Nighthawk

by F. M. Parker

  Russ saw Dazell look at the dead men, evaluating the wounds. Then the man turned to directly face his hiding place.

  “In the tree!” Dazell screamed and with lightning speed brought up his rifle.

  Russ shot Dazell in the center of the chest. Jones fired into the tree, missing. Russ returned the shot and saw Jones collapse.

  Russ pushed out of the enclosing branches of the juniper. He wasted no time on the men. Let the buzzards pick their bones. With hasty steps, he went to his friend. The man had given his life to warn him.

  Caloon lay on his face. Gently Russ turned him over.

  The man’s eyes opened slowly, heavily. “All dead?” he asked, his voice a murmur that Russ, in great surprise, strained to hear.

  “All dead, you tough old bastard,” said Russ huskily, his eyes growing moist. “You saved my life.”

  “Always was a little crazy at times,” whispered Caloon. He coughed and the pain blanked out his eyes for a moment.

  Russ saw the gaping wounds in the man, the blood in great pools on the ground, and did not know how he continued to live.

  As if answering Russ’s silent question, Caloon whispered again. “I couldn’t die until I knew if you were alive.”

  He tried to raise his hand to touch his young friend, but could not make the hand move. “It’s good to die with a friend near.” The whisper trailed away to a soft exhaling of air. Then even that ended.

  CHAPTER 18

  Beneath the vast bowl of the pale, blue sky, the big sorrel ran easily, swinging his powerful legs, devouring mile after mile of the cactus-and-brush-studded Palomas Desert. Russ rode effortlessly, his body meshed with the rhythm of the mustang’s stride. A second horse, a tall gray on a long lead rope, trailed behind.

  After Caloon’s death, Russ scouted the camp for other members of the gang. It was empty with many tracks heading down into the desert.

  Russ sighted along the course, and saw the six outlaws had set a beeline for the Growler Mountains in the far distance. He knew what their intentions were, and, further, that Raasleer had a five or six-mile head start. A great fear arose in him that the killers would reach the girl and her family before he could arrive and help them.

  He hurriedly caught Caloon’s two horses and threw a saddle upon one. He left at once, hounding the trail of the rustlers.

  At the bank of the Gila River, Russ pulled the horses down to a walk. The river was shallow and they waded across and entered the Sentinel Desert. He let the ponies walk for another half mile then touched the one he rode with spurs and pushed him into a canter.

  Two hours later he changed the saddle to the second horse and turned the first animal, blown and lathered with sweat, loose to fend for its self. Russ was weary; he had ridden fifty miles since daylight. Yet a few miles later, when his mount began to falter in its ascent of the steep west flank of the Growler, he stepped down and finished climbing the mountain on foot.

  Russ reached the top and remounted. When he came out of the confining walls of the pass, he heard faint gunshots at the base of the mountain. They continued sporadically. The Tamblins were still alive, or at least one was. Russ began a rapid descent, crowding the horse recklessly down the east face.

  He checked the sun. There was an hour of daylight, then an hour of dusk before the darkness. With the darkness would come death to the Tamblins.

  * * *

  In the upper end of Growler Valley, the Englishman found tracks of several horses coming from the northwest. He discussed the discovery with Prim Herrera and Shallow. Herrera, after hiding for a day and resting from his gunshot wound, had made his way to Edmonton’s camp to inform him of his relative’s death and the rustler gang’s departure. Disappointed by the ease with which Raasleer had slipped past m, the rancher had struck out for home.

  Now evaluating the sign on the ground, Edmonton realized outlaws would have had time to return to their hideout and be off on another raid on some unsuspecting rancher’s cattle. Except this time I am only an hour behind you with twelve good men on strong horses, and there is no storm in the sky to hide you.

  “Let’s go!” he cried to his men. “This time we shall not fail.”

  Like a pack of aroused hunting dogs they eagerly took to the trail.

  * * *

  Russ warily approached the head of the valley that contained the cabin and spring. He rode the low swales and used every bit of cover offered by the sparse, waist-high brush on the mountainside. No shots had sounded for some time.

