Without taking time to draw their weapons, The Wildcats and Reverend Paul Lynch whipped their mounts to the left, digging spurs into horses’ flanks and lashing them across their necks with excess rein length.
There was flat land ahead of them for perhaps a hundred yards, then it dropped down into a ravine about fifty feet deep into a dry wash.
Bullets were coming closer, but still out of range as their pursuers half slid their horses down the hill.
As Manuel and his men hit the flatland, The Wildcats were already sliding their horses down the ravine.
As they slid into the dry wash the fugitives turned to the right. The wash was only wide enough to accommodate three riders abreast. Cyclone, Chief and Arapahoe were in the lead; their dusters flapping in the wind as they rode, pall mall, along the dusty river bottom.
After a couple of hundred yards the dried out river trail began to fan out into a broad expanse of desert dotted with ocotillo and cactus. The sides of the dry wash were still steep with shale and rock outcroppings on top, but were beginning to slope downward toward the expanse of desert.
Manuel and his riders were still back there, behind them, and gaining on them. A fusillade of gunfire was still ringing in their ears, but none of the bullets had come close. The pursuers were still too far back and out of pistol or rifle range.
As the width of the dry wash widened enough so the Wildcats could all come abreast of each other, they whipped their mounts around to face their attackers. In one sweeping motion they pulled their weapons.
Cyclone, Jeremy, Rap, and Chief pulled Winchesters from their scabbards, levered rounds into the chambers and let loose blazing rounds.
By now Manuel and his riders were in range and their bullets were coming close to The Wildcats; zinging past their heads. As the outlaws came closer, their aims improved.
The bandits were still in the narrows of the wash and only three riders could be firing.
The lead three all fell from their saddles, as Wildcat rifles thundered in the mid-morning air.
As the riders spilled from the saddles, their horses reared and stumbled in confusion. The horses directly behind them plummeted into the melee and in turn, stumbled. There was mass confusion as the remaining riders and horses slammed into each other and bottlenecking the pursuers into a self-made trap.
The Wildcats turned their mounts and galloped off as fast as they could, keeping their heads down. The firing behind them continued.
A lead pellet drilled a hole in the crown of Rap’s hat and singed his hair. “Holy geeze!” He shouted as he felt the sting.
He swiveled in the saddle and fired back three times, taking no time for careful aim. He didn’t see one of the banditos fly backward out of his saddle as one of Rap’s bullets punched him hard in the chest.
The rider fell into the melee of riders behind him and was trampled by oncoming hooves.
Bullets were still whistling close through the air around the fleeing Wildcats. Too close for comfort.
Suddenly, Jeremy Carlin slumped over in the saddle as a bullet caught him high in the back of his shoulder. Pain and nausea clouded his vision and he fell to the ground as his horse ran out from under him. His rifle had slipped from his grasp and landed out of reach as Jeremy rolled onto the hard packed ground. Dust spewed up around him.
Stunned, Jeremy, face in the dirt, managed to turn his head enough to see the onslaught of riders coming straight for him. Placing his palms on the hard-pack beneath him, he tried to rise and reach for his pistol. Pain racked his entire body and he fell back into the dust, rolling to the side and trapping his holster and pistol beneath him.
The outlaws were approaching fast and coming close. Jeremy rolled over, face down and covered his head with both hands.
Gunfire kept roaring about him and he didn’t see that his companions were not about to abandon him.
The Wildcats had taken a stand and were firing frantically at the pursuers. The Reverend had dropped from his saddle, running toward Jeremy and stooping to retrieve Jeremy’s fallen rifle. Bullets chewed up the dirt at The Reverend’s feet as he scooped up the weapon. A bullet tugged at his shoulder sleeve just as he rose to a crouch, firing and levering rounds in the Winchester with lightning speed.
Several outlaws fell from their saddles and the remaining riders slowed their mounts. Several others began to turn their mounts in retreat.
From the rear of the outlaw pack, Manuel Gonzales, who had stayed back to keep himself relatively safe while he allowed his men to take the brunt of battle, called to his men, “Pull back, Amigos! There will be another time!”
As Manuel and his men made for retreat, the Wildcat’s firing slowed and soon the outlaws were out of sight.
Silence was deafening as the firing totally ceased.
“Rap!” Cyclone shouted. Catch up the boy’s horse!
Without a word, Rap reined his big gray around and rode off toward Jeremy’s horse, a short distance away.
Cyclone, Kitty, and Chief guided their horses over to where The Reverend had just helped Jeremy to his feet. Kitty’s face had screwed up like she was about to cry. Her lips were pursed tight and her jaw was hard set. Sunlight glinted off the teardrops in the corners of her eyes.
“Are you all right, boy?” Cyclone asked as they drew near. The Reverend was holding Jeremy up on wobbling feet.
“Sure,” Jeremy said. He was a bit breathless and the words came shaky. “Just shot...to.. to…. pieces,..... is all. What...what do you think?..And..and don’t call me boy.”
Cyclone folded his hands on the pommel of his saddle, lifted and shifted his weight as he turned to Chief and Kitty. “Yeah, he’s just fine.”
Kitty managed to choke out a chuckle between her clenched lips. Her shoulders twitched up and down. It was hard to tell if she was laughing or crying. At any rate, she was relieved to find Jeremy could still laugh it off. She knew he would be all right even though blood was still dripping from the wound in his shoulder.
Rap rode up trailing Jeremy’s horse. “Man, I never seed a preacher man like you afore,” he said as he handed the reins of Jeremy’s horse to the man in black.
“Me neither,” Cyclone cackled. “Where did a man of the cloth like you, learn to shoot thataway and ain’t you supposed to be against killin’ and such?
Reverend Paul smiled and said, “Even Gideon rose up to smite his enemies. So did David against Goliath and Samson with a jawbone of an ass.”
“Huh?” said Rap. “I don’t get it. An ass ain’t got no jawbone.”
“It’s a different kind of ass, Rap,” Reverend Paul said. He glanced Kitty’s way and grinned with amusement.
Kitty smiled back, feeling much better, now. But in her mind she wondered about this marvelous man. How was it that he was so skilled with a rifle and so cool in combat, as if he were used to it.
“Well speakin’ of jawbones,” Cyclone said, taking the reins up and leaning back in the saddle. “Don’t you all think we ought to quit jawin’ and get out of here before those fellas come back? Jeremy, can you ride?”
“Of course I can. I’ll bet you’ll fall out of the saddle before I do.”
Kitty smiled. Jeremy was going to be fine.
In a matter of seconds Jeremy was loaded into his saddle. He was still dizzy but he managed to hang onto the pommel tight enough to keep him in the saddle, though slumped forward over the horse’s withers. Rap rode close beside him with the reins of Jeremy’s horse in his hands.
It was time to put as much distance between them and their pursuers as possible. Once again, they had no idea where they were headed. Just away for now. But eventually, they would have to find a way to head off for Colorado and Pop Dawson.
****
Chapter Fifteen