Son Of a Wanted Man (1984) (15 page)

Mike Bastian went over the situation, trying to view it from Ducrow's standpoint. Ducrow could not know that Juliana was Ben Curry's daughter, but at this stage he probably would not care. Yet he would realize Ben was back in the saddle again, so a return to Toadstool was out of the question. Also, Ducrow would want to keep the girl for himself. That he would kill her had to be understood, for any attack upon a decent woman was sure to end in hanging if he was caught.

Long ago Roundy had taught him that there were more ways to trailing a man than merely following tracks. One must follow the devious trails in a man's mind as well. He tried to think as Ducrow would be thinking. The fleeing outlaw could not have much, if any, food.

On previous forays, however, he must have learned where there was water. Also there were ranch hangouts that he would know. Some of these would be inhabited, others would not. Owing to the maps Ben Curry had him study, Mike knew the locations of all such places.

The trail veered suddenly, turning into the deeper stands of brush, and Mike followed. Drusilla had not spoken since they started, but glancing back he saw her face was dusty and tear streaked, yet he noted with a thrill of satisfaction she had brought her rifle. She was Ben Curry's daughter, after all, a fit companion for any man. He turned his attention to the trail. Ducrow must know he was followed or would be followed, and he would want to leave no trail. Nor was he inexperienced. In his many outlaw raids as one of Ben Curry's men and before he would have had much experience with such things. And now it had happened. Despite the small lead he had, Ducrow had vanished!

Turning into the thicker desert growth he had dipped down into a sandy wash. There, because of the deep sand and the tracks of cattle and other horses it needed several precious minutes to decide whether he had gone up or down the wash. He searched, trying not to disturb the sand until he had worked it out.

Then he saw a recognizable hoofprint following the winding of the wash as it led up-country.

Ducrow would not stay in the wash long, as it was tiring for the horses to walk in the deep sand, and he would wish to save his horses' strength.

From there on it was a nightmare. Ducrow rode straight away, then turned at right angles, using every bit of cover he could find and mingling his tracks with others wherever found. At places he had even stopped to brush out tracks, but Roundy's years of training had not been wasted, and Mike clung to the trail like a bloodhound.

Following him, Dru saw him pick up sign where she could see nothing. Once a barely visible track left by the edge of a horseshoe, again a broken twig on a bush they had passed. Hours passed and the sun began to slide down the western sky. Dru, realizing night would come before they found her sister, was cold with fear for her.

Mike glanced back at her. "You wanted to come," he said, "and I am not stopping because of darkness." "How can you trail them in the dark?" "I can't, but I believe I know where they are going and we will have to take a chance." Darkness closed down upon them. Mike's shirt had stuck to his body with sweat, and now he felt the chill of the night wind, but grimly he rode on.

One advantage he had. He had never ridden with the gang, so Ducrow might not suspect he knew of all the hideouts. Ducrow could not know of the hours he had spent with Ben Curry and Roundy going over the trails and checking the hideouts and what he could expect at each one. The big bay horse seemed unwearied by the miles of travel, yet at times Dru heard Mike speak encouragingly to the big horse. At the edge of a clearing he suddenly drew up, so suddenly she almost rode into him. "Dru," he whispered, "there's a small ranch ahead. There might be one or more men there, and Ducrow is almost surely there with your sister. I am going to find out. his "I'll come, too." "Stay
here!
When I whistle, come and bring the horses. I have skill at this sort of thing, and I have to get close without making a sound." Removing his boots he slipped on the moccasins he always carried in his saddlebags. He was there a moment, and then he vanished into the darkness, and she heard no sound, nothing. Suddenly a light appeared in a window . . . too soon for him to have reached the cabin.

Moving like a ghost, Mike reached the corral.

There were horses there, but it was too dark to make them out. One stood near the bars, and putting a hand out he touched the horse's flank. It was damp with sweat.

Without so much as a whisper of sound, Mike was at the window, his head carefully to one side but peering in.

