by Luke Short
She clung to the cottonwoods along the river because it was easier riding here, and as she rode she watched for any signs of the crossed herd. She knew how foolish it was to look carefully, for they would leave a swath of churned mud she could see in the dark.
But she looked carefully anyway for the greater part of the morning, riding along among the river cottonwoods. Perhaps it was because of her careful observation that she didn’t see the rider until she was almost on him.
Then she looked up and saw Tate Riling ahead, his horse halted, watching her.
Amy reined up, startled, and then she got control of herself, and her face showed nothing except distaste.
But Riling’s appearance frightened her. The ghost of his black eye was still there, a faded green now. His eyes were bloodshot, slitted with weariness and red rimmed. There was blood on his face from the gash on the head Jim had given him two days ago during the escape, when he swung the picket pin at him. But more than that, there was a mean and savage ugliness about him that told Amy he already knew he’d lost his gamble and was now only seeking revenge, seeking Jim. Amy was afraid.
“What’re you doin’ here?” Riling said bluntly.
“I might ask you, since this is Blockhouse range,” Amy said calmly. “Or had you heard?”
Another rider came toward them through the trees now, and Amy saw it was Pindalest, the agent. She was shocked by the change in his appearance. He was thinner, with a kind of burning anger in his face instead of his usual look of oafish, pomposity. Both men were incredibly dirty, and they looked bone weary.
“Isn’t that Lufton’s girl?” Pindalest asked harshly.
“Yeah,” Riling answered slowly, not even looking at Pindalest. To Amy he said, “Lookin’ for someone?”
Amy said smoothly, immediately, “Why, yes. Dad. Why?”
Riling didn’t comment but he looked at her until Amy felt the blood mounting in her cheeks. She pulled her horse to one side to go around them, saying, “If you don’t mind I’ll ride on.”
Pindalest said, “Riling, you goin’ to let her go and—”
“Shut up!”
Riling’s voice was sharp, final, and still he didn’t look at the agent. He put his horse over next to Amy’s and seized her bridle.
“You’re sure,” he said slowly, “you’re looking for your father?”
“I told you I was.”
Riling said tonelessly, “We’re looking for a man too.”
Amy knew Riling wasn’t satisfied with her answer and she also knew he was both suspicious and not the kind to quit until he found out the real reason why she was here. She decided to bluff it out, to stake everything on one bold stroke. “I know. Jim Garry, isn’t it?”
Riling’s jaw set subtly. “Now tell me how you knew.”
“He rode into Blockhouse last night. He’s in bed with a knife wound. But he wasn’t too sick to mention you.”
Riling was watching her ceaselessly. He said, “And you’re huntin’ the crew?”
Amy smiled. “That was pretty crude, Riling, but I’ll put your mind at rest. The crew is there, so there’s no chance of paying us a visit.”
A smile started on Riling’s face, a smile that broadened and made Amy sick at heart. What had she said?
“You’re a lovely little liar, my dear, but nevertheless, a liar. I saw the whole Blockhouse crew at work an hour after daylight.”
Amy’s face was still smiling as she nodded. “Part of them, I grant you. Do you want to ride back to Blockhouse and meet the rest?”
Riling was silent for ten whole seconds and then he said softly, “Why, yes, I’d admire to.”
Amy laughed shortly. “I can’t guarantee you safe conduct over Blockhouse range, but if you want to chance it come along.”
She pulled her horse around and started away from the river.
Riling said sharply, “Oh no. Not that way. We’ll backtrack you.”
He palmed up his six-gun and shot once into the air and then holstered it. The panic that was within Amy wouldn’t go, but she knew she had to fight and do it quickly.
“I don’t follow you there,” Amy said, putting puzzlement into her voice.
Riling almost smiled again. “I keep remembering a pretty fair gun hand that turned soft in Sun Dust, all on account of a girl, I figured.” He paused, watching her. “Maybe the girl liked that enough to help him out of a jam.”
“I don’t follow you there either.”
