by Clive Dawson
Now, he rode forward with caution. His old instincts, which he had hoped to forget, came back. The dust lifted by the stallion could be seen for miles in this flat, sun-scoured wilderness. If anyone had followed him from Condor, or those outlaws were keeping a sharp watch on the area, he would make a perfect target here where there was no cover.
Soon, a wind blew up, lifting the alkali from the sweeping dunes, hurling it into his face. Sweat poured down his cheeks, mingling with the caking of dust. He knew better than to rub it. Within seconds, it would abrade his skin to the point where it would become a bleeding mass of raw flesh.
He was still almost a mile from the pine-covered slopes of the hills where they worked their way back in the direction of the trail when something caught and held his attention. Reining up swiftly, he turned slightly in the saddle, eyes narrowed down.
He had not been mistaken! The brilliant flash came again, repeated three times. Someone along the trail to his right was using a mirror to signal. Switching his glance towards the hills ahead of him, he saw the returning flashes almost immediately.
Intuitively, he knew what was happening. Someone had followed him and was signalling to that outlaw band, giving them warning of his approach.
Swiftly, he pulled on the reins, turning the stallion. Raking spurs across its flanks, he headed back. Even with a gun, he knew that facing at least four seasoned killers would prove difficult. Unarmed as he was, they would certainly shoot him down without a second thought.
The mount responded gallantly, racing sure-footedly across the alkali. Throwing occasional swift glances over his shoulder, he looked for any sign of pursuit. He knew it would take a little time for those killers to mount up and work their way down the tree-covered slopes. But there was still that man on the trail ahead of him and now he was determined to find out who it was.
When he reached it, the trail looked empty, deserted in both directions, as far as he was able to see. Either this man had ridden back to town once he had seen Frank’s sudden move, knowing that his signal had been spotted, or he was hiding somewhere in the rocks, having hidden his mount somewhere out of sight.
Frank thought fast. He knew those men in the hills could not afford to allow him to get back to Condor alive, knowing their presence had been discovered. It would not take long for them to reach the trail ahead of him and cut him off.
He reached a quick decision. Swinging his mount, he headed back along the trail, spurring the stallion to its utmost. If there was someone with a rifle concealed along the way, that was a chance he would have to take. Somehow, Sheriff McDonald had to be told of this.
Whether he could do anything about it, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know just how much authority McDonald had in Condor. It seemed more likely that what Hawkins said would carry the most weight now. Somehow, he had the feeling that the sheriff was no more than a puppet figure with the deputy the real law in that town.
Head bent low over the stallion’s neck, he pushed it as hard as he could. There was a line of low, rising buttes ahead of him with the narrow trail running between two of them. It looked the most likely place for an ambush. He scanned them swiftly as he approached but saw nothing.
Then, twisting his head slightly, he noticed the cloud of dust perhaps three miles away. The outlaws had clearly decided to finish him rather than have their hideout made known to anyone in Condor. Fortunately, his mount had kicked up little alkali from the hard-packed trail but if those riders maintained their present course, they could easily cut him off before he reached town.
With these thoughts running through his mind, he forced the stallion on at an even faster pace. Then, just as he moved into the shadow of the buttes, the sharp crack of a rifle reached him. The slug had barely ricocheted off the rock than the concealed marksman fired again.
This time the slug struck him a glancing blow on the side of the head. A sharp, burning agony lanced through his skull as the impact knocked him from the saddle. He hit the ground hard and lay there for several seconds as he fought to keep a hold on his fading consciousness.
Dimly, as if from a great distance, he heard a sudden movement and then the sound of a horse being ridden quickly away. The thudding hoofbeats faded swiftly and there was only silence around him.
With a tremendous effort, he forced his head to clear. That outlaw band must have seen something of what had happened and were perhaps waiting for him to emerge from the buttes. He didn’t doubt what lay in store for him if they should find him. The side of his head felt as if it were on fire and he could feel the blood trickling down his cheek, dripping onto the white alkali.
