Demon's Pass (13 page)

“Hear me,” Two Ponies said. “I am a man of many winter-counts. I am old and set in my ways, and I find peace in the quiet times. You are a young woman, and I fear your blood will be too hot and your desire too strong. I cannot share the hot blood and the strong desire with one as young as you. And I do not wish to try.”

“I don't understand,” Elizabeth said. “Why did you marry me?”

“Did you wish to marry Elk Heart?”

“No,” Elizabeth said. “Absolutely not!”

“Then it was good for you to marry me, for now Elk Heart has no claim on you. You are safe.”

Elizabeth realized then what Two Ponies had done for her, and never had she felt a greater sense of gratitude toward anyone.

“Two Ponies, I thank you,” she said. “From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for what you have done for me.”

Two Ponies nodded once, then, without speaking, turned and walked away. Elizabeth saw him head toward Moon Cow Woman's hogan, and she was glad.

 

 

As the iron-rimmed wheels rolled across the sun-baked earth, they picked up dirt, causing a rooster tail of dust to stream out behind them. Because the trail was wide enough, the wagons were moving three abreast. That was preferable to traveling in line because it kept anyone from having to eat the dust of the wagon in front of them.

Clay and Parker were riding in front, with Greg and Paul on each flank. As he rode along, Parker made several practice draws of his pistol, though he wasn't actually shooting.

“You're getting pretty good with that gun,” Clay remarked.

“I'd like to get as good as Jason.”

“I'll admit that he is fast,” Clay said. “I just hope he has the maturity to go with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It gives a man a lot of power to be able to draw and shoot as well as Jason can. And a lot of people can't handle that power. They see other people getting scared of them, and it turns something over in them. Sometimes it turns them into very unpleasant people.”

“You mean like bullies?”

“Yes.”

“You don't have to worry about Jason,” Parker insisted. “He's as nice a guy as you might even want to meet.”

“He seems that way,” Clay agreed. “But, I wasn't only talking about him.”

“Who else were you . . .” Parker started, then he stopped. “Clay, you aren't talking about me, are you?”

Clay shook his head. “I'm not talking about you, the way you are now,” he said. “But what if you get as fast as Jason. Or faster.”

“Faster?” Parker laughed. “I don't see how anyone could be any faster.”

“Well, that's a question, isn't it? The time might come when someone might want that issue settled. And there would be only one way to find out.”

“How?” Parker asked. Then, realizing what Clay was suggesting, he gasped. “No, never! You are saying that someday Jason and I might have a gunfight, aren't you?”

“It is not something I would expect,” Clay said. “As I said, I'm sure you and Jason can both handle it. But I want you to know all the dangers before they happen. That way it's easier to look out for them.”

“You don't have to worry about Jason and me. We'd never do anything like that.”

Clay stopped, then held up his hand, signaling for everyone else to stop. Parker heard the squeak of brakes being set, and the commands of “Whoa” from the drivers as they reined in their teams.

“What is it, Clay?”

Clay reached back into his saddlebag and drew out a telescope. Opening it, he looked at something far ahead.

“Do you see something?” Clay asked.

“I saw a couple of men on horseback.”

“What's wrong with that? This is one of the main trails, isn't it?”

“Yes,” Clay replied. “And ordinarily, seeing someone wouldn't arouse any suspicions. But for some reason, these men didn't want to be seen. They were bent low over their horses, and they rode quickly across the open gap. Now they're behind that ridge.” He pointed out the location.

“So, what do you think?” Parker asked.

“I think we should have a little meeting.” Clay and Parker turned and rode back toward the wagons. By now the two outriders, Tobin and Gibson, had noticed that Clay and Parker were coming back to the wagons and they rode in to see what was going on.

“See something?” Marcus asked.

“Couple of riders who didn't want to be seen,” Clay said.

Tobin snorted. “Only two riders? There's seven of us. What's the problem?”

