the High Graders (1965) (22 page)

He needed more than one, when it came to that. H
e found himself searching their faces for some hint of wha t he sought, but he did not find it.

Red was not among them, and that worried him, fo r Red should have been here.

He waited for the last mule and rider to pass , and let dust settle behind them. The thought cam e into his mind that he had always expected to wind u p dead in a canyon somewhere, and this might be the time.

He let his horse take its own pace , unworried, for he knew the trail and nobod y could go anywhere but straight along. Just short o f midway there was a cutoff he would take, bu t nobody else would be apt to find it without bein g shown.

The sun came up behind clouds that steadil y grew darker. There had been rain clouds ove r Rafter, but they had been a good while catchin g up. Somewhere ahead he could expect attac k by Hollister and his men.

Ben Stowe expected it and, knowing Hollister , Mike was sure it would come. Who would Holliste r have with him? Babcock, of course, and some of the othe r soreheads. But how many? And where would it be?

Hollister, he felt sure, would not know of thi s trail, nor even Babcock. They had neve r been on good terms with Rafter, and their range ha d been far from here.

It was a steep, climbing trail, with many a switch-back and double. It had been mad e by Indians or mountain sheep, and it was the onl y way across the mountain for miles in either direction.

The higher slopes were covered with stunted pines an d juniper; the canyons fell away from the trai l to the bottom of steep cliffs. Here and there rounde d hills rose by the trail, and they offered invitin g chances to escape it, but they were all deceptive , ending in sheer cliffs or slides o f shifting rock.

Presently rain began to fall, scattere d drops at first, followed by a steady downpour.

Shevlin drew up, got out his slicker, and sli d into x. Up ahead he could see the others doing th e same.

Occasionally the leaders would draw up to catch thei r wind, and the party would close up. Shevlin watche d for the turn-off ... he had rarely come this way, an d he was worried that he might miss it. It was a steep, alternate route that cut a good mile of f the distance. There was no other chance to get ahead, an d that was where he needed to be.

He saw the twisted, lightning-struck pine o n the ridge only a moment before he saw the slid e of shale. The slide slanted up steeply, endin g against the sky. It was a stiff scramble for a goo d horse--not over sixty feet of shale, but i t appeared to go nowhere, and certainly was a n unlikely beginning for a trail.

The big horse took it without urging. O
n top of the slide was a ridge of slate, slantin g back less steeply. Here, barely visible, wa s a narrow way worn by years of passing, bu t invisible to any but a trained eye. This was th e cutoff, and the horse took to it readily.

Beyond lay a vast jumble of grass-covere d slopes, pine-crested ridges, dee p canyons, knolls covered with jagged, broke n rock. It was a place where no man seemed to hav e come, a wild and lonely place, high under th e gray clouds, with only the whispering rain and the soun d of his horse's hoofs to attend him.

Eight miles away, Ray Holliste r crouched in the slight shelter of a wind-hollowe d cliff. He hadn't shaved in a week, and hi s jaws itched; his mouth felt gritty. It wa s damp and chilly, and the coffee was made from ground s used for the third time.

He looked at Halloran, who was stretche d out, comfortably asleep, and he felt a sudden , vicious urge to kick him awake. John Sand e was a dozen yards off, huddled under a falle n oak, its branches so matted with driftwood tha t no rain came through. Babcock sat near him , nursing the fire with sticks.

Hollister spoke suddenly. "Where the hel l are they? If they left town like Jess said, the y should be here!"

Babcock glanced over at him. "Ray, i f that old wolfer said they left town, they left,"
a nd then he added, in a milder tone, "and don'
t rile him. He's likely to cut out and leav e us."

Just then Jess Winkler came down through th e rocks across the hollow, and came over to where the y waited.

"They foxed us," he said, grinning at them. Hi s broken, yellowed teeth showed under the gra y mustache. "They surely did!"

Before Hollister could speak, Babcock said , "How could they? This is the only trail."

"No, it ain't. Winkler squatted on hi s haunches. "I keep forgettin' about that kid, tha t Shevlin."

"He's no kid," John Sande commented. "I s een him. He's got shoulders like two of us."

"I think of him as a kid," Winkler said.

"That was how I knowed him afore. Now I kee p forgettin' how canny that youngster was, an' how h e prowled these mountains. He's taken them ove r Lost Cabin."

"Never heard of it," Babcock said.

"Lost Cabin trail ... it's an ol d Indian trail. Somebody built a stone cabi n up there, built it long before any white man wa s knowed to be in this country. Built it an' lef t it. Why, I ain't seen that trail in sixteen , seventeen years!"

"What do we do now?" Halloran said , sitting up.

Winkler took up a twig and marked on th e sand. "That trail goes about so." He dre w another line to indicate the railroad, and a cross where Tappan Junction stood. "They'l l be headin' for there. If we haul out of here now , we can nest down in a packet of boulders abou t here." He made another cross in the sand. "W
e can make it in about an hour, if we're lucky , and that would be maybe an hour before they do."

They were gone, and their fire was dying to coals , hissing under occasional drops of rain, when a rider passed on the trail, not more than thirt y yards off. It was Ben Stowe, wearing a ne w yellow slicker, his hat brim tilted down.

For the first time in months he felt content. H
e was up in the saddle again, and he was riding away fro m trouble. Of course, there would be trouble aplenty a t Tappan Junction, but it was the kind o f trouble for which he was well prepared and which h e clearly understood. Also, within a few minutes , unless his calculations had gone astray, part of hi s work would be done for him somewhere back in the hill s ... or perhaps out on the bunch-grass levels wher e the tracks were laid.

Somewhere along the line Ray Hollister would com e upon Mike Shevlin, and in the gun battle that mus t surely follow, men would die on both sides , and every man who died made his own problem that muc h simpler.

