House of Winslow 14 The Valiant Gunman

by Gilbert, Morris

  “Well—pretty much so.”

  “How old are you, Zane?”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Why, I thought you were older,” Rosa said. “Twenty at least.”

  Zane didn’t feel compelled to inform her that he had been eighteen for only four days. Instead he asked, “How old are you, Rosa?”

  “Fifteen.” She turned around to face him, smiling. “It’s nice to have people close to your own age around, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah,” Zane muttered. He was aware of her firm body pressing against him, and said to cover his confusion, “Maybe our folks will be neighbors, and we can spend some time together.”

  It was, for him, a daring speech, and when she replied, “Oh, that would be wonderful,” he felt at least eight feet tall.

  When they pulled up in front of the ranch, Zane said, “I’ll wake my sister up. She’ll want to take a look at you.” He slipped out of the saddle and helped her down, but when her foot touched the ground, she cried out with pain. “You can’t walk on that!” he exclaimed. “I’ll carry you inside.” He ignored her protest, saying, “You don’t weigh as much as a pesky yearling.” Scooping her up, he crossed the yard and pushed the door open. Hope had left a lamp burning low, and he moved to the couch and carefully set Rosa down.

  She kept her hold on him for one moment, whispering, “Zane—before anyone comes—let me say thank you.” Her face was close to his and she suddenly gave him a hug, holding him close in a way that startled him. Then she leaned back on the couch, and he straightened up with confusion.

  “I’ll get my sister,” he muttered, his face red with embarrassment. But even as he spoke, the room got crowded, for Hope came in, followed by Cody and Amos, and then Ozzie Og came in to stare.

  “This is Rosa Mann—” With some apprehension Zane explained the situation, and Hope went to the girl at once, her face alive with sympathy.

  “How terrible for you, Rosa!” she exclaimed. “Now, let me do something about that bump, and we’ll take a look at your ankle.”

  Thirty minutes later Rosa was feeling more pampered than she’d ever felt in her life. Hope Malloy had bathed the bruise on her head with cool water, then had carefully removed her boot and put her foot to soak in a bucket. The old cook had fixed a fine breakfast of oatmeal, eggs, toast, and bacon, and Cody had moved his chair as close to her as possible as she recounted her adventures.

  Amos Jenson had studied her ankle and pronounced it twisted but not broken. “I’ve got some liniment that my grandma concocted,” he nodded firmly. “A little of that and you’ll be fit to dance a reel, Miss Mann.”

  Rosa was, of course, somewhat overwhelmed by all the attention. She looked up from her meal, smiling at Zane. “You didn’t tell me what a nice family you had, Zane,” she said. “I’d have managed to get thrown from my horse a long time ago if I’d known you were going to come along and rescue me and bring me here.”

  Ozzie Og grinned at the boy’s red face. “Never seen no knight in armor who rode around rescuing young gals in distress, Zane. You figger to make a career out of such?”

  When the others laughed, Rosa said quickly, “Let them tease you, Zane, but when you found me last night, I thought you were something like that.”

  After breakfast, Rosa said, “I think I’d better go home. Dan and Sid will be worried about me.”

  “Let me go get them,” Zane urged. “You can’t ride with that foot.”

  But Rosa insisted, and finally Amos said, “I’ll hitch up the wagon. You can drive her home, can’t you, Zane? Or are you too tired?”

  “No, sir!” Zane said instantly. “I feel fine.”

  “I remember when I could stay up all night and be ready to go the next day,” Ozzie mused. “I’ll hitch the team, Amos.”

  When Ozzie brought the team to the front door, Rosa stood up slowly but could put no weight on her injured limb. “Could you help me one more time, Zane?” she asked with a small smile.

  Face flaming, Zane picked her up and carried her out to the wagon. As he placed her on the seat, he was aware that four men had ridden up and were watching. When he turned, he saw with a shock they were all Arrow hands. Jack Hines and Luke Mott were grinning at him, and beside them were Deuce Longly and Ollie Peace.

  “Well, what do we have here?” Longly grinned, winking at Ollie Peace. “We meet again, don’t we, Rosa?”

  Hope moved forward at once, asking, “What do you want?”

