The truth came to her then and it stunned her. The authority she had built up over the years with this breed of men was done away with. They were breaking even their own weak code.
She made a final try.
“Styree,” she said, “you don’t have a hope in Hell of getting away with this and you know it.”
His grin was lopsided. He looked like a hungry wolf.
“I’ll get to you later,” he told her. “I always promised myself I would. Sure, we’ll do like you say, Linda. We’ll head for the Border an’ you’ll come with us.”
“I never took you for a fool,” she told him, “but this is the craziest thing I ever heard of.”
“What’re you goin’ to do about it?” he demanded. “Go to the law?”
Dale Brophy, his buckteeth gleaming in the lamplight, dropped a noose over Gregorio’s head and tightened it around his throat. When the Mexican made strangling sounds, Brophy laughed in delight. Another man forced the Mexican’s hands behind his back and they were lashed together. They kicked his feet from under him and he hit the floor hard. Quickly, they tied his wrists to his ankles. If he struggled, he would strangle himself. There was nothing the woman could do but stand and watch. She had never felt more helpless in her life. Fear and anger were mixed in her.
“My God,” she shouted. “I’ll pay you all for this.”
The three men Styree had named were leaving the room, their guns in their hands. Styree had said that they should take Jody Storm alive, but she knew that he was not the kind to suffer such a fate. He would be on his guard now. She didn’t doubt that they would shoot him to death.
Styree was naming off other men. They were to round up her Mexican riders. They knew there were fighting men among them and they would not be safe here until they were disarmed. She prayed that none of them would make a fight of it. No man’s life was worth what she held in the safe in her room. She was left in the large room with Styree, Dale Brophy and the pinioned Gregorio.
She went over to the Mexican and dropped on her knees beside him.
“Forgive me,” he said.
She turned to Styree.
“Take this rope from around his neck, he’ll strangle.”
“I should smile,” Styree told her. “It feels good to have a rope around another man’s neck, even if he’s only a greaser. He stays still, he won’t do himself no harm.”
“If you won’t do it,” she said, “I will’
He took two strides to her and, before she could dodge him, he caught her by her hair at the back of her head and flung her across the room.
“You ain’t boss here no more,” he said. “Jest get that into your head, woman.”
Gregorio said through his teeth: “If I live, I shall kill you for this, gringo.”
Styree swore, turned to the Mexican and stamped down with the heel of his boot. Gregorio writhed in agony and made an unpleasant strangling noise.
Brophy giggled.
Half-stunned, Linda Aragon rose slowly to her feet. She walked to the table and sat down, her face in her hands, hating the fact of her weakness.
Styree came and took hold of her by the back of her neck. His hand was curiously soft.
“Don’t take it hard,” he said. “You’re a woman. You ain’t never been treated like a woman before. Here’s a man that’ll do it.”
The touch of his hand sickened her. She fought the impulse to turn and strike out at him.
“Take your hand off me,” she said.
He laughed and obeyed her.
“Plenty of time,” he said.
He walked to the door, opened it and listened. He could not hear a sound from above. He hoped the Storm kid wouldn’t act the fool and try gunplay. He would need him for a while to keep Mart off his back. He didn’t like the sound of Mart Storm at all.
Vince Stoddard reached the head of the stairs first. He knew he could be walking into trouble, but he was cool enough. Most likely the woman had warned Storm, but the kid must know there was no way out of here without going past them and that couldn’t be done.
He paused and listened. He could hear nothing. He started to tiptoe toward the door of the room Storm had been given. Koler and Charlie came softly behind him.
He came to the door and saw the light under it.
The next few seconds could be awkward. If the kid was ready for them, somebody could get hurt and it could be him. Yet he had a reputation and it was something he cared about. If he backed up now, he would lose face.
Lightly, he laid his hand on the latch of the door and raised it. Koler moved alongside him.
“Now,” the rotund man said.
Stoddard flung the door wide and leapt into the room, gun ready.
The place was empty.
“Goddamit to Hell,” Koler said softly.
They looked around them.
Charlie said: “The window mebbe.”
Koler lifted the lamp over the bureau. There was an ornate grill over the window. So the kid had not gone out that way.
“Easy does it,” Stoddard said. “I’m not too sure I like this much.”
The other two didn’t either.
Stoddard stepped to the door and looked up and down the landing. Some light came up from below, but either end of the floor was in darkness. Koler joined him, thumb on hammer.
“Maybe,” he said, “he went down and out while we was in there talkin’.”
“If he did,” Stoddard said, “there’s goin’ to be Hell to pay. We have to have the bastard.”
“Lookin’ for me, boys?” a voice asked.
They froze.
Charlie who had been in the act of joining them outside the room, ducked back inside.
Vince Stoddard stood still, caught in that deadly split second of choice—to shoot or possibly die. The voice had come from the darkness to his right. Storm was lying on his belly on the floor holding a gun on him.
Koler spoke. His voice was steady.
“Take it easy, boy,” he said. “Let’s talk this over like sensible men.”
