The End of the Trail

by Brett Halliday

  He waited until his prey stopped twenty-five feet from the bedrolls. He waited until the rifle stock came up to the man’s shoulder. He had a perfect bead on the weapon and he increased his trigger-pressure by an infinitesimal degree.

  His six-gun roared and recoiled in his hand, and the rifle clattered to the hard ground.

  Sam’s gun spoke a split-second later. The other man dropped to his knees with a loud cry of pain at the same moment.

  Without moving from his prone position, Pat shouted, “Get yore hands up quick.”

  The one who was still on his feet thrust his hands high in the air while his companion groveled on the ground, groaning loudly.

  Pat got up, warning them sternly, “Yo’re both covered from both sides. One funny move an’ you’ll eat lead where it hurts more’n them first shots.”

  He moved forward with his gun ready toward the rifleman while Sam swung around to approach the wounded man on the ground.

  When he was ten feet away, Pat’s prisoner sobbed out, “Why don’t you kill us outright? Why do you torture us this way?”

  Pat stopped short, his gun sagging down incredulously. It was a woman’s voice. For a moment he was all confused. He thought it was Lily Lytell. Then he realized that the voice was lighter than Lily’s, with more of a lilting musical quality.

  He leveled his gun again and went closer, warning her sternly, “Turn around with yore back to me an’ keep yore hands plenty high.”

  The woman turned slowly. She wore a man’s breeches and hat, and a man’s leather jacket.

  Pat kicked the fallen rifle aside with the toe of his boot. With his left hand he awkwardly unholstered a revolver at the woman’s right hip, and tossed it aside. He patted her under the armpits to make sure she wasn’t wearing a shoulder holster, then stepped back and said gruffly, “You can put yore hands down now, Ma’m. Walk right ahead of me.”

  By this time Dock and Ezra had reached Sam and the wounded man. While Ezra stopped to examine the wound with Sam, Dock raced, toward his father crying excitedly, “Did you get him, Dad? Want me to get some rope to tie him up?”

  “I got her,” Pat announced grimly. “You get a fire started Dock. A big one so we can look this pair over. How’d Sam do?”

  “Shot him through the leg,” Sam called out. “’Tain’t too bad. If you can’t walk, you kin crawl,” he told the wounded man angrily. “Git over towards them bedrolls ’fore I help you along with my boot.”

  “You can sit down on that bed, Ma’m,” Pat told his female prisoner quietly. “We’ll get a fire goin’ an’ see what’s what.”

  She sat down at the foot of his bedroll without saying anything. Pat circled around to help Dock get a big blaze going. There were hot embers left from the supper fire and a big pile of dry pinon branches that had been gathered before dark. They blazed up quickly, and Pat turned to look at the man whom Sam and Ezra were herding forward on his hands and knees.

  He was a big man with a ruddy face that looked as though it would normally be good-natured. Right now it was twisted into a grimace of pain and anger. He slumped forward on the ground near the fire and asked thickly, “Where’d they get you, Karen?”

  “I’m not wounded.” Her voice was hard now, and contemptuous. Her eyes glittered with reflected light from the leaping flames, and her face was smooth and reposed.

  “I’ll be damned if it ain’t a woman!” Sam ejaculated, leaning forward to get a better look. “You see that, Ezra? We’ve done caught us a female gun-slinger.”

  “Who are you?” Pat asked her curtly.

  “Karen Larson. Who are you?”

  Pat disregarded her question. “Who’s yore pardner?”

  “I’m Henderson,” the bulky man said. “Are you. going to fix my leg or let me bleed to death?”

  Pat didn’t look at him. He asked the woman, “How’d you know we were camped here?”

  “Slim came in to warn us.”

  “Slim, huh?” Pat frowned. “How’d he know who we were?”

  “Why shouldn’t he know?” Her upper lip curled contemptuously. “He isn’t so dumb. All three of them just pretend to be because they don’t want to be bothered by people. They just want to be left alone to live the way they’ve always lived.”

  “We saw the old wrecked stage-coach,” Pat muttered, “an’ figured they must have lived in that cave from babies. Who’re you, Ma’m?” he went on to Karen. “I know Henderson’s the TB foreman and I ain’t much surprised to find him mixed up in this, but how do you figure in this?”

