High Wild Desert (9 page)

“I'm not,” Sam said quietly, raising the big Colt, leveling it at the gunman's chest, causing him to cut his words short. Manning's face twisted and turned in confusion. He made a grab for his holstered gun, but it was too late.

The Ranger's first shot hit him dead center and sent him backward to the dirt in a red mist of blood. His derby hat appeared to hang suspended in the air for a second, then fell to the ground.

Seeing his partner go down without even getting a shot off, the other man threw his hands up as Sam swung the big Colt toward him.

“No! Wait!” he shouted.

But there was no hope. The Ranger had already cocked, leveled and squeezed the trigger of the big Colt. It bucked in his hand beneath a streaming rise of gun smoke.

The gunman, Earl Hyde, flipped backward with the impact of the shot and landed facedown in the dirt beneath a gout of blood jetting up from the exit hole in his back.

The dying gunman raised his head from the dirt and looked up at the Ranger. Sam stepped forward, his smoking Colt extended for another shot should one be needed.

“I—I had quit,” the man said in a weak, trembling voice.

“Should have quit sooner,” the Ranger said. He uncocked the Colt and stood watching as the man's face bobbed, then fell back to the hard rocky dirt and relaxed there as if he were sleeping on a thick, soft pillow.

Sheriff Rattler ventured forward, followed by a gathering group of onlookers. Adele Simpson stepped out of the shop where she'd taken cover. But when the two walked closer to the Ranger, pistol shots rang out from the unfinished jail.

“Stay here,” Sam said to Adele. The two lawmen turned and raced toward the sound of overlapping gunshots.

Out in front of the jail, Sam stood on one side of the door and Rattler on the other.

“Dankett!” Rattler called out through the thick door. “Are you all right in there?”

“I'm good, Sheriff,” Dankett called back to him. “I thwarted a jailbreak.”

Sam gave Rattler a curious look.

Rattler eased and let his pistol and rifle slump in his hands.

“It's okay, Ranger,” he said, taking a breath. “I should have expected this. Everybody tries to break out of my jail. But they never make it.”

Sam and Sheriff Rattler eased inside the unfinished building and saw the deputy still seated, his rifle across his lap, his Colt curling smoke in his right hand. On the wall across from him, Lang hung upside down, swinging back and forth by his ankle on the end of the chain holding him to the large ball of iron. The ball was out of sight, hanging out the open window where Lang had thrown it, not realizing the weight of it would overcome him.

The Ranger winced, already seeing what had happened.

“Get me down from here!” Lang shouted, terrified. Fresh bullet holes dotted the wall, flanking him on either side. Splinters clung to Lang's shirt and hair.

“Dankett,” said Rattler, “what happened this time?”

“I closed my eyes just for a minute, Sheriff,” the deputy said innocently. “He pitched his iron out and was going to escape. What else could I do? I only shot my six-gun at him, didn't really try to pin him to the wall.”

“He's crazy, Sheriff!” Lang shouted. “Ranger, get me out of here! He tried to kill me!”

Sam looked at Rattler.

“It's not the first jailbreak Dankett has thwarted, Ranger,” he said. “If he'd meant to kill him, he would have lifted that shotgun to his shoulder. Cisco would be dead.” He leaned in close to Sam and whispered under his breath, “The deputy here takes some getting used to. But nobody ever tries to break out twice.”

Sam holstered his Colt and let out a breath.

“I'm going to pass on eating right now, Sheriff,” Sam said. “I'm going to take some food with us and get out of here before any more gunmen get their bark on and try to collect that reward.”

Chapter 9

It was afternoon when the Ranger and Lang stepped down from their horses on the far side of New Delmar. The Ranger left Lang cuffed to his saddle horn while he set down a canvas sack of air-tights, hardtack and salt pork he'd bought at a mercantile store as they left town. When he had sorted out the supplies, he freed the third handcuff and nodded toward some brush and downed tree limbs lying nearby.

“See if you can gather us some firewood and kindling without turning rabbit on me,” the Ranger said. “The quicker we get us a fire started, the quicker we can eat.”

“You've got it all wrong, Ranger,” said Lang. “I'm not trying anything else. That lunatic Dankett has put running out of my mind.”

“That's good to hear, Cisco,” said Sam, not believing it for a second. “Maybe there's hope for you rehabilitating yourself after all.”

As Lang spoke he stepped over and picked up a stout three-foot tree limb and hefted it in his hands. On his way back to where the Ranger intended to build the fire, he gazed out at a rise of trail dust and the rider coming toward them from the direction of New Delmar.

“What's this?” he asked.

Instead of turning his back on Lang, the Ranger stepped to the side and positioned himself in a way that allowed him to look out at the rider without taking his eyes off his prisoner. Lang noted his maneuver and dropped the limb as if in defeat.

“That's wise thinking, Cisco,” Sam said sidelong to him, studying the rider until he recognized Adele Simpson and the spindly-legged roan riding alongside her with her load of belongings on its back.

