by Brett Waring
In the yard, the ball plowed into Trace Wyatt’s mount and sent the man hurtling over its head as it went down, thrashing, in a cloud of dust.
Wyatt rolled behind a corner of the barn. Tyler was crouched behind the stump down at the forge and he put four fast shots into the shutter. The wood trembled and the big man ducked. Marlowe threw himself from his saddle and skidded on his belly beneath a buckboard, shooting wildly at the cabin.
“Who are they?” Liz panted, frantic to tend to the moaning Bonney but once again reloading the Zouave for Cody.
“Jarvess men. But they double-crossed the old man, an’ bushwhacked him an’ his sons. Cress helped Jarvess before he died an’ they think he told us how to find his hole-in-the-wall with all his loot hidden there.”
“Oh my God! And did he?”
Cody glanced towards Bonney. “Told Cress. I didn’t hear ... Look, you tend to him, Liz. I’ll try to hold these bas—these hombres.”
Liz finished reloading the Remington and spread out fresh cartridges for the Winchester, and placed shells for the shotgun on the floor before going to Cress. She had grown-up on the frontier and had lived through Indian raids. She knew how important it was to keep up the supply of ammunition.
Her heart was pounding and her hands shaking as she pumped water into a tin bowl and grabbed a handful of rags for her husband. Tears welled into her eyes but Liz Bonney was made of pretty stern stuff and she fought them back as she stripped away the bloody shirt and washed some of the blood off the wound. She sucked in her breath and twitched as the shotgun thundered, then again as Cody cut loose with the second barrel.
“Ha!” he cried triumphantly. “That set Marlowe’s pants on fire, I bet. He’s draggin’ his butt out from under that there buckboard like he sat on hot coals.”
Above him the shutter trembled and splinters flew as a fusillade of shots hammered into it. Cody swiftly reloaded the shotgun.
“Oh, Cress,” Liz whispered, seeing the wound and how serious it was. “Oh, my darling, you need a doctor. Very badly. I—I think this is beyond me, my sweet.”
The tears were coursing down her face. She had seen enough bullet wounds in the past to know that her husband was in a very serious condition, if not actually critical. She wiped his sweating, gray face with the damp cloth and kissed him lightly on the mouth. She smiled when his eyes flicked open but it was a few minutes before he actually focused on her. Then she saw him frown and she kissed him again.
“It’s all right, Cress. You’re home. With me.”
But obviously he heard the shooting and he looked past her to where Cody was crouched as he thumbed more cartridges into the Winchester.
“Need another carton,” he bawled.
Liz jumped up and ran to the shelf, grabbing the last carton, but able to tell by its weight that it was more than half full.
“That’s all, Cody,” she told him quietly and the big man glanced at her sharply, then went back to sighting the rifle through the knothole.
She noticed that he was firing less frequently, obviously conserving ammunition, triggering only when he thought he would have a chance of hitting his target.
Liz knew that Tyler and his men would read the signs, too, and know they were running short of ammunition ...
“How’s he doin’?” Cody asked, changing windows as the shutter almost disintegrated with a volley of bullets, throwing splinters through the room, and shattering a lamp.
Liz threw her body protectively over her husband.
“He’s—very ill, Cody,” she said quietly and then, as the big man started shooting into the yard, knelt beside Cress, smoothing hair back from his face. “I think the bullet’s still inside, Cress,” she told him gently. “Too deep for me ...”
He surprised her by nodding. “I—I can feel—it,” he gasped. “Under—breastbone—Listen, Liz—Jarvess—told me—his—hidey-hole ...”
“Never mind that now, darling,” she said as she worked to staunch the bleeding from the wound.
He groped blindly for her hand, and she put her face close to his.
“I—I ain’t got—long, I reckon—But you—listen—No—don’t talk—listen—Jarvess said—line up cathedral an’ altar’—it’ll give the entrance to his-hole-in-the-wall ... I dunno what he—meant—but—but you remember—All the Jarvess—l—loot is—there—if—if we don’t take it—it’ll stay there—forever ... An’ that’s—stupid ... Mebbe Cody’ll help—you ...”
