Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  "We'll go after them," he said. "Get mounted."

  Quickly he bent to pick up his tack and began saddling his own mount. A few feet away, he noticed Hannah Stockbridge preparing to hoist her saddle onto her horse's back.

  "Wait a minute," Cully said sharply. "You aren't going with us, Hannah."

  Stunned, she turned toward him angrily. "Not going with you? Of course, I'm going with you! Why do you think I came all this way?"

  "We agreed to let you come along, but nothing was ever said about your doing any of the fighting. I don't know what Brennan intended to do about you, but I'm in charge now, and I say you stay here."

  Hannah stared at him, obviously surprised by his decision. After a moment, she wheeled to Angus and said, "Mr. MacQuarrie, can you talk some sense into Cully's head?"

  Angus grinned as he secured the double girths on his saddle. "Ah, 'tis not likely, lass. Folks have been known t' try 'afore, wi' a notable lack o' success!"

  "You probably agree with him, don't you?" Hannah snapped accusingly. "You think I should stay here where it's safe!"

  "Aye, lass, tha' I do."

  Hannah turned to Elliott Pannier and appealed to him. "Do something, Elliott."

  Pannier grimaced and slowly said, "Ah...I doubt that the deputy is going to listen to my opinion on the matter, Hannah. After all, he is in charge now since Marshal Brennan is nowhere around."

  Cully had worked furiously during Hannah's appeals and was now ready to go. He swung into the saddle. "I'm sorry, Hannah," he said. "But you're staying out of harm's way, and that's final."

  She glared up at him. "And what if you don't come back? What if you all get killed?"

  Cully shrugged. "If I were you, I'd head back toward Abilene as fast as I could. You've got your rifle and quite a bit of ammunition, and you'd stand a good chance of getting back all right."

  "And leave Elizabeth behind?"

  In the dim light of the fire, Cully met Hannah's eyes and said softly, "If we don't come back, she won't, either."

  As she absorbed his words, Hannah swallowed.

  "I...I know." She nodded, then stepped over next to Cully's horse. "Be careful, all right?"

  "Sure." A grin broke across his face. He suddenly leaned down from the saddle and kissed the startled Hannah on top of her blond head. It never hurts to kiss a pretty woman, he told himself.

  Then he put the spurs to his horse and galloped out of the camp, the rest of the posse trailing behind him.

  There was enough moonlight for Cully to pick his way across the valley toward Elysium. He and the others couldn’t maintain a fast pace over the entire distance because the terrain was very rugged in places, but neither did he and the posse waste any time.

  Cully used the light he could see in the town—no longer abandoned since Roscoe Wolfe and his men had arrived—as a beacon guiding him to his destination. When he judged that they were a mile from Elysium, Cully reined in, holding up a hand to halt the others. Gradually they came to a stop, bunching up close behind him.

  Cully turned his horse around to talk to the other men in low-pitched tones. "The town's up ahead. I'm a little surprised we haven't heard any shooting so far, but if Wolfe hasn't been alerted, there's no need to tip him off now. We'll ride on, but take it slow, easy, and quiet." He paused, then added, "And keep your hands close to your guns."

  Turning his horse, he began to pick his way toward Elysium. His stomach was doing some sort of anxious dance as he rode. Cully would have matched his nerves and gun speed against almost any man alive, but this skulking around in the dark and not knowing what was going to happen next gnawed at him.

  The posse had ridden perhaps another hundred yards when the silence of the night was shattered by a barrage of gunfire.

  Cully slapped the reins on his horse's neck, bracing himself for the animal's surge of speed. "Come on!" he yelled. "That's got to be Brennan!"

  Caution and silence were discarded now. The pounding of hoofbeats blended with the continuing roar of shots in a hideous melody as the posse raced toward the sounds exploding in Elysium.

  In the forefront of the hard-riding men, Cully found himself following a trail that gradually widened into the main street of the town. He could see the darkened buildings lining the street. Brilliant muzzle flashes came from the shadowy hulks.

  Suddenly, flames erupted toward the far end of the street. The blaze lit up most of the street, exposing the knot of men on horseback—Brennan and the others— who were desperately fleeing from the trap into which they had ridden.

