Leadville by James D. Best Read Free Book Online Page B

contrast, we were two days’ ride from a rustic encampment that offered few human comforts. Thoreau risked mosquito bites to experience nature. We were hunting men bred to the wilderness, so we could kill them—or perhaps be killed by them. In the West, nature was beautiful and imposing, but it was also dangerous.
    My respect for McAllen’s fortitude grew by the day. He showed no outward sign of impatience when Red did not return. In his place, I would have paced and probably cursed the heavens, worried that Red had been killed or captured. The previous day, I had asked McAllen about Red’s return, and he had simply said that we wouldn’t see Red until he located our band of renegades.
    McAllen appeared to have picked our campsite offhandedly. Four days had taught me how impressions can be wrong. Sharp had found a recess in the rocks to build his morning fires that could not be seen from above. The boulders gave us protection from attack and shelter from the chilling wind. We had climbed through some rocky shale to enter this shelflike plateau, and the horses seemed content not to challenge the loose rocks downhill as long as there was ample grass nearby. Even the little waterfall had unanticipated benefits. I could rinse my dirt-scrubbed pots and plates without sullying my handkerchief.
    In fact, I was doing just this chore when I heard Sharp say that he could see Red riding toward us. I hastily shook the water free, threw the plates into our do-everything pot, and scrambled to watch Red ride in. He looked as fresh as if he had been out on a half-hour ride, but his face told me nothing, so I checked McAllen’s expression. Nothing there either.
    Red dismounted and walked straight up to McAllen. “I found them.”
    “And?”
    “The girl is not with them.”
     

Chapter 10
     
    Through tight lips, McAllen asked, “Where are they?”
    “Half day’s hard ride … in a small valley, a ways up Sleeping Ute Mountain.” Red pointed. “Probably went there because they feel safe. Legend says the sleeping Ute is a great warrior-god that will slay the enemies of the Ute.”
    McAllen didn’t bother to look toward the mountain. “No sign of my daughter?”
    Red uncharacteristically looked away and then met McAllen’s eyes. “They have her horse … and I saw them using her dress for a sack.”
    “A sack?”
    “They tied the neck with the arms and used it to collect berries.”
    Only McAllen’s eyes changed. “How many?”
    “Seven. One’s a young brave.”
    “Tell me the rest.”
    “After two days, I had found no tracks. I picked up the other posse on the first day, so I went back and followed them, hoping they had discovered the trail and covered it over with their own horses. They led me straight to the Utes.”
    “They have a tracker with them,” Sharp offered.
    Red nodded. “They camped two miles from the band. Only one horse went back and forth … at least twice. Looks like they powwowed.”
    McAllen paced back and forth. Finally, he stopped in front of Red. “Same rider or different riders?” McAllen seemed to think this was important. “The half-breed might have approached first and returned for instructions. Another rider might have gone in to negotiate.”
    “The tracks weren’t clear enough to be sure, but my guess is two different riders.”
    “Damn!” McAllen paced some more.
    “That posse was het up,” Sharp said. “Why would they let the Utes go free if they killed your daughter? The Utes must have turned your daughter over to them.”
    “The band was not wary,” Red offered.
    “See, they released her,” Sharp said encouragingly.
    “Naked?” McAllen spit the word with so much anger, he frightened me.
    We all stood silent until Sharp had the courage to say, “Perhaps they had other clothes for her?”
    “Less valuable than a berry sack?” McAllen’s voice showed frustration with this line of thought. “Jeff, take Steve back to Durango.”
    “You need us,” I