Lone Star 03

by Ellis, Wesley

  “Then you’ll have to figure a way to catch him some other time. Our best chance of getting out of here alive is to go right now, and I’ve got to put some clothes on first!”

  “Hurry, then,” Famam urged. “I’ll saddle the horses while you’re dressing.”

  Jessie had never put on clothes as fast as she did now. In three minutes, she was ready to ride. When she went into the cave, she found that Farnam had saddled her horse and was just throwing his McClellan saddle across the back of his own mount. She tossed the saddlebags across her horse’s rump and was waiting to lead the animal out of the cave before Farnam had tightened the cinches of his own saddle.

  “We’ll try to make a clean getaway,” Farnam said. “If we can beat those Mexicans to the mouth of the arroyo, the two of us can bottle this canyon up until Ki shows up. Then you can ride to the fort and get a squad back here.”

  Jessie shook her head. “Your men at the fort couldn’t get here in time. Once the rustlers find out they’re cornered, they won’t stay and fight, Joe. We’ll have our hands full, just getting away ourselves.”

  “No!” Farnam snapped. “I can’t let those outlaws go back to Mexico!”

  “How can you stop them?”

  “Wait a minute, Jessie,” Farnam said. “I can see one way to handle this, and it’s a way that ought to please you.”

  “What’s the way?”

  “We hide right here in the cave, and let that gang go out through the arroyo. If we’re right about them being rustlers, they’re heading for one of the ranches east of the river. While they’re stealing the cattle they’ve come for, I’ll have time to move a squad of my troopers up here. When the rustlers come back, the troopers will be in position to bottle up the whole gang.”

  “It sounds like a good plan, except for one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Suppose the rustlers stay here the rest of the day? What if they don’t move out until dark, or even until tomorrow? If they do anything more than just ride through the valley, they’re sure to see us.”

  Farnam thought about this for a moment, then nodded slowly. “You’re right, of course. If they stay here more than a few minutes, they’ll see us, and with the odds what they are against us... well, we’d be captured.”

  “You know what that means, as far as I’m concerned,” Jessie pointed out.

  “Yes. I’m afraid I do. Let’s go, then, Jessie! We can still beat them to the arroyo!”

  Though Jessie and Farnam mounted quickly and spurred out of the cleft within seconds of reaching their decision, they’d waited too long. All the rustlers had crossed the river by the time they burst into the open. Almost instantly, the outlaws began firing. A slug from their first volley tore into a hind leg of Farnam’s horse, and the animal almost went down before they’d covered a dozen yards.

  “Back inside, Jessie!” Farnam shouted over the reports of the rifles. “It’s our only chance to hold them off!”

  Jessie wheeled her mustang and got back into the safety of the fissure’s stone walls before the lieutenant could turn his wounded mount. She slid from the saddle, grabbing her rifle from its saddle scabbard as she dismounted. Stopping only long enough to lead her horse back into the cave behind the fissure, she hurried to the front of the cleft. Farnam was still outside, and Jessie began firing as fast as she could work the lever of the Winchester, snapshooting rather than aiming, trying to distract the rustlers long enough to give him time to get inside.

  Her first shot took down a horse. With her second slug she knocked one of the front riders out of his saddle. Farnam pulled up his horse in front of the cleft. He leaped from the saddle and bunched the reins behind the horse’s ears while with his free hand he pushed its nose around, trying to wrestle his mount to the ground.

  Like all cavalry horses, the animal was trained to lie prone and shield its rider. With a shrill protesting whinny, the wounded horse dropped on its side and lay quietly. Farnam slid his own rifle from its scabbard and crawled behind the horse. Dropping to her hands and knees, Jessie crawled out to join him.

  When the first outlaw had fallen from his horse, the rest of the band started milling, confused by the unexpectedly fast and accurate shooting. As Jessie and Farnam kept up their gunfire, the rustlers started drawing back to the river.

  Spurring their mounts, they galloped across the valley at a long oblique angle that took them to the same side of the high rock wall that was split by the cleft. Their new position gave them a line of fire parallel to the wall and exposed Jessie and the lieutenant, who found their cover now reduced to that provided by the hind legs of the prone horse.

