The E.R. Slade Western Omnibus No.1

by E. R. Slade

  ~*~

  Carmen, holding the gun now fully loaded with what she devoutly hoped was the right ammunition, went through the door into the living room.

  Riley and Pirate were pointing guns at Mandy, who was holding her hands clasped in front of her, the knuckles white. Other men stood around, their faces full of excitement and impatience. Riley was talking.

  “Carmen Haversam, where is she?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mandy’s voice was firm, though the pitch was higher than normal with fear.

  Riley thrust his face to within a half inch of hers, making her recoil, and pressed the barrel of his pistol against her bodice.

  “Where is Carmen Haversam?” he repeated more slowly, emphasizing each word.

  “I tell you ...” Mandy broke off in a cry of pain as Riley backhanded her.

  “I ain’t in no mood for a lot of foolishness,” Riley said grimly. “I’ll ask you once more, and then I’ll start pulling out your fingernails. Where is she?”

  “Don’t move,” Carmen finally mustered the boldness to say. She held the gun up in front of her, in both hands, right index finger on the trigger. She tried to look at her target, Riley, rather than at Mandy’s wide, terrified eyes.

  Riley turned his head at the sound of her voice, and a grin of determination twisted his hard mouth. He shoved Mandy roughly aside and came across the room towards Carmen. Mandy went to stand in front of the closed door to Tommy’s playroom. From within, a young boy’s voice called out for his mother, asking what was happening. Mandy turned as the door opened and a small boy peered out with large round eyes the color of his mother’s. She held his head to her side and watched the men fearfully.

  Carmen jerked the gun at Riley.

  “Stop! If you come closer, I’ll shoot you. I will.”

  “You won’t,” Riley said confidently, and paused only momentarily in his approach. His men held their guns on her, and so did he. “You’ll die before you can get off more than one shot,” he said.

  “You’ll die if you take one more step!” she said, her voice going up, wavering at the end.

  He took two more steps before she began firing the gun, pulling the trigger as fast as she could. The shots echoed loudly in the still, fragrant room, the gun smoke obliterating the fragrance of flowers. Plates crashed down in the china cabinet, holes appeared in the far wall and in the polished living room table.

  All the men had gone flat, covering their heads.

  Then it was over, and silence flowed into the room again to soothe the offended ears. The men stood up. Riley was first. In a last desperate attempt, Carmen futilely threw the empty pistol at him. It glanced off his shoulder ineffectually as he ducked. Then he grinned again, and came towards her.

  At that moment, Carmen could see, through the window, riders far away across the creek, too far away to hear the shots, but headed for the ranch: Spike and his men.

  Riley motioned Pirate to come.

  “Hold her,” he directed. When Pirate had complied, grabbing Carmen from behind, Riley pulled out his knife, the sun coming in the window flashing on it brightly.

  Mandy screamed again, but no one paid her any mind. They were far more interested in what was happening to Carmen at that moment.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sheriff Hawkins emerged from the livery with a horse and a smile. It seemed that the town’s Riley was in pursuit of a pair of carpenters who had ridden out to the Rocking B Ranch in a wagon. Downright interesting piece of news, that was. He mounted up and sent the bay horse out of town at a canter.

  He reined in and climbed down from the saddle once when he came to the point where the wagon tracks suddenly got deeper, and then rode on at an even faster clip.

  This business of who was Riley and who wasn’t intrigued him, though as far as he was concerned, it didn’t really matter much which name went with which man, since the court had tried and convicted one of them on eyewitness testimony. It was hard to believe that Calloway and Riley looked enough alike to fool an eyewitness.

  The Rocking B Ranch buildings came into sight. Hawkins was interested to see if the wagon tracks would go to them. A few minutes later he was not surprised at the fact that they did not.

  When the next ranch hove in sight Hawkins noticed the horses in the yard, all saddled and standing around. Riley, it had to be. What had he found? Hawkins decided he would like to have a look for himself at this outlaw. Maybe he’d get some of his questions answered.

