Scrum leaned toward Ward and said, “If you want your winnings you best get me out of here alive.”
“That’s what I intend to do.” Ward faced the angry crowd. “Folks, this lying, cheating, dog owes me pretty much all of his wealth. I’m taking him over to the bank to settle up and set up a trust account. I’m not keeping a penny. Any of you that can prove they lost money to Scrum will be paid back. But, he can’t sign his ranch over to me if he’s dead, so let us through.”
The crowd parted. Ward and Dunn led Scrum to the door of the saloon. Two men dumped beer on the heavy rancher’s head, drawing laughter and cheers. Scrum ducked behind Ward and Dunn as they moved nearer the swinging doors leading to the evening air.
Paul Cook leaned against a pole at the bottom of the stairs leading to the balcony. Scrum edged close to his loyal gunman as he walked past and whispered, “Vasquez.”
Cook nodded and turned away. The tracker and gunman disappeared outside and into the darkness.
More shouts of hatred rained on Scrum as he moved across the street. In the bank Scrum quietly signed papers drawn up by the banker, Thomas Fairchild. He said nothing and this concerned Ward.
Ward leaned towards Dunn and quietly said, “keep your eyes open. This is going too easily.”
Scrum set the pen on the banker's desk. “We done?”
The banker scanned the papers and turned to Ron Ward. “Everything's in order. The land and cattle belong to you, Mr. Ward.”
“Good, now the trust,” said Ward.
The banker pulled papers out of his desk. “It's ready, just as you asked this morning.” Ward had visited the bank when they first arrived in town. He had the manager draw up the papers for the transfer of Scrum's land to Ward.
“This morning? You're real sure of yourself. Now, I'm leaving.” Scrum smiled at Ward and Dunn and confidently walked out the door. Ward let him go but watched his movements outside.
Chapter Twelve
Paul Cook and a man nearly the same size of Once Dunn waited outside the bank with Scrum’s horse. Ward recognized the man as Loco Vasquez, a cash fist fighter from Mexico with only a vague interest in fighting fair. Vasquez wore fine leather, a pearl-handled six shooter, and more than a few scars on his face.
“Once,” Ward pointed out the window. “Looks like Scrum has more trouble planned.”
Once Dunn looked out the window. “Vasquez. Tough man.”
Scrum mounted his horse and rode down the street. “I may have lost my land and cattle but I have plenty of money put aside. It includes enough to pay you two well to rid us of Ward and Dunn.”
Cook and Vasquez rode on each side of their boss. The three men went in the opposite direction from Scrum's former ranch and disappeared behind a hill.
The banker handed Ward the trust papers and Ward signed them. Ward picked them up. “I'll bring these right back.” Ward walked outside where the healthy sized throng milled about. Ward held up the papers. “I've put the Scrum holdings in trust with the bank. Any stolen cattle in Scrum's former herd will be returned to the rightful owner. The rest of his land and belongings will be sold and used to pay off anyone who can prove that Scrum had cheated them out of money. I get nothing out of this except seeing that the coyote Scrum pays his debts.”
The crowd nodded and cheered approval as Ward handed the papers back to the banker. “Make your claims for money with Mr. Fairchild.”
Ward and Dunn walked along the boardwalk and crossed the street to the livery stable. The young man had seen them coming and had their horses ready. “The canteens are filled with fresh water.”
“Obliged,” said Ward.
Jed Cochran stopped his horse beside his friends. “I'm heading home. You two coming by?”
“Can't right now, Jed. We'll be by as soon as we can,” replied Ron.
Once Dunn said, “Be careful, Jed. There's no trusting that Scrum.”
“Already thought of that. Tom Sheridan is waiting in the trees on the other side of the bridge. We'll be fine.”
“You will, at that,” replied Ward. “We're going to take a day or two up in the hills. Tell the others we'll be by soon enough.”
With darkness fully upon them, Ward and Dunn rode cautiously in the opposite direction from Scrum. Eight or nine miles out of town they slowed their pace. Instinctively they stopped, looked, and listened in all directions regularly.
