Collected Works of Zane Grey, page 1101
Well indeed had it been for Jim to espy this trio long before they reached him. He had time to recover, to think what was best. If Hank Hays had come upon Jim suddenly, it would have been to his doom.
One of the pack-animals neighed shrilly and then all the horses stuck up their ears.
“Say, I heerd a hoss-shoe ring on a stone,” called Mac, who had ears as keen as a horse.
“What’s thet?” queried Smoky, sharply. He leaped up.
“Look! Riders comin’,” exclaimed Brad Lincoln.
“Can’t be nobody but Hank.”
Jim leaped off the rock, crashing down behind the watching men, startling them. “Smoky, it’s Hays. I saw him a mile off.”
“Why’n hell didn’t you say somethin’, then?” retorted Slocum, gruffly.
“I was too flabbergasted,” replied Jim, coolly, as he joined them.
“It’s Hank, all right,” said Mac.
“Shore, I see him now. Thet’s Hank.”
“Jim, what flabbergasted you?” demanded Slocum.
“Three riders!” flashed Jim.
“Wal! . . . So I see. What you make of thet?” ejaculated Slocum.
The three emerged clearly from behind the cedars. A blank silence ensued. Jim at last got the tigerish nerves under control. His thoughts were whirling.
“Humph! Little rider in between,” commented Lincoln.
“Thet’s Sparrowhawk behind.”
“Who’s the third party?”
“Hank shore is a queer duck, takin’ up with strangers like he does.”
“Somebody with a mask on!”
“An’ a long slicker.”
“Fellers,” rasped out Slocum, “thet’s a woman with a veil!”
Jim thought the moment had come. “Men, Hank has doublecrossed us. He’s stolen Herrick’s sister!”
“The —— —— —— —— —— —— !” cursed Slocum.
No more was said after that profane outburst. It probably voiced the unity of the watchers. Hank Hays led his two followers to within a few feet of the cluster of riders, when he leaped off and checked the gray horse. Sparrowhawk came right on. Jim’s lightning-swift glance took the three in, their dust-caked horses, and flashed back to fasten upon Miss Herrick. Her features were not visible through the veil. The linen coat showed the wear and tear of contact with brush. To Jim’s incredulous amaze, she had on riding-boots and overalls. She sat free in the saddle, with neither hands nor feet bound. The gray horse carried a long pack folded over the cantle.
“Wal, you’re all here but Jeff,” began Hays. He had a bold front, a piercing eye. Fear of man or beast or God did not abide in him then.
“Jeff’ll be comin’ by now,” replied Smoky.
“We ain’t got a hell of a lot of time to wait,” said Hays.
“Whar you aimin’ fer?”
“Brakes of the Dirty Devil.”
“But we was goin’ around an’ head thet hot hell hole.”
“No time.”
Brad Lincoln thrust himself forward, black of face, hitching his gun-belt. “Who’s the third party?”
“Wal, you can guess,” leered Hays.
“I take it you’ve fetched Herrick’s sister.”
“You’re a bright boy. Go to the head of the class.”
“Hank Hays, after all you doublecrossed us,” roared Smoky.
“Wal, if I did — turn about is fair play.”
“Fair play — hell! You’re a liar. You’re a cheat. You’re a —— . You think you can drag us in on a deal like this. I thought you acted powerful queer. So it was this double-breasted gurl you tricked us fer? . . . You —— —— —— !”
Jim Wall strode forward and aside, his swift action menacingly significant.
“Hays, your jig’s up. She goes back!” he thundered.
“You can all go to hell,” the robber replied, stridently. “Stick or quit, if you want. But if you give me a word edgeways I’ll say somethin’. I fetched this gurl fer ransom. She come willin’, ‘cause if she hadn’t I’d killed Herrick. He’ll pay twenty-five mebbe fifty thousand for her. Is thet to be sneezed at?”
“So thet was your deal?” queried Slocum.
“Thet, an’ nothin’ else. Now what’re you goin’ to do about it?”
“Hank, on the face of it thet’s different. All the same you doublecrossed us.”
“Same as you did me. I swore to get even with you.”
Jim interposed again. “Hays, you’re a dirty liar. You didn’t steal this girl for ransom,” he called out fiercely.
