Golden Riders (21 page)

“If my plan fails,” Sam replied in an even tone, “who's going to stop you?”

It was turning dark by the time the storm had blown itself out across the Mexican badlands. The heavy rain left the thirsty desert making sucking sounds in every direction as it drew the water down deep into the dry earth. The Ranger made coffee with water he'd caught in a coffeepot he'd placed beneath a steady stream of runoff from the cliff overhang. He strained most of the hillside silt from the water through a clean spare bandanna he pulled from the bottom of his saddlebags.

After a meal of coffee and jerked elk, Sam and Bonsell pitched their saddles and bedrolls on either side of the small fire for the night. As a precaution, Sam handcuffed one of Bonsell's wrists to his saddle stirrup, as he had been doing each night before they turned in. Even with the outlaw cuffed, Sam kept his sleep to a thin level, able to snap himself awake at the slightest sound, the faintest movement around him.

Bonsell had learned the Ranger's sleeping habits the first night out, having snapped a twig of mesquite and seeing Sam's Colt come up from under his blanket, pointed and cocked. From that point on, the wily outlaw
had resolved himself to his captivity, at least for the time being. All Bonsell had managed to do was keep the Ranger on alert, which would get him nowhere. It was better if the Ranger eased his guard down a little. Bonsell knew an opportunity would present itself. When it came he could make his move. Until then he had to relax, wait for it, recognize it and be ready to pounce on that opportunity the very second he saw it arrive.

With the small fire banked against being seen either along the low hill line or out across the sand flats, they slept under the overhang, outlaw and lawman, each in what small and tenuous space they'd claimed for themselves on the hard belly of the earth.

During the night, his Winchester leaning against a rock beside his saddle, Sam's eyes opened at the faintest sound of something on the hillside trail above them, back in the direction of El Ricon. Awake, he lay listening, his eyes moving across Bonsell's sleeping face, his Colt ready to take on anything the night presented. Yet, after a long silence, the whole of his senses probing and searching the darkness all around him, he heard nothing else foreign to the night; and he let his eyes close again and went lightly back to sleep.

Before dawn the two awakened, first the Ranger, then the prisoner. Bonsell sat up smelling the aroma of fresh coffee boiling in the pot over a thin fire. He looked over at the Ranger who sat staring at him, a tin cup steaming in his gloved hand.

“What is this big job Kane has lined up?” he asked flatly, assuming Bonsell would know.

“Nice try, Ranger . . . ,” Bonsell said, still waking
up, pushing a cuffed hand back through his dark, tangled hair. “But Kane never tells a man more than he needs to know until the time comes.”

“You said he sent for the Bluebird,” the Ranger said, “so we know it has to be something hard to get to. Not something he can goad somebody into giving up from a money drawer or a strongbox.”

“Yep, I'd say that's a fair guess,” said Bonsell. He jiggled his cuffed hand; Sam half rose, stepped around, unlocked the cuffs and sat back down.

Rubbing his wrist, Bonsell reached out, filled his waiting tin cup and sat back. He blew on the coffee and sipped it. Sam watched and waited. He'd learned that Teddy Bonsell always let something slip, said more by accident than he intended to without being pushed or pressured.

“Tell me about the jail break again,” Sam said, sipping his coffee.

“Again . . . ?” Bonsell sighed into his steaming cup. “I didn't leave nothing out about it, Ranger.”

“I just like hearing it,” Sam said, watching, listening.

“I bet you do like hearing it,” Bonsell said with sarcasm. “All us Golden Riders getting blown out of our eyebrows.”

“Why do you think the Bluebird used such a high charge?” Sam asked, ignoring Bonsell's remark. “It doesn't take near that much to rip out a jail window. He blew one man out into the street, bars and all. Half of Midland Siding is having to be rebuilt or repaired.”

“Putting blame where blame's due,” said Bonsell, “a lot of that explosion came from the mercantile store's firing powder.”

“Still,” the Ranger continued, “the explosion wouldn't have reached the mercantile if the Bluebird hadn't used so much to blow the jail window.”

“You've got me there, Ranger,” said Bonsell. “I know he nearly killed us all. I still have ringing in my head if I turn a certain way.”

