CHAPTER XVII: THE CANYON OF DEATH
It was noontime at the JK ranch when Cultus rode into the patio. Harry Kelton was drawing water at the well, and Jane was sitting in the shade of the porch, listlessly perusing an old magazine. Harry greeted Cultus cordially.
“Get down and rest your feet,” he invited. “Dinner must be almost ready. What’s the news from town?”
Cultus dismounted and let his horse drink at the trough.
“No news,” he replied.
“No trace of Nolan, eh?”
“I guess not. I saw Bad News sittin’ on the sidewalk in front of his office, whittlin’,” smiled Cultus.
“Might as well be, as far as any good he could do. I’ll stable yore horse for yuh.”
Cultus handed him the reins and walked over to Jane, who had put aside the magazine and smiled at him. He removed his sombrero and leaned against the porch, speaking softly.
“Miss Kelton, have you got a sample of Nolan’s writin’?”
She shook her head slowly, thoughtfully.
“No, I haven’t. Why did you want a sample of his writing?”
“I can’t tell yuh right now. Would yuh recognise it, if yuh saw it?”
“I don’t believe I would.”
“Uh-huh. Hot, ain’t it?”
He drew a huge coloured handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his lean face. And with the handkerchief came a folded bit of paper, which dropped beside the porch, unseen by Cultus. Harry Kelton was coming across the patio and happened to see the piece of paper. Jane turned toward the doorway, and Cultus stepped over to a washbench. Harry leaned against the porch, until Cultus finished, and then took his place at the washbench.
And as soon as Cultus went in through the doorway to the dining-room, Harry stepped off the porch and picked up the folded paper. It only required a moment for him to read it. His eyes narrowed as he put the paper in his pocket and followed Cultus in to the dining-room.
Jim Kelton welcomed Cultus warmly and asked for news of Nolan, but Cultus was unable to furnish him with any new information. They talked of cattle and of the Painted Valley. Harry was curious to know if Cultus had any trace of his stolen horse, but Cultus evaded the question. Cultus steered the conversation away from Blaze Nolan as much as possible, because he felt that Jane did not care to discuss him.
Cultus had found out the exact location of Padre Canyon before he left Medicine Tree. It was situated about two miles north of Red Horse Pass, but his information regarding its length and breadth was rather meagre. His informant, the hotel keeper, said there were quite a number of old cliff dwellings in Padre Canyon, especially on the south side, but that they were inaccessible and had never been investigated.
He rode away from the JK ranch shortly after dinner, and, as soon as he reached the first turn in the road, he swung sharply to the north, heading for the mouth of Padre Canyon.
And Cultus was barely out of sight when Harry Kelton handed his father the note which Cultus had lost. It was the note from Blaze Nolan. Jane didn’t see the note, but she heard her father read it aloud.
“Well, what’s to be done?” asked Harry. “It looks like a chance to catch Blaze Nolan, dad.”
“But you can’t do it alone. Collins is evidently a trusted friend of Nolan. You better ride to town as quick as yuh can, show this to the sheriff and let him take a posse. If Blaze is in Padre Canyon, they’ll need several men to get him.”
“All right. I’ll get down there as quick as I can, don’t worry about that.”
Harry ran out to the stable, threw a saddle on his fastest horse, and went racing down the dusty road toward Medicine Tree. Jane went out on the rear porch, where she watched Harry ride away. Ever since the day before she had wondered over Cultus Collins’s question: “What would you give to have Blaze Nolan exonerated of all these charges?”
Why would he ask her such a question unless there was a possibility of such a thing, she wondered. Did Cultus Collins have information which might exonerate Blaze? Were they working together on this information? Did Blaze have some information for Collins?
All these questions raced through her mind now. And if the posse caught Blaze now—
She turned back to her room, where she quickly donned a pair of overalls, boots, flannel shirt and a wide hat. There was no one to question her coming or going. Her father was on the upper verandah, watching the road to Medicine Tree.
She ran out to the stable, saddled Glory, the little brown mare, and headed due north. At a short distance she looked like a slim young cowboy riding a very swift little horse and going somewhere in a great hurry.
But Cultus didn’t hurry. He was taking plenty of time, because he was still a bit dubious about that note being genuine, and because he was going into an unfamiliar country. The travelling was very uneven, and at places the mesquite forced him to detour widely, but he finally reached the mouth of Padre Canyon, with its steep walls of coloured sandstone. The mouth of the canyon was about two hundred yards wide, with towering spires on either side.
