Taken by surprise, the banditos barely began to fire back as the two riflemen methodically emptied saddles, bloody bodies splashing into the stream. They fired and fired until it sounded like one long rolling sound of thunder. They continued to fire until their magazines were empty. Then silence. Complete silence, save for the splashing hooves of the riderless horses and the trickle of the stream as it flowed crimson over the dead bandits’ bodies. It was over.
****
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Money Trail
It was almost dark, when Jack Clayton arose from where the trio had stopped to make a dry camp for a few minutes. After the skirmish with Blake and the bandits, they had mounted up and had ridden fast and far, farther north, leaving the dangers of the border far behind. There had been little conversation on the trail and Andy Fane still carried a rifle in Sunrise's saddle boot. With a change of heart, Marci had boarded the roan, leaving it unsaid that Andy could ride the sorrel.
With darkness approaching, they had stopped for a short rest and shared some jerky and biscuits that they collectively scrounged from their saddle bags. It had been a long day and the meager meal was relished thankfully.
"I'm going on to Promise," Clayton announced to the remaining two on the ground. "McCall already has a big head start. Hopefully, he will stop to rest someplace during the night and I can catch up to him before he gets the real money."
"What about Blake?" Marci asked.
"I don't know. He plans on getting the ranchers up in arms against Beldon, but I don't know when. He probably thinks we are dead and hopefully, he won't be in a big hurry. I can't worry about that now. I've got to get on McCall's trail. It was a counterfeiting ring that brought me to this part of the country in the first place. That fake money you stole is the same stuff I've been trailing. I think I've finally got the lead I was looking for."
"What about me?" Andy asked. "Aren't you taking me along?"
"No, Andy," Jack said. "I've thought about it and decided that you never really got away with anything. Besides, there is no law back there in Promise to take you back to and it isn't my job anyways."
Andy grinned, "Well, I thank you there, old pard, but I'll bet the truth is you don't want me getting near the real money."
"There's that too," Jack smiled. "I don't think you can stand too much temptation."
"You got that right," Andy laughed. He looked at Marci. She was smiling.
"Besides," Clayton added, "I need you to see that Marci gets safely home."
"Thank you, Jack," Marci said. "But what about, Ted?"
Jack's face turned grim. "I'm sorry, Marci. That's another matter. The money Ted stole, has to go back." He noticed the sudden look of interest on Andy Fane's face. "If I make it back, I'll have to take him in." Then he added, "If I don't make it back, well, I hope you will try to persuade him to take it back on his own and turn himself in. He needs to get himself straight with the law and then maybe he'll have a chance for his life."
Marci lowered her lashes and nodded. With no further words, Clayton turned to Regret, mounted and rode off into the gathering darkness.
"Good luck, Jack," Marci whispered to herself.
The fat little banker, Abner Blodgett fidgeted on the board sidewalk in front of the stage station. He held a full carpet bag close to his chest. He nervously pulled his gold pocket watch that hung by a matching gold chain from the vest beneath his traditional gray banker's suit that buttoned tight around his pudgy middle. He checked the time for the umpteenth time and glanced up at the early morning sun that had been above the eastern horizon for more than an hour now. The town had not yet come to life and after the shooting of Sheriff Hackett and the bank robbery, the irrigation project fund raising activities had been canceled. The excess transient population had been leaving town and festivities were closing down. Professor Deke's hot air balloon was still parked prominently in the open area at the end of town, but he would be leaving soon also.
With disgust, he flipped the watch cover shut and shoved the timepiece back into his pocket. "Eight thirty seven," He mumbled to himself as he waited, watching the stage driver and guard busily loading gear and supplies on top of the stage coach roof.
"Can't you hurry this up?" Blodgett goaded. "I have important business to attend to." He hugged the flowered designed carpet bag closer to his chest.
"Doesn't matter how quickly we load, Abner," the driver said. "Stage doesn't leave until nine. So hold your horses." He chuckled and added, "We're holding ours."
