by Hall, Billy
CHAPTER 19
‘They left most of the slips sittin’ right on top of the dam,’ Bart whispered.
‘You probably don’t need to whisper,’ Sam responded. ‘They’re all back at Russell’s by this time of night.’
‘Do you think he will even know what we have done before they come tomorrow to work some more?’
Sam grinned. ‘Oh, I ’spect they’ll know. Russell’s ranch is only a couple miles away. I do ’spect they’ll notice all right.’
‘So let’s get it done,’ Oz fretted.
Sam carefully removed the tarpaulin covering from the ends of the black-wicks. He drew his knife and cut a foot off the end of each.
‘What’re you doin’ that for?’ Oz querried.
‘Makin’ sure I’m down to fresh powder,’ Sam explained.
He thought for a minute, then said, ‘Instead of me lightin’ these one at a time, why don’t you each grab a fuse and get a match. We can light ’em together that way.’
‘That should give us plenty time to get to the top of the hill where we can watch,’ Eduardo opined.
Sam frowned. ‘We for sure ain’t gonna do that.’
The others looked at him with obvious surprise, mingled with disappointment. He realized suddenly they had all expected to watch the explosion.
‘When that thing goes, there’s gonna be rocks an’ dirt comin’ down like rain in a frog-drowner. We’re gonna be down there in the trees, hangin’ on to our horses for all we’re worth, not standin’ up on top like we’re watchin’ a circus.’
The wisdom of his words slowly crowded out their hopes of seeing the results of their work, and one by one they nodded their agreement.
Sam handed each of his three friends the end of a black-wick. Each fished a match from a vest pocket. When he saw they were ready, he said, ‘Let’s do it.’
He and Oz lifted a leg and swiped the match across the tightly stretched fabric of their pants, igniting their matches. Bart and Eduardo flicked the head of their matches with a thumb nail, evoking an equal response. Four matches flared beneath the ends of four lengths of black-wick, carefully cupped in hands that shielded the small flames from the breeze. Four wicks sputtered to life, the fire at their ends rapidly climbing through the grass toward the crest of the ridge.
As one, the five men grabbed the reins of their horses and raced for the bottom of the large basin, and the protection of the thick stand of trees. Well within the trees, each looped the reins of his horse around a tree, knotted them securely, then added the security of firmly grasping the jaw strap of his horse’s bridle.
They waited, scarcely daring to breathe. A minute passed, then two. They began to look at each other, wondering why nothing was happening. Another minute passed, then another. Four men stared hard at Sam, trying to read his expression. Sam stared straight ahead, ignoring them.
A fifth minute passed. Sam tensed and tightened his grip on his horse’s bridle. Seeing his slight action, the others did the same.
A muffled thump from the other side of the ridge threatened to overwhelm the waiting five, but they didn’t have time to even feel its threat. At the heels of that thump, a growing rumble erupted into the sky. It escalated to the loudest sound any of them had ever heard. It physically hurt their ears, shaking the ground beneath their feet. Horses’ ears flattened back against lifted heads. Nostrils flared. Five horses fought frantically to tear loose and flee.
A noise louder than any of them could ever have imagined roared upward from the earth, spewing dirt, rocks, abandoned equipment, and gravel half a mile into the air. The ground shook and trembled as if it would open up beneath them and swallow them whole.
‘Duck your heads,’ Sam yelled, stretching himself over the head of his panicked horse to shield its head as best he could.
The others did the same, but even so were stunned by the volume of dirt and rocks that rained down on them. It ripped branches from trees. It filled the air with dust and dirt, choking off their supply of air. They were all filled with the instant panic of being buried alive.
Then it was over. Dust swirled in the air, carried away by the night breeze. Four men swept off their hats, swatting the dirt from them against their leg, coughing the dirt from their airways.
‘Bart’s down,’ Oz noticed first.
The others instantly ran to him. Just as they reached him, he started to moan. ‘You OK, brother?’ Eduardo demanded.
Bart did not answer. He sat up slowly. His eyes slowly focused. He blinked rapidly. ‘What happened?’ he mumbled, scarcely intelligibly.
