The Loner: Inferno #12

by J. A. Johnstone

  While the other women were resting, Jess came over to him and said quietly, “That dust cloud’s closer than ever, Kid. Those bastards must be running their horses into the ground.”

  “Or they brought along extra mounts and have been switching back and forth. I’ve been worried about that all along.”

  Jess grimaced. “I didn’t even think about that. That’s how they’ve been able to catch up.”

  “We should have done that, too. I just wasn’t sure we could handle extra horses in addition to the ones we’ve been riding.”

  “You mean you weren’t sure we could handle them. And you’re right, we probably couldn’t have. They would have gotten away from us.”

  “Nothing’s perfect,” The Kid said with a shadow of a smile.

  “That’s the truth.”

  He let the others rest for another minute or two, then said, “All right, everybody mount up again. We have to move fast now.”

  “It’s hot,” Leah said. “Can’t we find someplace shady and wait until it cools off?”

  “I wish we could,” The Kid told her, “but we don’t have any choice.”

  “Come on, Leah,” Elsie said. “We can do a little more.”

  Once they were all moving, The Kid brought up the rear, pushing them along as fast as he dared. He looked at the sun, quartering down toward the horizon. They were still following the Apaches’ trail, but he could tell that the tracks were angling toward the northwest.

  The war party had circled around the settlement of Sago, he recalled. That had added some distance to their trek, distance that The Kid and his companions couldn’t afford. Not only that, but if they crossed into New Mexico Territory away from the town, Guzman might be angry enough to disregard the border and come after them.

  The Kid didn’t think Guzman would bring his Rurales all the way into Sago. Such an invasion of U.S. soil could cause a lot of problems between the States and Mexico and draw too much attention to Guzman’s activities. His bosses in Mexico City were willing to let him do what he wanted, but they might not be so inclined if he caused a war, or even the threat of a war.

  Those thoughts flashed through The Kid’s mind as he pushed the dun past the other horses.

  “Follow me,” he said as he turned away from the Apaches’ trail, heading what he hoped was due north. That would take them to Sago by the fastest possible route.

  He was guiding them by dead reckoning, and if he reckoned wrong ... The thought brought a grim smile to his mouth for a second.

  Time was of the essence. Minutes passed. The sun dropped lower in the sky. There was not a bit of air moving, as if the world held its breath, but not even that could stop time.

  Then Jess cried, “Kid!”

  He reined in and looked back. The dust cloud was considerably closer, close enough that he could make out the riders at the base of it.

  This is it, The Kid thought. They had to make a run for it and hope the horses had enough strength and stamina left to get them where they were going.

  “All right,” he told the women. “Gallop straight ahead. Don’t look back. Just keep going no matter what you hear. Don’t stop until you’re in the town—the north side of the town, past the public well in the middle of the street. That’s the border.”

  “What are you going to do, Kid?” Jess asked.

  “I’ll be right behind you, don’t worry.”

  “I don’t believe you. You’re going to try to slow them down, aren’t you?”

  “I have the best horse.”

  “I’m staying with you.”

  He controlled the flare of anger that went through him. “We’re wasting time arguing. Jess, you lead the way. Take these women back to where they’ll be safe.”

  “Kid ...”

  “Otherwise it’s all for nothing,” he said quietly.

  She gave him a look that was half-angry, half-stricken, then sighed in resignation and nodded. “Come on,” she said to the other women. “We have to make these horses run!”

  Jess set off at a gallop with the other three women trailing close behind her. The Kid sat there on the dun, looking back and forth between the women and the dust cloud raised by the pursuers, for a minute or so before he swung down from the saddle.

  His Sharps was still in its sheath, strapped to the saddle under the right stirrup. He pulled it out and reached into the saddlebags for ammunition. Frank had told him that rifles like that were favorites of the old-time buffalo hunters because of their range and power.

  He needed some of that range and power now, The Kid thought.

