As soon as they hit the flat, they urged their horses into a swinging trot and there they held them, knowing that was the best way to hold the miles in abeyance over such a distance in the great heat. As he rode at Mart’s side, Valdez said: “We shall do it, Martin. You’ll see. Such good fortune does not come to men who are due for bad luck.”
Mart said: “I hope to God you’re right.”
They settled down to riding. Mart inspected the men who rode with him. Beside the rawhide tough Valdez, whom he had gotten to know so well on their wearisome trail, there were now two vaqueros in their middle years, men hardened by years in the saddle, and no doubt accustomed in the dangerous past to the depredations of Apache and Navaho. Beside them was a young fellow, little more than a boy, who rode with the eagerness of youth that has not experienced the lethal whine of lead. The sight of all three of them reassured Mart, and he was thankful to have them along. He had no wish to tackle a crew like the one siding Styree with only Valdez, however good a man he might be.
All five of them drove their horses hard across the valley, pitching down into arroyos and scrambling their animals up the other side, fighting their way across shale, picking their way through scattered boulders, led by Valdez who knew every inch of the country and could be relied upon to find the quickest and easiest way to McCord’s place. They came eventually to a rise in the land and there in the heat haze of the afternoon sun, they saw dimly in the distance, visually warped by the heat of the land, the long squat shape of the post on its shelf at the top of the long slope that rose up out of the valley. Above it reared the pinks and purples of the mighty sierra. The sight dwarfed the riders mentally and physically. Here they halted and Mart asked: “Can anybody see anything?”
One of the riders, one Profirio Ruiz, who enjoyed such long sight that he could scarcely make out the ears of the horse he ride, said: “There is something that moves at the bottom of the slope leading up to the post. I cannot see clearly, but it looks to me like horses and men.”
Valdez pointed ahead.
“We will ride to that point yonder. From there we shall be able to see all we want.”
“All right,” Mart said, “but nobody shows himself above the skyline.”
They urged their horses forward, slid and jumped their way off the ridge, hit the flat and pushed their horses to their limit. When they reached the rise in the land, they went up a good way, then halted and all piled from the saddle. Ruiz crawled to„ the crest of the ridge and put his long sight on the scene ahead of them. When Mart joined him, he could see no more than tiny moving dots. He raised his eyes and saw somebody walking down from the house toward them.
Ruiz said: “This is not good. Below are the guests of Aragon and the man Styree is with them. They have a young man on the end of a rope and they have dragged him a little. It is the last guest to arrive at Aragon.”
A voice shouted: Jody in Mart’s head. Already, he was starting to his feet. The next words of the vaquero stopped him.
“But there is worse. Coming down to them from the house is the señorita herself.”
Mart didn’t wait for any more. There was little time for a carefully considered plan. There had to be quick, violent and decisive action. If he made the wrong move, he didn’t doubt it could be the end of both the woman and his nephew. If he did nothing, they could both suffer the same fate. Therefore, all he had to use as a weapon was surprise and speed.
He hit the saddle and the horse jumped forward. The other men were following his example.
“Valdez,” he shouted, “take one man and cut around from the north. Get between Aragon and Styree. Move.”
Valdez snapped the boy’s name and they spurred away.
“Ruiz,” Mart said, “you and this man cut slightly around to the south. Go in shooting, but do so with great care. The boy on the rope is my kin. Draw as many men off from him as you can. Go.”
They neck-reined their horses and the dust spurted from the sudden start of the horses.
Mart kicked his own horse into action. Styree had to be hit hard and fast before he had time to slit Jody’s throat. Every inch of cover had to be used and the ground between himself and the outlaws had to be negotiated as fast as his horse could travel. He levered a round into the breech of the rifle and the tiredness that ached in his bones vanished under the urgency of the moment.
