Riders Of the Dawn (1980)

by L'amour, Louis

  Chapter 3

  For two days we combed the draws and gathered cattle, ye t at the end of the second day we had but three hundred head.

  The herds of the Two Bar had been sadly depleted by th e rustling of the big brands. On the morning of the third da y we started the herd. Neither of the men had questioned me , but now Zeb wanted to know, “You aim to leave the ranc h unguarded? Ain’t you afraid they’ll move in?”

  “If they do they can move out or be buried here. Tha t ranch was never to be given up, and believe me, it won’t be!”

  The canyon channeled the drive, and the cattle were fa t and easy to handle. It took us all day to make the drive, bu t my side pained me almost none at all, and only that gnawin g fury at the killers of the old man remained to disturb me.

  They had left the wounded man to burn, and for that the y would pay.

  Jonathan and Jolly Benaras helped me take the herd o f young stuff back up the trail. Benaras had given me at leas t fifty head more than I had asked, but the cattle I had turne d over to him were as good as money in the bank, so he los t nothing by his generosity.

  When we told him what had happened, he nodded.

  “Jolly was over to Hattan’s. It was the Pinders, all right. That Apache tracker of theirs along with Bunt Wilson and Corb y Kitchen an three others. They were with the Pinders.”

  “Hear anything about Morgan Park?”

  “No. Some say Lyell, that rider of Park’s, was in th e crowd.”

  That could have been it. Ball might have meant to tel l me it was a rider of Park’s. We pushed the young stuff har d to get back, but Jonathan rode across the drag before w e arrived. “Folks at your place. Two, three of ‘em.

  My face set cold as stone. “Bring the herd. I’ll rid e ahead.-

  Jonathan’s big Adam’s apple bobbed. “Jolly an’ me, w e ain’t had much fun lately. Can’t we ride with you?”

  An idea hit me. “Where’s their camp?”

  “Foot of the hill where the house was. They got a tent.”

  “Then we’ll take the herd. Drive ‘em right over th e tent!”

  Jolly had come back to the drag. He chuckled. “Why , surer’ He grinned at Jonathan. “Won’t Nick an’ Zeb be sore?

  Missin’ all the fun?”

  We started the herd. They were young stuff and still ful l of ginger, ready enough to run. They came out of the canyo n not more than four hundred yards from the camp and abov e the gate. Then we really turned them loose, shooting an d shouting; we started that herd on a dead run for the camp.

  Up ahead we saw men springing to their feet, and one ma n raced for his rifle. They hadn’t expected me to arrive wit h cattle, so they were caught completely off guard. Anothe r man made a dive for his horse and the startled animal spran g aside. As he grabbed again, it kicked out with both feet an d started to run.

  Running full tilt, the herd hit the camp. The man wh o had lost his horse scrambled atop a large rock, and the other s lit out for the cliffs, scattering away from the charging cattle.

  But the herd went through the camp, tearing up the tent , grinding the food into the earth, smearing the fire, an d smashing the camp utensils into broken and useless thing s under their charging feet.

  One of the men who had gotten into the saddle swun g his horse and came charging back, his face red with fury.

  “What goes on here?” he yelled.

  The horse was a Bar M. Maclaren’s men had beaten th e CP to it.

  Kneeing my horse close to him, I said, -I’m Matt Sabre , owner of the Two Bar, with witnesses to prove it. You’r e trespassin’. Now light a shuck!”

  “I will like hell!” His face was dark with fury. -I got m y orders, an’ 1—”

  My fist smashed into his teeth and he left the saddle , hitting the ground with a thud. Blazing with fury, I lit astrid e him, jerking him to his feet. My left hooked hard to his ja w and my right smashed him in the wind. He went down , but he got up fast and came in swinging. He was a husky man , mad clear through, and for about two minutes we stood toe t o toe and swapped it out. Then he started to back up and I c aught him with a sweeping right that knocked him to th e dust. He started to get up then thought the better of it. “I’l l kill you for this!”

  “When you’re ready!” I said and then turned around.

  Jonathan and Jolly had rounded up two of the men, and the y stood waiting for me. One was a slim, hard-faced youngste r who looked like the devil was riding him. The other was a stocky redhead with a scar on his jaw. The redhead stared a t me, hatred in his eves. “You ruined my outfit. What kind of a deal is this?”

