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  It was almost sundown before Bean came in. He was riding with his rifle across his saddle.

  “Picked up some sign back yonder,” he said to Tap. “I think we’re goin’ to have comp’ny.”

  “How many?”

  “One man…it’s Huddy, all right, and he’s ridin’ his killin’ horse.”

  When Duvarney looked his question, Bean added, “Folks down here tell me when Jackson Huddy goes huntin’ he rides a blaze-face roan. Good, steady horse…hard one to see…lots of bottom, and quiet.”

  “That’s a good horse,” Kittery agreed. “I know him.”

  “I picked up some hairs off a tree where he’d been scratching himself.” Bean looked at Duvarney. “Since the rain stopped.”

  “You didn’t see him?”

  When Bean shook his head, Kittery said, “I’ll lay five to one he saw you. And that means he trailed you back here.”

  “Tom,” Duvarney said, “I’ve got Belden and some of the boys holding a herd on the Guadalupe just west of Victoria. Most of them are cattle I sold to Bob Brunswick, just before the storm.” He touched his shirt pocket. “I’ve got the check right here.”

  “You moved fast.”

  “We had to, with the storm coming, and then I moved the cattle for Brunswick. What I’m suggesting now is that you push this herd on to join those cattle.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m heading for Indianola. My girl’s there. Also,” he went on, “I want Jackson Huddy to follow me.”

  He had been thinking as he talked. Riding with a herd would not only make him a sitting duck, but would endanger the others. What he must do was lead Huddy down the trail, and it was a trail that Duvarney now knew pretty well himself…and somewhere along that trail there might be a showdown.

  He already had part of his route planned. He would ride right out in plain sight, but where there was no cover for Huddy, and then when he got to where there was cover, he would ride right into it.

  “You’re buckin’ a stacked deck,” Tom said. “I think we’d best stick together.”

  “No, I want him to come for me.”

  “Don’t worry,” Lubec said, “he will!”

  Duvarney left the herd on a bare hill with no cover for several hundred yards in either direction. He decided that he could take it for granted that Huddy was a good shot with a rifle, but he would also remember that Huddy, now at least, was not a gambler. Huddy would study his victim, stay with him until he got within easy range, then shoot him down. From all he had heard, Huddy was a one-shot killer…it was even a matter of pride with him.

  That meant Duvarney must not give him that one shot until he was ready to do so.

  He rode north, scouting the land and the possible routes that Huddy might take, and then he began a bit of mental warfare. Huddy would be looking for a pattern, and for a time he must not find one. Duvarney felt that first he must shake Huddy’s overweening confidence in himself. He must worry him into acting as he had not planned.

  For two miles he kept to open country that offered no concealment. Dropping behind a screening ridge, he wheeled his horse and raced back a quarter of a mile in the direction from which he had come, then rode down into a sandy wash. He followed it for half a mile and, climbing out of it, went to a thicket of mesquite, prickly pear, and oak. Doubling back, he scouted his earlier trail with care, finally emerging upon it.

  Sure enough, another horse had been along here. He rode on across his trail without a stop, went over a low saddle, and headed back in the original direction, paralleling his old trail. Finding a long, shallow pool of muddy water, he rode into it and followed it along for a few hundred yards, then deliberately he cut across it.

  A pursued man will usually emerge from a stream on the same side on which he entered; knowing this, he did the opposite. Mounting a low hill, he crossed over it and left his horse tied to a small shrub while he crept back to the crest of a ridge where there were a few scattered stones and some low brush. Lying there, he settled down to wait.

  He had his back to the sun, and so could use his glasses without fear of being seen. He was lying there watching when he saw, far off, a rider approach the place where the trails crossed. He smiled, but he continued to watch, knowing he must understand this man and his thinking if he expected to remain alive.

  Jackson Huddy seemed to be a man of little imagination—hard, dangerous, and tenacious, and above all a man of enormous ego, completely confident of his own ability. But always before Huddy had been the hunter, never the hunted. By now he realized that Duvarney had circled around, and knew he was being followed.

