Chapter Fourteen -- Lost Canyon
When Bud Hagan was thirty feet from the edge of the
thicket he could see that there was an abrupt change in front of him. As he
cleared the wood a gasp came from him. Below him lay a verdant vista that he had
never guessed could even exist in southern Arizona. Lost Canyon!
This must be it. There was no other explanation. The
grass was thicker than any he had seen this side of Wyoming. A good-sized stream
ran through the center, but it disappeared back into the ground. No wonder this
valley was so green. All the water must be saved in its own aquifer.
He tried to guess at the size. Approximately one mile
long and three miles wide, this place was literally an Eden.
"What a place for a ranch," thought Hagan
momentarily. Then he smiled and shook his head. "Heck, I barely know which
end of a beef critter you shovel up after." This, of course, was a large
understatement. An Arizona Ranger had to know about everything that he possibly
could. And he had to know it well.
As he watched subtle movements caught his eye and he
counted a total of eighteen deer coming out to forage. A gobble of a wild turkey
on its roost came to his ears. This was a virtual paradise. Hagan thought it was
a shame that it was used as an outlaw hide out. "I'll put a stop to
that," he thought.
There was no visible entrance from where he stood. At
the east end a wisp of dust showed where the others must have departed with the
beast. It looked like a solid wall of rock, but there must be a break in it that
was used as a passage. Hagan tried to imagine the first man that had entered
this canyon. How amazed he must have been at what he saw.
It was quickly growing dark now, and the ranger looked
for a way down to the main floor of the valley. A thinly treed slope sufficed,
and he sidestepped down in the growing dark, holding to a sapling when
necessary. Once down he looked for the outlaw's camp. At first he could see no
trace of it, but finally he saw the flicker of reflected flames.
It showed him that this was not a bunch of tenderfeet,
although he had never once thought they were. They had built a small fire that
was sheltered on two sides by a big rock. It was a fire to cook on, and nothing
else. A greenhorn will build a roaring inferno that can be seen for miles. The
smoke billows up as a signal to all the Indian nations in three territories.
Then the fellow will have trouble trying to get close enough to the heat to set
his frying pan. To top it off he will then stare into the flames for hours until
he is so blinded that an attacker will have free run of the camp. Or the
greenhorn's scalp. Hagan figured that such behavior must be traced to childhood
days on picnics.
The outlaws did no such thing. They cooked a meal on
their small fire, then banked it just enough that a coffee pot would stay hot
for the night watch. That in itself said a lot. Not many people would post a
guard in a hidden place such as this. But these did.
An aroma of roasting venison wafted to the ranger's
nose and his stomach growled with hunger. All he had was a cold biscuit in his
pocket, so he took that out and gnawed at it. He loved biscuits but at the
moment this one didn't seem to hit the spot. It would have to do for the time
being.
He located the remuda in a little stand of trees. The
outlaws had run a simple rope from the branches, just enough to show the horses
their place. There was one guard who showed up with a plate of food and sat down
with his back to a tree to eat it. The ranger grinned. This could be a place to
perform some deviltry. But first, Hagan must find out more about what the
denizens of this canyon were up to.
Getting by the guard was easy, for he was totally
engrossed in his meal. The ranger had worried that the horses might sound an
alarm. They must have seen him, but they were so used to the comings and goings
of strangers that his appearance did not alarm them.
Hagan crept toward the campfire on his hands and
knees, safely sheltered in the rich grass. He stopped when he was close enough
to hear them.
"How come the boss ran off in such a hurry?"
This was a strange voice that Hagan had not heard before.
"Who know? He's as nervous as a madam in church
since that Arizona Ranger showed up." That was Trace, Hagan was sure of it.
"He's never acted like this before, and we've
done bigger jobs. This silver train should be easy. We just show 'em old Hiram,
kill all the guards and make off with the silver. What could be simpler?"
"You are bloodthirsty, but in this case I would
guess you're right. It should go smooth as silk Just as long as we keep it quiet
so that the ranger can't get together an army to meet us."
"We ought to just shoot him. Then we wouldn't
have to worry."
"Are you nuts? We would have every ranger in the
territory down on our backs. When one of their own is shot down these rangers
just don't quit. No, we'll keep him tied up until the job is done. Then I
suppose we will have to move. Of course, the guy could have an accident or
something."
