“You want us to call a doctor for you?” Dewey hollered.
“You old son of a bitch!” a man hollered. “I’m gonna stake you out over an anthill and listen to you beg for mercy.”
“Come on and try, outlaw!” Dewey yelled.
“Hey, Morgan?” another man yelled.
“Right here,” Frank shouted. “What do you want?”
“Them women!”
“Forget it.”
“And them young boys too.”
“Scum,” Julie said.
“Them boys will bring a pretty penny. They can be trained as house servants . . . among other things.”
Laughter rang out from the desert floor; unseen, obscene laughter.
Frank said nothing.
“There’ll be more of us along in a few hours, Morgan,” an outlaw called. “Then we’ll rush you.”
“That’s a stage road behind you,” Frank called. “There’ll be travelers along.”
“No, they won’t, Morgan. Stage and freight wagons ain’t movin’. Injun trouble. Everything is halted both directions.”
“Well, that answers the question about why we ain’t seen nobody for a couple of days,” Dewey said. “Damn!”
“You still got some dynamite, don’t you?” Frank asked.
“Shore. I stocked up back in town.” Dewey laughed. “And yeah, I got my bow and plenty of arrows. You have a real vicious mind, Drifter, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told. More than once.”
“For a fact.”
“Get busy rigging up some arrows, Dewey.”
“I’m on it.”
“Morgan?” The call came from the desert.
“I’m still here.”
“Give us the females and them young boys, and you and that damned old useless coot can ride out.”
“Damned old useless coot!” Dewey fumed. “I’ll show them no-goods about worthless. Damn their eyes.”
Frank smiled. He knew that it wasn’t a very smart move to make Dewey angry. The mountain man had some years on him, but he was still very spry and as strong as an enraged grizzly bear.
“My leg’s broke, I tell you,” the wounded outlaw hollered. “Somebody come hep me.”
He was ignored by his comrades in crime.
“Damn it, Pennyworth,” the wounded man called. “Didn’t I hep you when you was pinned under that hoss?”
The outlaw named Pennyworth did not reply.
“Come hep me, Pennyworth!”
“Yeah, Pennyworth,” Frank yelled. “Go on and help your friend. I won’t fire on you. Go on and help him.”
“You give me your word, Morgan?” Pennyworth yelled.
“I give you my word that I won’t fire on you,” Frank yelled.
A man jumped up and Julie nailed him, putting a rifle slug in his chest and dropping him like a hot rock.
“Damn you, Morgan!” another outlaw yelled. “You give your word.”
“I said I wouldn’t fire on him,” Frank called. “I can’t speak for everybody else.”
“You’re all a bunch of sorry no-’counts,” another outlaw hollered. “Can’t none of you be trusted.”
“Now, that there is plumb pitiful,” Dewey said, speaking as he rigged a stick of dynamite onto an arrow. “Them talkin’ ’bout someone else not bein’ trustworthy.”
“You’ll pay for that, Morgan,” another voice added. It was a voice that was familiar to Frank.
“Zeke Farrow?” Frank called.
“That’s right, Morgan.”
“I thought that was you. You got Ben Bright with you?”
“Shore do, Morgan. And this time, you ain’t gonna get out of this alive. We gonna kill you, Morgan, and cut your damned head off and put it in a bag and show it off.”
“You will excuse me if I don’t wish you luck in your endeavors.”
“You funny, Morgan. I got to give you that. You can be real comical.”
“You have my permission to laugh yourselves to death.”
“I’m sorta sorry we have to kill you, Morgan,” Zeke yelled. “You do make me laugh.”
“You know them fellers, Drifter?” Dewey asked.
“Yes. Two hired guns out of Texas. They’ve been around for years.”
“They good?”
“No. They’ve botched nearly every job they’ve ever been hired to do. But they’re both cold-blooded killers.”
“I got some arrows ready to go,” Dewey said.
“Not yet,” Frank cautioned. “If we got away from this mangy crew, we’d still have the second group to deal with.”
