J. Edson - Ranch War

“If we shoot him, the bullets will go through and kill the girl,” Ruiz warned Hogue in a soft voice.

“You’ll have to chance it,” the white man replied, no louder. Even as he spoke, they saw the sleeping Texan’s arm move a little. “Take them!”

Swinging up their rifles, they lined the sights. Two shots rang out at almost the same instant, lighting the night with their muzzle-blasts and slamming echoes along the valley. Through the whirling powder-smoke, Hogue and Ruiz watched the blankets agitate as the bullets ripped through into the back of the male sleeper. Although his body jerked under the impact, neither he nor the girl attempted to rise or even moved.

“Got ’em both, like I figured!” Hogue announced, working his rifle’s loading lever and striding from the bushes.

Following the white man, Ruiz fed another live round into his Winchester. As soon as they had made sure that the couple were dead, the Mexican planned to take care of the insulting gringo and be the only one of them to return to claim the rewards for their work.

Chapter 9 TAKE HIM ALIVE

“YOU RUINED MY SHIRT.”

Soft spoken, gentle almost, though they were, the words which came from the right of the advancing pair sounded charged with menace and bore a deadly warning. With sickening impact, Hogue and Ruiz knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

Turning his head in the direction of the speaker, Ruiz let out a savage snarl that combined anger with superstitious fear. Two figures had stepped from the bushes about thirty yards from where the would-be killers had come to a sudden halt. Dressed as she had been on the street in Mulrooney, except for her kepi and gunbelt being missing and moccasins instead of boots on her feet, the girl gripped a Winchester carbine ready for use.

Bare-headed, rifle in hands, the Texan wore all black clothing and had the face of a scalp-hunting Pehnane Dog Soldier. The bowie knife that usually rode on his gunbelt swung sheathed from his waistband.

“Cabrito!” Ruiz croaked.

The words jolted through the shock that had numbed Hogue into immobility. With a curse, he started to swing in the couple’s direction and whip the rifle to his shoulder. Throwing off his fears and thoughts on how the figure in the bed had moved its arm, Ruiz copied his companion’s move. Already the Kid’s Winchester was rising in a lightning-fast, smoothly flowing motion. His right eye squinted along the barrel as the butt settled into place. While Calamity was still raising the lighter carbine, the Kid squeezed his old yellow-boy’s trigger.

Once again gunfire illuminated and shattered the silence of the darkness. Twice in a second the Kid’s Winchester cracked, its lever blurring down then up between the shots so fast that the eye could barely follow the movements. Firing at such speed did not allow for a change in the point of aim. So, even as he turned loose his second bullet, the Kid was relying on Calamity to stop Ruiz shooting him. Both the girl’s and the Mexican’s weapons were lining and the Kid’s life hung in a very delicate balance.

Wanting a living prisoner whom they could question, the Kid had shot to wound rather than kill. Hogue was the faster of the pair to recover, so he received first attention. Both of the Kid’s bullets ripped into the right side of the burly man’s chest, spinning him around in a full circle. The rifle flew from Hogue’s hands and he stumbled in front of Ruiz just as the Mexican laid sights on the Kid. Unable to stop himself, Ruiz completed his pressure on the trigger. He saw flame lance from his rifle’s muzzle and a hole appear in the center of Hogue’s back.

The same accident that saved the Kid had a beneficial effect on Ruiz. A split second after the Mexican fired, Calamity’s carbine spoke. Meant for Ruiz, the bullet spiked into the center of the reeling white man’s chest. Yet the Mexican knew that he was far from out of the woods. Staggering on, Hogue collapsed face down and left his companion exposed to Calamity’s and the Kid’s weapons. Already the dark Texan had sent another bullet into his rifle’s chamber and was changing the direction in which its muzzle pointed.

Discarding his rifle as a useless encumbrance to his escape, Ruiz hurled himself toward the bushes. He moved just in time to avoid catching the Kid’s next bullet. Calamity’s carbine swung and spat. Jerking from his head, Ruiz’s sombrero spun away. When he did not fall or break stride, she knew that she had hit the hat but missed its wearer. Throwing her lever through its reloading cycle, she wondered why the Kid did not use his rifle to bring down the fleeing man.

“Watch that ’n’, gal!” the Kid barked, lowering the Winchester and laying it on the ground. “I’m going after the other. I want to take him alive.”

Before Calamity could debate the point, even if she had wished to do so, the Kid went racing into the bushes where Ruiz had already disappeared. Watching him go, Calamity gave a low hiss of anxiety. She hoped the Kid had not forgotten that he had only his bowie knife and Ruiz packed a revolver on his belt. Putting the thought from her mind, she turned her attention to the clearing. Alert for any hostile move on his part, she walked toward Hogue. There was no need for precautions. The Kid’s two bullets might not have killed him, but either of the others would have been fatal. If the Kid wanted somebody to answer questions, it would have to be the Mexican.

Crashing through the bushes, Ruiz went up the slope as fast as his legs would carry him. At any moment he expected to feel lead driving into his body, but it did not come. So he gave a thought to what would be his best line of action. Stopping to avenge Hogue never entered his head; his main aim as he ran was to save his own skin. If he could reach the horses and mount up, he stood a better than fair chance of making it. Fast though Cabrito ’s white stallion was reputed to be, there would be a delay while he collected and freed it. During the time he spent doing it, Ruiz would be building up a lead. Using Hogue’s bay and his sabino to ride relay, he could press on fast, reach Hollick City and get help to deal with the Kid and the girl.

Having decided on what to do, he approached the horses. They still stood patiently under the white oak. Going between them, he grabbed hold of the bay’s reins in his right hand. Taking up the sabino ’s reins in his left, he inserted his left foot into the stirrup, gripped the dinner-plate horn of his Mexican saddle in both hands and started to mount. Even as he swung himself astride, he heard the soft pad of rapidly approaching feet and remembered that, like the girl, the Kid had been wearing moccasins.

For all his advantage in footwear, the Kid had not been able to catch up with the fleeing Mexican on the slope. Seeing the man mounting, the Kid launched himself into the air. Reaching upward, his hands hooked over one of the tree’s lowest branches. With a surging swing, the Kid propelled himself at Ruiz. Two feet smashed into the Mexican’s shoulder. Barely mounted, Ruiz felt himself struck by the Kid’s flying body and tilted sideways. Startled by its rider’s unexpected behavior, the sabino lunged forward. Taken with the Kid’s attack, the motion unseated Ruiz. Unsettled by the disturbance, the bay followed the sabino. Missing its departing rump, the two men plunged to the ground.

Going down in a rolling dive, the Kid parted company with Ruiz. Surprised as he had been, the Mexican recovered fast. Regardless at first of their trailing reins, the horses plunged off into the trees. Ignoring them for the moment, the Kid concentrated on the Mexican. They made their feet at almost the same instant, facing each other in the darkness.