Lone Star 03 (13 page)

“We did better than just hold our own this time,” Farnam said with grim satisfaction. “At least I—”

A shot from the rustler band cut off his words. Farnam's jaw dropped open, his face contorted with pain, and his body twisted as he slumped to the ground beside Jessie.

“Joe!” Jessie said urgently. “Joe!”

Farnam moved, trying to sit up. Blood was staining the sleeve of his gray shirt just below his left shoulder. His lips worked as he tried to reply, but only a few hoarse gasps came from his mouth at his first effort, while Jessie was moving to his side. Then he found his voice.

“I'm ... all right,” he said slowly. “I think I am, anyhow.”

“Hold on to me,” Jessie told him. “I'll get you inside and see how badly you're hurt.”

Farnam shook his head. “I can make it myself.”

In spite of his protest, Jessie helped him with an arm around his waist as he pushed himself erect, using his rifle as a lever. A few faltering steps took them into the shelter of the cleft. Jessie helped him to sit down and lean against the wall.

“It doesn't look too bad,” she assured him.

“Doesn't hurt much either,” he said. “Just have to get my wind back. Damn it, Jessie, a man ought to hurt when he's been shot!”

Jessie was unbuttoning Farnam's shirt while he spoke. She pulled the garment down, exposing his shoulder and upper arm. The bullet had caught him high, above the biceps, and passed through cleanly. Blood seeped slowly from the blue-rimmed holes the slug had made.

“You're right, it's not really bad,” she said. She fished a bandanna out of the back pocket of her jeans. “I'll have you fixed up in no time.”

Folding the oversized bandanna into a narrow strip, Jessie quickly bandaged the wound. Farnam winced as she pulled the improvised bandage tight, but did not complain. When she'd finished, she leaned back, sitting on her heels, and watched closely for a moment while the blood seeping from the bullet holes stained the white pattern of the bandanna, but did not spread. Farnam watched with her, his face showing more curiosity than concern.

“It'll be sore for a while,” she warned him. “And it ought to be cleaned with carbolic acid or something pretty soon. But it's not as bad as it could've been.”

Farnam tried gingerly to bend his elbow and raise the wounded arm. He winced and gasped as the effort failed. Shaking his head, he said, “There's just one thing that bothers me.”

“What's that?”

“How the devil am I going to handle a rifle now? Damn it, Jessie, you can't stand off what's left of that gang alone!”

Chapter 9

“You can use your Colt, if you can't handle a rifle,” Jessie reminded Farnam.

He looked chagrined. “I suppose I'm a pretty bad example of a cavalry trooper,” he said. “Sooner or later, I'm sure I'd have remembered I've got a pistol, but thanks for reminding me.” He started to get to his feet. Jessie moved to help him, but he waved her away. “Let me get up alone, Jessie. I want to show myself that I don't need a nursemaid.”

“Nobody's suggested that you do,” she said a bit tartly.

“I didn't mean to sound ungrateful,” Farnam apologized. “I'm just angry with myself, and it spilled out on you.”

“It's all right, Joe,” she assured him. “Now we'd better get out where we can keep an eye on the rustlers. I don't think they'll let this one setback keep them from trying to kill us.”

Cautiously they edged to the front of the cleft and peered toward the river. The rustlers had just started riding in their direction. In spite of the long range and their need to conserve ammunition, Jessie let off two closely spaced shots at them. The rifle fire did not discourage the outlaws. The only effect of the two shots was to cause them to begin galloping sooner than might have been the case if Jessie had not fired.

Jessie and Farnam dropped flat inside the cleft as the rustlers spurred their mounts. The riders did not swing behind the bodies of their horses this time. Erect in the saddle, they poured rifle slugs into the cleft as they galloped past. The best the two defenders could do was to let off a quickly aimed shot or two as the last of the attackers came abreast. By that time, though, the members of the gang who'd been the first to ride by had wheeled and were coming back.

“If they keep us under a steady fire, we're done for!” Farnam said, raising his voice to make himself heard over the constant barking of the rustlers' guns.

“All we can do is fight back!” Jessie replied, her eyes at her rifle sights as she swung the gun, trying to get in an aimed shot. She squeezed the trigger, but too late, the man at whom she'd been aiming swerved just as she fired.

Then, as the last of the riders swept past the cleft and the rustlers' fire slackened, the distant crack of a rifle sounded from the mouth of the valley. The last rider's horse stumbled and broke stride, but managed to continue toward the river, limping badly. Another shot from the distance followed the first, and hard on the heels of that one, a third report rang out.

“It's Ki!” Jessie cried. “He must've heard the shooting as he was coming through the arroyo, and hurried to help us!”

“Whether it's your man Ki or somebody else, they got here just in time,” Farnam said.

Jessie leaped to her feet and stepped outside the fissure. The outlaws were not waiting to find out who fired the shots from the mouth of the valley. Knowing that even a single rifleman could keep them from passing through the narrow, twisting arroyo, they were galloping for the ford.

Jessie let off the last shot in the Winchester's magazine at the fleeing outlaws, but the slug missed. By the time she'd reloaded, the band was well on its way across the Rio Grande.

The valley floor was deserted except for three riderless horses, one of them lamed, and the bodies of Buell Henderson and one of the rustlers.

Jessie looked up the valley as Ki emerged from the arroyo and spurred his mount toward the cleft. She waved, and Ki waved back, kicking his horse to a gallop.

Farnam gave a deep sigh of relief. He said, “I don't know when I've been as glad to see somebody—just anybody who's on our side.”

Ki was within shouting distance now. He called, “Are you all right, Jessie?”

