The E.R. Slade Western Omnibus No.1

by E. R. Slade

Coe grunted softly to himself and got back into his bedroll, wondering if he’d actually seen anything at all. He had no sooner gotten settled, than he heard the quiet neigh of a horse, coming from the north—their own horses were hobbled south of camp. Coe sat up, listening, heard a hoof tickle a pebble over rocks.

  He got to his feet and set off north, gun cocked this time. He stumbled through the thicket, making some noise, and then broke out on the grass and stopped. Over the beating of his heart he could make out the quiet stepping of a horse moving away up the northeastern slope of the valley. Coe couldn’t see anything of the animal until it reached the rim and was silhouetted against the starry night sky.

  A horse and rider.

  Coe dove back through the maples to camp, yanked on his boots, and grabbed his saddle. A few moments later he was silently cinching up. He got the rope hobbles off, swung aboard, and urged the dun across the stream and up the slope.

  On the ridge, he halted. The ridge was mostly bare, but it quickly dropped down into a tangle of undergrowth on the far side. He didn’t see any sign of the horse and rider, and wondered if it was futile to try to continue pursuit.

  Pebbles rattled northwest along the ridge.

  He sent the dun along at a trot. After going a little distance, he drew up and listened again.

  The brisk drumming of hooves was growing faint ahead.

  He’d been discovered. The rider was going to play fox now. Chasing him would be a waste of time.

  As he rode back to camp, he wondered, was it Turner or Gordon? Had one of them seen the camp and decided to check it out? If so, why? And where was the other man? Had they split up?

  If it wasn’t one of the two he was after, then who was it?

  He couldn’t answer any of these questions, and decided to quit trying and get some more sleep.

  ~*~

  Coe woke again as the sun, filtering through the maple leaves, struck his face. He got up feeling sore, and found both Tower and Underwood gaping and stretching.

  Nobody said much for the first few minutes as they got their bedrolls shaken out and rolled up, and splashed water from the stream into their faces.

  Then Underwood said, “I sure could use a bite to eat.”

  “I think we ought to scout around a bit first,” Tower suggested. “Not make any noise or build any fires until we’ve checked to be sure they ain’t stretched out just over the next rise or somethin’. If we don’t see nothin’, then I vote we down us a bird or two, or maybe butcher one of those outlaw critters we run acrost on the way up here. Ain’t no good tryin’ to work hard on an empty stomach.”

  Coe told them about what had happened the night before.

  “Didn’t see who it was, though?” Underwood asked.

  “Too dark. I heard a lot more than I saw.”

  “I’m thinkin’ maybe we ought to get right on that trail,” Tower said. “If it was one of them two, they won’t be camped out anywheres close by, you can bet your saddle on it.”

  They packed their rolls aboard their horses and Coe led the way up onto the ridge and along it, hunting tracks. Unfortunately there was a lot of exposed ledge which told them nothing, and it wasn’t long before they gave it up.

  The sun was already getting plenty warm on their backs, and they nosed down the northeast side of the ridge into the trees and drew up in the shade.

  “I say we split up and do some huntin’, meet back at the camp in an hour or two, with whatever we’ve got.” That was Tower’s suggestion. They agreed on it and set off in different directions, Coe down into the bottoms on the northeast side of the ridge, where he had an idea he might scare up some birds.

  He skulked around down in the brushy bottoms without finding much of anything, until, as he was thinking he ought to start back for camp, he ran across a turkey roosting in a tree. It wasn’t smart enough to be disturbed, and he knocked off its head with a very carefully braced shot.

  It turned out he was the only one to get anything, and they feasted on the turkey, roasting it in pieces to speed up the cooking. It was a little tough, but having empty stomachs made that a fact which didn’t much matter.

  During the meal, and afterwards, they discussed where the escapees would most likely have gone. Or rather, Tower and Underwood discussed it, and Coe listened. They more or less agreed that the best bet was to assume the night visitor had been one of the two they were after, that the pair had probably been spooked, and that they would therefore be most likely to head south along the mountain trails, making for the border.

