The Camarillo Kid had a few hours’ head start.
Hitch pushed Casey to gallop hard along the dusty trail leading out of Silver Spur. He soon hit the fork in the trail and turned onto the path that brought him to Shadow Gap. The gap was a narrow, twisting slot canyon that cut through the mountains. Towering rock walls formed a passage barely wider than Casey’s haunches. Hitch slowed the horse to a trot and carefully wound his way through the snaking route. A small stream crisscrossed the trail, fed by springs deep in the mountains. Casey splashed through without hesitation.
A mile in, the canyon widened to reveal the mouth of a gold mine dug into the sheer rock wall. A hand-painted sign nailed to the top beam of a wooden frame read: gilroy’s mine—keep out!
Lying in the dirt in front of the mine, not moving, was a man.
Gilroy.
“Doggit!” Hitch exclaimed. He leaped off Casey and ran to the old prospector. He checked for a pulse and was relieved to find one. Gently, he lifted the man’s head and shook his shoulders.
“Gilroy,” Hitch said sharply. “Wake up, old man.”
Gilroy slowly opened his eyes and tried to focus.
“Water,” he croaked.
Hitch rested him back down and ran to the stream. He grabbed a large metal plate that Gilroy used to pan for gold, and scooped up some water. He quickly brought it back to Gilroy and helped him drink. Gilroy took a swallow but coughed most of it back up. The water ran down his stringy gray beard and soaked the front of his dirty shirt.
“Enough,” Gilroy growled. “You’ll drown me!”
Hitch dropped the pan and helped him sit up.
The leathery, old prospector looked as if he’d spent decades in this canyon, far from people and plumbing. He definitely needed a bath, but Hitch didn’t point that out. The mine was Gilroy’s home, and he surely didn’t get enough visitors to worry about silly things like proper hygiene.
Gilroy winced in pain and rubbed his head.
“You okay, old-timer?” Hitch asked.
“No, I’m not okay!” Gilroy snarled. “Do I look okay?”
“What happened?” Hitch asked.
“A rotten kid hit me with my own shovel,” Gilroy growled.
“Don’t surprise me none,” Hitch said.
Gilroy squinted at Hitch with curiosity. “Who are you?”
“Hitchcock’s the name. I’m a marshal. Been tracking that kid for days. He’s a thief, and I’m guessing if he knocked you out, he was fixing to steal something. Take a look around. See if anything’s missing.”
Gilroy frowned, thinking. Then his eyes lit up with a sudden realization.
“Oh, no, no, no!” he cried. He scampered to his feet and ran to a wooden box that sat at the mouth of the mine. He threw open the lid and peered inside.
“He took it!” Gilroy exclaimed. “I showed it to him, and he just took it!”
“What was it?” Hitch asked.
“Everything that mattered,” Gilroy said. “I finally hit the jackpot. Took me years, but I found a golden nugget that would’ve set me up for life. Bigger than my fist, it was. But then this kid comes in, acting like he hasn’t had a drink of water in days. I offered to help him out, and what does he do? Soon as I turn my back, he whacks me over the head and makes off with my future.”
Hitch took a tired breath and said, “Yup. It’s what he does. I aim to track him down and put an end to his thieving adventures.”
Gilroy rubbed his sore head. “That so? You any good at it?”
“I’m the best, though you wouldn’t know it from what’s been happening lately.”
“All I wanted was a normal place to live,” Gilroy said. “I was planning on selling that golden nugget and building me a home. Now I might never get out of this canyon.”
“I’ll get your gold back, Gilroy. That’s a promise.” Hitch tipped his hat and made his way toward Casey, who patiently waited for him.
Gilroy followed. “I got to warn you: gettin’ through the gap ain’t easy. You’ve got choices to make up ahead as to which way to go. None of ’em are safe.”
“That so?” Hitch climbed up onto Casey. “Any advice?”
“Sure,” Gilroy said. “Turn back. That’s the only safe thing to do.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Didn’t think so. All I can tell you is, be ready for anything.” Gilroy picked up a small wood-handled pickax with a hammer head on one side and a curved blade on the other. He offered it to Hitch. “This might come in handy.”
Hitch took the ax and fastened it to Casey’s saddle. “Much obliged.”
“Go get ’em, Marshal!” Gilroy exclaimed.
With a quick kick from Hitch, Casey trotted on. Hitch had tracked hundreds of outlaws, and his gut told him the Kid wasn’t far ahead. After many turns and stream crossings, Hitch rounded a bend and pulled the reins to stop Casey. The canyon forked into three different trails.
The trail to the right looked to be more cave than trail. Taking it could plunge Hitch into the darkness of an underground labyrinth.
The floor of the center trail was choked with vines and branches that created a tangled carpet from wall to wall. It would be treacherous going for Casey, and there was no telling what critters might be slithering below, waiting to unload venom.
The third trail was clear on the ground, but overhead a thick canopy of branches and vines blocked the sky. Anything could be hiding up there, ready to pounce.
None of the three routes looked good. Hitch examined the ground. He found no sign of the trail the Kid had taken.
“Eeny, meeny, miny,” Hitch said to himself. “Let’s take miny.”
He coaxed Casey into a trot, taking the left trail. They passed beneath the dense tangle of branches hanging overhead. Hitch gazed upward, fearful that something might leap down on him without warning. The canyon once again narrowed for a good half mile. It then opened to a wide, flat stretch of sand, perfect for picking up the pace.
