The Killing Season (16 page)

Hugh and Nathan dug the grave before sunup, and the sad task of laying Vance to rest was put behind them. McLean was there in time to read the Word, and when the grave had been filled, they all headed for the dining room and breakfast. McLean avoided what was on all their minds until they had eaten. When they were down to final cups of coffee, he spoke.

“I'm not one to speak ill of the dead, and we don't know that what happened last night wouldn't have happened anyway, so blaming it on Vance gets us nowhere. I believe the bushwhackers would have cut down on you anyway, when you left the dance hall. The brawl involving the Horrells just brought it on a mite quicker.”

“That's how I see it,” Riley said. “The
Mejicanos
took their revenge.”

“Like I told you before,” said McLean, “you can't win by allowing the other side to choose the time and place. I realize a man needs an occasional night in town, but not at the risk of his life. Until this thing with Estrella has been resolved, none of us will ride into Lincoln except in daylight, and then only for necessary supplies.”

“I see the need for it,” Gus said, “but I don't like it. Hell, if we pull in our horns and don't do nothin', that puts
us
on the defensive.”

“It appears to,” said McLean, “but we're still forcing them to come to us.”

“Come the dark of the moon,” Hugh said, “they can sneak in and burn us out. Or in their case, bushwhacking bein' more their style, they can hole up within rifle range and pick us off one at a time.”

“The most danger will be at night,” said Nathan, “but if you're interested, I may have a solution to that.”

“Speak up, man,” McLean said.

“One man, me and my dog,” said Nathan, “dusk till dawn. We'll work far enough out so that a rider can warn the rest of you we're about to have visitors. That'll give you time to arrange a proper welcome.”

“By God,” McLean said, “that reminds me of Mosby's Rangers. It's a powerful plan, Stone, but it'll be a burden on you, with never a night to rest.”

“The rest of us could spell you,” Gus said, “each man taking a different night.”

“Thanks,” said Nathan, “but you couldn't count on Cotton Blossom without me. You'll still be doing your share, because I'll need a different rider with me every night. Once we know they're coming, one of you can hightail it back here to set up a reception. Me and Cotton Blossom will be right behind them. When you gents open up, I'll show them what a real, honest-to-God crossfire is like. We'll cure that bunch from sucking eggs, if it kills them.”

It was frontier retribution, frontier justice, and Nathan was rewarded with applause and laughter. Tobe rode with Nathan the first night, and they covered a continuous stretch of five miles across a plateau from which any attack must surely come.

“I ain't pokin' holes in your plan,” Tobe said, “but suppose the varmints takes the long way around and comes at the ranch from the west?”

“We can't be sure they won't,” said Nathan, “but the odds are against it. To begin with, they'd have to ride twice as far, and once in position, they'd have to leave the horses a good two miles out. McLean's horse barn is to the west of the house, and almost every night the wind's out of the northwest. Sound carries at night.”

“You're a thinking man, Stone,” Tobe said. “You and McLean are a lot alike. But he only knows what he should do, while you have the talent for doing it.”

The McLean riders kept to the ranch, and for six weeks, nothing happened. When the attack came, it was on Saturday night, the first day of November. Gus and Nathan were resting their horses when there was a rustling of leaves. But for that, Cotton Blossom was as silent as a shadow.

“They're coming,” said Nathan. “Lead your horse aways. Have the rest of the outfit fan out, holding their fire till I open the ball. Let the varmints think I'm alone, and when they cut down on me, the rest of you fire at their muzzle flashes. Make every shot count and don't give them a chance to return fire.”

Leading his horse, Tobe vanished into the shadows. Nathan moved to the south. When the attackers had passed his position, he would fall back until he was behind them. Cotton Blossom growled low in his throat, and Nathan paused, listening. Finally he sighed with relief. They were afoot and he needn't worry about his horse giving him away. Silently he removed his Winchester from the boot and crept back the way he had come. Satisfied they were now ahead of him, he moved forward toward the clearing they would have to cross. He bellied down, and when he cocked the Winchester, it seemed loud in the stillness of the night....

