Lone Star 01 (23 page)

The man coughed. “With a gal.”

“A girl?” Daryl blurted. “A lady was here too?”

“It figures,” Jessica said, recalling the nightgown she'd found in the shed with Ki's clothing. “If there's a woman within a fifty miles, Ki will somehow get to her.”

“Nekkid,” the man said, coughing again.

Jessica nodded. “That figures too. He's safe, anyway.”

“Safe? Jessie, your friend could be out there anywhere in those wild hills, lost, wandering, catching pneumonia!”

“Leave it lie, Daryl. If Ki's out there naked with a woman,” Jessica said wearily, “he'll do fine. No, I'm not so worried about Ki right now. What I'm worried about is that we haven't much time left and we've got to act fast.”

“Doing what?” Toby asked, his old face wrinkling with perplexity. “We done what we come for. We stomped these snakes good.”

“We've only cut off one end of the snake,” Jessica explained. “The rest of its body and head are still very much alive at the Block-Two-Dot. And it'll all wriggle away if we don't stop it.”

Daryl gasped. “You mean another raid?”

“Yes, now, as quickly as we can, before Ryker gets wind of what's happened here. If we don‘t, if he and his men escape, then mark my words, that snake will soon grow another full-sized body.”

Daryl grinned and touched his revolver. “You're right, Jessie, and I'm all for it. Let me round up the boys and we'll ride. But what about things here? There's still some mopping up.”

“You hit leather, son,” Toby said. “I reckon me an' a few Flying W hands can manage what's left.”

“Good,” Jessica said. “Let's waste no more time. Come on, Daryl. And you too, Oakes, you look in need of an education.”

They trooped out the door, the deputy following glumly.

It didn't take long for the crews to be mustered, and voicing their support, they lined out toward the hole out of the pocket. Four of them remained behind to help Toby Melville track down and ride herd on the few surviving rustlers, one of them lending his Flying W mount to a reluctant and melancholy Deputy Oakes.

Once past the waterfall, the riders set a fast pace with Daryl leading the way, Jessica beside him. The miles flowed steadily by, and their unflagging persistence paid off; shortly before midnight, they reached the rugged barrier between the foothills and the flat range bordering the Block-Two-Dot ranch. Daryl now led them in a wide arc away from the direct trail, easing into the sloping, round-shouldered valley grassland in front of the ranch in such a manner as to avoid any Block-Two-Dot crewmen who might be out.

At last Daryl held up his hand as a signal to draw up. The men clustered around him as he explained, “We can't surround the ranch like we did the pocket, but we don't have to, either. The way those high cliffs enclose it on three sides, all we've got to do is spread out and strike all at once along the open front.”

“We'll handle it like before,” Jessica added. “Nobody make any move until you hear us fire one shot.”

“Say,” a crewman asked, “who gave the signal last time?”

Silence. Deputy Oakes sat like a stone in the saddle.

“Doesn't matter,” Daryl said. “Just remember, when it comes, hit hard with all you've got. They'll be slinging a heap of lead, I imagine, but we've got surprise on our side. Understand?”

A low muttering of agreement answered him.

Jessica and Daryl veered toward the right, making sure the deputy was trailing close by. The crews spread out in an angular line, then advanced cautiously toward the ranch.

The Block-Two-Dot was not as quiet or dark as it had been the night Jessica had first seen it. Light glimmered from the bunkhouse and barn, and the main house windows were ablaze with lamps. A big freight wagon was in the yard, and men were carrying wooden crates out of the house and stacking them in the wagon bed. Another group was loafing next to the wagon, smoking cigarettes and watching the loading, while still other men were saddling horses in the corral.

Puzzled, Daryl turned to Jessica. “What're they doing?”

“Getting ready to pull out,” Jessica said quietly. “I don't know how Ryker learned about our raid on the pocket—maybe one of the rustlers slipped through our trap, or one of his crewmen was riding there and saw what was happening—but that's got to be it. He's pulling up stakes, and we got here in the nick of time.”

“Then let's hit ‘em,” Daryl said impatiently. He spurred his buckskin forward, triggering his revolver to signal the others.

Instantly the crewmen surged into action along their line facing the ranch. The long crescent of thundering guns swept in like an avenging tidal wave toward the Block-Two-Dot yard.

Ryker's renegade ranch hands, as vicious and callous an outlaw breed as the rustlers, were caught unawares. With yells of shock and pain, they turned to defend their exposed flanks, some digging in to fire a deadly answer to the riders' challenge, while others dove behind the wagon or into the buildings, blasting back against the onslaught of grimly determined men.

The line charged into the yard, turning the ranch into an inferno of pounding hoofs, rearing horses, roaring guns. Twice Ryker's crew recoiled in wild pandemonium. Twice it managed to rally in its frantic effort to bust out of this ring of death. The attack became a close-quarter melee of pistols and knives and hand-to-hand struggles with those caught out in the yard and grounds, while, with neither conscience nor mercy, volley after volley riddled those trapped inside the bunkhouse and other outbuildings.

The Block-Two-Dot crew could only take so much of it. Suddenly they broke, leaping out of doors and windows in panicked retreat, fleeing headlong in every direction, scattering on foot toward the haven of dark hills. Only from one barn and the cookshack now came a few bullets, from remaining knots of desperate men.

Jessica focused her attention on the big ranch house. It had been strangely quiet all during the fight, no mad scrambling from within, no furious shooting from its windows. She wondered why. Maybe Ryker was cowering down in that torture chamber of his. And then she wondered how much of a defense he'd put up before he surrendered. Or died. She started moving toward the house, her revolver steady as she stepped out from the cover of the freight wagon. Then from the comer of her eye, she glimpsed a heavyset rider spurring out of the shadows of the barn, galloping off in the direction of the pass.

