Under the Sweetwater Rim (1971) Page 7

  Brian had gone on to fight in other wars and to win honors; but where was he today? What did he have to offer any girl but life on a series of remote outposts on the Indian frontier? Of course, he had been suggested for a diplomatic appointment, but such appointments usually went to men of independent income, for the pay of an officer in the army would scarcely enable even a single man to live in the necessary manner. And there seemed to be no future in the army. Many of the lieutenants he had met on the frontier were men advanced in years. After the Civil War there had been a surplus of officers available, and the chances of advancement were slight.

  To face up to the facts, he was a man of thirty who was going exactly nowhere. It was this meeting with Mary that made him realize fully the extent of his drifting.

  He abandoned these thoughts as he came to the river, which he skirted until he discovered a place where it might be forded. At this point the water was scarcely knee-deep, but it was running with a strong current.

  Ironhide was waiting on the opposite shore.

  Brian walked the gray into the cold, swift-running water, and went on across the stream.

  The others followed, gathering on the low bank.

  Mary, Belle, and SchwarMore were there, but there was no sign of West or Dorsey.

  "Schwartz, where's West?" Brian asked.

  "He should have been right behind you."

  "He was behind me, sir, but he and Dorsey had kind of fallen back." Brian hesitated. They were probably just lagging behind, but West had been obviously discontented. Brian had recognized that for what it was, for West had never wanted to leave the wagon train and had done so only under a direct order. He felt that West was a trustworthy man, maybe not too bright, but stubborn in his devotion to his responsibilities.

  Dorsey was another kind of man altogether. He was intelligent, up to a point, but was given to overrating himself and his abilities, and looking upon other men with contempt. Brian was sure that Dorsey had been in the army before, had deserted, and re-enlisted. That was not unusual, and there was no way of checking on such men. Desertion was one thing, but sixty thousand dollars was another. "Ironhide, skirt those pothole lakes and ride on toward the pass.

  Camp this side of it. I'll find West and Dorsey and catch up. If anything happens to me, you know what to do."

  "Yes, sir." Ironhide swung his horse and led off. Mary held back. "I'm frightened, Ten.

  What if something should happen to you?"

  "Trust Ironhide and Schwartz. They are both good men. After the pothole lakes you'll come up to Stough Creek. The Middle Fork of the Popo Agie is right beyond it. You'll follow the Middle Fork into the pass. On the other side you'll find the head of the Sweetwater."

  "Must you go?"

  "There's the payroll. I assumed charge and I am responsible. Those two can't have gone far."

  Wheeling his horse, he plunged into the stream again.

  After crossing, he rode swiftly, watching for sign that would show him where they had turned off.

  He found it . . . a feeble attempt had been made to cover their trail, but neither man was good at such things. Two riders and a pack horse, heading south for the Little Popo Agie basin. They were traveling fast, too fast for the condition of their horses, none of which had the stamina of his own big gray.

  Emerging from the trees, he drew up to scan the countryside. There was the danger in following their trail that he might be careless about other considerations.

  Kelsey might have men up in here, and there was always the chance of a war party of Indians.

  He saw nothing to warn him of any trouble and he moved on, holding the horse to a swift pace.

  He knew he could not allow himself to remain long on their trail. Ironhide and Schwartz were as trustworthy as any two men could be, and Ironhide was a good man on a trail, but Sweetwater Gap was narrow and it was too early for all the snow to be gone. They would surely need help, and lives were more important than money.

  Corporal West was frightened. He had been suspicious of Lieutenant Brian's motives, but without Dorsey's encouragement he would not have made the break. But this was the shortest way out of the mountains, and now it would be a hard, fast ride to Fort Bridger. If he brought this off it would mean a ser- geant's stripes for him, but that was less in his mind than the saving of the payroll with which he had been entrusted.

  They rode swiftly, needing all the distance they could get. Would Brian leave the women and follow them? He doubted it, but of all the officers in the unit, not excepting Devereaux, Brian was the man least to be trifled with.

  They forded Silas Creek in a swampy area and struck a dim trail leading south across the basin.

