by Caleb Rand
Chad went over and spoke roughly into the man’s battered and bloodied ear. ‘I knew I’d seen you an’ your horse before. It was by the creek at Big Windy. You were tryin’ to lay your whip across a girl on a buckskin mare.’
Chad pulled the man’s bedroll from the saddle. He saw the beaded stock of a quirt, spoke with cold anger. ‘Tell your boss that Big Windy’s pawin’ the air for him now. What happened in Hooper was just the start. If it’s land he wants to dig over, tell him to try a boot hill. An’ maybe next time we’ll come out o’ the night. You an’ your braves sleep peaceful on that.’
Chad slapped the grey. ‘But if you’ve any sense left in that ugly red head o’ yours, you’ll clear the state. If we ever meet again, I’ll do somethin’ real unkind with that lash o’ yours.’
The man groaned loudly as Frost waved the horse back in the direction of High Smoke.
‘What was that stuff about “comin’ out o’ the night”?’ Frost asked.
‘Know’d a Snake River Indian once … believed a thousand eyes watched you in the dark. Maybe it’ll spook our friend, just thinkin’ on it … maybe his friends as well. The way they were takin’ their nap … looked to me like most of ’em are Cat Indians. If we scare ’em up, some might skedaddle back to where they come from.’
Frost nodded with enthusiasm, then he looked back at the ranch house. ‘Look at the smoke now.’
Chad looked towards High Smoke. Thick grey clouds from the burning buildings already obscured the house, were rolling down into the valley.
For the indolent cowboys it had been a futile attempt to save anything. Nearly all the outbuildings were completely gutted.
As Chad and Frost watched the blaze a sudden blast of flame and debris exploded into the air. It was closely followed by a series of explosions that shattered the walls and roof of one of the outbuildings.
Chad swore loudly. ‘What the hell? Where’s that from … the house?’
‘No, but near. It’s ammo … gunpowder … got to be.’
‘Gunpowder?’ Chad exclaimed in amazement.
‘Well it ain’t the coon shit,’ Frost replied in an almost breathless whisper.
Chad removed his hat, held it high against the sun. ‘What the hell would a rancher want with all that stuff?’
Frost was shaking his head. ‘Dunno. Maybe Porton’s got big root-trouble, or found a gold-mine.’
‘An’ maybe it’s that new-fangled black explosive,’ Chad replied thoughtfully. ‘Porton could be fillin’ his own shells. I heard someone in Dodge City say the Winchester Company’s usin’ it now.’
‘Well, if it is … was, he’s just run out of it.’ Frost gave a bitter laugh. ‘You know what we should do now?’
Chad thought for a moment then shook his head. ‘Can’t rightly say that I do, no.’
‘Supposin’ Marvie Setter’s bullet cupboads were bare, wouldn’t Porton an’ his men be doin’ a lot o’ firin’ on empty chambers … so to speak?’
‘He’s probably got a cache in the main house. But, yeah, he’s certainly goin’ to be mighty low. So what? You proposin’ we walk into town an’ make a bulk purchase … over the counter?’
‘No, we ain’t got the money for that. We’ll borrow it.’
‘Right. That’s just great,’ Chad said. ‘My second visit to Hooper, an’ I’m breakin’ into a firearms store.’ He carefully eased himself up into the saddle. ‘We’ll do it. But if you don’t mind, I’ll be tryin’ to come up with somethin’ else while we ride.’
8
THE DIVERSION
The two men were riding slowly up the main street. They’d come abreast of the livery stable when they saw a mail-coach standing in the yard. Something familiar about it caused Frost to check his mount.
‘I know that coach,’ he said. ‘Let’s have a closer look.’
Frost dismounted to look the vehicle over. ‘Yeah, thought so. This is old Pitchin’ Betsy that used to run between Fort Morgan an’ Alamosa. They stood it down for a newer model a few years back.’
A man came limping out of an alleyway. Chad immediately remembered him as the man who’d stood outside the hotel when he’d shot up the High Smoke men. He half-turned away, ran a hand across the side of his face.
Frost looked at the lame, ageing man. ‘Dexter Pruitt,’ he said quietly.
The man saw Frost, but his face registered nothing. Then he turned on his crutch and had a more penetrating look. Frost raised his hand in recognition, walked his horse gently forward across the street.
‘Dexter Pruitt,’ he called out. ‘How are you?’
