Devil's Canyon (22 page)

“Withers,” said Faro, “you and Kritzer go ahead. I believe the truth of what you are about to tell us has just been proven.”

Withers and Kritzer told the truth of it from the time Slade had first learned of the wagons and the dangerous trek into the mountains, until they had parted company
with Slade after their narrow escape from the renegades.

“It's about the way we had it figured,” Faro said. “You don't know what happened to Slade?”

“No,” said Kritzer, “but he won't never give up. Not till he's dead.”

“It's helpful, knowin' he's out there,” Dallas said. “It's the close-up rattler you don't know about that's able to get to you.”

“We ain't told you much you didn't already know,” said Withers, “so I guess we ain't helped our cause.”

“You've done exactly the right thing,” Faro said. “If you had intended finishing what Slade started—with or without Durham—you couldn't have afforded to reveal him for the thieving varmint he is.”

“I have a question for either of you,” Dallas said. “If Durham hadn't forced your hand by pullin' a gun, would you have told us about him, Slade, and yourselves?”

“Likely not,” Withers said. “A man don't fancy lookin' a fool, even when he is.”

“While we might not of said anything,” said Kritzer, “we didn't aim to turn agin you. While we ain't always been honest, our word's good, and we got some pride. Durham was aimin' to force us to throw in with him, to keep him from spillin' the beans about us bein' part of Slade's gang. We was without horses, grub, or guns, and you took us in. Even if our talk got us run off, along with Durham, we wouldn't do you wrong.”

“That kind of honesty won't go unrewarded,” said Collins. “You have my word.”

Durham sat up, rubbing his head.

“He's alive, damn it,” Shanghai said. “What are we goin' to do with him?”

“He's going with us,” said Faro, “and we'll keep our end of the bargain, but there'll be one big difference. We know why he's here, and he won't be armed. Shanghai, take the Winchester from his saddle boot, and Tarno, take his Colt.”

“I got it,” Tarno said.

“You can't leave me unarmed,” said Durham. “The Indians…”

“Durham,” Faro said, “it's not the Indians you should be concerned with. One wrong move from you, and you'll wish the Utes had hold of you, instead of me. When we reach the end of this trail—unless I have to kill you between now and then—you'll be allowed to take your weapons and go. Until then, any man in this outfit can gut-shoot you with my blessing, if you get out of line.”

“Well,” said Durham, getting to his feet and dusting off his coat, “I suppose you'll be relieving me from the first watch.”

“Wrong,” Faro said. “You'll remain there so we can watch
you
.”

As Slade was about to depart Dog Face's camp, five more Utes rode in. They looked at Slade suspiciously as they dismounted. Dog Face nodded to them as though he had fully expected them to return.

“Ungrateful varmints,” Hueso said, “and you take 'em back without a word.”

“Why not?” said Dog Face. “You was whinin' because they rode off, takin' their Winchesters. Well, five of 'em are back. What do you expect me to do, take a switch to 'em?”

Sangre thought that hilariously funny, and erupted into a fit of laughter. The Utes all looked at him as though he'd lost his mind.

“You damn fool,” Hueso said in disgust, “the only reason they ain't done scalped you is 'cause you look like it's already been done.”

“Shut your mouth,” said Sangre. “You just got a mad on 'cause Slade's rode out to look around. Dog Face, why don't you take a switch to
him
?”

“Both of you shut the hell up,” Dog Face snarled.

Slade rode east, avoiding the low places where the mud was deepest. As yet there was no wind, and he
looked for a tendril of smoke that might guide him to whatever sanctuary the teamsters had taken against the storm. He expected to find them in camp, for there was little chance of moving the heavy wagons through mud. Pausing on a ridge, he drew the spyglass from his saddlebag and searched the country ahead of him. He didn't doubt his quarry had holed up in a canyon if they had been fortunate enough to have found one, and he really didn't expect to see anything helpful through the glass. But he was at a high enough elevation that there was mostly brush for the next several miles, and suddenly he was seeing grazing horses and mules through the glass. There were men with them, and he was facing the sun.

“Damn,” he said, hastily lowering the glass.

