“He should when the time warrants it, Miss Soncum. What did you want exactly?”

  May looked upwards at the high wall and was thoughtfully silent for a time. Then she answered, “What did you make of that shooting, Mr. Durant?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing at all? Can’t you venture a guess?”

  Durant shrugged. “Maybe a drunk letting off steam.”

  “No,” May argued. “Surely you heard the cursing and that man screaming in pain.”

  Blake turned so he could see her better. The moonlight was washing over her, illuminating the loveliness of her features. He decided she was a disturbingly attractive young woman, and had it in his mind not to be so critical of Danny Damiani for mauling her.

  “Yeah, I heard all that, Miss Soncum,” he said finally, “but I don’t know any more than you do what it was all about. Somebody got shot, but it wasn’t one of us, was it?”

  May frowned at him. “It doesn’t bother you at all that a man has been killed. Are you that cold-hearted?”

  “Are you worried, Miss Soncum, after what they did to you? Is there any one of those scum you have feeling for?” May blushed and then became suddenly angry. “I have no feeling but hate for them, Mr. Durant. Of that you may be sure. Given the chance I would kill them myself.”

  “Then settle back and relax for now, Miss Soncum,” Blake told her. “It’s going to be a long night and a worse day tomorrow than today was.”

  May looked suddenly disappointed but even as she rose to her feet again, pulling his range coat tighter about her body, she asked, “Will something happen to get us out of here? Have you really got a plan?”

  “I’m working on it, Miss Soncum. You want some bolstering. Okay, I’ll help you all I can. Stay away from Damiani and the rest of the men. We have troubles enough. When we make a move, if we do, go to ground and stay there, unless you’re willing to help by distracting the guards when the opportunity presents itself.”

  “Distracting?” May asked him. “But how?”

  Blake held her look evenly for a time. “You’re a woman, Miss Soncum, and a lovely one at that. I haven’t seen the women they’ve been playing about with but I know the kind who would come out here. So I’m sure a lot of those guards would be having thoughts about you. It’s a lonely place for men.”

  May stepped back from him, a rise of horror showing in her face. “You mean you want me to ... to …” Her voice trailed off and she stood there, shocked speechless.

  Blake Durant muttered, “Like I said, Miss Soncum, we’re going to need all the breaks to get ourselves out of here. I think it will be tomorrow, late in the afternoon. Do what you like, but don’t make things worse for us by tying up with Damiani.”

  Blake turned away and put his cheek against the rough, mud-covered wall. He was aware that she had not moved away, but his body was still crying out for rest, so he closed his eyes and began to breathe evenly. Then he heard her going and he counted her steps until he knew she had returned to Damiani. Then he folded his arms about his broad, deep chest and pushed all thoughts of her from his mind.

  Chapter Seven – A Time for Dying

  When the gate swung back, Blake Durant was standing at the head of the line. Curly Bromage was behind him. Then came Josh Warlow and a straggled line of men which ended with Danny Damiani standing off from the others with May Soncum alongside him. Damiani’s face was bruised badly and his lips swollen. Yet when he looked at Torp Berry it was with undiminished defiance.

  Berry moved with his usual relaxed walk down to the middle of the line and smiled easily. “Men, last night a couple of things happened that you should know about. Firstly, your old friend, Will Hopgood, got drunk and attacked me. I killed him.”

  The men exchanged disbelieving looks which made Berry smile wider.

  “It’s true,” he told them. “Gilbert threw in his lot with Hopgood and naturally I had to kill him, too. I’m telling you this because I feel a few of you will be relieved that Will won’t be wielding his whip any more. But I’m also telling you this because I want you to know that the beginning of the blood-shedding has begun. It will continue if any of you try to escape or cause trouble today. We’re going out there to get the gold buried under the hill you’ve been working on,” he went on. “When I get my hands on that gold, I’m going to pack it into two wagons I have waiting. Then I’m going to take my men and get to hell out of here. I don’t want to make things any more miserable for you than I have to, so get your heads down today and work hard. I must have that gold before the storms come, which I’ve been told should be any day now. If that happens before I get the gold, I will kill every one of you standing up in his boots.”

