THE MASKED MAN
That night was years long to Nan and Rex. She slept fitfully, but Rex
did not sleep at all. Briggs had not moved. At times he groaned softly,
and several times he babbled incoherently. There was plenty of wood, and
Rex kept the fire going briskly.
It was fully daylight before Rex moved from the fire. He was stiff and
sore in every joint. His left shoulder pained him greatly, and his right
hand was badly swollen. Nan followed him out to the mouth of the cave.
She limped as badly as he, and together they stood on the sandstone
ledge, looking up at the sunlight on the high peaks.
“It won’t shine down here much before noon,” she said, placing a hand on
his shoulder. “This cañon is so deep that the sun doesn’t reach it
quickly.”
Rex nodded gloomily.
“What a night! And what next? I’m so hungry I could almost eat that
piece of burned horse meat.”
“Same here,” Nan tried to smile, “but we’ll have to go without food, I
suppose. Which way was that spring?”
“Down there.” Rex pointed to the right. “I wonder whether my old hat
will hold water? I believe it will, Nan. You stay here and I’ll bring
you some.”
He made his way down among the boulders, sliding the last few feet to
the bottom of the cañon, where he picked up a sizeable club. His steps
made little sound in the yielding sand, as he made his way down the
bottom to where he circled the big boulder, where they had built their
fire.
Clustered around the little spring were dozens of quail, getting their
morning drink. Rex did not know what they were, except that they were
birds, and perhaps food. They had probably never before seen a human
being, because they merely squatted and looked at him. With a side swing
of his hand he flung the club at them, killing three and sending the
rest in a whirring, curving flight down the cañon.
He secured his birds, filled his hat with water and started on his
return journey to the cave. Nan danced with joy at the sight of the
three birds.
“I didn’t know what they were,” confessed Rex, “but they looked good to
eat, so I hit them with a club.”
Nan skinned the birds and went back in to the cave where Rex had built
up the fire. Briggs had not moved yet, and Rex was afraid he was dead,
but the old man muttered brokenly as Rex leaned over him.
He did not look so formidable now—more like an oldish man who had been
badly mistreated. It seemed that his head had been battered until it was
all out of shape.
“He is wearing a dress shirt,” said Rex. “Isn’t it queer for a man down
here to be wearing a stiff bosom shirt? Did you ever see him before,
Nan?”
“No, I never have. See if you can find us a couple of green sticks, Rex,
about a yard long and as big as your finger, to broil these quail on.”
“But what are we going to do with this man, Nan? He’s in awful bad
shape. Shouldn’t we tie him up, or something?”
“I don’t know, Rex. We haven’t any ropes. Oh, I don’t think he can hurt
anybody. He’s just an old man.”
* * * * *
Rex secured the sticks and came back to the entrance of the cave, where
he stopped and looked at the sky. The buzzards were coming for their
breakfast, a whole cloud of them, zooming down, like a great fleet of
black airplanes. Rex called Nan to the entrance to watch the birds. Some
of them sailed within a few yards of them, croaking harshly. One tried
to alight on the sandstone shelf, where Rex had wasted his stone on a
lion, but it caught sight of the two human beings and went away with a
great flapping of wings.
Their objective seemed to be just across the cañon from the cave.
“Horrid, dirty things!” exclaimed Nan, “Always looking for carrion.”
“I suppose,” sighed Rex. “Still, they might be our salvation, Nan. I
remember what Hashknife said to me the night we found that horse. He
said, ‘Sometimes it’s a good thing to follow the buzzards. You never can
tell what you might find.’”
“But do you suppose he might see the buzzards down here?”
“He might see them as they come down, Nan. He’ll know today that we
never reached Cañonville, and he will start a search.”
“Oh, I hope so, Rex. But after breakfast we’ll see if there isn’t a way
out of here. Come on and help cook it.”
They each ate a half-cooked quail. Without any seasoning it was far from
delicious, but they ate it and pronounced it good.
“I think you are a very brave girl, Nan,” said Rex. “In fact, you are
rather wonderful in every way, but you’ve got a lot of burned quail on
your nose and a black smudge on one cheek. I suppose I’m a sight. But I
don’t really care, do you?”
“I don’t care how you look, Rex.”
“Well, that’s fine. Now, I think we better look around and see whether
there isn’t a way out.”