  When close enough to discern details, he stopped on a bluff a few hundred feet above the spring to reconnoiter. How was the fight going? Where was the enemy?

  The telescope came out and he began to scan the land below. He saw a man with ten or twelve horses hidden in a hollow down the creek from the cabin.

  A rifle cracked from the brush and rock to the right of the house. A quick shot answered from a window on that side. The Tamblins were still able to fight.

  Russ now had two members of the gang located. The others were hidden there someplace on the hillside, waiting for the defenders to make a mistake and expose themselves to their guns, or for night to fall and cover their frontal attack upon the cabin.

  The sun was sinking rapidly and bringing long shadows into the valley. A lone hawk flew up from the desert, heading for its nighttime perch on the high crags of the mountain. He saw the humans below and veered off abruptly to go around.

  Russ tied his horse and moved to the opposite end of the bluff in preparation to slip closer to the battle ground and take a hand in the fighting. A sharp bird whistle floated down from the ridge above him. Russ hunched low and, concentrating on the valley, did not turn to look.

  The whistle sounded again, more imperative. He tossed a glance in that direction. The skinny old Indian called Raven, holding a rifle in the crook of his arm, stood looking at him. His hand came up in greeting.

  In deep surprise, Russ raised his hand and returned the salute. Surely the Apaches were not the ones attacking the Tamblins. The track of Raasleer’s gang had led directly to this location.

  Raven whistled again—a different call—and a few seconds later Rock That Rolls and Sun Wolf glided in smoothly to stand near him. Silent as shadows, they came down the slope toward Russ.

  All three warriors seated themselves. Russ squatted facing them. He looked at the wound on the young brave. Like a young, wild animal, the Indian boy-man was healing quickly and thoroughly.

  The Indian touched his old injury, prodded it to show there was no pain. Russ nodded his understanding.

  The third Indian was the big warrior who had threatened Russ with the rifle in the rainstorm, days past. He was only slightly more friendly now. As Russ waited for the Indians to explain their presence here, three more warriors cat-footed in quietly from the brush.

  Raven asked in a hushed voice, “Which are your people?”

  “The ones in the cabin,” answered Russ, also keeping his voice low. “Why are you here?”

  “We plan to take what is left after the battle is over,” said Raven.

  “The men in the rocks are outlaws, killers. They are the ones that did that.” Russ pointed to the wound on Rock That Rolls. “But the people in house are my friends. I ask you not to harm them.”

  “We owe you nothing,” said Sun Wolf, his tone unfriendly.

  “That is correct,” agreed Russ. “But are the Apaches eagles who take what they want, or are they buzzards that eat the carrion after stronger men fight?”

  Sun Wolfs face became ferocious and he started to raise his rifle. Even Raven showed anger, but he controlled it and said, “We have only a handful of warriors now because we fought like the eagle, and we died bravely like the eagle. From now on we must be more cunning and less seen than the fox if we are to continue as a people.”

  Russ recognized the wisdom in Raven’s words. “My tongue is not that of a friend and my mind is dull,” said Russ in apology. “Your people need horses and guns and gold to buy
other things. Will you help me kill all the men in the rocks for two thousand dollars in gold and many strong mustangs?” He felt confident that among all the outlaws there would be two thousand dollars.

  Sun Wolf shook his head. ‘We will have all those things and much more by the time the sun comes up

  “If you do what I ask, you will have friends who may be of great help to you someday.”

  The Ancient One removed his view from the white man and looked at the faces of his people. Except for Sun Wolf and himself, they were all young. Their fathers and uncles were now dust. White friends might help these last members of his tribe survive; perhaps there was no other way they could survive. “How can we slay them without many of us also dying?”

  “I will call their chief out and fight him,” said Russ. “While his men are watching, you slip upon them and destroy them with those.” He pointed to the rifles the braves carried.

  The Indians talked among themselves in their own language. Raven spoke at length to them.

  Finally Sun Wolf turned to Russ. “The Ancient One has again convinced me to help you.”

  “There are six of my enemies,” said Russ. “Do you know where all are hidden?”