As the men moved into the clearing, Nathan counted twelve. He disliked shooting from behind, but these killers were about to attack what they believed were unsuspecting cowboys. Nathan cut loose, firing as rapidly as he could jack shells into the Winchester's firing chamber. Two of the invaders took slugs while the others bellied-down and began returning Nathan's fire. But he had rolled away from his original position and ceased firing, allowing them no muzzle flashes as targets. Their firing had the opposite effect, as the McLean cowboys began throwing lead at the muzzle flashes, and the Estrella riders had but one alternative. They gave up the fight, scampering to right and left, seeking to escape with their lives. Nathan had reloaded and had resumed firing, but the attackers were gone.

“Come on in,” McLean shouted.

Nathan met the rest of the outfit in the clearing. Three of the attackers were dead, and again, the Horrells had escaped.

“Them that got away didn't get off easy,” said Riley. “We got some lead in the sidewinders.”

“Despite all they've done,” McLean said, “we still haven't made an illegal move against them. They've always come after us, and we've defended ourselves.”

“That's good, up to a point,” said Joel, “but this could go on forever. Nobody wins.”

“I don't think so,” McLean replied. “This has to be getting on their nerves, or they wouldn't keep coming after us. I look for Estrella to hire more men and then try to wipe us out, once and for all.”

“The tactic we used this time may not work again,” said Nathan. “By now they know we've had a roving sentry, that we were expecting them. Next time, they may bring enough men to come after us from more than one direction.”

“That means more sentries,” Gus said, “and there's just eight of us.”

“Not necessarily,” said Nathan. “Instead of watching our camp, suppose we stake out a pair of riders and watch theirs?”

“When they ride out,” Will said, “our riders light a shuck back here, and we'll all be ready to greet them.”

“That's it,” said Nathan, “except our men can't afford to get too far ahead of them. We need to know if they're comin' in from one direction or if they split up.”

“I like the sound of it,” McLean said, “because it allows us to remain on the offensive without going outside the law. I'm considering hiring more men, if I can find them.”

“If we play our cards right,” said Nathan, “we can make do with what we have. It's not how many troops you have, but how you use them.”

Cotton Blossom barked once, and Nathan sat up in his bunk. There was the distant clatter of hooves, two horses coming hard. The rest of the McLean riders were awake, for it meant just one thing.

“That's Riley and Tobe,” Gus said.

The two riders slowed when they approached the ranch house, and one of them hailed McLean. Then they came on toward the bunkhouse at a fast gallop.

“The varmints are comin',” said Tobe, as he and Riley left their saddles. “Fourteen men, and they're splittin' up, some comin' at us from the east, the others from the west.”

“We can't set up a crossfire this time,” Nathan said. “That's spreadin' us too thin.”

“We'd best wait on McLean,” Riley said. “He's the boss.”

Colton McLean wasted no time getting there, arriving with a Winchester under his arm. With him was Squid, the Mexican cook, who also carried a Winchester. Quickly, Tobe explained the situation.

“About what I expected,” said McLean. “There are ten of us. I'll take Squid, Riley, Joel, and Tobe, and we'll meet that bunch comin' in from the east. Stone, take Hugh, Guss, Will, and Quad, and take the varmints coming from the west. You'll only get one chance to even the odds, so make that first volley count.”

They took their positions afoot, careful to utilize what cover there was, while allowing their adversaries little or none. The only fault Nathan found with McLean's plan—and it couldn't be helped—was that the defenders who fired first would alert the other group of attackers that the McLean riders were ready and willing to fight. But the two groups of defenders began firing almost simultaneously, and the battle lasted only a matter of a few seconds. After the first volley, both the attackers and the attacked were firing at muzzle flashes, with McLean's riders having the edge. After the final shots were fired, Nathan and his men waited awhile before venturing from cover. There were two dead men, one of them Benjamin Horrell.

“The Horrells will give us hell now,” Nathan predicted.

The divided McLean outfit came together at the bunkhouse. McLean and his men had accounted for one of the attackers, a
Mejicano.
None of the McLean riders had been hit.

