Comanchero trail, p.9
Comanchero Trail, page 9
‘Who cares if he does?’ she said. She looked at him coyly.
‘Mr Crudace, you haven’t even kissed me yet. Aren’t you pleased to see me?’
Crudace looked up to make sure the door was closed, then took her in his arms.
‘There, that’s better,’ she said. ‘I was beginning to wonder if you hadn’t grown tired of your little old pussy cat.’
She sat down, removing her gloves, while he poured a couple of drinks.
‘Naughty man,’ she said. ‘I do believe that is alcohol you are offering me. What if Brigstock smells it on my breath?’
Crudace sat down beside her. He was beginning to be irritated by her conversation. How had it ever appealed to him in the first place?
‘About that letter,’ he said. ‘It sounded rather mysterious. What was it you didn’t have time to elaborate on?’
She threw her head back and laughed. Crudace felt the old stab of desire at the sight of her neck and throat.
‘You are in a hurry today,’ she said. ‘Let me take some time to relax. It’s a tiresome journey from the Rafter W.’
Crudace got up and took a cheroot from a case. He clipped the end.
‘You don’t mind?’ he said.
‘No, of course not. In fact, I like it when you smoke. It makes you seem – I don’t know – more manly.’
He lit the cheroot and inhaled the smoke, taking his time to enjoy it. He was beginning to suspect that there was no real significance to the note. It was probably just another of Miss Trashy’s tricks. She liked to feel important.
‘Well?’ he said.
‘Well what?’
‘About the note?’
‘Oh, you are being rather insistent.’ She paused, giving him an upward glance.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘First of all, I thought it might be of some interest to you to know that Kittredge and that old fool Sherman have been absent from the Rafter W. At first I didn’t notice, but when I did I started asking around. Nobody seemed to know anything. In the end I got it from my grandfather. He always lets things kind of slip when I apply a little subtle pressure. Isn’t the Spanish Bit one of your properties?’
Crudace was interested now. ‘Yes, it is. What of it?’
‘Well, it seems that Kittredge and Sherman are heading in that direction.’
She looked at Crudace and couldn’t help but observe the intent look on his swarthy features.
‘Are you pleased with your little kitten now?’ she said.
Crudace regarded her with an absent look in his eyes before snapping back to attention.
‘Of course, my pretty,’ he replied.
‘Something else has been worrying me,’ she said. ‘Some of Grandfather’s cattle were found shot and killed. Please tell me that wasn’t you?’
Crudace wasn’t sure what she was referring to but set about placating her. ‘Cattle killed? How can you suggest—’
‘Oh, please don’t take it amiss. I only thought . . . you know, the night of the dance, when I told you most of the men would be in town.’
‘Is that when it happened? It must have been some of those Comancheros who’ve been seen around.’
He sat down next to her and she leaned on his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered. ‘It must have been very upsetting, for you and your grandfather. If there’s anything I can do. . . .’
His words petered out. The scent of Miss Trashy’s hair was intoxicating and her breasts were heaving as she sobbed gently.
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘Big cross old cinnamon bear has been unkind to his little kitty.’ He raised her head and kissed her on the lips. Her eyes were damp and shining.
‘Big old bear will have to make up to his kitty-cat,’ he murmured.
Over Miss Trashy’s shoulders he glanced at the clock.
After two days of hard travelling, Carmelita, Kittredge, Sherman and Grattan were at last approaching the mesa. On the second night they had set up camp almost in its shadow and, as the morning sun rose in the sky, Kittredge observed it closely through his field glasses. The walls towered more than 1,000 feet into the air, and were split and cracked with entrances to canyons. The mesa top glowed red with the sunrise, the rimrock projecting over the pitted and eroded cliff walls like battlements. Kittredge reckoned the entire mesa to be about five miles long and three miles wide, and they were approaching its narrower side. He lowered the glasses as approaching footsteps heralded the arrival of Carmelita.
‘It is grand, is it not?’ she said. ‘A man could hide out there for a long time. It is a world of its own.’ She bent down and began to scrabble in the sand, digging something from the ground.
