Son Of a Wanted Man (1984) (10 page)

He felt a fierce triumph. No matter what happened to him the old man would be tough to move out of that house. The sun was full in his face as it would be in the faces of any attackers, and the old man would be up there, ready, with a high-powered rifle.

From the doors and windows he could command the whole settlement.

Perrin had moved out behind a wall of logs and sandbags hastily thrown up in the street. "Come on down,
Curry!
" he shouted. "Come down with your hands up or we'll kill your soul" There was no reply, no evidence they had been heard. "I'm not his son," Bastian said.

"We're not even kin. He raised me to do a job, and he can get along without me. He doesn't give a tinker's damn about me." "He hasn't heard you," Clatt said.

"Let's just rush the place." "You rush it," Kiefer said. "I'll just set back an' watch!" Despite his helplessness, Mike felt a glow of satisfaction. Ben Curry was a wily fighter. He knew that once he responded, their threat would have force. It was useless to kill Bastian unless Curry could see it, useless to waste him when they did not know Ben was even listening. Perrin had been positive Curry would come out rather than sacrifice Mike, and now they were not even sure their message was reaching him. Nor, Mike knew, were they sure Curry would give himself up to save him.

At first, it had seemed logical. Now he knew Perrin was no longer sure. Nor were those who followed him.

"Come on
out!
" Perrin shouted. "We'll give you an' Bastian each a horse and a mile's start.

Otherwise you both diet We've got
dynamite!
" "Perrin," Mike said, "you've played the fool. Curry doesn't care whether I live or die. He won't come out, and there's no way to get him out. Don't you think the old man has planned for this? When did you ever know him not to plan for everything?" Mike was talking as much for the effect on Perrin's men as for Perrin himself. If he could make them doubt his leadership, they might, out of fear of Ben Curry, turn on Perrin.

Perrin ignored him. Some of the men stirred restlessly, and one or two looked around as if wondering if someone was creeping up on them. Ben Curry was a, shrewd fighter. Suppose he had planned for this? What would he have done?

"All he has to do, Kerb," Mike said, "is wait for Dave Lenaker to show. Then he can make a deal with Dave, and where will you be? Out in the cold with these men who were crazy enough to listen to you)" "Shut
up!
" Perrin's tone was angry. "Hell come out, all right. He's just
stallin'!
" "Let's open fire on the place)" Ducrow was impatient. "Or rush it, like Clatt suggested)" "Hell)" Kiefer was disgusted. "Why bother?

Let's take all we can get away with an' leave) There's the cattle, at least two hundred head of the best ridin' stock in the country, and what all. Rigger's gone. Lenaker ain't here yet.

We've got a clear field." "Take pennies when there's millions up in that stone house?" Kerb's veins swelled with anger.

"There's the loot of years up in that house) A strong room with gold in it, stacks of money) With all that to be had you'd run off with a few head of cows?" Kiefer was silent but unconvinced.

"There is no strong room," Mike told them.

"I sleep in one room, Doc Sawyer in another, and there's one for the old man. The only thing he's got stored up there is ammunition. He's got enough ammunition to fight a war, and he's got the range of every place in town. Any time he's good an' ready he can start talon' you out, one at a time." Standing in the bright sunlight of the dusty street, Mike looked toward the stone house. All the love and loyalty he felt for the old man up there came back with a rush. Whatever he was, good or bad, he owed Ben Curry. Perhaps Curry had reared him for a life of crime, but to Ben Curry it had not been a bad life. He lived like a feudal lord and had no respect for any law he did not make himself. Wrong though he might be he had taken the orphan boy Mike Bastian and given him a start. He could never, Mike now realized, have become an outlaw. It was not in him to steal, rob, and kill. That did not mean he could not be loyal now to the man who had reared him and given him a home when he had none.

He was fiercely proud of that old man up there alone. Like a cornered grizzly, he would fight to the death. He, Mike Bastian, might die here in the street, but he hoped only that Ben Curry would stay in his stone shell and defeat them all.

