They hit the trail at a fast gallop. Knowing the terrain, the young woman took the lead. Travis was close behind her, trusting her to have a plan. Working their way up the opposite direction of the riders, they eventually swung up a dusty draw looping back. They would cut the posse off before the canyon entrance.
Tucking the horses back among the trees the two crept forwards, settling among the scrub brush and rock. Taking positions about thirty feet apart, their trail from several hours ago lay before them. It was not a long wait. Perhaps half an hour they heard the soft voices of men drift from the tree line. They were arguing.
"He's got hisself a horse! I told you there was someone else up here with him!" Red recognized the voice as belonging to Jet Fennell.
"If you hadn't messed up with the hangin' we wouldn't have this problem! I told you to just shoot him, but no!" Isaac Ludlow replied in a deep snarl of frustration and worry. He'd never braced Red Rivers directly for good reason.
"It don't matter! We got a job to do, and Rivers has to die! Quit jawin' about it and come on!" The nasal voice was from Pat Barnes, and though he didn't sound it, the man was incredibly tough when pushed.
They came into sight, the other riders silent behind them. The hired guns varied in size, killers who wanted to get paid, regardless of who the target was. Barnes was in the lead when Rivers put a bullet into the dust right under his horse. The animal jerked and reared up; his underbelly hit by chunks of dirt. Throwing Barnes from the saddle as the report echoed across the rocks, the gelding bolted, startling the other horses.
Taking her cue from Travis, she shot a man from the saddle who was reaching for his rifle. He let out a thin cry and swayed in the leather. The bullet made a small cloud of dust puff from his vest before he hit the dirt. Startled, Red glanced at her. She lay focused, her fierce gaze on the men she meant to drive from her land.
Confusion broke loose as men grabbed for their guns and started to scatter. Ludlow jumped his horse for the trees, firing wildly, his bullets wide and ineffective. Dropping another man, seeing red blossom above his belly button, Faith burned Fennell across the back with a bullet as he tried to flee. Whipping his horse into the rocks, the big man threw himself into cover. Two of the hired guns had located the shooters among the rocks and scattered fire at them.
Rolling over and crawling ten feet to her right, Faith let loose a volley of shots. It kicked dust into the eyes of the small man on the ground as he tried to make for cover. As Travis kept the other men busy with steady gunfire, her quick eyes spotted a tall man quietly covering ground as he tried to approach unseen. Shifting, the rifle barked in her hands, blasting splinters from the tree into the man's eyes. His cursing could be heard from where she lay as he clawed at his face.
The men still in the open were firing blind. Travis coldly shot them down, the Henry rifle working smooth and fast. Pumping the lever of his rifle again, his lips twitched in a dark smile. Barnes was in the open, the others having scattered for cover. None made it without feeling the sting of hot lead. From his position among the trees, Jet Fennell called out loudly.
"Red! That's you I know it!"
"Yeah, it's me!" Rivers shouted back. "You came huntin' trouble, Fennell! Get more than you bargained for?"
"You got yourself wanted, Red! This ain't gonna end well!"
"It wasn't murder!" He roared, angry at the accusation even though it wouldn't make a difference.
"Either way," Jet taunted. "That was the last notch on your pistol!"
Furiously insulted, Travis took aim and put a bullet into the brush where he knew Fennell was hiding. The man started cursing loudly and bitterly, the leaves thrashing as Fennel lost his temper. Red smiled knowing he'd drawn blood. Served the loudmouth right!
"I got me a mind to pick you off where you are an' let the scavengers clean up after, Jet! I don't owe you mercy! I didn't start this; you brought the fight to me!"
"We'll leave off today!" This came from Barnes, who lay out in scorching heat. He was held there by Faith's bullets, which kicked dust in his eyes every time he flinched.
"Leave off?" Travis scoffed bitterly, "I should come down there and rip you apart, Barnes!"
An ugly feeling was clawing its way up his throat, strangling any cool reasoning he had. The feeling that had turned him into a feared gunfighter, that had kept him alive the countless times he should have died and didn't. Grinding his jaw hard enough to make his temple throb, Red fought to control his temper.
