by Brett Waring
“Hell, that’s where that damn pickaxe went,” Cody Mann said boisterously. “Must’ve leaned it against the wall there, Cress, after we dug them postholes for the corral fence. No wonder we couldn’t find the damn thing.”
“Uh—yeah, that’s right, I did leave it over there. Now I remember,” Bonney said, going along with Cody as he squinted at Marlowe. “Why the hell did you think I’d caved-in a cutbank? I don’t have that much surplus energy after a day of breakin’-in them broncs, mister.” He gestured to the corralled area where the mustangs moved about restlessly.
The three killers studied the two men closely. It was clear they were far from satisfied.
“Well, look, if you fellers ain’t gonna have coffee,” Cody Mann said suddenly, “Well just put out the fire an’ make ready to start drivin’ them broncs back to Cress’ place. We was just about to break camp when you showed.”
“Kinda late sleepers ain’t you?” Tyler asked.
Cody grinned and looked at Wyatt. “You know I ain’t one for watchin’ sunrises, Trace. But we been up for a spell. We was trying to trap some mustangs but they must’ve moved during the night so Cress decided to take these back to his spread. He’s got a buyer in Cannon Creek.”
Tyler rode his mount slowly around the camp and Bonney held his breath as he saw the man looking at scuff marks where he had first begun to drag the body towards the bank. But the man said nothing and joined his two companions.
“Well, we’ll be moseyin’,” he announced. “Mebbe we’ll see each other again, Mann. An’ could be I might want to buy a real fast bronc sometime, Bonney.”
“I’ll save one for you,” Cress said.
“Adios, Cody,” Wyatt said, flicking the big man a casual salute. “Stay outta jail.”
“You bet. Same to you Trace.” Cody nodded curtly to Marlowe, then the three men rode slowly out of the canyon and headed back towards the river.
“Think they believed us?” Bonney asked.
“I’d say not. Wyatt might’ve, but looks like Tyler’s boss-man of that bunch an’ he’s suspicious about somethin’. We better get them mustangs on the trail and headed for your place.”
“What about the others we were gonna ...?”
“We already told ’em we’re gonna move out an’ we better, Cress, or they’ll be back—and they’ll come a’smokin’ next time. We better move pronto, pard.”
Bonney nodded swiftly. “Okay. I—I just hope they don’t come after us. I don’t want Liz involved.”
“If we move out now, we’ll likely be all right,” Cody said, but as he worked, he kept glancing towards the river.
It was obvious that he didn’t believe his own words. He knew they hadn’t seen the last of that trio of killers ...
Chapter Six – Shoot-Out
Red Tyler sat his mount behind some brush amidst a clump of boulders on the south end of the small canyon. He had his hands folded on the horn and a cigarette smoldering between his lips as he watched the activities of Cody Mann and Cress Bonney below.
They were breaking camp, in a hurry. Then they rode down to the corral area and Mann dropped the gate bar while Bonney rode in and began to haze the tight-packed half-broken horses around in a circle.
Once he had them moving, he headed them for the gate where Cody was waiting with a swinging rope. The movement was sufficient to make the leader veer away. The others followed as it turned along the narrow trail leading up and out of the canyon. They would be easy enough to control going through there.
Tyler dragged on his cigarette and crushed its burning end out against the horn before flicking it away, exhaling smoke slowly. His eyes were narrowed as he watched the men move their herd, a dust pall rising behind them. He looked down into the camp area and his gaze fixed on the dark earthen scar where the cutbank had collapsed.
Behind him, and below, Wyatt and Marlowe still scouted the riverbank. Tyler turned his mount and rode down.
“No luck?” he asked Wyatt who was out knee deep, probing the shallows with a long pole.
“Nothin”, Red.”
“Marlowe?”
“Nope. Nobody here, Red.”
“Let’s go dig in that bank. I got me a feelin’ about it.”
“Hell! There’s a lot of earth to move there,” Marlowe complained.
