by Hank Madison
“I think I’d better stop off when I can find a decent spot for a fight,” he called to Aggie, and she twisted in her saddle to face him, her eyes wide and bright with protest. “It’s the only thing,” he continued harshly. “I figure there are about six of them. If we keep on like this until one of the horses founder then they’ll nail the pair of us. It ain’t your fight. You can get out of it. Perhaps you can run into my outfit and get help. I’ll take on this bunch, and I’ve got a rifle with me. Hell, I came into that town and whisked you clear from under their noses.”
“That was different,” she objected. “You took them by surprise. It won’t happen again. If you stop off, they’ll ring you and close in. Then you won’t have a chance.”
“I’ll make my own chances,” he told her grimly. “Look, I risked everything to come into town and free you. Don’t let that turn out for nothing. I lost a lot of sweat, I can tell you. Keep going, huh?”
“Why did you do it?” she demanded. “Why did you risk your life for me? We’re almost complete strangers.”
“No,” he replied, throwing a quick glance back over his shoulder and tightening his lips when he saw that the riders were gaining on them. “I’ve got the feeling that I’ve known you all my life, that I’ve been looking for you ever since I’ve been old enough.”
“That’s strange,” she replied softly. “I’ve got the same feeling.”
“So that’s it,” he went on, trying to coax a little more speed out of his horse. The animal was labouring now. But her mount was still running. She was lighter than he, and that would account for that, he thought. “Go on, you can push your horse a bit harder. Get to hell out of here, and when you come up with my crew you can tell them what happened. My father back in Texas will want to know all about it.”
“I won’t leave you,” she retorted. “I’ve got a gun here, and if we both pull up and face them then the odds against you will be halved.”
“Don’t be a fool, and don’t make this more difficult for me by arguing. I’m not worried about those back there. My rifle will soon take care of them. I’m a good man with a Colt, but even better with a Winchester, as those guys will soon find out. Now keep running, and I’m going to find myself a spot to get down in.” The sun was high overhead, and the heat was packed along the ground. The breeze was hot, almost burning, and Harlan felt as if he had got a dead mule strapped to his back. He was deathly tired and angry. He had been hunted and shot at ever since he hit this country, and all he had wanted to do was get to Dodge City with his father’s herd.
“This can’t go on any longer,” he suddenly snapped. “You keep riding, Aggie. I’m reining up back of that brush over there. Do like I tell you so I don’t have to worry about you. I’ll fight much better on my own.” The girl nodded. She threw a quick glance at the pursuing riders, then shook her head. There were seven horsemen on their trail and she didn’t doubt that each one of them was a top gunman. She knew this set-up even better than Harlan, and she knew what he was about to do. But she could not help him. If she remained with him she would only detract from his concentration, and that could be fatal. She knew that he was a tough man in a fight. He had more than proved that, but these odds were too great even for him.
He also knew it. She could tell by the expression on his rugged face, but he did not care, and that was written in his burning blue eyes. He was already drawing the gun on his hip, and seemed eager to get started on his grim chore.
Harlan grinned at her as he came up to the bunch of slight cover where he intended making his stand. He waved his left hand, and turned the horse into the thicket, stepping down out of the saddle and dragging at the Winchester in the scabbard. He looked after the girl, and was relieved to see her still pushing on. He grinned then, and some of the tension left him. So long as she got clear he did not give a damn how this turned out. He would make them aware that they had killed him.
He ripped open a saddlebag, looking for shells for the rifle, and tightened his lips when he didn’t find any. Working the loading-lever, he sighed when he found the rifle empty. He gazed at it for a moment, his teeth clenched. Then he pushed it back into the scabbard and drew his Colt. He checked the weapon and moved forward until he could see the approaching riders.
An ominous drumming sound warned him that action was not far away, and when he spotted the group only a hundred yards off he grinned tightly and dropped to one knee. This would be swift and furious. He didn’t have much longer to live, and suddenly his mind was cool and calm, his thoughts gone. His hands had been trembling, but were steady now, and he waited coldly, intent upon killing as many of these as he could before they got him.
He recognised Russ Filby in the lead, and smiled. He intended making the saloon owner his first target, and these men wouldn’t get any warning that he had dropped back to fight. The odds were too great against him for that.
He cocked the Colt and lifted the heavy weapon. He was sweating freely, but felt quite calm. There was no fear in him, and he realised that he was beyond that. He pushed back his hat and squinted his eyes against the glare of the sun. The heat was terrific.
He took aim at Filby, and the heat haze danced before his blue eyes. He could feel sweat forming on his forehead and trickling down his face. The riders came on fast, closely bunched and staring ahead, and Harlan waited out the last seconds. They were swinging to bypass his cover, and he slid his left forearm under his right to help steady the big Colt.
When he fired, a puff of smoke leapt up to envelop him, and he cursed it, ducking his head to keep the riders in sight. The raucous crash of the shot hammered across the range, and his ears rang to the heavy sound. Out there in the open, pandemonium broke loose. Russ Filby threw up his hands and toppled sideways out of his saddle, hitting the ground hard and rolling. The next instant the hooves of the following riders were stomping him into the lush grass.
