Along The Fortune Trail (13 page)

T
he long day's ride was better than fifty miles and ended at the southeast base of San Pedro Mountain, well beyond Twin T. territory and alive with surroundings new to both men. They made camp on a creek that fronted an open meadow and gave view to the north toward the canyon that would be the compass point for the following morning's ride.

Trout sizzled on the spit while the horses fed on lush meadow grass, their tails occasionally flicking at flies. Blaine smoked a cigarette and turned the spit, gauging the remaining cooking time. His stomach rumbled with hunger. He looked to the west, admiring the towering cotton-ball clouds with underbellies coated in the orange and red of an arrived sunset. It would be dark within the hour.

Sammy kneeled at the creek and washed the trail dust from his face and neck. The water felt refreshing, and it soothed in a way that made him aware of how tired he was. He walked back to the fire and squatted down to inspect the progress. “Man, that's smellin’ good.”

“If yer anywheres as near hungry as me, we might finish it all.” “

“It'll be close. Better eat it all or get shut of it or a bear might show up for a midnight feedin’.”

“Might show up no matter what, but I'll be nuzzled up with all my artillery.”

“Yeah, Dobe will stir if he catches scent of somethin’.”

“Seesaw too. Good thing, ‘cause I reckon I could sleep through a buffalo stampede tonight.”

“Yep, me too.”

Sammy and Blaine gorged themselves on fish and each ate a biscuit for good measure. They staked their horses in close and built the fire up, then rolled smokes as the last of the daylight faded like a receding gray shoreline. “Let's have us a bit of that whiskey against the night,” Sammy said.

“I'm for that.” Blaine reached into his saddlebag and pulled out the bottle wrapped in an extra shirt. “Here ya go,” he said, extending the bottle to Sammy.

“Oh no … that first pull is all yours … fair ‘n’ square.”

“Well, all right then.” Blaine pulled the cork and took a long pull. “Oooohhhhh. It ain't too smooth, but it's right for the night,” his raspy words rang. He handed the bottle to Sammy who took a long pull and then a deep breath.

“Yep, that'll bring the stars out.” He handed the bottle back to Blaine, who corked it, and both men lit their smokes. They sat quietly for a moment, watching the fire burning brightly in the dark, cool breeze.

“Ya know, I figured you'd a made this trip with one of the Taylor brothers or maybe Lundy,” Blaine said.

Sammy flicked his ash. “Each of ‘em offered … damn near insisted. Got mad about it when I said no. But I didn't care to be obliged. Just wasn't the way I wanted it to happen.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

Sammy took a drag and blew out a thin, slow line of smoke. “When you told me you were movin’ on and headin’ to Denver … well, that's a different deal.”

“Yeah, seems I get the itchin’ dust down my back every year or so. Only thing cures it is movin’ on. Two years at the T was a record, save when I was a kid. I'm sparked up about Denver. Might just hang on there fer a bit. Get to know some a them city gals,” Blaine smiled to himself. “Who knows … maybe open up a whorehouse ‘n’ reeetire to a different feather bed each night. Spend all my profits in my own business, ‘less I can make it a condition of employment for my fillies—one night a week each for the boss.”

“Your nuts would shrivel up and fall off before you were thirty.”

“Maybe … but what a way to go.”

“That's what they all say till they're on the way out.”

Sammy laid out his bedroll, then rolled himself another smoke and reclined with his head on his saddle. Blaine did likewise, and the two men lay out under the stars speckling the sky like a handful of white sand strewn over black marble. “How ‘bout one more taste of that whiskey?” Sammy suggested.

“You know it.” Blaine handed Sammy the bottle. He took a swig and handed it back to Blaine who hoisted it and knocked back a slug. Both of them lit their smokes and lay back looking up at the sky.

“Moon's a little late gettin’ up tonight. Havin’ trouble climbin’ over that ridge. The dark sure makes them stars jump out,” Blaine said.

“Yes, sir. There's a few of ‘em out there.”

“Ya know, it's just hard to figure there ain't no end to it—or that there is an end to it. It just stupefies my pea brain. Blaine took a drag and gazed at the sky. “You believe in God?” Blaine asked.

“Yep. You?”

