MRS. JEFFORDS WAS crying.
She said it was gratitude that made her do it.
They sat around in the rain and watched the hillside, four men, one of them wounded, and two women, with three revolvers and a rifle between them. But there was a feeling of hope engendered by full bellies, for every saddle on the horses McAllister had brought in bore food. Every saddle had on it a canteen of water. The men were watching, even Mank, watching for anybody who tried to come near the camp. For some reason, Lessing and his crowd did not attack at once. Maybe it was plain fear that stopped them. Maybe they were waiting for dark when they thought they could rush the camp more safely. Joe Lessing probably wanted the men hidden in the rocks dead without any loss to himself. That was natural.
McAllister was tense and worried. It was the presence of the women that put him off balance. He just did not know how he could get them out of there without their lives being risked.
He made sure that Mrs. Jeffords could stay on a horse. She grinned at him and told him she could tell him a thing or two about horse-backing. She’d ride out of there with the best of them. The girl, Milla, was no problem. She had grown up a tomboy with three brothers and could ride like a man.
Which trail should they take out? McAllister asked himself. He didn’t have to find the answer to that. Josh came to him.
‘We go north,’ he said. ‘There’s a trail down there I know. We head for Amessy’s place. We have to find shelter for Mank and the old lady. They both want warmth. I racked my brains, McAllister, but I can’t think of how to get outa here without Joe followin’ us.’
McAllister said: ‘I have the answer to that.’
‘What?’
‘Simple. We have ten horses and only six people. I take my own horse and four others. I head out south. You wait awhile and then go north.’
Josh said: ‘You damn well know we won’t let you do that.’
‘You have to. Think of the women.’
‘Ma would never allow it.’
‘She don’t have any say. I have to take Joe alive. I can’t do that while I’m holed up here encumbered by you and the women. I want room to maneuver. I have to play Indian for a while.’
‘You wouldn’t get a yard beyond these rocks.’
McAllister sneered at him—
‘You think I’m going to ride out of here making a good target. You must be crazy. I can do it or I wouldn’t offer.’
Josh went and told the others, but he didn’t get much of the story out because Frazer started shooting. They at once all of them manned the rocks. The attack came from the north and it petered out as fast as it began when the heavy fire came down on the attackers from good cover. It settled down to stalemate again. Dusk started to settle on the hills. McAllister got busy with the horses, preparing them and sorting them out for his crazy ride. Ma Jeffords protested vehemently at his going at all, Mank swore at him so violently that his mother raised objections about his language. McAllister didn’t pay them any heed. All he wanted now was to leave. Dark was almost on them and after dark all of them would be very close to death.
‘Get ’em mounted,’ he told Josh.
Mrs. Jeffords made one last protest and then demanded of God that He bless McAllister. He found his hand being shaken. The rain had stopped, but the rocks would still be greasy. He walked to the canelo which he had lashed loosely to a powerful-looking bay. In that moment, he realized how damned risky the whole business was and knew he’d like to back out now. But he was committed and he braced himself. He lowered himself onto the rough rope cradle he had made between the two animals and lay there for a moment to collect himself. He gathered the animals’ lines in his hands and called to Josh—
‘Show ’em the quirt, Josh.’
Josh said: ‘Luck,’ and McAllister heard the quirt swish and strike the rump of a horse.
The bay jumped forward and the canelo followed. The other horses held them back a moment and then started forward. McAllister prayed the two horses would keep their distance and not crush him.
Suddenly, he felt himself tilted forward as they started to go downhill. He didn’t like the sensation much. They clattered over rock and the bay stumbled. McAllister’s heart stood still as he thought the animal was going down, but the bay regained its footing and ran on. They hit dirt and the going was better. Dimly, thrown about and slammed by the horses’ sides, McAllister was aware that guns were going off. It only wanted the canelo or the bay to be hit and he was finished. Or any of the led horses for that matter.
They went on and suddenly they were in trouble and McAllister had no clear idea of what was going on. He was crushed on either side by horses, the canelo scrambled away to the left, the bay slipped again, they stopped and it seemed that the horses behind piled into them. Feeling as though life itself had been crushed out of him, McAllister yelled to the canelo. The sound of the familiar voice must have steadied the animal, for it suddenly surged ahead and took the others with it. Guns seemed to be going off all around him. He hoped that the Jeffords were doing their share of shooting.
Being shaken about like a pea in a pod and having the life crushed out of him seemed to go on for a long time. They made a crazy erratic descent; sometimes McAllister seemed to be tilted on his head, once his belly was scraped on a rock. Sometimes they seemed to slip and slide down at an enormous and terrifying rate, at others they almost stopped and McAllister had to yell to the canelo again.
Then with an amazing suddenness, he knew they were running on the fiat. He let the animals have their heads for a while, then slowly he brought them to a halt.
