If I send in two men down each ridge to hide in ambush, and me and Fred sneak up the middle, we can sit in the rocks and draw them out so the others can pick them off one at a time as they try to take out Fred and me.
He pushed his bulk from the ground and returned to the rough camp hidden at the tree line. It was far enough away that it couldn’t be spotted accidentally and close enough for surveillance and launching the final attack. Once there, he motioned three men to his side.
“You boys done been with me a long time an’ I’m depending on you sons-of-bitches.”
“Yeah, Boss.”
“You betcha’, Boss. We can do what ya want.”
Lefty was silent.
“Well, asshole, can I depend on ya or not?” Gunner demanded.
“Yeah, Boss, you can,” Lefty replied. “I gotta tell ya though. I have a bad feelin’ about this. It jus’ don’t sit good.”
“A bad feelin’? What the hell does that mean? Look, you little redneck, I need you in this attack. You been harpin’ for years I don’t give ya nothing important ta’ do. Now that I do, you start crawfishin’ ta’ beat tha’ band. Shit!”
“Well, ya want me to say if I can do it? Yeah! It’s just somethin’ about those fellers…”
“Shut tha’ hell up. We move at first light. You take Ed and when I give the word, ride down the right side ridge trail and set up to cover that cabin. Pete, you an’ Paco take the left trail; same thing, ya hear? Fred, you and me gonna spur off the left side and get in those rocks in the middle.
“Like as not, them men will just give on up and turn tail when the shootin’ starts. If they don’t, we ride em down an’ kill ever mother’s son of them. I saw at least one woman; she lives. An’ I saw another horse; might mean one more hiding in there.
“Y’all listen; theys either five, or maybe six, in there. I don’t want no shootin’ unless you have a clear target. Y’all hear me good. They won’t be nobody walkin’ away from that cabin by nightfall! Now, y’all go get ready. Fred, I want all this over as quick as possible. Then we ride to that valley and tear the damn thing apart till we get the gold. Go on, move.”
* * * *
Lefty pulled harder on the girth and cinched it. The foreboding he felt the day before was stronger now; something about this raid didn’t feel right. A cloud passed in front of the rising sun and a chill ran up his spine. He shivered. In his mind, it was as if the hand of death passed its touch over his soul.
He looked around him. None of the other men seemed to notice, or care. Only he could see the shadow that lay upon the entire camp. He cast his gaze to Gunner Farren. There he could see nothing but a dark fog that made his leader’s features blur and shift suddenly. Lefty turned away quickly. He placed both hands on his saddle and closed his eyes in prayer. It was a thing he hadn’t done in a very long time.
He wanted nothing more than to get on his horse and ride blindly out of the camp and get as far away as possible.
“Lefty!” Gunner shouted. “You ready ovah there? You holdin’ us up, asshole. Get a move on, boy. Don’t make me come over there and stomp you.”
Fred Zimmer walked his mount beside the praying man. He snorted his derision. “Fuckin’ fool is prayin’. I’ll just be Goddamned.”
Lefty looked up and saw that Fred also had the pall of death on him. “Yeah, you will, Fred. May He have mercy on us all!”
* * * *
The women were bundled together on the small bed. The men were snoring loudly in their bedrolls on the floor beyond a blanket dissecting the small room. Prophet didn’t sleep. His intuition told him that something was going to happen. Deep inside he knew that the coming day would see them live or die.
The possibility of a fight wasn’t what he had on his mind, however. He stared at the blanket as if he could see beyond to the sleeping blonde on the other side. He had told Shannon the truth; he could think of nothing but her.
The way she looked, the way she smelled, and her laugh seemed to reach into his soul and lift his spirits to their highest point. At this moment he wanted nothing more than to be with her and consummate the love they both had confessed. He wanted to tell her all his inner feelings and protect her forever. He wanted to hold her when she cried, heal her when she hurt, share each and every day with her as if it were the last.
