I followed him for two and a half hours until coming to the front of a high rock face where he’d suddenly and completely disappeared. I rode up and down the path, searching, for about twenty minutes until finally returning to the spot where I’d lost him. I sat there studying the wall, trying to spot the entrance to what had to be a hidden canon. There were a few gaps in the wall that all ended in solid rock and several tree trunks that seemed too large to move.
I cursed my luck and was just about to call it quits when I spotted a hawk diving down on a sparrow. Both flew at top speed straight through the trees, yet neither came back out. Not one to distrust Mother Nature, I refused to believe they’d both flown blindly into a solid wall, and a closer inspection confirmed my suspicions.
It was a beautiful job of disguise, one so clever even old Ali Baba and his Arabs would have been proud of it. Two large clumps of trees grew in opposite curves forming an arch. The middle three trees had been hollowed out, dug up, and replaced in the same spot. From a distance the thick green cover growing down from the end trees hid the fact that the whole middle section of trees was dead.
There was a large rope and pulley affair tied to some clusters of rock located on both sides of the wall. When tripped from a lever hidden in a notch in the wall, the balance was sprung and the rocks dropped, pulling the middle section of tree trunks up, roots and all. It was like one of those castle drawbridges Ma had described when she read to me about Arthur and Lancelot.
Behind the door was a long passage leading out into a blind canon. There I found green pasture, a line shack at the far end, and a herd of Spanish EH brand horses grazing contentedly.
So far nobody had spotted me. The smart thing to do now would be to hightail it straight back to the McFarlen Ranch, and then over to the sheriff ’s. That would have been the smart thing, but instead I decided to snoop around the line shack.
I suppose I knew, deep down, that simply recovering the herd for
Sneaking around the side of the shack, I listened for a while to the three men inside. I was on foot holding my hand over the roan’s mouth to quiet him down while I eavesdropped. It never occurred to me that anyone would bother to build a back door to such a small cabin.
“Hold it right there, mister.” The voice was deep but not nearly as commanding as the
“Relax,” I replied. “I’m looking for Curly, Curly Edwards.” I turned around slowly. It was a quick gamble. His was the only name I’d overheard them use and I had to say something. “You can put it away,” I said, gesturing toward his gun. “Luke Pierce sent me to help out.”
“We’ll see about that. Now move.” As we rounded the front, the other two cowboys came out the door. “What’s up Jeff? Who’s this?”
I recognized Curly’s voice. As expected, he was bald as an egg.
“That’s what I’d like to know. Says Pierce sent him. You know him?”
“Never saw him before. How about you, Andy?” He was addressing the cowboy I’d followed into the valley.
“Nope. And Pierce never said nothin’ to me about expecting anyone to show up, neither.”
“Of course not,” I answered. “I just hitched up. Been on the run and had to stay low. Came out here ’cause I used to ride with Luke a few years ago back, in West Texas.”
They looked at each other, unsure of how to proceed. Constant reference to Pierce’s name had created some doubt in their minds, so I quickly answered their questions with enough assurance to make my story convincing.
“Think about it. How else would I have been able to find my way in here?” I asked. “And look here,” I said, pointing to the brand on the roan. “Pierce himself picked this one out for me. Haven’t even had time to switch him over to the Four Box yet.”
That seemed to cinch things for them, at least for the time being. They holstered their guns and the one named Andy went back into the cabin.
“Just one question. What were you doin’ sneakin’ ’round the side of the shack?” Jeff asked. He apparently was the cautious type.
“Like I said, I’m on the run. I don’t know you boys, so I thought I’d better check things out before knocking on a strange door. Wouldn’t you?”
“Guess so. All right, come on in. Want some coffee?” he asked, seemingly convinced.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
After a couple of hours of small talk I got enough details out of them to learn Davies was finally planning his big raid. In spite of the loss of the herd, the McFarlens still hadn’t been convinced to sell, and Davies had run out of patience. When a person has both money and the power it brings, there comes a time when he begins to feel almost god-like. Or at least so I’ve been told. Davies apparently no longer worried about appearances or consequences. I learned the attack was planned for sometime soon, but none of the three cowpokes knew exactly when.
My chance to break loose came when Curly and Andy got up to do a once around look-see.
“That reminds me, Curly,” I said. “Luke wanted me to ride with you. Said you could show me the layout.
They all seemed easily impressed that I was on a first name basis with Pierce.
“That’s why I asked for you first, remember?”
“That’s right, he did,” Jeff added helpfully.
“OK with me,” Andy added. “I’ve had more than enough saddle time lately.”
“Great, let’s go,” I said, quickly figuring that one on one odds outside were better than three to one inside.
We mounted up but managed to ride only about 200 yards before we closed with a large group of armed riders.
Even if he weren’t riding my Morgan bay stallion, I’d still have recognized Luke Pierce. My height, my color hair, and twin Remington .44s worn cross-draw style, pistol butts forward. He had my Henry in the saddle scabbard, but was also carrying a Sharps rifle in his right hand.
Pa’s advice to me as a boy after I’d busted knuckles with Billy Watson suddenly came back to me. “You may not like it, but remember, Son, iffen you are forced to fight, hit first and hit hard.” The problem now was how to do that against so many.
We cantered straight up to the group, stopping directly in front of Pierce.
“Howdy, Luke,” I said calmly.
He stared back at me, and then over to Curly, puzzled.
“Who the hell is this, Pierce?” asked a big redheaded man riding just off to his left. He was about six feet and wore a brown hunting jacket over a vest. There was no waist gun visible, but, when he turned to the side, I noticed twin shoulder holsters.
“I don’t know, Mister Davies,” Pierce replied. “Never saw him before.”
“Luke, you might not recognize me, even though you are riding my horse, but I’m sure you’ll remember a friend of mine,” I said, looking the group over.
“Yeah, and who might that be?” he asked.
“A little Indian boy who’s now lying in a grave near a town called Buffalo Grove. One who’s only crime was trying to keep some cowardly backstabbin’ thieves from taking his horse.” I looked over at Davies. “You see, Brett, aside from bushwhacking honest men for you, Luke here gets a kick out of holding children from behind while his old friend Reynolds stabs them dead.’ Course, now that we finally met up, Reynolds won’t be doing that any more.”
“You know you’re gonna die for that,” muttered Pierce angrily.
“Well, Luke, you tried once and failed,” I said calmly. “Funny how things have a way of catching up on a feller. You’re gonna die, Luke, just like your friend Reynolds did. I’m going to see to it. And that goes for you, too, Davies.”
