Yuma Bustout

by Judd Cole

  When their meal was over, Danford and Coyote went back out front of the cavern, where Lorenzo had drawn first shift on sentry duty.

  “Hell,” Lorenzo teased them, “you boys bashful? I’m damned if I mean to waste my turn with them beauties.”

  “Chuck that butt, you damn fool,” Fargo snapped at Lorenzo. “You’re giving Hickok a lighted target!”

  “Ease off, I’m covering it with my hand. Ain’t nothing down there anyhow.”

  But Danford made sure himself, studying each section of the wide slope for both shape and movement. After a long search, he finally nodded.

  “Looks safe,” he conceded. He turned to stare at Coyote. Both men grinned.

  “Time to spark our ladies?” Danford said.

  Lorenzo inhaled a last drag from his cigarette and flipped the butt away in a wide, glowing arc.

  “Save some for me,” he said. “Lucky bast—”

  The bullet arrived a fraction of a second before the sound of the rifle. It punched into Lorenzo’s right cheek and out his left, destroying teeth and gums and shattering one eye socket.

  “Christ!” Bloody chips of tooth sprayed Danford’s face. He and Coyote hit the ground even as another rifle slug whanged into the opening under the rock shelf.

  Lorenzo had not been killed, which would have been more merciful. Now the pain of his hideous wound struck him full force before shock could numb it.

  The howl he unleashed unnerved both his companions. The marksman below could easily have finished off Lorenzo; instead, he was evidently leaving him to work at the other two’s nerves.

  The plan succeeded. After twice telling Lorenzo to shut up and cover down, Danford simply shot him to put him out of his misery.

  Danford and Coyote lay flattened, easing back under the shelf.

  “See him?” Danford whispered.

  “Nothing,” Coyote replied.

  “It’s Hickok,” Danford said. “Has to be.”

  This was confirmed a moment later when a familiar voice—relaxed, amiable, only slightly mocking— called out to them from the night.

  “That’s two down and two to go, boys. Sweet dreams. I’ll be watching you.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Steady on, kid,” Bill whispered down to Josh. “Something’s coming. They just don’t know how to play it yet.”

  Josh had ridden with Bill long enough to conquer the worst of his fear. But watching Lorenzo die so horribly, slaughtered by his own men, had left Josh feeling like he’d been kicked hard in the guts. It reminded him that Danford’s gang were not men at all but reptilian killing machines.

  As if Bill, too, were thinking similar thoughts, the older man added: “I tried for a clean head kill, but I pulled it by two inches. Then, when I tried to throw a finishing shot into him, he was dancing all over. I ain’t no Annie Oakley with a rifle.”

  Josh knew Bill meant it. He had never seen Hickok shoot at a man unless he meant to kill him quick with one shot. Still, the sound of Lorenzo’s voice when the pain and realization struck him ... Josh was a Christian, but he couldn’t help wondering if the Indians weren’t right, and the last moment of your life was the one you lived forever in the afterworld.

  There was still no reaction from the cave. Josh found it hard to believe how quickly Bill had found just enough cover to sneak up the slope this far—perhaps a hundred yards from the rock overhang. With Josh almost literally on his heels, Bill seemed to sense the lowest ground with his body.

  Josh now pressed into a low swelling of dirt that hid much of his body from view above. Bill lay just ahead, using no ground cover at all. He had merely pressed into a runoff seam, bringing his body just below ground level when he pressed flat.

  Josh flinched hard when Bill suddenly shouted, “Danford? Make you a deal. Turn the women loose, I’m off your trail! Take your silver and cash in, it’s none of my dicker! I just want the women.”

  “Don’t you always?” a mocking voice called back. “Thanks for giving us a target, Goldilocks!”

  Bill’s voice gave the men a general direction to attack, and they opened up with a vengeance. A bullet whapped in so close it kicked sand into Josh’s eyes. Another whumped into the mound of dirt protecting him.

  In all, perhaps ten shots were fired, most of them striking very close by. But as soon as the guns above fell silent, Bill whispered confidently to Josh, “Don’t sweat it, kid. That was just meant to panic us into moving so they’d get a better target.”

