Justice at Red River

by John Glasby

  ‘Anybody else likely to come in?’ he asked as Carson came over.

  The other looked about him, eyes peering into the growing darkness that lay like a deep sable pall over the countryside. ‘Don’t see Credin and any of his boys around,’ he said eventually. ‘I’d have figured they’d sure be along.’

  ‘Maybe he’s on his way,’ Frank nodded. ‘I got the feelin’ he was a little reluctant to throw in with any attack on Foran at the meeting we had in Benton. But I’d have figured things had changed a little since then, with Carron still locked away in jail in spite of everythin’ Foran has been able to do to bust him out.’

  Carson opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment one of the men called sharply. ‘Buckboard headin’ this way, fast. Just comin’ over the hill yonder.’ Frank stared off into the deepening darkness where the faint glimmering of starlight showed the rise of the hill, picking out the silhouette of the buckboard. A few moments later, Frank was able to make out the handful of men who rode close behind it.

  ‘Looks like Credin,’ he said, puzzled. ‘Why didn’t he bring all of his men with him?’

  ‘There’s somethin’ wrong.’ Phil Carson started forward as the buckboard neared the courtyard.

  Frank was close behind him as the small party stopped. He felt a distinct shock of stunned surprise as he let his gaze wander over the tiny group, from Credin, sitting forward behind the reins, his face smoke-blackened, so that only his eyes seemed alive in a black mask, his wife leaning back on the wooden seat, face streaked with tears and the silent, chastened men who rode slowly behind.

  ‘Good God, man!’ muttered Carson. ‘What happened?’ He extended a hand to help Mrs Carson out of the wagon.

  Letting the reins fall, Credin said in a low terrible voice: ‘Some of Foran’s men hit us a little while ago. They killed more than half of my crew, fired all of the buildings. There’s nothing left now.’ He paused brokenly as his wife began to weep hysterically in great, racking sobs that threatened to tear her frail frame apart.

  Atalanta came out of the house, took her by the arm. ‘I’ll take care of her, Dad,’ she said. She helped the woman into the ranch.

  ‘This is bad news,’ Carson said solemnly. ‘We were figuring on ridin’ out to Foran’s spread and finishing this once and for all. Most of the others are in it with us. We were waiting for you to accompany us but —’

  Credin drew himself up to his full height. His face was terrible to see. ‘We’ll ride with you, Phil,’ he said in a hoarse tone. ‘I’ve got nothin’ left to live for now. Those killers destroyed everythin’. Maybe if I’d been wise and listened to the marshal here things could have been different. I’ve paid for my own folly. But I’ll die happy if I can take some more of those critters with me before I die.’

  ‘Are you sure you can make it?’ Carson asked concernedly.

  ‘Don’t worry none about us,’ growled the other. ‘Me and the boys did some hard talkin’ on the way here. They’re all in this with me.’

  ‘Did you see how many men were in the force that attacked you, Credin?’ Frank asked tautly.

  ‘Hard to say. They hit us without warnin’ and there was so much shootin’ going on around the house. Then they tossed in firebrands and that finished it. We never had a chance.’

  ‘Reckon there was about a dozen of ’em all together. Marshal,’ put in one of the other men. ‘I don’t figure there were many more than that. The Macey brothers were with ’em.’

  ‘So that means that Foran’s forces are split. If we can hit him before that other bunch get back, we stand a far better chance.’

  ‘Then what are we waitin’ for?’ called Carson loudly. He shouted up the rest of the men, waited while they swung up into the saddle, then mounted up himself. ‘Let’s go!’