"Very funny," Abner growled and shifted the weight of the carpet bag.
"By the way, Abner, did McCall see you?" The driver shifted a box to the rear as he spoke.
"McCall?" Abner stuttered, looking about nervously, glancing up and down the street.
"Yeah. I saw him a few minutes ago. Said he had been to your house and to the bank. Seemed like there was something important, he wanted to see you about. I didn't know you were here waiting to leave on the stage or I would have told him."
"Wh..where's is he now?" Abner's eyes were bulging like a frog's in his round face.
"I don't know," the driver responded, still occupied with his work. "Somewheres around, I 'spose. Maybe you ought to find out what he wants before you leave."
Abner jerked with a start as he caught a glimpse of McCall coming out of the general store at the far end of town. "Yes,..yes, I guess I should," he said as he hugged the carpet bag closer to his chest and scurried down the boardwalk in the opposite direction toward the other end of town.
****
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Dark Stranger
Kate Matson pursed her lips with disgust and she squinted into the early morning sun as she stood on the porch of the Matson ranch house watching Zeke Miller ride away to the east toward Rod Blake's ranch. She shaded her eyes with her hand for a few moments until Miller disappeared over the horizon.
She was angry. No. Furious was the word. Blake was working the ranchers up into a frenzy, urging them to attack Hank Beldon's spread, blow up the dam and probably leave old Hank and his boy swinging from a cottonwood tree. With the sheriff dead, there was no law in Promise. Rod Blake could assume that position and run roughshod over Beldon. She always suspected that Blake wanted Beldon's spread. Heaven knew he already had more land and wealth than any one man could use, but greed was a consuming master and Blake was obviously consumed.
As for Kate, she wanted no part of attacking the Beldon ranch, which was the reason for Zeke Miller's visit. He had told her that the ranchers were meeting at Blake's ranch this morning and then they were going after Beldon.
No matter what Hank Beldon had done in recent years and in spite of the antagonism between them, Kate still harbored a secret fondness for the old man. Memories flooded back to her now. Many good memories and some bad ones. A tear began to drop in her eye and then she caught herself. Silly old woman, she thought. Then dabbed at the tear with her thumb and turned to go back into the house.
As she turned to her left, she started abruptly. Up on the hill behind the barn, a tall lanky rider on a rangy dun horse sat silhouetted against the clear morning sky. She stood and watched as the man, who seemed to notice she was watching, urge his horse slowly down the dew covered grassy slope. His mount's hoofs half sliding on the wet ground.
She watched intently as the man rode to the bottom of the hill and around the barn into the ranch yard and pulled up a dozen feet from the porch.
The man was dirty and scruffy. Dark stubble covered his lean face. Obviously, a hard-case for sure, Kate thought and demanded, "Who are you? And what do you want?" The sternness of her voice belied any trace of fear.
The man gazed down from his perch in the saddle and grinned. "I'm a friend of Ted's," the man drawled casually.
"My boy wouldn't make friends with the likes of you," She retorted, but to herself, as much as she hated to admit it, she thought he probably would.
"Now ma'am," the rider said with feigned ind
ignation. "That's not rightly hospitable of you. Just because I've been riding a long time and haven't had a bath or shave for a while doesn't mean I'm not the kindly sort."
She nodded toward the man's low hanging holster and worn black handled pistol. "That don't look too kindly to me," she said bluntly.
"Trail's a mighty dangerous place ma'am. A man's got to protect himself."
"Maybe so," she acknowledged. "I asked you once. I'm asking you again. What do you want?"
"Like I said, I want to see Ted."
"What for?"
"Look ma'am, I'm just passing through. Thought I'd stop in a pay old Ted a visit for a while, Then I'll be on my way."
"Ted's not here," Kate told him bluntly.
"Where is he?"
"Doesn't matter. He's not here. Best you be on your way." Kate said flatly.
