“But Lieutenant Sprague is dead, Sergeant. And we have no direct evidence that Callaghen was ordered anywhere. He may have taken it upon himself to go.”
“But sir ”
“Yes?”
“Somebody had to go with the coach, sir. Becker was dead, and Ridge had to handle the horses. The mail and the women had to be guarded.”
“I agree.” Sykes considered the subject and then asked, “And what about the civilians Wylie and Champion?”
“They left before, sir. Spencer deserted, and they stole horses and left, sir. I believe they are hunting that mine, the one everybody is talking about the cave with the river in it.”
For half an hour more Sykes questioned the sergeant on every aspect of the events of the past few days. At the end of it he was fairly certain of a few things. The stage had left, and had gotten away safely… as far as those at Marl Springs could see there had been no attack, nor had they heard any shots, and in the clear desert air the sound of shooting would carry for a long distance.
Wylie, Champion, and Spencer had also gone east into the mountains.
There had been some trouble between Callaghen and Wylie at Camp Cady, but that might have been staged. Suppose it was a carefully worked-out plan to escape with the stage, escape from the army, locate the gold mine… He was being foolish. He must not allow his dislike of Mort Callaghen to influence his thinking, but the thought remained, nagging at his mind, which was prepared for suspicion. In any event, he considered the possibility of Sprague sending Callaghen on the stage-guarding mission as unlikely… and altogether too opportune. And who was witness to this? Only MacBrody, another Irishman, and a friend of Callaghen.
“Tomorrow morning, Marriott,” Sykes said, “you will take C Troop, and I want you to overtake and capture the stage. I want you to find and apprehend Sergeant Callaghen ”
“Apprehend, sir?”
“That was the word, Captain. I have reason to believe that Callaghen followed the stage and Miss Malinda without authority that, in effect, he is a deserter.”
“But the men say he was ordered to accompany it, Major. Along with Privates Beamis and Stick-Walker, the Delaware.”
“That is correct. That is what the mensay all of them definitely loyal to one of their own. But none of them actually heard the order given.
“Consider the situation, Captain. A girl in whom Callaghen is obviously interested leaves Camp Cady on a stage driven by a man friendly to Callaghen. Suddenly that stage appears at Marl Springs, far off its route, and Sergeant Callaghen leaves there as escort. I think there is more than enough reason to believe there is something more here than meets the eye.”
“Yes, sir.” Marriott’s voice was cool. “And you wish me to overtake the stage? It may have reached Fort Mohave by now. It may even have gone on to Vegas.”
“Find it. And bring Sergeant Callaghen back to me.”
“Yes, sir. The stage, too, sir?”
“No, confound it! I’ve nothing to do with the stage unless it… Captain, you may find the stage was somehow involved in this. There has been a good deal of talking about that cave. Callaghen may be using the stage to bring out some gold.”
Marriott stepped outside and looked around him. He was thinking that, whatever had happened, there must be a logical and simple explanation. Major Sykes’s reasoning was absurd… or was it? Had he not known Callaghen, he might have wondered, for it did seem almost too much of a coincidence that the stage should appear at Marl Springs. And how did it happen that Callaghen, who had gone out with Sprague, turned up with a stage that was supposed to be on the Vegas trail? A trail, by the way, that Sprague would not have approached by his assigned route?
MacBrody was watching the men working over their horses. He glanced over his shoulder at Marriott, and saw that as the captain approached he was studying the horses. “What’s been going on, Sergeant?” Marriott asked.
“Hell, sir just hell. We can’t see Indians, but they are out there. Oh, we’ve killed a few, but mighty few, and we’ve lost men, too. They’ll give up now that you’re here. There’s too many for them to fight, and it will be too dangerous to try to steal horses. They’ll just fade back into the hills and watch their chance.”
“Man to man, what do you think of Callaghen?”
“The best, sir. The very best. He’s a soldier and a man, first-class both ways. And he’s a gentleman I mean that both as we use the term here and in the old country. If he went with the stage it was because he was told to go, and whatever he is doing it is his duty as he sees it.”
“Sprague had it, sir,” MacBrody went on. “He was holed up in some rocks near Kessler Peak that’s over east and he’d never have gotten out if one of his men hadn’t brought us word, and Callaghen took them water and led them to a water hole, and then back here.
“In the British army, Captain and God knows I’ve no use for them they’d have decorated him twice over for the work he’s done these past several days. Here he’s liable to get a court-martial.”
MacBrody looked hard at Marriott. “Beggin’ the Captain’s pardon, sir, and I don’t mean to speak disrespectful, but Major Sykes was sweet on the same girl as Callaghen. That Malinda whatever-her-name-is. There’d been trouble between them before this.”
Marriott was silent. He had been doing a lot of thinking these past few days. He was an army man, but he was a just man, and he knew a soldier when he saw one. Furthermore, he knew the truth when it was spoken to him like this, and MacBrody was telling it to him straight.
He turned and walked back across the corral. It would soon be night. Somewhere out there in the darkness, there was a stage, two women, and a few men. Somewhere out there were their enemies. He had the rough outline now.
Kurt Wylie he had not liked, spotting him for a rotter right away. Champion was a brute, a mean, dangerous brute. He recalled Spencer only slightly from a previous command as a sullen young man of no particular intelligence. These were the men who were their enemies.
The story of the mine he dismissed. Such stories were told all over the western country. There were lost mines everywhere, and each one was fabulously rich. Maybe a few of them were, but even the best of them wasn’t worth even one of the men who died hunting them. That was the pity of it.
Tomorrow he was to overtake and capture the stage, and to apprehend Callaghen. And he felt very strongly that this was something he did not want to do.
The sun was setting and the rugged range that lay to the east was crested with a gold and crimson glow. Deep shadows gathered at the base. What did they call them? The Providence Mountains, someone had said… Well, maybe providence was taking care of those women out there, and of Callaghen too. This was no country for women, but with Callaghen along they had a chance.
The mountain above the redoubt was a glorious color, but now the range across the valley had turned purple… an ancient serrated ridge thrust up from the depths of the earth. Had it happened slowly, over untold ages? Or suddenly, in one frightening convulsion? In any case, the winds of the years, the sand and gravel, had done their work on its raw surface.
A man should not stay too long in the desert, he thought, for he could lose his soul to its strange beauty and power. This was where it had begun, and here over countless years nature had been at work. The sun, the cold, the wind and water had slowly changed the rocks, crumbling some, polishing others, and the lichen had eaten at their exposed sides.
This was a strong land, calling for strong men… It was no wonder men looked for lost mines. The more lost they were, the less chance there was of finding them, and so the quest went on, and on, and on.
Marriott slapped his gloves against his thigh, and turned away. He went inside to his coffee, his sparse meal, and a cigar.
CHAPTER 22
Callaghen, waiting between the rocks on the rugged flank of Wild Horse Mesa, had no way of knowing that miles to the north Captain Marriott was leading C Troop toward Government Holes. Nor did he know that Marriott was a man who did not believe in wasting time.
It was eighteen miles from Marl Springs to Government Holes by the Government Road, and Marriott felt that time was now wasting away. If the stage had gone on to Fort Mohave, so much the better; and if it had not, there was the likelihood that the riders of the stage would need help.