To Hell and Back

by P. A. Bechko

  With the breaking dawn Hollander easily picked up the outlaw’s trail and they pounded after the man they knew only as Ben.

  They pushed hard all that day into open desert, a mountain range looming in the distance to the southwest

  “He’s doubling back,” Amanda offered when they stopped to let water the horses, let them blow and to eat lightly from their stores, “circling.”

  “Picked up on that, did you? Good.”

  Hollander dampened his neckerchief with a splash of tepid water from his canteen, rubbing it over his face and neck, then over his horse’s muzzle.

  “He’s going to come after us, isn’t he?”

  “Likely. We best keep an eye peeled from here on out.”

  He poured some water into his hat for his mount, then did the same for Amanda’s Colorado, each horse in turn eagerly slurping up his share.

  “Let’s walk the horses a spell. There’ll be water up ahead. We’ll camp there and start fresh in the morning. Maybe we can make him sweat a little and try whatever he’s got it into his head to do.”

  After they made camp, watered the horses and ate, exhaustion overtook Amanda and she slept like she’d been drugged, while Hollander stood watch.

  Up with the sun again the next morning, they bolted their food and saddled up. She had to suppress the urge to glare at him. How the hell did he do that night after night; wake up clear-eyed and alert after standing watch?

  Still, there was no slow-up in Amanda either. Their futures lay in their capturing the fleeing outlaw alive.

  The sun was just past its zenith the following day when they caught up with him in some low foothills tumbled at the base of a looming mountain range ahead.

  “We’re riding into trouble,” Hollander said to Amanda as they rode. “I can feel it.”

  Not surprising since they’d been heading in a bee-line hard after the outlaw, following closely in his tracks.

  “He’s been back more than once to keep an eye on us, ” Amanda noted.

  Hollander froze as the words left Amanda’s mouth, eyes still fastened on the tracks at their feet.

  “Wasn’t smart of him, leaving those tracks—unless . . .”

  Hollander jerked his head up in time to catch a flash of movement on the hill which rose steeply on their left. Reflexes took over and he kicked free of the stirrups, throwing himself sideways out of the saddle, catching Amanda and dragging her down in the dust along with him. They hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud as a rifle cracked sharply and the bullet whipped across their saddles sending their horses into a nervous spin.

  There was no momentary confusion for Amanda when the ground suddenly came up and slammed into her. Instinctively she rolled away from Hollander, came to her knees and scrambled for cover as the staccato burst of gunfire swept over them. Dust and rock chips flew up all around them as Amanda and Hollander bolted part way up a hill opposite the outlaw, diving in amongst the larger rocks for cover. Bullets ricocheted dangerously close as they drew their own weapons and pressed tightly against the rocks for shelter.

  “Hold your fire,” Hollander called softly across to her.

  Amanda waited, curled tightly around a boulder, while Hollander laid down a heavy pattern of fire along the opposite hilltop. Their attacker withdrew momentarily. Silence hung about them like a fading echo until their quarry started shooting again.

  Amanda raised up a bit, levering herself forward on her elbows and prepared to return the fire, but Hollander stopped her again. She frowned. If he was trying to protect her again . . ..

  With no little effort, Amanda wormed her way around to where she could get a better look at Hollander where he lay sprawled among the rocks, his gun kicking in his hand the sound blending into one deafening roar.

  When a bullet ricocheted dangerously close she flinched, then the odd, tension-spiked silence descended over them again. Hollander wormed around to where he could face her.

  “I want him to think one of us is down,” he mouthed the words as he reloaded, the sound behind the breath barely enough to be heard. “He didn’t reckon with that,” Hollander gestured toward a notch a short distance away where two hills nearly butted and a low ridge connected them. “If I can work my way over there I can get up behind him, but you’re going to have to keep him pinned when I start to move. ”

  By craning her neck Amanda glimpsed the notch Hollander had picked as his strategic destination.

  “We have to take him alive.”

  Amanda didn’t have to be convinced of that. She nodded her agreement.

  An instant later the firing started up again from the hill above them, bullets flying in amongst the rocks. They cut deep, white scars where they struck, whanging off stone in angry, skin-tingling ricochets. Their horses danced away, driven by the fusillade, disappearing farther up the draw.

