Read Destiny Of The Mountain Man Online

Authors: William W. Johnstone

Destiny Of The Mountain Man (20 page)

BOOK: Destiny Of The Mountain Man
12.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads
“Yes,” Brandt said, stroking his chin. “The battle of attrition does seem to be running against us. It is obvious we are going to have to try another tactic.”
“Yeah, well, what sort of other tactic do you have in mind?”
“Superior numbers,” Brandt said. “From now on, we will not engage the enemy until we know that he have more people than he does.”
 
 
Even as Brandt and his men were lamenting their losses, the Santa Gertrudis riders were celebrating their victories.
“I don't mind tellin' you boys, I was planning on hightailing it out of here,” Barrett said. “But the way ole Smoke and the other two boys has been cuttin' down the rustlers, I don't figure there's enough of 'em left to give us any more trouble. And that's good, because we've got us a lot more cows to bring in before the drive starts.”
“I think I will talk to everyone again,” Ramon said. “I think now they will stay.” He smiled at Barrett. “How many will you need to bring up the half-meadow herd?”
“I won't need no more'n five, I don't reckon,” Barrett said.
“I will get five men for you.”
“I will be one of the five,” Cal offered. He looked at Pearlie. “What about you?”
“Sure, I'll go,” Pearlie said. “Say, Smoke, do you think we could talk Miss Sally into cookin' us up a bunch of bear claws to take along?”
“Why don't you ask me?” Sally asked, coming up at that moment.
“Oh, uh, I didn't see you,” Pearlie said. “But how about it? Would you make us up a batch?”
Sally smiled. “I think that could be arranged.”
“Maybe a double batch,” Pearlie said.
“A double batch?”
“Well, we are goin' to be out there for quite a while,” Pearlie said. “And a man can get awful hungry out on the range.”
Sally chuckled. “All right, I'll fix you a double batch,” she said.
“And maybe some fried apple pies?” Pearlie suggested.
“You are impossible, Pearlie,” Sally said. “Talk about the camel getting his nose under the tent. My advice to you is, don't force it.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Pearlie said quickly, realizing that he had come close to overstepping himself.
C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-TWO
Pearlie was bent low over his mount's neck. The horse's mane and tail were streaming out behind, and its nostrils flared wide as it worked the powerful muscles in its shoulders and haunches. Cal was riding just behind Pearlie, urging his animal to keep pace, and Barrett was riding beside him. Behind Pearlie, Cal, and Barrett rode three more cowboys.
The six men hit a shallow creek in full stride, and sand and silver bubbles flew up in a sheet of spray, sustained by the churning action of the horses' hooves until huge drops began falling back like rain. Pearlie led the men toward an island in the middle of the stream.
“We'll hold here!” Pearlie shouted.
Dismounting, the six men took up positions where they could use shrubbery and the slight elevation of land to provide both concealment and cover. They had been peacefully pushing a small herd of cows back to join the roundup, when they were put to flight by the sudden appearance of forty riders.
Because there had been so few rustlers seen on the Santa Gertrudis Ranch over the last few days, the men had grown complacent, thinking that the worst was over. The unexpected appearance of so many men, all firing weapons as they came swooping down over a little rise of land, caused Pearlie and the others to make a desperate dash back to a small island in the middle of the stream.
“How many are there?” Barrett asked. “Did anyone get a count?”
“Too many to fight off!” Cal answered.
“Yeah, well, too many or not, we're going to have to fight them off, so we'd better get ready,” Pearlie said. “We'll be making our stand here.”
“We can't stay here! We got to skedaddle!” one of the cowboys said.
“Have you got any idea just where we might run to?” Pearlie asked. “We were running as hard as we could just to get here.”
“Maybe if we surrender,” the cowboy suggested.
“Surrender and do what? Get our carcasses spreadeagled with our guts cut out? You do remember what happened to Emilio, don't you?”
“Yeah,” the cowboy responded grimly. “Yeah, you're right. We ain't got no choice but to fight.”
Pearlie was glad to see that the cowboy's near panic had been replaced by a quiet determination.
“Damn right,” Pearlie said. “They may kill us, but we're goin' to kill one hell of a lot of them first.”
Pearlie pointed to the neck of the island, which faced the eastern bank of the creek, the direction from which they had just come.
“I think our best bet is to try and squirm down through the tall grass. We'll take positions as near to the point as we can get, and do as much damage as we can when they start across the water.”
