Rescue

by William W. Johnstone

“But you’re gonna see it through, right?”

  “I sure am, Dewey. Val Dooley has to be stopped.”

  “And you think you’re the man to do it.”

  “I reckon so.”

  “Texas Rangers couldn’t catch him. Mexican army couldn’t stop him. Two dozen or more sheriffs’ posses couldn’t catch him. You takin’ that into consideration?”

  “I’ve thought about it.”

  “You been real lucky so far.”

  “I know that far better than you, Dewey.”

  “You want another gun to ride with you?”

  “You?”

  “Yep.”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Thirteen

  “Are you just going to ride off and leave your store unlocked, Mr. Dewey?”Susan asked.

  The first shards of silver were beginning to cut at the eastern sky.

  “They’ll be a couple of Hopis along soon as we pull out, child,” Dewey replied. “They’ll look after the place till I git back.”

  “How will they know you’re gone?” Danny asked. “I ain’t seen no Indians about since we got here.”

  Dewey smiled. “They’ll know, boy. They been watchin’ the place ever since y’all rode in.”

  “Will bad-acting whites pay an Indian, sir?” Susan asked. “Or just take what they want and harm the Indians?”

  “They’ll pay. And they won’t harm these Hopis. They’re breeds and they’re big. Mean as hell if they’re pushed. They been lookin’ after this place for me for years. Don’t you worry none about them. I sure don’t.”

  “I’d like to see them,” Susan said.

  “You might,” the old mountain man said. “If they want you to see them.”

  Frank watched as Dewey lashed down two boxes on one of the packhorses. He’d helped him inspect the contents the night before. The high-grade dynamite was in fine condition, carefully packed, and good to travel.

  When Frank had spotted Dewey inspecting the high explosive, he had smiled and said, “You’re not going to play around, are you, Dewey?”

  “Too damn old for games, Drifter. We find these scum, I aim to send as many of them to hell as I can.” He cut his eyes to Frank. “And the way I heared it, you ain’t too shy when it comes to usin’ dynamite yourself.”

  Frank smiled. “I been known to toss a few sticks from time to time.”

  “Uh-huh,” the mountain man grunted.

  “Missy,” Dewey said to Susan, “you be a dear girl and fetch that coffeepot off the far in the post. Bring it out here so’s me and the Drifter can have us another cup and we can wash it up. You be kerful now, baby. That pot’ll be some hot.” He smiled and winked at Frank. “Danny, why don’t you go with her and hep her?” He winked at Frank and whispered, “And you can steal another kiss or two.”

  Frank chuckled softly. “You’re either a matchmaker or a troublemaker, Dewey,” he whispered.

  “What are you two giggling about over there?” Julie demanded.

  “We telling dirty jokes,” Frank said.

  “No, you’re not. Don’t you think I haven’t noticed the looks between Susan and Danny? I know they’ve been sparkin’ every chance they get.”

  “I think I got an old bundlin’ board in the post somewheres,” Dewey said with a laugh. “You want me to go fetch it?”

  “I most certainly do not!”

  The men laughed, and Julie stalked off.

  Frank watched as Dewey stuck a lever-action rifle into his saddle boot. “Where’s your old Spencer, Dewey?”

  “I give it up, son. This here Winchester suits me just fine now.”

  “You seen those new bolt-action rifles?”

  “I seen a few of them. I don’t figure they’ll ever catch on, though. Too cumbersome, you ax me.”

  “Dewey, are you sure you want to come along with us?”

  The old mountain man looked at Frank. “Why the hell wouldn’t I?”

  “How old are you, Dewey?”

  The older man frowned. “That there, Drifter, is a damn good question. Tell you the truth, I don’t rightly know. Near as I can figure it, I’m about seventy. Give or take a couple of years here and there.” He smiled. “But I can still pleasure a woman. A much younger woman, I might add. That answer your hidden question?”

  “I wasn’t doubting your virility, Dewey.”

  “My what?”

  “Here’s your coffeepot, Mr. Dewey,” Susan said as she walked up with Danny. “And some cups.”

  “Thank you, missy.”