  “Don’t you know? I run the restaurant at the railhead.”

  “What are you going to do with us?” Henderson demanded.

  “Take you in, I reckon.”

  “Take us in? Where? Why don’t you kill us right now and be done with it?” Henderson’s voice was shrill with pain and fear.

  “I figure to make you talk first,” Pat told him angrily. “I want to know how-come you expected us to come in this-away. Who warned you we was on our way?”

  “Nobody. Karen has already told you that Slim came for us tonight.”

  “But how’d he know to come for you? Don’t try to pertend there’s not someone else back of this business. I want to know who it is.”

  “Slim was just doing what I’d asked him to do,” Karen told him. “We’ve gotten right friendly while he delivered fresh meat to my restaurant.”

  “All right, then, how’d you know we’d be comin’ in this way?”

  “Over the old stage road? It’s the only entrance into the Flat except by railroad. I discovered that for sure the night Nate Morris was killed. Slim told me that night he’d seen you ride down the mountain.”

  “Wait a minute.” Pat shook his head in bewilderment. “What do you mean about the night Morris was killed?”

  “You know well enough what I mean.” Her voice was like a whiplash. “You and your gang murdered him and killed the bulls that night. Just as you had previously murdered my husband.”

  “Yore … husband?” Pat blinked at her incredulously.

  “Doane Weatherby.” She flung the name at him bitterly. “The investigator for the Burns Detective Agency whom you murdered two years ago.”

  Pat swallowed hard. “I thought yore name was Larson. Ma’m.”

  “That’s my maiden name. I took it after you murdered my husband … when I came out to run the cafe and try and get on the trail of his murderer.”

  Pat got up and put more wood on the fire. He looked at Sam and Ezra and Dock, and finally back at Karen. When he spoke his voice was very gentle, “I reckon maybe you an’ me are talkin’ crosswise, Ma’m. Do you think we’re the gang that’s been doin’ all the killing here in the Flat?”

  “Are you going to tell me you aren’t?”

  “I’m Pat Stevens from Powder Valley.” Pat dug a hand deep into his pocket and brought out his sheriff’s badge. He held it so she and Henderson could see it. “These’re my pardners, Sam and Ezra. An’ my boy, Dock. The Syndicate hired us to come out an’ catch the killers. When you-all slipped up on us tonight we thought you were the ones we was after.”

  “You’re … a lawman?” Karen faltered.

  “That’s right. Start tyin’ up Henderson’s leg,” Pat told Sam. “And now, Ma’m, you better tell me all you know about this. You say the killers come in over the mountain like we did?”

  “Yes.” Her face was shining now. She leaned toward him eagerly. “I didn’t know at first. I suspected the three hermits here. And I suspected Mr. Henderson. I made friends with Slim, and I finally found out from him that someone did know how to get into the Flat over the old road that’s supposed to be blocked off. He told me about a gang of men riding down periodically. I felt certain they were the killers, but I wasn’t positive until the night Nate Morris was murdered.” She shuddered and was silent for a moment.

  “Slim didn’t tell me in time to save Morris’s life. I tried to warn him. You see, I recognized him as a range detective and I think he recogn
ized me. He’d worked with my husband on a case, and visited our house in Denver once. But I still wasn’t sure the killers came from the outside. I still suspected Mr. Henderson. Then the next day Slim told me the gang had ridden into the Flat and out again that night, and then I was sure. I told Mr. Henderson and we planned to trap them red-handed next time they came down. Slim agreed to try to detain them, and hurry in to inform us. That’s what he did … tonight.”

  Pat said, “I’ll be plumb damned, beggin’ yore pardon, Ma’m.” He whirled on his companions. “You hear that? You know what it means?”

  Sam and Ezra had cut away Henderson’s pants-leg and were busy bandaging the flesh-wound. They looked up without replying.

  “It means the Runyon gang are the ones we’re after,” Pat said harshly. “They’re the only ones that know how to get over the old road. They’ve been slippin’ down here to do murder in between their mine holdups. An’ we let that girl ride up to ’em alone.”

