The Big Hunt (10 page)

Beryl saw the axe leave Kerry's hand and realized what it was meant to do. Swinging her head away from the sight, a movement caught the corner of her eye. On looking fully around, she saw the big shape of Schmidt among the rocky outcrop about seventy yards away. Even as she watched, the man raised a rifle and lined it in the direction of Kerry's back. Beryl did not hesitate. Stepping forward, she placed her body between Kerry and the rifle.

With his sights lined on Kerry's broad back, Schmidt was on the verge of squeezing the trigger when the girl stepped into his line of fire. Knowing his ability with a rifle, the German did not care to chance hitting the smaller mark offered by the hunter's head. Nor did he want to shoot the girl, relying on the bullet passing through her and into Kerry's body. From what he had seen and heard, Schmidt knew the ambush plan had gone wrong and that he most likely stood alone on whatever he did. While the hunt for Kerry Barran's killer might not be pressed too hard, the same did not apply
should the girl fall victim to a murderer's bullet. The killer of any woman could expect to be hunted down without mercy and relentlessly. That particular woman's killing would be even more so if Berkmyer told the truth about the amount of political and social pull her dude brother commanded.

There had been a stormy meeting earlier that morning when Corben demanded to know why his plan to force Kerry Barran back to work failed. Everybody involved tried to lay the blame on somebody else and one excuse offered by Berkmyer concerned a letter carried by the dude and signed by the President. Like Berkmyer, Schmidt had no intention of antagonizing folks whose influence went
that
high.

Having reached his decision, Schmidt lowered the rifle. From his position on the rocks, he commanded a good view of the surrounding range and saw the distant riders who scared off his companions. Realizing that he could not expect so many friends to be riding out of Otley Creek, Schmidt knew he had better not delay his departure. Already Potter and Rixon fled and he dropped to the ground, took his horse, then rode off in the opposite direction to the other two. A lone man made less tracks than three and any pursuit would tend to follow the larger group. There were no ties of
loyalty to hold the German with Potter and so he did not worry about being separated.

Bounding forward, Kerry caught up Wingett's fallen revolver. A better shot with a rifle, he might have taken the Ballard but guessed that it was empty. Gun in hand, he moved cautiously up the slope. The sound of hooves brought him swinging around and he saw Schmidt riding off. He wondered why the German had not fired. Realization burst on him as he remembered how Beryl moved behind him. At the moment he had thought she did it for protection. Now he knew that it had been him she moved to protect.

“What a gal,” he thought. “She'd make a good wi——”

He chopped off the thought unfinished as he recalled who and what Beryl was. A woman of her birth and breeding would want better out of life than a foot-loose hunter who lived by his skill with a rifle; and would not want him entertaining such thoughts about her. Even if she did have tender feelings toward him, the sight of Wingett sprawled on the ground and bleeding his life away would chill them off quick enough.

“Stay down there!” he ordered. “And keep your head down.”

“Of course,” Beryl replied, her voice cool and calm.

Bending down, Kerry gripped the axe's handle and plucked it from Wingett's neck. Nothing could save the man, in fact, even as Kerry removed the weapon, Wingett died.

“May I come up, please?” Beryl called. “I heard your dog yelp. He may be injured and need our assistance.”

“He might at that,” agreed Kerry. “Go the other w——”

Before he could finish, the girl came up the slope to his side. She sucked in a sharp breath and walked past the body, back straight—almost ramrod stiff—face rigid. Following the girl, Kerry wondered what she must think about him.

“I had to do it,” he said.

Beryl bent down and picked Kerry's hat from the ground. For a moment she held the battered hat, then poked a fingertip into the bullet hole. “I know,” she said. “He meant to kill you.”

On handing over the hat, her fingers brushed against Kerry's and her eyes met his. He read no revulsion or condemnation in the girl's expression—but what he saw jolted him to his toes. If any other woman had looked at him in such a manner, he would have known what to do. With Lady Beryl Farnes-Grable, sister of his employer, Kerry could not bring himself to answer her eyes' message.

Almost angrily he jerked his hat on to the rusty
brown hair and walked to where the horses stood range-tied by their trailing reins. Beryl watched him go, a mingled smile and frown on her face. Then she gave her head a shake and followed on his heels. Catching their horses, they mounted and rode side by side, but in silence, toward the clump of bushes.

“Shaun!” Kerry growled, anguish in his voice, as he saw the dog lying sprawled on the ground.

Flinging himself from the gray, Kerry strode toward the dog. Before he reached its side, Beryl had run by and dropped to her knees, a hand going to the bloody furrow across the dog's head.

