the Shadow Riders (1982) Read online

  Trees blown down by hurricane winds or destroyed by insects lay scattered about everywhere through the undergrowth. There were few tall trees, most of what was there being trees of medium height mixed with brush. Here and there were small groves of pecans.

  Kate Connery was restless. It disturbed her that she did not know what was happening, and she had never been one to sit and wait.

  Also, she was too close to where she had disappeared. If anybody came seeking her, this was where they would start. She started off, leading her horse.

  At first she was only weaving her way among the trees, finding ways to get through, avoiding obstructions and seeking a trail. She found one.

  It was a game trail, obviously used by larger game but showing no indications of recent travel. She mounted her horse and still holding her stick, followed the trail, which led north and then west. Nowhere did she see any tracks.

  It was very still. Occasionally, she drew up to listen but heard nothing.

  A soft wind from off the Gulf stirred the leaves, causing faint rustlings that worried her and caused her to stop and listen again and again. A branch or a piece of rotting bark fell from a tree and she came up standing, listening, frightened.

  Once, near a rotting log, she glimpsed a huge old diamond-back rattler, thicker than her arm. Her horse shied, but she was a good fifteen feet away and not worried. Yet its presence was a warning. There could be others.

  It was very still. Twice she saw great white birds sweep by overhead, whooping cranes. There were numerous tracks - a small black bear, many raccoons, even an alligator.

  She drew up again, listening. Something moving. Something large, therefore something or someone who might be dangerous. She put her hand on her horse's neck and spoke softly to it, sshing it.

  She heard the sound again. Something ... not very far off. Something moving.

  She let her breath out carefully. How far away? Was there more than one of whatever it was?

  What could she do? Run? But from what? From whom? It could be an enemy. It could also be one of the Travens or one of the girls.

  She gripped her stick a little tighter. What was it Dal had said? Thrust, don't strike. Instinct seemed to make one wish to use a stick as a club, but the thrust was better, at the throat, the face, the mid-section. Jab with it and jab hard, or grip the stick in both hands and jerk it up under the chin ... hard.

  Movement, not very far off. Suddenly, bitten by a fly, her horse stamped a hoof. Movements ceased.

  "Over there," a man said.

  Not one of the Travens, yet a familiar voice, not one pleasantly familiar, either. Her mouth was dry and she tried to swallow, tried several times before succeeding. She gathered the reins, hesitating. Exactly where were they?

  There was movement, she glimpsed a horse's head, then the rider. Behind him, another rider.

  "Well, would you lookit this! An' all alone, too! Just you an' me an' the lady, Cut. Jus' the three of us. I'd say we were gonna have us a time!"

  Cutler and Hayden, and she was alone ...

  Chapter Fifteen.

  She slapped the spurs to her horse and went down the trail as if shot from a gun. Ducking her head because of low branches she raced down the narrow trail, and seeing another turning off to the north, she whipped into it. Her horse leaped a small stream and ducked under a low-hanging limb.

  They were close behind and coming fast. If only she had a gun! The trees arched over the trail, and at places wind had bent them down until they almost closed the trail. Running wasn't going to be enough. She'd have to fight. They were too close behind, and the first time she encountered a real obstruction her horse would stop and they would close behind her.

  What would she do? Stab for the face with the end of the stick, then take off again.

  Kate was angry. She did not like to run, and she despised the two men who were pursuing her. Yet she was no match for them in any land of physical encounter, except briefly. Well, make it brief then!

  Suddenly there was a log across the trail. How good a jumper was her horse? She did not know, but she headed him right at the log, and he went for it, sailing right over it in a long, graceful leap. She pulled up quickly as Hayden's horse balked, and turning in her saddle she struck him across the face with her stick.

  His hand had gone up to block the blow, but too slowly. Her move had been unexpected and swift. Her stick smashed Hayden across the face, and then she was gone again, racing away down the winding trail.

  Coming suddenly into a small clearing with a fallen-in cabin, she turned at right angles and raced off down a road of two ruts with grass growing between them. Her horse seemed happy to run, and she gave him his head. A glance back showed they were coming.

