Shadow River (4 page)

“All right, then,” he said. “We're both on the same spot. None of us here knows any more than the other.”

Sam stood and stretched and hung his canteen back on his saddle horn.

“That about the size of it,” he said. “I'm still pushing on. Make up your minds if you're still riding with me.”

Montana looked at the others, then back at Sam.

“I'm not speaking for anybody but myself,” he said. “I expect if you're still riding on, I'm still riding with you.” He gave a thin devil-may-care grin. “If this is turning into an adventure, I can't wait to see what's next.”

In the gray-silver hour of dawn, the five men stood beside their horses overlooking a trail below them that they could plainly see had been knocked out and overcoated with a layer of rock and broken pine twenty feet deep. The long slope of broken and unseated rock lay spread and reseated down the steep hillside beneath a silvery morning mist. The long slide looked as if a sound no larger than a whisper or a cough could loosen the whole hillside and send it plunging downward again.

“There we have it,” Burke said in disgust. “Who'd ever guessed I'd someday be on a mountain and the damn thing fell out from under me?”

“Call it the luck of the game,” said Montana, leading his horse beside Burke. He gazed down as if in deep reflection.

Sam had noted that Montana had taken on a better attitude since the quake and the subsequent landslide.

“I remember once when I was a young boy,” Montana said quietly. “For no reason at all, a little boat I was standing on just sank . . . no reason. . . .” He shook his head wistfully. “I mean, for no reason at all.”

Sam just looked at him.

On Sam's other side, Childers stood holding a hand to his wounded shoulder.

“It sort of makes you wonder, don't it?” he commented quietly to Montana.

Burke and Stanley Black sat listening until Burke could take it no more.

“Jesus . . . ,” he said, sounding irritated with the two gunmen's conversation. “Wonder about
what
?”

Childers shrugged with his good shoulder.

“Just, you know . . . everything, I reckon,” he said.

Sam shook his head and backed the dun and the spare horse away on the thin trail.

“Where are you going, Jones?” Burke asked, backing his horse up as well.

“I'm going to find a game path or something,” Sam said. He gestured at the hillside that had risen beside them as they'd traveled down from the higher summit.

“What if there's none?” Burke asked.

Sam just looked at him.

“I'm just asking,” Burke said.

As the others turned and led horses in behind him, Sam spoke to them over his shoulder.

“Spread out along this back trail, look for any kind of path not too steep to lead these horses up,” he said. “Anybody finds one that leads up and around the slide, call out . . . only not too loud,” he added. “This whole hillside looks a little like it could take off sliding again any—”

His words stopped short beneath the long, loud bellow of a monstrous grizzly that suddenly stood up on its hind legs only twenty yards up the rocky hillside.

“Holy Joseph, shut up, you big son of a bitch!”
Burke called up to the bear, trying to keep his voice as quiet as possible.

But the bear would have none of it. It continued to bawl out long and loud, the sound echoing like cannon fire along the shaky hill line. The horses spooked and whinnied and stamped in place as the men held them firm.

“You won't shut it up,” Sam said. “Look at it. It's beaten something fierce.”

“Whoa, it is,” Burke said. He raised his rifle in his hands and stood with it loosely pressed against his shoulder.

Sam gave him a warning look.

“Just in case it comes charging at us,” Burke said, regarding the rifle. “I don't want to be caught short by a wounded griz.”

The men stood staring at the big bawling brute, noting streaks of blood glistening down its sides, its big head, its raised paws.

“Oh yeah, this one is hurt bad,” Montana said quietly. “I'd say it got caught up in the slide and rode it down until it could get out of it.”

As the bear bellowed and postured and threatened, its claws spread and its big mouth open wide, showing long bloody teeth, the men backed away. Leading their terrified horses, they eased away along the trail, mindful of small streams of gravel and loose rocks starting to stream down among the freshly formed slide bed. Burke kept his rifle ready, as did Black and Montana. But in a moment the bear wore itself out and dropped onto all fours. They watched as the big animal turned and waddled away up into the rocky hills.

“Which way are you going, Burke?” Sam asked.

“Huh?” said Burke.

