There were grim nods of agreement from most of the men in the group.
“Just give us a few minutes to go get our guns and our horses,” Donohue went on. “Then we’ll be back, and we’ll all ride out to the Lazy F together.”
“All right,” Horn said with a nod. He looked at the sky. “Just don’t take too long about it. It’s liable to be night before we can get there, and I’ve got a hunch Sandeen won’t wait very long to strike once darkness falls.”
* * *
As the crowd dispersed, the stocky, fair-haired man at the rear of it walked quickly back to the Verde Saloon. Mitch Kite was a man in turmoil. From the sound of everything Kite had heard, Sandeen had reverted all the way back to his hoot-owl ways and was ready now to take what he wanted by force. This might be a good time for Kite to take the loot he had stashed in a carpetbag under a loose board in the storeroom and light a shuck out of these parts. The law was in on this now, in the person of that special deputy, Horn. Kite had heard of Tom Horn and knew the man was no more honest than he had to be, but like most Westerners, Horn had a code and stuck to it. Right now, he was working on the side of the law and nothing would sway him from that path. Next month, Horn might sign on with a man every bit as bad as Sandeen and would then be loyal to him until the job was done. Tom Horn was the sort of man most folks thought Frank Morgan was.
Yet Morgan and Horn had one thing in common—they were both very dangerous men, and now that they were working on the same side, Sandeen wasn’t fully aware of what he was getting into by taking them on. Somebody ought to warn him, Kite thought, and he considered saddling up a horse and riding for Saber as hard as he could, in hopes that he could get there before Sandeen gathered up his army of gunslingers and rode on the Lazy F. In the future, Sandeen might be very appreciative of somebody who brought him a warning like that.
So that was the dilemma facing Kite as he stood at the bar of the Verde Saloon and poured himself a drink. He tossed the fiery liquor down his throat and tried to figure out what to do. Cut and run, taking what he could—or keep betting on a Sandeen victory and play the game out to the end?
“You all right, Boss?” Speckler asked from the other side of the hardwood.
Kite reached a decision. He thumped the empty glass down on the bar and said, “I’m fine. Go out back to the shed and slap the saddle on my horse.”
“Sure, Boss. You goin’ somewhere?”
“Yeah,” Kite said.
And he hoped it wasn’t straight to hell.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Frank didn’t really want to give Laura Flynn the details of the tragic scene he and Horn had discovered on the trail between the Lazy F and San Remo, but she was insistent. Anyway, the men who had been ambushed were her riders and had been following her orders when they were killed. She deserved to hear the truth about what had happened to them.
“Then . . . it really is my fault that they’re all dead,” she said with a catch in her voice as she and Frank sat in the parlor of the ranch house with the still-unconscious Jeff Buckston.
“Some people might blame you,” Frank said, “but they’d be wrong. Whenever something bad happens, some folks are always quick to jump on whoever it happened to and try to claim that it was their own fault, that they brought whatever it was on their own heads. But that lets the varmints who actually did the bad thing off the hook. Nobody forced Riley and the rest of Sandeen’s men to pull the triggers on their guns. They made that choice all on their own. When somebody does something evil and folks say it’s not their fault and try to blame the victim . . .” Frank shook his head in incomprehension. “Well, that’s just crazy.”
Laura smiled weakly. “I don’t know if you’re just trying to make me feel better or not, Mr. Morgan, but I appreciate your kind words. I’ll always carry the deaths of those men in my heart.”
“It’s all right to mourn them,” Frank said. “But when you get done with that, it’s time to strike back at the evil bastards who are really responsible.”
“Yes. I can see that. But you said we can’t take the fight to Sandeen, that we don’t have enough men.”
“I’ve been thinking about that,” Frank mused. “How attached are you to this place?”
She looked at him in surprise. “The Lazy F, you mean? Why, it’s become my home. And it was my uncle’s home for thirty years, too, so that means something to me as well.”
“I’m not talking about the ranch itself. I mean this house, the barns and corrals and the smokehouse, all the things like that.”
