Powder’s cinch had loosened somewhat, enough so that he had stopped and dismounted to tighten it. It was a long moment before he became aware of the complete silence of his companions. Then, as he raised his head, he saw the buzzards.
There were three of them, like spilled ink spots in the sky. Circling against the sun.
Powder watched them, the thought coming of its own accord that this was the first sign of life they had encountered in this dreary day’s ride. Even the rattlesnakes and the coyotes had been conspicuous by their absence, in a land where they alone were native.
Four days they’d been on the trail, since discovering that the girls had been abducted from under their noses. It had been Powder who had figured that Laredo would be implicated, but a quick scout of the trail had shown it swinging west, not north. And that had been ominous.
“Sev’ral in the party, with extry horses,” Kaintuck had verified, his face tight with strain. “An’ from what I’ve heard, there’s a big stretch of bad country off that way—desert that it’s suicide to try an’ cross. Buzzard country, they call it.”
And here were the first of the buzzards, a sign of life more like a portent of death. But he’d seen buzzards before. Powder dropped his gaze, brushing it across the faces of the four Indians whom they’d hired as guides when the trail indicated bad going. He and Kaintuck had set out, leaving McGill, Jimmy, and the rest of the crew to go on with the herd. There wasn’t likely to be any more trouble with the cattle—not short of their destination. When it was reached, it could be another story.
Usually the dark faces of their Indians were blank, carefully composed to hide the thoughts beneath. In this moment it was as if a mask had been ripped away. Such naked fear he had never before seen pictured on a human countenance.
For a moment Powder watched them, then looked to Kaintuck. The twisted emotions of the first day had been schooled out, and now in that wind-blown face was no fear, but a deep gravity which fitted strangely. Powder’s voice had an unintended edge.
“What are you boys lookin’ so gloomy about?”
Glances jerked guiltily at his words. None of the four made answer in words. But one did better. He swept his right hand in a gesture from sky to skyline, leveling from the slow-winging birds to three lumps of stone against the horizon. The gesture was sweeping, but the hand which made it trembled.
The sun, reddening as it sank, was almost touching the rim of the world, so that already the black of oncoming night lay behind the stones. Three lumps of stone, boulders dropped there when this land was young, burned black by sun across the creeping centuries. Far beyond them, a bare glimpse like a phantom land, showed the white tips of rearing mountains. “Buzzard rocks,” one of the Indians said. “Three of them!”
Powder saw it like a picture coming suddenly into focus. It was a startling transition. Instead of three lumps of stone rearing out of the sand, these had the look of squatting buzzards. The vulture effect was too marked to be mistaken, once seen. As though the winging birds above had come to earth, having found their prey.
“They do look kind of funny, for a fact,” Powder conceded, feeling the need of speech. “Reminds me of some folks I’ve known. Sort of odd, three stones like that—’special with them buzzards in the sky at the same time.”
The Indian who had pointed grunted. His voice lacked something of being steady. “Buzzards in sky,” he said. “Buzzards on ground. Bad sign. Heap much die.”
Powder was willing to concede that this was startling, but plenty of objects appeared weird and out of all proper significance in such a land. The time to squelch trouble was when it first appeared.
“Nothing to get excited about,” he said. “As for the buzzards, I’ve been wondering all afternoon why we didn’t see any. This is their sort of country. And a bunch of stones are just a bunch of stones.”
“Not just stones,” the guide protested vehemently. Excitement shrilled the usual guttural of his voice. “Buzzard land. No see buzzards till now—even buzzards have to eat!”
Powder stared, puzzled by the implication of the words. The Indian made it sound as though this land was too dead to support even such scavengers. He had been aware of their increasing nervousness, exhibited in gestures of apprehension for the past couple of days. That was strange, for the four had hired on willingly enough to act as guides when they had come upon their camp. All had declared convincingly that they knew this country, and their method of following trail at first had seemed to bear that out.
