The music continued.
Go back or go ahead? The question tore frantically at Jody’s brain. Save yourself or do what you came here for? It was impossible to take Shawn now.
A shout came from above. That was Shawn.
Without thinking, Jody acted, leaping for the head of the stairs.
There was a crack of light under a door. Shawn was beyond it. The horse had halted at the front of the house. The outer door burst open.
Marler bellowed: “Shawn ... Shawn ... they’re here.”
From inside, Shawn yelled. The door was torn open and a naked man stepped out with a gun in his hand. The music stopped. Men’s voices sounded below.
Shawn leapt for the head of the stairs. Jody put out a foot and tripped him.
As Shawn went down, his gun went off. Jody drove the brass-bound butt of his rifle at the man’s head. He groaned and stretched out on the boards. The girl in the room screamed.
Below, Marler was yelling: “For God’s sake give me a gun.”
Feet sounded on the stairs, men were yelling.
Jody drove a shot down the stairs, a man screamed and there was the sound of hasty retreat. Jody caught hold of one of Shawn’s wrists and dragged him into the room. The girl was standing in the middle of the room still screaming.
Jody said in Spanish: “Dress yourself, woman, and stop that noise.” The girl stopped. Jody found a chair and jammed the back of it under the latch of the heavy door.
When he turned, the girl was watching him, terrified, starting to pull on one of her many petticoats. She stopped as Jody turned, and said in a frightened voice: “Do not kill me, I beg of you. I am a poor girl...”
“Nobody’s goin’ to hurt you,” Jody informed her. “Just do as you’re told. It’s this carrion I want.” He looked around. “Find his clothes.”
Outside, Bret opened up with his rifle. Maybe that would keep the men downstairs occupied for a while. The girl found a shirt and flung it at Shawn’s inert white body. She had beautiful breasts, Jody thought. The color of creamy coffee. Keep your mind on your work, Storm.
“Cover your nakedness,” he ordered sternly.
She found a blouse and slipped it on. That made things a little better for him, but not much.
There was a lull in the shooting.
Jody went to the window and shouted: “I got him, Bret.”
Bret bawled back: “Can you keep him?”
“Keep the other bastards busy an’ we’ll see about that.”
He went and sat on the bed. The girl found long johns, pants and boots. Then she continued dressing. Shawn was still inert.
I must have hit him too hard, Jody thought. I hope I didn’t kill him.
But Shawn wasn’t dead. He stirred, sat up slowly and tried to focus his eyes. He held his head and groaned. The girl started to go to him, but Jody ordered her back. He didn’t want any beautiful young females used as shields.
He said: “Get your clothes on, Shawn. You could do yourself a mischief ridin’ naked.”
Shawn looked at him with some difficulty.
“You bastard,” he murmured in a half-hearted manner.
“Sticks an’ stones,” said Jody. “Get your duds on, I don’t have all night an’ my temper’s horrible.”
Groggily, Shawn rose to his feet. Jody signed for the girl to go to the far side of the room and she obeyed him.
From the head of the stairs, Marler bawled: “You can’t get away with this, Storm. There’s a half-dozen guns out here.”
Jody didn’t reply.
“Move it,” he said to Shawn. “I’d as soon kill you as tote you the long trail home.”
Shawn looked as if he believed that. That would make sense to him. He started to pull his clothes on. He was dazed and his movements were uncertain.
Marler shouted: “Throw your guns down, Storm, or we’re comin’ in.”
This time Jody replied.
“Come right ahead,” he called back. “You touch that door and Shawn’s a dead man.”
Shawn turned his head and looked at Jody. For the first time since he had first seen him, he saw real apprehension in the man’s eyes. The outlaw was badly shaken.
“Tell “em, Shawn,” Jody said.
“Not now, boys,” Shawn shouted. “Not now.”
That gave them the message. They were to try later.
What the hell have I gotten myself into? Jody thought despairingly. He had to get this man several days” ride back to town with this bunch snapping at his heels.
