Deke clamored to his feet, eyes wide with excitement. He turned toward the burners, shoveled more manure into the pots and worked the bellows frantically. Steam poured from the burner and the stench filled their nostrils, but they could feel the balloon rising faster as more hot air filled the balloon's envelope.
Closer and closer the top of the mountain loomed and then with a gust of air, the craft zoomed higher and barely crested the horizon. Without time to breathe relief, McCall pushed himself to the edge of the wicker, gun in hand, ready to fire.
He could hardly believe his eyes as he peered out and saw the empty dangling rope. They had cleared the mountain so close that Clayton must have gotten caught in the trees and been swept off.
McCall smiled with satisfaction as he leaned out, still holding his pistol and scanning the area below. Then with surprise, an iron viselike grip caught his wrist. Involuntarily, his finger squeezed the trigger and the pistol went off, then fell from his fingers and disappeared into the open air below. His body lunged forward, losing his balance and half falling over the rail, his bulging eyes staring straight into the grim, wind pelted face of the Frontier G-Man, who hung one handed from the guide rope hasp at the corner of the wicker basket. "You've been running with the wrong crowd!" Clayton shouted so he could be heard above the din and the whistling wind. "It's time you dropped out!" With a yank, the G-Man pulled violently at the outlaw's wrist, lifting him from the basket, pitching him forward into the air. McCall's body fell past him and he released his grip on the man's wrist. He grabbed quickly for the hasp with his now free hand to secure himself steadier against the basket. He could hear McCall's screams dying out as he disappeared below.
"Happy landings," Jack muttered to himself.
****
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
Outlaw's Loot
Blackie Darrow fidgeted nervously as he watched Ted Matson advance across the yard with gun in hand. "All I want is the money, Kid," he said. "Be a good boy and hand it over and I'll ride out of here nice like. Nobody will get hurt."
Matson kept walking forward, his eyes steely, his lips pursed, jaws tight with anger. "You hurt my mother or my sister and I swear, I'll kill you Blackie," he growled angrily.
"Now, Kid, I know you're not a killer. That's why I always let you hold the horses on all our jobs. I knew I couldn't count on you to shoot anyone, if you had to."
"Blackie, I swear I will kill you. Let my mother go." Ted was within three feet of Blackie now. He came to a halt. Darrow could see the kid's hand shaking.
"Be careful, Kid. You're nervous. That gun could go off accidental like and you could kill your own ma," Blackie cajoled. "Come on Kid, you know you were never any good at running a bluff. So just tell me where the cash is and I'll be gone." He jabbed the muzzle of his pistol further between Kate Matson's ribs. She stiffened and gasped, eyes bulging with fear and pain.
Andy Fane started to move his hand toward his pistol, but Marci grabbed his arm. Her eyes said it all. Don't chance it. Then to Ted she said, "For god's sakes, Ted. Give him the money and get rid of him!"
Ted's eyes darted back and forth. He thought briefly, then released the cocked hammer of his pistol and let his arm fall limply to his side, still holding the weapon, but loosely. "Ok, ok, you win, Blackie. I'll let you have the cash, but you gotta promise, you'll ride out of here and leave us alone."
"Sure. Sure, kid," he grinned.
"Let my Ma go first,” Matson said, “Then it’s a deal.”
“First you drop that gun to the ground,” Blackie retorted.
Ted released his grip and the pistol dropped into the dust at his feet.
"And you too, Mister," he nodded toward Fane. "Toss your shooter down!"
Andy complied reluctantly.
"Now, very slowly both of you, one at a time, slip those rifles from the boots and drop them."
Marci and Andy did as instructed.
"Now let my Ma go!" Ted demanded. "Then I'll tell you where the money is."
"You got it, Kid," he stepped back a little and gave Kate a shove forward. She fell off the porch and landed on her side in the dirt. Ted ran to her and bent down.
"Don't worry about me son. I'm all right. Give him the money and get him away from us."
Ted rose slowly, anger seething, his face flushed, eyes blazing. "Alright, take the money and go. It's still in Sunrise's saddlebags."
