Riders West

by Matt Chisholm

  They worked their way along a ridge, just below the skyline, going warily, knowing that even now it was possible that Broken Spur was closing in on them. This way, they made about a half-mile, when Joe, who was in the lead, halted and held up his hand. Will pulled in his horse and looked where the Negro was pointing, but he could see nothing. Joe turned in the saddle and gestured to him to climb up over the ridge to the far side. To do this Will was forced to dismount. Leading his horse, he started up the ridge. Joe followed.

  When they were on the far side, Joe took a good look around.

  ‘What did you see?’ Will asked.

  ‘Saw a coupla fellers below us,’ Joe replied. ‘They was mighty still when I spotted ’em. Jest two, but that don’t say there ain’t more.’

  ‘Well,’ Will said, ‘we do one of two things. We cut down on ’em or we run.’

  ‘We can’t cut down on ’em an’ we can’t run.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘They’s all around us.’

  Will looked. He could neither hear nor see anything.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Sure I’m sure. Now you do like I say.’ Joe had taken command and Will didn’t think to argue with him. This was Joe’s kind of fight. ‘See that rock yonder, with the overhang. You git your back to that an’ you watch below. When the shootin’ starts them fellers on the other side of the ridge is goin’ to come a’runnin’. I aim to whittle ’em down some.’

  ‘What about the horses?’

  ‘Hosses ain’t no use to you dead.’

  True enough. Will slapped Joe on the arm and headed for the rock. He found that the Negro had chosen well. Here he was protected from the rear and above and he had a good view of the valley below. That is as good a view as could be had, for it was a wild tangle of brush, trees and boulders. There was cover down there for an army to come up within rifle-shot of him. If they knew his location he was in danger from either flank; if they were unaware of his exact location, he would no doubt see them before they saw him. He wondered what Joe was up to.

  He laid a fresh loading tube on the rock in front of him and checked his loads. He was ready.

  He waited five minutes. Ten. Nothing happened. The whole scene had taken on the silence of death.

  The palms of his hands were wet and he found that he had to keep wiping them on the legs of his pants.

  Suddenly three birds flew up from the brush below him, not a couple of hundred yards from him. They flew along the valley going north, started down through some trees and at once took to the sky again. He wasn’t any man of the woods, but the sign was plain enough for a fool to read. There were men in at least two positions below him.

  He shifted his gaze from one spot to another, but try as he could he could not detect the slightest movement.

  Then the sun caught something. Metal glittered briefly.

  Movement to the left caught his eye. Turning his head slightly, he saw a man caught in the sunlight in a small glade. He was walking forward easily, his rifle held across his front. A moment later he was lost to sight.

  Now he had actually seen somebody, Will felt a little better.

  He was so intent on the scene below him that he was nearly startled out of his wits when a shot came from the ridge to his left. There was a wild scrambling among loose rocks, then dead silence. In that moment, he wished to God he didn’t have that rock at his back and he could see what was going on up there. He wondered if that shot meant that Joe had killed a man or had been killed. It scared a man not knowing.

  The silence hung heavily. He wiped his hands again.

  Brush moved below. He craned his neck.

  A man came into sight, running fast. Will lined his rifle up on him, then the man was gone from sight.

  Suddenly, Will had the impression of being cooped up. He was penned here in these rocks, unable to move one way or the other. He saw then what that damned Joe had done. He had placed Will in an immovable position so he himself could move around and do what damage he could. God damn him to hell, Will thought. If they ever got out of here alive he’d tell that black sonovabitch a home truth or two,

  A shout sounded.

  It seemed to come high up in the sky. That meant that it was above and behind Will on the ridge. He felt caught in a tighter trap than ever. Not even darkness could save him in this tight. They had a whole day of sunlight ahead of them,

  Then he got to thinking and the more he thought the firmer became the conviction that none of them knew exactly where he was. They wouldn’t know where Joe was either, if Joe was alive, because the Negro would be moving around. And nobody could move around without being seen like old Joe.

