CHAPTER XVII: BUZZARDSThat night was years long to Nan and Rex. She slept fitfully, but Rex did not sleep at all. Briggs had not moved. At times he groaned softly, and several times he babbled incoherently. There was plenty of wood, and Rex kept the fire going briskly.It was fully daylight before Rex moved from the fire. He was stiff and sore in every joint. His left shoulder pained him greatly, and his right hand was badly swollen. Nan followed him out of the mouth of the cave. She limped as badly as he, and together they stood on the sandstone ledge, looking up at the sunlight on the high peaks.‘It won’t shine down here much before noon,’ she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘This cañon is so deep that the sun doesn’t reach it quickly.’Rex nodded gloomily. ‘What a night! And what next? I’m so hungry I could almost eat that piece of burned horse meat.’‘Same here,’ Nan tried to smile. ‘But we’ll have to go without food, I suppose. Which way was that spring?’‘Down there,’ Rex pointed to the right. ‘I wonder if my old hat will hold water? I believe it will, Nan. You stay here and I’ll bring you some.’He made his way down among the boulders, sliding the last few feet to the bottom of the cañon, where he picked up a sizable club. His steps made little sound in the yielding sand, as he made his way down the bottom to where he circled the big boulder, and where they had built their fire.Clustered around the little spring were dozens of quail, getting their morning drink. Rex did not know what they were, except that they were birds, and birds meant food. Perhaps they had never before seen a human being, because they merely squatted and looked at him. With a side swing of his hand he flung the club into them, killing three and sending the rest in a whirring, curving flight down the cañon.He secured his birds, filled his hat with water, and started on his return journey to the cave. Nan had dressed and cooked many quail, and she fairly danced with joy at the sight of the three birds.‘I didn’t know what they were,’ confessed Rex. ‘But they looked good to eat, so I hit them with a club.’Nan skinned the birds and they went back into the cave to build up the fire. Briggs had not moved yet, and Rex was afraid he was dead, but he muttered brokenly, as Rex leaned over him.He did not look so formidable now; more like an oldish man who had been badly mistreated. It seemed as though his head had been battered until it was all out of shape.‘He is wearing a dress shirt,’ said Rex. ‘Isn’t it queer for a man down here to be wearing a stiff-bosom shirt? Did you ever see him before, Nan?’‘No, I never have. See if you can find a couple of green sticks, Rex; about a yard long and as big as your finger, to broil these quail on.’‘But what are we going to do with this man, Nan? He’s in awful bad shape. Shouldn’t we tie him up, or something?’‘I don’t know, Rex. We haven’t any ropes. Oh, I don’t think he can hurt anybody. He’s just an old man.’Rex secured the sticks and came back to the entrance of the cave, where he stopped and looked at the sky. The buzzards were coming for their breakfast; a whole cloud of them, zooming down, like a great fleet of black aeroplanes. Rex called Nan to the entrance to watch the birds. Some of them sailed within a few yards of them, croaking harshly. One tried to alight on the sandstone shelf, where Rex had wasted his stone on a lion, but caught sight of the two human beings, and went away with a great flapping of wings.Their objective seemed to be just across the cañon from the cave.‘Horrid, dirty things!’ exclaimed Nan. ‘Always looking for carrion.’‘I suppose,’ sighed Rex. ‘Still, they might be our salvation, Nan. I remember what Hashknife said to me the night we found that horse. He said, “Sometimes it’s a good thing to follow the buzzards. You never can tell what you might find.”’‘But do you suppose he might see the buzzards down here?’‘He might see them as they come down, Nan. He’ll know to-day that we never reached Cañonville, and he will start a search.’‘Oh, I hope so, Rex. But after breakfast we’ll see if there isn’t a way out of here. Come on and help cook it.’They each ate a half-cooked quail. Without any seasoning it was far from delicious, but they ate it and pronounced it good.