“Best run along, mister,” he said softly, “before somebody else sees you and decides to make a cap out of you.”
The sound of his voice made the raccoon drop to all fours again and scamper away into the shadows at the side of the barn.
Breckinridge had just started to turn away himself when something crashed against the back of his head with incredible force and dropped him to his knees. He tried to hang on to consciousness and fight his way back to his feet, and as he lifted his head, he saw a shadowy figure moving around in front of him. He peered up at the face of the very Devil himself.
If the Devil was short, wide, had a bushy black beard, and called himself Jud Carnahan.
Chapter 9
Carnahan swung the rifle he held and smashed the stock against Breckinridge’s head. The blow stretched Breck out flat on the ground and left him stunned, powerless to move.
But even this second brutal, treacherous blow failed to knock him out completely. He could still hear and had a vague sense of what was going on around him. He was even thinking well enough to realize that Carnahan must have been in the barn, too, and when the wandering raccoon had convinced Breckinridge everything was all right, Carnahan had seized the opportunity to step out and strike at his old enemy.
Breckinridge willed his muscles to move. He knew that if he just lay here, he was doomed. Carnahan would kill him. He was a mite surprised the man hadn’t cut his throat already, or just hit him again and again until his skull was a shattered, gory mess.
Maybe Carnahan wanted to stretch things out, to make him really suffer before he died.
What Carnahan didn’t know was that Breckinridge couldn’t suffer much more than he already had these past months, living with all the physical and emotional damage the man’s evil had inflicted on Breck and those he cared about.
Actually, the delay was explained a moment later when he heard a quiet voice say, “There you are. I thought I heard something back here. Is Wallace dead?”
“No, I heard you coming and wanted to make sure you weren’t one of his friends.” That was Jud Carnahan’s familiar rumble. Breckinridge was unlikely to ever forget it. “Now I’ll go ahead and kill him.”
“Since he’s just knocked out, wouldn’t it be better to tie him up? We might be able to make use of him. Baxter and the others will be more likely to cooperate if Wallace’s life is at stake.”
Carnahan’s voice held a low edge of menace as he said, “Who’s the boss here, Joslyn, you or me?”
“You’re giving the orders, Jud, as always,” Henry Joslyn replied quickly. “I was just offering a suggestion.”
“You don’t know how dangerous this big, dumb galoot is, or how hard to kill. I’m not passing up this chance—”
“Hold it, both of you! Don’t move or I’ll shoot!”
The command rang out clearly in a voice new to this conversation. Breckinridge recognized it as well. If his vocal cords hadn’t been as paralyzed as the rest of him, he might have let out a groan.
Desdemona Garwood was no match for Carnahan, or even for a lying polecat like Joslyn. From the sound of it, she had the drop on them, but Breckinridge didn’t expect that to last.
“Who the hell is that?” Carnahan asked, apparently unconcerned.
“One of Garwood’s daughters,” Joslyn replied. “The one who seems to want to be a man.”
“I don’t want to be a man,” Desdemona snapped, “but I can shoot like one if I have to. Both of you, step away from him. Joslyn, my father trusted you. I ought to shoot you right now.”
Joslyn chuckled. “You won’t pull that trigger.”
“How do you know?”
“Because there’s only one of you, you have only one shot, and even if you kill me, my friend here will deal with you. And, trust me, you’ll wish that he’d killed you right away . . . but he won’t.”
“Damn right I won’t,” Carnahan growled.
Breckinridge didn’t know what Desdemona was doing out here, but her presence made him clench his jaw in frustration. If she hadn’t come wandering outside, she would still be in the trading post, safe.
But safe for how long? Joslyn, and no doubt all the other men who had shown up today, were working for Carnahan. Joslyn had put on a good act. It sickened Breckinridge to know that he’d been fooled, but so had Morgan and everybody else.
And now they would all pay the price for falling for that deception.
Unless Breckinridge could do something to stop it.
