Cal seemed to be thinking the matter over, while Hardy edged closer to the fire. He still had the derringer. If Cal tried to hurt Betty Sue he would shoot him.
All the time Hardy was thinking hard, wondering what they could do to escape. If they could get away, he desperately wanted to take the coat with him, and some food.
It was good to be warmer now, but he did not like the way Cal kept smiling at him. Hardy had been talking more than he usually did, trying to gain a little time.
He had seen greedy men before, had seen his father bargain with them, had seen the look in their eyes, as he could see it now in Cal’s eyes. But he saw something else too, something that frightened him, and he knew they must escape or be killed.
“You young uns jes’ take it easy,” Cal said calmly. “I figure we got us a chance to git rich, but don’t you say a word if Jud comes back. That Jud, he’s a mighty mean man, an’ he don’t cotton to youngsters.”
He smoked thoughtfully for a few minutes, and then said, very casually, “You figure that horse of yours is somewhere about?”
“He might be. I don’t think he’d go far.”
“S’pose you called him an’ he heard you…would he come?”
“I think so,” was the quiet answer.
“Now, s’pose you walk up yonder on the rise there. You just go up there an’ call out a few times. I’d say maybe eight or ten times, with a little wait between. I’ll jes’ keep your li’l sister here with me…sort of to make sure you’ll come back.”
“Don’t you hurt her,” Hardy said.
“Now, boy, what kind of talk is that? We’re pards, ain’t we? Anyway, you know where that Schifflin dugout is, an’ I don’t, so I ain’t likely to get you sore at me, boy. You git up there now an’ call out.”
Hardy walked away reluctantly. Slowly he started up the rise. It was less than seventy long paces from where Cal sat, and would be an easy rifle shot. And Cal was holding Betty Sue.
On the climb to the top, Hardy could think of nothing he could do. He was getting chilled again, and he was hungry and tired. He felt weaker than he had at any time before. But the worst of it was not knowing what to do, and he felt so alone. He cried a little as he climbed the hill.
Standing up there, he looked back. Cal was sitting with his rifle in his hand, and Betty Sue was on the ground near the fire, where he could see her without really taking his eyes off Hardy.
The top of the hill was bare. Beyond it were low-growing trees and some brush and rocks, but he could not see far because there were thicker trees farther along.
He called out, “Red! Red!” He waited to let the echo die, and then called again. “Red! Red!…
Come!
”
The air was very clear, and even his small voice carried well. He waited again, looking up at the sweeping rise of the Wind River Mountains, only a few miles off to the north. Then he called once more, directing his voice toward the mountains.
Scott Collins, turned his horse away from the bluff above Beaver Creek and started north, Bill Squires and Frank Darrow trailing behind. They had lost any trace of the smoke, though they were now within a few hundred yards of it; and the wind, little as there was, carried the smell off to the south, away from them.
Scott turned in his saddle. “Damn it, Bill, I—”
He did not complete the sentence. Faint, yet not very far off, they heard the call: “Red! Red!…
Come!
”
Chapter 15
S
COTT COLLINS STARTED to cry out when a hard hand grasped his arm. “Scott!” Squires’s voice was hoarse. “Ssh!”
He pointed.…On the slope opposite, perhaps a half-mile away, three Indians rode, one behind the other. Three of them…and then another, and another.
“We’d better get down there fast,” Darrow said. “They’ve heard that boy, too. And they’re closer’n we are, I’m bettin’.”
The bluff was steep, and was littered with gigantic boulders, thick brush, and stunted trees. They rode swiftly along the rim, looking for a way down. It was Squires who led the way now, for he had covered this rim before. Soon they found a way down, steep but negotiable, and they slid their horses to the bottom.
From the knoll where he was calling to the stallion, Hardy could see the opposite slope, and he glimpsed an Indian an instant before the men on the rim did. He turned and ran down the slope, back to the camp.
Cal got up and spoke angrily. “You git right back up there an’ call that horse!” he yelled. “Damn you, if you—” He pointed the pistol barrel toward Betty Sue.
Hardy stood there. “You’d better listen, mister! There’s Indians coming!”
“You’re a-lyin’,” Cal said, but he was suddenly wary. The boy did not look as if he was lying, and he was frightened, downright scared.
“How many did you see?” Cal asked.
“There’s five or six…maybe more. I didn’t wait to see. There was an Indian that followed us, and there was travois sign back yonder. He could have rounded up a mess of them to come after us.”
Cal swore viciously. No chance to get away…
and where in God’s world was Jud?
“Come on, boy. We’d better hole up an’ lie quiet.”
He swiftly went back to the cave and looked around. It could be worse. There was the partial wall of rocks somebody had thrown up for defense or for a fire reflector, and there was the corner behind the rocks where the children had hidden.
