'I hadn't heard.'
'Talked about a good bit. Seems he claims some fellers killed his wife when he was off scoutin' trail. He's fetched in after them.
Only there's maybe forty of them and one of him, and they've got him treed.'
'We'll have to ride hard,' Falcon said.
'You comin, mister?' Falcon said.
'I'm with you. But we may be too late.'
'He couldn't be so ornery. Not even a Sackett could be so down-right ornery. He don't dare let us be late.'
'Ornery?'
'He couldn't be so ornery as to kill all forty of 'em before we get there.'
Flagan put down his glass, glanced regretfully at the bottle, and moved swiftly from the bar.
Chapter ten.
When I opened up my eyes there on the face of that cliff I was a sore and hungry man.
There was in me a craving for coffee, and a burning ache to get at those men down below. But first I had to find a way off the cliff where they had me treed.
There was an ugly feeling in me against those men and whoever had killed Ange. It was me or them, with all the advantage on their side. They knew this country better than me, and there was more of them.
All the same, I was going to make them pay the price. They'd bought chips in my game, but I was going to spin the wheel.
Slinging my rifle so's my hands would be free, I started along the face of the cliff, and it was getting steeper and steeper. Here and there I hung just by my fingers, and once I had to close my fist and jam it in a crack and hang by it to keep from falling.
And all the while that skittish, scared feeling that they would come upon me while I hung out there against the bare rock. Only they didn't--not right then, at least.
Then, all of a sudden, I saw a ledge about eight feet below me, a ledge not more than a couple of feet wide, and below it the cliff fell sheer away. But it was better than where I was, and I took a chance and let go.
I landed right on the edge on my toes and felt the rock crumble underneath my feet, but I lay hold of a bush and worked myself over to a solid section of the ledge. It was the edge of a strata of sandstone, with limestone over it that had weathered back, and it gave me another chance to make time ... up to a point.
Crawling around a slight curve, I suddenly found myself facing a full-grown mountain lion that had been coming my way. We stood there, not over ten feet apart, looking each other right in the eye.
He laid his ears back and snarled, but you don't find any bigger coward anywhere than a mountain lion. All the same, if he gets hurt he goes crazy mad. His brain is just one white-hot drive to kill, so what I had to do was bluff that cat, because if I hurt him that would be the end for me right there.
So we stood there a-staring at each other, hating each other, and trying to outprove each other. My rifle was hung by its sling, and the thong was slipped over my .45, so the best I could get at in a hurry was my bowie knife. That old bowie was honed down to shave with, and I could lop off that cat's head with a swipe of it ... if he didn't get me first.
'Beat it, cat,' I said. 'I want no truck with you.'
He snarled at me, turning his head and avoiding my eyes, and I had no choice but to wait him out. He might go back, but there was no going back for me. At last he did back off and turn, but I didn't move after him. I was perfectly willing to let that lion go.
Then I smelled smoke.
Crouching down on the ledge to make myself small, I gave study to the country below me and around. Away up ahead of me, several miles off, was a projecting point, and if my figuring was right, somewhere between that point and me was the Tonto Trail. And down below in the pines was a campfire--a thin trail of smoke came up from the trees down there.
The face of the rim was less steep where I now was. An agile man could work his way up or down, and there was plenty of cover. So I decided to make them trouble.
I unslung my Winchester and studied that smoke. Men would be gathered around it, and it was likely they were the men hunting me. Only I didn't know that for sure, and any man who shoots at a sound or at any target he cannot see clearly is taking a big chance.
As I squatted there on the ledge I realized that what I needed most of all was some grub and a horse, my own horse if I could find him. The grub I had in my pack, and I dug into the grub sack for a chunk of frying-pan bread and some jerked meat. I ate it, longing for a drink of anything to wash it down. The closest place I could think of to get it was right down there where that smoke was. I put the back of my hand across my mouth to get any stray crumbs, and then I went down the cliff through the trees.
By the time I reached the bottom of the cliff, I was only a hundred yards or so away from the camp. It was in the cool of morning. Dew sparkled on the grass, and the leaves of the low brush dripped with it. Birds were singing and fussing around in the brush, and in one place I saw the tracks of a big cougar ... maybe the one I'd seen on the trail above. I worked my way along, Injun-like, making a sort of rough half-circle around the camp to see how the land lay.
First off, I located the horses, mine among them. Then I went on, getting closer and closer, and all the while studying how I could get away if the going got rough.
I saw that most of the men were gathered close around the fire. I got within fifty feet of their circle when one of them stood up to fill his cup from the coffeepot and, looking across the circle, saw me. For an instant he just stood there, and then he dropped his cup and grabbed for his gun. I broke his arm with a bullet from my Winchester.
Now, I won't say I was trying for his arm.
As a matter of fact, I had that rifle dead-center on his shirt button about two inches above his belt buckle, but his quick move turned him so he wound up with a busted wing, and you never saw such a quiet bunch of men.
'No need for anybody to get theirselves killed,' I said conversationally, 'although I'm in no way particular.'
Nine of them were there, but the man with the broken arm was in no mind to cause further trouble.
'Saw your smoke,' I said, 'and figured I'd drop in for breakfast. Now just to make sure I'm welcome, you boys sort of unbuckle. I'm not going to give any warnings.
If any of you feel like taking a chance, you'll never find a better time to die. It's a right pretty morning.'
You never saw so many delicate fingers. Those boys unbuckled so carefully you'd have figured they were picking lint off a polecat's tail.
'You'--I poked one with my rifle muzzle--
'move over to the other side.'
When he had moved over I told him to rinse out a cup and fill it with coffee. Then I proceeded to eat a chunk of frying-pan bread and most of a frying pan of bacon, and to drink about half a gallon of coffee.
Meanwhile I'd looked this crowd over and had noticed a few things. This was no ordinary bunch of cowhands. They were mounted too well, their saddles were too good, and they were armed too well.
I'd seen too many paid warriors in my time not to recognize these for what they were.
'You boys taken the wrong job,' I said. 'My advice is to light out. You ain't gonna like it here.'
'Have your fun,' one man said. 'You ain't got long.'
'None of us have. Only thing a body knows about life is that you're never going to get out of it alive. Only you boys don't want to wait for your time to come, you're asking me to bring it to you.
'Up to now I've been on the dodge. Now I'm going to start pot-hunting. I mean I'm going after scalps. Here and yonder I'm going to lay up and wait for you, and I'm going to shoot you when I see you. This here is all the warning you get.'
Well, I backed off a mite and had one of them make a gather of pistol belts and rifles.
It was likely some of them had hide-out guns, but I wasn't too worried about that. Then I had one of them saddle up my horse and pack my pack horse.
