Chapter Two
Bushwhackers
At a mad gallop, Slim and Lightning raced down the valley. Like the truecow horse, Lightning sensed obstacles almost before they were in sightand on more than one occasion stretched her long legs to leap acrossbadly washed places in the trail. At the pace they were going, a tumblewould have been fatal for both.
The valley broadened and the timber thinned out. Slim reined Lightningin sharply. Ahead of them was a great wash strewn with boulders whichhad been carried down from the peaks of the Cajons by spring torrents.Somewhere in the mass of boulders was the secret of the steady firing.
Slim listened carefully. Three rifles were barking their song of death.As nearly as he could tell from the firing, it was two against one andhe voted himself a ringside seat.
"You stay here," he told Lightning. "I can't tell what I'm up againstand you're a pretty good sized target."
He slipped off the sorrel and ducked in between the boulders. The skywas a blaze of red as the sun dipped over the horizon. Already theshadows were creeping up from the lowlands. Another fifteen minutes atthe most remained of light in which he could hope to do any kind ofshooting if he found himself in trouble.
Slim moved from boulder to boulder, drawing rapidly nearer to the sceneof the firing. It seemed to be concentrated to his right and he workedsteadily in that direction. A minute later he saw the opening of a smalldraw off the main valley. Then he spotted the horse which had been shotdown. The animal was lying just in front of the smaller valley. Therewas a huge boulder a little to Slim's left and he managed to crawl ontop of it. From this point of vantage the entire scene unfolded.
The rider of the dead horse was trapped in the small wash. His cayuseshot down, he had attempted to escape, only to find himself in abox-like canyon with walls too steep to scale. He had taken refugebehind the rocks and now was firing carefully and methodically at themen who had brought him down.
A few seconds later Slim spotted the riflemen who had killed the horse.One on each side, they were gradually closing in on the man who wastrapped in the canyon.
Slim took another look at his Winchester. The range was almost too easy,less than two hundred yards. There was no wind, but the light was fadingfast.
He didn't like the way the men were closing in on the trapped rider.Their actions were too deadly, they were firing too calmly. It wasevident that they did not intend that their victim should get out alive.It wasn't a fair fight and Slim took a substantial interest in theargument as he snuggled the smooth, walnut butt of the Winchesteragainst his cheek.
With keen eye and steady fingers, he drew a bead on the nearestrifleman. But the man's back was toward him. He couldn't shoot withoutwarning. Slim relaxed slightly and sent a ringing call echoing over thevalley.
"Hi-yuh! Hi-yuh! What's going on there?"
The firing ceased abruptly and two astonished riflemen swung toward him,their weapons ready for instant action. But Slim, sprawled atop the bigboulder, was practically invisible at that distance. There was no soundfrom the man trapped in the canyon.
"What's going on here?" Slim shouted again.
He must have raised his head slightly, for one of the riflemen made asnap shot and a bullet splattered on the boulder less than three feetaway.
That was a declaration of war and Slim accepted the challenge. He couldhave shot the others down in cold blood, but he had given them achance--two chances.
The shot fired at Slim was still echoing over the valley when the cowboyfrom the Flying Arrow fired twice. There was a sharp cry of pain fromone of the riflemen and Slim heard a gun clatter to the rocks. He hadaimed for an elbow which had appeared for just a second around one sideof a boulder. Evidently his aim had been true.
The man trapped in the canyon had joined in the fight again and theriflemen were caught between two fires, with Slim on the one side andthe unknown on the other. They had little desire to expose themselves tothe deadly marksmanship of Slim and were content to wait until darkness.
Slim held up his own fire. It was a waste of lead to blaze awayrecklessly and the chances of hitting anyone were extremely remote.
The twilight deepened and the evening star peeped down on theboulder-strewn wash which a few minutes before had hummed with leadendeath.
Night came and with it the valley awoke to new sounds--the noise ofboots scraping on rocks as their wearers clumsily attempted to moveabout in silence. Slim took off his own boots and in his stocking feetstarted quietly toward the place where he had last seen the riflemen.Sharp stones jabbed his feet, but he moved silently, pressing steadilyahead.
In a few more minutes a new moon would shed its feeble rays over theCajons, but it might not penetrate this remote valley. Slim almoststumbled over the rifle, which the man had dropped. The stock of theweapon had been shattered by the impact of his bullet and the gun wasworthless. Slim laid it back on the ground and worked slowly toward themouth of the box canyon. He was curious to learn the identity of the manwho had been the target for the vicious attack of the gunmen.
The Flying Arrow cowboy was almost at the mouth of the canyon when athunder of flying hoofs stopped him. There was something familiar in theleaping cadence. The wild tattoo of the hoofs sounded like Lightning.But that couldn't be. He had left Lightning well up the trail.
With a growing fear in his heart, Slim cast caution to the winds andraced back along the trail. The rocks bruised his feet, but with his onethought for Lightning there was no time to stop and hunt for the boulderon which he had left his boots.
The trail smoothed out. Slim felt grass underneath. It was here that hehad left the beautiful sorrel; it was here that Lightning should bewaiting for him.
Slim cupped his hands and called the name of his horse.
"Lightning!" he cried. Over and over again the shout was hurled from hisanxious lips. He whistled again and again. Each time there was only thesilence of the night for an answer, while far down the trail thedrumming of flying hoofs lessened and finally vanished altogether.
Slim knew what had happened. The riflemen, cut off from their own horsesby his appearance, had been forced to seek escape up the trail. They hadcome upon Lightning, awaiting the return of her master, and had mountedthe big sorrel. Picking their way around the rock-strewn wash, they hadreturned to their own horses and made good their escape but Lightning,the most valuable horse in the Flying Arrow remuda, had been taken withthem.
There was a consuming bitterness in Slim's heart as he turned slowlyback along the rocky trail to find his boots. Lightning was his ownhorse. He had trained the mare until she was the envy of every cowboy inthe Flying Arrow territory. His hands gripped the stock of the riflehard. Let him come within range of the men who had stolen Lightning andthere would be no warning shouts, no fancy shots aimed only to hit anelbow.
It was in such a mood that Slim stormed back along the trail, too angryto spare his feet as he walked over the cruel rocks.
A quiet voice brought him back from wild rage to a cool realization thathe was in a tight spot.
"Put up your hands and don't move!"
The words were softly spoken, hardly above a whisper but there was aring of earnestness in them that brooked no meddling.
Slim opened his hands and his rifle clattered to the ground.
"Now raise your arms slowly. Don't make a move for the gun in yourholster. I'll drop you without mercy if you do."
Carefully Slim's hands went higher until they were above his head. Hismind worked rapidly. Could only one of the riflemen have escaped? Hadthe unwounded man waited for him to walk into a trap? Or was this theman who had been trapped in the canyon?
The questions raced through his mind. The mysterious letter from BillNeedham of the Cattlemen's Association had certainly led him into a peckof trouble and he hadn't reached the Creeping Shadows country.
The soft voice spoke again.
"Turn around now. Move slowly. Remember, I've got you
covered."