Andy Fane started, his face paling, "Wh...what? You mean I've had the money all along.?" A wry grin almost slipped from his lips. "Well what do you know? I must really be slipping. Couldn't even rob a bank and get anything and didn't know I had money all the time."
Marci, glared at him with disappointment. "You mean you would have ridden off with it?" She accused.
"Why sure," he said. "Why else did you think I came back here for? I figured if the kid had money, I could take it away from him."
"You snake," she hissed between her teeth.
"Your lover's quarrel is very touching," Blackie said. "But enough is enough. Toss down those saddle bags and be quick about it."
Fane sighed with regret, then lifted the saddle bags and hefted them. "What a shame," he said soulfully and tossed the bags. Not just a toss, but he flung them hard against Blackie and they slammed him hard in the chest. He staggered back a step, his gun pointing upward briefly as he fell.
With a lunge, Andy pitched from the saddle, landed in the dirt and rolling, grasping his shooter as he rolled. Blackie had regained his footing and fired at the rolling man, but his hasty shot went wild and plunged into the dirt, spraying debris into Andy's face as he rolled onto his stomach, bringing his pistol up and firing three times in rapid succession. Blackie stiffened on the first round, his body stretched erect and flying backward off his feet, probably not even feeling the last two slugs. He fell flat on his back, half onto the porch, his legs and gun hand hanging off the edge.
Andy strode over to the body, staring down grimly at the grisly sight.
Ted and Kate struggled to their feet as Marci jumped out of the saddle and ran to them. "We're all right," Kate said, a little breathless from the exertion. Then to Andy, "Thanks, young fellow. That was quick thinking.
"Thank Ted," Andy chuckled. "He ran a good bluff."
"Bluff?" Marci was confused.
"Sure," Andy said. "There was no money in those bags. Remember when we stopped to rest. I went through those bags looking for food."
Marci smiled, "You mean you didn't want the money after all?"
"I didn't say that, exactly." Then he turned toward Ted and leveled his pistol. "Where is the money, Kid.?"
Ted sighed with defeat. "I guess I don't care anymore," he said. "You might as well have it, as any one. You were close, though. I hid it Sunrise's stall. It was right under your nose when you took him."
Andy laughed again. "Yes. I really am slipping," he said.
"So!" Marci said scornfully. "You really were after the money."
"I didn't say I wasn't."
"And all the time I thought you wanted to help me and help Jack stop Blake. I was a fool to trust you."
"What about Blake?" Kate interjected, excitement building in her voice.
"Blake has been behind everything around here. He's set Beldon up as the bad guy all along, blaming everything on him, including killing the sheriff. He wants Beldon's spread and who knows who else's land he's going to go after next.
"Oh, my," Kate murmured. "Zeke Miller was just here. Blake and the other ranchers are on their way to Hank's place right now. I'm afraid Hank and Steve will be killed. We've got to stop them."
Marci glared at Fane. "You get your money and get out of here." Then turning to Ted., "Ted, you've caused enough trouble already. You're going with Ma and me. We've got to help the Beldons."
"Why? Because you're still sweet on Steve?" She flushed and Andy stared at her. "Give me one good reason why I should help Hank Beldon," Ted demanded insolently.
"Because," Kate said matter of factly. "He's yo
ur father."
****
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Raid on the Beldon Ranch
It was nearing mid-morning as the hoard of riders pounded up the trail toward Beldon's ranch. The early morning dew had burned off the sparse grass along the dry riverbed that ran along the left side of the trail. Rod Blake and several of his men were in the lead, with the other ranchers following behind; a little more timid than Blake and his bunch. They had worked up plenty of enthusiasm at Blake's ranch, but now as they neared the reality of what they were going to do to Hank Beldon, most of them were becoming ill at ease and less sure of what they were doing. Without Blake and his men pushing them on, they probably would have had a change of heart and turned back before now.
The road wound to the right as the riders neared the dam. Blake threw his hand skyward motioning for a halt and the band of riders pulled up sharply as three of Beldon's henchmen stepped into the middle of the gravel trail. Pete Tanner, Rafe Carver and Burl Ryker.