“Let them all gather and bunch up, then deal with ’em?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds good to me. We shore got the best position.” He looked around. The girls had rigged the tarp, built a small fire, and were boiling water for coffee. “I’m salavatin’ for a cup of strong coffee.”
“Won’t be long,” Frank said.
“Somebody hep me!” the wounded outlaw moaned. “My leg’s all swole up. I can’t stop the bleedin’. I’m in real misery.”
“Poor feller,” Dewey said sarcastically. “He’s gonna start hollerin’ for his mommy any minute now.”
“Hey, Morgan!” The shout wavered through the blisteringly hot air. “You hear me, Morgan?”
“I hear you, Ben.” Frank looked at Dewey. “Zeke’s buddy. Ben Bright.”
“Is he?”
“Is he what?” Frank asked.
“Bright.”
“Hell, no. He’s as dumb as a sack of hair. What do you want, Ben?” Frank yelled.
“Them girls with you ain’t worth dyin’ over, Morgan.”
“I have no plans for dying, Ben.”
“You must be sweet on that woman, Morgan. She does look right tasty. Cain’t blame you for that. I plan on havin’ me a taste of her once we get shut of you and that old bastard.”
“You’ll rot in hell before that happens, you pig!” Julie yelled.
“She’s got spirit too,” Ben hollered. “I like that in a woman. I like it when they fight.”
Frank glanced over at Julie. She was grim-faced. He glanced at Susan. The girl-woman was holding her rifle at the ready. She caught Frank’s gaze and smiled. Frank winked at her and she winked back. She was game, for sure.
“You and Zeke better call it quits and ride out of here, Ben,” Frank called. “You can’t win.”
“How you figure that, Morgan?” another voice added.
“Because we’re right and you’re wrong, that’s how I figure it.”
“That don’t mean horse crap, Morgan. We got you outnumbered right now and in a couple of hours, there’ll be twice as many of us.”
Frank laughed at him. “Smell that coffee boiling? Sure smells good to me. Pretty soon we’re gonna have bacon frying and biscuits in the pan. What are you boys gonna eat?”
That got Frank a good cussing from several of the outlaws.
“I’ll piss on your grave, Morgan!” an outlaw yelled. “I’ll take that woman of yourn and hump her on your grave.”
Julie had located the position of the man and fired. The bullet ripped into the saguaro, just missing the man’s head. The outlaw fell back, unhit but hollering in fright from the close call.
“That’s what you’ll get from me!” Julie yelled.
“You boys relax for a while,” Dewey yelled. “We’re gonna have us some coffee. We’ll think about you, all hot and bothered out there in the sand and rattlesnakes.”
Eighteen
Those behind the walls of the old fort took shifts, drinking coffee and having something to eat, taking a few moments to relax in the shade of the canvas tarp. Frank petted Dog, silently reassuring the big cur that everything would be all right. Frank wasn’t too sure the dog believed any of it, but after a few minutes Dog found a spot next to the wall, turned around in circles about half a dozen times, then lay down and went to sleep.
“Why do dogs do that?” Tess asked as she refilled Frank’s c
offee cup.
“I think it’s just habit now, baby,” Frank replied. “But some people who are a lot smarter than me say that a long time ago, before man domesticated dogs, they were looking for snakes before they lay down.”
The girl thought about that for a moment. “Well, that makes sense.”
“Hey, Morgan!” The shout came drifting over the walls.
“Right here. What do you want?”
“Last chance, Morgan.”
“Last chance for what?”
“You and that old bastard ride out and leave us the females and the boys.”
Frank took a deep breath and told him in no uncertain terms where he could stick his suggestion. Tess and Sarah giggled, and Julie frowned at Frank’s language. Dewey made an obscene hand gesture toward the desert.
“I see the dust comin’up from the south, Morgan. That’d be our gang. It’ll soon be all over for you.”
“I reckon we’ll see about that,” Frank called. He looked over at Dewey. “You got lots of arrows ready to go?”
“Enough to blow that scummy bunch out yonder right straight to hell.”
“Won’t be long now.” Frank looked around him at the defenders of the ruins. “Everybody get a good drink of water and check your weapons. Fill any empty loops with ammunition. This new bunch will probably circle wide around and come in from the rear. Everybody get set behind good cover and stay alert.”