Kerb Perrin was stumped. He had planned quickly when he heard Lenaker was on his way to Toadstool Canyon. When Le
naker
arrived he would have men with him, and the fight for control could turn into an ugly three
or four-way battle.

With Molina out of the way he had been sure he would take over from Curry and be ready for Dave Lenaker when he arrived. He would be waiting in ambush for Lenaker and his men. They would never live to enter the canyon. Now, suddenly, both his planning and his timing had gone awry. The idea that Ben Curry would not even reply had not occurred to him.

That he might not surrender, Perrin had foreseen, and he had a sniper posted to pick him off if he so much as showed himself. "If you boys want to make a strike"-Mike spoke casually-"there's that bank in eastern Colorado. According to all we hear it is ripe and waiting to be taken." Nobody said anything but he knew they would be thinking. He doubted if any of them really wanted to face Ben Curry. He might be old, but how old was he? And how tough?

There was simply nothing he could do. At any moment Perrin might decide to kill him where he stood. Out in the open as he was, hands tied behind him, there was nothing he could do but think.

What had become of Roundy? The old trapper had risen suddenly and left the table, and Roundy had left his coffee unfinished, an almost unheard-of move for Roundy. Could he be in league with Perrin?

No, that was impossible. Roundy had always been Ben Curry's friend and had never liked Kerb Perrin.

Yet where was he? Up there with Ben? That was likely, yet Roundy had a dislike of being cooped up. He liked to range free. He was a moving fighter, not given to defense unless forced to it. Wherever he was he would be doing what was necessary, of that Mike was sure. "All right," Perrin said suddenly, "there's no use all of us watchin' one old man." He glanced at Bastian. "That was a good idea of yours, about that bank. We'll just hold you, knock off that Ragan place, and then the old man will be ready to quit. We'll take care of him an' ride east an' pick off the bank." Bastian was led back from the street. His ankles were tied and he was thrown into a dark room in the rear of the store. His thoughts were in a turmoil, and he fought to bring them to order. If he was to get out of this alive he must think. There was always a way if one but tried.

If Perrin's men rode to the Red Wall they would find only four hands on the V-Bar. They would strike suddenly, and they knew how to do what must be done. Juliana, Dru, and their mother would be helpless. Four men, five counting Voyle Ragan, could not stand against a surprise attack.

And here he was bound hand and foot.

Desperately, he fought the ropes that bound him, but those who did the tying were skilled with ropes and had tied many a head of cattle and horses.

As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness he looked for something he could use to free himself, but there was nothing. No projecting corner, no nail, nothing.

Outside all was still. Had they gone? He had no way of knowing, but if Perrin was not gone he soon would be, leaving enough men to watch Ben Curry. Mike ceased struggling and tried to think. If he could get free and discover Ben's secret route across the river he might beat Perrin to it and be waiting when the outlaws arrived.

Where was Roundy? And Doe Sawyer?

Just when he had all but given up a solution came to him so simple that he cursed himself for a fool. Mike rolled over to his knees.

Fortunately he was wearing boots instead of the moccasins he often wore in the woods. Bracing one spur against another to keep them from turning, he began to chafe the rawhide against the rowel of the spur. He wore big-roweled Mexican spurs, given him by Sawyer, spurs with many sawlike teeth instead of long spikes.

Desperately, he sawed until his muscles ached and he was streaming with perspiration. Once, pausing to rest, he heard a rattle of hoofs from outside. Several horses being ridden away.

were they just going? He might have a chance, if
only.. Boots
sounded on the floor. Someone was coming! And just when he was cutting through the
rawhide!
Fearful they would guess what he was doing, he rolled to his side. The door opened. It was Snake Fernandez. In one hand he held a knife. The other shoulder was still bandaged from Bastion's bullet. "You shoot Fernandez, eh? Now we see! I am
Yaqui!
I know many ways to make a man bleed! I shall cut you into pieces.

I shall cut slowly, very slowly. You will
see!
" Bastion lay on his shoulder, staring at the half-breed. Stooping over him, the Yaqui pricked him with the knife point, but Bastion did not move.

