Lone Star 03 (12 page)

As the man came abreast of the cleft, Jessie tried vainly to make out his features, but the sun was quartering his back, and the wide brim of his hat cast a deep shadow over his face. Strain as she might, Jessie could be sure of nothing except that the rider wore a short beard.

“How close is he now?” Farnam asked in a low voice. “Those hoofbeats sound pretty loud.”

“He's just passing in front of us,” Jessie replied. “But I can't tell whether he's Mexican or Anglo.”

“How about his saddle gear?”

“It's just like any other, Joe. Plain saddle, plain roan mustang. He could be a cowhand or a bandit or even a preacher, for all I can see.”

“Let me have a look,” Farnam said, coming from the back of the cleft to stand beside Jessie. The rider was past them now, and all Farnam could see was his back. He studied the stranger for a moment and told Jessie, “Just as you said, that fellow could be anybody, but he's sure got a cavalryman's seat.”

“How can you tell that?”

“Look at his back, straight as a ramrod. The angle he's carrying his elbows and knees. At West Point, I studied the pattern enough to recognize it anywhere. Everything about him says that at some time or other he was army-trained.”

“Our army?”

Farnam shook his head. “It's hard to tell. He'd have had the same training in the Mexican cavalry. They got their basics from the French, but Napoleon based his training on what Frederick the Great did. The British did the same, and so did we.”

They fell silent, watching the strange rider's back as he rode on to the river.

“I think he's heading for that ford Ki crossed yesterday,” Jessie said.

“That's about the only thing that'd bring him into this canyon,” Farnam agreed. “Which means just—” He stopped short. The stranger had reined in at the water's edge and was staring across the Rio Grande. He sat motionless for a moment or two, then drew his revolver and fired two shots in the air, paused a few seconds, and fired two more.

“He's not going across,” Farnam said. “He's signaling.”

“Rustlers across the river?”

“I imagine so. It's the only thing that makes sense.” Farnam paused for a moment and then said, “We'd better get out of here in a hurry, Jessie. If we don't move fast, we'll be trapped in this canyon. Get your clothes on, quick!”

Almost before Jessie could turn around, they heard distant shouts from the Mexican side of the river. They turned back to look. On the opposite bank, a small band of horsemen, clumped so that it was impossible to count them quickly, had appeared and were riding toward the river.

“Hola, amigos!”
the man on the U.S. side called. He was answered by a medley of shouts from the opposite shore.

“Damn it, I know that voice!” Farnam said. He turned back to the opening. Jessie followed him. The rider on their side of the stream had taken off his wide-brimmed hat and was waving it in greeting to the horsemen from Mexico, who were strung out in single file now, getting ready to ford the river. The first two riders were already in the stream. “That's Henderson down there! Sergeant Buell Henderson! My top kick! What the hell's he doing here? He's supposed to be on duty at the fort!”

Famam started out of the cleft, but Jessie grabbed his arm and pulled him back.

“Don't be a fool, Joe!” she said curtly. “I count eleven men in that bunch crossing the river, and the first ones are in the middle of the stream right now. You'd be shot down before you got halfway to that man on the bank. If you want to do something about him, use your rifle!”

“No, Jessie. I don't want to kill Henderson. I want him alive, so I can bring him in front of a court-martial!”

“Then you'll have to figure a way to catch him some other time. Our best chance of getting out of here alive is to go right now, and I've got to put some clothes on first!”

“Hurry, then,” Famam urged. “I'll saddle the horses while you're dressing.”

Jessie had never put on clothes as fast as she did now. In three minutes, she was ready to ride. When she went into the cave, she found that Farnam had saddled her horse and was just throwing his McClellan saddle across the back of his own mount. She tossed the saddlebags across her horse's rump and was waiting to lead the animal out of the cave before Farnam had tightened the cinches of his own saddle.

“We'll try to make a clean getaway,” Farnam said. “If we can beat those Mexicans to the mouth of the arroyo, the two of us can bottle this canyon up until Ki shows up. Then you can ride to the fort and get a squad back here.”

