Deadly Shadow

by Paul Bedford

  In Vance’s considered opinion, the older man seemed to be getting the best of it, being both on top and dealing out some telling blows. But then a gloved thumb jabbed up into his eye and he howled out in pain and rolled away. Shaking his bloodied head, the younger man leapt up and launched yet another kick. This time it caught his victim in the ribs, causing him to reel backwards. Apparently sensing victory, he surged forward, only to have his feet neatly swept from under him by the older man’s legs.

  Now Vance had never been anywhere near the smartest of Taw Johnson’s band and he was flummoxed as to how to react to the sight of the two men attempting to beat each other senseless. Somehow, to his way of thinking, their mutually destructive actions seemed to discount them as a threat. Then his boss’s words came to mind. ‘Do not start shooting.’ Bemused by the whole business, he decided to return directly to the camp, collecting his companions on the way. So, gently tugging on the reins, he wheeled his horse away and went in search of the others.

  As John Clemens clambered to his feet to renew the fight, some slight movement registered in his peripheral vision. Unlike the departing scavenger, he had no doubt whatsoever about his course of action. Drawing his Schofield, he cocked it and pointed it directly at his ‘partner’.

  ‘So you’ve brought a gun into a fistfight,’ Liam remarked scathingly, as blood trickled from various cuts on his face.

  ‘If I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead,’ responded Clemens impatiently. ‘Now look over to your left aways and tell me we haven’t just got lucky.’

  Liam did as instructed and jerked with surprise. ‘You think he saw us?’

  ‘Of course he saw us. But I figure he didn’t know what to do about us and he’s reporting back. Get your horse and we’ll follow him. That’s if you’ve had enough of this childishness.’

  ‘You started it,’ the younger man replied grumpily.

  Clemens gestured with his revolver. ‘And I’ve just finished it. Now mount up!’

  Taw Johnson regarded his minions incredulously, before focusing his rising anger on one individual. ‘You dumb son of a bitch! You’re telling me that you spotted two more strangers and you just plumb let them alone. Didn’t it occur to you that they might be in cahoots with the mangy bastard who shot Clay? You know, the one that’s feeding the fishes right now.’

  Vance’s misaligned eye began to twitch alarmingly as he realized his horrendous mistake and yet he tried hard to talk his way out.

  ‘Aw hell, Taw. They was beating seven shades of shit out of each other. I reckoned it was just happenstance that brought them nearby. Didn’t see no harm in it.’

  Johnson kicked out savagely at a small stone, so that it flew past the other man’s head like a musket ball. ‘Well, it won’t be happenstance that takes you back there, because I’m coming with you. And if your mistake costs us, you’ll end up with both eyes at right angles, so help me God!’

  The two pugilists had kept well back from Vance and his band, but it mattered not. They had the right direction and Clemens was beginning to get a feel for the situation. ‘A big party will be secure in their numbers and likely camp right next to the river. You need to get us on to some high ground.’

  Despite the pain in his head, Liam was beginning to realize that they were on to something. ‘That butte over yonder will answer. It covers a good stretch of the water and all the land around. And we can get to it over some hard ground that’ll hide our tracks.’

  Even as they headed towards the impressive rock formation, there came the pounding of hoofs as a number of riders returned at speed to the scene of their brawl.

  ‘Looks like somebody forgot something,’ Clemens remarked drily.

  Cathy gazed down on Clay Bassett’s anguished, sweat-stained features and felt genuine sadness. The gut shot unfortunate’s body was clearly enduring the tortures of the damned and there was not a blessed thing she could do about it, other than hold his hand and mop his brow. Mercifully, he remained oblivious to his own torment.

  The remaining half a dozen or so scavengers regarded them both, when they could even be bothered to, with scant interest. As far as they were concerned, Bassett was already dead. They had also resigned themselves to the fact that Cathy was exclusively Johnson’s girl, even if he hadn’t, as yet, exercised his claim. Their leader’s temporary absence allowed them to loll around drinking Trader Whiskey and smoking roll-ups.

