by Matt Rand
He called a half-dozen men around him, levelheaded men who knew the country and the places where a group of men could conceal themselves, who knew that skylines were dangerous.
He said, “Fan out and see if you can learn where they’ve gathered. I have a hunch it will be toward the south. Payne’s holdings lie that way. When you find them, get back here as fast as you can.”
They nodded in sober agreement and scattered to their horses. Nelson watched them ride away, then walked to Leah.
He said, “I’m going in to find Melissa. Maybe Payne took her with him, but I doubt it.”
She looked at the cold anger in his eyes and touched his arm with timorous fingers. “Nelson, I wish you wouldn’t. Last night doesn’t matter now.”
“I won’t kill her, if that’s what you’re afraid of. I should, but I won’t. But she’ll be afraid to ever come here again.” He walked away before she could weaken him with a woman’s arguments.
He rode into town and dismounted before the new house at the end of the block. He stared at it a long time before he walked to the door and hammered on it.
Melissa answered his knock, and a quick fear filled her eyes. “What do you want here?” The defiance in her voice weakened before the sentence was finished.
He stared at her without answering, letting her cheeks draw tight under the strain. She wore a dirty wrapper, and her hair was disheveled. Her eyes were puffy, and he wondered how he had ever found anything attractive in this woman. She was—he searched for a word and found it—blowzy.
He shoved against the door, swinging it against her and knocking her aside. He strode into the room and faced her. Her wrapper had fallen open, and she clutched it hastily together. She wore nothing beneath it.
She said shrilly, “If you think you can force your way in on me—”
His eyes were contemptuous. “Don’t pride yourself, Melissa. I’d rather take one of the whores in town. At least they’re honest. They don’t try to hide what they are.”
Her face flamed and she gasped, “I—I could kill you for that.”
He nodded. “You’d like to. I was fool enough to think Chauncey put you here. I didn’t ask him his business, and I was too busy to learn elsewhere.” He could have added, And not interested enough. “Payne bought you this house—or let you use it.”
He caught the flicker of guilty confirmation in her eyes.
“In return, you led Leah to Jarmon and Sepúlveda.”
Her gasp was loud, and only fear was left in her eyes. She looked wildly around, estimating the distance to the nearest door, and his laugh was a short, ugly burst of sound.
“I’m not going to touch you, Melissa. Leah asked me not to. You can thank her. Why did Payne want her?” He suspected he knew the answer. It would be a strong hold on Nelson O’Shaughnessy.
Her lips trembled, but no sound came out. He thought she was too terrified to talk.
“She’s safely back in camp, Melissa. And your Payne is running. He won’t be back. He knows he has to keep running or be killed.”
“You’re lying,” she said.
“Find out for yourself.” His tone was indifferent. “Stay away from camp, Melissa. You picked your company. If you come near, you’ll be treated like one of them.”
He looked at her from the door. He tried to remember the girl he had loved in Natchez and reason why she had become this. Some people bent under circumstances, then sprang back. Others snapped. Melissa had snapped.
Color came back into her face as she realized he was not going to harm her. “You bastard!” she spat at him.
He grinned bleakly and went out into the street.
* * * *
After he had gone she stared at the closed door a long moment, and rage and terror warred within her. He was lying. Payne would come back. He had to come back. He could not leave her alone here.
She dressed hurriedly and ran a brush over her hair. She winced as she looked at her face, then set about repairing the ravages. She sighed as she made a final inspection of herself in the mirror. Daylight was going to be cruel to her, but it was the best she could do.
She went out onto the street, and her eyes grew worried as she saw its emptiness. Something had happened. The loungers before the stores were missing, and several of the stores were locked and their blinds drawn. She hurried to Payne’s cabin and knocked on the door. The echoes had a hollow, mocking sound.
She moved down the street, and Julian Redlock was in front of his saloon. She started to pass, and he drawled, “Good morning, ma’am.”
His eyes were bold as they appraised her, and their look told her that Nelson’s words were true. Redlock had never dared look at her while Payne was around.