“I’m gonna have me another taste of that coffee,” Dewey said. “Refill your cup for you, Drifter?”
“No, I’m good. But thanks.”
Just as Frank had predicted, the new bunch, totaling a dozen or so, met with someone from the original gang out on the road, then began to circle wide to come up from the rear.
“You called that one, Drifter,” Dewey said.
“I think I see a man’s shoulder sticking out from behind one of those big plants out there,” Susan said.
“Shoot it, child,” Dewey told her.
Susan lifted her rifle and took aim, and her aim was solid. The man hollered and fell back, kicking up sand and debris in his pain. “I’m hit, I’m hit!” he shouted. “My shoulder’s broke. I cain’t use my arm. Help!”
“Who is that?” a man yelled.
“Carter,” another answered.
“Oh, God, I’m crippled for life,” Carter moaned.
“Oh, shut up, Carter,” someone called. “Crawl back to the road and die there. I’m tarred of listenin’ to you.”
“Johns, you ’bout as sorry as they come,” Carter groaned. “If I git the chance I’m gonna gut-shoot you.”
Johns cussed him.
“What a nice bunch of people,” Julie opined.
“Salt of the earth,” Dewey told her. “Drifter?” he shouted.
“Right here, Dewey.”
“Are we gonna waste time buryin’ these no-goods ’fore we pull out of here?”
“Hell, no.”
“Just leave ’em for the buzzards, hey?”
“That’s the plan.”
The men shouted the brief conversation so the outlaws could hear it.
“That ain’t decent,” a man yelled from outside the ruins.
“You’re not decent!” Julie joined in.
“I is too,” the outlaw yelled. “My mama raised me right.”
“Your mama was a whore,” Dewey hollered.
“Goddamn you!” the outlaw screamed, momentarily forgetting where he was as he jumped out from behind a huge saguaro.
Frank was waiting for something like that. He nailed the man in the center of the chest. The outlaw stretched out on the hot desert floor and died without making another sound.
“This bunch ain’t ’xactly eat up with smarts,” Dewey observed.
“That’s enough,” another voice added, the shout coming from one of the new bunch behind the ruins of the fort. “Can’t you see they’re baiting you? Now calm down and don’t pay any attention to those people.”
“Charlie, he called Pete’s mama a whore,” a man yelled.
“Hell, Dave, she probably was,” Charlie replied.
“Dave Moran,” Dewey said. “Got to be. I heard he was ridin’ with the Mason gang.”
“He’s a bad one,”Frank said. “And he’s got some smarts too.”
“For a fact. He’s been outlawin’ for twenty-five years and ain’t never served a day in prison.”
“Smoke Jensen put lead in him about ten years back. So I heard.”
“Yeah, he did. But Moran crawled off and recovered. Said he’d never go back to the Colorado high country.”
“You know Smoke Jensen, Mr. Morgan?” Danny called.
“I’ve met him from time to time.”
“He’s almost as famous as you.”
Frank smiled at that. He looked over at Dewey. The old mountain man was also smiling.
“You knew Preacher, didn’t you, Dewey?” Frank asked.
“Shore did. Hell of a man, that Preacher. He could be as mean as a grizzly with a sore paw if you crowded him.”
“I met him a couple of times.”
“This ain’t worth a tinker’s damn, Dave!” a man yelled. “We got to do somethin’ and do it pronto. It’s hot out here and I’m hungry.”
“I agree with you, Ned,” Dave shouted. “I’m open for suggestions.”
Ned did not reply.
“I reckon he ain’t got no suggestions,” Dewey said.
“Seems that way,” Frank replied.
“Fix us another pot of coffee, girls,” Dewey said to Tess and Sarah.
“Yes, sir,” the girls echoed.
“Come nightfall we’ll take them,” another outlaw yelled.
“They got a point, Drifter,” Dewey said.
“I know. But dark is hours away.”
“Yeah, Jeff,” Dave called. “Come the dark you can lead the charge.”
