Talman's War (A Piccadilly Publishing Western #9)

by Neil Hunter

  ‘He figured he’d trail Olsen’s crew for a while. Keep an eye on them.’ Callender was sitting on a rock, reloading his rifle. ‘Tell you, Jim, that herd is going to run until it hits the gates of hell.’

  ‘Looked that way to me. You have any trouble?’

  ‘No. I guess we just hit ’em so much by surprise those Boxed-O boys ain’t yet stopped running round in circles.’

  Jim moved over to his horse. ‘You ready to ride?’

  ‘Surely. You feel up to it?’

  ‘I’ll do.’

  They mounted up and Jim led out, following as near as possible the way they had come in. For this part of the ride they were taking to higher ground and after a half hour Jim drew rein. He brought his field-glasses out and had a look at the distant dust cloud that was all he could see of Olsen’s herd. From what he could make out the herd was splitting up and going in every possible direction. He handed the glasses over to Callender.

  ‘Olsen is going to be screaming bloody murder,’ Callender said softly. ‘This is going to hurt him more than anything else you could do to him.’

  ‘That’s what I hoped for,’ Jim said. ‘Maybe this will make him think before he tries anything else against Rocking-T.’

  Callender handled the glasses thoughtfully for a time. Then he returned them to Jim.

  They rode on, and an hour later they were joined by a grinning, dusty Josh Keel.

  ‘Man, I never seen so funny a sight before.’ He took a long drink from his canteen. ‘Those Boxed-O riders just don’t know what to do. That herd’s just running and they can’t stop it no matter what they try.’

  Jim glanced at Callender and smiled tiredly. He’d done what he’d set out to do. He had hit back at Olsen and he had hit him hard and heavily. Olsen would never forget this, Jim knew, but that didn’t worry him. Physical force was all that Philip Olsen understood, so Jim had used just that to hit at him. What would come of this was not yet clear, but whatever it was, Jim decided, he would be ready to fight it. He had put Olsen’s back against the wall. Now he would have to be ready to react to the kicks that were bound to come.

  Jim gathered his reins and turned his horse towards home. ‘Let’s go,’ he said, gigging his horse into motion, setting out on the ride that would take him to a final showdown.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jim found Rocking-T as he had left it. The ranch was deserted except for the cook, Dicken Hodges, and as Jim, Callender and Josh Keel rode in, he came out of the cook shack brandishing an old double-barrel shotgun. The old man was primed for action and Jim could have sworn that Hodges looked more than a little upset when he saw it wasn’t Boxed-O.

  ‘Ease off, Dicken, we’re friendly,’ Jim said. He slid out of the saddle. ‘Rem do me a favor. Saddle me a fresh horse.’

  ‘Sure, Jim. You sure you’re all right for any more riding?’

  ‘I’ll manage,’ Jim said. ‘You and Josh get yourselves sorted out and Dicken will get you some food ready.’

  Jim followed Hodges into the cook shack and helped himself to a mug of coffee. It tasted good, better than coffee had tasted for a long time.

  ‘Any trouble, Dicken?’ he asked.

  Hodges, busy at his stove, shook his head. ‘Been pretty quiet. Dutchy and the boys have been in the saddle day and night since you been gone. Olsen’s playing it pretty close if you ask me. What do you think he’s up to, Jim?’

  Jim took another mug of coffee. ‘Damned if I know. Maybe he’s decided to give me time to think.’

  Breaking eggs into a pan Hodges was silent for moment. ‘How did your little escapade go?’

  ‘Pretty fair. Olsen’s herd got spread every which way by the time we’d done.’

  Hodges gave a toothless chuckle. ‘Wish I could have seen that. What you figure’ll happen now?’

  ‘We’ll find out in time. I figure that one of Olsen’s riders will make his way back to Boxed-O anytime now. If I know Olsen he’ll get every man he can to round up that herd and nursemaid it back to Boxed-O. That should keep him busy for a few more days. Give us a little breathing space.’

  Hodges placed a plate of eggs and thick slices of bacon down on the table. ‘If you got breathing space,’ he said, ‘you got time to sit down. If Ruth finds out I ain’t been feedin’ you proper my life won’t be worth a kick in the butt.’

