Collection 1986 - The Trail To Crazy Man (v5.0) (49 page)

Bob McLennon had planned the defense of Yellow Butte, if such a defense became necessary, and while Bob had been something of a hand with a gun, he definitely had not been a soldier or even an Indian fighter. Moreover, they had not expected an all-out battle for the town. Whatever the reason, he had committed a fatal error, for that pile of boulders and brush offered perfect concealment and almost perfect cover while affording complete coverage of the town, its one street, and the back as well as front of most of the buildings.

Keith had been quick to see this on his earlier visits to the town and had planned to have Poinsett and Starrett approach the place some time before the main force moved in. In this, owing to their own experience, they had been successful.

Poinsett finished his cigarette and took up his rifle. Then he settled down to careful watching and checking of the time. He had his orders, and they were explicit. He was to fire on the first target offered after half past two—and his first shot must kill.

Shad and Kedrick had returned to the saloon, and Pit Laine was loitering in front. Dai had gone across the street. Laine was in a position out of sight of Poinsett, but the latter had glimpsed Dai. The Welshman, however, offered only a fleeting target and Poinsett did not consider firing. His chance came at once, however.

The door of one of the nearest shacks opened and a man came out. He wore a broad-brimmed gray hat, torn at the crown, and a large checked shirt tucked into jeans supported by suspenders. He turned at the door and kissed his wife. Poinsett took careful aim with his .56, choosing as his aiming point the man’s left suspender buckle. Taking a good deep breath, he held it and squeezed off his shot.

The big bullet struck with heavy thump. The man took a heavy lurch sidewise, tried to straighten, and then went down. His wife ran from the door, screaming. Up the street a door banged, and two men ran into the street, staring. Starrett’s first shot knocked the rifle from the hand of one, splintering the stock. Poinsett dropped his man, but the fellow began to drag himself, favoring one leg, which even at this distance they could see covered with a dark blotch at the knee.

Poinsett was a man without mercy. Coolly and carefully, he squeezed off his second shot. The man stiffened, jerked spasmodically, and lay still.

“Missed my man,” Alf said, apologetically, “but I ruined his shootin’ iron.”

Poinsett spat, his eyes cold. “Could happen to anybody,” he said, philosophically, “but I figured you burnt him anyways.”

Within the saloon, Kedrick had a glass half to his mouth when the shot boomed, followed almost at once by two more, their reports sounding almost as one.

“Blazes!” Shad whirled. “They ain’t here yet?”

“They’ve been here,” Kedrick said with quick realization. He swung to the door, glancing up the street. He saw the body of the last man to fall, and leaning out a bit, glimpsed the other. His lips tightened, for neither man was moving.

“Somebody is up the draw,” he explained quickly. “He’s got the street covered. Is there a back door?”

Kedrick dove for the door, followed by the others as the bartender indicated the way and then caught up his shotgun. His pockets were already stuffed with shells. At the door Kedrick halted. Then, flattening against the wall, he stared up the draw. From here he could see the edge of the bunch of boulders and guessed the fire came from there. “Pinned down,” he said. “They are up the draw.”

Nobody moved. His memory for terrain served him to good purpose now. Recalling the draw, he remembered that it was below the level of the town beyond that point, but right there the boulders offered a perfect firing point.

Scattered shots came from down the draw, and nobody spoke. All knew that the three men down there could not long withstand the attack and would fall back on the town to be taken in the rear.

XII

Kedrick made up his mind quickly. Defense of the town was now impossible, and they would be wiped out or burned alive if they attempted to remain here. “Shad,” he said quickly, “get across the street to Dai and Pit. Yell out to the others and get them to fall back, regardless of risk, to the canyon at the foot of Yellow Butte.”

He took a step back and glanced at the trapdoor to the roof. The bartender saw the intent and shook his head. “You can’t do it, boy. They’d get you from down the creek.”

“I’m going to chance it. I think they are still too far off. If I can give you folks covering fire you may make it.”

“What about you,” Shad demanded.

“I’ll make it. Get moving!”

Laredo wheeled and darted to the door, paused an instant, and lunged across the street. The bartender hesitated, swore softly, and then followed. Kedrick picked up a bottle of the liquor and shoved it into his shirt. Then he jumped for the edge of the trapdoor, caught it and pulled himself through into the small attic. Carefully, he studied the situation.

