Raasleer called Caloon from his blankets at daybreak. Russ had heard the gang leader’s approach, and lay listening to the man’s orders to Caloon.
“Go up the mountainside a mile or so to that big spur of rock facing east. That’s about two thousand feet above us here and you can see for miles. Out to the southeast and setting off by itself fifteen miles or so is one single-peaked mountain. It’s called Turtleback, if you are familiar with it.
“Now the Englishman, sooner or later, is going to call his range riders in to help build the new house. Corddry is to let us know when that happens. Instead of him riding all the way back here, he’ll signal from the top of Turtleback with a big smoky fire. Watch for it. Soon as we see the smoke we leave to join up with him. That way we can save several hours riding time. Take a telescope. You got one?”
“Russ has one I can borrow,” said Caloon. He saddled and left immediately, following the exact trail Tanwell had used the day before.
Russ arose leisurely and bathed in the stream. As he dried himself, one of the outlaws, identified by Tanwell as Jones, passed close by on horseback. The man did not speak. He touched spurs to his mount and left at a fast gallop to the west.
Shortly thereafter, Gredler and Banty rode off down the canyon. Half an hour later Kanttner and Pratt, having been relieved from lookout, came in, had a bite to eat, and flopped down on their blankets under a juniper.
When the sun was high enough not to bother his view to the east, Russ climbed the flank of the mountain to a location from where he could see a great distance. For more than two hours he minutely surveyed the mountains, valleys, and streams, imbedding their location and distances in his memory.
Russ saw a horseman come into camp from the north at mid-morning, and judged the man would be Lewett, the one making the inspection trip to check the condition of the rustled cattle in their hidden valleys. Well-run, orderly outfit, thought Russ.
The sun climbed, and burned down from a cloudless sky, baking the mountainside. Yet Russ felt reluctant to go down to the camp. And he realized why he was hesitant. Caloon would not be there. He silently cursed himself and got hastily to his feet to stomp down the slope in the direction of Raasleer and the other bandits. He must not become dependent on Caloon.
Caloon returned late in the day and rode up to dismount near Raasleer. The leader sat under a large juniper on a knob of ground a hundred feet or so distant from where the gang ate and part of them slept.
“No sign of smoke,” said Caloon. “I stayed until the shadows of the Kofas covered Turtleback Mountain.”
“All right. We’ll watch for Corddry’s signal again tomorrow. Tell your pard to go up at daylight.”
“He’ll be there at first light,” Caloon answered and walked away, leading his horse toward the stream.
It had been a long dry day and Caloon knelt to drink deeply of the stream. The horse plunged its nose into the cool water and man and animal slaked their thirst.
Feeling refreshed, Caloon led his mount to the picket rope, a lariat stretched tautly between two junipers near a rock outcrop where the base of the mountain met the bench. He slipped the bit from the animal’s mouth and stepped up to the rope to tie the reins.
Without warning, the animal lunged upon Caloon, striking him with its head and chest. The man was rammed forward, tripped over the low-hung rope, and fell heavily upon a jumble of rocks. He scrambled up hurt and angry, and whirled about, ready to clout the horse in retaliation for the unprovoked attack. But the horse, its eyes rolling wildly and the whites showing, pranced and tugged at the full length of the reins Caloon held firmly.
Caloon recognized the animal’s fright and rapidly looked around to see what had caused it. For a brief moment, among the trees, he spied a man hurrying straight away toward the main camp. He could not identify the figure.
Caloon coaxed the horse up to the picket rope and tied it. He rubbed the neck of the tense animal, calming it down.
Russ saw Caloon approaching, his face hard in anger.
“Somebody goosed my horse while I was about to tie him,” exploded Caloon. “Damn animal like to stomp me. Did knock me down on the rocks.”
Caloon examined Russ’s face; there was no surprise there. He turned and looked toward the picket line and the horses, and then in the direction of the camp. “Goddamn! You saw who did it?”
“Yes, I could see him from here. But let it go. We don’t want any trouble.”
“Let it go. Hell! The man could have caused the horse to cripple me. And more important, if I don’t do something about this, the next trick they play will be worse. Like not giving us our share when the cattle are sold. Now who did it?”
“Caloon, don’t start a fight. There’s no way it can end without a killing. There’s six of them in camp right now. Maybe you’ll be the one that gets shot.”
“I’ll worry about that. Now, for the last time, who was it?”
Russ shook his head in the negative.
“If you don’t tell me, I’ll call the whole damn bunch of them out for a showdown one at a time.”
