Yester's Ride

by C. K. Crigger

Shoving his pistols into the holsters, Heller took charge. “Milt, you keep Kuo penned up inside. Tell him to send out the girl. Tell him we’ll let him live if he does.”

  “Will we?”

  Heller grinned. “What do you think?”

  “I think we won’t.” Milt cast one last glance at Dunce’s body. “Why am I doing the talking? What are you going to do?”

  “I’m taking your other boy, and him and me are gonna round up these horses.” Heller toed Dunce, the body moving with a queer, slack motion.

  Milt turned a hard look on the gunslinger. “Don’t you shoot Beaver down. He’s a good boy.”

  “Yeah? Then you tell him he better not give me any trouble.”

  A rope hung looped over one of the corral posts. Heller picked it up on the way by, even as he yelled for Beaver to come help with the runaway horses. “And bring a couple bridles,” he added.

  Yester kind of thought Beaver’s footsteps lagged as he obeyed. If it were me, Yester thought, I wouldn’t be wanting to get anywhere near the man.

  He was lucky his runaway horse idea had worked, Yester thought. As soon as Beaver and Heller passed out of sight along the trail back to the main road, he shifted from his hiding place. Truth to tell, he was a little dismayed at how helpless he felt. And he sure enough hoped the two would catch up the horses before they got to where he and Nat had left theirs. Just not too soon. So far, none of the outlaws had any idea they had company.

  This looked like the best chance he’d ever get to rescue Ketta. But, first of all, he had to put Milt out of commission. And maybe Kuo, too, if the fire didn’t take care of him first. ’Cause chances were Kuo would just as likely shoot him or Nat, or both, as soon as the others. Which reminded him, just where had Nat gotten to? He hadn’t seen a sign of him for what seemed like hours.

  Keeping his eye peeled to avoid any nasty surprises, Yester made his way over to the woodpile and Dunce’s body.

  There wasn’t a lot of blood. Not like he’d been expecting. Nevertheless, Yester gulped down whatever it was trying to churn a way out of his stomach and set to searching for his rifle. He’d been about . . . here . . . when Dunce grabbed him. So, his rifle should be—

  He found it stuck in between a couple chunks of wood. Low down to the ground, he figured it’d been scooted there as he and Dunce wrestled and halfway covered with wood chips and the like. At least, he thought, shaking dirt out of the barrel, Beaver hadn’t spied it when he talked to Dunce. And neither had Heller, when he fired a bullet into Dunce’s tiny brain.

  Yester had no more than satisfied himself the rifle was safe enough to shoot than he spotted Heller. The outlaw had already captured the pinto and was riding him bareback.

  “Dammit. Lazy dang horse didn’t even get as far as the meadow.” Yester stared at him.

  Oblivious, the outlaw was twirling a rope as if he imagined himself a top hand. Beaver must’ve still been hunting horses, because he was nowhere in sight. As Yester watched, Heller turned the pinto in the direction the other horses had gone as if intending to help Beaver.

  Dangerous? Or a relief? Yester wiped sweat from his face.

  Just around the corner, his back turned to the woodpile, Milt was passing the time by pinging shots into the burning cabin, though not as if he had any ambition about it.

  No response came from the cabin. Maybe, Yester thought, because Kuo and Ketta were burned up.

  Rage swelled up like a red curtain behind his eyes. Without a second thought, Yester stood up. He brushed dirt from the rifle’s rear sight and propped the barrel on the topmost piece of wood on the stack. Perfect.

  The figure atop the pinto bobbed at the top of the vee. No matter. He had a good sense of timing. And when the proper time came, he squeezed the trigger like he was caressing a girl. Or like he dreamed of caressing a girl.

  The noise surprised him. And the recoil. And the evidence of good aim.

  Out in the meadow, the outlaw sagged to one side before he fell, sprawling amidst the grass and almost hidden by its tall height. Snorting, the pinto crow-hopped a time or two and trotted away. Behind him, the grasses threshed for a few seconds, then stopped.

  Milt had spun around. “What the hell?” He surveyed the scene for a few seconds, spotting the riderless pinto. As if sensing danger, he emptied his six-gun, firing one shot into the meadow grass and startling the horse into racing away again. Another shot went through the cabin window, where flames were bursting forth; yet another into the woodpile, missing Yester by scant inches. A fourth try ended on the revolver’s empty click. Milt sprang into shelter behind a nearby rickety three-wheeled cart and hunkered down.

