The Black Horse Westerns

by Abe Dancer

  ‘The next few days will be mighty dangerous,’ Barney said, rising to his feet. ‘So you decide what to do. I’ve got business elsewhere.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Jim demanded.

  Barney pointed to the side of the large overhanging rock beneath which they’d sought safety for the night.

  ‘To find some bushes.’

  ‘You don’t leave my sight.’

  ‘Then come with me or let me do it here, but I can assure you, I ain’t doing nothing you’ll want to see.’

  Barney moved to undo his belt and squat, and so with a raised hand Jim acknowledged that Barney could have privacy. Barney hurried away, but the moment he was out of his sight Jim stood and paced around the overhang in the opposite direction to the way Barney had gone.

  He climbed to higher ground to look down on the other side of the overhang. At first he couldn’t see Barney in the gloom but then he saw a bush shake, then another.

  He was about to head back to the fire, assuming that Barney had been honest with his claim about his intentions, when another bush shook. Then Barney came into view, hunched over and tiptoeing away from the overhang at a furtive pace that suggested he had other things on his mind.

  Jim looked ahead to work out Barney’s future route, then climbed down from the overhang. Two minutes of hurrying later he was lying on his front in the gathering gloom 200 yards from the overhang, breathing shallowly.

  Patiently he waited until he heard grit rasp, then again, the sounds coming nearer. Then Barney came into view, placing his feet to the ground carefully while looking over his shoulder. Jim let Barney enjoy a few more moments of thinking he was getting away before speaking up.

  ‘That’s far enough,’ he said.

  Barney flinched as if shot, then swung round.

  ‘I was looking for the right place to—’

  ‘Save your breath. Your reputation precedes you.’

  Barney placed his hands on his hips, gathering his composure with a deep breath.

  ‘Then I’ll save my breath.’

  ‘You’ll need it. We’re a day’s ride from White Ridge, without horses. It’ll be a slow and dangerous trek and we need to work together.’

  ‘If White Ridge is over there,’ Barney said, swinging his hand overarm and pointing in the opposite direction, ‘I’m going that way.’

  Barney raised his eyebrows, smiled, then did a double take and hurtled off into the night in the direction he’d indicated.

  Jim watched his receding figure, sighing to himself. Then, seeing no choice, he set off after him, but he conserved his strength and kept up a steady pace. At first Barney got a one-hundred-yard lead on him but his pace rapidly fell away and after another hundred yards he was staggering, waving his arms and running doubled over.

  As Barney slowed to almost a walking pace Jim caught up with him easily. But since he showed no sign of stopping his foolhardy dash into the night Jim threw himself at him, grabbed him around the waist and knocked him to the ground.

  The two men went sprawling and when Jim rolled off him Barney just lay on his front, wheezing in great gasps of air. Jim got to his feet and placed a hand on Barney’s shoulder to usher him back to the overhang.

  ‘That sure was stupid,’ he said.

  ‘But I don’t want to die,’ Barney whined.

  ‘You won’t.’ Jim patted his holster. ‘I’ve done this sort of thing before. I’ll get you to a court of law.’

  Barney rolled to a sitting position still breathing heavily, then sighed and heaved himself to his feet to consider Jim. He got his breathing under control with several huge gasps.

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s anything I can say that’ll persuade you not to go to White Ridge, is there?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Because of Billy Jameson?’

  ‘That’s part of it.’

  Barney considered, then nodded. ‘That mean you did a deal with Nixon to find me in return for him helping Billy?’

  Jim smiled on hearing this perceptive comment.

  ‘I did, but I’ve decided to believe your story. If Nixon was behind Sherman’s murder, I reckon he was also determined to have Billy charged, because he was involved in Orson Brown’s murder too.’ Jim pointed to the overhang, inviting Barney to walk with him. ‘I intend to get you to White Ridge and then we’ll see what the truth drags out.’

  Barney started walking back to the overhang at a slow pace, his head lowered. When he spoke again his voice was low and resigned.