‘Look,’ she said. ‘Men have lived here long before us.’ She handed the object to Kittredge. It was a broken piece of pottery.
‘There is no need to look far,’ she said. ‘I have also found stone tools.’
Kittredge looked around. ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘There must have been Indian people living here long ago, settled people, not travellers like the Navajo.’
‘You will see,’ she said. ‘There are houses built high up in the cliffs. They are hidden where no one would go. El Serpiente uses one cliff village as his headquarters.’
Kittredge glanced behind him. ‘Will we be able to get the wagon through?’ he asked.
Carmelita shrugged. ‘We can only try,’ she said.
When they were ready they rolled out of camp. The mesa was like a giant sphinx lying across the land, slightly higher at one end than the other. Kittredge for one felt threatened by its huge bulk. As they got close they could see that they were heading for a deep canyon that only now became clearly visible. It was wide and there was plenty of room for the wagon to go through. Once they were inside the mesa the canyon opened out further so that it was eventually more like a deep valley.
The morning sun glanced from the bluish rock and high up on the mountain sides they caught the glint of water. By contrast with the stifling heat of the desert, the valley was cool and the air refreshing. The mesa was, as Carmelita had said, a world of its own. As they moved further into the plateau they crossed a narrow runnel of water which became a thin stream and, when the trail took a turn, Kittredge spotted movement on the opposite bank further ahead.
‘Cattle!’ he exclaimed.
‘Gonsalez keeps some of the cows he steal,’ Carmelita said. ‘Some of them escape and find their way through the mountain passes.’
Sherman turned to her. ‘You will show us where Gonsalez keeps his cattle hidden?’
‘Sí, I will show you. It is a secret place. Gonsalez’s men know of it but it would remain hidden from the outsider.’
Sherman turned his horse and splashed through the shallow water. There were three cows standing together; when he reached them he jumped down from the saddle and looked closely to see if there were any markings. Two of them he didn’t recognize but there was no mistaking the third. He climbed back in the saddle and rode back to the others.
‘Rafter W,’ he said. ‘Looks like we were right about those missin’ cows.’
Carmelita looked at him. ‘They are your cows?’ she said.
Sherman nodded. ‘We figured some of ’em might have been hazed down as far as the Spanish Bit.’
‘There’s probably some of ’em at the Spanish Bit as well as here,’ Kittredge remarked. ‘But the fact that they are here at all means El Serpiente has been double-dealin’ our friend Crudace. I wonder whether he knows anythin’ about this?’ He turned to Carmelita. ‘Have you heard of a man called Crudace?’
Carmelita’s brows contracted in thought. ‘I think I hear El Serpiente mention the name,’ she said. ‘I think Gonsalez no like this man Crudace.’
Kittredge grinned. ‘There’d be no surprise in that,’ he said.
Grattan had been listening to the exchange. ‘I know this Crudace,’ he said. ‘Ain’t he the joker with the office in Arrowhead? Seen him about from time to time. You figure he’s involved with Gonsalez?’
‘Ain’t got no proof could hold up in a court of law,’ Kittredge replied. ‘But there’s little doubt there’s a connection.’
‘Find any of those cow critters on the Spanish Bit, I figure you got proof enough.’
They started to move on. The sun was sufficiently high now to flood the valley with its rays, although part of the eastern wall remained in shadow. The rock walls began to close in again and the path got more rugged, becoming quite steep in places. Ahead of them the trail seemed to end in a solid wall of rock, but when they had gone another half mile or so they saw a further opening in the cliffs to their right. Carmelita indicated that they were to turn off and head towards it.
The entrance here was narrower than the passage into the mesa and the trail ascended at a sharper angle. Grattan was having problems with the wagon. Despite his best efforts, the mules were finding the strain too much and the wheels were sinking into the soft earth. Kittredge and Sherman dismounted and climbed into the back of the wagon to see if something could be done about lessening and redistributing the weight. There was a rough wooden box in one corner and when Kittredge made to move it he found it was a lot heavier than he had imagined.
