Troubleshooter

by Alan David

  Manning thrust backwards with his left elbow, digging her violently in the breast, breaking her hold and hurling her away. Simultaneously he tried to keep his right hand steady, and fired at the nearer, taller man. He saw the man’s pale green shirt twitch at the instant the man also fired, and flame spat from the black muzzle pointing at Manning. Gun thunder blasted and deafened Manning’s ears, but he heard the vicious whine of a bullet hammering past his left ear. His gun was bucking in his own hand, and he saw a splotch of blood appear on the tall man’s upper arm, and he spun around and dropped out of sight into the brush.

  Manning’s instincts were screaming that it was time to be moving, but Glory was back at him, clawing and scratching, trying to grab his gunhand. He hit her with his elbow again, lifting it higher to catch her face, and she was sent flying, still yelling at the top of her voice, imploring the gunman to finish him off.

  Manning threw himself sideways and to the left, rolling over and over to gain solid cover. He struck his right elbow against the bole of a tree and lost his grip on the Colt. Panic edged into his mind. Bullets were crackling all about him now, for the shorter man was using his twin weapons alternately, throwing lead in his general direction without pause. Twigs parted from branches and came falling upon Manning, and the heavier sounds of slugs boring into the tree behind which he crouched filled the background. The second man, out of sight, was still shooting rapidly.

  Grabbing up his gun, Manning dashed sweat out of his eyes and peered around, trying to size up the situation. Gun echoes were receding through the trees, but still the shooting went on frenziedly. Both men were desperately trying to nail him, and he clenched his teeth when a lightning flash of pain stabbed through his left arm, spinning him around with its fiery impact. He cursed and went full length behind another tree, his left hand dropping nervelessly at his side. He lifted the Colt, easing forward for a glimpse of his attackers, and both men were on their feet again, coming for him.

  They were in the open now, and Manning had recovered from his surprise. He aimed at the shorter man, who was clearly the more dangerous, and again his gun kicked in his hand. His eyes were narrowed, pinpointed upon his target, the broad chest of the man, and his concentration seemed to give his arm and finger muscles that extra strength they needed. He fired twice and the gunsmoke puffed around him, but his eyes and mind were focused upon his target. In the same instant he was struck a stunning blow, as if someone had hit him with an iron bar, and his right hand turned numb without warning. His gun flew from his grasp and he cursed as he flung himself down, still watching his shorter adversary. The man was spilling his guns from his hands and flattening out, with two splotches of blood on the front of his shirt where both Manning’s shots had impacted.

  Manning was dazed. There was pain in his left arm and no feeling at all in his right hand. He instinctively looked for his gun but it was lying feet away, and the taller gunman was running in like a wounded bull. Manning lurched to his feet, keeping behind a tree, and it was in the back of his mind that this was his last moment of life. He glimpsed the gunman coming towards his position, gun held ready, and moved to the left, trying to keep the tree between himself and death. There was blood on the man’s green shirt, but his wound did not appear to inconvenience him.

  Using his feet, Manning edged around the tree as the man closed in, but the gunman was no fool and kept his distance. He was grinning now, his teeth bared in a snarl of triumph. Manning could hear the echoes of the shooting fading, and threw a quick glance towards his gun. But it was out in the open and he knew he would not be able to reach it and get into action before the gunman put a slug through his head.

  ‘Got you!’ The man spoke exultantly, skirting the tree. ‘I told Yaro we could do it with Glory’s help. They said nobody could take you, Manning, but I got you cold.’

  Hopelessness surged through Manning and he let his pent up breath escape in a long sigh.

  ‘Okay, quit crowing about it,’ he rasped. ‘You got me, so kill me.’

  ‘That I’m surely gonna do.’ The man halted and began to lift his gun, and Manning’s stomach muscles tensed. He had faced death many times, and was prepared to die in the heat of battle, but this was more like an execution. He tensed, ready to go out fighting, and prepared to launch himself in a headlong dive at the man. But at that moment a gun blasted, and Manning saw a puff of smoke spurt from somewhere to the man’s rear. He was hurling himself sideways as the man came forward a blundering step, his back arching, and the gun in his hand hammered once as dying muscles reacted convulsively. The bullet hit the tree beside Manning’s head. But the man went down heavily with a .38 calibre slug between his shoulder blades.

