Vigilante Law Page 12

  Ben’s head drooped onto his chest, but then a steely determination to avenge the heinous murder consumed his whole being: Rizzo had a lot to answer for. He must be inside the cabin, waiting on the arrival of his sworn enemy. A frontal assault would play right into his hands. In his current position, watching from a small copse some two hundred yards from the house, he remained out of sight.

  So what was the best way to tackle this dilemma? A recollection leapt into his buzzing brain that offered a solution. Elsa had showed him a tunnel dug out by her father when he had first built the cabin. Its purpose was to afford protection in earlier times when Indian raiders made frequent incursions into the area. A trapdoor in the living room gave access to the narrow tunnel, which terminated in the barn. Elsa had mentioned the escape route as a counter to Web Steiger’s threats when she refused to leave the property.

  It would now provide the means to save her and capture Squint Rizzo. That was the assumption. Now he had to put it into practice. Once the decision had been made, he circled around behind a low knoll, approaching the homestead and its adjacent buildings from the rear. There he dismounted and entered the barn through a side door. So where was that exit from the tunnel?

  A search of the stalls soon uncovered the trapdoor beneath a pile of hay in the one nearest the house. Ben peeped out of a dirty window. The house was no more than twenty yards away. He could see movement inside. His fists bunched, an angry snarl hissing through gritted teeth. Raised voices told him that Elsa was not submitting without a fight. But the frenzied tirade was instantly cut short.

  Ben feared the worst. The blood froze in his veins. The girl was a tough cookie, but a sadistic bastard like Squint Rizzo would enjoy squeezing hard to release the fear. She was a woman alone, only able to absorb so much pressure.

  Quickly, he levered up the trap, revealing a ladder disappearing into total darkness. A lamp hanging on a nail for just such an occasion as this was lit. Gingerly, he lowered himself into the dark pit. Ground level was about ten feet below. The lamp was held in front as he moved as swiftly as practicable along the narrow passage. Voices ahead warned him of the imminent arrival at the chamber beneath the living room.

  Setting down the lamp on a table, he checked the Colt revolver was fully loaded, then crept up the ladder silently. This was the critical moment. He needed to catch Rizzo unawares but without putting Elsa in danger. Now the moment had arrived, he realized there were a whole heap of glitches that could go wrong. Here he was, feet away from his sworn foe, but impotent to effect a defeat as matters stood.

  He hesitated, knowing that some kind of move would have to be made. Sucking in a lungful of stale air, he attempted to lift the hinged flap gingerly. If’n Rizzo spotted the movement, he was done for. But it wouldn’t shift. The scraping immediately above his head was enough to tell him that somebody was sitting on a chair. He cursed under his breath. There could be no way forward until the sitter got up. All he could do now was wait and pray for yet another miracle.

  Minutes that seemed like hours passed. Then a gruff voice spat out. ‘What’s keeping that critter? He should be here by now.’ Ben sensed it had come from somewhere over by the window. Rizzo must be keeping a sharp eye open for his arrival. That meant Elsa was in the chair.

  Here was his one chance to attract her attention. The tap on the floorboard was loud enough to have caught Rizzo’s attention. ‘What was that?’ he rapped.

  Elsa had likewise heard it and cottoned on to the fact immediately that somebody was in the underground cellar. She stood up, giving the impression it was her shifting the chair aside. ‘I’m going to make a pot of coffee,’ she said, coughing to hide the nervous inflection in her voice.

  ‘Add a hefty shot of that moonshine your old man made,’ came back the snappy reply. ‘I could do with a proper drink waiting here for that skunk to turn up.’

  The soft padding of feet told Ben that Elsa had gone over to the far side of the room where the cooking range was located. Here was his chance. Again, he lifted the flap, praying that the hinges had been greased. Silently, it lifted a couple of inches. Ben peered through the gap. There, exactly where he had predicted, Squint Rizzo stood, looking out of the window with a gun in hand.

  This was the moment of truth. Ben knew he would only get one chance to nail the critter. Girding himself for the fray, he pushed the flap hard, coming up another couple of steps to bring his own revolver to bear. Unfortunately, one of the chair legs was still over the trap; a grinding clatter and it toppled over. Rizzo swung round, his mouth dropping open on seeing Ben Chisum rising from the bowels of the earth like some primeval denizen.

  Instinct for survival kicked in. The gun swung, a thumb clawing back the hammer. Both men fired at once. The noise inside the room was deafening. Elsa’s scream was automatic. She dropped the coffee pot. Both bullets dug chunks out of the woodwork, neither having found its mark. Ben let the flap drop back as another bullet thudded into the floor inches from his head.

  Seconds later, he threw up the flap again, keeping his head below floor level. But Rizzo had already fled the house. Ben checked quickly that Elsa was unhurt, then dashed over to the main door of the house. He peered round the side, only to see Rizzo mounting up and riding off in the direction of the Jaybird. ‘The rat figures he can still grab that gold,’ he called back to Elsa. ‘I’m going after him.’

