As quickly as he could, Longarm eased himself down the side of the rock, and then skirted along its southern border until he could slip carefully into the opening. Once there, he made his way to the northern side of the Outcropping without leaving any sign. It was about fifty or sixty yards across. Then he carefully moved on to the next part of the butte, which was almost a sheer wall. He stepped carefully from one small rock to another until he was some hundred yards on beyond. He knew that he was running a risk because he could be seen from the house. But now, he didn’t care. Then he changed his right sandal to the one with the notch, and began moving around leaving obvious signs, though not so obvious that Claude would think he was doing it on purpose. Obvious only to the eye of a trained tracker. He let his footsteps take him inside the opening of the horseshoe-shaped formation. He went all the way to the back of it, some fifty, sixty, seventy yards, stepping carefully from rock to rock, but being careful to slip every once in a while and leave the deadly mark of the notch. He let the steps take him up to where he had spotted a ledge that stuck out prominently, some ten yards up. There he stopped, and then backed his way out, this time leaving a clean trail. He climbed up the north side of the rocks that made up the horseshoe and clambered to the top. Once on the top, he skirted around the sides of the top of the horseshoe until he was back to the highest and also the broadest point. There was a ledge there that hung out over the whole area below. He wanted Claude to come in and follow his footprints, his trail, to where he had led him. After that, it was going to be a test of skill.
From his position, Longarm was able to see back toward the ranch house. Some parts of the walk that Claude would make if he followed Longarm’s trail around to the north would be obscured from his vision. It could be that Claude would appear suddenly at the mouth of the butte, or he could decide to come around it all the way and make his approach from the northeast. Longarm couldn’t be sure. To get a better vantage point, he crept along below the crest of the ridge until he was over the spot where he had made it appear that he had found a hiding place in the rocks. At least, that was where his trail led, the trail with the sandal with the notched heel. He wanted Claude to go to that spot and begin to climb.
Longarm got around to the north side of the ridge, and cautiously peered over the next formation. He could just barely make out a figure walking east but still well to the north. The man appeared to be wearing some kind of long garment. Longarm couldn’t imagine what he’d be doing in a duster or a raincoat, if that was what it was. It was too hot for such a garment. As he watched, he saw the figure begin to turn toward the south, toward the buttes, the rocks, and the outcroppings. He tested the blade of the machete for the first time. He had carried it mostly in his left hand, not paying much attention to it. He didn’t think much of it as a weapon, and after he tested the blade, he thought even less. It was as dull as a dull knife could be. In fact, it was as dull on one side as it was on the other. The point wasn’t even very pointy. As a weapon, it was practically useless. It wasn’t sharp enough to be used as a knife or heavy enough to be used as a club. He swore softly to himself. It was another example of the Nelsons’ deceit.
He watched carefully as Claude neared. Now, he could see him clearly. He was wearing some kind of big coat that reached almost to his ankles. He had on a felt hat, but he was wearing that big coat and gloves. In his hand, he was carrying a revolver. The barrel length was nine inches, but it looked like a bigger caliber than .38 to Longarm.
Then Claude disappeared, and Longarm could hear him casting about in the first circle of rocks and buttes. They were very muted sounds, just the clink of one rock against another, the sound of a man brushing up against a boulder. He was moving softly and carefully. He didn’t have a trail now to follow Longarm, and wouldn’t pick it up until he came far enough south to find the trail at the mouth of the horseshoe. Longarm tried to put his mind into that of Claude Nelson’s. There was enough grass and enough rocks that he could credit Longarm with being able to leave no sign after a certain point in his flight east. But the ground inside the area of the buttes was all bare and dusty and there was no way not to leave a trail. He knew that Claude was carefully making his way from north to south, his revolver cocked, ready to fire at the first sign of anything.
It had grown well past dusk now, and the moon was starting to rise. It was still almost as light as day, though the sunshine was vanishing fast. The buttes were casting eerie shadows on the harsh landscape as Longarm looked down from his perch. He figured it would take Claude another half hour to work his way toward the southern semicircle of rock ledges. He might turn and go the other way, but Longarm doubted it, since Claude began casting about on the western side. Longarm was lying atop the rock ledge where he couldn’t be seen from either the west side or the east side. The realization that the machete was worthless was greatly troubling him. He did not know what he could use for a weapon. From where he was, it was about a twelve-foot drop down to the floor of the desert, almost a sheer drop with nothing but a ledge here or there to leap from. He lay quietly, now and again looking at his watch and listening to the night getting quieter except for the sounds that Claude made in his search.
Longarm guessed that forty-five minutes to an hour had passed since Claude had first approached the line of buttes when he suddenly appeared in the mouth of the horseshoe rock ledge. Longarm could only see him indistinctly as he was sixty or seventy yards away and the light was fading fast. By now, Longarm had found a rock that suited his purposes. It was about the size of a big loaf of bread, and he reckoned it weighed about fifteen or twenty pounds. The sight of Claude had startled him for a second, but then it had answered the question about the long garment the man was wearing. The man had on a heavy leather overcoat. It made Longarm almost want to laugh. He could see that the purpose, clearly, was to render the machete useless. The machete wouldn’t have cut hot butter, much less such thick leather. Longarm supposed that they considered him dumb enough that he would charge Claude with a machete in hopes of getting in one swipe, and when that stroke failed, he would find himself helpless against the weapon that Claude Nelson was carrying.
He saw Claude discover the trail of notched sandaled tracks. He saw him get down on his hands and knees and study it in the dim light. He could almost see the satisfaction on Claude’s face as he stood up and advanced into the opening, carrying his revolver at the ready now with the hammer back. It made Longarm want to smile, and if the stakes hadn’t been so high, he would have. He liked his position. He was about five feet from where his false trail would lead Claude to the rock face. It was all he wanted. It was all the edge he needed. As carefully and as silently as he could, he slipped the canteen and the food sack off his arm. The machete he left lying where it was. Now he lay stretched out, the loaf of rock in his hands, one hand holding each end. Claude came forward, following the trail toward the rock face. Longarm began to gather himself. There was a jagged outcrop to his left that allowed him to get partially to his knees and yet keep Claude from observing him. But it wouldn’t have mattered. Claude had his head down, his gun out, and was following the trail right straight to where Longarm wanted him.