Brutal Vengeance

by J. A. Johnstone

  Across the street, the man who had been crouched on the roof of a building lurched to his feet and doubled over from the pain of the rifle round that had bored into his guts. He dropped his own Winchester and followed it, falling from the roof and turning over once in midair to come crashing down on his back.

  He had gotten off one shot at The Kid and Lace, and the cost of it had been his life.

  The Kid was out of the saddle in a flash. He told Lace, “Cover me. I’ll check them.”

  He was relatively sure both bushwhackers were dead, but a man who wasn’t careful about such things all too often wound up a corpse himself.

  A quick look confirmed what The Kid thought. Neither of the roughnecks would ever bully anyone again.

  The shots had drawn plenty of attention, although the citizens of Stubbtown were looking out curiously from the relative safety of the buildings, not venturing into the street.

  However, once the gunfire stopped and didn’t resume for a minute or two, they began to emerge.

  The Kid replaced the round he had fired from the Colt and slid the revolver back into leather. He looked up at Lace. “That was pretty good shooting. You got that Winchester out and working in a hurry.”

  She shrugged. “Not fast enough to keep that bastard from almost ventilating you.”

  “Close doesn’t count,” The Kid said with a smile. He looked over at a man who was approaching him.

  “Are they both dead?” the townie asked.

  “That’s right,” The Kid said. “Is there going to be trouble over this?”

  The man shook his head. “I don’t see why there would be. Rudy Tomlinson and Jake Rivers were first-class sons of bitches—beg your pardon for my language, ma’am—and nobody in town’s gonna be sorry to see them dead. Some of the people they ran roughshod over would probably be glad to buy you a drink, in fact, to thank you.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” The Kid said. “Is there any law here?”

  “Not a bit, not even a constable.”

  “Then there’s nothing to keep us from riding on.”

  “Not a thing,” the townsman agreed. “We’ll put these two in cheap pine boxes and plant them. The whole town’s liable to turn out to bid them good riddance.”

  “You do that.” The Kid took hold of the buckskin’s reins and swung up in the saddle. “We have to be riding.”

  “I never saw anybody get a gun out as fast as you did, mister,” the man went on in obvious excitement. “And ma’am, I never would have believed a lady could shoot like that.”

  “Well, then, you’re easily surprised,” Lace told him. She turned her horse and added, “Let’s go, Kid. I don’t want that posse getting too far ahead of us.”

  The Kid knew what she meant. She didn’t want the posse accidentally capturing Warren Latch and his gang before she got a chance to be in on it and claim the reward. Lifting a hand briefly in farewell to the townsman, The Kid sent the buckskin loping after Lace and her horses.

  It took them half an hour of brisk riding to catch up to the posse. When they did, several of the men stared at Lace with surprised expressions.

  She didn’t look like the rough-and-tumble bounty hunter The Kid had first met in New Mexico Territory, but her appearance was considerably different than it had been when the posse men first laid eyes on her in Stubbtown.

  The riders all paused as The Kid and Lace joined them. Culhane tugged on the brim of his Stetson. “Ma’am.”

  “Ranger Culhane,” she replied. “Thank you again for allowing me to accompany you.”

  “Could be you were right about bein’ able to keep up. From the way you rode up, I’d say this ain’t your first time on a horse.”

  Lace smiled. “Indeed it’s not. I grew up on a farm. You’ll find that I won’t hold you back.”

  What she told Culhane wasn’t strictly true, The Kid reflected, since actually she had grown up in a whorehouse, but she was right about not holding them back. And when it came down to a fight with Latch’s gang, Lace would be worth two or three of the posse men, at the very least.

  Culhane allowed everyone to rest the horses for a few minutes, then the posse moved out again. As they rode at the head of the group, Culhane said quietly to The Kid, “I thought I heard a few shots, ’way back yonder about where that settlement is.”

  “You did,” The Kid agreed. “Those hombres who were bothering Miss Morrison when we rode in took exception to having their needings handed to them. They tried to settle the score by bushwhacking us as we rode out.”