Hot firing came from downstream, and evidently the killers were momentarily stopped there. He hoisted himself through, swung to the ridge of the roof, and carefully studied the boulders. Suddenly, he caught a movement, and knew that what he had first believed to be a gray rock was actually a shirt. He took careful aim with his Winchester and then fired.

The gray shirt jumped, and a hand flew up and then fell loose. Instantly, a Spencer boomed and a bullet tore a chunk from the ridge near his face and splattered him with splinters. Kedrick moved down the roof a bit. Then, catching the signal from the window across the street, he deliberately shoved his rifle and head up and fired four fast shots, and then two more.

Ducking his head, he reloaded the Winchester. Another bullet smashed the ridgepole, and then a searching fire began, the heavy slugs tearing through the roof about three to four inches below the top.

Kedrick slid down the roof and hesitated at the edge of the trapdoor. Seeing a distant figure circling to get behind the men in the wash, he took careful aim and squeezed off his shot. It was all of five hundred yards, and he had only a small bit of darkness at which to aim.

The shot kicked up sand short of the mark by a foot or more as nearly as he could judge, and he knew he had missed, but the would-be sniper lost his taste for his circling movement and slid out of sight. Kedrick went down the trap and dropped again into the saloon. Regretfully, he glanced at the stock of whiskey and then picked up two more bottles and stuffed them into his pockets.

Hesitating only a second, he lunged across the street for the shelter of the opposite building. The Spencer boomed, and he knew that the hidden marksman had been awaiting this effort. He felt the shock of the bullet, staggered, but kept going.

Reaching the opposite side, he felt the coldness of something on his stomach and glanced down. The bottle in his shirt had been broken by the bullet, and he smelled to high heaven of good whiskey. Picking the glass out of his shirt, he dove for the livery stable and swung into the saddle on the palouse.

The Spencer boomed again and again as he hit the road riding hard, but he made it. The others cheered as he rode pell mell through the canyon mouth and swung to the ground.

“This is no good,” Laine said. “They can get behind us on the ridge.”

Two men limped in from the draw, having withdrawn from boulder to boulder. Kedrick glanced around. There were fourteen men and women here who were on their feet. One man, he who had had the rifle knocked from his hand, had a shattered arm. The others were slightly wounded. Of them all, he had only seven men able to fight.

Quickly, he gave directions for their retreat. Then, with Dai and Shad to hold the canyon mouth and cover them, they started back up the canyon.

_______

T
OM KEDRICK MEASURED his group thoughtfully. Of Laredo, Dai, and Laine, he had no doubts at all. Of the others, he could not be sure. Some of them were good men, and one or two were obviously frightened. Nobody complained, however, and one of the men whose face was pale took a wounded man’s rifle and gave him a shoulder on which to lean. He led them to the crevasse and down into it.

Amazed, they stared around. “What do you know?” The bartender spat. “Been here nigh seven year an’ never knowed of this place!”

There were four horses in the group, but they brought them all into the cave. One of the men complained, but Kedrick turned on him. “There’s water, but we may be glad to eat horsemeat.” The man swallowed and stared.

Laine pointed at Kedrick’s shirt. “Man, you’re bleedin’!”

Kedrick grinned. “That isn’t blood, it’s whiskey! They busted one of the bottles I brought away!”

Pit chuckled. “I’d most as soon it was blood,” he said. “Seems a waste of good liquor.”

The seven able men gathered near the escape end of the crevasse, and one of them grinned at Kedrick. “I wondered how you got away so slick. Is there another way out down there?”

He shook his head. “If there is, I don’t know it. I waited and got out through the canyon when it wasn’t watched.”

Laine’s face was serious. “They could hold us in here,” he said, anxiously. “We’d be stuck for sure.”

Kedrick nodded. “I’m taking an extra canteen and some grub. Then I’m going atop the Butte to join Burt Williams. I’d like one man with me. From up there we can hold them off, I think.”

“I’m your man,” Laredo said quietly. “Wait’ll I get my gear.”

A rifle boomed, and then Dai Reid joined them. “They are comin’ up,” he said. He glanced at Kedrick. “One man dead in the boulders. I got the look of him by my glass. It was Alf Starrett. Poinsett was the other.”

