explaining about some things that took place last night just this side
of the divide.”
“Well, well, Chuck. I figured I’d find you somewhere along the trail,
but hadn’t counted on you and Slim being together. Know each other
pretty well?”
“We ought to. We’ve done better than twenty miles of hoofing it along
this trail since sunup. My feet are just about killing me.” Chuck sat
down and dragged off his boots, massaging the bottoms of his burning
feet with his hands.
“Let’s hear the story, boys,” said Old Bill. “Tell me what happened last
night and I’ll tell you how I happened to get hold of Lightning.”
Slim looked at Chuck.
“Everything happened this side of the divide and you were the first over
the summit. Start the ball rolling.”
“There’s plenty to tell,” began Chuck. “I’d been taking it fairly easy,
figuring on plenty of time to get to the foot of the trail. A little
more than a half hour of easy riding this side of the crest of the trail
a couple of hombres cut loose on me with rifles.”
“Didn’t they give you any warning?” asked the old cattleman.
“Not a peep until the Winchesters started blazing away. The first thing
I knew my horse caved in and pitched me off. I managed to get my rifle
and ducked into a side canyon, but it was a trap--no way out. The other
two had plenty of shelter behind boulders in that dry wash and they
blazed away every time I moved. It was getting along toward dark and
looking plenty tough for yours truly when someone else voted himself a
hand in the party and cut loose on the bushwhackers from behind.”
Old Bill chuckled. “It isn’t hard to guess who you’re talking about.”
“Well, that changed everything. Slim hit one of them in the elbow and
they decided they’d had enough, but on the way out they circled around
and stole Slim’s horse.”
“So you started hoofing it down the trail.”
“You mean we started limping down the trail,” said Slim. “These boots of
mine were never made for walking and I don’t know when I’ve suffered
such agony.”
“That goes for me, too,” said Chuck.
“How about you, Slim? Let’s hear your side of the story,” Old Bill
urged.
“There isn’t a whole lot more to tell. I had made camp this side of the
summit and was just sitting down to supper when the firing started. I
could tell it was two against one so I got my rifle and did a little
scouting. When I got down in the wash, I could see they had Chuck penned
up and were shooting to kill. I challenged them and they let me have a
little lead, so I cut loose. They got away and stole Lightning and I’ve
been kind of miserable until you showed up.”
“And say, you don’t know how near death you were a few minutes ago,”
Chuck said. “Slim had you lined between his sights and was all set to
let you have it. Then he decided he couldn’t kill a man in cold blood.”
“So he just whistled and had Lightning dynamite me right out of the
saddle,” chuckled Old Bill. “Maybe the shooting wouldn’t have been so
bad after all.” He rubbed his bruised body with exploring fingers.
“Danged wonder every bone in my body wasn’t broken.”
“You take your falls hard,” admitted Chuck.
“I want to know where you found Lightning,” said Slim.
“The bushwhackers rode past my camp this afternoon and I recognized
Lightning in a minute. I knew you would be riding Lightning on a trip
like this and I didn’t waste time nor lead. They were leading Lightning
and when I started shooting, she broke away. After what you did to them
last night, those fellows didn’t have much stomach for another fight and
they took out full gallop for the Creeping Shadows valley. It wasn’t
much trouble to round up Lightning for she seemed to remember me a bit
from my visits to the Flying Arrow. But boy, when you whistled she
forgot all about me. I never saw a horse go up so quick or come down so
hard. Don’t ever do that again to me.”
“I never will,” promised Slim, “but it’s a good trick to keep in the
bag. If I’d been real smart last night I think I could have stopped
Lightning by whistling to her, but I wasn’t thinking very straight. When
I heard the bushwhackers galloping off on her I just saw red in about
five different shades.”
“Don’t blame you a bit, son,” said Old Bill. “Now let’s get down to the
business of making camp and getting some grub. No use of our going to
the bottom of the trail tonight. We’ll make camp here and I’ll tell you
what I’ve got up my sleeve.”
Slim looked toward Chuck and jerked a thumb.
“What about him?”
“He’s in this thing as deep as you are. Just have a little patience.
We’ll eat, then talk. A man can’t think well on an empty stomach.”
Chapter Seven
Explanations
They agreed with Old Bill’s simple philosophy and all three set about
making camp. Slim took care of Lightning and Old Bill’s horse while
Chuck went about rustling an armful of wood.
Old Bill opened his blanket roll and a goodly supply of provisions was
revealed, something more than the bitter coffee on which they had tried
to satisfy their hunger that day.