  Frank and the old mountain man filled their cups, and walked over to sit under the shade of a tree and sip coffee and smoke.

  “You got any kind of plan, Drifter?” Dewey asked.

  “Not even the ghost of one,” Frank admitted.

  “Sometimes that’s best, I think. We’ll just make one up as we go. You ain’t got no idee how many hostages is in this camp, right?”

  “That’s right. Or even if there are any there.”

  “Well, even if they ain’t none, we can ’complish somethin’.”

  “Oh? What?”

  “We can kill a whole chamber pot full of worthless, no-’count rapin’, murderin’, kidnappin’ bastards.”

  * * *

  “Great gobs of bufflar turds,” Dewey whispered, handing Frank’s field glasses back to him. “There must be a good fifty or sixty of them sorry bastards down yonder.”

  “Yeah,” Frank said, lifting the glasses and adjusting them to his eyes. “But I don’t see any signs of hostages.”

  “They might be in that big tent in the center of the camp.”

  “If they’re there, that’s where they’d be.”

  “Gettin’ them out won’t be easy.”

  Frank grunted his response. Then an idea came to him, and he lowered the glasses and smiled.

  “Uh-oh,” Dewey said. “That grin tells me you got you a plan.”

  “You brought your bow and a quiver of arrows, right?”

  “I damn shore did. I’m better with that than with a rifle, and I’m an expert with a rifle,” he said with a grin that matched Frank’s.

  “Don’t start lyin’, Dewey.”

  “Now you’ve done gone and injured my feelin’s. That ain’t no way to talk to an old man who’s on his last legs.”

  “Oh, horse crap! You’re healthy as a bear and you know it.”

  “Damn, boy! I can’t get no sympathy outta you a-tall. What about me and my expert ability with a bow and arrey?”

  “Dynamite.”

  Dewey blinked. “Say again?”

  Frank laughed softly. “Oh, I think you’re going to love it, Dewey. I really do.”

  “I ain’t real sure I like that look in your eyes, Drifter.”

  “Come on, let’s get back to the camp and talk this out.”

  * * *

  “The five of us are going to attack fifty or so?” Danny asked after listening to Frank’s plan.

  “You have a better plan?” Frank asked. “If so, I’ll be happy to hear it.”

  “I don’t have any plan, Mr. Morgan,” the young man replied. “I just don’t see how the five of us have a chance of pulling this off.”

  “If I can drop some dynamite in the middle of a crowd,” Dewey said, “I can take out eight or ten first off.”

  “At supper time,” Julie suggested. “When they all gather around the cooking area.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Frank said. “Dewey?”

  “Where me and you was spyin’ on them is a good spot. It’s within range, I figure. Sure. I can drop an arrey right amongst them from there.”

  “The fuses you brought?” Frank asked, looking at the old mountain man.

  “Don’t worry ’bout that. I got quick-burnin’ fuses and slow-burnin’ ones. The force of the blast will knock some of them flyin’ . . . if it’s close enough. I’ve seen men addled for hours from the concussion.”

  “How many arrows can you let fly in, say . . . oh, a minute’s time
, Dewey?” Frank asked.

  The older man smiled. “Enough, boy. Enough.”

  “When do we attack, Mr. Morgan?” Susan asked.

  Frank looked at the girl. What an army, he thought. A boy in his teens still part wet behind the ears. A young snip of a girl not long from playing with dolls. A mother of two girls who still carries the faded bruises of beatings and rapes. An old man who should be passing his remaining years in a rocking chair.

  Dog nudged his arm with a cold nose.

  And a dog, Frank added, petting the big cur.

  “Sir?” Danny pressed Frank for an answer.

  “In about an hour,” Frank replied. “No point in putting it off.”

  “I bes’ git them arreys ready,” Dewey said.

  * * *

  Frank had sent Danny around to the east side of the outlaw camp, as close to the corral as he dared to get. When the first explosion went off, Danny was to turn the horses loose by breaking down part of the rickety corral, made of brush. The horses would be ready to run in a panic after the dynamite blast.

