The walls were almost sheer, but they were rugged. A man could probably climb down in there and back out again, although he would be risking a bad fall if he slipped. There was no way a horse could handle those slopes, though.
John Henry supposed that if the ravine were unguarded, a large enough force to take the outlaw stronghold might climb into and out of it and sneak up on the place on foot. For the most part, though, the Silver Skull appeared to be as impregnable as Lottie claimed it was.
The sound of hoofbeats made him rein in and turn to look toward the ranch. He spotted a rider a couple hundred yards away, coming toward him at a trot.
Even at that distance, John Henry could tell how big the man was. His eyes narrowed.
It was Sven Gunderson.
John Henry waited where he was, a few yards from the edge of the ravine. He didn’t know what Gunderson was doing out there, but suspected it couldn’t be anything good.
Maybe he was jumping to conclusions. All he knew was that he was going to continue to be watchful and careful. He rested his right hand on his thigh near the butt of his gun.
Gunderson reined in when he was about ten feet away. He didn’t have the plaster on his nose anymore, but it was still red and swollen. He glared at John Henry. “Garrett told me to come out here and help you, since you’re the new man.”
“I don’t need any help,” John Henry said. “You can go back to the ranch and tell him that.”
Gunderson snorted. “Tell him I didn’t follow orders? I don’t think so. Have you seen his hand?”
“I’ve seen it,” John Henry replied curtly.
“That’s what he did to himself when he was mad. What do you think he’d do to somebody else if they riled him?” A hollow laugh came from the big man. “If you’d seen some of the things he’s done to the men he hates . . .”
John Henry started to say something about the murders of Charles Houston and Lucas Winslow, but he caught himself in time. The drifting gunman and outlaw he was pretending to be wouldn’t know anything about those killings. And “John Saxon” hadn’t really been in Kiowa City long enough to have picked up any gossip about them. Instead he said, “If you want to patrol the ravine, go right ahead. Just stay out of my way.”
“Garrett said to stay with you.”
“Well, he’s not here, is he? He won’t know where you rode and who you were with unless you tell him. I’m not going to say anything about it.”
Gunderson lifted his reins, shrugged, and said grudgingly, “All right, if you—”
He stopped in the middle of his sentence, drove his spurs into his horse’s flanks, and sent the animal lunging forward as it screamed in pain. Gunderson’s mount was a big bay—a horse had to be big to carry his weight—and the cruel raking of the rowels made it react instantly.
John Henry had suspected some sort of trick, but even though he immediately tried to jerk Iron Heart out of the way, he didn’t have quite enough time. Gunderson was on him in the blink of an eye. The bay rammed a shoulder into Iron Heart and staggered the big gray.
John Henry’s gun flashed into his hand as Gunderson kept driving the bay into Iron Heart. Gunderson plucked a coiled lariat from his saddle and slashed at John Henry with it.
The lawman’s gun roared, but the heavy lariat struck his arm just as he pulled the trigger and knocked his aim off. The bullet whined harmlessly through empty air.
John Henry realized that Gunderson was trying to force him and Iron Heart over the rim and into the ravine. That had probably been his plan all along. The business about Garrett sending him was just an attempt to catch John Henry off guard.
The gray stood up valiantly to the attack, but the other horse had the advantage in weight and Iron Heart was already off balance from the initial collision.
John Henry kicked his feet out of the stirrups as he felt his mount start to fall. He threw himself out of the saddle as Iron Heart crashed to the ground a few feet short of the edge. Unfortunately, John Henry’s momentum carried him toward the brink.
He twisted in midair to slow himself and landed at the very edge of the rim. His free hand clawed at the ground to keep from going over.
Hoofbeats thundered as Gunderson rode at him. John Henry scrambled aside, hoping that Gunderson had cut it too close and would plunge over the edge himself. The big Swede hauled back on his reins and stopped short of the rim.
John Henry had managed to hang on to his gun when he fell. He whipped it up, but before he could fire, the toe of one of Gunderson’s boots caught him on the wrist in a vicious kick. The Colt flew out of his fingers and went spinning away.
Gunderson dove out of the saddle and landed on top of him like an avalanche. Gunderson’s weight drove the air from his lungs and made his ribs groan.
John Henry snapped a punch at Gunderson’s nose, but the man blocked it just in time. Now that he knew his own weak spot, Gunderson would do everything in his power to protect it.
“I’ll kill you!” Gunderson growled. “Nobody does what you did to me and gets away with it!” He hammered punches at John Henry’s head.
John Henry blocked most of them, but a couple got through and landed with stunning power. His brain was spinning like the wheels of a runaway wagon.
He flung his right leg up and hooked the calf in front of Gunderson’s neck. The man was immensely strong, but John Henry had the leverage to push him away for a second—just long enough for the lawman to roll out from under him.
With Gunderson’s weight no longer pressing on his chest, John Henry could breathe again. He forced himself to his feet in time to meet Gunderson’s charge.
The Swede’s sledgehammer fists exploded through the air. John Henry ducked and weaved and even though a few of Gunderson’s punches caught him, they were only glancing blows.
