let live is the right notion.”
“Get the rigs on your bronks, and come loaded for bear,” ordered the sheriff. “We’re going up against a salty bunch.”
“And if we do come up with them, be ready to shoot fast and shoot straight,” Slade interpolated. “They’re desperate men and I doubt if they’ll surrender without a fight. I don’t know about the others, but Sosna is a dead shot. Very likely the others are also handy with their irons. We can’t afford to take chances.”
The deputies nodded soberly and hurried out. Ten minutes later the posse was riding west at a fast pace.
There was a nearly full moon in the sky, that was cloudless, and the prairie was flooded with silver light, which worked well with Slade’s plan. For he had a definite objective in view and believed he would be able to attain it—the belt of chaparral where the holdup occurred. He reasoned, knowing how Sosna’s mind worked, that the outlaw leader would have been in no hurry to ride east. Better to let things cool down a mite before approaching Amarillo, then slip into town unobtrusively. He felt that the last thing Sosna would expect was a posse riding from the east after the driver and guard told of him riding west. Which was doubtless his reason for allowing the pair to live; Sosna usually left no witnesses.
All of which the Ranger had carefully considered before urging Sheriff Carter to head west with his posse on the chance of intercepting the outlaw band. He believed his hunch was a straight one and that there was a good chance to put an end to Veck Sosna’s career of robbery and murder once for all.
Not that he was sure—he’d had too much experience with the Comanchero leader’s uncanny ability to wriggle out of what appeared to be a tight loop. His hairtrigger mind plus his perfect coordination of brain and body had enabled him to more than a few times escape from what seemed an absolutely hopless situation. Veck Sosna was a formidable opponent for even El Halcón.
El Halcón versus Veck Sosna! A saga of the West that would be talked about for many a year.
Suddenly the sheriff exclaimed, a trifle apprehensively, “Suppose’n we just run into a bunch of cowhands coming to town for a bust? Starting a corpse-and-cartridge session with them would be a fine howdy-do.”
“Law-abiding citizens don’t get trigger-nervous when called upon to halt by a peace officer who announced himself,” Slade pointed out. “You don’t need to worry on that score.”
“Guess that’s right,” Carter agreed, in relieved tones.
Slade himself was doing a mite of worrying. He felt confident that he had sized up the situation correctly and that they had plenty of time to reach the belt of chaparral before Sosna. But suppose he had guessed wrong and the outlaws would get there first and from its shadow spot the posse riding blithely across the moon drenched prairie? Sosna’s quick mind would instantly understand and react accordingly. The thought made Slade feel a bit cold along his backbone.
Finally they sighted the chaparral belt, which was very broad to the north, running almost to the downward plunge of the wild Canadian River Valley. Slade instinctively slowed the pace a little and his eyes probed the shadows ahead.
It was an uneasy business, riding into what might well be a sudden blaze of gunfire. A blaze they would see but not necessarily hear, lead travelling somewhat faster than sound. His right hand hovered close to his gun butt as they drew near the dark and silent growth.
It was with a sigh of relief that, riding slightly ahead, he reached the stand of growth without anything happening. Again he slowed the pace.
“Easy now,” he told his companions. “We want to find a good spot to hole up and wait.”
He led the way until they came to where a tall tree stretched its branches across the trail, effectually shutting out the moonlight for the space of a dozen yards or so. Directly ahead, some twenty paces distant, the trail curved. The moonlight poured down on the bend and the straight-away beyond the tree. Slade pulled to a halt.
“This’ll do,” he said. “We will be in the shadow and they’ll be in the light when they round the trail, that is if we don’t have to wait too long; the moon moves and soon the whole trail will be in the shadow. I’ve a notion that right here is where the holdup occurred, from the description Prate, the driver, gave of it.”
“Figure you’re right,” said the sheriff. “Okay, boys, just take it easy till the ball opens, if it does.”
A tedious wait followed and Slade grew acutely uneasy. The moon was drifting steadily westward and already the edge of the trail at the bend was growing shadowy. A little more of that west by slightly south trend and their advantage would be wiped out.
A few more minutes passed, then the Ranger stiffened to attention; his keen ears had caught a sound that steadily grew louder—the soft drumming of hoofs on the dusty trail.
“Get set!” he whispered. “They’re coming. Crowd your horses against the brush. Carter, you do the talking. You’re a peace officer and you’ll have to give them a chance to surrender.”
“The hellions don’t deserve it, if it’s really them,” the sheriff breathed. “Can’t take a chance, though, it might not be them.”
A couple of minutes crawled past. Then around the bend, clearly outlined in the moonlight, surged a group of horsemen, six in number. Slade instantly recognized the tall, broad-shouldered rider slightly in front. It was Veck Sosna! The sheriff’s voice rang out—
“In the name of the law! Elevate! You’re covered!”
The riders jerked to a halt with startled exclamations. Instantly Veck Sosna acted. He whirled his horse and sent it charging into the growth to the north. Slade drew and shot, but knew he had missed, for even as he pulled trigger, Sosna crashed into the brush and out of sight. And for the moment Slade had his hands full.
As if their leader’s move had triggered them, his followers went for their guns. The growth jumped and quivered to a roar of sixshooters.
Slade shot left and right, and again. He saw a man topple from his saddle. A second slid sideways to the ground. Lead stormed all about him, one slug graining the flesh of his right arm, another ripping the shoulder of his shirt. His companions were shooting as fast as they could pull trigger, but the light was uncertain, the horses rearing and plunging. One of the deputies gave a yelp of pain. Another barked a curse. His horse, gone half loco, charged in front of Slade and he had to hold his fire.
The three remaining outlaws whirled their horses and, one slumping forward in the hull but keeping his seat, sent them careening back around the bend, the posse yelling and shooting in pursuit.
FOUR
WALT SLADE did not join the pursuit. Instead, he sent Shadow worming his way through the growth to the north, on the faint chance that he might overtake Sosna. It was not impossible that the uncanny hellion had figured what he would do and was holed up somewhere waiting for him. To the devil with him! He’d risk it.
In fact, seething with anger, he was in a mood for anything. Once again Sosna had given him the slip when he thought he was all set to drop his loop. The sidewinder wasn’t human!
Of course Sosna always had one advantage. Slade could not shoot him on sight. The stern code of the Rangers held that the quarry must be given the chance to surrender, and Sosna was not restricted
