Clay Nash 6

by Brett Waring

  The man on the butte was coming down also, still shooting. The killer to the left fired a shot at Nash one-handed but the Wells Fargo man didn’t even hear where it went. He triggered his own rifle and saw lead kick up dust a yard and a half from the other man. Wasn’t worth wasting lead, he reckoned silently, as he plunged headlong down towards the plain, seeing his horse now. It was standing with ears pricked, watching as he and the other man came hurtling down, leaving plumes of dust behind them. Nash could see that the other man was going to reach the flat first and there was nothing he could do about it. But the man was running so fast he couldn’t stop and he stumbled to hands and knees and momentarily lost his grip on his rifle. Then Nash hit the flat, skidded and fell, but retained his grip on the Winchester.

  He did a complete somersault and came up with the rifle held in both hands and blazing. The killer was lunging for his own gun when Nash’s bullet hit him. The second slug spun him away and the third lifted him off the ground. He flopped back and lay still, face and chest bloody. Nash, panting, spun to face upslope and jerked as lead hit the rifle barrel and tore it from his grasp. He looked up and saw the second killer had stopped on the slope, standing atop a flat rock outcrop and was sighting carefully. He had Nash pinned, unarmed—for he had lost his six-gun during the slide—and out in the open.

  Nash started to throw himself aside in a final desperate move and winced involuntarily when he heard the whiplash of a rifle. There was a second explosion hard on the heels of the first, and startled, Nash glanced up the slope and saw the killer doubled up, spilling slowly off the rock. A rifle exploded from up in the trees and the man’s body jerked once more and then plummeted and flailed down the slope, bringing down a miniature avalanche.

  Nash got to his feet, slapping at dust on his clothes with his hat, squinting and frowning as he saw a rider in the deep shadow of the trees up there. He didn’t recognize him but, by Godfrey, whoever he was he had sure been in the right place at the right time ...

  Then the rider came out into the late afternoon sunlight and put the mount slowly and warily down the slope, rifle butt resting on a knee.

  Nash squinted against the westering sun, trying to see who it was who had saved his life. It wasn’t until the rider was clear down the slope and coming in across the flat that he finally saw who it was and he felt his jaw slacken in shock.

  Merida Hernandes.

  Six – New Ally

  She was dressed in pale corduroy trousers, a brown shirt and a narrow-brimmed hat. She had pulled her hair up on top of her head before putting the hat on and this was why Nash had not recognized his rescuer as a female earlier than he had.

  Merida rode up, still clutching the Winchester saddle-ring carbine she had used to nail the drygulcher, and looked down unsmilingly at Nash. She frowned slightly at the sight of the blood on the side of his neck.

  “Only a scratch,” Nash told her, seeing the direction of her gaze. “I dunno where you came from, señorita, or what you’re doin’ here, but ... muchas gracias.”

  “Por nada, señor,” she replied quietly, swinging down lithely from the horse she rode. She gestured to the dead man Nash had shot. “You know who he is?”

  Nash shook his head.

  “That is Wes Coogan, and I have no doubt that the other one will turn out to be his partner, Taco Dodd. It seems that they had advance knowledge of your arrival, Señor Nash.”

  “Seems that way,” he allowed. He frowned. “Saw Link Somers gettin’ down off the stage before I pulled out of Flatrock. Maybe he knew a shortcut to their spread and rode on and told ’em. Could’ve given ’em time to get back here and set up an ambush, I guess.”

  “Plenty of time, señor,” she assured him. “The man in the livery told you of the old trail to Signal that hasn’t been used for years. Obviously he wanted to delay you.”

  “Which still don’t explain how come you’re here, señorita.”

  “I told you that I wanted the men who killed my father,” she said with a defiant tilt to her jaw. “I am—well, I am not bad-looking, eh? I don’t mean that boastfully, but I am aware that I have a body that men find attractive. Most men will do what I want if I go about it the right way. I saw you riding out of town, and then I went to the livery and—talked with the man there for some time. I made him a promise that I admit I have no intention of keeping.” She flushed as she said this, her high cheekbones staining dark. “And he told me you had asked the way to Signal, that you were looking for two men, Dodd and Coogan. I knew them from their occasional visits to Flatrock and I guessed that they must have had something to do with the hold-up ... so I followed you.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did, no denyin’ that.” He squinted at her. “You can shoot well, and I noticed you whipped out that knife plenty slick back at the graveyard. Where’d you learn those things?”

