Comstock Cross Fire (8 page)

“I'm not saying that we're going to have to do that,” Eli told him, trying to sound calm. “I'm just saying that we ought to saddle a couple of horses just in case.”

“In case all those Mormons can shoot straight?” Dalton felt sweat trickling down his backbone even though the night was cool. “Stealing supplies from a general store will get us long jail time, Eli. But stealing horses will get us both
hanged
. I ain't gonna swing! No, sir! Not from no Mormon rope and not from any other damned rope either!”

“They're almost a mile away,” Eli said, “so let's calm down and see if we can find saddles and bridles. I don't expect we'll have to use them, but it would be stupid not to have horses ready just in case things go worse than expected.”

“I'll go search the barn,” Dalton said, sliding along its rough side. “Sure wish that it wasn't so damned dark!”

“There has to be a lantern in the barn. You've got matches?”

“Sure.”

“All right,” Eli said. “Don't waste any time in there. We need to get a couple of horses saddled . . . just in case.”

“Yeah, just in case.”

Eli stood at the corner of the barn trying to ignore the pounding of his heart. He clutched the heavy Sharps rifle, and knew that he could hit any of those dancing firefly lights when they came upon the plowed field. But he was hoping that somehow he wouldn't have to do that. If he killed farmers, they might become that much more determined for justice and hang him and Dalton for certain. But, dammit, they were still coming and somehow they had to be stopped!

It seemed to take forever before Dalton stumbled out of the cavernous barn and announced, “No saddles, brother, but I found a pair of halters that we could use to make bridles and reins. Jeezus, they're really getting close now!”

“Ignore their lanterns and cut loose that fractious gray horse that was giving us so much trouble leaving Moroni.”

“But he's probably the only true saddle horse of the four!” Dalton protested.

“He's fractious and too high-spirited to ride bareback without even a bit between his teeth. He'd likely start bucking if you jumped on him.”

“No!” Dalton cried. “He's the best horse of the four. The only one that looks like he has any speed. He's the one that I'll ride, if we have to make a run for it.”

Eli knew that there were times when it was impossible to argue with his younger brother. Dalton would get his back up and become so stubborn that he'd do what he'd do no matter what was said or done.

“All right,” Eli told his brother. “Halter that big gray horse for yourself and then halter that black one for me to ride.”

“Just in case.”

“Yeah, just in case. Bit 'em with the rope around the jaw Indian style and hurry it up!”

“Okay,” Dalton said. “You gonna start shooting pretty quick? They're in the range of your Sharps now.”

“I'm gonna fire a shot over their heads and scatter them,” Eli told his brother. “After they hear the roar of this big buffalo rifle, I'm sure that they'll turn tail and run back to Moroni.”

Dalton actually giggled. “Sure they will! Why, I sure wish I could stand and watch them lights disappearin' in the dark.”

“Just get the gray and the black haltered and Indian-bitted,” Eli said, raising the Sharps rifle and taking aim at a spot maybe twenty yards in front of the lead light.

He fired, and two bad things instantly happened. His slug must have struck a field rock and ricocheted upward, because one of the lights dropped and a Mormon screamed. And right after that, the gray horse reared and knocked Dalton into the barn wall with such force that Eli knew that his younger brother would be stunned, maybe even hurt.

Eli turned and saw Dalton stagger and somehow manage to hang on to the lead ropes of the two chosen escape horses.

“You all right?” Eli asked.

“Yeah, I guess. A little woozy, but I'll be all right. Are they all runnin' away, Eli? Are they all runnin' back to Moroni like scared rabbits?”

“No.”

“Well, well, what did they do?”

“They doused their lights and I can't see any of them out there anymore.”

“Well, that must be because they're running back to town!” Dalton cried.

“I don't think so,” Eli told him. “I think they're creeping up on us while staying low in the corn rows.”

“But—”

Whatever Dalton was about to ask was interrupted by a fusillade of bullets and muzzle flashes. Both brothers heard the volley of slugs slam into the hay barn they were hiding behind.

