Savage Country

by William W. Johnstone

  “Professional jealousy?”

  “There’s nothing to be jealous of.” Scheer folded his arms across his chest. “I’m twice as good at my job as he is at his.”

  That display of puffed-up pride did as much as anything to convince Frank that Walt Scheer was telling the truth. The man was what he seemed to be. He was spying on Conrad’s railroad not because he wanted to sabotage it, but because the company he worked for wanted the job of building the spur line for itself. Of course, before they could do that, the New Mexico, Rio Grande, and Oriental would have to fail....

  “How do you know the railroad’s not going to reach Ophir?” Frank asked sharply. “Even if you’re telling me the truth, Scheer, how do I know that other hombres working for your bosses aren’t trying to stop that railroad?”

  With a shake of his head, Scheer said, “I wouldn’t know anything about that. I was just sent up here to study the route and figure out if there were ways we could improve upon it. There are, and that’s what I intend to report to my bosses—unless you’re planning on killing me.”

  Frank lowered the Peacemaker and slipped it back into its holster. “Not unless you give me more cause than you have so far,” he said.

  “As for how I know the NM, RG, and O is going to fail . . . I don’t. But with men like Nathan Buckhalter working for it, I don’t see how the line’s ever going to succeed.”

  Frank wasn’t convinced that Buckhalter was as bad at his job as Scheer made him out to be. At the moment, that wasn’t really important, though. He said, “Somebody has been causing trouble for the line and trying to make sure it never gets through to Ophir. You got any ideas about that?”

  “Not really.” Scheer paused and then added, “Unless those men who are camped over that way about a mile have something to do with it.” He pointed to the east, over a series of rugged ridges.

  Frank’s interest quickened. “There’s a camp over there?”

  Scheer shrugged and said, “There was yesterday when I saw it. I couldn’t say if the men are still there or not.”

  “You can find the place again?”

  “Of course.” Scheer sounded a little offended. “I’m an expert at terrain and topography. I don’t get lost.”

  “Grab your hat and prove it.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “You’re going to show me where this camp is.”

  “Why should I do that? And by the way, you never told me who you are.”

  “My name is Frank Morgan. Some folks call me The Drifter.”

  Scheer’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard that name. You’re some sort of... of gunfighter.”

  “When I have to be. Right now, though, I’m the fella you’re going to take to that camp you saw yesterday—and you’d better hope that you’ve been telling me the truth.”

  Chapter 22

  As Frank had suspected, there was a trail leading down from the other end of the ledge, which was about a quarter of a mile away. That was how Scheer had gotten up here. The trail led down to a little canyon with a tiny creek running through it. A few trees and some sparse grass lined the stream. Scheer’s horse was picketed there, cropping at the grass.

  Scheer led the animal while he and Frank walked, as they made their way back to the spot where Frank had left Stormy and Dog. The Appaloosa tossed his head when the two men came into view, and Dog bounded forward, stopping to growl at Scheer when he came closer.

  “Easy, Dog,” Frank told him. He wasn’t ready to declare Scheer a friend yet, so he didn’t give the command that would have told Dog it was all right to trust the stranger. Dog kept a wary eye on Scheer.

  “Is that a wolf ?” the engineer asked nervously.

  “Not full-blooded. He might have a little wolf in him, though. I’m not all that sure about his ancestry.”

  Scheer watched Dog as warily as Dog watched him. “He looks like he wants to tear my throat out.”

  “He won’t, though—not unless you do something he thinks is a threat to me.”

  “What if he’s wrong?”

  “That would be a shame,” Frank said dryly.

  He had been carrying Scheer’s rifle. Now he put it back in the saddle boot on the man’s horse, telling Scheer to keep his hands away from it unless they were attacked. Scheer promised him hastily that he would do so.

  They mounted up, and Frank said, “All right, take me to that other camp you were talking about.”

  Scheer led the way. They rode through canyons and along ridges and past towering spires of rock. Sometimes, they passed through narrow defiles where they had to ride one behind the other and the sky was nothing but a narrow blue band between dizzyingly high walls of stone. Finally, they came to the top of a slope that was thickly covered with pine and juniper trees. “Down there,” Scheer said a half whisper. “There’s a little valley, and that’s where the camp is.”