“You don’t have to,” Riling said idly. He turned his head toward the river, and soon, from the shore willows, Mitch Moten and Big Nels Titterton and Chet Avery, whom they’d picked up that morning, approached. They touched their hats and Amy nodded.
Riling said, “I’ll go ahead. You follow, Miss Lufton.”
Despair plucked at Amy’s heart. She’d lost her gamble. Her blunder had given them away.
There was nothing to do but fall in behind Riling. They rode Indian file for hours, Riling ahead, following her tracks back to Anse’s shack. Each mile Amy felt the burden of blame heavier upon her.
Riling only spoke once during that ride, and his words sunk Amy into deeper gloom. “You kind of took a roundabout way, didn’t you?”
At last in late afternoon they came to Anse Barden’s.
Riling paused at the edge of the cottonwoods a hundred yards from the house and regarded it thoughtfully. Amy’s tracks, coming away from the door, were plainly visible. Smoke, also, was coming out of the chimney.
He looked at Amy. “Barden home?”
Amy nodded. “He has been for days.” She frowned. “Oh, I begin to see now. If you’d asked me I would have told you I stopped at Anse’s.”
“I don’t think you would have,” Riling said. “Chet, let’s you and me make a circle and take a look in the corral. Nels, watch her.”
They started toward the corral, keeping wide of the house.
And then the silence was broken by the flat, sharp report of a rifle in the shack. Riling’s horse began to rear, pitching Riling from the saddle.
Amy knew it was no use pretending further. She sank her spurs into her horse and dashed for the house.
“Hey!” Nels yelled.
Avery was off his horse, helping Riling to his feet. When Riling saw Amy heading for the house he whipped up his six-gun, and Amy distinctly heard him cock it. Avery was quick. He saw Riling’s intention and clamped down on his arm just as the gun went off.
The slug kicked up a dusting of snow in front of Amy’s horse and sang up into the log shack. Amy, leaning far over on her horse’s neck, turned the rear corner of the shack, slid out of the saddle and ran for the door. It opened on her, and she stepped inside.
Jim, roused from sleep by the shot, was propped up on both elbows, staring at them.
Barden said from the window, “Lock that door, you hellion, and take this gun. This is it!”
Chapter Sixteen
The next few minutes with Anse at the front window and Amy at the rear, were bedlam. Riling’s outfit scattered, surrounding the house, and it was up to both Anse and Amy to drive them back into the cottonwoods. Anse succeeded on his side and then came over and helped Amy flush Mitch Moten from the protection of the corral to the low bluff behind the house. From now till dark Riling must content himself with throwing shots at the shack from a distance that precluded accuracy.
Amy and Anse sank down against the wall, and Jim, still propped on his elbows, looked at them. “Riling?”
“And Pindalest, Moten and Big Nels and Avery,” Amy said bitterly. “Oh, Anse, it’s my fault. It didn’t have to happen!”
“It was in the cards,” Anse growled. “No harm’s done.”
He went over to the front window and looked out, and Amy went over to Jim. “I’m goin’ to get up,” Jim announced to her.
“No!” Both Amy and Anse shouted it with a unanimity that made Jim blink.
“But I’ve had a night’s sleep and food,” Jim protested. “I’m all right. You can’t let
—”
“The hell I can’t,” Anse said grimly. “Amy can shoot and she can stay out of the way. You stay in bed.”
Jim settled back into a smoldering silence. Did Barden think this was all in fun that he’d let Amy chance being shot? They didn’t know Riling like he knew him. Riling wouldn’t hesitate to shoot Amy if by doing it he could get to Jim, and Jim knew it. He’d tried to tell them both, and they hadn’t listened.
He watched Amy, who was standing at the foot of his bed, flattened against the wall. Occasionally she would peer out through the window, then pull her head back quickly. If anything happened to her, Jim thought—and then he stopped thinking about it. This was the girl who’d laid a slug so close to him on the river that day that she’d nicked his hat. But if Riling succeeded in rushing the shack and taking it her shooting wouldn’t do much good. No, there was a way to stop it, and he’d take that way.
Jim said, “Barden, come here.”