She kissed him several times, sobbing quietly, holding his cold face between her slim hands.
“Don’t, Cress. Don’t talk that way. I don’t want any outlaw loot. I—want—you.”
He nodded, letting her know he understood, but rasped, “Cathedral—an’—altar—line ’em—up ... L-love you, Liz ... I …”
He began to cough and then his eyes rolled up, revealing the whites. Liz grabbed him in alarm and began shaking him.
“Cress,” she sobbed.
“Hell almighty!” yelled Cody at the same instant. “They’re gonna set us afire.”
Torn between her husband’s spasm and Cody’s alarm, Liz whirled, not knowing what to do. Then, through the shattered shutter, she saw that the trio in the yard had piled hay from the barn into the buckboard, set it alight, and were now working the thing towards the house as the flames roared in a high wall—effectively shielding them.
Cody cut loose with both barrels of the shotgun, fired the Remington, threw the Winchester to his shoulder and began shooting as fast as he could work trigger and lever, spraying lead around the buckboard, hoping to hit one of the hidden outlaws.
“Get ready to go out the back door,” he yelled. “Leave Cress. I’ll bring him.”
The Winchester’s hammer fell on an empty chamber and Cody threw it down, backing off from the shutter as the blazing buckboard edged towards the porch ...
He wheeled towards the frozen girl and the man lying on the couch then stopped short, his head cocked on one side.
There was gunfire from a distance.
Cody lunged back to the shutter.
“Damn me,” he breathed. “Some ranny’s comin’ in like a cavalry charge, blazin’ away with a big rifle at them three killers.”
The rider had come out of the timber and was riding in fast from one side, his knees gripping the racing mount, a heavy caliber rifle at his shoulder.
Behind the blazing buckboard, Tyler and his pards whirled.
Marlowe, already limping from having been winged with the charge of buckshot, started to run for the corrals. Dust spurted inches from his feet, then he spun sideways as if pulled by a wire, crashed into the corral rails and flopped to the dust.
The buckboard shuddered as two bullets thudded into it. A pile of blazing hay spilled to the ground, forcing Tyler and Wyatt to leap backwards—and into view of the house.
Cody instantly fired.
It was enough for the outlaws.
They ran for their mounts, Wyatt leaping into the saddle of Marlowe’s horse. With lead whining about them from two sides, they ducked low, jammed in the spurs and rode out of the ranch yard, shooting wildly.
The new rider reined down in the yard and leapt off his skidding mount, running to the blazing buckboard and picking up the shaft. He strained to veer it away from the porch as Cody staggered through the door.
Between them they slowly dragged the vehicle into the middle of the yard and left it to burn near the carcass of Wyatt’s horse. Marlowe’s body lay where it had fallen.
Cody Mann wiped sweat and soot out of his stinging eyes and said:
“Mister, I dunno who you are, but I’d sure like to shake your hand.”
Still half-blinded, he thrust out his right hand and an instant later reared back as something cold and tight was snapped around his wrist. He jerked but was unable to pull his hand free.
His vision suddenly cleared and he blinked in amazement.
“Nice to see you again, Cody,” Clay Nash grinned, palming his six-gun and cocking
the hammer. “Now hold out your other hand so I can get the second manacle on, okay?”
Chapter Seven – The Beckoning Hills
Nash thumbed back his hat and looked at the blood-soaked Cress Bonney lying on the sofa. Liz fussed around the unconscious man with cushions, trying to make him comfortable.
“Well, ma’am, you ask me, that husband of yours needs a sawbones. And fast.”
Liz nodded, her mouth grim. She’d wiped away all her tears. She’d thought that Bonney was dead after he’d stopped speaking, but his heart was still beating and he even gave an occasional moan. It was obvious that he was in great pain and that his condition was getting worse.
Big Cody Mann sat silently in a corner on the floor with his ankles bound and his hands shackled. He was angry for letting himself be captured. Strangely, he didn’t blame Nash: the man had seen the opportunity and had taken it. Cody savvied that sort of thing. It was the same as when Nash had saved him from going over that cliff.
A man had to take any chance that came, Cody Mann reckoned. That was the creed he lived by.
