Under the Sweetwater Rim (1971) Read online

  Mounting up, they started into the pass together. The air was cold and crisp. The clouds had moved in, shrouding the peaks with cottony gray. In the distance, thunder rumbled.

  There was no sound in the pass but the sound of hoofs and the creak of saddles, and a slight stir of wind.

  Here and there were patches of snow, some of them fairly deep.

  They rode side by side without talking, but listening for any other sound that might come to them. The pass was something over three miles long; they caught up with the others where Ironhide had stopped to let the horses get their breath. They had been living at an altitude of slightly over four thousand feet, and the change to nearly ten thousand feet made them short of breath and unable to do hard traveling for extended periods. Ahead of them a slide had piled a great mass of snow across the pass.

  Ironhide had walked upon the great drift, and found the surface was hard, probably hard enough to bear the weight of a horse: Leading their horses, they slipped and scrambled across, one at a time. A little way ahead they saw another snow slide, and a jumble of boulders. Brian was helping the last horse across the second slide when Schwartz came up to him.

  He had climbed up the steep slide to get a good view back down the pass. "They're after us, sir," he said. "There's about a dozen of them."

  "How far back?"

  "I was using Miss Devereaux's glasses, sir. I could just make them out. I'd say they are about where we camped last night."

  The pass had become narrower, and the wind was stronger, but the clouds were lower. The rumble of thunder sounded close by. But it would be safer right in the pass than out of it, for the lightning would almost certainly be drawn to the higher rocks.

  They moved ahead, though slowly. There was no question of hurry. Neither horses nor men were up to it.

  Brian and Ironhide felt it least. They were almost at the highest point of the pass now, when before them appeared a massive wall of tumbled boulders and a huge slide that blocked the pass completely.

  Schwartz stared up at it, his face pale.

  "We'll not get cross that one, sir. It's impossible."

  Ten Brian studied the slide, and the mountain on both sides. Such slides as these were gradually wearing down the steep slopes and cliffs, and some time in the future the pass would be less difficult, but now there was no way of taking a horse up the steep walls of the pass. He walked over to the snow slide.

  The wall of snow was at least thirty feet high, slopping steeply up. He reached back to his scabbard and brought out his bowie knife.

  Tentatively, he cut into the snow. It was a more recent slide, and somewhat less icy than the others. It cut easily, and in a few moments he had cut out a fair-sized block.

  Schwartz had come up to him, holding a shovel.

  "When we left the ambulance, sir, I tied this on the pack horse. I figured we might need it."

  "Good man. We'll try cutting some steps."

  It was tiring work, and the three men took turns digging into the snow with the shovel or bowie knife, cutting steps easy enough for the horses. In some places the snow was softer, and would be difficult to cross over. Mary called to Brian, "The men who are coming will have it easier. They won't have to do all this digging"

  "We'll see about that. Ironhide, take your horse and try it.,, The Cherokee led his horse forward. The animal balked, but urged on, it finally took a tentative step, them scrambled up and up.

  Soon it disappeared from view.

  "All right, Belle," Brian said.

  They waited as she went, and her horse made it up without trouble.

  "Schwartz, get them over and get my horse over," Brian said then. He had taken up his Henry rifle.

  "You can't stop them. Not one man, sir."

  "I don't plan to . . . but I will make them a bit more cautious." He climbed up on the slide behind them, settled down behind a log and lowered his rifle into a forked limb. He looked back. The men behind were perhaps a mile away, and coming on. As they drew nearer he took careful aim at one of the men and fired.

  The shot reverberated down the pass in echoes. He could not see the bullet strike, but the man at whom he had fired jumped back and fell.

  A moment later he got up. The others had stopped.

  Coolly, Brian fired three more shots, and the men disappeared from view. He had hit nothing, he was sure, but he had put the bullets in their area and it would slow them up a little, which was all he had hoped to accomplish. He got down off the snow; the others had disappeared over the slide. He knew that his shots would make the Kelsey men cautious, for they would be wary of a man who would attempt a shot at such a distance and come so close; but Ten Brian had aided in the testing of rifles, calculating trajectories and patterns.

