3

Three days later, two hours past sundown, Pete followed Reed and Pardee, along with three others, Judd Stanton, Sam Lennox, and Mick Jackson, as they rode out of Rankin. He’d released the pair the morning after the incident in the Red Rooster. Instead of riding out of town, they had remained, hanging around the saloon and nursing their bruises. Then, last night, they had paid a visit to Ebenezer Montrose at his home. Now, they were heading out of town. Pete’s patience in keeping tabs on the banker could be paying off.

“Easy, Trooper,” Pete cautioned the bay. “If my hunch is right, we know where those hombres are headed. No need in chancin’ them spottin’ us. We’ll stay back a ways. Besides, if they do change direction, there’s enough of a moon we can follow their tracks.

Trooper had rested the past several days and was eager to run, but Pete held him to a slow trot. They had gone about five miles when Pete reined in. Even at this slow pace, the Morgan-Quarter cross’s steady gait was bringing them ever closer to the renegades.

“We’re still gainin’ on ‘em, pal,” he told the big gelding. “You might as well take a breather. I have a feelin’ we’ll be seein’ a bellyful of action before long.”

He dug his heels into Trooper’s ribs, putting the horse into a walk.

An hour later, they approached the pond where Pete had been accosted by John Hunter. Pete halted Trooper, then swung out of the saddle.

“Like I figured, those hombres are headed straight for the pond, Troop,” he told his horse. “Reckon I might as well let them dig up that money, and save me the trouble. You wait here while I scout around a bit. I have a feelin’ one or two of those renegades’ll circle around and keep watch for me. It’d sure simplify things for them if they could put a bullet in my back.”

Pete looped Trooper’s reins loosely around a mesquite. The bay could pull free and come at his rider’s whistle.

“You keep quiet,” Pete ordered his horse. “I’ll be back shortly.”

Trooper nuzzled Pete’s shoulder, then fell to munching on the mesquite pods. Pete slipped into the dark. A few moments later, he was overlooking the pond.

“Just where I figured they’d be,” he muttered. Three of the men were digging alongside a large boulder, while the fourth stood guard. A good-sized fire illuminated their work area.

“Don’t see the fifth hombre, though. Sure wish I knew where he’s at. I’d feel a heap more comfortable knowin’ he’s not linin’ his gunsights on my spine.”

Pete lifted his Colt from its holster and settled behind a fallen log, to watch and wait until the stolen money was unearthed.

It was half-an-hour later when Judd Stanton grunted in satisfaction.

“Got it.”

He lifted several canvas sacks from the hole.

“We could just take this cash and head for Mexico,” Mike Jackson suggested.

“I wouldn’t chance it,” Ben Reed advised. “Montrose has a long reach. He’d track us down for certain.”

“Sam’s right,” Tom Pardee agreed. “Let’s not get greedy. Our shares are still plenty.”

“Speaking of long reaches, I wonder what happened to the Ranger,” Stanton mentioned.

“Mebbe he didn’t find our tracks, or wasn’t clever enough to follow us after all,” Reed speculated. “Sam’s out there watchin’ for him, and I haven’t heard any gunshots. Let’s just get this money on our saddles and head back to town. With any luck we’ll run into the Ranger on our way.”

Pete’s voice cracked like a whip.

“You won’t have to look for me. I’m right here, Reed. All of you get your hands up.”

“It’s the Ranger!” Jackson exclaimed. He went for his gun. Pete dropped him with a bullet in the chest.

The others scattered, yanking guns from holsters. Pete’s next shot grazed Pardee before the outlaw could dive out of the circle of firelight.

The outlaws fired blindly, unable to see Pete in the darkness. He had rolled to a new spot by the time they were able to locate his gun flashes.

A shot from behind him plunked into Pete’s lower ribs. He grunted from the impact, flopped onto his back, and returned fire. Another shot rang out, digging into the log. Pete aimed just to the left of the gun flash, and was rewarded with a yelp of agony. Sam Lennox, hands pressed to his middle, stumbled out of the dark and collapsed onto the fire. The acrid odors of singed fabric and flesh filled the air, while the clearing was plunged into darkness.