  Slugs from the bandits’ rifles began tearing into the hard soil all around Jessie and Farnum, who wasted no time in crawfishing back into the cleft. The rustlers’ gunfire stopped when they saw their targets scuttle to safety. In the protection of the vee, Jessie and Farnam took stock of their situation while they reloaded.

  “It looks like we ran out of luck in a hurry,” Farnam said grimly. “I’m sorry, Jessie. I made a bad tactical mistake. I guess I was confused.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “I hate to confess this, Jessie, but I’ve never actually been under fire before.”

  “You didn’t act like it. And even if you did have buck fever, it ought to be over by now.”

  “I suppose it is. But I must’ve done something wrong, and now we’re in one hell of a fix.”

  “Things could be worse.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “We hurt them more than they hurt us,” Jessie reminded him. She pointed out to the valley floor. The body of the man she’d shot lay sprawled between the cleft and the river. A few yards beyond the motionless figure, one of the attackers’ horses limped aimlessly around. “If there were twelve of them before, there’s one less to worry about now.”

  “Even at that, we’ve got a lot to worry about,” he replied. “My horse is crippled, and I think it took another slug or two after I put it on the ground. We couldn’t make a run for it now, even if we wanted to.”

  “They can’t get to us as long as we stay in here, Joe,” Jessie pointed out. “To do any effective shooting, they’ll have to be out in front of us, where there isn’t any cover. We’ll be all right as long as our ammunition holds out.”

  “We’ll make every shot count, then. How many shells have you got for your Winchester?”

  “Two boxes in my saddlebags. And a box for my pistol.”

  “I’ve got the regulation fifty rounds for my Springfield, and twenty for my Colt,” Farnam said. “Less what I’ve fired, of course. What we’ve got between us ought to buy us a pretty good breathing spell, though.”

  They were silent for a moment, listening to see if they could get an idea what their adversaries were doing. All they could hear from the direction of the river was an indistinguishable confusion of voices and the occasional grating or thudding of horses’ hooves on the caliche soil.

  “We’ve got to know what they’re doing,” Farnam said after several minutes had ticked away. “I’m going to take a look and find out.”

  Laying his rifle down, he stepped to the open front of the fissure and dropped to the ground; then, pushing himself forward, he peered around the edge of the stone wall.

  “I think they’re getting ready to rush us,” he said over his shoulder. “They’ve mounted up, and they seem to be talking things over.”

  “They’d be fools if they didn’t try an attack or two. But when they start this way, we’ll be able to get in a few shots before they get opposite us.”

  “Sure,” Farnam said absently, his eyes on their enemies. “It looks like they’re stringing out, getting ready to ride.”

  “I’m ready, whenever they start. We’ll have a chance for a few shots before they get in line with us and can shoot into the cleft here.”

  “Yes.” Farnam backed into the fissure and stood up. His jaw set grimly, he said, “Just one thing, Jessie. Leave Buell Henderson to me. I want to b
e the one who shoots down that dirty traitor!”

  “I don’t blame you for feeling that way, Joe. And there’ll be plenty of other targets for me. If you—” Jessie broke off as hooves thudding from the direction of the river warned them that their attackers were on the move. “We’d better get ready. Here they come!”

  As the rustlers galloped to the attack, it was obvious that they were veteran fighters. They did not come as a group, but split their force. A half-dozen riders were spurring toward the fissure, and Jessie and Farnam began firing. At the first shots from the cleft, the attackers made use of Indian tactics. They dropped behind their horses, hooking a knee around their saddlehorns. Protected by the bodies of their mounts, the rustlers came on to the accompaniment of thudding hoofbeats.

  “Hold your fire, Joe!” she said quickly. “They’ll have to expose themselves when they start shooting!”

  Almost before Jessie had finished speaking, the half-dozen rustlers were in front of the cleft. They did not raise their bodies above the backs of their horses, but fired from beneath the bellies of the galloping animals, using their revolvers. The fire they sent toward Jessie and Farnam was unaimed, but the angry whine of bullets singing above their heads and splatting into the wall of the cliff behind them forced the defenders to keep down.

