After the exertion of making the tremendous throw with the log, Mark had stayed on the ground. He wanted a few seconds to recover from his great effort, knowing the need to be fully alert before tangling in a gunfight. Hearing the shooting, he thrust himself erect in time to see Shever killed and his horse go racing off out of the valley. Even as the situation sank home and he started forward, sounds behind him gave a grim warning. Before he could turn to investigate, something hissed through the air. The loop of a hair rope dropped over his head, tightened about his upper arms, then jerked him backwards.
With an effort Mark caught his balance and twisted around, his arms forcing against the constriction of the rope. Several Kaddo bucks rushed at him and, to his surprise, they came without weapons in their hands. A brawny buck gripped the rope which trapped Mark’s arms, leaning back in his attempt to maintain the loop’s grip. Mark threw his weight backwards, jerking the rope-wielder towards him. In the background stood a warbonnet chief with a Winchester rifle cradled across his arm. He yelled something to the braves, but made no attempt to use the weapon.
Having gained some slack on the loop, Mark stabbed his hands towards the Colt’s butts. Deftly the brave holding the rope halted his forward progress, flexing and snapping back with his arms. Just as Mark’s hands closed on the ivory handles, the rope’s loop tightened. While loose it slipped lower and gripped just below the elbows, effectively preventing him from drawing the Colts. Showing a skill equal to any cowhand, the Kaddo flicked the rope to send a coil snaking along it. Although Mark knew what the brave intended, he could not counter the move. Twirling over his head, the coil tightened about his upper arms and added to the grip of the loop.
Screeching in triumph, the rest of the braves descended on Mark. They flung themselves at the blond giant and bore him to the ground. Hands closed upon his body, others wrenched the Colts from their holsters. Knowing the penalty for being taken alive by hostile Indians, Mark put up a tremendous struggle. Two braves went flying, thrown through the air by his powerful legs, but not even the big Texan’s strength could prevail against such odds. With his arms free he might have done more, but the two turns of rope held fast. At last sheer weight of numbers wore him down. The Kaddo worked fast, securing his ankles and wrists with knots that would not slip.
Bound and helpless, Mark watched the Kaddo chief walk in his direction. The braves drew back and their leader gave orders to them. Some of the party turned and faded off into the woods from which they had stalked to capture him.
‘Will you ride, big one, or be thrown across the back of a horse?’ asked the chief in Spanish.
‘I’ll ride,’ Mark answered.
Sat astride a horse there might be a slight chance of escape. Certainly riding offered a greater opportunity than being taken along slung bodily over a saddle. Mark wondered a little at the cause of the offer, also why the Indians went to the trouble of taking him alive. He could guess what happened. Most probably the Kaddo left scouts to watch the cabin, with the main body waiting close by ready to strike at the most favorable moment. Seeing Mark’s arrival, the scouts alerted their chief and he gave orders which sent braves moving in silence to grab any advantage offered to them.
After checking on the ropes holding his arms, the braves freed Mark’s ankles and helped him to his feet. Turning, he looked across the valley to learn what had happened to his friends. Already scalping knives had done their work and loot from the bodies had been gathered. A brave, carrying Tejas’ Spencer and the Cooper-loaded gunbelt, came up the slope and approached the chief. Although unable to follow the conversation, Mark guessed from various gestures at its meaning. He decided that the brave mentioned Winnie and asked what they should do about her. Looking at the top of the other slope, Mark saw two braves appear leading Tejas’ horse. From all signs the girl must have fled and the brave wanted to know whether they should take out after her. With something like relief Mark watched the chief shake his head, rattle out a few words and point to the west.
‘Your woman has run away, big one,’ the chief told Mark.
‘Are you fixing to follow her?’ asked Mark.
‘No. By the time my men bring horses she will be far away. There are more of our warriors down the river. If they do not find her, she will die in the woods.’
‘And what of me?’
‘You are coming to our place of medicine.’
Which left a whole heap unexplained and gave Mark food for conjecture. He could guess at the reason for taking him with them now they had him prisoner, but still felt puzzled at their actions. Like all Indians, the Kaddo tortured prisoners but Mark had never heard of them going out of their way to capture men to do it. Just about the only consolation left was that Winnie appeared to have made good her escape. Given just one mite of luck the girl ought to reach the Pedernales River and follow it down to safety.
