Halliday 3

by Adam Brady

  The Home of Great Western Fiction!

  Halliday was minding his own business when he rode straight into a shooting-match between a pair of youngsters and a bunch of seasoned gunmen. The contest was so uneven that he just couldn’t pass on by, so he took a hand ... and soon found himself caught up in the middle of a bitter range war.

  Donna Heller and her hair-trigger kid brother Kip were struggling to hold their ranch against cattleman Nathan Dean. Dean wanted their land and had hired a whole passel of gunfighters to make sure he got it. It was an old story, and Halliday had heard all too often in the past, but this time ... this time something just didn’t sit right with him, and he wondered if everything was really as it seemed.

  Even as he and Donna grew closer to each other, the girl threw him a further surprise. She was an outlaw’s woman ... and the outlaw in question, Sam Rushton, had jealous streak a mile wide.

  Halliday could have lit out and avoided any further confrontation. But he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was already in way over his head ...

  HALLIDAY 3: RIDE FOR THE DEVIL

  By Adam Brady

  First published by Cleveland Publishing Co. Pty Ltd, New South Wales, Australia

  © 2020 by Piccadilly Publishing

  First Digital Edition: May 2020

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Series Editor: Ben Bridges

  Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  One – A Smile to Die For

  The morning air was fresh and cool on his face as Buck Halliday picked his way up the rocky slope, leading the trail-weary sorrel behind him.

  Birds were chirping in the grass on the other side of the hill where the sun was shining, and Halliday saw them picking at the ripening seeds when he reached the crest.

  He stood still and watched them for several minutes, and that was something that would have come as a surprise to anyone who saw the big man with the businesslike gunrig and the look of a man without much softness in his makeup.

  “C’mon, hoss,” he said finally and started down the slope, stopping to drink at a rocky pool and then standing back to let the sorrel drink.

  He rested his back against a boulder beside the pool and rolled a cigarette, enjoying the quiet and then savoring the tobacco smoke as he studied the country below him.

  It was as good a stretch of land as he had seen in a month, well-grassed on the flats and suitably timbered on the slopes. It looked too good to go unclaimed, but Halliday had not seen any cattle or sign of human activity for the last two days—not a barn or a shed or a strand of wire.

  Deciding that the sorrel was adequately rested, he mounted it and then let the horse mosey across the run of the next ridge at its own lazy speed. When he came to the bottom of the gully down below, he walked the horse along it, always heading south.

  Almost an hour passed before they came to a steep, high ridge. The sorrel tried to go around it, but Halliday tightened the reins and set the horse to the climb. This was the highest spot around and a good chance to see what lay ahead.

  He was halfway up the slope and riding carefully through the loose gravel when the sorrel lifted its head and its big nostrils flared. Not long after, Halliday heard the other horses, and then a rider appeared on the ridge line no more than fifty yards away. A second rider joined him and more kept coming until Halliday counted seven men.

  Halliday simply sat his saddle, waiting for them to notice him. It was clear that the bunch was looking for something. From the way they kept their hands close to their guns, it seemed that the something could be trouble. Every one of them was peering intently down into the trees, plainly caught up in the tension of the hunt.

  The man in the lead drew rein suddenly with his eyes fixed on a spot where the trees were thicker and the ground was dark with shadows. The others bunched up around him, all staring where he pointed.

  Halliday was close enough to see the strain showing on their faces. He took a firmer hold on the reins and kept the sorrel absolutely still.

  Whatever was going on was none of his business, he decided ... unless, of course, they were looking for him.

  There wasn’t a sound on the ridge now. The little birds had flown away in fear, and the seven men sat still as statues in their saddles.

  The lead rider walked his horse a few feet ahead of his companions, still staring into that patch of thick timber and dark shadows.

  Halliday watched him intently, wondering when they would notice him.

  Then a rifle shot shattered the stillness, and the man who seemed to be leading the bunch let out a sharp cry as his hat flew off, revealing a thick thatch of wiry red hair.

  The others scattered at once, all of them yelling and some of them dropping hastily to the ground.

  Another rifle shot cut through the air, and Halliday figured that this time, he might be the target. When two men charged out of the brush on foot and immediately started blasting away with their six-guns, there was no longer any doubt.

  Cursing, he threw himself out of the saddle, dragging his six-gun clear of leather before he hit the ground.

  Bullets raked the brush around his head as he sprinted away from the gunfire.

  He had his eyes fixed on a boulder a few yards ahead. It looked like the best cover within reach, but just before he got there, bullets began to hammer the rough surface from two directions.

  A stray bullet or so was one thing, but this was a serious attempt to cut him to ribbons. Now Halliday was good and mad.

  Turning in a slow circle, he spotted a hat and a shadowed face above him behind a deadfall. When another slug nicked the boulder only a foot from his face, Halliday put an even line of three bullets along the top of the deadfall, and then he started to run like hell.

  A bullet threw up a shower of gravel to his left, and he dodged to the right, cursing when a bullet thudded into the heel of his boot.

