Ralph Compton Whiskey River (8 page)

“You could be right,” Bill said. “If they wanted Estrello out of business in a hurry, killing his men and stealing his wagons and teams would just about do it.”

“At first light,” said Estrello, “we'll take their trail and ride them down.”

While none of his men had died, Estrello had lost many horses and mules intended for trade. A chill wind blew out of the west, and distant fingers of lightning warned them a storm was in the making. Some of the men hunkered down under blankets, their Winchesters ready.

“Let's eat,” said Estrello at first light. “Then we got some killing to do.”

But the attackers had expected pursuit, and instead of running, had set up an ambush. As soon as Estrello's outriders and teams were within range, the bushwhackers cut loose.

“Gun the bastards down,” Estrello shouted.

Amid blazing gunfire, Mark, Bill, and the rest of the teamsters fought to control the frightened teams. Lead struck the metal wagon parts, singing off with a deadly whine. Estello's group fought their way toward the wagons, for it seemed the rival band of outlaws was determined to kill the teamsters. Estrello was furious, and his Winchester roared. The fire from Estrello's outfit was deadly, blazing through the trees, and those begging to surrender were shown no mercy. No prisoners were taken. Pounding feet indicated some of the outlaws running for their lives, their horses having been killed or mortally wounded.

“Save your ammunition, men,” Estrello shouted.

“Let's follow the bastards and kill the others,” Drew Wilder shouted.

“Damn it, no,” said Estrello. “We got to round up them stampeded horses and mules. There's a storm coming.”

A westerly wind brought gray sheets of rain sweeping down upon them. Lightning far to the west was much closer, lighting the leaden skies with golden brilliance.

“We'd never find them now, even if we had the ammunition and the time,” said Ursino.

“Put away your guns,” Estrello shouted, “and try to find yourselves a horse or mule to ride. We got to catch as many of those stampeded horses and mules as we can.”

“It's rainin' so hard you can't see your hand in front of your face,” Snider Irvin said. “Let's scrap this damn run and go after the gold Jake had. You women know where he hid it before he was caught. The gold's still there, and some of us will trail you to hell to find it.

“We'll never tell any of you anything,” Betsy replied. “But we'll tell the law you're hauling and selling illegal whiskey to the Indians, and searching for that stolen gold you blamed on Jake four years ago.”

Estrello laughed. “Nobody can prove we had anything to do with that stolen gold. Old Jake's dead, and that leaves just the two of you, and you won't be talkin' if you're dead.”

“You lying, thieving varmints,” Betsy shouted. “The jury acquitted us. They never once believed we knew where the gold was hidden, and the law won't believe it now.”

“Insurance companies don't take a beatin' like that, without makin' it almighty hot for somebody,” said Estrello. “Sooner or later, we'll find that gold, and then leak word out to the law and the newspapers that the two of you went back and got it.”

“My God,” Bill whispered, unbelieving. “Is all this true?”

“Mostly,” said Betsy, refusing to look at him. “We almost had Jake talked into nothing more dishonest than freighting in illegal whiskey. He was Estrello's second-in-command then, and he wasn't even with the bunch the day they stole the gold. Trying to save Jake, Amanda and me took the gold, managing to hide it before a sheriff's posse caught us.”

“So you fought the law and won,” Mark said, “and now nobody else knows where the stolen gold is. Just what the hell did you aim to do with so much money?”

“Our ma was consumptive,” said Amanda, “and we wanted money for her. But she didn't last that long, and all we could think about was giving back the stolen gold. We had some terrible fights with Jake, because he didn't know where we'd hidden it.”

“If I had to bet,” Bill said, “I'd bet a horse and saddle the metal Jake used to line the bed of his wagon is the missing gold.”

“No,” said Amanda. “Betsy and me wouldn't lie to you.”

“Not after all you've done for us,” Betsy said. “The sheriff's posse caught up to Jake in the wagon, and he hadn't had the time to hide the gold.”

