Grant and the girl looked at the big man and Borden himself answered.
“Half-brother to Dysart. We had the same mother. I was kicked out early. He collected the old man’s inheritance. I went to him a couple times for help. He gave me ten dollars and a feed once. That was all. He owned three ranches at the time. Couldn’t even find a job for me! His own blood! Next time, he had his men run me off his land and told ’em to put a bullet in me if ever I showed my face around there again.”
“Uh-huh,” Cato said. “Guess you was an easy recruit to help Grant and the gal, huh?”
Borden shrugged. “I wasn’t about to pass up the chance to stick a knife into Dysart. The fact I was gettin’ paid for it, only made it that much sweeter.”
Cato snorted. “Paid? You figure these two would’ve kept their word and coughed-up with your share?” he scoffed.
Borden swung his dark eyes to Dolores and Grant who faced him, tight-lipped. “They damn well better,” he said quietly.
“Hell, man, never any thought of not payin’-up!” Grant said forcing a laugh and casually walking over to kick Cato hard in the ribs. “Can’t you see what he’s doin’? Tryin’ to stir you up, turn you agin us, get us at each other’s throats.”
Borden had to think about it for a spell but he finally nodded, then leaned down and backhanded Cato hard across the face, sending the Enforcer sprawling over onto his side, nose bleeding.
“Son of a bitch,” the big man said without heat. “Well, you’ve had your fun. But you’re about out of time, amigo.”
He started to draw his Colt but Dolores stepped forward and placed a cool hand on his wrist. Borden frowned at her as she smiled faintly.
“Not yet. He mentioned ‘we’ several times when he was talking with me, before he realized I didn’t want to leave.” She smiled wider. “You set that up well, Borden, you and the others pretending to be occupied with non-existent whores, giving this man a chance to show his true colors. It worked, but I think we should find out if he has any friends waiting nearby. I have the distinct impression that this is the case.”
Borden nodded slowly and turned his gaze down to Cato. He bared his teeth and twisted his fingers in the man’s hair, yanking his head back brutally, exposing his bleeding face. He shook Cato roughly.
“That right, amigo? Huh?” He shook him again. “Guess you and me’d better have ourselves a leetle talk, huh? What you say? Huh?”
Each time Borden said ‘huh?’, he drove his fist down into Cato’s face.
Yancey Bannerman knew Cato was in trouble. The hour after dark had come and gone and now the stars were fully visible.
He turned to Asa Purdy who was sitting on a rock, chewing on some tough meat jerky. It was a cold camp. They hadn’t wanted to light fires in case the Mexicans saw them and decided to come after them, and investigate.
But there were sounds of a fiesta in town getting under way and it didn’t seem as if there would be any reconnoitering by the Mexicans: they apparently had plenty in town to keep them occupied.
Yancey was aware that Morg Purdy was standing close behind his father’s rock, holding his Hawken rifle, alert for any sign of Cato or anyone else on the trail out from town.
“Something’s gone wrong,” Yancey said.
“Looks that way,” Asa agreed, teeth ripping at the leathery jerky.
“Johnny would be here by now or he’d have made some sort of signal if he was gonna be late,” Yancey insisted. “If he had to, he’d even get off a couple shots with that Manstopper of his just to let us know he was at least still alive. But just nothing.” He paused and shook his head worriedly. “Means bad trouble. So I’m going in, Asa.”
“Get yourself killed like a damn fool,” the outlaw told him.
“Chance I’ll have to take.”
“You’re loco,” growled Morg, leaning on the rock. “Best wait till daylight and get the lay of things from up on the butte. We got field-glasses.”
“He might be dead by then,” Yancey said. “You wait here. I’ll get back if I can. If I can’t—” He shrugged. “Well, you’re your own man, Asa. You don’t need me to tell you what to do.”
Purdy grunted and went on eating. Yancey waited. He didn’t know what for, but he kind of expected the Purdys to say something else. Then he realized that it didn’t matter a damn to them what he did, as long as he didn’t jeopardize their safety. The only reason they were interested in getting the girl loose at all was simply so that they could take her back and prove that it hadn’t been the real Buckskinners who had pulled that raid and the subsequent kidnapping.
