Rattler's Law, Volume One

by James Reasoner

  As Cully tried desperately to make his body respond to his brain's command, someone else hit him from behind. Long arms wrapped around him, pinning his own arms to his sides. He uttered a bitter curse as his pistol, which he had just managed to get out of its holster, slipped from his fingers.

  The first man slashed at Cully's head with his gun. Cully jerked his head to the side and felt the barrel scrape along his cheek. In the dim light from a lantern hanging in one of the stalls, the struggle was a nightmarish one, full of flickering shadows and grunts of effort and the whinnies of nervous horses. Cully was spun around, still in the bear hug of the second man.

  An image flashed in front of his eyes. For a second, he saw Elizabeth Stockbridge struggling futilely in the grasp of a huge, red-bearded man. The man had one arm wrapped around her in a viselike grip, and his other hand was clamped over her mouth. Elizabeth's eyes were wide and staring in terror.

  Then she was gone, as Cully was whirled around some more. He suddenly realized that the man holding him intended to ram him into the wall of the stable. Cully thrust a foot back, between the legs of his captor. The man stumbled, his balance abruptly gone.

  Cully tore himself from the man's grip. A ball of sickness churning in his stomach, he staggered and tried to right himself. He seemed to see two of everything, and the inside of the stable blurred before his eyes. He had only one thought: Where is Elizabeth?

  "Cully!"

  The shrill cry made him snap his head around. She had managed to slip away from the big outlaw, but before she could take more than a step, the man threw himself forward and grabbed her again. She shrieked as he jerked her backward.

  Cully finally saw the man's face clearly and realized with crystal clarity that it was Roscoe Wolfe. Only one man was that big and had that striking crimson beard.

  Cully took one frantic step toward Elizabeth and Wolfe, and then one of the other outlaws clouted him again with a gun barrel.

  He pitched forward. More bright lights danced in his head and then blinked out, one by one. He vaguely felt his face hit the ground, but he could see nothing except the winking lights.

  Cully heard Roscoe Wolfe growl, "Here! You two hold onto this hellcat! It's a good thing we spotted her slippin' in here. This is a lot easier than takin' her out of the hotel."

  As heavy footsteps approached Cully, he tried to lift his head, but his strength was gone. Only a few of the dancing lights still burned.

  "He still alive?" Wolfe asked.

  "Yeah," one of the other men grunted. "Boy's got a hard head."

  "That's all right. I'll finish him off. We want to keep things quiet, anyway." Wolfe's words were followed by a soft sound that Cully somehow recognized as the whisper of cold steel leaving a leather sheath.

  And then there was nothing. The last light winked out.

  Outside, Marshal Lucas Flint moved quickly out of the shadows next to the barn. He had watched Cully's behavior earlier in the evening with growing suspicion, and the lame excuse the younger man had offered when leaving the office had prompted the marshal to follow his deputy. Now he was glad he had done so, for he had been close enough to hear Elizabeth's cries.

  The lookout the outlaws had posted was at the half-open barn doors, intently watching the events unfolding inside the stable. Flint slipped silently behind him and brought the barrel of his Colt thudding down on the lookout's head. As the man slumped senseless, the marshal stormed into the stable, his keen eyes taking in everything.

  The scene was a grim one. Roscoe Wolfe stood over Cully's sprawled figure, a razor-sharp hunting knife raised to plunge into the helpless deputy's back. Two of his men stood nearby, each of them holding one of Elizabeth Stockbridge's arms. A rag had been hastily stuffed into her mouth to keep her from screaming again.

  Smoke and flame exploded from the gun in Flint's hand. Wolfe yelped in pain as the slug burned across the heel of his hand. The knife spun crazily away, the lantern light glinting on its blade.

  Flint snapped another shot at Wolfe. This one narrowly missed and forced the outlaw leader to dive for cover in a vacant stall. As Flint swiveled toward Elizabeth and the other two hardcases, he saw them disappearing through the open door of the tack-room. One of the men was dragging Elizabeth with him while the other yanked out his gun and began to blaze away at the lawman.

  "Put him down!" Wolfe bellowed. "Those shots'll bring the whole town!"

