Radigan (1958) (14 page)

If they hadn't found his feed by now there was small chance they would find it with this snow in the passes. He knew where the snow drifted, and the few routes there were that might be used. During the four years of residence on the ranch he had learned to plan his campaigns against the elements as a good general plans his strategy during a war. It was the price of survival.

Yet sometimes these first falls of snow did not last, but were swept away by the first change in the weather, and such might be the case with this one, and even a brief thaw might open up the passes, even if not for long.

The squat cowpuncher had leaned back against the wall, partly pillowed on his own saddle, and was snoring gently. Coker stared sullenly at Gretchen, and said nothing at all, and there was no light anywhere but the light from the flickering fire. Radigan poked a stick into the coals and watched it ignite, and he had a hunch that Wall had been told to find him and finish him off, and that Wall had no stomach for it. The big foreman was a cattleman, and in fighting he might kill a man, but he was no murderer.

Under the circumstances to attempt an escape could result only in
death and
in the close quarters of the cave, a wild bullet might kill anyone. So could a ricochet.

Gretchen would be in as great danger as any of them, perhaps more so, considering the cold hatred obvious in Coker.

The snow fell steadily, and Radigan knew if it continued through the night it would be extremely difficult if not impossible to get out of the canyon.
And three additional mouths would make great inroads on their food supply.

A flurry of wind blew into the cave mouth and danced the flames. A spark flew near the sack of corn for the horses, and Child reached over and put it out. It was very late.

Ross Wall got up and walked to the cave mouth and looked out, and when he came back his face was lined with worry. "How deep can it get in these canyons?"

"Here?" Radigan shrugged. "In a snow like this, counting for snow drifted by the wind, it might get eight to ten feet deep, and probably much less. But it often gets twenty feet deep in these canyons in the winter. Always danger of slides off the peaks, too."

His body was tired and he Maned back against the wall, yet the fatigue had not spread to his mind and he knew, whatever happened, he must remain alert. Yet if John Child was awake .. .
He glanced over at the Indian and indicated by sign language that he must rest.
Child nodded and Radigan settled himself more carefully, and as he did so he marked in his mind the position of the guns.

Despite the fire it was cold in the cave for there was no great depth to the overhang, and although the space was partly shielded by trees and undergrowth these were scant protection from the wind. Huddled under his blanket, Radigan slept fitfully, awakening at times to listen to the rising wind, the crackle of the fire, or the breaking of sticks as John Child replenished the flames. Without the necessity for conversation they had accepted the task of keeping the fire going, and nobody had offered any argument against their doing it, yet each understood the reason was not one of being helpful, but merely to offer them a little freedom of movement that might, in time, be utilized.

Ross Wall did not sleep. He sat staring at the flames or got to his feet and paced back and forth. Radigan could appreciate his concern, for
down country
there were nearly three thousand cattle, poorly fed these last few days, and only too ready to drift.
Moreover, nobody was with those cattle who felt sufficient responsibility.

They might, if sheltered from the wind, remain close against the canyon walls throughout the storm, and they might again begin to drift.

Radigan glanced nearby at the huddled, sleeping form of Gretchen. Only she was not sleeping. She was looking at him from wide blue eyes and, as she looked, she moved something under the covers and he saw the butt of 'a pistol, momentarily revealed, then hidden away beneath the blanket.

A pistol.

He considered it with care. How Gretchen had managed to secure it, he could not guess, but it was further evidence that she was thinking all the time. He had to have that gun, but he had to have it only at the right time and the right place. For the time being it was safer with Gretchen, who was less likely to be searched.

Attempting to return to sleep he found it impossible, for now that he was fully awake the cold of the rock floor of the cave was such as to permit no sleep. He threw off the blanket and shrugged into his sheepskin coat. "Get some sleep, John," he advised.

"I'll tend the fire."

Coker watched him from under heavy lids. The gunman's lips were in frightful condition, swollen and inflamed with great blisters where the burn had left its mark. He dared not change expression, and occasionally when some involuntary movement caused his face to twitch he gasped with pain.

The fuel supply was growing small, so drawing on his gloves, Radigan walked to the edge of the overhang and stepped out into the snow. He heard sharp movement behind him, and the click of 'a back-drawn gun hammer but he coolly began breaking branches from one of the deadfalls he had brought near for fuel.

This, he reflected, was one way it might be done. If one man was asleep and he could get the other to turn his back on the cave-it was a chance. Also, he thought, he might make a break for it in the snow, even without a gun. There was a rifle and three pistols at the cache on the mesa back of the ranch, and there was another rifle and a shotgun in the cache near San Antonio Valley. There was food in both places.

That was one way it could be done, but he could not go alone. He trusted Wall to prevent any attack upon Gretchen, but suppose Ross Wall had to leave her alone with Coker and the other man? Coker was filled with a hatred only held in check by Wall's presence.

For the first time he began to think seriously of the problem of escape. Until now he had needed rest, until now he had wanted to learn more of their position, but now he knew the time was drawing near when they must escape. Wall, he was sure, had been told to kill them, and while he might delay, he might just ride off and leave them to Coker. He brought an armful of wood close to the fire, but he did not bring in too much.

It would soon be day, and the snow was still falling. There would be no chance to get the horses, no chance to get food. They must rely upon their chance of getting to the nearest cache, but in this snow a man on snowshoes could move faster than a horse.

Snowshoes. A man could contrive snowshoes. Long ago, he had been shown how to do it by an Indian. Not snowshoes for fast going, but shoes that would at least help keep a man on the surface.

