by Neil Hunter
And then the riders fell back. Horses were jerked round, protesting against the heavy use of reins and spurs. A few desultory shots were fired in the direction of the house as the riders drew to a safe distance.
Amos Skellhorn grunted in satisfaction. He opened his shotgun and replaced the spent shell. “Damn,” he said forcibly. “You didn’t give me much chance for a second shot there, Bodie.”
The man hunter grinned. “Times like these, Skellhorn, a man’s either very quick or very dead.”
“They’re leaving,” Fran called.
Bodie glanced out of the window and witnessed the riders trailing away from the ranch, dust rising in pale clouds in their wake. The yard outside the house lay silent, though not empty. There were three riderless horses and three dead men.
“Stay in the house, Fran,” Skellhorn said. He opened the door and strode across the yard with Bodie at his rear.
Reaching the first corpse Skellhorn reached down and ripped away the man’s blood-spattered hood. He studied the face for a moment, nodding to himself.
“He one of Butler’s men?” Bodie asked.
“Sure. Name of Brittles.” Skellhorn stood upright. “Didn’t know one end of a cow from the other, but he damn well knew all about guns.”
They removed the hoods from the other two men. Bodie saw a face he recognized and pointed it out to Skellhorn.
“Name of Travis,” Skellhorn said. “You met him before?”
“He’s one of the four I’m here for. He was in on the killing back at Pine Ridge. And I owed him for a few hard knocks.”
Skellhorn glanced at the gory hole Bodie’s bullet had punched in the chest of the man called Travis. “I reckon you paid him in full, Bodie!”
With Skellhorn’s help Bodie loaded the bodies on to the three horses, roping them down.
“Be obliged for the loan of a horse,” Bodie said.
“Take your pick,” Skellhorn said. “I’ll have Fran make up a sack of supplies. I take it you aim to go after Jody?”
“It’s why I’m here,” Bodie said.
“Ain’t going to be easy. Hell, Bodie, you’ll be a target for every gun on Butler’s payroll! Let me come with you, man. I know this country. Every rock and every damn hole. And so do Butler’s gun hands.”
“You’ve already got a job to do,” Bodie pointed out. “Looking after your property. You’ve hit Butler hard today, so he ain’t going to be so casual about it next time. But don’t ease off, Skellhorn. You see a Butler man riding in you put a bullet through the son of a bitch. Call in your hands. Set up a defense line. Gather your stock and push it all in a place you can protect easily. Make Butler pay for every inch of your land he even looks at, and maybe - just maybe - he’ll leave you alone!”
“Sure you wouldn’t like to come and work for me?”
Bodie shook his head. “I couldn’t stand the pace, Skellhorn,” he said. “I like a steady life.”
A wide grin split Skellhorn’s face. “The hell you do!”
Later, as Bodie finished saddling the big dun mare he’d chosen, Fran came into the stable. She was carrying a loaded sack of supplies and a big canteen of water. Handing them to Bodie she stood back and silently watched him complete his preparations.
“I didn’t get a chance to say thanks,” Bodie said suddenly.
“For what?”
“Sneaking me out of town the way you did.” Bodie turned from the horse. He saw Fran’s troubled expression. “Something bothering you? Hell, did I forget to pay for my bed and breakfast?”
Fran’s eyes sparkled and her mouth curled up at the corners. “Maybe I should change you,” she said. “After all, you did rather take advantage of the little extras I offered!”
“Seems to me, Miss Skellhorn, that those extras could get to be catching.”
Fran moved across to him, pressing her supple body close. Without any encouragement she put her arms round his neck and touched her lips to his.
“See,” she said a short time later, “you’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Why - taking advantage of me .”
“Honey, I’d love to be around when you do it of your own free will,” Bodie said, and reluctantly disentangled himself from Fran’s embrace. “Now you get the hell out of here and let a man tend to his business.”
