The old man held two shovels. “Suspect these would work a lot better than a gun.” He extended a shovel to Ron.
“Obliged.” Ward grabbed the shovel and both men dug furiously. The old man, while twice Ward's age, moved as much soil as the bigger man. He had an efficient style that suggested the old man was a prospector.
Within two minutes they cleared much of the soil and rock. Without warning a rock pushed up and Once Dunn's right hand shot into the dusty air.
“He's alive,” shouted Ward.
Ron and the old miner dug even faster. Moments later Dunn’s other hand pushed soil and rocks aside. They saw the big man’s head in a pocket of air under one of the flat rocks jutting out from the side of the cliff.
Dunn’s face wore a mask of dirt, his eyes like two shiny stones. His mouth opened and he spit out soil. “Good to see you, old friend.”
“We’ll have you out of there right away.”
Ron and the old man dug the dirt away that held Once Dunn firmly in place. With most of Once Dunn’s body clear each man grabbed an arm and pulled him to safety.
“Obliged, stranger.” Dunn’s voice raspy from the dry throat.
“Reckon we owe you for getting us out of the way of those cattle. I’m Ron Ward. This is Once Dunn”
The old man spat out tobacco and handed Dunn a canteen. “Name’s Al Farrow but everyone calls me Farrow.”
Ward and Dunn shook Al Farrow’s hand. Dunn took a long pull from the canteen.
Farrow looked down the trail at the top of the dead horse’s head. “Wish we could have saved your ride. Fine looking animal.”
“These things happen, Farrow.” Dunn shook his head as he looked down the narrow trail at his black. “Can you keep watch while Once and I retrieve my saddle and gear.”
Farrow reached behind him and pulled out a scattergun. “Count on it.”
Twenty minutes later Dunn’s saddle rested on one of Farrow’s mules. The old man had two good mules.
Farrow pulled bacon out of a pack and cooked up a good meal. He also retrieved a bottle of whiskey and poured three drinks.
“Did you just happen to be up here when the stampede started?” asked Dunn.
“Nope, I saw men belonging to that rattlesnake Barry Scrum gather up the cattle at the end of the pass. Suspected they were up to no good and even expected it had something to do with losing all that money in the foot race.”
Once Dunn sipped whiskey. “Word travels fast. You heard about the race already.”
“Sure.” Farrow smiled a toothless grin. “I watched the race from the hilltop across from you, Ward. Don’t blame you a lick for not trusting Scrum.”
“Never saw you,” said Ron.
“I like to keep to myself. Especially clear of Scrum. I don’t like him and he doesn’t like me. He stole a claim from me a few years back.” Al Farrow walked to the south end of the cliff. “There’s a goat trail here that leads to a plateau overlooking the Scrum ranch. It's behind these bushes. I use it to keep an eye on him and his men.”
“Sounds like Scrum's a man who likes to get his way,” added Dunn.
Farrow walked along the edge of the cliff overlooking Eagle's Pass. “That isn't the half of it. Scrum once stole several horses...”
The report of a rifle echoed through the pass. A bullet hit Al Farrow, sending him crashing to the ground.
Ward and Dunn dragging Farrow behind the cover of nearby trees. Ward put pressure on the bullet hole on the old man's stomach. “Stay still,” said Ward.
“Too late.” Farrow gasped in pain. “This is it for me.”
Meanwhile, Once Dunn stood beside a large boulder to the right of the other two men. He kept his rifle down while he methodically scanned the top of the other cliff. Movement behind a fallen log caught his eye.
He slowly raised his rifle in the shadow of the boulder so light would not reflect off the barrel. The man behind the log remained mostly hidden. Only the very top of his hat peaked out. Dunn knew patience and held his fire. A minute can seem like an hour when trying to hide.
Once Dunn's finger rested gently on the trigger, his eyes never leaving the top of the hat bobbing above the log. Thin trees on each end of the log provided little cover and the escape route behind the gunman sloped upwards. No escape. Dunn expected the man oozed with confidence after hitting Al Farrow cleanly.
Several minutes later Dunn saw the glint of light off the tip of a rifle barrel. The man brought it up in the 'V' between the log and one of the dead branches sticking up.
Dunn trained his gun on the area just above the 'V'. As he expected, the shooter lacked a sufficient opening to get a good look at the area and risked a glance over the branch. Dunn squeezed the trigger. The bullet caught the man in the forehead, sending him falling backwards, stone dead.
