Son Of a Wanted Man (1984) (14 page)

Mike Bastian looked at the two wires and his mind said
No!
He wet his lips with his tongue, lips gone suddenly dry. Yet, Ben Curry had done it.

How far was it across there? How long would it take?

He was deep in the canyon, deep in this vast cleft cutting to the red heart of the earth. Around him were rocks once bare to the world's winds, rocks that had been earth, pounded by rain, swept by hail, crushed down by eons of time's changing. Looking up he could glimpse a few stars, looking out across the deep he could see nothing but looming blackness. Somewhere, somehow, the cables were made fast, and if they were strong enough to hold Ben Curry, who was forty pounds heavier, they would be strong enough for him.

He put his rifle over his head and across one shoulder. Again he hesitated, but there was no other way. Kerb Perrin was riding to the V-Bar. He must be there before Perrin arrived. Taking hold of the upper cable he put a tentative foot on the lower and eased himself out. A moment passed, then he glanced back. The old Navajo was gone.

A slow wind whispered along the canyon walls, stirring the night with ghostly murmurings, then was lost down the blackness of the canyon. Mike Bastian took a deep breath. He had never liked heights and was glad the depths below were lost in darkness except where white water showed around the rocks, catching the few last rays of light. He edged out. It was not too late. He could go back. He could return for his horse and ride back to Toadstool Canyon, but what of Drusilla and Juliana? What of their mother? And the cowboys . . . would they be warned? Would they have any idea until death swept down upon them?

He edged out further, clinging to the upper strand, not lifting his feet above the cable but sliding them. One slip and he would be gone. How far to the water? Two hundred feet? More like five hundred, although be was already deep in the canyon. He remembered now, hearing some talk of this when he was a small boy and. it was being done. Roundy it had been, he told Ben of finding an iron ring in the wall, wondering why it was there. No doubt the idea had come from that.

He tried to keep his mind away from the awful depth below, and the roaring waters of the spring floods.

Many times he had seen the river when it was like this, although never from this point. He moved on. At places the wire was damp from mist thrown up from the raging waters. Once he slipped, his foot touching some mud left from the boot of a previous traveler. His foot shot from under him and he was saved only by his tight grip on the wire. Slowly, carefully, he pulled himself erect once more, feeling for the cable with his foot.

Now he was at the lowest point above the river, and from now on he would be climbing a little, pushing his foot along the slanting cable. Carefully, he worked him-, self along. He could see the loom of the cliff on the opposite side.

Was there a good place to get off? Would the rock be wet and slippery? He remembered climbing out of a cliff dwelling once when the ladder stopped below the top of the boulder against which it rested, a smooth, polished boulder, and he had to work himself to the edge, turn himself around, and clinging to that polished surface, feel for the steps of the ladder with a
five hundred
-foot drop behind him. He had not liked it then, and would not now.

Little by little he edged along until he was under the loom of the cliff, and he was trembling when he stepped off the cable into the safety of a rocky cavern at the cable's end. He was so relieved to be safely across that he did not immediately notice the Indian who sat awaiting him. The Navajo got up and without a word led him along a trail to a cabin built in a branch canyon. Tethered at the door of the cabin was a huge bay stallion. With a wave for the Indian, Mike stepped into the saddle and was off, the stallion taking the trail it obviously knew. Would Perrin travel by night? Bastian doubted it. After all, what was the reason for hurry? His victims awaited him, practically helpless, and with no warning of what impended. The trail led steadily upward. No doubt Curry himself had ridden this horse. It obviously knew where it was going, and he was eager to be there.

As the trail widened the horse broke into a swinging lope that ate up the ground.

The country was rugged, red rock, cedar, and occasional flats where the purple sage grew, only not purple tonight, merely dark patches here and there. As for the cedar, he could smell it, and the
pinions
, too. Dawn came slowly, breaking through long streaks of gray cloud. He drew up at a pool of snow water and drank, then let the stallion drink. He took a strip of jerky from his small pack and chewed on it while he unslung his rifle and edged it into the boot.

