Maggie Moran’s teeth tugged at her lower lip and the frown between her eyes deepened as she watched Clay Nash button his shirt over the thick bandages around his torso. He swayed on his feet and she moved towards him but he shook his head stubbornly.
“I’m all right, Maggie,” he said irritably. “Just a mite unsteady on my pins but that’ll pass.”
“But you shouldn’t be out of bed yet!” she said, desperately.
“Doc said a couple of days in bed and I’ve had that. So I’m okay.”
She stamped her foot in frustration. “You men are all alike. Pa was the same! Think you know everything. The doctor certainly didn’t mean for you to be setting out on a two-day ride the moment you got out of bed, Clay Nash!”
“Hell, I’ll be restin’-up in the saddle,” he told her, smiling. He buckled on his gun rig and jammed his hat onto the back of his head. Then he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“Thanks for all you’ve done, Maggie. I’m obliged.”
Her anger went from her at once and she grasped his forearms hard, looking pleadingly up into his face. “Be careful. Clay. I know you have to do this, but I wish you could leave it a little longer.”
He shook his head. “Christian will have flown the coop if I tarry much longer.”
“But why can’t you and Dakota at least tell Sheriff Petersen where you’re going? He could round up a posse!”
“And we wouldn’t get within a hundred miles of Christian. No, Maggie. It’s our job and we stand a better chance alone. Adios.”
“Come back to us, Clay,” she said huskily.
“Sure will be tryin’,” he said and went out of the room and downstairs to the kitchen where Dakota Haines waited with Mrs. Moran. She looked at him disapprovingly as he moved stiffly across the room, favoring his left leg, arm pressed against his wounded side. She shook her head slowly.
“Just as loco as Pop,” she said. “Just as loco and just as devoted to your job! Well, if you ain’t got sense enough to stay home, the least I can do is see you got some decent grub in your bellies.”
She placed a flour sack on the table and it was bulging with food. Dakota winked across the table at Nash.
“Just a few little things me and Maggie whipped up,” Mrs. Moran told them. “We figured right off you’d be stubborn enough to want to tag along with this hellion.” She gestured at Dakota, who tried to look innocent but it didn’t set well on his rugged face.
He hefted the sack. “Thanks, ma’am. Now we better be goin’. You all right?”
He asked this question of the pale-faced Nash and the operative nodded. But he looked far from healthy as he farewelled Mrs. Moran and followed Dakota stiffly out of the kitchen.
He had to ask Dakota to help him into the saddle and he saw Maggie’s pale face at the window of the room he had just left.
“You ain’t gonna be a goddamn hindrance, are you?” Dakota asked as they rode slowly out of the Moran yard. “I’d just as lief go in there alone if I got to waste time nursin’ you along, Clay.”
Nash clamped his jaws together and his eyes blazed at Dakota. “I won’t hold you back!” he gritted. “I’ll do my part!”
“You better,” Dakota Haines told him. “I won’t have time to play nursemaid once I start movin’ in on Clint Christian.”
“No one’s askin’ you to!” snapped Nash, determined to sit tall in the saddle and keep up with Dakota. “And it’ll be when we move in on Christian, not just you.”
Dakota nodded. “That’s how it should be. Now, let’s move out before Madame Mustang recovers enough to get word to Christian that we’re comin’.”
“Hold up! What d’you mean ‘recovers enough’? What in hell happened to her, anyway?”
Haines shrugged. “She got kinda upset that her place was burnin’ down. She tried to run back to save somethin’ she remembered. I had to slug her, otherwise she’d have been burnt to death. I did her a favor.”
“Must’ve slugged her pretty hard by the sounds of it!” Nash opined.
“We-ell, she was sittin’ on a hoss and fell when I did it. Landed on her head. Doc in Pistol Junction figures she’ll be okay in a week or two.”
Nash looked coldly at Haines. “You wouldn’t have hit her just to make sure she didn’t try to warn Christian that we’d be coming after him?”
