by Ray Hogan
Roxie stirred. How easily and naturally the resolution to kill the rancher had slipped into her mind! It had been as simple as drawing a breath—and why shouldn’t it be? The right to protect what was God-given and law-sanctioned in this still-raw land where—she brought her thoughts to a halt. Lockett had straightened, moved forward off the box, letting the blankets slide from his shoulders. He was gazing off toward the trees to the east. “Well, reckon the ball’s about to commence,” she heard him drawl softly.
XVIII
There appeared to be at least a dozen men in the party. Lockett, squatting behind the barrier, studied the distant, indefinite figures stoically. They had appeared suddenly at the edge of the trees a long two hundred yards away. In the weak light he could make out few details other than that they were not masked, were sitting their saddles quietly as if awaiting orders from Ed Cushman. Dade heard a sound, glanced to his left. It was Roxie. She was up and had crowded in beside him. Wordlessly he reached for the rifle, handed it to her, and drew his pistol.
“So many,” she murmured, gripping the Henry’s barrel with both hands.
“Sure never figured on him bringing an army,” Dade said. “A half dozen maybe. Looks like he’s got twice that many.”
“Not wearing hoods, either. Guess that means he doesn’t plan on leaving any witnesses.”
Lockett nodded. “That’ll be the way of it. Now’s the time to change your thinking if you’re of a mind to do it. Expect we could make it to the horses were we to move right fast. Doubt if there’s any use trying to talk to Cushman, once he starts.”
“I’m finished with talking … begging,” Roxie said in a cold voice. “And I won’t run.”
“Reckon it’s too late anyway.”
The riders were in motion, pushing forward like a line of cavalry with the pale orange flare of sunrise a brightening fan behind them. Near center and slightly to the rear of the forage formation was Cushman. It was no longer difficult to distinguish the rancher from his men.
“Like as not they’ll split into three bunches,” Dade said. “Part of them’ll come at us from the sides, the rest from the front.”
“I’ll be ready,” Roxie said, levering the rifle half open to be certain there was a cartridge in the chamber. The gun was fully loaded, and snapping it shut with a decisive click, she glanced toward her brother. “Clint … you awake?”
Raker drew himself to a sitting position. “I’m awake.”
“You feeling all right?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, I’ll do my part.”
Lockett breathed a bit deeper. Clint sounded better, even stronger. Maybe he’d be able to hold up his end after all. “Keep your eyes peeled for the ones that’ll come in on us from your side,” he said. “Roxie’ll be watching her side. I’ll take care of the front.”
“Heard you say something about trying to talk to Cushman,” Clint said, bracing an arm against one of the trunks and pulling himself partly upright. “I think we should do it. I’m willing to try.”
Dade, eyes on the slowly advancing riders, said, “Probably too late,” and he looked at Roxie.
The girl shrugged. “Do what you like, Clint,” she said. “I won’t knuckle under to him … and I won’t agree to anything but his getting off our land and leaving us alone.”
“That’s what I want, too!” Clint said, his voice rising. “You leave it to me … I’ll get it for us! You hear, Lockett? Want you to stay out of it. I’ll do the talking.”
“Suit yourself,” Dade replied. “Best you be a mite careful, however. That bunch’ll be plenty trigger-happy. Expect you ought to have yourself a white flag of some kind.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Raker declared, resting on the trunk.
The raiders were drawing nearer, walking their horses at a slow, measured pace. As the light strengthened, distinction became even more complete. Each man had drawn his pistol, was holding it with the barrel pointed upward in the fashion of cavalry preparing to charge. Evidently Cushman had once had some connection with the military.
“Dade …!”
At Roxie’s quiet call he glanced at the girl. She nodded at Clint. Lockett shifted his attention to the younger man. He was leaning forward across the domed trunk, face shining with sweat, eyes unusually bright in the sunlight.
“Best you keep low,” Dade warned.
“I know what I’m doing,” Clint said again. “I’m going to stop all this before it goes any farther. And when it’s settled, I’m taking you away from here … away from him! I’m not letting him drag you down …”
“Clint!”
Raker’s voice broke off at Roxie’s withering tone. He swung his feverish features to her, shook his head, turned back to face the approaching riders, now moving into range. Lockett nodded to the girl, raised his pistol. She smiled grimly, leveled the rifle.
“I’ll take care of things … everything,” Clint muttered.
Abruptly he lunged forward and, steadying himself with one hand on the barricade, pointed the weapon he was holding in the other at the sky.
“I want to talk!” he shouted, triggering the pistol in an effort to halt Cushman, gain his attention.
“No!” Lockett yelled, and threw himself at the man in an effort to drag him down and out of harm’s way.
He was a fraction too late. A half a dozen shots crackled through the early light, picking up the echoes that rolled out across the flat. Clint jolted as bullets drove into him, knocked him back against the old trunk. Dade caught at Raker’s sagging body, pulled it down below the level of the barrier. Clint had died instantly, every bullet fired having found its mark. Snatching up the pistol Raker had dropped, he pivoted, still on his knees, and moved back to Roxie. She was watching him intently.
“Is he …?”