  He glanced back, and saw nothing. Dorsey was following him, some thirty feet back, and Dorsey grinned at him when he looked around, and there was something in the grin that West did not like. Yet he felt that perhaps he was finding fault where there was none.

  Dorsey had at least agreed to come with him.

  The horses were making hard work of it, for they must be almost ten thousand feet up. He slowed to a walk, then stopped and swung down. "We'd better walk them a way," he said. "It's easy to kill a horse at this altitude."

  Dorsey got down and they walked along, the trail behind them obscured by trees now. The country through which they traveled was still, cool, and beautiful.

  Peaks lifted before them, a thousand feet higher than they now were.

  "Bear more to the right, I think," Dorsey suggested. "We're too far west for Sioux Pass."

  After a while he said, "That's a lot of money we're packin :"

  "Too much."

  "Not if it belongs to you." Dorsey's tone was casual. "Yes, but it doesn't."

  "Ever think what you could buy with that much? Sixty thousandl A man could really have himself a time! Liquor and women . . . anything he wanted. Or he could buy himself a business some place. Be set for life."

  "Well, I doubt if I'll ever have that much,"

  West said. "You've got it now," Dorsey replied, "or half of it."

  Corporal West spoke sharply. "That's not a joking matter, Dorseyl This is government money, and we're taking it back to where it belongs." "That may be your idea."

  "It is." West's voice was crisp. He was not tempted, and he wanted no more of such talk.

  Dorsey stopped. "It ain't mine, West. This here's the first chance I ever had at money like that."

  West turned sharply around, for Dorsey was now right behind him. "I want no more-was His voice broke off, for Dorsey was holding a pistol aimed just above West's belt buckle.

  "You didn't really figure I was goin' to let all that money get away, did you, West?"

  "Don't be a fool, Dorseyl Brian's already not far behind us .... You wouldn't have a chance of getting away."

  "I'll worry about that."

  "Dorsey . . ." West's pistol was on his belt, high on the right side, butt to the fore as was regulation. The flap was buttoned down, and he knew he could never unbutton that flap and get out his gun before Dorsey could shoot ... but would Dorsey shoot? He didn't believe it ....

  He reached for his holster, and Dorsey shot.

  They were in a little open place, a small meadow among the trees. West felt the sharp blow of the bullet, but no pain. "You are a foolish man," he said to Dorsey. "Now you will hang."

  "First, they got to catch me," Dorsey said, and watched West's knees buckle. When he had fallen, Dorsey walked over to him and took the pistol from West's holster and thrust it into his waistband. The echo of the shot died away, and West was muttering, but Dorsey paid no attention. He got into the saddle, gathering the reins of West's horse and the lead rope on the pack horse.

  "Serves you right," Dorsey said, staring down at West. He started off, riding fast. He had two horses now, and he could switch mounts and so make better time.

  Corporal West lay sprawled on the grass, and he knew he was dying. He had been shot through the body, and by the feel the bullet must have lodged a
gainst his spine, for his legs seemed to have no feeling. His mind was clear. He saw what a fool he had been, andwitha kind of despair he realized there was small chance he would ever be found. They would think him a thief, too.

  Tugging himself up by pulling on a hummock of grass, he looked slowly around. It was very still. A bee was buzzing around a blue flower. A little distance off some birds were gossiping in the top of a shrub.

  With clumsy fingers he pulled a tuft of grass together and tied a few blades around it to draw attention. In the earth near it he drew an arrow showing the direction in which Dorsey had gone. He lay down then, and the shock wore off and the pain began.

  He must have been unconscious for a time, for when he opened his eyes the sun had moved.

  He was lying there when he heard the pound of hoofs on the earth. Suddenly a horse was looming over him, and Ten Brian was swinging down.

  "Dorsey"-West got the words out clearly-"stole the money. He . . . he . . . is going to . . . Sioux Pass"

  "Take it easy, West." Brian knelt beside him, lifted his head carefully and gave him a swallow from his canteen.

