lla.theburninghills-第21节

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　Maria　Cristina　would　shoot　and　she　had　a　rifle。　They　might　kill　her　but　Ben　Hindeman　could　not　see　a　woman　killed。　Not　like　this。
　He　looked　from　the　woman　to　the　man；　this　lean　fierce　unbeatable　man；　his　face　haggard　and　unshaved；　his　back　to　the　wall。。。　but　ready。
　And　this　woman　who　stood　now；　her　feet　apart；　her　body　poised　to　move；　her　eyes　wide　and　beautiful　but　dangerous。
　He　knew　with　a　kind　of　sickness　that　men　would　die　here　and　a　woman。　And　that　never　again　would　he　ever　look　any　man　in　the　face　without　shame　if　she　were　killed。　He　looked　at　Jordan　and　for　a　long　minute　their　eyes　held　and　Hindeman　knew　with　a　sense　of　failure　that　there　was　no　way　out。
　Nor　did　he　have　any　false　heroics　about　him。　He　was　under　no　necessity　to　prove　his　courage　and　dying　here　today　would　prove　nothing。
　This　was　not　the　way　he　had　planned　it。　To　ride　a　man　down；　to　trap　him；　to　kill　him　in　a　blaze　of　gunfire。　That　was　another　thing。
　But　here　was　a　showdown　and　Ben　Hindeman　was　a　man　who　knew　how　to　retreat。
　〃Mind　if　we　e　in　out　of　the　rain？〃　he　asked　mildly。
　There　was　no　other　word　spoken　for　a　long　minute　and　in　that　minute　Jacob　Lantz　started　to　walk　his　horse。　He　started　slow　but　he　was　walking　away。　Whatever　he　had　seen；　the　others　had　not。
　He　was　getting　out　of　the　line　of　fire。　And　he　had　promised　he　would　do　just　that。　〃No；　by　God！〃
　Across　the　stillness　of　the　morning　Mort　Bayless'　voice　lashed　like　a　bull　whip。　And　as　he　spoke；　he　grabbed　for　his　gun。
　Of　them　all；　he　alone　did　not　have　a　rifle　in　his　hand　and　it　was　he　who　chose　to　open　the　ball。　He　recognized；　in　Ben　Hindeman's　quiet　question；　a　yielding　and　his　hand　struck　down　for　the　gun。
　Trace　Jordan　saw　it　all；　saw　it　clearly　and　sharply。　The　black　figures　of　the　men　etched　against　the　slate…gray　sky　of　morning；　the　driving　rain；　the　horses　darkened　by　rain；　the　ground　steel…gray　and　glistening。　He　caught　the　essence　of　the　moment　in　that　instant；　that　nickering　fragment　of　time　when　Mort　Bayless'　drive　to　kill　pushed　them　over　the　brink　they　sought　to　avoid。
　Mort　grabbed　wildly。　His　hand　caught　his　gun　butt　and　the　edge　of　his　slicker。　In　any　event；　he　would　not　have　made　it　in　time。　A　bullet　smashed　him　through　the　body　and　as　he　slid　from　the　saddle　and　his　horse　sprang　from　under　him；　a　second　bullet　drilled　a　neat　blue　hole　in　his　skull。
　And　then　for　a　brief　moment　the　lightning　of　the　guns　replaced　the　lightning　of　the　storm　and　the　stillness　following　the　thunder　was　filled　by　the　hard　sharp　reports　of　the　guns。
　In　the　split　second　after　Mort's　voice；　Jordan　thought　Hindeman　gave　a　sort　of　groan　and　Jordan　knew　a　sort　of　sympathy　for　a　man　saddled　with　such　panions。
　A　moment…and　it　was　over；　a　moment　of　brutal　smashing　gunfire。　Mort；　knocked　from　his　horse；　hit　the　ground　in　a　pool　of　water。　The　man　behind　him；　knocked　off　balance；　was　momentarily　out　of　action。