“I ain’t sensible,” Jody said, “An’ I have a bead on you, fat man.”
Charlie whispered from behind them: “Keep talkin’. I’ll git him in one.”
He dropped to one knee and held his gun in his left hand so that he could shoot more easily around the jamb of the door without exposing himself.
Vince Stoddard said: “Kid, there’s three of us. You don’t stand a chance. We don’t mean you no harm, believe me. There ain’t no reason why we shouldn’t come to a nice comfortable agreement. Give us a chance to explain the situation to you an’ you’ll see it our way.”
“I can cut down two of you before you can cock your guns,” Jody told him. “Let’s hear ’em fall on the floor, boys.”
“You’re makin’ a mistake,” Koler said.
He heard Charlie cock his gun.
Jody Storm heard it too. His gun and Charlie’s went off in the same second.
The boom of the heavy guns in the confined space was deafening. Something plucked viciously at Koler’s left sleeve and his nerve broke. He turned and ran toward the front of the house as a second shot came on the heels of the first. He screamed as it plowed into his back. He hit the floor on his face and it seemed that the whole house rocked to the sound of gunfire.
Christ, he thought, the kid’s killed me.
Stoddard had flung himself into the room again. Charlie was flat on the floor trying to shoot around the jamb of the doorway.
Suddenly, there was silence.
The whole house seemed to be listening.
Jody wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and reloaded. He could hear a man whimpering.
“One down an’ two to go,” he called, trying to sound calm and devil-may-care. “It’s up to you, boys.”
Stoddard called out: “There’s a dozen armed men below, kid. You don’t have a prayer.” He coughed on the fumes of the burned powder. He sounded like a man who was badly shaken.
His eyes were pretty well accustomed to the dim light now. He could vaguely make out the shape of the door of his room.
A voice said: “I’m hit in the back. If somebody don’t do somethin’ I’m like to die.”
Jody called back: “Anybody breakin’ their hearts?”
Somebody shoved a gun into sight and fired in his direction. The bullet hit the wall above him and plaster showered down on him. He loaded the last chamber of his gun and wondered how long it would be before somebody came up the stairs after him. He had to move. He couldn’t last forever here. There was a door in front of him to his left and he wondered if there was any way out there. But most likely there was a grill over the window as in the other room. His only way out was down the stairs. It looked very like he was a gone goose. The idea didn’t appeal to him one little bit.
Something dark showed itself for a fraction of a second in the open doorway and he saw the faint glitter of light on metal.
He cocked and fired instinctively.
A man screamed. A gun clattered to the floor and went off as the hair-trigger was activated. The bullet hit the wall at the head of the stairs and plaster showered.
Two, Jody thought, I hit two. Maybe there was a little piece of luck coming his way.
He inched his way forward to the head of the stairs. Covering six or more feet, he lay still and listened. He could hear men muttering in the bedroom. He wondered how badly the man in there was hit. He also considered the possibility that the man who claimed that he would die was shamming. He drove a shot into the bedroom and heard the startled exclamation of one of the men in there. Right that minute, it looked like he held the initiative. He Indianed forward some more, using his eyes and ears. The sweat was pouring off him. It would have been nice if that no-good Uncle Mart was there with him. He carefully reloaded the empty chambers of his gun. He could see the head of the stairs darkly ahead of him and off to the right.
A stair creaked.
His heart sank a little.
There wasn’t any doubt about it now. He would get out of here the hard way or have his head blown off.
From below a man called out—
“Vince ... Vince ... you finished him?”
Stoddard coughed and called back: “Have we Hell! He cut down Koler and broke Charlie’s arm. Kill the bastard.”
“Where’s he at?”
“Left of the stairs.”
“Keep him there. We’ll come at him from the rear. You, boy, you want to throw down your gun?”
Jody thought. It was likely there was another flight of stairs in a house of this kind. He started backing up. It was a gamble, but one he’d have to take. He backed right up to the corner of the wall, stood up and found himself in the corridor that ran along the south side of the house. It was in almost pitch darkness. He started along it, feeling his way with his left hand, going as quietly as he knew how. After a few moments, he saw a glimmer of light ahead of him. Hurrying toward it, he found himself at the head of the second flight of stairs.
Pausing for a moment, he listened.
Hearing nothing, he started down.
Three treads and another listen.
He heard the gun come to full cock.
If he turned back, he would die with a bullet in his spine. To go forward most likely meant he would die from lead also, but it was the only chance offered to him.
He charged down the stairs two at a time and heard the gun roar below him. As he went, he changed his gun from his right to his left hand, found the rail and vaulted over it, having no idea how long a drop awaited him.
It was far less than he expected. As he landed on his feet, it felt as if his backbone was jarred up through his skull. But it was no moment to be conscious of physical discomfort. There was a dim figure ahead of him. He cocked and triggered. And missed. A gun hammered back at him and he heard something shattered behind him.
He hurled himself to the right and hit the wall with his shoulder. Dropping to one knee, he fired again. On the tail of the explosion, he heard a body fall heavily.
