“Whatever Cal wants.”
“Of course.” Weasel slumped in his saddle. He was wasting his breath. But he’d be damned if he’d get himself killed on the girl’s account. When the others fanned out, he did, too. When they started forward, so did he. But not at a trot, as they were doing. He went slower.
Cal and Burt and the Prussian bore down on the campfire in a thunder of hooves.
The idiots, Weasel fumed. Willy Boy would hear them and be ready. In all his years of riding with Cal, Weasel had never seen Grissom do anything so foolhardy.
Weasel made out someone on their knees by the fire. As he drew closer he realized it was Jenna Grissom, bound hands and feet, with a bandanna over her mouth. A rope had been thrown around her neck and tied to a stake that had been pounded into the ground.
“Jenna!” Cal Grissom roared, and galloped to her rescue.
Burt and the Prussian followed his example.
“Hell in a basket.” Weasel still hung back. He refused to commit himself until he was sure it was safe.
Jenna Grissom was shaking her head and trying to scream through the gag. Tears glistened on her cheeks, and she struggled fiercely to stand.
Cal only had eyes for his daughter. Looking neither right nor left, he hauled on his reins and was out of the saddle while his mount was still in motion. He stumbled, caught himself, and reached Jenna.
Burt and the Prussian came to a stop on either side of them. Burt’s hands flashed and both his pistols gleamed in the firelight. The Prussian already had his Mauser out and was swinging it right and left, seeking a target.
Weasel had been so sure disaster was about to befall them, he wasn’t the least bit surprised when a muzzle flashed and a rifle boomed.
* * *
Jenna tried to warn them that Willy Boy was waiting for them, that he’d used her as bait, again.
A slug struck the Prussian’s helmet with a loud spang and knocked it askew. Somehow Davis managed to stay on his horse, stunned but otherwise unhurt.
In a blur of living lightning, Burt Alacord twisted in his saddle and cut loose with his twin Colts. He fired four shots in such swift cadence, they almost sounded like one. Jenna had never seen anyone shoot so fast. Weasel came riding up—reluctantly, she thought—and he fired, too.
Then her father was on his knees in front of her and ripping the bandanna from her mouth.
“Jenna! Jenna!”
“Willy Boy . . .” Jenna tried to get out.
“Don’t worry about him,” her father said, and turned to the stake that held her fast. Gripping it in both hands, he strained to pull it out.
Jenna was worried. They were in the firelight. Willy Boy wasn’t. “He can pick us off.”
Continuing to strain, her father shouted at Burt Alacord. “Go after him! I’ll take care of her.”
Swinging down, Burt hollered at Weasel Ginty and the Prussian. “You heard the man! Davis, come with me. Weasel, protect Cal and Jenna.” Burt melted into the night, the Prussian hurrying after him.
Jenna expected Willy Boy to keep firing but for some reason he didn’t. Weasel Ginty dismounted and came over and stood with his back to her father.
“Hurry it up, Cal. We’re sittin’ ducks.”
Her father stopped straining against the stake, and scowled. “I can’t get this damn thing out. Help me.”
“One of us needs to keep watch,” Weasel said. He had crouched and was turning from side to side.
“I need your help, damn it.”
“Burt told me to protect you two and that’s what I’m doin’.”
“Who runs this outfit? Burt or me?” her father demanded.
“You do,” Weasel acknowledged. “But I won’t let that get us killed.”
Every moment they bickered was an eternity of worry for Jenna. “Kick it,” she said.
“Eh?” her father said. He didn’t seem his usual self.
“Kick the stake,” Jenna said. “That should loosen it.”
Her father sat, cocked his legs, and slammed his boots against the stake. It moved, but only slightly.
“Keep at it,” Jenna urged.
Cal kicked again and again and again. He swore, and kicked some more. “How on earth did he pound this in?”
“He used a rock,” Jenna recalled. And it had taken a long time, as hard as the ground was. Willy had taunted her while doing it, saying that thanks to her, her father would soon be dead.
