Slaughter

by William W. Johnstone

  “I’ll take the señora back to the ranch,” he told the wounded foreman, raising his voice so he could be heard over the pounding hoofbeats. “You find Magnusson and tell him to round up as many of his men as he can and get over there, too.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “We’re going to catch those varmints between us,” Frank explained. “They need to be wiped out once and for all.”

  “I suppose it could work,” Linderman said. “But I’ll stay with the señora. You fetch Magnusson.”

  “That’s a better job for you, Pete. You’re hurt.”

  “Damn it, Morgan—”

  “You know I’m right,” Frank broke in. “Don’t worry. I’ll see to it that the señora’s all right.”

  “You’d damned well better,” Linderman said. “All right. You reckon he’s still at those burned-out oil wells?”

  “That’s the first place I’d look for him,” Frank said.

  Linderman nodded and veered his horse to the left. Dolores saw him angling away from them and called, “Pete!” When Linderman didn’t answer, she turned to Frank and asked, “Where’s he going?”

  “To fetch help,” Frank explained. “Keep heading for the ranch, Señora.”

  “But he’s hurt! What if something happens to him?”

  From the worry that was evident in Dolores’s voice, the feelings Linderman had for her might be returned. They might even develop into something more in time.

  Frank hoped that both of them lived through the night and had that chance.

  He and Dolores headed straight across the San Fernando Valley toward Salida del Sol. Frank looked back over his shoulder from time to time to see how close the pursuers were. At first, he couldn’t make out anything, and he hoped for a second that the gang wasn’t coming after them.

  That was a doomed hope, though, and he knew it. So he wasn’t surprised a few minutes later when he saw the flicker of muzzle flashes. He couldn’t hear the shots, but he knew that the hired killers were throwing lead at them.

  It would take a mighty lucky shot at this range to find its target, especially considering that the gunmen were firing from the backs of galloping horses. But stranger things had been known to happen, so Frank leaned forward over Goldy’s neck and urged the stallion on to greater speed. Goldy drew even with Dolores’s horse.

  “Lean over like this,” Frank told her. “Make yourself a smaller target!”

  She did as he told her. Her horse was fairly fresh, and Linderman had chosen a good mount for her. It seemed to have plenty of speed and sand.

  Goldy had to be wearing down, though, and in fact Frank could feel the stallion’s pace slowing slightly.

  “Keep going,” he told Dolores. “Don’t slow down and don’t look back. Just make it to the ranch!”

  “What about you, Mr. Morgan?”

  Frank put a grin on his face. “Don’t worry about me!”

  But she was worried, and he could tell it. He had to wave her on a couple of times before she let her horse have its head and started to draw away.

  Goldy’s sides were heaving. Frank patted him on the shoulder and said, “You’ve run a mighty good race, big fella. Nobody could ask for more than you’ve given me.”

  Goldy continued to slow down. Frank let him set his own pace now. The hardcases were still at least a hundred yards behind him, but they were cutting the gap now. Their guns continued to flash in the night.

  Frank knew he was outnumbered by twenty to one, if not more. The odds of him surviving the next few minutes were mighty slim. But at least Dolores continued to pull away, and Linderman had disappeared in the darkness several minutes earlier as he went to find Magnusson. They would have a chance to get away.

  He could increase their chances by delaying the pursuit. Hauling back on the reins, he pulled Goldy in a wide circle that ended with him facing the onrushing gunmen.

  Frank opened his Colt and thumbed fresh cartridges into the expended chambers. He slid it back in the holster and then pulled the Winchester from the saddle boot. The rifle was fully loaded with fifteen rounds. With the six in the Colt, that gave him twenty-one shots.

  One bullet for every varmint, he thought with a grin. Simple enough.

  He looped the reins around the saddle horn to keep them out of the way and pressed his knees into the stallion’s flanks. Then he lifted the Winchester to his shoulder and called in a ringing voice, “Trail, Goldy, trail!”

  Together, man and horse charged straight into the faces of their enemies.

