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could see the others doing the same.
Occasionally the leaders would draw up to catch their wind, and the party
would close up. Shevlin watched for the turn-off ... he had rarely come this
way, and he was worried that he might miss it. It was a steep, alternate route
that cut a good mile off the distance. There was no other chance to get ahead,
and that was where he needed to be.
He saw the twisted, lightning-struck pine on the ridge only a moment before
he saw the slide of shale. The slide slanted up steeply, ending against the
sky. It was a stiff scramble for a good horse not over sixty feet of shale,
but it appeared to gonowhere, and certainly was an unlikely beginning for a
trail.
The big horse took it without urging. On top of the slide was a ridge of
slate, slanting back less steeply. Here, barely visible, was a narrow way worn
by years of passing, but invisible to any but a trained eye. This was the
cutoff, and the horse took to it readily.
Beyond lay a vast jumble of grass-covered slopes, pine-crested ridges, deep
canyons, knolls covered with jagged, broken rock. It was a place where no man
seemed to have come, a wild and lonely place, high under the gray clouds, with
only the whispering rain and the sound of his horse s hoofs to attend him.
Eight miles away, Ray Hollister crouched in the slight shelter of a
wind-hollowed cliff. He hadn t shaved in a week, and his jaws itched; his
mouth felt gritty. It was damp and chilly, and the coffee was made from
grounds used for the third time.
He looked atHalloran , who was stretched out, comfortably asleep, and he felt
a sudden, vicious urge to kick him awake. JohnSande was a dozen yards off,
huddled under a fallen oak, its branches so matted with driftwood that no rain
came through. Babcock sat near him, nursing the fire with sticks.
Hollister spoke suddenly. Where the hell are they? If they left town like
Jess said, they should be here!
Babcock glanced over at him. Ray, if that oldwolfer said they left town,
they left, and then he added, in a milder tone, and don t rile him. He s
likely to cut out and leave us.
Just then Jess Winkler came down through the rocks across the hollow, and
came over to where they waited.
They foxed us, he said, grinning at them. His broken, yellowed teeth showed
under the gray mustache. They surely did!
Before Hollister could speak, Babcock said, How could they? This is the only
trail.
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No, itain t . Winkler squatted on his haunches. I keepforgettin about
that kid, that Shevlin.
He s no kid, JohnSande commented. I seenhim. He s got shoulders like two
of us.
I think of him as a kid, Winkler said. That was how Iknowed him afore. Now
I keepforgettin how canny that youngster was, an how he prowled these
mountains. He s taken them over Lost Cabin.
Never heard of it, Babcock said.
Lost Cabin trail ... it s an oldIndian trail. Somebody built a stone cabin
up there, built it long before any white man wasknowed to be in this country.
Built it an left it. Why, Iain t seen that trail in sixteen, seventeen
years!
What do we do now? Halloran said, sitting up.
Winkler took up a twig and marked on the sand. That trail goes about so. He
drew another line to indicate the railroad, and a cross where Tappan Junction
stood. They ll beheadin for there. If we haul out of here now, we can nest
down in a packet of boulders about here. He made another cross in the sand.
We can make it in about an hour, if we re lucky, and that would be maybe an
hour before they do.
They were gone, and their fire was dying to coals, hissing under occasional
drops of rain, when a rider passed on the trail, not more than thirty yards
off. It was Ben Stowe, wearing a new yellow slicker, his hat brim tilted down.
For the first time in months he felt content. He was up in the saddle again,
and he was riding away from trouble. Of course, there would be trouble aplenty
at Tappan Junction, but it was the kind of trouble for which he was well
prepared and which he clearly understood. Also, within a few minutes, unless
his calculations had gone astray, part of his work would be done for him
somewhere back in the hills ... or perhaps out on the bunch-grass levels where
the tracks were laid.
Somewhere along the line Ray Hollister would come upon Mike Shevlin, and in
the gun battle that must surely follow, men would die on both sides, and every
man who died made his own problem that much simpler.
He had a good horse under him, and no slow-moving pack mules to worry about.
At Wood s Ranch he would swap horses, exchanging the sorrel he now rode fora
tough buckskin he had kept at the ranch, and he would make fast time down to
the Junction. He would be waiting there with the contents of that bundle
behind his saddle, and after that the gold would be his and his alone.
An hour after he rode past the dying campfire, unaware that it was there, two
other riders came along. By that time the fire was entirely out only the
blackened coals remained.
LaineTennisonwas more angry than frightened, but Red was triumphant. His
triumph, however, was beginning to wear thin, for he was no longer so sure
that he had judged right inkidnaping this girl.
It had been simple enough, back there at the Nevada House. He knew
thatLaineTennison represented trouble, and he had guessed she was one of the
owners of the mines, or was associated with them. He had acted promptly, and
upon impulse, as he did most things.
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Mike Shevlin was gone, and it could only be the girl in the room. He had
detected a faint perfume near the door that told him his guess was right.
After discovering that the door was barred from within, he decided that by
morning she would be hungry. He had simply knocked on the door shortly after
daylight and said. Mr. Shevlin, your breakfast is here.
Nobody he knew had ever had breakfast served in his room, but she was a city
girl and might not know it wasn t done at the Nevada House. With a slight
clatter he put down some dishes he had brought up for the purpose, then walked
away and tiptoed back.
Laine.was hungry.After a moment or two she opened the door, and he forced his
way in before she could close it.
And now he had her here, on the road to Tappan Junction.
He had been sure that Ben Stowe would be pleased, but now he was beginning to
worry. Ben was a man who liked to order things his own way. It was too late,
however, to think about that there was nothing to do but ride on.
Chapter 19
WHEN MIKE Shevlin rode out of the dark pines he faced a vast green slope,
perhaps a thousand acres of untouched grass, slanting away from the rounded
crest of the mountain toward the dark canyon off to his left.
To his right and well ahead of him, three dark jagged crags tore at the sky,
trailing drifts of windblown cloud like streamers of smoke. The rain was a
gray veil, the grass a brilliant green, while the sky was masked with lowering
thunderheads.
There was no wind on this slope shielded by the mountain, but he was chilly
under the slicker; and his wet hands worried him, for if he needed a gun he
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