The Copper City (8 page)

He pulled out the tail of his shirt and ripped off a strip to serve as a bandage. He mopped up the blood as best he could, then attempted one-handed to tie the material around the wounded arm.

The idea was simpler than the reality.

***

“Gone quiet, ain't it?” Pete said. “You think they've run out of bullets?”

“Step out in the open if you're that eager to find out,” Quantro counseled.

“Hope this don't go on long,” Pete continued. “I left the coffee-pot on the fire and it'll boil dry.”

Quantro sniffed the aroma, now heavily disguised under the stench of gunpowder from the shooting. “Could've used a cup. Thirsty work, this.”

“What d'you reckon they'll do?”

“How the hell do I know?”

“You're the
pistolero
, not me. I'm just an old prospector.”

“A righteous old prospector,” Quantro mumbled, taking advantage of the lull to sneak a quick look around his rock. A bullet smacked into the dry earth by his shoulder, then he heard the gunshot and spotted the puff of smoke up on the rim.

“You reckon we're pinned down here?” Pete said conversationally, sniffing.

“What you mean, you old coot, is can I circle 'round and have at them from behind? Is that it?”

“Something like that.”

Quantro looked back and forth along the canyon walls. Maybe, just maybe, he could get out of there without being shot to pieces. It would take some fast legwork and some very quick shooting from Pete. He put his idea into words.

“I got plenty of bullets,” Pete confirmed, sniffing. “Don't know as I can shoot 'em off as fast as you.”

“You'll manage.”

“I'll allow I might.”

Quantro glared at him. “You'd better.”

Pete shrugged. “Been nice knowing you, boy.”

“Don't even joke about it,” Quantro snarled before falling into an uneasy silence. He knew Pete would handle it as best he could, but jokes about failing didn't exactly set right at that particular moment. It seemed bad luck somehow, and making a run along the bottoms was going to use up all the luck he could get a pledge on.

He gave a thought to his bum leg, the one that had been broken and set wrong nearly three years back. It was stiffening a little as a result of crouching awkwardly for such a long period. He turned his back to the rock and stretched out both his legs, bending the bad one slowly. It felt okay. Maybe it was a sign his luck was running good.

Pete glanced over as he pushed bullets into his rifle's magazine. He eyed Quantro seriously for a moment. “Luck, boy,” he said before he winked and brought up his rifle to his shoulder. “You ready?”

Quantro finished reloading his Winchester, then twisted into a crouch, tensed to run. He nodded.

“Now!”

Quantro ran.

Behind him, Pete hammered out shots as fast as he could work the lever action.

And he prayed a little bit too.

CHAPTER 8

Quantro zigzagged down the canyon as fast as his legs could measure out strides. Fear was a full grown buffalo cow sitting on his chest, but adrenaline was a bountiful supply of energy that made his legs fly.

He ran the wrong way.

If Upton was expecting him to make a breakout, then he would think he would head for the canyon mouth and then circle from there. Going the wrong way might gain a second that could become vital. The buckskin was up around the bend where Pete's pony was grazing. Once in the stallion's saddle he could be out of the canyon in a matter of moments.

He was wrong. His ruse didn't throw Upton at all. But one factor in his favor was that by crossing the bottoms to the east wall, the same side as Upton, the two gunmen couldn't hit him. The east wall was too steep. Or so he hoped. He would not find out until he tried it.

If he was still in their sights, then they would have him cold, for there was no cover at the foot of that wall. All the loose boulders were on the west side where the cliff was more broken, a steep but not vertical drop to the bottom.

As soon as he broke cover, U
pton and Dobey opened fire. Upton had hissed a warning of what might happen, so they were ready. Fortunately for Quantro, it was Dobey covering the way he had chosen to run. His reactions were not as honed as Upton's, nor was his shooting. But once started, he shot fast.

Quantro ducked across, dust devils springing up by his heels as he sprinted. With one shoulder scraping the wall he ran for the bend. Bullets cracked persistently overhead.

There was sudden sharp pull on his left foot. He staggered, rifle swinging in counterbalance. He'd been hit. It took another five yards to fall back into the rhythm. A moment later, he was skidding around the bend. And safe.

He fell against the wall, panting. Air rushed in great gulps down into his aching chest. Too many cigarettes, he thought absently. They'll be the death of me, ruin my running. One of these days I'll really need to make a run and that'll be the day they get me. Then he remembered his foot. He raised his left leg for inspection. No blood, not even a hole in his high moccasin. Then he saw where a narrow chunk of leather had been gouged diagonally out of the extra sole he had added to make them tougher. A bullet char. Two inches higher and it would have been his ankle. Maybe his luck
was
running good.

Now for the buckskin before Upton or Dobey ran along the rim to throw down shots on him. He shouted, competing with the gunfire still coming from where Pete was holding them off. The stallion came over. Quickly, he mounted and slid his Winchester into the saddle boot out of the way. He patted the horse's neck as he waited.

