“You too?” barked Clem.

  Jeb went to his horse and swung up. His leathery face burned in the sunlight. “I ain’t buckin’ nobody, Clem. I’m just sayin’ that if we sit here and fry, we ain’t gettin’ no closer to Pa. Ain’t that so?”

  “It’s so,” Russ muttered.

  Clem scowled darkly at his brothers before he swung onto his horse. “I’m goin’ after Pa. You can do what you like, both of you. But if you follow me, you do like I say and that’s the end of it.”

  He worked his horse down a winding trail between blackened stumps, weathered boulders and clumps of dead brush. He looked straight ahead. When the steady echo of hoofbeats sounded behind him, he smiled. He’d show them and his father that he was a leader. And by hell maybe the whole frontier would soon know about it.

  Chapter Seven

  Three Trails West

  BLAKE DURANT RODE ahead of the others as they reached desert country. The scarcity of cover pleased him, for without cover there couldn’t be an ambush. Walking Sundown over the hot sand, he kept a tight rein on the big black, knowing Sundown was ready to answer any call put to him.

  Suddenly Durant reined in and checked behind. Mace Orde rode in front of Dell and Ben Karpel, staring straight ahead, seemingly unaffected by the heat or the riding.

  Mace Orde grinned at Durant and then turned in the saddle to look at Karpel and his daughter. Dell Karpel seemed to be bearing up well. Durant allowed that she had plenty of grit. Well, she’d need it to keep going for six days or so in this wasteland.

  Actually, it was Karpel who caused Blake Durant concern. From the outset Karpel had held them back, explaining away his slow pace as cautiousness. Now, riding beside his daughter, he looked the weariest of the four.

  Blake rode back to them. “Looks bad for a long way,” he said, pausing. “Also, I picked up the tracks of two horses. Oliver and Randall, I reckon.”

  Dell, Blake and Karpel looked out at the heat-seared country. There was not a cloud in the sky, and on the ground there wasn’t a tree, rock, or shade of any kind.

  Dell removed a bandanna from around her neck and tied it over her mouth.

  “That’s a good idea,” Durant said, doing the same with his bandanna, Karpel following suit.

  “How about you Orde?” Durant asked.

  “I don’t much care,” Orde said. “I’ve et dust before.”

  “By the sheriff’s reckoning, this desert stretches ahead for two or three days. I hope to make it in two.”

  “Make it what you like, mister. No matter what you do, the result is gonna be the same.”

  Durant shrugged. “Then we’ll ride at a good pace for four hours. By then the horses will have had enough. We’ll rest, two of us getting shade from the others in turn for maybe three hours, then we’ll keep going as far as we can during the cooler hours.”

  “Why not take it easy now and ride through the night?” Karpel put in.

  Blake Durant shook his head. “We’d lose our way, possibly go around in circles.”

  “And maybe right smack in front of my sons,” Mace Orde said. “How’d that be, eh, ridin’ hard all night and then lookin’ down the barrels of my boys’ guns.”

  “To hell with your sons!” Karpel growled. “First sight I get of them, they’ll wish they never laid eyes on me.”

  “They’re good boys,” Orde said, looking at Dell. “Good, strong, healthy, clean-livin’ boys. They’d stir you plenty, I’ll bet, and you wouldn’t ever forget them no matter how many damn bibles your fool old man makes you read. Clem now, he gets womenfolk so steamed up—”

  “Shut up, damn you!” Ben Karpel roared.

  “He doesn’t worry me, Pa,” Dell said.

  “I won’t have him talking to you that way,” Karpel said. “It’s bad enough having to put you to this torture without making you listen to his filthy talk.”

  “He’ll quieten down,” Durant said, turning Sundown into the direct blast of the hot wind. “If you like, Sheriff, you and your daughter can lead so our friend here can eat your dust.”

  “I’d sooner have the girl ride along with me, Durant, if you don’t mind,” Orde said. “The smell of her sweat makes me feel like a young tomcat.”

  “Damn you, Orde, I warned you!” shouted Ben Karpel. He kicked his horse forward and reached out for Orde’s neck. But Mace Orde coolly turned in the saddle and swung his bound hands. The knuckles struck Karpel in the mouth and blood spurted. The sheriff was knocked from the saddle. He landed heavily, then rolled to dodge the hoofs of his rearing horse. Blake Durant was quickly out of leather. He caught the horse and held it steady, putting himself between the grinning Mace Orde and the red-faced, bloody-chinned Karpel.

