The Loner: Rattlesnake Valley

by J. A. Johnstone

  “So you lied to the captain.”

  “I done what I had to, damn it!” Rocklin blew his breath out in exasperation. “We’ll tell the cap’n that we done what he said and that Malone refused to surrender. That’s what he’s expectin’ to hear, and to tell the truth, it’s what would happen anyway if we did follow the cap’n’s orders. Difference is, doin’ it his way, we’d likely all be dead ’fore the night’s over, and then there wouldn’t be anybody left to save the old man and the girl from Malone. He’d kill the cap’n, and as for Miss Diana…well, I don’t have to tell you what he’s got in mind for her, Kid.”

  “No, you don’t,” The Kid agreed. “And for what it’s worth, Sam, I think you’re doin’ the right thing.”

  Rocklin sighed. “It’s sure as hell hard to protect somebody when they’re always lookin’ over your shoulder, bitchin’ about the way you have to go about it, especially when they don’t know how bad the things out there in the dark really are.”

  “Yeah, I imagine it’s a thankless chore,” The Kid said. “Somebody’s got to do it, though.”

  “Yeah, and it looks like we’re elected.” Rocklin glanced over at him. “Glad you’re comin’ along for the ruckus, Kid. Even takin’ those varmints by surprise, I got a hunch we’re gonna need all the help we can get.”

  The Kid couldn’t argue with that.

  Chapter 24

  Twenty-nine men on horseback couldn’t move through the night without making some noise, but the group from Diamondback rode as quietly as possible once they had crossed the Severn River, just in case Malone had any scouts out. Sam Rocklin had lived in the valley for a long time and knew every foot of the trails, so The Kid was happy to let the ramrod lead the way.

  It was a little after eleven o’clock when they approached the headquarters of Malone’s ranch. According to Rocklin, they had been on Trident range almost since crossing the river. They were closing in on the old ranch house and the other outbuildings.

  Rocklin reined in atop a wooded hill that overlooked the ranch. In the moonlight, The Kid saw a spawling, single-story house that had probably started out as a small cabin. It had been expanded by building additions to it in rather haphazard fashion. Beyond it were the barns, the corrals, the long, low bunkhouse, and a small blacksmith shop. Rocklin pointed them out to The Kid.

  “Seems like you know the place pretty well,” The Kid commented.

  “I used to be over here quite a bit when old Silas Wilmott owned the place,” Rocklin explained. “Him and George got along well and did some business together.”

  “George Starbird, Diana’s father?”

  “Yeah.” Rocklin chuckled. “Funny how he was always just George to me, even though he was the boss, no doubt about that, but the cap’n’s always been the cap’n. For brothers, they weren’t much alike. George was just as plain and simple as he could be, didn’t put on no airs and would get out and work alongside the hands just like he was a forty-a-month-and-found puncher, too. I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ bad about the cap’n, mind you. He’s just different from his brother, that’s all.” Rocklin glanced over. “You got a brother, Kid?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Me, neither.” Rocklin took a deep breath. “All right. We’ll spread out so that we’ve got the whole place surrounded. Then we’ll close in.” He started naming off punchers and telling them where to go, assigning more men to the bunkhouse than anywhere else. He concluded by saying, “I’m goin’ in the house after Malone.”

  “I’m coming with you,” The Kid said.

  Rocklin grinned. “Glad to hear it. I was just gettin’ to that. He’s liable to have Wolfram in there with him, maybe Breck and Early that you had the run-in with, too. Now that Greavy’s dead, those three are his right-hand men.” The foreman turned to the others. “I’ll give everybody plenty of time to get in position. If you run into any of Malone’s men, try to kill ’em as quick and quiet-like as you can. But if you have to shoot, do it. If all hell breaks loose, that’ll be the go-ahead, boys. Rush in there and blast as many of ’em as you can, as fast as you can. Otherwise, wait for my signal. That’ll be three shots, fired fast. When you hear ’em, let the rat-killin’ commence.”

  The assembled cowboys nodded grimly in understanding. The jovial, excited atmosphere they had shared earlier had disappeared as they recognized they were going about the solemn task of defending their home ranch.

