The Savage Curse (6 page)

“Oh, I get it,” Mead said. “Like a bloodhound. Only he smells gold.”

“That's what I mean,” Crudder said, sparks from his cigarette wafting off the tip like golden fireflies.

“Gold has no smell,” Horky said.

“For Ollie it does,” Crudder said. “He don't dig it or pan it, though. He finds them what does and then takes it. You heard what he done up in Coloraddy?”

“I heard,” Mead said. “Got him quite a poke.”

Ward stiffened at the mention of the massacre that involved the death of his brother. These men did not know he had any connection to that slaughter and robbery. But he was interested in what Crudder had to say about Hobart. He had never met Ollie, but he wanted the man to pay for what he had done to all those people, including his brother, Jesse.

John and Ben came outside, their shadows stretching long ahead of them. The outlaws stopped talking and watched as they came up, joining them under the canopy of stars.

Ben pulled out his pipe, filled the bowl with tobacco, and tamped it tight. Crudder struck a match and held it out to him.

Ben put the pipe in his mouth and leaned forward. Crudder touched the flame to the pipe tobacco. Ben's cheeks caved in as he drew on the stem.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You don't smoke, John?” Crudder said.

“Never picked up the habit.”

The other men laughed.

“You don't know what you're missing,” Mead said.

“Yeah,” Ward said, “a sore throat, a morning cough, a bad taste in your mouth.”

All of the man laughed.

“It all goes away with a swaller of whiskey,” Mead said, and the men laughed again.

“We got us a kind of storehouse over yonder,” Crudder said, pointing to one of the adobe dwellings. “You get yourself some candles and pick out an adobe to sleep in tonight.

“They can bunk with me,” Ward said. “I've got candles, plenty of room to lay out their bedrolls.”

“All right,” Crudder said. “If they can stomach your snoring, Jake.”

More laughter from the group.

“I don't snore,” Jake said. “Those are rats you heard.”

“Rats don't sleep at night,” Mead said. “They're too busy gnawing at my nuts.”

The men laughed some more.

John thought they were pretty much at ease in the dark canyon with its brooding walls and total isolation. They didn't act like outlaws, but maybe that was because none of them possessed a conscience. Like Hobart's men. He couldn't understand how such men could live happy lives, always on the run, always looking over their shoulders. No jobs, no homes. Maybe the life appealed to certain kinds of men, but not to him. He wanted to get rid of Hobart and hang his gunbelt on a wooden peg and grab a pair of plow handles, turn the earth, and plant seeds. Maybe find a nice girl, marry her, and raise cattle and corn and such. He wasn't much better off than these owlhoots right now, he thought. He was on the run, too, homeless, rootless, chasing a murdering man who had caused him so much grief.

At the moment, he thought, he was no better than any of the men around him. He just had a different purpose in life, that was all. But maybe he wasn't any better than they. He wanted to kill a man, rob him of his life. The line between him and the outlaws wasn't so thick after all. In fact, it was as thin as a reed.

“Well, I'm going to turn in,” Crudder said, dropping the last of his cigarette to the ground. He pressed it flat with the heel of his boot and started walking toward one of the dark adobes.

“Good night, Cruddy,” Mead said.

“Yeah, good night,” the others chorused.

“Come on, John and Ben,” Ward said. “We'll get your bedrolls and get us some shut-eye.”

The group broke up. Horky and Mead slept in the hogan where the cook fire basked, keeping the fire alive during the night. John and Ben carried their bedrolls to Ward's adobe. He lit candles and they found places to sleep.

Jake lit three candles, handed one each to Ben and John.

“We won't talk tonight,” Jake said. “Our voices carry too much in this canyon. See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Jake,” John said.

“Good night,” Ben said.

“I wouldn't try to run off if I were you,” Ward said. “For all his joviality tonight, Crudder would kill you as soon as look at you.”

“We're not going anywhere,” John said.

“You wouldn't get far.”

“I know.”