Even so, that was more punishment than he could continue to absorb for very long. He had to find some way to reach the big man’s nose again if he was going to have any hope of surviving the battle.
Gunderson windmilled a right. John Henry leaned away from the flailing blow and kicked Gunderson in the stomach, hoping that would double the big man over and bring his nose down where he could hit it.
Gunderson grunted and stumbled a little, but that was his only reaction. He brought his right around in a backhand that landed on John Henry’s shoulder. John Henry’s arm went numb from the force of the blow, and it sent him tumbling off his feet.
Both men were still dangerously close to the edge. As John Henry fell, he scrambled with hands and feet for purchase to keep from rolling off.
He caught himself, raised his head, looked past Gunderson, and saw that the two horses were fighting it out as well. Iron Heart and the bay had reared up on their hind legs and were slashing at each other with their fore hooves.
John Henry would have helped his old friend, but he had his hands full at the moment. Gunderson bull-rushed him again and tried to sweep him into a bear hug.
For a second, the deputy marshal considered letting Gunderson grab him, on the chance that he could then reach the Swede’s nose, but it was too risky. Gunderson might crush his ribs before he could do enough damage to the big man’s weak spot.
John Henry darted and twisted aside. He clubbed both hands together and smashed them into the small of Gunderson’s back. The impact made Gunderson take a stumbling step toward the edge.
John Henry hit him again with both hands. If he could land enough blows like that, he might be able to drive Gunderson over the brink.
Gunderson caught himself and turned with shocking speed. One of his ape-like arms flashed up and his fist landed on John Henry’s jaw. The brutal punch sent John Henry to the ground again.
Gunderson pounced like an ape, too. One hand locked around John Henry’s upper left arm, the other caught hold of John Henry’s thigh. “Now you’ll pay for what you did!” Gunderson bellowed as he held John Henry over his head. Dust flew around his feet as he stampeded toward the edge.
To his horro
r, John Henry realized that Gunderson intended to throw him into the ravine, where he would plummet to almost certain death.
Chapter Fourteen
In the seconds he had left before disaster befell him, John Henry realized that Gunderson had made a mistake. Dangling from the big man’s hands, he could finally reach the outlaw’s tender nose.
He kicked it as hard as he could, driving a boot heel into the center of Gunderson’s face with enough force to rend cartilage and shatter bone.
Gunderson howled and let go of John Henry to clap both hands over his ruined face. The lawman fell awkwardly onto Gunderson’s shoulders as the giant leaned forward, stumbling from the blinding agony of the kick. John Henry’s weight made him pitch forward, out of control and unable to stop himself.
He went head-first over the ravine’s edge.
Gunderson’s horrified bellow filled the air as John Henry landed at the very brink. He couldn’t stop, and slid over, plummeting down.
He fell for only a fraction of a second before he crashed into something that stopped his fall. He slapped his hands against the earthen wall of the ravine and dug his fingers into it. He clung there, his heart pounding from the fear of falling.
When his brain was working clearly again, he lifted his head to look around. He had landed on a tiny ledge about ten feet below the rim, barely wide enough to support him and only about four feet long. He’d been lucky to land perfectly. Otherwise, he would have continued falling all the way to the bottom.
For the moment, he was stable. He breathed heavily until his pulse stopped racing. Then he took stock of the situation and tried to figure out his next move.
He couldn’t climb up out of the ravine from where he was, that was for sure. The part of the wall right above him was sheer, with no protruding roots or knobs that could serve as handholds.
But he couldn’t stay where he was, so if he couldn’t climb up, maybe he could climb down. He craned his neck and twisted it so he could look below him.
The first thing he saw was Gunderson’s body. The big man lay facedown at the bottom of the ravine, unmoving. For the moment at least, he was no longer a threat.
John Henry spotted a little crevice about six feet below him. If he hung by his hands from the ledge, he could get a boot toe in there. With that to support him, he thought he could reach out to his right and get hold of the wall where it jutted out slightly.
His eyes traced a path of similar handholds and footholds that would be dangerous, but he didn’t see any other way to reach the bottom.
Well, short of falling. That thought put a grim smile on his face.
His breathing and pulse back to normal, he got a good grip with his hands and eased his legs off the ledge. Hanging on tightly, he worked his toe into the crevice, then let go with his right hand and reached for that handhold.
It took a good twenty minutes to negotiate the forty feet to the bottom of the ravine, and by the time he dropped the last few feet and landed on solid ground, his nerves were stretched almost to the breaking point and his muscles were trembling from the effort he had made.
But he was down, and he was still alive.
That was more than he could say for Sven Gunderson. His head sat at an odd, unnatural angle on his neck. The Swede was big enough and strong enough to stand up to a lot of punishment, but he couldn’t shrug off a broken neck.
John Henry left Gunderson there and started walking along the bottom of the ravine, where patchy grass and a few scrubby bushes grew. As he walked, John Henry scanned the southeast wall for a place where he could climb out.
It wouldn’t do him any good to climb out on the northwest side. That would put the ravine between him and his horse, and between him and the ranch, as well.
He hoped Iron Heart was all right. He didn’t hear any sounds of the horses fighting anymore.