At first they would have to move fast, and that meant they must get out of the canyon they were in. Glancing
down canyon
he studied the walls and the trees. The snow here must be at least four feet deep, and in places deeper. Wind flurries whipped snow into the canyon that drifted there and remained. When the time came to move, it would have to be a quick move. Quick and decisive.

Radigan walked in and seated himself close to the fire.
He held his hands out to the fire, but as he moved them out he moved his left hand, palm down, in a slight downward movement, then did the same, only farther out, with his right and repeated with his left.
To a casual observer he might only be stretching his arms in a way to draw his sleeves back, but Radigan knew that John Child had caught the Indian sign language for "walk."

A moment later he turned his hand up and drew the sleeve back a little, and managed to hold three fingers alone as he did so.

Child, sitting across the fire, appeared half-asleep. Radigan glanced at Gretchen who was watching him, and as she caught his eye she nodded slightly, indicating she understood. He had not expected her to know sign language but it was the sort of thing John Child would be apt to teach a youngster, and which a youngster would want to know.

Suddenly Ross Wall got up and walked to the mouth of the overhang. "This ain't going to ease up," he said, "and there's not enough grub to last out a bad storm."

He turned to Radigan. "How far is it to the ranch from here?"

"Might be eight miles, almost due south."

"It's colder, and we've not grub enough to last out the day. We could all die here."

"That's right. And you wait much longer and that snow will be so deep you can't get out. Fact is, you may not make it now. "

"Eight miles ain't far," Coker scoffed. "I could walk it on my hands."

Radigan ignored him and addressed his remarks to Wall. "In places this snow will be drifted up to the lower limbs of the trees, sometimes eight feet deep. Believe one, it doesn't take long in this country with no wind to sweep much of it clear."

Not long, he told himself, but still there are places. He was thinking of them now, and knew that if the right break came they would take one of them for the first brief distance, then right into the deep woods and make some snowshoes.

"I'll go," Wall said suddenly. "Mine's the best horse, and I've got a chance to get through'."

Coker was staring at Gretchen, a hard satisfaction in his eyes. He would be left in charge. Or he could take charge. After that he would kill Child and Radigan. Radigan could almost see his mind working, and lie could tell from the way Wall averted his eyes from them that he was thinking the same thing.

"Something else you boys didn't know about this country that you're going to find out mighty fast," Radigan commented. "Those light cow ponies you use in Texas are no good in heavy snow. It takes a horse with muscle and bone to handle it, the Montana kind of horses."

"We'll make out." Wall gathered his gear, then plunged out into the snow.

When he came back he was leading his horse, and he stood it inside the overhang while he brushed off the snow and put a blanket on, then he saddled up.
Radigan watched him critically.
Wall did not think of warming the bit, and the horse fought it until Wall finally bridled the horse with the help of Coker.

"You should have warmed that bit," Radigan told them, and Wall turned angrily.

"You talk too damn' much!" he flared. "There's other men handled stock besides you."

"Some people never learn," Radigan replied, grinning.

For a moment he thought Wall would strike him. The big foreman took an angry step forward, and Radigan merely looked up at him, smiling. Wall stared at him for a moment, then turned sharply away.

"You know, Ross," Radigan said, "if we'd worked for the same outfit we'd have gotten along all right."

Wall said nothing nor did he face around, and Radigan said quietly, "I wonder how you'll face yourself after this? I wonder how you'll sleep at night?"

For an instant Wall stopped gathering his gear, standing absolutely still. When Radigan next saw his face it was white, but he did not look at any of them. Merely stepping into the saddle, and then he said, "Coker, you and Gorman stay here. I'll send some grub back up right away, and some of the boys will break trail for you to come out.

You take care of the prisoners. "

"Sure." Coker was grinning. "I'll take care of them. Harvey told me just how to take care of them."

Without a word Ross Wall rode out into the snow. There was a narrow ledge along the wall that he could ride down
canyon for a short distance, and below the canyon there was some flat ground where the snow would not be so deep. Yet he had gone no more than a hundred yards before he knew he was in trouble.

The
horse stepped off the ledge and went belly-deep in the snow, then deeper. Floundering
desperately, the gelding fought his way down the canyon to the open ground, jumping and plunging. Ross Wall reined in and looked south, scowling at the rough, broken country, much of it heavily forested, and for the first time he was afraid.

It was cold. In the cave he had not realized how cold. It was very still, yet there was already frost on the horse, and he realized anew that Radigan had been right.

His horse was light and fast, an excellent cow horse, but lacked the sheer power for bucking heavy drifts. It was bitterly cold, and the snow still fell. A man could die in this country.

He was not going back. He had no desire to face what was to happen in that cave.

Thorpe wanted it to happen, and maybe even Angelina Foley wanted it, but he was no killer, no murderer.
As for Coker, he would be in no hurry to send men back. Let the man live with himself a little. It would do him good, and there was food enough for another couple of days for two men, if they were careful.

Suddenly, from behind him he heard a shot. It was faint. It was far away, but it was a gunshot. Coker had wasted no time.

Chapter
Five.

Coker simply turned and fired. But he turned too fast and shot too quick, and his bullet went where Radigan had just been.

For Radigan had been completely fooled. He expected Coker to talk because Coker was that sort of man. It was his pattern to play the big man for a few minutes before he killed, but Coker simply spun around and fired, throwing his bullet fast and considering the turn, with amazing accuracy.