"Reckon if cats could shoot back, you'd be dead right now, Farley," one of the men scoffed.
"Shut up!" the outlaw leader snapped. Turning back to Cully and Brennan, he snarled, "Now, unless you two want more of the same, you'll tell us all you know about Roscoe Wolfe!"
Brennan somehow found the strength to grin at him. The marshal's white hair was in disarray, and several streaks of blood marked his face. But he still laughed and said, "Why are you asking us? We thought you rode with Wolfe!"
Farley shook his head. "Not hardly. He's got something we want, though. You two ain't part of his gang?"
"Seems we've all made a mistake, my friend," Brennan said.
Farley brought up his gun, jabbed the barrel under Brennan's chin. "I ain't your friend! I want to know whatever you know about Wolfe. Is he comin' here?"
From where he stood a few feet away, Cully spat blood from his mouth and rasped, "Let him alone! He's telling you the truth. We're looking for Wolfe just like you are."
The man holding Cully painfully tightened his grip as Farley swung toward the deputy. "You're a feisty one, ain't you?" the outlaw leader growled. "Listen, mister, we want what Wolfe has got, and if you don't know where he is, I ain't got one damn reason for keepin' you alive. Lord knows we don't need any more competition!"
Brennan spoke up quickly. "We may not know where Wolfe is, but maybe we can help you find him, mister. We've got a score to settle with him, too."
"Forget it," Farley sneered with a shake of his head. "You're just tryin' to save your own skin now. You got no score to settle with Wolfe, you just want that money, like us. Ain't goin' to work." He leveled his pistol at Cully and snapped at his men, "Get out from behind them!"
Abruptly, the outlaws released Cully and Brennan, and the realization that Farley was about to execute them flashed through Cully's mind. He had to do something to stop the man, anything—
An eardrum-rattling shout rang through the barn before Farley could pull the trigger. The outlaw spun around and jerked his gun toward the open loft as a huge shape came hurtling down from the shadows. Farley let out a yell as he triggered wildly. The Remington boomed.
Angus MacQuarrie's booted foot slammed into Farley's chest, driving the outlaw to the ground. Angus's full weight came down on the man's chest, and Farley shrieked as his bones snapped and cracked. Thrown off balance, Angus pitched forward, but he managed to hang on to the shotgun in his hands. As the other outlaws whirled toward him, he touched off both barrels.
The double charge caught one of the men in the middle of the body and smashed him backward in a spray of blood. The outlaw sprawled lifeless on the ground.
Cully and Brennan leaped toward their guns as the other outlaws turned their weapons on Angus. Brennan snatched up his Colts. "Try to take one alive!" he rapped to Cully,
A gun blasted, the slug kicking up dirt only inches from Angus. The Scotsman dropped to the ground and rolled toward Farley, who was still writhing in agony.
"Look out!" one of the outlaws shouted, realizing that Cully and Brennan were now armed. He and one of the other hardcases spun toward the lawmen.
Cully dropped to a knee and twisted around. An outlaw bullet whined by his head as he leveled the gun. He triggered twice, aiming instinctively.
Beside him, Brennan was firing with both hands. As each blast kicked the gun up in recoil, Brennan squeezed off a shot with the other hand.
The three outlaws still on their feet staggered back as bullets thudded into them. Their fingers yanked the triggers convulsively, spraying slugs around the barn. Then, almost in one motion, all three fell to the stable floor.
Brennan stopped firing. His face was a frozen mask as he squinted through the haze of gun smoke drifting in front of his face. He kept his guns trained on the fallen outlaws, just in case one of them still had some fight in him.
Cully moved quickly to the bodies, carefully staying out of Brennan's line of fire. "They're all dead, all right," he reported a moment later, after checking the corpses.
Brennan cursed.
Cully turned toward Angus, who was climbing back onto his feet. There was no need to check on the man Angus had blasted with the shotgun; the buckshot had practically cut the outlaw in half. Cully met the Scotsman's level gaze and asked, "Are you all right?"
"Aye. 'Tis more than I can say f' this fella." He gestured toward Farley with the barrels of the shotgun.