  “Yes, we know,” said Sun Wolf. “Which one will you fight?”

  “He is a very tall man, thin like the saguaro cactus. Do you know where he is?”

  Sun Wolf motioned Russ to follow. They crawled to where they could look down onto the cabin and the surrounding valley and hillsides.

  “The man you talk about is there on the other side in the rocks.” He pointed.

  “Good. How much time will you need to get your warriors ready?”

  “We want none of them to escape, so I will kill the man with their mustangs first. After that is done, I will signal from there with this.” He touched the dirty white cotton shirt he wore. “Only you from up here will be able to see me. Then, while you hold the eyes of the other enemies, my people will slay them.”

  Sun Wolf left silently, collecting the others behind him. Russ never once saw them as they stole across the hillside to take up positions against their prey.

  After a few minutes, Sun Wolf’s white shirt flashed from the hollow where the horses were. Russ knew one rustler was dead. Would the next man to die be himself?

  Staying concealed in the brush, Russ called out loudly. “Raasleer, do you hear me?”

  Complete silence held in the valley.

  “Raasleer, you cowardly bastard, do you hear me?” cried Russ at the top of his lungs, wanting all the outlaws to hear.

  “I hear you,” responded Raasleer angrily, his voice booming. “What do you want?”

  “You dead. I’m going to kill you.”

  Raasleer’s laugh came rolling over the hillside. “Where’s your crazy sidekick?”

  “He’s dead, murdered by your back-shooting gang. Are you a back shooter too, Raasleer, or will you face me man to man?” taunted Russ.

  “Where’s Corddry and the others?” called Raasleer.

  “Dead. Same as my partner. Are you going to stand up and show all your men how fast you are with a six-gun?”

  “I should’ve killed you long ago,” said Raasleer savagely. “Come on down and make your stand.”

  “We come out in the open at the same time,” responded Russ. “Tell your men not to shoot.”

  “Hold your fire,” called Raasleer loudly, confidently. “All of you hold your fire. I’ll take care of this. Won’t take but a minute. All right, kid. I’ll meet you down the draw around that first bend. I don’t want the rancher to shoot me after I blast you.”

  “I agree,” said Russ. Very carefully he checked his six-gun. Then crouched down below the tops of the brush and worked across the grade of the hill.

  Just downstream from where the channel curved stiffly to the right, the slopes of the hill retreated back and allowed the bottom to double in width to nearly two hundred yards. At the edge of the flat, Russ hesitated in a clump of brush and scanned the area selected by Raasleer for the shoot-out. The flat was without brush. The cabin was out of sight, upstream some five hundred feet. Just downstream from him, the irrigated meadow began. The water from the spring flowed in a rocky bed in the center of the valley bottom straight in front of him.

  Raasleer moved out of the protective cover of the desert brush and into the open. Russ stood up straight and stepped onto the floor of the valley to meet him.

  For a short moment, Russ stopped and gazed up at the sky. He breathed deeply, then exhaled slowly. The most dangerous challenge of his life was just seconds away. He had seen Raasleer draw and shoot with unbelievable swiftness and accuracy. Had he made a mistake in challenging him?

  Russ dropped his view to the rustier chief. The man walked steadily, drawing closer, yet at too long a distance for pistols. Russ strode forward to confront him.

  The space between the two men narrowed to fifty yards, then less. Get ready, Raven, thought Russ, you and your people must kill the outlaws even if I lose the fight. Pretty Girl Tamblin, I hope you have a long and happy life.

  Russ could make out Raasleer’s face now, but it was devoid of life, as noncommittal as a rock. There would be no telltale expression there to show when he was going to draw his weapon.

  They stopped as of one accord, each staring directly into the other’s face. Except for the uncaring water of the brook making its liquid noises on the rocks at their feet, the valley was perfectly silent.

  Why wait for Raasleer? thought Russ. Why give him the edge of starting first? Russ brought his hand up, fingering his six-gun from its holster.

  Raasleer, the expert gunman, read the young man’s decision before it was fully made. His hand blurred, coming up with his pistol. Flame lanced out at his enemy.

