Return of the Outlaw (28 page)

Jeff spurred his horse down the hill, knowing there was n
o way he could beat the riders to the Circle M headquarters; they had too much of a lead. Nor was there a shortcut he could take; the five riders were taking the most direct route, and no matter what he did they would arrive minutes before he did. He spurred his horse, pushing it into a run. He would have to pace the animal; it could not run all-out the full distance. He would get there as soon as he could; there was no way to do any better. It was a helpless feeling.

Eli Marcellin shuffled into the Red Stallion, his blurry eyes grateful for the relief from the bright sun outside
. He stepped over to the bar, leaned on it as though he had just finished a hard day’s work and ordered his morning beer. Taking a long draught, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and turned to see what kind of companionship was available at this time of day, only to find he was alone with Charley Lovell, the saloon keeper.

“You seen Al today?”
murmured Eli.

“Nope.”

Eli finished his beer
and ordered another one. He was half way through it when the sounds of running boots were heard on the boardwalk. Henry Wallen burst through the bat-wings and stopped just inside, breathing heavily. There was urgency in the way he scanned the room and in his voice when he spoke. “You seen the sheriff, Charley?”

“No, ain
’t he in his office?”

“No.”

Wallen turned back toward the street.

“What
’s wrong?” asked Charlie.

“Al Tannatt and a bunch of the Double T boys
are headed over to Marcellin’s,”  Wallen said over his shoulder. Then he noticed Eli for the first time. “They’re actin’ real ugly, Eli; better help me find the sheriff.”

Eli stood frozen at the bar, his beer half-way to his mouth.

Wallen was already out the door when Eli sprang after him. “I need your horse, Henry, mine’s at the stable. No time to saddle up.”

“Sure, go ahead.”

Wallen’s horse was tied across the street in front of the sheriff’s office. Eli ran to it, leaped into the saddle and turned toward the Circle M. The animal was a farm horse; big, slow, and unaccustomed to long rides at any speed, much less a sustained run. It soon began slacking the pace. Eli urged the horse on furiously, kicking it in the flanks with spurless boots and whipping it with the reins, praying aloud all the while.

Jim Marcellin saw the riders first. He was crossing to the house from the barn, where he had been helping Shorty doctor a sick horse. As th
e Double T riders had expected, besides Marcellin and Shorty Grange, all the other men except Felipe and the old cook were away. When Marcellin recognized Al Tannatt as the lead rider, he knew instantly what was afoot and ran the last few yards to the front porch of the house. Al Tannatt fired the first shot at Marcellin, just as the rancher reached the shelter of one of the thick stone pillars that supported the roof beams. The riders were still a little too far away for good pistol accuracy and the shot missed.

Since the unpleasant visit from Emil Tannatt and his crew,
Marcellin had taken to wearing his pistol at all times, and had ordered his men to do the same. He was grateful now for that precaution. By the time he reached the pillar, his pistol was already in his hand, and he fired two quick shots at the group of men, hoping to buy himself a few seconds to get into the house. The ploy did not work; Al Tannatt fired his second shot, and Bill Green his first, a split second later. Bill Green’s shot took a chip out of one of the stones in the pillar and Al Tannatt’s bullet grazed Marcellin’s left arm, just above the elbow. 

Sid Wilkins
was struggling with his horse which, frightened by the shooting, was rearing and plunging, raising a good deal of dust in addition to that which had followed the riders into the yard. Chuck Burbank and Kinsey Bates, who had been behind the other three riders, had just ridden into the yard—guns drawn, but had not yet gotten into position to shoot.

