As Blade whirled, he swept the gun behind him dear of his body. The half-breed’s rifle went off into the air. The butt of Blade’s Winchester came up and caught the man on the lower part of his face. Mouth and nose were ruined. With an animal howl of surprise and pain, the man stumbled back one pace and went down.
Blade hit the ground in a long dive, struck with his left shoulder and went over. He heard one of the other guns go off, heard the bullet strike rock and sing viciously away to the heavens.
Blade’s thumb caught the lever ring of the carbine, jerked, snapped it up again and his forefinger squeezed the trigger. No more than dimly aware of the two figures, he fired two shots. One of them, he did not know who it was, dropped his rifle and cried out that he was hit. The voice was full of terrified amazement.
Another gun fired.
Blade was throwing himself sideways. He was caught in brush. Frantically, he thrashed about to free himself. A bullet tore its savage path through the brush, past his head. Stumbling to his feet, he hurled himself through and out the far side. His foot caught and he went down.
There was a man shouting with excitement that bordered on hysteria. Blade jerked his head for a rapid glance over his shoulder and saw that he was hidden by the brush. He Indianed along on his belly for a few yards, came to a shallow gully and rolled into it. He could hear a man running on rock and loose gravel, the ragged run of a man moving awkwardly on cowman’s heels.
A figure loomed thirty yards away. Blade snapped a shot and it at once disappeared.
‘He’s yonder to your right,’ a man yelled. It sounded like Duke.
Blade swore and sweated, his nerves screaming with the urgency of the moment.
That voice was between him and the cave.
Just the same, there was a sort of triumph in that moment. There had been a gun in his back and two armed men facing him and he had made his break. If you could do the impossible once, you could do it twice.
They would expect him to go south away from them and along the gully. He got his legs under him and, crouched down, ran as fast and silently as he could north. Now he blessed the fact that the man he had stolen the boots from had favored flat heels.
He knew he was making too much noise, but the need to get past the men toward the cave was paramount.
They spotted him almost at once and started firing, but he kept right on.
Another fifty paces and he stopped dead and flung himself down. Right in front of him was a stretch of bare rock, flat and bare as a table.
He heard those booted feet again. Carbine ready, he rose to one knee. The half-breed was running toward him from the right.
Hearing a scrabble of loose rocks, he turned his eyes and saw the man Duke running close to the wall of the hill to his left. Hastily, he snapped shots right and left. The two shots stopped them abruptly and drove them to cover.
Instantly, Blade was up and running again.
Hitting that flat stretch was the hardest thing he did in all his life. His legs were going like pistons and, when he was halfway across, he knew he was almost out of wind. He didn’t hear the shot, but he felt the bullet tug angrily at the skirt; of his coat. He allowed himself to go down and to roll, coming to his feet at once and darting first to the right and then the left.
Something struck him hard on the left shoulder. It was as if a great fist had struck him, knocking him forward and down. His face struck rock and for a moment he lay stunned. The fall knocked out of him the little wind he had left. He lay there gasping for breath, desperately sucking air into his agonized lungs.
Oh, Christ, he thought. I’m hit.
In that moment, he thought of the girl and the people in the cave.
It was all a matter of will power, he told himself.
Get up, Blade.
His hand sought the Winchester and found nothing.
He turned his head and saw it lying a dozen feet away.
A man was yelling: ‘I hit him, I hit him.’
Those feet were running again. He thought he could hear the excitement of triumph in them.
You won’t kill me, you bastards.
He was crawling.
The booted feet were near. He heard the final sentence of the repeater’s lever being worked. The rock was tearing his knees, but he felt nothing.
Then he heard the faint, far off flat slam of a rifle.
Pilar was calling to him: ‘Joe . . . Joe .. .’ Was that Pilar firing the rifle?
He rose slowly to hands and knees. His left arm refused to support him and he crawled forward like a three-legged dog. One of the outlaws was firing, but the shots were going over his head. The girl called his name again and again. There was panic in her voice. He didn’t doubt she thought him dead.
He called back to her and at once a couple of rifles to the south started to search him out. Within a minute or so, he was forced by the terrain to start an upward crawl if he wished to reach the cave. At once he was exposed to any watcher who might be on the shelf. Only the long range saved him, that and the presence of the girl with the rifle above him.
It took him nearly twenty minutes to reach her and, by the time he got there, he was exhausted. His left shoulder, which had been numbed by the hit, now started to give him hell. He must have looked pretty awful, because the girl expressed alarm at the sight of him. Using the boulders around the entrance to the cave as cover, he was able to stand up. But that was easier said than done. His knees buckled under him and the Indian girl had to hurry forward to help him.
He refused to go into the cave, knowing that if the outlaws knew of their weakness, they might rush the place. He propped himself up against a rock and told Pilar to get some rags and fix the wound. The Indian girl kept watch. Together, they were able to keep the whole of the bench under observation. Now that the climax of the chase had come, Blade could only be thankful that the structure of the cave and the hill would not allow the outlaws to come at them from above.
