Ride the High Lines (An Ash Colter Western Book 2)

by Ben Bridges

  But I thrust all of that from my mind. I had to. I was not here to win their favor. We had a job to do. Again I felt the outline of the folded ten thousand dollar note in my pocket. It was a constant reminder to me that John Kidd was still at large, and taunting me for my feeble attempts to bring him to book.

  We left the Buckhalter place an hour later and rode steadily southeast through the bitter day. I wondered if we would catch our man at the box canyon. I doubted it. Now that he knew for sure that someone was after him, Kidd would probably leave this neck of the woods, at least for a while.

  We rode right through the day and would have gone further but for the early darkness. With heavy, drifting clouds blotting what little light the moon and stars might otherwise have provided, we had little option but to call a halt. We found a high, protected spot and made camp, and an hour before dawn the next morning, Winch rode out to scout the terrain ahead.

  We rode out after him about an hour later and spied him coming back towards us across the lonely, treeless plain some ten miles further on.

  ‘Found the canyon, cap’n,’ he said when finally he brought his ugly horse to a halt and leaned forward with his arms folded atop his saddle-horn.

  I could tell from his tone that he had only bad news for us. ‘They’ve gone?’

  ‘Musta lit out two days ago. But they’re trailin’ a herd fifty, sixty-strong, an’ not jus’ cattle, neither. Hosses as well. So they won’t be hard to foller — long as the weather holds, that is.’

  ‘They headin’ for Kansas? asked Saul.

  ‘I reckon.’

  We rode for the canyon, reached it around the middle of the windswept day, paused briefly for coffee and a bite to eat, then set off after the rustlers and their stolen stock. The miles hurried past beneath us. Ten, twelve, fifteen, twenty.

  I cannot tell you exactly when we crossed the border. The land did not change greatly in character. It remained largely treeless and flat, with endless plains of buffalo or grama grass shelving away on every side. But the weather did change — for the worse. The temperature plummeted, for winter was now grasping the land with its icy hand, and that same afternoon we had a light powdering of snow.

  Now we rode more cautiously, well aware that Kidd paid some of the farmers and ranchers in these parts for their silence and, possibly, whatever information they considered might be important to him. Whenever we spotted any signs of civilization, we went out of our way to avoid being seen.

  Neither could the possibility of an ambush be entirely dismissed.

  We rode on, single-minded and steadfast, trending eastwards now. The days turned grayer and colder. The freezing air rasped against my lungs like sandpaper and left all of us feeling numb and heavy-headed.

  Around the middle of the third day we spotted a huddle of clapboard and tarpaper buildings on the far northern horizon, what passed for a town in this part of the country.

  Although we were low on supplies, I was reluctant to delay. Still, I knew we must replace what we had used up, and so, as mindful as ever of I the need for circumspection, I sent only one man, Saul, in to buy supplies, while Winch, Morse and I made for a patch of ground about a mile away that was protected from the wind by a stand of cottonwoods and box elders.

  We waited largely in silence, Winch chewing and I spitting, Morse humming softly and stamping his feet, me holding my mustang’s reins and staring out over the empty desolation, as introspective as ever.

  I was much troubled. I did not want to be chasing across the country with winter closing in around us. I still cherished my dream of a more settled, less violent life, of a horse-ranch, a wife and a family. And yet I knew I must go on and see this thing through to the finish, and not just for the money. Pride was involved here as well.

  The sky grew more and more bleak. There was another light powdering of snow. I wanted to finish this business and be done with it. But how? By the time Saul rejoined us with bulging saddlebags, I had reached a decision.

  We were going to abandon our pursuit, and instead make directly for Kidd’s likeliest destination — his ranch.

  The men exchanged a glance once I had voiced my intention. Only Winch showed no real surprise, for I suspect he had already guessed what was in my mind. According to Johnson, Kidd’s ranch was down along the Saline River. Now I said, ‘How far is the Saline from here, Lem?’

  Scratching his wiry gray beard, he considered. ‘Ten, fifteen miles south.’

