by Neil Hunter
Griff eyed him angrily. ‘Damn it. Goddam, what’s with you two? You think I come out here to dig holes in the sand and piss in ‘em?’
‘Be a lot less painful than tryin’ to take Kennick,’ Beecher said.
‘He’s only one man!’ Griff yelled. ‘One lousy man. An’ there’s three of us.’
That half smile played around Beecher’s lips again. ‘There was three of us back at the sutler’s. He took us without trying.’
‘He won’t do it again.’
‘If you say so, Griff.’
Griff rounded on Beecher, his look daring the breed to take it further. But Beecher had had his fun for the present. He hefted his rifle and waited for Griff to give the word.
Cooling down, Griff said, ‘If we work this right we can take them without anyone getting hurt. I want Kennick alive. I want to be standing over that bastard when he goes.’
He turned to Beecher. ‘Draw me a layout of their camp.’
Beecher squatted and made a rough sketch in the sand with the tip of his knife. Griff studied it closely.
‘They can only get out the way they got in. So we block that off. Bo, you can do that. Joe, you and I can work our way in across the rocks, so’s we can look down on them. We keep well apart, get them in a crossfire. No way out for them. Kennick won’t wriggle out of this one.’
‘They’re breaking up,’ Jeannie said.
Kennick watched the three distant figures fan out and move toward the boulder field.
‘Here comes trouble.’
‘Couldn’t we make a run for it?’ Jeannie asked, hopefully.
Kennick shook his head, pointed down to where one of the men, whom he now recognized as Bo McBride, had placed himself behind a rock facing the narrow trail by which they’d entered the night before.
‘By now Griff and Beecher will be working their way up the rocks to get above us.’
‘What do we do, Luke?’Jeannie asked calmly.
‘Get the horses saddled. Dump everything except a couple of canteens, and then hope we get a chance to head out.’
They slid down off the rock and ran across to the horses. Kennick swung the saddles up and secured them. Jeannie filled the four largest canteens from the water skins and fastened them to the saddles. Before dumping the remaining water she gave each horse a drink. Meanwhile, Kennick had turned his attention to the gear. He discarded everything except one pair of saddlebags. Into the pouches he put all the spare ammunition and some jerky and hardtack. If they got out of this, they’d need to do some hard riding, and that meant carrying as little weight as possible.
Leading the horses across to where the rocks formed a near unbroken mass, Kennick went back and hauled Kicking Bear to his feet. He led the Indian to the horses and got him mounted and secured.
‘Keep your eyes open,’ he told Jeannie.
She nodded, not speaking because she was afraid her voice would shake and betray her fear.
Pushing in beside the horses they waited, their backs against hot stone, but fear cold inside them. They waited in silence, a silence broken only by an occasional sound from one of the horses. The animals sensed there was something wrong, and they stood close together, ears pricked.
Kennick’s hand holding his rifle grew sweaty. He wiped it on the leg of his pants. Above them, along the sharp-etched, uneven rim of high boulders, nothing moved against the clear blue of the sky. Kennick felt a hard knot form in his stomach. It was like a growing cramp. Waiting, he thought, was only liable to make things worse. But what else could they do? He hadn’t wanted a showdown, but now that it was here, it had to be faced.
At his side, Jeannie moved suddenly. ‘Luke, I see one. To the left.’
He raised his eyes, squinting against the bright sun in his face. Where? Where? His mind raced. Then he saw it. The merest whisper of movement beside a high-jutting rock on the rim. And then sunlight danced brightly on a moving rifle barrel. Kennick’s stomach jerked crazily.
‘Down!’ he yelled at Jeannie.
Out the corner of his eye, he saw her drop to the ground, as he yanked on the reins of the nervous horses, pulling them deeper behind the rocks.
He saw a puff of smoke from the distant rifle. The slug hit rock above his head, and stone chips lashed the back of his neck as the sound of the shot reached him.
‘Luke, are you all right?’Jeannie called anxiously.
‘Yes. Stay down.’
