Cow-Country, B. M. Bower [beach read book txt] 📗

Eddie never did explain just how he made his way through a maze of water-cut pillars and heaps of sandstone so bewildering that Bud afterward swore that in spite of the fact that he was leading Sunfish, he frequently found himself at that patient animal's tail, where they were doubled around some freakish pillar. Frequently Eddie stopped and peered past his horse to make sure that Bud had not lost the trail. And finally, because he was no doubt worried over that possibility, he knotted his rope to his saddle horn, brought back a length that reached a full pace behind the tail of the horse, and placed the end in Bud's hand.

“If yuh lose me you're a goner,” he whispered. “So hang onto that, no matter what comes. And don't yuh speak to me. This is hell's corral and we're walking the top trail right now.” He made sure that Bud had the loop in his hand, then slipped back past his horse and went on, walking more quickly.

Bud admitted afterwards that he was perfectly willing to be led like a tame squirrel around the top of “hell's corral”, whatever that was. All that Bud saw was an intricate assembly of those terrific pillars, whose height he did not know, since he had no time to glance up and estimate the distance. There was no method, no channel worn through in anything that could be called a line. Whatever primeval torrent had honeycombed the ledge had left it so before ever its waters had formed a straight passage through. How Eddie knew the way he could only conjecture, remembering how he himself had ridden devious trails down on the Tomahawk range when he was a boy. It rather hurt his pride to realize that never had he seen anything approaching this madman's trail.

Without warning they plunged into darkness again. Darkness so black that Bud knew they had entered another of those mysterious, subterranean passages which had created such names as abounded in the country: the “Sinks”, “Little Lost”, and Sunk River itself which disappeared mysteriously. He was beginning to wonder with a grim kind of humor if he himself was not about to follow the example of the rivers and disappear, when the soft padding of their footfalls blurred under the whistling of wind. Fine particles of sand stung him, a blast full against him halted him for a second. But the rope pulled steadily and he went on, half-dragged into starlight again.

They were in a canyon; deep, sombre in its night shadows, its width made known to him by the strip of starlight overhead. Directly before them, not more than a hundred yards, a light shone through a window.

The rope slackened in his hands, and Eddie slipped back to him shivering a little as Bud discovered when he laid a hand on his arm.

“I guess I better tie yuh—but it won't be so yuh can't shoot. Get on, and let me tie your feet into the stirrups. I—I guess maybe we can get past, all right—I'll try—I want to go and take that job you said you'd give me!”

“What's the matter, son? Is that where the Catrockers hang out?” Bud swung into the saddle. “I trust you, kid. You're her brother.”

“I—I want to live like Sis wants me to. But I've got to tie yuh, Mr. Birnie, and that looks—But they'd k—you don't know how they kill traitors. I saw one—” He leaned against Bud's leg, one hand reaching up to the saddle horn and gripping it in a passing frenzy. “If you say so,” he whispered rapidly, “we'll sneak up and shoot 'em through the window before they get a chance—”

Bud reached out his hand and patted Eddie on the shoulder. “That job of yours don't call for any killing we can avoid,” he said. “Go ahead and tie me. No use of wasting lead on two men when one will do. It's all right. I trust you, pardner.”

Eddie's shoulders stiffened. He stood up, looked toward the light and gripped Bud's hand. “I thought they'd be asleep—what was home,” he said. “We got to ride past the cabin to get out through another water-wash. But you take your coat and tie your horse's feet, and I'll tie mine. I—can't tie you, Mr. Birnie. We'll chance it together.”

Bud did not say anything at all, for which Eddie seemed grateful. They muffled eight hoofs, rode across the canyon's bottom and passed the cabin so closely that the light of a smoky lantern on a table was plainly visible to Bud, as was the shaggy profile of a man who sat with his arms folded, glowering over a pipe. He heard nothing. Bud halted Sunfish and looked again to make sure, while Eddie beckoned frantically. They went on undisturbed—the Catrockers kept no dogs.

They passed a couple of corrals, rode over springy sod where Bud dimly discerned hay stubble. Eddie let down a set of bars, replaced them carefully, and they crossed another meadow. It struck Bud that the Catrockers were fairly well entrenched in their canyon, with plenty of horse feed at least.

They followed a twisting trail along the canyon's wall, rode into another pit of darkness, came out into a sandy stretch that seemed hazily familiar to Bud. They crossed this, dove into the bushes following a dim trail, and in ten minutes Eddie's horse backed suddenly against Sunfish's nose. Bud stood in his stirrups, reins held firmly in his left hand, and in his right his six-shooter with the hammer lifted, ready to snap down.

A tall figure stepped away from the peaked rocks and paused at Bud's side.

“I been waiting for Marian,” he said bluntly. “You know anything about her?”

“She turned back last night after she had shown me the way.” Bud's throat went dry. “Did they miss her?” He leaned aggressively.

“Not till breakfast time, they didn't. I was waiting here, most all night—except right after you folks left. She wasn't missed, and I never flagged her—and she ain't showed up yet!”

Bud sat there stunned, trying to think what might have happened. Those dark passages through the mountains—the ledge— “Ed, you know that trail she took me over? She was coming back that way. She could get lost—”

“No she couldn't—not Sis. If her horse didn't act the fool—what horse was it she rode?” Ed turned to Jerry as if he would know.

“Boise,” Bud spoke quickly, as though seconds were precious. “She said he knew the way.”

“He sure ought to,” Eddie replied emphatically. “Boise belongs to Sis, by rights. The mare got killed and Dad gave him to Sis when he was a suckin' colt, and Sis raised him on cow's milk and broke him herself. She rode him all over. Lew took and sold him to Dave, and gambled the money, and Sis never signed no bill of sale. They couldn't make her. Sis has got spunk, once you stir her up. She'll tackle anything. She's always claimed Boise is hers. Boise knows the Gap like a book. Sis couldn't get off the trail if she rode him.”

“Something happened, then,” Bud muttered stubbornly. “Four men came through behind us, and we waited out in the dark to let them pass. Then she sent me down to the creek-bottom, and she turned back. If they got her—” He turned Sunfish in the narrow brush trail. “She's hurt, or they got her—I'm