  He climbed the steps cut into the slide ahead.

  They were ragged steps now, for the horses had sprawled a good deal, occasionally breaking through icy crust. He made it to the top and looked over.

  Before him lay the Sweetwater River which began in the mountains on his right. The pass before him was green, with only spots of snow remaining. The stream was ruffling over the rocks, and even a few wild flowers were showing . . . but there was nothing else.

  Not a horse, not a person. The pass before him was empty; as far as he could see there was nothing.

  Not even his own horse ....

  There had been no shots. In the narrow pass he could not have missed hearing them.

  His party might have gone on down the pass to find shelter before the coming rain. That seemed the only logical answer, and the simplest explanation is usually the one to accept . . . unless your life depends on it.

  They might have run into a party of Indians, but the likely explanation was that Kelsey had foreseen their emergence from this pass and had men waiting for them here.

  He had forty men, it was said. He could easily detach five men for this pass and five for Sioux Pass without crippling his force too much. And if he had men waiting here for the others, and had taken them, he would be expecting Brian also. It was possible he had one or two men waiting down there with rifles.

  Under the circumstances, Reuben Kelsey would prefer a dead Brian to a live one.

  Drawing back from the crest of the slide, he worked his way along it to the east wall of the pass. Here he could go up the side of the mountain under cover of the aspens.

  When he had climbed at least two hundred feet he turned to look back. The great slide was behind him now, for he had angled across the face of the mountain in making the climb. There was timber in the pass, but also there were open places that were green. He could see a faint trail in the grass left by riders coming out of the pass and disappearing into the trees.

  Crouching on his heels, he peered through the stand of aspen and tried to make out what lay below and ahead of him. After a while, moving on cat feet, he worked his way along the slope. He had gone only a short distance when, glancing down through the trees, he saw a man crouching behind some rocks. He held a rifle in his hand and he was watching the slide. For a moment Brian considered attempting to go down the slope to the man, but he would almost certainly be heard, and because of the intervening growth, a bullet might be deflected. He pulled back and continued silently along the slope. For some time, perhaps for an hour, the man would stay there. Suddenly he thought . .

  . a horse! Somewhere nearby the man's horse must be picketed.

  Ever so slowly, and working with infinite care, he eased down the slope, searching from every vantage point for a glimpse of the horse. And then he saw him, feeding in a small meadow some two hundred yards from the hidden rifleman.

  It took him twenty minutes of painstaking work to get to the horse, but only seconds to gather the reins and get into the saddle. Yet at this moment a horse was not what he wanted, for any rider would be under observation by the Kelsey outfit wherever they were.

  Searching for an opening, he found one, and scrambled the horse up the slope into the trees. For several minutes he stay
ed in the saddle, working his way along the slope, pausing every time he could get a glimpse of the pass below or the opening valley ahead. He could still see the trail in the grass, and could see it as well from up on the mountainside as in the valley.

  Only now he could see two trails, one evidently made when Kelsey's riders discame up the valley. He was now on the flank of Atlantic Peak, with the Sweetwater Needles ahead. Most of the peak was above timberline, so he kept lower, working his way around deadfalls and blow-downs.

  Suddenly he saw the horse's ears prick and he drew up. Down through the trees, off the slope and on the very edge of a wide sweep of grassland he saw a camp, almost a mile away.

  Smoke was lifting from a fire and he could see movement. He rode on, carefully working his way closer. He was several hundred feet higher than the camp, and when he decided he was within a quarter of a mile he drew up and got down.