  They rode out in a wide bunch, leaving behind the slow-settling streamers of grey dust. They stayed with the main trail upward for half a mile and then swung off it into a series of small undulating meadows which criss-crossed the hills that creased the heavy folds of ground bordering on the desert. Soon they were in the heavy timber and the starlight was shut out so that they seemed to be riding in a great muffling well of silence, the thick carpet of deadfall drowning the sound of their passing. The timber, Frank noticed, was first-growth pine, tall trunks, massive at the butt, tapering up for almost thirty feet before the outspreading branches and leaves formed a solid ceiling over their heads. There was little underbrush here and they were able to make good progress. In the lead, Carson set a steady course to the west with the dim shapes of the tall trees running before them on all sides. By degrees, the terrain roughened. They splashed across several narrow, but fast-running, streams that raced in white foamed torrents down the hillside from their sources high among the ridges. They held to the crests of the humped ridges for as long as possible, then dropped down into the rough-floored ravines, crossed over, rode up a steep slope where the canyon walls crowded in so closely on both sides that two men were unable to ride abreast and the sharp edged rocks caught at their legs and scraped their horses’ flanks.

  Near two o’clock in the morning, with the moon just beginning to show on the eastern horizon, the trees gave way and they faced a wide creek running noisily over its smooth stones.

  Staying within shelter, Carson edged his mount forward into the open a little way, scanned the stillness which lay spread out before him, watching the upper and lower reaches of the valley below until he was finally satisfied. Far off, there was a starved echo, swiftly dying into silence. He lifted himself a little in the saddle, listening for it to be repeated and when it was not, he waved a hand to the others.

  ‘There’s Foran’s spread,’ he said as Frank drew level with him. ‘My guess is that he may have look-outs posted. If he has, we may lose the advantage of surprise.’

  ‘Want me to scout ahead?’ Frank asked.

  ‘I’d sure feel easier in my mind if you did. I don’t relish invitin’ a bullet out of the shadows.’

  Frank nodded, gigged his mount forward, eyes roving ahead of him. He stayed within shelter, came to where a trail looped downward off the switchback courses and since there was no other way down, he took it.

  The Double Circle look-out had shown no ingenuity in his choice of position. Frank spotted the tall upthrusting column of rock while he was still some distance away. It stood out from the flat ground, solitary and unmistakable, touched with moonlight, clearly commanding such a dominating position that it was the only possible place for a man to bide his time if he had orders to watch the trail. Silently, Frank slid from the saddle, drifted into the undergrowth which grew thickly at this point along the trail. He could see nothing of any man watching the trail, but he was taking no chances and less than three minutes later, the faint snicker of a horse from up ahead reached his ears.

  Picking his way forward cautiously, he circled the rocky outcrop, eased his long body carefully over the patches of open ground, his gaze probing the long, moon-thrown shadows which lay around the rocks. A few moments later, he spotted the horse tethered to a storm-splintered stump and lifting his gaze he picked out the prone figure of a man lying on a flat ledge of stone, a rifle propped up beside him.

  It was clear from the man’s attitude that he had no inkling of his danger. Even as Frank watched him, the man twisted his body, dug into his shirt pocket and brought out the makings of a smoke, propping himself up on one elbow to roll the long strands of tobacco in the brown paper. Frank had no strong desire to shoot the other down in cold blood and there was also the distinct possibility that a gunshot would carry some distance on a clear night such as this, probably warn Foran of trouble. There was only one thing for it. He would have to get sufficiently close to take the other by surprise before he could get his hands on that nearby rifle.

  The intervening stretch of ground was open; bare rock with scarcely any cover. He waited a full two minutes while the look-out got his cigarette going, then moved snake-like over the hard ground, head
low, praying that the other man would not turn his head, but the other seemed intent on watching the trail that led away to his left. Obviously not an imaginative man, he did not even consider the possibility of anyone creeping up on him from the rear.

  Frank was within ten feet of him before some inner instinct seemed to warn the other of danger. The man jerked his head around abruptly, peering into the dimness behind him. Before he could utter a single sound, Frank got his legs under him, thrust himself off the ground, his head butting the man in the midriff before he could rise.

  The other’s clawing fingers jerked out for the rifle, managed to rake across the butt. The breath escaped from his lips in an explosive whoosh as he fell back, head hitting the solid rock with a stunning force.

