Last Train to Bannock [Clayburn 02] (10 page)

    Blue's wrinkled face glared at him. "You expectin' me to do more riding tonight?"

    "Uh-huh."

    "Goddamn it, Clayburn, I need some sleep. Ain't had time for more'n a couple hours at a snatch ever since…"

    Humor touched the corners of Clayburn's mouth. "Old men don't need much sleep. That's why I hired you. You can grab a nap while you're waiting for me-though it may get a little noisy for you before long."

    "You sure expect a man to sweat blood for his pay," Blue complained. But he trudged off to pick out the four horses.

    Clayburn's eyes settled on Haycox. "Speaking of pay," he said thinly, "the time's come to start earning yours."

    

    

    They entered the long canyon riding two abreast-Wilks and Dillon in the lead, followed by Slope and Benjy with the rest of the men trailing behind, their guns ready. They made a formidable little army, and Wilks had already worked out how he would place each man.

    The looming stone walls on either side of him shut out the starlight, making it so dark that Wilks could not see more than a couple feet ahead-and all he could see there was more darkness. And the way in was narrow, made narrower still by the piles of rocks and boulders jumbled against the base of the cliffs. But there was more than enough room for two horses to ride through side by side, and Wilks knew the way. He'd been through it twice while it had still been light, and his sense of direction was a keen one.

    The narrow stretch at this end of the canyon was long. Wilks and Dillon were still in it when the two men bringing up the rear came into it. Wilks' thoughts were already farther down the canyon: Halfway through they'd dismount, out of earshot of Cora Sorel's camp. They'd go the rest of the way silently on foot. If they ran into any guards before getting into position the main body of his men would make a rush for it, depending on their superior numbers to get them to the rocks that would be their barricade. Otherwise they would quietly take up their position, ready to shoot down every man and animal trying to break out of the trap. He'd already picked his best marksmen to work their way onto the low cliff overhanging the wagon camp. And once they'd closed the trap…

    

    

    Fifty yards to Wilks' left, Clayburn rested on one knee behind a mass of rock, his carbine cradled in both hands, his finger across the trigger. He couldn't see the riders moving slowly past him, except as shadowy disturbances of the general darkness. But he could hear them plainly, the creak of their leather and clop of their horses hoofs. He held himself in, waiting.

    His men were scattered to his right and left behind the rocks. Jim Roud was the nearest to him on one side; Haycox was on his other side, almost in touching distance. It had taken some arguing to keep Cora from being with them. She'd finally settled for joining the two men assigned to the other end of the canyon, to pick off any attackers that got through here. Clayburn did not intend for many to get through.

    The stone under his bent knee began to hurt. He did not move. He continued to watch the vague movement through the darkness, listening, waiting tensely…

    

    

    Wilks felt his horse begin to act strangely under him, trying to slow its walking pace. He glanced quickly to his left. But he could see nothing there, not even the rocks at the base of the canyon entrance wall. He stared straight ahead, still saw nothing, and kneed his mount to keep it moving. In the next few seconds they should be out of this narrow stretch…

    Then he saw something dead ahead. Nothing he could identify or even be sure was really there. It was only that part of the darkness there looked somehow more solid. Instantly Wilks reined his horse to a stop.

    Beside him, Dillon was not so quick. His horse took two more steps forward, head-on into something that crackled and gave resistance. The barrier of ropes and dry brush stretched across the end of the canyon entrance.

    Dillon's horse whinnied in fright and reared back from the barrier. The two men Clayburn had waiting there scratched matches on rock. Each set fire to a cloth-wrapped stick soaked in kerosene, and threw it.

    Wilks already had his gun in his hand, hammer back, when matches touched kerosene. He fired at the flare of the nearest torch as it was thrown. His shot winged the man who threw it-but both torches fell straight into the middle of the brush barrier.

    The next second the brush was on fire, its flames licking skyward, outlining Wilks and his mounted raiders.

    

    

    Clayburn laid his carbine barrel across the top of the rock in front of him and fired at the nearest man revealed to him by the flames. The carbine stock recoiled into his shoulder. The bullet took the raider high on the side of his chest and tore him from his saddle. On either side of Clayburn the guns of his men crashed out, the barrage thundering against the confines of the canyon walls and slashing the raiding force apart.

    Men and horses went down screaming. The orderly two-file line disintegrated into a churning mass of riderless horses, men on foot and still-mounted riders-all tangling with each other in a desperate scramble to get away from the blaze that revealed them to the defenders' gunfire.

    The raiders were moving fast now, becoming more difficult targets frequently hidden by milling horses. But some of the defenders were firing at anything that moved, not caring if it was only men they hit. One was Haycox, earning his pay now with a vengeance, firing coolly with either hand. In the brief glimpse that Clayburn caught of him, one of his guns nailed a crawling man flat to the ground and his other gun bowled over a riderless horse stampeding straight at the rocks.

    It was a slaughter, not a fight. Some of the raiders tried to shoot back. But they couldn't see what they were shooting at, and the rocks behind which the defenders crouched protected them from blindly fired bullets. Most of the raiders didn't even try. They concentrated on getting out of the canyon mouth, back the way they'd come in.

    It was over in minutes. By the time the fast-burning brush consumed itself the last of the raiders were gone-leaving behind only those who would never go anywhere again.

    The abrupt cessation of gunfire was a shock. Clayburn drew a hand over his eyes, shook his head to clear it, and climbed over the rocks. By the lowering light of the last flickering flames he moved swiftly among the dead, twice pausing to turn over with the toe of his boot a man who lay face down.

    If Adler had been among them, he would have known the trouble was done with. He didn't find Adler. But he did find Benjy and Slope.