  But they wouldn’t gain anything by him sitting here on his butt doing nothing. Joe wanted attention on him. All right then, he’d get it.

  Brush moved below.

  He sighted on it. Sunlight hit a belt buckle and gave him confidence. He fired.

  Silence again. The range had been long and downhill shots weren’t easy but he was tolerably sure he’d made a hit.

  The silence didn’t last long. Some sharp eyes down there spotted his drifting gunsmoke. The shooting started. It didn’t do them much good, for Will got down low and stayed down till they stopped shooting. Just the same, it wasn’t too comfortable there because the lead was ricocheting off the rock behind him and the overhang above him. And a ricochet could do a man a nasty hurt. Even kill him. So he stayed still and he prayed a little and after a while they saw they were wasting ammunition and they stopped shooting.

  Just the same, he knew they had done what they wanted. His head had been down and they had run in a little closer. But he knew that to get to him they would have to come across the open ground immediately below him and then they could come under Joe’s fire as well as his own. That is, if Joe was still alive.

  Suddenly, he realized that he had left his canteen of water on his horse. If he was stuck up here all day, it was going to turn into a thirsty hell. The mere thought of water brought a desire to drink.

  But he didn’t have time to dwell on that for long for they were moving in below.

  He started shooting to little effect, for as soon as he shot, they all dropped into cover and he was once more driven down by a hail of bullets. The shooting showed him one thing - there were at least a half-dozen men down there. Which meant if there were more on the ridge above him, Brack had far more men than he had bargained for.

  He knew then what a stupid arrogant fool he’d been to think he could buck a man as big as Brack. That was the story of his life. Always thought he could do more than he was capable of. He knew now what he would do if he got out of this one alive. He’d go to Brack and tell him he’d clear out of the country if he’d let Martha and the girls go. Yes, and Brack would laugh in his face and hang him from the nearest tree. No, the only way was to get Martha and the girls away from the man and then flee the country, meet the crew coming up from Texas and locate someplace else.

  There was a flurry of shots from above and behind him. That meant that Joe was still in business. Will’s hope rose a little.

  A man appeared below, running.

  Will snapped a shot at him, knowing the target would not be visible long enough for a careful shot. He was lucky. The man tripped and went down. Will levered and fired again. The man threw out his arms and fell over on his back.

  The bullets rained around Will.

  That old kill-craziness took a-hold of him again. You didn’t win a war by skulking behind a rock. He spotted gunsmoke and fired at it. A hat showed briefly. He warmed the owner up a mite, swung the rifle north, levering and firing. Maybe the cover down there wasn’t so solid. The firing for the most part petered out and he saw signs of men scrambling back to safety. He fired his rifle empty, ejected the loading tube and shoved home the fresh one.

  The shooting continued above him.

  Then an extraordinary thing happened. Firing broke out again below. It took Will a moment or two to realize that no lead w
as coming his way.

  Who the hell, he asked himself, were those fellows shooting at?

  Was Joe down there? That couldn’t be, because of the shooting higher up the ridge.

  There was only one possibility and Will didn’t dare contemplate it.

  He saw a man run from cover, heading north. Somebody else down there spotted him too for there was the flat slam of a rifle and the man went headlong. Suddenly what had looked like a total defeat for the Storms was turning into a slaughter.

  Another man broke cover.

  Will was about to shoot him down when he saw the man’s hands were up. The fellow was yelling something. The firing stopped from above. The man’s words drifted up to Will.

  ‘Don’t shoot. This ain’t my fight.’

  For a moment. Will simply gaped at him. It didn’t seem possible.

  A man shouted something up on the ridge. It sounded like Joe. Will stood up and walked off his ledge along the ridge side. He looked up. Joe was standing high on the ridge, rifle in hand Will turned his head and saw that immediately above him there stood two men with their hands high above the heads. Their gun holsters were empty.

  Will called: Walk down past me.’

  They started down one behind the other. Will inspected them. They weren’t cowhands. These were two of Brack’s imported professionals. They looked quite calm as though defeat was as much a part of their trade as victory.