‘Marlow Frost!’ exclaimed Pruitt. ‘It’s many a moon since I seen you around here. I’ve seen him though,’ came after he’d taken a quick glance at Chad. Chad saw a disturbance of the man’s crumpled features, but nothing more came of it. ‘Reckon that’s worth a lotion. Somethin’ in consideration of?’ the old man suggested hopefully.
They hitched their horses to a nearby rail and sauntered further up the steet. Chad was wondering if Pruitt would dodge Waddy’s Halt, but when they drew level with Welsh Peter’s saloon the old man lifted his crutch, swung it towards the batwings.
‘Looks like you boys’ sort o’ waterin’-hole,’ he grated. ‘Let’s get us juiced.’
Frost pushed open the doors and went in. Chad followed Pruitt.
There was only a handful of men drinking, and they were all standing at the bar. To Chad, they looked mostly saddle bums, or general ranch hands.
As Dexter Pruitt called for a bottle he turned to have a closer look at Frost.
‘Where you bin, Marlow? Must be a few years,’ Pruitt said, his eyes flicking back and forth to Chad.
‘It ain’t been much more’n one, Dexter. I thought it best to stay away from town for a while.’
‘Certainly safer,’ Pruitt sniffed.
‘What you up to now, Dexter?’ Frost asked, bypassing the implication.
‘Not much since me leg got busted. Spend most o’ my time up at the hotel. I get to drive that pretty little coach ever’ so often. Made of iron an’ ash … rocks passengers off like newborns.’
Chad looked away, caught the eye of the barkeep. ‘Got anythin’ that won’t perish me insides?’ he asked.
From ten feet away one of the drinkers heard Chad’s request. He made a mocking sound, dug his companion in the ribs. ‘Hear that Rindy? Sounds like one o’ them corn balls is missin’ the pig’s titty,’ the man sneered.
Chad turned towards the man. ‘Goes with the territory, I guess.’ His look was long-suffering, and the man didn’t see the steel. ‘What do tumblebugs suck on?’ he added with a chill smile.
As Chad gently placed the glass back on the bar Frost watched him, closely. He knew they wouldn’t get close to settling Pruitt’s thirst now. He stepped in front of Chad, his back to the mouthy cowboy.
‘Leave ’em, Chad,’ he said quietly. ‘There’ll be another time, an’ it’s not why we came to town.’ He winked. ‘Go an’ take some air.’
Pruitt had an attack of the sniggers. ‘He would o’ taken ’em on, would he, Marlow, that friend o’ yourn?’ But Pruitt already knew the answer to his own question.
‘Stick around, Dexter,’ Frost told the old man. Then he half-turned, facing the bar. The two cowboys were still smirking, and he watched them in the back mirror. He wanted to be ready if they pushed for a fight.
He swung his gaze back to Pruitt. ‘Rolled the little ol’ lady anywhere interestin,’ Dexter?’
‘Yep. Picked up couple o’ surveyors from Alamosa. Had some equipment with ’em.’
‘Surveyors, huh? That’s sure out of the ordinary. Did you happen to overhear who they’d be workin’ for?’
Pruitt’s fingers clawed through his straggly whiskers. ‘Maybe I did, but I guess I didn’t.’ He looked furtively around him, sidled closer to Frost. ‘But they did ask where they’d find Big Porton.’
‘It’s Brig Porton, Dexter. As in Brigadier-General. Somethin’ he picked up in the
New Mexico Campaign. Where’d you reckon they are now?’ Frost asked.
‘Waddy’s. Porton’s paid for the coach to be available every day. I’m topsides … drivin’.’
Frost nodded. ‘You’ll be goin’ back to Alamosa in the next few days?’
‘Well, it’s a regular run, but I can’t rightly say.’
‘I’d like you to take a message. It’ll be for the marshal’s office.’
‘Sure thing, Marlow,’ Pruitt answered with an inquisitive look. ‘But I’m paid to drive them surveyors. Urgent message, is it?’
‘Yeah, it’s urgent, an’ keep your voice down,’ Frost said quietly.
‘I know how you can get a message over there,’ Pruitt muttered. ‘Old friend o’ mine takes a supply wagon, once a week. He’ll be goin’ early mornin’.’
‘It’s got to be someone to trust, Dexter.’ Frost had another look into the mirror across the back bar.
