The E.R. Slade Western Omnibus No.1

by E. R. Slade

  “The Kid, now, he take the girl on his own horse, or another?”

  “He ... Hey, mister, I don’t know nothin’ about the girl ...”

  “One horse or two?” He gave the man another shake so his teeth rattled.

  “Two,” he said.

  “Ike mad?”

  “He ... Aw right, don’t ... He was talkin’ ’bout killin’ ’im. Said the girl was his and he had plans for her.”

  “What kind of plans?”

  “Laws, how do I know? You think he would tell me a thing like that?”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “Rode out the other end of the street, past the water tower.”

  “The way up the mountain, maybe?”

  “Could be. I dunno.”

  “Have a hunting camp up there, don’t they?”

  “The marshal does.”

  “Where?” And he gave him another shake.

  “They say it’s up on Marlowe Ridge. ’Bout four or five miles up the West Trail. You ain’t goin’ up there after ’em, are you?”

  “West Trail?”

  “West fork. They’s only two ways to go. Now looky here, mister, if they was to find out I told you anythin’, they’d shoot me.”

  “I find them, it’ll be me doing the shooting.”

  And Ben meant just what he said.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ben went across the street to where he’d left the horses, long ago when the idea had been to ride away to safety. It was amazing what a change in circumstances could do to your sense of time. He brought the animals back to Sikes’, left him unsaddling and unbridling, and, carrying only a few supplies, set off east out of town aboard his pony.

  It was cold in the wind blowing down the mountainside, making his sweat chill him. Or maybe it was his thoughts that chilled him.

  He didn’t know what time it was, but it was late. In a few hours the sun would come up. Whether that was a good or bad circumstance he wasn’t entirely sure. He was as much as two hours behind them, and they both presumably knew the trail better than he did. They were very likely already at their destination.

  Thinking about what that might mean made him colder yet.

  When he’d ridden out of town and up the mountain the first time, he had gone about the same distance it was supposed to be to the Clauson hunting camp, yet he’d seen no sign of it. Presumably it was up a branch of the trail that bore left, but he’d never noticed such a trail.

  So how was he going to find that trail in the dark? When he hadn’t noticed it in daylight?

  It wasn’t as though he was unobservant of such things when riding in unfamiliar country.

  Ben slowed his pony to a walk as he rode the trail he did know, and went some distance before he wondered about something and stopped.

  Suppose the other trail didn’t fork off this one, but started right at town? Say, from the end of Larson Lane? The “fork” could be the corner of that lane with the main street.

  He should have asked Laskey.

  Too much had happened. He was missing things he wouldn’t ordinarily miss. Too many shocks.

  Some marshal he’d make.

  So, had he missed the trail the last time? Or hadn’t it been there to see?

  Time was wasting. Every minute counted.

  He had to do something.

  He swung his pony around and rode as fast as he dared, or a bit faster, back down the trail to town. Only he didn’t go into town but swung to the right and rode through a few scattered trees toward the sawmill. All was dark there, quiet.

  He found the end of the lane and rode away from town on it. It quickly faded out into a difficult trail to follow, though it was indeed a trail. It would have helped if there had been a moon, but the starlight was all there was.

  Then he got off the trail and had to go back a bit to relocate it. By now he must be at least another half hour behind them, he figured. By the time he ever found the place, if he did at all, it could be too late.

  Could be too late now.

  He lost the trail twice more and went back, then a third time. At this point he was far enough up the mountain that he thought he might be getting close and he simply continued in the same general direction, which here was traversing to the west.

  The going got hard and he turned to traverse east. The trail had been switchbacking up the mountain most of the way, and he figured it was about time to make another turn anyhow.

  Suddenly he heard voices, off in the distance, perhaps a bit uphill of straight ahead. He pointed his pony in that direction. The poor pony was tiring and going slower.

  He went some distance, and then gave the pony a few moments’ rest while he listened.

  Nothing.

