Outlaw Hearts (58 page)

Hank hung back while Jake dismounted and ran farther along the riverbank to take a position where he could see the guard at the top of the east butte. He watched the west butte, where a man was sitting rather than standing. If either Hank or Charlie were as good a shot as he from a distance, they would have taken both men by gunshot. Jake had considered taking them both himself, but from their position, the minute a shot was fired, the other man could easily spread himself flat and be out of sight. It was important to get both guards to be sure Jake and Hank could ride through and around the buttes without being shot at from above.

He caught a glimpse of Charlie then. He crouched and took aim, waiting. Quietly and quickly, Charlie, who'd learned his stealthy approaches from living with the Indians for a time, had an arm around his man's throat and a knife rammed into his back. At the same moment, Jake fired at the second man. He watched the man's arms fly up, his rifle tumble from his hand. Slowly, almost gracefully, his body dived forward for the long drop to the bottom of the butte. Jake heard the thud as it hit a large rock, watched it bounce against a couple more boulders before sprawling in gravel near the riverbank only a few yards away. His side vision caught the body of Charlie's victim also plunging to his death from the west butte.

“Let's go!” Jake called to Hank. “They're both down!”

He mounted his horse, and Hank, already mounted, headed east, disappearing around the butte while Jake kicked Bandit's sides and headed the horse at a hard gallop directly between the buttes and toward the ranch. Charlie scrambled down from his killing point and headed up along the west side of the grounds.

Under the falls, Miranda caught the faint sound of a gunshot. She knew it would be Jake's. She took up the shotgun and rose from her resting place, feeling insane with wonder over what might be happening to her husband and son. She did not know a rider, who had been heading along the river to the ranch, one of Latimer's men, had spotted her. The man had glanced at the waterfall and saw her sitting under it. Quickly he had turned his horse and ridden out of sight, then dismounted and headed for the river. He moved alongside the boulder near where Miranda sat. Water splashed his hat and face, but he paid no attention. Something was up. What the hell was a woman doing lurking under that waterfall?

He peeked around the boulder, saw two horses tied beyond the waterfall on the other side. It was then he also heard the gunshot. He darted back again, unable to determine just where it had come from. When he looked around the boulder again, the woman was heading toward the other side of the fall. He quickly made his move, knowing the roaring water would keep her from hearing him.

Miranda gasped when an arm suddenly came around her chest and arms from behind. She felt a gun in her ribs. “Well, now, what do we have here?” came a man's voice.

Never
hesitate
, Jake had told her so many times.
It's either you or them.
She still held the shotgun, and her forearms were free. Quickly she turned the firearm in her hands and swung it backward, ramming it hard in the direction of the man's face and hoping to hit her abductor with the barrel end. Her quick thinking worked. She felt the jolt, heard the man grunt as the end of the shotgun barrel landed into his eye.

He let go of Miranda, and she swung around, firing the shotgun without a moment's hesitation. The jolt knocked her backward. She dropped the shotgun and landed on her back, then lay there a moment, struggling to get her breath. When she was able to get to her feet again, she saw her abductor lay sprawled on a rock under the waterfall, his middle a mass of blood.

Miranda gasped, vomit coming to her throat. In terror, she picked up the shotgun and ran, grabbing her doctor bag from her horse and heading out from under the waterfall. She followed the riverbank, searching for the two buttes Charlie had mentioned. “Help me, Jake,” she whimpered. “I've killed a man!” She stopped to get her breath, telling herself to calm down. She would be no help to her husband and son in a panicked condition. “Jake, Jake,” she whimpered, clinging to the shotgun. With shaking hands she hurriedly opened it and put another shell in the chamber she had emptied. They were both filled again. She closed the gun, then gasped when she heard more gunfire. She ran in the direction of the sound.

Jake was already heading straight into the ranch grounds. To his right he saw Hank running along the east fence. Two men were running toward Jake from a corral where horses were prancing about. A shot rang out, and one went down, shot in the back by Hank. Jake crouched in the saddle and shot the second man, trying to keep count. That was at least four down. On his way in he thought he'd heard the sound of his shotgun going off. The sound was so distant and muffled he couldn't be sure, but it had startled him for a moment. He had to fight to stay alert to what was happening right in front of him. Had Miranda fired the shotgun? What the hell was she shooting at? Had there been someone back there they hadn't seen?