‘We’ll go an’ see him now. You make up your own mind on that,’ Pruitt suggested, and drained his glass.
Outside the saloon Chad was securing a flap of his saddle traps. He had a look up the street, placed the empty glass on top of the hitching-rail.
‘You carryin’ clean duds in there?’ Frost grinned.
Chad looked amused at the thought. ‘No I’m not,’ he said.
As they walked up the street, Pruitt looked back at the bay. He shook his head, nonplussed, took another look at Chad.
Just after they’d walked from the saloon, the barkeep spoke to the men still at the bar. ‘My money’s on the tall one bein’ a deputy,’ he said, pouring more whiskey.
Jesse Muncie, the cowboy who’d tried to provoke Chad, looked interested. ‘How’d you figure that out?’ he asked.
‘I heard him say somethin’ about getting’ a message to the marshal in Alamosa.’
Muncie looked hard at his companion. ‘Well, that don’t necessarily mean he’s law. But either way, Rindy, I reckon we ought to let Mr Porton in on this. Ride out to the Smoke. He’ll want to know if anyone’s pokin’ a snout into his affairs.’
Chad, Dexter Pruitt and Marlow Frost made their way up the main street of Hooper. They were headed for the store and craft workshop of Galt Sherman, Pruitt’s friend and colleague.
‘Hyah Dexter,’ the peppery old-timer rumbled, as the three men entered his work-worn premises. He looked openly at Chad and Frost. ‘Looks like you brought trouble,’ he added.
‘They could be, dependin’ who’s side you’re on.’ Dexter Pruitt sniggered. ‘They want you to get a message to the marshal in Alamosa.’
Chad was mildly suspicious of the old men’s allegiance. ‘I’m Chad Miller,’ he said. ‘You’re goin’ to find out sooner or later that I’m workin’ for the Bridges out at Big Windy.’
‘You want to be most careful who you make that known to, Mr Miller.’ Sherman laid down a saw he’d been sharpening. ‘Else you’ll be stayin’ in the valley … toes to the daisies, if you get my meanin’?’
‘If we’re straight talkin’, you can tell us now what’s on your mind,’ Pruitt said. ‘I’ve already seen somethin’ o’ Porton’s future.’ He chuckled, glanced sideways at Chad, who smiled briefly.
For the next few minutes Frost told Pruitt and Sherman of how they’d followed up at High Smoke. ‘There’s no goin’ back, we’ve too much to lose. Besides, Porton won’t let us, not now.’
Sherman whistled through his broken, stumpy teeth. ‘Pheeew. I’ve waited a few years to hear that sort o’ talk, fellers. Your message’ll get to Alamosa. Yes siree.’
Sherman and Pruitt stood grinning. ‘We’re too old for fightin’ or runnin’ around. But me an’ Galt can help with the thinkin’,’ Pruitt said, with shaky enthusiasm.
‘Yep. Some of you young bulls need a steadyin’,’ Sherman added.
Frost looked seriously at the two tough old men. ‘You best keep your asses on the john. From what we all know, Porton’ll soon be after ’em.’
‘Ha, we still got some marrow in these old bones. I can go get some o’ the decent folk together, them that ain’t run yet. Maybe together we can make a difference,’ Sherman said with seasoned spirit.
Frost looked at Chad. ‘Old soldiers,’ he offered.
Chad saw the look in Frost’s eye. He understood the curious twinkle. It was because now they’d become a force to be reckoned with. As well as two or three ranch hands, he and Marlow Frost were backed by Rose, Perdi and Joe Bridge, and two town elders. When Brig Porton found out he’d quake in his moongleam boots.
Chad swore silently to himself on leaving the workshop. He stood outside, looking back down the street. The bay was stretching its neck, throwing its shiny head, unhappy in its surroundings. Chad watched, then became more interested as the man who’d annoyed him in the saloon stepped on to the boardwalk. The man was with his colleague. They exchanged a few words, mounted their horses and turned towards the south end of town.
In Sherman’s workshop Frost was telling Galt that he’d write the message. ‘Me an’ Chad still got to sort out that ammunition.’
‘There’s only two stocks in town, an’ one of ’em’s right here,’ Sherman said. ‘Won’t take much for me to clear that lot out. I’ll go see Marvie Setter about the rest.’
Pruitt agreed. ‘You an’ Chad don’t want to spend any more time than you have to around here,’ he said, looking at Marlow. ‘Me an’ Galt’ll get it sorted. You both head back to Big Windy.’