  That was exactly what Flint was hoping for. He had never expected to walk into a hornet's nest like this one, and as he flung himself to the straw-littered ground inside the stable and rolled rapidly to one side, he prayed that Angus and some of the other citizens would hear the gunfire and come running. But the odds weren’t too good.

  Flint rolled behind a grain bin and crouched there.

  He waited and hoped that the outlaws hiding in the tack-room wouldn’t think of using Elizabeth as a shield to make their escape.

  Suddenly, Wolfe abandoned his place of concealment in the stall and darted across the open area in the middle of the stable. He moved fast for such a big man, and the gun in his hand exploded in a flurry of shots that sounded like one mighty roll of thunder. Flint had to duck and hunt for more cover. Wolfe had an angle on him.

  One of the other men popped out of the tack-room, wielding a shotgun he must have found there. He threw the weapon to his shoulder and triggered both barrels, catching Flint in a crossfire.

  The man with the shotgun had aimed too hastily. Most of the charge missed, but several pieces of buckshot slashed into Flint's leg. White-hot needles of pain stabbed through his flesh, and the impact spun him halfway around before he fell.

  Sprawled on the ground, Flint fired once at Wolfe, making the big man lunge into another stall. Then he jerked the barrel of his Colt over and blasted a shot at the man with the shotgun. The slug tore through the outlaw's upper arm and sent him staggering back into the tack-room as the shotgun clattered to the floor.

  Flint tried to get up, but his leg refused to work. He could feel the steady trickle of blood running into his boot, but he couldn’t tell just how badly he was hit. The pain had been fierce but fleeting, and now his leg felt numb above the knee.

  Using his arms and his good leg, he dragged himself back behind the grain bin. It wasn’t much protection, but it would have to do. He began sliding fresh cartridges into his pistol, glancing at Cully's unconscious form as he did so. Flint couldn’t tell if any of the lead that had been flying around the stable had hit him.

  The lookout Flint had knocked out moments before suddenly came staggering into the barn, holding his head. "Roscoe!" he called. "You in here, Roscoe? There's a bunch of people comin'!"

  The dazed sentry had not spotted Flint. He stumbled closer, and for a moment the marshal wondered if he could capture the man and use him for leverage. It wouldn’t work, he decided. A man like Wolfe wouldn’t care about any member of his gang who was foolish enough to get caught.

  Then, before Flint could even attempt anything else, a rumble of hoofbeats filled the stable. Wolfe was stampeding some of the horses, Flint realized. And Cully was out there in the middle of the runway.

  Without pausing to think about it, Flint emerged from his scanty cover. Several wild-eyed horses dashed past, nostrils flaring, manes tossing as they raced out into the night. Flint had a fleeting glimpse of Roscoe Wolfe and fired wildly at him, doubting that it would do any good. The outlaws who had Elizabeth appeared for a second in the doorway of the tack-room. Then they raced from the stable using the frantic horses for cover. They were taking Elizabeth with them.

  Flint scuttled across the stable, dragging his bloody leg behind him. As he came closer to Cully, he saw that the deputy still seemed unhurt. Evidently the stampeding horses had veered around him.

  Guns roared and bullets kicked up dirt a few feet from Flint. He grabbed Cully's shirt with one hand and began dragging the deputy. He had holstered his gun to do this, but with the confusion in the stable, he doubted he would have been
able to mount an effective return fire anyway.

  Progress across the runway was agonizingly slow, but at last Flint slumped into the shelter of a stall, hauling Cully with him. His strength was completely gone.

  And so, it seemed, were Elizabeth Stockbridge, Roscoe Wolfe, and the rest of the outlaws.

  As an exhausted Flint slumped next to the inert Cully, an almost eerie silence fell over the stable. A moment later it was broken by the concerned shouts of townspeople converging on it. Flint looked up to see Angus MacQuarrie running into the barn, his shotgun clutched tightly in his big fists. Flint called the tavern keeper's name.

  Angus raced over to the stall and gaped at the two men lying there. "Lucas!" he exclaimed. "Wha' the devil happened t'ye?"

  Beside Flint, Cully stirred slightly and began to shake his head. Then he groaned and rolled onto his side.

  "You'd better get help, Angus," Flint said between

  gritted teeth. The numbness in his leg was starting to

  wear off, to be replaced by sheets of blinding agony.

