Danger in the Canyon Read online

  Danger in the Canyon

  A Western Novella

  A.T. Butler

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Also by A.T. Butler

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Jacob Payne dismounted. The scorching Arizona sun beat relentlessly down, drenching his dark, close-cropped hair with sweat and plastering it to his skull. With one hand he took off his hat to fan his face, and with the other took hold of the reins to lead his pinto down through the uneven, rocky bank of the dry riverbed. The sandy ground shifted and crumbled under his feet.

  As he took the first step through the brush, the dirt bank collapsed and one of the ragweed plants uprooted altogether. Jacob almost lost his balance as he slipped down the low slope. Even a desert plant couldn’t hang on forever without water, and Jacob knew he would be the same way. A body could only take so much.

  The tall man paused to let the dirt and rocks tumble down the rest of the bank while he replaced his hat. His shirt clung to his sides, tight across his broad shoulders, the sweat running down his back under the layers. He blinked back the sweat dripping into his eyes. Once the rocks had settled he would lead his horse across, searching again for both water and his man. He couldn’t risk his horse making a false step. He couldn’t risk sweating out all his water. He still had a ways to go.

  The bounty hunter had been on the outlaw’s trail for three days now, winding away from Tucson, far to the south and the west, following his mark. While he thought he had packed enough water when he set out, the canteen was already running dangerously low. He had been able to supplement a little along the way, but if he didn’t find a substantial source of water soon he might have to give up this hunt.

  Jacob had never walked away from a reward once he began tracking, and he had no intention of starting now. The man he was after would need water just as badly, and Jacob knew he could best him.

  Jacob led the pinto down the final few crumbling steps to the riverbed. Sparse, hardy desert weeds and animal burrows were beginning to crop up in the middle of the dry plane, life continuing in the absence of running water. After a few feet, the dry, cracked dirt revealed the faint impression of a pair of horseshoes. Jacob squatted down and compared them to the depth of his own print. Judging from how much dust had been blown away, he guessed he was standing right where Jed Corker had crossed less than one day past.

  He stood again, looking for further prints, eyeing the horizon, and considering his options. Jacob paused to swallow a mouthful of water from his canteen.

  Before he’d left town, several long-time locals had warned Jacob about the monsoon they expected any day, pressing him to take an extra coil of rope and more jerky than he had packed. “You’ll not be able to see your own hand,” they had said. “You’ve not seen a storm of this like.” He had not yet been in such a squall here in Arizona, but he’d heard tell of torrential storms that could appear as though out of nowhere, dumping gallons of water in only an hour, or of a wall of dust sweeping across the territory, obscuring every living thing in its path.

  But Jacob had been in storms before; this didn’t concern him none. He packed his saddlebags, filled his canteen, and didn’t fret. When he had left Virginia almost a year ago to come west, he’d thought he was escaping the wet and the humidity. The fierce heat of the Arizona desert was like a balm, and for the last few months he felt like he was truly dry for the first time in his life.

  Such scorching drought, he knew, would only be bearable for as long as he had water to drink. He’d gotten used to recognizing signs that he needed more water, since he’d taken to spending so much time in the desert. A monsoon would give him all the water he could want, but he couldn’t count on that storm finding him. He had been rationing as well as he could, but Jacob would need to find other sources if he was going to make his way back.

  Standing in the middle of the riverbed, Jacob scanned the horizon ahead of him. In this midday heat, most of the desert animals would be resting deep underground. Without a lick of wind to stir the shrubs, Jacob heard only his own breathing. Wherever Corker had got to, he was not within hearing distance.

  About a mile or two on up, small hills rose and so did Jacob’s hopes. He squinted his eyes against the sun and made out some low mesquite trees and what looked like a canyon extending between the hills. From this distance, it was impossible to tell how wide or deep the canyon was, but there was an unmistakable shady area beckoning to him. He’d have to keep an eye out for prints, but a cool hole like that would be where Corker would head to. Shade, maybe even water. Trees meant there must be some kind of dampness, at least.

  Jacob grinned to himself. Unless he was much mistaken about the other man’s desire for survival, he expected to find his target and make his arrest that afternoon—maybe even within the hour.

  “Well, Paint,” Jacob said as he poured water into the palm of his wide hand and offered it to the horse. “What do you think? Seems Corker is probably up there waiting for us, huh? Ready to keep going?”

  The horse lapped up the water eagerly and nuzzled Jacob’s ear. The bounty hunter nodded, took hold of the reins, and continued leading his companion through the arid terrain.

  Chapter Two

  Three days earlier, before setting off into the desert, Jacob had been eating supper at San Xavier Cafe in Tucson, his favorite meal when in town. The locals were friendly, and Bonnie, who brought meals most nights, always had a coy smile for him. He had helped some of her unwanted suitors find the door more than once, and she had yet to stop thanking him.

  By the front door, Bobby played a lively tune on the piano, humming under his breath while the cafe filled with regulars. Edwin Hogg caught Jacob’s eye with a grin as he crossed the threshold. He’d be wantin’ a hand or three of poker, no doubt, Jacob thought. He took another bite. Jackrabbit stew and coffee filled Jacob’s stomach while he contemplated his next move.