***
The lights burned behind the curtain of the only window on the small cabin just ahead of Paul Cook and Loco Vasquez. Cook brought his horse beside Loco. “You sure this is the place.”
Vasquez nodded. “It's Raul's house. I've been here many times.”
They approached the house at a good canter so whoever was inside could hear them. Vasquez shouted, “Raul, it’s a friend. He has a ladder in his house that leads to the roof. Saved his life plenty of times.” As Vasquez said this a head and shoulders popped up from behind the peak of the roof.
Hernandez was heavy, but fit. He had fast hands and excellent aim with his rifle. The barrel of the rifle, in his right hand, glistened in the moonlight. “Vasquez?”
“Who else is crazy enough to approach your house in the middle of the night?”
“What do you want?”
“I'm with my friend Paul Cook. He's going to hire you. Good money.”
While Vasquez spoke the man on the roof climbed done the side of the house on a ladder beside the chimney. Hernandez moved his stocky frame along the small veranda. “How good?”
“Five hundred after we kill two men.”
“Cowhands?”
“Ward and Dunn.”
“I'm not interested in dying tonight.”
“We'll make it a thousand, but that's as high as we can go.”
Hernandez paced back and forth. “Si, I'll come. Let me get my horse.”
Two hours later and three hours shy of sun up Cook, Vasquez and Hernandez circled around Willow crossing and stopped where over a dozen horse prints filled the trail before moving in different directions. Under the bright moon Paul Cook climbed off his horse and looked closely at the prints. He had slipped into the livery stable while Ward and Dunn were in the bank with his boss and filed a line across one horseshoe on Ron Wards horse. The print stood out from the other tracks and moved northwest with another horse.
Cook climbed on his horse and pointed in that direction. “That's them.” The expert tracker soon saw that Ward and Dunn knew how to make tracking them difficult. They kept to rocky areas where hoof prints, even those easily recognizable, were hard to spot. Cook regularly climbed down from his horse and investigated the pebbly area. Each time he found rocks scratched or crushed from the weight of the horse and rider.
The tracking grew more challenging when Cook and the two men with him followed the tracks up to a shallow stream. Cook removed his hat under the freshly risen sun. He looked at the sparkling water in both directions. “We’ll have to make a guess and turn back if we don’t find their exit.” The three men turned northeast.
A wall of hills stood a quarter mile away on the other side of the creek. “You two wait here,” ordered Cook. He urged his mount across the creek. He turned left and rode until he arrived at a sandy area extending from the creek to the hills. He staked his horse beside the creek and walked the flat narrow strip of land until he reached the steep face of the hills. On the return walk Cook kept to the northerly side of the smooth ground.
Halfway back something caught his eye. He stepped back a few paces and looked at the ground with care. He crouched for several minutes, his concentration on the slightly smother texture of a strip of ground leading across the sandy area.
The tracker stood up and walked north of the sandy soil. Here low brush and grass covered the ground. Fifty feet away he found an oval shaped area no bigger than six inches across. On close inspection he saw a hoof print in the soil. The horseshoe imprint contained a faint raised line of soil on the left shoe. “Got you,” Cooks said out loud. “Now those two wil
l pay.”
Cook returned to his horse and waved Vazquez and Hernandez over. “Their trail heads to that narrow valley. Let’s move. Rain’s on the way.”
***
Ward also noticed the churning dark grey skies building above as they trudged up the steep narrow hill leading to the abandoned mine. He had used every trick he knew to get clear of Scrum and his men. “We’ll camp up near the mine.”
Dunn replied, “Good idea. Looks like a wet day. I’ll gather fuel for the fire.”
The trail grew steeper as they came to the spot where a smaller trail that ran north met theirs.
“While you’re getting camp ready I’ll take our horses to the glade at the bottom of the north trail. With the rain coming the ride would be too dangerous tomorrow.” He rode his horse and led his partners' down the sloping trail as the first drops of rain fell. He slipped on his slicker as he neared the clearing.
Heavy rain fell as he tied the horses to some low bushes under the cover of thick trees at the edge of the clearing. He gave each horse a handful of oats from a sack in his saddlebag. He grabbed a leather bag containing coffee, cans of beans and bacon and climbed up the muddy trail.
