“What kind of game is this?” snapped Mitch Johnson. “Since when’s Eddie Kohl running things?”
“He always has,” said Ozzie Kohl. “For the last five or six years. I... I haven’t wanted to do the things that — that have been done. He... he made me. The boy’s got a cruel streak in him. And now — now he’s gone for good.”
“It was Eddie who shot me,” explained Captain Morgan. “He came here with a big bunch of riders and started a fight. He took Ethel with him.”
Donny Fletcher half turned away. “Which way did he go?”
Ozzie Kohl pointed to the hills. “There — but you can’t follow him. He’s got twenty men with him. Every one of them bad. They’re outlaws and killers that he hired himself. He — wouldn’t let a decent man stay on the ranch.”
Donny Fletcher mounted his horse. He was cold as ice, inside. He hadn’t as yet met Eddie Kohl, but Mitch had described him — as a weak-chinned nonentity. That was what Mitch considered him. Which didn’t mean a thing. Donny Fletcher had known a man in Missouri who had been almost effeminate and yet had been the deadliest killer he’d ever known. That Eddie Kohl had been able to fool almost every one on this range about his real caliber indicated that he was more than ordinarily clever. He was a dangerous adversary.
But that didn’t matter. Eddie Kohl had gone mad. He had to be killed, like a mad dog.
He had taken Ethel Morgan with him — by force. The thought of that touched a spark within Donny Fletcher.
“Let’s go,” he said to Mitch Johnson.
Mitch Johnson raised no question, but the three recruits looked at one another. “You don’t have to come,” said Donny Fletcher, without looking at them.
“We’re comb’,” said Sam Cragg quickly. “I was just thinkin’—”
“I wasn’t thinking,” said Fletcher. He kneed his horse.
“Wait!” cried Ozzie Kohl, desperately. “I’m comin’ with you. Maybe I can make Eddie listen—”
Donny Fletcher did not heed the older Kohl. But before he had ridden a hundred yards he heard the galloping horse behind him and knew that Ozzie was coming along. The rancher caught up with Donny. He said, tensely:
“I think I know where he’s headin’. There’s a blind canyon over there someone who didn’t know the country, couldn’t find in a year,”
Eddie Kohl had a start of almost a half hour, but Donny Fletcher pushed on relentlessly with his small group. Within two hours they sighted a pair of riders who had fallen behind Eddie Kohl’s bunch, probably to note what pursuit, if any, there was. The men sent several long range rifle shots at Fletcher’s party, but the bullets did no damage. The riders galloped away.
Fletcher held back his own men. There was no use winding the horses. They rode on steadily. After another hour, Ozzie Kohl said:
“There’s the entrance to the canyon, but Lord knows how you’re goin’ to get in, if Eddie’s posted men.”
Fletcher surveyed the ground ahead. The country was as wild as any he had ever encountered. Just heaps of red sandstone, dumped down on a high mesa. There were fifty or more canyons on the mesa, one looking almost like another, long high ridges that seemed endless. The entrance to the particular canyon that Ozzie Kohl had pointed out, was about fifty feet across and it was studded with huge boulders. Fifteen or twenty men could stand off a sizable army. The canyon would not be taken by storm.
He sighed wearily, “It can’t be done this way, boys. I’ll have to go in alone.”
“Don’t be a fool, Donny,” protested Mitch Johnson. “They’d shoot you down before you set foot inside the canyon.”
“I’ll have to take that chance. I figure Captain Morgan’s rounding up a bunch of ranchers. But it’ll be several hours before they can be here. Eddie — won’t wait, that long.”
“I’ll go in,” volunteered Ozzie Kohl. “Maybe he’s come to his senses by this time.”
Fletcher shook his head. “Chances are against that.”
Mitch Johnson reached into his coat pocket and held out a tiny single-barreled .41 caliber derringer. “Take this, Donny. Maybe if you can get in, you can slip it to the Morgan girl.”
Fletcher looked at the little gun and shook his head. “If I get to Eddie Kohl I’ll either be searched thoroughly — or the gun’d be no good.” He laughed shortly, turned his horse suddenly and rode toward the mouth of the canyon.
He was fifty feet from it, when a man rose up from behind a boulder. A rifle was in his hands and the muzzle of it covered Fletcher.
“That’s far enough,” the man said. Several feet away, another man, similarly armed, came into view.
Donny Fletcher held up his hands, palms upward. “I want to talk to Eddie Kohl.”
“Eddie don’t want to talk to you,” retorted the first rifleman.
Deliberately, Donny Fletcher dismounted from his horse. “I’ve got to see him,” he said steadily.
Behind him, horse’s hoofs clattered. “Hold it, Kerry,” cried the voice of Ozzie Kohl.
“What the hell d’you want?” snapped the rifleman. “Eddie’s givin’ the orders, now.”
“Let him give them,” said Ozzie Kohl. “But Fletcher and I have got to see him. It’s important — to Eddie. He’s made a mistake, something he doesn’t know about.”
The men with the rifles looked at one another, then the first man whistled. From a little way inside the canyon two more men came out from behind boulders. They approached, carrying revolvers in their hands.
“Get their hardware,” ordered the rifleman who seemed to be in charge. “Then take them to Eddie.”
The newcomers were hard looking men. They did a good job of searching Donny Fletcher, then turned their attention to Ozzie Kohl. Finally they herded the two into the canyon.
An eighth of a mile inside the canyon, around a bend, was a red adobe brick shack, that had almost fallen into ruins. A dozen or more cowboys were sprawled around the cabin.
Eddie Kohl sprang up from the ground. “What’s the idea, Buck,” he cried. “I said not to let anyone in here.”
“Kerry did it,” defended the man called Buck, “Your old man—”
Eddie Kohl glared at his father. “You can save your breath. An’ if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get away from here, damn quick.”
“Eddie, you’ve lost your mind,” said Ozzie Kohl. “You’re mad to think—”
“Shut your trap!” snarled Eddie Kohl. “You ran things long enough and what’d you get? Now, I’m running things and I’m running them my way.”
“Where’s Miss Morgan?” asked Donny Fletcher. “If you’ve harmed her—”
Ethel Morgan appeared in the doorway of the adobe shack. Donny Fletcher saw her and a ripple ran through him.
“Eddie—” he began.
Eddie Kohl cut him off. “So you’re the fancy gunfighter she’s gone for. Ever since you hit this country, I wasn’t good enough for her.” Eddie took a couple of quick steps toward Fletcher. He sneered evilly into Donny’s face, then leaped forward suddenly and struck him in the face with his fist.
Donny Fletcher took the blow without recoiling. His hands lashed out and he caught Eddie’s arm in one hand. Eddie yelped and hit Donny again with his other fist. Fletcher braced himself — and then one of Eddie’s gunmen leaped up from the rear and laid the barrel of his revolver along the side of Fletcher’s head.
The blow was a wicked one. Fire exploded in Fletcher’s brain and he fell to his knees. He was struggling to get to his feet, when Eddie Kohl screamed at him.
The scream cleared Fletcher’s dazed senses. He knew that Eddie Kohl was completely gone — mad.
He jerked up his head, saw Eddie’s two guns clearing their holsters. He launched himself forward toward the madman and knew even as he did, that he could not get to him before those guns belched.