Way of the Gun (9781101597804) (24 page)

When Bad Eye received his orders from Slayton, he was not very enthusiastic about them, but he dutifully passed them along to his men in the grove. To a man, they refused the order. Whereas Duke saw himself as a general directing an assault, his mistake was the obvious fact that his
command
was not made up of trained soldiers. And the lot of murderous, horse-thieving miscreants were not inclined to expose themselves to the rifles awaiting them in an all-out charge. In deference to their commander's wishes, however, they threw some more harmless shots into the side of the barn. Desperate to make an effective move on the barn, Bad Eye took a couple of his men and made his way down the creek, using the trees as cover. When they had gone far enough to see the back of the barn, he knelt there for a while, looking for signs of anyone. “If there's more of 'em in there,” he said, “they must be up at the front with the others.” He waited a while longer, and when there was still no sign of anyone guarding the back of the barn, he decided to chance it. “Come on,” he said, and made a run for the back window.

Halfway across the yard, he was hit in the shoulder by a shot from Karl's .22 rifle. With a yelp of pain, he turned immediately and retreated to the protection of the trees. A Winchester from the back door spoke at almost the same time as the small-caliber rifle, dropping one of the men fleeing with Bad Eye. “Good shot, Karl,” Mule said as he ejected his spent cartridge.

Inside the barn, the defenders waited and watched behind breastworks of hay bales, ready to repel any further attacks. Inside the dark house, meanwhile, Millie and the others could only guess what was going on. To make sure everyone remained alert, Millie moved quickly from the front of the house to the kitchen, encouraging everyone. “Anybody sing out if you see anything,” she said. “They're bound to try to get to the house.”

Unable to see what was occurring on the other side of the barn, Duke became more and more impatient for some sign of success. Minutes later, he was surprised when Bad Eye walked up the ridge behind him, moaning that he had been hit. With no concern for the wound in Bad Eye's shoulder, for it looked to be minor to him, Duke demanded, “Who'd you leave in charge over there? When are they gonna charge that damn barn?”

“I don't reckon they're gonna,” Bad Eye replied. “I told 'em to, but they said hell no.”

“They just gonna sit there in the trees?” Duke exclaimed.

“Ain't nobody in the trees no more,” Bad Eye answered between groans of pain. He motioned behind him as Sid and Roy Perkins moved up to join them.

Enraged, Duke walked back down the back of the ridge to find all of his gang gathered up there, with the exception of three, whose bodies were lying back in the barnyard. “What the hell . . . ?” he blurted. “What are you doin' back here?”

Sid Perkins, self-appointed voice for those gang members who were sent to attack the barn, stepped to the fore and answered him, “We're back here to tell you we didn't agree to go on no damn charge across that open yard.”

“Why, you bunch of yellow-belly no-accounts!” Slayton roared back at him. “Who's the one who put this gang together? Who's the one who showed you this place for the takin', just like we took the Bar-T? I am, that's who, and I'm the one givin' the orders!”

“Yeah?” Sid blurted back at him. “Well, your big plan's already got three of us killed, and another'n wounded, while you're settin' up here on your ass. You ain't givin' me no orders no more, my brother, neither. We joined you to rustle cattle, and that's what we're goin' after.”

Furious now, Duke almost yelled in response. “You and your damn brother get the hell outta here, then. The rest of us got a job to do.”

“The rest of us is kinda of the same opinion as Sid,” Bad Eye spoke up then. “We all think it's best to pull outta here and go after the cattle.”

This was almost too much for Duke to believe. “You, too?” he demanded. “After the years we rode together, you're runnin' out on me, too?”

“I reckon,” Bad Eye answered meekly. “My shoulder's gettin' kinda stiff already. I wouldn't be much good in a fight right now. No hard feelin's, though, but I reckon I'll go with the rest of the boys.”

“No hard feelin's?” Duke exploded. “Why, you ol' son of a bitch, if I see you again, I'll shoot you. You ain't never been worth a shit, anyway. You weren't even any good drivin' a chuck wagon.” He stood at the top of the ridge, his hand resting on the handle of his pistol, hardly able to believe the mutiny of his entire gang as they backed warily down the slope, leaving him to stand alone.

“We're goin' after the herd,” Roy Perkins called out. “If you decide you wanna help us, you're welcome to collect an equal share. That's fair enough, ain't it, boys?” The question was met with a scattered chorus of affirmative grunts.

