Ambush at Shadow Valley (2 page)

Deavers lowered his Colt, uncocked it and said without answering him, ‘‘Get the cuffs on him. Let's get back on the trail.''

Beck cut in, asking them both affably, ‘‘Speaking of the trail, where are you taking me?''

Dinsmore growled, ‘‘That's none of your da—''

‘‘We're taking you to Little Aces,'' said Deavers, not giving Dinsmore a chance to finish his words. ‘‘We'll turn you over to Colonel Dan Elgin's Railroad Security Alliance, the big posse that's been making a sweep to get rid of you and all your pals.''

Beck shook his head slowly and said, ‘‘Good luck, Neil,'' as if he and the stern-faced lawman were on a first name basis. ‘‘I left Little Aces three nights ago. Colonel Elgin and his men were in the midst of shooting it out with the town sheriff and an Arizona Ranger named Burrack.''

‘‘You're out of your lying mind, Memphis Beck,'' Dinsmore said. To Deavers he said, ‘‘See how it's going to be with him? One lie after another, one trick after another. I say we kill him on the spot.'' As he spoke he'd snapped the cuffs around Beck's wrists and jerked them to make sure they were sound.

Beck only smiled, watching Dinsmore drop the key to the cuffs into his shirt pocket. ‘‘You overestimate me, my friend,'' he said. ‘‘I ran out of any tricks a long time ago.''

‘‘Don't call me friend, outlaw!'' Dinsmore bristled, shoving Beck's cuffed hands away from himself.

‘‘Tell me what was going on in Little Aces when you left, Beck,'' Deavers cut in, attending to what Beck had said about Colonel Elgin and his railroad posse.

‘‘Elgin and his men snatched two of Burrack's prisoners away from him and hanged them,'' said Beck, inspecting his cuffed hands as if to make certain Dinsmore had done a good job. ‘‘When I rode away they were having at it all over town.''

‘‘Snatched Burrack's prisoners? Dang,'' said Deavers. ‘‘So by now, the colonel and his men might be gone from Little Aces . . . from that whole hill area even,'' he mused, rubbing his chin as he wondered what would be their best move in order to turn Beck over to the railroad and collect their reward.

Beck shrugged. ‘‘I won't try to guess. The colonel might be nothing more than a name carved on a grave board by now.'' He studied Deavers' face closely to judge what effect his words were having on him.

‘‘No lawman likes losing prisoners,'' Deavers said. But after a moment of further contemplation on the matter, he said to Dinsmore, ‘‘We might have to ride farther than we thought to claim the reward. Am I going to be able to trust you with him?''

Dinsmore took another deep, calming breath and said, ‘‘Aw hell, I just got my bark on for a minute there. I'm settled now.''

‘‘Good,'' said Deavers. ‘‘Then I can count on you to watch him, not kill him, while I go get our horses and bring them up?''

‘‘Yeah, go ahead,'' Dinsmore said calmly. ‘‘You can count on me.''

‘‘Don't let him start moving around,'' Deavers said, recalling everything he knew about Memphis Beck and his slippery nature.

‘‘I've got him covered, Neil,'' said Dinsmore, starting to sound a bit agitated.

‘‘Don't let him get you into any conversations or answering questions for him,'' said Deavers as he stepped sidelong away toward the brush where they'd hidden their horses twenty yards off the trail. ‘‘He's quick with his hands.''

‘‘Damn, Neil, he's cuffed,'' said Dinsmore. ‘‘Do you think I'm a damned fool? Would you feel better if
I
went and got the horses?''

‘‘Sorry,'' said Deavers. He stepped off the trail and walked away, deeper into the brush.

‘‘Sounds like the man doesn't trust you much,'' Beck said, taking a slow step forward toward Dinsmore as he raised his cuffed hands, took off his hat and fooled with adjusting the crown.

Dinsmore stood staring coldly. ‘‘Beck, I don't care what I said. If you feel like stepping in close and making a play for this gun, just go right ahead and try it.'' He grinned. ‘‘I'm not backing off an inch.''

‘‘Even if I told you I have a derringer inside this hat aimed at your head?'' said Beck.

‘‘It's one more lie that I won't listen to,'' said Dinsmore. ‘‘Now, keep on coming real slow like. I'll burn you down and be done with you.''

