10

AFTER A TWO-HOUR RIDE through a morning of sparkling sunshine, Slade and Garcia, accompanied by Hernandez and two of the Tumbling L herders, reached the Garcia casa. The owner at once dispatched messengers to order his herders to assemble at the ranchhouse before sundown. This chore attended to, he and Slade had a cup of coffee and then headed for the pasture from which the sheep had been purloined.

“I’ve a notion it might be possible to trail them,” Slade explained.

“I doubt it,” Garcia replied. “The grass is very heavy and springs up almost immediately after it is trod down.”

Slade nodded but did not otherwise comment. When they arrived at the pasture, he dismounted and carefully scanned the ground. After a while, he motioned Garcia to join him.

“Look close,” he said. “See these two grass blades, the heads of which have been broken and are dangling against the stem. You’ll notice the break is not very recent; the ends have begun to brown.”

Garcia squatted and peered where Slade designated. “Yes,” he said, “now that I’m right up against it I can see the break. How you did while standing up is beyond me, but then most things El Halcón does are beyond the average individual. And what meaning do you read into it?”

“A horse’s iron not only treads the grass down, it sometimes cuts the stems,” Slade explained. “That’s what happened here. If a sheep’s hoof cut it, the break will be slanting and blurred. You will notice these cuts are straight across the stem, which means that horses were here. Your herders are not mounted, I take it.”

“That’s right,” Garcia admitted.

“So the horse that left this track was ridden by one of the wide-loopers,” Slade said. “Now all we have to do is follow the trail left by the horses, and we’ll get an idea where your sheep went. Simple, is it not?”

“For one with your eyes,” grunted the other. “For an individual with average good eyesight, like myself, not at all simple. In fact, impossible.”

Slade smiled and resumed his examination of the ground.

“Here they go,” he said at length, “headed almost due east. I’ve a notion they’ll turn toward the bay a little later.”

They didn’t. Mile after mile Slade was able to follow the trail, by slow going. On places where the grass was sparse, the task was not difficult for the Ranger, but when the heavier growth renewed, only the most painstaking examination revealed the slight traces of the flock’s passage.

The wind, blowing from the south had been steadily increasing in force, until it was almost of gale proportions, tossing the manes of the horses, bending the grass. Although it buffeted the riders, it tempered the heat of the sun, which was an advantage.

They had covered many miles when, quite a distance ahead, appeared a wide stretch of sandy ground that was desert-like. Over it a wavering mist seemed to hang. Slade uttered an exclamation of exasperation.

“What’s the matter?” Garcia asked.

Slade gestured ahead. “See what looks like a thin fog over the sand?” he said. “This hard wind is shifting the sand. By the time we get there, all tracks left by horses and sheep will be filled in and obliterated. Trail’s end, so far as we’re concerned. No telling which way they may have turned.”

For some moments he was silent, his brows drawing together. Garcia watched him expectantly. At the edge of the desert strip, which he knew extended for many miles, he pulled Shadow to a halt.

The sands were moving. Soon they would be flying in blinding clouds. Slade shook his head, turned and gazed south.

“We’ll ride down to the bay,” he decided. “We’ll follow the shoreline for a while and see if we can spot anything.” He glanced at the westering sun.

“Don’t mind getting in late?” he asked.

“I’ll stay out all night if you say the word,” Garcia replied.

“Won’t be that bad,” Slade said. “And you can spend the night at Lopez’ place. Hernandez and his boys are talking to your herders, so there’s no real reason we have to be back at your spread tonight. And I do want to have a look at that shoreline.”

“Okay by me,” Garcia acquiesced cheerfully. “Let’s go.”

Turning due south, they rode until they were close to the water’s edge, where Slade again turned east, walking his horse, scanning the soft earth and the damp sands. From time to time he shook his head, but he said nothing until they had passed the mesa where the row with the men of steel had occurred and reached the beginning of the turbulent water, where the waves were pounding the rocks, the eddies swirling.

“Got me beat,” Slade said, halting Shadow. “It doesn’t seem credible that they would continue east past the bad water and then turn south. They’d be dangerously close to town. A ship putting in would quite likely be spotted. And it takes time to load stock onto one of those small coastline vessels. But if they didn’t where the devil did they go? The tracks led to the edge of the desert and presumably continued in the same direction. Well, we’ve done all we can today. Almost sunset. Let’s head for home.”

It was well past dark when they reached the Lopez ranch-house. Despite his loss of the night before, Garcia was in a cheerful mood.

“I feel confident I won’t have any more trouble with my herders,” he said. “And with them properly on the job, I won’t suffer any more losses.”

“I’ve a notion you’re right,” Slade agreed. “Well, we should hear something.”

They did. Hernandez was in the living room with Don Miguel when they entered.

“Was getting a mite worried about you,” Lopez said. “Glad to see you both back okay.”

Garcia glanced expectantly at Hernandez, who chuckled.

“They’re boiling mad,” he said, apropos of Garcia’s herders. “They don’t take kindly to having been made fools of. Any men of steel who come snooping around had better be wearing boiler plate from now on, or something that’ll stop .45 slugs. The boys are itching for a chance at them. Two of them rode to visit Telo and the others and spread the word around. They say that with El Halcón here, men of steel or no men of steel, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“That’s fine,” Slade smiled, “but they and the rest of you must remember that you’ve still got a dangerous outlaw bunch to contend with. So don’t become overconfident.”

He acquainted Don Miguel with the results, or rather the lack of results of their long day’s ride.

“Anyhow, we proved rather conclusively that they didn’t go up into the clouds,” he concluded. “They stuck close to the ground for so far as we were able to follow them, and I think they continued to stick to it until they took to the water in some manner. Well, we’ll try and learn how that was done.”