  “It almost worked, ‘cept I was too scared to move.”

  “They won’t do it again,” Bill predicted. “They’re sparing their ammo—they must be low.”

  That made Josh suddenly worry about their own supply.

  “Bill? I only have six cartridges.”

  “We’re all right. I got a full belt for my short irons and a box of .44 rimfires in my saddlebag for the Winchester.”

  But soon Josh had something new to worry about: The mound of dirt behind which he was hiding suddenly emitted a hissing jet of steam.

  Despite their precarious plight, Bill abruptly chuckled. “Kid, you’re hugging a fumarole!”

  Josh felt his heart skip a beat. Man alive, a fumarole! He knew they dotted Mexico, open vents over pockets of bubbling magma. Many were still active. The idea of being boiled alive made a bullet seem almost like a blessing.

  “Shouldn’t we move?” asked a nervous Josh.

  “What, and give those buzzards up there clear targets? Kid, you’re going simple on me.”

  “So what do we do, just stay here all night?”

  “If we do, least you’ll have heat. But don’t worry,” Hickok assured him. “I know Fargo Danford. Anything erupts around here, it’ll be him. We won’t have to wait long.”

  “Hold your fire, damnit!” Danford snapped at Coyote. “We ain’t got enough ammo to just be shootin’ at shadows!”

  Coyote holstered his side arm and moved back farther under the rock ledge with Danford. Each man also carried a shotgun in case Hickok rushed them.

  “So much for your goddamn ‘safe haven,’” Coyote growled at his friend.

  “You know a better place? Hellfire! A rabbit couldn’t get up that slope without showing itself. You said so yourself, Coyote.”

  Danford walked back into the big chamber to make a quick check on the women. Then he joined Coyote again.

  “Look,” Danford said. “If we ain’t sleeping, Hickok ain’t neither! He ain’t got the upper hand, or we’d be dead! All we got to do is play it smart.”

  Coyote moved back outside, quickly checked the slope, then ducked in again. He was careful to stay low.

  Danford moved close to the opening.

  “Hey, Hickok?” he shouted. “You’re a funny man, ain’tcha? Funny as a crutch! We got somethin’ to make you laugh!”

  “Coyote,” he said, lowering his voice. “Bring me the governor’s whore. And bring me a stick from the fire. Make sure you tie the other one up.”

  Coyote grinned like a schoolboy. He saw where this was going. “Now you’re whistling, boss.”

  “Hickok!” Danford shouted. “I know you’re a ladies’ man, too! We got a gal here wants to say howdy!”

  When Anne came forward, she was putting up no resistance—not with the point of Coyote’s ten-inch knife tickling the bumps of her spine.

  However, she began struggling in earnest when Danford brought a still-burning chunk of mesquite toward her right arm.

  “No!” she begged. “Oh, please dear God, no!”

  “Yes, damn you to hell!” Danford shot back.

  With Coyote restraining her, Anne quickly ran out of room to retreat, and the flaming wood struck her forearm.

  Her scream, as Danford held it there, unrelenting, spread out into the desert night like the shriek of a dying puma.

  “That was the governor’s woman!” Danford shouted down to the attackers on the slope. “She’s got her a brand-new scar for life, compliments of Wild Bill Hickok, the noble goddamn l
adies’ man!”

  Josh was not a cussing man. But hearing Anne Jacobs suddenly cry out in terrible pain was more than he could bear in silence.

  “Damnit, Bill, we gotta stop Danford! We gotta—”

  “You got to shut up,” Bill cut him off sharply. “I got enough to deal with here. I don’t need no outraged cavaliers from Philadelphia!”

  Bill raised his voice again to be heard above.

  “Danford?”

  “Yo!”

  “We can bargain without the torture sessions! Just leave the women out of it and deal man to man.”

  “Shove your man to man, Hickok! I’ll deal any goddamn way I want to, and you’ll eat it and you’ll like it, you puffed-up gal-boy!”

  “So start dealing, mouth. What’s your terms?”

  “Simple. We’re riding out, and you’re letting us go. First you back off the slope so we can leave. Each one of us will have a woman close by on a lead line. The first time you get cute, the bitches get aired out. Those terms jake by you?”

