King Bill staggered up, visibly shaken. Then Trent walked in. His face was streaming blood and his head was buzzing, but he could see Hale's face weaving before him. He walked in, deliberately lanced that bleeding mouth with a left, and then crossed a right that ripped the flesh over Hale's eye.
Dunn started forward, and with an oath, Hale waved him back. He put up his hands and walked in, his face twisted with hatred. Trent let him come, feinted, and then dropped a right under the big man's heart. Hale staggered, and Trent walked in, stabbed another left into the blood-covered face, and smashed another right to the wind.
Then he stood there and began to swing. Hale was swinging too, but his power was gone. Trent bored in, his head clearing, and he slammed punch after punch into the face and body of the tottering rancher. He was getting his second wind now, although he was hurt, and blood dripped from his face to his shirt. He brushed Hale's hands aside and crossed a driving right to the chin. Hale's knees buckled, but before he could fall, Trent hit him twice more, left and right to the chin. Then Hale crashed to the ground.
In the instant of silence that followed the fall of the King, a voice rang out. "You all just hold to where you're standin' now. I ain't a-wantin' to shoot nobody, but sure as my name's Quince Hatfield, the one to make the first move dies!"
The long rifle stared through the open window at them, and on the next windowsill they saw another. Nobody in the room moved.
In three steps, Trent was out of the room. The buckskin was standing at the edge of the walk with the other horses. Swinging into the saddle, he wrenched the rifle from the boot and with two quick shots, sent the chandelier crashing to the floor, plunging the Mecca into darkness. Then, the Hatfields at his side, he raced the buckskin toward the edge of town. When they slowed down, a mile out of town, Quince looked at him, grinning in the moonlight.
"I reckon you all sure busted things wide open now!"
Trent nodded soberly. "I tried to make peace talk. When he wouldn't, I thought a good lickin' might show the townspeople the fight wasn't all one side. We're goin' to need friends."
"You done a good job!" Jesse said. "Parson'll sure wish he'd been along. He always said what Hale needed was a good whuppin'. Well, he sho' nuff had it tonight!"
Nothing, Trent realized, had been solved by the fight. Taking to the brush, they used every stratagem to ward off pursuit, although they knew it was exceedingly doubtful if any pursuit would be started against three armed men who were skilled woodsmen. Following them in the dark would be impossible and scarcely wise.
Three hours later, they swung down at the Hatfield cabin. A tall young man with broad shoulders stepped out of the darkness.
"It's us, Saul," Jesse said, "an' Trent done whipped King Bill Hale with his fists!"
Saul Hatfield strode up, smiling. "I reckon Paw will sure like to hear that!"
"They gone to bed?"
"Uh-huh. Lijah was on guard till a few minutes back. He just turned in to catch hisself some sleep afore mornin'."
"O'Hara get here?" Quince asked softly.
"Yeah. Him an' Smithers an' Bartram are here. Havin' a big confab, come mornin'."
Chapter VI
The Rallying Call
The morning sun was lifting over the pines when the men gathered around the long table in the Hatfield home. Breakfast was over, and the women were at work. Trent sat quietly at the foot of the table, thoughtfully looking at the men around him. Yet even as he looked, he could not but wonder how many would be alive to enjoy the fruits of the victory, if victory it was to be.
The five Hatfields were all there. Big O'Hara was there, too, a huge man with great shoulders and mighty hands, a bull for strength and a good shot. Bartram, young, good-looking, and keen, would fight. He believed in what he was fighting for, and he had youth and energy enough to be looking forward to the struggle.
Smithers was middle-aged, quiet, a man who had lived a peaceful life, avoiding trouble, yet fearless. He was a small man, precise, and an excellent farmer, probably the best farmer of the lot.
Two more horsemen rode in while they were sitting down. Jackson Hight was a wild-horse hunter, former cowhand, and buffalo hunter; Steven Runyon was a former miner.
Parson Hatfield straightened up slowly. "I reckon this here meetin' better get started. Them Haleses ain't a-goin' to wait on us to get organized. I reckon they's a few things we got to do. We got to pick us a leader, an' we got to think of gettin' some food."
Trent spoke up. "Parson, if you'll let me have a word. We all better leave our places an' come here to yours. We better bring all the food an' horses we got up here."