  Julie was with Susan on the north edge of the camp, on a slight rise behind some rocks. Frank was with Dewey on the west side. That left the south side open for the outlaws to run, which was what Frank hoped they would do.

  Dewey had rigged up a dozen arrows with dynamite . . . with very short fuses, Frank noted. He had mentioned that to Dewey.

  “Ain’t no point in messin’ around about it, Drifter,” the mountain man had replied. “I don’t want them outlaws to be able to pick up the arreys and chuck ’em back at us.”

  “Good point,” Frank had admitted.

  “They’s about eight or ten or ’em all gathered ’round the big coffeepot,” Dewey whispered. “You ready to open this dance?”

  “You got the fiddle,” Frank told him. “Get to sawin’.”

  “You bring the matches?”

  Frank held up a lighted cigar.

  Dewey fitted an arrow. “I hope ever’one’s in place.”

  “Too late to worry about that now.” Frank touched the lighted end of the cigar to a fuse, and it started sputtering. “Let ’er rip.”

  Dewey sent the arrow into the air, and it landed in the middle of the men gathered around the coffeepot.

  “Good God!” one of the outlaws hollered.

  The charge blew with enormous force, killing several of the men instantly. Bits of the big coffeepot, skillets, and cook pots were like shrapnel, bits and pieces flying in all directions and crippling several other men. The force of the explosion sent all the men, dead, dying, and merely confused, to the ground, those left alive momentarily deafened and completely addled.

  Dewey let another arrow fly, being careful to keep it away from the big tent in the center of the camp where they suspected the hostages were being held. The charge blew and the force knocked down several tents, adding more confusion to the already chaotic situation.

  Frank could hear Danny yelling at the horses.

  “Get the horses,” a man yelled. Those were the last words he ever spoke as both Susan and Julie fired, the bullets ripping into the man and slamming him dying to the ground.

  Dewey spied a knot of men running toward the south, and let an arrow fly. It was perfectly timed. The arrow landed a few feet in front of the running men, and blew just as a couple of men attempted to jump over it. Really bad timing for those men. The dynamite blew and splattered the men all over the place. The concussion knocked the other men down, and Frank fired as rapidly as he could lever the empty brass out and close the breech on a fresh round.

  The horses were galloping away in all directions, and Danny was firing from his position, as were Julie and Susan. Everyone was firing with astonishing accuracy. There were dead and dying men now lying all over the place. Dewey didn’t let up with his explosive arrows, but this time he was putting them behind the men who were running south, away from the hail of lead. The explosions were driving the men south, away from the camp.

  Frank laid his rifle aside and filled his hands with Colts. “Keep it up, Dewey. I’m going into the camp.”

  “Don’t be a fool, Frank!” the mountain man yelled. But it was a useless warning, for Frank was off and running into the campsite, heading straight for the tent in the center of the camp.

  Fourteen

  An outlaw staggered to his feet, saw Frank running toward him, and grabbed for his pistol. Frank shot him and kept on running toward the tent.

  Dewey let loose with another dynamite-tipped arrow, and the explosion shook the ground beneath Frank’s boots. Frank reached the tent and ripped open the closed flaps. In the dimness he could see two young girls, maybe twelve at the most, and a young boy about the same age. He didn’t recognize any of the three.

  “Come on, kids,” Frank said. “Stay close to me and I’ll get you clear of this camp.”

  When Frank stepped out the torn front of the tent, the ground was littered with dead and wounded outlaws. But nowhere was an outlaw standing. “Run for those rocks, kids,” Frank said, pointing to where Dewey was stationed.

  One of the young girls pointed to a dead outlaw. “He made me take off my clothes,” was all she said.

  It was enough. Frank knew what she meant.

  “He’ll never bother you again, honey. He’s dead.”

  “Good,” the girl said. “I hope he burns in the hellfires.” Then she took off running toward the rocks, the other two right behind her.

  Frank made the rocks right behind the kids. “Them scum that was able to headed south, Frank,” Dewey said. “But I don’t know how long we got till they take a notion to come back.”

  Frank nodded. “Watch the kids. I’ve got to help Danny get some horses for the kids to ride.”

  “Will do.”

