Cities of the Plain (18 page)

WHEN HE CROSSED at the top of the draw he smelled what the horse had been smelling. A reek
of carrion wafted up on some vector of the cooling evening air. He sat the horse and
turned in the saddle and tested the air with his nose but the smell had passed and
vanished. He turned the horse and sat facing back down the draw and then he put the horse
forward again down the narrow cattletrail. The horse watched the cattle moving out before
them through the scrub and pricked his ears about.

I'll let you know what it is you need to do, John Grady told him.

A hundred yards down the far side of the draw he smelled it again and he halted the horse.
The horse stood waiting.

You wouldnt scout out a dead cow for me, would you? he said.

The horse stood. He put him forward again and they rode down another quarter mile or so
and the horse settled into his gait such as it was and paid no more mind to the distant
cattle. A little further on and he halted the horse and tested the air. He sat the horse.
Then he turned and started back up the way they'd come.

He cut for sign and finally picked up the scent ripe and strong and in the dusk he
dismounted and stood looking down at the flyblown carcass of a new calf that had been
dragged into the center of a ring of creosote bush in broad open country. There'd been no
rain in two weeks and the dragmarks were visible across the gravel and he walked out a
ways on the backtrack looking for sand or dirt where there might be a foot track but he
didnt find one. He came back and picked up the reins and mounted up and looked out at the
surrounding countryside to mark the spot and then rode out and back down the draw.

HE AND BILLY STOOD over the dead calf and Billy walked back out following the dragmarks
and stood looking over the country.

How far out did you go? he said. Not far.

It's been a stout somethin to drag that big calf. You think it's been a lion?

No. A lion'd of covered it up. Or tried to.

They mounted up and rode out on the backtrack. They lost the track on the hard ground and
picked it up again. Billy followed the track over the gravels by raising or lowering his
head and catching a certain angle of the light. He said that the disturbed ground had a
different look and after a while John Grady could see it too. The day was cool. The horses
were fresh with the morning and the weather and seemed unworried.

Range riders, said Billy. Range riders.

Detectives. Pinkertons. The calf had been cut out and run down and killed in open country.
Billy dismounted and walked over the ground. There was blood on the rocks, black from the
sun.

You dont think it's just been coyotes? said John Grady. I dont think so.

What do you think it's been? I know what it's been.

What?

Dogs.

Dogs?

Yep.

I aint never seen any dogs out here.

I aint either. But they're here.

In the days that followed they found two more dead calves. They rode the Cedar Springs
pasture and they crossed the floodplain below it and they rode the surrounding traprock
bluffs and the mesa that ran east toward the old mine. They found tracks of the dogs but
they did not see them. Before the week was out they'd found another freshkilled calf not
dead a day.

There were some old Oneida number three doublespring traps on a shelf in the saddleroom
and Billy boiled and waxed them and they carried them out the next day and buried three of
them around the carcass. They rode out before daybreak to check the sets and when they got
to the kill the traps were all dug out and lying on the ground. One of them was not even
sprung. The carcass itself was little more than skin and bones.

I didnt know dogs were that smart, said John Grady.

I didnt either. They probably didnt know we were that dumb.

You ever trap dogs before?

No.

What do you want to do?

Billy picked up the unsprung trap and reached under the jaw and sprang it with his thumb.
It chopped shut with a dead metal sound in the quiet morning air. He cut the wires and
wired the rings together and hung the traps over the horn of his saddle and mounted up. He
looked at John Grady.

We just aint found where they're usin is all. They might walk in a blind set.

You think Travis's dogs would run em?

Billy sat looking out at the long morning light on the rocks of the mesa. I dont know, he
said. That's a pretty good question.

They took a packhorse and carried a kitchen box and their soogans out to the mesa and made
camp. They sat drinking coffee from tin cups and watching the coals flare and lapse in the
wind's fanning of them. Far out on the plain below the lights of the cities lay shimmering
in their grids with the dark serpentine of the river dividing them.

I thought you had other business to attend to, Billy said.

I do.

You think it can wait.

