Dead Man's Range

by Paul Durst

  ‘Pinto!’ Penelope screamed as bullets began geysering the earth around the pup, sending him darting hither and thither with renewed excitement. Then he gave a yelp of agony as a bullet slammed into him, sending him tumbling over and over. He got up on his forefeet, crying in pitiful yelps as he dragged his twisted hindquarters, floundering helplessly in circles.

  With a shriek Penelope burst out of the door and across the porch into the yard, a tiny running figure in a white nightgown that glowed pink in the light of the flames. She ran toward the stricken pup, heedless of the bullets kicking up the yard around her.

  ‘Come out, Carmody, or we’ll kill her!’ Anson screamed maniacally.

  Carmody had not seen her go; could not see her now because the corner of the house cut off his view. He whirled away from the window in time to see Caleb halfway across the yard. Caleb was waving his arms and screaming at the men in the outbuildings, ‘Stop shooting you crazy fools! She’s only a little girl!’

  Penelope was trying to pick up Pinto, but the pain-crazed pup snapped at her and tried to drag himself away. Caleb reached her and was bending to pick her up when he stiffened suddenly and took a staggering step backwards, a look of dumb surprise on his face. Then he went forward, groggily, picked up the girl in his arms. She struggled, kicking screaming ‘Pinto! Pinto!’

  Carmody was racing across the yard when Caleb went down, Penelope still struggling in his arms.

  ‘There’s Carmody!’ Anson shrieked with wild glee. ‘Nail him, goddammit, nail him!’

  Carmody did not hear him. He did not hear the snap and whine of bullets suddenly increase around him. He was only vaguely aware that the ground occasionally moved and jerked in little puffs and jets and that something tugged briefly at his sleeve and then let go. He bent swiftly and picked up Caleb’s withered body and draped it over one shoulder. Then he caught Penelope in his arms and turned and stumbled toward the house with his double burden. The house seemed a mile away, and the ground before him was alive with moving jets of earth. Although he was running his legs seemed imbedded in thick mud, his movements dreamlike and slow.

  A bullet burned a furrow along his cheek and he jerked his head as though a wasp had stung him. Awareness returned and the roar of guns broke suddenly into his consciousness and he felt the warm trickle of blood on his face and on his belly where the wound had opened again.

  Then the house was in front of him and he was stumbling up the steps. He crossed the porch and the door opened and he staggered inside. Eager hands took Penelope from him and he felt Will helping him ease Caleb to the floor. He knelt for a moment, getting his breath, aware that Anne was beside him. She touched his shoulder.

  ‘Jeff! You’re – you’re hurt!’

  He shook his head doggedly. ‘I ain’t hurt.’ He looked up. ‘Penny? Is she all right?’ Then he saw her, clinging to Anne, sobbing quietly. He nodded his satisfaction and smiled wanly.

  ‘Caleb?’ Anne whispered, looking hard into Carmody’s eyes.

  ‘Don’t know,’ Carmody said wearily. He laid his hand on the old man’s wrist, feeling for the pulse. There was a widening stain on Caleb’s shirt. The pulse was only a flutter. He saw Caleb open his eyes.

  ‘Penny?’ the old man croaked. Then he saw her with Anne and smiled.

  Caleb opened his eyes and shook his head. ‘I ain’t goin’ to make it this time, son. I got too many winters under my hide. Somebody put that chunk of lead in a mighty touchy spot.’ He wheezed slightly and turned to Anne. ‘Reckon you could bring me a drink of water, Anne?’ She nodded and crept toward the bucket beside the pump. Caleb watched till she had gone then turned to Carmody and said, ‘She ain’t ever to know – the truth. After I’m gone. Understand? It don’t make no difference now what happened. It’d only – break her heart.’

  ‘Sure, I understand, Caleb,’ Carmody said.

  But he knew Caleb didn’t hear him. Caleb was dead.

  Anne came back with the dipper of water and held it out to Carmody. He took it and laid it aside, looking at her. She gave a little gasp of realization and stared down at Caleb’s face. Then she turned away and began to cry quietly.

  Carmody got a blanket from the other room and put it over the old man. Then he glanced out of the window. ‘Dawn’s beginnin’ to break, Will. It’ll be daylight soon. You and the girls get some sleep. I’ll watch ’em for a while. Ain’t much danger right now.’