“Well, I can allow fer you all bein’ riled. But I can’t stand names like thet forever.”
Jim turned to the dejected figure on the gray horse. “Miss Herrick, is he telling the truth?”
“Yes, he stole me for ransom,” she replied, with emotion. “They broke into my room — one through the window — the other at the door. They threatened me with guns. . . . If I screamed they’d kill me! If I didn’t come with them they’d kill my brother! . . . I agreed. I had to dress before them — the beasts! They forced me to dress for riding. . . . And I’ve been on this horse since midnight.”
“What’d they do to Herrick?”
“Oh, I didn’t see. I don’t know whether they told the truth or lied.”
“Jim, if you’re so damn pert to know everythin’, I’ll waste more time by tellin’ you,” interposed Hays. “We tied Herrick up before we got the gurl. An’ after, we made him promise to pay handsome. An’—”
“That’s enough,” snapped Jim. “Give me a man or two. We’ll take her back and get the money.”
“Hold on. Thet was somethin’ I had in mind,” drawled Hays. “But it didn’t work. I had to kill Progar. An’—”
“Who’s Progar?”
“Wal, he’s Heeseman’s right-hand man. Now it happened thet foxy Heeseman was plannin’ the same trick I pulled. Progar an’ another feller ketched us takin’ the gurl out. The other feller got away.”
“ —— —— —— ! Thet’s wuss than ever,” screamed Smoky. “Heeseman will find out.”
“Huh! I should smile in perticular thet he will. We seen his outfit on your trail!”
“Shet up! Hosses comin’!”
“Grab your rifles an’ dig fer cover!”
The ensuing rush was quelled by Smoky’s ringing order. “Hold on! It’s Jeff!”
“Lordy! Look at him come! No wonder he sounded like a stampede.”
An opening in the grove showed Bridges plunging upon them. Wild-eyed and snorting smoke, his big charger threw gravel all over them.
“Heeseman’s outfit trailin’ us,” he announced. “Back about five miles when I left my post.”
Smoky turned in cold fury upon their leader. “Now —— —— you! See what you’ve got us up ag’in’!”
CHAPTER 9
FROM THAT SPEECH, Jim calculated, dated the beginning of a definite breach between Hank Hays and his lieutenant, Slocum.
“Wal, it’s no time to cuss me,” snarled the robber leader.
“By Gawd! I wish I had some,” replied Slocum, bitterly. “Fellers, grab your rifles an’ take to cover.”
“There ain’t no cover, Smoky,” asserted Brad Lincoln.
“This place won’t do,” interposed Jim, sharply. “Miss Herrick might be hit. We’d better make for a canyon.”
“No sense in a fight, anyhow,” rejoined Hays.
“But, man, we’ll have to fight,” rasped out Slocum. “Heeseman’s ridin’ light. We’ve got this pack outfit. He’ll ketch us shore. An’ I say let’s hide behind these trees an’ wait fer him.”
There was no gainsaying the little rider’s wisdom, and Jim would have backed him up but for the girl. If she fell into Heeseman’s power she would be as badly off, if not worse.
“Jeff, air they comin’?” queried Hays of Bridges, who was standing in his saddle, peering back.
“Nope. But I see dust over the ridge, an’ I reckon thet’s him.”
Hays made a dive for his horse, and mounting, he leaned over to take up a rope halter around the neck of the horse Miss Herrick was riding.
“You lied — to me!” she cried, angrily. “You assured me that if I’d come without resistance you’d soon arrange for my freedom. Here we are miles from Star Ranch.”
Hays paid not the slightest attention to her, but started off, leading her horse.
“Jim Wall, are you going to permit this outrage?” She turned in her saddle to entreat him.
“I’m powerless, Miss Herrick,” he replied, hurriedly. “I’m only one of Hays’ band. We are being tracked. If Heeseman catches us you’ll be worse off.”
“Oh, how dreadful! I will not be dragged down into that ghastly hole.”
“Drive the pack-horses behind me an’ keep ’em movin’,” yelled Hays. “Once we reach the river I can give them the slip.”
“Aw, you’re crazy,” derided Smoky. “Heeseman knows this country as well as you.”
