Brutal Vengeance

by J. A. Johnstone

  “Delores!” he managed to shout, hoping she had gotten out before the outlaws set fire to the house. “Delores, where are you?”

  It was only a few steps to the desert. Reilly really wanted to believe she could have fled into the night, but he didn’t think it was what she would have done. She would have stayed, thinking he would come for her.

  Well, he had. Now he just had to find her.

  Moving through the house was like being trapped in a nightmare where he had gone to hell. Smoke and flames were everywhere. The trappings of his life were being destroyed all around him, but he didn’t care about any of that.

  All he cared about was Delores. He called her name again and again, his voice becoming more hoarse and pain-wracked with every shout. Catching sight of a human form lying slumped on the living room floor, he threw himself toward it, screaming, “Delores!”

  He fell to his knees beside her, reaching out to grab her shoulders and roll her over to pull her into his arms and carry her out of the inferno.

  Her head lolled loosely on her neck as he turned her. Reilly sobbed, a deep, gut-wrenching sound, as he saw her face in the hellish glare of the fire. A black hole marred her smooth forehead, and below it her wide eyes stared sightlessly.

  One of the wild bullets fired by the outlaws had come through a window or maybe even through the wall and struck Delores, killing her instantly.

  Reilly pulled her limp form against him as violent shudders shook him. He couldn’t believe it, couldn’t bear to let her go.

  He pressed his face into the thick waves of her hair, trying to inhale as much of its scent as he could. But the smoke that seared his nostrils was the only thing he could smell.

  A crash close by startled him out of his grief-stricken stupor. The roof was starting to come down.

  He didn’t care anymore whether he lived or died, but he couldn’t leave Delores there to burn. Gathering her against him, he struggled to his feet and turned toward the kitchen, intending to make it out the back of the house with her.

  “Vint! Vint! Are you in there?”

  The shouts barely penetrated his consciousness. He looked toward the back door and saw someone standing there. Smoke wreathed around the man, who coughed and pressed a bandanna over his face in a feeble attempt to block out some of it. When the man moved the bandanna, Reilly recognized the craggy features of Marshal Alonzo Hyde.

  “Come on, Vint!” Hyde cried when he spotted the stage station manager emerging from the smoke. “You can make it!”

  But Reilly couldn’t. More of the roof fell, coming down like a sheet of flame between him and Hyde.

  As he recoiled from it, a great weight struck him in the back and knocked him off his feet. He cradled Delores against him as he fell, even though she was past feeling any pain, ever again.

  Sheer, stubborn determination made Reilly struggle to get up. Suddenly all the strength flowed out of him like water from an overturned bucket. He couldn’t move anymore.

  He lay there, coughing as the smoke filled his lungs and the flames began to eat at his flesh. He couldn’t even scream at the searing agony.

  Red hell surrounded him, then faded to black.

  Chapter 5

  Several days after waking up in the middle of the night and seeing the distant glow of the large fire, Kid Morgan was easing his buckskin down a long, rugged slope separating the plains behind him from the plains in front of him. The drop was a couple of hundred feet.

  This escarpment was bound to have a name of some sort, The Kid thought. Not being that familiar with the geography of the Lone Star State, he had no idea what it was.

  He had been taking it easy, not getting in any hurry as he traveled across West Texas. The long, leisurely days tended to blend together. He didn’t give much thought to how much time had passed since the night something had disturbed his sleep. It hadn’t happened again, and he had pretty much put the disquieting incident out of his mind.

  The buckskin was sure-footed, so The Kid let the horse pick its own path down the slope. Time and the elements had seamed and scored the ground until it resembled the face of an old man. Boulders littered the escarpment, and it was dotted with clumps of hardy brush.

  Snakes could be hiding in that brush, seeking its shade to escape the heat of the day. The Kid knew how common rattlers were in this godforsaken part of the country. South and west of there was a place called Rattlesnake Valley where he had run into a considerable amount of trouble a year or so earlier.

