Nighthawk

by F. M. Parker

  Lafe spat in the dust. “Don’t plan to go anywhere. The land’s ours.”

  “Just to be neighborly, I’ll give you one hundred dollars for your cattle and everything.”

  “Neighborly, bullshit!” cursed Tamblin. “You’re a robber if that’s all you think our place is worth.”

  “It’s either that or a shallow grave,” warned Corddry.

  “I still say bullshit to you, mister. And I think you should know my son with a rifle is over there behind that rock.”

  “We saw him plain enough. But there’s four of us.” It looked like a kid in the rock, and that did not bother Corddry much.

  Russ tightened the rein on his horse and the beast began to back up slowly, a step at a time. Corddry noted the movement and, believing Russ was not to be trusted, grew concerned. But Corddry did not take his sight from the angry eyes of Tamblin. That decrepit old coyote seemed willing to fight them all.

  Lafe saw the gunman on the right pulling back. He almost glanced that direction. Goddamn them, were they going to spread out on him? Should he touch his nose? Would Sam shoot? If she did that would take them off guard and he could kill one, maybe two of them.

  Russ was now far enough to the rear to see the backs of all three outlaws. Dazell turned toward him, suspicious. Russ stared back, keeping his face flat and emotionless. He thought, You sure as hell had better worry which side I’m going to be on if shooting starts.

  The silence was broken by the sharp tattoo of a running horse. Dan Tamblin charged in to bring his mount to a sliding stop beside his father.

  Lafe Tamblin grinned wickedly. “Now there’s three Tamblins. That’s worth four of anybody else.”

  Corddry was caught between the two men facing him, the kid threatening from the rocks, and the unknown intention of Russ behind. Corddry did not like the odds.

  “I’ll give you a week to get out of the Growler Mountains,” said Corddry. “Take your livestock and leave.”

  “Let’s kill them, Dan,” whispered Lafe from the corner of his mouth. “If we let them leave they’ll shoot us from ambush later.”

  “No, let them go. Sam’s in danger. Watch close for they may turn back on us.”

  Corddry whirled his horse and spurred away. The others followed with Russ bringing up the rear.

  In the rocks, Samantha lowered the hammer on her rifle with trembling hands and watched the outlaws ride away. She paid special attention to the straight, broad back of the young outlaw. A tear trickled down her cheek.

  CHAPTER 17

  Corddry seethed with anger. He had backed down from a fight in front of Dazell and Steen. And the reason for that was the man Russ. Goddamn his treacherous hide.

  For a brief moment Corddry considered riding off a distance and then sneaking back and shooting the Tamblins without warning. He cast a look at Russ in the rear. That man was watching him with a threatening eye.

  If the man was not going to back the actions of the rest of the gang, why was he still trailing along? Why not pull out and go his own way? Corddry considered the questions. No answers came. He made his plan. I’ll kill you the first time I catch you off guard or sleeping.

  The rustlers halted long enough at the spring near the cabin to water the horses and fill their canteens. Then they crossed up and over Growler and down into the valley on the west.

  Russ did not trust Corddry. He held the tail end position on the narrow trails. When they spread out to ride the flat land, he kept Dazell and Steen between himself and Raasleer’s right-hand man. The back shooter.

  When the group of men entered a broad gravelly area with a steep-sided arroyo cutting through, Corddry slowed and reined sideways as if searching for a way to cross. Russ marked the change, one that would put Corddry behind him. He halted, pushed his hat to the back of his head, and pulled out a bandana to mop the sweat from his forehead. He held himself alert, wary of Corddry’s intention.

  Dazell had observed the jockeying for position between the two men for several hours now. He was growing annoyed by it. A sudden shoot-out betwixt them could catch him in the middle. Quite deliberately, he turned his mount and faced them, concentrating mostly on Russ.

  Steen had also noticed the byplay between Corddry and Russ, and he turned with Dazell, ready to back his hand.

  Russ nonchalantly pocketed his bandana with his left hand. Corddry knew where the new hideout was, where Caloon could be found. And Russ wanted to find his partner and get him away to safety before Corddry talked with Raasleer. Once the rustler chief heard that Russ had prevented the killing of the rancher, all the gang would be against Caloon. For hadn’t Caloon said he would be responsible for Russ’s actions?