The three remaining outlaws had now determined Pete’s location. They concentrated their fire on the fallen log. Fighting the pain from the bullet in his back, Pete kept shifting positions. When he aimed at another powder flash, his bullet hit Tom Pardee, who jackknifed and pitched to the dirt.

“I’m hit in the belly, Ben,” Pardee screamed. “Gimme a hand, will ya?”

“Hang on, Tom,” Reed called back. “Soon as we finish this Ranger, we’ll get to you.”

Reed’s next shot just missed Pete’s chest. Pete returned fire, but missed. He quickly reloaded.

Judd Sutton’s shot ricocheted off the boulder where Pete had taken cover. Pete screeched, fell, and lay groaning.

“I think I got him, Ben,” Sutton called.

“Be careful, Judd,” Reed warned.

“That Ranger sounds like he’s in bad shape. I’m gonna finish him,” Sutton answered. He crept closer to where Pete was stretched out against the boulder. Taking no chances, Sutton circled the rocks. He climbed onto the one sheltering Pete.

“Ranger. You hit bad?” he called.

“I’m. done for,” Pete gasped. “You got me. in my. guts. Hurts. somethin’ fierce. Reckon. you win.”

“Aw, gee. That’s a real shame, lawman.”

“Just. finish me off, will. ya?” Pete pleaded.

“With pleasure, Ranger.”

Sutton stuck his head over the boulder. Pete shot him between the eyes. Sutton plunged off the rock and thudded to the ground, alongside the Ranger.

“Judd?” Reed called. “Judd?”

“He’s dead,” Pete answered. “So are you, Reed, unless you throw down your gun, right now.”

“Not a chance, Ranger,” Reed screamed. He raced toward Pete, firing wildly. One bullet grazed Pete’s scalp, then Pete aimed carefully as Reed loomed above him. He fired twice, his first shot taking Reed in the stomach, the second in his left breast. Reed spun, then crashed face-down. Silence descended. The only sounds were Pete’s labored breathing and the moaning of the badly wounded Pardee.

Pete reloaded his gun, then pushed himself to his feet. He staggered to where Pardee lay, hands clamped to his gut. Pete kicked Pardee’s gun out of reach.

“You gotta help me,” Pardee begged.

“Soon as I check your pardners, I’ll see what I can do for you,” Pete promised. He checked the other men, making sure they were dead. That done, he whistled for Trooper. A moment later, the big bay trotted up to the Ranger and nuzzled his shoulder.

“Good boy, Troop,” Pete praised. He dug in his saddlebags for his medical kit and a clean cloth, then returned to Pardee.

“Lemme see what I can do for you,” he said.

“Dunno if you can do anythin’,” Pardee answered. “You gut-shot me, Ranger. Figure I’ve had it, but at least takin a slug’s better’n hangin’.”

“Let me take a look.”

Pete opened Pardee’s shirt.

“You’re hit bad, all right,” he said. He placed the cloth over the bullet hole in Pardee’s middle.

“Be right back.” Pete pulled the shirt off Ben Reed, tore it into strips, then used those to tie the bandage in place.

“Best I can do for you until we reach town and I get you to the doc,” Pete noted.

“Ranger, all my pardners are dead, ain’t they?”

“They sure are.”

“Listen to me. I’m not gonna die and let Montrose get away with his scheme. That banker was behind the whole thing. It was his idea to have his own bank robbed, then after a few weeks, when things had quieted down, get the money back. He’d been embezzling from his customers for quite a spell. Needed some way to cover that up.”

“I know,” Pete answered. “I found his letter in Hunter’s saddlebags. Figured if I didn’t let on Montrose’d trip himself up.”

“You ruined everythin’ when you shot Hunter,” Pardee complained.

“We’d better get movin’. I’ll load up your pards, get you in the saddle, and we’ll head for town,” Pete said.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, except mebbe to Hell,” Pardee replied.

The bullet in Pete’s back was out of his reach. It would have to remain where it was until he could get to a doctor. Fighting the pain and nausea which threatened to overcome him, he retrieved the outlaws’ horses, draped the dead men belly-down over their saddles, then got Pardee onto his horse. He tied the wounded man in place.

“Try’n hold on until we reach Rankin,” Pete told him.

“I’ll do my best,” Pardee answered, then slumped over his horse’s neck.