“Well . . . of course, the ranch house itself means a great deal to me because of Uncle Howard, but . . . if something ever happened to it, I suppose it could be rebuilt. . . .” She frowned at him. “Exactly what do you have in mind, Mr. Morgan?”
Frank glanced out the window at the yard in front of the house. The light was fading now. In another hour, it would be dark outside. And not long after dark had fallen, Sandeen would strike. Frank was convinced of that.
“We’re easy targets here,” he said. “Sandeen will have us outnumbered probably four to one. And there’s no guarantee that Horn will get back from San Remo with a posse in time to help. In fact, we don’t know for sure if he’ll even be able to raise a posse.”
Laura said, “I think he will. Uncle Howard was well liked in the settlement, and people are starting to understand just what sort of man Ed Sandeen really is.”
“That’s true,” Frank agreed, “but you still can’t count on folks picking up a gun and risking their own life until they actually do it.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“If we got out of here, along with the men you have left, we could hit Sandeen from behind when he attacks the place. The odds would still be against us, but at least we’d have the element of surprise on our side. We’d be able to move around, too, instead of being pinned down in the buildings.”
“Would that be enough to . . . to make a difference?”
Frank smiled. “You never know until you try. Besides, I don’t like just sitting and waiting for trouble.”
“No, you’d rather go out and stir it up,” Laura said with a smile of her own. “I’m no strategist, Mr. Morgan, but I like the sound of your plan. As far as I’m concerned, there’s only one thing wrong with it.”
“What’s that?”
“I can’t leave. Mr. Buckston is still unconscious, and he shouldn’t be moved until he wakes up. We can’t risk injuring him even more, and I won’t leave him.”
Frank frowned. That was a problem, all right.
“When Sandeen gets here, if he finds the place deserted he’s liable to torch all the buildings. That’s why I asked how attached you were to them. And if you’re here, he’ll take you and use you as a hostage to get what he wants.”
“Then it’ll be up to you and the rest of the men to see that he doesn’t get the chance to do any of those things . . . won’t it?”
Frank had to chuckle at her cool demeanor. “I guess so,” he said.
She reached over and touched the butt of the gun that lay on a small table beside her. “Besides, I’m armed. Ed Sandeen won’t take me without a fight. Or should I do as I’ve heard the women did in the days of the Apache raids and save the last bullet for myself?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Frank advised. “Sandeen’s pretty bad, but he’s not an Apache. Besides, no matter what happens tonight, his days are numbered. I imagine Tom Horn has already sent word to Sheriff O’Neill about what’s been going on in these parts. Sooner or later the law will stop Sandeen, even if we don’t.”
“All right,” Laura said. “I’m in agreement with your plan, as long as you agree that I’ll stay here with Mr. Buckston. I’ll keep Acey-Deucy with me, too. He wouldn’t be of much help to you in a running gun battle.”
Frank nodded. “I’ll fetch in the other men and let you talk to them. I’ve got a hunch they won’t take orders from me unless you tell them to.”
“Of course. I
’ll make sure they understand what they’re to do.”
Frank waited until the shadows of dusk had gathered and thickened even more before he slipped out of the house and began making his way around the remaining outbuildings of the Lazy F headquarters, passing the word to the men who were forted up inside them that they were to gather in the main house so that Miss Laura could talk to them. They cooperated, although some of them were a little reluctant and obviously still distrustful of Frank. They had lingering doubts about whether he was responsible for Howard Flynn’s death.
Frank was cautious about moving around in the open and warned the punchers to do likewise, because it was possible that Sandeen had a man up in the hills watching the ranch through field glasses. In order for his plan to be effective, he and the Lazy F crew had to leave headquarters without Sandeen being aware of what they were doing. All the lamps had been blown out in the house, and one by one, the men slipped in and gathered in the parlor.
In the gloom of the parlor, Frank made a head count and found that he had fourteen men at his disposal. Several of them were wounded, but swore they could ride and hold up their end in a fight. He had no choice but to believe them. Laura told them the plan, then said, “You’ll take orders from Mr. Morgan. He’s the most experienced at this sort of thing.”