  ‘You’re plumb wore out, Jeff,’ Will said protestingly. ‘Better let me do the watchin’ for a while.’

  Carmody shook his head and picked up Anne’s Winchester. ‘I couldn’t sleep anyway, Will. But I’d sure admire some of your makin’s. I ain’t had a smoke in two days.’

  Will produced his tobacco and papers and handed them over.

  When Henstridge had gone he picked up Caleb’s Sharp’s and opened the breech. It was loaded. He went through the old man’s pockets and found four more shells. These he took and laid them in a row on the floor beside the window. Then he squatted down with the Sharp’s in front of him and the Winchester at his elbow and looked out the window at the approaching dawn. And he wondered vaguely if he would ever see another.

  It came slowly, first a grey line along the hills to the east, gradually lightening to silver and then changing to pale gold as the sun peered over the rim of the world bathing the Panhandle country in the soft glow.

  Beyond the still-smouldering heap of the barn, the outbuildings lay quiet in the early morning stillness. He let his eyes wander slowly among the trees and scattered brush, searching for the Anvil horses. But a company of cavalry could successfully hide their horses within a hundred yards of the house and never show a hair. He wondered vaguely if Anson might have thought, too, about the barn-fire being seen and drawing help. Then he heard a horse whicker somewhere along the creek and knew that Anson was still out there.

  He was sitting beside the stove with his back to one wall where it made an angle with another. From this position he could keep a good watch out the near window and the one onto the porch without exposing himself. If anything moved in that entire landscape where the Anvil riders lay he would be sure to see it.

  He had finished his cigarette and was leaning forward to stub it out when the wall behind him shook with a thump and he felt plaster powdering its way down his neck. He jerked his head around and saw where a rifle bullet had imbedded itself. It caused him to shiver a little when he thought that if he hadn’t leaned forward to put out the cigarette that bullet would have gone through his head instead of the plaster.

  The crack of the rifle followed almost immediately and he realized before he looked out of the window that this shot had not come from the outbuildings or anywhere at ground level. Unless he raised his head high it would be impossible for them to see it. He ran his eyes quickly over the stand of cottonwoods and almost immediately found what he sought. A wisp of gunsmoke floated through the green leaves some fifty feet above the ground. Another puff of white blossomed out as he watched and he threw himself forward on the floor and glanced back in time to see the bullseye pattern in the plaster when the bullet struck. Gathering his feet under him he reached for the Sharp’s and pulled the hammer to full cock.

  There was an unmistakable glint of sunshine on metal as the man levered a fresh cartridge. It was gone in an instant but Carmody knew now where his target lay. He poked the muzzle of the heavy Sharp’s onto the window sill and dropped the sights fine on the spot where the glint had disappeared. The buffalo gun thundered like a small cannon and jammed his shoulder hard.

  For a second nothing happened. Carmody squinted through the gunsmoke, breathing the acrid smell of it, his eyes intent on the spot high up in the cottonwood. Then the leaves shook, once – then again lower down, as if something were falling. From the lower branches a figure dropped, cartwheeling arms and legs, and disappeared into the undergrowth beneath the tree. The rifle followed, clattering loudly from limb to limb. Carmody reloaded the Sharp’s, scanning the other trees carefully.
Satisfied they were empty, he leaned the rifle against the wall and sat back.

  ‘Nice shootin’,’ Will said quietly from the other room.

  ‘That old buffalo gun sure reaches right out there,’ Carmody replied. ‘Doubt if I’d’ve got him with the Winchester.’

  Henstridge gave a sudden whoop from the other room. ‘Jeff! Looky yonder! Riders a’comin’. Help’s a’comin’. Somebody seen the barn on fire. Half a dozen – no, seven – eight!’

  Carmody scrambled to his knees. ‘You sure it ain’t help for them?’ He peered out of the window. ‘Where are they? I can’t see anything.’

  ‘Naw, not out there – in here. Comin’ from the direction of town.’

  Carmody crossed the kitchen in a running crouch, followed by Anne. Will was at the parlour window, pointing. ‘See, comin’ down the slope.’

  ‘It looks like Mose Dalmas,’ Anne said. ‘But – who’s that man at the back. He looks like a negro!’