“You ever seen just two cockroaches?” Marcus asked. “You heard him tell they didn't want to be seen. You can count on there bein' more of 'em.”

“What do you think they want?” Pecorino asked.

“Probably what we've got,” Clay said.

“What are your plans?” Marcus asked. “You want to go in line?”

“No,” Clay answered. “We'll stay abreast but we'll alter it a little. Jason, you pull your wagon somewhat ahead. Marcus, you and Frank drop back a little on each side, so you form a V. When they hit, we'll get inside the V. That should give us a little protection. Get your guns ready.”

Marcus jacked a shell into his Winchester, then lay it on the seat alongside him. Pecorino broke down his double-barrel greener shotgun, checked the loads, then snapped it shut. The others spun their revolvers, making sure the chambers were full.

With a prickly sensation sneaking up his skin, Parker rode alongside Clay as they continued to move forward cautiously.

“Do you see that opening in the ridge, about a hundred yards ahead?” Clay asked.

“I see it.”

“That's where they'll hit us.”

Parker tried to answer, but somehow his tongue seemed to have swollen in his mouth and he couldn't speak. Instead, he nodded.

“Are you scared?” Clay asked.

“No,” Parker answered. Clay looked at him, then sheepishly, Parker recanted. “Yes.”

“Good.”

“It's good that I'm scared?”

“I should say so. Only a crazy man wouldn't be afraid. And when I get into a gun battle, I only want levelheaded men around me,” Clay said.

They rode on in silence for another few seconds, then, suddenly, five mounted men burst out through the opening in the ridge. With screams of challenge in their throats, they rode at a hard gallop toward the wagon party.

“Back to the wagons!” Clay shouted, jerking his horse around as he yelled. Parker followed, reaching the wagons at about the same time Tobin and Gibson came in from the flanks.

Stopping the wagons, the three drivers jumped down into the barricade within the protective V. All had their weapons ready.

The outlaws, with their pistols extended in front of them, began firing. The flat reports floated across the open ground to them, reaching their ears at about the same time the bullets began whistling by.

“Take aim, but hold your fire!” Clay shouted. Parker aimed at one of the men and, with his hands trembling slightly, held it as the riders swept closer. The outlaws continued pouring in a steady barrage of fire, and as they got closer, their bullets began hitting the wagons, sending out splinters with a solid, thocking sound.

Parker's eyes widened as the riders came closer, seeing that the big man leading them was Arnold Fenton. Steeling his nerves, he aimed directly at Fenton.

“Now!” Clay shouted.

Parker pulled the trigger. Fenton tumbled from his saddle, as did two others.

The two remaining outlaws, suddenly realizing the precariousness of their position, jerked their horses to a halt. Then, turning them around, they started off at a full gallop.

Tobin and Gibson mounted their own horses and started after them.

“No!” Clay shouted. “No, let them go!”

The two outriders paid no attention to Clay's order. Smelling blood, they intended to make the final kill.

Then one of the retreating outlaws, seeing that only two men were chasing them, turned his horse around and started riding back toward them.

“What's he doing?” Marcus asked. “Has he gone crazy?”

The outlaw fired twice. Gibson was knocked from his horse and Tobin dropped his gun and grabbed his shoulder. The outlaw rode right up to Tobin and Parker thought he was going to shoot him. Instead, the outlaw did something that was totally unexpected. He motioned with his gun that Tobin should return to the wagons and he came riding in behind him, all the while holding his gun on Tobin.

Marcus jacked another shell into his rifle and took aim at the outlaw who was bringing Tobin back in.

“No, don't shoot him,” Clay said, reaching his hand out and pushing the barrel of the gun down.

The outlaw came to within about ten yards of the wagons, then stopped. His gun was still trained on Tobin.

Behind the outlaw, on a slight rise nearly a hundred yards away, the other outlaw was sitting on his horse, silhouetted against the sky. He seemed to just be waiting there, looking back toward the wagons as if curious to see what was going on.