A crackling fire was soon going, the bacon broiling and the potatoes
frying. There was plenty of bread and a pot of delicious coffee. Slim
and Chuck ate to their fill, and Old Bill watched them with twinkling
eyes. These were youngsters after his own heart, clean, manly young
chaps--able to ride with the best in the west, afraid of nothing,
including mountain wildcats. He knew that he could count on them for the
work that was ahead.
When they had finished the meal, Slim and Chuck took the few utensils to
the nearby stream where they washed them in the cool water. By the time
they were back at camp, Old Bill had the blankets spread out, more fuel
on the fire, and his pipe going. He was ready to talk, ready to tell
them why he had summoned them to meet him so mysteriously on the Sky
High trail.
The cowboy from the Flying Arrow and the one from the Circle Four eased
their weary bodies down on the blankets and waited for Old Bill to
speak. The cattleman shifted his pipe.
“I’ll start in from the first,” he said. “It goes quite a ways back into
Wyoming cattle history, but it’s best that you know fully what you’re
going into.”
He jerked a thumb in the general direction of the Creeping Shadows
country.
“That’s the best cattle country in this part of the west--plenty of rich
grass and lots of water that’s good all of the year round. The valley is
set down between the Cajons and the Three Soldiers and it’s warmer than
most parts of Wyoming in the winter. But it’s tough country to get
into--too expensive for a railroad for the amount of business, so the
world has sort of forgotten the valley except when the trail herds come
out in the fall on the way to the loading yards at Mopstick. The valley
is just as tough, maybe a little tougher, than it was thirty years ago
when Adam Marks went in and started the Box B. Adam had a fight on his
hands then and he’s got one now.”
“So we’re headed for the Box B?” said Slim softly. He had heard his
father speak of Adam Marks and the Box B, of the fine grass and water on
the range and of the choice cattle the Box B sent to market each fall.
“You two are headed for the Box B,” corrected Old Bill.
“You voting yourself out?” asked Chuck.
“I never voted myself in. Now don’t jump at conclusions. Adam went into
the Creeping Shadows country when it was a nest of outlaws. He was
honest and clean and he bought his land. He took with him a hard-riding,
hard-fighting bunch of punchers that were handy with fist or gun. He
cleaned up the valley except the town of Dirty Water and that was too
tough even for Adam to fumigate.
“To shorten up the story, Adam prospered. He kept buying more land and
increasing his range stock. He was figured a millionaire a couple of
times over but the bottom went out of the beef market and then rustling
started again and it’s been growing worse the last few months. Adam has
lost hundreds of fine cattle and he hasn’t been able to put his finger
on the gang responsible.”
“Which means you’ve picked Slim and me to go in and do a little Sherlock
Holmes work for you,” interjected Chuck. “How about your regular cattle
detectives?”
“I was just getting to that,” said Old Bill a little wearily. “Adam sent
word to me that he was in trouble and I sent a good man into the valley.
He never came back. Then Adam sent another call to the association for
help and I sent another good riding detective, but after a week in the
valley with Adam’s boys, he did a disappearing act.”
“Someone scare him?” asked Chuck.
“They were the type that didn’t scare. I think someone shot them just
like they attempted to get you yesterday.”
“They’ll have to be a lot better shots than that if they figure on
getting me,” snorted Chuck. “They missed me the first time. Say, I could
knock an apple off a man’s head at that range ten times out of ten and
never touch a hair on his head.”
“That’s one reason I sent word for you to meet me here,” said Old Bill.
“Adam Marks is up against a tough proposition. I’ve lost two of my
regular detectives on the job. It isn’t that I’m afraid to send them in,
but I know it’s pure murder for them if I do. They’re all known. What I
need is two fellows who look and act like a couple of gay young
buckaroos that don’t have a responsibility in the world and don’t care
much where they hang their hats just so there’s a peg handy.
“I picked you boys for several reasons. Slim has done a couple of little
jobs for me over near Sunfield and I know he’s got a good head and a
cool one. In addition, he’s a dead shot with a six gun. Chuck’s a fine
rider and the best man with a rifle I’ve seen in many a year. Slim, your
temper is likely to flash a bit too hot at times, but I figure that
Chuck being a little slower to fly off the handle will kind of keep a
check on you. In other words, you’re my idea of the right kind of a team
to send into the Creeping Shadows country and ferret out these
rustlers.”
Slim looked across the fire at Chuck, carefully appraising the cowboy
from the Circle Four. He had liked Chuck from the very first.
