Bodie 3

by Neil Hunter

  The Home of Great Western Fiction!

  Bodie was set against a powerful, ruthless landowner who wanted Angela Crown’s mine and wasn’t going to let one gunman stop him from getting it. That was just one of the bounty hunter’s problems. There was also a beautiful, wealthy and cold-blooded whore called Beth Arling and she, too, had good reason to want Bodie dead ...

  BODIE 3: HIGH HELL

  First published in 1979 by Star Books

  Copyright © 1979 by Neil Hunter

  First Digital Edition: November 2012

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  Cover image © 2012 by Westworld Designs

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book

  Published by Arrangement with the Author.

  Chapter One

  “I’ll be a sorry son of a bitch!” Bodie said in disgust as his bullet kicked up a gout of earth at least a yard away from the man called Tarrow. He levered a fresh round into the breech, rose to his feet, and moved across the dusty ridge.

  Ahead of him Tarrow suddenly stopped running, turning quickly, his own gun swinging in Bodie’s direction. The manhunter threw himself to the ground as the gun blasted a spear of flame. As Bodie struck the ground, rolling frantically, he felt the vicious snap of the bullet as it burned the air just over his prone body. He came to rest, throwing his rifle to his shoulder again, this time holding his aim before he touched the trigger. The bullet caught Tarrow just as he was turning away and it spun him off his feet. Tarrow hit the ground hard, his body bouncing. A gush of blood spilled from his right shoulder. He jerked himself upright, firing as he began to regain his feet. And that was when Bodie’s second bullet punched a ragged hole through his chest, splintering bone and going on to penetrate the heart. Tarrow went over onto his back, legs kicking as he died.

  Bodie stood up, hearing the last echoed rattle of his gunshots fade. He made his way across to where Tarrow lay. The man was already dead by the time Bodie reached him. He stared down at Tarrow, thinking that the man hadn’t looked the kind who might up and slaughter a whole family just for thirty-five dollars. But that was what Tarrow had done. And he’d led Bodie a hell of a chase — all the way across New Mexico and down to this arid corner of Arizona. For thirty-five dollars! Bodie shook his head. He thought of the butchered family, the four graves where they were buried. Only the human animal could kill so wantonly for so little!

  He walked back and found Tarrow’s horse. Leading it to the body he draped Tarrow face down across the saddle, tying him down with his own rope. Then Bodie caught up his own mount, climbed into the saddle, and began the ride back to Ridgelow, the town he’d passed the day before. He might as well collect his bounty there, let the law in town deal with Tarrow, because sure as hell was hot, Bodie wasn’t going all the way back to New Mexico with Tarrow’s body.

  It was mid-morning of the next day when Bodie rode in along Ridgelow’s dusty main street. He paid no attention to the interested crowd of spectators who followed him all the way to the jail. At least Tarrow’s ripe smell kept them from getting too close.

  The town marshal was lounging in an old rocking chair on the boardwalk outside his office. He watched Bodie ride up and dismount, glancing half-heartedly at the body draped across the led horse.

  “Looks like you come a fair way, mister,” the marshal said, running his gaze over Bodie’s dust-streaked clothing. He gave a good-natured smile. “Mind, you look in better condition than your friend.”

  Bodie pulled a folded poster from his pocket and tossed it to the marshal. “His name’s Tarrow. They posted a bounty on him back in Las Cruces. So there he is. Read the poster. Be obliged if you’d confirm my claim and wire the marshal in Las Cruces so I can collect my money.”

  The marshal studied the poster, nodding to himself. “Heard about this,” he said. “Things some folk’ll do for money,” he added, fixing his eyes squarely on Bodie.

  Bodie thumbed his stained hat to the back of his head, a mirthless smile playing around the corners of his taut mouth. “I know what you mean. Marshal. It’s a hard old world.”

  “Ain’t it just!” the marshal said. “All right, leave it to me. I’ll have somebody take him away and bury him. Come by in the morning and I’ll try and have your money ready.”

  Bodie nodded. He turned and picked up his horse’s trailing reins.

  “What name do I put on the wire?”

  “Bodie.”