“It was Pratt,” said Russ. “But at least catch him out away from the rest of the gang when you face him.”
“No! I’m going to do it now! I want every one of the bastards to know I’ll not take rawhiding from any man.” Caloon stomped off toward the main camp.
Russ hesitated for a moment, then, hitching his six-gun to a ready position, followed after Caloon. They had accepted each other as partners and he must back Caloon all the way, even to a killing. He felt his determination, hard and cold, blunt his fear at the violence soon to come.
Caloon went directly to the pot hanging over the evening cook fire and slopped a dipper of beans onto a plate. Russ stopped about twenty feet to Caloon’s left and hurriedly checked the position of all the gang members present.
Pratt sat near Tanwell and Berdugo, talking to them in a low voice. Raasleer rested on some high ground under a juniper ten yards or so behind Caloon. He appeared to be dozing. Kanttner was not in sight. As Russ shifted back to Caloon, Pratt finished talking and Berdugo and Tanwell laughed.
A red flush crept across Caloon’s face at the laughter, believing they were enjoying the joke played on him. He stalked up to Pratt and held out the plate of food to him. In a hard voice he spoke. “Here, Pratt, take my supper.”
Pratt squinted up at Caloon in cautious surprise. “I’ve got enough to eat. You keep it.”
“No, I want you to have it.”
“Why me?”
“I want you to have a full stomach, for I’m going to shoot you right in the gut for goosing my horse into me.” Caloon chuckled wickedly and his hostile eyes glistened. “Men in the worst way when shot in a full gut. They hang on for days hurting to high heaven before they go.”
Pratt climbed to his feet, alert, calculating the odds. The challenge was blunt and could not be avoided. But he felt confident; he was many years younger than Caloon and his hand was quick.
Berdugo and Tanwell hastily stood up and went off to Caloon’s right. Out of the corner of his eye, Russ saw Raasleer stand up. Where was Kanttner? Russ hoped to hell the man did not suddenly appear.
Tanwell dropped behind Berdugo as they moved out of the line of fire. He turned to face Caloon from the right side and let his hand fall near his tied down pistol. Tanwell’s thin mouth twitched as he worked his courage up; maybe Caloon’s attention would be so much on Pratt that he could gun him down and get his revenge for the insult that first day.
Russ saw Tanwell stop, hut could only see half of the man for Caloon stood partially in the way, blocking his view.
“Pratt, you goosed my horse in the ass.” Caloon’s voice was sharp, stinging, showing his eagerness to kill. “For that little trick, here’s something for you.” Caloon hurled the plate of food at Pratt’s face.
Pratt dodged with razor-sharp reflexes. His hand dove for the six-gun strapped to his hip.
Caloon drew and fired. And fired a second time, driving Pratt to the ground.
Russ saw Tanwell’s hand flash for his six-gun. Without conscious thought, Russ’s fingers flipped his pistol from its holster. In that split second it took his hand to bring the gun up into alignment on Tanwell, Russ’s thumb cocked the hammer and the index finger began to squeeze the trigger.
Russ felt the gun buck in his hand, saw Caloon’s vest jump with the close passage of the bullet. Saw Tanwell’s eyes snap open wide in surprise and pain at the punch of the bullet.
Tanwell slumped, slack and lifeless, to the ground.
Caloon heard the roar of the gun on his left, felt the sting of a bullet across the front of his chest. He pivoted around just in time to see Russ swing his gun to point at the ground in front of Raasleer.
Berdugo shifted his look from the dead Tanwell to Raasleer, watching for the gang leader’s signal as to how the fight was to go.
Caloon continued his turn to the left without stopping and brought his six-gun to bear on Berdugo. He would have preferred to be the one covering Raasleer.
The gang leader stared at Russ with measuring eyes and did not move. The young man’s draw had been swift, very swift, and the shot had gone straight through Tanwell’s heart. That draw had been faster than Caloon’s. Raasleer cursed himself silently for misjudging who was the more dangerous man. It was the kid.
Some instinct told Raasleer he had made a major error in not having gunned Caloon and Russ down while they had been fighting Tanwell and Pratt. But the instant that he could have done that was gone.
“Would you draw on me?” asked Raasleer.
“Only if you tried to shoot Caloon or me,” responded Russ, carefully controlling a voice that was on the verge of cracking under the strain.
Raasleer held the young man’s look, waiting for it to waver. The seconds passed and the opposing eyes did not blink once.
Kanttner came running in from the juniper. He stopped quickly, swinging his sight over the two dead men and the standoff. He looked at Raasleer.
The rustler leader removed his hand from the butt of his six-gun.