  It occurred to her that it would be relatively easy to grab a horse and skedaddle into the wilderness, but strangely she had no desperate urge to do so. She told herself that it was because she couldn’t possibly abandon the pitiful wretch before her, but in truth it also had something to do with her growing interest in Taw Johnson. He hadn’t turned out to be quite the brutal thug that she had expected. Then Cathy’s face flushed with guilt as she recalled that she did still have a husband. The question was: would she ever see him again?

  The two men couldn’t possibly have known it, but they were occupying the exact same vantage point that the Highlander had used the day before. The butte was roughly some 700 yards or so from the scavengers’ camp next to the Missouri River. The fact that it was situated at a forty-five degree angle from it also meant that they were perfectly positioned to observe the movements of the search party.

  ‘Keep an eye on those fellas, while I see what we’ve got down there,’ Clemens instructed. Extending his drawtube spyglass, he carefully scrutinized the encampment. Men lounging around the fire. Horses hobbled but not tethered, so as to allow them to drink from the river and forage. And then the sight that momentarily took his breath away. Cathy, apparently alive and well, kneeling in the grass.

  He stared intently at her face, searching for cuts and bruises. The image quality of the old spyglass was not good, but she did not appear to have been superficially abused. Not that that covered his real concern. Then, as he noticed that she was tending to an injured man, unforeseen doubt began to creep into his mind. What was he to her and why were her hands not tied? There didn’t even seem to be anyone watching her, so why didn’t she make her escape?

  Holding back the turmoil in his mind, Clemens moved his glass away from the camp and began to study its surroundings. Along with plenty of lush grass and wood for the fire, the outlaws had the river at their back, which was good defensively but could also work against them should they need to make a quick escape. Shifting his glass to the right, he then made a cursory inspection of the riverbank over to a point directly in front of his position. It was here that he received a second surprise.

  Wedged between some rocks was the apparently dead body of a man. Clemens nodded pensively as he weighed up the possibilities. His discovery had to have some connection to the wounded man next to his wife. How he had ended up dead was irrelevant, but there was no doubt that a corpse could come in very useful.

  ‘Those fellas are back where we had our set to,’ Liam announced. ‘Someone doesn’t look right happy that we’ve gone.’

  ‘What are we dealing with here, phantoms or shape shifters?’ Johnson demanded sarcastically. ‘Or maybe both men died and decomposed before we arrived.’

  Vance stared around him dumbly, but then he had help from another of the gang. ‘Blood spots down here, boss.’ And then a few moments later, ‘Tracks of two shod horses moving over to the rocky ground. We’d need an Indian to follow them any further.’

  ‘Just great,’ muttered the gang leader as he glowered at Vance. ‘So we really don’t know what we’re up against yet.’ He pondered for a moment. ‘Right, back to camp. The light’s starting to go, so there’s no point stumbling around out here on the off chance. Just keep your eyes peeled.’

  As they watched the group move cautiously back to the river, John Clemens began to reveal his plans to his astounded companion. ‘Once they’re back in camp, we’re going after that stiff. And first off, I want his teeth!’

  ‘Why in God’s name would you want those?’

  Clemens regarded him with genuine s
urprise. ‘Because one way or another, I aim to turn a profit on this trip. Some dentists’ll pay cash money for a good set of gnashers. Then again, with my luck, he’ll probably have been a tobacco chewer. Anyway, what we’re going to do then is. . . .’

  ‘How is he?’ Johnson asked softly as he arrived next to Cathy and her patient. Instinctively, he already knew the answer. The blood-soaked bandages around Clay Bassett’s midriff spoke volumes. As darkness began to fall, they both grasped that this could be his last night on earth.

  ‘I’ve done all I can for him,’ she answered wearily. ‘Which isn’t much under the circumstances.’

  ‘I’ve seen such wounds before,’ he commented. ‘Not even good doctoring would answer. All we can do is keep him warm and numbed with whiskey.’

  As the fire was built back up to ward off the growing chill, the tempting aroma of food began to assail their nostrils. It was only then that the young woman realized just how hungry she was.

