Devil's Canyon (5 page)

“Captives?”

“Yes. In the old days, before the Spanish gave up California, captives were often sold to captains of sailing ships,” said Collins. “Bandits and renegades from California bought the captives from the Utes, bartering horses and mules.”

“California's been part of the United States for more than twenty years,” Faro said. “Are they
still
that uncivilized?”

Collins laughed. “I've never been to California, but I suspect there is much of it that hasn't changed since the days of Spanish domination. I know from experience, however, that the Utes are hostile as ever. We've had to keep at least one man on watch both day and night, and they still caught us unawares a time or two.”

“Then your partners won't have accomplished much, while you've been gone.”

“No,” Collins admitted. “In fact, we considered all of us going to Santa Fe, but these Utes know of the mine. While they couldn't or wouldn't work it, they
might well have led claim jumpers to it. For a price, of course.”

“They sound like a downright troublesome bunch,” said Faro.

“They are,” Collins said. “They were bad enough, on their own, but they've absorbed the hellish ways of the no-account renegade whites they've dealt with over the years.”

After two hours on the trail, Faro halted the caravan to rest the mules, and found, not to his surprise, that Durham's wagon had fallen behind. He was waiting when Durham finally reined up his sweating teams.

“We'll be traveling through Ute country, Durham,” said Faro. “Lagging behind the rest of the wagons could cost you your scalp.”

Durham laughed. “Your concern for my scalp is touching, Duval.”

“Then I'll just lay the cards on the table,” Faro said coldly. “I don't care a damn for your scalp, but your wagon's carryin' a fifth of our goods. For that reason, I don't aim to risk havin' Utes burn the wagon and rustle the mules.”

“It's still my wagon and my mules,” Durham snarled, “and damn it, I won't stand for you talking down to me.”

“Now, you listen to me, slick,” said Faro, his cold blue eyes boring into Durham's. “As long as you hold up your end of the deal, I'll respect your position as owner of these mules and the wagon. That means trailing with the rest of the wagons. Continue falling behind, endangering the wagon, the teams, and the
freight, and you're comin' off that wagon box, permanent.”

“By God,” Durham bawled, “you have no such authority.”

“On the frontier,” said Faro, “authority belongs to the man who can back it up. Not a man in this outfit would fault me if I shot you dead and left your carcass for the coyotes and cougars. But I wouldn't want you thinkin' I'm that uncivilized. If you can't or won't keep that wagon up with the others, I'll pull you off that box and have Levi Collins take the reins.”

“The hell you will,” shouted Durham. “You agreed I could handle my own wagon.”

“The hell I won't,” said Faro, “and just so I don't break my word, you won't own the wagon or the teams. I'll have Collins pay you a fair price. Then you can mount your horse and go anywhere you damn please, at a slow walk.”

Faro turned and walked away. Durham's hand rested on the butt of the Colt he kept beneath his coat, but the rest of the teamsters were watching him. Slowly he relaxed, and when Faro gave the order for the wagons to move out, Durham was careful not to allow his wagon to fall behind.

*   *   *

Mamie and Odessa McCutcheon created a sensation when they began invading saloons. The barkeeps were speechless, while some men stared and others laughed. After visiting three saloons, Mamie and Odessa had learned nothing. The fourth, however, was the one in which Durham had knocked two men unconscious. When Mamie and Odessa entered, their attention was
drawn to a painting mounted behind the bar. It was of a reclining, naked female, leaving nothing to the imagination. The McCutcheons eyed it with interest, and it was Odessa who spoke.

“Too much belly on her.”

There were half a dozen men in the place, and one of them laughed. But the barkeep seemed suddenly struck dumb.

“You behind the bar,” said Mamie. “We're lookin' for a gamblin' man dressed all in black, like a turkey buzzard. Goes by the name of Durham. He been in here?”

“Y…yes, ma'am,” the barkeep stammered. “Started some trouble, and the sheriff told him to git out of town.”

“When was this?” Mamie demanded.

“Two days ago,” said the barkeep. “He was leavin' with some teamsters.”

Without another word, the McCutcheons left the saloon and stood on the boardwalk.

