Ride the Savage Land

by William W. Johnstone

  Leon’s stony face never changed expression as he stepped over the men he had knocked out and backhanded another one in the face. Blood spurted and cartilage crunched as the man’s nose flattened. He reeled back, gasping and moaning, and collapsed with both hands pressed to his ruined nose.

  The fourth man was the only one who actually swung a punch at Leon. The big man swayed aside from the blow, caught hold of the man’s arm at the wrist and elbow, and smashed it down on his rising knee.

  The man’s forearm snapped like a breaking branch. He screamed, dropped to his knees, and then huddled against the front of the bar, cradling the broken limb.

  The bartender shoved Kirkwood at Leon and reached hastily under the bar. He came up with a sawed-off shotgun. Leon caught hold of Kirkwood with his left hand and moved him aside. His right moved too fast to follow as he plucked a short-barreled revolver from a shoulder holster under his left arm.

  The gun popped before the bartender could get the scattergun’s hammers pulled back. The small-caliber slug tore through his right shoulder and did enough damage to make him drop the shotgun onto the bar. He grabbed the wound, slumped against the back bar, and groaned.

  Leon darted a glance at the motionless man in the rear corner, decided that he wasn’t a threat, and holstered the gun. Leon straightened Kirkwood’s coat and picked up his hat. Kirkwood took it, brushed sawdust from it, and put it on.

  “Let’s get you out of here, sir,” Leon said.

  “I should reprimand you for not following my orders . . . but I’ll admit I was glad to see you,” Kirkwood said.

  They left the saloon, Kirkwood striding out as if he owned the place, Leon backing to the door just in case anyone else wanted to make a try despite the punishment he had handed out.

  No one did. The only sounds in the saloon were moans and whimpers.

  “They didn’t know anything about Isabel in there,” Kirkwood said as Leon came alongside him. “Of course, I didn’t really expect them to, but since I was in there, I thought I’d ask. We’ll probably be better off checking with all the hotels in town.”

  The bodyguard grunted. “I’ll get started on that, sir, as soon as you’re settled in where we’re staying.”

  “I can help with that—”

  “No need, sir. I’ll find Miss Sheridan, and then you can deal with her as you see fit.”

  Kirkwood smiled. He liked the sound of that. He really did.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Weatherford was a farming community and the seat of the next county over from Tarrant. The wagon reached the settlement around the middle of the afternoon. The courthouse and the town square were visible up ahead, at the top of a long, gentle slope. The horses had rested when the group stopped for the midday meal, but they could use another short break.

  Ace told Agnes, “We’ll stop up there at the square. You and the other ladies can walk around for a while if you’d like.”

  On Saturdays, the square would be packed with people, horses, mules, and wagons as all the farmers and their families from the surrounding area would be in town to buy supplies and visit with their friends and neighbors. The farmers’ market a couple blocks east of the square would do a booming business, as well.

  Even though it wasn’t Saturday, the settlement was crowded. Plenty of immigrants passed through on their way farther west.

  Navigating with skill through the traffic in the street, Agnes brought the wagon to a stop in front of a large building facing the square. A sign across its front read JEFFREYS’ EMPORIUM AND HARDWARE.

  “We don’t really need any more supplies yet,” she said to Ace and Chance, “but I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to stock up on a few things.”

  “It’s handy to the public well,” Chance said, pointing. “We can water the horses while you ladies look around inside.”

  “I can give you a hand with the watering,” Agnes offered without hesitation.

  “No, that’s all right.” Chance grinned. “Ace and I need to do something to earn our pay.”

  Ace could tell that Agnes would have preferred helping Chance, but she climbed down and went into the store with the other four women. After what he had said, she didn’t have much choice.

  No one was drawing water from the well at the moment, so Ace lowered the bucket attached to a rope and let it fill, then pulled it back up. Chance brought a bucket from the wagon, Ace emptied the water into it, and Chance carried that bucket over to the horses to let them drink.

  Ace followed alongside. “She’s sure sweet on you, you know.”

