by J. T. Edson
Up on the slope, hidden behind a stump, a voice called, ‘You got that Sharps, Hal?’
‘Sure, but they hit the breech and bust it to hell. Jack is dead!’
The big man kneeling behind the rock made a wry face behind his mask, not at the death of: the gunman, but at the loss of the rifle. His original nine men were reduced to six and one of them wounded. If they were going to get that bunch in the house they were going to need some real fast thinking and action. His five friends were good fighting men but those two cowhands were also good, especially that damned red-haired Tejano. Fighting from the cover of the house he would do plenty of damage before they got at him.
A man darted forward joining the one who’d called out for information about the gun. ‘They got Jack, Cholla.’ Not even the mask could hide the rage this man was showing.
‘Sure Ted, they got Jack.’ Cholla Jocelyn was not as interested in the death of the Sharps user as the big man. After all, Jack Kell was the man’s brother and as close as only a hard case Kentucky hill farmer could get. ‘We have got to get them out of there and real fast. Those two from the S.S.C. might be missed and the rest of the crew will be coming out to look for them.’
Ted Kell was not worrying over that. His brother was dead and he would never rest until the men who did it also lay dead. ‘We’re going to get them out, all right.’
There was hatred in the man’s snarl, yet there was also a fight-wise caution in him which would not allow anything foolish. Kell was born and raised in the feud country of the Kentucky hills. He knew hate of an enemy must be controlled. Any wild charging attack on that house would end in disaster from the very start. The men inside were all able to handle their weapons. There was another and easier way of doing this. Kell’s eyes went to the hay-wagon.
‘I’ll start the boys moving in again.’
Kell turned as Cholla Jocelyn spoke. ‘Ain’t no need to risk us losing men. That hay wagon’ll roll right down there and smash into the house front. All we need to do is light a match, put it to the hay and let her go. It’ll burn them clear out.’
Jocelyn grinned. He was wondering why he hadn’t thought of this himself. The hay was dry and would flare up just as well as when that red-headed cowhand used it to stop the stampeding cattle. It would be even worse, for the great pile would flare up just as readily and the wind would fan it higher as the wagon raced down the slope. It would be a roaring, unquenchable mass by the time it smashed into the front of the tinder dry house. There would be no holding the fire then for the house would go up, becoming a funeral pyre for the defenders.
‘Get the boys here!’ Jocelyn snapped. ‘It’ll take all of us to turn that wagon and get it started.’
In the house Red watched the slope with the other men. He saw the gunmen making for the hay-wagon. Larry turned towards him and grinned. ‘Looks like General Meade exhorting his veterans.’
Red did not smile, he snapped, ‘You got a cellar to the house?’
‘Sure, a small one. Trapdoor’s in here, under the table.’
‘Get your wife and family down it then, and go yourself.’ Wilben wondered at the note of urgency in Red’s voice. Since the Sharps rifle stopped barking he’d felt that the worst was over; that the men on the slope would spend some more time in long distance shooting then pull out. He was not even wasting any more ammunition on the men as they gathered behind the—
‘Lord. You think they’d—?’
‘I don’t think, mister. I know. Move!’
Wilben moved fast. He’d heard that note in a voice before. It was the voice of a martinet officer. Pulling open the door he went through and out of sight. Red wasted no time; he jerked a hand towards the table and told Larry to move the table then lift the trapdoor ready.
‘What’re we going to do, Red?’
‘You’re going down the cellar.’
Larry caught the emphasis on the first word and got just what Red meant. ‘Like hell I am. You’re not sending me down there with those folks while you go outside and What the hell do you think I am, Red?’
Red grinned at the other young man. ‘A damned fool. All right, you stay on up here.’
Wilben came in followed by his family. The woman stopped and looked at Red who was checking the loads of his revolvers and Larry who stood by the door.
‘What’re you going to do?’ she asked.
‘Nothing, ma’am. You go down there and stay down. Take all your family with you.’