“Sorry, Ranger, force of habit,” Lang said. He sighed and dusted his cuffed hands together. Turning, he looked out with the Ranger as Adele drew closer. “Wonder what she's doing here,” he said. “Think she missed her train?”

Without answering Lang, Sam watched the woman ride closer and slow the black desert barb to a halt a few feet away. He stepped over and took the lead rope to the roan from her hand.

“Evening, ma'am,” he said to Adele. He looked the roan over as he patted it with his gloved hand. “This horse strikes me as being grateful to be alive, after that close scrape with the Apache.”

The roan nuzzled its sweaty jaw against the Ranger's hand and sawed its head up and down as if in agreement.

“Evening, Ranger,” Adele replied. “May I ride on with you to Yuma?” she asked flatly.

Sam looked up at her, a little surprised, as he rubbed the roan's jaw. Lang stepped up beside him and watched and listened.

“The train didn't show up. It won't be here until sometime tomorrow,” she said. “I got tired of being at the depot listening to all the talk about you and those two gunmen.”

“The talk dies down after a while,” Sam said.

“I don't care,” said Adele, shaking her head, “I'm done with that place.”

“Still,” said the Ranger, “the train will be a lot faster and more comfortable, once it does get here.”

“No, I'm not waiting for it another day, Ranger, talk or no talk,” she said with determination. “Once I start moving I don't like to stop. May I ride with you?”

“There might be more men wanting to kill me, ma'am,” Sam cautioned her. “Are you certain you want to—”

“I know what I'll be getting into, Ranger,” she said, cutting him off. “May I ride with you or not?” She wasn't being impatient, just persistent.

Sam tipped his sombrero to her and reached up for the roan's lead rope.

“Ma'am, I'd be honored,” he said.

Adele handed him the roan's rope and swung down from her saddle, refusing a cuffed hand from Cisco Lang as he stepped closer and took her horse's reins.

Lang shrugged her rejection off as she stepped past him and the Ranger and looked down at the canvas food bag and the unlit makings of a cook fire.

“Ma'am, you don't have to jump right in and cook for us,” Sam said, seeing her start rolling up her dress sleeves.

“Oh yes, I do,” Adele said. She gave him a short smile. “I always earn my keep.”

Sam and Lang looked at each other.

“Well, then, yes, ma'am,” Sam said. “I'm much obliged.” He looked at Lang and said, “Give me her horse. You gather up more wood for the fire.” Taking the reins and the lead rope in hand, the Ranger turned to walk the horses away.

“Oh, and by the way, Ranger Burrack,” the woman said as if in afterthought. “I liked it better the couple of times you called me Adele instead of ma'am.”

“Yes, ma'am—I mean Adele,” the Ranger said. As he walked away, he heard Cisco Lang over his shoulder.

“Does that go for me too, Adele?” he asked quietly. “I've always called you Adele.” His voice softened. “Among other things, remember?”

“No, I don't remember,” she said flatly. “The fact is, I don't remember anything about you. I started forgetting about you a long time ago.”

The Ranger smiled to himself and shook his head, leading the two horses away, his rifle in hand. The black barb sauntered along, but the roan followed him eagerly as if in appreciation of any water, grain or other human kindness that might come its way.

“Don't worry,” the Ranger said to the roan, liking the horse's spirit and attitude. “I never figured you'd make it this far. Since you did, we're not going to let anybody eat you.”

He walked both horses into the shade of a large boulder where his stallion and Lang's horse stood watching, chewing grain he'd given them from a sack sitting on the ground just out of their reach. The Ranger untied Adele's personal belongings from the roan's back and stacked them over to the side, easy for the woman to get to should she need anything from them. As he started to turn, a leather travel case fell from atop a worn carpetbag and spilled open on the ground.

Sam looked down and saw a small ivory-handled hideaway pistol lying in the dirt. Stooping, he picked the pistol up and looked toward the campfire site to make sure he wasn't being watched. Unseen, he opened the pistol and let two bullets fall onto his palm. Then he closed the pistol, stuck it back inside the leather case, closed the case and placed it atop the carpetbag.

No harm done,
he told himself. Maybe the gun meant nothing. Everybody he knew carried a gun. But for now she didn't need the weapon. When the time came that she would go off on her own, he'd give her back her bullets and send her on her way. Meanwhile, he wanted no hidden guns around him, not with a price on his head, not with a prisoner who used to be the woman's lover.

“Now, then, fellows,” he said to the roan and the black barb as both horses probed their muzzles toward the feed sack, “let's get you some water and grain, get you settled in for the night.”

•   •   •

In the purple, starlit night, Dave Coyle sat at the campfire with Chic Reye, Karl Sieg and Simon Goss, the four of them sipping coffee and passing around a bottle of rye. Off to the side, Little Deak Holder sat staring out across the flatlands, a rifle lying across his lap, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“The good thing about the dwarf being on watch,” Reye said quietly, “is if anybody rides in and sees him, they'll think he's a frog sitting there grabbing bugs.”

The men gave a low chuckle at his words, which encouraged Reye to keep going.