Pilar expressed horror when his shirt was off and she saw the wound. He thought she would weep. There was no whisky left with which to clean it and she hesitated to do so with a hot iron from the fire because he was already obviously in a state of shock. He was, he told her, burning up and cold in turn. She hastily cleaned the wound with boiling water and firmly bound it with rags tom from her petticoats. She said that she thought the shoulder blade itself was unbroken in the main though there had been small pieces of bone in the wound.
Once the wound was bound, however, and the flow of blood had been staunched, he felt better.
‘That’s fine.’ he told her. ‘I reckon you saved my life.’ She smiled and patted him.
‘It was a matter of necessity.’ she said. ‘You are the only man we have on his feet.’
The Indian girl said something in her own language and pointed. Blade and Pilar turned their eyes across the bench to where she pointed.
Blade’s stomach seemed to lurch.
Across the southern corner of the shelf there moved a thin line of horsemen. They were little more than dots, but he was able to count six of them. That brought the enemy up to a possible nine, or more. The three of them, Blade and the two girls, watched them ride at a walk to the rocks at the base of the hill and disappear from view.
‘We shall be safe in the cave,’ Pilar said. ‘Don’t you think we shall be safe in the cave, Joe?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘We’ll be all right.’
He had never felt less confident in his life.
Twelve
The half-breed was cleaning his rifle. He always took good care of it. His face was aching and his mind was black with an all-consuming fury. He had been suckered by the man Blade. He knew it. Bill Weyland and Duke Dukar knew it. And Pete Brand’s pride was considerable. He had always been a man who could look out for himself. His reactions had always been lightning fast. Now his nose was a pulp and four front teeth were missing. He had never been a thing of beauty, now he was downright ugly.
The Duke
was telling the newcomers: ‘They’re holed up in that cave. Christ, they could fort up there forever.’
Sam Dewlap, big and red-haired, said: ‘Smoke ’em out.’
Duke said: ‘Go take a look. We’d never be able to get close enough.’
They argued about it and Pete Brand was forced to say through his ruined mouth: ‘No call. There’s another way in. This ain’t the first time I was here. There’s a rear entrance. I’ll have you inside there in no time at all.’
Sam said: ‘Just keep it in mind, we ain’t in this to get our asses shot off. We come up here for the gold.’
‘Sure,’ Duke said. But he wasn’t up there solely for the gold. Not now. He wanted those people inside the cave. He wanted to hurt them. Because he was hurting himself. Hurting like all get out. Maybe he hadn’t been wounded to death, but where the rifle had been smashed into his flesh and tom it open he hurt just as much as he would if the bullet had penetrated his body. He was going to get hold of that damned old woman with that great gun and he was going to shove it …
Weyland said: ‘I want Blade. I won’t say “no” to gold, but most of all I want that son-of-a-bitch, Blade. I’ll have his eyeballs for conchos.’
They knew that was no idle boast. Bill going berserk was something to see and they respected him for it.
Pete Brand said: ‘Have good sleep. Tomorrow I show you.’
Thirteen
Somehow, Blade thought, he had to make it so the outlaws had no peace. He had to hit them first from the front and then from the rear. Night and day. Grab the initiative and hold on to it.
That was the ideal. But to have an ideal and to get a hold on it were two different matters.
Go for something simple, his mind told him. Something one man could do. But he was not entirely alone. There was Pilar and the Indian girl. There was old Annie. At a pinch there were McMasters and Charlie Hedges.
Thinking of Annie, the first simple idea came to him. Annie’s gun!
He looked at the sky. Dusk was less than an hour away. If the enemy were careless and lit a bright fire … and he would bet that they would not be cautious enough to kill a fire on a cold night.
Leaving Pilar to watch the shelf, he crawled out a couple of hundred yards in front of the cave and took a long hard look at the hillside. He rejoined Pilar before dusk dropped abruptly on the mountains. He returned with a simple plan in his head, but with the one fear that the outlaws would make a frontal attack on the cave while he was carrying it out. If they did, he didn’t doubt they could carry it by sheer strength. These new arrivals would, he knew, have brought with them all the ammunition they wanted.
Physically, he already felt a good deal better, though his shoulder was stiff and painful. He was, however, with a little discomfort able to use a rifle. The skill and speed of his right hand remained unimpaired.
Going into the cave, he found McMasters sitting up and smoking. Annie was stirring something in the pot. Charlie was snoring noisily. Annie glowered at him morosely, muttering that it was all right for some that had their flammadoodle walkin’ around on two legs always available.
McMasters listened to Blade’s plan and nodded. He wasn’t enthusiastic, but he wasn’t against it either.
He said: ‘Just you don’t forget, boy, you’re the only man we have walking around. You have to stay alive.’
Blade grinned and said he’d try not to forget.
McMasters added: ‘Put me out front with a Winchester. That’ll solve one problem. I can shoot. The Indian girl’ll stay with me.’
Blade didn’t argue. He called the Indian girl and together they helped McMasters out of the cave. They built up a strong wall of rocks around him so that he would be almost unhittable while he could defend the whole of the approach to the cave.