  Rounding a bend in the road she saw before her a low hanging branch. She ducked ... too late!

  She hit the ground hard, and her horse went racing off. She heard a yell of triumph, and Hayden hit the ground as she came up. His face was bloody, and there was an ugly welt where she had struck him. It looked also as if his nose might be broken. That she glimpsed in one startled moment as he lunged to grab her.

  She jerked the stick up, gripping it with both hands, and as he lunged at her she ripped the jagged end of the stick into his throat, just back of the chin.

  Hayden gave a strangled cry and fell back, blood gushing from his throat. Cutler dropped from his horse and rushed at her.

  She backed off a little, choosing her ground. "Come on!" she invited. "You can have what he got!"

  Cutler was wary. He circled.

  Hayden was on his hands and knees, choking on his own blood. "Heh ... help me!" he pleaded. Cutler ignored him, circling, watching her like a cat. "You throw down that stick!" he said. "You an' me, we can git along. We don't need him. We don't need nobody. Jus' you an' me?"

  "You'd better take care of your friend," Kate said calmly. "I'm not afraid of you, and the Travens are coming. They're bringing the rope to hang you with!"

  Cutler was a heavy, powerful man, but quick. She must be very, very careful! What was it Dal always said? "You got to think of the terrain. You got to use the ground."

  The place where they were was a clearing in the forest not more than fifty feet across, edged on one side by a marsh with no water visible, its surface covered with a thick mat of water lilies and clumps of sedge. As a child she had often hopped from one such clump of sedge to another, but the water-lillies in between often grew over deep water.

  There were some scattered pines, much undergrowth, and other trees. She backed off, toward the edge of the lilies, and Cutler followed, his eyes on her.

  How much did he know? Of how much was he aware? To make her first leap she must turn her back on him, something she was loathe to do, yet suddenly, she did just that. She turned and leaped for the nearest clumb of sedge, feeling his hands grasping, slipping off her arms as she barely eluded him.

  She landed on the sedge, sagged dangerously but came erect and leaped to the next clump. Unaware he lunged after her and ran right into the lily pads. He went down, came floundering to the surface gasping. "Damn you! I'll -"

  Coolly, she leaped to another clump of sedge, then running to the nearest horse she caught up the reins and got into the saddle.

  He was floundering in the water and lily pads. "Help me! Help! I can't swim!"

  "Everybody has troubles!" she said, and rode away.

  It was Cutler's horse, and there was a rifle in the scabbard and a pistol in a saddle holster.

  She was armed. Now she could look for Dal.

  Dal holstered his gun and looked over at Mac. "Well, boy, this is what it all comes to. You and me and them. If we don't get out of this alive I just want to say no better man ever lived, and I've been proud to have you for a brother and a friend."

  "That goes double, Dal, but you and me, we can make it. We've got to for Kate's sake, and then we've got to take the girls home.

  "You know, Dal, I wonder what happens to men like Ashford? He was a
respected man, and he could have gone on to make something of himself. Now he's thrown it all away."

  "He was rotten at the core, Mac, like one of those pretty red apples a man bites into sometimes. What it all comes down to in the end is a matter of honor and simple decency. If a man doesn't have that, he's nothing, and never will be anything, no matter how many cows he owns."

  "You ready?"

  "If I ain't I never will be. We got it to do, boy, and I've a hunch here's where the shootin' starts."

  Mac stepped into the saddle and edged ahead of Dal. He was thinking, Dal had Kate if they could find her, and who did he have?

  He had known a lot of girls, but when it came down to now, where were they? And who would shed a tear if he folded his cards on this trip? Just nobody, outside of his family.

  Sunlight filtered through the leaves and dappled the grassy trails. Shadows lurked deep under the trees in this scattered, stunted forest. He saw the tracks where several javek'nas had crossed the trail, leaving the deep, sharp little prints of their passing. They didn't leave much of a mark, but who did?

