Die by the Gun Read online

  The Indians, bless their hearts, jumped onto their ponies and gave chase.

  Judging distances and locations, Mac rode straight for the bounty hunter who wanted to bring him in and claim the whole reward. Mac burst over the crest of a sandy hill, saw the man not fifty yards away, and for the first time opened fire. At that range, on horseback, hitting the bounty hunter would have used up all his remaining luck. All he did was cause the man’s horse to rear.

  That was good enough. He veered slightly and forced the man to come after him . . . following him so he ended up between Mac and the pursuing Indians.

  The Comanches caught up fast, and when the bounty hunter realized that, he twisted in his saddle and threw a few shots from his Winchester in their direction. Whether the Indians believed the bounty hunter to be Mac or simply didn’t care, they shifted their attack from the fleeing cook to the man willing to use his rifle on them.

  Mac’s hastily formed plan was working so far, but he wasn’t satisfied. He veered again, going to the southeast until he caught sight of the other three bounty hunters. A few more shots in their direction emptied his gun and brought them racing toward him.

  Reloading on the gallop proved to be a challenge. He lost more than a few bullets as he fumbled in his pocket for cartridges to replace those spent already. When he got six more in the cylinder, he charged the bounty hunters, scattering them with a barrage of shots.

  Now it was time to put the icing on the cake. He cut back again so the bounty hunters trailed him. Mac thundered up behind the Comanches and then veered sharply aside, behind one of the sand hills. The Indians never saw him, but they saw the three bounty hunters who seemed to be shooting at them, sure enough. Yipping frenziedly, they swung around and relaunched their attack in a different direction.

  Arrows whistled through the air, met by the bounty hunters firing back. Mac halted and swung around, waiting for the three men to gallop past him. When they did, he opened fire in a flank attack, taking his time to aim and making every shot count. Whether he actually hit any of them wasn’t the point. He stopped them in their tracks, confusing them and forcing them to deal with the Indians whooping toward them from the front.

  Mac’s gun came up empty again, but the bounty hunters weren’t going to chase him any longer. They were too busy. They’d jumped down to take refuge behind the scanty cover of bushes and rocks poking out of the sandy soil.

  Mac changed direction again, riding for the herd. He didn’t know what had happened to the first bounty hunter. The Comanches might have killed him. But even if he had escaped, he was out of the way for now.

  A large dust cloud rose on the horizon. That had to be where Mac would find a couple of dozen revolvers willing to back him up if necessary. The Circle Arrow cowboys would fight for him because he was one of them, part of their trail family.

  That, and he made the best damned biscuits they’d ever tasted, Green Frog Café or not.

  CHAPTER 10

  “You go scout, Johnston. We need to find a place to set up an ambush.” Quick Willy Means glared at the gunman. Johnston thought he was better than the rest of them. Maybe he was, but as long as he rode with this gang, he would take orders like everybody else.

  Arizona Johnston shook his head, picked up a stick, and began scratching in the dirt.

  “There’s no reason for us to split up, Willy. See here? This is where the herd is. The last we saw, Mackenzie was driving the chuckwagon. There are only so many places he can go with that wagon. We don’t need to split up. We all stay together and swoop in when he heads in this direction.”

  “Why’s that gonna work?” Frank Huffman scratched himself. “How do we know what direction he’ll head in?”

  “Because,” Johnston said, as if explaining to a simpleton, “he’s their cook. He stays ahead of the herd. They’re following the Goodnight-Loving Trail, so we know the direction they’re going already.”

  “Fort Sumner,” Means said. “That’s where they’re most likely going to sell them beeves to the Army. I don’t know about the rest of you, but chasing Mackenzie over into New Mexico Territory isn’t what I want to do for the next couple weeks.” He pitched his voice lower so it carried a menace that hadn’t been there before. “Find us a place to ambush him before we get to New Mexico.”