“To search for a path up around the slide,” Sam reminded the shaken gunman. “Which way are you going?”

“I'm going whichever way the bear
ain't
,” Burke said.

The men spread out along the trail as they had started to do before the bear announced itself. It took the men four unsuccessful starts before they found a path that didn't stop short, but rather led all the way up the bald and scathed hill and around the upper edge where the rock slide had started.

Once having found the path, the men spread out with ten yards between them and led their horses single file, silently and carefully upward. Halfway around the upper edge, Sam stopped and looked back past his two at Burke, who moved toward him almost on tiptoes. Burke kept a wary eye on the hillside still above them, much of its scree and loose stony surface held back only by a large boulder sunken to midgirth.

Looking away from the precarious boulder and forward along the path, seeing Sam had stopped and stood looking back at him, Burke grumbled under his breath. He moved forward, and when he caught up to Sam and had to stop for him, he wasted no time trying to hurry him forward.

“Why the hell are you stopped, Jones?” he asked, keeping his voice lowered.

Sam looked at him.

“Just want to tell you, I can see a trail up ahead that looks like it runs down back onto the switchbacks,” he replied.

“That's great. Real good,” said Burke. “Can we keep moving? Do we have to stop right here?” He eyed the boulder and the large buildup of loose rock and broken pine behind it.

Sam turned and walked forward, leading his two horses.

“It's going to be a steep downhill climb to it,” he said. “But once we make it, I believe it will take us on down to the desert floor by evening—on to the ruins by tonight.”

“Sounds good to me,” Burke said hurriedly. “Keep moving.”

“I will now that I've told you which way I'm headed,” Sam said, looking past Burke, back at the others. “But you've got to stick here until Childers catches up to you. Then you tell him, and he'll wait here for the next one.”

“Jesus . . . ,” said Burke, not liking the idea of waiting for the next man. But looking ahead at the path and how it dropped out of sight, he realized how easy it would be to get separated up ahead. “All right, just go,” he said, forcing himself to calm down.

“You need to settle yourself down, Clyde,” Sam said quietly.

“Man! I do
not
want to die on this miserable godforsaken Mexican hillside,” Burke said.

Sam stared at him.

“Neither do I,” he said, seriously. Then he turned and led the horses away along the narrow rocky path.

•   •   •

For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, the four riders followed Sam down one steep path after another. Finally they reached a switchback where they were able to collapse for a short rest in the heat of the day. The horses milled and blew and raised their muzzles in the direction of a water hole that lay in a wide clearing along the trail on the next level down. Sam looked down and saw nothing blocking the trail between them and the water. Then he divided the contents of his canteen and served each horse from his upturned hat.

The mottled white barb took its water first. The dun poked its nose back and forth impatiently and stamped a hoof.

“I told you I'd save you both a drink,” he murmured to the horses, pushing the spare horse back and pouring the rest of the water for the dun.

As the dun sucked up the water in a fast gulp, Sam patted the horse's lowered head. The dun nipped the inside of Sam's hat, wanting more.

“Mind your manners, now,” Sam said. The dun slung his wet hat and bit down with its teeth until Sam managed to take the hat and shove the dun's nose away. “We've got water coming. Take it easy,” he said to the parched animals.

The men stepped up into the saddles and followed Sam down the trail. They were scuffed and bruised and cut and covered with thick dust, but grateful to at last be on horseback. When they reached the small water hole on the inside of the trail, they sank their canteens into the water while their horses stood knee deep at the edge and drew their fill. The water hole stretched fifteen feet out from the trail and backed up against the stony brush-covered hillside.

Even as the thirsty animals drank, Sam noted a skittishness about them that caused him to take a step back and look all around at the boulders and stones strewn about on the hillside. He held his palm on the butt of his holstered Colt, his rifle already in hand.

“Something's got them spooked, sure enough,” Burke said quietly to Sam, moving up close beside him, seeing how the horses were acting. He also held his rifle in hand.

Instead of answering, Sam stepped sidelong around the water's edge and stooped down and looked at fresh elk hooves and bear paws in the softer wet dirt. He gestured Burke over to him and pointed at the tracks as he gestured his eyes toward the rocky hillside. The other men stood watching quietly as the horses filled their bellies.

