Celia started down the sidewalk toward the cross street where their rented house was located. Along the way, she had to pass the bank. Her eyes were down, watching the plank boardwalk.
She had no warning of trouble until the rough hand came down brutally on her shoulder.
Glidinghawk and the Moody brothers crouched in the shadows of the alley behind the bank. Arlie and Dirk stood by the back door of the building holding a couple of sledgehammers they had just stolen from the hardware store down the street. They were waiting impatiently for the arrival of the Indians led by Brass Hand. Once the shooting started, it would take only moments to crash in through the heavy door. Several sticks of dynamite were tucked into Dirk's belt; the explosive would be used to deal with the vault door once they were inside.
"Dammit, where are those heathens?" Arlie growled.
Glidinghawk didn't know what was delaying the Kiowa, but he was glad they had not yet shown up. Slowly, he edged away from the other three. His hand stole to the butt of his gun.
There was a good chance he wouldn't be walking away from this, but sometimes the simplest solutions were the best. He would try to get the drop on the three would-be bank robbers. If he was successful, then he could alert the town to the impending Indian raid.
And if the Moodys fought back, the gunfire would do just as good a job of warning the town.
He wished he had gotten a chance to say goodbye to Sun Woman. Landrum would help her, he thought. Even without knowing what had passed between her and Glidinghawk, the Texan would take pity on all four of the squaws and see that they got back to the Nations.
Glidinghawk started to slide his Colt out of its holster.
The sound of heels on the boardwalk came clearly to the ears of the men. Arlie's head jerked around. "Somebody's comin'," he rumbled. "Claude, go see who it is."
Glidinghawk forced himself to relax, not wanting to start the ball rolling while there was an innocent person so close by. Especially when it was a woman, and unless he was badly mistaken, those were female footsteps he heard.
Claude hurried over to the rear corner of the building and peered toward the street. A second later, he turned around with a grin on his face. "It's that redheaded gal!" he announced in a harsh whisper. "I'm goin' to get her and take her with us!"
Arlie hissed, "Claude! No, dammit!" He was too late, though. Claude had already vanished around the corner of the bank.
The redhead! Glidinghawk knew who Claude had to be talking about. It was Celia, and Claude intended to kidnap her!
Glidinghawk whipped to the corner of the bank, drawing his gun as Arlie yelped, "Glidinghawk! Get back here!" The Omaha reached the corner in time to see Claude lunge out of the darkness and grab Celia by the shoulder. Glidinghawk saw a flash of red hair in the moonlight.
Claude had not counted on getting hold of someone who would fight back. Even as she was gasping in pain and surprise, Celia's hand dove into the bag she carried and came out with the small .38 revolver that was always with her.
Glidinghawk saw the flash of fire from its muzzle, heard the sharp crack of its report. Claude jerked back and howled in pain, clutching at a bullet-shattered shoulder.
Arlie and Dirk dropped their sledgehammers and started toward Glidinghawk.
Glidinghawk spun, the Colt coming out as he did so. "Hold it!" he rapped. "It's all over!"
"You red bastard!" Arlie thundered. "I warned you about double-crossin' me!"
He and Dirk both went for their guns at the same time.
Glidinghawk triggered twice as a war whoop split the night at the other end of town. He saw Dirk stagger backward and drop his gun, but Arlie was untouched. Arlie's gun belched flame and noise, and a slug burned past Glidinghawk's ear.
Glidinghawk threw himself to the side, around the corner of the bank. He was aware of more cries, more gunshots. He thought he heard the crackle of Celia's .38 as she emptied it.
The bitter taste of failure was strong in Glidinghawk's mouth as he stuck the barrel of his gun around the corner and blasted a couple more shots in Arlie's direction. He hadn't been able to warn the town in time, and now Brass Hand and his men would have surprise on their side as they carried out their rampage.
The rumble of running horses filled the air, but over that tumult of noise Glidinghawk was able to hear another horse moving, much closer to him. Arlie must have mounted up, Glidinghawk realized as the hoofbeats clattered down the alley toward him. He dove for the ground as Arlie swept by him, triggering as fast as he could.