  Amanda huddled behind her rock barricade and waited while Hollander reloaded. He held his gun up, gave a short nod in her direction and got ready to run. She braced her right shoulder against a rough surface, leaned forward slightly, and caught sight of a flash of shirt on the opposite hill. She shifted her aim and began methodically flinging lead. That bit of shirt she’d spotted disappeared behind some scrub, and Hollander slid past her, moving off across the face of the slope angling toward the notch.

  He faded into new cover as Amanda spent her sixth shell.

  Gunfire erupted from the opposite hillside when she tucked herself into her minor fortress to reload with swift, sure movements while bullets whipped around her like a swarm of hornets.

  Hollander flinched at the gunfire, but he laid quietly where he was. Amanda had to hold her own if they wanted a chance it to take Ben Miller by surprise. He couldn’t protect her and do what they had set out to do. He waited tensely for Amanda to begin firing again. He had to clear the notch that connected the two hills. Once he did that he would be able to move faster, and cut up behind their quarry.

  Amanda’s gun barked again. Old Ben’s attention had to be centered on her now and Hollander broke from cover, running with long, ground-eating strides for his destination. The time was too short. He slid into the dust and thin brush as Amanda stopped shooting the second time to reload. Nothing came his way. Amanda was taking the heat, lead flying her way in a swarm. He’d make the slot between the hills on the next run.

  She was sweating and she hugged rock like she was about to meld with it. Gunfire came steadily from that hilltop. Bullets clipped near enough to make her heart flutter. Nonetheless, she drew a steadying breath and broke cover to interrupt the deluge of lead he laid down from the opposite hillside with a vengeance of her own.

  Her first couple of shots snapped off close together as Hollander made the notch, sliding down the opposite side. He holstered his weapon to scramble along the down side of the ridge.

  Gunshots echoed in his ears a bit slower now. She was conserving their ammunition and keeping herself tucked in.

  Hollander cut a path toward where the outlaw lay in the shelter of some large boulders and thick scrub brush. He spotted the man’s horse tied half way up the slope, ready for a quick get-away and put himself between Miller and his horse.

  Jaw clenched, Hollander edged up close to a twisted old tree, drew his gun and leveled it at the rankly attired highwayman sprawled in the dust.

  “That’s enough,” Hollander said with quiet authority. The weapon in his hand clicked sharply as he cocked it. “Drop your gun and push it away from you.”

  Hollander’s words froze the outlaw where he lay. He hung on to his gun a few moments longer, exposed to his enemy, weighing the odds.

  He wasn’t stupid or suicidal and he wasn’t dead yet. He had a few tricks of his own and there’d be another time. He laid down the six-gun, withdrawing his hand before he rose to his knees to face Hollander.

  “Mister,” the outlaw said, “if you think you’re going to take Ben Miller in for some reward somewhere, you can forget it. Why don’t we just separate now and call it quits?
”

  “Reward would be a nice bonus for our time and trouble,” Hollander admitted, “but that’s not the reason we’re taking you in.”

  Miller squinted small, dark eyes at Hollander. “I know you from somewhere?”

  Hollander retrieved the outlaw’s gun, keeping a sharp eye on him all the while, then fired two quick shots, to signal Amanda before showing himself on the hillside from where his prisoner had been firing.

  “I got him,” Hollander called down to Amanda. “Bring the horses around and come on up.”

  Amanda emerged from the cover of the cluster of rocks and waved, then started toward the horses.

  Chapter 16

  “Stay where you are,” Hollander warned quietly as Miller started to rise up off his knees. “You just keep pondering where you’ve seen me before. It’ll come to you.”

  Glaring at Hollander, Miller sank back until he sat on his heels, his obsidian eyes fixed on Hollander who stood over him, gun never wavering.

  Amanda barely glanced toward the dark, stocky outlaw when she walked up, leading the horses. She stopped a prudent distance away in spite of the fact the outlaw was on his knees. She gave her full attention to Hollander, unable to resist a smile with a faint touch of smug satisfaction.

  “We’ve got him!”

