Dead Trouble (7 page)

Her eyes pinched down.

‘Damn you, Deke! Don’t you turn on him!
Please
don’t! I – don’t think he could take that …’

She stood directly in his path as he started for the
door. He could smell her bath soap on her and he stepped back.

‘I’ve told you how things are, Deke,’ she said steadily. ‘I don’t care if you believe me or not – but – please be careful. Durango’s been under a lot of strain lately. Give him a break!
Please
! He’s had it hard up here and – it can be a dangerous land, this Red River.’

He said nothing, took her shoulders lightly between his hands and stood her to one side. Then he hurried out into the night.

Shortly after, she heard him riding his grey out of the ranch yard. She bit her lip, hands clasped, crying silently.

She had known that Cutler would find out soon enough that Durango was dealing with the outlaws. All she had tried to do was to ease him into acceptance of the idea.

But now she was afraid she had made a mistake. Deke Cutler was still a Ranger, whether he wore a badge or not. He was a hard, decent man and she knew he had been hurt by the knowledge that Durango Spain, a man he had looked up to for many years, had feet of clay.

What she was afraid of now was, just what Deke was going to do about it.

Cutler knew he would never find any hidden canyons in the dark – maybe not even in full daylight, come to that – but he had a general direction and worked from the west pasture.

He crossed the river and found the large area of flatrock with the clump of dark trees looming against the stars beyond. The rifle came noiselessly out of the scabbard and he worked the lever swiftly, yet quietly, sliding a cartridge into the breech. He lowered the hammer which had cocked with the lever action, shucked another .44/40 cartridge from his bullet belt and pushed it through the loading gate in the brass side-plate of the rifle. That gave him a full magazine, plus an extra one already in the breech. The old Ranger caution was still working – one extra shot could make the difference between living and dying.

Riding out, he had been thinking about Karen: he hadn’t allowed himself to think about her much since her marriage to Durango Spain. Maybe some folk would say he had been too slow, or had left his moves too late, but the fact was he deliberately hadn’t made any moves at all or given any sign of how he felt about her. Spain was courting her and Deke hadn’t come along until later. In his book and by his code, that gave Spain first claim. She had agreed to marry Durango and had married him. That was an end to any thoughts of romance between Karen and Cutler as far as he was concerned.

Now he found himself feeling sorry for her: he savvied how she must have felt, coming from a rich family in Denver, winding up on the Red River, without a single one of the comforts she was accustomed to. It would seem no great deal to someone in Karen’s
position
for Spain to make ‘arrangements’ with law-
breakers
: she had tried to rationalize it by saying Spain wasn’t a rustler, but after taking the first bribe to look the other way while rustled beef was driven across his land he was no less an outlaw than the thieves themselves in Deke’s book. But if that was Durango’s only
involvement
– and Deke hoped like hell it was – then there was a chance he could get him out before he found himself dragged in any deeper.

At least it explained Durango’s cool, disappointing welcome: he hadn’t been expecting Deke after hearing rumours of his death and maybe he was fooling himself, but Cutler liked to think that Durango had been trying to protect him by not taking him into his confidence and involving him in any suspect deals.
That
would be
like the old Durango Spain he had known and admired for over ten years.

But that didn’t mean the men Spain was meeting tonight would have any such inclinations. They might see him only as a Ranger: ‘Once a Ranger, always a Ranger – and never a man!’, was the credo of some of these hardbitten outlaws – and so they would as soon see him dead to be on the safe side as to accept him as Spain’s partner in any deal they had made.

‘Hold it, you! Who the hell are you?’

The voice came out of darkness as thick as a blanket in an airless cellar, but Deke thought the owner was somewhere in those trees.

He reined up, still holding the rifle across his thigh one-handed, thumb easing back the hammer, finger curled around the trigger and bringing it back at the same time. Now all he had to do was lift his thumb from the hammer spur and it would fall and fire the cartridge in the breech. It was an old gunfighter’s trick, shaving a split second, and he had used it on two
previous
occasions successfully.

He was ready to try a third time if necessary.

‘I asked who the hell you are, mister!’ the impatient voice snapped and Deke heard the ratchet of a cocking gun hammer. ‘You got about two seconds to say!’

‘Looking for Durango Spain.’

‘Never heard of him!’ Deke didn’t say anything and after a short silence the hidden man snapped: ‘Why?’

‘If you don’t know him, it don’t matter.’