  Blake said, “Enough of that foolery, Sheriff. It’s exactly what he wants.”

  Karpel regained his feet, his chest heaving, his eyes burning with anger. “I won’t have him talk that way in front of my girl, Durant. I’ll kill him if he keeps at it!”

  Mace Orde chuckled as he lifted his bound hands to his thin-lipped mouth and licked the blood off his knuckles. Dell swung down from her horse. Removing her bandanna, she wet it with canteen water and tenderly dabbed blood away from her father’s mouth.

  “I don’t even listen to him, Pa,” she said. “Mr. Durant is right. He’ll stop his gibberish when his mouth goes dry.”

  Karpel got back on his horse. Durant and Dell swung up, then Durant walked Sundown back to Mace Orde and signaled for Dell and her father to go ahead.

  “Four hours hard, Sheriff. Then we rest. Okay?”

  “You seem to have taken over, Durant,” Karpel said sourly.

  “Somebody had to.”

  Karpel bit his lip. When Dell leaned forward in the saddle to inspect his cut mouth, Karpel put his horse into a fast walk. Then, as Dell caught up to him, he kicked the horse into a run and soon dust rose in the air, blotting out Orde’s and Durant’s view of Karpel and his daughter.

  Orde turned his head to one side, coughing.

  Durant smiled. “Let’s see how you really like eating dust, Orde.”

  Durant slapped the rump of Orde’s horse and the animal bounded away. Durant rode well behind Orde for several hundred yards and then he drew level with the outlaw. Orde’s lips were pressed tightly together and his head was down as he attempted to escape the wind-blown dust.

  They had been riding for two hours when Ben Karpel, his face red from the sun and his lips parched, called a halt. Durant rode up to Karpel and his daughter.

  “No rest, Sheriff. Not yet.”

  “We’ll kill the horses at this pace,” Karpel said angrily. “If we do that, how do you expect to go on?”

  “Orde is your prisoner,” Blake said. “I came along only because you asked me to. If you like I’ll bail out right now.”

  Karpel glared furiously at him. “So you’ve had enough, have you, Durant? You, with all your fine talk!”

  “I mean to survive, Sheriff,” Blake said. “That means pushing the horses as fast as we can for four hours, then resting for three. Later, when it’s cool, they’ll pick up strength. There’s no other way for it.”

  “You seem so damned sure of yourself,” Karpel grated.

  “I’ve traveled hard trails before, Sheriff.”

  “You think I haven’t?”

  Dell moved close to her father, looking sympathetically at him but showing no resentment against Durant. She handed over her canteen. After Karpel had a drink he simmered down a little but not enough to give in to Durant.

  “I’ve lived hard too, Durant, believe me. I spent years in this kind of country, trailing outlaws and dodging their bullets. I did a lot more than just drift and take what pickings I could find.”

  “Father!” Dell cried out.

  Karpel, screwing up his mouth, handed the canteen back to her. “He’s beginning to get under my skin,” he grunted.

  “If Mr. Durant is doing that, Pa, then you’re in the wrong, not him. I think his plan is right. Ahead of us is a wounded man and his companion. Surely if we proceed as quickly as possible the pressure will be on them, not us.”

  “Oliver and Randall won’t draw off,” Mace Orde said. “They got a big stake in me.”

  “Do they dislike you enough to go through this terrible country just to settle a difference between you?” Dell asked.

  “They hate me,” Mace Orde said matter-of-factly. “They hate me so much they’ll gun down all of you just to get at me.” Orde rubbed his jaw with his bound hands. “And when they get their hands on me, do you know what they’ll do?”

  Dell drew in a quick breath. For some reason she was fascinated by the ugliness of this man. She couldn’t take her eyes off his lecherous face.

  Mace Orde went on: “They’ll string me up, ma’am, after they’ve torn big strips off my hide.”

  “But why? What did you do to them?”