The horse slowed at a rising ridge and Mart used the spurs without mercy. The animal squealed and responded with a kind of desperation. They rocketed over the ridge, the horse nearly went down as they hit an almost dead drop on the far side and Mart just managed to keep it on its feet. It crow-hopped to the bottom of the steep slope, fought the bit at the base in protest of its treatment, then consented to run again as those spurs savagely hit it.
Mart could see the riders much more clearly now. He could make out Jody getting groggily to his feet, holding his throat. Rage burst out in Mart when he realized that the outlaws had dragged him by the neck. It was a miracle the kid was still alive.
There was a faint popping of guns above the thunder of the horse’s hoofs and Mart looked north to see Valdez and the boy racing in at an angle firing as they came. At once the outlaws turned in that direction. There was suddenly frantic action among them. He switched his gaze to Aragon. The woman had halted halfway between the house and the outlaws.
Mart raced on, putting the lines between his teeth and ramming the butt of the rifle into his shoulder. Even as he did so, firing broke out from the south and he saw the other two Mexicans sweeping in from that direction. Jody flung himself flat. There were riders among the outlaws, jigging their horses this way and that, suddenly panicked and not knowing what to do, thrown momentarily off-balance by this alarm in the midst of their victory.
Now Mart started to fire and lever and fire again, pouring lead into the bunched riders. He saw a man fall over the far side of his horse. The animal jumped, pitching away. A horse went down, kicking. Pandemonium broke loose.
Somewhat to his own amazement and horror, Mart now recognized his own insane decision to ride clear into the enemy, killing. One part of his brain was insane with killing fury, the other was as cold as ice, weighing the situation, weighing time and distance like the experienced fighting man he was.
Before he reached them, his brain was cool enough in one part for him to check Aragon’s situation. He saw Valdez reach her. She appeared to be plucked from her feet, the Mexican’s horse veered left and strove up the slope toward the post. The boy halted and started firing down into the outlaws below.
To the south, Ruiz and the other rider had swerved away, firing as they went.
Then Mart was into the outlaws.
It was evident that there were men there with iron in them. One man on foot stood his ground and fired steadily at Mart with a belt-gun as he charged down on them. Mart rapidly bore down on him, found his rifle was empty and hurled it with all his strength at the man as he thundered by. In vain the man tried to ward off the weapon with his arms. As Mart whirled his horse to charge back into the fray, he saw the man on his hands and knees, blood streaming down his face. But there was no time for pause. He tore his belt-gun from leather, cocked and fired at a man attempting to spur out of the fight. The fellow flung up his hands and pitched forward over his horse’s neck, clung there for a moment and then, as the animal started to pitch franticly, fell to the ground.
Where was Styree?
Mart halted his horse and took the lines from his mouth. A couple of the outlaws were riding west, quirting their horses. Numbers did not count against complete surprise and decisive action.
Jody was on his feet, easing the rope from around his neck.
“Get a horse and head for McCord’s,” Mart yelled.
Jody stumbled toward a dead man’s horse and the animal tried to evade him.
Somebody fired almost point-blank at Mart and missed. Mart turned in the saddle and triggered at a man whirling his horse away out of the action. He missed and the fel
low went on north.
Ruiz and the other man had turned back into the fight. They seemed to be wisely using the Indian tactics of hit and run. A good way of hurting the enemy and staying alive yourself.
Suddenly, Mart was aware that three riders were headed past the two Mexicans, firing as they went. They were a hundred yards or more from Mart, but he recognized the man in the rear as Styree. He urged his horse after them.
The horse of the man with Ruiz went down untidily and the man came out of the saddle in the same fashion, all arms and legs. Ruiz turned his horse toward the fleeing men and, in the act, seemed to find his gun empty. Mart could see the scare hit him as he realized that he was virtually defenseless against them. They were shooting at him and he reined his horse around violently to get away from them. Had they swerved from their course, they could have killed him instantly, but they were intent on escape. They rode on past him, heading south. Mart drove after them, straight as the flight of an arrow.