  Sam and Ezra were on their feet instantly, circling out toward the hobbled horses. Karen leaped up also and exclaimed, “I don’t understand what you’re saying, but I’m riding with you if it’s my husband’s murderers you’re after. I’ll get my horse …” She turned and ran back to where she and Henderson had left their saddled horses.

  Pat walked over to the wounded ranch foreman and asked him gruffly, “How bad are you hurt, Henderson? Can you make it back to the ranch all right if I leave Dock here with you?”

  “Of course.” Henderson struggled up to a sitting position. “You needn’t leave anyone to help me.”

  “I’d like a good reason for leavin’ my boy behind … out of the shootin’. We’ll leave our extra hawses an’ camp stuff too so we can ride light an’ fast. Will you see he gets help to gather ’em up? Ship him an’ all the stuff back to Powder Valley by train if we don’t come back in a couple of days. When we get through with the Runyons, I’d like to take what’s left of ’em in to Fairplay,” he explained swiftly. “Dock ain’t going to like bein’ left behind, but if he thinks yo’re hurt bad an’ need help to get back to the ranch, he won’t take it so hard.”

  “Of course.” Henderson understood instantly and sank back with a groan. “You get right ahead after the killers, Stevens. I’ll make out all right with your boy to help me.”

  16

  While Sam and Ezra hastily saddled fresh horses, Pat drew Dock aside and told him gravely, “I’m leaving you in charge here, Son. It’s up to you to see that Henderson gets back to the ranch safe, and get all our hawses and camp stuff gathered up. If we don’t come back or you don’t get word from us, load everything on the first train goin’ back to Pueblo. From Pueblo, you can pack the hawses an’ drive ’em on in home.”

  “All right, Dad.” Dock was very grown-up and matter-of-fact about it. “What are you going to do after you clean up the gang?”

  “We’ll have to take ’em into Fairplay. Then we’ll ride straight home. Maybe get there before you do.” Pat held out his hand. “Think you’ll be all right takin’ care of everything?”

  “Sure,” Dock said with the complete assurance of a twelve-year-old. “I’ll take care of Mr. Henderson and everything. An’ give them outlaws hell, Dad.”

  It was the first time Dock had ever sworn in his father’s presence. Pat granted his new state of manhood by not reprimanding him for it now. He said, “We will, Dock,” and hurried away to mount the horse Sam had saddled for him.

  Karen had gotten her horse and ridden back. Her six-gun was back in its holster and her rifle was in a saddle-boot under her right stirrup leather, its wooden butt creased by Pat’s bullet that had jarred it out of her hands.

  Her mouth was set in a straight line and her eyes were icy-cold as she galloped off up the stage road with Pat by her side. One look at the expression on her face told Pat it was useless to argue with her, but he couldn’t let a woman ride into danger without making an attempt to turn her back.

  “I’d feel better if you’d stay with Dock, Ma’m. He’s mighty young to take all that responsibility.”

  She turned her head and her lips smiled at him, but her eyes remained cold. “Nothing will turn me back now, Mr. Stevens. I’ve waited almost two years for this chance.”

  He said, “There’ll be shooting.”

  Karen laughed shortly. “You bet there will, if I get a chance to draw a bead on one of them.”

  Pat shrugged and gave up. Times were sure changing, he thought dismally as they loped along with Sam and Ezra right behind them. Women wearing men’s clothes and refusing to listen to reason. First Lily, and now this widow of a murdered detective. He felt responsible for both of them, but what was a man to do?

  Then he remembered Sally when he had first met her more than a dozen years ago, and he decided maybe things weren’t changed so much after all. He hadn’t been any more successful keeping Sally out of danger that time. It was kind of funny, he thought to himself, how men tried to make out that women were weaker and softer than men. Fact of it was, a lot of them had more guts than most men.

  Take Lily for instance. No man he knew would have been fool enough to go up against an outlaw outfit like she did. Riding right up to the hideout without even a gun on her. Trusting her life in the hands of men who had murdered only a few days previously.

  And Karen too. It gave Pat a sort of funny tingly feeling up his backbone to glance aside at her as she galloped along with him. She didn’t look like the kind of woman that would spend two years hunting down her husband’s murderers. Two years all by herself, isolated on Sanctuary Flat from any other woman, surrounded all the time by men who might be the ones who had killed her husband.

