Stampede at Rattlesnake Pass

by Clay More

  "For two cents you'll keep your trap shut," said the other, the one Elly noticed had a badly bandaged ear. "We're here to do a job, that’s all. You know what Rubal said – keep our eyes peeled and be ready to shoot."

  Elly had been about to take another sip of her coffee, but she stopped with the tin mug halfway to her lips when she heard the name.

  Cage? Rubal Cage? She was sure that she had heard that name several times before. Then she remembered. He had been the ramrod of the Double J, she was sure. And Jeb Jackson had fired him because of some trouble with the way he looked after the horses and critters. And there were other, darker rumors that made her spine shiver.

  What do they want of me? she thought, once again trying to puzzle out the whole situation. It seemed clear that these men had been involved in the rustling, no doubt with others who had probably been paid off after the herd had been sold to the C & SW Cattle Company. And so where did Rubal Cage fit in? Were they planning to hold her for ransom in the mistaken belief that Saul would be able to raise any money at all?

  A thought struck her and she willed herself to chew on the bacon. Perhaps Rubal Cage’s dismissal had all been a ploy. What if he was still working for Jeb Jackson, albeit clandestinely?

  Questions! Just questions and suppositions, she thought with a frown. And in part that frown was aimed at Jake Scudder, the man who had said so confidently that he was going to look after her. Well, where was he? She swallowed the bacon and took a hefty gulp of the strong black coffee.

  Whoring, that was where! she concluded. Probably still loitering about in bed with one of the girls from the Busted Flush Saloon! At the very thought she pushed the plate aside and grasped the spoon – the only utensil they had given her. "You are on your own, Elly Horrocks," she whispered to herself. "Fine! That means you have to get yourself out of this prison before those devils out there come in and try to rape you, or – or worse."

  And getting up she surveyed the interior of the room with its dirt floor. As quietly as she could she went and tested each of the wooden slats that made up the walls. To her chagrin she realized that none of them were loose or weak anywhere. And that meant that her only way out was going to be through the floor.

  She drew a deep breath, pulling her stomach in as far as she could, as she tried to assess how deep she was going to have to burrow.

  "No time to waste, then," she mused. And settling down on her knees she began to dig the dirt floor by the far wall with her spoon.

  * * *

  The sun had long since reached its zenith and Jake felt the exposed skin on his neck and face begin to burn, sure that in some parts blisters were beginning to rise.

  From a distance away he heard the ever-more raucous banter of the posse as they cooked a meal and drank more whiskey. Despite his predicament, however, such was his approach to life and all that it could throw at him, he would not allow himself to permit the thought of defeat or despair. There was no way that he would give up in his struggle to survive, and give the sadistic sheriff the pleasure of seeing him beg for a bullet in the brain.

  "I just wish I had a hat," he mumbled to himself. Then, perhaps partly from semi-delirium as he lost body fluid and partly from his steely personality, he found himself grinning at the thought of his head with a Stetson sticking out of the sand, with a rattler trying to give him a kiss on the nose.

  As he thought it the flat head made a lunge at him, as if divining his thought.

  "You sure are an angry varmint, aren’t you?" he asked the snake. "I don’t suppose there would be much use me trying to sing to you or whistle a bit. I can’t see that would calm you down any."

  But as he looked into the snake’s eyes it seemed that all he could see was hate. As if it was determined to kill this creature who was sharing its captivity and its experience of the baking early afternoon sun.

  Jake’s neck was aching almost beyond endurance as he strove to keep himself as far from the snake as possible. Indeed, so focused upon the rattlesnake was he, its head mere inches from his own, that he failed to hear the approach of another.

  A hand suddenly clamped itself over his face, pulling his head back at such an angle that he feared for a moment his neck would snap. Then he saw another hand appear with the long double-edged blade of a hunting knife. It glistened in the sun.

  He realized that his throat was now exposed and he shut his eyes and gritted his teeth as he waited to feel the blade flash across to slit his throat.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Elly had been listening to the two men with half an ear, aware that their voices had been getting both progressively louder and more slurred. Her main focus of attention, however, had been on the slowly widening hole that she had managed to scoop out. After an hour she had managed to reach the lower edge of the wooden slats that formed the back wall of the cabin. Working with the spoon and her hands she had then managed to enlarge it enough to the point that she thought she might be able to just squeeze through. But that meant creating a hole big enough on the other side so that she could literally burrow under.

