Under the Sweetwater Rim (1971) (16 page)

Nobody had anything to say to that, and Brian inched a little closer to the rifle. The man nearest to him, with his back squarely to him, wore two pistols. Those pistols were better at this range than the rifle, so if shooting started he had to have those guns.

"Bring "em in," Jube said. "Let's see what you caught."

The girls were here. Kelsey was far away, and perhaps they would not see him again. Not even Jess would persuade these men to wait. There had been too much of that, and this was an undisciplined lot. There would be no mercy for Belle or Mary, and none for himself.

He knew what had been done to the women and children of the wagon trains. These men were more savage than any savage. Kelsey had deliberately chosen men who had no qulams, such men as only he could control. Easing himself a little, Brian got the pistol further forward, just under the cover of his slicker. There he lay, waiting. "Bring 'em in!" Jube yelled.

"Like hell!"

Suddenly the women vanished, jerked back out of the light by Sam. "Like hell," he said. "We got to have an understandin"."

"Sure, Sam," Jube said slyly, "we understand you. We understand everythin' you say. You just come in here an' put down your gun an' we'll talk this thing out, man to man."

Sam stepped back into the cave entrance. The other man, whoever he was, remained outside, guarding the women.

"We ketched those women," Sam repeated, "an' they're ours, to keep or trade as we want."

"We can talk this out, Sam. You just put down your gun an' set down." Sam hesitated, then shrugged. These were men he had fought beside, men he had gambled withand looted with, men he knew. He lowered his rifle and half-turned to lean it against the cave wall. When his eyes shifted back, Jube held a gun. He was smiling.

"You're too trustin', Sam. Don't ever let nobody talk you into puttin' down your gun least he does likewise. Now, what was we sayin'?"

Jess and the other men had moved back a little. Each watched Jube and Sam. "Now, Sam," Jube said, "you call the breed. Tell him to bring those women in here . . . now."

"Wait a minute, Jubel We was goin' to talk this over!"

"That was when you held a gun," Jube replied.

"You got no barga*' position now, boy. You done give it up. I can shoot you before you can get that belt gun out . . . you always did wear it wrong.

I can shoot you dead. You call that breed"

"I ain't a-goin' to do it," Sam said.

"We made a deal."

Jube chuckled. "Sam, you're a fool. You can't deal with a man that holds all the cards. All you can do is take what he offers . . . if you're lucky enough to get offered anythin'. You call that breed."

"He won't come. I told him not to come in or let those girls come unless I came out after him ... alone"

Jube smiled. "You just turned over your last card, boy," he said, "an' she's nothin' but a deuce. You get up on your feet an' you walk right outside the cave. The minute you're out, you tell him to come on in:" "And then what?"

"Like I say, you got no barga*" position.

I hold the gun." Sam got up slowly and walked to the mouth of the cave. Hesitating, he glanced back. The black muzzle of the gun was on him like a single ugly eye. He stepped outside.

"Jason," he called, "bring'em inl" He spoke, then leaped. He sprang for the darkness and the edge of the cliff, over which there was a short slide to a narrow ledge, then a drop-off of fifty feet or more. He knew this and took his chance, for once over the rim he would be out of danger.

His feet hit the edge instead of going over, and Jube's bullet caught him at the same time.

He landed on his feet, lifted on his toes, and fell outward, his head tilting down, and then he was gone. With a rush, the men in the cave burst from its mouth, and Ten Brian, scrambling to his feet and catching up his rifle, followed. He knew about the ledge, and he knew it was his one chance, unsteady though he was. He went forward and went over the edge as the renegades scattered in search of the girls. Clinging to the rounded face, he let himself slide over, his feet feeling for the ledge below.

Finding it, he worked himself along the face of the cliff. He could hear the searchers thrashing in the brush. He reached a wider corner of the ledge and paused to rest. He was dizzy, and his head felt like a drum. He had clung to his rifle, and holstered the pistol.

Sam had called the half-breed Jason . . .

Brian knew him. Jason had spent much time around the Fort, and was often in Julesburg. Several times Brian had bought him drinks. When around the Fort he had undoubtedly been spying for Kelsey, but that was unimportant now. Jason had also served as a scout for the army on numerous occasions, and once had been a scout on a long march into the country north of Laramie led by Brian himself. Ten Brian clung to the face of the cliff, waiting until his dizziness passed. He wanted nothing so much as to lie down and rest. But there could be no rest.

Jason had the girls with him and he might try to escape or might not, but with so many men hunting for him, they were almost sure to come upon them.

After a few minutes he climbed off the ledge by a watercourse, scrambling up over the small boulders, trying to make no noise. Twice he was forced to stop and wait until his head stopped spinning.

Jason would, he decided, go up the mountain rather than down into a canyon which might be impassable, or along the trail where he was sure to be caught. The mountainside was covered with patches of aspen, with small open areas here and there and some spruce.

Crossing the trail, Brian went up the steep slope through the trees.

His wound was slight-of that he was sure-but the blow on his head had been a severe shock, and he was suffering from exposure and lack of food. He paused once to listen, then climbed on through the trees.

He crouched at the base of a spruce, hidden by its low-hanging branches, and tried to catch his breath. The sky was overcast and no stars were visible.

Somewhere on the slope above him would be Jason with Belle and Mary. What would the half-breed do?

That he might be an outlaw Brian was prepared to accept, but he had always considered Jason a man to be respected, and he had an idea that Jason had deliberately chosen his moment to help the girls escape, though on that he might be mistaken.