  The line of prisoners remained tensely silent. Berry moved back to the top of the line and waved to Shepherd to take the men through the gate. He then fell in behind Danny Damiani and spoke as he walked, “As for you, Damiani, I’ve got some real cute plans for you. The way I’ve heard it, you’ve been one real big headache from the time you got here. That hasn’t been smart and unless you change your ideas, I’m going to cripple you for life and leave you to rot out here.”

  May Soncum, who had trailed along after the line of prisoners, threw a vicious look Berry’s way. “You’re mad,” she said. “You’re a loco killer!”

  “Maybe I am, ma’am, and maybe I’m not,” Berry said coldly. “But I hold all the trump cards and while I do, shut your damn mouth. I’ve heard enough from you, enough to last me a lifetime.”

  May opened her mouth to argue back, but Damiani dropped a hand on her arm and shook his head at her. May, lips pressed tightly together, went on, staring defiantly ahead.

  The line made its way across the clearing and into the flat country and for the next hour the only sound in this forlorn part of the country was the steady tramp of boots across hard ground.

  Finally they reached the hill and Blake Durant went straight to the equipment pile and pulled out the iron bar he had used the previous day. He winced as the weight of it pulled on the torn skin of his palms. But he was soon walking strongly ahead, and began his climb.

  Berry shouted, “Not so fast, Durant. Hold it there.” Blake stopped and peered back at him. Berry sent Shepherd to join him and while the other guards took their positions along the slopes, Berry settled down halfway up it, and perched himself on a tree stump.

  “Durant,” he called out loudly. “You’re not fooling anybody. I’ve worked you out, mister, and feel I should tell you, I’m not being taken in by your show of submission. I don’t know what the hell you were before you came here but I know what Bromage was. He’s taking advice from you, and that suits me fine. But don’t expect things to break your way, Durant. The only thing that will break here is your blasted neck if you worry me. Now get to work and shift that hill.”

  Blake Durant looked across to where Curly Bromage was already trying to dislodge a huge boulder. He went across to Bromage and when Shepherd moved away to take a position on the higher ground, Blake dug his bar deep under the boulder and said quietly, “We’ll move at noon. I don’t think many of the men can take much more after then.”

  “Suits me,” Bromage said. “But what if we get out of here ... cut down a few of these scum ... what about the gold?”

  Blake grunted as he exerted himself to shift the boulder. Rubble spilled away from below him. He dug his heels in deeper and his shoulder and back muscles bulged.

  “I doubt if it’s here,” Blake said.

  Bromage frowned at him. “How come?” he asked.

  Blake shrugged. “I’ve travelled a lot, Bromage, and I’ve heard a heap of stories about hidden gold. I’ve seen men kill for a map which could not lead them anywhere but to Boothill. Maybe there is gold, maybe there isn’t. But for now, forget about it. When the time comes, take Shepherd. I’ll handle Berry.”

  Curly Bromage spat on his hands and took a firmer grip on his bar. Using all his strength he helped Durant shift the boulder and sent it rolling.

  Below them, smoking quietly, his stare constantly searching, Torp Berry grunted his satisfaction. And just away from him, working with Josh Warlow, Danny Damiani scowled in the direction of Durant and Bromage. The rest of the men, under instructions from O’Shea, were clearing the rubble and uprooted tree stumps from the bottom of the slope to let the big boulders roll away onto the flat country.

  The sun rose and brilliant yellow sunlight filled the section. The heat gradually became more intense until every man working on that slope was bathed in sweat. But Torp Berry merely sat and watched, aware that with the increase in the day’s heat, an increase of hatred towards him was rising, too. He could not have cared less, as he counted off the minutes which were taking him closer to a fortune.

  “How about a drink, Berry?” Danny Damiani asked in mid-morning and Berry answered with a shake of his head and a crooked smile.

  Damiani threw down his iron bar and faced him squarely. “I can’t swallow, damn you. How can you expect a man to work if he can’t hardly breathe?”

