by Tony Roberts
Two men came running and Casey pointed his Colt at them which stopped them, and he galloped past. Another shot just missed and he pulled the horse to the left, then right. It put the gunman off and Casey thundered down the main track and out of the ranch, cursing his luck.
He kept going for a while, then stopped, and dismounted. No doubt the ranch would send a group of men after him. Time to think of a place to go and hide out. Problem – he didn’t know of any place. He got back on and rode off the track and into the wilds, putting as many twists and turns between him and the ranch as possible.
Night was coming so he stopped and turned about. Darkness could help him. He began looping round and planned to come on the ranch from another direction. As darkness fell he got a sight of the buildings once more, this time from the east. Men were grouped about, clearly awaiting orders. Maybe this might fall conveniently for him. Tying his horse by the fence, he vaulted it and went on foot to the buildings, creeping up on the main house, keeping to the shadows.
Men were walking about, armed, and clearly jumpy. He heard one or two muttering about a crazy guy with a pistol. Casey grinned and checked his Colt. Reloaded. Good. He found the corner and peered round the front. A group of men stood by the barn, off to the right, so he knelt and kept in the shadows.
“Now listen you lot,” came the organizer’s voice quite clearly. “This man is to be hunted down and killed. Mr. Duggan is quite clear on this, you got it? A big fat bonus to the one who downs him and brings his corpse back here.”
The others cheered.
“Now he’s got a head start but he ain’t got nowhere to go, so he’ll be close by. He wants information on Mr. Duggan’s hideout but we ain’t gonna tell him. Now get going, groups of four. You’ll be replaced at daybreak – one of you report back here and let the rest of us know where you are.”
The men went to their horses and mounted up, the sound of their departure fading as they went down the main track. Casey waited till the coast was clear and the organizer, a big man with a black cheroot glowing from the corner of his mouth, had gone into the main house. Casey crept round the front of the house and went up to the door. It was locked but he decided to play bold – after all, nothing was ever gained by being timid. He knocked loudly on the door. “Hey, we caught him!” he growled.
As expected the door was opened in quick time. The organizer had enough time to see it was the man he was hunting before a fist smashed into his face and sent him onto his ass. Casey slammed the door shut behind him and grabbed the man as he struggled to his feet. A punch to the guts and another to the back of the neck sent the unfortunate to the floor. Taking him by the ankles, Casey dragged him across the entrance hall to a shut door opposite. A quick look inside confirmed it was empty, and so he dragged the man into this chamber and shut the door.
He slapped the man round the face a few times, bringing him around. A pistol in the face stopped any thought of getting up and fighting on. “Now, pal, where is Duggan?”
Twenty minutes later he left the room and a badly beaten and bloody man behind. It might have been a distasteful thing to do but he had to, and besides, they were all after him and they wouldn’t be gentle with him. As far as he was concerned, he was on the side of the angels; it was Duggan and his unlovely cohorts who had abducted the girl and were keeping her against her will, and they had burned down the tavern and killed Pete. The trouble with buying immunity from prosecution was that it made them think they were untouchable, outside the law.
All very well, but when they came up against someone else who operated outside the law, then they had no protection, other than to run behind the same law they violated. Casey was not going to let them off so lightly.
He found the rifle in the next room as he rummaged around for some useful items or papers. He heard someone else moving about upstairs and decided to quit while he could, or before his luck ran out.
He groped his way through the dark, heading in the general direction he guessed his horse was in. He found the fence eventually by the simple means of bumping into it, and another ten minutes were spent finding the damned animal, but finally he managed to do so. Now he knew where he had to go, or more like he knew the place. But the man he’d left beaten up would no doubt have given him some shit about the precise place, so he led the animal to a rise that overlooked the ranch and settled down for the rest of the night, using his blanket and cloak to keep him warm.
