The Mesa Trail Page 14

  CHAPTER XIV--DORALES KILLS

  In the chill darkness that precedes the early dawn Thady Shea alightedfrom Bill Murray's car. Before him, a few miles distant, were Old FortTularosa and Aragon; many miles behind was the highway. Down to thesoutheast--somewhere--was his destination.

  "Mind, now," cautioned Murray, "you take this here trail and it'll leadup through them hills into Beaver Canon. Follow Beaver Crick all therest o' the way. Near as I can judge, your place is somewhere downbeyond Eagle Peak. If you get clear lost, send up a smoke and a rangerwill be dead sure to trail you down. G'bye and good luck!"

  "Good-bye, and many thanks for the lift!" responded Shea, his sonorousvoice pierced with the chill of the early morning. Murray went buzzingaway on the back trail.

  Carrying his battered little suitcase, Thady Shea started off, graduallyaccustoming his eyes to picking out the rough trail. It mattered nothingto him that he might be days upon this road; it mattered nothing that hewas about to negotiate the continental divide afoot. Time and space didnot concern him, nor bodily discomfort. His was the supremely ignorantconfidence of a child as he headed into the mountains to find a minewhose entire location, going at it from this direction, was a matter ofguesswork.

  To be more accurate and practical, Thady Shea, having slept lightlywhile riding, was weary. He was also cold and confused. Now that he hadreached a decision and was really on his way to Number Sixteen, he feltunaccountably homesick. Not that Number Sixteen meant home, but Mrs.Crump would be there. As usual, Thady Shea was a bit vague in analyzinghis feelings; but he had a solid and definite purpose in view, at least.He was going to rejoin Mrs. Crump. He was going to learn mining work.

  He went on, trudging bravely under his burden, until the cold hadpierced and chilled and numbed him. At last he could endure the cold nolonger. Ignorant of forest rangers or forest law, he had quite missedthe point of Miller's parting joke about sending up a smoke. Hecontrived to build himself a fire; a fine roaring fire, a ruddy, leapingfire that warmed him. It was a fire that blazed forth patent defiance ofall law. Its darting glow was caught by a forest ranger in a lookout onIndian Peaks fifteen miles away.

  With the first gleam of the rising sun Thady Shea abandoned his blazingfire and took up his journey again, following the winding trail withouttrouble. A little later he halted and made a cold breakfast from some ofthe food that filled his pockets. Then he decided to open the suitcaseand see if it were worth carrying farther, or if it held tokens ofownership. By this time, he was sorry that he had dragged the thingalong.

  He smashed open the suitcase. Within it he found wads of crumplednewspapers, and among the newspapers seven stones. At first he thoughtthey were nothing but stones. Gradually he realized that they werecarven images of some sort. Except for these, there was nothing in thesuitcase. There was nothing to denote its ownership--not a mark, not aline, not a card nor a word.

  Thady Shea set out the seven stone gods on the ground, and regardedthem. The more he looked at them, the more he saw in them. Each one wassomewhat different in shape, but all were of a size. They were smoothand rounded, as if from much handling, or as if worn sleek by manycenturies. They were crude, uncouth little figures, those gods; theywere fashioned rudely in the semblance of man, with every angle andsharp line worn down, obliterated, rounded.

  "They look as if some kid had been making mud dolls, and the mud hadhardened," observed Shea in some wonder. The description was accurateand perfect.

  Thady Shea knew nothing about Indians or their gods. He had not theslightest idea what these things really were; but he was a member of TheProfession, an actor of the old school. All his life he had beensurrounded by the superstitions of the old school. As everyone knows,there are no stronger, firmer, and more absolute superstitions thanthose of The Profession.

  As Thady Shea gazed upon those seven stone gods which sat in the dustand grinned stonily back at him, various things suggested themselves tohis fertile brain. Seven of them--and seven was beyond question a luckynumber! Then, fate had undoubtedly placed them in his hand and hadremoved any clew to their former owners. Luck had come to him, and if hethrew the luck away because of a little bother involved in carryingit--well, that would be an ill thing to do!

  Out of his subconscious self evolved a curious idea, a remembrance. Whatdid these things represent? He dimly remembered something about theseven heavenly virtues and the seven deadly sins. The vague thoughtstirred him. These images were ugly enough to represent the sevensins--or the seven virtues. He must keep them at all costs; in themanner of their coming was something fated, something that appealed toall the latent superstition within him. He dared not refuse thesetalismen!

