Six Gun Justice (5 page)

“Lean out, look over the edge. See if you can see anything close to the wall down on that canyon floor,” Drago said with a growl. “We gotta make sure he’s dead, or Murdock will have our hides.”

There was silence, except for the scuffing of boots from above, and the cry of an eagle some place nearby. Jake pulled himself into the overhang as tight as he could, thinking that the man above was probably looking over the edge. When he heard him call Drago over for a look, they started discussing whether he could have fallen on the narrow ledge where he lay, instead of the canyon. His heart skipped a beat, wondering if they would ride across the canyon and finish him off.

“Don’t rightly see how he could’ve, ‘sides they’s a couple of buzzards up there that think they’ve found a meal. I say he smashed up on the rocks below,” Drago said. “I usually don’t miss what I aim at, not at the distance we was from him. I put that slug right through his heart.”

“Maybe we should ride down in the canyon, and see if we can find his body,” Marvin suggested. “I’d feel a whole lot better if’n I knowed for sure he was a goner.”

“You can ride down if you’ve a mind to, but I say I hit him in the heart, and if I didn’t, he died from the fall. Besides, by the time you get down there, it’ll be dark,” Drago argued. “We’ve wasted enough time as it is, stalking that galoot. Let’s just hightail it back to the ranch and tell Murdock his problems are over.”

Marvin mumbled something in return, and then came the creak of saddle leather, and the clicking of hooves as the two men rode away. He lay there trying to regain his strength, wondering how he was going to get off this canyon wall, without a rope. There had to be a way down. He would have to search along the ledge, and try to find a way up or down. Short of that, he really had no other thoughts at the moment, but the burning pain in his shoulder, and a terrible thirst. The pain, and the thirst would have to wait, until he could make his way back to his horse. He rolled out from under the overhang, peering down into the deep canyon, but could see no way to get down the four hundred or so foot drop.

He was in a tight spot, and he was weak from his wound, and tired from a day of rounding up strays. He gritted his teethe and forced himself to think in a more positive way. He had been in tight scrapes before, and had come out alive. He got to his knees, and then carefully dragged himself to his feet. The ledge was no more than three feet wide, in his standing position, and slightly less than four if one counted the overhang. One slip and he would wind up in the canyon below. He looked down and for a brief second his chest filled with panic, a touch of vertigo wafting over him, then he put his mind on the problem of finding a way down.

He inched his way to the left about a hundred feet, rounding a cornice in the wall, and found it to come to a dead end. Cursing, he made his way back to his original position, then started inching along to his right. He went no more than a hundred fifty yards before he came to an open crevice, with a jumble of loose rock slanting up to the rim. Checking the rock, he found them to be loose to the touch, sliding away, to fall to the canyon floor, giving him a panic-stricken touch of vertigo again.

The ledge had narrowed to no more than two feet, and from his precarious perch, he could see that it narrowed even more, until it played out completely about two hundred feet further on. He stood to one side of the rock filled crevice, thinking that this was his only hope. He knew it would slide if he tried to climb over the loose, jumbled mess. His only hope was to clear away the rock and try to wedge his body in the three-foot crevice and inch his way up to the top.

Standing to one side, he gingery loosened the rock fall, letting the rocks fall to the floor below, ignoring the sick feeling that he would go tumbling into space any second. It was a lot of work and dark was beginning to settle over the land by the time he had cleared away enough of the rock to wedge himself in the opening. His left shoulder was aching with a vengeance, and the weakness, and the soaked bandana told him that he had lost more blood.

There was little light left, and he told himself it was now or never, he had to make the climb quickly, before it became too dark to see. He could not spend the night here. He would only grow weaker, and possibly bleed to death, waiting for someone to find him, or fall to his death trying to make it to the top in a weakened state. That was a possibility even now.