  Seeing the trap close on the hapless men, Cully grimly appreciated just how well prepared for trouble Roscoe Wolfe had been. One of the outlaw's men must have touched off the brush that had been piled at the approach to the town—for just this purpose. Brennan and the posse members who had accompanied him on this ill-advised rescue attempt were now paying the price.

  Cully saw one of the posse-men go down, flung from his saddle by the storm of lead. He couldn’t tell who it was, but one thing was sure—caught in that crossfire, the casualty would be the first of many.

  Yanking his horse to a sliding stop at the end of the street, just outside the glare cast by the bonfire, Cully threw himself down from the saddle. He wrestled his Winchester from his saddle holster and dropped to one knee as he levered a cartridge into the chamber. "Give them some covering fire!" he yelled as he snapped the rifle to his shoulder and pressed the trigger.

  He fired as fast as he could work the lever, the blasts assaulting his ears and the gun smoke stinging his eyes. The other men had dismounted as well and were pouring lead into the buildings on both sides of the street.

  Given a momentary respite, Brennan and his men gathered themselves for another dash. They spurred their horses into motion and fired wildly as they galloped down the still-muddy street.

  The arrival of Cully and the rest of the posse had distracted the outlaws enough to allow several of Brennan's group to break past the bonfire and head for the relative safety of the darkness. Brennan, however, was hanging back slightly, firing with both guns at the buildings as he raced past.

  Cully's Winchester clicked empty. Rather than reload it, he stood up and palmed out his Colt. Most of the posse-men were out of Elysium now, but he could still see Brennan by the nightmarish glare of the fire. Then he saw the marshal suddenly rock back in the saddle and clutch at his shoulder. As his horse seemed to run out from under him, Brennan crashed to the ground in the middle of the street.

  Cully started to lunge toward his horse. Trying to save the ornery old coot will probably just get me killed, he thought, but I have to try.

  Before Cully could reach his mount, another horse pounded past him. He looked up and saw to his surprise that Elliott Pannier was on the back of the animal. Leaning far forward in the saddle, Pannier was lashing it to greater speed with the reins as he hurtled toward the bonfire.

  Pannier is trying to get to Brennan, the deputy realized with a shock.

  "Cover him!" Cully yelled as he spun around to follow Pannier's progress.

  The posse-men fired their rifles furiously, and as the men who had ridden with Brennan rejoined their comrades, they rolled from their saddles and added their efforts to the covering fire. Unaware as they fled that Brennan had fallen, they were confused at first by Pannier's daring ride, but they started shooting anyway.

  Pannier still showed the awkwardness in the saddle that had plagued him all the way from Abilene, but in this desperate moment he somehow found the strength and know-how to pilot the plunging animal down the street past the bonfire. Brennan had twisted around and was still firing at Wolfe's men with his good hand. The horse's shadow suddenly loomed over him as it came to a halt, and he instinctively jerked the gun around, ready to fire. He held off at the last second.

  Gripping the reins tightly in one hand, Pannier dropped from the saddle. He bent and slid the other arm around the stunned marshal, hoisting Brennan to his feet. Brennan staggered slightly, then gained hi
s footing. Slugs plowed into the dirt of the street and cut the air around them as Brennan, with Pannier's support, got his foot in the stirrup and pulled himself up.

  Brennan took the reins from Pannier and was turning the horse even as the easterner scrambled on behind him. Hunched forward in pain, Brennan spurred the horse as soon as Pannier was mounted. Pannier held on for dear life as the horse sprinted down the street.

  Angered that Brennan was getting away, some of Wolfe's men came to the edge of their hiding places and fired at the fleeing men. The men in Cully's group peppered them with shots, making them dive back into the abandoned buildings. The horse carrying Pannier and Brennan pounded past the bonfire and on down the street out of town.

  "Get mounted!" Cully ordered his men. "Keep shooting so those men are covered but get ready to ride!"

  A moment later, foam trailing from its mouth and flecking its sides, Pannier's horse with its double burden came racing up. From his own mount, Cully called to Pannier, "Keep going! Get back to camp! All of you men, pull out!"