  Manning peered past the falling body and gulped in shock, for Netta was standing in the background, only feet away, a smoking .38 in her hands. She was completely naked and apparently unaware of the fact. Her face was ashen with shock and her eyes were wide, almost unfocused. She stood like a statue, the sun lancing down through overhead branches to dapple and put a sheen of gold upon her smooth, bare flesh.

  Breaking his paralysis, Manning moved sideways and snatched up his gun. The numb sensation was leaving his right hand and only a painful twinge now remained. When he glanced down at the hand he was surprised to find no trace of blood, for he had expected at least to have shattered fingers. But when he looked at his gun and saw a shiny mark on the top of the cylinder he realised that a bullet had struck the weapon and torn it from his grasp.

  He went forward automatically to check the two men, and both were dead. The tall one had taken Netta’s bullet high in the back and probably died instantly, and the shorter one was lying on his back, with two red splotches of blood in the centre of his chest to testify to Manning’s accurate shooting.

  Tension seeped out of him then and he turned to look at Netta, who had frozen from the moment she fired the shot which saved Manning’s life. She seemed not to realise that she was naked, and he drew a quick breath as he gazed at the slender lines of her beautiful body. His lips were dry and the pungent smell of gunsmoke was upon him, but he exhaled deeply and went forward to where she was standing, unable to take his eyes off her.

  She had small, up-tilted breasts and a slender waist. Her figure showed that she was barely out of girlhood, and Manning found his shock and tension filtering away. But she was badly shocked. Her teeth were chattering. He lowered his gun as he confronted her, drawing her within the protective circle of his arms. He heard the gun fall from her hand and thud on the ground, and then she lowered her head to his chest and burst into tears.

  ‘I saw them sneaking in after you,’ she said huskily. ‘I thought they were going to kill you, Chet.’

  ‘So did I!’ He only half-heard her words, the jumble of her speech tumbling from her mouth in shock, and when he glanced at his left arm he saw the shirt was plucked and blood seeping from a flesh wound. Sweat beaded his forehead as he recalled how close it had been, and his hands trembled against her damp flesh.

  ‘How come you had a gun?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Aunt Polly insisted I carry it. She showed me how to fire it, but said I’d only have to show it to scare off anyone intending to harm me.’

  ‘Well you did a whole heap better than scaring ‘em,’ he commented. ‘You saved my life, Netta. He had me cold as mutton.’

  ‘Thank God!’ She spoke fervently, then began to stiffen. ‘I thought of nothing else but getting my gun when they came sneaking up.’ She paused and lowered her tone. ‘I saw you were busy with that woman, and I knew you didn’t hear them coming.’

  ‘You were watching me with Glory?’ He frowned as he remembered the woman, and turned to look for her, but she was gone, and he sighed heavily when he caught the sound of receding hooves and moved slightly to get a glimpse of her departing in a hurry on one of the horses the gunmen had used.

  ‘I was swimming when you rode up with her,’ Netta said, clinging to him, burying her face against his chest, and her body was vi
brant with a confusion of shock and growing pleasure at his nearness. ‘I just had to watch. I couldn’t help seeing you.’

  ‘So you wanted a free show, huh?’ He chuckled harshly. ‘Well, it turned out a whole lot differently, didn’t it? But I was half-expecting some kind of trouble from Glory. I got her pegged right last night, and those two hardcases.’

  ‘I’d better get dressed,’ she said uncertainly. ‘If anyone in town heard the shooting and came to look they’d think dreadful things about me, seeing us together like this, and me with no clothes on. What must you think of me?’

  ‘You want me to tell you?’ He eased back from her, and saw a flush in her cheeks as she watched him gazing boldly at her. ‘I figure you’re the prettiest girl I ever saw, and I don’t want you to get dressed.’