Cal resumed kicking, throwing all his weight into it. The stake shook. It moved a little. Grabbing hold, Cal pulled, but once again, he couldn’t get it out. Furious, he sat and attacked it with a frenzy of kicks.
“Hurry,” Weasel said.
“I’m doing the best I can,” Cal snapped.
“Do better.”
Jenna was surprised that Weasel was giving her father sass. It was obvious the little man was scared, and fear had made him bolder.
Her father swore a mean streak, then kicked with both boots at once. There was a loud crack.
“Careful,” Weasel said. “You break that stake off with the rope still in the ground, and we’ll have to dig it out.”
“You’re commencing to annoy me,” Cal said.
“He’s right,” Jenna said. Willy had tied the rope to the bottom of the stake, not the top. She’d wondered why, and now she knew. To make it harder for them to free her.
All three of them stiffened at the sudden sound of a horse. But it was moving away from them, not toward them.
“What the hell?” Weasel blurted. “Is Willy runnin’ away?”
Boots pounded, and into the firelight hastened Burt Alacord and Spike Davis. “He lit a shuck,” Burt informed them.
“That doesn’t sound like Jenkins,” Cal said. “He’s not yellow.”
Burt had holstered his left Colt, and he held his left hand out to show that several of his fingertips were smeared red. “I must have hit him. We heard some sounds and were movin’ toward them when I put my hand down and touched somethin’ wet.”
“His blood!” Cal exclaimed.
“From what we could tell, he’s bleedin’ pretty bad.”
“Good,” Cal said.
Burt looked at Jenna. “Why is she still trussed up?”
Cal kicked the stake. “I can’t get this out.”
“Are you thinkin’ straight tonight?” Burt said. Turning to the Prussian, he motioned. “Davis. Use that pigsticker of yours.”
The Prussian nodded and drew a bayonet he wore attached to his belt, behind his left hip. A single slash, and the rope parted.
“All you had to do was cut it,” Burt said.
“Well, hell,” Cal said.
Jenna would have laughed except that something had occurred to her. “What happened to those lawmen? To that young one, Robert Grant?”
“Why bring them up at a time like this?” her father said, bending to undo the rope around her ankles.
“They had escaped, remember?” Jenna said.
“And good riddance.” He pried at a knot.
“I’d like to know,” Jenna persisted. She’d grown fond of Grant those last couple of days. It had been fun riding together and talking about everything under the sun. With all that had happened since she was abducted, she hadn’t thought about him much. Now she was worried. Terribly worried.
“We lit out after you in such a hurry, we left their horses behind,” Cal related. “I sent Fletcher back for them but he never caught up to us. Which makes me suspect they made worm food of him.”
“They’re still alive, then,” Jenna said more happily than she intended.
Her father glanced up. “You can do better than a tin star. That young one isn’t for you.”
“I’ll say who is and who isn’t.”
“No daughter of mine is going to marry a lawman
.”
“Who said anything about marriage?” Jenna said, her temper flaring. “I like him, is all.”
Burt Alacord stepped up. “What’s gotten into you two? Save the love talk for later. If Willy’s not as badly hit as we think, he might circle around and use that rifle of his.” He turned to Ginty. “Wease, lend Cal a hand.”
In no time Jenna was on her feet, rubbing her chafed wrists. Her horse was brought and her father gave her a boost up. They headed south but only went a mile or so. In the lee of a bluff her father drew rein and announced they’d spend the rest of the night there.
“We’ll go without fire. Willy Boy or those lawdogs might see it.”
“Do you reckon the tin stars are after us?” Weasel asked.
“That old one struck me as having a lot of bark on him. So yes, I do.”
Jenna smiled to herself. The likelihood of seeing Robert Grant again pleased her greatly. Deputy Stone was another matter. The old lawman had said he was going to arrest her for her part in the Unionville Bank robbery and that stage holdup.
Had she been saved from Willy Boy Jenkins, only to face the prospect of years behind bars?
Lord, she hoped not.