  When Bill hesitated, Danford added, “You wanna hear that cow bellow again?”

  “The terms are acceptable,” Bill shouted back. “We’re moving back. But draw back away from the opening first. No free shots.”

  “Rot in hell!” Danford shouted. But he did move back.

  “Scuttle backwards quick when I give the word,” Bill ordered Josh. “But keep your eyes on that opening when you’re exposed. If they try to cold-deck us, flatten into the ground. It’s a rough angle for an easy bead—they’ll have to waste lead.”

  However, the two men made it to the bottom of the slope without incident.

  “Run fetch the horses,” Bill told Josh. “We won’t follow right off, but I want to be ready.”

  However, both men were suddenly caught off guard by events up above.

  Evidently Danford didn’t trust Hickok’s word. Danford, Coyote, and their captives, along with several extra horses, suddenly emerged from the hidden cavern and began escaping down the slope.

  “Damn fools,” Bill muttered. “They’re going too fast on that shale.”

  Bill made no move to intervene, knowing neither Danford nor the twisted Coyote would hesitate to kill the women. Josh could see how each woman’s horse was sidelined to the men’s saddle horns by a short rope, controlling them.

  But Bill was right, and the inevitable came to pass. One of the big bays carrying a woman—Josh had no idea which one yet—suddenly stumbled hard on loose shale, front legs splaying out from under it.

  The man holding the horse had no choice but to let go of the line or risk tripping his own horse. Josh, his heart leaping into his throat, watched the woman land hard on the slope and then start rolling and tumbling toward the bottom, not far from where he and Bill stood.

  “God kiss me!” Bill exclaimed.

  The tumble was hard but fast, and within seconds the unfortunate woman had drawn up at the base of the slope. She lay ominously still.

  Bill raced off toward her on foot at the same time the rider decided to retrieve his captive. The other escaped convict, Josh saw, was fleeing into the night with his prisoner. But clearly Bill figured all bets were off concerning this other one.

  Both men drew closer, and because he was running so hard, Bill left his guns holstered. Josh watched the rider lift his scattergun and empty both barrels at Wild Bill.

  Luckily, the range was a little long for the rock-salt loads to be lethal. But enough of it scraped and cut Bill to make him swerve, then stumble.

  He came up cussing, but also fanning his hammer, blood streaming into his eyes from the rock-salt cuts.

  Luckily for the horseman, Bill was still disoriented, and his shots flew inches wide. The rider cursed, then suddenly gave up his quest. He whirled his horse and raced to catch up with his companion.

  “Is she still alive, Bill?” Josh shouted, running to join Hickok where he knelt over the supine woman.

  Josh looked over Bill’s shoulder, then forgot to take his next breath—the young woman lying there in the silver moonlight was so pretty, she took it away. He recognized her instantly as the immensely popular tragedian.

  “Is she breathing?” Josh said, almost whispering in his reverence. “She ain’t dead, is she?”

  “If she is,” Bill answered calmly enough, his theatrical words amazing Josh, “then ‘death lies on her lips like an untimely frost on the fairest flower in all the fields’.”

  Josh blinked stupidly. “Huh?”

  “You’re slipping, kid. That line’s from Romeo and Juliet. Well, good. She’s still breathing, and her pulse is strong. C’mon, quit gawking at her and give me a hand, mooncalf! We’ve gotta get her sheltered before our friends decide to come back.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “‘Preciate it, kid,” Bill said when Josh finished cleaning the worst of his rock-salt wounds with clean cistern water. “Now come on outside and give me a hand.”

  With Connie hurt and badly shaken from her fall, the trio had little choice but to take over the newly deserted shelter hidden under the rock shelf—called Devil’s Shelf on Bill’s Army field map.

  Bill coaxed the distraught and agitated woman into downing the last of the Old Taylor in his flask. Not used to spirits, the exhausted actress had quickly fallen asleep near the glowing fire pit, comfortable on Bill and Josh’s combined bedrolls.

  The two men went through the saddle pockets of the horse she rode. They made short work of some jerked beef and hardtack they found.