  One of the men had started singing the most offensive ribald songs and she began to fear that at any moment the door would be unbolted and one or both of them would enter to have their way with her.

  But at last she felt she had made enough room to try wriggling through. Her first attempt, however, made her realize that she had underestimated and she had to work on the hole again. Her hands by then were filthy, blistered and bleeding, but she could not afford to stop. On her second attempt she managed to wriggle under the slats, twisting herself around as she did so, so that she blinked repeatedly as the overhead sun seared her eyes.

  As she was struggling to get her waist under the slats she heard a metallic ratcheting noise followed by a click, as the hammer of a handgun was pulled back.

  "Can I give you a hand, lady?" guffawed Cole Lancing. Then as Elly gasped and craned her neck back to see him, he called out:

  "You can cut the caterwauling now, Hog. Your little joke worked a treat," He grinned at her, his teeth yellowed with tobacco. "I reckon that little bit of exercise will have tired you out, lady. Nicely tired!"

  * * *

  All Jake could feel was pain in the neck as his head was pulled back. Then he heard a sickening noise as the knife cut through flesh and bone and his face was splattered with blood.

  Then slowly the hand over his face eased and he opened his eyes to see the diamondback’s bloody head mere inches from him, its sightless eyes staring straight at him, a hunting knife skewering its skull to the ground.

  "Keep quiet when I take my hand away," a voice whispered in his ear. "Then I will get you out of there."

  Jake nodded, tried to speak, then felt his head slump forwards in a faint.

  How long he was unconscious he did not know. When he did regain consciousness he had been dug free, hauled out and laid on top of the ground several feet away from the grisly body of the rattlesnake. He noted that the hunting knife had been removed.

  "Drink this," came the voice again. "Then we must be swift. The sheriff and his men will come soon."

  Jake drank lukewarm water from the canteen and then rubbed his weary eyes as he tried to focus on his savior. Finally, in disbelief he gasped:

  "Nantan!"

  "It is I. I am sorry that I had to put you through this trial with the snake, but it was the only way I could think of keeping you alive."

  "And I thought that you drugged our brandy. I thought – "

  "That I was one of them?" the young man shook his head. "I did not know that the brandy I brought you was poisoned."

  Jake’s features clouded. "And what about Rosalind? Is it true? Is she dead?"

  "I am afraid so. She was a good girl and did not deserve to die. I have vowed that her death will be avenged. I knew that you had nothing to do with her death." His face suddenly registered deep emotion. "And that is two vows I have made. The first is to kill the dog who raped my sister."

  And fleetin
gly Nantan told Jake of the day a man came to their camp, beat Nantan up and left him for dead. But when he regained consciousness he found his sister’s body defiled and brutally bludgeoned to death.

  "He was of my people," he went on. "An animal that must be put down." He bent his head and parted his long hair at the back to show an ugly scar where he had been pistol-whipped. "I tracked him to Silver City several moons ago, but he had disappeared. I have an idea that he will return, which is why I have stayed and done whatever work people will pay me for."

  "Including at the Busted Flush Saloon?"

  "Yes and whenever people need a guide for hunting. Or when the sheriff needs a tracker."

  "Do you know anything about Miss Horrocks?"

  "I heard that you were tracking her and the men who kidnapped her. I have seen their tracks. Three horses and a cowpony. The trail leads here and then goes to the west."

  "That was what I thought," said Jake. "I had better get after them."

  Nantan nodded and pointed to a patch of scrub-oak where he had tethered Jake’s stallion and his palomino. "The sheriff and his men are almost on the point of madness with their fire-water. I will take your stallion and lead them away, while you wait here until they have gone."

  Jake stood up, maintaining his balance with some difficulty. "Where will you lead them, Nantan?"

