The Loner: Rattlesnake Valley

by J. A. Johnstone

  The horses were in a clearing about twenty yards to his right, below the crest of the ridge so that no stray bullets could find them. The Kid peered through the gaps between the trees and saw the animals moving around restlessly. Most horses, even ones used to gunfire, would probably get a little spooked by the continuing racket and the reek of burned powder in the air.

  That meant the man responsible for holding them probably had his hands full keeping the horses calm enough so they wouldn’t bolt. He wouldn’t be expecting anybody to come up behind him.

  The Kid darted through the timber, working his way toward the horses. For him, to conceive of a plan was to act on it. Caution had its place, but being hesitant could be deadly on the frontier. The trick, as Frank Morgan had explained to him, was to move fast but not be too reckless.

  The Kid had no doubt that the cabin under attack was a Diamondback line shack, which meant that the men inside it rode for Diana Starbird and her uncle. The attackers had to be Malone’s men. He didn’t know how long the defenders could hold out, but he intended to even the odds a little.

  Circling through the trees, The Kid came up behind the horses. He paused to count them. Ten mounts, and two men holding them, not just one. That meant there were eight gunmen hidden on the ridge above the cabin.

  The Kid went all the way around the horses to come in from the north. The men wore dusters and had their hats pulled low over their faces. A frown creased The Kid’s forehead as he saw that they had their bandannas tied around the lower half of their faces so that the colorful cloths served as masks. He supposed they were worried about being recognized. He remembered that Malone was trying to carry out his campaign of revenge against Owen Starbird without leaving behind any proof. The former pirate had spent years in prison. He didn’t want to take a chance on ever going back.

  The Kid used the horses themselves to conceal him. He stepped around the animals and came up to the closest of the two men before the hard case even knew he was there. When the man spotted The Kid, he let out a startled curse and dropped the reins to claw at the gun on his hip.

  The Kid struck first, moving with eye-blurring swiftness as he slammed the rifle butt against the side of the man’s head. The man fell like a rock. The Kid didn’t know if the blow had just knocked him out cold or cracked his skull and killed him, and he didn’t really care. He still had the other bushwhacker to deal with.

  The second man had heard his companion’s startled reaction. He didn’t try to brush his duster aside and reach for a pistol. Instead, he grabbed a sheathed Winchester on one of the horses and yanked it free. It belonged to either him or his companion, since the rest of the men had taken their long guns with them.

  The Kid snapped his Winchester to his shoulder and fired first. The slug drilled into the man’s chest and threw him back against the horses he had been holding. His finger contracted involuntarily on the trigger, making a shot explode from the rifle, but the bullet tore off harmlessly through the trees.

  The Kid leaped forward and smashed the rifle’s stock across the dying man’s face, shattering his jaw and knocking him to the ground. A man could pull the trigger on a gun even when he was drawing his final breath, so The Kid had learned not to leave anything to chance. He kicked the bushwhacker’s rifle away, then spun toward the far side of the ridge.

  The gunmen had to have heard the shots and would likely send someone to see what had happened. But by the time anybody could get there, The Kid had put the second part of his hastily-formed plan into action.

  He snatched his hat off his head and slapped it against a horse’s rump as he yelled, “Hyaaah!” He struck left and right with the hat and used the Winchester’s barrel to swat another horse. The animals were already spooked, and that was all it took to make them panic. A couple of them bolted for the top of the ridge, and the rest followed, galloping wildly through the trees.

  The Kid ran after them and was close enough to see what happened when the horses burst out of the timber. Sure enough, another dust-clad, masked hombre had been coming his way, but the man suddenly found himself right in front of ten stampeding horses. He barely had time to yell in fear and throw his arms up in a futile gesture before one of the horses slammed into him and knocked him off his feet. His scream was cut short as thundering, steel-shod hoofs pounded over him, turning him into a bloody, broken mess in a matter of seconds.

