Mojave Crossing (1964) by Louis - Sackett's L'amour Page A
Authors: Louis - Sackett's L'amour
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while trying to make out tracks seemed too chancy. This was a high ridge, and the country was alive with outlaws. If I started out to search for him, I might miss him in the darkness. I had no idea how far he had gone, nor even if he had persisted in the direction in which he started, for that might have been only to give me a false idea.
My head was aching, for the riding had set that wound on my skull to throbbing. It hadn't amounted to much ... a bullet that cut a furrow in my scalp and skinned away some hair, but it also left a lump there big as a hen's egg.
Waiting had given me time to think, and precious little time I'd had before for pondering. But I still didn't know who had been chasing Dorinda when I first met up with her, or why, although it began to look like she might have wanted to get out of this deal with Old Ben. But why?
What was her stake in all this? And who had got her into x? There must have been something promised to her.
... And where was Nolan Sackett?
Most of all, where was my gold?
Again I looked at the stars. The hour was late, and there was but little time left to us. I got to my feet and walked off into the darkness, listening.
There was no sound.
He was out there alone, and something had gone wrong, I was sure of it now. It wasn't in me to abide longer with that crippled-up old man out there on the rocks and in the dark of night.
So I started out after him.
We were high up on a hog-backed ridge, with the mountains falling away toward the sea on one side and on the other a deep hollow, * what in this country they call a potrero, because usually those hollows are good pastureland. There wasn't much chance of getting lost up here because a man had mighty little room to move around in.
* Where Lake Sherwood now lies, and the valley beyond.
It was the dark hour that comes before daylight, and I worked my way along carefully, straining my eyes to see if he lay on the ground, passed out. A couple of times I called softly, but nobody gave back reply.
Suddenly I came to where the trail, if you could call it so, broke in two, with one way going on along the hogback, the other seeming to go out along the shoulder of an even higher ridge. That last looked a mighty bad place to go.
Here I must take a chance, for there was no time to search out both ways. The ridge would shield any light that showed from the land side, and as for the sea, I'd have to chance it. So, kneeling down, I struck a match, held it cupped in my hands, and checked the ground.
It was there, plain as a skunk on a log. The old man had dragged himself along here and taken that higher ridge trail.
Only it wasn't a trail. It was a thread of rock hung in space over several hundred feet of steep fall. Dark as it was, I couldn't see how far it was, but it was a-plenty.
So I started out along that shoulder. After a while the trail widened out, then narrowed down.
I'd walked a couple of hundred yards from my horse before I stopped to call out again. And this time I heard a faint stirring up ahead of me. Whether it was game animal or man, I couldn't tell, but I moved on, and suddenly there he lay in the trail ahead of me, face down on the rock and sparse grass where he'd been crawling.
His hands were skinned and chewed up from the rocks.
Beside him in the trail was a big sack full of something. I wished for the moon, which had gone from the sky a long while back. Well, there was mighty little time, so I scooped him up in my arms, and then reached down and got a hold of that sack, which was fearful heavy. Somehow, sweating and panting, I got them both back to our horses, and loaded up.
He came out of his faint when I was hoisting him up. "Can you hang on, or should I lash you up?"
"You start, boy, and you ride like hell. I'll stay with you."
He grabbed my wrist, and believe me, that old devil still had the power to hurt in that grip of his. "Boy," he said, "I've got to be stretched out in bed before there's anybody afoot at the
My head was aching, for the riding had set that wound on my skull to throbbing. It hadn't amounted to much ... a bullet that cut a furrow in my scalp and skinned away some hair, but it also left a lump there big as a hen's egg.
Waiting had given me time to think, and precious little time I'd had before for pondering. But I still didn't know who had been chasing Dorinda when I first met up with her, or why, although it began to look like she might have wanted to get out of this deal with Old Ben. But why?
What was her stake in all this? And who had got her into x? There must have been something promised to her.
... And where was Nolan Sackett?
Most of all, where was my gold?
Again I looked at the stars. The hour was late, and there was but little time left to us. I got to my feet and walked off into the darkness, listening.
There was no sound.
He was out there alone, and something had gone wrong, I was sure of it now. It wasn't in me to abide longer with that crippled-up old man out there on the rocks and in the dark of night.
So I started out after him.
We were high up on a hog-backed ridge, with the mountains falling away toward the sea on one side and on the other a deep hollow, * what in this country they call a potrero, because usually those hollows are good pastureland. There wasn't much chance of getting lost up here because a man had mighty little room to move around in.
* Where Lake Sherwood now lies, and the valley beyond.
It was the dark hour that comes before daylight, and I worked my way along carefully, straining my eyes to see if he lay on the ground, passed out. A couple of times I called softly, but nobody gave back reply.
Suddenly I came to where the trail, if you could call it so, broke in two, with one way going on along the hogback, the other seeming to go out along the shoulder of an even higher ridge. That last looked a mighty bad place to go.
Here I must take a chance, for there was no time to search out both ways. The ridge would shield any light that showed from the land side, and as for the sea, I'd have to chance it. So, kneeling down, I struck a match, held it cupped in my hands, and checked the ground.
It was there, plain as a skunk on a log. The old man had dragged himself along here and taken that higher ridge trail.
Only it wasn't a trail. It was a thread of rock hung in space over several hundred feet of steep fall. Dark as it was, I couldn't see how far it was, but it was a-plenty.
So I started out along that shoulder. After a while the trail widened out, then narrowed down.
I'd walked a couple of hundred yards from my horse before I stopped to call out again. And this time I heard a faint stirring up ahead of me. Whether it was game animal or man, I couldn't tell, but I moved on, and suddenly there he lay in the trail ahead of me, face down on the rock and sparse grass where he'd been crawling.
His hands were skinned and chewed up from the rocks.
Beside him in the trail was a big sack full of something. I wished for the moon, which had gone from the sky a long while back. Well, there was mighty little time, so I scooped him up in my arms, and then reached down and got a hold of that sack, which was fearful heavy. Somehow, sweating and panting, I got them both back to our horses, and loaded up.
He came out of his faint when I was hoisting him up. "Can you hang on, or should I lash you up?"
"You start, boy, and you ride like hell. I'll stay with you."
He grabbed my wrist, and believe me, that old devil still had the power to hurt in that grip of his. "Boy," he said, "I've got to be stretched out in bed before there's anybody afoot at the
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