by Sam Clancy
‘We came to get you all out,’ Ford explained.
‘We? Is Brady with you?’
‘Brady’s dead,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’ll give you the details later. Right now we need to get to the rest of the prisoners and turn them loose. Some can help the women and children, but we still need a few of the more capable men to help take down the guards.’
‘Holy Hanna,’ one of the other prisoners gasped. ‘It’s an Indian.’
Lame Elk stood in the doorway and a distant flash of lightning lit him perfectly for all to see.
‘Easy,’ Ford warned. ‘The Nez Perce are here to help.’
‘I guess Yellow Bull listened to you, huh? Man, to think I had my doubts.’
‘Come on, we have to move,’ Ford said. ‘Finn, can you get them all organized?’
‘Sure.’
‘Just remember, no noise.’
‘No problem,’ Finn assured him.
Two minutes later, a single gunshot sent everything to hell.
Out beyond the horse corral, out of earshot from the rest of the camp, Gibson pushed Allison Ellis roughly along in front of him towards a stand of larch. She sobbed quietly and stumbled along the rough path.
A guard caught them unawares when he appeared in front of the pair. ‘Help me, please,’ Allison pleaded desperately.
‘What are you doin’ out here, Gibson? Didn’t Hayes tell you to leave that girl alone?’ the guard asked.
‘How about you shut up and mind your own damned business,’ Gibson snarled back.
‘Hey, your hide, not mine. You do what you want with it.’
‘And just you remember that,’ Gibson hissed at the man then pushed Allison so hard in the back that she tumbled to the ground. He reefed her up by the arm and forced her onward. They’d gone not more than ten paces when a large figure loomed out of the darkness in front of them. A flash of lightning illuminated the face of a warrior, knife raised above his head. Allison’s shrill scream split the night, terrified at the unexpected and frightful sight facing them. Gibson froze momentarily then instinct took over. The blackness had enveloped them again after the lightning flash, but he drew his Colt and fired in the direction he’d last seen the Indian.
The six-gun roared and a grunt from in front of them told him that his aim was sure as the warrior took the slug in his chest. The next flash of lightning shed light upon the warrior’s body in the mud at their feet.
‘Indians in the camp!’ Gibson shouted loudly. ‘There’s damned Indians in the camp! Get up!’ The guard he’d spoken to previously appeared beside him. ‘What in hell is goin’ on?’
‘There’s Indians in the camp. Get everybody up.’
The man ran off and Gibson grabbed Allison roughly by the arm. She trembled with fear from the confrontation and now cried out at the sudden pain of his harsh grip. He bent to drag her back towards the small log-built prison.
They got as far as the horse corral when the whole camp erupted with shouts, war cries, gunshots and the screams of dying men.
The guard who’d gone off to warn the others came back towards them at a run. ‘They’re everywhere!’ he exclaimed, his voice filled with panic. ‘They’re killin’ everyone.’
‘Damn it,’ Gibson cursed. ‘Get three horses saddled while I keep an eye out.’ The guard jumped into the pole corral while Gibson pushed Allison aside and sat her down. ‘If you don’t want to die, stay right there,’ he ordered her. ‘I’m goin’ to help with the horses. Just pray some buck don’t find you before we’re finished.’
Hayes burst into the room and found Ferguson standing there with a cocked Remington in his fist. The self-proclaimed Lord swung it towards Hayes as he entered. ‘Whoa!’ Hayes cried out. ‘Don’t shoot, it’s just me.’
‘What on earth is going on, Mr Hayes?’ Ferguson demanded.
‘Indians,’ Hayes blurted out, panic in his eyes. ‘The whole camp has been overrun by Indians. They’re killin’ everyone they come across. We’re losin’ men everywhere, it’s a slaughter. If we stay we’ll die.’
Ferguson knew that the situation was dire. He’d never witnessed panic in Hayes in all the years he’d known him. The big man was generally a picture of calm. ‘What do you propose then, man?’ Ferguson asked.
‘We need to get some horses and light out of here,’ Hayes said hurriedly.
‘But what about the gold? The men?’
