the Riders Of High Rock (1993) Read online

  Sim Aragon had three men with him, all hardened outlaws. Pete would have more. Cassidy and his friends were following the herd, and he would close up on them and from there on the job would be short, not too sweet, but very effective. This country was so remote there was small chance of anybody ever finding any of the three, even if they were left to be found, and Sim Aragon had decided that they would not be. They would be killed, then dumped into one of the sinkholes or

  hot springs. After that the boiling water would take care of them and no identification would be possible. So far as the world would know, the three could be said to have left the country.

  He could see no flaw in the plan. Pete would close them off on the west while he came up behind with his men. They would be trapped and disposed of. It was that easy. Manuel was at his elbow--Manuel, who loved to kill. Not so very fast with a gun, but very deadly with any weapon, as vicious and tough as a Gila monster.

  They moved out of Tascotal and took the road to Agate. Sourdough saw them there, and his old face was grim when they dismounted. Nobody needed to tell him that Hopalong Cassidy's number was up. He had gone off into the west after Pete Aragon, and here was Sim closing in on him. At Agate, Sim was joined by Vila, his hands much better and the hatred within him increased.

  Sourdough looked across at his old enemy Mormon John when the outlaws went into the saloon. After serving them, Mormon John came to the door and Sourdough crossed the street. They stood together, not talking. Both men knew what would happen now, for these were not the first men to be followed by the Aragons into that wilderness to the west.

  It was almost midnight, and the outlaws were still loafing at the saloon, when Sourdough heard the pound of approaching hoofs. A horse swung onto the street and the rider pulled up. Peering from his dark window, the old man saw the rider almost fall from his horse. The man was named Walters, and

  he rode with the Aragons. His shirt was red with blood and there seemed to be a patch on the side of his head. The man pushed through the door into the saloon.

  Sim Aragon turned, and his eyes glinted. "What's happened?" he demanded. "What hit you?"

  "Cassidy!" Walters gasped. "Gimme a drink!" He tossed off a shot of whiskey, then swallowed. "We thought we had him trapped, but that outfit are scrappers. They busted out, wounded me, beat up Perk, and busted Cardoza's leg."

  "What about Pete?"

  "Him and the others, they rode back to the herd. Cassidy was at Pinto Springs when I left."

  Sim Aragon's face was ugly. "We leave at daylight," he said. "And then we'll settle that hombre's hash."

  Chapter 12

  Cattle Tracks.

  Knee in the saddle, Hopalong Cassidy turned to watch Red mount up. Joe Gamble kicked sand over the remnants of their fire and then swung into the leather. The sky was gray only along the horizon, and here in the shadow of the butte it was still dark. Somewhere far off a sage hen called softly, and the palouse pawed impatiently at the ground, eager to be going.

  Moving off, Hopalong led the way, scouting at once for tracks. The fleeing outlaws had headed southward yesterday-- or had it been a little to the west?

  "There's a big boxed valley southwest of us," Gamble suggested. "It has two creeks in it, Fox and Cottonwood. I don't know how much water they carry, if any at all. I was in there once when there was water, all right, but that could have been temporary."

  "We'll try it," Hopalong decided. "They might not run right for the herd, anyway. By now they know we can read sign, so they may try to lead us astray. Where's the opening?"

  "You can't see it from here," Gamble explained. "We ride southeast towards that big point of rock, then west."

  To left and right the mountains lifted high and the valley grew narrower as they rode forward. Then it widened out, and they swung westward. A careful search of the boxed valley brought no results. No tracks could be found except those of an occasional lone steer or a group of two or three. While following one of these trails just on chance, Hopalong said suddenly, "You know, I've figured this out, I think."

  "What's that?" Red demanded. "Must be mighty simple if you figured it out."

  Hopalong shrugged. "It's simple enough. All the way along I've been trying to decide how they managed to get that herd out of High Rock Canyon. I still don't know just where it was done, but I do know how it was done. When they hit some of that sand back there where the tracks weren't well defined, they kept one part of the herd moving, then took the rest off into a branch canyon on the real trail to where they were going.

