Paid in Blood

by William W. Johnstone

  “Seriously. You could have made things a lot tougher for me since we got down into this valley. You even spoke up and vouched for me at one point. Don’t think I don’t appreciate that.”

  Joey held his eyes for a long moment, then looked away. She heaved a sigh before saying, “I just hope I’m not making a mistake. I hope my reasons for helping you are the right ones.”

  “What are your reasons, Joey?”

  Her eyes came back to him.

  “Whatever you truly came here for, I don’t believe it’s simply to join my uncle’s gang. Nor do I believe you came here to do him harm. If I thought that, you can bet I wouldn’t be helping you. And if it turns out I’m wrong and you do hurt him, then we’ll be right back to me looking to put a bullet in your spine.”

  “Hold on, let’s not start backsliding here,” said Buckhorn, holding up one hand in a warding-off gesture. “If you don’t think I’m out to hurt your uncle, what do you think I’m after?”

  “It’s Jeff,” Joey said, her eyes brightening with conviction. “I think you came here looking for some answers—or even just some clues—to Jeff’s disappearance. And you ended up practically stumbling over him. Richer pay dirt than you dared hope for.”

  “So you think you’ve got it all figured out.”

  “I saw it in your eyes when you practically scolded him for worrying his mother so bad because he hadn’t made any contact with her. Then I saw it again in your reaction when you heard he’d shot Uncle Dan.”

  “Okay. If you’re on such a roll, what’s the rest of it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “According to you, all of that has fallen into place. So where do I go from here? What’s my next move?”

  Joey eyed him coyly and asked, “Are you admitting I’m right so far?”

  “You seem convinced you are,” Buckhorn hedged. “That should be enough for you to go ahead and answer the question.”

  Joey considered for a moment, then said, “All right. But first—are Ulysses and his men going to find a trap waiting at that meadow?”

  “I expect so.”

  “Will they get caught in it?”

  “Not if they’re good enough. Not if they go about checking it out the way your uncle told them. They’ll just confirm it’s there.”

  “So you’re on the level about that much. That was your bargaining chip for getting in good with my uncle, just like you said. But I still can’t see you being truly interested in joining the gang. Not for the long run. I remain convinced you came here mainly to find out about Jeff. So does that mean you don’t care about the rustling one way or the other?”

  Buckhorn shook his head.

  “Not particularly. Not what I’m bein’ paid to care about. That’s in the hands of others.”

  “So, for you, it is all about Jeff. And that must also mean you’re still in the employ of his mother.”

  Buckhorn grinned in a curious way.

  “There’s an old story about a young Indian buck who went out on a big hunt with other men from the tribe. He wanted badly to impress them. Came a point where they’d chased a bear into some bushes and had him surrounded. The young buck went ahead and charged straight in all by himself. The other hunters heard a lot of growling and thrashing around for a few minutes, until it went kinda quiet and the buck called out: ‘I got the bear!’ So the others hollered in: ‘Then bring him out!’ To which the young buck hollered back: ‘What if he don’t want to come?’”

  By the time he paused, Joey was smiling, too. She said, “Anybody ever tell you you’ve got a strange way of going about confirming or denying something? And you’re not exactly a young Indian buck, by the way. But I think I see enough other similarities to get the point of your little story.”

  “Good. Then be sure to let me know if and when you come up with any ideas for how I’m gonna get the bear out of the bush.”

  CHAPTER 34

  It was well short of midnight when Ulysses Mason and the two other men got back. They came riding hard across the valley floor and reined up in front of the house, their arrival announced by pounding hooves followed by the snorting and blowing of the horses. Ulysses dismounted, waved for the men who’d ridden with him to take care of the animals, then went on into the house.

  Inside, Eve had just finished giving her father a back rub after her latest check of his bandages. Riley had awakened and eaten his supper earlier. The tray and plates were still at his bedside. Joey, Jeff, and Buckhorn were again occupying seats around the kitchen table while Eve was tending the patient. But when Ulysses came in they all got up and followed him into the bedroom.

  Riley didn’t waste time with preamble.

  “Well? Are they there?”

