Chapter XVIII · —THE MASKED MAN

That night was years long to Nan and Rex. She slept fitfully, but Rex did not sleep at all. Briggs had not moved. At times he groaned softly, and several times he babbled incoherently. There was plenty of wood, and Rex kept the fire going briskly.

It was fully daylight before Rex moved from the fire. He was stiff and sore in every joint. His left shoulder pained him greatly, and his right hand was badly swollen. Nan followed him out to the mouth of the cave. She limped as badly as he, and together they stood on the sandstone ledge, looking up at the sunlight on the high peaks.

“It won’t shine down here much before noon,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “This cañon is so deep that the sun doesn’t reach it quickly.”

Rex nodded gloomily.

“What a night! And what next? I’m so hungry I could almost eat that piece of burned horse meat.”

“Same here,” Nan tried to smile, “but we’ll have to go without food, I suppose. Which way was that spring?”

“Down there.” Rex pointed to the right. “I wonder whether my old hat will hold water? I believe it will, Nan. You stay here and I’ll bring you some.”

He made his way down among the boulders, sliding the last few feet to the bottom of the cañon, where he picked up a sizeable club. His steps made little sound in the yielding sand, as he made his way down the bottom to where he circled the big boulder, where they had built their fire.

Clustered around the little spring were dozens of quail, getting their morning drink. Rex did not know what they were, except that they were birds, and perhaps food. They had probably never before seen a human being, because they merely squatted and looked at him. With a side swing of his hand he flung the club at them, killing three and sending the rest in a whirring, curving flight down the cañon.

He secured his birds, filled his hat with water and started on his return journey to the cave. Nan danced with joy at the sight of the three birds.

“I didn’t know what they were,” confessed Rex, “but they looked good to eat, so I hit them with a club.”

Nan skinned the birds and went back in to the cave where Rex had built up the fire. Briggs had not moved yet, and Rex was afraid he was dead, but the old man muttered brokenly as Rex leaned over him.

He did not look so formidable now—more like an oldish man who had been badly mistreated. It seemed that his head had been battered until it was all out of shape.

“He is wearing a dress shirt,” said Rex. “Isn’t it queer for a man down here to be wearing a stiff bosom shirt? Did you ever see him before, Nan?”

“No, I never have. See if you can find us a couple of green sticks, Rex, about a yard long and as big as your finger, to broil these quail on.”

“But what are we going to do with this man, Nan? He’s in awful bad shape. Shouldn’t we tie him up, or something?”

“I don’t know, Rex. We haven’t any ropes. Oh, I don’t think he can hurt anybody. He’s just an old man.”

Rex secured the sticks and came back to the entrance of the cave, where he stopped and looked at the sky. The buzzards were coming for their breakfast, a whole cloud of them, zooming down, like a great fleet of black airplanes. Rex called Nan to the entrance to watch the birds. Some of them sailed within a few yards of them, croaking harshly. One tried to alight on the sandstone shelf, where Rex had wasted his stone on a lion, but it caught sight of the two human beings and went away with a great flapping of wings.

Their objective seemed to be just across the cañon from the cave.

“Horrid, dirty things!” exclaimed Nan, “Always looking for carrion.”

“I suppose,” sighed Rex. “Still, they might be our salvation, Nan. I remember what Hashknife said to me the night we found that horse. He said, ‘Sometimes it’s a good thing to follow the buzzards. You never can tell what you might find.’”

“But do you suppose he might see the buzzards down here?”

“He might see them as they come down, Nan. He’ll know today that we never reached Cañonville, and he will start a search.”

“Oh, I hope so, Rex. But after breakfast we’ll see if there isn’t a way out of here. Come on and help cook it.”

They each ate a half-cooked quail. Without any seasoning it was far from delicious, but they ate it and pronounced it good.

“I think you are a very brave girl, Nan,” said Rex. “In fact, you are rather wonderful in every way, but you’ve got a lot of burned quail on your nose and a black smudge on one cheek. I suppose I’m a sight. But I don’t really care, do you?”

“I don’t care how you look, Rex.”

“Well, that’s fine. Now, I think we better look around and see whether there isn’t a way out.”