At that moment, Shorty Grange appeared from the darkened interior of the barn, holding a Greener ten gauge sh
otgun. He raised it and fired. The load of double aught buck-shot struck Bill Green in the side of the head and face and he was lifted out of the saddle as if by a giant, invisible hand—dead instantly. At this same moment, Marcellin fired again from around the side of the pillar. The yard was filled with powder smoke and dust and he took little time to aim, wanting to expose himself for as short a time as possible. The bullet struck Al Tannatt in the fleshy part of his lower left leg, passing through it into his horse. Now, Shorty Grange was swinging the wicked barrel of the greener toward Al Tannatt, his next target. Burbank and Bates fired at him simultaneously. One bullet hit Shorty’s left arm and the other hit him in the left side of the chest, spinning him around. As he fell, he pulled the second trigger of the greener, and the wicked pellets struck Burbank’s horse in the neck. The front legs of the horse buckled, and it fell forward, then to the side. Burbank slipped his feet out of the stirrups and hit the ground rolling. He had dropped his pistol but ran to pick it up.

Marcellin had two shots left, and he knew he would have to make them count.

Between them, Al Tannatt and Kinsey Bates had fired several more shots at Marcellin. One struck the pillar, another grazed the right side of Marcellin’s rib cage. Al Tannatt’s pistol was now empty, and he pulled back to reload and to check his wound. Sid Wilkins had finally gained control of his horse, Burbank had found his pistol, and Kinsey Bates, having made sure Shorty was dead, and no other attackers would be issuing from the barn, turned his attention to Marcellin.

Marcellin knew this momentary lull in the battle was the time when he must a
ct. He had two bullets left and four men to kill. His only hope was to make both bullets count and pray the other two men would lose their nerve. At this moment the man who represented the greatest threat to him was Burbank. He was afoot and would have better aim than those who were on the backs of the frightened horses. Burbank was already taking aim. Marcellin made a quick movement to the left, exposing himself momentarily, then swung back to the right, just as  Sid Wilkins snapped off a shot which tore a deep gash in the flesh of Marcellin’s left thigh. Marcellin, following his momentum, swung away from the adobe pillar on the right side and fired a shot, which struck Burbank in the neck, killing him. As Marcellin swung back behind the pillar, Wilkins and Bates each fired a shot, both of them missing.

Al
Tannatt, having determined his wound and that of his horse could wait for attention, pulled his rifle from its scabbard and swung back toward the house, furious and blood-crazed. There was another lull as the three remaining men advanced carefully through the haze of smoke and dust, guns raised, waiting for Marcellin to show himself one last time.

For a mome
nt, there was an eerie silence that was broken by a sound that, for an instant, stopped the hearts of the four men. It was a blood chilling cry that had the power to give courage to the man who made it and weaken that of those who heard it; a sound Jeff Havens had heard many times in the heat of battle. It was his best imitation of the “rebel yell.” He charged into the yard, low in the saddle, his lathered horse grunting and drawing air.

Marcellin had no idea
who this was, but he sensed it was a friend, and taking advantage of the diversion that had been created, he stepped quickly out from behind the pillar and fired his last remaining bullet through Kinsey Bates’ heart.

Sid Wilkins
’ finger tightened on his trigger, then strangely hesitated, giving Marcellin time to duck back behind the pillar. As he did so, he felt a touch on his left sleeve. He swung around violently, expecting a new enemy, only to find Catherine standing there, handing him a freshly loaded pistol. He understood now why Wilkins had hesitated. Seizing the pistol, he screamed at her, “Get in the house!” his face contorted with anger.

On seeing Jeff, Al Tannatt swung his big rifle around, but Jeff fired first and his shot hit Tannatt in the left shoulder. Tannatt, by super-human effort, caught himself and stayed in the s
addle, raising the rifle again. Jeff’s second bullet hit him full in the chest, knocking him off his horse.

Sid Wilkins had had enough. He wheeled his horse and spurred out of the yard. Both Marcellin and Je
ff took aim as he rode away, but finding themselves disinclined to shoot a fleeing man in the back, he was allowed to escape.

Jeff took a quick look around the yard, making sure t
here were no more live enemies. He reloaded and holstered his gun, and dismounted.

“You alright, Mr. Marcellin?” he asked as he walked toward the house.