  The marshal climbed to his feet and watched the tall man make his way along the street. So that was Bodie! Now that he had actually seen the man the marshal could begin to believe all the tales he’d heard. About how hard Bodie was. What a mean, out-and-out son of a bitch he’d become since throwing away his badge and building himself a reputation as a bounty hunter. He had become a legend. The marshal walked to the edge of the boardwalk and watched Bodie turn in at the doors of the livery stable at the far end of town. He glanced along the street and saw Ridgelow going about its business. He stared at the bunch of men who had gathered near the jail, and he wondered if any of them realized who Bodie was.

  “Hey, Ike,” he called to a skinny man dressed in soiled, threadbare clothing. “Go on down to Nate Hawley’s. Tell him, I got a customer for him.”

  Ike nodded. “Sure, Marshal.”

  “And, Ike, tell him I don’t want any of his fancy coffins. Cheapest he’s got!”

  Ike made off down the street. The marshal made sure that the horse carrying Tarrow’s corpse was secured to the hitch rail, then he went into his office, closing the door. He sat down behind his desk, deep in thought, staring out of the window. He was still there when the man called Ike appeared, followed by a gaunt, grim man dressed in dusty black. A smile touched the marshal’s lips as he watched Ridgelow’s undertaker pause beside the waiting horse at the hitch rail, take out a tape measure and begin to size up Tarrow. Nate Hawley took his work very seriously. He had a proper respect for the dead, which, the marshal admitted, was all right. The trouble was, Hawley tended to carry his professional manner into his private life. It didn’t make for very cheerful conversation with the man.

  The office door opened and Ike stuck his head in. “I brung him,” he said.

  “Thanks, Ike.” The marshal beckoned Ike into the office. “Something else you can do for me.”

  Ike grinned with self-importance. “Sure, Marshal.”

  “That young woman who came to see me yesterday. The one who took a room at the hotel. Take a walk over there and ask her would she like to come and see me.”

  “All right.”

  “Ike. Just tell her I might have an answer to her problem.”

  Ike’s head bobbed as he digested the message. I’ll tell her. Marshal.”

  “When you get back, Ike, I’ll have a couple of dollars for you.”

  Ike left the office with all the dignity of a diplomatic courier off on a matter of national importance. The marshal followed him outside and stood watching as Nate Hawley finished writing Tarrow’s measurements in a little black book. The undertaker was as fussy as a tailor measuring someone for a suit.

  “Hey, Nate,” the marshal said.

  “Yes, Marshal?”

  “I think you overlooked his inside leg!”

  The look on Hawley’s face was more than the marshal could bear. He turned and went back inside his office, barely managing to close the door before he doubled up with lau
ghter.

  Chapter Two

  Bodie had bathed, shaved, dressed in clean clothes and eaten. Later he had returned to his room at the hotel with a bottle of good whisky and some fine cigars, prepared for a session of doing nothing at all. So he was mildly annoyed when his siesta was disturbed by a knock on his door.

  “Yeah, I’m coming,” he growled, swinging his legs off the bed. He crossed the room in long strides, yanking open the door, prepared to air his feelings to whoever it was in the hall.

  For one of the few times in his life Bodie was left speechless. For a full three or four seconds he just stood and stared. And it was the girl who spoke first.

  “May I speak with you, Mr. Bodie?”

  Bodie took the thin cigar from his mouth. “I don’t see why not,” he said, and stood aside to let the girl in. He closed the door and moved across the room to pull a chair from the wall for her. The girl sat down, slim hands resting in her lap.

  “The marshal suggested that I come to see you,” she said. “He made no promises, of course.”

  I’ll have to thank the marshal, Bodie thought, watching the girl. She was nothing less than beautiful. Yet there was no artificiality to her. The youthful face bore no makeup, the long mass of dark hair shone with natural highlights. Bodie judged her to be in her mid-twenties, the supple body firmly matured beneath the snug fit of her brown dress. Full, well rounded breasts thrusting out above a slim waist. Strong hips flowing into long legs. He felt her eyes on him, studying him with a boldness that was unusual in a woman. The eyes were bright, clear, a warm shade of hazel, flecked with green, and they were eyes that probed and penetrated, and hinted at a deeper awareness of life than might have been apparent at first sight of the girl.