  Frank hadn’t come anywhere near this place during his search the day before, and it might have been weeks before he came across it without Scheer to lead him here. He couldn’t see anything because of the trees, but as he leaned forward in the saddle and sniffed, he smelled wood smoke in the air. Just a faint tang, but it was there, an unmistakable indication that there was a campfire somewhere close by.

  “Get off your horse,” Frank said quietly to Scheer. He swung down from his own saddle.

  “What are you going to do?” Scheer asked as he dismounted.

  “Go down there and take a look around. You’re coming with me.”

  Scheer held up his hands. “Listen, I’m not a gunfighter. I’m not any kind of a fighter. I’m just an engineer. I draw up plans. I can barely shoot a rifle.”

  “I don’t plan on doing any fighting. I just want to get a look at the place and see what I’m up against.”

  Scheer’s face was beaded with nervous sweat. “I probably ought to stay here and hold the horses.”

  Even though Frank had just about decided that Scheer was telling the truth, he didn’t want the man at his back while he was trying to sneak up on the place where the saboteurs were camped. He said, “We’ll tie the horses so they can’t wander off. You’re coming with me.” He pulled the rifle from its sheath and pressed it into Scheer’s hands. “Here. You shouldn’t need it, but just in case you do.”

  Scheer was pale, and his hands trembled a little as he took the rifle. “You’re going to get me killed.”

  “I’ll do my best not to,” Frank said. If Scheer was putting on an act, he was damned good at it.

  They started moving down the slope through the trees. Frank gave Scheer whispered instructions on where and how to place his feet so that their progress would be as quiet as possible. Scheer nodded, and his nerves seemed to relax a little. The prospect of sneaking up on the camp had scared him, but now that he was actually doing something, he wasn’t quite as nervous.

  After about a hundred yards, the trees started to thin out some. Frank slowed down even more until he and Scheer were barely creeping forward, using every bit of cover they could find. Scheer wasn’t doing too badly for a man who was clearly not accustomed to the wilderness. As Frank heard voices, he dropped into a crouch behind some undergrowth and motioned for Scheer to do likewise. Carefully, Frank parted the brush and peered through the little gap he had made in the branches.

  They were almost at the bottom of the slope. The ground leveled out into a small, grassy park. On the other side of that clearing, about a quarter of a mile away, a cliff rose some two hundred feet into the air. The rock face bulged out, creating a cavelike space at the base of it. That was where the men were camped. The overhang broke up the smoke from their fire, dispersing it so that it wouldn’t be visible from a distance. They were also protected from the rain there, and that was going to come in handy because the clouds Frank had seen earlier in the day had finally concentrated enough to form a mountain shower. A drop of rain hit the back of Frank’s hand as he and Scheer crouched there looking toward the cliff. Thunder rumbled quietly i
n the distance.

  “What do we do now?” Scheer asked in a whisper as more drops of rain pattered down around them.

  “We get to the construction camp as fast as we can and pick up some reinforcements there. Then we’ll come back and have it out with those saboteurs.”

  “How do you know they’re to blame for what’s been happening to the railroad?”

  “I don’t, not for sure, but if they have a reasonable explanation for being camped out here like this, they’ll have to convince those railroaders.”

  “I don’t like this,” Scheer said. “Things could get out of hand, especially if those men are innocent.”

  “I don’t much cotton to it either. But I’ll see to it that the railroad men don’t turn into a lynch mob,” Frank assured him.

  They started backtracking up the slope. The sky grew darker and the wind picked up, although the rain was still sporadic. They were almost at the top when Frank suddenly heard voices over the soughing of the wind in the trees. A second later, Stormy gave an angry nicker, and Dog began to growl. Somebody was up there where Frank and Scheer had left the horses.

  “Careful, Royal!” a man called out. “That varmint looks like a wolf. He’s liable to come after you.”

  “If he moves, shoot him,” another voice growled.