    He stood for a moment longer staring at the dead while his men crowded out from behind the rocks and converged on him. His mouth was a tight bitter line and his heart thudded heavily in his chest. But when he raised his head his face was wooden, his eyes cold.

    "What's our own damage?" he demanded in a tired voice.

    "One man winged in the left arm," Kosta told him. "Fischman."

    "That's all?"

    Kosta grinned at him in the fading light. "That's all."

    Clayburn nodded aimlessly, moved his shoulders, and began ejecting the used carbine shells.

    Haycox asked, "Do you think they'll be back for more?" There was a little more respect in his voice now.

    "No," Clayburn said tonelessly. "Not tonight. Not here. They know our position's too strong for the number of them left. We got too many of them; the odds are about even now."

    He began reloading the carbine as he turned to Roud. "You're in charge till I get back, Jim. Keep a heavy guard here, so they can't trickle in and pull our own trap on us when you take the wagons out at dawn. And before you pull out have a look around, make sure they're not laying for you anywhere outside."

    He was fairly sure they wouldn't be. The surviving raiders would be heading back to their camp now, to lick their wounds. And they'd be going slow. They'd lost more horses than men. Some of the raiders would have to ride double.

    "When'll you be back?" Roud asked him.

    "Sometime tomorrow. Don't wait for me anywhere along the route. Just keep pushing north. I'll catch up."

    Clayburn snapped the last load into the carbine, levered a cartridge into firing position, and slipped away into the darkness to find Ranse Blue.

    

    

    With each man riding first one of his horses and then the other, Clayburn and Blue were able to keep going steadily at a fast, mile-consuming pace. It still lacked some three hours to dawn when they neared Adler's wagon camp.

    They tethered the four horses half a mile away. Because it was certain that Adler's raiders couldn't have made it back yet, they left their rifles in their saddle scabbards. They moved on through the starlit darkness on foot, Blue leading the way deeper into a labyrinth of canyons and buttes.

    Clayburn followed Blue down a gentle slope, treading with care so as not to displace any pieces of the loose shale. They moved past a group of massive clay formations shaped like giant mushrooms, entered a twisting stone corridor with curved sides almost coming together over their heads. As they reached the end of it Blue stopped, half-turning to touch a hand to Clayburn's ear. Clayburn nodded that he understood: they were now within hearing distance of the wagon camp.

    From there on they moved with special care, both men walking Indian fashion, testing each step before putting full weight on it so as not to disturb any loose stones or snap a twig underfoot. They threaded their way in a crouch, keeping within the darkest shadows, crossing what had once been a deep river but was now a cracked and pitted expanse of hard-baked clay. Their boots making no sound at all, they went under a stone arch and through a narrow dry gulch bottomed with rocks.

    Reaching the base of a low slope, Blue again paused, and made a downward motion with his hand against Clayburn's chest. Then Blue started up the slope on his hands and knees. Clayburn crawled after him. When Blue halted just below the top, Clayburn moved up beside him, and raised his head only enough to see over the rim.

    Beyond the slope the ground leveled till it reached the looming side of a great mesa. Between the mesa and the slope was a scattering of boulders-and Adler's wagon camp.

    Clayburn gave his full attention to the dark shapes of the big wagons. They were formed into a rough square, with all the mules corralled inside the square. There were too many mules for the square to contain them if the wagons touched end to end. So large spaces showed between each wagon-spaces across which ropes would be strung from one wagon to the next so the mules couldn't get out.

    There was no campfire, nothing to see by but the starlight. And there was no sign of the three guards Adler had left behind. Clayburn stayed where he was, his eyes scanning the night-shrouded wagons in search of them. He was fairly certain that Adler was too smart to let his guards stay near the wagons, with all those boulders around the outside of the camp. But it would have been foolish to ignore the possibility.

    He felt time pressing hard on him, urging him to hurry. They had to get done with it and be gone before Adler and his raiders returned to cut off their retreat. But to hurry at the expense of caution would be equally suicidal. Clayburn held himself in, forcing himself to take the time necessary. He had to know where at least one of the guards was before moving closer.

    Finally, he transferred his attention from the wagons to the boulders closest to the camp area. Nothing moved anywhere. Clayburn remained where he was, waiting, watching. The coldness of the air and ground began making itself felt through his pants and coat. Time passed. His nerves were stretching taut. Still he lay motionless against the top of the slope, studying the boulders with pinpointed concentration.

    Then he saw something move in the deep shadow of a boulder off to the right of the wagon camp. Not a man; not anything that could be identified. Just a movement.

    Blue saw it at the same time. He touched Clayburn's elbow. Clayburn focused all his attention on the boulder. No one showed himself. The movement was not repeated.

    But he knew he'd seen it. And that it meant one of the guards was there. That was all he knew. There was no way of guessing if the man was sitting or standing, or the direction in which he was looking.

    Clayburn sucked in a slow, deep breath and went up over the rim of the slope on his belly. Any one of the three guards might be at that moment looking toward the slope. There was no help for that. All Clayburn could do was make himself as much a part of the ground as possible, and make no sound to attract attention his way. Raising all his weight on just his elbows and toes, his head down and the rest of him barely off the ground, Clayburn snaked toward the nearest boulder.

    He reached it without anything happening, and once in its protective shadow let his breath out slowly and lowered himself full-out on the ground for a second's rest. Blue came up beside him in the same fashion, his presence neither heard nor seen, merely felt.

    There were other boulders now between him and the one under which he'd seen the movement. But any one of them might hide one of the other guards. Clayburn studied the next nearest boulder intently, raised himself an inch on his elbows and toes, and worked his way toward it. It was a strenuous, tiring way to travel over even a short space. By the time he reached the next boulder he was clenching his bared teeth to still the sounds of his hard breathing.

    Resting, he spared moments for another look around. It didn't buy him the location of either of the other guards.