Last Train to Bannock [Clayburn 02]

by Marvin H. Albert

  He stood for a moment longer staring at the dead while his men crowded out from behind the rocks and converged on him. His mouth was a tight bitter line and his heart thudded heavily in his chest. But when he raised his head his face was wooden, his eyes cold.

  "What's our own damage?" he demanded in a tired voice.

  "One man winged in the left arm," Kosta told him. "Fischman."

  "That's all?"

  Kosta grinned at him in the fading light. "That's all."

  Clayburn nodded aimlessly, moved his shoulders, and began ejecting the used carbine shells.

  Haycox asked, "Do you think they'll be back for more?" There was a little more respect in his voice now.

  "No," Clayburn said tonelessly. "Not tonight. Not here. They know our position's too strong for the number of them left. We got too many of them; the odds are about even now."

  He began reloading the carbine as he turned to Roud. "You're in charge till I get back, Jim. Keep a heavy guard here, so they can't trickle in and pull our own trap on us when you take the wagons out at dawn. And before you pull out have a look around, make sure they're not laying for you anywhere outside."

  He was fairly sure they wouldn't be. The surviving raiders would be heading back to their camp now, to lick their wounds. And they'd be going slow. They'd lost more horses than men. Some of the raiders would have to ride double.

  "When'll you be back?" Roud asked him.

  "Sometime tomorrow. Don't wait for me anywhere along the route. Just keep pushing north. I'll catch up."

  Clayburn snapped the last load into the carbine, levered a cartridge into firing position, and slipped away into the darkness to find Ranse Blue.

  ELEVEN

  With each man riding first one of his horses and then the other, Clayburn and Blue were able to keep going steadily at a fast, mile-consuming pace. It still lacked some three hours to dawn when they neared Adler's wagon camp.

  They tethered the four horses half a mile away. Because it was certain that Adler's raiders couldn't have made it back yet, they left their rifles in their saddle scabbards. They moved on through the starlit darkness on foot, Blue leading the way deeper into a labyrinth of canyons and buttes.

  Clayburn followed Blue down a gentle slope, treading with care so as not to displace any pieces of the loose shale. They moved past a group of massive clay formations shaped like giant mushrooms, entered a twisting stone corridor with curved sides almost coming together over their heads. As they reached the end of it Blue stopped, half-turning to touch a hand to Clayburn's ear. Clayburn nodded that he understood: they were now within hearing distance of the wagon camp.

  From there on they moved with special care, both men walking Indian fashion, testing each step before putting full weight on it so as not to disturb any loose stones or snap a twig underfoot. They threaded their way in a crouch, keeping within the darkest shadows, crossing what had once been a deep river but was now a cracked and pitted expanse of hard-baked clay. Their boots making no sound at all, they went under a stone arch and through a narrow dry gulch bottomed with rocks.

  Reaching the base of a low slope, Blue again paused, and made a downward motion with his hand against Clayburn's chest. Then Blue started up the slope on his hands and knees. Clayburn crawled after him. When Blue halted just below the top, Clayburn moved up beside him, and raised his head only enough to see over the rim.

  Beyond the slope the ground leveled till it reached the looming side of a great mesa. Between the mesa and the slope was a scattering of boulders-and Adler's wagon camp.

  Clayburn gave his full attention to the dark shapes of the big wagons. They were formed into a rough square, with all the mules corralled inside the square. There were too many mules for the square to contain them if the wagons touched end to end. So large spaces showed between each wagon-spaces across which ropes would be strung from one wagon to the next so the mules couldn't get out.

  There was no campfire, nothing to see by but the starlight. And there was no sign of the three guards Adler had left behind. Clayburn stayed where he was, his eyes scanning the night-shrouded wagons in search of them. He was fairly certain that Adler was too smart to let his guards stay near the wagons, with all those boulders around the outside of the camp. But it would have been foolish to ignore the possibility.