The canyon was quite brushy, but nothing grew on those grim walls, which broke back like the turrets on a queer jumble of castles. Cultus halted at the entrance long enough to smoke a cigarette. The note had asked him to come to the mouth of the canyon, and here he was.
But the only sign of life was a circling buzzard, whose shadow passed and repassed over those broken walls. There was no chance for Cultus to have been mistaken in the canyon. He rode in farther and halted again. From here he could look up at the south wall, where overhanging cliffs threw shadows over what Cultus decided were the old cliff dwellings.
But still there was nothing except the circling buzzard; not even the call of a bird to break the silence. Then he heard a sound behind him. He swung his horse around quickly. It was Jane Kelton on her brown mare, following the tracks of Cultus’s mount.
He waited for her to come up to him, not knowing who she was until she was only a short distance away.
“You haven’t seen him?” she asked quickly. Cultus shook his head, wondering how she knew where he was and what he was looking for.
“You lost that letter and Harry found it,” she explained. “He’s gone to town to get the sheriff and a posse.”
Cultus felt in his pocket for the letter, but it was missing.
“I—I didn’t want the sheriff to find you,” she said wearily.
“Well, that was shore thoughtful of yuh,” he said, “but I ain’t found him—Nolan. You know what the note said?”
“I heard dad read it. Was that why you wanted a sample of Blaze’s writing?”
He nodded slowly, scanning the cliffs.
“Yeah; I wasn’t sure that he wrote it.”
“Who else would write it?”
And as if in answer to her question, came the thud of a blow, and Cultus’s horse buckled at the knees and went headlong, throwing Cultus to his hands and knees, where he sprawled foolishly, while the canyon walls echoed back the spang of a high-powered rifle.
Jane’s mare whirled wildly, almost unseating her, when a second bullet whined off a rock near her front feet and went skee-e-ing across the canyon. She swung the horse back, spurring viciously. Jane knew they were in a trap, but she was game. Cultus was on his feet now.
“Get on behind me!” she yelled. “Glory will take us out.”
Cultus came running, but before he could get up behind her the brown mare’s left hind leg buckled under her and she went to her haunches, pawing wildly. Jane threw herself free as the mare went over backward, but the fall dazed her for a few minutes.
She heard the crash of Cultus’s revolver. He was on his knees beside her, the smoking gun in his hand, his lips a trifle white.
“I had to do it,” he said tensely. “Her leg was busted.”
“Glory?” whispered Jane.
“Yeah. They got my horse cold. Don’t move. That last shot came from the east. We’re under cover now, but there’s two men, at least, and they’ve got us trapped.”
Another bullet smashed through the mesquite, showering them with splinters of wood and leaves. Cultus shook his head dubiously.
“That’s too close. I’m a fool not to have packed a rifle. Might have known it was a trap.”
“Who is it?” asked Jane nervously.
“I dunno. Golly, I don’t see why you didn’t stay home. Wasn’t any use of you gettin’ hurt.”
“But I had to come, don’t you see. If Blaze was here—”
“You wanted to warn him of the sheriff?”
“Yes. You spoke about something that might exonerate him, and I knew he’d never have a chance if the sheriff caught him.”
He looked at her curiously.
“You still think quite a lot of him, don’tcha?”
She nodded slowly and winced when another bullet whined over their heads.
“We’ve got to git out of here,” said Cultus. “They’re crossfirin’ this bunch of brush, and sooner or later they’ll kill both of us. If yuh ain’t afraid of a few stickers, we’ll do a little crawlin’.”
“I’m not afraid,” she said simply.
“Sneak in on my left side and keep down low. Mebbe we can fool ’em for a little while. Nose in the dirt, sister. Don’t try to look up, and crawl on yore elbows. Drag yore legs. That’s the stuff. C’mon.”
It was a slow process and painful. There were plenty of small cactus, and Jane discovered that nearly everything she crawled over had a sticker of some kind. Foot by foot they slid away through the sand. No bullets searched through the mesquite now.
“They know we’ve moved,” Cultus told her, “and they’re movin’ to a place where they can see us again.”
They made a hundred feet and flattened out behind some low bushes, while Cultus lifted his head in a vain endeavour to see the shooters.