“There’s the cook bellerin’ for you fellers to come and get it,” said Lopez. “He insisted on waiting up for you. Said he would be dishonored if he allowed El Halcón to go hungry.” He led the way to the dining room, where Slade thanked the cook for his consideration, speaking in courteous Spanish that left the old fellow beaming.

After eating, Slade walked out for a look at the weather. It had all the appearances of another wild night. The wind had increased in violence, and the sky was black as ink.

He wasn’t surprised, however, for the season of Gulf storms was at hand. He went to bed, dismissed all his problems and slept soundly.

Toward morning the storm blew itself out, after a drenching rain, and when Slade arose, the sky was clear, the wind greatly abated. He enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and sat with Lopez in the living room, smoking and talking. The owner suggested that he look things over, which they proceeded to do. Slade was impressed by the excellent condition of everything. The ranchhouse, built in the Spanish style with an inner patio, was old but in perfect repair. The same went for the bunkhouses, barn and other buildings.

“I’ve always been proud of my holding, which I inherited from my father,” Lopez said. “I would never allow it to get rundown. It is all I have to look after, aside from numerous poor relations, as I mentioned once before. I am a bachelor, no chick or child. When I pass on, the place will go to Hernandez and the others. So I consider myself in the nature of a trustee for those who come after me.”

“A truly laudable viewpoint,” Slade replied. “But I trust it will be a long time before you slack off your hold on the twine. You’re good for forty years yet.”

“I hope so,” Lopez chuckled. “I find life interesting, but no doubt the hereafter will also be interesting. I think I will last for a while, though, that is if the outlaws will just give me a little peace, That, however, I am confident is on the way. As the herders say, now that El Halcón is here, there is nothing to worry about.”

Shortly before noon, an excited vaquero who rode for Alfredo Telo paused at the ranchhouse.

“A ship was wrecked over where the bad water begins,” he reported. “She is partly sunken and wedged between two reefs close to the shore. The crew, I fear, are lost, for I saw nobody on or near the vessel. She must have been driven ashore by last night’s storm.”

Don Miguel uttered a horrified exclamation.

Slade asked, “Is she breaking up?”

The vaquero shook his head. “Not yet,” he replied, “but when the tide turns, doubtless she will, or if the wind rises again.”

Slade turned to Lopez. “Suppose we ride over there for a look,” he suggested. “Might be possible to do something for somebody. Strange that no survivors were seen, for she must have struck close to the shore.”

“Let us go,” said Lopez.

They quickly got the rigs on their horses and rode east at a fast pace.

“I never knew such a thing to happen before,” said Lopez. “On stormy nights, the beacons are always lighted to guide vessels to the safety of the channel beyond the bad water. No ship puts in close to shore until the beacon is seen. They stand well off the dangerous coast and do not attempt to draw near until the signal beckons them. Then they steer for it, knowing it the harbinger of safety.”

“Always the chance of human error,” Slade replied. “Skipper might have been unfamiliar with the coast and become confused. Perhaps we will be able to learn just what happened.”

In due time they sighted the vessel. As the vaquero had said, she was firmly wedged between two reefs and, with the tide out, was quite close to shore. There was a great hole in the bow, at and below the water line, but otherwise she looked stanch enough, and Slade was of the opinion that it would be some time before she broke up.

She was a small schooner of the kind often seen along the Gulf Coast. The fore topmast was broken off at the fids and lay, a welter of cordage and canvas, across the deck. The mainmast still stood but appeared wobbly.

Opposite the wreck they pulled to a halt and sat gazing at the battered schooner. There was no sign of life aboard.

“Strange!” Slade suddenly exclaimed. Don Miguel glanced at him questioningly.

“She is fitted for two lifeboats, and they’re both still in the davits,” Slade explained. “That really is strange. When the order to abandon ship came, as it surely must have when she struck, what did the crew do–jump overboard?”

“Hmmm! Does look funny,” conceded Lopez. “Think they’re still aboard? Maybe asleep?”

“They’d hardly be asleep under such circumstances,” Slade replied, with a smile.

“Maybe knocked unconscious when she struck and still out,” hazarded Lopez.

“That is also unlikely,” Slade answered. He measured the distance to the vessel’s side with his eyes.

“Don Miguel,” he said, “the water is not too deep for the horses to wade, and strange to say, there is a wide strip of placid water beyond the bow. I believe at the bow, which is very low in the water, we can stand in the saddles and get aboard. I’d like to have a look around.”

They put the horses to the water, and when they reached the ship’s side, it was not much more than belly-deep on the animals. Slade stood in the saddle and managed to get a grip on the rail. He swung himself onto the slanting deck, reached down and gave Lopez a hand. In a moment the other was standing beside him.

“Captain’s cabin should be aft,” Slade said, glancing around the deserted deck. “Let’s have a look at that first.”

Without difficulty they reached the cabin, descended two steps and found the floor awash with a foot of water. It was a typical mariner’s abode—chairs and a table bolted to the floor, a wide bunk, sea chest and other furnishings. The water was dotted with papers half-submerged, soaked and blurred. In one corner, bolted to deck and bulkhead, was a big iron safe. The door stood open, and a glance showed Slade that the combination knob had been knocked off, presumably with a sledgehammer.

“Now what the devil?” he muttered, staring at the damaged strongbox, which to all appearances had been rifled of its contents.

“Looks like somebody other than the captain opened that safe,” Don Miguel observed dryly.

“Yes, it certainly does,” Slade agreed. “Now what’s the answer to this one?”

“Perhaps the crew mutinied, killed and robbed the captain and abandoned ship,” Lopez hazarded.

“Possibly,” Slade conceded, without comment.

“Me-ee-ow!” sounded plaintively from across the cabin.