Shawn pulled on his pants. Jody kept the muzzle of his rifle pointed at the man’s belly. His nerves were so taut that he expected them to snap at any moment. If Shawn gave one sudden movement, he would fire. He hoped to God Shawn was aware of this.
Now the outlaw was pulling on his boots.
The girl suddenly rushed from her corner, mouthing a flood of fast Spanish, begging Jody to let Shawn go.
Shawn was as alarmed as Jody. He gestured the girl back with one hand and yelled: “Stay away from me. You crazy or some-thin’? You wanta get me killed?”
The girl stopped, her eyes frightened, and backed into the corner.
Shawn stamped his feet into his boots. Jody stood up.
Jody said: “Now you listen good, Shawn. We’re goin’ out the window. My partner will be coverin’ you from below. You go out onto the tiles an’ you turn to the right. You crawl on hands and knees an’ you stop when I say. It’s best I have you alive, but nobody ain’t goin’ to blame me if you’re dead.”
Soberly, Shawn said: “All right. I don’t aim to try a thing. I mean that. But you can’t get away with this, Storm. You have to reach those trees yonder an’ my men’ll pick you off as you go.”
That was true and Jody knew it was a chance he had to take.
He said to the girl: “If you open that door before we’re clear only Shawn will suffer. You understand?”
She nodded.
“Now — out the window, Shawn.”
The outlaw went to the window.
“Your friend could shoot me,” he said.
Jody yelled: “Comin’ out, Bret.”
Bret shouted back.
Shawn threw a leg over the sill, then drew the other after it. He dropped to his hands and knees and started crawling. Jody followed him, making awkward work of it with the rifle.
They were halfway along the roof of the gallery when he heard Bret’s bellow and heard him fire. A gun roared behind him and something struck him a violent blow in the back of his right thigh. He felt himself going over the edge of the roof. Even then his thought was for his prisoner and the necessity of hanging on to him. He lunged out with his right hand, caught Shawn by the ankle and, as he went over the edge, hung on. With a howl of alarm, Shawn came after him.
Jody seemed to hit ground after an eternity of time had passed. He knew he had dropped his rifle. The shock of being hit and then taking the fall did not distract him from his purpose. He rolled onto his left side and wrenched the Colt’s gun from leather. As Shawn staggered to his feet, Jody cocked the gun and said: “Hold it.”
Bret was firing at the window above. Somebody up there was shooting back and Jody wondered if it was the girl.
What happens now? he thought. He knew his right leg was almost useless. When he tried to get to his feet, it gave under him. There was no pain yet. The whole limb felt numbed.
“Hands and knees,” he said. “Crawl toward Bret.” He raised his voice: “Shawn comin’ to you, Bret.”
The outlaw sighed and got down on his hands and knees. Jody could tell he was scared he would be shot by one of his own men. He didn’t blame him. He searched around for his rifle and found it. A rifle was fired from a window immediately above his head. He drove a pistol shot back. A man cried out. Jody started crawling for the cart.
Shawn was shrieking for them to stop shooting. The firing died away. To Jody it was like trying to drag a dead weight on the end of his leg.
Maybe I’m bleeding
to death, he thought. How do I sit a horse with a bullet in the back of my leg?
Shawn reached the low wall and Jody called for him to halt.
“Bret,” he called, “he’s reached the wall. Can you see him?”
The cowhand had moved his position. His voice came back right near Shawn.
“Come ahead, Jode,” he said, “I have him.”
Jody dragged himself on. By the time he reached the cart he felt at the end of his tether. He must be losing blood fast. He reached the wall, tried to get over it and failed. As he fell back against the ground, Bret’s anxious voice came: “You hit, Jode?”
“Sure I’m hit,” Jody snarled. “You think I’m foolin’ around at a time like this?”
“I can’t help you,” Bret said. “I don’t aim to take my eyes off this sonovabitch.”
Jody made another try for the wall, got a grip on the top of it and dragged himself over. As he fell to the ground, he said: “Both of you get down.”
