Ralph Compton Phantom Hill, page 21
Weatherby looked at Bagbee. “You reckon this man can be trusted?”
“I can’t see we’ve got another option.”
“I’d suggest you hide yourself and your horses over in that stand of trees till I return,” Dallas said.
“If you don’t,” Bagbee said, “know that I’ll come lookin’ for you.”
• • •
From their vantage point in the loft, Jennings and his companions watched as the hands slowly approached the compound. Things had been quiet at the house since Pete’s single wayward shot. Blanca raised his rifle and pointed it toward the corral, where the men were removing saddles from their mounts.
“It is to our advantage that they don’t know we’re here,” the Mexican said. “If we start shooting now, we can—”
“Wait,” Jennings said. He pointed toward the rear of the bunkhouse, where one of the riders was tethering his horse, leaving its saddle on. He recognized the multicolored serape the man wore. “That’s Dallas. Let’s see what he’s of a mind to do.”
Once the last hand was inside the bunkhouse, Dallas walked toward the house.
“The men are back,” Pete said as Dallas walked in. “Now we can put this matter to an end.” He got to his feet and walked toward the front door.
Lester Sinclair shoved his son out of the way. “Can’t tell you how proud I am to see you,” he said as he grabbed Dallas’s hand. He quickly began to describe the situation that had developed since they left for the pasture.
Dallas looked over at April as Sinclair spoke, and tipped his hat. “What’s she doin’ here?”
“My ignorant son brought her from town. Now we’ve got three men out in the barn, aiming their guns at us.”
“Who?”
“That fella Jennings and a Mexican who once worked for me. You recall Armando Blanca?”
Dallas nodded. “He wasn’t among my favorite people.”
“And there’s some Indian with ’em. If there’s more, I don’t know who they might be.”
“And what is it you want?”
“Go tell the men to get their guns. Surround the barn. Shoot ’em dead.”
Pete moved to stand next to his father. “’Cept for Coy Jennings,” he said. “Just bring him out into the open and leave him for me to kill.”
Dallas looked around the room, briefly making eye contact with Peter, then April. “What’s to happen with the woman?”
“That,” Lester said, “will be dealt with once this other matter is concluded.”
“If there’s to be as much shootin’ as I fear,” Dallas said, “it would be my suggestion you stay in the back of the house, away from any windows and doors.”
“Yes, that’s good thinkin’, good thinkin’,” Lester said. “We’ll just wait it out while you and the boys do your business.” He gripped Dallas’s shoulder. “You can rest assured I’ll show my appreciation.”
“Right now,” Dallas said, “I’d settle for a cup of coffee ’fore I go.”
He walked into the kitchen, where Jakie sat at a table, his face in his hands. As he looked up, Dallas smiled and said, “Ain’t this a fine mess you’ve got yourself into?” He glanced back toward the doorway, then quickly removed his pistol from beneath his serape and placed it in an empty pot. Laying a towel over it, he said, “Yessir, one fine mess. I’m guessin’ with what all’s goin’ on there’ll be no supper fixed tonight.”
He poured himself a cup of coffee and returned to the main room. “You folks just stay out of sight,” he said. “If I can make it back to the bunkhouse without bein’ shot, we’ll figure what needs to be done.”
As he walked down the steps, he glanced in the direction of the barn and nodded slightly, then lifted his serape to show that his holster was empty.
• • •
It was nearing sundown when Bagbee saw a horse heading in his direction. He nudged Weatherby, who was sitting against a tree trunk, hat pulled down over his face. “I think our man’s back.”
Dallas was grim-faced as he dismounted. “Things are a bit more complicated than you described,” he said. “You’ve got friends up there—and I’m not speakin’ of the woman and Jakie.”
Weatherby smiled grimly. “Coy caught up with Pete,” he said.
“Him and two others—a Mexican and an Indian, from what I’m told. They’re holed up in the loft of the barn, urging the Sinclairs to surrender.”
