Black Valley Riders

From two different hiding places, Thorn and the gambler slipped over the edge of the smooth rock surface and ran forward in a crouch, meeting where Sandoval stood in the glow of the firelight, bloody ax blade in hand.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Lucas replied almost jokingly, but he did as he was told, quickly, as the ranger walked into sight leading Sentanza’s tired horse by its reins.

“I don’t think so,” Sam said. “He could have done that by firing shots in the air. I think he decided it was time to get out of here and save his own skin.” He looked at Lucas, who had begun rummaging through the dead man’s saddlebags on the ground by the fire. “What are you looking for, gambler?”

“Take your hands out of those saddlebags,” Sam said. “They better be empty,” he warned. “Anyway, you’ve got enough whiskey.”

“Enough whiskey?” Lucas let out a sigh. “Ranger, a drunkard never has enough whiskey.” He ignored the ranger and continued to rummage.

“You do,” Sam said, reaching a boot over and clamping it down on the saddlebags. “Now take them out, empty, like I told you.”

“If you insist,” Lucas said. He removed his hands as the ranger raised his boot. Holding his hands chest high, he said, “All right, there is a gun in there. But obviously I had no idea when I began searching. I truly was looking for whiskey, on my word as a gentleman.”

The ranger stooped down, pulled out a small pistol and stood up shaking his head. “You’re getting on everybody’s nerves, Lucas,” he said, shoving the small pistol into his belt beside Lucas’ Colt Thunderer. “Keep it up and we’ll be right back to a charge of horse theft and a set of handcuffs.”

Lucas sat down and slumped and shook his head. “What do you really think I am, Ranger, a member of the Black Valley Riders?” He held up the lapels of his thin, ragged suit coat. “Look, I don’t even have the proper accessories. What self-respecting Black Valley member would be caught without his silver quarter-moon and star pendant?”

“Now, that hurts, Ranger,” said Lucas. “I am a gambler, and a damn good one . . . that is, when I’m on my game.” He looked up and back and forth among the three as they stared down at him.

“That’s the trouble, gambler,” Sam said. “I haven’t yet figured out just what your game is. That’s why you’re not packing a gun and getting the chance to warn anybody we’re coming.”

“I would not do that, Ranger,” Lucas said. “For reasons you would never understand, I would not warn Shear and his men that you are coming. I do have some self-respect left. Not a lot, but some.”

He looked up at Thorn and saw the questioning look on his face. “Well, Captain, you’ve studied me awfully close since our paths crossed. What do you say my game is? Have you figured me out yet?”

Thorn appeared to be on the verge of saying something. But he stopped himself, shook his head and said instead, “You’re a contemptible drunk who doesn’t know which side to be on. You’re not a part of the Black Valley Riders, but you beg for crumbs at their table. You sell them just enough of your soul to keep yourself in cheap rye. You ally yourself with nothing or no one—”

“No, you don’t,” said Thorn. Seeing the sting his words had given the gambler, he refused to let up. “That’s because you have nothing—you have nobody. You’re afraid too, gambler. That makes you a coward.”

“A coward! How dare you, sir!” said Lucas, suddenly coming to his feet, his fists clenched at his side. Sam and Sandoval looked on, witnessing a dark, serious side to Lucas that they’d not seen before. “You know nothing about me!”

“You’re wrong, gambler,” said Thorn, a look of realization having come upon his face. “I know all there is to know about you. I know everything about you. You’ve made a lifelong practice of picking the wrong side to be on.”

“I was not on the wrong side, Thorn,” said Lucas. “I was on the side that didn’t win.” He glowered. “But enough of that, sir. You have pushed me too far.”

The gambler stepped toward Cadden Thorn with fire in his bloodshot eyes, but the bounty hunter didn’t back an inch. “I hope you’re not demanding satisfaction, Tinnis Lucas, if that is your name,” Thorn said. “I refuse to waste my time on such a sorry creature as you.”

The ranger and Sandoval glanced out across the darkness, then back to the two men standing almost chest to chest in the grainy night. “Easy, men,” Sam said. “Whatever this is about, you’ll have to take it up later. We’re inside the Black Valley Riders’ lair. We need to keep moving and get this job done.” Even as Sam spoke, Sandoval stood to the side as if prepared to be Thorn’s second in a gentleman’s duel if need be.

“Right you are, Ranger,” Thorn said without taking his eyes off Lucas. “We’ll finish our little talk later, gambler . . . sober. That is, if you think your nerves can take it.”

“At your pleasure, Captain Thorn,” Lucas said with a newfound strength to his voice. “Whether I’m drunk or sober, my nerves are holding up remarkably well.”

The ranger watched with a flat expression. Whatever situation had begun to act itself out between these two was of a personal nature, he told himself. He wasn’t sure how he could tell, but he could tell.