  “Who, this horse?” Grinning, Chance scratched the drinking horse between the ears.

  “You know good and well I’m talking about Agnes.”

  “And you know good and well that she’s not the sort of gal who catches my fancy, Ace.”

  “Because she’s not pretty enough?”

  Chance shook his head. “Pretty’s got nothing to do with it. Well, maybe not nothing, but there are more important things than looks, you know.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say that. Of course, I’ve never seen any evidence that you really feel that way. You perked right up as soon as you saw Miss Jamie, for example.”

  “What man wouldn’t perk up if she was around?” Chance carried the bucket over to one of the other horses. “Anyway, you’re a fine one to talk, Ace Jensen, after you went off gathering wood with Miss Lorena this morning.”

  Ace felt his face warming. “She followed me. I didn’t ask her to come along.”

  “Either way, you were alone in the woods together, and I’ve seen the way her hand lingers any time she finds an excuse to touch you.”

  “We weren’t really alone in the woods,” Ace pointed out. “We were twenty yards away from the camp.”

  “Yeah, but I couldn’t see you very well. The two of you could’ve been doing who knows what out there.”

  “We weren’t doing anything,” Ace insisted, “except trying to find some firewood.”

  “You tell the story any way you want,” Chance said. “It doesn’t really matter to me.”

  When the horses all had a good drink, Chance put away the empty bucket in the back of the wagon. As he rejoined Ace at the front of the vehicle, a large group of men walked up onto the high porch in front of the store that also served as a loading dock.

  The Jensen brothers couldn’t help but look at those men. They were the sort of hombres who would draw a lot of attention wherever they went.

  All of them wore a mixture of buckskin and homespun garments and looked like they would be more at home in the mountains. And they were big, all towering over six feet. Beards covered their faces, most of them dark but a few blond and one, hanging from the chin of the man in the lead, was long and white as snow.

  Ace counted eight men in all, and although it was difficult to be sure because of the beards, he thought they all shared a family resemblance.

  As the men disappeared into the store, Chance said quietly, “That’s a pretty woolly-looking bunch.”

  “They remind me of men Preacher would know,” Ace commented, referring to the legendary mountain man who was Smoke Jensen’s mentor and oldest friend. The brothers had met Preacher on Smoke’s Sugarloaf Ranch in Colorado the previous Christmas.

  “We’d better go see how the ladies are doing,” Chance said.

  They climbed the steps at the end of the porch and went through the open double front doors.

  A man somewhere in the rear of the store was saying, “I’ve explained this to you before, Mr. Fairweather. You have to pay what you already owe before I can extend you any more credit.”

  “Well, that just don’t make sense,” a booming voice replied. “I don’t follow your reasonin’, son.”

  “You have to pay for the supplies you already took before you can get any more.”

  “Do you know how much food it takes to feed a family of seven growin’ boys?” The white-bearded patriarch of the clan was the one arguing with a clerk who stood behind a co
unter. The old-timer rested his big, knobby-knuckled hands on the counter and leaned forward in a menacing stance.

  A couple of his sons stood behind him, while the others had spread out through the emporium to look at the goods on the shelves. Ace wasn’t sure he would refer to any of them as growing boys. They all looked full-grown to him.

  One of the blond-bearded sons nudged a dark-bearded brother with an elbow and nodded toward the five mail-order brides gathered around a long table where bolts of cloth were on display. The two Fairweathers grinned and chuckled, obviously impressed by the beautiful young women.

  Aware of the scrutiny from the big, rugged strangers, the ladies clustered together defensively and kept shooting wary glances toward the Fairweathers.

  Most Western men treated respectable women with the utmost politeness, but that might not have been the case in whatever mountains the Fairweathers came from. Ace could tell their behavior was making the ladies uncomfortable.

  Chance saw what was going on, too, and bristled at it. “Look at the way those hillbillies are leering at the ladies,” he said to Ace. “I’m going over there and tell them to act like gentlemen.”

