by J. T. Edson
At the sound of the first shot, Indio thrust Jeanie on to the seat and swung to face the right side door. As the half-breed started to lunge forward, the girl drew up her legs and drove her feet as hard as she could into his back. Much of Jeanie’s life had been spent riding horses, an exercise noted for developing sturdy leg muscles, so the kick packed some force when it landed. Caught unexpectedly, Indio pitched through the door faster than he intended. In going, he fired his gun involuntarily. Although the bullet flew harmlessly across the range, the sound of the shot alerted the Kid to the fresh danger.
Spinning around, the Kid completed his draw. Cocked already, the big Colt slanted upwards from waist level as Indio made his precipitous departure from the coach. The Kid did not hesitate in his actions; under the circumstances he dare not. With a deep bellow, caused by forty grains of powder igniting in the cylinder’s uppermost chamber, the Dragoon coughed a .44 caliber, round soft lead ball along its seven-and-a-half inch barrel. Struck in the head while still in mid-air, Indio’s body jerked under the impact. Although he landed on his feet, his legs buckled under him and he crashed forward, spraying blood and brains on to the ground.
Some thirty yards away, the two riders saw the trouble begin and brought the horses to a halt. Whipping up his Spencer rifle, the man who had shot Simcock tried to lay his sights on the Kid. At the same time, the other bandido dropped the reins of the three horses he led and grabbed at his holstered revolver.
With the attention taken from him, Temple let the team’s ribbons fall and lunged across the seat. Grabbing hold of the shotgun’s butt, he began to slide it from the boot and came to his feet. Continuing to turn, he caught and raised the fore grip with his left hand. Snuggling the butt against his shoulder, he looked along the twin tubes at the horsemen.
Deciding that the man with the Spencer posed the greatest threat, Temple gave him priority. The Kid still faced the coach, dealing with Indio, and April’s Derringer could not be relied upon against an enemy thirty yards away. So Temple sighted on the bandido and sent nine .32 buckshot balls hissing his way. Through the puff of burned-powder smoke Temple saw the Spencer’s barrel jerk upwards. He heard a horse scream in pain and altered his aim to the second Mexican. Startled by the bellow of the shotgun above them, the three team horses moved restlessly. The coach rocked under Temple’s feet, causing him to tilt the shotgun and his second barrel’s charge flew harmlessly into the air.
Spreading out after leaving the shotgun, the first cloud of balls reached their target with inches separating them from each other. Two of the balls caught the Mexican in the body, a third drove into the ribs of his mount, while a fourth raked a bloody furrow across the rump of another horse. Letting out a scream of pain, the wounded horse reared on its hind legs. With his rifle pointing into the sky and slipping from numb hands, the man slid backwards over his horse’s rump. As he landed, the other injured animal kicked out. Its iron-shod hoof grazed the top of the man’s head, then it went bucking and leaping across the range.
Satisfied that he need devote no further attention to Indio, the Kid swiveled around. He cocked the Colt on the recoil as he started to turn and made ready to deal with the last of the gang. Although he had shot the half-breed from waist level, aiming by instinctive alignment, he knew such tactics would no longer work. That kind of shooting was only practicable at close range. The Kid would need to use the Colt’s sights. So he brought up his left hand, gripping the right as added support for the Dragoon’s four-pound-one ounce weight.
Raising the gun shoulder high and at arms’ length, the Kid saw the result of Temple’s intervention. That left only one of the gang to be dealt with. Even if he did not make a fight, he would ride as fast as he could to tell the Flores boys what had happened to Addn. The Kid knew what would happen then. So he took the best aim he could manage at the man, no easy matter with the horse made restless by its companions, and fired. Through the swirl of powder smoke, the Kid saw the man’s horse leap violently and its rider topple sideways from the saddle.
After thrusting Indio from the coach, Jeanie bounced to her feet. Her intention of grabbing the Kid’s Winchester ended as she looked from the coach. Born and raised in frontier Texas, Jeanie could evaluate a dangerous situation and draw sensible conclusions. From all appearances, the Kid would not need his rifle. There was something else calling for more urgent attention. Jeanie felt herself the one most suitable, with the Kid fully occupied, to deal with the matter.
