Devil's Canyon (27 page)

“We'll watch for them,” Kritzer promised.

*   *   *

Hal Durham had ridden west only a few miles when he reined up to rest his horse. He had crossed a river, but had no idea how far he might be from the next water. He had no intention of returning to Faro Duval's caravan. Therefore, he had to avoid Slade and the renegades with whom he had allied himself. The more Durham thought about it, the less inclined he was to attempt to reach California. He was certain the river he had just crossed flowed into the Colorado, but prior to that, it meandered toward the northeast. Following it, he would eventually reach a settlement, perhaps in eastern Colorado. There he could buy supplies to see him through to Denver. With that in mind, Durham turned back to the river he had crossed, and following it, rode north.

Along the Green River, in eastern Utah.
October 2, 1870
.

Durham's small supply of food was quickly exhausted, along with grain for his horse, and he had ridden for two days surviving only on dogged determination. It was with some relief that he heard dogs barking somewhere ahead. By the time he could see the string of cabins along the river, the dogs had discovered him. Half a dozen hounds came yipping to greet him, spooking his horse. There were eight cabins in all, and well before Durham got close, men were there to greet
him. There were eight of them, not a friendly face in the lot, and each was armed with a long gun.

“That's far enough,” one of them shouted. “You ain't welcome here.”

“I'm just passing through,” said Durham desperately, “and I need food. I can pay.”

“Come on,” the hostile one replied, “but don't do anything foolish.”

Durham rode closer, and when he reined up, they gathered around. But every man had his rifle at the ready, and they waited for Durham to speak.

“My name is Durham, and I'm on my way to Colorado. I need food for myself and grain for my horse.”

“Where you from?” one of the men demanded.

“Santa Fe,” said Durham.

“You do things the hard way, pilgrim,” his antagonist said. “You don't go from Santa Fe to Colorado through Utah. What are you doin' here?”

“I was with some wagons heading west,” said Durham, “and we had a falling out. I had to quit them, and I thought I might reach Denver.”

“That ain't near good enough, is it, Luke?”

“Naw,” Luke said. “You must of had a powerful reason for fallin' out with them folks, in the midst of Ute country. Tell us the truth, an' maybe we'll help you.”

“All right,” said Durham. “There's five wagons loaded with supplies, and one of them was mine. They're on their way to a gold strike. There's ten men, and they cheated me out of my share, so I had no reason to go on.”

“Well, now,” Luke said, “that's mighty interesting. Tell us more about that gold strike, and just maybe
we'll give you grub and grain for your horse. Don't you reckon, Ebeau?”

“Yeah,” said Ebeau. “Where is this strike?”

“I got nothin' to lose,” Durham said. “It's somewhere near the headwaters of the Sevier River, about seven hundred miles west of Santa Fe. That's all I know.”

“That's close enough,” said Ebeau. “Marklee, take him over yonder to the barn and fill a sack with grain. Rest of you, have your women contribute toward a sack of grub.”

Within the hour, Durham rode northeast, only too glad to be on his way. There was food in his saddlebag, and behind his saddle, grain for his horse. Within him, there was grim satisfaction, for he had little doubt the hostile men he had encountered would quickly become claim jumpers.

“Good luck, Mr. Faro Duval and Mr. Levi Collins,” said Durham aloud.

*   *   *

Dog Face had spent a long, troublesome day with the Utes who had remained with him, for their patience had grown thin. Their desire was for the five wagons and the goods they contained, rather than an elusive gold claim. To satisfy them, Dog Face had been forced to a decision not of his liking.

“Damn it,” said Sangre, “it's too soon to ambush them wagons. We still don't know the way to the gold strike.”

“By God, we're gonna have to find it without follerin' the wagons,” Dog Face said, “or we'll end up with just the four of us. The Utes is goin' after them wagons without us.”

“When?” Hueso asked.

“Seven suns,” said Dog Face. “Seven days from today.”

“Then we won't have enough time to foller the wagons,” Sangre said. “How do you aim to find the gold strike?”

“I know this territory,” said Dog Face, “and there ain't too many possibilities for gold west of here. Slade, think. Tell me ever' scrap you know about this strike.”

