Chapter Four -- Crazy Woman Canyon
The ranger rolled off the side of his horse, slapping it on the rump to hasten its departure. Hagan leaped into a dry bed left from a flash flood. It was only a couple of feet deep, but for a man in his position it was a haven from the storm.
There was no searching fire, and he wasn't sure if the ambushers were waiting him out or they thought they had nailed him. He wasn't about to stick his head up and find out. Hagan waited twenty minutes before hearing the sounds of departing hooves.
Was it one horse or two? If he made a mistake now it would get him killed. It had sounded like just one to him, so he waited another half hour before moving.
When he did move it was just to inch his way up the dry streambed. His progress was painfully slow, but such was the price of safety. When he reached the shadow of a small rock he inched his head up over the rim to look for sign of a pursuer.
It took Hagan a second to make him out, for the man in back of him was dressed in tan clothing and blended into the scenery like so much more sand. His dress along with his careful movements gave out the fact that he must be a skilled hunter. And the ranger was the hunted!
"Not for long," Bud said to himself. He took his time, for he wanted to capture his hunter and question him. He saw now that the fellow was wearing buckskins. When he came to where the ranger had jumped for cover he took a quick look up the hill and then dove into the streambed. There was a bend forty yards below Hagan, so he couldn't see what the other fellow was doing.
The ranger stuck to his present position to make sure the hunter didn't leave the ditch. More waiting, and then the sound of a dislodged rock came to his ear. So, the man was following him. Hagan pulled out his Peacemaker and waited.
Bud Hagan now faced a dilemma. The odds on capturing the man unharmed were getting slimmer. He decided the best bet was to wait until the guy came around the bend and holler that he had the drop on him.
Any second now. Yes, there came the brim of his hat!
The ranger caught himself just before he made a greenhorn's mistake. The buckskinner was pushing his hat ahead of him around the bend, hoping to draw the other's fire. Hagan still waited. In a minute a swarthy face followed the hat, and the ranger's voice rang out.
"Hold it right there. This is Arizona Ranger Hagan. I want to..."
Two fast gunshots cut short his speech, and he cocked his forty-five and drove a shot down the streambed. It hit the buckskinned one in the chest and the man's head slumped down to the ground. There was still a pistol in his hand, though, and Hagan was very careful as he made his approach.
I was well that he was, for that hand came up and they both fired simultaneously. The other man's shot went flying up the hillside. The ranger's bullet broke the outlaw's wrist. He was now safe to approach.
Hagan found the man to be gravely wounded. He plugged his chest wound as best he could. The man was still alert, so the ranger asked him, "Who is behind all this? Is it Ringo?"
"You'll never learn anything from me. I just wish I could be there when you see the beast," and with that he shuddered and was quiet. Hagan felt his neck, but there was no pulse. The man was dead.
When he saw the beast. Had the man really thought Hagan would be afraid of what was probably a horse costume? Or was he just referring to the old mountain man's term of seeing the elephant? He would find out sooner or later. No sense to worry about it now.
The pockets of the buckskins were devoid of any identification. The only thing of value was the pistol that the man had carried. At first glance it looked like a Smith and Wesson Russian model, but closer inspection showed it to be a Belgium copy in 44-40 caliber. It had seen a lot of use.
Finding a deeply cut bank, the ranger dragged the body into it and covered it over with rocks and sand. He hoped that the coyotes would leave it alone.
The ranger started walking in the direction that his roan had taken. The horse was not a very skittish animal and Bud hoped he would be waiting just out of sight. Walking in the sand was difficult for his feet slipped a little with every step he took. "Should have taught him to come to a whistle," he thought.
When he finally came up to him the horse had stopped at a pool of water to drink and munch the grass that grew at the edge of the hole. Hagan put the 44-40 in a saddlebag and mounted up. He decided to keep on heading west. Maybe he would stumble upon something.
The last time he was through here he had noticed a prospector's cabin on the opposite shoulder of a canyon. He hadn't gone over on that day because he wasn't looking for anything in particular. He remembered it to be about ten miles from his position, but it turned out to be only half that distance. He had gained a lot of elevation, and there were a lot of thickets that looked like they would harbor deer and cottontails.
When he reached the cabin he stayed in a fringe of pinion pine and hollered, "Hello the house."
A woman's voice answered, "Hello, yourself. I'm not alone here, if that's what you're thinking. I've got Betsy to keep me company. Come on up."