There might only be a few bandidos present, but they were sure to belong to a larger gang. So the coach had best be got moving pronto, headed for Fort Sawyer, before the rest of the gang arrived. However, one of the team horses had been killed and getting a replacement might spell the difference between safety and death. Maybe the bandidos’ mounts were trained for the saddle, but one of them could be put into harness in an emergency.
Seeing the results of Temple’s shotgun blast, Jeanie knew she must act fast. Not for the first time since starting her trip to Brownsville, she found herself cursing the unfamiliar garments her mother insisted that she wear. Grimly hitching up her skirt, showing her high-button boots and bare legs to above knee level, she leapt from the coach. On landing, she saw the Kid tumble the second Mexican to the ground. Without sparing a moment to announce her intentions, Jeanie sprinted by the Kid. So far the horses had not scattered and she hoped to catch at least one of them before they took off running.
Although he lay without moving, the gang’s horse-holder had suffered no worse injury than a graze across his ribs. Before reaching him, the Kid’s bullet had punched a hole in his mount’s ear and caused it to rear. That and the pain of the close-passing bullet had tumbled the man from his saddle.
Realizing that he was not seriously hurt, the bandido gave thought to escape. Even as he tensed to make a sudden leap for the nearest horse, he saw Jeanie running towards him. At first he could hardly believe his luck, then guessed what she planned to do. Swiftly he revised his plans. Instead of taking the risky way of trying to jump on to a horse, he would let the girl come up and grab her. With her as a hostage, the gringos would not risk shooting and have to let him go.
In falling from his horse, the revolver had dropped from the banding’s holster. He could feel it beneath his body and cautiously moved his hand until his fingers crept around its butt. Then he watched the girl coming nearer and prepared to hurl himself at her the moment she was close enough.
Chapter Three
Shock numbed Colin Farquharson as he watched Adàn Flores falling away from him. For a moment he stood rigid, staring in fascinated horror at the blood which oozed from the hole in the bandido’s temple. Then the thunder of shots brought his attention to what was going on around him. Turning, he watched the short fight rage its course. So swiftly did everything happen that Colin hardly found time to collect his startled wits. Seeing Jeanie spring from the coach and dart by the Kid jolted Colin from his daze. To him it seemed that the girl was flying in hysterical panic and running blindly into danger.
The sight spurred Colin into movement. Forgetting his revulsion at having caused the death of another human being, he raced forward at an angle which would bring him to the running girl. Even hindered by her hitched-up skirt, Jeanie raised a fair turn of speed. In fact she ran so fast that Colin only managed to catch up with her as she drew near to the horses. Noting the nervousness exhibited by the animals, Colin decided he must stop the girl before she ran among them and was seriously hurt. Flinging himself through the air, he wrapped his arms about Jeanie’s waist. A startled screech broke from the girl as she felt herself caught, lifted from her feet and borne to the ground. Feeling her struggles, Colin gently but firmly pressed his torso on to her and held her down.
Guessing what Jeanie had in mind, the Kid lowered his Dragoon. A quick look around told him everything was in hand by the coach. Although a touch pale, April still held the Derringer and seemed capable of using it again should the need arise. Up on the box, Temple was once
more calming his team. So the Kid set off after the girl. He saw Colin converging with Jeanie. Before the Kid could say or do anything, the Scot had tackled her. A grin twisted the Kid’s lips as he thought of what Jeanie would say when Colin released her. Then he saw something which drove all the levity from him.
From his position on the ground, the bandido had been unable to see Colin until the Scot made his presence felt to Jeanie. Watching the man and girl go down, the bandido let out a snarl. However, he started to thrust himself up and saw the Kid running towards him. Maybe he could take the strangely-dressed man and the girl hostage, but not with Cabrito coming his way. Jerking up his revolver, the bandido cut loose a fast shot in the Kid’s direction.
Flinging himself aside, the Kid missed death by inches. He went down in a rolling dive, landing on his stomach and throwing lead. Under the circumstances there was no time for fancy, careful shooting. A man could only get off his bullets as fast as possible in his enemy’s general direction and hope that Ka-Dihiii would look with favor on his efforts.
