Ride the High Lines (An Ash Colter Western Book 2)

by Ben Bridges

  ‘Kidd’s gone, cap’n,’ Winch said regretfully. ‘That’s a fact you can bank on in Denver.’

  ‘But what if he isn’t?’ I argued. ‘What if he was watching us while we were watching the ranch? Suppose he was only waiting for us to give up and ride away before he moved back in?’

  They looked at me as if I were mad.

  ‘Think about it,’ I said, warming to the subject now, as the notion took firmer hold in my brain. ‘Kidd’s lost eight men. Six dead, if you include the nighthawk Lem put to sleep, and two wounded. He’ll be looking to recruit again. If we could put our man in the gang … ’

  I watched them consider it.

  ‘That’d be a risky proposition to put to a feller,’ Saul allowed, thoughtfully wiping the back of one hand across his mouth. ‘I mean, we’ve braced ’em twice now, Mr. Colter. Ain’t no tellin’ jus’ which of us they seen an’ which of us they ain’t. We send the wrong man in … ’

  ‘There’s one man we know for a fact that they haven’t seen,’ I replied, my eyes moving from one face to the next.

  It was Winch who said it.

  He whispered, ‘Bob Bancroft.’

  Chapter Seven

  It was, as Saul said, a risky proposition to put to a man, and I thought long and hard about it for what remained of the evening and most of the night that followed before I finally concluded that it was probably our only choice. Even if it came to nothing, it was at least worth a try.

  First thing next morning, I wired Bob Bancroft in care of Simon Black’s office, requesting that he come to Overton with all dispatch and meet with us at the hotel into which we had booked ourselves.

  Six days later, around the middle of the afternoon, there was a knock on my room door and when I opened it, he was standing there in the hallway, saddlebags flung across one shoulder, his usual lazy, secretive grin pasted right across his handsome face.

  The other men sprang up from their chairs and came over to usher him inside. There followed a lengthy ritual of handshakes and slaps on back or arm, a few questions or comments upon the dire weather we were having. Then we all sat down again and as he dropped his saddlebags down on to the floor beside him he said, ‘Well, I knew you fellers couldn’t do without me for long. What’s the beef?’

  It went quiet in the room, and leaning forward with my elbows on my knees, I brought him up to date with everything that had happened. At the finish, I told him about my idea of somehow getting a man into Kidd’s gang, so that we might discover more about his movements and then make plans to be there ahead of him.

  ‘A man,’ Bancroft mused, spilling Bull Durham tobacco onto a brown cigarette paper. ‘Me, huh?’

  I looked him squarely in the face. His bright hazel eyes looked as keen and sardonic as ever. ‘I won’t lie to you, Bob. It’s not without its risks. If Kidd has gone back to the ranch — and there’s no telling for sure that he has — you’ll have to convince him that you’re an outlaw looking to find safety in numbers. You’ll tell him that you heard· about the trouble he had with us. That’s why you made directly for his ranch. And you’ll have to make it sound good, because if he should suspect that you’re really working with us … well, it could turn nasty.’ I fell silent for a moment, then said carefully, ‘Do you understand what I’m saying?

  He brought the paper up to his lips, licked one edge and then rolled it into a narrow cylinder. Just before he tucked the cigarette into one corner of his mouth he said, ‘I understand.’

  ‘No man’d blame you if you said no, Bob,’ said Yarbrough.

  I agreed. ‘Maybe you’d care to think about it for a while,’ I suggested. ‘You can let me know what you decide later this evening.’

  He struck a match and fired the cigarette to life.

  ‘No need for that,’ he said. ‘I’m game for it.’

  I could hardly credit that he would treat such a serious undertaking in so cavalier a fashion. ‘You do understand the risks?’ I said again.

  ‘Ayuh.’

  ‘And you still feel confident enough to give it a go?’

  ‘Ayuh.’

  I sat back. His attitude had taken all of us somewhat by surprise. ‘You fellers’ll be ridin’ herd on me, a’course,’ he said, breaking the silence.

