‘You made me do it,’ Stroup almost sobbed. ‘I didn’t want to have to do it. You made me.’ He bent down and picked up the rifle and then turned to Westoe. ‘He made me do it,’ he sobbed. ‘I couldn’t let him kill you in cold blood, could I?’
Westoe heard the sound of running footsteps and thought it must be some of Rafe’s gunnies. Instead he heard the voice of Snelgrove.
‘Is that you, Stroup? I thought you must be dead.’
‘Westoe here is injured,’ Stroup replied.
‘Hell, ain’t that Rafe?’ another voice exclaimed.
There was no response and then Westoe felt himself being lifted by his arms and legs and carried away from the scene, whether into the cabin or into Leonae’s trading store his jumbled brain found it hard to distinguish.
He didn’t know for how long he had been unconscious, but when he came round a bandage was wrapped round his head and some kind of poultice applied to his midriff.
‘I wouldn’t try movin’ too much,’ a voice said. ‘Your stomach is pretty badly bruised.’ He looked up. The voice belonged to Howe and the other members of the posse were gathered behind him.
‘Where am I?’ he mumbled.
‘Inside the cabin.’
He glanced round. The place was run-down and dirty, but surprisingly well furnished. Pale light was coming though the shattered window and he deduced it was early in the morning. Then he began to recall the night’s events.
‘What happened to Stroup?’ he asked.
‘Holden’s OK. He got winged by a bullet, but there’s no real harm done,’ Snelgrove replied. He paused and looked at the others before continuing. ‘Rafe’s leg is shattered, but he’ll pull through.’ He stopped awkwardly and Barnet added:
‘His father is in the next room with him now.’
Westoe was still feeling a little dizzy and Drabble came towards him with a mug in his hand containing strong black coffee.
‘Take some of this,’ he said. ‘It might help.’ Westoe raised the mug, but it didn’t reach his lips. Before he could take a sip there was a sudden loud bang which seemed to shake the cabin to its foundations.
‘What the hell …’ Snelgrove began. He got no further as the place was rocked by a second and a third explosion and then a series of massive booms. Westoe’s head seemed to split open in response and a few of the others instinctively flung themselves to the floor. Outside, a series of flashes lit up the empty window frame. The deafening noise seemed to go on for an aeon, but finally it stopped and the ensuing silence seemed to hurt their ears almost as much. For a few moments nobody spoke as they regarded one another with startled expressions. Nobody could think of anything to say until Howe ended the hiatus.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I guess we were right about those varmints settin’ up an ambush. I’d be willin’ to bet they booby-trapped the pass.’ Snelgrove and Drabble exchanged glances.
‘I’d say you were right,’ Snelgrove replied. ‘They must have used the same dynamite they used to blow up the bank.’
‘Looks like they got caught in their own trap,’ Barnet said. ‘I guess the ones that were assigned the job of guardin’ the pass got confused when their own men began to appear.’
They lapsed into silence again, shocked by what had occurred, but gradually normality began to seep in with the gathering morning light, and with it a sense of relief. Nobody had been badly hurt in the previous night’s shootout and it was obvious that there would be no more trouble from Rafe and his gang. All that remained was to take Rafe and those gunnies who had been rounded up and placed under arrest back to the County jail at Desolation Wells. Only the presence of Holden Stroup and their understanding of the pain he must be feeling kept their spirits in check. As they prepared for the ride back, Howe approached Westoe.
‘Where to next?’ he asked.
Westoe raised his head from his hands and managed a grin. ‘Like I said before,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us puttin’ what’s left of your ranch to rights.’
‘You don’t need to concern yourself about that,’ the oldster replied. ‘I reckon I’ll manage.’
‘Once we’ve done that, I figure you might need someone to help run the place,’ Westoe added.
Howe looked at him. After a few seconds it was his turn to grin. ‘You mean it?’ he said. His eyes brightened. ‘Hell, between us I reckon we could make a real going concern of it.’ Westoe attempted to laugh but was brought up short by the sharp pain from his bruised stomach.
‘One other thing,’ he said.
‘Yeah. What would that be?’ Howe asked.
‘Do you figure Leonae might be gettin’ kinda tired of patchin’ me up?’
The oldster’s gap-toothed grin broadened as he replied.
‘I figure she’d be more than willin’ to give it another try.’
Desolation Wells Page 11
