by John Glasby
Now the rocks and the spiky cactus were the main enemies. Their pursuers were still apparently tangled in the impeding brush. Casting about him. Frank eyed the rocks in an attempt to orientate himself, then pointed with the rifle. ‘That way,’ he hissed urgently.
Stumbling, they clambered over a low, razor-backed ridge, threw themselves down the far side as the yells behind them grew louder. Less than a minute later, they spotted the horses in a loose bunch. None of them wore ground reins and Frank felt thankful for that. Those first rifle shots had made the men jump for cover in a hurry, giving them no time to ensure that the horses were secure.
Frank felt his exhaustion then, a deep leaden weariness that descended upon his body. With a supreme effort, he caught the reins of the nearest horse, pulled himself up into the saddle, vaguely aware that the girl had done likewise. Jabbing spurs hard into the horse’s flanks, he pulled round on the reins, at the same time firing a shot into the air. His mount leapt forward and in the same moment, the other horses scattered, racing out towards the desert, trailing their reins along the ground behind them. A flurry of shots sounded from the thicket and above the din, Frank made out the yell of Frisco’s voice above the others. ‘They’re gettin’ away! Grab those damned horses!’ Bending low over his mount’s neck, he gave the animal its head, the girl racing alongside him. Not until they were well out of range of the Double Circle men did he ease up. They were out on the mesa now, having deliberately swung away from the main trail, for the going was easier here and there was no difficulty in picking their way through the scattered brush and stunted pine which dotted the area.
‘Reckon we’ve lost ’em,’ he said simply. ‘They won’t be able to catch those other horses for a while. Plenty of time for us to reach your Dad’s spread.’ He gave her a shrewd glance. ‘Do you know why they were after you like that? Reckon they must’ve had some good reason.’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea. I was on my way back from town when I spotted them heading for the trail. I could tell by the way they were riding that they meant trouble and since that double lynching yesterday, I didn’t wait to find out. I just rode, giving the horse its head.’ She paused, bit her lip. ‘I guess if you hadn’t showed up, Frank, they’d have got me.’
Frank furrowed his forehead in sudden thought. It didn’t make much sense on the face of things. It was well known that Witney Foran wanted Phil Carson’s spread but somehow Frank had never considered it likely that Foran would declare war on women. It seemed more probable that this was some of Frisco’s doing. He had always considered himself to have a way with the ladies. There was a very definite possibility that he had had his eye on Atalanta for some time and if she had spurned his advances, there was no telling what lengths he might go to. Frank himself had to admit that she was a very beautiful woman. He eyed her from the edge of his vision. Even after all she had been through, she still held herself proudly, tall and erect in the saddle. He saw the lovely curve of her throat, the wide-set eyes and the long hair which curled to her shoulders from beneath the wide-brimmed hat she wore. As if feeling his gaze on her, she turned her head, smiled a little.
‘You look like a man with something on his mind, Frank,’ she said disarmingly.
He shrugged. ‘Nothin’ in particular. Just wonderin’ what Frisco had on his. Reckon it’d pay you to watch that snake, Atalanta.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll be ready the next time,’ she said, and there was a note of confidence in her voice which surprised Frank.
They threaded their way through the descending bed of a ravine, edging their mounts around gigantic boulders washed down by some great river in a past geological age. On either side of them were great fissures in the rock with sharp, ragged ledges that overhung the narrow, winding trail. By the time the sun was lowering towards the western horizon, dipping down the long curve of the cloudless heavens, they came within sight of the valley that marked the perimeter of Carson’s spread.
Twenty minutes riding and the ranch house came into sight, a long, brick and wood building, with a low sloping roof and several outbuildings ranged alongside it. There was a large corral in front of the wide courtyard and two men standing on the porch which ran along the front of the house, shaded from the direct light and heat of the sun by the overhanging roof. As they rode up, Frank recognized one of the men as Phil Carson. The other man was Judge Fentry.
Dismounting, he followed the girl across the dusty courtyard, aware that the two men were watching him with some surprise. He grew conscious of his own appearance, put up a hand to his scratched face.
