But what was also left behind, Luke had noted, was a ragged ledge jutting out all along the top rim of the cavity. Like the larger slab that had torn away years earlier, it appeared inevitable that this ledge would also one day break free . . .
And maybe, with a little help, that could happen sooner rather than later.
The instant the lull in the shooting came, Luke sprang into action. He jackknifed to a sitting position, extended both arms over the top of the boulder, and began triggering the brace of Remingtons, one in each fist. This time he didn’t fire into the cavity at all, making no attempt directly on Augie, but rather he concentrated strictly on the ledge running across the top of the hollowed-out area. His slugs slammed in, chewing just above the jagged outcrop, chipping away at a weathered seam where the ledge appeared to be clinging to the rest of the canyon face.
Chips of rock flew and puffs of dust geysered upward. Bullets whined. And another kind of whine—coming from a confused and panicked Augie—could also be heard from deep within the cavity.
Then, just as Luke was triggering his last rounds, it happened. A loud cracking, ripping sound seemed to issue from the rock wall. It was like part of the canyon was groaning in pain. Until, suddenly, section after section of the ledge began crumbling away and tumbling down into a roiling, climbing cloud of yellow dust. From this a new sound grew, a low rumbling that rolled the length of the canyon. And with this was mixed Augie’s agonized screams as he was jarred out of the previously hollowed-out pocket and caught in the crushing spill of freshly loosened rock.
Chapter 2
Luke’s gamble had paid off better than he’d expected or even hoped.
Once the final piece of dislodged rock had settled, an eerie silence fell over the scene. It was made even more intense by the thick, choking cloud of dust that hung in the air and cut visibility to mere inches.
Luke remained kneeling behind his boulder. As if by their own volition, his hands quickly but silently went through the motions of reloading his guns. He was mindful of the fact that Oscar was still lurking somewhere and it was just a matter of time before he was bound to show up. For this reason, Luke kept his ears pricked sharp, listening hard for any sound coming from farther down the canyon, off to the west, the way Oscar had continued on with his and Augie’s horses.
Everything stayed still and quiet. Slowly, the dust haze dissipated. When he was able to see that far, Luke’s gaze sought out the pile of rubble directly below the hollowed-out area where Augie had lain in ambush.
The cavity was dramatically changed now, scoured away to a barely discernible indentation on the canyon wall. The ragged ledge that had jutted out above it was gone entirely, leaving its own fresh scar. The resulting heap of fallen, broken rock now lay on the canyon floor, sprawled halfway across the passage.
Within this heap, Luke could make out the twisted, half-buried form of Augie Turpin. One leg thrust out at an impossible angle; one arm, still clad in tattered remnants of the orange shirt, was bent at the elbow in a way no arm was ever meant to bend.
Luke was still gazing at these remains, feeling no remorse for the man who’d tried to back-shoot him, when a new voice boomed down the canyon from off to the west. “Augie! What happened? Are you all right?”
Oscar had arrived.
Luke immediately shifted away from his boulder and slipped into a shallow crevice worn into a sloping section of the south canyon wall. This gave him cover against Oscar’s approach and also provided the option of being able to lean out and return fire or, if need be, fall back to another position. He meant to avoid getting pinned down again.
The biggest problem, he reminded himself bitterly as he glanced back over his shoulder at the carcass of his fallen horse, was that the time it took for the dust cloud to clear hadn’t given him the chance to retrieve his Winchester or any additional ammunition. Once again he’d have to deal with a Turpin brother, likely armed with a rifle of his own, and only have the Remingtons and the diminished supply of cartridges left in his gunbelt to do so.
“Augie!” Oscar’s voice boomed again. “Talk to me!”
“I’m afraid Augie’s talking days are all over with,” Luke called back.
There was a moment of silence. Then: “Is that you, Jensen, you blasted bloodhound?”
“The name’s Jensen, right enough,” Luke said. “But the insult to my parentage—the kind of thing I understand you and your late brother knew about firsthand—is as far off the mark as Augie’s attempt to back-shoot me.”
