Ambush on the Mesa by Gordon D. Shirreffs Read Free Book Online

all on our own here,” Clymer said.
    Hugh looked down at Clymer’s Colt. “If you’re on your own, Clymer, you’d better make your play now.”
    Boots clashed on the loose rock. Chandler Willis came up to the party. “We’d better get movin’,” he said. “I think there are ‘Paches down the gulch.”
    Hastings took his eyes from Clymer and Hugh. “You seeing things, too, Willis?”
    Willis spat. “I didn’t see nothing. But I heard a horse whinny down the canyon, and we ain’t left any behind, have we, Sergeant?”
    Hugh looked at Nettleton. “We’d better move on,” he said. “I’ll have to lead the way.”
    Nettleton nodded nervously. “Sergeant Hastings, stay as rear guard with Pearce and Willis.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Clymer still stood there like a bull waiting to smash a china shop. Hugh picked up his carbine. He looked at Clymer. Clymer turned and walked to his horse.
    Isaiah Morton raised his voice. “Let us be kind, one to another,” he intoned. “For are we not all brothers?”
    “Shut up!” said Clymer. He checked his plump saddlebags and then led his horse up the canyon.
    “Tough cob,” said Jonas Stevens to Hugh. “You didn’t have to worry. I had my carbine aimed at his back all the time he was chousing you.”
    “Thanks,” said Hugh dryly.
    Hugh led the buckskin past the little column. The big mesa loomed to the west, silvered by moonlight, lonely and cold-looking. He led the way over the rock slides, listening to the din behind him as hoofs clashed against rock.
    The trail darkened as he entered the narrow canyon. Every instinct in Hugh Kinzie, honed by years of dangerous living, seemed to scream against going up that narrow hall of rock. It was different when an enemy could be seen and shot at; here there was nothing but the silent menace behind them. That was the worst part of it. Hugh could pull out. He’d make it somehow, afoot or on horseback. But somehow he seemed to see the calm face of Katy Corse in front of him, taking the rough trail as well as any of the men.
    Hugh canted his head, listening to the sounds. High above him he could see where the moon silvered the rocks. They seemed to move and sway as the shadows of the wind-agitated brush played across them. An awful responsibility seemed to come and settle on Hugh Kinzie’s shoulders, like the Old Man of the Sea who had plagued Sinbad. Hugh tried to shake off the feeling. Sinbad had been a wanderer like himself. They had a lot in common, but Sinbad had always played a lone game, looking out for his own tough rump.
    It was a helluva country. It looked smooth and peaceful at a distance, like a sleeping cat. But rile the cat and the sharp claws came out from beneath the silken fur to rip and tear. Get deep into the country and feel the godawful lonelinessdrape itself about your shoulders. Feel the eerie qualities of the mountain night, engendered by the softly moaning wind and the shifting shadows.
    The trail he was following, for instance. Who had made it? Where had they come from and where had they vanished to? They were long dead now. Hugh shook his head to drive away these thoughts. An old scout had once told him the best man for scouting in that country was a man who used his imagination to think only of liquor and women, and cut it off short when gruesome thoughts tried to worm their way into his head.
    The great rock wall loomed ahead of him. He led the buckskin up the rough way. At the top he stopped and looked down. Clymer was helping Marion Nettleton up the first slope. Katy Corse was just behind them. Hugh could hear the men cursing as they tried to get the animals started up the slippery rocks.
    It took them half an hour to get all the animals to the top. Hastings and his two men appeared as the last mule scrambled clumsily up to the top.
    Nettleton shoved back his hat and looked into the great canyon, bathed in ghostly moonlight. “Is there water here?” he asked.
    “I don’t know. We’ll have to ration