  "I . . . I didn't mean. . . I wasn't stealing. I was" "I know, West. You didn't trust me, and you were taking the money back the quickest way you knew how."

  The wounded man nodded. "I'm sorry. I-was "Forget it."

  "Don't . . . waste time. I . . . I am dying."

  "There's not much I can do for you, Corporal.

  To try to move you would mean pain. You've been hit bad."

  "I know."

  Lieutenant Tenadore Brian stood up.

  He had looked upon many men dying, and knew how little there was to do now, how foolish to try, under the circumstances. The man had only minutes remaining, that was all. "You're a good man, West.

  I'll tell them that. I'll report that to Major Devereaux and the Colonel. I'll tell them you died trying to save the money." "Thanks." The word was a faint whisper.

  "I'll be getting on, Corporal. And don't worry I'll come up with Dorsey."

  He stepped into the saddle, saluted the dying man, and rode away. Corporal West lay still, looking up at the sky. The birds were fussing, and then they stopped and from somewhere across the meadow he heard a meadow lark, as he had heard them in the fields as a boy. He used to go out to bring in the cows, and the meadow larks would be there. Their song was a sound he loved to hear.

  He heard it again . . . just over the way, there.

  The wind blew cold from off the Sweetwater Needles; from the flanks of Atlantic Peak and Granite Peak it swept over the last winter's snow through the brush, and down across the flats. It stirred the aspens along the slopes, and brought the smell of pines to Tenadore Brian. His time was short, his pace hard. Dorsey was somewhere ahead of him, and the man would fight. He had stolen and he had committed murder, and he would know that now there was no turning back.

  His horses must be just ahead. Their tracks were fresh, and Brian rode with his rifle in his hand, prepared for anything.

  He wove among the pines, and rode along a grassy slope flecked with spring flowers. His horse's hoofs in their swift passing pressed down the grass and flowers, but when the horse had gone on, the grass would rise into place again, and the flowers would bloom as before.

  A flicker of sunlight shone on a rifle barrel and he whipped the gray around in a tight circle, heard the whop of a rifle bullet that passed him, and then he was charging toward the boulders from which the shot had come. There was no cover where he had been, it was this or death, and he went up the short slope, reins free, the rifle ready. He heard another shot, but he was coming on fast and Dorsey was shooting too quick. He leaped the horse over the outer rim of rocks and fired twice. His first shot was a clean miss; the second hit the action of Dorsey's rifle and spun the man around.

  Dorsey dropped the gun and jumped at Brian, grabbing his rifle by the barrel.

  Kicking free of the stirrups, Brian left the saddle in a long dive and hit Dorsey, knocking him rolling. They both came up fast, and Dorsey had Brian's rifle.

  Brian flipped the gun from his holster and fired, the bullet catching Dorsey in the chest. The man backed up and Brian walked in on him, slapping the rifle from his suddenly useless hands.

  "You're a murderer, Dorsey. You killed a good man back there-a better man than you ever were."

  Hatred blazed in Dorsey's eyes.

  "You'll never get out of this, Brianl You're trapped!"

  Dorsey sat down abruptly and the blood started to come from the hole in his chest, bubbling with a froth that told the bullet had gone through the lung. "They're all around you, Brianl The Kelsey boysl You'll die here with me." Ten Brian picked up the rifle and walked across to the gray. For a moment his eyes swept the area.

  Dorsey's three horses stood in a hollow about twenty yards away. He noted the position of the reins and the lead rope. He ignored Dorsey. The man was finished. All he could do now was shout obscene oaths. His eyes sweeping the brush and trees, measuring the distances, Brian reloaded his rifle and pistol. Then he walked to where Dorsey's guns had fallen and picked them up.

  The rifle he ignored, for it was damaged beyond repair.

  He glanced at Dorsey. The man's shirt was thick with blood now, his breath was coming in great gasps, but he still was half reclining against a rock, his eyes ugly. Loading Dorsey's guns, Brian thrust them both into his own waistband Taking his own horse by the bridle, he led it down into the hollow. He gathered the reins of the others, tied them for leading, and then walked to the edge of the hollow.

