Nighthawk

by F. M. Parker

  “If I was to make a guess, I would say it was. The man has had a lot of success in stealing cattle. Much too much, I say. That makes a man grow bold, and maybe a little careless. With luck we may find out who they are tomorrow.”

  “I surely want to get those heifers back for myself and Blackaby. Pass the word to the men there’ll be a bonus in it for them if we succeed.”

  In the half darkness, Edmonton saw Shallow shake his head. “That ain’t necessary. Chasing rustlers is just part of a cowhand’s jot. They don’t expect any extra pay. If you catch one resting in the shade when the sun is hot enough to melt a rock, look the other way. That’s the kind of pay they appreciate.”

  * * *

  “That’s a border marker,” said Corddry, flicking his thumb at a waist-high mound of dark-colored rock. “We are now entering Mexico. For you who haven’t been this way before, there’s a pile of rock every mile east and west. The Army spent months building them after the Mexicans were kicked south.”

  Not one of the weary riders within hearing bothered to acknowledge Corddry’s comments. As the long miles had passed, the pace of the spent and footsore herd had slackened to a crawl. Now, except for one man on point, all the rustlers rode at the rear. They were constantly busy prodding the animals onward.

  Caloon edged his mount beside Russ. “We may be in Mexico, but I don’t think that makes any difference. If you were trailing your stolen herd of cattle, would you stop at the border?”

  “No,” answered Russ, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t mean a thing to me.”

  “Neither will it to the Englishman. By now he must know his heifers are missing. We can barely keep them moving. Soon they will plumb stop. With those savvy cowboys of his, he’ll find us.”

  “You think Raasleer has got us into a bind we can’t get out of?” asked Russ, looking into Caloon’s tired, drawn face.

  “I don’t know. He’s actin’ plenty nervous.”

  “Which direction do you think they’ll hit us from if they catch up?”

  Caloon shrugged his shoulders. “Most likely from the front or side. Best way for them would be to get ahead and let us ride into them.”

  “What in tarnation is going on!” exclaimed Russ. “Here comes the point man riding like all hell is after him.”

  “The Englishman can’t have got ahead of us yet,” responded Caloon. “He couldn’t do it in the dark and it’s just now barely daylight.”

  The man raced up to Raasleer. “Riders coming, fifteen to twenty. They just came out from behind that point of hill, spotted us, and are coming fast.”

  Raasleer emitted a stentorian yell to get all his men’s attention. “Everybody come with me. Get your guns ready. I don’t aim to lose this herd now that we’re so close to getting gold coin for them.” He spurred and his horse sprang into a full run.

  Raasleer pulled up a hundred yards in front of the herd. “Spread out about ten feet apart and stay primed,” he commanded. “Pick your targets soon as they stop. If I pull my gun, you all start shooting.”

  The strange horsemen approached swiftly, the hooves of their mounts beating a loud rumble on the hard ground. In the slanting rays of the early morning sun, bright metallic arrows reflected from their weapons.

  Raasleer saw the oversized sombreros with the broad turned-up brims. A moment later he made out the swarthy faces. “Mexican bandits!” he cried to his gang of rustlers.

  Russ counted the heavily armed men, most with bandoleers across their shoulders. Some wore two belts of cartridges, making a cross in the center of their chests. “Fifteen of them. Do you think they take us for ranch hands out with a herd?”

  Raasleer’s glance, hot and fierce, swept past Corddry and Caloon and caught Russ’s eye for a second. He grinned, showing all his teeth, then looked back at the bandits.

  “What damn bad luck,” Corddry said to Raasleer. “I thought we were going to make it without any trouble.”

  “It’s a good thing they didn’t see us first and hide and attack us from cover,” said Raasleer. “We wouldn’t have had much of a chance then.” He loosened his pistol in its holster and looked hastily left and right to check the readiness of his men. Though outnumbered more than two to one, they still had a chance to come through this with most of them alive.

  He had seen all his men in action and knew they were exceptionally good with guns.

  Grudgingly he admitted to himself Caloon was very good. The kid, Russ, was even better.