Not that he needed a guide, particularly. This stretch of territory was new to him, but on beyond was land he had crossed a couple of years before. It wasn’t a nice country, by any standards, but neither was it anything to get unduly excited about. He’d figured that more speed could be had with men who knew the land, and if it came to a fight when they caught up with Laredo, a fairly good force would be helpful. That there would be a fight at trail’s end was sure. Something had held Laredo back before, but it wasn’t cowardice.
“Yeah, those rocks do have a look of squattin’ birds,” Powder said easily. “But I’ve seen stones that look like everything you can imagine, and quite a passel of things you can’t. I’m going to have a better look at those.”
The three birds in the air had vanished. They were gone as mysteriously as they had appeared. The sun was crouched upon the earth far to the west, glaring like a one-eyed giant before it disappeared. One of the other Indians cried out sharply as Powder started forward, leading his cayuse.
“No, no! Bad! Keep away!”
Powder turned. The fact that he was the youngest man of the six made no difference. He was old in experience, and he was leader here.
“Boys,” he said, “let’s keep our shirts on and our thinkin’ straight. A few buzzards in the sky or a bunch of stones that look like birds are nothing to get excited about. If it comes to omens or bad medicine, I can brew some pretty strong stuff of my own. Come on, and I’ll show you that those are just rocks, and that they don’t mean a thing.”
The others exchanged uneasy glances, but they had their pride, and they followed. Not until they were nearing the three looming stones did it strike Powder that Kaintuck was unaccountably quiet.
They were close enough now to confirm Powder’s first guess. These stones, actually small boulders, were about four feet high. The strange thing was that they did not lose their appearance of squatting buzzards at closer approach. Powder had been reasonably certain that the illusion would vanish. Instead, it was enhanced, picked out in clearer detail. He felt a tingle of superstition play tag along his spine.
“Reckon mebby these are the buzzard markers,” Kaintuck murmured. “I been kind of wonderin’ all day if we was headin’ for that country.”
“What do you mean, buzzard markers?” Powder demanded. “What country? I don’t get you.”
Kaintuck gave him a warning glance. Looking at the Indians, Powder clamped his jaws. The fear that had been tricked into their faces by that abrupt appearance of buzzards in the sky and buzzards on the sand was manifest again. They were like skittish young cayuses at the smell of snake. It wouldn’t take much to make them bolt.
Viewed at close range, the three stones were more than ever like buzzards which had just come to earth. It required no second look to see that this was not the chance work of wind and rain or some freakish twist of nature. Probably the latter had fashioned these stones to a rough semblance to begin with, but some man, with more than a little skill at carving, had aided in the deception. That vulturous look was not due to chance.
The three symbols sat about ten feet from each other, but they were not embedded in the earth. All were markers which had been hauled and set up, as if in warning of a forbidden boundary.
His interest roused, Powder would have liked to examine them more closely, but he knew that it wouldn’t do to appear to take more than a cursory interest in these stones, not if he wanted to dissipate the terror which had come to the Indians. Powder swung back, his voice light and easy.
“Kind of interestin’ stones,” he observed. “They do look sort of like buzzards, when the light hits right. Where we goin’ to camp?”
They had moved fast on this trip, traveling long hours, following trail, and it was Powder’s feeling that they had gained on those ahead. But this was a time to rest. Half an hour earlier, before sighting the buzzards, the chief guide had spoken confidently of a spring which they would soon reach. Now he shook his head nervously.
“Me lost,” he said, an unbelievable admission from any standpoint. “No find spring tonight. Over there, mebby—place to camp.” He waved an arm vaguely, indicating some spot back the way they had come.
Powder shook his head. “We can’t afford to lose any time backtracking,” he said. “But we’ll move on away from here if you like. Those stones seem to make you boys nervous. Me, I kind of like them, but it’s no matter.”
They moved with alacrity, swinging to saddles again, putting the horses to a trot. Anything to get away from that spot. The stars came out, faint and remote, and coolness moved like a wind across the land where only an hour before it had been hot. Yet no breath of wind stirred. No coyote lifted its voice, and the faintly rolling expanse of sand was like a dead, lost world.
