Halliday 5

by Adam Brady

  Halliday also had noticed that the man checked his six-gun more often than was usual, and kept it by his side when he rolled into his blankets at night.

  The night was warm and still, with just the whisper of a breeze. Halliday let his mind wander back to the Hillary ranch and the girl who had so openly offered herself to him.

  Halliday had no illusions about Dora. He could see that she had neither shame nor scruples and that nothing could embarrass her. Once she had her hooks into a man, she might never let him go.

  If he didn’t show up at the lineshack where she had promised to wait for him, he would have to face up to all the fury of a woman scorned. If something bad happened to her when she was out there all alone, that would be his fault, too. If he did go to her—well, that would bring trouble of a different kind down on his head.

  The night dragged on slowly. Finally, Walsh dropped off to sleep. Halliday stood watch for an hour longer than agreed, but he was just about to awaken Walsh when he heard the faint noise that didn’t belong to the natural sounds of the night.

  A dry twig snapped under a careless foot.

  Walsh jerked upright as Halliday’s hand tightened on his shoulder. Walsh licked his lips, and Halliday saw the fear showing bright in his eyes.

  “Stay quiet,” Halliday whispered. “We’ve got company.”

  Walsh groped for the six-gun and gently peeled back the blanket.

  Halliday strained to hear another alien sound, and soon he heard the slight rustle of somebody moving in the darkness beyond the glow of the campfire.

  “Remember everthin’ I told you or we won’t pull this off,” he said tightly.

  Walsh wiped sweat from his face on his sleeve and stared nervously away to the brush.

  “How many of ’em?”

  “Who knows?” Halliday gritted. “Just take it easy and remember we’ve got the advantage here, and it’ll be light in a couple hours. If we can hold them off till then, Ben and the boys will get the bastards in a crossfire.”

  “Couple hours,” Walsh breathed, and moved slowly away from the campfire.

  Then a gunshot ripped the night apart.

  The bullet burned past Halliday’s head as he backed away into the darkness and went into a crouch, but Walsh broke into a run. Gunfire immediately opened up all around the camp. Stabs of flame punctuated the blackness, briefly showing a face, a tree trunk, a running figure. The cattle stirred and began to mill about.

  Walsh was nowhere to be seen now, and Halliday readied himself to fight alone. He rolled over the grass as bullets thudded into the ground around him. The cattle began to run toward the creek, and any moment now, Halliday knew they would break into a run. But he stayed flat to the ground and waited.

  The man at the edge of the fire glow looked like no more than a shadow among other deeper shadows, but that was enough. Halliday’s bullet sent him sprawling. Two others came on the run but slunk back into the darkness when they heard their pard go down.

  Halliday quickly refilled his empty chambers.

  Where the hell was Walsh and what was he up to?

  There had been no gunshots from the direction he had taken, and there appeared to be no one and nothing slowing the cattle as they thundered across the open range.

  Five minutes passed, and then a man shouted;

  “Turn ’em back this way—one’s down by the crick, the other’s in the brush.”

  Halliday held his gun steady, not moving a muscle.

  The scrape of a spur against a loose rock sent him into a dive. He was rolling as a bullet kicked up dirt inches from his face. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a man running in a crouch, and he sent four bullets in his direction. The man straightened, staggered, then fell face-first into the shallow water.

  Halliday looked on patiently, keeping his gun trained on the spot where the man had fallen, but a short time later, he saw the body slowly floating downstream.

  Two down. But there were more ... a lot more.

  The brush to his left suddenly parted and a man came running into the camp. Halliday’s finger was tightening on the trigger when the man yelled;

  “It’s me, Halliday! Don’t shoot!”

  Walsh hit the ground on his belly and Halliday snapped a shot at a moving shadow behind him. Then he looked down at Walsh, his eyes blazing with anger when he snapped;

  “What are you tryin’ to do—wreck everythin’?”

  “We got no chance, Halliday. That’s Tom Rainer out there, I saw him plain as day.”