  For the first time he checked the saddle. There was an empty rifle scabbard, a blanket roll behind the saddle, a pair of saddlebags. He opened one of these and found a small sack of .44's, caps, and two loaded cylinders. A neatly wrapped packet of jerky and hardtack, and in the very bottom a dozen rings, several watches, and a handful of coins, mostly gold. It was obviously loot from the wagon train. In the other saddlebag there was a pair of socks, a sack of tobacco, and a derringer, double barreled and loaded. He pocketed the .44's and the spare cylinders, the packet of food, and the derringer. Then with his knife he cut the saddle strings from the saddle, and stuffing the other items into a pocket, he took one string and fastened a lanyard to which he tied the trigger guard of the derringer. Slipping off his coat, he tied the rawhide around his arm above the elbow to let the gun dangle within two inches of the edge of his cuff. Then he put on his coat.

  Leaving the horse tied to some brush he went on along the slope, always moving carefully.

  When closer to the camp he squatted down among the aspen and studied the layout.

  Judging by the horses, there were at least ten men down below. Some were sprawled on the ground sleeping; one was cleaning a rifle, another was preparing food over a fire, and others were idling about, talking. He could hear no voices, and he worked his way down the slope, wary of making the slightest sound. When he stopped again he could distinguish the voices, and he could also see his gray horse, and several other horses he thought he recognized.

  Shifting his position so he could see further to the right, he glimpsed Mary and Belle. Both were seated on the ground; both apparently had their wrists and ankles tied. Near them was Schwartz, and further away, Ironhide. Thoughtfully, Brian studied the layout of the camp. He could now make out scattered bits of conversation.

  Finally one of the men said explosively, "Damn it! Where's Reub? I want to get this business over!"

  "Take it easy, Hob. He'll be along. You know how he is, an' if he ain't here, he's got a reason."

  So they were waiting for Kelsey. When he arrived he would likely have more of the renegades with him and Brian's chances would be less. If he were to do anything it must be done quickly. His idea of waiting for darkness would not work. Thunder rumbled among the peaks.

  He glanced up at Atlantic and saw that the summit was banked with black clouds. A few spatters of rain fell, and then the rain came with a rush.

  Getting up, Brian walked back to the horse and broke open the bedroll. As he had expected, the slicker was there. "A fair weather rider," he muttered, "to pack his slicker." He put on the slicker, then rolled the blankets and put them on behind the saddle.

  The prisoners were huddled under a spreading tree, and their captors were now putting a lean-to together.

  Brian glanced down at the slicker he wore, and then without a moment's hesitation, he turned back, and found a way down the slope. He held his rifle under the slicker in his right hand. When he reached the bottom the rain was like a gray curtain. He came out of the brush near the camp, walked directly up to where the women and soldiers waited under the tree.

  Slipping his knife from its scabbard, he thrust it down behind the ropes that bound Ironhide's wrists.

  They were snug, but the blade had an edge like a razor. The ropes cut through, he turned quickly to Mary. He had cut her ropes and had turned to Schwartz while Ironhide was freeing Belle, when a man came up. "Joe," he said, "did you get that lieutenant? We never heard no shot."

  Brian merely grunted and the man came closer.

  "Look," he said, "if you came back without---

  His eyes widened and he started to yell, but Brian jammed the muzzle of the rifle into his wind, then swung a short, chopping stroke with the butt, using both hands. The man grunted and fell over.

  "Up the slope!" Brian said. "There's one horse up there."

  Turning, he started toward the line of horses, walking swiftly. The men were clustered around the shelter. Suddenly one of them turned, saw the prisoners gone, and started to shout just as Brian reached the horses. He cut the rope to which they were tied, and grabbed the bridle on his gray, swinging the horse around. Nobody had bothered to take the weapons from the saddles of the captured men, and he caught up the bridles and started to move.

  The man who had seen the prisoners gone, spun around, yelling as he grabbed for a gun. Brian had slammed his rifle down into the boot and had whipped up his six-gun.