"Sorry, you're so huffy ma'am," the young man said touching his fingers to the brim of his battered black hat. "Tell Ted that Blackie Darrow is looking for him." He lifted the reins and started to turn his horse away. As quickly as he had started to leave, he reined up sharply. Two riders were coming down the trail, One rider was a young girl on a roan and her companion was a young blond haired man riding a very familiar sorrel stallion.
Ted Matson, he thought to himself.
He whirled his mount back sharply to face Kate, at the same time drawing his pistol and pointing it directly at the elder Matson woman. "Keep your mouth shut and no one will get hurt," he ordered as he stepped down from the saddle, stepped up onto the porch, a little behind Kate with his pistol thrust between her ribs where it would be visible to the approaching riders. She gasped at the pain of the hard muzzle.
As Marci and Andy rode into the yard and pulled up, they immediately saw the situation. Andy's right hand swung toward the gun on his hip.
"Hold it!" Darrow shouted. "Keep your hand away from your gun. And both of you lift them high where I can see them and keep them there." Then he squinted as if trying to refocus his eyes.
"Hey! What gives here? You're not Ted."
"No he's not!" A voice rang out across the yard.
Blackie glanced to his left toward the barn. There walking slowly and menacingly out of the barn, pistol in his hand was Ted Matson. "You looking for me, Blackie?"
****
CHAPTER TWENTY
High Flying Money
Abner Blodgett scurried like a fat little rat down the street, clutching the carpet bag tightly as if for dear life. Occasionally, he would stop and look back, hoping McCall had not seen him. He neared an alley way and ducked around the corner and peered out. He could see McCall talking to the stage driver now. The driver pointed his way and Abner could guess what he was saying to McCall. He saw McCall nod his understanding, then began to sprint down the street in the direction the banker had taken.
Shaking nervously, Abner carefully stepped backward, deeper into the shadows of the alley, then turned and ran with a waddle. When he came out of the alley, he continued to run along the rear of the row of buildings that stretched out along the main street.
Sweat poured off his furry brows and his rotund body heaved, gasping for air as he scampered away. His legs felt rubbery and he was beginning to stagger as he reached the far side of the last building on Main Street. He stopped, leaned against the clapboard siding and tried to catch his breath. As stealthily as possible, for a man of his shape and physical stamina, he crawled along the side of the building until he reached the front. Here he halted and peered around the corner. Sweat dripped into eyes and when he brushed it aside, he could see Matt McCall going from building to building, alley to alley, checking them out, looking for the double-crossing banker.
Blodgett's head throbbed and his heart pounded in his chest. What had he done? How was he ever going to escape? What would McCall do to him? He had robbed his own bank and substituted the irrigation funds with counterfeit money. Could he just give the money back to McCall? Would McCall leave him unharmed? No. He didn't think so. Why hadn't he left well enough alone? He had been making out all right with the counterfeiting scam.
McCall was advancing closer now. Abner's eyes shifted nervously back and forth as he tried to think. He knew he had to get out of town somehow. But How? Then he had an idea. From his vantage point, he could see Professor Deke's hot air balloon sitting in it usual parking spot. He could see Deke readying the balloon to fly off, firing up the burner, closing the parachute valve, and dropping the sand bag weights over the sides. The wicker basket that he stood in was starting to bounce on the ground as the beginning flotation tugged at the guide ropes holding the balloon down to the grassy meadow.
If he could make it to the balloon before Deke took off and without McCall seeing him, he could get away. It was his only chance. He hugged the carpet bag tighter and ran as fast as he could across the open area, daring not to look back, for McCall could be right behind him.
Deke had just released the second guide rope from an opposing corner of the basket, when Blodgett waddled up, heaving and gasping for breath. "Wait!" He shouted. "I need to go with you." He threw himself forward and tumbled over the top edge of the wicker basket, falling and rolling inside and landing on his back.
"What in blazes...?" Deke started but Abner cut him off.
"Just get going!" He shouted. "I'll explain later."
