Devil's Canyon (28 page)

They needed no urging, for the heavy gray storm clouds had come closer, and the winds from the northwest had become much colder. The wagons had traveled less than half the required distance when the sleet began. Wind-driven, it rattled off their hats and the wagon canvas, stinging their cheeks and half blinding
them. Wanting to turn their backs to the wind, the mules tried to balk.

“Take their bridles and lead them!” Faro shouted.

Dismounting, Faro tied his horse behind the lead wagon, and seizing the bridles of the first team, forced them ahead. The other teamsters, knowing what must be done, led their teams in similar fashion. As suddenly as it had begun, the sleet ceased, but the wind grew stronger, touching their ears, gloved hands, and booted feet with icy fingers. Just when it seemed they would never reach shelter, they did. Collins and Faro, leading the teams by their bridles, forced the first wagon into the arroyo, and the others followed. Each of the wagons were driven as near the west rim as possible.

“Shanghai, Tarno, Dallas, Collins, and Puckett, saddle your horses and come with me,” Faro shouted. “We're going after all the firewood we can find. The rest of you unharness the teams.”

As the six of them rode out, the big gray storm clouds seemed only treetop high, as the day became as night. Like a thing alive, the wind moaned through the firs. While there were many lightning-struck and windblown trees, limbs had to be trimmed and their root masses cut away before they could be snaked into the arroyo. The men dismounted with axes and began their race with time. By the time they had snaked in their first loads, there was a fire going, started with dry wood from the possum bellies beneath the wagons. The McCutcheons had the coffeepots on and tin cups ready.

“Here,” Mamie shouted, “the coffee's hot.”

Gratefully, Faro and his companions took the time to down the scalding brew before returning to their task. By the time they returned with their second load, snow had begun falling, whipping into the arroyo on the wings of the howling wind. Blackburn, Snyder, Withers, and Kritzer had ben busy with axes, reducing the logs to manageable lengths for the fire.

“There's more coffee,” Odessa cried.

“No time,” said Faro. “We have to bring in another load or two, if we can.”

The six men rode out a third and fourth time, ceasing when the storm worsened to the extent that they might become lost, unable to find their way back in the deepening snow. Gratefully they gathered around the fire, warming their hands with tin cups of hot coffee.

*   *   *

Others caught up in the storm hadn't fared so well. Slade had been forced to hole up beneath a riverbank where there was barely room without dangling his feet in the water. He had picketed his horse among some brush, taking the saddle blankets to use with his own, lest he freeze to death.

*   *   *

More than a day's ride to the north, the eight men to whom Durham had revealed the gold strike had been forced to take shelter from the storm.

“I told you we could ride out the storm,” Luke said. “This shelvin' rock has its back to the wind, and there's room aplenty for us and our horses. I been across these mountains to California and back. I know where there's shelter and where there's water.”

“Yeah,” said Ebeau, “this ain't bad. Soon as the
snow melts enough for us to ride, we can find that strike and dig in.”

*   *   *

Along the river, a dozen miles west of the arroyo where the wagons had taken shelter, Dog Face, Hueso, and Sangre hunkered before a fire on the lee side of a ridge. In a nearby thicket, their Ute companions had set up their own camp.

“Don't nothin' bother them damn Indians,” said Sangre.

“Too bad they ain't more
hombres
like 'em,” Dog Face said. “All you an' Hueso has done since you throwed in with me is bellyache about the weather an' th' grub. I'm gittin' almighty tired of it.”

His disgruntled companions glared at him, but neither of them bothered to reply.

*   *   *

Along toward dawn, the snow began to diminish.

“Good sign,” said Tarno. “This ain't gonna be a bad one. Ought to start warmin' up by tonight.”

“There's already deep drifts,” Faro pointed out, “and we'll be mud-bound for a while.”

“We got plenty of firewood and grub,” said Dallas Weaver.

“Yes,” Levi Collins said, “and we don't have that much farther to go. There's a chance we can reach the claim before there's another storm.”

“But the worst of the winter's ahead of us,” said Isaac Puckett. “I think before we do anything else, we'd better establish a permanent camp. Before spring, there'll be storms far worse and more frequent than this one.”