  I nodded, got up, went over to the dresser and opened a drawer. From out of it I took a small, oblong mirror I had bought the day before. ‘We’ll be close by, and at least one of us will be watching at all times. If you need to get any information to us, find some excuse to slip outside and use this. The minute we see your signal, one of us will meet you down behind the outhouse. You can tell us what you’ve managed to find out then. In the meantime, we’ve roughed out a map of the ranch, and directions how to get there. Once you’ve familiarized yourself with it, get rid of it, just in case.’

  He stood up and accepted the mirror. ‘Sounds reasonable.’ He looked around at the others and grinned, as if he found their obvious concern a source of great amusement. ‘All right, Mr. Colter. I figure it’s probably best if I don’t see you fellers again for a while. I’ll go take a look around town, have me an all-over bath an’ get somethin’ to eat, then pull out first light tomorrow. Fair enough?’

  I nodded, gave him the map we had drawn, and offered my hand. ‘Best of luck, Bob,’ I said sincerely, and the other men echoed the sentiment.

  ‘You jus’ make sure you fellers’re around iffen I need you,’ he replied lightly. ‘Oh, by the way, Mr. Colter — Ruthie sends her regards.’

  I let go of his hand. Suddenly, irrationally, my attitude towards him changed. Ruth Buckhalter. Ruthie. I had not entertained any romantic designs upon her at all, at least none that I was aware of. And yet I could not help envying him her company, and feeling jealous that he had been able to spend time with her when I had not.

  His lazy smile widened slightly as I looked at him. It was almost as if he had said it deliberately, knowing how I would react.

  He nodded to the others, clapped his big hat back on his dark blond head and strode towards the door.

  We did not see him again. But early the following morning, having bought sufficient supplies for the duration of our stay in among the willows close to the ranch, the rest of the men and I assembled at the livery stable, saddled up and set out on a circuitous route that would lead us to our destination.

  The weather had not improved. It was dull and wet, the kind of weather that wreaks havoc upon a man’s lungs if he stays out in it for too long. For myself, I still felt flushed and achy, and on the ride out, I lost count of the number of times I unhooked and drank from my canteen in an attempt to quench my permanent thirst.

  Winch galloped out ahead to scout around. When he came back he reported that as far as he could see, Ella Morris was still living all alone at the ranch. Part of me hoped that it would stay that way, for Bancroft’s over-confidence worried me, and I was concerned that Kidd might see through him, guess at his true purpose there and …

  The consequences hardly bore consideration.

  I had hoped never to see that wretched stand of willows ever again, and yet here we were once more, forced to live within its murky, sodden confines. We made the best kind of camp we could and worked out a system by which the ranch would be under constant scrutiny. After that it was simply a case of watching and waiting.

  Halfway through the second watch I felt so sour in the stomach that I had to climb to my feet and stagger a few yards away so that I could be sick. I felt jumpy afterwards, for I desperately did not want to come down with anything, not now.

  I ran a palm across my sweated face. I was burning up. I took another pull at my canteen. I was feeling giddy, and my mouth felt sticky and numb.

  A noise drew me from my fevered tremblings, and I went down onto my still-rolling stomach and snaked back towards the screening brush. A man was chopping logs on the far side of the yard. It was Bancroft. So far, so good, then, I thought. He must have struck Ella as being sincere, otherwise I had no doubt that she would h
ave ordered him off her land in no uncertain terms.

  For three days we kept watch on the ranch.

  Bancroft made himself useful around the place, patching the roof, chopping more wood, exercising the horses, making good some of the damage we had caused during that earlier gun-battle.

  Then, around nine o’clock that same evening, we suddenly caught the sound of hoof beats and harness carrying on the wind, and as we climbed hurriedly to our feet, Henry Morse — whose turn it had been to keep watch on the ranch — came rustling back through the undergrowth, clutching his long gun.

  All I could see of him through the darkness were the whites of his eyes and the brief flash of his teeth as he spoke. ‘Riders!’ he hissed urgently. ‘Five of ’em.’ He swallowed hard and said, ‘I think it’s Kidd an’ his bunch.’

  As one, the rest of us grabbed our rifles and headed back through the sleeping timber, automatically going down on to our bellies as the willows thinned and were replaced by the tangled mesh of the brush.