He jumped off Bandit before the horse could even come to a halt. The horse kept running, and Jake ducked behind a large stump. He saw Hank moving closer to the shed across the wide ranch grounds to his right. To his left Charlie moved along the western fence line. Suddenly a man charged out of the shed and rode around the back side of the buildings. Hank fired at him and missed. At the same time three men came clamoring out of the bunkhouse several yards ahead of Jake and beyond the house. Everything was happening at once.

Jake raised up and shot at the three men, who were cursing and shouting and trying to get to the house. Two went down right away. The third cried out and rolled to hide behind a pump house. Jake got up and ran hard toward a wagon. The third man and the one riding around the west end fired at him, and he felt a sting across the top of his left shoulder. He jumped into the wagon and lay flat.

Charlie rose up then and shot at the man on horseback, hitting him in the leg. The man shot back, and Charlie felt a jolt to his left arm. He fell flat and the wounded man kept riding. The third man, who Jake had wounded and who had hid behind the pump house, got up and ran toward the wagon then, thinking Jake might be lying dead inside. When he peeked over the side, Jake's revolver was drawn. He fired, opening a hole in the man's face. The man made no sound as his head jerked fiercely. He slumped to his death.

Jake looked out of the wagon to see Charlie down. The man he had wounded was still riding. To Jake's horror he saw Miranda running along the fence then. He started to fire at the rider, but more gunshots erupted, this time from the house. They splintered into the wagon, and Jake dove flat again into its bottom. He heard the shotgun explode again, looked through a crack in the wagon to see the fleeing rider's horse go down, sending the man sprawling. Miranda was on her rump. She pulled her pistol from its holster and shot at the rider before he could get up again.

“Good shot,
mi
esposa
,” Jake muttered.

Miranda looked toward the wagon then, and Jake could see she was in a kind of daze. “Jake!” she screamed. “Jake, where are you?”

“Get the hell down!” he shouted. “Get down and stay there!”

More shots slammed into the wagon. Jake jumped out then, running and rolling to the pump house. Two men came charging out of the main house, and Jake caught sight then of Hank running at the house from the back. Someone fired from the barn, hitting Hank in the back. The man cried out and sprawled onto his face.

“Damn!” Jake fumed. There was only him and Charlie now, and Charlie was wounded. He whipped out his revolver and fired at the two men coming toward him from the house, swiftly ending their lives. Revolver in his left hand and rifle in his right, he made a mad dash for the bunkhouse, charging inside, revolver ready. The bunkhouse was empty. He scrambled to think as he shoved two more bullets into his revolver to replace those he had used. He had downed at least seven himself. Charlie and Hank had each got one, and even Miranda had killed one. That made ten, maybe eleven, if Miranda had shot someone back at the waterfall. He was apparently the only one left to end this, and his own left shoulder was bleeding and hurting. As far as he could determine, there was someone left in the house and in the barn. He couldn't be sure how many, and now there was Miranda to worry about.

“What the hell is going on?” a voice shouted from the house. “Who the hell is out there?”

Jake scurried to a window. “That you, Latimer?” he shouted.

“It's me.”

“It's Jake Harkner! You've got my son, you sonofabitch! You're gonna
die
for it!”

“Give it up, Harkner! The boy is already dead! Leave now, or you'll be dead too!”

Jake closed his eyes. The man had to be lying! He had to be! Lloyd!

Lying flat in the tall grass along the west fence, Miranda felt the tears coming. No! It couldn't be true that her son was dead! God wouldn't do this. She wanted to go and try to help Jake, but she knew the rest was up to him now. If she went running into the line of fire, she could be the cause of him getting himself killed.