The outlaw leader was lying on his back, fingers scrabbling futilely at his crushed chest. Blood dribbled from both corners of his mouth, and his eyes were wide and staring.
Cully, wincing at the pain in his belly, knelt beside Farley. "We'll go get a doctor for you," he said.
Brennan stepped up on Farley's other side. "Don’t be in such a hurry, Cully," he said icily. To Farley, he asked, "Just exactly what were you after, mister?"
"This man's hurt bad," Cully protested before Farley could answer.
"Don’t you think I know that? That's why I want him to talk now. How about it, Farley? Just what do you know about Wolfe?"
Farley stared up at them. "D-damn...you..." he gasped, his voice choked from the blood in his throat. "I hope...that if you get that f-fifty...grand from Wolfe...that you spend it in Hell, you bastards!"
The last words came from him in a rush, and his head fell limply to one side.
"Reckon he got torn up pretty bad inside when Angus landed on him," Brennan said. He thumbed fresh cartridges into his guns, then slid them back into their holsters.
"Reckon so," Cully agreed. He stood up slowly. As evil as Farley was, this was still an awful way to die, he thought. Grinning wearily at Angus, Cully went on, "I'd about given up when I saw you come flying out of that loft, Angus."
'"T’was almost too late I was," the Scotsman agreed.
Brennan said, "That was you who made that noise up there a few minutes ago, wasn't it?"
"Aye." Angus nodded. "I saw all o' ye being herded in here when I came into town. ’Twasn’t an easy job climbing into th' loft from outside. 'Twas lucky tha' cat was up there t' fool those outlaws."
"Well, we appreciate the help—even if I did tell you to stay out at the camp with the others."
"Seemed t' me ye might need help 'fore midnight."
Brennan found his hat, knocked the dents out of it, and settled it on his head. "We'd better get out of here. We won't be learning anything else in Ambrewster's Gap."
Angus jerked a thumb at the sprawled bodies. "What about th' law?"
Cully shook his head. "No law of any kind. That's why Farley and his men felt free to grab us like that."
Angus broke the shotgun open and reloaded it, then fell in behind Cully and Brennan as they left the livery stable. Cully saw quite a few people watching them through the window of the Double Eagle. Other curious bystanders stood on the boardwalks in front of the other saloons. The stable's elderly proprietor had probably spread the story of being kicked out of his place of business by Farley's gang.
Despite their curiosity, none of the townspeople approached Cully, Brennan, or Angus as they mounted their horses and rode out of town. The three men headed north toward the posse's campsite.
As they rode, Cully mulled over what had happened, and as he pondered it, a pretty clear picture began to emerge. The conclusions he drew weren’t pleasant ones.
"The word's gotten out, hasn't it?" he asked as the lights of Ambrewster's Gap faded behind them.
"Looks like it to me," Brennan agreed. "You know how word gets around, Cully. If a no-account gang like Farley's knows about the fifty thousand that Wolfe took from the train, chances are that every outlaw in the territory knows about it, too."
"And Elizabeth," Cully said.
Brennan nodded. "And probably Elizabeth, too. The pretty gal and the money together like that...well, they make a tempting target, Cully."
"Farley was quick to think that we were after the money, too."
"Why not?" Brennan asked. "From here on out, every wild bunch we
run into is going to think the same thing. And they're going to be on Wolfe's trail, just like we are."
"Tha' is going t' make it harder," Angus put in.
"Yes." Brennan nodded. "It sure will. But all we can do is go ahead."
Cully laughed abruptly, but there was no humor in it. "Shoot," he said, "I don't know what you two are worried about. The odds against us have only increased a couple of hundred or so. That's all."
10
As Cully, Brennan, and Angus approached the camp, they suddenly heard a voice call out, "Hold it, you men! We've got you covered!"
Cully recognized the voice of Floyd, one of the posse members. He said, "Take it easy, Floyd. It's just me and Brennan and Angus."
Several dark shapes emerged from the brush, rifles in hand. They clustered around the men who had just returned from Ambrewster's Gap. Floyd pushed back his hat and said, "Sorry, Cully. In the dark like this, we couldn't tell who you were. We heard all that shooting in town a little while ago, and I guess we got a little spooked."
