“Where’re they holding the gal?” the Kid demanded.
“What g——?” Bunjy croaked.
Instantly the position of the knife changed, its point going to the center of the man’s face.
“It’s your nose,” the Kid remarked with an icy casualness that warned he was not bluffing.
“Sh—They took her into the sawmill!” Bunjy yelped. “I dunno why or——”
“Sit up,” ordered the Kid, coming to his feet.
Obediently, Bunjy forced himself into a sitting position. Behind him, Staff raised the Kid’s rifle and drove it downward. The butt cracked against the top of Bunjy’s skull and he flopped backward limply.
“Hawg-tie him,” ordered the Kid. “Why in hell didn’t you whomp him with your own gun?”
“And chance busting it?” Staff replied, handing over the Winchester and kneeling to carry out the Kid’s instructions.
At first, during the ride from the ranch to Hollick City, Staff had tended to be cold and distant toward the Kid. The young cowhand could not see why his boss had needed to ask a Texan to help them hand the sawmill bunch their needings. Before they had reached the town, Staff’s opinion had begun to change. The way the Kid had handled the white stallion started the change and nothing Staff had seen since caused him to alter his view that, Texan or not, the Kid would do to ride the river with. Impressed by the Kid’s ability as he had been while watching the capture of Bunjy, Staff answered the Kid’s complaint in a typical cowhand manner.
Working quickly, Staff and Trinian lashed Bunjy’s hands and feet with pigging thongs they had brought for that purpose. Gagging him with his own bandana, they rolled the limp, unresisting man under the bush that had sheltered and concealed the Kid. Then they rose and followed the Indian-dark Texan toward the buildings. Revolvers in hand, Trinian and Staff watched the rear of the cabins. Nobody challenged them, but the Kid gave a signal that brought them to a halt as they advanced alongside the cookshack.
Peering over the Kid’s shoulder, Staff saw Florence Eastfield and Vandor going into a cabin in front of which was hitched a saddled horse. The Kid let them enter before resuming his advance toward the open double doors of the sawmill. The three men heard the sound of the steam engine and whirring of the saw, without connecting them to Calamity.
“Reckon that feller was telling the truth?” the Kid asked.
“He was too scared not to,” Staff declared.
“Best take a look inside and make sure,” Trinian suggested.
Nodding his agreement, the Kid led the way into the building. Unemotional as he usually appeared, he slammed to a halt and stared. Behind him, Trinian and Staff stood transfixed with horror at the sight of Calamity stretched out on the log, with a rope about her arms and torso, and trouser legs nailed to the wood. Moving forward on the carriage, the log was bearing the girl toward the blurring, whirring blade of the big circular saw.
“Lon!” Calamity croaked.
Even as the word broke from the girl, Trinian growled, “We’ve got to stop this damned thing!”
Looking for the means of doing so, and hoping that they would recognize it when it came into their range of vision, the trio saw Logger standing by the control lever. With a snarl, the big man snatched up a lumberjack’s peavey. Gripping the six-foot-long, stout wooden pole with its sharppointed spike and hook at the thicker end, Logger prepared to defend his last chance of holding down a well-paid job. Drink, the cause of his being blacklisted by the major logging companies, had dulled his mind to the point where he could think of only one thing at a time. So, concerned only with retaining a job that brought money for more liquor, he ignored the fact that the newcomers were carrying firearms. Not that he needed to worry on that count.
“No shooting!” warned the Kid, thrusting his Winchester into Staff’s left hand as the young cowhand started to raise his revolver. “I’ll take him!”
Given a moment and the cause to think, Staff saw the reason for the Kid’s suggestion. At the sound of the shot, the rest of the sawmill’s crew would return. Apart from Logger, according to Leathers’ reports, they were all hired gun-slicks. That meant they possessed sufficient skill to make life mighty hectic for the rescuers.