Using the heel of his left hand to strike back the Dragoon’s hammer, the Kid fanned off three very fast shots. Luck, or Ka-Dih, was with him. All three bullets hit their mark, ranging across from the bandido’s right hip to the center of his left breast. Lifted almost on to his feet by the impact of the bullets, the man threw his gun aside, spun around and pitched forward on to his face.
The last shooting, so close to them, proved the breaking point for the already spooked horses. Rearing and plunging, they scattered and went racing away. Although the Kid rose fast, he saw there would be no hope of catching any of the fleeing animals. Even the one with the buckshot wound was running at speed and showed no sign of stopping.
Growling a curse, the Kid looked at the two bandidos. A man could only trust their kind after they were dead. By all appearances, the pair before him classed as trustworthy. Then he turned his eyes to where Jeanie’s legs were flailing wildly from under Colin’s body.
‘Lemme go!’ she yelled in a muffled voice. Take your stinking paws off me.’
‘Best let her up afore she bites her way out through you, friend,’ the Kid advised, walking to Colin’s side and returning the Dragoon to its holster.
Kneeling up, the Scot looked at the Kid. Jeanie wriggled on to her back. Up until then she had thought that one of the bandidos was holding her. Instead she found it was the damned dude in the skirt that had brought her down. Glaring around, she saw the badly-needed horses racing away.
‘Get yourself offen me, you loco son-of-a-bitch!’ she spat furiously. ‘What in hell game’re you pulling? We needed those hosses!’
‘Needed the ho—’ Colin began and rose hurriedly, bending to offer her his hand. ‘But I thought that you—’
Instinctively he knew that carrying on with his reason for stopping her would only make matters worse.
‘You thought I was what?’ Jeanie demanded, taking his hand and letting him draw her erect. ‘Damn it, if you hadn’t stopped me—’
‘That pelados iv there would have,’ the Kid put in. ‘He was playing possum, gal, waiting to grab you.’
Jeanie looked at the body of the Kid’s victim and nodded. Put that way, she could appreciate the danger so narrowly averted. However, she felt that Colin’s motives sprang from a different, less complimentary reason. Rubbing her right hip, she scowled at the Scot.
‘You near on bust me in half,’ she complained. ‘And the hosses’re gone.’
‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am, miss,’ Colin answered.
‘Standing here whittle-whanging about it won’t help,’ Jeanie sniffed. ‘I’ll go see if Lou Temple needs help with the team.’
Watching the girl stalk away, Colin sucked in a deep breath. Admiration mingled with the worry lines on his face as he turned back to the Kid.
‘Yon’s a brave wee lassie. Most girls I’ve known would be screaming and swooning after what she’s been through.’
‘Jeanie was born and raised out here,’ the Kid replied. ‘She was fighting Indians when she was ten. This’s not the first time she’s been in a shoot-out.’
‘It’s my first time,’ Colin said. ‘I killed that man.’
‘He’d’ve done as much for you—’ the Kid began.
‘What will the police say when they hear about it?’ Colin interrupted.
‘Davis’ stinking State Police don’t get out this way,’ the Kid replied. ‘Most any other lawman out here’ll want to shake you by the hand. Only, if you’ve any sense, you’ll not stop in Texas long enough for them to do it.’
‘I don’t understand you.’
‘Feller you killed’s called Adàn Flores. His three brothers’re going to come looking for you.’
‘It was an accident,’ Colin protested, guessing what the Kid meant by the cryptic words. ‘His pistol went off when I knocked it up. I didn’t mean for it to happen—’
‘That won’t make no never-mind to his brothers,’ warned the Kid. ‘All they’ll know is that Aden’s dead and they’ll come gunning for whoever did it. Can you handle a gun?’
‘I’ve used a rifle and a shotgun since I was a lad. But I’m not much of a hand with a pistol.’
‘Best get that Spencer there unless you’ve a rifle along,’ the Kid suggested. ‘If the rest of ’em’re around, you’ll need one. How’re you with that knife you’re toting?’
‘My dirk?’ Colin replied, touching the hilt of the knife sheathed at his side. ‘I’ve been taught to use it. But surely if I explained and—’
‘They’ll not give you time to explain,’ the Kid growled. ‘I know their kind. Do you want that rifle?’