  The posse turned their horses and started back across the valley. Cully hesitated, watching as Wolfe's men ventured farther from the buildings to send a few parting shots after them. The flames of the bonfire had begun to die down a little, but there was still enough light for Cully to see the four bodies sprawled in the street, unmoving, their clothes bullet-torn and blood-soaked.

  Four men almost certainly dead, Brennan wounded—God knows how badly—and Wolfe probably madder than a hornet that somebody had dared to defy his orders. This rescue mission had fallen apart in a hurry, Cully thought bitterly. Then he turned and rode hard into the night, to see if he could salvage any of it.

  15

  At the top of the ridge from the clump of trees where they had camped, a slender rider worked the horse nimbly down the slope toward the valley floor. In the moonlight her blond hair shone, and the barrel of the rifle she carried gleamed. When she noticed the riders approaching, she reined in and raised the rifle, pointing it at the lead rider.

  Cully spurred his horse ahead the moment he spotted Hannah, holding up a hand and calling her name so that she wouldn’t mistake them for some of Wolfe's men. As he reached her, she lowered the rifle and demanded anxiously, "Cully, what happened? I heard all the shooting—"

  Cully shook his head. "I don't know all of the story yet, but what we saw was a nightmare, Hannah. Brennan and the men who went with him were trapped by Wolfe. He was ready, Hannah, must've been waiting for them. Still, we managed to get most of them out."

  "Most of them?"

  "We lost four of them," Cully told her.

  "Roland...?"

  The deputy shook his head and said softly, "Don’t know yet. I haven't had a chance to check and see who made it out."

  Hannah closed her eyes and sighed. Then she leaned over and plucked at Cully's sleeve. "What... what about Elizabeth?"

  "I just don't know. I didn't see her anywhere." As he spoke, the rest of the posse rode past them into the camp. Cully looked up as the men rode by and saw Elliott Pannier, with Brennan slumped in the saddle in front of him. Cully went on, "The marshal's been hurt. I'd better go see how badly."

  Hannah rode back into the camp beside him, worry etching lines into her face. Cully dismounted and hurried over to where Angus had placed Brennan by the embers of the fire. Angus knelt on one side of the injured lawman and was already unfastening his shirt.

  Cully dropped to a knee on Brennan's other side as Angus stripped back his bloodstained shirt, exposing the wound. In the glow of the embers Cully could see a red-rimmed hole in Brennan's left shoulder where a bullet had punched into the flesh. Cully glanced up and realized that while the man's face was haggard and drawn, he was conscious and alert.

  "How does it look?" Brennan asked through gritted teeth.

  "Turn him on his side, Angus," Cully said. "Easy, now."

  Gently, Angus raised Brennan's upper body and turned him so that Cully could see the exit wound.

  It appeared clean, too. Evidently the slug had not tumbled much in its path through Brennan's body.

  "I'm no doctor, but it looks like you'll live," Cully told him. "You've lost plenty of blood, but when we get you cleaned up, you should be all right."

  As Angus eased his body back to the ground, Brennan closed his eyes and nodded. "That's what I thought. I'll be ready to ride again in a little while."

  "Where do you think you're going?" Cully snapped.

  Opening his eyes again, Brennan glared up at Cully. "Why, back to Elysium, of course. We didn't get the lady out yet."

  "We don't even know if she's still alive," Cully reminded him.

  "She's alive," Brennan declared. "Wolfe wouldn't kill her yet. He's still playing the game."

  Cully grimaced. "It did look like he was expecting you."

  Angus went to his horse and took a roll of cloth and a small bottle from his saddlebags. When he returned to Brennan's side, he uncapped the bottle. "Scotch whiskey," he said proudly, brandishing the liquor. "Th' finest medicine in th' world." He held the bottle to Brennan's lips and lifted it slowly as the marshal took a healthy swallow. He urged the marshal to take a second swallow, then poured a small amount of the amber liquid inside the lawman's wounds. Brennan grimaced and bit his lower lip. Angus then unrolled the cloth and, tearing it into strips, began binding up Brennan's wound.