He wasn’t even sure whether they were going to try to get her back alive or not. Just so long as they got her back ...
“Adios then,” Yancey said abruptly turning away.
He was mounted when he realized Morgan Purdy had followed him to the horse. The man was holding the animal’s reins near the bit. His face was a pale blur as he looked up at Yancey.
“You get caught, you make damn sure you don’t say nothin’ about the rest of us out here, mister.”
Yancey wrenched the horse’s head hard and felt it jar against Morg’s face, sending the man staggering. Then he jammed home his heels and galloped out of the dry wash, swinging around to approach the lights of the town from due north.
By the time he reached the outskirts, there was a wild party of some kind going on in a cantina and it seemed to have overflowed into the plaza. The market house was illuminated and a bar for food and drink had been set up. There were crowds in the plaza, drinking and yelling.
It formed just the sort of cover that Yancey needed.
He dismounted in an alley, stood holding the reins in the darkness as he scanned the moving crowd. There was no sign of Cato or any gringos at all. Looking about, he saw the stables and worked his way around there during the next twenty minutes.
No one was on duty. He left his mount with trailing reins and walked down the aisle, looking into the stalls. Second last stall on the left he found Cato’s horse. The saddle rig hung on a peg in the wall and Yancey swiftly saddled the animal and led it out. Holding the reins of both animals, he walked them into the darkness away from the noise of the plaza and climbed up onto the low roof of a lean-to kitchen attached to an adobe house that was in darkness.
From there, he could see most of the town. Much of it was in darkness now. There was an explosion of light in the plaza and immediately around it. Beyond the fiesta area, nearly every house was without lights.
But there were lights showing in the mission tower. On two levels.
Yancey thoughtfully stroked his chin. The mission tower. A good place to hold a prisoner. A good place from which to keep a lookout for enemies. He glanced down at the church area beside it. No lights. Total darkness. Not even the glimmer of a candle burning on an altar.
Yancey rarely ignored his hunches and he had a strong one now that he would find Cato and Dolores Dysart in that mission tower.
And the fake Buckskinners, too.
It would be a mighty big job for one man to tackle, but there was no time now to go back for Asa Purdy’s men. Cato was too long overdue.
Yancey climbed down from the roof and led the horses through devious back alleys and lanes to a place not thirty yards from the mission tower. He nodded slowly. It was a good choice, all right, as there was a large area of empty ground all around the church buildings. No one could approach unseen.
Burlap was hung over the windows of the ground floor room and he could make out the vague shapes of men moving around in there. The upper floor had no drapes of any kind at the windows, but it was too high for him to see in. Then he flattened himself against the dark wall at his back as the door in the lower room opened and a wedge of light spilled across the ground. Shadows of men weaved across the wedge as a group stepped out into the night. Another man remained in the doorway, a big man, bearded, wearing buckskins. “Keep your eyes skinned,” the big man said in a deep voice. “Have fun, but watch out. This
son of a bitch says he was alone and I halfway believe him after the beatin’ he took. But he might be tougher’n he looks, so keep watchful.”
“Okay, Borden,” a man answered. “Won’t be no Enforcers get past us.”
“You just keep one hand for them señoritas, and the other for trouble!” Borden growled and then closed the door as the group of men moved off, muttering.
Yancey wasn’t sure how many there were. They were in a tight knot and he figured there was six or seven men, talking among themselves, eager to join in the fiesta. They were all gun hung and he figured they could well be the bunch who had pulled the Houston raid. At least he knew Borden was still inside.
And could be Cato, too, judging by what the big man had said. There might be others, including the girl ...
There was one way to find out, Yancey reckoned, and he drew his Colt, swiftly checked the loads by feel and moved out from the alley and the horses. The bunch of men were still heading down towards the fiesta in the plaza. He padded across the open ground towards the base of the tower.
“Hey, you!”
Yancey looked over his shoulder, continuing to move towards the town, as he heard the bellow behind him. He cursed his luck. One of the bunch had turned and spotted him in the open, no doubt silhouetted against the pale, glowing adobe wall of the mission. There was no use trying to be subtle about it now.
