Brutal Vengeance

by J. A. Johnstone

  Culhane followed their example, angling to The Kid’s left while Lace went to the right.

  Nick, Thad, and Bill hesitated only for a second. With the other three members of their group showing them what to do, they leaped to the attack as well.

  It was a chaotic few moments in the open field at the head of the canyon as guns roared and bullets flew. Swirls of powdersmoke wreathed the galloping figures.

  After his first shot, The Kid held his fire until he had a good target. He waited to pull the trigger until the outlaw pounding toward him, shooting wildly, was close. The bullet punched into the man’s chest, driving him backward out of the saddle. His left foot got hung up in the stirrup, causing the horse to drag him. More dust rose to mix with the gunsmoke.

  The Kid wheeled the buckskin and looked for Lace. He spotted her about twenty yards away, bent far forward over the neck of her mount to make herself a smaller target as she traded shots with one of the desperadoes. She didn’t seem aware of the outlaw closing in on her from behind and to the right.

  Sending the buckskin lunging in that direction, The Kid snapped a shot at the man but missed. He might not get another chance. The outlaw was drawing a bead on Lace’s back.

  The Kid did the only thing he could, running the buckskin right into the outlaw’s horse, shoulder to shoulder. The collision sent both horses and both riders tumbling to the ground in a welter of flailing hooves.

  Half stunned, The Kid still had the presence of mind to roll away from the confusion. If one of the horses kicked him, it would be the end of the fight for him.

  Coughing against the dust clogging his throat, he staggered to his feet with the Colt still in his hand. He looked around for Lace.

  Something crashed into him from behind and knocked him down again. His gun went flying as his face plowed into the ground, filling his mouth with dirt and grass. He gagged.

  The next instant, an arm snaked around his neck and closed down hard on his throat. With a good grip, the man who had tackled him obviously intended to choke the life out of him.

  His eyes full of grit, The Kid blinked furiously in an attempt to clear his sight so he could look for his gun. Half blinded, his blurry gaze fell on the Colt, lying a couple feet in front of him. He reached for it.

  At the same moment, the outlaw planted a knee in the middle of The Kid’s back and heaved up, tightening the hold on his throat. A red haze settled over his eyes as the air to his lungs was cut off. He felt like everything in his throat was being crushed.

  Knowing it would soon be followed by the black of unconsciousness and then death, he got his hands underneath him and levered himself up an inch or so. It gave him enough room to dig his toes into the ground and shove himself forward, a few inches closer to his fallen gun.

  The outlaw muttered desperate curses as he continued strangling The Kid.

  He must have lost his gun, too, or he wouldn’t be trying to choke his enemy to death, the Kid thought, shoving with his feet. He reached for the gun. His fingers came up tantalizingly short of its grips.

  He had completely lost track of everything going on around him. All that existed in his world was the ground beneath him, the arm around his neck, and the Colt just out of his reach. As streaks of darkness began to shoot through the red fog surrounding him, he lunged again ...

  And his hand closed on the Colt.

  Knowing he had only seconds left before he passed out, The Kid snatched the gun from the ground, shoved the barrel up and back, past his shoulder, and felt it hit something.

  He pulled the trigger.

  So close to his ear, the report was painfully loud, so loud he was stunned again.

  The sudden spray of something hot, wet, and sticky settled against the back of his neck and head. The pressure on his throat was released and his head slumped forward. His cheek rested against the ground as he desperately dragged air into his lungs.

  After a moment, the terrible pounding inside The Kid’s skull eased, and the frantic feeling that he was about to suffocate slackened as well. A heavy weight still lay on his back. With a groan of effort, he heaved to his side, causing the outlaw to roll away from him. The sight that greeted his still-bleary eyes wasn’t a pretty one. He had jammed the Colt’s barrel under the outlaw’s chin before he pulled the trigger. The shot had blasted away the lower half of the man’s face, leaving a gory mess. The blood from the gaping wound had splattered over The Kid’s head.

  Revulsion roiled his stomach, but he didn’t have time to be sick. Still holding the revolver, he staggered to his feet and looked around.