That was right, he thought. He had probably risked his life against well-nigh impossible odds more than any of these cowboys, tough and rugged though they might be.
One of the men objected. “How do we know this fella Morgan is tellin’ the truth?” he questioned. “He’s a gunfighter, just like the polecats who ride for Sandeen, and I still ain’t sure he didn’t gun down the boss.”
“I’m sure,” Laura said firmly, “and those are my orders.” She paused. “However, I’m not going to order any man to go along who doesn’t want to. You can draw your time and ride out right now, and chances are you’ll be well away from here before Sandeen attacks. The choice is up to all of you.”
An embarrassed silence fell over the men, and after a moment the cowboy who had spoken up mumbled, “Aw, heck, Miss Laura, I didn’t say nothin’ about drawin’ my time. If there’s gonna be a fight, I sure don’t want to miss all the fun.”
“Me, neither,” another man said, and there was a chorus of agreement. All of the ranch hands were going to stick, just as Frank had thought they would.
“All right, then,” Laura said with a satisfied nod. “I’ll turn things over to Mr. Morgan.”
“Thanks,” Frank said as he faced the men. He couldn’t see them very well in the shadows, but he could sense their rapt attention. “We need to move fast, but we can’t rush things and get careless. One by one, saddle your horses and lead them away from here, but don’t mount up just yet. Move as quietly as you can, and don’t light any lamps or even strike a lucifer to light a quirly. We need a place to rendezvous. You boys know the country around here better than I do. Any suggestions?”
After a moment one of the men said, “There’s a bald knob about a mile and a half north of here. I reckon we all know where it is and can find it in the dark.”
Again, the men muttered agreement.
Frank nodded. “That’ll do. I remember seeing it when I was looking over the range, so I can find it, too. We’ll drift up there, and as soon as we’re all together, we’ll circle around so that we can guard the trail from Saber that leads up here. If Sandeen and his men ride by, we’ll let them go and give them a little lead before we fall in behind them. When the trouble starts, we’ll hit them from the rear, just as hard and fast as we can. If luck is with us, we’ll drop enough of them fast enough to even up the odds a little.”
“I don’t much like leavin’ Miss Laura here with just the cook and Buck,” a puncher said.
Without hesitation, Laura said, “That’s my decision to make. Mr. Buckston can’t be moved. And besides, the place has to look like someone is here, doesn’t it, Mr. Morgan? That will draw Sandeen in and make him concentrate his attention on the house instead of what might be behind him.”
“That’s good thinking,” Frank said with a nod. “Once we’re all gone, have Acey-Deucy light some of the lamps in here, as if it’s a normal evening on the Lazy F.”
Laura laughed humorlessly. “As if anything around here will ever be truly normal again.”
“You never know,” Frank told her. “As long as there’s hope to hang on to, anything can happen. We’ll see how things play out tonight.”
“Yes, of course.” Laura faced the men again. “Before you go, I . . . I just want to say thank you for everything you’ve done and for sticking by me. I know it can’t be easy working for a woman—”
“You ain’t just a woman, Miss Laura,” one of the punchers said. “You’re Howard Flynn’s niece. You’re the boss of the Lazy F now, and we ride for the brand, by God!”
Again the men spoke up, voicing their agreement.
“Let’s go,” Frank said. “Remember what I told you . . . move quick, but make sure nobody sees you, either, if Sandeen has watchers posted.”
It was an even bet whether or not they could actually get away from the ranch without Sandeen being aware of it and turn the tables on the rogue cattleman. But it was the best chance they had, and the odds would still be against them.
But not if Tom Horn was able to bring help from San Remo and reached the Lazy F in time. Frank knew it was a long shot, but if a posse hit Sandeen’s raiders from one direction while Frank and the punchers were attacking from another . . .
Like he had told Laura Flynn, as long as there was hope to cling to, anything could happen.
