While the horse remained still he continued talking to it before gently touching his spurs to the animal’s flanks. The horse tossed its head and moved off sideways, but a firm pull on the hackamore rope brought it straight again. It shook its head from side to side and then began to weave, zigzagging its way across the empty corral. Brewer let it have its way until its head went down and he realized that it was trying to get its head between its forelegs, which might herald a jump. He hauled firmly on the rope. The horse tossed its head again, then it settled to a steady walk and Brewer knew that he had nothing to fear. The horse had registered mild dissent but that was all it was.

  Leaning forward, he ran his hand down the pinto’s mane, still talking gently. Then he brought the pinto to a halt and slid from the saddle. He reached again into his pocket and brought out another lump of sugar. Only then did he remember his damaged arm and realize that he had a spectator. Sitting on the top rail of the corral was Whipcrack Riley.

  ‘How long you been there?’ Brewer said.

  ‘Couple of minutes. Long enough to see you make friends with that there hoss.’

  ‘He’s already broke but he’s still got plenty of spirit. A horse is no good without spirit.’

  ‘Yeah,’ the oldster said.

  He dropped down from the rail and stood for a few moments. Brewer was expecting him to add something but before he could do so they were interrupted by a voice calling out to Brewer. It was Guthrie, who had just found him.

  ‘Brewer, the boss wants to see you.’

  ‘What, right now?’

  ‘Yup. He wants you to go round to the ranch house.’

  Brewer looked at Riley.

  ‘Did he say what he wanted?’

  ‘Nope, but the marshal’s just paid a courtesy call.’

  ‘Go on,’ Riley said. ‘I’ll see to the hoss.’

  Brewer followed Guthrie, who went into the bunkhouse. Brewer mounted the steps to the veranda and paused at the ranch house door. Miss Josie might be inside and he needed to compose himself for a moment. Then he knocked on the door.

  ‘Come in!’ Hethridge’s voice called.

  Brewer entered, taking a quick look about him as he did so. There was no sign of Josie but her father was standing by the far wall where a rack of guns stood above the fireplace. He was still reaching up and it looked like he had just replaced one.

  ‘I understand you want to see me,’ Brewer began.

  Hethridge waved him to a chair. ‘I just had a visit from the marshal,’ he said. ‘He came to get you.’

  ‘What do you mean? I don’t understand.’

  ‘He claimed he had a warrant for your arrest.’

  ‘Arrest!’ Brewer exclaimed. ‘On what charge?’

  ‘Horse theft and murder is what he said.’

  ‘Is this somethin’ to do with what happened day before yesterday?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But it ain’t me he should be arrestin’! It should be that ornery galoot Choate he’s after.’

  Hethridge’s face was grim. ‘Of course you’re right, but that don’t mean a damn thing. I never took to Marshal Burke and now it looks like he’s under Sloane’s influence. I won’t put it any stronger than that. Seems like Sloane has got to the marshal on Choate’s behalf.’

  Brewer got to his feet. ‘I’ll ride to Eagle Creek and have a word with the marshal. See if I can straighten things out. He must have got the wrong end of the stick.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ Hethridge replied. ‘Somehow, I don’t think that would be a very good idea. Not unless you want to end up in jail, or somethin’ worse.’

  ‘But surely he’ll understand when I explain what happened.’

  ‘It ain’t a question of whether he understands or not. Especially if I’m right about him and Sloane bein’ in cahoots over this.’

  ‘Then what do you suggest?’

  ‘Burke reckons he’s comin’ back this way with a posse in tow. Seems to me the best thing you can do is make yourself scarce for a while. There’s an old line shack nobody’s used for a long time at the far end of the west range. Nobody knows about it and nobody goes out that way because it’s right on the edge of the badlands. Curly Evans knows the way there. I’ll get him to show you.’

  ‘I think I know the place. But how long do you intend I should stay there?’

  ‘Until this blows over.’

  ‘I don’t know. I still think—’

  Before he could complete the sentence Hethridge interrupted with a shout: ‘You’ll do what I say!’