“He's likely gone by now,” said Odessa.

“No matter,” Mamie said. “We'll ask around town. Somebody will know if there's been wagons takin' the trail. We'll just saddle up, and when the time and place is right, give old Hal one hell of a surprise.”

Faro kept the wagons moving until near sundown, for the Rio Chama provided plenty of water. After unharnessing his teams, Durham did nothing, and nobody seemed to expect anything of him. Levi Collins soon had a supper fire going, and when the teamsters had unhitched their teams, they set about preparing supper.

“There'll be rain before morning,” Collins predicted.

“That won't slow us none,” said Shanghai, “unless there's some sloughs ahead. Long as there's high ground, we can move on.”

“Yeah,” Tarno said, “unless that high ground gets too high. On steep slopes, after a good rain, that mud can get slick as goose grease. Mules' hooves and wagon wheels slip and slide.”

“Once we reach higher elevations,” said Collins, “there'll be mostly rock. Maybe even rock slides. You'll have to take it slow, maybe detourin' around ruts and drop-offs that could bust a wheel or axle.”

“That's why there's a pick and shovel in each of our wagons,” Faro said. “Sometimes in rough country, you can lose a day avoiding a particularly bad stretch.
Sometimes, with all of us pitchin' in, we can make it passable in a couple of hours.”

“Pick and shovel work is one thing I don't like about the teamstering business,” said Dallas. “I told my daddy when I left the farm, I wasn't ever layin' my blistered hands on another pick or shovel.”

Faro laughed. “I recollect sayin' somethin' like that, myself. Ain't it funny how life plays tricks on a man, so he ends up eatin' more crow than bacon and beans?”

“I hope,” Durham said, speaking for the first time, “that where we're goin', and our purpose for goin' there is worth pickin' and shovelin' our way through these mountains.”

“We think so,” said Collins, choosing his words carefully. “It's you that's bound for California. I reckon you'll have to decide whether pickin' and shovelin' another seven hundred miles by yourself is worth your reason for going.”

It was the perfect answer, but rather than allow the exchange to continue, Faro Duval quickly changed the subject.

“Starting tonight, we'll take turns standing watch. There's six of us, and I'd suggest we have only two watches. Three of us can take it until midnight, and the remaining three can take it until dawn. I'll take either watch, but I prefer the second.”

“So do I,” said Collins.

“I want the second watch,” Durham said.

“That settles it, then,” said Faro, “unless Shanghai, Tarno, or Dallas objects.”

There were no objections, and at dusk, Faro, Collins, and Durham each spread their blankets beneath
one of the wagons. They would have barely six hours to sleep. Prior to dousing the supper fire, Shanghai, Dallas, and Tarno refilled their tin cups from the big black coffeepot. The wind being from the west, they hunkered downwind from camp, so that their conversation might not be overheard.

“By God,” said Tarno, “that Durham's got somethin' up his sleeve besides some extra cards. He wants to know almighty bad where we're headed, and why.”

“Yeah,” Dallas agreed, “but he ain't got the guts to come right out and ask.”

“He's no fool,” said Shanghai. “He can't get too nosy without tippin' his hand. Hell, we ain't fools, neither, and he can't let us know he's all that interested.”

“But we
do
know,” Dallas said, “and it's almighty important that we learn why he's so interested. Sometimes it's the way of thieves to throw in with you, eat your grub, and all the while, be takin' your measure. Then, when the time's right, the rest of 'em show up, their guns blazing.”

“It purely looks like we're into that kind of situation,” said Shanghai, “but it makes me wonder how they worked it out so slick. The same day we come up one wagon shy, this mouthy cardsharp shows up with mules and a wagon. I don't believe for a minute he aims to go on to California. That's to give him his excuse for trailing with us.”

