Ambush Range

by Burt Kroll

  “I think I understand, Pa, but I still think it was my fault. You were forced into that fight because of me.”

  “We didn’t force that cowpoke to pull his gun,” Merrill contradicted. “He was a mean type, and wasn’t satisfied with just taking a whip to us. One of the hard lessons of this kind of life is that a man must learn to stand up for himself, even if it means gunplay. Mebbe one of these days men won’t have to ride around packing a gun, but until the law is stronger we’ve got to put up with it, and while men carry guns other men will be killed by them.”

  “Pop will be shocked when we tell him about it,” Lonnie said.

  “Mebbe not! Pop knows the way I work, and he’ll understand that if I killed a man then there was no other way to settle it.”

  “Will you teach me to handle a gun the way you do when I’m old enough?”

  “I don’t know how to answer that.” Merrill shook his head soberly. “If I don’t teach you then you may lose your life one day because you don’t have the knowledge. But, on the other hand, you could wind up in trouble just because you’re carrying a gun. I reckon my Pa had the same decision to face when I was your age. But mebbe the general situation will change some before you have to grow up.”

  “I’m growing up now,” Lonnie retorted seriously. “I’m going on nine, you know.”

  Merrill nodded, gazing towards the far horizon. They were following a well-defined trail, and he knew every yard of it. But his thoughts were chaotic. His well-ordered rut had been shattered by the shooting, and he knew it would be a long time before he rode into town again. He wouldn’t be able to look anyone in the eyes. There was a time when he had killed and dismissed the matter from his mind almost before the echoes of the shooting had died away. But then he had been working for the law and the men he killed had been badmen, hard cases who deserved to die for the way they ran amok among the honest folks of the West. This had been different. He had killed a man who had just completed two grueling months of trailing a herd north from Texas, and the trouble might not rest there.

  He knew that the punchers of that outfit, upon riding south again, would spread the word among the trail herds still coming north that Jake Sarn had been shot down in Portville by a fast gun named Ward Merrill. It was likely that some of them, when they had sold their herds, would get likkered up and then come looking for the fast gun, either to exact vengeance for Jake Sarn or to see if they were faster on the draw. There could be no end of it for himself, and his wish had been to remain outside the sphere of trouble.

  When they came in sight of his ranch, the WM, he reined up and looked at the small frame and clapboard house, the solitary barn and the two corrals. It was a neat, orderly place, well run and profitable, and it was the only tangible evidence of his life and past doings. Every penny he had earned had gone into the place and it was doing well. But something was missing, and he pictured the face of his dead wife. If only she had lived! He shook his head slowly and sighed heavily, and they rode on into the yard.

  Pop Lorimer emerged from the barn, a pitchfork across his shoulder. He was tall and fleshy, aged around fifty, and had been a friend of Merrill’s father for many years. When old Bob Merrill had died, Pop remained with Ward, and now he was more like a father, and a grandfather to Lonnie. He was hard-working, and had been a hellion in his youth, a fact he was in a habit of pointing out to all and sundry who had the misfortune to fall in with his company and make the mistake of showing interest.

  “Hi, there!” he called, pausing and leaning on the hayfork, his dark eyes glittering as he studied them and took in their expessions. “You both look like you lost money in town. You two ain’t been gambling, have you?”

  Merrill sat silent while Lonnie explained what had happened, and Lorimer’s face set in harsh lines as he grasped the import of the boy’s words. He shook his head, then removed his battered Stetson and scratched his graying head.

  “Hell, that’s the last thing you wanted, Ward,” he finally commented. “But I hope the dead man’s pards ain’t gonna get it into their heads to come looking for you. We could be knee-deep in trouble if so.”

  “I don’t think so.” Merrill turned his horse into the corral and took his saddle and bridle into the tack-room. “They seemed to accept it.”

  “That was because they were shocked by it, but when they’ve had a few drinks and get to thinking about it then the boot might be on the other foot. We’d best be prepared, huh?”

