Novel 1978 - The Proving Trail (v5.0) (10 page)

About a half mile or so from where I left the Ute Trail, I found the spring. First off I let my horse have what he wanted, drank myself, and filled my canteen. Plenty of game tracks but no horse tracks.

Squatting beside the spring, I considered what lay before me and behind me. Odd part of it was, I was kind of enjoying this cat-and-mouse game. The trouble was—and this I had to keep in mind—that it was no game. It was being played for keeps, and all a man needed was one mistake.

Right now a man was on my back trail who was deadly as a rattler. He’d shot pa in the back, so it showed he didn’t have any mercy in him. It may have shown something else…that when it came right down to it, he was scared of pa.

Seemed strange that anybody could be afraid of pa, who had always seemed the gentlest of men, yet Yant had taken no chances with him.

The spring was in a small branch canyon, and I didn’t much like staying there for fear Yant would come down the draw and catch me there, so I straddled the roan and started down canyon. Here and yonder the trail went up the flank of the canyon to get away from great blocks of rock that had broken off the wall and tumbled to the bottom, blocking any trail there might have been.

Here and there I saw broken pieces of pottery, so Indians had lived here before. Pa had told me of some cliff dwellings along this canyon and another branch that ran back toward the east and north.

Where the canyon forked, I turned right and found myself looking up into the high arch of one of those shallow, wind-hollowed caves where the old cliff dwellers liked to build. There was a cliff dwelling there, too, but it was different.

There was a ledge crossed that cave some sixty feet from the bottom of the arch, and on that ledge was built a house. Only ruins were left, yet pretty substantial ruins. How a body could get up there was more than I could figure, but a man sitting up there with a rifle could cover anybody coming down that canyon where I was.

The cave was right at the junction of those two canyons, and the more I looked at that cliff house, the more I wanted to see what was inside. Certainly once a man got in there, a body would surely be in a fix trying to get at him. If I could get in.

Riding up the canyon was no easy matter. There was a sandy strip in the bottom where water had run during rains, but great boulders and slabs of rock had fallen across the way in several places. There was more pottery down here, or bits and pieces of it, and there were several ruins tucked back under the brows of the cliff. Back at the junction those canyon walls were maybe five hundred feet high, but a little less toward the canyon’s head. Near the far end I glimpsed what seemed to be some ruins in behind some spruce trees. Leaving my horse cropping at some brush, I scrambled up there and found the ruins of a house and the edge of what might have been a kiva, one of their round ceremonial centers. It was mostly filled with rock that had sloughed off the roof of the cave. The place was cool, still, and almost entirely hidden from below. In a couple of pools water stood, runoff from recent rains that had not evaporated in this shaded place.

Returning to my roan, I found a place where it could be hidden behind a thick stand of spruce, a fairly level area, although small. Here, too, there were broken fragments of pottery and some ears of corn that were only three or four inches long and no larger around than my finger. Stripping the gear from the roan, I hid it as well as I could with some fallen branches and the like. Then, taking my rifle and canteen, I went back down the canyon, working my way along the steep side, following what must at one time have been a foot trail, that took me higher and higher along the canyon wall.

Several hundred feet above the canyon floor I found a crack in the canyon wall where stood the notched trunk of a cedar. Rigging a crude sling for my rifle, I hung it over my back to have both hands free for climbing. Slowly and carefully, aiding myself with handholds or fingergrips on the rocks, I mounted to an excessively narrow ledge, then by another notched pole to a still higher one.

Working my way along and up, I reached a ledge that led to the cliff house. Once settled inside, I unslung my rifle and peered out through a crack in the crumbling wall. From here I could look down to the junction of the two canyons. It was an easy rifle shot, but did I wish to kill?

Settling back, I studied my surroundings. On my right, almost under my elbow, was the edge of the kiva, a round ceremonial room with some of the ancient timbers still in place although the roof had long since fallen in.

There was a door broader at the top than at the bottom, for is not a man wider at the top? And often carrying a burden on his back or shoulders? And another opening that gave access to an area beyond.

There were bits of broken pottery lying about and a number of small corncobs, less than a third the size of those with which I was familiar. Corn had been domesticated, apparently, but not developed to our present standard. I took a short drink from my canteen and settled back to rest.

All was quiet in the canyon. Occasionally a rock, loosened by some animal or by the workings of nature, would tumble off into the canyon below. Once I heard some small animal scurrying.

My horse was reasonably safe. Shielded by trees as he was, and somewhat above the canyon floor in the old ruin, there was small chance he would be discovered. It would need someone totally lacking in caution to go up the canyon to its end, completely exposed to rifle fire from a dozen possible places of hiding. Felix Yant was not, I was sure, such a man.

What I needed was a little rest, time to think and to plan, and a chance to observe my enemy, if such he was, and to learn what manner of man he was.

Slowly the afternoon passed. I dozed, awakened, dozed again.

At last, peering through some broken brick atop the wall, I saw a bird fly up.

Somebody coming? Suddenly I began to sweat. Suppose they had seen me climb up here? If such was the case I could well be trapped, for impossible as the place was to attack, it was almost equally impossible to leave without exposing myself.

At night? The thought of attempting that cliff in the darkness gave me no pleasure. I was agile enough, and had climbed a lot among rocks, but at night? Not if I could help it.

Nothing happened. All was still. Watching, I thought of Yant, of those cold, measuring eyes that seemed to possess no more human feeling than those of a rattler.

That he was a relative I accepted. His resemblance to pa was too uncanny for it to be otherwise. Yet how related? And if related, why would he wish to kill
me?

An estate of some kind? Money motivated more things than hatred, yet there could be both.

