by Lauran Paine
“You, there in the grass…come up out of there with your hands high!”
A frightened figure came up slowly and a nasal, reedy voice spoke garrulously in the darkness. “What in hell’s goin’ on aroun’ here?”
Buck let the air out of his lungs in a long, slow snort. “Colonel Rash. Just what in hell are you doin’ slippin’ aroun’ here in the grass?”
Rash put down his hands and walked over to the barn, shaking his head. “I declare. I just don’t know what’s goin’ on around here, Buck. Dammit all, you said to come up after you if you didn’t return to town in an hour or so…so I came.”
Buck appraised the stage company owner with quizzical eyes and holstered his gun. “I was just being sarcastic. Go get your horse, an’ we’ll ride on into town an’ bring back a posse. Somethin’ damned fishy is goin’ on aroun’ here.”
“Yeah? Like what?”
A flashing figure dashed out of the night, scooped up the reins of Rash’s horse, and went plunging out of sight. Buck felt the colonel stiffen beside him. “Like that,” he said laconically. He reached out instinctively and yanked Rash inside the barn, a pistol crashed close by, and Buck dropped to the hard ground. Rash, wide-eyed, went down beside him.
“Buck, you hit?”
“No. But if I’d’ve stayed standin’ up, there was a good chance of it.”
“Oh, I see. For a minute….” Two snarling roars rocked the night and the bay horse snorted and pawed in terror. Buck turned a cold eye on the man beside him.
“Got a gun?”
“Why, yes, as a matter of fact I have two. One’s a six-gun an’ the other’s a Derringer.”
“Well,” came the dry reply, “if I was you, Colonel, I’d get ready to use one of them. Somebody don’t want us to leave the Broken Bow alive.”
He inched forward, shoved the door open a crack, and peered out. The Stygian darkness made visibility very poor. “Don’t see anything but.…” A tongue of livid flame leaped out at him and a slug slammed into the oak beside his head. Buck wriggled backward with awkward speed. “Damn. I’d like to get one crack at that hombre.”
He crawled forward again, peered cautiously out, and fired twice. A rifle off to the left answered him. He turned to fire at it and the pistol on his right drove another slug into the quivering door. Buck swore under his breath and sidled back beside the colonel. “Damned if there isn’t two of ’em. Hell, I thought my visitor came alone.”
“What visitor?”
“Never mind that right now. I’ll tell you later, if we live.” He pushed himself upright tenderly. “Come on, that door’s a dead giveaway. Follow me.”
Feeling their way through the darkness, they crept over to the hay room, clambered on top of the stack, and eased carefully out onto a small overhanging roof that lay, like an afterthought, along the barn side of the building. A breath of cool air swept over them as they inched along carefully until they were in a position to command the surrounding countryside.
Buck nudged Rash. “See that clump of scrub oaks over there?” Rash nodded wordlessly. “One of ’em’s over there. Draw a bead an’, when I say fire, let go. Just shoot once, then drop over the edge of the roof and run like the devil for the house.”
Chapter Four
Colonel Rash drew a shiny .45, cocked it methodically, and pushed it out arm’s length. Buck hissed, and two belches of fire split the night. Somewhere a hoarse grunt of surprise erupted into profanity. From opposite positions, the attackers fired almost instantly. They kept up a vicious raking of the barn, until the one with the rifle suddenly saw the running silhouette in the darkness and whirled, levering and firing with alacrity. Buck and Rash made it to the cabin with a couple of inches to spare as the last rifle slug ripped a long, snake-like splinter off the log by the door. Rash went over in a blob of groaning profanity as he collided with the couch.
Buck barred the heavy door, sighed with resignation, helped Rash to his feet, and set the couch up for the second time that day with a doleful, uncomprehending wag of his head. “People oughtta live in caves.”
“What d’ya mean?”
“Nothin’. Look, Colonel, those fellers have us pretty well holed up. We can’t go on like this forever. I’m goin’ to slip outside an’ try to nail one of ’em. You stay here an’ fire every once in a while…maybe they’ll think we’re still in here together.” He moved toward the door again and hesitated as he opened it. “I don’t suppose you’ll know me from the other hombres, though, will you?”
