never cared for it much. To tell you the truth, I’d as leave let it lay. There’s
something mighty disconcerting about a bullet in the brisket … lead sets heavy
on the stomach.
The trouble was I’d about run out of places to go. From here on, I was in the
open unless I could squeeze right into the ground. Nowhere could I see more than
two or three inches of cover, and I was going to want more—a whole lot more.
One thing I did know. If those people topped out on that rise and raised a gun
at me, they were going to find it was an uncomfortable place to be. Because I
was going to start shooting, and their horses would come down off that rim one
way or the other, probably running and buck-jumping.
Of a sudden I heard a faint stir, and I turned very carefully.
A man, rifle held in his hands ready for use, was standing just in front of the
spruce trees. He was standing stockstill and he was listening.
I eased my rifle forward and waited. The man stood there, took a couple of steps
forward, and stopped again. From where I’d fallen when he fired he would be
merged against that spruce background and not easily seen; from where I now lay
he was outlined stark and clear. He took another step forward, and then one of
the riders topping the ridge evidently got a glimpse of me. He up with his rifle
and let drive, and I shot at the man by the spruce trees.
I left the ground in a diving run. I had no hopes of scoring a good hit, but the
bullet turned him. As I had run to his right, which meant he had to swing toward
the hard side, he missed his shot at me. I went into some hummocks of grass and
rubble, rolled over three times, and took another diving run into the woods.
Turning, I shot three times at the bunch on the ridge as fast as I could work
the lever on the Winchester. I was shooting at a target seven or eight hundred
feet higher and some distance off, but the bullets lit among them.
Like I figured, it blew things all to bloody hell. One of those horses jumped
right straight out ahead of him, hit that slope on all fours, went to his knees,
throwing his rider, and, still sliding, scrambled up and made it to the bottom.
Another of the horses came down the slope on that narrow path hellbent for
election with the rider hanging on with both hands. The horse hit the bottom of
the trail and stopped short, and the rider went right on over his head. He hit
hard, got up, and fell over.
The other two who had been up there disappeared down the other side. I kept on
moving. Somewhere in this same patch of woods was that killer who had come close
to notching my skull a few minutes back.
If I’d put a bullet in him, I’d be lucky, but I might just have burned him or
his rifle or hit near him. Any one of those things can make a man jump.
I lit out at a run along the slope, keeping into the trees. Mostly I went
downhill because that was the easiest way to go. Then I slowed down and worked
my way along the slope to get to where Ap was feeding.
There were dips and hollows in the land, brush and trees here and there, but
mostly just grass and flowers. The rim of the cirque was just over yonder, so I
went that way, doing the Injun in the grass, snaking along when necessary,
running when I could.
At that altitude, even if you’re used to it as I was, you just don’t do much
running. Finally I hunkered down between three thick-boled old spruce and
waited, catching my breath and trying to see where they were located.
My horses were grazing about a hundred yards off, and one of theirs, his saddle
under his belly, stood spraddle-legged about that same distance away but closer
to where they must be.
Having a moment to spare, I fed some shells into my rifle and held my place. At
least two of them had reached the bottom, and one was in no shape for action,
judging by the tumble taken. One of them was out in front of me somewhere and so
was the one who first shot at me.
Time dragged by slowly. Shadows began to gather .in the basin. On the rim there
was golden sunlight, and there was a pinkish tinge to the clouds. Out over the
basin, somebody called … it sounded like a woman, but that couldn’t be.
Looking toward my horses, I decided to try for them. I went forward, keeping to
the deepest grass and wild flowers, some of which were almost waist-high.
No telling who they were out there. Andre Baston and Hippo Swan? Probably. But
they had started one bunch of killers after me a good while back, and they’d
surely not hesitate to try again. Killing was something you could buy cheap,
these days. The chances of being charged with a killing out here were slight.
Many men went west, many never came back, and few questions were asked.
It took me some stretch of time before I reached my horses, even though they
weren’t far off. I moved along, keeping out of sight as best I could, and heard
nothing. And then, just as dark was coming on the rim up yonder, I saw a rider
top out there, hold fast for a minute, and start down the trail. All he could
see from up there was a great black bowl of darkness.
As I edged closer, old Ap pricked his ears and took a step toward me, curious as
to why I was down there on the ground. “Easy, boy!” I whispered. “Easy, now!”
He stood fast and my hand went out to gather up the reins. I drew the horse
nearer to me, then, carefully, I got to my feet.
Suddenly, at my elbow, a voice spoke—a woman’s voice. The shock of it sent a
chill right up my spine.
“I believe I have been hurt. Can you help me?”
CHAPTER XXII
It was Fanny Baston.
She had a voice that was one in ten thousand—low, soft, inviting. Even in the
darkness I could see there was blood on her face, her blouse and coat were torn,
and she was favoring one leg.
“Your friends are close by.” I wanted no part of her, just none at all. She was
hurt, all right, but she had a brother and an uncle within call, and mayhap
others as well.
“I think I am …” she just let go everything and slumped to the ground, passed
out.
I swore. Yes sir, I swore. The last thing I needed right now was to be saddled
with a hurt woman, especially this one. She hadn’t seemed to know me. Maybe that
rap on the skull had done it, but there wasn’t much a body could do.
If I called for them, I’d get shot. If I left her there, she might die. I’d no
idea how bad off she was, and I couldn’t see any way but to take her along. So I
picked her up and put her in the saddle. Holding her with one hand I started
forward. I hadn’t gone that way more than a few minutes when Ap stopped. I tried
to urge him on, but he wouldn’t budge a step. Leaving Fanny Baston slumped over
the saddle horn, I went forward and almost stepped off of the world.
My foot went off the edge, and it was lucky I had hold of the bridle. Pulling
back, I knocked a small rock off into space, and it fell what seemed like a long
time. I backed up and turned the horse, and we worked back into the scattered
trees and into the grass.
What I needed now was a hideout. Wandering around in the dark at the edge of a
cliff was no way to find one, yet find one I did. It was fool’s luck, nothing
else.
I came to another place where the horse stopped, but that time I could see trees
ahead of me. I dropped a rock and it fell only a few feet and lit soft.
I worked along the edge until I found a place that sort of slanted off and I
went down. I was on a lower level, maybe six or eight feet lower than where I’d
been, and there was thick grass underfoot.
I had tied Fanny’s hands to the pommel, and now I led the horses down and along
under the trees. When I got behind a small shoulder of that ledge, I pulled up,