  "Then as they moved along they let first one steer and then another fall behind or trail off by himself until the herd had dwindled to nothing. By bunching a few cattle and getting them to mill a little, they could make some of that trail look like a big herd had come over it. Later, when they had time, they could pick up those strays. Some of them would probably head back towards the main herd, anyway."

  "But where could they get out of High Rock?" Gamble was puzzled. "I didn't see any tracks to speak of in Little High Rock."

  "That's right," Hopalong agreed, "but that Yellow Rock Canyon could have been investigated more thoroughly. If there was a trail out of there to the west, that would be the likely spot. Anyway, I'd bet a good coon hide they came this way."

  "Could be," Red agreed. "Maybe you aren't so dumb as I

  thought, Hoppy. It could be under that hair of yours you've really got some brains."

  Hopalong drew up, his eyes scanning the mountainside before them. "There's a trail to high ground," he said. "Let's take it. If we get up high enough we may be able to see over a lot of country."

  A switchback trail led up the steep cedar-covered mountainside. There were no tracks here and this was evidently a long-unused trail, but obviously it had led to somewhere. Pausing to let their horses rest, Hopalong looked back down the trail at the thin green thread of Cottonwood and Fox creeks. Even from this height, which often gave visibility to trails unseen on the valley floors, nothing was visible that could have been made by a cattle herd.

  "Wonder how Gibson's gettin' along?" Gamble wondered. "Think they'll make any trouble for him?"

  "I doubt it," Hopalong said, although he was more worried than he wanted to confess. "Sue is with him, and you know what bothering a woman means in this country. It's not often you'll get even a bad man to lay a hand on a woman or endanger one."

  "Gillespie with him?" Gamble asked.

  "He should be. He left me to go back."

  "I'd feel better," Red muttered, "if I knew where Sim Ara-gon was. They nearly got me once, and I want my chance at them."

  "You'll get it," Hopalong said. "They won't quit now. They have too much at stake."

  They started on, letting the horses take their own pace. The hill grew steeper, and once they had to dismount and roll a boulder off the mountainside. It went crashing down, hit a rock ledge, and bounded far out into space before rolling on. They

  .1

  were now almost eight thousand feet up, and a half mile higher than the valley that lay below them. The air was clear and fresh, and the sun not yet hot.

  They reached the top and paused again, their eyes sweeping a broad plateau. Ahead was a peak that towered some distance above them. Far and away to the westward the distant mountain ranges lost themselves in a purple mist, giving the impression of a vast basin that lay between. Hopalong Cassidy sat his horse and looked with care at that country. Those distant ranges were in California. A man having a herd over there would be reasonably safe from the law. State lines were beginning to make a lot of difference--especially if that man had a good reputation on his own side of the line. Thinking that over, Hopalong remembered their conversation of the previous day and the suggestion that the thief might be building an honest-looking herd somewhere over there.

  "You ever been over in there, Gamble?"

  "No. Heard some about it, though. There's a grand big valley on the California side. Surprise Valley, they call it. Some forty-niner named it
when they came through the mountains and saw it there. Mighty purty, I hear. Sometimes there's lakes in it, although mostly they are dry. Anyway, there's lots of good grass and some water. Farther west there's more."

  "Where was Fandango Pass?"

  "Not far from here. Named it for a party of forty-niners who had a dance to celebrate their crossing of the mountains. While they were doin' the fandango the Injuns came down on 'em and wiped them out."

  Hopalong led the way across the plateau. They were riding north now, but the way west seemed blocked off. There was rugged terrain that fell away for three or four miles and then appeared to end in a steep declivity. There might be a way

  down, but their present trail was leading them north, and that should enable them to cut the rustlers' path soon.

  At noon they camped at the foot of a smooth, black-faced rock and ate quickly. There was water here, and they refilled their canteens from the flowing spring while the horses drank from a pool.

  "If we don't find them quick," Gamble said, "we'll have to find some grub. We're about out of it."

  "Maybe I can get a deer," Red suggested. "I spotted a couple back along the line."

