Too soon to die, p.25
Too Soon to Die, page 25
The Lightning barked, drilling a .38 slug into the forehead of one man. He continued running, but aimlessly now since it was only momentum that kept him moving. He was already dead on his feet. His legs tangled up after a couple of steps and he tumbled to the ground.
Brice’s Colt blasted close enough to Denny’s ear that she flinched. The sound was like a giant fist hammering her. She saw the bullet punch into the second man’s guts and double him over. He went down, too.
They weren’t out of trouble yet. More shots slammed through the air and ricocheted from the rocks around them. Denny rolled over as bullets struck the ground near her head and sprayed dirt in her eyes. She gasped and blinked, and through watery vision she saw the three outlaws she and Brice had been aiming at a few moments earlier. Hearing the shots behind them, the men had whirled around and opened fire.
Denny came to a stop behind a rock that was less than a foot tall, so it didn’t provide much cover. Even so, she tried not to hurry her shot as she thrust the Lightning over the rock and fired. She was aiming for an outlaw’s chest, but the bullet went a few inches high and tore into his throat—even more effective. The man dropped his gun and clapped both hands to his throat, but he couldn’t stop the crimson fountain spurting from it. Denny knew her bullet had ripped through an artery. The man stumbled a couple of steps and then pitched forward onto his face.
Two men were still doing their damnedest to kill Denny and Brice.
The lawman’s .45 boomed and one of the outlaws reeled to the side clutching at a shattered shoulder. That brought him into the line of fire just as the third owlhoot triggered his rifle. The close-range shot caught the wounded man in the back of the head and sent half his skull flying into the air, accompanied by a gruesome spray of blood and brain matter.
Just one man left, and he staggered back as Denny and Brice fired at the same time and their bullets hammered into his chest. He flopped onto his butt and then went over onto his back with his arms spread out. He gave a couple of spasmodic kicks and was motionless after that.
Without holstering the Lightning, Denny scrambled over to Brice, who lay among the rocks on his side, propped on his left elbow. “Are you all right? I know you got hit!”
He pushed himself into a sitting position and nodded down at his left thigh. A bloody circle about the size of a fist stained his jeans. “Just barely nicked me. It kind of stings, that’s all.”
The taut chin strap of Denny’s Stetson had kept the hat on her head the whole time. She yanked it off and swatted him with it, making him flinch in surprise. “You damned fool!” she raged at him. “What the hell were you thinking, jumping on top of me like that? You could have gotten yourself killed trying to protect me!”
“It would have been worth it,” he said simply.
Denny just stared at him for a moment, seeing the sincerity on his face. There was no way to argue with a sentiment like that. In fact, she felt a little ashamed of herself . . . and even a bit awed that someone would feel that way about her.
The attack on the Sugarloaf crew continued, leaving no time for such things. Even worse from their perspective, angry shouts sounded as more men approached their position.
“Those bushwhackers finally realized they’re under attack, too,” said Brice. “And some of them are charging around here to see what all the commotion’s about.”
“We’ll be outnumbered,” said Denny, “even with the ones we’ve already killed.” An idea occurred to her. “It’s time to call in our reinforcements.”
“What reinfor—” Brice began, but before he could go on, Denny leaped to her feet and charged forward, so the men who had taken cover in the buffalo wallow could see her.
With her hat still in her hand, she whooped and waved it over her head in sweeping motions as if she were signaling someone behind her. “Come on, Sugarloaf!” she shouted. “Come on, Smoke! Come on, Pearlie! We’ll wipe ’em out!”
Her words and actions made it appear that she was leading a formidable force into battle. Bullets began to hum around her as outlaws raced toward her and opened fire. Behind them, the rest of the ambushers swung away from the buffalo wallow to meet the new threat.
That gave Cal and the men who were trapped down there the opening they needed to launch a counterattack of their own. They swarmed over the top of the earthen barrier around the wallow and charged up the slope, firing as they went. Their bullets slashed into the outlaws from the flank.
