Last Train to Bannock [Clayburn 02] (16 page)

    He said in an ordinary voice, "His horse looks wore out."

    "It is," Cora said shakily.

    "Then we'll leave it here, with him… for Adler's outfit to ponder on when they get here. Which'll be in about three hours."

    He hefted the carbine in his hand, looked at it, then slid it back into his saddle scabbard.

    "But take his rifle," he said, in the same even voice. "It may come in handy."

    

    

    They made cold camp deep in the mountains shortly after nightfall, sharing the beans, hard biscuits and salt beef from Clayburn's food bag and washing it down with water. Clayburn ate slowly, finding it tiring to chew. Finally he gave up.

    "I've had it," he announced, as much to himself as to Cora, listening to the dull sound of his own voice. "We'll have to sleep here and push on at dawn. I've been two days and a night riding without sleep."

    "If it helps any," she said dryly, "I appreciate it."

    Clayburn nodded aimlessly. "It's nice to know." He shoved to his feet and went slowly to get the blanket roll from one of the horses.

    Later, when Cora was bedded down in the blankets, she looked up at his shadowy figure in the faint starlight filtering through the pine boughs. "How about you?" she asked him.

    "I've slept cold before," he told her drowsily. But he continued to stand there, looking down at her.

    Cora's lips quirked. She raised one side of the top blanket a bit. "There's room enough. And we'll both be warmer."

    Clayburn sighed. "I was hoping you'd offer." He lowered himself and slid between the blankets with her, their bodies just touching.

    Cora turned her head and studied his face inches from hers. "You still look all tensed."

    He smiled at her. "Sometimes it takes a while to let go."

    She was silent after that, looking at him meditatively. Finally she said very quietly, "I suppose I could help." She turned on her side, bringing all her soft warmth against him. "After ail, you did earn this much…" There was just a trace of amusement in her voice, and something else. Her hand slid behind his neck, fingers feeling their way through his hair.

    Clayburn made a soft, chuckling sound in his throat, a sound of deep-down animal pleasure. His hands found her. "Sure you know me well enough now?"

    "Well enough…" she whispered with her lips moving on his, "to want to know more…"

    

    

    By the time they broke camp next morning and started north again, Cora's wagon train was being destroyed.

    

    

    It was late afternoon when Clayburn and Cora, riding north up the pass on the trail of her wagons, sighted the buzzards wheeling lazily around an area up ahead. Clayburn eyed the carrion birds narrowly. Without saying anything, he moved his horse along faster. Cora kept pace with him, watching the buzzards and wondering what they meant.

    They found out when they reached the place over which the buzzards hovered. The pass there had high, steep walls, supporting only an occasional dwarf pine or oak. Down in the pass between these high walls was what was left of the wagon train.

    One wagon lay over on its side in the middle of the pass, a back wheel broken on a sharp hump of ground stone. There were dead mules all around it. To one side the rest of the wagons had been formed into a rough fort, with the surviving mules. Nearby, a group of men were engaged in digging two graves. They straightened and stood where they were, bleakly watching Clayburn and Cora approach.

    As he rode up, Clayburn looked at the two dead teamsters stretched on the ground between the grave holes. One was a long, lanky man named Kirby. The other was O'Hara, one of the new men he'd hired in Parrish.

    Kosta was limping badly, one trouser bullet-ripped and blood-stained. One surviving teamster had a broken arm. Another had a bullet-gashed cheek and a torn ear.

    Ranse Blue looked miserably at Cora as they dismounted. "Afraid I let you down, Miss Sorel," he said. He seemed to have aged since Clayburn had last seen him.

    Cora looked dazed and sick. "'How could it happen?" she demanded. Her voice trembled uncontrollably.

    Clayburn answered for Blue. "Easy enough," he said harshly. "With Roud, Haycox and me gone, that left just Blue to ride guard."

    Blue nodded and drew a bony hand across his mouth as if wiping away a taste he didn't like. "They were up on that ridge there," he told them, pointing. "Six of 'em, from their fire. Must've got in position there in the night. We rode right into it just after breakin' camp this morning. They concentrated on the mules."