A faint grin creased Mark’s face as he saw the mount selected to carry him. Although it carried a saddle, the boney scrub possessed none of the qualities he normally expected in a riding horse. With that sorry bang-tail between his knees he could not hope to out-ride his captors; which, as he well knew, was why they put him on it. Being a smart fighting man, Mark understood when he must sit back and do nothing. As long as life remained, there was hope. He did not doubt that the Kaddos would kill him if he made trouble for them.
Pushing their horses hard, the Indians led Mark to the west. They passed through wooded land and along rocky valleys, winding their way along with complete assurance through what seemed almost like a maze to their prisoner. At last they turned into the mouth of a canyon. Passing around a corner Mark found they had arrived at their destination.
Tepees scattered in an untidy circle across the floor of the canyon, which appeared to be blind, having its further end closed by a rock wall. Although a few young women appeared from the tepees, Mark saw most of the camp’s occupants were men of warrior age.
‘Get down,’ ordered the chief, halting the party before one of the largest tepees and looking at Mark.
A man stepped from inside the tepee. Although he wore the dress of a Kaddo chief, he had a white man’s face, especially about the cheeks and lips. While the chief spoke in rapid Kaddo, Mark studied the white man and a suspicion arose. Mark could guess that he was the subject of the conversation for both chief and white man directed long glances in his direction. It seemed that the chief told of how Mark threw the log on to the cabin, for he went through the motions of bending, raising and heaving something heavy and used his hands to indicate the bulk of the object.
‘Bear Killer here tells me you’re a real mighty man, feller,’ the white man finally remarked, turning to Mark.
‘You could say that, Mr. Pegler,’ the blond giant answered, putting his theory to the test.
Surprise etched itself on the man’s face and Mark knew that his guess at the other’s identity proved correct.
‘You’re smarter than the other one,’ Pegler growled. ‘Him and me’ve played poker in the same game a couple of times and he didn’t recognize me. Only I don’t even remember ever meeting you afore.’
‘You never did,’ Mark admitted. ‘I heard you wore a bushy beard. Your face hasn’t tanned since you shaved it off.’
‘Smart thinking. Is that why Churn Wycliffe brought you along?’
‘Nope.’
‘You're working with ole Churn to find my silver mine though, aren’t you?’
‘Nope,’ repeated Mark. ‘I came after him and his bunch.’
‘Now why’d anybody want to come after a mean bunch like them?’ Pegler asked, for the word ‘after’ used in such a manner meant only one thing, hunting down the other party for some serious purpose. ‘Light down from that saddle and rest your butt end. I’d say you’re used to something better in hoss-flesh than that crow-bait they gave you.’
‘You never said a truer word,’ Mark replied sincerely, tossing his right leg across the saddle and dropping to the ground. ‘I wouldn’t wish even a Kansas fighting-pimp x to have to ride that horse.’
‘You fixing to tell me what brought you after the Wycliffes?’ Pegler asked.
‘Billy killed an old pard of mine and I figured on asking why. Only I didn’t count on running into Indian fuss like this.’
‘Just one man and you figured to take on the Wycliffe bunch?’
‘There were two of us, your bucks killed the other at the trading post.’
Before any more could be said, the chief spoke and pointed along the canyon. Following the other men’s gaze, Mark saw a strange sight. A wide ledge around eight feet high ran the length of the end wall, with a set of steps carved up from the ground at one end. Roughly in the center of the ledge a slot maybe four feet wide and three deep had been cut—it formed too perfect a rectangle to be entirely natural—into the rock. Above the slot stood what looked like an exceptionally strong and powerful windlass for a well, with handles on either end of the spindle. The rope around the spindle was of greater strength than ever seen on a well; and needed to be, for its end appeared to be connected to the top of a block of rock which stood on the ledge and had been shaped to pass up and down the slot.
‘You find it interesting?’ Pegler asked.
‘I might if I knew what the hell it was,’ Mark replied.
‘It’s a primitive piece of mining equipment. I’d bet you’ve never seen its like before.’
‘You’d win.’
‘Few people would know its purpose,’ Pegler grinned and his voice took on the tone of an educated man. ‘In fact it wasn’t until I saw the raw silver Bear Killer brought in to trade that I realized what it was.’
‘Feel like telling me?’ Mark asked.
‘It’s a press for crushing the ore-bearing rock. I rigged it up again in the hope of … Say, you know me, but I don’t know you.’
‘Matt—Smith,’ Mark answered.
‘Is that your summer name?’
‘It does well enough any time.’
‘Come on into my tepee, you look like you could take a meal.’
‘Won’t the Injuns object?’ Mark asked.