  She smiled faintly. “My father and brothers taught me. They were in a rebel band down in Mexico. It was essential that I knew how to shoot and fight and how to take care of myself.” Then she sobered. “One by one my brothers were killed. My father took me and hid me on a wagon that was making for the United States, and then he became a fugitive. I made a new life for myself here, at Flatrock. I lost all trace of my father, until a few months ago. Then I learned that he had been a prisoner for the past ten years and had now been released with nowhere to go. So I sent for him; I knew of his bad heart, that he would die soon, but I wanted to take care of him until that time.” She paused and her eyes glistened but there were no tears rolling down her cheeks and her voice was strong when she continued. “Then these drunken fools held up the stage he was on, made him dress in a woman’s underclothes, painted his face like a—a clown! My father, who had fought for freedom! Against all odds! A man who had survived ten years in the worst prison on earth! They painted him up like a clown and dressed him in women’s clothes and let him die alone in a strange land!”

  She stopped speaking abruptly but not quite fast enough to entirely cover the catch in her voice. Her fingers closed convulsively around the carbine as she held it.

  Nash looked at her steadily. “You’ve earned yourself the right to hunt these hombres down with me, señorita. It looks as if they don’t aim to come peaceable, so any ‘justice’ like I spoke about earlier, will be dealt in gunsmoke. I don’t like havin’ you risk your neck, but I don’t have the stomach to tell you you can’t tag along after what you told me.”

  Merida Hernandes smiled faintly, “it would do you no good, Señor Nash, I would trail you anyway.”

  “Then I guess that kind of settles it, don’t it?” He looked around at the dead bodies. “Well, I guess I better get these toted in to Signal before I go after the others.”

  “Leave them for the animals,” she suggested coldly.

  “Well, maybe I’d like to, but I got a job to do, señorita, and part of that job is furnishing proof that I’ve caught up with the hombres I’m chasin’. I’ve got to get those bodies in and officially identified by a lawman or someone, maybe a justice of the peace, but someone in authority.”

  “I understand ... but there is no law in Signal.”

  “Well, someone’ll identify ’em for me. I’ll see if I can find their horses and get them tied across.” He started to turn away, then swung back and nodded to the girl. “Once again, thanks for savin’ my life. I’d have been a goner without you showin’ up when you did.”

  Merida smiled faintly. “One thing, Señor Nash … perhaps it would be best if we go into Signal separately.”

  “How come?”

  “You will be riding into the town that these men visit,” she said and gestured to the dead ranchers. “There may be hostility against you. If I go in alone, perhaps from another direction, maybe I can find out more of what we wish to know.”

  “Yeah, good idea, I guess,” Nash allowed, “but I know I’m lookin’ for Matt Hansen of the Triangle H.”

  “Well, maybe I will find out how to get to this place where you couldn’t.”<
br />
  “Yeah, well I guess it’s worth a try at that. We’ll pick out definite routes when I get back.”

  As he started back up the slope to look for the horses of the dead men, he figured having the girl along was going to be more of an asset than a liability. She had brains as well as beauty and could handle a gun. He would be a fool not to take her with him.

  ~*~

  Red Pepper and Kid Regan tooled the buckboard out of the big barn and drove it across the Triangle H yard. Matt Hansen and Hank Nolan came out of the house and the foreman signaled Pepper to rein down. As the vehicle came to a stop, Hansen and Nolan walked to the top of the steps on the porch.

  “You tell Zeke McDonald we want six cases each of them canned goods on the list,” Hansen said. “Don’t let him talk you out of it now. I want them cans. We’re gonna have to be livin’ out in the canyon for a few weeks, changin’ the brands on them steers and I don’t want men wastin’ time either huntin’ for game or havin’ to ride back here for supplies. If he fusses too much, kind of drop a lighted vesta in his storeroom where he can see what’ll happen if he don’t part with ’em.”

