After a while, Joe drew rein and said: ‘Maybe we ain’t doin’ no good.’
Will said: ‘I’m thinkin’ the same thing. It’s just I want to do somethin’ about Mart back there. I don’t trust Brack. You know he ain’t past killin’ Mart.’
‘I know that,’ Joe said. ‘We gotta face it. We’s in a cleft stick.’
‘All right,’ Will said, ‘we’ll pull off the trail, get some shut-eye and see what we can see come daylight.’
So they pulled off the trail, unsaddling and tying their horses well back in timber so they couldn’t warn any riders on the trail of their presence. Joe stayed back with the horses and Will settled himself down among the rocks not far from the trail, a blanket draped across his shoulders for warmth. He filled and fired his pipe, getting what comfort he could from that.
It wasn’t long after that he heard the sound of approaching horses’ hoofs. There was a good number by the sound and he reckoned it had to be the posse in pursuit of them. Sure enough a dozen or so men rode into view along the trail, showing dimly in the starlight. He couldn’t see clearly enough to recognize them, but he heard their voices and he knew for certain that Burt Ransome and Hank Tristem were among them. They swept by at a brisk trot and disappeared into the east. Which meant that he and Joe now had the posse as well as Aintree ahead of them. It also meant that Joe wouldn’t be able to read sign because the posse had wiped out all traces of Aintree. The Storm luck had taken a turn for the worse. He was tempted to turn back and winkle Mart out of Broken Spur at the point of a gun. However, Mart seemed fairly safe there with the Alisses Hargreaves around. They seemed to be firmly on the side of justice. But could he afford to leave his brother at risk at all? He havered and wavered until he dozed off.
When he was wakened by Joe before first light, his mind returned at once to the subject of Mart, still indecisive, still worried and uncertain.
4By God, Joe,’ he said as he staggered sleepily behind the Negro back to the horses, ‘I’ll be damned if I know what to do.’
‘We look for sign first,’ Joe said. How did the man stay so cool at a time like this? How many times had he been support for Will at times like this? It had been thus from their earliest days together when Joe had been the slave’s son allowed to play with the master’s children. ‘Maybe we have luck.’
‘The posse’s spoiled it.’
‘They didn’t ride at the side of the trail,’ Joe told him. ‘Maybe I can pick somethin’ up. Aintree could of lef’ the trail.’
Will grumblingly agreed, sour from his cold sleep and stiff limbs. They saddled their horses and rode down to the trail where they found nothing but the mass of sign left by the posse. Will felt hopeless. Joe kept on, nosing from one side of the trail to the other like an alert bloodhound. Will kept a look-out ahead for there was no knowing if the posse wouldn’t turn back and ride down on them. Then there would be hell to pay. Will didn’t want a running fight at a time like this.
But, suddenly, it looked like their luck changed. Joe stopped his horse and said: ‘I found somethin’.’ Will joined him, his heart pounding. Joe pointed to the almost unmarked soil at the side of the trail and there clearly were the traces of a horse where it had left the trail. ‘That Aintree’s horse,’ Joe said with confidence.
At last, thought Will, they were getting somewhere. He followed Joe through the rocks. The sign disappeared here, but Joe picked it up a few minutes later among the trees. Aintree, he said, was going slowly, not because his horse was tired, the animal was still fresh and moving forward briskly. It was his guess that the man was still weak from his wound. Maybe he thought he was safe here in the hills and was planning to hole up here for a rest.
They were going almost due south now, working their way very slowly through tangled broken country. They crossed a wild water-course and fought their way through brush. Aintree had planned to hide himself well. The horses stumbled and the men cursed.
After about thirty minutes, Joe stopped abruptly.
‘Hear that?’ he asked.
‘I didn’t hear nothin’.’
‘A horse.’
They dismounted and held the noses of their horses. They were in somewhat more open country now, standing on the side of a steep hill that was cut and slashed by nature, decorated here and there by a stunted tree that fought for survival in its rocky environment or skimpy brush that had somehow rooted among the stone. Joe was pointing to a spot high above them. Aintree was somewhere up there.
