Robert E. Howard

“ Hard Luck, gazing at him, felt a pang in his heart. The scene brought back so poignantly the old bloody days of Indian warfare when men had seen their loved ones struck down by knife and arrow.
“Son,” said he, solemnly, “I never expected to see such a sight as this again.”
The Texan gave him a glance of agony, then his eyes blazed with a wild and terrible light.
“They killed her!” he screamed, beating his forehead with his clenched fists. “And by God, I’ll kill ’em all! I’ll kill—kill—”
His gun was swinging in his hand as he plunged toward his horse. ”

“ Steve, still feeling stunned, as if his brain had been numbed by the crash and the roar of the falling cliffs, knelt beside him. Hard Luck’s eyes flickered open and he sat up.
“Kids,” said he solemnly, “that was a terrible and awesome sight! I’ve seen a lot of hard things in my day and I ain’t no Indian lover, but it got me to see a whole tribe of fighting men git wiped out that way. But I knowed as shore as they started racing down that gulch, it’d happen.” ”

“ No trail led up the way he took, but his horse picked his route between boulders and cedars, climbing steep slopes as nimbly as a mountain goat. The cedars gave way to pines and occasionally Steve looked down into some small valley, heavily grassed and thickly wooded. The sun was slanting toward the west when he finally pulled up his horse on the crest of a steep incline and looked down. ”

“ Boulders rested along the trail that led through it, as if hovering there temporarily, and the high walls on each side darkened the way, looming like a sinister threat.
“My gosh!” said he sincerely. “Do you have to go up that gulch every time you leave your cabin?”
“Yes—or else climb the slopes back of the plateau and make a wide circle, leaving the plateau to the north and coming down the southern ridges. We always go this way. I’m used to climbing it now.”
“Must have took a long time for the water to wash that out,” said Steve. ”

“ Steve looked up to see Hard Luck standing over them. The old man held the stone which had knocked him down, while with the other hand he twirled his long drooping mustache. A strange air was evident about him—he seemed struggling to maintain an urbane and casual manner, yet he was apparently about to burst with pride and self-importance.
“You ain’t no wanderin’ cowboy,” he repeated. “You’ll never punch another cow as long as you live. ”

“ A stumble might start a regular avalanche. I’ve seen such things happen in the Sunsets. Easy all!”
They were riding down the boulder-strewn trail which led through the defile. It was hard to ride with a tight rein and at a slow gait with the noise of those red drums growing louder every moment, and the knowledge that the red killers were even now racing down the western slopes.
The going was hard and tricky. Sometimes the loose shale gave way under the hoofs, and sometimes the slope was so steep that the horses reared back on their haunches and slid and scrambled. ”

“ Again Steve caught the faint pulsing of the mountain drums.
“Every night they get louder,” said Hard Luck. “They say them redskins is plumb peaceful but you can’t tell me—the only peaceful Indian I ever see had at least two bullets through his skull. Them drums talks and whispers and they ain’t no white man knows what’s hatchin’ back up in them hills where nobody seldom ever goes. Indian magic! That’s what’s goin’ on, and red magic means red doin’s. ”

“ Steve silently gripped the old man’s hand, too full for speech. Hard Luck took the young Texan’s arm and laid it about Joan’s shoulders.
“Git to yore love makin’ and don’t interrupt a man what’s tryin’ to figure out how to spend a million!” said he loftily.
“Joan, girl,” said Steve softly, “what are you cryin’ about? It’s easy to forget horrors when you’re young. You’re wealthy now, we’re goin’ to be married just as soon as we can—and the drums of Sunset Mountains will never beat again.” ”

“ Gold! Reef gold—the blamedest vein I ever see, just lying there right at the surface ready for somebody to work out the ore and cart it off! We dropped our guns and laid into the cliff with our fingernails, diggin’ the dirt away. ”

“ They raced across the plateau and swung up to the upper mouth of the gulch. There Hard Luck halted.
“Take a little rest and let the horses git their wind. The Indians ain’t in sight yit and we kin see ’em clean across the plateau. With this start and our horses rested, we shore ought to make a clean gitaway. Now, Miss Joan, don’t you look at—at them cabins what’s burned. What’s done is done and can’t be undid. This game ain’t over by a long shot and what we want to do is to think how to save us what’s alive. Them that’s dead is past hurtin’.” ”

“ Steve was aware that the night wind, whispering down from the mountains, carried a strange dim throbbing—a measured, even cadence, haunting and illusive.
“Drums,” said Hard Luck, as if divining his thought. “Indian drums; tribe’s away back up in the mountains. Nothin’ like them that took my scalp. Navajoes, these is, a low class gang that wandered up from the south. The government give ’em a kind of reservation back in the Sunset Mountains. Friendly, I reckon—trade with the whites a little.
“Them drums is been goin’ a heap the last few weeks. Still nights you can hear ’em easy ”

“ Steve’s horse snorted and reared—the Texan’s clutching hand missed the rein and the bronco wheeled and galloped away into the forest. Steve stood aghast, frozen at this disaster.
“Go on!” yelled Hard Luck. “Blast you, git on with the gal and dust it outta here!”
“Get on your horse!” Steve whirled to the girl. “Get on and go!”
“I won’t!” she cried. “I won’t ride off and leave you two here to die! I’ll stay and die with you!”
“Oh, my Lord!” said Steve, cursing feminine stubbornness and lack of logic. “Grab her horse, Hard Luck. I’ll put her on by main force and—”
“Too late!” ”