Yancey’s gun roared and the men scattered. The big Enforcer put on a burst of speed towards the tower and then the door was kicked open and he caught a momentary glimpse of Borden coming through with a big rifle in his hands even as someone in the room behind him extinguished the lamp. It told him he had at least two men ahead to deal with—and six behind. Bullets were already whining off the adobe of the tower.
Borden bawled. “Hold your fire, damn it! I’m out here!”
Yancey fired in the direction of the voice and dropped into a crouch as the man’s massive Sharps’ buffalo gun thundered and he heard the big lead ball whip through the air above him. He fired at the long muzzle flash and thought he heard a grunt, but he had to spin away and dive to the ground as more bullets from the running group punched into the earth around him.
He saw them coming back towards the tower, dark shapes, spread out, guns in hands, looking for a target. Flat to the ground, he wasn’t so easy to see but he knew he didn’t have a hope against all these hombres for there was nowhere he could run without showing himself.
Suddenly, there came a wild, Indian-like yell and Yancey was as startled as the killers as a bunch of riders came thundering out of the night, guns blazing. Two of Borden’s men went down, one never to move again, the other sagging on one knee as he clawed at his chest and tried to bring up his gun. Then a man Yancey recognized as Morg Purdy rode over him, leaning from the saddle to crush his skull with the heavy barrel of his Hawken rifle. Then that same rifle lifted as Morg fired one-handed and the lead blew a man completely off his feet.
The others were running and shooting wildly, trying to dodge the racing mounts and the guns of the Buckskinners. The big percussion weapons boomed more heavily than the cartridge guns and when they hit a man he went down and most times stayed there. Someone screamed and Yancey saw a man ridden down, trampled by following horses. Dust swirled as the riders surged back and forth, splitting up the killers, riding them down, blasting them into oblivion with the massive guns.
While this was going on, Yancey leapt to his feet and ran forward and was met by a roar from Borden who jumped up, swinging his murderous Sharps with the wire-bound butt by the barrel. Yancey ducked, feeling the wind of the blow, and rammed his Colt into the man’s big belly as he dropped hammer. The gun almost broke his wrist with its recoil and the explosion was muffled. Borden staggered back, jaw slack, eyes bulging, blood spurting. But he tried to bring up the Sharps again and Yancey had to use his last shot on him, putting him down for keeps this time.
He spun away from the mission wall as he ejected the used shells and thumbed fresh loads out of his belt. The killers were down, dead or dying, but the fighting wasn’t over by any means. The fiesta had broken up at the first sounds of shooting and now armed Mexicans were rushing to the mission area and the Buckskinners found themselves having to fight the whole town. He had no idea why the Mexicans were fighting but there was sure no time to stop and explain.
Gun reloaded, he leapt for the door into the mission room and went in in a headlong dive into the darkness. A gun hammered twice and he felt the burn of lead across his back. Yancey grunted and rolled, hitting a table and overturning it. Someone cursed and there was a clatter, like a man tripping on the stairs. He caught a glimpse of a dimly-outlined doorway, with faint light spilling down a narrow stairway from the floor above. A shadow moved against that outline and Yancey fired.
The man yelled aloud and the Enforcer saw him go down on one knee. The man’s gun blasted four times in wild shots, the muzzle flashes lighting the room. Yancey threw himself forward, Colt out-thrust, dropping hammer. The man was hurled back by the strike of the lead and sprawled unmoving across the bottom stairs.
Yancey leapt over him and went up fast, gun hammer spur under his thumb. He saw the line of light under the door of the room up there, gathered himself and went up in a fast charge, kicking the door in and hurling himself to one side as he whipped into the room. He froze.
Cato lay on the floor, unconscious, bloody and battered. Dolores Dysart knelt beside him, a twin-barreled derringer pressed against Cato’s head.
“Drop it, Enforcer, or I kill him!” she snapped.
It hit Yancey as swiftly as it had Cato: the girl was behind her own kidnapping.
“Drop it!” she screamed and Yancey slowly opened his hand and allowed his Colt to fall, lowering the hammer first.