The two men crouched down. Jody took off his bandanna, tied it around the top of his thigh above the wound and twisted it tight. With one hand, he felt around to the back of his leg. His pants were soaked with blood. A hell of a note. He drew the Colt, pushed the barrel between the cloth and his leg and twisted. Holding onto the gun, he staggered to his feet and said: “Let’s go.”
“Can you walk?”
“Boy, I gotta walk.”
Slowly, they headed for the trees. Behind them was utter silence. Every time Jody put his right leg to the ground, it tried to fail him, but his will demanded service of it. The pain was starting now. At last they reached the trees. Now Jody was really nervous that Shawn might jump Bret in the complete darkness under the trees.
He stopped and leaned against a trunk. He felt weak and dizzy.
“Tie his hands behind him,” he told Bret. “Go ahead, I have my rifle pointed at him.”
Bret tied their prisoner’s hands behind him and they went on. Their progress was painfully slow. When they reached the far side of the timber, he stopped and listened. Far off, he thought he heard the sound of running horses.
Marler ... he knew where they’d left their horses. Shawn’s bunch would be waiting there for them when they arrived.
He told Bret as much.
The cowhand swore, but the problem didn’t beat him.
“If they’re aimin’ to jump us,” he said, “I doubt there’s many back at the house. Feller like Shawn keeps good horses an’ more’n enough to go around. That right, Shawn?”
Shawn said: “I don’t tell you a thing.”
“Jode,” said Bret, “you rest up here awhile, I’ll go fetch us some horses.”
It could be dangerous for Bret and Jody knew it. But what else could they do?
“All right,” he said. “Go ahead. An’ look out for yourself.”
Bret walked away into the timber. Jody told Shawn: “Lie down on your face, Shawn.”
The man cursed him and obeyed. Jody sat down and rested his back against a tree. His leg was hurting like hell now. He released the tourniquet for a few seconds and tightened it again. He wanted to sleep and sleep ... he hoped Bret wouldn’t be long.
The night was quiet. Shawn lay very still. The rifle in Jody’s hands seemed very heavy. Whatever happened, he must stay awake. He could feel sleep gently creeping up on him. It must be the loss of blood.
He must stay awake ...
The element of time started to go a little haywire. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there.
He came fully awake as his chin hit his chest.
Opening his eyes wide, he looked up to see the dark figure of a man against the stars. It was Shawn.
Jody lifted the rifle and said: “That’s pretty naughty of you, Shawn. Go lie down like a good feller.”
“I don’t have anythin’ to lose,” Shawn said. “You’re goin’ to hang me any road.”
“True enough,” Jody agreed. “But there’s always a chance a good lawyer will get you off. Now go lie down.”
Shawn lay down. Jody sat on, fighting sleep.
It seemed an age before he heard the hoofbeats of horses being walked through the trees. Then Bret was there. He seemed in high spirits.
“Nobody there, but the girl,” he said. “Two fine horses for us, Jode, an’ a mule for little ole Shawn.”
Shawn was on his feet.
“A mule,” he said. “I don’t ride no mule.”
Bret laughed.
“You’ll ride a mule, boy,” he said. “An’ backward.”“
“Backward?” Shawn said, horrified. “How in hell can I ride backward? What do you want to do a thing like that to me for?”
“Because,” said Bret, “you’re a slippery bastard. If you was an ordinary stupid person like me, why, you’d be ridin’ the right way around. But you ain’t. So backward it is.”
And backward it was. Somehow Bret got him aboard and tied his hands to the saddle and his feet under the animal’s belly.
The prisoner thus secured, Bret turned his attention to Jody who protested that there was no time to waste and they must get on their way.
“Goin’ to do us a heap of good,” Bret told him, “if you die on me.”
Jody thought maybe he had something there. He rolled over onto his face and Bret examined the wound as best he could in the poor light. In his opinion, the lead had caught the leg at an angle and merely ripped a path across the back of the thigh.
“Is that all?” Jody said dryly.
“Yeah, that’s all.”
“You make it sound like nothin’.”
Bret took off his bandanna and made a pad of it. This he bandaged firmly to the leg with Jody’s.
