Rescue

by William W. Johnstone

  Ike hesitated, and that short pause cost him dearly: Frank shot him in the stomach, the force of the .45 slug knocking the hired gun off the boardwalk and into the street. Ike struggled to get to his feet, and succeeded only in falling into a watering trough.

  Neville hollered in pain and anger at seeing his brother in a horse trough, and lifted his pistol. Frank put another slug into the man. The second bullet from Frank’s Peacemaker stretched the Tremaine brother out on the boardwalk, badly hurt but still game.

  “You bastard!” Neville shouted.

  “Git me outta this here trough!” Ike hollered.

  Gun smoke hung thick in the hot air, and a crowd had begun to gather on the boardwalk across the street, the men and women talking and pointing.

  “I’ll kill you, Morgan!” Ike yelled, trying to stand up in the watering trough. His boots slipped, and Ike was out of the trough, landing head-first in the dirt and horse crap in the street. He lost his pistol.

  “You men stop this immediately,” a woman yelled from across the dusty street. “Stop this barbaric behavior.”

  “Oh, shut up, you old bag!” Ike hollered, crawling around on his hands and knees in the dirt and horse droppings, trying to find his six-shooter.

  “Old bag!” the citizen yelled. “Wilbur, that ruffian called me an old bag. Do something!”

  Wilbur did nothing, and the woman began yelling in anger.

  Neville sat up on the boardwalk, bloody but still willing to make a fight of it. He lifted his pistol, and Frank put another round into the man. That one did it. Neville slammed back onto the boards and expired.

  “Where’s my damn gun?” Ike hollered. “Neville, give me a gun so’s I can kill that bastard. You hear me, Neville?”

  “Neville’s dead,” Frank told the man as he rapidly reloaded. “Give it up, man.”

  “Hell with you,” Ike yelled. “You’re a dead man, Morgan.”

  “Not likely,” Frank replied.

  Ike’s hand closed around the butt of his pistol and he hollered his satisfaction. He lifted and cocked the six-gun. “Got you, Morgan!” he yelled.

  Frank shot him right between the eyes.

  Ike fell back against the horse trough, dead as a rock, his eyes wide open and seeing nothing on the living side of the veil.

  “By golly!” the saddle maker yelled, stepping out of his shop. “That there was one hell of a gunfight. Best I ever seen.”

  “Somebody get the undertaker,” a man shouted.

  “Get Reverend Phillips too,” a woman yelled.

  “Why?” a man questioned.

  “Because it’s the Christian thing to do!” the woman shouted.

  “Are you all right, sir?” Danny asked, walking out of the shop to stand beside Frank on the boards.

  “I’m not hit,” Frank told him.

  “Reckon they got any money?” a man said, walking up. “I’ll give them a nice funeral if they do. Mourners and shouters and wailers and a band too.”

  “I don’t care if you drop them both into a privy pit,” Frank told the man.

  “Now that’s not very charitable of you, sir,” the undertaker admonished Frank.

  “You weren’t the one getting shot at,” Frank replied.

  “Well . . . that’s true. Who are they, sir?”

  “Ike and Neville Tremaine.”

  “The notorious gunmen?”

  “That’s them.”

  “Which is which?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Oh, my! That won’t do.”

  “Have fun deciding who goes in what hole in the ground,” Frank told him. He motioned for Danny and Jerry to join him and walked on up the boardwalk.

  “I never seen a stand-up hook-and-draw gunfight,” Jerry said. “But I’ve read about aplenty of them in penny dreadfuls.”

  “I hope you never have to see another, Jerry,” Frank told him.

  “I didn’t mind it, Mr. Morgan. Long as the good man lives. And I’m sure glad you did.”

  Frank smiled. “I am too, Jerry.”

  “Who is this Huddleston man, Mr. Morgan?” Danny asked.

  “He’s a lawyer from New York City.”

  “You know him?”

  “No. I’ve never met him.”

  “Why would he want to hire people to kill you?”

  “I suspect he was acting on behalf of someone else, Danny.” For that matter, who hired Cory Raven to kill him? Frank had been wondering about that ever since Danny had told him about it.

