“Charlie,” I said, “you shoot the first one that moves.”
When I spoke I spoke loud and you never saw a bunch of men come to stillness any swifter. Then I stepped down there and I looked at the tall blond ranny with the hide in his hands and I said, “You killed a good man tonight, a better man than you’ll ever be. So you drop that hide and go for your gun.”
“Can I put the hide down first?”
“Any way you like,” I said, “but have at it.”
Me, I was mad clear through. They’d tried to wipe out our camp and kill us all. It was pure-darn luck that they hadn’t done it.
“You’re a Sackett,” this tall ranny said. “Well, Sackett, I’m Abel Dunn, and I’m going to save Rocker his job.”
He let go the hide and his hand swept down and closed over that six-shooter and my gun stabbed flame at him twice, so close together they looked and sounded like one. And he folded and went down.
“That’s for Tyler,” I said. “Now old Bull Dunn warned me out of the country. You take Abel back to him wrapped in that cougar hide, and you tell Bull Dunn he can leave the country or stay, it don’t make me no mind, but if he stays he better start goin’ to Sunday School and actin’ like it.”
“You talk big,” one of them said. “Wait until Rocker hears about this.”
“You tell him,” I said. “You just ride fast and tell him.”
“You’re the one better leave. You got no more herd than nothing.”
“You wasted your time,” I said. “My herd’s down at the Mancos right now, and its all in one piece and my boys are with it. You started your victory party a mite too soon.”
I could see several bottles around camp so I put bullets in them, and when one of them thinking my gun was empty started to reach, Charlie Farnum put a bullet through his arm.
Right there in front of them I shoved the shells out of that old Dance & Park pistol and loaded up again. And then I went in there and emptied their guns, dropping the shells into the fire and throwing their guns into the brush. Then I taken off.
In about a minute shells began to pop and those Dunn people scrambled for shelter.
Charlie Farnum and me we started east for the herd, riding together. When we were a few miles off we started to sing, and we sang a dozen songs before we shut up and left it to the coyotes.
That Charlie Farnum had a better voice than me.
For that matter, so did the coyotes.
Chapter XIV
On the second morning after the stampede, and knowing nothing whatever about it, Galloway Sackett headed for town.
He chose a new route, avoiding the trail they had used, and crossing the La Plata well above Shalako. He stayed in the trees and brush, keeping out of sight until close to town, then he emerged from the woods behind the livery stable and rode around in front of Berglund’s place.
Crossing the street to the store he swung down and tied his horses. Inside he ordered rice, beans, flour, and whatever it seemed likely they would need. He sacked it up and loaded it on the packhorse.
The town was empty and still. Occasionally the music box from the saloon would brighten the day with tin-panny music. In the distance there was snow on the mountains. Galloway paused in tying his pack and stared at it, thinking he’d like to go up there. He’d never been that high up in the mountains. It was then he remembered Nick Shadow’s story about the gold and diamonds.
He glanced thoughtfully toward the peaks. Now if he could just take a little trip up there…
The rope came snaking from the shadows beside the store and the loop dropped over his head, pinning his arms to his sides. He swore at himself for daydreaming at such a time and made a desperate attempt to reach his gun. A jerk from the rope sprawled him on the boardwalk, and then another loop fell over his legs. He heard a laugh boom out and another rider rode out from behind the store leading three horses.
He started to speak and they jerked him into the dust, dragging him a few feet. Then one of them walked over and drew Galloway’s gun from its scabbard and thrust it behind his own waistband.
Curly Dunn still wore the fading blue marks left from the bruises Flagan had given him, and there was a scarcely healed cut over his eye.
“We got us a Sackett, boys. Let’s take him over into the tree and give him the Injun treatment.”
Arms and legs held tight by the nooses, there was not a thing he could do. If he made a move they would jerk him and drag him, so he waited. Inwardly, he was desperate.
Flagan was miles away with Nick Shadow and Parmalee. He could expect no help from the townspeople who were trying to stay out of the trouble, and for which he did not blame them. They could do nothing against the Dunns, who could simply burn them out and ride on. Nor had he any reason to believe they even knew of his situation. In any event the total population of Shalako at this moment numbered just five people.
There was nobody to help him. He must not struggle, but must bide his time, hoping to catch them off guard. If he struggled they would only jerk the ropes tighter, making escape more difficult.
Curly swung his horse and started for the trees, the others following. Suddenly one of them pulled up.
“Curly, we should ought to have us a bottle. This here may take some time, and his sweatin’ may make us thirsty.”
“All right, go get it then. You got money?”
“I have,” the other one broke in.
“You two go an’ get the liquor, but hurry back. You don’t want to miss the fun. Alf, you loosen that rope around his legs. I want him to walk to it.”
Galloway made no move as Alf loosened the ropes. The two turned then and went toward the saloon. Curly grinned at Galloway. “Here’s where I get a little of my own back. We’re goin’ to see how loud a Sackett can yell.”
“You’ll wait a long time,” Galloway said quietly.
Curly laughed and started for the trees. Galloway had to trot to keep up. Once he fell and Curly dragged him several yards before he stopped and allowed him to rise. And then just as he was on his feet, Curly jerked him sharply so that he hit the ground hard. Curly laughed. “How’s it feel, Sackett? That ain’t nothin’ to what’s comin’. How do your toes stand up to fire? Pa tried that on a Yankee one time who wouldn’t tell us where he’d hidden his proud-ofs. He told us soon enough, but pa let the fire burn for awhile just to teach him a lesson.”
They were well into the trees before Galloway saw his chance. Suddenly he darted to one side and ducked around a tree, taking a quick turn of the rope around the bole. The move was so sudden that Curly, who only had dallied the rope around the saddle horn was caught unawares. Curly was no cowhand, although he had worked cattle to some extent, and he was careless by nature. Galloway’s quick move in snubbing the rope around the tree not only brought his horse up short, but gave Galloway the instant he needed. Holding the snub tight with one hand he hastily kicked and shook the rope loose.
Curly wheeled his horse with a yell, but Galloway had ducked around a tree with others growing close beside it and it took Curly just a minute to find a hole through which he could guide his horse.
Curly grabbed for his pistol but a branch interfered. Galloway shook off the rope and ducking around the tree, jumped for Curly. Trying to pull back from the tangle in which he found himself, Curly felt a sudden heave on his stirrup as his leg was thrown up. He started to fall and tried to grab a secure hold on the pommel, but Galloway hacked at the fingers and Curly lost his grip.
He hit the ground with one foot caught in a stirrup and the frightened horse, backing and rearing, swung out of the trees and broke into a run.
Galloway staggered back, caught himself against a tree and slowly recovered himself. The horse went racing back toward the town, with Curly bouncing at every jump.
Glancing quickly around, he found Curly’s pistol where it had fallen among the leaves. Hastily he checked the cylinder. Only three cartridges. Damn a man who didn’t reload!