They worked their way down through the brush and crossed the bottom of
the cañon above the cave, where they were able to climb to a wide shelf.
It was here that they disturbed the buzzard host, and the birds went
flapping and croaking their way up the side of the cliffs, only to soar
in vast circles, halfway up the height of the cañon, watching with their
keen eyes for the two human beings to disappear.
It was this flight of buzzards that Hashknife, Sleepy and Lem saw from
the grades.
“They were eating a horse!” exclaimed Nan. “Why, your horse never fell
this high up the cañon, Rex.”
They walked over and inspected the almost obliterated carcass of a
horse, which still bore a saddle. It had been a roan horse, and a strip
of the skin still bore the brand of the 6X6.
“That was one of Peter Morgan’s horses,” declared Nan. “But how in the
world did it get down here?”
Rex looked critically up the side of the sheer hillside.
“It surely didn’t walk down,” he replied. “I think it must have come
down like my horse did—end over end.”
“Well, I don’t like the odor,” said Nan finally. “Let’s see if we can’t
go down the cañon.”
* * * * *
In the meantime, Hashknife, Sleepy and Lem rode on to Mesa City. Spike
Cahill and Bert Roddy met them at the hitchrack, and from their general
appearance those two were not feeling so good as they had the evening
before.
“What’s all this talk about Miss Lane and the tenderfoot disappearin’?”
asked Spike. “Lotsa folks have been talkin’ about it, and we want it
straight.”
Lem explained as well as he could.
“Ain’t showed up yet?” Bert Roddy shook his head painfully.
“Not yet, Bert.”
“Well, I’ll be jiggered! Whatcha suppose became of ’em, Lem?”
“Nobody knows.”
“Did Joe Cave show up here?” asked Hashknife.
“About an hour ago,” said Spike, spitting dryly. “Quit his job, didn’t
he?” looking at Lem.
“I fired him,” said Lem.
“I told you!” crowed Bert. “Didn’t I offer to make you a bet, Spike? I
said that Lem canned him, didn’t I?”
“A-a-aw, don’t brag; you make my head ache.”
“Where’s Joe now?” asked Hashknife.
“Gone out to the Flyin’ M. Dave Morgan hired him and sent him right out
to the ranch. Dave needs men pretty bad. He even offered to take us back
agin’, didn’t he, Bert?”
“Shore did. And you tell ’em what I told him, Spike.”
“Aw, it wasn’t so smart. We need the job.”
“Not for that sidewinder. He jist the same as accused us of openin’ the
safe at the 6X6. I may be a thief, but I don’t like to have it told
before my friends.”
“That’s right; he did insult us, Bert. I’m glad you said what you did to
him. But—” he turned to Lem—“what are you doin’ toward findin’ the lost
folks?”
“Not a thing—yet.”
They all walked over to the Oasis, where they found Dave Morgan and
several more men.
“What’s the latest news?” asked Morgan.
They were obliged to tell him that there was nothing new.
“You know this country pretty well, don’t you, Morgan?” asked Hashknife.
Dave Morgan smiled faintly, fingering his watch chain.
“I ought to,” he said. “I’ve been here a long time.”
“Ever been down in the middle of Coyote Cañon?”
Morgan blinked quickly, thoughtfully.
“No, I never have, Hartley.”
“Do you know if there’s a trail down there?”
“I’ve never heard of any.”
“I never have either,” said Spike. “Why that thing is straight up and
down. Talkin’ about it makes me thirsty; so we better have a drink. The
6X6 owes me some money, anyway.”
“And you’re goin’ to collect it over the bar, eh?” queried Dell Bowen.
“Aw, don’t preach. You spent part of yours last night.”
“What about a trail into Coyote Cañon?” asked Morgan.
“I’d like to go down there,” replied Hashknife.
“You think there’s somethin’ down there?” asked Spike.
“About a hundred buzzards,” smiled Sleepy, accepting a glass from the
bartender.
“Buzzards, eh? Somethin’ dead, eh?”
“No, they go down there to eat brush,” said Bert sarcastically.
“You’re comical,” said Spike admiringly. “The only thing that keeps you
off the stage is the fact that you can’t drive, and they wouldn’t trust
you with the money box.”
“Nobody interested in your comedy, Spike,” assured Bowen. “We want to
know more about Coyote Cañon. Hartley, are you serious in wantin’ to go
down there?”
“I’m goin’ down,” declared Hashknife.