Burke nodded and whispered, “Same bear, you think?”

“I don't know,” Sam whispered. “These quakes have everything stirred up. Either way, it's on this hillside, probably watching us right now.” He drew the other men's attention to the hillside and ran his hand back and forth in the air, signaling them to watch the rocks. “We need to finish up here and slip away as quick as we can—”

Before he finished his words, the big grizzly stood up from behind a land-stuck rock straight across the water hole. The bear let out another loud bawl. This time its big paws were not spread wide but rather hanging almost limply at its sides. The bear's presence was not as threatening as earlier—only a weak warning, nothing more.

“Stand still, he's not going to charge,” Sam called out to the four gunmen, who had to grab their horses by their reins as the animals pulled back from the water to turn and race away.

No sooner had Sam gotten his words out of his mouth than Montana's rifle barked and bucked in his hands. The bullet hit the bear high in its shoulder, half turning the animal on its hind legs.

“Don't shoot!” Sam shouted, although he knew the shot couldn't be taken back. Across the water, the big bear staggered a step forward, appearing to stare straight across at Montana. Without hesitation, Montana fired again, then a third time as the bear bolted forward two steps, splashed into the water and fell forward on its face.

Sam and the others stood in silence as the sound of the rifle fire echoed and bounced away along the high hilltops.

“He's cooked us,” Burke said with a deep sigh. He stepped over to where Black stood holding the reins to his and Burke's horses. Burke took his horse's reins and glared at Montana.

“What?” Montana said. “The bear was coming at me! I shot him. I did it without even thinking.”

“I can believe that,” Burke said, still glaring. The other men settled their horses and watched the two stare each other down.

To keep down any trouble, Sam took a coil of rope from his saddle horn, stepped over between the two and looked all along the high cliff edges and hilltops.

“All right, let's finish up and go,” he said. As he spoke, he dropped coil after coil of rope.

“What's this you're doing?” Burke asked, eyeing Sam's rope.

“We've got to pull the bear from the water hole, keep it from ruining the water,” Sam replied. “Like as not, there's no one around near enough who cares about us after that quake.”

“Then what's our hurry?” Childers called out.

“It's just in case I'm wrong,” Sam said, stooping, grabbing his full canteen from the water and screwing the cap down on it. He threw his hat off his head so that it hung on his back from its string and splashed water on his dusty face. Then he trudged into the water and made his way out to the bear, his rope trailing out behind him.

“Son of a bitch,” Burke growled. He grabbed a rope from his saddle horn and splashed out into the water behind Sam. “I'd never live in a place where you can't shoot a gun without every pig-licking bastard coming to see why.”

“I didn't do anything wrong,” Montana called out, taking down his rope as well. “The bear was coming at us. I shot him! Who can blame me?” He walked through the water toward Sam and Burke. The three began tying the rope to the bear.

“Nobody blames you, Montana,” Sam said. “Any one of us might have done the same.” He swung up atop the dun and turned both horses toward the trail with Burke.

“Well, now, that's damn big of you, Jones,” Montana said with sarcasm. “I'll be damn sure to get your approval anytime I go to shoot something—”

“Shut up, Montana,” Burke snapped at him, jerking his horse around toward him, his hand on his Colt. “We're all worn plumb to the bone and still got a long ride ahead of us.”

Montana settled himself, staring at Sam.

“Jones, I wish I hadn't fired those shots, but I did. There's nothing I can do that'll change it,” he said, his voice taking on a calmer tone.

“Forget it, Montana,” Sam said. “Like Clyde says, we're all worn out.” He turned and walked the rope back to the water's edge and tied it off to his saddle horn.

Montana shook his head and walked back and tied the rope off to his saddle horn as well. So did Burke. Black and Childers stood guard, looking back and forth along the wavering desert floor, rifles in hand.

In minutes the three had pulled the dead bear out of the water and onto a bed of gravel and small rock. They gathered their wet ropes and recoiled them. As Burke and Sam mounted their horses and rode away, their trousers dripping water, Montana let out a breath and hung his coiled rope back on his saddle horn.