Wilbur considered the idea and shrugged.
“Might work,” he said. “Sounds like it’s worth a try, anyway.”
“That’s what I thought. Come on.”
Since they didn’t know exactly where they were going, they turned and rode west for a short distance before turning northeast again. That put them on a parallel course to the one Dan was following.
The sun, as it always did, continued to drop toward the western horizon. That was worrisome, thought Stovepipe. If night fell before they located the men who had captured Laura, Hamp, and Charley, finding them was going to be that much harder.
Then Stovepipe sat up straighter in his saddle and lifted an arm to point at a long ridge above them.
“See that openin’?” he said to Wilbur. “I’ve got a hunch that’s the box canyon Dan was talkin’ about. I don’t see anything else up here that looks like it could be the place.”
“Can we get there from here? In time?”
“We got to,” Stovepipe said solemnly. He heeled the Palouse into a faster pace. The horse was worn out, and Stovepipe was getting that way himself, but they had to keep going for a while longer, anyway.
Instead of heading straight for the canyon Stovepipe had spotted, they approached it at an angle so they’d be less likely to be seen. As they came closer, he was more sure than ever that it was the right place. Of course, there was no guarantee that was where the kidnappers had stashed their captives, but the search had to start somewhere and that seemed like as good a place as any.
“We’ll have to leave our horses and climb that ridge on foot,” Stovepipe said. “That way we can get above the canyon and look down into it.”
“Then what?” asked Wilbur.
“If they’re there, you can stay up above on the high ground while I try to climb down and get the drop on the varmints. We’ll have ’em whipsawed, especially if Dan shows up in time to give us a hand.”
They reined in at the foot of a rugged slope about eighty feet high. Stovepipe eyed it in the reddish light from the sun that was now hanging just above the horizon. The slope was too steep for the horses, but he and Wilbur wouldn’t have any trouble climbing it. The mouth of the canyon was about half a mile to their right.
They dismounted and ground-hitched the horses. The Appaloosa and the dun wouldn’t wander off. For one thing, the animals were too tired to do anything other than crop at the sparse grass. The two drifters pulled their Winchesters from the saddle boots, filled their pockets with spare cartridges, and started up the ridge.
The climb had both men a little breathless by the time they reached the top. By then the sun had started to slide behind the horizon. Stovepipe paused to catch his breath and then pointed again.
“Down there,” he said to Wilbur. “It’s Dan.”
A rider had come into sight and was proceeding slowly toward the canyon. Stovepipe and Wilbur had no trouble recognizing Dan, since the young cowboy wasn’t wearing a hat. As Dan continued toward the canyon, Stovepipe and Wilbur trotted in that direction, too. Stovepipe’s nerves were taut as he listened for gunshots. It was possible the men they were after might ambush Dan before he and Wilbur could get in position.
As they approached the notch in the ridge that the canyon formed, Stovepipe saw that it was only a couple of hundred yards deep. That was plenty big enough for a range camp or a temporary holding pen for stock, though.
Or for killers to hole up in.
“What if they’re not there?” Wilbur asked quietly.
“Then we’ll look somewhere else,” answered Stovepipe. “I reckon there’s a good chance they are, though. Dan’s still followin’ those tracks they left, and he’s headed straight for the place, looks like.”
They slowed as they neared the rimrock above the canyon, then eased forward until they could peer down into it. Several big slabs of rock stood at the entrance, where they had fallen from the canyon walls in ages past, and almost immediately, Stovepipe spotted the men kneeling behind those rocks and holding rifles.
“Dan’s hunch was right,” he whispered to Wilbur. “There they are.”
“And there’s Mrs. Dempsey and those two old pelicans,” Wilbur whispered in return as he pointed to several figures sitting on a log about fifty yards inside the canyon. Stovepipe recognized Laura, Hamp, and Charley, and a man stood near them, pointing a gun at them. The six horses that had brought the group here were tied to small trees deeper in the canyon.