    "So I see," Clayburn said bitterly. He had counted twenty-one dead mules. He went on thoughtfully, "I had a look at Adler's wagon train yesterday. From a long way off, but I'm damn sure there weren't six men missing from his crew. Anyway, they couldn't spare that many and still handle all their wagons. Which means Adler went and got himself some more men."

    Cora turned her dazed eyes to him. "Where? Where could he get more around here?"

    "From Bannock. Mules pulling heavy wagons move a lot slower than men riding horses. Adler could easily get to Bannock, hire five new men, and get back down here with them in time."

    "He sure picked 'em," Blue rasped. "All good rifle shots. I got Kosta and a couple of others and went up there after 'em. We got one. Found his body. The rest cut and rode off. Guess they figured they'd done what they'd come for. As much as they could do without getting caught up there."

    Kosta spoke up heavily, "They most likely figured they better get to Adler's wagons, to be ready in case we decided to pull the same thing on them… Which ain't a bad idea."

    "Killing some of Adler's mules," Clayburn pointed out, "won't get our wagons to Bannock."

    Blue shook his head ruefully. "We'll have a helluva time try in' to get all this freight through now. We only got enough mules left to pull five of the wagons. We got a spare wheel for that one over there. But if we spread the mules thin to pull all eight wagons, it'll be too slow going. And even if we could pile all the freight on just five wagons, it'd be the same thing. Those five'd be just too heavy for the mules to pull 'em faster'n a crawl."

    Blue looked up at a sky that had become once more completely overcast. "From the looks of that, the heavy snows're gettin' ready to fall. Pretty soon every pass'll be blocked too deep to get through. We won't make it, goin' that slow."

    "Then we'll have to leave three of the loaded wagons behind," Cora said stubbornly. "Come back for them after we get the other five to Bannock."

    "Same trouble," Clayburn told her. "The pass'll be blocked before we could get back. The three wagons would be stuck out here all winter. By spring, Indians would have everything on them."

    Cora shrugged wearily. "Then I'll have to take the loss. There's nothing else we can do."

    "There's one thing…" Clayburn said slowly. His right hand idly smoothed itself against the leather of his holster as he gazed south. "We can get ourselves some more mules."

    Cora frowned at him. "Where?"

    "From Adler."

    Blue gave him a dubious scowl. "How? We ain't got enough crew left to tackle Adler's outfit. With those new men he hired he's just got too many guns for us. And this time he'd be expecting us-and ready."

    "Uh-huh…" Clayburn had a brooding, preoccupied look. "So we'll have to divide and conquer."

    Blue's face showed only puzzlement.

    "Something I learned when I was scouting for the cavalry," Clayburn said absently. "Of course, we'll need help to do it."

    He turned his head and looked east. "In about another day, Adler'll be almost as far north as we are, in that other pass over there. And he'll be a lot nearer to where those Apaches are camped than we are."

    Blue began to get it. His grin was very nasty. "That's not such a bad idea."

    "Not bad at all," Clayburn agreed, and started toward the graves. "Let's get the burying done."

    When the two teamsters were under their mounds of earth and piled stone, the overturned wagon had its broken wheel replaced and was heaved upright. They used the mules that were left to pull five wagons a mile farther up the pass, away from the dead mules. Then the other three freight wagons and the chuck wagon were brought up.

    When they'd finished setting up camp there, Cora turned to Clayburn. "Now what?"

    "Now," Clayburn said, "we wait." He drew from a pocket a deck of playing cards and began to shuffle them with a careless, fluid ease between his strong-fingered hands. "Anybody care for some poker?"

    

    

    Twenty-four hours later, Clayburn stood by his sorrel high on a timbered slope, watching Adler's wagon train come up the pass below him.

    He was alone. Blue and four rifle-armed teamsters were several miles farther north, waiting; they knew what to do if he didn't get back to them in time. Cora, Kosta and the other two teamsters were back in the other pass guarding the wagons.

