The Devil's Badland: The Loner (20 page)

“James,” he called softly, “get the rope off my horse and see if you can throw a loop over that rock that’s sticking out up there.”

Instead of doing as he was told, James said, “What are you dressed up for, Browning? You look like some sort of dime novel gunslinger.”

As a matter of fact, Conrad Browning had taken some of the inspiration for his new identity of Kid Morgan from the fanciful dime novels that had been written about his father, Frank Morgan. But that wasn’t the time or place to explain. He snapped, “Just do what I told you.”

“Are you thinkin’ we can climb up to that ledge?” Whitfield asked. “Hell, there’s a better way to get out of here than that.”

The rancher’s comment was so unexpected that it prompted The Kid to look around. “What are you talking about?”

Whitfield used a blunt thumb to point toward the dark hole in the cliff face. “That’s Dead Injun Cave. In the back of it, there’s a little crack—a chimney, I guess you’d call it—that runs all the way to the top of this mountain. It ain’t the easiest climb in the world, but it’s easier than tryin’ to shinny up a rope on a cliff while somebody’s shootin’ at you.”

“How do you know about that chimney?” The Kid asked.

“I told you, I’ve hunted in these mountains, and dodged Apaches, too. They chased me into that very cave about fifteen years ago. I figured I was a goner, but then I found that crack and climbed out through it. The ’Paches don’t know it’s there. They won’t come anywhere near the cave because of those old bones in it. Bad medicine, they call it.”

That made sense. The Kid felt his pulse quicken as he realized that Whitfield might be on to something.

“All right, Whitfield, lead the way. Get those two youngsters out of here. I’ll stay behind to cover you.”

“No!” Meggie cried. “You have to come, too, Mr. Browning.”

“Somebody’s got to stay,” James said. “Otherwise, those killers will just rush up here and shoot us while we’re trying to climb out.”

“Your brother’s right, Meggie,” The Kid told her. “Go with him. Show them the chimney, Whitfield.”

The rancher nodded. “Come on, you two.” As he led them toward the cave, with James practically dragging Meggie, Whitfield added, “Don’t pay no never-mind to that ol’ skeleton in there. He’s fifty years or more past bein’ able to hurt anybody.”

As the three of them disappeared into the cave, The Kid settled down to wait for the inevitable battle. The taut silence had already hung over the mountainside for longer than he expected.

For that reason, he wasn’t surprised when shots began to ring out.

What surprised him was the direction they came from.

Above him.

The Kid rolled over onto his back as a slug whipped past his ear and slammed into the ground beside him, kicking up dirt and rock chips. Some of the dirt got in his eyes and blurred his sight.

More bullets whined around him like angry bees. He didn’t have to see perfectly to know the shots were coming from the ledge he had considered using as an escape route. Aiming in that general direction, he cranked off three rounds from the rifle as fast as he could work the lever, then jackknifed up off the ground and ran toward the cliff.

Slugs kicked up dust at his feet, but he was moving too fast for the riflemen to draw a good bead on him. He knew what had happened. One of his enemies down below had spotted that ledge and realized that anyone who managed to climb onto it would have a good shot down at him. Tarleton had split his forces, sending some of the hired killers to work their way around and get onto the ledge.

If The Kid had sent Whitfield and the MacTavishes up the rope, as he’d intended, they would have been climbing right into the gunsights of Tarleton’s men.

The Kid reached the cliff and pressed his back against the rock face. The shots fired by the men on the ledge couldn’t reach him there—but he couldn’t hit them, either. Even worse, he couldn’t keep the rest of Tarleton’s men from getting to the lower bench and coming up
that
ledge.

A grimace twisted The Kid’s face. They had backed him into a corner, all right. All he could do now was go down fighting.

“Browning!”

The low-voiced call came from the cave mouth. The Kid glanced over, saw Dave Whitfield emerge from the dark hole in the cliff.

“What are you doing here?” The Kid snapped. “You’re supposed to be helping James and Meggie escape.”

“I got ’em started up that chimney,” Whitfield said. He was still breathing hard from the climb, and his haggard features held an even more pronounced gray tinge. “It’s about a three hundred yard climb, and it’s steep and tight. It’ll take ’em a while. There ain’t nothin’ else I can do to help them now. But I can still play a hand down here.”

The Kid shook his head. “No, get on up there while you still can. I’ll hold off Tarleton and his men from inside the cave. They’ll be here any time now.”

“Damn right they will, but you ain’t gonna hold ’em off.” Whitfield reached out and closed his hand around The Kid’s Winchester. “I am.”

“This is my fight—”

“Yeah, it is,” the rancher broke in, “but I sat in on the game. And now I’m cashin’ out, Browning. My ticker’s shot.”

The Kid frowned. “Your heart?”

“That’s right.” A look of pain passed over Whitfield’s rugged face. “Something’s busted inside. I felt it when it happened. So I know I ain’t goin’ home. If those two kids have any chance o’ gettin’ out of this alive…it’s you.”

