Paid in Blood

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Paid in Blood Page 26

by William W. Johnstone


  Buckhorn said, “I think our best bet would be groups leaving at staggered intervals, with each group having a specific destination and a plan for when they go.”

  “Sounds okay so far,” Menlo allowed. “Who would make up the groups and what would be their destinations?”

  Buckhorn rubbed his jaw.

  “Well, that depends. Pamela, are there any guns in the house? Besides the ones we left behind in the dining room, I mean?”

  “There’s a good-sized gun cabinet in what used to be Gus’s office. Everything in there is pretty much the way he left it. The cabinet has about a half dozen rifles. And a shotgun, I think. There are two or three handguns, too. And boxes of ammunition.”

  “Where is this office?”

  “Off the front parlor, to the left, when you first go in the house.”

  “There’s a narrow hallway from the back of the kitchen pantry that goes in there, too,” Helga reminded her.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “How about your cabin, Obie? You’ve got guns in there, don’t you?” Buckhorn asked.

  “You bet I do.”

  “And what about the bunkhouse and the different sheds and outbuildings?”

  “Heck, you know how it is around a ranch. There’s varmint guns stashed in practically every corner of the different buildings. I think Cookie even keeps a shotgun in the grub shack. And you can bet there are plenty of shootin’ irons amongst the personal belongings in the bunkhouse.”

  “I suppose Cookie is bound to still be poking around the grub shack,” Buckhorn mused. “But the bunkhouse should be empty this time of day, shouldn’t it?”

  “There were three Circle D men out on watch with us last night,” pointed out Tolliver. “They’ve likely had breakfast by now and are sacked out in the bunkhouse, I’d expect.”

  Buckhorn was quiet for a minute, thinking. Then: “Okay. There’s no way of knowing who among the Circle D crew is just a wrangler working for wages or which ones are also tied to Micah’s outlaw bunch. So the only safe thing is to figure anybody you run into once we leave here has got to be treated like a threat. That means you take ’em down fast and hard. I know that probably sounds harsh, but it’s the only way to be sure. So, keeping that in mind, here’s a way I think might work . . .”

  CHAPTER 41

  “Aw hell, he’s out again. This is gettin’ us nowhere.”

  Micah removed his bloody gloves and flung them disgustedly to the floor at the feet of Jeffrey, still tied to the dining room chair and once more lapsed into unconsciousness. Stepping around the battered victim, Micah went to the long table still set for breakfast. He reached out and picked up a pitcher of water from amidst the plates and platters of now cold food. After removing his hat, he lifted the pitcher and poured half its contents over his head and face, drenching away the hard sweat he’d worked up. Using a clean napkin from the setting, he wiped his face vigorously and then slicked back his hair before replacing the hat.

  “McKeever’s gonna be back here with Kelso and the others and we ain’t gonna have nowhere to lead ’em because we ain’t gonna have no better clue where to find Dan Riley than we did when I sent McKeever out.” Micah flung the wet napkin to the floor, too, and strode back around to stand in front of his brother again. In frustration, despite Jeff being in no condition to feel or hear anything, Micah gave him a vicious kick to the shins and hollered, “You stubborn damn fool!”

  “You might as well face it,” drawled Dave from where he sat in an easy chair in the front parlor, his head cranked around to watch the proceedings. “You’re gonna have to change tactics if you ever want to get anywhere. You want me to go fetch your ma now?”

  Micah sighed heavily as he continued to glare down at his brother.

  “I gotta admit I ain’t really crazy about the idea,” he said, still a little short-winded from his exertions. “But I also gotta admit that you’re right about needing to try something different. So, yeah, go ahead and get her. Take Hank with you and make damn sure you keep the others in their place while you drag her out. Above all, keep an eye on that stinkin’ half-breed.”

  Hank grunted and said, “I doubt he’s even come to yet. I hit him an awful hard lick. Might’ve even settled his hash.”

  “If you did, you did. I was looking forward to makin’ that dog-eater whimper some before pinchin’ out his wick,” said Micah, “but we’re probably runnin’ out of time for that anyway. So, either way. But hurry up and haul my ma in here; I want to get the business with her over with as soon as possible.”

