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throbbed with a dull, brow-wrinkling pain, but my muscles seemed to have
loosened up. Mounting up, I walked my horse down through the willows and
across the creek, which here was only eight to ten inches deep.
The rest of the day I scouted around, searching for the box canyon. All I
knew was that it was somewhere north of the Rabbit Ears, which was little
enough to go on. And during all that day I stayed clear of the Karnes outfit,
riding wide around. Now that they had tied up with Steve Hooker and the boys
from Coe's gang, my troubles were multiplied. Of course, I couldn't wish the
Coe gang any worse luck than making a deal with Sylvie. She was likely to
poison the lot when she got the gold ... if she got it.
When night came I was far out to the north, and I rode on a few miles and
camped on a little creek that emptied into the North Canadian. As I was eight
or nine miles from the Rabbit Ears I figured to be pretty safe, so I built
myself a fire I could have covered with my hat, and made coffee and broiled
myself a steak. I had plenty of fresh meat now, for earlier that day I had
killed a yearling buffalo well over to the east.
Just as I was about to pour some coffee, the dun, who was drinking at the
creek, suddenly jerked up his head, water dripping from his muzzle, and looked
across the creek into the darkness. Before you could say scat I was back in
the darkness with my Winchester cocked and ready.
"Hold easy on that trigger, son. I'm huntin' help, not trouble."
I knew that voice, and while I lay quiet trying place it in my memory, it
spoke again.
"That horse knows me better'n he does you. I gave him to you."
"Come on out then. Show yourself."
"You'll have to give me time. I'm hurt."
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Well, I taken a long chance. That voice did sound familiar, and only one man
could know how I got that horse. So I went down to the creek and crossed it.
The old man lay in the grass on the far side of the creek, and he was in bad
shape. He had been shot more than once, and his left hand was a bloody mess,
but he was game. There was no quit in that old man. His kind come from away up
the creek, and he was a tough old mossy-horn with a lot of life in him yet.
So I just picked him up and carried him back to camp. He couldn't have
weighed more than a hundred and thirty soaking wet, and I'd never seen the day
when I couldn't pick up three times that much.
He was in bad shape, but it was his left hand that gave me the turn. Every
fingernail was gone, and his ringers all bloody ... and that could have been
no accident.
"Comanches?" I asked.
"In-laws," he said grimly. "Sometimes they can be worse."
"You ain't related to that Karnes outfit?"
"You met up with them?"
"Uh-huh."
First off, I filled a cup with hot, black coffee and held it for him to
drink. He was shaky, and he needed something to pick up his spirits a mite. He
drank it, taking it in his right hand, while I put on some water to heat up to
clean him up with.
"Looks to me as if everbody on the Staked Plains is related," I said, "and
all of them after Nathan Hume's gold."
"I got a claim to it, better than any of the rest."
"Better than Penelope?"
"You don't say. She here?"
"Unless they've killed her, she is. She saved my bacon yesterday, and a fine
girl she is."
After he'd drunk the coffee he laid back while I washed out a couple of
bullet wounds, neither of them serious, beyond the blood he'd lost. At least,
I'd seen men survive worse ones. I always made shift to pack a few wrappings
of bandage, for a man on the dodge can't go running to no doctor. So I fixed
up the wounds as best I could, and that hand along with it.
The fingernails had been missing for a while, but crawling through the brush
he'd evidently torn open the wounds.
"You must have known something they wanted almighty bad."
"I should smile, I did. I knew where that gold was. And I know just where
that box canyon is."
"I wonder they let you live."
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"They fired my place and then rode off, leaving me hog-tied in the house. I
was out cold and they never figured I'd get out alive. Well, I fooled 'em."
"Seems like everybody in the country started after that gold all to once."
"What would you have me do?" the old man said. "I worked with old Nathan when
I was a boy, and I had me a mighty good idea where that gold was, but as long
as the widow was alive I didn't figure I had a right to it.
"Others hunted it, but most of them had no idea where to look. I knew how old
Nathan thought, and I was sure I could lay hand on the gold. The old man was
my cousin, blood-kin, and I was the only one of his flesh who had worked with
him. Many a time I went into the San Juans to meet up with the gold traders.
"Them Karneses, they didn't know where I was until you fetched up to their
wagon. When they saw that brand on the dun, NH Connected, they knew it for old
Nathan Hume's brand, and knew that I was somewhere about. That was one of the
reasons they wanted to do away with you."
"Why didn't you try to get the gold before now?"
He glanced up at me. "You ain't seen that place yet, nor heard the stories.
Well, I heard 'em. Ain't no Indian alive who will spend a night in that
canyon, and mighty few who will even go into it. Evil spirits, they say, and
maybe there is."
"You ain't told me your name?"
"Harry Mims. Now don't get me wrong. It wasn't ha'nts kept me out of that box
canyon. Mostly it was Comanches. Why, I've lost my outfit twice and nearly
lost my hair a couple of times, too.
"One time I was lucky and got right up to the canyon before they come on me.
Well, they took my pack outfit and got so busy arguing over the loot that I
sneaked off and hid until things quieted down. Took me two weeks to get back
to Las Vegas, and when I got there I hadn't enough money for a meal. I got a [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]