  The U.S. Marshal’s office down the street had a stack of wanted posters nearly two feet high, and all Jacob had to do was pick one. The number of degenerate men pouring west into Arizona meant Jacob would be kept busy. Men who had not been able to find their place after the war ended. Men who already had murders or thefts on their conscience and came out to the open desert where they thought they could get away with more. Jacob had come to the cafe for supper, yes, but also for information. If anyone in town had even a hint of where one of these outlaws was at, Jacob would follow the trail without a second thought.

  Jacob had just asked Bonnie for a second cup of coffee and more cornbread when one of the town’s deputies burst through the door, yanked his hat from his head, and pitched it across the room at an empty table.

  “Blast!” Deputy Lowry exclaimed, stomping after his hat.

  He followed that outburst by kicking over the closest empty chair, causing the two women seated at that table to gasp in surprise.

  The deputy stomped off after his hat, sinking down into the chair at the table in the corner, alone, and crossing his arms across his chest, chewing furiously.

  “What seems to be the problem, deputy?” Jacob asked after him. “Somethin’ happen?”

  He stood to right the chair and apologize to the poor surprised women. They both held hands over their chests as though trying to still their beating hearts, looking askance at the fuming deputy.

  “Damn straight, somethin’ happened!” He turned his head and spat a straight stream of tobac
co juice into the spittoon by the wall behind him. “Jed Corker escaped.”

  Jacob took his now-full cup of coffee from his original seat and sat down across from Deputy Lowry in his corner table. “Corker? Ain’t he with the Slippery Stone Gang?”

  “He is. Or was. It’s none too clear. He held up the Valleseco Bank on his own, with no help from Stone or anyone else in the gang. Just a couple days ago, this was. Managed to kill two tellers who didn’t move fast enough for his liking and wound a woman, one of the bank’s customers. Violence ain’t Stone’s way. I don’t know that he’s ever killed an innocent. My guess is Corker’s out on his ear and desperate to make do.”

  “But you caught him, didn’t ya?”

  “We did. Deputy Little’n me caught up with him not far outside of town and was bringing him back to stand trial when he slipped away from us.”

  “How’d that happen?”

  “No tellin’. Elliott ‘Slippery’ Stone must’ve taught him a trick or two. Woke up this morning and he was gone. Stole a horse, but he left his take from Valleseco Bank. Me’n Deputy Little raced back here to send the telegrams out to nearby towns. Wayne City and Solano both have banks less than a day’s ride from here. If Corker’s feelin’ desperate, he might try again.”

  Jacob nodded darkly. “There’s nothing more vicious than a desperate man.”

  Lowry spat again. “I don’t like it one bit.”

  Jacob stood up.

  “Tell me exactly where you lost him. I can pick up the trail.”

  Deputy Lowry remained in his seat and leaned back to put his boots on the table. A fine layer of dust shook loose and coated the wooden surface. “Now, look, Payne. Corker is a dangerous creature, and the Valleseco bank ain’t offered a bounty of any kind. I don’t want you to go gettin’ yourself killed for nothing.”

  Jacob took one last swig of the bitter black coffee before setting the mug down on the table. The heat and the adrenaline of the hunt coursed through his limbs. Edwin and his card game could wait.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, deputy, but the man killed two people, wounded more, and could be on his way to do more damage. If I can stop him, I will. Reward or no reward. Tell me where you lost him.”

  Once he had wrung all the details he could from Deputy Lowry, it took Jacob less than an hour to claim his horse from the livery, stock up on his water and supplies, and hit the road, south and west into the desert.

  Chapter Three

  Now, three days on the trail, Jacob was mad as a hornet and even more determined to get his man. He had followed the bank robber through flat terrain, around low hills, and between two small silver mines. Jacob all but lost the trail a couple times where miners’ carts and mules’ hoofprints obscured the track. Corker must have known he was being tailed; he’d tried to lose Jacob near the abandoned Espejo mine, covering his tracks and attempting misdirection. Once, Jacob had got close enough that the man had left his campfire burning in his haste to escape, but Jacob had just missed him.

  Only once before had a wanted man eluded him so long, but Jacob didn’t think this Corker fella was anything special.

  Once he and Paint had climbed out of the riverbed up the opposite bank, Jacob mounted again. He nudged the horse forward, but it stepped sideways around the mouth of a burrow that the bounty hunter hadn’t noticed, half hidden by the brittlebush overgrowth.

  “Good job, boy,” Jacob murmured to his mount. “You’re smarter than me sometimes.”

  From his vantage atop the pinto, Jacob could see that the river curved around to the north of him. There was a small concentration of agave plants along the riverbed, extending about fifty feet to his left and curving back toward the hills where Jacob was heading. That was a good sign. Chances he’d find water in that canyon were much stronger if a river sometimes ran from it.

  Jacob’s mouth felt dry, and he was having trouble swallowing. He pulled out his canteen again and allowed himself a more full drink, coming closer to quenching his thirst yet still missing the mark. He drank again. He sensed he was close to the final confrontation with Corker and wanted to be ready. Full strength. Leave nothing to chance.