  Chapter 32

  The way the hired killers were bunched together, all Frank had to do was fire in their general direction to have a good chance of hitting something. He swung the Winchester from left to right, spraying lead as fast as he could work the rifle’s lever and pull the trigger.

  Bullets continued ripping through the air around his head as the gap between him and the gunmen closed in a matter of heartbeats. Suddenly, he was among them, just as the Winchester’s hammer clicked on empty.

  If he had taken the time to think about it, Frank would have been amazed that he was still alive after that reckless, headlong charge. He had fully expected some of the owlhoot bullets to find him.

  But since he was alive, he continued to fight. As Goldy crashed into one of the horses, Frank swung the empty rifle like a club, smashing it across the head of one of the gunmen. The stock shattered, and so did the man’s skull.

  Frank twisted in the saddle and drove the jagged end of the broken stock into the face of another man, who screamed and clapped his hands over his eyes as he was blinded. Frank dropped the rifle and palmed out his Colt as he whirled Goldy around.

  The big stallion’s momentum had carried them right through the line of gunmen. Frank charged the men again. As long as he kept them busy, they weren’t chasing Dolores anymore.

  The heavy revolver bucked in his hand. Powder smoke stung his eyes and nose. It was hard to see anything in the flickering light of muzzle flashes, but he knew the killers were all around him.

  Suddenly, Goldy went down. Frank felt the stallion falling, and kicked his feet out of the stirrups in time to avoid being pinned. He was thrown through the air and crashed to the ground. As he rolled over, he was heartsick that Goldy was probably dead now.

  But he was convinced that he would follow the valiant stallion within seconds.

  As he surged to his feet, still gripping his gun, a horse loomed up close beside him. Frank tried to get out of the animal’s way, but its shoulder clipped him and knocked him down again. He had to throw himself aside to avoid being trampled by another horse.

  He scrambled up again and tried to lift his gun, unsure whether or not there were still any bullets in it, but determined to go down fighting. One of the riders kicked it out of his hand, though. He waited for the heavy impact of bullets slamming into his body.

  That impact didn’t come, because a familiar voice suddenly called, “Hold your fire! Have you got him?”

  “We’ve got him, Boss!” one of the men replied. Frank was ringed by guns now, and if the killers decided to start shooting again, he would be riddled with slugs in an instant.

  “Who is it? Who helped Dolores escape?”

  The knot of gunmen parted slightly to allow another man on horseback through.

  “It’s that bastard Morgan.”

  “I should have known.” The newcomer edged his mount through the ring of killers. Frank had felt a moment of surprise as he recognized the man’s voice, but he didn’t show it now as he finally confronted the mastermind behind all the trouble in the San Fernando Valley.

  “Howdy, Sandoval,” he said. “I’m sure sorry Dolores is going to have to find out what a no-good son of a bitch her own brother is.”

  Jorge Sandoval glared down at Frank. “Dolores has no idea what’s going on around here. Once I’m through with her, she’ll be so broken she’ll have no choice but to turn to me. Then I’ll have the ranch I was supposed to have all along, the largest
ranch in the valley!”

  “Never got over the fact that she didn’t just turn everything over to you after her husband died, did you?” Frank was surprised to still be alive, but as long as he was, he was going to find out as much as he could. “That was your plan all along when you pushed her into marrying him, wasn’t it? You didn’t figure she’d decide to hang on to Salida del Sol.”

  “She is a woman!” Sandoval blazed. “She has no business running a ranch! And she clings to Francisco’s foolish notions about not cashing in on the oil underneath her range!”

  “She’s your own sister,” Frank said coldly. “How can you try to ruin her this way?”

  “I don’t want her hurt, if it can be avoided. But I’ll do whatever I have to, Morgan. Once I own both ranches—and the oil—any legal disputes over the ownership of all this range will be resolved in my favor.” Sandoval laughed. “You know the richest man always wins in court.”

  “Who’s Mitchell?” Frank asked, hoping to catch Sandoval off balance with the abrupt question. Not that it mattered, of course. He couldn’t have much longer to live.