“Bodie, don’t you realize how crazy you’re acting?” Fran gripped his arm. “You’ve just seen the sort of thing that happens round here. Butler’s men aren’t playing games. You can’t go up there after Jody all on your own. Not against Butler’s whole crew!”
“He ain’t about to come down to me,” Bodie pointed out “Look, Fran, we agreed last night. No strings. No reasons why. Far as my job goes that’s the only way it can be. I can’t afford the luxury of allowing myself excuses why I shouldn’t do this or that. I start counting up the risks I’m going to be too damn scared to even climb out of bed to put my pants on.”
Fran took a slow step away from him, knowing she had no right to erect distractions. She was breaking her own rule about not getting involved, a rule that Bodie himself worked by. She was aware of the kind of man he was. Independent. Self-sufficient and totally in control of his own destiny. He was no man to be tied down, hemmed in by a fleeting thing like emotion. She had accepted that the night before, when she had gone to his room - but now, in the light of day, fully aware of her own feelings, she admitted that her need for him had already gone beyond a single night of passion. In the same realization she also faced the fact that for Bodie the episode might well be over and already forgotten.
“Just take care, Bodie,” she said, and hurried out of the stable, keeping her face turned away from him, so that he wouldn’t see the shine of tears in her eyes.
When Bodie led the horse outside some minutes later Fran was nowhere to be seen, but Amos Skellhorn came out of the house and crossed over to speak with the man hunter.
“I been doing some thinking, Bodie,” the rancher said. He held a rolled map in his hand, which he now opened. “This here is Kittyhawk Greek. My place is there. You ride west. Here you’ll be on Butler land.” He indicated various landmarks. “Now after you cross the high meadow above Cascade Lake there’s a hell of climb to the western rim of Butler’s range. Cut slightly north and you’ll have the Cascade Hills in front of you. Way up on top is what they call round here The Major Canyon. Butler has a line shack up near the canyon. Hard to get to. Pretty isolated. Hell, in winter a man can be stuck there for a couple of months. I figure that’s where Butler’s got Jody. Hiding him out until he can figure some way of getting the boy off the hook for that killing. And given time that’s just what the Major will do. One way or another he’ll buy Jody’s freedom.”
Bodie took the map and studied it, committing to memory all the landmarks and distances. “Looks to be a couple of days’ ride up there,” he said.
“Closer to three,” Skellhorn said. “Like I told you, that’s rough country up there. Nothing for miles but hills and forests. Why a man could spend a lifetime up there and never see another human being.”
“Times are when that wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” Bodie said.
He mounted up and rode his horse over the yard to where the three corpses hung over their saddles. He picked up the loose reins and glanced towards the house. The door opened and Fran stepped out, smiling at him.
“Take care,” she said again.
Bodie nodded at her. “Get her back to town,” he said over his shoulder to Skellhorn.
“I intend to.” Skellhorn held out a big hand, gripping Bodie’s firmly. “I have the feeling I’ll be seeing you again.”
Bodie touched the dun’s sides and set off across the dusty yard. He pointed the horse to the west, settling in the saddle. He didn’t look back. He never had seen the point in looking back. What was past was dead, didn’t matter anymore, and though the future might not have a deal more to offer at least it was alive, it had purpose, and sometimes it had promise.
/> Chapter Ten
The breathless heat of high summer hung over Bodie like a stifling blanket. The rising folds of the hills above him lay in a permanently shimmering haze. Even though he was riding through thickly wooded areas most of the time there was little escape from the heat. Reining in besides a swift flowing, narrow stream that tumbled and splashed in and out of the rocks and grass, Bodie eased out of the saddle and dropped to his knees. He took off his hat and thrust his head into the water, gasping and spluttering against its icy contact with his flesh. He straightened up, shaking water from his hair as a dog might shake its coat. Scooping up water in his palm he drank it down, feeling it tingle against his teeth. He climbed to his feet, sleeving water from his face. Far below him he could see the mirror gleam of water that was the Cascade Lake. He had ridden by there the day before. Now he was faced with the lofty peaks of the Cascade Hills. Amos Skellhorn had been right. It had been a hell of a climb to get this far, and the worst was yet to come.
