Bull's Eye Stage Coach

by Hall, Billy

He didn’t realize the amount of attention he was paying to the trail of the two horses. He was a consummate tracker. He had tracked so many people so many miles; he watched for the telltale broken blades of grass, the stones kicked out of where they had lain, the occasional faint impression of a horse’s hoof, or the broken small branch of a clump of sage or a smashed branch of a bush, as if it were instinctive to him.

  He urged his horse to a rapid trot. After the first quarter of a mile, it seemed as if the horse himself recognized the trail they were following. Whether he saw the same things his rider saw, or whether he could still smell the other horses, didn’t really matter. He was now every bit as much a pursuer as his master.

  Stern’s eyes covered every inch of the ground ahead and beside the trail he followed. He spotted the next piece of lace well before they got to it, as it fluttered in the breeze. He didn’t stop to look at it. He just offered a silent prayer that Mac would not catch her leaving the telltale sign.

  Every time he approached the crest of a hill he drew his horse to a walk, removed his hat, and stood as high in the stirrups as he could. When he was just near enough to see over the top of whatever rise lay before him, he reined the horse to a stop and studied the land ahead.

  ‘He either knows the country or he’s scouted it out real well,’ he told his ever-attentive horse. ‘He’s givin’ a wide berth to every minin’ camp an’ town.’

  The sun rose to its zenith and began its slow descent toward the distant mountains. Sweat streaked the flanks of his horse. He had long since removed his vest and rolled it behind the saddle, tying it into place with a couple of the strings attached to the saddle. His shirt was soaked with sweat.

  Twice, as they crossed a small trickle of water from a spring, he stopped and let the horse drink his fill. Each time he refilled his canteen, poured water over his head and torso, filled the canteen again, and continued on the trail.

  At the first place he stopped at he noted with a strange mixture of irritation and pleasure that Mac had not afforded either his horses or his captive an opportunity to drink. That meant Belinda was more than likely miserable with thirst. On the other hand, it also meant he was reducing their horses’ endurance.

  At the second place he stopped for his horse to drink, he brought out a bag of oats from one of his saddle-bags. He poured a measure of them into his hat and allowed the horse to eat them. He was going to do everything he knew to stretch the endurance of his own mount.

  Darkness settled on to the land just as he came to yet another place to water his horse. He let him rest a while and fed him another handful of oats. He knew there should be a good enough moon to be able to follow the trail as soon as it rose. That gave him and his horse almost two hours to rest. He slipped the bit from his horse’s mouth and picketed him in a patch of tall grass, within reach of the tiny rivulet of water. He lay down without benefit of a blanket. He forced all thoughts of Belinda and the mental turmoil that churned within him aside, willing himself to go to sleep. He’d had almost no sleep the night before, worrying about the possibility of exactly what had happened. Now the edge of his agitation had been worn away by the long day in the saddle, and the conviction that he was gaining on those he pursued. He knew he needed all the strength and endurance he could muster. By long practice and discipline, he actually managed to drop off to sleep.

  CHAPTER 14

  The cloud of dust wasn’t really a cloud at all. It was closer to a puff. Just a wisp of dust quickly borne away by the ceaseless wind. It was enough. A tight smile formed on Dwight’s face, cracking the crust of dried sweat and dirt that masked him. The day of reckoning had come.

  He nudged his tired horse into a trot, dropping quickly off the top of the rolling hill from which he had spotted the first sign of his quarry. They were not far ahead! He knew from their tracks that their horses were near exhaustion. Whether Mac knew, or only suspected, that he was hot on his trail, he was pushing the animals far too hard.

  When he first began trailing them, Dwight recognized he was falling farther and farther behind those he pursued. He resisted the urge to demand greater speed from his own mount. Then the trail ceased to be growing older, as their pace slowed to match his own. The carefully measured tread he had disciplined himself to maintain finally began to pay off. The farther he had come, the fresher their trail became.

  He glanced at the sky. The brazen sun announced the approach of midday. Yesterday’s sweat on man and beast had dried with the setting sun, then changed to a distinct chill with the dropping temperature of the night. Now fresh sweat dissolved anew the coating of dust and grime of yesterday, adding another wet layer of briny dirt coating both man and animal.