“He's not dead!” she gasped, relief plain in her voice. “Get me some water, Kerry, I want to bathe the wound.”

While unslinging his canteen, Kerry studied the wound and knew what had happened. Whoever shot the dog came within a quarter of an inch of missing. The bullet just nicked Shaun in passing, creasing the scalp and knocking the dog unconscious. Even as he looked, a shudder ran through Shaun's powerful frame and the dog stirred slightly.

Placing her hat crown upward on the ground, Beryl told Kerry to pour some water in. Using her handkerchief, after stifling his objections to wetting her Stetson, she bathed the graze and Shaun rolled into a lying position.

“Move away from him,” Kerry ordered.

“I'll have some more water,” she answered, emptying that already in the hat. “Easy now, boy, we'll soon have you on your feet again.”

A growl began in Shaun's throat, but the girl never moved or took the hand from his back. Keeping her voice quiet and soothing, she talked to the wolfhound and her hand stroked his back. Kerry poured out the water, watching for the first hint of an attack. Placing the hat before the dog, Beryl steadied him as he sat up and began to drink. After a time Shaun raised his head and looked straight at the girl. A cold feeling of anxiety ran through Kerry as he watched. Then he saw the dog's tail wag and Shaun lowered his head to lick Beryl's hand.

T
HE PARTY FROM TOWN APPROACHED AT A FAST
trot, guns out ready for use, horses being held down to that pace so as to have a reserve of speed should pursuit be necessary. Relief showed on Lord Henry's face as he saw his sister safe and well. Dropping from his saddle, he walked toward where the girl knelt at Shaun's side.

“You're all right, dear?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, her hand on the dog's neck. “But I wouldn't come any closer if I was you.”

Noting the dog's warning altitude, Lord Henry halted, so did Calamity, who had been following on the Englishman's heels. Admiration, tinged with
a little exasperation, showed on the red-head's face as she saw that Beryl had made friends with the wolfhound.

“Well dog-my-cats!” Calamity said to Beryl. “If you're not a living wonder. If anybody else'd tried to touch that fool dog, he'd've chewed their fingers off plumb up to the armpits.”

“It's all done by kindness,” smiled Beryl. “A gypsy taught me how to do it.”

“Did she teach you how to ride as well?” grinned Calamity, too warm-hearted and generous of nature to hold a grudge against somebody who showed talent.

“That runs in the family,” Lord Henry told her. “It and scaring one's friends out of their wits.”

“Good Lord!” Beryl gasped in mock surprise. “Did my nipping off like that worry you?”

“Well, Calam did express concern at you being on her saddle when you went; and I suddenly realized that you've the keys to our strong box at Lloyds.”

“And I thought they chased after me for myself,” sighed Beryl. “Shaun, it's nice to know that you still love me.”

“Heard some shooting,” Calamity remarked, becoming serious.

“Those chaps Kerry had the trouble with last night tried to ambush us,” Beryl answered.

“Who was it, Kerry?” Mark was asking at the same time as Beryl told her story to Calamity and Lord Henry.

“Potter's bunch,” the hunter replied. “I had to kill Wingett.”

“It looks like you did,” said Killem dryly, directing a pointed glance at the hole in Kerry's hat. “What happened?”

“Looks like they followed me out of town. Laid for me around here. Rixon and Potter were up here. Shaun jumped one of them. Figure it was Potter, or old Shaun'd be dead now. Rixon creased his head with a bullet and they took to running. The other two hid out down that ways. Wingett cut loose and missed, but Schmidt run without shooting.”

“It was close,” drawled Mark, realizing that much of the story remained untold. “I reckon that big cuss saved your life.”

“Him and Beryl both,” agreed Kerry, and told of the girl's actions.

“That's one smart and brave gal,” commented Killem. “And just look at her standing there alongside Shaun.”

“She's got a way with animals,” Kerry said.

“She's got a way with folks, too,” grinned Mark. “You ask Big Win.” His face lost its smile. “Why'd they jump you,
amigo?
”

“Looking for evens after last night, most likely.”

“And why'd they jump you last night?”

“I'd cost them some money,” Kerry replied, and explained the circumstances, finishing, “That wouldn't set well with them.”

“Do you reckon Corben set them up to kill you?” asked Killem.

“Nope,” Kerry answered. “He might have told them to jump me and work me over until I agreed to go back hunting for him, but he'd not want me dead. That way I'd be no use to him.”

“Want us to take out after them?” Mark inquired.

“No. They'll be gone and I don't reckon I'll see any more of them. We'd best tote Wingett's body back to town though.”

