Hard Texas Trail

by Matt Chisholm

  George started to sweat.

  He wondered where the hell Clay was. He could do with Clay here. Would he ever get out of this one? He had Jody nigh killed and the girl to guard. Wasn’t there something smart he could think of? Clay would have thought of something. He hoped to hell that Clay was on the trail of those men out there. It was going to take a miracle else to solve this one the right way.

  He reckoned he had a little time before the men were in position to start their stealthy advance on the cave. He went back to the cave and found that Jody had his eyes open. Whether he was seeing anything with them was another matter.

  ‘How is he?’ George asked.

  ‘I think he has concussion,’ the girl said. She was extraordinarily calm. ‘The bullet caught him on the side of the head. It’s an awful mess and maybe the bone’s broken. But the bullet isn’t in him. It must have glanced off.’

  George stared at her. She spoke as though she had encountered men being hit in the head with bullets all her life. She was holding a dampened rag against the side of Jody’s head. It was a deep red with blood.

  George said: ‘I guess we’re in real trouble, Sarah. There’s at least two men out there. They’re goin’ to come at us from two sides.’

  She looked up at him, taking the situation in.

  ‘Don’t be frightened for me, George,’ she said.’ We’ll manage somehow. You go and watch while I bandage Jody, then I’ll come and help you.’

  ‘You stay under cover,’ George said.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘My safety is a luxury we can’t afford right now.’

  He stared at her for a moment, then trailed his rifle out of there and started to climb above the cave.

  As soon as he was up among the rocks, he took a good look around. He had the eyes of a brasada-hand. At once they lighted on the wisp of dust to the south. He ran his eyes over the country and spotted the slight movement to the north. They still had a little time, but not much. Time he didn’t know how to handle. Clay would have done something with it, turned it to his advantage. There were at least two men about to come in on the cave. The only way he could surprise one of them was to go down into the man-high brush and take him. But that would give the other man the opportunity to kill the girl.

  The boy’s mind was frantic with the problem. He knew that he held two lives in his hands. Where was Clay?

  Then the terrible possibility came to him. Clay had gone after these men - or so he thought. The men were here and Clay wasn’t. That could mean they had killed Clay.

  The thought chilled him to the bone.

  He took another long look around.

  The man to the north was creeping forward. He was a poor hand at the game. George could follow his movement forward from the slight stir in the brush. It was George’s guess that there were no more than two of them and they were both coming from absolutely opposite directions.

  He inspected the rocks below him.

  His heart started hammering.

  There was a gamble that could be taken to save them all. If he and the girl could move Jody without being seen. It might be done. The rocks offered good cover.

  He slithered through the rocks, not showing a hair of his head. He reached a spot directly above the cave and dropped to the ground.

  Inside the cave, the girl looked up, startled, as he entered. Jody’s eyes were open. There was a sort of glazed look to them.

  ‘We have to move him,’ George said.

  ‘We can’t,’ said the girl.

  ‘We have to drag him into the rocks below,’ George said. ‘There ain’t no time to argue. They’re goin’ to attack from two directions.’

  Stiffly, his voice sounding like a stranger’s, Jody said: ‘No call to drag me. I’ll crawl.’

  ‘He’s too badly hurt,’ the girl said.

  George snapped: ‘If we don’t move him, he’ll be dead. Take your choice. They’ll head straight for the cave an’ I can’t stop ‘em both.’

  Jody ground out: ‘He’s right. Let’s move.’

  The girl protested again, but the two men were moving. Jody got to his hands and knees and demanded to know where George wanted him. George got him outside the cave and pointed to the rocks below. Jody nodded his bandaged head.

  ‘They won’t get the girl, kid,’ he said. ‘I can still hold a gun.’ But he looked as if he couldn’t hit a barn door at six paces. He started crawling.

  George turned to the girl.

  ‘Get down an’ go after him,’ he said. ‘They see you, it’s finish. So keep your head down.’

  Sarah followed Jody. George trailed his rifle and eased himself through the rocks to the south. It was slow going because he knew that if he showed anything of himself, the game could be up.

  He reckoned that the man below him would head straight for the rocks. Success depended on that. Success depended so much on chance, that now that he was carrying out his crude plan, it seemed to him that it was hopeless before he starred.

  But he had to go through with it now.

  He glanced back. Jody and the girl were out of sight. He angled right and kept on going till he was out of the rocks and amongst the brush. Now he changed direction again and headed directly south, measuring in his mind how far the man he was stalking would have reached.

  Fifty paces into the brush and he halted, holding his breath and listening. He knew that he would have to work by sound, for the brush was thick and the man might go past him without his seeing him.

  The whole business was chancier than ever now. It was impossible. The sweat coursed down his face and he wiped it away with his forearm.

  He waited and waited, straining his eyes and ears. He waited till he knew that too much time had passed. Suddenly, it dawned on him that the man must have gone by him. That frightened him and he started forward almost before he intended to, easing his way through the difficult brush, holding his breath for long periods as he tried to move without noise. He halted and reckoned that he must be on the man’s line of approach.

