Luke Jensen, Bounty Hunter (13 page)

Luke aimed for a spot about ten feet to the right of one of the attackers and squeezed the trigger. The rifle cracked and kicked against his shoulder, and dirt spurted into the air at the spot he had targeted.

The man jumped, obviously startled, made a motion like he was going to get up, and then pressed himself to the ground again as he looked around wildly for the source of the shot. Clearly, he didn't think it had come from the stagecoach.

Beside Luke, Hobie's rifle blasted. Another of the attackers flinched as the bullet hit close enough to spray grit in his face.

“Damn it,” Hobie said. “I almost hit him. I was aiming to miss by more than that.”

Luke had already levered his Winchester. He fired again and sent another man's hat flying through the air. “Yeah, I came a little closer than I intended there, too,” he said dryly.

The attackers were stirred up and on the verge of panic. Several leaped frantically to their feet as Luke and Hobie continued to pepper the ground around them with slugs.

With no place to take cover, the riflemen broke off the assault and raced for their mounts being held by a man well back from the others.

“I just thought of something,” Hobie said nervously as he paused in his firing. “What if they come after us now?”

“That's a risk you run when you stick your nose in somebody else's business,” Luke said. “There's always the chance they'll try to cut it off.”

As a matter of fact, some of the men were already throwing lead at the knob, having figured out where the shots were coming from. None of the bullets were coming close to Luke and Hobie yet, but that might not remain true for long.

It was time to send the attackers a message. Luke tracked his sights on one of the running men and squeezed off another round. The man tumbled off his feet as the bullet ripped through his thigh. His pained yell was clearly audible from where Luke and Hobie lay on top of the knob.

“I want them to know we missed those first shots on purpose,” Luke said as he levered the Winchester and shifted his aim. His next shot hit a man in the shoulder and spun him around. He managed to stay on his feet and continued stumbling toward the horses.

One of the riflemen went back to help the first hombre Luke had shot. He got the wounded man up and helped him onto a horse. In a matter of seconds, all of the attackers were mounted. Instead of trying to circle around the knob and go after Luke and Hobie, they lit out to the south, causing a big cloud of dust to boil into the air again.

Hobie took off his hat and sleeved sweat from his forehead. He blew out a nervous breath and then laughed. “I thought we might have a real fight on our hands there.”

“We were outnumbered, but we had the superior position,” Luke explained. “And after I winged a couple, they knew they'd have to pay a pretty high price to roust us off the top of this hill.”

Despite what he'd told Hobie, Luke kept a close eye on the gunmen until they had vanished in the distance. Then he stood up and said, “Let's go see what's so all-fired important about that stagecoach. Some of those folks could be hurt and need our help, too.”

They got their horses and rode toward the overturned vehicle. Luke approached it warily. If the defenders had been paying attention, they would know that he and Hobie were responsible for running off those other men. People who had recently been fighting for their lives sometimes didn't really think straight, though, especially if they weren't used to such danger.

“Hold on,” Luke told Hobie when they were still about fifty yards away. “Let's give them a minute to get it through their heads that we're friends.”

He hadn't seen anyone moving around behind the coach, but knew somebody was still alive back there because they'd been shooting only a few minutes earlier. He took his hat off and waved it back and forth above his head. “Hello, the coach! Hold your fire! My partner and I are coming in! We mean you no harm!”

Luke put his hat on and nudged his horse forward at a slow walk. Hobie rode alongside him and asked quietly, “Are we really partners, Luke?”

“For now we are. Don't get used to it, though. I normally work alone, and once we've corralled Kelly and the Apache, I'm sure I will again.”

“Sure. This is just a one-time deal.”

Luke thought Hobie sounded a little disappointed. Maybe he had figured they would be trail partners from here on out. If that was the case, it was good that he learned the truth right away.

A man stepped out from behind the stagecoach. He wore a brown hat with a high, round crown. He took it off and returned Luke's wave. “Come on in!” he called.

Luke didn't miss the shotgun in the man's other hand. That and the long duster the man wore told Luke he was probably the driver or the guard.

As they came closer, the man lifted a hand in greeting. He was middle-aged, with a close-cropped, gray-shot beard. “Howdy! Sure am glad to see you fellas.”

Luke and Hobie reined in. Without dismounting, Luke leaned forward in the saddle. “It may be stating the obvious, but it looks like you've had some trouble here.”

“We dang sure have. I'm Jim Pierce, jehu of this here stagecoach.”

“Luke Jensen,” Luke introduced himself. “My young friend is Hobie McCullough.”

“I'm mighty pleased to meet you, Jensen. Reckon you saved us from those road agents. It
was
you takin' those potshots at 'em from the knob over yonder, wasn't it?”

