Devil's Canyon (29 page)

They traveled cautiously on, and before they halted for the night, they came upon the westward trail Collins had found.

“Tracks are two days old,” Tarno said, after following them a ways. “I think a couple of us should saddle up and scout north and south. We got to know if they're behind us or ahead of us. The varmints may have doubled back, and the ground's soft enough they got to have left a trail.”

“Sorry,” said Faro, “we can't afford that risk. A pair of Utes with Winchesters could have fallen back with just that possibility in mind, and we'd be shy two men.”

“There is also a chance we might be attacked while you are gone,” Collins said.

“That, too,” said Faro. “I still think they'll hit us while we're on the move, and in some ways, that's in our favor. Under no circumstances must we become separated with this threat facing us.”

*   *   *

“You done good, Slade,” Dog Face said, after Slade had told him of the claim markers.

“Now,” said Hueso, “when you're done nuzzlin' around over Slade, maybe we kin take over them wagons.”

“I know this territory, an' I'll say when,” Dog Face snarled. “So far, you ain't contributed a damn thing but your no-account advice, an' I've had enough. How far, Slade?”

“Not more than a day's ride for us,” said Slade. “Maybe four days for the wagons.”

“
Bueno
,” Dog Face said. “We'll ride out in the mornin' an' start lookin' for a place to take them wagons.”

“You aim fer us all to attack head-on?” Sangre asked.

“Why, hell no,” said Dog Face. “What kinda fool do you reckon I am? A dozen of them Utes will fan in behind the last wagon an' the rest of 'em—along with us—will attack from the front.”

“The Utes attackin' from behind will raise enough hell to give us an edge,” Slade said.

“Exactly what I'm countin' on,” said Dog Face, “an' them attackin' head-on will all ride ahead of us.”

Sangre laughed. “Now you're talkin' sense. We got enough Utes to spare a few.”

“Utes or not, you'd better go in shootin' like your
no-account carcass depends on it,” Dog Face said. “That's a salty bunch, or they wouldn't be in these mountains with their wagons.”

“That's the God's truth,” said Slade. “They'll take some killing.”

Southwestern Utah, on the Sevier River. October 7, 1870
.

The eight claim jumpers had no trouble finding the same claim markers that Slade had discovered a day earlier, but they also found the tracks of Slade's horse.

“What do you reckon that means?” Ebeau asked.

“I dunno,” said Luke, “unless one of them rode ahead to see if the claim's secure. But that don't matter, because we're here ahead of them, and the way they got the markers set up, it looks like the strike is in the riverbed.”

“Yeah, but there ain't no money in sluice box minin',” Newsom said. “All you get is a few flakes or a little dust that's washed down from somewhere else.”

“Use your head,” said Luke angrily. “You reckon that bunch is freightin' in five wagon loads of goods just for a little sluice box dust? I think they've found somethin' a lot more promisin' than that.”

“All right,” said Inkler, “suppose there is gold in that riverbed? See them high banks? I'm bettin' that water's almighty deep along here. How do we get at the gold?”

“The
hombres
that put up these markers must have figured out a way, and we can do as well,” Luke said, “but first we got to nail down the claim. We got to set
up an ambush so's we can rid ourselves of that bunch with the least danger to ourselves.”

“Them tracks come west along the river,” said Ebeau, “so I reckon we can look for the wagons to come from that direction.”

“Yeah,” Kirk said, “but there's no cover here. We'd better ride downriver a ways and look for us a better place. We're goin' against ten men, and I ain't wantin' my hair parted with lead.”

“Let's ride, then,” said Luke. “We don't know how far away those wagons are, or how much time we have.”

“I don't like the looks of this,” Giles said. “We may be bitin' off more than we'll be able to chew.”

“Anytime you feel that strong,” said Luke, “you know the way home.”

But there was no more argument, and the eight of them rode downriver, seeking their place to arrange an ambush.

*   *   *

Half a dozen miles ahead of the slow-moving wagons, Dog Face had chosen the place for his planned attack. There was a bend in the river, with a profusion of brush that would force the wagons to go around it. The first wagon or two would bear the brunt of the attack, while the screeching Utes would strike from behind the last wagon.

