The girl seemed almost unaware of these men: her concentration was centered on the Slades and he saw her fingering the Smith and Wesson as she regarded them. The Slades themselves had barely acknowledged the presence of Yancey and Anya at first, but now he saw the brothers looking across the campfire at them, obviously discussing them. Hondo Sackett came over with his plate of beans that one of his slatternly camp women had prepared and squatted down on a rock near Yancey. Anya moved a little closer, eyes wary.
“You aim to join my bunch on some of our hellin’ around, Yance?” the ’breed asked, the firelight dancing off the gold ring in his earlobe. He crammed his mouth with food and spoke around it, spilling some down his chin. “Or you just want to hole up here a spell?”
“Reckon we’ll just lie low for a bit,” Yancey replied. Hondo nodded. “Fine with me. But can’t hide you out for nothin’ ... ”
“Sure not,” Yancey said easily but he tensed inwardly. “We can pay our way.”
Hondo’s lips twitched. “Reckon you can after pullin’ that army payroll job, huh?”
Yancey didn’t reply, held the ’breed’s gaze levelly until the man looked away.
“Well, reckon we can talk about that some more in the mornin’,” Hondo said abruptly. He started to turn away, but swung back. “Better warn you now that I’ll have to have some sort of—compensation—for those men of mine you killed.”
“Seems fair,” Yancey said deadpan.
Hondo leaned down and punched Anya lightly on the shoulder. “Eat up, kid. Grow big and strong like Vulture!” He laughed harshly. “You’d like to be like him, wouldn’t you? Fine, upstandin’ figure of a man …”
He chuckled again and walked back to the fire where one of the women waited for him. Anya shivered briefly and moved closer to Yancey.
“Want to call it quits?” Yancey asked quietly. “We can slip away during the night if you do.”
She shook her head swiftly. “Not till the Slades are dead!” she whispered.
“You go easy. Don’t start anything unless I give the word ... Okay?”
Tight-lipped, Anya started to nod but then froze and her face straightened, eyes narrowing. Yancey turned as he felt her fingers close convulsively about his forearm. The Slades were coming across and they nodded affably enough, squatting down in front of Yancey and the girl.
“Easy,” Yancey whispered to Anya, noting that her breathing was faster and a nerve was pulsing in her neck. He raised his voice and nodded to the Slades. “Howdy.”
“See Hondo just talkin’ with you,” Reno said, rolling a cigarette.
Yancey didn’t say anything and Anya sat just as stiffly, just as tensely, fighting to keep control now that she was within reach of the men who had killed her parents. Yancey only hoped she would have enough sense to see that they couldn’t get away with starting anything here right now ...
Reno glanced over his shoulder and seemed relieved when he saw Hondo going into one of the crude shacks with a woman. The other outlaws sprawled around the fire, two with women. Vulture sat apart from the rest, hands clasped between his knees, staring dully at the ground between his feet.
“He tell you you’re gonna have to pay to stay around?” Reno asked.
“Yeah.”
Lem sniffed through his broken nose, looking at Yancey with hate in his swollen, blackened eyes. “How much?” he asked thickly.
“Didn’t say.”
“Wait’ll he does,” Lem growled and Yancey frowned.
“He wants five thousand from us,” Reno said and he grinned when Yancey stiffened. “Yeah. Pretty steep. He ain’t pushin’ us yet, accounts of he knows the odds are in his favor and this damn mesa’s a hard place to get down from. But you’ve kind of evened up the odds some, killin’ those two hombres at the defile. With you on our side, it’s four to four.” He glanced at Anya. “Maybe three-and-a-half to four, huh? With the kid?”
“I can ... ” began Anya but stopped abruptly as Yancey cut in.
“Why should we throw in with you? We only want to hole-up for a spell.”
“Hondo won’t settle for five thousand from any of us as long as he knows more money’s about. He’ll want the lot. He’ll kill us if he has to. That damn Vulture would snap any of our necks like a matchstick if Hondo told him to.”
Yancey looked thoughtful and glanced at Anya who was under control now, though pale and tight-faced. “Looks like we could be in more trouble than we figured, kid. Seems to me the only way out is like Reno suggests. We throw in with ’em if there’s any kind of a ruckus. Savvy?”