  “I ain’t likely to take any chances,” Merrill retorted. He watched Lonnie putting his gear away, and then they walked across to the house. “I thought my killing days were over, but there’s gonna be a helluva lot more trouble around town when the big herds start rolling in. I reckon we’re gonna stay away from there in future.”

  “You can’t stick your head in the sand and pretend it ain’t happening at all,” Lorimer protested. “What’s this about the sheriff wanting special deputies to stand by?”

  “It’s a crazy idea that I want no part of.” Merrill shook his head emphatically. “I’m not getting myself mixed up in that. I figure it’ll mean a dozen or so armed men wandering around the town every night ready to jump on any visiting troublemakers. That ain’t my idea of fun, and needn’t have cropped up if the town hadn’t been so greedy. They wanted the railroad through here and the herds coming in. Now they’ll have to face up to what they’ve got.”

  “You’re being a bit hard on everyone,” Lorimer observed. “I guess that’s because you led a hard life when you was young. You’ve had your share of trouble, and now you figure you should be sitting back and watching others do their share. Can’t say as I blame you greatly for that, but you are still a young man and you’ve got a whole lot of living still ahead of you. I figure you got a duty to help out where you’re needed, and you’ve just proved again that you’re one of the best men in the county. They’re gonna need you bad, Ward.”

  “It doesn’t seem fair,” Merrill replied. “I like a quiet life. I’ve had more than my share of man-hunting and killing. Now I want to get on with my own life. I got a place here to run and a boy to rear.”

  “But every man has a duty towards the community,” Lorimer insisted.

  “Hell, I never figured to hear you become public-spirited.”

  “I like to go into town of a Saturday night and have a few beers and mebbe have a couple of dances over in the barn. If those hard-case trail-hands figure to cause trouble and stop me doing what I like then I’m gonna take up a gun and do something about it. No one is gonna interfere with my pleasures, and I reckon there’ll be a lot of other men around town who feel the same way I do.”

  “Well, I ain’t one of them, so you and those others who fancy it can go ahead and do what you think is right while I’ll follow my own instincts. Sounds like a good idea, huh?”

  “Okay.” Lorimer shook his head. “I guess there’s no use talking to you when you get mule-headed, Ward. Let’s leave it lie, huh?”

  “Good idea,” Merrill replied without hesitation. “Now how about you getting some grub ready?”

  “What with all the chores I have to do around here,” the older man complained “I figure the least you could do is remarry and bring a woman in to do a woman’s work. I’m mighty sick of cooking and all.”

  “Not as sick as we are having to eat your cooking,” Lonnie said with a grin.

  “Now listen here, youngster,” Lorimer said grimly, although there was a twinkle in his dark eyes. “I take that kind of joshing off your Pa but I don’t have to take it off’n you. How come you ain’t got some water in from the well? And I figure I’m gonna need some kindling wood for the fire before we get anything to eat. Hop to it and we’ll get the chores done. I wish I could go riding off to town when the fancy took me.”

  “You should have been there, Pop,” Lonnie said. “Pa was so fast with his gun I never saw it leave his holster.”

  “That’s enough of that now,” Merrill said harshly. “The man is dead. Let him lie
quiet; huh?”

  They went about their chores, and Merrill was thoughtful as he entered the barn. Lonnie went to get some water and Lorimer went into the house to start cooking. But Merrill paused by the back door and stared across the range, a faraway expression in his eyes. He thought of the past, which was dim and distant in his mind now, with ten quiet years under his belt, and wondered why he had given up law work and its attendant dangers. He had not lost his nerve. He had met Lonnie’s mother and figured it would be better to settle down. But he had a sudden premonition now that the quiet times were over, and he could not remain in the background and let trouble sweep around him. No man was an island, he reminded himself. He would be affected here by whatever happened in town or elsewhere on the range, and if he did not get stuck into the business and make arrangements then he could be caught napping, and that might mean death. He had to look out for his spread and his family. It was his duty, and he could not shirk it.