  Dave and Hank started out the front door but then stopped short.

  “Hold on a minute,” said Dave. “You got a visitor ridin’ up out here.”

  “Who is it? You recognize him?”

  “Ain’t a him, it’s a her,” said Hank. “She looks kinda familiar. But I ain’t sure . . .”

  “It’s that Riley girl,” said Dave.

  “You mean Eve?” asked Micah. “The one Jeff is sweet on?”

  “No, not her. The other one. Not Big Dan’s daughter, his brother Milt’s.”

  Micah swore under his breath.

  “Anybody with her?”

  “Not that I can see.”

  Micah swore again and said, “What the devil would she be comin’ here for? Listen, you’re gonna have to step out on the porch and stall her for a couple minutes. I can’t let her see me all bloody like this. Tell her that Ma ain’t here, has gone to town or is visitin’ neighbors or something. I’ll be out as soon as I change my shirt.”

  * * *

  Approaching the Circle D’s main house, Joey Riley was relieved to see Buckhorn’s horse, along with the one Jeff had ridden away on and three others, tied at the hitch rail out front. Somewhat surprisingly, she noted no activity around the corrals or outbuildings as she rode up. But that was just as well. She didn’t know how welcome her visit was going to turn out to be, so the fewer people she encountered the better.

  Reining up, she was disappointed to see two men she didn’t recognize emerge from the house and step out onto the front porch. On closer examination, she decided she may have seen the pair around town on one of her infrequent visits there but, since there was nothing in particular to distinguish either of them from any of the dozens of other wranglers who drifted in and out of Barkley, it was hard to say for sure.

  One of the men, the youngest of the two and borderline handsome but with a piercing stare that Joey found unsettling, pinched his hat and said, “Mornin’, ma’am. Can we help you with something?”

  “I’m looking for Jeffrey Danvers and a man named Joe Buckhorn,” Joey said. “I have a rather urgent message for either or both of them.”

  The man with the unsettling eyes looked thoughtful for a moment.

  “Buckhorn, you say? That’s a kinda unusual name, one I reckon I’d remember if I ever heard it. But I haven’t, so I don’t guess I know the man you’re askin’ after. As for Jeff, it seems you ain’t heard that he’s been away for some time. Nobody’s sure where, though, and the whole family is mighty worried. So if your message has something to do with his whereabouts, I’m sure it would . . .”

  The look on Joey’s face caused the man to let his words trail off. The lies pouring out of the man’s mouth were so blatant and so stupid—what with Jeff’s and Buckhorn’s horses tied right there only a few feet away—that Joey was immediately alarmed. And her alarm became so evident that it made the man realize his blunder. When that happened, those eyes that Joey had found unsettling from the get-go became even more so when they suddenly narrowed into dangerous slits above a menacingly snarling mouth.

  “You done screwed up, Dave,” said the second stranger on the porch. “I’m supposed to be the dumb one, remember?”

  “Shut up and grab her!” hollered Dave as he lunged forward.

  Both men sprang from the porch and ran toward Joey. She instantly wheeled her horse and tried to get away, but the distance the men had to travel was too short and they were a
ll over her before she could get her horse turned. They fanned out to either side and began frantically grabbing—at the reins to restrain the horse, at the saddle, at her legs. Joey kicked and struggled desperately to break free. When she reached down to try to lift her rifle from its saddle scabbard, the man on that side clamped on to her wrist and forearm and pulled her down.

  Joey hit the ground hard, jarring the breath out of her. She nevertheless had the sense to go into a roll, partly to get free of the stamping feet of her frightened horse and partly still intent on trying to get away from the two men. She didn’t get far, though, before both of them grabbed hold of her, by her hair and clothes, and started to haul her to her feet.

  But they didn’t get far in their efforts, either.