  He had slept for just over an hour while waiting for the moon to rise. When it did, the soft light it lavished on the land woke him at once. He fed his horse another bait of oats from the saddle-bag. Then they resumed his dogged quest to overtake the fugitive and his hostage.

  He favored his own hunger with a couple dried biscuits and a chunk of jerky, washed down with carefully measured amounts of water from his canteen as he rode.

  At sunup he found another seep spring. He stopped and refilled his canteen, and refreshed himself and the horse, and set out once again.

  Excitement welled up within him at the realization that his prey was almost within reach.

  Three hours later he lay at the top of a ridge fifty yards to the side of the path his quarry followed. He had turned aside and ridden faster than he had previously dared. Now he watched as they approached a water hole that was little more than a large puddle in the bottom of a long draw. The horses walked woodenly, heads down, ears back, oblivious to everything around them. It was instantly obvious to him the animals were at the limit of their endurance.

  From his vantage point, Dwight could see there was better water 200 yards down the shallow gully. From their location it remained hidden.

  His face a mask devoid of expression, he backed off the ridge and trotted to his horse. He reined him around and rode as swiftly as he dared to the far side of a ridge that shielded him from their view. He slid out of the saddle, rifle in hand, and crawled silently to the top of the ridge. He removed his hat, crept up behind a clump of soap weed, and peered carefully around its base.

  Less than a hundred yards away Mac and Belinda lay on their stomachs, drinking thirstily from the murky brown water.

  Sighting along the rifle barrel, Dwight considered dispatching the outlaw without warning. His finger tightened on the trigger. He held his breath. He willed the finger to pull the trigger. It failed to respond. Whether it was wise or foolish, he could not bring himself to shoot even that man in cold blood.

  Instead he yelled, ‘Throw up your hands!’

  Some part of his mind was aware of Belinda’s squeal of delight, as she instantly recognized his voice.

  The rest of his mind was riveted on Mac. He sprang from his prone position with stunning agility. Dwight’s bullet kicked dirt and mud into the water hole from where the outlaw had been an instant before.

  Mac’s pistol was in his hand, spitting fire. Dirt kicked up inches to Dwight’s right, then again, closer. All the while the outlaw was sprinting toward his horse. Dwight levered a second round into the chamber and squeezed the trigger of his rifle again. Mac flinched and swore, returning Dwight’s fire yet again, but well wide of the mark.

  Mac stepped into the left stirrup of his mount, but did not swing aboard. Instead he yelled at the startled horse, and fired another round at Dwight over the top of the saddle. The horse leaped forward in spite of its extreme fatigue, giving every ounce of its heart to a master who didn’t deserve any part of its loyalty.

  Staying all but completely out of sight behind his horse, Mac sprinted for the cover of a curve in the draw. Dwight considered shooting the horse, but didn’t have the heart to do so. In seconds Mac was out of sight behind a hogback that jutted into the gully.

  ‘Stay down!’ Dwight yelled at Belinda as he ran in the d
irection his quarry had fled. When he rounded the corner behind which the outlaw had disappeared a warning screamed in his mind. He dropped flat on the ground, even as he heard the angry buzz of a leaden projectile passing over his head. He had an instant’s glimpse of the outlaw then, as he disappeared over the lip of the draw.

  Leaping to his feet, Dwight sprinted to the top of the gully, hoping for at least a long shot. Almost 200 yards away he caught one glimpse of color as it disappeared into brush and rocks. He stood and watched a long moment. He was certain he had at least nicked the outlaw. He was equally certain the man’s horse could not carry him far. If he kept him moving at that pace, the animal would drop dead within a mile. If he allowed him to slow, he might carry the rider a goodly distance. That Mac would ride him until he dropped, with no qualms, he was certain.

  He turned and hurried back to where Belinda waited. She stood as still as Lot’s wife until Dwight was half a dozen steps from her. Then she uttered a squeak that sounded almost bestial, and lunged toward him. He dropped his rifle and wrapped his arms around her.

