Uncertain Justice

Chapter 39

The canyon through which he'd been traveling was a narrow cut in what had been the northeastern corner of a gigantic flat-topped mesa that had been part of the Colorado plateau in primeval times. Very soon, scarcely more than three million years, the fragment split off from the mesa would be ground away by the elements.

A river flowing north from high mountains had worn away the southeastern portion of the mesa eons ago but had been forced to turn east when balked by solid granite deeper in the mesa's guts. The prehistoric river worked at the more pliable rock formations nearby and became wider. As the climate warmed, deep glaciers began to melt. The river deepened and ran faster as it rose on the mesa's wall. In time, it found a softer layer of rock and abandoned its eastward channel. The roiling waters gouged a passage north through the rest of the mesa until connecting with a tributary that disgorged itself into the vast inland sea covering much of Nebraska and regions to the south.

As the flow increased to its maximum at the very end of the ice age, the river widened further and ate away more of the mesa. A small valley developed between the mesa and the range of new mountains born of extinct volcanoes to the east. Silt began to settle at the bottom of the stream. As the glaciers receded, the level of the river fell until it no longer reached the cleft in the mesa and the current resumed its easterly course at the point where it had earlier boiled through the narrow channel. In modern times, with the river fed only by melting snow and the meager remnants of glaciers in the high mountains, it became a tamer stream meandering through a valley of its own making.

Miles had hiked through the remains of the cut through the mesa whose granite heart was exposed in layers as clearly defined as in the Grand Canyon. After walking from mid-morning through late afternoon, he'd come to the open valley on the mesa's southeastern perimeter.

The valley was absolutely beautiful. Small, enclosed by elevations all around, but beautiful.

The mesa loomed hundreds of feet above him to his right front and behind him. To his left front lay the valley, flat as a billiard table, and lush and inviting in the sun. To his left, a mountain ridge running north and south formed a boundary a few miles to the east. On this side of the valley a river glinted in the sun. It ran close to the mesa's sheer cliffs, changing course to the east virtually at his feet.

Beyond a small field of jumbled boulders of all sizes in front of him was a small triangular field of grass and trees bounded on the north and west by the vertical walls of the mesa and on the south and east by the river.

With nowhere else to go, he passed through the boulders and walked slowly into the small park. The deep grass cushioned his steps as he marched beside the stream--something he appreciated after the hours just passed of walking on the unforgiving rock surface of the canyon trail.

The river was thirty-five or forty feet across, the water only five or six feet deep over a rocky bed where he stood but he could see a sandy bottom just ahead at a bend that disappeared around a point of the cliff that stood at his right hand. As a barrier between the tiny pasture on this side and the much larger expanse of grass and trees on the other, the stream wasn't much, but it looked like it would be a good source of food. The silvery flashes of large trout were everywhere.

The high ridge rising precipitously on the eastern boundary of the valley had its long axis running down to the southwest. Seeming to spring from the valley floor itself, the mountain's lower slopes were huge talus fields where millennia of tumbling rocks had landed. Above the scree, vertical cliffs alternated with marginally less steep inclines that angled upward from north to south. As he watched, a dust cloud announced a new rockslide rattling down to add to the mass of debris at the base.

On the far end, Miles could see a distinctively shaped peak of solid granite towering into the sky. Rising from a sixty-degree slope, the peak was perpendicular for hundreds of feet--its four sides forming a neat rectangle whose sides vaguely faced the four major points of the compass. An irregular pyramid topped the rectangle, rising to an impossibly sharp point thousands of feet above the valley floor.

Shading his eyes with his outstretched palm, he could see more mountains to the south and west. They were cloaked in gathering clouds that promised the usual Rocky Mountain afternoon showers would arrive soon. As he watched, a hazy curtain of rain began marching through the distant peaks toward him.

He began to walk southwest along the river. His head was on a swivel as he tried to take in everything at once. The fish in the stream were much larger than the small brook and rainbow trout he'd caught and eaten for the past few weeks. Half seen flashes in dark pools near the bank hinted at even bigger ones waiting for a hungry man to catch. His mouth watered. He was ready for fish again after too many days of nothing but venison.

The meadow grass appeared to have been trampled in places and several areas had been cropped short by grazing animals. Shading his eyes, Miles could see a small herd of deer or elk across the stream, unconcernedly making their way between two clumps of trees but there were none in sight on this side.

