Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 01 - The Range Robbers(1930) Page 6

  Chapter VI

  IN the big living-room of the Y Z ranch Old Simon and his daughter heard the foreman’s account of the day’s happenings. The girl’s eyes filled with tears when the finding of Bud was related, for the boy was the youngest and one of the gayest in the outfit. The ranch-owner mumbled oaths in his beard and listened with a darkening face.

  “What do yu make of it, Blaynes?’ he asked, in perplexity.

  “It’s just what I’ve allus told yu,’ replied the other, trying to keep a note of triumph out of his voice. “Durran said as how they were “whoops”—every mother’s son of ‘em.’

  “Funny they didn’t loot the cabin,’ mused the old man. “It ain’t like Injuns to miss a bet like that.’

  “Huh ! Reckon they didn’t think of it. They was doin’ pretty well to get away with the herd,’ Rattler rejoined.

  “Biggest loss we’ve had. ‘Bout eighty head, yu say?’

  The foreman nodded. “All that,’ he said.

  “An’ yu left Green an’ Barton to search a piece further?’

  “Yes, nothin’ else for it; no use all of us a-foolin’ around. I’d say it was a good chance for the new feller to do somethin’, if he ain’t a-doin’ it already.’

  Old Simon looked up sharply. “Speak plain,’ he said. “What’s yore idea?’

  “Well, o’ course, I ain’t sayin’ it’s so,’ Blaynes replied slowly; “but look it over. We don’t know nothin’ about this feller. Yu take him on an’ give him a free rein, an’ ‘stead of the rustlin’ stoppin’, it gets wuss.’

  “Yu mean he’s workin’ with ‘em?’

  The foreman shrugged his shoulder and shot a glance at the girl.

  “I don’t say so,’ he temporised. “I’m on’y suggestin’ what might be.’

  “In that case he must be working with the Apaches,’ said Noreen quietly. “I shouldn’t have thought he was a mean enough white to do that.’

  Blaynes instantly saw the trap into which his eagerness to discredit Green had led him.

  “It shore don’t seem likely, I admit,’ he said. “But yu can’t never tell. An’ yu got to agree he ain’t done much, so far.’

  “Let us hope he finds the trail again,’ the girl said. “Surely a big bunch of cattle like that cannot be spirited away without leaving a trace.’

  “That darned sandstorm come just at the right time for ‘em,’ grumbled the foreman. “I’ve told the boys to be ready to start the minit we hear from Green.’

  He went out, and for some time there was silence. Then the girl said impulsively :

  “I don’t believe it.’

  “Don’t believe what, honey?’ asked her father.

  “That Green is working with the Indians,’ she replied. “He doesn’t look that sort of man.’

  “This is a tough country, an’ looks don’t tell yu much,’ commented Simon; “but I don’t hardly think it’s so myself. Anyways, it is shore up to him to get busy an’ prove himself.’

  The day was far advanced when a shout from Green brought Barton, who had been riding a piece away, to his side, on the brink of a small draw which formed an outlet from the desert. On the sandy floor, protected from the wind by a highish bank, were the hoof prints of cattle and horses.

  “Whoopee!’ cried Larry. “This must be where they come off the Parlour.’

  “Pears so,’ Green agreed, and walked his horse down to examine the trail more closely. “What do yu make o’ that?’

  Larry looked where his companion pointed, and gave vent to a low whistle. “One of ‘em has got off, an’ he’s wearin’ boots—our kind o’ boots,’ he said.

  In fact, the prints showed plainly that the footwear in question were of the narrow-soled variety affected by the cowboy, not out of vanity, but because they are of practical use to him in his work; roping on foot would be well-nigh impossible without them.

  “There’s a white man with ‘em,’ Larry decided.

  “On’y one?’ queried Green, a glint of humour wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Huh ! they ain’t as clever as I figured. If I wanted to play at Injuns, boots is the first thing I would throw into the discard.’

  Larry’s eyes opened. “Yu think it’s a bunch o’ whites masqueradin’ as Injuns?’ he asked.

  “Shore,’ was the confident reply. “An’ Bud was unlucky; he found out, an’ they had to close his mouth.’

