by Dale Graham
‘Reckon I’m about the same. But I did find this old Spencer in the back room. And there’s a box full of cartridges with it.’ Ben hefted the well-oiled rifle, slotting a shell into the breech. The Spencer had always been well regarded. It was a reliable weapon with an efficient loading method centred on the easily thumbed hammer.
‘They served us well during the war,’ Curly remarked approvingly. ‘Reckon it’ll give these critters a hot reception as well.’
Ben nodded his agreement, moving across to the small window from where he delivered a scything reply to the vigilante’s ultimatum. Swede Larson, overconfident with a twelve-to-one advantage, had failed to remove his hat while peering over the bed of the wagon.
Ben smiled to himself, taking careful aim with the rifle. The gun responded perfectly. The Swede’s hat lifted skywards, his head being quickly withdrawn from view. Such was the fast-loading capacity of the Spencer that another bullet struck the drifting hat, sending it spinning off into the distance. ‘There’s your reply, Steiger. Now come and dig me out if’n you’ve gotten the nerve to try.’ A guttural bout of acerbic guffawing was intended to convey a confident defiance. Inside, however, Ben’s guts were a churning maelstrom of apprehension.
Steiger was in no way overawed by the defender’s blasé attitude. He had the advantage of a larger force and time on his side. ‘You asked for it, mister. And now you’re gonna get it. OK, boys, let’s blast this critter out of existence.’
A rapid salvo of gunfire erupted from the raiders. Their bullets were aimed at the thin wood of the door and the open window. Both defenders ducked as hot lead smashed their way through the aperture, splintering the door and crashing into the back wall. The incessant assault continued for two minutes, unceasing. There was little chance for the defenders to reply, such was the fury of the offensive.
The noise inside the cabin was deafening as myriad shells slammed into the walls. Both men, however, did manage to get off a few shots in reply. Curly had located a narrow gun port adjacent to the door, giving him a relatively safe place from which to return fire. They were thus able to concentrate their shots at the puffs of smoke indicating where the attackers were secreted.
Following the initial barrage, Steiger called out a halt. Within seconds, a palpable silence descended over the battle zone. Any wildlife in the vicinity had long since fled to the safety of burrows and holes. A light breeze dispersed the dense cloud of gun smoke quickly.
‘You still breathing, Chisum?’ the upbeat vigilante hollered.
Ben’s answer was a well-aimed shot that chipped fragments from the boulder behind which Steiger was sheltering, forcing him to duck down. The near miss was shrugged off, but it had made him aware that this guy would be no easy target. Notwithstanding, he still maintained a relaxed persona. ‘We can go on like this all day if’n needs be,’ he called out. ‘Give up now and save yourself from a violent end. You know it makes sense.’
Ben smiled at his partner before replying. The frowning scowl was full of vitriolic daring. ‘And end up swinging from the end of rope? I don’t think so. You’ve done your worst and I’m still here. What you figure on doing when the sun goes down?’ A macabre bout of chuckling was enough to inform the vigilante boss of the defender’s plan.
Steiger gritted his teeth. He had no intention of allowing this critter to slip away under the cloak of darkness. ‘OK, boys,’ he ordered. ‘Start moving in. I want this critter winkled out, pronto.’
Moments later, the attack resumed, this time with a far greater intensity as the vigilantes crept forward. Bullets by the dozen thudded into the ugly yet solidly built structure. Many of them penetrated small gaps and apertures. Thankfully, thus far, none had struck their intended targets. Both incumbents fully appreciated that could only be a matter of time.
Yet all did not go the attackers’ way: the heavy broadside could only be carried out by exposing themselves to counter fire. Ben spotted a tall lanky jasper emerging from behind a lean-to with the aim of reaching a water trough. Stringbean never made it before being cut down by a fifty-calibre shell from the Spencer.
First blood to the defenders.
Another who tried sneaking round the side of the cabin was spotted by Redleg through a gap in the door. He pulled it open and shot the assailant through the heart – but not without perilous consequences. The gambit had exposed him to retaliation, which came in the form of a deadly barrage. Before he had chance to close the door, two slugs bit deep into soft flesh. Curly Bill cried out, tumbling back into the cabin. Ben left the window quickly and hurried across, slamming the door shut.