  We were lucky in that we had a reasonably unrestricted view of the ranch, and that the night was clear, so that moonlight bathed the place in a sallow shimmer.

  As Henry had said, five horses had been tethered to the rack in front of the main house.

  Amber light fell in slanted blocks from the windows of the place. I studied the dwelling, my throat tight. Was Henry right? Had Kidd actually come back, as I had half-suspected and half-hoped he would? And if so, would he accept whichever yarn Bancroft spun to him, or would his suspicious nature predispose him against any newcomer?

  I heard a low babble of conversation through the thin walls and patched windows, but it was indistinct and impossible to decipher. I was almost afraid to believe that Fate had actually given us another chance at Kidd. It was almost too good to be true. But then I cautioned myself. We did not know for a fact whether Kidd had come back, yet.

  When it became obvious that nothing was going to happen immediately, I sent Lem and Saul back to camp to catch up on their rest, and told Henry to go along with them as well.

  ‘You sure, Mr. Colter?’

  I nodded. ‘I’m sure. I’ll keep watch for a while.’

  Left alone, I lay there squinting through the darkness, wondering what was going on inside the house, straining my ears to catch a word here or recognize a voice there.

  I ran one hand over my mouth. It felt sore and inflamed.

  An hour passed slowly. Trying desperately to remain optimistic, I took that as a good sign. The evening wore on. It grew darker, and the wind turned even more bitter. My eyes became glassy from so much staring, and I began to feel stiff and chilly again.

  The hands of my pocket watch edged towards midnight. My eyelids drooped. I wanted to stay awake, but I couldn’t. My appetite had gone by this time, you see, and my constitution had weakened. I dozed off once and came awake with a start. Again I concentrated my attention upon the main house.

  Still nothing happened, and within ten minutes I was dozing again.

  I dreamt of Ruth Buckhalter.

  When next I awoke, snow was swirling and corkscrewing all around me. I felt groggy and ashamed that I had slept for so long. I pushed up onto my knees, and snow tumbled wetly from my shoulders.

  I knuckled my eyes and squinted at the ranch.

  The horses were no longer tied out front. Most probably Kidd and his men had taken them into the barn and off-saddled. I checked the time. It was a little after two in the morning. Still the windows of the house were warmed by lamp-light.

  I cleared my throat. I felt stiff and sore. I couldn’t be certain, but it felt as if my tongue had swollen up.

  I heard a sound behind me and twisted around, awkward in my bulky clothes. Saul Yarbrough came out of the darkness and crouched beside me, eyes slitted against the churning snow. ‘Go on back an’ grab some coffee, Mr. Colter,’ he said. ‘I’ll take over here fo’ a while.’

  I nodded, clapped him on the shoulder and staggered back to camp. My shoulders ached fiercely. I poured myself a mug of coffee and drank it down, for my thirst was as persistent as ever. Sitting cross-legged there beside the faintly glowing embers, I dozed again.

  I snapped awake four hours later, not entirely sure where I was, or why. Then my glazed eyes cleared and I saw the other men moving around, and memory came back.

  I stood up and looked around. It had stopped snowing, and by the look of it, not a moment too soon. Snow and ice rimed every bush and branch.

  It had blanketed the entire countryside.

  I shivered.

  Saul came in, hugging himself to keep warm, and reported no change at the ranch. Silently Lem stalked off to take over the watch. I stumbled away through the trees until I was out of sight, then bent double and was violently sick.

  Three hours later, Lem came back into camp, wearing a frown. ‘Somethin’s wrong down at that there ranch, cap’n,’ he said. ‘I don’t like the lookuvit.’

  With effort, I got to my feet. ‘What do you mean, something wrong?

  ‘Ain’t seen nor heard no signs’ a life. An’ that lamp they got burnin’ inside the house — it’s still burnin’.’

  That was odd. Even though the day was overcast, there was no need to keep a lamp burning. With coal-oil the precious and expensive commodity that it was, most frontier people tried not to burn any more of it than they had to.

  I grabbed up my rifle. ‘Take a look around,’ I said, and Lem nodded and turned away.