“That's right.” Luke disagreed with Pierce's contention that the attackers were outlaws, or at least that their primary intention was to rob the stage, but he didn't see any reason to go into that. “They jumped you a ways back, didn't they?”

“Yeah, and I done my dead-level best to outrun 'em, but that's hard to do with a team of horses pullin' a coach, especially one with four passengers in it. Still, we were stayin' ahead of the varmints until one of the leaders shied at something and made the whole team veer too sharp to the side. The coach went over, busted the singletree, and the harness snapped. We were stuck here.”

“That's about the way I had it figured,” Luke said. “Four passengers, you say? Any of them hurt?”

“I don't think so, but the fella who was ridin' guard has a busted leg. Maybe you can give me a hand fixin' him up.”

“I'd be glad to try.” Luke swung down from the saddle and handed his reins to Hobie. He told the young man, “Stay mounted and keep your eyes open. Those hombres can't double back at us without raising some dust. If you see anything suspicious, sing out.”

“I sure will, Luke,” Hobie promised.

“Looked like you were putting up the best fight you could,” Luke said to Pierce as they walked around the coach.

“I been drivin' a stagecoach for near on to thirty years. Been held up before, but I don't like it. Any lowlife tries to stop my coach, he's gonna have a fight on his hands.”

Another duster-clad man was propped up with his back against the roof of the coach, which was upright with the vehicle lying on its side. His legs were stretched out in front of him, but the right one had an odd bend in it. Luke could tell that it was broken between the thigh and the hip.

The man was awake, but his blocky face was pale and haggard from pain. He asked in a voice that also revealed the strain he was under, “Are they gone, Jim?”

“Yeah, and this is one of the fellas who chased 'em off,” Pierce replied. “Jensen, this here is Ben Wallace.”

Luke nodded to the shotgun guard. “Wish it was under better circumstances, Wallace.”

“Yeah, me, too.” Wallace's hat was off, revealing a thatch of sandy hair.

The four passengers—two men and two women—were also behind the stage. One of the women knelt beside Wallace. She had a wet handkerchief in her hand, and Luke supposed she had been wiping the injured man's face with it, trying to keep him comfortable.

She looked up at Luke. “Someone needs to set this man's leg.”

The thick layer of dust that covered her clothes and face didn't keep her from being beautiful, Luke realized. Her vivid green eyes went perfectly with her fair skin and the bright red hair pulled into a bun on the back of her head. She wore a bottle green traveling outfit tight enough to reveal the lines of her slender but well-shaped body, and a matching hat with a little feather in it sat on that red hair. Luke figured she was around twenty years old.

The other woman was at least twenty years older, and from the way she huddled against one of the male passengers about the same age as he kept a comforting arm around her shoulders, the two of them probably were married, Luke thought. The second male passenger was in his thirties, reasonably well dressed in tight trousers, a frock coat, and a vest over a white shirt. He had a fancy stickpin in his cravat. His black hat was perfectly shaped. Luke took him to be a gambler.

He still had a pistol in his hand. He'd been one of the defenders firing from behind the coach, along with Pierce and possibly the other male passenger. He nodded a curt greeting to Luke.

“First things first,” Luke said. “We need some splints for Ben's broken leg.”

“We can bust some pieces out of the coach's door,” Pierce suggested.

“That's a good idea,” Luke agreed. He climbed onto the overturned stagecoach and used the butt of one of the Remingtons to knock several pieces of wood out of the door on the side that was up. With his knife, he shaped them into makeshift splints that would hold Wallace's broken leg in place once it was set.

Setting it would be a whole other story and might prove difficult, depending on how bad the break was. It wouldn't be the first broken bone Luke had tended to, however.

“Hobie, come around here and bring my horse,” he called. There were some strips of rawhide in Luke's saddlebags that he could use to bind the splints into place.

Hobie rode around the coach and reined in sharply.

Luke wondered about the abruptness of the young man's action until he saw that Hobie was staring at the redhead kneeling next to Wallace. That wasn't a surprise. She was close to Hobie's age and definitely worth staring at, whether it was polite to do so or not.

The woman met Hobie's fascinated gaze for a second, then looked away. A flush spread over her face.

Hobie noticed and realized he was embarrassing her. He gave a little jerk of his head and turned to look at Luke. “What do you need me to do?”

“Keep watching to make sure those men don't come back,” Luke said as he dug around in the saddlebags for the rawhide strips. When he found them, he took them and the splints over to Wallace and knelt on the injured man's other side.

“Do you happen to have a bottle of whiskey, Jim?” he asked Pierce.