Finally the leader signified that this was as good a place to camp as any.
“Mebby find water tomorrow,” he suggested. “Back.” He waved again the way they had come.
“Yeah, there’s water back that way, sure,” Powder conceded. “We had too much not so many days ago. But we’re going ahead, not back.”
Disappointment shadowed their faces. They ate, drinking from canteens. It was a cheerless meal, with little conversation. Kaintuck made a dry joke which sounded drier than usual. Powder wanted to ask what he had meant, back at the stones, to talk this over, talk the fear out of their guides. But this wasn’t the time. Better to do that with the sun warm overhead. Talk now could people the dark with the fears which crept in their minds.
“Might be a good idea to stand watch tonight—you an’ me,” Kaintuck suggested. “Keep an eye on the horses. We don’t want to be left afoot out here.”
Smell of dawn was in the air when Powder roused. He’d stood the first watch, waiting till midnight before rousing Kaintuck.
But he’d slept soundly, the night producing no alarms. Now the smell of dawn came, a fresh, almost moist air which would be gone as soon as the sun came bursting like a rocket above the edge of the world.
He tossed his blanket aside, reached to tug on his boots, and paused. Something wasn’t right. Standing, he walked across to where the Indians had bunked, apart by themselves, as their custom was. The sand showed where they had stretched, but it was empty now.
Daylight was coming fast, enough to reveal the horses, Kaintuck as he moved toward the camp. Powder pointed wordlessly to where the Indians had been. Kaintuck nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I saw ’em go, soon as I went on watch. They had a look, hungry-like, at the horses. So I twirled my six-gun around my finger, makin’ a shine they could see. They wanted those horses, but not bad enough to fight for ’em.”
“But you let them go!”
“Yeah. I knew the way they looked at them buzzards, they’d gone far’s they would. It’d be more of a hindrance than a help tryin’ to herd ’em any farther.”
That was true, but Powder’s irritation was in his voice. “What the devil’s all this about buzzards, Kaintuck? I’ve known this general country before, but I never heard about it.”
“Could be you’re one o’ the few that ain’t, then. I got a story about this buzzard border last winter, down in Texas. Somethin’ folks whisper about. Question is, what do we do? The trail’s plumb petered out—an’ no guides. I’d like to find water an’ cook cawfee and fry flapjacks. But what we gettin’ into?”
“Desert,” Powder agreed grimly. “But it’s not so bad as it sounds. There’ll be water ahead, another hour.”
“If that’s so, we can talk as we ride. Save time.”
They saddled and packed, then pointed west by north again, toward that dimly seen line of hills which crawled above the edge of the earth.
The sun came rolling up behind them, making the land suddenly garish and unfriendly.
“A mighty unfriendly stretch of country, this,” Kaintuck pointed out. “Nothin’ enjoyable the last couple of days. And from reports, it gets worse as it goes along, ’fore we get to hills an’ water. Not that I’ve ever been this way before.”
“I have,” Powder assured him. “Not where we’ve come, but I crossed from north to south a couple of years ago, being in kind of a hurry.”
“You mean to say you headed through this country ahead?”
“It was shortest.”
“I’m sure tickled to hear it. That means you know it, more or less?”
“I figure we can get across if Laredo can.”
“Yeah. I been worryin’ whether that durned fool knows what he’s getting into, with the girls.” Kaintuck’s face twisted. “You didn’t hear no reports, when you crossed—rumors, or anything? Nor see nothin’?”
“Nothin’ to treasure in memory. A few buzzards, and so on. I didn’t meet up with anybody to pass the time of day.”
“The feller I talked to claimed to know this buzzard land. Dry an’ hot in summer—water holes all dry by early June, he said, springs few an’ far between and not to be sure of, includin’ the sort of water if you do find any. Then, when winter comes, he fair made my teeth chatter with his talk of ravin’ blizzards and a thermometer that drops out of sight. But to his tell, that ain’t the worst.”