  At this point, Coe spoke up.

  “The thing I’ve been wondering about is why the fellow came right into camp like that,” he said.

  “Probably by mistake,” Tower said. “It just happened, and when he saw who it was, and when you woke up, he took off.”

  “Maybe, but where was the other man all that time?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It doesn’t add up somehow. I thought perhaps they saw us come and camp, but weren’t sure it was us, and one of them came to see.”

  “That sounds likely,” Underwood said.

  “All right. That’s fine, if that’s what happened. But I thought of another reason: suppose they knew who we were all right, but one of their horses came up lame, and they wanted another? That would be an even better reason to risk coming right into camp.”

  There was a short silence, and then Tower fingered his chin thoughtfully.

  “What you’re gettin’ at is, if they are short a horse, then they won’t be headin’ for the border. They’ll either be lookin’ for another chance at our horses, which would be plenty risky now we’ll be watching up nights, or else they’ll be makin’ a beeline for the nearest place they know to hole up.”

  “That’s what I’m getting at.”

  “Kind of makes it hard to know what to do,” Underwood said.

  None of them could think of anything useful to say for a while, and they sat gazing at each other, or off into the maples, which moved lazily in the wind that was coming up the canyon.

  Finally Tower said, “Well, if they hole up, they’ll be here a while, especially if they think we’re still around huntin’ ’em. They’ll lay low. I’d guess they may stay around as much as a week, tryin’ to figure out what to do, seein’ if the lame horse will come out of it enough to be usable, and waitin’ for us to get tired of lookin’. So, we could ride south, in case they are headed that way. One thing’s sure, if they’re headed for the border, and we stay foolin’ around here, we’ll never catch up with ’em.”

  It made sense to all of them, so shortly thereafter they were threading a trail up the southern ridge, Tower in the lead.

  ~*~

  They spent the rest of Monday riding generally south to southwest, hunting tracks and sign, checking out every trail they ran across. They found nothing, and camped in a nook of rock at the edge of an aspen grove, with a spring nearby. They shot a mule deer towards nightfall and ate steaks from it that evening, hanging the carcass in a tree for the next day. But sometime in the night, during Underwoods’ watch on the horses tethered a little distance off—they weren’t taking chances—some animal came and made off with the carcass. According to the tracks they found the next day, it was a mountain lion.

  Not bothering to hunt for breakfast, they went riding on south, continuing to check all the trails Tower knew of. By the end of that day, they were weary and discouraged. It seemed plenty clear they weren’t getting anywhere.

  “How much you care to bet they rode right out into the desert again, first thing yesterday mornin’,” Underwood said, as he cooked the one mutilated rabbit Coe had shot that day with his .45.

  “Think it’s time to go back and look for a hole,” Tower said. “We ain’t gettin’ nowhere this way.”

  The following morning, Wednesday, they returned to the area of their maple grove camp. It was dark by that time, and they had found nothing to shoot all day. They sacked out hungry and dissatisfied all around.
Coe had the strong suspicion they would be wasting their time from now on.

  Thursday morning saw them silently packing their gear. When it was all packed, Underwood said, almost under his breath, “I give it one more day. Then I go back and look after my town.”

  Tower glowered, as he had been since he got up this morning. The enforced closeness of the three of them over the past days had worn the artificial smooth cover on their relations mighty thin. Coe had spent a lot time watching Tower, and wondering about him, and Underwood had been trying too hard to be polite and act as though he believed Tower in the clear. Tower had been stone-faced much of the time, or else jumpy and feverish whenever there was any notion among them that they might be getting close to the quarry. Coe was certain the man was under pressure of some kind.

  Tower said, “You can go back if you want. I’m stayin’.”

  “They’re likely across the border by now,” Underwood returned.

  “I think they’re holed up.”

  “Think what you want. One more day.”

