Two more men ran out and Sundance let them get close to the edge of the stream before he opened fire. It had to be done fast because the main party opened up as soon as he fired the first shot. Sundance’s first bullet slammed into the chest of the Mexican to the left, then he swung the Winchester and knocked the other Mexican back into the water. The current began to carry him away. One of the men on the other side of the stream tried to duck back the way he had come. Sundance got him next, knocking him down with two bullets in the back. The other man was firing up the slope, but making no attempt to run. Bullets sang around Sundance’s head as he took steady aim and killed the man at the foot of the slope. Then he ducked down while they kept on firing from the cover of the trees. Lead spattered against rock as the firing went on and on. The firing was so furious that he knew Bannerman was trying to send other men across under the cover of the storm of lead. He rolled away from where he was and tried to find another opening in the line of rocks, but they were laying down rifle bullets from one end to the other. He had to roll right to the end of the rocks and away from them before he had a chance to fire without being killed. Now he was in tall dry grass but still no more than ten feet from where the lead was flying. He raised up and they were coming across all right, three of them. He got off three shots, killing one and wounding another, before the main force moved their sights and started blasting again. He knew he had to get out fast. If he didn’t he was dead. He couldn’t hold them here.
They had plenty of ammunition and were using it as fast as they could. He ran back to the stallion. The step-back in the side of the long slope to the pines kept him from being seen. So they kept on firing even after he was leading the stallion away. He had been wrong in his guess at Bannerman’s strength: he must have started out with at least twenty men. Even with five dead and one wounded, he had all the men he needed. And in a minute they would be able to see him when he started up the slope to the first growth of pine. After that they would cut loose with everything they had. The range was fairly long and the elevation would make for difficult shooting, but if they got off enough bullets he might catch one or two.
‘Move, boy!’ Sundance said, and then man and horse were out in the open, running hard. For seconds nothing happened, then there was a chorus of wild yelling, and the rifles below opened up again. Bullets splintered the shale on the slope as Sundance ran behind his horse.
Bullets followed them all the way to the top, but they got there without being hit. They plunged into the cover of the thickly growing pine trees. Sundance said, ‘Go on, boy! Keep moving!’
He led the stallion up through the pines. Behind and below him the firing had stopped, and he knew they were coming across the stream. It was getting closer than he had expected. Bannerman’s extra strength was making the difference. He would have to cut it down before they boxed him in somewhere, because with enough men Bannerman could just wait and wear him down. And now, for the first time, he wondered if he was going to get Bannerman after all. All he needed was one clear shot with the Remington, but Bannerman was too smart for that. He would hang back and tell his gunmen what to do. There was nothing to do but go on and keep figuring.
There was another deep shelf in the side of the mountain, and pines covered all of it. As far as he could see there was no break in the trees. There would be a break as he climbed higher and the tree-line gave out. Up past the timberline there would be nothing but rock and brush. In places the cover would be bad, but that was better than being caught in the pine forest where they could come at him from all sides. The pines grew too closely for riding, and the going was slow for a long time. By this time Bannerman and his men would be into the start of the pines. They would be more confident now, after having driven him back from the stream, but they would still be thinking of the Remington.
Sundance kept going for another thirty minutes until the mountain shelf started to climb up toward the timberline. The light was stronger as the trees thinned out and fell away behind him. He had to find his way through a huge scatter of rocks before he was out of the trees. The mountain loomed over him. No matter how high you climbed, there would be a step-back, and then it would surge upward again.
Out of the trees, he was in another country: bare, bleak, dry, and cold. He knew he was up about four thousand feet. He climbed until he reached a sort of plateau that ran back for miles until the climb began again. It was a plateau split by ravines and impassable in places because of great upthrusts of rock. There was wind here, and at night it would be cold. On the plateau there would be no water; nothing grew there. As he started across it he knew there would be no place to defend here. He would have to get to the other side of the rock wasteland to look for a place. Before long Bannerman and his killers would be out of the pines, pressing hard on his trail. He could delay them a little with the Remington, but that wouldn’t work too well up on the flat. They could spread out wide, keeping plenty of distance between them. While he was shooting at one point in their line of attack, the rest of the line would keep moving in. It wouldn’t be long before some of them were behind him.
