The Big Hunt

by J. T. Edson

  “We’ll never break out,” Beryl said, just a hint of fear in her voice. The sight of the women unnerved her more than she could say.

  “And we can’t stop them getting in either,” Calamity replied. “I ought to have made a move out there, but I figured doing it might rile them up.”

  “It would have united them against us,” Beryl agreed. “At least we’re fairly safe while they can’t agree who—who——”

  “Yeah,” Calamity said when the blonde could not continue. “How long have you gals been here?”

  While her main aim had been to distract Beryl from thoughts of her fate, Calamity also hoped to gain information. Her words met with only dull-eyed stares at first, then at last one of the women answered.

  “They—took me and my daughter, shot my husband, maybe two months back.”

  Slowly Calamity drew out the other women’s stories and the picture painted did not fill her with hope. On their arrival more than one woman had revolted and wished she had not, or had been killed in the attempt. Try as Calamity might, she could not put spirit into the women. Not even Beryl’s eloquence drove through the apathy bad food and worse treatment caused to engulf the victims of Varley’s community.

  “Looks like we’re on our own,” Calamity said after a time. She went to one of the windows and peered through a crack. “At least those yahoos aren’t roaming about. Likely they’re all set in that big place and watching each other.”

  Time dragged by with no sign of any of the men coming. Calamity and Beryl stood by the window and, until tiredness wore them down, took turns to keep watch through the cracks. At last Calamity insisted that they tried to get some sleep. It would be of no use trying to face the men while half-dead with fatigue. If the two girls hoped to escape, they must be more alert than their captors.

  While Beryl doubted if she could sleep, she found that her eyes refused to stay open. Calamity doused the light, ignoring a few feeble protests from the older prisoners. Then she and Beryl settled down on the hard floor. With Calamity’s arm protectively around her, Beryl found herself nodding off to sleep.

  “Wake up, Beryl gal!”

  Feeling a hand shaking her, Beryl stirred and opened her eyes. At first she could not remember how she came to be in a cabin after so many nights sleeping in Calamity’s wagon. Then remembrance came and she sat up, groaning a little. Chinks of light showed through the boarded-up windows, telling Beryl that day had come. She looked to where Calamity had returned to the front window once more.

  “Are they coming?” Beryl asked, rising.

  “Not ye——” began Calamity, then peered again through the crack. “There’s one of ’em coming out of the biggest cabin. From the way he’s acting, none of the others know what he’s doing. This might be our chance, gal.”

  Beryl joined Calamity at the window and peeked through another crack. Noticing Jenkins’ surreptitious glances at the big cabin, she concluded Calamity was right in the assumption that he did not want to be observed.

  “He’s wearing his gun,” she pointed out. “Can we do anything?”

  “We’re going to try,” Calamity replied. “This’s what I want you to do.”

  Throwing a final cautious glance at the other cabins, Jenkins took down the key and used it to unfasten the padlock. He pushed open the door and looked into the dark interior. What he wanted stood straight ahead of him. Stepping forward, he entered the cabin, ignoring everything but Beryl. His arms reached out, took her by the shoulders and drew her his way, lowering his face toward hers.

  Although scared, Beryl did not panic. She remembered Calamity’s instructions and carried them out. Before the man’s lips touched her, Beryl lashed up with her knee, sending it with all the force she could muster straight between his legs. Unmentionable agony ripped into him as the knee smashed home. Coming so unexpectedly, the blow paralyzed him and struck him dumb. The hands left Beryl’s shoulders and she staggered back, slightly aghast at what she had done.

  After standing behind it while Jenkins entered and watched Beryl, Calamity thrust the door shut with her foot and sprang forward to carry out her part. Gripped between her hands, she held her waist belt. It was the only weapon the two girls could improvise, but Calamity figured it might do the trick. As Jenkins’ head jerked back in agony, Calamity threw the loop of the belt over it and drew the strong leather tight about his throat.