On the morrow he’d no doubt get help from the organizer, without the organizer knowing it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The new day was cold, windy and promised snow. Casey shuddered and tried to keep warm. The area could be very cold what with the wind blowing unchecked across it, blasting it with the icy temperature of the north. Valhalla. Casey blew into his hands and grinned in fond remembrance of the Vikings he’d been with in his time. Uncomplicated, direct and simple, they had been a vital and proud people. It had been a good time, those thirty years or so he’d been part of their world. Valhalla. The icy afterlife.
Movement. He went very still. Two men riding out of the ranch. He recognized the man he’d beaten up, the beard was unmistakable, and if he wasn’t seeing things at that distance, he had a cheroot clamped in between his teeth again.
Getting into the saddle he turned his horse off the rise he had been on and slowly descended towards the track. The two men were riding east and in a hurry; it seemed they had to get somewhere fast.
Casey stayed off the trail – he rode through the rougher land to the north. He stayed well back so that the two men ahead were sometimes out of sight, and sometimes mere dark specks on the horizon. With him riding off to one side and amongst scrub, shrubs and tall grasses, he was hidden most of the time.
The two men continued onwards most of the morning. They came to a watercourse and crossed it, turning off the trail once they had done so. Casey saw them riding along the bank of a river as he came over the lip of a small rise and stopped. He leaned low and watched as the two men vanished into a growth of trees. He rode down and splashed over the river, a shallow watercourse about twenty feet in width and only a fetlock deep in most places.
He reached the growth of trees and cocked an ear. He could hear nothing, so he slowly made his way forward, passing through very quickly and he found himself in a narrow shallow valley. He was surprised; he didn’t expect to find something like this here. He dismounted. His instinct told him he was entering dangerous territory.
His rifle in hand, his pistol in holster, he crept along, following the freshly made horse shoe tracks and stopped after a minute or so. Two men lounged across his route. They were armed and clearly would see him before he would be able to pick them off. Besides, he wanted to be silent. A gunfight would hardly suit him.
Retracing his steps he found a route up out of the valley and climbed. Puffing with the effort, he got to the top and grimaced as the air blew around him once more. He was above the two men now and continued. From a short distance off the valley was invisible. Probably an old watercourse that had dried up in recent times.
He knelt by the edge and peered down. The two men were now behind him, and below were a series of wooden walls and walkways, a concealed hideout. Well, well, who would’ve thought? He looked around for a way down and spotted a possibility. A cleft with roots and growths. He went to it and turned around, checking his footholds.
The descent to the highest walkway was slow but he made it. He caught sight of a couple of men doing their rounds but he was the same color as the earthen sides of the valley and got down without being seen. Now he turned full circle. Which way? The sides of the valley had caves that had been scooped out and enhanced with wooden walls and floors. Here clearly were semi-permanent constructions. He wondered where the wood had come from; probably the Rocky Mountains. Certainly none were available here – what trees there were in the area weren’t enough for such building material or were good enough.
The first ‘house’ was close by so he slid u
p to it, listened, then slipped in through the open door, closing it behind him. It was dark as the only window opened to the valley side and this was a narrow feature which let in a little light at best. A simple abode, being of one room with a simple thin sleeping bag on the floor in one corner, a rough wooden table and chair in the middle and a chest to one side. The privy would be a communal one somewhere else.
He sneaked a look out of the door. There was a light snow now falling which would help him. Where would Betty be held? The main house or apartment or whatever it was called. But where was that? He looked left and right, then slipped out and made his way rapidly to the next cave and opened the door.
A man was in here, eating a bowl of beans. He looked up in surprise, then stood up, sending his chair crashing back, reaching for his pistol. Casey slammed the door shut and sprang at him, butt of his rifle swinging. It smashed into the man’s head and he collapsed as if poleaxed, toppling over the fallen chair and striking the wooden floor hard.
Casey breathed out long and slowly. He had been lucky that time. Next time he might not. He rummaged around and found some rope to bind the man with, then dragged him to the sleeping bag and gagged him. Leaving him half-covered and facing the wall, he guessed he would stay there for a while before coming round.