  Realizing that the rifle was now out of his reach, the man clawed for his sixgun, had it half drawn from the holster when the descending gunbutt in Frank’s hand connected with a sickening crunch on his right temple. He was unconscious before his body hit the ground. Breathing hard, Frank got to his feet, took the other’s rifle and guns, tossed them into the rocks, then clambered down on to the trail, made his way back to where his mount stood waiting patiently and rode back to join the others.

  ‘All clear?’ asked Carson.

  Frank nodded. ‘They had a man on watch along the trail a piece. He won’t bother us now.’

  All of the horses stirred again as Carson gave the signal to move ahead. Frank bent forward in the saddle and stared straight ahead of him, watching details appear out of the dimness. As yet, the moon had not risen sufficiently to throw enough light over the terrain to see things clearly and they were almost on top of the Double Circle ranch before they were aware of it. Lights glowed yellowly in the windows and from where they had drawn rein, they could just make out the shapes of men in the courtyard, between the ranch house and the bunkhouse some fifty yards distant.

  ‘Looks like we ain’t expected,’ grunted Credin tautly. He drew the long-barrelled Winchester from its scabbard, levered it softly. His face was twisted into a scowl of pure hatred. Frank could guess at the thoughts that were running through the other’s mind at that moment and could feel sympathy with him, yet there was a vague sense of warning in his brain as he watched the rancher slide from the saddle. A man filled with such a bitter hatred as Credin was unlikely to think clearly when it came to a gun battle and that could be both dangerous and perhaps fatal.

  ‘Take it easy, friend,’ he said softly. ‘You’ll get your chance at Foran before long.’

  With an effort, the other relaxed and a little of the tension seeped out of his body. ‘I’ll be all right,’ he whispered back. ‘It’s just that I can’t forget what happened back there when those devils attacked us.’

  ‘Everybody spread out,’ said Carson, coming forward. ‘Nobody open fire until they hear my signal, two shots in quick succession.’

  The men slipped away into the darkness, circling the cluster of buildings. Frank and Credin put down a small wrinkle in the ground, crouched down in a tiny hollow from where they could watch the front door that led directly on to the porch. A chill breath of night air swept over them as they waited. Frank could feel the other shivering convulsively, but whether from the cold of the night or from suppressed tension, he could not tell. In the dimness, he felt all of the chambers in his guns, ensured that they were all loaded. Then he fell to watching the house.

  A man stepped out on to the porch, closing the door quickly behind him. He had a smoke in his hand and the tiny red glow winked on and off as he drew on the cigarette, leaning his shoulders against one of the uprights. Another pair of men drifted out of the bunkhouse, were on their way towards the corral when the twin shots blasted out from a little way over on Frank’s left.

  Scarcely had the echoes died away than a thunderous volley of gunfire open up. The two men in the yard crumpled, falling to their knees without a chance to draw their guns. The man on the porch, whom Frank took to be Witney Foran, although at that distance it was impossible to be certain of his identity, ducked swiftly out of sight, crawling behind the rain barrel at the end of the porch where it afforded him a little protection from the flying lead.

  Above the din of gunfire, Carson’s voice called out. ‘Now you’re gettin’ a taste of your own medicine, Foran. This is the end of the line as far as you’re concerned.’

  There was no answer from the ranch. Over near the corral, two men suddenly broke cover, ducked beneath the rails and ran for the horses — which were milling nervously on the far side. The distance was too far for hand guns and both men succeeded in swinging up on to their mount’s backs, clinging precariously to them without any saddles for support. Frank had to feel a sense of grudging admiration for the way both men handled their mounts, putting them to the fence, leaping into the courtyard, setting them towards the trail that wound up from the ranch.

  ‘Get those two men!’ called Carson harshly.

  Guns roared spitefully as the men thundered past. One of the riders suddenly released his hold on his mount’s neck, reared up in the saddle, arms thrown high over his head. He toppled sideways, hit the ground hard and rolled over several times before coming to rest at the bottom of the slope. In the moonlight, his wide open eyes stared sightlessly at the star-strewn heavens.