He began climbing, placing his back against one wall, he knees against the other, painfully inching his body higher, feeling the quivering in his legs from the strain. When he could finally see the edge of the mesa was level enough with his shoulders, he twisted his body enough to get a firm purchase with his arms on the top of the cliff, and dragged himself the rest of the way to safe ground. He lay exhausted, gasping for breath, weak from his exertions, and loss of blood, trying to regain enough strength to search for his horse.

He was in no condition to walk back to his ranch, so he must find a mode of transportation, or die. He raised his head enough to see his mare a few hundred feet away, reins dragging, as she contentedly munched on sparse grass close by. He thanked the powers that be for the good training the hose had received. She had been trained as a cow horse, so when the reins were dropped to the ground, she would not wonder off. He pushed himself upright, then he laboriously staggered to his feet, standing for a few minutes, weaving like a giant oak in the breeze.

When the dizziness passed, he took a short step, then another, forcing himself to take one more step each time, staggering like a drunken man with his weakness threatening to overcome him. His horse seemed a long way off, but he finally reached his objective, leaning heavily against the mare for support, his hands fumbling for the canteen tied to his saddle. He took long draughts of the cool water, letting it wash down his parched throat, quenching his raging thirst.

It took him three tries, straining his remaining strength to the limit to pull himself into the saddle. He held the reins tightly against the saddle horn, giving the mare her head. She walked at a leisurely pace, seeming to know her master was hurt and could not stand to be jostled too much.

Jake wasn’t sure which direction she was headed, but he hoped it was toward home. To his calculations, she would head for the only place that spelled food and water. He leaned forward against the saddle horn, staying alert by sheer will, knowing he would never be able to get back in the saddle again, should he pass out and fall off. He would only be able to lie there on the mesa and die, unless someone came along to help, and that wasn’t too likely. His thoughts went briefly to his attackers, thinking they might even come back in the morning to check on his body, and make sure he was dead.

He gritted his teeth against the pain that threatened to overcome him, willing himself to stay alert. The ride home would be the longest he had ever taken, being in the condition he was in. He gingerly touched the blood soaked shirt, feeling the bandana beneath it, and he could tell the blood he had lost was tremendous. He had heard some place that a man could only lose a couple of pints of blood, before he passed out, and died. He wondered distantly how much of his blood and drained through the open hole in his shoulder.

He knew little about where the main arteries were in the body, but he was sure that one must be somewhere close to his own wound. He pressed tightly against the hole, pressing his shoulder and hand against the saddle horn, trying to staunch the blood, as much as using the pain to keep him awake. He was sure Sarah would be worried by now, but he doubted she would come looking for him in the dark. He almost gave up a couple of times, but forced himself to keep going, being a persistent man with a will of iron.

He had no measure of the time it took to reach a haven, only the glimmer of a lighted window ahead of him. He could not make out if it was his place, or someone else’s. For all he knew, the mare could be taking him straight into the lion’s den, straight to Murdock’s ranch. He had to get help someplace, even if it was his old enemy. He had no predilection at this point. He would be dead in a short time if he could not get help. Murdock and his men would just hurry it along some.

He barely sensed the horse coming to a halt, and felt himself sliding from the saddle. Then darkness took over, and he knew nothing. There was only the soft easing of the pain, and a weightlessness that suffused his aching body. He thought he must have died.

The light streaming through the window hurt his eyes, and his shoulder was on fire when he opened his eyes. He looked around, noting that he was in a room, lying on a bed, the slowly realized it was his own bed. He tried to speak, to call out to Sarah, to ask her to help him get up, but the only thing he could manage was a hoarse croak. She must have heard him though, because the next thing he knew, she was there, sitting on the bed beside him, rubbing his fevered head with a cool damp cloth. He opened his eyes again, to gaze up into her strained face, and could see the concern for him written there.

He tried to speak again, and managed a few words that came from his parched throat in a gravelly sound.

“How long have I been out?”

“It’s been two days now. Lie still, you have a lot of mending yet.”