"You know what, Barnes? Today is your lucky day! I ain't gonna worry about sidewinders like you an' Ludlow right now! I'll settle with you boys another day. Everyone but Jet, get, before I change my mind!" Emphasizing his words with a hail of bullets that spattered around the men, he coldly watched as they ran for their horses.
Faith sent them flying with a flurry of shots at the horse's hooves, watching as they lit out at a dead run. After the pounding hooves faded, she glanced at Travis. His eyes were on fire, fixed to where Jet lay out of sight. It gave her goosebumps.
"Now you, Fennell! You come out nice and slow!"
"I ain't comin out so you can shoot me down!" Despite the anger in his voice, there was fear also. Red's chuckle was black.
"Yeah, you will."
Doing her part, the young woman bounced a bullet in among the rocks where Fennell lay hidden. He jumped into sight like he'd been bitten by a snake, hands up. Blood seeped from the burn across his thigh where Travis had winged him.
"Alright, alright! I'm here, Red! Go ahead, take the shot!"
Standing up, Travis leisurely moved down the slope so that Fennell could see him. Dropping the rifle, he stood with his hands loose at his sides. Blue fire glowed in his eyes.
"I'm not gonna shoot you, Fennell. I'm gonna whip you within an inch of your life an' watch you crawl off like the maggot you are."
Jet Fennell laughed derisively throwing his head back.
"You ain't got a chance of lickin' me! I boxed for a livin' on the streets of Chicago and the Louisiana bayous. You gonna get cut down, Red!"
"Then you got nothing to worry about! Shuck your guns and we'll sort this out." That familiar reckless welled to the surface, that wild love of battle that drove him when he was boxed into a corner. Dropping his gun belt when Fennell did, the two stepped forward, facing off.
"I bet you haven't had a decent fight in years," he taunted. "You're too big, scarin' off any challengers. Well, I've been in more scrapes that I can count, Jet! I'm gonna tear down your storehouse!"
Fennell lunged forward, surprisingly swift for a man his size but Rivers' hands were up. He shot a jarring blow to the mouth that smashed Fennell's lips against his teeth. A lesser man would've staggered back, but Fennell was not a lesser man. He didn't even flinch.
A hardened fist caught Red a shattering blow as he ducked to escape the punch. Rolling to the side he retaliated with a right to the heart. It was solid, and planting his feet wide and flat, he rolled his hips, hooking a left into Fennell's belly. Instantly dropping into a half crouch, he launched a wide right that caught Jet across his temple. The blows were hard, and they hurt. Fennel shook his head as if to clear it and set his feet, smiling though broken lips, in his element.
He feinted a left but followed through with a right. It caught Red square in the chest and slammed him into the dirt. Jet rushed forward, but Red rolled swiftly aside and came up swinging. He smashed a wicked jab to the belly, then a left. Jet grunted and quickly rolled to one side, smashing back with a sledgehammer right to Rivers' face.
The blow landed against cheekbone and skull, rattling him to his heels. Another blow sent him flat on the ground. Before Jet could step in, Rivers kicked out at him, just catching the shinbone with the hard edge of his heel. Jet let loose with a yell and jumped back on one leg. Red leaped up and hit him full on.
Battle lust was blazing with full fury inside him now. The two men were locked in full contact, fists swinging, landing crushing blows against head and body. The thicker man let loose with a left that caught Red across the mouth and he tasted blood. Wild fury drove him forward. Smashing at Jet with both fists, hammering blows pushed him back. Fennel abruptly reached out and grabbed hold of Rivers' right hand.
Pulling him forward while rolling his hips, he sent the younger man spinning into the dirt and brush. Swiftly following, Jet leapt at him, wanting to crush the gunfighter into the ground with his boots.
Using the momentum Red rolled to his feet. Shaken but not really hurt, he blinked the dust from his eyes. Jet was off balance as he had not landed on top of his quarry, and Rivers used that advantage to swing. Rolling his hips, he threw his full weight into the punch that landed square across Jet's nose. Blood exploded across that wedge shaped face.