  The bandits stopped a hundred yards out and spoke briefly among themselves. Then they came on, walking their steeds and fanning out on both sides of the chief.

  “Sons of bitches act like they mean business,” said Kanttner from Russ’s right.

  Russ felt his blood rushing. He flashed a look at Caloon, next to him off to the left, saw him watching the Mexicans from squinted eyes, his hand resting ready near his six-gun.

  Corddry sat his horse next in line, then Raasleer. The two remaining rustlers, Gredler and Banty, were lined up beyond the leader.

  The bandits were equally divided on both sides of their chief. Russ noted that fact and judged one more man should be with the two rustlers on Raasleer’s left to even up the strength on that side. Too late now to make that correction.

  “There’s going to be some killing in a minute,” said Caloon in a matter-of-fact voice.

  CHAPTER 14

  “There’s a hell of a lot of them,” said Raasleer, critically gauging the long line of bandits drawing close. “But some of their weapons are old and, I hope, not too good. If the chief starts to give an order to the others to attack us, I’ll shoot him. The rest of you open up on the men in front of you. Kill every one of them if the shooting begins.”

  The tension hung heavy between the two bands of men, making the hair on the nape of Russ’s neck twist as if a lightning bolt was about to strike. The dark, bearded faces seemed extremely menacing. His mind chilled with the excitement and danger of the coming battle. He pulled a breath of fresh air deeply into his lungs and let it out slowly.

  The bandits stopped not thirty feet distant. The chief was a squat, powerful man on a good black horse. He called in an unnecessarily loud voice, yet in fair English, “Are you lost?”

  Raasleer laughed roughly. “No, we’re not lost. We’re taking these cattle to Zapata to sell. What do you want?”

  “You are crossing my land for that you should pay me.”

  Raasleer shook his head and answered in a tight voice. “This is open range. There’s not a ranch within thirty miles. Let us pass.”

  The bandit leader did not answer at once. A puzzled expression puckered his brow, then it disappeared with an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders. “Why are there so many with such a small number of cattle?” The look in his eyes said he knew the answer already.

  Russ concentrated on the two Mexicans straight in front of him. The one on the left wore a heavy beard and his long unkempt hair had streaks of gray. He seemed very old still to be riding the bandit trail. The second man, wearing a dirty red shirt, was at least fifteen years younger.

  Which man would be quicker with his gun? Russ decided he would try to kill the older bandit first. There must be some very good reason why he had survived so long.

  Caloon’s voice hissed into Russ’s ear. “Remember, shoot and move; make your horse move. Mexicans usually ain’t as good shots as Americans. So make yourself a moving target.”

  Raasleer, voice edged with warning, sounded again. “We have many riders to kill anyone who should make a mistake and try to steal our cows.”

  The Mexican grinned, showing big teeth, surprisingly white. “There are no bandits here. But you are on my land and for five American dollars for each one of your cows you may cross.” After a slight pause the man added, “Safely.”

  “We have no money, even if we wanted to pay,” said Raasleer.

  The bandit chief straightened slightly. “That is very bad,” said the man. “If you have no money you may
pay me as you return from Zapata. I will be waiting” He emphasized the last word as he reined his horse to the right.

  Russ relaxed, glad the confrontation was ending without bloodshed. He twisted in the saddle to watch Raasleer.

  Just in time to see the rustier leader draw and fire upon the Mexican bandit. But that shot was almost too slow, for the bandit’s turning away had been a trick. Even as he reined his horse to hide his gun hand, he pulled his weapon. Raasleer’s bullet tore through the man’s side, driving him from the saddle.

  Russ was stunned by the sudden clash of the two leaders. Then the danger to himself stung him into action. He stabbed his horse with his right spur and leaned left quickly. He plunged his hand for his revolver. Brought it up, thumbing the hammer back, squeezing the trigger.

  The word had been a signal for the attack and the older bandit had not been surprised. He fired his hand gun as Russ’s pistol cleared leather.

  Russ’s horse, recoiling from the sharp pain of the pointed spur, snatched him from in front of the bandit’s gun. The bullet tugged at Russ’s shirt sleeve as it zipped past.