  Sandoval laughed again. “You don’t need to know everything, Morgan. You can die with questions unanswered.”

  The guns in the hands of the killers started to come up.

  “But not yet,” Sandoval went on. “Bring him with us.” A sneer distorted his handsome face. “I want him to see us wipe out the rest of my sister’s crew, so she has no choice but to give up.”

  So the gang was going to raid Salida del Sol yet again, Frank thought, for the third time in two nights. Sandoval was really going for the knockout blow now.

  And so was one of the men who followed Sandoval’s gestured command, leaning down from his saddle and slamming the butt of his gun against Frank’s head. Frank was driven to his knees by the blow and felt consciousness slipping away from him. He tried to hang on to it . . .

  But he failed, and a darkness deeper than the night around them claimed him.

  The ache that filled Frank’s head when he woke up made him sick to his stomach for a moment before he forced the feeling down. A stroke of luck—and arrogance on the part of Jorge Sandoval—had given him another chance at life, and Frank didn’t intend to waste it.

  Gradually, he became aware that he was slumped forward in a saddle with his hands tied to the horn. The horse underneath him was still, other than a little nervous shifting around every now and then. He heard other horses stamping nearby and figured they belonged to the gunmen.

  A man’s harsh voice said, “Any time you’re ready, Boss, just give the word.”

  Frank expected Sandoval to reply, but instead another familiar voice spoke up—a woman’s voice.

  “Are you sure you want to go through with this, Jorge? Your sister might be hurt.”

  “And what about your brother?” Sandoval shot back. “You didn’t try to stop us when we went after him.”

  “That overbearing son of a bitch deserves whatever he gets,” Astrid Magnusson said.

  When Frank first heard her voice, he had almost reacted from the shock he felt, but he’d managed to control the impulse. He hadn’t been all that surprised by Jorge Sandoval’s betrayal of his sister; Sandoval had been one of the strongest suspects when Frank put together his theory of a third party orchestrating all the trouble in the valley.

  But he had never dreamed that Astrid might be in on it with Sandoval. The two of them had gotten together somehow and decided to double-cross their siblings. It made sense, in a way. Between the two of them, they always knew what both sides in the conflict were thinking and planning.

  This discovery of their dual villainy didn’t answer quite all of Frank’s questions, but those other little matters could wait. Right now, he had to figure out a way to get loose from his bonds and turn the tables somehow on those two.

  “Every minute we wait gives them more time to get ready for us down there, Boss,” the gravelly voice warned. Frank assumed it belonged to the man in charge of the hired killers.

  “I know that,” Sandoval snapped. “Wake up Morgan. I want him to see what’s happening before I put a bullet in his brain.”

  Frank had pretended to still be unconscious so he could find out what was going on around him, but the need for that ruse was over. He stirred and lifted his head slowly as if coming to naturally, before any of Sandoval’s men could do anything.

  “Ah, I see you’re awake, Morgan,” Sandoval said in a gloating tone.

  “Yeah,” Frank rasped, “but nothing’s changed. You’re still as big a polecat as ever.”

  Sandoval spurred his horse over next to Frank’s and slashed a backhanded blow across his face with the quirt he held. The pain of the cut on his cheek chased away the last of the cobwebs in Frank’s brain.

  “Jorge!” Astrid said. “That’s not necessary.”

  Frank looked past Sandoval and saw her sitting in a buggy with the reins in her hands. “Miss Magnusson,” he said.

  He couldn’t see her face well enough to read her expression, but the stiff way she held her body was telling. She was upset, but she wasn’t backing down.

  “I’m sorry things have to be like this, Mr. Morgan. I enjoyed making your acquaintance. If I thought you could be trusted, I might have offered to let you in on what was really going on.”

  Sandoval’s disgusted snort made it clear that he would have shot down that notion.

  “Why did you try to get me to work for your brother anyway?” Frank asked her.

  “Jorge sent word to me that your meeting with all the ranchers failed to rally them together and that you weren’t going to work for his sister. I thought that if Victor could hire you, it would infuriate the Montero faction even more.”