Brice, limping heavily on his bullet-creased leg, caught up to Denny, grabbed her around the waist, and bore her to the ground. “Get down, blast it!” he cried as slugs whipped through the air above them. “You’re gonna get yourself killed!”
“Reload!” Denny told him. “We’ve got to make those owlhoots think there’s an army out here!”
They lay among the rocks and thumbed fresh rounds into their revolvers, then fired as swiftly and accurately as they could so that lead scythed into the outlaws from two directions at once. It wasn’t exactly a crossfire, but it would do until the real thing came along.
The end result was that most of the would-be murderers and kidnappers fell, drilled by Sugarloaf lead in a frenzy of back-and-forth firing that lasted maybe a minute but seemed to stretch out longer. The three who were left unscathed threw down their guns and shoved their hands in the air, shouting, “Hold your fire! Don’t shoot! We give up!”
The Sugarloaf hands surrounded them, grabbed them, and wrestled them to their knees. The outlaws were lucky they didn’t just shoot and be done with it.
Denny and Brice stood up.
Denny waved and called, “Cal!”
The foreman went over to them, also limping a little and with a streak of blood on his cheek from a bullet scrape. “Denny!” he exclaimed. “You’re all right?”
She nodded. “I’m fine. Brice got nicked, but it’s not too bad.”
“Where’s Steve Markham? The last we saw, he was with you, not long before that bunch jumped us.”
Denny’s face turned grim. “Steve’s dead,” she told Cal. “He was . . . one of them. He tried to get me away before the ambush, but he didn’t succeed.”
Cal grunted then looked at Brice. “I reckon you showing up out of the blue had something to do with that, Marshal. I was wondering why you’re here in Montana.”
“It’s a long story, as they say,” replied Brice. “How bad is it with your bunch, Mr. Woods?”
“Two men dead, four more wounded but not too bad, I hope. Our saddle mounts are gone, and the horse herd’s scattered hell-west and crosswise!”
“Your saddle horses probably didn’t go far,” Denny said. “Brice and I left our horses not far from here. I’ll go get them, and one of the boys can use Brice’s horse to help me round up your mounts. Then you can go after the herd and round them up.”
“I can ride my own horse,” Brice protested.
“Your leg’s wounded,” Denny told him. “And I don’t give a damn if you’ve got a badge, you’re not giving me orders anymore.”
Brice looked like he wanted to argue, but then he shrugged. “All right. The most important thing is get this handled as quickly as possible.”
“That’s right,” Denny said. “Because hell’s going to break loose down on the Sugarloaf, and somebody’s got to warn Smoke about it!”
CHAPTER 50
By the time Denny and the Sugarloaf hand who’d borrowed Brice’s mount got back to the buffalo wallow, driving the crew’s saddle horses in front of them, someone had tied a makeshift bandage around Brice’s wounded thigh and the other injuries had been tended to, as well.
Cal greeted Denny by saying, “The marshal’s been telling me what Markham said. I talked to those men we took prisoner, too, and they confirmed what the rest of the bunch is planning to do back home.”
“I’m a little surprised they admitted it,” said Denny.
A grim smile touched Cal’s lips. “A fella gets talkative when you put a gun to his head and he can tell you wouldn’t mind pulling the trigger.” He paused for a second, then went on. “You were right, Denny, somebody needs to warn Smoke. I don’t see any way of doing that, though, short of heading back to Stirrup. That’s where the nearest telegraph office is.”
She nodded. “I know. I’m giving myself that job. I know my pa would want those horses delivered to the Circle C despite what’s happened, so you and the rest of the men take care of that.”
“Figured that’s what you’d say,” Cal replied with a nod of his own. “We’ll take those prisoners with us, too. They can be turned over to the law once the job’s done and we’re back at Stirrup. And . . . before we go, we’ll find Markham’s body and give him a decent burial.”
