Tulane strained his eyes but he could not see anyone. He was quickly apprised of their presence, however, when a bullet sang by close to his ear, followed by another which cut a branch from the tree under which he crouched, bringing it down on his head in a flurry of twigs and leaves. As he shrank back, he heard the bark of Jordan’s rifle followed by a scream from somewhere near by. He had certainly seen someone and succeeded in getting a good sight on him. The next moment a figure emerged from the bushes below. The man was only visible for an instant but it was long enough for Tulane to loose a shot which sent him spinning backwards out of sight again.
Immediately a furious cannonade resounded from below and Tulane realized that the gunnies had spread out across the hillside. Jordan was blasting away and Tulane followed suit, abandoning his former tactic and pumping lead as fast as he could. Now their position had really deteriorated. Not only had they lost the initiative and failed to keep the gunnies cooped up, but Rockwell’s gunslicks knew exactly where they were stationed and that they were only two in number. He and Jordan had done what they could but their situation was rapidly becoming indefensible. His brain was racing, trying to calculate a response.
Taking advantage of a slight lull in the shooting, he glanced over at Jordan. To his horror the ostler was stretched out on the ground. Breaking cover, Tulane began to creep forward. Bullets were whistling by dangerously close and the whine of ricochets sang in his ears. Coming alongside Jordan, he was relieved to see that the ostler was sitting up again.
‘It’s my thigh,’ Jordan said, ‘but I figure I can move.’
‘That’s just as well,’ Tulane said. ‘We need to get out of here.’
He whipped off his bandanna and bound Jordan’s leg. As he did so the sounds of the surrounding gunfire rose in a new crescendo.
‘’It might be better to leave me,’ Jordan said.
Ignoring the ostler, Tulane helped him to his feet. ‘Hold on to me,’ he said.
‘Why? Where are we goin’?’
‘There’s only one way, and that’s up the hill. We need to try and reach Loman.’
They began to move, bending low as bullets ripped into the trees. Although they were making a strenuous effort, it seemed to Tulane that they weren’t making much progress. He was worried about how they would fare once they got beyond the tree line. If any of the gunslicks had managed to outflank them, they would be exposed.
‘We’re gonna have to make a dash for it,’ he said.
Jordan nodded. Tulane looked about them but he could see no sign of any of Rockwell’s men.
‘OK,’ he snapped, ‘Now!’
Still keeping low, they began to run. Jordan gasped and Tulane realized what the effort was costing him. The ostler could only limp and it seemed they would never make it to the top of the grassy bench. They were almost there when Tulane heard the scuffle of boots. He swung his rifle to a shooting position, then heaved a sigh of relief when he saw that it was not one of Rockwell’s’s gunnies, but Loman himself. Quickly seizing up the situation, Loman ran to meet them and placed his arm around Jordan’s shoulders.
‘Here, let me give you a hand,’ he said.
With his assistance they quickly covered the rest of the way. Once over the crest of the hill they paused for a moment.
‘Are you sure you’re OK for the time bein’?’ Tulane asked the ostler.
‘Sure,’ Jordan answered. The noise of gunfire was getting closer. ‘We’d better not wait too long,’ he added. ‘We need to get out of here.’
Tulane turned to Loman. ‘What’s happenin’ with you?’
‘We’re holdin’ out but we need to retreat and regroup. That’s why I was lookin’ for you.’
Shots were ringing out from further along the rim and Tulane could see puffs of smoke indicating where Rockwell and his men had taken up positions.
‘Come on,’ Tulane said. ‘Hellawell is rounding up the others.’
They moved forward, helping to support Jordan as they did so. As they progressed the rattle of gunfire dwindled. Suddenly there came a loud outburst of noise from the direction of the line cabin. People were shouting and whooping. They paused to look down at what was happening. The gunslicks were congregating in the yard at the front of the cabin and some of them were looking towards the top of the hill.
‘Looks to me like Rockwell and his boys are about to mount a concerted attack,’ Loman remarked.
The gunslicks in that particular area were spreading out and a group of them were climbing the hill. Even as they prepared to move on, a fresh volume of shouting burst out and gunshots boomed. Soon gun smoke began to rise from the bushes below.
