“Don’t worry,” said Collier. “I can handleMochita—not that I’m expecting any trouble. He’s just a messengerboy for his old man.”
“That Mochita,” countered Sunday, “is meanas they come. I wouldn’t trust him any further’n I could spit.”
“Use your head, Rube,” chided Collier. “IfMochita tried to lift my scalp, he’d kill his chances of winningtwo wagon loads of new guns for his people.”
“All I’m sayin’,” Sunday persisted, “ishe’s too blame proddy for my likin’, and a mite unpredictable.” Hespread his hands. “If he acts sociable, there’s no harm done. But,if he turns mean, me and Arnie’ll be on hand. Yes siree, boy. Whenyou hit that arroyo, you won’t be playin’ a lone hand.”
“You can please yourself about that,”shrugged Collier. “But don’t do anything foolish, Rube. You’dbetter be sure I need help before you think of running to myrescue.” He ambled to his horse, mounted it, then lit a cigar andstared pensively at his boss henchman. “No. I think you’re beingover-cautious. But, if it makes you feel any easier, you can stakeout in the arroyo and keep an eye on us.”
He wheeled his hired horse and started itclattering along the rocky shelf to where the downward trail began,a narrow hazardous trail that zigzagged down the steep slopes ofthe Santa Rosa to the foothills far below.
Meanwhile, Larry and Stretch had finishedtheir inspection of the scene of the ambush, and Larry was givingvoice to what seemed a fair question.
“How do you kill wagon tracks in this kindof country?”
“Yeah,” mused Stretch. “How?”
“Remember what Colonel Lansing told us,”prodded Larry. “Those two freight wagons were empty. They’d beenemptied of a powerful hefty cargo.”
“Which means,” suggested Stretch, “they hadto have a couple more rigs waitin’ to tote the guns away. And, likeyou say, them rigs had to leave tracks.”
“I wonder,” frowned Larry, “if they had thenerve for it.”
“The nerve for what?” demanded Stretch.
“To load all that hardware and ammunitioninto their own wagons,” said Larry, “and travel right on toBosworth. That’s the only way they could make it, far as I can see.They couldn’t travel anyplace else without leavin’ wheel-marks—deepruts—from the weight of that cargo. So they went along the regulartrail to Bosworth, which already showed wheel ruts.”
“That’s what you think they did?” blinkedStretch. Larry slowly shook his head.
“No. Too far-fetched.”
“Well,” said Stretch, “how could they totethat load away—without wagons?”
“That’s a good question,” said Larry. Hescanned the surrounding terrain, paying particular attention to theflat-topped mound of lava rock and the thick timber to the north.“There’s the nearest heavy cover,” he remarked, nodding to thetrees. “If you’d just hijacked a shipment of rifles from the army,and killed eight men, which way would you head? Out into opencountry—or into that timber?”
“Runt,” grunted Stretch, “let’s you and mefind out what’s on the other side of them woods.”
It took them some twenty minutes topenetrate the timber. They went slowly, checking the ground belowthem and still cutting no sign. At the northern end of the hellthey reined up to survey a sweeping panorama—the sun-dancingripples of the creek and, in the distance, the foothills of theSanta Rosas. Further north, the towering bulk of themountains.
For a half-mile, they rode the south bank ofthe creek. Then, to the keen ears of Larry Valentine, came thefamiliar sound, the clip-clop of hooves. Stretch heard it too.
“Another patrol?” he wondered.
“Only one horse, I’d reckon,” frownedLarry.
“Comin’ from thataway.” Stretch gesturedtoward the foothills. “Well? Do we tell him ‘howdy,’ or do we playit sneaky?”
“I’d as lief look him over,” Larry decided,“without him knowin’ it.”
They wheeled their mounts away from thecreek bank, moving leftward for some forty yards. Stretch’s pintostumbled, but righted itself quickly, at the rim of a small hollow.It was, Larry judged, just deep enough for their purpose. Swingingdown, they descended into the hollow, leading the horses by theirreins. At the bottom, Larry raised the flap of his saddlebag to digout an important piece of equipment. The field-glasses,high-powered and efficient, had been presented to him long ago by agrateful admirer.
“Stay with the horses,” he quietly orderedStretch, “while I go take a look.”
He climbed up to the rim of the basin,hunkered down and lined the glasses northward. The oncoming riderwas moving higher than ground level, a sure indication that he wasdescending a mountain trail. Sure. There had to be a trail throughthose mountains. But what was a hombre of his caliber doing in thiskind of country? Larry recognized him at once. The tinhorn fromBosworth, the man who had rashly drawn a gun, while buying into thestreet brawl that was none of his business. What had the sheriffcalled him? Collier? Yes, that was the name.
Collier rode slowly past Larry’s line ofvision and onward. After signaling his partner, Larry broke coverand followed on foot, long enough to assure himself that thegambler was headed for Bosworth. He returned to the hollow, toldStretch what he had seen.
“All right,” frowned the taller Texan. “Adude tinhorn takes a ride up to the mountains—and what of it? Nolaw against that, runt. It don’t have to mean anything.”
“Sure.” Larry nodded in agreement. “It’s amite early for me to suspicion anybody.”
“But?” prodded Stretch.
“But,” shrugged Larry, “I hanker to checkthat mountain trail.”
They caught their first sight of it ashort time later—the steep, pitted face of the mountainside, withthe narrow track zigzagging to the dizzy heights far above. Morethan that, they saw smoke.
“Could be smoke from a chimney,” suggestedStretch. "Could be a cabin up there, maybe.” He rose in hisstirrups, staring upward. “Quite a climb, runt. Be near dark beforewe found out where that smoke’s comin’ from. You want to be caughtway up there in the dark? Track looks narrow. Be a mite hard on thehorses, wouldn’t it? I ain’t turnin’ leery on you, only...”
“Only,” finished Larry, “the easy waywould be better—if there is an easy way.” He rolled and lit anothercigarette, pensively studied the cliff-face. “Besides, I keepthinkin’ of old Gayatero, and the look on his ugly kisser...”
“When he saw what happened to that repeater.Yeah.” Stretch nodded knowingly.
“Gayatero,” opined Larry, “is good and
