The Big Hunt (15 page)

“Are they coming?” Beryl asked, rising.

“Not ye——” began Calamity, then peered again through the crack. “There's one of 'em coming out of the biggest cabin. From the way he's act
ing, none of the others know what he's doing. This might be our chance, gal.”

Beryl joined Calamity at the window and peeked through another crack. Noticing Jenkins' surreptitious glances at the big cabin, she concluded Calamity was right in the assumption that he did not want to be observed.

“He's wearing his gun,” she pointed out. “Can we do anything?”

“We're going to try,” Calamity replied. “This's what I want you to do.”

Throwing a final cautious glance at the other cabins, Jenkins took down the key and used it to unfasten the padlock. He pushed open the door and looked into the dark interior. What he wanted stood straight ahead of him. Stepping forward, he entered the cabin, ignoring everything but Beryl. His arms reached out, took her by the shoulders and drew her his way, lowering his face toward hers.

Although scared, Beryl did not panic. She remembered Calamity's instructions and carried them out. Before the man's lips touched her, Beryl lashed up with her knee, sending it with all the force she could muster straight between his legs. Unmentionable agony ripped into him as the knee smashed home. Coming so unexpectedly, the blow paralyzed him and struck him dumb. The hands
left Beryl's shoulders and she staggered back, slightly aghast at what she had done.

After standing behind it while Jenkins entered and watched Beryl, Calamity thrust the door shut with her foot and sprang forward to carry out her part. Gripped between her hands, she held her waist belt. It was the only weapon the two girls could improvise, but Calamity figured it might do the trick. As Jenkins' head jerked back in agony, Calamity threw the loop of the belt over it and drew the strong leather tight about his throat.

Instinct caused Calamity to do the right thing automatically. On drawing tight the belt, she thrust her knee into the man's back to give added leverage. If he had been uninjured, Jenkins would have found trouble in escaping. After taking Beryl's attack, he could do nothing. Not until the belt cut off his wind to a dangerous extent did he try to escape; and then his efforts were without guidance, being blind struggles which did more harm than good.

“Stop it, Calam!” Beryl gasped, staring at the man as he sank to his knees with face working in its efforts to breathe, lips swollen and tongue bursting out through them. “You'll kill him!”

The words meant nothing to Calamity for a moment, then she realized that her victim hung limp,
his struggles ended. Opening her hands, she let him free and he crashed to the floor in a limp heap.

“Get his gun!” she ordered, dragging free her belt and swinging it about her waist.

Kneeling alongside the man, Beryl tried to roll him over. “He's nearly dead, Calam!” she gasped, making no attempt to take the revolver from his holster.

“And serves him damned well right,” Calamity replied. “Get his gun and don't go woman on me, gal. We've got to get the hell out of here.”

Realizing the fate that awaited her should she not escape forced Beryl into action. She forgot her concern for Jenkins' condition and drew his revolver. After checking that the gun was loaded, she offered it to Calamity.

“Here.”

“You keep it,” Calamity answered. “There's something by the door I can use a damned sight better than that.”

Turning, Calamity inched open the door and peered out. There did not appear to be any sign of life so she reached out and lifted the whip from its hook. With it in her hand, she felt more secure. At least she could make a fight of it should the men come after her.

Swiftly Calamity studied the surrounding area.
She looked back along the gorge, but the angle at which the cabin had been built prevented her from seeing the trail or look-outs. Through a gap between two other buildings she saw a corral containing several horses. More important, saddles hung on the corral rail. If she and Beryl could reach the corrals, they had a chance of freeing all the horses and using two to make their escape. Beyond the corral the end wall of the gorge rose fairly steep. From what she could see, a track ran up it to a cave. If all else failed, they might climb the track and hole up in the cave. Maybe they could find something to make a fire, using its smoke in an attempt to guide Kerry's party to them. First off, though, they had to reach the corral.

“We'll split up,” Calamity said. “You go along the side here and round the back. I'll make a run to that wagon there, then between the cabins and meet you by the corral.”

“Why not go together?” asked Beryl.

“It'll give us two chances instead of one to make it,” replied Calamity. “Maybe there'll be a gun in the wagon. It came in late this morning, maybe an hour after you went to sleep, and I don't reckon they'll've unloaded it yet. I'll take a look and see. Get going, gal.”

“But——”

“No buts. Move. If you get to the corral before
I do, catch a horse and scatter the rest. Run them through this way and I'll see if I can grab one. Then we'll run down the gorge and chance the look-outs not being able to hit us as we go by.”

“All right,” Beryl answered. “But what if they see you?”

“Don't come back, no matter what you hear. You'll do more good by turning loose the horses. Now move.”