“ They done stopped sellin’ to the Indians and sent for a Indian agent to come and investigate. Moreover,’ says he, ‘somebody is sellin’ them redskins liquor too.’ ”
Hard Luck devoted his attention to eating for a few moments and then began again.
“How come them Indians gets any kind of money up in the mountains, much less counterfeit? Reckon they’re makin’ it theirselves? And who’s slippin’ them booze? One thing’s shore, Hell’s to pay when redskins git drunk and the first scalp they’ll likely take is the feller’s who sold them the booze.”
“Yeah?” returned Steve absent-mindedly. ”

“ Steve responded, nettled. “Maybe I have reason for goin’ this way.”
“That’s what I’m thinkin’,” the bearded man answered, and Steve sensed the menacing note in his voice. “But you may have reason for takin’ the other trail yet. Nobody lives in these hills, and they don’t like strangers! Be warned, young feller, and don’t git into somethin’ you don’t know nothin’ about.” ”

“ They had halted in a thick clump of trees at the foot of the Ramparts and the mouth of the steep defile was visible in front of them.
“That’s a bad place,” muttered Hard Luck. “I been up that gulch before Gila built his cabins up on the plateau. Steve, we kin come at them Navajoes, supposin’ they’re still up on there, by two ways. We kin circle to the south, climb up the mountain-sides and come down the west slopes or we kin take a chance an’ ride right up the gulch. That’s a lot quicker, of course, pervidin’ we ain’t shot or mashed by fallin’ rocks afore we git to the top.” ”

“ I knowed it!”
“Shut up, can’t you?” snarled Steve, torn by his emotions. He gripped the dying man’s shoulder with unconsciously brutal force and shook him desperately.
“Edwards,” he begged, “you’re goin’ over the ridge—can’t you tell us how it was before you go? Did you see Murken and his niece die?”
“Yes—it—was—like—this,” the man began laboriously. “I was—all set to go—to Rifle Pass—had my bronc loaded—Murken and Allison was out near—the corral—the gal was—in the cabin. All to once—the west slopes began to shower lead. Murken went down—at the first fire. ”

“ Four Navajoes lay face down in front of the white man’s body. They were clad only in dirty trousers and blankets flung about their shoulders. They were stone dead.
“Trail of blood from whar the corral was,” said Hard Luck. “They caught him in the open and shot him up afore he could git to the cabin, I figure. Down there at the corral Murken died. The way I read it, Allison made a break and got to the cabin whar the gal was. Then they surged in on him and he killed these four devils and went over the ridge hisself.”
Steve bent over the grim spectacle and then straightened. ”

“ Whar you reckon he got it?”
Steve did not reply nor did the old man expect an answer. The Texan’s eyes were riveted on the frowning buttresses of the Ramparts, which now loomed over them. As they came under the brow of the cliffs, the smoke they had seen further away was no longer visible.
“Reckon they didn’t chase Edwards none,” muttered Hard Luck. “Leastways they ain’t no sign of any horses followin’ his. There’s his tracks, alone. These Navajoes is naturally desert Indians, anyhow, and they’re ’bout as much outa place in the mountains as a white man from the plains. ”

“ Once a week one of the men loads his saddle bags full of something and rides away to be gone two or three days.
“I don’t understand it,” she added almost tearfully. “I can’t help but believe there’s something crooked about it. I’m afraid of Edwards and only a little less afraid of my uncle. I want to get away.”
Suddenly she seized his hands impulsively.
“You seem good and kind,” she exclaimed. “Won’t you help me? I’ll pay you—”
“You’ll what?” ”

“ And the Indians found they’d been given money which was no good. And bein’ all fired up with Murken’s bad whiskey, they just bust loose.”
“If so be we find Joan,” said Steve somberly, “say nothin’ about her uncle bein’ a crook.”
“Sure.”
Their steeds were mounting the western slopes, up which went the trail of the marauders. They crossed the ridge, went down the western incline and struck a short expanse of comparatively level country.
“Listen at the drums!” muttered Hard Luck. “Gettin’ nearer. The whole tribe must be on the march.” ”

“ My uncle locks me in my cabin when they are all at work in the other cabin—whatever they’re doing in there.
“Sometimes some Indians come down the western slopes from somewhere away back in the hills, and sometimes my uncle rides away with them. ”

“ Got run outa El Paso for gun-runnin’ into Mexico.”
“He shore made a game stand fer his last fight.”
“Texas breed,” said Steve grimly.
“I reckon all the good battlers ain’t in Texas,” said Hard Luck testily. “Not denyin’ he put up a man-sized fight. Now then, look. Trails of fourteen horses goin’ west—five carryin’ weight, the rest bare—tell by the way the hoofs sink in, of course. All the horses missin’ out of the corral, four dead Indians here. That means they wan’t but a small party of ’em. Figurin’ one of the horses is bein’ rid by the gal, I guess we got only four redskins to deal with. ”

“ And while Steve gaped at him, not understanding, the man flung a curt order to the girl, and they both sped off up the trail, their horses laboring under the stress of quirt and spur. Steve watched in amazement.
“By golly, they don’t care how they run their broncs uphill. What do you reckon all that rigamarole meant? Maybe I oughta taken the other trail, at that—golly, that was a pretty girl!”
The riders disappeared on the thickly timbered slope and Steve, after some musing, nudged his steed with his knee and started on.
“I’m a goin’ West and punch Texas cattle! ”

“ Steve, sighting over his pistol barrel as he crouched over the girl, gasped as he saw the Navajoes come plunging down the long gulch. They were racing down-slope with such speed that their horses reeled to their knees again and again, recovering balance in a flying cloud of shale and sand. Rocks dislodged by the flashing hoofs rattled down in a rain. The whole gorge was crowded with racing horsemen. Then ”