by Steve Hayes
The old wrangler reined his horse up behind the barn. Dismounting, he and Raven crept alongside the side wall and peered around the edge of the big wooden building. It faced west, away from the dawn light, and at first they couldn’t see anyone. Then a match flared between cupped hands that lifted it to the end of a cigarette. Momentarily, the weathered face of the cowboy smoking was outlined by the flame; then, as he blew the match out and flicked it away, darkness returned.
But now their eyes were accustomed to the half-light and they could see the man’s profile as he leaned back against the double doors. The old wrangler reached for his six-gun. Raven grabbed his wrist and shook her head, no. She then pulled out her slingshot, took a pebble from her pocket and loaded it into the pouch. Taking careful aim, she let loose.
The pebble struck the cowboy on the temple. He crumpled and collapsed on the ground without a sound.
The old wrangler looked impressed. ‘Sister, remind me not to turn my back on you.’ Grabbing the cowboy’s boots, he waited for Raven to quietly open one of the big double doors and then dragged the unconscious man into the barn.
Raven ducked in after them. Remembering her vision, she quickly looked around for Gabriel and saw him tied to the post. His face was badly bruised and swollen and she almost gasped. Still groggy, he was shocked to see her. She raised her finger to her lips, silencing him. Then standing in front of Gabriel so he couldn’t be seen, she pointed to the unconscious cowboy and asked the old wrangler if he wanted her to find a rope so they could tie him up.
The old wrangler nodded, closed the door and leaned over to take the cowboy’s gun from its holster. Behind him, Raven grabbed a long-handled shovel and swung it with all her strength. The flat side of the blade struck the old wrangler across the back of the head, dropping him. He lay where he fell, face down on the straw-covered floor.
Raven dropped the shovel, ran to Gabriel’s side and hugged him.
Excruciating pain knifed through his ribs, making him grunt. But just to have her safely with him was worth all the pain in the world and he made no attempt to push her away.
‘Oh, Gabe, Gabe … I’m so glad to see you. Are you all right?’
He nodded, teeth gritted against the intense pain.
‘I thought you were … I mean, I didn’t know if … I was so worried about you and.’
‘Untie me,’ he said, wincing.
Quickly kneeling behind him, she untied him from the post. ‘I got a horse outside. Think you can ride?’
‘Sure.’ He winced as she helped him up. ‘How’d you know I was here?’
‘I … uh—’ Raven hesitated, reluctant to reveal she’d had a vision. ‘Almighty Sky told me. He saw you in a peyote dream.’
‘Seems like that ol’ Indian’s always comin’ to my rescue.’
‘Mine too. Here,’ she added as he took a step, grimaced, and held his side, ‘let me help you.’
‘No, you get their guns.’ Limping to the door, he opened it a crack and peered out. Lights showed in the mansion. Men could be heard stirring in the bunkhouse. Suddenly the door was flung open and two hands stepped out, laughing, playfully pushing each other around.
‘Hurry,’ Gabriel said. ‘This place is about to become a gully-buster.’
She quickly handed him the pistols. Making sure they were loaded, he tucked one in his belt then he and Raven ducked outside.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The old wrangler’s horse was still tied behind the barn. Raven helped Gabriel climb into the saddle and swung up behind him. Crouched low over the horse’s back they rode slowly between the outer buildings and corrals. Neither spoke, hoping not to disturb the stock penned up in them. Luck seemed to be riding with them. They had cleared the cattle pens and were a short distance from the big arched entrance – when three Double SS night riders crested the hill and rode in.
All were yawning and only half-awake and it took them a moment to notice Gabriel and Raven reined up before them; in that moment Gabriel drew both pistols and leveled them at the night riders.
‘We can do this easy or hard,’ he said. ‘So either jerk your guns or hold your hands where I can see ’em.’
As one, the three weary night riders raised their hands chest high.
Gabriel nudged his horse forward, eyes fixed on the riders, ready to shoot the first man who moved.
None of them did. Gabriel reined up behind them, half-turned in his saddle as he said: ‘Now, ride on like nothin’ happened. An’ remember, I’ll be watchin’ you. So don’t do nothin’ foolish.’