  ‘I could eat a horse,’ she announced.

  Johnson favoured her with a broad smile. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’

  Taking Cathy by the arm, he gently helped her up and led her around the fire to where his men had a large pan of beans heating up. That simple action seemed so natural and yet its startling ramifications suddenly struck both of them at the same moment. It was as though they both knew that he was no longer her kidnapper and she was no longer his prisoner.

  Gratefully she accepted a plate of bread and beans. Then, unbidden, she returned to Bassett’s side. Beyond the light of the flames there was only inky blackness, but strangely it no longer held any fear for her. It was as if someone who had her interests at heart was now watching over her. Although Johnson remained with his men, their eyes kept meeting as though in some way they both knew that their relationship had changed.

  After engaging in some ribald banter with his men and ensuring that the guards had been posted, he casually moved over to the far side of the fire. On the face of it he had come to check on his ailing friend, but Cathy was not fooled. It was quite obviously her company that he wanted and remarkably, she was able to acknowledge to herself that she welcomed his attentions. As the outlaw boss settled down next to her, Bassett cried out from the depths of his misery and she instinctively placed a comforting hand on the dying man’s shoulder. By some quirk of fate, Johnson had the same idea and he suddenly found his meaty palm covering hers. She flinched slightly at his touch and then relaxed.

  ‘What kind of a name is Taw anyway?’ she suddenly demanded.

  ‘My given name,’ he responded hoarsely. ‘And from now on it’s what you call me. That is unless you want me to rope your hands together again.’

  She shook her head firmly. ‘I don’t reckon you’ll ever have cause to do that again.’

  Any thoughts of rescue were now furthest from her mind, because she quite simply no longer considered herself to be a captive.

  Chapter Six

  The two man hunters had passed most of the night at the base of the rock tower. With its solid bulk between their camp and the river, they had risked a small fire to heat some food and ward off the bitterly cold night air. Yet, even fed and moderately warm in their thick blankets, neither of them slept a great deal. Their thoughts were too full of what might occur the next day and when the first rays of light finally showed in the east, John Clemens gave no consideration to breakfast.

  ‘It’s time to make those thieving bastards bleed,’ he announced grimly. ‘Let’s get aloft and make ready.’ So saying, with his rifle slung over one shoulder, he began to ascend the steep face. The two heavy bandoliers clinked lightly against the rock outcroppings as he climbed.

  For a long moment, Liam held back. Now that the time to shed blood had arrived and never having killed a man, he was suddenly nervous and unsure. Then the knowledge of how Clemens would view him struck home and he pulled himself together and followed on.

  A short time later, the two men lay flat against the butte’s cold, hard surface. The vigorous climb had stirred their blood and so Clemens deliberately proceeded slowly with his preparations. He had no intention of shooting until his breathing was completely steady. First, he used his spyglass to locate his wife’s position in the riverside camp. That done, he set his Sharps down next to him and raised the rear ladder sight to make certain adjustments. The younger man was utterly astounded at the distance involved.

  ‘Do you really think you can hit anything at that range?’

  Clemens didn’t even look up. ‘I know I can and with the honest sights on this gun, I’ll prove it. I’ll grant you those sons of bitches are smaller than buffalo, but right now they’re also not moving, which makes all the difference.’ Thinking back to their laborious efforts of the night before, he couldn’t resist a grim chuckle. ‘And if things go to plan, when they do move they’ll come closer to this beauty without even realizing it.’

  Carefully removing a few cartridges from a bandolier, Clemens placed all but one of them within easy reach. Next he levered down the falling breechblock of his Sharps and slid the retained one inside. Then, tucking the butt tightly into his shoulder, he peered down the thirty-inch barrel towards the unsuspecting men that he was about to kill. The marksman was going about his preparations in such a single-minded fashion that his next remark took Liam completely by surprise.

  ‘How come a young fella like you hasn’t got a woman?’

  The answer, when it came, was honest and sad in equal measure. ‘Because the only women you get out on the frontier are either already married or whores and I don’t fancy meddling with suchlike . . . although I’ll grant you I’ve been sorely tempted on occasion.’