“What do you think about it?” he asked.
“I don’t much like being shot at without warning,” said Chuck, “so you
can count me in to see this thing through. I’ve a pretty strong hunch
we’ll find the fellows that gave me the lead greeting tangled up with
this gang of rustlers.”
“And I’m still mad about Lightning being stolen,” added Slim. “Looks
like both of us have a debt to repay those birds in the Creeping
Shadows. Count me in.”
“Me too,” added Chuck heartily.
Old Bill smiled broadly. He had felt sure that these youngsters would
come through. He reached over to the nearby woodpile and tossed a couple
of large sticks on the flames. The fire brightened, chasing the shadows
away from the men stretched on the blankets.
“Don’t make a mistake and think this is going to be an easy job,”
cautioned Old Bill. “You’ll have to do plenty of hard work and a lot of
tough riding. You’re going into this thing alone. Not even Adam Marks
will know who you are.”
“Why not?” asked Slim.
“He knew that the other men I sent in were detectives. They never came
back.”
“You’re not hinting that Marks is rustling his own cattle?”
“I’m not hinting at a thing,” replied Old Bill sharply. “I’m simply
telling you the facts. No one must know you have any possible
association with me. That’s why I asked both of you to meet me on this
lonely trail.”
“I was ‘met’ all right,” said Chuck.
“That worries me,” said Old Bill. “It makes it a lot harder for you
boys. The gang operating in the Creeping Shadows must figure I’ll be
sending in more men and have every incoming trail picketed.”
“But they never gave me a chance.”
“This gang won’t.”
“When do you want us to start for the valley?” asked Slim.
Old Bill was silent for a time.
“We’ve got to get a horse for Chuck and new boots for both of you,” he
said at last. “Then I’d better get a complete change of clothes for
Chuck. That’s a pretty loud shirt he’s wearing and it might be a
give-away when he reaches the valley, especially if those hombres got a
good look at it. I think you better have your hair cropped close, too,
Chuck. That would change your appearance a lot.”
“You mean it would ruin my manly beauty,” howled Chuck. “Who’s going to
do all this barbering, anyway?”
“I’ll ride back across the Cajons by another trail I know they won’t be
watching, get another horse for you, buy boots for both of you, clothes
for Chuck and bring back a pair of hair clippers.”
“While you’re worrying so much about me, what about Slim and Lightning?”
Chuck wanted to know.
“They never saw Slim in the daylight and I’ll get a little dye while I’m
on the other side and we’ll make Lightning a solid sorrel. That ought to
fool them.”
“Better buy me a saddle,” suggested Slim. “My own outfit looks too good
for a wandering cowboy.”
“One thing,” grinned Chuck, “we’ll have a couple of days to rest here
and let the swelling in our feet go down.”
“That suits me,” agreed Slim. “My main worry was getting Lightning
back.”
They talked a few more minutes, then rolled into their blankets as the
fire died down. The moon, coming up over the Cajons, looked down on the
sleeping camp, and swung on toward the west.
Chapter Eight
The Vanishing Camp
They were out of their blankets at sunup, for Old Bill had a long ride
ahead of him.
“Better let one of us make the trip,” suggested Slim.
“I’ll go,” replied the cattleman. “You boys hole up here. I don’t want
you chasing around much until you’re all ready to ride into the Creeping
Shadows and look for a job on the Box B.”
They all lent a hand in getting breakfast. Then Old Bill got his horse,
swung into the saddle, and went off down the trail.
Chuck washed their few dishes while Slim got the camp in shape. When
they had completed their tasks, they sat down and contemplated the
bright freshness of the morning.
Chuck wiggled his toes gratefully as he looked at his badly worn boots.
“It’s going to be great to have at least a day to loaf and let my feet
catch up with the rest of me. Hope Old Bill gets a good fit in boots.”
“Didn’t you give him your size?” asked Slim.
“Gosh, no. I forgot all about that.” Chuck’s face registered real
dismay.
“If he gets the largest boots in the store they won’t be any too small,”
chuckled Slim as he surveyed Chuck’s broad feet.
“I’ll have no insults cast at my underpinning,” roared the cowboy from
the Circle Four, hurling a near-by stick at Slim.
Slim ducked with a grin as the stick whistled by.
“If you feel like throwing things, I’ll be on my way.”
“How come?”
“Don’t forget that I’ve got a horse.”
“But you’re not pulling out?” Chuck was genuinely startled, afraid that
Slim had believed him serious when he had tossed the stick.