  Carmody’s tired face broke in a grin. ‘That’s just a boy from Vicksburg lookin’ for a railroad ticket home.’ Anne and Will gave him a puzzled look but his mind was already on other things and the grin was gone. ‘Sure wasn’t able to raise much of a posse, was he? Well, maybe that’s all to the good. A big crowd would have made a lot of noise.’ He leaned out of the window studying the terrain, then he pulled back in and glanced toward the kitchen. ‘Chances are they were too far away to hear those last shots,’ he said, talking aloud to himself. ‘They might figure we’re dead and ride right on in to an ambush. But if we fire a few shots they’ll catch on.’

  ‘Anson’ll run as soon as he sees ’em!’ Will said emphatically.

  ‘If Mose had a dozen men, maybe he would. But Anson won’t back down while he’s still got a chance.’ He glanced out the window again. ‘And if Mose keeps comin’ like he is the house will hide him from Anson until he gets right down on the creek.’

  Will looked at him sharply. ‘You mean – maybe we can bottle Anson up?’

  ‘Maybe. I just hope he didn’t hear that war whoop you let out and start lookin’ around to see what caused it. If we let Mose get as close to the house as he can without lettin’ on he’s comin’, and then cut loose at Anson with every gun we’ve got.…’

  ‘Then Anson’s bound to cut loose right back at us and that’ll warn Mose and let him know where Anson is – that what you mean?’

  Carmody nodded. ‘Somethin’ like that. Now look – see that big-boled cottonwood there on the creek? All right, when Mose and his riders get even with that they’re close enough. Then you start shootin’. As soon as I hear you I’ll open up, too. Use your pistol in one hand and your rifle in the other. Don’t matter a damn whether you hit anythin’ or not – but if you can pick one off, so much the better. But the idea is to get Anson’s attention so’s he won’t be likely to notice Dalmas until it’s too late. Make him think we’ve got a whole damn army in here when we cut loose.’

  Will chuckled. ‘All right, by damn, I’ll bet you Emma and me can make more noise in here than you and Anne can make out there. How many guns have we got all told?’

  ‘Well, let’s see,’ Carmody said. ‘Three rifles, to start with. And – yeah – three handguns, yours, mine and Caleb’s.’

  ‘Four,’ Anne put in. ‘I’ve still got Clint’s.’

  ‘Seven altogether. Anne, you take Clint’s pistol and your Winchester. Rest the barrel on the windowsill and you can pull the lever down without having to lay the Colt aside each time. Will, you can do the same. Emma can handle Caleb’s pistol. I’ll take the Sharp’s and my own handgun.’

  Will nodded, glancing out of the window. ‘They’re down on the flat now, Jeff. I’ll have to keep my eyes peeled to see ’em through the trees.’

  ‘All right. We’ll go back in the kitchen and get set. Remember – as soon as they get even with that big cottonwood.’

  Anne went to waken Emma and tell her the plan while Carmody crouched beneath the kitchen window and began checking the guns and laying out spare ammunition where it would be handy. There wasn’t much, but it didn’t matter a lot now. As long as he remembered to hold back six rounds for his own Colt. That was for Anson.

  Emma Henstridge went in to join her husband and Anne came back into the kitchen and took her station by the window opposite Carmody. She checked her guns, then smiled over at him. ‘Scared?’ he asked.

  She shook her head vigorously till her hair bounced and glinted golden lights in the sunshine. Impulsively, Carmody leaned over and drew her to him and kissed her. When they drew apart she ran her finger gently along his cheek beside the bullet wound. ‘Does it hurt much, Jeff?’ she whispered.

  ‘Not much.’ Then he grinned. ‘But I probably won’t be able to shave for our weddin’. Do you mind?’

  ‘Jeff, honey – I wouldn’t mind if you had whiskers four feet long!’

  CHAPTER 16

  Carmody had timed it well. The burst of gunfire from the house came just as Mose Dalmas and his posse swung past the big-boled cottonwood at a lope and forded the creek. The riders wheeled into view just as the Anvil crew opened up from the outbuildings with a barrage that rattled against the walls of the house like a sudden summer hail-storm. For an instant Dalmas wheeled in, hesitating, his blood running cold with fear at the realization that Anvil was in command of the situation. But only for an instant – then something that had lain dormant in his nature for years, some better part of him that had been gradually cowed by the growing power of Booth Anson, came surging up within him and he became a lawman once again instead of a frightened and uncertain man who wore a star and looked the other way when trouble showed.