  ‘Not get dressed?’ She frowned as she looked up into his intent face, then caught her breath, reading the desire in his eyes. ‘Uncle Asa,’ she said uncertainly.

  ‘He ain’t here, Netta. There’s only me, you, and two dead men. I been watching you ever since you came to Buffalo Junction, and I never thought I’d ever get the chance to be alone with you.’

  ‘You want to be alone with me?’

  ‘You betcha.’ He glanced around, peering along the town trail, which was deserted. Glory hadn’t gone back there. She had turned off and was riding across country. But he was not interested in anything but the smooth body in his arms, and he suddenly bent his head and kissed Netta full on the lips, making her gasp.

  She caught her breath and lowered her cheek to his chest and closed her eyes.

  ‘I’m in love with you, Chet,’ she said softly, ‘and I want you more than anything in the world.’

  He swung her into his arms, kissing her passionately, and carried her into a screen of bushes. This was his lucky day. He had escaped certain death, and now his hands were upon a fresh and beautiful girl.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Netta lay on the ground under a tree and Chet bent over her, his mouth pressed to hers in the kind of kiss Glory had given him. Under his gentle hands her body was coming to life, and she responded instinctively, shivering involuntarily as his fingers caressed her. His lips were fierce and demanding, bruising, but she could not stifle the wave of excitement which flooded through her. She clutched at him, writhing as his hands whispered across her flesh. He cupped her breasts, then slid his right hand down to her hips and the swelling curves beyond. She grew dizzy with passion, could feel her heart pounding faster than normal, and he kissed her again and again until she was unaware of her surroundings and conscious only of the intense desire piling up in her breast. When he eased away from her she groaned in protest, but he was soon back again, his hard flesh and solid muscle bared.

  His hands were suddenly more demanding, grasping her body in a way she could not have imagined, yet with skill and experience which spoke for themselves. He was breathing heavily, and the sound further excited her. In her mind she could see him lying with Glory Harpe, and that memory served only to whet her appetites. He stroked her thighs, easing his right hand between them and a thrill of pleasure stabbed through her stomach. She grasped him around the waist, running her fingers over his powerful back and limbs, and the hair on his torso felt strange against her smooth flesh.

  He let his weight down on her and she felt the throbbing of his flesh beating in time with her heart.

  She was damp now from the heat of their entwined bodies, feeling as if she were floating upon a cloud. He eased forward against her, gentle fingers preparing the way for his solid maleness.

  Suddenly she jerked spasmodically, uttering a long, soft cry, for there was a stabbing pain as he grated against her. He was fighting his passion in an attempt to be gentle against the power and strength of his lust. She was suddenly frightened, and at the last moment attempted to pull away from him, but his massive arms were about her, enfolding her, and she whimpered and gave herself up to the inevitable. For an interminable period there was pain and resistance, but he could not be denied and she did not want him to stop. She bit her bottom lip until she could taste the saltiness of her own blood, and tried to match him thrust for thrust until there was a sudden yielding of her body. She cried out as he plunged home into the very centre of her and they threshed convulsively until he uttered a groan and slumped weakly upon her.

  They were covered with sweat, and she was hazy in the aftermath of repletion. Time was non-existent. She kept her eyes closed, trying to accustom herself to his enormous weight. His breathing was ragged for long minutes, but slowly subsided, and she held him tightly, her arms around him protectively. He seemed to sleep and she did not stir, but suddenly he was moving, rearing up, confusing her with the sight of his powerful body, and she gazed avidly despite her conflicting instincts of modesty and shyness.

  ‘Come on,’ he said quietly. ‘I figure we both need to bathe, huh? We’d better get moving before someone from town shows up. And I’ve got work to do. I think maybe this business is bust wide open, and I don’t figure to be wrong twice in a row.’

  She gasped, unable to accept the experience in his casual way, but she followed him into the water and they swam together, although he did not relax his vigilance. She wanted to stay on, but he soon climbed to the bank and began to dress, not even bothering to dry his wet, glistening body.