  In the silence which followed his outburst they both looked at each other in surprise.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Hethridge said. ‘I didn’t mean to shout like that.’

  ‘Sure. It’s OK.’

  ‘Let me handle the marshal. I’ll let you know just as soon as it’s safe for you to come back. It’s not as if you’ll be far away and if necessary we can keep in touch through Curly. Go and get saddled up.’

  Brewer moved to the door.

  ‘I’ve just had another thought,’ Hethridge said. ‘The marshal mentioned somethin’ about Whip-crack Riley. Maybe you’d better take him along with you.’

  Brewer paused. ‘Seems like him and me are bein’ thrown together some,’ he said.

  ‘From what you’ve told me,’ Hethridge replied, ‘you could have a worse partner to stand alongside when trouble’s stirrin’.’

  As he made his way to the bunkhouse, Brewer looked up at the windows on the second floor and was taken aback to see Josie looking down at him. He was suddenly confused and could think of nothing better to do than give a tepid smile. Then, realizing that she probably couldn’t make out his expression, he made to wave his hand. It was an awkward gesture. Josie’s figure disappeared and he continued on his way, feeling at once both disturbed and foolish.

  Shortly afterwards Brewer and Riley rode out of the yard accompanied by Curly Evans. Brewer had decided to take the pinto and Riley had opted for a buckskin, leaving his burro behind. As they left, Brewer looked in vain for a last glimpse of Josie.

  ‘I ain’t altogether happy about this,’ Riley remarked.

  Brewer turned his attention to the oldster. ‘Happy? Happy about what?’

  ‘About cuttin’ and runnin’.’

  Brewer thought about it for a moment.

  ‘Nope,’ he replied. ‘Neither am I.’

  They rode on in silence, each lost in his own thoughts. Brewer was familiar with this part of the range but Whipcrack took time to observe things around him. The range was greening up and groups of cattle dotted the landscape. Some of the ranch hands could be seen hunting out cattle and occasional clouds of dust indicated where stock was being bunched and moved. For a time they rode parallel to the creek, then Curly turned his horse towards the water and they splashed through at a ford where the river ran wide and shallow. They continued riding up the further slope and gradually the nature of the country began to change. The good grass gave way to thinner, scanter pasture and they entered a region of broken country with patches of mesquite thicket and prickly pear.

  ‘Not been out this way much myself,’ Brewer remarked. ‘We’re pretty well out of Lone Pine limits.’

  Curly had overheard. ‘There’ll be cattle in the draws,’ he said. ‘It’s goin’ to be a tough old job roustin’ them out. Could take days. That’s why they built the old cabin out here in the first place.’

  They rode a little further, then Curly pointed ahead.

  ‘There it is,’ he said.

  Brewer strained his eyes but could see nothing.

  ‘There, beside the trees.’

  ‘I see it,’ Riley replied.

  Up ahead of them was a spot where a narrow trickle of water came down through the brush, creating a little space where a few old cottonwood trees stood amidst the undergrowth. In one corner stood the line cabin and in its immediate rear a barnlike structure provided shelter for a couple of horses. A pole corral stood empty and forlorn.

  ‘Ain’t much but she’ll do,’ Riley said.

  They dropped from their saddles and approached the cabin. Curly put his shoulder to the door and it opened at his push. There was only the one room, containing a couple of bunks, a cheap pine table and two straight-backed chairs. A wooden box on the far wall held various items of food and some utensils like tin plates, knives and spoons and there was a small wood-burning stove.

  ‘Food’s still OK,’ Curly said. ‘You’ll find some logs outside. Chopped ’em myself.’

  ‘You were up here recently?’ Brewer asked him.

  ‘Yup. Couple of weeks ago, pushin’ strays back. Spent one night here.’

  Riley’s eyes swept the room. ‘Like I say, she ain’t too bad as far as hoodens go,’ he said. Curly moved towards the door. ‘Make yourselves at home,’ he quipped. ‘I’ll be back just as soon as Mr Hethridge gives me the word it’s OK for you to return.’

  Brewer and Riley accompanied him outside and watched as he stepped into leather and rode away.

