Golden Riders (10 page)

Weidel reached for his rifle.

“Not damn far enough,” he said, before the younger gunman could answer.

“How far, damn it?” Mangett asked again.

“At the top of the path there,” Rose replied.

“Right on the path?” Mangett asked.

“Well . . . yeah,” said Rose. “I figured nobody's going to be coming along—”

“Right,” Mangett said in disgust, steeping over to the fire where he grabbed his rifle from his saddle lying in the dirt by his bedroll. “Come on, Chris,” he said.
“Bring your horse. Let's drag his dead ass away from here.” He looked around at Rose. “You stay here with the girl. I come back and see your prints on her, I'll feed you to the wolves too.”

At the wagon wheel, Toby felt the rope give way. He stopped rubbing the metal edge. He kept his head lowered as Mangett and Weidel both looked over at him.

“Had I better check him before we go?” Weidel asked.

Toby felt fear clutch tight in his chest. But he managed to keep himself from making a move. He could leap up and run, but he wasn't about to go anywhere without his sister.

“Naw,” said Mangett, dismissing the matter. “Leave him be. He ain't waking up for a while . . . if he ever does at all.”

No sooner had Weidel and Mangett stepped away out of the firelight and disappeared up the path onto the rocky hillside, Joey Rose walked over to where Lindsey lay sobbing on the ground. Stopping, he placed a cup of steaming coffee in front of her and watched her brush a strand of hair from her face with her tied hands. Then he reached out and brushed a strand from her other cheek and tried to give her a thin smile.

“Careful, that cup is hot,” he cautioned her.

She just stared at him. Atop the trail sixty yards up the wolves still snarled and growled and fought one another in the brush.

“I—I just want you to know I was having no part in what was going on here,” he said.

“You weren't stopping it either,” she snapped back at him. She scooted away from him.

“I would have though,” Joey said. “I was fixing to when the wolves started.”

Lindsey only stared at him skeptically. She eyed the butcher knife lying on a rock by the fire.

“I mean it,” Joey said. “I'm not that kind of man. I
believe women ought to be treated—” His words stopped short as a fist-sized rock in Toby's hand slammed down atop his head. The attack came silent and sudden. Lindsey was even caught off guard by her brother's fast, decisive move. She gasped as Joey Rose crumbled on the ground in front of her. She started to say something, but Toby clasped his hand over her mouth and pulled her to her feet.

“
Shhh
, don't talk, Sis,” Toby said. “I've got to get you out of here before they get back. He untied the rope around her wrists, turned her around quickly and untied the rope from around her waist. She stepped over quickly to the fire and picked up the butcher knife and clutched it to her. With Toby's arm around her, the two started to run toward a stretch of rock and brush on the far edge of the water hole.

Stopping suddenly, Lindsey looked back at their wagon, at the dark silhouette of the mule still hitched to it.

“Wait. What about Dan?” she asked in a whisper.

The sudden stop had almost thrown Toby off his feet. When he didn't answer her, Lindsey grabbed him and looked at him closely. In the purple starlight she could see his forehead and left eye was covered with dried blood. Yet, even worse, she could see that the white of his eye was not white at all. It was filled with blood.

“Toby! Buck up!” she whispered, shaking him, feeling his unsteadiness.

“I'm all right, Sis,” he replied, seeming to shake off a dizziness. “Just weak, is all.” Looking back he pulled
her on toward the rocks. “No time . . . to get Dan,” he said brokenly.

“I know,” Lindsey said, realizing her brother was barely able to stand. “Keep going. . . .” Arms around each other, the two hurried on in the darkness. Lindsey wielded the big butcher knife in her hand.

As they reached the stretch of rocks and started up into them, they heard Joey Rose's slurred voice in the darkness behind them.

“Stop, damn you!” he shouted. His voice was followed by a series of six wild pistol shots in their direction. The two ducked into the rocks as bullets ricocheted and spun all around them. “I'll kill you!” Rose screamed. “I was going to be good to you!”

Beside her, Lindsey heard her brother grunt, felt his arm stiffen around her for second. But as she stumbled, he shoved her up the rock path into the black shadowed darkness.

“Keep going, keep going,” Toby said.

Behind them they heard the voices of the other two gunmen as a rifle shot replaced Joey Rose's pistol shots.

“You damn fool,” they heard Roy Mangett say to Rose, “you let them get away?”

“I didn't let them, Roy, damn it,” they heard Rose shout in reply. “The boy got loose . . . hit me from behind.”