  “I’ll be damned if you ain’t right!’ ejaculated Larry, after a moment’s thought.

  Yu’ll be damned anyway,’ his friend retorted. “Get a move on, an’ we’ll see where this trail takes us while the light holds.’ They were able to make good time, for the trail was plain and easy to follow, twisting and turning where obstacles had to be overcome. Before they had gone many miles, however, they were forced to camp for the night. This they did under a rocky bluff which enabled them to make a fire without much risk of the light being visible. They had food with them, and this despatched, they rolled up in their blankets and slept like dead men. Sunrise saw them astir again, and breakfast over, they caught and saddled their mounts.

  “Yu’d better strike for the Y Z an’ fetch the boys,’ Green said. “Wish I’d brought Blue; he’d have made better time under yu than that bone-rack yu call a hoss.’ For Green was riding the pony on which he had made his first appearance at Hatchett’s Folly.

  “Think so, do you?’ replied Barton, who sensed the grin underlying the words. “I ain’t aimin’ to straddle no volcano in eruption; yu shore oughtta call him Vesuvius, that brute. This little hoss is good enough for me.’

  “Shore, I know that,’ came the quick reply; “but—’

  “Yah! Go an’ find a rustler, yu long-laigged misfit,’ yelled Larry, as he rode away. “An’ don’t hog all the glory by capturing the whole bunch before we get in the game.’

  “I’ll save a little one for yu,’ Green told him. “An’ say, remember yu don’t know nothin’; just be yore natural self.’

  With a most disrespectful gesture, the boy rode off, and the older man smiled as he murmured, “He’s a good kid all right, but he shore has a lot to learn.’

  He followed the tracks for an hour, and then found that they joined a bigger and evidently older trail which had a familiar appearance. He had covered only a mile or two when his suspicions were verified, for he stood again at the entrance to the blind canyon which he had stumbled upon before, with the wide shallow stream and the baffling stretch of hard ground on the far side. Had the stolen cattle been driven across this and thrown on to the open trail leading to the Double X? Somehow he did not think so.

  “Reckon I’ll have another look at the canyon,’ he decided. Forcing his horse into the water, he rode slowly upstream between the jaws of the gorge, looking closely on both sides for tracks. Presently he stopped short, for in a little sandy bay leading up to a cleft in the rock-face were the plain hoofprints of horses. Loosening his guns in their holsters, he followed the tracks. The cleft proved to be bigger than it looked, and almost choked with trees and brush, but a narrow path led up and out. Green rode slowly, head down to avoid the outflung branches on the trees, which got thicker as he climbed higher.

  Suddenly came the swish of a rope, the loop dropped over his shoulders and he was yanked violently from the saddle; his horse, with a snort of fear, sprang from the trail and crashed from sight into the undergrowth. The moment Green struck the ground, which he did on his back, two men sprang upon him. They soon learned that despite the fact that his arms were pinioned, he was not done with. His right leg, drawn up to his body, shot out like a released spring, and the heel of his boot caught one of the charging men full in the stomach, hurling him, doubled up with agony, into the brush. His companion, however, flung himself full-length on the captive, and with the help of two more who now appeared on the scene succeeded in turning him on his face and tying his wrists securely behind him, having first slipped the rope under his armpits.

  Now, fella, yu can either walk or be drug, which yu l
ike,’ growled one of the captors.

  Green struggled to his feet and followed in silence. The party appeared to consist of four only. All were dressed in cowboy garb, and had handkerchiefs, slitted for the eyes, over their faces, and hat-brims slouched down to further conceal their identity. The man Green had kicked was still complaining and cursing.

  “Aw, stop yore belly-achin’,’ said one of the others. “Yu musta bin loco to tackle him from the front.’

  The hurt one spat out an oath in reply and staggered on up the winding path. Presently they stopped, and Green saw that they were on the tree-clad top of one of the walls of the canyon. Before them was a strip of grass, and then a straight drop of hundreds of feet on to the rocky floor below. The man who had addressed Green now spoke again: “Them tracks down there was made a-purpose,’ he sneered, “an’ yu shore walked into the trap, didn’t yu? Well, we understand that yo’re anxious to have a look at the country, an’ we aim to give yu that same. We’re agoin’ to hang yu over the edge o’ the cliff here. When yo’re tired o’ the view, let out a holler, an’ perhaps someone’ll hear yu.’

