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“Then stop trying to arouse a son’s love for you,” Lorna demanded. “If you have any feeling for Benteen at all, don’t use him this way. Be his business associate, his financier. Be his friend, but don’t let him go on wondering if the mother he’s always wanted has come back to him.”
There was no response to her plea as Lady Crawford turned away and appeared to wander leisurely to the trunk Lorna had packed. She picked up the dress that had been tossed aside.
“Why are you doing all this packing?” She acted as if none of the previous conversation had transpired.
“I’ve decided to move all our things into the house,” answered Lorna. “There are two rooms we can live in until the rest of it is finished.”
“I see,” she murmured, and laid the dress down. “I’ll fetch two of the workmen to carry these trunks for you.” She exited the cabin in an unhurried, gliding walk, leaving Lorna to wonder if anything had been accomplished.
Benteen brought his horse out of a lope into a sidestepping trot when he spied the crude buildings nestled against the bluff that sat back from the river. The other riders crowded together as they slowed their horses.
“That’s it.” Bull Giles confirmed they were looking at their destination.
Benteen’s nerves were whetted to a fine edge as he surveyed the site. The trees had been cleared away, making it impossible to approach without being seen. The main building, the trading post, was butted up against the bluff. A shed with a corral sat forward on the right, and there was a shack sitting across from it. Any attempt to ride straight up to the post could trap them in a crossfire. The bluff eliminated any approach from the rear. The buildings were located with defense in mind. He stopped his horse. So far, they hadn’t been seen.
“How many are there?” He shot a look at Giles.
“There were seven with him the last time I was here,” he admitted. “Can’t be many more than that in his bunch.”
Unwilling to leave the range completely unmanned, Benteen had split his forces, which left him with ten riders, twelve counting himself and Bull Giles. He turned in his saddle.
“We’re gonna have to divide up and
hit ’em from two sides. Barnie, you take five men and make for that cabin. The rest of you can follow me,” he ordered.
“You reckon in circlin’ around to the corral?” Bull asked.
“That’s the idea,” Benteen answered briskly.
“I’ll come with you, then,” he said.
Barnie swung his group of men close to some trees and waited while Benteen led the rest of them in a wide circle, hugging the riverbank. There was some movement around the buildings, but it seemed normal activity.
They were nearly in position when Benteen heard a shout from the buildings, followed by the bellow of a Sharps rifle. He laid his spurs to the speedy grulla and broke from the trees at a flat-out run. The hooves of the other horses pounded alongside him, racing for the corral. The sound of the Sharps had been a sobering reminder that most of the renegades were ex-buffalo hunters and excellent shots. Given time to pick their targets, they’d drop whatever was in their sights. The secret was going to be not giving them time or a stationary target.
The air was split open by the explosions of gunfire. Figures were scurrying around the clearing, taking up their positions. They were thirty yards from the corral before they were spotted, all of the concentration previously directed at Barnie’s group. A bullet tugged at Benteen’s coat sleeve. Puffs of smoke were coming from the shed. Benteen started emptying his gun as lead whistled around him.
There were a half-dozen horses in the corral, whinnying and racing in a panicked circle. When Benteen reached the fence, he swung off the grulla and hit the ground at a run. He ducked behind a water trough to reload and check the spare pistol tucked in his waistband.
A bullet caught Vince’s horse. Benteen watched the horse sink as Vince threw himself free and flattened along the ground to scramble for cover. He threw a glance at the cabin and saw Barnie had made it. His mouth was dry and he licked the nervous sweat from his upper lip. Bull was weaving and ducking his way through the horses in the corral, making for the wall of the shed. Benteen peppered the doorway to give him cover fire.
Water splashed in his face, kicked up by the bullet splatting into the trough. A second shot splintered the wood, but he had the man spotted then. He fired before the man squeezed off the third shot, hitting him in the chest. The rifle was thrown in the air as the man was knocked backward by the force of the blow.
A barrage of bullets showered the water trough. Benteen left it at a crouching run and scrambled under the bottom rail of the corral to join Bull. A horse veered in front of him. He used its protection to reach the wall. Instinct had him shelling fresh bullets into the gun to keep it full. Powder smell settled around him.
He heard Bull say beside him, “It can’t be any worse inside the shed than out.”
“Let’s find out,” Benteen agreed.
Woolie and another cowboy were flattened on the corral ground, pouring lead into the shed. Benteen signaled them that he and Bull were going inside. They edged along the wall to the doorway.
“I’ll take the left,” Bull said, and Benteen nodded.
They went through the opening at nearly the same time, Benteen throwing himself low and shooting up, while Bull swung around the frame and let fly with both guns. When the dust and the smoke settled, one of the three men on the floor was groaning and Benteen was getting up. Bull kicked the gun out of reach of the one still alive and rolled him over with the toe of his boot. He was gut-shot.
“The other two?” Benteen asked, breathing harshly.
“Dead.”
