“Look over yonder,” the old-timer said. “That place stickin’ out is Wolf Head Rock.”
The light was bad enough that Bo and Scratch had trouble making out the landmark. Finally they saw it, and Scratch said, “How in the world are we gonna get there once it’s dark?”
“Oh, don’t worry, I know the way,” Chloride said.
“If it’s like the way we’ve come so far, we’ll never make it without being able to see,” Bo said.
Chloride snorted. “There’s seein’, and then there’s
Scratch looked over at Bo and shrugged. “We don’t have much choice in the matter, do we?”
“Nope,” Bo said. “Go ahead, Chloride. We’ll be right behind you.”
“Dang well better be.”
The men set off again, Chloride in the lead, Scratch following him, and Bo bringing up the rear. The warmth of the cabin at the Devils’ hideout seemed like something experienced in another life. Bo was chilled through and through, right down to the bone, and he wondered if he would ever be anything but cold again.
Chloride led them down into the valley. When they reached the bottom, they found a good-size creek rushing through it. Chloride reined in and said, “All right, take a look.”
“Take a look at what?” Scratch asked. “I can’t see a dang thing, it’s so dark. I can hear the stream, but I can’t really see it.”
“Right there,” Chloride insisted.
Bo and Scratch had moved up alongside the old-timer. Bo’s eyes made out a snow-covered shape arching up and out, but he couldn’t discern any details. “What is it?” he asked.
“It’s a rock bridge, a natural bridge over that creek,” Chloride explained. “You don’t want to slip off of it, neither. As cold as it is, if you go in the water you’re liable to freeze to death ’fore we could build a fire to thaw you out.”
“Are you sure that’s a bridge?” Scratch asked. “It looks more like a rock that just sticks up a ways and ends in nothin’.”
“It goes all the way across,” Chloride insisted. “Leastways, it did the last time I was in these parts.”
“How long has that been?” Bo wanted to know.
“Oh, a couple o’ years, I expect.”
“So the other side could have collapsed since then?”
“Could have, I suppose,” Chloride said. “But I don’t believe it did.”
“You don’t believe it did,” Scratch repeated. “I’d feel a whole heap better about this if you knew for sure.”
Chloride snorted. “How much do folks ever really know for sure in this life? How do you know the sun’s even gonna come up in the mornin’? You don’t, that’s how!”
“All right, you made your point,” Bo said as he lifted his reins. “I’ll go first—”
“No, you won’t,” Chloride said. “I been leadin’ the way so far. I’ll go. That way, if I fall off you’ll know you better turn around and go back.”
Before either of the Texans could argue with him, the old-timer nudged his mule forward. The animal seemed reluctant to start out on the stone bridge, but Chloride banged his heels against the mule’s flanks and kept it moving. The mule picked its way up the arching bridge, and after only a moment, the Texans lost sight of Chloride in the gloom.
Bo and Scratch heard the iron shoes on the mule’s hooves striking the rock with each step, so they could follow Chloride’s progress that way. The hoofbeats were slow and steady, but after a moment they came to a halt. The Texans couldn’t hear anything except the rushing of the icy water in the creek.
“Chloride?” Bo called. “Chloride, are you all right?”
“Yeah,” the old-timer’s voice came back. “Looks like the bridge is all still here. You’d best dismount and come across on foot, leadin’ your horses. The snow’s made the rock mighty slick. This ol’ mule o’ mine almost slipped.”
“Why don’t you dismount where you are and go ahead on foot?” Scratch asked.
“No room to do that. Just got to hope the jughead can make it, that’s all.”
“Be careful, Chloride,” Bo called. He and Scratch listened tensely as the hoofbeats resumed.
After a minute or so that seemed more like an hour, Chloride shouted, “Made it! I’m on the other side. Come ahead, boys, slow and easy and mighty careful-like.”
The Texans dismounted. Scratch didn’t wait to discuss who was going to go first. He just gripped his horse’s reins and started across the natural bridge. Bo’s nerves grew taut as he waited to see if his friend was going to make it.
Again the crossing seemed interminable, but just when Bo was about to call out and ask Scratch if he was all right, the silver-haired Texan raised his voice and said, “Come ahead, Bo! It’s no worse’n that time down Sonora way when we had to cross that big ol’ canyon on a rope bridge.”
“As I recollect, we almost wound up dead that day,” Bo called back.
“Yeah, but we didn’t!”
Bo couldn’t argue with that logic. He gave a grim chuckle, grasped his horse’s reins a little tighter, and started up the slope of the bridge, leading the animal behind him. The soles of his boots slipped a little on the snow that
