The sun came up, and it grew warm. A quarter of a mile ahead of the stage, Callaghen drew up to rest his mount. The stage was coming on; the Indians might be hidden back in the canyon, if they were coming that way. If they had chosen to cut across the mountain they would have to travel no more than three miles while the stage was doing almost ten. In that case they would be waiting up ahead, where the pass opened out into the desert.
Up there it was no more than three hundred yards wide, and there was a good ridge of hills on their left, offering excellent cover. Straight ahead, beyond the opening of the pass and a few miles of desert, he could see the black of cinder cones rising up.
Once, perhaps a thousand years ago, this had been a volcanic area. There were dozens of those cinder cones, some of them several hundred feet high, each with its crater; most of the craters were blown open on one side. He waited for the stage to come up to him. The Delaware swung down and walked up to where Callaghen stood with Ridge and Becker. Without pointing, he indicated with a movement of his head the ridge he suspected.
“If they’ve cut across, that’s where they’ll be… some of them anyway.”
“You think some followed us, an’ the rest cut over the mountain?” Becker asked.
“Wouldn’t you? They must have guessed we’re trying for Marl. We need water… they know that. And there are or were soldiers there.”
“All right,” Ridge agreed. “I’ll stake a claim on that. What do we do? A run-by?”
“Yes… and turn sharp at the end of the ridge. The trail will be right back in line with where we now stand, I think. Turn sharp and take them to the main trail.”
Callaghen dropped back beside the coach, ignoring Wylie inside. “Keep down,” he said to them. “In a few minutes we’re going to start a run, and there’s liable to be some shooting.”
Wylie peered out. “Indians?”
“You won’t see them,” Callaghen said. “If they’re waiting for us, we’ve got about a mile and a half before anything happens.” With a look at Wylie, he added, “If you’re any good with that gun of yours, now’s the time to show it.”
Wylie produced his gun. “I’m good,” he said. “You’ll see.”
The stage started again and Callaghen rode on, not so far ahead this time. He checked his carbine to be sure it was not gripped too tightly by the leather, and opened the flap on his belt gun.
Ridge handled his team perfectly. The grade was slightly uphill. Passing under a looming rock tower on their left, Callaghen glanced up at it. For an instant he found himself looking straight into the eyes of an Indian. The man was a good hundred yards off, but they saw each other at the same instant; then the Indian vanished.
Callaghen allowed the stage to overtake him. “They’re here,” he said. “They’re waiting for us.”
His mouth was dry. Ahead of them the pass was still narrow, and the rocks on either side seemed ready to close in on them like the jaws of some primeval monster.
CHAPTER 12
Ridge walked his horses, saving them for the run. Callaghen felt the sweat on his forehead, and he could sense the excitement in the horse he rode. “All right, boy,” he said quietly, “easy does it.”
At this point the pass widened somewhat, and the cliffs farther back were out of rifle shot. But ahead the pass narrowed again, and for at least a half-mile they would be exposed to fire from the cliffs.
Callaghen looked at them, considered the situation, and decided that the Indians would likely be bunched at the entrance to the narrower passage, hoping to stop or cripple them there, then finish the job before the stage could get around the point and out of range. Beyond the mouth of the pass he could see those cinder cones, with a black flow of lava at their base. He saw no movement on the cliffs, but he had expected none.
He dried his palms on his shirt front, and pulled his hat down a little lower. They would probably not shoot at him, but wait for the stage to get into the jaws of the trap. He started to walk his horse a little faster, glanced back and motioned to Ridge. Instantly, Ridge cracked his whip, and the team lunged into their harness and began to run.
Callaghen heard the sharp spangof a rifle bullet as it ricocheted from a rock nearby, and then his horse was running. The point of rocks was some distance ahead, but once around it… More shots were striking near, and then, suddenly, with a wave of sheer panic he realized the shooting was simply not heavy enough… not enough Indians were firing.
He pulled in, saw a bullet strike the sand in front of him and to the right, and then he pulled over to let the stage come racing up. Running his horse abreast of the driver’s box, he yelled, “Pull wide around the corner! There’s more of them on the other side!”
Ridge raised his whip in acknowledgment, and then they were racing up to the point of rocks.
The trail turned sharp around it, and the wall of rocks would cut them off from firing in the pass. But the instant Callaghen had realized that, and knew that there were too few Indians firing, he had guessed where they would be: waiting in the rocks for the stage to round the point and then they would come running right up to them.
He rounded the point just one jump ahead of the stage and led off into the desert, away from the trail, running due east. Leaping and bounding, the stage came after, dodging boulders and veering around clumps of brush, the maddened horses running with all they had.
Shots rang out behind them, and looking back, Callaghen saw the Indians running from the rocks at the base of the cliff. He ran his horse for another quarter of a mile, slowed to a canter, and then to a walk. The stage rolled up to him.
Far behind they could see the Indians, and then they vanished, the color of their bodies becoming one with the mountainside along which they moved.
Ridge pulled up to let his horses blow. “Good thinkin’ there, Callaghen,” he said. “We almost run right into their trap.”
“They’ll cut across the mountains, I think. They’ll try to get to Marl ahead of us.”
After a minute or two he led off. The desert around them was empty. To the north he could now see half a dozen of the cinder cones, and to the south the Kelso Mountains. The trail ran along the base of the mountains, and the route they were now taking across the desert would take them back into the trail a mile or so farther along.
Callaghen’s mouth was dry, his lips were feeling stiff and sore. He squinted his eyes against the sun, studying the desert over which they were advancing. Indians could be anywhere. They had lived long in this country, hunting, raiding, and food-gathering across it in every direction. They knew what possibilities it offered far better than he did better than even the Delaware did.
It was a slight upgrade toward the trail, and Ridge took his time. From the top of the stage he could see well ahead, and Becker was keeping a sharp eye out for trouble, but no Indians followed them.
“We need that water,” Callaghen said to Ridge, “and they know it.”
“What if there’s none of our men there?” Becker wanted to know. “What if somebody pulled the sojer boys out, an’ the Injuns are waitin’ instead?”
“Then we’ll have some shooting to do,” Callaghen replied, and they rode on.
The sun was high now, and the horses were laboring on the rough desert. Twice they passed through deep belts of sand; often they bumped and jolted over rocky areas. The desert was littered with chunks of lava, all the way from fist size to boulders as large as the stage, blown out by the violence of the upheaval.
“She must have been hot around here, one time,” Ridge said, awed by the sight. “Imagine how it must’ve been when all those holes were blowin’ at once!”
“It might not have happened at one time,” Becker said. “Could have been from time to time, but even so, I’m glad I’m here now instead of then.”
They drove on, and at last the horses bumped over the last stones and pulled the stage back to the trail once more. Several miles ahead the trail again cut through a narrow pass, this time through the Marl Mountains. Though it seemed unlikely the Indians were there, they would have to chance the possibility. It was a narrow, dangerous place, but they evidently had reached it before the Indians, and they drove through without trouble, and turned right around a point of rocks toward Marl Springs.