Read Online Trail Of the Apache and Other Stories (1951) by Elmore Leonard - Free Book Online
Authors: Elmore Leonard
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his vision. The Indian women had vanished.
Hyde and Billy Guay sat their mounts next to Angsman, who, afoot, swept his glasses once more over the n1/4eat. Finally he lowered them and said, more to himself than to the others, Those Indian women aren't nowhere in sight. They could have moved out in the other direction, or they might be so close we can't see them.
He nodded ahead to where the trail stopped at thick scrub brush and pine and then dipped abruptly to the right to drop to a bench that slanted toward the deepness of the valley. From where they stood, the men saw the trail disappear far below into a denseness of trees and rock.
Pretty soon the country'll be hugging us tight; a nd we won't see anything, Angsman said. I d on't like it. Not with a hunting party in the neighborhood.
Billy Guay laughed out. I'll be go to hell! Ed, this old woman's afraid of two squaws! Ed, you hear
Ed Hyde wasn't listening. He was staring off in the distance, past the treetops in the valley to a towering, sand-colored cliff with n1/4eying rock buttresses that walled the valley on the other side. He slid from his mount hurriedly, catching his coat on the saddle horn and ripping it where a button held fast.
But now he was too excited to heed the ripped coat.
Look! Yonder to that cliff. His voice broke with excitement. See that gash near the top, like where there was a rock slide? And look past to the mountains behind! Angsman and Billy Guay squinted at the distance, but remained silent.
Dammit! Hyde screamed. Don't you see it!
He grabbed his horse's reins and ran, stumbling, down the trail to where it leveled again at the bench. When the others reached him, the map was in his hand and he was laughing a high laugh that didn't seem to belong to the grizzled face. His extended hand held the dirty piece of paper . . . and he kept jabbing at it with a finger of the other hand.
Right there, dammit! Right there! His pointing finger swept from the map. Now look at that You Never See Apaches . . . g old-lovin' rock slide! His laughter subsided to a self-confident chuckle.
From where they stood on the bench, the towering cliff was now above them and perhaps a mile away over the tops of the trees. A chunk of sandrock as large as a two-story building was gouged from along the smooth surface of the cliff top, with a gravel slide trailing into the valley below; but massive boulders along the cliff top lodged over the depression, forming a four-sided opening. It was a gigantic frame through which they could see sky and the n1/4eat surface of a mesa in the distance. On both sides the mesa top fell away to shoulders cutting sharp right angles from the straight vertical lines, then to be cut off there, in their vision, by the rock border of the cliff frame. And before their eyes the mesa turned into a n1/4eat-topped Spanish sombrero.
Billy Guay's jaw dropped open. Damn! It's one of those hats like the Mex dancers wear! Ed, you see it?
Ed Hyde was busy studying the map. He pointed to it again. Right on course, Angsman. The n1/4eats, the ridge, the valley, the hat. His black-crusted fingernail followed wavy lines and circles over the stained paper. Now we just drop to the valley and follow her up to the end. He shoved the map into his coat pocket and reached up to the saddle horn to mount. Come on, boys, we're good as rich, he called, and swung up into the saddle.
Angsman looked down the slant to the darkness of the trees. Ed, we got to go slow down there, h e tried to caution, but Hyde was urging his mount down the grade and Billy Guay's paint was kicking the loose rock after him. His face tightened as he turned quickly to his horse, and then he saw Ygenio Baca leaning against his lead mule vacantly smoking his cigarette. Angsman's face relaxed.
Ygenio, he said. Tell your mules to be very quiet.
Ygenio Baca nodded and unhurriedly n1/4eicked the cigarette stub down the grade.
They caught up with Hyde and Billy Guay a little way into the timber.
Hyde and Billy Guay sat their mounts next to Angsman, who, afoot, swept his glasses once more over the n1/4eat. Finally he lowered them and said, more to himself than to the others, Those Indian women aren't nowhere in sight. They could have moved out in the other direction, or they might be so close we can't see them.
He nodded ahead to where the trail stopped at thick scrub brush and pine and then dipped abruptly to the right to drop to a bench that slanted toward the deepness of the valley. From where they stood, the men saw the trail disappear far below into a denseness of trees and rock.
Pretty soon the country'll be hugging us tight; a nd we won't see anything, Angsman said. I d on't like it. Not with a hunting party in the neighborhood.
Billy Guay laughed out. I'll be go to hell! Ed, this old woman's afraid of two squaws! Ed, you hear
Ed Hyde wasn't listening. He was staring off in the distance, past the treetops in the valley to a towering, sand-colored cliff with n1/4eying rock buttresses that walled the valley on the other side. He slid from his mount hurriedly, catching his coat on the saddle horn and ripping it where a button held fast.
But now he was too excited to heed the ripped coat.
Look! Yonder to that cliff. His voice broke with excitement. See that gash near the top, like where there was a rock slide? And look past to the mountains behind! Angsman and Billy Guay squinted at the distance, but remained silent.
Dammit! Hyde screamed. Don't you see it!
He grabbed his horse's reins and ran, stumbling, down the trail to where it leveled again at the bench. When the others reached him, the map was in his hand and he was laughing a high laugh that didn't seem to belong to the grizzled face. His extended hand held the dirty piece of paper . . . and he kept jabbing at it with a finger of the other hand.
Right there, dammit! Right there! His pointing finger swept from the map. Now look at that You Never See Apaches . . . g old-lovin' rock slide! His laughter subsided to a self-confident chuckle.
From where they stood on the bench, the towering cliff was now above them and perhaps a mile away over the tops of the trees. A chunk of sandrock as large as a two-story building was gouged from along the smooth surface of the cliff top, with a gravel slide trailing into the valley below; but massive boulders along the cliff top lodged over the depression, forming a four-sided opening. It was a gigantic frame through which they could see sky and the n1/4eat surface of a mesa in the distance. On both sides the mesa top fell away to shoulders cutting sharp right angles from the straight vertical lines, then to be cut off there, in their vision, by the rock border of the cliff frame. And before their eyes the mesa turned into a n1/4eat-topped Spanish sombrero.
Billy Guay's jaw dropped open. Damn! It's one of those hats like the Mex dancers wear! Ed, you see it?
Ed Hyde was busy studying the map. He pointed to it again. Right on course, Angsman. The n1/4eats, the ridge, the valley, the hat. His black-crusted fingernail followed wavy lines and circles over the stained paper. Now we just drop to the valley and follow her up to the end. He shoved the map into his coat pocket and reached up to the saddle horn to mount. Come on, boys, we're good as rich, he called, and swung up into the saddle.
Angsman looked down the slant to the darkness of the trees. Ed, we got to go slow down there, h e tried to caution, but Hyde was urging his mount down the grade and Billy Guay's paint was kicking the loose rock after him. His face tightened as he turned quickly to his horse, and then he saw Ygenio Baca leaning against his lead mule vacantly smoking his cigarette. Angsman's face relaxed.
Ygenio, he said. Tell your mules to be very quiet.
Ygenio Baca nodded and unhurriedly n1/4eicked the cigarette stub down the grade.
They caught up with Hyde and Billy Guay a little way into the timber.
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