“We're both all right,” she replied. “Joe's got a bullet hole in his arm, but it's not a bad wound. I didn't get a scratch.”

Reaching the cleft, Ki reined in and dismounted. “I heard shooting when I was halfway through the arroyo, but there wasn't any way I could gallop in there. Who was attacking you?”

“Rustlers, we're pretty sure,” Jessie answered. “They must have had a time set to meet one of Joe's men from the fort.” She pointed at Henderson's body. “That's him. Joe got him the first time they attacked us after we'd holed up in the cleft.”

“And I'd better go take a look, to make absolutely sure it's Henderson,” Farnam said. He started toward the body of the man he'd shot. Jessie and Ki followed him. Farnam said, “You don't have to come along, Jessie, if you'd rather not.”

“I've seen dead men before, Joe. I'm as curious as you are to find out for sure whether it is one of your troopers.”

They reached the sprawled corpse, which lay facedown, and Farnam leaned over to turn the body over so that he could get a good look at the man's face. His one good arm proved unequal to the task; Ki stepped up to help him, and when the unpleasant job was finished, Farnam looked at the broad tanned face and nodded.

“It's Henderson, all right. I knew I wasn't mistaken,” he told them. “I can understand now why this place got left off our military maps. Henderson was responsible for most of the routine jobs, like making fresh copies of maps and records. It'd have been easy for him to do a thing like that. And until now, I had no suspicions at all that he was working with those rustlers.”

All three of them jumped with surprise when the supposedly dead man let out a wheezy groan. They looked down to find Henderson's eyes open and fixed on them.

“Lieutenant,” he wheezed. “Looks like you ... caught up with me, didn't ... you?”

“Yes. And you know what that means, Henderson. Prison.”

“Not... for me,” the sergeant gasped. “I ... I'm done for. I seen ... too many men die ... to be wrong.”

“I think he's right,” Ki said in a half-whisper. “He must be still bleeding inside, and he's been lying here—how long has it been since he was shot?”

Farnam looked up at the sun. It was still midway to the zenith. “It seems like several hours, but it can't have been more than a half hour since I shot him.”

“That's more than enough time for a man to bleed to death,” Ki observed.

“Maybe you can get him to tell you how he got involved with the rustlers, where their headquarters are in Mexico, which ranch they plan to raid next, things like that,” Jessie suggested. “Anything we can learn from him will be useful.”

Farnam squatted down beside the dying Henderson. He said urgently, “Henderson. You heard what the lady said. Make up a little bit for the crimes you've committed by telling us whatever you can about that bunch of bandits you've been helping.”

“Never did ride . . . with them Meskins, Lieutenant,” the sergeant said, his voice thready. “Just told ‘em ... what the man paid me for... passing on to 'em. That's why I come here ... this time.”

“What man?” Farnam asked. “And what did you pass on?”

“Dude I met in saloon ... at Laredo. Year or so ago. That was just before ... you taken command.” Henderson stopped as a fit of coughing seized him. “Told Meskins about... ranches.”

“When they were gathering their cattle to drive to market? Things of that sort?” Farnam asked.

Henderson nodded feebly. “Never stole none ... myself.”

Jessie whispered, “Joe. Ask him where the rustlers' headquarters is, in Mexico.”

“Where'd your rustler friends come from across the river?” Farnam asked.

“Never did... rightly know. Ranch close to San Pedro ... is all I ever... found out,” the sergeant gasped.

“What's the name of the ranch? Or the owner?” Jessie asked quickly.

“Damn Mex names ... can't remember,” Henderson replied. “Trays ... some kinda trays.”

“Any other names you remember?” Jessie urged.

“Goose ... goose man,” he whispered. “All ... men ...” Henderson's voice faltered, and he coughed. A gush of blood poured from his mouth. He coughed again to clear his throat, and when he spoke, it was in a voice so faint that in order to hear, Farnam had to lean down with his ear only inches away from the dying man's mouth. Henderson gasped, “Don't blame ... nobody else at Fort Chaplin ... for what I done. It was ... just me ...” Another fit of coughing seized him. It ended with a final shudder, then his body sagged with the finality of death.

“I guess that's all we'll ever find out,” Farnain said as he stood up, himself a bit unsteady on his feet.

“You go with Jessie to the cave,” Ki said. “I'll do what must be done here. Will you want to take your man's body to the fort, or shall I bury him?”

“Better take him back,” Farnam said. “I think my horse is dead, but I know one of those the rustlers left isn't wounded. I'm not sure about—”

“Joe,” Jessie broke in, “Ki's competent to do what he's offered to do. If we're going to start back for the fort, you'd better rest a bit before we ride out.”

Farnam did not protest. He let Jessie lead him back to the cleft, and sat leaning against the stone side of the fissure while she made sandwiches of the beef, cheese, and bread left from last night's dinner.

“One reason you're so weak is that we didn't have time to eat a proper breakfast this morning,” she said as they sat side by side.

“That we didn‘t, what with one thing and another,” Farnam said, smiling.

Jessie smiled too, and took another bite from her sandwich. When she'd chewed and swallowed it, she asked him, “Do you know anything about the town your man mentioned before he died? San Pedro, he called it.”

“I've never been there, Jessie.”

“But it can't be very far from Fort Chaplin. From what Henderson said, he knew something about it.”

“All I know about San Pedro is that it's about thirty miles on the other side of the river, which makes it nearly forty miles from the fort. Remember, Mexico's out of bounds for anybody in the U.S. Army. And don't remind me of Henderson. He probably broke regulations just as he broke the law.”

“Surely you mut have heard something?”