  “Got it, Mr. Hansen,” Pepper said.

  “He’ll hand ’em over,” Kid Regan said tightly, patting his gun butt.

  “See that he does,” Hansen growled. “And make sure he don’t try to drop the number of rolls of barbed wire. It’s been hard to come by and some of the other spreads are payin’ double.”

  “We’ll fix it, boss,” Pepper said. “I know how to handle old Sourpuss McDonald. He won’t get no extra money out of me.”

  “Okay, then get goin’,” Hank Nolan growled. “And don’t take a coon’s age to get back here with them things. We’re about ready to move on changin’ the brands on that next herd. Which means you don’t take time out for booze or gals, savvy?”

  Pepper and Regan nodded, their disappointment showing at the foreman’s orders. Then Pepper flicked the reins and the team started forward, the buckboard bouncing out of the yard and starting along the trail to Signal.

  Nolan turned to Hansen. “When’re them steers due in the canyon?”

  “Mebbe tonight or tomorrow night. By the end of the week for sure. Just depends on how much trouble Lewis has to go to to shake any posses. We ought to be ready for trailin’ to market in two weeks.”

  “Which one this time? I mean, we daren’t show our faces back in Tucson so soon with another herd of prime beef.”

  Hansen shrugged. “Ain’t picked one out yet. Hear Flagstaff’s beef-hungry, but that could be a mite too far; risky-far, I mean, trekkin’ through the edge of the country where Lewis is pickin’ up the steers to start with. Might be better if we drive somewhere closer and take a lower price. Won’t be able to figure it for sure till I see Lewis.”

  “Yeah, okay. By the way, I got a bunch of men workin’ on the dam like you wanted, but they’re all kind of jumpy. They figure some of the ranchers lower downstream might notice the difference in the flow and ride up to take a look-see. And they won’t take kindly to you throwin’ up a dam and controllin’ their water.”

  Hansen smiled crookedly. “I don’t much give a damn whether they take kindly to it or not. Once we’ve got the head-gates in, they’ll have to come to me for their water and they won’t get it unless they pay my price.” He clapped Nolan across the shoulders and dust rose from the man’s clothing. “In another six months, Hank, we’ll control this neck of the woods and I’ll have all the ranchers eatin’—or drinkin’—out of my hand. And I’ll control the beef market in Arizona Territory. By the end of the year, I’ll be a millionaire, Hank, and those who stick by me’ll be rich enough, too. You might kind of drop a hint or two to the men. That’ll make ’em happier.”

  Nolan nodded. “Well, I gotta hand it to you, Matt. It’s a good scheme and there’s gonna be a lot of red faces in this neck of the woods when you make your move. I’d better ride out to the dam site and see how things are goin’.”

  Hansen nodded and Nolan stepped down into the yard and walked slowly over towards the corrals. The rancher watched him saddle up and ride out and then turned back into his office. He ran a check on some tally figures, transferred the result to a book that had columns of dollars and cents and did a swift calculation. He sat with a crooked smile starting to curl his lips. By hell, he hadn’t exaggerated! If things worked out the way he wanted, he would be a goddamn millionaire by the end of the year!

  Of course, it depended on a lot of things. Lewis, the rustler, had to bring him steers wearing brands that could be changed to Triangle H with a minimum of work and the result had to look natural enough to be acceptable to cattle agents. It depended on his throwing up the dam before the rest of the ranchers out here realized he wasn’t just diverting water for irrigating pastures, but intended to cut the river’s flow and through it gain control of the county. It depended on Signal continuing to have no real law of its own, or only having the sort of law Hansen himself approved. Like putting in Hank Nolan as ‘sheriff’.

  But he figured the scheme would work; most of his plans worked out. Why, that first venture to Tucson, driving in rustled cattle and selling to a top market, had come off fine. Even the wild celebration afterwards was in keeping with trail-drivers and would help allay any suspicions that might arise. It was one reason why he had gone along with it and Lew Tanner sure hadn’t suspected anything. In fact, he had unwittingly added to the reality of the whole thing by throwing them out of town.