‘Smart-mouth son of a bitch! You’d be Cutler, is my guess.’ Deke didn’t say one way or the other. ‘Goddamnit, answer me! I got my gun trained on you!’

Deke rowelled with his spurs abruptly, falling loosely across his horse’s neck as it leaped forward, swinging the rifle out to one side and shooting one-handed into the darkness of the trees. He didn’t hold out much hope of finding a target but it would distract the man in there.

He heard the bullet slap against a tree trunk and saw a vague whiteness that likely was a piece of bark torn away. He thought he heard the tail end of a startled curse but couldn’t be sure with the echoing gunshot – followed swiftly by one from the guard. But the man had fired in uncontrolled reaction and his shot was wild.

By that time, Deke had a fresh shell in the breach and was thundering into the line of trees, using knees to guide the grey, although it had popped enough mavericks out of brush-choked draws and on timberline slopes to instinctively start dodging and weaving. A gun hammered again and Deke saw the flash to his left and slightly ahead. He lifted the rifle as he reared up in the saddle and fired.

He could just make out the man falling in there and then he heard the swish of a low-swinging branch. He ducked flat but not quite fast enough. It raked his back and thrust him sideways in the saddle. The horse stumbled as it swerved with the unexpected transfer of weight and cannoned off a tree, adding to the
momentum
of Cutler’s falling body.

He struck the ground heavily, losing the rifle, bounced and rolled. Then the night exploded in a fountain of stars as his head struck the same tree that had sent his horse floundering.

He fell into spinning darkness.

‘Goddammit, I told you he wasn’t to be killed! Or even shot at!’

The familiar angry voice filtered through Cutler’s returning consciousness and he lay wherever he was, trying to recover his senses fully.

‘Thing is, Durango, you don’t have as much to say around here as you think you do.’

Cutler didn’t recognize that voice at first: it was tough and cold and menacing.

‘You could be wrong, Flash.’
That could be Flash Bill Danton! An outlaw long supposed dead along the Rio
… ‘That trail across my land is the best one available to you.’

A harsh, wet-sounding laugh.
By hell! It was Flash Bill! He was always troubled by a cough!

‘Now you wouldn’t be threatenin’ me, Durango, ol’ hoss, would you?’

‘Me? Hell, no. But if the trail was closed to you, you’d have to run the gauntlet of crossing the Red in the open and the Federals are getting more and more patrols along the unsettled stretches – using the army, too, I hear.’

The wet cough came, followed by some hawking, then a brief silence.

‘Durango, when you gonna admit you’re no longer a Ranger, no longer the boss, and you don’t get your own way just because of a couple of stupid threats?’

‘Flash, I don’t want Cutler hurt. He’s had it rough and I can ease him along, but not if someone’s trying to blow his head off every time he leaves Shoestring’s
pastures.
You
’re the one ought to be learning a lesson. You counted your dead men lately? And that one he just shot down in the timber. He’ll be lucky if he’s walking without crutches a month from now. You oughta realize just who it is you’re dealing with.’

Cutler opened his eyes and took in his situation. It did little to make him feel any better and it sure didn’t help his throbbing head.

There was some kind of a temporary camp, a small fire burning, and he could smell coffee and beans. He could recognize Durango and Hal Tripp and there were three other dark shapes, all bearded as far as he could tell. At first he thought his hands were bound but it was just that he had been lying on them. His right arm was painful but nothing he couldn’t bear. He fought to sit up and the movement got the attention of the men around the fire.

They said nothing, let him struggle up, holding one side of his head which was swollen. He felt a crust of dried blood where the skin had broken. Cutler swayed, surprised that he was still wearing his own six-gun. His rifle lay only a couple of feet away, scratched and
stone-dented
on the butt-stock from its fall. He started to stoop – carefully – to pick it up, but Flash Bill spat and shook his head.

‘Nope. Just leave it, Cutler.’

‘You’re about the healthiest looking ghost I’ve ever seen, Flash,’ Deke grated, but he was looking at Durango who kept his face carefully blank.

‘What the hell’re you doing here, Deke?’ Spain asked and there was an edge of concern in his voice. ‘D’you have to poke your nose into every blamed thing?’

‘That’s the way you taught me, Durango.’ Cutler’s words were short and cutting, his eyes bleak. ‘Anyway, if my pardner keeps sending our men on night rides, or goes himself, I reckon I’ve a right to know what’s going on.’