It was getting dark and he still wasn’t off the plateau. It had started at noon and it was now nine o’clock. The wind on the plateau was blowing hard and cold. In the west the sky was glowing like fire; there was still some light, but it would be gone in minutes.
The last light of the sun went out as if it had been snuffed, and suddenly the plateau was cold and dark. The darkness gave him some advantage for a while, then a cold moon flooded the plateau in light that would allow Bannerman to travel as easily as during the day. Sundance guessed it was about another five miles to the end of the plateau. If he could get there, he might still have a chance.
It took him almost two hours to get there, because most of the distance was taken up by rock splits and fissures. He led the stallion over the bad places, mounting up when there was a stretch of level ground. But it was mostly all bad. Finally he was off the plateau. The moon began to fade and he knew there was still hope. Not much hope but some was all he needed. He kept on moving after all the light was gone, his moccasined feet finding footholds where a booted man would have had difficulty. Trusting him, the stallion followed over places that another animal would have balked at. He stopped to listen, but there were no sounds of pursuit. This was dangerous country where horse and animal could go tumbling into a fissure without warning. For now Bannerman was playing it safe, figuring to wait until morning to take up the chase again.
Sundance moved on for another hour. By then he was tired and so was the stallion. They had been going hard all day without rest, and the strain was beginning to tell. It was close to midnight when he decided to get some sleep. Up on the plateau it was bone dry from one end to the other. It was just as dry where he stopped to make cold camp. He spilled water in his hat and let the stallion drink. He drank a little himself after chewing on a mouthful of jerked deer meat. The meat had no taste, but it was food and a man could live on it as long as he had to.
Anyway, a man could go for a couple of weeks without food, and though his belly might growl with hunger, he would die of thirst long before he died of starvation. Sundance stoppered the canteen and pulled his blanket around him and sat with his back to a flat rock, the Winchester beside him. If they came in the night Eagle would hear them as soon as he did. But he didn’t think they would come. They’d be rolled in their blankets by now, with horses tethered securely and guards posted all around. Bannerman wouldn’t be taking any chances of a sneak attack in the dark. If there had been only five or six men, he might have tried it, but Bannerman’s force was still too large for any kind of an attack. And then, too, it was possible that Bannerman had already split his force into two night camps and was waiting for him to attack one so the others could take him by surprise.
Despite the danger, he slept well. It was cold at that altitude, even with the blanket, but over the years be had trained himself to ignore heat or cold. White men found that almost impossible t
o do; with Indians it was a matter of necessity. If you were hungry all the time, as so many Indians were, you learned to ignore it, because there wasn’t much else to do. It was the same with pain.
He was moving again two hours before dawn, still climbing up toward the peaks. The wind whistled down from the peaks and it was still very cold. Even during the day it would be cold. There had to be another place where he could wear them down, kill one or two of them, before he kept on climbing. His biggest concern was for water.
First light came early so high in the mountains. It came there long before it flooded the flatlands and the low country and the desert. But when it came there was no warmth.
Sundance moved on, leading the stallion, scanning the country ahead for a vantage point.
The sun was well up before he found it: a high rock the shape of a Dutch barn in the middle of a sandy depression about three hundred yards long. A fissure split the top of the rock and ran clear to the bottom. A man could crawl in from the other side and have a perfect V-shaped opening from which to fire. Heavy fire directed at the opening would eventually drive him out, but the depression was three hundred yards in length and the shooting wouldn’t be all that accurate, especially if done fast. He rode around to the back of the rock and left the stallion in cover before he crawled through the huge rock and sighted on the country he had just crossed. So far there was no sign of them. But they’d come; Bannerman wouldn’t turn back now. He knew if he turned back that Sundance would come after him again—and he would never know when. It could be a week, or a month, or at any time. Besides, by now Bannerman would be thinking that he had him beaten. He would follow him right over the top of the Sierra and down into Chihuahua, if that’s what it took.