“That's mighty generous of you,” Duke replied sarcastically. “Just get the hell outta my sight.”
You ain't seen the last of me,
he promised himself.
There will be a reckoning, if I have to do it one by one,
he thought. When the last of the deserters had ridden off into the night, he turned again to stare at the house below in the valley. He had attached all his frustrations and failures to that house and the people who lived there, but the person from whom he sought vengeance was not there. There was a need deep inside him to even the score with Carson Ryan. And if Carson wasn't there, then he could still hurt him by showing him his friends could be made to pay for him.
They think I can't reach them there,
he thought.
I killed the old man and his son, and I can strike anyone else in that house.

* * *

Back in the house, as well as in the barn, no one really knew what was going on. There had been no more gunfire, and the raiders who had been in the cottonwood grove appeared to have gone. Leary of the possibility of a trap, no one in either building was willing to declare the siege called off. After waiting for almost an hour with no sound of rustlers, Shorty finally took the risk of running to the house to see if they knew what was going on. “Don't nobody shoot,” he called when he ran toward the front door. “It's me, Shorty.” Millie opened the door for him.

She greeted him with the statement, “We think they've pulled back. I don't think they're up on the ridge anymore.” She gave him a warm grin. “I think you and the boys showed them they'd come to the wrong place.”

“You may be right,” he said, “but I ain't gonna be sure till I have a look-see for myself.” He told them that he was going to go out the back door, slip around behind the smokehouse, and climb up the ridge from that side. When both sisters showed concern for his plan, he assured them that he was going to be careful. “I ain't lookin' to get shot,” he told them.

He held the back door ajar and peered out in the dark, toward the smokehouse, then back along the path to the outhouse. There was nothing moving, so he slid quietly out, telling Millie to latch the door behind him. Moving cautiously past the smokehouse, he paused to make sure no one had slipped inside. Satisfied, he trotted across to the foot of the ridge and climbed up the backside. Even in the dark, it was easy to find the place where they had been. A quarter moon provided only a faint light, but he could see that there was no longer anyone there. He stood looking down at the house, halfway wondering if his silhouette against the night sky might provide a tempting target for a sniper. When there was no shot, he decided they had really withdrawn, so he scrambled down the slope to tell the others.

“Thank goodness,” Nancy sighed when Shorty came back with the news.

“I reckon they decided it wasn't worth gettin' shot,” Shorty said. “Now we gotta see what we can do to keep 'em from drivin' off all our cattle.”

Millie shifted her gun belt to relieve the pressure from the heavy weapon on her slender hips. “Well, I'm glad they're gone,” she remarked. “I'm going to the outhouse before they decide to come back.”

Nancy giggled. “Don't be too long, because I'll be right behind you.” It seemed to her that she hadn't even felt the urge until Millie's remark. But now that the severe tension of the terrifying hours just past began to ease, it seemed that her normal bodily functions were operating again. There was still danger, but at least the threat to murder them might have been reduced.

Equally relieved, although she had handled the tension more effectively than her sister, Millie stepped outside the outhouse.
I thought I was going to burst,
she thought as she straightened her gun belt over her skirt again. She took a moment to look at the house, and then she gazed down toward the barn where Mule, Clem, and Karl waited for Shorty to return. It would still be a couple of hours before daybreak, and she wondered if her father and Justin were watching over them all. She was thankful then for Shorty and Frank, and Mule and Clem. They would fight to keep what her father had built.
And I'll fight with them,
she thought. Then she smiled to herself as she thought,
Now I'd better get back before Nancy bursts
. Suddenly her world exploded around her as a large hand covered her mouth at the same time a powerful arm pinned her arms helplessly to her sides. She was lifted off her feet and carried back behind the outhouse, her struggling easily overcome by the monster who had assaulted her.

“Now, ain't I the lucky one?” Duke Slayton taunted, his mouth thrust against her ear. “But you ain't so lucky, are you, missy? I'm gonna have my satisfaction for what you folks have cost me, and I can't think of nobody I'd rather take it out on.” He tightened his arm around her, almost squeezing the breath from her lungs.

Terrified, Millie felt her mind reeling with the panic that had captured her brain. At first she struggled to free herself from the powerful arms that held her, but she now realized that her efforts were useless. She was helpless to stop the terrible fate that was to come. Drained of strength, she seemed to go into shock, like a doomed antelope in the jaws of a mountain lion, as she was dragged farther back into the trees by the creek.

Robbed of the wholesale destruction he had planned for the entire family and crew of the M/C, he was now set upon concentrating his vengeance on the girl. His fury was not driven by lust for her, as his passion was for murder, but to defile her first would bring him more satisfaction. “This is gonna hurt like hell,” he promised as he forced her to the ground, his face so close to hers that her lungs were filled with his foul breath, one powerful hand around her throat. “By the time I'm through, you'll be ready to die.”