‘I think you are a very brave girl, Nan,’ said Rex. ‘In fact, you are rather wonderful in every way, but you’ve got a lot of burned quail on your nose and a black smudge on one cheek. I suppose I’m a sight. But I don’t really care, do you?’‘I don’t care how you look, Rex.’‘Well, that’s fine. Now, I think we better look around and see if there isn’t a way out.’They worked their way down through the brush and crossed the bottom of the cañon above the cave, where they were able to climb to a wide shelf. It was here that they disturbed the buzzard host, and they went flapping and croaking their way up the side of the cliffs, only to soar in vast circles, halfway up the height of the cañon, watching with their keen eyes for those two human beings to disappear.It was this flight of buzzards that Hashknife, Sleepy, and Lem saw from the grades.‘They were eating a horse!’ exclaimed Nan. ‘Why, your horse never fell this high up the cañon, Rex.’They walked over and inspected the almost obliterated carcass of a horse, which still bore a saddle. It had been a roan horse, and a strip of the skin still bore the brand of the 6X6.‘That was one of Peter Morgan’s horses,’ declared Nan. ‘But how in the world did it get down here?’Rex looked critically up the side of the sheer hillside.‘It surely didn’t walk down,’ he replied. ‘I think it must have come down like my horse did—end over end.’‘Well, I don’t like the odor,’ said Nan finally. ‘Let’s see if we can’t go down the cañon.’In the meantime Hashknife, Sleepy, and Lem rode on to Mesa City. Spike Cahill and Bert Roddy met them at the hitch-rack, and from their general appearance they were not feeling as good as they had the evening before.‘What’s all this talk about Miss Lane and the tenderfoot disappearin’?’ asked Spike. ‘Lotsa folks have been talkin’ about it, and we want it straight.’Lem explained as well as he could.‘Ain’t showed up yet?’ Bert Roddy shook his head painfully.‘Not yet, Bert.’‘Well, I’ll be damned! Whatcha suppose became of ’em, Lem?’‘Nobody knows.’‘Did Joe Cave show up here?’ asked Hashknife.‘About an hour ago,’ said Spike, spitting dryly. ‘Quit his job, didn’t he?’ looking at Lem.‘I fired him,’ said Lem.‘I told yuh!’ crowed Bert. ‘Didn’t I offer to make yuh a bet, Spike? I said that Lem canned him, didn’t I?’‘A-a-aw, don’t brag; yuh make my head ache.’‘Where’s Joe now?’ asked Hashknife.‘Gone out to the Flyin’ M. Dave Morgan hired him, and sent him right out to the ranch. Dave needs men pretty bad. He even offered to take us back ag’in, didn’t he, Bert?’‘Shore did. And you tell ’em what I told him, Spike.’‘Aw, it wasn’t so damn smart. We need the job.’‘Not for that sidewinder. He jist the same as accused us of openin’ the safe at the 6X6. I may be a thief, but I don’t like to have it told before my friends.’‘That’s right; he did insult us, Bert. I’m glad yuh said what yuh did to him. But’—he turned to Lem—‘ what are yuh doin’ toward findin’ the lost folks?’‘Not a thing—yet.’They all walked over to the Oasis, where they found Dave Morgan and several more men.‘What’s the latest news?’ asked Morgan.They were obliged to tell him that there was nothing new.‘You know this country pretty well, don’t yuh, Morgan?’ asked Hashknife.Dave Morgan smiled faintly, fingering his watch-chain.‘I ought to,’ he said. ‘I’ve been here a long time.’‘Ever been down in the middle of Coyote Cañon?’Morgan blinked quickly, thoughtfully.‘No, I never have, Hartley.’‘Do yuh know if there’s a trail down there?’‘I’ve never heard of any.’‘I never have either,’ said Spike. ‘Why, that damn thing is straight up and down. Talkin’ about it makes me thirsty; so we better have a drink. The 6X6 owes me some money, anyway.’‘And you’re goin’ to collect it over the bar, eh?’ queried Dell Bowen.‘Aw, don’t preach. You spent part of yours last night.’‘What about a trail into Coyote Cañon?’ asked Morgan.‘I’d like to go down there,’ replied Hashknife.‘You think there’s somethin’ down there?’ asked Spike.‘About a hundred buzzards,’ smiled Sleepy, accepting a glass from the bartender.‘Buzzards, eh? Somethin’ dead, eh?’‘No, they go down there to eat brush,’ said Bert sarcastically.