“If nobody objects,” said Nathan, “for the next few days, I'd like to keep watch on the Estrella camp. It's time I had a look at the rest of those Horrells in daylight.”

“No objection from me,” McLean said. “I have a telescope you're welcome to use.”

 

Bellied-down on a rise, using McLean's telescope, Nathan scanned the Estrella camp, as he sought to identify the remaining Horrells. It puzzled him that he had never seen the elusive fifth Horrell, William. While he detested the Horrells, he had no real quarrel with them, except for their defense of Clint Barkley. This running fight between McLean and Estrella might drag on for years, and Nathan was weary of it. If he rooted the Horrells out and found no sign of Barkley, he would ride on, but he wouldn't forget. Somewhere, somehow, he would find the man, and Clint Barkley would pay. On the fourth day of his vigilance, Nathan's patience was rewarded. The three remaining Horrells entered the barn, followed by a fourth man whose back was to Nathan. When the four emerged they were mounted, and Nathan almost dropped the telescope. The fourth man was Clint Barkley!

“Cotton Blossom,” said Nathan, “we're about to begin a long overdue skunk hunt.”

Nathan kicked his horse into a fast gallop. Suspecting the Horrells were heading for town, he paced himself so that he might fall in behind and follow them. As long as Barkley was mounted, there was a chance the Horrells could lay down enough fire for the outlaw to run for it. Nathan intended to wait until Barkley was afoot to force a showdown and that time was fast approaching. The four reined up before the Apache Saloon while Nathan rode around behind the building. Dismounting, leaving Cotton Blossom with the grulla, he crept between the Apache and the building alongside it. The Horrells and Barkley already had entered the saloon, but they wouldn't be going far without their horses.

“Barkley, this is Nathan Stone. You bushwhacked a friend of mine in Texas. You have until the count of five to come out and stand on your hind legs like a man.”

But Nathan was denied the showdown for which he had waited so long. From across the street came the cold voice of the law.

“Stone, there'll be no more shooting in this town. I am U.S. Marshal Evan Taylor from Santa Fe. You men who just entered the saloon are under arrest.”

Careful to keep his hands away from his Colts, Nathan turned to face the lawman and found himself facing six of them. Behind Marshal Taylor stood five Mexicans, each armed with a Winchester.

“Marshal,” said Nathan, “one of the varmints in that saloon is Clint Barkley. He killed a Texas Ranger friend of mine.”

“I'll have to see proof of that,” Taylor replied. “Now mount up and ride back to the McLean spread. Tell McLean I want no more shooting. Based on what Sheriff Hatcher has told me, the Estrella outfit has instigated all the violence, and charges will be filed.”

Nathan backed away, but didn't immediately return to his horse. He waited until the Horrells and Clint Barkley came out of the saloon and were taken to jail. Then he mounted the grulla and rode away.

“It's good news,” McLean said, “if Marshal Evan Taylor can make it stick. Leave this Armijo Estrella loose, and he'll have hired a whole new bunch of killers before the marshal gets back to Santa Fe.”

“I got the impression he would be riding out after Estrella,” said Nathan. “Now that I know one of the Horrells is Clint Barkley, I aim to gut-shoot the sidewinder, if I have to bust him out of jail to do it. For that reason, Mr. McLean, I'll be sayin' adios to you and your boys. From what Marshal Taylor said, Sheriff Hatcher is laying all the blame for the shooting and killing on Estrella and his gun-toters. So when I do whatever I have to do, I won't be riding for you.
Bueno suerte
.”

“Hate to lose you, Stone,” McLean replied. “Any time you're in these parts, ride in for a howdy and some grub.”

All the riders shook Nathan's hand and seemed genuinely sorry to see him go, and he was reluctant to leave. But he thought of the Horrells and Barkley in the Lincoln jail, and that was incentive enough. Reaching town, however, Nathan found everything had changed. U.S. Marshal Taylor had taken a posse and had ridden to the Estrella camp, but as soon as he was gone, the Horrells and Barkley had managed to break jail. Nathan found Sheriff Bowie Hatcher at the doctor's office, barely conscious. In a vile mood, Hatcher didn't want to talk, but Nathan insisted.