　Trace　Jordan　had　fired　at　Mort　Bayless　and　then　threw　himself　aside　and　took　a　quick　shot　at　Ben　Hindeman；　knowing　he　was　the　toughest　and　most　dangerous　man。　Hindeman　took　the　bullet　and　was　knocked　lopsided　in　the　saddle；　his　gun　going　off　into　the　ground。
　From　the　ground　near　him　Jordan　heard　the　wicked　blast　of　the　Winchester　73。　He　felt　a　bullet　from　somewhere　tear　at　his　shoulder　and　steadied　himself　for　another　shot　at　Hindeman。　The　man　knocked　off　balance　by　Bayless'　fall　was　lying　still。　Jordan　fired　again　and　then　threw　himself　away　from　the　girl　to　draw　fire　from　her。　She　shot　from　the　ground　again　and　then　a　bullet　from　Hindeman　spat　rock　into　his　face　and　he　shot　the　big　man　a　second　time。
　A　man　on　a　lunging　horse　swung　the　horse　around　and　lifted　his　gun　to　chop　a　shot。　Jordan　and　Maria　Cristina　fired　at　the　same　instant　and　the　man　threw　up　his　hands。
　The　horse　broke　into　a　plunging　run　and　the　rider　stayed　with　him　for　six　or　seven　jumps；　then　spilled　off；　arms　and　legs　thrown　wide　to　hit　with　a　splash　of　water　like　a　doll　thrown　carelessly。　The　man　lay　sprawled　and　wet　and　dead。
　So　quickly　it　happened；　so　quickly　it　was　over。　A　moment　of　madness　laced　by　gunfire；　a　moment　of　thundering　guns　and　spitting　lead；　and　then　only　the　quiet　and　the　rain　falling。
　Slowly　he　straightened　up。　He　held　both　guns；　never　conscious　that　he　had　drawn　the　second。　Shoving　one　into　his　holster；　he　began　to　reload。　One　gun　was　empty；　the　other　held　but　two　shells。　And　he　had　no　memory　of　firing　more　than　three；　perhaps　four　times。
　Maria　Cristina　got　up　from　the　rock　where　she　had　knelt；　half…concealed　by　boulders　and　brush。
　〃You　are　hurt？〃　she　asked。
　〃A　scratch。〃
　He　stood　there　a　minute　or　two；　looking　out　into　the　rain。　Jacob　Lantz　was　still　around　and；　although　the　tracker　had　left　before　the　shooting　started；　he　might　declare　himself　in　at　long　range。　And　he　had　the　reputation　of　being　good　with　a　rifle。
　Trace　Jordan　walked　out　into　the　rain。　Lantz　was　nowhere　in　sight
　Mort　Bayless　stared　up　into　the　sodden　clouds；　his　eyes　wide　to　the　sky；　unheeding　the　pounding　rain。　Blood　stained　the　pool　in　which　he　lay。　His　shirt　was　plastered　to　his　thin　body；　all　the　evil　in　him　a　thing　gone　now；　emptied　out　of　him　with　his　life。
　Ben　Hindeman　was　lying　there　too　but　he　was　not　dead。
　He　had　been　hit　three　times；　once　by　the　rifle。　He　made　a　feeble　futile　grasp　toward　his　fallen　gun　and　then　lay　quiet；　looking　up　at　Jordan。
　〃Is　it　bad？〃
　Trace　looked　at　him。　One　bullet　through　his　left　side　but　low　down。　Another　through　his　chest　but　high　enough　to　have　missed　the　lung。　The　third　through　his　thigh。
　〃You're　hit；〃　Jordan　said。　〃Can　be　bad。〃
　〃I　got　a　wife；〃　Hindeman　said。　〃A　good　woman。　A　man　should　think　of　those　things。〃
　He　dosed　his　eyes　momentarily；　then　opened　them。　〃They　never　should　have　stolen　those　horses；〃　he　said。　〃The　damn　fools。〃
　Another　man　lay　beyond　Hindeman；　sprawled　out；　one　knee　buckled　under　him。　The　fourth　man；　the　one　knocked　down　by　Bayless'　horse；　still　lay　where　he　had　dropped。　There　was　no　blood　on　him。
　Trace　Jordan　bolstered　his　gun　and　stooped　to　pick　up　Ben　Hindeman。　As　he　stooped　he　heard　the　click　of　a　drawn…back　hammer　and　turned　quickly。