The balloon was already bouncing, the wind catching the billowed panels and pitching it from side to side. It was already too late to halt the launch and Deke continued to release the third guide rope. The remaining attached guide line tilted the basket almost on end. The banker slid along the floor of the basket and slammed into the side wall, curling into a ball.
Deke was tugging at the remaining line when Matt McCall appeared in front of him. He had his pistol drawn and pointed upward at the Professor's thin frame. "Just a minute, Professor. I want that snake you got aboard."
"Too late," he shouted. The basket lurched as the last guide rope post heaved up from the ground before the professor could release it at the hasp end attached to the wicker. Deke lost his footing and stumbled backwards. "Can't set her down now. She's taking off." The basket leveled and lifted a foot off the ground.
Without thinking, McCall braced both hands on the top rail of the wicker basket, keeping his pistol firmly in one hand and vaulted inside as a gust of air lifted them completely off the ground.
"Mind telling me what in blue blazes is going on here?" the Professor blustered, stumbling to the rear panel of the basket and steadying himself to the top rail.
McCall offered no explanation, for as he gained his balance leaning against a side panel rail, he looked across the open meadow and saw a rider on a big black stallion racing after them. Jack Clayton had arrived in town just in time to see Matt McCall running down the street and urged Regret forward at a gallop in pursuit. "That damn G-Man," he muttered to himself. "Don't he never die?" He whipped his pistol around and fired. The shot went high as Clayton bent low in the saddle, gaining ground on the balloon as it drifted across the open field and beginning to rise higher from the ground, the remaining guide rope still dangling, the ground post still tied at the end.. "Get this thing up!" McCall shouted and fired again.
"It will in due time," Deke answered. "It takes a bit." The balloon billowed and the basket lurched throwing McCall's third shot wild as Clayton rode closer. McCall fired again and again, too hasty, and as the balloon gained height it swayed back and forth violently with the activity inside the basket. He fell momentarily, losing sight of the G-Man.
Higher and higher the balloon rose into the early morning air. Clayton urged the big stallion forward, demanding more speed from the gallant horse. He was gaining on the balloon as it traversed across the meadow, but it was rising too fast. Closer and closer he came. Higher and higher the balloon climbed.
McCall pushed himself to his feet, braced himself on the rail and swung his pistol forward to fire again, but wait! He couldn't see Clayton now. He must be directly beneath the baske
t.
As Jack Clayton rode beneath the basket, the trailing guide rope and post was just above his head. He dropped the reins and reached for it. It bounced out of reach and rose higher. He stretched out, standing in the stirrups, reaching as high as he could. The end of the rope brushed his finger-tips. Then with a heave, Clayton boosted himself higher, feet finding a brief hold on the saddle in a half squat position and catapulted himself into the air, lurching for the swinging rope. He jumped high and fell against the rope. It slipped quickly through his curled fingers and burned his palms. As he neared the end of the rope, his grasp fastened tight. His hands slammed into the attached wooden post and he felt the jolt of the rope tugging at the wicker and balloon above.
The sudden jolt sent McCall and Deke reeling to the floor, rolling in a pile with the cringing banker. McCall swore vehemently as he crawled back to his feet, the basket swaying violently beneath him, the rushing wind blowing his hair into his eyes as he leaned out to fire again.
By this time, Clayton had gotten a firm hold and had started to climb hand over hand up the rope that now streamed out behind the balloon at a ten per cent angle. McCall raised his weapon to fire. Jack saw him just in time, kicked forward like a child on a swing and swung under the basket, just as McCall fired. "Damn!" McCall oathed.
Then with opposite thrust from swinging out of sight, the rope swung back and brought Jack back into line of fire. McCall half grinned through clenched teen and pulled the trigger again. The hammer fell and clicked on an empty chamber. McCall swore again and fell back to the floor of the basket, almost on top of Deke and Abner. He quickly ejected the spent cartridges, reloaded and started to stand.
"Professor!" He shouted as he looked above him and saw the approaching mountain top with tall timber reaching skyward. "We're not going to clear the mountain and trees!"