“You have the right idea,” Faro Duval said. “Not only must we plan for the winter and the snow, we'll have to dig in with an eye to defense.”

“Amen to that,” said Levi Collins. “The Utes don't seem to observe the seasons.”

“Speaking of the Utes,” Dallas Weaver said, “wonder how Durham's gettin' along with them?”

“I doubt that he's havin' to,” said Shanghai. “He's the kind who'd throw in with them renegades that's been stalkin' us, if they'll have him.”

“They won't,” Kritzer said. “Slade's with 'em, and he'll see they don't take Durham in.”

“They might, long enough to kill him,” said Withers, “if they find out he run off with that twenty-five thousand in bank loot.”

Collins laughed. “Faro expected that. The saddlebag Durham took was stuffed with old wrapping paper.”

That drew a round of laughter, especially from the McCutcheons, but they all became grim when the wind brought the chilling howl of a lobo wolf. It was a vivid reminder of the attack that had seriously wounded Faro and had resulted in the death of the Indian.

“Oh, God,” Mamie said, “I hope the wolves don't come after us again.”

“We'll have to keep watch day and night,” said Faro, “and I reckon we'd better start a couple more fires. This is a shallow canyon, and they can attack from either rim.”

Again there was a distant howl, and this time it was answered. Shanghai, Dallas, Tarno, and Snyder began heaping wood for two additional fires, one of which
would be near the lower end of the canyon. The mules and horses, already spooked by the distant cries, had moved nearer the wagons. The mules brayed their fear, even as Faro sought to calm them. Collins, Puckett, and Blackburn joined them, and soon the two additional fires flamed high. The men cocked their Winchesters and walked from one end of the canyon to the other, but there was no sign of the fearful predators.

“With the storm dying, maybe we'll escape them this time,” Faro said.

Toward late afternoon, the clouds were swept away. Without the wind, the sun seemed warm, and some of the snow showed signs of melting. With the coming of twilight, the first stars bloomed in a vast purple meadow above.

“We'll go with the usual watch,” said Faro, “unless we hear from the wolves again. All of you keep your Winchesters loaded and ready, and take off nothing but your hats.”

*   *   *

Far to the north—in western Colorado—Hal Durham had taken shelter in a mass of huge boulders where there barely was room for him and his horse. Huddled in his blankets before a meager fire, he was able to boil coffee and broil his bacon. After the snow ceased he waited only until the next morning before riding on.

*   *   *

Gratefully, Slade looked up at the clearing sky. Leaving his cramped position under the riverbank, he managed to break enough dead limbs from a fir to start a small fire over which he broiled his bacon and some much-needed coffee. Concluding his meal, he saddled
his horse and rode west, keeping near the riverbank where snow had not drifted. By late afternoon the stream he followed began playing out, and recalling the directions Dog Face had provided, Slade rode due south. Reining up just north of the Sevier River, he dug in for the night.

*   *   *

“We'd better wait another day,” Jed argued. “Them drifts will be almighty deep.”

“They'll be just as deep tomorrow, and we'll have lost a day,” said Luke. “It ain't all that cold, and the sun's up. We'll lead the horses and break trail, if we have to.”

So they rode south, dismounting frequently, assisting their horses through deep drifts. But the going was difficult, and come sundown, they were still half a day's ride from their destination. Settling down for the night, they arose at first light and rode south.

*   *   *

The sun was two hours high when Slade reached what he believed was the Sevier River. He rode northwest along it until he reached a bend where it hooked back sharply to the south.

“Damn it,” Slade grumbled to himself, “the claim markers, if there are any, are likely under the snow.”

Still he rode on, and along the riverbank where the snow had begun melting first, he found what he sought. It was a pyramid of stones. Elated, he continued following the river until he found a second pyramid perhaps a quarter of a mile distant. There would be two more corners, he reasoned, and unless they were on the opposite bank of the river, they would be hidden
among snowdrifts. He debated riding away with what he had discovered, but his excitement got the better of him, and he backtracked several miles downriver before he found a place to cross. He then rode west along the river until he had reached the point where he had found the stone pyramids on the opposite bank. But much of the area where he rode was covered with brush and an accumulation of snow, and it was with great difficulty that he was able to find the third marker.