"Leave our places?" Smithers objected. "Why, man, they'd burn us out if we aren't there to defend 'em. They'd ruin our crops."
"He's right," O'Hara said. "If we ain't on hand to defend 'em, they sure won't last long."
"Which of you feel qualified to stand off Hale's riders?" Trent asked dryly. "What man here could hold off ten or twenty men? I don't feel I could. I don't think the Parson could, alone. We've got to get together. Suppose they burn us out. We can build again, if we're alive to do it, an' we can band together and help each other build back. If you ain't alive, you ain't goin' to build very much!"
"Thet strikes me as bein' plumb sense," Hight said, leaning forward. "Looks to me like we got to sink or swim together. Hale's got too much power, an' we're too scattered. He ain't plannin' on us gettin' together. He's plannin' on wipin' us out one at a time. Together, we got a chance."
"Maybe you're right," O'Hara said slowly. "Dick Moffitt didn't do very well alone."
"This place can be defended," Trent said. "Aside from my own place, this is the easiest to defend of them all. Then, the house is the biggest and strongest. If we have to fall back from the rocks, the house can hold out."
"What about a leader?" Bartram asked. "We'd better get that settled. How about you, Parson?"
"No." Parson drew himself up. "I'm right flattered, right pleased. But I ain't your man. I move we choose Trent, here."
There was a moment's silence, and then O'Hara spoke up. "I second that motion. Trent's good for me. He whipped old King Bill."
Runyon looked thoughtfully at Trent. "I don't know this gent," he said slowly. "I ain't got any objections to him. But how do we know he's our man? You've done a power of feudin', Parson. You should know this kind of fightin'."
"I do," Parson drawled. "But I ain't got the savvy Trent has. First, lemme say this here. I ain't been here all my life. I was a sharpshooter with the Confederate Army, an' later I rid with Jeb Stuart. Well, we was only whipped once, an' that was by a youngster of a Union officer. He whipped our socks off with half as many men-an' that officer was Trent here."
Trent's eyes turned slowly to Parson, who sat there staring at him, his eyes twinkling. "I reckon," Hatfield went on, "Trent is some surprised. I ain't said nothin' to him about knowin' him, specially when his name wasn't Trent, but I knowed him from the first time I seen him."
"That's good enough for me," Runyon said flatly. "You say he's got the savvy, I'll take your word for it."
Trent leaned over the table. "All right. All of you mount up and go home. Watch your trail carefully. When you get home, load up and get back. Those of you who can, ride together. Get back here with everything you want to save, but especially with all the grub you've got. But get back, and quick."
He got to his feet. "We're goin' to let Hale make the first move, but we're goin' to have a Hatfield watchin' the town. When Hale moves, we're goin' to move, too. We've got twelve men-"
"Twelve?" Smithers looked around. "I count eleven."
"Jackie Moffitt's the twelfth," Trent said quietly. "I gave him a Sharps. He's fourteen. Many of you at fourteen did a man's job. I'll stake my saddle that Jackie Moffitt will do his part. He can hit squirrels with that gun, an' a man's not so big. He'll do.
"Like I say, we've got twelve men. Six of them can hold this place. With the other six, or maybe with four, we'll strike bac
k. I don't know how you feel, but I feel no man ever won a war by sittin' on his royal American tail, an' we're not a-goin' to."
"That's good talk," Smithers said quietly, "I'm not a warlike man, but I don't want to think of my place being burned when they go scot-free. I'm for striking back, but we've got to think of food."
"I've thought of that. Lije an' Saul Hatfield are goin' out today after some deer. They know where they are, an' neither of them is goin' to miss any shots. With the food we have, we can get by a few days. Then I'm goin' after some myself!"
"You?" O'Hara stated. "Where you figger on gettin' this grub?"
"Blazer." He looked down at his hands on the table and then looked up. "I'm not goin' to spend three days, either. I'm goin' through Smoky Desert!"
There was dead silence. Runyon leaned forward, starting to speak, but then he sat back shaking his head. It was Smithers who broke the silence.
"I'll go with you," he said quietly.