  He loaded the Sharps and moved around the dun so he could rest the barrel across the saddle. The Kid had practiced in the past, so the horse knew what was going on and stood still. Resting his cheek against the stock, The Kid aimed at the dark mass of riders about half a mile away. He angled the barrel upward slightly to make the bullet carry better.

  Then he held his breath and squeezed the trigger.

  The boom of the Sharps rolled across the desert. The rifle’s heavy kick made The Kid take a step back even though he had braced himself. He caught his balance and peered toward the onrushing horsemen. They kept coming ...

  Suddenly, there was a disturbance among the riders. The Kid was too far away to make out any details, but it seemed the men had paused and started to mill around.

  He opened the Sharps, slapped another cartridge in the breech, aimed, and fired.

  He didn’t wait to see the results. He reloaded right away and fired a third time. The unbroken line of pursuers definitely had stopped and become more jagged as men tried to control nervously dancing horses, while at the same time glancing at the sky and wondering if the next slug to fall from the heavens would have their name on it.

  The Kid didn’t expect to stop Guzman, Kelly, and the others. But by the time the riders started charging toward him again, he had fired three more rounds and inflicted some damage on them—he hoped.

  More important, he had slowed them down for several minutes, giving Jess and the other women time to get closer to the border.

  The Kid shoved the buffalo gun back in its sheath and pulled the Winchester. The repeater didn’t have the range of the Sharps, but if he waited a minute, the pursuers would be in range.

  “Won’t be long now, fella,” he said softly to the dun. “Just a minute or two, and you’ll be able to run again. Run for all you’re worth.”

  He took several deep breaths. The sun was about to touch the mountains to the west. Its glare, redder than ever because it was low in the sky, washed over the landscape. Maybe this was what hell looked like, The Kid thought. He was sure he would find out someday.

  The Winchester cracked as he levered off shot after shot until the fifteen-round magazine was empty.

  As he lowered the rifle, he saw a little plume of dust and dirt erupt from the ground off to his left. He saw a rock jump in the air to his right. Bullets were hitting around him. The pursuers had started returning his fire.

  “Time to go,” he told the dun. He jammed the Winchester back in the boot and swung up into the saddle. As he leaned forward, he heeled the horse into a run.

  The dun stretched his legs and flashed across the ground. The sombrero flew off The Kid’s head and sailed away. He let it go without worrying about it. The need for deception was long since past. All that mattered now was speed.

  The sun started to sink behind the peaks. Long shadows stretched across the desert.

  And in one of those shadows ... the twinkle of lights.

  Sago.

  Had to be, because that was the only settlement in those parts. The Kid sent the dun in that direction, hoping that Jess and the other women had found the town. He didn’t see any sign of them ahead of him. Maybe they were already safely there.

  He turned his head to look over his shoulder. The dun was running gallantly, but The Kid thought the pursuers were closer. They were cutting the gap because their horses were fresher, even if only by a little.

/>   The settlement was half a mile away. But the Rurales and the scalp hunters were only a quarter mile behind him, The Kid estimated. It would be close, very close.

  Even if Guzman and his men stopped short of the border, those same restraints didn’t mean anything to Kelly, Chess, Valdez, and Mateo. They might chase The Kid all the way into Sago. They might even try to find the women and take them prisoner again. There was no real law in this border settlement to stop them.

  The Kid was the only one who could stop them, and he’d probably have to kill them to do it.

  On they pounded in the deadly race. The sun was completely behind the mountains, and dusk began to settle quickly over the landscape. More lights appeared in Sago.

  When The Kid looked back again, the riders were only a couple hundred yards behind him. Muzzle flashes twinkled like fireflies in the twilight as they threw lead at him.

  The Kid was close enough to the town to be able to make out the buildings. He could even see the well with its water tank and trough in the middle of the street. People were gathered on the other side of it, and from the size of the crowd, he knew that Jess and the other women had reached the settlement and told everyone what was going on. Relief flooded through him at that realization.

  It also appeared to The Kid that most of the inhabitants of the southern side of town had retreated north of the well. They didn’t trust the Rurales. The federal police had a reputation for ruthlessness and brutality.