  He nudged his mount ahead, heard voices again and stopped.

  “I’ll have to kill you,” came Ike Clauson’s voice echoing down the mountainside.

  “That’s all you ever wanted to do anyway,” returned Kid Clauson, from further away.

  Ben didn’t wait for more. He kept after his pony until he broke into a run up the hill. They were near the tree line here, with only scrubby little firs scattered around on a stony piece of ground. Every step the pony made sent stones rattling away down the slope behind them. Ben began to worry about the noise he was making and pulled up again to listen.

  “You always got everything any good, and I always got leftovers,” Kid Clauson was saying, piteously aggrieved. “I never could have anything until after you got done with it. Well, now I’m having something first, and you can have what’s left after I’m done.”

  And he thought he heard a muffled cry of pain. He wanted to spur his pony, but now came Ike Clauson’s voice again, not too far away. “Kid?” he shouted, and the tone was urgent. “You leave that girl alone. You hear me? Kid?”

  There was another cry of pain, perhaps, though it was hard to tell what the sound was. Then came the Kid’s voice: “I’ll do what I want with her.”

  The voices were close. Ben left his pony under a tree and went along up on foot, rifle in his hands, trying not to make any noise, but finding that almost impossible.

  Then the ground leveled somewhat and he could see a dark, squat shape in an open area right ahead, just beyond a few dwarf firs. The cabin. No lights. Nancy in there. With the Kid.

  He made an effort to get control of himself, stop his hands shaking.

  From right in front of him in the darkness under the trees came Ike Clauson’s voice again, this time in a different tone. “Don’t be foolish, Kid. Come on out of there so we can talk this over. Shouting back and forth don’t make any sense.”

  “Ike, if you don’t clear off and leave me alone, I’m going to kill the girl after I’m done with her, and then you won’t git nothing.”

  “Kid,” Ike Clauson snapped right back, his tone hard again, “if you hurt that girl, let alone kill her, I’ll hang you from the water tower with my own hands. Is that what you want?” Now his tone changed once more. “None of this don’t make any sense. If you want girls, I’ll get you girls. The world is full of girls. But that girl there ain’t your kind. Now come on out and let’s talk this over.”

  Suddenly there came a rifle shot from the cabin, and the lead slammed into a rock just a few feet from Ben. Ike answered the fire, but there was no sign the shot did the Kid any damage.

  Ben went to the right quickly, where he sensed better cover and would be less in the line of fire, to see what else might happen and figure out a strategy.

  “Kid, you ain’t thinking straight. I’m going to make you a deal. You turn her loose, bygones’ll be bygones. I’ll get you girls enough and to spare, if I have to import them from New Orleans. What do you say?”

  “You’ll import girls for me from New Orleans, will you. If you did, you’d use them up first before I got anything of it.”

  “I’ll have to shoot my way in there and button your lip for good. That what you want?”

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you. You
never done nothing but steal anything of mine you wanted. Now you want to steal the girl from me. Well, you can’t have her. I got her. Not like Patsy or one of them others.”

  More shots fired, several on each side.

  Ben wanted to finish off Ike himself, but even if he succeeded, the Kid would still be in the cabin with Nancy. Besides, right now he was a useful diversion. A plan was starting to form in Ben’s mind.

  “I go bust into her house,” the Kid said, “and find that money and them jewels and things and you steal it all from me. And you’re going to send to New Orleans for girls for me. All you are is a thief, that’s all. Just a lying, cheating ...”

  “Listen here, you stupid, worthless little snot nose. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have a dime in the world. You’d sleep in the gutter every night. You’d have to trade your fancy pistols for whiskey. Pistols I paid for. Now, you’ve got to decide, you coming out of there or not?”

  More shooting. Both of them were using rifles.

  Ben was circling by this time. He got around to the rear of the cabin hoping for a window or door, but there wasn’t any. The place was made of moderate-sized logs chinked with mud. After feeling along the logs a bit he found a piece of chinking that wasn’t particularly attached and pulled it out, which left space enough to put his fingers through.