The leader did not answer that taunt. He headed down the slope, dragging Miss Herrick’s horse. Sparrowhawk Latimer fell in with them. Jim could hear the girl’s protestations. The other riders made haste to line the pack-horses. Smoky brought up the rear.
The wash that Hays had come down was the one which led into the Red Canyon. It was shallow, dusty, hot. The dry stream-bed afforded easy progress. Jim could not see any sign of a trail or even of an old hoof track. No doubt about Hays knowing his way! He rode as one familiar with this red-clay and gray-gravel canyon. Soon it merged with another coming in from the left, and then all features were magnified. It began to drop, the stream-bed grew rough, the walls higher. All landmarks above were lost sight of; even the Henry Mountains disappeared. The pack-horses kicked up a dust like a red cloud; the riders pulled their scarfs up over mouths and noses. Their yells and curses sounded muffled.
Jim kept unobtrusively working ahead until there were only three pack-horses in front of him and he could see Hays and the girl at intervals. Latimer hung close to them. The canyon deepened. No more places occurred where it might have been possible to lead a horse up. And not long after that the walls became so steep that a man could not have climbed them.
The direction of this canyon appeared to be swinging toward the north, but how much Jim could not estimate. As it twisted, the sun was often in front, then to the right, and again almost behind. Short patches of shade were exceedingly welcome. The horses began to be covered with a lather of dust, sweat, and froth. Jim looked back. Brad Lincoln, his face uncovered, red and wet, rode close behind the last pack-horse. Then followed Jeff, Mac, Happy Jack, and lastly Slocum, dark harsh figures, their very attitudes expressing resentment at this unexpected flight. Slocum was the only one who betrayed any sign of their being tracked, and he kept looking back and up at the ragged rims.
Gradually the sand and rocks and holes slowed the pack-horses to a walk. Hays yelled back for his riders to hurry. He pointed to the left wall as if any moment their pursuers might appear there. Jim thought if they did that, it was all up with Hank Hays’ outfit. What to do kept harassing Jim, until that problem, combined with the heat and dust, wrought him far from his usual coolness of mind.
From the first moment that he espied the girl in Hays’ power he had conceived the idea of rescuing her. But how, when, where? He could only go on and await developments. The immediate necessity was flight, until some safe retreat had been found.
An hour or more of this travel, the first half of which had been rapid, the last slow, brought them to a comparatively long stretch of canyon with a turn. This was too open and unsafe to suit Jim. And evidently it increased Smoky’s concern, for he bawled out to push the pack-horses harder.
The next sign from Smoky was a rifle-shot. It bellowed out from wall to wall. Jim wheeled to see that he was throwing in another shell, both gun and face pointed back and up toward the right wall.
“What you shootin’ at?” yelled Brad, jerking out his rifle. The other riders shouted hoarse queries.
Jim espied something flash along the rim, high up and far back, out of range, if it were a pursuer.
“Rustle!” shrilled Smoky. “I seen riders. They ducked back. They’ll aim to head us off.”
Hays bawled back an order and pointed aloft. Jim, from his point, could not see the very evident danger. Halfway down this long stretch, on the right side, opened a deep canyon. That would surely block pursuers, at least until they had headed it, which might require miles of travel. At any rate, it relieved Jim.
He, with the riders behind, had the pack-horses loping, a risky thing, because if a pack slipped thereby stopping the horse, it would have to be abandoned. And to these fugitives, going down into this hole, packs were incalculably precious.
Suddenly riders popped into view back on the point of the intersecting canyon. Hays and Latimer opened fire with their side-arms, the .45 Colts, the heavy bullets of which fell short, puffing yellow dust on the sloping point. The riders began to return the fire with rifles. Jim saw Latimer knocked off his horse, but he leaped up and mounted again, apparently not badly injured. He raced ahead after Hays, who rode fast, dragging the girl’s horse, and at the same time shooting at the riders until he passed around a corner of the canyon. Latimer soon disappeared after him. Then the riders above turned their attention to the rest of Hays’ outfit.
“Come on!” yelled Jim to those behind. “Run for it! Our only chance!” And charging after the galloping pack-horses ahead, he let Bay find the way and threw up his rifle.