“Hell, man, I don’t go round sluggin’ women!” Haines protested. “Now, let’s go.”
Madame Mustang’s directions proved to be accurate and they came onto the cougar rock just where she had said it would be. Nash was reeling in the saddle with fatigue and he was pretty certain that the wound in his side had opened again but he didn’t want to unwrap the thick bandages that had been put on so expertly by the doctor. He hoped their pressure would prevent the wound bleeding too much.
As they approached the dark, lichen-scabbed rock, Dakota Haines reined in and waited for Nash to draw level. He leaned on the saddle horn, looking closely at Nash’s gray, drawn face.
“Now’s the time to make up your mind, Clay,” he said flatly. “From here on in it’s gonna be action all the way, so if you don’t feel up to it, quit right now. Wouldn’t blame you or hold it agin you. You look goddamn awful and I won’t have time to make sure you’re okay.”
“We been through this already two days ago when we left the Morans’ place,” Nash told him curtly. “I’ll back you all the way and you won’t have to worry any. I’ll be right where I’m s’posed to be when you need me.”
Haines looked at him levelly. “Just so you are.” He added: “We’d better dismount and lead the broncs through, Clay.” Nash agreed and they dismounted and climbed the slope to the clump of hackberry brush. Haines went in on foot with his sawn-off gripped in both hands, hammers cocked, easing behind the brush. He could see the dim shape of the low tunnel stretching ahead. A rider couldn’t go through here. He would have to lead his mount, he figured. The tunnel was less than fifty feet long and he signaled for Nash to stay back, then moved silently along the cold rock. There was a slight movement at the far end and he froze. In the sunlight at the other end he made out the bobbing head of a hobbled horse as it cropped grass and Dakota figured this would be the guard’s mount. Shifting his grip on the gun, he slid silently along the wall, moving his boots slowly along the ground, placing his steps warily, being careful not to kick two stones together.
The tunnel smelled of animals of some kind and he hoped he wouldn’t trip over some sleeping form or stand on a snake that had slithered in out of the heat. Then he cursed and struck out wildly as a powerful scent was followed by desperate flapping against his face. By the noise he realized they were bats and he likely had disturbed a small colony sleeping under the low roof. His heart was hammering as he crouched, flattening himself against the wall as the bats whirled and squeaked in their panic.
He saw the guard step into the mouth of the tunnel, yawning but trying to stifle it, obviously awakened from a doze. He held a rifle but the barrel was slanted to the ground as he stood there silhouetted against the sunlight, blinking, trying to see what was disturbing the bats.
“That you, Laredo?” he called, hawking and spitting to one side.
“Goddamn bats!” Haines growled just loud enough for the man to hear. He thrust off the wall and, keeping his head down and the shotgun half behind his back, he stumbled on towards the guard.
“Where’s your bronc?” the guard asked, crouching as he squinted, coming more awake now, looking for the silhouette of a horse against the far end of the tunnel where light filtered through the hackberry brush. “Hey! Someone’s down there outside the brush ... !”
He swung the rifle up and across his body as he levered and Haines swore as he lunged forward. But he wasn’t fast enough. The guard’s gun exploded just as Haines’ body crashed into him and carried him over backwards. He squirmed on top of the downed man and slammed the butt of the shotgun into the middle of his face, twice. There was a cracking sound as the man’s neck broke.
Panting, he whirled as Clay Nash came swiftly through the tunnel, leading both horses, Peacemaker in hand. His face reflected pain and his gait was stiff but he came out fast, ready for action.
“What happened?” he panted.
“Guard spotted me and got off a shot before I could stop him. No use tryin’ to be cagey now. Might as well mount up and ride in over that rise. That’s where the cabin’s s’posed to be. You ready?”
“When you are,” Nash said, turning to his mount and clambering aboard awkwardly. He grunted in pain as he settled into leather and nodded to Haines as the big man swung aboard his black.