Then Blade went back and approached Annie. They argued for a long time. Annie surpassed herself in the foulness of her language. Blade somehow managed to hold on to his patience and his temper. He gained his point and walked out with her gun in his hands. What was more, he had a half-dozen shells that fitted it in his pocket.
Pilar was out front with McMasters and the Indian girl.
McMasters said: ‘I reckon there’s nobody out there. Nobody’s going to sit out there all night in the cold and dark if they can help it. They’ll take up their positions near dawn and jump us at first light.’
Blade agreed.
Pilar looked at the gun in his hands.
‘What are you going to do?’
Blade told her: ‘I’m going to warm their camp up a little.’
‘I’ll come with you. Your shoulder is paining you. I could carry the gun.’
‘Your eyes and ears are needed here.’
There was no arguing with that. She came near him and laid a hand on his arm. Her thin face was earnest:—‘You will be careful.’
‘I’m not going near them,’ he said. ‘Not if I can help it. This rifle will knock a man over at a mile.’
She kissed him and when Blade looked around, McMasters was grinning widely.
Blade demanded: ‘You said something?’
‘No, sir,’ said McMasters, ‘not a damn word.’
Blade hefted the big rifle and worked his way to the base of the hill, feeling the strain of the climb almost at once. He set his teeth against the discomfort of his shoulder and took his time. Fortunately, the going was not too rough and within a reasonable time he was a couple of hundred feet up. Looking south he could see the orange glow of the outlaw’s fire. He shivered in the cold. There was a wind blowing up here and it seemed to sing off the top of the hill, singling him out as its target. He leaned the gun against a rock and blew on his fingers, working them to get some warmth back into them. All the time, he had the uneasy feeling that the half-breed was out there in the darkness, stalking him.
He worked his way along the hillside, going as silently as possible in case the wind should carry the sound of
his movements to the men below. When he was within comfortable range, he halted and worked on his hands again, wishing that he possessed gloves. He could see the fire plainly now and a few of the men who were grouped around it. Two or three of them were talking together, apparently sitting with cups of coffee in their hands. He thought he could also see a number of men lying around in their blankets. A man moved, building up the fire. It blazed and sparked. Blade studied the shot and knew that it was not an easy one. Who could find it easy to shoot downhill at a bright object in the dark? He smiled to himself. Even if he didn’t hit anybody he would put the fear of God into them. The last thing they would expect was to have their camp shot up.
He loaded the gun and studied the sights unhurriedly in the very dim light, finding it difficult to see after staring at the brightness of the fire. When he had found a rest in the rocks, he settled himself on one knee and took his time aiming. Five bright shells rested on the rock in front of him. He wanted six to land among them down there before they could hunt cover. He thought wryly how a man became like those he hated most. Here he was ready to slaughter in cold blood the men who had killed the Indians and Mexicans. His shoulder throbbed. A man rose to his feet on the far side of the fire and the light fell full on him. Blade aimed at him.
Even though the rifle butt was pressed into his right shoulder, the kick of the big gun was so great that his wounded shoulder was jarred painfully. But the pain was instantly forgotten. The effect of the shot was devastating and far beyond his expectations. It fell short of its target, but by no more than a foot or two, and struck the fire, which seemed then to explode in all directions.
Flaming brands seemed to be hurled at the figures around it. Men leapt up and threw off burning blankets. Blade’s hands worked fast, levering out the empty and fingering a fresh .50 into the breach. Within seconds another shot followed the first so that while the men were still confused by the shock of the first, there was a man frenziedly kicking in the fire and yelling. The sound of his voice reached Blade.
Nobody he
lped the injured man. Men were darting away, out of the glaring target of the bright firelight. Blade raced them, driving another shell into the rifle, having the Sharps kick against his shoulder, having the acrid stench of the burned powder in his nostrils. Another and another shot followed. He didn’t know if he hit anybody else, but he did know that his trip had not been wasted. When he had finished, he collected the spent shells, dropped them in his pocket, and started back along the edge of the hill.
It began to rain lightly. That pleased him. The outlaws would spend the rest of the night licking their wounds and sheltering from the wet.
Pilar met him in front of the cave.
‘At least one hit and the rest scared out of their pants,’ he reported.
McMasters nodded. ‘It ain’t the whole battle fought, but it’s a good start.’
Pilar laughed with delight and hugged him.
McMasters said: ‘Fighting ain’t so bad when you come back to that kind of thing each time.’
‘Get some sleep,’ Pilar told him.
‘I’ll sleep out here from here on,’ he told them. ‘You never know, and we have to be ready all the time.’
He slept propped up, his Winchester across his lap and a blanket around him, no more than dozing lightly and waking every now and then to listen. He was used
to it and knew that he would be quite rested by dawn. For some of the time, Pilar half-lay against him, their bodies warming each other. McMasters, who needed little sleep, said he had all the sleep he wanted lying around in the cave and would keep his eyes open all night. The Indian girl curled up in a blanket beside him. Annie came out of the cave once, took one look at the four of them and said with grand disgust that it was all right for some. They was canoodling while her Charlie lay on his bed of pain.
‘Bed of pain, hell, Annie,’ McMasters reported. ‘He’s dreaming of the goddam gold.’
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