  But there was another way to protect his friend. Kill these three, if he could, before they returned to camp.

  He measured Dazell. The man was an unknown. How fast was he with a six-gun? Faster than Steen, Russ felt certain.

  Dazell stared back, showing no fear, only annoyance. Russ glanced at Steen very briefly. He would leave the man for last if a gunfight started.

  Russ grinned at Corddry, Iris eyes boring in like augers. “Well, Corddry, do you have something to say to me?” Russ’s voice rang.

  Corddry struggled not to show his dread of having to draw against Russ. He knew the swift sureness of the gun threatening him. He studiously kept his hand away from his pistol. His furtive eyes slid away.

  Dazell saw Corddry blanch beneath his tan. Why was he so afraid of this fellow, hardly a man? Then Russ’s daring eyes probed at Dazell.

  “Are you taking up Corddry’s argument against me, Dazell?”

  Before Dazell could respond, Corddry called out in a taut voice. “Let’s get on to the hideout.”

  He knew that if those two fought, there would be no way to stop the battle until either Russ or the three of them were dead. Corddry thought he could very likely be the first target of Russ’s gun. He spurred his mustang down into the arroyo. Dazell shrugged and wheeled his mount after Corddry. Steen fell next in line.

  * * *

  Camp was made on the flat floor of the desert fifteen miles from the Kofas. Russ sat on his bedroll and ate by himself. The other three men avoided him.

  Dusk settled in and Russ lay down to rest. Later when it grew dark, he silently gathered up his blankets and slipped into the blackness along a route memorized while there was still light. A hundred feet away, among cholla cactus with their thousands of needle thorns, he again spread his bed to sleep. No one could reach him in the darkness without his hearing them.

  Sometime during the night, he heard a man stumble into something and curse in pain. Then there was whispering, and finally all was quiet.

  Russ arose before the sun gave the slightest hint of light in the sky. His gear was quickly packed and a horse saddled.

  The others heard him moving about and awoke. At once they prepared to leave. They chewed on dried meat and fruit as they traveled. The sun came up and dissolved the shadows, exposing the towering bulk of the Kofas close on the northwest.

  * * *

  The four riders climbed the lower flank of the mountain. Russ noted the course was three miles south of where it would have been had they returned to the old camp. He checked the steep, broken terrain ahead and made a guess as to where the hideout would most probably be.

  An hour later, after passing one lookout, they found the camp. The horses were blowing hard, for Corddry had set a fast pace.

  Several members of the gang lounged about in the shade of some stunted juniper near the horse remuda. Caloon sat off by himself, propped against the bole of a tree.

  Corddry stopped near Berdugo. “Where’s Raasleer?” lie asked.

  “Him and Kanttner just rode out that way.” The Mexican pointed around the side of the mountain.

  Corddry left immediately in the direction indicated. Russ watched him and knew he had little time to get Caloon and himself away to safety. Corddry would report to Raassleer and that man would straightaway take action against
them.

  Russ dismounted beside Caloon. “Talk low,” he said in a hushed voice. “Where are your horses?”

  Caloon looked up quizzically. “Over there grazing,” he said, and chucked a thumb at a grassy area surrounded on three sides by ragged fingers of juniper.

  “Damn, that’s a long ways,” said Russ, mentally measuring the thousand feet or so to the pasture. Then he returned his sight to Caloon. “Now Raasleer will be trying to kill us in a few minutes, quick as Corddry can catch him and bring him back. Grab your saddle and let’s get over there and catch your fresh horses. Raasleer can catch us if we ride these tired ones.”

  Russ stepped off, leading his two mounts. Caloon climbed to his feet, slung his saddle over his shoulder and, taking long steps to catch up, fell in beside his partner. Dazell saw them leave and began to speak to the other men.

  “What happened that Raasleer would want to kill us anymore than he already does?” asked Caloon.

  “I wouldn’t help them kill the rancher and they are damn mad about it,” said Russ, wondering what Caloon would have done had he been there.