The man sounded nervous, and Cully realized once again that this posse was made up of inexperienced townsmen from Abilene. It was surprising that they had come this far without anyone complaining too much or wanting to turn back.
Elliott Pannier emerged from the shadows as the trio dismounted. "What did you find out?" he asked anxiously. "Had Wolfe been there? Did you hear anything about Elizabeth?"
"Hold on there, Mr. Pannier," Brennan said. "I think Wolfe went around that town, just like he has all the other settlements we've passed. I think he's got a particular destination in mind, and he's not going to stop until he gets there."
"But what was the shooting?" one of the other posse members asked.
"Some other hardcases grabbed Cully and me," Brennan explained. He tiredly rubbed a hand along his jaw. "It looks like the word has gotten out about that money Wolfe stole from the train. We're going to have some competition from here on out."
Roland Stockbridge pushed forward. "You mean other outlaws are after the money?"
Brennan nodded. "They'll figure that they might as well collect that ransom instead of Wolfe's having it."
"That's awful," Hannah burst out. "What are we going to do now?"
"Same as we've been doing," Brennan said flatly. "We'll stay on the trail and see what happens."
As Hannah turned away, her features drawn, Cully thought, Her worry over Elizabeth is starting to get to her.
Brennan, Angus, and the deputy sat down to eat a late supper. After all the punches Cully had received in the belly, he figured he wouldn’t be hungry, but he surprised himself by eating several cold biscuits and strips of jerky. Some of the men, wanting to know the details of the fight in town, crowded around them.
Brennan sketched it for them, dwelling for the most part on Angus's daring rescue of Cully and him. The burly Scotsman received several slaps of congratulation on the back.
Cully wished he could have a cup of hot coffee, but he understood Brennan's reason for ordering a cold camp. It made more sense than ever, now that they knew other outlaws were prowling around, looking for Roscoe Wolfe.
Brennan assigned men to stand watch during the night, and then the rest of the posse rolled up in their blankets to get some sleep. After what had happened in town, neither Cully, Brennan, nor Angus would be taking a turn at guard duty. Cully was grateful for that: A full night's sleep would help.
This long chase was starting to wear on all of them.
The next morning the posse continued south. Once the sun was up, it was easy to see where Wolfe's gang had swung around Ambrewster's Gap. Following the tracks, the posse soon found that Wolfe had shifted direction somewhat, veering toward the southeast and heading into the wildest section of Indian Territory.
Late in the morning, Cully suddenly felt a cool breeze on his back. He looked over his shoulder, frowning at the clear blue sky. Despite the absence of clouds, there was a definite chill in the air. Riding beside him, Brennan spoke up, "Yeah, I feel it, too. We're due for a storm, I'm afraid. We've been lucky so far, but I knew it couldn't last."
Cully shook his head. "I don't see a cloud in the sky," he said.
"They're back there, though, and they're coming. I thought I smelled it in the air when we got up this morning."
"Rain'll wash out the tracks," Cully pointed out.
Brennan nodded. "It sure will. But we've a pretty good idea which direction Wolfe is headed. I don't think he's going to start getting fancy now."
"Hope not," Cully grunted.
He heard the other men muttering as the chilly wind began to pick up. It wasn’t cold, by any means, but Roland Stockbridge and Elliott Pannier broke out their jackets and shrugged into them.
Angus moved up alongside Cully. The stiff breeze was fluttering the brim of his hat. "We're in for a bit of a blow, lad," he said.
"Yep," Cully agreed. He glanced over his shoulder again. A low line of swiftly moving clouds now stretched across the northern horizon, and they were coming closer by the second. "We'll just keep on the way we're going," Cully said. "Try to ride it out— that's all we can do."
The horses became more nervous as the storm began to overtake them. The low rumble of thunder became audible, and the air seemed charged with electricity.
Cully remembered a time when he had been riding in the high country of Colorado and a thunderstorm blew up suddenly. Sparks had jumped around his horse's ears, and there had been an eerie feeling in the air that still made him shudder when he thought about it. This storm wouldn’t be that bad, he thought, since they were a long way from any mountains, but that strange sensation prickled along his spine anyway.