They worked their way down through the brush and crossed the bottom of the cañon above the cave, where they were able to climb to a wide shelf. It was here that they disturbed the buzzard host, and the birds went flapping and croaking their way up the side of the cliffs, only to soar in vast circles, halfway up the height of the cañon, watching with their keen eyes for the two human beings to disappear.

It was this flight of buzzards that Hashknife, Sleepy and Lem saw from the grades.

“They were eating a horse!” exclaimed Nan. “Why, your horse never fell this high up the cañon, Rex.”

They walked over and inspected the almost obliterated carcass of a horse, which still bore a saddle. It had been a roan horse, and a strip of the skin still bore the brand of the 6X6.

“That was one of Peter Morgan’s horses,” declared Nan. “But how in the world did it get down here?”

Rex looked critically up the side of the sheer hillside.

“It surely didn’t walk down,” he replied. “I think it must have come down like my horse did—end over end.”

“Well, I don’t like the odor,” said Nan finally. “Let’s see if we can’t go down the cañon.”

In the meantime, Hashknife, Sleepy and Lem rode on to Mesa City. Spike Cahill and Bert Roddy met them at the hitchrack, and from their general appearance those two were not feeling so good as they had the evening before.

“What’s all this talk about Miss Lane and the tenderfoot disappearin’?” asked Spike. “Lotsa folks have been talkin’ about it, and we want it straight.”

Lem explained as well as he could.

“Ain’t showed up yet?” Bert Roddy shook his head painfully.

“Not yet, Bert.”

“Well, I’ll be jiggered! Whatcha suppose became of ’em, Lem?”

“Nobody knows.”

“Did Joe Cave show up here?” asked Hashknife.

“About an hour ago,” said Spike, spitting dryly. “Quit his job, didn’t he?” looking at Lem.

“I fired him,” said Lem.

“I told you!” crowed Bert. “Didn’t I offer to make you a bet, Spike? I said that Lem canned him, didn’t I?”

“A-a-aw, don’t brag; you make my head ache.”

“Where’s Joe now?” asked Hashknife.

“Gone out to the Flyin’ M. Dave Morgan hired him and sent him right out to the ranch. Dave needs men pretty bad. He even offered to take us back agin’, didn’t he, Bert?”

“Shore did. And you tell ’em what I told him, Spike.”

“Aw, it wasn’t so smart. We need the job.”

“Not for that sidewinder. He jist the same as accused us of openin’ the safe at the 6X6. I may be a thief, but I don’t like to have it told before my friends.”

“That’s right; he did insult us, Bert. I’m glad you said what you did to him. But—” he turned to Lem—“what are you doin’ toward findin’ the lost folks?”

“Not a thing—yet.”

They all walked over to the Oasis, where they found Dave Morgan and several more men.

“What’s the latest news?” asked Morgan.

They were obliged to tell him that there was nothing new.

“You know this country pretty well, don’t you, Morgan?” asked Hashknife.

Dave Morgan smiled faintly, fingering his watch chain.

“I ought to,” he said. “I’ve been here a long time.”

“Ever been down in the middle of Coyote Cañon?”

Morgan blinked quickly, thoughtfully.

“No, I never have, Hartley.”

“Do you know if there’s a trail down there?”

“I’ve never heard of any.”

“I never have either,” said Spike. “Why that thing is straight up and down. Talkin’ about it makes me thirsty; so we better have a drink. The 6X6 owes me some money, anyway.”

“And you’re goin’ to collect it over the bar, eh?” queried Dell Bowen.

“Aw, don’t preach. You spent part of yours last night.”

“What about a trail into Coyote Cañon?” asked Morgan.

“I’d like to go down there,” replied Hashknife.

“You think there’s somethin’ down there?” asked Spike.

“About a hundred buzzards,” smiled Sleepy, accepting a glass from the bartender.

“Buzzards, eh? Somethin’ dead, eh?”

“No, they go down there to eat brush,” said Bert sarcastically.

“You’re comical,” said Spike admiringly. “The only thing that keeps you off the stage is the fact that you can’t drive, and they wouldn’t trust you with the money box.”

“Nobody interested in your comedy, Spike,” assured Bowen. “We want to know more about Coyote Cañon. Hartley, are you serious in wantin’ to go down there?”

“I’m goin’ down,” declared Hashknife.