  There was room for a pistol barrel, but beyond was what felt like an old horse blanket hung against the wall to stop the wind blowing in.

  “One more chance,” Ike shouted, his voice hard now. “Then I’m coming to kill you, and no mistake.”

  “No, you got one more chance. Ride away and let me have my fun and I’ll bring you what’s left of her. Try to come in here and I’m going to blow your guts all down the mountainside. You know I can do it, too.”

  “No you can’t, you damn fool.”

  “Try me, you scum. I’ll do what that fancy hired gun couldn’t.”

  Ben had his knife out by now and he reached through with the sharp tip of it and sliced the blanket.

  A slot opened but there were no lamps lit in the cabin and he couldn’t see much. If he fired he might hit anything or nothing. It could be Nancy.

  Now came another roar of gunfire, both sides blasting away. Ben saw muzzle flashes and by them he saw a dark shape, perhaps in front of a marginally lighter window. It might have been the Kid, but it was just too dark to be sure enough to chance a shot. He didn’t know where Nancy was. The Kid might have her next to him.

  The shooting stopped.

  “Got him!” yelled the Kid. “That’s the end of you, by golly! You’ll never bother me again. Not ever.” He yipped and for a few seconds it sounded like he was dancing around. Ben thought he saw motion in front of the lighter patch of darkness which might have been the window.

  Then the Kid said, “Well, now, Nancy girl, it’s time for some fun. I been waiting on this quite a while.”

  Ben heard feet moving on the floor, saw the lighter area get bigger, could make out nothing more.

  “No,” came Nancy’s voice, desperately. “Please don’t ... No!”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The fear in Nancy’s voice made Ben sweat. He dug in a pocket, fumbled out matches, broke the first one, lost the second one, lit the third, put it to the blanket inside.

  It caught fire easily and all there was to see at first was flames. Then there was a hole to look through and flickering light to see by. Nancy was tied down on her back on a trestle table, and Kid Clauson stood over her, his hands ...

  Ben jammed the barrel of his Remington between the logs, sighting down it ... Nancy struggling helplessly against her bonds, the Kid with both hands on her ...

  He fired.

  Kid Clauson spun half around when the bullet hit his right shoulder, and the Kid saw the fire and pulled his left pistol and emptied it in Ben’s direction, lead smashing into the logs of the wall, one bullet ripping its way past his ear throwing splinters.

  Ben fired again, and Kid Clauson dropped the gun and clutched that arm, stumbling sideways, falling, moaning in a heap on the floor.

  The fire was filling the cabin with smoke and Nancy was coughing. Ben raced around to the front, hoping the Kid had been right about having shot his brother. There wasn’t time to be careful now.

  The door latch string was pulled in. No way to open the door ...

  He went to the window the Kid had been shooting from. The glass was gone, except for shards sticking from the frame like teeth. He cleaned most of them out of the way with a quick sweep of the barrel of his pistol.

  As he did so he realized he’d left his rifle propped against the rear of the cabin.

  No time to worry about it now. He pulled himself through the window, the smoke from the burning blanket boiling past him. He could barely breathe, the hot smoke stinging his lungs.

  The whole back wall of the cabin looked aflame, but he thought only of Nancy and raced to her, knife out.

  The ropes cut quickly thanks to the sharpness of his blade, and he stepped to the door, opened it, then came back and picked Nancy up.

  She was limp in his arms as he went outside and escaped the smoke.

  Gently he laid her on the ground and bent down to listen for breath.

  She coughed in his ear, sputtered, and started to move, rolled onto her side, coughing and dragging in great gulps of air.

  “Nancy ... Nancy,” he said, and as she tried to sit up he gathered her into his arms.

  “Ben,” she said hoarsely, and her arms locked around his neck as though she intended never to let go again.