  “Who the hell’s Tom Rainer?”

  Walsh sighed, breathing heavily.

  “You ain’t heard of him? Hell, where you been hidin’? Rainer’s known all over the territory. He took Jesse Monk in a shoot-out back in Salisbury, killed Jude Little in Lusc, and—”

  “He a gunfighter?” Halliday interrupted him.

  Walsh shook his head.

  “I don’t know about that. But he ain’t never been beat. I saw him and another two, back there in the brush. We better find ourselves some decent cover quick smart. When daylight comes, we’ll be sittin’ ducks if we stay where we are now!”

  “We’ll stay where we are,” Halliday told him.

  He lifted his gun and reloaded. They lay there side by side as the minutes ticked slowly by.

  “Coby?”

  The whisper came from the edge of the brush but didn’t receive an answer.

  “Josh?”

  Again, no answer.

  Walsh sucked in a ragged breath and worked his way to his knees.

  “I’m gonna cut an’ run,” he whispered, “and unless you’re tired of livin’, you’ll do the same. I don’t care how good you’re supposed to be, Halliday, there’s too damn many of ’em.”

  “You’re gonna stay right here, mister,” Halliday told him, “or I’ll get you before those boys out there have a chance at you.”

  “I could kill you right now, you know,” Walsh said.

  “But not before I squeeze a trigger, too,” Halliday warned him with a casual shrug.

  “You really are loco, you know that?”

  “That’s what they say.”

  Two – Rainer and Friend

  Sunrise was not far away. There was a softness in the air, and birds began to twitter in the trees down along the creek.

  Buck Halliday peered into the luster of early dawn, waiting and watching.

  Adam Walsh had found cover in a narrow ditch by the creek, but Halliday could still see his hat.

  He sighed in exasperation. He had judged Walsh to be the best man in Ben Hillary’s crew, but it was beginning to look like he had misjudged the man.

  Halliday’s own hat was on a low mound several feet away, and it had done the trick. When some fool took a shot at it, Halliday promptly sent a bullet back at the muzzle flash and drew an immediate yelp of pain in response.

  Gradually, the land brightened, and the first streaks of sunlight slanted across the prairie.

  Nothing moved now as time dragged by.

  A mosquito buzzed in front of Halliday’s face, but he forced himself not to swat it.

  He would have preferred Walsh to be a little closer, but it would be dangerous to move now that daylight was at hand ...

  The gunshot that broke the morning silence sent Halliday’s hat spinning from the mound. Halliday saw the cordite smoke rise from behind a clump of brush. He fired three times, methodically stitching a line across the brush. There was a sharp cry, and then a big man came stumbling out of cover. The right side of his face was badly bleeding, and he was clawing at the flesh with his left hand while his right held his gun against his chest.

  Halliday expected Walsh to put the man down since he was directly in his line of sight. But the man did nothing.

  “What the hell are you doin’?” Halliday hissed.

  When there was no answer, he crawled over the grass on his belly to find that the hollow was empty. Walsh’s hat, like Halliday’s own, had been used as a decoy. Walsh had run out on hi
m.

  Bullets began to hammer the ground around Halliday like heavy raindrops. The big man with the bleeding face was still on his feet, stumbling around and firing wild. His knees finally buckled and he went down. Even then he got off another shot into the air before he fell flat on his face.

  Halliday was watching for any signs of life when he heard running feet and turned to see two men running through the brush in his direction—a skinny weed of a man dressed in black and a bigger man togged out like a dude.

  Halliday fired and forced the pair to dive for cover, giving him time to reload and move behind a weathered stump.

  The stump gave him cover to slide back toward the creek until he fetched up against a deadfall that lay half-in and half-out of the water. He crouched there, waiting for long minutes until suddenly the two men burst from cover on their horses and came at him in a wild charge.

  Their gunfire had Halliday pinned down so well that he could only keep his head down with no chance of returning fire. Then, suddenly, the horsemen separated so that he was unable to keep both of them in his gunsight.