His approach must be with great care. He was not sure as to the exact position of the ranch, and Perrin might already be there. As he drew nearer he must ride slower to make the beat of his horse's hoofs less loud. He knew the men he was facing, and they were skilled and dangerous fighting men.

The shadows were almost gone, but the sun was not yet up. Mike slowed the stallion to a walk although the animal tugged at the bit, eager to go. Now he must listen, listen for any sound, a movement, a distant shot Drusilla Ragan brushed her hair thoughtfully, then pinned it up. She could hear her mother moving in the next room, and the Mexican girls who cared for the house were tidying up. .

Juliana was outside talking to the young blond cowboy who had been hired to gentle some horses.

Suddenly Drusilla heard Juliana's footsteps. She came into the door, cheeks glowing.

"Aren't you ready? I'm famished!" "I'll be along." Then. as Juliana turned away, she asked, "What did you think of him, Julie? That cowboy or whatever he was who got the buckboard for us? Wasn't he the best-looking thing you ever saw?" "Oh? You mean Mike Bastian? I was wondering why you were mooning around in here. Usually you're the first one up. Yes, I expect he is good looking.

And you know something? He reminded me of pa. Oh, not in looks, but some of his mannerisms." Drusilla was no sooner seated at breakfast than she decided to ask Uncle Voyle about Mike Bastian again.

Ragan knew the girls had met Mike Bastian in Weaver, and he knew about the gold train, so he tried to keep his expression bland.

"Did you say his name was Bastian? I don't place it. You said he was wearing buckskins? Sounds more like a hunter than a cowboy, but you can never tell." "He's probably a hunter from up in the Kaibab. It's unlikely you will see him again. It's pretty wild up there on the other side of the canyon." "The driver of the buckboard said there were outlaws up there," Juliana said.

"It could be. It is very wild up there," and he added truthfully, "I've never been up there." He lifted his head, listening for a moment. He thought he had heard horses coming, but it was too soon for Ben to arrive. If anyone else stopped by he would have to get rid of them, and promptly.

Visitors, however, were extremely rare.

Then he heard the sound again, closer. He got up quickly. "Stay here!" He spoke more sharply than intended.

His immediate fear was a posse, and then he recognized Kerb Perrin. He had seen Perrin many times, but doubted if Perrin had ever seen him or had any idea who he was. There were several riders, and they were Ben's men, but Ben had always assured him the outlaws knew nothing of the V-Bar or his connection to it.

He walked out on the porch. "How are you?" He spoke mildly, suddenly aware that he was not even wearing a gun. "Anything I can do for you?" Where were his hands? Why had the sentry not warned him?

"You can make as little trouble as possible," Kerb Perrin said harshly. "You can stay out of the way and maybe you won't get hurt. We heard there were women here. We want them and we want your cattle." Voyle Ragan stood tall and alone. "My advice is for you to ride out of here, and ride fast.

You aren't welcome." He paused, stalling for time. "The only women here are decent women, who are visitors." Ducrow slid from his horse and shucked his Winchester. At that moment Garfield appeared at the corner of the corral. "All right!" he shouted.

"Back off
there!
" The others were on the ground, spreading out.

Garfield was cool. He stepped out, his rifle up. "Back off, I
said!
" He saw a movement and his eyes flickered and
Ducrow
shot across the saddle. Garfield took the bullet and fired back. A man beyond Ducrow spun and fell, Garfield worked the lever on his rifle and Ducrow shot into him. The cowhand backed up, going to his knees, fighting to get his rifle up. Another shot knocked him over, yet he still struggled. Ignoring the shooting, Kerb Perrin started up the steps and Voyle Ragan hit him in the mouth. The blow was sudden, unexpected, and it landed flush. Perrin put his hand to his mouth and brought it away, bloody. "For that, I shall kill
you!
" "Not yet,
Perrin!
" The voice had the ring of challenge, and Kerb knew it at once. He was shocked. Bastian here?