“Starrett was a skunk,” Burnett, one of the settlers said. “A low-down skunk. He killed a man up Kansas way, an’ a man disappeared from his outfit once that occasioned considerable doubt if he didn’t get hisself another.”

Kedrick turned to Pit Laine. “Looks like your show down here,” he said. “Don’t open fire until you have to; don’t fire even one shot unless it’s needed. We’ll be on top.”

He led the way out of the crevasse and into the boulders and brush behind it. There was no sign of the attackers, and he surmised they were holed up awaiting the arrival of some supporting fire from the rim back of the canyon.

Tom glanced up at the towering Butte. It reared itself all of a hundred and fifty feet above him and most of it totally without cover. As they waited, a rifle boomed high above them and there was a puff of dust in the canyon mouth. Burt Williams had opened up.

Yet their first move toward the Butte drew fire, and Laredo drew back. “No chance. We’ll have to wait until dark. You reckon they’ll hit us before then?”

“If they do, they won’t get far.” Tom Kedrick hunkered well down among the slabs of rock at the foot of the Butte. “We’ve got us a good firing point right here.” He rolled a smoke and lit up. “What are you planning when this is over, Shad? Do you plan to stay here?”

The tall Texan shrugged. “Ain’t pondered it much. Reckon that will take care of itself. What you aimin’ to do?”

“You know the Mogollons southwest of here? I figured I’d go down there and lay out a ranch for myself.” He smoked thoughtfully. “Down in East Texas, before I came west, a fellow arrived there named Ikard. Had some white-faced cattle with him, and you should see ’em! Why, they have more beef on one sorry critter than three longhorns. I figured a man could get himself a few Hereford bulls and start a herd. Might even buy fifty or sixty head for a beginning, and let ’em mix with the longhorns if they like.”

“I might go for somethin’ like that,” Laredo said quietly, “I always wanted to own a ranch. Fact is, I started one once, but had to get shut of it.”

_______

H
E STUDIED THE end of his cigarette. “That was in the Texas Panhandle, a ways south of Tascosa. Quite a ways. It was rough country. I mean rough to live in, not rough like this is. Why, you could stand on your own front step down thataway an’ see straight ahead for three days! Coyotes? Why, you should see ’em! They’d whip a grizzly, or near it, an’ make these coyotes around here look like jackrabbits.”

He stared down the canyon toward the mouth, his rifle across his knees. He did not look at Kedrick, but he commented casually. “We need luck, Captain, plenty of luck.”

“Uh-huh.” Kedrick’s face was sober. “Right now we’re bottled up, and believe me, Burwick will stop at nothing. I wonder who was on watch up the canyon? Or supposed to be?”

“Somebody said his name was Hirst. Sallow-faced hombre.”

“We’ll have to talk to him. Was he down below?”

“Come to think of it, he wasn’t. He must have hid out back there.”

“Or sold out. Remember Singer? He wouldn’t have been the only one.”

Laredo rubbed out the last of his cigarette. “They’ll be makin’ their play soon. You know, Kedrick, I’d as soon make a break for it, get a couple of horses, an’ head for Mustang. When we go we might as well take Keith an’ that dirty Burwick with us.”

Kedrick nodded agreement, but he was thinking of the men below. There were at least four good men aside from Shad, Laine, and Dai Reid. That left the numbers not to unevenly balanced. The fighting skill and numbers were slightly on the enemy’s side, as they had at least twelve men when the battle opened, and they had lost only Starrett. That made the odds eleven to eight unless they had moved up extra men, which was highly probable. Still, they were expecting defense, and an attack—?

He studied the situation. Suddenly, a dark figure loomed on the rim of the canyon some hundred and fifty yards off and much higher. He lifted his rifle and fired even as both Shad and Kedrick threw down on him with rifles, firing instantly. The man vanished, but whether hit or not they could not tell.

Desultory firing began, and from time to time they caught glimpses of men advancing from the canyon mouth, but never in sight long enough to offer a target, and usually rising from the ground some distance from where they dropped. The afternoon was drawing on, however, and the sun was setting almost in the faces of the attackers, which made their aim uncertain and their movements hesitant. Several times Shad or Kedrick dusted the oncoming party, but got in no good shots. Twice a rifle boomed from the top of the butte, and once they heard a man cry out as though hit.