  He cursed Walsh for being such a coward as the two riders began to close in on him from both sides, sheltered by the big cottonwoods that grew along the creek.

  Bullets thudded into Halliday’s deadfall and ricocheted off the hard ground around him.

  Halliday jumped to his feet and ran along the top of the deadfall, stopping only long enough to punch off three hurried shots and grab his hat before he ran up the slope, making for heavy brush.

  A bullet smashed the heel from his boot and another plucked at the sleeve of his shirt, but he reached the concealment of the brush with no more harm done.

  Settled there, he sucked air into his lungs in great gulps and peered down at the two men below him. Now he had a better view of them than they had of him. If there were only two of them left, it would be hard for them to drive a riled-up herd with Halliday still taking potshots at them from behind.

  He waited until he saw them ride off and start to herd the cattle into a bunch. It was clear that they knew how to handle a herd.

  Satisfied that there was no one else with them, Halliday sprinted to the dry wash where he and Walsh had left their horses. Only Halliday’s sorrel remained, of course, and Halliday was soon kicking it into a run.

  The man in the dude’s clothes heeled his horse into the creek, and Halliday drove the sorrel into the shallows. The man saw him and immediately started yelling to his companion as he frantically slapped his horse’s neck with his reins.

  The thin man responded and was coming at Halliday on his left, and Halliday was ducking a barrage of bullets to reach the herd on the creek bank.

  Yelling and waving his hat, he scattered the herd again and sent them into a desperate run. Dust rose thickly now as the herd scattered in every direction.

  Halliday kicked the sorrel hard and sent it racing past the leading steer.

  The two outlaws gave chase for a time, but finally turned their horses around.

  Twice more, Halliday rode in and scattered the herd on them, the last time drawing the pair after him in hot pursuit. He rode through a series of shallow gullies, always swinging back to the herd.

  Then, suddenly, Halliday saw the thin man pointing and yelling, causing the rustlers to hightail across the prairie at a dead run.

  Halliday sat saddle and watched as Ben Hillary and his men gave chase.

  It took them the best part of another hour to get the cattle rounded-up and settled again, and only then did Ben Hillary go looking for Buck Halliday.

  “Where the hell is Adam, Buck?” Hillary asked.

  “I lost track of him during the night, Mr. Hillary,” Halliday said vaguely.

  “Is he hurt?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Well, when was the last time you saw him?” Hillary pressed.

  “Can’t rightly say,” Halliday told him with a shrug, and then he briefly described how the rustlers had made their move.

  “Did you get a look at any of them?” Hillary queried.

  “Walsh said that one of them was Rainer.”

  “Tom Rainer?”

  “That’s what Walsh said.”

  “Hold on a minute,” Hillary then said, and he went to tell the crew to head for home with the herd.

  When he returned to Halliday, he said;

  “Tom Rainer’s a mean son of a bitch if ever there was one. But I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry we got here so late. Just after you left, Dora left the house. She was gone before anybody knew it, and we spent half the morning lookin’ for her. Never did find her, but by then, I figured time was on the move and we had to get on your tail. When I get my hands on her—”

  “Dora’s all right,” Halliday said quietly.

  Hillary stared at him for a moment, before he said, “She is? You know where she went?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get her and bring her home. At the same time, I’ll be keepin’ an eye out for Walsh.”

  “I don’t get this, Buck,” Hillary said angrily, “and, by hell, you better explain it before you do anythin’ else. Where’s Adam? Are you suggestin’ he ran out on you?”

  Halliday looked away and pursed his lips.

  Hillary slammed his fist against the pommel of his saddle with such ferocity that his horse jumped in surprise. The rancher’s face reddened, and he jerked roughly on the reins.

  “Stand still, you jughead!” Then he looked back at Halliday and said, “Look, mister, we’re talkin’ about my cattle, my hired hand and my goddamn daughter. So I expect you to tell me exactly what’s been happenin’ and what’s gonna happen next!”