After the climb down, he wasn’t looking forward to making an ascent, but he didn’t have any other option except waiting for Purcell and Byrne to come back. He didn’t know how they would react when they found out that Gunderson was dead. It would be better to meet them on level ground, with his gun back in its holster.
A clump of brush grew against the base of the wall up ahead. John Henry didn’t pay much attention to it at first, but as he came closer he noticed something intriguing. When he reached the brush, he pushed some of it aside to reveal what it concealed.
The dark mouth of a cave lay behind the brush. It was an irregular opening, barely wide enough and tall enough for a man to turn sideways and squeeze through it.
That was interesting—caves weren’t that common in this part of the country—but he wasn’t curious enough to explore it. He might have walked right on past it, but then he glanced at the wall of the ravine and spotted something else that made him frown.
A number of small ledges jutted out on that wall. They formed a fairly regular pattern that extended all the way up to the rim.
John Henry stiffened as he realized those ledges had been formed by someone hacking away the sod. Positioned like they were, they resembled a ladder going up the side of the ravine. They would make climbing out a lot easier.
He turned back to the cave mouth and fished out the little tin container of matches he carried in his pocket. He took out one of the lucifers and snapped it to life with his thumbnail. When he extended his arm into the cave, the flickering light from the match showed him a narrow passage that twisted away into the darkness under the earth.
The cave was a natural formation; he had no doubt of that. But that wouldn’t stop someone from taking advantage of it. Moving sideways, John Henry edged a few feet into the cave and lit another match when the first one had burned down almost to his fingers. He penetrated a little deeper into the underground passage.
He stopped and studied the flame at the end of the match, squinting slightly against its glare as he held it in front of his face. The flame leaned a little toward the opening.
John Henry had thought he could feel air moving, and the match flame confirmed it. There had to be an opening somewhere at the other end of the cave.
Whether it was big enough to allow a person to climb through it or just provided some ventilation, he didn’t know. And the only way to find out was to follow the cave all the way to its other end.
He didn’t want to do that. There was no telling how far the cave ran or what sort of obstacles he might encounter along the way. He didn’t want to risk getting trapped. Besides, he didn’t like small, enclosed places to start with.
His nerves were jumping again. He backed toward the opening.
It felt good to step out into the daylight. Before continuing his search for a way out of the ravine, John Henry paused and took stock of his discovery.
Only one explanation really made sense. That cave, either naturally or through the addition of man-made tunnels, ran all the way to the ranch house and served as an escape route that could be used under dire circumstances.
John Henry shuddered at the thought of following that dark, narrow, twisting passage for a couple miles under the earth, but he supposed it would be possible to flee that way if the danger was bad enough. Folks could generally do whatever was necessary to survive.
He wondered if that bolt hole was the work of the Silver Skull’s original owner or if Lottie Dalmas was responsible for it. It seemed like something she would have done, a precaution in case the law ever got past her guards.
Of course, if the ranch’s original owner had put in the escape route, it was possible Lottie didn’t even know about it. John Henry thought that was doubtful, but he couldn’t rule it out.
Either way, the cave’s existence was another interesting bit of information he filed away in his brain, along with a myriad of other things that might come in handy later on.
He resumed his search, and twenty minutes later found a place where the southeast rimrock had caved in slightly, creating a slope that could be climbed.
John Henry was glad to see it. He had been
starting to worry that he might have to follow the ravine to its end before he could get out . . . and if that had proven impassible, he might have had to turn around and walk all the way to the other end.
When he reached the top, he paused and had a look around before he showed himself. No riders were in sight. He climbed to his feet and started walking quickly back toward the spot where he and Gunderson had battled. He figured he would find Iron Heart somewhere in that area.
The big gray found him first, trotting toward him and tossing his head as if to ask John Henry where the hell he had been. With only an assortment of scrapes and scratches on him from the fight with the other horse, Iron Horse seemed to be in pretty good shape. He butted John Henry lightly with his nose.
John Henry rubbed it as he laughed. “It’s good to see you, Iron Heart.”
John Henry didn’t see Gunderson’s bay anywhere. Unlike Iron Heart, who would never abandon John Henry, the Swede’s horse had probably returned to the barn when Gunderson didn’t climb out of the ravine.
John Henry swung up into the saddle and rode along the rim until he reached the spot where the Swede had jumped him. He dismounted and glanced into the ravine. After seeing that Gunderson had a broken neck, he hadn’t expected the giant to get up and walk around again, but the sight of the sprawled body was reassuring, anyway.
John Henry needed only a few moments to locate the gun he had dropped earlier. He brushed the dirt off it, checked the barrel to make sure it wasn’t fouled, and then slid the Colt back into leather. The weight of it on his hip felt good.
With that done, he went back to patrolling the stretch of the ravine as he had been ordered. He wondered if Garrett had really sent Gunderson out here, and if he had, had he told the Swede to kill “John Saxon”? Or had that been totally Gunderson’s idea?
He might never know, John Henry realized, and to tell the truth, the answer didn’t really matter.
The important thing was that he was still alive and Gunderson was dead.
Blood for Blood Page 9