  "I thought we had slipped past Wolfe's guards," Brennan went on bitterly, his voice a little weaker now. "But he was just suckering us in. I figured Elizabeth was probably in an old hotel down there. It's the biggest place in town, and if I know Wolfe, he's got his headquarters there. But before we could even start to look for her, those varmints opened up on us, and then that fire started..."

  "Just take it easy and stay quiet," Cully told him. "We know what happened after that."

  "Where's Pannier?" Brennan asked, trying to lift his head and look around. "I never thought that skinny galoot'd be the one to come for me like he did. Want to thank him."

  "I'll tell him, don't worry," Cully assured him as he stood up. Now that Brennan was in Angus's care and would be all right, Cully turned to the other men, to find out how many of them were wounded. He moved slowly, speaking to each man, and examining each injury.

  There were several creases and nicks, and the side of one man's face was covered with blood from where part of his ear had been shot away. It soon became clear, though, that Brennan's wound was the most serious.

  Cully looked for Roland Stockbridge but could find no sign of him. The deputy bit back a curse as soon as he realized that the young easterner was missing.

  Hannah, who had also been searching among the men, came up to Cully and said, "I can't find Roland. He's not here!"

  Gently, Cully put his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Hannah," he said softly. "I told you that we lost four men there in the town. I guess Roland must have been one of them."

  Tears welled up in Hannah's eyes, and she fell into Cully's arms, her head pressed against his chest. He tightened his arms around her as sobs began to shake her body.

  Hearing someone calling his name, Cully turned his head to see one of the townsmen from Abilene coming toward him. The man had a bandage wrapped around his forearm where a slug had burned him. He pushed his hat back and said, "Did I just hear you talkin' about that Stockbridge feller, Cully?"

  "That's right, Zeke. Did you see what happened to him?"

  Hannah lifted her head and blinked back tears as the man said, "No, I didn't rightly see what happened. But I know he wasn't one of the men who got hit while we was tryin' to get out of town. Just as the shootin' started, I saw him headin' down an alley next to that hotel."

  Hannah's fingers tightened their grip on Cully's shirt. "Then...then Roland might still be alive?" she asked in a choked voice.

  "Don’t know about that, ma'am," Zeke replied. "I figger there was a bunch of Wolfe's men in that old hotel, but I reckon there's a chance he could've got out."

 
"As long as there's a chance..." Hannah looked up at Cully. "You're going back, aren't you? You're going to try to get Roland and Elizabeth out?"

  Cully hesitated. The way it looked to him, there was a very good chance that Roland had been killed in that alley, possibly in some attempt to rescue Elizabeth. Elizabeth might well be dead, too. They had already lost four men. What was Lucas Flint going to say about the disaster this had become? More important, what would Flint do in a situation like this?

  "Hello, the camp! Hey, you hear me in there?"

  The shout made Cully's head snap around. The familiar voice was coming from the trail that led to Elysium.

  He released Hannah and turned toward the edge of the trees. "Give me that rifle," he snapped to one of the men. Taking the Winchester the man held out to him, Cully checked to be sure that it was loaded. Then he hurried to the edge of the trees and looked down the slope.

  A single horseman rode out of the brush at the bottom of the ridge. Beyond him, on the other side of the valley, Cully could see the red glow of the burning bonfire in Elysium's main street, and the brightly lit large building.

  Cully raised the rifle and called out, "Hold it, mister! Speak your piece, whatever it is!" In the darkness behind him, he heard the clicks of guns being cocked and the rustling of clothing as the posse prepared for more trouble.

  The rider reined in, stopping his horse in the bright moonlight at the edge of the camp. Cully recognized him now as Wolfe's messenger, the same man who had delivered the outlaw's earlier instructions.

  "You in charge?" the man asked. "Reckon that old man's laid up, huh?"

  "I'm in charge," Cully replied coldly. "Now get on with it."

  "Take it easy, boy. Roscoe could've sent a whole bunch of us to wipe all of you out. Instead he just sent me to give you the word. Now listen up. That gal is still all right, no thanks to that stupid play you pulled! We got us another prisoner, too. Young blond fella says his name is Stockbridge. Reckon he must be the gal's brother. That don't matter. What's important is that you don't try to pull anything like this again, or both of 'em will die. You understand?"