“That’s no problem, Buck.”
“No? Not for you, maybe….”
“Nor you, either. I just won’t shoot to kill unless I can see what I’m shootin’ at.” Buck nodded with a broad smile, and disappeared. Rash barred the door after him and eased back the sole window in front of the square little house, resting his gun on the sill, as Black Jack Carlyle had done the night before.
A pale glimmer of a late moon came up. It was nothing more than a thin sliver in the sky and added practically nothing but a watery sheen to the dark gloominess of the night.
Buck knew his land well. He circled cautiously around the cabin and began a crouching, stealthy hike through the darkness. He figured the pistol gunman was still somewhere near the clump of scrub oaks while the rifleman might be anywhere, but was probably stalking the cabin by now. The little fringe of trees, darker outlines against the ebony shadows, loomed up ahead. He cocked his pistol and went on, wide-eyed in an effort to pierce the gloom. Suddenly he caught sight of a movement up ahead and flattened against the earth. A man was coming toward him. He raised the pistol and waited. There was something vaguely familiar about the walk of the man; he wasn’t tall but a peculiar agility sent him bounding along on the balls of his feet.
“Don’t you move.” The words hissed and the man froze in the darkness. Buck came up to his knees slowly, squinting up at the pale oval of a face.
His effort to pierce the man’s identity almost ended fatally. Before he could fire the two remaining slugs in his pistol, the stranger took two quick steps forward, swung his foot savagely, and Buck’s wrist sent a jolt of pain up to his shoulder. He came up with an oath and threw himself on the smaller man as the other’s gun flashed dully in the darkness. The hot muzzle blast was so close he could feel the sting of the powder and his ears set up a shocked vibratory hum inside his head, but he was on his man. They went down in a flurry of flailing arms and gouging fingers.
The smaller man’s strength was surprising and his lithe agility, wiry and frantic, left Buck hitting where he had been as he squirmed away, scooped up his gun, and fired again. This time Buck felt only a tremendous jar and quick, merciful darkness. He sank forward in the rank grass and the shorter man disappeared into the gloom with madly tinkling spurs fading musically as he ran.
Rash had heard the shots. An instinctive inner sense told him that Buck had been discovered. He flung open the door and went out into the night like a wild horse. Just beyond the edge of the cabin he came up face to face with something that, in the split second he observed it, looked like a billowing, round-chested ghost. A shadowy arm arched suddenly and Rash collapsed. The wraith bent over him quickly, turned him over, peered intently into his face, and ran into the cabin, slamming and barring the heavy door with a loud crash. A rifle crashed suddenly not far away and the door quivered under the impact. The wraith backed hurriedly away.
Buck came to with a throbbing splitting headache that sent waves of nausea over him. He sat up weakly and ran a shaking hand over his head. A sticky, ragged gash down the center of his scalp indicated the course of the assailant’s slug. He felt around in the grass for his gun, couldn’t find it, and swore with feeling as he began a four-footed crawl toward the cabin. Suddenly the night erupted as a gun crashed. Buck heard the bullet smack into his door. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, convinced that the attackers were smoking Colonel Rash out of the house. Gaining strength as he crawled, he sidled around the edge of the cabin toward the door a
nd fell over a still, warm form. In a moment of surprise and consternation he felt for the downed man’s gun, found it, and held it against the man’s chest as he peered into the face of Rash.
“Dammit. This don’t make sense,” he said out loud but under his breath. “If Rash ain’t in my riddled cabin, who in hell is?”
He ran an exploring hand over the colonel’s body, found only a lump on the head as the still form began to quicken into life again. Buck held Rash down until the colonel’s full faculties had returned, then he propped him against the cabin wall and gingerly touched his matted, puffy scalp wound.
“Who’s in the house?”
Rash felt of his bruised head and made a wry face. “Damned if I know. I come bustin’ aroun’ the side of the house an’ somethin’ long and willowy-looking cracked me over the head.”
Buck sighed and carefully wagged his lacerated head in bewilderment.
“Well, sittin’ here ain’t too healthy.”
“No, but at least it’s better’n gettin’ hit an’ shot at every time ya move.”