  As for Yester, he let out a shaky breath. My God, he thought, hardly aware of the bullet that’d passed over his bowed head, I killed a man.

  And he wasn’t sorry. Not one bit.

  His head came up when Milt yelled.

  “Kuo, hiya, Kuo. You burned up yet? You and the girl?”

  KETTA

  Ketta hadn’t realized it before, but she’d been hanging by her fingertips from the tree branch with her eyes closed. Now they opened, and she looked down.

  “Nat!” Her fingers slipped. “Oh, Nat.”

  Her grip failed then, along with her strength, and she dropped, sure she’d have a broken ankle upon landing. She didn’t. All due to Nat following through on his promise, catching her before she hit the ground.

  He stood her upright, and let her go as if she were hot. Ketta, wanting nothing so much as to cling to him, flung her arms around him in a flash of exuberance.

  “Dang, Ketta, you’re getting heavy.” Nat appeared discomfited by her behavior, but maybe not exactly displeased. He detached himself, smiling down at her with a self-satisfied expression before tilting his head toward the burning cabin. Heat eddied through the log walls as smoke drifted from the roof. “Where’s the Chinaman?”

  Ketta frowned upward. “He’s supposed to be following me out.”

  “He’d better make it fast.” Shaking his head, Nat took her hand and pulled her along behind him.

  Ketta looked back. Kuo should’ve escaped by now, but the roof vent remained closed. She dragged behind as Nat did his best to hurry her. In consequence, they moved slowly. Nat insisted on silence, both of them crouching almost double until they were somewhere beyond the corral and he stopped.

  “Duck,” he said, lifting up some brush and gesturing her into a low, narrow opening.

  “What is it?” Ketta bent and peered ahead.

  “A hideyhole carved into the hillside. Just like the one you have at home, only smaller. Somebody dug this one with a pick and shovel. Like a cache. It’s a good place for you to hide.”

  She looked closer. “How did you ever find it?” It was well concealed, and almost invisible. Even if you knew it was there you might have to search.

  “Luck.” Nat’s chest puffed out, just a little. “One of those outlaws about walked up on me, and I had to get out of sight quick. Good thing he was noisy and I heard him coming. I’m a pretty good scout.”

  “You are, Nat,” she breathed. “A really good scout. I’m so glad to see you. But tell me quick, where’s Yester? I spotted him, you know, a while ago. Before the shooting started. I could hardly believe my eyes.”

  Without warning, tears flooded into those eyes. “He came for me. You both came for me. I didn’t . . . I was afraid . . .” She couldn’t go on.

  A blush turned Nat’s tan cheeks a dusky red. “Well, sure,” he said, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world for two sixteen-year-olds to come to a girl’s rescue and take on a gang of outlaws in the bargain. He turned from her, escape obviously on his mind.

  But Ketta wasn’t done with him yet. “Where is he?” she persisted. “Where’s Yester?”

  Nat put his finger to his lips. “Shh. Not so loud. We don’t want—”

  “Is he shot? Is he dead? Please, please, don’t let him be dead.” It was a wail of despair.

  “Hush, Ketta. No. Heck, n
o. He was shooting just a minute ago. I heard his rifle.”

  Though for the life of her Ketta didn’t see how he could tell one rifle from another just by the sound, she was willing to take his word for it. More than willing. Needful.

  “Oh.” It came out on a sigh. “Oh.”

  “Crawl on into this cave and wait while I go round him up. Don’t you move. I’ll be right back. We got to get out of here before the outlaws spot us.”

  “All right.” Ketta didn’t have it in her to argue. She didn’t want to see those evil men ever again. Not Heller, not Beaver, not Dunce, and especially not Milt. As for Kuo—

  What about Kuo? What about her father?

  YESTER

  Two down, two to go, Yester thought. Or make that three to go. He couldn’t discount the Chinaman. Even if the other outlaws had taken against him, and it appeared they were out to kill each other, it didn’t mean Kuo wouldn’t be happy to shoot either him or Nat at first sight.

  Speaking of Nat, Yester itched to meet up with him. If they banded together, maybe they’d be in a good enough bargaining position to talk to Kuo. Have him send Ketta out.