He stopped short at a rustle in the brush not too far from his feet. Not sure what he'd found, Miles' right hand slapped the butt of the pistol holstered across his belly. He grimaced as a long-eared rabbit skipped into view. He let out the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and let his hand drop away from the weapon. The rabbit stopped and watched Miles calmly as it munched a bit of greenery.

"Not afraid of me, are ya?" Miles mused aloud. "That, sir ... or madam ... will change soon," he promised. The fish in the stream and an occasional rabbit would be a nice change from the deer meat he had been eating almost exclusively for the past week. He waved good-bye to the bundle of fur and pressed on, finally startling the animal. The rabbit dove back into the brush from which he'd emerged.

Now that he was closer, he could see the river was an abrupt three or four feet drop from the top of its banks. The rich clay supported a heavy growth of grass in the meadow that ran right to the edge of the river but the layer of soil was comparatively shallow. Beneath the dark soil was a clear base of hard rock. There was little in the way of a beach beside the stream. Trees, old and young, were scattered haphazardly here and there.

He wandered south along the river, watching the water more than his path. Here the channel paralleled the mesa towering high into the western sky. A few hundred yards ahead the cliff came close to the water's edge. The current was moving at a fair clip; quick enough that there were ripples and eddies in the lee of several big rocks.

He was uneasy confined in this small corner of the valley. There was an unclimbable cliff to his right ... a sheer wall from which couch-sized boulders crashed down from time to time. There were a number of them scattered around--most of them tight against the sheer wall but others had rolled a good distance away. A few had made it as far as the river and force the stream to flow around them. Many were half buried in the ground but others were from more recent falls.

He looked up warily but saw nothing rocketing toward him from above--yet. If that sheer rock wall wasn't enough, the river was itself a barrier on his left. He saw no signs the stream ever flooded the fields, but still....

Uneasiness evolved into a strong desire to avoid being caught beside a rain-fed river that might suddenly rise. This side of the stream could be a fatal trap so he pushed on, lengthening and quickening his steps. There might be a ford on the other side of the rocky point that would offer an easy crossing. It would be safer over there, he reasoned.

The cliff edge did not completely cut off the meadow from what lay beyond. There was a space of nine or ten feet between the water and the cliff. The passage was thirty or thirty-five feet in length and shaded by a couple of big trees and saplings. Dense underbrush filled the spaces between the trees.

A faint game trail passed through the thickets around the point. Most of the tracks there were too old, the edges rounded and crumpled to tell what they were, but a few deep impressions made by the sharp hooves of several deer were clear to see.

He rounded the point to find the sheer cliff fell back from the river again. Another grass and tree covered meadow spread from the river's bank to the cliff on his right. Half a mile south another point pinched off the new meadow against the water. He barely noticed.

His eyes were on the river, hunting for the crossing used by the deer whose tracks he'd seen. The game trail he'd found nearly disappeared as the tracks diverged but enough remained that he was able to follow it until he found a place where numerous tracks came out of the water and others faced in the opposite direction. This had to be the ford he'd been hoping to find.

"Excellent," breathed the concerned fugitive. The fields were so open and small on this side of the river that he couldn't have missed seeing any deer if they were around. The tracks meant the animals crossed the stream here and if they could cope with the depth and rush of the water so could he. Miles' spirits revived as relief flooded through him. He wasn't trapped. He vented his feelings with a shout.

"Yeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" The high-pitched reply, mimicking his own yell, came instantly from behind him, magnified, and split into several voices. Miles flinched, spinning in his tracks to find the source of the yelling.

He grabbed for the pistol, hauling it out as he whirled. The chorus of screams pointed to a group of unfriendlies somewhere behind him. His eyes tracked wildly from left to right, trying to find the danger.

It wasn't there. Nothing moved.

"Ah, s**t!" he ground out, dropping the g*n's muzzle to point at the ground. "You i***t!" he added, scolding himself for being so completely surprised. He holstered the revolver. The source of the echoes was clear.

After negotiating the point, his attention had been on the stream. He'd been aware the rock wall receded again to form another, and larger, park-like clearing but he hadn't paid much attention except to note there were no deer or elk here either. He'd seen only the water to his left while he concentrated on finding a path across.

Fifty feet up the cliff face, a layer of softer rock had yielded to the abrasion of running water through the eons and a deeply concave section in the mesa wall had developed, just right to reflect echoes out across the meadow, the stream, and the fields on the other side. One weaker section of rock had yielded more to the elements than the rest and a shallow cave sixty or seventy yards long, a hundred feet high, and twenty-five or thirty feet in depth had been carved into the cliff.