“If I was going to shoot you, you would already be dead,” snorted Raasleer. “I’m short two men now and I need you to help rustle cattle.”
He pointed at the dead men. “You and Caloon killed them, so you bury them. Give their weapons to Berdugo for the stores.”
* * *
Russ and Caloon sat on their blankets as the daylight dimmed into dusk. Caloon spoke, breaking the silence for the first time since the shoot-out. “Thanks for saving my hide. That’s one I owe you.”
“You would have done the same thing for me,” responded Russ.
“That was a close shot. Weren’t you afraid you would hit me?”
“Yes, but you were a dead man if I didn’t nail Tanwell.”
There was a glint of satisfaction in Caloon’s eyes. “I’m glad you killed that weasel-faced bastard.”
“Did I nick you?” asked Bus.
“The bullet “burned me a little when it went past.” Caloon unbuttoned his shirt and pointed to a red streak marring white skin of his chest. ‘It’ll heal soon.”
“Good,” said Russ. He did not feel friendly toward Caloon. “I’ll see you later. I’m going for a walk.”
Caloon examined Russ’s face, saw the eyes strained, the mouth tight, and the muscles hunched along the jaw and said nothing.
Russ turned and walked away into the juniper. He continued beyond that for a long distance around the side of the mountain. Damn you, Caloon, there wasn’t enough reason to provoke a gunfight, Russ thought. You caused me to kill another man. He let his anger run, allowing it to override his fear of what he was becoming. A killer. He knew the boy was burned out of him. He felt the iron in his stomach and didn’t like it.
Long after dark, Russ returned and lay down on his bedroll. Caloon heard the slight stirring of the dry juniper needles. Again Caloon felt the strong misgivings for having made the offer for the young man to come with him to join the outlaw gang.
* * *
Russ sat on the point of the mountain and watched to the east as a red dawn slowly increased. A complete silence lay over the land, as if the world waited for the sun to rise before it could come alive. Russ remained motionless, listening to the stillness.
Then a puff of the rising morning wind rustled dry blades of grass and some insect chirped at being disturbed. The spell broken, Russ lifted the telescope and searched through the morning shadow lying heavy in the broad valley below.
The sun crested the curve of the earth and the silhouette of the round dome of Turtleback Mountain became visible. From the top, a tiny gray plume formed, grew, climbing leisurely. Russ swung the telescope aside, waited a moment, then moved it back to the mountain. The image had grown and in the ever increasing sunlight the smoke column was very plain in the spy glass.
He snapped the glass closed in his hand, hurried to his horse, and swiftly rode down to the camp.
“Are you sure it was Corddry’s signal?” questioned Raasleer.
“It was there just as you said it would come,” answered Russ. “There’s no doubt what I saw.”
Raasleer turned to face the remainder of the men and called out loudly so all could hear. “Throw that supply pack on a horse and let’s ride. Take an extra horse apiece and one for Corddry and the two lookouts. I mean to meet with Corddry and then make it to the bend of the Gila before nightfall. Lewett, you stay here and help Jones take care of the cows. Keep an eye open so we don’t ride into a trap when we come back from Mexico.”
With a rattle of metal bits, stamp of horses’ hooves, and an occasional curse for a beast to stand still, the men saddled swiftly. They divided the spare mounts among themselves and rode off down the canyon.
Kanttner and Banty, obeying the orders that Raasleer called up to them as he passed, followed along the top of the canyon rim until a break was found in the rocks. Then, with a clatter of loose rock falling and dust swirling up on the wind, they forced their ponies down into the bottom.
There was no conversation. The band of heavily armed outlaws strung themselves out along the narrow canyon and spurred into a ground-eating canter.
* * *
From the top of Turtleback Mountain, Corddry watched the group of riders approaching across Palomas Valley from a long distance. Shortly before noon, the men drew close to the western foot of the mountain and Corddry rode down to rendezvous with them.
Raasleer and the others with him had stopped at the first steep slope of the mountain and sat in the shade cast by their horses. Corddry came in warily and made no greetings until the presence of Caloon and Russ was explained. His untrusting face flashed anger at the telling of Pratt and Tanwell’s deaths.
Caloon stood up, leaned against the shoulder of his horse, and glared back truculently. Fuss also climbed to his feet and, remembering Tanwell’s evaluation of Corddry as a back shooter, kept his attention on the gang’s second in command. He waited for the man to take a stand on the killing.
“Well, how about the cows?” asked Raasleer impatiently.
