Ranch War

shared the two men’s opinion of the spot, for they turned their horses toward it. Once they had entered the hollow, the couple passed out of the watchers’ range of vision. However, there was no way they could leave without being seen, so Hogue and Ruiz felt no concern.

“They’ve played into our hands, amigo,” Ruiz stated.

“We may’s well get some rest, then,” Hogue answered.

“You go. I’ll watch for a while,” Ruiz suggested.

Accepting his companion’s advice without argument, for once, Hogue backed off the rim. Ruiz watched for a short time longer. A movement among the trees caught his attention. Looking closer, he discovered it was caused by the girl as she moved about the slope above the hollow collecting firewood. Shortly after she had disappeared again, the Mexican saw the glow and smoke of a fire. Nodding his satisfaction, Ruiz withdrew and joined Hogue. They spread their blankets and settled down to rest.

At midnight, Ruiz stirred and sat up. Coming to his feet, he woke the other man. Hogue crawled from his blankets, cursing and scratching at his belly. Going to their horses, after folding their bedrolls, they saddled up. When all was ready for their departure, Ruiz stood for a moment, testing the wind.

“It’s blowing along the valley, not across,” the Mexican decided. “We can take our horses closer.”

“Don’t see why not,” Hogue agreed. The wind would not carry their mounts’ scent to the animals in the hollow. “Let’s get going.”

Leading their horses, the two men went on foot along the rim. They took their bearings from the faint glow of red below. When almost directly above its source, they came to a halt under the low-hanging branches of a white oak. Dropping their split-ended reins was all that they needed to do to prevent the animals straying. Range-trained, their mounts would not try to roam while the reins dangled loose to catch the feet. Glancing at Ruiz, Hogue drew the rifle from his saddle-boot. The big man still remembered the bullet whizzing by his head as he had entered the alley behind the Railroad House. So he did not intend to take unnecessary chances with the girl. Recalling how the Texan had reacted to Smith’s attack, Ruiz nodded his approval and drew his own Winchester.

If their approach along the rim had been made carefully, it did not come close to the caution they showed as they descended the slope. Finding a game trail, they inched through the head-high bushes until they received their first view of their victims’ camp. Still in the shelter of the bushes, they studied the scene before them.

Although dying down, the fire threw a pool of light over the center of the clearing. The couple were camped sufficiently far in the open for the men to feel pleased that they had brought their rifles and did not need to rely on handguns. A movement near the mouth of the hollow drew the two men’s gaze. They saw the girl’s and Texan’s horses picketed close to the opening. Looking at the animals, Ruiz remembered something he had heard about Cabrito. His last doubts were wiped away. According to all the stories, the Ysabel Kid did not need to fasten up his white stallion; but left it free to act as a roving sentinel while he slept. The Texan’s white horse was fastened to a sapling not far from the other mounts.

“They’ve sure got themselves made comfortable,” Hogue whispered, diverting Ruiz’s thoughts from the horses.

Turning his eyes in the direction of the fire, the Mexican felt inclined to agree with his companion. Carefully he studied the blanket-covered figures lying at the edge of the lighted area. Although the three saddles formed an n-shaped shelter which hid the sleepers’ heads from the watchers, the outlines of their bodies showed plain enough beneath the blankets. From all appearances, they were bundling belly to belly and in each other’s arms. The young man’s back was toward Hogue and Ruiz, his shoulder exposed above the coverings and arm draped across the girl. Their boots stood by the foot of the temporary bed and their hats hung on the horns of the riding saddles. Hanging across the seats of the saddles, the two gun-belts were so positioned that the watchers could see the revolvers in their holsters.

“If we shoot him, the bullets will go through and kill the girl,” Ruiz warned Hogue in a soft voice.

“You’ll have to chance it,” the white man replied, no louder. Even as he spoke, they saw the sleeping Texan’s arm move a little. “Take them!”