  He felt time pressing hard on him, urging him to hurry. They had to get done with it and be gone before Adler and his raiders returned to cut off their retreat. But to hurry at the expense of caution would be equally suicidal. Clayburn held himself in, forcing himself to take the time necessary. He had to know where at least one of the guards was before moving closer.

  Finally, he transferred his attention from the wagons to the boulders closest to the camp area. Nothing moved anywhere. Clayburn remained where he was, waiting, watching. The coldness of the air and ground began making itself felt through his pants and coat. Time passed. His nerves were stretching taut. Still he lay motionless against the top of the slope, studying the boulders with pinpointed concentration.

  Then he saw something move in the deep shadow of a boulder off to the right of the wagon camp. Not a man; not anything that could be identified. Just a movement.

  Blue saw it at the same time. He touched Clayburn's elbow. Clayburn focused all his attention on the boulder. No one showed himself. The movement was not repeated.

  But he knew he'd seen it. And that it meant one of the guards was there. That was all he knew. There was no way of guessing if the man was sitting or standing, or the direction in which he was looking.

  Clayburn sucked in a slow, deep breath and went up over the rim of the slope on his belly. Any one of the three guards might be at that moment looking toward the slope. There was no help for that. All Clayburn could do was make himself as much a part of the ground as possible, and make no sound to attract attention his way. Raising all his weight on just his elbows and toes, his head down and the rest of him barely off the ground, Clayburn snaked toward the nearest boulder.

  He reached it without anything happening, and once in its protective shadow let his breath out slowly and lowered himself full-out on the ground for a second's rest. Blue came up beside him in the same fashion, his presence neither heard nor seen, merely felt.

  There were other boulders now between him and the one under which he'd seen the movement. But any one of them might hide one of the other guards. Clayburn studied the next nearest boulder intently, raised himself an inch on his elbows and toes, and worked his way toward it. It was a strenuous, tiring way to travel over even a short space. By the time he reached the next boulder he was clenching his bared teeth to still the sounds of his hard breathing.

  Resting, he spared moments for another look around. It didn't buy him the location of either of the other guards.

  There was now only one more boulder between him and his objective. He stared at the deep shadow under it for long precious seconds, goaded by the awareness that Adler and his raiders were getting closer with each one of those seconds. When he was as certain as he could be that no one was on his side of the boulder, Clayburn snaked across the intervening space toward it.

  Again he made it without anything happening. This time he did not pause when he reached the boulder, but continued around it in the shadow of its base, making sure there wasn't a guard against the other side of it.

  Now there was nothing between him and the boulder where he'd seen movement. Nothing to hide him the rest of the way but the night. The pale shine of the stars seemed suddenly very bright.

  In the shadow of the boulder where he'd seen movement before he could see none now. The man who had to be there was invisible. He might be standing or sitting; might be looking straight at Clayburn…

  Clayburn slipped his fingers inside his left sleeve and drew the knife from its sheath. Holding it point-forward, he began inching toward the boulder on knees and toes, his taut-held body almost brushing the earth as he moved.

  This time he did not move in a str
aight line, but angled off to his left so that the bulk of the boulder would no longer be directly behind the guard in its shadow. Halfway across the open space Clayburn finally saw the vague shape of a man, detached slightly from the boulder itself, outlined against the star-filled sky.

  The man was standing, leaning a shoulder against the side of the boulder, a rifle in the crook of his arm. He was tall, and seemed heavily built, but Clayburn couldn't be sure of his shape below the shoulders where it merged with the boulder. As Clayburn watched, the man's head turned. Clayburn froze against the ground. The man looked his way, but not down at the ground that close.

  The instant the man's head turned away Clayburn moved again, slowly closing the distance between them. The man unfolded his arms, dropped the rifle to his hand. Clayburn froze again, then resumed his movement when the man only stretched, flexed his big shoulders, and transferred his rifle to the crook of his other arm.

  The guard scratched the side of his face, glanced off toward the slope up which Clayburn and Blue had come, then looked past the wagons at the looming mesa.