He didn’t see them, but his effort was rewarded with a bullet, which threw sand in their ears.
“I reckon we better move on,” he grunted. “Keep lower than a snake.”
Two more bullets from the east, which scattered sand where they had been, assured Cultus that at least one of their assailants was not yet aware of their change of position. They were nearing the sheer sandstone side of the canyon now, and Cultus was looking for a place where they might make a permanent stand.
A hundred feet ahead was a break in the wall. It didn’t look exactly promising, but it might be better than out in the open. A shallow, angling washout gave them a little advantage, but one shooter had located them again. His first shot was three feet high, and bored a hole in the sandstone wall above them.
“Long range stuff,” panted Cultus. “If this washout continues, we might have a chance.”
They dragged their way along to the mouth of the fissure, where a little patch of brush gave them a few minutes of security.
“Gee, I never felt so big in my life,” panted Jane, as she stretched out flat on her back, rubbing her elbows, where the sand had cut the tender skin.
Another bullet struck near them, and she ceased rubbing. Cultus had been studying the fissure which seemed to run back for quite a ways, but seemingly without any angles behind which they might hide. As near as he could see, it was open to the top of the cliffs.
A bullet from the east settled the question.
“We’ll try that fissure,” he told her. “It might be a death-trap for us, but we’ve got to take that chance. Anyway, they’ve got to face us, and there’ll be no crossfire. When we start for the openin’, we’ve got to crawl real fast for a few feet. There’s some broken sandstone in there, but not enough to stop many bullets. C’mon.”
They went across that open bit of country like a couple of lizards, and into that fissure, while a bullet showered them with sand from a projection above their heads. Cultus saw where the bullet had scored the sandstone. He patted Jane on the shoulder.
“We’re all set until they get located again. That bullet came from the north, and it came on an angle that proves he’s got to change his position in order to shoot straight into this fissure. But if he ever does get the right position on them opposite cliffs, he can rake us at his own sweet will. And if they both get up there—good mornin’, Saint Peter.”
Cultus got boldly to his feet now and began moving back through the narrow fissure, which was barely wide enough for him to pass through. Jane came close behind him to a wider spot, where he drew her past him. The fissure extended about seventy feet to where it narrowed to not over twelve inches across.
Jane squeezed through for about six feet, where an unseen fissure broke in from the west. It was not over six feet in length. Her shout of gladness caused Cultus to twist his way through, thankful that he was thin enough to make it.
“By golly, this is great!” he exclaimed. “We’re safe for a while.”
“For all the while, you mean.”
Cultus shook his head slowly.
“We’re bottled up, thasall.”
“But the sheriff and his posse will find us.”
“Not a chance. We won’t know when they come, and they don’t know we are here. Them two bushwhackers will take it easy until after the posse has gone, and then they’ll cork our bottle.”
“Maybe we can get out after dark,” hopefully.
“Mebbe. Lotta mebbes about this deal. We don’t dare go back. Them fellers has got their seats for the big show right now, and we’d shore get punctured quick if we went back to the main fissure. It’s a case of—”
Cultus’s eyes had been exploring the fissure above them, and now he craned his neck for a better view. He squinted up that narrow fissure, looking up at the tiny streak of blue sky above them.
“Jane Kelton,” he said seriously, “there’s a way out of here, if you’ve got the nerve to tackle it. See them old niches in the wall? They’re on both sides. This fissure was the old cave dweller’s getaway. Are yuh game to go up the old timer’s stairway?”
Jane studied the precarious ladder, where a misstep would be certain death. High above was the jagged streak of blue, which marked the exit. It seemed a mile away, and the fissure no wider than her hand.
“It’s a chance,” he told her.
She was trembling a little, and her face was white.
“I—I don’t believe I could make it,” she faltered.
“I’d be right under yuh,” he said. “Yuh can lean forward against the end of the fissure. We can take off our boots, and it’s just a case of takin’ it easy and bracin’ against the walls. Them niches ain’t far apart. It’s our best bet, and I’d rather chance it than bullets. If you say so, we’ll stick right here and fight it out; but I’d shore like to have a chance to help Blaze Nolan.”
That settled it. Jane leaned against the wall and began taking off her boots, while Cultus whistled unmusically between his teeth and rolled a cigarette.