“Dobe and I'll tend to it,” Mark promised.

At that moment Lord Henry walked over. “Thanks for saving Beryl, Kerry.”

“She saved me, too,” Kerry replied. “I'm only sorry she saw what she did.”

“It wasn't your choosing that those thugs tried to kill you,” the peer said. “You'll find that Beryl doesn't hold it against you.”

“I hope not,” Kerry answered, and something in his tone brought the peer's eyes to his face. “Let's take the ladies back to town.”

“And the body?”

“Dobe and Mark'll tend to that.”

Accepting Kerry's reply as the best solution, Lord Henry mounted his horse. Accompanied by Kerry, the peer escorted the girls back in the direction of Otley Creek. For a time none of them spoke much, then Kerry brought his gray to a sudden halt and stared off to the north.

“Well I'll be damned!” he ejaculated.

The other three also turned their eyes and followed the direction of his gaze. On a distant slope a number of small black dots moved slowly into view and downward. Of the three, only Calamity knew what the dots were and she felt a little puzzled at Kerry's surprise.

“What are they?” asked Beryl.

“Buffalo,” Calamity answered. “You'll see plenty of them on the plains.”

“But not this close to town, the way they've been hunted down,” Kerry objected. “It's a bull and his bunch of cows.”

“Mind if we ride over and take a look, old boy?” Lord Henry inquired.

“You're the boss,” Kerry drawled. “I see you brought a rifle along.”

“The others insisted I collect it before we came after you,” Lord Henry replied, glancing down to where his .405 Express rode in its saddleboot. “I'm not keen on taking a buffalo, unless it's really good.”

Steering the others along a route that kept them out of plain view, Kerry made his way toward the herd. As an aid to his skin-hunting, he had studied the buffaloes' habits and wondered what caused the herd to keep on the move at a time when they would normally be grazing.

“Can't get in much closer on the horses,” Kerry said at last. “If we leave them down in that hollow, we can move in on foot.”

“I think I'll stay with the horses and Shaun,” Beryl remarked.

“And me,” Calamity agreed. “I've seen all the buffaloes I need.”

“Have it your own way, girls,” Lord Henry smiled. “You ladies usually do.”

“Now there's what I call a real smart man,” Calamity grinned.

On reaching the bottom of the small hollow, Kerry told Shaun to stay and swung from his saddle. He drew the carbine from its boot and looked to where Lord Henry slid out the Express. Leaving the girls, dog and horses, the two men advanced cautiously on foot toward the approaching buffalo.

The herd continued to move slowly along its original course, some dozen or so cows of the same general size and, at one side, an exceptionally big old bull. It towered inches higher than the cows,
with massive horns that brought a low whistle of admiration from the big hunter.

“Just look at those horns,” he told Lord Henry.

“Are they something special?”

“You might say that. I've seen a fair number of buffalo and those are the biggest pair of horns I've ever come across.”

“Is there any chance of my bagging him?”

“Reckon that Express'll stop him.”

“If I'm close enough.”

“We'll move down to that bunch of bushes at the foot of the slope then.”

“Where'll be the best place to hit him?” asked Lord Henry before moving.

“Right smack between his two eyes,” Kerry replied.

“That would spoil the head for mounting,” Lord Henry pointed out.

“Then you'll have to wait until it swings and get it just behind the shoulder. Aim about halfway down and you ought to hit the heart.”

“And if he doesn't——”

At that moment another bull topped the slope over the advancing herd, chopping off Lord Henry's words as it stood for a moment and gave out a deep guttural roar. Swinging around, the herd bull faced the other and gave vent to a bellow
in answer to the newcomer's challenge and then moved to the rear of the bunch of cows.

While not quite as large as the herd bull, the newcomer packed a fair amount of size and weight; it also appeared to be somewhat younger. To the watching men, it seemed that the herd bull showed some reluctance at turning to meet the challenge. The reason for the herd's continuous movement now became obvious. Having beaten off its younger challenger, the herd bull tried to leave it behind and avoid another clash. At last the younger bull caught up and prepared to resume the battle, bawling out a challenge that must be accepted.

Down the slope thundered the younger bull, giving vent to the whistling hiss Kerry knew so well. Sounding like steam rushing through the safety-valve of an overheated engine's boiler, the charge whistle of the attacking bull shattered the air, mingling with the deep grunt of the older animal which advanced to meet the attack. Both bulls carried signs of previous engagements, open wounds giving mute testimony to a mating battle that had been carried on intermittently for the past eighteen hours.