Phil Carson threw a quick glance at the two horses standing in the courtyard, must have recognized them instantly as having the Double Circle brand, for he stepped down and came quickly towards them.
‘What happened, Atalanta?’ he asked, looking from the girl to Frank, then back again.
‘Frisco and some of Foran’s riders tried to take me, Dad,’ she explained. ‘They would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for Frank. We managed to fight them off. I think one or two of them were killed and I shot Frisco myself.’
‘You killed him?’ There was a note of alarm in Judge Fentry’s voice as he overheard this piece of information.
‘Just put a piece of lead in his arm,’ Frank put in. ‘Reckon if she hadn’t, I’d have been dead too. He had the drop on me.’
Carson nodded. He laid his severe gaze on Frank. ‘I’m obliged to you for saving Atalanta, Condor,’ he said harshly. ‘I only wish I could say that this is the end of it. Unfortunately, from what the judge has told me, it’s only the beginning.’
‘I don’t understand, Dad,’ Atalanta looked from one man to the other. ‘What do you mean?’
It was Judge Fentry who spoke, his voice serious. ‘I’ve just come from town. I’ve known for some time that Foran has been hirin’ men to back up his play. Frisco was one of the first of the gunslingers he brought into the territory. Shortly before noon, a couple more rode into Benton.’ He glanced at Frank. ‘Reckon you may have heard of ’em, Marshal.’ He deliberately emphasized the last word. ‘The Macey brothers.’
Frank stiffened. His face took on a hard, grim look, eyes narrowed down to mere slits. ‘I’ve heard of ’em,’ he said flatly, tonelessly.
‘Figured you might have.’ Fentry jerked his head in a quick nod. ‘A couple of fast guns from south of the frontier. Somewhere down Texas way. You ever run into ’em?’
‘Might have.’ Frank’s voice was non-committal. ‘They been givin’ you trouble in town, Judge?’
‘There weren’t any while I was there, but I didn’t stay long to find out. I figured I ought to ride out and warn Phil here that there was likely to be big trouble. Those Maceys aren’t here for reasons of their health. Foran’s gettin’ primed for a showdown and when he starts bringin’ in top guns like this, he means to finish it.’
Frank scratched his chin pensively. ‘I wonder how Frisco is goin’ to take this. From what I know of the Maceys, they aren’t likely to take to him bein’ on the same payroll. They like to do things their way. They’re both gunmen, not gunfighters.’
‘Personally. I don’t see any difference,’ said Carson sourly.
Frank shrugged. ‘There’s a difference,’ he affirmed. ‘A gunfighter takes risks. They like to fight and kill for the sheer joy of it. But a gunman picks his time, makes sure his victim is nowhere near a gun when he strikes. His chore is just to kill, just that. He’ll shoot a man in the back and think nothin’ of it, just so long as he’s in no danger to himself. Sure, the Maceys are fast with a gun, devil-fast. But they won’t face up to a man in fair fight if they can do it another way.’
Fentry squinted up at him, his eyes bird-like in their curiosity. ‘You aimin’ to do anythin’ about the Maceys, Condor?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like make sure they don’t start any real trouble?’
Frank shook his head. ‘This is none of my business,’ he asserted. ‘You’ve got a sheriff in town. I’m
keepin’ out of it.’
Fentry’s eyes widened just a shade at that. There was a faint trace of sarcasm as he said thinly: ‘Never figured I’d hear a marshal say that he’d stand by and let trouble start. Always thought once you were a lawman, you were always a lawman. Seems I must have been mistaken. You know damn well that Talbot doesn’t stand a chance against men of their calibre.’
‘Then maybe you should have picked yourself a better sheriff,’ Frank retorted.
‘I can see I’m just wasting my time,’ snorted the old man. ‘Except there may be one thing you ought to remember. If these gunmen should learn who you are, my guess is they’ll come gunnin’ for you — that is if Foran doesn’t send them after you. Like you’ve just said, it won’t matter much to them if you’re carryin’ a gun or not.’
‘All this talk is goin’ to get us nowhere,’ Carson butted in sharply. He glanced at Frank. ‘I’ll get the cook to rustle you up food, Frank. Reckon you could do with a bite and a chance to bathe that scratched face of yours.’
