Devil's Canyon by Ralph Compton Page A

too?”
    â€œCareful, Faro,” said Dallas. “Next thing, he’ll be wantin’ you to go to the bushes with him, and hold his hand.”
    Shanghai and Tarno laughed.
    â€œThat’s enough,” Faro said angrily. “The three of you get to your bedrolls. Durham, you get the hell out of yours.”
    â€œYes, Daddy,” said Durham meekly.
    Faro silently cursed Durham for his sarcasm, and his three companions for using it as a source of cowboy humor. He barely spoke to Collins or Durham throughout the second watch, as he wrestled with a troublesome question. What
was
Hal Durham’s game?
    *   *   *
    Fortunately for Slade and his companions, they made their camp well away from the river, in the surrounding brush. Being in no hurry, lest they catch up to the wagons, they slept well past dawn. So it was that when they heard approaching horses, they hadn’t yet started their breakfast fire. They watched from cover as Mamie and Odessa McCutcheon rode past, obviously following the wagons. Suddenly, Odessa reined up. When she spoke, they heard her clearly.
    â€œThem four varmints that was followin’ the wagons has left us.”
    â€œLike I told you,” Mamie said, “they likely wasn’t followin’ the wagons at all. They just turned off somewhere and went their way.”
    â€œWell, I think they were,” said Odessa, “and I’m of a mind to double back and see how far it was they left the trail.”
    â€œOh, come on,” Mamie said. “Don’t go looking for trouble. God knows, there’s always enough, without scratching and digging for more.”
    They rode on as Slade and his companions looked at one another in wonder.
    â€œWho in hell are
they?
” Kritzer wondered.
    â€œThat pair of females looks tough enough to go huntin’ cougars with a switch,” said Withers.
    â€œYeah,” Peeler said, “and they been trackin’ us. At least, one of ’em has.”
    â€œBy God,” said Hindes, “I never seen a female whose tongue wasn’t thonged down in the middle and loose at both ends. When they catch up to them wagons, you think that nosy old pelican won’t tell them teamsters they’re bein’ trailed?”
    â€œMaybe not,” Slade said. “You heard her. She didn’t notice where we rode off, and up ahead they won’t find our tracks.”
    â€œI purely don’t like bein’ bogged down in somethin’ I don’t understand,” said Kritzer. “Where does these two fit in, and why are they followin’ them wagons?”
    â€œGod,” Withers said, “they was carryin’ tied-down pistols, with rifles in their saddle boots. I never seen a woman carry that much artillery.”
    â€œI’d bet my horse and saddle they can use it, too,” said Peeler.
    â€œWe’ll go on,” Slade said, “and I reckon we’ll find out what business they got with them wagons.”
    â€œDon’t none of you forget,” said Hindes. “There’s always the Utes.”

Chapter 3
    The trail west. August 5, 1870
.
    The night had passed uneventfully, and following a hurried breakfast, the wagons took the trail. The terrain had grown progressively rougher, and teams crept along slowly as teamsters sought to avoid drop-offs and large stones that might crack, allowing the full weight of the wagon to lurch against a single wheel. But before the caravan had been on the trail an hour, there came that sound they all dreaded: the sickening, shattering crunch of a ruined wagon wheel.
    â€œWell, by God, that don’t come as no surprise,” said Tarno Spangler as he swung down from his wagon box.
    Durham’s wagon reared back in an unnatural position, for nothing remained of the left rear wheel except the hub with its shattered spokes. Durham still sat on the wagon box, the reins in his hand.
    â€œGet down,” Shanghai