“I reckon I do. Hard to figure anything else that could account for all this. Some folks got different ideas. When I was over to Santa Fe those years back, I heard this dude … called hisself a doctor—not a medical doctor—a doctor of science or some such thing. He was street preachin’, but it weren't religion. Said man come from apes … and apes had slithered outta the muck … being one thing, and then another, and another … over a long time, until finally they was apes … and the apes finally becomin’ man. Said there isn't a God—just science and this deal called ‘evolution.’ He said when man can build a powerful enough spyglass, the secrets of the universe will be unlocked, and we'll know all there is to know. It made me kind of wonder, though. If we came from apes, how come there's still apes runnin’ around? Maybe they's just the slow ones. You ever heard of that kinda stuff before?”

“Yeah, people who don't believe in God are called ‘atheists.’ I don't follow that line of thinking, though. The way I see it, science is only the means of our existence—not the cause or the purpose of it.”

“Whadaya mean by the means?”

“Well, it's sort of like our horses being the means of us getting to Denver, but the cause of ‘em going there is us wantin’ to go there…. And the purpose of us wantin’ to go there is a whole different pot of beans. Science accounts for the makeup of every physical thing in this world, and all in the sky above and beyond, but that's it. The makeup and the maker are two different things. The maker makes the makeup. It's God's creation. I don't believe man has given any purpose or meaning to anything in science. That would be like saying the purpose of gravity is to keep us from floatin’ off into space … or the purpose of a volcano erupting is to let off pressure. That stuff's just action and reaction, or cause and effect, based on scientific laws. It don't include purpose. So science just
is
. It's just the means. And it ain't ever gonna be purpose or meaning. The way I see it, science must be subordinate to purpose.”

“What's that mean, ‘subordinate?’”

“It means ‘under’ or ‘beholdin’ to.’ It means it ain't the boss.”

“Yeah, but I think that dude in Santa Fe thought there wasn't no such a thing as purpose.”

“Well, it exists for man. Hell, the preamble of the United States Constitution is nothing
but
a statement of purpose. If you think about it, you can give purpose to the physical structure of man too—and other livin’ things for that matter. Like the purpose of your teeth is to chew. Or the purpose of your intestines and asshole is to get what you need from food and crap out the rest.”

“I might crap out something shaped like a fish tomorrow.”

Sammy laughed. “I know it.” He took the last drag off his cigarette and flicked it into the fire. “Yeah, man will learn more facts about science, but not purpose. Ain't no telescope gonna reveal God or His purpose unless that's His plan. Absolute knowledge ain't in the cards for man. That's where faith comes in. Absolute faith exists because absolute knowledge never will.”

“I never thought of it that way.”

“Me neither, I think. Must be the whiskey talkin’. But you know, it'd be a sorry ass deal without God. The deepest and darkest despair—the most vile and indescribable anguish of people would be without grace or mercy or hope … or redemption. Pointless … like science. Now
that's
evil. Somehow I don't see that as the upshot of science and evolution, ‘cause it ain't. Instead, it's part of God's creation, where the blackest of black is eclipsed by the brightest of light.”

Blaine took a final drag from his smoke and snubbed it out by his side. “I don't reckon I understood half of what you just said. But if you ever decide to give up on cowboyin’, I believe you could make a go of it at preachin’.”

“Yeah. Amen.”

A shooting star fired across the sky, and two miles upwind, a six-hundred pound black bear foraged in the night.

T
he morning broke cold with a breeze that carried frigid mist and an occasional snowflake. Thunderheads to the southeast swelled ominously as they rolled northward, betraying spring and carrying forth the coming storm like the unsettled account of winter not yet vanquished. Sammy and Blaine quickly broke camp after a breakfast of hardtack and jerky, not bothering with a fire for coffee. They saddled up and rode hard to the north, knowing that time was against them.

“Looks like this one's gonna catch us before we get up that canyon,” Sammy shouted as they galloped toward the mouth of Coyote Canyon with the wind picking up and flakes beginning to swirl a bit more than minutes earlier.

In long coats with gloves on and hats pulled low and tight, they raced across the last of the open plain to the beginning of the canyon, their horses breathing hard. “We better be right about this canyon,” Blaine yelled into the ever-stiffening wind. “Ridin’ up a box canyon right now could be a bad deal if it storms like I got a bad feelin’ it might.”