He waited for them to ride on a short distance then faced front and was about to spur his horse out of the gate, when a fourth night rider came riding up the hill. He wasn’t as sleepy as the other riders, and on seeing Gabriel he instantly went for his pistol.
Gabriel shot him. The rider pitched from the saddle, rolled over in the dirt and lay still.
Behind Gabriel, the three riders grabbed their guns and opened fire. His horse went down, kicking and squealing. Gabriel and Raven were thrown to the ground. Momentarily dazed, they crawled behind the dead horse and kept their heads low as bullets whined overhead.
Despite his sore ribs, Gabriel returned fire, dropping one of the riders and forcing the other two to jump from their saddles and dive under a corral fence. The gunfire brought the remaining hands busting out of the bunkhouse. Finding cover, they poured lead at Gabriel, pinning him down.
In the middle of the firefight, Stillman Stadtlander hobbled out of the front door of his mansion. Supported by crutches, he stood on the porch beside his foreman, John Welters, and ordered his men to stop firing.
‘Gabe?’ he yelled. ‘Gabe, can you hear me?’
‘I hear you.’ Gabriel peered over the dead horse at his nemesis.
‘John, here, says you got a young’un with you.’
‘What about it?’
‘Give yourself up an’ I’ll let her ride out of here, even give her a horse if she’s afoot.’
‘Forget it,’ Raven said before Gabriel could reply. ‘I’m not leaving so that ol’ wolf can hang you.’
‘This ain’t about you,’ Gabriel said. ‘It’s about me’n Stadtlander. Has been all along.’
‘I don’t care who it’s about. You’re the only person I got left in the world and I’m not losing you, no matter what you say.’ Before he could stop her, she stood up and glared defiantly at Stadtlander. ‘You want to shoot me, mister, go ahead. You already killed my father, might as well add me to your sins.’
Eyesight failing, Stadtlander peered across the open area separating him from Raven. Not recognizing her in the gray morning light, he said gruffly: ‘You’re not makin’ sense, girl. I ain’t shot a man in over ten years, and that’d make you too young to remember any killing I ever done.’
‘I remember this one,’ she said angrily. ‘I was right there when it happened. You may not have fired the bullet,’ she added, ‘but I’m holdin’ you responsible.’
Stadtlander looked at Gabriel, now standing beside Raven, his guns trained on the old rancher. ‘What she’s talkin’ about, Gabe?’
‘Your boy, Slade.’
‘Slade’s dead, damn you! No one knows that better than you.’
‘This was a while back. Slade an’ the Iversons got hog-killin’ drunk in the Copper Palace an’ shot up the town. Mr Bjorkman and his wife an’ Raven, here, was on the boardwalk an’ one of the bullets killed her dad.’
Stadtlander scowled, troubled by the memory. ‘That’s old news,’ he blustered. ‘You know well as I do, Gabe, the judge cleared Slade an’ the Iversons of all charges. Said other folks was shootin’ too—’
‘He’s a liar,’ Raven broke in. ‘They were the only ones shooting when my father was hit. I saw ’em. And they saw me. But they kept on shootin’ anyway. As for the verdict, mister, everyone in Santa Rosa knows you put Judge Raleigh in office so ’course he’s going to say your son’s innocent. Even a lame-head like me knows that!’
The
re was an uneasy silence among Stadtlander’s men. To a man, they knew Raven was right and not one of them could look her in the eye.
Stadtlander shifted uncomfortably on his crutches. ‘I’m mighty sorry about your pa, girl. And I’d do anything to bring his life back. But what’s done is done. No one can change the past. What happened was just a fluke accident and it’s got nothin’ to do with what’s goin’ on here. Gabe gunned down my boy. He’s got to pay for that an’ I’ll be black-damned if I’ll let him dodge a rope this time.’
Raven’s anger suddenly boiled over. Grabbing one of Gabriel’s guns, she fired it – kept on firing it – at Stadtlander.
None of the bullets hit the crippled old rancher. But they came close enough to rattle him. Snatching his foreman’s rifle, he went to shoot Raven.
Gabriel fired first, the bullet knocking the rifle out of Stadtlander’s hands.
‘Next one’s between your eyes,’ he warned.
It went deadly quiet.