They must have run near on a mile before they spotted him behind them. At first, they did not turn to fire from the saddle, but tried to out-distance him. Mart wondered why they should flee from a solitary rider, but, on glancing back, he saw that he was being followed by Ruiz and the boy.
As the minutes passed, Mart began to suspect that the men ahead of him were mounted on better stock than he had. The animals were tired, but they were running with style and speed. He then wished he had retained his rifle. He allowed himself to fall back until Ruiz was abreast of him, wanting to borrow his rifle, but he saw that the man had the old muzzle-loader.
He shouted to the man to hand him the weapon if it was loaded. The man replied that he had loaded it on the run. Mart took the old rifle and urged his horse forward again. Pretty soon, those men ahead were going to tire of running from a body their equal in strength. He didn’t doubt that when they reached a suitable spot, they would turn and fight. That could prove to be a Mexican standoff. At all costs he didn’t want that.
He raised the old weapon to his shoulder, aimed carefully, which was nearly impossible from the back of a running horse, and fired. He knew at once that he had missed. He swore and handed the rifle back to Ruiz, asking him to reload it. Styree, loaded as he was with Aragon’s treasure, was unable to fire back and, to add to his difficulties, under the heavy load, his horse was now beginning to flag noticeably. The man in front of him however, swerved off to one side and began to fire back at the pursuers with a repeating rifle. Travelling at the speed he was, his shooting was not accurate.
They were running now parallel to giant sandstone cliffs to their left and Mart surmised that Styree was looking for a way up so that he might gain the advantage of height over his pursuers. The man using the rifle now slowly fell back until he was between Styree and Mart and seemed to be reloading. Mart glanced at Ruiz. The man had finished loading the old rifle and he now banged the butt on the saddle horn to settle the ball in the powder. He leaned forward in the saddle and Mart reached for the weapon. The man ahead snapped off his first shot. He now seemed to be getting the hang of the business better and the lead sang too close to Mart for comfort. Mart raised the old rifle to his shoulder and fired instantly.
The outlaw with the rifle reeled in the saddle, slowly leaned to the right and suddenly pitched to the ground.
Mart yelled for Ruiz and the boy to attend to him. Ruiz protested and Mart swore violently at him. There was no more time than to glimpse the fallen man staggering to his feet with his belt-gun in his hand and the Mexican riding his horse into him. Styree was now angling to the left, going sharply in toward the towering cliff. Mart knew that he had found what he wanted. He turned his own horse to cut off the two fleeing men. Raising his eyes, he saw the spot for which the outlaw was heading. From where he was, it looked no wider than a goat-track. If Styree was to ride a horse up there, he was going to need more than his fair share of luck. Mart replaced the used shells in his gun.
The two outlaws reached the start of the narrow track about two hundred yards ahead of Mart and there seemed to be some difference of opinion about who would go first. Styree apparently won, for he started his horse up. The animal mounted a few yards and jibbed. Mart could see Styree franticly spurring it. The other man turned in the saddle and fired at Mart with a rifle. Mart knew at once that he was at an acute disadvantage being shot at by a man who was stationary. He swerved the horse to the left, gained some rocks and leapt from the saddle. Lead hit rock and sang all around him. The outlaws seemed to have powder to burn. He worked his way under cover until he was close against the side of the cliff, then he edged his way cautiously forward. He knew that he could not afford to overdo the caution, because time was not on his side. All the time he was back here, Styree was getting away up that narrow trail.
When he raised himself up to take his first shot at the rifleman, he saw that the fellow had decided to follow his leader and was carefully urging his horse up the trail. Styree was well above him now and he seemed to be making good time. It was a long shot for a revolver and Mart decided not to waste shells.
He broke out of cover and ran forward. As he came to the foot of the trail, the man in the rear looked down at him, tried to turn in the saddle to fire at him, but his movements were uncertain. No doubt he was scared by the narrowness of the track and his fate if his horse started and missed its footing.