  “Just have to get him back to Phoenix.”

  “What the hell,” Miller muttered under his breath, “It’s a woman! You think you’re getting me all the way to Phoenix with a woman for a partner?”

  Miller started to laugh, a grating hee-haw of a sound.

  “See if the money is in the saddlebags,” Hollander told Amanda.

  Miller was still laughing, shaking his head. “She all that was down there shooting at me? A woman?”

  When she stretched and stood on her toes to peer inside the saddlebags, he managed a closer look. Her hair was a wild tangle of black caught beneath what Miller recognized as Julio’s old hat, the one that had been shot off when they had tried to rob the stage. The face was delicate, like fine porcelain, but the skin was darkly tanned. And the eyes, there was something distinctively familiar about the eyes.

  “The gawddamn bank!” Miller’s memory came back in a flash. “You was working at that bank in Phoenix!”

  “There’s quite a bit of the money here,” Amanda ignored the outlaw’s outburst, addressing Hollander. “Of course Berglund’s share and the other man’s are missing.”

  “Little girls shouldn’t carry such big guns,” Miller prodded. “Sheet, they shouldn’t tote no gun at all.”

  Amanda turned her frosty gaze upon him. “Because of you we were supposed to hang for murder and bank robbery. We didn’t happen to like the idea, so we came after you.”

  “Wasn’t just me. I had my boys and a little help from the inside, if you know what I mean.”

  Amanda exchanged looks with Hollander. “We pretty much know it all.”

  “Know Berglund planned the whole thing, do you? Know he wanted that bank of his to go under? That banker’s one smart hombre. Had it planned out real good. You know he even figured to leave town in disgrace after the bank folded and set up to do it again somewhere’s else?” Miller started to laugh.

  “I wouldn’t laugh if I were you. We’re dragging a good share of the money and your warm carcass back to Phoenix, the very sight of which should send Berglund into a panic.”

  “Don’t bet on it, Missy. He’s a cool one that son.”

  “Exactly why he’s going to want you dead and in the ground real fast, so I wouldn’t count on him helping you. He’ll probably help form the lynch mob that’ll hang you.”

  “There’s a lot of desert between here and Phoenix,” Miller growled. “Besides, I didn’t kill nobody. That was Rafael, and he’s probably down in Santa Cruz by now. Got hisself a woman there, and all that money to spend.”

  Miller grinned. “You figure to go after him too? Go on ahead. I’ll just wait for you here.”

  He didn’t worry about giving away Rafael’s location. It was a good stall. Now he needed to get at the hide-out gun in his boot. He’d take the man out fast, before he had time to think about him maybe having such a thing tucked away. There’d be time for the woman later. He’d bank on the fact that she damn sure wouldn’t have the stomach to face another gun head on.

  “On your feet,” Hollander snapped.

  Miller was uneasy. The fella with the gun was the cautious sort. He’d have to move quick when his opportunity showed.

  A heavy black cloud rolled across the sun as the bank robber climbed to his feet and a distant roll of thunder rumbled across the parched land. He grinned again. A spring storm was headed their way. They came quickly here, almost instantly. Opportunity as about to knock.

  Ground tied with nothing to hold them fast, the horses shied uneasily. Hollander growled an oath.

  “Get a hold of those animals,” he said to Amanda. “And be quick about it.”

  Amanda frowned, but she turned quickly, laying her hand on the reins of two of the horses the same instant thunder boomed loud as cannon shot vibrating the air like the skin of a drum.

  The horse Amanda didn’t have a hold of bolted. The other two reared, tugging frantically in opposite directions, striking out with their hoofs until she dropped the reins and jumped back.

  Hollander’s attention strayed toward her and gave Miller that single moment of distraction. His grabbed the butt of the abbreviated .38 hideout gun in his boot and didn’t bother to consider that there might be a better time.

  Amanda’s newly discovered instincts were right on the money when she tore her gaze from the scattering horses to glance quickly in Miller’s direction . The pale, light hair on her forearms rose like wheat before the wind when she spotted that snubbed up hand gun aimed right at Hollander. Lightening flashed and the shiny metal of Miller’s gun gleamed in the sizzling light as Amanda’s hand dropped for the six-gun in her holster. Time shuddered to a mind-numbing crawl.