  He drew the Spencer from the scabbard. A pistol was all right, but for a man with strong hands a rifle was better. He could shoot straighter, farther, and harder, and he had learned to shoot a rifle like a pistol, shooting right from where it was.

  "Must be twenty of them left," Dal said. "Maybe even more."

  "Makes it about even," Mac said, grinning at him over his shoulder. "But let's you an' me find Kate and dust out of here. They don't have anything we want."

  "Yes, they do. Back yonder in that wagon they've got coflee, bacon, and ..."

  "Ssh!" Mac lifted a hand, and they reined in, listening. They had come close to the edge of the woods, and they could hear the sound of a ship's bell. Edging forward, from a low sand-hill they could see a ship at anchor on the bay, a boat being lowered into the water. "We weren't any too quick, Dal," Mac said. "I hope to God nothing keeps them from getting to Refugio! After all this ..."

  "They'll make it."

  "There's Ashford, going out to meet them." Mac got out the field glasses. "Butler's with him. Must be him, from Jesse's description, and there's a half dozen others."

  "Anybody at the wagons?"

  "Are you thinking what I think you are?"

  "Well, look at it. Kate's out there somewhere needin' help, but she'll also be hungry, and it won't do no good if we starve. Besides, I think we should send up a signal."

  "There'd be ammunition, too, and I'm down to one more load for my pistol."

  They turned their mounts and rode back into the trees, keeping back from the edge of the forest. After all, the two groups approaching each other would be watching each other, not the wagons.

  There were many tracks, but they had been ridden over too many times to identify. When they were within fifty yards of the wagons they pulled up. "Nobody in sight," Mac whispered.

  "Let's go."

  They walked their horses out to the wagons. "Get what we need, Dal. I'll stand watch."

  Only a moment or two passed, and Dal emerged with a sack of coffee and a slab of bacon. He returned for some jerked beef, a loaf of bread, and a sack of lead bullets.

  "Get me some powder, too."

  "Make it quick."

  "Hold your horses. I've found me one o' them Quick-Loaders. I just want to make sure she's all loaded up."

  He disappeared. Mac was sweating. He mopped the sweat from his eyes with his sleeve, looking all around. The two groups had come together on the sand near the sea. They were talking now.

  "Hurry, Dal!"

  Dal was climbing out of the wagon when the three riders came out of the brush. They were riding toward the wagons when Mac saw them, and a moment later they saw him. For a moment they stared, then rifles came up, and Mac shot the Spencer from where it was and saw a man fall. He rode his horse away from the wagons to draw fire from Dal and shot again. The man's horse leaped, throwing him off balance and momentarily out of the fight.

  Mac spurred his horse, leaping him toward the third man and they fired simultaneously. Mac felt something snatch at his collar, and his shot missed. His second, fired at a dead run toward the third man, did not.

  Wheeling his horse Mac charged at the last man, who was fighting his horse into control. As he came up to the rider he lifted his rifle for a point-blank shot when the man jerked and fell sideways off his horse.

  Dal came up as his shot sounded in their ears. "Don't be greedy," he said.

  At a dead run they rode into the woods. Dal pulled up at the narrowing trail. "You hurt?"

  "No ... but it was close."

  "Closer than you think. You've got blood on your collar."

  Mac put his hand up, touching his neck gingerly. A graze. A half inch further over and he might have bought it. Now the sweat was getting into the wound, and it stung. He took out a handkerchief and made a square of it and tucked it between his collar and the wound.

  "Anyway," Dal said, "we won't starve, and I'm loaded for bear. I got one of those six-cylinder Quick-Loaders. Maybe we should start this war all over again."

  "You start it. When we find Kate, I'm going home. At least," Mac added, "I'm going back where we came from."

  They rode again into the woods, weaving their way deeper and deeper, then turning south again.

  Mac was tired, and he knew Dal was. They had been riding and fighting ... how long since they had slept? Or eaten? Yet they could not think of that now. Kate was out there, perhaps in dire need.