‘My Gawd, you’re comical,’ said Spike admiringly. ‘The only thing that keeps yuh off the stage is the fact that yuh can’t drive, and they wouldn’t trust yuh with the money-box.’‘Nobody interested in yore comedy, Spike,’ assured Bowen. ‘We want to know more about Coyote Cañon. Hartley, are yuh serious in wantin’ to go down there?’‘I’m goin’ down,’ declared Hashknife.‘Yuh don’t suppose that Nan Lane and that fool kid are down there, do yuh?’Hashknife studied his glass of liquor for a moment.‘Bowen,’ he said slowly, ‘I don’t know. But there’s no other place to look. They never got to Cañonville; they never came home. Nan’s horse came back. They either went up or down, and I’m bettin’ they went down.’‘But why should they, Hartley?’‘Who knows? I’m playin’ the buzzards, Bowen.’‘Uh-huh,’ thoughtfully. ‘Well, it’s a good bet. We’ll go with yuh, cowboy. I don’t know any trail down there, but we’ll find one. It’s worth a try. When do we start?’‘Right now.’‘Saddle up!’ snorted Spike, sending his glass spinning down the bar. ‘C’mon.’‘You might get in off the mesa on the lower end,’ called Dave Morgan. ‘They tell me the deer come in that way.’‘All right, Dave—thanks,’ replied the sheriff.The three cowboys hurried to the livery-stable, where they saddled their horses. Hashknife, Sleepy, and Lem joined them, and the six men rode out of town together. Lem and Hashknife rode knee-to-knee.‘We better try the cañon jist south of the Lane place,’ called Bowen. ‘It ain’t so damn high there.’‘Suits me,’ agreed Lem heartily. He had little hopes of ever getting to the bottom of the cañon, no matter where they tried a descent.A quarter of a mile away from town, Hashknife halted them.‘Boys, I want yuh to do me a little favor,’ he said. ‘Go right ahead and try to get down the cañon.’‘What’s the idea, Hashknife?’ queried Lem wonderingly.‘I can’t tell yuh yet, Lem. It’s just a hunch. I’m turnin’ back here.’‘Let him go,’ said Sleepy quickly. ‘It’s all in the game.’‘All right,’ agreed Lem, holding out his hand. ‘Good luck, Hashknife.’They swung their horses around and rode swiftly southward, while Hashknife went back toward Mesa City again. Just outside the town he halted his horse behind a thicket of mesquite, and dismounted.He had not been there over five minutes when Dave Morgan rode past, his horse traveling at a swinging walk. As far as Hashknife knew, Morgan was merely heading for the 6X6 ranch. But as soon as he passed a turn in the road, Hashknife mounted and followed him.For possibly half a mile farther Morgan rode slowly, but finally forced his horse to a gallop. Hashknife kept far enough behind him so that Morgan would not see nor hear him, and from a slight elevation he saw Morgan swing to the 6X6 road.Hashknife swore under his breath, but followed, and it was with a great deal of satisfaction that he saw Morgan leave the road, possibly a quarter of a mile from the forks, and travel south down a brushy swale.It was rather difficult for Hashknife to follow without being seen now, but he was obliged to take a chance, in order to keep Morgan in sight. Morgan did not look back, but seemed intent on his destination.It was a little over a mile from where Morgan left the road to the rim of Coyote Cañon, and Hashknife was not over two hundred yards off to the left of him, shielded by a mesquite thicket, when Morgan reached the rim.For several minutes Morgan sat his horse, scanning the cañon, as though satisfying himself that no one was in sight. Hashknife was a little afraid that the five men farther down the cañon might interfere with things, but finally Morgan, evidently satisfied, rode his horse over the rim of the cañon, cutting in between two live-oaks, and disappeared.Hashknife rode cautiously to the rim, behind the oaks, and dismounted. Here were the marks of Morgan’s horse in the loose earth, and for quite a distance down the slope he could see where the horse had sidled along the steep slope.Calmly he rolled and smoked a cigarette. He was not in such a hurry now. If Morgan could get down—he could. And he did not want to try the descent while there was danger of Morgan’s hearing him come down. Finally he tightened his cinch, mounted, and followed Morgan.
