The Copper City - Chris Scott Wilson [35]
Nothing.
He moved on. His legs were beginning to show the strain of the climb and he was growing edgy. It had to happen soon. It was the law of averages. Up to now it had been too easy. A sudden premonition crept into the corner of his mind to plague him. A solitary gunshot echoing through the canyon and he would be dead, eyes open to the sun.
Where were they?
If Upton was trying to retain the edge, Quantro had to admit he was making a real good job of it. The whole thing was unreal. It was as if he was the only man in the desert, climbing a slope in the middle of nowhere, only the cactus and the hot wind watching him lazily, knowing he would pass along, as had all men. The gunfire had long since died away, contributing to his uneasiness.
Ten feet from the rim he fell into a crouch. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and checked the Winchester once again. There was nothing more he could do. Again he studied the rim with no result other than he had begun to distrust his vision. And a heat haze was starting to build up, distorting his view of the land into a shimmering mirage. Everything felt wrong. That heavy silence that always seemed to precede a burst of violent action was missing. Quantro called the sun to account on that score. He waited, nervy.
Nothing happened.
The waiting was over. Quantro sprang up from the ground to run the last few yards. He was at the rim. He threw himself over bracing himself for the death rain of lead. He hit dirt and rolled, the Winchester coming up ready.
Nothing but the breeze.
The land up there was almost flat with little cover. He could see clear along the east side of the rim. He frowned, then slowly came to his feet, the rifle dangling from his right hand.
His eyes had not lied. There was nobody there.
The rim was deserted.
***
“He’s making a break!” Upton had yelled. Below them, Quantro kicked the buckskin into a gallop, racing down the canyon in a thunder of hooves. Upton opened fire, teeth gritted against the jarring his nicked arm was receiving from the repeating rifle’s recoil. It wasn’t painful, just sore, and it would not stop bleeding. The makeshift bandage was already sodden. He fired twice, but before he could line a really good shot Quantro was gone.
“You think we got him?” Dobey’s voice asked from along the rim.
“He got out,” Upton countered, “unless you saw him come off. I didn’t.”
Dobey crabbed across towards him. “You hit?”
Upton nodded, adding a grimace for good measure.
“What d’you think he’s at?”
“He’s going to circle ’round behind us, that’s for sure.” Dobey looked around in panic. Upton touched his wounded arm gingerly and winced, hamming it up. “I’ll tell you what we’ve got to do. We gotta leave here fast. I don’t think I’ll make it with this arm, so I’ll stay and slow him down a little to keep him off your back.”
“What if you don’t make it? You’ve got to ride. Half the money is yours.”
“You bet,” Upton whispered under his breath. Aloud he said, “Well, can you hold him for a spell, then when he gets too close, jump your horse and catch me up? I’d sorely ’preciate that. I won’t be able to ride fast with this.” He indicated the blood-soaked bandage. “You can catch me up easy.”
Dobey nodded thoughtfully. He glanced down into the canyon and back at Upton. “Reckon I can handle that. “
Upton climbed slowly to his feet, a hand supporting his wounded arm to good effect. “You sure now?”
“I’m sure.” Dobey raised a grin. “See you at the border.”
Upton flashed a grateful smile. “The border, then.”
He walked over to where his horse stood, trailing reins. He climbed aboard, sawing at the reins, digging in his spurs as the horse wheeled, waving adios.
Dobey watched him go, then switched his attention to the rim. He hadn’t liked to admit it to Upton, but the prospect of facing Quantro alone almost scared the pants off him. He liked to make out he was a hardened gunfighter, but the truth of it was he had shot at very few men. His reputation had been made at county fairs and the friendly