Dunn ducked behind the rock in case a second gunman spotted the smoke from his rifle. He peaked around the other side and watched from the shadow of a tree. He saw no movement so joined Ron Ward and Al Farrow.
“How you feeling, Al?” asked Dunn.
“Been better.” Farrow even managed a wry smile. “Listen, I have a favour to ask.”
“Name it,” Ron Ward replied.
Farrow managed to lift his right arm and point at his two mules. “My bigger mule carries a set of saddlebags. They're old and worth nothing.” He coughed and blood trickled out of the side of his mouth. “I'd like you to deliver what's inside to Bart Sheridan. I hear he craves a good education. Also, each bag has a false bottom with something that will also help Bart a bit.” Al Farrow gasped and closed his eyes for the last time.
Ron Ward and Once Dunn kept a wary eye as they buried the old man in a small, peaceful meadow near where the mules rested.
Once inspected the smaller mule that wore his saddle. “It's old but seems well looked after. I reckon it'll get me to the Sheridan ranch. Meanwhile, why don't we see what's hidden in the saddlebags.”
Each man pulled two leather bags out of the saddlebags. The bags contained books.
Ward looked at the titles. “Old Al Farrow had plenty of surprises. Seems he liked to read the classics. I expect young Sheridan would make good use of these. Let's dig deeper.”
They pulled out clothes, food, and a journal belonging to Farrow. It showed that he would go to Kansas City once a year and take in a show or two.
Ward read quickly through part of the journal. “I think Al had a better vocabulary than he let on.”
Ward opened the saddlebags wide and reached all the way in. The false bottom had only about one inch of storage space. With his knife he pried off the thick leather hiding Bart’s gift. The leather lifted out of place revealing a flattened bag with a tightly drawn string.
Ron held up the bag, surprised by its weight. He tossed it to Once who weighed it in one hand. “I figure about fourteen or sixteen ounces and I think we both know of what. Let's have a look.” Once opened the top of the bag.
The sun glinted off the fine granules of gold. The second saddlebag had a similar sized bag.
“I figure there's about eight hundred dollar’s worth of gold here,” said Dunn.
“That'll help the young man a lot”.”
Ward stored the gold in one of the saddlebags. They carefully packed the books and other belongings on top of the gold. Dunn climbed onto the saddled smaller mule. He looked like a man riding a small pony but the mule had the strength to carry him. “At the Sheridan ranch I’ll buy a horse. He has some good stock.”
The Sheridans had returned home earlier in the day. Bart hobbled a bit but could still help his father with the chores.
The younger Sheridan had just moved a foal into a temporary small paddock constructed at the back of the barn. The paddock had a lower trough for water and solid walls so the young horse wouldn't catch its head between slats. Bart had just walked out into the bright sunlight when he saw Ward and Dunn approach.
“Pa, we have visitors,” yelled Bart to his father working in the loft of the barn.
Tom Sheridan kept a close eye on his land. From his high perch in the loft he had spotted the two riders much earlier, when they had crested a distant hill. “It's Ward and Dunn, but one of them is on a mule.”
Tom climbed down from the loft and walked out of the barn just as the two riders approached. “Howdy. Didn't expect to see you here so soon.”
“We ran into some trouble with Scrum hands, I'm afraid.” explained Ron Ward. “They sent a herd of cattle through Eagle's Pass just as we were at the far end. If it wasn't for Al Farrow we'd both be dead. He guided us to an old passage to the top of the cliff just in time.”
Tom Sheridan recognized the two mules. “I'm guessing Old Farrow didn't make out as well.”
Ward replied, “Gunned down by what we expect was a Scrum hand.”
Susan Sheridan joined the men. “Hi. Good to see you two again.”
“Howdy, Susan,” said Ron.
“Afternoon,” added Once.
Tom walked up to his wife. “Ron and Once were just telling me that Al Farrow was gunned down.”
“Oh, dear, he was such a kind man.” Susan Sheridan wiped tears from her eyes.
Tom slammed his hand on a fence rail. “I’ve had enough of Scrum. I’m going after him.”
Susan held Tom’s arm. “Let’s not make any hasty decisions.”
“We’ll talk about it a bit,” interjected Ron.
“I'll get dinner finished. You two please join us,” Susan said.
“Very well,” agreed Tom. “No sense doing something rash.”