So Staff held his fire and watched the Kid. Out slid the bowie knife and the Texan rushed toward the burly lumberjack. Snarling a curse, Logger sprang to meet his attacker. To Trinian and Staff, it seemed that concern for Calamity’s safety had driven thought and good sense from the Kid. He was charging at the big man, apparently oblivious of the danger presented by the peavey’s pike or hook. Drink had not slowed Logger’s ability with the peavey. Gripping it in his two hands, he swung it sideways and aimed the hook in the direction of the Kid’s ribs.
Tearing his attention from the Kid, Trinian gave thought to saving Calamity if the Texan failed to reach the lever and halt the carriage. One of the heavy crowbars leaned against the frame supporting the circular saw. Twirling away his Colt, Trinian leaped and caught it up. Already the log’s end was within a foot of the V-toothed blade. Calamity had raised her head and shoulders as far as possible and her face was pale under its tan. Picking up the crowbar, Trinian thrust it into the narrowing gap. Lying across the carriage, the iron bar rode toward the saw.
With the peavey’s hook driving at him, the Kid kicked both of his feet to the front and fell backward. Breaking his fall with his left hand, he felt the wind of the implement’s passing. Carried forward by his momentum, Logger’s feet straddled the Kid’s legs. Bringing up his right boot, the Kid hooked it between Logger’s thighs and behind the man’s rump. Bending his right leg, the Kid heaved at Logger and prevented him from coming to a halt. Then the bowie knife thrust upward. Its point sank into Logger’s body and the blade ripped across to lay open his entire stomach. Blood gushed from the wound, splashing down on the Kid as the stricken man continued to blunder onward. Letting the peavey drop, Logger clutched at his injury and sank first to his knees, then collapsed upon his face.
Rocking backward, the Kid bounded to his feet as soon as Logger had passed above him. Without as much as a glance at the man, the Kid dived forward and gripped the lever. He pushed at it without result, so reversed direction. At his pull, the lever began to move and behind him he heard the sound of the saw biting into the end of the log.
Creeping onward, pushing the crowbar ahead, the log’s end was bitten into by the teeth. Then they struck against the far harder, less yielding material of the crowbar. A hideous screaming ripped the air as the rapidly- spinning blade met the crowbar and shattered teeth sprayed out. Luckily for them, the end of the log shielded Calamity, Trinian and Staff from the flying metal fragments. At first the carriage tried to force the log onward, but the Kid’s operation of the control lever brought it to a stop.
Hurdling Logger’s body, the Kid ran to Calamity. Still pale, showing some of the fear that she had felt, the girl looked sideways at her rescuer. Then she regained control of her emotions and managed to sound her usual self as she spoke.
“What the hell kept you?” she asked.
“Figured you was so comfy I didn’t need to rush,” the Kid answered, starting to sever the rope.
“Get me loose, blast it!” Calamity demanded, sitting up as soon as her torso had been freed.
“I’ll do just that,” promised the Kid, looking at the nails which held the girl’s trouser legs to the log. “Only ——”
“Cut the blasted things off!” Calamity insisted hotly. “I’ve got things to do to Flo Eastfi——Behind you, Cash!”
While speaking to the Kid, Calamity had been looking around and a movement at the main doors caught her eye. She saw a shadow fall across it and yelled her warning instinctively. Spinning around, right hand flashing toward his Colt, Trinian found himself face-to-face with Poole. Recognition appeared to be mutual. On his way to tell Florence and Vandor that he had seen a couple of strange horses among the trees, Poole was not expecting trouble. He still reacted with some speed, but not fast enough. Clearing leather, Trinian’s Army Colt crashed. The bullet ripped into Poole’s chest. Spun around, he tumbled out through the door. As he went, his own revolver left its holster and bellowed. Its bullet churned into the ground as he fell.
“That does it!” Trinian growled, going to the door and flattening himself alongside it to look out. “There’ll be more of ’em coming.”
“Wasn’t no other way you could’ve handled it,” the Kid answered.
“Gimme that blasted knife!” Calamity yelled. “Damned if I didn’t figure I’d have to get myself loose.”
Handing the knife to the girl, the Kid caught his rifle, tossed to him by Staff. While the two men joined Trinian at the door, Calamity started to cut the material of first left, then right trouser leg. She had not completed her work