Rivers smiled wickedly, wiping blood from his own mouth. Jet suddenly ducked right and smashed a crushing left into Rivers' ribs, sending pain shooting through his innards. He staggered back and fell, gasping for breath. Jet came in for the kill, his eyes blazing, swinging a heavy boot at Rivers' face. More from instinct Rivers slipped aside, slapping the heavy boot out of line. The edge of the spur sliced across his shoulder.
Grabbing hold of the leg as he lunged to his feet, Red seized Jet's belt with his other hand. The bigger man's own momentum carried his weight. Using it to pivot around, Red swung Fennel up and around before slamming him back to earth with shattering force. The move caused Jet's shirt to shred in Rivers' hand, hanging limp around his shoulders. Gasping for breath, bent over, the younger man paused, using the time to rest, waiting for the stunned fighter to catch his breath.
They were both panting as Jet staggered to his feet, sweat and blood on his face. His features were smashed and swollen, a knot on his jaw, one eye swollen purple.
There was a brief pause, as if waiting for a signal, then the two rushed each other. Toe to toe they slugged it out, taking slashing blows thrown with brutal power. Skull to skull, they dug in and kept at it, battered and bleeding. Rivers suddenly stepped back, catching Jet by the loose shreds of his shirt, pulling him off balance. Pivoting around Red hooked a punishing blow to Jet's kidney.
Fennel lurched, gasping sharply as he stumbled. Red moved fast, stabbing a hard left to the mouth, followed by a brutal right. Jet's head snapped back and he followed through with wicked jabs to the body. Circling, he stayed out of reach of Jet's powerful arms and superior weight.
Vision swimming, gasping in pain, Rivers set his shoulders and threw a solid left to the head and a hard right to the body. Again and again those fists found flesh, landing hard and solid. Jet struggled to his feet but was beaten back with a flurry of savage blows to his belly. He tried to rush the gunfighter, but the younger man stepped aside before turning abruptly. Shooting a hard right that connected solidly to the back of Jet's head, it sent him face first into the dirt where he lay unmoving.
His chest heaving, lancing pain in hot streaks along his side, Red turned, his eyes falling on Faith. She stood quiet and solemn, just watching. He took a few steps her way before crumpling to the ground, his legs giving way beneath him. She was at his side in a flash, putting his arm over her shoulders, helping him to his feet.
Pale blonde hair framed her face, contrasting beautifully with her gray eyes. Like sunrise over that butte in southern California he'd seen once. Maybe he'd tell her about it one day-
"You alright?"
Bleary, he managed a blink, feeling all his hurts now.
"Girl, I-"
A soft stirring from behind turned him, and instinct kicked in. Travis pushed her aside, blocking Faith with his body. He didn't want anyone knowing she was involved if it could be avoided. Jet was getting to his knees, shaking his head. Blood dripping from his nose and mouth, he staggered unsteadily to his feet. His face was a smear of mangled, swollen flesh. Struggling to turn his head, he stared at Red, unbelieving.
"I ain't never been whipped before," he slurred, stunned. "No man ever thrashed me with bare hands." His head was spinning, Red's form seeming to shift and double before his eyes.
"You get your horse and ride out, Jet." Travis' blue eyes were deceptively calm, but his voice was hard, edged with steel. "I see you again I'm pullin' iron and you take what comes!"
The beaten man stumbled to his horse, making several attempts to get into the saddle before he made it. Instead of following the others, he swung his horse around and took off straight in the opposite direction. His one thought was leaving the country and never coming back...Sonora maybe, or San Francisco.
Travis looked after him making sure he didn't double back. When Fennell was gone from sight he turned and looked into Faith's serious gray eyes. His broken lips formed a lop-sided grin.
"See? No worse for wear."
Then he collapsed. Her exhale was shaky as she knelt, grabbing his shoulder to roll him over.