The very fact that he had no horse might help. It was just possible that when the Indians discovered that they would leave him alone, deciding the fight wouldn’t be worth what they would get out of it.
“Get down behind those rocks in the corner,” Cal told the children, “an’ stay out of sight.”
Pulling all his gear in behind the wall, Cal hunkered down there. He had a little food and over a hundred rounds of ammunition. The field of fire was a pretty good one, but if those Injuns were smart and started shooting at the back wall of the cave he was finished. The ricocheting bullets could tear him into chopped meat—he had seen that happen before now. But most Indians lacked enough experience with firearms to do that; and not even many white men were likely to think of it.
Behind the rock pile where the children lay close together, Hardy could see very little. It was darker back where they were, and he thought that the Indians might not even see them.
“Don’t be scared,” he whispered to Betty Sue. “We’ll be all right.”
“I wish your pa would come.”
“He’ll come—you’ll see. You can just bet he’s comin’.”
But how could pa ever find them now, hidden as they were? Maybe he was still waiting at Bridger. After all, the wagon train couldn’t have reached there yet, even if it had kept going. Or maybe it would have just about been there by now. Hardy had lost track of the time.
He could feel Betty Sue trembling. He wondered how much she had guessed about her ma and pa. She never talked of them any more, and he did not mention them, for he did not want her to think about them. Sooner or later she would have to know, but he hoped that wouldn’t be until both of them were safe in a warm place with pa to watch over them.
Betty Sue was so thin, and her eyes always had a frightened look in them now. As far as that went, he must look a sight himself. His hands were thin and his wrists were skinny; his ribs stood out from the flesh.
Cal spoke softly to them: “You be quiet now.”
Hardy could see him lying there with his rifle ready, and a neat double row of ammunition laid out on a flat rock in front of him. He had a breech-loading percussion carbine manufactured by Jenks. It was a .52 caliber, and was a good shooting gun.
For a long time there was no sound, and Hardy’s breathing got almost back to normal. He was even hoping Betty Sue would go to sleep, but she was wide-eyed and listening, just as he was.
Suddenly Hardy thought of the bodies at the wagon train. How still they had been! How tumbled and strange-looking! He felt his throat grow tight, and he was trembling. Betty Sue touched his hand. “Hardy, are you cold?” she asked. “You’re shivering.”
He put his head down on the rocks and struggled to hold himself still. “Yes, I’m cold,” he answered. “I wish we were closer to that fire.”
Cal was lifting his rifle, very slowly. Looking in the direction the rifle pointed, Hardy saw not even the faintest stirring of leaves.
Everything was quiet. Not a sound stirred the morning. The air was still…and how cold it was!
Then the stillness was shattered by a weird cacophony of yells, and from the brush tumbled the body of a man. He was on his knees, and for an instant it seemed as if the man would stand up and walk, and then he toppled slowly forward and rolled over.
It was Jud.
Hardy heard a choking ugly sound from Cal, then there was silence. Taunting yells came from the woods, trying to draw his fire. Suddenly a rider burst from the trees and went sweeping by. As he passed the overhang he let fly with an arrow, which smacked harmlessly into the wall shielding the fire. Cal did not shoot.
Several minutes passed, and then another rider came from the opposite direction, lying far over on the side of his horse. He let go with another arrow. Still Cal did not shoot, but just as the horse turned up the slope toward the trees the Indian’s back was momentarily revealed, and Cal fired.
Hardy was looking at the Indian and he saw his body wince, but he was still clinging to his mount when he disappeared into the trees.
A volley of bullets spattered and ricocheted among the rocks, the booming thunder of their reports reverberating from the cliff. One bullet struck a rock in front of Hardy and scattered stinging fragments all around. Betty Sue tightened her body close to him and whimpered.
“It’s all right,” Hardy said to her. “Those ol’ bullets can’t get to us back here.”
He said it only to ease her fears, for he knew that, though they were out of the line of fire directed at Cal, a ricochet might hit them.
Cal, evil though he might be was no fool. He did not waste a shot holding his fire for the right target. In case of need, he had his pistol as backup.
After the crashing thunder of the volley it was silent. Cal kept turning his head to right or left, watching for some try at taking him on the flank. That he was frightened was obvious, and it was with reason. He was fighting alone, and he had no horse. Jud was out there, dead. If Cal came out of this alive, he was going to have to do it alone.
Hardy knew the Indians could not see into the darkness behind the pile of rocks, and he peered out, trying to see if there was any way of slipping into the brush without being seen. The trouble was, he did not know where all the Indians were.
He could guess what Cal was afraid of. If the Indians rushed him from several directions at once, he might get one, even two or three of them, but they would surely get him. He might get one with his first shot with the rifle, but he would have no chance to reload, and must draw and fire his pistol. He would be very lucky, considering the few yards the Indians had to cross, to kill even one with the pistol.
