Yuma Bustout

by Judd Cole

  Hickok, already airborne before the blast, was lifted even higher on a rolling comber of wind, smoke, and flame. The shed went up in splinters while Hickok flew perhaps thirty feet, landing in a tumble.

  “Stay right here!” Josh ordered Connie, clawing his French pin-fire revolver from its chamois holster. “If anything happens to me, don’t show yourself to anybody down there, understand? Wait till dark, then cross into Texas. Follow the river north to Del Rio.”

  Josh hadn’t seen Bill move yet and didn’t know if he was dead or alive. He tore off down the slope. He didn’t bother to seek cover, for soon it was clear all the action was down by the river.

  Evidently Bill must have cleared that building just in time, for now Josh saw that he had not been badly hurt in the blast. Bill leaped nimbly behind a rotting cottonwood log amid a hammering racket of gunfire.

  The shooting originated from the bushes beyond the demolished shed, only yards from the river. At least one weapon was a rifle, Josh realized, watching big chunks of the log disintegrate around Hickok.

  Bill didn’t dare rise up to aim, but Josh watched Hickok expertly “ear aim” his shots by calculation alone, simply lifting his guns clear and shooting without looking.

  “I’m not trying to shoot for score,” he told Josh when the ashen-faced youth dove for cover beside him. “I might hit Anne. So I’m just holding them there. Say, thought I told you to stay with Connie?”

  “She’s safe. I thought you got hurt.”

  “Nah. Just singed my mustache, the bastards.”

  A round chunked in close, spraying wood chips in Josh’s face.

  Bill rolled his head toward the horses bunched behind him. “Danford and Coyote made one big miscalculation, kid. They counted on that blast to kill me. Instead, now they’re cut off from their horses.”

  “Yeah, that’s right! The horses! Want me to go shoot them?” Josh suggested.

  A round whistled past, nicking bark into Josh’s ear.

  “Too dangerous,” Bill told him. “Besides, remember, they’ve got Anne. We want them desperate, kid, but not hopeless. Desperate men will still bargain. But hopeless men are past all controlling.”

  Josh soon saw the wisdom of Bill’s reasoning.

  “Hey! Hickok?” Danford shouted from his hiding spot.

  “Hey what?” Bill shouted back.

  “Let’s talk turkey!”

  “Name your terms.”

  “You want the woman. We want the horses. Am I right?”

  “Sisters come as a set,” Bill agreed.

  “All right, so let’s swap, and you’ll have your set.”

  “I’m all ears,” Hickok shouted back. “Keep talking.”

  “The river’s wide and shallow here, only knee deep. You and me will do the swap midstream. Just us two. We’ll both be unarmed. You bring the horses, I’ll bring the governor’s woman.”

  “Where’s Coyote during all this?” Bill demanded.

  “Same place your man will be—standing in plain view down in the water, unarmed, with his arms raised high. Agreed?”

  “Sounds like a perfect trap to me,” a nervous Josh told Wild Bill.

  “Sure it is, kid. You think those two jaspers ever do anything on the level? But it’s time to fish or cut bait. I’m sick of this case.”

  “All right, Danford!” Bill shouted. “First send Coyote down to the water where I can see him. Then start bringing Mrs. Jacobs out. I’m dropping back now for the horses.”

  Bill nudged Josh.

  “Ground your weapon, Longfellow. And hoof it down to the water. But keep a weather eye out.”

  Josh felt sweat ooze out from his hatband, but he did as he was told. Coyote, too, rose from cover, hands high, and stepped out into plain view.

  Bill slipped downriver to untie the horses, keeping both his enemies in sight. With Bill leading the horses, and Danford leading Anne Jacobs, both men headed out into the water.

  Josh waded out into the river until it almost topped his boots. He was thus in an excellent position to watch subsequent events unfold.

  Coyote waited until all parties were about to converge midstream in the slow, muddy river. Then he moved so swiftly that no one even noticed until he had a good jump. In the space of seconds, he had ran to shore, retrieved the stolen Army carbine, and brought it up to the offhand position, sighting in on Hickok.

  Even before Josh could shout any warning, Wild Bill reacted with the lightning reflexes of a jungle cat.

