Buzzard Bait

by Jory Sherman

  A man named Sisco rode up, grizzled, mean, his eyes wide with excitement.

  "We're ready, boss," he told Roumal.

  "As soon as the last rump is over the river, make your move," Roumal said coldly. "I want no mistakes. Get in, get out."

  "Don't worry, Bull. Everythin's set."

  Big John looked at Roumal, questioning with his glance as Sisco rode off into the dark, his horse shoeless and silent as an Indian's.

  "Another surprise for the C Bar M," Roumal said cryptically. "Let's move up to higher ground so's we can watch, John. I think you'll like this next part."

  Big John resisted an urge to shudder. He stuck with Roumal like a jackal follows a killing lion. There was fear mingled with his respect for the heavy-set, bull-like man. Roumal knew how to get men, lesser men, greedier men, to do what he wanted. He was a leader, cruel, merciless, devious. He knew why Roumal wasn't in the fight. It wasn't because he was a coward. It was because he knew his own worth. He was the schemer, the general. There was no fight here. It was mostly noise and diversion, the result of Roumal's careful generalship. If fight came to fight, Roumal would be up front. The cattle were the important thing. This was the only herd anywhere near the gold camps. Men would pay hard gold for beef. Roumal meant to get the beef to the gold camps. He would kill anyone who stood in his way.

  Roumal led the way to high ground. He stopped and Big John pulled aside him. He looked in the direction of the C Bar M, the ranch house, lights barely visible through the dust. He waited, wondering what to look for, feeling the presence of Bull Roumal next to him.

  Tex got Matt's horse, which was still saddled, pistols still hanging from the saddlehorn, while Stamps led the other three horses out of the corral where they had been waiting, also saddled. Tex mounted a dun cowpony, Stamps climbed aboard a pinto. Both horses were fat with grain. He led Ted's horse, Tex led Matt's and they jogged out toward the river. The shots were less frequent, the stabs of flame more scattered. It was almost impossible to see anything, but Tex knew the cattle were being driven across the Gallatin. It would take some figuring to get them back now.

  Addie stood at the front door, watching Tex and Stamps ride away. She closed the door and went back to the kitchen, suddenly weary beyond caring. The shots, the noise, the wild cries, all receded into the distance. This was such a hard land, harder than Colorado had been. It was wilder, for one thing, and violence seemed to follow her like a bad memory that couldn't be checked. First, Luke had been murdered, the cattle stolen. She had been kidnapped, then escaped, only to find more violence with Matt. Now, in what should have been her haven during her grief and fatigue, there was further trouble. Men were probably being killed out there. Her brother was in danger, Matt, too, that young boy, the Texan. Everything seemed so hopeless. She put her head down on her arms where they rested on the table. The tiredness rolled up from her feet and closed her eyes. Her body sagged under the weight of her tired thoughts.

  Cal and Les whipped their horses across the open field, finally able to pick targets to shoot at. Their yells carried over the din of the bawling cattle and the gunfire as the two transplanted Texans raced toward the action that had been denied them earlier. A group of riders wheeled from the flank of the herd to meet this new challenge. Six-guns boomed, smoke from the black powder hid the shooters and their targets. Les saw a flash of flame and reined his horse into a tight turn.

  "Over there, Cal, they's one. Come on!"

  Cal twisted his horse to follow Les. They saw two men, then three, with their pistols half-empty. Les took aim on the run and fired. A Roumal man tumbled from the saddle, the .44 ball ripping through rib, lung and snapping the spine. He fell soundlessly to the ground.

  "Whoeee! I got me one!" whooped Les.

  Another Roumal rider flashed into view, through the smoke, then angled off away from the two C Bar M riders. Cal spotted him and raced after the man, the heady stench of blood in his nostrils. He took aim and was about to squeeze the trigger when he knew something was wrong.

