If Doc answered, I didn’t hear it. I peered out the front window, looking for the turnoff into the parking area for Leprechaun Canyon. Nothing. I suddenly remembered it was around the next curve. I let go of the pouch. The engine roared into life and leaped forward. Tires squealed as we leaned into the curve. The parking lot was about a hundred yards ahead. I gripped the pouch, and the engine lurched again. Instantly we were slowing.
Lew was going wild. “Pull over, pull over,” he shouted.
I hope you’re ready, Rick. It was a silent shout. Who knew what was going through his mind? He didn’t have a radio and therefore had heard none of this. I looked back. Thick blue smoke was pouring out of our exhaust, half obscuring Rick’s truck. That would help. Remember the red truck, Rick.
“Look,” Blake shouted. “There’s a turnoff. On the left. Let’s get off the highway.”
Fortunately, there was no traffic coming in either direction. Blake turned on her blinker and, a moment later, one by one, we turned onto a narrow dirt road. She continued on it for about seventy-five yards before coming to a small parking area. As soon as we reached it, the engine made one last awful sound and died.
I already had my hands on the door handle. I yanked it hard, threw my shoulder against the door, and tumbled out. I was up and running before the car stopped rolling.
Chapter 64
As I raced away, I saw three things simultaneously: Gordo shouting and hammering on the door handle, trying to get it to open; Rick tumbling out of the truck then racing away in a hard sprint; and Doc, looking startled. He was yelling and waving his pistol. I saw him throw himself against his door, but his door wouldn’t open either.
All we needed was a short head start, and we’d be into heavy brush that would make it hard to see us. And that’s what the pouch was giving us.
At the east end of the parking area, which was only large enough to hold five or six cars, the road abruptly narrowed into a walking path. I could hear Rick coming right behind me. Staying low, we ran at full speed. I watched the ground carefully because if I tripped and fell, I knew I would go down hard; my hands were still held together by the nylon strap.
The parking area was actually part of the dry wash that was at the mouth of Leprechaun Canyon. But because it was a wash, even in the full heat of summer, the occasional rainstorm brought enough moisture to keep the wash a green oasis in the desert. There were a few scrubby trees with thornlike needles, a lot of tall sagebrush, scattered willowy bushes five and six feet high, and lots of reeds. The foliage would be our protection until we reached the canyon itself. Our pursuers would find it relatively easy to follow us if we stayed on the path, but they had no way of knowing if we would or not, so they would, of necessity, be slower than we were. That was an important advantage.
The path moved up the side hills a little to avoid the more clogged parts of the wash. At one point, we stopped to catch our breath. I turned around, scanning the trail behind us. Just as I spotted Doc’s head coming through the underbrush, a rifle cracked. There was a sharp slap as the bullet hit the rock face ten or fifteen feet above my head.
I yelped and dropped into a crouch. Had that been a warning shot, or had Doc just not had a clear shot? One thing was sure: Doc and I did not get along.
“Let’s go,” I cried. “They’re about two minutes behind us.”
“How far to the canyon?”
The Irish Canyons were a favorite camping place for my family, but Rick had never been here. “Maybe half a mile or so. But they’ll have to go slower than we do.”
As the path quickly narrowed, we dropped into single file, trotting briskly. “Danni,” Rick called.
“What?”
“Do you think they’ll hurt Officer Blake?”
“No. She didn’t do anything. They probably just cuffed her to the steering wheel.”
“Good. Try not to be a target anymore. I think this Doc guy is through playing around.”
“Got it,” I said. I was coming to the same conclusion.
Ten minutes later, I stepped off the path and scampered up the steep rock face on our right. The canyon walls were closing in fast and getting much steeper. This time, I kept low, staying in a crouch until I reached a place where I could peek over and see down into the wash below us. I looked at Rick, putting a finger to my lips. When I scanned the wash below, it took me only about ten seconds to see Doc’s head again. I couldn’t see Gordo, but I guessed he was right behind Doc.