“They're going to come for us,” Eli said. “They've no intention of running back to town.”

Dalton moaned, then managed to ask, “All of 'em, you think?”

“Yeah, except maybe the one that I accidentally hit with a ricochet.”

“Well, we can't stand up against
all
of 'em.”

“I know that, dammit! We're gonna have to get on those horses and make a run for it and we'd better do it right now.”

“Shit!” Dalton cried.

“Let's go!”

Eli grabbed the lead rope to the black horse he'd chosen to ride, and he looped it to make reins. It wasn't a big horse, but it was stout and looked to be strong and willing. It wasn't easy for him to swing up on the black with the Sharps rifle, but somehow he managed.

“Come on, Dalton!”

Dalton was hurt, woozy, but desperately trying to mount the fractious gray and still keep hold of the double-barreled shotgun. But the gray was jumping around and it was a tall horse. Too tall for Dalton to swing up onto with the shotgun gripped in one hand and his head spinning crazily.

“Drop the shotgun and get on that horse!” Eli shouted as rifle shots opened up like winking cats' eyes in the fields. The muzzle flashes were a lot closer than they had been, and that told Eli that the Mormons had been rapidly crawling across the field to get into firing range. “Come on, Dalton, drop your gawddamn shotgun and swing onto that damned gray horse because those Mormons are comin' for us!”

But Dalton was hurt, angry, and scared, and he was fighting with the gray horse. He tried to hit the gray in the head with the barrel of the shotgun, and missed. The shotgun flew out into the darkness. Dalton cursed and then grabbed the gray's mane, and somehow finally swung onto the animal's back. But it reared up into the air and out of the corner of his eye, Eli saw the crazed animal fall over backward.

“Dalton!”

The Mormon rifles were firing again, and bullets were cutting the air like wasps all around Eli. One clipped his black's ear and the frightened animal almost spun out from under Eli, dumping him. The gray horse scrambled off Dalton's writhing body and bolted into the night. The other two stolen horses still hitched to the buckboard began to fight and surge against the brake.

“Ahhh!” Dalton screamed as the iron-rimmed wheels of the buckboard skidded across his lower legs. “Oh, gawd! Oh, gawd!”

Eli wanted to jump down and help his kid brother. But the bullets were flying everywhere and he knew that there was no time left to be a hero. Either he ran . . . or he died!

“Eli, don't leave me!”

Eli drove his heels into the flanks of the black and sent it flying away from the barn. His fingers were laced in the animal's mane, and in his other hand he held the heavy Sharps rifle.

He thought he heard his brother calling. . . . no, screaming . . . his name, but he shut out the sound and concentrated on riding to save his life.

There were two or three more shots from behind the barn and then silence. Silence except for the blood pounding in Eli's ears, racing even faster than the black's flying hooves.

8

“SOMEONE IS COMING,” Joe Moss announced. “But it's probably not Dalton and Eli because this one is alone and riding a black horse without a saddle.”

Ransom Holt picked up his rifle and waited.

“Is it a Paiute?” Fiona asked, squinting into the afternoon sun.

“Nope,” Joe told her. “Paiutes ride better'n this fella and they're usually smaller.”

“It's Eli,” Ransom announced with disgust. “Dammit, something must have gone wrong in Placerville!”

Joe and Fiona, shackled and chained, stood and waited along with Ransom Holt. When Eli finally reined the sweating horse in and slipped off its bare back, he staggered and then collapsed, still holding the Sharps rifle but having little else on his person.

“What happened?” Ransom Holt demanded, towering over the exhausted man. “Where's your brother and the horses you left here on?”

“We got into a terrible fix,” Eli said, shaking his head. “Ran into trouble in Placerville and—”

Holt reached down and jerked the smaller man to his feet and shook him hard. “What kind of fucking trouble? Where's your brother, where's my buckboard and supplies, and since you don't have any of them, where the hell is my two hundred dollars?”

“I still got it! I got it right here,” Eli stammered. “We didn't go on a drinkin' spree or piss your money away on whores or anything, Mr. Holt! I swear we didn't.”

