by Hank Madison
SEVEN
He started to the corner again, intending to enter the house from the front. He didn’t know how many men were attacking the place and he didn’t care. All he knew was that the girl was in danger, and he wanted to do something about it. He heard three shots fired inside the house, and cursed as he blundered through the shadows.
A gun spurted quickly from the corral, and he heard the smack of the slugs somewhere close by in the darkness. He did not hesitate. He lifted his Colt and fired a reply, and kept moving. He hit the front corner and a man appeared above him on the porch. Harlan squeezed his trigger even before he realised that the man was there. He caught a glimpse of movement and let go. A man screeched in agony and pitched forward almost on top of him. He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. This was the only way to rid the county of trouble. He didn’t give a damn how many times he had to kill. These rustlers and badmen had asked for this. It was their game, and now he was playing it according to their rules.
He edged onto the porch, and glass splintered and crashed somewhere ahead. Then a gun cut loose at him from a window. He replied quickly, gasping as a red-hot slug creased his wrist. He almost dropped the gun, but hung on to it grimly. His heart was pounding, his blood racing and his pulses fluttering. There was tension in his chest. But his eyes were bright and his hands steady. He fired two more shots, and heard a ringing yell from inside the house. Then he paused to look around. Splinters were flying from the wall at his side, and he saw the flashes of the gun over by the corral. Someone had gone to check his first position, he thought. Well, they didn’t need to look for him now. He was there among them, and if they wanted him they would have to come at him. He reloaded his gun, and in that instant the shooting stopped and an uneasy silence settled over the ranch.
Harlan’s eyes were half blinded by the flashing shots he had traded with these unknowns. He blinked furiously, and kept his ears strained for sound. Then a voice called to him from the house and he tensed. “Harlan, listen to me. I know you’re out there.”
He narrowed his eyes as he tried to place the voice. He had heard it before. Then it came to him. Clant Carter! So that crook had brought a bunch of his men from town.
“I’ve got Aggie Payne, Harlan, and it don’t matter to me if she dies or not. If you want to save her, then throw down your gun and stand clear of the house.” “Don’t do it, Steve,” the girl called defiantly. “They’ll kill you. They shot Shaw in cold blood.” Harlan clenched his teeth at that news. It showed him what he was up against. Shaw had been bound to a chair, and these men had murdered him in cold blood. He drew a deep breath. He couldn’t surrender to these wolves. They would kill him, and the girl would still be in their power. He started to edge away. He would have to let them think that he had pulled out. Then he might get a chance to sneak back in and catch them on the wrong foot. He reached the end of the porch and stepped down into the shadows.
A gun flamed almost in his face, and the slug tore through the brim of his hat. He reeled backwards, cursing, trying to bring his gun to bear. He had temporarily forgotten the gun that had traded lead with him from over by the corral. He fell backwards, rolling on the dark ground, and the gun hammered again and again, trying to nail him. He hurt his shoulder, and set his teeth against the pain. Then he came up on one elbow and flicked his gun into the aim. The gunman was coming towards him, bent forward at the waist, trying to see if he had scored a hit, and Harlan triggered once. The big Colt jumped in his hand, hammering raucously. The flash almost blinded him, and he closed his eyes against it. He heard a scream sounding thinly above the crash of the deadly weapon, and then a thud as the gunman dropped lifelessly into the shadows.
Harlan pushed himself to his feet and fed fresh shells into the gun. He was breathing heavily. Pain was flourishing inside him, but he did not know where he had been hit. Sweat was cold upon his forehead. He staggered forward, peered at the man he had downed, and saw that life had fled from the shattered body. It was then that he heard a flurry of hooves in the yard, and cursed and lumbered forward, lifting his gun. He heard Aggie cry out once in protest, and cursed wildly as he reached the porch. He saw three riders making off across the yard, and lowered his gun when he realised that one of them was the girl, and he couldn’t tell which. He slumped against the post and relaxed, and when the hoofbeats had faded a deathly silence settled in around the house.