‘I’ve my own on the coach,’ Colin answered, impressed by the seriousness with which the Kid spoke.
‘Let’s go unpack it then,’ the young Texan ordered. ‘Sooner we’re moving, the better for all of us.’
Raising no more arguments, Colin walked at the Kid’s side towards the trail. Jeanie was helping Temple to unhitch the dead horse and April leaned against the side of the coach struggling to control the nausea which welled inside her.
‘Abel’s a goner, Kid,’ Temple said, straightening up.
‘We’ll load him on top and pull out as soon as you’ve give this gent his rifle,’ the Kid replied. ‘Can those three crow-bait haul the stage to Sawyer?’
‘Sure they can,’ the driver snorted, bristling at the insult to his highly-prized team. ‘We won’t be able to make fast time though.’
‘Know who it was jumped us, Lou?’ the Kid inquired mildly.
‘Can’t say as I do. We never got interduced formal like. Acted like raw yearling stock. Who was they?’
‘That’s Adàn Flores,’ the Kid told him, jerking a thumb in the direction of the appropriate body.
‘The hell you say!’ Temple spat out and Jeanie threw a startled glance at the corpse, then to Colin. After looking around, the driver went on, ‘None of ’em got away, did they?’
‘No. But their hosses lit out. We’d best get ready to move.’
‘And pronto,’’ Jeanie put in, joining the men. ‘I’ll borrow the scatter, Lou.’
‘Sure,’ the driver replied. ‘Come on, mister. Let’s dig out your rifle.’
Going to the rear boot, Temple unfastened its cover and pulled out a long mahogany box. Colin unlocked and raised the lid. Inside it lay what looked like two twin-barreled shotguns, a Henry rifle, a powder flask, two leather bullet pouches and four boxes of .44 cartridges for use with the repeater. Taking out the Henry and a box of cartridges, Colin relocked and replaced the box. While waiting, Temple kept scanning the surrounding country with worried eyes. The driver did not hide his relief when the box was replaced and the cover secured. Between them, the man wrapped Simcock’s body in a spare boot cover, lifted it on to the roof and fastened it there.
‘How about the other bodies?’ Colin inquired when Temple sat on the driver’s seat.
‘We’ve only three hosses to haul the stage,’ the Kid poin
ted out. ‘That much extra weight’d kill them afore we’ve made three miles. The army or law’ll come out to collect them.’
‘You’d best stop up here, Kid,’ Temple suggested.
‘I figured to,’ the Kid replied, ‘Hand up my rifle, Jeanie-gal. Then all you get aboard, we’re moving.’
Turkey vultures gathered in the sky, circling the scene of the abortive hold-up. Almost two hours had passed since the stagecoach continued its interrupted journey, but so far none of the black-winged scavengers had gathered sufficient courage to descend and begin their grisly work.
Topping a rim to the east, a rider reined in his horse at the sight of the hovering birds. From them, he dropped his gaze to the stage trail. For a moment he sat and stared, then turned in his saddle. Taking off his sombrero, he waved it over his head in a signal.
A few minutes went by and more men joined him. Then they urged their horses towards where the bodies lay. Twenty in number, they were well-armed, savage-looking Mexicans. Though most of them dressed after the fashion of vaqueros, nobody who knew the Rio Grande border country would have taken them for cattle-herders from a hacienda.
Best mounted of the party, and with a greater concern over what they saw, the Flores brothers drew ahead of their men. Riding in a shallow V formation, the brothers glared about them with all the caution of much-hunted lobo wolves. If the bodies had been left to lure them into a trap, they intended to locate it before it could spring on them.
As usual, Tiburcio formed the point of the V. Tall, swarthily handsome and slim, he gave the impression of rapier-steel strength. Although travel-stained, his clothing had the look of costly elegance. Silver glinted in the band of his white sombrero, decorated his short brown leather jacket, saddle and bridle. Around his waist hung a gunbelt of shining black leather, supporting an 1860 Army Colt with fancy Tiffany grips in a fast-draw holster on the right and a long-bladed fighting knife at the left. He could use either weapon with considerable skill. Sitting his black and white tobiano stallion with easy grace, he studied the scene ahead with cold, calculating intensity.