The dark mine extended seventy feet into the hillside. A cave-in had blocked further access years earlier. Forty feet in a second smaller slide left a pile of rock and soil on the mine floor. Rain dropped in from the three-foot wide crack stretching twenty feet up to the top of the hill. A web of tree roots running the length of the hole filtered the view of the grey sky.
Once Dunn had collected plenty of wood and had built a fire twenty feet inside the mine. Ron Ward shook much of the water off his clothes as he walked the final ten yards to the mine opening under the protection of some overhanging trees. He whistled a bird call he and Once used to signal they approached.
“All clear, Ron.”
Soon the smell of freshly brewed coffee and frying bacon filled the air. Light from the fire danced on the dirt walls. Dunn poured coffee and brought a steaming cup and food to Ron at the entrance. Ron leaned small logs and long branches against the cliff above the mine opening. He placed green tree boughs against the logs providing protection from the wind and blocking views of their fire.
Ward gratefully grabbed the coffee and took a drink. “I’ll take the first watch, Once, get some shuteye. I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Dunn ate and propped himself against the wall of the mine near the warm fire. He fell asleep within minutes.
Ron Ward slowly ate the food and sipped coffee as he sat on a log behind the branches. He could see through the tree limbs but could not be spotted easily from outside.
His mind drifted to thoughts of Donna Kelly. Time spent with her proved some of the happiest moments of his life. Meeting women never came easy to Ward, despite his friendly personality. He had a shy side but decided to look past it and ask Donna to be his wife.
***
Paul Cook and his two Mexican companions trudged up the muddy trail. One hundred yards shy of the mine site Paul Cook raised his hand. Vasquez and Hernandez stopped. Cook analyzed the wind direction and turned to them. “Wind's coming from the direction of the mine. I smell food cooking. We got them. Hernandez, you take up position behind cover on the left, Vasquez, there's a small rise on the right with good views of the mine opening. We've got plenty of ammo. When I open fire you two join in. Let's fill that mine with lead.”
“The sooner the better.” grumbled Vazquez. “This heavy rain is not for me.”
The three Scrum men moved cautiously into position. All had good cover in the thick trees. Vasquez rested his Winchester in the 'V' of a tree branch. His spot had plenty of overhead protection from the rain. Only a few drops made it through. Hernandez and Cook selected solid cover behind boulders or trees. Both had excellent views of the mine opening.
Cook could see Hernandez from his position but could not see Vazquez. He decided to wait an extra five minutes. He wanted to make sure all three were ready.
Five minutes later Paul Cook raised his rife and rested it on a thick tree stump. Rain dripped off the black barrel. “Die, both of you,” he bellowed.
Cook fired several times, spreading his shots across the mouth of the mine. The first bullet buried in a log in front of the mine entrance. The other two sailed past Ward and Dunn. One shot missing Dunn by inches. Vasquez and Hernandez opened fire. Ward and Dunn dropped to the floor of the mine. Bullets filed the air, one ricocheting off a rock and grazing Once Dunn's boot heel.
Ward looked around the mine and his eyes locked on the grey light at the top of the root filled hole leading to the top of the hill. “Once, slide those old beams over here.”
Dunn reached a giant hand out and gripped a rough-hewed beam and slid it across to Ward. The beam absorbed two bullets as Ward leaned it against the side of the mine. One end rested on the dirt wall next to the ceiling opening and the other end sat on the floor. The bean was now at an angle between the entrance to the mine and the hole. The two friends rested two more beams alongside the first, forming a bit of a shield from the constant fire.
“Come on out, you two,” shouted Paul Cook.
“Let's move, Once. Send a few shots their way as I climb,” whispered Ron. The smaller man waited for a brief lull in the shooting and jumped to his feet. He grabbed a stout root hanging from the opening with both hands and pulled himself upwards. The blasts from Dunn's rifle echoed through the mine.
