6

Taggart spent several frustrating days recuperating. Sheriff Moran informed the Ranger he and his deputies had failed to locate Travis Burnham.

“We lost his trail not far from where he drygulched you,” Moran had said. “I have no idea where he headed. I’ve got men watching the Burnham place, but it’s unlikely he’ll show there. My guess is he’s in Mexico.

“You’re probably right. But I still can’t figure why he doubled back north,” Taggart had answered.

Finally allowed out of bed, Clay was brushing his horse. He looked up at the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

“Someone’s comin’, Mike.”

A moment later, the sheriff rode into the Triangle C yard and dismounted.

“Howdy, Clay.”

“Howdy yourself, Bill. What brings you by? You look as if you’re carryin’ the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“Might as well be. Travis Burnham’s turned up.”

“He has? Where?”

“Pretty much everywhere around here. I just started gettin’ reports from the past several days. He hit the bank in Blewett, then a saloon in Dabney. Rode north to Reagan Wells and robbed their general store. Headed east from there to Utopia, where he robbed another bank and killed the teller. Yesterday he hit the bank in Sabinal.”

“He’s makin’ a circle,” Taggart observed.

“Seems so,” Moran agreed.

“And he’s headed back here to Uvalde. I’d bet my hat on it!” Taggart exclaimed. “C’mon, Mike.”

He grabbed the pinto’s leadrope and started for the barn.

“You figure on goin’ after Burnham?” Moran questioned, following along.

“Darn right,” Taggart answered. He threw the blanket and saddle on Mike’s back.

“You want some help?”

“No, except keep watch on the Burnham spread. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have a better chance of findin’ Burnham on my own. He won’t be lookin’ for me. He thinks he killed me, remember?”

“I reckon you’re right, but where do you start lookin’ for him?”

“Right back where he bushwhacked me. I’ve a hunch his hideout is near there.”

“Where? My men and I went over every inch of that spot,” Moran protested.

“Dunno. But if he’s in there, I’ll find him,” Taggart promised. “Bill, do me a favor. Tell the Collins’ I rode after Burnham. Let them know I’ll be back.”

“Sure. But are you ready to be in the saddle? Doc Palmer…”

“Doesn’t matter what the doc says. Burnham’s got to be stopped.”

Taggart slipped the bit into Mike’s mouth, then mounted.

“Okay. I’ll tell them,” Moran agreed. “You be careful, Clay. Vaya con Dios.”

“Gracias, Bill. Adios.”

Taggart sent Mike out of the yard at a trot. He let the horse warm up for a mile, then put him into a gallop. An hour later, the Ranger was combing the area where he’d been ambushed.

“Burnham’s holed up somewhere in here, Mike. I know it,” he told his horse. “But this time we’re ready for him.”

Taggart dismounted, studying the area from which the shot had come. A chill went up his spine when he looked down into the gully where he’d nearly died. He turned away, and gazed to the top of the bluff.

“Somewhere up there,” he muttered. “That’s gotta be it. Mike, I’ll have to leave you here and go on foot.”

He tied the gelding to a live oak.

Taggart edged along the base of the bluff, seeking any opening large enough to hold a man and horse. He was about to give up when he spied some brush that was dry and withered.

“That doesn’t look right,” he muttered. “It’s been rainin’, so there’s no good reason for those bushes to be dead.”

Taggart yanked on one of the shrubs. It came easily out of the ground, revealing a dim trail climbing through a narrow defile.

“This is it!” Taggart exclaimed. He hurried back to Mike, untied him, and swung into the saddle.

“C’mon, Mike. We’ve got him now!”

Taggart walked his horse into the opening. Fresh hoof prints were evident in the dust.

“Pretty clever. Burnham hid this trail by cutting brush and stickin’ it in front of the entrance. Would’ve

worked, too, if he’d replaced it sooner, before it dried up. Well, he’s not gonna slip away again.”

Twenty minutes later, the defile opened into a small glade, with a cabin at its center.

“No horse in the corral,” Taggart said. “Bet Burnham’s not home. But I’d better make sure.”

Taggart checked the shack and found it empty. He emerged from the cabin… and a bullet whistled past his cheek. The Ranger dove to his belly. When another slug ripped the air over his head, he jerked out his Colt and returned fire. Travis Burnham sent one more bullet in Taggart’s direction, then whirled his bay around and raced for the opposite end of the glade.

Taggart ran for his horse and leapt into the saddle. He touched spurs to Mike’s flanks, putting him into a dead run.

“We’ve got him now, pard. Go, boy!”

There were few horses in Texas which could match the big pinto’s speed and endurance. Mike was well rested and eager to run. He streaked after the fleeing renegade.

The trail emerged onto rolling, open ground, interspersed with low hills and occasional shallow ravines. Although Burnham had a good start, Mike was steadily gaining on the outlaw’s tiring bay.

“He’s headin’ for town. What the devil is he thinkin’?” Taggart muttered. He urged Mike to greater speed.

Burnham turned in his saddle to send several shots at his pursuer. Taggart returned fire, but with accurate aim from the back of a running horse impossible, neither man came near his target.

They pounded into Uvalde. Burnham pulled his bay to a stop in front of the school and jumped from the saddle. He sent one last shot at the Ranger to slow him, then burst into the building.

Taggart left his saddle while Mike was still at a run. He reloaded his sixgun as he raced up the school’s steps. A bullet smacked into the wall over his head when he stepped through the door.

“Drop the gun, Ranger! Right now! Or I’ll kill her!”

Travis Burnham was at the front of the room, Lucy Squires in his grasp. He held his pistol to the side of her head.

“I mean it, Ranger.”

“Let her go, Burnham,” Taggart ordered. “She’s got nothin’ to do with this. Neither do these kids. You don’t want to kill a woman.”

The children were huddled behind their desks, several of the younger ones crying.

“No. You let your gun drop,” Burnham insisted. “I’ll give you ten seconds.”

“You don’t wanna do this,” Taggart replied. “Let her go and we’ll take this outside, man to man.”

“Ranger, this time you’re dead for certain. Only choice you have is whether I kill this schoolmarm before I plug you. What’s it gonna be?”

“Reckon you win, Burnham.”

Taggart lowered his gun. Too late, he spied movement from the corner of his eye.

“Jesse, Bobby. No!”

The boys had slipped from their seats while Burnham was occupied with the Ranger. Now, they rushed to the front of the room and dove at their teacher. The collision separated her from Burnham’s grasp.

For a split-second, Burnham’s attention was diverted from Taggart. Nonetheless, he was already thumbing back the hammer of his sixgun when the Ranger lifted his Peacemaker and fired. Burnham pulled his trigger at the same moment. Taggart’s bullet took the outlaw in his belly, while Burnham’s hastily fired shot slammed into the Ranger’s side.

The mortally wounded outlaw attempted to level his gun and put another slug into Taggart. Taggart shot him again, through the chest. The bullet smashed Burnham back. He twisted, fell across the teacher’s desk, shuddered, then lay still. Taggart wrested Burnham’s gun from his

hand and tossed it aside. He slid his own gun back in its holster.

“Lucy, are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes. Yes, I am, Clay,” she half-sobbed. “What about you?”

“I’ll be okay. Get the kids out of here.” Under his breath he added, “And get the doc. Now!”

Taggart’s hands were clamped to his side, covering the crimson stain seeping through his shirt.

“All right.”

Lucy hurried the children from the classroom. Once they were outside, Taggart collapsed.