Susan went into the ranch house while Dunn led the mules to the water trough. Ward did the same with his mount.
Ward and Dunn told Tom the events of the day, including how Dunn lost his horse.
“Tom, today we're a little more than dinner guests,” Dunn said. “I'd like to buy one of your fine horses.”
Tom looked at the two mules. “I remember when Al bought the bigger mule. He knew how to look after animals. Should be able to give you some money for them.”
Ward shook his head. “Not our animals. Why don't you sell them and put that money towards Bart's education?”
“Obliged. But that doesn't stop me giving you a deal on the horse.”
“I think we can work out a price, especially if that big roan at the far end of the corral is available,” said Dunn.
“It is at that. Let’s have a closer look at that horse then you two can join us for something to eat?”
The men looked after the animals and took a look at the horse that interested Dunn. Quickly they worked out a fair deal and climbed the stairs into the log house.
Ward saw excellent workmanship in the logs of the house. They fit tightly together, providing excellent protection from the cold winters.
Inside the house Dunn put the saddle bags in a corner and joined the other men on comfortable chairs where they sipped hot coffee.
Ward saw Bart watching them from across the large kitchen. “It seems the old man knew about your son's wish to become a lawyer.” Ward slid the two saddlebags toward Bart. “His dying wish was to give you this to help you fulfill your dream of school.”
Bart Sheridan took a few steps toward the saddle bags, then hesitated. Once Dunn gestured to Tom Sheridan. Tom picked up the bags and set them in front of his son.
Bart glances into the bags and pulled out two arm loads of books “If that doesn't beat all.”
“Those will save us a lot of money on books for Bart at college,” added Susan.
“I’ll work hard to save money for tuition. I promise,” smiled Bart.
“Have a look at the bottom of the darker bag,” Once spoke over his coffee cup.
Nervously, Bart leaned in and lifted out the two heavy sacks.
Susan’s eyes widened. “Could it be?” She set a bowl on the table.
Bart poured the gold dust into the bowl. A shake of one sack sent a few nuggets on to the pile.
Tom put his arm on Bart’s shoulder. “Farrow was a kind and caring man.”
Bart looked up at his mother and father. “Does this mean what I think I does, college?”
“It sure does.” Susan and Tom replied in unison.
Bart slid the bowl towards his mother who carefully returned the gold to the sacks. The young man wiped dust off the books and placed them on shelves containing several dozen other books.
The three men enjoyed the coffee while Susan set the food on the table. “All ready.” She turned towards her son who had his face in a book. “Bart, the book can wait. Come and eat please.”
Bart's courteous nature overtook his wish to read the book. He set the book on the shelf. “Yes, Ma. Coming.”
The roast beef was tender and the fresh bread wore a dome of golden brown. Once Dunn poured gravy on his second helping of potatoes.
Tom relayed stores about the old prospector. “Farrow was working a creek on the other side of the north ridge of mountains. He worked quietly, he like it that way. He told us that as he panned the biggest deer he'd ever seen walked up to the river a short distance upwind of him. He always kept his rifle handy. The next day he brought us enough venison to keep us fed for months.”
“That man always thought of others,” added Susan.
Tom speared a piece of carrot and raised it to his mouth. He stopped the fork just shy of his lips and returned the food to his plate. Warily he looked around the room. Ward and Dunn saw the concerned look and also scanned the house.
“You smell something burning?” asked Tom.
“Yes, and it's not the wood fire in the stove,” Susan said. “I know that smell.”
“The door, it's the door,” shouted Bart.
Smoke flowed in under the door. Flames licked upwards from the bottom edge.
“This is trouble, everyone stand clear of the window,” said Ron Ward calmly. He immediately knew the fire was a trap.
Susan Sheridan jumped out of her chair just as a bullet smashed through the window and shattered the back of her chair.
The men took up positions beside the windows, risking quick glances out.
Bart saw a discoloured area on the wall opposite the door. He touched the wall at the back of the cabin and felt heat. “There's another fire outside this wall.”
“Bart, get down,” shouted Tom.
Bart ducked just as a volley of bullets flew through the window. The first bullet grazed his left shoulder. He fell to the floor with his hand over the wound.
“Bart,” cried Susan who crawled to her son. She looked closely at the wound. Relief filled her when she saw it was just a flesh wound.