Tyler’s gaze was bleak. “An’ there’s a lot of gold to move, too. If the old man was still alive an’ got to Bonney’s camp, he might’ve talked, seein’ as he knew that hoss-breaker. They could’ve buried the old cuss there. Now let’s go.”
Looking dubious, Wyatt and Marlowe exchanged glances but shrugged and waded ashore ...
The horses kept Cody and Cress mighty busy as they drove them away from the canyon that led to the plains.
Bonney knew that when the country opened out they were going to have trouble holding the animals together.
He and Cody had hardly spoken a word to each other since breaking camp. There simply wasn’t time. One or the other was constantly riding away to cut off a breakaway horse, or even three or four that splintered off the main herd in a group.
Bonney barely had time to think about Old Man Jarvess or of what the dying outlaw had told him. But every so often, the word ‘gold’ kept intruding into his consciousness and he kept glancing in Cody’s direction. But Mann was busy with the horses.
Cress Bonney had made a real effort to go straight since his first brush with the law. He had no wish to go back to any chain gang or rock pile in Yuma prison. And Liz, too, was a fine incentive to stay on the straight and narrow. Of course, he’d strayed slightly by selling horses to the odd owlhoot who’d drifted through.
He’d known he was taking chances, but he’d needed money very badly each time and he’d taken precautions. There had been no bill-of-sale and he had insisted that his customers choose from his unbranded stock. He didn’t want anything to connect him with the lawless element should they run afoul of a badge-toter.
So far it had worked but he knew Liz hadn’t felt happy about even an indirect contact with crime. She was afraid that word would spread about the fast horses to be had at the Bonney ranch in the remote hills.
The Jarvess family had upset her considerably—not through anything any of the three had done or said, but they had returned twice—the second time buying a bunch of a dozen horses; fast, long-muscled animals built for both speed and stamina. She had known that Jarvess was aiming to pull some sort of job—and they were buying their getaway mounts ...
It had been the train hold-up, of course. Word had drifted through the hills, but the details had been vague—that the Jarvess bunch had blown open a Wells Fargo express car and had got away with a heap of loot ...
As he rode on his way back to his ranch—and Liz—Bonney wondered if the gold Old Man Jarvess had spoken of was the proceeds of that robbery ...? It might well be. There would be rumors that they had been seen in the area briefly, then there would be nothing for a couple of months until they turned up many miles to the north or south.
Word was that they sometimes headed home only to stash the loot they had taken on one of their jobs. The hidden Jarvess hole-in-the-wall was legendary around those parts ...
Cress Bonney felt a nervous shiver pass through him. Judas Priest, if the Old Man had been telling him where to find that hole-in-the-wall and all their loot from their past escapades was buried there—or even only part of it—why, man, that would represent a King’s ransom. He glanced around swiftly at the thought and saw Cody riding in, yelling.
“Cress. Cress. You blind, feller? Look at the palomino an’ his pards ...”
Bonney realized then he had been so deeply lost in thought he hadn’t noticed a runaway bunch of horses. He spurred away after them immediately and saw that they were well out on the plains.
He had to ride hard and swing his rope across the eyes of the leader, shaking a boot free of his stirrup and kickin it behind the ear. The animal whickered angrily, bared its teeth, but as the rope slashed at i
t again, it veered towards the main herd. The other breakaways followed and Bonney had them back into the main body of horses in ten minutes.
He waved to Cody who answered only briefly and then set off after a black mare. Bonney wiped sweat from his face and he knew it wasn’t all from the brief, hard ride. The thought of the Jarvess loot being somewhere in those hills—and that he held the key to it—had shaken him badly. But he was damned if he could make anything out of what Old Man Jarvess had told him. Line up the cathedral and altar ... Crazy. Surely an altar would be in a cathedral? The answer must lie in those legendary mission ruins that been talked about for years. The Spanish conquistadors were supposed to have hidden a lot of gold in the mission and some said it was still there. Was it this that Jarvess had been speaking of ...?
Bonney shook himself. Hell, he was letting thoughts of the gold get to him and there were more urgent problems. Like those three killers back at the river canyon. He was sure Tyler hadn’t believed their story about the collapse of the bank ...