  Amanda was at a bad angle, off balance, and on a steep hillside. But reflex took over when she drew the gun. She braced, shifted, dropped the barrel a hair, loosened muscles to cushion the recoil and squeezed the trigger in the same instant, her weapon’s roar competition for the building storm.

  Hollander saw it coming. He cursed himself for seven kinds of a fool and grabbed for his own gun. It was already too late, but he was just too bull-headed to accept that was possible. He could almost see the knuckle of the outlaw’s finger turning white as it squeezed the trigger. Guns exploded simultaneously, a cacophony of little import against the backdrop of rolling thunder.

  Hot, searing pain ripped through Hollander’s left shoulder, spinning him around and cursing his aim. He twisted in mid-air looking for a clear shot and watched in disbelief as the outlaw pitched backwards, a startled expression on his face, hide-out gun clattering down the hillside though Hollander hadn’t fired his weapon.

  Doubled over in shock at the pain, Hollander stared at the fallen gunman where he had dropped. The man was dead, no doubt about it.

  Amanda gulped breath, the smoking gun still clenched in her hand. Her gut wrenched and she spun away, afraid of bringing up what she’d had for lunch while a warning bell of alarm clanged at the back of her mind. How many times had Hollander warned her? Don’t turn your back on a wounded man. Jesus! She couldn’t have been more than fifteen feet from Miller when she had fired. She’d seen the blood and the way he’d gone down. She wasn’t turning her back on a wounded man. He was dead.

  She had killed a man. Horror and revulsion arose, twin phantoms, to plague her. Then she began to pull herself together. With trembling hand, she holstered her weapon, then turned back to face squarely what she’d done.

  Neckerchief pressed tightly to the wound in his shoulder, Hollander approached the outlaw sprawled in the dust. He bent over the body, then rose with a sigh, facing Amanda who could not keep her eyes off Miller.

  “He’s dead.”

  “I know.”

&
nbsp; “Well, dammit, I thought I taught you to shoot better than that,” Hollander growled, holstering his gun. “You just killed our only live witness.”

  A little dazed, Amanda stared at him in disbelief. “We still have the money,” she managed, “that should prove something.”

  “What? That we’re in possession of the money they say we stole?”

  “I just killed a man and I did it to save your life. Could you stop criticizing long enough to at least admit you’re glad to be alive?”

  Sympathy, Hollander knew well, was something she needed none of at the moment. Besides, though it wasn’t her fault. the way things were going, he wasn’t sure he wanted to give it anyway.

  “What are we going to do about your shoulder?” Amanda asked tartly.

  “As soon as I take care of him,” Hollander gestured in Miller’s direction, “you’re going to dig the bullet out.”

  “But I never . . .”

  “Just think of it as another one of your lessons. It’s high time you learn,” Hollander said with his usual directness.

  “I think I better help you with him—your shoulder.”

  Gazing down into her pained green eyes, he nodded. “All right.”

  Together, they found a place in soft sand and buried their once only live witness, outlaw Ben Miller. They gave him the respect he didn’t deserve, stacking some rocks over the grave to discourage desert scavengers.

  Some distance away from where the man was buried, they set up camp and Amanda got her first stomach-wrenching lesson in separating a piece of lead from human flesh. Her only surgical instruments a very sharp Arkansas toothpick and her fingers and Hollander’s only concession to the pain a bit of wood he found to bite down on, she accomplished it. Her fingers slippery with his blood, her forehead drenched in sweat, she laid the knife aside and fervently hoped to God she’d managed it without tearing up something vital inside his shoulder. Something which would leave him crippled and cursing her for life.

  She had barely tossed the misshapen chunk of lead aside when the storm broke upon them with all its fury, ran slashing with the force of wind-driven needles and lightning illuminating the sky in a continual, pulsating glow. At the first onslaught, Amanda lay half across Hollander trying to break the force of the wind-driven rain. Hollander curled up in a ball against the pounding fury, groaning imprecations against an unkind nature that flung this at them at such a time.