  I nodded. ‘All right. Let’s cook up some coffee, boys. Then we’ll move out.’

  We picked up the Saline late in the day and from there we rode on eastwards, following the contortions of its sluggish flow. My stomach turned sour every time I thought about the showdown that must come when we raided the ranch. We had no idea how large a force we would encounter there, but we were certain to be outnumbered. I wondered briefly about the chances of contacting the county sheriff and trying to organize some reinforcements, but there was no way of knowing just whom we could trust. To have owned a ranch out here for so long and remain undetected, it seemed likely that even the sheriff was on Kidd’s payroll.

  We were on our own, then.

  At last I judged that we were closing upon our destination. As the premature darkness crowded down upon us, I sent Winch out ahead to scout around and report back.

  The others and I reined in among some sparse timber. The day was biting and damp, and as one we felt wretched with the cold. We built a small fire and huddled around it, warming our rough palms and stamping our frozen feet. Snowflakes began to tumble lazily from the heavens above, and we listened to them hiss and sizzle as they connected with the greedy flames.

  Some hours later Winch drifted soundlessly back into the firelight, and Henry filled a steaming mug for him. He told us that Kidd had already reached the ranch. He had checked on some of the cattle grazing beyond the buildings and found freshly doctored brands that were healing nicely. Then he picked up a stick and swiftly sketched an outline of the place in the loamy soil, and we gathered around and listened intently as he identified the main house, the bunkhouse, two sheds, a barn, corral and windmill.

  ‘You reckon that’s the same stock Kidd pushed up from Colorado, then?’ asked Henry.

  Winch spat into the fire, creating a vicious sizzle. ‘I’d say. That’s prime stock, but ribby an’ tired. Been pushed hard, an’ recent.’

  I set my own mug aside. ‘Any idea how many men there were?’

  ‘Di’n’t like to get too close, ’cause they wuz havin’ ’emselves some kinda wing-ding, an’ the ranch wuz lit up like the Fourth o’ July. Feller with a fiddle, ’nother with a squeeze-box … sounded to me like they wuz lettin’ off a little steam, havin’ reached trail’s-end.’

  I was inclined to agree with him. As far as Kidd was concerned, nobody other than his confederates knew of his involvement with the spread. He and his men doubtless felt safer there than anywhere else.

  I sat back once he had finished, and ran everything I had heard through my mind. So they were celebrating, were they? With any luck, that would make our job easier, for they would be sore-headed and in no mood to make much of a fight of it when we finally braced them.

  The men were watching me. I looked back at them and reached my decision. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘Bed down while you’ve got the chance. We’re pulling out again just after midnight.’

  Saul Yarbrough’s question was direct. ‘What’s the plan, Mr. Colter?’

  I pointed at the hieroglyphics Winch had made in the earth. ‘We’re most likely to find Kidd and his men here, in the main house, or here, in the bunkhouse. So that’s where we’ll concentrate our attention. We’ll raid the place at dawn, while they’re still sleeping off tonight’s drunk. Once we’ve got the drop on them, it’s just the question of disarming them and then tying them up.’

  ‘What if they’ve posted guards?’ asked Henry.

  I glanced speculatively at Winch. He said, ‘I spotted one man ridin’ night-herd while I wuz th
ere. Di’n’t spot nobuddy else.’

  I had long-since learned to trust his judgment in such matters, and was satisfied with that. ‘Can you take care of any guards or nighthawks before we get into position?’

  He fingered the Green River skinning knife in a sheath on his belt, and his grin was wicked and filled with relish. ‘Consider it done,’ he said with a cackle.

  I turned back to the others. ‘Henry, you and Lem will take the bunkhouse. Saul, you and I will take the main house. If we can do this without firing a shot, so much the better. You know how I feel about killing. But let’s have no doubts — if any one of them tries to make a fight out of it, we’ve got no choice in the matter — it’s us or them.’

  They nodded and muttered agreement.

  I drew in a deep, cold breath. The plan was made, and there was no going back on it. We were committed.

