Dead Before Sundown

Chapter 24

They rode on, leaving the bodies behind them. That bothered Frank, but they still didn’t have a shovel and there were no handy canyon walls to collapse on the dead men.

Even though the gap through which they rode marked the end of the really rugged mountains, they were still miles from the actual plains. In between were foothills, many of which were almost as tall and rocky as the peaks behind them.

As the sun lowered toward the Canadian Rockies, the four riders found a place to camp at the foot of a ridge. Frank and Reb tended to the horses while Salty and Meg gathered wood for a fire and got started on supper.

Sensing that they were still in hostile territory, Frank suggested to Salty that they keep the fire small tonight. The old-timer agreed and used a flat rock to scrape out a small depression where he arranged the wood. More rocks piled around the shallow pit would serve to shield the flames from easy view. Once they had boiled up some coffee and cooked bacon and biscuits, the fire could be allowed to burn down.

While they were eating supper, Frank indulged his curiosity and said to Reb, “You sound like you’re from Virginia. Is that right?”

The young man shook his head. “No, but my ma and pa were, and they raised me, of course.” He grinned. “My pa had a farm near a little place in Virginia called Culpeper, not far from Bull Run. He fought in the war, fought all over the place, in fact, and when it was finally over and he got back home at last, he found that the farm was ruined. The Yanks had burned down everything and tore up the fields. He might’ve tried to rebuild the place, but some carpetbagger judge took the land away from him on account of taxes.”

Frank nodded. “That happened a lot. Same thing went on in Texas, where I’m from.”

“I know. It was all over the Confederacy, I reckon. Anyway, my pa had himself a sweetheart, a gal who lived on one of the farms close by, and when he decided to leave Virginia and light out for some place where he could make a fresh start, he asked her to marry him and come with him. Her daddy didn’t like the idea, but they ran off and got hitched anyway.”

“That’s very romantic,” Meg said.

“Maybe so, but it was a hard life for ‘em, for a while, anyway. They wound up in Arkansas and eventually moved on to Texas. Settled in a place called Cross Plains.”

Frank nodded. “I’ve been there.”

“That’s where I was born,” Reb said. “I saw plenty of carpetbaggers there while I was growin’ up, but Pa said it wasn’t as bad as it was back in Virginia. He worked on a ranch and saved up his money until he could afford a place of his own. I was ridin’ a horse before I could walk, so naturally I helped him out as much as I could. Had a handful of little brothers who pitched in, too, as soon as they were old enough. We got by. More than that, really. The Russell spread wound up bein’ one of the best ranches in that part of Texas.”

“That’s a nice story,” Meg said. “I’m glad your mother and father finally had a happy ending.”

“Yeah. When they didn’t really need me around anymore, I decided to do some travelin’. I was always a mite fiddle-footed. That’s how I wound up goin’ around to all the rodeos.”

Reb Russell clearly didn’t mind the sound of his own voice, Frank mused. But the talkative young man seemed friendly enough.

The problem was that Frank’s instincts still told him Reb was lying about something, or at least not telling the whole truth. But when he tried to figure out how Reb might be connected to that Gatling gun, or to Joe Palmer for that matter, he couldn’t make the pieces of the picture fit.

He would just stay on his guard, he decided. He would be doing that anyway, as a matter of habit.

When it came time to turn in, Frank said, “Salty and I will take turns standing watch.”

“You really think we need to do that?” Reb asked.

“You saw those bodies back there. This can be dangerous country.”

“Yeah, I reckon you’re right about that. I can take my turn.”

Frank shook his head. “Salty and I can handle it.”

“You’d get more sleep if you let me help out.” Reb paused, and when he went on, his voice had taken on a harder edge. “That is, unless you don’t trust me, Frank.”

“Nobody said that,” Meg put in. “You trust Reb, don’t you, Frank?”

“He hasn’t given me any reason not to,” Frank replied, which didn’t really answer the question.

“We can share a turn,” Meg suggested.

Reb smiled in the fading light of the fire. “I never turn down the company of a pretty gal,” he said.

Frank was uneasy about the arrangement, but he didn’t want to press the issue. He nodded and said, “All right. I’ll stand the first watch, Salty the middle one, and the two of you can finish out the night. That agreeable to everybody?”

The others all nodded.

“Better roll up in your blankets and get some sleep, then,” Frank went on. He reached for the coffeepot. “I’ll just finish off this Arbuckle’s.”

If it hadn’t been for the faint smell of wood smoke lingering in the air, Palmer might have missed the camp. He was alert for that very thing, though, and when he caught a whiff of the smoke, he followed it to a long, low ridge. Owen Lundy limped along behind him, grunting now and then from the pain in his wounded side.

It had been a long walk out of the mountains from the spot of the ambush. They’d had to hide once when a group of riders too large for them to attack had ridden past, heading west. A short time later, what could have been the same bunch rode past again, this time going east.

Damned mountains were turning out to be as busy as State Street back in Chicago, Palmer thought disgustedly.

Now, Palmer put a hand on Lundy’s arm to stop him and whispered, “I smell a campfire, or what’s left of one, anyway.”

His eyes searched the darkness along the base of the ridge for flames but didn’t see any. The fire must have burned down to embers. It might have gone out entirely by now, even with the faint scent of smoke lingering in the air.

“If it’s the bunch that rode past us earlier, there are too many of ‘em,” Lundy said. His voice was drawn thin and tight with pain and weariness. “We can’t jump ‘em.”

“Maybe it’s Morgan and the old man.”

“The shape I’m in, the two of us ain’t any match for Frank Morgan.”

Palmer was afraid Lundy was right about that. Morgan was hell on wheels all by himself. Throw in the old-timer Stevens, the young woman, and the kid Palmer didn’t know, and those odds were just too blasted steep.