  Culhane’s eyes narrowed. “I reckon the fact that you two are here means there are two less troublemakers in Stubbtown.”

  “You reckon correct,” The Kid said.

  He felt eyes on him and glanced over his shoulder to see Nick Burton staring at him with open admiration. He hoped Nick wouldn’t say anything about him being Kid Morgan, but he supposed it didn’t really matter.

  Nick’s gaze moved from The Kid to Lace, and his eyes showed admiration there as well, although of a different sort. Nick wasn’t the only member of the posse she affected like that, The Kid thought with a faint, amused smile as he faced forward again. Lace wasn’t the prettiest woman he had ever seen, but she was one of the most compelling.

  “You didn’t leave Reilly back there at the settlement like you said you were going to,” The Kid commented quietly to Culhane.

  “I thought about it,” the Ranger said. “But I asked around, and there ain’t no sawbones back there, so there didn’t seem to be any point to makin’ him stay. He would have put up a fuss about it, anyway.”

  The Kid knew that was true. He looked at Reilly, who was riding beside Abel Gustaffson.

  The hatred radiating from both men was so strong he could almost see it in the air around them.

  It didn’t take long for the posse to reach more rugged terrain. The wooded hills were small starting out, barely worthy of being called hills, but The Kid found them a refreshing change from the miles and miles of flat, mesquite-dotted prairie. The sun still beat down hotly, but somehow the presence of more green vegetation made the air seem slightly cooler.

  “We ain’t that far from San Antone now,” Culhane commented late that afternoon. The Kid noticed a worried edge had crept into the Ranger’s voice. “We need to catch up to Latch before he and his gang get to Bexar. If we don’t, they’re liable to split up and we won’t ever be able to track ’em down.” Culhane glanced over his shoulder at the posse and added quietly, “This bunch has already held together for longer than I thought they would.”

  “You can try pushing them harder,” The Kid said. “Like you told me before, they’ll stick. Too many of them have personal scores to settle with Latch for them not to.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right about that,” Culhane said. “But the trail’s gettin’ harder to follow now that we’re in these hills. That’ll work against us.”

  The Kid knew he was right about that.

  A short time later, the situation became more difficult when the terrain suddenly got more rugged without any warning. The ground dropped into a deep, narrow canyon with steep hills on both sides. The slopes were covered thickly with cedars and junipers.

  Culhane reined in and signaled a halt. As the posse came to a stop, the Ranger leaned forward in his saddle and frowned. “I don’t much like the looks of this place,” he said to The Kid, “but the trail leads down into that canyon.”

  Trampled grass and broken branches on some of the bushes testified that a large group of riders had passed through there in the fairly recent past.

  Lace rode up alongside them. “They’re less than a day ahead of us.”

  Culhane shot her a narrow-eyed look. “And how would you know that, ma’am?”

  The Kid could tell by the look on her face she knew she had made a mistake. He could practically see the wheels of her brain spinning as she tried to come up with an answer.

  “I told you my father was a farmer,” she said. “What
I didn’t mention was that before he married my mother and took up farming, he did some scouting for the army. He taught me quite a bit. I guess you could say I was a tomboy back then.”

  “Uh-huh.” It was obvious Culhane wasn’t sure whether to believe her, but he didn’t seem too suspicious as he went on, “Well, ma’am, you’re right about those outlaws bein’ less than a day ahead of us. I hope you’re ready for some hard ridin’, because we’ll be pushin’ on until it’s too dark to see.”

  “That’s fine with me, Mr. Culhane,” she replied with a smile. “The sooner I get back to San Antonio, the better.”

  The Ranger turned in his saddle to address the posse. “The trail leads down into the canyon. We’re gonna follow it, but keep your eyes peeled. This is a good spot for an ambush.”

  He waved the men forward. The Kid drew his Winchester from its saddle boot, and noticed that Lace did the same. Nick Burton and some of the other men followed their example.