“Thank you, Cal,” Denny said, her voice a little hushed with emotion.
Brice had been standing by quietly, favoring his wounded leg. “I’m coming with you, Denny.”
“You’re hurt.”
“Nothing that’ll keep me from sitting a saddle. Cal, while you were questioning those owlhoots, did they say anything about when the raid on the Sugarloaf is supposed to take place?”
“They all claimed they didn’t know for sure,” Cal said with a note of disgust in his voice. “They were scared enough that I believe them, too. They’re just common hardcases, not the sort who the leaders of the gang would let in on the planning for a job.” The foreman shook his head. “It may be too late already.”
“I’m not going to allow myself to believe that,” Denny declared. “There’s always something that can be done. And I’m going to do it.”
“I won’t slow you down,” said Brice, “but I’m coming with you, whether you like it or not.”
“You’d better be ready to ride, then,” Denny snapped. “As soon as I switch my saddle to a fresh horse, I’m heading for Stirrup.”
“I’ll be ready, all right. Just watch what happens if anybody tries to stop me.”
* * *
Unfortunately, even switching back and forth between horses so the animals stayed fairly fresh, it would take the rest of the day and most of the next to reach Stirrup and send a telegram to Big Rock. Denny intended to ride all night in order to cut that time down as much as possible, but late in the afternoon, when she glanced over at Brice, she saw how pale and drawn his face was.
“Better hold up for a minute,” she said as she drew back on the reins.
“No, it hasn’t been long enough since we rested the horses last time.”
“I’m not talking about resting the horses. You look like you’re about played out. You must have lost more blood than you let on.”
They had slowed the horses but not stopped. Brice kept his gaze fixed stonily ahead of them and said, “I’m fine. We’re not stopping on my account. Bad enough we’ve slowed down.”
“Blast it, Brice, you don’t have to be so stubborn—”
“I’m being practical, not stubborn. If something happens to a member of your family, or even some of the crew at the Sugarloaf because we don’t make it to Stirrup in time, you’d never forgive me, Denny.”
“That’s crazy! None of this is your fault, Brice.” She hesitated. “You tried to warn me about Steve Markham . . .”
“Well . . . not really. I didn’t have any idea he was an outlaw, or the son of an outlaw.” Brice shook his head. “No, I was just crazy jealous, that’s all.”
“Jealous because ... ?”
“Are you fishing for it, Denny? Trying to make me say it?” He finally looked over at her. “I like you. One hell of a lot, in fact. Might as well come out with it. I love you.”
Denny swallowed hard. She’d had a pretty good idea of how Brice felt about her, of course. She would have had to be blind to miss it, whenever they had been together over the past months. The way he had reacted to the attention Steve Markham paid her was another sure-fire indicator.
But hearing it put into words was different. Men had declared their love for Denny before, in England and on the Continent, as well. Some of them she had wanted to believe. Deep down, though, a part of her had always remained skeptical, and she had been right to feel that way. She had never truly accepted that those expressions of love were sincere.
Until now. She knew in her heart that Brice Rogers meant every word of it.
What she didn’t know was how she felt in return, or what she should say back to him.
She didn’t have to figure it out yet, though. He swayed in the saddle and grabbed the horn with his free hand to keep from toppling off. Denny yanked her horse to a stop with one hand and used the other to grasp Brice’s arm and steady him. His horse stopped, too.
“Blast it! I knew you were pushing yourself too hard, Brice. You nearly passed out just then, didn’t you?”
“I’m all right,” he insisted, but the thinness of his voice suggested otherwise.
“The hell you are. We’re stopping, right here and now.” Denny looked around and saw a clump of brush not far away that would provide some firewood, so she wouldn’t have to hunt for buffalo chips. “This isn’t a bad place.”
“Denny . . .”
“Just hush. Unless you want to start talking about your badge again.”