‘We’ll ride out the far end o’ town,’ Chad said when Frost joined him.
Frost was surprised. ‘Big Windy’s south. Lost your bearin’s already?’ he asked.
Chad was walking quickly towards the horses. ‘Nope. Just somethin’ needs attendin’ to.’
With Chad taking the lead the two men rode at a trot towards where the creek coiled around the outskirts of town.
Bankside to the swift running water Jesse Muncie and Rindy Colman were sitting their horses. They turned, stopped talking as Chad and Frost approached. Frost groaned with sudden awareness of what the diversion meant. Chad hadn’t forgotten Muncie’s remark in the saloon.
As they rode up to the cowboys Muncie was telling his partner to ride fast to High Smoke.
‘Hey, Tumblebug,’ Chad called, as Colman attempted to ride away. ‘Rollin’ on to a new heap o’ dung, are you?’
Frost nudged his horse in firmly against Chad. ‘It was my idea to come into town, Chad. You’ve already run up against some o’ Porton’s scum. This one’s for me.’
Chad saw the determined look in Frost’s eyes. Perdi Bridge had told him a little of the reasoning behind Frost’s long-held, cold anger, his need for reckoning. Frost wouldn’t use a gun. He’d want the visceral feel of revenge in his hands, at the end of his fists or his boots.
The man Muncie saw it too, knew there was little chance of escape if he’d wanted it. He swore softly with resignation as he swung down from his horse. He handed the reins to Colman, unfastened his gun-belt and hung it across the pommel of his saddle.
‘You ain’t goin’ to let this go, are you fellers,’ he said, casually tossing his Stetson to one side. He turned around and looked at Frost, sizing him up.
Muncie was a big man, almost as tall as Frost, but with more flesh on his body. He had the advantage in weight, but a lot of it was surplus fat. He made the mistake of thinking that Frost’s leanness was frailty.
He spat into the ground, grinned confidently and started with a rush. He was convinced he could charge Frost out of his way like a taunted hog. It was a jolt in more than one sense when Frost stood firm, poled out a fist of iron that spread the flesh of Muncie’s nose across his face.
Muncie hit the ground with blood streaming into the front of his shirt. Rindy Colman chortled. That hurt Muncie too. He scrambled to his feet and took another rush at Frost. For a second time he went flying, staggering backwards from an uppercut to the chin. The third time he rushed at Frosty he’d learned. He swerved to avoid the ripping fist, and almost got h
imself a bear-hug.
For a minute or so it was close-in fighting, both men crowding, slugging hard at the body. When they broke away Frost, despite his toughness, was breathing heavy. He was pained from the battering his ribs had taken.
Muncie was breathing hard too. He wasn’t about to lose, but he wasn’t winning either. He came rushing in again, his fists flailing, and Frost went stumbling back. He took punches on his arms and head, unable to cover up against the onslaught. A fist smacked into his eye, another cracked into his chin and he went over backwards.
The blow to Frost’s eye had hurt. He lay there for a few seconds, trying to flex an eyelid, to see properly. Then, with a sudden unexpected movement, he uncoiled himself and sprang up at Muncie. He crumpled him with a fist buried deep in the belly, then straightened him with a left that he brought from way down. There was a loud snap as Muncie’s head jerked backwards, and for a moment the man hung in the air. Then he hit the ground, where he lay benumbed in shock.
Frost stood over him, panting. Muncie rubbed at his face, tried to blink the sweat and pain away.
‘Take your time,’ Frost rasped. ‘I’ll still be here when you get up.’
Colman got restless. He was going to make a move, but he quietened, when he saw Chad’s big Patterson threatening him.
Frost kicked at Muncie’s boots. ‘You are gettin’ up, ain’t you?’
Muncie climbed unsteadily to his feet. For a few long seconds he blew hard, rocked in front of Frost. Then unexpectedly he lashed out with his foot. He knocked Frost’s legs from under him, and as Frost hit the ground he was on him. His fingers groped at Frost’s throat, pushed the man’s head into the soft earth.
Frost managed to twist. He doubled his legs up, his foot pressed against Muncie’s chest. With a defiant heave he forced Muncie to stagger away backwards. He launched himself on top of his opponent, but up to now he’d been fighting doggedly, from now on it was anger.