The more Yancey thought about it, the more certain he was that this would be the trail Cannon would use to get to Los Moros. While he didn’t necessarily have to use the same trail—there were other, though longer routes—it would suit his plans better if he could meet up with the gun-smugglers somewhere along the way. He could make more capital out of his role as fugitive that way, he figured.
So Yancey headed due west at a fast gait and early next morning, reached the point where he could turn due south towards the snow-capped cordilleras and Jacinto Pass.
Loveless and Clayton were already in the pass. They had camped overnight up on its heights and now, sweating in the blistering sun that slammed back at them from the pale rocks, they worked with lead-headed hammer and spikes to drive holes in the sandstone for their dynamite sticks. It wasn’t the first time that either of them had handled explosives and they placed the dynamite at strategic positions so that when it blew, most of the pass walls would fold inwards and block it completely, “How many sticks you reckon?” Clayton asked.
Loveless wiped sweat from his eyes, stood back and looked critically at the section of the pass they were aiming to blast. “Seven,” he decided. “Four this side, three the other.”
“Gonna make the fuse a mite risky,” opined Clayton. “If you want ’em to blow together, I mean.”
“Few seconds between won’t make much difference, not when the pass is as narrow as this one.” He gestured. “If this slab of sandstone splits vertically like I reckon it will, the fall will be enough by itself to block it off.”
Clayton nodded in slow agreement. Loveless was the expert, and he would go along with whatever he said. “How many men do you figure he’ll have with him this time?”
“Depends on how many wagons he’s got ... But we’ve got to get the drivers first, no matter what, Clay. Don’t reckon there’s enough room to get the wagons turned around, but we have to make sure. Soon as the drivers are down, we can pick the others off any time. They won’t be able to climb up to us here and if they try to ride back out, they’ll be in full view.”
“Only one thing I’m worried about,” Clayton confessed, and as Loveless looked at him quizzically, he added, “Suppose we’ve guessed wrong and he don’t take this trail?”
Loveless’ hard face seemed to be carved from granite, with sweat-plastered rock-dust on it. “We ain’t guessed wrong.”
“But suppose we have ... This should be the last shipment of guns down to El Halcon if the word’s right about him bein’ ready to move on Sonora. We won’t get another chance.” Loveless shrugged and turned abruptly back to reaming out the last dynamite hole. “We done damn well to get this close with what we had to go on. If we’ve pulled a wrong card, ain’t nothin’ we can do.”
Clayton nodded slowly, started to turn back to his chore.
By late afternoon, they had the pass mined and were ready to drop in their tracks, bodies dehydrated by the furnace-blast heat coming off the sandstone. The dynamite and fuse lengths were in position and they climbed back up to the flat ledge where they aimed to hole-up with their rifles, trailing the fuses after them.
“Ought to be about a five minute length to this wall,” Loveless said, examining the fuse he held in his right hand, “and maybe thirty seconds longer to the other. Hope they don’t spot the smoke trail. It’s all that can give it away.”
Clayton nodded, wiping his mouth as he took the canteen away from his lips. He started to speak and suddenly jumped to his feet, startling Loveless and making the man reach for his rifle. But Clayton was shading his eyes into the west and screwing up his face as he strained to see something. Loveless stood up beside him and looked in the same direction but didn’t see anything right away.
“What is it?”
Slowly, Clayton’s sun-cracked lips stretched out in a grin and he slapped Loveless hard on the shoulder. He threw back his head and let out a yell. “We guessed right, Luke! We guessed right!” He pointed into the setting sun’s glare. “Look! See? Just north of that ridge with the dump of boulders on top!”
Loveless’ eyes watered as he strained to pierce the glare from the sun then he nodded slowly, a faint smile beginning to turn up the corners of his razor-slash mouth.
There was a dust cloud out there and it was big enough to be coming from three or four wagons and their outriders. In this neck of the woods, there was little doubt that it was Cannon and his load of stolen arms.
“They’ll be comin’ through here by mid-mornin’,” he said happily. “And by noon, those guns’ll be ours!”
