saw dust spurt from Fletcher’s vest, saw the amazed look that crossed Fletcher’s features. Fletcher’s next shot blended with Lance’s. Lance felt the sombrero jerk on his head and knew that one had been close too. Through the haze of smoke from the guns he saw Fletcher’s body go rigid, pulling him up on his boot toes. Fletcher half turned, one hand clawing at his breast, then he crumpled in a lifeless heap.
Methodically Lance plugged out empty shells and replaced them in his gun cylinder as he moved toward the body. “Lord knows,” he said grimly, “I tried to take you alive, Fletcher, but you wouldn’t have it that way. I reckon it wasn’t meant to be.”
It was nearing noon when Lance again came within sight of the ranch house. Considerable clearing up had already been done. Oscar and Trunk-Strap Kelly, aided by Lanky, Huareztjio and a bunch of Yaquentes were working at the edge of the brush clearing away the last remnants of battle. Oscar looked up as Lance approached. He said solemnly, “Have a lemon drop? They’re good for that shaky feeling.”
Lance took a lemon drop. He said, “Where’s the rest?”
“The professor and Miss Gregory are in the house. She’s bathing a scratch he got on one hand. Lockwood is down in the bunk house, which same we’ve turned into a hospital. Ethan is right good at treatin’ wounds, you know, and there’s a first-aid kit. No—none of our men were hurt bad. Tom Piper’s got a couple of ribs and an arm broken. Hub Owen got his hair parted with a bullet. Most of the losses were on the other side. Horatio’s got some of his gang doing a job of burying back in the hills. The Yaquentes took some prisoners back to their village. We found both Larry Johnson and Luke Ordway dead. That’s Ordway’s buckskin you’re riding.”
“It’s one sweet pony,” Lance said.
“I don’t see Fletcher’s horse.”
“I tried to take him alive. Only succeeded in breaking his bronc’s neck.”
“We knew you’d be back right soon,” Oscar said gravely. “It was nice going, Lance, all of it.”
Huareztjio pushed up, grinning, and took Lance’s hand. Lance returned the friendly clasp, touched spurs to his pony and moved on.
The professor was waiting for Lance at the edge of the gallery. One hand was bandaged. He held out his right hand as Lance climbed stiffly down from the saddle. “Back safe—thank God,” he said jerkily. “Made a fool of myself—lost my head, what?”
Lance said, “It’s a damn good thing you did. You started the ball rolling. It was you that turned the tide our way.”
Jones smiled shyly. “Good ruckus, what? Enjoyed it—fact.”
“Only thing I’m sorry for,” Lance said awkwardly, “is the loss of your cactus plant. That was really tough.”
“Regrettable,” Jones said philosophically, though his eyes looked a trifle moist, “but not vital, y’understand. Now I know it exists—search for another
Lance passed through the doorway into the big room. It was cool and dim within. He saw movement and her hair like yellow pollen dust. The girl’s face was luminous in the purple shadows. He felt her heart beating against his own, and her arms were warm about his neck. After a time he said unsteadily, “Now that the dust has settled…”
Also by William Colt MacDonald:
Other
POWDER SMOKE
THE RED RAIDER
