Battle Fury by Matt Chisholm

Author:Matt Chisholm
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: gunfighters, outlaws, the old west, piccadilly publishing, the wild west, matt chisholm, western pulp fiction, cattle ranchers, the storm family
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Chapter Thirteen

The news that Prescott Harrison brought in from the hills was incomplete, but its very incompleteness made it all the more disturbing. He’d had a bad time with the Utes. After some difficulty, he had managed to make contact with the band he had been with for so many years. His reception had been cold from the start. Later, it became too warm for his liking. The Utes escorted him from their encampment—every man jack of them, loaded for bear, painted for war and with the firm intention that if they could not retain Harrison in person, they would hold his hair as a memento. Though generous to a fault, Harrison treasured his graying locks and decided to hold onto them if it was humanly possible. He therefore ignored the Indian’s yelled invitation to stay, slammed his butt into leather and got the Hell out of there. No more than half a jump ahead of the Utes on their nimble little ponies, he headed for Three Creeks using spurs and a nice turn of foul phrase to encourage his horse to be faster than those behind him.

It was—just. It took him, lathered and on its last legs, plumb into the middle of the men digging in the upper reaches of the twin creeks. They, forewarned of the rapid approach of hostiles by the shots exchanged between Harrison and his hosts, were armed and ready by the time the erstwhile squaw man and his attendant savages bore down on them.

Harrison swore later at the Storms that he had never been in the middle of a denser exchange of fire and praise God he never would be in one like it again. He had been in as much danger from the miners as from the Indians. The Utes, taken off-balance by the presence of so many hirsute and shooting white-men, decided that it was not a good day for dying (which showed their good sense) and retired. The only casualty suffered by the Indians was a twisted ankle on the part of a young brave who had fallen off his horse and a broken feather adorning the head of a sub-chief who had ducked quick enough to save his head. The only miner injured was a fellow who, very drunk, had been standing with a bottle in his hand. At the sight of the Indians, he had been so panic-stricken that, in diving for cover, he had broken his bottle and badly gashed his hand. He ignored the blood and wept for the bottle.

Although the Utes had retired, the miners decided to organize for defense and, when Harrison departed on a badly bushed horse, they were arguing fiercely over the choice of captains. Maybe the Utes had scared the living daylights out of Harrison, but when he reached the Storm place, there was plenty of bombast still left in him. Just the same he was cautious and advised that nobody should stray too far from the house unless it was really necessary.

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