Six Gun Justice (10 page)

Jake nodded, turned his horse with a vicious jerk on the reins that showed the anger that was inside him. The smithy took off his sweat-stained hat, and rubbed his hand over his balding head, thinking that he would not want to be against Jake Killman. There was a look of pure steel in his stare, and the strength of rawhide in his set jaw that spoke louder than any words could of his strength of character, and his resolve.

Jake rode directly for the line shack the smithy had told him about, keeping his horse in a mile-eating canter. A little after noon he drew rein in a copse of trees that overlooked the cabin, but saw only one horse tied at the rail in front, and none in the corral. He did not think he would find Sarah here, but he had to look. Spurring his mount, he rode down to the cabin. He was within a few yards when the door opened and a young puncher stepped out, shading his eyes to see who was approaching.

Jake looked him over, and realized the young man was only a working cowboy, not even wearing a gun. He stopped a few feet from the puncher, touched his hat in greeting, and looked directly into the man’s eyes.

“I’m looking for your boss. They told me at the house that he might be here.”

“No sir. I haven’t seen him. Not for the last few days. I’ve been working out here for the last week, rounding up strays from the north shoulder of the ranch. I haven’t seen anyone in the last five or six days, mister Killman.”

“I see you know who I am. Do you know why I’m here?” Killman asked suspiciously.

“I figure you want a show down with Murdock. Can’t say I blame you. I’d be put out a mite, if someone tried to jump my ranch, like he done yours.”

Where do you think he might have gone, or taken a prisoner?”

“Mister, I got no idea. The hands on this ranch that do the work stay out of the boss’ business. He and the gun hands do things we don’t agree with, but it would be asking to get killed to interfere.”

“I see,” Jake said, nodding to the wisdom of the man. He was about to rein his horse back along the trail, when the man said something else that got his full attention.

“I’ve seen the gunmen riding down a trail on the north wall of the mesa, that leads to Winslow. They may be going there to drink, but it seems a long way to ride for a drink, when we got a saloon in Strawberry,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing his neck with his right hand.

He nodded again, touching the brim of his hat in a gesture of thanks and farewell. Turning his mount to the north wall, he picked up the trail that led down the escarpment from the high mesa into the valley below. The trail was precarious, but wide enough to accommodate a wagon, or coach, so he made good time navigating the steep trail.

At the bottom, he dropped the reins of his horse and bent to the ground, looking for tracks that might give him some clue about whether he was on the right trail. He spotted a couple of newly made tracks, and a scrape on one of the stones that had been made within the last day or so, and figured he might be on to something.

He swung back into the saddle, and continued at a walk, his eyes peering at the trail for any further signs, keeping alert to the sounds and movement around him. There were a number of tracks, but he had no way of knowing if they would lead to Sarah, or if they were from some cowboy working the arid land he had ridden into at the foot of the escarpment, or by one or more of the men that worked for Murdock. One thing he had noticed though, was that one horse was carrying a notched shoe on his right front hoof. It was on the left side of the hoof print, forming a small triangle, as though the metal had been nicked in some way to form the abnormality.

He had progressed along the trail for about ten miles, when a group of tracks led off to the right, including the one with the triangle notch, through a brake of scrub cedars. On a hunch, he followed them, cautious to make as little sound as possible. He had no idea what he might be riding into, but he was curious to know why so many tracks led off the main trail. This had to be more than a lone cowboy, looking for strays, or just possibly, out for a ride. There were at least five men in the group, and the length of space between the tracks said that they were headed for a destination they were certain of.

He covered the miles slowly, making sure he did not lose the trail of the men he was following. It was hard to keep his head, and not go racing along the tracks, hoping to finds his wife and the men who had obviously abducted her. He had ridden a good four miles through the cedars, which grew more sparsely as he worked his way deeper into the arid countryside. The desert wrens were twittering, flitting from one cedar to another, and a couple of roadrunners darted across the trail. But other than that, there wasn’t any movement along the cedar brake where the trail led.

A couple of miles further along he thought he could smell smoke, which caused him to slow his horse even more, becoming more alert. There were people out here. Only humans used fire. The only animals of any size that he had run across had been one lone coyote, and he was sure he was not the one that was the builder of the fire.

He had traversed another half mile through the brake, and he could detect a stronger odor of smoke now, and see thin tendrils floating skyward a short distance ahead. Someone had built a campfire, or there was a structure of some sort out here, and this was a desolate place to build anything. As he got closer, he dismounted, and led his mare along, keeping his eyes on the tracks as he went. He placed a hand over the muzzle of the appaloosa, reassuring it, and sending it a message to be silent, as he reached a small clearing in the cedar. There in front of him was a run down cabin, with smoke coming from a metal chimney at the back. Jake figured it had probably been built by some prospector long ago, and abandoned when he had not found anything in the region worth pursuing.

Tied at a makeshift rail in front were three horses. One of them he recognized as belonging to one of Murdock’s gun hands. It was a dapple gray, with a white face, and white stockings. He led his own mount off the trail into a grove of cedars that was a little thicker than the rest, and tied her to one of the branches. Loosening the thong from the hammer of his dragoon, he slipped quietly to within a hundred feet of the backside of the cabin, and hunkered down for a better look. He could see no movement outside, nor could he spot a guard posted anywhere, but he would have to be wary.

Keeping low, he ran to the back corner of the building, and spotting a window on this side, he eased up to it, and raised his head slowly to the corner of the window, and peeped in. sitting at a table, were three of the gunmen that worked for the Circle M, drinking and playing cards. Jake remembered he had seemed to be in charge, when he had first visited Murdock’s ranch. A quick look around, told him that Sarah was not in evidence. If they had brought her here, they had her stashed someplace near by, and not in the cabin.