Will signed to Joe to work his way around behind the man. Joe was best at that kind of thing. Besides, Will had already made up his mind that he would advance straight at him and draw his fire. Joe had risked enough for the Storms. Joe signed that he knew what to do and turned away, disappearing into the rocks almost immediately. Will tied the horses and drew his rifle from its boot. As he moved away in a southerly direction one of the horses whinnied loudly behind him. That would warn Aintree that he was threatened.
The sun was high now and the sweat broke through on Will’s back. It was going to be like living in an oven out here in the rocks. Once more he decided that he was getting too old for this kind of a game. In future he would delegate and sit at home while the younger men took the risks. He gazed upwards knowing that he needed a shot from above to guide him, though he didn’t relish the idea of offering himself as a target.
He did so unwittingly. He had made up his mind that Aintree was at the very peak of the hill near an enormous boulder that stood precariously there. It was shaped like a man’s head and stood gigantic and dark against the sky. The shot when it came missed Will by no more than a foot, sprayed him with rock splinters and whined away into the blue. He stayed up long enough to spot the drifting gun smoke and then lay flat. Aintree was to the right of the large rock, hidden in what looked like a natural fortress.
Will reckoned it was time for talk.
‘Aintree,’ he shouted.
The answer was a shot that passed above him and whined down into the trees below.
‘This is Will Storm,’ Will bellowed. ‘All I want is to talk.’
‘Go to hell,’ was the reply.
The damn fool, Will thought and started to work his way south again. A couple of shots came his way and made him flinch closer to the stone under him and then there was silence. There was no sound except for the drag of Will’s body. Now Will started to work his way upward. There was fair cover and no more shots came his way. He hoped that Joe was in pretty close by now. He hoped also that Joe would not be forced to kill Aintree. Will wanted him alive, scared and talking.
He must have been fifty feet from the top when he heard sounds from below. There was the unmistakable sound of hoofs on rock. His first thought was that their horses were being lifted. He turned in sudden panic and the man above let fly with a shot that came so close that it left Will cowering down in cover. He swore luridly, hunted cover lower down and made a run for it. The man above drove a couple more shots at him, but these happily missed again. Once more in cover, Will looked below. There off to his right he could see the bobbing heads of men. He heard a shouted order, the sound of men running. He knew that the posse had returned. He groaned out loud. Joe and he were in a tighter position than they had ever been in before.
Driven into a corner as he was, the Storm obstinacy at once took over. Instead of diverting him from the man above, the presence of the posse below did the exact opposite. He was now more determined than ever to take him. Having decided this, Will also decided that it was time to take some real risk. There was no choice. He had to reach Aintree before the posse reached him. The fact that the posse was now in possession of his horses didn’t deter him. The first task was to capture Aintree. He’d worry about the horses when that was accomplished.
He broke cover and started climbing, sucking the air into his lungs, and straining against the steepness of the slope. Aintree started firing. It seemed that the air around Will was alive with flying lead. The only thing in his favor was th
at it wasn’t an easy thing to shoot downhill. As reckless as he might feel, however, exposure to such a heavy fire became a little too much even for him to stomach and once more he sought cover. But he was now considerably closer to his target. He looked back. The men below were climbing, but they were coming on at a more cautious pace than he was. He worked his way to the right and started up again. Aintree let fly once more and once again Will sought cover.
From below came his bellowed name. Ransome was calling on him to surrender. He ignored the invitation and started up again. Aintree must be running pretty short of ammunition by now. There was a limit to how many rounds a man could carry.
He was getting pretty close when he heard the sound of scattering rocks from above and he knew that his quarry was on the move. He came out into the open and increased his pace, throwing caution aside. He now found himself under fire from below. He didn’t enjoy that any more than he did being shot at from above. Fortunately, the posse could not shoot any better uphill than Aintree could downhill.