‘They got me, pard, in the leg and stomach.’ Ben helped his pal into a chair and quickly tied both of their neckers around the wound to staunch the blood.
‘It ain’t too bad,’ Ben established, although his voice lacked conviction. ‘I’ll keep them busy until nightfall, then we’ll scarper.’
‘You ready to surrender now, Blue Creek?’ Curly Bill’s sudden appearance had clearly been too quick for him to be identified by the assailants. In spite of everything, Steiger was still under the impression that only one man was holed up in the cabin. ‘You can’t last out much longer.’
Ben hustled across to the small aperture. ‘It’s only a flesh wound, Steiger. You’ll have to do a sight better that that.’ He pumped a couple of rounds in the general direction of the attackers to demonstrate his unwillingness to back down.
The gang boss was fuming. This guy was like the cat with nine lives. How was he going to dig the critter out? It was Squint Rizzo who provided the answer.
Here was the hired gunman’s chance to get back in the boss’s good books. They had pulled this stunt a couple of times successfully during the war. There was no reason it shouldn’t work here.
CHAPTER TEN
Despair . . .
‘There’s a wagon full of straw inside the barn,’ he advocated briskly. ‘All it needs is setting alight and four men to push it up alongside the blank wall of the cabin. I’ll take charge. With full covering fire, we can back off without being caught in the open.’ He pointed out an extra flourish that would seal the fate of the skunk inside the cabin. ‘And we’ll use lighted torches to toss onto the dry sod roof. That’ll fix him good and proper.’
The proposal received a gloating smirk. ‘Good thinking, Squint.’ A gleam of triumph glinted in Steiger’s eye. ‘Get to it, boys. Let’s burn this critter out.’ The furious bombardment faded as the new plan was put into operation. Ten minutes later, the wagon emerged through the open barn door. Rizzo had fashioned a couple of torches soaked in tallow fat. He handed one to Buckshot Roberts.
The wagon was pushed up alongside the sidewall of the cabin and the straw set alight. In no time, it became a roaring inferno. Backing off, Rizzo and Roberts tossed their burning torches onto the roof, adding to the conflagration.
It was not long before smoke began drifting through the walls of the cabin. A crackling and spluttering from the roof was enough to inform the two occupants that the fire was consuming the dry turf eagerly. The writing was on the wall. How much longer could they hold out?
Ben’s pal was badly injured, more so than he had initially grasped, and they were both down to their last few cartridges. Reading his thoughts, Curly made his decision. He knew the score. He struggled to his feet, swaying drunkenly. But there was a solid determination, evident in his stoical gaze, to go out with a bang. ‘I’ve only gotten three shells left, Ben.’ Pain was evident in the garbled announcement. ‘My days are numbered.’ His breathing was shallow and laboured. ‘And I ain’t about to waste them. At least you have a chance to save yourself if’n you sneak out back. Now get going while I hold them off.’
Even as they conversed, the upper boards holding the sod roof began to collapse inwards. The cabin was filling with smoke rapidly. Ben gripped his partner’s hand. His head fell onto his chest to hide the anguish gripping his soul. Tears dribbled down through the stubble of his cheeks. He hated leaving, but it was
the only way. ‘I’ll make darned sure to avenge what Steiger is doing,’ he promised.
Curly was already moving towards the door. Ben turned away, entering the back room where he was just able to squeeze through a tiny aperture. Outside, he scrambled up the slope, keeping low and taking cover behind jutting rocks and tree stumps. Inside the cabin, two shots rang out. A cry from out front educed a tight-lipped smile. At least Curly had made one of his bullets count.
He zigzagged further up the slope, taking advantage of stunted bushes while aiming for the base of the cliff above. Following a cessation of hostilities, it was clear that the fire-raisers were enjoying the success of their macabre display.