“And that ain’t gonna happen this time,” Weatherby said. “Not with Pete now involved. So, what is it we’re to do?”
“I’ve told the others to remain in the bunkhouse and take no sides,” Dallas said. “We could easily rush the house and bring the matter to an end, but not without risking the lives of those bein’ held. I was inside briefly and seen how desperate Lester and Pete have become. Unless they favor us by shootin’ each other, I see little chance of this ending in a satisfactory manner.”
Chapter 31
“What is it they’re waitin’ for?” Lester Sinclair said as he paced nervously. “It’s near dark and there’s been nothin’ happening.”
“I don’t think those in the bunkhouse can be relied on to do what you instructed,” Pete said. “They’re cowards who have washed their hands of us.”
Peter sat in a corner of the main room, a faint smile on his face as he watched the anger of his father and brother mount. The fear he’d initially felt had begun to wane, replaced by concern for the safety of April McLean.
“Perhaps if you was to allow her to go free,” he said, “Jennings and his friends might be satisfied and take their leave.”
Lester walked over and delivered a hard slap to his face. “I’ll thank you to remain quiet,” he said. “It’s you who turned my men against me—caused them to betray me. You’ve made cowards of them all—ungrateful cowards like yourself.”
April spoke from where she sat on the couch. “I only wish to see my little girl—”
Lester turned toward her and raised his hand. Peter jumped to his feet and grabbed his father’s arm and pulled him away. “If you’re planning to do her harm,” he said, “it will be only after you’ve killed me. She’s done nothing to deserve this treatment.”
“Little brother, you surprise me. Didn’t think you had it in you,” Pete said. “Might be a good idea if she was to help the cook with fixin’ us somethin’ to eat.”
Lester gestured toward the kitchen. “It would be a pleasure to have her outta my sight. Just see she don’t attempt to go runnin’ away.”
“I’ll keep a watch on her,” Pete said.
• • •
Dallas was having a difficult time keeping Bagbee and Weatherby at bay. They had heard no shots fired since his arrival, and he was urging them to wait until nightfall to ride toward the compound. “I’ve no interest in gettin’ shot,” he said, “and if we can safely make our way to the back side of the barn, we can alert your friends to our presence. After that we can determine what we’ll need done.”
“What needs doing,” Weatherby said, “is for us to get April safely out of that house. Her and Jakie. And Peter. Then I’m of a mind we set the miserable place to blaze and be on our way. Lester and his drunken sot of a son can learn themselves an early lesson on what hellfire is all about.” Spittle shot from his mouth as he spoke.
• • •
April prepared corn bread while Jakie heated the stew he’d cooked earlier in the day. Neither spoke as Pete leaned against the doorway, watching.
“What causes you to admire that Jennings fella?” he said.
April ignored him.
“I’m askin’ you a question.”
“Truth is, I can’t say I know him all that well,” she said, “but from what I’ve seen he’s a good man who is respected by all.” She gave Pete a look. “Except for you and your father.”
“We’ll see how respected he is once he’s dead,” Pete said as April brushed past him with the pot of Jakie’s stew. When she made a second trip with a basket of hot corn bread, Pete followed her into the main room. “I can’t recall the last time I ate,” he said as he reached for the ladle.
“While you’re feedin’ your ugly face,” Lester said, “be sure you continue to watch for activity across the way.”
Pete picked up the bowl and wolfed down the rest of his stew, wiped crumbs from his beard, and walked to the window. He looked into the darkness. In the loft, he could see a single lantern burning in the doorway. “They’re still out there, demonstratin’ their patience,” he said.
After Lester and Pete had eaten and Peter declined the stew, April began gathering the pot and dishes. “There’s fresh-made coffee,” she said.
“Sweeten mine from the whiskey bottle on the shelf,” the elder Sinclair said, “but see to it that Pete’s is served black. I want him to remain sober till this business gets taken care of.”