  They walked down the steep slope until they joined the man below. Joe came down with a rope in his hands, leading the two horses.

  Two men walked out of the brush with their hands high. Will waited. Behind them walked a tall man, pale and walking tiredly.

  ‘Mart!’

  Mart smiled wearily.

  Joe said: ‘That was real timely. You didn’t come, boy, we was mutton for sure.’

  Mart was frowning.

  ‘You know what happened, Will?’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Martha and the girls?’

  ‘I seen ’em. There wasn’t nothin’ we could do.’

  They turned and looked the five prisoners over. Will recognized one of them. It was Dwyer. Will grinned. If they harmed his women, he’d cut this bastard’s heart out and laugh while he did it.

  One of the gunmen said: ‘How many is there of you? This here Dwyer said there wasn’t no more than two.’

  Will said: ‘You been fed lies, son. How much did they pay you for this?’

  ‘Hunnerd dollars a month an’ a bounty of a hunnerd dollars for your scalps.’

  ‘You reckon your life ain’t worth more’n that?’

  The man shrugged.

  Another man, a small fellow with a face like a wolverine at bay, said: ‘What you aim to do with us?’

  ‘Hang you if’n you git sassy. Tie ’em up, Joe. An’ make it tight.’ He turned to Joe: ‘What’s the score on the ridge?’

  ‘Two dead.’

  ‘You Mart?’

  ‘There’s two wounded men back there in the brush an’ one dead. Three got away.’

  More than a half-dozen dead men for a valley of grass. It was a sobering thought. Too late now to question whether it was worth it. When you fought men like Brack that was the kind of price you paid. Will wondered if he would ever be the same man again.

  But now he had to think of Martha and the girls. He looked at the men in front of him and knew they were worthless to him. Brack didn’t care if they lived or died. They were no good for a trade.

  He turned to Mart—

  ‘What do we do with this bunch?’

  Joe answered for Mart—

  ‘Kill ’em.’

  The prisoners turned and looked at the Negro with fear and loathing. They shrank before the ferocity of the man. For the first time they realized that there was a man on the other side with some of their values. They were unnerved.

  ‘For Crissake,’ Dwyer whispered.

  He was pale under his tan and sweat dripped from him.

  Will said: ‘Sure, they ain’t no use to us alive. They’ll just git in the way.’

  ‘We can’t take their word to ride out, that’s for sure,’ Mart said. His blue eyes were cold. The five looked at him. They felt the iciness of the man. They knew instinctively that the only man there they could appeal to was Will.

  Dwyer said: ‘I ain’t beggin’, Storm. But ain’t there been killin’ enough? Leave us go, man. Can’t you see, we had our bellies full.’

  I’ll think on it,’ Will said.

  One of the men said: ‘Mister, pay our wages an’ we’ll join you. Hell, Brack’s beat. No gunny in his right mind would hire out to Brack after what happened around here.’

  ‘I’ll think on it, Joe, cut Dwyer free, I want to talk to him. Close herd the others under the lee of that rock yonder. Anyone of them so much as looks at you like you was a nigger, you cut loose on him.’

  Joe gave him a brief grin and got them on the move.

  ‘Set,’ Will said to Dwyer. The man squatted down. ‘Smoke?’ The man nodded and Mart rolled him a smoke. Dwyer looked from one to the other of them, not liking this. His pride was hurt and he was scared, though he tried not to show it.

  ‘Dwyer,’ Will said. ‘I think you’re the lowest kind of a skunk there is, but I don’t think even a yeller cringin’ dog like you would make war on women.’

  Dwyer looked like he was strangling.

  ‘I didn’t have no part of it,’ he finally managed to get out.

  ‘Talk’s easy,’ said Mart, building his own smoke and sticking it between his lips.

  ‘I swear it,’ Dwyer said.

  ‘But you let Brack take ’em,’ Will said softly.

  ‘What can a man like me do against a man like Brack?’

  ‘What can men like us do to a man like Brack?’