He saw a square-faced man with a pistol in his hand, and as Mike watched, the man placed the pistol on the table with a towel over it. Soundless in his moccasins, Mike walked around the house and stepped into the room.

Obviously the man within had been expecting the sound of horse's hoofs or even a jingle of spurs and a sound of boots. Mike's sudden appearance startled him, and he made an almost inadvertent move toward the pistol under the towel.

Bastian closed the door behind him, and the man stared at him. This black-haired young man in buckskins did not look like the law, and he was puzzled but wary.

"You're Walt Sutton. Get your hands away from that table before you get blown wide open! Move!" Sutton backed off hurriedly, and Mike swept the towel off the gun. "If you had tried that I'd have killed you." "Who are you? What d'you want here?" "You know damn" well what I
want!
I am Mike Bastian, Ben Curry's foster son.

He owns this ranch. He set you up here, gave you stock to start with! Now you double cross him. Where's Ducrow?" Sutton shook his head. "I ain't seen him," he protested.

"You're a liar,
Sutton!
His horses are in the corral. You're going to tell me where he is or I'll start shooting." Walt Sutton was unhappy. He knew Ducrow as one of Ben Curry's men who had come for fresh horses. He had never seen this young man before, yet so far as Sutton was aware nobody but Ben Curry and himself knew the facts about the ranch. If this man was lying, how could he know? "Listen, mister, I don't want no trouble. Least of all with old Ben. He did set me up here, and I been doin' well. Yes, I seen Ducrow, but he told me the law was after him." "Do I look like the law? Ducrow's kidnapped Voyle' Ragan's niece, and they are friends of Ben's. I've got to find him." "Kidnapped Voyle Ragan's niece?

Gosh, mister, I wondered why he wanted two saddle horses." Mike backed to the door and whistled sharply.

"Where did he go?" "Damned if I know. He rode in here
about an
hour ago wanting two packhorses with grub and blankets. He took two canteens and then lit out." Drusilla appeared in the doorway and Sutton's eyes went to her. "I know you," he said. "Evenin', ma'am." "Get us some grub, and make it quick. Then I want the two best horses Ben left here, and I want them fast!" Sutton put bread and meat on the table and ducked out of the door. Mike watched him hurry to the corral and saw him bring two horses from the stable.

They were typical Curry horses, big, handsome animals. Sutton led them to the door and then sacked up some supplies and tied them behind the saddles.

"You've been a help," Mike said, "and I'll tell Ben about it. Now-have you any idea where Ducrow might be going?"--"Well-was Sutton hesitated, obviously frightened. "He'll kill me if he learns I told, but he did say something about Peach Meadow Canyon." "Peach Meadow?" Bastian frowned. The canyon was a legend in the red rock country, and Roundy had talked of it. "What did he ask you?" "If I knew the trail there and if it was passable." "What did you tell him?" Sutton threw up his hands. "What could I tell him? I've heard of that canyon ever since I came into this country, and I've looked for it.

Who wouldn't, if all they say is true?" As they moved out Mike put his hand on Dru's arm. "Dru? This is going to be rough, so if you want to go back-?" "I wouldn't think of it." "Well, I won't say I'm sorry. I like having you with me. In fact-was His voice trailed off.

There was more he meant to say, and Drusilla realized it. She also knew he was very tired. She had no idea of the brutally hard ride before he arrived at the Ragan ranch or the crossing of the canyon, but she could see the weariness in his face.

They rode side by side when the trail permitted, and Mike explained. "I doubt if Ducrow will stop for anything now. There isn't another good hideout within miles, and he will know he's pursued, although not by whom or how many. I almost wish he knew it was me." "Why?" "Because he wants to kill me," he said simply, "and he might stop long enough to try." Then they were alone in the night, with only the horses under them, only the stars to watch. "Is it far?" "I do not know," he said. "If Ducrow knows where it is he has found the perfect hideaway.