Sundance lay listening to the wind. Up high it never seemed to stop. An hour later he saw them coming, but they were still too far out for shooting, even with the Remington. Even with his keen eyes, for the moment they were just men on horses, far out in the distance. He saw the flash of binoculars and kept his head well down. That would be Bannerman, glassing the country for an ambush.
It was the same as it had been at the stream: two men rode out in front of the others. They came ahead, walking their horses, rifles at the ready. Then when they thought they were still out of range, even of the Remington, they stopped and waited. Sundance waited for them to start moving again, but they stayed where they were. Bannerman was up to something, and Sundance didn’t know what it was. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to hang around and find out.
It was going to be an almost impossible shot. One was all he would try, and maybe he was wasting time and a bullet he might need later. The range had to be at least six hundred yards. Seen across the sights of the rifle, the target looked no bigger than his finger. There was the wind to consider at a distance so great, but he went ahead with his calculations. He steadied the rifle until it was like a rock in his hands, and when there was nothing more to be done—he squeezed the trigger. The rifle butt jerked in fierce recoil, and far away a man died. Sundance didn’t wait. He eased out of the crack in the rock and got away from there as fast as Eagle could carry him, and for a long time he was out of range and out of sight.
When there was no more protection from the big rock, he turned and looked back. They were crossing the depression but taking their time. Sundance rode on through country that continued to climb as far as the eye could see. Yet the highest peaks seemed far away, as if they could never be reached by any man. He made some time before watering the stallion and taking two swallows himself. After that the going was difficult because of the sliding shale and sand. It slid away under the stallion’s hoofs. When it got worse he dismounted. A sand slide if it got started could bury them or send them rolling half dead all the way to the bottom. He turned and saw them coming, still a big party, and making fair time for men who had never been in this country before.
Sundance got himself and his horse over the top of the slope. When they got there he unlimbered the Remington again, and waited to see if he could get another shot. While he waited he saw the Bannerman force break in two. One part stayed where it was, the other rode out to the left. In spite of the Remington they were closing in on him. There would be no more surprises: by now they knew the greatest range of the rifle and to stay beyond it. The mountain was getting steeper now, and there wouldn’t be anywhere else to climb. At a certain point it was sheer rock all the way up to the peaks. A man with ropes, nothing to carry and plenty of time might find his way up there. A hunted man carrying a rifle and leading a horse wouldn’t get half a mile. It would have to be soon, Sundance knew. It looked like he had gambled and lost. Even so, he wasn’t dead yet. What he would do was keep on fighting until the next to last bullet was gone. After that he would die.
Up where the rock face began he saw a cave sandwiched between the slope and the rock face. The opening was high and narrow and there was no telling how far back it went into the cliff. It was as good a place as any to end his life. At least here he could make a fight of it—all he wanted to do now. He scanned the country below him. They were still coming, now from different directions, keeping out of range of the .50. He knew it would take a while to get up to the cave opening.
He knew he had to get up there fast. The way up to the cave was strewn with broken rock, but even so the only way to take it was head-on. If Eagle stumbled and fell before they got to the top, it could kill or cripple both of them. He thought of lying with broken legs under the dying horse while Bannerman’s killers closed in. Then he rounded the stallion and rode back far enough to get a good start on the rocky hill. Eagle would have to get all the way up in one heart-bursting burst of energy. If the big animal faltered before he reached the top, there wouldn’t be a chance of making it. It had to be up the hill and into the cave with no holding back, no stumbling or hesitation.
Bullets started to come at him from both sides. They hadn’t got him lined up yet, but that would come soon if he didn’t get out of there. He reached down and patted the stallion on the neck. ‘This is up to you, boy,’ Sundance said. ‘When I kick my heels you’ve got to go like you’ve never gone before.’