  "Look out, Cal!" Les warned. The Roumal men had split into two bunches and now had the two Texans caught in a gauntlet, a pincer. The decoy brought his horse up short and turned, a rifle in his hand. He stopped and took dead aim on Cal. Cal squeezed off his shot, but knew it was no good. A split second later, a .58 caliber ball caught him just below his breastbone. The air went out of his lungs in a rush. The impact of the high velocity lead ball rapped his rump against the cantle. His head snapped back and he saw the stars spinning like silver firewheels at a whoop-de-do. From his side came another burst of fire and he felt an axe tear into his hip, rip it apart like split cordwood. All of this happened so fast that he had a lifetime to think about it, a short, breathless lifetime that was richer than anything he had ever felt.

  When he hit the ground, he was dead.

  Les Calkins lasted a little longer.

  He knew he had ridden into the jaws of death. He saw Cal take the first ball and knew that he was next if he didn't get the hell out of there.

  Riders loomed out of the smoke and dust on either side of him. To hesitate or run the gauntlet was to die. Les picked his target and charged to the left. The man he had sighted on looked surprised when Les rode him down, his pistol held out in front of him, spewing out orange flame and acrid smoke. The ball caught the man just above the nose, slicing upward. The back of the man's head blew away like a pewter plate.

  Les rode past the falling man, his horse bumping into the other's plunging mount. Knocked off-balance, his own horse stumbled, faltered.

  That was enough for one of Roumal's men, Benny McCoy, who had seen the boldness of Les' maneuver and marveled at it.

  McCoy was ready. He took advantage of the pause in Les' flight. He brought up a double-barreled Greener and triggered off both loads of buck. One, two. The shot caught Les on his left side at close range. Lead tore through him like wind through openings in the cabin chinks. One leg was almost ripped away, hanging by a thread as the blood spewed in a red spray. His belly erupted as others tore into his bowels and diaphragm. Pieces of flesh flew out into the night. The lower half of his jaw cracked into splinters. A temple hit blotted out all sound and sight. Les slumped over the right side of his horse, his feet caught in the stirrups. His bloody head bounced off his frightened horse's neck as the animal bolted toward the river, gutshot with the same burst of lead that had claimed his master's life.

  On the high ground, Roumal puffed up with pride. His men had done well. He was pleased with every one of them, with the exception of Big John Lathrop. Big John had failed him. One of his sons was dead, another wounded. He had killed Luke Cord instead of Matt. He had lost a valuable hostage, Ted Malone's kid sister. Bull liked Big John, who was as larcenous as he. He liked him because he was older and had a certain primitive wisdom that was often valuable on the frontier. Yet, Big John had let him down. Hard. He hadn't said anything to him, probably wouldn't, not in so many words. The man was still useful. There were not many men like him, in fact. And, who could have known that Matt Cord had a twin brother? He could hardly blame Big John for making that mistake. He deeply regretted that Matt Cord was alive. The man was a thorn in his side. Ever since Cherry Creek, Bull had wanted to kill him. Or have him killed. The latter way was safer, since everyone on the frontier now knew of Matt's skill with rifle and pistol. Many men feared him because the word had gotten around, mistakenly, that he was half-Sioux or Cheyenne. Not that anyone called him a breed to his face. No one did. That was just what was whispered. Roumal knew better, but he never corrected any of the rumor spreaders. He wanted Matt out of the way. He didn't much care who did it, although it would have given him satisfaction to know that he was, at least in part, responsible for Matt's death.

  The dust began to settle and Roumal saw men mounting horses.

  "Now, watch," he said to Big John, while drawing his pistol. He aimed it in the air and fired a single shot.

  Curious, Big John looked at the horsemen coming their way. He
counted four of them. He wondered why Roumal had called attention to their position by firing a senseless shot into the air. He was about to question him when he saw what Roumal was now pointing at, beyond the riders.

  Blossoms of flame bobbed like grotesque fireflies behind the ranch house. They seemed to spring up out of the night, deadly orange flowers on invisible stems. They came from two directions, at first, then flew up into the air and fell into a dark hulk. The flames spread and Big John thought he could hear them crackle even though the distance was great. Soon, though, the night sky was lit up from the flames. The horsemen stopped in their tracks and looked back. He could see them stiffen with disbelief. Seconds later, they sent up hoarse cries and turned their mounts, racing to the source of the flames which were licking up into the blackness, illuminating the roof.

  "You set the ranch house afire," Big John said, stunned.

