[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
The change had been abrupt. From the short grass country he had
suddenly ridden into a sub-alpine world where the grass was richer and the
wild flowers everywhere. There were scattered stands of ponderosa and from
time to time he drew up to scan the country ahead.
Any tracks would be washed out or damped down by subsequent rains,
but to pass through a country and leave no mark of one's passing is nearly
impossible. Peering from under the brim of his hat, he studied the lay of the
grass, the possible ways a wagon might have taken.
They had made a mistake by coming in close to the mountains
because if they wished to go to Cherry Creek they must follow along the
mountains which meant crossing many gullies or canyons where the streams
flowed from the higher country. Yet it was the mountains toward which they
were bound, and it might be they would turn off.
He scanned the area thoughtfully, looking for some favorable
opening into the back country. Then he started on, casting about for a lead.
Page 59
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Under the aspens and close to their groves were stands of golden cinquefoil,
and in the groves a bit further along, columbine. Often they were mixed with
other flowers. The grass was wet from heavy dews or what was left of the
recent rains.
He worked his way along the edge of the forest, riding in and out
of the trees, weaving a careful way, alert for ambush and any sign of travel.
He saw the fresh droppings of deer and elk, he saw where a bear had clawed
high upon a tree ... only hours ago, by the look of it, and once he found a
lion kill, half-eaten and buried under brush.
Unconsciously he had worked his way higher upon the mountain,
following the easiest route, yet aware that one can often see tracks from up
high that would be missed on the ground and close by.
He was emerging from a stand of spruce when he caught a glimpse of
movement ... several riders, rifles in hand, moving along an open meadow at a
lope.
"Shabbitt!" He swore softly. Even at the distance he could
recognize several of them, and it was equally obvious that they were going
somewhere, not just wandering or searching. Then, faintly, his eyes seemed to
pick up the track of a wagon!
He stood up in the saddle and tried to see along the slope to his
right. They were riding into a gap in the hills where the wagon, if those
really were tracks and not his imagination, had gone. They rode as if
expecting trouble.
Turning his mount, he rode swiftly along the mountain side in
their direction, and cutting down through the trees, although keeping under
cover, he came upon a game trail.
It was a chance, and he took it, knowing at the same time that
many such trails can be useless for horses. A deer, holding its head low, can
often go under limbs and brush that a horse must skirt around ... and often
enough the hillside is too steep for such travel.
Suddenly, ahead of him, he saw a thin trail of smoke. There was no
way he could arrive before the Shabbitt outfit. No way at all.
They were closing in on the place below, riding up the stream ...
yet, looking at it from above he could see they must slow down, for soon there
would be no good way to go unless they took to the water. Even then their
progress would be slowed.
Far off to his left now he could see a dim trail that led up the
canyon, and the place to which they seemed to be going lay due north from
where he now was.
Here and there the growth thinned down and it was becoming more
and more difficult to keep out of sight. He shucked his rifle, holding it
ready in his hands. One man alone against seven, he must trust to surprise.
He dipped down through the trees, crossed a low saddle and down to
a bench. Unknown to him he was coming in to the cabin from the east and was
riding down to the bench where Duncan McKaskel had pastured his mules.
Emerging from the aspens, he drew up, listening. He had gotten a
little ahead of them, for they had to skirt deadfalls and driftwood, and the
Page 60
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
footing along the rocky stream-bed was not good for fast riding.
He cantered across the pasture, skirting a small lake, and drew up
among the trees near the edge of the bluff that dropped off into the wide
river bottom. He heard no sound from below.
Weaving through the trees, ducking for the lowest branches, he
pulled up suddenly. Below him were some old beaver ponds, with many fallen
logs, some dead trees standing, and the smooth, clear water of the ponds. As
he watched he could see the widening ripple where a beaver swam ... unalarmed.
Turning his head he saw the cabins, and near them, the wagon. No
horses or mules, no movement, no sign of life. Perhaps the merest shadow of
smoke from the campfire near the wagon.
The beaver was working away, undisturbed.
He listened, and thought he detected a faint splashing. He glanced
at the pond ... the beaver was gone.
Several marmots were in sight, bustling brown bundles of fur,
playing on the green grass below. One of them was within thirty feet of the
house.
It was empty then.
Duncan McKaskel, his wife, and son were gone.
Where?
A faint sound reached him and he glanced downstream.
They were in sight now, riding through the scattered trees beyond
the beaver ponds, partly shadowed by the cottonwoods, the narrow-leaved trees
of the high country. They emerged on the far bank, and scattering out, picked
their way across.
In a sudden rush, they swept up to the house and leaped from their
saddles. Red Hyle was first at the door. He emerged at the rear door, glancing
all around, swearing.
Dee Mantle had gone for the wagon. He could be heard moving around
in the wagon, then he thrust his head out. "Hell, there's nothing here! Not a
damn thing!"
Slowly they came out, looking all around. They were no more than
sixty yards off and their voices carried easily in the clear air.
"Gone. Now where the hell ?" Dobbs was saying.
Of them all, only Purdy Mantle seemed undisturbed. "It wasn't
worth the trouble," he said disgustedly. "I don't think they ever had
anything, anyway."
"They left their wagon and their clothes an' stuff. They'll be
back."
"Back when?" Shabbitt asked irritably. "Hell, maybe they just
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