  Jacob sat high above the flat terrain, in full view of anyone who might be watching. He held no hope of ambushing or surprising the outlaw. The man would be watching for him, no doubt, readying his gun or knife. Jacob’s only course would be to overpower the man. He would like to be able to take him alive, but he knew that it might not be possible to walk away with both his own life and Corker’s still intact.

  He unhooked his hammer loop and pulled his revolver free, resting it carefully in one hand while he held the horse’s reins with the other. Another quick nudge and Paint began walking forward, around the brittlebush and to the shady canyon up ahead. Jacob kept it slow; he needed to keep all his focus on the mouth of the canyon, eyes peeled for movement or activity, and let the horse take watch for animals and danger below.

  Ten, twenty, forty feet through the brush, Paint brought Jacob closer to his target. He felt a rivulet of sweat running down the back of his head to his collar. At about twenty yards from the canyon, Jacob pulled back, pausing Paint’s advance. He took a deep breath, breathing in through his nose and filling his lungs. The bounty hunter had always had a keen sense of smell, and he found that paying attention to slight variations in the air helped him more oft than not. There was a heavy, smoky touch woven into the dirt and light floral ahead.

  A campfire, Jacob thought. Maybe he’s cooking, or maybe he just put it out from this morning, but I smell wood burning.

  He bent forward, close to the horse’s mane, and looked again. No sign of movement up ahead, but that smell was an unmistakable sign.

  “Once we get to the cool of that canyon, we’ll rest, pal,” Jacob promised, again nudging the horse forward. “We’ve got him cornered.”

  Jacob stopped again just five yards from the mouth of the canyon. The smell of burnt wood was even stronger here, and it didn’t take him long to spot the source. Just to the right of the path was a small, still smoldering campfire.

  Jacob eyed it with suspicion.

  Why would anyone be burning a fire this late in the day, especially if that person was trying to stay hid? And why would someone on the run build a fire in such plain sight in the first place? The outlaw had already demonstrated he knew Jacob was following him; this campfire could be a trap, an ambush, or a distraction.

  And Jacob wasn’t aiming to get caught unawares.

  Jacob pulled his eyes from the embers and scanned the interior of the canyon. About fifteen yards from the mouth, the walls began to get steep and almost vertical, and between here and there were taller bushes and even a couple trees. Harsh shadows stretched across the ground, and Jacob looked hard for evidence of another human being.

  A tiny flash of light caught Jacob’s eye. He turned Paint back around toward the mouth of the canyon and realized it was the glint of sun on steel.

  “That you, Corker? You wanna make this easy or hard?”

  Paint turned in a full circle, stepping around a barrel cactus, and Jacob lost sight of the steel barrel of the gun as he turned. If the outlaw was hiding out in this canyon, they both knew it was only a matter of time before Jacob would catch up with him.

  “Corker!” he called again as he nudged Paint forward.

  “Don’t come any closer,” a deep, gravely voice warned.

  With the echo within the canyon walls, Jacob couldn’t quite place where that voice was coming from. No further wink of gun showed in the sun.

  “Give up, Corker,” Jacob called. “I don’t want to have to kill you.”

  A loud, hearty laugh answered him. “I warned you . . .” the stranger said, his voice trailing off. “You’ll not be the one doing the killing.”

  Jacob leaned down to pet Paint’s shoulder. “We got him, boy. Let’s go.”

  The horse had only taken two more steps toward the canyon when Jacob heard the crack of gunfire, followed closely by the whinny of th
e pinto in pain. Before he could take another breath, he felt the animal collapse underneath him, falling, crumbling to the ground.

  Chapter Four

  “Corker!” Jacob yelled into the canyon. His voice echoed and bounced off the rock, but he could still hear the rustle and crash of a man running through the wilderness. “You devil!”

  His right leg was pinned under Paint, who lay on his side whimpering. Jacob didn’t think his leg was any worse hurt than bruised, but the horse wouldn’t be able to recover from that fatal blast.

  The outlaw had shot the horse in his right shoulder, dropping the poor animal to the ground with Jacob still on top. Now footsteps raced away, echoing around the canyon. Jacob cursed under his breath—his mark was escaping . . . but he had to deal with the situation at hand first.

  Jacob slowly, carefully, maneuvered his foot out from under the injured horse. The width of his boot was still wrapped in his stirrup. He had to twist his ankle to disentangle himself, driving the toe of his boot into the horse’s ribs. Jacob cursed under his breath again, going slowly and trying not to hurt Paint any further.

  He squatted before the horse, examining the wound where the bullet had embedded in the heavy muscle. Blood rivulets were already trailing down to the dust underneath the creature.

  “Shhh . . .” Jacob whispered as he held his revolver to the horse’s head. “I’m sorry, boy.”

  The horse whinnied again and Jacob’s heart sank. Paint had been his companion ever since he left Texas and crossed over to the Arizona Territory, and he had hoped they’d still have years left together. The animal had helped him track and catch up with at least half of the outlaws Jacob had put in shackles. The poor beast deserved better than this death, alone in the dust and blood at the mouth of a nameless canyon.