  The rest of us tramped through the snow, back to the edge of the brush. The snow had piled into thicker drifts here, varying from eight or nine inches to a full two feet. We went down onto our knees and studied the spread beyond. It could have been a painting, for all that moved. Now that the wind had dropped, even the scraping, laddery windmill stood silent and still.

  Ten minutes passed before we saw Lem step out of the barn, raise his New Model Sharps above his head and gesture that we should come in. We clambered to our feet, shoved through the brush and waded closer, leaving six jagged, white-gray scars to mark our passage.

  When we were near enough, Lem said, ‘They’ gone, cap’n. Cleared out. The woman as well.’ I did not know what to make of that. Lem went on, ‘From the looks of it, they ain’t comin’ back. Took ever’thin’ they’ likely to need.’ Then his eyes came up to mine and he said softly, ‘Only thing they left behind ’em wuz Bob Bancroft’s hoss.’

  For a moment we all became part of the painting ourselves as we stood stock-still and pondered the implication of that. Then my eyes travelled past Lem to the house, with the cozy amber glow at its windows, and suddenly I pushed past him and went plowing across the yard, stamped up onto the porch and shouldered the front door open.

  I looked around. Nothing appeared to be amiss.

  I smelled cigarette smoke on the close, trapped air. Embers glowed in between the remnants of logs in the fireplace.

  I went deeper into the room, my ‘Yellow Boy at the ready. My voice was an intruder, breaking into the silence. ‘Bob?’

  There came no response.

  I took another few paces into the room, past a high-backed fireside chair. My foot snagged on something and, because I was so keyed-up, I swung around quickly, my finger whitening on the trigger.

  I froze.

  I had stumbled on an out-thrust leg. And slumped further back in the chair, staring right at me, sat Bob Bancroft.

  My face crumpled into something full of anguish, and I mumbled, ‘ … no … ’

  His shirt had been absolutely soaked in blood.

  Now, as it dried, it looked unnaturally stiff, like cardboard.

  His throat had been cut.

  I staggered away from him as the others came in through the front door. I turned away, dragged .myself into the kitchen, bent over the sink and heaved.

  Bancroft was dead. He had died as horrible a death as any man could. And all because of me.

  Damn you, Kidd, I thought. You’re going to pay for this. You and all your men.
<
br />   I forgot all about my hatred of killing. Right then I wanted to kill. I wanted to kill them all.

  Bancroft’s death left us stunned. I leaned over the sink, covered in sweat, trying to be sick even though I had nothing left in me to fetch up. I heard the other men mumbling expressions of their shock, heard the floorboards creak as they wandered around the room and tried to come to terms with what had happened.

  I was weighed down by guilt. And why not? I had sent Bancroft to his death. Nobody else. I knew that my plan had never won the approval of the others, who had rightly seen the potential risks more clearly than I. `So I must take full responsibility for it, and I did.

  At last the feeling of nausea passed and I pushed myself erect. Quite by chance I caught sight of my reflection in a small looking-glass on the shelf at the bottom of the window. What I saw there shocked me still further.

  Slowly I brought one hand up and let my stiff fingers gently explore my face. But was that swollen, scabbed face really my own? Could the rigors of the hunt really have brought about such a drastic change in my appearance?

  I peered closer, opened my mouth, tried to see inside it. As I had suspected, my tongue had swollen up, and the inside of my mouth looked sore and red.

  I stood there for a moment, breathing shallowly.

  No wonder I had been feeling so terrible for so long.

  Finally I turned and went back to the others, but stopped before going into the parlor, where Bob Bancroft was still slumped in the chair, his throat a ragged crimson grimace.

  The others turned to look at me. In somebody else’s voice I said, ‘Wrap him in his blanket and take him home, boys. There’s nothing more we can do here.’

  Still they stood there, watching me curiously.

  Nobody spoke. The breeze picked up suddenly, and the windmill started turning its ratchety cycle again. At length Saul said, ‘You sayin’ we’ not goin’ after ’em, Mr. Colter?’

  ‘I’m saying that someone’s got to take Bob home and see to it that he gets a proper burial,’ I replied.