“You don’t suppose that Nan Lane and that fool kid are down there, do
you?”
Hashknife studied his glass of liquor for a moment.
“Bowen,” he said slowly, “I don’t know, but there’s no other place to
look. They never got to Cañonville; they never came home. Nan’s horse
came back. They either went up or down, and I’m bettin’ they went down.”
“But why should they, Hartley?”
“Who knows? I’m playin’ the buzzards, Bowen.”
“Uh-huh,” thoughtfully. “Well, it’s a good bet. We’ll go with you,
cowboy. I don’t know a trail down there, but we’ll find one. It’s worth
a try. When do we start?”
“Right now.”
“Saddle up!” snorted Spike, sending his glass spinning down the bar.
“C’mon.”
“You might get in off the mesa on the lower end,” called Dave Morgan.
“They tell me the deer come in that way.”
“All right, Dave, thanks,” replied the sheriff.
* * * * *
The three cowboys hurried to the livery stable, where they saddled their
horses. Hashknife, Sleepy and Lem joined them, and the six men rode out
of town together. Lem and Hashknife rode knee to knee.
“We better try the cañon jist south of the Lane place,” called Bowen.
“It ain’t so high there.”
“Suits me,” agreed Lem heartily.
He had little hopes of ever getting to the bottom of the cañon, no
matter where they tried a descent.
A quarter of a mile away from town, Hashknife halted them.
“Boys, I want you to do me a little favor,” he said. “Go right ahead and
try to get down the cañon.”
“What’s the idea, Hashknife?” queried Lem wonderingly.
“I can’t tell you yet, Lem. It’s just a hunch. I’m turnin’ back here.”
“Let him go,” said Sleepy quickly. “It’s all in the game.”
“All right,” agreed Lem, holding out his hand. “Good luck, Hashknife.”
They swung their horses around and rode swiftly southward, while
Hashknife went back toward Mesa City again. Just outside the town he
halted his horse behind a thicket of mesquite and dismounted.
He had not been there over five minutes when Dave Morgan rode past, his
horse traveling at a swinging walk. As far as Hashknife knew, Morgan was
merely heading for the 6X6 ranch. But as soon as he passed a turn in the
road, Hashknife mounted and followed him.
For possibly half a mile farther Morgan rode slowly, but finally forced
his horse to a gallop. Hashknife kept far enough behind him so that
Morgan would not see or hear him, and from a slight elevation he saw
Morgan swing to the 6X6 road.
Hashknife swore under his breath, but followed, and it was with a great
deal of satisfaction that he saw Morgan leave the road, possibly a
quarter of a mile from the forks, and travel south down a brushy swale.
It was rather difficult for Hashknife to follow without being seen now,
but he was obliged to take a chance, in order to keep Morgan in sight.
Morgan did not look back, but seemed intent on his destination.
It was a little over a mile from where Morgan left the road to the rim
of Coyote Cañon, and Hashknife was not over two hundred yards to the
left of him, shielded by a mesquite thicket, when Morgan reached the
rim.
For several minutes Morgan sat his horse, scanning the cañon, as if
satisfying himself that no one was in sight. Hashknife was a little
afraid that the five men farther down the cañon might interfere with
things, but finally, Morgan, evidently satisfied, rode his horse over
the rim of the cañon, cutting in between two live-oaks, and disappeared.
Hashknife rode cautiously to the rim, behind the oaks, and dismounted.
Here were the marks of Morgan’s horse in the loose earth, and for quite
a distance down the slope he could see where the horse had sidled along
the steep slope.
Calmly he rolled and smoked a cigaret. He was not in such a hurry now.
If Morgan could get down, he could. And he did not want to try the
descent while there was danger of Morgan’s hearing him come down.
Finally he tightened his cinch, mounted and followed Morgan.
* * * * *
Nan and Rex wandered down the cañon below where they had first entered
it, but were unable to find a way out. After a supreme effort they were
able to climb back over the rocks to where the slide ended. They were
unable to go any farther.
“It doesn’t look very promising,” said Rex wearily.
Nan sat on a rock, tired out from the climb. She realized better than
Rex did what they were up against. Unless help came to them, they were
doomed to starvation in the bottom of Coyote Cañon. She knew that it was
only through great luck that Rex had been able to kill those quail.
“If we even had a gun,” she said helplessly, “perhaps they could hear
the echo of it.”