  The men split up, spreading out around Trident headquarters. Soon The Kid and Rocklin were alone on top of the hill. They dismounted. From there they would go on foot, stealing up on their enemies like Indians.

  Quietly, The Kid said, “You know, some people would consider what you’re about to do to be murder.”

  Rocklin snorted in disgust. “Yeah, and some people don’t know their rumps from a hole in the ground. Malone and his bunch have run roughshod over the valley. They’ve killed innocent folks, destroyed property, and acted like they can raise all the hell they want to without ever havin’ to answer for it. It ain’t murder to wipe out a pack of wolves, is it?”

  “I never said it was,” The Kid replied with a smile. He had wiped out a few human wolf packs before, and never lost a minute’s sleep over sending some evil sons of bitches straight to the hell they deserved. Well, not too much sleep.

  “Good.” Rocklin drew his gun. “Let’s go set things right.”

  They started down the hill, moving swiftly and silently, using all the cover they could find in case Malone had guards posted. Heading straight for the house, The Kid and Rocklin reached it in about ten minutes. As they paused fifty yards from the front porch and crouched behind the stone wall around a well, Rocklin pointed at himself and then at the front door. He pointed at The Kid and made a circling motion, indicating that The Kid should go around to the back. The Kid nodded his understanding. Rocklin held up two fingers indicating two minutes, and The Kid nodded again.

  Rocklin mouthed, Good luck, and the two men split up. The Kid crouched low and ran around the house. He drew his Colt and held it ready for action. The night was still quiet. The lack of gunfire meant either that the Diamondback punchers hadn’t run into any of Malone’s men, or they’d been able to dispatch the enemy without shooting.

  It was only right that they had a little luck, The Kid thought. Not only were they outnumbered, but most of Malone’s men were professional gunmen who were highly efficient at killing. The men from Diamondback were cowboys. Tough, rugged hombres, sure, and many of them were no strangers to violence, but still, they weren’t the same sort as Malone’s crew. That’s why it was absolutely necessary for them to take Malone’s men by surprise. Even with that going for them, The Kid expected that they might take heavy losses.

  He paused at the rear corner of the house and pressed his back against the wall for a second as he listened intently. If anyone was lurking behind the ranch house, they were doing so in complete silence. The Kid wheeled around the corner and headed for the back door. He’d been counting off the seconds in his head and knew that a little more than a minute and a half had passed since he and Rocklin split up. In less than thirty seconds, Rocklin would be entering the house.

  The Kid reached the door. If it was locked or barred from inside, he would have to find some other way in, probably through a window. When he tried the latch, though, it opened. A faint smile tugged at his mouth in the darkness. Malone didn’t expect any trouble in his own home.

  The former pirate was about to find out just how wrong that assumption was.

  The Kid swung the door back slowly, hoping that the hinges wouldn’t creak. They did, but only faintly. The noise was so soft it couldn’t be heard more than a few feet away. The Kid went into the house fast, crouching low to make himself a smaller target. His Colt swept from side to side, ready to blast back if an enemy’s muzzle flash ripped through the shadows.

  Nothing flashed. The house was dark and quiet. The Kid straightened. His keen ears strained to hear anything.

  Th
ree gunshots suddenly roared at the front of the house so loud they were like fists against The Kid’s ears. From outside, more shots rang out in response to Rocklin’s signal, and men shouted wildly, loosing rebel yells designed to startle and disorient their enemies. The Kid’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he ran down a hallway. He kicked open a door at the end, figuring it probably led to a bedroom, maybe even Malone’s.

  The room was dark and empty. The Kid saw a big bed and knew he had guessed right, but nobody was there.

  Footsteps pounded in the corridor behind him. He whirled around and spotted a familiar shape. A gun in the man’s hand lifted toward him.

  “Sam, hold your fire!” The Kid called. “It’s me! Morgan!”

  Rocklin lowered his gun. “Kid? What the hell? Where is ever’body?”

  “There’s no one in the front of the house?”

  “Nobody!”

  “Let’s check the other rooms,” The Kid suggested.