‘Not as long as you don’t try any fool stunts,’ Pegler replied and spoke to the chief. At first Bear Killer seemed inclined to object, but finally grunted and walked away. Pegler grinned at Mark, ‘Go on inside.’
‘How about cutting me free?’
‘Sure. Only don’t try anything stupid like making a run for it. I’ve got an offer for you if you’re interested.’
‘I’m interested in anything that’ll keep me alive,’ Mark admitted frankly.
‘Play along with me and you’ll not only be kept alive, I’ll make you rich too,’ Pegler promised, taking the knife from his belt sheath and cutting the ropes which bound the blond giant’s arms.
Mark looked at Pegler with interest as the ropes fell away. Clearly the man had some hold over the Indians, for none raised any objections to his actions. Further proof came with the arrival of bowls of hot, nourishing stew. While Mark ate, Pegler left the tepee to return carrying the blond giant’s gunbelt with its Colts in the holsters. However, Pegler placed them at the far side of the tepee.
‘They’ve no caps on and the loads’ve been drawn,’ the trader warned. ‘Later I’ll see you’re given powder and shot.’
‘How’re you going to make me rich?’ Mark asked. ‘And why?’
‘Why’s easy. I’m going to need a good man backing me in the future.’
‘And I’m a good man?’
‘Anybody who goes hunting the Wycliffes for evens is either loco, or tough and real good with a gun. You’re not loco. From what I’ve heard, you’re strong and tough. That gunbelt tells me you're good with a gun.’
‘I can take ’em out fast enough when I have to,’ Mark admitted. ‘And hit what I aim at as long as it’s not too far off. You want for me to show you?’
‘Later maybe,’ grinned Pegler. ‘When I’m sure I can trust you. I reckon I’ll have a better chance of doing that when I’ve told you some about me.’
‘Go right ahead and tell me,’ offered Mark. ‘I’ve nothing but time right now.’
Although Pegler did not go into details, he hinted that he came to Texas on the run from the law. A trained engineer, he did not dare to chance following his profession even in frontier Texas. However he possessed enough money to set up as a trader. Seeking an area where he would not come into too great contact with other white men, he settled on the headwaters of the Pedernales. At that time the Kaddos maintained an uneasy peace with the white brother and his business grew steadily.
Then Bear Killer brought in some raw silver to trade—and knew something of its value. The chief refused to take anything but a repeating rifle and ammunition for the silver and hinted that he could bring in more to buy other weapons. However he declined to disclose the source of the silver and warned against any attempts to find it.
‘Most folks’d’ve gone ahead and looked, either getting killed or turning the Injuns against them,’ Pegler stated smugly. ‘But not me. No sir. I traded guns for silver and added a few jugs of whisky when asked. Guns and bullets were the main thing. I didn’t want the Kaddos getting liquored up and starting a scalp-hunt—at least until I was ready for it.’
‘You wanted to have time to light out before they began?’ Mark suggested.
‘Something like that.’
From the mocking grin on Pegler’s face, Mark guessed a deeper motive was involved. As Pegler clearly wanted to tell the story in his own way, Mark refrained from asking questions. He eyed the trader up and down. Something over middle height, brawny, he would still be no more than child’s play for the blond giant to handle when a chance arose. Until then Mark aimed to learn all he could and keep Pegler believing in his support for whatever the trader planned.
Continuing his story, Pegler told how he gained the chief’s confidence and became accepted by the tribe. With the aid of chloroform and other scientific wonders the Indians had never seen, backed by predictions of carefully arranged accidents, he won the reputation of a medicine man. Backed by his newfound position, he demanded to be shown where the silver originated. Unwilling to go against popular opinion, Bear Killer brought Pegler to the canyon and showed him the hidden entrance of a cave. Inside Pegler found many sacks holding the raw silver and a sizeable stack of rocks bearing veins of the precious material. Seeing and recognizing the primitive press, he rebuilt the windlass and prepared to start mining operations.
At which point he discovered that the original miners—Spanish explorers from the days before Texas gained her independence—suffered a cave-in which fetched down all their workings.
‘There’s a fortune in silver to be brought out,’ Pegler informed Mark. ‘But the Kaddo won’t let me mine it. This’s a medicine place, they wiped out the greaser miners for digging here. It was all I could do to get them to let me work the rock from the cave. One thing they won’t do is give me permission to bring in the modern equipment to get the mine working again.’
‘There went my fortune,’ Mark said dryly.
‘Maybe not,’ Pegler replied. ‘I still plan to mine that silver.’