“But there must be a way out,” insisted Rex. “It seems to be an
impassable pocket, but there must be a way.”
“I almost wish we were buzzards,” he said. “They are able to fly out
with scarcely any effort.”
“They are not the only buzzards in this country,” said Nan.
“You mean—human buzzards?”
“Yes. Whoever shot your horse must know we are down here. They don’t
know whether we are alive or dead. How did the crazy man get down here,
I wonder? That must be his horse.”
“Yes, it is all very queer. I wonder if he is still alive? Perhaps he
knows a way out, Nan. It seems a brutal thing to leave him up there
alone in that cave. But what can we do? At least, he is unconscious and
does not seem to be suffering. But I wish he would wake up sane again,
because he might know a way out.”
“He wouldn’t know. I guess we better go back to the cave and gather a
supply of wood. All we can do is to pray that someone will look down
here for us.”
They went back to the bottom of the cañon and had a drink at the little
spring. A copper-colored rattler, stretched out on the top of a boulder,
waiting for the sunshine, looked them over with beady eyes, as they went
past. They did not see the snake, and the snake was too torpid from the
cold to sound a warning.
They climbed up from the bottom of the cañon near the old waterfall and
twisted their way around the huge boulders. Nan was in the lead, and as
she circled an outcropping of sandstone she cried out sharply and
stepped back, bumping Rex sideways.
A man was standing against the sandstone, covering them with a rifle,
and so close was he that Nan’s elbow struck the barrel of the rifle, as
she jerked back. Her first impression was that it was the crazy man, but
a second glance dissipated this idea.
* * * * *
The man was masked with a big bandanna handkerchief, with jagged
eyeholes, and his slouch hat was pulled low over his forehead. For
several moments he did not move or speak. Rex put his arms around Nan,
and tried to draw her behind him.
“Don’t move,” warned the man harshly.
“Who are you?” demanded Rex.
“Ne’mind who I am. Keep your hands up and foller me.”
He backed slowly to the open hillside below the cave, which was not
visible from there. Rex had shoved the empty revolver inside the waist
band of his trousers, and now the man stepped over and yanked it away. A
quick glance showed him that the gun was empty.
“Where’d you git that?” he asked.
“I found it,” lied Rex.
“Uh-huh.”
The man flung it far off down the cañon.
“How did you git down here?” he asked.
Rex explained.
“You came all the way down that side, eh?”
“It was quite a slide,” agreed Rex. “Now, I hope you will show us the
way out.”
“You hope so, do you? Who shot your horse up there?”
“We haven’t any idea.”
“Anybody gunnin’ for you?”
“I don’t know why they should.”
The man had a lariat wrapped around his waist and now he began
unwrapping it.
“We just want to find the way out of here,” said Rex.
“Thasso?”
The man seemed amused. He shifted his gaze to Nan.
“Set down on the rock!” he snapped harshly. “Set down there and set
still.” He shook the last coil of the rope loose, catching the hondo and
quickly making his loop. Neither of them had any idea what he was
intending to do. He flipped the twist out of the loop, and with a jerk
of his wrist he flung the loop over Rex’s shoulders, yanking it tight.
Rex stumbled forward, his arms cinched to his sides, and the man kicked
his feet from under him, throwing him heavily.
“Stay there, damn yuh!” he snarled. He gave Nan a sharp glance. She had
jumped to her feet now, as if intending to help Rex.
“You stay put!” warned the man. “Set down there!”
* * * * *
Nan sank back on the rock and watched the man deftly hogtie Rex. He knew
ropes, and in a few moments Rex was completely helpless.
“I reckon that’ll hold you,” said the man.
“But what has he ever done to you?” asked Nan. “Why are you tying him
up? He never harmed you.”
“Who’s doin’ this? Keep your face out of it.”
“But why are you tying him up?” persisted Nan. “He never harmed you. All
we want is a chance to get out of here.”
She left the rock and came close to him. He watched her through the
jagged slips in the handkerchief.
“Keep away from me,” he growled. “I never hit no woman. Never thought a
man ort to hit a woman. But I got to protect myself.”
“Oh, I’m not going to fight with you,” wearily. “I just want to explain
things.”
“Yeah? You set down. I’ve gotta figure out somethin’.”
“But won’t you let him go—please.”
“I can’t! Set down. If I had another rope, I’d tie you, too.”