“I'm okay, Ma”
“Let's move into the corner,” Susan replied. Without hesitation Susan and her son crawled to the relative safety of the dark corner of the house.
A steady barrage of bullets flew through the window from the deep cover of the trees.
“They're keeping us in the house so the fire can finish us off.” Ward looked around the house.
They stuffed a blanket at the bottom of the door to slow smoke seeping in. Flames appeared under the outside of the window.
“Any other way out of here besides the door and window?” asked Ward.
Tom pointed his rifle over the bunk bed. “Just the attic access up there and a small hatch leading onto the roof. It's tight but we should all be able to use it.”
Ward ducked low and crept under the window as bullets flew over his head. “Any more weapons in the house, Tom?”
“Two more hand guns and a shotgun in the box beside the bunk.” Tom pulled out the weapons. He tossed a pistol and box of cartridges to Bart who loaded the weapon and slipped it in his belt. He poured the remaining cartridges in a pocket.
They distributed the other guns and ammo and gathered beside the bunk bed.
Once Dunn dragged the box that had held the weapons into the centre of the room, between the big window and the bunk bed. He set the table on top of the box on its side so it protected the hatch area from the shooters in front of the house.
Ward moved closer to Dunn. “How many shooters do you think are in the rear of the house?”
“I'm guessing three at the most,” replied Dunn. “About double that are in the front watching the window and the door where Tom Sheridan fired shots regularly to keep the shooters away from the house.”
“Good. I need you to knock out the chimney sticking through the rear wall and keep them occupied at the rear of the house.”
Once Dunn poured water on the fire in the stove. He then removed the chimney. Through the small hole he fired at the men at the trees behind the ranch house. The gunmen in the trees and behind the barn returned fire as they waited for the fire to finish off everyone in the house.
Ward climbed onto the top bunk and pushed open the attic door. He ignored the dust trickling down on him. He hoisted himself up into the five-foot high space.
It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The only light came through the door and under a few loose shingles.
Ward pried up the weakest shingles until they were wide enough in two places to accommodate a gun barrel. He leaned through the door in to the cabin. “All right, everyone up here except Once who can keep those shooter out front occupied. We'll call when we need you. Tom, how are you with that Winchester?”
“I'm a good shot. Just tell me what you want me to do.”
“First, let's get everyone else up here. Then you and I'll will try and pick off a few of the shooters in the back. It looks like the best escape route since the trees are close.”
The Sheridan family climbed into the attic while Once Dunn kept firing at the gunmen in front of the house, the flames rising higher in the window blocking their view of him.
Ward and Tom Sheridan took up positions at the rear of the attic. “Tom, let's brace our weapons on the support beams and keep our gun barrels inside the attic. I hope they'll think we're still firing from inside the house. That should buy us more time to do some damage.” Ward turned to Bart and Susan. “It's about to get noisy in here.”
The Scrum hired hands in the front of the house continued to confidently shoot through the window. Dunn continued firing from the front of the house. A tall Scrum hand in the trees moved to his left to get a better angle on the chimney hole. As he did this Tom Sheridan watched from the attic with his finger on the trigger. The man moved quickly between two thick trees. Sheridan tried to time his shot. His first shot grazed the tree, sending splinters of wood in the tall man’s direction. The man took a couple seconds to clear his eyes. That’s all Sheridan needed. While the man bent over, he exposed his head. Tom’s next shot hit him in the temple.
A heavily bearded man deeper in the woods watched his companion fall and shook his head. “Those people are trapped in the house. Why Tucker had to stand up and give them a big target is beyond me.” As the man spoke to himself he bobbed his head. Ward had been catching glimpses of the bearded man's wide hat between two branches.
Ward adjusted his aim to compensate for the distance and slowly squeezed the trigger. The bearded man's lifeless body slumped forward, his bleeding head resting against a tree.
The third Scrum hand behind the house ducked under the heavy cover of a woodpile between the two dead men. He contemplated the fifty dollars offered to each man if everyone in the house died. The money wasn't enough. He holstered his six-gun and gripped his rifle firmly.
From their secure perch in the attic Tom Sheridan and Ron Ward had the man in their sights as he zigzagged his way through the trees running away from the house. Sheridan lowered his rife while Ward fired off a couple shots over the fleeing man's head, reminding him that trouble remained at the house.
“Bart, get Once Dunn up here,” said Ward.
Bart yelled through the hatch to Once Dunn. The big man yelled “be right there.”