“We're right. The compass heading looked good, and that sure as hell was the southeast corner of San Pedro Mountain where we camped last night. You see anything else around here that could be that canyon?”

“I reckon not. We best get on up it ‘fore we can't see anything.”

The canyon was about ten miles long with an easy ascent and width that varied from a quarter to half a mile. Granite ridges rimmed the top of each side, with the last hundred feet up being an impassable, steep, sheer face. Juniper, pinion, and ponderosa pine dotted the mild slopes, rising gently up and out from the terrain of the bottom, which was mostly rock and sand that became a river of runoff during severe thunderstorms.

They started up the canyon at a trot, riding along the open bottom. Within minutes, they faced a roaring headwind howling along the chute of the canyon floor like a cyclone through a straw. It carried tiny hail that pelted their faces with stinging ferocity. Both men ducked their heads while their horses flinched, turning from side to side as the blitz hit like icy sand being blown from every direction.

“Let's get to them trees upslope!” Blaine yelled.

“Yeah!” Sammy instantly shot back. They reined their horses uphill and quickly climbed their way up to a stand of pines.

Weaving their way into the middle, the assault subsided as quickly as it had beset them. “How'd that wind get in our face so fast, blowin’ that shit devil hail!?” Blaine yelled.

“She sure got in front of us in a hurry. Look on down there now…. That hail already gave up.”

“The wind didn't—and now it's snowin’ pretty good.”

“Let's stay up here and trail on through the trees. Slower goin,’ but not too steep.”

“I'm for that,” Blaine said, then he pulled his gloves off and fished out one of his cigarettes he'd rolled in camp the night before.

“That looks just right,” Sammy said admiringly. Blaine handed him the cigarette and retrieved another from inside his coat. “Let's see if we can get ‘em both on one match,” Sammy challenged, maneuvering Dobe next to Blaine and Seesaw as a wind block. Blaine struck the stick match and both cowboys got their smokes lit. They held their smokes between the thumb and forefinger, cupping it to the inside of their hands and taking drags as they rode on, meandering through the trees with the wind and snow blowing around them in directionless swirls. They rode on for several miles, the heavy, wet snow becoming thicker, with the wind blowing it by like a mask of white camouflage.

Blaine was watching to his left and caught the movement as he passed a slight break in the trees that afforded a view across the canyon. For a moment, he was unsure of what he'd seen. Then, in the lapse between the convulsions of blowing snow, he saw it again, moving on the other side of the canyon. Blaine reined Seesaw to a stop behind one of the pines and looked back at Sammy who was trailing just behind him to his right. As Sammy looked at him, Blaine nodded toward the canyon. Sammy quickly reined up alongside Blaine. “What's doin?” Sammy asked.

“I think I seen Indians. Couldn't tell how many. Whoever it was, they're moving north too—on the other side of the canyon a little south of us. Maybe half a mile, I reckon.”

“You think they saw us?”

“Don't know. It was pure luck I spotted ‘em. Snow let up for a second and I seen ‘em. What in the hell would they be doin’ out in this mess anyways?”

“No telling. But we better figure out if they're stalking us.”

Sammy rode forward a few steps around the tree, where he thought he wouldn't be in view, but could get a look. He pulled the spyglass from his saddlebag and started scanning where Blaine had indicated. “Damn snow's blowin’ so hard that it's hard to see anything.” He kept looking, and then he saw them. He stared hard for several seconds. Then he knew. “They're comin’. Seven or eight maybe. Apaches, looks like. Must have been huntin’—deer or elk flanks lashed on with some of ‘em. Headed right for us now and makin’ tracks.”

“Well, this ain't no place to be sittin,” Blaine said anxiously.

“You got that right…. Let's get! C'mon Dobe! Heaww!” Sammy snapped his reins and put light heels to his horse. The appaloosa bolted into action, with Blaine and Seesaw right behind. The men rode through the trees at a gallop, weaving back and forth with hooves pounding and the wind blowing the snow to near blindness. Each man gave his horse free rein, trusting their instincts to avoid the trees. They hung on and rode low on the necks, hitting branches that sent snow flying in small explosions. On and on they rode, unable to hear any pursuit in the howling wind and having no idea how close the Indians might be.