“Are you sayin’ you did for Augie?”
“I’m saying he tried to kill me and I defended myself. I don’t know how to make it any plainer.”
Nothing more was said for several minutes. What had been an eerie silence now took on an ominous overtone.
Oscar was far enough back that the canyon walls had echoed his words somewhat, making it difficult for Luke to judge how far. Nor, no matter how hard he peered around the slope of rock he’d moved behind, could he pick up any sign of movement from the big man. The canyon in that direction bent slightly to the south after about forty yards. Luke guessed that was where Oscar was hanging back, just around that bend. That meant he didn’t have a very clear line of sight on Luke, either.
Luke licked his lips and glanced again at his fallen horse. If Oscar was indeed around that bend some forty yards to the west, and the horse was about twenty feet diagonally toward the east, maybe he had a chance to retrieve his Winchester after all. He could make a desperate dash and dive in behind the horse, using its carcass for cover. From there he’d have access to his rifle and plenty of ammunition and even a canteen of water in case of a prolonged gun battle with Oscar.
The only trouble with that notion—apart from the risk of making the dash in the first place—would be that falling behind the horse carcass would leave him pinned down once again. Sure, he’d have plenty of cartridges to throw lead with, but if Oscar was cautious about keeping to cover himself, they could play a game of duck and shoot that might drag on for hours without either of them gaining an advantage.
Luke didn’t like the thought of that.
His gaze once more touched on the crumpled, half-buried body of Augie and another idea started to form in his head. Oscar wasn’t all that much brighter than Augie had been. Maybe Luke’s previous plan to try and needle a Turpin brother into doing something stupid was worth another try.
“You know, Oscar,” he called after some quick consideration, “could be I’m mistaken about how bad a shape your brother is in. Could even be that he’s still got some life left in him.”
“What kind of crawfishin’ talk is that?” Oscar demanded. “Either you shot him and kilt him, or you didn’t. I reckon you’ve plugged enough men in your time to know the difference.”
Luke smiled. He sensed he’d succeeded in hooking the barb in Oscar.
“You see, that’s the thing. I didn’t actually shoot Augie. I was shooting at him when part of that canyon wall came loose and he got caught in a rockslide. He’s lying over there in the rubble. No doubt he’s hurt pretty bad and I haven’t seen him move or anything . . . but it could be he’s still alive and breathing in there.”
Oscar cursed again. “That’s mighty lowdown, tauntin’ me that way about my brother’s life.”
“And him trying to kill me—from the back—wasn’t lowdown?”
“You been doggin’ us for days. You been askin’ for it!”
“Okay,” Luke grated. “So now I’m asking something else—you man enough to finish the job face-on? You sent Augie to do the dirty work, to sneak around and try to take me out like a yellow cur. Now he’s left crushed and maybe dying a slow death. You going to keep hanging back, just blowing hot air and talking mean, or are you ready to take a turn at coming for me and maybe having the chance to still save your brother’s life?”
Things went quiet again for a tense few seconds. This time, however, Luke could hear the sounds of movement from Oscar. Faint grunts of effort, th
e scrape of a boot against rock. And then came a sharp intake of breath and Luke recognized it meant that Oscar had moved to where he was able to finally see what was left of his brother.
“Augie . . . !” The name came out in a mournful groan.
“I don’t think he can help you now,” Luke said, poking the barb deeper.
“Shut up!” Oscar roared. And then, almost immediately, his voice broke and softened into a barely audible whimper. “Oh, Augie . . . I’m so sorry . . .”
“Look there!” Luke said suddenly and with exaggerated urgency. “Did you see that, Oscar? Did his arm just move a little bit, or was it only a piece of his shirt stirring in the breeze? Maybe he heard your voice and he’s trying to signal you, begging you to come help him before—”
“Shut up, I told you!” Oscar roared again. “Haven’t you done enough?”