  Instinct caused Calamity to do the right thing automatically. On drawing tight the belt, she thrust her knee into the man’s back to give added leverage. If he had been uninjured, Jenkins would have found trouble in escaping. After taking Beryl’s attack, he could do nothing. Not until the belt cut off his wind to a dangerous extent did he try to escape; and then his efforts were without guidance, being blind struggles which did more harm than good.

  “Stop it, Calam!” Beryl gasped, staring at the man as he sank to his knees with face working in its efforts to breathe, lips swollen and tongue bursting out through them. “You’ll kill him!”

  The words meant nothing to Calamity for a moment, then she realized that her victim hung limp, his struggles ended. Opening her hands, she let him free and he crashed to the floor in a limp heap.

  “Get his gun!” she ordered, dragging free her belt and swinging it about her waist.

  Kneeling alongside the man, Beryl tried to roll him over. “He’s nearly dead, Calam!” she gasped, making no attempt to take the revolver from his holster.

  “And serves him damned well right,” Calamity replied. “Get his gun and don’t go woman on me, gal. We’ve got to get the hell out of here.”

  Realizing the fate that awaited her should she not escape forced Beryl into action. She forgot her concern for Jenkins’ condition and drew his revolver. After checking that the gun was loaded, she offered it to Calamity.

  “Here.”

  “You keep it,” Calamity answered. “There’s something by the door I can use a damned sight better than that.”

  Turning, Calamity inched open the door and peered out. There did not appear to be any sign of life so she reached out and lifted the whip from its hook. With it in her hand, she felt more secure. At least she could make a fight of it should the men come after her.

  Swiftly Calamity studied the surrounding area. She looked back along the gorge, but the angle at which the cabin had been built prevented her from seeing the trail or look-outs. Through a gap between two other buildings she saw a corral containing several horses. More important, saddles hung on the corral rail. If she and Beryl could reach the corrals, they had a chance of freeing all the horses and using two to make their escape. Beyond the corral the end wall of the gorge rose fairly steep. From what she could see, a track ran up it to a cave. If all else failed, they might climb the track and hole up in the cave. Maybe they could find something to make a fire, using its smoke in an attempt to guide Kerry’s party to them. First off, though, they had to reach the corral.

  “We’ll split up,” Calamity said. “You go along the side here and round the back. I’ll make a run to that wagon there, then between the cabins and meet you by the corral.”

  “Why not go together?” asked Beryl.

  “It’ll give us two chances instead of one to make it,” replied Calamity. “Maybe there’ll be a gun in the wagon. It came in late this morning, maybe an hour after you went to sleep, and I don’t reckon they’ll’ve unloaded it yet. I’ll take a look and see. Get going, gal.”

  “But——”

  “No buts. Move. If you get to the corral before I do, catch a horse and scatter the rest. Run them through this way and I’ll see if I can grab one. Then we’ll run down the gorge and chance the look-outs not being able to hit us as we go by.”

  “All right,” Beryl answered. “But what if they see you?”

  “Don’t come back, no matter what you hear. You’ll do more good by turning loose the horses. Now move.”

  Without wasting any more time, Beryl darted along the edge of the building and slipped between it
and the next. She peered around the back corner, then began to run in the direction of the corral. A shout from beyond the cabins drew her eyes that way and she heard Calamity shriek defiance, followed by the explosive pop of the whip and the howl of a man in pain. Hesitating, Beryl looked in the direction of the sound and she tried to decide what to do. She knew what Calamity had said, but wondered if she ought to go to the red-head’s aid.

  Just an instant too late Beryl heard the sound behind her. She started to turn and saw Weiss closing stealthily on her. Even as she tried to raise the gun, he sprang forward. A big hand slapped the revolver from her fingers and another grasped her shoulder. A scream left Beryl’s lips, brought on by the pain of the fingers crushing her flesh and fear of what would come next.

  Calamity almost reached the wagon when she heard a shout and saw Potter at the door of the main cabin. Lurching forward, the man rushed at her. From the angle at which he stood, Potter failed to see the whip Calamity held. He learned of its presence soon enough.