Durham had purposely spread his blankets beneath the farthest wagon, so that his movements wouldn't rouse Faro Duval or Levi Collins. Somehow he had to learn why these wagon loads of goods were being taken into mountains infested with hostile Utes, and
since Levi Collins was bankrolling the whole thing, Collins should have some answers. Finally, when he could hear Faro and Collins snoring, Durham rolled back his blankets and got to his knees. From beneath his coat he drew a .32-caliber Colt pocket pistol and began crawling slowly toward the wagon where Levi Collins slept. Clouds were being swept in from the west, but there was sufficient starlight for Durham to reach the sleeping Collins. Coming in behind the wagon, he could see Collins's head resting on his saddle. Raising his Colt, Durham slammed its muzzle into the back of the sleeping man's head. Collins only grunted once, and Durham feared he hadn't struck hard enough, but there was no movement. He might have only two or three minutes, at best, and Durham had to settle for quickly going through Levi Collins's coat. The first thing his seeking hands found was the canvas sack in which Collins carried the ore samples. Durham, smart enough to realize it was some kind of ore, seized a hunk of it, just as Collins groaned. He started to club Collins again, but the teamsters on watch were downwind, and had heard Collins. Clouds had swallowed up the starlight, and it was all that saved Durham. He was barely in his blankets, breathing hard, when Collins groaned louder. Faro was nearest, and the first to respond.

“Collins, what's wrong?”

“We heard him,” said Dallas, as he and his companions came on the run.

“Something…somebody…knocked me in the head,” Collins replied.

“Durham,” Faro demanded, “where are you?”

“In my blankets,” said Durham, trying to sound sleepy. “Why?”

“Somebody just slugged Collins,” Faro said.

“And you're thinking it might have been me,” said Durham.

“The possibility had crossed my mind,” Faro said grimly.

“Maybe he whacked his head on a wagon wheel,” said Durham. “I just now hit my own, when I sat up.”

“No,” Collins said, speaking for himself, “somebody deliberately slugged me.”

“Might have been a thief,” said Tarno. “See if you're missing anything.”

Collins crawled out from beneath the wagon, and taking hold of a rear wheel, managed to stand. He rummaged through all his pockets.

“Nothing is missing,” Collins said.

“We heard you groan,” said Shanghai. “Maybe that scared him away.”

“Question is,” Faro said, “if it was an intended robbery, how did the thief know to go after Collins? Why not Durham or me?”

“Hell, we're not more than twenty miles from town,” said Durham. “You think Collins bought five wagon loads of goods without somebody making note of it? We were followed, and Collins was figured to be the one with the money.”

“That's not bad reasoning,” Collins said. “From now on, I'll sleep with my pistol in my hand.”

“I think we'll have to do a better job securing the camp,” said Faro. “If you were a target once, you could
be again. Shanghai, Tarno, Dallas, it's up to you to see that there are no more attempts like tonight.”

“Well, hell,” Dallas said, “we wasn't looking for trouble, except from the Utes, and it is just a few miles back to Santa Fe.”

“Now you know different,” said Faro. “From here on, take nothing for granted. This should be proof enough that we have more to concern us than just the Utes. The deadliest and most effective defense is to secure your own camp, and then shoot anything moving in the dark. Collins—you and Durham—once you take to your blankets, are to remain there until time to begin your watch.
Comprende
?”

“Yes,” Collins said, “although that seems a little extreme.”

“Damn right it does,” said Durham. “You expect a man to drink a pot of coffee and then hold it for six hours?”

“I don't expect a man with brains God gave a prairie dog to
drink
a pot of coffee,
knowin'
he's got to hold it for six hours,” Faro said. “The rule stands.”

“You gents better get what sleep you can,” said Tarno. “Second watch is less than two hours away.”

“Yeah,” Shanghai said, “we can stand here and jaw the rest of the night, and it won't change a thing. Come first light, we can look for tracks.”

But the rain Collins had predicted arrived before dawn. Faro had equipped each of the wagons with a canvas shelter that could be erected behind the wagon, providing a dry area for a cook fire and the preparation of a meal. By crowding it a little, the men were able to
get out of the rain to eat their breakfast and drink their coffee.

“I'm not accustomed to this convenience on the trail,” said Collins, “but I appreciate it. You know, a man can ride all day with rain blowin' in his face and pourin' off the brim of his hat down the collar of his shirt, but when it's grub time, he don't want that rain in his grub or in his coffee. I've never understood that.”