  “If you ride for a fighting brand you take the good wit h the bad,” I told him. “What did you expect when you cam e up here, a tea party? You go back and tell Maclaren not t o send boys to do a man’s job and that the next trespasser wil l be shot.”

  The younger one looked at me, sneering. “What if h e sends me?” Contempt twisted his lips. “If I’d not lost my gu n in the scramble I’d make von eat that.”

  “Jolly! Lend me your gun!”

  Without a word, Jolly Benaras handed it to me.

  The youngster’s eyes were cold and calculating, but war y now. He suspected a trick, but could not guess what it migh t be.

  Taking the gun by the barrel, I walked toward him. “Yo u get your chance,” I said. “I’m giving you this gun, and yo u can use it any way you like. Try a border roll or shoo t through that open-tip holster. Anyway you try it, I’m going t o kill you.”

  He stared at me and then at the gun.

  His tongue touched his lips. He wanted that gun mor e than anything else in the world. He had guts, that youngste r did, guts and the streak of viciousness it takes to make a killer, but suddenly he was face to face with it at close rang e and he didn’t like it. He would learn if he lived long enough , but right now he didn’t like any part of it. Yet he wore th e killer’s brand and we both knew it.

  “It’s a trick,” he said. “You ain’t that much of a fool!”

  “Fool?” That brought my own fury surging to the top.

  “Why, you cheap, phony, would-be badman! I’d give von tw o guns and beat you any phony, you like! I’ll face you right now.

  You shove your gun in my belly and I’ll shove mine in yours!

  If you want to die, that makes it easy! Come on, gunslick!

  What do you say?”

  Crazy? Right then I didn’t care. His face turned white r but his eves were vicious. He was trembling with eagernes s to grab that gun. But face to face? Guns shoved against th e body? We would both die. We couldn’t miss. He shook hi s head, his lips dry.

  My fingers held the gun by the barrel. Tossing it u p suddenly I caught it by the butt, and without stopping th e motion, I slashed the barrel down over his skull. He hit th e dirt at my feet. Turning my back on them I returned th e pistol to Jolly.

  “You!” I said then to the redhead. “Take off your boots!”

  “Huh?” he was startled.

  “Take ‘em off! Then take his off! When he comes out o f it, start walking!”

  “Walkin’?” Red’s face blanched. “Look, man, I’ll—”

  -You’ll walk. All the way back to Hattan or the Bar M.

  You’ll start learnin’ what it means to try stealin’ a man’s ranch.”

  “It was orders,” he protested.

  “You could quit, couldn’t you?”

  His face was sullen. “Wait until Maclaren hears of this!

  You won’t last long! Far as that goes”—he motioned at th e still figure on the ground—he’ll be huntin’ you now. That’s Bodie Miller!”

  The name was familiar. Bodie Miller had killed five o r six men. He was utterly vicious, and although lacking seasoning, he had it in him to be one of the worst of the badmen.

  We watched them start, three men in their sock fee t with twenty miles of desert and mountains before them. No w they knew what they had tackled. They would know what wa r meant.

 
The cattle were no cause for worry. They would drif t into canyons where there was plenty of grass and water , more than on the B Bar B. “Sure you won’t need help?” Joll y asked hopefully. “We’d like to side you.-

  “Not now. This is my scrap. -

  They chuckled. “Well,” Jolly grinned, “they can’t neve r say you didn’t walk in swingin’. You’ve jumped nearly th e whole durned country!-Nobody knew that better than I, so when they wer e gone I took my buckskin and rode back up the narrow Tw o Bar Canyon. It narrowed down and seemed to end. Unles s one knew, a glance up the canyon made it appear to be boxe d in, but actually there was a turn and a narrower canyo n leading into a maze of canyons and broken lava flows. Ther e was an ancient cliff house back there, and in it Ball and I ha d stored supplies for a last-ditch stand. There was an old kiv a with one side broken and room enough to stable the buckskin.

  At daybreak I left the canyon behind me, riding watchfully , knowing I rode among enemies. No more than two mile s from the canyon toward which I was heading, I rounded a bend and saw a dozen riders coming toward me at a canter.