I came back down, jumping the last five or six feet into the soft red sand. “We’re gaining a little on them. They’re maybe three minutes behind us. That’s good. We’ll be into the canyon in another minute or so, and to the junction where the canyon splits in maybe five to seven more. If we can make it that far, we’re home free.”
“You sure that free is the right word in this context?”
I didn’t laugh. “Rick?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful. They’re not going to hurt me. They won’t risk that. But you are of no use to them, I am sorry to say. So if they catch us, don’t fight them. I think they’ll just tie you up and leave you somewhere.”
“Are you suggesting I can’t keep up with you?” he asked dryly.
“No. I’m suggesting that, to them, you’re excess baggage.”
He smiled wanly, and we continued on.
One of the things that makes Southern Utah so breathtakingly beautiful is the nature of its geology. Millions of years ago, it was covered by a great inland sea. When it receded, it left thousands of square miles of soft sandstone, much of it a deep reddish-brown from the iron. Carved by the forces of nature, the land became an endless variety of plateaus, mesas, canyons, upthrusts, and deep gorges.
Slot canyons are formed when rainwater and snowmelt follow the natural pull of gravity, relentless as time itself, and cut their way into the soft sandstone. In some places, deep fissures form in the rock. If the fissure is deep enough, it becomes a canyon of its own, eroding ever deeper, until it creates a canyon that can be hundreds of feet deep, yet no more than a few feet wide in some places.
The slot canyons of the Southwest United States are infinite in their variety and stunning in their beauty. The Irish Canyons are just three of hundreds of such marvels, and Leprechaun Canyon is considered by most to be the best of the three.
When Rick and I entered Leprechaun Canyon, the walls had closed in to where they were only twenty or thirty feet apart. The deep vermillion cliffs rose two or three hundred feet straight up above our heads, making us feel like we were ants in a cathedral. The canyon floor, which was actually the sandy bed of the water channel, was serpentine, turning and twisting every few yards, allowing us to see only a short distance ahead or behind. The lower portions of the walls were striated, showing the action of the water on the stone.
We moved along at a trot, side by side, not speaking, listening intently for any sound of pursuit. Fortunately, the narrow walls of a slot canyon served as amplifiers, sending sound echoing up and down the narrow passages. If our two pursuers were closing in, we would know it soon enough.
As we rounded yet another twist in the canyon, we could see where the canyon pinched down to a very narrow slot.
“That’s a pretty tight stretch up ahead, but it’s not a long one,” I explained in a low voice. “Both of us can get through it, though it’ll be a squeeze for you. Doc too. Gordo, though? I’m not sure. Depends how flabby his tummy is.”
“So what will Doc do if Gordo can’t come through?”
“Not sure. There’s a fairly easy way up and around the spot, but they won’t know that. Doc will come after us alone if he has to, but I’m sure he’d rather not. Not with two of us to contend with.”
“Knowing Doc,” Rick said, “he’ll kick Lew hard enough to get him through, even if it means leaving a couple of pounds behind on the rock.”
“Agreed. After we get through there, I know a spot where we can wait to see if they both make it.”
“Isn’t that cutting things a little close?”
“It’s close, but not too close. You okay with that?”
“If you think it’s important, then it’s important.”
“I think it’s important. We need to know what we’re up against.”
“Then let’s go.”
I let Rick go first in case I needed to give him a shove, but while he had to really suck in his stomach in one place, he made it through without much difficulty. I followed without any trouble.
As we broke into a trot again, Rick said, “I hope that’s the tightest place we have to go through.”
“Don’t tell me you’re claustrophobic.”
“No. Just a little fatter than you.”
Smiling at his joke was a relief, because I knew what was coming and was feeling a touch claustrophobic myself. I thought it was ironic that I hated being in an underground mine because they cause me to experience some mild to medium claustrophobia. But slot canyons don’t freak me out, even though they are often much tighter and more confining than a mine shaft. I’d asked Dad about it once, and he thought it was because the slot canyons are open to the sky. And he was right. The thought of all those thousands of tons of rock over my head made me crazy. But I’d been through Leprechaun Canyon before and there was only one place where it was almost totally dark. The sky was up there somewhere, but it was so far up and hidden by the twist of the canyon walls, it didn’t feel like it. I knew I’d have to force myself to really focus on there being sky above me to stop me from freaking out.