  The ghost of a smile played across his lips. "I already took your hat. It will add to the impression that I am you. I can circle around and around in these mountains for days if need be. Then I will take them to Tucksville." He handed Jake his gun and holster, then mounted the stallion. "Wait until I have drawn them away, Scudder, then get after those men. Do not let them do anything to that lady."

  And riding off at a gallop in the direction of the posse’s temporary camp he let off a couple of shots. Then he headed off towards Rattlesnake Pass. There were shouts of consternation, much swearing, followed soon after by the noise of horses charging after Nantan, and the discharging of weapons.

  "You are a good kid, Nantan," Jake said, mounting the palomino and picking up the tracks again. "Let’s hope that we can both avenge that little Rosalind!"

  * * *

  Elly had found herself unceremoniously dragged out of her escape hole and pushed roughly back into the cabin.

  "We got ourselves a regular gopher," sneered Cole Lancing. "What you think we should do with her, Hog?"

  "Tie her up and let her kick her heels, I reckon. A few hours without food and water should sort her out."

  And so Elly found herself back in the darkened room she thought that she had escaped from just a short while before. This time, however, she was tied hand and foot and then tied down to the crude bunk. A thousand curses had formed in her mind as Cole Lancing tied her, but she bit her tongue and was quiet. She realized that reprisals, or worse, could come swiftly from men such as these. So once she was alone she just lay listening to their foul-mouthed banter and raucous singing as she tried to think of a way of freeing herself. Every few minutes she heaved at her bonds in an attempt to gradually loosen them. But it seemed in vain.

  What time it was she had no way of knowing, except that the solitary entrance of light from the hole she had made was beginning to darken.

  Then suddenly, she almost cried out in alarm when she saw a long shape emerge from the hole.

  A snake! she imagined.

  And then as she focused on it properly she realized that it was a human arm.

  "Scudder?" she whispered.

  "It’s me, Elly," his voice whispered back. "You okay?"

  Elly gave a deep sigh. "I have been better. But I can’t move, Jake. I am all tied up."

  "How many of them are there? Two or three?"

  "Two. The third one is called Rubal Cage. He went on somewhere early this morning."

  "Stay where you are!" he said

  Elly bit back the retort that had formed on her tongue, saying instead, "Be careful, Jake."

  In the main cabin Hog Fleming and Cole Lancing were playing cards at a plain deal table, the remains of a meal before them and the dregs of a whiskey bottle in the middle of the table.

  "I reckon you are going to have to pay me all of your share from the herd when you see my hand," said Lancing, his lazy eye looking positively alert for a moment.

  Hog Fleming snorted. "Or maybe it will be you that pays me, you piece of misery." He tapped the table. "I want to see what’s in your hand."

  So engrossed with their card game were they that neither of them had heard the door being silently pushed open.

  "Maybe you had better take a look at what’s in my hand!" Jake Scudder snapped.

  The two rustlers spun around, amazement written across their faces. Then they both made moves towards their guns.

  "I wouldn’t if I were you," said Jake, ratcheting back the hammer of his Remington. "Now slowly lift those guns and toss them over here."

  Gingerly, the two men lifted their weapons.

  Jake’s eyes narrowed as they fell on the bloodstained bandage about Hog Fleming’s ear. "You're the dog who shoots unarmed men, aren’t you?" He gave a humorless smile. "It was me that notched your ear."

  Cole Lancing tossed his gun over, then looked nervously at his partner. "Let him have your gun, Hog," he urged.

  But Hog Fleming’s expression had changed from one of surprise to one of ire. "You did this to me? You bastard. Another dog shot a piece out of my ear before you – and I killed him."

  Jake nodded his head with mock sympathy. "It must hurt."

  "Damn you! Go to - !" Fleming began, deftly swinging his gun into shooting position.

  He was still raising it when a bullet smashed into his forehead, throwing him backwards to fall a lifeless heap against the wall, a rapidly expanding pool of blood from the back of his head seeping into the dirt floor.

  e wa

  "A lot of trouble might have been saved if I had shot him there in the first place, instead of three inches wide," Jake said coldly. "Still, it will save the hangman a job."

  Cole Lancing was shaking. "Hangman? Easy now, mister. There is no harm done. We can come to some arrangement, can’t we?"

