Way of the Gun (9781101597804) (17 page)

Another hour passed before Duke decided it was time to move. He sent Johnny ahead to see if he could find any sign that would lead them to where Carson drove the cattle, knowing Johnny was the better tracker. “Let's go,” Duke said, and gave Jake a little kick in the back. “Get up.” It took a couple more prods with the toe of his boot before the sleepy outlaw grunted in protest. When Jake stumbled awkwardly upon getting on his feet, Duke demanded, “Are you drunk?”

“Hell no, I ain't drunk,” Jake protested, “not on that little bit of whiskey.”

“Damn you,” Duke warned, “you'd better not be. I don't know nothin' about the feller he's got with him, but Carson Ryan ain't nobody to take lightly, so you'd better be awake.” He watched Jake for a few moments more before getting ready to step up in the saddle. Jake and Blackie might not understand why he was so cautious about Carson Ryan, but he remembered how Carson always seemed to be in control of his surroundings. He remembered the quickness of his reflexes, like the time he dueled Jack Varner with tree limbs, and the way he outsmarted the bigger man to keep from getting his ass whipped. No, he told himself, he would not take the young man lightly, and the best way to avoid trouble from him in the future was to put a bullet in his head tonight. To make sure Jake and Blackie understood, he told them again what had to happen. “Mr. Tuttle said to make sure nobody saw us herdin' Mathew Cain's cows. And damn it, Carson and that feller with him saw us, so we can't let 'em get back to tell Cain. So if you wanna keep your jobs, you'd best make sure we take care of those two.”

They rode out across the rolling prairie toward the hills, now no more than a long line of dark shadows in the moonless night. Halfway between the river and the hills, they met Johnny on his way back. “I found 'em,” Johnny said as he pulled up before them. “They made a camp back up in a ravine. They were tryin' to hide it, I reckon, but I still caught sight of their fire. I worked up the ravine a ways till I could see the camp. Looks like they run them cows up in there, too. I could see both of 'em movin' around the fire, but they were too far away to get a good shot. There ain't no back door to that ravine they picked. It leveled off about halfway up, and ended up at a cliff about fifty feet straight up. The best thing to do is to climb up those hills on both sides of that ravine and trap 'em in a cross fire.”

“Then I reckon that's what we'll do,” Duke said. “Lead us out.”

Duke and the other two followed Johnny to the base of the closest hill, where he stopped to point out the ravine where Carson and Shorty had ridden up to make their camp. “You say they got all them strays bottled up in there with 'em?” Jake asked.

“That's right,” Johnny replied.

“Hell, we could just set ourselves up right along here and wait for 'em to come out in the mornin',” Jake said. “We oughta be able to knock both of 'em down before they even know what hit 'em.”

“I ain't plannin' to sit down here at the foot of that ravine all night,” Duke said. “It's best to take care of business tonight and be back on our home range come mornin'.” That should be the end of the discussion as far as he was concerned. “All right, me and Johnny'll go up this side of the hill. You and Blackie cross over to the other side of the ravine and go up that slope. Just get where you got a clear shot down in that camp, but don't start nothin' till I shoot. Everybody got that straight?” When all three acknowledged, he said, “Let's go, then.”

Halfway up the slope, they found a good place to leave their horses, so they left them there and climbed the rest of the way on foot. Upon reaching the top, they made their way cautiously to the rim of the ravine. A thin column of smoke rose lazily from the floor of the defile. It would have been undetectable had it not been for the occasional spark that floated up with it. Inching up even closer, Duke and Johnny reached a rocky ledge where they could see the camp some seventy-five feet below. It had all the appearance of a sleeping camp. The fire was slowly dying out with two sleeping forms on either side. “Too damn peaceful,” Duke muttered as he strained to make out more detail on the two forms wrapped in their blankets. Always wary, he looked over at Johnny and asked a wordless question.
Is it them, or just their blankets rolled up to make it look like them?
Guessing Duke's silent question, Johnny simply shrugged in reply. So they waited, watching for some movement from the sleeping forms, any little twitch that would confirm that there was a live body under the blanket.