  “Me?” Orde feigned surprise. “Hell, I done nothin’, ma’am, ’cept maybe tell them to keep outa my hair. Now don’t you get any wrong ideas about me. I’m not what your father thinks. I’m a clean-livin’—”

  “You’re a murderer and a thief,” Karpel cut in. “You’re wanted for murder in a dozen states.”

  “All wrong charges, Karpel,” Orde argued. “I’m an innocent victim of circumstances. You just ask my boys when they show up. My boys will tell you. Maybe we did a few things wrong in the past, but we ain’t never killed anybody cold.”

  “What about Bull Arkon?” Karpel said.

  “Arkon? Hell, he was a weasel, Karpel. Arkon was set on cuttin’ me down. He was holed up in your town waiting for me to show up so he could kill me.”

  “What about Carl Bolger who came up on you and caught you with a stolen steer you butchered?—Bolger, whose body Durant here brought into town and buried. And then there’s the other lad who crossed your trail on the range. Three dead, Orde, and you got the nerve to claim you aren’t a killer?”

  Mace Orde lifted his bound hands. “As God is my witness, Karpel, I’m innocent of all those charges laid against me. It’ll come out in the end, you’ll see, so why not just let me go now and save yourself a lot of hardship? You won’t make it to water, you know. It’s still three days from here.”

  “We’ll make it,” Karpel said.

  Mace Orde chuckled in his irritating way and shook his head. “Nope, lawman. That tin star of yours is soon gonna be too heavy to carry. In a way I feel sorry for you.”

  Karpel glared furiously at the outlaw and edged his horse closer. But Blake Durant moved his horse between them. Though he didn’t speak a word, his look at Karpel had solid advice in it. Karpel turned his horse away.

  Durant said, “There are two ahead and somewhere out there are Orde’s sons. What’s your plan, Sheriff?”

  Karpel looked at his daughter and wiped sweat from his brow. His mouth was dry and his lips deeply cracked. Finally his gaze returned to Durant. A faint smile touched at his mouth. “We’ll push on.”

  “Just another two hours,” Durant said. “I’ll stay with our friend.”

  “Two of a kind, Durant?” Orde laughed. “You and me, trail-friends, thinkin’ alike, doin’ alike?”

  Blake gave a wry smile but said nothing.

  Mace Orde was not finished, however. “What do they know about you anyway, Durant? The way I heard it, you just happened along and bought into somethin’ that’s none of your business. Maybe you’re bidin’ your time, wantin’ to know what Oliver and Randall want from me, eh?”

  Blake made no comment.

  Orde went on: “Or maybe there’s a good reason for you bein’ in such a hurry, drifter. Maybe you’re gonna meet up ahead with your friends, Oliver and Randall.”

  Blake smiled thinly at him. “Maybe.”

  “What was that?” Karpel asked.

  “I’m with Oliver and Randall,” Blake said. “That was why I returned their fire in town when they attacked us on our way to the jailhouse.”

  “And missed, Durant,” Orde said slyly.

  “I hit one.”

  Karpel had come back to them and now he glared angrily at the outlaw. “That’s enough out of you, Orde. Durant got one of them all right. We saw his blood in many places along the way. So you quit baitin’ us. If you don’t, I’ll gag you.”

  “Okay, I’ll shut down, lawman,” Mace Orde said. “But you think of this while you wear yourself out. You ain’t gonna make it to Creede, and no damn Johnny-come-lately drifter is gonna shed a tear on that score. What Durant’ll do is bide his time, try to rake off a stake from me or Jig Randall and Heck Oliver, and then he’ll ride off with your daughter.”

  Orde pointed his bound hands at Durant. “Just look at him, Karpel. Ain’t he just right to give your girl all the tomcattin’ she needs and then some?”

  Color flushed into Dell’s face. Karpel, seeing this, whipped out his gun and rode towards the outlaw. But once again, Blake Durant worked Sundown between them.

  This time Blake was angry. “Quit it, damn you, Karpel! Can’t you see what’s he’s trying to do? Are you a fool? You’re sure acting like one.”

  Karpel’s gaze went from Orde to Durant and then to his daughter. But Dell, avoiding her father’s stare, rode ahead, calling out:

  “Pa, will you be sensible? If you can’t be, then I’m turning back. Mr. Durant’s offered to help you and yet you listen to the ravings of a murderer. I’m disgusted with you.”

