Dark Canyon (1963) (9 page)

Nor was it of himself alone that he thought, for the men who had given him his chance deserved a chance of their own. Mistakes they had made, just as he had made his, but they were not bad men, and the time was coming when they must end their riding. They would need a place, a place that was home.

There is always that within man, as deeply seated as is the desire to wander-the desire for a home, for a place that belongs to oneself a shelter away from the world.

His own home would be here among these fantastic canyons, these towering spires. Around him would be the ruins left by those others who had come from no man knew where, built their houses in the hollows up the cliff walls, and had planned to stay-had, indeed, stayed for a long time. And then they had gone . . . vanished . . . to where?

Nor were they the first men who had come to this lonely land, for the strange paintings on the walls could not all have been of their making. What of the pictures he had seen not far from Spanish Fork -pictures of strange llama-like beasts of burden and their drivers, near the remains of what may have been an ancient mine? What people were those? What manner of beasts did they drive?

He was thinking of these things when a rider drew up near him. "We'll need beef. Is it all right to cut one out?"

Riley laughed. "Did you ever ask before?"

The rider was one-armed, Riley saw as he turned away. The fellow shot him an amused look. "Not often," he said, chuckling, "not very often."

Chapter
9

Day after day the drive rolled southward under its hovering cloud of dust, south toward the five towering peaks of the Henrys, across the Dirty Devil, across the forty miles of parched desert that lay beyond. On across the Maidenwater Sands, and down the long arroyo of the Trachyte to Dandy Crossing, on the Colorado.

When Gaylord Riley and Jim Colburn, pointing the drive, reached the Crossing, Cass Hite walked out to meet them.

"Howdy, Cass!" Riley said. "Had many visitors lately?"

Hite came up to him, and spoke in a low tone, knowing how well sound carried in that rocky land. "We never have many visitors, an' you damn well know it," he said pleasantly. "This here is about the loneliest place there is, unless it's that ranch site you picked.

"One thing, though. There's been a gent up on the mesa with a glass, a-watchin' for somebody. I'd not say it was for you exactly, but he showed up right after you went through, and he's been up there ever since."

The Colorado at this point described a lame bend like a letter C with the open side toward the east. Dandy Crossing, and the "town" named for Hite, lay at the top of the C, the easternmost point, whil
e
within the bend was a mesa, roughly a thousand feet higher than the Crossing itself.

From up there a man with good glasses could watch not only the Crossing, but the approach to it along the canyon of the Trachyte.

"What do you think, Riley?" Colbum asked. "Could be somebody layin' for you."

"More'n likely."

"You've got to go back, Jim. If that's a posse up there, they'd have you trapped. There's no other crossing in a good many miles downstream, and nothing up the river. If they're waiting for you over there, you'd never have a chance."

"We'll see you across the river, boy. From there on you'll be on your own."

"Riley," Hite suggested, "if you need he'p, I've a couple of loafers you can have. They owe me, and if I say they work for you, they dasn't say no." "Send them along. I'll promise them three days' work. If they shape up, I can use them longer. Meanwhile," Riley added, "keep your eyes open for good men. I'd like to hire two more, full time." "I'll shake hands now," Colbum said, "because when your cattle are across the river we'll take out for the faraway hills. Any posse hunting us is going to see plenty of dust and country."

For two weeks after the drive ended, Riley had no time for anything. When the cattle were turned into the basin, the branding was begun. There had been no time even to run a trail brand on the herd before leaving Spanish Fork.

The smoke of branding fires was in his nostrils, mingled with the smell
. O
f burning hair and dust. Only at night under the stars could he be free of it, and smell the soft wind, the cedars, and the sage.

It was hot, grueling work, with no let-up, but Cruz was a fast and a hard worker, a good roper
,
and a fine horseman. Darby Lewis knew his business and worked without lost motion, but even so the job went slowly.

On the first day of the third week, Cruz rode over to Riley. "Rider coming, amigo. A stranger."

Riley straightened up from the branding fire and wiped the sweat from his face, then moved a hand back to slide the thong from his six-shooter.

The rider came on, riding a lineback dun and leading two pack horses that looked like good stock. He was a tall man wearing a buckskin shirt and a battered black hat. He drew up alongside the fire. "Riley? Cass Hite, down to Dandy Crossin', said you were needin' a hand."

"If you can ride an' rope, you're hired. Thirty a month an' found."

The man stepped down from the saddle, and he stood two inches taller than Riley's six-one. He squatted on his heels and picked up the coffeepot. "Soon as I get myself a cup of coffee, I'll be workin'," he said. "My name is Tell Sackett."

Riley had started to turn away, but he glanced back over his shoulder. "Sackett? Are you kin to the Sacketts of Mora?"

"Brother."

"Heard of them . . . like what I heard."

Together they plunged into the work. Cruz and Lewis now worked as a team, and Sackett worked with Riley. The new hand was fast and sure with a rope, and he had three good horses.

The day began at three A
. M
., when they rolled out in the cold, fired up, ate a fast breakfast, and by daylight usually had a rope on a cow. With the cavvy brought down the trail and supplied by the rustlers from the San Rafael Swell, Riley now had sixty-six horses in his corrals, and they were needed. Each man used three to four horses every day. The horses were 1,000 to 1,150 pounds as a rule, runnin
g
heavier than Texas cow horses, and they had good, hard hoofs. Whatever shoeing was done the hands did themselves, using a rasp and then tacking on the shoe. No fire was needed, and no time wasted. Where plenty of cattle had been caught up, two men did the roping and two the branding.

Twice, Gaylord Riley came upon tracks on the range, and once he caught a flash of sunlight from field glasses as somebody watched from a butte bordering the basin.

Each night they rode into camp dead tired, rarely returning to the house on the plateau, but camping among the cedars close to the basin and their work.

Strat Spooner rode into Rimrock shortly after nightfall. He rode directly to the Hardcastle saloon and swung down from the saddle. Across the street Sampson McCarty was closing his door, about to lock up for the night. He turned his head at the sound of the horse, and watched Spooner dismount. It had been weeks since he had seen the big gunman in town, and both man and horse looked beat. Standing in the shadows, McCarty watched Spooner as he stepped up on the board walk. The saloon door opened and Hardcastle came out. The two stood talking in low tones.

Across the street there was a slight movement in the shadows, and McCarty strained his eyes to see a bulky figure loitering in front of the store. When the gunman mounted his horse to go on to the livery stable, McCarty saw the man emerge from the shadows and stroll toward the restaurant. It was Sheriff Larsen.

Neither McCarty nor Larsen had been in a position to hear what it was that Spooner had to say, and which Hardcastle was obviously anxious to hear. In that conversation Spooner wasted no time. "Riley's back. Brought in a herd of mixed stuff
,
Shorthorns and white-faces, less than half of them branded so far.
He, has
three hands riding for him, Cruz and Lewis and some drifter he picked up. They worked together most of the time, so I think your time is now."

Hardcastle took a handful of coins from his pocket, all of them gold. He handed them to Spooner, then added another. "That's a bonus, Strat. You've done a good job. Now get some sleep."

Sampson McCarty walked on to the restaurant and joined Larsen. "I see Spooner is back in town."

"I see."

"Something's in the wind, Ed. What is it? What's going to happen?"

"Maybe . . . maybe nothing. I do not know."