He had left Bastian a prisoner at Toadstool Canyon, so how could he be here, of all places? And if he was free that meant Ben Curry was back in the saddle.

He must kill Mike Bastian and kill him now) "You're making fools of yourselves) Ben Curry is not through and this place is under his protection! He sent me to stop you. All those who get in the saddle and ride out of here now will be in the clear. If you don't want to fight Ben Curr
y get going, and get going now!
" Kerb Perrin went for his gun.

Kerb Perrin knew he was going to kill Mike Bastian. There had never been a time when he was not sure of his skill with a gun, and now even more so. Who did this kid think he was, anyway? Kerb Perrin was smiling as his hand dropped to his gun, yet even as his gun cleared its holster he saw a stab of flame from the muzzle of Bastian's gun and something slugged him hard in the midsection. Staggered and perplexed, he took a step backward. Whatever hit him had knocked his gun out of line, and the shot he fired went into the dirt out in front of him. He lifted his gun to swing it into line when something hit him again, half turning him.

What was wrong? He struggled with his gun, which was suddenly very heavy. There was a strange feeling in his stomach, something, never experienced before. Suddenly he was on his knees and could not remember how he got there. A dark pool was forming near his knees, and he must have slipped.

He started to rise. He was to kill Mike Bastian, he had to kill him. He peered across the space between them. Bastian was standing with a gun in his hand, holding his fire. What was the matter with Bastian? Did he think he, Kerb Perrin, needed time? He lunged to his feet and stood swaying. His legs felt numb and he was having a hard time getting his breath. That blood . . . it was his blood! He had been shot. Mike Bastian had beaten him. Beaten him? Like WE His gun muzzle started to lift, then fell from his fingers. He had another gun. He
would He
reached for it and fell into the dust. His eyes opened wide, he tried to scream a protest but no sound came.

Kerb Perrin was dead.

In the instant that Kerb Perrin's gun came up too late, Ducrow wheeled and ran into the house.

Kiefer, seeing his leader fall, grabbed for his own gun and was killed by a shot from Voyle Ragan's rifle, hurriedly grabbed from its place beside the door.

The others broke and ran for their horses, and Mike got off one quick shot as they fled. He had lifted his gun for a final shot when he heard the scream.

Ducrow had come to the ranch for women, and it was a woman he intended to have. Dashing through the house while all eyes were on the shooting, he was just in time to see Juliana, horrified at the killing, run for her bedroom. The bedroom window was open and Ducrow grabbed her and threw her bodily from the window. Before she could rise he was through the window and had caught her up from the ground. Swiftly, he threw her across the saddle of a horse and with the few swift turns of the experienced hand she was bound hand and foot. Her scream was partly stifled by a backhanded blow across the mouth, then Ducrow leaped to the saddle of Perrin's mount, which was better than his own. Catching up the bridle of her horse he went out of the yard at a dead run.

Mike had wheeled, running for the house, believing the scream had come from inside. By the time he glimpsed them they were disappearing into the pines. He saw two horses, one rider
and" Where's
Juliana?" he shouted.

He had already glimpsed Drusilla standing on the porch. Voyle Ragan ran around the house.

"He's got juke!" he yelled. "I'll get a horse!" "You stay here! Take care of the women and the ranch! I'll go after
Juliana!
" He walked to his horse, thumbing shells into his gun. Dru Ragan started toward another horse.

"You go back to the house!" he ordered.

"She's my sister!" Dru flared. "When we do find her she may need a woman's care!" "Come on then, but you'll have to do some riding!" He wheeled the big bay and was off in a jump. The horse Dru mounted was one of Ben Curry's big horses, bred not only for speed but for staying power.

Mike's mind leaped ahead. Would Ducrow try to return to Toadstool? Or would he join Monson and Clatti" If he did, then Mike was in trouble. He worried about no one of them-but all three?

He held down the bay's pace. He had taken a swift glance at the hoof tracks of the two horses he was trailing.