That night was years long to Nan and Rex. She slept fitfully, but Rex did not sleep at all. Briggs had not moved. At times he groaned softly, and several times he babbled incoherently. There was plenty of wood, and Rex kept the fire going briskly.
It was fully daylight before Rex moved from the fire. He was stiff and sore in every joint. His left shoulder pained him greatly, and his right hand was badly swollen. Nan followed him out of the mouth of the cave. She limped as badly as he, and together they stood on the sandstone ledge, looking up at the sunlight on the high peaks.
‘It won’t shine down here much before noon,’ she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘This cañon is so deep that the sun doesn’t reach it quickly.’
Rex nodded gloomily. ‘What a night! And what next? I’m so hungry I could almost eat that piece of burned horse meat.’
‘Same here,’ Nan tried to smile. ‘But we’ll have to go without food, I suppose. Which way was that spring?’
‘Down there,’ Rex pointed to the right. ‘I wonder if my old hat will hold water? I believe it will, Nan. You stay here and I’ll bring you some.’
He made his way down among the boulders, sliding the last few feet to the bottom of the cañon, where he picked up a sizable club. His steps made little sound in the yielding sand, as he made his way down the bottom to where he circled the big boulder, and where they had built their fire.
Clustered around the little spring were dozens of quail, getting their morning drink. Rex did not know what they were, except that they were birds, and birds meant food. Perhaps they had never before seen a human being, because they merely squatted and looked at him. With a side swing of his hand he flung the club into them, killing three and sending the rest in a whirring, curving flight down the cañon.
He secured his birds, filled his hat with water, and started on his return journey to the cave. Nan had dressed and cooked many quail, and she fairly danced with joy at the sight of the three birds.
‘I didn’t know what they were,’ confessed Rex. ‘But they looked good to eat, so I hit them with a club.’
Nan skinned the birds and they went back into the cave to build up the fire. Briggs had not moved yet, and Rex was afraid he was dead, but he muttered brokenly, as Rex leaned over him.
He did not look so formidable now; more like an oldish man who had been badly mistreated. It seemed as though his head had been battered until it was all out of shape.
‘He is wearing a dress shirt,’ said Rex. ‘Isn’t it queer for a man down here to be wearing a stiff-bosom shirt? Did you ever see him before, Nan?’
‘No, I never have. See if you can find a couple of green sticks, Rex; about a yard long and as big as your finger, to broil these quail on.’
‘But what are we going to do with this man, Nan? He’s in awful bad shape. Shouldn’t we tie him up, or something?’
‘I don’t know, Rex. We haven’t any ropes. Oh, I don’t think he can hurt anybody. He’s just an old man.’
Rex secured the sticks and came back to the entrance of the cave, where he stopped and looked at the sky. The buzzards were coming for their breakfast; a whole cloud of them, zooming down, like a great fleet of black aeroplanes. Rex called Nan to the entrance to watch the birds. Some of them sailed within a few yards of them, croaking harshly. One tried to alight on the sandstone shelf, where Rex had wasted his stone on a lion, but caught sight of the two human beings, and went away with a great flapping of wings.
Their objective seemed to be just across the cañon from the cave.
‘Horrid, dirty things!’ exclaimed Nan. ‘Always looking for carrion.’
‘I suppose,’ sighed Rex. ‘Still, they might be our salvation, Nan. I remember what Hashknife said to me the night we found that horse. He said, “Sometimes it’s a good thing to follow the buzzards. You never can tell what you might find.”’
‘But do you suppose he might see the buzzards down here?’
‘He might see them as they come down, Nan. He’ll know to-day that we never reached Cañonville, and he will start a search.’
‘Oh, I hope so, Rex. But after breakfast we’ll see if there isn’t a way out of here. Come on and help cook it.’
They each ate a half-cooked quail. Without any seasoning it was far from delicious, but they ate it and pronounced it good.
‘I think you are a very brave girl, Nan,’ said Rex. ‘In fact, you are rather wonderful in every way, but you’ve got a lot of burned quail on your nose and a black smudge on one cheek. I suppose I’m a sight. But I don’t really care, do you?’
‘I don’t care how you look, Rex.’
‘Well, that’s fine. Now, I think we better look around and see if there isn’t a way out.’