Without wasting any more time, Beryl darted along the edge of the building and slipped between it and the next. She peered around the back corner, then began to run in the direction of the corral. A shout from beyond the cabins drew her eyes that way and she heard Calamity shriek defiance, followed by the explosive pop of the whip and the howl of a man in pain. Hesitating, Beryl looked in the direction of the sound and she tried to decide what to do. She knew what Calamity had said, but wondered if she ought to go to the red-head's aid.

Just an instant too late Beryl heard the sound behind her. She started to turn and saw Weiss closing stealthily on her. Even as she tried to raise the gun, he sprang forward. A big hand slapped the revolver from her fingers and another grasped her shoulder. A scream left Beryl's lips, brought on by the pain of the fingers crushing her flesh and fear of what would come next.

Calamity almost reached the wagon when she heard a shout and saw Potter at the door of the main cabin. Lurching forward, the man rushed at her. From the angle at which he stood, Potter failed to see the whip Calamity held. He learned of its presence soon enough.

While heavier and not so well kept, the whip did not differ so much from her own that she could not handle it. Out curled its lash, exploding in the center of the man's face and bringing a scream in answer to her shrieked-out curse. The damage had been done. Voices shouted questions in the main cabin and feet thudded as men, woken from a drunken sleep, made for the door to investigate the disturbance. Calamity ignored Potter as he staggered around in a circle with hands clutching at his bloody, agonized face. Darting to the wagon, she swung quickly up on to its box. Already the first man was out of the cabin, rushing by Potter and apparently unaware of his danger. Again the whip slashed and the man reeled away.

A noise behind her brought Calamity whirling around. She found that one of the gang had emerged from a cabin on the other side of the half-circle and was on the point of swinging aboard. Jumping forward, she kicked the man full under the jaw and sent him reeling backward to crash to the ground. A swift pivot and her whip cracked vi
ciously before the nearest of the men from the main cabin. On its porch a man halted. He had already felt the pain of a whip's lash and knew better than to get too close. Jerking out his revolver, he lined it on the girl.

Although Calamity saw the raised gun, it was far beyond the distance at which she could do anything with the whip.

“I
S HE STILL ON THE LINE
, K
ERRY?” ASKED
L
ORD
Henry, riding his leg-weary horse at the hunter's side and watching Shaun lope along, nose to the ground, ahead of them.

“I reckon so,” Kerry answered. “This damned springy turf doesn't hold tracks and I've nothing to go on.”

All through the night they had ridden, following the dog as he tracked the girls' abductors. Ahead a fast-running stream glinted in the morning sun and the wolfhound paused to quench his thirst before returning to the trail again. Soon after drinking, Shaun approached where the stream ran through a
wide, winding gorge. The springy turf, which held a scent-picture far better than it showed tracks, began to thin down, being replaced by rocky ground. A wind blew through the gorge and tended to wipe away the scent, but it also carried the smell of men and horses with it. Shaun halted, his head rising to sniff the breeze.

“Hold it!” Kerry hissed and raised his hand. “Come here, Shaun.”

Obediently the big dog returned and the men halted, awaiting orders.

“I'd say they're not far ahead,” Lord Henry commented.

“He's caught a wind-scent, that's for sure,” Kerry admitted. “Reckon you and me'd best move in on foot and scout the gorge.”

“Certainly,” agreed Lord Henry, drawing his Winchester and dismounting. “Hold the men here, Mr. Dalby.”

With Shaun between them, Lord Henry and Kerry moved cautiously into the gorge's mouth. Although Calamity could not see it in the darkness, only the wall between the stream rose sheer. At the other side a fairly steep incline dotted with rocks offered a way by which men might advance unseen instead of using the trail. Gliding from cover to cover, employing the skill perfected pronghorn-hunting on the Great Plains, the two
men advanced. Just after they passed the level of the waterfall and approached the curve, Kerry gave a signal which caused Lord Henry to flatten down. Wriggling to the hunter's side, Lord Henry scanned the land ahead of them.

“The girls must be in those cabins,” he breathed.

“Looks that way,” Kerry agreed. “See the guards?”

“There's two of them by that shelter.”

“And another one a bit ahead of them. He's sat between those two rocks by the one that looks like a bear.”

“I've got him,” Lord Henry said, studying the nearest man, noting how he sat in a position to watch the trail and nursed a rifle on his knees. “They're alert.”

Even the riff-raff Varley gathered knew the dangers of not keeping an alert watch when on guard. The nature of the hideout led the look-outs to be extra careful for they had no wish to be taken by surprise in a dead-end gorge.

“I can drop them all from here,” Kerry stated.

“And at the first shot, the other two would be under cover, giving the alarm,” the peer pointed out. “Getting Dobe here and the three of us shooting together won't be much better, the noise would reach the cabins.”