  “You’re not cut out to be a rustler,” said Caloon.

  “Neither one of us should be. Not even you.”

  “Don’t be too sure about that.”

  “Raasleer will kill you for what I did if you stay here,” said Russ.

  “I think he’d like an excuse to gun me,” Caloon agreed.

  They entered the lower end of the grassy area. The mustangs had drifted apart and were grazing on the upper end of clearing.

  “You take the pony on the left; he’s easier to catch,” said Caloon.

  “Are they hobbled?” asked Russ.

  “Yes. Both are.”

  Russ knew a tinge of panic. Everything was going wrong, taking precious time they could not spare. The whole outlaw gang would soon be organized against them. Ten guns could not be beaten.

  “Hurryl” said Russ. He dropped the reins of his horses and moved swiftly tip the slope toward the nearest animal.

  Caloon struck off after the far mount.

  * * *

  Raasleer, followed by Corddry and Kanttner, sped into camp. With a commanding swing of his long arm, he called all the men around him.

  “Where is Caloon and the kid?” Raasleer spoke hard and fast.

  Berdugo answered. “They went off that way with Caloon carrying his saddle.”

  Raasleer looked, saw Caloon and Russ in the opening, far from cover. He smiled grimly. “Those two are plain trouble. Have been since the day they came. And now it looks like their luck has plumb run out.”

  He faced his men. “Corddry, Kanttner, and Jones, you’re all good with a rifle. And you, Dazell, are you good with a long gun?”

  “He’s one of the best,” volunteered Speegle.

  “Good,” said Raasleer. “You four take your rifles and go kill those two. Shoot them while they’re out there with no place to hide. Split up into pairs, two of you on one of them. Shoot from a distance long enough they can’t hit you with their six-guns.”

  “What about the rest of you?” asked Corddry.

  “We’ll go take care of the rancher in the Growlers. We’ll round up his cows and take them to Mexico. The four of you, when you finish with Caloon and his sidekick, herd up all the cows we have stashed away and drive them to Mexico, too. Now the Englishman may still be out there some place near the border, so drive west for two days then go south in a big looping curve to Zapata.”

  Corddry was skeptical about trying to kill Caloon and his partner. “Why don’t you help us shoot those two men?”

  Raasleer shook his head. “If all of us try to slip up on them, we’ll be spotted and they’ll know something is up. Are you afraid, Corddry?”

  Dazell spoke, not liking Corddry’s whining. “We can shoot them easy. Just sit back a couple of hundred yards and blast the hell out of them. Now let’s go get it done.”

  “Just to make you feel better, I’ll wait until it’s over,” said Raasleer to Corddry. “The rest of you men pack for a fast trip to the Growlers. It’ll be nearly dark when we get there. We’ll catch them off guard at supper and afterward we’ll sleep in their soft beds. Maybe they have women and n it’ll be an interesting night.”

  Chuckling, the men hastened to pack and saddle.

  * * *

  Caloon walked toward the horse busily grazing on the mountain grass about a hundred yards up the hill from him. He let his eyes range to the left to see how Russ was doing catching the pony on the opposite side of the meadow.

  A flicker of something moving in the evergreens beyond Russ caught Caloon’s attention. It disappeared, then showed again, two men slipping from juniper to juniper. They were stalking Russ, only a short rifle shot distant.

  A sudden alarming thought caused Caloon to spin to the rear. Yes, two men were just fading into the trees after crossing the lower end of the clearing. They carried rifles. They were after him.

  Caloon cursed himself for having left his long gun with the saddle. Still, he was confident he could make the juniper, barely a hundred yards to his right. Once there, his chances for survival would be good; a pistol was almost as effective, under cover, as a rifle.

  He prepared to run for it. First a shout of warning to his partner. He turned to call out.

  The two men he had seen earlier were kneeling in the edge of the juniper and aiming with their rifles. Russ was still oblivious of the impending attack.

  Caloon knew it was too late to yell out and explain the danger. And he knew he should be racing this very minute for the safety of the juniper thicket. But Russ was a dead man if he was not alerted instantly. Caloon drew and fired, low and in front of Russ.