Swinging up their rifles, they lined the sights. Two shots rang out at almost the same instant, lighting the night with their muzzle-blasts and slamming echoes along the valley. Through the whirling powder-smoke, Hogue and Ruiz watched the blankets agitate as the bullets ripped through into the back of the male sleeper. Although his body jerked under the impact, neither he nor the girl attempted to rise or even moved.

“Got ’em both, like I figured!” Hogue announced, working his rifle’s loading lever and striding from the bushes.

Following the white man, Ruiz fed another live round into his Winchester. As soon as they had made sure that the couple were dead, the Mexican planned to take care of the insulting gringo and be the only one of them to return to claim the rewards for their work.

Chapter 9 TAKE HIM ALIVE

“YOU RUINED MY SHIRT.”

Soft spoken, gentle almost, though they were, the words which came from the right of the advancing pair sounded charged with menace and bore a deadly warning. With sickening impact, Hogue and Ruiz knew that something had gone terribly wrong.

Turning his head in the direction of the speaker, Ruiz let out a savage snarl that combined anger with superstitious fear. Two figures had stepped from the bushes about thirty yards from where the would-be killers had come to a sudden halt. Dressed as she had been on the street in Mulrooney, except for her kepi and gunbelt being missing and moccasins instead of boots on her feet, the girl gripped a Winchester carbine ready for use.

Bare-headed, rifle in hands, the Texan wore all black clothing and had the face of a scalp-hunting Pehnane Dog Soldier. The bowie knife that usually rode on his gunbelt swung sheathed from his waistband.

“Cabrito!” Ruiz croaked.

The words jolted through the shock that had numbed Hogue into immobility. With a curse, he started to swing in the couple’s direction and whip the rifle to his shoulder. Throwing off his fears and thoughts on how the figure in the bed had moved its arm, Ruiz copied his companion’s move. Already the Kid’s Winchester was rising in a lightning-fast, smoothly flowing motion. His right eye squinted along the barrel as the butt settled into place. While Calamity was still raising the lighter carbine, the Kid squeezed his old yellow-boy’s trigger.

Once again gunfire illuminated and shattered the silence of the darkness. Twice in a second the Kid’s Winchester cracked, its lever blurring down then up between the shots so fast that the eye could barely follow the movements. Firing at such speed did not allow for a change in the point of aim. So, even as he turned loose his second bullet, the Kid was relying on Calamity to stop Ruiz shooting him. Both the girl’s and the Mexican’s weapons were lining and the Kid’s life hung in a very delicate balance.

Wanting a living prisoner whom they could question, the Kid had shot to wound rather than kill. Hogue was the faster of the pair to recover, so he received first attention. Both of the Kid’s bullets ripped into the right side of the burly man’s chest, spinning him around in a full circle. The rifle flew from Hogue’s hands and he stumbled in front of Ruiz just as the Mexican laid sights on the Kid. Unable to stop himself, Ruiz completed his pressure on the trigger. He saw flame lance from his rifle’s muzzle and a hole appear in the center of Hogue’s back.

The same accident that saved the Kid had a beneficial effect on Ruiz. A split second after the Mexican fired, Calamity’s carbine spoke. Meant for Ruiz, the bullet spiked into the center of the reeling white man’s chest. Yet the Mexican knew that he was far from out of the woods. Staggering on, Hogue collapsed face down and left his companion exposed to Calamity’s and the Kid’s weapons. Already the dark Texan had sent another bullet into his rifle’s chamber and was changing the direction in which its muzzle pointed.

Discarding his rifle as a useless encumbrance to his escape, Ruiz hurled himself toward the bushes. He moved just in time to avoid catching the Kid’s next bullet. Calamity’s carbine swung and spat. Jerking from his head, Ruiz’s sombrero spun away. When he did not fall or break stride, she knew that she had hit the hat but missed its wearer. Throwing her lever through its reloading cycle, she wondered why the Kid did not use his rifle to bring down the fleeing man.

“Watch that ’n’, gal!” the Kid barked, lowering the Winchester and laying it on the ground. “I’m going after