Moving stealthily, he worked his way around the building, searching for another structure where they might have stashed her. All he found was a set of hoof prints and two sets footprints. One set was small, and his heart gave a leap, because they had to belong to Sarah. They led away from the shack, so he followed them, his hand resting lightly on the butt of his pistol. After a few hundred yards, he spotted to a large rocky knoll in front of him, with a small entrance, shored up by wood, further enhancing his thoughts of a miner building the cabin. He had thoughtfully taken the spy glass from his saddlebag, and he now trained it to the entrance of the mine. He strained his eyes, trying to see the inside, but it was much too dark in the interior to make out anything.

He could not be sure whether Sarah was being held inside or not, but as he moved a little closer, he spotted another horse tied in a grove of stunted cedar, a little out from the mouth of the mine and to the left of it. He worked his way around to the grove, being careful to keep out of sight of the entrance, easing up on the horse to check out the brand. It was a Circle M mount all right. Whoever was in there sure as hell wasn’t up to any good.

He jabbed the horse in the flank with a stiff thumb, making it grunt with pain, and causing it snort and whinny. Again he repeated the action, before moving quickly out of sight nearby, to watch the man inside stick his head out, to see what had startled his horse. Unable to see from the mine entrance, he came outside, and moved in Jake’s direction for a look-see. He had a new Winchester repeater in his hands, and was advancing toward his horse in a crouch, wary as he got nearer the spot where the animal was tied.

He reached the spot where he had tied the horse, and looked around for any sign of what would have disturbed it. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he patted the horse on the neck making sounds of reassurance as he petted the animal, and gave another quick look around.

“What’s the matter boy? Did a coyote spook you?” he said soothingly.

While he was busy settling the horse, Jake moved quickly from his hiding place, moving up behind him, and laid the barrel of his gun across his head as hard as he could, crumpling his hat, and dropping the gunman like a stone. He quickly took the gun from his holster, and picked up the Winchester. He reholstered his own dragoon, stuck the other pistol in his belt, and taking a short piece of rope from the man’s own horse, bound him hand and foot.

Taking a chance that this was the only one that had been left in the cave to guard Sarah, he ran quickly to the entrance. He went inside in a crouch, just in case there was another man inside, but there was no one else. The two sets of footprints, and only one set of hoof prints had almost assured him of it. There was no one in the cave but his Sarah, lying on the floor of the mine, just a few feet from the entrance, her feet and hands bound. She was awake and alert, not to mention mad as a wet cat. He grinned with relief, stepped across to where she lay, laid the rifle on the ground, and started untying her.

As soon as her hands were free, she pulled the filthy bandana from her mouth, and spit. Her voice began to rise in anger at the way she had been treated by the time Jake had cut the ropes binding her legs. Jake was relieved to find she had not been hurt, but he began to become alarmed at her rising voice.

“Of all the unspeakable effrontery these…these animals came into my house, our own house, and forcibly tied and gagged me, then threw me on a horse, and brought me here. Where have you been Jake Killman?” she almost screamed at him. “Why weren’t you there to stop them?”

“Looking for you,” he answered laconically, “and if you don’t keep your voice down, you may get us both killed yet.”

“Oh, and just who will do that,” she asked. “Did you leave the man who was guarding me out there running around? He’s the only one I’ve seen since they brought me to this filthy cave.” Her anger was beginning to subside a little as she chafed her wrists, where the rope had bitten into them.

“Nope. But there are three more in a cabin, just a few hundred yards from where we stand. If you keep yelling, they’re sure to hear you back in Strawberry,” he chuckled mirthlessly.

The thought of more gunmen outside someplace chastened her, and she dropped her voice to a stage whisper, asking why he hadn’t killed them. He stood holding her close, explaining that it would have alerted the man guarding her, and possibly gotten her killed. She became more frightened at the thought of her guard maybe having cut her throat, and subsided completely, letting his strong arms hold her to the warmth of his body, feeling safer now that he was here.

“Let’s get out of here, before someone comes to relieve this guy,” Jake said.

He took her by the arm and was about to lead her from the mouth of the cave, when a bullet tore through his left arm, spinning him back into the darkness of the cave. His grip on Sarah’s arm dragged her backward with him, both falling in a jumble on the hard packed floor. He could hear her scream, as they fell backward, and the excruciating burning through his arm, as her weight came down on it.

He shoved her off him, and further back into the mine, using his one good arm to pull himself after her. Sitting there in the semi darkness, he took off his kerchief, and was trying to tie off the bleeding arm, when his wife came to his aid. Taking the bandana from him, she efficiently tied it around the wound, while tears of fear, and frustration flowed down her pretty face.

He pulled himself into a prone position behind a large boulder, giving himself a wide field of fire across the front of the mine, as well as a minimal amount of protection. He spotted movement among the scrub cedar, a little to the left of center, and about 200 feet out. Jacking a shell into the Winchester he had taken from the gunman he had waylaid, he took careful aim at the spot, and fired. When he squeezed the trigger, he was rewarded with a yelp of pain, but had no way of telling how seriously he had wounded the man. He let his eyes roam across the vista in front of him, searching for another target, but there was no further movement.

“Killman! Can you hear me?” a loud voice yelled from someplace among the cedars.

“I can hear you. State your piece,” he growled.

“You might as well come on out. There are three of us out here, and we got the water. With night coming on, it’s going to get pretty cold tonight,” the voice said.

Jake thought on that for a few seconds before answering. “Yep, guess you’re right, but I think we will be a little warmer in here. Besides, I think you might be one man shy now. I think the man I shot is either dead, or out of commission.”

There was a moment of mumbling from outside, then the voice called out in a loud whisper, “Rafe, you all right over there?”