  She moved farther ahead and Karpel smothered a curse. Then he drew a ragged breath and without a word to Orde or Durant rode after his daughter.

  Orde grinned at Durant. “He’ll break,” he said. “He’s toted tin for too long to think like normal folks. His mind’s all cluttered up.”

  “He’ll make it,” Blake said.

  “Like hell. He’ll buckle, Durant, and you know it. You want to trade with me?”

  “What for what?”

  “Cut these ropes. I’ll take care of Karpel and you get the girl. Also ... you’ll get to share some big spoils with me and my boys.”

  Blake shook his head. “Forget it.”

  Orde studied him sourly. “What’s your damn price then, mister?”

  “It’s coming at the end of this trail.”

  Orde straightened in the saddle. “You got somethin’ goin’ for you in Creede, Durant?”

  Blake nodded.

  “What is it? I can call my boys off and we can handle Oliver and Randall with their help. What’ve you got goin’ for you in Creede that made you hitch onto a fool lawman’s tail?”

  “A hanging,” Blake said.

  “A hanging? Whose?”

  “Yours,” Blake said into the burning eyes of the outlaw.

  “By the livin’ hell, Durant, don’t you play games with me! I’ve cut your kind off at the knees more times than I can remember. You buck me, mister, and so help me I’ll cut your liver out.”

  “Which is why I’m helping Karpel get you to Creede,” Blake said. “And I’ll make it, Orde, because you remind me of a man I wanted to meet a long time ago, a hardcase who went berserk and killed the woman I loved. Now ride.”

  Mace Orde dropped his hands onto the saddle horn and kneed his horse forward. Blake Durant nudged Sundown ahead and watched the bobbing backs of Karpel and Dell through a screen of dust. He pulled his yellow bandanna over his mouth and nose. Then he slapped the rump of Orde’s horse hard and sent the animal racing.

  “I’ll get you, Durant!” Orde shouted in fury. “I’ll get you sure!”

  Chapter Eight

  When Blood Is Thin

  JIG RANDALL SQUIRMED around in the saddle, the pain in his shoulder all but unbearable. He no longer sweated; his body seemed to have dried up. He worked his leg-weary horse away from Heck Oliver and leaned over the saddle horn, gasping for breath.

  Oliver eyed him for a time, then turned in the saddle to check their backtrail. Miles of heat-seared desert met his raw-eyed gaze. There seemed to be no end to it. He said, hoarsely, “Don’t it ever get cool, not even near sundown?” Jig Randall didn’t answer. The hot wind at his back burned through his tattered shirt. Pain pounded through his shoulder and his neck muscles were stiff. There was a wall of pain across his chest. He didn’t know if he could go on, and suddenly he didn’t care what happened.

  His hands slipped off the saddle horn and he felt himself sliding to the side. He knew he was falling but made no attempt to stay in the saddle. Then the desert floor came up to meet him and his head hit the hot sand. He spluttered grit from his mouth.

  Heck Oliver did not move in the saddle as he stared down at his trail partner, knowing Randall was about gone. He didn’t like the idea of going on alone but he didn’t intend to put up with Randall’s whining any longer.

  “Jig?” he called. “Are you all right?”

  Randall stared at the hot sand, not responding to Oliver’s words. Then he heard the creak of saddle leather and after that the squeak of sand under boots. Something touched his left ankle. He just lay there.

  “Jig? You hear me?”

  Randall didn’t reply. He heard a deep grunt and felt a boot wedge under his left leg. When pressure was put on the leg to lift him, he shifted his right hand onto his gun butt and rolled with the pressure of the boot. His eyes opened and he stared up at Heck Oliver. He saw a gun in Oliver’s hand and bitterness in his face.

  Randall croaked, “Water, Heck.”

  Oliver licked his dry lips and moved back a pace. Randall’s leg fell back to where it had been and he lay perfectly still. He took in a deep breath. The pain momentarily stopped and his neck muscles felt loose again. He heard a cork pulled from a canteen and then Heck Oliver was kneeling beside him, looking uncertain. Randall worked himself to a sitting position and reached for the canteen. He lifted it and let water stream down his face, drinking what he could as the warm water washed over his mouth.

  “Go easy. We ain’t got much left,” Oliver said.

  Randall holstered his gun.

 

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