  Frank’s heart took an angry leap in his chest as he heard Dog being threatened. He abandoned stealth and burst through the undergrowth with a crackling of brush. Behind him, Scheer did his best to keep up.

  The Peacemaker was already in Frank’s hand as he emerged from the trees and brush into the open. His keen, experienced eyes took in the scene in an instant. Four armed men stood there while a fifth hung back about a hundred yards holding their horses. The men had spotted Stormy, Dog, and Scheer’s horse and had snuck up here to see who the animals belonged to.

  Frank didn’t recognize any of the roughly dressed hombres, but the same wasn’t true for them. One of the men yelled, “It’s Morgan! Gun him!”

  The pistols in their hands jerked up and spouted flame. “Get back!” Frank shouted to Scheer as he triggered a return shot that smashed the shoulder of one of the men. He backed away, still firing, hoping that the trees would give him and the engineer some cover.

  But Scheer, backing up hastily, tripped over a rock and fell backward with a startled yell. The rifle flew out of his hands as he toppled down the slope. Frank knew he couldn’t expect any help from Scheer in this fight.

  Dog and Stormy were pitching in, though. As Stormy lunged forward, rearing up on his hind legs and slashing the air with his deadly iron-shod hooves, Dog launched himself in an attack as well. The big cur slammed into one of the gunmen and took him down, tearing at the screaming man with his teeth. Another man left his feet in a frantic dive to avoid Stormy’s rush. The big Appaloosa was an awesome sight as lightning flickered in the sky above him.

  That left only one of the four hardcases who wasn’t either wounded or under attack by Stormy and Dog. That man emptied his Colt in Frank’s direction, forcing The Drifter to throw himself to the ground and roll behind a tree for cover. The last couple of bullets slammed into the trunk above his head.

  Before Frank could bring his Colt to bear, the gunman yanked a second revolver from a cross-draw holster on his left hip and bounded forward. Scheer’s out-of-control tumble had come to an end when the engineer crashed into a tree trunk. The gunman dropped into a crouch beside the stunned Scheer and jammed the barrel of his pistol against Scheer’s head.

  “Morgan!” the gunman bellowed. “Give it up or I’ll blow his brains out!”

  Lying about twenty feet away along the slope, Frank had no trouble seeing that the man’s thumb looped over the hammer of the gun was all that was holding it back. Even if Frank shot him and killed him instantly, his thumb would slip off the hammer and the gun would go off, putting a bullet through Scheer’s skull. For a second, Frank considered trying a shot at the gun itself, in hopes of knocking it away from the engineer’s head before it could fire, but he knew that was hopeless. He had promised Scheer he would do his best not to get him killed, so there was only one thing he could do now, even though it went against the grain for him.

  “Take it easy!” Frank called to the gunman. “I’m coming out!”

  “Come with them meat hooks held high, or I’ll kill him!” the man threatened.

  Frank climbed to his feet and came forward slowly, his hands lifted slightly above his head. The Colt was still in his right hand, but he had flipped it around so that he held it by the cylinder. As he came closer, the gunman ordered, “All right, put that smokepole on the ground and step away from it.”

  After placing the Peacemaker on the ground, Frank moved away from it. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. The rain began to fall a little harder.

  “Call off your dog and your horse, damn it!”

  “Dog!” Frank said. “Dog, come here! Stormy!” He whistled. “Back off, Stormy!”

  Dog obeyed the command reluctantly, but after a second he left his victim moaning on the ground and trotted over to Frank. Stormy stopped rearing up and stood where he was, fiercely blowing air out through his distended nostrils.

  The hardcase, who seemed to be the boss of the bunch, straightened to his feet and pulled Scheer upright with him. The engineer had recovered somewhat from crashing into the tree, but now he was pale and terrified from being threatened with the gun. The man kept the pistol barrel pressed against Scheer’s skull as he jerked his head toward the top of the slope and barked at Frank, “Get movin’.”

  Frank trudged up the slope. The gunman yelled, “Brady, get over here!” and the man holding the horses hurried forward. The boss continued. “Get Morgan’s gun and the rifle this bastard dropped, and then tend to Slovack and Dennehy.”

