Oliver Strange - Sudden Westerns 09 - Sudden Makes War(1942) (28 page)

 
          
“Give
it a name,” Bundy replied, pleased in his turn by the use of his title.

 
          
“What
are we after?”

 
          
“Well,
I dunno as there’s any need to keep it quiet now,” the foreman said, but
lowered his voice. “Treasure, that’s what. Mebbe you’ve heard o’ Red Rufe’s
Cache?”

 
          
Lake
laughed derisively. “Heard? I’ve looked for it—like a-many other idjuts. Still,
I don’t mind wastin’ some more time if I’m well paid.”

 
          
“You
didn’t know where to go, seemin’ly.”
This from Rattray, a
spare-built but wiry cowboy, whose features suggested that the first syllable
of his name could not possibly be accidental.

 
          
“Yo’re
damn right, I didn’t, or would I be here?” the other retorted. “But is Trenton
any wiser? If he is, why are we moseyin’ along on the heels o’ them fellas in
front?”

 
          
He
got no answer to his question. Flint and Rattray could not give him one, and
Bundy was far too cunning to empty his bag—yet.
The
appearance of knowing a little more than they would give him a hold over them.
So all he said was:

 
          
“There’s
a good reason for that, an’ you can gamble on it; Zeb ain’t a fool—in some
ways.”

 
          
“I
take it we all git shares,” the new man said, his eyes agleam with greed.

 
          
“Seein’
as we’re four to two—not countin’ the gal—we’ll be dumb if we don’t,” the
foreman replied meaningly.

 
          
Flint
and Rattray nodded their agreement with this view. Lake said, “Pardner, I like
you more’n more.”

 
          
Bundy
was satisfied; if the rancher did not treat him fairly, he had a card up his
sleeve.

 
          
Also
there was Garstone, who had shown
himself
quite willing
to doublecross his employer in the affair of the train robbery; he provided
another card, making three in all, counting Trenton.

 
          
“An’
if you play ‘em properly, Bundy, of scout, yo’re on velvet,” was the conclusion
he came to.

 
          
Throughout
the greater part of the next day, the Circle Dot men pressed steadily on.

 
          
Though
they deemed themselves to be well ahead of possible pursuit, they neglected no
opportunity of blinding their trail, and were successful—had they but known
it—in straining the vituperative powers of the bearded man to the utmost.

 
          
The
scenery on all sides was wild and awe-inspiring. Dense masses of pine which
defied the sun, thickets of thorny scrub, clumps of bright-flowering bushes,
and, from time to time, enormous chunks of rock weighing thousands of tons,
“fragments” which had broken away from the mother mass towering in the
distance. The slope was slight but definite, and sometimes they advanced across
wide, almost level benches of grass and cactus. They skirted deep, wedge-shaped
gorges where the side of the mountain appeared to have split open, treading
narrow ledges where a slip would have spelt destruction.

 
          
Game
seemed to be plentiful, quail, squirrels, rabbits, and once they came upon a
small herd of deer feeding in a patch of lush grass. For a few seconds the
dainty beasts stared in amaze at the unwonted intrusion of their domain, and
then, in a flash, were gone. Yorky, fingers itching for his rifle, looked
longingly after them.

 
          
“Lots
o’ time for that,” Sudden consoled. “Business first, an’ there ain’t no sense
in advertisin’ our.
whereabouts
.”

 
          
The
boy sighed. “I wouldn’t know where to aim, anyways.”

 
          
“Just
behind the left shoulder—the heart’s there,” the puncher told him.

 
          
As
the climb continued, the trees became smaller and less numerous, a sign that a
higher altitude was being reached. Then, when the westering sun was rimming the
mountain tops with gold they came to a spot entirely at variance with all they
had seen.

 
          
It
was a shallow basin, perhaps a hundred feet deep at the centre, and less than
half a mile in diameter. The sides sloped gently up to the encircling lips of
ragged rock. The surface was a grey, powdery sand, and the only vegetation,
scattered greasewood and cactus. On all four points of the compass, V-shaped
breaks provided openings to the basin. Hunch got down, stepped to Dover’s side,
and gestured with one hand.

 
          
“Is
this where you came with Dad?” the young man asked, and getting a nod of
assent, went on, “Well, boys, this appears to be the scene of operations.”

 
          
Right ahead, seeming to loom over them, although many miles
distant, was Old Cloudy.

 
          
Sudden,
studying the mountain, saw that the round knobbed top, and wide sloping flanks
might well suggest the head, shoulders, and dropping arms of a sitting man, and
that viewed from where he stood the basin might—with no great stretch of
imagination—be described as a bowl on the knees of this Gargantuan figure
behind which the sky was now turning to a blood-red. “What
d’you
think
of it, Jim?” Dover asked.

 
          
“Seems to fit.
What’s the next move?”

 
          
“We
gotta settle which way to go—this is no place to camp.” He tilted his hat back
and scratched his head reflectively. “West is north,” he repeated. “Well, that
gap in front of us is west.”

 
          
“We
gotta reckon it as north,” Sudden said. “An’ north is noon, that is, twelve
o’clock. We were told on reaching here, to watch out. Now that might be a
warnin’, but I figure it’s a pointer.”