“Ryker's making a break for it!” she shouted to Daryl. “He's running out on his own men! Well, not if I can help it!”

She raced back around the freight wagon, where she'd dismounted from her horse. Perversely, the bay shied mincingly as she vaulted into the saddle, helping Ryker by causing Jessica to waste precious moments. Regaining control, she wrenched the horse about and set it into a fast pursuit, firing a slavo from her revolver at the retreating figure. But her aim was no better than anyone else's can be when shooting from the back of a frothingly galloping horse, and Ryker was hunched so low across his horse's neck that he was almost invisible.

Ryker swiveled around and fired back. His shots, too, flew wild. Jessica surged after him along the road to the pass, ignoring the bullets zinging past her. Ryker dove into the pass while he lashed his horse faster up the trail, and plunging in only moments behind, Jessica realized she was losing ground to him. His mount was fresh, rested, doubtless of thoroughbred quality, while hers was livery stable rental, of stout heart, but winded from long riding.

Ryker came in view momentarily as he crossed an open patch of the pass trail, and Jessica snapped a quick shot at him. The bullet struck rock near Ryker's head, making him hunch yet lower as he continued urging his horse onward.

Jessica still pursued him, even though her horse was panting with raspy, harsh breaths. She could feel the bay slowing under her, still game, but simply too fatigued to keep up the grueling pace. Yet she refused to give in, infuriated, recalling her own words about the head of a snake growing a new body. If Ryker escaped ...

Abruptly, Ryker showed himself again, goading his horse frenziedly out of the pass, into the first draw of the foothills. Jessica raised her revolver to fire, but the hammer struck an empty chamber. She was out of ammunition.

The bay stumbled, recovered, lurched in an ungainly lope. Jessica reined in, and patted her horse's heaving flank. There was no sense in killing the animal; Ryker had already vanished around the left-hand side of a long row of boulders.

“He got away,” she said sourly to herself, quivering with frustration and wrath. “The bastard got away.”

Chapter 17

Jessica walked slowly up the hotel stairs and turned down the corridor toward her room, feeling tired, haggard, and depressed.

Passing the door to Ki's room, she caught the faint sound of a woman's giggle, which only added to her pique. She backed a step to the door and, juggling the cumbersome load she was carrying in her hands, rapped smartly on the door. The giggling stopped. A moment later, Ki opened the door and grinned out at her, naked except for the towel clasped around his waist.

“Here,” Jessica said, thrusting the bundle of his clothes and weapons at him, “I believe you left these behind in your haste.”

“Thanks, Jessie, so I did. Wait a minute.” He disappeared with the bundle, then returned, still clad in the towel, and eased out into the hallway, sliding the door shut behind him. “Shh,” he said, handing Jessica a telegram, “A girl's resting inside.”

“I just bet she is,” Jessica replied as she opened the telegram and read:

“The night clerk gave it to me,” Ki was saying as she read. “The telegraph operator dropped it off when you didn't come to claim it yesterday.”

“A lot of good it does now,” Jessica said morosely, balling the flimsy yellow paper and tossing it aside. “We wiped out the rustlers and the Block-Two-Dot crew, but Ryker himself got away. I had him, Ki, I had him so close that I could've ...” She sighed. “Well, I know he came in this direction, and I've been trailing him as best I could on that poor worn-out horse of mine, but he's long gone now.”

“No, he's not,” Ki said, shaking his head. “As I was coming into town, I saw Ryker heading into the Thundermug Saloon. I imagine he's still there.”

“But that doesn't make sense. Why would he go there?”

“Greed. Panic. Halford and Kendrick may be rivals of Ryker, and they may hate each other like poison, but they're tied together by that.” Ki indicated the telegram. “By Senator Trumbull.”

“Trumbull ... Dilworth Trumbull ...” Jessica frowned in concentration, trying to remember what she knew of the senator, but he remained an enigmatic shadow in the back of her mind.

“Trumbull's their common connection, Jessie,” Ki continued. “How, I don't know, but I suspect that since they're linked to the same scheme, Halford and Kendrick can't let Ryker fail, because that'd ruin it for them too. That's why Ryker must've gone there, to persuade them to lay their differences aside, at least long enough to save his skin and rescue the setup. And to remove us for good.”

“The snake's already growing a new body,” Jessica muttered to herself, and then to Ki she said, “I suddenly feel in the mood for a nightcap. At the Thundermug, to be precise.”

“Hold still, I notice a thirst coming on myself.” Ki went back into his room, and when he came out, he was fully dressed again.

“I trust the lady's not overly distressed about this,” Jessica remarked, as they started back along the corridor to the stairs.

“Daphne accepted it in the line of duty, as she does most things,” Ki replied. “No, I simply explained I had an urgent need to make a late-night visit. I didn't add that it's in repayment for the man Kendrick sent to visit you in your room.”

“You knew?”

“You're quiet, Jessie, but not silent. After the man left, I followed him almost to the saloon. We had a little discussion.” Ki smiled as if fond of the memory, but by the time they'd reached the lobby door, he was grim again. “I also didn't add that I wish to repay our second visitor, the one with the dynamite calling card.”

“Oh, that wasn't Kendrick's doing,” Jessica said as they stepped out into the street. “Daryl told me Kendrick and Halford have an option on the hotel. They would scarcely blow up their own building just to get us. And that's what those sticks would've done, if they'd exploded in my room. Thank Ryker for that trick.”