Last Train to Bannock [Clayburn 02] (8 page)

    Haycox looked bored. "I'm being paid for my guns, not my fists. My hands are delicate, and useful. If I broke a knuckle on somebody's jaw, I wouldn't be much use to Cora."

    He had a point. Clayburn had known other gunfighters who'd pampered their hands like musicians. That didn't change anything. Their dislike of each other ran deeper than logic. He was itching for a clash that would leave Haycox behind.

    But whatever might have happened between them at that point was pushed aside by the sound of a distant train whistle.

    

    

    Adler's outfit headed out of Parrish as soon as his wagons were loaded, pausing only long enough for his men to pick up their weapons from the marshal's office. Cora Sorel was in a fever to hurry after them.

    Clayburn cooled her impatience. "We'll finish loading slow and careful. And get the doc to patch up any of our men that need it. Only a few hours to sunset. We'll camp just outside town. Tomorrow morning's when we make our start. I want distance between us and Adler."

    "Distance? From what Farnell told me, there's only a few trails through those mountains to Bannock. If Adler reaches the mountains first, he could block our route, force us to backtrack and…"

    "Sure," he agreed amiably. "If he gets there first." He smiled at her gently. "But he won't."

    His certainty puzzled Cora. She wanted to argue with him, but something-something about the man himself that she couldn't put her finger on-stopped her. For the second time that day, she found herself reluctantly accepting his judgment over her own.

    It was an hour before dusk when Cora Sorel's wagon train pulled out of Parrish. When they stopped at the jail-house to collect their weapons, the marshal took Clayburn aside for a moment.

    "It still ain't any of my business," he said, "but if you're interested in a piece of advice…"

    "From you… any time."

    "You need more men."

    "I know. But we've already got as many as the boss can pay."

    Kavanaugh scowled at him. "That's too bad. Because Adler hired a couple extra before he headed out. Neither of 'em exactly the mule-skinner type."

    Clayburn nodded carelessly. "Well-that figured to happen. Thanks for letting me know."

    "It doesn't worry you any?"

    "It does. But then, I worry about most everything. I feel more comfortable that way."

    "Comfortable?"

    "And safer. It's only the things you
don't
worry about that can hit you when you're not looking."

    He shook the marshal's hand and went back out to the wagons.

    "All right… Roll 'em!"

    

    

    They ate early and they ate well. Kosta proved to be as good a cook as he'd been said to be. By the first faint light of dawn Clayburn had Cora's wagon train on the move, proceeding northwest into rough desert country.

    Kosta's chuck wagon, pulled by two teams of horses, moved out in the lead, followed by the eight mule-drawn freight wagons. Like each of the teamsters, Kosta had a gun strapped to his hip, a rifle close to hand, and extra ammunition for both behind the seat. Roud and Haycox rode off to either side of the wagon train as flankers, one 'or the other of them occasionally dropping back past the last wagon for a look over the horizon behind them. Cora Sorel, riding a fleet-footed buckskin with the sure grace of someone born to the saddle, acted as an extra flanker. She carried a Winchester in her saddle scabbard and a Colt
.44 on her hip, and before many days had passed it was evident she was as equal to hard traveling as any of the men.

    Ranse Blue was gone before they set out that first day, riding off into the predawn darkness, leading an extra horse so he could alternate mounts for speed if necessary. No one saw much of him in the days that followed. Clayburn had given the old buffalo hunter the job of spying on Adler's outfit. About every other night Blue would reappear, have himself a hot meal, fill his canteens and food bag, report to Clayburn, and be gone again well before dawn.

    Clayburn rode point, well in advance of the wagons, scouting the way. From time to time he'd ride a full circle around the wagon train, out of sight of it, scanning the distances through his army-issue field glasses. He returned to the wagons only for the midday halts and when they made camp for the night. He chose and arranged each campsite with an eye to defense, corralling the horses and mules securely within a box formed by the wagons, assigning guard duties so that there were always at least three out in the dark beyond the campfire light, watching and listening for the first signs of an attack.