  Jim sat down and began to eat the meal with enthusiasm. The ride home had been hard and long, for Jim had set a fast pace. They’d ridden through the night, only stopping once for a quick, cold meal and a short rest. Now the fatigue was catching up on him, but he wanted to get to town as soon as possible. He wanted to see Ruth, let her know that he was all right. He was tired and dirty and unshaven, but those things could wait until he’d seen Ruth.

  He finished his meal and left the cook shack, heading for the stable. Rem Callender and Josh Keel came out as Jim started across the yard. He met them in the middle of it and stopped for a moment to exchange a few words.

  Later he was unable to remember what was said — within seconds of the conversation starting it was violently interrupted.

  Josh Keel, standing a little to one side, put up a warning hand. Callender instantly turned his attention to his partner.

  ‘Riders coming,’ Keel said. ‘Big bunch. Riding hard. Be over that rise in a minute.’

  ‘Rem?’

  Callender nodded. ‘If he says so, Jim, they’ll be here.’

  Jim didn’t doubt Callender or Keel. The only question his mind asked was who? And he didn’t really need an answer. His own crew would be wide-spread across Rocking-T range, and if they were returning to the ranch there was no reason why they should do so in such a manner. It appeared as if Olsen’s laxity had taken a sudden turn.

  And then the time for questions was past as a fast-riding group of horsemen burst into view from beyond the rise that Keel had indicated. In the short time left for assessing the odds Jim was able to count at least a dozen riders. They were all well-armed and the way they were handling their weapons it was plain to see that they were out to cause trouble. And trouble was meant to bring grief for Rocking-T

  ‘Move out,’ Jim said. ‘Fast.’

  The three of them turned, making for the cook shack which was the closest building to them. As they went in through the door the Boxed-O raiders swept into the yard and the first rattle of shots exploded, sending heavy slugs into the plank walls of the cook shack.

  Jim slammed the door shut, turned and positioned himself at one of the windows, he heard Callender curse softly.

  ‘Rem?’

  Callender, at the window on the opposite side of the door, glanced over at him. ‘Just that we got ourselves boxed in tight. No place to make a fight from.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Callender poked his handgun through one of the window-panes, clearing the glass. He loosed off a couple of shots that brought a heavy return fire. ‘Jim, we need rifles. Handguns ain’t going to do much for us against that bunch.’

  Before Jim could reply Dicken Hodges came out of the small storeroom. He had a half-dozen rifles cradled in his arms and he laid them down on the table. ‘These what you want, feller?’ he chuckled. ‘Take your pick while I fetch some shells.’

  Callender brought two of the rifles over to the front of the cook shack, tossing one to Jim. Keel, who had taken up a position at one of the rear windows, came to the table and helped himself to a couple of the weapons, taking a box of shells from Hodges as the cook returned from his storeroom.

  ‘You can thank Jim’s pa for this,’ Hodges said. He handed out boxes of shells. ‘We’ve had rifles stashed out ever since way back. Comes from when there were Indians on the loose. We got caught a couple of times, but not after the boss had this notion.’

  As he thumbed shells into his rifle Jim turned his attention to what was going on outside.

  The bunch of Boxed-O riders, after making their first pass across the yard, had regrouped just beyond the big corral and it was obvious that they were ab
out to make another run. Occasional shots cracked sharply, the slugs smacking suddenly into the walls of the cook shack. One shattered the pane in Jim’s window and glass showered into the room.

  ‘What do you figure they’re after?’ Callender asked. ‘Us or the property?’

  ‘I’d say anything marked Rocking-T is fair game,’ Jim told him. He levered a round into the breech and watched the Boxed-O riders as they began to round the far end of the corral.

  The moment they were clear of the corral, the riders wheeled their horses and set them at a dead run across the open yard. Their way took them past the house first and as they reached it every gun opened up, pouring a hail of lead into the structure. Jim winced as he heard glass shatter. He thought of Ruth’s neat rooms, her furnishings and ornaments, and he felt sudden anger rise.