  ‘See here, Storm, on my oath—’

  ‘No, you see here, Dwyer. I’m willing to do a deal with you because I want to show some profit out of takin’ you. I know for sure you ain’t no use to us to trade for our women. Brack don’t give a hoot what happens to you. He can hire ten like you without no trouble. Dwyer, I want to know everythin’ you know about Brack and his set-up. If you tell me somethin’ I can use maybe I won’t stretch your neck like the poor bastard I found the first day I rode into this country.’

  The fear in Dwyer was plain now. They could smell it on him.

  ‘What kind of a man are you. Storm?’ he demanded, his lips trembling.

  I’m a man who’s had his wife and two daughters took from him. An’ I mean to get ’em back any way I know.’

  ‘Leave me work him over a little,’ Mart said.

  ‘You think I have time to fool around?’ Will demanded. ‘I’d as soon as hang this man as look at him.’

  Dwyer was shaking. He tried to get a grip on himself, but he failed because he was in the complete grip of fear.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I have it comin’. Sure, you have everythin’ against me. But I’m beggin’ you, Storm.’

  Will prodded the air in front of Dwyer’s face with a forefinger.

  ‘You cool yourself off, Dwyer,’ he said. ‘You calm down an’ you think. You can save your life with a little thinkin’. I’m goin’ to give you fifteen minutes an’ if you ain’t thought of somethin’ bright, somethin’ real smart, I’m goin’ to find me the likeliest tree and strangle you from it. You think of some weak spot Ed Brack has. A weak spot like my wife and daughters. You—’

  Dwyer’s face was working.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said.

  Will caught him by the hair and jerked his head back.

  ‘What?’

  ‘His weak spot.’

  ‘What’re you talkin’ about?’

  ‘His kid.’

  The two brothers looked at each other.

  Mart said: ‘You mean Ed Brack has a kid? I never heard of no kid.’

  ‘Sure he has a kid,’ Dwyer said. ‘Riley Brack. Ask them men yonder. Go ahead - ask ’em.’

  Will turned
and walked over to the prisoners who had been watching the proceedings with as much apprehension as interest.

  ‘Men,’ he said, ‘does Ed Brack have a son or a daughter?’

  A man said: ‘A son.’ He looked puzzled.

  Will turned to another man—

  What’s his name?

  ‘Riley,’ the man replied.

  Will was satisfied and walked back to Dwyer.

  ‘Looks like you told the truth,’ he said. ‘Now where’s this kid at?’

  ‘Here,’ Dwyer told him. ‘At headquarters.’

  Mart laughed.

  Will asked: ‘When did he come?’

  ‘Brack recruited gun hands in Denver and he brought some of his men up from New Mexico. I guess Riley came up from New Mexico. They all came in at the same time.’

  After that, Dwyer talked. Once he started, the words tumbled out of him. Sure, part of Brack’s little army had come apart. Most of the ordinary hands had departed, going with their pay and Brack’s curses that they were all yellow bastards. Even some of the hired guns had thought that there was little profit in the venture. When they heard they were facing Mart Storm and Joe Widbee, they reckoned this country wasn’t too healthy. After this day, Dwyer reckoned Brack had no more than between eight and a dozen men left to him.

  And something had happened to Brack. The man was drinking. He had never met such stubborn and ferocious opposition before in his life. It seemed that he found it impossible to believe. Will and Mart were left with the impression that the man was getting desperate and even a little hysterical. This worried Will more than it encouraged him. There was no knowing what the man might do to Martha and the girls.

  ‘What did he bring his boy for?’ Mart asked. That was something Will wanted to know, too.

  Dwyer said: ‘At first it was some kind of a game to Brack. The boy’s wild. Goes around toting two six-shooters like he was a real badman. Sure aching to use them on some galoot. Daddy thinks it would be nice for sonny to shoot something else than pronghorns.’

  ‘How old’s this boy?

  Dwyer shrugged.

  ‘Twenty-one, two. Thereabouts. Christ, my toe itches for his butt.’

  Will was thoughtful for a while. Dwyer watched him.

  At last Will said: ‘All right. We’ll sew friend Brack up so goddam tight he’ll choke hisself.’