Corddry finished sizing up Russ and Caloon and faced Raasleer. “Two hundred prime breeding heifers in a meadow pasture all by themselves. The Englishman just brought them in from Tucson. They’ll bring a top price in Mexico. They’re in good condition and can travel fast. In two and a half to three days we can have them south of the border.”
“Good,” said Raasleer. “Any problems? How about the ranch hands?”
“I saw somebody ride out from the direction of the ranch headquarters about noon yesterday and take the two men who had been building fence back with him. But those heifers are valuable stock. They’ll be checked every couple of days.”
“Any reason to change the plans we talked about before?” questioned Raasleer.
“Nope. Let’s leave it the same. I judge we have one day, maybe a day and a half, to get a good head start. That is, if we take the stock tonight and push them all night. Tomorrow morning, too, if they can stand it. Cover twenty, twenty-five miles while it’s still cool. Rest during the heat of the day and start out again in the evening.”
Raasleer smiled, pleased, and faced the men. “With luck, we’ll make it to Mexico without the Englishman ever coming within sight of us. We’ll hide our tracks going to the Englishman’s spread, but make as much sign as we can once we start with the cows. I want to leave a good trail for the Englishman to follow. We want him after us and not poking around in the mountains and finding the herds we have stashed there.”
“Even a blind man could follow two hundred head of stock,” observed Caloon.
Raasleer ignored Caloon. “Who knows the Growler Mountains?”
Banty spoke up. “I cut across the south end once ten years or so ago.”
“How about the north part of the mountains?”
“Nope. Never been there.”
“I trapped some wild mustangs in the Growlers last year,” said Russ. “I know them fairly well.”
“You know the mountains stretch north-south and that on the far north end there’s a steep shoulder sticking out to the west?”
“I been there,” said Russ.
“Then do you know where the nearest water is to that piece of the mountain?” questioned Raasleer.
“Well, I found a spring, a big one, on east side of the mountain, about three miles from the place you’re talking about. And there’s a seep about four miles west in the bottom of the wash in Growler Valley. I was trailing a band of wild horses and they led me to it. The water is so close to the surface the mustangs could paw the sand and gravel out deep enough with their hooves to drink.”
“I see you do know the land. We’ll need water for the heifers and our saddle horses about noon tomorrow.”
Russ nodded. “A man with a shovel could dig out quite a lot of water in a couple of hours. Easy enough for two hundred head.”
“All right, you’re the one to go,” said Raasleer. “Take the extra horses, except for a couple we’ll drag along with us, and ride to the Growlers. Dig out a water hole and then climb up to the top of the tall point I mentioned. Watch for us, but mainly watch for riders chasing our trail. After we’ve watered the cows sometime near noon tomorrow, you look close at our back trail and then come down and meet us with the fresh horses. Can you do that?”
“No problem getting that done,” said Russ.
Raasleer and Corddry looked, at Russ hard for a long moment. “This is damn important,” said Raasleer. “I don’t want the Englishman close enough when the sun goes down so he can find us in the dark and shoot the hell out of us. And I want all the horses to he there and well rested. Savvy that?”
Raasleer looked from Russ to Caloon. The meaning was clear. Caloon would be a hostage to insure Russ made no mistakes.
“I’ll be there with the horses fed, watered, and rested,” promised Russ.
“Then be on your way,” ordered Raasleer.
Russ took a short handle shovel and a small quantity of grub from the packhorse. The shovel was tied behind the saddle and the food was stowed away in his saddlebags. When he began to tie the extra mounts nose to tail, Caloon came to help.
As they worked, Caloon spoke, keeping his voice low so the other men could not hear. “If you want to go to California, this is the time. Take all the horses with you. Be careful where you sell them, for I’d bet my last penny all or most are stolen.”
Russ measured Caloon’s expression, but before he could say anything, Caloon spoke again. “Now don’t hold back on my account. I’ll find some reason to be out on point when we come up on Growler Wash. If that seep isn’t shoveled out neat and full of water, I’ll know you won’t be there.” Caloon chuckled under his breath. “In that case I’ll spur my old horse and ride like hell for safer country. Don’t worry, they’ll never catch me.”
“I’ll give it some thought,” said Russ.
Corddry strode up and stopped near Russ and Caloon. “What’s all the confab all about?” he asked in a harsh voice.
“Caloon was just telling me how to tie the lead ropes so they won’t come loose from the horses’ tails,” said Russ. “I’m ready to leave now.” He stepped astride the roan and, trailing the long string of eight horses, struck off to the south at a fast trot.
The remaining outlaws headed due east toward the green meadows in the flood plains of the Gila River.