Nan sat down, while the man perched on a convenient boulder. Rex was
lying on his side, facing them. He was bewildered and unable to move.
The man in the mask rolled a cigaret, but discovered that he would have
to move his mask aside in order to smoke, and tossed the unlighted
cigaret aside.
He made no mention of the cave, and Nan decided that he had not
discovered it. For possibly five minutes they sat there silently. At
times the man leaned forward, rubbing his face through the handkerchief,
as if unable to arrive at a decision. At times he turned his head and
looked at the buzzards, which were circling about. Finally he got to his
feet, walked over and looked at the knotted rope and then turned to Nan.
“I’m goin’ to take you out,” he said.
“Goin’ to take me out?” Nan got to her feet quickly. “What about him?”
pointing at Rex.
The man shook his head.
“He stays.”
“But we can’t leave him here alone.”
“The hell we can’t? What’ll stop us?”
“Why, he will die. Don’t you understand? We can’t leave him there.”
“He stays, do you _sabe_ that? I’ll take you out.”
“Go ahead, Nan,” panted Rex. “You —you can tell where I am, don’t you
see?”
“A lot of good it’ll do,” laughed the man.
He pointed at the circling buzzards meaningly. Nan knew what he meant,
and her face went white.
“I won’t go without him,” she said firmly.
“You won’t? Well, I’ll declare! What’s the idea? Are you—aw, have a
little sense, can’tcha? No use of both of you cashin’ in down here. I’m
willin’ to take you out, and you act like a fool over this white-faced
jigger. I don’t git your idea. What does he amount to, anyway?”
“If he stays, I stay.”
Nan’s eyes were filled with tears, but her voice was firm. The man came
closer to her, peering through his mask.
“You ain’t gone loco, have you?”
“No, I am perfectly sane.”
“And you’d give up a chance to git home safe—for that?”
He pointed disgustedly at Rex.
“I’ll stay with him,” she said chokingly.
“Well, f’r God’s sake!”
* * * * *
The man looked around, as if asking the wide world whether the girl
wasn’t crazy. He looked at Rex, who was watching Nan, wide eyed.
“Of all the loco things I ever heard of,” grunted the man. “Listen,
sister, is this on the square? Would you give up—say, don’tcha know
there ain’t a chance of you ever gettin’ out here, unless somebody
guides you? You’ll die here, and the buzzards will strip your bones. Do
you realize that? Do you? And still you’d stay with that weak kneed
tenderfoot? Sluff off a chance to git home safe? You would? Well, I’d
like to know why.”
“Because,” said Nan wearily, “I love him!”
The man jerked forward.
“You what? You love _him_? You love—”
“I have told you why I will stay,” said Nan. “If he stays here, I stay,
too.”
“Well, hell!” exploded the man. “With all the reg’lar men in the state
of Arizona—you pick that!”
He moved back and sat down on the rock, where he rolled another cigaret,
only to toss it aside. After a long silence he said softly—
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!”
“Won’t you cut him loose?” begged Nan. “Can’t you see those ropes are
cutting him?”
“Pretty soft skinned. Why in hell didn’t he stay where he belonged?”
But he made no move to release Rex; he was studying Nan, who humped on
the rock, her hands between her knees, as she looked at Rex, her eyes
filled with tears.
Finally the masked man got to his feet, looking down at Rex.
“I ain’t got the sense that Gawd gave geese in Ireland,” he said slowly.
“I’ve knowed lotsa married folks, and I’ve had me a girl onct or twict;
but I never knowed that any woman ever cared enough f’r a man to sluff
off a chance to save her life—f’r him.”
He stepped over to Rex and quickly unfastened the ropes.
“You’re not going to leave him here?” asked Nan, hardly believing that
such was his intention.
“Not if you want him that bad. T’ me, he don’t amount to a damn, and I’d
jist as soon use him for buzzard bait as not; but if you— You two wait
here. I’ve got to git my bronc. There’s a way out the lower end of this
cañon, if I can remember it. It’s a long ways around, but it can’t be
helped.”
He picked up his rope, swung it over his arm, grasped his rifle and went
stumbling up the cañon, while Nan and Rex stood there, looking at each
other.
“Thank God!” breathed Nan.
“Did you mean what you told him, Nan? Did you mean that you love me?”
“Well, I would have stayed,” she said simply.