“You figure the Bluebird always carries that much dynamite?” Sam asked, trying to get a lead on what Kane had in mind for the Mexican-Indian to do.

“A man who makes his own dynamite can carry as much as he wants to, I expect,” said Bonsell.

“You've got a point . . . ,” Sam replied, but he wasn't buying it. Nobody carried dynamite unless they needed it, especially a man who knew its strength, who'd spent his life witnessing its powerful devastation.

Changing the subject from the Bluebird, Sam looked all around the rugged, desolate terrain.

“Braxton Kane found him a nice safe hole to crawl into, I'll give him that,” he said.

Bonsell gave him a short, nasty grin, unable to keep his contempt for the law hidden for too long at a time.

“You're going to give him more than that when he gets you in his sights,” he said. “Killing Cordy Kane was the worst mistake you ever made.”

Sam ignored his remark and tried to keep him focused on some kind of revealing conversation.

“How far do the Golden Riders go to pull a robbery?” he asked quietly.

“As far as Braxton Kane wants them to go,” said Bonsell. “High Montana, except there ain't nothing
there—deep Mexico, if it's gold, and if there's enough of it to make it worth the ride.”

“Montana's got gold, too,” Sam said, listening for anything he might need. “Better grade of gold at that.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Bonsell shrugged. “I was just making a point.” He paused, then said out of the blue, “Kane's been spending lots of time around Sonoyta, up around the crossing? See, if I was a lawman, I'd be smart enough to figure he might be up to something there.” He tapped his head to indicate his ingeniousness. “But that's just me.” He grinned at his cleverness.

Sam's mind piqued up at his words, but he kept his demeanor calm, unmoved.

“Naw, I don't think so,” he said coolly. “There's nothing there.”

“Ha, that shows what you know,” Bonsell said. “Cordy and I rode up there right before we got you stuck on our trail.”

“Yeah? So what?” Sam said.

“So, I heard him and Cordy through an open window when we got back. He was giving Cordy the devil for taking me with him. Cordy lied, told him he didn't take me all way there with him. Said we split off and met again later in El Ricon.”

Sam worked the information across his mind.

“Still,” Sam said, “there's nothing in Sonoyta that would need a dynamite man carrying as much as the Bluebird is carrying. Sonoyta means nothing.” He shook his head.

Bonsell gave him a sour look. Sam could tell the
cocksure outlaw didn't like his ideas being disputed, especially by a sworn enemy, a lawman.

“Maybe not now,” Bonsell said, “but there's a rail spur going on south of there. Once it's up and going, it'll cause Sonoyta to spring up like Abilene. 'Course you might be too shortsighted to see it.”

“Yep, I expect so, Teddy,” Sam said, getting the picture, wondering why the Mexican government or anyone else would build a rail spur south of Sonoyta. “Get your coffee finished, Teddy. We're going to ride up closer to Kane's place, take ourselves a look.” He pushed himself up, dusted the seat of his trousers and slung coffee grounds from his tin cup.

Sonoyta, huh . . . ?

He'd keep it mind, Sam told himself, picking up his rifle and saddle and turning to the horses.

With no tracks left to follow across the sand flats, the Ranger kept to the low, rocky hillside, Bonsell riding in front of him. The two took a longer trail circling above the wet sand flats and came to the same place they would have had they crossed the low desert floor. Following a trail upward a half mile, Bonsell stopped and held his horse out of sight just below the crest of a hill.

“Right over this edge, we'll start seeing Kane's place as we get closer,” he said.

“Then let's go,” Sam said.

“The thing is, they'll be able to see us too if we ain't careful,” said Bonsell. “If they see us now, they'll kill you, and just as likely kill me for bringing you here.”

“Then you'd best see to it we
are
careful,” Sam said.

“If he's got rifle guards out, we'll never get past them, Ranger,” Bonsell said, having a change of heart now that they were down to the killing edge of the game. “Don't you understand what I'm saying here? They'll kill us both!”

Sam saw the raw fear in his eyes now that they'd reached their destination.

“I understand what you're saying. Let's go,” he ordered Bonsell quietly. “Whatever made you think you'd live forever?” He reached out and slapped Bonsell's horse on its rump.