Somehow, he managed to push himself to his feet. His vision was oddly blurred. Details swam in and out of focus as he searched his surroundings for somewhere he might hole up. There was no sign of the stallion.
Angrily, he berated himself for falling into this trap. Whoever that bushwhacker was, the other clearly thought he was dead, otherwise he would have come out of hiding and made certain. Weaving unsteadily from side to side, forced to stop every minute or so to draw air down into his aching lungs, he reached the wall of stone.
Blackness swam in front of his eyes as he clawed his way along it, moving more by touch than sight. Then his fingers came upon the narrow cleft in the rock. The opening was little more than a couple of feet wide and it only went back for a yard or so.
Heaving himself upright tautly, fighting the unconsciousness that still threatened to take a hold on him, he thrust himself back into the narrow gap. All around him, the silence still held, but knowing that those four killers were close by gave the silence an ominous undertone that shrieked soundlessly in his ears.
A few minutes later, the sound of voices reached him. He pinpointed them to his left, probably not more than twenty yards away. Scarcely daring to breath, he forced his trembling legs to bear his weight and keep him upright.
A coarse voice called, ‘He ain’t here, Ed. That must’ve been him we saw spurring away.’
‘Reckon you’re right,’ said another loud voice. ‘There’s no sign of his mount.’
There was a long pause and then the unmistakable sound of horses moving away. Letting his breath go in little gasps through his clenched teeth, he waited until the sounds had faded completely. For once, it seemed that Lady Luck had smiled on him and that gang had mistaken the would-be killer for him.
Very slowly, he eased himself out of the aperture, clinging to the rough stone for support as a wave of light-headedness pass through him. The slug had burned a furrow along his scalp just above the ear.
Several minutes passed before he could stand without swaying. He judged he was still more than three miles from the town. In the blistering heat, it was going to be a painful, if not impossible, task getting there on foot.
The thumping agony inside his skull increased. Gingerly, he put up a hand to the wound. It was still bleeding slightly, caking in places along his cheek. An inch to the right and he would be dead by now. Tightening his lips into a thin, hard line he forced himself to think coherently.
Someone in Condor clearly thought he was a dangerous man, someone who might upset their plans, and wanted him out of the way permanently before he discovered too much. Staggering along the trail, he came out of the shade of the bluffs into the scorching sunlight. Slitting his eyes, he forced himself to look in the direction of the distant hills.
There might have been a slowly dissipating dust cloud there but in his present condition, he couldn’t be certain. Turning away, he staggered along the trail, pausing often as a wave of enervating weakness sucked relentlessly at his limbs. Now the heat was an ever-present blanket of oven-hot air. Every breath he took seared his throat.
How long he walked, staggering from side to side, he had no means of estimating. Only the slow movement of the sun as it began to sink towards the west gave him any idea of time.
Then, through his stultified vision, he made out something in the near distance. Several seconds fled before he
recognized it as a small ranch house, standing at the side of a wide courtyard. There were a couple of horses tethered to the rail but no sign of anyone.
With a last despairing effort, he staggered towards it. Just as consciousness began to slip away, he saw the sudden movement in the doorway; saw a blurred figure running towards him.
CHAPTER III
DEATH IN THE NIGHT
When he eventually returned to full consciousness, he found himself lying on something cool and soft. Putting out a hand, he felt sheets over him. It was still light and he guessed that, unless it was the next day, he had lain there for only an hour or so.
Gradually, memory came back and he recalled all that had happened since he had ridden out of town. With an effort, he lifted his head to look around him and at that moment, the door opened and a voice he recognized said, ‘So, you’re awake at last.’
Anne Everley came into the room and stood beside the bed, looking down at him. There was a faint smile on her full lips. ‘We didn’t know what had happened but one of the boys helped me get you here.’ She paused; then added, ‘I’ve sent one of the hands into Condor to fetch Dr Pearson to take a look at that wound.’
‘Thanks. There ain’t no call to get the doctor. It’s nothin’ more than a flesh wound.’
