Tabor Evans - Longarm on the Border

"You think there are more on the trail we left?"

"That's about the only way to figure. Now we got something else to work out."

"What?"

"Whether we want to let them hombres down there go on past us, or try to stop 'em." Longarm saw that Flo didn't understand. He explained, "We let 'em get by, we don't have a fight right here and now, but we'll have one later on. They'll go on to the ford and set up an ambush."

"Which would be the easiest? Now, or later?"

"It's six of one, half a dozen of the other. We've got a little better position now. Later we won't know where they might jump us." Flo didn't reply. She was, Longarm knew, waiting for him to decide. He made up his mind quickly. "Let's keep moving. Maybe we can find a place up ahead before they catch up that'll be better'n where we are now."

They started on down the slope. Longarm kept watching the dust cloud, which grew larger bit by bit as it came closer. He was also scanning the ground ahead, looking for a place that would offer them cover. The land across which they were passing was in the zone where the foothills merged into the narrow plain that almost at once became the river valley. There were no rock outcrops here, only a few shallow barrancas cut by rains cascading downslope during the wet season. The ground was baked hard, too hard for the hooves of their mounts to raise any dust, and while Longarm had no hope of finding a natural fortress like the one Nate and Hill had to shield them, he thought their presence might not be noticed while the approaching riders were still distant. Given time, he and Flo might find concealment.

He checked the dust cloud again. It hadn't changed direction. Their course and the one the unknown riders held to were still converging. He estimated that they'd come together within the next two or three miles. Then, the hump of the ridge down which they rode would no longer hide them from the other group. Somewhere before that distance was closed, he and Flo would have to find cover or risk odds he couldn't yet guess at in a stand-up fight. If he'd been alone, he thought, he'd have taken the odds, sight unseen. Having Flo with him changed things.

Down the slope just ahead, a little below the shoulder of the ridge, Longarm saw a strange angular patch. It was the only feature of an otherwise barren stretch of baked, arid earth. He glanced at the dust cloud again. As nearly as he could tell, their path and that of the unseen riders would intersect only a short distance beyond the strange formation ahead. He still wasn't sure what the patch was, but it was the only unusual feature in an otherwise featureless landscape. It might be an unusual rock formation, or even the foundation of a long-abandoned building. Whatever it was, it was the only thing he could see that promised cover.

Over the drumming of their horses' hooves, he shouted to Flo, pointing, "We'll make for that place there!"

She looked, saw what he was indicating, and nodded. Longarm turned Tordo and tried to get a bit more speed out of the dapple. Flo followed him as he led the way to the strange formation.

As they drew closer, Longarm could see that what had caught his attention wasn't a rock outcrop, but a heap of fallen trees. The water that had once nourished a grove had failed and the trees had died and toppled, crisscrossing one another. It wasn't much protection, only a half-dozen sun-bleached trunks, but it was better than nothing at all. With luck, the windfall would hide them from the oncoming riders. At worst, they'd provide a breastworks he'd have a chance of defending.

They reached the trees only seconds before the other horsemen rounded the foot of the ridge and came into sight. The tree trunks lay too low on the ground to hide the backs of their horses, but Longarm hoped the rurales — he was sure now that the strange riders had been sent by Ramos to cut them off from the river — would pass by without looking too closely in their direction.

He and Flo dismounted with no margin to spare. As they led their horses into the fallen trees, they saw the horsemen galloping across the plain at the bottom of the slope. There were only three of them. Longarm breathed an inward sigh of relief. Three to one were odds he might handle. For a moment, it looked as though the trio of riders would pass on without seeing them, but apparently they'd been pushing their mounts as hard as Longarm and Flo had been driving their own. The three reined in about two or three hundred yards distant from the fallen trees.

Longarm had taken his Winchester out of its saddle scabbard when they dismounted. He studied the three men, in clear sight now that a dust cloud no longer surrounded them. The look removed any doubt as to their identity. All three wore the charro suits that the rurales had adopted as a sort of unofficial uniform.

"Are you going to shoot them?" Flo asked, looking at Longarm's rifle.

"Not now. It might be smart if I did, though. It's either now or later, when we get closer to the river."

"It seems so — well, so cold-blooded. I mean, to shoot them when they're not shooting at us."

"If they see us, they'll be banging away soon enough. And three to one ain't odds exactly in our favor."

At that moment, the question of who'd start shooting first was settled without delay or debate. The rurales, getting ready to move ahead, were scanning the area all around them. Longarm could tell when one of the men spotted him. He gesticulated to his companions. The others swung in their saddles and gazed at the trees. They may have seen the horses' heads and rumps sticking up above the windfall. The three whipped their rifles around to free them from their shoulder slings and lead slugs began to slam into the free trunks that sheltered Flo and Longarm.

"Guess we were bound to come down to it," Longarm muttered.

He centered the sights of the Winchester on the midsection of the nearest rurale and squeezed off a shot. The slug went high. He saw it kick up dust beyond the riders.

"Damn it!" he swore.

"What's the matter?" Flo was suddenly alarmed.

"Ramos or somebody must've monkeyed with my sights." He spoke while he was aiming again, making allowance for the change. This time his bullet went home. The rurale dropped from his saddle and lay still.

A fresh volley from the other two splatted into the frees, and a stray slug or two whistled overhead. The rurales were firing as fast as they could lever shells into the chambers of their guns. Flo was trembling. Longarm grabbed her and pulled her to the ground. After another shot or two, the firing from below stopped abruptly.

"Do you think they've gone?" Flo asked. The sudden ending of the gunfire had its effect on her voice. Even though their attackers were too far away to hear her, she whispered.

"Not a chance. I stopped shooting. They figure they've put me down. Soon as they can see us, they'll start up again."

Longarm raised his head above the tree trunks for a quick look. The riders below had thrown the body of their companion over his saddle and were disappearing around the shoulder of the ridge.

"Smart sons of bitches!" Longarm growled.

"What're they doing?"

"Just what I'd do, if it was me down below there. Pulling back around the shoulder, where I can't see 'em."

"But they can't see us either, can they?"

"No. But they can cut up the other side of the hump and get above us. Or split up, one come at us from the shoulder, the other one from below. That'd catch us in a cross fire."

Longarm wasted no time making up his mind. While he shoved fresh shells into the Winchester's magazine, he told Flo, "Now you do exactly what I tell you to." She nodded, her eyes wide. "I'm going to take a sneak up that shoulder. Here." He handed her his Colt. "You keep watch down below, there where they were before. If you see one of 'em coming around the shoulder, let go one shot at him. Just one, you understand?"