“Dead,” Lockett replied flatly, and began to fire his weapon at the raiders, now opening up in earnest.
Roxie, silent, bent forward, rested the rifle’s barrel on the top of the barricade, added her efforts to his. Cushman’s men were coming at a trot now, their line still unbroken. Taking his cue from Roxie, Dade steadied his pistol on the edge of the barrier, centered his sights on the rider straight ahead, and pressed off a shot. His mouth tightened with satisfaction as he saw the man flinch, sag in his saddle.
A yell went up then from the raiders—probably from Cushman. At once the riders broke into a fast gallop, firing their weapons steadily as they came. Bullets began to bang into the corrugated metal laid across the front of the barricade, some ricocheting shrilly off into space, others thudding into nearby timbers, sending up showers of black dust and splinters. Firing carefully, conscious of their lack of ammunition, Lockett sought to make every shot count. He caught another rider near the end of the line, toppled him from his horse. A third pulled off, clutching at his leg. Dade glanced at Roxie. She was levering the old Henry steadily, seemingly unaware of the rifle’s kickback against her shoulder.
Abruptly the raiders wheeled, hammered their way back across the open ground to the trees. Dade reloaded quickly, and then crawled to where Clint lay. Taking the man by the shoulders, he dragged him onto the pallet, covered him with a blanket. Roxie, also taking advantage of the lull to feed cartridges into the Henry’s magazine, completed the chore, then moved to his side.
“I should’ve watched him closer,” he said, looking around at her. “Just never figured on him shooting that pistol.”
Dry-eyed, expressionless, Roxie shook her head. “Don’t blame yourself. He wasn’t in his right mind.”
“Reckon not,” Dade said, picking up the cartridge belt still lying on the ground beside the pallet and hanging it over a shoulder. “But I ought’ve figured …”
Shots rang out again, cutting into Lockett’s words. The forage line had formed again, was making a second charge. They would split this time, come at them from three si
des, Dade thought—and that could be the end of it. He looked at the girl, again kneeling behind the barricade, rifle ready.
“Reckon hell’s a-coming,” he said. There was no time to waste on gentler words. “Like for you to know that what Clint was talking about’s true … only I sure wasn’t aiming to drag you down none.”
The hard lines that had so recently become a part of Roxie’s expression softened slightly. “I know that.”
“Had more in mind building up this place if we could get the chance. If not, then maybe moving on, finding us another valley somewhere and starting a home … that is, if that’s how you’d want it.”
“It is, Dade…and I was hoping it would be here, too … Is this good bye?”
“Sort of stacking up that way, but I reckon we can give them a fight to the finish.”
At once he began to fire, now using both pistols. Roxie also opened up with the rifle. The line of riders slowed at the sudden, concentrated outpouring of lead. A horse went down. Two more of the raiders buckled, swung off to the side, both from bullets triggered by the girl. She had finally gotten the hang of the Henry’s sights. The charge broke. Cushman’s men wheeled, again retreated for the trees. Strangely they had not split into separate groups as Lockett had expected. Either they had been turned back before they had the opportunity, or else the rancher was not as adept a cavalryman as he’d thought. But it was an opening that offered salvation, and Dade seized it instantly.
“Let’s be getting out of here while we got the chance,” he said. “Be no stopping them next time.”
Roxie faced him. “I’m not ready to quit … not now, not ever,” she said coolly.
“Not much sense staying. Doing that’ll be playing his game. Smarter to back off, then go after him again on your terms. Just about out of bullets, anyway.”
The girl frowned, stared off toward the trees. The raiders were gathered in a circle, apparently listening to instructions from Ed Cushman.
“What can we do?” she asked hesitantly.
“Make a run for the horses. We keep low they won’t spot us. Once we get in the saddle we can line out for the hills, find a place to hide.”
Roxie, lips set tightly, looked down at Clint, allowed her gaze to slide over the boxes and trunks and piles of family belongings. “I would as soon die right here fighting for what’s mine,” she said slowly, “but maybe your idea of leaving and getting even with Cushman later is a better one. What about Clint?”
“Can’t do him any good. We can come back later and bury him if they don’t.”
She nodded, turned toward the rear of the barricade, began to gather up items from a box containing food. Dade reached for her arm, pulled her away.
“No time for that,” he said, glancing toward the trees. “Grab your rifle, and let’s go.”
“But we’ll need provisions.”
“Have to make do with what I’ve got in my saddlebags,” Lockett said, and urged her toward the rear of the barrier. “Keep down low,” he said as they started for the coulée. “They’ll be on our trail soon enough.”
XIX
They reached the horses without arousing a cry from Cushman and his men. Lockett made swift appraisal of the two Raker mounts, chose the husky bay that looked to be the stronger. Stepping hurriedly in close to the animal, he began to tighten the gear.
“Bridle him,” he said over a shoulder to Roxie.
She was staring back at the ruin of the ranch house when he spoke, as if taking a last look at what had once been home for her. The knuckles of her hands showed white as she gripped the rifle and there was a set grimness to her face. She turned at once at his words, and, sliding the Henry into the empty boot of the saddle, began to work the bit and headstall into place. Dade, moving fast, completed the job on the bay, wheeled to his own mount. It took only moments to ready the chestnut, and, freeing the remaining Raker horse so that he might wander, he glanced toward the trees.