Once again, thoughts of the gold intruded and pushed back his fears. Suppose he could get his hands on some of that gold? Sure, it was likely stolen but would have long ago been covered by the insurance companies. Too bad if it hadn’t. Hell almighty! he and Liz would be set for life. Cody Mann? Well, Cody was a pretty good hombre: Bonney wasn’t greedy. He wouldn’t mind sharing with the big outlaw and, after all ...
“They’re comin’.”
Bonney jerked his head up as Cody palmed up his Colt. Bonney looked behind him and saw the three riders racing up out of the canyon and thundering across the flats towards them.
He cursed.
Looked as though they might have decided to take a look under that damn bank.
“The hosses,” Cody yelled. “Turn ’em and stampede ’em back.”
Cress Bonney waved as he unshipped his six-gun and loosed off the first shot into the air, riding in on the front of the thundering horses with a wild yell.
The leaders veered away from him, rolling their eyes wildly. Bonney triggered off several more shots and Cody’s gun was also hammering. In minutes, the tightly-packed bunch of half-broken horses wheeled and were running back the way they had come.
The trio of killers had their rifles to their shoulders and were blazing at the racing riders. Then they saw what their plan was and instinctively began to haul rein as the horses tore back towards them.
Red Tyler cursed and quickly worked the lever on his rifle, placing his shots in front of the thundering hoofs, trying to turn the animals. Wyatt got off a couple of similar shots, saw it wasn’t going to work and yanked his reins hard, racing his mount towards the rocks a half mile away. Marlowe was already riding in that direction.
Tyler emptied his rifle and then raked his mount’s flanks with his spurs, putting it after his pards. The stampede couldn’t be stopped—and the horses were spreading out in their newfound freedom, making more of a line of them to be negotiated before the killers could reach safety.
Marlowe looked as though he would make it all right, but Wyatt seemed as if he were going to be caught. He was tightlipped as he half-crouched in his stirrups lashing at his mount with the rein ends, yelling into its flattened ears, and urging it on as a string of mustangs bore down on him from the side.
He brought his rifle over and triggered one-handed. It was a lucky shot. The bullet hit one of the lead horses and the animal staggered and whickered, fell and rolled. Another piled into it and spilled over, shaken, dazed and bewildered. The others turned away and Wyatt blew out his cheeks in a long sigh of relief. But he didn’t slacken speed as he kept his mount running towards the sheltering rocks where Marlowe was just reining-down.
Grimfaced, Red Tyler reloaded his rifle as he rode, gripping his mount with his knees. He zigzagged his mount and instead of running for the protection of the rocks, worked his way around the edge of the thundering mustangs. The dust was heavy and he could just glimpse the hazy shapes of Bonney and Mann as they raced away across the prairie.
Tyler hauled rein as his mount topped a small rise. He threw his rifle to his shoulder, taking a quick bead on the fugitives. Mann was ahead, so Tyler dropped the rifle barrel slightly, beaded Cress Bonney, aimed slightly ahead of him, then squeezed off his shot.
The explosion whiplashed across the plains and Tyler grinned crookedly as he saw Bonney spill from the saddle, hit the dust and flounder wildly. He ejected the used shell and levered in a fresh load, preparing to draw bead on the racing Cody Mann.
The killer was surprised when he saw that Mann had hauled rein and was riding back towards Bonney. He cursed as he saw Bonney stagger to his feet, holding his side. It looked as though he’d only winged him. Tyler’s anger got the better of him and he sent four fast shots at the two fugitives—missing with each of them.
By that time, Cody Mann had lifted Bonney effortlessly, draped him across his saddle and within seconds was racing with his double load across the flats.
“Come on,” Tyler bawled hoarsely to Wyatt and Marlowe who were sitting their horses at the edge of the rocks.
The main danger from the stampede was over. The tail end of the mustangs had streamed past and were scattering.
The two killers spurred their mounts after Tyler as the redhead rode down from the rise and set off in pursuit of Cody and Bonney ...