  Nothing spooked a horse faster or more completely than the fierce buzzing of a diamondback’s rattles. If the buckskin or the pack horse started jumping around on the slope, it could lead to a disastrous tumble.

  So The Kid was ready for trouble ... just not for somebody shooting at him.

  The flat crack of a rifle shot came from somewhere to his left, followed by a high-pitched whine as the bullet ricocheted off a nearby rock. The Kid yanked the buckskin to a halt and jerked around in the saddle to look toward the source of the shot.

  He saw several men riding along the edge of the escarpment a couple hundred yards in that direction. A cloud of dust trailed behind them.

  More shots rang out as powdersmoke spurted from their rifle barrels. The men turned their horses down the slope and started angling along the escarpment’s face toward him.

  The Kid looked around quickly. No big rocks were close enough to provide cover, but down at the base of the slope, where the ground leveled out again into seemingly endless plains, several giant slabs of stone had come to rest after breaking off and sliding down the escarpment in ages past.

  “Let’s go!” The Kid kicked the buckskin into a bounding run.

  The caution he had been using was forgotten. It was obvious those men wanted his hide, preferably with several bullet holes in it. He’d have to figure out why they wanted to kill him once he reached the rocks.

  The buckskin leaped from rock to rock. The pack horse wasn’t nearly as nimble, and The Kid knew the animal couldn’t hope to keep up. He let go of the reins. Under the circumstances, he would rather lose the pack horse and the supplies it carried than have it slow him down.

  Supplies wouldn’t do him any good if he was dead.

  Bullets continued to ricochet off the rocks around him, but he wasn’t far from the bottom of the slope. Frustrated shouts came from the men pursuing him, afraid he was going to reach those stone slabs and fort up. Then they would have trouble getting to him.

  That was exactly what The Kid planned to do. He could have pulled his Winchester from the saddle boot and returned their fire as soon as they started shooting at him, but he knew he had a better chance of survival if he got off the rugged escarpment.

  The buckskin’s hooves slid on some loose gravel. For a second The Kid’s heart pounded harder in his chest as he thought the horse was going down.

  An excited yell erupted from one of the pursuers as he saw the horse struggling, but the buckskin regained its footing and continued the headlong charge down the slope, reaching the rocks without falling and breaking its neck. Neither The Kid nor his mount had been hit by any of the bullets whipping around them.

  Pulling his rifle from its scabbard, The Kid kicked his feet free of the stirrups, and left the saddle in a leap. He landed running, almost lost his balance, then regained it and dashed behind one of the giant stone slabs.

  The buckskin kept going. That was fine with The Kid. The horse was a good one, and he wanted it out of the line of fire.

  Taking a deep breath, he pressed his back against the rock for a moment as he waited for his racing pulse to slow. When it had, he stepped to the corner of the slab, brought the Winchester swiftly to his shoulder, and cranked off three rounds as fast as he could work the repeater’s lever.

  He aimed high, over the heads of the men who were chasing him, deciding not to blow the varmints out of their saddles ... for now.

  He didn’t like killing anybody without knowing the reason why.

  Of cou
rse, the fact that they had tried to kill him first was reason enough to respond with deadly force, he supposed, but he was curious. He didn’t know anybody in this part of Texas who would want him dead. He didn’t know anybody in this part of Texas, period.

  Somebody had made a mistake, and it sure wasn’t him.

  The bullets cutting through the air a few feet above their heads were enough to make the men think twice about continuing to charge The Kid’s position. They hauled back on their reins and whirled their horses around.

  The turn was too sharp for one man’s mount. The horse lost its footing and went over with a shrill, terrified whinny. The man on its back screamed, too, as he was thrown from the saddle.

  From where he was, The Kid couldn’t tell if the horse had rolled over on the man, crushing him. He didn’t particularly care. He might not be willing to shoot them just yet, but if one came to a bad end because of his own ineptitude, it served him right.

  He had not had time to count the pursuers. Now that he had reached cover, The Kid saw there were four. Three of the men were still on their horses. Two were fleeing, but the other one hesitated.

