the Shadow Riders (1982) (12 page)

Sam was in thick brush, only the narrow trail winding through it. Directly before him was a dead tree trunk, the bark falling away from it, and some thirty yards further on was a low hummock of sand covered with brush. That was it, that was where Traven would be hiding.

He took a careful step, then another. He was sweating. The sun was hot, of course. He mopped his brow with the hand holding the pistol, and light glinted from the barrel.

Mac Traven, lying in the brush, caught a faint flicker of that movement but was not alarmed. It could have been a drop of rain still clinging to a leaf. It could have been ...

Sam Hall stepped over the log, putting his foot down carefully. As he did so he saw Mac Traven not twenty feet away, lying on his belly in the sand. He lifted his pistol and let the weight down on the boot that had stepped over the log. Under the sand and out of sight was a small branch. As his weight came down the branch broke and Mac Traven whipped around like a cat. Sam Hall's gun was up and the hammer coming back when something struck him a wicked blow in the chest, and then he heard a gun-shot.

Sam Hall took a half step back as his own gun went off, kicking sand three feet from Traven, who was coming toward him. Sam tried to lift his pistol again but his fingers were numb.

As Traven came face to face with him he felt the pistol slip from his hand. He said, "I guess you hit me."

"I guess I did," Mac said, and went by him, ducking into the brush. Within minutes there would be men all over, hunting him.

Under the shelter of the trees, he glanced back. Men were coming, but the one he had shot was still standing there. As he looked, the man fell.

Sam Hall's face was in the sand. He was choking, but not on sand. He tried to cough, and blood spilled over his chin. He struggled to sit up as men swarmed around him.

"Sam! Sam? What happened?"

"Ohio," Sam Hall muttered, "I always figured on goin' back. By this time they'd have forgot that man I ..."

He leaned forward, head hanging, hands on his knees. "Sam ... ?"

Butler touched his shoulder. "Sam?" Sam Hall turned over into the sand. Frank looked down at him, then commented, "Wherever he's gone, Butt, it ain't Ohio. I'd bet you on that."

Chapter
Twelve.

The tall gray-haired man accepted the drink and dropped into the big hide-bound chair. "It was several days ago," he said, "in Victoria. But it bothered me, so I rode over. I had an idea you ought to know."

"Three of them, you say?"

"Right. The only name I got was of the man I spoke of. He told them his name was Major Mac Traven, and he said it like he expected it to mean something.

"Tall man, tall as you, I'd say, and broad in the shoulder. Very cool. Neatest thing I ever saw the way he dropped those sacks. No way the man could avoid falling, and when he looked up, Traven was holding a gun.

"My impression was that although he was not looking for trouble he was a man who could handle it. He gave them a warning and then left town."

Martin Connery strode across the room and dropped into a similar chair. He tasted the rum and lemon in his glass. "Thirty men, you say? Renegades, probably. And this man Traven, he said they had captive women? I wonder what Traven's interest was?"

"My hunch was that some of them were kin to him. I don't recall whether he said as much or not, but that was my impression. And they were headed south."

The gray-haired man looked into his glass. "Captain, I don't like to say this, but you know as well as I do that when there's trouble down here, people look to you. I mean, they believe you're involved."

"I'm not involved in this."

"The man said his name was Traven."

"Hell, Nick, I'm not responsible for everybody. I don't know of any Traven."

He paused. "Come to think of it I do have some kinfolk somewhere north and west of here. I met them but once or twice and then stayed clear of them. They didn't like me, and I just didn't want any kinfolk around. I've had troubles enough."

They sat silent. A big grandfather's clock ticked loudly. "You've got to understand. The Connerys always regarded me as the black sheep of the family. They were solid, church-going folk, hard-working and pioneering most of the time. Every time one of them seems to get to where he could have a decent living he picks up and goes further west.

"As for the Travens, we've no connection I know of except that I heard one of the Connery girls was sweet on a Traven. I don't know how I came to mention it to you. It wasn't that important, actually." He paused, sipped his drink, and said, "You've a good memory, Nick. That must have been years ago."

"It's an unusual name." Nick got out a cigar. "Captain, we've been friends for years now, but aside from that, you represent a lot of my business. I wouldn't want anything to happen to you, and that's a tough lot of men."

Martin Connery gave him a thin smile. "I've some tough men, too."

"But you were unwarned, unaware. Now you are alerted." Nick got to his feet. "I've business in Refugio, and then I'll be riding back to Victoria."

He paused. "Captain? Give it some thought. Why would such an outfit be coming down here? If they were escaping over the border, as some of the Confederates have been doing, there are more direct routes. I believe the answer can be but one of two things. Raiding or meeting a ship."

"I've been thinking of that."

"Slavers used to land contraband slaves on Copano Bay. You know that, and I do. Many a time when Lafitte couldn't get them to New Orleans through the bayous they were landed here. In fact, he used this for a rendezvous after he was driven off Galveston Island."

"It was one of his men who piloted me in here the first time," Connery said.

"Captain? Those kinfolk of yours up north? There were young women in the lot, right?"

Connery took his glass from his mouth. He swore suddenly, bitterly. "Of course there were! She was a little girl then, but by now she'd be a young woman. There might be others. I don't know. Still, that's highly unlikely that something like you describe could happen. They were conservative people and I imagine would be fairly well off."

"It can happen to anyone. Think of it. If the women were in the way and this renegade outfit was riding through?"

After Nick Chandler had gone, Captain Martin Connery walked to the side-board and placed the glasses there.

A slender Chinese came in. "Anything else, sir?"