Sandy Wilben stood with his arm in a sling. He darted to the window and looked up the slope. The gunmen were trying to turn the wagon and he knew what they were doing it for. He also realized what Red meant to do. ‘I’m not going down there when that bunch are planning to—’
Red did not argue, or hesitate, his right fist came round to crash into Sandy’s jaw. Larry caught the young nester and pulled him across the floor. ‘Sorry, ma’am. He fainted. Get him down there.’
Red swung back to the window again. He did not know what the Wilben family thought of his actions in knocking Sandy out but he was not even going to waste time finding out. The gunmen up the slope were swinging the hay-wagon slowly around. It was hard work for men on foot and none of them thought of getting their horses. Red looked at the old Kentucky rifle and wondered if he could get one or two of the men with it. The range was even greater than when he’d used it on the Sharps user, at least a hundred yards, and that was a long shot for a Kentucky. There would not be time to load the old rifle fast enough to do any good with it.
Wilben licked his lips. He’d seen his family safe down into the cellar and came across the room, picking up the Henry rifle and levering a bullet into the chamber. ‘Get down the cellar, friend,’ Red said gently.
‘No. I’m going out there with you.’
Up on the slope the gunmen strained and heaved on the wagon as they swung it around to point down the slope. Cholla Jocelyn snarled out a curse as a thought struck him. ‘Hold it!’
The straining men relaxed and waited to hear what was worrying Jocelyn. Kell snarled out, a match in his hand. ‘What’s wrong now, Cholla?’
‘Get the hosses here. If any of them get out they’ll be coming through that door at the back. We want to get around there ready for them and we can’t do it on foot. Besides there’ll be some smoke and folks’ll be coming on the run. We’ve got to load Jack and Frank on their hosses ready to take them with us. You know the boss don’t want any bodies leaving behind.’ Three of the men darted off to get the horses and returned fast, riding down the slope and slinging the two bodies across the saddles of two riderless mounts. Then they returned to the wagon and Kell growled impatiently at the delay. He was like a savage, his eyes flaring as he reached for the match again and rasped it on his pants, then set the hay alight, watching the flames leap and spread. Then he moved back to his horse and jerked the rifle from the saddle boot. He knew the men in the house could see what was going on. He also knew they would not tamely stand by and let it happen. They would be coming out of the building and up the slope in an attempt to get within range so they could use their handguns. He was going to make sure they did not get the chance to do it. Without a word to the others he slipped down the slope and flopped down behind a rock, his Spencer rifle cuddled into his shoulder and lifted the sights.
Red Blaze hefted his right-hand gun. He saw Larry’s face was just a trifle pale but the young man looked steady enough. ‘Let’s go!’ Red said, ‘You open the door, mister.’
Wilben did it without suspecting a thing. Red jerked his head to the cellar and Larry went to lift the trapdoor again.
Then Red’s pistol lifted to land on Wilben’s head and knock him down. The man was dazed and before he could recover Red was pulling him to the trapdoor. Larry helped lower Wilben down then heard Red say, ‘Never trust anybody, boy.’
Red’s shoulder came round and thrust Larry into the cellar after Wilben, his foot kicked down the door and he ran across the room. Opening the house door Red drew a breath.
Jerking the door open he leapt out, running for the foot of the slope.
Kell’s breath let out a savage snarl as his eyes lined the sights of his rifle on the weaving, fast-running man while above him the other gunmen inched the wagon towards the edge of the incline.
Chapter Ten
Molly Breaks Her Engagement
Molly Wilmont was bored. The wailing screech of the string quartet got on her nerves. The thin-faced leader annoyed her by the way he screwed up his face in what he fondly imagined was a look of rapture but which resembled someone who’d been sucking on a lump of alum. She stood by the double doors of the sitting-room of the Wellington house and tried to look as if she were enjoying herself. Glancing sideways at the mirror on the wall she half approved, half hated, what she saw: a tall, slim, black-haired and beautiful young woman dressed to the height of fashion. The frock, leaving her shoulders bare, was tight and constraining to someone who’d been used to more casual clothes. Her face was losing its tan now and taking on the socially acceptable pallor which she so disliked.