  His companion almost made it before a bullet nicked his horse’s neck. The animal shied with a shrill whinny of pain, unseating him. He crashed into the brush, lay still for a moment, then lunged forward, diving for cover behind a fallen tree. The riderless horse plunged on over the brow of the hill, the tattoo of its hooves fading swiftly into the distance.

  ‘Stay here,’ Frank whispered urgently to Credin. ‘I’m goin’ after that hombre down there.’ He wriggled off through the tall grass. A bullet cut through the air within an inch of his head and out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the brief lance of crimson flame that spouted from the gunman’s Colt. Now that he had the other pinpointed. Frank glanced around at the surrounding terrain. It would be impossible for the man to move back without exposing himself; on the other hand, he commanded a view of the open ground on every side of him. Drawing up his legs, he arched his back, dug in his heels and palmed his Colt. Breathing deeply for the space of perhaps ten seconds, he sprinted forward as fast as the thrust of his legs would carry him.

  Immediately, a second gunshot blasted and there came another lancing tongue of scarlet flame. The breath of the passing bullet touched his cheek and he threw himself bodily to the ground, twisting instinctively as he landed. There was gunfire all about him now, but as far as he was concerned, there was only this one man who mattered. Snapping off a quick shot as he hit the dirt, he saw a broad dagger of wood slice off the dead tree and fly into the air.

  Before the other could lift his head and sight his gun again, Frank loosed off three rapid shots, placing them in a pattern around the deadfall. Then he flattened himself to the ground once more, drawing the other gun and thrusting the empty weapon back into its holster. He was so close that he could hear the man’s harsh breathing although he could not see him. A ricochet from somewhere in the darkness, whipped along his arm, burning the flesh without actually penetrating, alerting him to the danger that lay all about him now that he had deliberately exposed himself to a marksman inside the ranch.

  Seconds dragged by on leaden feet as he lay quite still, the Colt resting on his out-thrust arm, sighted so that he could move it swiftly to pick any spot along the top of the tree trunk. Lancing fingers of cramp seared through the muscles of his thighs, knotting them painfully. The urge to straighten his legs, to ease the agony, was almost more than he could fight down.

  Then, when he had begun to despair of the other making any move, he saw the crown of a hat appear near the end of the trunk. He swung the gun instinctively, was on the point of squeezing the trigger when he noticed the way in which the hat wobbled. Drawing his lips back across his teeth, he held his fire. It was an old trick, but it had almost worked. The other was lifting
his hat on the end of a stick, hoping to draw his fire and give away his exact position. He realized now that he was lying in a small hollow, not deep enough to shelter him, but sufficiently so for a long shadow to be lying across his body making it difficult for the other to pick him out against the background of grass and rock.

  After a few moments, the hat vanished, withdrawn quickly. Again, Frank forced himself to wait. Then he heard the sharp intake of breath which gave the other away. There was the scrape of booted heels on rock and without warning, the gunhawk launched himself sideways, diving for the bushes to one side. The move almost took Frank by surprise. He fired instinctively, without pausing to take deliberate aim, heard the first slug strike wood. The second, however, thudded into yielding flesh and the man fell awkwardly, a branch snapping loudly under his weight. Before he could move into cover, the barrel of Frank’s Colt tipped downward and the man fell back with a bullet in his chest.

  By the time he had worked his way back to where Credin lay, pumping shot after shot into the ranch house, the fire from the barn and bunkhouse had noticeably slackened. Caught on the wrong foot, many of the Double Circle crew had been in the open when the attack had begun, had been shot down before they could reach cover. Narrowing his eyes, Frank searched for some sign of the dark figure he had noticed on the porch, but could see no indication of any movement. Either the other was dead, or he was keeping himself well concealed.

  There was still plenty of return fire from the rear of the ranch house, however, and it was obvious to Frank that the defenders were in a pretty strong position, unless they could rush the place. Before this could be done, however, a further danger presented itself.