  "We won't leave the cattle now," Hopalong replied seriously. "If we do, a dust storm or rain may wipe out their tracks. We're closing in on them, I think." He looked at the sun. "High noon. That gives us several hours to find their trail. I think we're heading just right. The cattle had to go somewhere, and we should cut it, riding like we are."

  Red was cleaning his Winchester. He stuck a thumbnail in the breech and peered down the barrel, then drew a final cleaning patch through it. "Whenever you're ready," he said, "I am."

  Before them the plateau was a long, almost level sweep of thin soil over rock ledges, while here and there jumbles of granite boulders lay scattered as though dropped from an overloaded basket. On the northern rim there were upthrusts of flame-shaped rock, girdled at the base with the green of vegetation growing where the shade had held moisture.

  No cattle tracks were here, only the droppings of deer and the sign of rabbits or an occasional badger. They flushed a sage hen and killed it, drawing it before moving on. The plateau seemed to fall away in a series of long steps, each of them a half-mile wide, gradually sloping away before the final crop. Vegetation grew thicker--mountain mahogany and occasional

  manzanita and pine. Upon the slopes of low hills were thick groves of close-ranked aspen, their trunks a gray screen that permitted no penetration.

  The sun's rays beat down upon them, and Cassidy saw Red's shirt growing dark with sweat. He grinned at the older man. "Hot!" he said.

  Red snorted. "You call this hot? And you been in Sonora? Why, one time I saw a coyote chasin' a jackrabbit down in Texas and it was so hot they were both walkin'!" Red mopped his brow. "Although this here climate is sort of warmish now and again."

  Several minutes passed when there was no sound but the clop-clopping of their horses' hoofs, and then Red continued, "Speakin' of that coyote and the rabbit he was chasin', I do recall they were both packin' canteens. There's dry lakes down thataway where even the fish hibernate durin' dry weather. They bury themselves in the mud and sleep until it rains enough to get swimmin' water."

  Joe Gamble lit a cigarette and looked patiently at Hopa-long, who grinned. "Sometime you want to get Red to tell you about the rifle he had that would shoot around hills."

  "I'd like to hear it," Gamble agreed, sober-faced. "I have heard tell of rifles like that, but I never did come up to one. They might be good to have against some of those grizzlies we have in these mountains over in California. They grow bears over there that will outweigh a longhorn bull. Gibson killed one a few years back and they made a hide mattress for the whole roundup crew. They would just spread out the hide and the whole outfit bedded down on it. Finally had to give it up, though."

  Red Connors turned, narrow-eyed with suspicion, but knowing that it was his role to ask. "Why?" he demanded.

  "Well, we got to havin' our roundups in rougher country, and the trail wound around so much we couldn't get the two wagons over 'em. It took," he continued, looking off across the plateau, "two wagons hitched tandem and six head of oxen to haul that hide!"

  Red snorted his disgust at such a story, but before he could speak, Gamble added, "That was the bear that durned near shot me."

  "Shot you?" Red played along. "How's that?"

  "Well, I was out at the line cabin on Forty Mile and it was about daylight when I heard something snufflin' outside the cabin door. Ever' time that bear snuffled, the suction drawed the carpet two inches under the door!"

  "Anyway, I seen I was in for trouble, so I got down my old Spencer and jacked a shell into the chamber. I didn't have any idea of goin' out where he was, but if that bear turned the cabin over to see what was under it, I aimed to get one good shot, anyway. Those bears turn cabins over lookin' for food just like any other bear would turn over a dead log lookin' for grubs.

  "Mebbe this here bear wasn't hungry. Anyway, he soon started off, and I opened the door mighty careful. For a while I had a hard time figurin' which was him and which was the barn, the light bein' dim like it was. Then I spotted him. I could tell the difference because he was movin'.

  "Now, big as they are, those bears are the quickest-movin' things that live, an' I knowed I had to make that first shot count. But that bear was headin' straight away from me, so I just throwed down on his tail and squeezed off my shot.

  "You see, Red, that bear turned so quick that the bullet come out the front end of him an' hit the doorjamb right over my head! Yessir! Right over my head! I always have wondered whether he really meant it that way or if he was just stung by

  the bullet. Took me a couple of hours to get the splinters out of my hair."