Enraged, Fernandez tossed up the knife and caught it in his fist. "You do not jump, eh? I make you jump!" Viciously, he stabbed down, and Mike, braced for the stab, turned to his back and kicked out with both feet. The heels of his boots caught Fernandez on the knees and knocked him over backwards. As he fell, Mike rolled to his knees and jerked hard at the rawhide binding his wrists. Something snapped, and Mike pulled and strained. Fernandez was on his feet, recovering his fallen knife. Fighting the ropes that tied him, Bastian threw himself at Fernandez's legs, but the Yaqui leaped back, turning to face him with knife in hand. Bastian turned himself, keeping his feet toward the other man, then as the outlaw moved in, Mike lifted his bound feet and slashed downward. His spurs caught the outlaw on the inside of the thigh, slashing down, ripping his striped pant leg and cutting a deep gash in his leg. Fernandez staggered, cursing, and Bastian jerked hard on his bound wrists and felt something give. The rawhide ropes started to fall away, and shaking them loose he whirled himself around and grabbed at the outlaw's ankle, jerking it toward him.

Fernandez came down with a crash, but fighting like an injured wildcat, he attempted to break free.

Mike, grasping Fernandez's wrist with one hand, took his throat with the other, shutting down with all the strength developed from years of training for just such trouble. Struggling, the man tried to break free, but Mike's grip was too strong. Fernandez's face went dark with blood. He struggled, thrashed, and his struggles grew weaker. Releasing his grip on the man's throat, Bastian slugged him viciously on the chin, then hit him again. Taking the knife from the unconscious man's hand, Mike cut his ankles free and stood up, chafing his wrists to get the circulation back. Now-I A moment, he hesitated. Looking down at the unconscious man. Fernandez was wearing no gun but usually had one. It could have been left outside the door. Careful to make no sound, as he had no idea what awaited, he moved to the door and opened it cautiously.

The street before him was deserted. His hands felt awkward from their long constraint and he worked his fingers continually. He pushed the door wider and stepped into it. The first thing he saw was Fernandez's gunbelt hanging over the back of a chair.

He had taken two steps toward it when a man stepped out of the bunkhouse. The fellow had a toothpick in his hand and was just putting it to his mouth when he saw Mike Bastian. Letting out a yelp of surprise he dropped the toothpick and went for his gun.

It was scarcely fifteen feet and Mike threw the knife underhanded, pitching it point first off the palm of his hand. It flashed in the sun as the gun lifted.

The man grunted and dropped his gun, reaching for the hilt of the knife buried in his stomach, his features twisted with shock. Mike grabbed Fernandez's gunbelt and slung it on, one gun-butt forward, the other back. Then he ran for the boardinghouse where his own guns had been taken from him. He sprang through the door, then froze. Doc Sawyer was there with a shotgun in his hands. Four of Perrin's men were backed against the wall. "I've been waiting for you," Doc said. "I didn't want to kill these men but wasn't about to try tying them up." Mike's gunbelt was on the table. He stripped off Fernandez's guns and belted on his own, then thrust both of Fernandez's guns into his waistband. "Down on the floor!" he ordered them. "On your faces!" It was the work of minutes to hogtie all four. He gathered their weapons. "Where's Roundy?" "I haven't seen him since he walked out of the boardinghouse. He just stepped out and disappeared.

I've been wondering." "Forget him. Let's go up to the house and get Ben Curry, then we can figure this out. We don't have much time. They're headed for the V-BaT." Doc looked sick. "I didn't know. My lord! And those womenfolks-to " Together they went out the back door and walked along the line of buildings. Mike carried his hat in his hand, the easier to be recognized. He knew that Ben could see them, and he wanted to be recognized. Sawyer was excited but trying to be calm. He had seen many gun battles but had never been directly involved in one.

Side by side, gambling against a shot from the stone house or someone of the Perrin outfit they had not rounded up, they mounted the stone stairs to the house.

There was no sound from within. Opening the door they stepped into the living room and looked around.