Sam felt a little better once the familiar weight of the Colt was back in its holster, the Winchester was in the saddleboot under his left thigh, and his bowie knife was nestled in its sheath on his left hip. He knew the situation was still full of risk, but at least now he could fight if he had to.
“Let’s go,” Boyd said once the three men were armed again. The rancher added, “But just in case you’re trying to double-cross us, we’ll still be keeping a close eye on you and your friends, Two Wolves.”
“No double cross,” Sam said. “We’re on the same side.”
Lowry snorted.
“If that’s true, it’s the first time I’ve ever been on the same side as a damn redskin.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Sam told him with a smile. He didn’t have to like Lowry—that seemed pretty unlikely—but they might soon be fighting side by side, so it was a good idea if they could trust each other.
Several rugged mesas loomed between the riders and the hills. They would have to weave among those mesas to reach their destination, unless they went around and risked losing the trail ... because it appeared that the stolen herd had been driven through those big, flat-topped formations.
Sam cast occasional glances toward the tops of the mesas as the group started into the forest of rock. This would be a good spot for an ambush, he thought. Riflemen hidden atop one of those mesas would have a good vantage point.
But the sides of most of the formations appeared to be sheer. Men might be able to climb some of them, but it would be difficult.
Knowing that didn’t stop Sam from worrying. He had survived more than one bushwhack attempt already in the past eight or nine days. It might be pushing his luck to live through another.
“Where in blazes did the tracks go?” Lowry suddenly asked.
Sam studied the ground, then looked over at Stovepipe, who nodded.
“They’re gone, all right,” the range detective said. “Maybe we can pick ’em up on the other side of these mesas.”
“Let’s have a look,” Boyd said. “Those cows had to go somewhere.”
But when they emerged from the cluster of rock formations, half an hour of searching turned up no sign that the cattle had come this way, even to the keen eyes of Sam and Stovepipe.
“That’s just loco!” Wilbur said. “They went in there. They had to come out somewhere!”
“Maybe they doubled back and come out on the same side they went on,” Stovepipe suggested. “Might be a good idea if we was to split up, Mr. Boyd, and make a circle around the whole place.”
“Don’t let them talk you into that, John Henry,” Lowry warned. “If they split us up, it’ll be easier for somebody to jump us.”
Stovepipe frowned.
“All that mistrust is gettin’ a mite annoyin’,” he said.
“I’m not splitting my men,” Boyd decided. “But we’ll circle around these mesas like you said, Stewart. That sounds like a good idea to me. Your friend’s right about one thing ... Those cows have to be somewhere.”
With Sam and Stovepipe leading the way, watched hawkishly by Lowry, the group started around the area dotted with mesas. It was pretty extensive, so circling it took more than an hour.
They found the place where they had followed the tracks among the mesas, but that was all. By the time they got back to where they had started on the far side, Sam had to admit that something odd had happened.
The rustled cattle had gone in there, but they hadn’t come out.
“There’s only one answer,” he said.
“Yeah, I agree,” Stovepipe said.
“What are you talking about?” Boyd asked.
Stovepipe pointed at the sky with a thumb. Sam nodded in agreement with him.
“What the hell!” Lowry exploded. “You’re sayin’ those cows sprouted wings and flew away? Because that makes as much sense as thinkin’ they climbed one of these mesas.”
“We just need to look harder,” Sam said. “We missed something.”
Lowry snorted to show how much stock he put in that.
The tops of some of the mesas were probably a square mile in area, Sam thought, maybe even a little more than that. There might be enough grass growing on one of those to support a small herd of fifty head, plus the horses of the rustlers who had stolen them.
If he was right about the motive behind the rustling—that it was intended solely to stir up Boyd and the other ranchers in the area to the point where they would support a war against the Navajo—then the thieves wouldn’t care about the money they could make from selling the cows. They could let the stock starve on top of a mesa and still come out ahead.
That still left the question of how the rustlers could have gotten the cattle up there, but Sam figured if they found the right mesa, they would also find the answer. For now, all they could do was look.
And that depended on John Henry Boyd.
The rancher rubbed his jaw again as he frowned in thought. Finally, he nodded.
“Let’s take a closer look at all these mesas,” he said. He added, “And get your rifles out. I’ve got a bad feeling crawling around in my guts.”
Sam understood that. He had the same feeling.
The men rode around the base of each mesa as they came to it, looking for some sort of hidden trail. In some places, it was hard to get close because over the centuries huge slabs of rock had broken loose from the sides of the mesas and fallen around them.
It was possible some of those slabs might conceal the start of a trail, Sam thought. It wouldn’t have to be very wide. With only fifty cows to hide, the animals could be driven up single file if need be.
The sun blasted down, making the air so hot and dry it seemed to sear the lungs if a man took a deep breath. Sam was grateful for the shade provided by the hat he had bought back in Flat Rock. As the search continued, the sweating men became more impatient and frustrated.
Finally, Pete Lowry said, “This is crazy. There aren’t any cows on top of these mesas, John Henry. It just ain’t possible.”
“Then we got to admit them critters vanished into thin air,” Stovepipe said. “And I’m havin’ a hard time believin’ that.”
“So am I,” Boyd said. “We’ll keep looking.”
“It’s already so late we won’t be able to make it back to the ranch today,” Lowry pointed out.
“The boys we left there will be able to look after things. I want those cattle. More than that, I want whoever shot two of my punchers. They’re not gonna get away with that, by God.”
Lowry grumbled to himself but didn’t argue anymore.
Sam gazed toward one of the largest mesas, which sat about three hundred yards away. It rose some eighty feet to its table-like top. Slabs of red stone littered the ground around its base, and lightning-like cracks in the rock zigzagged their way up the walls in places.
Sam frowned. There was something about the mesa ...
“That’s it,” he said under his breath as understanding dawned inside him.
“What did you find, son?” Stovepipe asked as he brought his horse alongside Sam’s mount. The range detective kept his voice pitched low.
Equally quietly, Sam said, “Look at those cracks, Stovepipe. On some of them, the slope is gentle enough a cow could make it up them.”
“Yeah, but most places, they ain’t. I’m lookin’, but I don’t see one anybody could climb that goes all the way to the top.”
“But look at the line connecting one crack to the next one.”
“What line? I don’t see any—” Stovepipe stopped as his eyes narrowed. “Son of a gun. Is that a ledge?”
“I think so. It’s narrow enough that it’s hard to see, but it runs almost level over to another crack.”
“And there’s another one a mite higher up leadin’ to the next crack after that,” Stovepipe said. “They’re like steppin’-stones, with little ramps in between. You don’t notice the ledges because your eyes are fol-lowin’ the cracks.”