  He swung well to the rear of the buildings, found some thorn bushes and left his bay behind them. Then he drew his Colt and headed for the rear of the house.

  The door was locked. So were all the windows he tried. He thought he could hear the mumbling sounds of talking somewhere in the building, but he wasn’t certain of that.

  Then there was a woman’s scream: he was certain of that.

  He went running around the end of the building to the open front door. He barely noted the horsemen approaching in the distance from the south, or the splintered hole shot in the heavy doorjamb. He went running inside, Colt tipped up in his hand.

  There was another scream. He saw first a woman holding a small boy to her side, her hand to her mouth, eyes wide and frightened. The next thing he saw as he came into the room was the group of men all watching something to the right. Then he saw what had their attention. Carmen, held by one big, burly man with a patch over his eye, her whole face tightly knotted in anticipation of pain, was partially obscured by another man who Hawkins momentarily took for the man known around these parts as Calloway. Then he realized there were differences.

  “Riley!” he bellowed into the still room, gun held steady before him.

  Riley spun on his heel, knife glinting in the sunlight as it fell to the floor, where it stuck. His hand went to his Colt, but then he saw the weapon in Hawkins’ hand and stopped moving for a second.

  The others all simply stared in stunned amazement. Except the one-eyed man. His arm moved to encircle Carmen’s neck.

  “I’ll break it,” the one-eyed man said coolly. “Drop your gun.”

  Riley’s face twisted into a lopsided grin. “Better do as the man says,” he said. “Pirate has snapped a whole lot of pretty necks.”

  Hawkins debated for a few seconds, considering. Carmen had done a thing she hadn’t ought to have, but now that he saw Riley’s face, he could begin to wonder if the witness might possibly have made a mistake. Maybe Calloway really was Calloway, and maybe, just maybe, he was an innocent man. At any rate, Carmen didn’t deserve to die this way. He put his gun away.

  “Put it on the floor,” Riley directed.

  Silently, Hawkins did so.

  “That’s real fine, mister lawman.”

  “Look!” a bald, short man said nervously, pointing out the window.

  Riley flicked his eyes over to look out, and then back to Hawkins.

  “I reckon we got to clear out now,” he said evenly. “I don’t reckon we need you around.”

  Hawkins saw it coming. He made a desperate attempt to save himself. He saw Riley clearing leather as he dove for his own gun where it lay on the floor. Then there was an explosion, and the world revolved away from him forever.

  ~*~

  The sound of the shot had Littleton leaping from his horse and hurtling through the front doorway, the entry hall and into the living room. He found only the dead sheriff and his wife, who was kneeling beside the still form, and his son, who stood wide-eyed in the doorway of his playroom, having seen far too much for a five-year-old.

  “What happened? Where did they go?”

  “They have Carmen. They went out the back way.”

  Littleton at that moment saw riders mounting up just outside the window. He crashed into his two men, who’d followed him inside.

  “Stay here,” he told Ford. “Stay with my wife. I’m depending on you.” The other hand followed him out through to the front door, where they were met with a hail of hot lead
which pocked the white plaster walls of the entryway and nicked the doorframe. They flattened against the wall, side by side, and waited until the lead stopped singing.

  The riders went off in a thundering of hooves, sending back an occasional shot. Littleton figured it was safe enough and stepped outside.

  His head was jerked to the left. He felt a sharp pain; then he blacked out.

  ~*~

  When he awoke, the first thing he saw was Mandy’s concerned face. He tried to recall where he was and what he’d been doing. He felt a great sense of urgency, but couldn’t think of the reason. Struggling, he sat up and felt dizzy. His head throbbed with pain.

  “No, Spike,” Mandy said firmly. “Lie back. You’re hurt. Come on now, lie back.”

  Gingerly, he felt his head. Mandy had put a bandage on the place where the pain seemed to originate. Must have been a crease, is all, he thought.

  “I’ll be all right,” he told her. He remembered now what it was he had to do. “Where’s George?”

  “Right here.”

  “Why didn’t you follow them?” Littleton demanded, getting up.