  “And you had to keep both sides stirred up so they’d wipe each other out for you and Sandoval here.”

  “It’s still going to work,” Astrid insisted. “Once Dolores turns her ranch over to Jorge—”

  “You’ll have your brother killed,” Frank interrupted to finish for her. “That way you can inherit his company.”

  “I wouldn’t have put it so bluntly, but . . . yes, that’s what’s going to happen.”

  Sandoval said, “All you’ve done is make a nuisance of yourself, Morgan. I don’t know how you managed to get Dolores away from my men by yourself tonight, but that will be the last time you interfere with my affairs.”

  Frank felt his pulse quicken. Sandoval didn’t realize that Pete Linderman had been with him when he rescued Dolores! The guard Linderman had knocked out must have either died or not regained consciousness when the pursuit started. The man whose jaw Frank had broken had never seen Linderman.

  And during the brief shootout with the sentries as they fought their way out of the canyon, everything had been dark and confused, so that Sandoval’s hardcases hadn’t realized there were two men helping Dolores escape, not just one.

  That was another stroke of luck, because it meant that Sandoval didn’t know Linderman had gone to find Magnusson either. Neither he nor Astrid were aware of the truce that had been called between the two sides. Their plans were already ruined; they just didn’t know it yet.

  But that wouldn’t save the cowboys from the Montero ranch. Once this pack of gun-wolves swept down on Salida del Sol, they would be wiped out.

  “All right,” Sandoval said to the man in charge of the gang. “Kill them all. Burn the place to the ground.”

  “What about your sister?”

  “Spare her life if you can. If you can’t . . .” Sandoval shrugged. “Well, either way, Salida del Sol will be mine, won’t it?”

  The outlaw gave Sandoval a curt nod, then turned his horse, waved his arm over his head, and called, “Let’s go!”

  The gunmen thundered down the hill where they had paused at the top of the slope. The lights of the hacienda were visible down below. Guns began to roar from attackers and defenders both as the hired killers began their assault.

  Sandoval drew his gun, brought h
is horse closer to Frank’s, and said with vicious satisfaction, “Now for you, Morgan.”

  Chapter 33

  Frank had been working unobtrusively on his bonds, twisting and pulling at them in an effort to loosen them. But he hadn’t made much progress yet and his wrists were still held tightly to the saddle horn.

  Since his feet were free, his only chance was to try to kick the gun out of Sandoval’s hand and gallop off into the darkness before Sandoval could recover the weapon.

  However, as if realizing that, Sandoval grinned, pulled his horse back a little, just enough to be out of Frank’s reach, and raised the gun.

  “Adios, Señor Morgan,” he said.

  But before he could pull the trigger, a gray shape came flying out of the night and crashed into Sandoval, knocking him out of the saddle. Sandoval cried out in surprise, and the gun in his hand went off as he fell. The bullet arced high and harmlessly into the air. Dog was on top of Sandoval the instant the man hit the ground.

  Frank had lost track of the big cur during the escape from the gang’s hideout canyon, but he had figured Dog was still around somewhere and would follow his scent until he caught up. Dog had gotten there just in time to save Frank’s life, not for the first time.

  Sandoval screamed as he thrashed around on the ground and tried to ward off the slashing teeth of the shaggy, wolflike animal. In the buggy, Astrid cried out in horror and stood up as she reached in her bag. Starlight winked on the gun in her hand as she jerked it out of the bag.

  Frank didn’t know if she intended to shoot him or Dog or both, but he didn’t figure to give her a chance at either of them. He jabbed his boot heels in the flanks of the horse and sent the animal leaping toward the two horses hitched to the buggy.

  Frank’s mount collided with one of the buggy horses, spooking both of them. The team lunged forward, jerking the buggy into motion as they bolted. With a shrill cry, Astrid was knocked off her feet and fell over backward. The little pistol in her hand popped.

  She had let go of the reins as she stood up to fumble for her gun, and now they dangled loose on the floorboard, Frank saw as the vehicle flashed past him. Astrid had fallen into the space behind the seat and was struggling to get up.