  When he had finished his chores, he went to the house and cleaned up. Lorimer was cooking in the kitchen and Lonnie was trying to help the older man. It was a familiar scene, but this evening Merrill felt differently inside. He could not put a finger upon it but his mind was taken up with thoughts of the dead trail-hand. The man had spent two months on the trail from Texas, and he had been making his way towards death. It was a sobering thought, and Merrill wished that he had not ridden into town. But he was enough of a fatalist to know that he had to face up to the facts. If he had not killed the man then he would have been killed instead, and that would have left Lonnie fatherless. That did not bear thinking about, and he shrugged off his morbid thoughts and went in to eat supper.

  “I reckon I’ll ride into town after we’ve eaten,” Lorimer said. “I wanta have a look around and find out what’s going on. Mebbe I can become one of those special deputies they’re asking for. I don’t reckon I’m past it, even at my time of life.”

  “Hold it,” Merrill rapped, interrupting the old man’s flow of speech. “Sounds like riders coming.”

  They were silent for a moment, and all picked up the faint drumming of approaching hooves. Merrill instantly slid out of his seat and went to pick up his rifle, and there was a startled expression on Lorimer’s face at his action.

  “We can’t take chances any more,” Merrill said quietly. “I killed a man in town today, remember, and his pards might figure to get their own back.”

  Lorimer nodded and arose quickly. He took his Winchester from the rack behind the front door, and Merrill glanced at his suddenly apprehensive son.

  “Lonnie, you get down under the table and stay there until we know who’s coming,” he ordered. Pop, stay here in the kitchen and I’ll go through to the front to check on the riders. I don’t know who could be riding in here at this time of the day, but we’ll be careful, huh? It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

  “You said it,” Lorimer replied, jacking a shell into the breech of the rifle, and Merrill tightened his lips as he went through to the front of the house.

  It was obvious that the changes had already started, he thought remotely as he opened the front door a fraction and peered out into the shadowy yard. And this was only a start. It could get a whole lot worse, and that was what he was really frightened of.

  Three

  The yard was already filled with shadows, for the crimson sun was now close to the western horizon and evening was crawling through the sky. A sharp breeze blew into Merrill’s face, making his eyes water, and he gripped his rifle and waited for the arrival of the riders. They were coming openly, so he fancied they would not be looking for trouble. But he was wrong. He was about to open the door fully to step outside to greet them when guns started blasting and he heard the thud of slugs striking the front wall. He dropped to one knee instantly and opened the door a bit wider, peering out to get a glimpse of the men.

  There were riders out there in the growing darkness, and they were milling around, turning and firing at the house and keeping on the move to make difficult targets of themselves. He saw at least six of them, and held his fire, hoping they would come in closer, but they remained well clear, evidently happy with merely shooting up the place and not intending to come in for the kill. It was impossible to see who they were, and he clenched his teeth and leveled the Winchester. He would teach them to come in here throwing lead around.

  As soon as he opened fire, they wheeled around and departed, raising dust in the darkness, and soon disappeared across the open range. Merrill ceased firing and listened intently, and shortly there was only the moaning of the wind in his ears. He exhaled sharply through his nose to rid himself of the stench of gunsmoke, and reloaded the rifle steadily, acting instinctively although years had passed since his last action. When he was certain they had gone he moved back through the house to the kitchen, which was in darkness, and called to Pop Lorimer.

  “Nothing moving out the back, Ward,” came the guarded reply from the older man. “What happened out front?”

  “They didn’t want to come in too close, and rode out as soon as I started shooting at them.”

  “Any idea who they could have been?”

  “None. Didn’t get a look at men or horses. They weren’t taking any chances.”

  “You figure it was some of those trail-hands from the cattle-pens in town, Pa?” Lonnie cut in. He was still crouching under the table. “Can I come out of here now?”