The driver shook his head. “Naw, it's against stagecoach comp'ny regulations. I ain't sayin I never bent a rule in my life, but the district manager's mighty partic'lar about this one.”

“I have some whiskey.” The older male passenger took his arm from around his wife's shoulders and reached under his coat to take out a flask. As he handed it to Luke, he added, “Mr. Wallace can have as much of it as he needs.”

Luke uncapped the flask and handed it to Wallace. “I'd advise drinking the whole thing. It's going to hurt like blazes when I put that leg back the way it's supposed to be.”

“I know that, mister. But it's got to be done, and I appreciate you doin' it.” The guard tilted the flask up and took a long swallow. The whiskey gurgled inside the vessel.

“Have you ever done anything like this before, Mr. Jensen?” the redhead asked.

“As a matter of fact, I have, Miss . . . ?”

“Wheeler. Jessica Wheeler.”

Luke nodded and touched a finger to his hat brim. “You'll need to move back, Miss Wheeler, so these gentlemen can hold Mr. Wallace down.”

“I can stand the pain.” Wallace's voice already seemed a little thicker. He took another slug from the flask.

“I know you think so, but we don't want to do any more damage than has already been done. Now, if you fellas will give me a hand . . .”

Jessica Wheeler stood up and moved back to join the older woman. The gambler took her place, telling Luke, “I'm Aaron Kemp.”

“And my name is Stephen Langston,” the older man put in.

Luke moved around to kneel beside the broken leg while the other three men arranged themselves around Wallace. Pierce and Kemp held the guard's shoulders while Langston took a firm grip on his left leg.

“Hang on just a minute,” Wallace said. “Let me finish this first.” He tipped his head back and emptied the flask with a final gurgle. Then he blew his breath out, closed his eyes, and leaned his head against the coach roof. “Go ahead.”

Luke grasped the guard's right leg, one hand below the break and the other above it. It would be a process of trial and error, fitting the broken bone back together, and until he got it right, the jagged ends would grind together and cause excruciating pain for Wallace.

But delaying things wouldn't make them any better. With a sharp tug, Luke straightened the guard's leg.

Wallace's howl of agony rolled across the hot, flat land and echoed from the walls of the mesa.

Between the liquor and the pain, Ben Wallace passed out before Luke finished setting the broken leg. That was a good thing, Luke thought.

He got the bone back the way it was supposed to be, as far as he could tell, and bound the four splints in place on the front, back, and both sides of Wallace's thigh. That would keep the bone from shifting around.

He stood up. “If I'd known he was going to pass out, I might have told him to save a little of that Who-hit-John. I could use a drink.”

“I'll buy you as many as you want when we get to Harkerville,” Pierce said. “That's the next stop on the route.”

“How are we going to get there?” Langston asked. “The stagecoach is wrecked.”

In a voice bordering on hysterical, his wife said, “We're stuck. We're all going to die out here.”

“Don't worry, Mrs. Langston,” Jessica said. “I'm sure we can figure something out.”

Pierce nodded. “Yes, ma'am, we sure can. I've already checked the axles on the coach, and neither of 'em is broken. If the horses didn't run off too far, we can bring 'em back, tie them on to the side of the coach, and set it back up on its wheels. Got some work to do on the singletree, but I reckon I can fix it good enough to hold together until we get to the next stop. We'll be all right, don't you worry about that.” He glanced at Luke and Hobie. “That is, if these two fellas can see their way clear to helpin' us out some more.”

“Whatever you need,” Hobie said without hesitation. “Just tell us what to do.”

Luke didn't mind the young man pledging their assistance like that. He would have done the same thing, although maybe not so effusively.

He knew the reason for Hobie's eagerness to help. Hobie was still sneaking looks at Jessica Wheeler. He was just trying to be more discreet about it. There wasn't any doubt he was smitten with the young redhead.

Luke didn't wait for Pierce to give them orders. “The first thing we need to do is find that team.”

“That's right,” Pierce agreed. “While you're at it, I'll get my tools out so I'll be ready to work on the singletree.”

Luke said to the gambler, “Kemp, you'll need to stand guard while we're looking for the team. If you see any dust clouds coming this way, fire three shots in the air.”

“I'm afraid I don't have any ammunition left. I emptied my pistol at those outlaws.”

“It's a thirty-two, right?”

“That's right.”

“I don't have any rounds that caliber—” Luke began.

“That's all right. I still have bullets. If we need to signal you, Mr. Jensen, I can fire three shots.” As if to prove it, Jessica reached into her handbag and pulled out a gun, handling it like she knew how to use it.