“You don’t suppose that Nan Lane and that fool kid are down there, do you?”

Hashknife studied his glass of liquor for a moment.

“Bowen,” he said slowly, “I don’t know, but there’s no other place to look. They never got to Cañonville; they never came home. Nan’s horse came back. They either went up or down, and I’m bettin’ they went down.”

“But why should they, Hartley?”

“Who knows? I’m playin’ the buzzards, Bowen.”

“Uh-huh,” thoughtfully. “Well, it’s a good bet. We’ll go with you, cowboy. I don’t know a trail down there, but we’ll find one. It’s worth a try. When do we start?”

“Right now.”

“Saddle up!” snorted Spike, sending his glass spinning down the bar. “C’mon.”

“You might get in off the mesa on the lower end,” called Dave Morgan. “They tell me the deer come in that way.”

“All right, Dave, thanks,” replied the sheriff.

The three cowboys hurried to the livery stable, where they saddled their horses. Hashknife, Sleepy and Lem joined them, and the six men rode out of town together. Lem and Hashknife rode knee to knee.

“We better try the cañon jist south of the Lane place,” called Bowen. “It ain’t so high there.”

“Suits me,” agreed Lem heartily.

He had little hopes of ever getting to the bottom of the cañon, no matter where they tried a descent.

A quarter of a mile away from town, Hashknife halted them.

“Boys, I want you to do me a little favor,” he said. “Go right ahead and try to get down the cañon.”

“What’s the idea, Hashknife?” queried Lem wonderingly.

“I can’t tell you yet, Lem. It’s just a hunch. I’m turnin’ back here.”

“Let him go,” said Sleepy quickly. “It’s all in the game.”

“All right,” agreed Lem, holding out his hand. “Good luck, Hashknife.”

They swung their horses around and rode swiftly southward, while Hashknife went back toward Mesa City again. Just outside the town he halted his horse behind a thicket of mesquite and dismounted.

He had not been there over five minutes when Dave Morgan rode past, his horse traveling at a swinging walk. As far as Hashknife knew, Morgan was merely heading for the 6X6 ranch. But as soon as he passed a turn in the road, Hashknife mounted and followed him.

For possibly half a mile farther Morgan rode slowly, but finally forced his horse to a gallop. Hashknife kept far enough behind him so that Morgan would not see or hear him, and from a slight elevation he saw Morgan swing to the 6X6 road.

Hashknife swore under his breath, but followed, and it was with a great deal of satisfaction that he saw Morgan leave the road, possibly a quarter of a mile from the forks, and travel south down a brushy swale.

It was rather difficult for Hashknife to follow without being seen now, but he was obliged to take a chance, in order to keep Morgan in sight. Morgan did not look back, but seemed intent on his destination.

It was a little over a mile from where Morgan left the road to the rim of Coyote Cañon, and Hashknife was not over two hundred yards to the left of him, shielded by a mesquite thicket, when Morgan reached the rim.

For several minutes Morgan sat his horse, scanning the cañon, as if satisfying himself that no one was in sight. Hashknife was a little afraid that the five men farther down the cañon might interfere with things, but finally, Morgan, evidently satisfied, rode his horse over the rim of the cañon, cutting in between two live-oaks, and disappeared.

Hashknife rode cautiously to the rim, behind the oaks, and dismounted. Here were the marks of Morgan’s horse in the loose earth, and for quite a distance down the slope he could see where the horse had sidled along the steep slope.

Calmly he rolled and smoked a cigaret. He was not in such a hurry now. If Morgan could get down, he could. And he did not want to try the descent while there was danger of Morgan’s hearing him come down. Finally he tightened his cinch, mounted and followed Morgan.

Nan and Rex wandered down the cañon below where they had first entered it, but were unable to find a way out. After a supreme effort they were able to climb back over the rocks to where the slide ended. They were unable to go any farther.

“It doesn’t look very promising,” said Rex wearily.

Nan sat on a rock, tired out from the climb. She realized better than Rex did what they were up against. Unless help came to them, they were doomed to starvation in the bottom of Coyote Cañon. She knew that it was only through great luck that Rex had been able to kill those quail.

“If we even had a gun,” she said helplessly, “perhaps they could hear the echo of it.”