"Red Rivers...what a mess this is now."
They made the trip back to the cottage slowly. Travis had to stop several times on the way, sick and shaking in pain. Leading them with her eyes sharp, she took care to hide their trial so they couldn't be followed. Even the horses were quiet, their hooves making no noise as they moved along. The sun was tipping toward the west, the evening air thick with the misty sweet smell of moss and pine. At last, they dropped from the high mountains into the tree belt that framed the meadow the cottage sat on.
Twilight was deepening as she swung from the paint and let it loose. Catching Travis' arm, she pulled him gently from the buckskin. Wrapping her arm around his waist, she placed his arm around her shoulders. He stumbled into the cottage, more on will power than strength, collapsing on the pallet she had made last night and lay still. Going outside to unbridle the paint then the buckskin, the woman rubbed his forehead gently. He whickered softly at her and blew breath in her face that smelled of fresh grass.
"Thank you, my friend. I'll be back in a little while to care for you. Right now, he needs me more." She indicated the cottage.
Whether he understood or not, the large horse stood quietly and watched until the door closed behind her.
Inside, she got to work, heating water and pulling out her stock of poultices and home remedies. She refused to give thought to the one who schooled her. Stripping the tattered shirt from Rivers she examined his swelling and dark mottled flesh. The bones looked even where Fennell had pounded his ribs. Feeling gently Faith could tell they were not broken, though how he'd managed to avoid it was beyond her.
Hurrying to the closet to pulled out a flat sheet, she ripped it with brute strength that was at odds with her natural grace. Once it was in strips, she prepared the poultice from the Arnica plant, locally called Mountain Tobacco, and applied it to the mass bruise that was Travis' midsection. Wrapping it gently but securely, Faith tied it off, and then went to work on his face.
His right eye was swollen shut, a large gash spilt open his cheek, his lips broken and bloody. Taking care, she cautiously shaved his face to clear the skin for stitches. Worked steadily, washing and cleansing as she went his face was soon clean and ready. The split cheek she sewed together with great care, but he didn't even flinch. Travis 'Red' Rivers was out cold.
Cleaning and washing his hands, she bathed the split skin carefully. Infection would lose him the use of his hands, and for a gunfighter that would be the end of him. Finishing, she pulled off his boots and covered him with a blanket. Banking the fire, she stood up, stretching cramped muscles before heading outside. She needed to think.
Red Rivers! Even she, who had limited contact with people, and lived like a hermit, she knew who he was! His reputation was as big as Texas, a gunfighter with a draw like the flash of lightning, the blink of an eye. He was reputed to have killed upwards of twenty-five men, once three at a time. The story says he'd been ambushed in a shootout against outlaw Reese Bart and his partners.
That was when they started calling him Red. The ground had been soaked with blood. Death began to follow him like a shadow, drawn by reputation seekers and upstart wannabes. Though it was rumored that he was a top hand for any outfit, he rarely stayed with one for very long. Too much trouble started once word spread who he was.
She recalled the one time she'd seen him from a distance, years ago, slugging it out with Murray Billows. The burly man was a drunk with a giant chip on his shoulder and built like a buffalo. That had been her first and only trip from the Kansas Territory. She had gone to Santa Fe to make an exchange at the bank there, following Edwin Fry's advice. Stepping into the shade across from the saloon to rest from the heat, all the people and noise around her was overwhelming.
Rivers had been a much younger man then, but still carried the aura of untamed fury just beneath the surface. He hadn't wanted to fight, but when Billows pushed him, Red pushed back with a vengeance.
He beat Billows so viciously bystanders had to stop him from killing the man. She'd heard rumors that Billows has been sober ever since. He refused to take a chance on tangling with the wrong man again while he was drunk.
"That's something good out of it, I suppose," she murmured absently, then shook her head, taking a deep breath.
What was the next step supposed to be? He couldn't stay here, that was clear, but she couldn't send him off half dead into the hands of those who would shoot him in the back! Frowning, her smooth skin puckered between her brows. She'd think of something, she always did.