He had ridden away from Skellhorn’s ranch and off Kittyhawk range, finding his Way across the endless spread of land that came under Howard Butler’s rule. Bodie had ridden until he’d spotted one of the well-defined trails that crisscrossed Butler range, and here he had turned loose the three horses and their grisly loads. Someone from the Butler ranch would spot them eventually and take them in. Once he’d disposed of the bodies he had drifted on across Butler land, keeping to ground with plenty of cover. The last thing he needed at that time was to get himself spotted. By the evening of that first day he had reached the comparative safety of the foothills, and with the gray light of the dawn he was out of his blanket, in the saddle, and already starting the long climb before the sun had risen.
Once or twice during his ride he had seen riders in the distance. But he had been expecting to see Butler men, so his mind was working in advance, again keeping him close to cover, maintaining a line of travel which kept him off any skyline ridges as far as was possible. And his preparedness paid off, always allowing him the time to gain cover before any distant rider could spot him.
Despite the fact that he was high up now, deep in rough, trailless country, Bodie didn’t allow himself to relax his vigilance. Foolhardiness was not one of his failings. Howard Butler would be the kind of man who would demand constant and thorough patrolling of his range, from border to border. His men could appear anywhere and at any time, and Bodie didn’t relish the idea of riding smack into a couple of ready guns simply because he let his guard down. The cemeteries were full of men who let go too soon, figuring they had all the angles worked out. It never did to let yourself believe you were on top. That was the time when some sneaky son of a bitch went and hammered you right into the ground. If a man allowed that to happen to him, then he had no damn right calling himself a professional, and if he wasn’t a professional then he shouldn’t have been in the business in the first place. Amateurs were fine when it came to playing the piano - but there was no place for them when it came to wearing a gun.
Bodie jammed his hat back on and climbed back into the saddle. He waited until the dun had finished drinking from the stream, and then gathered his reins and pushed on towards the steeply rising, rugged slopes before him.
He leaned forward and drew his Winchester out of the scabbard, checking that the rifle was primed and ready for use. For the last hour or so he’d been restless, plagued by a feeling of not being alone. He hadn’t seen a thing, or even heard a sound to indicate that his instincts were telling him the truth. Even so Bodie decided that caution was better than a bullet in the back of the head.
Ahead of him and slightly to his right a bird rose out of thick brush. Bodie kept on his forward course, giving no indication that the bird had given him warning. But at least now he knew where part of his problem lay. The bird had taken flight through being frightened.
Bodie took the dun along the edge of a shallow basin, its bottom choked with grass and brush. He was almost clear of the rim when his eyes, still centered on the thick brush ahead, picked up the merest suggestion of a human shape in amongst the intertwined vegetation. His suspicion was confirmed when the gray bulk moved and sunlight flickered briefly on metal.
Bodie slipped his feet out of the stirrups and he rolled off the dun’s back, dropping over the edge of the basin. As he hit the grassy slope he heard the hard slam of a rifle shot. A bullet whacked the edge of the rim, showering him with dirt. Bodie relaxed and let himself roll into the thick brush growing partway up the side of the basin. He twisted over on to his stomach, jamming the butt of the rifle to his shoulder.
A man’s voice, raised in an angered yell, cut the silence, the sound of the echoes prolonging the outburst. Brush crackled and popped as a heavy body forced its way through. A second voice called out. Bodie smiled, baring his teeth. The damn fools! All that shouting and yelling! Giving away their positions every time they opened their mouths!
A distorted figure appeared on the rim of the basin. A face leaned over, eyes peering down into the shadowed mass of brush.
Bodie put a single bullet through the man’s head. It entered just above the left eye, drove on through the skull and angled upwards to blast its way free in a gout of blood and brains. The man threw up his arms, almost as if he was appealing to God in his last moments, and then he fell back out of sight. There was a long silence after the sound of the shot, and then Bodie heard a soft drumming sound coming from beyond the rim of the basin. He recognized it after a moment. It was the noise made by the dying man’s boot heels kicking on the dry earth. After a time the sound ceased.
