by Scott Connor
Decker shot through his handcuff chain.
‘Why?’ Lincoln asked, rolling his wrists and shrugging the tautness from his arms.
Decker licked his lips. ‘If you have to ask, I can’t answer.’
Decker tipped his hat and walked backwards from Lincoln. He’d walked ten paces when Lincoln raised a hand.
‘All right, Decker,’ he said. ‘You’ve convinced me you’re a decent man. Perhaps we can . . .’
Lincoln sighed, but try as he might he couldn’t complete his offer.
Decker walked another three paces before he stopped and raised his eyebrows.
‘You offering a deal?’ he asked.
Lincoln glanced over his shoulder at the ridge, then at Decker. He took a deep breath.
‘I guess I am. It’s like this . . .’
Chapter Twelve
On either side of the door Elwood and Wallace kept guard, firing sporadically whenever the raiders ventured a shot at them.
While Rocco guarded one of the back windows, Crane ordered Marvin to drag the embers of the fire back, which he managed while still keeping the fire alight. With Truman sitting in the corner nursing his bruises, Crane ordered Seymour to dig.
As Crane had hoped, the fire had turned the top layer of soil to thick mud, and further down the ground was soft enough to dig, but not quickly.
After a few minutes, Marvin relieved the rapidly tiring Seymour, but the digging didn’t proceed much faster. Progress was hard-won and he was exhausted by the time he’d dug out a foot of earth.
With his men guarding the door well enough to keep the men outside from getting closer than a tangle of boulders one hundred yards up the ridge, Crane grabbed a spade and joined Marvin in hammering the ground.
After only scraping away another six inches, he relented and swapped places at the window with Rocco.
For his part Rocco attacked the hole with vigor. In the central depression, he gouged a deep furrow, while Marvin and Seymour stood on the outside of the hole, wiping sweat from their brows and shaking their heads at the slow progress.
Truman crawled to the edge of the hole, and from the hopeful smile on his lips, Crane consoled himself with the belief that he appeared to be expecting the casket to appear at any moment.
With a long sigh, Crane hunkered down beside Truman and peered into the hole, shaking his head.
‘We’re two feet down,’ he said, keeping his voice level. ‘The casket must be close.’
‘It is there,’ Truman said, wiping his brow.
‘It’d better be. I’ve got a feeling that after this much digging, Rocco won’t be in the mood for failure.’
‘Too right,’ Rocco said, then slammed his spade down again.
‘Trust me,’ Truman said.
‘I hope I can.’ Crane grabbed Truman’s bruised chin and rocked his head from side to side, considering the numerous bruises emerging from the skin. ‘It worries me that you seem to have got yourself a death wish.’
Truman shrugged from Crane’s grip and crawled back from the hole to lean on the wall.
‘I was just demonstrating to you what’s at stake here.’
Crane moved to Truman’s side and stood over him, shaking his head.
‘You only proved that you can’t fight as well as Rocco can.’
‘I knew that already, but once you’ve thought some more, you’ll see that I’m right.’ Crane pointed at Rocco who was now cursing as his progress slowed. ‘You’re not like that brute. You don’t need gold to sort out your life.’
Crane waved a dismissive hand at Truman, then strode to the side of the hole.
In only five minutes Rocco had hammered out another foot of earth, but now his efforts were waning and the casket still hadn’t emerged from the dirt.
Rocco stood aside to let Crane jump into the hole and kick at the solid earth beneath his feet. He dropped to his knees and fingered the dirt.
The ground wasn’t as cold as he expected, the thick frost that had hardened the surface not penetrating this deep.
‘You reckon the fire will help?’ he asked.
Rocco shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. I reckon we’re through the frost, but the ground is just getting harder. I guess it won’t hurt to try.’
Crane nodded and levered himself from the hole, then ordered Marvin to pile the remnants of the fire back into the hole to soften more earth.
As Marvin grabbed the spare spade, a prolonged burst of gunfire sounded outside.