Luke recognized it as a .32 caliber Smith & Wesson. He realized she had probably been one of the defenders shooting at the ambushers.

“All right, Miss Wheeler. You keep an eye out for trouble, too.”

“I intend to.”

Luke swung up into the saddle. “Which way did those horses take off when they bolted?”

Pierce pointed to the west. “You shouldn't have too much trouble findin' 'em. I'll bet they didn't go far.”

As Luke and Hobie set off in search of the runaway team, the young man said, “Did you see Miss Wheeler take that gun out of her bag, Luke? I never figured she'd be the sort to carry a revolver!”

“It's not as if we're well acquainted with her,” Luke pointed out. “We don't actually know what she's capable of.”

“No, I guess not. But she seems like such a lady, I just can't imagine her shooting anybody.” Hobie paused. “I think maybe she's the prettiest gal I've ever seen in my life.”

Luke grunted. He wanted to find those horses and get back to the stagecoach. Hobie could rhapsodize about how beautiful Jessica was some other time.

The team had run about a mile, then stopped to graze on some of the sparse grass that grew in those parts. Luke and Hobie were able to catch them without much trouble. Hobie's experience working in the livery stable gave him a good touch with animals. He knew how to keep the horses from getting spooked and taking off again.

They rode back to the stagecoach leading the six horses. When they got there, Luke saw that Ben Wallace was still unconscious. His breathing was deep and regular, though, so Luke figured he had slipped into a sleep brought on by the whiskey he had guzzled down.

Kemp and Langston moved the guard away from the stagecoach while Luke and Pierce used lassos to tie the brass rail around the coach's roof to the horses.

“Miss Wheeler, do you think you can lead those horses while the rest of us push on the coach?” Luke asked the redhead.

“Of course.”

Luke handed her the reins, and she led the horses away from the stagecoach until the ropes were almost taut. Luke, Hobie, Pierce, Langston, and Kemp got on the other side of the coach and positioned themselves to lift and push on the vehicle.

“Take 'em on out!” Luke called to Jessica.

The ropes tightened and quivered under the strain. The five men heaved against the stagecoach. Luke felt the vehicle begin to shift position.

As the coach rose, Luke said, “Get under it!” He changed his grip, as did the others, and they all lifted. The stagecoach came up farther, its balance shifted, and it fell onto its wheels in an upright position again, rocking a little on the broad leather thoroughbraces underneath as its weight settled.

Pierce hurried around the coach to check all the wheels for damage. “They're all right,” he reported. “Now all we got to do is fix that singletree, mend the harness, and hitch up the team, and we'll be ready to roll again.”

With Luke's help, Pierce vandalized both doors of the coach to fashion braces for the broken singletree, nailing it together so that it would hold long enough to reach Harkerville. That was the plan, anyway. They wouldn't know how well it was going to work until they tried.

It was late afternoon before all the work was finished. When Pierce declared that he had done all he could do, the men carefully lifted Ben Wallace and placed him on the floor inside the coach, so his splinted leg could remain straight.

Although mostly pale and tight-lipped, he woke up and grunted a few colorful curses because of the pain in his leg.

Pierce pointed out with Wallace on the floor of the coach, there wasn't room for all the passengers.

Hobie said, “You can ride with me if you want, Miss Wheeler. My horse can carry double just fine.”

“That's all right, Mr. McCullough. I believe I'll ride on the seat with Mr. Pierce if he's agreeable to that.”

The driver said, “You ride wherever you'll be the most comfortable, miss. I'm just sorry for all the trouble we've had this trip.”

“It's not your fault,” she assured him. “You did your best to get away from those awful men.”

“Yeah, but I didn't make it, did I? The varmints could've killed us all.”

Luke still wasn't convinced of that. He believed the men had been after one of the passengers. Langston, maybe, who had the look of a prosperous businessman. He doubted if any of the others had enough money to make kidnapping them worthwhile.

Jessica climbed to the seat with Pierce while Aaron Kemp agreed to ride on top of the coach.

“Don't get so rambunctious that I get bounced off,” the gambler said with a smile.

“Don't worry,” Pierce said. “With that busted singletree, I'll have to take it slow and easy to make sure the repair job don't come apart.”

The coach set off for Harkerville with Luke and Hobie riding alongside. Hobie said quietly, “I sure am glad we decided to stop and help these folks.”

Luke glanced at Jessica Wheeler and knew why Hobie felt that way. He supposed he agreed, although given the difference in their ages, Jessica didn't hold the same fascination for him that she did for Hobie.

Luke just hoped the whole affair wouldn't delay their pursuit of Gunner Kelly and Dog Eater for too long.