  Sighting me, they yelled in chorus, and a shot rang out.

  Wheeling the buckskin I slapped the spurs to him and wen t up the wash at a dead run. A bullet whined past my ear, but I d odged into a branch canyon and raced up a trail that led t o the top of the plateau. Behind me I heard the riders race pas t the canyon’s mouth. Then there was a shout as a rider glimpse d me, and the wheeling of horses as they turned. By the tim e they entered the canyon mouth I was atop the mesa.

  Sliding to the ground, Winchester in hand, I took a running dive to shelter among some rocks and snapped off a quick shot. A horse stumbled, and his rider went off over hi s head. I opened up, firing as rapidly as I could squeeze off th e shots. They scattered for shelter, one man scrambling with a dragging leg.

  Several of the horses had raced away, and a couple o f others stood ground hitched. On one of these was a bi g canteen. A bullet emptied it, and when the other hors e turned a few minutes later, I shot into that canteen also.

  Bullets ricocheted around me, but without exposing themselves they could not get a good shot at me, while I coul d cover their hideout without trouble.

  A foot showed and I triggered my rifle. A bit of leathe r flew up and the foot was withdrawn. My position could no t have been better. As long as I remained where I was, the y could neither advance nor retreat, but were pinned down an d helpless. They were without water, and it promised to be a n intensely hot day. Having no desire to kill them, I stil l wished to make them thoroughly sick of the fight. These me n enjoyed the fighting as a break in the monotony of rang e work, but knowing cowhands, I knew they would becom e heartily sick of a battle that meant waiting, heat, no water , and no chance to fight back.

  For some time all was still. Then a man tried to craw l back toward the canyon mouth, evidently believing himsel f unseen. Letting go a shot at a rock ahead of him, I splattere d his face with splinters, and he ducked back, swearing loudly.

  “Looks like a long hot day boys!” I yelled. “See what i t means when you jump a small outfit? Ain’t so easy as yo u figured, is it?’

  Somebody swore viciously, and there were shoute d threats. My own canteen was full, so I sat back and rolled a smoke. Nobody moved below, but the sun began to level it s burning rays into the oven of the canyon mouth. The hour s marched slowly by, and from time to time when some thirst y soul grew restive at waiting, I threw a shot at him.

  “How long you figure you can keep us here?” one o f them yelled. “When we get out, we’ll get you!”

  “Maybe you won’t get out,” I yelled back cheerfully. “I l ike it here. I’ve got water, shade, grub, and plenty of smokin’ t obacco. Also,” I added, “I’ve got better than two hundre d rounds of ammunition. You hombres are riding for the wron g spread. -

  Silence descended over the canyon and two o’clock passed.

  Knowing they could get no water aggravated their thirst. Th e sun swain in a coppery sea of heat, and the horizon lost itsel f in heat waves. Sweat trickled down my face and down m y body under the arms. Where I lay, there was not only shade bu t a slight breeze, but down there, heat would reflect from th e canyon walls and all wind would be shut off. Finally, lettin g go with a shot, I slid back out of sight and got to my feet.

  My buckskin cropped grass near some rocks, well unde r the shade. Shifting my rifle to my left hand I slid down th e bank, mopping my face with my right. Then I stopped stock-still, my right hand belt high. Backed up against a rock nea r my horse was a man I knew at once although I had neve r seen him—Rollie Pinder!

  “You gave them boys hell,” he said conversationally, a n good for ‘em. They’re Bar M riders. It’s a shame it has t o end.”

  “Yeah,” I drawled, watching him closely. He could b e waiting for only one reason.

  “Hear you’re mighty fast, but it won’t do you any good.

  I’m Rollie Pinder!”

  As he spoke, he grabbed for his gun.

  My left hand was on the rifle barrel a few inches ahead o f the trigger guard, the butt in front of me, the barrel pointe d slightly up. I tilted the gun hard, and the stock struck my hi p as my hand slapped the trigger guard and trigger.

  Rollie’s gun had come up smoking, but any finger close d on the trigger a split second-before his slug hit me. It felt as i f I had been kicked in the side, and I took a staggering ste p back, a rock rolling under my foot just enough to throw m e out of the line of his second shot.

