Devil's Canyon (12 page)

“What's done is done,” said Collins gloomily. “If the purpose of our journey is all that obvious, what are we to do now? I'm not convinced that Durham wasn't one of that original band of outlaws. Now that they've been captured, he may have devised some kind of plan of his own.”

“Speaking of Durham,” Faro said, “where is he?”

“I have no idea,” said Collins. “We'd better find him.”

But Odessa McCutcheon found Durham first. He and Mamie were under one of the wagons, but the blankets didn't save them from Odessa's fury. A two-gallon coffeepot still simmered on a few coals from a dying fire. Odessa seized the coffeepot, removed the lid, and flung the contents on the hapless pair beneath the wagon. Bawling like a cut bull, Durham rolled out, wearing only his socks. Mamie followed, wearing even less. The moon had risen late, and as Mamie
stood there cursing Odessa, she left nothing to anybody's imagination. The entire camp was awake, and they all just stood there while the naked Mamie shouted at Odessa. But Odessa wasn't finished. She cut loose with a right, and it caught Mamie on the chin. She fell back against the side of a wagon, and after catching her breath, went after Odessa like a wounded cougar. They went down in an ignominious tangle of arms and legs, Mamie shrieking in pain when her bare behind landed in what was left of the fire.

“My God,” Collins said, “shouldn't we do something?”

“We are,” said Faro. “We're minding our own business. If you want to get involved, then jump in.”

But Collins did nothing. He and the teamsters allowed the struggling women to thrash around until they were exhausted. Mamie was first to stagger to her feet, and without a word, stalked off into the darkness. Odessa followed.

“Well, by God,” Dallas Weaver said in awe, “what about that?”

“Those of you whose time it is to sleep,” said Faro, “get back to your blankets.”

“Some of us better go after Mamie and Odessa,” Tarno Spangler said. “We don't have any idea what these Utes is like. They may be just waitin' for a chance like this.”

“I'm aware of that,” said Faro wearily. “This is our watch, so it'll be up to Collins and me.”

“There's Durham,” Shanghai Taylor said. “What do you aim to do about him?”

“Nothing, tonight,” said Faro. “If the Utes want the
son of a bitch, they can have him. Way I feel right now, if they're of a mind to burn him at the stake, I'll light the fire.”

Fearing retaliation from the teamsters, Hal Durham had concealed himself in a thicket not far from the wagons. From there, he could see Mamie and Odessa coming.

“You're stark naked,” Odessa snapped. “Where are you going?”

“I don't know,” Mamie snapped. “Anywhere away from you.”

The very last thing Durham wanted was to encounter either or both the women, so he slunk down as far as he could get. He wanted only to sneak back into camp and retrieve his clothing when he felt it was safe for him to do so. Suddenly, from the shadows of the trees, two Indians emerged. Each of them seized one of the women, and Durham heard the sodden thunk as the captives were silenced with blows to the head. As suddenly as the Indians had appeared, they were gone, taking Mamie and Odessa with them. Durham didn't move, knowing he was in for it. Indirectly, he was to blame for the women being abducted and didn't relish facing any of the outfit. Especially Faro Duval. He soon heard Faro and Collins coming.

“Not a sign of them,” Collins said, “and they couldn't have gone much farther. We'd be able to see them crossing that clearing up ahead.”

“Yes,” said Faro, “and that's bad news. With our weapons, these bands of Utes know we have them outgunned, and this is just the kind of opportunity they'd be looking for.”

“Moonset is less than an hour away,” Collins said, “and with most of this terrain in shadow, we don't stand a chance of finding any tracks tonight.”

“We don't dare search for them in the dark,” said Faro. “It's a good way to get ourselves ambushed. We'll have to wait for first light.”

“We are going after them, then,” Collins said, his relief obvious.

“Yes,” said Faro. “Whatever else they are, they're white women. They deserve better than torture and death at the hands of hostile Utes.”

“What are we going to do about Durham? This is basically his fault, you know.”

“I know,” Faro said, with a sigh. “If we can't rescue Mamie and Odessa, we may need him on the box of that fifth wagon. Otherwise, I'd say we draw lots for the pleasure of gut-shootin' him.”

