There was no rider on its back.

  The man must have dropped off in the gully, and would now be creeping in Sandy’s direction, out of his line of sight. Sandy muttered a curse. Climbing the rocks had been of little help to him, but he did not wish to make the climb down, possibly dislodging small rocks and giving his position away.

  There was a maze of rocks in the direction of the gully; a cautious stalker would not show himself except in the briefest of moments, and only chance would find Sandy’s sights trained at the exact spot. What had seemed like a good thought only minutes ago now seemed utterly foolish. He had trapped himself among the boulders and had no idea where the hunting man might be.

  All right, there was no point in brooding about his misfortune or foolishness, he had to get down, recover the sorrel and ride again, ride hard. The stalking man must still be far enough away that it made no difference if Sandy made noise descending. Once he had the sorrel, he would be riding away at speed and the man hunting him would be left behind afoot himself.

  So he was thinking as he lowered himself, boots first toward the ground. Halfway down the bluff, the makeshift sling on the rifle came loose and the Winchester dropped away, clattering off the rocks below. He should have taken more care with the job, but at the time it had seemed more important to get atop the boulders.

  Panting, Sandy dropped the last six feet to the ground and looked around frantically for the rifle, but the Winchester was not to be found. It must have fallen into some small crevice or lay hidden in plain sight in the deep shadows at the base of the cliff. Again Sandy muttered a small curse and decided, rifle or not, that it was time to move before the stalking man could catch up with him. He walked rapidly back into the split where he had sent the sorrel he had been riding, carrying his Colt tightly in his right hand. The moon above seemed to follow him, mocking his attempts.

  The horse was gone. The moon-shadowed night turned deathly cold.

  TEN

  The sorrel must have turned around or found another corridor through the boulders, leading out. It was probably legging its way back toward the herd even now. What was he to do? The only chance seemed to be to emerge from the rocks in the direction through which he had entered. That was the only place where he knew his pursuer not to be. And there was a chance, if slim, of catching up the other man’s horse and making good his escape.

  That was his thinking. Sandy spun around, holstered his Colt and began jogging toward the opening to the rocky maze. He had made it about twenty yards when the voice reached him from the rocks above.

  ‘Hold it right there, Rivers. The game is over. You lost. I’ve got my rifle sights trained on your back.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Rivers called. He wanted to hear the voice again, to locate the man’s position.

  ‘Me? Nothing. Just you or your corpse. If you want to live, shed that Colt and put those hands up nice and high.’

  ‘You know my name,’ Sandy said, ‘who are you?’ But the man would not be goaded into speaking again. Sandy knew roughly where the man was. There was a rock ledge running nearly the length of the entranceway, ten feet or so above the ground. The man had found a way to circle around through the boulders, probably turning Sandy’s sorrel horse loose, and clambered up there to wait.

  There was a large fallen boulder ten or fifteen feet ahead which would provide shelter, nothing nearer. Sandy would have to out-race the rifle’s bullets to the boulder, roll in behind it and prepare to fight it out. None of this seemed possible.

  He had hesitated too long and now he heard the crack of a rifle, and a bullet spanged against the rocky ground only inches from his feet.

  ‘I said shed that pistol, Rivers! My next shot will be in the center of your spine.’

  Sandy regretfully lifted the pistol from his holster using his thumb and index finger. He dropped it to the ground. His impulse was to fight back, but he had no chance and at least this way he might live to try it another day.

  He heard the man’s feet shuffling along the ledge, heard a few small stones and dust trickle down. The rifle shot thundered, flashing brilliantly in the corridor, reflecting off the stone walls as the roar of it echoed down the stony chute.

  Then there was the sound of something soft and heavy falling behind him and Sandy turned his head to see a man fall from the ledge and hit the ground, rifle free of his hands.

  ‘Sorry,’ a voice from ahead of Sandy said. ‘It seems I was a little slow getting here.’ The figure of a man separated itself from the gloom of the surrounding shadows and approached.

  ‘Bob!’

  ‘It’s me,’ Bobo answered. He was wearing a new blue shirt and a black Stetson. His movements as he strode toward Sandy were fluid and easy.

  ‘Looks like you’re just about healed up,’ Sandy said.