  Longly was enjoying his moment. He got off his horse, and Ollie did the same. “Why, Jack and Luke tell me that your boy there’s been makin’ trouble. Stampedin’ our cattle, he says.”

  “That’s a lie!” Zane said bitterly. “They took twelve of our cows. I just got ’em back.”

  Jack Hines dismounted and came to stand beside Deuce. “You callin’ me a liar, boy? I don’t stand for that even from a punk kid.”

  Amos said, “Get off the place. The boy’s done nothin’.”

  “Shut up, Grandpa,” Deuce said contemptuously. “You better get in the house.”

  When Amos turned and went into the house without a word, Longly was surprised but laughed at the sight of the old man leaving. “He’s got sense, Grandpa has,” he commented. Then he turned to Rosa, who was watching fearfully. “Well, now, Honey,” Longly grinned. “Looks like you’re in luck. You can take a ride with a gentleman.”

  He started to get into the wagon, but Zane stepped forward and pulled him around. “Stay away from her!”

  Ollie Peace stepped up, grinning, his eyes cruel. “You always got somebody to fight for you, sweetheart? Well, this one don’t look like much to me. You deserve more of a man than this kid.”

  “Get out of here—all of you!” Hope cried. “Leave us alone!”

  “I’ll get to you next time I come for a visit,” Longly said. “I heard there was a good-lookin’ widow woman out here. Been meanin’ to call.” He ran his eyes up and down Hope’s trim figure, then shook his head. “Right now we’ll take the little tamale for a ride. Don’t worry, now, we’ll take her right back to Winslow. But first we’ll show her a good time.”

  “And we’ll see what Winslow can do with his fists,” Peace grunted. “I’ll break his face this time!”

  Longly turned to the wagon, and Zane made a grab for him, but Ollie Peace was expecting it. He grabbed Zane’s arm, swung him around, and drove a powerful blow into the boy’s face. Zane went down, sprawling in the dust. Both Rosa and Hope cried out, but when Hope moved toward him, Longly caught her. Holding her fast, he grinned at the other riders. “Bust him up, Ollie. He needs a lesson in manners.”

  Zane climbed to his feet and staggered toward Peace. Blood was running down his chin, and his eyes were glazed, but he didn’t hesitate. It would have been better if he had, for Peace handled him with contemptuous ease. He struck Zane in the face repeatedly, and when the boy fell, he yanked him up and propped him against the wagon. “Teach you to mind your own business!” he growled and began mercilessly striking him in the body. Zane would have fallen, but Peace held him fast, and the sounds of his brutal fists pounding the boy’s helpless body sickened Rosa.

  A sudden explosion rent the air, and all the Arrow hands involuntarily ducked. Peace released Zane, who sprawled in the dust, and Hope wrenched free from Longly and ran to fall on her knees beside her brother.

  “What the—!” Longly’s hand reached for his gun, but he found himself looking into the muzzle of a very large shotgun. A chill went through him, and he cried out, “No—!”

  “Just be still,” Amos said quietly. “You might even live if you do.”

  “You fellers hold still!” The two riders who had not dismounted had started to draw but froze when Ozzie stepped outside and stood on the porch. He was holding another shotgun aimed at them, and he said, “I bet I can cut you both down with one shell.”

  The Arrow hands were tough men, but they had seen what a shotgun can do to a man at close range. “Now just a minute—” Longly began, but Amos c
ut him off short.

  “Drop your gun belts—all of you.” When Longly hesitated, Og added, “All right, I’ll do it the hard way—”

  Longly saw the old man’s finger tighten on the trigger, and he cried out, “No, don’t shoot!” Sweat appeared on his brow, and he said, “Boys, do as they say.” He unbuckled his gun belt, allowing it to fall to the dust, and when Hines hesitated, Longly cursed him. “Drop it, you fool! You want to get blown to bits?”

  When the four had shed their gun belts, Amos ordered, “Throw the rifles on the ground.” When that was done, he said, “Get off this place.”

  “What about our guns?” Hines demanded.

  “I’ll leave them with the sheriff,” Amos said. “But if I see any of you close to this house, I’ll shoot you. Now—git!”

  Deuce and Peace mounted and rode out quickly. When they were out of shotgun range, they stopped and cursed, Longly threatening loudly, “You’ll see us again, old man!”

