Bloody Trail (15 page)

The rancher swallowed and shook his
head.

"Sorry, Sheriff. I've got a couple of saddle
mounts and some draft horses, but that's all. Not enough to do you
any good. You're welcome to water your horses from my well,
though."

Billy Below leaned forward in his saddle and
said boldly, "We'd plumb admire to have a home-cooked meal,
too."

"There's no time for that, Billy," Satterlee
snapped. "Besides, Miz Mallory's probably tired out after that
birthin' chore. She won't be wantin' any company."

"That's true, Sheriff," Mallory said. "I'm
obliged to you for understanding."

Charley Blackfeather turned his horse and rode
slowly to the left, so that he could see past the house and get a
better look at the barn. At least, that's what Satterlee figured
the scout was doing. He wouldn't have minded taking a look in that
barn himself.

"What's that Injun doin'?" Mallory asked
sharply.

"Oh, don't mind him," Satterlee said. "He's
sort of simple-minded. He's half black, half Seminole. You know how
those people are. Can't keep their minds on anything, and he's got
it on both sides." He put a sharp note in his own voice as he went
on, "Charley! You get back here now. Don't go wanderin'
off."

"Sorry, Sheriff," Blackfeather said. "Jus'
wanted to look at the pretty horses."

"Never mind the pretty horses," Satterlee
said. He looked around at the others and pointed to the covered
well. "Haul some water up and let your horses drink, and then we
got to get back on the trail."

Gallagher, Sweeney, and McCain were all
looking at him a little oddly. Billy Below was the only one who
didn't seem to have noticed anything odd about the behavior of the
sheriff and Charley Blackfeather over the past couple of minutes.
He was still chagrined over the fact that he wasn't going to get a
home-cooked meal out of the deal.

The posse members watered their horses while
Mallory stood tensely on the porch, his hands gripping the railing.
Satterlee took note of how white the rancher's knuckles
were.

When they were finished at the well, Satterlee
lifted a hand in farewell and called to Mallory, "Much obliged for
the water."

"Good luck runnin' down those owlhoots,"
Mallory replied.

When they were out of earshot of the man,
Satterlee said to Blackfeather, "How many horses did you see in the
barn?"

"At least four," the scout replied. "Even if
two of ‘em belong to Mallory, that still leaves two extra. You
reckon some of Danby's bunch was back there, inside the
house?"

"I'd bet a hat on it. That's what had Mallory
so spooked. They were probably in there with a gun on his wife.
Might be some kids in there, too."

CHAPTER EIGHT

Gallagher asked, "What are we going to do,
Sheriff?"

"Ride on out of sight, then circle back.
Charley's pretty good at slippin' up on a place without bein'
seen."

"Yeah," Blackfeather said. "Even though I'm
simple-minded."

Satterlee smiled and said, "I figured it was
better to insult you than get you shot, and there was probably at
least one rifle trained on you from somewhere. I didn't want to
start the ball until we knew what the tune was gonna
be."

Checking out the Mallory spread was going to
delay them to the point that catching up with the gang before they
reached Indian Territory would be practically impossible. Satterlee
knew that, but he didn't see that they had any choice. The rancher
and his family could very well be in danger, and Satterlee's
instincts as a lawman wouldn't allow him to ignore that.

Besides, if some of the outlaws were here,
taking care of them now would improve the odds that much more in a
final showdown. If there was a final showdown.

"I'll go back in behind that little rise to
the southeast," Charley Blackfeather said when they were out of
sight of the ranch. He waved a hand at the low, grassy ridge he'd
mentioned.

"I'm comin' with you," Satterlee
said.

Blackfeather frowned. "I know you were
probably pretty stealthy in your scoutin' days,
Sheriff—"

"And I've snuck up on many a herd of buffalo
without them knowin' I was there, too," Satterlee broke in. "I know
how to move quiet when I have to. Anyway, I intend to stay behind
that rise while you slip in the rest of the way. But somebody needs
to be close by in case you run into more trouble than you can
handle." Satterlee looked around at the other members of the posse
and nodded to McCain. "You come along, too."

"Sheriff, I don't know if that's a good idea,"
Blackfeather said.

"I don't mind," McCain said. "I can be quiet,
too. Not as quiet as you two, I'll bet, but I won't give us
away."

Rob Gallagher asked, "What about the rest of
us, Sheriff?"

"You stay right here," Satterlee said. "If you
hear a bunch of shootin', head back in there as fast as you can.
And be ready for trouble when you get there."

With the plan in place, Satterlee,
Blackfeather, and McCain set out, circling wide to put themselves
behind the long ridge that would shield their return to the Mallory
ranch. After a mile or so, they had to dismount and lead their
horses, because the rise was too shallow to conceal men on
horseback. Their hats might have been visible as they bobbed along
if they had stayed mounted.

After a while, Blackfeather motioned for them
to stop. He handed his reins to the sheriff and said, "I'll crawl
up there and take a look, see just how close we are."

Satterlee handed both sets of reins to McCain,
took off his hat, and hung it on his saddlehorn.

"You're comin' with me?" Blackfeather
guessed.

"That's right."

The two men started up the rise in a crouch,
then dropped to hands and knees and finally to their bellies as
they crawled the last few feet. At the top, they peered through the
grass and Satterlee saw the buildings of the Mallory ranch about
three hundred yards away.

As they watched, a man came out of the barn
and strode toward the back door of the house.

"That ain't Mallory," Blackfeather said
quietly as the man went inside.

"I know. Must be one of the outlaws. Think you
can get down there and back without anybody seein' you?"

"There's a chance, anyway."

"If you can find out how many there are, and
where they are, we'll have a better chance when we go
in."

Blackfeather nodded. "And if I have the chance
to slit a throat here and there?"