‘With me holding off the Kaddo while you do it?’ Mark scoffed. ‘Mister, are you sure you didn’t reckon I was crazy enough, not tough or fast enough to go after the Wycliffes ?’
‘Nope. When we come here to start mining, there won’t be any trouble from the Kaddos.’
‘Just how do you figure that out?’
‘The U.S. Army’ll have tended to them for us.’
‘Why should they?’ Mark demanded. ‘The Kaddo’re reasonably peaceable and nobody wants this neck of the woods bad enough to come after it.’
‘I’ve spent time priming the Kaddos for trouble,’ Pegler said quietly. ‘One of the reasons they kept the peace was because they wanted guns before starting to make war. Another was that they figured no white folks wanted their land. Now they’ve got the guns—and figure somebody’s after the land.’
‘Meaning Wycliffe and his bunch?’
‘Meaning Wycliffe and his bunch. One of my men brought me word that they’d learned about the silver and were coming after it. A stinking peddler found out and sold the news to Churn Wycliffe. My man stayed long enough to learn what Wycliffe planned and then high-tailed it to me with the word. So I reckoned the time had finally come for me to kill off Joe Pegler.’
‘You burned your own place down?’ Mark said.
‘What better way to make sure that nobody could identify the bodies?’ the trader asked. ‘I had a couple of half-breed helpers and a pair of white trash. Between them they'd been robbing me blind for years. So I figured I might as well make them pay for it and be more use to me dead than they ever were alive. I couldn’t leave them alive and talking, and they’d’ve been nothing but trouble if I fetched them along.’
Hooves drummed outside and the two men rose to look through the door. A party of braves rode into the camp area, heading for the chief’s tepee.
‘Who’re they?’ Mark asked.
‘Scouting parties. Bear Killer must’ve called them in.’
‘Why’d your men be trouble had you brought them here?’
‘One of their pards, a breed, used to come with me, but he laid hands on a Kaddo girl. I thought I was a goner then. The chief figured to hand the breed head down over a fire, only I showed him a better way. It was just after we’d rebuilt the windlass. I put the breed in the slot and we lowered that big block of granite down on to him. He held it off for nearly a minute before it got him. The sight satisfied the braves and kept them off me.’
‘So you figure to start the Kaddo on the warpath, then the cavalry’ll be sent to wipe them out, or shove them on to a reservation?'
‘Sure. Then we’ll come here, having already taken out the mineral rights to this area. I’m not good with a gun, that’s why I want somebody like you backing me.’
Fury rose inside Mark as he looked at the trader. Even as he tensed to hurl himself at Pegler and finish the man with his bare hands, Mark heard a considerable commotion outside the tepee. Once again they went to the door, seeing Bear Killer and an elderly man approaching. From the excellent quality of his clothing, the designs on it and the buffalo skull headdress worn by the chief’s companion, Mark decided he must be a senior medicine man of the tribe. A moment later Pegler confirmed the conclusion.
‘Damn it!’ the trader snorted. ‘That's Moon Watcher. He was their boss medicine man afore I took over and hates my guts. What in hell does he want here?’
Coming to a halt, Bear Killer spoke to Pegler and Mark could see that the words did not please the trader.
‘What’s up?’ Mark inquired.
‘Seems that some bucks were killed last night and they figure to take the warpath,’ Pegler answered. ‘Only that old bastard, Moon Watcher wants a sign that the Great Spirit favors war.’
At that moment a group of braves appeared from a tepee dragging Churn Wycliffe between them. He looked in poor shape, half naked, hair and beard matted with blood, one arm crudely bandaged and a raw gash showed through a tear in his right trouser leg. Making nothing of Wycliffe’s feeble attempts to struggle, the braves dragged him to the end wall and thrust him into the slot. Looking at the windlass, Mark saw four braves stood at the handles and the block of granite hung over the slot’s mouth.
‘What the hell?’ Mark growled.
‘Moon Watcher asked for a sign, we’re going to give him one,’ Pegler replied. ‘When we put a feller under that block one time I told the Kaddos that they’d crush the white men like the rock crushed him. Bear Killer allows that Wycliffe’s a real strong feller and he’s putting him to the test. They’ll lower the block down easy. If Wycliffe can save himself, they’ll call off the war. Fact being, that’s why Bear Killer had you took alive, figured you’d give his boys some more sport. I warned him that you just might spoil his medicine, so he handed you over to me to soften up for later. Come on, this’s always worth watching.’