“I don't see how it can miss,” Slade said.

“I reckon we can't do no better,” said Dog Face, pleased.

“I won't agree till that bunch is dead an' we got the wagons,” Sangre said.

“Me neither,” said Hueso.

Dog Face said nothing, but he glared at the two in a manner that suggested he might rid himself of them at the first opportunity.

*   *   *

“We're perhaps two days away from where this fork in the river plays out,” Collins said. “Beyond that, another day's travel should take us to the claim on the Sevier.”

“It seems like we've been on the trail a lot longer than we have,” said Dallas Weaver.

“I agree,” Faro said, “but we're only nine weeks out of Santa Fe.”

“The return trip may be even longer, if everything works out,” said Shanghai. “That ore will be heavy.”

The balmy weather had continued, and the night passed uneventfully. The wagons took the trail at dawn, rolling westward. A few miles away, along the river, disaster waited….

“We're ready,” Dog Face announced. “A dozen Utes will attack from their back trail, 'an that'll send the rest of 'em hell-fer-leather toward the lead wagon. We'll hold back just far enough fer them teamsters to start returnin' fire. When they do, an' while they're shootin' at the Utes, we move in fer the kill. Any questions?”

There were none. For a change, both Hueso and Sangre were silent. Slade nodded, and they waited for the arrival of the wagons. The Utes who would attack from the rear had doubled back, keeping well away from the river, and they made no move until the last of the wagons was more than a quarter of a mile distant. Withers and Kritzer trailed the last wagon, frequently turning in their saddles to watch the back trail. But the attacking Utes did not ride in direct pursuit. Keeping a good distance to the south, they rode parallel to the last wagon, finally coming at a fast gallop from the side. Like phantoms, they erupted from the brush, taking the ever-vigilant Kritzer and Withers almost totally by surprise. Josh Snyder, jogging his horse alongside the last wagon, was first to see the attackers.

“Indians!” Snyder shouted.

At that moment, Kritzer and Withers cut loose with their Winchesters, and the rest of the Utes broke out of the brush, galloping toward the lead wagon. Levi Collins fired first, killing one of the attackers, but the screeching of the Utes and the roar of gunfire spooked the horse and Collins was thrown. From the wagon box, Faro fired twice, leaving two of the Ute horses riderless. But a slug caught Faro in the left shoulder, pitching him off the wagon box. Rolling under the wagon where Collins had already taken refuge, the two of them continued firing. But the Utes had galloped past the first wagon, only to run headlong into withering fire from the second, third, and fourth wagons, as Shanghai, Tarno, and Dallas cut loose with their Winchesters. Isaac Puckett, riding the box with Dallas, fired as rapidly as he could lever in the shells. But the Ute attack on the last wagon had taken its toll. Felix Blackburn, riding the box with Odessa McCutcheon, fired until his Winchester clicked on empty. At that moment, Odessa was hard hit, and seizing her Winchester, Felix continued firing. Two riderless horses—mounts ridden by Withers and Kritzer—galloped past, only to be spooked by Utes who had attacked the first wagon. On the heels of the Utes, Dog Face, Slade, Hueso, and Sangre rode in fast, their Colts blazing. But the Utes had begun taking fire from the rest of the wagons. Faro and Collins began firing at the four renegades. Slade and Hueso were hit and their horses galloped away riderless. Sangre was flung to the ground when his horse was hit, and he dropped his Colt. Catlike, he rolled and came to his feet just as Faro's Winchester clicked on empty. Sangre's hand dropped to the
sawed-off shotgun swiveled to his left hip, and he was fast. Incredibly fast. Barely in time, Faro drew his Colt and fired, dropping the little gunman as the shotgun blasted its deadly load into the ground at his feet. As suddenly as the attack had begun, it was over, and except for the braying of some of the mules, there was deadly silence. Faro Duval and Levi Collins got to their feet. Faro had a bloody left shoulder, but Collins hadn't been hit. Dallas Weaver and Isaac Puckett still sat on the wagon box, bleeding, Winchesters across their knees. Tarno and Shanghai had not been hit, but Odessa McCutcheon lay beside her wagon, the front of her faded old shirt covered with blood. Mamie stood there helplessly, tears streaking the dirt on her face. Felix Blackburn, blood welling from a wound in his thigh, came limping around the wagon, using his Winchester for a crutch.