31
Alonzo Pratt had never done so much hard riding in his life. Usually he took his sweet time getting somewhere. With Jenna in danger, Stone and him pushed their animals to the point of exhaustion.
Stone complained about Alonzo’s packhorse. It slowed them. Stone wanted Alonzo to leave it behind, but Alonzo refused. Everything he owned was in those packs. The more he thought about it, though, the more he came to realize that the old lawman was right. It boiled down to which was more important, Jenna or his impersonations?
When, shortly thereafter, they stopped to give their lathered mounts a breather, Alonzo came to a decision. Without a word to Stone, he began undoing the packs and setting them on the ground.
“You’ve come to your senses, I take it?”
“This isn’t easy for me,” Alonzo said, lowering a pack.
“Don’t you reckon that pretty gal is more important?”
“Why do you think I’m doin’ this?” Alonzo said. Once he had everything in a pile, he stepped back and sadly reflected that he might never set eyes on them again.
“You’re doin’ the right thing, son.”
In his heart Alonzo knew that. It was his head that balked at leaving everything behind. It was as if he was leaving a part of himself.
“I wouldn’t hobble the horse, if I were you,” Stone advised.
Alonzo didn’t need to ask why. Not with all the things that might do the animal harm. He didn’t look back when they rode on. He had a sense he’d never see his belongings, or the horse, ever again.
Not long after, a distant shot brought them to a stop. They listened for more but there was just the one.
Deputy Stone rose in his stirrups. “I believe I see hills yonder,” he announced. “I can just make them out.”
They pressed on. Once amid the hills, they rode warily, their hands on their six-shooters. When Stone’s horse nickered and shied, they investigated a cut in the side of one of the hills. If not for the moonlight, they would have missed the body lying in the grass.
“Well, now,” Stone said, leaning on his saddle horn, “Tom Kent, dead as can be. One less for us to have to deal with.”
“Willy Boy’s handiwork?”
“That would be my guess. Wouldn’t surprise me if we hear more gunfire before too long. Cal Grissom and the rest are still after him.”
The old lawman’s prediction came true when a flurry of shots cracked not that far away.
“What did I tell you?” Stone said. “Let’s go.” With a lash of his reins and a jab of his spurs, he was off to a gallop.
Alonzo spurred Archibald, who was showing signs of faltering. Beyond the next hill spread a plain. He spied a campfire a ways off and figures moving about.
Deputy Stone had seen them, too, and hauled on his reins. “Climb down! Hurry!”
“Make up your mind,” Alonzo grumbled as he wearily slid off.
“I don’t think they’ve seen us,” Stone said. Crouching, he motioned for Alonzo to do likewise.
“You’re not fixin’ to rush them?” Alonzo wouldn’t put it past him.
“There are four left, and one is Burt Alacord,” Stone said. “Rushin’ into his guns is suicide.”
Alonzo squinted, trying to make out details. “I can’t tell much. What are they doin’?”
“I don’t rightly know. But they’re movin’ around a lot. We’ll wait for things to quiet down and then sneak in close.”
Presently, though, a new development presented itself.
“They’re leavin’!” Stone exclaimed. “Headin’ south, from the looks of things. And the girl’s with them.”
Alonzo was suddenly all interest. “Are you sure?” The old man’s eyes put his to shame.
“Unless one of the men has sprouted long hair, I’m sure, yes. They’ve rescued her from Willy Boy.” Stone rubbed his stubble. “But if he’s dead, why aren’t they campin’ there?”
“We shouldn’t let them get too far ahead,” Alonzo said.
“Don’t worry. We won’t lose them. But we have to do this smart. Pick the time and place to make our move.”
Alonzo didn’t argue. Stone had a lifetime of experience at this sort of thing. And Jenna would be all right, now that she was reunited with her father.
“We’ll wait for the sun to come up.”
That suited Alonzo. He was so tired, he could curl up right there and sleep the day away. As it was, his eyes kept closing and he’d struggle to snap them open again. Slumped in fatigue, he let his chin dip to his chest. The next he knew, a hand was on his arm, shaking him.