‘Maybe so. But men have been known to get poisoning from a slug.’
There was a movement behind her. Everley moved to the foot of the bed. ‘You want to tell me what happened, Frank? Your mount was spotted by one o’ my hands and he brought it in. That’s when we figured you’d run into trouble out there. Anne was keepin’ a watch for you in case you came by this way.’
Frank pushed himself up onto the pillow. ‘I reckoned that nobody would look for any trail made by those coyotes after they hit the stage, so I went along to take a look for myself’
‘Did you find anythin’?’ There was a hard note in the rancher’s voice.
Frank nodded. ‘I came on their trail easily enough. It led across the flats towards the hills.’
‘So you decided to follow it.’ There was a trace of sarcasm in the girl’s voice. ‘I suppose you meant to take them all on without any guns.’ Then her tone softened a little. ‘You’re a strange man, Frank Kelsey. This territory is overrun by outlaws, yet you carry no weapons.’
‘He must have a good reason, Anne,’ her father put in quickly. He turned his glance back to Frank. ‘So what happened then?’
‘There was someone following me from town. He was signalling to those men in the hills. I figured I’d better get out o’ there before they came but this bushwhacker was waiting for me among the buttes. He fired a couple o’ shots at me and the second slug did this.’
Everley made to say something more but at that moment, Dr Pearson came in. He placed his bag on the small cabinet near the bed, then bent over Frank, examining the wound.
‘I’ll soon have this fixed up for you,’ he said. Reaching down, he placed his finger on Frank’s wrist, checking the pulse. Then he straightened. ‘You’ve been very lucky,’ he said, reaching for his bag. ‘Once I clean it up and make sure there’s no infection, you’ll be fine.’
‘Any chance o’ riding back to Condor tonight, Doc?’
Pearson pursed his lips, then nodded. ‘I don’t see why not, but I’m sure that—’
‘There’s no call to go tonight,’ Everley said from the doorway. ‘Better if you were to stay here. If you’ve got to go back, surely it’ll wait until mornin’.’
‘Thanks for the offer, but I have this gut-feeling that somethin’ is about to break in Condor.’
Pearson gave him a sharp glance, but said nothing.
‘Then why do you have to get mixed up in it?’ Anne asked. ‘This has nothing to do with you, unless you’re thinking of getting even with whoever shot you.’
From near the door, Everley said, ‘If you’re all fired-up on goin’, take my guns and gunbelt. There ain’t no sense in goin’ up against these critters with nothin’ more than your fists.’
‘Mebbe, but that’s the way I mean to do it.’
Everley shrugged his shoulders in obvious exasperation. ‘Then I guess there’s nothin’ more I can do. If you’re set on getting’ yourself killed, so be it.’
Frank gave a brief smile. He could understand the other’s attitude. No man in his right mind rode into outlaw territory such as this without a gun. Once more, he wondered at the quirk of fate which had brought him here. If he had not stumbled upon that stage, he would be miles away from here, still heading west.
Once the doctor had finished with him, he swung his legs to the floor and stood up. This time, the light-headedness he had experienced before did not materialize. Everything around him remained steady.
‘Mind if I ride back into town with you, Doe?’ he asked.
‘If you wish.’ Pearson nodded.
As he walked towards the door, Anne laid a hand on his arm. ‘Be careful, Frank,’ she said in a low murmur. ‘I have the feeling you’re heading into big trouble. There’s already been one attempt on your life and these men won’t stop until you’re dead.’
‘I’ll watch myself,’ he promised. ‘There’s something these men haven’t figured on.’
‘What’s that?’ Everley asked.
‘I know how these killers operate better than they do themselves.’
There was a puzzled frown on Anne’s features at this enigmatic remark, but she remained silent as she followed him into the courtyard where the stallion stood waiting at the rail.
Swinging up into the saddle, he waited until the doctor had done likewise, then raised his hand to the girl. The last thing he saw as he rode out with Pearson beside him was her slender form standing in the doorway, her gaze following him as he made for the trail into town.