Jakie waited until April was at the washbasin before placing a finger to his lips. As he silently signaled her to remain in the kitchen, he took Dallas’s pistol from its hiding place and slipped it into his waistband under his apron. It was the first time in longer than he could remember that he’d touched a gun, and his hands were shaking as he walked into the main room.
Lester had paid little attention to the elderly cook during the ordeal and was surprised when he saw him. “Where’s the woman?” he said.
The coffee cups Jakie was bringing into the room slipped from his hands and fell to the floor as Pete pushed past him to make sure April had not attempted to escape. “She’s right here,” he called out from the kitchen.
As he spoke, the sound of a single gunshot rattled against the walls. Pete lifted his rifle as he turned to see his father on the floor, writhing in pain, blood pouring from a spot high on his chest.
Jakie pointed the pistol toward Pete but was unable to pull the trigger before a bullet tore into his abdomen. He sank to his knees, the gun clattering away on the floor.
Peter looked on in frozen silence. In the kitchen, April screamed.
Pete stepped over Jakie’s body and kneeled by his father, leaning close to his face as he gently brushed his hand through Lester’s hair. “Lie still,” he said. “Don’t try movin’. You’re gonna be okay.”
Lester looked up at him, grimacing. “No, I ain’t,” he said in a guttural voice. “Your foolishness has got me killed.” He spat blood into his son’s face before his eyes closed and his body went limp.
• • •
Weatherby and Bagbee were nearing the barn when they heard the shots. In the loft, Blanca and Jennings cocked their rifles. “We have waited too long,” Tracker said as he rushed toward the ladder.
Jennings’s stomach was in knots as he led them across the compound toward the porch. April’s scream had caused him to put all caution aside. As he reached the locked door, he plunged his shoulder into it. The door gave way, and he burst into the main room.
His eyes first went to the two bodies that lay in the floor, then to Peter, slumped against the fireplace with a large gash over one eye.
“Where’s April?” Coy said.
Peter, barely conscious, motioned toward the kitchen.
Jennings found her, curled into the fetal position and sobbing. He sat beside her, cradling her in his arms. “You’re safe now,” he said. “We’ll soon get you back to town, where Penelope’s waiting. Are you injured?”
She shook her head. “Just scared.”
Blanca entered the kitchen. “The viejo is dead,” he said. “And there is another, a man I do not know, in bad shape. Peter got hit in the cabeza and is bleeding, but he is coming around.”
“It’s Jakie,” April said. “He’s the other man you’re speaking of. Will he be okay?”
Blanca turned back to the main room without answering. “Where is Pete Sinclair?” he yelled.
“After he tried tendin’ to my father,” Peter said, “he told me this was all my doin’, then struck me in the head with the barrel of his rifle. I don’t recall anything after that.”
His eyes didn’t leave his father’s body.
• • •
Tracker and Bagbee searched the house but found no sign of his brother.
“He’s gone,” Jennings said. “Somehow he managed to slip away.”
Outside, the hands emerged from the bunkhouse and were gathering around Dallas, hoping to learn what had occurred.
“Get the wagon hooked up,” he said. “They’ll be needin’ to get Jakie to the doctor and deliver the woman to her daughter. The Indian is bandaging Peter’s head and says he’ll be okay. We’ll watch after him here.”
April had regained her composure and was applying damp towels to Jakie’s wound and whispering encouragement. “Doc Matthews will see that you survive this,” she said. “If I have but one prayer left to be answered, that will be the case. And Miss Mindy, she’s been asking after you every day. She’ll be waiting to see you.” There was a catch in her voice. “Please, Jakie, don’t die.”
She bent forward and kissed his forehead. “What you did was a brave thing,” she said, “and I thank you ever so much for it.”
Bagbee placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’s an ornery ol’ cuss,” he said. “Trust me when I say he’ll live to do more bad cookin’. For now, though, we need to load him into the wagon for the ride into Phantom Hill.”