  ‘I still ain’t happy about it,’ Riley said. He looked at the pile of logs stacked outside the cabin. ‘That Curly didn’t chop no logs,’ he said. ‘Can you see any tree that’s been felled?’

  ‘You got a point,’ Brewer said. ‘Guess they musta been here for a while. Hell, I don’t care. Let’s just take an armful and get that stove goin’. It’s gettin’ mighty chilly.’

  They carried some of the logs in and, while Brewer got the stove going, Riley saw to the feeding and stabling of the horses. Then they set about preparing a meal. By the time they had finished the place seemed a lot more comfortable. They built themselves smokes and lay on the bunks.

  ‘Shoulda bought some cards or checkers,’ Brewer said.

  ‘I don’t play,’ Riley replied.

  ‘My shoulder still hurts,’ Brewer said.

  ‘Maybe a few days out here ain’t no bad thing,’ Riley answered. ‘Give the wound a chance to heal.’

  ‘My neck don’t feel so good neither.’ Brewer inhaled and coughed.

  ‘I reckon there must be cattle in some of those draws that have probably been in there for years,’ Riley said. ‘What do you say we haze some of ’em out while we’re here? There’s room in that old corral.’

  Brewer laughed.

  ‘You’re figurin’ same as me,’ he said. ‘We’re gettin’ stir crazy already.’

  ‘Take your mind off those injuries,’ Riley replied.

  The cabin was warm and Brewer got up and opened the door. Outside the night was oddly luminous. A moon sailed high and a breeze had sprung up, rustling through the cottonwoods.

  ‘Sure is a lonesome spot,’ Brewer said.

  Riley joined him in the open. Suddenly the darkness was rent by a flash and the crack of a rifle shot. Both men dropped down and then slipped back through the open door.

  ‘Guess we got kinda careless,’ Riley snapped. ‘Musta made a pretty good target outlined against the lamplight.’

  He leaned across the table and blew out the lamp, then took his shotgun, which was leaning against a wall. Brewer reached for his Winchester.

  ‘How did they know we were here?’ Brewer said.

  ‘If it’s Choate with maybe some of his friends from the Buzzard On A Rail, they must have Hethridge’s spread under surveillance.’

  ‘Unless it’s somebody else?’

  ‘That don’t seem very likely.’

  ‘Then it didn’t make much difference us comin’ here.’

  ‘Coulda made things worse. But somebody just made a mistake letting us know they’re out there. Guess he couldn’t resist when he saw a chance to pick us off. Lucky he wasn’t a better shot. But they’ve got us isolated. Could be a rough night.’

  There was a window in the cabin, an empty space with shutters but no glass. They took up positions on either side. Riley held up his finger to indicate silence and they listened intently for any sounds of movement outside. They could hear nothing but the snicker of the horses. Brewer looked up at the oldster.

  ‘Maybe we should make a break for it,’ he said. ‘It’s dark without the lamp. If we move fast we should be able to make it to the horses.’

  Riley was silent, weighing up the options: whether to stay and make a fight for it or follow Brewer’s suggestion. It would help if they knew how many gunmen were out there. His instincts told him there were a good number of them. Choate was out for revenge. But there seemed to be more to this. He recalled what Hethridge had had to say about Jed Sloane. Whatever Choate’s personal motives might be, it tied in with the pressure Sloane seemed to be applying to gain control of the Lone Pine. Well, first things first.

  ‘You could make a run for it while I keep you covered.’

  Any further speculation was suddenly cut short as a fusillade of shooting broke out. Bullets thudded into the wood of the cabin and one shot smashed through the shutter just above Brewer’s head, narrowly missing him before ricocheting off one of the tin utensils on the shelf. Brewer and Riley began firing through the partly opened shutters but they were driven back by the sheer fury of the cannonade from outside. Shots were coming in through the window gaps and the walls of the shack shook with the force of the bullets raining down on them.

  ‘Stay low!’ Riley shouted.

  They flung themselves on the hard-packed dirt floor. Slugs were coming through the walls and the racket outside was deafening.

  ‘We gotta to do something!’ Brewer called.

