Under the Sweetwater Rim (1971) (9 page)

We must not expect help."

"But isn't it better to take Sioux Pass?

Isn't it closer?" "It is. It is also the pass Kelsey is more apt to be watching." "Those were Kelsey's men? I mean the man you killed and the other one?" "They were."

"You understand, Lieutenant, why I am worried.

After all, the money was placed in my hands. It was my responsibility."

"And now it is mine. You should be relieved, Corporal. Whatever may happen now is my fault."

"Yes, I see that. But still [*thorn]"

"Don't worry, Corporal." Then Brian added, "It will be single file when we move out, and we must take it slow. We'll be climbing from now on for the rest of the day, and we must not put the horses to any undue strain."

After Brian had gone, Dorsey came up to West. "Well, Corporal, what are you going to do? He's heading west. That makes no sense to me."

West was thinking the same thing. Why had they come into these mountains anyway? The story about Kelsey did not ring true. As for the men, Brian had killed one of them and sent the other ruining, undoubtedly to die somewhere in the mountains, but were they Kelsey's men, or some unfortunate hunters he had come upon?

"Let them all start. We'll bring up the rear," West said. "And when they're strung out, we'll take off. We can be miles away before he realizes it." "He'll come after us," Dorsey said.

"If we can't get away, we'll hide."

Dorsey shrugged. "Fine ... that's what I'd do. You're doin" the smart thing, West. Savin' sixty thousand-that's something."

Ten Brian walked back along the line.

"Mount up," he said; "we're pulling out. Keep your eyes and ears open, all of you."

At the head of the column he swung into the saddle and turned his horse west toward the Roaring Fork.

He glanced back once. They were all nicely strung out. He turned his horse into the trees. From now on he must depend on them to keep up, for be could see only the horse immediately behind him, and that was the way it would be much of the time as they wove through the trees. He had no doubts about the kind of man with whom they dealt. Kelsey had been a rough and ruthless boy, quick to take advantage, glib in talking his way out of trouble, ready to fight on the instant, and prepared to use the dirtiest of tactics. He had grown into a powerful man, a leader, and one without scruples. If he chose not to follow them it would be because his whim directed otherwise, or because he had become lazy; but if he found them he would have no mercy, for he had no such feeling in him. Considering Kelsey made Brian consider himself. You might say that both had started. from that wagontrain massacre long ago.

Both had lost their parents and whatever backround they might have given them. What had gone before in Kelsey's life he did not know. He had known him only as another boy of his own age with the wagon train, a rough, brawling boy with whom he had little in common. His own people had been poor but energetic Irish, both of them second-generation Americans.

He thought about them now. His grandfather had landed from Ireland and not long after had gone to work as a laborer; he had fought in the last battles of the Revolutionary War, and after the war had become a stock drover. He had been murdered for money from the sale of a small herd; his son had grown up to work on the Erie Canal, and afterward migrated west to Illinois. In 1848 they had started for California. Ten's studious inclination had been encouraged by his grandfather, but Ten had known him only as an old man, still strong and active when well into his seventies, who had told the boy stories of the Revolution, and of frontier Indian fighting.

It was after Brian had joined the French forces in Africa that a chance remark had made one of his officers realize that the young recruit had an interest in military science, and he had found occasion to talk with him and to lend him books. It was this same officer who suggested him for a battlefield commission.

Brian had gone on to fight in other wars and to win honors; but where was he today? What did he have to offer any girl but life on a series of remote outposts on the Indian frontier? Of course, he had been suggested for a diplomatic appointment, but such appointments usually went to men of independent income, for the pay of an officer in the army would scarcely enable even a single man to live in the necessary manner. And there seemed to be no future in the army. Many of the lieutenants he had met on the frontier were men advanced in years. After the Civil War there had been a surplus of officers available, and the chances of advancement were slight.

To face up to the facts, he was a man of thirty who was going exactly nowhere. It was this meeting with Mary that made him realize fully the extent of his drifting.

He abandoned these thoughts as he came to the river, which he skirted until he discovered a place where it might be forded. At this point the water was scarcely knee-deep, but it was running with a strong current.

Ironhide was waiting on the opposite shore.

Brian walked the gray into the cold, swift-running water, and went on across the stream.

The others followed, gathering on the low bank.

Mary, Belle, and SchwarMore were there, but there was no sign of West or Dorsey.

"Schwartz, where's West?" Brian asked.

"He should have been right behind you."

"He was behind me, sir, but he and Dorsey had kind of fallen back." Brian hesitated. They were probably just lagging behind, but West had been obviously discontented. Brian had recognized that for what it was, for West had never wanted to leave the wagon train and had done so only under a direct order. He felt that West was a trustworthy man, maybe not too bright, but stubborn in his devotion to his responsibilities.

Dorsey was another kind of man altogether. He was intelligent, up to a point, but was given to overrating himself and his abilities, and looking upon other men with contempt. Brian was sure that Dorsey had been in the army before, had deserted, and re-enlisted. That was not unusual, and there was no way of checking on such men. Desertion was one thing, but sixty thousand dollars was another. "Ironhide, skirt those pothole lakes and ride on toward the pass.

Camp this side of it. I'll find West and Dorsey and catch up. If anything happens to me, you know what to do."

"Yes, sir." Ironhide swung his horse and led off. Mary held back. "I'm frightened, Ten.

What if something should happen to you?"

"Trust Ironhide and Schwartz. They are both good men. After the pothole lakes you'll come up to Stough Creek. The Middle Fork of the Popo Agie is right beyond it. You'll follow the Middle Fork into the pass. On the other side you'll find the head of the Sweetwater."

