Colorado Crossfire (A Piccadilly Pulishing Western Book 15)
Page 13
“That’s a good sign,” Kiowa said.
“I’m right happy to hear that,” Lefty said.
Kiowa looked for himself. “It didn’t go in anyhow. You’ll be fine, I reckon.”
“I reckon,” Lefty agreed getting to his feet.
“Well, that’s two more of ’em,” Kiowa said. Before Lefty could reply, a fresh volley of gunfire came in on them, clipping branches and splattering through the woods in a gale of flying slugs. Both friends dove to the ground.
“Now who the hell could that be?” Lefty demanded angrily.
“Damn!” Kiowa said in a complaining voice. “Did we make anybody back there mad at us?”
Thirteen
“What the hell’s going on now?” Lefty asked. “How should I know?” Kiowa said.
“We scouted the hell outta that place. I didn’t see no more o’ Paxton’s boys.”
“Well, neither did I!” Lefty snapped. “And I’m getting a little riled about folks wanting to do us harm for no good reason.”
“If they’re part o’ Paxton’s gang, they got good reason,” Kiowa pointed out.
“Even if they ain’t, they seem to think we’re ripe for shooting,” Lefty said ducking lower.
“It don’t matter,” Kiowa said. “The end result is gonna be the same no matter who plugs us.”
“Now there’s a cheerful thought,” Lefty remarked. A fresh splattering of shots pocked the trees around them sending bits of bark and twigs spinning through the air before falling on the two huddled in the woods.
“Goddamn it!” Lefty said spitting out pieces of debris. “This better not be another lynch mob.”
“I learned the last time not to let ’em get the upper hand,” Kiowa said.
“Yeah,” Lefty said. “Shoot a couple and make the others run, that’s what I say.”
“Lynch mob or not, we got to pull away from here and get back for more cover.”
“Let’s do it,” Lefty said.
Taking deep breaths, they rose up and fired rapidly in the direction of the attack. As soon as they sensed the quick drop of incoming bullets, the pair moved backward at a crouch while still firing. Then they turned and crashed through the brush.
“Follow me!” Lefty called out. He was slightly ahead as they raced farther into the woods. Suddenly, he stepped off into the ravine he’d fallen into before.
Kiowa, following blindly, also went into the deep gully. Both rolled and tumbled until they hit the bottom. Kiowa, close behind, landed heavily on top of Lefty.
“Get off me!”
Kiowa, mad as hell, rolled away and sat up. “You’re real crazy about this place, ain’t you?”
Lefty, because of the urgency of the moment, ignored the sarcasm. “Let’s be still awhile and see what happens.”
“Yeah,” Kiowa said. Then he added, “As if we had a choice in the matter.”
For several long minutes the woods were quiet. The only sound they could perceive was the slight breeze stirring the branches above their hiding place.
“Do you reckon they’ve left?” Kiowa pondered.
Lefty shook his head. “It wouldn’t make sense to shoot at us and make us run, then leave us in peace.”
Suddenly, as if to prove him correct, crackling twigs and whispering voices could be heard.
“I reckon I was right that time,” Lefty said softly.
The sounds grew louder until the panting breaths of men exerting themselves could be easily discerned.
“They’re coming,” Kiowa said. “They seem to be spread out some.”
“And they’s a bunch of ’em,” Lefty said.
“But not as big as a reglar lynch mob,” Kiowa said taking careful note of the sounds.
“How many you figger there is?” Lefty asked.
“A few,” Kiowa answered.
“What the hell do you mean by a few?”
“Eleventy-eight of ’em,” Kiowa said.
“That ain’t a number, you dumb shit.”
Kiowa listened for a bit more as the noise gradually increased. “This many.” He raised his fingers.
“That’s six,” Lefty said. “I wish you’d learn to count better.”
“I forget sometimes,” Kiowa said.
“Maybe we oughta wait on ’em here,” Lefty said.
“Do you think we got a choice?”
“Hell, yes! We don’t have to sit here if we don’t want to. Nobody says we can’t go up there,” Lefty pointed out. “There ain’t no rules to follow, y’know.”