  “The others are managing, Damiani,” said Berry. “If the dust worries you, get up higher with Bromage and Durant. I reckon the three of you should work together anyway, three big men, three men who run this outfit of fools, don’t you?”

  Danny Damiani glared furiously at him and picked up his bar again. But instead of moving to higher ground he glared at Durant and Bromage and bent to work again.

  Another hour went by before Josh Warlow fell to the ground exhausted. O’Shea crossed to him and kicked him to his feet again, but seeing the glazed look in Warlow’s eyes, he hurried back to consult with Torp Berry. Berry, after a long contemplation of Warlow’s condition, told O’Shea to give the old-timer a drink.

  Danny Damiani waited for Warlow to lift the canteen to his parched lips before he suddenly threw himself at Warlow and wrenched the canteen away. Before O’Shea could stop him, he was pouring water down his throat and spilling a great deal down his shirt.

  O’Shea grabbed him, hurled him to the ground and kicked him in the jaw. Damiani gave a grunt and rolled away and O’Shea picked up the canteen. Warlow came with outstretched hands to get a drink, but O’Shea, sullen now, pushed him back down the slope.

  Torp Berry came hurrying up and laid his gun butt across Damiani’s head and sent him rolling to the bottom of the slope. All the prisoners had ceased work and were regarding a distraught Warlow pityingly as the old man begged for a drink.

  But Torp Berry merely brushed him aside saying, “You had your chance, Warlow. Too bad you missed it.”

  “I’ll die, damn you, Berry,” Warlow insisted and for this he got a blow on the shoulders from O’Shea which sent him toppling down to join the unconscious Danny Damiani.

  Blake Durant watched this incident coolly until Bromage asked, “Now, Durant?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But why in hell?”

  “Berry’s playing out a game, Bromage,” Blake said. “And there can only be one winner and one loser. So far the loser is Damiani, curse him!”

  “Blasted fool,” Bromage agreed. “But, damn him, he’s got guts to burn.”

  “He’s got that,” Blake said and moved to higher ground to dislodge another rock. Suddenly his feet went from under him and he went down in a shower of dust. The boulder he had just got moving gathered speed and raced away down the slope to bounce over those already there and race out onto the flat empty country.

  Torp Berry was quickly at Blake’s side, digging his gun into his back and forcing him to his feet and then away from the hole gaping up at the three of them.

  Berry’s face brightened and he peered into the hole excitedly, finally saying, “There it is! It’s here!”

  O’Shea, Shepherd and two other guards came running up towards them. Blake Durant picked up his iron bar and braced himself. He gave Curly Bromage a terse nod and then swung the iron bar with all his remaining strength.

  The bar smacked into O’Shea’s middle and sent him hurtling down the slope. Curly Bromage immediately charged at Shepherd and managed to land one solid punch on the smaller man’s jaw before Torp Berry called out wildly, “Hold it, Bromage! Durant, damn you!”

  Curly Bromage hesitated only long enough to see Blake Durant grabbing up O’Shea’s gun. He dived for Shepherd’s gun but a bullet smacked into his wrist and he let out a grunt of pain and drew back. Dust was thick now.

  Durant called out loudly, “Keep going, Bromage. This is it! All or nothing!”

  Bromage didn’t wait for more. A second shot tore a gash along his jaw but he paid the injury no heed as he hurdled over a rising Shepherd and put his knee into the man’s face. Shepherd went down moaning, as Bromage went on. Out of the thick screen of dust he saw Blake Durant pulling Josh Warlow to his feet. Bromage went down towards Danny Damiani. But he had just begun to haul a still stunned Damiani to his feet when rifle fire burst all about them.

  Blake Durant said, “Josh, get the men back to the water tower and keep them there. Bromage, get to Berry’s place, find what guns you can and take them to the tower.”

  “What about Danny?” Bromage asked, and Blake saw a genuine worry reach into the big man’s face.

  “Up to you,” he said. “For mine the others are more important. Get control of the water and the rest will sort itself out.”

