Buchanan's Seige (18 page)

They sat on the fallen tree trunk. She poured the last of the wine. Miguel and the guard faced one another, squatting, alert. The sound of the mob grew louder. The reflect
ed glow of torches lit the sky behind the knoll.

Bradbury fingered his rifle. Their time would come, he thought. He was weak for want of sleep. His head nodded.

Consuela put an arm around him, pulled him close. He
tried to remain awake but could not. He slept fitfully,
moaning, twisting, turning. She managed to get his head
down into her lap, taking the rifle and placing it at her
side. It was a long time since they had been this close.

Buchanan talked with the Whelans as they ate. The
noise from the other side of the knoll was increasing.

"Drunk," said Rob Whelan with satisfaction. "Never did see a drunk man could hit a bull in the ass with a
shovel."

"Rob," Fay protested. "You promised not to talk like
that."

"It's a time for anything rough," Rob said. "It's like
old days, some."

"But not quite?" Buchanan asked.

"No, not quite, you bet," Fay answered for her hus
band. "We was always alone."

"Until we got together," Rob said. A figure showed h
im
self against the skyline, and Whelan fired his rifle offhan
d
The man fell backwards.

Buchanan said, "Heard a lot about you and your sho
ot
in.
I see nobody was prevaricatin'."

"That's what started the trouble," Rob said. "I was
too
good too young."

"Leastways you know what's goin' on," Buchanan
said to
him. "There's Cactus and Sutter layin' out there.
They
didn't know."

"Neither did Durkin," Fay said. "Always tryin'
to be
the big man."

"All his life," Buchanan agreed. "Thing is, if those
people
over yonder do make a rush, we haven't got en
ough
guns to stop 'em."

"Take a lot of 'em along, though," Rob said.

"That ain't good enough," protested Fay. "We come
this far, we want to keep goin' awhile."

"That's what's needed," Buchanan said. "You got to
want it real bad. If we knew which way they were comin',
we could do better. Cover me."

He was off and running before they could reply. He
went westward, describing a circle, again aiming to get be
hind the knoll. It was easy to see that the action would
come from there. The sharpshooters in the trees were not
about to charge across open ground to the house.

He was amazed that there were no patrols out. Any mil
itary skirmish was unsafe unless patrols were maintained.
He was able to crawl within a couple of hundred yards of the enemy force. He could distinguish the leaders by the
light of the torches. The mood of the men was plain to see;
they were singing and dancing and waving their arms. He
knew at once that Fox and the others had passed out the
booze.

It was enough to learn at this time. It meant a wild and
feckless charge by the numbers, the drunks little caring
whether they lived or died. He began his retreat.

In a moment or two, he knew he was
not alone on the
prairie. He sank behind a clump of furze and waited, all
his
senses attuned to sound or movement.

Time passed. There was danger that the attack would
begin, leaving him out here when he was needed indoors.
B
u
t his plainsmanship was sound; he knew the first motion
on
his part might make him a target. He held his breath.
He was prone, facing into the slight breeze in the direction
fro
m which he imagined he had heard the sound.

A hand clamped upon his shoulder.

He rolled over, cocking the rifle, but a soft voice said, "
N
ow, son. Now, now."

"Badger," he whispered. "Dang you. I might've shot
ya.”

The mountain man chuckled. "You're good, Buchanan.
But
not that good."

Buchanan relaxed. "Reckon you're right there. I'd bet
no
other man in the country could come up on me like
t
hat.”

"It's the way we was." Badger held the Sharps rifle in
his hands, peering at the yelling people behind the hill. "I
might could pick off one or two. Wouldn't do much good."

"No. Best to wait.. .. Did the Indian girl go home?"

"You agin it?"

"Not so long as she can make it."

"Muley'll git her home. You know about Chinook and
his people?"

"Can't say I do, 'ceptin' they're peaceable."

"They turned in all their guns. The army don't bother
'em none. Says they're a good example. They use bow and
arrow, fish, hunt a little, grow some maize. She'll be safe
with old Chinook."

There was no good in telling of Trevor's wound or the
despair of the Kovacs', which had encouraged the two
cowboys to rebel and attempt to parley. . . . Buchanan put
it out of his mind for the present. "You could've gone with
her."

"Yep. Thought on it, too. Old codger like me, should be thinkin' of the grave. Just couldn't take another gun away. This land belongs to them folks."

"The l
a
nd." Buchanan sighed, beginning to gather him
self for the trek back to warn the defenders that a drunken
mob was about to attack. "You think of the land. Me,
think about the people. It's a big subject, maybe too big to
augur on."

"The Lord will provide," said Badger. "Do you get
goin' now. I
’ll
be out here somewhere or t'other."

He melted into the darkness
—but it was not that dark,
and he had the gift of the invisible cloak, Bucha
nan
thought, making his own way toward the Kovacs' bar
n
.
When he was a boy, his mother had regaled him with s
u
c
h
marvelous tales—the seven league boots—he never ha
d
figured out how long was a league. . . . He came c
lose
enough to rise, and he ran the rest of the way to the saf
ety
of the stable, calling out to the Whelans.

It was none too soon. The howls were growing lo
u
d;
the torches threw an eerie light. They came first i
n a
wagon, as Buchanan had imagined.