“Then let’s go get ’em,” Kiowa said.
“Maybe we should be careful though, huh?” Lefty said, having second thoughts.
“To hell with it,” Kiowa said. “You coming or not?”
“Yeah,” Lefty said.
Moving without a sound, the two eased their way back up the slope to the top of the ravine. Once there, they paused to listen some more.
“Over that way,” Lefty whispered as he waved his pistol barrel.
Kiowa nodded. “Yeah. To the right.”
“C’mon!” Lefty said.
“Sure. But be careful if someone pops up from the side,” Kiowa cautioned him. “They could be trying to draw us into an ambush.”
Lefty smirked. “Kiowa, I figger that’s exactly what they’re doing.”
They moved in the direction their attackers seemed to be. Each step was deliberate and done with patience and cunning. Finally Kiowa made a soft clicking sound to attract his partner’s attention.
Lefty looked up then grinned.
A skinny young fellow with a scraggly beard was peering around, slowly turning as he searched for a sight of them. Lefty’s pistol and Kiowa’s carbine barked flame and spit lead at the same time. The bullets flew true, and the man’s skull exploded an instant before he disappeared from view.
“Earl!”
Lefty and Kiowa turned toward the excited voice. “Earl! Are you alright?”
Another voice said, “Shut up!”
“I just want to know if Earl’s out there,” First Voice said. “Somebody’s doing some shooting.”
Lefty and Kiowa, crouching, glided through the woods until they spotted the two bushwhackers. Once more they fired, the shots bowling the duo into a stand of thick brush. A soft moaning could be heard. Lefty started over in that direction until Kiowa’s urgent voice stopped him.
“Squat!” Kiowa said.
He and Lefty went down and moved around on their haunches until their backs were to each other. In that position they covered all sides from surprise attack.
“The others ought to be coming around directly,” Lefty whispered.
“I’d say so,” Kiowa replied.
“Did you recognize any of them fellers?” Lefty asked.
Kiowa shrugged. “I didn’t get any good looks.”
“Well, I sure as hell can’t figger out who they are,” Lefty said. “They ain’t none o’ Paxton’s boys.”
“Unless he had some new ones join up with him,” Kiowa said. “Or do you owe somebody some money and forgot to pay?”
Lefty shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Then who are they and why are they trying to kill us?” Kiowa said.
“You tell me and we’ll both know,” Lefty said. “Shhh!”
There were more sounds of people moving through the woods. The distant murmur of voices could also be heard.
“They’re moving away,” Lefty said.
“Yeah. What do you think we ought to do?”
Lefty thought quick. “Hell! We can’t let ’em go. They know who we are, but we don’t know who they are.”
Kiowa saw the logic that his friend was driving at. “Yeah. That means that when we walk back into Luckville, they can hit us without warning.”
“We gotta get ’em, Kiowa.”
“Then let’s go do what we gotta do,” Kiowa said.
The two friends stood up and once again began stalking their deadly prey. Moving slowly, they took their tim
e, knowing that careless haste and unnecessary noise could bring about personal disasters.
The blast came from behind them. Both young men whirled and fired back. One of their bullets hit the drygulcher’s outer shoulder making a red bloom appear there. The wounded man hurried behind a tree.
“C’mon over here!” he yelled. Although hurt, he was plenty game. He fired several more times.
Lefty and Kiowa started to move out to get behind the man when their attention was caught by the sight of another stumbling into view. Several shots were exchanged before the newcomer bent over and collapsed.
Now the man behind the tree renewed his efforts. Lefty and Kiowa hit the ground as the slugs zipped through the air above them. “Keep him busy,” Kiowa said.
“Right,” Lefty said. He fired twice. “Hey. C’mon outta there with your damn hands up.”
The only reply was another volley of bullets.
“He’s a mean sonofabitch!” Lefty exclaimed as he renewed his return fire. At the same time, Kiowa crawled through the brush with the skill of a coyote. When he reached a position he considered proper, he raised up a bit. The man behind the tree was in full view. Kiowa took careful aim with his carbine and pulled the trigger.
