“We’ve got a job to do,” Chantry said.
“Come along if you like.”
“I’d better. No use lettin’ you boys handle all that money. Nor the trouble, either.” Williams turned his horse to ride along. “Surprised to see you here, Sparrow. I’d heard you were a man who avoided trouble.”
“That has been my policy.”
“Uh-huh. I recall. A changed policy
now, is that it?” Williams chuckled. “You’re the unlucky one, Chantry. You’re ridin’ alone, so to speak. Sparrow and me, we know where you stand, but you got no idea where we’re placed in this setup. We can count on you; you don’t know whether you can count on us or not.”
“I’ll fight my own battles. You stay out of it.”
“Fire-eater, aren’t you?”
Williams said. “You sound a whole lot different from the fellow who backed off from Dutch Akin a while back. You got any idea what you’re ridin’ into?”
Williams, whether for his benefit or Sparrow’s, had dropped into the casual, easy talk of many western men. He could speak well enough when he wanted to.
“I know. The Talrims, Harvey, and the Ruffs, six men, and a woman who’s worse than all of them.”
“You got any idea what kind of men they are? The Talrims, you know them. A couple of dirty-mean rattlesnakes. But Frank Ruff? Now there’s something else. Frank Ruff could file twenty-seven notches on his guns if he was tinhorn enough to do it.
“You hear of men who’ve killed a few, but when you get to pinnin’ it down to names and places you lose most of them. Not so with Frank Ruff. Him you can list for twenty-seven and you can find the names, dates, and places to match them, and ever’ one of them standin’ up and facin’ him, one way or another. Mort, he’s tallied about six, near as a body can figure, and Charlie about four, maybe five.”
“Five,” Sparrow said.
“So look at it any way you like, you’re
takin’ on something more than a handful of pilgrims.”
“You don’t have to come.”
“Wouldn’t miss it. I got to see the boy who
wouldn’t draw against a drunken man face up to a pat hand like that, with Sarah for a joker in the deck.”
They rode on then in silence. The sand dunes loomed, and Chantry swung his horse, riding up into them. Around a dune, and then he saw the buildings … two of them. Some scattered, weathered boards, a fallen-in roof … many tracks, but none that could be defined, because of the loose sand.
Chantry swung down and looked into the buildings. Nothing. Why had they stopped here, then?
“Chantry?” It was Williams. “Look here.”
He emerged from the building and went toward Williams, who was around the corner, standing on the edge of a small pit.
In the bottom lay two bodies.
Jumping down, he bent over, and saw that both the men there were bound and gagged, but very much alive. He untied the gags.
“They’ve got Doris,” Earnshaw said.
“If anybody follows they’ll kill her.”
“They will anyway,” Williams said shortly. “Or leave her to the Talrims, which would be worse.”
Hastily, they cut the men loose. Earnshaw stood up. “Go get them, Tom. For God’s sake, find them in time! They left us here, said the sand would bury us in a few hours. Talrim said there was a storm coming up.”
“The stars are going. Maybe he was right,” Sparrow said. “Head back for the train. It’s only a little way.”
South again.
The air grew cooler. Clouds covered the
sky.
“How far to Robber’s Roost?” Chantry asked.
“Too far. They’ll see this coming and head for shelter. It’s going to be a gully-washer.”
Tom Chantry was silent. In the last few moments an eerie feeling had been creeping over him. He knew where they were going, knew exactly.
“Do you believe in fate?” he asked Williams.
“I believe in a gun and a horse,” French said, “and not much more.”
Sparrow edged his horse over. “Why? What about it?”
“Two of the men who killed my father are in that bunch,” he said. “And do you know where they’re going for shelter? They’re going to my old home— to Borden Chantry’s ranch!”
Sparrow pulled up and came back. His voice was odd. “You mean the place up ahead belonged to your father? It was his land?”
“Yes, and he built the house.”
