Novel 1968 - Down The Long Hills (v5.0) (7 page)

One of the men was speaking. “Look at it, Jud. Nobody even knows they’re alive. And I’d give an arm for that horse.”

“What about that Injun?”

“Boy’s talk. Iffen there was an Injun, you can bet that b’ar got him.”

“Wonder who the boy’s pa was?”

“What’s it matter? Nobody’ll ever hear of it.”

“Might recognize the horse.”

“We found him astray…or swapped him from some Injun. Ain’t one chance in a million we’d ever see anybody who’d know the horse. You go to sleep now.”

Hardy lay wide awake, staring up at the stars. He was terribly afraid. Once he half sat up, but he saw Cal watching him, and lay down again.

It would be very hard to get away from these two.

Chapter 7

D
AYLIGHT CAME WITH a chill wind off the mountains, rustling the leaves of the brush, and moaning a little among the pines. The camp lay in an open meadow on the banks of a small stream. There were clumps of willow, a few cottonwoods, and on the slopes of the mountains the golden aspen in thick stands.

Hardy was up, rustling wood for the fire. He was wary now, watching for the slim chance of getting to Big Red, and getting Betty Sue into the saddle. He was frightened, but he told himself he must be brave. He must do what pa would want him to do; but he had no weapon with which to fight these men. He could only wait, and watch for his chance.

At the worst, he might have to run away, even without Betty Sue. That thought was hateful, but for a moment it seemed to him there was little likelihood of their harming her if he was at large and able to testify against them.…No, he couldn’t bear to think of doing that. Somehow there
had
to be a way to escape. Pa, he said in his thoughts,
pa please come!

Now, he thought, he would even be glad to see the Indian. Just as the Indian’s arrival had given them a chance to escape the grizzly, so his coming now might give them the chance to run away from these men and hide.

He rustled the fire together, and had coffee water on by the time the two men had pulled on their boots.

“This one’s quite a hand, Cal,” Jud commented. “He’s a likely lad around a camp.”

Cal did not speak. He looked at the children with a sour expression. It was only when he watched Big Red that his face lit up. “I’m goin’ to ride that horse,” he said. “I’m goin’ to ride that horse,” he said. “I’m goin’ to ride him this mornin’.”

“Pa don’t let anybody ride that horse but him or me,” Hardy said.

Cal looked over at him. “You keep your trap shut, boy. Your pa ain’t here, an’ I’ll ride him any time I see fit.”

Well, Hardy thought, you take your chances then. Big Red was no horse to fool around with. Hardy remembered when that gangling Peterson boy thought he was a smart aleck. He was going to ride Red whether anybody liked it or not, and the Peterson boy was known as a good rider.…Well, he lasted less than a jump, and if he hadn’t rolled out between the corral bars he would have been killed.

Maybe that’s the way, Hardy thought. Maybe that’s the way it will happen.

“Pa will be coming along,” he said quietly, “and pa has a way about him.”

Jud looked over at him before Cal could speak. “Who is your pa, kid? What’s his name?”

“He’s at Fort Bridger,” Hardy said, “and his name is Scott Collins.”

Cal’s head turned slowly toward Hardy, his mean eyes staring at him. Hardy thought Jud looked kind of greenish around the gills. “Did you say
Scott
Collins?”

“Yes,” said Hardy. “Do you know him?”

“Not exactly…we know of him.” Jud looked at Hardy. “How’s your pa with a shootin’ iron, son?”

“He used to win all the turkey shoots back home,” Hardy answered. “And folks who served with him during the Indian fighting said he was the best shot they ever did see.” Suddenly Hardy remembered a story he had heard Mr. Andy tell around the fire when he thought Hardy was asleep.

The boy told it now. “One time a bunch of men came through our part of the country and stole a cow of pa’s, and some stock belonging to some neighbors. They figured the stock was lost for good, but pa, he wouldn’t say quit. He just set out and followed those men. It was four months before he came back, and he had all that stock and the horses the four men had been riding. He had followed their sign clear down into Missouri.

“Somebody asked pa what would he do if those men came back hunting their horses, and pa just grinned and said he never was afraid of ghosts.”

Jud looked thoughtful and glanced at Cal, who shrugged and said, “He’s just one man. What he don’t know won’t start any wars.”

“I don’t like it, Cal.”

Cal snorted, but Jud was persistent. He looked over at Hardy. “Yours must’ve been the last wagon train west,” he said. “This here’s late in the season.”