“Well, by God,” he cried, “the gold's in the riverbed!”

Slade mounted his horse and rode north. Reaching the fork of the river he had followed west, he traveled east. While the snow was slowly beginning to melt, the resulting mud would easily delay the progress of the wagons another two or three days, allowing Slade ample time to reach his companions. When Dog Face received the information Slade would relay, the teamsters and their wagons could be ambushed at anytime….

Southern Utah, along the Green River.
October 6, 1870
.

The wagons took the trail at dawn, avoiding the riverbank where the ground would be softest as it thawed. Faro again rode the box of the lead wagon, while Collins had saddled his horse and led out. The sun seemed unseasonably warm following the storm, and near noon, Collins returned to meet the wagons. Faro
reined up, the others drawing up behind him. It was time to rest the teams.

“I've discovered something interesting,” Collins said as he dismounted. “Perhaps half a dozen miles ahead, I found the remains of several campfires in sheltered areas where some riders waited out the storm. They rode out before the snow melted, but they were following the riverbank, heading west. There were tracks of four shod horses, and tracks of perhaps as many as thirty, unshod.”

“Collins,” said Faro, “you have the makings of a real frontiersman. I think those are the tracks of the renegades who have been stalking us, and it appears they have a disturbing number of Utes riding with them.”

“Their boldness borders on arrogance,” Collins replied. “They must have known their trail would be obvious to us, and they don't care. What do you think it means?”

“They've decided they no longer need to follow us,” said Faro, “and I think we're in for it. Did you mark your claim in any way?”

“Not before I left for Santa Fe,” Collins said.

“We did, before the Utes chased us out,” said Isaac Puckett. “We built two pyramids of stones on each side of the river.”

“That's it, then,” Faro said. “Durham, the varmint, must have told them the claim was somewhere along the Sevier River. One of them has ridden ahead and found the markers.”

“Damn,” said Felix Blackburn, “they'll get there ahead of us and jump our claim.”

“It's more serious than that,” Tarno Spangler said. “Them Utes won't care a whoop for a gold strike. They want these wagon loads of supplies.”

“That's how I see it,” said Dallas Weaver. “We're headin' straight for an ambush.”

“My God,” Collins said.

“That's about what I expect,” said Faro, “and it could come at anytime. If they found the claim markers, they won't figure they'll need us.”

“I look for it to come within the next day or two,” Shanghai said. “Indians ain't very patient, and them Utes have been holdin' back too long.”

“The renegades evidently have armed them with Winchesters, from what I saw while I was in their camp,” said Faro, “and that makes it all the more dangerous.”

“Starting tonight, I suppose all of us should stand watch,” Collins said.

“No,” said Faro. “They have us outgunned, and the darkness would give us an edge. I look for them to attack at dawn, while we're on the trail, or near suppertime.”

“They'll hit us on the trail, with the wagons strung out,” Tarno predicted. “At least half of 'em will attack from behind.”

“With their greater numbers, that would be to their advantage,” said Faro. “From here on, everyone who is mounted will remain near the wagons. Withers, you and Kritzer will continue riding behind the last wagon, and I want you to keep your eyes on the back trail at all times. Be especially watchful as we pass brushy,
thicketed areas. Allow Indians just a little cover, and they'll be all around you before you can blink an eye.”

“We'll be watching,” Kritzer said.

“I have a horse and a Winchester,” said Odessa McCutcheon. “Mr. Collins, if one of your men will take over my wagon, I'll ride with Withers and Kritzer.”

“No,” Collins said. “I'd prefer that you remain with the wagon.”

“I'll go along with that,” said Faro. “You've proven yourself a good teamster, and you will be needed when the attack comes. The Utes will be screeching as loud as they can, in the hope of stampeding the mules. All of you rein up, grab your Winchesters, and stay on your wagon boxes. The wagon itself will provide protection from behind. Now let's move on, but be watchful. That bunch ahead of us may have purposely left a clear trail, with intentions of doubling back.”