  Lace had dismounted, and she ran toward him. “Kid!” she cried. “Oh my God, Kid, you’re covered with blood!”

  “Not ... mine,” he rasped. Being choked had left him sounding almost as bad as Vint Reilly. He hoped it would go away more quickly than Reilly’s condition had.

  His right ear was ringing from the proximity of the gunshot. He gave a little shake of his head, hoping that would clear some of the racket.

  Lace gripped his arm. “You’re not hurt?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he assured her. “Where are ... the others?”

  He looked around. Several other bodies—all members of Latch’s gang—were scattered across the open area. Still mounted, Thad and Bill Gustaffson had reached the far side of the clearing. They turned their horses and trotted back toward The Kid and Lace.

  “Where are Culhane and Nick?” The Kid asked.

  As if in answer to the question, a frantic voice he recognized as Nick Burton’s shouted, “Help! We need help over here!”

  The Kid and Lace swung around. They saw Nick about thirty yards away, kneeling beside Culhane, who lay on the ground.

  Even from that distance, The Kid could see the blood pumping from a wound on the Ranger’s leg. He and Lace ran toward Nick and the fallen lawman. The Gustaffsons reached them at the same time.

  The Kid quickly asked the brothers, “What about the other outlaws?”

  “Only two were left, and they lit out,” Bill replied.

  “Probably headed back to join up with the rest of their bunch,” Thad added.

  The Kid thought that was probably right. Throughout the long chase, Latch’s men had turned and run every time the odds went against them.

  Lace pushed Nick aside none too gently and examined the wound on Culhane’s leg. The unconscious Ranger’s face was gray. He had already lost a lot of blood. If they didn’t get the bleeding stopped soon, Culhane would die.

  As Lace ripped the leg of Culhane’s bullet-torn jeans even more, she told The Kid, “Get his belt and gun.”

  He knew what she meant to do and agreed with her. Unbuckling Culhane’s belt and pulling it free, The Kid handed it to Lace. He picked up the gun the Ranger had dropped, then lifted Culhane’s leg so she could wrap the belt around it.

  She made a loop with the belt, and The Kid thrust the barrel of Culhane’s gun into it and began to turn the weapon, tightening the belt into a makeshift tourniquet. As he increased the pressure, the flow of blood from the bullet hole slowed dramatically.

  “Somebody give me some cloth from your shirt,” Lace ordered.

  Thad and Bill ripped pieces from their shirts and offered them to her. She took the one Bill held out and wadded it up, then pressed it hard against the wound.

  She held it there like that for several minutes while The Kid hung on to the gun and maintained the tightness of the tourniquet. When Lace took the cloth away from the bullet hole, The Kid saw that the bleeding had just about stopped. Very little blood oozed from the wound.

  “Nick, there’s a flask in my saddlebags,” Lace said. “Go get it.” With a grim smile, she added, “Just don’t drink any of the whiskey in it. We can’t afford to have you going to sleep again.”

  “Awww ...”

  “Go!”

  He went, breaking into a run toward Lace’s saddle mount.

  The Kid said, “Thad, Bill, keep a close watch to make sure none of Latch’s men come
back and take us by surprise.”

  “Sure, Mr. Morgan,” Thad said. “I don’t think they will, though, the way they were running when they left here.”

  Nick came back with the flask. Lace took the other piece of cloth and soaked it with whiskey, then used it to swab away some of the blood and clean the wound. She dribbled some of the fiery liquor directly into the bullet hole.

  “We can’t keep this tourniquet on too long,” The Kid warned. “If we do, he’s liable to lose that leg.”

  “It hasn’t been too long yet,” Lace said. “Trust me, Kid, I’ve dealt with this kind of wound before.”

  Thad asked, “Why does she keep calling you Kid, Mr. Morgan? Something about that sounds a mite familiar.”

  “Son of a gun!” Bill suddenly exclaimed. “He’s Kid Morgan, the gunfighter! I’ve read about him!”

  Lace glanced at The Kid and smiled. “Looks like your secret’s out.”

  “It was never that much of a secret.” The Kid shrugged.

  “Well, I’m glad I don’t have to keep it anymore,” Nick said.