  He tossed the looped reins in his hand over Danford—barely avoiding snagging Anne too—and jerked him forward hard even as Coyote’s carbine barked.

  Anne screamed, struggling for footing. Danford cried out when the .56-caliber slug smashed into the hard lump of muscle just under his right shoulder, knocking him down.

  Bill’s main concern now was to save Anne Jacobs, but he saw how Danford had tied her to his wrist with a short length of sisal. Before Bill could cut it, Coyote forced him to cover down with a flurry of whistling slugs.

  Bill had no option but to let Danford seize the horses. The longer Hickok stayed close to Anne, the greater the risk that one of Coyote’s bullets would hit her. Hickok’s perilous gambit had not fully succeeded, but at least Danford was bleeding hard.

  Josh, too, turned and ran just as Coyote whirled on him and sent a bullet his way. The reporter saw it now like a page from a war correspondent’s sketchbook: Connie racing down the slope toward the action, her face wan with fright and worry. In that moment, everyone was running—Connie, Josh, Wild Bill, Danford, and Anne, each in a different direction.

  Damn it, they foxed us, Josh thought bitterly. Danford was wounded, and seriously. But now the bad guys had their horses, their silver, and Anne Jacobs.

  Bill had warned Josh that it was Coyote he feared most of all. And it was Coyote alone who was standing still now, smiling his contempt. Josh couldn’t help but wonder: Had American legend Wild Bill Hickok finally met his match?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Butch Jeffries had been tailing Hickok and company ever since Wild Bill killed Gonzales and the other Mexican soldiers. Concerning Hickok, Butch was like a wolf tailing a buffalo herd: afraid to openly attack, but patient enough to wait for an opportunity at easy pickings.

  Through brass field glasses, and well hidden at the rim of the Rio Grande Valley, he watched the amazing events down below in the river. And while Danford and Coyote fled with Anne Jacobs, Danford pumping blood like a bellows, Butch watched Connie Emmerick run down the slope to join her friends.

  Butch made a good study of the pretty woman, wondering if Hickok had topped her yet. How in God’s name, he wondered yet again, could Paxton want that beauty dead just because another man might have enjoyed her first?

  Hell, so long as Paxton got his turn, what was his gripe? But some men were like that—wouldn’t even read a newspaper if somebody else got to it first.

  Butch finally lowered his glasses, slid them back into their leather case, and put that back in his saddle pocket. His dappled gray six-year-old was hobbled out of sight in a copse of dogwood trees.

  Well, at any rate, Butch told himself as he slid the gray’s headstall into place, at least one thing had become clear: He’d have to take care of Connie Emmerick himself. Watching Hickok dispose of Gonzales and those other federals convinced Butch of that.

  Sure, Hickok was dangerous, all right. Six sorts of hell, as a matter of fact. But Butch Jeffries prided himself on getting a job done once he took it on. As for Hickok, his clover was deep, but even deep clover thinned out eventually.

  Butch swung up and over, wheeling his gray and heading down toward the Rio Grande. He knew damn well Hickok was going after those two hard-cases and their prisoner. It was Hickok’s way to hang on like a tick. So Jeffries meant to cross the river himself under cover of a bend just south of Piedras Negras.

  Normally, he would hesitate to tail Wild Bill Hickok, a man well-versed in covering his own back trail. But clearly Hickok was tired
and trail-worn— distracted by the skill and cunning of his prey.

  Butch meant to be patient, bide his time, and wait for the right moment to kill Connie Emmerick.

  “We’re in Maverick County, Texas, now,” Bill informed his companions. “Not that it matters much. It’s just as water-scarce as Sonora.”

  All three weary riders had dismounted to spell their horses. The Rio Grande was perhaps three hours behind them now. Luckily the horses had a chance to tank up good before they rode out, for so far there had been no sign of water.

  Bill studied his map, turning his back to the grit-laden wind that tore at it.

  “Wish I had some bourbon, damnit,” he complained.

  “I had the last of it, remember?” Connie said, mustering a weak smile. “Make a note of that, Joshua. Bill’s first action was to try taking advantage of an innocent girl by getting her drunk.”

  Bill looked up from his map. “Tell you what, Juliet. If I tried to do that, you’d know it.”

  Boldly she met his challenging eyes. “Well, now, I’m sure I would.”