  Elsa hurried across. ‘You be careful. That guy is pure poison.’ She kissed him on the lips. ‘I don’t want to be running this place on my own.’

  Ben’s heart leapt. ‘Don’t worry none, honey,’ he waxed spiritedly. ‘I’ll be back with that turkey – dead or alive. It’ll be his choice. Then we can run it together.’

  As he rushed off to get his horse, Elsa called after him. ‘Rizzo has taken the regular trail. Head straight across the north pasture and you’ll cut him off at Morgan’s Crossing. Aim for Stovepipe Butte. You can’t miss it.’

  He waved an acknowledgement of the valuable pointer, hustling round to the barn. Moments later, he emerged at a gallop. Elsa watched as he raced across the field of ripening corn, scoring a pathway through the golden crop. Cresting the ridge ahead, he spotted the prominent landmark immediately, some five miles away as the crow flies, but of Squint Rizzo there was no sign. Ben concentrated on keeping the Stovepipe in sight as he was forced to detour around boulders and through clumps of thick undergrowth.

  With a deep sigh of relief, he eventually swung round a rocky outcrop, and there was the landmark beside the narrow creek known as Morgan’s Crossing. This was where he joined the main trail. He could only hope that the shortcut suggested by Elsa had given him the chance to stop the fleeing brigand. Drawing his rifle, Ben settled down to wait. He had no intention of laying an ambush. Such tactics were abhorrent to his nature. Ben Chisum had always been a face-on, frontal kind of guy.

  After ten minutes of waiting on tenterhooks, the regular pounding of hoofs pricked up his ears. Legs akimbo and clutching the Winchester across his chest, he positioned himself in the middle of the trail. A plume of dust heralded the arrival of his treacherous old buddy. Rizzo spotted the motionless figure blocking his onward path immediately. He dragged the horse to a stop some twenty yards short.

  The surprise at having been outmanoeuvred was evident on the twisted maw. But Squint Rizzo had not been able to survive and prosper as a hired gunman without fostering nerves of steel. ‘So, it’s come down to this, Blue Creek,’ he remarked in a nonchalant tone that accepted the inevitability of this confrontation. ‘Guess I always knew deep down it couldn’t end any other way.’ Slowly, he stepped down off his horse and walked towards the statuesque effigy.

  Only then did Ben make a move. ‘You brought it on yourself, Squint, by shopping me to the federales.’ He placed his rifle on the floor. This was going to be a straight shootout – winner takes all! ‘Surely you never expected me to lie down and accept such a betrayal like some whipped cur.’ The gun rig was settled on his hip comfortably.

  R
izzo shrugged. ‘Guess I did do the wrong thing. I could always apologize and we could always shake hands. There must be enough gold in that mine for us both to live happy lives.’

  ‘Too late for that, old buddy,’ Ben disputed, shaking his head. ‘Too much blood has been spilled. And, truth be told, I could never trust you again. Only one of us is gonna walk away from this. Reckon its time to set the record straight.’

  Rizzo nodded. ‘How we gonna play this, then?’

  Ben gestured to a prairie dog watching the intruders idly. ‘That fella will soon get tired of eyeballing us. When he disappears, we get to shooting. Agreed?’

  ‘You always did enjoy a flourish when some gun-happy kid tried to take away that reputation.’ Rizzo’s smile resembled that of a trapped sidewinder. ‘When you’re ready, old pal.’

  ‘Don’t forget, Squint, to take me down you’ll need to aim dead centre. Only a heart shot will win the day,’ he added in a coolly calculating voice.

  Both men settled down, each with an eye on the gopher, the other on his adversary. Sure enough, after a long minute, the bored creature scooted back down its hole. Both men slapped leather simultaneously.

  But Rizzo had forgotten the little trick that his counterpart effected to give him the edge: a slight leaning to the right as he drew his revolver. Rizzo was the faster but had aimed dead centre, as advised. The bullet whistled past Ben’s left ear. He could feel the burn of its passing. His own bullet was more accurately placed.

  Rizzo staggered back. His legs gave way. One final effort to raise his gun hand failed. Ben walked across, his own firearm never wavering. ‘Guess I . . . should have . . . known you’d pull . . . that stunt. Fool me . . . for ignoring the . . . obvious.’

  And with that, the gunman hit the high trail to face his own demons in the bottomless pit. Ben wasted no time contemplating idly what might have been. Squint Rizzo had paid his dues. He slung the body over his horse, then made his way back to the Durham spread slowly, using the regular trail.

  Even when he was still upwards of a mile off, he could see the sylphlike form of Elsa Durham still standing on the veranda, awaiting his return. She did not appear to have moved since he departed on his vengeful mission. He waved. The gesture was returned instantly.

  A feeling of euphoria washed over the hired gunfighter. His mission was complete and he had unearthed a new life, one in which the hiring of a gun played no part. And with the woman of his dreams by his side, how could such a life ever be surpassed?