“Let’s go!” Dakota growled and put the spurs to his mount, setting it up the sloping trail. Nash lifted his reins and rode after him.
They figured there was little use in trying to get over that rise without sky-lining themselves for the rocks and timber grew in such a way that there was no way around it. Anyone approaching had to ride smack over the centre of the rise and Nash had no doubt that the rider would make a fine target silhouetted against the sky as he did so.
Dakota Haines whirled his mount around and came back to range alongside Nash.
“No way for it but to go straight over,” he said. “It’ll have to be fast and you can bet your britches the slope on the other side’ll be bare as a cue ball. So if you manage to get across the crest, keep that hoss goin’ lickety-split and zigzag as much as you can. You’ll have to keep an eye out for whatever cover might be around closer in to the cabin. Now let’s go!”
He spurred his mount fast up the last few yards of the slope, sawn-off shotgun banging against his thigh on its swivel. He whipped his rifle out of its scabbard just before Nash saw his shape against the sky and then he was on the top of the crest and going over. Nash’s mount was only yards behind but Haines was over and had dropped from sight before he topped the rise. Why wasn’t there any gunfire? he wondered. Maybe Christian hadn’t heard the guard’s shot after all. Maybe the cabin wasn’t down there.
He ducked instinctively as there came a single crashing rifle shot from somewhere beyond the rise. And then he was sky-lined himself and kicking his heels into the horse’s flanks, urging it across with one final effort. He lifted to the crest and in one sweeping glance took in the scene below.
The first thing he saw was Dakota Haines’ body rolling and crashing down the bare, short-grassed slope, bouncing and skidding. At first he figured the man was hit and then he saw that the roll was under control and Haines was merely using his momentum to get him off the shelterless slope. Beyond the flat was a clapboard and adobe cabin, with a stone fireplace and stables built onto the rear. There were tree stumps dotted about the flats where timber had been cut down so as to give a clearer view of the slope and Haines was obviously making for one of these as cover.
Dakota’s mount was down just below Nash, threshing in its death-throes, and he knew Christian in the cabin had downed the mount rather than the man. Bullets spattered about Haines’ moving body and then Nash heard one buzz past his head and he knew he was spotted and was now the prime target. Or his horse was.
Pain knifing through his side, he yanked the reins and leaned his body out of the saddle, pulling the animal to one side, almost instantly swaying back the other way and hauling on the reins again. He was sure the horse’s body must have twisted like a corkscrew and he heard the ‘whooshing’ air whip as lead zipped past his face. He crouched low over his mount’s neck, yelling into its ear, frightening it so that it lurched in the opposite direction. The downed mount was in front now and instead of pulling away to one side, he lifted the racing horse over the carcass in a wild leap. When it landed on the far side the jolt snapped his teeth together and he groaned as the pain clawed at his wounds. Haines was making a run for the nearest tree-stump now and Nash caught a glimpse of a dust spurt near his pounding boots. The man in the cabin had shifted aim again. But then lead buzzed past his face and he knew he was the prime target once more. He kept the horse running.
Dakota Haines was shooting at the cabin now, his rifle hammering as fast as he could work the lever and the bullets spouted white clouds of adobe from the window sills, tore scars in the heavy door and made Christian keep his head down.
Nash figured he would never have a better chance so, bracing himself, he hauled rein and, timing it to when the wild-eyed mount skidded to a stop, he leaned way down from the saddle and spilled off, taking his rifle with him, and rolled behind a tree stump.
The pain was excruciating and he passed out for several, seconds. When he regained his full senses, there were spinning bright lights and a throbbing agony that had him panting for breath. His side and hip were wet beneath the bandages and he dared not look down to see how wide was the spread of the bloodstain. Sobbing in agony, but not knowing he made the sounds out loud, he crawled behind the tree stump, using elbows and knees, cradling his rifle in his arms. As he collapsed full length behind it, a bullet sent a whirl of splinters flying from the axe-cut above his head. He didn’t even flinch. He was in so much pain that death at that moment would have been a welcome release.