It was those thoughts he held close this night. He wanted nothing more than have her in his arms and gaze deeply into her eyes. Kiss her and show the world that he, Tucker Prophet, had found someone to care about after all his years of loneliness.
Looking suddenly at the far wall, he rose to his feet. He didn’t speak loudly, but there was urgency in his tone.
“Boys, let’s get outside. We got work to do.”
Three pair of eyes opened. The men didn’t question. They took up their weapons and moved to the cabin door. They stopped and shook each other’s hand. It was an old ritual. Each man nodded to the other and moved out into the increasing light of dawn, to their assigned posts.
Prophet pushed the curtain aside. Shannon sat on the bed with her back against the wooden headboard. Tears glistened in her eyes. She mouthed the words so she wouldn’t wake the other women. “I love you.”
He nodded and turned away to join the others.
* * * *
With the rising sun in his eyes, Stanley Rosenthal couldn’t see the outlaw hidden in the rocks on the plateau. When he finally noticed, the man was close; too close. Tucker Prophet watched in horror as Stan spun and fired. He missed; but the shot did force the outlaw to duck behind cover. He knelt beside a pine and raised the rifle for another shot but had no target.
“Stan, get out of there. Move to the rocks on my left,” he shouted.
Rapid fire from directly behind the cabin distracted him and he turned. While drawing an aim on the rocks between the ridges, the sound of the action of a Winchester came from behind.
Prophet heard the shot and the meaty thunk from his position. He turned in time to see his old friend go down, clutching his chest. Sadness filled him; then anger. He aimed and fired. Once, twice and thrice, with three shots he stopped the shooting from the left side.
They were scattered around the cabin and taking fire from three different positions. He hadn’t counted on an ambush. They were in trouble. Even now he could hear shouting and the sounds of a scuffle on his right. They just couldn’t cover three positions.
Firing cover for Terry on his right and the open position where Stan had fallen removed all but one thought from his mind; Shannon Hill. With men screaming, bleeding and dying around him, he fought desperately to one end; surviving this day of death for a new and better life with this woman by his side.
* * * *
Gunner Farren was as happy as a man filled with evil and violence could ever be. From his vantage, he saw two of the four men go down. With luck, he could remain where he was and wouldn’t need to ride in and finish the attack. Not a chance. He watched as the two survivors rushed the left side. Seeing and hearing shot after shot, he saw first Pete, and then Paco go down in the hail of gunfire.
“Fred, get mounted. They’re way out from the cabin. We gonna ride out there and take ‘em now.” Gunner lofted atop his mare.
She was a small horse and the imbalance of her size and the huge man astride her was somewhat comical. In reality, the mare was a perfect match for him. She was accustomed to the heavy load she carried and was sure-footed in the rocky, hilly terrain.
* * * *
On the right side, Terry found himself locked in hand to hand fighting with two men. When the outlaws pinned him down with gunfire from the center, it gave the men on his left time to jump him.
Now they were upon him. He threw the empty rifle aside and reached for pistol and knife. Both outlaws chose that moment to close the gap and make the pistol ineffective. With fi
sts and knives the fight became a brawl in which desperation and determination, size and strength were the only defense. Like his friend Tucker Prophet, Terry Wheeler now had more reason than ever before to defeat this enemy and ensure the survival of the one he loved.
A mistake by one of the outlaws led to his messy death upon the blade of Wheeler’s knife. The other, however, hesitated and stepped back to fire his pistol. The bullet tore through Wheeler’s jacket and into his upper chest and shoulder.
The force of the blow took Terry to his knees; the pain was intense. The outlaw turned and fled for cover.
* * * *
Cordwood was stacked in the gaping hole where the door of the cabin once stood, as a barrier to offer more cover. Shannon crouched behind that barricade with her pistol resting loosely in her hand. With her shoulder injured, firing a rifle was questionable. Even so, she was confident that none of the filth attacking her cabin would make it past her to the women she stood guard over. She flexed her left shoulder to test its strength.
“Mother, are you sure you can handle my rifle? When they come, you will have to load and shoot as fast as possible.”