The riders broke their swift stride and milled in confusion. Sunlight glinted on weapons as they tried to overcome their shock and get into action. Harlan took deliberate aim, quite calm now, and started shooting. He was bothered by the gusting smoke that belched from his muzzle, but could not deny the thrill that ran through him each time the big Colt kicked against the heel of his hand.
Men were shouting as they tried to curb their prancing horses. Harlan emptied his gun quickly, and as he reloaded he saw two of the riders going to ground. A third was trying to rein about and get out of it, and he tightened his lips and showed his teeth in a snarl. They had come out of town hunting trouble, and he meant to give it to them.
Lead was screaming about him, searching for his flesh, and he crouched a little lower and returned the shooting. Hooves thudded on the ground as the riders tried to get in at him. He lifted the Colt again, prepared to sell his life dearly. He had a good chance of taking most of them with him. He was in cover and they were out there, clear targets for a desperate man. A storm of fire came at him, and Harlan figured that he was living in some kind of nightmare from which there was no awakening. He could hear slugs crackling past him, and marvelled that he was not hit.
The barrel of his sixgun was jerking up at each shot, and he felt his blood racing, his heart pounding faster. He clenched his teeth and pushed himself up to one knee. He cut loose at the nearest rider, a big, dark-faced man who was crouched in his saddle, shooting at Harlan with his gun held low on his right knee. Harlan heard the strike of lead against a small bush, and twigs flew into his face, stinging sharply. He winced, wondering why they kept missing him, and let go with a single shot that drove the dark-faced man clean out of his saddle. The man fell hard, and one boot caught in a stirrup. The horse went galloping past Harlan’s cover with the wounded man being dragged behind, and the gunman was screaming at the top of his voice. Harlan clenched his teeth and paused to reload.
He had to hurry it. Two men were coming at him, and one of them hauled his mount to a slithering halt and sprang to the ground. He came forward at a run, dodging behind his hor
se, and more lead came at Harlan, who ducked and flinched, but kept his hands busy. He finished reloading and lifted the gun again, and was surprised to see blood spurting from his right hand. He gritted his teeth and cut loose at the rider who was almost upon him.
His hat leapt from his head, and he felt a stunning blow somewhere just below the hairline, but it did not affect him, and he drew a bead on the rider who was trying to pull away now with an empty gun. Harlan thumbed off a shot, and knew he had scored a hit. The rider stood up in his stirrups, let out a yell, then keeled over and fell on his face.
The other outlaw had dropped to the ground, and his first shot punched through the right heel of Harlan’s riding-boot. Harlan gulped at the lump which sprang into his throat, and replied quickly. He narrowed his eyes, compressing his lips against the thick smoke that seemed to cling to him. He fired again, and saw the gunman jump a little. He thumbed back his hammer and let go again, and the outlaw flopped down and kicked spasmodically.
The silence came back then, slowly and uneasily, and Harlan gazed around bleakly for fresh targets. He could not believe that it was over. He gazed at the fallen men and shook his head. It must have happened swiftly, but to him it seemed that the shooting had gone on and on.
There were a couple of wounded men moving out there, and Harlan reloaded before getting unsteadily to his feet. He kept his eyes on the grim scene before him, but none of the outlaws who were still breathing gave him any thought. He slid backwards through the thicket and hauled himself into his saddle, smearing blood over the dark leather from the gash on his right hand. When he pulled his mount around the animal tottered, and Harlan shook his head. The beast was almost done. It wouldn’t make any more fast time today. He rode out of the thicket and almost collided with a riderless horse. He hauled his own animal to a halt and slid out of the saddle.
When he passed around the riderless horse he saw a man lying on the ground, one foot caught in the stirrup. Harlem tightened his lips and examined the outlaw. The man was dead. He released the boot and hauled himself into the saddle, and the horse went on willingly enough. He galloped away from the grim scene, unable to believe that so much death and horror had erupted in so short a time. He kept gulping at a lump in his throat, and his hands trembled as he gripped the reins. He sat slumped in the saddle, utterly wearied and done.
But there were still worries in his mind. Aggie must have heard all the shooting, he thought grimly. What would she have done? It was a wonder that she hadn’t returned, but he looked around and couldn’t see her. He guessed that she would have continued in the hope of finding help for him.
There hadn’t been any need for help. He slitted his eyes. His whole body seemed to be in trouble. There were sharp pains cutting at him on his left shoulder and along his ribs. His right hand was still bleeding, and, glancing down at it, he saw where a bullet had nicked him.
So that was how it wound up, he thought dully, staring ahead. He hoped he was on the right track. He didn’t know this country, but he figured that he could find his way back to the trading post. He began to think of the others now, and some of the dread lifted from his dazed mind.
The Carter gang were done for, anyway. Carter himself was dead, and so was the man who had backed him; Russ Filby. That was how it always was with that type. They lived violently and died wreathed in gunsmoke. But there was still another gang to be handled. Jem Grove had run for too long in this country. The outlaw had been holding the trail herds to ransom for the past twenty years. Then there was Will Payne and the girl’s crew. Harlan shook his head.