‘To hell with it all,’ Hayes half yelled. ‘If we don’t leave now, we’ll be as dead as the rest of them. We can always come back later for the gold.’
Ferguson nodded. ‘Let’s go.’
Chapter 16
Ford and Lame Elk made their way stealthily along to the next log-built prison to release more captives when all hell broke loose.
‘Hell,’ he muttered. ‘That’s torn it.’ The night erupted in orange flashes as gunfire rang out. Shouts of panic and war cries that would make a snake’s blood run cold echoed around the secluded valley.
Ford dropped the knife, brought up the Henry rifle and eared back the hammer.
‘Finn,’ he called back to the old man. ‘Don’t let any more out.’ Finn ran across to him. ‘Why?’
‘It’ll be safer if they stay locked away behind thick walls with bullets flying around. For the time being anyway,’ Ford explained. ‘Find yourselves some weapons and let’s get to it. And don’t no one shoot any Indians.’ To the right of Finn, a figure lumbered out of the dark with a rifle in his hands. Ford swung the Henry up and fired. The bullet ploughed into the man’s middle and stopped him cold. Ford levered another round into the Henry’s breech and fired again. This time, the .44 calibre slug punched into his chest and knocked him onto his back. ‘Damn,’ Finn gasped out.
‘Get movin’,’ Ford snapped. ‘I’m goin’ after that son of a bitch Ferguson.’ Ford hurried off with Lame Elk behind him.
Distant lightning brightened the sky once more and revealed a man staggering drunkenly from the brush directly into the path of Ford and the Indian, who noticed a knife buried hilt deep in his chest. Ford kept on. As he drew level with the wounded guard, he slammed his rifle butt into the side of the man’s head. The outlaw fell as though pole-axed and moved no more.
Upon arrival at Ferguson’s home, they found the door wide open, the room lit with dull lamp light. Ford and Lame Elk entered cautiously, the deputy marshal ready with his finger on the rifle’s trigger.
They checked the room to make sure that Ferguson hadn’t hidden himself away but found it empty. Ford picked up a kerosene lamp and moved over to a small table.
The sound of heavy boots on the timber veranda outside announced the arrival of a man who burst through the entry with a Colt in his fist.
He stopped abruptly, surprise etched on his face. The momentary lapse provided the time that Lame Elk needed.
The Nez Perce warrior reached for his tomahawk and with a fluid snap of his wrist, released the deadly weapon. Its charge spun through the air and buried itself in the man’s chest. He dropped to the floor like a stone and Lame Elk hurried forward to retrieve his weapon. Ford nodded, impressed by the speed and efficiency of the dispatch. He turned his attention back to the lamp in his hand, looked about thoughtfully, then threw it at the far wall. It shattered on impact and sprayed kerosene across the surface of the wall and surrounding furniture which burst instantly into flames. Large orange tongues flicked out greedily and began to consume everything soaked by the pungent fuel.
‘Come on,’ Ford said to Lame Elk. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Once outside, away from the crackle of the fire, Ford could hear that the previous cacophony of gunfire had dwindled to sporadic pops.
They stepped down off the veranda and Ford sensed a movement to his right and brought the Henry around ready to fire.
‘It’s me, don’t shoot,’ Finn called to him.
Ford took his finger from the trigger and said, ‘Get yourself shot sneakin’ up on a man like that. Come on over.’ Finn moved closer and stopped
in front of Ford.
‘We got ’em licked,’ he chortled. ‘By golly we have. Them Indians are moppin’ the rest of ’em up now.’
Ford breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Good. We can start lettin’ the rest of the prisoners out.’
‘Did you get Ferguson?’
‘No, he wasn’t there.’
‘Well, maybe the Indians got him,’ the old timer suggested.
‘Maybe,’ Ford said. ‘But I ain’t seen hide nor hair of Hayes and Gibson, either.’
‘Now you mention it, me neither.’
‘I guess we’ll have to wait until sun up to find out then.’
In the light of day, the carnage of the previous night was evident for all to see. The Nez Perce had shown no mercy. The bodies of the outlaws lay strewn everywhere. Freed settlers walked around in a daze and the once solid home of Lord Bruce Ferguson was now a smouldering ruin.