The slugs kicked up dust around Glidinghawk, but none of them found their target. Then Arlie was gone, disappearing into the shadows as he fled. That wasn't like him, but with Claude and Dirk both downed, Arlie wasn't going to buck the odds, not even for the money in the bank.
Gunfire swept over the town as the citizens of Truscott hurriedly gathered their wits and began to fight back. Glidinghawk scrambled to his feet, an idea occurring to him. His gun up and ready, he went around the corner into the alley.
Dirk was sprawled motionless on the ground. Glidinghawk kept him covered while he bent over and snagged the dynamite that was tucked in Dirk's belt. There was a huge stain on Dirk's shirt, visible in the moonlight, and his eyes were open and glassy.
Glidinghawk turned away from the corpse and started toward the street, but he had only taken a few steps when a dark shape bulked up in front of him. He barely had time to recognize Claude's face, contorted by hate and pain, before the bigger man smashed into him. Claude's left hand found Glidinghawk's neck and locked on it. His right arm hung limply at his side from the bullet-smashed shoulder.
Staggering, the Omaha caught himself before he fell. Bright lights danced before his eyes, and he didn't know if they were muzzle flashes from the street or simply phantoms of his suddenly oxygen-starved brain.
He forced his muscles to work, bringing up the Colt and ramming it into Claude's belly. The roar of the shot was muffled by the big man's body.
Claude was thrown backward by the horrible impact. He fell, thrashing and screaming as the life bled out of him.
Glidinghawk heaved one breath, then made his shaky legs carry him toward the street. Some still-rational part of his brain realized that his gun was empty, but he wouldn't need it for what he planned to do next. He rammed the weapon back in its holster, then used that hand to dig in his pocket for matches.
There were four sticks of dynamite in his other hand. As he reached the boardwalk, the firing all along the street slacked off abruptly. His eyes darted from side to side, and he spotted Brass Hand's band at the end of the street, where they were evidently gathering for another charge through town.
"Gerald!"
The cry made Glidinghawk jerk his head around. He saw Celia crouched behind a barrel in a nearby doorway. She started to stand up, but Glidinghawk stopped her with a curt gesture.
"Are you all right?" he asked. In the faint glow from a lantern down the street, he could see a dark smear on her cheek, but he couldn't tell if it was blood or dirt.
"I'm fine," she replied. "What about you?"
He scratched a match into life as Brass Hand and Busted Tree both whooped and began galloping down the street, the other warriors riding hard behind them. "I'll be all right in a minute," Glidinghawk’s said grimly as he lit the fuse on the first stick of dynamite.
"Gerald! No!" Celia cried as he stepped calmly into the street. Sparks flickered brightly in the night air as he threw the first stick of dynamite at the charging Kiowa and then coolly lit the next one.
Glidinghawk felt a bullet tug at his sleeve, but that was the closest any of the shots came. One after the other, he lit the fuses and hurled the explosives into the midst of the suddenly confused Indians. They were trying to turn their ponies and flee when the first stick of dynamite blew up, erupting in flame and death.
Glidinghawk dived to the side, back onto the boardwalk. He buried his face in his arms as three more blasts shook the entire town.
When
he looked up again, the Kiowa were in full flight, the townspeople pouring out of the buildings to speed them on their way with a hail of rifle fire.
What was left of Brass Hand and Busted Tree made a bloody mess in the middle of the street.
Glidinghawk felt a strong hand grasping his arm and lifting him. He looked up into Landrum Davis's grinning face. Powdery smoke curled up from the barrel of Landrum's .44. Just behind him, Celia was looking anxiously at Glidinghawk.
"Reckon that was about the craziest stunt I ever did see," Landrum said. "I watched the whole thing from the saloon down there. You all right?"
Glidinghawk nodded. "I don't imagine the Indians will be raiding Truscott again for a while." He jerked his head toward the bunk. "Claude and Dirk Moody are dead back there in the alley. Arlie got away. They were going to rob the bank while those Kiowas provided a distraction."