Again, his iron will exerted itself. This time, the muscles in his arms and legs quivered slightly. His nerves tingled. The fog in his head was receding. Once again, his strength and his hardy constitution were allowing him to throw off the effects of an injury. If Desdemona could keep Carnahan and Joslyn talking for just a few more minutes, he would be able to move again—he knew it.
In fact, he was able to lift his head now, so he could see what was going on. His vision was blurry at first, but it cleared as he spotted two large shapes standing near him. Carnahan and Joslyn, he thought.
And slowly, subtly, they were moving apart from each other, spreading out so that Desdemona couldn’t cover both of them with her rifle at the same time. Breckinridge searched for her, saw her slim, straight figure poised about twenty feet away. She started to back off as she swung the rifle from Carnahan to Joslyn and back again. She had realized what they were doing.
Yell for help, girl, Breckinridge urged her silently. Or go ahead and shoot one of them—preferably Carnahan—and then turn and run, try to make it back into the trading post . . .
“Now!” Carnahan barked.
He and Joslyn lunged toward Desdemona. Joslyn was closer. He was able to get a hand on the barrel of Desdemona’s rifle and wrench it upward. She pulled the trigger anyway, but instead of a booming report that would alert everyone inside the trading post that something was wrong, the charge generated only a slight spark when the hammer fell. Of all the times for a misfire!
But the attack on her cleared the last of the cobwebs from Breckinridge’s brain and sent new strength flowing to his muscles. He made it to his feet, and as Carnahan grabbed Desdemona and clapped a hand over her mouth to keep her from yelling, Breck tackled them both.
He hadn’t gone very far, but he had built up enough momentum so that the collision spilled all three of them to the ground. That knocked Desdemona loose from Carnahan’s grip. She rolled away fast while Breckinridge and Carnahan wrestled desperately for the upper hand in their struggle.
Carnahan was as strong as ever, while Breckinridge was still weakened and somewhat disoriented from the blows to the head. He knew that if he didn’t summon up all the strength he had, Carnahan would kill him. That would mean all his friends would die, too, and sooner or later, so would Absalom Garwood, his daughters, and the Mandan Indians who worked at the trading post. With that grim knowledge driving him, Breck got his left hand on Carnahan’s throat under the bristling beard and hammered his right fist into the man’s body.
Unfortunately, it was like punching a barrel. Carnahan didn’t even seem to feel the blows. He lashed out at Breckinridge. Breck ducked his head so that Carnahan’s fists just scraped the sides of it. He tried to dig his knee into Carnahan’s groin, but the man twisted aside.
Breckinridge heard a pistol roar somewhere close by, but he couldn’t take his attention off Carnahan to see who had fired the shot. He didn’t know if Desdemona was alive or dead. But at least the men in the trading post would have heard the shot. They would know something was wrong, and Morgan and the others would have a fighting chance, although they were outnumbered.
Carnahan landed a punch to Breckinridge’s chin that clicked his teeth together. Breck tightened his grip on Carnahan’s throat. Carnahan bucked up from the ground and tried to throw Breck off. They rolled again, and this time when they came to a stop, Carnahan was on top.
He didn’t stay there long. A heavy thud sounded, and Carnahan pitched to the side. Breckinridge looked up and saw
Desdemona standing there, holding her rifle by the barrel. The weapon’s stock was broken. Breck knew she had swung it like a club and brained Carnahan. Carnahan was stunned, but there was no telling for how long.
Breckinridge scrambled to his feet. Desdemona dropped the rifle and grabbed his hand. “Are you all right?” she gasped.
Breckinridge didn’t take the time to answer her. He spotted a dark, bulky shape on the ground not far away. That would be Henry Joslyn.
“You killed Joslyn?”
“I shot him with my pistol,” Desdemona said, “but I don’t know whether he’s dead.”
Breckinridge reached for the tomahawk stuck behind his belt. Checking on Joslyn could wait for a minute. He wanted to smash Jud Carnahan’s skull to bits while he had the chance. Every minute Carnahan remained among the living, he remained a threat to everything Breck cared about.