  If she was still alive in that burning cabin. Worry had Yester’s heart jumping around in his chest. She could be dead by now, shot or smothered by smoke. She was so small, didn’t have the lungs on her that a fellow did. Or her Chinaman father.

  But first, he had to do something about Milt, strutting around the perimeter of the cabin and thinking he sat in the top spot. Or was before he hid behind that cart. From what Yester could tell, all his attention centered on the cabin. Pure luck he still seemed to think Kuo the only enemy he faced. He wasn’t expecting Yester Noonan to take a hand, that was for sure, but time was running out.

  Yester fumbled in his pocket, found the last three shells for his rifle and, although the rifle wasn’t empty, loaded them. He went cold thinking about the lack of ammunition. What did he have, five shots, maybe six? Not many when he counted off the outlaws remaining. Milt, Beaver, Kuo. Their names echoed in his mind.

  Movement over at the cart drew his attention. Milt, stirring around, trying for a more open position. His rifle barrel still pointed at the window, where razor sharp shards of glass prevented a safe exit, in case Kuo and Ketta had thoughts of escaping through it.

  But he should’ve been watching the door.

  Yester received bare warning, alerted by the squeal of hinges. The door creaked open, revealing a narrow line of black. Smoke boiled out in an enveloping fog. A pistol barrel poked through the smoke.

  Milt noticed the movement at last. He rose up in a crouch, the cart wheel not doing much to hide him. His rifle pointed at the door where the crack widened. Almost as if he couldn’t help himself, the outlaw fired off a shot, then two or three more. Pieces of the door casing splintered away at the height of a man’s head.

  All movement halted. Milt and Kuo. Each waited on the other.

  Yester waited, too. From his angle, Kuo was just visible. A cough wracked the man, bending him almost double. As soon as it was over, he yanked the door all the way open and plunged outside, staggering as he raced toward the cart where Milt rose to his feet. He went faster than a person might think possible.

  Yester stood up, too. Wrenched to his feet without thought of being seen as the two outlaws each banged off a few more shots at each other. Neither man, he observed sourly, could hit a grizzly bear if it was standing right in front of him. Both missed. It looked like a standoff. Kuo flopped down on his belly on one side of the fire, while Milt knelt behind the cart wheel again. Both men were visible to the other, as well as to Yester.

  Go ahead, he thought, kill each other. But, inexplicably, they both held off.

  He wasn’t watching them anymore, anyhow. He was watching the cabin door yet again. Watching for his sister to come running out.

  He held his breath, as if willing her to do the same against the smoke. He willed her to run as she’d never run before, although she was always fleet of foot.

  “C’mon, Ketta,” he muttered. “C’mon.”

  But the doorway remained empty as flames burst through the cabin roof and shot upward into the darkening sky.

  The narrow, irregular area between the bluff and the burning cabin proved hotter than Hades as Nat darted through the shortcut in search of Yester. He shaded his eyes with a forearm and his mouth with his hand as he passed the fire, which now burned fiercely.

  Sweat poured from him when he came out the other side.

  Yester, his back turned to Nat, was visible from the corner of the cabin. The bumbling dumb fellow lay dead at his feet.

  Nat whistled, the high pitch of it lost as more gunfire erupted.

  Yester didn’t hear. He crouched with his rifle propped between chunks of wood, and, as Nat watched, he fired. Out in the meadow, a man fell from a horse.

  Nat tried the whistle again as Yester calmly reloaded his rifle, but this time, his mouth gone dry, no sound came out.

  Over at the other side of the cabin, Milt fired off a few rounds, apparently without aim, and reloaded. Maybe Kuo had been watching for the chance, because he burst out the cabin door as though poked with a sharp stick and raced toward the other outlaw, firing his pistol as he came.

  He flopped down on the near side of the fire Beaver had tended, and, for a few seconds, Nat figured for sure he’d been hit. And maybe he had, but then Kuo stirred and, like a snake, slithered toward Milt.

  “Filthy yellow bastard,” Milt yelled. “I got you now, by God.”

  Kuo, lying flat, snapped off a shot. The bullet hit Milt in the thigh, and, although he didn’t go down, it sent him staggering backward, away from the wheel’s scant cover.