Harlan lifted his chin from his chest. He felt almost strengthless, and guessed that it was the reaction of the fight. He pushed himself erect and started across to the corral, intending to get himself a horse and take out after the two men who had run off with the girl. He saddled up awkwardly, hurting his wounded shoulder with every movement he made and then dragged himself into the saddle. When he crossed the yard he reined up at the gate, cursing. He was a stranger in this country, and had no idea which way to ride.
Would Carter head back to Black Creek? He shook his head. That was one hound he didn’t want to see again, but he could not leave the girl to her fate. It was through him that she was in trouble with Carter. If he hadn’t trailed her that afternoon he wouldn’t have come upon her and the outlaw, and he wouldn’t have taken the crook to jail. But why had Carter taken the girl? He tossed that idea around in his head for a few moments, and didn’t like any of the answers that came up.
This was a situation of balances, he thought. On the one hand there was his herd and outfit, and the whole grinding weight of the law of the range. On the other side was the girl, and she was alone and in deep trouble. Harlan tightened his lips, and grinned mirthlessly as he weighed the pros and cons. Then he sped the horse forward through the night. To hell with the law of the range! He was going after the girl. His outfit could take care of itself, at least would give a good account of itself if attacked by anyone. But Aggie Payne was all alone, and Harlan slitted his eyes as he sent the horse running through the night, back the way he had travelled with the girl earlier.
There were too many factions at work in this situation, he told himself. But there was nothing he could do about Grove and the sheriff yet. So it had to be Clant Carter and his gang. If he managed to kill that crook his outfit would have that much less to do later. He guessed that Carter was waiting in the background, hoping that Grove would take a beating in this business. If Grove were killed then Carter’s star would shine that much brighter. It was dog eat dog, he thought grimly, but the men from Texas made tough chewing.
He didn’t catch sight of the girl and her two captors. He pushed the horse as hard as he dared, knowing that he had to keep something in reserve for an emergency. The miles dropped behind him, and he set his teeth against the groping pain that attacked his nerves and flesh. But he was far from being done. The anger and hatred in his heart fed his determination, and although he felt drained of strength there was no defeat in him.
He galloped through a gully, remembering the route from the previous trip, and as he pushed the tiring horse up a gradient a yellow gunflash split the shadows and the smack of a slug striking the horse in the chest was drowned out by the roar of a Colt. Harlan felt a tremor strike through the animal, and kicked his feet clear of his stirrups as it foundered. He jumped clear as the stricken beast rolled, and lifted his gun from its holster with a claw-like hand. His teeth were bared with anger and hatred. These men couldn’t fight according to the rules, unless they made their own rules. They had to attack without warning or shoot from cover. The gun ahead belched again, and Harlan ducked as the slug screamed over his head. He dropped flat.
For a moment he lay listening to the dying echoes. He should have thought of this, he told himself grimly. There had been two of them with the girl, and he should have expected that Carter would try something like this. He bellied forward, and starlight glinted on the big gun in his hand. He pushed back his hat and wiped sweat from his forehead. There was dust crunching between his teeth and he gritted them. He lifted his head cautiously and the gun fired again, the slug striking close and throwing dirt into his
eyes. He flattened himself, uttering a drawn-out yell of agony. Then he cocked his gun and lay with half closed eyes. Two could play sneaky tricks, he thought.
He could hear the fast pounding of his heart as he waited out the long, tense moments. When the first swish of a furtive boot reached him the muscles in his face tightened. He drew in a long, shuddering breath and tried to steady his leaping pulses. He did not move, and his gunhand was thrust out before him, the clammy fingers gripping the hard butt, the big weapon silent and ready. Then he picked out a slight movement, and lifted the Colt slightly. He aimed at the approaching figure, teeth set, lips compressed and eyes slitted. When the man materialised from his background, Harlan could see the glint of starlight on the weapon in the killer’s hand, and he let his cheeks relax into a slight grin that never even reached his lips. He fired easily, almost blinded by the jumping smoke that came back at him from the flaring explosion. He quickly rolled to one side, ready to fire again, but the stranger was gone, cut down like a wayside flower trampled under the fleeting hooves of a running horse. He got to his feet and paced forward, the big gun ready to deal more violence, but it wasn’t needed. The ambusher was dead, his chest smashed in by the heavy bullet.