Durham listened with some relief. Some of the teamsters—doubtless one of them Faro Duval—would search for the women. It would be an ideal time for Durham to make his way back to the wagons. That he would be cursed and reviled, he had no doubt, but it didn't bother him in the slightest. He had been involved in far more shameful episodes, and he recounted some of them with pride as he awaited the dawn.

*   *   *

Mamie and Odessa McCutcheon awoke to find themselves belly-down across the bare backs of Indian ponies on lead ropes. Their hands and feet were securely bound.

“Damn you,” Odessa shouted, “where are you taking us?”

Response was immediate. One of the mounted Indians dropped back and slugged her into unconsciousness with a club. Mamie had been about to add her shouts to Odessa's, but thought better of it as she beheld the painful results. Already, her head thumped like the beating of a drum. With some regret, she recalled her latest experience with Durham, and most of all, the things she had told Faro Duval regarding Odessa. Now she stood just as guilty as Odessa, having been caught wallowing with the gambler, naked beneath one of the wagons. She and Odessa had fallen from grace before leaving Amarillo, and now, she reflected, they were no better than a pair of whores. She wondered if Duval would try to rescue them, or if he would leave them to a fate he doubtless believed they deserved.

*   *   *

“It'll be risky, Faro, trailin' Utes with just three men,” Dallas Weaver said, as the first gray light of dawn crept into the eastern sky.

“No more risky than leavin' just three of you to defend the wagons,” said Faro.

“Two,” Dallas said. “We don't know where Durham is. Maybe the Utes got him, too.”

“I doubt it,” said Faro. “When I hit a streak of bad luck, it's
all
bad. I reckon he'll wait for me to ride out, and then he'll come slitherin' in.”

“I'll bend a Winchester muzzle over his head,” Dallas said.

“Resist the temptation until a better time,” said Faro.
“If you're attacked, you'll need him for defense. Collins, Shanghai, and me could be so far outnumbered, we'll need the rest of you before we can even attempt a rescue.”

“I hope not,” Collins said. “It'll mean leaving the wagons unguarded.”

“It's a choice we may be forced to make,” said Faro. “Let's ride.”

They rode in an ever-widening circle around the area where the wagons were, and the tracks—when they found them—were faint.

“Four horses,” Shanghai said. “They come with intentions of grabbin' somebody.”

“They don't aim to make it easy for us,” said Faro. “When they can, they're keepin' to ground that's hard as granite. Best we can hope for is some woods, with overturned leaf mold.”

“I suppose there's still a chance for an ambush,” Collins said.

“There's always a chance for that,” said Faro, “but it's less likely if there are a large band of Indians, and they're well dug in. We may be able to do no more than locate their camp, waiting until dark to attempt a rescue.”

“But we may not
have
until dark,” Shanghai said. “Unless they're taking captives for ransom, or to be sold as slaves, they may begin the torture sometime today.”

“Perhaps, if all else fails, I can pay the ransom,” said Collins.

“I doubt it,” Faro replied. “They'd strip us clean as
a Christmas goose, and then I'd not be surprised if we ended up fighting for our lives.”

“If their camp ain't a great distance, they're leadin' us there in a roundabout way,” said Shanghai. “We've rode at least a dozen miles.”

“If they're thinkin' ambush,” Faro said, “now's the time to counter it. I'll continue east, followin' this trail. Shanghai, ride south a mile or two, and Collins, you ride north a mile or two. Then both of you swing back east, paralleling me.”

“That's risky as hell,” said Shanghai. “If they've doubled back, and one of us misses their trail, you're dead.”

“It's a chance somebody has to take,” Faro said. “I'm counting strong on you both.”

The three separated, and Faro rode on alone, following the dim but legible trail. There was no sign of an ambush, and Faro grew more confident. The Utes knew the strength of the teamsters, and the lack of an ambush pointed toward a well-defended Indian camp. It was still early and there was no wind. Somewhere ahead, a dog barked, and Faro reined up. His outriding companions had heard the dog, and they soon rode back to join him.

