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It was the panicked bleating of the flock that grabbed her attention. Vaulting from the saddle and sliding the battered 1895 Winchester rifle from it's scabbard, she scrambled up the rocks to where Miguel stood, waving frantically. She had to scramble aside as the lead ewe leaped over the edge of the high edge of the tunnel's mouth, followed by the vanguard of the terrified herd. Wishing she had remembered her kerchief, Eliza choked on the cloud of dust thrown up from the small sharp hooves, causing her to squint as she tried to locate her lead shepherd. The now-growing rush of fleeing woolies formed a river between the two as they stood on either side of the the tunnel's mouth.

Leading into a small valley at the foot of the Sangres, it was one of the few places that could be relied upon to catch the tiny flow of water of the only known spring... this side of the Forbidden Valley, anyway. the stampeding hooves and the bleats made hearing Miguel's words impossible, only his wild gesticulations towards the other side of the giant tunnel could be seen. Only when the greater part of the flock had passed and scrambled down to the desert floor could she make out one phrase...



"...a.....tue.......blo! ....ui? Signora! ... ES EL DIABLO!"

Again he gestured with his crook down the passage.

She felt her blood go suddenly cold, even in the heat of the summer drought that had driven her to chance the flock this far into the Sangres.

"He's never been seen this side of the Black Ridge!" she screamed, desperate that the old mestitzo might be mistaken. "How could he have gotten out of the Valley?"

Then she remembered. Dobbs.
The prospector's mule packed with cases of dynamite and his refusal to talk at all about his latest expedition to find the legendary Naranjal mine... He wouldn't have... only a madman would enter that Valley....

The screaming roar caused her to jump, confirming her worst fears. Like the roar of a bull, the scream of an eagle and the hiss of a snake combined, and louder than any river-boat whistle she ever heard, it could only be the king of the Valley himself.

"Get out of here!" She yelled to Miguel, waving away his protests "Get the flock down to the riverbed!"

She thought about running back down the cliff and mounting her horse and riding hell-bent-for-leather out of this canyon and all the way back to Virginia. She thought about the years she and her now-dead Samuel spent building this ranch up from nothing. the thought about how every single sheep in that flock was one small thread that kept her homestead from failing in this hard year.

"Damn lizards!" she growled, remembering the tales of the lone survivor of the last group to enter that strange and Godless place.

Then she jacked the lever of her husband's .405, loading the heavy brass cartridge into the chamber and readied herself for whatever may come around the bend of the ravine ahead....














Another of my "Cavegirls series, done in one of my "Valley of Gwangi" moods.

Pen, conte and graphite



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