  Bull Roumal laughed harshly, then spurred his mount toward the river. Big John followed, numbed by the cruelty of the man who rode ahead of him.

  Behind them, Matt, Ted, Tex and Stamps rode hard for the house.

  The slope behind the house was lit with the light of the flames. The horses in the corral whinnied in fear. Cattle bawled. The men rode hard and fast, the rustled herd forgotten. Their faces burned with firelight as they came charging up to the hitching posts out front.

  "Matt!" Ted exclaimed. "Addie's in there!"

  Chapter Thirteen

  ''Tex, get the buckets going," Matt ordered. "Ted, come with me. We'll try and get in the back way."

  "Addie!" Ted called. "Addie?" There was no answer. He ran after Matt, fear twisting his guts.

  Matt raced around the corner of the house. Flames had eaten through the roof into the front room. They were pouring out the door. He knew it would be impossible to go in that way. There was a chance that the back door wasn't bathed in flames. They might be able to get in and rescue Addie. He didn't tell Ted his other fear, that Addie may have run outside to escape the fire and been recaptured by Roumal's men.

  The men who had thrown the oiled torches onto the roof had thrown too hard. The back door was closed but the flames had not yet eaten down through the roof. Smoke billowed out of the cracks around the windows and underneath the door. Matt didn't hesitate, but crashed inside. Ted was right on his heels.

  "Get down low, Ted," Matt said, falling to his knees and crawling through the smoke. The men could feel the heat in the hallway that led to the kitchen. They gasped for breath and hunched lower to the floor.

  "Addie!" Ted called, choking on the smoke. "Addie?"

  "Save your air," Matt husked as he crawled along the floor. The heat was getting more intense. He could not see except for a few feet ahead next to the floorboards of the house. He kept his head low and tried to breathe the air next to the floor. Still, smoke got into his lungs. He tried to keep himself from coughing. Behind him, Ted was gasping and spluttering.

  "Check the bedrooms," Matt said. "I'll go on to the kitchen."

  He heard Ted go into one of the back bedrooms. He continued on, slow, keeping his exertion to a minimum. The hallway ended and he knew he was in the kitchen. He crawled ahead and groped for a chair, the table leg, anything to give him his bearings.

  "Addie?"

  There was no answer.

  He felt a table leg. He tried to wave the smoke away, but it was no use. He crawled around the table, feeling his way, trying to see through the haze. He knocked over a chair. The sound startled him. He could feel the heat of the flames on his back. They were working their way down on the backside of the roof.

  "Addie," he called again, his voice thick with smoke, scratchy. The heat stabbed at his lungs. Every breath seared his throat now. He continued to scramble around the table as clouds of fumes poured into the kitchen. He knew that he was close to confusion. The air next to the floor was becoming fouled, acrid.

  He moved fast, circling the legs of the table.

  His hand touched something yielding, soft. He pulled his hand back, then immediately shoved it forward again.

  "Addie!"

  It was her ankle that he felt. He touched her boot and traced the way her body lay. She was on her face. He detected faint breathing. A chair lay across her back. He lifted it and shoved it aside, then grasped her shoulders and pulled her underneath him. He had to keep her breathing, had to get her outside into the clear air!

  Matt lost his bearings. A chunk of the roof fell into the kitchen. Flames licked at his legs. He kicked the debris aside and moved faster, his lungs filling with smoke. He coughed and kept moving, trying to find the opening to the hallway. The crackling sound of the flames filled the room as the fire hungrily ate up the wood, darted downward like ravenous tongues.

  He cursed, silently.

  He struggled on with the unconscious woman, trying to find his way out of the gathering inferno. More pieces of flaming roof fell into the kitchen. He could feel the oxygen being eaten up by the fire, the flames sucking at his own breath. His lungs felt as though they would cave in and wither from the heat.

  He found the opening and dragged Addie through it. She was a limp dead weight and the air was fouler than before. His breath came in searing gasps, his lungs felt like they were filling up with sand, hot sand. He took as deep a breath as he dared and held it. Then he stood up and lifted Addie into his arms. He stumbled through the smoke-filled hallway and crashed through the back door. He expelled the air in his lungs and took another breath.