  He dropped to the ground and emptied his gun into the bunch up the hill. He reloaded his six-gun, ran again, fired again and ran again. He hoped that it looked like he was just running and firing blindly in an effort to escape—while every short dash was bringing him closer to the greatest danger—the man above him behind the deadfall.

  Finally, he was looking down on the deadfall, and on a slight figure in patched pants and faded shirt. The rifleman looked like a kid in his teens, but the smooth face was marked now with a scowl of murderous intent. His six-gun was laid out on the rock in front of him, and he had a rifle in his hands.

  Halliday climbed down quietly while rifle fire from the opposite slope shook the brush around him. He was only a yard or so from the young man when that broken boot heel caught on a small rock that rolled down the slope and landed right beside the young man with the rifle.

  The youth whirled in Halliday’s direction, swinging his rifle with him, but Halliday was close enough now to let fly with a kick. The toe of his boot connected with a skinny wrist and sent the rifle flying, but the kid immediately made a lunge for the handgun.

  “Just won’t quit, will ya?” Halliday snarled as a bullet sailed past his ear.

  Wasting no more time, he planted a left-handed punch on the kid’s unprotected jaw. The kid went down with a grunt, looking for all the world like someone asleep in his own soft bed.

  The men across the gully were still firin
g steadily, so Halliday crouched behind the deadfall and waited for the kid to open his eyes and explain what the hell was going on.

  Minutes passed.

  The men across the gully stopped shooting.

  Halliday bent forward to inspect the unconscious kid at his feet. Then a bullet burned across the point of his shoulder.

  His finger was already tightening on the trigger when he whirled around and saw the young woman skidding down the slope toward him. He squeezed trigger and sent a bullet over her head, but she showed no such consideration.

  She aimed straight at him and fired again, but he had thrown himself to the side and now he simply watched as her feet shot out from under her and she slid past him on the seat of her britches.

  “What the blue hell do you think you’re doin’, lady?” Halliday roared.

  “I’m trying to give you what you deserve,” she screeched as she lifted her gun again.

  Halliday was close enough to reach her this time, and he brought his hand down hard on her wrist and kicked the gun away as it fell from her hand.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders, and she immediately spat in his eyes and began to claw at his face.

  “Hey, just settle down and tell me what this is all about, lady,” he said when he got a fresh grip that pinned her arms at her sides.

  “Don’t talk to me, you filthy murderer!” the woman raged.

  She squirmed in his grip until the men across the gully began to fire at the deadfall again.

  Halliday used his weight to force her to the ground now, but she was still fighting like a wildcat, snapping at his face with her teeth and threshing to free herself.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Halliday said angrily, rolling her over and pushing her face into the dirt.

  Treating her so roughly didn’t stop her. She was kicking and screaming like a child in a tantrum, and all Halliday could do was hold her down.

  Then he heard horses coming and coming on fast, and gunfire began to tear at the slope once more.

  Halliday threw himself back and grabbed for his gun.

  The two lead riders were fifty yards away, the red-haired giant in front with his lips curled back in a snarl of rage.

  He fired twice, and both bullets came too close to Halliday for comfort.

  Halliday took careful aim and blew the man out of his saddle with a well-placed bullet in the shoulder.

  The man behind the redhead was still coming, and there was no time now for fancy shooting.

  Halliday’s bullet took the man in the chest, and the rider slammed into a rock as he fell. The riderless horse skidded, regained its footing and raced away with the reins dangling.

  Halliday glanced to his left and saw four more riders charging at him in a tight bunch, their guns belching flame.

  Halliday went down on his knees and fired up at them until his gun was empty. One man flopped forward onto the neck of his horse. Another reared back, screaming in pain. A third rider tried desperately to turn his horse away but succeeded only in colliding with the horseman beside him.

  The red-haired man was on his feet now, leaning against a tree and holding a bloodied hand to his wounded shoulder. He glared at the men around him and roared;

  “Get him, damn you! Get the bastard!”

  Halliday watched the redhead raise his left hand with his right bracing it.

  He had spared the man once, but now he could see that the only way to stop him was to kill him.

  When the red-haired man took a defiant step forward, Halliday’s bullet tore into his throat. He went down, still trying to curse as he choked on his own blood.

  Then the woman was beside him, looking up into Halliday’s face.

  “I’m sorry ... I thought you were one of them.”

  Halliday wanted more explanation than that, but the remaining riders were still peppering the deadfall with a deadly spatter of lead.

  The woman crawled up beside him, took careful aim and fired into the swirl of men and horses.

  When the riders split like water going around a boulder, the girl grabbed the young man and pulled him protectively behind cover.

  The youth shook his head and glared at Halliday, who was quickly reloading his six-gun.

  “Get him!” he urged the woman, but she pushed him away.

  “He’s trying to help us,” she shouted. “Just worry about Dean’s outfit!”