Whoever was behind the rifle decided to let go with a whole magazine full. Kennick was unable to do a thing except keep his head down and hang on to the stomping, terrified horses. Slugs chipped the boulders around. Powdered rock hung thick in the air. Kennick lost his grip on his rifle, and it dropped into the sand at his feet. He didn’t bother to pick it up. He was thankful to be able to use both hand to hold on to the wildly jerking reins. He didn’t want the horses running wild.
Dust was kicked up by their pounding hoofs and Kennick found it was getting hard to breathe. Then he sensed someone beside him. It was Jeannie.
‘I told you to keep down!’
‘I couldn’t breathe,’ she shouted above the din. Then: ‘You dropped your rifle.’
‘Hang on to it.’
The firing stopped then. For a moment Kennick wondered if he’d gone deaf. But he could hear the sound of his own harsh breathing clear enough.
Gradually the horses settled down. Kennick threw a swift glance at Kicking Bear. There was a thin smear of blood on the Comanche’s left shoulder.
‘Does the white fear Death?’ Kicking Bear asked scornfully.
‘Only a fool does not,’ Kennick replied shortly and turned away.
Jeannie, despite his warning, was back at the rock from which they could see the high rim.
‘Are all females so damn stubborn?’
‘I’m being careful. Luke, there are two of them now.’
Kennick saw the second man the moment he looked toward the rim. He didn’t seem to be bothered about getting behind any cover. It was as though he were inviting Kennick to try for him.
‘That will be Griff McBride,’ Kennick said softly. His hands clenched tightly into hard, bloodless fists.
Jeannie glanced at him, concern in her face.
‘You want none of this, do you, Luke?’
‘No. But what I want don’t matter. Griff’s got me where he wants me. He won’t let me go now. What bothers me is that I’ve got you mixed up in it. I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be on my account,’ she said. ‘We’ll come through, Luke, I know it.’
‘Easy said.’
‘I said I could fire a gun. Maybe I won’t hit anything, but I’m willing to try.’
She held out his rifle, and Kennick took it. He smiled tightly. ‘All right, Jeannie, let’s try.’
Joe Beecher squatted down in a patch of shadow and thumbed fresh shells into his rifle. Off to his left, he could see Griff working his way lower down the rocks. If Griff got any closer he was liable to get his ass shot off. Kennick was no dude with a gun.
Beecher finished loading his rifle. He levered a shell in and sighted on the mass of rocks that hid Kennick and the woman. Beecher was thinking about the woman when he pulled the trigger. He saw his slug kick up a puff of dust well short of the rocks and gave a grunt of disgust. Thinking about the woman had done that. She was a looker, though, he thought. A real looker. He grinned, and triggered off another shot that hit the rocks just where he wanted it to.
Above him Griff could hear Beecher’s rifle crack every few seconds. The breed would have no damn shells left when the real shooting began! Griff swore. Crazy bastard! He lowered himself behind a rock. He was getting good and close now. He wondered if he’d been spotted yet. He doubted it. Kennick would have let go at him by now. Or would he? Was Kennick playing it smart?
From the rocks below, a rifle spoke. Once, then again. Griff felt the wind of one slug fan his face. The second slug clipped his shirtsleeve just below the left shoulder. Griff felt a hot line burn across h
is arm. He jerked further behind his rock and clapped a hand to his arm. It came away wet with blood. Angrily, Griff tore the sleeve apart and had a look at the wound. It was only a six-inch raw-edged gash—not deep—but it was bleeding freely. His sleeve was already soaked well past his elbow, and a line of blood had dribbled down his arm to creep across the back of his hand and stain his fingers.
Griff yanked off his neckerchief and wrapped it around his arm. He had to use his teeth to help tie a knot, and he was sweating heavily by the time he was done. Lifting his rifle, he sent a couple of angry shots into the rocks below.
An answering shot drove him back. Chips of stone flew into his face. Kennick was awful close with his shooting. Griff grunted angrily. No matter what you threw at him, Kennick could always throw it back that much harder. He rubbed his arm. The numbness was wearing off and it was starting to smart now.
Griff settled back and tried to figure out what to do next. True, they had Kennick bottled up, but that was only half the job, and the easiest part. The hard part was going to come when they tried to take him.