“Seems the Indians didn’t like it when the trail swung this way,” Powder conceded thoughtfully.
“Reckon they’d heard what that feller told me—of vultures that guard the edge o’ the desert—three black birds that never fly. After last night, I know what that means. And beyond the buzzards, he said, was somethin’ worse—somethin’ that’s not even talked about. I figgered it was a good story. But it’s easy to see that those boys we had with us believe all that. About folks that cross this border disappearin’—for good.”
Further talk was cut off as the horses lifted their heads, then increased their pace. Presently they sighted a spring, with brush growing around it. Both men scrutinized it closely. It was a pool, bubbling from under stones, flowing in a tiny stream which was lost within a stone’s throw. But there were no bleaching bones to indicate that the water was bad.
They breakfasted, then refilled their canteens and went ahead. Having crossed an edge of this country before, Powder had illusions as to what lay ahead. It got worse before it grew better. Here was one more proof of a recklessness amounting to a form of insanity on Laredo’s part. But thinking along those lines didn’t help. He clenched his fists and fought to hold the horses to a steady pace, battling his own impulse to rush. It wouldn’t do to travel too fast.
“I think there’ll be a spring about nightfall,” he said. “Good water. After that it’ll be better.”
At mid-afternoon, Powder recognized a landmark—a rise of ground in the distance which looked oddly like a skull. “That marks the spring,” he said. “No mistakin’ it.”
“Sure there’ll be water in it?”
“Bound to be. It was full this time of year when I went south.”
Encouraged, they drank more freely from their canteens. The pitiless sun boiled the moisture out of man and beast, dehydrated the body. Water was a necessity. Neither man commented on the fact that today they’d found no trail sign.
The shadows were lengthening when Powder pointed to a blot in the distance, where brush grew around the spring. “Same as I remembered,” he said. “And it was good water.” The thirsty horses quickened their pace. Then, close to the brush, Kaintuck spurred and swung his own cayuse to check the loose-running animals.
“Keep ’em away,” he said hoarsely. “Either you got the wrong place, Powder, or somethin’s wrong. Look at the bones scattered around! This is poison water!”
Powder stared, rubbing his stubbled chin. This didn’t make sense, and yet the evidence was indisputable. More than one animal had come unsuspectingly to quench its thirst and leave its bones to bleach.
“It was good water a couple of years ago,” Powder said stubbornly. “I drank plenty. Which means it’s been poisoned since. There’s something funny going on in this country.”
“Looks like it,” Kaintuck agreed. “Buzzard sign and all the rest. But what do we do now?”
Powder dismounted, staring into the clear depths of the spring. Leaning down suddenly, he thrust an arm in, up to the shoulder, then lifted up a flat stone from the bottom and pulled at what had been under it—a soggy, half-disintegrated sack.
“Poison’s been planted here,” he grunted. “Which is about as dirty a trick—”
Tossing aside the sack, he set to work, digging and tearing among the rock. It might be that the poison had exhausted itself, that the flow had long since run clear, but they couldn’t afford to take chances. Gradually he cleared a small, bowl like depression where the water trickled from above. Filled, this was unmistakably pure.
“But why’d anybody do a trick like that—or go to all this trouble to keep people out of the country?” Kaintuck wondered. “What’s in this country that anybody would want? It don’t make sense.”
“That’s what we’ll find out,” Powder growled. “Let’s keep riding!”
He swung at right angles to the course they had been following, deeper into the inhospitable wastes of the desert, but Kaintuck asked no questions. He had long since learned that when Powder set off on such a course, he had some idea in mind which generally produced results.
They traveled until the night grew too black for further journeying. Then they hobbled the horses and slept.
Powder was first awake, old instinct warning him that danger prowled. He sat up, reaching for his gun, and his hand fumbled on emptiness. Then he saw the weapon held in the grasp of Ormsby, the muzzle a cold round eye staring at him. Beholding the outlaw in such guise was like looking into the face of a dead man, and the trio who were with him did nothing to dispel the illusion.