 
          
His
gaze swept round the almost perfect circle of the basin. “S’pose we’re lookin’
at a mammoth watch-face, with that western break as twelve. Then the one we
came in by must be the half after the hour which would be too soon. That means
our way is by the opening on the left, which would be three-quarters past.”

 
          
“Holy cats!
I believe you’ve hit on it, Jim,” the rancher
cried. “Can we stop ‘em followin’ us, in case they get so far?”

 
          
“I’ll
‘tend to that. Yu take the boys an’ ride in single file till yo’re clear o’ the
basin.”

 
          
Starting
from where the trampled sand plainly showed that a group of horses had paused
there, he galloped straight for the gap to the right. Reaching it, he found it
to be a little pass with a stony surface which would show no tracks. Returning
to the basin, he backed his mount along the line by which he had approached.
Repeating this operation twice resulted in a trail apparently made by six
riders, the hoof-marks all pointing in the same direction. He then followed his
companions, dragging a rolled blanket attached to his rope, and thus
obliterated the traces of them all.

 
          
Passing
out of the basin, he found himself in another narrow gorge, the floor of which
consisted of rock detritus, with frequent patches of cactus and coarse grass.
The wall on the right was much higher than that on the left, and along the foot
of both were bushes; above these, they were bare and inhospitable. Half a mile
from the basin, under an overhanging shelf of cliff, camp was being
established. There was sufficient feed for the animals, and a few yards away, a
rock pool, fed by a trickle from the height above.

 
          
During
the meal, the puncher explained what he had done. “It may keep ‘em outa here
fora spell, but I guess they’ll try all the outlets in turn, an’ we don’t have
to waste time.”

 
          
“How
about playin’ their game—lettin’ ‘em
find
the stuff,
an’ takin’ it away from ‘em?”

 
          
Tiny
suggested.

 
          
“That
would mean a
fight,
an’ I’d ruttier avoid that, if
possible,” Dover replied. “But the money is mine, an’ I intend to have it, one
way or another.”

 
          
“We’ve
no actual evidence that anyone is dogging us,” the doctor pointed out.

 
          
“Shore,
but I know Trenton,” Dan said grimly. “Dad’s death, the searchin’ o’ the Circle
Dot, an’ the attempt to scotch our drive to the Bend happened for a purpose.
Zeb is comin’, an’ he’ll have some o’ the Wagon-wheel scum along.”

 
          
Therefore
they kept watch, and in the early morning, Sudden—relieving the doctor—caught
him in the act of re-corking a bottle, which he had been holding near his lips.

 
          
“Cure
for headache, Doc?” he asked superciliously.

 
          
Malachi
looked rather shame-faced, and with an effort at bravado, replied, “More often
the cause of one, Jim.”
And then, “God!
What weak
creatures we are—some of us.”

 
          
He
opened his hand, disclosing a small medicine phial, quite full, as the puncher
guessed, of whisky. “You know why I came here,” he went on bitterly. “Well, it
seemed to me that I was running away from temptation, so I brought temptation
with me. I fancied myself strong enough to have the odour of it in my nostrils
and resist. I was wrong—it makes me mad for the taste.”

 
          
“Is
that all yu fetched?”

 
          
“Yes,
and had you not come, it would have gone, and at dawn I should have been
sneaking off for Rainbow—to get more.”

 
          
“No,
to lose yoreself an’ die in despair,” Sudden told him. “Yu never could make it;
yu gotta stay.”

 
          
“You
don’t realize what it means,” Malachi cried. “Have you ever had to combat a
craving which, like a devouring flame, possessed your body and mind so utterly
that all else in life became of no importance?”

 
          
Sudden
laughed harshly. “Listen,” he said. “Once I was left, tied hand an’ foot, in
the middle of a desert, by a Mexican guerilla chief, the most inhuman devil I
ever met. After usin’ nearly all my strength to free myself, I set out to walk
endless miles of sand in search o’ water.

 
          
My
tongue was swollen-I couldn’t close my mouth, I was near blind with the glare,
my body was dried an’ scorched till it felt like a red-hot coal, an’ if ever a
man suffered like a tormented soul in hell, I did. My limbs were lead, an’
every movement—agony. What I had to beat, Malachi, warn’t thirst, but the
desire to lie down, an’ die.’ That’s yore case, man; yu have to fight, not the
want o’ liquor, but the urge to give in. Now, drop that bottle an’ put yore
foot on it.”

 
          
“I
can’t, Jim; don’t ask me,” the doctor pleaded.

 
          
“Then
drink an’ be damned,” the puncher said roughly, and turned away.

 
          
The
brutal contemptuous tone had its effect; he had moved.
but
a yard when there was the tinkle of glass on stone, and the grind of a heel.
The doctor had won a victory.

 
          
In
the early morning, the search of the gorge was begun, any feature which might
suggest a hiding-place being carefully examined. The only discovery of any
value was a cave, and as it was dry, and large enough to conceal the horses if
necessary, they moved the camp there. It proved to be more spacious than they
had imagined, with a high vaulted roof from which hung hundreds of stalactites,
flashing like spearheads in the leaping flames of the logs. Seated round the fire
after a tiring and fruitless day, the adventurers looked about them with some
misgiving; in the darkness, the cavern appeared to have no limits.