‘‘No thanks,'' Beck said, stopping abruptly, looking concerned. ‘‘This is close enough for me. I believe you would shoot a man for blinking his eyes the wrong way.''

‘‘Now you're starting to understand me, Beck,'' Dinsmore said with contempt. He seemed to ease down a bit now that Beck stopped encroaching on him. ‘‘I have no use for your kind. As far as I'm concerned—''

His words stopped short as Beck's right boot swung up and around in a fast, powerful arc and connected with his jaw. Dinsmore's gun flew from his hand and he fell backward onto the ground, knocked cold. ‘‘Easy now,'' Beck whispered, settling the buggy horse who had become spooked by all the commotion. He stroked the horse's muzzle while he loosened its harness. ‘‘I'm going to turn you loose, let you go visit your kin. . . .''

Deep in the brush on the steep hillside, Neil Deavers hadn't heard a sound. He gathered his and Dinsmore's horses, led them all the way back and stepped onto the trail when he saw Memphis Beck standing with a gun aimed at his belly. Looking down, he shook his head slowly, seeing that the handcuffs formerly on Beck were now on Dinsmore's wrists.

‘‘I didn't tell him to watch your feet,'' he said in a defeated tone.

‘‘No, you didn't,'' Beck said flatly. ‘‘Now, lift the Colt easy-like and drop it.''

‘‘What are you going to do if I don't, Beck?'' he asked warily. ‘‘I always heard you're not a killer.''

The Colt cocked in Beck's hand. ‘‘You're picking a bad day to find out.''

‘‘All right! Take it easy.'' Deavers raised his hands chest-high, the two horse's reins in his gloved right fist. With his left hand he reached across his belly, lifted his gun from its holster and dropped it to the dirt. ‘‘You're not leaving us here afoot, are you?'' He saw that the buggy horse was gone; the buggy sat useless on the trail.

‘‘The horse is headed back along the high trail,'' said Beck. ‘‘If you catch him I expect he'll haul the two of you out of here.''

‘‘This won't help you, Beck,'' Deavers said. ‘‘The railroad is after you and they won't stop until you and your Hole-in-the-wall boys are all dead.''

‘‘Maybe,'' said Beck, ‘‘but that won't be today.'' He stepped forward and took the two horses' reins from Deavers' hand. ‘‘Start walking back the way you came until you know I'm gone.''

Beck stood and watched until Deavers had walked ten yards back into the brush. Things were looking up, he told himself, swinging up into the saddle. Now that he'd gotten out of the buggy and was atop a horse he would make better time. One of his gang's hideouts lay just over the Arizona Territory line, some eighty miles southwest. There he would find English Collin Hedgepeth, Earl Caplan and the rest of the gang waiting for him.

‘‘Let's get to it,'' he said to the horse, liking the idea of getting back among his own kind. With the tap of his heels he put Deavers' horse in a quick trot, leading Dinsmore's horse by its reins.

PART 1

Chapter 1

Arizona Ranger Sam Burrack stepped down from his horse in the middle of the empty dirt street in Valle Hermoso. He pulled his sawed-off shotgun from beneath the bedroll behind his saddle and let the reins fall to the ground. His Appaloosa stallion, Black Pot, stood firm as if he'd been hitched to a post. In the dirt lay two dead men: One, an elderly Mexican, wore a tin badge and a threadbare Confederate cavalry tunic; the other wore the range clothes of a vaquero. A few feet from the bodies a long smear of blood and drag marks led to the blanket-draped doorway of the Gato Negro Cantina a block away.

A voice called out in English from behind the cover of a mule cart a few yards away, ‘‘One of our vaqueros had the guts to nail one of them afore the other three gunned him down.''

The ranger only nodded, walking on along the middle of the street as a shot rang out through the glassless window of the cantina. As he neared the town well, he saw a young Mexican crouched down with a Winchester repeating rifle in his hands. Sam raised a gloved hand in a show of peace when the young man swung the Winchester toward him.

With a look of relief, the young Mexican waved the ranger toward the cover of the low stone wall surrounding the well. ‘‘Are you hunting for these men?'' the Mexican asked in stiff English, seeing the badge on the ranger's vest as Sam hurried in and crouched beside him.