  While heavier and not so well kept, the whip did not differ so much from her own that she could not handle it. Out curled its lash, exploding in the center of the man’s face and bringing a scream in answer to her shrieked-out curse. The damage had been done. Voices shouted questions in the main cabin and feet thudded as men, woken from a drunken sleep, made for the door to investigate the disturbance. Calamity ignored Potter as he staggered around in a circle with hands clutching at his bloody, agonized face. Darting to the wagon, she swung quickly up on to its box. Already the first man was out of the cabin, rushing by Potter and apparently unaware of his danger. Again the whip slashed and the man reeled away.

  A noise behind her brought Calamity whirling around. She found that one of the gang had emerged from a cabin on the other side of the half-circle and was on the point of swinging aboard. Jumping forward, she kicked the man full under the jaw and sent him reeling backward to crash to the ground. A swift pivot and her whip cracked viciously before the nearest of the men from the main cabin. On its porch a man halted. He had already felt the pain of a whip’s lash and knew better than to get too close. Jerking out his revolver, he lined it on the girl.

  Although Calamity saw the raised gun, it was far beyond the distance at which she could do anything with the whip.

  Chapter 15

  A TRICK OF THE SKIN HUNTER’S TRADE

  “IS HE STILL ON THE LINE, KERRY?” ASKED LORD Henry, riding his leg-weary horse at the hunter’s side and watching Shaun lope along, nose to the ground, ahead of them.

  “I reckon so,” Kerry answered. “This damned springy turf doesn’t hold tracks and I’ve nothing to go on.”

  All through the night they had ridden, following the dog as he tracked the girls’ abductors. Ahead a fast-running stream glinted in the morning sun and the wolfhound paused to quench his thirst before returning to the trail again. Soon after drinking, Shaun approached where the stream ran through a wide, winding gorge. The springy turf, which held a scent-picture far better than it showed tracks, began to thin down, being replaced by rocky ground. A wind blew through the gorge and tended to wipe away the scent, but it also carried the smell of men and horses with it. Shaun halted, his head rising to sniff the breeze.

  “Hold it!” Kerry hissed and raised his hand. “Come here, Shaun.”

  Obediently the big dog returned and the men halted, awaiting orders.

  “I’d say they’re not far ahead,” Lord Henry commented.

  “He’s caught a wind-scent, that’s for sure,” Kerry admitted. “Reckon you and me’d best move in on foot and scout the gorge.”

  “Certainly,” agreed Lord Henry, drawing his Winchester and dismounting. “Hold the men here, Mr. Dalby.”

  With Shaun between them, Lord Henry and Kerry moved cautiously into the gorge’s mouth. Although Calamity could not see it in the darkness, only the wall between the stream rose sheer. At the other side a fairly steep incline dotted with rocks offered a way by which men might advance unseen instead of using the trail. Gliding from cover to cover, employing the skill perfected pronghorn-hunting on the Great Plains, the two men advanced. Just after they passed the level of the waterfall and approached the curve, Kerry gave a signal which caused Lord Henry to flatten down. Wriggling to the hunter’s side, Lord Henry scanned the land ahead of them.

  “The girls must be in those cabins,” he breathed.

  “Looks that way,” Kerry agreed. “See the guards?”

  “There’s two of them by that shelter.”

  “And another one a bit ahead of them. He’s sat between those two rocks by the one that looks like a bear.”

  “I’ve got him,” Lord Henry said, studying the nearest man, noting how he sat in a position to watch the trail and nursed a rifle on his knees. “They’re alert.”

  Even the riff-raff Varley gathered knew the dangers of not keeping an alert watch when on guard. The nature of the hideout led the look-outs to be extra careful for they had no wish to be taken by surprise in a dead-end gorge.

  “I can drop them all from here,” Kerry stated.

  “And at the first shot, the other two would be under cover, giving the alarm,” the peer pointed out. “Getting Dobe here and the three of us shooting together won’t be much better, the noise would reach the cabins.”

  That figured. One shot would echo loud in the gorge; three ought to make enough of a racket to waken the men in the cabins, even happen they were asleep at that hour. From the general lack of life around the cabins, Kerry guessed that the men might still be asleep. He did not care to think at a possible caused for the camp’s lack of wakefulness. Desperately he looked around him for some way in which he could reach the look-outs. Sneaking up on them would be impossible. If he could only find a way to use the rifle without it being heard——

  “There’s a ledge running along that wall there!” he whispered and started to move backward.