They worked their way down through the brush and crossed the bottom of the cañon above the cave, where they were able to climb to a wide shelf. It was here that they disturbed the buzzard host, and they went flapping and croaking their way up the side of the cliffs, only to soar in vast circles, halfway up the height of the cañon, watching with their keen eyes for those two human beings to disappear.
It was this flight of buzzards that Hashknife, Sleepy, and Lem saw from the grades.
‘They were eating a horse!’ exclaimed Nan. ‘Why, your horse never fell this high up the cañon, Rex.’
They walked over and inspected the almost obliterated carcass of a horse, which still bore a saddle. It had been a roan horse, and a strip of the skin still bore the brand of the 6X6.
‘That was one of Peter Morgan’s horses,’ declared Nan. ‘But how in the world did it get down here?’
Rex looked critically up the side of the sheer hillside.
‘It surely didn’t walk down,’ he replied. ‘I think it must have come down like my horse did—end over end.’
‘Well, I don’t like the odor,’ said Nan finally. ‘Let’s see if we can’t go down the cañon.’
In the meantime Hashknife, Sleepy, and Lem rode on to Mesa City. Spike Cahill and Bert Roddy met them at the hitch-rack, and from their general appearance they were not feeling as good as they had the evening before.
‘What’s all this talk about Miss Lane and the tenderfoot disappearin’?’ asked Spike. ‘Lotsa folks have been talkin’ about it, and we want it straight.’
Lem explained as well as he could.
‘Ain’t showed up yet?’ Bert Roddy shook his head painfully.
‘Not yet, Bert.’
‘Well, I’ll be damned! Whatcha suppose became of ’em, Lem?’
‘Nobody knows.’
‘Did Joe Cave show up here?’ asked Hashknife.
‘About an hour ago,’ said Spike, spitting dryly. ‘Quit his job, didn’t he?’ looking at Lem.
‘I fired him,’ said Lem.
‘I told yuh!’ crowed Bert. ‘Didn’t I offer to make yuh a bet, Spike? I said that Lem canned him, didn’t I?’
‘A-a-aw, don’t brag; yuh make my head ache.’
‘Where’s Joe now?’ asked Hashknife.
‘Gone out to the Flyin’ M. Dave Morgan hired him, and sent him right out to the ranch. Dave needs men pretty bad. He even offered to take us back ag’in, didn’t he, Bert?’
‘Shore did. And you tell ’em what I told him, Spike.’
‘Aw, it wasn’t so damn smart. We need the job.’
‘Not for that sidewinder. He jist the same as accused us of openin’ the safe at the 6X6. I may be a thief, but I don’t like to have it told before my friends.’
‘That’s right; he did insult us, Bert. I’m glad yuh said what yuh did to him. But’—he turned to Lem—‘ what are yuh doin’ toward findin’ the lost folks?’
‘Not a thing—yet.’
They all walked over to the Oasis, where they found Dave Morgan and several more men.
‘What’s the latest news?’ asked Morgan.
They were obliged to tell him that there was nothing new.
‘You know this country pretty well, don’t yuh, Morgan?’ asked Hashknife.
Dave Morgan smiled faintly, fingering his watch-chain.
‘I ought to,’ he said. ‘I’ve been here a long time.’
‘Ever been down in the middle of Coyote Cañon?’
Morgan blinked quickly, thoughtfully.
‘No, I never have, Hartley.’
‘Do yuh know if there’s a trail down there?’
‘I’ve never heard of any.’
‘I never have either,’ said Spike. ‘Why, that damn thing is straight up and down. Talkin’ about it makes me thirsty; so we better have a drink. The 6X6 owes me some money, anyway.’
‘And you’re goin’ to collect it over the bar, eh?’ queried Dell Bowen.
‘Aw, don’t preach. You spent part of yours last night.’
‘What about a trail into Coyote Cañon?’ asked Morgan.
‘I’d like to go down there,’ replied Hashknife.
‘You think there’s somethin’ down there?’ asked Spike.
‘About a hundred buzzards,’ smiled Sleepy, accepting a glass from the bartender.
‘Buzzards, eh? Somethin’ dead, eh?’
‘No, they go down there to eat brush,’ said Bert sarcastically.