  “Sure, son. I figure it’s all for tonight, but we ain’t gonna take any chances. We’re taking some blankets and moving out of here until dawn, and we’ll take turns keeping watch through the night, Pop.”

  “I was gonna suggest that myself,” came the sharp reply. “We ain’t gonna get ourselves trapped in no house. Give me room to move around if there’s gonna be trouble. I can tell you some stories about the war, Lonnie, that’d make your hair curl.”

  “Not now,” Merrill cautioned. “Let’s get busy, huh?”

  It was full dark now, and they quickly gathered together some blankets and spare ammunition. Then they left the house by the back door and sneaked away to a depression some one hundred yards to the rear. They settled down and Merrill ensured that his son was comfortable. Then he took first watch and lay watching their surroundings. Lorimer turned in and the night remained peaceful. Time passed slowly, but at the appointed hour, Merrill gently shook Lorimer awake and then turned in himself. It was dawn before he opened his eyes again, and the sun was beginning to peep across the eastern horizon.

  Lorimer was lying on his stomach, peering out across the range, when Merrill looked around. Lonnie was still sleeping, and Merrill slid out of his blankets and eased across to the older man’s side. They did not speak, but Lorimer shook his head slowly in response to Merrill’s quick glance. They lay side by side watching the day grow, and when sunlight bathed the grass they decided that there was nothing to fear.

  “I figure we can go in and handle the morning chores, although we better keep our guns handy,” Merrill said. “After the work is done and we’ve had breakfast I figure to take a look at those tracks the intruders left last night. I reckon you and Lonnie better ride with me, too.”

  “Okay. I was gonna suggest that myself, anyway.” Lorimer stood up and began to roll his blankets. “Been a long time since I slept out under the stars. I’ll have to do it more often.”

  “You mean to tell me you was asleep when you should have been awake on guard?” Merrill demanded, smiling to relieve the seriousness of the situation, and Lorimer chuckled.

  “Hell, you know damn well what I mean,” he said.

  “Hey, Lonnie, come on and shake your head. You ain’t planning on lying there all day, are you?”

  The boy stirred and opened his eyes. He frowned as he glanced around. Then it all came back to him and he got quickly to his feet.

  “There wasn’t no trouble in the night, then,” he commented.

  “Nothing, and today we’re gonna try and find out what that shooting was all about,” Merril
l said sharply. “Let’s get on back to the house, huh? There are some chores waiting to be done, and they won’t get done by themselves.”

  They moved out of their cover, and both men were cautious as they walked back to the house. But the place was deserted and no one had been around since they vacated the house after the shooting. Lorimer began to get breakfast ready and Merrill went around doing the chores. After they had eaten, they saddled up and prepared to ride out, Merrill walked out of the yard and examined the tracks left by the riders. There had been half a dozen of them and he noted the prints they had left. Lorimer joined him, and grunted as he knelt to look at the tracks.

  “We could ride those men down if you’ve a mind to,” he commented. “I can track a fish through water, you know. I can take you to where they’re at, and point out the horses they rode. Look at that set of prints there. That horse has a loose shoe on its rear right foot, and the rider is gonna know about it before very long. I figure the blacksmith will be able to tell us if he has to handle a horse with a loose rear right shoe.”

  “I figure you and Lonnie should ride into town,” Merrill said, and held up a hand when both his son and Lorimer opened their mouths to argue. “Listen, will you? This has got to be reported to the law for a start, and Lonnie can’t ride with us in case we get into trouble. Someone’s got to take him into town and ask Kay Parry if she’ll take care of him until we show up again. That’s your job, Pop. I’ll start following tracks and you ride into town, then come on out to join me,”

  “So long as I get a chance to have a crack at them, whoever they are,” Lorimer said gruffly. “What the hell! There ain’t no one gonna walk into our place and throw lead around.”