  For once Ace wasn’t going to try to keep his brother’s impulsive nature in check. He agreed with Chance. Those two needed to leave the ladies alone, and that included ogling them.

  The Jensens started forward, but before they could reach the mountaineers, the white-bearded man turned away from the counter and bellowed, “Barnaby! Fergus! Get over here!”

  The blond-bearded one said. “Aw, Pa, we was just—”

  “I know what you was just. Fergus, you got the most book-learnin’. I want you to explain to this feller what credit means.”

  Testily, the clerk said, “I know how credit works, Mr. Fairweather. You’re the one who seems to be having trouble grasping the concept.”

  With obvious reluctance, the two men turned away from their intense scrutiny of the mail-order brides and joined their father at the rear counter.

  The blond one, whose name evidently was Fergus, said to the clerk, “Now, mister, this is the way it’s gonna be. We need more supplies before we head on west. You’re gonna give ’em to us, and we’ll pay you later. That’s credit.”

  “You and your family already owe seventeen dollars and fifty cents,” the clerk said. “That’s as much credit as the owner is willing to extend. And even if you were to pay that off, you just admitted that you’re moving on west. When did you intend to pay for what you wanted today? You’re not even going to be here!”

  “Well . . . we’ll settle up with you later. That’s credit,” Fergus insisted.

  “So you intend to run out on your previous bill, as well as the one you were going to run up today.” The clerk folded his arms across his chest. “I’m going to advise Mr. Jeffreys that he needs to ask the marshal to keep you from leaving town until you’ve settled your debt.”

  The dark-bearded son, Barnaby, balled his hands into fists and scowled at the clerk. “Now that ain’t bein’ friendly at all. How do you figure on stayin’ in business when you talk to your customers like that?”

  Ace and Chance were watching the confrontation at the counter, but a short scream jerked their attention back to the ladies. Unknown to any of them, three more of the Fairweather sons had slipped up behind them.

  One of them had hold of Jamie, sliding his arms around her trim waist. “Pa! When you get things squared away over there, we found somethin’ else we want to buy!”

  The other two grabbed Isabel and Molly, both of whom cried out and tried to twist free.

  The one who had hold of Isabel said, “These gals is just what we need, Pa!”

  “We’ll have wives when we get to our new home!” the third Fairweather brother chimed in.

  Most of the other customers had drifted out of the store, spooked perhaps by the Fairweathers. Ace and Chance acted instinctively, drawing their revolvers and leveling them at the three men.

  “Get your hands off those women!” Chance ordered. “Now!”

  “You heard him,” Ace added. “Step away from them!”

  The threat was a hollow one. The way the men were holding on to the ladies, Ace and Chance couldn’t risk any shots.

  Agnes took action. Grabbing a bolt of cloth, she swung it hard and smacked one of the Fairweathers across the face with it. As the bearded man grunted in surprise and loosened his grip on Isabel, she kicked backwards and drove the heel of her shoe against his shin. He yelped and let go of her.

  Still holding the bolt of cloth, Agnes began whaling away at another Fairweather with it. She wasn’t going to do any real damage wielding such a “weapon,” but it served as a good distraction. Ace and Chance holstered their guns and lunged forward, ready to tackle the hillbillies.

  The Jensens were immediately hit from the side by two more of the bearded brothers, tackled, and driven off their feet. They sprawled in an aisle between shelves, hulking Fairweathers on top of them raining down punches.

  Ace saw a fist coming at his face and jerked his head aside just in time. His attacker’s fist slammed into the plank floor with enough force to make the man bawl in pain. Ace cupped his hands and clapped them against the man’s ears, producing more agonized yelling.

  A few feet away, Chance ducked his head to shield it as much as possible and grabbed his opponent by the ears. He rose up as he pulled the man down. The top of Chance’s head smacked hard into the middle of his opponent’s face. Chance caught hold of him by the neck and heaved to the side. He rolled on top as the Fairweather went over. Chance’s right knee sunk into the man’s belly. Still holding him by the neck, Chance banged the back of the Fairweather’s head on the floor a couple times.