A volley of rifle shots sounded from Beecher’s position. Griff glanced up that way, and saw Beecher leave his cover and move down toward him. The breed moved fast, firing as he came on. Kennick returned the fire. One slug flicked Beecher’s shirtsleeve, but the breed didn’t pause. He kept coming and dropped down beside Griff.
‘You all right?’ Beecher asked.
Griff nodded.
‘He’s pretty good with that there Winchester,’ Beecher remarked, inspecting his torn sleeve. He raised his head and looked pointedly at the kerchief tied around Griff’s arm.
Griff scowled. ‘So he caught me. So what?’
‘So, maybe it ain’t goin’ to be so easy to take him.’
‘You want to quit?’
‘Who, me? Where’d you get such a notion?’
Griff stared at him a minute. He was trying to figure out what was going on in Beecher’s head. Lately, the breed had been doing some odd talking. Most of the time Griff was hard put to figure out what the sly remark meant. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Beecher was having a big laugh—on Griff McBride. If only he was quick enough to figure what lay behind Beecher’s words when he said them. But he never could. By the time he’d realized what Beecher meant, it was too late to come back at him. And Griff was sure the breed knew this.
He looked away from Beecher, down at the massed boulders shielding Kennick. ‘What we got to do now,’ he said, ‘is figure how we’re goin’ to get Kennick out from behind them rocks.’
Beecher leaned forward and had a long look. Kennick had got himself in a good defensive position. He could see in every direction while still remaining under cover. Anyone trying to sneak up on him would have a hard time of it. Beecher pushed back and slouched against a rock. He fumbled out one of his thin cigars and lit it. He sat blowing smooth smoke rings.
Sitting there, Beecher could almost hear Griff’s brain working. Thinking always came hard to Griff. He was more likely to bull in head first, without considering the facts of a situation. That was why he ended up with his face in the dirt so many times. Beecher wondered why he’d stuck so long with Griff McBride. He didn’t particularly like the man. To his way of thinking, Griff was a heap too bossy while not being too bright. And taking orders was a thing Joe Beecher disliked. What, then, was it that made him go along with Griff?
Beecher found it hard to pin down. Maybe it was just for the company. It was a big lonely country and a man needed someone to talk to. Maybe it was for self-preservation. The trails they rode were rough and dangerous. A man alone might find himself in need of help. Riding with Griff and Bo—and the kid, Hal, before the cavalry got him—gave Beecher a secure feeling. Together they could face down trouble that would put a loner on the spot.
But Beecher wasn’t too concerned about such things now. He wanted Kennick for himself. It had been a long time since anyone had hurt him the way Luke Kennick had. He wasn’t about to overlook it. No man made Joe Beecher crawl and walk away. Kennick had made him crawl. On his hands and knees, his body screaming with pain. He still hurt. And it was the kind of hurt that would only go away when he settled up with Kennick.
‘. . . move in closer,’ Griff was saying. Beecher smiled inwardly. Griff was still at it, rambling on about how he was going to take Kennick. When it came right down to it, he would charge right in and most likely catch one of Kennick’s slugs.
‘You want I should cover you?’ Beecher asked, to appear willing.
Griff nodded. ‘I’ll have to make it fast. Try and keep his head down until I’m through.’
Beecher reloaded his rifle and levered a shell into place. He got himself into position and raised the rifle.
‘Ready?’
Griff nodded. Beecher slammed off his first shot as Griff pushed around the rock and headed into the open. The breed kept up a steady stream of fire. There were no answering shots from below. That’s right, Kennick, Beecher thought with satisfaction, keep your head down. He had the range now, and his slugs hit where he wanted every time.
Out the corner of his eye, he saw Griff crouching behind a protective rock large enough to hide a Conestoga wagon and team. Griff waved and Beecher stopped shooting. He levered the last couple of shells out of the rifle and left the breech open to cool.
He relit his cigar and sat back, waiting for Griff’s play.
Chapter Thirteen
Noon came and the heat was overpowering. The rocks surrounding them seemed to absorb the sun’s rays and then blast them back at them with increased intensity.