  It took only a minute and the search confirmed what The Kid had already begun to suspect. The Trident ranch house was unoccupied.

  The shooting from outside had died away quickly, he realized. As he headed for the front door, he said, “Let’s see what the rest of the boys found.”

  “I got a bad feelin’ about this, Kid,” Rocklin said.

  The Kid’s voice was bleak as he said, “Me, too.”

  They stepped onto the porch, and in the moonlight they saw men milling around the bunkhouse, the barns, and the corrals. A couple of the men trotted toward the main house, and one of them called, “Hey, Sam! There’s nobody here!”

  “You looked ever’where?” Rocklin asked.

  “Yeah, just about,” the puncher replied as he and his companion came up to the porch. “I reckon there could still be one or two of Malone’s varmints hidin’ somewhere, but I kinda doubt it.”

  “So do I,” said The Kid. “It appears that Malone and all of his men have left here.”

  “But if that’s true,” Rocklin said, “then where in blazes did they go?”

  One possible answer to that occurred to The Kid and Rocklin at the same time. Rocklin exclaimed, “Diamondback!”

  “Let’s get the horses,” The Kid said in an urgent, worried voice. He holstered his gun and bounded down the steps from the ranch house porch.

  Rocklin was right behind him. The foreman began to yell, “Ever’body come on! Back to the horses! Back to the ranch!”

  As The Kid hurried up the hill toward the spot where they had left their mounts, he thought about Jefferson Parnell. Sophia hadn’t heard the conversation between Malone’s men that Parnell had reported. They had only the newspaperman’s word for what he had overheard. Parnell could have lied to Sophia and to the rest of them as well.

  But why would he do such a thing? Had he decided that he was going to knuckle under to Malone and help the former pirate get his revenge on Owen Starbird? It was possible, The Kid decided. The promise of money or the threat of death were both effective persuaders, even more so when they were combined. Despite Parnell’s pose as an honest newspaperman, The Kid could see him selling out to Malone.

  They would know in an hour or so, he thought as the men reached the horses. The Kid grabbed the reins and swung up into the saddle on the buckskin’s back. All around him, the Diamondback punchers were mounting up as well. “Let’s go!” Rocklin shouted again. “Come on!”

  Hoofbeats filled the night like thunder as the men rode out, fear and desperation fueling the hard gallop toward the Severn River and Diamondback range beyond.

  Chapter 25

  The riders didn’t attempt to travel quietly. They rode hard for Diamondback, splashing across the river and hitting the trail that would take them to the headquarters of the ranch.

  The more The Kid thought about it, the more convinced he was that Malone had tricked them, with the assistance of Jefferson Parnell. Knowing that Starbird would want to strike first if he found out that Malone was planning a dawn raid on the ranch, Malone had figured that the whole Diamondback crew would head for Trident that night, leaving Starbird and Diana unprotected.

  Well, unprotected except for Gray Hawk and Carmelita, he amended, but he knew the old Yaqui and the servant wouldn’t be any match for Malone’s ruthless hired guns. Diana would put up a fight, too, but it wouldn’t be enough—not nearly enough.

  Starbird and Gray Hawk might be dead, and Diana could easily be a prisoner in Malone’s hands. That thought made The Kid’s jaw clench tightly.

  He would avenge them, he vowed…but he knew from bitter experience just how hollow revenge could be. It never brought back the ones who’d been lost.

  As they approached Diamondback headquarters, The Kid reined in and motioned for Rocklin to do likewise. As the two men brought their horses to a halt, the rest of the punchers followed suit.

  “What is it?” Rocklin snapped. “I want to find out if the cap’n and Miss Diana are all right.”

  “So do I,” The Kid said, “but if we go charging in there blindly, we might be riding right into a trap.”

  Rocklin thought about it for a second and then jerked his head in a nod. “Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted. “Malone could have his men waitin’ to cut loose at us.”

  “All of you stay here. I’ll slip in there and find out what’s going on.”

  “Sounds like a good way to get yourself killed, Kid.”

  “I’ll run that risk,” The Kid said. “If it’s all clear, I’ll light a lantern, come out in front of the house, and swing it back and forth over my head three times. You should be able to see that signal from here.”