But before he could pull the tomahawk free, let alone strike with it, a rolling roar of gun-thunder came from inside the trading post. Joslyn’s men—well, Carnahan’s men, actually—must have heard the shot outside and decided that was the signal to launch their attack on Breckinridge’s party.
Desdemona let go of Breckinridge’s hand and turned to run toward the building. Breck’s long legs allowed him to catch her in one swift stride. He looped his left arm around her waist and swung her off her feet.
“Hold on!” he said. “You can’t go in there with all that lead flyin’ around!”
“My pa! My sisters!”
“Those varmints won’t hurt ’em,” Breckinridge said. Of course, he didn’t know that. He didn’t think Carnahan’s bunch would deliberately wipe out the Garwoods right away, but with all that shooting going on, there was no telling what might happen. “Get outside the gate and hide somewhere until this is all over.”
“No!” She kicked and struggled in his grip. “I won’t desert my family!”
That was an honorable attitude, but not a very smart one right now. And she was keeping him from killing Jud Carnahan—
That thought made Breckinridge glance over his shoulder. Carnahan was no longer lying nearby. Breck caught his breath and looked around. He didn’t see Carnahan anywhere. The man must have gone back into the barn or fled somewhere else. As much as it pained him to realize that, Breck didn’t have time to look for him. Not with Desdemona’s life in danger, and her stubbornness to contend with, to boot.
Still holding her with her feet off the ground, Breckinridge circled the corral and loped toward the gate.
As he did, the door of the trading post flew open and dark shapes spilled out of it. Pistols roared, and the muzzle flashes revealed the faces of Morgan, Charlie Moss, and the other members of Breckinridge’s group. They fled toward the gate as well, backing across the compound and keeping up a sporadic fire at the doorway to prevent the enemy from following them.
Breckinridge hurried to join them. The safest place right now was outside the stockade wall, regardless of how that was contrary to the conventional wisdom on the frontier. Breck didn’t see Asbalom Garwood, Ophelia, or Eugenia among them. He hoped those three weren’t already dead, cut down by the unexpected fusillade inside the building.
“Breck!” Morgan called.
Breckinridge shoved Desdemona into his friend’s arms. “Hang on to her!” he ordered, then he turned to the gates. The bar sitting in the brackets could be lifted by one man, but usually two handled the job of removing the thick, heavy beam.
In the heat of the moment, Breckinridge grabbed the bar, lifted it, and threw it aside like it was a twig. He put a hand against each gate and shoved, as if he were Samson pushing down the pillars of the temple, back in Bible times.
“Go!” he told the others. “Get outside and take cover in the trees along the river!”
“Damn you!” Desdemona screamed at him as Morgan carried her out of the compound. He didn’t know if she would ever forgive him for taking her away from her father and sisters, but right now he was saving her life, and that was all he could be sure of doing.
Muzzle flames spurted from the doorway, and rifle and pistol balls hummed around Breckinridge’s head and thudded into the logs of the wall. His friends sprinted past him through the opening. One of them stumbled suddenly—in the bad light Breck couldn’t tell who it was—and he figured the man had been hit. Breck pulled both pistols from behind his belt, eared back the hammers, and fired toward the trading post. The pistols were double-shotted and packed a heavy charge of powder. Breck didn’t know if he hit anything, but the volley made the men inside the building hold their fire for a second. That gave Breck time to duck through the gap between the gates and take off toward the river.
His jaw was clenched tight in anger and frustration. His brain was working well enough now that he could see how the whole thing laid out. Carnahan and his men had run into Cabe and found out from him that Breckinridge and the rest of the party were at Absalom Garwood’s trading post. Knowing that Breck and Morgan would recognize him instantly, Carnahan had sent the others on ahead of him to pretend to be friendly and be in position to launch a treacherous attack when the time came. Then Carnahan had slipped into the compound. From there, maybe everything hadn’t played out exactly as Carnahan had planned it, but close enough. Breck and his friends had been driven out, and Carnahan held the trading post.
The only real question was whether or not he had hostages, too. Garwood, Ophelia, and Eugenia might well still be alive.
But how long would they stay that way in the hands of a man like Jud Carnahan?