Kennick waited and sweated. Every moment caused a fresh outbreak of sweat. And he was beginning to feel dry inside. He wondered how long it took for the sun to dehydrate a man. He recalled the time his patrol had stumbled across the body of a deserter from Cameron. The man had been naked, his body wrinkled and cracked like the skin of dried fruit. The flesh of his face had been drawn tight over the bones, the lips skinned back in a snarl. There hadn’t been a drop of moisture in the burnt, brittle body. Kennick shuddered at the recollection. Almost unconsciously he touched his face, heard the harsh rasp of his fingers against taut skin. Cut it out, he told himself. You’re a long way off from dead yet. Quit it and concentrate on getting out of this.
‘Luke, are you all right?’
Kennick glanced across at Jeannie. He nodded, realizing that his worry must have showed in his face. He’d have to watch that.
‘I’m all right.’ He added, ‘Thinking always comes hard,’ and smiled.
She slid close to him. Her face was flushed with heat, her lips dry and cracked.
‘Thinking about how to get us out?’ she asked.
‘On those lines.’
‘They’ve been quiet for a long time.’
‘I’d say they’re doing some figuring too. They may have us boxed in, but that’s all. Getting us out isn’t going to be so easy. And knowing Griff, I’d say it’s making him fret. He doesn’t like sitting around. If we can hang on he may make some move that’ll help us, one way or another.’
‘Don’t you think he might give up and go away?’
Kennick shook his head. ‘Not Griff. He’s waited a long time for this. He won’t quit until it’s been settled.’
Jeannie shrugged angrily. ‘It’s all so pointless,’ she said. ‘Killing you wouldn’t bring his brother back. It wouldn’t change a thing.’
‘You won’t convince Griff of that. He’s set on his trail now. He won’t turn back. I wish there was another way out. God knows I don’t want this. I feel responsible though for his brother, I don’t want to have to kill Griff. But I’m not going to stand by while he tries to kill me. I don’t feel that guilty.’
She listened silently, wishing there was something she could do or say to help. But what? She realized nothing would alter the situation. She felt very inadequate. He was alone on this, and she hoped he would be able to get through it. He had so much to live for. A lonely man tr
ying to make right a wrong, risking his life because he felt responsible for a past thing. Jeannie felt the weight of the gun in her hand and hoped that when the time came she wouldn’t fail him.
Kennick checked his rifle again. He didn’t need to, but it felt better to be doing something.
Out beyond their protective rock cover the circle of sand stretched flat and still. Above and beyond it, the rocks rose in a series of jagged uneven steps, each layer of boulders rising feet above the lower ones. In that sprawling pile of rock, Griff McBride and Joe Beecher sat, waiting and planning. Kennick wished he knew what their plans were.
As if in answer to his thought, a rifle shot slammed out. It came from the lower rocks, but the slug was high off target. That would be Griff. Joe Beecher was higher up. Again the rifle fired. Kennick caught a glimpse of smoke. He raised his own weapon and loosed off two close-spaced shots.
This cat and mouse game could go on for a long time, Kennick decided. Until someone tired of it and made a move. He thought about it. Someone was going to have to force the issue one way or another. That was a fact. Whoever it was would have to be on the offensive. And hadn’t someone once said: When your enemy has you cornered and expects surrender, attack. Kennick couldn’t remember who’d said it, but he saw sense in it. He might have to alter it a little. In a roundabout way, he could attack. But his first move would have to be retreat.
‘Jeannie, listen close. If you’re game, there might just be a way out of this.’
She moved closer. ‘Go on.’
‘Up in those rocks we’ve got Griff and Beecher. Outside, watching the way we came in, is Bo McBride. If we move fast enough we might be able to get clear before our friends in the rocks realize what we’re up to.’
‘How, Luke?’
‘We leave our horses here, work our way out through the rocks in back of us until we can circle around the outside, then hope we can take Bo without too much fuss.’
‘And then take their horses?’
He nodded. ‘That’s the idea. It’s that or staying here and trying to wait them out.’
He watched her closely. He knew he was asking a lot of her, wondered if she’d hold up.