He struggled to his feet, slowly regaining his equilibrium. ‘I think you tried to see if your head was as hard as one of the rocks that was falling,’ Eduardo suggested. ‘If I am to guess, I think the rock is probably shattered into small gravel.’
‘Good to know it didn’t hit any part of him that he ever uses,’ Sam chimed in.
The rest vented their relief with similar barbs and jabs until Bart seemed to have recovered. Straightening his smashed hat, he placed it gingerly on his head. ‘Good thing I wasn’t bad hurt,’ he groused. ‘I could’ve laid here till spring waitin’ to get any sympathy from this outfit.’
‘Let’s go see what we did,’ Sam interrupted.
Suddenly remembering the purpose of their being there, the five trooped together up the hill. The ground was covered with several inches of dirt and rocks. The loose footing made the climb slow and laborious, but they reached the top together.
The waning of the full moon was more than adequate to illuminate the land. Nothing whatever remained of the accursed dam. For as far as they could see down the canyon, the ground was covered with two or three feet of dirt and debris. In the center, the newly formed reservoir had become a rushing, muddy torrent, pouring down the canyon, carrying with it the remaining dirt that had stemmed its flow.
‘You ’spect you used enough dynamite?’ the marshal asked.
‘Looks pretty good to me,’ Oz answered for his friend.
‘That’s a lot o’ water headin’ downstream,’ Bart fretted. ‘Don’t you reckon you’d oughta hightail it down to Kate’s place, to make sure they’re OK?’
Sam shot him a glance that said, ‘Nice try!’ but he didn’t bother to answer.
Instead Eduardo surprisingly shot down his brother’s effort. ‘It will spread out and slow down when it hits the flats,’ he reasoned. ‘From there it will run more slowly. It will not rise high enough to reach the house.’
Bart glared incredulously at his brother for a long moment. Finally he said, ‘Fine lot o’ help you are!’
Sam had neither the patience nor desire for their banter. ‘We’d best be headin’ back to get set up. You can bet Russell’s already got somebody headin’ over here on a dead run to find out what happened.’
They retreated to the battered copse where their horses still stirred nervously. Each of them examined his horse carefully, noting each bruise and bump, making sure their animals were not seriously injured from the falling dirt and rocks.
They mounted up and rode out, their horses’ hoof beats muffled by the thick dirt and dust that covered the earth. They rode for a good half mile before they got beyond it.
‘I sure wish you would’ve used a bit more dynamite,’ the marshal observed with a straight face. ‘We coulda spread that fine fresh dirt clear across Wyoming, instead o’ just half way.’
Sam was too preoccupied to bother answering.
CHAPTER 20
‘Everybody all set?’
The question was superfluous, but Sam answered the marshal anyway. ‘Yup.’
‘Already they’re coming,’ Eduardo called out softly.
Sam couldn’t hear a thing, but he already knew better than to challenge the elder of the Spalding boy’s hearing. ‘Everybody get set,’ he called out in response.
Out of sight along both sides of the road he heard rifles chambering rounds. Hammers clicked back to full cock. Boots soles scraped against rocks. Clothe
s and leather rustled in the semi-darkness of early dawn. Then all fell silent.
Sam heard it then. The distant thunder of three dozen horses, coming fast.
‘Sure enough in a hurry,’ the marshal muttered beside him.
‘What’dya bet we slow ’em down some,’ Sam responded.
In the growing light, the galloping company hove into view around a bend of the road. When they were directly between the two hidden halves of the welcoming committee they were unaware of, Sam and the marshal stepped suddenly out from behind the boulder each had waited behind.
The marshal barked, ‘Stop right where you are!’
The startled group hauled back on their reins, skidding their horses to a surprised halt.
‘Throw up your hands!’ the marshal ordered. ‘I have a warrant for Lance Russell’s arrest, and I mean to have all your guns.’
Russell spit out his response in a burst of profanity. The marshal ignored it. ‘You men are surrounded. Throw down your guns.’
In response, men stood on the banks that rose along both sides of the road, showing themselves.