‘Come on!’ Loman urged. ‘We need to link up with the rest of the boys and beat a retreat.’
They moved forward again. Presently the gunnies in the forefront of the attack appeared. Tulane raised his rifle and squeezed the trigger but the only response was a click. The rifle had jammed. Flinging it away, he drew his six-guns. He felt a bullet tug at the sleeve of his jacket but he carried on, firing now with his pistols. Loman was pumping away with his rifle. The outlaws seemed to halt; at least no more of them were to be seen and there was a lull in the firing. They stumbled on and then Tulane saw a group of men and horses. He recognized them as Loman’s Pitchfork L boys. Among them was Wyon with his arm in a sling.
‘Good to see you!’ he said.
‘Quick! Let’s mount up and ride!’ Loman snapped.
They swung into leather. As they cantered away, they were pursued by a swelling volume of gunfire. It didn’t sound too encouraging but as they rode Loman came up alongside Tulane.
‘I think we’ve given Rockwell a real bloody nose,’ he said. ‘They certainly lost a few men. We might not have finished ’em off yet, but it’ll be interestin’ to see how many still have the stomach for a fight.’
Tulane nodded. He hoped Loman was right. They would find out soon enough.
Pocket lay on the floor of the tunnel, sobbing quietly beside the inert body of Malloy.
‘Cut it out, kid,’ a voice rasped. Pocket looked up at the baby-faced stranger but quickly shrank away again. He tried to still his sobs but he couldn’t help them.
‘I ain’t tellin’ you again,’ Spade rasped. Suddenly he got to his feet and, advancing to the boy, hit him across the face.
‘Either you shut up or I do it for you.’
He drew his gun but when the boy succeeded in quietening he slipped it back into its holster. The boy was seriously inconveniencing him but he held back from silencing him once and for all because of a vague feeling that the youngster might prove useful. He looked closely at Pocket.
‘What are you doin’ with the old man anyway?’ he said.
Pocket began to reply but it was a rhetorical question and Spade instantly moved away. If Pocket had known that he was dealing with the same man he had scared off from attacking Miss Winona, he would have been even more scared. He hugged his knees and began to think of her. What he would give to be back safely at the Sumac! The thought of Miss Winona brought the tears back to his eyes and he had to make another effort not to sob and so arouse the ire of his captor.
Spade was looking out of the tunnel entrance. He pulled a tobacco pouch out of his pocket and rolled himself a smoke. He began to pull on it, contemplating what his next move should be. There was a lot to think about: getting back to Water Pocket; dealing with the woman at the guest-house, and now the mine. He was confident that he had found it, but what was the best way to realize its potential? It was a situation he hadn’t come across before.
He looked about him. His horse was grazing at a little distance. It was probably a good idea, for the present at least, to get down off Sawn-Off Mountain, taking the boy with him. He inhaled deeply a few times and then, throwing aside the stub of the cigarette, began to move towards the horse when he was stopped dead in his tracks by the sound of gunshots. He had heard them earlier that day but then they had sounded further away. Now, judging by the volume
, they were uncomfortably close – no further away than the far side of the hill. There was no doubting who it was. It seemed that Marsden Rockwell was finding Loman and his Pitchfork L boys harder to dispose of than he had imagined.
He stood for a while, listening to the sounds of conflict. Should he leave right now or wait till it was over? He was tempted to move but after further reflection decided that a better idea might be to wait. Despite the impatience he felt to be doing something, he was under no real pressure to get down off the mountain and he didn’t want to run the risk of running into Rockwell and maybe getting embroiled in the struggle. No, it would be better to stay just where he was for the moment. Turning on his heel, he strode quickly back to the tunnel entrance.
Once he realized that Loman had given him the slip Rockwell lost no time in gathering his forces and setting off in pursuit. One of the men, named Tyler, who had been left in charge of the stolen cattle, led the way. He realized the mountain better than anyone else; he knew there was only one way that Loman could go and it didn’t take him long to pick up his sign. The trail led through another valley but as they rode the trail became narrower. Tyler rode up close to Rockwell.