  Huddleston? Maybe. Frank was damn sure going to find out. Even if he had to take a train to New York City and confront Huddleston.

  “I’m hungry,” Jerry said.

  “Well, let’s find us a café and chow down,” Frank said. “I could use some coffee myself.”

  “Wonder how the ladies are getting along,” Danny said, sort of a wistful note in his voice.

  “They’re getting along just fine without us,” Frank told him. “And getting clean. Relax, boy, your girl isn’t going to run off and leave you behind.”

  Danny grinned and blushed.

  * * *

  “Damn, I wish I’d been there to see that fight,” Dewey said.

  The old mountain man had found a horse trough and a bar of strong soap, and given himself a good wash, then dressed in clean clothes. He had caught up with Frank and the boys after Jerry and Danny had a bite to eat.

  “You shaved, Mr. Dewey,” Jerry said. “You look ’bout a hundred years younger.”

  “I reckon that’s a compliment,” Dewey said. “I’ll take it as sich. The Tremaine brothers, you say, Drifter?”

  “Ike and Neville.”

  “I knew ’em both. Bad ones. The world’s a better place without them two. Say a man hired them to kill you, Drifter?”

  “A New York City man. I don’t know him personally, but I have heard of him. He’s a lawyer.”

  “I don’t like lawyers. Crooks, ever one of ’em.”

  Frank laughed at the mountain man. “Some good, some bad, Dewey. Just like any other profession.”

  “Crooks,” the mountain man insisted.

  “You seen the ladies?” Frank asked.

  “Nope. They’re probably still splashin’ around in soapy water.”

  “Well, it’s time for us to pick up our new clothes and take a bath. You can keep watch for us.”

  “I’ll do it,” Dewey said, walking along beside Frank. Danny and Jerry were loafing along a few steps behind the gunfighter and the mountain man. “You plannin’ on takin’ the kids along on the hunt, Drifter?”

  “I’m not putting them in a damn orphanage.”

  “Good for you. I ’spect if we look hard enough, we can find some nice families who’ll take the kids in.”

  “That’s my thought.”

  “Lord have mercy,” Dewey blurted out, as they rounded a corner. “Lookie yonder, will you? There’s the ladies all spiffed up in dresses. They’re lookin’ like they want a night on the town.”

  “You like, Frank?” Julie said, doing a slow turn on the boardwalk.

  “I certainly do,” Frank said. “You ladies look very nice.” For a fact, Julie was a very good-looking woman . . . and very shapely.

  Danny’s eyes were all bugged out, looking at Susan.

  “What was all that shooting about?” Julie asked.

  “Little trouble down thataway,” Frank said matter-of-factly, pointing. “It’s over. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Did it involve you, Frank?” she asked.

  “Sort of. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “All right. What about the kids?”

  “We’re taking them with us.”

  “Thank you, Frank.” Julie raised up on tiptoes and kissed Frank on the cheek.

  “She done smooched him right here in front of God and ever’body,” Dewey said. “Lord, what’s this world comin’ to?”

  “Did you buy some new britches for the girls?” Frank asked, feeling a slight flush of embarras
sment heat up his face.

  “Yes. Several sets. I’m afraid I left you quite a bill at the store.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I assure you, it’s not going to break me. We’re really going to have to stock up on supplies before we head south. It’s a long, hot, dry trip down to Tucson.”

  “And dangerous?” Julie asked.

  “That too.”

  “Indians?”

  “If they’re on the prowl, yes. And bandits.”

  “And people who for whatever reason want to kill you, Frank?”

  “There is always that, Julie.”

  “Mr. Morgan?” Sarah called. “Here comes a man with a badge. And he’s carrying a shotgun.”

  Frank turned, being careful to keep his hands away from his pistol, and watched as the marshal walked up to him.

  “Frank Morgan?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Did you just kill the Tremaine brothers?”

  “They were trying to kill me, Marshal.”

  “I don’t doubt that. Way I hear tell it, you got about a hundred or so people tryin’ to kill you.”

  “Have you heard why, Marshal?”