Hagan walked his horse up to the fallen oak that served as a hitching post. "I take it that shotgun is Betsy."
The woman was holding a twelve gauge double, and she didn't look like she was having any trouble holding it up.
"That's right, Betsy Greener, if you want her full name. I'm Sarah. You can light and sit, if you want. I can give you a little grub, but that's all you're getting from me."
"I won't bother you, Sarah, but I would like a little information."
This made her stop and look closely at him. "What's that badge you're wearing? What kind of a lawman are you?"
"My name is Bud Hagan, and I'm an Arizona Ranger."
"Arizona Ranger? I never heard of such a thing. What are you trying to pull, anyway?"
"Ma'am, I assure you, I am an Arizona Ranger. A lot of people haven't heard of us, but you can be sure that we are real. You've heard of the Texas Rangers, haven't you? It's the same idea."
She stared at him again. He realized that she was near sighted. If her vision was that bad, how did she hunt for her food? He had the feeling that this was no time to be asking personal questions.
She served him a cup of coffee that had the unmistakable taste of acorns in it. There was no disguising that flavor. A lot of people used the oak nuts to stretch their coffee, but Hagan preferred chicory for the same usage. He savored it, though, telling her how good it tasted.
She smiled at this and went about dishing him up some stew. This really was good but he couldn't quite figure what the main ingredient was. It wasn't beef or venison. When she gave him a second serving he just had to ask.
`"Sarah, I've had just about everything in this neck of the woods that there is to eat, but I don't recognize this. It's simply delicious. What is it?"
She gave him a sly sideways glance. "Mountain lion. That old cat was coming around here trying to get my chickens, but now I'm eating him." She cackled like it was the funniest joke she had ever heard. Hagan realized that company must be very rare for her and she was enjoying his visit.
"I have heard that the old mountain men ate them, but I never tried one before this. It's delicious."
"You bet. I know a lot of things that people don't suspect. There's a lot goes on in the night." As she said this she gave him a sly sideways glance, and an alarm went off in his head. Somehow, something about her just wasn't right.
"What kinds of things, Sarah?'
"I see a lot when I go down to he desert. I walk down there when the moon is full. I see riders coming and going to Mexico, and I've seen the devil's monster."
There it was again! Why did people immediately think they had seen a monster when there were many more logical explanations? He didn't want to scare her off track so he said simply, "Aren't you afraid to go down there by yourself, Sarah? Even with Betsy?"
"No, I'm at home in the wild. I lived with the Apaches, you know. They taught me how to live outdoors."
"Did they capture you?"
"Yes, I wandered out from a wagon train and they grabbed me. I was ten years old. I don't know how old I am now. I had to marry an Apache warrior, but he was killed in a battle with the Mexicans. I claimed grief after that and they let me be. Then I started to act crazy. After a while I got pretty good at it. Maybe too good." She cackled again.
"After a while they let me wander off, and I found this place. The Indians won't harm a crazy person; I'm not sure why. Anyway, they don't bother me any, and sometimes I see one peaking at me from the other rim, just keeping track of me, I guess."
"Would you like to back and live with people in a town?"
"NO! I want to stay here. I'm safe and I don't need anything. Sometimes a quarter of deer or elk appears in the yard and I know it's the Apaches that left it. I want to stay here."
"Sure, that's fine, Sarah, you can stay here. It's a pretty spot. It must be real nice in the moonlight."
She looked at him sharply. "What do you mean by that?"
"Oh, boy," thought Hagan. "She's really gone." To her he said, "Why, you just told me you like to walk in the desert in the moonlight, Sarah."
"Oh, yeah, I guess I did. I forget sometimes. Did I tell you about the nightriders on the desert? Americans trying to steal Mexican silver and Mexicans trying to steal American cattle. Everyone running around for nothing."
"The cattle are heading south?"
"They always used to be. Now they could be going anywhere. Sometimes they head west past this canyon. Sometimes they head north to the mines. I don't know what's going on now."
"What about the monster, Sarah? Do you know where it goes?"
"No, it might show up anywhere. It used to be alone, but now it has men riding with it."
"What is the reason for that? Any ideas?"
"I think the men feed it. They are scared of it when it roars and they go and get whatever it wants for food."
"What does it eat?"
"I think it eats beef. The men go out and gather up cattle for it." Then she leaned over to him so that he would be sure to hear, "I've seen it, and I know what it is."
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