  The Gustaffson brothers looked at him. Bill said, “You knew about this?”

  “Yeah,” Nick replied, looking a little ashamed.

  “I’m sorry, fellas. Mr. Morgan asked me to keep quiet about it, and I promised him I would.”

  “Then how did Miss Morrison know?”

  “Because she’s not Miss Morrison,” The Kid said. No point in any of them keeping secrets any longer. As badly wounded as Culhane was, he wasn’t going to be in command of the posse anymore. “Her name’s Lace McCall. She’s a bounty hunter.”

  Thad let out a surprised whistle. “I didn’t know there were any lady bounty hunters.”

  “I expect there’s plenty in this world you don’t know,” Lace said. “No offense. Kid, let off some on that belt.”

  The Kid eased the pressure while Lace bent forward and studied the wound. It began to bleed again, but not nearly as fast as it had been before.

  “I think we can handle that,” she said. “I’ll tie a bandage on it. He’s going to need some actual medical attention, though.”

  “Culhane told me there wasn’t a doctor back in Stubbtown,” The Kid said. “We’ll have to keep going until we find a settlement where there’s a sawbones.”

  “What about Latch and the rest of his gang?” Bill asked. “Are we still going after them?”

  With a grim look on his face, The Kid replied, “I reckon that’ll depend on what we find when we get down there in that canyon.”

  Chapter 24

  Lace had done a makeshift but thorough job of bandaging Culhane’s wounded leg and bound it up tightly. It appeared the risk of the Ranger bleeding to death was over.

  But he was still in bad shape. Culhane hadn’t had a chance to tell the other members of the posse that The Kid was going to take over if he was incapacitated. The Kid couldn’t help wondering how the others were going to take it.

  Some of them wouldn’t take it well, he thought.

  It was too soon to worry about that, however. The first thing was to find all the men who had survived the ambush and get them together again.

  Regaining consciousness, Culhane groaned and leaned on the saddle horn as Thad and Bill steadied him on his horse. “Wha ... what happened?” he managed to ask.

  “You were shot in the leg, Ranger,” The Kid told him. “We came close to losing you, but I think you’ll be all right. Can you stay in the saddle, or do we need to tie you onto your horse?”

  Culhane grimaced. “The day I ... can’t ride ... you might as well go ahead ... and put me in the ground!”

  He looked around, but The Kid couldn’t tell how much he was actually seeing.

  “What about ... those owlhoots?” Culhane went on.

  “We killed some of them, and the others ran off. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of them since, and all the shooting has stopped.”

  “They gave up and ... went back to Latch.”

  The Kid nodded. “That’s what we figured, too.”

  “Did we ... lose anybody else ... in this fight?”

  “No, you were the only one who was hit.”

  “Well, that’s ... lucky, anyway.”

  Thad said, “Ranger, did you know Mr. Morgan is really Kid Morgan, the famous gunfighter?”

  “And that Miss Morrison’s really a bounty hunter who’s after Latch, too?” Bill added.

  “We can go into all that later,” The Kid said. “Right now we need to find the rest of our bunch.”

  Culhane eyed him speculatively. “I knew there was somethin’ ... different about you, mister,” he muttered. “You ain’t ... wanted by the law, are you?”

  “If I was, she’d already have me hog-tied so she could collect the reward on me,” The Kid told him with a nod toward Lace.

  She laughed. “He’s right about that, Mr. Culhane. My name is really Lace McCall, by the way.”

  “Pleased to meet you ... again, ma’am,” Culhane said.

  The others mounted up, and the group moved out, taking it slow because of Culhane. The Kid and Lace took the lead with the Kid’s pack horse following them. The Gustaffsons and Nick rode bunched up around Culhane so they could reach him easily and brace him up if he started to fall.

  The Kid and Lace rode with fully loaded Winchesters across the saddles in front of them as they descended into the canyon. Their eyes never stopped moving as their gazes roamed across the canyon and up the slopes on the sides.

  After narrowly surviving one trap, they didn’t want to ride right into another one.