“Or a land rat squatting to relieve itself,” he said, feeling his whiskey.

“
Shhh!
What's that sound?” Dave Coyle said, growing attentive toward the darkness surrounding them.

The men fell silent and listened with him. Little Deak stood up with his rifle and looked all around. But when a gagging sound came from the direction of Oldham Coyle's blanket outside the circle of firelight, the dwarf slumped in disgust and sat back down.

“Sounds like your brother's woke up,” Sieg said quietly to Dave Coyle.

Another gagging sound came from the same direction. This time it lasted longer, and was followed by what sounded like a blast of water splattering on the hard ground.

“Jesus,” Reye said under his breath, “he must've swallowed a waterfall.”

Dave stood up from the fire and dusted his trouser seat.

“I better go see about him,” he said. “Sounds like he's awfully sick.”

Blind Simon sniffed the air.

“I can tell you everything he's et the past three days.”

Sieg and Reye grimaced a little as Dave walked away toward his hawking brother.

“That's all right, Simon,” Sieg said quietly. “We don't need to know all that.”

“Whatever he et, it was still alive and most likely running from the sound of it,” Reye said with contempt, now that Dave had walked out of hearing range. “The thing is, we've gone from ready to ride, to thinking things out, to just a few hands of poker first. And now he's gone out of his mind, gambling, eating dope—”

“That's enough, Chic,” Sieg warned Reye. “Anybody can make a mistake now and then. Let's let it go at that.”

“A mistake?” Reye chuffed and looked at Sieg in the glow of firelight. “His mistake just cost me a heap of money.”

“It cost us all money, Chic,” Sieg said. “But we'll get straightened out. The John Bull mines pay their men like that every month. We've still got it coming.”

“You ever heard the saying a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush?” Reye asked over the sound of Oldham still spewing up sickness outside the firelight.

“No, I've never heard that,” Sieg said with sarcasm. “Pray tell us what it means.”

“What it means is,” Simon cut in, “say . . . you're holding a bird right here in your hand.” He cupped a big hand in front of him. “But over there in a bush there's two more just sitting, chirping their heads off—”

“He knows what it means, Simon,” Little Deak called out over his shoulder.

“Oh,” Blind Simon said. He fell silent.

Sieg and Reye looked at each other. Reye spit in disgust and folded his forearms across his knees. He stared into the fire shaking his head.

“Hoss, you are riding with the wrong bunch,” he murmured to himself.

Outside the circle of firelight, the gagging finally stopped.

“Sounds like he's feeling better,” said Sieg, handing the bottle of rye out to Reye.

“Amen for that,” said Reye, taking the bottle and throwing back a drink. “I was getting sick myself, just listening to it.”

Hearing the whiskey slosh in the bottle, Blind Simon put his hand out and wiggled his fingers toward Chic Reye.

“You boys haven't cut me off, have you?”

“No, Simon,” Reye said, still sounding disgusted at everything in general. “I'd never forget you.” He leaned over, stuck the bottle into Simon's outreached hand and closed the blind man's fingers around it. “Any damn thing I've got, I want to make damn sure you get a part of.”

Simon chuckled, ignoring Reye's tone of voice and manner, and threw back a swig of rye.

From outside the circle of firelight, the men heard Dave Coyle call out, “One of you pour some whiskey and water into a cup and bring it over.”

“Whiskey and water?” Sieg said under his breath, making a sour face.

“I'm pretending I didn't hear him,” Reye replied quietly.

“I'll get it to you, boss,” Simon called out. He pushed himself to his feet, grabbing his tapping stick from the ground beside him. The open bottle of rye tipped sidelong in his hand. He stepped forward dangerously close to the fire.

“Like hell you will,” said Reye, jumping to his feet, snatching the bottle from Simon's hand. Simon backed up a step and sat down with a half smile on his face.

Chic Reye snatched a tin cup and a canteen from the ground. When he'd poured some whiskey and water into the cup, he handed the bottle down to Sieg and walked away from the fire.

“Here you go, Dave,” Reye said as he stepped over to a patch of brush where Dave was standing at Oldham's side. Oldham was bowed at the waist, holding on to a scrub pine with one hand, his other hand pressed hard to his stomach.

“Obliged, Chic,” Dave Coyle said, taking the cup of watered whiskey. “He just needs a little something to settle his belly.” He nodded toward the fire. “We'll be on over there in a minute.”

Reye walked back to the fire. But when he arrived he saw two dark silhouettes walking into their camp from the other direction, leading their horses behind them.

“Deak! Watch your front!” he shouted, drawing his Colt from his holster and cocking it on the upswing.

Little Deak scrambled to his feet, his rifle raised and cocked. At the fire, Sieg and Blind Simon stood up quickly, their guns drawn and aimed.

“Easy, fellows,” Henry Teague called out from the purple darkness as he and Sonny Rudabough approached the fire.

“Hold it right there, you sons a' bitches!” shouted Reye, bringing both men to halt. “You don't just walk into a camp unannounced like that, no howdy, hello the camp or nothing else.”