  ‘I spent time with Billy in the jailhouse. He’s a good kid. I’d hate to see him suffer, so if you want to help him, then that’s—’

  ‘That’s enough talk,’ Jim snapped, putting on an aggrieved tone that covered the amusement he felt at Barney’s weak attempt at subterfuge. ‘I’ve heard all the stories. You won’t fool me by claiming you’ve been so overcome by Billy’s plight you’ll go back to White Ridge voluntarily.’

  Barney’s thin smile suggested that his plan had been to sow the seeds of an apparent change of heart that would lull Jim into a false sense of security. He didn’t speak again until they were back beside the fire, and when he did his tone was quick and determined and his gaze firm in the reflected firelight.

  ‘Then I’ll tell you the truth, Jim,’ he said. ‘Billy can take his own chances. I care only about myself, so I’ll continue to try to escape any chance I get, not because I’m afraid of what a court might do to me, but because I’m innocent and a powerful man ain’t. That means I’m a dead man unless I can find a way out of this, and it’ll be my own way.’

  ‘Obliged for your honesty, but after what you saw in the mayor’s office and with the kind of men who are after you, you’re a dead man if you don’t have my protection. So think about this: if I spend all my time watching you, I won’t be spending that time watching out for the people who are after you. You’ll end up dead even quicker.’

  Barney lowered his head and stared into the flames, his stooped shoulders suggesting that this viewpoint had had the desired effect.

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you this: I won’t give you no trouble while you’re protecting me, but if I see a better chance to get out of this alive, I’ll take it.’

  ‘I accept your terms,’ Jim said, although he hadn’t believed the declaration. ‘So this is what we’ll do. We’ll rest up tonight. Then tomorrow we’ll set off for White Ridge on foot.’

  Barney nodded, then spread his hands to display his padded jacket.

  ‘On foot won’t be necessary,’ he said, smiling. ‘If we’re a team, I’ll find a way to use this money and make our journey a little more pleasant.’

  CHAPTER 9

  Barney Dale peered through the crack between two crates at the small expanse of visible sky. He sighed, then shuffled round to face Jim, who was stretching his cramped limbs.

  ‘When I said I’d buy us a way to White Ridge that was more pleasant than being on foot,’ he said, ‘I didn’t have this in mind.’

  ‘I know,’ Jim said, ‘that’s why I chose it. I want us to arrive in White Ridge unseen.’

  ‘And sore, numb, and all cramped up,’ Barney grumbled, shifting position again.

  Jim smiled in sympathy even if he didn’t regret his decision.

  This morning on foot they had made their way towards White Ridge, taking a course that ran parallel to the railroad tracks. Around noon they had found a homestead where Barney had bartered to buy a horse, a mangy and bow-backed bay. Luckily, they’d been saved from the indignity of negotiating for its dubious assistance by the arrival of Dave Hallow, a trader.

  For twenty dollars they’d bought passage to White Ridge on the back of his provision-laden wagon. It was a journey that would take the rest of the day and which, as they had been moving to higher ground over the last few hours, Jim reckoned was a few hours from completion.

  He was also growing in confidence that they could reach town while avoiding Pike, Hyde, and anyone else who might be looking for them.
But he wasn’t so confident as not to hide among the crates of provisions and sacks of corn on the back of the wagon.

  Through the gaps he could see the ridge that gave White Ridge its name to their side, its light-coloured rocks gleaming in the rays from the lowering sun. The river that ran to the north of White Ridge was roaring by somewhere below and their slow progress suggested the route they were on was a high and treacherous one.

  Barney was searching for a new reason to grumble when for the first time this day Jim heard an untoward noise. Barney fell silent and both men strained their hearing.

  ‘Move aside,’ Dave shouted from the driver’s seat ahead. ‘The wagon’s too wide for all your horses, unless you want to end up in the river.’

  ‘We’ll move aside,’ a strident voice called out, ‘when you’ve answered a question.’

  On the back of the wagon Barney and Jim looked at each other, silently asking the other whether they recognized the voice. Neither of them did but that didn’t dispel Jim’s feeling of foreboding.

