Then I recalled Old Bill Williams, and what Joe Walker had told me about the characters from Arizona who used to steal horses in California and drive them across the desert to sell in Arizona ... or the other way around. Maybe somebody was still doing it.
Horses meant water; and wherever these horses were going, it was a place known to the drovers, who were heading them right across country toward something.
That something must mean a hide-out, a camp. And that meant grub. It also could mean a horse for me.
Hunkered down among those big old rocks, I gave study to the problem. If the men driving the horses were thieves, they wouldn't take it kindly of me to come upon them, and they might start blasting at me with firearms. Nevertheless, they would have grub, which I needed, and they would have horses.
For maybe a half-hour I held my place, and gave the time to studying the country around.
You never saw such a jumble of boulders, heaped-up rock, and cactus in your life.
And then of a sudden I recalled what I'd been told about a balanced rock near a Hidden Valley, a rock like a huge potato.
For there, not more than a few hundred yards off, was just such a rock.
The trouble was, in a jumble of rocks such as that a man might look for years and not find the entrance to the valley unless he was mighty lucky, or found some tracks. And there was likely a lookout somewhere up among the rocks. No matter--I had to take my look.
Right at that moment I didn't much care. I was hungry, and I was dead tired, and I had been put upon by the men hunting that woman. They had taken my outfit and they had left me for dead, and before this thing was over they would pay through their hides.
So I started to follow those tracks.
"You huntin' something?"
The voice came out of nowhere. I was smart enough to freeze right in my tracks, and when I looked up I saw a man standing there with a Winchester aimed at my belt buckle. He was a rough-looking character wearing a flat-brimmed hat and beat-up chaps.
"You're damned right I am," I said irritably. "I'm hunting three square meals and a horse."
He chuckled at me. "Now you don't tell me you come all this way afoot?"
"No," I said, "I been set afoot. And when I get up in the middle of a horse I'm headed for Los Angeles to find those who left me."
"You a Los Angeles hombre?"
"Arizona," I said. "I started over here to buy horses and goods to take back, and in Hardyville I ran into th woman."
He lowered his rifle. "You don't look like the law," he said, "so come along. We can feed you, anyway."
He walked over to some rocks and he said, "You've got to crawl." He indicated a hole where two rocks sort of leaned together, and I got down and crawled through the hole. When I stood up, I was inside of Hidden Valley.
From where I could see, it looked to be at least a half-mile long, although some of it may have been out of sight. The two walls of rock, mostly heaped-up boulders, were only a few hundred feet apart. Scattered over the bottom of the valley, there must have been sixty or seventy head of good horses.
This gent who showed me in pointed with his Winchester and we walked along the wall of rock where there were some caves and a spring ... and lots of bees buzzing about.
There was a smidgin of fire going, and three or four gents sprawled around. They sat up when we came into sight.
"What you got there, Willie?" It was a tall man with some teeth missing. "You caught you a pigeon?"
"You think I'm a pigeon," I said, "you just stack your duds and grease your skids and I'll whup you down to a frazzle. ... After I've been fed."
So they asked me about it, and I laid it on the line for them, having no cause to lie, and they listened. Only thing I didn't tell them was that last shot fired at me. Seemed to me they'd be more sympathetic if they figured I'd been left afoot a-purpose.
Willie put down his rifle and shook out a cup and filled it with coffee. "Start on that.
Even if we decide to shoot you, you'll take it better on a full stomach."
"They'd no cause to set you afoot," the tall man said irritably.
Like the Good Book said, I had fallen among thieves, but they were a rough and ready lot, having no bones to pick with me, and no man likes it to be set afoot.
When I'd eaten a mess of beans, some sourdough bread with honey, and about two pounds of good bacon, I pushed back and relaxed with another cup of coffee.
"We'd better give him a horse, Charlie," Willie said. "If he eats like that we can't pack grub enough to feed him."
Charlie rolled a smoke, and when he had lit up he said, "Did you get a good look at any of those men?"
When I had given a description of them--and I'd not found it necessary to tell about the men killed in the gun battle further north--Charlie looked over at Willie and said, "This here friend of yours has bought himself a packet. I figure we should let him have a horse."
Willie and Charlie Button they were, and known men. Somehow they had come upon this Hidden Valley and were using it to hide stolen stock ...
I had my own hunch about that, believing they had learned of it from Peg-Leg Smith, who devoted more time to horse stealing than to losing mines.
"What I can't figure," I said, "is how you get those horses in here in the first place.
That's a mighty small hole for a horse."
I didn't get an answer to this.
"You tell me you like to travel by dark,"
Willie said. "All right, you rest up today. When dark comes we'll give you a horse and point you right. The rest is up to you."
"I'll be obliged."
They never said ary a word about me saying nothing about their hide-out, nor did they need to.
Sure enough, Willie showed me out through the same hole by which I crawled in, and when we got outside there was Charlie and a couple of others with a fine-looking sorrel horse.
"The horse is yours," Charlie said. "You ride him on out of here."
Well, I couldn't avoid it somehow. I just looked at Charlie and said, "How good is my title to this horse?"
Charlie grinned at me. "If you're ridin' west your title is good; if you're ridin' toward Arizona, it ain't good."
Title or not, those boys loaned me a good horse. He just reached out those long legs of his and went away from there, and with the bait of grub they packed for me, I made an easy ride of it.
The hotel of Mr. Gabriel Allen was the place to put up, and when I'd paid my bit from the few dollars of gold in my pockets, I arranged for a bath and bought a razor and soap.
Nobody had got at the money in my pockets, carried for day-to-day expense, so now I went the whole hog and spent twelve dollars for a new suit of clothes. Things seemed almighty high here in the city, for I could have bought the same suit in Prescott for ten dollars.
Of course, this wasn't actually the city--Los Angeles was still thirteen or fourteen miles off -comb prices were the same. I spent another dollar and a half for a white shirt, and when the man offered to throw in a necktie if I bought two more, I did so.
A boy on the corner blacked my boots for a nickel, so when I finally mounted up to ride into Los Angeles I was dressed for the city, and looked elegant enough for any of those fine homes along San Pedro or Main streets.
So I rode into town and put up at the Pico House, which was the biggest, finest-looking building I ever did see. It had been opened in 1870, and was all of three stories high and built of blue granite. It stood right on the corner of Main Street and the Plaza.
The room they gave me was almost as large as our whole cabin back in the mountains, and when I had brushed up and combed my hair again, I checked my gun. Somebody owed me some horses, thirty pounds of gold, and a couple of good saddles, and I was going to have them back.