  “We’ll be waitin’,” Rocklin promised. “But if we hear any shots, we’re headin’ on in, hellbent-for-leather.”

  The Kid grinned. “Good idea, because if you hear any shots, I could probably use some help.”

  He left the rest of the riders there and headed toward the house. When he estimated that he was within a quarter mile, he dismounted and continued on foot, moving as stealthily as he could. Frank Morgan could slip in and out of an enemy camp without anyone ever knowing he’d been there, but The Kid wasn’t that good yet. He was working on it, though. Maybe someday he’d be able to hold a candle to The Drifter in all the ways that really counted.

  If he lived long enough.

  A few lights burned in the house. The Kid paused under some trees and watched the place closely, waiting to see if any shadows moved in front of the lights. After a moment, one did. Somebody was in there, all right, but he didn’t know who it was.

  He listened intently as well. If Malone’s men were hidden around the ranch, waiting to ambush the Diamondback punchers when they returned, their horses had to be somewhere. The Kid didn’t hear any soft whinnies, or the stamping of hooves. Maybe the horses had been led off out of earshot.

  He was also alert for the smell of tobacco. Ambushes had been ruined in the past by some thoughtless hombre firing up a quirly. Even if he hid the coal at the end of the cigarette, the smell would be a giveaway.

  There was no tobacco smell. Could it be that the ranch was really as quiet and peaceful as it appeared? Had he been wrong about the trickery he suspected on Malone’s part?

  The Kid’s gaze fastened on the living room window where he had seen the shadow of someone moving around and where yellow lamplight continued to glow. He had to get a look through that window.

  Gripping his Colt tightly, The Kid dashed across the open ground between the trees and the porch. He vaulted directly onto the porch, landing lightly enough so that whoever was inside might not have heard him. He put his back to the wall and slid along it toward the window.

  When he was only inches away, he took off his hat and leaned closer, edging an eye past the window frame to peer through the opening. The pane was raised because it was a warm night. He was able to hear the slight grunt Carmelita made as she drew a bandage tight around Gray Hawk’s left arm.

  The Kid stiffened. No one else was in the room except the Y
aqui and the woman. That didn’t mean the coast was clear. Malone and his men could be elsewhere in the house.

  Carmelita spoke in Spanish. The Kid understood the language well enough to know that she was telling Gray Hawk the bleeding had stopped. “Bueno,” the Yaqui said. “I must find Señor Morgan and tell him what happened here.”

  They wouldn’t be talking so calmly if Malone was still lurking around, The Kid decided. He stepped to the door and swung it open, saying, “You won’t have to find me, Gray Hawk. I’m here.”

  At The Kid’s entrance, Gray Hawk’s hand had started toward the rifle that lay on the table next to him. He stopped before snatching up the weapon and came sharply to his feet.

  “Señor,” he said.

  “Where are Captain Starbird and Señorita Diana?” The Kid asked. The question made Carmelita cover her face with her hands, and he saw her shoulders begin to shake a little as she cried.

  “Gone,” Gray Hawk replied. “The pirate man has them.”

  “Malone?”

  Gray Hawk nodded. “He and his men came a short time ago. I could not stop them from breaking in and taking El Capitán and the señorita. There were too many of them.”

  “I know,” The Kid said. “How bad are you hurt?”

  Gray Hawk glanced down at the bandage on his arm and shook his head contemptuously. “A scratch, nothing more. I heard them coming and thought you and the others had returned sooner than expected, but when I went out to see, they opened fire on me. I could not get back to the house, so I took cover in the barn. Malone and some of his men went into the house and brought out El Capitán and Señorita Diana. I could not shoot for fear of hitting them.”

  The Kid nodded. “I understand. I’m surprised they left you alive.”

  “The one called Wolfram wanted to burn down the barn with me inside it, but Malone ordered that I be left alone. He wanted to leave me alive so I could deliver a message to you, señor. He said he is taking the prisoners to the settlement called Bristol. There he will await you at dawn tomorrow. You can go and try to take them back…or you and all the Diamondback men can leave Rattlesnake Valley forever.”