  Now the second wave swept past. They rode erect, confident that they’d catch Jessie and Farnam with empty magazines. The first shots fired by the pair caught the attackers by surprise. The rustlers scattered, only three of them holding to a course that brought them past the cleft. As Jessie and Farnam kept shooting without letup, the fire from the riders’ pistols became scattered and ineffective. Finally the three rustlers that had persisted in the attack wheeled and galloped off.

  Farnam had identified his traitorous sergeant in the second group. As the riders retreated, the lieutenant stood up and took careful aim. His shot knocked the turncoat sergeant from his horse and he fell to the ground, his arms and legs flailing as he hit and rolled over, and lay still.

  “We did better than just hold our own this time,” Farnam said with grim satisfaction. “At least I—”

  A shot from the rustler band cut off his words. Farnam’s jaw dropped open, his face contorted with pain, and his body twisted as he slumped to the ground beside Jessie.

  “Joe!” Jessie said urgently. “Joe!”

  Farnam moved, trying to sit up. Blood was staining the sleeve of his gray shirt just below his left shoulder. His lips worked as he tried to reply, but only a few hoarse gasps came from his mouth at his first effort, while Jessie was moving to his side. Then he found his voice.

  “I’m ... all right,” he said slowly. “I think I am, anyhow.”

  “Hold on to me,” Jessie told him. “I’ll get you inside and see how badly you’re hurt.”

  Farnam shook his head. “I can make it myself.”

  In spite of his protest, Jessie helped him with an arm around his waist as he pushed himself erect, using his rifle as a lever. A few faltering steps took them into the shelter of the cleft. Jessie helped him to sit down and lean against the wall.

  “It doesn’t look too bad,” she assured him.

  “Doesn’t hurt much either,” he said. “Just have to get my wind back. Damn it, Jessie, a man ought to hurt when he’s been shot!”

  Jessie was unbuttoning Farnam’s shirt while he spoke. She pulled the garment down, exposing his shoulder and upper arm. The bullet had caught him high, above the biceps, and passed through cleanly. Blood seeped slowly from the blue-rimmed holes the slug had made.

  “You’re right, it’s not really bad,” she said. She fished a bandanna out of the back pocket of her jeans. “I’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

  Folding the oversized bandanna into a narrow strip, Jessie quickly bandaged the wound. Farnam winced as she pulled the improvised bandage tight, but did not complain. When she’d finished, she leaned back, sitting on her heels, and watched closely for a moment while the blood seeping from the bullet holes stained the white pattern of the bandanna, but did not spread. Farnam watched with her, his face showing more curiosity than concern.

  “It’ll be sore for a while,” she warned him. “And it ought to be cleaned with carbolic acid or something pretty soon. But it’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

  Farnam tried gingerly to bend his elbow and raise the wounded arm. He winced and gasped as the effort failed. Shaking his head, he said, “There’s just one thing that bothers me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How the devil am I going to handle a rifle now? Damn it, Jessie, you can’t stand off what’s left of that gang alone!”

  Chapter 9

  “You can use your Colt, if you can’t handle a rifle,” Jessie reminded Farnam.

  He looked chagrined. “I suppose I’m a pretty bad example of a cavalry trooper,” he said. “Sooner or later, I’m sure I’d have remembered I’ve got a pistol, but thanks for reminding me.” He started to get to his feet. Jessie moved to help him, but he waved her away. “Let me get up alone, Jessie. I want to show myself that I don’t need a nursemaid.”

  “Nobody’s suggested that you do,” she said a bit tartly.

  “I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful,” Farnam apologized. “I’m just angry with myself, and it spilled out on you.”

  “It’s all right, Joe,” she assured him. “Now we’d better get out where we can keep an eye on the rustlers. I don’t think they’ll let this one setback keep them from trying to kill us.”