“I’ll sit by his side,” April said.
It was pitch-dark when the wagon left, driven by Weatherby and accompanied by two hands whom Dallas assigned to ride along. “Just in case you run into Pete and some fool plan he might have,” he said.
Those who remained gathered on the porch.
“Which way you think he might head?” Bagbee said.
“I got no suggestion to make,” Jennings said. “I’m so tired I can’t hardly move.”
“Reckon there’s someplace he might think he’d be safe?”
“Desperate as he now is, I’m thinkin’ he has other concerns.”
Tracker had already been at work, and now he approached the gathering. “He left from the back of the house and took a horse from the corral behind the bunkhouse, then walked it to the river,” he said. “He is riding without a saddle.”
“Let us find him and put him out of his misery,” Blanca said. “Any man who would do us the favor of killing his padre deserves one in return.”
“Dallas,” Jennings said, “you take some of your men and travel south. I’d suggest you stay close to the bank, at least for a time, then move on to see if he’s crazy enough to try hidin’ out at Blue Flats.”
He nodded toward Blanca and Bagbee. “We’ll head upriver, with Tracker leading our way.” He smiled wearily. “I reckon it was foolish of me to think I’d get some rest.”
At the river’s edge, Tracker kneeled and examined boot tracks and hoofprints. He pointed north.
• • •
As the wagon neared Phantom Hill just before dawn, one of the hands rode ahead to alert Doc Matthews. By the time it arrived, the anxious doctor was standing in front of his house, Mindy and Penelope McLean at his side. Weatherby hadn’t even reined in the horses when the child climbed aboard and fell into her mother’s arms.
Mindy rushed past the happy reunion to Jakie and did something no one had ever seen before. As she placed her hands to his face, she began to sob, tears running down her weathered cheeks. Jakie was unconscious, his white apron soaked in blood.
The doctor gently moved Mindy aside. “We need to get him into the house quickly,” he said.
“If you ever did miracle doctorin’,” she said as she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her face, “I’d wish it to be now. Don’t allow him to die.”
By sunup, people were already gathering near the singing tree. Several held Bibles, their heads bowed in prayer. Some were humming hymns. When April and Penelope emerged from the house and walked toward them, arm in arm, those keeping vigil began to cheer.
As the townspeople gathered around, April recounted what had taken place at the Bend. When she finished, she said, “I’m thankful for the prayers you’ve said for me and my daughter. Now I’d appreciate your saying them for Jakie as the doctor tends him. And for Coy Jennings and his friends who are in search of Pete Sinclair. Hopefully they will soon return and this nightmare will be at an end.”
Off to one side, Ira Dalton stood silently, his face drawn. April moved toward him. “Your friend will be returning soon,” she said as she patted his shoulder. “He asked that I relay that message to you.”
It was a falsehood for which she felt no remorse.
• • •
In an effort to leave no trail, Pete led the horse into the shallows of the river and slogged through the cold water until his feet were numb. He’d fallen several times and his clothes were soaked. His head pounded and he was having difficulty breathing. His thoughts came in bursts, jumbled and confused.
All he knew for certain was that he was again being chased, and this time he knew by whom. How close were they? Why couldn’t they leave him be? He needed to stay ahead of them long enough to find a hiding place, somewhere to rest and collect his thoughts. Above all, he needed to find a way to kill Coy Jennings. Everything had been good until the day he showed up at the Bend and began poking his nose into things that didn’t concern him, then getting friendly with April McLean the way he did, causing her to run away.
Coy Jennings had ruined everything.
His father was dead, lying on the floor back at the house with a hole in his chest. Pete hated Lester Sinclair, just like everybody else. Not a good man—evil and mean. And he’d passed those genes right along. But dead? Pete couldn’t get the picture out of his mind. Nor could he even remember who it was who killed him. No matter, it was all Jennings’s fault that so much bad had occurred. He spoke his name: “I curse you, Coy Jennings.”