Brice just sighed and shook his head, as if he knew that arguing wasn’t going to do any good. Denny threw a leg over the saddle and slid to the ground, managing to hang on to his arm at the same time. She helped him down from the horse.
“I feel like a damn fool,” he muttered. “Or a helpless little baby.”
“You’re neither of those things,” she told him. “Now sit down. I’ll get a fire started and put some coffee on to boil. Then I’ll unsaddle the horses. Honestly, all of us could use a chance to rest a little more. It’s been a long day.”
As Brice sat down on the ground, Denny noticed a spot of red on the bandage around his thigh. She nodded toward it and added, “We’ll tend to that, too.”
She hobbled the four horses they had taken from the trail drive’s remuda, leaving with Cal the mounts Brice had brought from Stirrup. Once she had the coffee going, she knelt beside Brice to untie the bandage.
She unwound it from his leg, then used the clasp knife she carried in her pocket to cut away more of his trouser leg. “Did anybody clean this with anything?” she asked as she studied the gash in his thigh.
“Whiskey.”
“Well, that’s good,” she said with a shrug. “It bled some more, but it looks like it’s stopped now. We’ll just put a fresh bandage on it, and you can have a doctor look at it when we get to Stirrup tomorrow.”
She pulled her shirt out of her jeans, revealing a little of the smooth flesh of her belly. She saw Brice looking at it while she used the knife to cut a strip off the bottom of the shirt. The fact that he was so interested in the revealed skin made a warm flush creep over her face. She didn’t acknowledge either reaction, his or hers.
“Lift your leg a little,” she told him. She worked the cloth around the injury and bound it in place. Her fingers couldn’t help but touch his leg, and even though she was trying to be coldly clinical about it, the unavoidable intimacy deepened the flush in her features.
If Brice noticed, he didn’t say anything about it. Denny was grateful for that.
“There,” she said when she was finished. “The coffee will be ready in a few minutes. I’ll fry up some bacon for us, too. After a while, we can push on toward Stirrup, if you feel up to it.”
“I’ll feel up to it,” Brice promised with determination in his voice. “Thank you, Denny. And about what I said earlier—”
“Right now, I’m not thinking about anything except doing what we can to stop those varmints from attacking the Sugarloaf.”
Brice didn’t press the issue. “If Louis is their target, he and Melanie must be scheduled to be back from their trip.”
“Yeah, I’ve lost track exactly of when they were expected,” Denny admitted, “but it ought to be any day now. They may have even gotten back to the Sugarloaf today.”
“If that’s the case, they’re in danger, too, along with everyone else on the ranch.”
“Yeah, but don’t forget . . . Smoke’s there, and they may not be expecting him.”
“And that will make the difference?”
“All the difference in the world,” Denny said.
* * *
Denny was good at steering by the stars, so after they had eaten and Brice had rested, even dozing off for a while, they started south again. Long after midnight, Denny called another halt and they rested again. She was exhausted enough that she stretched out and used her saddle for a pillow for a couple of hours.
By the time the sun rose, they were on the trail again, and able to move even faster. They could see the tracks left by the horse herd and didn’t have to determine their route solely by celestial navigation.
Neither of them brought up the things that had been said the day before, which was fine with Denny. Dealing with outlaws was one thing, but sorting through complicated emotions was something else entirely.
It was early afternoon when they reached Stirrup. Denny knew they had made good time, especially considering Brice’s injury. When she brought her horse to a stop in front of a small, neat house with a sign on the fence that read DR. BENJAMIN HARMON, M.D., he said, “You should go on to the telegraph office, Denny. We can deal with this later.”
“The doctor’s office is on the way. Come on, don’t waste time arguing with me.”
“Yeah, it never does any good.”
“What?”
“I said, give me a hand here. My leg’s stiffened up quite a bit.”
It took only a few minutes for her to get him into the house, where the white-haired doctor helped them into an examination room and Brice climbed onto the table.
“Go on,” he told Denny as he made shooing motions. “Get that telegram sent to Smoke.”