"Hell of a distraction, all right," Landrum grunted.
"It might have worked if it hadn't been for Celia," Glidinghawk pointed out.
"I ... I didn't think," the redhead said. "When that man grabbed me, I just went for my gun."
"That was Claude Moody," Glidinghawk told her.
"I reckon Arlie knows now you're not on his side anymore," Landrum said. As the three of them talked, the townspeople began to take stock of the damage caused by the Indians. To Glidinghawk's eye, it didn't look too bad.
Slowly, the Omaha said, "I don't think we can wait for the army now to clean up the Moodys. We're going to have to finish the job ourselves."
Landrum nodded. "We're heading for the Brakes?"
Glidinghawk thought about Sun Woman and said, "Yes. We're heading for the Brakes."
CHAPTER TWENTY
"I'm going with you," Celia insisted.
Landrum shook his head stubbornly. "No, you're not. It's a long hard ride out there, and Arlie Moody is still on the loose somewhere. Odds are he'll go back to the cabin. I don't want you anywhere around when we're trying to deal with him."
"What are we going to do?" Glidinghawk asked. "We don't have the authority to arrest him."
"No," Landrum said grimly, "we don't. But that won't stop us from wrecking that big still he's got going out there."
"If Arlie's there, he'll try to kill us," Glidinghawk pointed out. His eyes met Landrum's as they stood there on the sidewalk in front of the bank.
"I know," Landrum said flatly.
Randolph Watts came bustling up then, wanting to know what the hell was going on, and Landrum quickly explained about the aborted bank robbery.
Indicating Glidinghawk with a thumb, Landrum went on, "I don't know who this Indian is, but he's the one who saw those men trying to get into the bank. He's the one who ran those renegades off, too."
Landrum spoke hurriedly because already some of the townspeople were starting to point guns at Glidinghawk’s . With the raid by Brass Hand's warriors so fresh in their minds, it was easy for them to get spooked by Glidinghawk's buckskins and long dark hair. Better to let them know right away that he was on their side.
Watts calmed folks down after that. He extended his gratitude to Glidinghawk, who accepted as graciously as possible under the circumstances. He and Landrum were both eager to get on the trail out to the Brakes.
Landrum quieted Celia's objections about being left behind by ordering her to catch the morning stage to Seymour and pass along all the information they knew to Amos Powell via telegraph. Although she had agreed, the fiery young redhead didn't like it very much, and she was still complaining when the two men swung up on their horses a few minutes later.
The moon was riding low to the horizon as Landrum and Glidinghawk galloped out of Truscott. They rode hard toward the Brakes, Landrum's rented horse laboring somewhat to keep up with Glidinghawk's mount. The horse was the best one available in Truscott, though, so it would have to do.
It was long after midnight when they reached the beginning of the narrow canyon that led into the Moodys' valley. They brought their horses to a halt and dismounted.
"We'd better go the rest of the way on foot," Glidinghawk said in low-pitched tones. "Arlie could be waiting up there at that lookout post."
"You think he'll be expecting you?" Landrum asked.
"I'll be surprised if he's not. He knows I turned on them back there in town." Glidinghawk said nothing about Arlie's suspicion that there was something between Sun Woman and the Omaha. That would be one more reason Arlie might expect Glidinghawk to return to the valley.
They would have to kill Arlie and Benton in order to destroy the still. Glidinghawk felt sure of that. Maybe it was taking the law into their own hands —he didn't want to think about that. Circumstances had brought them to this.
Circumstances —and the evil brought into the world by Arlie Moody.
They tied their horses to a couple of the scrub mesquite that dotted the area and then catfooted their way into the canyon. The moon was low enough now that it cast no light into the steep-sided passage. The two men were moving slowly and carefully through almost total darkness, their guns out and ready.
Glidinghawk took the lead and trailed one hand along the wall of the canyon to keep himself oriented. Landrum followed closely behind him. Neither man spoke, but they could hear each other's breathing in the thick shadows.
Glidinghawk paused when he judged that they were close to the sentry post. His keen ears strained for any sound that might indicate Arlie was waiting for them —heavy breathing, the clink of metal against rock, anything like that.