  The older man grunted, quite obviously unimpressed. ‘So jump a train back East and take your pick. It’s what I did.’ With that, he returned his full attention to the task in hand.

  Picking out the first target was akin to playing God, because John Clemens had complete freedom of choice. The encampment was slowly coming to life, with one or two building up the fire and others preparing food. Seeking to cause maximum confusion, he decided to hit a lone individual who was standing upright nearest the fire. At such an immense distance, windage and elevation held great sway and therefore many considerations were going through the experienced hunter’s head as he retracted the hammer. His finger tightened over the first of the double-set triggers and a man’s life suddenly hung by a thread.

  ‘I will see only the fire and those around it,’ Clemens remarked. Liam, who was totally engrossed in the proceedings, again twitched with surprise, but listened intently as the sharpshooter continued. ‘I’m relying on you to spot any of them making a break for it. If they should try to make it here on horseback, I will need to know about it.’

  Then, without waiting for a reply, Clemens drew in a steady breath, held it and squeezed the second trigger. With a tremendous crash, the powerful rifle discharged its deadly load.

  Kenny Packard had got as close to the rejuvenated fire as he could endure. The cold weather was making his recently healed thigh ache abominably and if there had been any laudanum in the camp, there would have been more than just Clay Bassett in line for it. As it was, he leaned forward slightly and attempted to massage some heat into his limb.

  The bullet slammed into his back and then, having flattened out, erupted from his chest in a great deluge of blood and tissue. The tremendous momentum tipped the traumatized man forward, so that he collapsed helplessly across the blazing fire. As sparks flew everywhere, the distant gunshot sounded off and Taw leapt up from his bedroll.

  ‘What the hell just happened?’ he demanded.

  As Clemens smoothly lowered the Sharps under-lever, the empty brass cartridge flew out on to the rock in a little swirl of smoke.

  ‘Pocket them all,’ he instructed Liam, as he slid a fresh one into the breech. Then, as the block slid up into place, he minutely adjusted his aim. There was no noticeable urgency, but he was moving with practised speed. In his jud
gement, the element of surprise would only allow him one more shot and then things would get increasingly difficult. Cocking the hammer, he again squeezed the first trigger, then held his breath and fired. Even as his shoulder jerked under the recoil, the marksman instinctively knew that he had drawn a fine bead.

  As Kenny’s companions stared in shock at his twitching corpse, it was Taw who came to his senses first. ‘Scatter and head for the trees,’ he bellowed.

  Before any of his men could react, a second projectile ripped into the small group preparing breakfast. This time a scrawny man with the improbable name of Scoot received the heavy bullet in his back. His bloody death was almost instantaneous, but unlike Kenny he wasn’t destined for cremation.

  If there had been any doubt that they were under attack, that second strike settled it. The twelve survivors abandoned everything and raced for the Cottonwood trees lining the riverbank. Unused to gunplay, Cathy merely stared after the retreating figures in horror, but unbeknown to the terrified young woman, Taw had deliberately excluded her. Whoever was out there, he knew full well that the last thing they wanted to do with a comely young woman was kill her.

  As he took refuge behind a solid tree trunk, the outlaw leader yelled back to her, ‘It’s not you they’re after. Just stay where you are.’ Then, without awaiting her response, he transferred his attention to the terrain beyond her. ‘Anybody see where that shooting came from?’ he demanded of the others.

  For long minutes there was total silence as his men desperately scrutinized the various bits of high ground. It was Vance, greatly eager to make amends for the previous day, who suddenly called out in triumph, ‘I seen him, boss. Cockchafer’s in amongst those boulders, directly ahead of us.’

  Taw stared hard at the rocky ground on the edge of their meadow, some 300 yards away and sure enough there he was. A partially concealed figure holding a long gun was undoubtedly waiting for them to move back into the open. Such was their mutual certainty that they had discovered their assailant that Taw didn’t even bother to use the Highlander’s spyglass for a closer look. He was also in no doubt as to what their next course of action had to be.