    The slope on which Clayburn stood was very high, but not steep. Far below, the bottom of this pass was an impassable jumble of rocks and boulders. But a wide ledge near the foot of the slope formed a route for the wagons. The ledge rose higher after it passed Clayburn's position. Any beyond that, out of sight where the slope grew steep, the ledge narrowed till it was only just wide enough for a wagon. Still farther north the ledge went over a ridge and there was a wide route down to an unblocked continuation of the pass.

    From Clayburn's place of concealment just under the top of the slope, the wagons and mules approaching below looked toy-sized. To have gone down any closer wouldn't have given him enough escape room. Clayburn counted the men riding guard. Two came on ahead of the first wagon. There were two on each side of the wagons, riding flank. Two more rode a hundred yards behind the last wagon.

    Eight in all. At that distance they were too small to be identifiable.

    Clayburn got his field glasses and focused them till the two guards riding point became clear in the lenses. One of them was Wilks. The other was Dillon.

    Clayburn moved the glasses slowly along the wagons until he found Adler, riding flank on the other side. He put away the glasses and drew his carbine from its scabbard. Then he waited, watching the wagon train come closer up the wide ledge below.

    When the lead wagons were almost directly under him, Clayburn braced himself against a tree trunk and brought the carbine to his shoulder. He took aim at the tiny figure of Wilks.

    The distance was against him. His first shot kicked up snow between Wilks and Dillon. Both instantly wheeled their horses toward the slope. Clayburn quickly levered another cartridge into firing position, following Wilks with his sights and then leading him a fraction. He fired, levered and fired again, the two shots ringing out one on the other.

    Wilks spun out of his saddle. He hit the snow and rolled, scrambling to his feet. Clutching his shoulder, left arm dangling, Wilks threw himself behind a mound by the time Clayburn levered for another shot.

    Clayburn swung the carbine to fire at Dillon, who vanished into the timber below before the sights were lined up on him. Cursing, Clayburn looked for the other guards. They were all gone from the ledge on which the wagons had pulled up. Which meant they were all in the timber now, working their way up the slope toward him. It was time to get out.

    Sliding the carbine back into its scabbard, Clayburn grabbed the reins and tugged the sorrel after him up the slope. The timber came to an abrupt end. Clayburn went up into the saddle and kicked the sorrel. As he went over the bare crest, guns crashed out at him from the timber below. Clayburn made it down the other side, out of sight, and raced west. The sorrel left a nice clear trail behind it in the snow.

    A mile farther on Clayburn looked back over his shoulder without slowing. There were five of them racing after him. Which meant that only two of them had stayed behind to guard the wagons. So far, so good. Clayburn turned his head and concentrated on getting where he was going ahead of his pursuers.

    One worry was that the five wagon guards might quit and turn back. To encourage them not to, Clayburn twice slowed his horse. Each time they got closer. It was dangerous, cutting his safety margin that thin. But it was necessary to make them believe their horses were faster than his, and would soon run him to ground. If they didn't keep after him all the way the rest of it wouldn't work.

    They were still with him, gradually creeping closer, slowly narrowing the gap, when he rode through a notch and sighted the stream dead ahead of him, the stand of pine on his right. He cut toward the timber and into it. His pursuers made a great deal of noise coming into the dense woods behind him.

    By then Clayburn was on the other side of it, where the timber thinned out abruptly on the rising incline. There was a tall Apache warrior between the upthrustings of rock at the top of the incline-looking directly at him.

    Without slowing, Clayburn whipped out his Colt and fired. The distance was far too great for accuracy with a hand gun. The shot didn't hit its target and wasn't meant to. The Apache vanished below the other side of the incline, down toward his camp by the stream.

    Instantly Clayburn wheeled to the right toward a grouping of boulders leading to a low ridge. He was in among the boulders and sliding from his horse before the five gunmen came in sight behind him. Pulling off his hat. he raised his head just enough to see the incline.