  Russ heard the shot, saw the ground explode in a geyser of dust and gravel not a yard ahead. By reflex he hurled himself to the dirt and rolled toward a sunken place in the earth.

  The crash of rifles ripped across the mountainside. Bullets slammed the ground and ricocheted away with shrill, deadly whines.

  The hole was hardly deep enough to hide him. A chunk of lead creased his back. Another showered him with dirt when it hit close on the rim of the hollow.

  Russ realized the first bullet had come from the right where Caloon should have been. Was his partner warning him? The rain of lead stopped and Russ eased up to check on his comrade.

  Caloon was bolting for the woods at an amazing speed. His hat sailed away from his head. From behind the man a fusillade of rifle fire roared. Russ saw Caloon miss a step, then fold and strike the earth. He was up fast. Limping badly, he struggled for the juniper only a few feet away.

  A shot struck Caloon. Russ saw him jerk under the impact. He nearly fell, but caught himself and staggered forward. Almost simultaneously two chunks of lead tore him to the ground.

  On the slope near the camp, Raasleer listened to the rifle shots from two different locations. He turned with a satisfied smile to the five men sitting their ponies near him. “Corddry and the others have killed them. Now we’ll go do our job.”

  The outlaws spurred noisily down the rocky grade toward the Palomas Desert, and beyond that, the Growler Mountains.

  Russ peered through the grass growing on the lip of the hollow. His enemies were squatting on the fringe of the evergreens and speedily reloading their weapons. He rotated his view to discover the location of Caloon’s killers. He found them at a range twice as long and also cramming shells into their rifles.

  Never again would all four guns be empty at the exact time. Russ sucked in a lung full of air, sprang from the hole, and dashed for the nearest juniper. Every ounce of his strength went into his churning legs, his reaching feet. His eyes were rivetted on that tree. Could he run with two slugs in him, if he had to, like Caloon?

  A second stretched endlessly. The juniper came closer so very slowly. He never heard the shot, but the bullet whizzed past in front of his face. A second plucked at his leg.

  Run! Run! The green woods were less than a room’s width
away. Then he plunged into them. He continued to run for an additional fifty yards, halted abruptly, and turned straight for his enemies.

  They had killed Caloon without giving him a chance. Could they also kill him? The four of them could if he did not ambush them. They deserved to be shot in the back.

  A juniper, perhaps twice the height of a man and quite broad, grew by itself in a small clearing. It had many limbs, densely covered with needles. The thick foliage extended from the ground to the very topmost crown of the tree.

  Russ parted the long tree limbs and pushed deeply into them, until he was pressed tightly to the trunk of the tree, completely hidden. He waited, perfectly motionless and facing in the direction from which he had come.

  A minute passed. A second, then three. His breathing was slow now and silent.

  On the opposite side of the tree, a twig snapped. A barely audible scuff of a foot came from his right. Two men came around the juniper and stopped, not twenty feet away.

  Russ raised his arm, parted the branches noiselessly, and aimed his six-gun at the nearest man. “Corddry,” he whispered.

  The mail winded. Russ shot his heart out.

  Instantly he shifted his gun to Kanttner and killed him before he could point his weapon.

  Russ rested his arm on a limb and stilled the tremor that was trying to start. What a terrible way to kill men. Giving them no chance. He clinched his teeth. Just like they had killed Caloon.

  He waited. Have patience, he cautioned himself. They heard the shots and will come.

  Nothing moved. There was absolutely no sound. He seriously considered taking one of the rifles and going after the two remaining men. Each time the idea tempted him, he fought it back.

  Time passed. A breeze stirred the top of the juniper. He could make out Corddry’s feet through a small opening in the foliage.

  A man’s whisper startled Russ. “Damnation. They’re both dead.”

  Russ shifted his head ever so slightly. Dazell stood beside the body. His vigilant eyes were sweeping the trees all around. Jones crouched near him, his rifle poised.

  “Both shot,” Dazell whispered again. “Look, they’re laying right together. Killed without them getting off a shot. How could that be?”