Anya’s eyes flashed at the suggestion that she have the Slades for allies under any circumstances.
“You savvy?” Yancey asked again, emphasizing the words, boring his eyes into hers, willing her not to be crazy and start anything.
She nodded curtly. “I savvy,” she said, trying to deepen her voice. “Whatever you think best ... big brother!”
Yancey turned back to the Slades. “What’s the move if we do manage to get down off this mesa alive?”
“Up to you,” Lem growled. “We won’t need you after we get away.”
“Hold on, hold on,” Reno said. “We had a couple of pards but they headed for Missouri. We figured we’d stick around the Territory for a while until things—kind of cooled down some. But the way I see it, plenty of hombres here will be after us for what we’re carrying. Applies to you, too, Banner … We figured that maybe our pard had the right idea after all. He knows Missouri and I hear tell there are some wild bunches holed-up in the southwest area. You can ride along, if you want.”
Lem stiffened and Yancey pretended not to see Reno nudge him in the shadows. He could figure their play: the Slades figured Yancey and the girl were carrying payroll money. They likely aimed to kill them and take it for themselves.
He and Anya were in trouble any way they looked at it, but he reckoned he would have a better chance of taking the Slades once they were away from Hondo Sackett’s camp.
“Sounds good to me,” he answered finally and was glad to see that Anya kept a poker face and nodded in silent agreement.
Reno winked. “Okay ... I figure we’re right for another day or so. We’ll make our move when it suits us best. We’ll talk some more tomorrow, ’case they get suspicious of us going into a huddle now.”
Reno and Lem stood up, nodded and walked back to where they had their bedrolls. Vulture looked up and watched their movements. Anya’s eyes, too, followed them.
“Scum!” she whispered.
“Take it easy,” Yancey advised. “Things are working out fine. Don’t spoil it by going off half-cocked.”
“I won’t,” she answered quietly, her eyes still on the Slade brothers as they arranged their bedrolls. “I can wait a little longer. If it means being sure!”
Yancey Bannerman frowned.
~*~
It must have been some time after midnight when Yancey awoke, lying under his blanket with his head on the saddle for a pillow, some way back from the coals of the fire. He didn’t know what had wakened him so he lay perfectly still, only his eyes open. Under the blankets he held his six-gun against his side. He glanced across and saw that the girl was sleeping quietly a few feet away, but there was a shadowy movement beyond her.
There was only a faint glow from the burned-down campfire now but he saw something move against that glow and, judging by the bulk, it could only be the giant, Vulture. Slowly, noiselessly, Yancey turned his head slightly so as to get a better view and he saw that he was right. Vulture was kneeling beside Anya’s saddlebags, the flap raised on one as he rummaged around inside with a huge paw.
Yancey threw the blanket aside and cocked his gun as he sat up. “Get away from there!” he snapped.
Vulture whipped his head around and there was a guttural, unintelligible sound way back in his throat. The girl stirred and began to come awake as Vulture straightened, holding the saddlebags.
“Drop them!” Yancey ordered, getting to his fee
t now and nudging the girl with his boot toe. “C’mon, kid! Wake up!”
Anya sat up abruptly, startled by the huge bulk of the giant towering above her; the glint of the firelight on Yancey’s gun barrel.
“Caught him going through the saddlebags,” Yancey explained briefly, not taking his eyes off Vulture.
The man made that guttural sound again and stepped across the girl as she rolled out of her blankets, coming at Yancey, swinging the saddlebags. Yancey fired a shot past the man’s ear but Vulture came on, growling and lifting the bags to swing them like a weapon. Yancey tried to duck but they caught him on the point of the shoulder and knocked him down. He rolled as Vulture stomped a massive boot at his head, fired upwards. Vulture jolted as the bullet took him but he stopped only momentarily and came on, slamming at Yancey with the bags, making the man roll swiftly and come up onto one knee. Yancey fired twice more and Vulture jerked, stopped in his tracks, grabbed at his chest. His tree-trunk-like legs began to sag and Yancey stepped in and hit him across the skull with the side of the six-gun. Vulture gave one last growl and crashed over onto his side.