Was there more than one man?
He didn’t wait to find out. Turning, he blundered through the darkness, stumbled over something and upset it with a crash. A shot came in his direction and he guessed that he had come on two men.
A faint light to his left. He plunged through an open doorway. He was in a large room with the moonlight showing beyond it. He crossed the room, his breath heaving in his chest, came to an open doorway and went through it. It looked as if he was in the patio. He swore. The place was a trap.
There was a tree to his left. He tried to get his bearings. The main exit was to his left and behind him. He reckoned the kitchen area was ahead of him and slightly to his right. There must be a way out there. There was a light in a window. He ran toward it. To the left of the window, he found a door. Opening it he found himself in the kitchen. A fat Mexican woman and a young girl were cowering in terror at the far side of it.
In Spanish he asked: “Is there a way out of here?”
Wordlessly, the fat woman pointed.
He ran past them, opened the door and found himself once more in the moonlight. A couple of hundred yards away, he could see the squat shapes of adobes. The corrals were, he reckoned, some distance to his left. Between the corrals and the houses were a line of trees. Silence hung over the whole scene, as if thrown there by the gunfire from the big house. The only sound he could hear was that of his breath as it heaved in his chest.
Then he heard a door crash open. A man shouted.
He started running for the corrals and, even as he did so, reckoned he would most likely be safer getting away on foot. The corrals were the first place they would expect him to go.
A rifle slammed out. A slug whined over his head. He ran on, the flesh of his back creeping with the expectancy of a bullet in it.
The high wall of the corral loomed in front of him. He angled to the right and ran around a corner. Just any old horse, he wanted. No time for a saddle. Just over that wall and somehow onto the back of a horse and out through the gate. He jammed his gun tight down into the holster and looped the thong over the hammer. Out of. sight of the house now, he stopped and leapt for the top of the wall. It was high and he failed on the first attempt.
From behind him he heard shouts and the pounding of booted feet. Urgency must have loaned him wings. At the second attempt, his hands found the top of the wall. The adobe crumpled a little under his grip, but he managed to maintain a hold and scramble with his toes up the wall. In a moment, he had thrown a leg over the top and was astride. There must have been some twenty horses below him. They spooked at his sudden and unexpected appearance and bunched in the far corner.
He dropped to the ground and started toward them.
A voice said: “Hold it.”
He stopped. Something died inside him.
The voice said: “This is a rifle I’m holdin’, feller.”
There came the music of spurs and the dragging of high cowman’s heels in the dust. The man halted and ordered: “Ease your gun out careful or I back shoot you.”
Jody knew when he was beaten. And he was beaten now. He took the thong off his gun and took the butt of the weapon between finger and thumb. The man came up close and took the gun from his hand.
“You’re a real heller,” the man said conversationally.
“I do my best,” Jody told him.
“But you ain’t so smart,” the man said.
“You could be right,” Jody said.
The man lifted Jody’s gun and smashed it down on his head. If it had not been for his hat, his skull would have been broken. As it was, he sank to one knee, feeling as if he had been kicked by a mule—which is not the most exhilarating of experiences. He fought unconsciousness and
won the battle by a slight margin.
“Why’d you do that?” he asked with the politeness due to a man who could do him more damage.
The man explained: “Feller feelin’ like you do right now ain’t so likely to try nothin’. No hard feelin’s I hope.”
“No hard feelin’s,” Jody said, “not unless there was somethin’ personal in it.”
“Git on your feet,” the man told him, “an’ walk toward the gate.”
Jody lurched toward the gate and halted when he reached it.
“Open it.”
Jody found it wasn’t barred. He dragged it open. It wasn’t an easy task—the hinges were made of rawhide and the gate was heavy. He glanced out of the corner of his eyes and saw the man was one jump away. There were men approaching from the house. Jody reckoned that all he could claim ownership of was a few seconds and a lot of risk. The alternative, he felt sure, was death at the hands of these men. So he grabbed at the few seconds and the risk.
He turned, crouched low and launched himself in a long dive.
The man fired as Jody’s shoulder took him about knee height. The bullet made a try for the moon and the man landed hard on his back. Maybe if Jody had not been hit hard on the head with the barrel of his own gun, he would have had more success. As it was, his movements were sluggish and the blow he aimed at the man’s face did not contact with enough force to do more than enrage the fellow.
Jody wasn’t quite sure what happened next, but it seemed that the flat of the man’s rifle butt came up and made contact with the side of his head and face.
He fell over sideways and lay in the dust groaning. He was vaguely aware that the man rose to his feet. Jody tried to follow this example, but failed miserably. The will was there, but his legs would not obey him.
“Like I said,” the man remarked, “you ain’t smart.”
Jody rolled onto his back. He felt as if his jaw and skull were smashed. He wanted to retch, but he’d be damned if he’d do that right here in front of his victor.
“You’re about right there, friend,” he said.
There were other men entering the corral. Dimly, he knew they were standing there looking down at him.
The Storm Family 6 Page 8