“Here,” I said, pointing to where a low ridge of rock jutted out into the canyon. “We can wait here.”
As we settled in, Rick touched my arm. “Are there tighter places than that?” he whispered.
I flashed him a quick smile.
He shook his head, serious. “We’ve got two guys with guns after us, Danni. And you’re still handcuffed. How tight is it?”
I sobered. He was right. Keeping my voice low, I said, “Be sure you take your wallet out of your back pocket before you start.”
“Come on, Danni. I’m serious. Have you been through here before?”
“Just once. Mom didn’t come with us. She found a place to paint and waited for us outside. Dad and Grandpère couldn’t make it. They had to go around on the top. My uncle Glade, Dad’s younger brother, took me and Cody through. Glade’s built like a greyhound, but he still lost two buttons off his shirt. Cody’s a worm, so it was a piece of cake for him. But I can show you where I left some flesh when we came through. And I tore the button off my shorts and had to hold them up by hand until we got back to the car.”
“Way too much information,” Rick said in dismay. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before? If you could barely make it, then how in the world—”
I punched him softly on the shoulder. “The narrowest place in the canyon is a little more than twelve inches wide, but—”
“Twelve inches!” he yelped.
“Shh!” Then I smiled. “Did I happen to mention that we’re not going that far into the canyon?”
He glared at me. “Speaking of worms,” he said, “you’re pretty much a worm yourself.”
“It’s still going to be a tight fit, Rick. I wasn’t kidding about the wallet. Put it in your front pocket so it’s out of the way. The canyon will be about fifteen inches in one place.”
Before I could say more, we heard sounds from below us. We both dropped on our bellies, peering over the rock at the spot where the slot opened up and became a full canyon again. There was definitely a murmur of voices, and I estimated Doc and Gordo were still four or five minutes away.
I spotted a rock with a jagged edge. I scooted over to it and started sawing the nylon cuffs on the edge. It seemed to be working. If only I had another week to keep at it. “I should have kept the pistol,” I grumbled. “We could use it about now.”
Suddenly we heard a cry. Gordo. “I can’t get through there.”
“Shut up, fool!” Doc’s voice hissed in Spanish. “You can make it. Don’t hold the rifle in front of you. Hold it out at arm’s length.”
With a start, I realized my gift of interpretation was back. I cocked my head to one side, listening intently.
A few seconds later, Gordo wailed again. “I’m stuck, Raul. Don’t leave me.”
“How can I leave you, stupid? I’m behind you, remember? Keep your shoulders turned sideways. If the Ramirez kid made it, you can make it.”
I glanced at Rick and smiled. Doc’s logic was somewhat faulty, considering the size difference between Rick and Gordo. I raised up higher. If Gordo was stuck, I wasn’t worried about anyone popping out and surprising us, and I wanted to see what they were doing. As I moved, I saw the top of a head with wisps of dark black hair covering a large bald spot. It was Gordo. And out in front of him, I saw something else—the barrel of his assault rifle.
My hand shot out and grabbed Rick’s arm. “I’ve got an idea.”
“What are you doing?” he said into my ear.
There was another burst of Spanish. I grinned. “Doc says he’s going to shoot Gordo if he doesn’t keep moving. I think he’s pushing him.” Before Rick could react, I leaped up and scuttled away in a low crouch.
“No, Danni!” Rick’s cry was involuntary, but Gordo’s head jerked up and he saw me instantly.
“There she is, Raul. It’s the girl.” Then panic. “She’s coming.”
“Go, you idiot!” Doc screamed. “Push!”
I gasped as I felt someone grab me around the waist and toss me aside. “I’ll get it,” Rick said and shot past me.
There wasn’t time to be mad. Another foot and Gordo would be through the tight spot and able to raise his rifle.