She relaxed as it struck the floor and her lips parted in a faint smile. “Now you can both die!” she snapped and he cursed as he saw her knuckle whiten on the derringer trigger.
Yancey jumped as the big gun exploded behind him and suddenly the girls bosom seemed gaping and covered in blood as her slim body was smashed back into a far corner of the small room.
Yancey whirled and saw a sweating, powder-smeared Morg Purdy standing at the top of the stairs, a smoking Hawken rifle in his hands. Behind him, Asa came up, taking in the situation at a glance. There was still a lot of yelling and shooting outside.
“Good God, you could’ve hit Cato with that damn thing!” Yancey roared.
Morg shrugged. “Maybe I aimed for him.” He grinned crookedly. “You’ll never know.”
Asa came through the doorway and gestured to the dead girl. “Bring her, Morg. Bannerman, you better come. Those Mexes are mad with tequila and don’t want to stop fightin’. It’ll take too long to wipe out the town, so I figure we’d best hit the trail back to Texas.”
As Yancey stopped to heave the unconscious Cato over his shoulders, he glanced at the buckskin clad men and said:
“Amen to that.”
They crossed the Rio above Laredo and the Buckskinners, some toting wounds, immediately spread out on the high ground to watch for border patrols while Asa and Morg Purdy confronted the Enforcers. Cato’s face was misshapen and he could hardly speak because of his swollen, smashed mouth and broken nose. He only had one good eye to see out of.
Dolores Dysart’s blanket-covered body was draped over a spare horse. Asa nodded to Morg and the man handed the lead reins to Yancey.
“You seem decent enough, Bannerman,” Asa Purdy said quietly. “I think I can trust you to assure Dukes my Buckskinners had nothing to do with the girl’s abduction. You owe us your life. In fact, both of you owe us your lives. I reckon you’ve got enough honor to put in a good word for us. Just tell Dukes we want to be left alone in the Anvils and that when he receives reports of the Buckskinners pillaging and raiding, he had better take the news with a grain of salt, until he can prove it. Our reputation’s not altogether deserved.”
“We’ll tell him, Asa,” Bannerman said, looking a
t Morg. “But if ever you die and he takes over ...” Yancey shook his head slowly. “I reckon then the Buckskinners’ll be living up to their legend of being cold-blooded killers.”
Morg didn’t take offence. He laughed. He seemed to regard Yancey’s words as something of a compliment.
“One thing before you go,” Asa said as Yancey and Cato made to turn away. “Don’t worry about Dysart. He’s not going to like it, us killing his wife, whether it was deserved or not. He’ll raise hell and make a lot of trouble for us. So—we’ll have to nip that in the bud. Adios.”
Yancey and Cato frowned after the Buckskinners as they galloped away and then, thoughtfully, turned their own mounts and the spare horse with its burden, along the Laredo trail.
It took them two days to reach the town and a band of Rangers rode out to meet them and escorted them in. Yancey left Cato to make his explanations and went to the telegraph office, getting off a wire to the governor and Kate.
When he stepped out of the office, he ran into Howie Pepper. “Howdy, Yance. Seen you ride in with Dolores Dysart,” Pepper said, looking somewhat disappointed. “I been diggin’ round for you to get that info you wanted, but I guess I’m kinda late, huh?”
“This time you are, Howie,” Yancey told him wearily. “It’s over. Dysart saves his money but he doesn’t get his wife back. He wouldn’t have in any case. She arranged it all herself.”
Howie Pepper nodded. “It was beginnin’ to look that way. But there’s somethin’ you ought to know, somethin’ that just happened along the trail outside of Austin. Friend of mine just brung in the news. Rangers don’t even know yet ...”
“Well, what is it?” Yancey snapped, tired and impatient to get away from the other man.
Pepper looked at him steadily and his mouth curled in a faint smile. “Someone just shot and killed Borden Dysart.”
Yancey felt sudden shock as he stared blankly at Howie Pepper.
“Yeah. Got him in the back. Near blew him apart,” Pepper added with relish. “I hear what they dug out of him was a .58 caliber minie ball. Like the old mountain men used in their Hawken rifles. You know, Yance?”
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