  This was too much for Josh. “Where’s the nearest water?” he demanded. Bill grinned at the kid before looking at his map again.

  “First river we’re likely to reach,” he said, “is the Nueces. There’s plenty of water after that. But I don’t mean to take it that far.”

  Bill squatted and pointed to a spot in the sand. What appeared to be tacky, rust-colored mud, he explained, was in fact dried blood.

  “Danford copped it bad,” Bill added. “He’s bleeding like a stuck pig. So the best plan is just to run those bastards down. We stay on them like ugly on a buzzard.”

  “Good,” Connie chimed in, though she was clearly exhausted. When Josh later recorded these events, he compared her glazed, shocked eyes to those of battle veterans in Civil War photographs.

  Connie added, “The harder we pursue, the less time they have ...”

  She trailed off, then said simply, “The better it will be for Anne. I just want to get this over.”

  God yes, Josh thought as they all swung up into leather again and prepared to ride on. Get it over indeed. If he never saw another damn desert in his life, that was peachy by him.

  But “getting this over” was perhaps going to be even more complicated than Josh knew. Just before he spurred his roan forward, Wild Bill spent a full thirty seconds studying the creosote hills surrounding them.

  “S’matter?” Josh demanded.

  Bill took his time answering,

  “Twice now,” he said, “I’ve spotted glints that look just like reflecting glass.”

  “Could be quartz or mica,” Josh suggested. “Lots of these rocks have reflecting mineral traces.”

  “That’s right,” Bill agreed. “I taught you that myself, kid, didn’t I? But I still think somebody’s following us.”

  “You mean ... Danford or Coyote has doubled back for an ambush?”

  Bill shook his head. “No, that’s low odds. Danford can’t do that—he’s hit bad. And Coyote won’t do it while Danford’s alive.”

  “Why not?”

  But it was Connie who called up the answer to that one. “Coyote is not about to leave that silver or Anne alone with Danford while he’s still alive. Believe me, I had to look into those eyes of his.”

  Josh felt like Bill and Connie were picking on him. He took it out on Bill.

  “Back in Denver you said you don’t get hunches, only journalists do. All this sounds like a hunch to me.”

  Bill ignored him for a minute, twisting around to glance at Connie. She was back in the saddle, ready when they were, and gave him a brave smile. Then Bill turned back to Josh.

  “Back in Denver I lied, okay? Now you won your point, do your job. Take up the drag. You’re a good writer, kid. But this ain’t no time to be composing in your head. Call it a hunch, call it a full house, I don’t care. Just shut up and keep an eye out. Somebody else is in the mix now, somebody who’s waiting for us to get careless.”

  “Coyote, it’s surefire, I’m telling you,” Fargo Danford ranted, his words tumbling over each other in his fever delirium. “We’re both plenty rich now, and I ain’t talking just silver.”

  Anne despised Danford, but she couldn’t help a little twinge of pity at his horrible plight. The man was on the threshold of death, but there he lay, scheming fortunes. How could he not know he was doomed? Unless, she suddenly hoped, he was denying it because he knew he was hell-bound?

  “No more river-water soup for us, pard! We’re rich, plenty rich!”

  “Ahuh,” Coyote agreed automatically, paying little attention. Anne watched him cross to a clutch of rocks and scramble to the top. When he made it, he stayed up there a long time studying every direction.

  Anne could see that something had caught his eye, something that troubled him. Hope sparked within her.

  “Mister, I’ll warrant right now,” Danford rattled on, lying on his uninjured side in the hot sand, “that fine-haired bitch is worth a fifty-thousand-dollar ransom. Add that to the silver, Coyote, huh? You know that? Add ‘em up, boy! We’re rich men!”

  “Ahuh,” Coyote called down, looking around to wink at Anne. “Maybe you could even have the Texas Rangers deliver that money, huh? They’re a friendly bunch who coddle criminals.”

  Danford was too far gone to catch the scorn in his friend’s words. “Hanh? What’s that? Sure, sure, let the Rangers do it. We’re rich, buddy. First thing I’m gonna do? Light up a cee-gar with a hunnert-dollar bill, hanh? That Yuma hellhole is behind us, Coyote, yessir!”