Gordo was stuck in an unusual part of the canyon. The slot itself was only about seven feet deep on one side because the south cliff face opened up there, leaving a rock slab that formed a shelf parallel to the slot for several feet.
Rick scooped up a handful of sand, then darted onto the shelf. As he reached Gordo, he flung the sand into his face.
The fat man let out a howl and started cursing.
Ignoring him, Rick leaned down, grabbed the rifle barrel, and yanked it free.
“Raul! He got the rifle.”
“Go!” Rick yelled at me, waving wildly as he sprinted back toward me.
As I stood up, I heard a loud thump, a whoosh of air, and a cry of pain. Gordo popped out of the slot like a cork from a champagne bottle and went sprawling on his face.
“Get him! Get him!” Doc was yelling. I could see his dark shape pushing through the slot as rapidly as he could. I could also see that he was holding a pistol in his bandaged hand.
“Go! Go! Go!” Rick shouted. But I had already decided that I had seen more than enough and took off running.
Chapter 65
“We’ve got to slow them down,” I cried as we ran up the canyon. A short distance above the first slot, the canyon abruptly opened up into an area called the Subway. It roughly resembled a subway tunnel and was big enough to hold a pair of parallel tracks. We were coming up on it fast. In one place, the Subway was at least a hundred feet long, a straight shot that had no significant cover.
Rick swung around and dropped behind a desk-sized boulder. “Keep going,” he called. “I’ll catch up.”
I nearly stopped too, but knew this was no time for an ego contest. Rick pulled back the lever on the rifle and put a shell in the chamber. As I reached the other end of the Subway, I heard the rifle crack once, then twice. The sound was deafening as it echoed up and down the length of the Subway. Another crack. Then the lighter sound of pistol fire followed.
Rick came into view, running hard. “That’ll make them think twice before coming on a dead run. How much time do we need?”
“Just enough to get far enough into the slots so they can’t see us.” Or shoot at us. “There’s a junction about five minutes ahead of us. At the junction, the left fork becomes a narrow slot. No more than fif
teen inches wide. That’s where we’re going. The right fork is virtually impassable without climbing gear.”
After the straight stretch of the Subway, the canyon curved to the right. As soon as we were out of sight, I slowed to a stop, then bent down, drawing in huge gulps of air.
“See—if—they’re—coming,” I managed to get out the words between gasps.
But Rick was already sidling along the wall. He peeked his head around. “Not there. We’re gaining on them.” He raised the rifle and fired again. The shot was thunderous in the narrow gorge, reverberating off the walls. “Just to let them know we’re still here.”
Then he stepped to me. “We’ve got to get those cuffs off you before we go into that slot canyon. Try the pouch.”
“I have tried the pouch,” I snapped. “I’ve been telling it to get me out of these cuffs for the last mile. Nothing! Don’t ask me why. Maybe it’s reminding me that I can’t boss it around.” Suddenly, I had another idea. I stuck my hands out in front of my body. “Shoot them off.”
“What?”
“Come on, Rick. Those guys are coming, and they’re coming fast. I’ll hold my hands up in the air as far apart as I can. You put the barrel right up against the nylon and shoot them off.”
“No. I don’t like that idea. Sure a bullet would cut through nylon, but it’s too dangerous. It could jerk the cuffs so hard it breaks your wrists.”
I hadn’t considered that. In the movies, the hero would just shoot them off.
He looked around wildly. Suddenly he grabbed my elbow. “Look, that rock has a sharp edge. Start sawing.”
I leaped forward. Too eager! My foot slipped in the loose sand and gravel, and I pitched forward.
Quick as a cat, Rick’s hand shot out and grabbed for me. He reached for my hands but missed, his fingers catching the nylon strap between the two cuffs. There was a soft snap, and the cuffs came away in his hand.
For a moment, we gaped at the cuffs, then at each other. The strap itself hadn’t broken, but both cuffs had snapped cleanly in two. Nylon thick enough to resist several hundred pounds of pressure had simply broken.