  ‘Get some sleep,’ I advised again … and wondered if any of us would.

  At least one of us did. I lay there in my blankets and listened to Winch’s low, regular breathing for hours. I listened to him, and to the restless tossings and turnings of the other two.

  At last I reached down, took out my pocket watch and tilted it towards the fire. It was eleven-thirty. I got up with a shiver, refilled the coffee pot and set it atop one of the rocks at the fire’s edge.

  Gradually Saul and Henry threw back their blankets and sat up. There was no talk. They dry-washed their faces, helped themselves to coffee, sat there blowing on the brew and listened to Winch’s heavy, relaxed breathing.

  I checked my handgun and rifle. Saul and Henry followed my example. It started snowing again. We set about saddling up. An owl flapped through the branches above us, searching for food, and a moment later, not far off, a small animal squealed piteously, then fell silent.

  My horse saddled, I kicked dirt onto what remained of the fire, then bent to rouse Winch.

  Before I got anywhere near him, however, his voice came out from beneath his blanket. ‘I’m awake.’

  He got up, stretched, gathered his gear together and went across to his horse. He readied it, then came back and said, ‘I’ll go on ahead. Kidd’s place’s about a dozen miles further along the river. They’s a stand o’ willow trees jus’ this side of it. When you reach ’em, stay there. Don’t go no further till I come back an’ fetch you.’

  We all muttered our goodbyes and good lucks, and then he heeled the pony off into the darkness.

  A few minutes later we mounted up and set off in the same direction. Moonlight spilled through a gap in the clouds, back-lighting the snow so that it seemed to glow as it see-sawed to earth. An hour hurried past. Our walking horses ate up about four miles. The timber thinned and we found ourselves following a scrub-littered riverbank ever eastwards.

  The only sounds were the plodding of our horses, the creak of our saddles, the odd sigh from my companions or I.

  At last the willows Winch had mentioned rose up before us through the early-morning darkness. I twisted around and gestured that we should dismount and walk our mounts the rest of the way.

  We settled in among the willows and waited. The blustery wind pushed their graceful, flexible branches this way and that. The horses stamped, restless. Melting snow turned our shoulders and hats dark.

  The waiting was a trial, as waiting always is. But mercifully it did not last long, for within a quarter of an hour, Winch suddenly materialized beside me and hissed, ‘It’s done, cap’n. Jus’ the one nighthawk, like I tol’ you.’

  ‘You kill ’im, Lem?’ asked Saul in a low, awe-struck voice.

  ‘Wal,’ Lem replied casually, ‘Let’s put it this way. He shore won’t be singin’ them beeves to sleep no more.’

  I shivered. ‘All right, men. Tie your horses.’

  We tethered our mounts and hauled out our rifles. I told Lem to lead on, and he light-footed back the way he had come and we fell in behind him. Abruptly the willows thinned and we went down behind some patchy brush to survey the ranch beyond.

  It looked run-down and well-seasoned — in short, just like any other ranch. The buildings were mere bulks of shadow, some large, some not so large, all of plank and shingle construction. They gathered around the central yard like mountain men at a rendezvous.

  Everything was in darkness. The blustery breeze made the windmill turn with a scraping, laddery sound, but other than that, there was no sound and no movement. I glanced up at the sky and saw the faintest hint of a new day etching the eastern horizon. I looked at the others. Their faces mirrored my own tension. I whispered, ‘Ready?’ and they nodded to show that they were.

  Lem said, ‘You fellers do like me — an’ don’t go makin’ no noise.’

  He held back for a moment, then broke cover.

  He crouch-ran from the brush across the patchy grass and scrub until he was lost among the shadows of the nearest shed.

  We held our breath, half-expecting that someone would hear him and raise the alarm, but no-one did.

  Henry went next, and when he was safely across, I touched Saul on the arm and the big black man broke cover and ran for the first of the buildings.

  Within seconds I had joined him.

  When we had our breath back, we split up. Saul and I crossed over to the other side of the yard while Lem and Henry stayed where they were. We reached the shadows around the barn and went down into a crouch. Still nothing moved around us, save for the odd stamping of a horse deep inside the barn, or the stray, natural sounds of settling boards.