“Time to go,” Stone said.
Alonzo was stunned to see the sun half-up. “Sorry,” he said, struggling to shake off his lethargy.
“You young’uns today,” Stone said, chuckling. “You’ve got the stamina of kittens.”
The lawman had them advance riding ten yards apart, their revolvers at the ready. Wisps of smoke rose from the charred embers of the fire. Nearby, a stake jutted from the ground, and a few pieces of rope were scattered about.
Other than the high grass swaying slightly in the cool morning breeze, all was still.
“How about we rekindle that fire and treat ourselves to some coffee?” Stone proposed.
“We can’t take the time,” Alonzo said. “We have to get after Jenna.”
“As tired as we are, we wouldn’t be much good,” Stone said, shaking his head. “The coffee will wake us up. Besides, I doubt Cal Grissom will go far before he makes camp, not with them having ridden all night.”
Alonzo considered that, and changed his mind. “I have a better idea. Why not sleep until noon or so?”
“That’s what they’ll be doin’,” Stone said. “It’s our chance to take them by surprise and rescue your girlfriend.”
“Quit callin’ her that.”
Stone climbed down. “I’ll get the coffee goin’.”
Dismounting, Alonzo stretched. He was almost out on his feet. “I hope I can hold up.”
Jacob Stone had vigor to spare. He used water from both their canteens to fill the coffeepot, and rekindled the fire. Hunkered there, he smiled and rubbed his hands in anticipation.
“You must want that coffee awful bad,” Alonzo said.
“It’s not that,” Stone said. “It’s the Grissom gang. Two dead for sure, and a third likely. With your help, I can put an end to them, once and for all.”
“You’re forgettin’ I’m not a lawman. Why should I lend a hand when you’re only goin’ to throw me behind bars when we get to North Platte?”
Stone stared at him for so long that Alonzo began to feel uneasy.
&nbs
p; “What?”
“I have an idea,” Jacob Stone said.
“So do I,” another voice declared, and out of the grass rose an apparition with a bloodstained shirt and a pearl-handled Colt in its hand. “So much as twitch, either of you, and I’ll blow you both to hell.”
* * *
Deputy Marshal Jacob Stone would have tried for his revolver except that Willy Boy Jenkins was pointing that Colt at him, and not at Alonzo Pratt. Evidently Willy Boy considered him more dangerous, which was shrewd on Willy’s part.
Stone saw that the blood staining Willy’s shirt came from two wounds, not one. Willy had taken a slug high on his chest and another lower down, about where the ribs began. Willy came toward them slightly hunched over, his face slick with sweat, his elbow pressed against the lower wound.
“You!” Alonzo Pratt exclaimed.
Worried that Alonzo would try for his six-gun, Stone said, “Stay calm, son. Don’t do anything rash.”
Willy Boy grunted in pain as he came to a stop. “Listen to the old geezer and you’ll live longer.”
“You abducted her!” Alonzo said, his fists balled.
Willy Boy cocked his head in perplexity. “What does that matter to you? Sounds like you’re takin’ it personal.”
To draw Jenkins’s attention to himself, Stone remarked, “I figured you were dead by now.”
“I almost was, thanks to that damn Burt Alacord,” Willy Boy growled. “The bastard must have eyes like a cat to hit me in the dark.”
“Did you fire first?” Stone imagined. “He probably shot at your muzzle flash.” He’d done the same thing on a number of occasions.
“I was crouched down,” Willy Boy said. “I thought they’d shoot over my head.” He looked at his blood-drenched shirt. “I was out for a while. My horse ran off, too.”
“And here you are, aimin’ to take ours,” Stone said. He was surprised that Jenkins hadn’t simply shot them dead.
“I want some of that coffee you’re makin’,” Willy Boy said. “To keep my strength up.”
A suspicion came over Stone that there was more to it, that Willy hadn’t gunned them down because Grissom and the others hadn’t been gone all that long, and might hear the shots and come back to investigate.
Guns on the Prairie Page 23