Harlan checked his horse, although he guessed that the animal was dead. He knew that the slug it had stopped had been meant for him. He walked through the long grass, slouching his feet, feeling deathly tired, and came upon the horse of the man he had just killed. He heaved himself into a saddle and started the animal on the last run to Black Creek.
He had no idea of the time, and, glancing at the sky, guessed that the sun would be climbing up above the horizon by the time he drew near to the town. He cursed at the thought. He would have preferred to sneak in under cover of night and do what he had to do. He intended killing Carter, unless the man got him first, but if the outlaw didn’t make the most of his chances then he was slated for an early grave.
The rest of the ride was uneventful. Several times he almost dozed off in the jolting saddle, and kept jerking upright, staring around with eyes wide and alert. He had to fight against the overwhelming desire to sleep. Thought of the girl was sufficient spur to keep him moving, raw-eyed and ready for trouble.
When the sun came up he halted the horse and stepped down out of the saddle. Now the dangers and fears spread before the onset of daylight. Trouble never seemed to be so bad with the sun shining. He drew a deep breath, trying to imagine what Carter would do. He guessed that the outlaw would leave the girl some place in town. He had to find her, and get her away with no trouble if possible. If he couldn’t manage that, then he would take on the whole town and go down fighting. He was in a reckless mood. He had been pushed too far now. It had to come, and he would welcome the shooting when it started. At least the country would be well rid of these buzzards.
He walked the horse for a spell while he cleared his mind of clogging thought. He wanted to be lucid and alert when he entered Black Creek. He didn’t doubt that half a dozen men at least would be set against him when he showed his face.
He remounted and continued, and shortly came in sight of the town. He reined up again after approaching close enough to see the main street. Black Creek looked like any other cow town, he thought. But no other town was as rotten. He slitted his eyes and thinned his lips. It was a pity that he didn’t have half a dozen tough Texan cowhands at his back. He would have shown Carter and his half-wild crew a thing or two.
It would be foolish to ride straight into the town and open his search for the girl, he knew. If Carter saw him then the whole town would be aroused, and he recalled the harsh features of the saloon owner who had been Buster Craig’s friend. He knew that he couldn’t run a bluff over Russ Filby a second time.
He started circling, and then angled in to the rear of the livery barn. He turned his horse into the big corral and watched the animal make for the water-trough. There was a pile of hay in a rack beside the trough and, satisfied that the animal could feed, he drew his gun and checked the big weapon. Then he took stock of the situation.
He was not in very good shape. His left shoulder was stiff and sore and he could feel deep weariness in every bone and muscle of his body. There was a painful spot along his ribs, and blood stained his shirt over the area. There was a graze on his right temple that must have been made by a bullet, and two or three similar marks on the left sleeve of his shirt. He tightened his belt, and a feeling of remoteness seeped into him. He moistened his dry lips and stepped into the barn, passing quickly through into the wide, open doorway at the street end. There he paused and looked around.
There were a number of folk on the sidewalks, he saw, but they were all strangers to him. He had no idea where Carter would hide out in this place, unless it was at the saloon that Russ Filby owned. He gazed across the street at the jail, and anger bubbled up inside him. He had put Carter behind bars last night and someone had turned the outlaw loose. That was the kind of law that operated in this country.
He whirled when a boot rustled in straw somewhere at his back, and his gun came easily into his hand. He saw an old man entering through a side-door, and the newcomer, catching the speed of his draw, halted and started backing away.
“You ain’t got nothing to be afraid of,” Harlan called to him. He holstered his gun, and the old man, seeing the action, started coming forward hesitantly. “Who are you?” Harlan demanded.
“I run this place for Russ Filby,” came the reluctant reply.
“Then you’re with a friend,” Harlan said quickly, forcing a smile as he lied. “I’m a friend of Clant Carter. He rode into town a little while ago with Aggie Payne. Where can I find him?”