The guard held the revolver in his left hand. Bloody rags tied into a makeshift bandage swathed his right shoulder. Stovepipe frowned and said, “I think that’s one of the fellas I shot when they jumped us back over yonder at Apache Bluff. Reckon the others must be the two who were with him.”
“I’ll bet we can drop all of them from up here, Stovepipe.”
“I expect we could, too, but we ain’t gonna. For one thing, that’d be cold-blooded murder.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” protested Wilbur. “They already tried to kill us once today, which makes it self-defense, and they’re about to bushwhack Dan, to boot.”
“For another,” Stovepipe went on, “I want to grab at least one of ’em so I can ask him a few questions. I got some ideas, Wilbur, but I need more answers.”
“You’ve always got ideas . . . but I reckon I see your point. You still plan to climb down there?”
“Yep.”
“Better get at it, then. The light’s going, and they’re liable to open fire on Dan as soon as he gets close enough.”
Stovepipe knew his old friend was right. The canyon walls were steep, and he couldn’t hurry too much in his descent or he risked slipping. A fall from up here would be disastrous.
So there was no time to waste, thought Stovepipe as he swung over the edge, found some footholds, and started lowering himself into the box canyon where death waited.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Dan was as tightly wound inside as a spring, and he felt like he might explode at any second as he approached the canyon. The thought that Laura might be in there, the helpless captive of men who wanted to kill her, gnawed at his mind like a hungry rat. He had to fight down the impulse to kick his mount into a run and gallop toward the canyon as fast as he could.
He had no way of knowing if Stovepipe and Wilbur were in position yet, though, so he had to drag out his approach as long as possible and give them plenty of time. He studied the ground as he rode, as if he were having trouble following the trail.
Stovepipe and Wilbur were strange birds, he mused. He had known them for only a day and a half, and yet for some reason he trusted them completely. Dan hoped that faith wasn’t misplaced.
At the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder about them. As far as he could see, they had no real stake in his problems. It was like they had befriended him on impulse when they’d seen him being pursued by Sheriff Olsen and that posse, and once they had thrown in with him they were willing to do anything, even risk their lives, to help him.
Puzzling though it might be, he sure couldn’t complain about that. Without Stovepipe and Wilbur, by now he would either be in jail, awaiting trial and an all-but-certain date with the hangman—or else already dead, leaving Laura defenseless against whatever came next.
And there would be another move, he was sure of that. The men behind this trouble wouldn’t be satisfied until they had everything they had set their greedy sights on.
The mouth of the canyon was only about a hundred yards away now. Without being too obvious about it, Dan’s eyes searched for any sign of an ambush. The light of the setting sun might reflect off a gun barrel or a belt buckle. He might spot a hat rising above a rock as a hidden bushwhacker drew a bead on him. Anything that would tell him what he was facing . . .
The sudden roar of a gunshot made him jump. He braced himself for the shock of a bullet striking him.
But none came, nor did he hear a slug come anywhere near him. Rifles began to crack, but the reports came from inside the canyon.
/> Hell had broken loose in there, and Dan jabbed his boot heels into his horse’s flanks to send the animal lunging forward in a gallop. Desperate worry flooded through him.
Laura might be in the middle of all that furious gunplay!
* * *
Laura Dempsey had been trying not to be frightened, but it wasn’t easy. Ever since the three men had shown up at the line shack, she had felt like she was only a hair away from dying.
They were keeping her alive only to use her as bait to lure Dan into their trap, and she knew that. She could only pray for Dan’s sake that he wouldn’t allow himself to fall into it . . . but she knew with despairing certainty that he would.
The three men were named Lonnie, Pete, and Carver. She had picked that up from listening to them talking to one another. The fact that they showed their faces and used their names so freely could only mean that they didn’t intend to leave anyone alive when they were finished here. Laura was smart enough to know that.
Hamp must have seen the fear and worry on her face as she sat on a log next to him. He leaned toward her and said quietly, “Don’t worry, Miss Laura. It’s gonna be all right.”
“I don’t see how you can say that,” she told him.