He had a good horse under him, and n o slow-moving pack mules to worry about. A t Wood's Ranch he would swap horses , exchanging the sorrel he now rode for a toug h buckskin he had kept at the ranch, and he woul d make fast time down to the Junction. He would b e waiting there with the contents of that bundle behind hi s saddle, and after that the gold would be his and his alone.

An hour after he rode past the dyin g campfire, unaware that it was there, two othe r riders came along. By that time the fire wa s entirely out--only the blackened coal s remained.

Laine Tennison was more angry than frightened , but Red was triumphant. His triumph, however , was beginning to wear thin, for he was no longer so sur e that he had judged right in kidnaping this girl.

It had been simple enough, back there at th e Nevada House. He knew that Lain e Tennison represented trouble, and he ha d guessed she was one of the owners of the mines, or wa s associated with them. He had acted promptly , and upon impulse, as he did most things.

Mike Shevlin was gone, and it could only be th e girl in the room. He had detected a fain t perfume near the door that told him his guess wa s right. After discovering that the door was barred from within , he decided that by morning she would be hungry. H
e had simply knocked on the door shortly afte r daylight and said. "Mr. Shevlin, your breakfas t is here."

Nobody he knew had ever had breakfas t served in his room, but she was a city girl an d might not know it wasn't done at the Nevad a House. With a slight clatter he put down som e dishes he had brought up for the purpose, the n walked away and tiptoed back.

Laine
. W
as hungry. After a moment or tw o she opened the door, and he forced his wa y in before she could close it.

And now he had her here, on the roa d to Tappan Junction.

He had been sure that Ben Stowe would b e pleased, but now he was beginning to worry. Ben was a man who liked to order things his own way. It wa s too late, however, to think about that--there was nothin g to do but ride on.

Chapter
19

When Mike Shevlin rode out of the dark pine s he faced a vast green slope, perhaps a thousan d acres of untouched grass, slanting away from th e rounded crest of the mountain toward the dark canyo n off to his left.

To his right and well ahead of him, three dar k jagged crags tore at the sky, trailin g drifts of windblown cloud like streamers o f smoke. The rain was a gray veil, the grass a brilliant green, while the sky was masked wit h lowering thunderheads.

There was no wind on this slope shielded by th e mountain, but he was chilly under the slicker; and hi s wet hands worried him, for if he needed a gu n he would need it fast--and with accurate aim.

It took a long time to cross the wide gree n slope. At the end it fell sharply away into th e last canyon before Lost Cabin, and he dre w rein here and sat his horse, looking across at th e squat gray shape, tantalized as always by th e wonder of it. Who had found this wild and lonel y place so long ago?

At this point he was over a mile higher tha n Rafter Crossing, and a good thousand feet above th e trail followed by the pack mules. There might b e accidents due to the weather, but there was no danger o f them going astray.

Nobody he knew at Rafter had ever see n Lost Cabin, and he himself had not talked of it , wishing jealously to keep this place for himself. Man y knew about the Cabin, some scarcely believing i n it; but there it was, on the slope across th e canyon, under the shadow of ancient trees. A d warfish army of cedars was massed not far below it, a s if waiting to leap upon it in some moment of stillness.

At last Shevlin was angling steeply down , searching out the old trail, glad that he had a goo d mountain horse, when he saw them. At first h e could not believe his eyes.

He drew up sharply, peering down at th e five riders coming out of the draw, about a mil e away. He saw them begin to fan out among th e rocks and trees.

They were not more than a hundred yards from th e trail, which at that point came out into the open for a good half-mile, just beyond the low glacial ridg e where the five were taking shelter.

Their backs were to him--but for how long? If the y happened to turn he could be plainly seen up here.

He had to get off this slope and into the trees.

Jess Winkler ... Of course. He should hav e thought of the old wolfer who had been riding thes e hills for years. Winkler must be down there.

Nobody else could have known of the trail the mule s were using; and the trail these five had taken to ge t here from below must be one even Shevlin knew nothin g of.

He walked his horse along the slope and go t into the trees without being seen. Then, screened by th e dripping trees, he rode at a dead run , racing against time. If the pack train had had n o trouble they would soon be along, riding like sittin g pigeons into the range of Hollister's guns.

Against the five men down there, he had the nin e with the pack train. But they would be scattered ou t along the line of mules, and the first volley woul d surely eliminate some of them unless they could b e warned.

Hollister was a fair hand with a rifle, good with a six-gun. And Winkler--well, Winkler woul d never miss. When he aimed from a rest, h e killed. Babcock was good too, and the others wer e probably at least average.

He raced his horse for about a quarter of a mile, slowed to a walk over more difficul t ground, and then raced on. He came out of th e trees behind Hollister and his men, and a good tw o hundred yards away. He could see them settle d down and waiting, and just as he had spotted the fift h man, the first of the pack mules came into sight.

The first man in the pack train was a tall , lean, stoop-shouldered Texan; there were si x mules before the second man appeared. In a matter of minutes they would all be strung ou t along the trail, and helpless. And he knew tha t Hollister would hold his fire until all were withi n easy range.

Mike Shevlin felt a curious emptines s inside him. He knew what was coming.

You could die down there, he told himself. H
e tugged on his hat brim and started down the slop e behind the waiting men.

His horse walked quickly, daintily. Shevli n touched a flank lightly with a spur, and the hors e began to canter. The five men below were fixing al l their attention on the approaching mule train.

Suddenly one of the men with the mule train sa w Shevlin, and drew up sharply. At the sam e instant, Shevlin shucked a six-shooter an d slapped the spurs to his horse.

The startled animal almost leaped from under him, the n went pounding down the slope, running like the wind.

There came a startled exclamation, and one o f Hollister's men whirled toward him, and Mik e let go his first shot.