Oh, God, please!
she prayed. Please,
Shorty, Frank, someone help me!
But she knew they could not hear her prayers. The hand tightened around her throat until she could no longer breathe. Just before she was about to lose consciousness, the hand relaxed enough for her to breathe again. Then suddenly it was gone, and the heavy body was no longer upon her. Confused, she opened her eyes to discover a dark shadow standing before her. It seemed as tall as the trees around her with broad shoulders that seemed to block the faint light of the quarter moon behind it. She was saved, she thought, but was she? For what manner of specter was now standing before her? Still consumed by the terror that had held her seconds before, she could not create rational thought. And then she heard the gentle voice.

“Are you all right?”

A feeling of deliverance swept over her entire being, like the surge of a flooding river. She could still not be sure her mind was not playing tricks on her, but she asked, “John?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he answered softly. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I think so,” she said, “but what . . . ?” Confused even more now, she raised herself up on her elbows and found the answer to the question not finished. For there, crumpled at John Carson's feet, was the body of Duke Slayton. She had heard no gunshot, so she didn't understand what had happened. All she was aware of now were the hands that reached down to her, and the arms that lifted her so gently, making it hard to believe what she learned later, that those gentle hands and arms when incited by the fury of that night had broken Duke Slayton's neck. Drained of almost all her strength, she felt her body relax in the haven of his arms as he carried her to the house.

Chapter 13

“John Carson!” Shorty blurted in surprise when Carson walked in the back door, carrying Millie in his arms. “Man, am I glad to see you!” He, along with the others who came running into the kitchen when they heard him exclaim, were stopped speechless by the sight of the formidable man as he lowered Millie onto a chair by the table, for he was clearly not the same man they had known.

“Millie!” Nancy cried out in alarm. “What happened?”

“I think she's gonna be all right,” Carson said. “Just let her rest a little bit.”

Concerned for her sister, Nancy hurried to Millie's side. She glanced up at Carson when he stepped away from the table, and was the first to express what everyone was thinking. “I wasn't sure it was you,” she declared, amazed. “You've changed so much.”

“Damned if you ain't,” Shorty agreed after taking a few moments to realize the transformation that had taken place. “What happened?” he asked then while Nancy and Lizzie comforted an obviously shaken Millie.

He answered with two words. “Duke Slayton.” Frank and Shorty both reacted in alarm, but Carson told them there was no danger at the moment. “He's dead.”

“Well, by God, that's four of 'em,” Shorty announced. “I don't know how many that leaves, but that's four that won't be shootin' at us.”

“But what happened to Millie?” Nancy interrupted. There had been no explanation for her sister's obvious state of distress.

“I'll tell you what happened,” Millie spoke up then, somewhat recovered from the shock of her near-death experience. “That monster grabbed me when I came out of the outhouse.” She went on to tell of her experience as she had lived it, from knowing she was going to die, to sudden deliverance in the form of John Carson.

When she finished, Carson told Shorty that he had come upon the gang of outlaws gathered on the ridge, and worked in close to hear them revolt against Duke Slayton's orders. “He was dead set on rubbin' out everybody here,” he said. “But the other fellers didn't like the odds of more of 'em gettin' shot, so they took off and left him up there. I followed 'em down the other side of the ridge to make sure they weren't plannin' on doublin' back on the barn. But they didn't, so I went halfway back up the slope to where there was one horse standin'. I figured that had to be Duke's, so I waited for him to show. When a good bit of time passed and he never showed up, I figured I'd best go look for him. By the time I found him, he'd already grabbed Millie.”

“What do we do now?” Frank asked.

“I reckon we'll go to war,” Shorty answered him, “if you don't wanna lose all your cattle.”

“That's another thing we talked about,” Millie said. “Me, Nancy, Lucas, and Frank—we talked it over and decided all of us own the cattle. Since Papa and Justin are gone, we need you, and Mule, and Clem, so we think it's fair if all of us own equal shares in the ranch—Lizzie, too.”

Her statement caught Shorty without words for once in his life. When he finally remembered some, he exclaimed, “You mean that?” She nodded and smiled. “That's mighty generous of you folks,” he said. “Wait till I tell the fellers in the barn!” It occurred to him then that they were no doubt wondering why he had never returned. “I'd best go get 'em, anyway, 'cause we've got to decide what we're gonna do to keep our cattle.”

Nancy spoke up then to remind them that Lucas had been sent to Big Timber to contact the law. “Should we wait till we hear from them?” she asked. “Maybe they'll send a posse to go after that bunch of murderers.”