  "Sure we can," replied Jake. "But first thing I want you to get into that room and untie Miss Horrocks."

  Lancing nodded firmly and got to his feet. As he did so he noticed that Scudder was swaying slightly on his feet, and that his face looked badly sunburned. He opened the door and led the way inside.

  "The ropes are tight," he said. "I’ll need to cut her free."

  "Are you OK, Elly," Jake asked. "They haven’t harmed you?"

  "Not yet. Only my pride."

  Jake nodded for the rustler to begin freeing her. He watched as the rustler opened a clasp knife and cut the bonds about her feet and the ones which lashed her to the bunk.

  Lancing was reaching for the ones at her wrists when he noted the look of concern on Elly’s face.

  "Jake, are you - ?"

  In the corner of his eye Cole Lancing had seen Jake sway again. He took his chance and hit out backwards with his elbow, catching Jake in the stomach. The gun in Jake’s hand went off, drilling a hole in the wall. Instantly, Lancing, who had faced many a knife fight in his time, wheeled around, his hand rising and falling to slash across Jake’s forearm. Jake cried out in pain, the gun falling from his hand.

  "Not so tough now, are you, big man!" growled Lancing, dexterously reversing the knife and preparing to lunge at Jake’s chest.

  But Elly had sprung up. Swinging her bound hands she caught the rustler behind the knees, causing them to buckle.

  It gave Jake the opportunity he needed to recover. He drilled a straight left into Lancing’s face, breaking his nose and propelling him backwards to smash into the wall. He slowly slid down to lie in an unconscious heap.

  "Well done, Elly," said Jake. "I am glad that –"

  Then before he could finish, his knees began to buckle and he slumped to the ground in a faint.

  * * *

&nbs
p; When he recovered consciousness he found himself lying on the bunk. A piece of flannel soaked in water was pressed to his forehead and Elly was bandaging the knife-slash on his forearm.

  "What about the other one?" he asked, attempting to rise.

  Elly pushed him back. "You need to rest a while. I don’t know exactly what you have been through, but it looks as if you might have seen something of hell. Your face is so sunburned."

  She gestured to the other side of the room, where Cole Lancing was lying, his hands and feet bound and a gag in his mouth. "I thought I had better get him tied up before he regained consciousness," she explained. "Now tell me what happened, Jake."

  And while she brewed coffee, having covered Hog Fleming’s body with a blanket, she listened to Jake’s account of all that had happened since she left to go with Sheriff Parfitt to see the C & SW Cattle Company agent in Silver City.

  Elly covered her mouth in horror. "They killed that poor girl?"

  Jake nodded. "Someone did. And for that there will be a reckoning!"

  "But we still don’t know who stole the herd," Elly said, pouring coffee into two tin mugs. "Except that Rubal Cage and Hog Fleming were involved. Cage used to work for the Double J ranch and Fleming was fired by my father."

  Jake scowled. "And that jasper won’t talk." He clicked his tongue as he cast the bound rustler a scathing look. "Still, I reckon he may talk once the prospect of hanging hits him."

  "Are we taking him with us, Jake?"

  "I think we should, except –"

  "Except we haven't got time on our side. We would have to travel slower. Couldn’t we just leave him here? Make sure he has water."

  Jake thought for a moment then nodded. "You're right, Elly. We can’t go to Silver City, since the sheriff and his drunken posse are chasing me, so I guess we had better head for Tucksville. And I hope that hide-bound marshal will listen for once."

  Elly swilled her coffee in her mug. "Then the sooner we start the better. It's almost dark and I don’t think I could stand spending a night here."

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was almost dark by the time Carmen de Menendez reached the cabin. She raised her hand to her mouth and made the pre-arranged signal whistle. But there was no reply. She cursed under her breath. Unlike Rubal Cage she did not have a high opinion of either Hog Fletcher or Cole Lancing. She knew that for dirty work you had to be prepared to use men with no scruples whatsoever. Almost inevitably, she thought, that meant using men of limited intelligence. Yet for all that, both men had survived a reasonable length of time in the southwest, considering their way of life. It was for that reason she began to feel uneasy.