  Nat, with the heat from the burning cabin about to set his shirt on fire, took the opportunity to run for the woodpile and Yester. The two outlaws traded shots again as he slid in beside his friend, barely avoiding Dunce’s body.

  Yester whirled, rifle aimed straight at Nat.

  Nat threw up his hands. “Don’t shoot.”

  “Nat.” Yester’s face appeared a little green under his tan, but relieved at the company. The rifle barrel dropped. “I was afraid you were dead, too. And Ketta.” Mouth tight, he glanced toward the cabin. “We’re too late. She’s still in there.”

  “Oh, no, she ain’t.” Nat grinned at his friend. “I’ve got her safe.”

  “Safe? You do?” An astonished, but hopeful, look passed over Yester’s face. “How?”

  “She got out through a roof vent on the backside of the cabin.” Nat gestured toward Kuo. “He boosted her through and told her to run.”

  “He did? The Chinaman?”

  “Yeah. Well, he is her pa. Right? Guess he thinks something of her.”

  “He should,” Yester said fiercely, facing toward the two outlaws again.

  Nat thought there might’ve been a trace of moisture in his friend’s hazel eyes. Yester’s sharp elbow in his ribs diverted his attention.

  “Look,” Yester said.

  Kuo was on the move again, and leaving a blood trail as he squirmed toward Milt.

  “Where’s he hit?” Nat asked.

  Yester shrugged. “Don’t know, but it appears as if he’s slowed down some.”

  “Yeah. It does. He has.”

  Once or twice they saw him brush at his eyes, like he had a hard time seeing what lay ahead.

  As for Milt, he’d collapsed into a sitting position, with his legs straight out in front of him. He bled even more copiously than Kuo. A good-sized puddle had formed under his thigh even as the thirsty ground sucked in the moisture.

  “Kuo must’ve hit Milt’s artery,” Yester said. “Looks like he’s bleeding out.”

  Maybe, but Milt found the strength to lever another cartridge into the rifle chamber and fire at Kuo. Careless aim or no, Kuo jerked as it hit. His left arm dragged uselessly at his side. Blood poured from the half-severed limb.

  “You’re a dead man, Kuo,” Milt hollered. Tried to holler anyway, his voice
failing.

  Kuo raised up. “So are you.” The wavering barrel of his pistol spat. A fresh spatter of red adorned Milt’s shirt at the gut.

  Blood spooled from Milt’s slack mouth. “Burned that yellow daughter of yours to a black crisp. Too bad. I’d’ve liked to use her.”

  “Gah. You’re wrong. She lives. She is too good for the likes of you.” Kuo smiled, and, from their place, both Yester and Nat could see his teeth were red and his mouth filled with blood.

  “Lung shot,” Yester said.

  Milt fired again, a bullet that plowed into the earth and cast dirt over Kuo’s head, now flat against the ground.

  But that was all. Except for the snap of the fire, it went silent.

  Minutes passed.

  Nat stood up. “Guess we’d better see if they’re dead.”

  “Yeah.” Yester arose, too, stepping around Dunce, but Nat stopped and pointed down at the body.

  “Did you kill him, too?”

  “Me? No. Heller, the gunslinger, did. Just pointed his gun and shot him like it didn’t mean a thing.” Yester shook his head. For some reason, Nat was relieved.

  YESTER

  Kuo breathed his last as Yester turned him over. He was pretty far gone, but his eyes met Yester’s for just an instant, and Yester could’ve sworn he saw relief there before the light died out.

  Milt, dead as last year’s birthday, was even uglier and stunk worse in death than in life. If such a thing were possible.

  “Suppose we ought to bury them?” Nat stood beside Yester with his hands behind his back.

  “I suppose.”

  “It’s a lot of graves.” Nat sounded a little overwhelmed. “Four men.”

  “I know. But it don’t seem right to just leave ’em lay for the bugs and the beasts.”

  Nat nodded, then his lips twisted. “They wouldn’t bother if it was us. You can lay money on that.”

  “I know.” Yester looked up. “But we ain’t them.”

  “We can lay them out under this tree. They must have bedrolls. We’ll wrap them in their blankets.”

  “You’re fussing like an old woman, Nat.” Tired to the bone, Yester dreaded touching the bodies and he knew it went against Nat’s grain.