Buck opened his mouth to speak, froze quickly, and laid a restraining hand on the colonel’s arm. Two distinct dark objects were moving in on the cabin. Apparently by prearranged signal, the outlaws were converging by individual tangents on the front door. Buck flattened and motioned Rash to do likewise. There was an ominous glint of pale, dark light on a rifle in the hands of one of the attackers and a pistol in the hands of the other, smaller man.
Buck nudged Rash and whispered to him in a menacing voice. “That there short ’un with the pistol’s my meat. I owe that hombre a scalp treatment.”
Rash’s whisper came back in consternation. “Where in hell’s my pistol?”
“I got it, lost mine. Use that Derringer you said you had.” There was a frantic rustling in the grass as Rash dug out the small gun. “They’re almost to the door. When they get there, let ’em have it.”
“Their backs will be to us. Can’t we…?” Rash wondered.
“T’hell with that chivalry stuff. I don’t know what it’s all about, but I’m not givin’ them any more of a break than they’d give me.”
Rash shrugged and lapsed into a slit-eyed silence, watching the two men come up. They were up to the door and Buck’s gun was cocked and lined up when one of them spoke. “Open it, an’ be quick about it.”
Buck hesitated, as did Rash, although both their guns were aimed and ready. Again the voice came back to them. “Dave, slip over to that there window an’ see if ya can get a bead on one of ’em.”
The voice hadn’t been lowered and Buck had the uncomfortable feeling that he’d heard that man somewhere before and not too long before, either. He let his gun barrel dip a little as the taller of the men edged up to the window and risked a quick peek inside. A terrific blast shook the ground where Buck and Rash were lying. Both of the outlaws went down to their knees in shock. Buck turned a startled look at Rash. “Damn! That there was my old shotgun.
Whoever shot it pulled both triggers at the same time.”
The tall outlaw crawled rapidly toward his smaller companion, his hat gone and his pale face a lot paler. “Gawd”—the voice was husky with fright—“that was close, Cash.” The smaller man nodded quickly as his companion got to his legs and crouched. “I had enough. Hell, let ’em keep it. We’ll be outen the country, anyway. Come on.”
The men both stood up furtively, tossed apprehensive glances at the completely devastated window, and started to slip away. Buck raised his gun again and his cold voice cut through the gloom like the toll of doom. “One more step, hombres, an’ you’re dead men!”
The unnerved renegades froze. Buck nudged the colonel. “Their guns, quick.” Rash went forward with his ridiculous little gun jutting out in front of his stomach. He tossed the rifle back toward Buck and stuck the pistol from the smaller man into his waist-band before he turned uncertainly toward Buck.
“Tell your pardner in the cabin to come out.” “Our pardner?” The big man’s voice was incredulous. “We figgered you fellers was in there.” He shook his head emphatically. “Ain’t no pardner o’ mine. Dang’ near blew my head clean off the rest o’ me.”
Buck flicked his tongue over his lips in puzzlement. “Well, dammit, if it ain’t your compadre in there, who in hell is it?”
“How should we know? We come up here together. Just the two o’ us.”
Buck got to his feet, kicked the carbine out of his way, and walked up close. He squinted his eyes at the men and stepped back with a slow nod. “I recognize both o’ you now.” He turned to Rash. “This here long-legged, bushy-haired, beady-eyed outfit is the hombre who damned near salivated me this aft’noon an’…”—his gun barrel jutted toward the smaller man—“that there’s Cash Todd, in case you don’t recognize him. Your best driver.”
Colonel Rash, sensing the sarcasm in Buck’s voice, gave a small start and stepped in close with an oath to peer into Todd’s face. “Good Heavens, Buck, it is Todd!” He turned ferociously on the grizzled driver. “Damn you, Cash. I’ve a notion….”
“Rope it Colonel.” Rash shut up and Buck motioned to the taller of the outlaws. “You, mister, turn aroun’ an’ knock on that there door.”
“Look, hombre, that bird inside’s got a shotgun. I ain’t….”
Buck’s gun bore down on the man. “Do like I said, hardcase. What’s the difference whether you get it through the door or from me? Hit that door!”
The outlaw thumped heavily with his fist.