  His eyes dropped to the ground in front of him where the brush cleared a little.

  Now his heart pounded frantically.

  Right before him was the clear sign of a man who had recently passed that way.

  He panicked.

  He crouched there, overcome by the horror of defeat, knowing that by now the man could be near the rocks, could even be at the cave itself and be aware that it was empty. Any minute now he could be searching the rocks for the girl.

  He sucked his breath in and listened as he had never listened before.

  Nothing.

  Then he thought he heard a faint sound. It could be the sound made by brush whipping back from a passing man.

  He started forward, the rifle held in the uncertain grip of his sweating hands. He stood up - speed was of the essence.

  At once, he saw the man.

  He stopped, lifting his rifle and knew that he faced killing a man from behind. He had no choice. Two lives for which he was responsible rested on his doing it. He didn’t hesitate. He jacked a round into the breech and slapped the butt into his shoulder.

  The man was no more than thirty yards away and his back was to George. Until the rifle was levered, he was totally unaware of George’s presence. His whole attention was on the rocks.

  Now, he reacted like a man who lived by the gun. As George squeezed the trigger, he flung himself to the right. Even as the smoke blossomed from the muzzle, George knew that he had missed.

  Automatically, he levered another round into the breech. As he did so, the man fired. The shot went wide, but it came with such suddenness that it took George entirely by surprise. He jumped and his instinct was to search cover. The man was fast. He fired again and again. One shot snipped the brim of George’s hat. He flung himself headlong and fired almost as soon as he hit dirt, aiming at no more than a blurred shape through the brush. He fired three times as fast as he could move. No shot came back.

  Had he made a hit?


  He stayed cautiously where he was for a moment, until it came to him that he had no time for caution. The other man would come forward on the run at the sound of the shots.

  He reared to his feet and started forward, expecting a shot, but none came.

  Running, he sighted the man he had shot.

  The man was lying on his back in a small open space. George went on past him. He hadn’t taken a half-dozen paces when he heard the roar of the shot.

  Something burned his right shoulder.

  He came to an abrupt halt, all fear gone now, and whirled. There was no time to raise the rifle. He stood there at almost point-blank range and fired and levered. And fired and levered again. And again.

  He saw where the bullets were hitting, saw the blood and the dust fly, but he couldn’t stop. He saw the heavy lead jerking the man savagely and knew that he was finished, but his hands now had a will of their own.

  He would have emptied the rifle, if the shot hadn’t come from the rocks.

  The ominous sound brought him violently to his senses.

  He turned, panting and started running again.

  He knew that as he approached the rocks he was a plain target. But he was beyond self-preservation now. All that mattered was saving Jody and the girl.

  He reached the rocks and started scrambling frantically through them.

  He heard the girl screaming.

  His limbs had never seemed heavier, his speed had never been less. He seemed to be struggling against an immovable weight. He shouted at the top of his voice, hoping to attract attention to himself.

  A dark shape loomed above him.

  Still straining forward and upward, he fired. A shot slammed back at him. He felt nothing.

  He squeezed the trigger again and heard a click. Cursing insanely, he flung the rifle from him and clawed his way upward through the rocks.

  The man above fired again. Rock chips burned his face. He grabbed for the butt of his revolver and hauled it from leather.

  Then something smashed into his shoulder and hurled him backward. For one terrible moment, he seemed to stay suspended in mid-air. Then he was falling, falling. He imagined that he fell for a long time and he seemed to hear the girl’s scream all the way.

  He hit rock and agony flamed through his whole body. He knew that he was bouncing down through the rocks and there was nothing he could do to stop himself.

  He came to a violent stop on his side and at that moment the agony that was the whole of him became so intense that it was beyond the containment of his body. He seemed to explode with it and his flesh became scattered over the rocks.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The idea of not killing the girl here, but to get her back near St. Antonio, had been in Blessed’s mind for the last day of riding. But it had been no more than an idea. It said a good deal for the man’s quickness of mind, even under duress that it came to him now as he worked his way through the rocks toward his goal.

  He was running forward, sweating and stumbling, wondering if Witney was close when he heard the shots. They came from the far side of the rocks and they startled him. He halted, dropped to cover and listened, his eyes on the rocks above him.

  There was silence.

  If there was action ahead, he couldn’t afford to stay here. He must get on the move. He started up again, cursing his bulk. Suddenly, he came within sight of the cave. He halted and brought his rifle forward to shoot, braced himself to hurl himself into cover.

  The black maw of the cave stared at him blankly.

  He stood hesitant and puzzled. If there was a man in the cave he would have shot.

  He ventured a little closer, suspecting a trap. The cave mouth was deserted.

  He thought he heard a sound behind him and whirled. The rocks below him were blank.

  Then he heard the sound again.

  Cautiously, he started to creep downward. He stopped again when he saw the man.

  The fellow sat with his back to a boulder. His head was covered with a bloody rag. His face had the mark of death on it, his eyes were dark caverns. In his shaking right hand he held a gun. If he saw Blessed, he gave no sign.

  Something stirred to the man’s right. Blessed switched his gaze and saw the girl.