  The horses scattered as they started down the slope. Some of the bushwhackers were foolish enough to act on impulse and jump out of cover to try to stop the runaways. The Kid saw a man’s hat fly off as blood exploded from his bullet-cored head in a crimson spray. Bringing the Winchester up again, The Kid dispatched another gun-wolf with a slug through the body. Then return fire forced him to duck back into the trees. Bark flew from the trunks around him as lead chewed into them. The bullets that missed buzzed through the woods like angry hornets.

  The surviving gunmen realized that the situation had swung abruptly against them. The Kid heard a man bellow, “Let’s get the hell outta here!” Another man shouted, “Grab those horses!” Shots continued to ring out.

  Morgan ventured a look and saw that three of the men had managed to latch on to mounts. They leaped into the saddles and galloped away. Another man lunged for a set of trailing reins and missed, then spun around crazily as several shots from the line shack ripped through him. He was as limp as a rag doll by the time he fell.

  That left just one of the bushwhackers trying to grab a horse. Seeing that he couldn’t do it, he suddenly threw his rifle to the ground and thrust his arms in the air above his head.

  “Don’t shoot!” he cried. “I give up! Damn it, don’t shoot!”

  The Kid held his fire, and so did the men in the cabin. But one of the fleeing bushwhackers jerked back on his horse’s reins, hauling the animal around in a circle. The man reached under the long coat to his waist and came up with a long-barreled Remington.

  The Kid saw what was about to happen, but before he could call out a warning, the Remington blasted. It was a good shot for that range. The bushwhacker who was trying to surrender grunted and staggered back a step. He turned in a slow circle, bringing the ugly black hole in his forehead into view. The bullet hadn’t gone all the way through his head, but it had sure turned his brain to mush, The Kid thought as he watched the man’s knees unhinge. The bushwhacker flopped forward on his face as the rest of his body caught up to the fact that he was dead.

  The Kid lifted his rifle and threw a couple of shots after the fleeing men, but they darted into the trees and over the ridge and he was pretty sure he hadn’t hit any of them. Considering the damage he and the defenders in the line shack had done to them, he didn’t think there was much chance they would double back and attack again. He kept a watchful eye out, though, as he went to check on the man he had knocked out.

  A grimace pulled at The Kid’s mouth when he saw the blood that had oozed from the man’s eyes and nose and mouth. He had busted the varmint’s skull, all right. The bandanna mask had slipped down and the man’s hat had fallen off, but The Kid didn’t recognize the hard, beard-stubbled face. He didn’t think he had ever seen the man before.

  The same was true of the man he had shot. He wondered how many hired killers Malone had working for him. Of course, hard cases weren’t in short supply in that part of the country. Malone could just recruit more men to replace the ones he’d lost.

  The Kid went back down the hill to fetch the buckskin. He led the horse up the slope. The tang of gunsmoke and the sheared-copper scent of freshly spilled blood made the buckskin’s nostrils flare, but the horse didn’t try to pull away. Such things were all too commonplace around Kid Morgan.

  The Kid slid the Winchester back in the saddle boot and emerged from the trees into the open above the line shack. He held his right hand in the air above his head, open palm out to show that he was a friend. Several cowboys carrying rifles came out of the cabin, and one of them waved him down the slope.

  As The Kid
approached, the man who had signaled to him called, “I reckon you’re the fella who stampeded them horses?”

  “That’s right,” The Kid said. He came up to the punchers and went on, “You ride for Diamondback?”

  “Damn right we do. Say, you’re the hombre who rode in yesterday with Miss Diana! Kid Morgan, right?”

  The Kid nodded. He recognized a couple of the men. They were among the ones Rocklin had left to keep an eye on the ranch when he and the others had left that morning to trail the men who’d raided Diamondback headquarters the night before.

  The attack on the line shack was the second act of open warfare in less than twenty-four hours. Obviously, Malone had run out of patience and intended to escalate his quest for vengeance on Owen Starbird.

  That made it even more important that he get back to the ranch house, The Kid thought as he glanced at the sky. It had been a long day, and a lot had happened. Nightfall was only an hour or so away.

  The way hell had started to pop in Rattlesnake Valley, there was no telling what that night might bring.