Mart aimed with enormous care and fired.
He saw the bullet strike the wall of rock to the man’s left and throw dust over him. Without aiming properly, the man fired back. The horse halted, spooked and the man had to give it his full attention.
Mart cocked and fired again. He had to end this quickly; Styree was halfway up the trail. If he reached the top, he could pick Mart off at his leisure as he advanced up the dangerous track.
The man with the rifle was in trouble. Mart guessed he had hit the horse. The animal’s hoofs were scrabbling at the edge of the trail. Hastily, the man started to dismount on the cliff-side of the horse. Even as he freed his foot from the stirrup iron, the animal went over. Mart didn’t wait to witness the animal’s fate on the rocks below, he cocked and fired again. Once more he saw the bullet strike rock near the man and he cursed his badness of shooting. The outlaw dropped to one knee, levered and fired as Mart threw himself to one side, coming hard up against the cliff. Now he rested his hand against the rock as he gripped the wrist with the other. He fired as the man prepared to fire again.
The fellow slid forward onto his face, arms stretched out as he kicked feebly. To Mart’s intense joy, the rifle stayed on the trail, lying at the fallen man’s fingertips.
Mart didn’t waste a second. Running forward, he mounted the trail and started up. Styree was now high above him, his horse mounting steadily and with apparent confidence. Mart reached the rifle, lifted it and jacked a fresh round into the breech.
“Styree,” he shouted, “hold it right there or I drop you.”
The outlaw’s yell of derision came back to him.
Mart raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired. He aimed slightly to the left. He wanted this man alive.
The result was unexpected. The ricochet startled the up to then steady animal and it pitched. Mart heard Styree’s howl of alarm. The next moment, he saw horse and rider go over the edge as if in slow motion.
He watched them plummet down, horse and man parting company in mid-air. Then he heard them hit sickeningly. He stood for a moment, with a sudden and unexpected sickness heaving at his stomach before he pulled himself together and turned to inspect the fallen man. It was Stoddard and he was alive.
He looked up at Mart and said quite calmly: “I’m a gonner, I reckon, Mart.”
Mart dropped to one knee and examined him. He laughed shortly. “You’ll live,” he said. “No more’n a flesh wound in the leg.” He took the man’s belt-gun and stood up. “Work your way down. I’m goin’ to check on Styree.”
“Why look,” Stoddard said. “He’ll be jam.”
“It pay
s to be sure,” Mart said and walked down the trail.
He knew that Styree was still alive when he heard the groan from the rocks at the foot of the cliff and he found the outlaw, lying atop of his dead horse. The devil apparently looked after his own. He was unconscious, but he was alive. There was nothing wrong with him except a broken leg. Which suited Mart fine. A man with a broken leg didn’t run far. He sat down and rested a moment. He reckoned he’d never felt so plumb tuckered out in his life. Just the same, as soon as he could, he would head for McCord’s place. The woman was there and she had gotten under his skin. He swore a little.
Chapter Fourteen
Linda Aragon sat on the stoop and waited. She thought that a wait had never seemed so long before. The stars blinked above her and the night was quiet. A wolf sang somewhere distantly in the sierra, something flitted by in the starlight across the slope below the house. And she waited.
Jesus Maria had buried the outlaw Brydon and another dead man he had found below in the valley, hacking shallow graves out of the hard earth on the slopes above the house and piling cairns of rocks over them. In the house, Betsy and Juanita tended the two wounded men. They would, Linda thought, both live. No thanks to her. She had been the root cause of all that had happened. Jody Storm lay back there in the house, uneasily sleeping, neck and throat swollen and cut by the rawhide rope that had dragged him. Now she waited for the others to return. If they returned. She would have to wait for dawn before she rode out to search for them. She could hear Gomez and the other vaquero talking together in low voices inside the house. The insects flickered in the light from the open door. The cicadas were softly persistent out there in the darkness.
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