The horse bolted upward; Bonsell's lower lip trembled in fear and anger.

“That's a hell of thing to say, Ranger—!” he shouted over his shoulder, yanking back on his horse's reins even as it bounded up over the crest of the hill. Coming over the crest right behind him, the Ranger sidled close and slapped the horse's rump again to keep Bonsell from pulling it back.

“Keep moving, Teddy!” the Ranger shouted.

“Damn it to hell, Ranger!
Stop slapping my horse!
” Bonsell shouted. “What's
wrong with you
?” But Sam would have none of it. A third time he slapped the horse's rump. The horse almost reared against Bonsell's tight-handed reins.

“Take us to cover, Teddy,” he shouted at Bonsell.

Seeing the Ranger was not going to let up, Bonsell lessened his grip on the reins and let the horse settle onto all fours and dart forward. He looked at the big stone, timber and adobe house in the distance and even gave his horse a hard bat of his boots.

Sam followed right at his side as the two raced to a stand of rock and trees thirty yards away. As the horses moved into the cover and the two men brought them to a sliding halt, Sam turned and looked at Bonsell.

“Looks like his rifle guards must've taken the day off,” he said.

“It's a good thing for us if they did,” Bonsell said, still a little out of breath. “You would have gotten us both killed otherwise.”

“Nobody's fired a shot, Teddy,” Sam said. “For all we know there's nobody here.”

“Brax Kane would never leave this place unguarded,” said Bonsell. “It might be they're just waiting for us to get closer, then open up on us.”

“It might be,” Sam said, not convinced. He looked all around on the ground and found the tracks of two horses that had to have been made after the storm. He thought about the sound he thought he'd heard in the night up along the hill trail from the direction of El Ricon. His eyes followed the prints from where they came into sight from brush and rock and led straight toward the big house.

More Golden Riders showing up . . . ?
he asked himself.

Before he could pursue the question any further, rifle shots exploded from the direction of the house. A second later return fire erupted from a stand of wild grass less than fifty yards from the house's front door. A horse cried out in the grass as a bullet struck it. Sam saw it just as it fell out of sight, whinnying pitifully.
A familiar-looking horse
 . . . ? He saw rifle smoke rise
from behind a tree and saw glass break in the one of the house's front windows.

“Looks like we've rode into a gun battle, Teddy,” Sam said, watching the gunfire from around the edge of a rock.

“Let them have it,” Bonsell said, “so long as it ain't pointed in my direction.”

“Hunh-uh,”
said Sam. “Get ready to ride. I think they're in the grass on my side.”

“You think they are? But you don't know for sure?” Bonsell asked.

“That's all we got for now,” said Sam. “Are you going to ride on your own, or do I have to keep smacking your horse's rump all the way?”

“You're going to get us shot!” said Bonsell. As they spoke, bullets whizzed back and forth between the outlaw hideout and the guns blazing in the grass.

“No, I'm not,” Sam said hurriedly, “not if you do like I say. I saw a barn twenty yards on the right side of the house. We're making a run for it. Stay in front of me and keep your horse at a run. There's a good chance we'll make it.”

“A
good chance
?” said Bonsell. “You're crazy! I need better odds than a
good chance
!”

Sam drew his hand back as if ready to swat Bonsell's horse on the rump.

“I don't have time to argue with you, Teddy,” he said in a determined voice.

“Damn it, Ranger! Stop
doing that
!” Bonsell shouted. He turned in his saddle and batted his boots to his
horse's sides. “If I make it to the barn, I'm not going no farther. I swear I'm not!”

As soon as they rode out from behind the rocks, rifle fire from the house turned its attention away from the grass and in their direction. Sam fired his Colt as he rode, Bonsell lying low in his saddle only a few feet ahead of him. From the grass, the gunfire pounded steadily on the house, providing Sam and Bonsell cover until they directed their horses inside the open doors of the barn and leaped down from their saddles.

“Ha! That wasn't so bad,” Bonsell said, now that the rifle fire couldn't reach them. “As far as I'm concerned—”

“I'm going in,” Sam said, cutting Bonsell off. He reloaded his Colt as he spoke. Outside, the firing continued heavily back and forth.