He didn’t begin to understand how this would finish. All he was certain about was that he would have loved Aggie Payne, and that he would go to hell and back for her if she asked.
Topping a rise, Harlan reined in, and almost tumbled out of his saddle. The herd was moving slowly across a flat stretch of the plain, and he felt a thrill of excitement touch him as he stared. Was that his crew down there? If so, why had they left the camping site by the trader’s post? Even as he looked, he saw half a dozen riders coming away from the herd, and dropped a hand to his gun. Perhaps this was some of Will Payne’s crew. Perhaps his own outfit had been bested in a fight. They must have been, because that was the only way anyone would take the herd away from them.
He waited grimly as the party came towards him, and they had seen him sitting on the rise. He narrowed his eyes. He was having trouble focusing his sight, and there seemed to be a curtain of blackness hovering on the fringes of his mind, ready to pounce and overpower him the instant he let his brain relax. Then he felt great relief swell inside him. These were his men coming towards him, and there was Aggie riding beside Chuck Mallett. The next moment the party of riders were pulling up, milling around, and showering him with questions. He gazed at them as if he couldn’t hear properly, and Aggie was climbing out of her saddle and running towards him.
Harlan swayed and leaned forward, keeping his feet clear of his stirrups. He slid to the ground and a dozen hands reached out to grab him. He was led away from the horse, but after making a few strides his legs gave way and he collapsed. Tender hands eased him into a comfortable position, and Aggie dropped to her knees beside him. Chuck Mallett joined her, and the cowboy stared hard at Harlan, concern stabbed upon his rugged face.
“Are you hit bad?” the cowboy demanded.
“I don’t know,” Harlan replied tiredly. “Hell, if I know. I can’t even see straight right now. But tell me what happened? Did you see anything of Will Payne or Grove or the sheriff?”
“Just take it easy,” he was told. “Everything is under control. But we were on our way to get you out of a bad spot. What happened? Did you scare them off?”
Harlan did not reply. The blackness that had been encroaching upon his senses for the past hour suddenly slipped in upon him. He flopped back, and suddenly his tiredness and pain were gone. He knew no more.
NINE
Harlan came back to his senses and found the sun gone. Night was closing in over the range, and he groaned as he stirred. He was stiff and sore, and tiredness was still heavy inside him. His head was throbbing madly, and when he lifted his hands to his face his left shoulder gave a nasty twinge of pain. A figure stirred at his side and he looked up quickly.
“Steve, you’ve come back to us.”
“Howdy, Aggie,” he said. “Where is everyone?”
“Your crew is bedding down the herd. Chuck Mallett rode over to that spot where you had the fight, and he came back to say that you killed five of those gunmen. Russ Filby was one of the dead.”
“What about your brother?” he demanded, trying to prop himself up but failing. He flopped back and stared up at the pale blur that was the girl’s face.
“We haven’t heard a thing. There’s been no sign of him or the crew around the herd.”
“Tell Mallett I want to talk to him.”
“Let me get you something to eat first. You’ve had it pretty rough all day. I don’t know how many times you’ve saved my life.”
“It was worth saving,” he said simply. “Has anything been seen of Grove or the sheriff?”
“No. Your crew say it’s been quiet, but they are ready for trouble. They say it’s been too quiet.”
“Yeah. I surely thought one side or the other would have made a try for the herd by now.” Harlan rubbed slowly at the stubble on his chin. “But Grove said he was gonna protect the herd for five hundred dollars; his usual fee. Do you suppose that’s what he’s doing?”
“Do you think the sheriff and his crooked posse caught up with my brother some place?” she asked quietly.
“That could be.” He nodded slowly. “But we can’t trust Grove. We do know that he’s out to get your place, and if he’s figured that your brother stands in the way then he won’t hesitate to have him killed.”
“Grove will never lay his hands on my ranch,” she said passionately. “I’ll take a gun to him myself before I let that happen.”
A dark figure c
losed in on them, and Harlan looked up. He recognised Chuck Mallett, and called the cowboy in. Mallett squatted beside him, and there was open admiration in his tone when he spoke.
“Steve, I never knew you had it in you,” he said. “You branded the whole bunch of those badmen back there in the thicket. From what Aggie told me about your doings in town, I should think there ain’t much of these badmen left alive.”
“There’s still a lot of trouble to come,” Harlan said thinly. “Have you doubled the guards riding tonight, Chuck?”
“I sure have, and you ain’t got a thing to worry about. We pushed the herd into a draw. They can’t get out unless some fool tries to stampede them. But I got four men posted away from the herd to warn us if trouble comes on the hoof.”
“Where were you heading for?” Harlan demanded. “You’re off the trail to Dodge.”
“Yeah, we figured to drop by Aggie’s place to see what was going on. We couldn’t leave the cattle or someone would have moved them before we’d got back, so we brung them along with us. The boys wouldn’t go along to Dodge without making sure that you were okay.”