Outlaws often stumble across such places in making getaways from the law, or they hear of them from some Indian, some trapper or prospector, and file the knowledge away against future need." "What is Peach Meadow Canyon?" "It is said to be near the river, one of those deep canyons that branch off from the Colorado or one of its tributaries. According to the stories somebody discovered it years ago, but the Spanish had been before him, and Indians before them. There are cliff-dweller ruins in the place, but no way to get into it from the plateau. The Indians had a way, and the Spanish are supposed to have reached it by boat.

"The prospector who found it told folks there was fresh water and a small meadow. Somebody had planted some peach trees, probably from pits he carried in his pack. Nobody ever saw him or it again, so the place exists only on his say-so. The Indians now say there's no such place, but they may just not want anybody nosing around. Ducrow might be trying to throw us off, but he might actually know something." "You'll try to follow him in the dark?" "No, not actually. It is night and he will be taking it easy as this is rough country. He can't get out of this area where we're traveling, so we'll stay behind him until he leaves the canyon. By that time it will be daylight and we can pick up his trail." "I am worried for Juliana. his "Of course, but I think he knows somebody is following, so I don't think he will stop until he reaches the canyon or turns into rough country." For several miles they rode down a high-walled canyon from which there was no escape. Ben Curry and Roundy had both told him of it, as one of the approaches to Walt Sutton's place. Once they emerged
from
the canyon, however, he must be extremely careful.

At the canyon's end, where it opened upon a wide stretch of
semi desert
, he pulled up and swung down. "We can't have a fire," he said, "because in this country a man can see for miles, and we want him to think we're pushing hard on his trail." He put his folded poncho on the ground near a flat-faced boulder and handed Dru a blanket.

"Rest," he said. "You'll need it." She was feeling the chill and gathered it close about her. "Aren't you cold? If we sat close together it would be warmer, and we could share the blanket." He hesitated, then sat down beside her and pulled the blanket across his shoulders. He was desperately tired but feared to fall asleep. Ducrow might leave Juliana and double back to kill him. He had unsaddled and ground-hitched the horses but had no worry about them drifting off. This was one of the few patches of grass anywhere around.

Yet he did sleep. When the sky was faintly gray he awakened suddenly, listened, looked at the horses who were cropping grass contentedly, and then eased from under the blanket.

He caught the horses, smoothed the hair on their backs with his hand, and saddled up. From time to time he glanced at Dru, who was sleeping peacefully He was amazed that he should be here, in this lonely place, with this beautiful girl. He, an orphan and foster son of an outlaw. Some movement of his must have awakened her, for her breath caught and then her eyes opened. She looked up at him with a sleepy smile. "I was
tired!
" She sat up and watched as he kindled a small fire in the shadow of a boulder. Using very dry wood that would offer almost no smoke, he got his small coffeepot from the pack and started coffee. Digging into his pack he found some hard biscuits and beef jerky. "Better eat what you can," he said. "We won't be stopping again." She drew on her boots and stood up, shaking out her hair. Squatting by the fire he studied the terrain that lay before them, trying to recover from his memory all he had been told about it, Ducrow would have no trail to find and would have moved swiftly.

By now he would probably have reached his goal or was nearing it. When they were in the saddle again they picked up the tracks of the three horses they were following.

It was easier because the packhorse Ducrow was leading was a horse Mike remembered, and the tracks were familiar. What sign there was he could follow from the saddle, and they gained distance, moving swiftly. Dawn broke and the sky was streaked with rose and gold. The warming sun began to ease some of the stiffness from their muscles.

The trail crossed a small valley, skirted an alkali lake and dipped into a maze of boulders and rocky outcroppings before entering a pine forest. Nowhere did he see any signs of a camp. Juliana, who lacked the strength and fire of Drusilla, must be almost dead from fatigue. Obviously, the outlaw knew exactly where he was going and that his destination was not far off. He was making no effort to save his horses.

The trail became more difficult to follow.

Mike slowed his pace, then suddenly stopped.

The tracks had vanished as if the three horses had stepped off a
cliff!
" Stay in the saddle.