«Sure,» said the third voice. «Had a feeling when I saw him coming up the road this afternoon that I’d have to shoot him. Shoot him then and save a lot of trouble.»
Cautiously, Harrison lifted his head, saw the three bearing down upon him, saw that the tall man in the center was the blue mask man, the man who had jerked his thumb when Westman had asked him if the boss was in.
«Nice horse you took from him,» said the second man.
«Damn fool just picketed him out, then walked away and left him.»
«Seems as how,» declared Spike, «a man like that don’t deserve a horse.»
Harrison’s hands clenched into fists and his body tightened. His head was clearer, but it still was jumpy and his body was one vast dull ache.
Nothing to fight with … and yet he had to fight. It was stark madness … one man with nothing but his hands against three armed men. His mind went back to Carolyn, crouching somewhere back there in the grass. Thank Lord, he told himself, she’s heard them, too, and is keeping quiet.
He counted as they came, counting footsteps as they came. One, two, and one, two and one, two. They were no more than three paces away and that was close enough. Almost too close. Almost …
He heaved himself out of the grass, rising like a fighting grizzly rearing on his legs when he finally is cornered, and from his throat ripped out an involuntary cry …
His legs drove him forward in a surging leap and his right fist came whizzing from his boot-tops even as he sprang. A fist that was aimed with deadly accuracy at the blue-mask man.
For an instant, in the twilight, he saw their blank stares, the jaws that dropped with astonishment, then the hurried, instinctively pistoning of hands for gunbutts.
The blue-mask man started to duck, but he moved too late. Harrison’s fist caught him beneath the jaw, snapped back his head with its brutal power, lifted him clear off his feet.
Like a cat, Harrison pivoted, saw Spike’s leering face before him, saw the gun come flashing up, knew that he’d never beat the bullet.
«Got you…» jeered Spike, and then the gurgle stopped him, the gurgle that came into his throat, the soft splat! of steel on flesh that sent him reeling back. Staggering, he dropped his gun and his hands went to his throat, grasping for the knife hilt that stood out against his neck.
Like a plummet, Harrison dived for Spike’s dropped gun, half stumbling as he scooped it out of the grass, half by feel, half by luck.
The one remaining man of the bandit trio was dropping the six-gun for a snap shot and in something that was almost panic, Harrison squeezed the trigger of the gun he had scooped up.
The revolver in front of him gushed fire, but the gun in his own fist was dancing in his grasp. The man in front of him staggered back on fighting heels, gun arm coming up above his head. Back and back he stumbled and with grim ferocity, with a dull red anger, Harrison kept the trigger working, slamming bullet after bullet into the sagging body.
«Him all over dead,» said a quiet sing-song voice out of the twilight. «No use to shoot him more.»
Harrison let the gun drop to his side and swung around.
«Sing Lee!» he shouted.
«Come to pick up missy,» explained the Chinese cook. «Take along a knife just in case.»
«Then that was you,» said Harrison. «That was you who stopped her from running back.»
«That was me,» said Sing Lee.
«I damn near shot you,» Harrison told him.
He moved forward slowly. «Where is Carolyn? Where is …»
Then he saw her, standing to one side of Sing Lee. He strode toward her, but Sing Lee put out a hand and stopped him.
«We run like hell,» he said. «Men hear shots and come.»
Harrison glanced quickly over his shoulder, saw that the cook was right.
Men were coming … and not men on foot this time, but mounted men, sweeping in toward them with their horses at a dead run.
«No time to run!» gasped Harrison. «We have to stand and fight. Get down! Get down in the grass and hide!»
He leaped back toward Spike’s dead form, unfastened his cartridge belt.
With trembling fingers, he fed new shells into the six-gun.
On one knee, Harrison brought up the gun, leveled it deliberately and fired. One of the foremost riders jerked stiffly, sailed out of the saddle. Six-guns cracked and the horses swung, fighting their bits, rearing, skidding around. Bullets chunked into the ground and the air whined with their whisper overhead. Dirt struck Harrison across the face as a slug plowed ground at his very feet. Swiftly he worked the trigger.
Out of the darkness behind him came the angry spat of a high power rifle, a hacking, angry rifle that talked in measured tones, unhurried, deliberate, vindictive.
Then there were other rifles and the shouts of men charging in, closing upon the milling horses of the bandit band.
The six-gun clicked on an empty shell and Harrison reached for the belt lying at his feet. A fitful flash flared through the twilit gloom … a flash that was not gunfire. Harrison jerked up his head, let the gun fall from his hands.
Flames were curling from the houses, flames that crawled and leaped and climbed into the sky. The firing had died down and across the grassland that lay between him and the houses, Harrison could hear the crackle of the flames.
Slowly, stiffly, he stood up, drew in a deep breath of air.
A tall figure stalked out of the gloom toward him, rifle slung across his arm.
«Wal,» said Trapper Bill, «I guess that polishes off the varmints. All we had to do was sort of hole up and hold out until Ma got that note.»
Harrison gasped. «What note?»
«Why the note that Sing Lee wrote her. Damn smart Chinaman, Sing Lee. Told you he was taking up reading and writing, didn’t I?»
«Sure. But how did Sing Lee …»
«Just sort of lifted that paper you was carrying in your pocket,» explained Trapper. «Figured maybe it was something I should know about. So I took it when you was a-snoozing and loped over to have Sing Lee take a look at it.»
«But there wasn’t nothing on it.»
«Sure, there was. Sing Lee held it up to the light. Said it was the funniest writing he ever run across.»
«So you left a note for Ma and then came on, the two of you. That was you up on the cliff.»
«Dang tooting,» said Trapper. «Sure kept them all denned up.»
Grass rustled and Harrison swung about. Carolyn was running toward him with Sing Lee behind her. Swiftly, Harrison stepped forward, caught the girl close. She huddled against him for comfort.
«All done in,» said Trapper.
«Missy all right,» said Sing Lee. «Just happy, that’s all.»
Horses swept toward them, pulled to a stop. Ma Elden climbed down stiffly from the saddle, waddled toward the group, fingers hauling out the makings from her shirt pocket.
«Everybody all right?» she demanded.
«Everybody here,» Sing Lee told her in his high sing-song. «Everybody happy.»
«I’m plumb glad of that,» said Ma. «Some other folks ain’t. We got Dunham tied up and we found Haynes where he shouldn’t be, so we just gathered him in to be on the safe side. Westman got away, but the boys still are hunting for him.»
She snapped a match across her thumb, held up the light so she could look at Harrison.
«Well,» she asked, «ain’t you got a thing to say?»
«Was wondering,» said Harrison, «if you’d still loan me that money to buy out the store.»
«Bet your boots,» said Ma.
She lit the cigarette, puffed thoughtfully.
«Maybe,» she said, «we could make it a double wedding. Me and Hatless figure on getting hitched some time, and this is as good a time as any.»
THE END