“I don't know that much,” Slade said. “From the little I learned from Durham, it's a good seven hundred miles west of Santa Fe, near the headwaters of some river.”

“Ah,” said Dog Face, “now we're gettin' somewhere. That seven hunnert miles eliminates the Colorado an' the Green. It ain't the Fremont, 'cause it flows into the Colorado, an' to git there, they'd of follered the Colorado south. They're headin' fer the south fork of the Green, I'd say, and there ain't nothin' west of there but the Sevier and the Great Basin of southern Nevada.”

“You reckon the strike's somewhere along the Sevier River, then,” Slade said.

“Nowhere else it could be,” said Dog Face, “an' if they've been there, don't you reckon they left claim markers?”

“I see what you're gettin' at,” Slade said. “They must have done some minin', too, or they wouldn't have ore samples.”

“Right,” said Dog Face. “There's time fer some of us to ride there, check out the claim, an' get back here before the Utes go after them wagons on their own.”

“I'd go,” Slade said, “but I don't know the country.”

“You wouldn't be goin', if you knowed it like the back of your hand,” said Sangre. “I purely don't trust you.”

“Then I won't go,” Slade said.

“You sure as hell won't,” said Hueso. “I don't trust you neither.”

“You varmints don't trust one another,” Dog Face roared. “I'll go myself, by God. That is, unless you got your doubts about me.”

“We ain't doubtin' you,” said Sangre sullenly, “but I ain't sure we can control them Utes while you're gone.”

Slade laughed, and after a moment, Dog Face joined in.

“What's so damn funny?” Hueso demanded.

“You two jokers,” said Slade. “What kind of damn fools would expect one man to take over a gold strike, defendin' it against the bunch that's comin' to claim it, as well as God knows how many Utes that's determined to take his hair?”

“Well said, Slade,” Dog Face said. “You greedy varmints ain't thinkin', but I reckon that ain't your fault. You ain't equipped for it. Since we're layin' the cards on the table, I got to say that I don't trust neither of you, together or separated, even if you knowed this territory, which you don't. So you got a choice, damn it. Slade goes or I go, and if I go, the pair of you has got them Utes to deal with.”

“I ain't wet-nursin' a bunch of ornery Indians,” said Hueso. “Not fer you, not even fer a gold claim.”

“Me neither,” Sangre said.

“Slade,” said Dog Face, “ride when you're ready. Take grub fer a week.”

Slade nodded, secretly pleased. The hostility between Dog Face and his pair of troublesome lieutenants was out in the open, and he was confident they could be eliminated once the gold strike had been located. Without a word, Slade saddled up and rode out, riding along the south fork of the Green.

*   *   *

The wagons had been drawn up along the river for the night.

“By tomorrow evening,” said Collins, “we should reach the fork in the river. From there we'll take the south fork until it plays out. Then it's due west until we reach the bend of the Sevier.”

“Seems like we ought to be out of Ute country by then,” Shanghai said.

“Not necessarily,” said Collins. “That's what we thought, but their country seems to be of their choosing.”

“That's the truth,” Felix Blackburn said. “We left the Sevier on the run, Utes after us every jump of the way. If those renegades hadn't shown up, none of us would have made it out alive.”

“We'll have to do as we've always done,” said Faro, “and that's be prepared. Never take Indians for granted, if you want to keep your hair.”

“They won't be taking my hair, as long as I have a gun in my hand,” declared Mamie McCutcheon.

“Nor mine,” said Odessa.

The eight men whom Durham had told of the gold strike wasted no time in making plans.

“If there's gold in southern Utah,” said Luke, “who's more entitled to it than us? For sure, not some strangers from Santa Fe. I say we move in and take that claim.”

“Yeah,” Ebeau agreed, and his sentiment was quickly echoed by the others.

“Then we'd best gather up some grub and ride,” said Newsom. “There's another storm buildin', if my rheumatism ain't lyin'.”

“We don't necessarily have to ride ahead of the storm,” Inkler said. “If that outfit has five wagons, snowdrifts will delay 'em another four or five days. Why don't we wait out the blizzard here, where we'll be warm with hot grub?”