Neither of them knew that their son was hanging by his wrists inside the shed, his body battered by a whipping and a beating, as well as two bullet wounds. The nearly unconscious young man thought he heard a lot of shooting outside. He decided he must surely be dying, for he thought he'd heard his father's voice
. It's Jake Harkner…you've got my
son.

“Pa,” Lloyd muttered, tears forming in his eyes. How he wished it could be true his father was coming for him, but that was impossible. He hated him all the more for being in prison where he couldn't come to his aid, hated him for being the reason he was suffering this ungodly pain at the hands of Jube Latimer. His own father had been just as bad once, and it sickened him. That little voice that had plagued him since he had first deserted his family tried to tell him his father couldn't have done the things Jube Latimer was capable of doing, that he still loved his father and it was his own fault he hung here now near death. But he didn't like to listen to that little voice. If he could just have some whiskey, he could make the voice go away. Blood kept dripping from a bullet wound to his thigh, and wishing for the blessed relief of death, he slipped back into unconsciousness.

“You've got one chance, Latimer,” Jake shouted from the bunkhouse. “Show yourself, and I'll give you a chance in a fair gunfight. That's the only way you can hope to live!”

“Fair? Against Jake Harkner after I've killed his son? No way, Harkner. You're gonna have to come in and get me. I'll blow your guts out before you reach the back door!”

“And you're a goddamned coward, Latimer! You're brave enough when you're surrounded by your men, brave enough to torture and kill one helpless kid, but you can't face a man one on one, can you?”

“Jake! It's Charlie! I'm comin' in!” Jake whirled to see Charlie plunge into the bunkhouse by a back door. His left arm was bleeding badly. “I managed to work my way around here. You go on and rout them out in the barn! I'll keep the ones in the house busy. I can do that much.”

Jake nodded, heading for the back door. He ducked outside, and Charlie began firing toward the house, shattering windows. Jake ran for the barn, flattening himself against an outside wall. He was out of sight of the house now. He inched toward a door, then heard a click behind him. Like lightning he whirled and fired, hitting a man who had sneaked around the back side of the barn. At the same time someone shoved open the barn door where he stood, slamming the door into him and knocking him flat. Rifle and revolver both flew out of his hands, and he rolled onto his back just in time to see his attacker coming at him with a pitchfork.

Jake quickly rolled away, but one fork gouged across his upper back, leaving a deep gash. Jake forced himself to ignore the pain, rolled to his knees to see the pitchfork coming at him again. He managed to grasp it at the base of the tines and push up. He could hear gunfire, knew Charlie was doing his best to keep whoever was left inside the house right where they were. He had no idea if anyone else was in the barn and could only concentrate on the huge, determined man who had attacked him. The man kicked at him, caught him in the chest, but Jake hung on, managed to get to his feet.

The two men wrestled for the fork then. The bear-sized man managed to whirl the pitchfork around so that he held the handle crosswise in both hands. He forced Jake to his back, tried to shove the handle of the pitchfork against his throat. Jake grabbed on and pushed back, using his fury over the fact that these men might have killed Lloyd to draw on an inner strength he himself didn't even know he still possessed. In spite of the decreased strength in his crippled right hand, he managed to shove back and roll his attacker off him and onto his back.

Now it was Jake who pushed, just enough to make the bigger man think he was going to try to choke him the same way. Instead, Jake suddenly yanked upward, jerking the pitchfork right out of the man's hands. In an instant he whirled the weapon forward and plunged it into the man's belly.

His attacker, so big that he had been too slow to roll out of the way, grunted, staring wide-eyed at Jake then. He began to tremble violently. Jake jerked out the pitchfork, his dark eyes on fire with the ruthlessness of the old Jake. “This one is for my
son
,” he growled. He plunged the pitchfork again, deep into the man's throat, and blood spurted onto Jake's shirt. “You fat, murdering bastard!” Jake shouted, enjoying the gruesome sight. He left the weapon where it was and went to pick up his revolver and rifle.

It was then he saw her. Miranda was crouched behind a watering trough, gaping wide-eyed at the pitchfork sticking out of the man's throat. Jake ran to the trough, crouching down beside her. “What the
hell
are you doing back here!” he demanded.