  "Hell of it is," Dal said, "we don't know what she's riding, if she is riding anything. We don't even know what to look for."

  It was hot. Dal mopped the sweat from his face and looked around. So much of this wooded place looked like any other. They pushed on.

  Something over an hour later they rode into a grassy clearing to see a standing horse and a man sprawled on the ground.

  Mac stepped down from his horse and turned the body over with his boot toe. The man's nose had been broken. There was an ugly welt on his cheekbone and the skin was split, but his throat had been pierced and torn.

  "What in God's world?" Mac said. "Would you look at that!"

  "Kate," Dal said.

  "Kate? Are you crazy?"

  "No, sir. Kate, with the end of a stick. I showed her how. Don't you remember what we learned from that character named Dugan? To thrust with a stick, not strike?"

  Mac stared at the body. "Dal, take some advice from your big brother. If you marry that girl, be nice to her. You hear me?"

  Chapter Sixteen.

  Night was coming, and Kate was alone. The big horse she was riding was fractious and difficult. She was tired and wanted to rest. Twice she had riders pass within a few yards of her, but now they seemed to be riding back toward the beach. From a word or two she had overheard she was sure the ship she had glimpsed was now at anchor.

  If so, Ashford would be meeting with them, but what did he now have to offer? Perhaps there was money in one of the wagons; she did not know. She knew of none in her wagon, but she had heard of secret compartments in the floors of such wagons.

  Now she wanted, desperately, to rest. She was hungry, but it was sleep she needed most. But where? How? There must be two dozen men roaming through the woods aside from the Travens. From time to time she heard outbursts of firing.

  Suppose she rode to Connery's ranch? To do so meant she must ride across open range for some distance, and in clear view of anybody who was watching. The big horse she rode was tired and could not stand a long run.

  She had seen nothing of the girls, although a glimpse of the wagons indicated no movement, not even guards, hence nothing to guard. They had been taken away or had escaped.

  Martin Connery had offered to let her stay, but she had chosen to return to help the girls. They had needed her, but now they were gone. Where, she did not know.

  There was a small chain of lakes that ran parallel to Mission River. So for there had been no movement or action ther
e, and if she could find her way she might find a place where she could simply lie down, if only for a few minutes.

  She had checked the rifle and pistol she had acquired along with the horse. Both were loaded, both ready for use. Yet she had only the ammunition they carried, no more.

  Stopping by a small stream she let the big horse drink, and lying down, she drank from the stream near her horse, holding the reins.

  It was a quiet place. She looked around a small clearing, then went back to the edge of the trees, leading the horse.

  There was a place there under the trees, a mossy green place. There was a rope on the horse, and she picketed him on the grass, tying the rope to the tree near her. Putting the rifle on some leaves at her side, she slid the pistol back under the leaves but where it could be quickly reached. Only then did she lie down. Almost at once, she was asleep.

  Darkness gathered in the forest, and stillness was its companion. Small animals began to prowl, and in the trees birds ruffled their feathers. An owl questioned the darkness, then flew past on silent wings, a ghostly predator sweeping through the trees. A red wolf, seeking prey, smelled the sleeping girl, the horse, the sweaty leather of the saddle, and shied away, interested but wary. A snake crawled by within a few feet, but the horse snorted and stomped his feet, and the snake moved away, headed toward the nearby lake and the frogs it heard.

  Bats swirled and dived and fluttered in the starlit darkness above the stunted forest. The sleeping girl turned on her side, and the rider heard the movement and drew up to listen. He heard the horse cropping grass, then slowly and carefully dismounted. The leather creaked as he swung down, and for a moment he stood very still, afraid the sound had awakened her. After a moment he tied his horse to a tree.

  Tip-toeing to make no sound he went near her, looked down at her for a moment, then crossed to a nearby tree and sat down where he could watch her. He took off his wide sombrero and laid it, crown down, on the grass. After a moment he took off his boots and placed them carefully alongside his hat. Then he drew a pistol and laid it in his lap.