Every ranch hand itched to pull his iron. But fear of Gabriel stopped them. No one moved. Sweat trickled down their backs under their shirts.
‘Get two horses,’ Gabriel told Raven. He waited for her to run to the corral then pulled a wad of bills from his money belt and tossed them on the ground. ‘This’ll more than pay for ’em,’ he said to Stadtlander.
Enraged, the fiery-tempered rancher turned to his foreman. ‘Shoot him! You heard me,’ he raged when Welters didn’t move. ‘Shoot the no-good sonofabitch!’
‘You shoot him, Mr Stadtlander.’ Welters picked up his rifle but kept the muzzle pointed at the ground. ‘I don’t feel like dyin’ today.’
‘You gutless bastard!’ Stadtlander spat in Welters’ face; then turned to his men. ‘A thousand dollars to the man who shoots him.’ When there were no takers, he added: ‘That’s a thousand on top of the reward.’
Some of the ranch hands nervously licked their lips, tempted.
‘Go ahead,’ Gabriel told them. ‘Your next of kin can most likely use the money.’
‘I’ll take your offer,’ a voice said.
‘Gabe!’ Raven screamed from the corral. ‘The barn!’
Gabriel whirled toward the barn and saw the old wrangler aiming a belly gun at him. Gabriel fired, even as he was still turning. The old wrangler staggered back, dead on his feet, his short-barreled pistol firing uselessly into the dirt.
A shot rang out.
A slug tore through Gabriel’s sleeve.
He turned and saw Stadtlander clumsily trying to lever another shell into the chamber of his foreman’s Winchester.
Gabriel fired, once.
The bullet punched a hole in Stadtlander’s chest, slamming him back against the mansion wall. The rifle dropped from his arthritic, claw-like hands and he slowly sank to the porch floor.
He sat there, eyes wide with surprise, hands clasped over the hole in his chest, watching as Gabriel limped up to the porch steps.
‘Damn you, Stillman,’ he said grimly. ‘Damn you to high hell.’
Stillman J. Stadtman didn’t answer.
‘Why’d you have to go an’ press me like that?’
‘He can’t hear you,’ John Welters said. ‘Dammit, man, can’t you see he’s dead?’
Raven came running up and examined Gabriel’s left arm. Blood seeped through his bullet-torn sleeve.
‘You all right?’
Gabriel nodded, and looked Welters in the eye.
‘Let the girl ride out an’ then we can finish this.’
‘It’s already finished.’ Welters turned to one of the men gathered around him. ‘Harland.’
‘Yes, boss?’
‘Go get Sheriff Forbes. Tell him Mr Stadtlander’s dead.’
‘Want me to say who shot him?’
‘Harland,’ John Welters said irritably, ‘if’n I wanted you to say that I would’ve told you to say that. Now ride, blast you!’ As the ranch hand ran off, the foreman told two other men to carry Stadtlander’s body into the parlor. Then turning back to Gabriel, he said quietly and without fear: ‘I never much believed in this quarrel. Way I figured it you already paid for that Morgan many times over.’
‘Too bad your boss didn’t see it that way.’
Welters gave him a hard look. ‘Wrong was done on both sides, Gabe. So don’t act like you’re blameless.’
Gabriel knew he was right and absently toed the dirt with his boot. ‘Won’t argue that, John. But I don’t intend to let the law decide my future for me.’
‘Wasn’t expectin’ you to.’ The foreman pointed at some horses milling around in the nearest corral. ‘Cut out two to your liking. There’s saddles in the barn. Then you’n the girl ride on out of here and don’t never come back.’
‘Got my word on it,’ Gabriel said. With Raven beside him, he limped toward the corral.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Brandy looked down from atop the limestone cliffs and surveyed the herd of mustangs in the ravine below him. The only vegetation was a few clumps of mesquite and a lone Palo Verde, the roots of which clung precariously to a dirt overhang along one edge. A chestnut mare was nibbling the bark off the twigs and two young pinto mares were grooming each other; the rest of the herd was gathered around a natural salt lick.
El Tigre was nowhere in sight.