  Chapter 17

  The Diamondback hands wanted to know what The Kid was doing and why he’d happened to come along when he did. He thought they were still slightly suspicious of him, despite the help he had given them, and he supposed he couldn’t blame them for that. They had to be feeling that everyone in the valley was against them, and they probably weren’t too far wrong.

  The Kid explained how Orrie and Dr. Eggars had been forced by gunfire to turn back before they reached the ranch headquarters. That brought bitter, angry curses from some of the men.

  “If Deuce dies, it’ll be that damn Malone’s fault!” one of them declared.

  “What about Orrie?” asked another puncher. “How bad was he hit?”

  “The doctor thinks he’ll pull through,” The Kid said. “He’ll be laid up for a while, though.”

  “That’s one more mark against Malone,” the Diamondback cowhand vowed ominously.

  The Kid was in complete agreement with that. He asked, “What were you fellas doing out here?”

  “Just checking on the stock in the east pasture. That bunch of gunnies jumped us, and we barely made it to the line shack so we could fort up.”

  “Anybody hurt?”

  The cowboy shook his head. “A couple of bullet burns, but nothing to speak of. You say you’ve got medical supplies on your horse?”

  “That’s right,” The Kid said.

  “We’d better make sure you get through to the house, then. Folks there are liable to need ’em.”

  The cow ponies the men had been riding had scattered when they reached the line shack, but the animals hadn’t gone far. They were grazing on the far side of the pasture. It didn’t take long to round them up. The whole group started toward Diamondback headquarters with The Kid riding in the middle of the punchers. Since they knew that country a lot better than he did, he trusted them to get him back to the ranch by the best route.

  It took another hour to reach their destination, which meant that the sun was setting when they got there, but at least they hadn’t run into any more trouble along the way. The two big yellow dogs bounded out to bark at them as they rode in. Diana heard the canine commotion and hurried onto the porch to greet them.

  “Kid!” she said. “Thank God you’re all right. I was worried you might not come back from Bristol alive.”

  The Kid swung down from the saddle. Sam Rocklin came up from the bunkhouse and said, “Gimme your horse, Morgan. I’ll see that it’s tended to.”

  “Thanks,” The Kid said as he passed over the reins. He untied the bag of medical supplies from the saddle. Rocklin gave the reins to one of the punchers and followed The Kid up the steps onto the porch.

  “Orrie never came back with the doctor,” Diana said tensely. “You didn’t happen to see them in town, did you?”

  “Matter of fact, I did. They started out here this morning but got ambushed along the way.”

  Diana gasped. “My God! Is Orrie all right? Was Dr. Eggars hurt?”

  “Orrie’s got a bullet hole in his shoulder,” The Kid said. “The doctor wasn’t hit. Malone may have told his men to be careful and not ventilate Eggars. He’s the only sawbones in these parts, according to what he told me.”

  Diana nodded. “That’s right. How bad is Orrie?”

  “The doctor thinks he’s got a good chance. Eggars was able to get the bullet out of Orrie’s shoulder, and if he didn’t lose too much blood, he should be all right.”

  “Thank the good Lord for that,” Rocklin said. “Boy’s got the makin’s of a good hand, could happen, he lives long enough.”

  The Kid hefted the bag in his hand. “The doctor sent along some medical supplies. He said you might be able to use them.”

  Rocklin took the bag and promised, “We’ll put ’em to good use. Much obliged, Morgan, to you and the doc both.”

  Diana said, “Maybe I should go into town and see Orrie—” She stopped as The Kid began to shake his head.

  “We got shot at when we crossed the river this morning. Then Orrie and the doctor ran into trouble. And I just came from the line shack over in your east pasture, where the men I rode in with were forted up while some of Malone’s men tried to kill them.”

  Diana looked sharply at the men who had come in with The Kid. “Is that true, Josh?”

  “Yes’m, it is,” the oldest of the hands replied. “A bunch of gun-hung gents jumped us. We barely made it to the line shack in time to save our bacon.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that, anyway,” she murmured. “You’re sure it was Malone’s men? Uncle Owen’s bound to ask me about that.”