  “Well, Mr. Bodie, do I pass your inspection?” the girl asked candidly.

  Bodie smiled. He’d asked for that. “In my line of work, ma’am, it gets to be a habit.”

  “Yes, I can understand. Oh, by the way, my name is Angela Crown, and I’m not married.”

  “What’s wrong with the men round here?” Bodie asked. “They all blind?” He saw her eyes sparkle for a moment, and noticed too the slight flush coloring her smooth cheeks.

  “Time and circumstance,” she said quickly, passing over the subject. “Mr. Bodie, I have a proposition to put to you.”

  Coming from such an attractive female, in his hotel room, it could have been extremely interesting, Bodie thought. But he had a feeling that from this particular young woman it was going to be business. Straight business. And it was.

  “Plain and simple, Mr. Bodie. I want to hire you and your gun.”

  “I’m not for hire, Miss Crown. The marshal wasted your time.”

  Angela Crown smiled. “The marshal made it quite clear that you are not normally in the habit of selling your skills, Mr. Bodie. But he did point out that I might be able to offer you the right bait.”

  “Go on,” Bodie said, wondering just what the hell she was about to offer.

  “You’re a bounty hunter, Mr. Bodie. Very well then, I can show you where there are probably half a dozen wanted men.”

  “But in return you expect me to do some gun job for you?”

  Angela nodded. “Yes. For which you will be paid, Mr. Bodie.”

  “Let me hear what you have to say first,” Bodie said. He sat on the edge of the bed. “Go ahead.”

  “Back in the mountains, three days’ ride from here, is a mining town called High Grade. There are a number of working mines, all privately owned. I am part owner of one of them, along with my brother. We mine copper, as do all the High Grade mines. The area is very rich in copper and it is a valuable mineral. We can sell every ounce taken out of the ground. The trouble is that High Grade is being taken over by a man so desperate to get his hands on all the copper that he’s willing to kill to achieve his aim. Over the past three months High Grade has become a terrible place to live. There is violence of every kind. Men beaten, crippled. Businesses burned, property destroyed. People are threatened, bribed, blackmailed, and there isn’t a thing anyone can do about it because the only law in High Grade belongs to the very man responsible for the crimes.”

  “Who is this man?” Bodie asked.

  “His name is Jonas Randall. He owns the mine adjacent to ours. It turns out that he also owns a great deal of High Grade, too. Saloons. Stores. The bank. He is a man with his fingers in many pies. Somehow he always seems to get what he wants. Gradually High Grade is becoming more and more his personal domain, and he runs the place to suit his needs.”

  “Why is this Randall so desperate to get control of all the copper?”

  “There are vast fortunes to be made out of copper. Recent geological surveys have shown that the area around High Grade has even more of the stuff than was ever imagined. Randall has a lot of influential friends, men who wield a lot of power and money, and if he can gain control of the whole of High Grade’s working, he and his cronies will become extremely wealthy.”

  “Well, men have been killed for a lot less than a mountain of copper, Miss Crown, so I can see you’ve got yourself a problem.” Bodie relit his cigar, gazing at the girl through a cloud of smoke. “Why are you in Ridgelow?”

  “Two reasons,’ Angela said. “First I came to buy supplies. One of Randall’s subtle little ways of trying to put my brother and I out of business has been to deny us access to food and goods in any of High Grade’s stores. He’s trying to starve us out. The stores he owns won’t deal with us, and the others have all been warned off. Last week one of the stores tried to supply us with what we need but Randall’s men stepped in. They beat the owner so bad he’ll be off his feet for weeks. Now nobody dares to lift a finger to help us. Everyone is in the same position. They could be next on Randall’s list. Mr. Bodie, I have twenty miners up in High Grade. Good men who have worked for my father’s company for years. They are loyal and they don’t want to see our mine taken over any more than I do. That’s why I made the trip to Ridgelow. To buy food for them.”

  “It could turn out to be a risky proposition,” Bodie pointed out. “Were you followed?”