Brandy, who had chewed himself free of the rope around his neck, now issued a challenging whinny. He wanted those mares. He was willing to fight for those mares. And he didn’t care who knew it. Pawing restlessly at the dirt, he charged down the winding trail leading to the ravine.
The broomtails around the lick heard him coming. Raising their heads, they watched as the coal-black Morgan came barreling down from the ridge and without breaking stride galloped toward them.
All but the youngest had seen this happen before, a stallion, alone and anxious to prove his worth to the mares, appearing out of nowhere and trying to take control of the herd. The result had always been the same: after a fierce fight with their leader, the vanquished usurper limped off to lick his wounds and perhaps die. Nor was there reason to believe today would end differently; so after a curious look at the newcomer, the mustangs lowered their heads and resumed licking the salt from the ground.
Brandy was closing in on the herd when El Tigre charged out from behind some rocks. He came at an angle, cutting the Morgan off from the mustangs, and Brandy wheeled to meet him. Teeth bared, ears flattened, the angry leopard stallion hurled himself at his challenger.
Brandy met the herd leader head on. El Tigre was taller and rangier than the Morgan but not as solidly built or powerful. Both horses collided and both were staggered by the impact. But unlike previous challengers, Brandy wasn’t knocked sprawling by the leopard stallion’s charge – or intimidated. Quickly recovering his balance, he reared up, snorting, and lashed out at the raging white horse.
El Tigre responded, dodging the flailing hoofs and lunging in close to bite Brandy on the neck. The Morgan screamed, more from fury than pain and, twisting free, whirled and kicked the herd leader with his back legs. The white stallion went sprawling, the wind knocked out of him. Brandy rushed in to stomp him. But El Tigre had been fighting for survival all his life and before Brandy could take advantage of his fallen foe, the wild horse rolled aside, scrambled up and met the Morgan’s charge head on.
Brandy, caught off guard, felt teeth rip his shoulder. He danced away, blood streaming down his gleaming black coat. El Tigre lunged at him again. And as Brandy tried to step aside the stallion rammed him with his shoulder, knocking the Morgan down. Instantly El Tigre reared up and stamped on Brandy, the hammer-like blows dazing him. He tried to get up but again the white mustang pounded him with his front hoofs.
Unused to this kind of fighting, Brandy desperately rolled on his back and kicked out with all four legs. El Tigre was driven back, giving the Morgan time to scramble up and ready himself for the next attack.
El Tigre reared up and lashed out at Brandy, expecting his challenger to shy a
way, intimidated. But Brandy avoided the flailing kicks, reared and kicked back. The herd leader reeled under the blows, recovered and then ripped open Brandy’s flank with a vicious bite. Brandy retaliated, slashing open El Tigre’s withers.
Back and forth the battle raged. The ravine reverberated with their whinnying screams and the thudding blows delivered by their hoofs.
Like two fighters slugging it out, both horses refused to give quarter.
Gradually, the Morgan’s weight and power began to wear the leopard stallion down. For the first time since taking over the herd, El Tigre found himself backing up. Encouraged, Brandy charged in and rammed the weary herd leader, knocking the white mustang sprawling.
He desperately tried to get up but Brandy was already on top of him, pounding him with his front hoofs. El Tigre rolled aside but Brandy kept after him. Again and again the enraged Morgan stamped on the leopard stallion until finally, dazed and beaten, white spotted coat spattered with blood, the exhausted herd leader stopped fighting.
Brandy kicked him a few more times and then backed up, teeth bared, daring the mustang to continue. El Tigre got to his feet but just stood there, defeated, legs trembling, chest heaving, head lowered, mouth slathered with foam.
Behind him the rest of the herd looked on in shock. For years their leader had been invincible. Now his reign was over. Their loyalty switched immediately. As one they trotted up to Brandy, the mares nuzzling him, the young males showing deference by keeping their heads lowered.
Brandy reared up, pawing at the air and whinnying shrilly, signaling to the herd that he was their new leader. He then bluffed a charge at El Tigre. The white stallion shied away and retreated, offering no resistance. Brandy charged him again, chasing the defeated mustang farther away. Then he triumphantly returned to the lick, clambered onto a flat rock and proudly stood guard over his herd.
El Tigre, now an outcast, turned and dejectedly limped off.