He wanted to give himself the advantage of distance, and after a few minutes he went on up the slope. He doubted if they would waste much time searching for him-it was Belle and Mary whom they wanted to find, but if they came upon him they would kill him . . . if they could. Finally, he could go no further. Under the groundtouching limbs of a spruce, he made a bed of spruce needles and grass, then crawled close to the tree trunk, and with his rifle held close, he went to sleep. Cold awakened him, but there was a grayness in the sky that warned dawn was near, and already he could make out the outlines of trees and rocks. He wiped his guns free of moisture. He had no illusions about his chances, which grew less by the hour. His own condition was not good, he was without a horse in a country where a horse was the first essential, and he was surrounded by enemies. If by some chance he escaped them, there were still the Indians. During the past few months there had been continual fights with the Sioux, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes all along the trail from mid-Kansas to Fort Bridger. He peered from beneath the tree for a long time before he crawled out, but when he tried to straighten up he was so stiff that it took him some time to stand up. Yet, surprisingly, he felt better. His head still ached, but not so much, and the sleep had done him good. He studied the ground for tracks, cutting across the flank of the mountain to intercept the trail of anybody attempting to climb over. He found the tracks of a dozen men, but none at all that seemed to be those of women. He thought of Jason, who he knew was shrewd. He would think of pursuit, would find some way to evade it.

The bare bones of the mountain above timberline rose only a few hundred yards away, and before him was a long talus slope. He crossed this and moved into the low-growing spruce beyond. From that point he could see over into the canyon. Far below, he saw a dozen elk moving across an open meadow and into the trees. But something nearer by drew his attention. A spike of red elephant, already budded although it was early in the season, had been pushed down and crushed.

The flower stem had almost straightened up, but the mark of a heel was still upon it.

Without moving, he searched the ground carefully a few steps beyond, and after a moment found the merest suggestion of a track in loose gravel. He started on, pausing at every other step to let his eyes examine the terrain. Indications were scanty, but they were there, though of one person only. He cut for sign, moving right and left, circling warily. After several minutes he found it . . . another track.

He could guess what had happened. The two women and Jason were walking widely separated so as to leave no definite trail. He needed to follow only one of them, so he kept on, working forward quickly, despite frequent pauses to see just what he might be walking into.

The trail led across the slope at the foot of the talus; the tracks had been made only hours before. He followed them over the ridge, then paused to scan the country before him. Far off was the blue of Lake Christina, in front of him a jumble of peaks. Beyond that he could get a glimpse of the open country of Deer Park.

Squatting on his heels he studied the country for a trail. There were patches of trees, open meadows along the mountainside, and then thick forest.

Through the grass of the slope he could see the marks where people had passed. The tracks led into the trees close by. The head of the Little Sweetwater was on his left and behind him; Sioux Pass was to the right. Suddenly, four men came out of the brush below him, cutting across the slope from the direction of Sioux Pass. They were well spread out, and were obviously trying to pick up a trail.

As they drew nearer, one of them yelled and pointed. There was a puff of smoke, a sharp report, and the riders scattered, dropping from their saddles as they went. Another shot followed close on the first. Ten Brian came up off the ground with a rush and made the first clump of trees. He went through them swiftly, spotting the nearest man, who was below him, and continued down the slope, running lightly. When he was no more than a hundred yards away, the man heard him and turned sharply.

Brian had come to a halt, and as the man turned his rifle was lifting. Brian caught his front sight on the glint of a coat button, and felt the rifle jump in his hands. The man backed up and fell, hitting the ground hard.

Brian dropped to the ground, crawled swiftly ahead and to the left, then turned slightly toward where the next man had dropped. A moment before he had glimpsed him from the corner of his eye, but now the man was gone. Brian moved again. In the excitement of action his aches and pains were gone. He thought he heard movement near by . . . he stopped and the noise stopped. He started to move again, stopped quickly, and the noise stopped, but just too slow, in the brush below him.

Instantly he lifted his rifle and put three well-directed shots where the sound had been, one in the middle, the others right and left. No sound, no shot in return. He worked his way down the slope.

Cutting through a patch of ragwort and monkey flowers, he rounded a patch of spruce and looked where his bullets had gone. A man was sitting there with a pistol in his hand, and they saw each other at the same instant. Both fired.

Brian felt the angry whip of a bullet, and his own bullet, fired from waist-high, smashed the man back to the ground. There was blood on his thigh already.

He moved in, his rifle ready for another shot.

He caught a movement on his right and whirled, dropping to a crouch, but a bullet struck the man and he turned, dropping his rifle to take two slow steps before he fell. The fortunate shot had come from down slope.

Ten Brian was down near the man he had killed, wrenching loose his gunbelt. Taking the man's pistol, he thrust it into his waistband, then putting his own rifle down he lifted the dead man's rifle and emptied it where he had last seen the other men. Dropping the empty gun, he took up his own and moved again, in a long-striding run down the slope through the trees. Nearing where he thought they might be he paused to listen, then called softly, immediately rolling over on the ground.

A voice came back. It was Mary. Rifle ready for anything he moved down to them. Jason was there, a bloody rag around his left arm, his gaunt face hard- drawn but welcoming.

"I try to get them away, Lieutenant," the half-breed said. "I knew you would, Jason. When I heard you were with them I worried no more."

"I have been a bad man, I think," Jason said. "I have helped Reuben Kelsey."

"What you have done now," Brian replied, "has made my memory bad. Your heart is good, Jason. I have always known that."

The wounded man got up, and took his rifle.

"We go then?" "We go."

Brian looked from Mary to Belle. "You've had a rough time, but we're on our way back now."

They went down the slope to the horses. Jason had them all-his own, Brian's gray, and the others. They mounted up and, hidden among the trees, moved on down the slope. There was a trail below that would help. Now he must get the girls back to Major Devereaux. Then it would be time enough to go after the gold.