Back in his room at the hotel, Frank stood by the window and watched the twilight fade slowly into night. There was the usual activity down in the street below. Several riders had come in from outside of town and were now drifting in and out of the saloons on the far side.
Somewhere out there, among those men, was the killer who had ambushed him along the trail. A man who was in league with that outlaw gang. His thoughts fastened on the deputy, Hawkins. He recalled having seen him in earnest conversation with the banker just as the stage had been brought in that morning.
Several bits of the puzzle were now beginning to slot into place but there were still gaps and, as yet, he didn’t have anything like the full picture. Even though he had hoped to forget them, all of his marshal’s instincts were coming back to haunt him.
If what Ben Sheldon had told him was anywhere near the truth, McDonald would not have tried to kill him. Everything the sheriff did would be strictly according to the law. He would have brought him in for further questioning, but, knowing he was unarmed, would never have shot to kill from ambush.
That left Hawkins and Bellamy. It was just possible that either of those two men had discovered who he was and decided they had to get rid of him before he caused any trouble.
Across the street, the light in the sheriff’s office was suddenly extinguished and a moment later, McDonald stepped out onto the boardwalk, closing the door behind him. Watching closely, Frank saw him step along the street and go into the nearest saloon.
Going down the stairs, Frank went outside; then made his way across the street, pushing open the batwing doors. He saw McDonald standing at the bar a few feet away.
Crossing the floor, Frank went to the bar standing close beside the sheriff. He knew the lawman was studying him closely in the mirror.
‘May I buy you a drink, Sheriff?’ he asked in a low voice.
McDonald half turned his head, then gave a nod. Frank waited until the barman had filled two glasses, leaving the bottle on the counter.
‘You got somethin’ on your mind, Kelsey?’
‘Yeah.’ Frank took a sip of his drink. ‘You know anyone who’d tail me out o’ town and then try to kill me?’ He noticed the expression of surpri
se which flashed across the sheriff’s features.
‘When did this happen?’ McDonald demanded.
‘Round about noon.’ Briefly, he described what had happened, finally asking, ‘Can you tell me where Hawkins was about that time?’
‘Hawkins? You suspect him o’ this?’
‘I reckon there ain’t anyone else in town who has any beef with me. I only rode in a couple o’ days ago. Yet from his attitude in your office, I get the feelin’ he doesn’t like me much.’
McDonald tossed down half of his drink in a single swallow. His face had assumed a grim look. ‘Hawkins is that kind o’ cuss, I reckon. I’ve had my suspicions about him for some time. Matter o’ fact, I didn’t want him as deputy but Bellamy and some other big men on the Town Committee pushed for him so I finally had no say in the matter. I do know he’s anglin’ for my place but I don’t intend to step down for some years yet.’
He stared down at the rest of the liquor in his glass. Then, keeping his voice down, he muttered, ‘Could be I’m talkin’ out o’ turn here, Kelsey, but I have the feelin’ you ain’t what you seem. There’s somethin’ about you that puzzles me. At first, I had you figured for some kind o’ gunslinger from across the border, but now I ain’t so sure.’
‘I’m no gunslinger.’ Frank told him. ‘I’ve seen enough o’ gunplay in the past. Now I want none of it.’
McDonald’s lips twitched in a mirthless smile. He turned his head to look directly at Frank. ‘You want some advice from an old man? These are lawless times. It’s the same all the way along the frontier. Without a gun and the ability to use it, you won’t live long. Most o’ these coyotes will just as soon shoot down an unarmed man as spit.’
Resting his elbow on the counter, Frank said, ‘You ain’t answered my question yet, Sheriff. Was Hawkins in town all day?’
McDonald rubbed his stubbled chin. It made a faint scratching sound. ‘Now you come to mention it, I didn’t see him for at least three hours after that stage showed up and we took those bodies to the mortuary. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Guess I figured he had business at the bank. This is the fourth stage to be attacked that way in less than a month and I’ve asked him to check on how much gold and money had been taken.’