I hope it can wait. I aint sure this can.

Well I'm glad you aint forgot all of your raising.

I aint forgot anything.

You're tired of me gettin on your ass though.

You're entitled.

They sipped their coffee. The wind blew. They pulled their blankets about their shoulders.

I aint jealous you know.

I never said you were.

I know. You might of thought it. Truth is, I wouldnt pull your boots on at gunpoint.

I know.

Billy lit a cigarette with a brand from the fire and laid the brand back. He smoked. It
looks a lot better from up here than it does down there, dont it?

Yes. It does.

There's a lot of things look better at a distance.

Yeah?

I think so.

I guess there are. The life you've lived, for one.

Yeah. Maybe what of it you aint lived yet, too.

They stayed out Saturday and they rode the country under the rim Sunday morning and midday
they found a freshkilled calf lying in a gravel wash out on the floodplain. The mother was
standing looking at it and they hazed her away and she walked off bawling and stood and
looked back.

Them oldtime brocklefaces wouldnt of give up a calf thataway, Billy said. I'll bet they
aint a mark on her.

I'll bet there aint either, said John Grady.

You aint good for nothin but to eat and shit, are you? Billy told the cow. The cow stared
dully.

You know they're holed up in them rocks somewhere under the rim.

Yeah. I know it. But you'd have a hell of a time tryin to ride it and I sure aint goin to
walk it.

John Grady looked down at the dead calf. He leaned and spat. What do you want to do?

Why dont we just pack up and ride back and call Travis and see what he says.

All right. If he'd come out this evenin we could lay for em.

Well he wont be comin out this evenin, I can tell you that.

Why is that?

Shit, said Billy. That old man wont hunt on a Sunday.

John Grady smiled. What if our ox was in the ditch?

He wouldnt give a damn if the whole outfit was in the ditch and you and me and Mac with it.

Maybe he'd just let us borrow the dogs.

He wouldnt do that. Anyways the dogs wont hunt on Sunday either. They're Christian dogs.

Christian dogs.

Yep. Raised that way.

As they rode out along the upper end of the floodplain they heard another cow bawl and
they halted and sat their horses and scanned the country below them.

Do you see her? said Billy.

Yeah. Yonder she is.

Is it that same one?

No.

Billy leaned and spat. Well, he said. You know what that means. You want to ride down
there?

I dont see what would be the use in it.

*Ê*Ê*

THEY SET OUT across the broad creosote flats of the valley in the darkness before dawn on
Tuesday. Archer had a set of six dogboxes that fitted atop the bed of the Reo truck they
drove and the truck groaned along in low gear and the headlights swung up and down in pale
yellow fulcrums picking up the riders that went before them in the dark and the shapes of
the creosote bushes and the red eyes of the horses where they turned their heads or
crossed ahead of the truck. The dogs jostling in their boxes rode in silence and the
riders smoked or talked quietly among themselves. Their hats low, the corduroy collars of
their duckingjackets turned up. Riding slowly up the broad flat valley ahead of the truck.

The truck pulled up in a gravel fan at the head of the valley and the riders dismounted
and dropped the reins on their horses and helped Travis and Archer unload the dogs and
snap them onto the big harnessleather gangleads. The dogs backed and danced and whined and
some raised their mouths and howled and the howls echoed off of the rimrock and back again
and Travis halfhitched the first cast of dogs to the front bumper of the truck where their
collective breath clouded whitely in the headlamps and the horses standing along the edge
of the dark stamped and snorted and leaned to test the yellow lightbeams with their noses.
They handed down the dogs by their collars from the boxes on the other side of the truck
and leashed them up as well and the stars in the east began to dim out one by one.

They walked the dogs baying out along the gravel and Billy and John Grady rode below them
and cut back and forth until they located the dead calf in the wash. It had been eaten to
the bones and the bones had been dragged about over the ground. The ribcage lay with its
curved tines upturned on the gravel plain like some great carnivorous plant brooding in
the barren dawn.