Anse came over, and Jim talked to him, knowing Amy was listening and watching. “Before this goes any farther tell Riling I’ll go with him.”
Anse glanced up at Amy and only grinned and shook his head. “These walls are thick. They can’t burn us out, and we got plenty of shells.”
“But he’s an Injun, I tell you!” Jim said hotly. “He won’t quit till he’s got me and he’ll kill you both to do it.”
Amy came around the bed then and said angrily, “So we should let him take you and shoot you, just to save our own necks!”
Jim glared angrily at her and then spoke to Barden. “Then sing out to them that she’s comin’ out. They’ll let her through.”
“No!” Amy said immediately.
“Do it!” Jim said angrily to Barden.
“I won’t go,” Amy said calmly. “If you put me out I’ll stand right out there and shoot at them.”
Barden shrugged. “She was out there once and she risked gettin’ hurt to come back here.” He added dryly, “It looks like this is where she wants to be, don’t it?”
He turned and went back to his post. Amy gave Jim a grave, questioning look and went back to the foot of the bed.
Jim turned his face to the wall, raging at his own helplessness. He had to lie there and watch it happen, as it would sooner or later. But he couldn’t do it! He had to make Barden understand someway that Riling was desperate, that he knew he’d lost and that he’d risk his life to get the man responsible.
Jim said, “Barden, I want to talk to you alone.”
In the dusk he saw Amy turn her head and look at him first and then at Anse.
“The lean-to,” Anse said reluctantly.
Amy hesitated a moment, as if knowing they would talk about her, and then she went out. Somebody in the cottonwoods started pumping shots which thumped heavily into the thick logs of the shack.
Anse came over and sat on Jim’s bed.
“We got to get her out of here,” Jim said.
“She won’t go.”
“Make her. If you say so she’ll go.”
Anse regarded him with shrewd dissent in his eyes. “You don’t know much about women, do you, Garry?”
“No.”
“Why do you think she come back if it wasn’t on account of you?”
Jim just stared at him and then he said flatly, “No.”
“I’m right.”
Jim’s hand slowly plucked the blanket as he and Barden eyed each other. Then Jim said, “And why do you think I want to get her out of here?”
“The same reason, I reckon,” Anse said.
“You’re wrong about her,” Jim said steadily. “I’ve helped her father. Why wouldn’t she want to help me?” He paused a moment. “You were right about me though, Anse. That’s the way it is. But I’ve thought it over a lot more than you have. It wouldn’t work, Anse, not even if she’d have me. I’m not her kind. Before I got hurt I was plannin’ to ride out when this was finished. And I’d still like to finish it my own way.”
“How’s that?”
“With her not around. I’d like one more crack at Riling—alone. Will you go?”
Anse stood up and called, “All right, Amy,” and went back to the window. That was his answer.
Amy came back, and she said to Anse, “Maybe you better go bar the door on the lean-to, Anse.”
When he’d gone Amy came up to Jim’s bed and knelt beside it. “The walls were pretty thin, Jim. I heard you.”
Jim looked at her searchingly in the dusk. He couldn’t really see her face, but he didn’t need to. He’d carried her image in his mind for weeks now, so that he even knew how the hair curled off her temple and fell to her shoulder in that sleek and beautiful line. He took her hand and said, “Amy, pretend you didn’t hear. Because it can’t be. I’ve been fiddle footed and no good all my life; I’ve even been a gun hand part of it. I’m not askin’ any woman to take that.”
“I knew that when I came here. I’ve always known that—and I don’t believe it.”
“But that’s what I am, Amy. That’s me!” Jim said flatly.
“That’s you, Jim—stubborn, proud and foolish still. Don’t you see how useless talk is, Jim? I’m here and I’m staying.”
Jim came up on his elbows, mouth open to protest, when all hell cut loose from outside. The glass spattered out of the window above Jim’s head, and Barden’s clock on the shelf behind the stove seemed to explode in a great racketing whir of the spring before it crashed to the floor.
Anse piled in from the lean-to, grabbing his rifle on the way. Amy broke away from against Jim’s grasp and picked up her rifle.