‘Grattan!’ he shouted. ‘What you got in this crate?’
In a moment the oldster’s face appeared through the canvas with a big grin.
‘I meant to tell you about those old things,’ he said. ‘Go ahead, open the lid and take a look.’
Kittredge did as he suggested, then staggered back with a horrified expression on his countenance,
‘Grenades!’ he gasped. ‘This rig could blow to high hell!’
Grattan chuckled. ‘No fear of that,’ he said. ‘They’re harmless till the fuse has been lit.’
Kittredge and Sherman didn’t look too convinced as they both leaped down from the wagon.
‘They’re Union grenades, ain’t they? Hell, which side were you on?’ asked Kettredge.
‘They might look like Union grenades but they ain’t. Those fellas are Rains grenades. Look a bit like a Ketchum but the head is different and they got a streamer.’
‘Where did you pick these up?’ Sherman asked.
‘Same place I got the gun.’
Kittredge got back up to take a further look.
‘Figure they could come in mighty useful too,’ Grattan said.
‘Yeah?’ Kittredge replied. ‘More likely if we throw ’em anywhere near Gonsalez he’ll pick ’em up and throw ’em straight back again.’
‘Either that or they’ll blow our hands off before we ever get to chuck ’em,’ Sherman added.
Grattan laughed. ‘You show a distinct lack of faith,’ he said. ‘The old gun didn’t let us down, did it?’
Kittredge exchanged glances with the others. ‘Let’s get this wagon movin’,’ he said.
Gingerly they lifted down the box of grenades together with various other items. It didn’t seem to make much difference and Sherman contemplated lifting down the gun. It wasn’t something he relished doing and once again he wondered at Grattan’s ability to perform the unexpected. How had he manoeuvred the gun into position? It was a wonder the old wagon had ever survived the shock of the detonation.
They didn’t need to lift down the gun, however, because when Grattan cracked his whip the wagon lumbered forward with a lurch. It was still hard going but after a short time the gradient levelled out and they were able to move forward without too much difficulty along the floor of the canyon. Kittredge, Sherman and Carmelita walked alongside the wagon. Shadows were already descending from the high rock walls. It seemed to Kittredge that they had entered another world, a strange and secret world where the outside rules no longer applied. In this world even Grattan’s behaviour seemed almost normal and anything might happen.
Chapter Six
It was late when Crudace and his assorted crew of cowhands and roughnecks rode into the yard of the Spanish Bit. Since his incarnation as land agent and rancher, Crudace had grown soft. The easy life had bitten into his bones and he was less than happy after the hard ride and the exigencies of the desert. He had sent word on ahead that he was coming, and he expected everything to have been arranged for his comfort when he arrived. The fact that nothing was prepared and his arrival was quite unexpected put him in an even worse frame of mind. While his men made their way to the bunkhouse he stormed through the ranch house door.
‘Crombie!’ he yelled. ‘Where the hell is everybody?’
He stamped his way through to the kitchen and then called up the stairs. ‘Crombie!’
He waited for a few moments but there was no answering call. There was no sign of his foreman or of anybody else. Furiously, he threw open the door of a cabinet and produced a bottle of brandy. He poured himself a stiff drink, then sank back into the enveloping comfort of an armchair. A short time passed, then there was a knock on the door.
‘Come in!’ Crudace yelled.
The door opened and a worried-faced Crombie appeared. Crudace looked him up and down.
‘What the hell is going on?’ he snapped. ‘I sent Rogers down to let you know I was headed this way. What sort of welcome is this?’
‘Sorry, boss,’ Crombie muttered. ‘Somethin’ must have happened to Rogers on the way here. We ain’t seen hide nor hair of him.’
Crudace tossed back the remainder of his drink and then poured another.
‘Never mind that now,’ he said. ‘Just round up the cook and get him to rustle up a meal. Somethin’ decent. I ain’t eaten properly in days.’
There were noises from the direction of the bunkhouse.