“Giddyap!” Hitch gave Casey a nudge on the haunches.
The horse galloped a few steps, then stopped so suddenly that Hitch nearly launched out of the saddle.
“Doggit, Casey!” he exclaimed. He urged the horse on, but she wouldn’t budge.
“What’s gotten into you?” Hitch asked with frustration.
The answer wasn’t about what had gotten into Casey—it was about what Casey had gotten into. She was buried up to her horse knees in quicksand.
The stream running back and forth had mixed with sand, and the soft surface was slowly pulling Casey deeper. And deeper. The more she struggled to lift her legs, the farther she sank into the mushy mess.
“I guess miny wasn’t such a good choice,” Hitch said.
He had to move fast. The longer he waited, the deeper Casey would sink. He searched around, desperate for an idea. When he looked up, he got one. The thick branches in the overhead ceiling might be his way out.
He gingerly stood on Casey’s saddle.
Casey didn’t like that. She tried to shake him off.
“Whoa, easy, girl. Don’t go throwing me, or we’ll never get out of this fix.” Hitch reached down and stroked her neck. Casey relaxed. Hitch found his balance and slowly stood. He reached up, but the branches were out of his grasp.
“Steady, girl.” Hitch bent his knees and jumped. He grabbed for a branch but snatched nothing but air. He crashed back down on the saddle and lost his balance. Pinwheeling his arms, he struggled against gravity but managed to stay on Casey. Barely.
“Hoo-wee. That was not one of my better ideas.”
Casey began to panic as she sank deeper into the sand. Whatever Hitch was going to do, he had to do it fast. He grabbed the coil of rope and the pickax Gilroy had given him. He looped the rope over one shoulder and grasped the pickax in one hand.
“Now or never,” he said. “One…two…”
He didn’t wait till three. He bent his knees and jumped. At the same time, he thrust the pickax up overhead. He had only one shot to try to hook it on a branch. Landing back on the saddle awkwardly could be a disaster.
Yes! The ax caught a branch. Hitch hung there, his feet dangling over the saddle. There was no telling how long the branch would hold. With every bit of strength he had, he pulled himself up, struggling to lift his full weight. He raised himself a few inches, then reached his free hand up to grab onto another branch. He swayed there, hanging by the pickax and one hand.
His shoulder muscles burned, but he couldn’t stop to rest. He unhooked the pickax, swung forward, and hooked it onto another branch. Once sure that branch would hold, he let go with his other hand and swung ahead again, grabbing another branch. He did the same maneuver three more times, moving hand over hand, until he cleared the patch of quicksand.
He closed his eyes, held his breath, and let go. His boots hit the dirt, and he fell onto his butt. He was safe on solid ground.
But Casey wasn’t. She was still stuck in the quicksand.
“We got this, girl,” Hitch called over to the horse.
He dropped the pickax and pulled the coil of rope off his shoulder. Like Rangel, Hitch was good with a lasso. He held the coil in one hand and spun the other end, creating the circle of a lariat. He flung the rope toward Casey, who stood only a few yards away. The lasso landed on the saddle. Hitch pulled, and the loop tightened around the saddle horn.
“Now, let’s get you out of there. Giddyap!” Hitch yanked on the rope. Casey whinnied nervously and pulled back. “C’mon, now, work with me!”
He tugged the rope again. Casey tried to lift her legs, but it was no use. She was stuck. Hitch refused to give up. He dug in his heels and leaned back, using his legs to pull harder.
This time Casey let the rope take her. First one front leg came free of the wet sand, then the other. The patch of quicksand wasn’t very large. With one step, the golden horse found solid footing. Now she had something to stand on. While Hitch kept the rope taut, Casey pulled herself the rest of the way out.
Moments later, Casey shook like a dog after a bath. A shower of wet sand swept over Hitch as he bent, breathing hard, exhausted. Casey nuzzled him with her nose.
“You’re welcome,” Hitch said. “It’s personal now. No one messes with such a sweet horse on my watch. I’m finding that kid.”
Hitch pulled himself up and saw that he and Casey were on the wrong side of the quicksand. There was no way he’d get the horse over that dangerous patch. He took the lasso off Casey’s saddle and gave her a friendly pat on her cheek.
“End of the line for us, girl,” he said. “I’m much obliged to you for gettin’ me this far. You go on back to Gilroy now.”
He swatted the horse on the hindquarters, and with a sharp whinny, Casey galloped toward Gilroy’s gold mine.
Hitch now had to get across the quicksand. He jammed the pickax into his belt, then coiled the rope. He scanned the canopy of branches overhead.
“This could work,” he said to himself.
He spun the end of the rope a few times to build up momentum, then let it loose. The lasso shot toward the ceiling of vines and caught on the end of a thick branch. After a sharp tug to make sure it was a solid catch, Hitch took a deep breath and started running. He leaped forward, pulled his feet up, and swung out over the dangerous patch of sand. He kept his knees tucked to his chest. When he reached the end of the swing, he stretched his legs and landed on firm ground.
He made it!
“And that’s how you do that!” He pulled the rope from the branch, coiled it, and draped it over his shoulder. “I’m coming to get you, Leonard. Or whatever you call yourself.”
Hitch set off on foot, through the last leg of Shadow Gap, desperately hoping that the quicksand hadn’t slowed him down so much that the trail of the Camarillo Kid had grown cold.