Then he heard it. The gunfire was beginning to wither away. Pete's rapid covering-fire had long since become irregular as he took care in placing his shots, but now Upton and Dobey began to slow. With any luck, at least one of them would be reloading when he made his dash.

Now
. He kicked his moccasin heels into the stallion's ribs and it leapt forward. Around the bend, then they were galloping between the walls, powerful hooves throwing up dust. All three rifles opened up, shooting across him as he threw himself low on the buckskin's lashing mane.

It was over in a moment. The guns were behind him and he was out in the open. The horse shambled to a stop, shuddering with the exertion. Quantro was almost shaking too, but he had no time for that. His heart still pounding, he grabbed his Winchester and slipped to the ground. A slap on the horse's rump and it took off away from the canyon.

Now for the slow bit.

He knew where Upton and Dobey were, but the chances were they would shift positions before he got to the top. If they had any sense, that was. From his point of view, the worst move they could make was to meet him headlong at the crest. They would have him cold.

Soft-footed, cautious, he made a start on the slope. Over on the right the sun had begun its long climb to noon. He hoped matters were resolved one way or another by then. Midday on top of the rim would be unbearable. Already sweat had soaked his armpits and was running down his ribcage, and his shirt was stuck fast between his shoulder blades.

After twenty feet he paused to study the rim. One careless move, that's all it would take. But there was only a blank skyline staring immovably back. He took a deep breath, shifted his weight on to his bad leg. It was holding out. He started up again, picking his way through the scramble of boulders. Another pause to catch his breath and scout the horizon.

Nothing.

He moved on. His legs were beginning to show the strain of the climb and he was growing edgy. It had to happen soon. It was the law of averages. Up to now it had been too easy. A sudden premonition crept into the corner of his mind to plague him. A solitary gunshot echoing through the canyon and he would be dead, eyes open to the sun.

Where
were
they?

If Upton was trying to retain the edge, Quantro had to admit he was making a real good job of it. The whole thing was unreal. It was as if he was the only man in the desert, climbing a slope in the middle of nowhere, only the cactus and the hot wind watching him lazily, knowing he would pass along, as had all men. The gunfire had long since died away, contributing to his uneasiness.

Ten feet from the rim he fell into a crouch. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and checked the Winchester once again. There was nothing more he could do. Again he studied the rim with no result other than he had begun to distrust his vision. And a heat haze was starting to build up, distorting his view of the land into a shimmering mirage. Everything felt wrong. That heavy silence that always seemed to precede a burst of violent action was missing. Quantro called the sun to account on that score. He waited, nervy.

Nothing happened.

The waiting was over. Quantro sprang up from the ground to run the last few yards. He was at the rim. He threw himself over bracing himself for the death rain of lead. He hit dirt and rolled, the Winchester coming up ready.

Nothing but the breeze.

The land up there was almost flat with little cover. He could see clear along the east side of the rim. He frowned, then slowly came to his feet, the rifle dangling from his right hand.

His eyes had not lied. There was nobody there.

The rim was deserted.

***

“He's making a break!” Upton had yelled. Below them, Quantro kicked the buckskin into a gallop, racing down the canyon in a thunder of hooves. Upton opened fire, teeth gritted against the jarring his nicked arm was receiving from the repeating rifle's recoil. It wasn't painful, just sore, and it would not stop bleeding. The makeshift bandage was already sodden. He fired twice, but before he could line a really good shot Quantro was gone.

“You think we got him?” Dobey's voice asked from along the rim.

“He got out,” Upton countered, “unless you saw him come off. I didn't.”

Dobey crabbed across towards him. “You hit?”

Upton nodded, adding a grimace for good measure.

“What d'you think he's at?”

“He's going to circle 'round behind us, that's for sure.” Dobey looked around in panic. Upton touched his wounded arm gingerly and winced, hamming it up. “I'll tell you what we've got to do. We gotta leave here fast. I don't think I'll make it with this arm, so I'll stay and slow him down a little to keep him off your back.”

“What if you don't make it? You've got to ride. Half the money is yours.”

“You bet,” Upton whispered under his breath. Aloud he said, “Well, can you hold him for a spell, then when he gets too close, jump your horse and catch me up? I'd sorely 'preciate that. I won't be able to ride fast with this.” He indicated the blood-soaked bandage. “You can catch me up easy.”

Dobey nodded thoughtfully. He glanced down into the canyon and back at Upton. “Reckon I can handle that. “

Upton climbed slowly to his feet, a hand supporting his wounded arm to good effect. “You sure now?”

“I'm sure.” Dobey raised a grin. “See you at the border.”

Upton flashed a grateful smile. “The border, then.”

