grunt in reply to Scully’s questions. There was no reason why the Texans should lie to him. They were not working with the medicine show. He’d heard enough of Dusty Fog and the others to know they never sold their guns. Even if they were working in with the show there would have been no need to lie. There was no man, or bunch of men, in Baptist’s Hollow, who could have stopped the forceable leaving of the show. That was an Apache war arrow the Ysabel Kid threw at the feet of the crowd, and Ellwood was fully aware of the significance of such a weapon.
It was then Ellwood remembered that Chief Ramon and the other few converted Apaches were not at church for the past two Sundays. The chief was usually one of the best attenders to church, yet he suddenly stopped coming. Ellwood had always been suspicious of Ramon’s motives in becoming a Christian and expected him to give it up when he found he could make nothing out of it. Now Ellwood wondered. He would not have thought anything about the Apache’s non-arrival. Now he was not so sure, he felt something had gone wrong. The feeling grew on him as the minutes ticked away, dragging on towards one o’clock.
Noon came and went without a sign of the stage. Only a few men were on the street at noon, for all of them expected the familiar sight of the coach lumbering at full speed along the street, making a turn in the plaza and coming to a halt before the Wells Fargo office. At ten past one there were worried looks and a few more of the citizens began to gather. By twenty past the worried looks were getting more and more in evidence. Then Millet gave an excited yell and pointed off towards the stage trail.
‘Something’s coming! Look at that dust!’
Ellwood looked in the direction of the pointing finger and saw dust, but not enough for the stage-coach to be making it. The others were watching the dust without giving any thought to how much or little there was. A few malicious grins were directed at Ellwood, and the men were ready to mock their marshal for having been taken in and fooled by the four Texans.
The grins faded from the faces as one riderless horse came into sight, turned from the range trail and headed down to the town on the run. A horse without a saddle, but with broken harness trailing behind it. The horse was flecked with sweat, the ears were laid back and the eyes rolled in panic as it ran. Ellwood was the first to react. He leapt forward and caught the horse’s trailing reins, bringing it to a stop. Talk welled up from the crowd, excited and frightened talk as they looked at the big bay horse. Even without the stage-line’s brand on the hip, everyone in the crowd knew where it came from. They saw the raw, bloody furrow on the side and all could guess at the cause of it.
There were no grins now, no thoughts of mocking their marshal for being a fool. The coach would not be coming, that was obvious. It would be out there on the trail some place, wrecked, the driver, guard and passengers either dead, or wishing they were. This one horse must have broken free, driven wild by panic and started to run. It must have followed the trail and turned down to the town through instinct, doing as it always did when hauling the stage.
‘I reckon we’d best get those rifle pits dug now,’ Ellwood snapped, and for once there was no argument to his orders.
Never did the citizens of Baptist’s Hollow throw themselves into a task with no personal gain as they did right now. They worked with the speed that only fear could inspire. Hands long unused to doing heavy work swung picks, shovels and crowbars with vigour, if not skill, sinking the pits as deep as the rock would allow. It was not as deep as Ellwood would have liked, but there was no other way to make them deeper. Not without blasting powder, and Ellwood did not wish to take time out to blast the holes. He climbed into one and found that by kneeling a man would be able to fire his rifle and still find safety.
It was then Ellwood remembered that Chief Ramon and the other few converted Apaches were not at church for the past two Sundays. The chief was usually one of the best attenders to church, yet he suddenly stopped coming. Ellwood had always been suspicious of Ramon’s motives in becoming a Christian and expected him to give it up when he found he could make nothing out of it. Now Ellwood wondered. He would not have thought anything about the Apache’s non-arrival. Now he was not so sure, he felt something had gone wrong. The feeling grew on him as the minutes ticked away, dragging on towards one o’clock.
Noon came and went without a sign of the stage. Only a few men were on the street at noon, for all of them expected the familiar sight of the coach lumbering at full speed along the street, making a turn in the plaza and coming to a halt before the Wells Fargo office. At ten past one there were worried looks and a few more of the citizens began to gather. By twenty past the worried looks were getting more and more in evidence. Then Millet gave an excited yell and pointed off towards the stage trail.
‘Something’s coming! Look at that dust!’
Ellwood looked in the direction of the pointing finger and saw dust, but not enough for the stage-coach to be making it. The others were watching the dust without giving any thought to how much or little there was. A few malicious grins were directed at Ellwood, and the men were ready to mock their marshal for having been taken in and fooled by the four Texans.
The grins faded from the faces as one riderless horse came into sight, turned from the range trail and headed down to the town on the run. A horse without a saddle, but with broken harness trailing behind it. The horse was flecked with sweat, the ears were laid back and the eyes rolled in panic as it ran. Ellwood was the first to react. He leapt forward and caught the horse’s trailing reins, bringing it to a stop. Talk welled up from the crowd, excited and frightened talk as they looked at the big bay horse. Even without the stage-line’s brand on the hip, everyone in the crowd knew where it came from. They saw the raw, bloody furrow on the side and all could guess at the cause of it.
There were no grins now, no thoughts of mocking their marshal for being a fool. The coach would not be coming, that was obvious. It would be out there on the trail some place, wrecked, the driver, guard and passengers either dead, or wishing they were. This one horse must have broken free, driven wild by panic and started to run. It must have followed the trail and turned down to the town through instinct, doing as it always did when hauling the stage.
‘I reckon we’d best get those rifle pits dug now,’ Ellwood snapped, and for once there was no argument to his orders.
Never did the citizens of Baptist’s Hollow throw themselves into a task with no personal gain as they did right now. They worked with the speed that only fear could inspire. Hands long unused to doing heavy work swung picks, shovels and crowbars with vigour, if not skill, sinking the pits as deep as the rock would allow. It was not as deep as Ellwood would have liked, but there was no other way to make them deeper. Not without blasting powder, and Ellwood did not wish to take time out to blast the holes. He climbed into one and found that by kneeling a man would be able to fire his rifle and still find safety.
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