They started on. He was coming right back to where he
had barely escaped from the outlaws. Only now he was not driving cattle, or riding with anything on his mind but the men ahead … and Doris.
“How far behind them are we?” Sparrow wondered.
“We’ve gained—they stopped to leave Earnshaw
and Whitman. They probably lost thirty minutes. And I don’t think they are expecting pursuit … not yet, I mean.”
A few spattering drops of rain fell. They drew up, got into their slickers, and rode on again. Occasionally there was a flash of lightning.
“They’re walking their horses,” French said.
“We’ll be gaining on them.”
An hour passed … suddenly a light gleamed ahead, then vanished. Chantry thought of the house—the logs that had been pulled from the walls, the roof partly fallen-in. They would be in the house, and might not even know about the root cellar.
He led the way to the cottonwoods. Huge branches ran out from each tree and merged with others from nearby trees. Under them there was fair shelter from the rain, and when he was under them he stepped down from the saddle. The horses of the outlaws were outside the house.
“We’ll have to wait until morning,” Sparrow said.
“With the girl in there?” French said. “You’re forgetting her, Sparrow.”
“All right,” Sparrow agreed. “When you’re ready.”
“We’ll have to get them outside,” Chantry said. “In close quarters she might be killed.”
“They’ve started a fire,” Sparrow commented.
“I don’t think they’ve been here long.”
“Speaking of morning,” Chantry said, “it’s almost that now.”
“You won’t have to worry about your girl yet,” French said cynically. “They’ll split the money first.”
“Look out! Somebody’s coming!” Chantry warned.
They waited, their bodies merged with the trunks of the trees. Light showed as the door opened, and a girl stepped out. That would be Sarah.
She moved toward them, and stopped. A light showed again and a man appeared, a big man. He walked toward Sarah, stopping not much more than twenty feet away from them. “You wanted to see me?” He sounded puzzled. “It’s Charlie the girls always want to talk to.”
“I wanted to talk to you, Mort.” Sarah’s tone was soft, friendly. “I’m afraid, Mort. I’m afraid of the Talrims.”
“Of them? They won’t hurt you none. Besides, they got that other girl.”
“I don’t mean that. I’m afraid for all of us. You don’t know them as I do. I’m sure they don’t intend to divide that money with any of us. I was sure you would understand, Mort.
Charlie is too … well, he doesn’t
seem as serious as you do.”
“He laughs a lot, but Charlie’s all right.” Mort was obviously turning the idea over in his mind. “I don’t take to them Talrims myself. I thought they were friends of yours.”
“Oh, no. They sort of … well, they just joined up with me, and what’s a girl to do? I couldn’t drive them off, and I hadn’t anybody to help me.”
“I’ll help you,” Mort said earnestly.
“Be careful, then. Watch them. If they start
for their guns …”
“Don’t you worry none. I’m faster’n them.
I’m faster’n anybody, except maybe pa.”
“You go back in. If they say anything, you tell them you like me—that you thought you might talk to me a little.”
“All right. Only don’t you worry none.”
When he had gone, Sarah stood alone for a
moment, and then, just as she turned to go back, French stepped out and said, “Sarah, it won’t work.”
She was calm. “Why not?”
“You’ll be in there with them, Sarah, and if
shooting starts, you’re as likely to be shot as anyone.”
French Williams started toward her, talking quietly. “Looking at the size of the place. There will be five guns going in there.”
“Six,” she said. “I’ll do some shooting myself.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“Of course. You’ve lost most of your accent,
but it’s there … I haven’t seen you since I was a little girl.”
He was close to her now. “You favor your father.”
“You never liked him, did you? I can remember that.”
“We didn’t share the same ideas.”
“I wonder if we do?”
“About that gold in there? I think so. You’d like
to have it all, and so would I. You spoke of shooting.
Who were you going to shoot?”
“Frank Ruff—who else? But not at first, not until he’d helped kill the Talrims.” Her voice was matter-of-fact.