Back outside in the lightly falling snow he continued along the walkway. Below him the ravine opened slightly and a large wooden construction came into his line of sight. That would be his destination. Two ramped walkways led down to it so he wasted no time and began making his way down.
A couple of guards were doing the rounds but they were too far to see properly and besides, in the poor visibility he was just another of the ‘gang’. The cold bit into his fingers and toes, and his nose, ears and chin, but he knew he’d be alright. A little discomfort here and there but sooner or later he’d warm up. The main house was a two-floor abode, a ramshackle-looking building. One door, and three windows facing down the ravine to either side on each floor. A guard stood underneath the canopy by the doorway, miserably blowing into his hands to keep warm. He never saw Casey until it was too late, and then he was out cold and being dragged into the house and dumped by the door.
Dark, dusty and smelly. Nobody was doing the domestics here, clearly. Voices drifted eerily to him from somewhere. His skin prickled; he disliked sneaking through eerie dark houses. He didn’t know just when someone would spot him or bump into him. Upstairs, his instincts told him. The staircase was an open-slatted set, six feet wide and warped. It creaked alarmingly and there was nothing Casey could do about it, so he went up swiftly, cursing the noise he made and got to the landing before he was seen.
“Hey, who are you?” a man challenged him, reaching for his pistol.
Casey swung to his right, lined up his rifle and blew the man backwards. At twenty feet a rifle shot from a man who’d been using firearms for a couple of hundred years was ridiculously easy. The hit man struck the wall behind him and fell, a stupefied expression on his face. Swinging back, Casey reloaded and ran down the corridor he’d been heading for. Three doors. One burst open and a big man emerged, pistol in hand. Casey blasted him back into the room without pausing.
The smell of discharged shots filled his senses. Beyond the man the room was empty. Another door opened and a man appeared, his pistol already aimed. Casey ducked just in time. The first shot smashed a hole in the wall above Casey’s head. The rifle barked in response, hitting the gunman in the ribs. The injured man staggered but fired again, once more missing. Casey shot him through the heart and the man flung his arms up and crashed to the floor, the pistol whirling through the air.
Shouts were coming from everywhere. Casey decided to double up. He switched the rifle to his left hand and grabbed his Colt with his right. The last door was shut. Casey approached it, then heard sounds behind him. He went down onto one knee and spun round.
Two men at the end of the passageway. They fired, missing him; one shot hit the wall at the end high up, the second struck the wall to the right. Casey loosed off two pistol shots and a rifle shot. Both men fell, one screaming in pain, clutching his hip. The other fell backwards with that heavy loose manner of one either dead or unconscious.
Casey kicked the door in and ducked back. Just as well. Two shots roared from the room. Using the doorway as cover, he fired his rifle into the smoky haze, striking a shadowy figure that stood ten feet away, two pistols in his hands. The man gasped and fell to the ground and Casey was in the room, muzzles sweeping left and right. A second door to the right. A man opened it and shot at Casey rapidly, two-three times. One grazed Casey’s forearm. Casey gritted his teeth and gunned the man down through the chest and guts.
The room beyond was a bedroom. The sash window at the back was open and the bed by the window occupied by Betty, tied to the bed posts, her dress ripped apart. She had been violated, that was clear. She was bloodied; her mouth and nose had been struck. “Shit, Betty, what the hell...” he didn’t need to say anymore.
She rolled her eyes. “Get me untied, Casey,” she slurred. “I-I’m ok, really.”
Of course she wasn’t, but he didn’t correct her. She had her pride. He got his knife out and sliced through the ropes. She sat up and covered herself as best she could.
“Duggan?”
“Out the window,” she slurred, jerking her thumb at the open sash. “As soon as you started shootin; he quit along with his two meanest goons. Pair called Carberry and Stoneleigh. They don’t know how to treat a lady, that’s for sure.”