  Then the riders came abreast of the cook shack. Their guns opened up again, but this time their fire was answered.

  Keel and Hodges had joined forces with Jim and Callender at the front of the cook shack, and as the Boxed-O riders swept by, four rifles opened up on them. Levers were worked as fast as each shell was fired. The noise in the cook shack was deafening and the air became heavy with gun smoke, the odor of burnt powder.

  Keel turned away from the window, smearing blood away from a cut cheek. He began to thumb fresh loads into his rifle. ‘Three down,’ he said. ‘They won’t try that again. Next time it’ll be on foot.’

  Watching the three riderless horses of the downed raiders, Jim felt he agreed with Keel. He switched his gaze to the men themselves. One was dead; he had caught at least three slugs before he’d hit the ground. Of the remaining pair one was kneeling, clutching a bloody, shattered left arm. The other raider lay with both hands held tight against his side. Blood was dribbling through his fingers and the man was cursing loudly, without pause.

  Callender listened to the outburst for a minute then called for the man to shut up. The man ignored him. Callender asked again. Now the man began to call his curses at Callender.

  ‘I asked him politely,’ Callender said, more to himself than anyone else. He said no more, but simply drew his handgun, aimed fractionally and fired. His shot clipped a slice from the man’s left ear. The cursing ceased instantly. The Boxed-O raider threw a white-faced glance towards Callender’s window, then awkwardly scrambled to his feet and began an unsteady walk towards his companions who were once more gathered beyond the big corral. The man who remained, realizing he was being left alone, also got up and trailed after his injured partner.

  ‘Maybe they’ll up and quit now,’ Hodges suggested hopefully.

  ‘Don’t bet on it,’ Jim told him. He was scanning the land out beyond the ranch, wondering if any of his crew were close enough to have heard the shooting. It was possible that they were involved in some kind of trouble themselves. He hoped not. A little while back he had been feeling somewhat more confident, believing that perhaps things were easing off. What was happening now seemed like a direct slap in the face. Jim realized he needed to keep his wits about him if he wanted to come out of this in one piece. Olsen was still intent on his takeover and if Jim let his vigilance weaken it would happen before he realized it. There could be no let up until the matter was settled once for all — one way or the other.

  A council-of-war seemed to be taking place beyond the corral. The Boxed-O raiders looked as though they were in disagreement over some matter. Watching them Jim wondered what they were haggling about. He would have given a lot to know.

  ‘Maybe they can’t agree on which way to kill us,’ Callender said. He raised his rifle and laid it across the window-sill, sighting almost casually. When he fired the sound of the shot was unusually loud in the stillness.

  Jim, who had kept his eyes on the Boxed-O raiders, saw one man suddenly jerk sideways and fall from his saddle. The man struck the ground in an ungainly heap, thrashing about wildly until he got his bearings. He sat up, his left hand held around his right upper arm which was blotched with red.

  ‘You figure it wrong to shoot when you ain’t being shot at?’ Callender asked.

  ‘Is that how I looked?’ Jim pulled his gaze from the scattering Boxed-O men. He managed a tight smile. ‘I guess maybe I’m not as used to this kind of situation as you, Rem.’

  Callender inclined his head. ‘I been in a few scrapes, and one thing I learned early was never to wait for the other feller to make up his mind. When it comes to gunplay the one who finishes on his feet is usually the one who shoots first and worries about giving the other feller an even break later.’

  And he was probably right, Jim thought, which is why he’s still alive.

  ‘Here they come,’ Josh Keel yelled.

  Callender’s accurate long shot had galvanized Boxed-O into action. Now on foot Olsen’s men were moving in on the cook shack. Jim saw also an added danger. A number of torches, wood-staves tipped with thick wads of oil-soaked rags, had appeared. It was obvious what they were intended for, and this must have been one of the main reasons for this raid. The firing of Rocking-T headquarters, if it took place would be a shattering blow to all those who worked and fought for it.

  ‘They aim to put us to the torch,’ Jim said, anger strong in his words. ‘Damn that man to hell.’

  ‘You aim to let ’em, Jim?’ Hodges asked.