“I'm for that,” said Giles.

“Well, I ain't,” Kirk said. “If that bunch gets there ahead of us, it'll be us that's claim jumpers.”

“He's got a point,” said Marklee. “If we got to face ten armed men, then I want to be dug in before the lead
starts flyin'. If they get there first, it'll be them that's dug in.”

“Inkler,” Luke said, “you and Giles can stay here, or you can ride with us. If you stay here, then you don't share in the gold. Which way do you aim to jump?”

“Since you put it that way,” said Inkler, “I'll go.”

“Then I reckon I'll go, too,” Giles said.

“Good,” said Luke. “We're all of the same mind. Gather up enough grub for a month, and plenty of shells. I look for us to have a fight on our hands.”

“We'll be leavin' our women and kids here alone,” Jed said. “I don't like that.”

“Neither do I,” said Luke, “but we've done it before, and they'll be armed. Some of us may get ventilated and not ride back, but when there's enough at stake, you've always got to gamble.”

An hour later, the eight of them saddled up and rode south.

*   *   *

“The part of me that's Injun says there's more snow on the way,” Tarno Spangler said. “We got maybe another day to take shelter.”

Not more than a dozen miles after crossing the Colorado, the teams had been unhitched from the wagons and the outfit was finishing supper.

“Damn,” said Dallas Weaver, “ain't that Injun blood of yours ever wrong?”

“Not as I recollect,” Tarno said.

“We don't have to rely entirely on that,” said Levi Collins. “The wind's considerably colder than it was this time yesterday. I think perhaps tomorrow we ought to begin looking for some shelter. Otherwise, we
might not fare so well. Faro, why don't you ride ahead tomorrow, and let me take over the wagon?”

“Suits me,” Faro said, “but you've been through here before. Your judgment might be better than mine.”

“I doubt that,” said Collins. “All my experience has been with mules and horses. You'll be looking through the eyes of a man accustomed to taking wagons across country.”

“Then I'll have a look ahead,” Faro said. “I don't know what kind of terrain we may be facing, but this would be a good time to pick up the gait some, if you can. Finding shelter may not be the problem, but it could be a ways off, and gettin' to it ahead of the storm might be difficult. We'll pull out tomorrow as soon as it's light enough to see, and we'll expect a long ride, rather than a short one.”

*   *   *

The wagons moved out at first light, facing a chill wind from the northwest. Faro rode far ahead, searching for possible shelter. He viewed the terrain as a teamster, for a wagon had not the mobility of a man on horseback. Drop-offs and steep-sided arroyos must be avoided, often increasing the distance that must be traveled. The river they were following wasn't yet bank-full, but there were no rock or sandbars beneath overhanging banks that might be utilized as shelter. Faro rode south, beyond the river, knowing the terrain would limit them to what the wagons might safely travel. There also had to be a source of firewood, for the temperature might fall to zero or below, trapping them for days. Faro had ridden more than fifteen miles
before finding any kind of shelter. Even then, the arroyo was shallow, its rims not exceeding the height of the wagon canvas by more than a foot or two, but there was little hope of finding anything better. The distance the wagons had to travel might already be too great, for as the storm moved in, overhanging clouds would bring twilight two hours early. After resting his horse, Faro mounted, riding back the way he had come. Lest they travel even farther out of their way, he had to reach the wagons and divert them south, away from the river. Riding on, Faro reined up occasionally, listening for the rattle of the wagons. But the wind was at his back, and he had ridden more than ten miles before he finally heard them coming. He galloped ahead, and when Collins—in the lead wagon—saw him coming, he reined up. There was a clearing, and the rest of the wagons were drawn up beside him. It was time to rest the teams, and Faro wasted no time in relaying what he had learned.

“The arroyo's maybe two miles south of the river,” Faro said, “and it's still ten miles or more ahead of us. It's not as deep as I'd have liked, but there's nothing else. There is water, maybe a run-off from the river, but no graze, and it'll take some ridin' to drag in enough firewood to see us through. Push the teams as hard as you can, and follow me.”