“How the hell did you wind up here, Nash?” Cody asked abruptly, sorely puzzled. “Damned if I ever expected to see you again round these parts.”
Nash gave him a crooked grin. “Hume threw me onto the Cannon Creek train robbery and I tracked down the leak from the Wells Fargo end but had to trade a little lead. One of the survivors got to talkin’ to me eventually. He told me he knew the Jarvess bunch had the fastest getaway mounts in New Mexico. And that they’d bought them from a feller who had a spread tucked away back in the breaks. This just had to be the place ... And, if it’s any consolation, I sure as hell wasn’t expectin’ to find you here, either, Cody. I figured you’d be long gone.”
Cody snorted. “Damn hoss got washed out from under me in that river flood.”
“I know. And here’s somethin’ to upset your digestion for a spell: I came across its carcass couple of days later. It still had the gold in the saddlebags.”
Cody swore then glanced swiftly at Liz as she picked up her rags and bowl. “Sorry, Liz. Din’ mean to sound off that way, but—Hey!” He broke off suddenly, his face lighting up. “If you got the gold back—an’ I hadn’t had a chance to spend even one red cent of it—then—then you don’t want me.”
Nash blinked. “You’re kiddin’.”
“Aw, hell, what you want me for? Said yourself when you caught up with me before that I din’ hurt no one. You got your gold, you found the hosses I turned loose an’ no one got hurt except old Jacob Handy. An’ that was mostly his pride. Come on, Nash, gimme a break, amigo. I ain’t worth takin’ in.”
Nash laughed incredulously. “If you don’t beat all, Cody. You held up a stage. Don’t matter whether we got the loot back or not. That was just pure luck for us. But Wells Fargo don’t forget that easy. Besides, you slugged me after I saved your neck. I owe you for that.”
Nash could tell the man hadn’t given up but he turned to Liz, “Time I had the full story about what happened here, ma’am.”
Liz shrugged.
“It seems Old Man Jarvess was ambushed by those men you drove off. They wounded him, but before he died, he told Cress how to find his loot.”
Cody was straining to hear.
“Cress and Cody buried the old man under a bank and told Tyler and his friends they hadn’t seen him. But they obviously didn’t believe them—so they followed them here.”
Nash studied the girl closely. “Your husband did some talkin’ then after Cody brought him in, Mrs. Bonney?”
“Yes, he was conscious for a little while and he thought he was dying—and—and told me what Jarvess had passed on to him.”
“You know where the Jarvess hangout is then?” Nash asked swiftly.
“Yes.” The woman looked at him levelly. Cody was tense. Liz continued to stare at Nash. “I suppose you’d like to know just how to find the place, Mr. Nash?”
“That’s my job, ma’am. I reckon we can forget about the sellin’ hosses to the Jarvess bunch. Your husband seems to’ve done it only because he needed money bad.”
“He did,” Liz said, looking thoughtful. She remained silent for a short time, then said, “Cress wanted me to keep the location of the Jarvess place quiet. So—if—anything—happened to him I—I would have the—loot to—help me …”
“Don’t say no more, Liz,” Cody blurted. His eyes said a lot more than his words and he was desperately trying to tell her he would help her locate the hidden loot and they could share it between them.
But Liz smiled faintly, giving Cody only a glance. “Is there any kind of a reward for the recovery of that stolen money, Mr. Nash?”
“Bound to be ma’am. It’s not the first time the company has been hit by the Jarvess bunch. Likely there’s other stuff there belongin’ to us and we always pay some kind of reward. You tell me how to find that place, Mrs. Bonney, and I give you my word, I’ll see any money due comes straight to you.”
“Keep it to yourself, Liz,” Cody urged.
“Stay out of it,” Nash told him without looking towards him. “Mrs. Bonney, you’re bound to tell me what you know about the Jarvess hideout. Otherwise, you could be in a lot of trouble for withholding information.”
Liz tilted her chin defiantly. “I’m well aware of that, Mr. Nash. I also know you’re a man of your word. You have a considerable reputation, even in these remote parts.”
“Thank you, ma’am. So if you’ll just tell me ...?”
He broke off, frowning, as Liz shook her head.
