Finally, I rode back to the peak. I’d told them to hole up somewhere south of the peak, so I tied my horse to a mesquite bush and climbed up on the lava.
I knew what lava would do to a pair of boots, and mine weren’t in very good shape as it was. Scrambling around over lava, those boots could be done for in an hour or two, so I simply climbed the highest bulge I could find short of the peak and looked around.
The first thing I saw was an empty cartridge shell, bright in the sun. And a little beyond it, projecting from behind some brush, I sighted a boot and a spur.
It needed only a couple of minutes for me to get there. It was Harry Mims, and he was dead. He had been shot in the back at fairly close range, but he was a tough old man with a lot of life in him and he had crawled—his scraped and bloodied hands showed that—trying to get away over the lava.
He must have lost his gun when they shot at him. I didn’t see it anywhere around and did not look for it. They had followed, caught up with him, and then standing over him had emptied a gun into his chest.
There were no other bodies, no horses, no gold, no Penelope.
Penelope? … A little chill caught me in the chest. Suppose she had killed him? Suppose it was she who’d shot him in the back, then followed him up and shot him in the chest to make sure of his death?
Who else could get that close? … And where was Penelope?
14
I left the place and rode to the west, cutting back and forth for sign. Almost a mile out I found where several horses, two of them heavily loaded, had crossed a wash, their heels sliding in the mud.
At intervals then I. found sign; but I’d been following for scarcely another mile when in, glancing around to study my back trail, I thought I saw another trail off to the right. Riding over, I did find another trail—a lone rider keeping well off to one side, and often stopping beside a mesquite bush. Obviously, somebody had been scouting along the trail of the bunch of horses. I had no idea who the lone rider might be, but I knew Penelope had the horses, and I was sure there were no strange tracks among that lot.
Of the original group against us, I did not know which ones had survived, and were able to ride. Perhaps all of them.
It was just shy of noon when I found the other trail.
The new trail showed four riders coming in from the south, and a couple of the tracks were familiar ones. They belonged to some of the Bishop crowd. Who, then, was the lone rider following Penelope?
The trail held steadily west, then suddenly it ended in a maze of tracks. Drawing up, I stood in the stirrups and gave study to the ground.
The pursuers had lost Penelope’s trail, and in trying to find it again had chopped up all the ground with hoof marks. Circling, I tried to pick up the trail of the lone rider again. From the way he had been acting I had an idea that he was a good tracker, and as he had been ahead of them, he was most likely to discover where Penelope had gone.
She had ridden into a belt of soft sand where tracks leave no clear impressions. Then she had evidently seen some herders coming with a flock of sheep and had simply ridden on ahead of them, keeping track of the direction they were taking and staying ahead so their tracks would wipe hers out.
The herd had been headed west, which was her direction, but I wasn’t satisfied. She would not want to go north, for in that direction it was too far to any town where she could be sure of protection from the law. West was all right for her, but it was almost too obvious. Cimarron was over west, and she might head for there … but she might not. I found myself wishing I knew what she and Mims had talked about before he was killed. That old man knew this country and he had probably told her a good deal.
Those sheep were a good cover for her tracks, but it was likely Loomis, Bishop, and the rest of them would follow right along until they caught up with the sheep, and then they’d find her tracks. Yet I could not be sure of that. Suppose she turned off?
This girl was showing herself uncommonly smart. She was all alone now with three hundred pounds of gold, two pack horses, and a spare saddle horse, for she must have Mims’s mount with her. She would outfigure everybody if she could, and I had a hunch she would leave that sheep herd at the first chance. She was, without doubt, riding a good way ahead of it. With that much gold she would be suspicious of everybody and taking no chance even with the herders.
So I held to the south edge of the herd, keeping an eye out for tracks. The herd was heading for a patch of junipers and pifion that lay ahead. There was good grass and.a lot of good grazing on the slopes around those trees. A mile or more this side were twin peaks, with a low hill standing north of them.
When I got to that low hill I drew up and studied the ground. The sheep had passed north of it, but there were scattered tracks out from the flock, as there always are, and dog tracks among them. There was no sign of a horse track, but somehow I was not convinced.
Skirting the hill, I rode up between the two buttes that lay south of it. I’d been on the dodge too many times myself to ignore such a place. If she turned off between those buttes the sheepherders would have their view of her cut off until they passed the buttes, and by that time she could be under cover. They would not know which way she had gone.
On the far side of the buttes I suddenly came on several horse tracks, one of which I recognized. Yet I had gone on half a mile farther before I found more. She was using every bit of soft sand or hard rock she could find, and she left practically no signs.
Now the thing to figure was where she would be going. Cimarron was closest; if she bypassed that she could go through the mountains and turn north to Elizabethtown, or ride on to Taos. Each mile of this would be dangerous, but she had nerve, and evidently she had a plan. It was my hunch she would skip Cimarron.
Well now, here was a girl out of the East who was making fools out of the lot of us. One young girl, all alone, with four horses and three hundred pounds in gold, cutting across wild country toward … where?
Her trail was plain enough, so I lifted the dun into a canter and followed as rapidly as possible. She was hours ahead of me when she crossed the Canadian, but she was moving her pack horses too fast. Carrying a dead weight such as gold was harder than carrying a rider.
We were riding in cattle country now, and sooner or later she was sure to come up with some cowhands. Sure enough, she had, and did the smart thing. She swapped her horses for three fresh and better ones. But before she did the swapping she left her gold cached out in the hills.
She’d been gone less than an hour when I came into their camp. Right off, I noticed her horses in the remuda. They were beat, for they’d been ridden hard, and she had been smart to trade them off.
Me, I asked no questions at all. Like always, they invited me to set and eat, and whilst eating I made a swap for my dun. I was in no mind to let the dun go, and told them so, and they let me have a fresh horse that I could swap back for the dun at any time, they said. And that I meant to do.
“Ridin’ far?” one of them asked,
I shrugged. “Yeah. Headin’ to Mora to visit kinfolk. Name of Sackett.”
“Heard of them.” They looked at me with interest, for Tyrel and Orrin were known men in New Mexico.
The last thing I wanted those cowhands to know was that I was following Penelope Hume. They’d never tell me anything if they knew, for they’d all be on the side of a pretty girl, for which I’d not blame them.