After a time as I gradually made a descent down a canyon the air grew fresher and I began to hear the sounds of running water. With the sun on them, the rocks looked colorful as the deuce. I guessed the river was just around the next bend too. I was breathing easy, my gaze ahead on the trail I was taking, when I saw something that pulled me up short.
A sandy declivity on the canyon floor showed a fresh hoof track. Farther on were a few scattered droppings. Someone was ahead of me.
It was the only warning I had! I jerked my pony around on two hind hoofs and reined him back of a high cluster of rocks. Then I dropped from the saddle. Fast! And crouched down, reaching behind to jerk the Winchester from its boot.
I waited, not daring to lift my head too high above the rocks as I tried to see what lay ahead. Damn'd if I wasn't trapped. Or maybe the rider ahead was friendly, and no law officer. My heart was going like a trip hammer.
Hell! It was a law officer all right. Deputy U.S. Marshal Webb Jordan, though I didn't know that right at first. Then his voice came to me from another clump of rocks, fifty or sixty yards farther on:
"Better surrender, Cardinal. You ain't got a chance."
"Try and make me." I shouted back. Lord, I was scared. I couldn't see him and he couldn't see me—I hoped. Cripes, for all I knew, he might be sneaking up on me. I just had to take a look.
I raised my head cautiously above the rock barrier. Wham! A rifle bullet spatflattened against the rock wall at my back. It was well above my head, though.
"You'll have to do better than that, Lawman," I yelled.
A taunting laugh came from the other pile of broken rock. "I can, Cardinal. That was just a warning. Want to try another look?"
I got smart then. Removing my sombrero I stuck it on the end of my rifle barrel and raised it slowly above the edge of the rocks.
Wham! Wham! My sombrero spun crazily on the end of the gun barrel.
"That suit you, Cardinal?"
"It proves something," I called back, voice not quite steady. I crouched down, examined my hat. There were four holes in the crown of the sombrero where Jordan's slugs had passed straight through. God! The man could shoot.
His voice reached me again: "That'll teach you not to try that stale stunt of a Stet-hat on the end of a rifle barrel," Jordan jeered, and I began to feel foolish. He'd outfoxed me, just as he'd outfoxed me by guessing I was heading for the Rio Grande, following two days to make sure, then swinging wide to cut me off before I got there. A smart outlaw I'd turned out to be.
Anyway, there was a chance of keeping him from closing in on me now. I found a small crevice between two chunks of rock, and sent a fast Winchester slug toward the wall at his back, when I couldn't see sight of him.
"Better lower your sights, fellow," he called with a cool laugh.
Jeepers! I hadn't been trying to hit him, but so long as there was a chance of keeping him from closing in it was a worthwhile game. He fired again, and again the shot was wide. Well, maybe he thought he was keeping me from closing in too. Hell's-bells on a tomcat, I didn't want to get any closer to him, but of course he didn't know that.
For an hour we kept up a desultory sort of fire, with me not trying to hit him, and knowing what I already did of his aiming, he didn't seem to want to hit me either. I didn't quite figure it out. Once he yelled out something about getting together and having a talk, but I was afraid to chance that.
We each levered a few more cartridges into our barrels and fired some more shots at random. I was getting worried, wondering how much longer I could hold out. Powdersmoke drifted in the air. The sun had dropped low to the west by this time. Maybe if I could hold out until darkness came, I might be able to retreat back up the canyon. I threw another random shot in his direction, and he replied instantly. I heard the whine of the bullet as it passed overhead, and then it happened:
Something hit me a tremendous wallop back of the ear, high on my head. A million lights exploded inside my cranium and then a ton of blackness hit me. I felt myself falling sidewise and then a great ebony curtain descended to carry me into oblivion…
V
I awakened slowly. The moon was high overhead, shining directly down on the river. My head ached terrifically. Through almost closed eyes I gazed about. I didn't see anything of Jordan, but a brief glimpse showed me a small fire with a coffeepot resting on the coals. I moved my hands slightly and felt a rough blanket beneath my body. Anyway, I wasn't handcuffed. Despondency swept over me. Caught at last! Now I'd have to face—what?
I shifted my eyes and saw at the other side of the fire my saddle, and resting against it my Winchester, holstered belt and .44 Colt. A prisoner, just a lousy prisoner, that's what I was. I'd been out-foxed again. But how in the devil had Jordan got around behind me? I'd been so sure…
At that moment I heard his voice from the rear: "How about sitting up and taking a little nourishment, Cardinal? I know you've come to, and I figure I've waited supper long enough. Got a headache, I'll bet. Mebbe some hot coffee will fix that."
I realized now that he had a rather pleasant voice, nothing antagonistic in it; there hadn't been from the first. I came to a sitting position. A wave of dizziness swept over me and a thousand imps within my skull were using sledge hammers. After a minute my head cleared and I mumbled something about my horse.
"I took care of your hawss. It's just around that next bend of rock, where there's some grass for the animals to crop. Look here, I don't want to put the cuffs on you. Can you act sensible for a spell, until we have a mite of habla?"
"Anyway, I'll try," I smiled weakly. He walked around in front of me then, and I saw a tall man with good features and iron-gray hair, puffing a briar. A Colt was strapped at one hip and he wore a black Stetson and flat-heeled boots, checked shirt and corduroys cuffed at the ankles. "Right now," I continued, "I'm too achy to do anything but act sensible. So I reckon you can feel sure of collecting the reward."
He directed a sharp look at me from steely eyes. "Reward?" he growled. "You think I'm after those piddlin' rewards. Ain't I told you—aw, hell, forget it."
He got tin dishes from a burlap sack, produced a cup and poured coffee which he handed me. "Watch your lip, it's boiling hot. Sugar?"
I said, "No, thanks," and raised the cup to my mouth. Lord, such Java! My head began to feel better almost immediately. Jordan crouched near the fire, produced a frying pan and soon frying odors mingled with that of coffee in the air.
I finished the coffee and gingerly got to my feet. Jordan's head came sharply up; he eyed me a moment, then resumed his cooking. Things were coming clearer now, and I saw he had made camp on a large flat rock overhanging the river. I glanced over the edge and spied the water swirling just below. That accounted for the rushing sounds I'd heard, which I'd blamed on my head. The moon on the leaping waters sparkled like a million diamonds. Across the Rio Grande rose high jagged bluffs. It was beautiful and for a moment I forgot the fix I was in.
"Right pretty, ain't it?" Jordan said. I agreed. He went on, "Come time for me to retire I aim to get me a little cabin down here, this being my favorite spot. If you've guessed that I've been here before, you're right. There's almost a clear line through some of these canyons, to the river, and outlaws just naturally seem to follow 'em. It's an old trail to me."