  ‘You ought to see me with my shirt off,’ Bob replied. ‘It looks like you caught up with Amos Coyne.’ Rough fingers examined Sandy’s torn shirt and wounded body.

  ‘I did. Who’s that over there?’ he asked, nodding at the fallen man.

  ‘Looks to be Kent Cox,’ Bobo told him.

  ‘Nobody’s loss,’ Sandy said. ‘Tell me, Bob, how’d you find me?’

  ‘Well, I made it back to the Sky Box eventually, still riding that buckskin. The horse didn’t go fast nor far in a day, but it plugged along until it got me there. They told me that you and the lady had ridden off together to find Amos Coyne, which kind of puzzled me.’

  ‘It still puzzles me,’ Sandy replied.

  ‘I figured I owed you; besides I’d like to have a talk with Amos Coyne myself. I washed down and had myself treated with carbolic, grabbed a new shirt and saddled Cookie. And here I am.’

  ‘You didn’t see Corrine or Coyne, then? Sandy asked.

  ‘There was no way I could have,’ Bobo frowned, puzzled for a moment. ‘Oh, I see – you and the woman rode the other way, through that town over by the springs. There’s another way, Sandy. I came up the south road.’ Bobo pointed vaguely.

  ‘So what do we do now?’ Sandy asked, leaning against a massive, flat-faced boulder.

  ‘I don’t know. What did you have in mind?’

  ‘I was on the run; I thought I might as well run back to Sky Box and get some men to ride back with me.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that, Sandy,’ Bobo told him. ‘They’re already on the way. About two dozen hands.’

  ‘Did you convince them, Bob? Otherwise, how…?’

  ‘That was the plan, Sandy. The girl was to be given a day to try getting the money back from Coyne, then the Sky Box men were to ride. That was planned out by Corrine and Vincent Skye. Skye didn’t like it, but Corrine said she could connive the money out of Coyne without a war breaking out.’

  ‘I don’t see how she can hope to do it,’ Sandy said thoughtfully, ‘unless—’

  ‘Unless Amos Coyne realizes the Sky Box is worth a lot more than this little bootstrap ranch of his and Corrine convinces him that he is still at the top of her list as far as husbands go. She, being a woman, and a pretty one, can do that, I would guess.’

  Sandy found the idea vaguely troubling, but he had to admit that there was sense to the plan. ‘She could have told me what she had in mind,’ he complained.

  ‘Maybe,’ Bobo agreed uncertainly as he studied Sandy. ‘Come on, let’s get mounted so we’ll be ready for whatever happens.’

  ‘I lost my horse,’ Sandy admitted, shamefaced.

  ‘That little sorrel? I found him standing out on the grass like he didn’t know which way to go. I tethered him to Cookie’s saddle and ground-hitched them.’

  ‘I thank you for this, Bob, you’re a life-saver.’

  ‘I couldn’t do any less for the man who pulled me back nearly from the grave,’ Bob answered.

  Together they walked to where Bobo had left the horses. Both still stood there patiently, nibbling at the coarse grass. Their heads came up as the men drew nearer.

  ‘The sorrel’s worn down some,’ Sandy said. ‘He had already put in a full night’s work when I took him on a hard ride.’

  Bobo nodded, patted Cookie’s neck and crouched down, holding the paint pony’s reins. ‘What do you want to do then, Sandy?’

  ‘I’d guess we should wait for the Sky Box riders, let the ponies rest. My feelings tell me to just ride back and confront Amos Coyne, but that wouldn’t be too bright, would it?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Bobo said, ‘even though I share your feelings. It’s more important that we win the war, which we will with twenty men to side us.’

  ‘Coyne still has Corrine!’ Sandy said.

  ‘She can take care of herself. Just wait awhile, Sandy. Take the time to breathe and to rest. If you’re hungry I’ve got apples, cheese and bread in my saddle-bags.’

  Sandy accepted Bobo’s invitation. He took a red apple and cut a slice of cheese with his pocket knife. Then he and Bobo sat together in the cool, moon-bright night, eating companionably.

  ‘They’re taking their time getting here,’ Sandy said impatiently after a while, looking in the direction of the south trail.

  ‘Don’t get nervous on me,’ Bobo said with a smile. ‘Chuck Durban is heading them up, and he knows what he’s doing. My guess is he wants to do any mopping up there is to do after sunrise.’