* * *
In his life, Mitch Kite had spent plenty of time in a saddle, often fleeing at a gallop from a posse or an outraged husband or a vengeful relative. But it had been quite a while since he had ridden this hard and fast, and the pace was taking a painful toll on his body. Clearly, living the life of a saloon keeper had softened him up some.
But he made a lot better time than a bunch of townies from San Remo would, and it was only dusk when he rode up to the hacienda at Saber. He saw right away that something was going on. Men were leading saddle horses out of the barns and corrals, and other men were standing around checking the loads in their rifles and six-guns. A grim but anticipatory atmosphere hung over the place.
Sandeen was getting ready to go to war.
A stocky, bearded hard case named Devereaux was standing in the open wrought-iron gate that led into the big house’s courtyard. Kite reined his mount to a stop and asked the man, “Where’s Sandeen?”
“Right here,” came the answer from inside the courtyard, and Sandeen himself strode past Devereaux, followed by the dapper and deadly Vern Riley. “What the hell are you doing here, Kite?” Sandeen demanded. He was wearing range clothes instead of his usual suit, and a gun belt and holstered six-gun were strapped around his waist. “You ought to be in San Remo, looking after my saloon.”
“You may not have a saloon come morning if you don’t listen to me, Ed.” Kite suppressed the flare of anger he felt at Sandeen’s contemptuous tone of voice. Sandeen might be the big skookum he-wolf around these parts now, but once upon a time Mitch Kite had been a man to stand aside from, too. He continued. “The law is on to what you’re doing.”
Darkly, Sandeen frowned up at him. “What the devil are you talking about? What law?”
“Buckey O’Neill sent a special deputy in to poke around when he heard rumors about a range war up here. It’s that fella Tom Horn.”
“Horn!” Vern Riley exclaimed. “Hell, he’s not much better than an outlaw himself.”
“Maybe not, but right now he’s wearing a badge,” Kite said. “And it gets worse. He met up with Frank Morgan, and he believes Morgan’s story about him not killing Howard Flynn.” Kite looked at Riley. “You got lucky Morgan came along when he did that day, Vern, so you could pin the killing on him, but luck doesn’t always last.”
“Damn it!” Riley grated. “Morgan was the one who wa
s really lucky that day. He was the one I planned to bushwhack after I circled around and got ahead of him. But then Flynn came ridin’ along, and I thought, why the hell not?”
Sandeen snapped, “And you acted without my orders when you killed him, too.”
“You didn’t seem to mind when Flynn was dead and it looked like Morgan was going to get the blame,” Riley bristled.
Impatiently, Kite said, “None of that matters now. Morgan and Horn have teamed up. They found those Lazy F punchers you and the boys wiped out, Vern.”
Riley shrugged. “Dead men can’t talk.”
“Yeah, but that darky Glover isn’t dead.”
“What?” Sandeen burst out. He swung around to face Riley again. “You told me—”
“Hell, he was shot, and then that wagon turned over on him!” Riley defended himself. “How the hell was I supposed to know—”
“You could have ridden down there and put some more bullets in him to be sure!”
“Horn heard Glover say that he saw you among the bushwhackers, Vern,” Kite said as Sandeen and Riley glared at each other. “That means the law will be coming after you, Ed.”
Sandeen shook his head. “No one can prove I ordered that ambush, any more than Morgan could prove that I sent Lannigan after him. I can always claim that Vern acted on his own—”
“Throw me to the wolves, you mean!” Riley objected. “The hell you will! If it comes down to it, I’ll tell the law everything I know about you, Sandeen, about all those banks you robbed back in Kansas and those trains you held up and those killings in Montana—”
The gun that Mitch Kite had slipped out of his coat suddenly roared as flame lanced from its barrel. Riley was driven backward against the adobe wall by the slug that tore into his chest. He tried to lift his shotgun, but Kite fired twice more. The bullets made Riley bounce off the wall and pitch forward on his face, dropping the scattergun as he fell. He kicked once and then lay still.
Sandeen looked down at him impassively. “Damn fool. He should have known better than to threaten to spill his guts to the law.” He gave Kite a curt nod. “Good work, Mitch. You saved me the trouble of killing him.”
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