A silent wraith appeared at Ford’s side as he surveyed the grisly sight.
‘Did you find men you seek, Josh Ford?’ Yellow Bull asked.
Ford shook his head. ‘They are not here. How many warriors did you lose?’
‘Three,’ he replied. ‘But your people are free. This what we came here for.’
Ford nodded. He wasn’t happy about Ferguson’s escape, or the loss of Yellow Bull’s warriors, but the liberation of the prisoners eased that hurt some.
He watched as Finn hurried towards him, a look of concern etched on his face.
‘For a free man you look awful worried,’ Ford ventured as the man stopped in front of him.
‘That’s ’cause we got a problem,’ he declared.
Ford’s face hardened. ‘What problem?’
‘Right before all hell broke loose last night, that son of a bitch Gibson took the Ellis girl,’ Finn blustered. ‘They ain’t nowhere in this damn camp.’
‘Hell,’ Ford snarled, ‘I’m goin’ to have to run him to ground before he hurts her. Where did they store the guns and such they took from the settlers? I want my own weapons back.’
‘I can’t be certain, but I have an idea. Come with me,’ Finn urged him. Ford and Yellow Bull hurried after the man.
The three of them found what they needed in a dug out cellar with a log roof.
‘There’s enough. . . .’ started Finn but his voice trailed away.
‘Yeah,’ Ford agreed. Rows of rifles, handguns, and boxes of ammunition and dynamite lined the walls. After a quick scout around, Ford found his Colt Peacemaker and his Winchester rifle.He buckled on the six-gun and tied down the holster with the rawhide thong.
‘Right,’ Ford said, satisfied. ‘Now all I need is somethin’ to ride.’
‘There he is,’ Ford said as he pointed out the blue roan on the far side of the corral.
The deputy marshal gave a piercing whistle and the horse lifted his head and swung around. It looked at Ford and started in his direction. Ford adjusted the saddle in his arms and walked out to meet him.He saddled the roan and mounted him quickly, then turned to face Yellow Bull and Finn.
‘You want me come with you?’ Yellow Bull asked him.
‘No,’ Ford said with a shake of his head. ‘This is somethin’ I want to do by myself. Can you and your people stay here to keep an eye on things until I return?’
The big chief nodded.
‘I do this,’ he told Ford.
‘Finn, where is that back way out you mentioned?’ Ford asked.
‘I heard it was to the north,’ Finn answered uncertainly. ‘There’s meant to be a notch thereabouts.’
‘I’ll find it if it’s there,’ Ford assured him and kneed the roan forward.
The notch was easy enough to find, the churned earth at the turnoff from the recent activity acted like a directional beacon so he knew that he was on the right track.
The trail became rocky and wound its way to the notch halfway up the ridge line. It was instantly obvious why pack trains were the largest things able to traverse the dangerous route.
He let the roan pick his way up the slope at a slow speed. When it topped out, the trail passed through a narrow crevice with a hard-packed base.
The far end opened out onto a lush, green bench that looked out over a broad valley. He looked down and saw a large meadow full of wildflowers; a cascade of yellows, purples, and pinks contrasted against their light green backdrop.
Cottonwood trees lined a winding stream and large stands of spruce reached towards the clear blue sky. Ford followed the trail down from the bench. It passed between large rocky outcrops before it flattened out on the valley floor. The trail he was on suddenly split and went in two separate directions. The churned up earth indicated that two horses had turned left while three had gone right. Five riders. Ford guessed the pair to be Ferguson and Hayes while another two would be the girl and Gibson. He tried to consider who the third rider might be and who was he most likely to travel with. Ford eased the roan to a halt and studied both trails. The two horses may well be Gibson and the girl, but, as the trail led to the east, it was a more likely route for Ferguson and Hayes to have taken. He pointed the roan at the right-hand fork and began to follow that. He decided to rescue the girl first then go after Ferguson. Besides, he had an idea where they were headed anyway.
The sun sat high in a cloud-streaked sky. Overhead, an eagle circled in search of prey.
Three horses followed an overgrown trail lined with waist high grass. The rider named Carlin called out for Gibson to stop. ‘What’s wrong?’ Gibson asked as he turned his mount so he could see the man.