  Jackson Huddy sat his horse for some time, then followed the trail. When he reached the pond he rode along the edge, then circled it until he discovered where Duvarney had emerged. When Huddy finally saw where Duvarney had left the water, he was scarcely three hundred yards off, and Duvarney took up his rifle and drew a careful bead on the dirt right in front of Huddy’s horse…and fired.

  It was muddy, and when the bullet struck it splattered mud, and Huddy’s horse leaped wildly, and pitched hard until Huddy got him quieted down. Then Duvarney shot twice more; both were shots calculated to start Huddy moving.

  Tap knew he should kill the man, yet it went against the grain to shoot from ambush, even though that was the policy of his enemy; moreover, he took a wicked satisfaction in putting the man in the place of his victims.

  Huddy, out in the open with no cover, slapped the spurs to his mount and went away from there as if somebody had set fire to his coattails.

  Tap mounted up and rode at a canter, heading back toward Indianola. Huddy, shaken, would be wary about picking up the trail, and that would give Duvarney time.

  As he rode, he studied the country, and an hour later he found what he wanted—a small hollow in the hills, ideal for a nooning, which could be looked into from only one direction. On the crest of a low rise there was a small clump of brush and trees.

  Taking a branch of one of the trees, he bent it down in such a way that if one wanted to look down into the hollow, the branch must be moved. Then he cut a branch, took a piggin string from his belt, and bending the branch, made a small, crude bow of it. He sharpened a stick for an arrow and set the bow in position, the arrow drawn back and ready.

  If the branch was moved, the arrow would be released and might hit the hunter.

  It was a crude, hastily contrived trap that Duvarney did not expect to cause any damage. All he hoped to do was to shake Huddy’s confidence, to make him feel he could trust himself nowhere.

  Going down into the hollow, Duvarney built a small fire; then back at the edge he gathered enough brush to make a large armful and tied another piggin string around it. Looked at from above, it would create a shadow, and might give the appearance of a man in hiding. At least Huddy would want to take time to study it.

  Time was running short now, and Huddy might appear at any moment, so Tap rode away swiftly, but watched the hills around, careful to avoid any place that might offer Huddy a good field of fire.

  Hours later he crossed Black Bayou and made camp in a clump of trees and brush northeast of Green Lake.

  Before daylight he was up, and for half an hour he studied the country around. Then he left his camp and went back for half a mile in the direction from which he had come, circling wide around before riding for Indianola. He saw nobody, found no tracks leading toward Indianola.

  He rode on, seeing on every side the havoc created by the storm—trees uprooted, buildings smashed flat, the earth a sea of mud, with water standing in the low places. Here and there he saw the bodies of dead cattle or horses.

  When at last he rode up to Indianola he knew it only by the courthouse.

  Where the town had stood there was now mud and sand, with scattered debris brought in by the sea, smashed boats, and the foundations of the buildings.

  The town was gone…wiped out.

  People were moving around, searching for bodies or prowling among t
he wreckage of the saloons for unbroken bottles or whatever might be found.

  Smoke was rising from the chimney of the courthouse, and when he walked inside he walked right into Bob Brunswick. “She’s in there,” Brunswick pointed. “We’re trying to feed everybody, at least.”

  Duvarney explained about the cattle. “We’ve got a bunch together, and we’re going to drive to Kansas. I figured you’d want your stock to go along. A man named Webster is throwing in with us, and we’ll have a strong party and about fifteen hundred head, or more.”

  “Take them along. You going to Dodge?”

  “Yes. I’ll meet you there, or leave word if we’ve gone elsewhere. It doesn’t look as if you’ll be buying stock in Indianola for a long time.”

  Suddenly Jessica appeared in the door. She ran to him, caught him by the arms. “Tappan! Oh, Tappan!” was all that she could say.

  “We’re leaving,” he said. “We’re getting out of here right now. Jackson Huddy will be along, and I don’t want a showdown here.”