  He waited for her to lift her face to him, but she failed to do so. It took several seconds for him to realize she was leaning heavily against him. Whether from exhaustion or relief, she was unable to stand erect. He held her tightly, his own voice more of a croak than a croon, as he said, over and over, ‘It’s all right, darling. It’s all right. I’m here. I’ve been following you. It’s all right. I wouldn’t let him have you. It’s all right now. You know I would never let him have you. It’s all right. You’re safe now.’

  It was fully three minutes before she uttered a sound. It was a sob that first broke through. It jerked her whole body as it forced its way up through the walls of her stubborn resolve. It shattered that resolve as it erupted. With the barriers broken, her fear and anger and hunger and thirst and fatigue all surged forth in a loud, broken wail. She kept trying to talk, to pour out to Dwight all the pent-up feelings of the past two days, but he couldn’t understand a single word she said. Not knowing what else to do, he simply held her, turning himself and her around so he could watch the direction in which Mac had fled, just in case he decided to double back.

  At last she grew silent. The immediacy of her emotion spent, Belinda looked up into his face for the first time. She knew the tired lines around his eyes, the caked dirt on his face, the stale sweat that soaked him, were a mirror of her own condition. It didn’t matter in the least. She grasped him by the back of the head, pulling his face down to hers. She kissed him hard, fiercely, frantically, as if only that could convey to him the relief and gratitude that flooded through her. Neither was in the least mindful of the caked dirt and mud they shared in that moment.

  Eventually she collected herself enough to straighten and step back slightly. Her voice broke as she said, ‘Did you … is he… ?’

  Dwight shook his head. ‘I think I nicked him. I don’t know how good. He won’t get far, spent as his horse is.’

  ‘Will … will he come back?’

  Dwight considered it. He chewed his upper lip, surprised at the amount of dirt his teeth came back with. He spat on to the ground. He shook his head. ‘I dunno. He might. He might just decide all that money he’s got is enough.’

  Belinda shook her head. ‘He won’t. He put most of it in my saddle-bags and tied it into the bedroll on the horse I rode. He said I only weighed half what he did, so that’d balance the load better.’

  ‘He didn’t even stop to let the horses rest last night, did he?’

  ‘He didn’t even slow down,’ she confirmed. ‘He was like a man possessed. He was sure you’d be right behind us. So was I, darling. I just knew you’d come. I just knew it. The only reason I kept going along with him, instead of trying to make a run for it, was that I knew you’d be coming.’

  ‘There wasn’t much else you could do.’

  ‘I felt so helpless when he grabbed me in town.’

  ‘You were. So were we. He had that rigged up real good, so nobody’d dare take a shot at him. Even if I’d shot ’im in the head, his thumbs would’ve come off them hammers and fired the shotgun.’

  She shuddered at the thought that had haunted her since the moment Mac had grabbed her. ‘I just don’t know what I could’ve done,’ she said again.

  ‘There wasn’t anything,’ he reassured her.

  She wasn’t content to leave it like that, however. ‘There must have been something I could have done to give you a chance, at least.’

  He thought about it a long moment. ‘The only thing you could’ve done would’ve had to be set up ahead o’ time. If we’da had some code word or somethin’ … you know, like if I said “drop”. Then you’d know to just drop, like you was faintin’ or somethin’. Just go plumb limp. If we’da had somethin’ like that set up, and I coulda distracted ’im, made him move the shotgun a little bit for just a second, then I coulda hollered, you coulda dropped, and I mighta had a chance to shoot ’im. That’s way too many ifs. Anyway, we didn’t never have no idea o’ nothin’ like that happenin’, so there’s no way we’da had somethin’ like that set up ahead o’ time. So there just wasn’t nothin’ you coulda done. But it’s all right. I got you back, and Mac’s on the run. It’ll be OK now.’

  It seemed the appropriate time for another kiss. This time they both noticed the amount of dirt they shared in the process. As if acting on the same impulse, they both wiped their mouths with the backs of their hands as they parted. Belinda giggled. Then she couldn’t stop giggling. She nearly fell, but leaned against him, trying to stifle the uncontrollable urge. When she could do so sufficiently to talk, she accused him, ‘You wiped my kiss off!’