  ‘Then ask it,’ Dave said, drawing the wagon to a halt. ‘I’ve got a delivery to make in White Ridge.’

  ‘That mean you’ve come from Milton Creek?’ An affirmative grunt sounded. ‘Have you seen anyone acting strangely today?’

  This made Jim wince then shift his weight to draw his gun.

  ‘I see plenty of strange things out on the trail. I could tell you some stories. Why only yesterday I saw a—’

  ‘Spare me the wild and pointless tale. I mean two men on foot.’

  Long moments passed in which Jim could picture Dave rubbing his jaw and ruminating, as he had when they’d negotiated for passage and he’d realized they had money.

  ‘Now I might have done and I might not have done,’ he drawled. ‘My memory ain’t what it used to be.’

  Jim glanced at Barney.

  ‘He’s selling us out,’ he whispered.

  ‘He’s not,’ Barney said. ‘A straight no would appear suspicious. He’s talking us out of a tricky situation.’

  ‘Then let’s hope he’s better at it than you are.’

  Barney narrowed his eyes in irritation, then cocked his head when one of the new arrivals spoke up again.

  ‘We ain’t paying for information. Either tell us what you’ve seen or we’ll tip your wagon down into the river.’

  ‘No need to get uppity. I can defend myself.’

  ‘Too late!’ another voice said.

  Dave uttered a strangulated gasp after which there was silence for several seconds. On the back of the wagon Barney mouthed a question as to what was happening. Jim mouthed back that the situation was turning ugly, then patted his gun.

  Barney got the idea and did his best to burrow down into the base of the wagon as outside slow hoofbeats approached.

  Then, closer to the wagon, an uncompromising demand rang out.

  ‘One wrong move and I fire!’

  Jim winced and glanced at Barney.

  ‘Pike,’ he mouthed. Then he moved away from Barney to get closer to the front of the wagon, his next actions now unavoidable.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Dave asked.

  ‘Maybe nothing, but we’ll find out soon enough. Get down off that wagon. Then we’ll search your wares. If we don’t find anything interesting, you can move on to White Ridge.’

  ‘And if we do,’ another voice said, clearly Hyde’s, ‘you’ll follow your wagon down into the river.’

  Jim made a calming gesture, telling Barney to stay where he was. Then he examined the stacked heaps of produce. There were two barrels with an empty sack draped over them, then four crates piled in a block were between him and the seat. He slipped in between the barrels and placed a hand on the sack, ready to toss it aside at the right moment.

  If he was to get them out of this situation alive, he couldn’t avoid meting out death, he accepted, but he consoled himself with the thought that, unlike the last time he’d killed, this time he didn’t have a choice.

  ‘I don’t want no trouble,’ Dave said, his tone low and serious. ‘I ain’t seen no men since I left Milton Creek, so if you want to waste your time searching every barrel and crate back there, do it. Just pay me for any damage and if any of that damage is to Nixon’s goods, you can explain what you did to him.’

  Jim knelt in a poised position, hoping Dave’s bluff would work. Long moments passed in silence until Pike spoke up.

  ‘We’ll do just that,’ he said. ‘You, search the wagon.’

  ‘That’s your choice,’ Dave said. ‘I’ve—’

  A rifle shot tore out, closely followed by another gunshot. Then the seat creaked and the thud of a body hitting wood sounded. Guessing what had happened, Jim threw back the sack and sprang to his feet.

  As he rose to his full height the crates came up to his midriff, letting him see the scene. It was pretty much as he’d envisaged. The wagon was on a thin trail winding along the side of the ridge. A steep upward slope was to the right and a precipitous slope down to the distant river was to the left.

  Men, presumably hired in Milton Creek, led by Pike and Hyde were positioned before and behind the wagon. Jim’s quick glance counted nine men with one man moving to climb up on to the driver’s seat from which Dave’s body was falling.

  Jim turned his gun on that man, blasting him in the chest and throwing him backwards. Two more crisp shots spat out from his gun, sending the only two riders in front of the wagon tumbling from their horses.