That figured. One shot would echo loud in the
gorge; three ought to make enough of a racket to waken the men in the cabins, even happen they were asleep at that hour. From the general lack of life around the cabins, Kerry guessed that the men might still be asleep. He did not care to think at a possible caused for the camp's lack of wakefulness. Desperately he looked around him for some way in which he could reach the look-outs. Sneaking up on them would be impossible. If he could only find a way to use the rifle without it being heard——

“There's a ledge running along that wall there!” he whispered and started to move backward.

“Yes,” agreed Lord Henry.

“Happen it goes under the waterfall, it'd take a man to the corner there.”

“So it——” began the peer, and then realized what Kerry meant. “You've hit it, old son. Who'll do it, you or I?”

“Me,” Kerry stated. “You can handle the men better than I can.”

“Very well. Let's think out how to act, then make a start.”

It seemed that fate had decided to side with the searching party, Kerry thought, as he moved slowly along the ledge. His rifle and bullet box, wrapped in a soldier's poncho, hung over his back and he was wet to the waist from wading the stream. Once over, he found little difficulty at first
in using the ledge. Some fault in the rock, a softer layer than the rest probably, had caused a sizeable overhang and left a wide ledge that passed behind the waterfall. Spray from the fall had left a slick, green slime on the ledge behind the water, but Kerry's moccasins possessed gripping powers almost equal to the suction pads on a fly's feet. By exercising considerable care, he crossed behind the thundering water and emerged, soaked to the skin, at the other side.

Flat on his belly, Kerry crawled forward until he reached the curve and could peer around it. The situation was much like when he set up a stand to hunt a herd of buffalo. With solid rock under him, Kerry could not use his rest, but had shot prone before that day and knew his skill would be no less from such a position.

Opening the bullet box, he set it in the correct position and then fed a round into the Sharps' breech. The thunder of the waterfall almost deafened him, but he ignored the sound and lined his rifle on the nearest look-out. There was no time for moralizing, even had Kerry felt the inclination to do so. Neither girl went willingly to their abductors and might have suffered much at the hands of the men in the cabins. If Kerry's party hoped to effect a rescue, he had to prevent those look-outs giving a warning.

From his position he could see all three men clearly, but only four of the cabins and a stationary, teamless wagon remained in view. Kerry estimated ranges and gauged the wind strength so as to know its effect on his bullets. Taking aim at the nearest of the trio, he allowed for the wind and squeezed the trigger. The noise of the falling water drowned out the shot even to Kerry, and he doubted if any of the look-outs heard it. Smoke momentarily hid Kerry's first target and when it wafted away the hunter thought for a moment that his bullet missed. The man still sat between the two rocks, but his position had changed. Now the rifle tilted off one knee, its barrel gouging into the ground, while he leaned in an unnatural manner and a red trickle of blood ran down his face.

Clearly the waterfall achieved its purpose, for neither man showed any sign of concern, or even knowing that their advance scout had been killed. Reloading swiftly, Kerry altered his aim and tried to decide which of the pair he should take first. Accurate though the Sharps undoubtedly was, its single-shot capacity did not allow a rapid second bullet. While the Winchester carbine could have cut down both men before the second had time to realize what happened to the first, it lacked long-range accuracy, so Kerry had not brought it along.

One of the men rose and Kerry sighted on him,
thinking he might have noticed something wrong with the dead man and be meaning to take a closer look. Instead, he turned and peered back toward the cabins.

That settled the problem. Once again Kerry changed aim and squeezed off his shot at the man who faced him. Before the smoke cleared, Kerry was throwing open the Sharps breech and ejecting the empty case, his right hand blurred from the lever to the box. Often when a buffalo herd showed restlessness, he had used his speed to take down another couple before they broke. The speed gained under hunting conditions served him well. Slipping another bullet home, he closed the breech and never took his eyes from the two men.

Apparently the third man heard the sound of Kerry's bullet driving home, or his companion made some sound, for he turned and stood looking down. The full impact of what had happened did not strike the man immediately. Having heard no shot, he failed to grasp what the hole in his companion's chest meant for a good three seconds—by which time Kerry had reloaded and changed his aim. Even as realization came to the man and he straightened up, wildly searching for whoever shot his companion, Kerry fired again. Caught in the head by the heavy bullet, the third look-out spun around, crashed into a rock and slid to the ground.

A movement caught the corner of Kerry's eye. Turning his head, he saw Shaun loping fast along the trail. He had left the dog with the main body and could not understand what sent Shaun rushing off in such a manner. There was no time to worry about that. While he had silenced the three look-outs, his work had not ended. Lord Henry and half the men advanced on foot, darting from cover to cover in an attempt to close on the cabins without being detected. Doing so with living look-outs would have been impossible. Even without them, it was far from a sinecure. To give the others a chance, Kerry had to watch the cabins and shoot down anybody who came out and gave a sign of spotting the advancing attackers.