The Kid’s mind reeled. He knew Whitfield was telling the truth. It was obvious by looking at him that something was very wrong.

“Damn it…” The Kid began softly.

Whitfield shook his head. “There ain’t time to go on about anything. Come on. I’ll show you the way out of here.”

The Kid finally let go of the Winchester. Whitfield nodded toward the cave, and they both hurried into its dark maw.

They had to step around the ancient skeleton to reach the back of the cave. The sun was high enough now so that its rays slanted into the gloom. Whitfield gestured toward the low-hanging ceiling and said, “Up here.”

The Kid moved closer and saw the narrow slit in the rock that he hadn’t noticed before. It started from the rear wall, ascended at a steep angle, and was so dark he couldn’t see more than a couple of feet up it. When he leaned closer to it, he heard faint scraping noises that had came from Meggie and James struggling to reach the top.

“You’re sure it still goes all the way through?” he asked Whitfield.

The rancher grunted. “Well, if it don’t, then you and them other two are pure-dee in a bad fix. But if you stay here, you
know
you’ll end up dead.”

The Kid nodded. Whitfield was right.

The opening was so narrow that The Kid wasn’t sure if his shoulders would fit through it. But the brawny James MacTavish had made it, so he supposed he could, too. He turned to Whitfield and held out his hand.

“They call you Devil Dave,” he said, “but I reckon—”

“Oh, hell, I told you not to start goin’ on,” Whitfield said as he gripped The Kid’s hand. “Chances are, I’m just as bad as the MacTavishes made me out to be.” He sighed. “Damn, I hope ol’ Hamish pulls through, anyway. And one more thing…if you get outta this mess alive, Browning, I’d sure be beholden to you if you’d tell my daughter that I love her. Help her out any way you can, will you?”

“Sure, Dave,” The Kid answered without hesitation. “You have my word on it.”

“I reckon that’ll do, then.” Whitfield gestured curtly with the rifle. “Get the hell outta here while you still got a chance. I think I hear ’em comin’ out there.”

The Kid nodded, reached into the chimney, and pulled himself up until he could get a foothold and push himself higher. The stone walls closed in around him, scraping his shoulders and threatening to take his breath away. His heart pounded heavily in his chest. He crawled upward into the pitch blackness inside the mountain.

He hadn’t gone very far when he heard a sudden blast of gunfire. The shots echoed up the crack in the rock and were so loud that he winced as they assaulted his ears. After a few seconds, the fusillade died away for a moment. The Kid heard Dave Whitfield yell, “Come on, you mangy polecats! I’ll kill ever’ damn one of you!”

From his voice, there was no way to tell that Whitfield was already dying. The Kid had seen it in the rancher’s eyes. Whitfield was sacrificing what little was left of his life to give him and the MacTavishes a chance to escape.

The Kid kept climbing. He had to press his feet against the sides of the shaft to keep from sliding back down and pull himself higher with his arms and shoulders. It was grinding, exhausting work. The darkness surrounded him like a black shroud, and from time to time, he had trouble catching his breath. If he could see just a flicker of light above him, he thought, so that he would know he was climbing toward freedom, it might make the ordeal easier.

Only moments after that thought went through his head, he saw a faint glimmer in front of his eyes. He thought at first he was imagining it, but then he realized it was really there. From somewhere high above him, a tiny ray of light had penetrated into the mountain. It shone on a bit of metallic rock wedged into the side of the chimney. A fleck of gold or silver, maybe. A grim smile tugged at The Kid’s mouth. He might be climbing right through a bonanza and not even know it—although it was more likely the rock was mere quartz or something like that.

The shots came in bunches below. The Kid couldn’t hear Whitfield shouting anymore, but he knew the rancher was still alive. If he wasn’t, the shooting would be over.

The Kid tilted his head back and peered upward. He could see an actual opening now, with a bit of blue sky in it, but it was no bigger than his thumbnail. The sight encouraged him. The fact that he could see it told him that James and Meggie had made it to the top and gotten out of the chimney. If they could make it, he told himself, so could he.

Below him, the gunfire had stopped, although it was a moment or two before The Kid realized it wasn’t starting up again. He paused, just for a second, and closed his eyes.
Vaya con Dios
, he thought.

He resumed climbing, forcing himself up the shaft as quickly as he could. Once Tarleton and his hired killers realized that The Kid, James, and Meggie were gone, they would start looking around. It wouldn’t take them long to find the chimney leading up from the cave. Unlike the Apaches, they wouldn’t be afraid to venture into the final resting place of that old Indian.

The little opening above him grew larger, though it still seemed maddeningly far away. The Kid gritted his teeth as he heard voices below him. The killers were in the cave. If they found the escape route, all they’d have to do was stick a couple of revolvers up the chimney and empty them. There was no place in there for him to hide.