Across the room Laverne and Alvine Wellington were tittering and whispering behind their fans. She watched them and felt disgusted. They were something she hated, simpering flirts who lived for two things only, gossip and flirtations. They and the others of their kind in the room did not interest her; they’d nothing in common. By the punchbowl Mrs. Wellington stood erect, her thin, pointed face showing disapproval at something or other. Molly did not like Mrs. Wellington any more than her two daughters, nor did Mrs. Wellington particularly like her.
Looking around the room Molly hoped that her fiancé, Keith Wellington, had arrived. There was no sign of him, or his father, the bluff, hearty Sam, a man she could like and admire. The old man was rich now, very rich, but he’d earned his money the hard way though he was reputed to be one of the richest men in Chicago. Money would not change him but his wife had done so. Mrs. Wellington was an errant snob, a sour-faced arbiter of what she thought was good taste.
The piece of music ended to polite applause and Molly wished she could find an excuse to leave. There was no hope of that. Mrs. Wellington’s plans for the day included this musical afternoon, then a visit to a theatre. There was no avoiding either. She must sit through the agony of the music all afternoon, then attend the dry as dust play that evening. She wished Keith were here. Keith was some boy and she loved him but she wished he would relax more. He’d taken her around with him to the usual social round, visits to the Streeterville Sporting Club where the bloods of upper-class Chicago forgathered. He’d taken her riding and proved to be good on a horse, though not as good as the youngest cowhand working on the Lazy W, but that was to be expected. Molly, knew that riding for a living was different to riding for sport. He’d taken her to a meeting of the Streeterville Rifle Club and displayed skill with a rifle although she was amused at the way he and his friends handled revolvers. They could shoot good groups on a target at twenty-five yards but she’d seen men who could do better. For all of that she loved Keith and knew that, given a chance, and away, from his mother, he would be all man.
‘Miss Wilmont.’ Molly turned at the disapproving voice of Limbkin the butler. ‘There are two persons asking for you at the front door.’
‘Who are they?’ Molly knew Limbkin did not approve of her and she didn’t like him.
‘I did not inquire. They are not the sort of people madam would’ encourage to come visiting.’
‘What is it, Molly dear?’ Mrs. Wellington was by Molly’s elbow, frowning. ‘Monsieur le Beaufort is just going to perform again.’
‘Somebody’s asking for me at the door,’ Molly answered, seeing the leader of the quartet lifting his bow.
‘Dear me. I do hope they are not like the last ones.’
Molly bit down an angry retort. Early in her acquaintance with the Wellington family a cowhand and his wife came to visit her while on a trip to Chicago. Mrs. Wellington arrived in time to hear Molly entertaining her guests, Mr. and Keith Wellington and a prominent railway president to a rowdy and slightly bawdy cowhand song. There’d been some unpleasant scenes over that and Mrs. Wellington never gave Molly a chance to forget it. It was only because of Sam Wellington’s intervention that the engagement did not end then. He swore that he’d never heard the song done better.
Turning on her heel Molly went towards the door. She could not think who would be visiting her here. There were few enough people in Chicago who knew her, outside the circle of the Wellington family. Whoever they were they did not meet with Limbkin’s approval. Then, nobody apart from Mrs. Wellington did. She opened the doors before Limbkin could arrive and forestall her. It always annoyed him. She went to the front door and a liveried footman drew it open for her. She didn’t know what to expect and stared, hardly believing her eyes. She gave a most unladylike whoop. ‘Rusty!’
‘Hi Molly.’ Mary Anne stepped forward and the two girls hugged each other.
‘Say what’re you doing here?’ Molly “asked, her pleasure at seeing her old friend making her forget where she was. Behind her the doors were open and the music came to a stop as everyone turned to see what the noise was about.
‘Came to see you, gal.’ Mary Anne grinned delightedly. ‘Say, you remember my lil brother, Waco.’
Before Molly could answer there was an interruption. Mrs. Wellington was standing there, a vinegar sour scowl on her face. ‘Molly!’
‘I’d like you to meet—’ Molly began.
