If he was right about the motive behind the rustling—that it was intended solely to stir up Boyd and the other ranchers in the area to the point where they would support a war against the Navajo—then the thieves wouldn’t care about the money they could make from selling the cows. They could let the stock starve on top of a mesa and still come out ahead.
That still left the question of how the rustlers could have gotten the cattle up there, but Sam figured if they found the right mesa, they would also find the answer. For now, all they could do was look.
And that depended on John Henry Boyd.
The rancher rubbed his jaw again as he frowned in thought. Finally, he nodded.
“Let’s take a closer look at all these mesas,” he said. He added, “And get your rifles out. I’ve got a bad feeling crawling around in my guts.”
Sam understood that. He had the same feeling.
The men rode around the base of each mesa as they came to it, looking for some sort of hidden trail. In some places, it was hard to get close because over the centuries huge slabs of rock had broken loose from the sides of the mesas and fallen around them.
It was possible some of those slabs might conceal the start of a trail, Sam thought. It wouldn’t have to be very wide. With only fifty cows to hide, the animals could be driven up single file if need be.
The sun blasted down, making the air so hot and dry it seemed to sear the lungs if a man took a deep breath. Sam was grateful for the shade provided by the hat he had bought back in Flat Rock. As the search continued, the sweating men became more impatient and frustrated.
Finally, Pete Lowry said, “This is crazy. There aren’t any cows on top of these mesas, John Henry. It just ain’t possible.”
“Then we got to admit them critters vanished into thin air,” Stovepipe said. “And I’m havin’ a hard time believin’ that.”
“So am I,” Boyd said. “We’ll keep looking.”
“It’s already so late we won’t be able to make it back to the ranch today,” Lowry pointed out.
“The boys we left there will be able to look after things. I want those cattle. More than that, I want whoever shot two of my punchers. They’re not gonna get away with that, by God.”
Lowry grumbled to himself but didn’t argue anymore.
Sam gazed toward one of the largest mesas, which sat about three hundred yards away. It rose some eighty feet to its table-like top. Slabs of red stone littered the ground around its base, and lightning-like cracks in the rock zigzagged their way up the walls in places.
Sam frowned. There was something about the mesa ...
“That’s it,” he said under his breath as understanding dawned inside him.
“What did you find, son?” Stovepipe asked as he brought his horse alongside Sam’s mount. The range detective kept his voice pitched low.
Equally quietly, Sam said, “Look at those cracks, Stovepipe. On some of them, the slope is gentle enough a cow could make it up them.”
“Yeah, but most places, they ain’t. I’m lookin’, but I don’t see one anybody could climb that goes all the way to the top.”
“But look at the line connecting one crack to the next one.”
“What line? I don’t see any—” Stovepipe stopped as his eyes narrowed. “Son of a gun. Is that a ledge?”
“I think so. It’s narrow enough that it’s hard to see, but it runs almost level over to another crack.”
“And there’s another one a mite higher up leadin’ to the next crack after that,” Stovepipe said. “They’re like steppin’-stones, with little ramps in between. You don’t notice the ledges because your eyes are fol-lowin’ the cracks.”
Sam nodded.
“That’s the way it looks to me. The cracks are more pronounced, so you can see them better.”
“That ain’t no natural formation. The cracks may be, but the ledges connectin’ ’em ain’t. They must go all the way around the mesa.”
“The Navajo probably carved them, no telling how long ago,” Sam said. “They could put lookouts up there to watch for their enemies, and they could fire arrows down or throw rocks off to ambush those enemies.”
“You reckon those ledges are wide enough for cows, or a man on horseback?”
“Only one way to find out,” Sam said as he lifted his reins.
Before he could heel his horse into motion, Pete Lowry said, “Hold on there, breed. Where do you think you’re goin’?”
Sam hesitated.
“I have an idea where the men we’re looking for might be,” he said. “But they’re probably watching us right now, and I don’t want them to realize that I’ve figured out their secret.”
“I don’t believe you,” Lowry said. “I still think this is some sort of trick.”
Boyd rode over and asked, “What’s going on here?”
Lowry nodded toward Sam.