‘‘Yes,'' said Sam. He studied the blanketed doorway, then the small window where gun smoke wafted in. ‘‘They're all four murderers. They broke prison in Yuma. I've been on their trail over a week. At daylight this morning I found one of their horses limping alongside the trail. I figured they'd be coming here for fresh horses.''

"Sí
, it was for horses they came, and it was for horses that my brother, Ramon, and the village
guardia
died,'' the young man said with regret.

‘‘I'm sorry,'' said Sam, realizing he had pushed these desperate killers in this direction. ‘‘I got here as fast as I could.''

"
Sí
, but not fast enough,'' the young man said, nodding toward the bodies lying twenty yards up the street.

‘‘No, not fast enough,'' Sam replied. He didn't flinch as another shot exploded from the window. ‘‘I'm figuring the others are gone. This one they left behind because he's badly wounded?'' he asked, as if already knowing the answer.

The young Mexican only nodded. ‘‘My brother, Ramon, was courageous. He fought back when they tried to ride away on his horse.'' He saw the questioning look in the ranger's eyes and added, ‘‘When I heard the gunshots, I came running. But like you, I was also too late to save my brother's life.''

Sam detected bitterness in the young man's words, but he wasn't sure where it was directed. ‘‘All right,'' he said, getting down to the matter at hand. ‘‘I'm going to see who's in there and try to end this.''

‘‘So that you can go on in pursuit of the others?'' the young man asked.

‘‘Yes,'' Sam said, ‘‘so I can get them rounded up and keep them from killing anybody else.''

The young man nodded and showed Sam the Winchester in his hands. ‘‘I will back your play,'' he said, as if using a term he had only heard that lawmen like the ranger might use. ‘‘I have the rifle this one dropped when my brother shot him. I fired upon them as they rode away. I think I hit one.''

‘‘Good for you,'' Sam said sincerely. Turning his attention back to the window he called out, ‘‘This is Arizona Ranger Sam Burrack. Who's in there?''

‘‘It's Dick Hirsh, you damned lawdog!'' a voice called out, followed by a pistol shot that thumped into the stone wall. ‘‘You want me, come in and get me!'' Another shot exploded. ‘‘I'm all alone in here. It'll be just you and me!''

The ranger shook his head, then called out, ‘‘How bad are you bleeding, Hirsh? I see a lot of you smeared along the dirt out here.''

‘‘Not bad enough,'' Hirsh said with a dark laugh that lapsed into a deep, rattling cough. ‘‘I got . . . enough grit left . . . to kill half a dozen like you,
Ranger
!''

The young Mexican beside Sam said, ‘‘I will go in and get him for you, Ranger, to avenge my brother, Ramon.'' He started to move away in a crouch, but Sam stopped him by blocking his way around the well wall.

‘‘Wait,'' Sam said, keeping his eyes on the blanketed cantina doorway. From the amount of blood along the ground he knew that the outlaw would soon bleed out. ‘‘Let's give him a couple minutes.''

‘‘I am not afraid of this murdering dog,'' the young Mexican said.

‘‘I can see you're not,'' Sam said. He turned his face to the Mexican long enough to look the serious young man up and down. ‘‘What's your name?'' he asked, hoping to stall him long enough to let his anger wane.

‘‘I am Hector Sandoval,'' the young man said. He gestured a hand toward where his brother's body lay in the dirt. ‘‘Always Ramon and I are known as the Sandoval brothers. Now there is only me. Ramon's death leaves only me to carry on our father's name.'' He glared with hatred toward the cantina.

Seeing that he still teetered on the edge of making a run toward the cantina, Sam said, ‘‘I understand how you feel, but before you go charging in, let me see if I can get him to throw out his gun and come out on his own.''

‘‘You have no right to stop me, Ranger,'' Hector said firmly.

‘‘That's true. I have no jurisdiction here,'' Sam replied. Thinking quickly he added, ‘‘But if I can talk to him, he might give me an idea where the others are headed. If I don't catch them, they will have gotten away with killing your brother. You'll never see them again.''

‘‘Will I ever see them again anyway?'' Hector asked pointedly. ‘‘If you catch them and bring them through here on your way back to the border, will you allow me to do to them what I must to avenge my brother?''

‘‘No,'' Sam said, ‘‘I can't promise I'll bring them through here. But you have my word that I won't stop until they're all either dead or headed back to prison. That's all I've got for you.''