  Putting the spurs to the gray, he fired three times into the crowd around the dislean-to, even as his horse was pounding toward the man who had yelled. The man had his gun swinging up when the gray's shoulder hit him and knocked him spinning. Brian fired down at him, knew he had missed, and turned in the saddle to let go with another shot at the crowd around the leanto. He was past the place where he had come down the slope, but he turned the gray up the hill in a pounding scramble, the other horses coming bead. He was scarcely at the spot where the other horse waited when Ironhide leaped from the brush into the saddle.

  Schwa heed the horses to the women. Mary was already upon the captured horse, but they were one short Schwartz caught Belle in his arms d threw her into the saddle, then got up behind her and they went along the slope, wet branches slapping at their faces.

  Beyond the camp a true seemed to appear from nowhere and two horses were running along it, stirrups slapping their sides. Ironhide caught one of them and Schwartz switched horses without even slowing dpi. avenue through the trees opened up and in the Pounding g rain they went up the mountain toward the gray clouds.

  Brian topped out on a bench almost at timberline. There was a flash of lightning that seemed like the light of a thousand bombs bursting at once, then a shattering roar of thunder. The others came up behind him, their faces weirdly lit by a more distant flash, and then he was leading off around the mountain, gray. running the big He turned a shoulder of the mountain and steed east, skirting the pines, dipped down into a hollow, and slowed the gray to let the others catch up. He was the only one wearing a slicker, the only one with any kind of protection.

  None of the gear had been removed from the horses in the short space of time after their arrival at the caMP, and now, waiting in the hollow, Mary dug into her pack for a raincoat, and Belle did the same. Ironhide cut a hole in the blanket from the captured horse and Put his head through it.

  There was no trail for them here. A dim game trail showed along the mountain, but such trails are often made by animals that can go under low-hanging boughs, and they cannot always be trusted. Yet it pointed a way, and they took it, anxious to get off the summit where lightning might strike at any time.

  Down the game trail they went, through a maze of boulders fallen from a shattered cliff, around a bulging rock, and into a scattering of trees with many blowdowns.

  Brian pulled up alongside Ironhide.

  "We've got to find some shelter-a cave or something."

  The Cherokee nodded. He had been looking for something of the sort. Through the slanting rain they saw a vast sweep of open country, a plain reaching away to lose itself in the gray rain and the gathering night.r />
  Only moments were left to them. He was looking for something-a space between fallen slabs, a natural shelter created by blown-down trees .. . anything that would suffice.

  Mary caught his arm. "There!"

  It was up the slope, a tiny cleft of blackness against the rain-wet rock. He turned in his saddle.

  "No use all of us going up. I'll have a look." The gray took the slope easily, and against the face of the rock he found what seemed like an ancient trail. It was a hopeful sign. He was almost to the spot before he drew up in disappointment. It was not a break in the rock, but a pine tree growing there close against the face, with no other pines close by. When he started to turn there was not room enough and he went on to the tree, and turned there. He had swung the gray and cast one last quick look around, when he saw the opening of a cave that had been hidden by the tree.

  He rode down a slight slope to the entrance, which was all of thirty feet wide and not over eight feet high at the highest. It was a cave, and it was shelter.

  He turned back and motioned the others on, but they could scarcely see him, so he rode back and led them to the cave.

  It was dry inside, and was about fifty feet deep, although at one time it might have been much deeper. Now it was blocked off by a rock-fall.

  He gathered sticks from the debris around the entrance and broke the smaller lower limbs, all dead, from the pine, and kindled a fire. There was a good-sized shelf before the cave, close to the pine, and there they let the horses graze, after stripping the gear from them. The fire blazed up, crackling cheerfully. Mary held her hands out to it, and looked up at Ten, smiling. "It takes very little to make one comfortable, after all," she said.

  He nodded. "But when you have it, there's nothing like it.

  A little shelter, a little fire . . . a little food, a corner away from the wind. Sometimes I think the further a man gets from the simple basic needs the less happy he is. Out there is the storm, and beyond the storm, enemies . . . but there is nothing that seems as good as this when you need it."