  ‘What do you think?’ Jim said and swung his rifle up. His shot cracked harshly and one of the running men lost control of his limbs, plunging face down in the dirt. The blazing torch he carried cartwheeled for a few yards before it came to rest.

  Seconds after Jim’s shot the rest of the guns in the cook shack opened up, to be answered by the weapons of the Boxed-O raiders. After that there was time for little else but to aim and fire, reload and fire again.

  Caution seemed to have become uppermost in the minds of the raiders. Every man made for the closest cover and then opened up on the cook shack.

  Had the cook shack been constructed of lesser material, of weaker wood, the defenders of Rocking-T would have suffered to a greater degree. As it was they came out of it with nothing more serious than superficial wounds. Despite the heavy fire from Boxed-O the sturdy walls of the cook shack kept all but a few of the deadly rifle slugs from getting into the building. Once it was realized that the walls were too thick to penetrate, the raiders’ guns ranged in on the windows. Within a short time every shard of glass had been driven from the frames and the frames themselves were splintered and torn.

  Jim realized that while he and his men were pinned down, unable to observe what was going on outside, the time was ripe for Boxed-O to move in with their torches. He thought of the house, the barn and stable, the bunkhouse, and all the other structures that made up Rocking-T. Once they were set to burning there would be little that could be done to save them. As he crouched there, hearing the sound of the Boxed-O rifles, feeling the solid smack each time a slug struck home, Jim felt something close to panic begin to build up inside him. For the first time in his life he felt his control slipping. Here was something he was overwhelmingly involved in. His every emotion told him that this thing shouldn’t be happening, but downright logic answered that it was. Jim thought about it, forcing himself to calmness. He had to think straight and act fast.

  ‘Rem,’ he said, and he knew clearly what he had to do. ‘I want you with me on this.’

  ‘On what, Jim?’

  ‘Any time now they’re going to start burning the place down. I’m not going to sit here and let that happen.’

  ‘I figured you’d be thinking on those lines.’

  ‘Then you’ll know what I aim to do.’

  Callender nodded. He finished reloading his rifle, slipped a handful of shells into his pocket.

  ‘Josh, you and Dicken make like we were all still in here,’ Jim said. ‘Plenty of noise. Give us a chance to get clear.’

  For a moment it looked as if Hodges might argue. The old man finally decided against it. ‘I’m gettin’ too old for them sort of capers,’ he muttered sou
rly.

  Jim led the way into the small kitchen, where a window opened out onto the back of the cook shack. The Boxed-O raiders were concentrating their attack on the front of the building and this left the rear open and untouched. It was a bad slip on the part of Boxed-O, but Jim wasn’t about to complain. He slipped out through the window, with Callender close behind.

  ‘No messing this time, Rem,’ Jim said. ‘We’ll do it your way. Shoot first, worry later.’

  ‘With fellers like Olsen and the scum he hires there just isn’t any other way.’

  They moved along the rear of the cook shack, hearing the crackling gunfire of attackers and defenders. Reaching the end of the building they paused. Jim indicated the adjoining building, the bunkhouse, and Callender nodded his understanding. Stepping past Jim he broke from cover and sprinted across the open space. He reached the cover of the bunkhouse without mishap, and Jim watched him move rapidly along its rear. When he reached the far end he vanished from sight and Jim was able to give his full attention to his own part of the job. He could forget about Callender, for the man was more than capable of holding his own in a situation like this.

  As Jim turned to size up the lay of the land before him, he saw movement from over by the corral. He saw a man ease up out of the dust and run forward at a crouch, heading in Jim’s general direction. Shots from the cook shack kicked up dust close to him but failed to stop him. The man reached the cover of the cook shack and paused there long enough to put a match to the torch he was holding.

  Jim had drawn back out of sight and he waited now, his rifle ready as he heard the raider moving his way. The man obviously intended to get around to the rear of the building before he used his torch.

  Jim was ready for the confrontation when it happened. The Boxed-O man was not, but he reacted swiftly when he rounded the corner of the cook shack, coming face to face with Jim. The man gave an angry curse and swung the blazing torch up, jabbing it at Jim’s face.