Panting, Yancey turned to grab the girl and then a gun flashed from across the campfire and a bullet whipped air past his face. He dived for the ground, rolling swiftly so that he hit the girl’s legs just as she began to rise. She fell back and he squirmed around, firing as more bullets thudded around him.
“Game’s up now!” he panted. “Keep down.”
But she had her Smith and Wesson out and began firing, the tiny crack of the .32 almost drowned out by the thunder of the big forty-fives. Yancey reloaded hurriedly and glanced up in time to make out the Slades shooting towards the crude shack as they backed away past the fire towards where the horses were tethered. Yancey thumbed home the last shell, shut the loading gate and fired at a gun flash just outside the shack.
A man yelled. Two other guns sent lead in his direction, and he fired twice in return.
Then a shotgun thundered and he heard buckshot spitting into the camp. He figured that would be Hondo Sackett, pinpointed the flash as coming from a corner of the shack and dragged the girl bodily behind low rocks just as the second barrel roared. Lead pellets pinged and whined off the rock and Yancey raised his head, drew a swift bead and fired. He was a shade surprised to see Hondo stagger out from the protection of the hut, holding his side, dropping the shotgun. Then the Slades’ six-guns roared and Hondo jerked with the bite of lead, spun completely about, and fell backwards to lie still in the dust.
Above the dying echoes of the gunfire, they heard the tattoo of a racing horse’s hoofs and Yancey stood up slowly, figuring the remaining member of Hondo’s bunch had had enough ... He reached down and helped the trembling girl to her feet.
“You did pretty good. Now get your gun reloaded, pronto,” he ordered.
As she fumbled for shells in her narrow cartridge belt, Yancey swiftly reloaded his empty chambers and watched the Slade brothers coming across.
“One got away,” Reno panted. “We better try and find our way down soon as it’s daylight. That hombre could be back. There’s a whole outlaw community about ten miles north, place called Buckskin Butte. If they figure we’re carryin’ dinero they’ll come after us.”
Yancey nodded. “Right ... We’ll be ready come daylight. Meanwhile, stay on your side of the fire after we build it up.”
Lem and Reno looked at him hard and then nodded shortly. “Figure we understand each other,” Reno growled, and motioned to Lem to follow him back to the other side of the fire.
Yancey glanced down and saw Anya’s face harden as she snapped the Smith and Wesson closed, gripping the weapon in both hands. She started to lift it and he clamped his fingers swiftly around her wrist, wresting the gun from her. She turned to him, struggling, starting to strike at him with her free hand. He shook her roughly, her head snapping back and forth on her neck.
“Don’t be a blamed fool!” Yancey gritted. “We need them to get us down off this mesa. They’ve been here longer than us, know where the trails are. I damn sure couldn’t find my way down again without a couple of days’ search. Hondo saw to that by zigzagging us all over the place on the way here, deliberately confusing us.”
She glared at him, nostrils flared, but he felt her slowly relax and released her wrist. He gestured to the Smith and Wesson.
“Reckon I’d better keep this for now.”
Anya glared. “For now!”
Chapter Eight – Greed
Cato didn’t know what time it was when he regained consciousness. What’s more he didn’t much care. The throbbing agony in his left arm and shoulder drove almost every other thought from his mind. It racked through him like a writhing tongue of fire, crawling up his neck into his very brain. When he moved he groaned, though, in his head, he was sure it was a wild scream that passed his parched lips.
It had to be dark, he thought. No stars except that dull orange one that looked so close he could reach out and almost touch it. He shook his head at the thought. Loco. He must be loco. No man could touch the stars. And, though he had seen orange and red stars before, he was certain sure there shouldn’t be any at ground level where this one seemed to be.
Cato rolled onto his back, moaning, grabbing at his shoulder and feeling the knife still protruding from it. He lay there, panting, vision fogged with new pain as his arm flopped against the ground. Funny. The sky above was full of stars now: silver and blue and red and white. He turned his head again and saw that orange glow very close now. It wasn’t a single orb, it was a cluster, and, even as he smelled the wood smoke, he realized the glow came from the coals of the near-dead campfire.
