by Paul Lederer
I touched her arm lightly, without gripping it and told her, ‘You’re not so young any more, Julia, and I have no other woman now.’
She half-smiled and then let the smile fall away. She looked into my eyes by the moonlight, nodded and walked away, leaving me to follow if I chose.
The unmistakable, remarkable smell of roasted beef greeted me as we walked up onto my porch and entered the stone house. George and Toby Trammel, looking satisfied with themselves, were sitting at the table. I dropped the bar on the door and placed my Winchester in the gunrack.
‘Made it back, did you?’ Toby asked with a smile.
‘That is roast beef, isn’t it?’ I asked, glancing at their empty plates. Looking toward the stove where a blue roasting-pot sat. They nodded complacently. ‘Where did it come from?’
‘Well, Tom,’ Toby said genially, ‘you did post that notice – the one saying that unauthorized cattle being found on this land were subject to seizure or slaughter. I found this stray down near the notch and I figure he fell into that category. I sort of seized him and George took care of the rest of it.’
I grinned. ‘Cut me a slab, will you?’
‘Not just yet,’ Julia said in a proprietary voice as George rose. ‘First thing, mister, is we’re going to see to that wound. Then you can eat.’
‘Wound?’ Toby said, and it was only then that he noticed the shape that I was in. ‘God, Tom! There you go again. What happened?’
Julia hooked her hand under my elbow and said, ‘He’ll tell you later. One of you see if you can find that bottle of carbolic, and something to use for clean bandages. Oh,’ she paused and her brow wrinkled in thought, ‘also if you’ll dig into my carpetbag you should find needles and waxed thread.’
‘I don’t like the sound of this,’ I told her as we limped down the hall toward the bunk-rooms.
‘Tom, you might not know this, but without saying so, out in the stable you invited me to take care of you.’
‘I said no such thing!’ I protested.
‘You did. I know. A woman knows.’
‘I have,’ I said with a sigh, ‘created a monster.’ But I did not complain as, leaning on her slender shoulder, she walked with me into the bunk-room. I found myself secretly, unexpectedly pleased to accept her ministrations.
‘Now what, Tom?’ Toby asked as I shoved my empty plate away at last and we sat around the table sipping coffee. I had told them briefly about my meeting with Peebles, about blowing up the courthouse.
‘I heard that rolling thunder,’ George had said, ‘and thought it was going to rain at last. But I stepped out onto the porch and saw nothing but starlight. Not a cloud in the sky – except for a low, flat haze over Stratton. We sort of figured what you’d done.’
Toby and George waited for my answer to the question. I told them carefully, ‘It may really be time for you to pull out now. If we had fears that Peebles might send a gang of his gunmen up here before, now it’s a certainty. George and Julia are not implicated, and they can slip away without …’
Julia laughed out loud. I turned to see her leaning against the stove, a wooden spoon in her hand. ‘You still don’t hear what I’m saying when I talk to you, Tom! I’m not moving an inch.’
Toby grinned and reminded me again about his own vow to stick.
‘What about the telegrams you sent?’ George asked hopefully. ‘Won’t they do us any good?’
‘I can’t be sure,’ I answered honestly. ‘I sent two. One to the US marshal’s office in Denver, advising them that we had a range war going on down here, that there had been killings and destruction the local law wouldn’t – or was unable – to control.
‘The other went directly to the governor. I told him that the whole territory is in chaos, that we needed help immediately.’
‘Well then …?’ George said.
‘It was late when I sent the wires, George. With any luck those telegrams will cross their respective desks sometime tomorrow. Assuming they are in their offices to read them. Then there’s the time it will take the governor to make a decision to invoke martial law, the days it would take for any deputy marshals to ride all the way from Denver to Stratton … it could be weeks, it could be never.’
‘I see,’ George said gravely. He looked old for his years now. After the murder of his brother, Randall, and his mother’s death, we seldom saw him smile. I was hoping that he remembered what I had told him about being responsible for Julia now, she having no one else. Hoping that he could think of some way to persuade her to flee.