“Yes, dear, I’m sure. Don’t worry so, I can do my part.”
“Oh, Mother, I’m so scared.”
“I know, dear.” Maryanne wrapped her arm around Shannon and held out her other to Patti Baker.
After the comforting nearness, Maryanne pushed the girls away to their places at window and door. She moved to the back of the cabin. From there she could fire through any of the openings. All the shutters had been thrown open to allow no surprise intrusion through the void that once was the door to the cabin.
Just outside, the sounds of the struggle reached them. Gunfire, shouts, and screams of pain flowed with the ever-changing patterns of the fight. Shannon was proud of the incredible bravery of the men that placed themselves in that hail of gunfire.
She was watching as Stan Rosenthal dropped from sight. Her spirit plummeted. The outlaws seemed to sense victory and rushed forward.
“Come with me, girl!” she shouted.
Tugging Patti deeper into the cabin, Shannon pushed her down behind an upturned table for concealment. Stumbling with the effort, she fell against the wall of the cabin, her injured left arm impacting the rough logs, eliciting a gasp of pain. She reeled backward, cursing loudly.
“Shannon, help!” Maryanne screamed.
* * * *
He looked for another target. The outlaws were scattered and hidden behind any concealment they could find. Movement to the left drew his attention. He fired another shot into the rocks. The outlaw never noticed his near brush with death in his determination to find new cover. Once hidden again, the man aimed and fired, striking Tucker in the lower left leg causing him to stumble and fall.
A pair of large, strong hands grabbed his arms and he was being dragged. He started fighting with all the strength he had left to free himself. He was borne into a tangle of brush and released. When he looked up, it was Terry Wheeler’s face he saw. Blood was running down his friend’s arm from a nasty wound, and his face was filled with cuts and bruises from an apparent close encounter.
“We have to get out of here, Terry. We have to. Don’t let them take the cabin. Don’t let them take Shannon. Oh God, please.”
“You’re hurt, Captain. Hell, we all are. It’s time we get back to the cabin anyway. We’re moving now.”
Prophet closed his eyes against the pain in his leg. He nodded his affirmation of Terry’s suggestion.
“What’s up, Terry?” Lou asked as he knelt next to the two men.
“Back to the cabin; help me with Tucker. Move back to the cabin.”
“Well, it’s about damn time! Why don’t you yell a little louder? Just a little though, so everybody can hear you. I got him. Let’s go, and don’t be gettin’ killed!” Lou grinned.
* * * *
Maryanne caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Unmistakably, two men were moving to the doorway of the cabin. She raised her rifle and fired through the doorway.
“Shannon, help!”
Lou’s reflexes were fast. He saw the sun glint off the gun barrel and drew his head back just in time. The bullet splintered the door frame, missing his head by inches.
“Whoa, Mary! Hold on now. It’s just me and Tucker. He’s hurt! Help me get him inside, would you?”
Shannon rushed to the doorway to help, tears welling up in her eyes at the sight of the man she loved injured and bleeding. Her emotions threatened to overwhelm her as she lent her strength to Tucker Prophet. Seating him in the single chair in the small room, she quickly used her knife to cut away the cloth around the wound and surveyed his injuries. She was shaken but didn’t hesitate.
She reached for an iron poker placed in the coals of the stove, and touched the glowing, red hot end into first one wound and then the other, sealing the small openings. The smell of burning flesh filled the room as Prophet gasped through gritted teeth, and stared intently into Shannon’s eyes.
Even through the cauterization, his attention was focused on the young woman he was in love with. She poured cold, clean water over the wound, cooling the freshly burned area, rinsing away blood and dirt. Shannon returned his gaze, offering a slight smile to reassure him. She wrapped a bandage tightly around the leg.
“Terry’s coming in!” Lou announced.
Prophet rose and hobbled over to the barricade. He saw Terry helping, almost dragging Rosenthal across the clearing to the front of the cabin. He was relieved when he saw that Stan wasn’t dead as was feared, though the injury he sustained was indeed severe. A bright crimson stain saturated his clothing from armpit to thigh on his left side.