  Ulysses nodded and said, “Yup. They’re there all right. Thick as bugs on a sugar cookie, hid back out of the way behind every rock and bush and tree to be found. Damn near thirty of ’em, by my count. I even managed to catch a glimpse of the one with a star-in-a-circle Texas Ranger’s badge pinned on his shirt. And I think Sheriff Tolliver was in amongst ’em, too.”

  “That figures. That hump-backed law dog,” Riley said through gritted teeth. “He wants so bad to find favor in Pamela Danvers’s eyes that he’d squat all night in a pile of buffalo droppings if he thought it’d gain him anything.” After the words were out, his eyes darted quickly to Jeff. “Meanin’ nothing off color toward your ma, Jeff-boy. Her and I may be at serious odds, but I’d never imply anything that way about her. I’ll even give her credit for havin’ enough sense not to be swayed by any of Thad Tolliver’s drooling advances these past few years.”

  Jeff kept his expression impassive, made no reply.

  “All I know,” Ulysses said, continuing his report, “is that if any rustlin’ party had ridden into that meadow tonight, they would have found themselves in a mighty sorry situation.”

  “So there you’ve got it,” stated Buckhorn. “Ulysses just backed up everything I told you about that business. That oughta give credit to my word. Now how about the rest, the part that’s still unfinished between us?”

  Riley eyed him sharply.

  “You mean my decision on whether or not I’ll take you into my outfit?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Maybe you oughtn’t be so pushy, mister,” suggested Ulysses.

  “To hell with that,” Buckhorn replied with a shake of his head. “I think I’ve been patient to a more than reasonable degree. If you’re not interested in adding me as another man, just say the word and I’ll ride out of here at first light. But, either way, I want my gun and my gear back. I’ve earned the right to that much. Now.”

  Ulysses returned the negative head shake and said, “That ain’t gonna happen.”

  “Stop and think,” Buckhorn insisted. “If I was out to raise hell from within your ranks, I had all the chances I needed right here tonight during the time you were gone.” He cut a glance over at Riley and continued, “No disrespect, but while you were asleep I could have snatched your Navy Colts and, if my purpose was to do damage to you and your operation, they’d’ve more than provided me the means.”

  “That’s big talk,” snarled Ulysses. “But it don’t change nothing . . . not unless you want to give everybody a demonstration by trying to take my weapons from me.”

  “Just hold on a minute,” said Riley, his gaze whipping back and forth between the two men. Buckhorn was somewhat surprised to see an odd gleam, what looked almost like a heightened level of excitement showing in his eyes. “I’ll admit, Ulysses, that a nagging little voice keeps whispering inside my head that our Mr. Buckhorn here is up to something other than what he’s telling us. Like I said before. But I don’t know what it is. Still, lacking any proof and considering that he’s done us a service by warning us about the meadow trap, our continuing ill treatment of him—depriving him of his personal belongings and such—does seem a bit harsh.”

  “So what are you sayin’?” Ulysses wanted to know.

  “Who d
id you mention before as having taken charge of his gun?”

  Ulysses didn’t answer right away. Something shifted in his eyes, too, and Buckhorn could have sworn he saw the hint of a smile briefly touch his mouth. Then he said, “Why, I believe Perlong still has it.”

  “That’s right. I remember now.” Riley looked over at Buckhorn. “And I believe I also remember you saying, Mr. Buckhorn, something about how you wanted to personally retrieve your gun from Perlong. Ain’t that right?”

  Buckhorn nodded.

  “You remember real good.”

  Riley spread his hands.

  “Very well, that settles it. Ulysses, how about you tell Mr. Buckhorn where he can find Mr. Perlong. At the same time, advise Perlong that Buckhorn wants his gun back. We will then leave it to the two of them to, er, negotiate the terms for returning the property.”

  Now Ulysses was definitely grinning, and not trying to hide it.

  “Whatever you say, Boss. But I gotta tell you, I think Perlong has grown kinda fond of that gun. He thinks it goes awful good with that dressy rig of his. I got a hunch he’s gonna hate to give it up.”

  “As I said, we’ll leave it up to him and Buckhorn to work out the details of the transaction.”