“It’s not as simple as that,” she said.
“Why not?”
Liz gestured to Bonney on the sofa. “Cress is dying. He will die unless he gets proper medical attention. It means an operation and probably a long stay to recuperate. That will cost a lot of money, Mr. Nash.”
The Wells Fargo man nodded. “Guess you’re right. Could be the reward’ll pay for it, though ...”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that it will,” Liz told him.
Nash frowned, genuinely puzzled. “Then what’s the problem?”
“Cress has to get to medical help first before he can be operated on.”
“Sure. There’s an infirmary in Cannon Creek and a few good doctors there ...”
“Cannon Creek is a long way from here,” the girl told him. Then Nash understood.
“You want me to help get your husband into town, is that it?”
“I can’t do it alone, especially as now we haven’t got a buckboard. I need help to get him there in case that bullet moves. It’s already close to his heart ...”
“Look, Mrs. Bonney, that’s out of the question. My helpin’ get your husband back to Cannon Creek, I mean. Hell, it’ll take three days for the round-trip. And that’s if nothin’ goes wrong. By that time, Tyler and Wyatt could’ve located the Jarvess hangout and got away with the loot. I can’t let that happen.”
“They don’t even know where to begin looking. People have searched for the hole-in-the-wall for years, Mr. Nash. Now, as far as I know, I’m the only one who can tell you how to get there. And I will. For a price. And that price is to give my husband a chance to live.”
Cody Mann was listening intently ...
“That’s blackmail,” Nash said flatly.
“Yes, I suppose it is,” Liz admitted readily. “But if you don’t agree, I simply won’t tell you what my husband told me.”
“I’ve only got your word for it that he told you anything at all.”
“Ask Cody. There wasn’t time to tell much.” She paused. “But there was enough.”
“Damn right,” Cody said sourly. “I don’t know what Jarvess told Cress—an’ I don’t know what Cress told his wife. All I know is she’s tellin’ the truth. She knows where the loot is. And she’s the only one that does.”
Nash walked across the room to the open front door and looked into the yard where the smoldering remains of the buckboard stood near Marlowe’s body.
“My husb
and’s dying while you stand around wasting time, Mr. Nash,” Liz said shortly. “And I promise you that if he dies before you lift a finger to help him, you’ll never get anything out of me.”
Nash turned to look at her.
“I guess you love him a lot, ma’am.”
“If he dies, I don’t want to go on living,” Liz said simply. Nash nodded with a heavy sigh. “All right. We’ll build some sort of carry cart to take him to town. But as soon as the sawbones starts operating, you tell me what you know. By then I’ll have done my part. Whether he pulls through or not is beyond my control. We deal on that?”
Liz held out a small right hand unsmilingly. “We deal on that, Mr. Nash.”
Nash shook her hand.
“What about me?” Cody asked. “I can’t help unless you get these here manacles off me.”
The Wells Fargo man smiled faintly. “You’re right there, Cody. But I reckon I’d rather do without your kind of help. I take the manacles off and you’ll be gone over that hogback rise first time I turn my back—or you’ll hit me with a pickaxe handle.” Nash rubbed gently at the small remains of the knot behind his left ear.
“Hell, you can’t rightly hold that agin me, Nash. I seen my chance—an’ took it.”
“And you’d do it again. No, Cody. You stay shackled till I can turn you over to the law in Cannon Creek.”
Cody swore softly as Nash and the girl went into the yard to start work on an Indian-style cart.
On the sofa, Cress Bonney was breathing very raggedly.
Back in the trees, Trace Wyatt lowered the battered field glasses and hipped in the saddle, calling to Tyler who was bandaging his arm.
“Looks like that stranger and the woman are makin’ something outside the barn, Red.”
Tyler snapped his head up, one end of the kerchief between his teeth. He awkwardly completed the knot, then rolled down his shirtsleeve and walked across.
“What the hell you mean ‘makin’ somethin’?” he growled. “Makin’ what?”
Wyatt held out the field glasses.
“Take a look for yourself. The stranger ripped down some corral poles an’ he’s lashin’ ’em together like a big ‘A’ an’ the gal’s drug out some blankets from the cabin ...”
