“You’re a liar, Suttonl His horses are in the corral. You’re going to tell me where he is or I’ll start shooting.” Walt Sutton was unhappy. He knew Ducrow as one of Ben Curry’s men who had come for fresh horses. He had never seen this young man before, yet so far as Sutton was aware nobody but Ben Curry and himself knew the facts about the ranch. If this man was lying, how could he know? “Listen, mister, I don’t want no trouble. Least of all with old Ben. He did set me up here, and I been doin’ well. Yes, I seen Ducrow, but he told me the law was after him.” “Do I look like the law? Ducrow’s kidnapped Voyle’ Ragan’s niece, and they are friends of Ben’s. I’ve got to find him.” “Kidnapped Voyle Ragan’s niece?
Gosh, mister, I wondered why he wanted two saddle horses.” Mike backed to the door and whistled sharply.
“Where did he go?” “Damned if I know. He rode in here ab’an hour ago wanting two packhorses with grub and blankets. He took two canteens and then lit out.” Drusilla appeared in the doorway and Sutton’s eyes went to her. “I know you,” he said. “Evenin’, ma’am.” “Get us some grub, and make it quick. Then I want the two best horses Ben left here, and I want them fast!” Sutton put bread and meat on the table and ducked out of the door. Mike watched him hurry to the corral and saw him bring two horses from the stable.
They were typical Curry horses, big, handsome animals. Sutton led them to the door and then sacked up some supplies and tied them behind the saddles.
“You’ve been a help,” Mike said, “and I’ll tell Ben about it. Now-have you any idea where Ducrow might be going?”—“Well-was Sutton hesitated, obviously frightened. “He’ll kill me if he learns I told, but he did say something about Peach Meadow Canyon.” “Peach Meadow?” Bastian frowned. The canyon was a legend in the red rock country, and Roundy had talked of it. “What did he ask you?” “If I knew the trail there and if it was passable.” “What did you tell him?” Sutton threw up his hands. “What could I tell him? I’ve heard of that canyon ever since I came into this country, and I’ve looked for it.
Who wouldn’t, if all they say is true?” As they moved out Mike put his hand on Dru’s arm. “Dru? This is going to be rough, so if you want to go back-?” “I wouldn’t think of it.” “Well, I won’t say I’m sorry. I like having you with me. In fact-was His voice trailed off.
There was more he meant to say, and Drusilla realized it. She also knew he was very tired. She had no idea of the brutally hard ride before he arrived at the Ragan ranch or the crossing of the canyon, but she could see the weariness in his face.
They rode side by side when the trail permitted, and Mike explained. “I doubt if Ducrow will stop for anything now. There isn’t another good hideout within miles, and he will know he’s pursued, although not by whom or how many. I almost wish he knew it was me.” “Why?” “Because he wants to kill me,” he said simply, “and he might stop long enough to try.” Then they were alone in the night, with only the horses under them, only the stars to watch. “Is it far?” “I do not know,” he said. “If Ducrow knows where it is he has found the perfect hideaway.
Outlaws often stumble across such places in making getaways from the law, or they hear of them from some Indian, some trapper or prospector, and file the knowledge away against future need.” “What is Peach Meadow Canyon?” “It is said to be near the river, one of those deep canyons that branch off from the Colorado or one of its tributaries. According to the stories somebody discovered it years ago, but the Spanish had been before him, and Indians before them. There are cliff-dweller ruins in the place, but no way to get into it from the plateau. The Indians had a way, and the Spanish are supposed to have reached it by boat.
“The prospector who found it told folks there was fresh water and a small meadow. Somebody had planted some peach trees, probably from pits he carried in his pack. Nobody ever saw him or it again, so the place exists only on his say-so. The Indians now say there’s no such place, but they may just not want anybody nosing around. Ducrow might be trying to throw us off, but he might actually know something.” “You’ll try to follow him in the dark?” “No, not actually. It is night and he will be taking it easy as this is rough country. He can’t get out of this area where we’re traveling, so we’ll stay behind him until he leaves the canyon. By that time it will be daylight and we can pick up his trail.” “I am worried for Juliana. his “Of course, but I think he knows somebody is following, so I don’t think he will stop until he reaches the canyon or turns into rough country.” For several miles they rode down a high-walled canyon from which there was no escape. Ben Curry and Roundy had both told him of it, as one of the approaches to Walt Sutton’s place. Once they emerged fi-om the canyon, however, he must be extremely careful.
At the canyon’s end, where it opened upon a wide stretch of semidesert, he pulled up and swung down. “We can’t have a fire,” he said, “because in this country a man can see for miles, and we want him to think we’re pushing hard on his trail.” He put his folded poncho on the ground near a flat-faced boulder and handed Dru a blanket.
“Rest,” he said. “You’ll need it.” She was feeling the chill and gathered it close about her. “Aren’t you cold? If we sat close together it would be warmer, and we could share the blanket.” He hesitated, then sat down beside her and pulled the blanket across his shoulders. He was desperately tired but feared to fall asleep. Ducrow might leave Juliana and double back to kill him. He had unsaddled and ground-hitched the horses but had no worry about them drifting off. This was one of the few patches of grass anywhere around.
Yet he did sleep. When the sky was faintly gray he awakened suddenly, listened, looked at the horses who were cropping grass contentedly, and then eased from under the blanket.
He caught the horses, smoothed the hair on their backs with his hand, and saddled up. From time to time he glanced at Dru, who was sleeping peacefully He was amazed that he should be here, in this lonely place, with this beautiful girl. He, an orphan and foster son of an outlaw. Some movement of his must have awakened her, for her breath caught and then her eyes opened. She looked up at him with a sleepy smile. “I was tiredl” She sat up and watched as he kindled a small fire in the shadow of a boulder. Using very dry wood that would offer almost no smoke, he got his small coffeepot from the pack and started coffee. Digging into his pack he found some hard biscuits and beef jerky. “Better eat what you can,” he said. “We won’t be stopping again.” She drew on her boots and stood up, shaking out her hair. Squatting by the fire he studied the terrain that lay before them, trying to recover from his memory all he had been told about it, Ducrow would have no trail to find and would have moved swiftly.
By now he would probably have reached his goal or was nearing it. When they were in the saddle again they picked up the tracks of the three horses they were following.
It was easier because the packhorse Ducrow was leading was a horse Mike remembered, and the tracks were familiar. What sign there was he could follow from the saddle, and they gained distance, moving swiftly. Dawn broke and the sky was streaked with rose and gold. The warming sun began to ease some of the stiffness from their muscles.
The trail crossed a small valley, skirted an alkali lake and dipped into a maze of boulders and rocky outcrop- pings before entering a pine forest. Nowhere did he see any signs of a camp. Juliana, who lacked the strength and fire of Drusilla, must be almost dead from fatigue. Obviously, the outlaw knew exactly where he was going and that his destination was not far off. He was making no effort to save his horses.
The trail became more difficult to follow.
Mike slowed his pace, then suddenly stopped.
The tracks had vanished as if the three horses had stepped off a clifll “ Stay in the saddle.