  The others sniggered at the taunt, and the fellow who had been kicked added, “An’ it oughtta cure yu o’ pokin’ yore nose where it ain’t wanted.’

  “Thought it was his foot, Snub,’ gibed a third, and was instantly and heartily cursed for the slip.

  “Bah! what’s the odds? He’ll cash anyway,’ he defended himself.

  “Mebbe he will; but that don’t excuse yu for bein’ every sort of a damned fool,’ came the angry retort.

  Green held his peace. He realised that he was helpless and that any protest would be futile. That these men had carried out or assisted in the raid he had no doubt, and having secured their booty, they had laid a trap into which he had blundered. That they would not allow a trifle like murder to stand in their way the removal of Bud had already proved. Any hope of a rescue by the Y Z boys he had himself destroyed by hiding his trail up the canyon.

  “Anythin’ to say?’ queried the one who appeared to be the leader.

  “What’s the use?’ retorted the prisoner coolly. “Get on with the murder, yu pack o’ cowardly coyotes.’

  “Murder?’ grinned the other. “Why, we ain’t goin’ to do a thing to yu. O’ course, if yu decide to stay where we put yu, it’s more’n likely yu’ll get hungry, but that’s yore affair.’

  He gestured with his hand to his followers, and while one of them secured the end of the lasso to the trunk of a neighbouring tree, the other two marched Green to the edge of the precipice, deftly knocked his legs from under him, hauling on the rope as he fell so that there was no sudden jerk. They left him swinging there against the face of the cliff, and he heard the mocking “Adios’ as they rode away.

  Green realised that his chance of escape was a slim one indeed. He was in the depths of the wild country, and it might be weeks before another human being chanced that way. Beneath him was a sheer fall to the bed of the canyon; above, by tilting back his head, he could see the edge of the cliff a scant ten yards away. Only ten yards, but with his hands bound it might as well have been ten thousand. He strained at the thong on his wrists, but it was seasoned rawhide.

  He fell to wondering how long a man could live without food and drink. Days, no doubt—days of unspeakable torture. Already the blazing sun seemed to have sucked every drop of moisture from his body, and he was thirsty. He had seen men die of thirst, and to get his mind on something else, he took his “look at the country.’ In other circumstances, the view would have impressed him with its savage grandeur. An unending succession of peaks, gorges, and forest-clad ridges stretched down from the Big Chief range and merged with expanses of rollingcountry in the direction in which he knew the Y Z ranch lay. Tiny streams, transformed by the blazing sun into winding strips of burnished silver, flashed here and there, while away on the left he could see a treeless blotch of yellow which he guessed must be Sandy Parlour.

  A wheeling spot far away in the sky caught his roving eye, and his first thought was one of envy—the bird was free, it could go where it wished. Then a second spot joined the first, and a third. He watched them curiously; they were coming nearer, and apparently heading straight for the canyon.

  “Vultures,’ he muttered. “Wonder what they’ve spotted?’ No sooner were the words spoken than he knew—he himself was the attraction. “God!’ he said, and his fingers instinctively clawed the cliff behind him. “An’ that’s why those hounds left me my guns, knowin’ it would make it harder.’

  Suddenly his whole body tensed : his clutching fingers had found a rough edge of rock, and by raising and lowering his wrists, he could chafe the thong against it. Feverishly he set to work, lacerating his hands in the process. The task was painfully laborious, since he could bring no pressure to bear, but it was his only hope. The vultures, now numbering half a dozen, came steadily on, and he could see in the stretch of sky other specks hastening to the feast.

  “They ain’t got me yet,’ he gritted. “Wonder how long I can keep ‘em off by shoutin’?’

  Resolutely he applied himself to his task, though his muscles ached and his whole body was faint with fatigue. The birds were near now; he could hear their fierce cries and the noise of their wings as they whirled above his head. He knew that it would not be long before they would descend to attack. The thought of those great, curved, cruel beaks and his own defenceless eyes made him shiver.