They called out to the doghandlers and Travis called back to the others and they came down
the wash with the big bluetick and treeing walker hounds lunging at their leads and
slobbering and sucking at the air with their noses. When they fetched up at the remains of
the calf they drew back and shied and sniffed the ground and looked at Travis.

Keep the horses back, called Travis. Let's give em a chance.

He set about unleashing the dogs and urging them on. They padded about snuffing at the
ground and the dogs that Archer was bringing down began to howl and moan and Archer turned
them loose and they came barreling down the draw.

Travis walked over to where Billy sat his horse. He stood with the leads braided up
together and slung across his shoulder and listened.

What do you think? said Billy.

I dont know.

I'll bet them calfkillin sons of bitches aint been gone from here long.

I bet they aint either.

What do you think?

I dont know. If Smoke wont run em they aint goin to be run. Is that your best dog?

No. But he's the dog for the job.

Why is that?

Cause he's run dogs before.

What did he think about it?

He never said.

The dogs were casting about in the dark, returning and setting out again.

It looks to me like they've left out of here in ever direction. How many are they up here
do you reckon?

I dont know. Three or four.

I'll bet they's moren that.

You may be right.

Yonder he goes now.

One of the dogs had sorted out the track and set off baying. The others came tearing out
of the creosote and within seconds all eight hounds were in full cry.

That sounds pretty hot on that dry ground, said Travis. Where's my horse at?

JC did have him but I think he's gone on.

You know where they're headed dont you?

Up towards them rocks under the mesa yonder I'd say.

Archer came leading Travis's horse by the bridlereins. Travis stepped up into the saddle
and looked toward the east. It's about to get light enough to see.

There's goin to be one godawful dogfight up in them rocks. I hear you. Let's go boys.

John Grady and JC were sitting their horses at the upper end of the wash when Archer and
Travis and Billy rode up.

Where's Troy and Joaquin?

Done gone on.

Let's go.

You hear that?

What?

Listen.

From the rimrock of the far western edge of the floodplain beyond the cries of the
trailing hounds they could hear short chopping barks, a balesome howling.

Them ignorant sons of bitches is answerin back, said Billy.

I guess they want to be in on the race, Archer said. Dumb sumbucks dont know they are the
race.

By the time they reached the foot of the stone palisades the hounds had already driven the
dogs out of the rocks and they could hear them in a running fight and then a long howling
chase up through the broken scree and boulders. It was by now gray light and they trotted
the horses singlefile along the base of the cliffs, following a trail that wound among the
fallen traprock. Travis put his horse alongside John Grady. He reached and put his hand on
the horse's neck and John Grady slowed.

Listen, said Travis.

They halted and sat the horses and listened. Billy rode up.

Build your loops, boys, Travis said.

Think you all can see to rope?

We're fixin to find out.

They pulled the ties on their catchropes. Let's dont get in hurry, said Travis. They're
fixin to break out up here. Let em get out in the clear. Be careful now. Let's not rope
our own dogs.

They ran their loops and nudged their horses forward.

Keep em small, said Travis. Keep em small. They'll go through one like a dose of salts
through a cat.

The hounds' cries were suddenly just above them where the trail turned and angled up
behind some large fallen boulders They saw three shapes leaping from rock to rock. Then
two more. John Grady was riding Watson's blue dun horse and he put his heels to the
horse's ribs and the horse squatted and bolted. Billy was right behind him.

The trailing hounds came out of the rocks above them in full cry and John Grady reined off
to the right. Both he and Billy were sitting up high in the saddle in an effort to see the
running dogs. When they came out onto the upper trail John Grady looked back. Billy was
whipping over and under with the small toy loop of his catchrope. A hundred feet behind
him among the rocks several of Travis's appaloosacolored dogs were coming hard. He leaned
low over the horse's neck to talk it on and then raised up again to see. Three
yellowlooking dogs were loping dead ahead in tandem before him up a long gravel wash. He
leaned and spoke again to the horse but the horse had already seen them. He glanced back
to check for Billy and when he looked ahead again the hindmost dog had broken away from
the other two. He put the horse down the slope and went pounding out over the flat after
it.