  The cowhand called Josh rubbed his angular jaw and frowned. “I can’t rightly say for sure who they were. There’s about half a dozen bodies a-layin’ out there as wolf bait, and I can’t say as I recognized a one of ’em.” He looked around at the other punchers. “How about you boys?”

  A chorus of head shakes and negatives was the answer. One of the men said, “I never saw any of those varmints before, but they was hard hombres, no doubt about that.”

  “You left their bodies out there?” Diana asked.

  “Their horses ran off,” The Kid explained, without mentioning that he was the one who had stampeded those animals. “We didn’t have any way of toting them in.”

  Diana looked at Rocklin. “Sam, get the wagon and fetch those bodies so they can be buried properly. Even a hired gun should have a decent burial.”

  Rocklin looked uncomfortable as he replied, “Ma’am, I ain’t arguin’ that point with you—although it seems to me that coldblooded killers like that deserve whatever happens to ’em—but the plain and simple fact of the matter is, by the time we could get back out there with the wagon, it’d be plumb dark, and anyway, the wolves and other scavengers’ve probably been at the corpses by now. By mornin’ they’ll be gone for sure, so it might be best just to leave things the way they are.”

  Diana looked like she wanted to order him to do as she told him, but after a moment she sighed and nodded. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “I think this should be reported to the deputy, though.”

  “That won’t do a bit of good,” The Kid said. “If he’s like the rest of the citizens in Bristol, he’s either already in Malone’s pocket or too scared to buck him.”

  Diana gave him a level stare. “So you’re saying we have to go it alone.”

  “Not completely,” The Kid said. “I’m on your side.”

  “And I appreciate that. I’m sure my uncle does, too. But Malone will just keep bringing in more gunmen until he controls the entire valley. We’ll fight him, of course, but the odds against us will be mighty high.”

  The Kid smiled. “Malone’s got himself a small army. You just need one, too.”

  “That’s right, but where are we going to get it?”

  The Kid didn’t have an answer to that question yet, but things were stirring around in his brain.

 
; Before any of them could form into a coherent picture, he heard the thumping of Owen Starbird’s crutches inside the house. The sounds came closer until the former naval officer loomed in the doorway.

  “What’s going on out there?” Starbird boomed. “Blast it, come inside where I can hear what you’re saying. Morgan, is that you?”

  “That’s right, Captain.”

  Starbird balanced on his crutches and used one hand to swing the screen door open. “Come in. We were about to sit down for supper.” He turned his head and called over his shoulder. “Carmelita! Mr. Morgan will be joining us!”

  Diana put a hand on The Kid’s arm. “Yes, come in. We want to hear about everything that happened in town.”

  The four of them went inside. Carmelita had already set another place at the table. Over the next half hour, as they made a meal off a pot of Carmelita’s excellent tortilla soup with savory chunks of cabrito floating in it, The Kid told Starbird, Diana, and Rocklin about what he had found in Bristol, starting with the fight involving Breck and Early.

  “Those two are bad hombres,” Rocklin said with a frown. “They would’ve killed you if they’d got the chance, sure as anything.”

  “I reckon they would have tried, but thanks to Miss Kincaid, they didn’t get that chance.”

  “Miss Kincaid,” Diana repeated. “You mean that…saloon woman?”

  The disapproval was plain in her voice. The Kid nodded and said, “That’s right, she owns the Rattler’s Den.”

  “What does she have to do with anything?”

  “She borrowed a gun from one of her customers and made Malone’s men back down before they could stomp me to death. I guess she didn’t want my dead body littering up the street right in front of her place.” The Kid smiled. “That would be bad for business.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “Sure. I had to express my gratitude. I bought a round for the house, in fact.”

  “She’s so…brazen,” Diana said. “I don’t like her.”

  That was pretty obvious, The Kid thought. He wasn’t sure why Diana felt that way, unless it was a sort of natural jealousy that one attractive woman might feel toward another. There had been a time when he was confident that he understood women, but that was back when he was still young and stupid. Not even his father Frank understood women, despite being married a couple of times, and he didn’t mind admitting it, either.