"But, man!" Hight protested. "There ain't no way through that desert, an' if there was-"
"The Indians used to go through," Trent said quietly, "and I think I know how. If it can be done, I could reach Blazer in a little over a day an' start back the same night."
He looked over at Jesse Hatfield. "You want to watch Cedar? I reckon you know how to Indian. Don't take any chances, but keep an eye on 'em. You take that chestnut of mine. He's a racer. You take that horse, an' when they move, you take the back trails for here."
Jesse Hatfield got up and slipped from the room. Then Trent said, "All right, start rolling. Get back here when you can."
He walked outside and saddled the buckskin. Jackie sauntered up, the Sharps in the hollow of his arm.
"Jackie," Trent said, "you get up there in the eye, an' keep a lookout on the Cedar trail." Mounting, he rode out of the hollow at a lope and swung into the trail toward his own cabin.
He knew what they were facing, but already in his mind the plan of campaign was taking shape. If they sat still, sooner or later they must be wiped out, and sooner or later his own men would lose heart. They must strike back. Hale must be made to learn that he could not win all the time, that he must lose, too.
All was quiet and green around the little cabin, and he rode up, swinging down. He stepped through, hurriedly put his grub into sacks, and hung it on a packhorse. Then he hesitated. Slowly, he walked across to the peg on the cupboard. For a long minute he looked at the guns hanging there. Then he reached up and took them down. He buckled them on, heavy- hearted and feeling lost and empty.
It was sundown when he hazed his little band of carefully selected horses through the notch into the Hatfield hollow and, with Jackie's help, put them in the corral. All the men were back, and the women were working around, laughing, pleasant. They were true women of the West, and most of them had been through Indian fights before this.
Hight was the last one in. He came riding through the notch on a spent horse, his face drawn and hard.
"They burned me out!" he said hoarsely, sweat streaking his face. "They hit me just as I was a-packin'. I didn't get off with nothin'. I winged one of 'em, though!"
Even as he spoke, Smithers caught Trent's arm. "Look!" he urged, and pointed. In the sky they could see a red glow from reflected fire. "O'Hara's place," he said. "Maybe they got him, too."
"No." O'Hara walked up, scowling. "They didn't get me. I got here twenty minutes ago. They'll pay for this, the wolves."
Jesse Hatfield on the chestnut suddenly materialized in the gloom. "Two bunches ridin'," he said, "an' they aim to get here about sunup. I heard 'em talkin'."
Trent nodded. "Get some sleep, Jesse. You, too, Jackie. Parson, you an' Smithers better keep watch. Quince, I want you an' Bartram to ride with me."
"Where you all goin'?" Saul demanded.
"Why, Saul," Trent smiled in the darkness, "I reckon we're goin' to town after groceries. We're goin' to call on Leathers, an' we'll just load up while we're there. If he ain't willin', we may have to take him along anyway!"
"Count me in," Saul said. "I sure want to be in on that!"
"You'd better rest," Trent suggested. "You got three antelope today, you an' Lije."
"I reckon I ain't so wearied I'd miss that ride, Captain, if you all say I can go."
"We can use you."
Suddenly, there was a burst of flame to the south. "There goes my place," Smithers exclaimed bitterly. "I spent two years a-buildin' that place. Had some onions comin' up, too, an' a good crop of potatoes in."
Trent had started away, but he stopped and turned. "Smithers," he said quietly, "you'll dig those potatoes yourself. I promise you-if I have to wipe out the Hales personally so's you can do it."
Smithers stared after him as he walked away. "Y'know," he remarked thoughtfully to O'Hara, "I believe he would do it. O'Hara," he turned to look at the big Irishman, "maybe we can win this fight after all."
Chapter VII
Food for the Siege
Cedar Bluff lay dark and still when the four horsemen rode slowly down the path behind the town. Trent, peering through the darkness, studied the town carefully. Taking the trail might have been undue precaution, for there was small chance the road would be watched. There had been, of course, the possibility that some late puncher might have spotted them on the trail.
It was after three, and the Crystal Palace and the Mecca had closed their doors over an hour earlier. Trent reined in on the edge of the town and studied the situation. King Bill, secure in his power even after the beating he had taken, would never expect the nesters to approach the town. He would be expecting them to try the overland route to Blazer for supplies, and in his monumental conceit, he would never dream that they would come right to the heart of his domain.