But one of the men who had taken the animals to graze was Tarno Spangler, and the sharp eyes of the half-Comanche had seen the sun reflecting off the spyglass. He watched for it again, but saw it no more. Still it was significant enough that he told Faro of it.

“That renegade outfit,” Faro said, “and we'll give as good as we get. When we take the trail again, I'll find out where they are.”

“Short of following us,” said Collins, “they have no way of knowing our destination.”

“Maybe they just intend to follow us,” Faro said, “but we can't be sure of that. We can't be sure they don't aim to attack, capture some of us, and apply some Ute torture.”

“It's the kind of thing the Comanches would do,” said Tarno, “and it's always worked surprisingly well.”

“You ain't seen fit to come right out and tell us,”
Odessa said, “but from what I've heard, it appears you aim to risk all our scalps for a gold claim somewhere back in these mountains.”

“God forbid that you and Mamie should feel slighted,” said Faro. “It's true. There is a gold claim, but I don't recall you bein' hog-tied and dragged into this. You chose to come with us because we're using your teams and wagon, and you know who roped us into that. Anytime you get to feelin' your scalps are worth more than the teams and wagon, we won't object if you just saddle up and ride on.”

Mamie laughed. “You're a caution, Duval. Whatever gave you the idea we wasn't goin' to stick with you to the bitter end?”

“You been honest with us, Duval,” Odessa said, “so I reckon we can be honest with you. Mamie and me has been wonderin' if, somewhere beneath that iron hide of yours, they ain't some flesh and blood. Before we split the blanket with this outfit, one or both of us aim to get you under a wagon and find out.”

None of their previous antics had surprised Faro Duval, but this time they had gone too far. Their brazen challenge got to him, and his face flamed with embarrassment. While the rest of the outfit kept straight faces, Hal Durham howled with laughter. But it lasted only until Faro got to him. But the gambler ducked, and Faro's fist only clipped him on the side of his head, sending him sprawling.

“You're a big man, Duval, pushin' your way around,” Durham snarled, “but I won't always be without a gun.”

“When that day comes,” said Faro, “I'll be careful
not to turn my back. Actually, I aim to do my best to avoid killing you, because you and this pair of foolish, desperate females deserve one another.”

“Damn you, Duval,” Odessa shouted, “you watch who you're callin' foolish and desperate.”

“Don't push me,” said Faro, “or I'll use a different set of words. I'm through trying to treat the pair of you as ladies, when you've been behaving like pigs. From now on, I'll shove your heads in the slop.”

None of his companions had ever seen Faro Duval so angry. When he stalked away, nobody followed. When suppertime drew near, the McCutcheons seemed to have forgotten their offer to do the cooking. Levi Collins approached Felix Blackburn.

“You're the best cook among us, Felix. Can we depend on you?”

“Yes,” Blackburn said. “I'll do it.”

Nothing was said to the McCutcheons. Blackburn got a fire going, and wasted no time impressing them all with his ability. He turned out Dutch-oven biscuits that had the men all gathered near the supper fire, waiting. The McCutcheons remained aloof, their noses in the air.

“I hope they stay miffed from now on,” said Shanghai. “They wasn't bad, but Felix is great.”

“He is,” Josh Snyder said, “but we never got much benefit of it, when there was just the four of us. It took all of us, with Winchesters, just to keep the Utes at a distance.”

“Well, it's gonna be a mite different, this time,” said Tarno. “I don't fight Indians worth a damn on jerked beef and branch water.”

Durham and the McCutcheons avoided the supper fire as long as they could, and when they finally approached, they were subdued. After filling their tin plates and tin cups, they retreated in silence.

“They all got a burr under their tails,” Dallas said.

“I hope it stays there,” said Tarno. “I've never seen Faro so killin' mad.”

Faro Duval had pretty well kept to himself after his confrontation with Durham and the McCutcheons, and nobody bothered him.

“Leave him be,” Shanghai said. “It ain't often he builds up such a head of steam, and I reckon it bothers him because they got to him.”