She said, “Is—is Jim Payne inside?”
He took a deliberate time with his answer, his eyes moving slowly over her. “Why, no, he isn’t. He left town last night. I doubt he’s coming back.”
She felt the empty sickness inside her. What was she going to do now?
Redlock said, “A lot of them left.” He was a big, florid-faced man, not unhandsome in his way.
Melissa’s deep breath raised and swelled her breasts. She watched Redlock’s eyes go to them. This man owned the building behind him; he had resources. She looked at him fully, then demurely lowered her lashes.
“It’s sure going to be a lonesome town,” Redlock sighed.
She raised her lashes, and the boldness in her eyes matched that in his. “It doesn’t have to be,” she said softly.
He grinned and moved toward her. “It sure doesn’t.” The drawl was missing from his voice.
* * * *
It was Conger that reported the location of Payne and his men. At Nelson’s question he snorted and said, “They didn’t see me. They’re camped in a big ravine twenty miles south. Maybe forty of them. Sure, it’s them. I crawled close enough to see Payne and Tribble.”
Nelson’s hand pressed hard on his shoulder. “Thanks, Conger.”
Conger wiped the back of his hand across his mouth to hide his abashed grin. “We going after them?”
Nelson’s nod was decisive. Sepúlveda was gone. Add Payne, and he thought Saucedo would listen to reason.
He said, “We’ll never have a better chance at them. We’ll start at dark. Tell everyone to be ready.”
He watched Conger move down the line of wagons, stopping to exchange a few words with each man. Nelson saw the hard eagerness come into their faces and Conger’s answering grin. The kid was glorying in his moment.
He turned and walked to Howerton’s wagon, and Leah said, “Supper’s ready.”
She smiled at the faint surprise in his eyes. “I saw Conger riding in. I knew from his face you’d be riding soon.”
It was a silent meal. Leah ate little, and her smile grew more and more strained. Nelson saw the shine of tears in her eyes. He said, “A fine meal, Leah.”
Her laugh was almost natural. “Neither of us knew what we were eating.” For an instant her face was twisted with fear, and she came to him. “Oh, Nelson,” she whispered. “Be careful.”
He put a forefinger under her chin and tilted back her head. He kissed her long and deep, and his voice was not quite steady when he spoke: “Do you think anything could keep me from coming back?”
He released her before the moment became too painful and strode away. He looked back, and her hand was raised to him. She was smiling, a good smile, bright and filled with confidence.
He rode out at dark at the head of forty men. If Conger’s estimate was correct, the odds were even. Really in their favor, for the advantage of surprise should be with them.
He rode north until the town was well out of sight, then made a wide swing to the south. Conger rode on one side of him, Stevens on the other. Pride was written all over Conger’s face at the role he was playing.
Nelson asked, “How steep is that ravine? Can we ride into it?”
“I’d say horses can take it. It slopes pretty easy on this side, then
drops down three or four feet. The other bank is steep.”
“Good.” Nelson’s eyes gleamed. “We can pin them against the steep bank.”
For a dozen miles there was talking and laughter. Then, as weariness and tension increased, the talk faded to an occasional word, and the laughter was gone altogether.
Conger grunted, “We oughta be within a couple of miles.”
Nelson halted, and the horsemen piled up behind him. “See if you can spot their fires,” he told Conger.
The waiting seemed interminable until Conger returned. He materialized out of the darkness and said, “They’re still there. They got four fires going. A lot of them are asleep. The rest are just sitting around.”
“How close can we get?”
“Couple hundred yards. There’s a dip in the prairie that’ll hide us. Beyond it we’ll be in sight.”
It was better than Nelson had hoped for. Two hundred yards could be quickly covered on horseback. They should be on the men in the ravine before rattled senses had time to sort out what was happening.
“We’ll move up a few at a time,” Nelson said. “Go slow. No talking.” He heard his words passed along, and rode out with a half-dozen men. He looked behind him, and at fifty yards he could barely pick out the darker mass of the horsemen.