    Not that he was expecting trouble this early. But it was well to get everyone in the habit of being set for it from the start. Because he'd been looking for them, Clayburn had soon found tracks which indicated that riders from Adler's outfit were keeping tabs on Cora's wagon train, just as Blue was on Adler's.

    Blue's first reports back were what Clayburn had anticipated. Adler was following a longer route across the desert country-a route determined by the known watering places along the way. Clayburn had chosen a more direct, much shorter route-but one that had to cross a couple of problems. The first problem was a three-day stretch across country that wasn't supposed to contain any water. The second problem was a long east-to-west expanse of rolling sand dunes in which the legs of the mules and wheels of the wagons might become too deep mired to get through.

    They hit the three-day dry stretch a week out of Parrish. In readiness for it, Clayburn had had a huge cask of water secured on top of each wagon load. The mules and horses drank every last drop of it their first night into the dry stretch, but Clayburn did not appear anxious about it. He led the wagon train, an hour before dusk of the following day, to what everyone knew to be a dry lake.

    It was a place where there'd once been water, fed by some underground spring which had suddenly stopped flowing several years back.

    But the lake was no longer dry, as Clayburn had discovered a week and a half earlier while riding south, the day before his horse had broken a leg. As mysteriously as the underground spring had shut itself off. it had suddenly turned itself on again. The lake was half full of water.

    Since leaving Parrish, Cora had taken her evening meals with Clayburn. Their growing ease with each other appeared to irritate Haycox, who was usually hovering nearby. That evening as they sat together after the mules and horses had been watered, she looked more cheerful than she had been the night before.

    "You knew that lake had refilled all along, Clay. Why didn't you say so?"

    He smiled at her. "It might've emptied itself again since I last saw it."

    "Then what would we have done?"

    "Gone two days without water. It would have been hard on the mules-but we'd have made it."

    "And I suppose you've also known all along exactly what we're going to do about the sand dunes tomorrow?"

    Clayburn nodded. "Passed along them when I was riding south. It's windy this time of year, and the wind keeps shifting the dunes, sweeping some parts almost clear. And we can bull through the parts that aren't clear, if we tackle it the right way."

    "If we do," Cora said slowly, "that'll mean we'll be out of the desert ahead of Adler."

    "Uh-huh." Clayburn's forehead creased. He finished the coffee in his cup and set it down carefully. "I expect that's when Adler will hit at us."

    Cora frowned at him. "You sound very sure of it. But we've been on the trail for over a week now and nothing has happened."

    "For reasons," Clayburn said. "First of all we were still too near Parrish most of the week. Adler would wait till we're well beyond reach of the law. He'd wait, too, in hopes we might break down without interference from him. And this country's too flat-you can see riders coming at you from a long way off. When we get into the hill and canyon country, and he finds out we've made it and he's behind us-that's when he'll do something about us."

    "You sound as if you know exactly when he'll do it, and how. And exactly what we'll do to stop him."

    Clayburn shook his head. "Not exactly. It'll depend on the time and place."

    She stared at him in silence for a few seconds. "You know, Clay, you act like you can read every thought in Adler's head. And I've got a hunch you can."

    Clayburn hunched his heavy shoulders and smiled meaninglessly. "If you play against a man, it only makes sense to put yourself in his place and figure out what you'd do if you were him. Everybody does that."

    "No. Everybody
tries
. It's like that little poker session of ours. I was concentrating on tricking you-while you had already thought out what I was doing and what to do about it."

    Haycox, sitting stiffly on the other side of Cora, spoke up suddenly. "Clayburn, I hope you turn out to be as good at fighting as you're supposed to be at thinking long thoughts."

    Cora looked at Haycox. "You've
seen
him fight."

    "With his fists," Haycox drawled. "But next time it'll have to be with guns. You've hired a fine bunch of brawlers, Cora. I'm just wondering how they'll stand up to bullets."

    Jim Roud had drifted over while they were talking. He grinned down at Haycox. "Don't worry yourself about that, gunfighter. We can all handle ourselves if it comes to shooting, too."