  ‘I suppose they know what they’re doing,’ Sandy said, rising from the rock, ‘It’s just that—’

  ‘I know,’ Bobo said, ‘it’s just that Corrine is still down there and you can do nothing to help her.’

  It was at least another hour, with the minutes dragging by, before Sandy heard the sound of hoofbeats approaching. He stood and waited, hands on his hips, looking that way. Eventually the Sky Box riders appeared from out of the night and drew up where Bobo and Sandy stood holding their horses’ reins.

  ‘Hello, Bobo,’ said their leader, a lanky man wearing a white shirt and a vest.

  ‘Hello, Chuck, we’ve been waiting for you.’

  Sandy muttered a greeting and Chuck Durban fixed narrowed eyes on him. ‘Do I know you?’ the Sky Box foreman asked.

  ‘We met once.’

  ‘He was a drover on the last drive,’ Bobo put in. Durban’s expression changed.

  ‘So this is Miss Skye’s drover?’ he asked with a faint smile which irritated Sandy for a reason he couldn’t define.

  ‘This is him,’ Bobo answered. ‘What have you got planned, Chuck?’

  ‘We mean to hit them and hit them hard. The dead of night is the best time. Most of them will be in their bedrolls. Are you coming with us, Bobo?’

  Bobo glanced at Sandy. ‘No, Chuck, we’d better try and get to the stone house where Amos Coyne is holed up.’

  ‘Coyne!’ Chuck spat the name as if it were poison. ‘All right, Bobo. We’ll be along to help as soon as we’ve done what we came to do – wipe these rustlers out.’

  ‘Twenty men won’t be able to get him out any better than two,’ Sandy told him. ‘He’s got his house built like a fortress. And besides—’

  ‘Corrine is inside too,’ Bobo said.

  ‘I know. But she’s smart enough that she may have already made her escape. I’ll let you two boys go on and be the heroes. Us? We’ve got some cattle thieves to shoot.’

  After the cowboys had ridden past, leaving them bathed in fine dust, Sandy commented, ‘He’s a hard man, isn’t he?’

  ‘He don’t show sentiment easy. All you need to know about Chuck Durban is that given a job, he does it.’

  The Sky Box riders were riding, but not rushing, down the long dark slope into the valley. What Sandy had said to Chuck Durban was true enough. Twenty men shooting at the house would accomplish no more than two could. Still, going into battle there was comfort in numbers. Even with Bobo at his side, Sandy felt somehow alone in this battle.

  They swung aboard their horses and started riding at an angle toward Coyne’s stone fortress.

  What would Coyne do? Try to use Corrine as a bargaining chip, use her as a hostage? Understand that he had been tricked and take it out on her? There was no point in trying to out-think Coyne’s evil little mind. As long as he thought that keeping Corrine from harm’s way was going to ensure his eventual ownership of the Sky Box, Coyne would not harm the girl.

  ‘Let’s have our try,’ Bobo said. ‘Vincent Skye is waiting for his daughter.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Bob? Didn’t you know – Vincent Skye is dead.’

  ‘Well, then, I saw his twin brother yesterday,’ Bobo said. ‘He had Chuck over to the house to tell him what the plan was. I tagged along and told the old man I was going to go ahead on my own, as even if Coyne caught a lone man on his range it wouldn’t give away the raid. I had my excuse for being there ready – I was going to kill Coyne for whipping me. Skye gave me his permission.’

  ‘But he died,’ Sandy insisted. ‘I was there when they buried him!’

  ‘Couldn’t have been,’ Bobo said. ‘Did you see him rolled into the ground?’

  ‘No, they just planted him while it was still dark. Just Nate Arbuckle, I think, and another man.’

  ‘You really think a loving daughter would have buried Vincent Skye in that manner?’

  ‘It did strike me as kind of … cold.’

  ‘And she sent the crippled-up Nate Arbuckle to do the job of burying him?’ Bobo was shaking his head. ‘No, Sandy. They just told it around that Skye was dead so that when Corrine showed up as a poor helpless orphan – after taking the long way around to give them time to pass the knowledge on to Coyne – he would have already gotten the word and would be licking his lips in anticipation. Probably spouting false sorrow and promising to take care of her.’