They gathered in the dip Conger had found, and Nelson said, “We’ll ride over them. Move at them hard.”
He rode up the slope and stopped. Horsemen moved into position on either side of him. He drew in a deep breath and said, “Let’s go.”
He kicked his horse into a full run, drawing his pistol. A pistol would be better than a rifle for the close work ahead. He yelled at the top of his lungs, a long, quavering cry that rose and fell, and it was taken up all up and down the line.
Better than half of the distance was covered before Payne’s men realized they were being attacked. Nelson heard their confused yelling and saw them break and run. Near him, a horse stumbled and went down. He swept on and threw a shot at a running figure. The distance was too far for effective pistol work, but the report would add to the terror and confusion.
Flame winked up and down the long, ragged line of horsemen, and a running man halted, threw up his arms, then crumpled in a shapeless heap. A few bursts of flame stabbed back from the ravine, but the firing was scattered, as scattered as their wits were.
Three horses down the line, a man was plucked out of the saddle as though a giant hand had snatched at him. Not all of the angry bees were going in one direction.
The line swept on and plunged into the ravine, sailing over the three-foot drop in a solid wall of horseflesh, the devils on their backs open-mouthed with their yowling. The gunfire was more sustained now, and the echoes bounced back from the dirt wall ahead until a man’s ears rang from them.
Running men went down, their screams rising before they were snapped short. A horse reared and trumpeted its agony, and Nelson caught the sickening smell of fresh blood and hot manure from the gut-shot horse. It hung there a long moment, its front hoofs flailing the air. Then it went over on its side, and as long as the moment seemed, the rider still did not have time to free his foot from the stirrup. Nelson caught a glimpse of the man’s face, scared white; then the falling horse carried it out of sight.
Nelson raged through the struggling, wild melee, looking for Payne. A man sprang at him from the side, and he slashed the pistol barrel across the face. He heard a choked gurgle, distorted by broken teeth and blood, and the clawing hands no longer reached for him.
He whirled the horse and drove it into another figure. He felt a solid thump as animal flesh met human flesh, and the man was knocked into a fire. His screaming was horrible as he threshed about, scattering the burning sticks. Nelson snapped a shot at him, and the screaming was stilled.
Figures ran toward both ends of the ravine, and riders streamed in pursuit. The main body of the fight broke into a dozen threads, and the steady blasting of the guns faded into a few desultory shots.
Nelson reined up and sat breathing hard. He looked about him, the wild, set glaze of his eyes fading. There was no one left to shoot at or ride down. To the east and west of him he heard faint yells, then the thin sound of a pistol shot far away.
His eyes took in the still forms dotting the ground. He remembered he had not seen Stevens since the mad action started, and he called, “Chauncey! Chauncey!”
Stevens answered from the shadows and rode into the firelight. His face was dirt-streaked, and his jaw hung loose from his exertion, but he sat erect. “Did you see Payne?” he asked.
Nelson shook his head. “Some of them got away. He may have been one of them.”
Together they rode the length of the ravine, examining the dead. Payne was not one of them. Eighteen of his men lay dead, and a half-dozen others were wounded.
“They’re smashed,” Stevens said.
Nelson thought so. But he would have felt better if Payne had been among the fallen.
A voice hailed them out of the darkness, then Conger came into view, driving a man on foot before him. “I caught me a fish,” he said.
Tribble cowered before Nelson’s hard eyes. He looked at the circle of faces ringing him and squalled, “Don’t kill me! Payne made me do it. I didn’t want to.”
Nelson said, “We won’t kill you here, Tribble.”
Tribble missed the “here” and his face lighted.
“Maybe we’ll hang you in town.”
Tribble fell on his knees and flung out his arms. His babbling words were inarticulate.
Nelson said in disgust, “Tie him on a horse.”
The ride back was slow, and hell for the wounded men. They rode in stolid silence, their jaws locked hard, but an occasional groan slipped out between their pressed lips.