  Then Jim vaulted the crates to land square on the seat. As he went to one knee he noted that none of the men he’d shot was the leader of the group. But that wasn’t as important as the fact that nobody was left on the trail stretching before him other than the two riderless horses.

  Jim crouched down, keeping his body below the level of the wares stored on the back of the wagon. He lunged for the reins, but before he reached them lead scythed across his forearm. A bolt of pain ripped through his arm.

  He’d taken bullets before and he steeled himself for the all-consuming pain to come, but when he looked at his arm, he saw that he’d been lucky. The bullet had only grazed flesh and he could still open and close his fist.

  He raised himself up and fired blind over the tops of the crates, then reloaded and kept low as the return gunfire blasted out. He waited until it had ended, then moved to rise, but before he could fire, another volley sounded and a moment later Barney bounded over the crates to land at his side.

  ‘I told you to stay hidden,’ Jim said.

  ‘With them moving in it was getting mighty tough to stay put,’ Barney said. ‘I figured it was time to tell you to stop sitting around admiring the view and get us the hell out of here.’

  Jim gave an appreciative laugh, then pointed at the reins.

  ‘On the count of three, go for ’em and get us moving.’

  Jim looked at Barney for long enough to confirm he’d understood, then counted to three quickly and bobbed up. This time he edged over the top of the crates, to see that the remaining six riders were moving purposefully towards the wagon from all directions.

  He fired at the nearest man to the side, judging him to be the man who had been keeping him pinned down. His shot flew wide, letting that man and two others return fire.

  Splinters flew from the top of the crate as Jim ducked. He stayed down and jerked up again, firing quickly and wildly, but despite his lack of success, he provided enough of a distraction for Barney to take the reins.

  With a loud bellow and a crack of his hand, Barney got the wagon moving, the wheels turning slowly then building up speed as they went trundling along the thin trail. Both men kept their heads down as bullets whined overhead or holed the crates and splattered chunks of wood at their backs.

  The trail was wide enough for a single rider to pass on either side of them. So Jim kept his gun trained on one side then the other, waiting for someone to risk trying to get ahead of them.

  But they covered the first fifty yards then one hundred, without anyo
ne risking it. By then they were rocking their way along faster than Dave would have allowed them to travel this high up.

  About 300 yards ahead the trail followed the contours of the ridge before turning sharply to the right. The trail then disappeared from view. They’d have to slow to negotiate that bend and Jim judged that that was where their pursuers would make their move.

  He pointed, drawing Barney’s attention to the bend, then heard a rattling noise from behind as a shadow passed over him. He turned to see Hyde had leapt on to the wagon and was clambering on to the top of the crates ready to assault them. The wagon was rocking so much that Hyde was struggling to keep his balance, but on seeing that his attempt to sneak up on them unnoticed had failed he swung his gun arm round towards Barney.

  With only seconds to react Jim threw his forearm up, blocking Hyde’s arm before he could aim. In frustration Hyde squeezed out a shot. The bullet whined a foot over Barney’s lowered head, confirming that his main objective was still to silence him.

  From his elevated position Hyde bore down on Jim with all his weight, lowering his arm and inching the gun closer and closer to the point where he would be able to shoot Barney.

  Jim strained to hold back the descending arm. He couldn’t, so in a moment he changed tactics. He stopped resisting and jerked his hand to the side to grab Hyde’s jacket, then dropped, yanking down with all his might.

  The sudden movement caught Hyde off guard and pulled him forward from the crates. He somersaulted once to land on his back on the seat with his legs thrust high and waving like those of an upturned beetle.

  His gun came loose and skittered along the seat, but Jim gave him no time to recover his wits and reach it. He threw himself on to Hyde’s chest, grabbing for his shoulder to hold him down with his left hand while swinging his own gun round, aiming to thrust it up under Hyde’s chin.

  Hyde’s eyes opened wide as he saw the gun close on him. He scrambled for purchase, managing to get his feet on to the seat and with a firm kick he forced his way backwards and nearer to the edge, loosening Jim’s grip.

  ‘Get him over the side,’ Barney shouted from behind Jim.