Cody Mann wished he had a rifle. The killers were in pursuit and loosing off shots every so often. He heard bullets buzz overhead twice, but he had no idea where the rest of the shots went.
Bonney had been hit badly in the back. He must have been mighty tough to get up after that fall and reach up for Cody to grab him. But Cody wondered just how bad the wound was. Likely it would kill Bonney—maybe even before he got him back to the ranch where he would have to make a stand. He had thought of leading the killers away from the spread so as to give Liz a better chance, but he knew Red Tyler. The man would simply ride for the spread, anyway, grab the girl and hold her hostage till Cody and Bonney gave up ...
So he figured the best thing to do was to get to the spread where there were other weapons and ammunition and he could try to make some kind of stand and hold them off. If only he could gain a couple of miles, he might be able to get Liz out and she could ride for help. But then he knew she would never leave Cress while he was wounded.
And one other thing bothered him. If Cress died, he would take the secret of the hole-in-the-wall with him. There simply hadn’t been time to talk to the man about it since Tyler and his pards had shown up. Cody couldn’t see any sense in the man dying without revealing what he knew. Cody had no intention of getting himself killed—and he sure could use that Jarvess gold if he could lay his hands on it ...
He was approaching low hills, and coming to timber that became more dense as he neared the spread. What if Cress were to die before he got there? He was gripped with a sudden panic.
“Cress,” he shouted looking behind and seeing the three killers at least hadn’t gained any ground. “Cress, amigo ...You hear me?”
Bonney gave a sort of grunting moan that could have meant anything.
“Cress. It’s Cody. We’ll be home soon, boy. Liz is waitin’. You can relax soon. Just tell me what Old Man Jarvess told you about his hole-in-the-wall, huh? You got it, amigo? Tell me how to find the Jarvess hidey-hole.”
He dropped a hand to Bonney’s bloody shirt and shook him. Bonney seemed to stir but he only made a few faint sounds. Cody’s mouth tightened.
“Damn,” he cried, knowing he would get nothing out of Cress in his present state. And anything intelligible the man might have said was whipped away by the wind ...
Suddenly, he hit the hogback rise and rode up through the timber. Beyond lay the Bonney spread.
He pulled his six-gun and triggered three fast shots into the air, alerting Liz. As he wound his way down the slope he was surprised to see Bonney’s horse was racing across the slope below him, obviously having headed for home by taking some sort of shortcut.
>
Liz appeared on the small porch, wiping floury hands on an apron and he thought he saw her face pale as she first spotted Bonney’s riderless horse, then Cody.
He skidded his mount to a halt by the corrals as she started running down the steps.
“Back. Back in the house,” Cody shouted as he heaved Bonney across his shoulders, wrenched the man’s rifle from the riderless horse, and started to jog-trot towards the house.
“Wh-what’s happened?” Liz asked, bewildered. She was a small, slim woman with dark-hair, warm eyes and a wide mouth. She frowned in alarm when she saw the blood on her husband’s shirt.
Then she wrenched her gaze to the hogback as the trio of killers topped the crest, hauled rein and began shooting down into the yard. Their lead kicked dust only yards away. Liz immediately summed-up the situation and ran back to the porch, holding open the front door for Cody as he ducked through and placed the wounded man on the bunk in the rear of the single large room.
“Bar the door and drop the shutters,” Cody panted as he went to the shelf where Bonney kept his ammunition. There was a shotgun slung on wall pegs, too, and an old caplock muzzle-loading Remington Zouave from the Civil War days.
He grabbed a carton of Winchester .30/.30 cartridges and dropped to one knee by a front window as Liz hurriedly closed the shutter. He poked the rifle barrel through a knothole and started shooting ...
Liz glanced towards Cress and bit her lip as she took down the shotgun and loaded it, placing it beside Cody. Then she lifted the massive Zouave and began to go through the ritual of muzzle loading ...
Finally, she handed the loaded weapon to Cody.
He poked the long barrel through the hole in the shutter as Liz started to push fresh cartridges into the smoking Winchester. The Zouave gave a flat, thunderous sound as it exploded and kicked like a mule into Cody’s big shoulder.