  “Oh, this is shaping up real slick,” Buckhorn said. “In other words, you’re inviting me, unarmed, to go take my own gun away from that smiling ape while he’s armed not only with my Colt but also his own six-gun, not to mention however many of his cronies will be waiting out there to back his play.”

  “You try takin’ something away from Perlong that he don’t want you to have,” said Ulysses, “I think you’ll find him quite a handful strictly on his own.”

  “What’s more,” Riley pointed out, “only just a few minutes ago you were explaining how much of a ruckus you could raise around here strictly on your own, Buckhorn. Sounds to me like you’ll be entering those negotiations on pretty even footing.”

  “But not if the other man has a gun, or more than one,” protested Joey.

  “I can’t believe you’re encouraging something so unfair!” wailed Eve.

  “Oh, stop the cater wauling,” Riley said. “If this turns into a fight—and I agree that it sounds like it may—then it will be for a gun, but nobody’s encouraging a shoot-out. If Perlong refuses to give up Buckhorn’s property, then it will be up to him to hang on to the gun but without using it to give him an unequal advantage. You understand what I’m saying, Ulysses?”

  “I understand.”

  “Good. I expect you to control things accordingly. Now go roust Mr. Perlong and advise him of the situation.”

  “Won’t have to go far to roust him. He’s one of the men I took with me when I rode to check out that meadow. He’ll be just outside, takin’ care of the horses.”

  By then, Buckhorn clearly saw what was going on. Dan Riley liked men who showed backbone, and what he was pushing for here was the chance for Buckhorn to prove his, to test his mettle against the burly Perlong who apparently had a reputation within the group as a scrapper who could hold his own with just about anybody.

  Buckhorn not only saw what was going on, he found himself actually liking the idea. He remembered all too vividly Perlong’s taunting grin after he’d claimed the Colt and the way he kept spinning it to make the point of it now being in his possession even more chafing.

  Buckhorn remembered, too, how badly he’d wanted to drive his fist through that damned smirk. And now it looked like he was about to get the chance.

  “Let’s not keep Perlong waiting,” he said. “My gun, neither. It’s probably getting lonely by now, wanting to come home where it belongs.”

  CHAPTER 35

  They quit the house with Ulysses leading the way, Buckhorn right on his heels. After a brief show of reluctance and uncertainty, Joey, Eve, and Jeff followed. The two women brought lanterns.

  Perlong was just emerging through the gate of a rickety corral constructed between the house and one of the sheds where Buckhorn had sensed the presence of other men and seen light seeping out from the windows. A second man, the other lassoer who’d gotten a loop on Buckhorn back in the narrow pass, was walking behind Perlong.

  Over at the shed, the front door was now standing open. Backlit by a lantern pouring illumination out from inside, a couple of tousle-haired men, apparently made curious by the sounds of Ulysses and his men returning, were peering out.

  Looks like we’re going to be putting on a show for the whole bunch, Buckhorn thought to himself.

  “What’s goin’ on, Ulysses? You look like you got something in your craw,” said Perlong, frowning, as he watched the approach of the black man and Buckhorn and the others trailing behind.

  “More like it’s Buckhorn here who’s got something in his,” replied Ulysses. “He figures he did us a good deed by settin’ us straight on that trap they got waitin’ over at the Circle D. For that, he figures he’s earned the right to have his gun and the rest of his gear back.”

  Perlong squinted, considering. He said, “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “Not sure if it is or ain’t. But Boss Dan kinda sees it as Buckhorn’s got the right to ask. And, since you’re the one who gathered up his stuff, the boss suggested he come take up the matter with you.”

  “He did, did he?” Perlong’s gaze shifted to Buckhorn. “Then why ain’t the ’breed speakin’ up for hisself?”

  “You want it, you got it,” Buckhorn grated. “But here’s the thing . . . I’m not asking you for my gun back. I’m telling you it’s time to hand it over.”

  Perlong rasped, “Oh? Well, here’s the thing from how I see it. Number one, I’ve grown real fond of this here .45.” He tapped the fancy holster on his hip, where Buckhorn’s Colt now resided.