Still suspicious, Duke pulled back from the edge a couple of feet and took a long look around behind him to make sure no one was sneaking up behind them. Moving back up beside Johnny, he spoke softly. “See either one of 'em move a muscle?” Johnny shook his head without taking his eyes off the camp below them. “I don't know,” Duke continued. “I got a funny feelin' about this.” No sooner were the words out than the ravine erupted in gunfire.

Startled by the sudden explosion of rifle fire, Duke and Johnny both flattened themselves on the ground, hugging it for dear life, until realizing there were no shots coming their way. Knowing then what had happened, Duke swore, “Damn those bastards! I told them not to shoot until I did!” He got up on his knees then to better see into the camp. Jake and Blackie had decided not to wait any longer, and had opened up with their rifles, sending shot after shot into and around the two blanketed forms. The thunderous volley succeeded in stirring the cattle up and they began milling around in a frantic circle. Boxed in by the cliff at one end of the ravine, they moved toward the lower end of the camp, only to be stopped by the sagebrush fence. There was no sign of any activity in the camp. With the number of holes in both blankets, there was little doubt that, if they were not decoys, both men were dead.

When the rifle fire finally ended, all was quiet again, with no evidence of return fire from anywhere around them. Duke got to his feet and called out across the cliff, “Jake! Let's go down there and make sure they're dead!” He paused a moment. “You hear me?”

“Yeah, we heard you,” Jake yelled back. “We're goin'.” He and Blackie emerged from behind a sage thicket and started working their way down the side of the ravine.

Johnny got up and started to do the same, but Duke caught him by the arm. “Let's just wait a bit, and let them get down there first.” Understanding then, Johnny smiled and nodded. There was still the possibility that an ambush was awaiting them at the bottom of that ravine, and since Jake and Blackie had decided to act on their own, they deserved to be the ones who got caught in the trap—if there was one.

There was no hesitation on the part of Blackie and Jake. Eager to see what spoils they might find on the bodies and in the saddlebags of their victims, they hurried down the steep side of the ravine while Duke and Johnny descended slowly and cautiously. Upon reaching the floor of the ravine, Blackie ran toward the two horses tied beyond the smoldering fire. “I'm claimin' that bay that one feller was ridin',” he yelled out to Jake. He got as far as the campfire before the rifle shot staggered him, causing him to drop to his knees. A second shot knocked him over on his side, dead.

Jake, his brain still somewhat clouded by the effects of too much alcohol, hesitated for a split second as he realized what was happening. Having seen the muzzle flash in the darkness on the other side of the ravine, he turned around to run back to the protection of the steep slope, only to find himself facing the business end of Shorty's rifle. He had time for only one short cry of protest before Shorty cut him down.

“I knew it!” Duke exclaimed, still only a little way down the side of the ravine. He immediately scrambled back toward the top. Johnny, a few feet below him, raised his rifle and fired toward the last muzzle flash he had seen, seconds before Duke could warn him not to. “Don't shoot, damn it! You'll show 'em where we are!” Johnny held his fire then, but it was already too late. A shot from over near the horses found him as he attempted to scale the slope after Duke.

“I'm shot!” Johnny cried out as he fell face forward, grasping the rough ground beneath him in an effort not to slide down the slope. “Duke!”

Duke was not inclined to waste time at that moment. He pulled himself over the edge of the ravine before hesitating to answer his wounded partner. “How bad?” he called back. “Can you walk?”

“I don't think so,” Johnny gasped. “I can't feel my legs.”

There was no decision to be made as far as Duke was concerned. “I'm sorry, partner, there ain't nothin' I can do to help you. There ain't no sense in me stayin' around to get shot, too.” With those final words to a man who had ridden with him for several years, Duke was off, the angry curses from the abandoned comrade fading in the darkness behind him as he hurried to his horse.

Behind the fleeing man, Carson called out to warn Shorty not to shoot, “Shorty! I'm comin' out. You all right?”

“Yeah,” Shorty came back. “I'm comin' out.” They emerged from the holes they had dug in the sides of the ravine. “One of 'em got away. I think you got the other'n up on the slope.”