“I’m pulling out in about five minutes, but I’m only going to ride back
up the trail and bring down the saddles we cached yesterday. It will
save time when Old Bill returns.”
“You’re right. After the reception we got night before last I’m anxious
to get into the Creeping Shadows country and see what it’s all about.”
Slim found Lightning nearby, grazing on a patch of grass that somehow
had escaped the searing rays of the July sun. He vaulted onto the
beautiful back and ran his fingers through the splendid mane. A queer
sob choked his throat as he thought how near he had been to losing
forever the horse which had become his companion.
“Let’s go, Lightning.” The voice was low but Lightning pricked up her
ears and trotted briskly toward the camp.
Chuck stood up as they approached, openly admiring the beautiful sorrel.
“Tell you what, Slim. If you ever lose your horse again, come on over to
the Circle Four. You’ll probably find that I’ve stolen her. Why, she’s
the finest horse in the cow country.”
“Or any other country,” added Slim proudly. “We’ll amble. See you this
afternoon for I’m going to take my time.”
“How about grub this noon?”
“I had enough at breakfast to last until supper.”
With a cheery wave to his companion, Slim gave Lightning her head and to
the music of swiftly drumming hoofs, disappeared up the valley, heading
back along the Sky High trail.
Slim soon brought Lightning down to an easy lope, a tireless pace that
was capable of eating up the miles when on a day-long trail. But there
was no need for even that much speed, and a few minutes later he pulled
her down to a walk.
It was a glorious July morning such as only the Cajon country knows,
with the air sweet and clean. As the trail mounted toward the crest,
Slim turned to look toward the Creeping Shadows country. The air was
clearer than on his first glimpse from the summit, and he could see the
broad valley lying below the Three Soldiers.
Even at that distance it was clear that there were many open meadows and
from what Slim knew of the country, they would be rich with the grass
needed to make fat cattle. It seemed incredible that such a beautiful
country was a land of lawlessness and violence where the life and wealth
of a man like Adam Marks was in daily danger.
From a distance came the faint drumming of hoofs. Slim had no desire to
be seen on the trail and he sent Lightning leaping behind the protection
of a dense thicket. His rifle was in camp, but his revolver was in the
holster at his side. With deft hands, he made sure that the gun was
ready for instant use. Then he slipped off Lightning’s back and stepped
up to the sorrel’s head, placing one hand gently over the nostrils. He
couldn’t afford to have Lightning whinny as the other riders passed by.
A few seconds later two horsemen appeared down the trail. They had
evidently been riding hard, but the grade steepened just below Slim and
they brought their tired horses down to walk. The riders were dressed in
conventional cowboy garb, Stetsons, blue shirts with a kerchief caught
carelessly around the neck and well worn leather chaps. Each man carried
sidearms and a rifle in the boot on his saddle. They were burned to a
deep brown by days in the sun, but there was also a hardness about their
features that was not reassuring to Slim. They looked like a couple of
tough customers.
Slim could hear them talking and he listened intently to catch their
words.
“How much further to the summit?” asked the shorter of the two.
“Must be all of ten miles,” was the reply. “I’m not sure; never been to
the top before.”
“Seems kinda foolish to have to watch this trail, but the chief is sure
plenty mad about the way Newt and Maxie handled this deal. Means there’s
a couple of cowboys on the prod somewhere in the valley.”
“And probably plenty mad, what with one of them getting his horse shot
out from under him and both of them having to hoof it down from the
summit.”
“Kinda funny we didn’t run across them,” said the squat, heavy-set
puncher.
“It’s all right with me that we didn’t,” growled his companion. “Look at
the elbow Maxie’s got. He won’t be able to use it for a couple of
months. If that slug had been a little deeper, Maxie could have kissed
his arm goodbye.”
“All the same, it seems darned foolish ordering us up here to see that
no one comes down the trail. The chief’s either getting ready to pull a
big raid or he’s getting cold feet and is going to leave the valley.”
The voices were fainter as the riders went up the trail, but Slim
listened eagerly to get the reply of the taller puncher.
“Don’t worry about the chief getting cold feet. He’s got all of the
nerve in the world. In a little while, he’s going to be the cattle king
of the Creeping Shadows.”
Slim smiled grimly. The “chief” would be cattle king only after he had
disposed of Adam Marks and if there was anything Slim and Chuck could do
to prevent it, that would never be accomplished.