“I think that’s a question it’s time to ask yourself,” Luke responded, really laying on the taunting tone in his voice. “You’re partly responsible for Augie being in that condition. Is that enough? Is that all you’re going to do, besides whimpering and saying you’re sorry? Or are you going to make me pay and maybe—just maybe—try to get to Augie in time to—”
“You’re damn right you’re gonna pay!” Oscar bellowed, his rage making his voice ring out louder than ever. He burst around the bend of the canyon and came rushing forward in long, lumbering strides. He held a Henry repeating rifle at waist level and began shooting from the hip, levering and firing round after round as he ran. With a maniacal fire dancing in his eyes, he screamed, “I’m comin’ for you, Augie! Comin’ for revenge and to save you!”
Even though he’d been trying to provoke some kind of response along these lines, the suddenness and recklessness of it still caught Luke a bit off guard. What was more, the accuracy of the volley Oscar threw ahead of himself as he launched his frantic charge came too close for comfort. Luke was forced to jerk back momentarily as bullets came whistling in and blasted away slices of the rock slope he stood behind, mere inches from where his face had been peering around it just a fraction of a second earlier.
After those first few moments, though, it really was no contest. It became just a matter of bringing the trackdown of the Turpin twins to a grim, bloody conclusion. Though the terms of the wanted posters issued on them were “Dead or Alive,” Luke had been hoping, as he always did, to take them in upright in their saddles. But for the sake of his own survival, that option was closed to him, first by Augie and now Oscar.
Dropping low, where he wouldn’t be expected to re-appear, Luke leaned suddenly out around the base of the sloping rock and returned Oscar’s fire. Although his breath was now coming in hard puffs and he was starting to slow, the big man had covered a surprising amount of ground from where he’d started, and the Henry was still spitting flame and lead.
Meaning to give his target one more chance to come out of this alive, Luke extended his right-hand Remington and fired three rounds, aiming to cut Oscar’s legs out from under him. He succeeded, planting lead in each of the man’s heavy thighs and sending him crashing to the ground. The Henry went flying from his grasp.
Wanting to believe he’d brought this to an end, Luke straightened up and eased cautiously out from behind his cover. He kept the gun in his right fist leveled on the fallen man while his left hand rested on the butt of the still-holstered Remington.
“Just lay real still, Oscar,” he said in a steady voice. “Hold your hands out away from your body and don’t try anything foolish.”
“You’ve crippled me,” Oscar groaned, dust puffing up from where his mouth was pressed against the ground.
“You’re wounded but still alive,” Luke told him. “You don’t know but what a good doctor can fix those legs so you’ll be able to walk fine.”
“For what? So I can walk up the gallows steps?” After those words, Oscar issued a different noise, a mixture of another groan and an agonized animal sound. “No! I ain’t goin’ thataway!”
He jabbed his hand in where his bulging stomach was mashed to the ground and clawed at the waistband of his trousers.
“Don’t try it, Oscar!” Luke warned.
But it was no use. A second later, Oscar’s hand pulled free and this time it was gripping a short-barreled Colt revolver that he tried to swing in Luke’s direction.
The Remington spoke one more time. A red-rimmed hole appeared above Oscar’s left eyebrow and a chunky mist of scarlet sprayed out the back of his head. His face and the revolver dropped simultaneously to the ground.
Luke stood very still for a long count. Then, holstering the Remy, he said in a husky voice, “You had your chance. Now you can walk into hell on those crippled legs.”
Chapter 3
The first thing Luke did was walk up the canyon and collect the Turpin horses before they wandered off. Luckily, Oscar had shown the sense to hobble the animals so they wouldn’t be spooked by the sound of gunfire. Luke followed suit, hobbling the pair once again after he got them back to the ambush site, ensuring that neither the scent of fresh blood nor the touch of a stranger would make them want to scatter.
Then came the task of loading the two dead bodies onto the back of the sturdiest-looking of the two horses, a deep-chested paint. It was only early May, but the sun was climbing steadily higher and hotter in the cloudless Montana sky and there was precious little in the way of shade in the canyon. Luke knew that by noon the rocks all around him would be blistering to the touch and he wanted to be out of here before then.