Instead of surrender, Russell’s band of gunmen dove from their saddles, as if at some prearranged signal. They hit the ground firing at those above them, and diving for cover behind rocks and brush.
Russell and the man riding beside him wheeled their horses and jammed spurs into their sides, leaning forward tightly on to the pommels of their saddles, making themselves as small a target as possible.
Bullets rained down around them, but it was impossible to tell if either was hit. The men on the ground were not so fortunate – in minutes, every man among them was dead or wounded. Those able to do so threw aside their weapons and raised their hands.
At the first response of Russell, Sam and the marshal had ducked back behind rocks, from where they directed a withering fire from ground level. The marshal was unscathed.
Oz was not so fortunate. He fell victim to one of the first shots fired from the gunmen. No sooner had the surviving members surrendered than Bart called out, ‘Sam! Oz is down.’
Sam sprinted to his friend, panic rising in his throat. His first glance confirmed his worst fears. Oz’s breath came in short gasps. A bright froth ringed his mouth. He reached up a hand to grasp the one Sam reached out with. He started to say something, but had no breath to make it audible. It died in his throat as his body relaxed. His head lolled to one side, eyes staring at nothing.
Tenderly Sam reached out and closed his friend’s eyes. Oz’s words whispered in his mind. ‘I always sorta wanted to go out layin’ in a soft bed with my hands folded nice an’ peaceful across my chest.’
‘Didn’t even get his last wish,’ he muttered, fighting the waves of grief surging up within him.
As he stood, Bart said, ‘You’re hit too.’
Sam nodded. ‘No big deal. Clipped my arm. I’m goin’ after Russell.’
‘I will ride with you,’ a voice at his shoulder declared.
Sam turned, surprised to find the statement had come from Lafe Sorenson. ‘Two of us will ride faster and not be as obvious when we get there,’ he said.
His tone of voice sounded totally foreign to the lanky homesteader Sam had come to know. It also conveyed an unmistakable message that it was he, not Sam, that was now in charge.
Sam simply nodded and retrieved his horse. ‘Bart and I will ride with you,’ Eduardo announced. Sam shook his head. ‘The marshal will need you boys’ help with the prisoners and the wounded. We’ll take care of Russell.’
It was little more than an hour later that the pair rode slowly into the yard of Russell’s ranch. It seemed eerily deserted. Not even the usual dogs had come to greet their arrival. Their eyes darted around the yard, probing every possible hiding spot for the ambush they would have bet waited for them.
They stepped off their horses. Sam noted with concern how stiff his right arm had already become. His shirt and jacket sleeve were soaked with blood. The blood had run down on to his hand, making it, he realized suddenly, too slick to grip his gun firmly and surely.
Just then Lance Russell and another man stepped out from behind a shed. Sam barely heard the slight grunt of recognition from Sorenson as he and the homesteader turned to face the duo.
‘You ain’t got no smarts at all, Heller,’ Russell announced, ‘comin’ here without your army.’
Ignoring him, the man at his right addressed Sorenson. ‘Didn’t expect to find you here, Frank.’
‘Long way from Laredo, Clint,’ Sorenson responded.
‘I always did wonder if I could beat you,’ the gunman responded.
Puzzled, but refusing to be distracted, Sam addressed Russell. ‘The marshal has a warrant for you from New Orleans,’ he announced. ‘I aim to arrest you or leave you dead.’
‘Do you think just two of you can do that?’ Lance challenged.
‘It’s over, Russell,’ Sam countered. ‘You boys drop your guns.’
As if that were the signal they awaited, both Russell and the man Sorenson had called Clint whipped their guns from their holsters.
Sam recognized the signal in Russell’s eyes, even before he saw his hand move. His hand was already gripping his own pistol. As he lifted it, he felt his blood-soaked hand slip on the grip. He tightened his hold, knowing even as he did that the extra effort would slow him down far too much. Both of the men he faced were far, far too fast for him to survive that much delay in his own draw.
At his left, Sorenson’s gun roared just as Clint’s gun cleared its holster. It roared a second time so swiftly, the second report blended into the roar of the first shot.