  “Yes,” agreed Lord Henry.

  “Happen it goes under the waterfall, it’d take a man to the corner there.”

  “So it——” began the peer, and then realized what Kerry meant. “You’ve hit it, old son. Who’ll do it, you or I?”

  “Me,” Kerry stated. “You can handle the men better than I can.”

  “Very well. Let’s think out how to act, then make a start.”

  It seemed that fate had decided to side with the searching party, Kerry thought, as he moved slowly along the ledge. His rifle and bullet box, wrapped in a soldier’s poncho, hung over his back and he was wet to the waist from wading the stream. Once over, he found little difficulty at first in using the ledge. Some fault in the rock, a softer layer than the rest probably, had caused a sizeable overhang and left a wide ledge that passed behind the waterfall. Spray from the fall had left a slick, green slime on the ledge behind the water, but Kerry’s moccasins possessed gripping powers almost equal to the suction pads on a fly’s feet. By exercising considerable care, he crossed behind the thundering water and emerged, soaked to the skin, at the other side.

  Flat on his belly, Kerry crawled forward until he reached the curve and could peer around it. The situation was much like when he set up a stand to hunt a herd of buffalo. With solid rock under him, Kerry could not use his rest, but had shot prone before that day and knew his skill would be no less from such a position.

  Opening the bullet box, he set it in the correct position and then fed a round into the Sharps’ breech. The thunder of the waterfall almost deafened him, but he ignored the sound and lined his rifle on the nearest look-out. There was no time for moralizing, even had Kerry felt the inclination to do so. Neither girl went willingly to their abductors and might have suffered much at the hands of the men in the cabins. If Kerry’s party hoped to effect a rescue, he had to prevent those look-outs giving a warning.

  From his position he could see all three men clearly, but only four of the cabins and a stationary, teamless wagon remained in view. Kerry estimated ranges and gauged the wind strength so as to k
now its effect on his bullets. Taking aim at the nearest of the trio, he allowed for the wind and squeezed the trigger. The noise of the falling water drowned out the shot even to Kerry, and he doubted if any of the look-outs heard it. Smoke momentarily hid Kerry’s first target and when it wafted away the hunter thought for a moment that his bullet missed. The man still sat between the two rocks, but his position had changed. Now the rifle tilted off one knee, its barrel gouging into the ground, while he leaned in an unnatural manner and a red trickle of blood ran down his face.

  Clearly the waterfall achieved its purpose, for neither man showed any sign of concern, or even knowing that their advance scout had been killed. Reloading swiftly, Kerry altered his aim and tried to decide which of the pair he should take first. Accurate though the Sharps undoubtedly was, its single-shot capacity did not allow a rapid second bullet. While the Winchester carbine could have cut down both men before the second had time to realize what happened to the first, it lacked long-range accuracy, so Kerry had not brought it along.

  One of the men rose and Kerry sighted on him, thinking he might have noticed something wrong with the dead man and be meaning to take a closer look. Instead, he turned and peered back toward the cabins.

  That settled the problem. Once again Kerry changed aim and squeezed off his shot at the man who faced him. Before the smoke cleared, Kerry was throwing open the Sharps breech and ejecting the empty case, his right hand blurred from the lever to the box. Often when a buffalo herd showed restlessness, he had used his speed to take down another couple before they broke. The speed gained under hunting conditions served him well. Slipping another bullet home, he closed the breech and never took his eyes from the two men.

  Apparently the third man heard the sound of Kerry’s bullet driving home, or his companion made some sound, for he turned and stood looking down. The full impact of what had happened did not strike the man immediately. Having heard no shot, he failed to grasp what the hole in his companion’s chest meant for a good three seconds—by which time Kerry had reloaded and changed his aim. Even as realization came to the man and he straightened up, wildly searching for whoever shot his companion, Kerry fired again. Caught in the head by the heavy bullet, the third look-out spun around, crashed into a rock and slid to the ground.