Hardy’s heart was pounding hard. He stopped looking out and buried his face against his arm to shut out the scene before him. He tried to think…but what could he do? He had done all he could, but it simply was not enough.
Then he remembered something he had heard. When an enemy is struck down, all the Indians try to get in a blow, to count coups on the enemy’s body. If Cal was downed, wouldn’t they all close in around him, crowding close to strike at the body? Mightn’t there be a chance just at that moment?…Or would it be better just to lie still here and hope the Indians would not find them?
The silence and waiting continued. Hardy looked out again, watching the brush for some movement, but he could detect none. He saw some low evergreens out there that had sprung up after an old fire, most of them two to four feet high. Trees were back of them, and there was more brush. He thought he saw, off to the left where the trees grew close together, the shadow of something moving.
He stared hard, and something moved again—it was something large, and seemed to be of a dull copper hue.…It was Red!
In that light, the coat of the horse looked duller…but of course, he was putting on his winter coat.…But Red was there, close by!
A surge of excitement swept through Hardy. He almost rose up in his wild eagerness to run to the horse, to throw his arms about him. For a moment he scarcely thought of what the Indians might do to him, but even as he seemed about to call out, he stopped. The Indians would never let such a horse escape them, and they would kill Hardy or capture him, and Betty Sue as well.
However, the very sight of the horse, the knowledge that he was near, gave him hope. He didn’t know how it could be done, but there must be some way of getting to Big Red. And once on the back of that stallion, nothing in this country could catch them.
“Boy,” Cal said softly, only for Hardy’s ears, “that horse of yours is out there. You call him now. Call him in.”
“I won’t.”
“Boy”— Cal spoke quite calmly—“those Injuns ain’t apt to kill anybody as young as you. I want a runnin’ chance. Now you call that horse, or I’ll kill the both of you. I’ll do it myself, without waitin’ for no Indians.”
At this moment there was room for only one thought in Hardy’s mind. Big Red, in the hands of such a man? Big Red, who had always trusted Hardy and loved him.
“No,” he said. “I won’t do it.”
“One more chance,” Cal said. In his voice the thin line of sanity that stretched between Cal’s calmness and his insane fury was almost broken. “One more chance, boy. I’ll kill the girl first.”
He half turned, rolling on his shoulder a little, to lift his pistol. “You got mighty little time, boy, an’ that girl’s got none at all. You call him now. I seen him out there, so call him.”
Cal eared back the hammer on the pistol, and the click was loud in the silence.
Chapter 16
H
ARDY WAS SURE that Cal meant to do just what he said, but there was no panic in him now. The hunger and the cold, the constant fear, the nights of worry and the days of struggle had given him something strong, even when they had been making him grow tired and weak. He was thinking now, and he knew that Cal would have to shift position to get a shot at them…or wait until the Indians had gone, if they ever did go.
“Mister”—Hardy’s voice was low, but it carried far enough—“you stick your head out to get a shot at me, and one of those Indians will sure enough kill you.”
“Boy,” came Cal’s wheedling tone, “you toll that horse over here. On him we can all git away…scotfree!”
Now that was a sure enough lie. If the horse came close, one man might jump on him and ride off…he just might…but the odds were against it. But three people? And the time they would take mounting up? There would be no chance of it, and Cal knew it. Cal wanted Big Red for himself, and if he did throw himself into the saddle and get away alive he would have Big Red to keep—and Cal was a mean, cruel man.
“No.”
“Boy”—Cal’s voice was trembling with fury—“I’m tellin’ you! I’ll kill—”
Two guns fired almost as one. In twisting about, Cal’s boot had thrust beyond the rock, and the two bullets spat sand, one of them doing no more than that, the other ripping the heel from his boot.
Cal jerked his foot back, and swore with deep and awful fury. Turning, he fired with his rifle into the brush where the shots had come from, then swiftly reloaded.
Hardy was almost afraid to look for Big Red; how long would it be before the Indians discovered him?
“Betty Sue, you be ready now,” he said. “We may have to run real fast…all of a sudden.”
“All right.”
At the end of the overhang just beyond where Hardy and Betty Sue were hidden behind the rocks, the space between the roof and the rock floor was only about four feet. Elsewhere along the front of the cliff the roof was six or seven feet above the floor. The rocks that now formed the pile had once been a wall enclosing this recess, which might have been a storage place for grain, or perhaps merely a sleeping shelter.
Peering out under the overhang towards the woods where Big Red stood, Hardy looked fearfully at the open stretch that separated them from the trees. It was possible they might get into the trees without being seen, but the chance was slight. Clinging to Betty Sue’s hand, he edged that way, keeping well down behind the rocks.
Another shot came from the Indians. Apparently they were undecided about attacking. To attack meant a warrior would die, and no Indian wanted to face certain death. To do a daring deed that he could sing about in the winter lodges was one thing; but this was something different.
