Chapter Twenty-Two
In the Cajons
Chuck's mind was vague and his head throbbed dully. The last thing hecould remember was firing wildly at guns flashing in the night.Gradually his memory returned and he remembered the night raid by therustlers on the Box B cattle.
The riders had come silently out of the night, following a little drawdriving a small herd ahead of them. He had swept down on them aftergiving the alarm and they had opened fire instantly. Then something hadstruck his head, constellations had danced before his glazing eyes, andhe had collapsed in the saddle. How much time had elapsed or where hewas, were questions he couldn't answer.
Chuck moved cautiously and learned that he was bound hand and foot. Hisroving eyes took in his prison. He was lying on the floor of a lean-to,one wall of which was formed by a larger cabin. It was daylight, for hecould see the sky through cracks in the roof, but there was no sound toindicate that anyone was near.
The cowboy detective attempted to sit up, and after a painful ordeal,managed to twist his body into a partially upright position. His handsand feet were numb, but there was a little give in the ropes which heldhis hands and he moved them steadily. The circulation returned to hisaching arms. For a time Chuck had hopes of freeing his hands, but he hadto give up in defeat and he rolled back onto the floor.
Hours passed before he heard the sound of horses and a few minutes latertwo riders dismounted within a few feet of the lean-to. He could heartheir voices plainly. One he recognized as that of Hack Cook and theother, though familiar, he could not identify.
"Where's the kid?" he heard the unknown ask.
"Tied up on the floor of the lean-to. He's got a back nick in his headwhere one of our bullets grazed him last night."
Well, that was something. Chuck knew that the raid had taken place onlythe night before and from the waning sunlight, it must be lateafternoon.
The door of the lean-to opened and two masked men entered. The first onehe knew was the owner of the Diamond Dot, but the second he could notidentify.
Hack Cook bent down and looked at Chuck's throbbing head.
"He ain't hurt much. Couple of days and he'll never know he was hit."
"I'll say he won't," put in the other rustler. "In a couple of more dayshe'll not care what happens. I'm positive this kid and that Slim Evansare cattle dicks."
"We searched Meade but didn't find a thing," replied Cook.
"Makes no difference. These boys are too dangerous to have loose on therange. Why Evans was within a few minutes of you when you were riding inthe foothills of the Three Soldiers after you failed to bump off old manMarks. If it hadn't been for that rain, he'd have gotten you sure.
"Another thing, he's looking for a man that rides a horse with a shoethat's got a V-shaped nick."
"I fixed that," growled Cook. "Had Doug Huston file a nick on one of theshoes of Meade's horse and we filed a couple on the horses of the otherboys. Say, there's so many V-shaped nicks making tracks around thisvalley that the fellow who tries to follow all of them will go crazy."
"Then let's hope that Evans tries to follow them all. That fellow's justplain dynamite."
Chuck was hungry and he spoke up.
"How about something to eat?" he asked.
"Not tonight. We haven't got any grub with us. Maybe we'll be backtomorrow."
"Then give me a drink."
Cook laughed harshly. "It'll do you good to get thirsty. Give you anidea of what we're going to do with you when we have time."
They stepped outside and slammed the door. Chuck could hear themconversing outside.
"When are you going to ship the cattle?" asked the unidentified rustler.
"Day after tomorrow. Can't get cars until then," replied Cook.
"Well, keep a close eye on Meade. I'm going back to Dirty Water. Afterthe cattle are safely out I'll come back and we'll decide just how we'lldispose of this fellow."
They mounted their horses and rode rapidly away, leaving Chuck alone,without food or water. The air grew chill, and he spent a miserablenight.
It was mid morning when he heard a lone rider coming toward the cabin.The horseman dismounted and opened the door. Like the visitors of theday before he was masked, but he had a jug of water and some food. Heuntied the ropes that bound Chuck's hands and, gun in hand, squatted onthe other side of the lean-to while Chuck wolfed the food. His lips werecracked from lack of water and his stomach ached with a great emptiness,but the coarse food soon gave him new energy. If the masked rustlerwould only come close enough for him to lunge. Chuck eyed the distancewith a calculating eye.