  We watched Lem and Henry creep slowly but surely towards the low bunkhouse a hundred yards ahead, then followed their lead and set off towards the main house, which was no more than sixty or seventy yards from our position. We had allowed ourselves a quarter of an hour to reach our respective stations, but our progress was so painstaking that I wondered if we would reach them in time.

  At last we reached the house. As we had previously agreed, Saul began to skirt around to the front and I to edge around to the rear. A stack of garbage had grown up at the side of the place and I heard rats scuttling around within its damp, noxious confines.

  Finally I came around the corner and halted at the back of the property, staring up at its blank windows and listening for any signs of life inside.

  We had been at this business of skulking around in the dark for what seemed like forever, and away to the east, the sky was getting lighter all the while.

  Stepping closer, I chanced a quick glance in through one of the small windows. Beyond my own pale reflection, the interior was just a pool of ink.

  My throat felt tighter now, and breathing was an effort. Not for the first time, I felt that my body was trying to rebel against the violent course upon which I had set myself. But time was wasting. I could not afford distraction now. With my pulses hammering, I reached down, closed my fingers around the door-handle, twisted it gently …

  It gave with the smallest of clicks. I held onto it for a moment. Sweat was dribbling down my face, despite the cold. When nothing happened, I took a chance and pushed the door wider. It creaked softly, but not enough to arouse any of the occupants from their deep, drink-induced slumber.

  I entered the kitchen.

  I couldn’t make out much more than the basics — a zinc-lined sink and pump, the sink stacked with cups and dishes; a dark, bulky-looking range in which embers still glowed faintly orange; some cupboards.

  A narrow, curtained aperture in the facing wall led into the parlor. Cautiously, rifle grasped in clammy hands, I pushed through it.

  Entirely without warning then, a gunshot ripped the pre-dawn stillness asunder.

  Chapter Six

  I knew it hadn’t come from anywhere close by, so my immediate thought was, The bunkhouse.

  In the same moment, the front door slammed open and I saw a big man outlined in the gap. I yelled, ‘Don’t shoot, Saul, it’s me!’

  Elsewhere in the house, a woman screamed. Men were yelling as well, both here and on the other side of the yard.
Another flurry of gunshots erupted over by the bunkhouse. I didn’t know what could have happened, save that something somewhere had gone wrong for us, and that Lem and Henry might very badly be in need of our help.

  A window smashed. It sounded as if it came from one of the rooms to my left. I shouted for Saul to go and help Lem and Henry, then spun around, ran back through the kitchen and burst outside.

  I was right. A man in red long johns and pants, barefoot and with gun belt, boots and shirt coiled in a ball under one arm, was trying to make his getaway through a back bedroom window. He came through the side of the house in a shower of glass and hit the ground running. We collided, grunted and went down in a tangle of arms and legs. He threw his gear into my face, then put his hands around my throat and started strangling me.

  I shook my head furiously to clear his belongings out of my face, let go of my rifle, brought my arms up inside his and then flung them outwards, to break his hold. He took a swipe at me, struck me on the side of the head. My hat came off and we rolled into all the garbage.

  The sky was lightening swiftly now, and we rolled some more through the grayness until he came out on top, pinned my arms to the ground with his knees and got his fingers around my throat once more.

  I bucked like a wild horse, but could not immediately dislodge him. Then, in one feverish moment that sticks in my memory even at this late date, my eyes finally focused upon him.

  I was not apt to forget John Kidd’s face. It had haunted me ever since that night at The Mother Lode. When our eyes met, he seemed to recognize me too. Then, with a roar, I lifted my right shoulder and, caught off-balance, he tumbled sideways.

  The pair of us struggled desperately then to be the first one back on his feet. I heard a noise behind me, another man, yelling something, and corkscrewed around and down all in one motion. The newcomer, I saw, was racing out through the back door, equally disheveled, and brandishing a Colt revolver.