Sam finally got his own gun out and leveled, trying desperately to sort out all the signals and information assaulting his senses.
Time stood still. Four men stood motionless, facing each other. Each man held a gun in his hand. Smoke trailed lazily from only one gun barrel.
One right behind the other, the guns slipped from the fingers of the man called ‘Clint,’ then from Lance Russell’s hand. As if in slow motion, both men collapsed forward, falling on the guns they had already dropped into the dirt.
Sam turned to face the homesteader at his left. Sorenson calmly thumbed the spent cartridges from his gun and replaced it in his holster. ‘You’ve lost a lot of blood,’ he observed. ‘We need to get that arm wrapped up some.’
Sam frowned at the man, trying to make sense of what he had seen and heard. ‘Who are you?’ he asked finally.
‘It don’t matter,’ Sorenson replied. ‘The name’s Lafe Sorenson. That’s all.’
‘He called you Frank.’
Sorenson looked at Sam a long moment. Finally he said, ‘Sam, sometimes a man learns things he really hadn’t oughta know. Things a friend would sure appreciate him forgettin’. We rode in here today, and even though you had a hole in your arm, you out-gunned Russell and his gunman, while I was tryin’ to get my gun outa the holster. That’s how I saw what happened today. I’m askin’ you as a friend, to let it stand like that.’
Sam struggled through the haze of his blood loss, fatigue and pain, to make sense of the man’s assertion. It finally sunk in. Sometimes a man needed to know his past wouldn’t catch up with him and prevent him from building a new life. He understood what was being asked of him.
He took a deep breath. ‘I wouldn’t want to brag none,’ he said, ‘so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention how slick with blood my hand was when I had to outdraw them two fellas while some sodbuster was tryin’ to haul his gun out.’
Sorenson almost sagged as the tension left his sparse frame. He recognized full well the sanctity of the unspoken promise Sam has just given. ‘I’ll try not to blow it up big enough to embarrass you too much,’ he said. ‘Now let’s get that arm tended to.’
CHAPTER 21
It was going to be a long ride back to the Indian Nation without his friend Oz at his side. Already Sam missed him more than he wanted to admit. A dozen times a day he turned to say something to the m
an that would never ride at his side again. Every time, the knowledge he could never share a thought with him again hit him with a new wave of grief.
His arm was a long way from well, but it was well enough for him to leave. Kate and the other ranchers in the valley were past their need for his presence. The secret of Sorenson’s past was safe with him. Russell was gone. Grede’s wings were clipped sufficiently to be circumspect in his ambitions. Winter was fast approaching.
Eva Spalding had made no effort to hide her tears as she said goodbye. She had tried with every wile and ruse she knew to get Sam and Kate back together. The stubbornness of both of them had proved more than a match for her.
Even Bart Spalding had walked away, suspiciously swiping a hand across the corners of his eyes, rather than watch Sam ride out.
The road back to the Indian Nation didn’t require Sam to ride past Kate’s place. He hadn’t even realized he was riding that way. Now he sat on the knoll, looking down on the yard, wondering how and why he had ended up here.
As if under the control of something beyond his own will, he rode slowly down the hill into the yard. From the corral, Billy’s horse whinnied a welcome that Sam’s horse answered at once.
Almost at once Kate appeared in the door of her house, rifle in hand. It took her several seconds to recognize Sam as he approached. He was nearly into the yard when she did so. When it dawned on her that it was Sam, she uttered an incomprehensible squawk. She dropped her rifle on the ground, hefted the sides of her skirt, and began running toward him.
As she approached, he stepped from the saddle. Two steps in front of his horse, she lunged wordlessly into his arms. As his arms wrapped around her, she wrapped her own around him, hugging him with enough force that he marveled at her strength.
They stood there that way, silently. She buried her face against his shirt. He buried his face in her hair, smelling once more the fragrance of the soft soap he had cherished so carefully until it was completely gone.
After a long moment, each relaxed the grip with which they had held each other. She took half a step back and looked up into his face, keeping her hands on his sides. Tears coursed down her cheeks. In scarcely more than a whisper, she said, ‘You came back.’