Novel 1966 - Kid Rodelo (v5.0) Read Free Page A

dropping sticks of giant powder into the drilled holes, tamping them home with a long stick.
    Badger’s eyes swept the quarry, measuring distances, imagining the scene as it would be, and carefully estimating his chances. For a moment his eyes held on Gopher, who was struggling with a heavy wheelbarrow loaded with broken rock. The boy looked bad…he would never live out his term, Badger thought.
    Turning, he walked on beside Harbin toward the prison tool shed, where a trusty was checking the tools as they were brought in.
    “You’re early tonight. Miller must be goin’ soft,” the man said. He grinned at Badger. “All right, Harbin. You got your hammer?”
    Joe Harbin placed the double-jack on the shelf at the door, inadvertently glancing over his shoulder. His mouth was dry and he was jumpy, knowing that any minute now—
    Badger had swung his drills to the shelf and the trusty glanced over at them. “You’re a drill short, Tom.”
    “I must’ve overlooked it,” Badger said calmly. “I was in a hurry to get in.”
    “Well, you hustle right back there and find it. You know the rules.”
    Badger walked back slowly, timing each step, knowing eyes were on him. He also knew that when he bent to pick up the drill he would be momentarily out of sight of the guard, now standing over the prisoners lower down in the quarry, and of the trusty in the tool shed.
    As he stepped down, apparently searching for the drill, he suddenly dropped to one knee, struck a wooden match hoarded for the purpose and lighted the newly placed fuse, then another, and another. He picked up the drill and walked slowly away.
    He knew how long it would take for the fuse to burn, knew when the explosion would come, and knew what must follow if there was to be an escape. Tom Badger was a careful man and he had planned every move with care, yet even as he planned there had lurked in his mind the shadow of the Yaquis. There was no way to plan for them, or to make plans against them. It came down to a simple matter of outrunning them if possible, or outfighting them if it was not.
    He came up to the tool shed. “Here’s your drill. Satisfied?”
    “It ain’t me, Tom,” the trusty said. “It’s the rules. You got to abide by them.”
    As he reached to take the drill from Badger’s hand the air was suddenly torn by a shattering blast, and in the instant of the explosion Badger swung the steel drill and struck the trusty on the skull.
    The sound of the explosion died amid a burst of yells, and then came screams of pain from the injured, guards and convicts alike. Instantly, Tom and Harbin ran toward the quarry. The first body they came upon was that of Perryman, half covered with rocks and sand. Jerking the body free, Badger ripped the gun belt and pistol from the guard’s hips, shucking the cartridges swiftly into his palm from the belt, then thrusting the gun into his pants.
    Seizing the rifle of the fallen guard, Joe Harbin smashed it against a rock.
    Convicts and guards were struggling to crawl out of the welter of smoke, dust, and debris. Several staggered up, bleeding, and started to clamber out of the quarry. Pushing past them, Badger climbed out of the quarry and ran toward the team and wagon that stood nearby.
    The warden suddenly appeared, accompanied by several guards. He paused abruptly, staring down at the confusion in the quarry, while the guards ran on down the ramp to give aid to those below.
    Tom Badger moved quickly to the warden’s side, thrusting the gun into his ribs. Harbin closed in on the other side, jerking the warden’s pistol from its holster.
    “We got nothin’ against you, warden, so if you want to go on livin’ just head for that wagon.”
    “I’ll do—”
    “Warden,” Badger warned, “we ain’t got time to argue. You head for the wagon.”
    The warden started to protest and Harbin promptly slammed him over the head with a gun barrel. Quickly, they dragged him to the wagon and heaved him in. Tom Badger