  Amos paid no attention but moved to where Hope was holding Zane’s head. “How is he, Daughter?”

  “Oh, Pa, he’s hurt bad!”

  Amos saw that Zane was unconscious. “He may be hurt inside. We’ll take him to see Doc Matthews.”

  They carefully lifted Zane and put him on the bed in the wagon. Og wanted to stay and defend the place, but Amos argued. “No, I don’t want you here alone.” Ozzie insisted he’d be all right, and finally Amos got in the wagon, sitting down beside Rosa. They waited until Cody was on his horse, then looked back to Hope, who was holding Zane’s head in her lap. “All right, Daughter?”

  “Drive easy, Pa,” she said quietly. When they drove out, she looked at the house, thinking it might be the last time she’d ever see it. Arrow may come back and burn it to the ground, she thought sadly. Then she concentrated on carefully holding Zane’s head.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  ACTION AT THE PALACE

  Dan spent three fruitless hours trying to pick up Rosa’s trail through the myriad tracks of cattle that dotted the range around the ranch. Finally he said to Sid, “You go back to the ranch and wait. Someone might have found her and brought her back.”

  “What will you do?”

  Dan pointed toward the low-lying hills that lay westward from the ranch. “I’ll start there and work my way around to the flats. Maybe I’ll have luck and cross her trail. If I don’t find anything, I’ll head for town and try to get some help so we can comb the country.”

  He wheeled Duke around and rode off without giving Sid a chance to speak. For the next two hours he rode slowly along, his eyes fixed on the ground searching for signs, and finding none. He wanted to ride as fast as he could, shouting and hoping to find Rosa by blind luck, but he forced himself to be patient. Several times he ran across the tracks of horses, but none of them were made by Rosa’s mare. He was thankful now that her horse had never been shod, for that made her prints easily recognizable.

  The sun rose higher and higher until it was almost directly overhead, and he was beginning to feel the dull throb of despair. He knew well the possibility of disaster for man, woman, or horse on the open range. She could be lying at the foot of a hidden canyon, dead or so severely injured she couldn’t crawl out—or her horse could have been spooked by a grizzly, throwing her and leaving her to the fury of the animal. Nor were wild animals the only dangerous species on the range. The men of the country could be far more vicious than any four-legged breed, and it was this that he feared the most.

  He had set the edge of the hills, where they ran down to flat country and then shaded off into the driest part of the long valley, as the terminal point of his ride. Then he would have to admit that he’d missed the trail and turn back to town.

  He crossed a small gully, and as he urged Duke up the sloping side, he caught a glimpse of a set of tracks that paralleled the depression. A thrill of hope ran through him as he looked closer. Unshod horse! he thought. Got to be Rosa!

  The tracks were plain in the dusty ground, and he was glad that no rain had fallen to wash them out. He spurred Duke to a gallop, leaning over to follow the trail. It ran along the edge of the gully for a mile, then turned and entered a section marked by broken hills and dotted with occasional stunted oaks and brush. The tracks were still evident, but when the earth turned to packed ground, then to even harder terrain, he was forced to slow his pace. He lost the trail once, was forced to backtrack and dismount in order to pick up the prints of the horse again.

  Finally he stopped in some thicker timber, mostly fir, where the ground was covered with dead needles that obscured the trail almost completely. He moved slowly, searching the ground for signs, until he was at least a mile into the timber. The trail led through some thick undergrowth, and he wondered why Rosa would try to ride through it.

  He came at last to a section of ground where the needles had been disturbed by movement—not by a horse, but by human movement. He circled the area slowly, studying the telltale needles, and became more puzzled when he discovered two sets of tracks. Rosa’s mare had gone straight on into the thickets, but another set led away to his left. He hesitated, then followed the strange prints and found that they led to a campsite. He examined the remains of a fire and noted some cattle that were grazing a few hundred yards away. The ground was easier to read here, and he saw the print of Rosa’s boot—along with those of a man’s tracks.

  “She was here,” he murmured. “But who made these other prints?” His mind worked furiously, and finally, after circling the area several times, he made a decision. “Only one set of tracks leaving here—so whoever it was must have taken her.”