Perversely, hoping he could not.
George asked his sister for another cup of coffee which she supplied, leaning so close to me as she poured that I got a dizzying whiff of her lilac powder. I was losing my mind! She had to be taken to safety. She was staunch and sensible, much too fine for me in the best of times. I couldn’t let my personal wishes block the reality of what needed to be done.
Julia had bound my side so tightly that breathing was an effort. The burn of carbolic against my wound was a lingering memory, the stitching of my flesh which had caused tears to rise to my eyes provided a raw, throbbing reminder of events. George spoke again, putting his coffee cup down.
‘I figure, Toby, that we should have one man in the forest at all times …’
‘Wait a minute!’ I interrupted, but Toby joined in, answering George.
‘I agree. We’ll need to know when they’re coming. And from the slopes a man could pick off two or three of the gunmen before they ever reached the flats.’
‘Just a minute!’ I said again.
‘Then, before they could cross the dry creek, the look-out would still have plenty of time to slip down from the woods and into the house. Make sure we have spare boxes of cartridges on each of the window-ledges.’
Julia did not speak. She poured me another cup of coffee. I was tired, beat up, angry.
And extremely grateful to all of them.
‘What do you think, Tom?’ Toby inquired.
‘Hell, don’t ask me. I just live here.’ I grinned despite myself and rose a little unsteadily. ‘If no one minds, I am more than ready for bed. If you think you can get along without me.’
NINE
They came after us at the first light of dawn. The sun was no more than a seam of brilliant gold along the eastern horizon. The tips of the high peaks flushed rose with its reflected glow. George Holt, who had spent half the night standing watch in the forest, rushed in breathlessly, interrupting our first cup of coffee.
‘They’re coming, Tom!’ he said excitedly, his young face taut with fear.
Toby leaped to his feet and was already strapping his gunbelt on, reaching for his coat.
‘How many?’ I asked, rising stiffly, more slowly than Toby by far. The night’s sleep had done little to revive me. My side was, if anything, more painful than it had been the day before.
‘Fifteen, maybe twenty. Tom …’ he asked, his eyes desperate, ‘what do we do?’
‘We fort up and pick them off one by one,’ Toby Trammel said, but I shook my head.
‘No, Toby. Saddle up our horses. We’re pulling out. Peebles is serious this time. Sooner or later they’d figure out a way to assault the house.’
‘Pull out!’ Toby was shocked. It was the last thing he had expected from me. Julia had already shrugged into her sheepskin coat and was on her way out the door, scarf over her head.
‘Get with it, boys,’ I said, strapping on my own guns. ‘We’re headed for the high country.’
No one offered any further argument. Limping toward the stable, I glanced down the long valley and saw, distantly, the tiny dark figures of approaching riders. The rim of the sun was beginning to lift itself above the ranks of pines now, sending long shadows out from their bases. With Toby’s help I got my gray saddled and tightened down the double cinches on my Texas-rigged saddle. The others had already mounted their ponies.
‘Just a moment,’ I said while I tied my saddlebags on behind the saddle a
nd lifted myself heavily into leather. I winced with the effort and saw the concern on Julia’s face. I tried offering her a smile, but it was a weak attempt. I was hurting bad, and she knew it.
‘Let’s go,’ I said, and ducking my head to clear the doorframe, I rode the gay out through the stable door. I turned northward, toward the high peaks along Pocono Gorge and Toby, riding beside me asked:
‘Where in hell are we heading, Tom?’
‘The Crag,’ I told him as we wove through the tall trees, riding along the old Indian trail we had followed into the high country not that long ago. Bleak iron-gray cliffs began to flank our trail. Toby began to respond to my statement, changed his mind and studied me thoughtfully. At last he grinned.
‘You would, wouldn’t you?’ Toby said.
‘It’s what they want, isn’t it?’
Behind us Julia asked through chattering teeth, ‘What are you two talking about?’
‘Nothing,’ I said, turning my head. ‘George, can you see the raiders?’
