Curiously, although they were getting higher into the foothills, for a little while the slopes became gentler and the going easier, with even some spaces among the stands of trees that surrounded them on all sides.
They went slowly. Jeebee’s leg still bothered him when it hung down in the stirrup, and was not really very comfortable pulled up and crooked around the pommel of the saddle. But the little stream led them at last to what could fairly be called a mountain meadow. Jeebee estimated it at something like three hundred yards in length and about half that in width.
Here the stream split of from a much wider one. In fact, the other was one that might even be called a small river. It was shallow, full of large boulders, but fast running. There would be no way, Jeebee thought, sitting Brute and looking through its clear water at its bed of large boulders, of leading the horses across it. Even if he was physically able to do so, which he still was not, the boulders were impassable. They were too large and unpredictable and would be too slippery for hooves. The chance of a broken leg for either animal was almost certain.
He tied Sally to a tree at the meadow’s edge and rode Brute around the rest of the area to look it over more closely.
He went first to examine the point at which the little stream split off from the larger one. It was as he had suspected on first seeing the two streams. The smaller one showed clear evidence of having been deliberately man-made. He suspected it had been deliberately diverted to provide water directly to the ranch, the dead ranch now some distance behind and below them.
He continued with his survey of the meadow. It was more or less a wide aisle between the trees, with the end at which he had entered being fairly sparsely treed, and open; the trees gathered in closer beyond and were overshadowed by two rises of the hillside that began on either side and continued beyond the trees surrounding the meadow and up ahead, leaving only space for a narrow bed for the larger stream—so that the meadow was almost enclosed in a natural rampart of landscape, beyond its belt of trees.
The banks of the lower part of the stream were at present only a couple of feet above the water level, but farther up toward the end of the meadow that bank rose, almost abruptly, as the slope of the ground there itself rose, to a small bluff like that which had crowned the shale slope Jeebee had twice crossed the day before to take a look at the ranch.
The bluff became almost vertical in its last twenty or thirty feet, and here, as in the one above the shale slope, there was a hole, that might once have been the opening to some animal’s den. Jeebee rode closer, and as he got close enough, the daylight was enough for him to see that while the hole was at least a couple of times larger than the one on the shale slope, it was only a shallow opening into what seemed soil that was nearly pure sand. He changed his mind about it possibly being a onetime den. It looked far more likely to be the result of some natural spill of the loose material of the bluff—possibly freezing and thawing of the earth.
Certainly, it was empty. There was no animal sign, and no vegetation inside it, or any indications that there had been, recently.
He was intrigued by the sight of it. With a little work and use of the tarpaulin and his other plastic cloths that he had gotten from Paul, it was the sort of place that he could make into a rain-proof, halfway comfortable chamber for himself to bed down.
As a matter of fact, that sandy earth he saw looked as if it would be easily diggable. Perhaps it had indeed been dug out by an animal at one time, after all, or at least the digging of it started by some animal. It would not be difficult to dig more deeply and make more space within. Then with something to cover the opening, Jeebee would have a den of his own for the first time since he had left the wagon.
CHAPTER 25
Three days later a large change had been accomplished. The horses were much better for the rest and the steady feeding. That trek from the stream by the willows up past the ranch had undeniably taken it out of them, but they were at last showing the signs of complete recovery. Now they were both almost frisky; even Sally, normally so staid and quiet, seemed impatient at being tethered.
As for himself, Jeebee considered both his arm and leg now almost as good as ever. He had even tried sleeping that second night in the cave of the meadow without even one Dilaudid, taking just aspirin instead, and found that, tired as he was, he had dropped off and slumbered without trouble.
Since then he had taken four doses of Tylenol in the last three days, and that was all. Now, while both leg and arm protested at being bumped against something or the muscles in them being used too abruptly, for the most part he could simply ignore the fact that they had been hurt. Both arm and leg still showed dark from the bruising, but the swelling in each was almost gone.
He had benefited from this improvement during the last couple of days by being able to ride Brute down at night into the flatlands. He had even gone out beyond the destroyed ranch, in hopes of finding a range cow and shooting it; and had actually done so.
The job he had done of butchering out the more eatable portions of meat had been clumsy. And packing them back on Brute to the meadow had been a problem. Brute had objected ardently to carrying the meat, which smelled to him very strongly of blood. But Jeebee limped back on foot, leading the horse firmly by the head, with a close grip on the reins just in front of his teeth. Brute’s only option was to follow.
It was a long walk for Jeebee and a hard one. Particularly hard given that he had come tired to the first slopes behind the ranch house and had to lean into them to climb them. Of necessity, he ended up doing what he had done on his first venture back from his camping spot on foot with the crutch, going a small distance and stopping to rest, then going another short distance and stopping again, and so on.
He had started, out of eagerness, early that morning and had reason to be grateful for this, because it was still only midafternoon by the time he was well into the foothills. Up ahead of him was the one stretch he had been thinking of and dreading. This was the shale slope, where he did not think he would dare sit down and rest.
Theoretically, if he did sit down in the middle of the slope, he should be able to use Brute to help him climb to his feet, literally using the horse’s leg and back and saddle as handholds to pull himself upright.
But that was only theoretically. He had noticed on the last few stops that he dared not rest too long, because the leg, in particular, was beginning to stiffen up when he did. That meant that taking a long rest before starting out across the slope would be dangerous.
He reached the nearer edge of the slope eventually. He sat down, keeping a steady tightness on the reins, while Brute stood over him and gazed at the slope itself.
At first glance it looked innocent enough. Merely an open space to be walked across with due care for the fact that it sloped very sharply away to his right. A closer look showed the points of reflection of sunlight from the sharp and loose pieces of bare rock covering it.
He looked almost longingly up to the top of its slope, past the hole that probably at one time had been some animal’s den, to the short vertical bluff and the trees crowning it. It was tempting to try to go up and around it that way. But he had examined that possible route the first time he had crossed it with the crutch. Above the bluff the trees grew too closely and the slopes on both sides climbed at such a pitch that it would be both crowded and unsafe to lead Brute through there.
Moreover, he was eager to get back to the campsite. His leg in particular was paining him as it had not pained him for some days now. After a bit, he faced the fact that he dared not sit, with the leg stiffening, any longer. He got to his feet and started leading Brute carefully across the slope.
He could have used the crutch now, for Brute behind him went as gingerly as he did; clearly the horse’s stance was no more firm on the slope among the loose rocks than his was. He sweated under the sunlight, working his way toward the far edge of the rocks.
But he made progress. The far edge came closer and closer, and in spite of the fact that his leg was complaining, he began to feel a sense of triumph. The edge was only about twenty yards away now. In a few moments he would be safe off the slope. He began to stride out more strongly.
His attention was all on the far edge he was trying to reach. So suddenly that it seemed to have happened before he realized it—though afterward he could remember the stone slipping and turning under his left leg and the leg sliding across in front of his right leg to trip him up—he fell.