“And one more piece of advice, John. Don't take your boots off tonight. I killed a bark scorpion yesterday morning in here. Shake out your bedroll in the morning and check it tomorrow night if we're still here. The little buggers like to hide in blankets, boots, and dark places.”

“Thanks, Jake,” John said. “I never saw a scorpion before. Did you, Ben?”

“Yeah, back in Missouri. Little bitty things. They got a stinger on their tails.”

“They're as deadly as a rattlesnake,” Ward said. “So watch your step.”

Ben and John scoured the place where they lay their bedrolls before laying them out on the ground.

Ward lay down, placing his pistol close at hand. He blew out his candle and laid it on the ground within easy reach. He turned over and closed his eyes.

Ben and John lay down, their heads close together. John held a finger to his lips and mouthed the word “wait.”

Ben nodded.

John blew out his candle. Ben snuffed his out with his finger, waxing the tip and part of the nail. The oily smoke hung in the air for several moments. John heard Horky and Jubal talking, but couldn't make out what they were saying. Soon, they stopped and it grew quiet.

John lay there, his eyes open, fighting off sleep. He listened to Jake's breathing and to Ben's. He reached over and jostled Ben to make sure he was still awake.

Jake's breathing became deeper, more even. In a few minutes, he began to snore.

John waited another five minutes, then felt for Ben's head. When he touched his ear, he scooted closer, whispered into it.

“You awake, Ben?”

“Yeah.”

“I don't trust this bunch.”

“Me, neither.”

“We've got to get away from Crudder whenever he takes us out of here.”

“He can lead us to Ollie Hobart.”

“I know. But Crudder is a dangerous man. And sooner or later, he'll find out who we are.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Just follow my lead. I'll get shut of him before we get to Tucson. We can track him to Hobart.”

“Hobart will know we're comin', John. Crudder will sure as hell put a bug in his ear.”

“Can't be helped.”

Jake's snoring became louder.

“Just let me know when you plan to make the break.”

“I will. Might have to run for our lives.”

“Won't be the first time, Johnny.”

“No. And it probably won't be the last. Now, get some shut-eye.”

“You, too,” Ben said.

John lay awake for another half hour. Finally, the snoring subsided to a tolerable drone in his ears and he sank into sleep. His right hand gripped his pistol. It was a comfort, something he could rely on. But maybe Horky had been right, closer to the truth than any of them knew.

Perhaps, he thought, as he drifted into sleep, the gun was cursed.

It was sure that it had blood on it.

8

CRUDDER MADE IT EASY FOR BEN AND JOHN.

The following morning after breakfast, when the men were all drinking a second mug of coffee, Crudder announced his plans.

“We can't all ride into Tucson in a bunch,” he said. “We'll draw too much attention to ourselves.”

“So what do we do?” Mead asked.

“We got a meetin' place. We drift in at night, two at a time. Meet up at the Lobo Rojo, that little cantina on Vera Cruz.”

“I don't know where it is,” Ward said.

John blew steam from his tin cup and sipped his coffee, his gaze fixed on Crudder. He and Ben didn't know where the cantina was, either.

“You find Hidalgo Street, ride west. You'll come to Vera Cruz. Head north three blocks. You'll see the Hotel Norte. Right next to it is the Lobo Rojo, a big sign on the false front and a big red wolf on it.”

“When?” Mead asked.

“We should get to Tucson tonight,” Crudder said. “I'll go in first, take John Logan with me.”

John felt a squeezing of his heart, as if Crudder had reached into his chest with a grimy hand. He drew in a breath to ease the pressure.

“Horky, you and Jubal ride in about an hour later, from the south trail. Jake, you'll take Ben with you and come in from the northeast where that old trading post stands.”

“I know the place,” Ward said.

“An hour apart. We'll all ride together until we're five miles out, then split up. I should hit town a little after sundown.”

“Will Ollie be expecting us?” Mead asked.