"Bartram," Trent whispered, "you an' Saul take the packhorses behind the store. Keep 'em quiet. Don't try to get in or do anything. Just hold 'em there."
He turned to the older Hatfield. "Quince, we're goin' to get Leathers."
"Why not just bust in?" Saul protested. "Why bother with him? We can find what we need."
"No," Trent said flatly. "He's goin' to wait on us, an' we're goin' to pay him. We ain't thieves, an' we're goin' to stick to the legal way. I may hold him up an' bring him down there, but we're goin' to pay him, cash on the barrelhead, for everything we take."
Leaving their horses with the others behind the store, Trent took Quince and soft-footed it toward the storekeeper's home, about a hundred yards from the store. Walking along the dark street, Trent looked around from time to time to see Quince. The long, lean Hatfield, six feet three in his socks, could move like an Indian.
Unless Trent had looked, he would never have dreamed there was another man so close.
Trent stopped by the garden gate. There was a faint scent of lilacs in the air, and of some other flowers. Gently, he pushed open the gate. It creaked on rusty hinges, and for an instant, they froze. All remained dark and still, so Trent moved on, and Quince deftly took the gate from him and eased it slowly shut.
The air was heavy with lilac now, and the smell of damp grass. Trent stopped at the edge of the shadow and motioned to Quince to stand by. Ever so gently, he lifted one foot and put it down on the first step. Lifting himself by the muscles of his leg, he put down the other foot. Carefully, inch by inch, he worked his way across the porch to the house.
Two people slept inside. Leathers and his wife. His wife was a fat, comfortable woman, one of those in the town who idolized King Bill Hale and held him up as an example of all the West should be and all a man should be. King Bill's swagger and his grandiose manner impressed her. He was, she was convinced, a great man.
Once, shortly after he had first come to Cedar, Trent had been in this house. He had come to get Leathers to buy supplies after the store had been closed. He remembered, vaguely, the layout of the rooms.
The door he was now opening gently opened into the kitchen. From it, there were two doors, one to a living room, rarely used, and one to the
bedroom. In that bedroom, Leathers would be sleeping with his wife.
Once inside the kitchen he stood very still. He could hear the breathing of two people in the next room, the slow, heavy breathing of Elsa Leathers and the more jerky, erratic breathing of the storekeeper. The kitchen smelled faintly of onions and of homemade soap.
Drawing a large handkerchief from his pocket, he tied it across his face under his eyes. Then he slid his six-gun into his hand and tiptoed through the door into the bedroom. For a moment, Elsa Leathers' breathing caught, hesitated, and then went on. He heaved a sigh of relief. If she awakened, she was almost certain to start screaming.
Alongside the bed, he stooped and put the cold muzzle of his gun under the storekeeper's nose. Almost instantly, the man's eyes opened. Even in the darkness of the room, Trent could see them slowly turn upward toward him. He leaned down, almost breathing the words.
"Get up, quietly!"
Very carefully, Leathers eased out of bed. Trent gestured for him to put on his pants, and as the man drew them on, Trent watched him like a hawk. Then Trent gestured toward the door, and Leathers tiptoed outside.
"What's the matter?" he whispered, his voice hoarse and shaking. "What do you want me for?"
"Just a little matter of some groceries," Trent replied. "You open your store an' give us what we want, an' you won't have any trouble. Make one squawk an' I'll bend this gun over your noggin!"
"I ain't sayin' anythin'!" Leathers protested. He buckled his belt and hurried toward the store with Trent at his heels. Quince Hatfield sauntered along behind, stopping only to pluck a blue cornflower and stick it in an empty buttonhole of his shirt.
Leathers fumbled for the lock on the door. "If my wife wakes up an' finds me gone, mister," he said grumpily, "I ain't responsible for what happens."
"Don't you worry about that," Trent assured him dryly, "you just fill this order an' don't make us any trouble!"
He motioned to Saul, who came forward. "As soon as you get four horses loaded, you let Bartram take 'em back to the trail an' hold 'em there. Then if anything happens he can take off with that much grub."
the Rider Of Ruby Hills (1986) Page 28