Casey helped her up and guided her out into the passageway. She nodded her thanks and he allowed her to stand on her own. She was a tough one. “You come with me; I’m going to get you to a doctor,” he said. The three who had escaped could be taken care of later. Shame it was the main man but there wasn’t anything he could do about at the moment. Betty was his chief concern at the present.
Keeping her behind him he got to the front door before someone challenged him. Casey fired first, taking the man through the lung with his rifle. The man slid to the ground, a pained expression on his face. Betty huddled in a blanket they had taken from a bed on their way down; she would need it. It was freezing out there.
Outside, Casey made for the corralled horses. The gate was open, a sign of the haste in which Duggan, Carberry and Stoneleigh had gotten away. There were three horses still there so Casey saddled and bridled them and then got Betty up on one, while he took another and had the third on a rein behind as a spare. It would fetch a nice price. He led Betty out and up onto level ground. One more man tried to stop them, and Casey left him in a bloody heap by the side of the trail. He wasn’t in the mood to play about. He would pick up his other horse and go to the nearest town, and get Betty seen to and to sell the three horses and maybe pick up some news on Duggan and the other two. He promised himself to hunt the bastards down.
They came to a town and Casey enquired about a doctor, and Betty was soon being taken care of; most of what she wanted seen to was facial. Casey merely said he’d found the woman out on the trail having been abandoned by her heartless companion and she backed the story up. The doctor knew full well what Betty was but didn’t press matters. It wasn’t his business and she seemed genuinely grateful to the tough-looking scarred man who had brought her in.
Casey promised to be back for the woman and left. He took the three horses he’d liberated from Duggan and sold them to a livery stables at a price he knew was too low but he wasn’t going to argue; he needed the money and he didn’t want to be found hanging onto property he’d stolen from the rich Duggan family. He wondered if their influence extended here, and guessed it maybe did.
With the money from the sale he paid for a room in a hotel across the road from the surgeon and took Betty there with him. She sat in bed, looking at Casey. “Don’t go thinking I’m going to settle down with you, Scar-face,” she said. “I’m grateful for what you’ve done, sure, but I don’t know no other life than what I’m doing, and I can’t see
me as a doting house-bound wife, can you?”
Casey shook his head. “You have no family?”
“Oh hell, yeah, but I ain’t gonna see them! Father beat me up regular, and abused me. So I ran away from the drunkard when I was, oh, fourteen I guess, and got into prostitution. It was the only living I could do. Mother and brother did nothing to stop it, but they knew it went on. Mother was beaten into obedience and the brother, well he ain’t no good for nothing. Drinks like my father and he’ll no doubt be just like him. Good riddance to them both. I ain’t going back to Tennessee and that’s a fact!”
“Don’t blame you. Shame it had to come to you running away but I guess there’s plenty in your place. At least you got out and you’re getting paid for having men having their way with you.”
“Huh. Sometimes I wish I could have a normal life – but, well its been a few years now and I don’t know of any other way of life. Most of the time its alright; I mean,” she shrugged, “guys just want to talk about their terrible lives or marriages or just want a shoulder to cry on. It’s not just sex, you know. But then there are sleazes like Duggan. He can’t get it up most of the time, that’s his problem! So he comes to me and I do the trick, and he thinks I’m the daughter of God, breathing life into the dead.” She giggled and Casey grinned. “I ain’t sayin’ I’m good or whatever at what I do, but I seem to have the touch.”
Casey shook his head in wonder. “So Duggan wanted you because you could get him up, and he wanted you as a wife?”
“Oh maybe – but when I refused to co-operate after he kidnapped me he set his goons on me to soften me up. Then when I gave in – hell I didn’t want to be beaten for days on end – he had his wicked way with me. Hurt.”
“I’m sorry, Betty. They’re not men. I’ll find them and when I do, well, I don’t need to tell you what I’ll do.”