The main one that Carson was interested in stopping was not one of the two lying dead on the floor of the ravine, so either Duke or Johnny was the man near the top of the ravine. He was disappointed, but not really surprised, that the ambush had not worked to trap all four of the outlaws. He should have guessed that Duke was wary enough not to rush into a trap without checking it out thoroughly. A wry smile crossed his lips when he speculated that Duke had sent the other two in to test it.
I wouldn't be surprised to find that the one lying at the top of the hill is Johnny Briggs,
he thought. There were some men who just seemed to be natural survivors. Duke Slayton appeared to be one of them.

“I reckon we need to find out if that one up the hill is dead before we go after the other one,” Carson said.

Judging by the tone of his voice, it was plain to Shorty that Carson was anxious to get after the one now making his escape, so he volunteered to climb up to check on the one still on the slope. “You go after him,” he said. “I'll make sure the other'n's dead.”

“Right,” Carson said at once, and started toward his horse, then paused to warn Shorty. “You'd best be careful, Shorty. He might not be dead, and a shot from a wounded man is just as bad as one from one who ain't.”

“Don't you worry,” Shorty replied with a chuckle. “I ain't about to let anythin' happen to your ol' woodcuttin' partner.”

* * *

Carson guided the bay carefully past the makeshift corral he and Shorty had laid across the mouth of the ravine. He could hear sounds of Duke's horse as it came sliding down the hillside, but he was not willing to risk breaking his horse's leg on the rough, uneven surface. So he held him back until he was out of the ravine. By then, Duke had a good head start, so Carson pushed the bay into a full gallop, hoping to close the distance rapidly. He could not see the man he was chasing. There were not even any little dust clouds kicked up by the galloping horse on the grass-covered prairie, so he held the bay to a straight course to the river. It figured that Duke, or Johnny, would first run to Tuttle's range, and then once across the river, he would try to lose him—or wait in ambush for him.

By the time he reached the river, his horse was just about spent from running full out for so long, but there was no sign of the man he pursued. Finding it hard to believe that his horse had been outrun so badly, he entered the water, only to recoil halfway across when he saw a horse standing at the water's edge on the other side. In reflex action, he jerked the Winchester from the saddle scabbard, prepared to shoot, until he realized there was no rider. When he continued across, he walked the bay up to the other horse and discovered it to be the roan that Duke had been riding the day before. The horse was thoroughly spent from the race across the prairie, and he realized then the reason his horse was so badly beaten in his attempt to close the distance. Duke, or Johnny—he still didn't know which one he was chasing—had fled with both horses, and switched to the fresher one here at the river. It might not account for a great difference in the condition of the horses, but Carson knew it was enough to gain an edge.

He felt helpless to do anything about the problem at this point. The bay had given his all when Carson asked for it. To push the horse farther could result in severe damage to its wind. Forgetting his anger for a moment, and thinking rationally, he had to question the wisdom of continuing to follow Duke deeper into Bar-T range. He had no notion as to the layout of the ranch headquarters, or how many men would come to the defense of one of their own.
Ain't worth the risk,
he told himself,
especially when my horse is too tired to run
. He turned around and crossed back over, leading the abandoned horse.

When he got back to the ravine, he called out to Shorty, identifying himself. When Shorty acknowledged, Carson walked back up to their camp, leading the horses. “What about the one up on the hill?” he asked.

“Dead,” Shorty answered.

“Long black hair, wearin' a Montana Peak hat and a buckskin coat?”

“No, it was the other one,” Shorty said.

So it was Duke who managed to get away, Carson thought. “Figures,” he commented. Duke always got away.

“I see you picked up a spare horse,” Shorty said.

“Yeah, Duke ran this one out and switched over to Johnny's. I expect there's two more horses somewhere on the other side of this ravine—if they ain't run off somewhere.”

Shorty chuckled. “Wasn't a bad night's work, was it? Got some of our cattle back and picked up three horses, saddles and all.”

“I reckon,” Carson replied.