He walked over to where his horse stood, trailing reins. He climbed aboard, sawing at the reins, digging in his spurs as the horse wheeled, waving
adios
.

Dobey watched him go, then switched his attention to the rim. He hadn't liked to admit it to Upton, but the prospect of facing Quantro alone almost scared the pants off him. He liked to make out he was a hardened gunfighter, but the truth of it was he had shot at very few men. His reputation had been made at county fairs and the friendly contests of skill that always take place around men who use their guns a lot. But killing men was different, especially men with reputations like Quantro.

Dobey figured Upton had been lucky in a way to get wounded. It had got him out of this situation. Then he got to thinking about Upton's wound. He hadn't seen him bandage it. That must have been hard. He must be some tough
hombre
to keep on shooting after he'd been hit. But then it occurred to Dobey that Upton couldn't have been hurt
that bad
if he'd still managed to handle the kick of a rifle.

That discovery bothered him. His thoughts returned more and more to it as he waited on the rim. The way Upton had cradled the arm as though it was about to fall off. And all that wincing. Didn't fit with the tough image somehow. Dobey could remember seeing a cowhand once whose horse had fallen on him and smashed his hip so badly there had been white bone poking out through the broken skin. He had lain on the ground and said matter-of-factly, “Damn, I guess that puts me out of the dance Saturday.” He had fallen quiet, then added, “This week at least.”

No, there had been something odd about Upton's behavior that Dobey couldn't place. It would come. He moved on to the problem of Quantro. How long would it take him to get up on to the rim? Dobey reckoned his best bet was to stay put, then when Quantro came sneaking over, he could just squeeze off one shot. He measured the distance from his position to the rim with his eye. Like shooting a turnip off a stick. Unless, of course, Quantro got over without him seeing. That thought made him jumpy.

Then he remembered.

When Upton had swung his horse he had been holding the reins with his left hand. That meant he had to have waved with his right. And it was the right arm that was wounded, so weak he'd had to cradle it as he walked away.

The bastard. Upton had buffaloed him.

Dobey ran for his horse.

***

Quantro stared at the empty rim. He walked over to where the first gunman had been. Sure enough, shells littered the ground. Farther along, he found the second gunman's stand. Mixed in with the empty brass casings were unused bullets. It had to have been Dobey. It was a sign of nerves, working the action of a rifle twice between shots.

“Pete!” he yelled over the rim, stooping to collect the good bullets, threading them into the empty loops of his belt.

“Yeah?” came back the reply.

“They've cleared out. Put the coffee back on and dig me out some chow. Lost me the last lot.” Quantro followed Dobey's tracks to where his horse had waited, then began to cast in a circle. He picked up Upton's trail without any effort, but no others. He made another cast, wider this time, but still picked up nothing. The only two sets of hoof prints led north.

They had run for the border once more.

***

Quantro ate hungrily. The wasted climb had sharpened his appetite. Pete sat by, sipping his coffee.

“We camping here again tonight?”

Quantro mopped at his plate with a hunk of bead. “Meaning?”

“Way you're chewing at that, it'll be sundown before you've finished.”

“Soon's I've had coffee we'll break camp.”

“You said they've run north again?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we'd better move. Once they hit Arizona Territory there's no end of towns to get lost in, all within spitting distance of the border. There's Bisbee, Packard, Watertank, Charleston, Fairbank…”

“You trying to depress me?”

“There's worse. Three miles on the American side is the railroad. One way runs clear to El Paso.”

“How far's that?”

“Somewhere over two hundred miles, give or take twenty. And westwards it runs through Tucson and on to Yuma.”

“The bad news?”

“Three hundred and fifty miles.” Pete considered Quantro's face. “If they get on those rails it'll take us years to find 'em, hunting through every rat-hole in every town along the way. If and when we do haul up on 'em, chances are there'll be none of the silver left.”

“You're real bright company.”

Pete shook his head. “Just the cold facts of life.”

***

The buckskin shifted restlessly beneath Quantro as he waited for Pete to mount up. He guided the stallion between the walls, then turned east out of the canyon mouth before he stuck his heels in so the horse would jump at the climb up to the rim. Out of the shade of the canyon walls the sun was a furnace in the clear sky that sucked hungrily at their sweat. When Pete topped out, Quantro was walking the stallion, leaning out over its neck.

“Must have run a straight line for the border.”

“Maybe,” Quantro conceded, stepping down to examine the tracks more closely. “Doesn't figure. Seems to me Upton pulled out first, the way this sign reads. But if he left Dobey here as a rearguard, why did Dobey cut out before I hit the rim?”

“So what?”

“Something else, too. They must have left the packhorses away from the canyon so they'd make less noise when they sneaked back last night, but they sure as hell didn't bring them here on to the rim.”

“You saying if you don't pick up their sign soon, they left them some place else?”

“That's about it.”