  He disliked leaving even an enemy to suffer as Dorsey would be suffering, but there was nothing he could do, and his duty was to Mary Devereaux and Belle Renick. When Dorsey chose to kill Corporal West he had invited death to himself. He had gambled and he had lost.

  Ten Brian stood and looked out across the country to the north. He did not know that Kelsey and his men, or some of his men, were out there, but he had a feeling they were. Probably they were behind him, moving up even now. Yet they might be out there in front. That was a gamble he had to take. On foot, leading the horses and keeping himself between two of them, he went out of the hollow into the larger basin of the Little Popo Agie. He paused, seeming to look around him as though looking for a place to picket his horses. He went around a small hill, and quickly stepped into the saddle. He went out the other side at a trot, swung around a clump of trees, and broke into a run.

  Behind him there was a shot . . . fired from too far away at a moving target, it did not even come close. He ran his horses for half a mile, then proceeded to weave an intricate trail through the trees. He doubled back, then followed a creek for a few hundred yards, and emerging, went scrambling up a small slide of rock and into the trees again. When he had ridden a little further he changed over to West's horse to give his own some needed rest.

  They were behind him and they would keep coming. They might choose not to bother with a trail but to head directly for Sweetwater Gap . . . if they knew of it. The sun went down in a wilderness of color, brilliant at this high altitude. Then shadows came among these high peaks, and night came on. He pushed on until he had crossed the Roaring Fork once more. There he moved up under the trees, stripped the gear from the horses and picketed them on a small meadow far enough back from the stream so he could hear any approach.

  He searched through the saddlebags and came on some jerky and hardtack. He ate, and then bringing the gray in closer to him, he slept. Daylight had not come when he awoke. He saddled the gray first, then the other horses. Dorsey's horse was bigger, and he put the packs on it. Mounting up then, he started off. Two hours later he saw them, saddled up and ready to move out. They had camped in another little area of pothole lakes.

  Mary ran a few steps and stopped, waiting for him to come up. "Tent Oh, Ten, I was so afraidl"

  "What happened?"

  "I mean . . . for you."

  The others came to him as he swung down. His face was haggard from the lack of sleep a
nd the hard riding. "I caught up . . . Dorsey killed West and took the money. West wasn't quite dead when I found him . . . I came up to Dorsey a little later. He missed and I didn't."

  "He shot at you?" Belle exclaimed.

  "That was a lot of money he had. I guess he was already spending it." "There's coffee on," Mary said. "You must take some time."

  He drank it, feeling the warmth steal through him.

  He looked up at the mountains towering hundreds of feet on either side. They were almost at the mouth of the gap, and he could see where the mountains closed in. "We'd better walk," he said, "and save our horses for later." He turned toward Ironhide. "Did you go up and look around?"

  "No. . . only I think there is snow."

  Brian could almost taste it on the wind. And even when they were through the gap they would not be free, for Kelsey would be between them and the safety of Fort Bridger.

  He felt the weight of the pistol on his hip as he looked at the gathering clouds. A storm at this altitude could be dangerous. He had witnessed some frightening electrical storms among mountain peaks before this. "They're coming up behind me, I think," he said, "but we can not overlook the possibility that they may be at the other side of the pass. It depends on how much they know of these mountains. All I know of these passes is hearsay."

  He took his time with the coffee, chewed on a piece of jerky, and dipped some hardtack in the coffee to soften it.

  "Ironhide," he said, looking up, "you take the pack horses and lead off. The girls will come behind you, then Schwartz. I'm going to finish my coffee, and then I'll catch up."

  "Do you mind if I wait and ride with you?" Mary asked. "I'd like that," he said.

  Before he moved out of camp he emptied the pot on the fire. He pulled the partly burned pieces of wood from the fire and crushed the charred ends to kill any possible sparks, then threw dirt over what remained. "You are careful," Mary said.

  "I've seen what fire can do," he said.

  "I've seen thousands of acres burned off for no good reason, and it takes years to replace--if it is ever replaced."