The distance to the pursuing horsemen above, who were riding up and down, yelling, shooting, dismounting to run out, was close to four hundred yards — a long shot with the .44 Winchester from a horse. Heeseman’s outfit had the upper hand. They could stand or kneel and shoot. Apparently they saw their advantage, for they did not take to cover. Jim heard their piercing yells, as well as the bellowing replies of the riders behind him.
He had a quarter of a mile to ride to pass the corner ahead to safety. The pack-horses were scattered, tearing up the canyon. Jim gained on them. Then he began to shoot, aiming as best he could at that swift pace. Suddenly the canyon awoke to an infernal din. The reports banging from wall to wall magnified a hundredfold, until there was a continuous roar.
One of Jim’s first shots hit a horse, and his seventh connected with a rider, who plunged like a crippled rabbit back out of sight. The others of Heeseman’s outfit took alarm, dodged here and there to hide, or ran back. Jim emptied the magazine of his rifle just before he passed round into the zone of safety. Neither Hays nor the two with him were visible, but the canyon ahead had another sharp turn.
Jim hauled Bay to a halt, and soon the pack-horses galloped by, every pack riding well. From below came the slackening bellow of guns. Lincoln dashed into sight first, closely followed by Mac, Happy Jack, and Jeff, all with guns smoking. And lastly came Slocum, hatless, blood on his face, to rein his mount among them.
“Smoky, did they — git you?” queried Lincoln, in alarm.
“Jest barked,” panted Slocum, spitting fire. “ —— —— —— ! If we could only — fight it out! . . . Looks all right ahead. Load yer guns an’ ride on!”
Around the next turn they came upon Hays and his two riders. The pack-horses had slowed down behind them. With another big intersecting canyon on the right it looked as if their pursuers were held up.
“Fellers, Heeseman will have to go back,” declared Lincoln. “Thet’ll take hours. I reckon Hank knowed what he was about.”
“Wal, thet was a hell of a close shave,” replied Smoky. “Bullet hit my rifle an’ glanced — skinnin’ me over the ear.”
“Latimer,” replied Jim. “I saw him knocked off his horse. But he was up, like a cat, and on again.”
“Ahuh. Luck’s with us. Say, it’s hot. If we don’t come to thet river soon we’re cooked.”
“Must be close now.”
That last hopeful assertion, however, was wrong. The Dirty Devil, expected at every winding corner, failed to show up. Deeper and deeper grew the canyon, until its ragged, crumbling, colored walls, as denuded as the dry floor, rose three hundred feet, and everywhere slides and shelves of soil hung ready for an avalanche.
Mid-afternoon found the fugitives entering a less constricted area, where sunlight and open ahead attested to the vicinity of a wider canyon, surely the Dirty Devil. And so it proved. Mud-holes appeared in the stream bed, and at last pools of clear water, from which the thirsty horses could scarcely be dragged.
Then Red Canyon joined that of the Dirty Devil, a union which was startling in its nakedness. All was drab gray, yellow, and red, with the sullen river running shallowly over sandbars.
Hays waited for his riders and the pack-animals to reach him.
“Cinch up an’ look to the packs,” he ordered. “We’ve hell ahead, but nothin’ no more behind.”
“No! Haven’t we, though?” queried Lincoln. “Don’t you fool yourself about Heeseman not follerin’ us.”
“Wal, he’ll track us this fer, an’ thet’ll be his limit,” declared the robber. “There ain’t no man in Utah who can foller me into the brakes of the Dirty Devil.”
“Hank, air you aimin’ for thet roost you always give us a hunch about but never produced?” asked Slocum.
“I’ve saved it up, Smoky, fer jest some such deal as this. . . . Pile off now. Once we hit the quicksand we cain’t stop fer nothin’ or nobody. Look to saddles an’ packs.”
The riders complied. Jim, over the back of his horse, watched Miss Herrick when Hays made her get off. The long coat fell below her knees. She walked as if the use of her legs was almost gone. He saw her bend over stiffly, to rub them, and then lift her veil to let the gentle breeze blow upon her face. But presently, when Hays harshly called her to come back, she replaced the veil again. She was tiring and her head drooped.