  By then Clayburn was almost under the man's feet. He came up off the ground like a tightly wound steel spring suddenly uncoiling. His left hand fastened on the guard's mouth to stifle any outcry and his right drove the point of his knife between the man's ribs next to the spine.

  The guard's whole body convulsed. His rifle fell. Clayburn broke its fall with his boot to lessen the sound of it. He held the struggling man in an iron grip and forced the blade deeper in his back, twisting. The guard's struggles became weaker, uncoordinated, then ceased entirely.

  Clayburn held the sagging weight and lowered it silently to the ground. For a second he remained bent over the dead body, his breath coming fast through his clenched teeth, his legs rubbery, his throat dry and a bitter taste in his mouth. Then he pulled the knife free and wiped it on the dead man's sleeve. He straightened against the boulder and looked around. There was nothing to indicate that the other two guards had been alerted, wherever they were.

  Blue appeared beside Clayburn like a shadow. There was no need for whispers or motions between them now. Each new what to do next. Blue picked up the dead guard's rifle and held it ready. Clayburn left him, and the protection of the boulder, lowering himself to the ground and snaking toward the wagons.

  He was almost there when the report of a rifle somewhere off to his left broke the night silence. A lead slug gouged a spout of dirt from the ground six inches from Clayburn's face. He sprang to his feet and sprinted the rest of the way in a low crouch, zigzagging as he ran. As he hit the ropes stretched between two of the wagons, the rifle boomed at him again.

  The bullet chopped into the wagon tailboard next to Clayburn's shoulder. In the same instant Blue fired, aiming at the guard's rifle flash.

  Clayburn saw the shadowy figure of a man detach itself from a boulder. The man stumbled forward two steps, fighting to stay on his feet and bring his rifle around for a shot at Blue. Blue fired again. The man pitched sideways and became a motionless shadow on the ground.

  Another rifle crashed out from the rock rubble piled high against the base of the mesa. The slug spattered against the boulder behind which Blue had positioned himself. Clayburn turned swiftly to his job, slashing his knife through one of the ropes stretched taut between the two wagons, then cutting the other rope.

  He went in through the opening, entering the corral formed by all the wagons. The mules were already stirring nervously, frightened by the gunfire. Clayburn smacked and elbowed the nearest ones to start them out through the opening he'd made. Then he slipped on to the next opening, slashed the ropes, and got the mules started through there.

  Repeating this at a third space between wagons, Clayburn moved on and climbed up on a wagon wheel so he wouldn't get trampled. He drew his Colt and began firing it into the ground, showering dirt against the legs of the milling animals and terrifying them to more speed in their efforts to escape from the corral.

  Two more rifle shots cracked from the rock rubble at the base of the mesa. This time they were fired at Clayburn. Which was foolish. The guard there couldn't see Clayburn; he was just firing at the sound of Clayburn's Colt. All he accomplished was to kill one mule and start another stamping and screaming with pain-which hurried still more the terrified exodus of the rest.

  As the last of the mules stampeded out of the openings Clayburn had created, Blue began firing at groups of them that showed an inclination to slow down. The mules scattered as they ran, and the boulders scattered them still more. Some headed for the mesa, but not many. More ran into the canyons to the left and right. The largest number of mules headed straight for the slope, down it, and vanished from sight.

  Clayburn left the wagon corral and sprinted after them, joined as he reached the boulders by Blue. The guard at the base of the mesa fired after them. But distance and darkness were against him. None of his shots came near either Blue or Clayburn.

  They sighted the mules ahead of them as they went down the slope. Some were still running away, others were milling around. Several gunshots encouraged the milling ones to follow those that were racing away. They scattered in a number of directions, one group following the dry river bed, other groups dispersing into the area's maze of crosscut canyons and gullies.

  The first streaks of predawn grayness fingered the sky when Clayburn and Blue rode away. They'd done what they'd come to do. It would take Adler's men most of the day to track down all the mules and gather them in. And they'd be tired mules. By the time Adler got his wagon rolling again, Clayburn estimated, Cora Sorel's outfit would be at least a full day ahead of him.