  The Kid felt the hot breath of a bullet as it hummed past his ear. It was impossible to shoot a gun with any degree of accuracy from the back of a galloping horse, but a lucky hit was always possible.

  The dun’s sides heaved as he thundered on, running the race of his life. The southernmost buildings of the settlement flashed past. Another few seconds and The Kid would reach the border.

  The dun collapsed from exhaustion, tumbling to the ground in a wild confusion of flailing legs. The Kid kicked his feet free of the stirrups just in time so he wasn’t crushed.

  He found himself sailing through the air, crashing down a second later with stunning force.

  The hard landing knocked the breath out of him and left him gasping for air as he rolled over a couple times and came to a stop on his belly. He lifted his head and saw the riders bearing down on him, close enough to recognize Guzman. The Rurale commander had led the pursuit himself, as The Kid expected he might. Riding next to Guzman was Enrique Kelly, with the other scalp hunters close behind.

  There was nothing like having several dozen killers thundering toward him for clearing a man’s mind. The Kid surged to his feet and slapped leather. His Colt had stayed in its holster when he fell, and it came out roaring and spitting fire and lead.

  He ran for the well—the closest cover. Slugs whined around his head and kicked up dust at his feet. The water trough loomed in front of him. He went up and over it in a dive, carrying him across the border and back into the United States.

  That wasn’t stopping Guzman and the others. Bullets flew across the border, drawing frightened screams and angry shouts from the citizens of Sago as they scattered and hunted cover. Some of the men who were armed began returning the fire from the Rurales.

  The Kid had thought Guzman would stop short of creating an international incident, but obviously he’d been wrong. The crash and boom of guns rose and filled the air above the settlement as the townspeople fought back against the Rurales.

  That broke the back of the charge, but Guzman and a few of his men, along with the scalp hunters, kept coming. The Kid finished thumbing fresh cartridges into his Colt and rose up behind the water trough. The revolver roared and bucked in his hand.

  Above the chaos of battle, he heard the sudden, shrill sound of a bugle. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the cavalry galloping into town from the north. The Kid was surprised that Lt. Nicholson and his patrol were still there, but he was glad to see them. He ducked behind the water trough again as competing storms of lead scythed through the air above him.

  Several riders galloped past the well. The Kid twisted around and saw Kelly, Chess, and Valdez, along with Captain Guzman. The guns in their hands tracked toward him. He sat up with his back against the water trough and fired. His bullet drove into Kelly’s chest and made the leader of the scalp hunters rock back in the saddle. Kelly got off a shot anyway. The slug smacked into the water trough just inches from The Kid’s left shoulder. The Kid triggered again, and Kelly went down, toppling from the back of his horse to land with a puff of dust in the street.

  The sharp crack of a rifle, again and again, made The Kid glance to his right. Jess Ritter had emerged from one of the buildings, still dressed in the Rurale uniform, and the Winchester she carried spouted flame as she levered off round after round. Chess doubled over as at least one bullet ripped through his body. Valdez threw his hands in the air and slid out of his saddle.

  Guzman charged The Kid on horseback. The captain’s revolver was empty, so he threw it aside and ripped a saber from its scabbard at his waist. He slashed down with the blade. The Kid threw himself aside to avoid the razor-sharp edge. Guzman crowded after him, leaning over in the saddle and hacking with the saber even as his horse almost trampled The Kid.

  Jess couldn’t help him now, The Kid thought. With Guzman looming over him so close like that, she couldn’t risk a shot. He twisted away from another slash of the saber and leaped up. His gun was empty, too, so he dropped it and used both hands to grab Guzman’s arm. The Rurales commander shouted in surprise and rage as The Kid dragged him off the horse.

  Both men sprawled in the street. Guzman jabbed the saber’s point toward The Kid, who ducked under it and caught hold of his wrist. With his other hand, The Kid smashed a punch into Guzman’s face. Guzman shook it off and kept trying to turn the blade toward The Kid. As The Kid’s grip slipped for a second, the saber swung free.