  “With an attitude like that, why don’t you just go now?” Tower said. “You can go too, Coe. I don’t need no help lookin’ after my boys.”

  “If I give up, I’ve got nothing,” Coe told him. “They’re my only leads to what happened to Pete. I’m staying.”

  “I said, one more day,” Underwood told Tower testily. “No more, no less.”

  That ended the conversation for the moment, but Coe could see that the carefully maintained balance was falling apart. The day wasn’t going to be pleasant.

  That was just the way it turned out, too. Underwood and Tower bickered all day, and about everything. They couldn’t agree which trail to explore, which ridge to take a sight from, which was the most likely place to look for holed-up outlaws. The day accomplished nothing. Coe did manage to get another rabbit, and after an argument, they stopped to eat it around the middle of the afternoon. Coe had hoped the food would settle nerves, but he couldn’t see that it helped at all. If anything, the bickering got worse.

  When the sun set, they found a spring and picketed their horses on a small piece of meadow ground under a low heavy rim. They became silent once laid out in their sleeping bags. They didn’t talk about setting a watch. Coe was glad of the quiet, anyway.

  In spite of his weariness, he was not sleepy at all, and found himself speculating on how things might go once Underwood left for town in the morning. He had a feeling Tower would stay irritable, and keep pushing to get Coe to leave. It was plain that Tower wanted to deal with his men himself. Was it possible he knew where they were, and had been maneuvering the search away from the place? Could that be why he had wanted to ride south in the mountains and explore the trails? It would account for his anxiety whenever they convinced themselves they might be getting close to the escapees. On the other hand, Coe was not at all sure there had been any attempt to steer them away from any particular area today. Tower might say, let’s go this way, but Underwood would invariably disagree, and as often as not Underwood had his way. Of course, Tower might have reason to believe the XBT hands were safely at distance, further north in the mountains, or even back at the XBT, although that last seemed unlikely.

  But if Tower was waiting for his companions to give up and go home, so he could see his men, perhaps the thing would be to pretend to give up also, and then watch where Tower went.

  He had not really decided what he thought or what he would do by the time he went to sleep.

  ~*~

  Sometime in the night, Coe came awake, and lay there for some moments thinking it was merely restlessness that had awakened him. Then, a good way off, he heard the clipping of hooves on rocks—two sets of hooves.

  He was on his feet instantly.

  “What the hell?” Tower began as Coe roughly shook him.

  “Horses,” he told Tower, and turned to jostle Underwood, who awoke like a man coming up from underwater for air.

  They all listened, as the hooves, running, drew nearer, though still quite a way off.

  “Up on the rim somewhere,” Underwood said. He sounded tense.

  “That’s where it is,” Tower agreed. His voice had a sharp edge to it. He seemed very alert. In the dark, Coe could only vaguely make out their faces, but from the sounds of their voices he thought that for the moment at least, these two weren’t going to start bickering.

  They left their bedrolls where they were, pulled on their boots, and went to saddle the horses. A few minutes later, with Tower in the lead, they were going up a steep wooded hillside on an angle calculated to intercept the running horses, which were headed north along the rim.

  They were too late, however, and set off along the trail after them. Coe had no confidence that this chase would accomplish anything. Once those aboard the running horses realized they were pursued, things would get very much more difficult. The horsemen would only have to pull off the trail a bit and stay quiet, and a small army could search all night and never find them. Still, this was all the lead they’d had since the intrusion on their camp days ago. Worth a try.

  Gunfire sounded ahead. For a moment, Coe wondered if the riders they pursued were shooting back at them; but it was soon clear the shooting had to be at something else, since it was so far ahead that no muzzle flashes were visible.

  There had been only three shots, and then there was just the air whistling by his ears as he rode, the clatter of the horses’ hooves.

  Coe had been riding directly behind Tower, with Underwood bringing up the rear. Now, Coe was aware that Tower was pulling ahead. Coe nudged his own horse along faster, trying to keep up, and then of a sudden the vague dancing shape ahead of him that was Tower was gone.