Frank considered that for a moment, then shook his head. ‘Thanks for the offer, Phil. But I figure I’d better be gettin’ back into town. There’s a little unfinished business I’ve got to take care of before nightfall.’
He turned on his heel, tipped his hat to the girl, then swung up easily into the saddle and gave his horse its head.
Fentry watched the cloud of white dust settle in Condor’s wake, then turned to the rancher and said soberly, ‘You know, I’ve got an idea, Phil, that there’s something more on his mind than we know about. Something seems to have been troublin’ him for a while now. I’d like to know what it is. Reckon I might feel easier in my mind if I did. It’s not like a man such as that to change overnight into a hombre who couldn’t care less what happens when there’s no real law and order in town and a range war is on the point of busting out.’
*
By the time Frisco and the rest of the Double Circle crew had rounded up their spooked horses, the sun was well down and they drove their mounts furiously over the mesa, back to the ranch. Putting the horses into the corral, the men made their way across to the bunkhouse, while Frisco stepped into the house where Foran was waiting.
There was an angry scowl on the rancher’s face as he saw that the other had returned empty-handed. His tone was like the lash of a whip as he asked: ‘All right, Frisco. Where’s the girl? I thought I asked you to make sure and bring her here, by force if necessary.’
‘We ran into a spot of trouble,’ declared the other sullenly. He touched his bandaged arm gingerly.
Foran’s eyes took on a sneering expression. ‘You took five men with you and you let a girl beat you. What sort of men did I hire?’
‘It wasn’t like that at all. Condor was there with the girl. He must’ve spotted us going after her. By the time we’d run her to earth, he was there with a rifle.’
‘That’s still no goddamn excuse. There were six of you against a man and a girl.’
‘He had the drop on us when we rode in. Monet’s dead and Flannaghan is badly hurt.’
‘But you still let those two get away,’ raged Foran. His eyes lit up with a sudden, savage anger. ‘Now, I’ll have to do things another way. If I had the girl here, I could have forced her old man to do anything. As it is, I’ll have to wait until the Macey brothers get here. Then we’ll ride out and put an end to Carson for good.’
‘You signin’ on the Maceys?’ Frisco asked tautly. He locked his gaze with the other man’s.
‘That’s the general idea. You got any objections to workin’ with them?’
‘Only that I don’t like the way they operate,’ Frisco answered thinly. He rolled himself a smoke with one hand, put a vesper to the cigarette and drew the smoke deep into his lungs, blowing it out in front of him. ‘They’ve got a bad reputation. Seems to me that if there’s anythin’ that might force the other ranchers to band together against you, bringin’ them in will do it.’
Foran shrugged disdainfully. ‘Once I’ve got the Macey brothers working for me, the rest of the ranchers can do as they please. We’ll wipe them all out without any trouble.’
‘And this hombre, Condor?’
‘He won’t do anythin’,’ said the other positively. ‘If he intended to make any play, he’d have done it by now. I still haven’t been able to find out what happened to make him as he is, but it must have been somethin’ pretty big to cause him to hang up his guns Like that. If he should step out of line, the Maceys will take care of that little chore for me.’
‘Seems to me that once the Maceys get here, you won’t be havin’ any need for me and the rest of the boys.’ The sullenness was back in the other’s voice. ‘They like to give the orders whenever they’re hired to do a job.’
‘They’ll take their orders direct from me,’ said Foran tightly. He looked down at the other’s arm. ‘You’d better get that wound cleaned up. And quit worryin’ about the Macey brothers. I’ll take care of them when they get here.’
‘I hope so,’ muttered Frisco. ‘They could turn out to be more trouble than they’re worth.’ He left the room and from the window, Foran watched him drag his spurs across the courtyard as he made his way over to the pump.
