Novel 1966 - Kid Rodelo (v5.0) by Louis L’Amour

upper tanks.”
    The water lay in basins of solid rock, hollowed by centuries of tumbling water in a stream channel, which was actually more of a waterfall. “There are dead bees in it sometimes,” Rodelo explained, “but they’re no problem.”
    Badger dipped up some of the water in his palm. It was cold and fresh. “Can’t knock that. Anyway, I heard there were some rains down this away a few weeks back.”
    They filled the canteens, and then sat down on the rock beside the pool, refreshed by the coolness and drinking again and again.
    “I can’t just figure you,” Badger said after a minute or two. “You don’t size up like the law, but you sure ain’t on the dodge. You done your time.”
    “Put me down as a man who likes money,” Rodelo replied carelessly. “And where else could I get a piece of fifty thousand dollars? For that matter,” he added ironically, “where could you?”
    Badger chuckled. “You got me there,
amigo
. A piece of fifty thousand.…What we’re all wonderin’ about is how big a piece?”
    “A three-way split, what else?”
    “You think Joe will settle for that? After all, he was the one who pulled off the holdup.”
    Dan Rodelo got to his feet. “We’d best get back to the horses. We’d be in fine shape now if Joe was to take a notion to ride out and leave us, wouldn’t we?”
    They climbed down the way they had come, going hand over hand, their feet against the steeply slanting rock wall. On the ground below, Rodelo added, speaking softly, “Tom, you know as well as I do, the size of that split is going to be decided by the Yaquis, not us.”
    “Yeah,” Badger said gloomily. “They could trim us down a mite.”
    The night was cold, and they took turn and turn about standing watch. In the last hour before dawn, Joe Harbin shook them awake. Over a small, quick fire of dried-out creosote wood, they made coffee and finished the bacon. Before the desert was more than gray, they were in the saddle once more, horses well watered, the desert stretching wide toward the border, now only a short distance away.
    The rocky ridge of the mountains was their guide line; the desert floor was broken here and there by black, ugly outcroppings of ancient lava. There was creosote brush, occasional agave, and cholla.
    The sun was not yet above the horizon when Joe Harbin rode up from the rear. “We got comp’ny,” he said.
    They drew up and turned to look. Far off they saw a thin column of smoke pointing a beckoning finger at the sky.
    “Well, we expected it,” Badger said. “They must’ve tried several routes. The smoke will call ’em in.” He glanced back again. “No use waitin’ for ’em.”
    They went on. The sun rose, the day’s heat began, and they deliberately slowed their pace. Gopher wanted to get on, to run. “It would kill your horse, kid,” Badger said mildly. “You’ll need that horse.”
    They saw no Indians. Rodelo looked only occasionally to the rear. He watched ahead and on both sides, for Indians could come from anywhere, and there might well be Yaquis somewhere ahead, returning from the Gulf, for instance.
    “You’re bearing east,” Harbin said suddenly. “What’s the idea?”
    “Pinacate,” Rodelo replied. “Some of the roughest country this side of hell, but some tanks of water, too…and some places to fort up if need be.”
    “Won’t that give us further to go?”
    “Very little. The Gulf is south of us now. Adair Bay is due south.”
    Nobody talked then for a time. Later they saw another smoke, off to the west. The horses slowed to a walk, and when Rodelo swung down and led his horse, the others did likewise. Again, Nora fell in beside him.
    She was showing her weariness now. Her face was drawn, her eyes hollow. “I had no idea it would be like this,” she said.
    “Whenever you can,” Rodelo advised her, “drink. Dehydration begins to dull your senses before you realize. Some say you shouldn’t drink at all the first twenty-four hours