than in Amarillo. It was the dwellings of the little men he sought, where he believed he could garner valuable informationrelative to the widelooping activities in the section.
The Valley was not always peaceful. Here rode the cow thief and the outlaw, and bloody battles were fought amid the cedars and the mesquite.
After the first ten miles, Slade veered a little more to the west and when he reached the Valley he turned due west, riding along the lip of the great trough. He knew of a little-known descent into the Valley that was so hidden by straggles of brush and tall grass as to be almost indiscernible from only a few yards distant. Without mishap he reached the spot and drew rein. For some minutes he sat scanning the prairie in every direction. It stretched lonely and deserted in the redding rays of the low-lying sun.
“Okay, feller, down you go,” he told the horse. “You’ve been here before.”
Just as he was about to begin the rather precipitous descent, he reined in again, studying the ground with his keen eyes.
“Darned if it doesn’t look like cows have been here, and not so long ago,” he remarked. Again he gazed across the rangeland and could discern no clumps of grazing cattle.
Guess they must have wandered off to better feeding grounds,” he said. “Let’s go!”
With only a protesting snort or two, the big black made it to the Valley floor. Now the sun was low in the west and the great bowl was growing shadowy.
When Slade reached the river, he turned upstream, following its course.
For several miles he rode steadily, with the Valley growing ever more darkening. It was still fairly light, however, when he rounded a bend and cameupon a cleared space where sat a small adobe surrounded by a flourishing garden patch. Nearby grazed a few sheep and goats. A window glowed golden.
“Looks like the old gent is still here, all right,” he remarked to Shadow and raised his voice in a shout.
After a moment the door opened and an old Mexican peered out questioningly. He stared, gave a glad cry and came hurrying forward.
“Capitan!” he exclaimed. “Once again you return to old Estaban! Ha! and the beautiful caballo! I he knows at once. First to the stable, Capitan, where with my mules he partakes of the best. Then, coffee steams in the pot and meat sizzles in the skillet. The feast of celebration we shall have, even to the bottle of golden wine from my own grapes.”
With dispatch, Shadow was stalled in the comfortable stable with a pensive mule to keep him company, his feedbox filled with oats, and shortly afterward Slade sat down at a table loaded with appetizing food and drink.
There followed a period that was mostly busy silence. Finally, Slade pushed back his empty plate with a sigh of content and rolled a cigarette. Estaban poured a final cup of steaming coffee to go with the wine and manufactured a husk cigaro.
For some minutes they smoked in relaxed and full-fed comfort. Then Estaban spoke.
“ Capitan ,” he asked, “what seek you? Never do you ride without a reason.”
“Cows,” was the laconic reply. “Stolen cows that I thought may have perhaps come this way.”
Estaban shook his head. “No ganado have come this way,” he answered, adding, “but they have entered the Valley but recently.”
“But if they didn’t come this way, where in blazes did they go?” Slade demanded.
“Capitan,” said the old Mexican, “came you to the Valley by your usual way?”
“Why, yes,” El Halcon replied. “I descended a couple of miles or so to the east, like before.”
“Well,” said Estaban, “by that way the ganado departed from the Valley, as did they who herded them.”
Slade stared at him. “I did spot cow tracks on top of the sag, but figured they were left by some grazing critters,” he said. “If they left the Valley by way of that crossing, where in blazes did they go from up top the slope?”
Estaban shrugged with Latin eloquence. “ Capitan , that I do not
The Valley was not always peaceful. Here rode the cow thief and the outlaw, and bloody battles were fought amid the cedars and the mesquite.
After the first ten miles, Slade veered a little more to the west and when he reached the Valley he turned due west, riding along the lip of the great trough. He knew of a little-known descent into the Valley that was so hidden by straggles of brush and tall grass as to be almost indiscernible from only a few yards distant. Without mishap he reached the spot and drew rein. For some minutes he sat scanning the prairie in every direction. It stretched lonely and deserted in the redding rays of the low-lying sun.
“Okay, feller, down you go,” he told the horse. “You’ve been here before.”
Just as he was about to begin the rather precipitous descent, he reined in again, studying the ground with his keen eyes.
“Darned if it doesn’t look like cows have been here, and not so long ago,” he remarked. Again he gazed across the rangeland and could discern no clumps of grazing cattle.
Guess they must have wandered off to better feeding grounds,” he said. “Let’s go!”
With only a protesting snort or two, the big black made it to the Valley floor. Now the sun was low in the west and the great bowl was growing shadowy.
When Slade reached the river, he turned upstream, following its course.
For several miles he rode steadily, with the Valley growing ever more darkening. It was still fairly light, however, when he rounded a bend and cameupon a cleared space where sat a small adobe surrounded by a flourishing garden patch. Nearby grazed a few sheep and goats. A window glowed golden.
“Looks like the old gent is still here, all right,” he remarked to Shadow and raised his voice in a shout.
After a moment the door opened and an old Mexican peered out questioningly. He stared, gave a glad cry and came hurrying forward.
“Capitan!” he exclaimed. “Once again you return to old Estaban! Ha! and the beautiful caballo! I he knows at once. First to the stable, Capitan, where with my mules he partakes of the best. Then, coffee steams in the pot and meat sizzles in the skillet. The feast of celebration we shall have, even to the bottle of golden wine from my own grapes.”
With dispatch, Shadow was stalled in the comfortable stable with a pensive mule to keep him company, his feedbox filled with oats, and shortly afterward Slade sat down at a table loaded with appetizing food and drink.
There followed a period that was mostly busy silence. Finally, Slade pushed back his empty plate with a sigh of content and rolled a cigarette. Estaban poured a final cup of steaming coffee to go with the wine and manufactured a husk cigaro.
For some minutes they smoked in relaxed and full-fed comfort. Then Estaban spoke.
“ Capitan ,” he asked, “what seek you? Never do you ride without a reason.”
“Cows,” was the laconic reply. “Stolen cows that I thought may have perhaps come this way.”
Estaban shook his head. “No ganado have come this way,” he answered, adding, “but they have entered the Valley but recently.”
“But if they didn’t come this way, where in blazes did they go?” Slade demanded.
“Capitan,” said the old Mexican, “came you to the Valley by your usual way?”
“Why, yes,” El Halcon replied. “I descended a couple of miles or so to the east, like before.”
“Well,” said Estaban, “by that way the ganado departed from the Valley, as did they who herded them.”
Slade stared at him. “I did spot cow tracks on top of the sag, but figured they were left by some grazing critters,” he said. “If they left the Valley by way of that crossing, where in blazes did they go from up top the slope?”
Estaban shrugged with Latin eloquence. “ Capitan , that I do not
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