Feeling better now that he had rationally figured out something, he lay there a spell, thinking about what had happened. He turned his head again, slowly, saw the untidy body of Jiminez sprawled against the rocks. His mouth was parched and he needed a drink badly. Mundy had taken the horses with the canteens of water but he remembered there had been a coffee pot by the fire. If it hadn’t been knocked over or punctured with a bullet during the fight.
He rolled onto his good side, trying to keep his wounded arm as still as possible, used his right hand to drag himself closer to the fire. He pulled himself forward a foot and flopped back, panting, sweat starting out on his face, pain knifing through him. But he could see the blackened coffee pot standing at the edge of the dying coals and he focused his eyes on this, digging his fingers into the ground and thrusting with his boot toes. Gradually he drew closer and his thickened tongue was already licking at his dried lips in anticipation. Another foot, that was all he needed ... one more foot and he would be able to reach out and touch it.
He strained forward, fingers almost touching the pot handle, and then he heard a growl out there in the darkness. He froze, listening, ears roaring with pounding blood, his heart thudding, seeming to shake the ground. The sound came again and this time the growling ended in a kind of a cough and Cato’s blood ran cold.
“Cougar!” he breathed.
And his gun was lost somewhere in the darkness. As he lay there, he was sure he could hear it padding around out there beyond the rocks. He thought he could smell the rank odor of its hide, but it was likely only his imagination. Probably the big cat smelled the blood on the dead Mexican. It must have been ready to come in and drag the body off when Cato had come to and started crawling for the coffee pot. Judas, it was lucky he had come around when he had: the cat could easily have taken him, with the fresh blood thick around the knife wound.
Fire. That’s what he needed. Fire would keep the cat away for a time. And it would light the area of the camp and he might be able to locate his Manstopper. He had to have that gun now ... But he had to get the fire first. He scrabbled around with his good hand, knocked over the coffee pot but swiftly righted it. He figured he might as well have a drink now: it could be his last. He tilted the cold, battered metal against his lips and almost gagged on the strong, lukewarm liquid, but it slaked his thirst for the m
oment. He set it down swiftly when he heard the cougar growl threateningly and he thought it sounded closer this time.
Cato scratched around again with his right hand and his fingers touched a twig, another, some more. He had found the small pile of twigs Mundy and the Mexican had gathered for the campfire. They wouldn’t last long but maybe the flames would flare up enough for him to locate his gun. He threw a handful onto the coals, put his face right alongside the fire and blew, shutting his eyes tightly against the cloud of ash. He kept on blowing until small flames licked at the twigs and suddenly they fired and he rolled back swiftly, momentarily blinded. He heard the screeching call of the cougar, angry now at the appearance of the fire and he rolled away swiftly as he caught a glimpse of something moving against the paleness of the rocks.
It was the cat, a big one, slinking in to take him from the left, its eyes glowing like yellow coals as it crouched. Its nostrils wrinkled and the upper lip pulled back, baring the white fangs in a snarl. Muscles rippled beneath the pelt and he saw it tense for the spring. Cato snatched desperately at the fire, grabbed a blazing twig only eight inches long and flung it into the cat’s face. It reared up, snarling, leaping back into the darkness.
Pain coursed through him and threatened to knock him unconscious again but he knew it would be the end if that happened. While the cat growled out there in the darkness, gathering itself for another try, Cato looked around desperately, spotted a reddish glint of firelight off metal three yards away: his gun, the barrel half buried in the dust. He had to get that weapon before the cougar came back. This time it would spring out of the darkness and he wouldn’t see it until it was too late. A quick roll across and he could scoop up the weapon ... but the knife protruding from his shoulder prevented that. Well, it had to come out some time, so it might as well be now. He didn’t hesitate: he knew if he thought about it he would try to ease it out a little at a time, prolonging the agony. So he gripped the hilt, gritted his teeth and yanked hard. This time the yell that came from his lips was loud enough to wake the dead and it served a useful purpose. Besides relieving his agony it startled the cougar as it slunk forward so that it leapt back, went to earth, belly down, momentarily frightened by the noise.
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