  Red glared. "I was tellin' the truth," he growled. "Not no windy story."

  Joe Gamble's eyes widened with innocence. "Why, you don't doubt me, do you?"

  Red's eyes suddenly gleamed. "You said at first that Gibson killed that bear! Now you say you shot him!"

  "Sure"--Gamble was undisturbed--"he did kill him. That shot that I fired just put a hole through him." He yawned. "Fact is, that bear kept us in meat and honey all one winter."

  "Honey?" Red was bewildered. He came from a country of tall stories, but the possibilities of this one seemed endless. 'What d'you mean--honey?"

  "Sure. You see, that was a Spencer fifty-six I shot into that bear. Well, yuh know how big a hole one of them fifty-six caliber cartridges makes in a bear or anything it hits? This hole was so big that a bunch of swarmin' bees hived up in it, and when Gibson finally killed that bear the hole was stuffed full of honey!"

  Hopalong chuckled and Red spat. "I wished you could meet Lanky," Red said grimly. "I'd like to hear you tell him that story."

  "Tell you all about that bear sometime," Gamble said. "It's a long story."

  Hopalong drew up suddenly. From where he sat he could see past the brink of the cliff that divided them from the valley of Duck Flat. Far below them they could see scattered black dots on the endless gray-green carpet of the valley. "There's some cattle," he said with satisfaction, "and it's my bet they're ours!"

  Their eyes searched the rim for some way down, but there

  was no possible way that they could see. "Might as well keep ridin'," Red suggested. "And hope this path comes down off here somehow or other."

  Hopalong nodded, and they started on. Scarcely a mile farther the trail dipped down into a hollow and then descended swiftly. "This is it!" Gamble suddenly exclaimed exultantly. "Look!"

  The trail they were following led to the bottom of a canyon several hundred feet lower, and from the east another trail joined it, and on that trail, even at this distance, they could see evidence of recent travel. The grass was plastered down in a manner such as could only mean a considerable herd of cattle.

  It was almost an hour before they reached the bottom of the canyon. Now there was no possible doubt--the trail here was well ma
rked and plain for all to see. A large herd had gone through here, coming over the saddle from the east.

  "Sure as shootin'!" Red exclaimed with satisfaction. "Pinto Springs is northeast of here! That bunch took the herd right through Yellow Rock, like you figured, and brought 'em across here."

  "They weren't the first, either," Hopalong added. "There's plenty of sign. I'd say a good many herds have been brought in this way."

  "Then we better pin our ears back and ride quiet," Connors said, lowering his voice as he spoke. "Those outlaws can be anywhere along here now."

  Hopalong shucked his guns and checked both, rolling the cylinders and fitting an extra cartridge into the two normally empty chambers. Red had his Winchester across his saddle before him, as did Joe Gamble. All rode with wary attention.

  In the canyon's bottom there was shadow along the walls. No wind stirred here, no slightest cooling breath of air. It was

  hot, close, and utterly still. Hopalong's mouth felt dry and he looked carefully from right to left, his eyes never still, studying every fold in the rock, every boulder, every possible hiding place.

  "How far do you reckon it is to the valley?" Gamble asked suddenly.

  "Five miles," Red said, "or about that."

  "Just about," Hopalong agreed.

  "Ridin' out of here tonight?" Red studied Hopalong thoughtfully. Much as he argued with his friend, he knew his judgment was excellent in such cases. He had never yet seen a situation Hopalong got into that he couldn't get out of. Although never for the world would he have admitted it, he relied very much on the younger man's judgment and knew it was safe to do so.

  "No," Hopalong said finally. "Not unless we slip out under cover of darkness. We hole up right here in the canyon."

  "I've heard of this canyon," Gamble said. "There's two branch canyons right opposite to each other. They should be close by. We can take the one on the north. It branches back at the end, and in either of those branches we'll be safe from observation."

  "Suppose we're bein' followed?" Red asked suddenly. "I got an uneasy feelin'."