“Soon as we can,” he said, “we wash that leg out good.” He helped Jody up and gave him a hand up into the saddle. “Does it hurt too bad?” he asked.
“Not so you’d notice,” Jody said. He’d been reared to despise pain. Or at least to pretend to despise it.
Bret stepped into the saddle and said: “Which way?”
“East,” said Jody.
They walked the horses through the trees. The action wasn’t comfortable for his leg, but he reckoned it could have been worse. When they had traveled a mile or more at a steady pace, Jody said they should move on faster and they lifted the animals into a trot. Now he was forced to grit his teeth. It wasn’t going to be much fun getting Shawn back into that cell, he told himself.
Chapter Fourteen
They knew that Shawn’s men would make a try to free him and they dreaded it. They traveled by night and forted up by day in the best spots they could find. They lost their tracks on rocks and in water when they could, but they both had the feeling that they were being followed. The prisoner banked on it. They could tell from the way he watched the country, sitting backward on his mule. He had asked once if he could sit the animal the right way around. It was plain torture, he said, to be going backward the whole time. But Bret wouldn’t hear of it.
As they rode, Jody said: “Maybe your boys’re goin’ to jump us, Shawn, but when they do, they’re goin’ to see you ridin’ that way and, boy, they’re goin’ to plum laugh themselves outa the saddle. You ain’t a-goin’ to live this down for the rest of your life.”
Shawn’s only reply was a stare of pure venom.
Two days passed and nothing happened. The prisoner’s uneasiness increased the nearer they approached town. So did Jody’s and Bret’s. They knew that if Shawn was to be freed, they would best try for him before he was locked in a cell.
When they did come, they came in the most unlikely place. Jody had been prepared in all the obvious places such as mountain passes and other narrow ways, places where ambushes could be established, where men could find good cover from which to fire at horsemen without getting hit themselves. But they didn’t do anything of the kind. They hit the two deputies and their prisoner at the crossing of a shallow river, running their horses out of some brush from a distance of about a quarter-mile, gi
ving Jody and Bret time to prepare a reception for them.
Not that it all went in Jody and Bret’s favor, because those half-dozen riders seemed to be prepared to risk their lives for Shawn tied there and looking ridiculous backward on his mule. They outnumbered the defenders and they scattered out to come in from several directions at the same time, shooting as they came, offering the man they wanted to save as much danger as the two men they wanted to kill.
Jody could have run for the cover on the far side, but that would have exposed his back to the riders as they splashed their way through the shallows, their guns throwing out their billows of black smoke and little stabs of bright flame. The lead hummed through the air and some of it knocked up little plummets of water around Jody, Bret and their prisoner.
“Run for cover,” Bret shouted.
“Stand,” Jody yelled back, turned his horse and brought it to a halt, firing steadily at the oncoming horsemen. He knocked over a horse and dumped its rider in the shallows.
Bret was shooting and failing to hit the moving targets.
A rider swooped in from the right, firing a belt-gun and Jody hit him in the head, knocking him out of the saddle in one.
And strangely enough that ended the fight.
A dead horse and a dead rider and the fight was over. The outlaws withdrew to the far side of the wide shallows and gathered in the shadow of some mesquite, watching them.
“Let’s get on,” said Jody.
“They could attack again,” Bret said.
“They won’t,” said Jody, and they didn’t.
The two men drove the mule up onto dry land and when they looked back, the outlaws were still there by the mesquite watching them lead their chief away to lock him in a cell.
Shawn stared back at them and said with deep bitterness: “The bastards. The lousy yellow bastards.”
“I told ‘em I’d kill you if they tried to bust you loose,” Jody said.
Shawn laughed suddenly.
“You don’t have the stomach for it, Jode,” he said.
“Don’t bank on it,” said Jody.
They reached town after dark that night, coming up to the courthouse through the backlots and knocking for Charlie to let them in through the cell-block. Charlie was pretty jumpy and he had his sawn-off shotgun in his hands. When he saw Jody, he peered past him into the darkness and asked: “Who’s that there?”
Blood on the Hills Page 13