Chapter 10
“You . . . you scoundrel!” Desdemona raged at Breckinridge as he joined the others in the trees along the river. Breck had a feeling she wanted to use stronger language than that, but despite dressing like a man, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. “You left them there!”
“Standin’ around and gettin’ myself filled full o’ lead wouldn’t have done your pa and your sisters any good,” Breckinridge said. “As it is, we’re all still alive, so we’ve got a chance to defeat Carnahan and rescue ’em.” He looked around. “We are all still alive, ain’t we?”
“Pentecost is wounded,” Morgan answered. “I think he’ll live, but he won’t be any good to us in a fight.”
Breckinridge nodded as he counted in his head. “There are six of us, then.”
“Seven,” Desdemona corrected him. “I can shoot a rifle just fine, and I have my own weapon with me, as well as powder and shot.”
“We’re not in great shape when it comes to arms, Breck,” Charlie Moss said. “When all hell broke loose in there, not all of us were able to grab our rifles. We’ve got six pistols and two rifles among us. Three rifles, countin’ yours.”
“Ammunition?”
“Enough to last us for a while, but we’ll probably run out sooner rather than later.”
Morgan said, “At this range, pistols aren’t going to be very accurate.”
“I know,” Breckinridge said. “That’s why we need two men with rifles aimed at that tradin’ post all the time. If Carnahan and any of his men try to get out, knock ’em down. Charlie, you and Donnelly take that job right now. Richmond, Rocklin, you boys move along the river for a quarter mile or so, then circle around and get behind the place. I recollect there are some rocks and brush back there that you can use for cover. Get close enough you’re in pistol range, so if anybody tries to climb over the fence, you can kill ’em, or at least make ’em think twice about it.”
“We’ll be on our own back there,” Rocklin pointed out.
“You will,” Breckinridge admitted, “but with the stockade between you and them, they can’t launch a full-scale attack against you. And climbin’ over ain’t that easy, as I know from experience. You’ll have time to blow a hole in anybody who tries.”
“I hope you’re right,” Rocklin said gloomily. “Come on, Richmond.”
The two men trotted off into the night, sticking to the thick shadows under the trees. Every so often, a rifle shot came
from one of the loopholes in the stockade wall, but none of the balls came close to Breckinridge and the others. Just to be on the safe side, they kept some of the rough-barked trunks between them and the trading post as they held an informal council of war.
“What happened in there?” Breckinridge wanted to know.
“Everything seemed all right,” Morgan said. “Joslyn’s men seemed friendly enough, although they were still keeping to themselves. Miss Desdemona decided to go outside and check on you and Joslyn, Breck, even though her father didn’t want her to.”
Desdemona blew out a curt breath. “My father knows I have a mind of my own and it’s a waste of time to argue with me.”
“I’ll just bet he does,” Breckinridge said under his breath.
“What?” she asked sharply.
“Never mind. Go on, Morgan.”
“Well, a few minutes after that, we heard a shot from outside. Our bunch started for the door to go see what had happened, and I guess we all expected Joslyn’s men to do the same. But Charlie noticed just in time that they were turning their guns on us. We all dived for cover. If we hadn’t done that, they might have wiped us out in one volley. Or at least most of us, anyway.”
“Good thing you were quick to jump,” Breckinridge said. “I reckon then you fought your way out?”
“Yeah. The place got full of powder smoke in a hurry, so we were able to make a dash for the door. There was nowhere else to go. They had us outnumbered so badly, if we’d stayed inside they would have killed us all.”
“What about Cabe? Did he fight on their side?”
“I think he was as surprised as the rest of us. He tried to get back on our side of the room, but they shot him down.” Morgan’s voice caught a little as he added, “He never had a chance.”
“He wasn’t a traitor, then. Just an ornery varmint who got fooled like the rest of us.”
“I suppose so. What happened outside, Breck? Why would Joslyn’s men try to kill us?”
“They ain’t Joslyn’s men,” Breckinridge said. “They’re workin’ for Jud Carnahan.”
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