“They're headed up into the rocks,” shouted Weidel. Another rifle shot resounded from Rose's rifle in the darkness.

“Stop shooting, Joey,” Mangett demanded.

“Don't stop, Sis,” Toby said, shoving his sister up the rocky path deeper into the rocks.

“Toby, are you all right?” she asked over her shoulder, noting he had slowed and appeared to be struggling along behind her. She stopped, looked around and saw him backed against a tall rock, his hand clutching his lower belly.

“No, Sis . . . ,” he said. “A bullet nicked me. I'm bleeding.”

“God, no!” she grabbed him by his shoulders. “What are we going to do, Toby?”

Gripping his belly tightly, Toby shoved her away with his free hand.

“You're going on, Sis,” he said.

“No, I'm not,” Lindsey said.

“Don't argue with me,” Toby said harshly. “I'll slow you down. You've got to go on. Get over these rocks and down to the trail. Stay out of sight come morning until you know they've given up and gone on.”

“What about you?” she asked, realizing the shape he was in. “I can't just leave you here to die.”

Toby heard her trembling, tearful voice.

“Who said anything about dying?” he said, trying to keep his voice strong for her sake. “I'm just not . . . able to run right now. I'll get over into these rocks. They'll never find me.”

“But, Toby—” The sound of a wild rifle shot cut her short.

“Don't argue with me, Lindsey,” Toby snapped, giving her a shove. “Don't worry about me. I'll be close behind.” Another wild rifle resounded. “Get going,” he demanded, “before you get us both killed!” He shoved her again with his free hand. This time at his coaxing
she turned and ran as fast as she could as another rifle shot rang out behind her.

“Stop shooting, damn it, Joey,” She heard Roy Mangett shout as she disappeared farther into the rocks.

At the campfire, Mangett grabbed Rose's rifle from his hands.

Chris Weidel shoved Rose backward.

“Why don't you just start calling out for that damned Ranger by name, you idiot.”

“My head's been busted, Chris!” shouted Rose. “Look at me.” He tipped his bare head enough to show the large bump on top. His revolver lay smoking in his holster where he'd stuck it after empting it at the fleeing twins. He stepped forward to give them a look.

But instead of looking, Mangett shoved him away angrily.

“You're lucky I don't kill you!” he shouted. “Chris, get up in the rocks after them. “We'll bring the horses around and meet you down at the main trail. There's no point in staying here any longer, this fool has given us away.”

“You've got it, Roy,” said Weidel. He handed Mangett his rifle, turned quickly without another word on the matter and headed for the path into the rocks.

“Roy, I swear, there's nothing I could do—” Rose managed to say before Mangett cut him off.

“Shut up, Joey!” Mangett shouted. “Get the horses. You'd better hope to hell we catch those two. I'm wondering if you let them go on purpose.”

“On
purpose
? Roy, look at my head!” Rose pleaded. “He busted me with a rock, knocked me cold!”

Mangett glared at him.

“Have you got those horses yet?” he said harshly.

Fortunately, the Ranger had not a made a camp for the night. In order to make better time, he had rested, grained and watered his three horses and had lain stretched out on the ground for little over an hour. When he'd heard the sound of gunfire from the direction of the Dutchman's Tanks, he arose quickly, dusted himself off, and wasted no time getting under way. With a three-quarter moon in the starlit sky, he'd ridden at a brisk pace throughout the purple night. At first light he'd spotted the outline of the low hills surrounding the water hole and after looking all around, he'd left his horses among the rocks and slipped down quietly and looked all around.

At the water hole the gaunt mule stood alone in front of the wagon, staring straight ahead, his ears twitching a little as the Ranger eased up to him and placed a hand on his muzzle. In the rocks above the water hole the snarling and growling of wolves had settled a bit, but was still going on. Sam could tell the animal was frightened, but managing to hold his ground pretty well.

“Easy, boy, I'm not a wolf,” he whispered. “See?” He rubbed the animal's muzzle all over, giving him his scent. “Looks like somebody left you in a tight spot here,” he whispered.

Looking all around again, seeing shoe prints and boot prints in the rocky ground and the signs of an abandoned campsite, he leaned his Winchester against
the wagon and freed the mule from its hitching. He dropped its bridle on the ground.

“I've never seen anybody forget their mule,” he said quietly, sensing the calming effect his voice was having on the nervous animal. “A wagon either for that matter.” He still searched all around. In the distant east, a glow of silver morning spread upward across the purple sky. Up the path where the wolves fed, the snarling seemed to fall away with the coming light.