The wind and snow suddenly became fiercer, and all visibility ended as a whiteout erased everything. The horses slowed and then stopped. Blaine could just make out Sammy, who was less than ten feet from him. He pulled up alongside him with snow blowing everywhere like some mad blizzard in a closet. He leaned in close to Sammy so they could hear each other. “We gotta keep movin’,” Blaine said. “Best to put as much distance between us and them while we can.”

“Yeah, they sure can't see us or track us in this. But they may not quit on it … not as close as they were. Might be best to get up along the wall of the canyon.”

“You think? We can't ride over the top.”

“I know it. But it's an easy slope up, and if we hug along the high line, there's likely better defense with rocks up there. We wanna be holdin’ the high ground if the shootin’ starts. They wouldn't be able to flank us or get behind us.”

“Hell, we couldn't see
what
they was doin’.”

“Then they can't see what we're doin’, either. It should be only a few more miles till we're outta this canyon.”

“Okay. Let's get movin’.”

“We gotta stay close. We get separated, and we won't be able to find each other.”

“I'm right behind you.”

Sammy reined Dobe up slope and they started out at a brisk walk with Blaine and Seesaw just off the left flank. Still unable to see anything other than sheets of whizzing white flakes, they knew they were headed toward the wall of the rim. Up the easy slope they climbed, each man straining to see or hear anything beyond the storm's fury. Nothing else existed.

After several minutes, they came to a juncture where the terrain suddenly became very steep. “I think this is the base of the rim wall,” Sammy said loudly enough to be heard over the wailing wind.

“All right, lead on. I got the rear.”

Sammy reined Dobe to the left and headed north, keeping the canyon wall snug on his right as a guiding line. They rode on at the best pace they could keep while maintaining a heading along the rim wall, but it was slow. The blizzard was unrelenting, and the whiteout continued. Time piled up against a wall of will and reason, as both men grew colder and thoughts of pursuing Indians began to be displaced by their odds of survival if they remained in the open of the storm. They were quiet against the wailing storm, riding on stubbornly with both of them focused on the base wall, straining their eyes in search of something they could duck in or under for shelter.

“Them Indians gotta be worried ‘bout their own scalps by now. They surely ain't givin’ chase to us no more,” Blaine yelled to Sammy.

“Yeah, we gotta get outta this weather. I've been looking for anything that'll do along here.”

“Me too.”

“Keep lookin.”

“Yep.”

Two pines standing next to each other emerged out of the whiteness like looming green detours, causing Sammy to veer right and pinching him between the trees and a granite wall that became visible only as he was quite suddenly brushing along it. Blaine followed Sammy's lead, and they rode directly beside the wall for a hundred feet or so until Sammy reined to a stop. “There's some kind of corner here!” He yelled. He eased Dobe around the fold of the wall and could make out another granite wall about twenty feet ahead. To his right was a corridor between the two walls. He eased into the corridor and then stopped suddenly, holding an open palm back toward Blaine, who was right behind him. Both men dismounted. Blaine took several steps forward before he saw the object of Sammy's attention.

The horse dung was fresh. An area where horses had been tied was unmistakable. Though mostly covered with snow, they could make out the indentations created by horse hooves.

“Them looks like unshod pony tracks,” Blaine said.

“Yeah—and that looks to be a cave opening ahead.”

“You thinkin’ what I'm thinkin’?” Blaine asked.

“Yeah. It could be they never saw us. I saw ‘em comin’ at us and figured they had. But they might have just been crossin’ the canyon there to get to this side. They may not know about us.”

“They sure as hell will if stay here too long.”

“Maybe we oughta fight ‘em for it.”

“For what?”

“The cave…. Might be better odds than headin’ back into that storm.”

“You been drinkin’ that whiskey this morning?”

“I mean it. If they don't know how many of us there are, and we shoot at the first couple comin’ in, the rest might just vamanos on outta here.”

“Hell, we don't know there's not more of ‘em in there right now,” Blaine said, the incredulity thick in his voice.

“Hold the horses for a minute. I'll find out.”

“We ain't got time for that!”

“We rode hard for quite a while. I'll bet we've got twenty minutes on ‘em.”

“I reckon you're bettin’ our lives.”

“We'll hitch ‘em here and go look together.”

“All right, goddammit! But let's hurry up!”