  “He stayed behind because of me,” Mandy said. “Harold Ford wanted to go after them; he said you’d understand.” Mandy tried to push him back. “Now, lie back. You should be resting. I’ll send someone for the doctor.”

  “I ain’t got time for no doctor,” he said, remaining standing. “So Ford went, eh?” He mused on this a moment while he walked across the living room to see if he still could make everything move normally. He seemed to be all right, except for a bad headache.

  “He took one of your rifles,” George said. “He said he figured that as long he has a reputation anyway, he might as well earn it.”

  Spike felt a certain pride in Ford, though he’d only known him a few weeks. The boy might do all right for himself one day. He might just be that kind of man.

  Spike strode into the den and surveyed the rifles in the rack and nodded to himself. “The ‘60 Henry. Good choice. That boy knows guns. Guess I’ll have to take the Winchester.” He took the weapon from the rack, checked the action and the breach automatically, and then stuffed his pockets full of shells. Finally he loaded the rifle and carried it outside amid the protests of his wife.

  “Mandy,” he said, “don’t worry. I’m all right. I’ve fought a good many battles and gunfights in worse condition than this.” He felt uncomfortable, displeasing his wife. He prized the peace and gentleness of the home she’d created for them. She looked up earnestly into his eyes and finally smiled wanly.

  “I guess I keep forgetting how tough you really are,” she said. “I was going to ask you to go after Riley anyway, to help Lee Calloway. For his sake and for Carmen’s, who has taken to him, I think.”

  Spike listened carefully while she told him, briefly, what Carmen had told her about Calloway and the gold and his load of rocks, presumably a trick to lure Riley out into the desert for a gunfight.

  “Well,” he said, “I reckon I got considerable to do. George, you stay here. I don’t want anything happening to my wife and son. You got that? You tell the boys to keep an eye out.”

  “I won’t let anybody past the door that looks like he’s got the wrong kind of ideas.”

  Spike was about to turn and climb aboard his horse when he found Mandy’s arms around his neck and felt her warm kiss. Then she backed off. He felt very awkward and big handed with his wife normally, but now he felt twice as awkward with George standing by.

  He could not see the men he was after, or Ford either. He sent his horse along at a trot, following the trail the riders had left. Soon it joined the wagon ruts Mandy had talked about. Spike spurred his mount into a gallop and kept his eye going from the clear trail to the horizon.

  ~*~

  Lee Calloway was becoming uneasy. He sat on the top of the rock, dangling his feet over the edge, endlessly watching the desert. It was getting so that his eyes hurt from the ceaseless vigilance.

  Supposing he had fooled Riley completely? And Riley had never discovered how he and Carmen had left town? It seemed inconceivable. Yet time was getting on, and still there was no sign of pursuit.

  Supposing they had stopped at the Lazy L Ranch and were torturing Carmen? No, that didn’t seem likely at all. Riley surely could see the depth of the tracks, and certainly he would want the gold, not Carmen. The only reason for bothering Carmen had been to get the gold.

  But then, where were they?

  Lee took a swallow from his canteen, shifted the slouch hat on his brow, went back to watching the desert. He wanted to do something, but couldn’t see what: he’d already picked his course of action. He had his stronghold. It seemed best still to just wait.

  ~*~

  Harold Ford had stayed around only long enough to see if the unconscious Spike Littleton was seriously wounded before setting out after the Riley gang. He had decided that, under the circumstances, Mr. Littleton would not mind if one of his rifles was used in their pursuit.

  Ford had made the decision to go after the gang as a simple reaction to the situation. He had not even considered all the fears and worries he had been harboring since the gunfight in which he’d killed his first man, all the terror at having to face another fight after seeing what one was really like firsthand. But as he rode off after the gang, which he could see raising dust half a mile away, the doubts set in once again. Yet he knew that now there was no turning back. He ought to at least try to live up to his own ideals.

