Novel 1972 - Callaghen (v5.0) Read Online Free PDF

on his person.
    These he now put down on the table before him. There were a ring with three keys, a few odd coins, and in a small leather poke, ten gold eagles—a good sum for an army officer to be carrying. There was also a letter, and a receipt for storage of a trunk, which had been left at a hotel in Los Angeles. And last of all, put inside the poke in such a way that it seemed merely another thickness…a rectangular piece of doeskin, and on it some arrows, circles, and rows of xx’s.
    It was a map of the Mohave Desert, the xx’s indicating mountain ranges; the circles were waterholes. Death Valley was not shown; the Colorado River, however, was drawn with great care. The west coast and the mountains separating the desert from the sea were not shown. To one who did not know the desert, the map would mean little, and there was no indication of what it might be meant to show.
    Whoever had drawn it had no exact knowledge of the desert. Several small mountain ranges were left out, by accident or on purpose. The only section drawn with any detail, was of a rugged range of mountains that lay to the east of where they had ridden on patrol, and of the route that led to it from the Colorado River.
    After a moment’s thought, Callaghen put the map inside his shirt, and carefully packed everything else, and carried the duffel bag and saber to Captain Hill’s quarters.
    Hill glanced at the things. “You take charge of them. There will be a rider leaving for San Bernardino tomorrow. Send it with him.”
    Callaghen walked back to his shelter. Croker looked up as he entered. He looked at the duffel bag. “You fixin’ up Allison’s gear? Too bad about him.”
    “He was a good man. I think he would have made it.”
    “You got to learn fast out here. When it comes to Injuns, if you flunk the course you lose your hair.”
    Croker studied the duffel bag. “He didn’t carry much, did he? You’d figure a man of family, like he was, would carry more stuff to make things easy. Last post I was on, when a young officer came in he brought all sorts of extra grub, and other things.”
    “I know nothing about Allison’s family. He did leave an address—a sister, or something. I am sending his stuff to her.”
    “Yeah? Hill sure depends on you. What you got on him?”
    “Nothing,” Callaghen said. “He needs help, that’s all. With Allison gone, he has no one to help.”
    He did not like Croker, and wanted to avoid his questions, but did not want to make an issue of it. The man was tough. He had a bad flesh wound, but once it was bound up he had come through the long march in better shape than Walsh, who was unhurt. Good or bad, the man was a stayer, and he was the kind the frontier needed.
    Callaghen’s mind was busy with the curious map. He thought that whoever had gone through Allison’s stuff had been looking for it…but it might have been somebody just hoping to find a bottle of whiskey.
    The map now…it was obviously old. Whoever had made it had worked from the Colorado River westward and northward, and apparently knew nothing at all of the country that lay between this camp and the coast.
    Nor did the mountain ranges lie as they should. The mapmaker had probably had no compass, and had not been able to locate himself in relation to the cardinal points. The skin was beautifully tanned, probably by an Indian.
    But why a map at all? And how had Allison come into possession of it?
    He considered Captain Hill. A good man, but a tired one. Nearing fifty years of age, without influence and probably without anything spectacular in his record, he would be shunted from post to post now, with no hope of promotion. A good man lost in the shuffle. He would be nearing retirement, a patient man who did his duty from day to day, just one of the men who help to make the whole machine work.
    As he cleaned his rifle and the pistol he had acquired from the lieutenant, Callaghen considered all the aspects of the situation. Gradually, he got