Satterlee grinned and said, "Hell, go ahead
and kill all of ‘em if you can, I don't care. Although it might be
a good idea to keep one of them alive until we can ask him some
questions."

"That was my intent back at the ambush, too,
and it didn’t work out so good. But I'll do the best I can,
Sheriff."

"I know you will, Charley. I wish you luck
along the way, too. If we hear a ruckus break out, we'll come
a-runnin'."

Blackfeather crawled over the top of the ridge
and slithered through the tall grass. Within moments, Satterlee
couldn't see him anymore. The grass swayed a little here and there,
but with the breezes that swept across the prairie, that was
common.

Satterlee looked over his shoulder at McCain
and nodded to let the man know that everything was all right so
far. He had sensed a certain amount of tension between Blackfeather
and McCain, especially when he'd picked McCain to come along with
them on this foray. Maybe McCain didn't care for Indians or black
folks—or both—and the Seminole knew that.

It didn't matter to Satterlee how they got
along back in town, as long as they were able to work together out
here. So far, that hadn't been a problem.

Time dragged. Satterlee looked up at the sun.
It was getting on toward mid-afternoon now, and the Danby gang was
getting farther away with each passing minute. Unless, of course,
they were all holed up down there at the Mallory spread, which
seemed unlikely to Satterlee.

That thought had just crossed his mind when he
spotted Charley Blackfeather at the rear corner of the barn.
Blackfeather bent and slipped between the poles of the corral. He
intended to sneak into the barn that way, Satterlee realized. He
was impressed that Blackfeather had been able to get down there
from up here without ever being visible along the way.

Blackfeather hadn't been inside the barn for
more than a minute or two when shots began to roar.

Satterlee twisted around and barked at McCain,
"Bring the horses!"

McCain ran up the rise, leading the horses.
When he reached the top, the two men swung into their saddles.
Satterlee drew his gun and McCain did likewise. The sheriff kicked
his mount into a run and thundered down the slope toward the
buildings. McCain was close behind him.

The man who had gone inside earlier came
running out the back door of the house, saw the riders galloping
toward him, and flung up his hand with a gun in it. Smoke and flame
erupted from the barrel as he triggered several shots. The range
was too great for a handgun, though, and Satterlee knew the man's
bullets were falling short. He held his fire, and McCain followed
his example.

Charley Blackfeather burst out of the barn,
twisting to fire back into the sod building. Blackfeather lost his
footing in the hurried action and fell. A man who came out of the
barn behind him stopped and drew a bead on him with a
revolver.

Derrick McCain suddenly surged past Satterlee
as they neared the ranch buildings. The gun in the young man's hand
blasted. His shot missed, but it came close enough to the head of
the man who was about to fire at Blackfeather that it made him jerk
as he squeezed the trigger. The slug kicked up dust several feet to
Blackfeather's left.

McCain was practically on top of the gunman by
now. He kicked his feet free of the stirrups and dived out of the
saddle, crashing into the man and driving him off his feet. Both of
them sprawled in the dirt of the yard between the house and the
barn.

The man who had come out of the house turned
to run, now, as Satterlee closed in on him. He twisted halfway
around and flung a shot at Satterlee as he fled. Satterlee thrust
his revolver out in front of him and fired.

The bullet slammed into the running man's back
and lifted him off his feet. Momentum carried him forward another
yard or two before he landed face-first on the ground with his arms
flung out on his sides. Satterlee covered the man as he reined
in.

Off to the side, McCain struggled with the man
he had tackled. The man was bigger than McCain and was able to
throw him off. He had dropped his gun, but as he rolled away from
McCain he slapped his hand down on the butt and snatched up the
weapon. He came up and pointed it toward McCain.

Before he could fire, a grisly thud sounded.
Charley Blackfeather's tomahawk had hit him in the back of the
head, splitting his skull and driving into his brain. The dying man
dropped his gun and pitched forward. After a few grotesque
twitches, he lay still.

Satterlee saw that from the corner of his eye
as he approached the man he'd shot. That hombre hadn't budged since
he fell, and Satterlee was pretty sure he was dead. From the looks
of the bloodstain on the back of the man's shirt, Satterlee's
bullet had blown right through his heart. It paid to be careful,
though, so Satterlee kept his gun pointed at the fallen man until
he was able to get a boot toe under his shoulder and roll him
over.

The man's eyes stared up sightlessly from a
rough, unshaven face.

"Is the other one dead, Charley?" Satterlee
called without looking around.

"Dead as he can be," Blackfeather
replied.

"Are there any more of ‘em?"

"I don't—" Blackfeather began, but before he
could finish the back door of the ranch house flew open again, and
Ezra Mallory stumbled out.

"Don't shoot!" Mallory cried as he came toward
Satterlee, Blackfeather, and McCain. He held his empty hands out in
front of him. "There's another one inside! He's got my wife! You've
got to help her!"

Satterlee lowered his gun and used his other
hand to grab the arm of the panic-stricken rancher.

"Where are they?" he asked.

"Inside and to the right," Mallory said.
"He—he's wounded, that's why they left him here, but he's still got
a gun—"

Satterlee shoved Mallory toward McCain, who
had gotten to his feet and retrieved his gun.

"Keep him here," Satterlee told McCain. The
sheriff was growing tired of hysterical husbands and outlaws who
hid behind women.

They approached the house cautiously and eased
their way inside. Satterlee stood still and listened. He heard some
muffled sobs coming from an open door down a short hallway to the
right, as Mallory had said. Satterlee silently motioned for
Blackfeather to follow, and started along that corridor.

A floorboard creaked under his feet. From
inside the room, a man's strained voice called, "I hear you out
there! Who's there, damn it? Parker? Drake?"