“I can’t,” he croaked anxiously. Murdock’s men may come at any time. I…I have to get up!”

“Shush! You just lie still; before you start that wound bleeding again! Murdock’s men were here yesterday. I took care of them.”

“They were here?” he asked in panic. “What happened?”

“I met them at the door with a rifle. I told them you were gone and I didn’t know when you would be back, and ordered him, and his men off the ranch. They said they would be back to take care of you when you did return. One of his riders, the one Murdock called Drago, started to dismount, and I shot him in the side. They all cleared out in a hurry then.”

He lay there staring at her in awe, realizing she had a lot more sand in her craw than he had ever imagined. He was concerned for her safety. Most men would never dare to kill a woman, but some of the guns Murdock had surrounded himself with were not the kind to worry about the gender of their victims. He was sure proud of her though for standing up to Murdock and his crew.

“Could you give me some water, please,” he croaked.

“Of course, but you lie still,” she said, pressing his head lightly against the pillow.

She reached for a glass sitting nearby on a table, next to a porcelain pitcher of water, and poured the water for him. She held his head up for him to drink, and he tasted the cool water as it slaked his thirst, and cooled his parched throat. It revived him somewhat; seeming to give him some strength, at the same time he realized how hungry he was.

“I think I could eat my horse right now,” he said weakly.

“I’ll get you something to eat right away,” she said, a loving smile on her face. “What would you like?”

“I could use a steak, and make it blood rare. I feel like I haven’t eaten for a week.”

“Coming right up,” she said, touching his forehead. “I think your fever has broken. You should mend nicely now.”

She left the room to prepare his food, leaving him to lie there thinking how hard it must have been for her to get him in the house. She was as strong as any woman that he knew, but he was a pretty big man for her to handle alone. He wondered about his mare, where his Colt was, and how long he had before Murdock, and his men returned to try and run his Sarah off the ranch again. They probably thought he was dead, so they wouldn’t be too long about trying to run her off the ranch again. He had to get better quick. He had a date with the two men who had tried to dry gulch him, not to mention Murdock, but this time he would not ride into his ranch for him, he would wait until he could catch them on the range. Then he would exact the vengeance he had promised his antagonist.

Shortly, Sarah brought him a small serving tray with a plate, on which was a thick, juicy steak, some soup, and a big slice of cornbread. His mouth watered as she sat it on the table next to the bed, fluffed the pillows behind his back. She set the small serving tray across his legs, and he dug into the delicious food with a relish. He was famished, so he did little talking while he ate.

When he had eaten his fill, she took the tray away, setting it on the table beside him once more. His strength had returned considerably from the meal. He felt more like he was alive, though the wound in his shoulder ached, he could feel the healing itch that went with its mending. He sat drinking the strong coffee she had brought with his meal, its warmth radiating through his body, invigorating him further.

“How did you get me into the house?” he asked.

“It wasn’t very easy, but I managed it. It was getting you into the bed, and digging that bullet out, that was the big chore,” she smiled grimly. “You were so weak, you weren’t much help. I wasn’t sure you were going to live. You kept mumbling about Murdock’s men, and an ambush.”

“The man you shot was one of the men that shot me, I think. I heard them call each other Drago, and Marvin. I don’t know either of them, but I did hear them talking about how happy Murdock would be that I was dead. When I get through with him, and his hired guns, he will sure as shootin’ wish I was dead.”

It was a week before the riders came again, intent on throwing a scare into Sarah once more. Jake heard the horses coming, and grabbing his holstered pistol from the headboard, picked up his rifle, and scurried through the back door. He jacked a shell into his rifle, as he came up on the side of the house, to watch the men pull their horses to a halt in front. He looked them over, but could not see Murdock among them. He did spot one man with a silver concho band around his hat, and wearing a pair of low-slung pistols. He had never seen the man before, but he was sure it was the one called Drago, and when he heard him speak, he was sure of it.