  He grinned. ‘Naw. I wiped the dirt off, but I left the kiss on OK. You are one dirty woman, though. Do you ever take a bath?’

  She didn’t respond. Her mood swung abruptly again. Her eyes widened with sudden terror. ‘He will come back, won’t he?’

  ‘I ’spect so,’ Dwight admitted. ‘Are you able to ride a while longer? We can’t stay here.’

  She looked around, casting fearful glances in all directions. ‘I’ll have to. We have to get out of here,’ she agreed.

  Dwight had left his own horse over the top of the ridge at the edge of the draw. Suddenly ashamed he had left him that long within the smell of water, but bound by training to stay put, he turned his head and tried to whistle. All that came out was a dry whoosh of sound. He wiped his hand across his mouth again, licked his lips, and tried again. This time it worked.

  Almost instantly his horse appeared, holding his head to one side to avoid stepping on the trailing reins. He slid and skidded down the side of the gully and went directly to the water hole.

  ‘He looks so much better than my horse,’ Belinda said.

  Dwight nodded. ‘I been grainin’ ’im an’ keepin’ ’im watered halfway decent. He’s wearin’ down pretty bad, though.’

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said, suddenly frantic to get away from where Mac knew them to be.

  As they rode away Dwight led the way for nearly 300 yards. As they started, Belinda said, ‘Why are we going this way?’

  ‘Leavin’ tracks,’ was all he said.

  When they reached a stretch of rocky shale, he turned at right angles. Carefully guiding the horses to where there was little or no trace of their passing, they rode for almost two miles. He found a shallow swale in the bottom of a large draw that was surrounded by trees and brush. They would be invisible there from any distance greater than fifty yards. In the trees twenty yards farther on, a tiny brook flowed softly between banks of tall grass.

  He removed the saddles and bridles from their horses. As he slid the saddle from Belinda’s horse, it slipped from his hands and fell to the ground. ‘Wow!’ he said softly. ‘That’s heavy!’

  He led the horses to the tiny creek and picketed them there, where they could reach all the grass and water they could want.

  Returning to the small clearing, he removed the bedroll from his own s
addle and the saddle-bags and bedroll both from Belinda’s. Marveling again at the weight of them, he hid them in the brush at the edge of the clearing. Then he took his bedroll and spread his blankets just outside the open area, on the other side of the clearing. They would be invisible to anyone walking into the clearing, but he had only to open his eyes to see across its expanse.

  Wordlessly he laid down on his blankets. Belinda collapsed beside him and leaned back against him. He put an arm around her, pulling a blanket over the both of them. He stayed awake just long enough to enjoy the feel of her body against him for a few minutes. She was already asleep before that.

  CHAPTER 15

  Dwight’s eyes opened abruptly, wide and alert. Tired as he was, sleepiness fled to some distant chamber of his well-disciplined mind. He quietly slid his arm up from where it rested across Belinda’s waist. He clamped his hand over her mouth.

  Belinda jumped, grabbing at the hand stifling any sound she might make.

  ‘Shh,’ Dwight whispered into her ear. ‘Stay real quiet.’

  Belinda relaxed as awareness returned, and she realized it was Dwight who was silencing her. She turned her head, seeking his face in the deep darkness, but unable to see anything.

  With his mouth against her ear, Dwight breathed, ‘Somebody’s out there. The horses are movin’. Stay here an’ don’t move.’

  Silent as a shadow he slid from beneath the blanket that covered them both. Stocking-footed, gun in hand, he crept slowly through the trees toward where he had picketed their horses.

  The moon had set, casting the earth into deep blackness. He knew it had to be within an hour or two of dawn. Whoever was out there was trying hard to make no noise, so it had to be either Indians, or Mac had backtracked and found them.

  He eased from tree to tree, straining to see, to hear, to sense the presence of another. Cautious as he was, he rustled a clump of dried leaves that had blown up against the twig of a bush sprouting from the fertile ground. Instantly a gun roared. Twice in rapid succession, fingers of fire reached out for him from the darkness.