  The instant the burly man’s hand started to reach down, something like an electric current shot through Buckhorn. His right shoulder dropped and his hand streaked for . . . the empty space over his right hip where his holster and gun had been stripped away. Buckhorn straightened up and went momentarily rigid as a cold rage built pressure inside him.

  “Always wanted a .45 of my own,” Perlong drawled on. “Especially after seein’ the one Ulysses likes to sport around. This is damn near a twin to his, so it really fills the hankerin’. Plus, it goes doggone nice with this gunbelt of mine, don’t you think?”

  Buckhorn clenched his teeth, said nothing.

  “Number two,” said Perlong, “that makes it flat-out too good a gun for a lowdown, stinkin’ half-breed. And number three, no dog-eatin’ ’breed is ever gonna tell me what to do!”

  “The only thing that leaves then,” Buckhorn said, his voice barely above a whisper as he started around Ulysses, “is making you do it.”

  “Hold it,” said Ulysses, extending his arm, blocking Buckhorn. “You two go right ahead, do all the ground-pawin’ and chest-thumpin’ you want. You can even pound knots on one another. But Boss Dan made it clear he don’t want no gunplay. This might be about a gun, the way he put it, but it ain’t about anybody usin’ one.” His eyes bored meaningfully into Perlong for a moment, then swept over the other lassoer and the men in the doorway of the shed. “Everybody clear on that? This is strictly fist and foot between these two men, and none of the rest of you are to interfere. I’m here to make sure none of you do.”

  “That’s fine by me,” Perlong declared as he stripped away his gunbelt and handed it off to one of the other men. “I don’t like things too crowded, anyway. I need me lots of fightin’ room.”

  “More like you’ll need lots of room to roll when I knock you ass over elbows,” Buckhorn told him, taking a minute to peel off his jacket and vest and remove his hat. Then he shoved away Ulysses’s arm and bulled forward.

  And so it was on.

  The wash of bluish-silver moonlight pouring down from above made a curious color blend with the pale gold splashes thrown by the lanterns. Yet the combination succeeded in providing sufficient illumination for the event underway, casting long, di
storted shadows from the combatants as they closed on one another.

  As he began to circle with Perlong, Buckhorn was aware of the shed door opening wider and men starting to emerge. He counted five. No surprise there, that they were drawn by the loud talk and interested in watching the action.

  What was a bit more of a surprise, though, was that, off the other way, he saw the form of Dan Riley appear in the doorway to the house and lean against the frame, also watching.

  But Buckhorn’s main focus had to stay on the burly Perlong. The man was lowered into a half crouch with his fists balled and raised in a manner that suggested he might have some genuine boxing skill to go with the raw strength and rough-housing tactics that were to be expected. He was several pounds heavier than Buckhorn and possibly a bit more powerful. But some of the weight was fat, whereas Buckhorn was all hard, tight muscle honed for flexibility and quickness as well as endurance.

  Perlong made the first move, lunging forward not with a big roundhouse like many big men were prone to open up with but rather snapping two crisp left jabs. Buckhorn bent sideways at the waist, dodging the twin pokes. Still leaning to his right, he planted his right foot, twisted his hips, and swung his left leg in a whipping motion that crashed half its length hard across Perlong’s midsection. The big man was caught leaning into it, pulled partially forward by the jabs he’d thrown, increasing the force of the impact. Air gushed out of him, mingled with a loud curse.

  Buckhorn straightened up, danced away a couple steps. Then, when he was balanced and ready, he quickly moved in again and landed a solid right cross to the side of Perlong’s jaw before the burly man had gotten all the way straightened up from the blast to the gut.

  The punch knocked Perlong away, turning his whole body. Acting on instinct and rage, he kept right on turning. Quickly and unexpectedly, he whirled full around, extending his thick right arm and lashing out with it—blindly at first—until it whirled in nearly a three-hundred-sixty-degree flat arc and at its completion brought his fist crashing against the side of a wholly surprised Buckhorn’s head. The momentum built up by that big swing made the impact hard and loud and sent Buckhorn staggering.