  “Clyde!” The Kid heard him shout. “Hang on! I’ll get you, Clyde!”

  That had to be the name of the man who had fallen from his horse. The Kid saw him scramble to his feet as the other man reined his horse in that direction. He was going to pick up Clyde and let him ride double.

  The Kid lined his sights and fired. The slug whistled between the two men, coming close enough that Clyde yelped and instinctively leaped backward. He tripped and landed on his butt.

  The Kid fired again, chipping rock from the ground near the hooves of the mounted man’s horse.

  The man hauled hard on the reins and whirled his horse, turning away from his fallen comrade.

  “Damn it, Hogan!” Clyde yelled as he leaped to his feet. “Don’t leave me here!”

  Hogan didn’t pay any attention to him. He was out to save his own skin.

  The Kid worked the Winchester’s lever and sent another round over Clyde’s head, close enough to make the man throw himself facedown on the slope. There was no cover around him. Even his horse was gone, having run off after its fall, seemingly unhurt.

  Clyde was an easy target. All he could do was lie there, cover his head with his arms, and wait for the smashing impact of the bullet that would end his life.

  The Kid held his fire.

  Two men had already vanished over the top of the escarpment. Hogan followed them, his horse lunging over the rim and carrying him out of sight. That left The Kid and Clyde alone with the hot Texas sun beating down around them.

  Several minutes of near-silence passed. The only things The Kid could hear were the faint sighing of the hot wind and the terrified whimpers coming from Clyde.

  Finally, the man lifted his head slightly and called, “P-please don’t kill me, mister! I can’t do nothin’ to hurt you now! Please don’t kill me!”

  The Kid leaned a shoulder against the rock and didn’t say anything. He waited.

  Another minute passed. Clyde raised his head a little higher, enough to look around. He was starting to think The Kid was gone. Putting his hands under him, he pushed himself up.

  The Kid sent a bullet slamming into the ground five feet in front of him.

  Clyde screamed and bellied down again.

  He wouldn’t be trying to move again any time soon, The Kid guessed. He knew he was being a little cruel, but he was mad. He’d been riding along, not bothering anybody, not looking for trouble, and suddenly those men were shooting at him. He didn’t like it, and Clyde was paying for the anger he felt.

  “Hey, mister!”

  The shout floated down from the top of the escarpment. The Kid was expecting it. More than likely the others had crept back up to the rim and peered carefully over it. They could see that Clyde was still alive and that The Kid had him pinned down.

  With the giant slab of rock in the way, they couldn’t get a good shot at The Kid. Now would come the talking.

  “Hey, mister, can you hear me?”

  “I hear you!” The Kid called back. “What do you want?”

  “You let our man go, so he can walk back up here to us!”

  “So you can all start trying to kill me again?” The Kid laughed, even though the sound probably didn’t carry all the way to the top of the escarpment. “I don’t think so!”

  “Look, those boys went off half-cocked when they spotted you!” the man shouted. “I’m sorry about that! They thought you were one of the buzzards we’ve been chasin’ the past few days!”

  Well, that made things a little more interesting, assuming the man was telling the truth, The Kid thought. From the sound of it, the man doing the talking wasn’t one of the four who had tried to kill him. Maybe now he could find out what was going on here.

  “Who are you?”

  “Texas Ranger!” the unseen man replied. “Name of Asa Culhane!”

  A Ranger, The Kid thought. That made sense, he supposed. A Ranger leading a posse of some sort, and they had split up to scout for whoever they were after. Clyde and his friends had spotted The Kid and jumped the gun ...

  Yeah, it could have happened that way, but The Kid wanted to be sure. A man who took another man’s word too easily, sight unseen, often wound up dead.

  “Clyde!” he called to the man lying on the ground. “I know you can hear me, Clyde!”

  The hapless Clyde had his arms crossed protectively over his head again and his face pressed to the ground. He lifted it slightly and said, “Y-yeah?”