"What do you men want here?" Burl Ryker shouted, aiming his Winchester high, directly at Blake.
"We want to see Hank Beldon," Blake retorted grimly.
"Yeah. Well, he don't want to see nobody. You hear? So just turn those cayuses around and go back where you came from."
"Beldon shot the sheriff two nights ago. We're here for him!" Blake said emphatically.
"He didn't mean to do that. It was that government man trying to shut down the dam, he was after. The sheriff just got in the way."
"There you see?" Beldon waved to the others. "He admits Beldon done it. Are we going to let him get away with it."
"No!" was the emphatic cheer that went up from the crowd.
Blake pulled his pistol and aimed it at Ryker. The others followed suit. Ryker lowered his rifle without protest.
"Phil! Shorty! Relieve these men of their guns." Blake ordered.
The two gunmen angled their mounts out from the crowd, dismounted and stepped up to the three guards. "The boss says we don't let anyone up the trail after they go through. We wait fifteen minutes, then blow the dam. He wants Beldon to hear it before he cashes in." Phil said in a low tone to Ryker as he took his rifle and plucked the six shooter from his holster. Ryker slightly nodded his understanding and winked.
"Phil, I want you and Shorty to stay here and keep an eye on these jaspers until we get back." Beldon ordered, then motioned forward, and kicked his horse in the ribs.
"Let's go," He shouted. The other riders followed in a flurry and thunder of hooves.
Hank Beldon was just finishing a cup of coffee, when Steve burst through the door into the living room of the Beldon Ranch. Dishes were stacked on the table and the room was in general dishevelment from a bachelor's non attention to housework.
"Dad! Dad!" He shouted with excitement. Beads of perspiration hung off his brow. "There's riders coming up the draw! Headed this way! They're coming fast."
"What? How can that be? The men aren't supposed to let anyone through. Where's Ryker?" He jumped up from the table, reaching for his pistol belt that hung on a hook by the door.
"He's down at the dam," Steve answered. "I saw him ride out. Maybe ten minutes ago."
"He knows better than that," Beldon growled as he buckled the holster and cartridge belt around his lean hips, and started through the door; Steve close behind him.
As they stepped out onto the porch, Hank could see the riders fast approaching. He could recognize Rod Blake, three or four of his gun hands and several of the local ranchers. There were at least a dozen men and they were riding hard and deliberately.
Hank slid his Colt half out of the holster, making sure it was loose. Then dropped it back into the leather. He stepped off the porch onto the hard packed dirt of the front yard, strode forward a few steps, then halted, standing firm; feet shoulder width apart, his arms hanging loose, his right hand brushing the butt of his gun.
Steve followed close, slightly to Hank's left and a step behind. His face was more ashen than grim and his hand was near his pistol but trembled ever so slightly.
Blake and his men pulled rein, bringing their mounts to a sliding halt in the yard, the horses stamping about churning up sod as the their riders brought them under control and settled them down.
"What do want here, Blake?" Beldon said icily. "How'd you get past my men.?"
Blake ignored the second question. He leaned both hands against the pommel of his saddle and shifted his weight, stretching his body to look taller in the saddle, and displaying the prominence of his stature. "We've come to arrest you, Beldon. And your boy too. I'm sure he had a hand in it."
"Arrest? What for?" Beldon's eyes flared. "For the murder of Sheriff Hackett, two nights ago."
"Two nights ago, someone burned down one of my line shacks. I don't know nothing about any murder. I haven't seen Hackett since the other day in town. Besides, what gives you the authority to arrest me or anyone for that matter?"
"This gives me the authority!" A dozen guns were raised, hammers clicking into place. Beldon looked into the faces of the men holding the guns. Blake's expression was sardonic and a wry grin spread across his lined face. Blake's men's faces were dark and menacing and the faces of his neighbors were pale and apprehensive, but never the less grim and threatening.
To the ranchers, Beldon raised his voice. "I know you fellas don't like me. Well I can't say as I blame you. I've caused you all considerable trouble. I'm. not going to say I'm sorry for it though, but I know you wouldn't be here today if this snake," he pointed toward Blake, "didn't work you up to it. I'm asking you all to think about what you're doing here. You'll be a party to this and Blake will hang it over your heads forever. He's wanted my place for a long time. Well, guess what? He wants yours too. He won't be satisfied until he has the whole valley."