Rocco leapt from the hole and dashed to the back window as Crane joined Wallace at the side of the doorway.
Unlike the cannoning series of blasts that had peppered the walls earlier, none of this gunfire landed near the summer house.
Crane glanced outside. He put a hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the lowering sun, and confirmed that the raiders hadn’t left the tangle of rocks at the base of the ridge. Whenever one of them lifted to fire, he aimed away from the house and up the ridge.
With Wallace covering him, Crane edged out from the house a pace and peered at the ridge, searching along the mess of boulders and scree for the location of the shooter. Pockets of fog still clung to the ground, impeding his vision and he saw no movement.
‘Suppose we should have realized that we wouldn’t be the only ones after our gold,’ he said, backing into the house.
‘Yeah, but how many groups of raiders are out there?’ Wallace said.
‘Who cares? While they’re arguing amongst themselves, we can run.’
Another volley of gunshots blasted, this time sounding as if the firing came from the side of the house. Then Rocco turned from the back window.
‘Hey, Crane, come see this,’ he shouted.
Crane hurried from the doorway to the window. Through the window he saw that a hundred yards away a man was sprinting towards the summer house.
Crane narrowed his eyes and to his surprise realized the man was Lincoln.
‘Wallace, I need covering fire,’ he shouted. ‘Lincoln’s rejoining us.’
Wallace and Elwood leapt into the doorway and took turns to blast at the raiders, peppering the rocks behind which they were hiding and forcing them to dive for cover whenever they bobbed up.
Outside, Lincoln ran the last few yards to the house, then pressed himself flat against the wall. Rocco called for him to come in, and with a helping hand, dragged him on to the window ledge.
‘Can’t say I ever expected to see you again,’ Crane said as Lincoln rolled into the building, then batted the dust from his clothing.
Lincoln smiled. ‘I can think of fifty thousand reasons why you would. Even if you abandoned me.’
Crane shrugged. ‘We took our chances.’
‘Yeah.’ Lincoln skirted round the fire in the hole. At the front door, he considered the raiders’ position, then turned to Crane.
‘You got the gold yet?’
‘It’s buried.’ Crane pointed at the fire. ‘Beneath that damn fire.’
Lincoln narrowed his eyes, then kicked at the hard ground and nodded.
‘From the look of those raiders, I thought you wouldn’t last this long. I guess they’re just waiting for you to get the gold before they make their move.’
Crane suppressed a wince. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Did you figure out who they are?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’ve got time to hear it.’
‘Put it this way – you’re facing some tough opposition and explaining more than that won’t help you none.’ Lincoln raised a hand as Crane grunted his irritation. ‘The important thing is I’ve found a safe route out of here.’
Truman looked up, rubbing his ribs.
‘Listen to the man, Crane,’ he said. ‘He speaks sense. Leave now.’
‘We aren’t,’ Crane grunted. ‘As Lincoln said – I can think of fifty thousand reasons to stay here. We’re holding off those raiders, no problem, no problem at all.’
‘You know I’m right,’ Lincoln said. ‘They’re just w
aiting until you have the gold. Then they’ll move on you.’
‘Perhaps, but stop telling me bad news and tell me how we get away when we do have our gold.’
‘For a start, if you keep your hostages, as soon as you get the gold, they’ll be a burden. So, let them go. I’ve found a safe route back to Sweetwater they can take.’
Crane snorted. ‘I’m not doing that.’
‘When you confronted Truman in the trading post, you didn’t want hostages. Now that you have them, they’re just getting in the way and distracting you from defending this house properly.’
Crane glanced at Marvin, Seymour, then Truman, all of whom returned a hopeful smile.
‘You’re right. They are in the way, but that doesn’t mean they’re leaving.’
‘Crane, if one of them gets a stray bullet, all of you will swing whether you get the gold or not. Those raiders are only interested in you. If you let the hostages go, you’ll find it easier to defend yourself.’
‘They’ll just raise the alarm back in Sweetwater.’