  ‘Well, I’ll be … Why didn’t she tell me?’ Sandy asked.

  ‘Why would she? If Coyne started questioning you, she wanted to make sure that you believed Skye was dead.’

  ‘This is all a little too cunning for me,’ Sandy said. ‘Let’s quit the talking and get to the doing.’

  ‘Do you have any ideas?’ Bobo asked.

  ‘Only one, and we’d better get to the stone house quickly.’ Bobo gave Sandy a questioning glance, and he explained his thinking. ‘When the shooting starts down in the valley, Coyne is bound to come out to see what’s happening. He can’t just pull his blanket up over his head, can he?’

  ‘Not hardly. Is he the only one inside – outside of Corrine, I mean?’

  ‘Jordy Cavett and Randall Chandler will be around if they’re not inside the house.’

  ‘Probably one inside, one on the porch standing watch,’ Bobo suggested.

  ‘That’s the way I’d do it,’ Sandy answered. ‘Come on, Bob, we’d better touch our spurs to these ponies. There’s no telling when Chuck Durban will signal his men to rush the herd.’

  They were now into the tall scattered pine forest. The moon shone through the high serrated reaches of the trees, making weird patchy shadows on the pine-needle-littered ground. Their horses’ hoofs were silent against the cushioning pine needles.

  ‘There it is,’ Sandy said, lifting a pointing finger.

  ‘You got better eyes than I do,’ Bobo said, squinting down into the valley where finally he was able to make out the squat shape of the stone house.

  ‘I doubt it. I’ve just been around more recently than you.’

  ‘What are you planning to do?’ Bobo asked.

  ‘Find a good position where we can watch the front door and get ready, wait until the guns open up down across the valley. There’s bound to be someone on the porch, keeping watch, but we don’t want to take a shot at him immediately. If he is hit, Coyne and whoever else is inside won’t come rushing out to see what’s happening. If they decided to fort up in that house we could be days, weeks, waiting them out.’

  And Corrine would be held inside with them.

  ‘You’ve got your long gun,’ Sandy continued, ‘so you find a good shooting spot and keep a hawk eye on the place once the shooting starts.’

  ‘You sound like you won’t be waiting here with me,’ Bobo said.

  ‘No, I’m going to work my way nearer on foot. If one of them manages to make his break to the open, I’ll be waiting to cut him off.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to hit you by accident, Sandy, where will you be?’

  ‘On the far side of the house, of course. I want to keep that stone between me and your shooting. That’s the way anyone fleeing will go for the same reason.’

  Bobo shook his head a few times before answering. ‘All right.’ He paused, taking his rifle from its sheath. ‘I sure hope this works as planned.’

  ‘It’ll work,’ Sandy said, swinging down from the sorrel’s back. ‘It will work.’

  Because it had to work. Corrine was still in the clutches of Amos Coyne. She must have had nearly all she could take by now. It was time she was set free. Because if Coyne made his escape he would undoubtedly try taking Corrine with him. She was his most valuable asset, but he could not be allowed to keep her.

  On foot Sandy Rivers started down the long grassy slope toward the dark stone stronghold of Amos Coyne.

  ELEVEN

  The moon had drifted across the night sky until it was now nearly overhead. It was smaller now, whiter. It peered at Sandy as he wove his way down the slope through the scattered pines. The only man who would be watching for him would be positioned on the other side of the house, on the front porch. They were not worried about Sandy Rivers’s return. What could he possibly do? As far as they knew he was still alone, unarmed, and would probably be trying to make his way out of the valley as hurriedly as possible. But they were wrong; Amos Coyne hadn’t seen the last of Sandy Rivers yet.

  Silently Sandy worked his way behind the stone house, glancing at a corral where Corrine’s white mare waited. The other horses were milling around. There was something in the air that night that they did not like. Fortunately, all remained silent as Sandy passed. He continued into the shadows beyond, where the outbuilding stood. He stood behind it and waited, pistol in his hand. He didn’t have to wait long. From across the valley a shot rang out, then a dozen more, then what must have been fifty or a hundred. Someone yelled from inside Coyne’s house and words were shouted back and forth. Sandy eased up toward the front of the outbuilding where by peering around the corner he could see the front of the big house.

 

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