!" he gritted furiously, slipping
down the steep incline as rapidly as he dared. "We'll see if you can
bust my rope, doubled twice! If you strain at th' rig _I_'m goin' to
fix, you'll choke yoreself to death, d--n you!"
Driving it back into the thicket he fastened it to a sapling with the
lariat, doubled twice; and the noose around the animal's neck was a
cleverly tied slip-knot.
"Now, d--n you!" he blazed, kicking the horse savagely. "Take _that_,
an' _that_, an' _that_!"
Reaching up to readjust the rope he suddenly froze in his tracks as a
crisp voice hailed him.
"Keep 'em up!" said Johnny, stepping into view. "Turn around--_keep 'em
up_!"
Cool as ice and perfectly composed, Ackerman slowly obeyed and scowled
into the muzzle of a leveled Colt, waiting for his chance.
"A man that treats a cayuse like that ain't hardly worth a bullet,"
said Johnny. "If you'd 'a' looked at them reins you'd 'a' seen th'
knife-pricks."
Ackerman smiled grimly with understanding, but made no answer.
"Sorry that human ramrod ain't with you," continued Johnny. "If I'd
knowed he was a friend of yourn I'd 'a' stopped him cold down south of
Hastings."
Ackerman scowled. "Talk's cheap. Th' man with th' drop can find a lot
to say, if he's a tin-horn."
Johnny slipped the Colt into its holster and slowly raised his hands
even with his shoulders. "I want you to have an even break," he
muttered. "But I ain't goin' to stay here till that Circle S puncher
blunders onto us. I'll wait one minute. It's yore play."
"I've been waitin' for a chance like this," said Ackerman. "Remember
how you kicked me? I allus pay my debts. Th' next time--" He sprang
aside with pantherish speed and the heavy Colt glinted as it leaped
from his holster and flashed in an eye-baffling arc. A spurt of flame
flashed from his hip and a rolling cloud of smoke half hid him as he
pitched forward on his face.
Johnny staggered and stepped back out of the smoke-cloud which swirled
around him and fogged his vision. A trickle of blood oozed down his
cheek and gathered in his three-days beard. Peering at the huddled
figure, he pushed his gun back into its holster and wiped the blood
from his face.
"There ain't many as good as you with a gun, Ackerman," he muttered.
"Well, I got to get out of here. Them shots will shore call some of th'
others; an' I'd rather let 'em guess than know."
He sprinted to Ackerman's horse, released it and stripped it of saddle
and bridle, turning it loose to freedom and good grass; and then,
slinging the pack of supplies on his back, hastened to his own horse
and rode away.
All day long Pepper moved ahead as fast as the country would permit,
first north, then east, and finally south; and when she was stopped in
mid-afternoon she was under the frowning wall of the southern Twin,
three miles east of Quigley's stone houses and less than half a mile
from the trail used by the rustlers when they rode abroad.
The very audacity of his choice of a camp site tended to make it
secure; and it was in the section combed by the rustlers only the day
before; it was under the most prominent landmark for miles around and
practically under the nose of the QE outfit. His camp-fire and its
almost invisible streamer of smoke from carefully selected dry wood
was screened on the south and east by the great side of the southern
Twin, and on the north and west by the bulk of the northern Twin; and
by the time the filmy vapor reached the tops of those towering walls it
would have become as invisible as the air of which it was a part. And
because of the tumbled chaos of rock, ridge, arroyos, bowlders, shrubs,
and trees, the little tent easily could be overlooked by anyone passing
within twenty feet.
It had been his intention the day before to watch that out-bound trail
in hope of following the next raiding party and learning what Logan
wanted to know; but now he was forced to change his plans.
"All right," he muttered as he finished putting the new camp to rights.
"As long as you know I'm here, an' are huntin' me down, it's time I
showed my teeth. I'm goin' gunnin': it's a game two can play."
Having had his supper and lashed a small pack of food and ammunition on
his back, he led Pepper farther down the chasm between the two buttes
and let her graze where she pleased, knowing that she would not stray
far. Then he plunged into the tangled cover and headed toward the
entrance canyon of the QE ranch.