‘It’s twelve miles to Sweetwater and it’s sundown in less than an hour. By the time they’ve raised the alarm, it’ll be dark and those raiders will have come. Before the law arrives, you’ll either be long gone with the gold, or be dead.’
Truman paused from poking at the fire’s dying embers.
‘He speaks a lot of sense,’ he said. ‘You’re more decent than this, Crane. Let us go.’
‘I’m not releasing my only advantage.’
‘Yeah, we’re not siding with that,’ Rocco said.
Crane winced as he looked at the dying fire, then at his huddle of hostages.
‘Once again, Rocco, your complaining has convinced me this is a good idea.’ Crane pointed at the window. ‘These people can go.’
Seymour and Marvin patted each other on the back.
‘You made the right decision,’ Lincoln said.
‘But Truman stays until we reach our gold.’
‘You have to let them all—’
‘That satisfies me,’ Truman said. He rolled to his feet, clutching his ribs, then straightened, a momentary wince contorting his features. ‘I brought this situation on myself when I reburied the gold.’
Lincoln sighed, then nodded. ‘I guess you did.’
While wringing their hands, Marvin and Seymour glanced at Truman, but when Truman returned a comforting smile, they offered their encouragement and consolations.
Then, one at a time, they backed to the window and with Lincoln’s help, climbed outside.
Crane walked up to Truman. ‘Remember this – as soon as we have our gold, you can leave, too. So, dig.’
Truman winced, then grabbed the spade Marvin had dropped and lowered himself into the hole. He pushed the embers to one side and shoveled the earth, but the spade hit the ground with a solid thud.
‘We need cover to escape,’ Lincoln said by the window, then levered himself up on to the window ledge.
Crane nodded. ‘And then?’
‘Then I’ll return and help you end this.’ Lincoln nodded to Crane, then rolled from the window and hurried away.
Chapter Thirteen
Twenty yards from the summer house, Lincoln stopped by a large boulder and waited for Seymour and Marvin to reach him.
‘The fog is all but cleared,’ he said. ‘As soon as we’re another dozen or so yards from the house, Zandana’s men will be able to see us, but like I said, I’ve found a safe route.’
Lincoln gathered Seymour and Marvin to his side and pointed to the side of the ridge, tracing a route with his finger that would afford them the maximum amount of cover.
‘Seems possible,’ Seymour said.
‘It is. Now, we’ll get covering fire. So, put your heads down and keep running. Don’t look back or stop no matter what you hear.’
Marvin nodded, then Seymour. Lincoln directed them to stand on either side of him and, on the count of three, they scurried in a direct line for the ridge.
They had run for just ten paces when gunfire blasted from the other side of the summer house.
Lincoln didn’t wait to see if the gunfire came from Crane or from Zandana, and instead, hurtled with his head down at right angles to the house, heading for the ridge.
At full pace they ran until they reached the first onset of rocks. There, Lincoln checked that Zandana and his deputies hadn’t moved, then picked out the route which headed up the slope through a winding path of large rocks, and which would hide him from most directions.
Lincoln headed up the slope in the lead. He maintained a brisk climbing pace, not wasting time encouraging the others to hurry.
Halfway to the top of the ridge, he edged to the side and peered over a large boulder, discovering that he was high enough to look down at Zandana’s men below.
To his delight, they weren’t looking at him, all their attention being on the house.
Lincoln backed from his position and doubled over, continued his journey up the slope.
Around one hundred yards from the top, beneath the sheer part of the ridge, he called a halt.
‘Thanks for getting us out,’ Seymour said, pacing up the last of the incline to stand beside him. ‘But you’re not leaving Truman in there, are you?’
‘Nope.’ Lincoln smiled. ‘I have a plan to get him out safely and avoid those raiders killing anyone. For my plan to work, you have to return to Sweetwater and organize help to come – and as quickly as possible.’
‘Like Crane said, it’s twelve miles to Sweetwater.’