“By the time a posse got here,” Frank answered her, “our cattle would be in Canada.”

“Frank's right,” Carson said. “We need to stop 'em before they cross the Musselshell. Why don't you get the boys ready to start out at first light in the mornin' and head for the river? Maybe you can catch 'em before they round up a sizable herd and try to cross.”

With no better idea of his own, Shorty nodded, then asked, “What about you? You're ridin' with us, ain'tcha?”

“Reckon not,” Carson replied. “I don't like the odds. There ain't but four of you against them, so I expect I'll leave now before they get too far ahead. Maybe I can cut the odds down a little better tonight.”

Relieved when he understood Carson's meaning, Shorty nodded and said, “That would sure help some.”

“You be careful you don't go get yourself killed,” Millie blurted. When she saw the look of surprise in the faces of Nancy and Carson, she flushed slightly, then quickly added, “We need all the guns we can get.” She received a disapproving glare from her sister then, so she grimaced and said, “I never thanked you for saving my life. I appreciate it.” Nancy's eyes shot up toward the ceiling.

“You're welcome, ma'am,” Carson said.

“And quit calling me ma'am,” Millie responded. “I'm not your mother, or your aunt.”

“Yes, ma'a . . . I mean Millie,” he said, confused, wondering how he had happened to make her mad this time. Looking at Shorty then, he said, “I'd best get goin'. I'll see you sometime in the mornin'.”

* * *

Even in the darkness, he had very little trouble following the tracks of the gang. As he suspected, they made straight for the largest concentration of M/C cattle, and they found them dispersed over a broad valley by a creek some five or six miles north of the M/C ranch house. When he caught sight of the herd, he held back to try to see how the rustlers were going to organize their drive. Watching from a low line of hills, he saw two of the men split from the others and ride out, one to the east to round up a pocket of strays, the other to the west, toward him, to do the same. It appeared that the other rustlers planned to hold the main herd there in the valley until the strays had been brought back. Carson took only a few seconds to decide his plan of attack.

He dismounted and, under the cover of darkness, moved in among a small bunch of cattle that had gathered in a pocket at the mouth of a shallow ravine. There was no feeling of conscience or guilt for what he was about to do. This was war, and these men had killed Mathew Cain and his son. They had made the rules. Now they were to die by them. He stood waiting for them, his rifle ready.

Not quite able to determine what the upright object was in the midst of the group of strays, the rustler continued to approach, until suddenly the object moved and a rifle shot ripped the darkness, leaving an empty saddle. Wasting no time, Carson ran back to his horse and galloped toward the eastern side of the herd.

“What the hell?” Roy Perkins blurted when he heard the shot. “The damn fool will have us in a stampede,” he cursed, for he first thought the man had fired his rifle to get the strays moving. The main herd, bedded down before him, were starting to move about, frightened by the shot. There were no more shots after the first one, so he decided to wait to find out the reason for such a stupid act. In about fifteen minutes, he heard another shot, this time from the east of the herd, and he realized what was actually taking place. “Sid!” he yelled to his brother. “We got some trouble! To hell with the strays, let's get this bunch movin!”

“What about the rest of the boys?” Sid yelled back.

“They can hold 'em off while we get this herd movin',” Roy replied, not realizing the two he had sent to chase strays were dead. “They can catch up with us before we get to the river.” Pulling his pistol then, he fired a couple of shots into the air to get the cattle started. When Sid and Bad Eye did the same, they soon had a stampede pouring over the dark prairie.

Racing along the flank, Carson managed to overtake the lead steers and turn them away from the river. The rustlers behind the cattle could not guess why they had turned to the east. Intent upon catching up to the lead cows, Sid whipped his horse brutally to gain on them. When he succeeded, he was surprised to find a rider already ahead of him, but in the darkness, he could not tell who it was. “You're turnin' 'em, damn it!” he shouted to the dark horseman.

“I sure as hell am,” Carson replied, and leveled his rifle at the approaching rider. Sid came out of the saddle to land hard on the ground when the .44 slug ripped into his chest.

Behind the herd, Roy and Bad Eye heard the shot. “What the hell's goin' on?” Roy demanded. The cattle were continuing to turn in a circle. There were no more shots on either flank, and none behind them. “Where the hell are Mutt and Fred?” he asked, referring to the two men who were supposed to be catching up to them.

Bad Eye stood up in his stirrups and pointed behind them. “Look yonder!” he exclaimed. Roy looked in the direction pointed out to discover two horses with empty saddles following them. “They got us surrounded!”