"Must you go?"

"There's the payroll. I assumed charge and I am responsible. Those two can't have gone far."

Wheeling his horse, he plunged into the stream again.

After crossing, he rode swiftly, watching for sign that would show him where they had turned off.

He found it . . . a feeble attempt had been made to cover their trail, but neither man was good at such things. Two riders and a pack horse, heading south for the Little Popo Agie basin. They were traveling fast, too fast for the condition of their horses, none of which had the stamina of his own big gray.

Emerging from the trees, he drew up to scan the countryside. There was the danger in following their trail that he might be careless about other considerations.

Kelsey might have men up in here, and there was always the chance of a war party of Indians.

He saw nothing to warn him of any trouble and he moved on, holding the horse to a swift pace.

He knew he could not allow himself to remain long on their trail. Ironhide and Schwartz were as trustworthy as any two men could be, and Ironhide was a good man on a trail, but Sweetwater Gap was narrow and it was too early for all the snow to be gone. They would surely need help, and lives were more important than money.

Corporal West was frightened. He had been suspicious of Lieutenant Brian's motives, but without Dorsey's encouragement he would not have made the break. But this was the shortest way out of the mountains, and now it would be a hard, fast ride to Fort Bridger. If he brought this off it would mean a ser- geant's stripes for him, but that was less in his mind than the saving of the payroll with which he had been entrusted.

They rode swiftly, needing all the distance they could get. Would Brian leave the women and follow them? He doubted it, but of all the officers in the unit, not excepting Devereaux, Brian was the man least to be trifled with.

They forded Silas Creek in a swampy area and struck a dim trail leading south across the basin.

He glanced back, and saw nothing. Dorsey was following him, some thirty feet back, and Dorsey grinned at him when he looked around, and there was something in the grin that West did not like. Yet he felt that perhaps he was finding fault where there was none.

Dorsey had at least agreed to come with him.

The horses were making hard work of it, for they must be almost ten thousand feet up. He slowed to a walk, then stopped and swung down. "We'd better walk them a way," he said. "It's easy to kill a horse at this altitude."

Dorsey got down and they walked along, the trail behind them obscured by trees now. The country through which they traveled was still, cool, and beautiful.

Peaks lifted before them, a thousand feet higher than they now were.

"Bear more to the right, I think," Dorsey suggested. "We're too far west for Sioux Pass."

After a while he said, "That's a lot of money we're packin :"

"Too much."

"Not if it belongs to you." Dorsey's tone was casual. "Yes, but it doesn't."

"Ever think what you could buy with that much? Sixty thousandl A man could really have himself a time! Liquor and women . . . anything he wanted. Or he could buy himself a business some place. Be set for life."

"Well, I doubt if I'll ever have that much,"

West said. "You've got it now," Dorsey replied, "or half of it."

Corporal West spoke sharply. "That's not a joking matter, Dorseyl This is government money, and we're taking it back to where it belongs." "That may be your idea."

"It is." West's voice was crisp. He was not tempted, and he wanted no more of such talk.

Dorsey stopped. "It ain't mine, West. This here's the first chance I ever had at money like that."

West turned sharply around, for Dorsey was now right behind him. "I want no more-was His voice broke off, for Dorsey was holding a pistol aimed just above West's belt buckle.

"You didn't really figure I was goin' to let all that money get away, did you, West?"

"Don't be a fool, Dorseyl Brian's already not far behind us .... You wouldn't have a chance of getting away."

"I'll worry about that."

"Dorsey . . ." West's pistol was on his belt, high on the right side, butt to the fore as was regulation. The flap was buttoned down, and he knew he could never unbutton that flap and get out his gun before Dorsey could shoot ... but would Dorsey shoot? He didn't believe it ....

He reached for his holster, and Dorsey shot.

They were in a little open place, a small meadow among the trees. West felt the sharp blow of the bullet, but no pain. "You are a foolish man," he said to Dorsey. "Now you will hang."

"First, they got to catch me," Dorsey said, and watched West's knees buckle. When he had fallen, Dorsey walked over to him and took the pistol from West's holster and thrust it into his waistband. The echo of the shot died away, and West was muttering, but Dorsey paid no attention. He got into the saddle, gathering the reins of West's horse and the lead rope on the pack horse.

"Serves you right," Dorsey said, staring down at West. He started off, riding fast. He had two horses now, and he could switch mounts and so make better time.

Corporal West lay sprawled on the grass, and he knew he was dying. He had been shot through the body, and by the feel the bullet must have lodged against his spine, for his legs seemed to have no feeling. His mind was clear. He saw what a fool he had been, andwitha kind of despair he realized there was small chance he would ever be found. They would think him a thief, too.

Tugging himself up by pulling on a hummock of grass, he looked slowly around. It was very still. A bee was buzzing around a blue flower. A little distance off some birds were gossiping in the top of a shrub.

With clumsy fingers he pulled a tuft of grass together and tied a few blades around it to draw attention. In the earth near it he drew an arrow showing the direction in which Dorsey had gone. He lay down then, and the shock wore off and the pain began.

He must have been unconscious for a time, for when he opened his eyes the sun had moved.

He was lying there when he heard the pound of hoofs on the earth. Suddenly a horse was looming over him, and Ten Brian was swinging down.

"Dorsey"-West got the words out clearly-"stole the money. He . . . he . . . is going to . . . Sioux Pass"

"Take it easy, West." Brian knelt beside him, lifted his head carefully and gave him a swallow from his canteen.

"I . . . I didn't mean. . . I wasn't stealing. I was" "I know, West. You didn't trust me, and you were taking the money back the quickest way you knew how."