*
The long, hot afternoon ran on as Frank Condor made his way back to town. By the time he climbed the low rise and came in sight of it, the sun was on the point of touching the blue-purple rims of the mountains and there was a cooling wind blowing into his face, easing the soreness where itching bites and sand had scoured at his grimy flesh. As he drew near to the town, he noticed at once, with a strange tingling along his nerves, the changed appearance of it. The place held a deserted, subdued look. The streets seemed empty except for a handful of horses tethered to the hitching rails outside the saloons and the solitary man who did show as Frank rode into the man-shy street gave a quick glance up and down the road before hurrying over to the other side, hesitating a moment on the boardwalk, then plunging into one of the buildings that fronted the street. Frank had the impression it had been Steadman, but at that distance he could not be sure.
A wary uneasiness prickled along his back and ruffled the small hairs on his neck. Instinctively, he tensed his shoulder muscles, then forced himself to relax. A shoulder was no shield against a slug, he tried to tell himself. As he drew level with the Fast Gun saloon, there came a sudden burst of raucous laughter from inside. The batwing doors were thrust open and a figure hurtled through them, landing on his face in the dust. One glance was enough to tell Frank that it was Sheriff Talbot. The lawman heaved himself painfully to his hands and knees, looked wildly about him for a moment, made as if to scuttle across the street in Frank’s direction, then stopped instantly as the saloon doors opened again and a man appeared framed in the entrance. Again, the loud roar of laughter sounded and a harsh, grating voice called: ‘Don’t you go any place, Sheriff. We got a little unfinished business to attend to, right now.’
Frank recognized the man at once. Flint Macey. The gunman held a pistol in his right hand. Now he lowered the barrel until it was pointing directly at Talbot’s head.
He grinned wolfishly. The sweat started out on the lawman’s balding head and began to trickle down into his eyes. He made a futile effort to wipe it away, his lips moving but no sound coming out.
‘You was sayin’ somethin’ in there about arrestin’ us for murder,’ snarled the other. ‘Don’t see you doin’ anythin’ about it now. What’s wrong? Lost all your guts?’
Shifting the gun a little, the other snapped, ‘Get on your feet, lawman.’
Talbot hesitated for a moment, not sure of what was coming. Then he heaved himself on to his feet with an effort, swaying a little, his face scared. The gun in Macey’s hand roared three times in quick succession, the bullets kicking up tiny spirts of dust around the sheriff’s feet. Frantically, the other danced around to dodge the flying lead.
‘That’s it, Sheriff. Let everybody see you dance.’ Behind Macey, his bro
ther Clay stepped out on to the boardwalk to watch the fun.
‘Why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?’ said Frank evenly. He crossed his arms on the saddle horn, stared down at the killer evenly.
It was a measure of their concentration in watching the sheriff’s plight that neither of the killers had seen Frank sitting there in the saddle. Now Flint Macey lifted his head, glared up at the other. Then his eyes narrowed down. Lips thinned back, he snarled harshly, ‘You say something, mister?’
‘You know damn well I did,’ Frank retorted. ‘Seems to me you like nothin’ better than pushin’ around folk who’re not in your class.’
‘Meanin’ you are?’ The other stepped forward a couple of paces, ignoring the sheriff, who picked himself up and moved over to the far side of the street, dusting himself down with shaking fingers.
‘Meanin’ just that.’
Again, the other’s lip curled sneeringly. ‘Maybe you’d better step down here and try.’
From behind him, Clay Macey said sharply: ‘He ain’t wearin’ any shootin’ irons. Flint.’ He peered up at Frank from beneath thick brows, drawn into a straight line of puzzlement. ‘Seems to me I’ve seen this hombre someplace before. Can’t place him though.’
‘Makes no difference to me,’ growled the other belligerently as Flank swung down from his mount. ‘He’s just horned in on trouble.’
‘You usually shoot men who’re unarmed?’ Frank put naked scorn into his tone, aware that a small crowd had gathered on the boardwalk and other faces were peering from the windows overlooking the street. ‘Reckon that’s the only way you’ll ever outdraw and outshoot a man, unless you were to let him have it in the back.’ He was deliberately taunting the other, knew that the man facing him would pull the trigger without an instant’s hesitation and with no more feeling than if he was shooting the head off a striking rattler.
Flint Macey let out a savage bull-like roar, then thrust the Colt back into leather. ‘Then I think I’ll just bust your head, fella,’ he declared, leaping forward, big fists swinging.