Yancey broke camp early on the second day of his flight into Mexico. A prowling cougar near his camp had wakened him just on daylight and he had grabbed his Winchester and sent it tearing back into the thickets with at least one bullet grazing its hide. He figured then that there was little point in trying to go back to sleep, built up the fire and drank coffee with his hardtack.
He was well along the south trail towards Jacinto Pass now and figured he ought to reach it by mid-morning at the latest. He was angling in now, for he had come across recent wagon tracks late yesterday and their depth had told him that the vehicles had been heavily loaded. There were the tracks of two riders accompanying the wagons and he was sure that one set of prints belonged to Cato’s horse. But the tracks led along the well-worn pilgrim’s trail towards the pass and he might have overtaken them if he had ridden well into the night, but Yancey decided to cut across country, come onto the pass from a north-easterly direction and meet up with the gun-runners at the southern end of the pass.
It would look better, he figured, as if he had quit Condor and headed straight into Mexico, without taking the time to make sure he was on the trail of Cannon and his crew. He would look more like the fugitive he was supposed to be and that might stand him in good stead when they finally met up with El Halcon, who was bound to be a lot more suspicious of strangers than Cannon.
But riding across country, he came within sight of the range that hid the pass within a couple of hours. Another hour and he was approaching the southern end of the pass itself. He decided to tether his horse amongst the rocks and to climb up to the top of the pass to get a better view of the country to the north. The wagons should be in sight from up there.
He was ground-hitching the mount when it pricked up its ears and turned its head sharply to the left, giving a soft whicker. Yancey tensed, sliding the Winchester from the saddle scabbard and levering a shell into the chamber. He stood perfectly still and heard the soft answering whinny of another horse. It came from a thicket slightly higher up the back slope of the pass and he went forward at a crouch, rifle across his chest, hammer cocked back. He sought the cover of a large egg-shaped boulder that cast a deep shadow and edged around it warily, watching that thicket. He heard a horse stamp, another whicker that was answered by his own mount. Yancey swore softly, hoping the animal wouldn’t get too conversational with this other horse and alert its rider. He stiffened when he heard two distinct whinnies from the thicket above. Two horses! Two riders?
Surely the wagons hadn’t reached the pass ahead of him! That couldn’t be possible, even if they had travelled all night. Maybe Cannon and Cato had ridden on ahead for some reason. But that would leave the wagons unguarded, unless armed guards had been riding the wagons themselves but he didn’t think so. It wasn’t the best way to watch over moving vehicles, to have your guns riding with them. It was better to give them more mobility. No, those horses in that thicket didn’t belong to Cannon or Cato or anyone connected with the wagons, he’d bet on it. But this was bandido country, so it could be a couple on the lookout for some unfortunate pilgrim using the pass and aiming to cut his throat for his boots. Or it could be someone waiting for the gun-runners, just as he was.
In any case, he had to find out who owned those mounts. He moved swiftly from rock to rock, working his way up the slope to the thicket. There wasn’t a lot of cover as he got closer but he caught a glimpse of the rumps of the horses and, crouch
ing, looked through the thicket’s branches into the small clearing where they were tethered. All he could see were the restless legs of the mounts as they moved at their tie-ropes. There were no human legs visible. So Yancey decided to take a chance and went in with rifle at the ready.
Almost at once, he recognized the mounts as those used by Loveless and Clayton, and remembered how the men had ridden out of Condor soon after Cato and Cannon had left. There was no doubt now. They were here to make their try at grabbing the guns for themselves ...
And, if he needed anything more to prove to Cannon and El Halcon that he was a man to be trusted, then here it was waiting for him, almost served up on a platter.
Yancey didn’t hesitate any longer. He glanced up at the slope towering above him and saw that it could be climbed and, in fact, there were raw scars where someone had climbed up there not too long ago. They were likely sitting high up on the wall or on a ledge, watching the northern trail for signs of the gun-runners. If he had ridden in that way he would have been spotted and bushwhacked. Coming in as he had from the south had put him behind Loveless and Clayton and he figured he stood a pretty good chance of taking them by surprise.