The task of loading a limp, lifeless body up onto a horse was never easy, even though Luke had had plenty of practice at it. And Oscar’s bulk certainly added to the difficulty. But the tall, craggy-faced, black-clad bounty hunter’s own powerful physique and the techniques he’d developed during all the times he’d done it before prevailed, though he was dripping sweat by the time he was done.
Next came the job of not only loading up Augie but having to first dig him out from under the rockslide rubble. Before tackling that, Luke took a few minutes to sit down on a slab of broken boulder and catch his breath between long swallows from his canteen.
It was during that still, quiet moment of rest that the faint sounds began to reach him . . . the periodic click of horseshoes against rock.
Someone was approaching from the east. Not hurriedly and apparently not making any attempt to hide the fact they were out there. That was potentially a good sign. But Luke had survived too long on the edge of danger to accept anything for granted and not take precautions when he had the chance. He once again slipped behind some cover and became motionless. Waiting.
It took a few minutes for the approaching horseman to appear. When he did, he showed himself to be a man of about forty, average height, solid looking, sitting easy in the saddle of a gleaming black gelding. The rider wore a high-crowned black Stetson and a black leather vest over a maroon shirt. A walnut-handled Colt was holstered on his right hip. His facial features were evenly chiseled, conveying a measure of hardness especially around the dark eyes that swept alertly under thick black brows. He gave an overall impression of competence but not someone who went looking for trouble.
As he drew nearer and his gaze touched on Luke’s dead horse, Augie still in the rubble pile, and then Oscar over the back of the paint, his expression seemed almost as if he’d been expecting what he saw.
Luke spoke without exposing himself. “Rein up easy, mister. Keep both hands where I can see them plain.”
The stranger did as he was told. His gaze searched calmly in the direction of Luke’s voice. After a moment, he said, “Looks like you’ve already had a fair share of trouble here. I’m not looking to bring any more.”
“That’s good to hear,” Luke said. He stepped out slowly, revealing himself. “It still leaves me wondering, though, just what does bring you here. This canyon is hardly a commonly traveled route for most folks.”
“True enough,” the stranger said with a faint tip of his chin. “The
short answer to your question is that—providing you’re Luke Jensen, which I believe is the case based on the description I was given—I’m here looking for you. I’ve been following you, trying to catch up, for a couple of days now.”
Luke’s eyebrows lifted. “I’ll confess to being Jensen. Now let’s hear the rest of it—who are you, and why have you been trying to catch up with me?”
“My name’s Patton. Asa Patton. I work for a man named Parker Dixon.” The stranger paused, wagged his head. “I can see by your expression that neither of those names mean anything to you. Nor should they, especially mine. But Mr. Dixon is a prominent businessman with holdings throughout much of western Montana. He wants to meet with you and discuss a business proposition. When he learned you were in the area and had passed near Helena as recently as a few days ago, he sent me after you. He asks that you return with me at your earliest convenience and gives assurance that he will compensate you for your time and the trip.”
Luke cocked his head to one side. “That sounds mighty intriguing, not to mention mighty generous. No offense, but almost too generous. Enough so to make it smell a little fishy. Just what is this ‘business proposition’ of Dixon’s about?”
“I can’t say,” Patton replied. “Mainly, because I don’t know the details. But to be honest, even if I did, I’m pretty sure Mr. Dixon would want me to leave them for him to reveal. What I can tell you—make that assure you—is that Mr. Dixon isn’t in the habit of making overly intriguing or overly generous offers without good reason. And those who have entered into business dealings with him in the past have tended to benefit very well.”
Luke continued to regard the dark-eyed messenger. He asked, “How much do you know about me, Patton?”
Patton met his gaze with a level one of his own. “Not much. Basically, that you’re a bounty hunter with quite a reputation.” He glanced at Augie and Oscar. “I gather these two gentlemen represent your latest accomplishment in that line of work. The Turpin brothers, I assume, since I heard that was the name of the most recent fugitives you were on the trail of?”
Hired Guns Page 2
