The Border Empire (14 page)

Wurzback said nothing, and Skull presented the facts as quickly as he could. For a moment, Wurzback said nothing. Then he laughed.

“You're tellin' me them bull-of-the-woods outfits in Namiquipa and Chihuahua was wiped out by a pair of fast guns?”

“That's exactly what I'm tellin' you,” said Skull, “and there's every reason to believe Hermosillo is next. Watts has ordered me to lead as many men as you can spare. We're to ride for Hermosillo just as quick as you can roust 'em out.”

“No,” Wurzback shouted. “By God, no! I ain't sendin' my outfit
nowhere
on your sayso, an' for sure not with
you
leadin' 'em.”

“You don't like me, Wurzback, and I don't like you,” said Skull, “an' there'll come a time when we'll have to settle our differences, but this ain't the time. Now you round up your bunch and get 'em ready to ride or I'll telegraph Watts at Nogales for authority to assume command of this outpost by whatever force may be necessary.”

Wurzback got to his feet, but Skull had his thumb hooked under his gunbelt above the butt of his revolver.

“We'll ride,” Wurzback said, “but not under your command. I'm leadin' my outfit, and I want that written message from Watts.”

Without a word, Skull handed Wurzback the envelope, and Wurzback spoke to the sentry.

“Mayfield, wake everybody. Tell them we're ridin' in fifteen minutes. Nogales's orders.”

Mayfield entered the house and Wurzback followed, leaving Skull Rudabaugh standing beside his horse. It wouldn't really matter if Wurzback insisted on being in control, unless the expedition ended in failure. In that event, Wurzback could also take the blame.

The storm passed well before midnight. Silver stars bloomed in the purple meadow of the sky. Wes and El Lobo continued watching the cabin, but there was little activity except for an occasional shadow visible through a window, the result of a low-burning fire. Inside the cabin, four wounded men slept fitfully, while the others didn't sleep at all.

“There's a chance the horses might drift back,” Suggs said.

“Not if they run as far as the village,” said Yokum.

“He's right about that,” Rowden said. “After the
Mejicanos
have penned ‘em up for a week, we'll never see 'em again. That weasel of a doc will spread the word that we're in trouble out here, and our reputation in town will be shot to hell.”

“We're likely to be shot to hell along with our reputation,” said Tobin. “We got one man dead and four with lead in 'em, while the bastards that done it ain't got a scratch. We got no horses, just a little water, and a pair of killers waitin' for us.”

“Packer may be conscious, come mornin',” Rowden said hopefully. “Maybe he'll have a plan.”

Wicks laughed bitterly. “If he has, I hope it's better than his ambush that got him an' Hanson gunned down.”

A few minutes before midnight, twelve horsemen rode north, bound for Hermosillo. Stem Wurzback had taken control of his ten-man outfit, and Skull Rudabaugh had chosen to ride along in silence. The success of their mission—reaching Hermosillo in time—was of more importance than contesting Wurzback's leadership, but the issue was by no means resolved. Skull would see to it that Wurzback's act of insubordination was made known to Dolan Watts at Nogales, and if that failed, there were other ways.

“Rein up,” Wurzback ordered. “Time to rest the horses.”

“You're resting the horses a mite often,” said Skull.

“My decision,” Wurzback snapped.

“I'm keeping that in mind,” said Skull. “If we don't reach Hermosillo in time, I'll see that Nogales holds you responsible.”

Wurzback said nothing, but Skull noticed with some satisfaction that there were fewer and fewer delays. Riding at a slow gallop, they were within a few miles of Hermosillo when the first gray light of dawn touched the eastern sky. They bypassed the village, reining up on a rise from which they could see the outlaw cabin.

“Not a horse in the corral,” Wurzback said. “That don't seem right.”

“This pair of gun-throwers always stampede the horses first,” said Skull. “Does that tell you anything?”

“Packer and his bunch may be elsewhere,” Wurzback said with as much sarcasm as he could muster. “Don't you reckon they'd take the horses?”

“No danger, then,” said Skull. “Why don't you just ride down there and knock on the door?”

“Hello, the cabin,” Wurzback bawled. “Burke Packer, are you there? This is Wurzback and riders, from Guaymos.”

“This is Tazlo,” came the shouted response. “Packer's hurt, and we're pinned down.”

“Hell,” said Wurzback, in surprise, “I don't see no—”

The crack of a Winchester seemed loud in the morning stillness. The slug burned the flank of Wurzback's roan, and the animal began crow-hopping. Wurzback was pitched ignominiously into the sand. There were more shots, and men cried out in pain. One of the riders caught Wurzback's horse. Disorganized, they galloped out of range, while Wurzback ran after them, lead kicking up dust at his heels.

“By God, I wouldn't have missed this for all the tea in China,” said Skull Rudabaugh as Wurzback stumbled into their midst.

“Damn it,” Wurzback shouted, “bring me my horse.”

One of the men brought the animal, still skittish, and bleeding from a bloody gash on its flank.

“The situation down there ain't likely to change in the next few minutes,” said Skull. “Your horse is hurt; see to his wound.”

“Damn the horse,” Wurzback snarled.

He had his foot in the stirrup when Skull hit him. He fell, and the already spooked horse danced away from him. Furious, Wurzback went for his gun, only to find himself looking into the muzzle of Skull's Colt.

“I wouldn't,” said Skull. “You're here against orders from Nogales. The rest of you men should know that, before he starts somethin' he can't finish. Those
hombres
with the rifles are no shorthorns. The two of them wiped out the outposts at Namiquipa and Chihuahua. Mayfield, you were there standing watch. You heard me tell Wurzback about the killings at Namiquipa and Chihuahua, and you heard me relay the orders I brought from Nogales.”