‘They’re riding harder now, Tom. Five, ten minutes they’ll be at the house.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘They’ll spend some time searching the house and outbuildings. If they’ve a tracker with them, he’ll eventually cut our sign and they’ll start north up the canyon. Toby, George, when you can find a sheltered spot with a clear view down the slope, you’ll have to nestle in and keep them slowed down.’
In fact, not far on we came to a huge clump of yellow, moss-streaked boulders where a man could hold off pursuit for a long time – as long as it would take me to do what I needed to do. No one would be eager to ride up onto the mountain knowing there were snipers up there.
‘Aren’t they coming with us?’ Julia asked in confusion. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Want me to tell her, Tom?’ Toby asked with a broad grin as he swung down from his pony. He took two boxes of cartridges from his saddle-bags and eyed the jumble of rocks, choosing his position.
George, less sure, followed suit. I saw a brief conversation between Toby and George, and the younger man’s expression brightened.
‘Does everyone know what’s happening but me?’ Julia asked, not with petulance, but with true concern.
‘I’m sorry, Julia,’ I said seriously, ‘but I’ve been doing considerable thinking. Trying to calculate whether this can be done. Because if I make a single mistake, there may not be a one of us left alive to see tomorrow.’
We climbed higher as the sun continued to blossom into morning brilliance. Looking back once I saw the confused knot of raiders in my yard, milling around, waiting for new orders. The canyon fell away to our right 500 feet or more, the peaks above us rose to 12,000 feet, a crow mocked our passing, a cold wind licked at the trees. My gray horse, mountain-bred and thickly muscled, was beginning to flag slightly. Julia’s dainty pinto pony showed signs of breaking down. Still we rode on, ever higher.
‘I heard you tell Toby that you were going to give the killers what they wanted,’ Julia said. ‘What did you mean?’ The wind folded back the brim of her hat and let a few strands of red hair drift over her forehead. She was determined, curious, ready. I sensed no sign of doubt or fear.
‘Simple,’ I told her, as I halted my horse on the ledge Toby and I had last visited less than a week ago. ‘That’s what they want!’ I pointed at the blue expanse of the lake I had formed. It glinted in the sunlight, placid but wind-ruffled, stretching for miles behind the Pocono Gorge.
‘You caused that?’ Julia asked in a hushed tone.
‘I did. But it has served its purpose. Now I mean to destroy it and let the river flow freely again.’
‘But, Tom … won’t that?’ Her voice was awed, now revealing some fear.
‘Yes,’ I told her, swinging down. ‘If anyone is in the way of the torrent when it cuts loose, they’ll be swept away like toys.’ I knew she didn’t like the idea, there was something about it that seemed unfair, cruel. I said: ‘It’s that, Julia, or we wait for them to catch up with us and shoot us all down. They, I assure you, will have no such compunctions as we have.’
Behind us now we could hear rifle fire. The raiders had found our trail and were riding north while George and Toby Trammel defended our position. Urgency spurred me on. True, the two of them had position, but we were far outnumbered, and numbers usually triumph in any battle.
I unslung my saddle-bags, checked the contents and started toward the dam I had formed by toppling the Sentinels. Julia still sat her horse, the wind racing past her, shifting coat-tails, hat and curls. She watched as I half-crept, half-skidded down the slate slope toward the dead monoliths.
I had the dynamite in my saddle-bags over my shoulder. I needed both hands to grab onto whatever outcropping or twig of dead gray juniper I could find. I was nearly at the level of the wide-spreading lake now; anxiety battled with grim determination inside me. There was no wiring, no plunges-box this time. There wouldn’t have been time to set that up properly. I had lengths of coiled fuse in my saddle-bags and matches.
If I caught a length of bad fuse, had it fizzle on me as I was half-way up out of the gulch I would have no choice but to go back down and then, with the fuse shorter than desired it would be a mad scramble back to the bluff – assuming I could make it at all. I slid to a halt at the very base of the fallen Sentinels. Water seeped between the great stones through dozens of tiny fissures, forming sheer waterfalls in miniature. I had to climb up the face of the dam a little to find dry niches. I could take no chance on wet fuses.