“But you and Amanda did,” said Mark. “What do you aim to do with it?”

“Return it to the express office from which it was taken,” Betsy said.

“You can still be prosecuted,” said Bill. “I believe that's grand larceny, and there's a seven-year statute of limitations.”

“But we never spent a dollar of that gold,” Amanda protested. “We've waited for most of five years for a chance to return that stolen gold. We only wanted to spare old Jake a prison sentence. They still sentenced him to a year.”

“You should have used the gold to bargain with the court,” said Bill. “Jake's not here to testify that except for concealing the gold, neither of you had anything to do with it. It could now become your word against that of Estrello and his outlaws.”

“He's right,” Mark said. “I don't figure the opinions of Bill and me will be worth a damn, with a pair of ten-thousand-dollar rewards on our heads.”

“Oh, damn it, how did we get caught up in this mess, just trying to help Jake,” Betsy cried. “He didn't do that much wrong.”

“He took a pile of money that wasn't his,” said Mark, “and that generally creates one hell of a misunderstanding.”

“Oh, God, how can we return the stolen gold without going to jail?” Betsy cried.

“I don't know,” said Bill. “Somehow you'll have to win the confidence of the law, and the best way to do that is to invite Estrello to put up or shut up. You can always tell the court that you did what you had to, trying to save Jake.”

After a few moments of silence, Betsy shouted angrily, “Go ahead and call the law, Estrello. I'll gladly go there if your dirty carcass is locked in the next cell. You can't hurt Jake anymore, and we can testify we saved the gold.”

“Betsy,” said Bill, “you don't know the gold's still there. If it isn't, then all you've done is drag yourselves into a fiveyear-old robbery.”

“Damn Estrello,” Betsy said. “I'm willing to risk it.”

Estrello only laughed as Betsy and Amanda forced themselves to remain silent. The rain became more intense.

“It looks like a Mexican standoff,” said Mark. “This is the kind of rain that works its way in from the High Plains and hangs on for a week.”

“The least of our worries,” Bill said. “This bunch we just chased off may attack us at any time. They left a pile of dead bodies behind, and they don't strike me as the forgiving kind. Our camp's divided, and that will hurt us.”

“Yeah,” said Keithley, “and next time some of those dead bodies may be ours. As far as we're concerned, there are twenty-five men who might decide to split with Estrello. Should there be a split, those
hombres
could finish us with a single volley of lead.”

“In Estrello's outfit,” Bill asked, “who's second and third in command?”

“Drew Wilder's next, after Estrello,” said Keithley. “After him comes the Spaniard. Alonzo Bideno.”

“One's no better than the other, then,” Bill said.

“No,” said Keithley. “The two of you were allowed to keep your weapons after all that fancy shootin' you done back yonder at the creek. If this bunch has a falling-out, anything can happen. If Estrello decides to rule with an iron hand, he's a dead man. There's thirty-five men in the outfit, and I can't see more than ten of us throwing in with Estrello.”

“I was hoping we might create a quarrel within the outfit and divide them,” Bill said.

“That's been tried,” said Keithley. “Estrello killed two of his own men.”

“I need a way to get outside, to find out how closely they're watching us,” Bill said. “Will you help me, Betsy? If we're caught, we'll have to convince this bunch we got some fooling around on our minds. I won't be able to do it without your help.”

“I'll do what I can,” said Betsy.

“Good,” Bill said. “Those on watch are behind us, and I've loosened our wagon canvas on the left front side. If they're watching close enough to catch you, don't resist. Tell them you have to go to the bushes.”

The rain had slackened, but the sky was still cloudy, and the dark dress Betsy wore was an advantage. But her foot slipped off a front wheel hub and she came down in the mud on her knees.

“Don't you take even one extra breath, woman,” said a cold voice. “You get back into that wagon, and do it now.”

“But I have business outside,” Betsy protested.

“You just think you do,” said the gunman. “Now get back in that wagon.”