“Yeah,” Mayfield admitted, “I heard.”

“You men can ride with Wurzback or you can ride with me,” said Skull. “I'm taking my orders from Dolan Watts at Nogales, and I'll be reporting to him. If you're sidin' me, move over here to my right and tell me your names.”

Mayfield was the first, and the others followed. Tuttle, Boyce, Upton, Lowe, Savage, McDaniel, Willis, Handy, Pucket ...

“Damn you, Rudabaugh,” Wurzback said, “you'll pay for this.”

“You're lookin' at it a mite cockeyed,” said Skull. “It's me that's followin' orders, an' if there's any payin' to be done, it's you that'll be doin' it. Now, if you aim to ride along and add your gun to the fracas, welcome. If you don‘t, then ride out an' keep goin'. After I report to Watts at Nogales, there won't be room for you anywhere in Mexico.”

After firing at the band of outlaws from Guaymos, Wes and El Lobo remained under cover, but the riders remained out of range of the Winchesters.

“I reckon we won't have to ride to Guaymos,” Wes said. “The outlaws from there are over yonder on that rise, wonderin' what to do about us.”

“We don't stay here,” said El Lobo. “There be many, and they surround us.”

“No,” Wes agreed, “I reckon we'll have to retreat until we can think of some way of attacking without getting our ears shot off. We'll ride back into the mountains and force them to come looking for us. They'll be a day or two, licking their wounds. Maybe we can track down our packhorse, or at least find a place to buy grub.”

Wes and El Lobo rode away while the outlaws from Guaymos were on the far side of the ridge. The men within the cabin were jubilant.

“By God,” said Tazlo, “Juarez and Nogales must be organizing against these attacks. One of you go and hail the riders from Guaymos. Tell 'em the killers have backed off.”

 

“Somethin' tells me we'd better ride through town and look for a general store,” Wes said. “When that bunch comes after us, they may have even more hired guns. We got to add to our store of grub while we can.”

“No packhorse,” said El Lobo.

“No,” Wes agreed, “but that might be just as well. If we have to run, a packhorse would only slow us down. Besides our saddlebags, each of us can carry maybe fifty extra pounds behind our saddles. What really bothers me is that we may not be able to find ammunition for our Colts and Winchesters.”

“Per'ap we take shells from those
hombres
that wish us dead,” said El Lobo.

Wes laughed. “I reckon they'd object to that.”

“They no object if they be dead,” El Lobo said.

The day was still young, and there were few people on the streets. El Lobo pointed to a long, low adobe building in the next block. The faded sign across the front was all in Spanish, and there was only a droop-eared mule tied at the hitch rail. El Lobo entered first, and by the time they reached the counter, the storekeeper was there to greet them. He was a balding little Mexican in a white apron, and he wasn't happy to see them.

“I am not open for business,
señors.”

“We pay,” El Lobo said softly. “Oro.” On the counter he dropped one of the gold medallions, and in the light from a single window, the dragon's head had never seemed more forbidding.

The little storekeeper's eyes darted to the tied-down Colts and then back to the unsmiling faces of the formidable men who stood before him.

“Por favor,”
he said. “I make the mistake. Satisfy your needs,
señors.”

“Sí,”
said El Lobo. He returned the dragon medallion to his pocket, replacing it with a pair of gold coins.

 

 

B
y the time Skull Rudabaugh, Stem Wurzback, and the outlaws from Guaymas had ridden to the cabin, Burke Packer had regained consciousness. Rudabaugh took charge.

“If you ain't able to talk, Packer, I'll question these other
hombres.
I'm from Nogales, and we're organizing to counter these attacks.”

“I can talk,” Packer replied, “and it's my responsibility. I underestimated that pair of gunmen. They're curly wolves, and they aim to kill us all. Before we could flank 'em, they rode right over Hanson an' me. Hanson's dead, an' they near killed me.”

“And you had how many men?” Skull asked.

“Five,” said Packer, “an' I didn't reckon we'd need more. I told you I underestimated that pair of gun-throwers.”

“I can accept that,” Skull replied, “but how is it this pair of hell-raisers managed to find this place and trap you? Your four remaining men should have ridden them down.”

“I was unconscious,” said Packer. “I paid for my mistake.”

Skull said nothing, shifting his eyes to each of Packer's men.

“Packer was hard-hit,” Blake said defensively. “I lit out for town to git the doc, while the others brought Packer an' Hanson here.”

“Simple enough, I reckon,” said Skull. “The gunmen just followed you.”

“That's how it was,” Blake admitted. “Hanson was dead, an' we was tryin' to save Packer.”

“So they stampeded your horses,” said Skull.

“Yeah,” Blake said. “Last night, durin' a storm. We tried to get to 'em first, but the bastards cut down three of us an' run off the horses.”

Stem Wurzback laughed. “My God, what a feather-legged bunch.”

“That's enough!” Skull shouted.

Some of Packer's riders had their guns half drawn, their vengeful eyes on Wurzback.

“This is no time to be fightin' among ourselves,” said Skull, his eyes on Wurzback. “I reckon there's sense to what Packer's told us. These
hombres
are no ordinary gun-toters, and they're just a hell of a lot more than a man expects. That's how they wiped us out in Namiquipa and Chihuahua.”

“We're gettin' nowhere standin' here palaverin',” Wurzback said, “while that pair's gittin' farther an' farther away.”

Mayfield laughed. “They sure enough dropped your carcass in the dirt, an' as I recall, you was runnin' the other way.”

Wurzback was furious when the rest of his riders laughed. Skull Rudabaugh spoke.