He couldn’t control what they did down there. All he could do was keep climbing. The opening was fifty feet above him, he estimated. Then forty, then thirty, then twenty…The shaft narrowed even more, so that he could barely force himself through it. One of his feet slipped, and he drove his elbows against the sides to keep himself from sliding back down. Even through the buckskin, the rough rock scraped his skin raw.

After catching himself, The Kid started climbing again. Ten feet to go. He reached up, caught hold of a small projection, pulled up and shoved with his feet at the same time. Five feet. A few more seconds and he’d be able to reach up and grab the edge of the opening. Then it would be a simple matter to pull himself out.

“…must’ve gone up there!”

The shouted words rose up the shaft. One of Tarleton’s men must have stuck his head right into the chimney before he yelled the news of his discovery.

“Shoot up there, you fools! Shoot!”

That was Tarleton. The Kid grimaced and tried to scramble the few remaining feet.

That was when something suddenly blocked out the light from above. The Kid looked up and saw James MacTavish looming in the opening, stretching an arm down toward him.

“Grab my hand!” James urged.

The Kid lunged upward and caught hold of James’s wrist. The brawny young man hauled him upward. The Kid’s booted feet pushed against the sides of the chimney at the same time. His head came out into the open air. Then his shoulders caught and wouldn’t budge. James grunted with effort as he wrapped both arms around The Kid’s right arm and heaved. The Kid felt like that arm was about to pop out of its socket.

But instead, his shoulders popped free of the shaft’s narrow opening. Still hanging on to The Kid’s arm, James toppled backward. The rest of The Kid’s body emerged from the chimney. He rolled away from the opening just as guns began to roar at the other end. Bullets ricocheted madly back and forth against the chimney’s walls. Some of them made it all the way to the top and whined off into the air.

The Kid jerked out his Colt, and as soon as the shooting stopped below, he thrust it into the opening and triggered three fast shots. He wasn’t really trying to hit anything. He just wanted them to think twice before they started climbing up the chimney themselves.

He looked around and saw that James and Meggie appeared to be all right except for a few bloody places where the rock walls had scraped them as they were climbing. Relieved to see that, The Kid studied their surroundings. Just as Whitfield had said, they were at the top of the mountain. Big Hatchet Mountain, a half-mile or so to the south, was the only one in the range that was taller. The slopes of the peak were tufted with grass and fell away fairly steeply, but The Kid saw several places where he and the MacTavishes could start making their way down.

“Come on,” he said as he pushed himself to his feet. “We need to get moving. Tarleton’s not going to let us live if he can prevent it. He and his men will be looking for us soon.”

“We just got out of that hole,” James complained. “We need to rest for a few minutes.”

Meggie asked, “Where’s Mr. Whitfield?”

The stricken look on her face told The Kid that she already knew the answer to that question, whether she wanted to admit it or not.

“He stayed below to give us more time to get away,” The Kid said. “We can’t let what he did go to waste. Come on.”

This time, James got to his feet, although he groaned about it. He took his sister’s arm and said, “Let me help you, Meggie.”

“I’m all right,” she said. “You’re the one who’s wounded.”

James shook his head. “Just scratches. Nothin’ to worry about.”

The Kid got them moving down the far side of the slope away from the benches where the showdown had taken place. He wanted to put as much distance as he could between them and Tarleton’s bunch.

But sooner or later, he would have to confront them again, he thought as he glanced back. He had left the buckskin on the upper bench, and James and Meggie didn’t have horses, either. Tarleton and his hired killers had the only mounts.

Which meant that The Kid would have to take some away from them.

James addressed that very issue as the three of them made their way down the slope. “How are we gonna get away from them?” he asked. “We don’t have any horses. Even if we manage to give them the slip, we’ll starve to death before we can walk all the way back home.”

The Kid wasn’t worried about starving to death. There was game out there—rabbits, prairie dogs, the occasional deer or antelope—and anyway, it took a long time for someone to die from starvation. Water was a much greater concern. A person on foot could die of thirst in just a few days.

“We’re not going to walk all the way back,” he said. “We’ll get our hands on some horses.”

“How?”

“Let me worry about that.”

“Like you’ve worried about everything else?”

The Kid laughed and shook his head. “You never change, do you, James? You have to complain about everything.”

The young man scowled. “If I hadn’t pulled you out of that hole, those fellas would’ve ventilated you for sure.”

“Yes, they would have,” The Kid said with a nod. “And I’m glad you reminded me of that. I forgot to say thank you. I’m obliged to you for your help, James.”

“Forget it.”

“No. I won’t do that. I won’t forget what Dave Whitfield did for us, either. When we
do
get back, there’s going to be peace between the MacTavishes and the Circle D.”

Meggie nodded. “That’s right, James. There won’t be any more feuding.”

“But Pa—”

“I said,
there won’t be any more feuding.
” The firm tone of Meggie’s voice made it clear she wasn’t going to put up with any argument, even though James was older than her. The Kid figured she had enough iron in her spine to back it up, too. She had gone through hell, and she hadn’t fallen apart yet.