It was broad daylight when the cavalcade reached the outskirts of town. Nelson threw up his hand and halted the riders.
“Untie Tribble,” he ordered.
People were on the street, and they stopped and stared at the group of horsemen. Their startled questions brought other people onto the street, and the line of them along each side of it thickened.
Tribble’s face was ashen. He tried to talk, and his loose lips would not form the words. Saliva dripped from his chin.
“Strip off his pants,” Nelson said. “I want them to see what their alcalde looks like.”
Fear would not let Tribble grasp Nelson’s words. His hands beat at the men who surrounded him, and he gasped, “Don’t hang me. Don’t hang me.”
Rough hands removed his belt and stripped his pants from him. He wore nothing beneath them.
“Walk,” Nelson ordered, and nudged his horse against him.
Tears filled Tribble’s eyes as he realized he was not to be hanged. He blubbered and moved forward, his face working. It went loose as he came even with the first of the people lining the street. Their jeering laughter splattered against his ears, and he put agonized eyes on Nelson. There were women in that crowd; whores, true, but still women.
Nelson moved his horse at him, and Tribble walked on, his face flaming. His shirttail covered most of his thighs, and he walked bent-kneed to make it reach farther. The laughter swelled, and Nelson knew the torment that must be racking Tribble. A man felt such a helpless animal without his pants.
He stopped Tribble before the log jail and said, “Lock him and the rest of them up.” He detailed a half-dozen men to guard the building and waited until the last of the prisoners were shoved inside.
“Are you going to hang them?” Stevens asked.
“Not now, anyway. Tribble is Saucedo’s man. If Saucedo gets any wilder, Tribble might be valuable to barter with. Now, I only want some sleep.”
He walked with heavy steps to his office and stretched out on the floor. He was asleep before he could begin to recount the night’s events.
He was awakened by a pistol shot. It jerked him upright, and he stared wildly about with sleep-fogged eyes.
He was tugging on his
boots when a volley of shots followed. It sounded like a pitched battle out there. It was not possible, but it was happening. In some manner Payne had regrouped his scattered forces and was striking back. And the man should just be beginning to lick his wounds.
Nelson was buckling on his cartridge belt when Stevens came into the room. Pistol fire was crackling up and down the streets.
“Are they in force?” Nelson yelled wildly. “Where—” He saw the broad grin on Stevens’ face and stopped. “What in the hell is happening?”
“The boys felt pretty good after they woke up. This is the first time they ever felt the town belonged to them. They’re doing a little celebrating.”
Nelson’s grin was rueful. “I thought they were on us.” He looked out the window and said, “I’ve slept the day away.”
The pistols were still popping up and down the street, the spurts of flame vivid against the lengthening shadows. Nelson saw men maul each other in joyous abandonment. “They’ve got some whisky.”
“Yes.” Stevens’ tone was guarded.
Nelson laughed. “They’ve earned it. Buy a couple of kegs and give it to them for me.”
Stevens’ smile spread over his face. “A courier is here from Saucedo. I’ve kept him waiting for a couple of hours. He’s been rather worried about some of the looks he’s been receiving.”
Nelson grinned. “Bring him in.”
He was seated behind the desk when the courier came into the room. The man was slight and dark, the whites of his eyes pronounced against the swarthiness of his skin. He winced at each new pistol report. He pulled a letter from his jacket and handed it to Nelson. “From His Excellency Don Victor Blanco.”
Nelson cast a startled look at Stevens, and Stevens murmured, “I never asked. I took it for granted he was from Saucedo.”
Nelson broke the seal, and his face darkened as he read the opening lines.
He looked up and said, “Listen to this, Chauncey.” He read in a slow voice, trying to keep the anger out of it. “‘You have lost the confidence of a government that is suspicious of your fidelity. It is not prudent to admit those who begin by dictating laws as sovereigns.’” A hand bunched on top of the desk. “He follows with the same list of charges, the same lies Saucedo wrote about.”