‘By stagecoach it won’t take long.’ Lincoln pointed to the top of ridge. ‘The stagecoach is about a half-mile on from the other side of the ridge.’
‘Are my horses there?’ Marvin asked.
‘Yeah.’
Marvin punched the air, smiling broadly. ‘In that case, I’ll have help on the way back here faster than you can believe.’
With a last encouraging pat on the back to Marvin and Seymour, Lincoln left them to head around the side of the sheer part of the ridge while he scouted round below it.
He ran behind Zandana’s position and headed for a large flat boulder where he could look down on the scene below, but when he was twenty yards from the boulder, Zandana leapt up and sighted him down his rifle.
From nearly 300 yards away, Lincoln reckoned he’d be safe, but Zandana’s first shot winged over Lincoln’s head, close enough for him to imagine he felt a waft of air. He thrust his head down to sprint the last few paces and leapt on to the flat boulder.
He lay for a moment, then on his belly, snaked to the edge.
He ventured a glance and confirmed that below, Zandana had ducked beneath his cover again.
Lincoln shuffled into a more comfortable position with his head averted from the low sun, and reviewed the situation.
Around a hundred yards from the house, Zandana and his men had splayed out behind a sprawl of covering boulders. One deputy was to the side in a hollow that afforded him enough cover from the house, but not enough that he dared to move.
From that distance they were unlikely to hit anyone in the house if they were foolish enough to look outside, but they could ensure that Crane didn’t make a break from the front.
As Lincoln had escaped from the back, the most likely explanation of Zandana’s tactics was that he was encouraging Crane to run that way, and when weighted down with the recovered gold, he was backing himself to capture him.
A hand slapped on Lincoln’s shoulder.
Although he was expecting it, Lincoln still flinched, then rolled on to his side.
Knelt behind him was Decker.
‘Surprise you?’ Decker asked, grinning.
‘Nope, being as I asked you to cover me from here.’
Decker licked his lips. ‘Just thought you might have expected me to run.’
‘I didn’t. I reckon you’re a man who keeps his word, too.’
‘Then you reckoned right.’ Decker shuffled to the edge of the boulder and
peered down the slope. ‘Zandana just wasn’t interested in those hostages escaping or in you coming and going. He’s only interested in Crane.’
‘And the gold?’
‘Yep.’
‘I’m still not sure about all this.’ Lincoln patted Decker’s shoulder with a firm slap. ‘But you did what you promised. You showed me a route that got the hostages to safety.’
‘Twenty years ago, I hid out here for hours avoiding Zandana. The trees may have gone, but it’s pretty much the same terrain.’
‘I’m obliged.’ Lincoln turned from Decker and peered down the slope. ‘You can head off now.’
Decker sighted down the barrel of his gun at Zandana’s position.
‘Battle isn’t over yet.’
Lincoln pointed down the ridge at the house.
‘It isn’t, but to win this, I won’t need more firepower. I need to calm everyone down. So, just go. You’ll have a few hours before a pursuit comes.’ Lincoln shrugged. ‘It won’t include me so you might stand a chance.’
‘Obliged.’ Decker hefted his gun, then shrugged and placed it on the boulder beside Lincoln, the gunbelt clattering down beside it a moment later. ‘However calm you intend to be, I reckon you’ll still need this.’
Lincoln smiled. ‘Reckon as you’re right.’
Decker tipped his hat, then crawled across the boulder. Ten yards from the edge he stood and scurried away, running from boulder to boulder.
Lincoln watched him wend a snaking path up the side of the ridge, following the path Marvin and Seymour had taken. He confirmed that none of Zandana’s men was following him then, when he disappeared over the top, turned and peered down the slope.
Below, both groups were intractably trapped in their positions.
That meant that the stand-off could remain at the same low level until Marvin and Seymour raised help back in Sweetwater.
He was still unsure as to whether Zandana was after the gold, or just after Crane. Zandana’s indifference at the hostages escaping, and therefore his seeming approval of the word about this siege spreading, had improved the chances that he was only after Crane.