  Hansen chuckled out loud, got himself a cheroot and lit it. He moved to the sideboard and poured some whisky into a glass, returned to the desk and once again studied the figures he had written down in his book. Yeah, things were shaping-up just the way he wanted. He had a good bunch of men and Hank Nolan was a top gun. The thing was to keep things going along on the surface just as they had always gone around here and by the time he was ready to make a move, no one would be expecting it and ...

  The rancher heard a rider coming into the yard and he frowned, stood up and walked to the window. Then he cursed quietly. The rider out there was likely the last man he wanted to see around here. He stormed to the door and yanked it open, stepping out onto the porch as the rider came in by the corrals, spotted him and swung his weary mount towards the house.

  “Don’t bother dismounting, Somers,” Hansen said curtly. “What are you doin’ here?”

  Link Somers gave him a hard look and swung down from his black, started towards the ranch house porch.

  “I thought I just said not to—” began Hansen tightly.

  “Sure, you told me not to dismount,” Somers said easily, stopping with a foot on the bottom step of the porch and looking up at the rancher, his eyes hard. “But you’ll be glad I did when you hear what I’ve got to say.”

  “I doubt it!” Hansen snapped.

  “You will,” Somers told him confidently. “Fact, you’ll invite me in for a drink.”

  “And the sun might set in the south.”

  Somers glared. “Don’t be too uppity, Hansen. I’m doin’ you a big favor, man. A big one. I already seen Dodd and Coogan and they asked me to come here and tell you what I told them.”

  Hansen frowned, curiosity aroused now. “Which is ...?”

  “How about that drink?”

  “Pump’s yonder,” Hansen told him tightly. “Don’t play with me, Somers. You got somethin’ to say, you say it pronto.”

  Somers could see he was pushing it a mite too far and figured he had better say his piece and do his negotiating afterwards.

  “Yeah, okay. Well, somethin’ happened after you fellers made the old Mex climb up into the drivin’ seat of that stage.”

  He told the rancher swiftly what had happened and the aftermath, and the arrival of Clay Nash. By the time he had finished, Hank Nolan was riding back into the yard with Laramie, who was nursing his left hand, heavily bandaged in some bloody rags, he was surprised to see Somers and looked quizzically at Hansen.

  “Tell Hank and Laramie wha
t you just told me,” the rancher said and Somers sighed and told his story again.

  All the while, Laramie stood by, his face screwed up in pain as he held his roughly bandaged hand. But Somers’ story straightened out his face considerably and he looked sharply at Nolan and Hansen when the ex-stage guard had finished.

  “What in hell happened to you?” growled Hansen.

  “Caught my hand under a log. Busted a couple of fingers, I reckon,” Laramie said, but if he hoped for sympathy from the rancher he didn’t get it.

  “Well, go bandage it properly and when you ride in to see the sawbones, look up Pepper and Regan and tell them to watch out for this Nash hombre.”

  “Well, Dodd and Coogan might have finished him along the trail,” Somers put in.

  Hansen scowled. “Mebbe. But I’ve heard of Nash. Know his rep. It’s possible they nailed him, but I ain’t pinnin’ a lot of faith in it. You ride in and warn Pepper and Regan, Laramie. And pronto.”

  Laramie nodded and headed fast for the bunkhouse to dress his injured hand before riding out. Hansen called after him sourly:

  “You pay the sawbones yourself! You were careless, so I don’t foot the bill!”

  Laramie checked briefly at the bunkhouse door, then lips compressed, nodded slightly and went inside.

  “Wrong time for this hombre Nash to be prowlin’ around this neck of the woods, Matt,” Nolan said quietly, staring hard at Somers.

  “Don’t I know it,” the rancher growled. “But, what I hear about this Nash, any time’d be the wrong time. He’s tough.” He flicked his eyes to Somers’ battered face. “Wouldn’t you say so?”