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SLIM EVANS AND HIS HORSE LIGHTNING
by
GRAHAM M. DEAN
The Goldsmith Publishing Co.Chicago
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Copyright MCMXXXIV byThe Goldsmith Publishing Co.
Manufactured in the United States of America
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CONTENTS
I On the Sky High Trail II Bushwhackers III The Strange Letter IV Trouble Looms V The Unknown Rider VI Lightning Returns VII Explanations VIII The Vanishing Camp IX Secret Commissions X Dirty Water XI Slim Rides Alone XII War Declared XIII Fading Trails XIV Powder To Burn XV Dangerous Hours XVI Telltale Marks XVII The Night Alarm XVIII On a New Trail XIX More Clues XX The Cloudburst XXI Trapped XXII In the Cajons XXIII The Confession XXIV Showdown
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Slim Evans and His Horse Lightning
Chapter One
On the Sky High Trail
The rugged peaks of the Cajons cast deepening shadows down their easternslopes as the July sun, a ball of fire in a cloudless sky, swung towardthe horizon.
Threading his way carefully through one of the passes of the Cajons wasa cowboy on a sorrel horse. Dust lay thick on both horse and rider, forthey had been long on the trail that day and there had been no rain inthe Cajon country for weeks.
Breasting the last steep grade leading to the summit of the pass, a newcountry was unfolded. The sorrell paused as its rider dismounted morethan a little stiff from the hours in the saddle and the intense heat ofthe day.
The cowboy patted the sorrel affectionately.
"It's been a long grind, Lightning, old girl. We'll rest here a fewminutes and then see if we can find a good place to camp tonight."
The narrow trail had broadened at the summit and there was a swale witha little grass that had escaped the burning rays of the midsummer heat.
The sorrel began to graze while the cowboy sat down in the shadows of aboulder.
All day long horse and rider had been toiling up the slope from theeast, following the little-used trail. Shading his eyes, the cowboytried to follow the trail. It turned west and north, into a country thatwas well timbered and appeared to be rich in grazing land--a country newto both horse and rider.
For the twentieth time in the last three days the cowboy slipped hishand into an inner pocket and drew forth an envelope. He unfolded theletter it contained and scanned it with puzzled eyes. It was addressedto Slim Evans, Flying Arrow Ranch, Sunfield, Wyo.
"Dear Slim," the letter began, "I am in need of your help. Things aregoing badly in the Creeping Shadows country over beyond the Cajons and Iam counting on you to straighten out the trouble. The greatest secrecyis necessary so let no one except your father know of this message. Meetme on the 22nd at the foot of the Sky High trail on the other side ofthe Cajons. Will explain everything then."
The message was signed by Bill Needham, secretary of the Mountain StatesCattlemen's Association.
Slim Evans folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope,which was now badly creased.
It had been a summons he could not disregard and the mysterious tone ofthe letter had aroused his curiosity. Once or twice in the last twoyears he had been able to help Bill Needham and the Mountain StatesAssociation in running down rustlers. Bill was an old friend of theEvans family and Slim had hastened to roll his duffel and start for theSky High trail over the Cajons.
It was the best part of another day's ride to the foot of the trail, buthe could slacken the fast pace he and Lightning had maintained for hewas well within the time limit.
Fine lines puckered Slim's brow as he stared down from the summit of thetrail toward the Creeping Shadows country. Although less than a hundredand fifty miles from the Flying Arrow, where he had been reared, it wasnew country to him, right against the southern boundary of Montana withthe Bad Lands touching it on the east.
Slim wondered if Needham was calling him in on a case of cattlerustling. But that seemed hardly possible, for the association had asmall staff of men who devoted all of their time and energy to runningdown cattle thieves. Slim's only work along that line had been severalsmall investigations near the home ranch where he had been able to savethe association the expense of sending out one of its staff detectives.
Bill Needham was the only man with the answer and Slim reluctantly leftthe cool shadow of the rock. Lightning responded to his whistle and thecowboy swung into the saddle.
"Half an hour more, Lightning, and we'll look for a camp," said Slim,running his fingers through the mane of his mount.
Lightning, a beautiful horse, was tall, well built, with legs strongenough to stand a terrific speed even in the roughness of the cowcountry.
A white star stood out on her forehead and each foot had a collar ofwhite just above the fetlock. It was evident that horse and riderunderstood each other for, from time to time, Slim spoke to Lightningand the mare seemed to nod in reply.
The Sky High trail had been in little use for half a dozen years, thenew trail through the Cajons went nine miles south along an easier pass.Years before the Sky High trail had been one of the main routes throughthe mountains, cowboys and herds from the Creeping Shadows countrythundering along it. Now the old road was covered with weeds and only asemblance of a trail remained.
For half an hour Slim and Lightning swung down from the summit at asteady pace. The trail rounded a rocky promontory and a small patch oftimber ahead hinted of a suitable camping place.
A mountain stream, grown thin from lack of rain, stumbled along over itsrocky bed. There was enough grass and plenty of shelter. Slimdismounted, loosened the cinches, and pulled the heavy saddle andblanket from Lightning's back. He slipped the bit out of the sorrel'smouth, tossed the reins over the magnificent head, and Lightning wasfree to graze for whatever morsels of grass could be found in the littlevalley.
Slim unfastened the slender duffel roll he carried behind the saddle andbrought out the mess kit. He was traveling light.
Before preparing his own evening meal, he slipped off the well-wornleather chaps which protected his legs and went down to the littlestream. The water was cool and sweet and he drank deeply from thehurrying creek. Then he washed thoroughly, finally dousing his head inthe water.
When he cleared the water from his eyes he saw Lightning standing alittle below him and looking at him reproachfully.
Slim laughed. "Better try a little water to wash off the dirt," hechuckled.
But Lightning snorted disdainfully, drank deeply, and returned to grazeagain.
The cool water refreshed Slim greatly and he set about the task ofpreparing his evening meal. There was still a half hour of daylight, buthe had been in the saddle at sun-up and, toughened though he was to thelife of the range, the heat had tired him. He was ready to roll into hisblanket as soon as he finished his meal.
There was plenty of dry wood in the patch of timber and Slim soon had asmall, smokeless fire going. Plenty of bacon, bread that now was nonetoo fresh, and a small pot of coffee completed food for supper.
Slim had just finished turning the bacon to a crisp, delicious brown,and the coffee was simmering in the coals when a rifle shot echoed frombelow.
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The cowboy paused, bacon halfway between his tin plate and his mouth.There was another shot, followed by a fusillade. Slim heard the suddenscream of pain of a mortally wounded horse and he finished the bacon inone gulp.
"Lightning!" he called.
The sorrel, now a hundred yards away, heard the cry and came at a fullgallop.
Slim leaped across the campfire and dove into the small pile of duffelbeside his saddle. From a saddlebag he drew a cartridge belt andholster. This he buckled swiftly around his waist, pausing only longenough to make sure that the heavy .38 in the holster was free.
From a boot fastened to the saddle he drew a Winchester 30-30. A glancetold him that the magazine was full and he swung an extra belt ofammunition over his shoulder.
The firing down below was coming steadily. There was no time to saddleand Slim leaped upon Lightning and went dashing down the Sky High trail.