The two mysterious women who had come to visit us returned to mind. One had been friendly, yet I had been so frightened of the other I had never even told pa…and she had tried to kill him. To poison him, somehow. I knew that now. Pa had been deathly ill after her visit.

Who could she be? And why did they wish us dead?

I was alone. I knew nothing. And they were seeking me out. Suddenly, I was uneasy. I felt cramped, closed in, eager to be out and away. Yet to move now would be fatal. I must remain where I was, let them search, let them seek me.

Georgetown. I was sure now that was where pa had left his papers. He and Louis Dupuy had struck up a friendship, and the man Dupuy was a strange, bitter, self-isolated man, influenced by no one, beholden to no one. If pa wished to leave those papers with someone, he could have chosen no better man.

A stone fell from the canyon wall opposite, a pebble that bounded from rock to rock. My eyes searched the rock wall opposite. Much broken rock, clumps of cedar, and some lower brush. The rock atop the cliff was largely water-worn and smooth, but here and there were hollows that held water. It was from these natural reservoirs, most of them small, that the cliff dwellers had obtained some of their water.

A faint flicker of light on metal, seen and gone. A rifle barrel?

There was silence in the canyon. Easing my rifle forward, I waited. The last thing I wished was to give away my position, and to move might be fatal. I had water enough for another day and night if I was careful. I had a little food. It was unlikely they would find the way up that I had used, impossible for them to use it by night, so for the moment I seemed secure.

Peering through a crack in the rocks, I saw a man suddenly appear opposite me on the rim of the canyon. He moved out in plain sight and just stood there.

Puzzled, I watched him for several minutes before it dawned on me that he was there to draw my fire, or to somehow make me give away my position. I remained very still. The man disappeared, and a moment later there was a shot. The bullet struck the rock outer wall of the cliff house.

Careful to make no sound, I crawled through the T-shaped door into the inner room, which was completely enclosed. There I would be safe from ricochets.

Apparently they had no idea where I was or if I was even in the canyon, and if my horse made no sound we might well deceive them into moving on.

Another shot, and this time the bullet struck the back wall of the cave, and the ricochet smashed into the rock wall. For a long time then, there was no sound. I took a swallow of water and waited. There were no more shots. After a while I moved out of the inner room and peered through the rocks. Nobody was in sight…nothing moved.

Somewhere thunder rolled and a wind stirred the cedars across the canyon. Leaning my head back against the rock pile where I sat, most of it debris or slabs fallen from the wall of the cave, I dozed.

I awakened to the patter of rain and a crash of thunder followed a flash of lightning. That one was close. Sitting up, I looked out. Here I was sheltered, but the canyon was veiled by a curtain of rain.

Chuckling, I clasped my hands behind my head. They would have to find shelter, and I just hoped they did not also find my horse. But they had seemed unaware of any caves or cliff houses further up the canyon and had evidently missed them.

For a long time I slept, and when I awakened it was cold and dark. It was raining softly now, and thunder was a muted sound, far off. Listening, I heard nothing but the rain. I thought of my horse and of the trail I must follow to reach it. To wait until daylight would mean I would be exposed and helpless on the canyon wall, yet if I could make it by night I might successfully slip away.

I lay still for a while, reluctant to break my comfort, for despite the hard rocks upon which I lay, I had rested well. Yet the longer I lay still, the more urgent became the need to move. Carefully, I reviewed the steps I had taken in mounting the cliff. Dare I attempt it by night? In the rain and the dark?

Finally I sat up and looked around. It was very dark, for the sky was still heavy with rainclouds and no star could be seen. My father had told me the spirits of the dead were believed by the Indians to still linger in these cliff dwellings, and I did not doubt it. Lying alone in one of a night, where nothing else lived, subtle stirrings could be heard, and sometimes mumbling and distant chanting or the sound of flutes. So it was said and so it was believed. I heard stirrings enough, but the earth itself makes sounds and the wind finds holes to whistle through.

Maybe…who was I to argue the point? In any event, if the spirits lingered here, they were no enemies of mine, or should not be, for I wished them no harm, nor their dwelling. This had been a shrewd place in which to build, where attack by night was virtually impossible.

Gathering my few things about me, I slung my rifle over my shoulders to have my hands free. Then I crept back over the narrow ledge, bending far over because of the low-hanging rock above me. At one point I knew to step carefully, for a deep crack cut through the ledge to the back wall, a drop of several hundred feet if one made a false step.

Inching along in the darkness, I found that despite the darkness my eyes could pick out places for my feet, and eventually I found the two notched poles down which I must descend.

For a few moments I crouched there at the top of the first. Below me gaped the blackness of the canyon depths, above me loomed the cliff. I listened, but heard nothing. That pole worried me. It simply stood there, unfastened to anything. The slightest overbalance and it would fall, and I would go with it.

However, it did stand in a sort of notch that concealed it from observation and helped to hold it in place. At last I got a good grip on a corner of rock and turned slowly around and felt with my toe for the first notch.

My toe missed it, and desperately I felt it sliding down the pole. Then it caught on another step. Gingerly I lifted the other foot and took a long step downward. The pole wavered under me, and I leaned toward the rock to hold it still. Then I took another careful step downward…how many steps had there been?

It started to rain again, a hard, pelting rain. Step by step I worked my way down to the rock ledge on which the pole stood. Now a little to one side, and the other pole. It was the longer of the two…I thought.

Working my way along the ledge, I found the second pole and descended it warily. When my feet were once more on solid ground, I breathed a sigh of relief.

Now to my horse…if he was still there…and someone was not waiting there, lying in wait for me.

Now the heavy rain was in my favor. Not only did it mask the sounds of my movements, but nobody would be abroad in such a rain.