“My en-tar chest is a-hurtin’ and a-swellin’ up,” Carter moaned. “It’s like somebody blowed me up with poison air. My head feels funny too. I got to have some relief.”
“Oh, shut up, Carter!” someone hollered.
Carter cussed him.
Those behind the crumbling old walls waited in silence.
* * *
“They’re beginnin’ to creep up on us, Drifter,” Dewey whispered. “’Bout an hour ’fore full dark.”
“I see them. Pass the word around: Pick a target. Whether it’s a good shot or not, choose one. When I open fire, everyone open up.”
“Will do.”
Frank had already picked his first target. A man had been slowly crawling toward the old fort and had now paused, his lower body sticking out from behind a saguaro cactus. Frank lifted his rifle and sighted in.
“Ever’one’s got a target,” Dewey whispered.
Frank squeezed the trigger. His bullet tore into the man just a couple of inches above his belt buckle.
Everyone behind the walls who was armed fired. The man Frank shot in the belly began screaming in pain, thrashing around in the sand. Other outlaws yelled either in pain or surprise.
“On your feet!” Dave yelled. “Charge the ruins.”
“Light ’em up, Dewey,” Frank yelled. “And let ’em fly.”
Dewey let fly three dynamite-tipped arrows as fast an any Indian could on his best day. There was silence on the desert floor for a few seconds. Then a man yelled, “Them arrows is dynamite-tipped. Good God, boys, run!”
But it was too late for several of the charging outlaws. The dynamite blew and the sound was enormous on the desert floor. Dewey let fly more arrows, with twelve-year-old Jerry lighting the fuses. One charge uprooted a huge old saguaro cactus, about fifty feet in height, probably between a hundred and a hundred and fifty years old, with several dozen arms and weighing probably five or six tons.
The huge old cactus fell on two outlaws, crushing and killing one instantly and breaking both legs of the second. The man with the badly broken legs began screaming in pain, both from his broken legs an
d from the dozens of needles penetrating his flesh.
“Back, back!” Dave shouted. “Get back!”
But while they were retreating, the defenders scored several more hits on the outlaws, their bodies joining the other dead and badly wounded outlaws littering the desert.
“Goddamn you all to hell!” one outlaw shouted. “You’ll all pay for this. I promise you, you’ll pay dearly.”
“What are you gonna do?” Dewey hollered. “Talk us to death?”
The dusty sand was still swirling around from a west wind, and the wind was steadily picking up.
“Oh, God!” Julie breathed.
“What’s wrong?” Frank called. “Are you hurt?”
“No. A big rattlesnake just crawled up.”
“Let me have him,” Dewey said. “I’ll have some fun with him.”
“You’re certainly welcome to the damn thing!” Julie replied.
Dewey snatched up the big rattler, making it look easy. But Frank knew better, and told the boys that.
“What are you going to do with that damn snake, Dewey?” Frank asked.
“Watch, Drifter,” the mountain man whispered. “See that big cactus with the broke-off lower arm about twenty-five feet away? Off to your left. ’Bout midway ’tween us.”
“Yeah. So?”
“I think they’s a man done crawled up that far and can’t go no further, and he’s a-feared to try to go back.”
“All right. What about it?”
“I bet I can change his mind and make him move.”
Frank chuckled. “You’ve got a real mean streak in you, Dewey.”
“I shore do. I take great displeasure at folks tryin’ to kill me. Watch this.”
Dewey gave the snake a fling and it landed right where Dewey wanted it to land. The outlaw behind the cactus started hollering. “Oh, good Christ! A rattler done fell out of the cactus. He’s a-strikin’ at me. I’m bit, boys. I’m bit.”
No one rushed to help the outlaw.
The snakebit man yelled once more, and then his screaming abruptly ceased.
“Must have got him in the neck,” Dewey said. “It don’t take long once that happens. I’ve seen that a couple of times.”
Julie and the girls all shuddered at just the thought.
“I hate this country,” Julie said. “I hate snakes.”
“The country is neutral, Julie,” Frank told her. “It’s neither for you nor against you. A person has to learn to live with it. Try to fight it, and you’re fighting yourself.”
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