  Danford coughed. Then Anne heard him swear to himself.

  “Hey!” he cried out, his tone one of surprise. “Hey, look at this bleedin’, Coyote. Aww, man, my shirt is soaked! Coyote! You got to stop the blood, hanh?”

  “You want me to fix it?” Coyote called down.

  “Sure, sure, Jesus! Fix it, Coyote! Aww, damn, it’s just a-pumpin’ out!”

  Anne watched Coyote climb slowly down, his face an empty page. She felt dread heavy in her stomach. He confirmed her premonition when he slid the pistol from his flap holster.

  But after counting the loads, Coyote holstered the pistol and picked up one of the sawed-off shotguns instead.

  Danford, lying down and panting hard now, noticed none of this. “Fix it, Coyote, wouldja, huh? Jesus, fix it, please!”

  “Sure,” Coyote said quietly, moving in closer to Danford where he lay in the shade of a Joshua tree. “This’ll sting just a little.”

  Anne felt faint and turned her head away.

  “Rich men,” Danford muttered. “We’ll be—”

  Even though she knew it was coming, the explosion of the sawed-off made Anne flinch and cry out.

  Anne refused to look at the body.

  “Out here,” she heard Coyote say behind her, “a man pulls his freight or he’s a drag on the rest.”

  “Women too, of course?”

  “Especially women,” Coyote assured her.

  “His plan to ransom me,” Anne said.

  “What about it?”

  “You have no plan to return me to my husband, do you?”

  When there was no response, Anne finally turned to look at him, though she refused to let her eyes focus on the dead body.

  Coyote’s lipless grin sent a feather tickling down her spine.

  “You’re as smart as you are pretty, you know that?” he goaded her. “I plan to do all the things I been thinking about doing to you for these past few days. And then, when I do ‘em, I mean to kill you.”

  For a moment the fear left Anne, replaced by a surge of anger. This despicable pig didn’t deserve the satisfaction of scaring her.

  “Then why not get it over with now?” she challenged him. “Rut on me like the filthy animal you are, then kill me!”

  He pointed one thumb over his shoulder. “Usual reason, sweet britches. Your sister’s new stag is close on our trail. Now, get on your damn horse and ride.”

  “What if
I refuse?” she shouted at him. “You’re going to kill me anyway! Why should I do your bidding any longer?”

  Coyote brought the shotgun up to the ready. Anne felt her calves go weak.

  “That your final word?” he said in his atonal voice.

  Anne wanted to say yes, just do it. But when she stared at those twin barrels, they stared back. And they unnerved her. Which meant she wasn’t ready yet to quit fighting for her life.

  Wild Bill is still coming, she reminded herself. As she struggled up onto her horse, Anne clung to that thought like a drowning man to a log. Something had troubled Coyote when he took his long look. Please let it be Hickok.

  Then she noticed something. The knife protruding from Danford’s boot. When Coyote bent to search the body he forgot about it.

  Coyote’s back was to her now as he went to retrieve his horse.

  Anne debated it for a fraction of a second, knowing he might well kill her if he caught her. But if she could just get it and hide it in her clothing before Coyote turned around ...

  True, Wild Bill was doing his level best. But what if that wasn’t good enough? Didn’t she have some obligation to fight her own battle? Anne reminded herself that God made Beowulf stand on his own two feet before He agreed to help him slay the dragon.

  Anne let herself slide to the ground again. She moved forward quickly, praying that Coyote would not turn around before she could get it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Only one left now,” Wild Bill said, still kneeling beside Danford’s corpse.

  Bluebottle flies covered it like a rippling cape. But carrion birds had not yet begun to gather in any numbers. Bill guessed they were only two hours, tops, behind Coyote and Anne.

  “But that’s assuming he’s still ahead,” Bill qualified. “Now he’s plugged Danford, he can leave Anne tied up with the silver while he doubles back to dry-gulch us.”

  Bill stood and raised one arm to indicate the rolling sand hills and deep ravines surrounding them.

  “Coyote’s part Yaqui, and I don’t know much about the tribe except they’re no bunch to fool with. They’re one Mexican tribe the Spanish couldn’t conquer. This ain’t the best ambush country, but Coyote knows how to use terrain for all its got.”