  Frank circled around until he came to Julie and Susan’s position. “Get over with Dewey and help him with the kids.”

  “I saw them, Frank,” Julie said. “Did they say anything about any of the others?”

  “I didn’t have time to ask them, Julie. Go on now. I’ve got to help Danny.”

  But Danny was thinking ahead of Frank. The young man had saddled up four fine-looking horses, and was holding them when Frank reached him. “Damn good work, Danny. We only need three, but we’ll take the fourth as a spare. Let’s go, son.”

  Dewey had left the kids with Julie and Susan and slipped into the death camp, picking up some guns and ammunition. “Figured we might need them,” he told Frank.

  “Probably. Let’s get the hell gone from here, Dewey.”

  “Grand idee, old son. Move!”

  * * *

  “We heard men talking about a place near Tucson,” Tess told the group over supper that evening.

  The rescued girls were Tess and Sarah. The boy’s name was Jerry. They had been kidnapped from a small settlement in the northern part of Arizona. Their parents had been murdered in front of them.

  “What about this place near Tucson?” Frank asked.

  “That’s where the kids are held until they’re sent to Mexico,” Sarah said.

  “And other places,” Jerry added.

  “What other places?” Julie asked.

  “All over,” the boy replied. “We heard men talking about New York City.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” Dewey muttered.

  “It’s a big operation,” Frank said. “Somebody is making a lot of money.”

  “Are we safe now?” Tess asked. “Those men won’t never have us again, will they?”

  “No, child,” Dewey said, putting an arm around the girl’s shoulders. “The bad men won’t never touch you no more. I promise you that.”

  They had ridden for several hours after the attack on the outlaw camp, gotten a few hours of sleep, then ridden on for ten miles. They were now camped by a tiny creek, resting.

  “Where is the nearest settlement?” Julie asked.

  “Phoenix,” Dewey said. “Soon as we cross the Mazatzal Mountains we can follow the stage road right down to
the town.”

  “You kids have any relatives?” Frank asked.

  “Back in Missouri,” Tess replied. “At least I do. My uncle and aunt.”

  “I got kin in Kansas,” Jerry said. “But I don’t like them and they don’t like me.”

  “Why not?” Julie asked.

  The boy shrugged his shoulders. “Way I heard it, they didn’t like Mama marryin’ up with Pa. They said Pa was a no-’count mover. Mama married him anyway. Then I come along. They said I’d probably turn out just like Pa—no good. Every time we’d visit, they’d lock up the egg money; said to my face they didn’t want me stealin’ it. I ain’t goin’ back to them folks.”

  “I got kin back East,” Sarah said.

  “Where back East?”

  “Ohio.”

  “Well . . .” Frank said, taking off his hat and scratching his head. “We’ll work all this out when we get to town. And town’s a good four or five days away. We’ve got lots of time to talk it over.”

  “My belly’s a-grumblin’,” Dewey said. “Let’s us think about rustlin’ up some food. You kids hongry?”

  They were.

  “The beans are cooking,” Julie said. “And the biscuits are in the camp oven. All that’s left to do is for one of you men to slice up the bacon.”

  Frank took out his knife. “I can sure get to doing that.”

  “Mr. Morgan?” Tess asked.

  “Yes, baby?”

  “All them men that was on the ground back at the camp—was they all dead?”

  “No, baby. Most of them were knocked unconscious by the blasts. They’ve all got bad headaches, I can tell you that. But they’re still alive.”

  “Too bad,” the girl said. “I was hoping they were all dead.”

  “Me too,” Sarah said.

  Julie and Frank exchanged glances and remained silent.

  Dewey looked at Jerry. “How do you feel about them outlaws, boy?”

  “They beat me several times,” the boy replied. Then he got to his feet and walked away from the group, Tess and Sarah with him.

  Susan stood up and said, “I think I’ll join them. Unless you need me to help you with supper, Mother.”

  “No, you go ahead, Susan. I think being with someone their own age is just what those kids need right now.”

  When the kids were out of earshot, Dewey asked, “You don’t reckon the boy was, well . . . messed with, do you?”