‘We got them now,’ he said. ‘They’re headed into a box canyon. There’s no way out for them. We got them trapped.’
Rockwell laughed out loud and waved his men on.
As they rode the sides of the canyon grew steeper and they could see a blank wall of rock looming up ahead of them. The men spurred their horses on, anxious to come up with Loman and finish him off. As they moved forward and the path became even narrower they began to string out. The riders in the forefront, picking up on their leader’s enthusiasm, began to shout and wave their rifles in the air.
They were nearing a slight bend in the trail when there was a sudden shout from somewhere above them which rang through the canyon and echoed from the hillsides. It was the signal for a hail of gunfire to rain down on them; too late they realized that they had ridden into a trap. Over-confident and unheeding, they had not thought the situation through. Now all at once an avalanche of rocks began to hurtle down the mountainside on to their heads, each boulder bringing with it cascades of smaller rocks.
They began to panic. Some of those toward the rear started to turn in an attempt to ride back the way they had come. As they did so, they were confronted by a fresh group of horsemen which had come up behind them. It was Tulane and a small band of Pitchfork L men. Loman had divided his forces in two and Rockwell was caught between those on the hillside and the newcomers. At the head of the canyon the avalanche started by Loman and his men hidden among the rocks and bushes continued to roll and crash, spreading further confusion. The frightened horses reared and threw their riders while bullets continued to tear a way through the ranks of the riders.
Then, apart from a few loose stones which continued to bump and roll down the face of the cliffs, the avalanche was over. The riders who had turned to flee back down the trail were met with a further haze of bullets from Loman’s men. Down they went but they were too many in number to be stopped completely. Some of them broke through and carried on pell-mell down the trail. Amongst them Tulane recognized the features of Marsden Rockwell. In a flash he had turned his horse and was riding hard in pursuit.
Bullets began to fly past him as a couple of the other riders turned and fired but he ignored them. His whole attention was now fixed on catching up with Rockwell. He knew that the game was up so far as the rancher was concerned. His men were either dead or in flight. There was no likelihood that those who remained would rally to his cause again. They were hired men. The only surprising thing was that they had stuck with him as long as they had.
As if in confirmation, the gunslicks who had ridden away with Rockwell had ceased firing and as the valley widened they split up and went galloping off on their separate ways. Tulane left them to it and concentrated his efforts on Rockwell. The man had a considerable lead over him and it was soon apparent that the horse he was riding was one of the best. It was all Tulane could do to keep him in sight and gradually he began to lose ground.
He had lost track of just exactly where they were heading; somewhere the trail must have taken a bend or a detour because he did not recognize any landmark. Ahead of them loomed a shoulder of rock. Rockwell disappeared around it and when Tulane eventually reached the outcrop, he could not at first see where the rancher had gone. Then Rockwell re-appeared, again riding up the far slope of a dip in the ground beyond which Tulane could see some odd structures which he took to be rock formations.
Tulane spurred his horse onward. The animal was tiring but he didn’t want to lose sight of his target. Foam flying from its nostrils, the horse bounded forward. In spite of Tulane’s best efforts, Rockwell continued to pull further away till, unexpectedly, he disappeared again. Tulane carried on riding and soon saw what had happened. The ground was badly potholed; Rockwell’s horse must have caught its hoof in one of the holes. It had struggled to its feet and wandered away, but Rockwell lay where he had been thrown. He didn’t remain prone for long. He got to his feet and began to run in an effort to get away from his pursuer.
Tulane was puzzled as to why he didn’t attempt to reach the horse and remount. Presumably it was panic which made him simply run blindly. Then Tulane noticed an opening in the cliff face. Rockwell must have seen it too because he ran towards it. Tulane’s horse was rapidly fading but there was no way Rockwell could escape him now. When he was almost upon the rancher, he flung himself from the horse, landing heavily on his target.