  “All I’m saying is that we stand a better chance if we stay together.” Johnston crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Means with cool, barely concealed defiance. Quick Willy saw that he stood so his right hand rested near the pistol in the cross-draw holster. As much as Johnston wanted them to think he stood easy, he was tighter than a drum and ready to throw down on the lot of them.

  “You’re nuthin’ but a coward,” Charles Huffman said abruptly. “You don’t want to go traipsin’ off by your lonesome ’cause Mackenzie might shoot you.” Huffman was stupid enough not to see how close Johnston was to exploding.

  “We’ll be following,” Quick Willy said in one final effort to defuse the tense situation. “You find the place and we’ll—”

  “No.”

  Arizona Johnston’s flat-voiced refusal hardened something inside Quick Willy Means. Nobody challenged him for leadership of this gang. Being a bounty hunter was tough enough. Keeping these yahoos corralled and riding in the proper direction was almost as difficult as being trail boss for a big herd. Sometimes he thought it was harder. All Hiram Flowers had to deal with were cranky steers. They weren’t too bright, either alone or in a herd, and had only a few things they did instinctively. The Huffman brothers were as stupid as a longhorn but always managed to find new and different ways to blunder on.

  However, they always followed his orders. Arizona Johnston was another matter. He had plans he wasn’t sharing, and Quick Willy figured those plans didn’t include him. Not alive, anyway.

  “You can ride out any time you want, Arizona,” he said softly. By the different pitch to his voice, he added a quiet menace. The Huffmans wouldn’t be threatened if he did it to them, because they were too dumb to notice. Shouting got better results with them.

  Johnston caught on to the threat right away. Smart fellow, Johnston. Too smart.

  “I’m not forfeiting my share of the reward for Mackenzie, not after I’ve come this far.”

  “Then ride. We can be done by the end of the day. Find where he’s going to park that chuckwagon for dinner. It’ll take the herd hours to reach that point. By then we’ll have him in custody.”

  “Or dead,” Johnston said. “In custody or dead.”

  “Leclerc wants him to stand trial and will give us a hefty bonus if we take him to New Orleans alive.”

  “Easier if he’s dead.” Johnston never twitched a muscle. He kept his hand near the gun on his left hip.

  Quick Willy Means considered what he could do. Slowly nodding, he agreed with the gunman.

  “Or dead. It is easier that way. If you get him, Arizona, you get an extra share from the pot.”

  The spark that lit in the gunman’s eyes was everything Means could hope for. Greed won out over the need to be leader. Or maybe it was a lust for killing. Whatever moved Arizona Johnston kept him in line. For the moment. He wasn’t a man to let sleeping dogs lie. There would be trouble eventually, even as soon as when they brought down Dewey Mackenzie. Quick Willy had to be ready for it and never turn his back.

  “Don’t get all caught up in a stampede,” Charles Huffman called as Johnston stepped up into the saddle.

  Means rested his hand on his revolver. If looks could kill, Huffman would be dead and buried. Johnston flicked his eyes from Charles to his brother, then fixed on him. Means made a mocking salute to send Johnston on his way.

  When the rebellious bounty hunter was out of earshot, Frank Huffman said, “That’s one dangerous galoot. Like a rattler all coiled and ready to strike. Only he don’t know what direction to sink in his fangs.”

  Quick Willy Means eyed Frank. The man was smarter than his brother. He might be smarter than Means had given him credit f
or up to now.

  Arizona Johnston never tried very hard to hide his contempt for the lot of them. Their paths had crossed just outside Fort Worth when Means had needed another gun hand after Jimmy Huffman had been cut down. He knew nothing about the man, other than the few sparse details Johnston had doled out. On the run from a Tombstone marshal meant nothing to Means. From what he’d heard about Tombstone, eventually everyone crossed the law there, be it sheriff, local, or federal marshal. The town was that rough and tumble.

  For all he knew, Johnston had come from back east or up north or who the hell knew.

  “Who the hell cares?” The sentiment was mumbled, but Frank overheard.

  “If he uses those revolvers of his as good as he talks, you’re right. Who the hell cares?”