  He mounted at once and followed the trail, noting as he left that the cows close by wore an anchor brand. “Must have belonged to the man who took her,” he reasoned, and decided that if he lost the trail, he’d be able to find out whose brand was an anchor.

  But the trail ran due east and was simple to read. It was late afternoon when he came to a small ranch, the trail leading right to the front door. He checked the loads in his gun, rode into the yard, and dismounted. As he did, a voice cut across his nerves: “Just hold it right there!”

  Winslow turned quickly, finding a man of fifty with grizzled hair and faded blue eyes holding a shotgun. “You an Arrow hand?” he demanded of Winslow.

  “No. My name’s Dan Winslow. I’m looking for a girl named Rosa Mann.”

  Ozzie lowered the shotgun instantly, a look of relief in his eyes. “I’m Ozzie Og. The girl was brought here early this morning.”

  “Is she hurt?” Dan asked instantly.

  “Just a bump on her head and a twisted ankle. She’s in town now.” Og hesitated, then asked, “You know Deuce Longly and a big yahoo named Ollie?”

  His question brought Winslow’s head up with a startled gesture. His eyelids crept down until his eyes were half-closed. “They been here?”

  “Yeah, till we run ’em off with shotguns!” Ozzie sketched the conflict in a few words, then said, “The boy, Zane, he’s hurt bad, so they took him into town to see Doc Matthews.” He added gloomily, “He’s been holdin’ this place together since his stepfather got killed a while back. Don’t know how the folks will do for help now.”

  “My horse is about used up,” Dan said. “Maybe you could lend me a fresh one. I want to get to town in a hurry.”

  “Yeah, I can do that.” He led Winslow to the corral and nodded toward three horses that watched them approach. “Take your pick.”

  Dan chose a tall, rangy chestnut gelding, slapped his saddle on him, and turned Duke into the pen. He mounted at once, saying, “Thanks, Og. I’ll be back to get him.”

  “If you see any of that Arrow bunch, I’d be obliged if you’d put a bullet in ’em,” the cook said savagely. “No tellin’ what they’d have done to that girl if they’d took her off.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Dan said with tight lips. “Which way to town?”

  “That way—’bout ten miles.”

  He spurred the gelding and
sped out of the yard, taking the turn that led toward War Paint. Ozzie Og watched until he was out of sight, then looked at the horse he had left. “Well, he looks like he could be tough,” he addressed the animal. “I hope he stomps a mudhole in that bunch!”

  ****

  Zane twisted on the narrow bed, the movement sending a shock of ragged pain through him. Despite his efforts, a groan escaped his lips, and at once Hope put her hand on his forehead, whispering, “Try not to move, Zane.”

  They were in the room Doctor Matthews used to keep patients overnight. Zane occupied one of the three beds; the rest of the furnishings consisted of two mismatched chairs, a small battered table on which sat a kerosene lamp, two tall cabinets packed with odds and ends of the doctor’s supplies, and a washstand with a pitcher and a basin. The single window had no covering, and the flies came and left at their leisure.

  “What’s wrong with me?” Zane whispered. He glanced down at the white bandages that encased his body, then looked up at Hope. “My chest hurts, Sis.”

  “You’ve got some broken ribs,” Hope said quietly. Rising, she moved to the washstand, poured water into a glass, then returned and lifted his head carefully. He drank thirstily, then she lowered his head and went back to fill the basin with water. Placing it on the small table, she took a clean cloth and began bathing Zane’s swollen face.

  He was disoriented, for Matthews had given him a large dose of laudanum before working on him. The doctor finished taping his chest and treating the cuts on the boy’s face, then had said, “He’s going to have to be still for a while, Hope. I don’t want those ribs taking any more punishment.” When she had nodded, he’d asked, “How will you make out without Zane to work?” She’d put him off, and he’d insisted on her using the room for the night.

  She’d sent to get something to eat, and now she sat beside Zane, who blinked his eyes and asked, “What about Rosa?”

  “She’s all right,” Hope said. “She’s at Mr. Edwards’ house. They offered to keep her and Cody for the night.”

  “I should have shot ’em!” he said bitterly. The drug was still having its effect, and his speech was slurred. “I will when I get well!”