  "It looks like...Roscoe Wolfe has just kidnapped...

  Elizabeth Stockbridge!"

  Wolfe ran hard, one big paw wrapped around Elizabeth's arm as he half dragged, half carried her. Behind them came the other three members of the band. The two injured men lagged behind a bit, but they kept up as best they could. Both of them knew that Wolfe would kill them rather than leave them behind to reveal what they might know of his plans.

  After everything that had happened, there was no reason to be quiet and careful. Wolfe and his men ran around the Kansas Pacific station, leaping over the rails of the main line as they headed for the train parked on the siding. "Kyler!" Wolfe thundered as he neared the train. "Get this thing moving!"

  From the cab, Kyler waved his understanding. He fed steam to the engine, the quiet hissing rapidly increasing in volume.

  As they approached the rear platform of the passenger car, Wolfe thrust Elizabeth into the arms of one of bis men. "Hang on to her, damn you!" the big man growled. He turned as the others scrambled on board the train, taking Elizabeth with them. She was past the point of struggling now, overwhelmed by everything that had happened to her.

  Wolfe ran alongside the train and past it, heading toward the switch where the siding merged with the main line. The locomotive's wheels were starting to turn slowly. It built up speed, cutting down the lead that Wolfe had on it.

  The lever was right in front of him now. He threw himself against it, shoving hard. The switch moved with a clunk of metal. Wolfe staggered back a few steps as the locomotive rolled by. It moved smoothly from the rails of the siding onto the main track and rolled on, gathering momentum, heading west toward the damaged section of track.

  As the passenger car rattled past him, Wolfe prepared to board. Timing his leap carefully, he threw himself forward in one smooth motion, grabbing for the railing around the platform as his booted feet found the step. Two of his men, who were waiting on the platform, grasped his arms and pulled him aboard.

  "We did it!" one of them whooped exultantly. "We did it!"

  "Of course, we did," Wolfe growled. "What did you expect?"

  As he looked at the rapidly receding lights of Abilene, a savage smile of satisfaction formed on the red-bearded outlaw's face.

  5

  Slowly Cully swam up through the black void that had enveloped him. He rolled onto his back, and when his head touched the hard-packed earth, a searing pain jolted through him. He jerked his head up, and the pain throbbed more intensely.

  Strong hands gripped his shoulders and lifted. A voice said, "Here, lad, le' me help ye." Cully recognized the rumbling tones and the accent of Angus MacQuarrie.

  Blinking his eyes against the glaring light of a lantern held over him, Cully looked around. He was still in the stable. A few feet away lay Marshal Lucas Flint. The right leg of his pants was heavily stained with blood, and several anxious townspeople were clustered around him.

  Cully glanced up at Angus and asked, "What happened?"

  Angus shook his head. "I dinna kin."

  Forcing away the throbbing in his head, Cully struggled to remember. He began to recall the viselike arms and the savage, spinning struggle.

  "Elizabeth!" he suddenly cried, looking wildly around and ignoring the pain in his head. There was no sign of her.

  "She's gone, Cully," Lucas Flint's taut voice told him. Cully looked over at the marshal. Flint had propped himself up on his elbows and was looking intently at Cully. "Roscoe Wolfe and his men kidnapped her and nearly finished you off."

  Cully put a hand to his head. "I...I remember coming into the stable, and then some fellows jumped me. Wolfe had Elizabeth..."

  "He was about to plant a knife in your back when I showed up and started trading shots with the gang," Flint said. "One of them winged me with a shotgun, and then Wolfe stampeded some of the horses and got away with Elizabeth."

  "How long ago?"

  "Just a couple of minutes."

  Ignoring the pain in his head, Cully grasped Angus's hand and pulled himself to his feet. His eyes scanned the ground for his gun. To the tavern keeper he said, "Have you sent for the doc?"

  "Aye. A feller's gone to fetch Dr. Keller."

  Cully spotted his Colt. He bent to scoop it up. For a moment, a wave of dizziness swept over him, but he fought it off. "I've got to go after them."