  So he replaced them in the suitcase and took up his road anew.

  It was a rough road that called to him. It was a long and lonely road, aroad that took him out of human ken and into the heart of the highhills.

  He swung along at a good four-mile clip, his long legs fast covering theground. He had never before this day been actually among the mountains,and he liked their friendly, forested faces. The rough trail denotedvery little usage, yet this absence of all humanity did not oppressThady Shea. He felt gloriously independent, free!

  About noon he was following Beaver Creek through a rough and ruggedcanon. Here he lunched, with a silver-black pool of water foaming andbubbling fifty feet below him; a pool that foamed green and silver withsunlight and bubbled with black shadows. Over on the opposite wall ofthe canon was a broken line of masonry, half hiding a niche in the rockwhere once had lived and died the cliff dwellers. It was a spot toremember. It was a place that stirred the deep things in a man's soul,that caused him to think upon the mysteries, the flashing glimpses ofoccult things. About that place there lingered a sense of the futilityof man, a sense of the gorgeously foaming and bubbling eternity of theCreator. Thady Shea was glad that he had seen that place.

  Afterward, he halted for a smoke, this time beside the stream itself,farther along the canon. Thady Shea had never been a boy--until to-day.At ten years he had been an accomplished actor, a child marvel, drunkenand drugged with the unhealthy atmosphere of the stage. But now--now!The altitude was high, and he was drunk as with fine wine. He waded inthe stony creek, he even thought of fishing with a bent pin on a string;but he had neither pin nor string. He enjoyed a truant hour. Then hewent on his way anew, vowing inwardly that some day he would return tothis little bubbling creek and the winding canon amid the mountains.

  Despite the altitude, weariness had left him, and he carried the sevenstone gods without feeling their weight. Deeper and lonelier grew histrail, the mountains folding him in upon every side. He began to feelthe infinity of distance. He was a mere tiny atom here among these greatsolitudes. His insignificance was borne home upon him, mellowing all hisspirit.

  In this chastened mood he came, suddenly and without warning, upon thetragic shack of the sheep-herder.

  It was a shack of logs and hewn timbers, a rough little shack, a tragiclittle shack. Upon one wall was fastened a faded paper, a permit issuedby the forest ranger to cut these same timbers. In the sun by thedoorway sat a little brown, half-naked baby, perhaps a year of age,whimpering and chewing upon a strip of raw white bacon. There was no oneelse visible. Over the place, tainting the clear high air, hung afearful odour of mortality; an odour of tragic suggestion, an odour ofblood and liquor.

  Seeing no one about except the baby, who stopped whimpering at sight ofhim, Thady Shea advanced to the doorway. He glanced inside. As he didso, cold and awful horror stiffened upon him. Even to his tyro's eye thestory was plain to read.

  Upon the bare earthen floor, just inside the door, sat the sheep-herder.The effluvia of his garments told eloquently his profession. Between hisoutstretched feet lay a cheap revolver. His swarthy, brutal face, theface of a Mexican, the face of a barbarian drawn from mingled Indian andbastard Spanish blood, was sunken upon his chest. He was breathingstertorously, horribly. He was drunk, stupefied with liquor. Upon thefloor beneath his
hand had fallen an empty bottle which stank of thevilest mescal.

  Only a few feet distant, sprawled under one wall of the room, was thebody of a woman, a brown native woman. She had been upon her kneesbeneath a little crucifix. She had fallen partly forward, partlysideways; a cotton garment had been torn from her left shoulder andbreast, as though in some last agony. Beneath the left breast, blackwith flies, a pool of black blood was coagulating. She had not been deada long time; an hour or two, no more.

  Thady Shea took a step backward. He put one hand to his eyes, as if toshut from his vision that sordid and horrible scene. For a moment hestood thus, his brain in riotous turmoil; then he started violently as ahand touched his arm.

  "Hello, stranger! I been looking for you!"

  Shea stared at the man who had just dismounted from a pony; a white man,grave and steady of eye. Something in the horror-smitten face of Sheadrew an exclamation from this other man.

  "Here--what's the matter?"

  "In there. Look!" Thady Shea motioned to the doorway.

  The other man, the forest ranger who had come from the lookout stationon Indian Peaks, quickly strode forward. His figure filled the doorwayfor a long moment. He stood there silently, gazing in upon that tragicshack, reading every detail with skilled eyes. At last he turned andrejoined Thady Shea, who was staring down at the baby.