The first drops of rain fell, fat and heavy and stinging when they hit. The posse members began pulling slickers from their saddlebags.
That was one item that Hannah Stockbridge had neglected to bring in her hurry to leave Abilene. Seeing that she still wore only her butternut shirt and pants, Cully dropped back and fell in beside her. He held out his slicker to her. "Here, you'd better take this."
Hannah shook her head. "It's my own fault I didn't bring one with me. I'm not going to take yours."
"I don't like to see a lady having trouble. Goes against my grain not to do something about it."
She smiled. "Thanks, Cully, but I meant what I said."
"All right, if you're going to be one of those durned stubborn females," he muttered.
"That's all I know how to be."
Cully shrugged into the slicker, then opened his saddlebags once more and pulled out a folded piece of oilcloth. "Wrap this around you," he said, extending it to Hannah. "It'll be better than nothing.",
"Sure. Thanks." She took the oilcloth and deftly fashioned a cape with it. Looking at her, Cully wondered if she would wind up staying drier than the rest of them.
A sudden shout jerked his attention away from Hannah Stockbridge. He looked at Brennan and saw that the marshal had brought his mount to a halt. Brennan held one hand up to stop the posse, while the other rested on the butt of one of his Colts.
The sky had grown dark, making midday look more like dusk. Ahead of the posse, a figure on horseback slowly rode out of the gloom. The slicker-clad figure had a rifle in his hand, but the barrel was pointed up and a white rag was tied to it.
"Flag of truce," Brennan muttered as Cully quickly joined him at the front of the posse. "Wonder what this is about?"
"Could be a trap set by Wolfe," Cully suggested.
Brennan shook his head. "Not likely. That's not his style. He'd rather fight you face-to-face than sneak around."
"He's tried to ambush us before," Cully reminded him. "Remember back there at that creek?"
"I remember. This just doesn't feel like a trap to me, though."
Cully hesitated. Knowing how veteran lawmen developed an instinct for trouble, he recognized and trusted that instinct in Brennan. But anybody could make a mistake, and an error in judgment here could cost all of them their lives.
/> "We'd better go see what he wants," Cully finally said. "Just you and me. The others will stay here."
Brennan nodded. "Doesn't hurt to be careful." He turned in his saddle and called to Angus, telling him to see that the posse stayed where it was.
"Aye," Angus acknowledged. He had draped the tail of his slicker over his shotgun to protect it from the rain, but the deadly weapon could be out and blasting in a split second, if need be.
Brennan heeled his horse forward toward the oncoming stranger. Cully followed close behind him. The man carrying the flag of truce plodded steadily toward them. Brennan called to him, "That's far enough!"
Cully and Brennan met the man about fifty yards from the posse. The stranger brought his horse to a stop facing them, rain dripping steadily from the brim of his hat. He had a lined, middle-aged face with a ragged mustache over his thin lips.
Eyeing the way Cully and Brennan kept their hands on their guns, the man made a small gesture with the rifle and said to the older of the two, "This here means I don't want no shootin', mister."
"I know what it means," Brennan said coldly. "What do you want?"
"You folks come down here from Abilene?"
"What if we did?"
"Wolfe said one man was to come with the ransom. You ain't too good at follerin' directions, are you, mister?"
Brennan pulled his gun out of its holster and drew a bead on the man's face. "What happens if I blow you out of the saddle?"
Cully tensed, unsure of what Brennan intended to accomplish.
The stranger grinned, but his eyes darted nervously. "Oh, I reckon Roscoe'd just figure you didn't intend to pay up. Then he wouldn't have any reason to keep that gal alive and unhurt. He'd probably turn her over to the boys for some fun 'fore he killed her."
Slowly, Brennan lowered the pistol. His blue eyes glittered dangerously, and his jaw was tightly clenched. "All right. Just so we know where we stand. Say what you've got to say and don't try anything funny, or I'll shoot you and take my chances,"
"It ain't your chances you got to worry about, mister. It's that gal's." Seeing the look on Brennan's face, the man hurried on. "Wolfe said for me to find out if you've got the money with you."
Rattler's Law, Volume One Page 51