Monument Rock (Ss) (1998) (12 page)

One other person, perhaps several others, knew the truth also; the rustlers kne
w
he or his father had been framed.

But who would be doing the rustling? The most likely person was, he knew, Lon Melcho
r
over on Tank Mesa. Melchor had rustled cattle before, but had always been too quic
k
to be caught at it. But somehow he could not believe that Lon would kill his father.

They had been on opposite sides of the fence but they had always been friendly. Regardless
,
it was a place to start.

Hard riding put him at Lon's place shortly after midnight. All was dark and still.

Swinging down from the dun's saddle, Reb moved swiftly along the side hill towar
d
the cabin where Lon Melchor lived. All was still, but there was something about th
e
feel of the night that he did not like. Hesitating, he tried to resolve the feelin
g
into something concrete and definite.

He moved up to the corner of the house. The door was standing open, which was unusual
,
for the night was cool. Straining his ears, he could hear hoarse breathing but n
o
other sound. He spoke softly. "Lon!"

All was still. He stepped into the door of the cabin an
d
pushed the door shut, listening. Again he spoke the old rustler's name, but agai
n
there was no sound. Then he took a chance and struck a match.

Lon Melchor was sprawled on the floor, lying in a stupor, his shirt stained wit
h
blood!

Forgetting his mission, Reb dropped to his knees and made a quick examination o
f
the old man, and then he began to work swiftly. He got a fire going and put wate
r
on the stove, and then he put a pillow under the old man's head and stretched hi
m
out easier, rolling him over onto a blanket which he placed on the floor. When th
e
water was hot he bathed the wound, which was a nasty bullet burn along his left side
,
and only when he had the wound bandaged did he turn to look around.

Lon's gun lay on the floor, and picking it up, Reb saw it had been fired three times.

His rifle was nowhere about, and was probably on his horse. Slipping out of the door
,
Reb looked about until he found the horse. The saddle was wet where the old man ha
d
bled, and Reb stripped the saddle from the horse and turned him into the corral.

There was water in the trough and he forked down some hay, then returned to the cabin.

Lon's eyes were open. "Reb!" he gasped. "You seen 'em? Them rustlers, I mean?"

"Who were they, Lon? Did they shoot you?"

"Yep." He stared up at the younger man, his misery showing in his face. "They go
t
your dad and it's my fault, too. I knowed Joe Banta was a bad-"

"My dad?" Reb Farrell leaned over the bunk. "What do you know about him?"

"He's dead. Banta come in here wantin' a hideout, maybe three weeks ago. I knowe
d
he was a plumb bad hombre, but I let him stay on. Fact is, I couldn't have drov
e
him away. Then he did leave, only to come bac
k
with a bunch of hardcases. They were rustlin' cattle an' slippin' them out of her
e
at night... you know that."

"You're durned right I do. What about my father?"

"They were talkin' about what to do about you." The old man coughed, and then grimace
d
with the pain. "They wanted to warn you off.

"I waited until they left, then I took off, tried to beat 'em by going across th
e
mountains. I got there too late! They killed him! Dragged him right out in the yar
d
and shot him! I opened up at them with my Winchester and one of 'em shot me. I go
t
back on my horse and rode right out of
there!
guess none of them followed."

"They thought he was doing it, Lon." Briefly, Reb explained all that had taken place.

The old man was angry.

"Nathan Embree was always a pigheaded fool!" he snorted. He grabbed Reb's hand. "Ge
t
you some men, son! I know where he'll go! He'll head for the old hideout at Burr
o
Springs! You got to follow Dark Canyon to get there. Right up the canyon throug
h
all them boulders! From there he can sell that herd to the minin' camps easy as pie!"

Reb hesitated, but the old man waved him on. "What're you going to do for me, boy!

I lost a sight of blood, but you ain't no doctor. You get some men and go after thos
e
coyotes. I'll get along."

Reb wheeled and ran to the door. His horse was excited, seeming to realize what wa
s
at stake. There was no time to go for help, and there was a chance he might get sho
t
on sight if he went back for it.

Day was just breaking in the east when he first found the opening into Dark Canyo
n
and rode down from the lip of the mesa into the deep, shadowy green recesses of thi
s
oasis in the desert.

Long suspected as a possible hangout for rustlers, th
e
canyon had been searched several times in the past year, but Lon's remark about th
e
boulders explained why they had found nothing. Searchers had always been stoppe
d
by the seemingly impassable jumble of boulders, some of them so close together ther
e
seemed no way through. Moreover, the place was exceedingly dangerous. If caught i
n
the canyon bottom during a heavy rain, there would be small chance of escaping th
e
roaring flood which came down the canyon, fifteen, sixteen, sometimes twenty fee
t
or more high.