At that moment a single shot rang out from inside the cabin. Now fully alight, orange tongues of flame began to feast on the timber banquet quickly. Smoke was beginning to obscure the homestead. Ben’s face creased up. A blend of torment and hatred warped the handsome façade. His friend had made the ultimate sacrifice before the flames finished their gruesome handiwork.
For a brief moment Ben was stricken by grief. Escape was the only way to even the score. He shook the mush from his head, resuming his scramble up towards the rocky enclave. Thankfully, his breakout had gone unnoticed. Nobody was following. All their attention was focused on the conflagration. It did not elude his thinking that one body, burnt to a crisp and unidentifiable, would convince Web Steiger that Blue Creek Ben Chisum had been eliminated from the fray.
And that was going to be his ace in the pack.
On reaching the bottom of the cliff face, some two hundred feet above the elliptical amphitheatre enclosing the homestead, he was forced to stop. Pausing to regain his breath, he could just make out the outline of the burning buildings below. But there was no cover up here to hide behind once the smoke dispersed.
Had he merely traded one trap for another? A search along the base revealed no way forward. He was stuck. There was no way out. And when the smoke finally cleared he would be in full view of fire-raisers below. Panic gripped his innards, threatening to engulf the normally cool disposition. Surely having eluded the grim reaper’s swinging scythe he would not be stymied at this crucial stage. A brief prayer for salvation was despatched to a God he had too long ignored.
Awaiting the onset of darkness, a factor he had hoped to exploit earlier, was now a closed book. The fire was likely to burn all through the night, providing sufficient illumination for the vigilantes to spot an escaping fugitive easily. Equally grim was the certainty they would stick around to ensure the burnt-out cabin contained a body.
That notion produced yet another unwelcome assumption in the trapped man’s disturbed brain. Rather than go after the man bringing in supplies, Steiger was astute enough to wait below and ambush the unwary Gus Ordway when he arrived back. And then the cat would be well and truly out of the bag. Steiger would know that Ordway had joined up with the two gunslingers. And that meant they both must have been inside the cabin when it was attacked. So where was the other body?
All of these hair-raising notions flitted through Ben Chisum’s fizzing brain. Somehow he had to find a way out of this dilemma. A furious desperation lent new vigour to his hunt for a way out. But either end of the cliff was blocked by an abrupt downfall. There was no means of reaching the open sward below anyway. And climbing the vertical rock wall was way beyond his capabilities.
Just when he had given up hope, his foot slipped into a hole at the base of the cliff. It was covered by a low bunch of scrub vegetation. Clawing the thorny branches aside, he uncovered a small aperture wide enough for a man to climb into. A renewed sense of optimism surged through Ben’s tired frame as he lowered himself gingerly into the dark entrance. There he paused, adjusting his vision to the pitch-blackness. By feeling his way along the rough wall, it soon became clear he was inside the entrance to a mining adit.
Delving fingers scrabbling blindly around were fortunate enough to locate a discarded torch. He struck a vesta on the wall and applied it. The flickering light revealed a tunnel driving into the mountainside. It was supported by wooden beams. His assumption had been right. And there on the floor were three sacks. Could this be what he thought it was?
Tentatively, he opened a bag. A stunned gasp hissed out from between gritted teeth, a quickening of the heart. The pale light emphasized streaks of glittering yellow. Ben’s staring eyes bulged wide, barely able to credit what he was seeing.
Gold! No man is immune from the tempting allure engendered by the yellow peril. Not even Ben Chisum. Trembling hands caressed the nobbly chunks of ore. Then it all fell into place. Web Steiger must have found out that there was gold on Jaybird land. That was the reason he was so eager to take control. He had concealed the entrance to the mine until such time as the ore could be extracted. All that blarney about bringing law to the Nueces Valley was a front to conceal his true motive.
This was one more reason why Ben had to find a way out. But there was his stumbling block. How did finding the mineshaft help him with that quest? He slumped down, struggling to hold off the wave of despair threatening to drown him. His old pal gone, and the simple nester Gus Ordway heading for the same roundup.