  He busted the bandit’s heart with the first shot, then threw himself forward to fall along the left side of his horse’s neck. He caught the mane of the horse with his free hand, and swung his gun to line up on the younger Mexican.

  That man’s steed, half rearing in fright at the roar of the guns, partially hid its owner’s body. Russ raised his sight to avoid hitting the horse and shot the man through the bridge of the nose, slamming him backward. He hung there, lying backward on the rump of the horse. Then his feet came loose from the stirrups and he tumbled to the ground.

  Russ jerked back erect in the saddle and whirled to the left to see how his companions near him were faring in the gunfight. Caloon lay on the ground with his horse, one leg pinned beneath the heavy brute. Caloon fired over the top of the dead horse, knocking his second opponent from the saddle.

  Beyond Caloon, Corddry shot twice into the center of the chest of the man opposing him. He had disposed of both his enemies. He pulled a quick, tight rein to control his gun- scared horse.

  Russ swiveled his sight to check Kanttner. The man was bleeding from the side of the face, but he still sat his mount. His only adversary was down.

  Through a cloud of gunpowder smoke that partly obscured his view, Russ hastily looked to the far end of the battleground. Both Gredler and Banty were sprawled on the ground, motionless. As Russ had feared, they had been greatly outnumbered and had been gunned down. They had managed to dispose of only one enemy between them.

  Russ thrust out his six-gun and made a long shot past Raasleer to wound a bandit. Shot again, killing him. At the same instant, Raasleer was firing rapidly and killed another enemy, the third for him.

  The nerves of the four remaining bandits broke and they spurred their horses to escape. Russ jammed his pistol into its holster and jerked his rifle out from under his leg. With one shot, he smashed the nearest bandit to the ground. He drew aim again, on a large man whipping his horse furiously, saw the v-notch and the bead-front sight line up on the center of his back, and knew with certainty he could kill this man and the other two if he wanted to.

  Russ raised the sight of the rifle and blasted the man’s hat from his head.

  The men slunk lower in the saddles and flogged their straining ponies. Russ laughed and he sucked in a lungful of air; even with the heavy smell of gunpowder, it was goddamn sweet. He savored the glorious feeling of a battle won and still being alive.

  Caloon watched Russ, seeing the willingness to fight, more than that, the desire to do battle. The killer instinct was growing in his strong young friend. Yet hadn’t he missed with the last shot on purpose, hit the hat instead of the man?

  Raasleer had also observed Russ’s finish of the fight. How many Mexicans had Russ killed? Three? Four? Raasleer saw the change of target to the hat. There was still a taint of softness in the young gunman, an emotion that could slow a man’s gun.

  In the startling quietness after the crash of six-gun and rifle, Russ let his eyes drift across the enemy’s portion of the dueling ground. He counted twelve bandits slumped in awkward mounds on the ground. Three of their horses were down, caught in the fusillade of bullets.

  During the five seconds of battle, he had killed four men. Every shot had gone exactly to his point of aim. He was confident he could fire again or many times with the same precision.

  He twisted around to stare past Corddry at Raasleer. I must stop you before you hurt the girl. If I kill you and Corddry, the gang will fall apart. Is now the time to try and do it?

  Raasleer sensed the danger to him and focused his attention on Russ. He did not blink, for Russ could draw and kill quicker than that. He held the younger man’s look and recognized the fearless animal, sure of its skill.

  You are very, very good with a gun, thought Raasleer. But I can still beat you. So make your play.

  Corddry saw the tenseness in Raasleer and also twisted around to face Russ.

  Caloon called from the ground, “Get this damn horse off me. I think it’s broken my leg.”

  Russ hesitated, doubtful if he should take his eyes off Raasleer. It was either start the play or let it drop. If it could be dropped. And Kanttner was behind him, would shoot him in back, for that man would take up Raasleer’s fight.

  Russ grinned at Raasleer and Corddry to break the tension and stepped down from his horse. He glanced at Kanttner and found him mopping at the wound on his face with a dirty neckerchief.

  “That doesn’t look bad, just a crease,” said Russ. “Help me lift the horse off Caloon.”