  Russ’s gun was already bucking in his hand, the bullet slugging Raasleer in the chest, knocking his shot partially off mark. Russ felt a blow on his left side. He fired again, into the heart of his opponent.

  Raasleer staggered. His face twisted with surprise, then went blank. He fell backward heavily.

  In the rocks on the hillside, a volley of shots crashed. Followed a moment later by the piercing victory cry of the Apache warriors. Russ thought he recognized the voice of the old Indian, Raven.

  Russ began to hurt. He ran his fingers over the side of his rib cage beneath his left arm. Raasleer’s slug had been boring for his lungs, but it had been off target and the heavy chest bones had deflected it. The speeding slug had torn a deep groove in the flesh, extending from front to back.

  Russ pressed his arm tightly against his side, trying to slow the flow of blood that poured out hot and wet.

  The Indians, no longer trying to stay hidden, became visible angling up across the mountainside. Sun Wolf, riding one of the rustler’s horses and leading the remainder, hastened to catch the rest of the warriors. As he overtook a brave, the man would swing astride one of the ponies. Soon all were mounted and moving swiftly, disappeared from sight.

  Russ heard footsteps coming close. He turned, holding his six-gun ready. The older Tamblin trotted toward him. Behind him a few paces came the girl and the third Tamblin. All carried rifles.

  “You all right?” asked Lafe, seeing the crimson stain working its way down Russ’s side.

  “Got nicked somewhat,” said Russ and holstered his gun.

  “Damn good work,” Lafe said and looking down at Raasleer’s body. “Doesn’t look like much dead.”

  “Not much of a looker alive either,” said Russ, grimacing as the pain built up.

  “Probably not. I hope your Indian friends killed all the other bushwhackers in the rocks,” said Dan.

  “I’m certain they did.”

  “Oh, stop talking,” interjected Samantha. “Can’t you see he’s hurt and needs help?” She walked up very close and tenderly took hold of his arm on the wounded side.

  Russ gazed deeply into her eyes. She had touched him.

  Dare he touch her? He put out his hand and brushed her ch
eeks with his fingertips, enjoying the contact, the feel of the perfect smoothness of her skin.

  The color came rushing into her face and he took his hand away.

  “The Indians are coming back,” said Dan in a warning voice.

  With a rumble of hooves on the hard ground, the warriors rode up to stop near Russ and the Tamblins. The braves had shifted to their own ponies and now led the rustlers’ mounts.

  Raven looked down at Raasleer’s body and then at Russ. “You would make a good Apache warrior,” he said.

  Sun Wolf pulled a leather pouch from his belt. “Found more gold than the two thousand dollars. Here.” He tossed the bag to Russ.

  Russ caught it. “You keep it,” he said and reached up to offer it back.

  “No,” said Sun Wolf firmly. “The price was agreed on.”

  One of the braves called out sharply in his own language. All the Indians turned to look up the mountain toward the pass.

  Raven twisted back to look at Russ. “Many men on ponies coming. We must go now.”

  “I wish you long lives,” said Russ. He put his hand up in farewell.

  “A long life,” repeated Raven. There was a wistful look behind his eyes. He raised his hand, palm out, toward Russ.

  Sun Wolf spoke to his mustang and the animal bolted away at a full run. The other warriors thundered after him, dragging the captured horses.

  “The bleeding needs to be stopped,” said Lafe. He moved up and tore Russ’s shirt open to expose the wound. “Not all that bad. I bet it smarts some and it’s bleeding fairly heavy. But we can stop that. Long as it doesn’t get infected, you’ll be good as new in a week or two.”

  “Grandfather, do you think these men that are coming will hurt him?” asked Samantha.

  “Well, are they after you?” questioned Lafe, his eyes intently probing Russ’s face.

  “Too late to worry about that now,” said Dan. “Here they come.”

  Edmonton and his cowboys pulled to a halt close to the group. “We heard shooting and came fast as we could. You’re the Tamblins, aren’t you? Everybody all right?”