Holt shoved the man backward. “Then what did happen?”

Eli swallowed. “Well, sir, it was like this. We was on our way to Placerville when some Indians jumped us and took everything including our horses.”

“What Indians?”

“Utes,” Eli said, shooting a glance at Joe Moss. “I believe they were Utes. They came in the night and attacked our camp. My poor brother . . .”

Eli sobbed, and it was clear that he wasn't faking his emotions. “Poor Dalton fought like a wild man, but they killed him anyway.”

“But you somehow managed to get away.”

“I did, barely,” Eli said, wiping the tears from his blood-shot eyes with the back of his ragged sleeve. “But my brother is dead! I saw him go down and they swarmed all over him like locusts. Dalton never had a chance. I killed a couple of 'em but there were way too many for me, so I had no choice but to run for my life.”

“Damn!” Holt said. “Why didn't you continue on to Placerville and use my money to buy supplies?”

Eli shook his head and carefully considered his answer. “The Utes were still after me. I'd managed to grab this black gelding, but he ain't fast. If it hadn't been for the night bein' so dark, those Utes would surely have overtaken and scalped me.”

Holt stared at the two hundred dollars in his big hand as he considered this setback. Finally, he shrugged and said, “Well, I'm sorry about Dalton. But we've got the two extra horses that belonged to Jedediah and Ike. We'll just have to pack up our stuff and get a move on, although I'm tempted to go back to Placerville. Maybe we'd find those murderin' Utes and you could get some payback, Eli.”

“Well, sir, I'd like nothin' better, but it's a long ride in the wrong direction. Those Utes might have followed me and they could be comin' to kill us like they killed Dalton.”

“If they do, it will be the last mistake they ever make,” Holt said, not seeming a bit worried. “But no matter. We'll find a little settlement somewhere up ahead in the next few days, and then we can buy what we need before trying to get across the Great Basin Desert.”

Fiona took a step forward. “You aren't expecting my Joe to ride a horse now, are you?”

“He either does that or he walks,” Holt coldly answered. “Either way, it's his choice.”

“I can ride,” Joe decided.

“Yeah, Joe, that's exactly what I thought you'd say,” Holt told him dismissively.

Fiona looked at Joe and then back at Holt with anxiety written all over her face. “Mr. Holt, my husband's wounds are fresh and he's lost a lot of blood. If his horse stumbled and fell . . .”

“That's the chance he'll have to take,” Holt said. “Isn't that right, Joe?”

“I'll be fine, Fiona,” Joe vowed. “I'll get stronger every day and I can make it.”

“See?” Holt told everyone. “This is Joe Moss, better known among the heathen savages as Man Killer. He's not going to die or quit on us in the desert. He's going to live and try to figure out some way to kill me and Eli so he and his beloved wife can escape a hangman's noose in Virginia City.”

“But how are we going to ride horses if we're shackled hand and foot?” Fiona demanded to know.

“Good question,” Holt said. “I'll change things around a little so you both can ride. But your feet will be chained under your mounts. That way, if you fall, you won't be leaving your horse.”

“We'll be killed,” Joe said. “I don't matter much, but Fiona does. Have you ever seen someone tied that way go underneath his horse?”

“No,” Holt replied, “I have not. But I can imagine it wouldn't be a pretty sight.”

“It isn't,” Joe said.

Holt smiled coldly. “I guess that means you and your wife will just have to ride real carefully and not try to escape.”

Joe shook his head and then turned to Eli. “I have a question for you.”

Eli's head swiveled around suddenly. “I don't have to answer no questions from the likes of you.”

Joe shrugged with feigned indifference. “Well, that's true enough, I suppose. But I was just wondering why that black gelding you rode here is shod and has harness marks on his shoulders. That's a plow horse, not an Indian pony you rode in here just now.”

Holt looked closer at the horse Eli had ridden in on and then he frowned. “Those are a couple of good questions, Eli. How do you explain the shoes and harness marks?”