A few rods further Slim came to the stream where they had rested and
cached their saddles. He crossed the stream and went into the gulch
where the saddles had been hidden. They were intact and after watering
Lightning he swung his own onto Lightning’s back and cinched it firmly.
Then he fastened Chuck’s broad saddle on behind his own.
The sun was well toward its zenith when he started leisurely down the
trail. Riding astride the easy-gaited Lightning, the trip was in marked
contrast to the painful journey of the day before when each step had
been agony to their tired and swollen feet. The memory made his feet
hurt and Slim shoved thoughts of the trail into the back of his mind.
Slim’s trip back down the trail was made at a most leisurely pace. There
was no need to hurry, and aside from keeping an alert lookout for some
chance rider coming up from the valley, he enjoyed every bit of it. It
was mid afternoon when he swung off the trail and turned to the left to
their own camp. When he reached the stream bank where they had passed
the night every trace of their camp had vanished!
Chapter Nine
Secret Commissions
Slim looked at the scene in amazement. Blankets, cooking utensils and
even Chuck had disappeared. The ashes of their fire had been scattered
and made to look as though days had elapsed since the camp had been
there.
The cowboy from the Flying Arrow looked around cautiously, afraid that
he had stepped into a trap laid by the rustlers from the valley of the
Creeping Shadows.
While he raked his mind for some solution to the disappearance of the
camp, a low whistle sounded from across the stream. Slim whirled
quickly, his right hand poised for a fast grab at his gun if necessary.
Above a fringe of underbrush on the further bank, Chuck was peering at
him.
“What happened to the camp?” demanded Slim.
“Didn’t you meet any riders along the trail?”
“Two.”
“How do you think they got up that far if they didn’t come by here? I
heard them coming and believe me, I dusted around and made our camp do a
vanishing act. You want to remember we’re not far off the trail and this
looks like a handy watering place on a hot day. I wasn’t taking any
chances.”
“Well, you can come out of hiding now. Those fellows are at the summit
by this time and from what I gathered as they went by me, they’ll be
there quite a while.”
Chuck emerged from the undergrowth, carrying his rifle in one hand. He
jumped from one rock to another, and finally arrived on Slim’s side of
the stream.
“Now we’ll have to lug all of the duffel and grub over here,” said the
Flying Arrow cowboy.
“Not on your life. There’s a fine bite of grass on the other side and a
little hollow to hide our fire. No more camps near the trail for me.”
“You’re getting worse than an old hen,” protested Slim.
“I am, huh! Well listen to me. The boys that rode up the trail swung
down to the stream here to water their horses. It was a darned good
thing I was on the job and had sense enough to get our stuff out of
sight. Why, I sat over there with my rifle trained on them just itching
for a chance to bang away. But I’d done my job too well. I hadn’t left a
thing for them to steal.”
“Hear much they said?” asked Slim.
“Everything, but they only talked about the heat and the long ride up to
the summit.”
“I heard enough when they went by me to warn us that we’d better get
over to the Box B as soon as possible. That gang is drawing a tight net
around every entrance or exit from this country. Something big is going
to happen and unless there’s some outside help on the job, Adam Marks
may be wiped out.”
“Got any idea who’s running the rustlers?”
“They mentioned ‘the chief’ once or twice, but never repeated his name.
I’ve a hunch he’ll be a hard one to run down. A man operating a gang as
efficient as this one seems to be won’t leave many loose strings
around.”
Slim gave Lightning her head and the sorrel picked her way across the
bubbling stream. He unfastened Chuck’s saddle and let it drop to the
ground. Then he went back across the creek and Chuck managed to mount
behind Slim, riding back across the stream in this manner.
Chuck had found an ideal camp spot. The grass was rich, there was plenty
of wood, and the swale was deep enough to hide their fire.
Slim turned Lightning out to graze and then both turned a hand to the
task of getting their simple camp in shape for the night. That done,
they went down to the creek bank, and loafed in the rays of the
afternoon sun. Chuck watched the swift-moving waters.
“There’s a pool below with plenty of trout. I watched them this morning,
but didn’t have a thing to catch them with. Gosh, a mess of mountain
trout would taste good.”
“You’re sure there’re trout in the pool?”
“Saw them with my own eyes.”
Slim hastened back to their camp and dug deep into his saddlebags. He
pulled out a small oilskin packet and from that produced a length of
sturdy line and two artificial flies, a little the worse for wear, but
still usable. Slim fastened the best one to the line and returned to the
stream.
“Try your luck with this,” he said, dropping the fly and line at Chuck’s
feet.