The outlaw had dismounted and now examined his horse’s off-side front hoof.
He looked up at Gibson and shook his head. ‘Damn thing has gone lame on me. He ain’t goin’ no further.’
‘Well, we ain’t stoppin’,’ Gibson informed him.
‘That’s fine,’ Carlin said, ‘I’ll just climb on up behind the girl and ride double.’
Gibson shook his head. ‘Nope. You ain’t ridin’ double with her. You walk.’
‘You’re kiddin’, ain’t you?’ Carlin said incredulously. ‘I’m climbin’ up behind the girl and that’s all there is to it.’
He approached the horse that Allison sat atop.
Gibson drew his six-gun and eared back the hammer. ‘Does this look like I’m kiddin’?’
Carlin froze. ‘What? Are you goin’ to shoot me for wantin’ to ride double with the girl?’
‘I will if you go anywhere near that horse,’ Gibson said coldly.
Carlin’s shoulders sagged like a beaten man and he nodded his acceptance.
‘I knew you’d see it my way,’ Gibson said with a smile.
‘Yeah, I do.’
Gibson holstered his gun and turned his back on the guard. As he did, Carlin’s hand dived for his six-gun.The almost inaudible intake of breath by Allison was all the warning Gibson received of his impending fate. He threw himself sideways from the saddle as the gun in Carlin’s fist thundered. The bullet passed through empty space and flew harmlessly away. His shoulder slammed into the hard ground and the whole of his body was jarred mercilessly from the impact. He rolled and ignored the shooting pain that coursed through his body and came up on one knee, Colt in hand. He fired two quick shots, the first of which passed harmlessly over Carlin’s left shoulder. The second, however, found its target. It penetrated the outlaw’s chest and punched through his lung. Carlin went down heavily on his back, his six-gun spilled from his grip.
He lay there, stunned at the speed of the exchange, his mouth worked as he tried to suck in air, only to have most of it escape from the ragged wound in his chest. Gibson stood up and worked a rotation into his injured shoulder as he walked across to where Carlin lay. He looked down at the slowly dying man and shook his head.
‘Never would have figured you for a backshooter, Carlin,’ he surmised. ‘Just goes to show how a man can be wrong.’
Without a further word, Gibson thumbed back the hammer and shot Carlin one more time.
Chapter 17
Ford drew back on the reins of the roan as the faint echo of gunfire rolled from further along the valley.
He gave voice to his immediate concerns. ‘That don’t sound too good, horse.’
He dropped his hand to the Peacemaker and left it to rest there as he eased the horse forward. His body rocked fluidly with the roan’s movements as it picked its way along the thread of a trail. It appeared that he had gained some ground on those ahead of him as the hoof-churned earth out front was still damp. He hoped to close the distance before dark to gain an edge.
Ford found Carlin’s body soon after, left where he had been shot mercilessly by Gibson. The outlaw’s horse cropped grass off to the side of the trail, its injured hoof obviously favoured.
‘Looks like somebody had a fallin’ out,’ he muttered. ‘At least we know who the third rider was. It would appear that he ain’t goin’ to be a problem no more.’
A brief thought about a decent burial for the man crossed his mind but he dismissed it just as quick. After their actions towards the settlers, he and his cohorts sure as hell didn’t deserve to be treated with respect. Instead, Ford unsaddled the injured horse to allow him to roam free then continued to follow the trail of Gibson and Allison Ellis.
‘This’ll do,’ Gibson said. ‘Get off your horse. We’ll camp here.’
The spot that Gibson had chosen for his night camp was at the edge of a stand of spruce trees. It was sheltered and offered fresh water by way of a small stream with a pebble bottom. Allison almost fell from the saddle. Bone tired and sore from the ride and her earlier rough treatment, she staggered a little before she found herself the trunk of a deadfall to seat herself on.
‘What do you think you’re doin?’ Gibson snapped.
She looked at him open-mouthed. ‘Get some wood so we can get a fire goin’,’ he ordered her. With a groan, Allison climbed wearily to her feet and began to look about for dry sticks and branches for the fire.