  ‘You better get out there now and go back to town,’ he commanded, buckling his gunbelt around his waist. ‘Don’t say anything about what’s happened here.’

  ‘Between us?’ She shook her head. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t drag that out of me, Chet!’

  ‘Us?’ He stared at her for a moment. ‘Hell no! You wouldn’t be fool enough to talk about us. I mean about the trouble here. Just go back to town and forget all about it.’

  ‘But what about us?’ she demanded, rising out of the water like a nymph. ‘Does what happened mean we’ll be thinking of getting married?’

  ‘Married?’ He paused to gaze at her, and there was impatience clawing through his mind. His appetites were appeased, and until he needed a woman again he could not bear to think of any entanglements. ‘Hell, is it your ambition to be a widow before you’re twenty? Listen. I’ve got to go now, but I’ll see you when I come back to town. Don’t add to my problems, huh?’

  She nodded, feeling disappointed as he turned and hurried to his horse. He swung into the saddle, saluted her, then rode away, his dark gaze bent upon the dusty ground, picking out the tracks left by the horse Glory Harpe had used to escape. His mind was filled with conflict. There was joy because he had finally made love to Netta and she had never been with a man before. There was horror because he had stared death in the face and, for a frightening moment, until Netta fired, he had believed he was as good as dead. And he was angry with the way Glory had set him up. He had walked into the trap willingly because it had been the only lead open to him. Now he had to do something about it, and hoped that his dalliance with Netta had not given Glory too much of a head start.

  He rode fast, his practised eyes watching the ground, and he soon realised that Glory was riding towards Ryker’s ranch. He considered all possibilities as he continued, and there was alertness in every fibre of his tired body. His eyes were narrowed under his hat brim, for the glare of the mid-morning sun was powerful. Had Yaro sent Ryker into the county ahead of him to buy a spread which could be used as a headquarters for the gang? It was the way Yaro worked, he knew. He had never seen the man in the flesh but there had been many descriptions, and a sketch on a wanted poster. Everyone could recognise Ben Yaro by the scar around his throat. He ached from the need to be able to face the man, and, despite the knowledge that Yaro would have at least thirty men with him, he wanted to see the gang boss through drifting gunsmoke.

  Glory’s tracks led right into the ranch yard, and Manning cautiously eased on to the skyline to study the place. He had seen it many times before, and now noted that some improvements had been made in the short time the new rancher had been here. There were
two extra corrals and a big new barn. A frown touched his craggy face when he counted the large number of horses in the corrals, and then he spotted two riders together, apparently patrolling the area in a large circle around the entire spread. He noted their distance from the headquarters and glanced back to where he had left his horse, then lay in a sweat of indecision until they had passed him. He was not afraid of being spotted, but did not want his presence discovered. If this was Yaro’s headquarters then he needed surprise on his side.

  The two guards rode slowly, checking their surroundings, and Manning could see that Glory’s tracks led down the slope and into the yard. She had ridden straight here from her attempt to get him killed, and he recalled the words of the taller of his two attackers. The man gloated when Manning stood helplessly before him; had said, ‘I told Yaro we could do it!’ A sigh gusted from Manning. He peered around then began to withdraw, and when he reached his horse he mounted and rode back to town, making all speed to get there.

  It was early afternoon when he saw Buffalo Junction again, and felt weary as he rode to the livery barn. He left his horse with the stableman and walked to the law office, where Hank Chilvers was sitting on a chair beside the door, sunning himself.

  ‘Chet!’ The town marshal got to his feet. ‘What’s going on? Tom Denton rode in a couple of hours ago and said he saw two dead men out by the creek. I sent some men to bring them in, and they’re the pair of gunnies you was asking about earlier.’

  ‘They set an ambush for me, Hank. I got ‘em fair and square.’

  ‘But what about the new woman at the saloon? You rode out to the creek with her. Where is she? She ain’t come back.’

  ‘She was a part of it. She lured me out there, then took off when I killed those two. I don’t figure we’ll see her again. But I got some work to do around town, Hank, and I want you to stay out of it.’