‘My Gawd, you’re comical,’ said Spike admiringly. ‘The only thing that keeps yuh off the stage is the fact that yuh can’t drive, and they wouldn’t trust yuh with the money-box.’
‘Nobody interested in yore comedy, Spike,’ assured Bowen. ‘We want to know more about Coyote Cañon. Hartley, are yuh serious in wantin’ to go down there?’
‘I’m goin’ down,’ declared Hashknife.
‘Yuh don’t suppose that Nan Lane and that fool kid are down there, do yuh?’
Hashknife studied his glass of liquor for a moment.
‘Bowen,’ he said slowly, ‘I don’t know. But there’s no other place to look. They never got to Cañonville; they never came home. Nan’s horse came back. They either went up or down, and I’m bettin’ they went down.’
‘But why should they, Hartley?’
‘Who knows? I’m playin’ the buzzards, Bowen.’
‘Uh-huh,’ thoughtfully. ‘Well, it’s a good bet. We’ll go with yuh, cowboy. I don’t know any trail down there, but we’ll find one. It’s worth a try. When do we start?’
‘Right now.’
‘Saddle up!’ snorted Spike, sending his glass spinning down the bar. ‘C’mon.’
‘You might get in off the mesa on the lower end,’ called Dave Morgan. ‘They tell me the deer come in that way.’
‘All right, Dave—thanks,’ replied the sheriff.
The three cowboys hurried to the livery-stable, where they saddled their horses. Hashknife, Sleepy, and Lem joined them, and the six men rode out of town together. Lem and Hashknife rode knee-to-knee.
‘We better try the cañon jist south of the Lane place,’ called Bowen. ‘It ain’t so damn high there.’
‘Suits me,’ agreed Lem heartily. He had little hopes of ever getting to the bottom of the cañon, no matter where they tried a descent.
A quarter of a mile away from town, Hashknife halted them.
‘Boys, I want yuh to do me a little favor,’ he said. ‘Go right ahead and try to get down the cañon.’
‘What’s the idea, Hashknife?’ queried Lem wonderingly.
‘I can’t tell yuh yet, Lem. It’s just a hunch. I’m turnin’ back here.’
‘Let him go,’ said Sleepy quickly. ‘It’s all in the game.’
‘All right,’ agreed Lem, holding out his hand. ‘Good luck, Hashknife.’
They swung their horses around and rode swiftly southward, while Hashknife went back toward Mesa City again. Just outside the town he halted his horse behind a thicket of mesquite, and dismounted.
He had not been there over five minutes when Dave Morgan rode past, his horse traveling at a swinging walk. As far as Hashknife knew, Morgan was merely heading for the 6X6 ranch. But as soon as he passed a turn in the road, Hashknife mounted and followed him.
For possibly half a mile farther Morgan rode slowly, but finally forced his horse to a gallop. Hashknife kept far enough behind him so that Morgan would not see nor hear him, and from a slight elevation he saw Morgan swing to the 6X6 road.
Hashknife swore under his breath, but followed, and it was with a great deal of satisfaction that he saw Morgan leave the road, possibly a quarter of a mile from the forks, and travel south down a brushy swale.
It was rather difficult for Hashknife to follow without being seen now, but he was obliged to take a chance, in order to keep Morgan in sight. Morgan did not look back, but seemed intent on his destination.
It was a little over a mile from where Morgan left the road to the rim of Coyote Cañon, and Hashknife was not over two hundred yards off to the left of him, shielded by a mesquite thicket, when Morgan reached the rim.
For several minutes Morgan sat his horse, scanning the cañon, as though satisfying himself that no one was in sight. Hashknife was a little afraid that the five men farther down the cañon might interfere with things, but finally Morgan, evidently satisfied, rode his horse over the rim of the cañon, cutting in between two live-oaks, and disappeared.
Hashknife rode cautiously to the rim, behind the oaks, and dismounted. Here were the marks of Morgan’s horse in the loose earth, and for quite a distance down the slope he could see where the horse had sidled along the steep slope.
Calmly he rolled and smoked a cigarette. He was not in such a hurry now. If Morgan could get down—he could. And he did not want to try the descent while there was danger of Morgan’s hearing him come down. Finally he tightened his cinch, mounted, and followed Morgan.