  She wasted no time, but when she came back Mady Coppinger was with her. “Can Mady come?” Jessica asked.

  “Sure.” And then he added, “Tom’s with the herd.”

  “I’ve got some saddle stock out of town,” Bob said, “and you’ll need horses going up the trail. Leave the bay gelding with the three white stockings for me, and take the rest along.”

  He stepped closer and said to Tap, “Be careful. Every Munson is somewhere around.” Then he went on, “You hear about Bill Taylor? He and some other fellow who was locked in the same jail, they stole the sheriff’s horse and lit out. I don’t think anybody minded too much, not even the sheriff. Bill proved himself pretty much of a man in this shindig.”

  By the time Tap had managed to get a couple of saddles and mounted the girls on the horses, it was well into the afternoon. He was growing more and more worried. Curiosity might take Huddy on into Indianola, but he would be on their trail soon, and he might be lying in wait for them somewhere to the west.

  Tap wasted no time. He rode with his rifle across his saddle bows and he held to a good pace. They were leading six extra horses. All of them seemed glad to go, to be anywhere but around the storm area.

  Nobody talked. Tap grew increasingly jumpy, and was ready at every sound. He changed direction again and again, trying to establish no pattern with his changes.

  Around Chocolate Bay the scene was desolate. There had been a few cabins there, and some fishing boats. All these were gone. The shore was littered with debris.

  At last, long after dark, he led them into camp in a corner of the Chocolate Bayou. It was on a bench above the stream, and taking a chance, he built a small fire. They made coffee and ate a little, and he prepared a place for the girls to sleep. As for himself, he drew back into the trees and bedded down in thick brush. He slept little.

  At daybreak they were in the saddle once more.

  Chapter 16

  *

  VICTORIA WAS PICKING up after the storm. Tappan Duvarney had no wish to ride into the town, but they needed food, and both of the girls needed clothing.

  By now Jackson Huddy would have decided where he was going, and would undoubtedly be on his trail, or perhaps be in town waiting for him.

  They had seen few travelers, and most of these were going in the same direction. Everybody who could move seemed to be leaving the coast.

  Not even the havoc created by the storm could rob Victoria of its quaint, Old World beauty. They came into the square, Tappan Duvarney riding warily. It was a lovely place, with roses everywhere—a charming town, but it might be a deadly one for him.

  He dismounted, keeping his horse between himself and the street, which he studied with careful eyes, paying attention to the roofs, the windows, the people along the street.

  “You’d best go to your folks,” he said to Mady, “or else get what you want and meet Jessica and we’ll take you to Tom.”

  She hesitated a moment, obviously not liking the alternatives. “All right,” she said.

  When Mady had moved away, he spoke softly to Jessica. “I’m going to move the horses soon. They will be over in back of that building at the end of the street. Don’t mention it to Mady, but if she’s coming with us, you can meet me there in an hour.”

  When he left her he paused at the corner of a building, again studying the street. Then he went to a store, bought new clothes, and going out of the back door, took them to his horses, and led the horses off the street. He bought groceries and other supplies, always moving with caution.

  He had gone into the restaurant when suddenly he saw Harry and Caddo, the two men he had seen with Mady in the buckboard that day beside the trail. He crossed to them. “Hello, Harry,” he said.

  The man turned and looked at him with careful eyes. “You have the advantage of me,” Harry said.

  “I am Tappan Duvarney. I know your name because you were with Miss Coppinger one day. I was close by, just off the trail.”

  Caddo grinned. “Now, I figured that. I really figured it,” he said.

  Harry held out his hand. “Heard about you,” he said.

  “Mady’s in town. She’s with my fiancée, Jessica Trescott. She may be riding out with us to join Tom—I’m not sure.”

  He heard someone coming up behind him and he turned slightly. It was Lin Stocker, who also rode for the Coppinger outfit. Duvarney remembered him with no liking.

  “Jackson Huddy’s huntin’ you,” Stocker said, with a hint of malice in his tone. “Looks like you won’t be with us long.”