  The man pushed Scheer toward Frank, and then stepped back to cover both of them as the engineer stumbled forward. Frank caught hold of Scheer’s arm to steady him. There was no doubt now that Scheer had been telling the truth about not working with the saboteurs. Nor did Frank wonder any longer if these men were part of the gang trying to stop the spur line from getting through to Ophir. The fact that they had recognized him and immediately tried to kill him was proof enough of that.

  It proved something else too, but Frank put that aside for the moment. He had more pressing worries, such as staying alive and trying to see to it that Walt Scheer did too.

  The man called Brady went first to the hombre Frank had shot and tore strips of cloth off the wounded man’s shirt to use as bandages. He tied them tightly around the bullet-shattered shoulder, ignoring the shrieks of pain that his rough ministrations brought. “Gotta get the bleedin’ stopped,” he muttered, as much to himself as to the patient.

  Then he moved over to the other injured man and began binding up those wounds as best he could too. Glancing up at the boss, he said, “I don’t know if Dennehy’s gonna make it, Royal. Damn dog like to gnawed his arm right off.”

  “Do what you can for him,” Royal said. To the other man, the one who’d had to jump for his life when Stormy came after him, Royal snapped, “Thad, don’t let them horses wander off while Brady’s busy.”

  “Sure thing, Royal.” Thad gathered up the reins and held them tightly.

  “While you’re at it, get the Winchester off Morgan’s saddle.”

  Thad swallowed. “I, uh, I ain’t sure about gettin’ that close to that big spotted horse, Royal. He don’t like me.”

  Royal grunted a curse. “Somebody’s got to, blast it. Now do what I told you. Morgan, you keep that horse calmed down, or I’ll kill the son of a bitch.”

  “Easy, Stormy,” Frank said in a strong, calm voice. “Easy, boy.” He looked at Thad. “You can get the rifle now. Just don’t make any sudden moves while you’re doing it.”

  Stormy looked like he could barely keep from unleashing his fury as Thad came up and slid the rifle out of the saddle boot. The young gunman backed off in a hurry once he had the Winchester.
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br />   The rain was coming down steadily now. The wind had turned raw and chilly. Scheer said to Royal, “Mister, can I get my hat?” He pointed to where his hat had landed when it came off during the unexpected fall.

  “Go ahead,” Royal said. “Brady, you about finished with Dennehy?”

  Brady came to his feet. “I’ve done all I can for him. Once we get back to camp, maybe I can patch him up a little better.”

  “All right. You and Thad get him on his horse. Slovack, stop your whimperin’. Get up and get mounted.”

  The man Frank had shot said, “I . . . I don’t know if I can, Royal. My shoulder really hurts.”

  “I got a cure for it,” Royal grated. “It’s called a bullet through the head. Your shoulder won’t hurt a damn bit after that.”

  Muttering curses, Slovack climbed slowly to his feet and staggered over to his horse.

  Royal waggled the barrel of his gun at Frank and Scheer. “Mount up, you two. Morgan, you go right ahead and try something if you’re of a mind to. It’d give me great pleasure to ventilate you.”

  “You’re the boss right now, Royal,” Frank said.

  The man uttered a humorless chuckle. “Meanin’ it ain’t always gonna be that way? I don’t think so, Morgan. Now that we’ve got our hands on you, we ain’t lettin’ go. I’m tempted to just go ahead and kill you here an’ now, but I’m gonna hold off for a while and think it over. Might be some way we can make even better use of you.”

  Frank wasn’t sure what Royal meant by that. He would never cooperate with the gang, that was for sure. But the important thing was that he and Scheer hadn’t been executed out of hand, and as long as they were still alive, there was a chance they could do something to turn the tables on their captors. Frank was going to hold onto that hope for as long as possible.

  Once everyone was mounted up and Thad was leading the horse on which the half-conscious Dennehy rode, Royal said, “All right, let’s go.” The group moved out, riding along the top of the slope until they came to a trail that led down to the little valley where the camp was located. They turned and rode downhill, and the rain slashed at them, hard and cold and merciless.