  It was then that he knew he could do it. He could kill this man and take her out of here. He could kill her where it mattered, where it would tell.

  There was another flurry of shots to the south, nearer this time. They alarmed Blessed and he jumped. Now was the time for fast action. He fired his rifle from the hip at the man.

  The girl screamed in frantic fear. The sound acted like a goad to Blessed. He had her - she couldn’t get away. He heard a shout from Witney’s direction, but it wasn’t Witney’s voice. It was too young. Therefore Witney had lost out.

  Blessed swung left and ran forward. Below him was a man running and shouting. He reached the rocks and started climbing. He seemed to have gone out of his mind, climbing and yelling, firing at Blessed with a belt-gun, hopelessly out of range. It was funny. Blessed watched him, fascinated.

  He allowed him to come on, knowing that, with one shot, he could send him again to the bottom of the rugged slope. Blessed fired a shot carelessly. The man came on, still yelling. His face was all contorted, his eyes wild.

  Blessed fired again.

  The man reared back and seemed to be suspended there with his back arched for a moment before he plunged backward down the rocks. He hit and bounced and Blessed could almost hear his bones breaking. The sound gave Blessed the satisfaction of power. Suddenly, he couldn’t lose. It was all going his way.

  The body came to rest and lay still, draped across a boulder, one leg hanging limply.

  Blessed turned back. Now the girl.

  As he reached the spot from which he had fired at the man, he saw the flutter of her skirts as she fled away from him. She scrambled with desperate and untidy haste through the rocks and he strode after her, not hurrying, knowing that he had her now for sure. She disappeared from sight, going north toward his horse. He reached the edge of the small plateau at the crest of the rocks and saw her scrambling down toward the brush. He let her reach the foot of the rocks, then he fired a shot that passed no more than inches above her head. She ran on wildly into the brush. He fired another shot and bellowed that the next would hit her.

  She stopped.

  Taking his time, he climbed down to her. She faced him, her features contorted with fear, pale and large-eyed. It was a pleasure to look at her. As he halted and watched her, she stared back at him, petrified.

  ‘Don’t worry, my dear,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to kill you. Turn around and walk straight ahead of you.’

  For a moment, she seemed unable to move. Then she turned and walked stiffly ahead of him. He felt so good, he could have laughed.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  George lay across the boulder and stared at the sky. It was a curious feeling. He felt as though every bone in his body was broken and that his brain was numb. He couldn’t move so much as a hand. His hearing was all right. He could hear somebody moving about in the rocks above him, he heard a man shout. He fought the powerlessness of his body, but his efforts were in vain.

  He did not know how long he lay there. He heard one of the horses moving through the brush to his right. He could also hear a man moaning softly above him and he knew that was Jody. The girl, he thought, must be dead.

  He was quite startled when at last the power of movement came back to him. It happened suddenly. One moment he lay there as if paralyzed, the next he was sliding from the boulder and his feet were touching ground. As they did so a wave of pain swept through him and his right leg collapsed under him. He hit the dirt hard and at once tried to get to his feet, but was prevented by an unbearable pain in his right hip. He looked down at himself and examined himself with his hands. At once he knew that in falling down the rocks, he had put his right hip clean out of joint.

  It was now that utter despair
gripped him. He was pinned helplessly. What, he asked himself, could a man do when his leg had come out of its socket. A small sane voice in his head told him to put it back again. He tried with his hands, but all he gained by the effort was more pain.

  He dragged himself to the boulder on which he had lain and somehow got himself to his feet. The pain was so intense that he thought he would faint. He stood there, leaning on the boulder and fighting nausea. He tried walking, putting his right foot gingerly to the ground and found that the leg was out of control. Suddenly, however, he heard a loud click, pain knifed through his hip and he screamed out with the sudden agony. But he found that he could walk. He laughed hysterically. His hip had gone back into place. But there wasn’t time to stand and be amazed, he had to get on the move.

  He went back and picked up his rifle and started up through the rocks. At the top, he found Jody on his hands and knees with a rivulet of blood marking his face below the bandage.

  At the sight of his brother, George knew such relief that he just stood and stared for a moment. He had been so certain that he was dead.

  ‘The girl, ‘ he said.

  Jody raised his dazed eyes to his brother and said: ‘I don’t know, boy. I just don’t know.’

  George helped Jody to his feet and aided him back to the cave and laid him down. He forced some water from a canteen between his teeth and the boy seemed to brighten a little. After that, George searched the rocks. It was a terrible search, for at any moment, he expected to come on Sarah’s body. After about twenty minutes, however, on the north side of the rocks, he came on her footprints and knew that she had walked away and a man had walked with her.

  He climbed up the rocks again and told Jody: ‘She was alive when she left here.’ He sat down then. He felt pretty awful. He knew that he had lead in his back and that most likely he was still bleeding. Jody had to patch him up. He had to catch up a horse and go after the girl. It might be too late, but he had to make his try.

  It was at that moment he heard the horse.

  Hastily, he loaded the rifle, got to his feet and staggered out of the cave. At once he saw the rider halfway between the high brush and the rocks and knew that it was Clay.