  “Is that fella at the top of the slope telling the truth, Clyde? Is he really a Texas Ranger?” The Kid paused. “If I think you’re lying to me, I’ll kill you, you know that.”

  “It’s true!” Clyde practically screamed. “He’s a Ranger! His name’s Culhane, just like he said!”

  The Kid smiled thinly. “All right, Clyde, I believe you. But you just stay right where you are for now, anyway.”

  “How about it, mister?” the voice called from the top of the escarpment.

  The Kid made up his mind. “Come on down, Culhane!” he shouted. “But just you! We’ll talk.”

  Chapter 6

  After a moment, a man on horseback appeared at the top of the slope. He started down toward The Kid, in no rush. He let his horse pick its way carefully, the same way The Kid had been descending from the escarpment before all the shooting started.

  The Kid was careful to stay back where the rock gave him cover, just in case the other members of the posse were spreading out up there and trying to find an angle where they could get a good shot at him.

  As the rider came closer, The Kid saw that he was a big, barrel-chested man in his forties. Clean-shaven, with the sort of tanned, weathered face that said he had spent most of his life outdoors. He wore a black Stetson tilted back a little on his head, and a black vest over a gray shirt.

  Pinned to that shirt was a silver star set in a silver circle. The Kid knew that was the badge of the Texas Rangers.

  But anybody could wear a badge, so The Kid didn’t trust the man fully just yet. When the rider was about twenty feet away, The Kid said, “That’s close enough.”

  The man reined in, keeping both hands in plain sight. “Take it easy, mister. If you ain’t part of Latch’s gang, then we don’t want any trouble with you.”

  “Shooting at a man is a funny way of showing that. And I never heard of anybody called Latch.”

  “You’re lucky, then, and even luckier if you never crossed his path. Warren Latch is just about as close to the Devil in human form as you’re ever gonna find. I said I was sorry about the shootin’. If you ever rode with a posse before, you know how things can get outta hand plumb easy.”

  The Kid didn’t respond to that. “You said your name is Culhane?”

  “That’s right. Asa Culhane. Originally from Jacksboro, Texas. You know any of the Jacksboro Culhanes?”

  “Not that I recall,” The Ki
d said dryly. “You have any identification besides that badge, Culhane?”

  “If you’ll let me reach in my pocket without shootin’ me, I’ll be glad to show you my bona fides.”

  “Go ahead.” The Kid peered at Culhane over the barrel of his Winchester. “Just do it slow and easy.”

  Culhane followed that order, reaching carefully under his vest into a shirt pocket. He pulled out a thin leather folder and tossed it toward the rock. It fell almost at The Kid’s feet.

  A thin smile tugged at The Kid’s mouth. “Now I bend over to pick that up and you go for your gun, is that how this is supposed to work?”

  “I’m just tryin’ to give you what you asked for, mister,” Culhane said.

  “Get your hands high. I’m not going to make it easy for you.”

  Culhane shrugged and lifted his hands as high above his head as his arms could reach. Without taking his eyes off the Ranger, The Kid bent at the knees and held the Winchester with one hand as he reached down with the other for the leather folder.

  When he had it, he straightened again. He flipped the folder open and glanced at the card and the folded papers inside. They identified the bearer as Asa Culhane, a Texas Ranger attached to Company C in San Antonio.

  “All right, put your hands down.” The Kid didn’t see any point in being needlessly stubborn. He closed the folder and tossed it back to Culhane, who caught it easily. “Let’s say I believe you’re really a Ranger.”

  “Good ... because that’s what I am.” Culhane’s eyes narrowed as he tucked away the folder in his pocket. “You mind lowerin’ that repeater, son? Havin’ it pointin’ at me like that makes me a mite nervous.”

  The Kid aimed the Winchester at the ground between them. He could lift it again in a hurry if he needed to.

  “Come on around behind this rock with me, Culhane,” he said. “That way we can talk without me worrying about some of your men trying to pick me off from up there.”

  “They’re not gonna take any more potshots at you. I gave ’em strict orders not to open fire unless I told ’em to.”