“But there must be a way out,” insisted Rex. “It seems to be an impassable pocket, but there must be a way.”

“I almost wish we were buzzards,” he said. “They are able to fly out with scarcely any effort.”

“They are not the only buzzards in this country,” said Nan.

“You mean—human buzzards?”

“Yes. Whoever shot your horse must know we are down here. They don’t know whether we are alive or dead. How did the crazy man get down here, I wonder? That must be his horse.”

“Yes, it is all very queer. I wonder if he is still alive? Perhaps he knows a way out, Nan. It seems a brutal thing to leave him up there alone in that cave. But what can we do? At least, he is unconscious and does not seem to be suffering. But I wish he would wake up sane again, because he might know a way out.”

“He wouldn’t know. I guess we better go back to the cave and gather a supply of wood. All we can do is to pray that someone will look down here for us.”

They went back to the bottom of the cañon and had a drink at the little spring. A copper-colored rattler, stretched out on the top of a boulder, waiting for the sunshine, looked them over with beady eyes, as they went past. They did not see the snake, and the snake was too torpid from the cold to sound a warning.

They climbed up from the bottom of the cañon near the old waterfall and twisted their way around the huge boulders. Nan was in the lead, and as she circled an outcropping of sandstone she cried out sharply and stepped back, bumping Rex sideways.

A man was standing against the sandstone, covering them with a rifle, and so close was he that Nan’s elbow struck the barrel of the rifle, as she jerked back. Her first impression was that it was the crazy man, but a second glance dissipated this idea.

The man was masked with a big bandanna handkerchief, with jagged eyeholes, and his slouch hat was pulled low over his forehead. For several moments he did not move or speak. Rex put his arms around Nan, and tried to draw her behind him.

“Don’t move,” warned the man harshly.

“Who are you?” demanded Rex.

“Ne’mind who I am. Keep your hands up and foller me.”

He backed slowly to the open hillside below the cave, which was not visible from there. Rex had shoved the empty revolver inside the waist band of his trousers, and now the man stepped over and yanked it away. A quick glance showed him that the gun was empty.

“Where’d you git that?” he asked.

“I found it,” lied Rex.

“Uh-huh.”

The man flung it far off down the cañon.

“How did you git down here?” he asked.

Rex explained.

“You came all the way down that side, eh?”

“It was quite a slide,” agreed Rex. “Now, I hope you will show us the way out.”

“You hope so, do you? Who shot your horse up there?”

“We haven’t any idea.”

“Anybody gunnin’ for you?”

“I don’t know why they should.”

The man had a lariat wrapped around his waist and now he began unwrapping it.

“We just want to find the way out of here,” said Rex.

“Thasso?”

The man seemed amused. He shifted his gaze to Nan.

“Set down on the rock!” he snapped harshly. “Set down there and set still.” He shook the last coil of the rope loose, catching the hondo and quickly making his loop. Neither of them had any idea what he was intending to do. He flipped the twist out of the loop, and with a jerk of his wrist he flung the loop over Rex’s shoulders, yanking it tight. Rex stumbled forward, his arms cinched to his sides, and the man kicked his feet from under him, throwing him heavily.

“Stay there, damn yuh!” he snarled. He gave Nan a sharp glance. She had jumped to her feet now, as if intending to help Rex.

“You stay put!” warned the man. “Set down there!”

Nan sank back on the rock and watched the man deftly hogtie Rex. He knew ropes, and in a few moments Rex was completely helpless.

“I reckon that’ll hold you,” said the man.

“But what has he ever done to you?” asked Nan. “Why are you tying him up? He never harmed you.”

“Who’s doin’ this? Keep your face out of it.”

“But why are you tying him up?” persisted Nan. “He never harmed you. All we want is a chance to get out of here.”

She left the rock and came close to him. He watched her through the jagged slips in the handkerchief.

“Keep away from me,” he growled. “I never hit no woman. Never thought a man ort to hit a woman. But I got to protect myself.”

“Oh, I’m not going to fight with you,” wearily. “I just want to explain things.”

“Yeah? You set down. I’ve gotta figure out somethin’.”

“But won’t you let him go—please.”

“I can’t! Set down. If I had another rope, I’d tie you, too.”