More than half-dazed, he heaved himself out of the cradle that seemed to have cut deep lines in his body. He felt as if he had been pounded to jelly.
At once he staggered away from the horses and listened.
There was a man running.
He picked up the rough direction of the sound and, having no other weapon but the Remington, he drew that and blazed away. The running stopped.
He thrust the gun away, ran back to the horses and drew his knife. Hastily slashing the cradle free of the two horses, he gathered up lines, mounted the canelo and rode on.
He didn’t go far. He had to be sure that the outlaws were after him. He wondered with something like fear for them if the Jeffords had managed to get away. He listened and could hear nothing. He was deciding what action he should take now when he heard a sudden outburst of shooting from high up the hill. The sounds carried like ghost sounds to him. He heard horses on the move and knew that the Jeffords were pulling out. He yelled to the led horses, striking them with his quirt and sending them scampering off to the south. He didn’t pause a second, but whirled the canelo and rode back the way he had come. Only when he reached the base of the hill did he realize that his gun was empty.
He slipped from the saddle and loaded as fast as he knew how.
The shooting from above was beginning to die away.
How to God, he asked himself, could he attract the gang’s attention from the Jeffords? How could he locate any one of the outlaws in a night that was as black as pitch?
There was only one way.
‘Joe,’ he bellowed. ‘Joe Lessing.’
The shooting stopped.
All around the hill was a heavy silence that was only broken by the sound of dying hoofbeats. McAllister knew such an intense relief that he sighed.
The hoofbeats died away.
The silence took over utterly.
The men on the hill were waiting and listening. Their minds concentrated on the man who had shouted. All of them were intent on killing him.
In the silence, McAllister heard a faint sound. It was the sound of a gun coming to full cock.
He flung himself sideways. The gun roared and the bullet smacked into rock. McAllister held his breath and lay still. Not far off, a man shouted: ‘Come on down, boys. McAllister’s here.’
It was Tobe Amessy.
McAllister thought he had the voice located. He raised himself and fired once. Feet scrambled loose rocks. Was the man hit? The next second, McAllister knew that he was only changing position. A shot came out of the dark, missing McAllister by no more than inches. That was good shooting in the dark. Too good for McAllister’s liking.
He rolled, crept a few yards and stayed still.
He could hear men working their way down the hillside. He would have to finish this quickly. He ejected empties and loaded his gun to its fullest capacity. He heard Tobe advancing stealthily.
Suddenly, there was a man’s figure black against the dim light of the sky.
McAllister thumbed and fired.
He heard the bullet strike.
A gun clattered on rock.
‘Christ,’ Amessy said softly, ‘I’m hit.’ He fell heavily.
McAllister didn’t wait for any more. He started crawling up the hill. The descending men would meet him a sight sooner than they expected. A little surprise was worth a dozen shots. The immediate future only held the unpalatable truth of kill or be killed.
A man called out: ‘Tobe … Tobe, you hit him?’ That was Joe.
Amessy called back, his voice almost failing him: ‘I’m hurt, Joe. For God’s sake do something.’
That stopped them. Suddenly, there was apprehension on the hillside. Every man there was wondering how near the hidden marksman was. From here on no man would know if a dark figure was friend or foe. McAllister had the advantage. Every man here was an enemy. He had located Joe Lessing.
Joe called: ‘Steady, boys, stay right where you’re at. We don’t know where McAllister’s at.’
Amessy continued to call. McAllister could feel the tension all around him. Visibility was almost nil. A man moved some fifty yards away and the sound reached McAllister, a spur softly touching rock. He stayed still holding his gun ready. He knew he could out-wait any of them.
Amessy called: ‘Johnny … Roy … help me.’
A man called: ‘I’m goin’ down to Tobe. Hold your fire, fellers.’
McAllister looked west, heard the sound of boots on stone and saw a dark shape moving. He held his fire. He didn’t see why a man should die for doing another a good turn. He also knew that his failing to fire would put the others off balance.
Joe shouted: ‘Stay where you’re at, Johnny. He’ll cut down on you.’
McAllister started to crawl ever so carefully toward that voice. He liked the idea of bending the barrel of the Remington over Joe’s head in the dark.
He hadn’t gone a dozen yards, moving with enormous caution uphill when he became aware that there was a man immediately above him. He stopped and lay still, tight against a low ridge that ran horizontally across the face of the hill.
The man was moving, coming slowly and cautiously down the hill, walking on tiptoe. McAllister filled his lungs with air, braced his legs under him and prepared to spring. The man went by at no more than a yard’s distance. McAllister launched himself. In the last fraction of a second the man started to turn. Already McAllister’s blow was aimed The man’s move spoiled his aim and he struck the man hard on the shoulder. The man lurched, continued his turn and fired with a belt-gun. All McAllister knew was that he wasn’t hit. As the man cocked the gun for a second shot, McAllister fired. The range was point-blank. It knocked the man off his feet and he started to roll down the steep slope.