  That should have ended the fight, as the man’s eyes turned glassy. He was out cold. But before Chance could feel any satisfaction from that triumph, someone else grabbed him from behind, looping an arm around his neck to jerk him up and back.

  “I got him!” a voice brayed in Chance’s ear. “Whup the son of a bitch!”

  Ace wasn’t out of the woods, either. He bucked up from the floor and threw his attacker off, but before he could follow up on that advantage, a foot crashed into his ribs. The vicious kick sent him rolling.

  “Stomp him!” somebody yelled. “Stomp him into little pieces!”

  A boot heel came at Ace’s face. He got his hands up and grabbed it barely in time to save himself from being badly injured, if not worse. He yanked and heard a startled yelp, followed by a loud noise as the man who’d just tried to bust his head open came crashing down instead.

  Heavy footsteps pounded nearby. One of the blond-bearded mountaineers was charging him. Ace couldn’t tell if it was the one called Fergus or the other blond brother . . . not that it mattered. He rolled, stuck out a leg, and swept the man’s feet out from under him. As the man fell, he tried to hold himself up by grabbing a set of shelves, but all he managed to do was pull it down on top of him. The shelves were loaded with pots and pans, and they set up a tremendous clangor as they fell around him.

  Ace made it to hands and knees and spotted Chance a few feet away. One of the Fairweathers had an arm around Chance’s neck, strangling him, while another of the brothers hammered punches to Chance’s body.

  Ace surged to his feet, snatched up one of the fallen pots, and banged it off the skull of the man assaulting Chance. The man’s knees buckled and he dropped to the floor, senseless from the blow.

  “Look out!” someone shouted.

  Ace darted a glance over his shoulder and saw the white-bearded patriarch coming at him. The seamed and weathered face above the beard was twisted in lines of rage. Fairweather held a shotgun, and from Ace’s perspective, the twin barrels loomed as large as a pair of cannon.

  “Move, Grover!” one of the other men yelled. “Pa’s on a rampage!”

  Ace saw the killing frenzy in Fairweather’s eyes. He wasn’t the only one aware of it. The man holding Chance let go of him and dived to the side, out o
f the line of fire.

  Ace whirled and left his feet, throwing himself toward a half-stunned Chance. A heartbeat later, both of the shotgun’s barrels exploded with a thunderous roar as smoke and flame spurted from them.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ace wrapped his arms around Chance and carried them both to the floor just as the deafening shotgun blast filled the store and pounded his ears like giant fists. Ace couldn’t hear anything, his head was ringing so badly. He didn’t feel any pain when he landed, other than from the fight, and didn’t think any of the buckshot had hit him.

  He rolled onto his belly and pushed up on hands and knees, lifting his head to look around. He might not be able to hear anything, but his eyes still worked just fine. He saw Fairweather standing there with the shotgun broken open, fumbling to replace the shells he had just fired.

  Before the old-timer managed to reload, a shapely, well-dressed, honey-haired figure stepped up beside him. Lorena put the barrel of a small pistol to his head and said something. Ace saw her lips move even though he couldn’t make out the words.

  Fairweather’s gnarled fingers opened and let the empty shotgun fall to the floor.

  His sons—the ones who were still conscious after the battle with the Jensen brothers—gathered their wits and converged on their father and Lorena. Ace and Chance came to their feet at the same time and drew their guns again.

  “That’s far enough,” Chance said.

  Ace understood the words and knew his hearing was coming back. He covered the Fairweathers along with Chance, but from the corner of his eye he searched for the other four women. He spotted them over to the side, huddled in front of a wall where tools and farm implements hung on hooks. Agnes stood a little in front of Isabel, Jamie, and Molly as if she intended to protect them if need be. The look on her face was fierce.

  “You fellas better stay back,” Lorena warned the rest of the Fairweathers. “Come any closer and I’ll put a bullet in your pa’s head.”

  “They’ll hang you for it if you do, you hussy!” one of the bearded brothers yelled.