There was a roar, and a slug from a Colt struck an iron wagon tire just inches from Betsy's hand. Without a word, she got to her feet and climbed back into the wagon.

“Damn them,” said Bill.

“It's cloudy and I couldn't see much,” Betsy said, “but there's at least three of them.”

“From here on,' said Mark, ”I think we'd better play some parts. There's enough of these varmints to split the outfit and fight among themselves. If it rains long enough and hard enough, mud will bog down these wagons hub-deep. That may light the fuse to some short tempers. We still have those stampeded horses and mules to find, if we can.”

Bill laughed. “I was just thinking the same thing. Listen to the sound of music on the wagon canvas. It's raining again.”

Thunder boomed three times in a row, shaking the earth. Horses and mules went wild.

“Damn it,” Estrello shouted above the thunder, “you men get out there and hold them teams. I'm chargin' every one of you for anything that happens to your teams or wagons.”

Men slipped, slid, and cursed. Lightning struck somewhere close, and one of the mules stampeded, dragging a teamster belly-down behind him.

“Well, that tells us something,” Keithley said. “Estrello didn't call on anybody but his trusted men to calm the horses and mules.”

“I think Estrello has some kind of deadline for picking up that rotgut in St. Louis,” said Mark, “and he can't afford to lose any of the teams. Let one of us bust a wheel or an axle in the dark, and Estrello may be in big trouble.”

“That's correct,” Keithley said, “but there's bigger trouble than that. None of these men are satisfied with Estrello taking the lion's share from whiskey sales. We're building up to a split and a fight within this outfit, and with no more guns than he can muster, Estrello will be on the short end of it.”

“I expect you're right,” said Bill. “The only reason we're still armed is that we're still mostly unknown, except for the shooting Estrello's seen us do. He needs our guns, and at some point he'll try to force us to commit ourselves to him.”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed, “and we'd better be damned convincing. When this thing comes to a showdown, every man will want a share from the whiskey and gold there on the spot. From here, how far is it to where the gold's buried?”

“Perhaps twenty-five miles,” said Betsy.

“It's workin' out against us,” Keithley said. “Somehow we must finish this run to St. Louis and nail Estrello with some hard evidence. These killers have to be convinced it's better to go for the gold after they've wagoned in the whiskey.”

“That might buy us some time,” said Mark, “but what good will it do?”

“Maybe none,” Keithley said, “maybe plenty. Believe it or not, I was once a Ranger, and every day I could avoid gettin' shot was another day I had to live.”

“Including Betsy and Amanda, there's ten of us,” said Mark. “That means odds against us are almighty long. I know this is dangerous talk, but one of us is goin' to have to raise some opposition, some reason for delaying a showdown.”

“That makes sense,” Keithley said, “but how?”

“If we're looking at this thing right,” said Bill, “even with ten of us throwing in with Estrello, we're still hopelessly outgunned. We'll have to stand behind the bastard at least until we can free ourselves from this snake pit.”

“If I ain't gettin' too nosey for my own good,” Keithley said, “are you expecting help from somewhere?”

“To be truthful, I'd have to say no,” said Bill. “I'm just lookin' at the odds, at all the possible hands we can play. God knows, we don't have many.”

“Keithley,” Mark said, “if there's any hope of us bustin' out of this outfit without a life sentence at Huntsville or our backs to the wall before a firing squad, will you throw in with us?”

“To the bitter damn end, whatever it may be.” said Keithley. “I'd rather die on my feet than live on my knees.”

“There's Long, Sullivan, Clemans, Ursino, Stackler, you, Betsy and Amanda, and Bill and me. Is there anybody else?” Mark asked.

“None that I'd count on,” said Keithley. “The men you named are capable of settling down and going straight, given a chance. The others are outlaws by choice.”

“You've spoken to the six we can count on, then,” Bill Harder said.

“Yes,” said Keithley said. “Once after Estrello gunned down a teamster who opposed him, and again after he killed Jake. If there's any hope, we'll stand with our backs to the wall and make them pay dearly for every one of us.”