"Turn around," commanded the gunman. Chuck was forced to obey, and therope was slipped over his hands again. The lean-to was in semi-darknessand Chuck managed to tense his hands. Perhaps there would be a littleslack when the rustler finished tying the knots.
Chuck was hurled over on his back and the rustler slammed the door androde away. It was not until Chuck was sure that he was quite aloneagain, that he renewed his attempt to loosen his bonds. The rope aroundhis wrists gave slightly and he worked steadily, straining against thebonds. Night came and in spite of himself he fell asleep.
At dawn he was at the painful task again, straining and tugging, andmaking a little progress all of the time. At last his left hand slippedfree, then his right, and with shaking fingers he untied the knots thathad held his legs fast.
His legs were so numb that he was forced to crawl out of the lean-to onhis hands and knees. Once outside he rested in the bright sunlight,blinking his eyes against the unaccustomed light. He massaged themuscles of his legs until the circulation was back to normal and then hestood up. It was great to be free again.
At a nearby stream Chuck washed his face and hands and gingerly felt ofthe wound on his head. Nature had done a good job of healing it andunless he got another severe bump, it should heal all right.
Chuck took time to survey his prison. The cabin and lean-to were in theheart of the Cajons, an old trail leading away to the left. It was alongthis that the rustlers who had visited the cabin traveled. Thereappeared to be no other exit from the valley and Chuck set out along thetrail, walking carefully.
For better than a mile he followed the winding path. Then it openedsuddenly into a wider valley and Chuck looked down on the hiding placeof the rustlers of the Creeping Shadows.
There was plenty of water here and lots of rich grass. A large polecorral had been built near the far end of the valley where the mountainsclosed in again. Down there was also a large cabin. The whole valleyappeared deserted except for a calico cayuse which was in a smallercorral. Chuck's heart leaped as he recognized his own horse.
Keeping under shelter as much as possible he made his way down thevalley. The entire layout was deserted and he entered the cabin. Hissaddle and rifle as well as six-gun were piled against one wall and witheager hands Chuck fastened the gun belt around his waist. There was foodin the cabin and he soon had a good meal. Rifle in hand and saddle overone shoulder, he started for the corral. Refreshed by the food, he wasready to hit the road.
The dusty trail leading out of the larger corral indicated that a smallherd of cattle had been driven out of it a short time before and Chuckpicked up the trail and followed it, angling always a little to theleft.
A few minutes later the smaller trail joined the one Slim had followedthrough the mountains, the path the rustlers used in running the cattleout of the Creeping Shadows over to the railroad. Chuck had stumbled onthe hiding place where they held the stolen livestock until time to shipthem out from the railroad.
Still following the trail of the cattle, Chuck swung toward therailroad. He rode steadily, ever watchful lest he run into another trapof the rustlers. At noon he was well down the east side of the Cajonsand he saw the local freight pulling down the main line and stop, but hewas still some miles away, too great a distance to see what happenedafter the freight stopped.
Chuck spurred his cayus
e into a full gallop, rocketing down out of theCajon foothills. The trail straightened out and a lone rider, coming ata furious pace, came into sight.
Chuck swung his cayuse off the trail, slid from the saddle, and foundshelter behind a rock. The oncoming rider had been too busy lookingbehind him to see Chuck.
It was Hack Cook, owner of the Diamond Dot. Then Slim galloped into viewand Chuck snuggled his cheek down against the butt of his rifle andvoted himself a large-sized share of the chase.
Much as he knew the rustler deserved to be shot down without mercy,Chuck couldn't quite bring himself to that. Lining his sights on theoncoming rider, he pressed the trigger. There was a tiny spurt of smokefrom the rifle and Hack Cook catapulted from the saddle, drilled neatlythrough the right shoulder.