  She looked like the kind of woman who ought to be rocking a baby and knitting small clothes for it.

  She saw him glancing at her, and seemed to divine his thoughts from the expression on his face. “You’re worried about me,” she said coolly. “You’re wishing I’d turn back, and wondering how you can keep me back in safety when the fight starts. Well, you can’t, Mr. Stevens. I’ve thought of nothing else for two years. I’m not going to be denied a part in the showdown.”

  “I wish you’d call me Pat,” he mumbled.

  “I will, Pat.” She smiled suddenly. “I can’t help what’s inside of me,” she went on breathlessly. “I’ve got to be in on the finish. It’s as though my heart had been frozen to ice for two years and the only thing that will melt it is revenge for Doane’s death. I guess you know how he was murdered, don’t you?”

  Pat nodded soberly. “They told me about it in Denver. You’ll get yore chance at ’em all right.”

  It was turning full daylight now. On the western slope of the Divide there would be no sunlight for many hours yet but the sky was streaked with angry violet and crimson. Pat glanced ahead up the road toward the Pass and pulled up suddenly with a shout at Karen. She reined up as Sam and Ezra lunged to a stop beside them.

  “There’s a rider comin’ hell-bent down the road.” Pat pointed ahead. “I saw him t’other side of that horseshoe curve. He’s behind them aspens now. Must be one of the gang. They’re the only ones that know how to get on this road.”

  Karen listened to him, and without a word spurred her horse ahead, drawing her gun as she did so.

  Pat saw her intention and spurred after her. There was something wild and terrible about the slim figure in the saddle ahead of him. Every line of her swaying body bespoke implacable resolve.

  He overtook her flying horse slowly and was almost abreast of her as they rounded the point of the sharp curve and the single rider from above came into view.

  Karen was leaning forward in the saddle and she leveled her revolver. Pat caught one clear glimpse of the small, white-hatted figure on the road before them, and he drove the fore-quarters of his horse savagely into the flank of Karen’s mount.

  Both horses stumbled and her first bullet went wild. He grabbed her gun-arm and she swung on him, her smooth face twisted and ugly with hatred. “What’s the
matter? Why don’t you let me kill him?”

  “’Cause it ain’t a him,” Pat said sharply. He wrested the gun from her hand and then offered it back to her, butt-first.

  “That’s the gal I told you about back yonder. Lily Lytell.”

  It was Lily right enough. Swaying drunkenly in the saddle and clinging to the horn with both hands. She was coatless and the back of her thin silk blouse had been slashed to bloody ribbons by a quirt. Her face was bloody and bruised, and as her laboring horse slowed to a trot approaching them she relaxed her tight grip on the horn and tumbled out of the saddle into the road.

  Karen was out of the saddle quicker than Pat, and she reached the girl first, stripping off her leather jacket as she ran. She spread the jacket about Lily’s bleeding shoulders and gently lifted her head into her lap, but Lily fought her off, sitting up with her eyes fixed on Pat’s face and gasping,

  “They’re after me. Only a few miles back. I got away. After they beat me. They know about you coming after them for what they did in Sanctuary Flat. I didn’t tell them anything … no matter how they beat me. But they went down to the main canyon and found your trail. They’re coming …” She let her head fall back into Karen’s lap with tears streaming down her distorted face.

  “How many?” Pat demanded.

  “Five. Counting Uncle Cleve and Art.” She shuddered and closed her eyes. “They’ve turned into monsters. They bragged about their murders. I didn’t know … men could be like that.”

  Sam and Ezra had ridden up and were dismounting beside them. Pat waved them back into their saddles. “The gang’s comin’ down this road after her. Scatter into them aspens on the right-hand side an’ stay out of sight. We’d best get her off the road right here, Ma’m,” he told Karen. “You an’ her an’ both yore hawses. It’s a long straight stretch of road up ahead an’ we want ’em to keep right on ridin’ into this aspen grove.”

  Karen was white-faced but calm. She got up and helped to assist Lily to her feet. Pat grabbed the reins of their two horses and led them aside off the road while Karen helped Lily stumble along behind him.