  While they ate, Bill carefully studied the long slope in the moonlight, searching for any movements or shapes that didn’t fit. Satisfied it was safe, he led Josh out from under the overhang.

  “Grab his legs, wouldja?” Bill nodded at the sprawled body of Lorenzo. “We leave him right here, we’re just inviting predators into the cave.”

  Taking their time about it—for it was a big body and both men were bone-tired—they dragged Lorenzo off to one side of the slope, well away from the vulnerable rock chamber.

  “I’m damned if I’ll bury any man tried to kill me,” Bill remarked as they walked back to the shelter. “Besides, we won’t be here long enough to worry about the stink.”

  “You think Miss Emmerick’s hurt bad?” Josh asked.

  Bill shook his head, peeling back the wrapper of a cheroot. “Twisted ankle, some cuts and bruises, got some scrapes. Say, kid? Why’n’t you go up there and give her a thorough physical examination, huh?”

  “That ain’t funny,” Josh protested.

  “No, not funny. Just fun. Anyhow, I’ll wager that fall didn’t knock the sheer, spiteful cussedness outta her.”

  They didn’t have to wait long to find out—Connie was wide awake when they returned. She sat on one of the bedrolls, trying to comb a snag out of her hair. The flickering orange light of the chamber turned the big bruise on her chin into a flattering beauty mark.

  “Miss Emmerick!” Josh exclaimed, practically tripping over his own feet as he hurried in to pour her a cup of coffee. “My name is Joshua Robinson, at your service. I’m a reporter for the New York Herald. May I add, ma’am, that I am a devoted follower of your art, and—”

  “Mr. Hickok?” Connie cut Josh off as if he were an irksome Bible-thumper on the street. She sounded furious. “Mr. Hickok, I presume you must be the chief authority here?”

  Hickok bowed slightly. “Someone must be, madam.”

  “Of course, but you’ve let me sleep for three hours!”

  Bill smote his forehead. “I thought the maid would wake you.”

  “It’s not funny except perhaps to a boor! My sister Anne is with those ... those monsters! You just let them ride away with her!”

  “Now, remember,” Bill tried to reason with her, “it ain’t like they asked my permission to take her.”

  “But they’re even more desperate now! She doesn’t stand a chance. We can’t waste time!”

  “She does too have a chance, though slim. And we’re not wasting time. It
just seems that way to you.”

  Bill said this almost absently, for he was distracted by the smooth, white roundness of her left shoulder, exposed by her torn dress.

  “Kid?”

  “Yeah?”

  It cost Bill an effort to tug his eyes away from the trail-weathered but still beautiful woman.

  “Kid, you figure you could escort Miss Emmerick back across the border into Arizona?”

  Josh couldn’t believe his ears. Jeez! Could a hungry bear eat honey?

  “Sure I could,” the kid replied, a bit too eagerly.

  Bill snorted. “Stout lad. You should have easy riding if you travel after dark and take plenty of this water with you.”

  “What about my sister?” Connie demanded.

  “Like you said,” Bill told her. “She hasn’t got much time. So I’m going after her now.”

  “Yes, well, fine. But ... alone?”

  “Why not? That’s how I usually operate,” Bill assured her.

  “Yes, I’ve read that about Wild Bill Hickok. But tell me, this young man here ...”

  Connie abruptly turned to look at Josh. She appraised him so frankly that he blushed.

  “Would he be more useful to you,” she asked Bill, “if he stayed here in Mexico? Never mind me.”

  Bill, too, looked at the kid, smoothing his mustache with one finger.

  “Well, he’s a city boy and reads Sir Walter Scott, God help us all. But I’ve discovered he’s a good man to have along.”

  “Then he stays,” Connie announced as if she were the obvious boss here. “And I stay. I shan’t return to the U.S. until Anne is safe!”

  Josh saw a grin tugging at Bill’s lips.

  “You shan’t, huh?” Hickok asked her. “All due respect, Miss Emmerick. But that decision isn’t yours to make.”

  Connie’s nostrils flared, and she started to protest. But the emotional hell she’d endured in the past few days now exacted its toll: She suddenly burst into tears.