  Then I fired again, having worked the lever unconsciously.

  Rollie went back against the rocks and tried to bring hi s gun up. He fired as I did. The world weaved and wave d before me, but Rollie was down on his face, great holes tor n in his back where the .44 slugs had emerged. Turning, scarcel y able to walk, I scrambled up the incline to my former position. My head was spinning and my eyes refused to focus, bu t the shots had startled the men and they were getting up. I f they started after me now, I was through.

  The ground seemed to dip and reel, but I got off a shot , then another. One man went down and the others vanishe d as if swallowed by the earth. Rolling over, my breath comin g in ragged gasps, I ripped my shirttail off and plugged clot h into my wounds. I had to get away at all costs, but I coul d never climb back up to the cliff house, even if the way wer e open.

  My rifle dragging, I crawled and slid to the buckskin.

  Twice I almost fainted from weakness. Pain was gripping m y vitals, squeezing and knotting them. Somehow I got to m y horse, grabbed a stirrup, managed to get a grip on th e pommel, and pulled myself into the saddle. Getting my rifl e back into its scabbard, I got some piggin strings and tie d myself into the saddle. Then I started the buckskin towar d the wilderness, and away from my enemies.

  Day was shooting crimson arrows into the vast bowl o f the sky when my eyes opened again. My head swain wit h effort, and I stared about, seeing nothing familiar. Buck ha d stopped beside a small spring in a canyon. There was gras s and a few trees, with not far away the ruin of a rock house.

  On the sand beside the spring was the track of a mountai n lion, several deer tracks and what might be a mountai n sheep, but no cow, horse, or human tracks.

  Fumbling with swollen fingers, I untied the piggin string s and slid to the ground: Buck snorted and sidestepped an d then put his nose down to me inquiringly. He drew bac k from the smell of stale clothes and dried blood, and I la y there, staring up at him, a crumpled human thing, my bod y raw with pain and weakness. “It’s all right, Buck,” I whispered. “We’ll pull through! We’ve got to pull through!”

  Chapter 4

  Over me the sky’s high gray faded to pink shot with bloodred swords that swept the red into gold. As the sun crept up, I l ay there, still beneath the wide sky, my body washed by a sea of dull pain that throbbed and pulsed in my muscles an d veins. Yet within beat a deeper, stronger pulse, the pulse o f the fighting man that would not let me die without fighting , that w
ould not let me lie long without movement.

  Turning over, using hand grasps of grass, I pulled myself to the spring and drank deep of the cool, clear, life-givin g water. The wetness of it seemed to creep through all m y tissues, bringing peace to my aching muscles and life to m y starved body. To live I must drink, and I must eat, and m y body must have rest and time to mend. Over and over thes e thoughts went through my mind, and over and over I sai d them, staring at my helpless hands.

  With contempt I looked at them, hating them for thei r weakness. And then I began to fight for life in those fingers , willing them to movement, to strength. Slowly my left han d began to stir, to lift at my command, to grasp a stick.

  Triumph went through me. I was not defeated! Triump h lent me strength, and from this small victory I went on t o another—a bit of broken manzanita placed across the first, a handfull of scraped up leaves, more sticks.

  Soon I would have a fire.

  I was a creature fighting for survival, wanting only to liv e and to fight. Through waves of delirium and weakness, I d ragged myself to an aspen where I peeled bark for a vessel—f ainting there, coming to, struggling back to the place for m y fire, putting the bark vessel together with clumsy fingers.

  With the bark vessel, a sort of box, I dipped into the wate r but had to drag it to the sand, lacking the strength to lift i t up, almost crying with weakness and pain.

  Lighting my fire, I watched the flames take hold. Then I g ot the bark vessel atop two rocks in the fire, and the flame s rose around it. As long as the flames were below the wate r level of the vessel, I knew, the bark would not burn, for th e heat was absorbed by the water inside. Trying to push a stic k under the vessel I leaned too far and fainted.

  When next I opened my eyes the water was boiling.

  Pulling myself to a sitting position, I unbuckled my thic k leather belt and let my guns fall back on the ground. Then , carefully, I opened my shirt and tore off a corner of it. I s oaked it in the boiling water and began to bathe my wounds.