For minutes then the twilight was alive with gunfire. Riling had moved in to the very edge of the cottonwoods and the corral, and now they were sending a withering hail of lead into the door and windows.
But as it grew darker Anse remarked something and spoke about it. “Amy, hold your fire. They’ll have to cross this snow if they want to make the shack. And they’ll show on it. Watch the snow, and when something black moves against it cut down on it.”
Jim lay on the bed, cursing at his own helplesness while Amy and Anse scanned the deepening darkness. It was as Anse said. The snow was a gray against the night’s black; the trees looked black, the corral and barn a sooty smudge against the snow.
And then Amy saw something moving. She watched it carefully, and it veered toward her in the night. She could make it out now, a man walking hesitantly and slowly toward the house, curious if he could be seen.
Amy took careful sight on him and then moved the gun to the right and fired. The gun flash blinded her, but she could hear the pounding of the man’s feet as he retreated to shelter.
The gloom of the cabin was deep then, and Jim couldn’t see Amy any more. He could hear her breathing and her every movement, and her presence was close and dear to him. She was going to stay because of him. Jim hated that thought and was humbled by it. The irony of it, their meeting here when he was helpless to aid in protecting her, was like gall to him.
The firing had ceased entirely now. Anse cocked his head and then murmured, “I can hear ’em talkin’ down there in the cottonwoods.”
On the heel of his words Riling’s voice lifted in the night. “Garry! Oh, Garry! I want to talk to you.”
“He ain’t here!” Anse yelled back.
“You’re lying,” Riling said flatly. “He’s there. His horse is in the corral.”
“I picked it up last night,” Anse called. “What do you want with me?”
“Tell Garry something for me,” Riling said. His voice was getting an edge of anger now. “Tell him I’ll give him a chance to surrender.”
Jim said swiftly, “Take him up on it, Anse.”
Anse yelled, “He ain’t here, I tell you.”
Riling called back, “I’ll give him three minutes. Then I’m riding into town for Manker and more men.”
The three of them were silent, considering this news. Jim said bleakly, “He’ll do it too. And Manker will come.”
&n
bsp; He saw Amy loom up beside his bed. She reached for his hand and took it and then sat down on the bed. “Hush, Jim. Let him go. Manker won’t watch a man shot.”
Jim knew better. Manker wouldn’t have to see it. Riling could wait, but it would come. Jim knew the implacability of the man, and neither Anse nor Amy did.
Riling’s voice lifted once more into the night. “Coming out, Garry?”
“No,” Anse yelled.
They listened. They heard the soft clop-clop, the rustle of leaves made by Riling’s horse as he rode out. He’d kept his word; he was going for reinforcements.
Afterward the man at the corral started to shoot half-heartedly at the shack, and someone out in the cottonwoods fired now and then.
Amy and Anse were at the windows again, peering out into the night. It was so dark in the room that Jim could see nothing.
It was then that he made his decision. He held his breath and cautiously pushed himself to a sitting position in bed. The pain of his wound knifed at him, and he waited there, sitting upright until it had subsided. Then gently he swung his feet to the floor and stood up. Again the searing in his side, and he put a hand against the wall to steady himself. He stood there in the dark, waiting for his mind to adjust itself to this pain. It was bearable. His whole side was sore and hurt deep within him, but he could get used to it. That was all he wanted to know.
“Jim.” It was Amy. She had heard strange movements from the bed.
“I’m here,” Jim said.
The height from which his voice came brought Amy across the room. When she saw the black hulk of him standing she cried out, “Jim! You’re out of bed!”
“To stay,” Jim growled.
Anse stepped over to him and put a hand on his arm, which Jim gently removed. Something in him hoped Amy wouldn’t protest, and he sighed with relief when she said quietly, “What is it, Jim?”
“Riling,” Jim said briefly. “Let me talk. He’s gone to Sun Dust. I’m going to follow him.”
It was Anse who protested sharply, cursing him. Jim said stubbornly, “A half-hour after I’m gone tell Big Nels you’ll give up. When they see I’m not here they won’t do anything. That’s all.”