The Whelans came from the shelter of the barn. Bu
chanan knelt between them. They could see the charge
forming.

Rob said, "They must be drunk to the boots. Givin' us
light to shoot by."

"They're drunk," Buchanan said. "Try to stop the
wagon, they must have more damn dynamite."

Fay Whelan stretched out on the ground. "They'll have
to run it right on over me. The fools, I could feel sorry for 'em."

"Don
’
t," said her husband. "They hired to kill us."

They had only three rifles. Buchanan wondered who was on the roof of the house and if the range would be
good and how many wild drunks would be racing down
the hill. He placed a box of cartridges beside him.

He said, "Rob, you start firin' when ready. Fay, you let
him get off six shots. Then you start."

"Yeah. Then I can reload while you two are still shoot
in'," said Rob.

"If they get too close, it'll have to be the sixguns," said
Buchanan. "I haven't got much faith in 'em, myself."

"Great in a saloon." Rob grinned. "Get it out fast, stick
it in their ribs. That's what a Colt's for."

"Worse the luck," Fay said. "Killed more fools than the
epizootic plague."

They were the coolest couple Buchanan had ever met.
Something could be advanced in favor of early adversity,
h
e pondered, watching the attack form
;
atop the knoll. The
y
had seen hard times for so long that nothing
could
faze them. They had fought for no stakes at all.
N
ow,
at least, they had something for which to risk their
lives for.

He thought of taking them back into the barn. The
problem
was that a direct fire could not be laid down from
that
position. They would be firing from a doorway, one at
a t
ime. To ward off this charge would be difficult enough
as it
was.

Rob said, "Reckon I got 'em, now."

The wagon was rolling, men trying to conceal them
selves behind it and alongside it, not succeeding too well.
The yells became clearer, the long Rebel, the Yankee
hoot, a few Indian warwhoops.

"They aimin' to scare us to death?" asked Fay Whelan.
At that moment, Rob began shooting. One man went
down. There was a miss. He swore heartily and elevated
his sights. A second man fell.

As he let off the sixth shot, Fay began firing. Buchanan
watched closely, whistled beneath his breath. Fay was
bringing them down as if they were tenpins, arming for the legs of the men behind the wagon.

He joined in the attack. The screams of the wounded
began to mingle with the shouts of the drunken attackers. Men ran clear of the wagon, frenzied, unwitting.

The solid boom of the Sharps rifle came from the west.
It sounded like the clap of doom, it struck to the ver
y
souls of the more sober attackers. Buchanan emptied his
magazine, and now Rob was reloaded and firing again.
A small group of men came crazed down past
wagon, and now it was plain that the dead and wound
ed
had piled up under the rear wheels, stopping its progre
ss.

The Sharps sounded again and another victim fell.

Buchanan said, "Let's take out this bunch."

Fay and Rob began to shoot at the charging group.

Bu
chanan joined in, also aiming low, wanting to stop
without killing them if possible. The men fell and roll

and still yowled their crazy song of defiance. These
the most drunken, he thought, these were the poor fo
ols
who did not fully realize what they were doing.

Once more, the Sharps rifle of Dan Badger sent it
zooming message across the prairie. And there was
si
lence.

The charge was broken. Wounded men tried to
back up the hill. There were curses and groans, and all
the
song and all the fiery spirit had collapsed and was
more.

Buchanan said, "Okay, back to the barn."
The three of them withdrew from their position
.
Shots
were coming now, with better aim, as sober gunners
over from the top of the knoll.

Inside the barn Rob said, "Didn't see hide nor hair of
Dealer nor Morgan nor Brad. Not Pollard, neither, none
of them."

"No," said Buchanan. "No chance, not on a suicide run
like that."

"Maybe not never," Fay said. "But they stopped just in time. I'm runnin' low on bullets."

Buchanan said, "Want to make a run for the house, you
two?"

"Some hot soup wouldn't hurt," Rob confessed. "And I
got this here little nick."

Fay gasped but did not cry out. "Where?"

"Just in the ribs, like. C'mon, we'll go in and take a
look at it."

Buchanan watched them go. Rob was walking straight
and she was following. They broke for the house, and he
staggered. She braced him, an arm about him. Amanda
opened the door, and they made it to safety.

Safety for the moment, Buchanan added to himself.
There would be more tonight. It was early. By dawn, they would come again, certainly more shrewdly, with better
planning behind the attack. There had to be some brains among them. It was standard procedure that the hotheads
and dummies would have their say. Proven wrong
—or
ki
lled—they would shrink into the background, and the
men who knew how to fight this kind of a battle would
ta
k
e over.

He settled down to watch and think . . . and wait. It was
al
ways the hardest part, the waiting.

They were loading the wounded into the wagons. Men
went down and rescued their friends, at first fearful of at
tac
k from the defenders, then with boldness as no one
to prevent them. The men with the shovels went back
to
the trench to bury the dead.

Sime Pollard said, "No way you're gonna get them to
do
that again. Forget the barn."

D
ealer Fox raged, "If they'd just kept on goin'. That
was
Buchanan out there, I'll bet my life."

"Your life wasn't on the line," Pollard told him.