There was nothing, no sound.
After five long minutes, Glidinghawk reached behind him to touch Landrum's shoulder and indicate they would go on.
They reached the end of the canyon and paused on the edge of the valley. The high bluffs that surrounded the area on three sides cast long shadows that left most of the valley floor in darkness. The cabin itself was still in the edge of moonlight, about half a mile away. Glidinghawk and Landrum started toward it, moving more quickly now.
Smoke drifted up from the chimney of the smaller building where the still was located. The fire was going there under the boiler. Arlie was continuing to make whiskey.
Landrum and Glidinghawk dropped into a crouch behind some brush when they were fifty yards away from the cabin. "What now?" Landrum hissed. "You know this setup better than I do."
"Benton's probably inside the cabin with Ma and a couple of the squaws. Arlie could be anywhere. He may not even be here, Landrum."
"Where else would he go?"
Glidinghawk didn't have an answer for that. "I'll take the cabin," he said. "You head for the still. If you run up against either of the brothers, shoot fast, because they won't be giving you a second chance."
"I know that," Landrum agreed grimly.
They started forward, Glidinghawk heading straight for the main cabin, Landrum veering toward the other building. Glidinghawk lost sight of his companion as he reached the porch of the cabin.
Pausing momentarily, Glidinghawk listened. A frown etched his face at what he heard coming from inside the building.
Someone was singing*
It was a high, reedy female voice that was warbling through an off-key rendition of a hymn. Ma Moody, Glidinghawk decided. It sounded as if she was inside the big main room.
He had traded his boots for moccasins before entering the canyon, and his steps now made no noise as he climbed onto the porch. The butt of the Colt gripped tightly in his hand, he went to the partially open doorway. A faint light, as if from a single candle, came through it.
Glidinghawk pushed the door open and stepped through, eyes darting from side to side, the barrel of the gun tracking across the room.
Ma Moody sat in an old rocking chair by the cold fireplace. She was still singing as Glidinghawk came into the room, but she broke off the hymn and jerked up the shotgun that had been resting in her lap.
Glidinghawk's instincts had the Colt lined on her frail form and his finger pressing on the trigger before he knew what
was happening. At the last instant, he hesitated, not wanting to kill the old woman.
The door to the kitchen burst open, and Benton Moody lunged through it, rifle in hand. He screamed, "Redskin bastard!" as the Winchester blasted. The crack of the rifle was all but lost in the roar of the shotgun.
Glidinghawk dropped to the floor as the weapons thundered. Benton's bullet was a clean miss, and he dodged most of the buckshot as well, since the charge hadn't had time to spread much. Several of the lead pellets stabbed fiery pain into his leg, though.
As he landed hard on his belly, he jerked the Colt toward Benton and triggered twice. The slugs caught Benton in the chest, knocking him back against the wall. He hung there for a moment, the rifle falling from his suddenly nerveless hands, and then pitched forward on his face, dead when he hit the floor.
Glidinghawk rolled, dragging his wounded leg behind him, and brought the pistol to bear on Ma Moody again. She had fired both barrels at once this time, and as she rose from the rocking chair, she flung the empty weapon at Glidinghawk. He threw up an arm to block it. The barrel of the shotgun cracked painfully across his forearm.
He rose from the floor, keeping Ma covered. The old woman's watery eyes went to the sprawled body of her son, then back to Glidinghawk's bleak face. She raised her clawlike hands and covered her lined features. A shriek of pure horror tore from her throat.
Then her head dropped back and she slumped to the floor in a dead faint, overcome by her insane fear of Indians.
Glidinghawk closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath.
Then he strode over to the kitchen door and kicked it open.
Three squaws were huddling in a corner of the room, eyes wide with terror. None of them was Sun Woman, he saw immediately.
"You're safe," he told them. "I won't hurt you. Benton's dead, and Ma's passed out. If I were you, I'd tie her up so that she can't get into any more trouble. Can you do that?"
Red River Desperadoes Page 15