  Flint began, "Cully, you're in no shape—"

  The whistle of steam and the rumble of wheels cut him off. The sounds drifted in through the open doors of the stable. Cully jerked his head around. "That's got to be Stockbridge's train," he rasped.

  Before anyone could stop him, Cully dashed out of the barn, his pistol gripped tightly in his hand.

  The sound of the train was louder as he emerged from the building. Running across Railroad Street, he headed for the depot. This frantic action was sapping all the strength that he had, but his instincts told him that Wolfe and his men were stealing Nicholas Stockbridge's private train. There was no other reason for a train to pull out of the station at this time of night. And Elizabeth had to be on it with them.

  Cully took the steps leading onto the depot platform three at a time. The train had already cleared the switch from the siding onto the main line, its speed increasing by the second, and by now it was a couple of hundred yards down the track.

  Grimacing, Cully lifted his pistol and pressed the trigger. He fired again and again at the receding train, the weapon bucking back against his palm until the cylinder was empty.

  He knew it was hopeless. The range was too great, and if the outlaws even noticed his gunfire, they weren’t bothering to return it.

  There was nothing Cully could do except watch helplessly as the train disappeared into the darkness.

  The strain of the last few days was apparent on Rose Keller's attractive face as she hurried into the stable, carrying her black medical bag. The circle of men around Lucas Flint parted, allowing her to slip through and kneel beside the marshal.

  As Flint looked up at her, he saw deep circles around her warm brown eyes and weary lines around her mouth. "Sorry to have to drag you out again, Rose. I know you're worn out," he said.

  "Nonsense," she said briskly, brushing aside his concern. "Doctors are used to going without sleep." She took a small knife from her bag and began slitting the leg of Flint's pants. Despite her experience in treating gunshot wounds, she still paled at the sight of buckshot-torn flesh.

  As she began cleaning the wounds with the disinfectant that she took from her bag, Flint grimaced and caught his breath. After a moment, he asked, "How does it look?"

  "It looks bad," Rose began bluntly. Then her voice softened. "Actually, I think it looks worse than it really is. You've lost a lot of blood, Lucas, and that buckshot really tore some flesh on its way through. The wounds seem to be clean, though, so barring infection, a few weeks of bed rest ought to have you back on your feet."

  "A few weeks?" Flint exclaimed
. "I can't lie abed for that long!"

  Angus MacQuarrie was crouching on the other side of Flint. He put his large hand on the marshal's shoulder. "Ye'd best take it easy, Lucas. You're ginna have t'take the doctor's orders, laddie."

  "But—"

  "Hush now," Rose said as she began to bind up the wounds with a roll of bandage.

  Cully Markham came back into the stable, his face bleak. Flint twisted to look up at his deputy and said, "Did you see them, Cully?"

  "All I saw was that train pulling out of the station, Marshal. But I know Wolfe and Elizabeth were on it. Nobody else would have any reason to steal that train."

  "Rose, you'd better have a look at Cully's head. He caught a pretty good wallop on it," Flint said.

  Rose deftly secured Flint's bandage, then went to the deputy and gently felt the back of Cully's skull while he fidgeted.

  "You've got a pretty good lump there," she announced a moment later. "Are you having any trouble seeing?"

  "Not right now," Cully said. "Earlier, when I was still fighting with Wolfe's men, I started seeing two of everything for a minute. That seems to have cleared up, though."

  Rose nodded thoughtfully. "Double vision is one symptom of a concussion."

  "That anything like a plain old busted head?"

  "A concussion is a bruise on the brain itself," Rose explained. "It's less serious than a skull fracture, but it's still nothing to take chances with. I'd recommend a few days of bed rest."

  "Bed rest?" Cully asked incredulously.

  Grinning through his pain, Flint said, "Don’t take it so hard, Cully. She wants me to stay off my feet for a couple of weeks."

  "At least," Rose added firmly with a stern look.

  Cully shook his head. "I've got too much to do. I've got to get a posse rounded up so we can start after Wolfe and his gang."

  "You'll be taking a chance with your health if you do," Rose warned him. "But it's up to you, I suppose." She turned to the men who were gathered around them. "Some of you please help the marshal over to my office."

  Angus stooped and slid a brawny arm around Flint. He lifted the marshal and supported him while another man draped Flint's arm over his shoulders.