  Lower and lower wheeled the wild scavengers of the desert, until suddenly one, hungrier or more daring than the rest, swopped down upon the prey. The man saw it coming and gave vent to a loud yell, which sent the attacking bird away on a wide sweep and momentarily scattered the others. But he knew they would quickly return, and worked desperately.

  His fears were soon justified. The flapping of the great wings grew louder as the birds wheeled in lessening circles above him. Again one of them dashed at his face, but swerved when he shouted. Nevertheless, it passed so close that a wingtip brushed his cheek. The whole flock was now perilously near, and a combined swoop by several of the birds would be the beginning of the end.

  Summoning all his remaining strength, he wrenched savagely at his bonds, and fancied he felt them give a little. Another supreme effort which nearly dislocated his wrists and the thong parted. Torn, bruised, and numb, it was some moments before he could use the hands he had freed. Then, spreading out and trying the fingers gingerly, he drew one of his guns and waited for the coming onslaught. He had obtained his freedom only just in time, for the vultures, sensing that he was helpless, and emboldened by increasing numbers, now bunched together and swept down upon him. Green waited until they were only a few yards distant, and then fired four shots into the thick of them. Three dropped flapping and screaming into the abyss, while the remainder whirled past and upwards, and were soon mere specks in the sky again.

  Having reloaded his weapon, Green dropped it back into the holster, and began chafing his numbed arms in preparation for the task of scaling the cliff. The stiffness mitigated, he twisted round to face the rock, gripped the rope as high as possible, and began hauling himself up hand over hand. It was no small job, even for one possessing the superb muscles with which a clean, open-air life had endowed the cowpuncher.

  “Glad they wasted a new rope on me,’ he panted, as he jerked and swayed dizily over the chasm. “An old one, an’ them birds would’ve got their meal shore enough.’

  Inch by inch he worked his way up, little roughnesses in the face of the cliff affording a slight hold for his toes and thus enabling him to rest occasionally, but his strength was fully spent when as last he dragged his weary body over the brink and lay gasping on the grass above. For ten minutes or more he remained prone on the ground, taking in great gulps of air, and oblivious to everything save the fact that the necessity for violent, incessant effort had ceased. Presently he stood up.

  “Gosh, out it’s grand to stand on a solid bit o’ earth again!’ he said. “Never did like the not
ion o’ dancin’ on nothin’. Wonder how far that blamed boss o’ mine went?’

  He put his fingers to his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Getting no result, he coiled the rope and made his way down the trail which had led to his undoing. When he reached the spot where he had been roped, he whistled again, and waited. Presently came the sound of something forcing its way through the brush and his pony appeared.

  “Yu son of a gun,’ said the cowpuncher, and his tone betrayed a whimsical affection, “I shore didn’t waste my time trainin’ yu.’

  A drink from his canteen refreshed him, and, mounting the horse, he climbed the cliff again to see if he could pick up the trail of his assailants. In this he was successful, and followed it for some miles, until it became lost in a wide cattle-trail which he took to be the one leading to the Double X, but whether the horsemen had gone to that ranch, or turned the other way, he could not discover.

  “Reckon I’ll call it a day,’ he concluded, and turned his horse in the direction of the Y Z.

  At the corral he encountered Larry, and soon learned that the outfit had been no more successful than he himself. They had followed him to the blind canyon, crossed the stream and the stretch of shale to the big trail, and then the foreman had decided that the quest was hopeless, and ordered them all back to the ranch.

  “We was shore worried about yu—‘specially Rattler,’ the boy concluded. “Where in ‘ell did yu get to?’

  “Oh, I was around,’ replied Green. “Any feller answerin’ to the name of “Snub” in these parts?’

  “Shore is. One of the Double X lot. Don’t know anythin’ of him. Yu don’t think—’

  “Yes, I do, sometimes,’ smiled Green. “It don’t hurt, when yu get used to it. Yu oughtta try it.’

  “If I didn’t feel scared it would make me look like yu, I might,’ countered Larry. “Say, I near forgot it—the Old Man wants to see yu. I met Miss Norry just now an’ she told me.’