“Withers and Kritzer are dead,” said Blackburn.

“Damn it,” Faro said. “Odessa?”

“She's dead,” said Blackburn. “She got two of them before they got her.”

Collins had begun tallying the dead, starting with the three renegades, while Faro began seeing to the wounded.

“We accounted for three of the renegades and fifteen Utes,” Collins announced, “but we lost Odessa, Withers, and Kritzer.”

“Dallas, Isaac, Felix, and me have wounds,” said Faro. “I reckon we'll be here a couple of days. Collins, it'll be up to you, Shanghai, Tarno, and Snyder to dig some graves.”

“There'll be time enough for that, after we've seen to the wounded,” Collins said.

Her face buried in her hands, Mamie McCutcheon sat on the ground beside Odessa. Felix Blackburn sat down beside her, his arm about her shoulders. Thankful for his concern, Mamie spoke.

“She wasn't perfect, and sometimes we fought, but she was all the kin I had.”

“You have me,” said Felix, “if you still want me.”

“Now, more than ever,” Mamie said. “You're hurt. We must stop the bleeding.”

Tarno already had a fire going, and both coffeepots had been filled with water, which soon was boiling.

“No broken bones and no lead to be dug out,” said Faro. “I reckon that's the only good news.”

“There could be more,” Tarno said. “I think we've busted up this bunch of renegades once and for all, and we cut down enough of the Utes to convince the rest that we're
malo
. Bad medicine.”

“My God,” said Snyder, “there must have been thirty or more.”

“Not more than twenty-five,” Tarno said, “and that was too many.”

“Half that number is too many,” said Shanghai, “when they have Winchesters.”

“Speaking of the Utes,” Collins said, “hadn't we better dispose of the dead?”

“No,” said Faro. “We're overlooking the obvious. Indians always come back for their dead. We'll leave them where they lay. After we've tended our wounds and buried our own dead, we'll move west a ways, before making camp for the night.”

*   *   *

Following the death of his three companions and the defeat of the Utes, Dog Face rode west, unsure as to what his next move would be. For a certainty, he had no chance of taking over the gold claim, and little or no chance of exerting any influence among the Utes. His interest in the gold had been no concern of theirs, for they wanted the five wagon loads of goods and supplies. Now, following their devastating defeat, they would likely consider it a bad omen and make no further effort. Gloomily, Dog Face considered his options and found they were few. He could return to California, but that was a good five hundred miles, and he was short on grub. He had counted on the provisions to be plundered from the wagons. Suddenly his horse nickered and he reined up, for ahead of him were the ten mounted Utes who had survived the ill-fated raid on the wagons.

“
Buenos amigos
,” said Dog Face, raising his hands.

The Utes said nothing. One of them fired three rapid shots from his Winchester, and Dog Face was hurled to the ground by the force of the lead. He lay on his back, his blood pumping out of the three gaping holes in his chest. His eyes were open but the soul had departed. Silently one of the Utes dismounted and stripped him of his gun belt and Colt, while another caught up his horse. Finally, without looking back, the band rode south.

*   *   *

Having tended the wounded, Shanghai, Tarno, Collins, and Snyder dug graves for their dead. When the graves were finished and they were ready for the burying,
Levi Collins read the twenty-third Psalm from his Bible.

“There was so little we could do for them,” Mamie lamented, as they returned to their wagons. “Is that the best we can expect, a lonely grave a thousand miles from family and friends?”

“It's the luck of the draw,” said Faro. “The best you can expect is to be buried deep, so the varmints can't get to you.”

I suppose that's all we can expect in this world,” Felix Blackburn said, “but I believe there's another. I once heard a preacher say that it makes no difference where our bones rest, after the soul has gone to its maker.”

“Thank you,” said Mamie. “That makes me feel better.”

“If this gold claim don't pan out,” Josh Snyder said, “Felix can always build himself a church and pass the hat ever' Sunday.”