“Over at Filby’s saloon, of course,” the liveryman said. “Look at his horse. He damn near killed it coming here.”
“Mine is out back,” Harlan said. “I put it in the corral. Take care of it, will you?” He reached into his pocket and produced a dollar, which he spun into the old man’s grimy palm. “I’ll give you another when I come back,” he promised.
“Thanks, I’ll take care of the horse. Anything else I can do for you?”
“Yeah. How many men has Carter got here with him?”
The old man lifted a shaggy eyebrow and studied Harlan. Then he showed yellowed, broken teeth in a wide grin. “You ain’t the kind of friend that Clant Carter would want to meet,” he said firmly. “Hell, if you ain’t got the killer’s look in your eye. Now you don’t need that,” he protested as Harlan got his hand to his gun. “I ain’t no friend to that back-shooting skunk Carter. There’s too much outlawry and not enough law in these parts. The whole county is riddled with crookedness. You’re the guy who threw Carter in jail last night, ain’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Then I’m glad to see you. But if you take my advice you’ll get back on your horse and head for other parts as fast as you can.”
“What about Aggie Payne?” Harlan demanded. “Would you want me to run out on that gal?”
“Hell, no, but what can you do alone? Filby is one of the big men in this town, and he’s behind Carter, against Grove and the sheriff. You had some hard luck last night. If the sheriff had been here when you rode in, Carter would still be behind bars, because Sheriff Lott is Grove’s man, but the deputy in charge last night belongs to Carter and Filby.”
“That’s a hell of a set-up,” Harlan said. “How do I break it?”
“You don’t. But you might be able to bend it enough to grab Aggie clear and get out.”
“Can you help me?” Harlan demanded.
“There ain’t much I can do. They’d damn soon shoot out my eyes if they thought I was going against them. I’m only one old man.”
“You’re right.” Harlan nodded. “But I’ll tell you what you can do. Have a couple of fresh horses ready saddled for me when I get back, and cut the cinches on every other saddle in the place. You can tell Filby that I did it. Is there a back door to the saloon?”
“Yeah, but if you’r
e planning on going in there, you’ll never come out again, unless it’s feet first.”
“If they get me then you can bet your boots that Carter will be dead,” Harlan said grimly. “I’m playing for high stakes. They don’t come any higher. I’ll shoot it out with the whole town if I have to.”
“There are a few men around here who don’t belong to either gang, but none of them would dare lift a hand to help you. They have to live here.”
“That’s okay. I’ll do what I have to. I can’t fight the whole damn bunch of them, but if I can get Carter and Filby under my gun I should be able to keep the others at bay.”
“A man needs a strong nerve to play it that way,” the old stableman said.
“It ain’t my nerve I’m worried about,” Harlan told him. “Can I rely on you?”
“You can. It might cost me my life, but damned if I don’t like the idea of you taking on the whole bunch of them. I’ve heard too much bragging around here about what would happen to anyone trying to upset the situation. You go on and try it, and have fun while you can because it won’t last long. I’ll have two horses ready for you, but I reckon they’ll die of old age if I leave them standing for you.”
“We’ll see about that. I’ll go along the back lots. I don’t want to be seen until I’m ready to show myself.” “Good luck to you, son, because you’re going to need it,” the old man muttered. Harlan left the stable by the back door and edged around the corral. He turned once and saw the liveryman standing in the doorway watching him, and a doubt crossed his mind. That oldster could blunt any slim chance he had of pulling this off. If he came out of the saloon just two jumps ahead of the shooting war and the old man didn’t have those two fresh horses waiting — ? He tightened his lips and left the thought incomplete. He didn’t need a picture of what would happen.
He reached the back of the saloon, which was standing directly opposite the jail across the street. He paused against the back wall, and thought once more about what he was going to do. He faced the situation calmly, coldly, and knew that he didn’t have much of a chance of success. But that didn’t worry him. The girl was in Carter’s crooked hands and had to be freed. If he failed then he guessed that they would both die together. He drew his gun and checked it again. Then he eased it back into his holster and pushed open the rear door of the saloon. He entered and closed the door at his back.