 

 

It was well after dark before they reached the settlement. Luckily, Jim Pierce had been driving that run long enough that he had no trouble following the trail even after night fell.

The repaired singletree held together, but as Pierce brought the team to a stop in front of the local stagecoach station, he said, “I'm mighty glad we didn't have to go another five miles, or even two. I don't know if we'd have made it.”

“We're here now,” Luke said. “That's all that matters. Is there a doctor in this town?”

“Yep. His house is just down the street. He ought to have a stretcher we can use to carry Ben to his place.”

The station manager had already come out of the building. “Jim, what the hell happened? You should have been here hours ago. I was just about ready to send somebody out to look for you.”

“We ran into some trouble,” Pierce explained as he climbed down from the seat. “Reckon it's pretty lucky we made it here at all.”

Hobie dismounted hurriedly and stepped over to the coach. He looked up at the young woman on the seat. “I'll give you a hand, Miss Wheeler.”

Jessica looked like she wanted to tell him she could manage just fine by herself, but then she nodded. “All right. Thank you, Mr. McCullough.”

She stepped down onto one of the wheel spokes. Hobie put his hands on her waist to steady her as she climbed the rest of the way down to the street. When both feet were on the ground, she cleared her throat. Hobie let go of her and stepped back hurriedly. In the light that came through the station's front window, his face burned a bright red.

Getting old had its disadvantages, Luke thought as he tried not to grin, but so did being young.

A big barn stood next to the station. The manager sent one of the hostlers running down the street to the doctor's house. While they waited, Pierce explained about the attack and the running battle that had ended with the crash near the mesa.

“I reckon they were after the express box,” the manager said. “I don't think there's much money in it, but those outlaws wouldn't have known that.” He turned to the passengers and went on. “I'm mighty sorry about what happened, folks. We've got a hotel here in Harkerville, and while it's not the fanciest place in the world, the company will put you up there for the night. I'll have my men working all night to replace that singletree, and by tomorrow morning you'll be able to continue your journey. If there's anything else you need, you just let me know.”

Pierce gestured toward Luke and Hobie. “Does that offer extend to these two fellas here? If it wasn't for them, there's a good chance we never would've made it out of that ambush alive.”

The station manager didn't look happy about that, but said, “Of course. The company is grateful for your help, gentlemen.”

Luke's mercenary side, ingrained in him by years as a bounty hunter, was tempted to suggest that if “the company” was really grateful, it could express that gratitude with a reward. But he supposed a night's lodging at the local hotel would have to do. It was certainly better than nothing.

The local sawbones and the hostler who had gone to get him showed up with a stretcher. The men loaded Ben Wallace onto it. The doctor examined Wallace's leg briefly by the light of a lantern and said, “It appears that whoever set this man's broken bone did a good job of it.”

“That'd be Mr. Jensen here,” Pierce said.

“If Wallace is able to walk normally again, he'll have you to thank for it, sir,” the doctor told Luke. “Do you have medical training?”

Luke smiled faintly and shook his head. “No, Doctor, just more than my share of experience with trouble.”

“It came in handy this time. Some of you men, get hold of that stretcher. Carefully, now . . .”

They carried Wallace down the street, leaving Luke and Hobie at the station with the passengers. The manager pointed out the hotel, a two-story frame structure, and told them to explain the situation to the clerk when they checked in.

“You fellas can leave your horses here in our barn tonight if you want,” he added to Luke and Hobie.

“We'll do that,” Luke agreed.

They led the animals into the barn, unsaddled and rubbed them down, and made sure the horses had plenty of grain and water before heading to the hotel.

Taking care of that chore meant the other passengers had already checked in by the time Luke and Hobie got there. As they went in, Hobie muttered, “I was hopin' I'd know which room Miss Wheeler is in.”

“I don't think the young lady will be in any mood for visitors tonight,” Luke said. “It was a rough day.”

“Oh, I know that,” Hobie said quickly. “I just kind of wanted to keep an eye on her room, in case there's any more trouble.”

“There shouldn't be any problems here in town,” Luke told the young man.

They couldn't be absolutely sure of that, though, he mused as they went upstairs after checking in. Those bushwhackers had been after
somebody
on that stagecoach, and even though it seemed unlikely their quarry had been Jessica, Luke supposed it was possible.

He was in room twelve, Hobie in eleven. As usual, Luke had brought his rifle and saddlebags with him from the stage line's barn. He lit the lamp in the room, propped the Winchester in the corner, and draped the saddlebags over the back of the room's lone chair. As the station manager had said, the place wasn't fancy, but after several days on the trail, the bed looked pretty comfortable to Luke.