  Cautiously they edged to the front of the cleft and peered toward the river. The rustlers had just started riding in their direction. In spite of the long range and their need to conserve ammunition, Jessie let off two closely spaced shots at them. The rifle fire did not discourage the outlaws. The only effect of the two shots was to cause them to begin galloping sooner than might have been the case if Jessie had not fired.

  Jessie and Farnam dropped flat inside the cleft as the rustlers spurred their mounts. The riders did not swing behind the bodies of their horses this time. Erect in the saddle, they poured rifle slugs into the cleft as they galloped past. The best the two defenders could do was to let off a quickly aimed shot or two as the last of the attackers came abreast. By that time, though, the members of the gang who’d been the first to ride by had wheeled and were coming back.

  “If they keep us under a steady fire, we’re done for!” Farnam said, raising his voice to make himself heard over the constant barking of the rustlers’ guns.

  “All we can do is fight back!” Jessie replied, her eyes at her rifle sights as she swung the gun, trying to get in an aimed shot. She squeezed the trigger, but too late, the man at whom she’d been aiming swerved just as she fired.

  Then, as the last of the riders swept past the cleft and the rustlers’ fire slackened, the distant crack of a rifle sounded from the mouth of the valley. The last rider’s horse stumbled and broke stride, but managed to continue toward the river, limping badly. Another shot from the distance followed the first, and hard on the heels of that one, a third report rang out.

  “It’s Ki!” Jessie cried. “He must’ve heard the shooting as he was coming through the arroyo, and hurried to help us!”

  “Whether it’s your man Ki or somebody else, they got here just in time,” Farnam said.

  Jessie leaped to her feet and stepped outside the fissure. The outlaws were not waiting to find out who fired the shots from the mouth of the valley. Knowing that even a single rifleman could keep them from passing through the narrow, twisting arroyo, they were galloping for the ford.

  Jessie let off the last shot in the Winchester’s magazine at the fleeing outlaws, but the slug missed. By the time she’d reloaded, the band was well on its way across the Rio Grande.

  The valley floor was deserted except for three riderless horses, one of them lamed, and the bodies of Buell Henderson and one of the rustlers.

  Jessie looked up the valley as Ki emerged from the arroyo and spurred his mou
nt toward the cleft. She waved, and Ki waved back, kicking his horse to a gallop.

  Farnam gave a deep sigh of relief. He said, “I don’t know when I’ve been as glad to see somebody—just anybody who’s on our side.”

  Ki was within shouting distance now. He called, “Are you all right, Jessie?”

  “We’re both all right,” she replied. “Joe’s got a bullet hole in his arm, but it’s not a bad wound. I didn’t get a scratch.”

  Reaching the cleft, Ki reined in and dismounted. “I heard shooting when I was halfway through the arroyo, but there wasn’t any way I could gallop in there. Who was attacking you?”

  “Rustlers, we’re pretty sure,” Jessie answered. “They must have had a time set to meet one of Joe’s men from the fort.” She pointed at Henderson’s body. “That’s him. Joe got him the first time they attacked us after we’d holed up in the cleft.”

  “And I’d better go take a look, to make absolutely sure it’s Henderson,” Farnam said. He started toward the body of the man he’d shot. Jessie and Ki followed him. Farnam said, “You don’t have to come along, Jessie, if you’d rather not.”

  “I’ve seen dead men before, Joe. I’m as curious as you are to find out for sure whether it is one of your troopers.”

  They reached the sprawled corpse, which lay facedown, and Farnam leaned over to turn the body over so that he could get a good look at the man’s face. His one good arm proved unequal to the task; Ki stepped up to help him, and when the unpleasant job was finished, Farnam looked at the broad tanned face and nodded.

  “It’s Henderson, all right. I knew I wasn’t mistaken,” he told them. “I can understand now why this place got left off our military maps. Henderson was responsible for most of the routine jobs, like making fresh copies of maps and records. It’d have been easy for him to do a thing like that. And until now, I had no suspicions at all that he was working with those rustlers.”

  All three of them jumped with surprise when the supposedly dead man let out a wheezy groan. They looked down to find Henderson’s eyes open and fixed on them.