  Angela shrugged. “If I was I didn’t see them. But it is a risk I’m prepared to take, Mr. Bodie!”

  “You said you came to Ridgelow for two reasons.”

  “Yes. I decided to fight Randall on his own terms. If he can employ gunmen then so can I. I’m determined not to let him beat me. If it’s a fight he wants then he’ll get one.”

  Bodie smiled at her angry words. “You could be falling right into his hands. If you take gunmen back to High Grade it might just give Randall the excuse he wants to wipe you out.”

  Angela shook her head, dark hair swinging. “What else can I do? Just stand by and let him take the company my father built up from nothing. Mr. Bodie, my father was one of the first to have workings in High Grade. He had faith in the place when others did not. Now that the promise is coming true this man Randall comes along and expects to step in and take all the rich pickings. I won’t let it happen, Mr. Bodie! Not without giving him a damn hard fight!”

  “Tell me something, Miss Crown. How many guns have you hired?”

  “None,” she said bitterly, eyes flashing at him. “Mr. Bodie, are you laughing at me? Because if you are I’ll ...!”

  Bodie threw up a big hand. “Ease off there. I’m not laughing at you. Just trying to find out what you’ve managed.”

  Angela slumped back in her seat. “Not a lot,” she said softly.

  “Given all you’ve told me,” Bodie said, “what makes you think I won’t just ride up to High Grade looking for these wanted men myself? I haven’t agreed to any kind of deal.”

  “No, I understand that,” Angela said. “But I don’t think you will.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it, Miss Crown. Like I said, I’m not a hired gun. I’m a bounty hunter.”

  “And the best there is according to the marshal. You have a reputation, Mr. Bodie, and I’m prepared to pay well for that reputation and the
gun behind it.”

  “When do you leave for High Grade?”

  “In the morning. When I leave here I will be going to the store to finalize the supplies I’m buying. In the morning I’ll have them loaded in the wagon I’ve bought, and then I’m returning to High Grade.” Angela looked at Bodie expectantly. “Does this mean you’ll help me?”

  “No,” Bodie said. “But it means that by the time you leave I’ll have given you my answer one way or the other.”

  Angela stood up. “That is fair, Mr. Bodie. Thank you for giving me your time. I will look forward to your decision.”

  At the door Bodie asked: “Have you ever handled a loaded wagon and team?”

  “I’ve had a little experience with them.” Angela smiled. “Taking one up a mountain will be something new, though. Good day, Mr. Bodie.”

  Bodie closed the door. He crossed to where his whisky waited and lifted the glass to his lips. Standing by the window, which overlooked the street, he was able to see Angela Crown leave the hotel a minute or so later. She crossed the street and went into a store some way down. Bodie stood for a time then stretched out on the bed.

  He found that he was unable to rid his mind of Angela Crown’s image. He shut his eyes and he could still see her smiling at him, those clear, penetrating eyes staring at him. Damn the woman! He’d only known her for a short time, yet she’d already left a powerful feeling behind. Her personality kept thrusting itself on him, demanding his attention, and Bodie realized that he was going to have difficulty erasing Angela Crown from his thoughts.

  He even found a growing interest in her problem. The situation at High Grade was far from new, but to the people involved it would warrant their full attention. In the wide and empty frontier territories there were many men of Jonas Randall’s breed. They were takers. Opportunists who hovered like vultures, waiting for the tasty morsels. They allowed other men the dubious privilege of sweating, of laboring, creating the wealth, and then they stepped in and took it, by force and violence more often than not. There was no-one to stop them. The law was spread very thinly over the vast territories. Many isolated communities still survived by being their own law. Administering rough justice, and not always too concerned about the finer points of law. But it was a means to an end. Until there were enough official lawmen to keep the peace, a man was still liable to dispense his own justice. Men like Randall thrived in a lawless community. They were smart enough to be their own law, using it to further their nefarious activities. It meant they grew more powerful while the smaller man was simply swept aside. Or trampled on. Or hung, or shot, or … the final solution hardly mattered. It all boiled down in the end to one simple fact: if you were big enough, waved a large fist, and didn’t give a damn for anyone, then you were bound to get ahead.