Mrs. Wellington ignored the girl, looking Mary Anne and Waco up and down. They were still wearing the clothes they’d bought at the Texas railhead and these were not to the best of fashion. She sniffed then said, ‘Tell your friends to go round the back to the kitchen if they want a meal. And I would like to see you immediately in the library.’
Molly’s face turned red, wild anger in her eyes. She swung to Mary Anne. ‘You come in a Victoria?’
‘Sure,’ Mary Anne was annoyed. She knew she was not well dressed, but-there was no call for such impoliteness.
‘Wait for me in it. This won’t take long.’
Mary Anne and Waco watched the girl following the sour-faced woman into a side room. The annoyance at once left Mary Anne. She turned and grinned at Waco. ‘Man, there’ll be some fur flying soon. I haven’t seen ole Molly so wild since she caught Susan Mae O’Dea with the boy who’d brought her to the quilting party. Come on.’
Molly went into the library with fire in her eyes. Mrs. Wellington was waiting for her and the Wellington girls, tittering behind their fans, were also in the room. Mrs. Wellington looked at Molly with the scowl she usually saved for her social inferiors.
‘I have asked you repeatedly not to associate with those low people, Molly. After all, when you are married to a Wellington you—’
The door opened and Keith Wellington came in. He was a tall, fair, handsome and well built young man, his well-cut suit emphasizing his powerful figure. He came forward, face worried for he’d seen that look on his mother’s face before and knew what it meant. ‘What’s wrong. Molly?’
Molly ignored him. Her temper was up now and when that happened she was wild as a long horned Texas steer. ‘If I marry a Wellington the first thing I’ll do is get him as far away from you as I can. That girl out there is my best friend. She’s more like a sister to me. She happens to own a ranch as big, if not bigger, than the Lazy W. Not that that bothers me. She could still come to visit me even if she was as poor as a Texas sharecropper and she’d be welcome. Friendship doesn’t mean how much money a person has in the bank. Not to me. She was my friend and came to see me, not to be insulted.’
Laverne Wellington gave a shriek and her mother sat rigid at the girl’s effrontery. Then her voice lashed out in the tone which cowed unruly business people and servants. ‘Listen to me, young woman. I’ve never been in favor of you marrying my son. You are not the kind of person a Wellington should marry.’
‘Is that right?’ Molly’s eyes flickered to Keith. ‘What do you say to t
hat, Keith boy?’
Keith’s mouth opened and then closed. He was in an awkward spot now, torn between loyalty to his mother and love for this fiery Texas girl. He tried to smooth things over.
‘Look, Molly—’
‘No, you look. I’m not good enough for your family, it looks like. All right, that suits me. I didn’t intend marrying all your family. If I marry you it looks as if I’d have to marry the family.’ She pulled the engagement ring from her finger and threw it on to the table top. ‘There, give it to some tittering, simpering flirt like these two. There’s a whole lot of them out there who’d just be ready to let your mother wipe her feet on them to become a Wellington. Give that ring to one of them. You don’t want a woman.’
‘Don’t you dare speak to my brother like that?’ Laverne
shouted, determined to show this girl her dislike. ‘I’ll—’
The words ended abruptly as Molly gripped the front of Laverne’s dress and pulled the girl forward, holding a folded, hard-looking fist under her nose. ‘You’ll do nothing. You dumb little sheep, you couldn’t walk the width of the room without a guide. It’s a pity you didn’t see the man who was with my friend. He’d really have set you going after some of the things I’ve seen you flirting with.’
Molly gave Laveme a contemptuous push which staggered her back across the room. Mrs. Wellington gave a cry and flopped back in her chair with arms hanging limp and mouth open. Molly looked at Keith. ‘I’m going back to Texas. Goodbye.’
Keith was about to speak but the Wellington girls were by their mother and shrieking that she was having one of her turns. Once more he was caught in that mess. It was either the girl he loved or his mother. He’d seen enough of her turns to know how dangerous they were. Yet for all that he could not just walk away and leave her, it might be serious. Also sense told him that in her present mood Molly would not listen to any reason. Turning, Keith bent over his mother, hearing the door of the room slam behind Molly. He thought there was a flickering smile of triumph across his mother’s lips.