  When a voice shouted “Hey!” Joey’s eyes automatically snapped in the direction of the sound. Through the tears welling in her eyes from the pain and humiliation and fear, she caught only a glimpse of a shape coming around the corner of the house. A shape with hawklike facial features framed by gleaming black hair above the gold-orange muzzle flashes of a Winchester talking business.

  The hands gripping her so roughly suddenly let go and then, as she dropped once more to the ground, Joey was aware that the bodies from which those hands extended were jerking and spasming above her in concert with the meaty thuds of bullets tearing into flesh and bone.

  * * *

  The plan laid out by Buckhorn and agreed to by the others called for him to be the first one to leave the storm cellar by the exit tunnel. If all went without discovery or some other unexpected trouble, he would make his way to the back of the main house, enter through the kitchen area, and proceed by the hallway off the pantry to Gus Danvers’s old office. There, he would arm himself from the gun cabinet and also gather additional weapons for Menlo and Tolliver.

  Still barring no trouble, Buckhorn would leave the house the way he’d gone in and meet up with the two lawmen who were scheduled to make their own exit from the tunnel fifteen minutes after his. With all three of them armed, they would cover the house and grounds until Obie and the two women left the cellar and went to Obie’s cabin where they would hole up, also arming themselves, while Buckhorn and the others turned their attention to confronting Micah and the men siding him.

  That was the plan.

  Buckhorn made it to the office and its gun cabinet without a hitch. Along the way, although he never had a vantage point where he could see clearly out into the dining room, he could hear Micah, Dave, and Hank talking. He could also hear the sounds of Jeff being savagely worked over. As much as it galled him, however, he was in no position to try to put a stop to that right at the moment.

  Buckhorn had gathered up the desired weapons and ammo and was ready to slip back out when Joey showed up in the front. He first heard Dave warning the others about a visitor and then, edging to the office’s window and carefully peeking out, he saw her for himself.

  Damn!

  By the time Micah was instructing his cohorts to go out and stall the girl, Buckhorn was already in motion. Part of his brain was telling him that, like he’d restrained himself from interfering with what was happening to Jeff in the other room, he really shouldn’t risk trying to do anything concerning Joey. But at the same time, he knew damn well he couldn’t hold back in this case.

  Bursting out the back of the house, he was glad to discover that Menlo and Tolliver had jumped the gun a little on their fifteen-minute wait before quitting the tunnel. He could see them making their way cautiously down the slope that led up to the fruit orchard. After motioning for them to come on, to hurry, he made sure they could see the guns he’d selected for them as he placed the weapons on the ground before he wheeled and went tearing around the corner of the house.

  Buckhorn raced to the next corner, at the front. As he reached it, he could hear the sounds of Hank and Dave cursing as they dragged Joey to the ground and struggled to control her.

  Buckhorn stepped out around the corner and raised the Winchester Yellowboy he’d taken from Gus Danvers’s gun cabinet.

  “Hey!” he shouted.

  Hank and Dave looked up, startled by the shout. Doubly startled to see Buckhorn standing there. They dropped the girl and immediately grabbed for their guns. Buckhorn levered five rounds into them before their fingers ever touched the grips and sent them into spinning, staggering dances of death before they toppled to the ground.

  Running forward, Buckhorn reached his free hand down to Joey and said, “Come with me! Hurry!”

  But the urging wasn’t really necessary. Joey grasped his hand tight and sprang to her feet, following eagerly as he tugged her back to the corner of the house. This came not a second too soon. As they scurried to make the turn, gunshots barked from inside the house, and the front window exploded outward under the impact of slugs sent after the two fleeing forms.

  Still tugging Joey after him, Buckhorn hurried back toward the kitchen entrance. Menlo and Tolliver were waiting there, prominently displaying the rifles Buckhorn had left for them.

  “What the devil’s going on?” Menlo said.

  “Joey? What in blazes are you doing here?” Tolliver wanted to know.

  “No time for details right now. I cut down two of ’em out front,” Buckhorn told them. He added, “Micah is still inside. Along with Jeff who, from what I overheard, has been getting worked over pretty bad. We need to try and—”

  His words were cut short by the shriek of a horse followed quickly by the sound of pounding hoofbeats fading away from the front of the house.