Stepping closer to the ranger, Sandoval whispered in private, “As you were, Ranger. The captain knows what he’s doing.”

The ranger only nodded. So does the gambler . . . , he said silently to himself. He hadn’t mentioned it, but ever since he’d seen the way Lucas had handled getting himself down from the tree, he’d begun to notice a different side to Tinnis Lucas.

When Mingo Sentanza had reached what he considered a safe distance higher up the trail from the bounty hunters and the ranger, he stopped his horse and looked back across the dark valley floor. He smiled to himself. He liked the idea of taking off on Callahan’s horse and leaving the big Irish gunman there alone—him and his warm can of beans. The fact that he’d heard no gunfire the past few minutes told him that by now Callahan was either dead or in irons.

He had been on the verge of easing over and slicing Callahan’s throat when he’d realized there were men slipping down around them in the night. But this was better, he thought. Let them kill Callahan, or take him prisoner.

Still, just for good measure, he raised his Winchester from its boot, propped its butt down on his thigh and levered three shots straight up into the purple sky. “Who can say a damn thing?” he murmured, rehearsing his future explanation, should one ever be needed. He’d done exactly as he was supposed to do, except for abandoning his loudmouthed partner. “I warned you first,” he practiced saying to Shear. “Then I grabbed the closest horse and cut out.” He added with a grin, “Oh, poor Callahan is dead? Captured? That is too bad. . . .”

He stared through the night in the direction of the cabin sitting across the wide valley floor. Then he slipped the rifle back into its boot, turned the horse and rode away.

Across the valley on the front porch of the cabin, Ballard Swean stood up from his wooden chair with a blanket wrapped around him, rifle in hand. He stared off toward the sound of the distant rifle shots and wiped sleep from his eyes. The sound of voices came from within the cabin behind him. He searched the black far-off hill line as if something would reveal itself to him.

“Did that come from our lookouts?” Shear asked, stomping out onto the porch, shoving his shirttails down into his trousers. He stood barefoot. He’d thrown his gun belt over his shoulder when his feet had hit the plank floor and drawn his big Dance Brothers pistol from its holster. He held it cocked and raised in his right hand.

“Yeah,” said Swean, “it’s warning shots from Sentanza and Callahan. We’ve got somebody coming, no doubt about it.” He threw his blanket aside. “Want me to take some men out and set up an ambush along the trail?”

“No, not this time,” said Shear. “We’re all set to move out come morning. We’ll just leave tonight instead. There’ll be plenty of places to pull an ambush between here and the north wall.” He uncocked the big pistol and let it hang in his hand.

“If these sonsabitches want to come visit Black Valley, we’ll do our best to take them on a guided tour,” he said.

Hearing the signal shots, the rest of the awakened gunmen came running up from all directions to see what Shear would want them to do.

“We’re not running, are we, Big Aces?” a thin gunman named Ted Lasko asked, hearing what Shear had just told Swean.

“Hell no,” said Shear. “But I want whoever’s out there to think we are, for the time being anyway.” He looked quickly around at more than a dozen gunmen gathering around him.

“Yes,” said Shear. “You’ll find Metcalf and some men there. Tell him to start getting things ready, that we’re headed his way. As soon as we ride through the pass, I want him to be all set to close it off behind us.”

“I don’t know,” said Shear. “But it won’t matter. You’ve got enough explosives and equipment to turn back an army out there. Now get moving.”

Shear slid his Dance Brothers back into its holster and turned and stomped back inside the cabin, Swean right behind him. Over his shoulder Shear said to him, “We won’t be coming back here for a while. Make sure you take all your gear with you.”

In moments, Barnes had saddled his horse, mounted it and ridden away from the livery barn. The rest of the men had saddled their horses and hurriedly led them back to the cabin. They mounted their animals as Swean and Shear came back out onto the porch.

“If it’s the same ones who killed our men in Minton Hill, there’s just the three I told you about,” Fisk replied.

Fisk looked at Epson and Duckwald. “Nobody else that we saw,” Fisk said, getting a little irritated that Shear pressed so hard. “Hell, I can’t say who might have come along and joined them.”

Feeling a tension set in among Shear, Fisk and the other two men, Swean said, “Hell’s fire, Big Aces, like as not, with this kind of a head start, they’ll be lucky if they get close enough to see our dust.”

“I don’t like getting up and leaving my bed in the middle of the night for nobody,” Shear said. He stared hard at Fisk and the other two as he stepped down from the porch and walked to Pickens, who stood holding his horse for him.

As Fisk, Duckwald and Epson stepped their horses over beside him, Fisk said, “If they get close enough to us, Big Aces, they’ll wish to hell they had our names in their mouths.”

“If they get close enough to us, I’ll hold you to that, Elmer,” Shear said, jerking his horse around and booting it toward the north trail.