  “No. That don’t concern me. What concerns me is keepin’ the peace in this town. How long are you goin’ to be in town?”

  “Probably leave day after tomorrow. We’ve got to let our horses rest a bit and then provision up.” He turned to look at Julie. “Where’s Dog?”

  “At the stable with the horses. He’s in the stall with Stormy.”

  Frank nodded and turned back to the marshal. “Day after tomorrow all right with you?”

  “Suits me. I ain’t tryin’ to be pushy, Morgan. But trouble seems to follow you.” He held up a hand. “I know, I know. You don’t start it. But people still get killed.”

  “They usually deserve it, Marshal.”

  “I won’t argue that neither.” He looked at Julie. “You and these kids with Morgan, ma’am?”

  “Yes, we are.”

  The marshal nodded his head. “I hope to see y’all pullin’ out of town day after tomorrow, Morgan.”

  “You will, Marshal.”

  The marshal turned and walked away.

  “Nice feller,” Dewey remarked, only slightly sarcastically.

  Frank put a big hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “You ready for a bath, boy?”

  “No, sir.”

  Frank laughed. “You’re going to get one anyway. You ladies have a nice walk. We’ll see you in an hour or so.”

  “Try to stay out of trouble, Frank,” Julie said dryly.

  “I always do that.”

  She rolled her eyes at that.

  “Come on, boys. It’s time to get some of this trail dust off us.”

  “I done took my wash,” Dewey said proudly.

  “And you look very nice, Dewey,” Julie told him. “Doesn’t he, girls?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the girls said in unison.

  “Shaved too,” Dewey said, rubbing his face.

  “I noticed,” Julie said.

  “Took years off me,” Dewey said, grinning.

  “Yeah,” Frank said. “Now you only look ninety.”

  “Excuse us, ladies,” Dewey said, taking Frank’s arm. They walked off toward the bathhouse, Dewey cussing Frank every step of the way, and Frank laughing at the mountain man.

  Seventeen

  “It’s about a hundred miles,” Dewey told the group. “And it ain’t no easy ride. Danny, you be shore them water bags ain’t leakin’ none.”

  “They’re all right, Mr. Dewey,” the young man said.

  “Check ’em again, son. And top off all the canteens. A body can go a long time without no food, but you’ll die quick without water.”

  Frank made sure the packsaddles were secure and balanced, then checked the leather booties he’d had specially made for Dog. The booties would protect Dog’s paws from the hot desert sands and from thorns. He’d had several sets made.

  It was not yet dawn and the kids were yawning, rubbing sleep out of their eyes, but they were game and ready to go.

  “You ever find out the name of the rancher who’s ’posed to be involved in these kidnappin’s, Drifter?” Dewey asked.

  “Collins,” Frank said. “Big Max Collins. Heard his name mentioned several times last night in the saloon.”

  Dewey looked at Frank for a long moment in the lantern light. “You shore?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “He’s a bad one, Drifter.”

  “I’ve heard.”

  “He hightailed it out of Wyoming several years back with a posse hard after him. They was gonna hang him.”

  “I wish they had.”

  “He’s a woman-abuser and a murderin’ son of a bitch,” Dewey said. “But he ain’t never been convicted of nothin’. Don’t ax me why that is.”

  “Because he stays one jump ahead of the law,” Frank replied. “And he doesn’t leave any witnesses alive.”

  Dewey moved closer to Frank, out of earshot of the others. “And he’s ’posed to have Julie’s daughter?” he whispered.

  “That’s the word I get.”

  “If he does, the girl’s better off dead.”

  “I heard that too.”

  “Lord have mercy,” Dewey whispered.

  “If Big Max gets any mercy, it’ll be from the Lord,” Frank said grimly. “ ’Cause he damn sure won’t get any from me.”

  “Let’s not shoot him,” Dewey said.

  “Why not?”

  “’Cause I want to hang him. Slow.”

  “Good idea,” Frank agreed. “But I can’t promise a thing.”

  “Just keep it in mind, will you?”

  “You bet.” He looked back at the others. “You folks ready to ride?”

