“I’ll take the lead!” Pearson swung his bay. Bardoul shrugged and fell back alongside his lead wagon.
Tolliver glanced up at him. “Is it purty bad up there?”
“Rough country,” Bardoul said, “we’ll have to use ropes and chains to get the wagons down. Probably have to double up on the teams, too.”
He rode his dun back along the line of the company wagons, telling them what lay ahead, and explaining the procedure to be adopted when they arrived. Then tying the dun behind his head wagon, he got in and dug out of the pile of stores the necessary chains and equipment.
When he remounted his horse, Barney Coyle was alongside. “It looks all right up ahead,” he suggested, waving a hand at the waving grass lands.
Matt nodded. “Look, Barney,” he said, “watch the oxen. They are moving slower, leaning into the harness more. Notice their tracks. The hooves are digging in at the toes more than they did. There is nothing here by which we can judge other than that, but we have been climbing steadily for the last two hours. It will be that way for at least two miles further, and then the prairie will break off sharply.”
“You’ve been through here before?”
“Not exactly here, but I know there are miles of very rough country ahead of us, and we should have sighted it. We might be lucky and find an easy way down, but I doubt it.”
The two rode on, side by side, then Barney suggested. “Why not ride ahead and have a look?”
“Good idea!”
Pearson stared at them as they cantered past, but said nothing. The grass was knee high to the horses here, and good feed. They were not far from the Belle Fourche River, but from where they rode, it could not be seen.
The break came suddenly, almost three miles from where they left the wagon tram. The shelf of the prairie broke sharply off, and although they scouted the rim for a mile in either direction, they found no way down. Matt reined in on the edge and studied the steep hill carefully.
The rim was sheer for about six feet, and then sloped steeply away toward the bottom. It would be impossible to use horses or oxen here. They would have to be led down.
Matt had picked up a shovel before he left the wagons, and now he dismounted and trailing the bridle reins, began to dig away the lip, pushing the dirt down hill. After a few minutes Barney relieved him. By the time the wagons were in sight they had cut a run way through that first sheer drop so that it slanted steeply down to the main slope below.
Bardoul mounted and rode back. He reined in alongside of Pearson. “Colonel, I’m having my company wagons fan out on the rim up here, or a few yards away from the rim. The wagons will have to be iet down one by one. I’d suggest the other companies find likely spots further along the rim. If we use one place, it is going to take much longer.”
“Is there really a rim up there?” Pearson demanded. He stared sharply at Matt, as if this were some plot of his.
“Yes, there is. It’s no more than three hundred feet to the bottom,” he added, “and the oxen could handle the wagons after the first half of that distance.”
His orders had already been given, so he dropped back and told Reutz what lay ahead. The German listened. “I see,” he said finally, “how do you propose to lower your wagons? By hand?”
“No, with a block. I have three in my wagons. I’ll keep one team up here to hold the block. Reeve a line through it and we’ll pay it off gradually, letting the wagons roll down on their own wheels, just using the line for a brake. I expect we could work at several spots, though, letting two or three wagons down at once, but I was afraid that would spread us out too far in case of Indians.”
When he got back to the rim his own wagons were already arriving and Tolliver had unhooked his oxen after swinging the wagon’s rear end toward the cut Barney and Matt had dug.
Shedd took his team down the cut to the bottom to pick up the first wagon that came down and start it moving. Then one by one the wagons were rolled back to the lip of the cut by all hands, and with the oxen doing the holding, the line was slowly paid out and the wagons rolled, one by one to the bottom.
It was gruelling work, despite the blocks they used. Yet the planning had prepared the way so there was little wasted time. Ahead of them the country looked rocky and rough with many shallow dips, a few dry stream beds, and some thick brush.
Glancing down the rim, Matt saw Coyle and Pearson standing with several of their men on the edge of the drop off, discussing ways and means. When the last of his wagons was on the bottom, only Herman Reutz had a wagon down. Bardoul’s wagons hooked up and they moved off in the gathering dusk.
A mile further along they camped, and as they sat around the fire eating, they heard the cursing of men and the sound of rolling wagons. It would be hours before they all made it to the bottom. Matt ate a few bites, then arose abruptly and walked to his horse which he had kept saddled. Then he rode back toward the rim where the men still toiled. After much searching he found Coyle.
The man had his coat off, his face was dirty and he was sweating. He looked up at Matt, and his mouth seemed to tighten.
“Howdy,” Matt said, “I’ve got some blocks. Want ’em?”
Coyle’s irritation was close to the surface. He started to say no, then hesitated. “I could use ’em,” he said lamely, “I guess this was one thing we didn’t plan for.”
Matt had brought two of the blocks along. He dropped them to the ground at Coyle’s feet. “If she’d like,” he said, avoiding Jacquine’s eyes, “your daughter could ride over an’ sit with the women from my company. They’ve got a fire an’ some hot food. That coffee tastes mighty good.”
He looked up, and his eyes met hers. For an instant, they held, then she nodded. “I think I will, Father,” she said coolly, “if there’s nothing I can do here.”
“Ride along with her, will you, Bardoul?” Coyle asked. “Since this morning I’m not sure I like her riding around alone.”
“You won’t need me here?”
“Thanks. With these blocks we’ll get along.”
They turned their horses and rode along the rim toward the cut he had made earlier. When they reached it, Jacquine reined in and turned a little in her saddle. “Well,” she said, “you were right about Bain.”
“He’s a frontier character,” he said noncommittally. “A lot of men know about him.”
“Clive didn’t.”
So it was Clive now? The thought angered him, but he said nothing. She waited for his reply, but when it did not come she said quickly, “You think he did know?”
“I don’t know whether he did or not,” Matt said quietly, “but Logan Deane knew. He is Massey’s right hand man. I should think if he knew he would tell Massey.”
“Just what are you hinting at?” Jacquine demanded, a thin edge of anger in her voice. “You advised us not to come. You said it might not be safe. Why?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted frankly. “I don’t know at all. I only know that from the first there has seemed to be something wrong here. My feeling was increased when Massey picked the men he did as his law enforcement group. They are a lot of outlaws!”
“He says they are not!”
“Well, I offer Bain as an example.”
“You can’t judge them all by one.”
“In this case you can. Some are better, and some worse than Bain. The fact remains that Massey claimed he did not know Bain was with the wagon train. Your father obviously did not know. Yet he was here, concealed until we left Deadwood. He showed his true colours at the first opportunity.
“Moreover, I see no reason why we should have ten men to enforce peace in a wagon train that is over half composed of men and their families. The only possible trouble-making elements are in that group themselves.”
“You don’t like Clive, do you?” Jacquine demanded.
“Frankly, no. However, that may be a matter of personalities. Some people simply can’t get along. Yet I think there is more to it than that. He didn’t want me on this trip. It was only Portugee and your father who made it possible for me to come. Why didn’t he want me? Was it because I knew too much about the Big Horns?”