  The Kid closed his hand around the blade and felt its edge slice into his palm. He yelled in pain but didn’t let go. Heaving himself up so he would have the advantage of his weight, he twisted the saber at Guzman. The captain’s eyes had just enough time to widen in shock before The Kid drove the blade so deeply into his throat that it grated on bone. Blood fountained in the air from severed veins as Guzman writhed and kicked away the remaining few seconds of his life.

  Then his body sagged back on the ground, limp in death.

  Panting, pulse hammering wildly in his head, The Kid crouched for a second over the Rurales captain before he realized the shooting had stopped. He looked up to see that he was surrounded by blue-uniformed cavalry troopers. Lt. Nicholson was among them. The lieutenant raised the revolver in his hand, and pointed it at The Kid. “Mr. Morgan, you’re under arrest.”

  Chapter 31

  Before The Kid could respond to that, Jess elbowed her way through the ring of troopers and forced herself between Nicholson and The Kid. “Are you insane? You can’t arrest him! He saved us! He went into Mexico and rescued us from those ... those monsters!”

  “Exactly, ma ’ am , ” Nicholson said. “Mr. Morgan crossed the border without proper authorization—”

  The cavalrymen began to step back and come to attention as another officer strode up. He was a short, wiry man with a salt-and-pepper beard.

  “Lieutenant,” the newcomer said sharply, “we’ve talked about this!”

  Nicholson holstered his pistol and stood stiffly at attention. “Yes, sir”—his eyes were straight ahead—“but it still seems to me—”

  “I don’t care how it seems to you, son,” the other officer said, then turned and extended a hand to The Kid. “Let me help you up, Morgan.”

  The Kid clasped the man’s hand and got to his feet. With a nod, he said, “I’m obliged to you, sir.”

  “Colonel Stilwell,” the officer introduced himself. “I rode in with a patrol of my own a couple of days ago and found the lieutenant waiting here in case you came back from your little jaunt south of the border. When he told me who you were and tha
t you were trying to save some kidnapped American women, I figured if anybody could bring them back, it’d be you. So I decided to wait a little while, just in case.” Stilwell chuckled. “I didn’t expect you to bring a bunch of Rurales back with you, too.”

  “There’s going to be trouble over this, sir,” Nicholson warned. “We engaged Mexican troops without authorization—”

  “By my order, Lieutenant,” Stilwell snapped. “My authorization. I’ll take the responsibility, and by God, after forty years of fighting Indians and outlaws out here on this frontier, if anybody tells me I’m not allowed to defend American soil from a foreign invasion, I’ll retire, blast it!”

  “The Rurales didn’t actually cross the border—”

  “That one did.” He pointed at Guzman’s body. “And the others fired over the border and endangered American citizens.”

  Edwin Sago stepped up. “I’ll testify to that, Colonel, if I need to.”

  Nicholson sighed and shook his head. “Very well, sir. But it’s all highly irregular.”

  “When you’ve been out here for a while, son, you may see things differently. Irregular is the order of the day on the frontier.” Stilwell took a cheroot out of his jacket pocket and put it in his mouth unlit as he turned to The Kid. “Now, Morgan, I’ll bet you could use a drink and something to eat.”

  “Yes, sir, I could,” The Kid agreed. Jess was beside him, smiling. He slipped an arm around her, partly out of affection and partly because he was so tired it felt good to have someone to lean on.

  Sago said, “We’ll all pitch in and clean up that mess on the other side of town, Colonel.”

  The Kid looked in that direction. Some of the Rurales had fled, but a number of them were dead.

  Suddenly, at the far end of town, a rider moved into the light that spilled through an open window. The Kid tensed as he recognized Mateo. He hadn’t seen the Yaqui during the fighting. Mateo appeared to be unharmed, and he had a rifle in his hand. For a second The Kid thought he might lift the gun and take a last shot.