  Staying in the open, they hoped to attract the attention of the surviving posse members. A few minutes later, several men on horseback emerged from some trees and rode quickly toward them.

  The Kid recognized Ed Marchman in the lead. The stocky storekeeper’s two employees, Clyde Fenner and Jack Hogan, were with him, as usual, along with a couple of other men from Fire Hill.

  “Are the outlaws gone?” Marchman asked as he rode up and reined in.

  “They seem to be,” The Kid replied. “Most of the ones who bushwhacked us are dead.”

  “What happened to Ranger Culhane?” Clyde said. “Did he get shot?”

  “That’s right. It’s a serious wound, but we hope he’ll be all right.”

  Culhane lifted his head. His face was pale and haggard, but he looked determined to say something. “Marchman,” he got out. “You listen ... to me.”

  Marchman brought his horse closer. “Sure, Ranger. What is it?”

  “I’m in no shape ... to be in charge of this posse—”

  “And you want me to take over?” Marchman interrupted. “I suppose I could—”

  “No ... blast it!” Culhane broke in. “I was about to say ... Morgan’s runnin’ things now. He’s ... in command.”

  Marchman’s eyes widened in surprise. “Morgan !” he exclaimed. “But he’s not even from Fire Hill!”

  “Don’t matter. He’s ... the best man for the job.”

  Marchman’s features hardened into a glare. “He’s not a lawman. We don’t have to take orders from him.”

  “But I’m still ... a Texas Ranger,” Culhane said. “And I’m tellin’ you ... Morgan’s in charge.”

  Marchman turned angrily toward The Kid. “You put him up to this, and he’s hurt too bad to fight you on it,” he accused.

  The Kid fixed Marchman with a cold stare. “This is all Culhane’s idea. I didn’t ask for the job. You can believe that or not. I don’t give a damn either way. But he’s asked for my help, and I told him I’d do it. So that’s the way it’s going to be.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” Marchman snapped.

  The men from Fire Hill moved up closer as if in support of him.

  Lace’s voice cut sharply through the tension. “What are you going to do, start shooting at each other now?” she demanded. “Have you all gone loco?”

  “This is none of your business, Miss Morrison,” Marchman said coldly.

/>   “You’re wrong about that, Mr. Marchman,” Thad said. “She’s really a bounty hunter, and she’s after Latch just like we are.”

  Clyde said, “I’m gettin’ confused—”

  “Shut up!” Marchman said. “I suppose we can hash all this out later. Right now we need to see if we can find the rest of our men ... and bury our dead, if need be.”

  There would be a need for that, The Kid thought. He was certain of it.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon scouring the canyon for survivors and burying the three men who had been fatally wounded in the ambush. Two of the men were from Fire Hill, and the third was an M-B Connected puncher. Four men besides The Kid and Nick had suffered minor wounds. Of the survivors, Culhane was the most badly wounded.

  The hills, ridges, and canyons of the rugged country continued as far as the eye could see. Compared to the more arid terrain farther west, a number of creeks ran through it so there was plenty of water for the men and horses. The posse made camp on a broad stretch of level ground next to one of those cold, fast-flowing streams.

  Despite the fact that they hadn’t caught even a glimpse of Latch’s men since the outlaws had abandoned the ambush and fled, The Kid expected trouble. As darkness crept across the Texas sky and the stars began to come out, he got it.

  Ed Marchman stalked to the center of the camp and stood next to the fire that had been built. He planted his fists on his hips and said in a loud voice, “Everybody listen to me!”

  The Kid and Lace had made Culhane comfortable on some blankets spread over thick grass. The Ranger had a rolled-up blanket tucked under his head as a pillow, and he was either asleep or unconscious. In his weakened condition, the ride down the canyon had worn him out.

  The Kid rose from where he’d been kneeling beside Culhane and faced Marchman. “What is it you intend to do?”

  “I’m going to tell the rest of these men exactly what’s going on,” Marchman snapped. “They have a right to know, and a right to make up their own minds about what we do next.”

  “You know that’s not what Ranger Culhane wanted.” Lace stepped forward into the firelight. Her auburn hair was loose, hanging around her shoulders, and the light from the flames made it look even more red.