Unless they could split the group up somehow.

At least he and Lundy were well armed again. Palmer had scavenged weapons and ammunition from the members of Lundy’s gang who had been killed in the ambush. He had a rifle and two pistols, and so did Lundy. If it came to a fight, they wouldn’t be lacking for firepower.

Palmer hoped he could figure out some way to avoid most of the gunplay, however. The fewer shots they had to exchange with Frank Morgan, the better their chances were of surviving the night.

As a matter of fact, most of the night was already gone. It wouldn’t be long until morning. The two men had trudged along for hours in the darkness, guided only by light from the moon and stars. That was enough to keep them on the trail.

Palmer studied the situation for long minutes, then finally said, “I’m gonna get above them on that ridge. You’ll draw Morgan out, Owen.”

Palmer halfway expected Lundy to argue with him. Lundy was used to being in charge and might not like the idea of taking orders.

But he must have been too tired and hurt to care about such things now, because he said, “All right. How do I do that?”

“You see those dark shapes there at the base of the bluff? Those are their horses. I think their camp is there, too, just to the right.”

Lundy squinted into the shadows and finally said, “All right, I see ‘em.”

Palmer didn’t know whether Lundy really saw the camp or not. But that didn’t matter, as long as he aimed in the right direction. Palmer knew Morgan and the others were there. There weren’t enough horses for it to be the larger group camped here.

“You give me time to get up on the ridge above them,” Palmer said. “Then you open fire on the camp, but aim high. We don’t want to kill any of the horses. We may need them all.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Morgan will come out to see what’s going on. I’ll ambush him if I can, but if I can’t get a shot at him, I’ll slide down the ridge and grab the horses for us. They can’t come after us if they’re on foot.”

Slowly, Lundy nodded. “Yeah, that sounds like it’ll work.”

The pain really did have his mind muddled, Palmer thought. He saw several big holes in the plan, but Lundy didn’t seem suspicious.

Some part of Lundy’s mind must have worked again for a second. He said, “You’ll come back around and get me, right?”

“Sure. Then we’ll go after those sons of bitches who stole our gold.”

“Yeah,” Lundy muttered. “Yeah, those sons o’ bitches.”

He was swaying slightly on his feet. Palmer put the back of his hand against Lundy’s cheek. The outlaw was burning up with fever.

“What’re you doin?” Lundy said.

“Checking to see if you have a fever. You’re fine, Owen. Must not be any infection from that bullet hole.”

“Good. I always was a quick healer.”

Not this time, Palmer thought. Lundy was on his last legs. He might not make it even a few more hours until dawn. This was the best chance to get a little more use out of him and then leave him behind to his fate. Palmer knew that if he waited much longer, Lundy wasn’t going to be any good to him.

“All right, there are some rocks right over here. We’ll get you forted up in them.”

Palmer led Lundy over to the rocks. Lundy knelt and rested his rifle on the top of one of the granite slabs. Palmer fished his pocket watch out of his trousers and opened it, placing it face up on the rock in front of Lundy. There was enough light for him to be able to make out that there were ten minutes until four o’clock in the morning.

“Can you see the watch, Owen?”

“Yeah, I can see it.”

“Give me fifteen minutes to get in position. That’ll be five minutes after four o’clock. Can you remember that?”

“Sure. Five minutes after … four o’clock.”

“That’s when you start shooting at the bluff over there. Remember, aim high, but not too high, because I’m gonna be on top of it. And when you see me start shooting from up there, you hold your fire, because I’ll be coming down and you don’t want to hit me.”

“Sure,” Lundy said.

Palmer knew he was taking a chance. Lundy might pass out before the fifteen minutes went by. He might even die before then.

But there was nothing else Palmer could do. He couldn’t take on Frank Morgan and three other people alone.

Palmer squeezed Lundy’s shoulder. “I’m leaving now, Owen. Don’t forget, I’m counting on you. You start shooting, and I’ll get the horses.”

“Right …”

If Palmer had been a praying man, he would have sent a prayer heavenward as he stole away into the darkness. A prayer that Lundy would remain conscious and alert long enough to play out his final act in this drama.

But since the only god Joe Palmer really believed in was money in all its forms, he didn’t waste the time and effort.

He just hurried in a very roundabout path toward the ridge that ran behind the campsite.

He didn’t climb to its top until he was a good quarter of a mile away from the camp. The ridge was rugged enough that by the time he made it to the top, he was out of breath and his heart pounded heavily in his chest. The life he’d led hadn’t really prepared him for so much physical exertion. Mostly, the only exercise he got was with soiled doves.

But he was where he needed to be now. He started along the top of the ridge, heading back toward the spot where his quarry had made camp.

From up here, he could see the faintly glowing embers of the fire when he reached the right place. It was good to see proof with his own eyes that his hunch had been correct. Four people were down there, along with four saddle horses and a couple of pack animals. Palmer planned to grab all the horses he could and scatter the others.

Two of the people were asleep, rolled up in their blankets not far from the remains of the fire. The other two sat on a log. The blond hair shining in the moonlight told Palmer that one of them was the woman.

He couldn’t tell who the man was, but as he watched and waited for Lundy to start the ball, he saw the two of them move closer on the log. The pair of shadows suddenly seemed to merge into one.

Whoever that fella was, he was kissing the girl. Had to be the kid, Palmer thought. Morgan and Stevens were both too old to be carrying on with her.

This would be a good time for Lundy to open fire, while the two people standing guard were more concerned with each other than with any dangers lurking in the darkness. But so far the night was quiet and peaceful. Palmer’s frustration and impatience grew.

“Damn it, Owen,” he muttered. “It’s time. It’s gotta be past time by—”

The whip crack of the shot came at the same time as the bright spurt of flame from the rifle’s muzzle.