Jessie shook her head. “Your men at the fort couldn't get here in time. Once the rustlers find out they're cornered, they won't stay and fight, Joe. We'll have our hands full, just getting away ourselves.”

“No!” Farnam snapped. “I can't let those outlaws go back to Mexico!”

“How can you stop them?”

“Wait a minute, Jessie,” Farnam said. “I can see one way to handle this, and it's a way that ought to please you.”

“What's the way?”

“We hide right here in the cave, and let that gang go out through the arroyo. If we're right about them being rustlers, they're heading for one of the ranches east of the river. While they're stealing the cattle they've come for, I'll have time to move a squad of my troopers up here. When the rustlers come back, the troopers will be in position to bottle up the whole gang.”

“It sounds like a good plan, except for one thing.”

“What's that?”

“Suppose the rustlers stay here the rest of the day? What if they don't move out until dark, or even until tomorrow? If they do anything more than just ride through the valley, they're sure to see us.”

Farnam thought about this for a moment, then nodded slowly. “You're right, of course. If they stay here more than a few minutes, they'll see us, and with the odds what they are against us... well, we'd be captured.”

“You know what that means, as far as I'm concerned,” Jessie pointed out.

“Yes. I'm afraid I do. Let's go, then, Jessie! We can still beat them to the arroyo!”

Though Jessie and Farnam mounted quickly and spurred out of the cleft within seconds of reaching their decision, they'd waited too long. All the rustlers had crossed the river by the time they burst into the open. Almost instantly, the outlaws began firing. A slug from their first volley tore into a hind leg of Farnam's horse, and the animal almost went down before they'd covered a dozen yards.

“Back inside, Jessie!” Farnam shouted over the reports of the rifles. “It's our only chance to hold them off!”

Jessie wheeled her mustang and got back into the safety of the fissure's stone walls before the lieutenant could turn his wounded mount. She slid from the saddle, grabbing her rifle from its saddle scabbard as she dismounted. Stopping only long enough to lead her horse back into the cave behind the fissure, she hurried to the front of the cleft. Farnam was still outside, and Jessie began firing as fast as she could work the lever of the Winchester, snapshooting rather than aiming, trying to distract the rustlers long enough to give him time to get inside.

Her first shot took down a horse. With her second slug she knocked one of the front riders out of his saddle. Farnam pulled up his horse in front of the cleft. He leaped from the saddle and bunched the reins behind the horse's ears while with his free hand he pushed its nose around, trying to wrestle his mount to the ground.

Like all cavalry horses, the animal was trained to lie prone and shield its rider. With a shrill protesting whinny, the wounded horse dropped on its side and lay quietly. Farnam slid his own rifle from its scabbard and crawled behind the horse. Dropping to her hands and knees, Jessie crawled out to join him.

When the first outlaw had fallen from his horse, the rest of the band started milling, confused by the unexpectedly fast and accurate shooting. As Jessie and Farnam kept up their gunfire, the rustlers started drawing back to the river.

Spurring their mounts, they galloped across the valley at a long oblique angle that took them to the same side of the high rock wall that was split by the cleft. Their new position gave them a line of fire parallel to the wall and exposed Jessie and the lieutenant, who found their cover now reduced to that provided by the hind legs of the prone horse.

Slugs from the bandits' rifles began tearing into the hard soil all around Jessie and Farnum, who wasted no time in crawfishing back into the cleft. The rustlers' gunfire stopped when they saw their targets scuttle to safety. In the protection of the vee, Jessie and Farnam took stock of their situation while they reloaded.

“It looks like we ran out of luck in a hurry,” Farnam said grimly. “I'm sorry, Jessie. I made a bad tactical mistake. I guess I was confused.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “I hate to confess this, Jessie, but I've never actually been under fire before.”

“You didn't act like it. And even if you did have buck fever, it ought to be over by now.”

“I suppose it is. But I must've done something wrong, and now we're in one hell of a fix.”