One down, Bodie counted, but how many more were there? One he was sure of. But there could have been others, wiser men who had the sense to keep their mouths closed and their eyes open at a time like this. He decided it might be better for his state of health if he got out of the basin. If there were more and they got him surrounded things could become awkward.
Bodie crawled across to the far side of the basin and edged his way up the slope. There was a heavy spread of brush that reached to the top of the slope, so he was able to make it to the rim under cover. He slid over the rim and worked his way deep into the thick brush growing along the edge of the basin. When he was far enough in amongst the tangle of roots and leafy branches he turned his body about. And then he waited.
Long minutes drifted by. Heat drove down through the tangled brush, striking at Bodie through his shirt. Sweat oozed greasily from his pores. Bodie suffered in ungracious silence, flicking beads of moisture from his face.
He spotted the first man coming down off a low rise, moving slowly as he approached the far side of the basin. The man was still yards away when another figure appeared, rising from where he’d been lying in thick grass. The pair converged on the basin from opposite directions, each glancing at the other in anticipation of some sudden action.
Bodie slid the muzzle of the Winchester through the brush, sighting on one of the approaching figures. He had been definite in his choice of target, because he had recognized a familiar face. One of the men was Brenner - he’d been with Jody Butler and Lee Haddon when they’d got the drop on Bodie and used him as a punching bag. Bodie had trained his rifle on the other man. He didn’t want Brenner dead - not just yet.
The Winchester nudged his shoulder as Bodie tripped the trigger. The bullet struck its target dead-center, lifting him off his feet and throwing him back a couple of yards. The man hit the ground on the back of his neck, his hurt body twisting violently in reaction to the terrible pain. He came to rest against the thick trunk of a tree, his blood marking a glistening trail across the lush grass.
The moment Brenner heard the shot he dropped to a crouch, his own rifle starting to bear down on Bodie’s position. But the man hunter’s Winchester was already lined up on Brenner’s body. He eased the muzzle to one side and put a bullet into the ground a bare inch from Brenner’s boot.
“That could have been in your stomach, Brenner!” Bodie called. “The next one will be. And I don
’t waste time bragging - if I say it can be done it’s the truth. Now it’s up to you, feller. If you want to die just go ahead and use that rifle you’re holding!”
Brenner’s face remained stonily impassive. He was staring in Bodie’s direction, though it was obvious he couldn’t see the man hunter. It was what was going on behind that face that interested Bodie. It could have saved him a lot of trouble if he’d been able to read a man’s mind. To know what was being thought and planned long before it took place.
“I ain’t waiting all day, Brenner. Make your mind up, feller, ’cause my trigger finger’s gettin’ tired, and if it slips you’re going to have an extra belly button - one that runs from front to back.”
“You bastard!” Brenner yelled, for no other reason than it made him feel a whole lot better.
“All right, Brenner, now you’ve shown me you know a big word. So see if you can understand me - get rid of the rifle! Now!”
“Hell, you son of a bitch, how’d I know you got the drop on me?” Brenner wailed.
“Easy way to find out,” Bodie said. “Go ahead and make your play, feller. If you hear me yell you’ve won. If you don’t it ain’t goin’ to make all that much difference to you what happens next!”
“Goddamn it!” Brenner shouted. He stared at his rifle and then flung it from him wildly. “I done it - you son of a bitch - I done it!”
“Now the handgun,” Bodie said.
Brenner lifted his revolver from the holster and tossed it into the basin. He held out his empty hands. “You mean son! Ain’t right to make a man throw away his gun! By God, that just ain’t nice!”
Bodie climbed to his feet and stepped carefully around the rim of the basin. He walked around the sprawled body of the man he’d shot while he’d been down in the basin, kicking the dead man’s gun out of sight. Brenner watched him in sulky silence, his dark eyes full of reproach.