  He thought it might have been just a turn in the trail, but after riding along a distance further, still not seeing anything of Tower, he drew rein, and Underwood came to a thundering halt next to him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Underwood demanded, as his horse snorted.

  “Tower’s disappeared. Is there a fork in the trail back a ways?”

  “I don’t know this trail. You sure he hasn’t just pulled ahead?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  They were both quiet a moment, listening. There were hoofbeats retreating ahead, two sets. It wasn’t three sets, so if Tower had pulled ahead, he wasn’t making sound just now.

  “Never mind Tower,” Underwood said impatiently. “Let’s get after ’em.”

  They set spurs and rode on, much of the time side by side, as the trail was fairly wide here.

  Presently, shooting again erupted ahead. More than one gun—more than two? Three? It was a hot contest, in any case. Away off they saw muzzle flashes now. Coe dug in his spurs, drawing his own gun.

  ~*~

  Tower had suddenly remembered the trail. He’d been along here one time years ago (he’d forgotten what for, probably hunting). What came to mind, though, was the short cut. The trail swung gradually to the left around the mass of the mountain. But somewhere not far ahead there was a trail which cut across the oxbow shape. It was rough going, but a lot faster. If he took that, while the others took the main trail, he could get there first, perhaps, and he’d have a chance to find out from his boys what they’d seen of Justin in town, before all hell broke loose.

  He pushed his mount as hard as the animal would go, and pulled away from those behind him, and then he saw the big rock marking the shortcut and swung off into it. He drew up just behind the boulder and watched the others go past, shapes in the darkness. Then he wheeled his horse and rode hell-for-leather along the shortcut trail.

  He had nearly reached the point where the two trails rejoined when gunfire broke out again. It was coming from a point shy of the meeting place of the two trails, and when he reached the junction he swung south. In less than a minute he had to pull up and leave his horse in the cover of an outcropping, while he went forward in a crouch, gun in his hand.

  He did not know what to expect. There ap
peared to be two gunmen on his side of the battle, and one on the other. If the two were Turner and Gordon, then who was the other? Somebody traveling in the mountains from whom they’d tried to steal a horse? Could it be Justin?

  There had been two horses running, but there were three shooters. Seemed two had been aboard one horse. If this was about horse thieving, it didn’t appear they’d succeeded. But if Justin had run across them, and they were reduced to one horse, this shootout would make sense.

  In the dark, as he warily approached, Tower grinned wryly. Looked like he was going to get his chance to fix this mess.

  From somewhere beyond the far gunman came the distant sound of hooves. Underwood and Dolan. There was not much time.

  Tower slipped up behind the position of one of the men shooting from this side and waited for him to pause to load his gun—it would be smart to take no chances on getting shot when the fellow was surprised.

  The pause came, Tower ducked over to the small area behind the rock and, recognizing Pole Turner’s long form, said, “Don’t shoot, Pole. It’s me, Bert.”

  Turner lurched around, and for a split second, Tower was sure that Turner had been gut shot, but it was only stunned surprise.

  “Mister Tower, by golly, what’re you doin’ here?”

  “Never mind that. There’s no time. What I want to know is, who’s the lawyer Justin went to?”

  “Pole, who’re you talkin’ to?” That was Frank Gordon, clear enough. “Pole?”

  Tower yanked Pole around by the shoulder. “The lawyer?” he demanded.

  “We didn’t see any lawyer. All we saw is he went to church, and then he went home. That’s all. That’s Justin out there now, shootin’. We got to kill him, Mister Tower. There’s no way not to. He’ll kill Frank and me, if we don’t. We only got one good horse now. He outrun us.”

  “He must have seen a lawyer. Tell me exactly where he went.”

  “I already did. He just drove up to the church, parked at the rail, and him and Maria went in. After the service ...”

  Bullets sang off the rock, throwing chips, and Turner swung around to answer the fire, emptying his gun. Then he sat, his back to the ledge, reloading.