They went down in a heap but Rockwell was up first. He swung his boot and caught Tulane under the chin just as he was getting to his feet. As Tulane reeled back, Rockwell drew his gun and fired. Tulane felt the bullet graze his cheek, but instead of firing again Rockwell suddenly took to his heels and ran once more towards the tunnel entrance. Tulane staggered to his feet and set off in hot pursuit. Another shot rang out as Rockwell turned and fired but Tulane was too intent on the chase to think of firing in reply.
Despite his bulk, Rockwell was surprisingly fit and it seemed he might make it to the mouth of the cave; then suddenly he uttered a hideous scream and vanished. Tulane couldn’t believe his eyes. What had happened? Where had Rockwell gone? Tulane stumbled on, then drew to a sudden halt within a few feet of an open shaft. There was no indication of its presence, no warning. It was just a gaping hole in the ground. In his blind haste, Rockwell had plummeted down its open mouth. The sound of his scream still rang in Tulane’s ears as he peered down the shaft. Only a clammy silence rose to meet him and when he shouted down the shaft, there was no reply. Tulane waited a few moments gathering his breath before shouting again; there was still no reply. He stared down into the blackness. The sides were sheer. There was no way to climb down. There was nothing to be done.
He stood erect, his hands on his hips, still breathing deeply, when he heard a shrill cry. All thoughts of Rockwell were instantly erased as the voice rang out again, calling his name.
‘Mr Tulane! Mr Tulane!’
He stiffened to attention. The voice was thin and piercing and he seemed to recognize it. He spun round and was amazed to see Pocket running towards him. Before he could move he saw another figure emerge from the opening in the hillside. Even from a distance it looked vaguely familiar but it wasn’t till the man drew his gun that he sensed danger. There was a stab of flame and a loud explosion.
Tulane froze in horror as Pocket went down in a heap, but it was only for an instant. Before the man fired again he had already flung himself forward and was running hard towards him, dodging and weaving as he went. He felt something like a great wave of hate and anger surge through him because of what had happened to Pocket and his senses suddenly seemed preternaturally aware. Looking at the gunman, he recognized the blank baby features as the man he had met briefly at Miss Winona’s guest-house. It was Spade. Now he had a double reason for wanting revenge.
Drawing his six-gun, he opened fire. The re
action was instant as Spade turned and ran, disappearing into the gloom of the mine shaft. Tulane didn’t hesitate but carried on impetuously till he reached the mouth of the tunnel. Pausing for only a moment, he flung himself inside. The sight which met his eyes wasn’t what he had expected. Spade was sprawled on the floor close to another body which he had obviously fallen over. One of his guns lay near by but the other remained in its holster. He looked up at Tulane’s approach and even in the gloom Tulane could see the fear in his eyes.
‘Please!’ he begged. ‘Please, don’t shoot.’
Tulane wasn’t thinking, straight or otherwise. Something seemed to have got hold of him and to be directing his actions. He realized that Spade must have a reputation as a gunman, but it meant nothing. He knew he was invincible. Seizing the man by the collar, he hauled him to his feet.
‘Step outside,’ he ordered.
Spade had no choice in the matter. With Tulane close behind, he walked into the sunlight.
‘What are you goin’ to do?’ he whimpered.
‘I’m gonna give you a better chance than you gave Miss Winona or the boy,’ Tulane replied.
‘I don’t know what you mean. Who is Miss Winona?’
Tulane didn’t reply. Instead he walked backwards, covering Spade with his gun, till a little distance separated them. Then he stopped.
‘You’ve still got one of your six-guns,’ he said. ‘Well, let’s see just how quick you are. I figure you ain’t nothin’ but a back-shooter.’
‘That isn’t fair. You already got your gun in your hand.’
With a deft motion Tulane dropped his gun into its holster. ‘Now we’re equal,’ he replied.
Spade didn’t wait. Before the words were out of Tulane’s mouth his hand had dropped to his holster. In a mere flash his gun was in his hand but before he could squeeze the trigger Tulane’s .44 had already spoken. He staggered back as burning lead ripped into his chest. Tulane fired again. Spade’s gun fell from his hand. For a moment his eyes stared back at Tulane but the look of disbelief they contained was instantly replaced by a huge emptiness as he slumped to the ground and lay still.
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