“At least you still got a horse!” Dakota Haines called and Nash stirred at the sound of his pard’s voice, opened his eyes and looked, blinking, across the flat to where his mount was still running, but slowing now, way out past the cabin. “You okay?” Dakota called.
Nash shook some life back into himself and waved a hand briefly. The rifle in the cabin roared and splinters jumped off his shelter. He withdrew his hand sharply and crouched closer to the stump.
“Keep an eye on those stables,” Haines called across quietly. “I reckon there’ll be a door from the house leadin’ into them. He could try to make a break-out, specially if there’s an opening on the side away from here.”
Sweating, the pain settling now into a throbbing ache, Nash nodded and forced himself to concentrate on the situation at hand. Behind the cabin, coming down to within a few yards of it, was brush and timber that rolled away across broken country into rugged canyons and draws farther back in the hills. Clint Christian had chosen his hideaway well: an open approach, a covered getaway. Nash had no doubt that once Christian reached those canyons it would take an army to flush him out.
He ducked as four bullets tore into the stump and plowed up ragged lines of dirt beside it. Three more shots thudded into Haines’ shelter and then there was a pause.
“Winchester .30.30,” Haines said quietly. “Seven shots. He’s reloading now. Seems like only the one gun, so guess Christian’s there alone, or just with the Chinese girl. The guard thought I was Laredo, so could be he’s off some place, in which case we’ll have to watch our backs, too.”
Clay Nash nodded, levering a shell into the breech of his own rifle and triggering at the window where gun smoke was dispersing slowly. Almost immediately his shot was answered from the next window along and the bullet smashed into the stump in front of him. He ducked low.
“That was another rifle!” he said. “Different sound!”
“Yeah. Mebbe the Chinese girl’s joinin’ him, or mebbe he just has two guns. While she’s loadin’ one, he’s using the other.”
Nash nodded. “Either way, we’re pinned, Dakota. We can’t move without him bein’ able to see us.”
Dakota Haines looked up at the sky and the sun’s high position. “Long time till dark, but that’ll be our only chance of movin’ in. Unless he makes a break for it before that.”
“Those damn stables bother me,” Nash said. “You’re likely right about there bein’ a door we can’t see, openin’ right out onto that brush. Gives him a covered run clear back into the canyon country.”
Haines nodded and glanced around him. There were a couple more tree stumps and some small rock piles over to his right. If he could get over that way, he might be able to have at least a part view of the stables. He said, “See if you can draw their fire.”
Nash threw up his rifle and began shooting at the front of the cabin, at the windows and the door, working the lever and firing deliberately. Two shots hammered from the cabin, from the left-hand window, and he ducked as lead ricocheted from his stump. He began firing again and, behind him, Dakota made a run for the tree stump to his right. But he only got a couple of yards before bullets were spitting about his boots, so close that one leg flew out from under him as lead tore off a heel. He spilled to the ground and caught a face full of gravel from another shot and he knew he wasn’t going to make it. Gathering himself, he launched himself back to his original shelter with everything he had.
He landed hard and skidded.
“Like you said,” he panted to Nash. “We’re pinned!”
“Better try and stick it out till dark,” Nash advised, wishing he had thought to grab his saddle canteen when he had quit leather.
It was going to be a long, hot, thirsty day.
And it was, with desultory fire from both the Wells Fargo agents and the outlaw in the cabin. Christian knew they couldn't shift without him covering their movements with deadly fire, and he was the one who had the shade and plenty of water and grub. Likely he had the Chinese girl for company, too, while the agents sweltered and burned in the blazing sun.
They watched their backs from time to time but there was no sign of Laredo.
Nash’s wounds had stiffened but his inactivity had allowed the bleeding to stop so he figured that was something. His throat was parched and his tongue was swollen in his mouth. His eyes watered from the glare and his flesh burned beneath his shirt. He drifted off into little dozes and fantasies of being back in bed at the Moran house. Usually a gunshot from the cabin jerked him back to reality.