  Kanttner pressed the cloth tightly to sop up the blood one last time, then climbed down. “A horse’s weight goes from a thousand pounds to a ton the minute he s,” he growled.

  Russ took a firm hold on the mane and ear of the dead animal. Kanttner moved in close to the thick body, squatted down, and positioned the front legs up under his arm.

  “Get set,” said Russ, “now

  They heaved mightily in unison and the horse rose a hand’s breadth clear of the ground. Caloon pulled his leg free and sat rubbing it. “That damn Mexican shot my pony after he was dead. I had him already nailed right through the heart and he still squeezed the trigger.”

  Gingerly he stood up and began to hobble about, testing the injured limb. “Not broken, just bruised. I’ll be good as new in a day or two.”

  “Good,” said Russ. He loosened the cinch of Caloon’s saddle and with a powerful wrench of his shoulders dragged the stirrup from under the horse.

  Raasleer rode up and dismounted. “Gredler and Banty are dead, and nothing we can do for them. Let’s search the Mexicans and see what they have that’s worth taking.”

  ‘They look mighty poorly to me,” said Caloon. “I don’t expect we’ll find much.”

  “Let’s take what we want and get out of here,” said Russ in a stiff voice. He was anxious to be a long distance from the smell of dead men and horses. Already the flies were starting to gather and crawl on the thickening blood.

  “Some of the ponies look good,” observed Kanttner.

  “All right, let’s get it done,” said Raasleer. “Don’t keep anything that can be identified. Most everything they have will be stolen. Any ponies we don’t want take the saddles off and turn them loose.”

  Russ stalked away to begin a quick rummage through the belongings of the four bandits he had killed. Ten minutes later he surveyed his booty. Five ten-dollar gold pieces and a handful of silver had been found. One rifle and two pistols were worth keeping. He selected the best mount of the four and put a lead rope on it.

  Swinging astride his own mount, he leaned on the pommel of the saddle and watched the other men at their ghastly scavenging. The stink of death had grown worse and hung like a pall over the scene. He felt sick. He moved upwind of the stench, toward the cattle.

  “That all you going to take?” called Kanttner.

  Russ nodded shor
tly.

  “Then I’m going to take that horse and saddle.” He took hold of the bridle of the horse the older bandit had been riding.

  “Found me a fair horse,” said Caloon, riding up to Russ, “and about thirty dollars. I was right, they were a poor bunch of bastards.”

  “‘Bout as sorry as we are,” muttered Russ.

  Caloon tried to interpret his partner’s meaning. “Better to kill bandits than honest men,” he said.

  “What we’re doing is bad work and I feel like I want to puke.”

  “Then why in hell don’t you get out of here?” flared Caloon.

  In a voice iced with determination, Russ replied, “I’ve got two men to kill.”

  Caloon’s anger turned to surprise. “Anyone I know?”

  Russ stared into the face of his partner, a man prone to do violence, and knew he could not tell him. Caloon was just apt to take on the job himself. Russ would tell him later.

  Caloon waited for a moment, then determined be was not to be told. “I can see you’re not inclined to say. So what do you plan to do after that little chore is finished?”

  “I haven’t thought beyond that.”

  * * *

  Edmonton and his crew of cowboys slept on the ground in a patch of tall brush. Shallow alone was awake and he sprawled on a high, rocky point of country a hundred yards from the others. The spindly limbs and narrow leaves of a palo verde tree gave him meager shade. It was near noon and not one living thing moved; even his companions below were hidden from his view by the desert brush.

  They had reached the border an hour into the day with not one track of the stolen herd having been found during the long, exhausting night of search. Somehow the rustlers had evaded them, probably during the storm, Shallow decided. He tried to calculate which direction the outlaws had turned, east or west?—or had they holed up someplace to wait out the pursuers?

  This was a big land, and the mountains, with their screening cover of brush, had a thousand secret hiding places. To a stranger it was a desolate place without water. Shallow, however, knew that within five or, at the most, ten miles in any direction he could find enough water for two hundred cows. The rustlers must also know where there were water holes.