It was a good bet that they were holed-up on this side of the pass as their horses were hitched here, but he couldn’t be certain. So Yancey had to keep the slope between him and the opposite wall and was forced to work his way across it as well as up. That meant he was longer reaching the top than if he had been able to climb straight up. And the longer he took, the more chance there was of the horses making noises loud enough to get one of the men on top looking down to see what was going on. And, if they did, Yancey would be spotted. He stood a chance if they were over on the opposite wall, but he didn’t really figure they would be. There was no point in tethering your mounts with a whole pass between them and you …
He was almost at the slope when he heard a louder trumpeting from one of the horses below. He didn’t know if it was his own horse or one of the others that had made the sound, but it didn’t matter, because it was like a clarion call in that still air. He ducked low, clinging to the rock he was halfway around, holding his rifle one-handed. He had lowered the hammer for the climb but now notched it back slowly and silently as he hung precariously on the outside of the rock, pressing his body as close against its smooth surface as he could.
“Better see what that was, Clay,” Loveless’ voice came, not more than ten to twelve feet above him and Yancey tensed, knowing Clayton would be looking down the slope towards the thicket in a moment and there was a good chance he would see Yancey hanging in space.
His fingers ached and he dug in hard to the crumbling sandstone, muscles beginning to cramp as they took his full weight. He moved his boots cautiously and pressed the worn soles hard against the rock, feeling its surface through the smooth leather. It eased the pressure on his muscles a little but he knew he couldn’t hang here much longer and, if he had to let go, he would bounce down the slope like a rubber ball, cannoning from rock to rock, until he finished up in a bloody and pulped heap at the bottom.
“Don’t look like anythin’ botherin’ the horses, Luke,” Clayton’s voice said above him and Yancey raised his eyes, seeing the man’s head and shoulders as he looked over the ledge above him. Clayton was starting to turn away when Yancey’s fingers began to slip and he made an instinctive movement to get a better grip. He didn’t make much noise, but a small amount of rock crumbled with the extra pressure and a shower of tiny grains cascaded out and spilled against his hat brim, rattling. The sound brought Clayton spinning about fast and his eyes opened wide when he spotted Yancey.
“Hell!” he yelled, bringing up his rifle. “It’s Banner!”
The man’s rifle was almost to his shoulder and the hammer spur was cocked when Yancey brought his own rifle around one-handed and dropped hammer. The Winchester’s explosion slapped back at him from the rock face and he lost his grip, falling, even as he saw his bullet smash into the middle of Clayton’s face and send the man spinning upright and sideways. Clayton’s body spilled off the ledge as Yancey’s boots jarred against the flat rock and he lunged forward, away from the edge, to keep from going over and down the slope. He sprawled across the rock, momentarily losing his grip on the rifle, scrabbling to hold on. Stones cut through his clothing and into his flesh and one leg dangled over the edge of the rock, but he got his knee back and drove forward again, thrusting with his other boot. His head cannoned into the rock and he saw stars but he was past the point of balance now and sprawled safely across the flat surface. He was even able to grab at his rifle and fumble it around, spinning onto his back as two bullets from above screamed off the stone beside his face. Below him, he heard the sickening sounds of Clayton’s body bouncing and thudding its way down to the bottom.
Loveless snapped another shot at Yancey from the high ledge and then the agent had another cartridge levered into the breech and he returned the fire. His lead whined off the rock and chopped splinters of stone off the edge, making Loveless whip his head back fast. When the man tried to see over for another shot, Yancey fired again and his bullet almost took Loveless’ head off. Instead, it was two inches high and whipped his hat into the air. Loveless ducked back and Yancey levered and waited, knowing he was exposed here but having nowhere to go. He couldn’t try to climb up now for Loveless could pick him off at his leisure while both hands were busy searching for grips on the rock. If he tried to go down, he would have forty feet of exposed, steeply sloping rock face to traverse and he had no doubt that he would end up beside Clayton’s battered corpse and looking just as dead.