While altering the setting of the Sharps's rear sight, Kerry saw a figure dash from one of the hidden cabins and make for the wagon. Before he could line his rifle, he recognized the shape as Calamity Jane. Then men appeared at the various cabin doors, but their attention was on the girl and none gave a sign of noticing the approaching attackers. Kerry saw the man before the main cabin draw a gun and knew he must cut in. Taking careful aim at the man's body, as offering the easiest target, he squeezed the trigger and the rifle roared.

Even at longer ranges than five hundred yards, a Sharps rifle packed enough power to fell a bull
buffalo. Its effect upon a man was even more terrible. Before he could shoot at Calamity, the man caught a bullet full in the chest. It flung him bodily backward, through the open door and into the cabin from which he had just emerged.

The body landed almost at Varley's feet as he rushed across the room to investigate the cause of the disturbance. While not being an expert in such matters, Varley needed only one glance to tell him no revolver caused that wound, or packed the power to throw a grown man backward in such a manner.

From outside came a distant but ringing bellow of “Charge!” the crackle of shots, shouts from closer at hand and a scream. Varley felt as if a cold hand touched him, realizing what the sounds meant when taken together. Turning, Varley darted across the room to the rear door. Maybe nothing would come of the attack, but he felt no harm could come from his taking precautions. He could collect a horse from the corral and lead it up the steep path of the rear wall to the cave and have all prepared for making good his escape should that become necessary.

While trying to free herself from Weiss' hands, Beryl heard the rapid patter of approaching feet and a roaring snarl. Led to her by her scent carried by the wind along the gorge, Shaun came rushing
to Beryl's rescue. Weiss saw the big dog and released the girl, thrusting her aside with one hand and reaching for his gun with the other. Even as the gun cleared leather, Shaun hit the man, teeth clamping him on the arm. Pain knifed through Weiss, his arm went numb and he dropped the gun. Then Shaun's weight brought the man crashing to the ground. Like a flash Shaun changed his hold, mouth releasing the arm and driving for the throat.

Beryl felt horror-struck for an instant as she watched the dog's powerful jaws clamp on the man's throat. Then concern for Weiss ended as she realized that her own danger was far from past. If any of the men from the cabins could lay hands on her, they had a hostage to be used against her friends. More than that, she must try to carry out the duty Calamity gave her.

Bending down, Beryl scooped up her revolver in one hand and grabbed Weiss' dropped weapon with the other. She saw Varley appear at the door of the main cabin just as she reached the corral. The man started toward her, saw her raise the revolver and hesitated. Then his nerve gave way and he decided not to chance rushing the determined-looking girl. Swinging around, he darted off at an angle, heading for the rear wall of the gorge. Beryl watched the man go, then, before she could decide, found something to distract her attention.

With the look-outs down, Lord Henry led half the party on foot down the gorge. They were within fifty yards of the cabins, Calamity holding the attention of the men from the cabins, before anybody noticed them. Giving a bellow of “Charge!” Lord Henry threw up his Winchester and fired. On the heels of his shot, every man of his party cut loose in a creditable volley. Almost every member of the hunting party carried a repeating rifle and continued to shoot fast while the soldiers reloaded their Springfield carbines.

Caught under the withering blast of fire, still feeling the effects of an extensive carouse the previous night, Varley's men could not take advantage of their superior numbers. Five men went down, three more caught lesser injuries, and the rest lacked any cohesive reasoning to help them fight back. Some threw down their guns, others tried to make a fight in the open, and a few dashed for the cabins. While most of the latter found themselves singled out for attention, half a dozen, including Rixon, reached the safety of the main cabin.

Calamity saw the man with the revolver drop, but could not think how he came to die. On hearing her friends' arrival, she wasted no time in idle thought. Turning, she dived into the wagon and flattened herself down among its load. With the whip in her hand still, she figured she could dis
suade any attempt to fetch her out to be used as a hostage.

Snarling in rage, Potter headed for the wagon. He aimed to either grab Calamity as a hostage, or kill her. Before he reached the wagon, a rifle bullet cut him down.

Hearing the sounds of the gun battle raging beyond the cabins, Beryl flattened down behind a rock by the corral. A call brought Shaun to her and the big dog, wise in such matters, flattened down by her side. At the main cabin, the rear door drew open again and Rixon emerged. Gripping the revolver in both hands, having laid Weiss' weapon on the ground, Beryl sighted and fired. At that range she could not hope to make a hit, nor wanted to, but her bullet came close enough to make the man change his mind.

The final break came when Lieutenant Dalby and Kerry brought the remainder of the men, each leading one of the foot party's horses, down in a charge. Seeing the newcomers, already thoroughly demoralized, the men before the cabins threw aside their guns and surrendered. Which left those fortunate enough to be under cover as a possible menace to the rescuers.