  “We didn’t find Mackenzie last night. It’s time we ended this,” Means said. “Johnston will find him.”

  “Why can’t we go ’n find him, Quick Willy? You’d give us an extra share if we done it, right? Like you promised Arizona?”

  Charles drummed his fingers on the butt of his Colt dangling at his side as he spoke. Quick Willy had never decided if the man thought he was fast or hoped he was. Either way he was wrong. Clumsy, banging around like a bull in a china shop, Charles Huffman was better suited for lying in ambush and shooting his quarry in the back. Facing them in a gunfight, he would chicken out, turn tail and run, if he bothered to show up at all. His brother was the same way, too, but only because Frank was enough smarter to know he was going to die if he did anything else.

  “Mount up. We’re going to end this today. I’m tired of sneaking around all night, trying to find Mackenzie amongst those damn drovers.”

  “You don’t want to tangle with their trail boss, do you, Quick Willy?”

  Means considered how easy it would be to simply remove Charles Huffman. A shot between the eyes . . . No, that wasn’t the way to do it. Blowing out his brains was too hard a shot. The brain was too small.

  He said nothing, turned, and stepped up into the saddle. Johnston was a smart one. He’d find Mackenzie. Let him take the risk of a gunfight with a man reputed to have shot down a dozen hombres, including Jimmy Huffman. Even if that reputation was puffed up, he had to be dangerous or a rich, powerful man like Pierre Leclerc wouldn’t put out such a lucrative reward.

  The sound of a shot came through the hot air.

  “You hear that, Quick Willy?” Charles exclaimed as he leaned sharply forward in his saddle. “A gunshot! It’s gotta be Johnston. He’s done found Mackenzie already!”

  Charles whipped his horse into a gallop, his brother only a second behind.

  “Wait up!” Means called after them. “Don’t go rushing into something when you don’t know who’s firing.”

  They ignored him. Means shook his head, then galloped after his men.

  For a minute, he thought Johnston was on to something. A rider galloped toward them, low in the saddle as if avoiding the gunfire. Quick Willy’s heart sped up when he recognized Dewey Mackenzie. They must have Mackenzie caught in a vice, Means thought, with Johnston on one side and the rest of them on the other. He dragged out his rifle and levered a round into it. The time had come to end the manhunt.

  But Mackenzie wasn’t running. He was attacking, charging right into their midst as he threw lead. Quick Willy and the Huffman brothers had to scatter because of the bold, unexpected assault.

  Then somehow, in the confusion, Mackenzie was headed back the other way. Quick Willy brought the rifle to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger, but the shot went wide.

  Means slammed his boot heels against his horse’s flanks. “Get that son of a bitch!” he shouted at the Huffman brothers as he galloped after Mackenzie.

  Dust from all the flashing hooves roiled the air. Means could see his quarry up ahead, then suddenly Mackenzie was gone. Where in blazes had he gotten to? The sand hills in this region formed little tucks and folds in the landscape, and all Means could think of was that Mackenzie had ducked into one of them.

  A bullet racketed through the air near Quick Willy’s head. He had just realized it came from the side when Charles Huffman’s horse suddenly screamed and bucked, its rump burned by another slug. Charles fought to get the animal under control while Means and Frank yanked their mounts to a halt and tried to figure out what was going on.

  Out of the blue, an arrow almost skewered Quick Willy. He had ducked instinctively when he caught the blur of the arrow coming at him from off to one side, and that was the only thing that saved his life.

  Quick Willy lived up to his name. Whipping around, he got off another shot, a killing shot. A Comanche fell from his horse and lay flat on his back. One threat gone. But a half dozen more thundered toward him.

  Where the hell had they come from? And where was Johnston?

  No time to worry about that now. “Get the hell out of here!” Means shouted to the brothers. “Mackenzie led us into a trap!”

  He frantically hunted for their quarry, but Mackenzie was still nowhere to be seen. He was too smart to stick around to watch the massacre he had engineered.