When the sun eventually dried up enough of the mud, everybody was ready for the trail. For two days, Faro had said little, and nobody said or did anything to try his short-fused patience. Faro rode out, scouting ahead, and by riding wide, toward the north, he soon found the tracks of Slade's horse. While the mud had dried, the trail was clear, and he followed it. Since it was still early, there was no wind, but there was a distinct gray smudge of smoke against the blue of the sky.

“Maybe ten miles, horse,” Faro said. “Let's try and get close enough to see how many men are in this camp.”

Faro rode far enough north of the telltale smoke until he found decent tree cover. He then rode west until he was within a mile or two of the smoke. Leaving his horse and taking his Winchester, he proceeded on foot. There was scant cover as he descended to the lower elevation, and soon he was on hands and knees, creeping from one clump of brush to the next. Finally
he could progress no farther without being seen, and had to content himself with his position. He could see the smoldering fire and four white men hunkered around it, but where were the Utes? A whisper of sound behind him was all the warning he had. The Ute sprang like a cougar, a deadly knife in his upraised fist, and Faro had no choice but to shoot. The roar of the Winchester sounded like a cannon in the stillness of the early morning. Knowing where there was one Indian there were likely to be others, Faro had little choice. He ran for his horse, but they were there ahead of him. Six of them with Winchesters at the ready. Faro allowed his Winchester to slip to the ground and lifted his hands. With the muzzle of his rifle, one of the Indians pointed to Faro's gun belt, and there was nothing he could do except unbuckle it. One of the Indians seized the gun belt and with another leading his horse, they marched Faro toward the renegade camp. The Ute Faro had shot was only wounded in the shoulder, and he had his recovered knife in his other hand. He looked at Faro hungrily, saying some venomous words in his own tongue, but one of his companions restrained him. As the group approached the fire, the four whites got to their feet. One of the Utes spoke rapidly, pointing first to Faro and then to the Indian who had been wounded. Dog Face responded just as quickly, and the seven Utes moved reluctantly away. The renegade fixed his one good eye on Faro and spoke.

“You ain't made no friends, pilgrim. Beaver Tail wants your scalp, and likely some other parts of your carcass.”

“I'm not here to make friends with you or your pet
Indians,” Faro said. “I'm scouting ahead for a party I'm sure you know about, and I have as much right here as you do.”

Dog Face laughed. “Well, by God, ain't you got sand. It ain't a bad idea, makin' you some
amigos
amongst the Utes, if you aim to ride these trails. Next time you come sneakin' around my camp, I'll let these heathen cut your gizzard out, along with any other parts they fancy. Slade, return his weapons.”

Unbelieving, Faro buckled his gun belt around his middle and took his Winchester, but his eyes were on the assembled Utes.

“Mount up and ride,” Dog Face ordered.

Faro mounted and rode north, chills creeping up his spine. At any moment he expected to hear the roar of a Winchester and feel the slug slam into his back, but he was soon out of range. Finally he relaxed, wiping his sweating face on the sleeve of his shirt.

“That was a damn fool move,” Hueso said, as Faro rode away.

“Yeah,” said Sangre. “You should of let the Utes draw an' quarter the bastard.”

“The dumbest Ute in the bunch has got more brains than the two of you combined,” Dog Face replied. “We ain't killin' nobody until I say so. That bunch is suspicious, but they got nothin' agin us, and until they lead us to that gold claim, they're worth more to us alive than dead.”

“I think so, too,” said Slade, his eyes on Sangre and Hueso.

“You
would
,” Hueso said.

Dog Face laughed, and his two disgruntled companions
didn't like the way things were shaping up. The Utes had taken care of the wounded Beaver Tail, and they now eyed the four white men without friendliness.

*   *   *

As Faro rode back to meet the wagons, he was thoroughly angry with himself. There had been no excuse for his having gotten so close to the renegade camp without considering the whereabouts of the Utes he knew were there. He was alive, thanks only to a whim of the renegade leader, and the only thing he had learned was that Slade was obviously one of the renegades. Certainly not worth the risk of his life, he thought in disgust, and he was tempted not to mention the incident to the rest of his outfit. But in the stillness, they likely had heard the shot. In the lead wagon, Collins saw him coming and called a halt to rest the horses. They all gathered to hear his report, and it took but a moment for him to understand why.