  Nick moved his horse alongside Lace’s as the posse descended into the narrow canyon. He nodded toward the rifle she held. “Do you know how to use that, ma’am?”

  She gave him an indulgent smile. “I’ve shot a rifle before, Mister ...?”

  “Burton, ma’am, Nick Burton. But you should call me Nick. Mr. Burton’s my pa. Or my grandpa, although folks usually call him Old Man Burton, on account of he’s had a big ranch north of Fire Hill for so long. Well ... where Fire Hill used to be, I guess you’d have to say.”

  The Kid and Culhane were riding in front of Lace and the youngster. As The Kid listened to Nick babbling on, he thought that was one more indication of just how smitten with her the young man was.

  There was no telling how long Nick might have gone on, but at that moment he was rudely interrupted by the crack of a shot. The flat whap! of a bullet passing close by The Kid’s head and Nick’s cry of pain sounded together.

  Chapter 19

  “Spread out!” Culhane bellowed as members of the posse began to yell in alarm.

  The Kid hadn’t seen a muzzle flash or puff of gunsmoke to mark the bushwhacker’s location, but he aimed at the sound of the shot anyway as he brought the Winchester to his shoulder and rapidly cranked off three rounds in that direction.

  He twisted in the saddle and looked back to see Nick slumped over but still mounted. Lace had hold of his arm, supporting him.

  “Get him to cover!” The Kid barked as more shots began to ring out from both slopes.

  They had ridden into a trap, all right, and they would be lucky if any of them got out of it alive.

  Hoping the pack horse would stay out of the line of fire, The Kid let go of the animal’s reins and hauled the buckskin around.

  Lace had grabbed Nick’s reins when the young man dropped them, and led his horse as she galloped toward the nearest trees. The Kid sent the buckskin pounding after them.

  Several members of the posse were down, and some who were still mounted might be wounded. He didn’t yet know how badly Nick was hit, but was glad to see Culhane disappearing into some boulders on the other side of the canyon. The lawman seemed to be all right, as far as The Kid could tell.

  More slugs whipped through the branches of the junipers and thudded into tree trunks as The Kid rode into the growth. He dismounted rapidly, taking his Winchester with him, and ducked behind one of the trees where he could see across the canyon to the opposite slope.

  He couldn’t do anything about the hidden rifleman on his side of the canyon, but he could make things hot for the varmints on the other side.

  Thrusting the Winchester around the trunk, he opened fire, peppering the opposite slope with slugs as he rapidly worked the rifle’s lever. The trees and the thick brush made it impossible for him to see what he was shooting at, but he hoped some of the bullets came close enough to make the bushwhackers jump.

  After that initial volley, The Kid held his fire and took a moment to study the situation.

  The posse had scattered the way Culhane ordered. They were spread out and fighting back, but were outnumbered. Two posse men lay unmoving where The Kid could see them. He knew they were either dead or badly wounded.

  The ambushers had the advantage of the high ground and continued their barrage of gunfire.

  Noise behind him in the brush made The Kid spin around with his finger on the Winchester’s trigger, but he held his fire as Lace emerged from the growth.

  “Hold on, Kid, it’s just me,” she said.

  “I can see that. You know how close I came to shooting you?”

  She flashed him a grin. “I trust your reflexes. I’ve seen them in action often enough.”

  He grunted as she moved to take cover behind a tree next to the one where he crouched. “How’s Nick doing? I couldn’t tell how bad he was hit.”

  “He’s in quite a bit of pain,” Lace said, “but I’m pretty sure he’ll be all right. The bullet knocked a chunk of meat out of his left arm but didn’t break the bone. I gave him a couple swigs from the flask I carry in my saddlebags and left him up there in the trees with the horses. He’ll be fine.”

  “Until those bushwhackers higher up start working their way down toward us,” The Kid pointed out.

  Lace frowned. “I didn’t think about that,” she admitted. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt.”

  “We can stay here and shoot at those men on the other side of the canyon all day without knowing if we’re doing any good,” The Kid said. “I think it would be a better use of our time to start up this slope and see what we can find.”