  Riley looked about him. Standing on the table was the kerosene lamp, and there was another hanging on a bracket.

  ‘OK!’ he yelled back. ‘Here’s what we do. We light those lamps and throw ’em out of the window. They’ll explode and start a fire. That might just distract those varmints long enough for us to make a break.’

  ‘Yeah. Let’s give it a try.’

  Brewer kneeled up and got the lamp from the table while Riley crawled to the wall on which the bracket hung. Quickly he got to his feet and removed it. In another minute they had lit the lamps.

  ‘OK!’ Riley shouted. ‘We’ll throw ’em together towards the front of the cabin. As soon as we have, start runnin’.’

  ‘Sure your knees will carry you?’ Brewer grinned.

  ‘Yeah, but I ain’t so sure about the hips!’

  They looked at one another, then, reaching up, they hurled the kerosene lamps through the window. Then they moved swiftly to the door. Outside there was an explosion, instantly followed by another. Then they were on their feet and running through the door, bent low and keeping to the wall. There was an instant’s pause before shooting recommenced and bullets crashed through the walls of the cabin, tearing up the earth, but it was long enough for them to reach the corner of the building.

  It was only a short distance to the barn, but they had no idea of what sort of coverage their attackers had of the rear of the building. Even as he hurtled forward, it occurred to Brewer that they might already have taken possession of it, in which case he and Riley were in serious difficulties. A few shots whistled over their heads but it seemed the Buzzard On A Rail boys had mustered most of their forces for the attack at the front and they reached the door of the barn unscathed.

  Brewer, getting there first, paused momentarily, then slipped through the doorway, his rifle at the ready. There was no shooting and as his eyes quickly adjusted to the dark he could see that there was nobody there. The two horses were neighing and stamping their feet. Riley followed Brewer into the barn and quickly they started to saddle up the horses while trying to quieten them at the same time. Riley had been worrying about their chances of riding out under the hail of fire that was sure to pursue them but now he saw that the back wall of the barn had fallen in, giving them another way out. With a final tightening of the cinches, he led the way, leading the horse out through the gap. To what extent the surrounding gunmen were aware of what they were doing, he did not know, but as they stepped into leather and touched their spurs to the horses’ flanks, there was little in the way of firing, although the rattle and crash of gunshots continued from the front of the building. They were moving quickly now and seemed to have made good their escape when suddenly a bunch of shadowy figures appeared in front of them.

  ‘Keep ridin’,’ Riley yelled.

  Stabs of flame lit the darkness and Riley felt a bullet sing by his cheek, but he kept right on going. One of the men screamed as Riley’s horse crashed into him. The others jumped to one side and Riley let blast with his shotgun, catching one of them and sending him spinning to the ground. Then they were through the human barrier.

  They heard shouts behind them and a burst of shooting but the bullets went flying harmlessly into the night. Letting the horses have their heads, they galloped on until eventually, feeling that they had put sufficient distance between themselves and the cabin, they slowed the horses to a canter and then to a walk. Drawing rein at last, they scanned their back trail. There was no sign of pursuit. They listened closely but the night was silent.

  ‘That was too close for comfort,’ Brewer remarked. He leaned forward and ran his hand over the pinto’s mane. ‘She’s a good horse,’ he said.

  ‘Sure. I guess she’s taken to you.’

  They remained silent for a few moments. The sky was clear and they could see a good distance by the light of the moon and stars. Clumps of mesquite and juniper were patches of darkness on the landscape.

  ‘What do we do now?’ Brewer asked.

  ‘Whatever we do, one thing’s for sure. Choate ain’t gonna give up. Whatever the situation between Hethridge and Sloane, Choate is takin’ it personal.’

  ‘And don’t forget, we got the marshal lookin’ for us too. Might be an idea to make ourselves scarce for a while.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  They looked at one another.

  ‘It makes sense,’ Brewer said.

  There was another period of silence.

  ‘Hell,’ Brewer said, ‘what’s sense got to do with it?’

  ‘Those polecats are probably makin’ themselves comfortable right now,’ Riley said, ‘in our cabin with our gear.’

 

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