There was more silence, broken only by the crackle of wood on the fire. Cutler walked forward, hunkered down and poured himself a tin cup half-full from the blackened and battered pot resting on stones at the edge of the flames. It tasted like carbolic but it was hot and he felt it coursing through him.

‘Could be dangerous knowledge, Cutler,’ growled Danton. The other two outlaws were watching Deke closely, hands on their guns.

‘I’m not a Ranger now,’ Deke told them. ‘I’m going into the cattle-ranching business and I need to know the situation. Looks to me, Durango, like we’re dealing with a bunch of owlhoots.’

Spain poked idly at the fire with a twig.

‘
I
’m making the deals. You’re not involved.’

Deke snorted. ‘You’re my
pardner
, for Chris’sakes! How can I not be involved?’

‘Because I say you’re not. You’ve a lot to learn about making a living in this country, Deke. You think it was easy for me to start dealing with … something like this?’

‘Watch your mouth, Spain!’ growled Flash Bill. His six-gun came up with the flashing speed that had earned him his nickname.

It didn’t seem to bother Durango and Cutler looked relaxed but there was a tension across his shoulders and a new alertness in his eyes as he sipped the coffee.

Spain waved away Danton’s threatening words.

‘Just talking, Flash. No offence.’ He suddenly heaved to his feet and Danton and his two men scrambled up quickly. Hal Tripp got up more slowly, looking mighty uneasy. ‘Relax. Deke, we better head on back. I’ve done my business here. Nothing for you to do – unless you want to tell that feller you shot you’re sorry.’

‘Sorry I didn’t nail him dead centre,’ Cutler said easily, tossing the dregs of coffee into the fire. It hissed and steam rose. Still getting up, lifting his rifle, Cutler clanged the barrel against the battered pot. It fell, the ill-fitting lid flew off and the liquid and grounds still in it all but extinguished the fire which hissed like a couple of maddened snakes.

The sudden sharp drop in light and the roiling steam confused the others and Cutler moved swiftly, his rifle barrel swinging in a tight arc. It knocked Danton’s gun from his grasp, then lifted to slam the man across the side of the head. Flash stumbled into the bearded outlaw next to him and Cutler smashed the butt into this man’s forehead. The third outlaw was only now bringing up his six-gun and Spain instinctively kicked it from his hand. Cutler drove the rifle barrel into his midriff and he collapsed to his knees, doubled-up, gagging.

Hal Tripp was looking round bewilderedly, gun
half-drawn
, waiting for a cue from Spain. Durango turned angrily towards Cutler.

‘Goddammit, Deke! What the hell…!’

Cutler ignored him, strode across to Flash Bill and hooked a boot-toe under the dazed man’s shoulder. He heaved him on to his back and Danton glared up
through pain-dulled eyes. Deke planted a boot in the middle of the outlaw’s chest and leaned his weight on it. Danton began to cough painfully.

‘I see you or anyone riding for you on Shoestring land, I’ll kill you, Flash. We never did get along and from what I recollect, I ought to damn well put a bullet in you right now and save everyone a lot of trouble. You just mind my words – all deals are off!’

‘Now wait just one goddamn minute!’ snapped Spain, stepping forward. ‘You don’t speak for me, Deke! This is something you know nothing about and we better get it straightened out between us. Right now!’

‘No, not right now. We can sit down and you can tell me just what the hell’s been going on, Durango, back at the ranch. But for now, all bets are off. And I meant what I said about shooting on sight.’

‘Best sleep with a gun under your pillow, Cutler!’ gritted Danton, wheezing and coughing.

‘Aw, shut up, Flash!’ Cutler said tiredly and kicked the outlaw in the temple. The others were still dazed and groggy and no threat. The man he had wounded down in the trees was lying under a shallow overhang of rock, moaning, not interested in anything but Cutler’s bullet which had shattered the bone in his lower left leg.

‘Get the horses and let’s ride, Durango.’

Spain’s face was pale and bleak.

‘You holding that gun on me?’

‘I am.’

Spain sighed, let his six-gun fall back into its holster and Hal Tripp lifted his hands out from his sides.

‘You’re gonna regret this, Deke.’

‘Well, let’s go regret it down at Shoestring. Hal, you bring my grey over here, then both you and Durango lie face down on the ground until I’m mounted.’

Spain’s look of hatred was an almost tangible thing.

Deke Cutler remained deadpan.