One thing in his favor was that Loveless couldn’t poke so much as a finger over that ledge now without having it shot off. The man obviously realized this, for suddenly Yancey found several fist-sized rocks raining down on his ledge, smashing into the rock beside his body, one clipping his left shoulder. He squirmed in as close against the rock face as he could get and then he saw, with alarm, a huge rock twice as large as his head, being pushed towards the edge. By hell, if that fell on him it would plaster him all over the mountainside ...
He couldn’t just wait there for it to fall on him and kill him, but where the hell could he go? Up or down was equally disastrous. There was only one thing he could do to gain a little time. Yancey swiftly got to one knee. There was just barely enough room for him to kneel on the rock and raise the rifle, though he had to arch his back a mite. He sighted fast and began shooting, placing his shots all around the edge of the rock that Loveless was slowly pushing further out over the edge, fast approaching the point where it would fall. Chips of rock flew fast and furious and the bullets ricocheted wildly. None of them stood any chance of hitting Loveless from this angle, but it would be a steel-nerved man who could continue to push that rock with so much lead zipping and whining around him. If only by instinct, he would duck and whip his hands back fast out of the way. The rifle had only five shots left and when these were finished, Yancey figured he would have maybe ten seconds before Loveless would give the rock its final shove and drop it over onto his ledge.
The hammer clicked on an empty chamber and he didn’t hesitate. He flung the rifle high, in an arc that would take it up and over the rock that hid Loveless. He wasn’t trying to hit the man, but only aiming to gain more time. Loveless would whirl instinctively towards the sound of the rifle crashing onto the ledge up there only a few feet from him. It would give Yancey a few more precious seconds to pull off his desperate bid to come out of this alive ...
As soon as the rifle had left his hands, Yancey flung himself out to the right, launching himself into space, arms and fingers stretched to their limits as he lunged for an outcrop of rock just under the bulge of the big boulder he had been climbing when his horse had alerted Clayton and Loveless.
His fingers touched the rough surface and he grunted with the effort of forcing his body forward another few inches until his hands were able to wrap around a rough section of the outcrop. Breath gusted fro
m him as his body dropped across the sandstone and he heard the shocking impact of Loveless’ boulder as it smashed away the flat ledge where he had lain a few seconds earlier. Dust boiled up around him and he could hear the crashing and thundering of a rockslide started by the ledge giving way. He began climbing over the outcrop fast, for in a few seconds Loveless would look over the edge to see what his handiwork had done.
Yancey almost fell as he put weight onto his right knee and stones gouged into the kneecap. He shifted weight swiftly, found a purchase with one boot and thrust upright, catching a glimpse of Loveless leaning over his ledge to the left and above. He was busy staring down through the boiling dust and the still-tumbling rocks and didn’t see Yancey as the big agent managed to slip around the outcrop, getting it between him and Loveless’ position. He could work faster now and his side of the rock was rougher, giving him better purchase. He climbed rapidly, topped the rock and found himself within stepping distance of the same ledge that held Loveless. As he took that step, Loveless trod back from the edge, straightening. He whirled at a noise, hand streaking for his holstered Colt and he froze in shock when he saw Yancey. There was no time to draw or to stop his forward movement so Yancey increased his momentum by thrusting harder with the one boot that remained on the rock and launched himself in a headlong dive that took Loveless over onto his back.
As Loveless fell, he struck his head hard and Yancey staggered for balance. Panting, he dropped to his knees beside Loveless and whipped the man’s pants belt off, intending to use it to tie the man’s hands behind him. As he did so, he noticed that there was a soft leather pocket stitched into the back of the belt. Curious, Yancey opened the flap and saw that there were some wadded papers inside. Frowning, he pulled them out and unfolded the first. He felt shock jar through him as he sat back on his heels, staring down at the letterhead. It bore the circled star insignia of the Texas Rangers and the writing beneath proclaimed one, Lucas Loveless, as being a special operative of that law-enforcement group.
Bannerman the Enforcer 18 Page 9