“What do you think, Pearlie? Do you think we can stop them?” Barrett asked.
We'll know the answer to that in about two minutes, ” Pearlie said. “Now, hurry, get into position. And try and stay out of sight. I'm going to take this log. Barrett, you take that tree; Pedro, that stump; Julio, you and Billy go over there behind that rock.”
As the men hurried to take up their positions, Pearlie shouted more instructions. “Hold your fire until the last possible moment. Then make your shots count!”
“Pearlie, you didn't say where you wanted me,” Cal said.
“I want you to go for help.”
“What?”
“You are the best rider here. I want you to get back to the ranch. Tell Smoke where we are. Tell him to get here as fast as he can. If he gets here soon enough, some of us may still be alive.”
“No, Pearlie, don't make me do this!” Cal protested. “I don't aim to show my tail while the rest of you are stayin' here to face them.”
“Oh, for God's sake, Cal, do it!” Barrett said. “Do you think any of us would actually think you are running?”
“Don't you understand, Cal? If you don't go for help, none of us are going to get out of this alive!” Pearlie said. “You are our only chance.”
“All right,” Cal agreed. “I guess if you put it like that, I've got no choice.” He put his foot into the stirrup, then swung up into the saddle.
“Good luck!” Pearlie shouted, slapping Cal's horse on the rump. The others shouted as well as Cal hit the water on the west side of the island, away from where the main body of their pursuers were. Pearlie watched Cal gallop north along the west bank of the creek until the horse crested an embankment. Then Pearlie turned back to await the rustlers.
“Here they come!” Barrett said. His announcement wasn't necessary, however, for by then everyone could hear the drumming of the hoofbeats as well as the cries of the rustlers themselves, yipping and barking and screaming at the top of their lungs.
The rustlers crested the bluff just before the creek; then, without a pause, they rushed down the hill toward the water, their horses sounding like thunder.
“Remember, boys, hold your fire!” Pearlie shouted. “Hold your fire until I give you the word!”
The attackers rushed into the water, riding hard across the fifty-yard-wide shallows. Then three of them pulled ahead of the others, and when they were halfway across the water, Pearlie gave the order to fire. All three of the outlaws went down.
Although there were only five defenders on the island, their fire was so effective that the outlaws who remained swerved to the right and left, riding by, rather than over, the cowboys' positions.
The outlaws regrouped on the west bank, then turned and rode back for a second charge. Again, the defenders' fire was so effective that the outlaws separated as they approached the island, like a swiftly flowing river parting around a rock.
“Is anyone hit?” Pearlie called to the others.
All four answered in the negative. So far, no one had been scratched, though the same thing could not be said of their attackers, many of whom were now strewn in the water and on the ground before them.
“How are you doing on bullets?” Pearlie asked. “Do all of you have enough?”
“I'm running out of ammunition,” Barrett said.
Pearlie took off his belt and started pushing cartridges out of the little leather loops. “Let's divide up what we have left,” he suggested.
“Looks like they're about to come at us again,” Billy called out.
“All right, boys, get ready. They're comin' back,” Pearlie shouted.
Pearlie got down behind the fallen tree and rested the barrel of his rifle on the log. He thumbed back the hammer of his rifle, sighted down the long barrel, and waited.
The outlaws came again, their horses leaping over the bodies of their comrades and horses who had fallen before. One of the bandits was wearing a blue Army jacket with sergeant's stripes on each sleeve. That was the one Pearlie selected as his target. He waited for a good shot.
When the shot he was looking for presented itself, Pearlie squeezed the trigger. His bullet hit the man just above the right ear, then exited through the top of his head. Pearlie saw brain tissue, blood, and bone detritus erupt from the top of the man's head. The bandit dropped his pistol as he pitched back off his horse.
When they saw their leader go down, the others milled about for a moment, uncertain as to what they should do. One or two started forward, but it wasn't a concerted charge and, like their leader, they were easily shot down.
By now, nearly a dozen outlaws lay dead on both banks of the creek, in the water, and on the sandy beaches of the island. So far, not one of Pearlie's men had been lost, but they were running critically low on ammunition.