  “Mr. Hillary,” Halliday said flatly, “I told you what I’ll do. I’ll see you back at the ranch.”

  “The hell you will, Buck!” Hillary blustered. “I got a right to know what the blazes is goin’ on. Let’s start with Dora. I’ve just about had enough of that girl and her ways. She was talkin’ to you just before you left—then all of a sudden she ups and disappears. How come?”

  “It’s personal.”

  Hillary swallowed whatever he had been about to say, and suddenly his face brightened.

  “You and her, Buck? You and my Dora? Is that it?”

  Halliday rolled a cigarette before he answered. Choosing his words carefully, he said;

  “I think she doesn’t know the difference between a man and a boy, Mr. Hillary. I figure the best thing to do is track her down and give her a good talkin’ to.”

  “Sure, sure,” Hillary said eagerly. “You do that, Buck. By hell, I reckon that if any man can get her measure, you can. Go right ahead and put her in her place. To tell you the truth, the sooner that happens, the better it’ll be all ’round. On your way, boy, and do what you gotta do. And you’d best keep your eyes peeled for Tom Rainer. They don’t come much worse’n him.”

  Halliday nodded and rode away, wondering what Hillary would have said if he knew just how Dora had propositioned him.

  Well, he had no intention of letting Dora get her hooks any deeper into him. He liked the girl and had seen no reason why he shouldn’t stay on friendly terms with her. She had seemed interested in him, and they had talked until he decided that she was more interested in him than in what he had to say. And, of course, she was a tease and a flirt.

  Halliday rode slowly for the best part of two hours before he began the long climb into the high country. It took him another hour to reach the wild and beautiful cliffs that overlooked Hillary’s Rocking L.

  The high country took the shape of a horseshoe around the Hillary grazing land. Up here, there were only stunted pine trees and patches of dry brush in the hollows. The wind was sharp and cold against Halliday’s face and trail-weary body.

  Finally, he saw the lineshack ahead, placed so that the windows overlooked the incoming trail.

  He was certain Dora would be waiting and watching, and he was wondering how she would take his refusal.

  Tears? Angry taunts? Stony silen
ce?

  When he drew rein outside the line shack’s front door and she did not appear, he felt a sense of relief. Then she called to him in a voice that was husky and warm;

  “Door’s open, Buck.”

  Halliday stepped down from the saddle and led his horse around the back of the lineshack where Dora’s mare stood in the shelter of a lean-to. His big sorrel immediately began to pay attention to her mare, who turned her rump playfully at him.

  Halliday sighed, took off his hat and ran his fingers through his gritty hair. His face felt tight from two days of sun and wind, and his limbs were cramped from the long hours in the saddle.

  “What the hell?” he said to no one in particular, and then he marched purposefully around the lineshack and pushed open the front door.

  Dora Hillary was sitting on the rim of a tin washtub, her naked body gleaming and wet and her face pink with anticipation.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said in a sultry whisper. “Dry me off, will you, Buck?”

  “I’ll wait outside,” he said sternly. “Hurry and get dressed. Your pa’s worried about you.”

  Dora turned her head and smiled.

  “Let’s not think about him right now, Buck. Come in and don’t look so worried.”

  Halliday tried to look away from that lush young body, all warm and rosy from her bath. Even when he turned to stare at the ancient calendar hanging from a nail on the wall, the image of those full, bare breasts and the flat, smooth belly still lingered in front of his eyes. He dragged down a quick breath and felt a stirring in his loins.

  “How come you won’t look at me?” Dora teased, and then she scooped water from the tub and threw it at him.

  Halliday stood his ground.

  Although she was giggling like a child at play, there was something in her eyes that spoke of other pleasures.

  Suddenly, she stopped and stood up, with water cascading down her body.

  “Look at me, Buck,” she said. “Don’t you like what you see? Don’t you want me?”