He was tired. It seemed he was always tired these days, and the sun was already warm. He pushed ahead, trying to close up the long column. It was spreading out too far as some of the horses wanted to lag. He pushed the last riders forward, urging them to keep the line closed up.
Again he glanced around. The country seemed virtually without cover, but he was too old a campaigner to believe that. There were always places a man could hide. If you didn’t believe that, fight the Apaches.
Dal was almost a half mile ahead, much too far. “Jesse!” he called. “Close them up!”
Jesse was talking to Dulcie and only waved a hand, but he did begin to urge them forward. Slowly the gaps narrowed until the column was less than a quarter of a mile in length and slowly closing.
Dal pulled up on the crest of a hill, standing in his stirrups and looking all about. He should not do that. Made too good a target of himself.
They started on. Up ahead some trees came down close to the trail. A place to watch. Swiftly he swung out, cutting wide from the column and moving toward the trees. When he was nearer he got out his glass and studied them … nothing.
Nevertheless, he did not like the look of them or the rugged country around. Yet when they drew abreast of them, nothing happened. He scouted the near side, saw no tracks.
He squeezed his eyes together, then opened them wide. The easy gait and the hot sun were making him sleepy.
That Martin Connery now, there was a character! If he had been along with some of his men, especially that Fraconi, he’d have felt better.
The column was lengthening again, and he urged the laggards forward, growing irritated. Damn it, couldn’t they realize the danger? A man would think that after what they had been through they’d be more cautious.
He topped a rise and went over it quickly, taking a look back as he did so.
He dried his palms on his shirt front, holding the Spencer in his right hand, momentarily shifting it to the left.
He almost pulled up. As he shifted the rifle he thought he saw something ahead and off to the right. Must have been a flicker of light off the rifle barrel. Anyway, there was nothing there now.
Mac looked around quickly … nothing. Had he seen something or was it his eyes? He was very tired, and …
The loop came out of nowhere and dropped over his shoulders, totally unexpected. He was jerked from his horse, and the startled animal leaped forward and began to run.
He hit the road with a thump and heard a scramble of feet. When you roped something you hog-tied it. He knew that in a flash of realization and rolled over. He had clung to his rifle, and now as a man loomed over him he thrust the muzzle into the man’s stomach and pulled the trigger.
In the instant before the gun went off he saw the startled look of awareness on the man’s face. The instant that gun muzzle thrust into his stomach the man knew!
The blast of the gun knocked the man back, and Mac scrambled to his feet, trying to shake off the clinging rope before somebody else grabbed it.
The rope dropped free, and he glanced once at the man on the ground. He was dying and had no chance. The heavy .52-calibre slug had done its work.
He ran up the slope and saw the column scattered all over the plain. What seemed like a dozen or more men had charged down upon it, and with him knocked out of action their surprise was almost complete.
Jesse was firing, Dal had turned back, and several of the girls were bunching around Kate and Mrs. Atherton. Mac dropped to one knee. The distance was well over the two hundred yards his rifle was expected to shoot with accuracy, but he took careful aim, let his breath out slowly and squeezed off his shot.
A rider jerked in the saddle but continued to move. Taking his time, Mac fired again and again. Four shots. One man down, one man hit, and two clean misses!
A man on a blood bay horse was charging toward the girls, and Mac fired again. He evidently burned the horse, for it leaped aside, unseating its rider.
The fight was moving away from him. Quickly, Mac glanced around. Where was his horse? Where was the horse of the man who roped him? He saw neither, and took off running.
He could see it all up ahead. Then from the low ground before him a man raised up with a pistol … it was Happy Jack, and just as a rider charged down upon him, he fired.
The man went up in his stirrups, then fell, hitting the ground near Jack, who shot into him again. Scrambling, obviously wounded, Jack recovered the man’s rifle and crawled toward the possible shelter of a place where run-off had scooped out the ground.
The fighting had gone over the rise in the ground and left him alone. He ran up to Jack. There was blood on his leg.
“I’m all right. I’m dug in an’ I can handle myself. You get after ’em boy!”
On the rise before him there was a horse, reins trailing. He started for it, calling. It was his own horse. The animal hesitated, looking at him, but did not come. Slowly, he edged toward the horse and it moved away a little. He continued on, talking quietly. It was not a horse he’d had for long and although he moved hesitantly, it still shied away.
He gave up, dropping on one knee to survey the field. Several men, a half dozen at least, were riding and shooting. The girls had bunched together but whether Kate was with them he could not see. He ran forward, carrying the rifle at port position, ready to fire on the instant.
Dal, on Bonnie Prince again, he could recognize at once. He saw Dal charge a man. They both fired, but Dal remained in the saddle. The other man dashed on by, and when at least fifty yards further on, he fell.
Mac took careful aim at a rider, led him a little and squeezed off his shot. The man left the saddle as if swept by a giant arm. The horse came racing on up the hill, and as he came abreast, Mac swung himself into the saddle and turned the horse back toward the fight. His own horse followed, stirrups flopping at the gait. The attack was broken. A few riders raced off, and he fired a futile following shot, then pulled up and reloaded. He walked his horse down the slope to the girls and saw Dal coming from the other side. He dropped the Spencer into its scabbard and looked around.
Jesse was coming toward them, limping. “Lost my horse,” he said, “and a good horse, too.”
Mac turned and rode toward his horse, which stood still, waiting. It was less nervous with a rider approaching than a man on foot. He caught up the bridle and rode toward Jesse. He swung down.
“Take this horse. I’ll stick to my own.” They both mounted. “Jesse, catch up a loose horse and take him down to Jack. Just over the rise.”
Slowly, they gathered together. Jesse had been hurt when his horse fell, but aside from a bad bruise was all right. Happy Jack had a bullet through his leg. Neither Dal nor Mac had been hurt.
Gretchen had been grazed by a bullet that cut the skin on her shoulder. The others were unharmed, though very frightened.
Victoria was dark when they rode into town. Only a few lights glowed, one of them in what was called the Railroad Hotel.
Stiffly, Mac got down and walked into the lobby. A clerk with sleeve garters and a green eye-shade got up from behind a desk.
“If you got four or five rooms you could help us a lot.”
“We’ve got the rooms, but I’m afraid there’s no place for young women. I mean my rooms are partitioned off just with sheets of white cotton. No walls. Some of the men use some pretty bad language.”
“You give us the rooms. I’ll take care of the language.”
He looked at Mac again. “Yes, sir,” he said. “How many, sir?”
“Eleven beds. If you have two to a room, so much the better for some of them.”
When they were shown to the rooms, Mac said, “We’ll put the girls in the middle. Dal, you an’ Jesse take the last room. Jack and I will take this one in front.”
While they slowly filed into their rooms, Mac suddenly spoke out in his best parade-ground voice.
“Now listen! We’ve several very tired young ladies here. One of them is my sister. One of them is my brother’s bride-to-be. I take it you are all gentlemen here. If you are, you will go to sleep and save the conversation until tomorrow. If you are not gentlemen I will personally attend to the noise-makers!”