From above came the clatter of horse’s hoofs. Aintree was making a run for it. Will prayed that Joe was in close by now. To lose his witness at a time like this would have broken his heart. He fought his years and his complaining body and forced up the pace. A moment later he panted to the crest of the hill. A couple of bullets sang past his head. He ducked and drove himself on. He was on a rough platform of rock. Above him reared the massive boulder shaped like a man’s head. There was no sign of movement, no sound. He pounded forward across the little plateau. On the far side, he stopped.
Immediately below him was a mounted man with his hands above his head. Will climbed down and found Joe there with his rifle pointed at Aintree.
‘Nice work,’ Will gasped. ‘The posse’s right up our butts. They have our horses.’
If Joe was alarmed, he didn’t show it. He grinned a little.
‘That mean we don’t have too much time,’ he said. ‘I asked this trash a coupla questions an’ he clammed up. We ain’t goin’ to get nothin’ outa him. He ain’t no use to us’ns. We best cut his throat and high-tail outa here.’
‘Now wait a minute, ‘Aintree said.
‘We don’t have a minute,’ Will told him. ‘Talk or die.’
‘I don’t know nothin’.’
Joe handed his rifle to Will. He caught hold of Aintree and yanked him from the saddle with a powerful arm. The man hit the ground hard and screamed as he saw the glitter of steel from Joe’s right hand. The horse skittered away and stopped, looking back at them.
‘Kill him and let’s git,’ Will said impatiently.
‘No no, no, no,’ Aintree yelled. ‘I’ll talk. I’ll tell you anythin’.’
‘Who hired you?’
‘Andy Grebb.’ The man was on his hands and knees, his hat off and his long hair falling over his eyes. He looked like a terrified animal.
‘Who’s behind Grebb?’
Aintree was scared of them. But he was too scared of another to speak the name.
‘There was only Grebb.’
‘You rode straight to Brack.’
‘So I rode straight to Brack. I was desprit. I didn’t know where to go.’
‘Kill him,’ said Will. ‘We’ll use his horse.’
Joe took him by the hair and wrenched his head back so his neck was exposed for the knife. Will was sweating. The posse would be nearing the top of the hill. They didn’t have a second to waste.
Aintree said: ‘It was Brack. Now you know. Put that goddam knife away, will you? Brack has Grebb in his pocket. He aims to wipe you Storms out. Mart was the first.’
Will gave a sigh of relief.
‘You’ll come back with us and you’ll sign your name to that writ down.’
Joe let go his hair. He gulped and nodded.
‘Anythin’,’ he gasped.
There was a sound from below. Joe put away his knife and snatched his rifle from Will.
From above came a shout.
Will’s heart sank. They were surrounded. He’d risked too much. He jacked a round into the breech of his rifle.
Joe said quietly: ‘We don’t have a chance, boy.’
If Joe said they didn’t have a chance, they surely didn’t. Will looked around. There were men coming down from above, rifles held at the ready in their hands. Men were pushing their way through the brush below. Will didn’t doubt they were nervous and trigger-happy. They would shoot if he and Joe batted an eyelid.
Ransome’s voice came in a bellow. There was triumph in it.
‘Throw down your guns.’
They laid their rifles down. All the men, above and below, had halted and their rifles were pointed at them. He and Joe drew their revolvers and laid them beside the rifles. They stepped back from them.
Aintree was yelling: ‘They were goin’ to murder me. They’re a pair of crazy killers.’
The posse closed in. Ransome was panting like a fish out of water, but this was his big day. He ordered the hands of all three men bound behind their backs. Pigging strings appeared. Aintree protested loudly, but he was pinioned just the same. They were taken around the hill to the horses and heaved unceremoniously into the saddle. Will knew that this could be the end of Mart. The end of him and Joe for that matter. He rode in the midst of the posse with clay in his belly and his heart like lead.