  “No. I’m going out with a trail drive.”

  “I didn’t mean that, I meant—”

  “Shut up, Stocker,” Harry said shortly. “He knows what you mean…so do I.”

  Abruptly, Stocker turned and strode from the room, but when he was at the door Duvarney called after him. “Don’t forget to tell them where I am, Stocker. Just don’t be with them when they come hunting me.”

  Stocker started to speak, but he stopped, and went out.

  “Most of our boys favor Tom,” Harry said, “and our money is ridin’ on you.”

  Caddo spoke suddenly, quietly. “You want help, White Man? I can use a gun.”

  “No…thanks. This is my fight.”

  Out of the corner of his eye he had seen Stocker start diagonally across the street. He went to the window and, standing well back, watched him cross the street and go into a saloon. In a moment he came out and started on up the street.

  “If you boys will excuse me?” Tap said, and stepped out of the door.

  He watched Stocker until he disappeared into another saloon further up the street, and then he came back inside the restaurant. Harry and Caddo had gone, but he found a table in a corner where he could watch the street, and ordered a meal.

  It was only a few minutes later that he saw Caddo ride swiftly out of town.

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  He had been so intent on watching the street that he had not noticed Jessica approaching his table.

  “Mady will be along soon.” She sat down in the chair he held for her, and when he was seated she asked, “Is there going to be trouble?”

  “Yes.”

  “You would rather I was out of the way, wouldn’t you?”

  “Of course, but they’ll wait until I come out on the street. They know where I am sitting by now, and there is no way they can come in here without exposing themselves. And you’re here. So they will wait until I come outside, and I’m going to let them wait.”

  She searched his face. “You aren’t afraid?”

  He shrugged. “I expect I am, a little. Fear sets a man up sometimes for what he has to face. A little fear does no harm, just so it doesn’t put a man on the run.”

  A man was walking across the square, a big, narrow-shouldered man with wide hips. It was Shabbit, and he was carrying a slicker wrapped around something…probably a rifle or a shotgun. Considering the man, it was probably the latter. He sto
pped on a corner just across the street that left the square alongside the restaurant. From there he could cover the door easily.

  Up the street another man with the Munson look about him was leaning on a wagon wheel, smoking a cigarette.

  Following his eyes, Jessica said, “You could go out the back door.”

  “They will have men out there, too,” he said lightly.

  They ate, talking only a little. He enjoyed sitting there, making them wait in the hot sun.

  Suddenly the door opened and Ev Munson came in. Shabbit was with him, and another man. It was Lin Stocker.

  “You comin’ out?” Ev asked him. “I’m gettin’ kinda tired waitin’.”

  “You…or that army it’s going to take to help you?”

  Ev’s features flushed with anger. “I don’t need no help. I never saw the day I couldn’t take you, an’ three like you.”

  Duvarney looked up at him, smiling a little. “All right, Munson, let’s just talk about me. Do you want to take me? Out in the street right now?” He glanced at the others. “I mean without this carrion to help.”

  Stocker started to step forward, but Ev waved him back. “Sure,” he taunted, “if you can get out from behind those skirts, I’ll meet you outside, right now!”

  Tap Duvarney got up. “Will you excuse me, Jessica?” Deliberately he raised his voice so that the three men striding to the door could hear him. “This won’t take long.” Under his breath he added, “Get back in the office, out of range.”

  He loosened his gun in its holster. He had not really thought much about a fast draw since the time he cleaned up that tough town out west, when he was sent by the army to do it, as the marshal’s deputy.

  He walked to the door, keeping to one side. Every Munson was out there, waiting. He had an idea Ev would hold the others off so he could make the kill himself. At the same time he knew that if he killed Every Munson they would shoot him down where he stood…unless he moved very quickly indeed.

  Tap reached over with his left hand and turned the knob, releasing the bolt, but leaving the door almost closed. He took a short step forward, put his left hand on the door, slamming it open suddenly.