The Big Hunt (16 page)

“Where's Beryl?” Kerry bellowed, sliding his gray to a halt and glaring around him.

Calamity appeared at the end of the wagon and
jumped out. “She's behind the cabins, down by the corral likely.”

Ignoring the surrendering men or possible danger from those inside the buildings, Kerry charged forward. Five men followed on his heels, but Lord Henry kept the rest in hand and began securing their prisoners, or making for the cabins to see if more of the gang remained unlocated.

In the main cabin, Rixon looked at the others. None knew what to do for the best, but all wished to escape. Having no idea who handled the revolver behind the corral, they saw their escape cut off and might have thought of fighting had Rixon not been looking from one of the rear windows.

“It's Varley,” he snarled. “The bastard's run out on us.”

“Where's he at?” demanded another, a man who had been in the camp for some time. Crossing to the window, he looked out. “He's headed for the cave. I'm getting out of here.”

Although Rixon could not see any cause for the man's sudden decision, most of the others with him knew it and wasted no time following the lead in rushing to the front door.

“Don't shoot!” yelped one of the men, throwing his gun out.

“You've got to stop Varley!” a second went on, leaving the cabin with hands in the air.

Seeing Beryl, Kerry flung himself from his horse and dashed to her. He scooped the girl into his arms and kissed her. Then moving her back to arms' length, he looked down at her.

“Did they——” he began.

“No. Oh, Kerry, I was so afraid.”

“Easy, honey. It's all over now.”

Twisting around, Kerry saw Weiss' body sprawled on the ground. Never had he felt more grateful to the big wolfhound than at that moment. However, before he could say anything, Lord Henry appeared with two of the gang following on his heels.

“We have to stop that blighter reaching the cave, Kerry,” the peer declared.

“Why?”

“Apparently there's enough explosives in it to bring down half the gorge's walls and that's just what that blighter intends to do.”

“He's damned near a quarter of a mile off,” Kerry pointed out. “We'd never reach him in time, nor could Shaun even if we could lay him on a trail.”

“It's Varley,” Lord Henry said. “Would he do it?”

“He's vindictive enough to try,” Kerry answered. “Damn it, I was in such a rush that I slid down from the ledge and left the Sharps on it.”

“My Remington's on the saddle,” Lord Henry said. “Quick, one of you, go and fetch it for me.”

Having heard enough to realize the gravity of the situation, one of the soldiers who followed Kerry turned and dashed away. On the path, Varley climbed higher and nearer to the cave with each passing second.

“Where the hell's my hor——” Lord Henry began.

“It's here now,” Kerry replied.

Springing forward, Lord Henry drew the Remington from its boot and extracted a carton of bullets from the saddle pouch. Kerry studied the climbing shape and thought fast.

“You'll need a rest,” he said.

“No time to get one,” Lord Henry replied.

“You'd best use my shoulder then.”

Kerry crouched slightly and the peer rested the Remington's barrel on his shoulder. Carefully Lord Henry adjusted the sights, ignoring the pleas from one of the prisoners to hurry. Standing like a rock, Kerry watched and waited, hoping that the peer managed to allow for wind and all the other factors which affected accuracy at long ranges. Having seen Lord Henry shoot, the hunter knew he could rely on him to make no mistake.

On reaching the ledge before the cave, Varley paused. Fear of the consequences filled him and he knew that he could expect no mercy when the
women gathered by his companions told their stories. He knew enough about Western men to believe they would never stop hunting anybody connected with the wholesale murder, looting and rape practiced by his community. Only by destroying the evidence would he have a chance of escape. Inside the cave he had the means for that escape. When realizing the kind of men his community attracted, he prepared for the day which would bring retribution. The whole wall was mined with explosives, fused and ready, sufficiently powerful to fetch down enough rock to blot out the cabins and bury any evidence which might be used against him. Nor would the explosion impede his escape. Behind the cave lay a tunnel, carved by some force of nature, which led out beyond the rim. All he need do was pass through the tunnel, light the fuse and be safe. Of course, it would be afoot, but that thought held less terror for him, a big-city man, than it would be to a dweller in the West.

For all his desire to be safe, he could not resist turning to look down. He was aware that the shooting had ended, but knew nobody from the valley could reach him in time to stop the lighting of the fuses, even assuming the attackers learned of their danger. A superior sneer came to his lips. Those poor fools, pitting their feeble wits against a man of his caliber.

He died with the sneer still there. Down below, Lord Henry took advantage of Varley's lack of movement to make sure of his aim. Never had the peer taken such care, nor put so much effort into taking sight. He knew the rifle's vagaries and took them into account. With foresight and backsight aligned, his finger tightened on the trigger. Kerry stood like a rock, even holding his breath so that no undue movement might disturb the rifle's barrel. The trigger moved back and the Remington cracked. For what seemed like a very long time—but in reality was less than a second—nothing happened. Then high up the wall Varley jerked, staggered in a circle, missed the edge of the ledge and pitched outward, to plummet down to the ground.

T
HE DEAD WERE BURIED, WOUNDED ATTENDED TO,
prisoners secured. In that, Varley's community might have thought themselves fortunate. When the soldiers and members of the hunting party saw the women and heard their stories, they expressed a determined desire to apply the law of good old Judge Lynch to the survivors. Only Lord Henry's insistence on legal justice prevented what might have been a massacre. With the Englishman's sense of such things, the peer demanded that the men be taken to Dalby's fort to meet with a regular trial. The end result proved to be the same; for Varley guessed correctly about the atti
tude of the general public to his communities' activities.

“We'll camp here for the night,” Lord Henry decided. “Then tomorrow go to the fort. I don't think you've anything to fear, Mr. Dalby.”

Nor had the young lieutenant. While his colonel might have objected to him turning from the appointed patrol duty, circumstances made doing so impolitic. Lord Henry saw to that.

This came later. The party spent a final night in the camp, after Dobe Killem took a party to the cave and defused the explosives. Next morning they pulled out, with the army escorting the gang and Killem driving a wagon carrying the community's prisoners.

“I hope you'll be around for the wedding, Calam,” Beryl said as she rode with her brother, Kerry and the red-head.

“I reckon I will,” Calamity agreed. “There's nothing I like better than a wedding—as long as it's not mine. Have you given up hunting now, Kerry?”

“There's no reason why you shouldn't do this sort of thing, guiding chaps like me, regularly,” Lord Henry went on. “You've one satisfied client already.”

“And he'd have a dissatisfied wife if he tried it,” Beryl snorted. “I'm not sitting at home while he
gallivants around hunting. There'll be too much to do getting our ranch going.”

“Say, I forgot my Sharps,” Kerry remarked. “It's still on the ledge. Not that I figure on needing it again. This time I'm really through hunting.”

“We could leave the rifle behind then,” Beryl smiled. “A kind of symbolic gesture.”

“That's an idea,” Kerry agreed, being enough in love to pander to his future wife's whims.

“The hell it is,” said the practical Miss Calamity. “Happen you don't need it any more, take it and sell it. I never saw the gesture yet that felt as good as money. And money comes real handy when you're starting married life. That's why I never intend to save any.”