  Then there was no dust cloud. Harold Ford was not sure when it stopped. He had been paying more attention to the tracks, figuring against the possibility that the dust cloud belonged to someone else. Now he tried to recall exactly where he had last seen the dust. He rode up a slight rise and reined in his mount, looking over the landscape. The piñon, mesquite, dust and rocks seemed completely empty of human life. Off to the south, on a bend in the Little River, a small herd of mule deer were watering. He ran his eye from there to the western horizon very slowly and carefully. He saw nothing, but he had an idea where Riley and his gang could be waiting for him in ambush. They wouldn’t care to have anyone on their back trail. They might also be taking the opportunity to continue their torture session with Carmen.

  There was a clump of cottonwoods on the bank of the Little River about three hundred yards past the place where the mule deer were watering. It was the best point along the river bank to hide that number of men and animals, and it was on the most likely route someone driving a wagon out into the desert would take.

  He rode hard down off the rise and wound through the thickets. A rattler lying still in the speckled shade of a thorn bush was startled into making a strike, but was too late to be noticed by the horse and too slow to make a hit. Some minutes later, Ford drew up and dismounted behind a thick copse, taking the Henry from the saddle and wrapping the reins around a small branch—enough to keep the horse in place without creating a potential threat to the animal’s mouth, if it were to get spooked by a rattler or suchlike.

  The clump of cottonwoods was about fifty yards away. Ford did not go towards them. Instead, he went south, waded into the shallow, sluggish river and then followed the bed east about fifty feet and emerged from the river there, heading back to his horse. From a point in the bushes about twenty feet from the animal, he settled down quietly to wait, drawing his long-bladed hunting knife in readiness. He tried to stay perfectly still and maintain the iron calm he admired in men like Spike Littleton, but he found he was simply unable to keep images of the shooting and death at the Lazy L Ranch out of his mind. His unease was expressed by lightly tapping the tip of the blade of the knife against his boot.

  What Ford expected to happen was that someone would come to investigate the dust which had been kicked up by his approach. When the investigator arrived and started following the tracks, Ford wanted to be ready to jump him. It wouldn’t do to have anyone making off with the horse or on his back trail.

  It was not long before he heard a
slight sound behind him. Some small rodent, he felt sure. Still, it couldn’t hurt to check. He turned to look.

  ~*~

  Riley drew up in the clump of cottonwoods, and the others halted behind him. The shade was pleasant after the beating heat of the relentless sun.

  “I reckon this place is as good as any,” he said. “Baldy, you and Andrews take the west side. Oliver, you take the south. Jackson, north, and Gomez, you and the others spread out and be ready to cover any side. Keep your eyes on his dust. Let me know when he gets close or stops. Pirate, you and me and the girl got business to attend to. Get her down off the horse here.”

  The men scattered to their assigned positions. Pirate took Carmen’s arms from behind and held her solidly in his brawny hands. She closed her eyes and her lips moved, perhaps in prayer.

  Riley drew his knife and tested the edge with his thumb. He frowned at her closed eyes.

  “Girl,” he said softly, “you’re going to do some talking. And you’re going to do it with your eyes open. Got that?”

  She did not appear to have heard. She kept her eyes closed. Her lips kept moving in what had to be prayer. Riley’s eyes flashed in fury. He wanted to roar, but could not afford to, lest it give their position away.

  “Pirate, tie her to the cottonwood. I reckon it’s time I practiced up with my knife throwing. I don’t know if I can hit what I aim at anymore or not.”

  Pirate grinned at that. He used his belt and the nearest cottonwood to carry out Riley’s instructions. Then he pinched Carmen’ cheek and stepped aside. She flinched slightly at his pinch, but otherwise continued as she had—silent and with eyes closed.

  “That’s fine, real fine,” Riley said, stepping back several feet. “Now I reckon we got to startle a little talk out of her, just to get her tongue a runnin’. Then we’ll have to take some pieces out’n her to sharpen her memory. Then we’ll take off some important parts, to correct anything in her memory that needs correctin’. Unless, of course, she was to speak up loud and clear and tell all she knows about what kind of trick Calloway is up to. But I don’t reckon she’s smart enough to do that. Her father wasn’t too smart and he ended up dead. But we’ll hope that she learned somethin’ from watchin’ what happened to him.”