  With a loud yell and a sweep of his arm he led his riders to encircle the outbuilding and cut off possible escape. They rode past at a furious clip, bending low over their horses’ necks and firing at the Anvil crew as they passed. Even Wash, frightened though he was and ungainly on horseback, followed in their wake brandishing a muzzle-loading shotgun he had unearthed somewhere on Anvil before riding for help.

  The sudden fury of the gunfire from the house plus the unexpected appearance of the sheriff and his posse had an effect on the Anvil crew much like that of a charge of buckshot emptied pointblank into a brushpile full of rabbits. They scampered out of the outbuildings and headed for the brush where their mounts were waiting, running low and keeping the buildings between themselves and the fast-riding posse. One man was cut off from the rest, trapped by an angle of the corral fence and an adjoining shed. He bellied low in the dust while the posse galloped past without seeing him. Then he jumped up and started to run when the straggling Wash on a weary grey mare came lumbering around the corner of the corral at a clumsy gallop. The Anvil man flattened himself against the shed and raised his Colt, waiting for Wash to come in line.

  From the house Carmody saw only the shadow of the man against the shed as he raised the pistol. ‘Wash! Look out!’ he bellowed.

  Wash jerked his head, his eyes wide with terror as he saw the gunman not ten feet away levelling his pistol. The ancient shotgun rested across Wash’s saddle, fully cocked, but his arms refused to function when he tried to raise it. He closed his eyes and muttered a prayer, pressing the stock against his belly and pulling both triggers simultaneously.

  Carmody heard the double blast and saw the cloud of smoke envelop horse and rider. The Anvil gunman toppled forward, a pulpy mass above his shirt collar where his head had been. Wash reappeared through the smoke minus the shotgun, clinging hard to the horn as the old mare put on a surprising burst of speed and clutching his belly where the shotgun had kicked him unmercifully. The mare thundered into the cottonwoods and disappeared. Carmody and Will Henstridge let out a whoop of laughter and then swung their rifles to bear on a pair of Anvil riders who had mounted in the brush and were swinging wide to cross the creek in an attempt to reach the slope beyond. Both shots blended in a single report. The lead rider jerked from the saddle and hit the ground, rolling over twice in the sand before coming t
o rest with one outstretched arm in the running water of the creek. The second swayed crazily, turned and fired at the house, then doubled slowly forward and slipped from the saddle as his horse hit the creek in a fountain of spray. When the horse reappeared on the other bank the man was hanging by a foot from one stirrup, his body bounding and jerking with each stride of the running mount.

  The firing dwindled to a few spasmodic shots, then suddenly ceased. In the deafening silence that followed, Carmody heard a woodpecker drumming a distant tree and somewhere up the valley slope a calf bawled after its mother. The quiet peacefulness of the sounds seemed strangely out of place in the harsh sunlight where smoke still rose from the embers of the barn and men lay sprawled in the grotesque gestures of death.

  Will Henstridge broke the silence, saying quietly from the other room, ‘Jeff, what d’you reckon got into Mose Dalmas all of a sudden? Why, he acted like a sheriff.’

  ‘Might’ve been somethin’ he et for breakfast,’ Carmody said with a weary grin.

  ‘Well, by granny, if he makes a steady diet of it he just might get himself elected again. Lookit there – here he comes with what’s left of the Anvil crew. Three … four, six … seven.’

  Carmody stood up and swung a leg over the windowsill, squinting in the sunlight toward the brush from which Dalmas and his posse were herding the cowed Anvil gunmen. ‘I don’t see him,’ Carmody said thinly, his pulse quickening. ‘Do you see him, Will?’

  ‘You mean Anson? No – come to think of it, I ain’t seen him. Do you reckon he’s still in there in the bunkh—’

  Some sixth sense had already warned Carmody and his eyes were swinging toward the bunkhouse when he saw the movement by the distant window and shoved himself backwards into the kitchen. The bullet whispered hotly as it passed him, clanged against the handle of the frying pan on the stove and sent it spinning across the room.