Ashawakie knew they could kill this man—it was only a matter of time. He advised patience, so they waited.
But Ashawakie was restless, for it irritated him that the big red horse was not here, as he had believed he would be. They had captured two horses and they had taken a scalp. They had a rifle, a pistol, some clothes, and a blanket, along with a few odds and ends. Their foray was not unsuccessful thus far, but to Ashawakie it would be a failure if he did not get the great red stallion.
C
AL SPOKE AGAIN. “Boy, you got one more chance. I tell you, no matter what happens, you call that horse or I’ll shoot the both of you!”
Hardy did not reply. He had just seen an Indian coming down from the brush on the far side, creeping closer and closer. If that Indian was seen by Cal, Cal would shoot, and they would all be looking.…
The Indian was well around on the right side of Cal, and close enough to make the try. He sprang up and, knife in hand, he charged.
Instantly Cal wheeled and fired, and as he did so Hardy grabbed Betty Sue’s wrist and they darted out from under the end of the overhang and ran for the woods.
Cal’s rifle shot caught the Indian full in the chest, at almost point-blank range, and the sound of the blast was still in the air when Cal wheeled, pistol in hand, and fired into the woods. And then he saw the children.
With a hoarse shout, he swung all the way around to fire, but at that instant there was a burst of firing from the woods. Cal held his fire, for the shooting was not directed at him.
An Indian burst from the woods, lying low across his pony, plunged across the open space, and was gone before Cal could do more than snap a quick shot that missed. From other parts of the woods dashed several others; one shot at him, the others fired behind them at some unseen enemy.
In an instant they were gone. The crash of gunfire ended, the Indians had fled. In the stillness there was the acrid smell of gun powder.
“Red!”
Cal turned sharply as the boy called. The stallion burst from the brush, whinnied softly, and came quickly up to the boy, who stood waiting, holding the girl by the hand.
The ugly fury, throttled by his inability to move while the Indians kept him under fire, burst now in a sudden, unreasoning desire to kill.
“Boy, bring me that horse!” The gun was up, tilted in his hand, ready to fire.
Hardy turned around, standing stiff and straight. “You leave us alone!” he said. “And you leave Red alone!”
The gun started to level in a coolly deliberate plan to murder, when Scott Collins stepped out from the trees.
“Drop it!” His voice rang sharply. “Drop it, Cal!”
Cal went to one knee behind the rocks and fired as his knee hit the ground. He aimed not at the children, but at Scott Collins.
Scott’s rifle muzzle had been lowered, but it came up in one easy move just a little above the hip.
Cal saw the leap of flame just as his own finger closed on the trigger. He felt the thud of a bullet on his chest and started to stand up for a better shot. The second shot, aimed at his head, caught him in the throat as he lunged up. The pistol dropped from his fingers and he fell, hit the rock parapet, and toppled over.
He rolled free, muttered a curse and tried to push himself up, then fell back.
Hardy was staring at his father. “Pa?” His voice was a trembling sound. “Pa?”
Scott went to him and dropped on one knee. “Hardy…Hardy, boy…” His voice was low and hoarse, and it faded out. He could not speak, but he caught the boy to him and clung to him, looking beyond him at Betty Sue.
“Come on, honey,” he said to her, and gathered her to him.
Fifty yards away, Bill Squires drew up alongside Frank Darrow. Squires took his chewing tobacco out, looked at it speculatively, then bit off a small piece. “You know something, Frank?” he said. “To be honest, I never thought we’d find them.”
“You didn’t?” Darrow grinned at him. “I reckon I always did, Bill. I figured if the boy was anything like his pa he would just keep a-comin’, and he done it.”
Scott Collins got to his feet. “Come on,” he said, and he gathered the reins of the big horse. “Climb up, Hardy. We’ve got to be moving on.”
When the boy was in the saddle, he lifted Betty Sue up.
“Pa,” Hardy said, “there’s a buffalo coat yonder. We carried it off from a dugout a ways back. Can we keep it, pa?”
“You’ll need it. We’ve got a cold ride.”
He walked over to the coat, glancing only once at Cal. He remembered him now from Hangtown—he had known him the instant he put eyes on him.
When he was again in the saddle, and Hardy was wrapped in the buffalo coat, the boy said, “Pa? You carry Betty Sue. I think she’d like it.”
“I’d like it, too, Hardy. I surely would,” Scott Collins said.
The snow crunched under their horses’ hoofs, and a slight wind stirred, sifting a little loose snow. Some of the snow settled in the creases of Cal’s clothing, along the line of his lips, upon his open eyes. The wind stirred again, and more snow sifted down.
Hardy hunched his small shoulders under the buffalo coat, warm and snug. Somewhere ahead was Fort Bridger, and pa was riding right behind him.