  They nodded their heads and all mounted up.

  “Lead the way, Dewey,” said Frank.

  * * *

  They were two days out of Phoenix and it was hot. Not a cloud in the sky and not a shade tree in sight anywhere.

  “Land of the Hohokum,” Dewey said.

  “The what?” Julie asked.

  “The people who lived here before,” the old mountain man said.

  “Before what, sir?” Tess asked.

  “Before the Pima and the Navajo and the Zuni and the Apache and all the other Injuns around here today.”

  “What does Hohokum mean?” Sarah asked.

  “Well, child . . . that’s a right good question. Most of the Injuns I talked to about it say it means all played out or all used up. I don’t think they really know. I don’t think anybody really knows.”

  “What happened to these Hohokums?” Julie asked.

  “Nobody knows that neither. They just up and disappeared hundreds of years ago. Back a few miles and a tad to the east of this road is some ruins folks say was built by the Hohokum. I wouldn’t rightly know. They’s also all sorts of ditches and canals folks say was built by them. I wouldn’t rightly know about that neither.” He cut his eyes to Frank. “What I do know is that we’re bein’ followed.”

  “I see them,” Frank said. “They’ve been tagging along behind us for a couple of hours now.”

  “Indians?” Danny asked.

  “No. Half a dozen white men.”

  “If memory serves me right,” Dewey said, “they’s some ruins of an old army fort about a mile ahead and off to the west. There ain’t nothin’ left ’ceptin’ the walls, but they’s water from a little spring and the walls is good cover.”

  “We can rig up a tarp for some shade and see what those hombres behind us want,” Frank suggested.

  “We shore got plenty of ammunition for a long siege,” Dewey said. “And this is the stage road.”

  “There’ll be travelers along from time to time,” Frank said. “If y’all look hard off to the southwest, you can just begin to make out the ruins of the old fort.”

  “I see it,” Sarah said.

  “When we get even with the ruins, cut west and ride hard,” Dew
ey said. “Them men behind us is closin’ on us.”

  “And a half-dozen more are coming up fast from the south,” Frank said after a quick visual sweep of the terrain in front of them. “Head for the ruins . . . now!”

  The group made the ruins of the old fort with about five hundred yards to spare. Frank left the saddle, jerked his .44-40 from the boot, and ran to the wall facing east. The pursuers were closing rapidly, spread out in two long lines. One line coming from the east, the other line coming from the south.

  “Jerry,” Frank called, “you and Tess and Sarah rig up a tarp by that high wall yonder.” He pointed. “Danny, get the horses behind that wall over there.” Again, he pointed. “Secure a rope across the opening. That will keep them inside the area.” I hope, he thought.

  The dozen or so men who were spread out around the ruins had dismounted and taken to the ground, seeking cover behind the ancient, many-armed saguaro, some of the cactus standing forty feet tall.

  “We got plenty of food and water with us,” Dewey called. “And the water from the old spring is cold and sweet. I done took me a taste.”

  “Tess,” Frank called, “when you and Sarah get done with that tarp, get a little fire going and make us some coffee, please.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Frank looked over at Julie. The woman had her rifle and her shotgun and had taken up position to Frank’s right. She caught him looking at her and smiled.

  One tough lady, Frank thought. She’ll damn sure do to ride the high country with. Easy on the eyes too.

  “Frank,” Julie called softly, “I’ll make you a bet those men out there are part of the Val Dooley gang.”

  “You’re probably right, Julie.”

  “I was thinkin’ the same thing,” Dewey called. “I think they’ve been doggin’ us for days, trackin’ our every move and reportin’ back to Dooley by wire.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Frank said. “And they’re determined to stop us right here and now.”

  “Well, they ain’t a-gonna do it,” the mountain man said. Then he smiled and lifted his rifle. “Well, well,” he muttered. “Would you just look at that?”

  “What?” Frank called.

  “A leg,” Dewey said. “Watch this.” He sighted in and squeezed the trigger.

  “Ooowww!” a man hollered from the desert floor. “My leg. They done shot me in the leg. Ooohhh... it ’s broke!”