“He goes to the Lobo Rojo ever' night,” Crudder said. “Toward midnight. Far as I know, he's stayin' at the Norte.”

“I hope this works,” Mead said.

“It'll work. Just watch out for yourselves comin' in to town. Don't draw attention to yourselves and don't throw down on them Injun police.”

The men laughed and finished drinking their coffees, each locked in a silence with his own personal thoughts. John cursed the fact that he would have to ride in with Crudder. But it might work out. They should be at the Lobo Rojo long before Ollie Hobart showed up. The bad part was that he and Ben would be separated until they all met up at the cantina. There would be no chance to hatch a plan.

Ollie would recognize him on sight, John knew.

The men packed up and stored the things they would not need on their ride to Tucson. Horky took Ben and John to get their horses in the natural corral through the fissure in the canyon wall. Crudder, Mead, and Ward saddled their horses. Well before noon, with Crudder in the lead, the men were all riding single file back out of the hideout. It was cool until they reached open country, and then the sun beat down with a merciless heat until men and animals were glistening with sweat.

Crudder behaved like a military man, and John learned that he had fought in the war on the Union side. He had been at the battle of Elkhorn Tavern, which some called Pea Ridge, and at Wilson Creek, up near Springfield, Missouri. He sent out flankers, Mead and Ward, and put Horky on point. Ben rode drag. John rode with Crudder for the first couple of hours, then gradually slowed down so that he could talk to Ben.

There were no road signs, not even much of a road, and the country was unknown to Ben and John. Crudder did not stop but had told the men to chew on jerky in the saddle. He pressed on, seemingly unmindful of the heat that boiled up from the shadeless earth.

“You got any plans, John?” Ben whispered to John when they were riding side by side.

“I can't go to that cantina with Crudder, I know that.”

“Well, you could. But you'd have to be mighty quick the minute Hobart walks in the door. You'd have to take both him and Crudder down.”

“Hobart will be on home ground.”

“Yeah. Maybe Crudder, too.”

They could taste the faint dust stirred up from the hooves of Crudder's horse. The air itself smelled old, John thought, musty as the atmosphere in an old abandoned house. Yet the harsh land seemed to glow with a hidden radiance that was complemented by the blue sky and the floating puffs of white clouds. It was a majestic land, he decided, made even more interesting by the sudden outcroppings of buttes and spires and deserted mesas, the exotic plants that seemed to rise out of the ground at odd places and grip the land firmly as if defying a waterless existence.

“We've got to get away from this bunch before we hit Tucson,” John said. “There's no other way around it.”

“Horses can't run much in this heat, John.”

“I know. We'll have to find a way to elude Crudder, make it too costly for him to chase after us.”

“You have some kind of a plan, Johnny? Or is that askin' too much?”

“You can keep the sarcasm, Ben. The country here, just look at it. Wild, broken, plenty of hiding places.”

“Empty as last year's bird nest.”

“We'll use it, nevertheless.”

Ben twisted his head to one side, then the other, to take in the width and breadth of the land. He could see the flankers, and in the far distance, he could just barely make out the point rider. And Crudder, maybe two hundred yards ahead of them. Whoever had staked out the road had picked the path of least resistance. Yes, there was broken land, pocked with rocky rises and formations, but none were real close. They'd have to ride miles to find suitable cover, a defensible position. Surely, John could see that. It might be like this all the way to Tucson. He shook his head and wiped sweat from his brows. Any of the men ahead of them could pick them off with a rifle shot before they galloped a hundred yards.

If they made a break for it now, Ben thought, they'd be dead meat.

“I just don't see no way,” Ben said.

“Not now. We'll have to let the land tell us when it's time to make a run for it.”

“The land ain't tellin' me nothin' but heat and sweat.”

“The Indians made use of it, Ben. And so will we.”

“They was born here.” Ben could not put a hobble on his sarcasm. John let it pass because he knew Ben was right.

“Sometimes, Ben,” he said, “if opportunity doesn't come knocking, you have to kick the door down yourself.”