In the attic Ron Ward laid on his back under the back side of the roof beside the small hatch only big enough for Bart or Susan to escape. He kicked upwards with all his strength. Shingles flew off the roof making a hole plenty big enough for even Once Dunn.
The large hole let in more air that fed the flames that now licked the sides of the attic.
Without a word Once Dunn and Tom Sheridan jumped through the hole and from behind the peak of the roof pinned down the gunmen in front of the house.
Ron and Bart climbed out next and helped Susan onto the roof. Both Ron with his pistol and Bart with a shotgun joined Once and Tom in exchanging fire with the Scrum gunmen. Bullets whizzed past their heads or plowed into the shingles in front of them.
The Scrum men in front of the house continued firing while moving from tree to tree towards the north side of the house.
Ward whispered. “We can't hold them forever. They're far enough around to have a shot at the rear of the house. Time to make a move.”
Moments later fire shot out of the peak of the roof. Everyone on the roof backed down to the lower edge at the back of the house. The growing fire provided some cover.
The roof bottom rested ten feet above the ground. Ron Ward gripped the edge of the roof and dropped. He held the roof edge briefly, and then fell to the ground. He rolled smoothly when his feet hit the sod.
Ward hopped to his feet and waved at Bart. The young man jumped gracefully and landed on his feet beside Ron.
Bart looked up at his mother standing on the edge of the roof. “Jump, Ma. We got you.”
Susan Sheridan hesitated. Two bullets flew past her ear, prompting her to jump. Ron and Bart each grabbed an arm as she landed. Immediately they dashed into the trees.
When under cover Ward turned to Bart and looked at the shotgun hanging on his back. “Best make good use of that gun, Bart. We have to provide cover for your Pa and Once.”
“Yes, sir,” replied the confident young man.
Ward quickly scanned the area. “I think behind the wood pile is the best cover. Let's move over there, Susan.”
Once and Tom maintained steady fire from the roof, keeping the gunmen from making it all the way to the rear of the house. Ron and Bart set up in position behind the woodpile and opened fire.
Once looked down and saw his friend signal him to get down. Once nodded to Tom. “Let's move. You go first.”
“Right.” Tom Sheridan turned around and took three steps towards the edge of the roof. Smoke swirling around him like fog in the wind. A shot rang out, but not from near the woodpile or from the gunmen north of the ranch house. The shot came from the hill a short distance behind the house.
Once turned and raised his Winchester. The gunman stood beside a heavy tree watching Tom Sheridan crash to the ground with his hand on the side of his head.
Once's heart raced as he lifted his rife and took aim. The man beside the tree calmly backed behind the thick grouping of trees to his right. Once Dunn saw the heavy-set man ride east just below the tops of the trees.
Dunn ran to the edge of the roof and jumped. For a big man he was very agile, part of his wrestling and boxing training. He landed beside Tom Sheridan and carried him to the cover of the trees.
The gunmen north of the house saw Tom Sheridan fall. Seconds later bullets flew at them from the direction of the woodpile. They raced back to the forest at the front of the house and climbed on their mounts. They rode hard down a trail in the direction of the Scrum ranch.
With the area now clear everyone gathered around Tom Sheridan. Susan held his hand, tears streaming down his face. Once Dunn pulled Tom’s hand from his head and inspected the wound. “It bled a lot but will be fine in a couple days.”
“Who shot him?” asked Bart.
“Big man. I think it was Barry Scrum,” said Once.
Despite the pain Tom whispered, “Yes, it was Scrum. Caught a look at him just before he fired.”
“Rest, Tom, please rest,” pleaded Susan Sheridan.
Straining, Tom held Susan's hand tight. “I'm going to pull through this, but please make me a promise.”
“Anything.”
“Follow our dream. Move with Bart to Boston so he can go to college and you'll be safer.”
“We will, we will,” replied Susan.
Tom Sheridan turned to face his son. “Does that suit you, son?”
“Yes Pa.”
Tom Sheridan's voice grew raspy. “The land sale, the gold, and the money won will keep us comfortable.”
“The gold,” exclaimed Susan.
Tom reached in his pocket and removed the two pouches of gold. Susan, Tom, and Bart smiled.
“We'll be all right.” Tom held Susan and Bart close. “First, we have to get this fire out.”
“Tom, you’re hurt,” said Ron Ward “The house is done, but we can save the barn and the animals.”