‘The boys seem to makin’ themselves at home,’ Crudace remarked. He broke off to light a cheroot which he had taken from a box on a table. ‘How have things been down here?’ he barked.
‘Quiet,’ Crombie replied. ‘Things is just tickin’ along. We got a few new head of steers some of Gonsalez’s men drove in.’ He was surprised at the look of hatred which spread across Crudace’s features.
‘I’d be willin’ to bet there’s a good few missin’,’ the rancher said. ‘I’ll be takin’ a look around first thing in the mornin’. After that make sure the boys are ready because I want to talk to ’em and you can be sure I won’t be mincin’ my words.’
Crombie struggled with himself for a moment before asking:
‘Is there a problem, boss?’
‘Too right,’ Crudace snarled. ‘And I’ll give you one guess as to who I’m referrin’ to.’
Crosbie thought for only a second. ‘Gonsalez?’ he hazarded.
‘You got it in one. I figure it’s time Gonsalez was taught a lesson.’
Crombie wasn’t too sure what his boss was referring to but made a quick decision to say nothing. He didn’t have to wait long for things to be made clearer.
‘That no-good cheatin’ son of a coyote has been holdin’ back on me for too long. How many cows do you figure he’s stolen from the Spanish Bit all this time? I figure he’s holdin’ more head of cattle than we are.’
Crombie didn’t like to comment that since the cattle had either been stolen in the first place or were the outcome of Gonsalez’s dealings with the Comanche, Crudace had little cause to complain on that score.
‘That stinkin’ polecat owes me money and just lately he’s been gettin’ way too big for his boots,’ Crudace continued. ‘It’s time he was cut down to size and that’s just what I intend doin’. El Serpiente is sure gonna get one hell of a shock next time he decides to put in an appearance at the Spanish Bit.’
Crudace’s expression had changed as if the mere prospect of dealing with Gonsalez in his own way was a source of satisfaction. He addressed Crombie in a less hostile manner.
‘Go on, then. Roust out that good for nothin’ cook, whatever he’s doin’, and let’s start gettin’ this show on the road.’
Feeling somewhat relieved, his foreman moved out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Kittredge was becoming a little confused. Led by Carmelita, their little party had advanced deep into the mesa, following a route that led through a maze of canyons and winding trails. Now, as they slowly advanced down one more path overhung by high rock walls, she suddenly held up her hand as a signal for them to halt.
‘What is it?’ asked Kittredge.
‘You want to see where El Serpiente keeps the stolen cattle?’ she replied.
‘Sure,’ Kittredge answered. He turned to Sherman. ‘Figure that would be real useful to know, don’t you?’ he said.
‘Sure do. Most of those critters are probably ours.’
Grattan took a bite from a wad of tobacco. ‘You boys go on ahead,’ he said. ‘Me and the mules will wait here and take a break.’
Kittredge nodded. ‘OK,’ he said to Carmelita. ‘Where do we go from here?’
‘Follow me,’ she said. ‘But when we get closer we must take care. Some of Gonsalez’s men might be on duty up there.’
Kittredge had been wondering when they might make some sort of contact with the enemy. He had expected that there might be guards at various points, but so far there had been no mention of the Comancheros and certainly no sighting of them. At times Kittredge had felt that they were vulnerable but he could see why Gonsalez would not bother to set a watch over the way they had come so far. The passage into the mesa was so tortuous and complicated that he would have deemed it unnecessary.
‘What about the horses?’ he asked.
‘There is no problem yet with the horses,’ she replied. ‘When we get closer we dismount and make the last part on foot.’
She set off up the trail, Kittredge and Sherman following in single file. They hadn’t gone far when she turned off down a narrow cleft which any other rider would probably have missed and which began to open out as the surrounding rock walls fell away and the path ascended. At length they came to a growth of trees where she ordered them to dismount.
‘We leave the horses here,’ she said. ‘There is not much further to go and they will be concealed.’
After securing the horses they moved forward on foot through the trees. The way led upward and as the trees thinned out Kittredge could see that they were approaching a summit. Panting slightly from the exertion, they emerged on to the brow of the hill.
