Weeds will take my crops in a matter of days, he thought, and here I am afoot on some damn hilltop when I ought to be home! And a longing for Elizabeth and the children rose up in his throat and almost choked him.
“I guess it's up to you, Owen,” Arch Deland said. “What do we do now?”
“First we'll see what we've got left to work with.”
They went back to the fallen animal and counted out cartridges that Deland had brought along. There were two boxes of .45's that would fit Owen's and Deland's revolvers, and a box of 30-30's for Arch's carbine, but no ammunition for Dunc Lester's shotgun or ancient .44.
“Well,” Arch said, “there's a thousand-to-one chance that we might be able to round up our horses.”
But this was not to be the day for miracles. They climbed laboriously down to the bottom of the sheer incline and at last found their pack animal, which had broken its neck in a fall. But the frightened saddle animals were probably still running, and the men had no time to look for them.
“At least,” Deland said, “we've got a sizable stock of ammunition.”
Together they tore into the bulky pack and scattered their store over the ground. Owen went through it quickly but carefully, sorting out what they needed most and discarding all the rest. At last he had a pile of ammunition, blankets, jerked beef, and hardtack. The slab of bacon, canned goods, corn meal, and cooking utensils had to be left behind.
They worked fast now, for there was no way of knowing how far away Ike Brunner had moved his new hideout. They divided the necessary supplies into three equal piles, according to weight, then ripped the tarp into three squares and made their own individual packs. Arch Deland grunted as he slipped his arms through the rope loops and hoisted his bundle to his shoulders.
Owen looked sharply at the old deputy. “If that's too heavy, Arch, we'd better split the supplies again.” But Deland grinned. “I've toted a lot heavier than this in my time.”
They inspected the ground one last time to make sure they had forgotten nothing, then Owen nodded and the three of them humped forward under the weight of their packs and started up the rocky slope.
The June sun seemed unbelievably hot as they continued their long climb. Arch Deland was already blowing hard, and Owen wondered uneasily if he had made a mistake in not making a search for the horses. They could have found them, in time.
But time was important, and he knew that he had done the right thing. Still, he did not like the high, hot color of Deland's face as the old deputy stumbled after them on that trackless slope. At last they reached a point where they could see the valley to the east and the point where Gabe Tanis had entered the woods.
Once they reached the woods, they would have some small measure of protection, but here on the hillside they were glaring targets for a long-range rifle. Owen knew they ought to keep pushing hard until they reached the trees, but he could hear Arch Deland's hoarse breathing and was worried.
At last Owen lifted his hand. “We'll take a minute here and rest.”
Dunc Lester scowled. “I reckon that won't be very smart.”
Owen shot him one blinding glance and the boy understood. Not so strangely, Dunc had taken a liking to this thin scarecrow of an old man who claimed to be a former U.S. marshal, like Owen Toller. He dropped his pack and helped Deland off with his. “How do you feel?” he asked.
“Fine,” the deputy panted. “Just a little winded.” Owen squatted down with his back against a giant fish- shaped boulder and accused himself of stupidity for letting Arch come with them in the first place. The deputy grinned wearily, knowing what Owen was thinking.
“I'll get my second wind in a minute, Owen. I'll try not to cause any more trouble.”
Owen felt his face go warm, and he did not know what to say. He nodded. “Sure, Arch.”
But he knew that it had been a mistake. Arch's great experience and proven courage could have been a tremendous asset; but now that they were afoot in this wild country, it was a different story. This was work for strong, young men like Dunc Lester, and Owen felt the muscles of his own legs quiver with the unaccustomed strain of the climb. He smiled wryly to himself. I too am an old man, he thought. Oh, not so old as Arch Deland, but too old for the job I've cut out for myself.
And he looked beyond the tall green timber to the boulder-strewn peaks that lay before them, and once again he felt that nervous little ripple go up his back.
They rested there on the hillside for several minutes and then shouldered their packs once more, casting humpbacked shadows on the ground, and started down toward the umbrella of forest in the valley.
When they had covered about half the distance to the timber, Owen came suddenly alert as the mournful, chopped howl of a coyote rose up beyond a distant hill. Owen shot an uneasy glance at Deland, and the deputy understood. It was not a common thing to hear a coyote in this country. Wolves, yes, but the coyote usually preferred the plains below, the sloughs and washes of the prairies.
Then Owen noticed that Dunc Lester's hard young face seemed even harder than usual. “That's a sentry from one of Ike's outposts,” he said quickly. They listened again and the sound seemed to come from the north and a bit to the east, where a rock-strewn chain of peaks rose up slightly above the surrounding hills.
“Do you know that country, Dunc?”
The boy shrugged. “Killer Ridge, it's called, but I've never been there. Nothing up there but boulders and rocks and maybe a little scrub oak and spruce.”
“How about caves?”
Dunc raked the entire chain with a glance. “There's caves and tunnels all over these hills, and I guess Killer's got them too.”
Arch Deland said, “Could that coyote call have been Gabe Tanis giving the signal to one of Ike's sentries?”
Dunc nodded. “I'd bet on it. It won't be long before Ike has the gang out lookin' for us.”