  “Damn!” cursed Tolliver. “He’s getting away!”

  * * *

  Micah was coming down the stairs from his room, still buttoning the front of a clean shirt, when he heard the voices out front grow suddenly louder and contentious. Drawing his gun, he edged out into the parlor just in time to see, through the front window, Dave and Hank go into convulsions as slugs tore into them in conjunction with the rapid-fire booms of a Winchester rifle. Seconds after his two pals bit the dust, Buckhorn streaked into view, leaning down to help to her feet the strawberry blonde who’d ridden up only a few minutes earlier.

  That trouble-making half-breed!

  That meddlesome Riley bitch!

  With no more thought than that, Micah raised his pistol and began blasting at the pair. Unfortunately, he was a second too late to hit anything but the window glass, which shattered and blew outward. And he was definitely too late to do anything for either Dave or Hank.

  What the hell was going on?

  How had Buckhorn gotten loose from the storm cellar? And if he was loose, that must mean the others were out, too! Where were they? If Buckhorn had gotten his hands on a rifle, did that mean Tolliver and Menlo—two seasoned lawmen—were also armed?

  Micah thought he heard voices at the back, out through the kitchen.

  What if they were all armed somehow and were surrounding the house? Micah started to panic. Suddenly realizing he was all alone, he panicked even more. He’d be trapped, hopelessly outnumbered.

  No, he couldn’t allow that. If they were working their way around from the back, he only had one chance.

  Out the front door Micah raced. Straight into the saddle of the first horse he saw, Joey’s horse, invitingly standing there not even tied to the hitch rail. Spurring the animal hard, Micah was relieved to find it was responsive and fast. Still, he hunched his shoulders tight as he pounded away, half fearing that a bullet might catch up with him.

  The thought of a bullet made it occur to him that he should have taken time to plant one in Jeff before he rode away. Damn, he wished he would have thought of that!

  CHAPTER 42

  The shouting and shooting naturally drew the attention of Cookie and the men from the bunkhouse, the three wranglers who’d participated in the all-night vigil over the meadow. All four came running out with guns drawn and ready.

  Fortunately, seeing that the sheriff and the ranger were still present was enough to calm them down. T
hey didn’t stay that way for very long, however, when—acting on Buckhorn’s advice that none of the Circle D crew should be trusted until there was time to thoroughly sort out allegiances—the two lawmen promptly disarmed them, slapped on handcuffs, and left them chained to their bunks until further notice.

  While that was being taken care of, Buckhorn stood guard out front of the house, eyes scanning in all directions. Inside, Obie and the women were tending to the badly injured Jeff.

  When Menlo and Tolliver came walking back from the bunkhouse, the sheriff asked, “How’s the boy?”

  Buckhorn’s face was grim as he said, “He took a hell of a beating. Busted nose for sure. Probably jaw, too, and most likely some ribs. Maybe tore up on the inside. He’ll definitely need to be gone over by a doctor as soon as we can get him to one. But, for right now, he’s holding his own.”

  Tolliver shook his head.

  “That damn Micah. His own brother! I always knew there was a bad streak there, only I never guessed it ran so deep.”

  “Seems to be a common refrain,” said Menlo somberly. “Too bad somebody didn’t take it a little more seriously.”

  If the ranger’s remark was meant as a dig at the sheriff, Tolliver didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’d better get in there, see if there’s anything I can do,” he said. “Pamela’s got to be beside herself.”

  After the sheriff disappeared inside, Menlo came over and stood next to Buckhorn. His eyes followed the line of the gunman’s gaze as it swept out over the surrounding landscape.

  “You expectin’ Micah to come back?”

  “I’m thinking it’s a possibility,” Buckhorn admitted.

  “The way he lit a shuck out of here sure didn’t look like anybody who’d be too quick to want to come back. Thing is, he was alone. What do you suppose happened to the other fella, the deputy?”

  “The only thing I can think is that he must’ve left out earlier . . . to somewhere. For some reason.”

 

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