  "You built a fire early this morning on the old trail up from theTularosa Road?" The ranger gave his name and office. "H'm-m. Knowanything about the fire laws?"

  "Fire laws? No," Shea was disturbed and wondering. "Why? Shouldn't Ihave built any fire?"

  "Not that kind--not a big hell-roarer. No harm done, I reckon; I stampedout your fire. But see to it that you don't do it again. Here's a copyof the laws."

  He extended a card. Shea pocketed it with a helpless gesture, and lookedagain at the doorway of the shack. The ranger caught his look, andnodded.

  "I guess you'd just found 'em, eh? It's a hell of a note. This fellowGarcia, with his wife and kid, came up from Mexico; refugees. He's beenherding some sheep; some that the Y Ranch got a permit to run in a bigbox canon last winter--and he's not a bad sort when he's sober. Butnow--well, there's no doubt about him now. He'll be a good greaser intwo-three weeks, when the drop's sprung. Suppose I got to take him in;hell of a note! You ain't been inside?"

  Thady Shea shuddered. "No," he answered. He looked down at the baby. Thebaby looked up at him, removed the strip of white bacon from her mouth,and smiled.

  "It's a girl!" said Thady Shea in surprise and awe.

  The ranger gave him a curious look, then took out his notebook andpencil.

  "Name and where from, if you please," he said. "We'll likely have tocome and take down your testimony later on."

  Thady Shea gave his name, and gave as well as he was able the locationof Mrs. Crump's mine. The ranger once more eyed him, but this time witha new air.

  "Hell! I've heard o' you, Shea. Partners with Mrs. Crump, eh? That's apretty good recommend. Where you goin' from here?"

  "To the mine. I believe that by following this creek I'll get into theright territory sooner or later. I know how to reach the mine fromZacaton City, but from this direction I'm not so sure."

  Thady Shea was badly off. He was thoroughly shaken by the fearful scenewithin the tragic shack. It had unnerved him, and he wanted a drink withavid and terrible longing. The ranger observed it.

  "I ain't offering you any drinks, Shea," he said, drily. "Heard a fewthings about what happens to folks that offer you drinks. Still, Ialways do carry a drop for emergencies, and I have a notion that youneed a sip mighty bad."

  Thady Shea forced a grim smile. "Thanks. But--the need will have to begreater than it is now, my friend. You think I can reach the mineto-night?"

  "No. Some time to-morrow, most likely. Now listen close and I'll giveyou directions where to leave this canon, or else you'll come out cleardown on the Gila!"

  Having gleaned a fairly precise knowledge of the location of NumberSixteen, the ranger proceeded to give Thady Shea an accurate mental mapof the trails, backed up by a rough drawing. Then he entered the shack,carried out the murderer, and bound the man on his pony like a sack offlour.

  "What the devil will become o' the kid?" he queried. "Come on, Shea,let's get the poor woman buried. That baby, now--d'you suppose you couldwait here until I send back for her? I can't handle the greaser and thebaby, too."

  Thady Shea did not respond at once. He seemed oblivious of the question;but as a matter of fact, he was deep in thought.

  The two men together dug a grave and decently interred the poor murderedwoman. Over the mound Thady Shea intoned a fragmentary burial service.What he lacked in words he made up in rolling phrases culled from othersources than the prayer book, and in a deeply sincere manner which satupon him with stately dignity.

  They returned to the front of the shack, where the ranger rolled acigarette with studied care, and returned to his perplexity.

  "What about this here kid, now? These folks haven't any kin this sidethe border, and these greasers don't give a whoop for babies anyhow; toocommon. This Garcia is the one that deserves my close and personalattention until he gets shoved into the kind o' hell he's boundfor--which won't be very long. Of course, the kid can go to someorphanage or the State will take care of her. She's a smilin' littlecuss!"

  Thady Shea fingered his shaggy, gray-black beard.

  "If there's a razor around the place, I think I'll shave," he uttered,thoughtfully. His words drew a look of frowning surprise from theranger, so utterly at variance with the subject did they seem. "Yes, Ithink I'll shave."

  "Why, friend, I've been thinking about that infant," pursued Shea. "Youknow Mrs. Crump, I gather? I think she would care for the little one.I'll take care of the child on the journey there; I imagine we can getalong. I--er--I don't mind saying that--er--there is a whimsey born ofinfancy's fond smiles which warms the kindlier soul within a man."