  The kid sat up then, and a bullet tore a red line across his cheek. He dropped flat on his belly and began to fire with surprising discipline at the horsemen who were coming at them again.

  The concentrated firepower was too much for the horsemen, and they began to pull back, firing as they went.

  Halliday wiped sweat and grime from his face and took stock of the situation.

  The red-haired man had not moved a muscle, and Halliday knew the man below him was dead. The ranny Halliday had shot from the saddle lay huddled against the trunk of the tree where he had fallen.

  “Now maybe somebody will tell me what the hell this is all about!”

  The woman turned and swept her long black hair back from her face. She gave Halliday the kind of smile men would die for. The only thing wrong was that he had almost died for it.

  “Without you, we wouldn’t have stood a chance,” she said. “You were wonderful, just wonderful.”

  “I’d still like to know who I’m shootin’ at, and why,” Halliday said coldly.

  The kid still glowered at Halliday, and seemed about to speak when a gun roared below them.

  It felt like a hammer blow to the side of the head. Halliday fell and cracked his skull hard against the deadfall. He had a hazy glimpse of the woman rushing toward him, and then he felt her hands cradling his head. He tried to say something, but the words were locked in his throat.

  The trees above seemed to be clawing at each other in a swirling cloud of blackness.

  “He’s all right, I think,” the girl said, and then she raised her eyes to watch the men assemble across the gully.

  The young man reloaded his gun, and said;

  “Who cares?”

  “He helped us, Kip. After he knocked you out, he fought them off. He killed Joe Finn, Battersby and Clay Ruden.”

  “So?” Kip muttered. “I would’ve done the same thing if I’d had the chance. Nobody asked him to butt in. Now leave him be, and let’s get the hell outta here before they come back!”

  The girl frowned at him.

  “We’d both be dead except for this stranger intervening,” she insisted.

  She wiped gently at Halliday’s head with her bandanna, and then she carefully inspected the wound. Apparently satisfied, she lowered his head gently to the ground and went off, leaving the young man standing guard. She came back a short time later, leading Halliday’s sorrel.

  “Help me, Kip,” she said flatly, and the two of them managed to get Halliday over his saddle.

  The woman stood back a little then, studied the unconscious man and said;

  “I’m sure I’ve never seen him before.”

  Kip muttered something about checking on the dead men first, and climbed over the uprooted tree. He kept his back to the deadfall as he squatted over the corpses one by one. When he returned, he was carrying their guns, but there also was a suspicious bulge down the front of his shirt.

  “They was travelin’ light, sis,” the young man said.

  The woman gave her brother an exasperated sigh but grabbed the reins of Halliday’s sorrel and followed him on foot as he went to fetch their own horses.

  From the top of the ridge, she could see the dust in the distance. Seemed what was left of Dean’s outfit was pulling out.

  “Heaven help us,” the woman said to herself.

  Maybe those men were running with their tails between their legs, but once Nathan Dean heard what had happened to three of his top men, he would be looking for blood.

  It took another ten minutes for them to reach home, the small ranch house on a clearing backed by steep ti
mbered slopes. It looked like the kind of place where a few guns in the right spot could keep an army at bay below.

  The woman helped her brother carry Halliday into the house, but the young man stopped in the hallway and gave her a long, hard look.

  “Well, what do we do with him now?”

  “Put him in my room,” she said.

  Kip straightened and said;

  “What the hell are you thinkin’?”

  “He saved our lives, Kip. The least we can do is make him as comfortable as possible till he can get back on his feet.”

  “What else?” Kip sneered. “You wouldn’t be lookin’ to have yourself some fun with him, would you?”

  “I’m looking to pay him back for helping us,” she snapped. “I know what I’m doing.”

  “Oh, you know, all right,” Kip said, “and so do I, by hell. Cain’t you just for once make it your business to be faithful to Sam?”

  Without another comment, the woman started up the hallway and stood aside when she had opened the door to her bedroom.

  “Put him on the bed,” she said coldly. “Then get yourself something to eat and go up on the hill to watch for Dean. I don’t think he’ll come tonight, but we can’t be sure—Kip, I said the bed, didn’t I?”

  Kip continued to drag the unconscious man away from the bed and finally dumped him in a chair against the wall. The woman had to rush forward to keep Halliday from sliding to the floor.

  She glanced up angrily but her brother had retreated to the doorway and he stood there with his arms folded on his chest.

  “I ain’t helpin’ you to bring this feller to your bed, Donna,” Kip said obstinately. “Sam’ll be back one day, and nobody’s gonna be able to say I been workin’ agin him while he was gone.”

  Before his sister could reply, he stomped off to the kitchen and cut a thick slice of bread from the loaf in the crock.

  “Better off without him,” the woman muttered as she struggled to drag the unconscious Halliday from the chair to the bed.

  Halliday stirred when she got him close to the bed and she tapped his face lightly.

  “Can you help a little?” Donna asked softly. “Please try. Then I’ll make you comfortable.”