    Haycox gazed up at him sardonically. "Can you? From what I heard, being a deputy in Parrish didn't give a man much practice with a gun. There was always Marshal Kavanaugh to hide behind."

    Roud's ugly face flushed.

    Clayburn said, quickly and softly, "Easy, Jim…"

    Roud glanced down at him, controlled himself, and shifted his glance to Haycox. "Want a demonstration?" He pointed with his left hand to a small rock just near enough to be seen in the failing evening light. "Watch it."

    His right hand blurred, whipping the Colt up out of his holster. It fired as it cleared leather. The rock jumped, breaking down the middle into two fragments.

    He looked again at Haycox. "Good enough?"

    Haycox shrugged a thin shoulder. "Not
too
bad. Sure it's the best you can do?" He stood up with a swift, uncoiling motion, his hands poised over the butts of the two guns strapped low to his thighs. "You looked a little slow to me. Try again."

    Roud hesitated, then slipped the Colt back in his holster. "Okay." He spread his feet, eyes focusing on one of the two pieces of rock, his compact figure hunching for a fast draw. Then he made his move, faster than the last time.

    Both of Haycox's hands moved at the same time. His guns seemed to spring into them. They roared simultaneously, before Roud's gun was even clear of its holster.

    The two rock fragments smashed into bits.

    Without bothering to look at Roud, Haycox turned to Clayburn. "Maybe
you'd
care to try it?"

    "What for?" Clayburn asked in a bored voice.

    "I'd like to know just how good you are."

    Clayburn showed his teeth in a kind of a smile. "Then we'd
both
know, wouldn't we?" He shook his head. "Nope. It's a waste of scarce ammunition."

    The gunman's thin face tightened. "If you're expecting trouble from Adler, some target practice for everybody wouldn't be a bad idea."

    Clayburn stood up, dusting his hands on his thighs. "Anybody that needs target practice at this point, doesn't have enough time left to learn."

    He motioned to Roud and sauntered off to check the corralling of the horses and mules.

    Cora Sorel rose to her feet beside Haycox. "You two certainly don't seem to get along very well."

    He turned on her angrily. "And you and him seem to get along too damn well."

    Amusement quirked her lips. "Jealous?"

    His empty eyes fastened on her face. "You know how you acted with me in Parrish," he said tightly. "Not like that time in Butte when you wouldn't let me get near you. That's why I came along on this stupid job. And you know it."

    Cora patted his cheek softly. "I know."

    "If I thought you were just stringing me along for the use of my guns… making me wait for something that's not going to be…"

    She smiled at him. "Simmer down, honey. You'll find out if I meant it or not, when we get to Bannock."

    The promise he thought he saw in her eyes mollified Haycox. But not entirely.

    

    

    An hour after dawn the next day the wagon train came to the sand-dune barrier stretching from horizon to horizon across their path. Clayburn was there waiting for them, having set out before dawn to hunt the best way across. He stood by his big sorrel horse between two dunes that rose like brownish waves more than six feet above his head, their crests rippling in the steadily moaning wind.

    The brim of his hat was tugged well down over eyes narrowed to slits, and he'd tied a bandana across the lower part of his face to keep the flying sand out of his nostrils and mouth. As the others neared the undulating dunes and felt the stinging lash of the wind-whipped grains of sand, they followed his example.

    He gathered the men and stated the situation flatly. "There's no easy way across. So we'll try it where it's narrowest, which is right here. It's about a two-mile haul. Some spots have been blown almost clear. But there're longish stretches where it's pretty deep that'll take some doing. Let's get started by double-teaming the first four wagons."

    Because the chuck wagon was much lighter than the freight wagons, he'd decided on testing the route across by taking it through first. While the teamsters unhitched the mule teams from the last four freight wagons and joined them to the teams of the first four, the chuck wagon got rolling. Roud had taken over the driver's seat. Clayburn and the powerful Kosta went on foot, leading the first of the team horses and pulling them along when they hit the sand drifts between the dunes.