  There was no longer any chance of Adler's outfit catching up and passing them.

  Unless something happened to hold up Cora's wagons.

  TWELVE

  By the time they caught up to Cora's wagon train shortly after noon, Blue was beginning to look sick with fatigue and the need to sleep. Clayburn had a used-up feeling inside him, himself; and he ached from the steady riding. Their horses, in spite of being exchanged often, were almost finished when they finally sighted the wagons ahead.

  Cora Sorel had been riding the drag position, looking back anxiously more and more often as the day wore on. When she spotted them coming, she immediately wheeled her buckskin and raced back to meet them.

  She was no longer the woman she'd been back in Parrish, Clayburn reflected as she pulled up beside them. Her riding clothes were sadly trail-worn and her glamour was covered by layers of dust. Wind and sun had got to her face and hands, making them darker and roughening her skin. But she was still quite a hunk of woman.

  In a flat, tired voice Clayburn told her what they'd done with Adler's mules. Cora started to laugh, then checked herself and glanced back the way they'd come.

  "They'll come after us again for sure now," she said slowly. "They'll want revenge."

  "They'll want revenge," Clayburn agreed. "If they'll come after it I don't know. We've got about the same number of men now. They'd be bound to lose more in a fight, and they can't afford that any more than we can. Adler needs most of the men he's got left just to handle his wagons."

  "Couple more days north." Blue put in wearily, "and we can stop worrying about Adler givin' us trouble. He'll have to keep his men wherever his wagons are, to protect 'em. We're gettin' into Apache territory."

  "Damn!" Cora said softy. "Now we have to worry about Indians, too?"

  "I warned you," Clayburn reminded her, "back in Parrish."

  Cora sighed. "Yes. You warned me."

  "You could have stayed behind."

  Cora's soft mouth became stubborn, her dark eyes fierce. "I'm not afraid of your damn Indians. It's just that I don't like it. I don't have to enjoy the idea of an Apache attack, do I?"

  Lines appeared at the sides of Clayburn's mouth and eyes. "Nope. Don't enjoy it much myself."

  "What I'd enjoy," Blue announced irritably, "is for right now to climb into one of them wagons and get some sleep."
He glared at Clayburn. "And that's what I'm gonna do."

  Clayburn nodded. "Go ahead. I'll be joining you."

  "And just how long you gonna let me sleep before I gotta ride back to watch Adler's outfit some more?"

  "You're not going back for a while," Clayburn told him, and looked away to the mountains looming ahead. "From now on we'll need you closer to the wagons. Like you said, we're getting into Apache territory."

  ***

  The wagons were moving through a long, mile-wide canyon a couple hours before sunset when a large bunch of riders came into the end of the canyon behind them. Clayburn, feeling himself again with five hours' sleep under his belt, was riding drag when he looked back and spotted their dust. He swung his horse around and swiftly brought up his field glasses.

  As he focused the lenses, the oncoming riders slowed, bringing their mounts to a walk. Ten of them rode in a straight line abreast, their rifles in their hands. Adler rode well ahead of them, with just a single man on either side of him. One of them was Dillon.

  Clayburn held his glasses on the other man with Adler for a moment, till he made out the red hair and was sure: It was Wilks. And he was carrying in his left hand a long stick with a white cloth fluttering from it.

  "Well, what d'you know," Clayburn murmured to himself. He lowered the field glasses and saw that Roud, Haycox and Cora had joined him.

  "Adler?" Cora asked tightly.

  "Uh-huh. They're carrying a truce flag."

  "Truce?" Roud stared down the canyon. "I don't believe it."

  "Neither do I," Haycox chimed in. "It's obviously a trick."

  "Maybe." Clayburn wheeled his sorrel. "Let's form up and find out."

  Within minutes he had the wagons drawn up for defense, with Cora and most of the men barricaded behind the wagons or big rocks, rifles ready.

  Adler's ten-man line of riflemen had pulled to a halt. Adler continued to come on a way, with Wilks and Dillon. He stopped just within range of his riflemen. And Clayburn's.