“Because I trust Dan, and those two fellas he had with him struck me as bein’ pretty resourceful hombres, too. They’ll figure out some way to get us outta this mess, and then those three varmints will wish they’d just lit a shuck outta these parts.”
Charley sat on the other side of Hamp. The burly puncher leaned forward and nodded to Laura.
“Listen to this old codger, ma’am. He may not look like it, but he’s pretty smart . . . a heap smarter ’n me, anyway. He ain’t the one who let those polecats get the drop on him.”
The three gunmen had ridden up to the line shack with Charley as their prisoner. They had jumped him while he was out checking on the stock in the high meadows. With Charley’s life at stake, Laura and Hamp had had to cooperate with the men, although Charley had urged them to hole up in the shack and blast away at the would-be kidnappers.
Things hadn’t played out that way, and the three of them had been captives ever since. Now the day was waning, and Laura knew this couldn’t go on much longer.
She wasn’t sure what it was that made her glance toward the back of the canyon, but when she did, her breath hissed between her teeth and she looked again to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.
They weren’t. A man was climbing down the canyon wall. Laura wasn’t sure, but she thought he was the lanky cowboy who called himself Stovepipe.
Lonnie stood near the three captives, gun in hand. He was turned so that his left side was toward Stovepipe, but if he happened to glance in that direction, as Laura had, he might spot the man. Laura knew she couldn’t let that happen.
She stood up.
“Hey,” snapped Lonnie. “I told you to stay on that log.”
“It’s not comfortable,” Laura said as she took a couple of steps toward the canyon mouth. Lonnie’s eyes followed her as he half turned away from Stovepipe.
“I don’t care if you’re comfortable or not, lady. Sit down.”
“I’m just trying to ease my muscles. They’re getting stiff. I’ll sit down in a minute.”
“Damn it, you ain’t in charge here. You do what I tell you—”
A whistle from one of the men behind the boulders at the canyon’s entrance made Lonnie look in that direction. A grin creased his rugged face.
“Your beau’s on his way, just like we figured he would be. He’ll be in easy range in a minute, I’ll bet, and then this’ll all be over. I just hope those two waddies who’ve caused us so much trouble are with him, so we can kill them, too. Do you know who they are?”
“They’re strangers,” said Laura, which was true as far as it went. She knew their names, but not why they had thrown in their lot with her and Dan.
She was just grateful they had.
“My shoulder’s never gonna be the same,” Lonnie groused. “I hope they gut-shoot that tall drink of water and he takes a long time dyin’. He’s got it comin’ to him.”
The men weren’t going to shoot Stovepipe unless they turned around, thought Laura, because he was behind them now. She stole a glance in that direction and saw that Stovepipe wasn’t climbing down the canyon wall anymore.
She hoped that meant he had reached the ground safely.
Lonnie started to turn that way again. Laura moved to place herself between him and the back of the canyon, blocking his view.
“Listen, whatever you’re planning, you don’t have to go through with it,” she said, stalling for time the only way she knew how. “I’ll gladly cooperate with you. I’ll help you.” She forced a smile onto her face. “I’ll do anything you want.”
“Lady,” Lonnie said with a leer, “you’re gonna do that anyway, just as soon as we’ve finished killing everybody that needs it.”
That threat was more than Laura could stand. The combination of terror and anger that welled up inside her made her snap. She lunged at Lonnie, grabbing for the gun he held. She knew he was right-handed and was using his left only because he was wounded in the right shoulder. She was counting on that awkwardness to slow down his reactions . . .
The gun exploded, and the blinding flash from its muzzle filled her face.
* * *
Stovepipe dropped the last couple of feet, landed with agile grace, and cat-footed toward the spot where Laura, Hamp, and Charley were being held prisoner. He hugged the canyon wall as he did so, hoping that would make him harder to spot if their guard happened to look toward him.
Laura was on her feet, though, keeping the hombre occupied. Stovepipe wondered if she had spotted him and was distracting the guard deliberately. She seemed like a pretty smart gal, so he wouldn’t put that past her.