  Quick Willy winced as an arrow raked along his side, a shallow scratch that burned like hellfire. He pressed his hand into it. Wet heat oozed between his fingers, but he felt nothing more than the blood. He wasn’t hurt bad, but he was madder than a wet hen. Fury rose. He lifted his rifle and got off a couple more shots. One took out a Comanche’s horse and sent the brave tumbling to the ground. Means rode past without bothering to waste an extra bullet. The Indian was out of the fight and on foot. Better to find some cover.

  Means dropped off his horse and clung to the reins with one hand while he rammed the rifle back in the saddle boot with the other. He knelt behind a rock and drew his revolver. A few yards away, the Huffman brothers were taking cover, too, Frank stretching out behind another rock while Charles knelt behind a scrubby bush. The growth wouldn’t have stopped a bullet, but it might deflect an arrow.

  Both of them had enough sense to hang on to their horses as they opened fire with their revolvers. Would wonders never cease? Quick Willy asked himself bitterly.

  He fired three times and scared off a Comanche intent on sticking a knife into Charles Huffman. Charles never noticed either the attacker or how he had been rescued. A lot of arrows were flying around and shots rolled like thunder over the plains, but not much actual damage was being done.

  “Get outta here. Now!”

  The shout came from Arizona Johnston as the gunman galloped in from the north. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead, a sign that he had tangled with the Comanches, too. He swiped it away.

  Quick Willy locked eyes with Johnston and saw nothing but his own fury reflected there. He waved Johnston on past. Unlike the Huffman boys, Johnston didn’t need to be told twice. If anything, he had figured it out for himself that they were outnumbered.

  They outgunned the Indians, but numbers would wear them down if the fight went on much longer.

  Quick Willy Means snapped another shot at the savage, then vaulted into the saddle, bent low, and urged his horse up to the crest of a sandy hill. From here he saw that retreat wasn’t just their best course of action. It was their only one. A dozen more Comanches were coming on swift ponies from the south. Where their camp might be, Means couldn’t tell, but the number told him there was an entire village not too far away and the warriors there had heard the gunfire.

  Means took one more look around for Dewey Mackenzie. The murdering son of a bitch had caused this, but he was nowhere to be seen. He had poked the hornet’s nest and then gotten out of the way of the real trouble. In a way, Quick Willy admired that. It was downright sneaky and showed Mackenzie had a sharp mind. Facing two different enemies, he had set them fighting each other rather than tangling with either—or both.

  A Comanche struggling up the hill on foot provided Quick Willy a last chance to vent his anger. His first shot missed. He cocked the gun and tried again, only to have the hammer fall on an expended round
. By the time he pouched the iron and yanked out his rifle again, the Indian was almost on him. Means fired three times.

  At this range he couldn’t miss. A trio of crimson flowers blossomed over the man’s heart. Despite that, the man came on, his face twisted with hate and his knife raised. Means fired a fourth time and finally sent the Comanche falling facedown on the ground. The Indian was still twitching when Quick Willy’s panicky horse reared and came down with its hooves on the Comanche’s head, crushing the skull with a sound like a dropped melon busting open.

  Quick Willy watched him die without so much as a flicker of emotion. He reserved that for Dewey Mackenzie.

  He sawed at the reins, regained control of the bucking horse, turned, and galloped from the new spate of Indians thinking to join the battle. How many of their tribe had been killed wasn’t something he wanted to consider. If enough had died, they might pursue. Or, seeing they lacked ammunition versus men who were not only armed but deadly accurate with it, the Comanches might break off the fight. The worst that could happen was them coming after his men, intending to slit their throats in the night.

  That was all the more reason to finish off Mackenzie and clear out of West Texas.

  Quick Willy’s plans for the day hadn’t included fighting to the death, so he hadn’t made any provision for a rendezvous after a battle. He just kept riding north until he spotted Frank Huffman. The man joined him.

  “Where’s your brother?” Means asked.

  “Comin’. He took an arrow in the shoulder. You got scratched, too, didn’t you, Willy?” Huffman pointed to the oozing wound just above Means’s gun belt.