Using the momentum built up in the downhill charge, the younger bull crashed into the elder and
forced it backward. Although the herd bull kept its feet, the challenger drove it back on to the level ground at the foot of the slope. For almost twenty minutes the two bulls charged, butted and hooked at each other. Standing clear of the fracas, the cows showed no interest in the contesting males and grazed unconcerned.

More than once during the fight Lord Henry could have taken a side-on shot at the herd bull but made no attempt to do so. He would never have even thought of taking such an unfair advantage. Instead, he and Kerry stood and watched a primeval struggle for mastery.

“The old one's losing,” Lord Henry breathed.

“Looks that way,” Kerry agreed.

Head to head, the bulls strained against each other, hooves churning the earth and sending it flying. Slowly the herd bull gave ground and, sensing its rival weakening, the challenger thrust with renewed vigor. Reeling under the extra force, the herd bull turned away from the challenger. Instantly the younger bull lunged, slamming full into the other's side and hooking savagely. Staggering from the impact, the old bull turned and fled, bellowing dolefully. After giving chase for a short distance, the young challenger and new leader of the herd swung back to claim his spoils.

In its attempt to avoid the pain of its rival's attack, the old bull headed straight for the clump of bushes behind which Kerry and Lord Henry had hidden on halting to watch the fight. Still bawling pitifully, as if knowing its days as herd leader had ended, and trailing thick blood behind it, the old bull rushed blindly into the bushes, smashing through as if they did not exist.

“Look out, Kerry!” Lord Henry yelled, diving to one side while the scout flung himself in the other direction.

On landing, Lord Henry swivelled around and threw up his Express. As the fleeing bull buffalo burst between the men, he fired left and right, aiming the shots just behind the shoulder and in the center of the body's depth. The bull's legs buckled on the impact of the bullets and it crashed to the ground some feet beyond the two men. Instantly Lord Henry broke open the Express, thumbing out its empty cases and replacing them with two loaded bullets from his jacket pocket.

“Good shot,” Kerry said admiringly, and meant it. “Reckon you'll need them?”

“I'd say he was done for,” Lord Henry answered. “Only there's no point in taking chances. Chappie I knew did, walked up to a lion he'd shot and the blighter got up just as he reached it. Hadn't bothered to load his gun first. They say he
still had the annoyed expression on his face when they buried him.”

Kerry glanced at the Englishman's sober face and caught the twinkle of humor in his eyes. It seemed that Lord Henry was not the aloof, unsmiling man he gave the impression of being. Nor did he lose his opinion of the peer's hunting savvy while watching the cautious manner in which the other approached the bull. Although the precautions proved unnecessary, neither man regretted taking them.

“Twenty-six inches at least,” Kerry remarked, trying to sound nonchalant and hide the excitement he felt. “I've not seen many as big and damned few bigger.”

“That's how I like them,” Lord Henry replied. “We'll have to arrange for the head-skin to be collected.”

“I'll tend to it,” promised Kerry. “He'll be tougher'n an old Sioux moccasin to eat, but the marrow bones'll still be tasty. Tongue shouldn't be too bad, either.”

At that moment the two girls rode up, each leading a horse and with Shaun loping alongside Beryl. Dropping from her saddle, Beryl studied the bull for a moment, then turned to her brother.

“He's a beauty, dear. I think we'll have his head mounted between the tusks from the big bull elephant you took in the Transvaal.”

“I thought of replacing Aunt Agatha's portrait over the fireplace with it,” grinned Lord Henry. “But I don't think she'd go much for the idea.”

“I
know
she wouldn't,” Beryl replied. “What do you think, Calam?”

“I'd hate like hell to try eating him,” answered the practical Miss Canary. “But I reckon our two hunters know what they're doing. Only I states now that they'd best come up with something a whole heap younger once we hit the plains happen they want to keep me happy.”

“That we'll do,” Lord Henry promised. “I'll stay here while the rest of you go to town and send out the means to move the trophy in.”

“There's no need for that if you lend me your jacket,” Kerry replied.

Without arguing, Lord Henry removed his jacket and passed it to the hunter. Kerry went to the buffalo and hung the coat so that it swung and swayed from the horns.

“Will that work?” asked Beryl.

“Sure will,” Calamity assured her. “Them turkey buzzards up there and the buffalo wolves won't come near for a fair spell as long as it moves.”

With the precautions for safeguarding the trophy taken, the party rode back to Otley Creek. On reaching the hotel, they found Dobe Killem standing on the porch and Calamity needed only one
glance to warn her that the freighter had something on his mind.