"I thought you just said we couldn't kill
him."
"We can't, here in camp. But if his horse was to
step in a ground squirrel hole, or he picked up a stray bullet in town, then who
would know the difference?"
"Hey, yeah, I see what you mean. I hope he
doesn't get loose up there"
"Nah, we'll double up the guard tonight. We'll
keep him safe and sound."
High above them, the guard was just now removing the
ropes that bound him. It had taken longer than the half hour that was suggested.
He knew that his voice wouldn't be heard at camp, so he did the next best thing.
Retrieving his belt and holster, he drew his sidearm and fired three shots into
the air.
The men in front of Hagan were good. The ranger would
be the first to admit that. The fire had been smothered with sand before the
echo of the last pistol shot stopped ringing. Every man in front of him had
found the cover of a sheltering rock. Then they were stone silent.
In a few minutes the guard came riding down the hill
and to the campsite. "Hey, the ranger got away! He had a hideout and he got
the drop on me."
"I swear a baby could get the drop on you with
his rattle! I can't believe you let him get away."
"I tell you he had another gun. I almost got
killed."
"That would be a shame. If King were hare he
would probably kill you himself. I wouldn't blame him."
"Now, come on. This could happen to anyone."
"No, it couldn't. Now, listen closely. Get back
up on top and try to stay awake. If that lawman comes through again, shoot him!
Never mind about his buddies, just shoot him down."
"You can count on me."
"I wish. Now get going."
When the guard had gone back to his position the
others talked among themselves.
"Do you think he'll come back?"
"Yeah, I do. He knew he was close to Lost Canyon
and he suspects what is going on. He knows darned well that we're outlaws
because we held him at gunpoint. Yeah, he'll be back. The question is when? And
will he come alone?"
"Billy, you'd better ride into town and tell J.D.
about this. Tell him we could move Hiram nearer to the Mexican trail and camp
there. We should probably stay out of this place from now on. Now that the
ranger knows about it he'll come back."
Hagan sat in the darkness and tried to make sense of
what he had heard. The robbery sounded like just what he had expected, but who
was this Hiram they kept referring to? It might be the unknown animal, but still
the question remained - why bring it to a robbery?
All in good time. Right now he must figure out the
best way to leave. His horse was loosely tied to a small branch back at the edge
of the burn, and he knew it could break away if it wanted. The ranger's
curiosity was getting the better of him, and he wanted to see what the east
entrance of Lost Canyon looked like. No better time than the present.
Hagan back tracked out of range of the outlaws by the
dead fire. He cautiously moved between rocks and trees to break his silhouette
as best he could. It was a long way to the end of the canyon, and he went so
slowly that two hours had elapsed by the time he hit the eastern rock face. Here
he was stymied.
There was no apparent exit from the canyon, yet he had
heard it mentioned by the outlaws. He had also seen the dust of riders departing
just before dark. They could not have flown. There had to be a hidden trail.
On his second pass along the face he became aware of
what had been alerting him. It was an odor, and not a pleasant one. Obviously
manure, this sampling was definitely not horse droppings. The aroma of horses
was not unpleasant, at least to anyone that liked the big animals. Hagan figured
that whatever this was, he did not want to be shoveling any of it.
The small was strongest at the center of the face. On
checking this area again, the ranger found an angling passage leading through
the rock. This must be the exit.
The stink was so bad that he hated to enter. Aha! Was that the secret to this
unknown animal? The fact that its odor kept others at bay? It was possible,
judging by what he found here.
Hagan had no way of knowing if this passage did indeed
go all the way through. Now did he know who or what might be waiting at the
other end. There was only one way to find out, so, loosening his Colt in its
holster, he slowly entered the rock.
The smell was nearly suffocating in here and he slid
his bandana up over his nose.
He had to go slowly for fear of making noise. The sides of the passage were
smooth for the first hundred feet, and then rough spots indicated that portions
had been blasted to widen it for travel. Hagan could see nothing in here, so he
kept his left hand in contact with the wall.
All of a sudden contact was lost! Gingerly he felt
around and found a natural indentation into the wall that went about four feet.
He had not traveled move that ten feet past this when footsteps sounded in back
of him.
Quickly he dove back into the cleft and listened. Two
sets of footsteps were overtaking him. Soon he could see the glare of a torch.
He was trapped!
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