“Things could be worse.”

“I don't see how.”

“We hurt them more than they hurt us,” Jessie reminded him. She pointed out to the valley floor. The body of the man she'd shot lay sprawled between the cleft and the river. A few yards beyond the motionless figure, one of the attackers' horses limped aimlessly around. “If there were twelve of them before, there's one less to worry about now.”

“Even at that, we've got a lot to worry about,” he replied. “My horse is crippled, and I think it took another slug or two after I put it on the ground. We couldn't make a run for it now, even if we wanted to.”

“They can't get to us as long as we stay in here, Joe,” Jessie pointed out. “To do any effective shooting, they'll have to be out in front of us, where there isn't any cover. We'll be all right as long as our ammunition holds out.”

“We'll make every shot count, then. How many shells have you got for your Winchester?”

“Two boxes in my saddlebags. And a box for my pistol.”

“I've got the regulation fifty rounds for my Springfield, and twenty for my Colt,” Farnam said. “Less what I've fired, of course. What we've got between us ought to buy us a pretty good breathing spell, though.”

They were silent for a moment, listening to see if they could get an idea what their adversaries were doing. All they could hear from the direction of the river was an indistinguishable confusion of voices and the occasional grating or thudding of horses' hooves on the caliche soil.

“We've got to know what they're doing,” Farnam said after several minutes had ticked away. “I'm going to take a look and find out.”

Laying his rifle down, he stepped to the open front of the fissure and dropped to the ground; then, pushing himself forward, he peered around the edge of the stone wall.

“I think they're getting ready to rush us,” he said over his shoulder. “They've mounted up, and they seem to be talking things over.”

“They'd be fools if they didn't try an attack or two. But when they start this way, we'll be able to get in a few shots before they get opposite us.”

“Sure,” Farnam said absently, his eyes on their enemies. “It looks like they're stringing out, getting ready to ride.”

“I'm ready, whenever they start. We'll have a chance for a few shots before they get in line with us and can shoot into the cleft here.”

“Yes.” Farnam backed into the fissure and stood up. His jaw set grimly, he said, “Just one thing, Jessie. Leave Buell Henderson to me. I want to be the one who shoots down that dirty traitor!”

“I don't blame you for feeling that way, Joe. And there'll be plenty of other targets for me. If you—” Jessie broke off as hooves thudding from the direction of the river warned them that their attackers were on the move. “We'd better get ready. Here they come!”

As the rustlers galloped to the attack, it was obvious that they were veteran fighters. They did not come as a group, but split their force. A half-dozen riders were spurring toward the fissure, and Jessie and Farnam began firing. At the first shots from the cleft, the attackers made use of Indian tactics. They dropped behind their horses, hooking a knee around their saddlehorns. Protected by the bodies of their mounts, the rustlers came on to the accompaniment of thudding hoofbeats.

“Hold your fire, Joe!” she said quickly. “They'll have to expose themselves when they start shooting!”

Almost before Jessie had finished speaking, the half-dozen rustlers were in front of the cleft. They did not raise their bodies above the backs of their horses, but fired from beneath the bellies of the galloping animals, using their revolvers. The fire they sent toward Jessie and Farnam was unaimed, but the angry whine of bullets singing above their heads and splatting into the wall of the cliff behind them forced the defenders to keep down.

Now the second wave swept past. They rode erect, confident that they'd catch Jessie and Farnam with empty magazines. The first shots fired by the pair caught the attackers by surprise. The rustlers scattered, only three of them holding to a course that brought them past the cleft. As Jessie and Farnam kept shooting without letup, the fire from the riders' pistols became scattered and ineffective. Finally the three rustlers that had persisted in the attack wheeled and galloped off.

Farnam had identified his traitorous sergeant in the second group. As the riders retreated, the lieutenant stood up and took careful aim. His shot knocked the turncoat sergeant from his horse and he fell to the ground, his arms and legs flailing as he hit and rolled over, and lay still.