“All right, get on out of here,” he said to the mule. “Sounds like that bunch has gotten their bellies full.” He shoved the mule around with a firm hand and slapped its rump. The mule sprang forward at a gangly trot. But at more than fifteen feet the animal stiffened to a stop and stood with its hooves spread as if determined to not go an inch farther.

“Suit yourself,” Sam said, “I know better than to argue with a mule.” He turned, picked up his Winchester and walked all around the campsite. He saw spent rifle shells in the dirt. Six pistol shells lay where they had been dropped in a tight pattern nearby.
Here's where the gunshots had come from,
he told himself, stopping, picking up one of the rifle shells, inspecting it. When he tossed it aside, he saw the short length of rope lying on the ground where the boy had untied his sister. Sam studied it. The twist of the rope told him it had been used to bind something,
or
someone
,
he reminded himself
.
But he wasn't sure what.

He stood and started to walk forward to the blackened campfire. Behind him he felt something shove
him hard in the middle of his back. He swung the rifle around quickly, tensed, only to look into the mule's face as it blew out a breath and twitched its ears.

“You might want to warn a fellow before doing that,” he whispered. He stepped away and looked back over his shoulder. The mule stepped forward with him.

“All right,” he said quietly. “I can't blame you. Just stay back some, don't get yourself shot.”

He walked forward and all around the campsite. When he'd circled wide around the campsite, the mule right behind him, he spotted the place where the horses had been tied. He spotted a set of boot prints and shoe prints running off away in the opposite direction. Stopping where he'd dropped the mule's bridle, he stooped and picked it up. The mule stood perfectly still and let him slip the bridle back onto its muzzle.

“Come on then,” Sam said, “let's see who's running away.”

He followed the prints in the grainy morning light, seeing them lead to the game path at the far end of the water hole, opposite the path where the wolves had fed in the night. Fifty yards up the meandering path he saw the first smear of blood dried on a waist-high rock. He touched the smear, making sure it was dry, then moved on, looking for more, the gaunt mule picking its way steadily along the rocky path.

Here we go,
he told himself, seeing the next streak of blood fifteen yards farther up. The blood was dry, but now there were several drops in the dirt at his feet—
somebody bleeding bad
, he told himself, walking forward with caution.

He stopped a few feet farther along and made the mule stop behind him. Listening close he heard the sound of labored breathing coming from among a stand of brush off the side of the trail. Looking down he saw more dried blood in the dirt.

“Hello, the brush,” he said calmly. Not knowing who was lying in there bleeding, he kept his rifle half raised, cocked and ready for anything. “This is Arizona Ranger Sam Burrack. I can see you're wounded. Step out with your hands where I can see them.”

After a tense silence, a weak, broken voice rose from the brush.

“I can't . . . I'm shot too bad . . . ,” the voice replied.

Sam didn't bother saying any more. Instead he took three steps forward and walked quietly into the brush from a different angle. The mule lagged back and stood with its muzzle tipped forward toward the Ranger.

Deeper into the brush, Sam saw the young man on his back, leaning against a rock, his belly covered with thick, pasty blood.

“I've got . . . no gun,” Toby said, looking relieved at the sight of the badge on the Ranger's chest. He raised his bloody hands a little but hadn't the strength to keep them up.

“Lie still then,” Sam said. He looked at the belly wound as he stepped in and stooped beside the young man. “I heard shooting in the night,” he said, seeing the questioning look on Toby's face.

Toby looked him up and down. He coughed and swallowed and clenched his teeth against the pain in his lower belly.

“I've never had . . . nothing hurt like this,” he said in a pained voice. “This is . . . gut-shot?”

“Yep, I'm afraid so,” said Sam. He reached in and tore open the bloody shirt at the bullet hole for a better look. Black, pasty blood had partly firmed up around a half-moon-shaped ricochet wound, but still there was bleeding that had to be stopped.

“Am I . . . dying?” Toby asked, his voice carrying a shiver.

“I hope not,” Sam said flatly. “Looks like you caught a ricochet.” He reached up and untied his dusty bandanna from around his neck and shook it out. “Who shot you?” He wadded the bandanna as he spoke, and waited for the young man's answer, knowing it would be too painful for him to speak when he pressed the bandanna down on his belly.

“Three men . . .” Toby said. “They had my sister. I . . . got her away, but they shot me. . . .” He eyed the Ranger, seeing the raised wadded bandanna. “I heard them . . . talking. They were . . . waiting to ambush somebody.”