　Jacob　Lantz　stood　there　with　empty　hands　held　wide　from　his　body。　Maria　Cristina　had　covered　him　with　a　Winchester。
　〃Help　you　with　that？〃　Lantz　asked。　〃He's　a　heavy　man。〃
　Together　they　carried　him　under　the　overhang　and　after　one　careful　searching　look　at　Lantz；　Maria　Cristina　put　her　rifle　down。　〃Make　a　fire；〃　she　told　him。
　Then　she　turned　to　Jordan。　〃You　first；〃　she　said。
　〃He's　hard　hit；〃　Trace　said。　〃I　can　wait。〃
　Maria　Cristina　shrugged。　〃Suppose　he　dies？　He　would　have　killed　you。〃
　〃Him　first；〃　Jordan　told　her　flatly。　〃Get　busy。〃
　She　looked　at　him；　their　eyes　holding　on　each　other。　Then　she　knelt　beside　Hindeman。　〃You　think　you　strong；〃　she　said；　glancing　up。　〃I　think　you　big　fool。〃
　Hindeman　chuckled；　then　gasped　at　the　pain。　But　he　looked　up　at　Jordan。　〃I　think　you've　got　you　a　woman；　Friend。〃
　He　looked　past　Trace　Jordan　at　Lantz。　〃What　happened　to　you？〃　he　asked　hoarsely。
　Lantz　bared　his　broken　teeth　in　a　grin。　〃I　told　you　。。。　I'd　trail　him。　I　wouldn't　fight　him。　When　I　seen　what　Mort　was　fixin'　to　do；　I　taken　out。〃
　Jordan　glanced　out　to　where　the　other　men　lay。　The　man　who　had　been　knocked　down　by　Bayless　was　gone。　He　had　evidently　lain　quiet　until　the　shooting　was　over　and　at　the　first　chance；　ducked　out。　Some　were　like　that。　Sometimes　the　ones　who　swaggered　die　first。　Like　Ike　Clanton　at　the　O。K。　Corral　fight
　Maria　Cristina　bathed　the　wounds　in　a　decoction　made　of　a　desert　plant；　than　bandaged　them　as　best　she　could。　From　the　plant　named　sangre　de　Cristo　she　had　taken　the　sap；　which　coagulates　quickly；　to　stop　the　blood　from　the　wounds。
　By　the　time　the　wounds　were　cared　for　and　Lantz　had　buried　the　dead　men；　it　was　midday。　He　came　back　inside。　〃Rain's　breakin'〃　he　said。　〃Better　get　set　for　trouble。〃
　〃Trouble？〃
　〃Yeah；〃　Lantz　took　his　time。　〃There's　one　got　away；　an'　more　in'。　If　that　one's　lucky；　he'll　fetch　up　with　those　who　been　in'　behind　us。　You　can　just　bet　they'll　e　huntin'　you。〃
　Ben　Hindeman　spoke　from　his　pallet。　〃The　fight's　over；　Jake。　You　tell　'em　I　said　so。　We're　through。〃
　〃Buck　might　listen。　Wes　Parker　won't。　Some　of　the　others　might　not；　either。〃
　〃Then　you　light　out　an'　stop　'em；〃　Hindeman　said　harshly。　He　lifted　himself　to　an　elbow。　〃Stop　'em　an'　get　a　buckboard　down　here　for　me。　If　you　can't　stop　'em；　ride　like　hell　for　John　Slaughter's　outfit。〃
　The　clouds　broke　and　the　rain　drifted　away。　The　sun　returned　and　the　pools　began　to　disappear。　Only　the　greener　vegetation　and　the　dampness　around　the　rocks　remained　to　remind　them　of　the　storm。
　Trace　Jordan　took　his　rifle　and　led　the　horses　to　a　patch　of　grass　where　they　could　be　picketed　in　plain　sight　of　the　shelter。　He　was　far　less　worried　by　the　Sutton…Bayless　riders　than　by　the　Apaches。　For　several　days　now　both　the　pursuers　and　the　pursued　had　been　leaving　tracks　all　over　this　corner　of　Sonora；　an　area　that　was　Apache　country。
　Any　hunter　from　one　of　the　rancherias　might　have　e　upon　those　tracks；　or　any　squaw　out　gathering　herbs　or　firewood　could　have　seen　them。　In　a　country　where　a　white　man　could　scarcely　turn　over　in　bed　wit