“Get that iron ready. It looks like Stan is hurt pretty badly, and I know Terry will need a wound closed. Lou, let Shannon handle the burning and you get over to that back window. Remove the bar on the shutter and let us know what’s going on. I’ll take the front.”
“Yes sir, Captain.”
* * * *
One hundred yards from the back wall of the cabin, Gunner Farren and Fred Zimmer waited as a lone rider returned from the failed ambush. Wild-eyed with anger and defeat, the survivor reined in abreast of his leader.
“There’s a Texas Ranger in there, Gunner. Maybe we should let ‘em go an’ ride out. Me and Ed tried to take out that big one but he was too much for either of us. I shot him and he went down, but Ed was already done for by that time. I saw the knife stickin’ outta his chest.” Lefty Morgan was trying desperately to reload his Colt, report to his leader and watch for pursuit at the same time.
“Let ‘em go?!” Gunner shouted. “Hell no, we finish this now. Let’s get this over with. We don’t need the others.”
“Boss, Pete and Paco are dead too. Theys only the three of us left. Like Lefty said, let’s get out of here.” Fred added his plea to Lefty’s.
Farren listened, his anger growing with every word. His face beet red, he turned and looked at the cabin one last time.
“I’ll find every mother’s son of those bastards one day, but not today. All right, let’s go.”
* * * *
Sweat dappled his brow and fever swept through his body like molten fire. Stanley Rosenthal was dying. Maryanne sat with him, bathing his face with cooling water. He pursed his lips to speak but no sound came. She saw his struggle and dampened his lips and tongue with a few drops of water.
“Thank you, Miss Mary. Could you get Tucker for me?” He lay back and closed his eyes, the effort of speaking drained him completely.
Maryanne hurried outside. She touched Tucker Prophet on the shoulder to get his attention. “He wants you.”
Approaching the bed, Tucker smiled. “Hey, Stan, you rest easy now, you hear me? You’re gonna be all right,” he lied.
“You’re so full
of bullshit. I’m done for and we both know it.” He started to laugh, only to elicit a sputtering, gasping cough. Bright crimson blood spattered across the blanket over his chest.
“I want you to do me a favor, if you can.”
“Just name it.” Tucker gripped the older man’s hand.
“In my saddlebag you will find my journal; it has the address for my daughter and granddaughter. Let them know where you bury me so they can come say the right words over me one day. Can you bury me with the small bundle that is with my journal? It’s important.” He closed his eyes.
“I will personally see to it, Stan.”
“We found our place to rest, didn’t we Tucker? We…”
The cabin fell silent.
Chapter Seven
Tucker Prophet leaned back against the wall of the cabin and closed his eyes. Shannon stood beside him and laid her head on his shoulder. He smiled and gently stroked her hair, soothing away her fears and the anger he knew was burning inside her.
“Tucker?”
“Yeah?”
“What happens now? I mean, it’s over now, isn’t it?”
“No, it isn’t over. I’ll have to find Farren, it’s what I set out to do and it’s what I have to do. And now he owes for another death.”
“Why you? Why now? I don’t want to lose you to a back-shooting bastard like him.”
“Shannon, I’ve fought too many battles for nothing. This one, I fight for us and a future that is uncertain at best. I love you. I have come to a point in my life when it’s time for me to settle down and be what I can be. Farmer, hunter, rancher…dammit, I don’t really care, as long as it’s worth the effort. Stan, Terry, and Lou have been my family for a long time. When we four broke away from the only life we knew, we all promised each other that we would find a place to rest and live in peace.
“This is it! Stan paid for that promise with his life. Terry and I paid with blood. Gunner Farren owes each of us a debt. You…me, and the others; each of us has faced death and know that it is always waiting and is nothing to fear. It falls to me to collect that debt. Can you understand it’s a thing I have to do?
Prophet's Rest Page 7