“That’s what Bill Squires said.”

“Squires?”

“He stopped by to do some yarnin’, as he said. He was with us the night before the Indians came, but he rode off by himself, going west. He promised Mr. Andy he’d tell pa we were on our way.”

“Cal, we better have another think.”

“Like hell!”

Jud sliced bacon into the pan, and did not speak for a moment. Betty Sue huddled close to Hardy and sipped a little weak coffee.

“If you’re figurin’ to keep that horse,” Jud said quietly, evidently fearing Cal’s irritation, “you’d best forget about ridin’ him now. We’d best saddle up an’ light out.”

Cal made no reply to this. He finished his coffee, got up, and went to his saddle.

“That’s my pa’s horse!” Hardy protested. “You just leave him alone!”

“Set down, boy,” Jud said harshly. “You get Cal mad an’ you’ll sure enough find out what meanness is.”

Cal threw the blanket on Reds’ back and the big stallion side-stepped, but Cal picked up his saddle, threw it on the big horse, and cinched it tight. Then he put the bridle on, and Red stood still for it, chomping and tasting the bit a little.

Cal gathered the reins, put his toe in the stirrup, and threw his leg over. The instant he hit the saddle, Big Red reared straight up, slammed his forefeet down, with his head between his knees, and Cal left the saddle in an arc. He hit the ground in a heap, and Red started for him.

Jud swore and grabbed for his pistol, but Hardy threw himself against Jud’s legs, staggering him into losing balance, and he fell.

Jud lunged to his feet, took a swipe at Hardy that knocked him rolling, and reached again for his gun. Cal had rolled over, and he dove for the stream when the stallion came at him. Jud, grabbing for his gun, found only an empty holster.

Looking around quickly, he saw the gun on the ground, and Hardy scrambling to reach it. He kicked the boy, caught up the gun, and wheeled around.

Big Red was gone!

Cal limped from the water, swearing. The side of his face was raw where the skin had been scraped when he landed, and he was soaked to the hide.

“Where’d he go? Where did that—” He stopped, looking around, then turned on Jud. “You damn near let me get killed! Why didn’t you shoot him?”

“The kid here bumped me,” Jud answered. “Anyway, you’re all right.”

Hardy was humped over, still gasping for breath. Blood was dripping slowly from his nose, and Betty Sue stared at him in a kind of wide-eyed horror, unable to believe Hardy was hurt, Hardy who had seemed to her strong and invulnerable.

Hardy wanted to cry, but he fought back the tears. What was it pa said? “You’ve got to think, son.
Think!
” As he hugged his arms to his aching body his eyes searched the brush around. He was bent over so they could not see his face, and they were talking now, seeming almost to forget him.

Big Red would not go far, Hardy told himself. He was out there, somewhere. If they could only—

“Give me your horse,” Cal was saying. “I’ll go find that red devil, an’ when I do I’ll throw and hog-tie him. Before he gets up he’ll know who’s boss!”

“Go ahead,” Jud replied, with a meaning glance. “I’ll take care of things here.”

Cal saddled up and rode out, but Jud sat down and drank coffee. Occasionally he looked over at Betty Sue. Hardy crawled back near her and sat up, holding himself tight.

“Busted a rib, mebbe,” Jud commented maliciously. “Serves you right.”

He picked up the coffeepot, sloshed the coffee around, and drank from the side of the pot, then he put the pot down and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. He picked up the bacon and wrapped it up, then ran his hunting knife into the ground a couple of times to clean it off.

Hardy bumped against Betty Sue. “Run!” he whispered. “Run hard!”

Betty Sue got to her feet. She was frightened, and she was not too good a runner, for she was scarcely more than a baby. Hardy was worried about her getting away, but he knew he couldn’t carry her and run too.

Jud turned around, knife in hand, a cold, ugly look in his eyes.

“Now!”
Hardy yelled shrilly, and Betty Sue started to run for the bushes.

Jud swore and started to turn to go after her, and Hardy threw himself against his legs. Again the man fell, but Hardy was up first, and was running too. He crashed into the bushes an instant before Betty Sue, and turned and dragged her into some kind of game tunnel. Jud was coming after them, swearing and shouting.

Hardy crawled through the tunnel, which was scarcely large enough for him, and reached the bank of the stream. He picked up Betty Sue and ran stumbling along the river bank where it was partly clear.

Jud, unable to follow through the tunnel, was coming around the bushes, coming fast. But Hardy had played too many games in the woods with the boys not to know every ruse.