Nan sat down, while the man perched on a convenient boulder. Rex was lying on his side, facing them. He was bewildered and unable to move. The man in the mask rolled a cigaret, but discovered that he would have to move his mask aside in order to smoke, and tossed the unlighted cigaret aside.

He made no mention of the cave, and Nan decided that he had not discovered it. For possibly five minutes they sat there silently. At times the man leaned forward, rubbing his face through the handkerchief, as if unable to arrive at a decision. At times he turned his head and looked at the buzzards, which were circling about. Finally he got to his feet, walked over and looked at the knotted rope and then turned to Nan.

“I’m goin’ to take you out,” he said.

“Goin’ to take me out?” Nan got to her feet quickly. “What about him?” pointing at Rex.

The man shook his head.

“He stays.”

“But we can’t leave him here alone.”

“The hell we can’t? What’ll stop us?”

“Why, he will die. Don’t you understand? We can’t leave him there.”

“He stays, do you sabe that? I’ll take you out.”

“Go ahead, Nan,” panted Rex. “You —you can tell where I am, don’t you see?”

“A lot of good it’ll do,” laughed the man.

He pointed at the circling buzzards meaningly. Nan knew what he meant, and her face went white.

“I won’t go without him,” she said firmly.

“You won’t? Well, I’ll declare! What’s the idea? Are you—aw, have a little sense, can’tcha? No use of both of you cashin’ in down here. I’m willin’ to take you out, and you act like a fool over this white-faced jigger. I don’t git your idea. What does he amount to, anyway?”

“If he stays, I stay.”

Nan’s eyes were filled with tears, but her voice was firm. The man came closer to her, peering through his mask.

“You ain’t gone loco, have you?”

“No, I am perfectly sane.”

“And you’d give up a chance to git home safe—for that?”

He pointed disgustedly at Rex.

“I’ll stay with him,” she said chokingly.

“Well, f’r God’s sake!”

The man looked around, as if asking the wide world whether the girl wasn’t crazy. He looked at Rex, who was watching Nan, wide eyed.

“Of all the loco things I ever heard of,” grunted the man. “Listen, sister, is this on the square? Would you give up—say, don’tcha know there ain’t a chance of you ever gettin’ out here, unless somebody guides you? You’ll die here, and the buzzards will strip your bones. Do you realize that? Do you? And still you’d stay with that weak kneed tenderfoot? Sluff off a chance to git home safe? You would? Well, I’d like to know why.”

“Because,” said Nan wearily, “I love him!”

The man jerked forward.

“You what? You love him? You love—”

“I have told you why I will stay,” said Nan. “If he stays here, I stay, too.”

“Well, hell!” exploded the man. “With all the reg’lar men in the state of Arizona—you pick that!”

He moved back and sat down on the rock, where he rolled another cigaret, only to toss it aside. After a long silence he said softly—

“Well, I’ll be jiggered!”

“Won’t you cut him loose?” begged Nan. “Can’t you see those ropes are cutting him?”

“Pretty soft skinned. Why in hell didn’t he stay where he belonged?”

But he made no move to release Rex; he was studying Nan, who humped on the rock, her hands between her knees, as she looked at Rex, her eyes filled with tears.

Finally the masked man got to his feet, looking down at Rex.

“I ain’t got the sense that Gawd gave geese in Ireland,” he said slowly. “I’ve knowed lotsa married folks, and I’ve had me a girl onct or twict; but I never knowed that any woman ever cared enough f’r a man to sluff off a chance to save her life—f’r him.”

He stepped over to Rex and quickly unfastened the ropes.

“You’re not going to leave him here?” asked Nan, hardly believing that such was his intention.

“Not if you want him that bad. T’ me, he don’t amount to a damn, and I’d jist as soon use him for buzzard bait as not; but if you— You two wait here. I’ve got to git my bronc. There’s a way out the lower end of this cañon, if I can remember it. It’s a long ways around, but it can’t be helped.”

He picked up his rope, swung it over his arm, grasped his rifle and went stumbling up the cañon, while Nan and Rex stood there, looking at each other.

“Thank God!” breathed Nan.

“Did you mean what you told him, Nan? Did you mean that you love me?”

“Well, I would have stayed,” she said simply.