The bullet hit the ambusher in the side. He dropped his gun and stumbled a bit. Then, obviously in shock, he turned and walked toward Kiowa. “Earl?” he said. “Earl?”
Kiowa raised his carbine one more time. “If you don’t fall down, feller, I’m gonna shoot you again.”
“Come here, Earl.”
Kiowa fired, making this the killing shot. The ambusher collapsed to the ground, and Kiowa crawled forward. After checking the corpse, he made the soft clicking sound that he and Lefty used for signaling.
Lefty, although cautious, quickly joined him. “Mother o’ God! Look at all the blood.”
“I shot that feller three times total,” Kiowa said.
“I see you ain’t got any trouble counting to three,” Lefty said. “That something anyhow.”
Kiowa frowned. “It’s only when there’s more to count than I got fingers on one hand that I have trouble.”
“I recollect you didn’t have no trouble when we bargained with Jim Bigelow on the price o’ this job,” Lefty countered.
“I only used words like a hunnerd and a thousand ’cause I remember hearing ’em as big numbers,” Kiowa said. “As an Injun I got no use for such stuff.”
Lefty laughed. “Here we are talking away and there’s still one or two of these bastards left.” He walked over to the corpse and rolled it over. He studied the face for awhile. “I’ve seen him before.”
Kiowa knelt down beside the dead man. “Yeah?” He looked long and hard at the dead features. “Well, I don’t know him. And you and me both been around the same folks since we was tads.”
“I ain’t making a mistake,” Lefty insisted. “I’ve seen him before.”
Kiowa stood up. “Well, if you say you seen him before, I reckon you have. But I sure—”
Both young men ducked back down.
Someone was crashing through the woods nearby. Once more, acting from the ability to communicate in silence, the pair of expert trackers leaped up and chased after the escaping man.
This time there was no need for caution. They ran fast, holding their guns ready, as they pounded through the forest, leaping over stands of bushes in their mad dash to catch the survivor of the group who had tried to kill them.
They came out of the tree line in time to see the man trying to mount his horse. Kiowa, the swifter of the two, managed to reach him in time, pulling him down from the saddle before he was able to throw his leg over it.
Both hit the ground, but Kiowa, knowing that Lefty would have their quarry covered, rolled free. Jack Dougherty, the army deserter, looked up at them.
“Get on your feet, you sonofabitch,” Kiowa said picking up his carbine.
“You ain’t gonna shoot me, are you fellers?” Dougherty asked.
“I told you I’d seen that other yahoo before,” Lefty said. “He was with Dougherty in that bar. That’s where I remember him from.”
“Yeah,” Kiowa said. “That’s why I didn’t know who he was. I was outside.” He pointed his carbine at Dougherty. “Why’d you bushwack us?”
“I was afraid you fellers would turn me in as a deserter,” Dougherty said. “I didn’t want to get took back to the damn army.”
“So you and your new pals decided to kill us, huh?” Lefty asked.
Dougherty raised his hands. “I didn’t want to go after you,” Dougherty said. “One of the others said we should do it. It was Earl.”
Lefty snickered. “We been hearing a lot about that Earl since you bastards came after us.”
“Looky now,” Dougherty said. “You fellers are alright, ain’t you? You ain’t hurt. You can take their horses and gear, y’know? You’re coming out ahead that way.”
“You done us bad dirt,” Lefty said coldly.
“I shoulda knowed you fellers wouldn’t tell on me,” Dougherty said with a smile. “That was real wrong o’ me, Lefty.” He looked at Kiowa. “I’m sorry. Truly I am.” He slowly lowered his arms. “I shouldn’t’ve listened to Earl. That was dumb o’ me.” He had eased his hand into his vest. Suddenly pulling it out, he had a Derringer.
Kiowa immediately pulled the trigger of his carbine, but the hammer slammed down on a spent cartridge. He moved backward, instinctively holding up the carbine across his chest.