Suddenly, however, something went wrong. Laura lunged toward the man. The flame that spouted from his gun was bright in the gathering shadows inside the canyon. Stovepipe bit back a curse as Laura flew backward, evidently hit by the shot. Yelling, the two old punchers bolted up from the log where they’d been sitting. The gunman swung his revolver toward them.
Stovepipe didn’t have any choice. He snapped the Winchester to his shoulder and fired.
The bullet punched into the guard’s body before he could pull the trigger again. As he fell, the two men who’d been lurking at the canyon mouth waiting to dry-gulch Dan Hartford swung around and opened fire. Hamp and Charley hit the dirt as slugs sizzled past them.
Stovepipe hoped they would have the good sense to stay down and would keep Laura down, too, assuming she was still alive. The possibility that she wasn’t was like a bad taste in the back of Stovepipe’s throat. He worked the rifle’s lever rapidly and sprayed several shots toward the other two kidnappers. Their bullets kicked up dirt and rocks around him, and one of the slugs seemed to whisper in his ear as it went past.
Wilbur opened fire from the rimrock. From that vantage point, he was able to rain down bullets on the men at the canyon mouth. Stovepipe wanted to take one of them prisoner, but in a desperate fight like this, there was no time for anything fancy. It was a battle for survival now, and one of the men was flung back off his feet as slugs from both Stovepipe and Wilbur smashed into him.
That still left one man, though, so Stovepipe hadn’t given up all hope of taking him alive. But at that instant, Dan came boiling into the canyon on horseback, and as the kidnapper instinctively jerked his rifle toward the newest arrival, Dan’s pistol boomed. The third gunman spun off his feet and collapsed, facedown.
As the echoes of the shots bounced back and forth from the canyon walls, Stovepipe lowered his Winchester and ran toward Laura, Hamp, and Charley. Dan galloped in from the other direction. The two old-timers were sitting up now, but Laura was still down.
Dan reached her first, leaping from the saddle while the horse was still moving. He landed running and cried, “Laura!” He reached down, caught hold o
f her, pulled her upright, and hugged her to him.
Stovepipe felt sick when he saw the way her head lolled loosely on her neck as Dan continued calling her name and she didn’t respond.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Then, abruptly, Laura moaned. She lifted one hand shakily and clutched at the front of Dan’s shirt. He exclaimed, “Laura! Thank God!” and held her even tighter to him.
She was alive, but Stovepipe couldn’t tell if she was hurt or how badly. He said, “Dan, help her sit down on that log there while I go check on those varmints.”
Charley Bartlett bent over and picked up the revolver the man with the busted shoulder had dropped when Stovepipe shot him. The old cowboy said, “Let Hamp and me do that, mister, while you help Dan tend to Miz Dempsey.”
“All right,” Stovepipe said with a nod. He handed his Winchester to Hamp. “Better take this, just in case any of the varmints still have any fight left in ’em.”
The two old-timers set off on the grim errand, first making sure that the man who had been guarding them was dead. Satisfied that he was, they started toward the mouth of the canyon.
Stovepipe took Laura’s left arm while Dan supported her on the other side. Carefully, they lowered her onto the log. She shook her head groggily and asked, “Wha . . . what happened? Am I shot?”
“I don’t think so,” Dan told her. He brushed her hair back from her face. “I don’t see any blood.”
“What?” She started to look alarmed. “I . . . I can’t hear you, Dan! What’s happened to me?”
Stovepipe looked over her clothes and didn’t see any bloodstains. He said, “That gun went off practically right in her face, Dan. Bullet probably didn’t miss her by more ’n an inch or two. The shock of it stunned her, and she’s deaf from the sound of the shot right now, that’s all.”
Dan knelt in front of her, put his hands on her shoulders, and said loudly and distinctly, “You’re all right, Laura. You’re just having trouble hearing right now. It’ll get better.”
She frowned, shook her head, and said, “I can’t understand you.” She looked alarmed. “I . . . I can’t even hear myself.”
The Range Detectives Page 13