Behind and above me I heard constant gunfire as Toby and George Holt tried to keep the Peebles riders at bay. My fingers worked slowly, as if they were frozen. I looked over my bundles of dynamite, wondering if there were enough left to do the job. If not I was just going to make a hell of a loud noise, accomplishing nothing. I wished I had not wasted my other explosives on the courthouse. I could have used more dynamite now. This was no sure thing, I knew. Sweat dripped into my eyes. I looked up, thinking of the millions of gallons of water above me.
More rifle fire echoed up the canyon. The Peebles men had settled in somewhere below and were rapidly emptying their magazines at Toby and George. How long could my rearguard hold out?
I set the detonators, uncoiled the lengths of fuse and stood stock-still for a moment, looking up at the hundreds of feet of slate I would have to scale. It had not been so bad coming down, gravity assisting me as I slid and scrambled along.
Climbing the face of the gorge was a different matter.
I started up, the coiled fuse over my shoulder. The saddle-bags I had abandoned. One way or the other, I no longer needed them. The stiffening wind seemed to be trying to swat me from the face of the cliff. My fingers searched for handholds, my boots scraping their way from broken ledge to broken ledge. I reached up for a clump of ragged juniper and tried to hoist myself upward, but the dead brush tore free from the decomposing rock.
I should have known better – the tree’s roots could never have found firm purchase on this rocky cliff face to have expanded enough to support my weight. I slid down the slope, my hands and elbows scraped raw before my right boot-toe found a fissure by chance and stopped my descent. I bowed my head to the face of the cliff, took three calming breaths, and started on again, not looking back down the 500-foot drop below me.
It probably was not more than another half an hour, but it seemed like months, years, before I managed at last to throw my knee up over the rim of the ledge and roll onto the flat ground there. The wind had increased in strength and in chill, but I paid no mind to it. I was alive, safe for the moment. I rose shakily to my feet to find Julia there, holding the reins to both of the horses.
‘What now,’ she asked, looking fearfully down into the Pocono Gorge. I rose, my lungs still burning from the exertion.
‘I’ve got to get down the trail and tell George and Toby that it’s time to pull out, to get upslope as quickly as possible,’ I said, surprised to find I was panting, not from the climb, but
from inner excitement. ‘Then, when you three are on your way out of here, I’ll light the fuses … and see how good a hard-rock man I am.’
‘You’re not sure it will work, are you?’ Julia asked, coming near, searching my face with her green eyes. I was honest with her.
‘No.’ I didn’t think anyone, even the most competent of explosives men, could be sure. Those men, though, would always have a second opportunity if they failed in the first. I had one chance only. It was a desperate attempt, but what else were we to do? Ride as far and as fast as we could until fifteen or twenty men caught up with us and gunned us down? I shook my head without words, looking across the long lake, the stony dam I had created.
‘Wait here,’ I told Julia.
‘You wait here,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll get George and Toby.’
‘Julia,’ I grabbed the bridle of her little pinto pony as she swung into her saddle. ‘There’s shooting down there!’
‘Really?’ She smiled at me with amusement. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’ Before I could stop her, she turned her pony’s head sharply away, out of my grasp and started through the pines toward the clump of boulders where we had left Toby and George.
The racketing of the rifles continued. I looked down the trail and then returned my gaze to the gorge. One chance only, and not a very good one. I gave up the pointless speculation. It was time to act, not to consider.
I crouched, snipping off the unnecessary lengths of the long fuses with my pocket knife. Then I drew my match-cylinder from my pocket, clustered a group of three matches together because of the cold twisting wind and struck them, touching fire to both fuses at once. I stood watching as they sparked to life and began their long race down the sheer side of the gorge toward the planted dynamite bundles.
Anything could happen to them along that path. Even assuming they were dry and clean, there was no guarantee that the dynamite would do the job. I just didn’t know that much about calculating mass and blast angles and such. I had simply tucked my charges into the weakest-looking fissures I could find. It was my best attempt, and probably my last.