Not certain what was happening, nor where the rest of the men were, Roy wasn't sure what he should do. Something had gone dreadfully wrong. “We need to get up ahead and see where Sid is,” he decided.

“I don't like the look of this,” Bad Eye declared. “I already got a hole in my shoulder. I don't need another'n. Let 'em have their damn cows.” He wheeled his horse and kicked it into a hard gallop. His retreat served to incite the others to think about the possibility of more victims, and thinking Bad Eye might be right, they took off in another direction.

“Wait!” Roy shouted, but they were long gone. “Damn you,” he cursed, furious over the desertion when he wasn't sure if his brother was in trouble or not. He turned his horse toward the front of the herd, which had been successfully turned back on itself, causing the cattle to mill around and eventually settle down again. At the head of the bawling steers, a dark figure sat his horse, patiently waiting. “Sid?” Roy called out. “Is that you?”

“Yeah,” Carson answered.

“What the hell happened?” Roy asked as he approached. He didn't realize his error until there was little more than twenty yards between them. With no time left for questions, he went for his gun, but was not quick enough to draw his weapon before the rifle already aimed at him took his life.

Carson checked to see if Roy Perkins was dead, and then he stood staring down at him for a few minutes. He had never seen the man before, but he had killed him as he would kill a rattlesnake, to prevent him from doing more harm. By his count, four men were dead, and there was no sign of the others. The herd had settled down to mill about peacefully, and it appeared the threat was ended. Suddenly he was very tired, and he remembered that he had not slept since the day before. He took his saddle off the bay and released it to graze, knowing it would not stray far away from him. Then he sat down and reloaded his rifle, content that he had done all he could to avenge the deaths of Mathew and Justin Cain. The decision to be made now was whether to wait for Shorty and the others to show up in the morning or to move on, since he had ended the war by himself. Weary, he leaned back against a low hummock and closed his eyes. He didn't open them again until the sun came up to awaken him.

* * *

Bad Eye wasn't sure where he had ended up after almost running his horse to death the night before. But he had made it to sunup with no sign of anyone on his trail. His problem now was the stinging from the bullet hole in his shoulder and the gnawing of an empty stomach as he walked through a grassy ravine, leading his exhausted horse. He had nothing to eat in his saddlebags, not even the makings for a pot of coffee, or a pot to boil it in, so he felt as if he might expire if he didn't get either a cup of coffee or a drink of whiskey pretty soon. Seeing a double row of sage and small trees ahead, he hoped to find a stream. Halfway down the ravine, he spotted smoke from a campfire. At once alert, he proceeded more cautiously lest he walk into an ambush.

Maybe,
he thought,
I best back away and take a wide circle around it.
But the hint of a rabbit roasting over the fire caught his nostrils and reminded him that he wanted to eat. He hesitated, undecided for a few moments, until a voice called out, “You comin' on in, or you gonna stand out there smellin' the coffee?”

Startled, Bad Eye started to back away but decided he'd already been spotted, so he might as well find out if the camp was friendly or not. “I'd sure like to have a cup of that coffee, if you've got some to spare,” he finally responded.

“Sure, come on in and have some,” the man called back. “Maybe you could eat a little somethin', too,” he added when Bad Eye led his horse down by the fire. “You look like you been on the run,” he said, nodding toward the bloodstains on Bad Eye's shirt.

“Yeah, I ran into a little bad luck a ways back,” Bad Eye offered as explanation.

The man grinned at Bad Eye's obvious nervousness. “You ain't got to worry about me,” he said, making a quick judgment on a man out in the middle of the prairie, with a bullet hole in his shoulder, walking an exhausted horse, with no sign of anything to make camp with. “I been on the run before, and I've been shot before. So sit down and drink some coffee.” When Bad Eye confessed that he didn't even have a cup to drink out of, it caused his host to laugh. “Mister, you're really on the run, ain'tcha?” He couldn't help taking a look back the way Bad Eye had come. “You ain't led the law down on my camp, have you?”

“Nah, it ain't the law I'm runnin' from,” Bad Eye answered, “and I'm sure I lost 'em last night.” He took the cup offered him, feeling that he had been lucky to chance on an obvious outlaw, like himself, and one who could sympathize with his plight, even though he looked more Indian than white. “Where're you headin'?” he asked.

“I'm lookin' for somebody,” Red Shirt replied, “somebody I need to settle a score with, and I ain't had much luck in findin' him. The son of a bitch rode with me for a couple of days before he turned on me and left me with this damn hole in my side.” He pulled his shirt up to show an ugly scar. “Damn near killed me, but I'll find him one of these days.”