“Bein’ outnumbered,” Larry remarked aloud,“ain’t such a gosh-awful strain. Not when you’re well armed.”
Ten
The Britches of Sergeant Boyle
Stretch Emerson’s descent of the mountaintrack was made at breakneck speed and with scant respect for lifeor limb.
As he took to the open country, Stretchscanned the terrain eagerly. It didn’t seem long since the LoneStar Hellions had taken pains to avoid contact with 9th Cavalrypatrols. Now, the position was reversed, in no uncertain terms. Heneeded to contact a patrol.
When he spotted the eight blue-uniformedriders, he forgot the smarting of his shoulder wound, forgot thathis mount was badly winded and needed to rest, forgot everythingsave the dire need to fetch help for his partner.
The soldiers had just emerged from a stripof chaparral. They had spotted him and were reining up. Theirleader was bulky in his saddle and florid, thick-necked, all toofamiliar.
“My gosh,” reflected Stretch. “It’d have tobe him. Boyle—of all people!”
He brought the pinto to a slithering halt afew yards from the sergeant’s pony.
“Sarge,” he gasped, “you gotta come alongwith me. Larry needs help!”
The seven troopers said nothing. They hadmet the tall Texan before, and not sociably. They eyed him sourly,while Boyle delivered himself of a stream of invective, andasserted,
“I’ve made myself a promise, by glory. I’mgonna break every bone in your no-good Texas carcass—for what youdid to Cusack and me!”
“Who’s Cusack?” blinked Stretch.
“Corporal Cusack!” snarled Boyle. “You stolehis uniform—same time you stole mine—you lousy, sneakin’thief!”
“For gosh sakes,” fretted Stretch, “I got notime to tangle with you now.” And he thought to add, “Besides, I’mplumb innocent. I didn’t steal your doggone duds.”
“Cool your saddle!” barkedBoyle.
“Go on, Sarge,” urged a trooper. “Beat hisbrains out.”
“You lame-brained fools!” fumed Stretch.“This ain’t no time for fightin’ with each other! If you hanker fora hassle, do like I’m tellin’ you. Come back with me—back to themountains. Larry’s trailin’ the same bunch that …”
“As well as beatin’ your brains out,” saidBoyle, as he swung to the ground, “I’m gonna spread your nose clearover your face. You hear me, Emerson? I said get off thathorse!”
Stretch lived a moment of anguishedindecision. Nothing caused him greater pleasure than the furiousgymnastics of an all-in brawl. He could have enjoyed blacking thesergeant’s eyes and loosening his teeth—at any other time. Larry’sorders had been explicit. Find help. Bring reinforcements back tothe high country.
Boyle was striding toward the windedpinto, bunching his fists and repeating his demand that Stretchdismount. It seemed there was only one thing Stretch could do. Hedid it, at such bewildering speed that Boyle and his men were takenby surprise. As fast as they could blink, Stretch’s matched .45scleared leather, cocked, the left-hand gun pointed unerringly atBoyle’s broad chest, the other weaving in a slow half-arc to coverthe bug-eyed troopers.
“Damn you ...!” began Boyle.
“Hush your doggone mouth,” growled Stretch.“Do like I’m tellin’ you—and do it fast.” To the troopers, hedrawled an order. “Unbuckle your side arms. Hurl ’em clear. Thecarbines too. Anybody makes a rash move, I swear I’ll let daylightthrough your lard-bellied sergeant.”
The troopers hastily rid themselves oftheir weapons. Boyle moved slower. Glowering at the muzzle of theColt pointed at him, he unbuckled his side arms. Then, to hischagrin, Stretch voiced another order.
“Now strip off your britches.”
Boyle started convulsively.
“No ...!”
“Don’t gimme no ‘no’s’,” Stretch scowledferociously. “I get your britches—or you get a bullet. Make up yourmind!”
The sergeant trembled in impotent rage andperspired profusely as he raised the bottom part of his tunic andunstrapped his pants belt. The britches were a tight fit, albeitbrand new issue. To remove them, he was obliged to first remove hisboots. He did so, to the accompaniment of much imaginativeprofanity and many an aspersion on the mating habits of Stretch’sancestors. Lithely, Stretch dismounted.
“Back away,” he ordered Boyle. “Back faraway. The rest of you useless Yankees—cool your saddles. Go on now!Climb offa them prads and back away.”
The troopers dismounted. One of them casta longing glance at his fallen carbine, but was discouraged by theTexan’s right hand Colt. They backed away, all of them. When theywere a full twenty yards from where he stood, Stretch scooped upBoyle’s britches and leapt astride Boyle’s horse, guessing it to befresher than his own overworked pinto. He took the rein, holsteredhis Colts and dug in his heels. Raising a derisive Rebel yell andwaving the britches like a flag, he started the sergeant’s ponyracing back to the foothills.
“That does it!” gasped Boyle. “That reallydoes it! Get your weapons, men. Remount! I’ll fix that Texaspolecat if I have to chase him from here to Wyomin’!” He dashed towhere his boots lay, began pulling them on. “Trooper Haggerty—I’mridin’ double with you. Emerson’s pinto ain’t worth a damn. C’mon,men ...!”
A few moments before reaching thefoothills, Stretch glanced backward. Boyle and his troopers weredoing exactly what he had hoped for—chasing him. Bueno. This wasthe easy way, and a damn sight faster than trading gab with theunimaginative sergeant. He chuckled elatedly, knotted the britchesabout the saddlehorn and rode on.
Through the foothills and all the way to thebeginning of the mountain track, he deliberately slowed his pace,to permit his pursuers to keep him in sight—if not in shootingrange. When he began his journey to the higher regions, Boyle’sparty never once hesitated. They kept coming.
Soon, they heard the ominous thunderabove—the sullen booming of six-guns, the harsh crackle of riflefire.
“I dunno what that shootin’s all about,”panted Boyle, “but I reckon we’d best find out. Keep movin’,men!”
Meanwhile, the other half of theValentine-Emerson partnership was still in good spirits. Any time ahead or a gun appeared at the windows, Larry snapped a shot at it,effective discouragers that kept Collier and Company very much atbay. Holes suddenly appeared in the panels of the door. They weredirecting their fire through it, he realized. Bullets slammed intothe dealwood of the overturned table, some gouging chunks from itsedges. Coolly, he lined a fully-loaded repeater at the door and, inone energetic burst, emptied it. Outside, he heard his attackersscattering in disorder, and Collier’s shouted rebukes.
“Rush the windows!”
“Yeah—try that!” Larry