Now Reb knew there was a way through those boulders, if the cattle had been take
n
through, then he could go through. He rode now with extreme caution, pausing to stud
y
the canyon ahead of him, and then pushing on. Soon the huge boulders that had hithert
o
blocked all progress in the ancient riverbed were before him. Long before this poin
t
they had always lost all tracks, a matter the occasional rains would attend to o
r
a few hands dragging brush behind their horses. The boulders seemed to block al
l
advance. Riding up to them, he searched for a way between, but try as he might, h
e
could find none that would allow the passage of a horse or cow. Yet with Lon Melchor'
s
statement to urge him on, he persisted, and it was finally a mark on the canyon wal
l
that tipped him off. It was such a mark as might have been made by the brushing o
f
a stirrup or stirrups. Riding close to the wall, ducking his head because of th
e
overhang, he suddenly saw the opening, only wide enough to allow for passage. H
e
rode through, then paused in the shadow of the cliff.

The canyon continued a jumble of boulders, and nothing could be seen for some distanc
e
ahead. After a careful study of the rocks and earth, he rode on, then turned up
a
narrow path that showed at one side of the canyon. It was a little-used trail tha
t
looked like it was probably made b
y
wild horses. It led him into the broken rock of the shattered canyon wall, and the
n
on to a green-topped mesa. Crossing this, he paused under some trees and looked down.

Below him, the canyon widened out into a long, green, and well-watered valley o
f
some five hundred acres. Two huts and a long bunkhouse or boardinghouse were agains
t
the wall of the canyon below him. There was a stable and some corrals, and scattere
d
over the canyon several hundred head of cattle were feeding.

As he watched, two men came from the long building and strolled toward the corrals.

They walked as men do who have enjoyed a good meal and are in no hurry to go to work.

One of them was Joe Banta.

Banta had never been known to operate in this part of the country, and Nathan Embre
e
would have been the first to scoff at such an idea, yet here he was, and in plai
n
sight. He was a stocky man of considerable breadth and little height, a swarthy fello
w
with a battered gray hat. Even at this distance Reb could recognize him without trouble.

When they turned around, Reb recognized the man with him as Ike Goodrich, a small-tim
e
outlaw and occasional hand who had once worked for Embree.

Two hours of waiting and watching while his horse cropped grass contentedly gav
e
Reb Farrell the idea that at least four men were below. Aside from Banta and Ike
,
there was the cook, whom Reb had seen come to the door to throw out some water, an
d
a thin, redheaded fellow who walked with a slight limp and appeared to favor on
e
leg considerably, as though it had been injured at some time not long since. Thi
s
man went to the corral and saddled four horses.

There was no time to go for help. It would take hours to get out and hours to ge
t
back, even if he could convince somebody of the truth of his story. Barbot migh
t
believ
e
him. Embree never would, but by the time they returned, the cattle might be gone
,
for it was likely there was another way out of the canyon, probably the route tha
t
led over to the mining camps.

Leading his horse, Reb left the mesa top and made his way slowly down a back trai
l
into a deep draw that opened on the valley where the rustlers were holed. Leavin
g
his horse in the brush, Reb walked down the canyon, rifle in hand. From the mout
h
he looked out over the valley. The nearest corral was not twenty yards away, th
e
back of the nearest shack about the same distance. The redhead was standing in fron
t
of the stable, tightening a saddle girth.

Reb walked out of the canyon mouth and strolled along the corral bars until he wa
s
facing the man in front of the stable. Nobody else was in sight.

"All right, Red." His voice was low but strong enough. "Unloose your gun belts an
d
turn around. One wrong move and you die!"

Red turned slowly, his hands wide. His face was tight with surprise. "Where'd yo
u
come from?" he demanded.

"Unloose that belt!"

Red's hands went to the buckle, then he hurled himself to one side and grabbed hi
s
gun. Reb's Winchester barked and Red kept falling, the gun slipping from his finger
s
and sliding along the earth a foot from the outstretched hand.

A chair slammed over inside the house and Goodrich jumped into the door. Reb wa
s
waiting for him and he fired. The shot burned Ike on the neck, cutting along tha
t
side nearest the cabin. Goodrich jerked away and fell out the door.

From the window a bullet slammed near Reb, and Reb charged. Goodrich grabbed hi
s
gun and rolled over. Reb chanced a running shot and saw the bullet kick dirt in Ike's face. While the gunman swore and grabbed at his eyes, Reb dropped his rifle
,
grabbed a pistol, and lunged through the door. He took a chance/ gambling that Jo
e
Banta would be expecting nothing of the kind. Banta wheeled as Reb came on and bot
h
men fired at once and both missed. Reb grabbed the edge of the table to stop hi
s
forward movement and fired again. Banta jerked hard and his shot went wild. The
n
Reb jumped at him, clubbing with his six-gun barrel. Banta went down to his hand
s
and knees, and started to get up when Reb hit him a second time.

Wheeling, he sprang to the door. Goodrich was crawling for the rifle Reb had droppe
d
and Reb put a bullet in the ground before him. Goodrich stopped, and glared at th
e
doorway. "You'll suffer for this! If I live a thousand years, I'll never forget it!"