Dougherty fired, the bullet hitting Kiowa’s weapon and knocking him down. Lefty, shooting at the same time, hit Dougherty in the belly, doubling him over. The deserter sank to his knees, groaning loudly. He looked up at Lefty. “You shot me.”
“Damn right I shot you, you double-dealing, bangly-eyed bastard! What’d you think I’d do? Buy you a goddamned beer?” Lefty walked over and kicked him hard, knocking him onto the ground.
“You’re gutshot, Dougherty. Lay there and think things over.” He walked over to Kiowa and found him unharmed except for having the wind knocked out of him.
Kiowa, with Lefty’s help, got to his feet. “My … car – carbine is ruined!”
“You got some more to replace ’em off all these dead sonofabitches sprawled around in the woods,” Lefty said. He walked over to Jack Dougherty and looked at him.
Dougherty, his eyes glazing over, reached out weakly and grasped Lefty’s trouser. “Get me a priest, Lefty.”
“There ain’t no priests around here, asshole,” Lefty said.
“You’re a Irishman, too,” Dougherty said. “You got to get me a priest.”
“Give the Devil a kiss for me when you see him, Jack,” Lefty said. He looked down on him for a few more minutes before he realized the young man was dead. “I guess that’s that except for getting our horses.”
“Whew!” Kiowa wheezed. “I need a drink.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
The two walked slowly back to the carnage in the forest. “Wasn’t that Jack Dougherty a sonofabitch?” Lefty asked.
Kiowa shrugged. “So are we sometimes.”
“Yeah. But only when we got to be,” Lefty countered. “Most o’ the time we’re a coupla real nice fellers.”
“Yeah,” Kiowa said thoughtfully. “I suppose so.”
Fourteen
The distant firing had abruptly ceased. Jim Bigelow glanced over at Russ Wilson. “What do you make o’ that?”
“The fight’s done,” Wilson said. “Whoever—”
Two quick shots interrupted him. After a one-beat pause, a third round was heard exploding. This was followed by silence in the early evening. Five minutes passed as the two continued riding toward Luckville.
“Now it’s over,” Wilson said. “I’ll bet there’s more’n one dead or hurt feller sprawled out somewheres.”
“I’d say so,” Bigelow replied. “Unless the worstest damn shot in the world is out hunting.”
Wilson grinned at the poor humor. “I kinda doubt that.”
Bigelow nudged Wilson. “There’s Lefty and Kiowa. They may be in some sort o’ trouble. Let’s hang back and see.”
“Right,” Wilson said.
“And knowing what happened to those two in El Campo don’t put me in an easy frame of mind,” Bigelow added. “If these folks decide a necktie party would fill the bill, we’ll have to move and do it fast.”
“And ride like hell afterward,” Wilson added ominously.
But the crowd made no threatening moves or sounds as Lefty McNally and the Kiowa Kid rode up. They came to a stop. Lefty, one hand resting on his holstered Colt, stood up in the stirrups and announced in a loud voice, “There’s eight dead men back there. They was shot fair and square.” He was still full of battle ardor. “Anybody got anything to say about that?”
Kiowa cradled a new carbine taken from one of the dead men across his arm. He spotted the local law and his dark eyes narrowed in anger. “Sheriff?”
The lawman, actually no more than a combination bouncer and watchman hired by the local businessmen, only shrugged. He was a wise, middle-aged fellow who knew how to handle such matters. “They wasn’t no witnesses other than yourselves. If you say it was a fair fight, that’s good enough for me.” He turned to the crowd. “What about it, boys?”
“Sure!”
“Ain’t nobody robbed, was there? Let it be.”
“Happens all the time.”
The sheriff turned back to Lefty and Kiowa. “I reckon it’s over.”
“It damn well better be,” Lefty said.
The sheriff motioned to a couple of men in the crowd. “Let’s get Hail’s wagon and go bring ’em in for burial.”
Lefty and Kiowa rode through the throng that parted to make way for them. They spotted Bigelow and Russ Wilson on the other side of the crowd.
Lefty called out, “Tip Tyler and Selby Turner is among the dead ’uns back there. Tom Foyt got his in El Campo.”