  Blake felt a twinge of pain along the top of his shoulder but just then he saw May Soncum running for her life from one of the guards. He punched off a shot and the guard went down. Blake made for him, picked up his rifle and then grabbed May Soncum by the arm and pulled her into the brush.

  Prisoners were running everywhere and although Blake kept yelling for them to make for the tower a lot of them ran wildly in the other direction. Feeling he had done all he could here, Blake hurried along, making his own trail through the dense dry brush. His lungs were bursting when he finally stopped and May Soncum collapsed on the ground at his feet.

  She looked up distraughtly at him and moaned, “I can’t go on. I can’t, Mr. Durant!”

  “You’ve got to. Take a minute’s rest then get to the tower. Once you’re there, get Bromage to look after things.”

  “What are you going to do?” May asked him anxiously.

  “I’m not sure,” he said.

  Bromage, dragging a limp and stunned Damiani with him, suddenly burst through the brush. Blake pushed the six-gun into Bromage’s fist and told him to go on. He then walked carefully back into the break of the brush and took cover behind a tree.

  May Soncum struggled to her feet, amazed at this big man’s endurance. She had seen the whole affair from the very beginning and knew the risks Durant had taken. It seemed to her now that everything he had done, was to help somebody else; Even his killing of the guard who had almost caught her, proved that he had no regard for his own safety. She felt a warmth creeping into her.

  Then he was gone, and Bromage was urging her to hurry. She hesitated, still watching Blake Durant. Then she saw him go down on one knee and heard his rifle blasting.

  With a cry she broke into a stumbling run and followed Bromage and Damiani back along the dusty trail.

  Torp Berry pulled a doubled-over O’Shea to his feet and slammed him back against a boulder’s edge.

  “Come on, damn you, we’ve got to get them,” he snarled. “You ain’t anythin’ but winded, you damn fool!”

  But although he tried to straighten, O’Shea’s face filled with agonized pain.

  “Got somethin’ busted inside,” he said. Shepherd rose up beside him, studied him grimly and shook his head at Berry. Berry grunted and pushed O’Shea away, picked up his own gun and went scrambling down the slope. At the bottom he found one of the guards dead and the others gone through the brush.

  Calling to Shepherd he gave chase and came up a hundred yards further on to find two guards standing off from a break in thicker brush. Rifle fire was keeping the guards pinned down.

  Berry, yelling wildly, charged forward. A rifle blast knocked him off his feet and he rolled along the ground for several yards before, partly dazed, he came to a halt alongside a deadfall log. He sat up, felt his head and smeared blood down his shirt. Shepherd reached him and dropped down beside him.

  Berry, scowling blackly, growled, “I’m not hurt much. Get those others up here. I seen Durant. By hell, I want his hide, I want him bad.”

  Shepherd called the others up. The rifle fire had stopped. He listened above the settling silence and told Berry, “He’s gone on, I think. What now?”

  “Get after him, damn you, what else? Those scum haven’t got but two guns between them and I hid all the other guns when Hopgood was double-crossing me. They won’t find them. Keep at them until they exhaust all their shots. Then, by hell, we’re going to have ourselves a real massacre.”

  Shepherd went off on the run straight into the brush opening. But as soon as he cleared the opening, a last shot from Blake Durant tore one of his kneecaps open. He went down on his face and the rest of the guards who were following him through halted and went to ground.

  Torp Berry, wiping blood from his face and trying to work out the extent of his injury with probing fingers, came walking up behind them. He looked angrily down at the uplifted faces and then stared ahead.

  But the whole section was quiet again. Shepherd struggled to his feet, inspected his knee and tore a strip from his shirt. He bandaged the wound and limped into shade. O’Shea came up still doubled over and coughing up blood, and Torp Berry, after a string of curses had been hurled at his remaining men, leaned against a tree stump and did some thinking.

  Chapter Eight – Fight for Survival

  Blake Durant was almost out on his feet when he walked into the clearing between the two houses. The sun streamed down on him and dried the sweat almost before it formed. He felt as if he could lie down and sleep for a year.

 

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