  Then she began to weep and he held her until it let up.

  “Oh no!” she said suddenly. “Look at the fire!”

  Actually, when he looked, he saw it was diminished from before. He went inside, found a bucket of water standing next to the stove and put out what was left of the blaze. The blanket had burned, but it had not been hot long enough to set off the logs of the cabin wall. There was a big cloud of smoke and a little sizzling, but the fire was done.

  Kid Clauson still seemed to be breathing, though he wasn’t conscious. Ben turned to see that Nancy was all right—she was now standing just outside the door, watching him—and then dragged the Kid out the door and away from the smoke.

  Ben looked down the dark slope below, trying to see if there was a body on the ground somewhere. He could make out vague shapes by the first hints of dawn in the eastern sky, but nothing that looked like a body. He wasn’t sure whether he’d be able to see a body or not in this light.

  Yet the Kid seemed to think he’d hit his target. What had he seen?

  That there had been no more shooting or shouting from Ike was a good sign that they were safe now, but there was no way to be sure. He might be playing some ruse and could step up behind them at any moment.

  Ben wanted to go down and see what was to be found, but it didn’t seem smart to do it without good light, not with Nancy to think of.

  “Come on a minute,” he said softly to her and led the way around back of the cabin to get his gun. “I don’t want you out of my sight from now on, Miss Bailey,” he said, relieved to have gotten away with another slip up, “Do you know where the horses are?”

  “No, I don’t ... Mr. Gordon.” She swallowed and he thought she might cry again. She had been standing very near him, but now took a small step back to a more formal distance.

  Ben looked closely at her, trying to understand what was bothering her. She turned her face away, blinking at tears.

  “Miss Bailey?” he asked.

  “I am quite well, thank you, Mr. Gordon,” she said. “Thanks to you.”

  “All right,” he said, not convinced. “I should tend to the Kid’s wounds.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said.

  They went around to the front of the cabin—Ben remembering to bring his rifle this time—and since the smoke was mostly cleared out now Ben went in and found a stub of candle and lit it, put it on the table. He cleaned up every vestige
of the ropes that had bound Nancy, threw them in the stove. He found an old shirt hanging on a chair back and, blowing out the candle, stepped outside, ripping the shirt up to use on Kid Clauson’s wounds.

  One bullet had done quite a bit of damage to his shoulder, though the bleeding was not extensive. The other had passed through the upper part of the Kid’s left arm, also missing any important veins. Ben bound them up to contain any further bleeding and decided there was no reason to tie the man’s wrists. If he regained consciousness he wasn’t going to be in a condition to threaten anybody.

  Ben did take the Kid’s tooled-leather gun belt off and he removed the shells from the weapon that hadn’t been fired, put them in his own pocket. He went and found the other pistol where it had been dropped in the cabin, and also collected the Kid’s Winchester.

  All this while, Nancy had stood nearby, quiet and reserved. Ben was getting worried about her. Something had come over her, but he couldn’t figure what. Maybe it had all just been too much to deal with.

  “I’ve got to find out what happened to Ike,” he told her gently. “There’s getting to be a little more light now. Do you want to come with me? Or would you like to sit down and rest?”

  On looking closely at her, he thought he might be asking too much too soon. “Going to see about him can wait, I think,” he said. “If he were alive and trying to play something, it’s likely he’d have done it by now.”

  “Whatever you think, Mr. Gordon,” she said, and her chin was bravely up, her dignity gathered around her like a suit of armor.

  “Let’s go in and sit down for a little,” he said. “Or would you rather I brought the chairs outside?”

  “I don’t mind, Mr. Gordon,” she said, though he thought she did but wouldn’t say.

  He felt she was somehow becoming distant from him, and it worried him. What did he know about how to look after a girl who’d just had an experience like she’d had?

  He brought two rickety chairs out and set them against the front wall of the cabin, side by side.

  “Time to watch the sun rise,” he said, watching the slope below, not the sky.