And then there was Elsa Durham. This was the first time since their parting that he had been able to give her more than a passing thought. Was it only a couple of days ago? It seemed like weeks had gone by. He knew that something had passed between them, a spark of passion, a tender feeling alien to the hard-bitten gunfighter, but one he now valued more than anything. Was that to be blown away like grains of desert sand?
He shook off the bleak despondence. This was no time to be consumed by self-pity. Ben Chisum had always found a way out of his difficulties.
Scrambling to his feet, he moved further down the tunnel. Water dribbled from the roof barely a few inches above his head. And it was becoming steadily narrower, forcing him to bend low. The torch was also losing its strength rapidly. Perhaps he should abandon the search. No sooner had that unsettling notion entered his head when the torch fizzled and died.
The horror at being entombed had to be fought off. Eyes clamped tight shut, he forced his brain to remain calm. Such had been the strain of the last few hours that exhaustion claimed Ben’s whacked frame.
How long he remained in the arms of Morpheus was impossible to say. Suddenly, his eyes flickered open. For a moment, his brain failed to register his predicament. Then it struck home like the kick from a loco mule. He might well have succumbed to ultimate despair, had a brief waft of cool air not caressed his cheek. Suddenly reanimated, he scrambled to his feet. It was coming from his left along a side passage.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
. . . and Deliverance
His heart quickened this time in expectation of deliverance from this nightmare. As he neared the end of the passage, the zephyr became more pronounced. Striking another vesta, he raised it above his head, revealing a narrow flue striking upwards that confirmed his conjecture. The near-vertical chimney was narrow, but just wide enough for a lean-limbed jigger to negotiate with care.
Flexing his hands, he breathed deep and began the tenuous ascent. Luckily, there were plenty of handholds and footholds to assist the climb; but it was all in pitch darkness, thick as treacle, so every step had to be tested. Sharp outcrops of rock scraped his exposed flesh, drawing blood. The pain was ignored. Only the thought of reaching open ground above occupied his thoughts now.
The going was slow in the extreme, but at least he was making progress, and with each foot gained, the exit from this living nightmare drew closer.
Then, all at once, his head banged against the roof of the chimney. Blood dribbled down into his eyes. Open or shut made no difference. He cried out. A raised arm blindly searching told him that the chimney had veered to the right. For a brief moment he became stuck.
Bending sideways, he forced his hand around the obstruction, fingers scrabbling for a hold. Sweat poured off his face. A surge of nausea swept over him. Wriggling like an angry rattler, skinned a
nd bleeding fingers finally managed to drag him around the obstruction. Tortured lungs dragged in huge gulps of life-enhancing oxygen. He paused to regain his breath before pushing on up the chimney. Passing round the constriction revealed a round disc of light above.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured to his maker before anger took precedence. ‘I’m gonna make you pay big time for this, Steiger,’ he blurted out aloud as a fresh wave of energy enabled him to pressed onward. Not far to go now. The aperture was now a gaping hole no more than fifteen feet above.
But the physical demands on his body were exhausting. After resting a moment to allow his head to clear, the climb was resumed with infinite concentration. And ten minutes later he was lying spread-eagled on the hard ground above, gasping for air like a landed trout.
Time had passed quickly. Darkness had quickly spread its stygian tentacles across the rough terrain. Overhead the silvery disc beamed down, bathing the relieved fugitive in its ethereal glow. It was a beacon of hope, a sign of deliverance, a message from the heavens amidst the patchwork of twinkling sequins.
Ben heaved himself up on to his knees. Hands were clasped together, head bowed in prayer. ‘I won’t never take you for granted again, Lord,’ he promised. At that moment, it was a heartfelt vow. He had been given a second chance. Would he be able to profit from such a miracle?
He peered over the rim of the mesa. Down below, the spluttering crackle of burning timber could be heard. Sore eyes failed to spot any movement. But he knew they were down there, scavenging predators waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting Gus Ordway. There was no time to lose if Ben was to save his new partner.
Light from the moon together with the glow of the conflagration provided sufficient light for him to pick a tenuous path down through broken terrain. The lower he descended, the more care was needed to avoid revealing his presence. It was vital that he secure a horse.