‘Go!’ The stallion had about two hundred yards to get into full stride. The bullets were coming thicker now, and closer, as the stallion increased his speed, heading straight for the bottom of the hill. Then Eagle was going up urged on by Sundance as the Bannerman riders threw down heavy fire, yelling as they did so. When they were halfway up the hill, Sundance felt the big horse falter for an instant. Then with a great surge of energy they reached the top and were in the cave. In the semidarkness of the cave the stallion stood blowing wind and shivering. For the moment they were safe, because there was no horse in the Bannerman bunch that could take that hill, and there were few horses anywhere that could have done it. Men could climb it, but they couldn’t do it fast.
Sundance emptied all the water that was left into his hat and let the stallion drink. Then he held the canteen high and a trickle of water ran into his mouth, a few drops, and that was the last of it. The cave had a narrow entrance, but it was roomy enough inside. It ran back about thirty feet and there was a bend in it where the stallion would be fairly safe even from ricochets. Yes, Sundance thought, I will have to save two bullets now, for he knew the stallion would serve no master but himself.
‘Rest for a while, boy,’ he said before taking his weapons to the mouth of the cave. Bannerman and his men were within range of the Remington, but they were staying low inside the near bank of a gully about three hundred yards out. Bannerman would have plenty of water, maybe a couple of mules loaded with nothing but canteens or Mexican water skins. Enough water to let them sit out there for weeks. And while they were waiting somebody could always go back for more. There was no hurry now, not for Bannerman.
Sundance lay on the rock floor of the cave and watched the gully. The wind stirred sand on the hill, and the sunlight was bright but cold. A hat came up on a stick, but Sundance didn’t fire at it. The
gully was deep and now smoke blew up out of it, driven by the wind. They were cooking coffee, maybe heating up brown beans with salt pork. Out there nothing showed but the smoke from the cook fire.
Then a rifle cracked and a bullet spanged off the side of the cave mouth. The shot came from the left, but by the time he swung the Remington there was nothing to shoot at. Another rifle opened fire from the center of the long gully, just two shots, and then nothing for a few minutes. After that they didn’t fire more than one shot at a time, and it never came from the same place. It was a pretty good tactic, he thought. The Remington was a heavy rifle and couldn’t be moved about as handily as a Winchester. There was no snap shooting with a Remington; it was a rifle for steady deliberate aim. Even so, he’d get one of them no matter how tricky they were.
In a few minutes he did. He kept the Remington’s sights on the eastern end of the gully. He kept the rifle aimed that way even when two shots came at him from other parts of the rim. A bullet hit the rock not far from his face and whined into the back of the cave. But he kept the rifle steady. A man moved up to fire and Sundance blew him off his feet with a bullet powered by 40 grains of powder. The firing stopped for a few minutes, then started again. Sundance tried for another shot, but now Bannerman was moving the men after every few shots. He put down the Remington and started using the Winchester, but didn’t hit anything. It was a stand-off that could end only one way.
Sundance stopped firing and counted his ammunition. There was enough to turn back a direct attack on the hill. For that he would have to depend on the Winchester and the long-barreled Colt. After that he would use the great ash bow; from it he could loose steel-tipped arrows as fast as he could hose bullets from the Winchester. He knew an attack would come, but it wouldn’t be soon. There was no need for any attack—Bannerman would know that better than anyone—and yet it would come. Bannerman wouldn’t give a damn if everyone but himself got killed storming the hill. Gunslingers could be bought for fifty dollars a month from the Canadian border clear down to Guatemala. Bannerman would want to get back to his fine ranch. Jorge had said that Bannerman lived in style, entertained lavishly. He and his second wife, niece of the Archbishop of San Luis Potosi, went on frequent visits to Mexico City. Yes, Bannerman would want to get back, so there would be a direct attack when he became impatient enough.
Sundance 20 Page 15