  "Tex! Come on back here!" he yelled, wondering if his voice would carry over the sound of the roaring flames. He laid Addie down on the ground away from the smoke and heat. Ted was still inside, probably overcome by the smoke. He had to get him out. Tex and Stamps came running around the house, their faces black with soot, sweat glistening in the light of the fire.

  "Take care of Addie. I've got to go back in. Ted's inside!"

  "You can't go back in there, Matt," Tex warned. "Hell, it's an oven in there."

  Matt looked at the house. It was true. The front roof had already gone. The back roof was caving in fast. Smoke and flames billowed up out of the guts of the log house. The heat was intense. He took a huge gulp of air.

  "I've got to!" he said, running for the door. Stamps and Tex watched him in amazement, then turned to the unconscious girl.

  Matt burst through the door, low. He checked in the bedroom where he had seen Ted go, staying close to the floor in order to breathe. The wall had burned through. He found Ted crumpled up in a corner. Evidently he had become confused inside the room and had gone the wrong way. He was barely breathing.

  A cascade of flame fell from the ceiling, showering sparks and cinders all over him. He took Ted's hands and began dragging him toward the door. A roof beam collapsed, barring his way. There was nothing to do but to lift Ted up over his shoulders and sling him like a deer over his frame. He leaped the burning beam and struggled sideways through the doorway, his lungs filling with smoke. He ducked, coughing, just as the door collapsed into a sheet of flame. The heat drained his strength. His legs wobbled forward, somehow, and he went through the back door, staggering under the weight of the smoke-stricken Ted. He coughed mightily, the air ripping through his raw throat. Fresh air poured into his lungs and he kept moving, away from the volcano behind him.

  Ted was alive, in better shape than his sister.

  "Pump good air into his lungs," Matt ordered Tex. "Push on his stomach hard as you can. How's Addie?"

  "Not good. She's not breathing good, Matt."

  "I'll take a look at her. Stamps, you help Tex. Move Ted's arms up and down to open up his lungs."

  Matt went over to Addie who was on her back. He turned her over and put his arms under her, pulling up at her waist, trying to force air into her smoke-congested lungs. She was a rag doll, her muscles unresponsive. He turned her over and began pushing on her abdomen. Her face was wet with perspiration. He wiped it off with his hand and continued to pump air into her lungs. Once she moaned, Matt reste
d.

  The ranch house burned to the ground. Ted coughed and spluttered, and came back to consciousness. He was hoarse when he tried to talk. Matt ordered Tex to take over the efforts to revive Addie as he went to see about his friend.

  "Don't say anything, Ted. You gulped down a lot of smoke, but you'll be all right. Addie's not so good. I think she must have fallen asleep and woke up too late to get out of the house. Can you walk?"

  Ted nodded.

  "Come on, then. Let's get Addie up to the cave."

  Tex and Matt carried Addie up the slope and into a provisioned cave that was almost like a small cabin.

  Spruce stood around it and there was a barricade facing downslope that could be used for further protection. Matt had picked the site of the ranch house partly because of the natural cave. It was like Matt to think ahead, Ted thought, even though he couldn't have foreseen this terrible night. He looked back at the ranch house, a shambles of glowing embers and popping sparks. He felt a heavy weight descend onto his shoulders.

  "Get her comfortable, Tex," Matt said, lighting a candle lantern. "Put her on one of the cots, keep her warm. See if she'll take any water. There's a full barrel over there where the powder's stored."

  The candle threw long shadows on the walls of the cave. Stamps peered around him, amazed. He hadn't known about the cave, never even suspected it. There were hardwood bunks, stacked, three of them, six beds, powder, ball, cured venison hanging from a thin beam that rested in niches, leatherstocking beans, barrels of goods. It was neat as a pin and their light was invisible from outside since the large room was offset around a bend in the cave. Stamps walked all around it, shaking his head.

  Ted began to breathe more easily. He knelt down by Addie's side. His sister's face was very pale. Her forehead was drenched in perspiration. She was breathing, but her eyes remained closed. The breathing was shallow, full of ominous rattles.

  "Don't die, Addie," Ted whispered. "Please don't die."