"Yes, there is. Ask Ephraim to step in, will you?" He walked back and dropped into his chair. It was unlikely, but Nick was right when he thought such a group could spell trouble. They would be living off the country, but they were not going to live off his cattle nor steal his horses. If they wanted to go to Mexico they could keep right on going. He wanted no trouble. Ephraim Calder was a man almost as wide as he was tall, but he carried no fat. He was broad, thick, and powerfully muscled, and he had served with Connery for twenty years.

"Eph, I want you to have three men scout the country north of here. Send some men who can keep out of sight and out of trouble. I want to know what is going on."

Quickly, he sketched in what had happened and what he believed.

"Captain, one of our men who was riding along the north side of the bay heard a shot. Two shots he believed, close together. He was several miles out from the bay, hunting strays."

"All right, sentries and scouts, armed and ready. We don't know what may happen."

"Yes, sir." Ephraim stopped at the door and turning, smiled at Connery. "Almost like the old days, eh Cap'n?"

When Ephraim had gone, Martin Connery walked to his desk and took out a pistol, a Remington Navy. He balanced it in his hands for a moment, liking the feel of it, then thrust it behind his belt and out of sight behind the short jacket he wore.

From another drawer he took a carefully drawn map of the shore-line covering the area from Tres Paglacios Bay to Corpus Christi, studying it with care. It was an area he had ridden over countless times, and he had sailed along the coast almost as often. Yet he wanted a refreshing glimpse of it. Seeing a situation on a map was much different from being over the ground in person. Neither should exclude the other.

The map gave one perspective, the over-all view, while being on the ground itself gave one an immediate knowledge of terrain, plant life, obstructions, and whatever else might be encountered.

He added a bit more lemon to his rum and returned to his chair. That niece of his ... what was her name?

Kate ... that was it. Katherine, of course, but they had called her Kate, a feisty little thing with big eyes.

That fellow now? Colonel Ashford, was it? What would he be wanting? To meet a ship, no doubt some gunrunner or slave-ship. A lot of the old illicit slave traders had haunted this harbor in years gone by. He would have no part of that. Had he been active in the days when it was legal, he still would have taken no part in dealing with slaves. And the importation of slaves into the United States had ended, legally, in 1808.

To meet a ship, perhaps, but primarily he would be looking for loot. Lonely ranches close to the sea had always been vulnerable. He himself had often sailed in close and dropped his hook long enough to steal a few head of cattle or sheep for food aboard ship.

Thirty men? He had half that many, but Connery knew what he had and was not worried.

He was at breakfast on the terrace at dawn when a rider rode in and talked to Ephraim Calder. Then both approached him. He sliced a bit from his melon and listened.

Two wagons were drawn up on the sand this side of Copano Creek. There had been some shooting, and through a spy-glass his man had seen them burying a man.

"One less," he commented.

"But now ten of them are approaching. They left camp shortly before daybreak and should be here by noon-time. There is one woman among them. She rides beside he who is their leader."

"Very well. When they arrive you may bring four of them to me, including the woman if she is one who wishes to come. Seat the others under the shed near the granary and have them covered by ten good riflemen from the bunkhouse. They are not to know they are watched. If there is any evidence of hostility, shoot them all. Do not hesitate."

He took out a cigar, looked at it thoughtfully, and added, "Better still, let Fraconi bring them to me. You stay in command of the men in the bunkhouse. I trust your judgement."

When Calder had gone he ordered coffee and sat down in the hide chair with a book. It would be some time before they arrived. He glanced around the room, once more appraising his situation. He had guns placed at various places through the room and was prepared for any eventuality.

Kate Connery had no idea what would happen once she reached the ranch of her uncle Martin. Her family had not liked him, but on the one occasion she had seen him he seemed romantic, adventurous, exciting. She remembered him only as a very tall man, slender and immaculately dressed.

The house was low, flat-roofed, and of plastered adobe. On either side were rows of buildings. One was apparently a store-room; another might be a bunkhouse. The barns and corrals were some distance away. There were hitching rails along both sides of the avenue leading to the house.

A stocky, powerful-looking man walked into the open space and stood waiting. As they rode up, he glanced at her, then at Ashford.

"There is something you wish?"

Ashford drew up. The man seemed to be alone, but he radiated strength and seemed in no way disturbed by confronting a column of armed men.

"I am Colonel Henry T. Ashford, of the Confederate Army. I wish to see Martin Connery."

"Captain Connery." Calder gestured toward the shed roof in front of what appeared to be a store-room. "You may leave your men there."

"I wish them with me."

Calder merely looked at him. "You will leave your men there. You may bring four people including yourself. If you do not like that, ride away."

Ashford was furious. Who was this man to speak so to him? Well, that could wait. After all, if he could get Connery's help it might save much travel and leave him a tower of strength when the ship arrived.

"Very well."

His men hesitated, then trooped toward the shade of the shed, tying their horses at the hitching rail.

Ashford turned in his saddle, looked around carefully, then dismounted. Only the one man in sight, but on a ranch of this size he would need many men. Where were they? He had an uncomfortable feeling they were not far off.

"Hayden, and Cutler. Come with me, please." He turned and looked at Kate. "You, also. We will hope for your sake that this uncle can help us."

"I did not promise that."

They walked over the hard-packed yellow earth to the steps, which led to the wide veranda that encircled the adobe house. Mounting the steps, they saw no one.

Cutler leaned close and whispered. "Colonel? We'd better be careful. I don't like this."

Ashford rapped on the door. After several minutes a slender Chinese appeared, dressed all in white except for a red sash.

"I am Colonel Henry T. Ashford. I wish to see Captain Connery."