“One of you fellas named Springer?” the outlaw with Tobin asked.

“I'm Springer,” Clay answered, stepping out from behind the wagons. “Who are you?”

“The name is Shardeen.” Shardeen nodded toward the three outlaws who were lying on the ground about thirty yards away. “Are they all dead?”

“I don't know,” Clay said. “We haven't gone over to look. What about Gibson?”

“That the fella I shot?”

“Yes.”

“He's dead,” Shardeen said. He nodded toward Tobin. “He would be dead too, if I wanted him to be.”

“What do you want, Shardeen?”

“I'd like you to send one of those boys out to look at my pards,” Shardeen said. “I need to know if they're dead or alive before I ride off.”

“What makes you think I'm going to let you just ride off?”

“ 'Cause you got nothin' to lose now. There's nobody left but Murdock and me. And we damn sure ain't goin' to make another try at you. Also, if you try and stop me now there's goin' to be more killin'. I'll get at least two more of you before you get me.”

“Parker, ride over and take a look at them,” Clay ordered. “And be careful when you approach them. Could be one or two of ‘em's playin' possum.”

Climbing onto his horse, Parker rode over to have a closer look at the three men lying on the ground. Two of the outlaws' horses had run away, but one was standing nearby, casually cropping grass.

With his gun held ready, Parker slid down from his horse and walked over to the three prone men. Two were lying facedown, and one face-up. The one who was face up was Arnold Fenton.

Fenton was the one Parker had been aiming at and he had seen him fall just as he shot. Parker had never killed anyone—hell, he had never even shot at anyone before. The thought that he was the one who killed Fenton was a little disquieting. As he examined him more closely though, he saw that the outlaw had been hit by at least four bullets. There was no way of knowing if one of the bullets was his. And even if one of them did come from his gun, he had certainly not been the only cause of Fenton's death. It made him feel a little better.

Leaving Fenton's corpse, Parker checked the other two outlaws. They, too, were dead. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called back toward the wagons.

“All dead!”

“Come on back!” Clay called back to him.

Parker took one more look at Fenton before he mounted and rode back to join the others.

“So, what's it going to be, Springer?” Shardeen asked. “Do Murdock and I ride out of here? Or is there goin' to be some more killin'?”

“You can go,” Clay said.

Shardeen started to turn, then he stopped and smiled. “Wait a minute. What's to keep you from shootin' me as I ride off?”

“Nothing,” Clay said.

“Maybe I need to take this fella back with me for a bit,” Shardeen said, indicating Tobin. “I'll let him go when we reach the ridge line.”

“How do we know you won't take him up there and shoot him?” Clay said.

“I don't reckon there's any way you can know that,” Shardeen said.

“Then what we've got here is a Mexican standoff,” Clay suggested.

“I'll go with him,” Jason volunteered.

“All right,” Clay said.

Shardeen scoffed. “You're sending a boy to do a man's job?”

“Were you in the war, Shardeen?”

“Yeah,” Shardeen answered. “I was Sescesh. I rode with Bill Anderson. What about you?”

“I wore the blue. But at places like Shiloh and Antietam and Gettysburg, I saw a lot of boys no older than this one, doing a man's job. Don't make the mistake of underestimating him.”

“All right, boy, let's me an' you ride out,” Shardeen said.

“Put your gun away,” Jason said.

Shardeen thought for a moment, then he shook his head. “Naw, I don't think I want to do that. But I tell you what I will do. I'll ease the hammer back down.”

“Good,” Jason said. “That'll make us even.”

Shardeen laughed. “Even? How do you figure that?”

Like a striking snake, Jason's hand went to his holster. As fast as a fleeting thought, the pistol appeared in his hand, and before Shardeen realized what was going on, Jason was pointing his gun toward him.

“I figure it like this,” Jason said with a broad smile.