Men were shouting. They were also shooting. McAllister reckoned they didn’t have much idea at whom they were shooting. He saw a gun-flash off to his left, turned and fired two shots instinctively, spacing them with speedy care.
Joe was yelling for them to hold their fire.
End it now, something yelled inside McAllister’s head. If I take Joe, if s finished. But I’ve got to have him alive.
He started running, stumbling and lurching over the broken ground of the hillside. There was a man ahead of him.
Joe yelled: ‘Get down, man.’ He thought McAllister was one of his own.
A second later, he changed his mind. Two shots hammered off in McAllister’s direction. McAllister didn’t alter course, he went straight for the man ahead of him.
Suddenly Lessing panicked. He started running uphill. He put himself at McAllister’s mercy. If there was nothing else he could do well, he could run. In seconds he had almost run the fleeing man down. At the last moment, Lessing turned to fire a last desperate shot, but McAllister had already launched himself. His shoulder drove into Lessing’s knees and hurled him to the ground. Lessing moved fast to recover himself, but McAllister moved faster. As Lessing staggered to his feet, McAllister reached out, grabbed an ankle and dragged him down. Lessing fell heavily. He rolled and his gun clicked on empty shells twice. McAllister dropped on him with both knees and swung the Remington. Lessing groaned and floundered. McAllister knew he hadn’t put him out, but he hadn’t left much fight in him.
‘Stay still, Joe,’ he said through his teeth, ‘or I’ll blow your head off.’ The man went still. McAllister called downhill: ‘Stay back, boys. I’ve got Joe. Sing out to ’em, Joe. Any man comes a step nearer and I kill you.’
His tone convinced Lessing he meant it.
The man’s voice shook when he called to his men: ‘He means it, boys. He’s got me. Stay back.’
McAllister told them: ‘Your horses went south. Go after ’em and ride out.’
A man called back: ‘Tobe’s dead, Joe. Tobe’s dead. Johnny an’ the Kid’re wounded.’ Lessing made a sound as if he were weeping.
‘You finished me, Mack,’ he said. ‘It’s all over, I reckon.’ McAllister said: ‘Walk up the hill, Joe.’ He whistled for the canelo and heard it running up the hill toward him.
As they reached the summit of the hill, a voice called out: ‘That’s far enough. Sing out.’
It was Josh.
It was dawn.
McAllister sat and smoked. Bound hand and foot, Joe Lessing eyed him from his uncomfortable seat among the rocks.
‘You put paid to a dream,’ he said. ‘If that makes you feel any better, Mack. A great pity. You an’ me could of been friends. Hell, I still like you. I don’t hold any of this against you.’
McAllister winced. He would have to bear that kind of thing till he had Lessing behind bars. But he wasn’t dissatisfied. Sure he would have liked one more prisoner so the man could talk against Lessing, but that hadn’t been possible. But he had Lessing and, if Helen le Dru hadn’t removed all the evidence from the house, he would have something against him. He didn’t think Lessing would have told her where he had hidden it. They would know later in the day. Dawn had shown the country empty of men. Sure, they could be skulking out there in wait for him, but that was a chance he had to take. He seemed to live from one impossible gamble to another. He had Josh with him now and it was the Jeffords’ opinion that the rest of them had cleared out. Their losses had been too many. McAllister told Josh about the girl he had tied up and Josh went down the hill to free her and tell her that her man was dead.
Lessing and McAllister were left alone.
Lessing said: ‘Let’s settle this, Mack. What’s your price?’
‘You trying to buy me, Joe?’
‘Sure. Every man has his price. Yours’ll come high, I don’t doubt a minute, but I’ll pay it. Put sentiment aside now, this is strictly business.’
McAllister looked at the man in wonder. Lessing meant it and thought he could get away with it. All right.
He smiled and said: ‘You must have got away with a tidy sum with the army payroll, Joe.’
Lessing said: ‘My boys had their split, but what I have left would set you up with a nice spread.’
‘Where is it?’
Lessing looked cute.
‘I’ll show you when I have your word.’
‘There’s one other thing.’
‘Name it.’
‘I fancy that dun horse I gentled for you.’
‘It’s yours.’
‘Make out a bill of sale for it now or it’s no deal.’
‘I trust you,’ Lessing said. ‘Paper and pencil.’
McAllister wrote out a bill of sale on paper he found in his saddle-pocket. He put the pencil into Lessing’s hands and Lessing signed.
‘See,’ he said as McAllister folded the paper and put it in a pocket, ‘I trust you.’
McAllister smiled wolfishly.
‘A man who would trust another man over a horse deal,’ he said, ‘doesn’t have any right to be walking around free.’
He sat down and re-lit his pipe. He puffed contentedly. ‘You’re a bastard,’ Lessing said with some venom.
‘Ain’t I?’ said McAllister.