Chapter Twenty-Three
They reached Broken Spur in the middle of the afternoon. Will was feeling his years, defeated and old. The whole idea of coming into this country and setting himself up as a big cattleman now seemed ridiculous. He just wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing. He was a small man and he should have been content to remain small. For another thing, he had tried to act like Mart, a heller with a gun. He’d failed. He looked at Joe. The Negro’s face was wooden, giving nothing away. He thought of his brother. Mart would now be tried and the jury would find him guilty because Brack was leaning on them and Brack could lean hard. It might not go much better with him and Joe. His mind went to Martha, the girls. Clay and the other two boys would put up a fight, but Brack would clear them from the land.
The ranch was very quiet when they rode into the yard. Horses nicked their tails in the corral. The smoke drifted lazily from the cook shack chimney. The Chinese cook came to the door to stare at them. There didn’t seem another living soul in sight.
The posse halted and dust hung on the air. Ransome heaved himself out of the saddle and said: ‘Get down.’ Will heaved a leg over the saddlehorn and dropped to the ground. Saddle-leather creaked as the posse dismounted. Where was Brack? The man should be here with triumph all over his ugly face.
‘Get the prisoners into the house, ‘Ransome ordered. Rough hands seized Will and Joe and shoved them in the direction of the house.
Hank Tristem said: ‘You won’t git yourself outa this one, Storm.’
‘Hold it right there, men,’ a voice called. ‘An’ don’t try anythin’ foolish.’
Will started.
He turned and saw Mart standing there with a gun in his hand. Mart was smiling. Had it only been Mart, maybe some fool among the posse would have tried his luck. But there were men appearing from nowhere with guns in their hands, all pointed at the posse. Dismay registered on every face there. Hands were lifted skyward.
Will looked around, confused and amazed. There were faces he knew. Men he had ridden up the Kansas trail with—there were the two Quintin brothers, Charlie and Meredith; the Mexican cousins, Juan and Pepe Mora; Pete Hasso, limping badly on one leg; Riley Brack; Will’s boys: Clay, George and Jody. The place seemed full of Storms and former Storm riders.
And there, her face grim was his wife, Martha. On the stoop he saw even his two daughters. Was he going out of his head? The two Misses Hargreaves sailed with grace from the house, smiling with delight, ahead of them they pushed a purple-faced Ed Brack.
‘What in hell’s goin’ on here?’ Will demanded.
Martha pushed her way through the men and said: ‘Language, Will.’
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Somebody cut his bonds. He worked on his wrists, his mind in utter confusion. Juan and Pepe Mora were working through the posse collecting their guns.
‘I decided it was time to put a stop to all this foolishness,’ Martha said.
‘I am sheriff of this county,’ Ransome was intoning, ‘and this is a legally constituted posse. You prevent us from carrying out our duty at your peril, ma’am.’
‘Tush,’ declared Horatia Hargreaves, ‘that is all nonsense, as you are well aware, Mr. Ransome. You are carrying out the orders of Air Brack who is without doubt something of a scoundrel. Ah, Mr. Storm, I see that you managed to catch the man you wanted. Has he offered you the information you needed?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Then I suggest he is taken into the house and he commits it to paper. Pen and paper await him and my niece will write it all down in a neat hand for his signature. Perhaps you would be good enough to oblige me, Mr. Mora.’
Juan Mora kicked Aintree in the direction of the house.
Brack said: ‘Ransome, arrest these men. This had gone far enough.’
‘And you, Mr. Brack, have gone too far,’ Horatia declared, ‘I suggest you remain silent. Charges will be prepared against you in due course. We shall give Mr. Ransome the opportunity to behave like a proper sheriff and I am sure that he will not fail us. Will you, Mr. Ransome?’
Charlie Quintin jabbed him in the back with a gun-barrel and he said hastily: ‘No, ma’am. You give me the evidence and I’ll do my duty.’ He didn’t look at Ed Brack. He sweated profusely.
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