  He broke off, quite at a loss for further words. But the rangerunderstood, and smiled to himself.

  "That suits me, Shea. You'll be at the mine, eh? May call on you laterin regard to the evidence here. Yes, that's a good plan. Let's see if wecan chase up a razor, now."

  The ranger disappeared inside the tragic shack.

  Upward of two hours later a new Thady Shea was continuing his journey;the tragic shack was far lost to view in the wilderness behind him.

  His upper lip, his long under jaw, were shaven and in white contrastwith the bronzed skin of cheeks and brow. His wide, mobile mouth andchin differed from those of the wastrel Thaddeus Roscius who had lain inthe road above the Bajada hill. They were firmer, more virile of set,stronger of muscle.

  In one hand he carried the battered little yellow suitcase. Upon theother arm was perched the half-naked brown baby, for whose benefit Sheaalso carried a blanket tied to his shoulders. This was not the idealtrim for a walking tour across the Continental Divide, but Thady Sheahad no complaints to make.

  Never before had Thady Shea communed alone with a baby, particularlywith a baby quite dependent upon him. This baby could not talk but shecould coo, and she did coo. She could laugh, and she did laugh. Sheseemed to find a kinship within the deep, sadly earnest eyes of ThadyShea. She made it evident that she liked his eyes, and whenever theywere turned upon her, she giggled with self-conscious and adorabledelight.

  The day wore on. When darkness descended, Thady Shea camped at the brinkof the canon, at the edge of a deep and stony gully which ran down intothe canon below. He built a fire, this time in accord with the laws ofthe land, and produced his scant store of food. Fortunately, the babywas used to living by rough ways and pastures sere.

  In this one day Thady Shea lived long years. He realized it himself. Herealized the change within him; he perceived it at once, without anyvagueness or obscurity. He was filled with wonder and awe. He feltclearly that the manifest friendship and love of this brown baby hadloosened something far inside of him. Within a few hours she hadloos
ened something which had been hard and clenched and bitter inside ofhim these twenty years--something like a knot gripped about a part ofhis soul, stifling it. But now, at last, the knot was loosened, wasgone.

  Once again he fell asleep under the stars with glinting tears bedewinghis brown cheeks; they were tears of joy and thankfulness. He knew thathe was no longer to drift upon the earth. From depending upon theapplause of others for happiness, others were now depending upon him. Hehad someone for whom to live. Vanity was gone from him, and the worth oflife was come in unto him. He now had a purpose, a real purpose, todrive him.

  That this purpose was very definite and earnest, he had realized withthe unloosing of that knot about his soul. He knew whither he was going,and why--why he wanted to find Mrs. Crump. He fell asleep with tearsupon his cheeks and in his heart a dumbly vibrant song.

  Some time during the night he was awakened; the baby was whimpering, wascold. The fire was dying down. He had been awakened by a queer noise, anoise like the clank of a shod hoof against a stone. He rose and kickedthe ember ends into the fire. He removed his coat and laid it over thebaby, then he stood looking down at the bundle. The fire flickered upuntil its glowing flare lighted his tall figure redly and distinctly.

  From somewhere in the darkness came a slight sound. Thady Shea lifted uphis head and peered about, the vague thought of wild animals disturbinghim. From the darkness echoed a faint laugh--a thin, ironic laugh, alaugh that thrilled Thady Shea with evil memories and swiftapprehension. He seemed to recognize it as the laugh of Abel Dorales.

  Before he could do more than lift his head and peer into the darkness,that darkness was suddenly split and rended by a red flash. The crack ofa weapon lifted and lessened among the hills; as it died away, the babycried out, whimpering. Across the face of Thady Shea flickered a look ofdismay, of surprise, of utmost horror. Thady Shea took a step backward,as though something had lifted him off his balance, as though somethingunseen had impacted against him with terrific force. He staggered andlifted both hands to his head. Then his knees seemed to loosen, and hepitched downward, at the very brink of the gully.

  From the stony ravine below came a heavy sound, as of a body pitchingand dragging downward. It ceased, and there was abrupt silence. In thatsilence, the baby cried out, whimpering thinly.

  Into the circle of light cast by the tiny fire came a man leading apony. The man was Abel Dorales and he was smiling.