The rain made Ward’s grip precarious. His hands slipped down a few inches but he maintained a grip on the root. His legs swayed back and forth as he edged up the muddy tunnel. His progress improved when his feet reached the tunnel and he got a good foothold on roots or protruding rocks.
The rain pelted his face as he pushed through the top of the tunnel. Here he stopped to survey the area. Trees and boulders obscured his position from the shooters so he pulled himself out of the hole and dropped on to the water-soaked ground.
Ron flipped around and stuck his head in the hole. “Your turn, Once.”
The big man fired a couple more shots and slung his rifle over his shoulder with its leather strap. He stood behind the beams as bullets continued to sail through the mine and plow into dirt or ricochet off rocks. His hands firmly gripped roots and he pulled himself off the floor. His powerful arms and eventually his legs smoothly guided him through the hole.
Near the top the hole narrowed. Once squeezed his massive chest through the top of the tunnel, two roots ripping his shirt and scratching his back and chest in the process.
He popped out of the hole and crawled along the wet ground like a giant lizard.
“How does it look?” Once asked quietly.
“Three shooters spread out.”“One is in the thick trees just to the right of the trail. A second man is behind rocks off to the right. He's big, with a wide hat.”
The man behind the rocks shuffled back and forth between two exceptionally large boulders. The man moved quickly between the big rocks and Dunn only needed a quick look at him. “Raul Hernandez.”
“The Mexican you fought in Amarillo two years ago?”
“Only man I never beat. He’s a friend of Vazquez, only tougher.”
“I remember. It ended in a draw. You two must have went at it for twenty minutes.”
“He’s smart too. He’s tucked in behind those boulders. I’d sure like to have another go at him.”
At the other end of the clearing the voice of Vasquez bellowed, “Cook, Let’s finish them off. I’m moving in closer.” Vasquez slipped out of his hiding spot and edged along the steep embankment containing the mine opening. Ward and Dunn could not get a shot at him. Trees and large rocks blocked their view.”
Ward studied the area between where Vasquez was hiding and the mine opening. “If he gets to the mine and finds us gone we lose our advantage. See that pile of rocks just the other side of the mine opening?”
“Yup, they look like they’re ready to slide. I’m o
n my way.”
“I’ll open fire soon and keep their attention.”
Once Dunn edged along the slippery, muddy slope, keeping low behind the boulders and trees.
Paul Cook reloaded his rifle and trained it on the mine. He shot four times. Ron Ward watched carefully but couldn’t get a clear shot at Cook, but the wet rifle barrel was exposed.
“Here goes,” thought Ward. He raised the tip of his rifle to compensate for the distance. A wet finger squeezed the trigger. The bullet missed the rifle tip by less than an inch. It slammed into the tree branch, spraying Paul Cook with wood chips.
Ward smoothly turned his rifle towards the two giant boulders protecting Hernandez. He loaded a cartridge into the chamber and let fire. Ward ducked for cover just as Cook returned fire. His aim was good but he delayed a touch too long and the bullet sailed over Ward’s head.
Vasquez heard the shots ring out from above the mine. He hugged the edge of the cliff and pulled his six-shooter out of its holster. Twice he stepped quickly away from the hill and glanced towards the area from which the shots had come. Through the falling rain he saw Ron Ward through a small opening between two trees. “Got you.” He pulled back the hammer on his gun and stepped away from the hillside. He pointed the gun in the direction of Ward and slipped his finger onto the trigger.
Moments before he pulled the trigger Once Dunn leaned with all his weight against the pile of rocks resting precariously on the edge of the small plateau above Vasquez. The regular heavy rains had washed away much of the soil from under the boulders and the flowing water provided a lubricant that made moving the boulders relatively easy.
Out of the corner of his eye Vasquez saw the pile of rocks move towards him. It was too late. The grinding rocks rumbled towards him. He backed away a few steps but the pile easily reached him. One good-sized rock bounded off one of the dozen or so others and slammed into his chest. Several ribs snapped and Vasquez fell backwards. A half-dozen other rocks rolled over him, several pinning his legs to the ground and another crushing the wrist of his right hand. He screamed in pain.
Raining Trouble Page 13