Blake finally pulled his own gun and said, "Enough of your bantering old man. If you're going to fight, pull that pistol and let's get it over with. Otherwise shut up.”
Steve's eyes flashed. He stepped forward angrily, his fingers curling around the pistol butt. Hank's left arm darted out in front of his son, holding him back. "No, son. Don't do it. It's just what he wants. He wants to kill us. He doesn't want to arrest us. Do you, Blake?"
"You're right about that, old man," Blake sneered. "If you don't want to fight it out, I'm not going to arrest you. I'm going to hang you and your boy, right here in your own front yard."
Jack Clayton leaned against the top rail of the balloon basket looking out across the surrounding countryside and relaxed. The rolling land and high mountains were a sight from his lofty perch in the sky. So this is what it is like to be a bird, he thought, feeling the rush of cool breezes across his face and rippling his curly black hair.
Abner Blodgett still huddled himself against the floor of the basket, covering his eyes; his pudgy body shaking with the fear of heights and even more with the fear of what would happen to him for robbing his own bank, much less his involvement with counterfeiters.
Professor Deke had been satisfied now, by Clayton's explanation for what had just happened. He was now piloting the craft expertly above the dry river bed as they approached the dam and Beldon's spread.
As they neared the dam, Clayton had a panoramic view of the entire area. He could see the dam up ahead and the trail to the right of the dry riverbed. He could see the dust of many riders, having already passed the dam and were heading toward the ranch at breakneck speed. Behind these riders on the same trail, still approaching the dam were more riders. Clayton's dark brows pulled together with consternation.
"Take her down lower Deke. Looks like there's more trouble to take care of."
****
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Retribution
Burl Ryker and Pete Tanner stepped into the road to stop the oncoming trio of riders. They raised their rifles in warning; motioning them to halt.
Kate, Ted and Marci Matson pulled their horses to a halt in the middle of the trail.
"No one is allowed through Mrs. Matson," Ryker said.
"I don't like Hank Beldon either," Kate retorted. "I just want to be in on this shindig."
"Sorry," Ryker said. "It's too late. I've got my orders. Nobody goes through. You might as well turn back."
"Nobody's going back anywhere," a voice rang out from the side as Shorty and Phil came toward them, pistols out of their holsters and aimed at the Matsons.
"That girl was with Clayton at the border. She knows the score, so I'll bet the old lady does too," Phil said as they came closer. "They're not here to join in, they are here to help Beldon."
"You're right there, sonny," Kate yelled as she charged her mount forward into Ryker, knocking him to the ground, rifle flying from his hands to land in the dirt just inches out of reach. He threw his arms up over his face to protect himself from the onslaught of Kate's horse's hoofs and scrambled away.
At the same moment, Phil and Shorty both raised their pistols to fire. Kate's sudden movement left an opening for Ted to take a bead on the gunmen. He chose Phil first. Ted's shooter roared and belched flame a split second before Phil could fire. The outlaw took a direct hit and crumpled to the ground, his pistol going off with the slug plowing harmlessly into the ground beneath him.
Ted swung his pistol to the left for Shorty, but too late. Shorty was already firing but not at any of the Matson's. A shooter from behind Shorty had fired at the outlaw. Shorty took a slug in the shoulder, twisted around to fire again at this new assailant. He fired once, then, his knees buckled as the roar of another six-shooter drove two more rounds of deadly lead into his midsection. Shorty was dead when he hit the ground.
Rafe Carver came running up from the dam, rifle in hand, bringing it up to shoulder level. It was too late. Lead plowed into him. He fell and all went silent.
Kate had brought her mount under control by now as she turned to face the man striding towards them. "You certainly took your time, sonny," she said ginning as Andy Fane halted in front of her and holstered his gun.
"I'm sometimes like that ma'am," he laughed and the others joined him. Then he looked around and said. "Where's Ryker?"