“You were obviously right,” said Collins. “Their numbers are great, and they're telling us they're not afraid of us.”

“That means we'll have to outmaneuver them,” Faro said. “There's no wind, but if it rises, it'll come out of the west or northwest, so we'd better leave the horses here and go the rest of the way on foot.”

*   *   *

The Indians led their horses with their captives into a canyon that widened enough to accommodate a stream that tumbled down a wall of rock at the blind end. The camp was strung out along the canyon walls, making attack difficult, except from the rims. There were no lodges, and women cooked over open fires. The Indians reined up, and all activity ceased as the inhabitants—men and women alike—gathered around to view the captives. Mamie and Odessa were shoved off the horses, landing on their backsides on the ground. Some of the squaws pointed to the naked Mamie, shouting and laughing. Others took hold of Odessa, stripping her, flinging the rags of her clothing into a fire.

“Damn you,” Odessa bawled. “Damn all of you.”

The squaws wasted no time. From slender trees that lined the stream, they broke off limbs for use as switches. They then surrounded the hapless captives and began switching them unmercifully. Only when their bodies were crisscrossed with bloody streaks, and when they had cried until they could cry no more, did the punishment cease. They both lay belly-down, heaving and whimpering with pain. The Indians then seemed to lose interest, for there was the smell of roasting meat. Dogs whined for a morsel, but were kicked out of the way. One of the braves shouted something, and two of his companions slid down from the rim. Obviously, they believed their camp secure enough for them to take the time from their sentry duty to eat.

“Two of the varmints on the rim,” said Shanghai, “but there may be more.”

“Not likely during the day,” Faro said. “My God, there must be sixty or seventy of them, including the squaws.”

Only when they moved closer were they able to see the inert bodies of Mamie and Odessa McCutcheon.

“They look dead,” Collins said.

“No,” said Faro. “They've been switched until they're afraid to move. That means the Utes aim to torture and eventually kill them.”

“My God,” Shanghai said, “we can't fight them, not even with Winchesters. There's too many. Some of 'em would get us, sure as hell.”

“Even if we rode back for the rest of our outfit,” said Faro, “we wouldn't have a prayer against so many of them. Besides, we don't have that much time. With torture on their minds, they'll get on with it. Probably after they eat. Whatever's to be done, we'll have to do it ourselves, and quickly. Collins, did you put some of those capped and fused sticks of dynamite in your saddlebag?”

“Yes,” said Collins. “A dozen sticks.”

“Then let's make tracks back to our horses,” Faro said. “We're about to even up the odds a mite.”

In a single motion, Tarno Spangler and Dallas Weaver drew the Colts in response to a noise in the underbrush. Then Hal Durham appeared, wearing only his ruined socks.

“Uh-uh,” Durham said. “You can't shoot me. You may need my help fighting Utes.”

“Shootin' you would be too quick,” said Tarno. “I got in mind carvin' off a choice part of your carcass. It'll play hell with your love life, but won't hinder you from shootin' Indians. Get him, Dallas.”

As though it had been rehearsed, Dallas tackled Durham, bringing the gambler down on his bare backside in the brush. Tarno had his Bowie shoved under his waistband, and as he approached Durham, he drew the formidable weapon.

“No,” Durham screamed, “no.”

Dallas sat on Durham's legs, and while he couldn't rise, he had doubled his fists and was flailing about with his arms. Tarno seized him by the hair of his head and slammed him against the ground. He then knelt, one knee on each of the gambler's arms.

“Hell, you ain't man enough to deserve hair on your
chest,” said Tarno. “I reckon I'll start there and work my way down.”

Durham began trembling when he felt the blade of the Bowie against his bare skin. It was razor-sharp, and it glided down the gambler's chest, shaving clean. The deadly blade had reached Durham's belly, when Dallas spoke.

“Tarno, this is a thing that's almighty in need of bein' done, but remember last time you done this? Faro and Shanghai wasn't there, and they give you hell because they missed it. If they miss it again, your hide won't hold shucks.”

“Damn it,” Tarno said regretfully, “you're right. I reckon I'll have to put it off until they get back. Besides, this is somethin' Mamie and Odessa ought to see.”