“Betty Sue!” he yelled. “This way!” Then he turned and started back the way they had come, remembering a place in the stream where he had seen a sandy bottom and some stepping stones.

They got across the stream and into the trees without being seen and gasping for breath, he put Betty Sue down. Pain was stabbing at his side, but he didn’t think anything was broken—it was just a bad bruise. He had been bruised like that before, the time he had tried to ride old Brindle’s calf, and the calf threw him. Only this hurt more.

They walked away from the stream, and dodged from bush to bush on the slope until they came to a grove of aspen. They crawled in among the trees, needing little space in which to hide.

After a bit, they peered out. Jud was walking along the river bank, studying it for tracks. Soon he found them and crossed the stream, hunting along the near bank for some sign of the children.

It was very still. Hardy could hear Betty Sue’s breathing as she lay beside him in their hiding place. The air was clear, and he could hear small twigs cracking under Jud’s feet as he searched. Hardy lay there, his heart pounding, and tried to think what to do. Was it better to lie still and hope that Jud could not find them, or to try and get further up the hill and risk being seen? A moving object attracts the eye; pa had taught him that.

The hill behind them was steep, and Hardy had an idea he could outrun Jud going uphill, but he knew that Betty Sue could not. And she was too heavy for him to carry more than a few feet.

Jud had rushed at first; now he was settling down to work out their trail. But there was a chance that he was not as good a tracker as pa or Bill Squires.…

And where was Big Red?

Hardy could smell the dark earth beneath them, and the leaves. Above them the aspen trembled unceasingly. There was a legend about that…what was it?

Now it seemed that Jud had lost the trail, and had gone back to try to work it out.

“Watch him,” Hardy whispered, then eased back in the aspens and found a place where he could look up the slope. He needed to locate a place they could get to without being seen. After a moment, he found it.

As was often the case in such places, the slope of the mountain was dotted with small clusters of aspen, growing so compactly that in many places only a child or small animal could crawl in among them with any ease.

Not over fifty yards up and further along the slope was another aspen grove, and there were clumps of brush here and there, all with the bright colors of autumn. And rocks were scattered about. With luck, they could make it unseen.

He started to hiss to Betty Sue, but then remembered how easily sound carried. He slipped back, touched her and they started up.

It was only about twenty feet to the nearest rock and they made it easily, concealed from below by the aspens they had just left. Squirming along the ground, they got to a clump of brush, and then they waited until Jud’s back was turned and sprinted for the next clump. They reached it just as he swung his head around, perhaps drawn by some faint sound.

Hardy studied the valley below with care, but there was still no sign of Big Red.

On the slightly hollowed surface of a rock they found some water from the recent rains, and scooped it up with their hands to get a drink. Watching from the rock, they could see Jud was almost up to their first hiding place, so they moved on, going higher and higher.

They were cold, and it was clouding up again. But most of all, Hardy was worried about Big Red. He was afraid of what Cal might do if he managed to rope and tie the horse; but he also knew that without the horse he and Betty Sue were not going very far.

He had never felt so tired, and more than anything he wanted to curl up in some warm place and just sleep. But first they had to get safely away from Cal and Jud, and they had to find Red. Pa loved that horse as much as Hardy did, and Red was Hardy’s responsibility.

Jud wasn’t much of a tracker. Apparently he had given up in disgust, and was just looking around at random. Hardy and Betty Sue did not weigh much, and their feet were small, so that they made little impression on the ground or the grass. An Indian would have had no trouble following them, but Jud was no Indian, and he was lazy. He knew the children could not have gone far, so if he just went from one possible hiding place to another along the slope, he felt that he could find them.

Hardy could see just what Jud was beginning to do: and the worst of it was, it would work. And if they started out to run, Jud could catch them—at least, he could catch Betty Sue.

Keeping a grove of aspens between them and Jud, they climbed higher. Up there, in the shadow of a rock, Hardy saw a little snow. He had seen it up on the mountains, but here, so close to them, it was different, and it frightened him. They were much higher up now than they had been before, and tonight it would be cold, and they would have no blanket.

That was when the idea came to him. Instead of just running away from them, why not give Jud and Cal something to worry about? Suppose, while Cal was following the stallion and Jud was hunting for them, they slipped back and robbed Jud’s camp?

Stealing was wrong; but this was war, and if Jud caught them now they would be killed, Hardy knew that. He had known that was what the men intended to do from that conversation he had overheard that first night.