  “Carve down the odds one at a time, you mean?” Lace asked. “I like that idea. Come on.”

  Bullets still whispered through the branches, but the outlaws were firing blindly just like the posse. The Kid didn’t worry too much about those stray shots. If one of them found him, he would consider that his fate ... assuming he lived long enough to think anything.

  In the meantime, he was going to do his best to take the fight to the enemy.

  He had no doubt the bushwhackers were some of Warren Latch’s men. He didn’t think a small group of would-be robbers would have attacked a bunch as large as the posse. It could be the entire gang, for all he knew. Nobody else would have a reason to bushwhack them.

  Like a phantom, The Kid moved through the trees, using every available bit of cover so the riflemen on the other side of the canyon wouldn’t spot him.

  A few yards away, Lace was doing the same thing. The smile was gone from her face, replaced by an expression of grim determination.

  They came to the place where she had left Nick Burton. The young man was slumped motionless on his side against a fallen tree.

  For a second The Kid thought Lace had underestimated the seriousness of Nick’s injuries and the young man had bled to death.

  Then a loud snore came from Nick. He hadn’t died or passed out. He had fallen asleep, even with gunshots going off all over the canyon.

  The youngster must not have had much to drink in his life, The Kid thought with a smile, if two swigs of whiskey from Lace’s flask had knocked him out like that.

  Lace had torn a strip from Nick’s shirt and bound up the wound on his arm. The cloth was bloodstained, but the bullet hole didn’t seem to be bleeding a lot. He ought to be all right there, The Kid thought.

  Nodding to Lace, he gestured to indicate they should continue to move on up the slope. The gunfire continued, and The Kid used the sound of the shots coming from above as a guide. He and Lace steered toward the blasts.

  The reports got louder. Holding out a hand, he motioned for Lace to get down. They crouched behind trees.

  The Kid studied the slope. After a minute or two, he spotted the barrel of a rifle poking out from some brush.

  It was tempting to empty his Winchester into the bushes, but since it was possible another member of the posse had worked his way up there, just as The Kid and Lace had done, they needed to make sure who was in there.

  Using hand signals, The Kid told Lace to st
ay where she was while he worked his way around behind the hidden rifleman. She didn’t look very happy about that, but after a moment she gave him a grudging nod.

  The Kid darted from tree to tree and finally had to go to his belly and crawl up the slope to remain unseen as he circled the brush. It took him several minutes to reach a position where he could see the man hidden there. The rifleman wasn’t one of the posse men. He was a roughly dressed hombre with a short, ginger-colored beard, and he had an ugly grin on his face as he fired another shot into the canyon.

  The Kid drew a bead on him and squeezed the trigger.

  The crack of the Winchester was lost in all the other shots filling the canyon. The bearded man’s head jerked to the side as the bullet from The Kid’s rifle bored through it. He dropped his gun and fell bonelessly to the ground, rolling over a couple times before he came to a stop out in the open.

  Lace saw the body and hurried forward. She paused long enough to pull the dead outlaw’s revolver from its holster and tuck it behind her belt. She left the rifle where the man had dropped it.

  “You need more armament?” The Kid asked dryly as Lace rejoined him.

  “In my business, you can never have too many guns.”

  He supposed that was true. With a jerk of his chin, he indicated they should move on up the slope.

  They stayed about ten yards apart. Lace had paused and was kneeling behind a boulder when a man suddenly came around it. He stopped short in obvious surprise when he saw her, but that lasted only a split second before he swung his rifle toward her with blinding speed.

  The Kid saw that from the corner of his eye, but there was nothing he could do about it. Lace was between him and the gunman, and he couldn’t take a shot at the man without running too great a risk of hitting her instead.

  Lace was hardly defenseless, though. She threw herself to the ground as the outlaw fired, pulling the revolver from her belt as she did so. The man’s shot went over her head, and from her angle she pumped a .45 slug up into his belly.