Buck nodded grimly and raised his voice a little. “Open up in there. The war’s over. If you don’t open up, I’ll blast my way through, usin’ these renegades for a shield.”
The tense men heard the bar drop before they saw the door swing inward. Buck motioned the men forward and they trooped into the room where the darkness was almost impenetrable. “Colonel, keep a gun on ’em. I’ll light a candle.” The light was a rich, faltering yellow but it was sufficient. Buck looked up quickly when the taller of the renegades gasped and exploded into a profane tirade.
“Shut up, you.” The man subsided slowly, reluctantly. Buck turned to Rash. “Colonel, there’s a couple o’ lariats hangin’ on the wall over there. Get ’em an’ tie up these two would-be killers.”
His eyes widened as he looked beyond the colonel into a stunning pair of large, horrified eyes that stared out steadily at him from beneath luxurious, upcurving lashes. “You!” The girl didn’t move and Buck frowned slightly. “Ma’am, just who the devil are you an’ what’s this all about?”
The girl’s supple body came forward from the shadows with a rhythmic sway. She dropped the shotgun and unconsciously rubbed a sore, outraged shoulder. “I’m his sister.” She pointed toward the steely-eyed man. “I tried to talk them out of it.”
“Out of what? Please, ma’am, let’s start at the beginnin’.”
The girl sat down beside Buck on the couch as Rash tugged sadistically at the ropes he was binding the furious outlaws with. “My brother is the tall man over there.”
“What’s his name?”
“David James. He’s….”
An elemental sound that resembled the familiar—“Awk.”—erupted from Colonel Rash. “Y’mean this here one with the bushy hair an’ straight eyebrows is Dave James? The…the cousin o’ Jesse?”
She nodded wearily. “Yes. He’s my brother. He and the other man planned to rob the stage. I was forced to go along with them so’s the robbery wouldn’t look suspicious. After they took the box and turned the horses loose, they were to give me a horse and let me go on home, to Dallas.” She frowned slightly at an unpleasant recollection. “The horse bucked me off and I found this cabin before I fainted. I really wasn’t hurt, though, just upset about the robbery and being afoot in this strange land.”
Buck nodded and pulled the little scrap of cloth out of his shirt pocket. “I figgered the horse end of the yarn by this piece of cloth that got torn when the horse bucked you off, an’, after seein’ th
e horse buck, I knew you were mixed up in it someway. But how come ’em to come back after you?”
“I was supposed to go to Colfax and take the next stage south. When I didn’t show up, Cash told Dave, and they started out to look for me. They knew I wasn’t in favor of the robbery, anyway, and wanted to get me out of the country.” She shrugged. “I don’t know how they found this cabin, but they did. I thought it was you coming back and let them in.”
Buck turned a cold eye on Dave James. “Why in hell did you tear up my cabin?”
The man’s unpleasant face was twisted into a look of savage anger toward his sister. “She lost that damned handkerchief, an’ I was afraid you hombres would find it an’ figger out who we was.”
Buck nodded. “We found it all right an’ figgered out the initials.” He turned back to the pale girl and it suddenly hit him like a physical blow in the chest. Her large eyes were on him and the lithesome beauty of her was wholesome and appealing. He cleared his throat as he fought for a moment’s respite and forced his mind back to grimmer matters. “What’s your name?” He blushed frantically and thanked the Lord for the poor light given off by the candle.
“Cyn. Cynthia James.” A mantle of warm blood came into her cheeks, too.
Buck sighed audibly and his gun barrel drooped, forgotten, toward the oil-stained floor. “Cynthia, eh. I reckon you’ll be needed as a…uh…a material witness against these bushwhackers.”
“Yes?”
“Well, it’s the law, y’know. So I’m afraid you’ll have to stay in Colfax until their trial.”
“How long will it be?”
He shrugged carelessly. “That depends, Cyn. Might be a week, an’ then again it might take a year.” He frowned thoughtfully at Rash’s startled look. “The law’s awful slow in these parts. Anyway, you can stay with my sister, an’ I’ll call every little while, to sort of drive you aroun’ an’ show you the country. That way you won’t be bored. It’s an awful pretty country, Cyn. Why, not far north o’ here is the prettiest waterfall ya ever….”