“I think I’m fine,” Marcellin replied. His face went gray and he sat down heavily on the porch and fell back, his head striking the planks. Catherine was at her son’s side now. He was bleeding profusely from several bullet wounds, but a quick check showed none of them were fatal. Owing to the protection of the stone pillar, his enemies had never had a clear shot at the central part of his body.

“Dolores
!” Catherine yelled. Almost immediately, Dolores was at Catherine’s side, carrying clean cloths in hands that trembled uncontrollably. Felipe, who had been hiding in the tack shed, came running out, an unintelligible mixture of Spanish and English flooding out of his mouth. He ran toward Marcellin, but seeing Shorty’s body, he let out a shocked cry and changed directions. He ran in an awkward, foot-throwing gait, propelled by panic. He bent over Shorty’s body. It took only a moment for him to realize Shorty was dead. He dropped to his knees and began rocking and moaning softly. 

The smoke and dust had almost cleared and an eerie silen
ce descended on the yard. Now Jeff’s ears picked up another sound. He stood and pulled his pistol, waiting. It was a rasping sound, like the breathing of a lung-shot deer. And it was accompanied by the rhythmic thud of Eli Marcellin’s boots striking the ground.

Henry Wallen
’s horse had finally given out and had stopped in its tracks. Unable to run another yard, it had stood immovable, chest heaving, sucking air, like Eli was doing now. As he drew near he tried to speak, but all that came out was an indecipherable, croaking sound.

Catherine, attending to her son
’s wounds, looked up as Eli approached, dragging his feet with each shambling step, his body inclined forward, moving at about the speed of a walk.

”
He thinks he’s running,“ thought Jeff.

Eli saw his father lying inert on the porch and his face twisted into a grimace of anguish.

“Your father is alive,” said Catherine, knowing what Eli feared. Her voice trembled from emotion.

Eli stumbled forward into her arms and began crying in great, gasping sobs.

When the riders of the Circle M returned to the ranch that evening and were told of the gun fight, the general sentiment was that a retaliatory raid on the Double T was called for. But Jim Marcellin, lying in his bed, weak and gray, forbade this in no uncertain terms. Cracker, wise in the ways of the gun, and Hank, who obeyed his boss with dog-like devotion, were hard-pressed to restrain the enraged cowboys.

“They
’ll be waiting and they’d cut you to pieces,” Marcellin told the group assembled around his bed. Besides, it would only be the beginning. We would go back and forth at each other like prize fighters. Sooner or later, some, or all of the other ranches would be pulled into it. It would be a range war. Enough men have died already. I’m not sure Emil Tannatt had anything to do with the attack today anyway. I think he’s smarter than that, and I think he would have led his riders. I can’t see him sending Al to do the job. Al may have acted on his own and convinced the other boys to go along with him. He probably didn’t have much trouble stirring them up over the two hands that were found hanged, what were their names?”

“Alex and Joe
,” supplied Cracker.

“Yeah
,”  said Marcellin. “You know they thought we hanged those boys.”

“Boss,” said Hank, “Emil lost four men today, and one of them was his son.
Looks to me like we got us a war, whether we want it or not.”

“You may be right, Hank, and we have to
be ready for them if they come, but I’m going to do everything I can to avoid more bloodshed. I want you to ride to town tonight. Tell Sheriff Beeman what happened and get him to ride with you out to the Double T. Don’t go alone. Ask Emil to meet me tomorrow morning at nine o’clock on Sunset Ridge. Take the buckboard with the bodies in it, and leave them in town. Tell Emil where he can pick them up. I don’t want you to take them to the Double T, because that could make matters worse. Tell Emil if he wants a war after I talk to him tomorrow, we’ll oblige him, but tell him I think he needs to hear what I have to say first. He’ll suspect a trap, so let Beeman arrange to be there too; I think Tannatt trusts him. The rest of you men, start making preparations. We don’t know but what they’ll hit us again tonight. Cracker, you’re in charge of that.”

“Sure boss
.”

As they shuffled o
ut of the room, Marcellin added, “Send Webb in here; I want to talk to him.”