Across the water, Pearlie saw that another man was rallying the bandits. At first, Pearlie didn't have a very good view of him. Then the man turned, and Pearlie recognized him.
It was Waco Jones, the same man who had challenged him at the dance back in Corpus Christi.
It was beginning to look as if Waco would get the bandits organized for another charge. If he did, that would be bad, because the defenders didn't have enough ammunition to hold them off. That was when Pearlie got an idea.
“Hey!” Pearlie shouted. “Waco, let's talk!”
Startled to hear himself called by his name, Waco turned toward the island.
“Talk about what? Who are you?”
“I'm the man you challenged to a gunfight back at the dance in Corpus Christi, remember?”
“No, I don't remember,” Waco said. “There's never been anyone I challenged who lived to tell the tale.”
“I didn't have a gun then,” Pearlie called back. “So I wouldn't fight you. But I've got one now.”
“Do you? Well, that's good, because you're going to need it,” Waco said.
“How 'bout you 'n me havin' that gunfight now?” Pearlie suggested. Then, thinking about Sally and her insistence on proper grammar, he reworded his question. “How about you and
I
having that gunfight now?” he said.
“Hell, seems to me like we
are
havin' us a gunfight,” Waco said.
“No, we're having a battle,” Pearlie said. “You might get killed on your next charge, and I might not be the one who did it. I don't like that idea. I want to know that I am the one who killed you.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“Let's meet in the middle of the stream,” Pearlie suggested. “We'll draw against each other, just the way you wanted.”
“Huh-uh,” Waco replied.
“What's the matter, Waco? Are you afraid?” Pearlie laughed. “I figured as much. I've got a pretty good nose for who is real and who is bluster. And you, my friend, are all bluster. Or else, you are a coward. No wonder you challenged me when I didn't have a gun. I hear you are some kind of a gunfighter. How many unarmed men have you gunned down? You are a coward, Waco.”
“A coward, huh? All right, mister, if you want the others to watch you get shot down. Meet me in the middle of the stream.”
“Waco, no,” one of the other outlaws said. “Can't you see he's just baitin' you?”
“Yeah?” Waco replied. “Well, you ever seen bait that didn't get eaten? You just sit back and enjoy the show.”
“One thing, Waco,” Pearlie said.
“What's that?”
“Tell the others that if I beat you, they are to let us ride out of here.”
“You heard 'im, boys,” Waco said. “If he kills me, let the others ride out.” He paused for a moment, then added with a chuckle, “After you kill him, that is.”
“Pearlie, no, that's not good odds,” Barrett said. “You do it his way, you die, no matter what.”
Pearlie checked the loads in his cylinders. He had only two bullets left.
“But they might let you go,” Pearlie said.
“No,” Barrett said. “It isn't worth it. Don't do it.”
“I don't have any choice,” Pearlie said as he stood up with his hands in the air. “All right, Waco,” he called. “I'm coming out now.”
Pearlie walked to the middle of the stream, then stopped. Waco walked toward him, stopping when he was about twenty yards away.
Pearlie thought of the two remaining bear claws he had in his saddlebag. He wished now that he had eaten them.
In the distance, he heard a crow call.
Downstream, a fish splashed in the water.
“Well, you just goin' to stand there all day?” Waco asked.
“I'm waiting on you,” Pearlie replied.
“Huh-uh. It's your move, cowboy,” Waco said, a mirthless smile on his face.
Pearlie started for his gun. He was fast, but Waco was faster, and even as Pearlie was squeezing the trigger of his own pistol, he saw the puff of smoke, and felt the heavy impact of the bullet as it punched into his chest. He felt the breath leave his body as he pitched backward. He could hear the echo of the two shots reverberating back from the trees and hills.
Then he heard, and felt, nothing.
Barrett and the others looked on in stunned silence as they watched Pearlie fall back into the water. A little puddle of red swirled around him as the water passed over the wound in his chest. Barrett looked at Waco, hoping to see that he too was grievously wounded, but saw only a red mark on his cheek where the bullet had come close enough to burn his skin, but not close enough to wound him.
Waco put the back of his hand to his cheek, then brought it down to examine the blood.
“Damn. The son of a bitch came a lot closer than I thought he would,” Waco said. Looking up, he saw Barrett staring in shock at Pearlie's prostrate form.
“Pearlie?” Barrett called. He got no answer.
BOOK: Destiny Of The Mountain Man
12.13Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

The Redeemer by Linda Rios Brook
Bitter Recoil by Steven F. Havill
Seasons by Katrina Alba
Scent of Murder by James O. Born
Noche salvaje by Jim Thompson