Then, finally, the sun began to slide towards the western hills and the shadows lengthened and Nash and Haines hugged the meager shade cast by the tree stumps. As the shadows of the hills crawled down into the hollow and moved out beyond the cabin, Nash felt the first chill of low-country evening and he began to shiver.
There came a burst of rapid fire from the cabin and as soon as it had ended, Haines leapt up and made a run for the stump on his right again. This time he made it before the gunfire opened up from the cabin again and he hit hard, rolled, bullets spitting all about him as he scrambled behind the stump’s shelter.
“I can see part of the stables and beyond to the brush and timber,” he called to Nash.
“You’re lucky you’ve still got your head,” Nash replied. “That was one hell of a chance, Dakota!”
“I got here, didn’t I? And I figure he’ll make a break as soon as it gets dark enough. We’ll try to move in closer then and come in from the stable side.”
It grew rapidly darker as it usually did in that part of Arizona and there was a period between the time the sun’s afterglow faded and the stars began to appear that was ideal for stealthy movement.
It was the time that Clint Christian chose to make his move. But he fooled both the Wells Fargo agents. While they were watching the stables, convinced that there was a rear way out there, he came riding around the far side of the cabin and made a fast run for the side of the slope that led back to the cougar rock and the tunnel.
Nash swore and strained to get his gun around and face the opposite direction. Haines was caught flat-footed, too, his rifle aimed at the stables, but he was more mobile than Nash and leapt to his feet, dropping his Winchester and unslinging the sawn-off shotgun as he pounded towards the racing horse. He cut across and up the slope, trying to close the distance between himself and Christian. The outlaw saw him and triggered two fast shots but Haines kept running and saw that he wasn’t going to make it. The horseman would cover more ground faster than he could. He dropped to one knee and the outlaw fired again. Dakota spun as lead hit him and fell full-length but managed to keep hold of his shotgun.
Nash’s rifle hammered at the dark shape streaking across the slope, making for the only way over the crest. Christian was riding towards Haines where he lay on the ground and he fired again at the downed agent. Dakota rolled onto his back as the horse passed close by above him and blasted with the sawn-off.
Nash saw Christian’s neat little body hurled from the saddle as if jerked off by a lariat and the horse squealed, broke stride, but kept running for several yards before slowing. Christian’s body lay huddled farther up the slope and Haines was crawling towards it, his sawn-off held ready in front of him, hammer cocked back on the remaining barrel.
Nash got to his feet and started across, limping badly with his left leg and holding to the hip, grimacing at the pain. By the time he got to Haines, the man was already at the outlaw’s body and had turned it onto its back. Nash heard the hammer ease off cock and knew Clint Christian must be dead. Then Haines spat a single epithet.
“Bastard!”
Frowning, Nash limped up and looked down at Haines, who snapped a vesta into flame and held it close to the dead outlaw’s face.
Nash felt shock rock through him. It wasn’t Clint Christian: it was the Chinese girl, Maxine Chan.
“He’s likely been gone for hours while she’s been keepin’ us busy from the cabin!” Haines growled.
“We’ve lost him, then,” Nash said. “Once he gets into that canyon country. Hey, you hit?”
“Yeah, but not bad. Crease across the ribs is all. Goddamn that yeller-skinned tigress. If she hadn’t ... ”
“Hold up!” Nash snapped, lifting a hand and cocking his head to one side.
Haines heard it, too: the distant strike of shod hoofs on stone, coming across the natural amphitheatre of the hollow. Nash smiled slowly as he looked back at Haines.
“He didn’t cut out hours ago, Dakota! He’s only going now! While the gal distracted us, he saddled up and is clearin’ out behind the cabin now, headin’ into the canyon country!”
“Well, what in hell are we doin’ here?” Haines demanded. "Grab me that gal’s hoss and get your own. Then let’s get after him, Clay! Hunt him down like the skunk he is!”