“They’re coming,” he said tensely, and stepped into the saddle.
Roxie was already on the bay. She followed his gaze, the coldness of her features increasing. Her hand dropped to the butt of the rifle.
“Cushman …” she murmured. “I could wait …”
“There’ll come another day,” Lockett cut in, wheeling up beside her. “Right now we’re getting out of here.”
He did not wait for her reply but grabbed the bay’s reins close to the bit, brought him around. Roxie forgot the rifle, took up the leathers.
“Where …?”
“Head out for those buttes,” Dade answered, pointing to an area of broken, gray-faced hills a mile or so to the west. “We make it to there without them seeing us, we’ll be in good shape.”
But it was a false wish. They were scarcely started when a yell sounded back in the clearing. Lockett swore, threw a glance in that direction. The raiders were sweeping across the hardpan of the yard, stringing out in pursuit.
“Run for it!” he shouted to the girl, and raked the chestnut hard with his spurs.
Roxie bent lower over her horse, and side-by-side she and Lockett raced across the flat that separated them from the bluffs. Gunshots began to break out when they neared the area. Roxie turned, looked back. Dade shook his head at her.
“Too far … they’re just wasting lead!”
The girl crouched again over the bay’s outstretched neck. Shortly they swung into a broad arroyo that fronted the row of formations. Immediately the horses began to slow, laboring in the loose sand. Dade scanned the bluffs anxiously. Cushman and his men could quickly narrow the distance between them, bringing them within bullet range if they were compelled to follow the wash for any length of time.
The first of the ragged-faced buttes was just ahead, the beginning of the row of almost identical steep-fronted hills. Lockett studied them closely, searching for a break in the frowning façades, a wash, an intersecting gully, anything that would permit them to pull up out of the sand and disappear, if only briefly. He located such an opening just as the raiders turned into the far end of the arroyo—a fairly narrow but not too steep cleavage between adjacent hills.
“Through there!” he yelled to Roxie, and pointed at the escape route.
She veered the bay toward the gash. Guns were now hammering relentlessly at the head of the arroyo, filling the early morning with rebounding echoes. Here and there spurts of sand indicated that those men using rifles were now within range. Dade wheeled in behind the girl, guiding the bay into the wash. The footing was not too stable and immediately the chunky little bay began to scramble in the loose shale and the sand blown in by the winds. But he managed to keep from going down and within moments was topping out onto the flat above. Lockett, only a length behind on the chestnut, was quickly at Roxie’s side.
“Can’t stop,” he said in a tight voice. “They’ve seen where we turned off and will be following.”
She nodded her understanding, glanced around. “Where can we go?”
Lockett, after a hurried survey of the country, pointed toward the lower end of the buttes. “Somewhere down there. Ought to be a place we can hole up. You go on … I’ll meet you by those trees. Got some slowing down to do.”
She looked at him, puzzled. “Slowing down?”
Dade grinned, drew his pistol and nodded at the wash up which they had just come. “First man in there gets a surprise. Now, move on … and stay back from the rim so’s nobody’ll see you from below.”
Roxie rode on at once, and Dade, cutting the gelding about, walked the horse quietly to the wash. He could hear Cushman and the others urging their mounts through the loose sand.
“Keep at it! Keep at it!”
The rancher’s voice was an impatient, strident sound on the warming air.
“We lose them, by God, you’ll spend the day … night, too … tracking them down!”
“We’
ll get them, Mister Cushman!” someone shouted reassuringly.
“See that you do … and don’t be forgetting there’s a little extra cash for the man that does!”
Lockett waited in silence, listening to the thudding of hoofs, the creaking and popping of leather as the riders drew nearer. The rancher was determined to leave no one alive who was in any way connected with the Raker family; he wanted no witnesses, as Roxie had observed. Apparently he did not fear the men who rode for him; likely he had something on all those he employed for such lawless purpose and in that way maintained control over them.
“Went up through here!” a man shouted from the arroyo. “Little wash. Got a kind of a trail.”
“Well, god dammit, follow them! If they climbed it, we sure as hell can, too.”
Dade rode nearer to the edge of the gash. Leveling his pistol, he waited until he heard the noisy entering of the first rider, and then moments later a wild thrashing about as the horse struggled for solid footing. Leaning forward, Lockett aimed his weapon at a flat rock far down in the gully and pressed off a shot.
A yell went up from below, the sharpness of it slicing through the echo of the gun’s blast. It was succeeded by a frantic crashing as the rider apparently fought to control his mount. More shouts, interspersed with curses and protests, lifted, accompanied by a dry crackling of brush and the steady rattle of displaced rocks and gravel spilling into the arroyo. There was a solid thump. The rider and his horse had evidently fallen, and judging from the fresh burst of oaths, had slid downward, piling into those who had followed him into the wash and swept them back into the arroyo.
Lockett swung off at once and put the gelding to a fast gallop. He could see Roxie in the distance, her bay loping easily along over the grassy mesa. As he surged in beside her, she turned a questioning look to him.
