by Neil Hunter
“Bodie, I wish we’d finished you first time we met,” Brenner said.
“Found out who I am too?”
Brenner smiled. “Don’t take the Major long to find things out. It was as easy as just sending a telegraph message to Pine Ridge. The Major has a lot of friends in a lot of places.”
“An undertaker one of ’em?” Bodie asked.
“Why?”
“The way I see it the Major’s going to be needing the services of one pretty soon!”
“Hah!” Brenner sneered. “Bodie, you must be a fool! The Major’s got more men than he knows what to do with. Mister, you stand a snowball’s chance in hell of gettin’ close to Jo...!”
Bodie’s big right fist curved round and clubbed Brenner across the jaw. Blood sprayed from Brenner’s mouth as he went down. He was still trying to get up when Bodie booted him in the side, spinning him over on to his back and cracking a couple of his ribs. Brenner lay staring up at the man hunter. His mouth hung open, blood trickling from split gums.
“Jesus, Bodie, that was damn sneaky,” he mumbled, biting back against the rising pain from his broken ribs.
“Brenner, don’t thank me,” Bodie said. “I ain’t even started yet!”
He leaned over and took hold of Brenner’s thick hair, dragging the moaning man to his feet. Brenner clutched his side, eyeing Bodie distrustfully.
“All right, so I got it comin’,” he said. “Why don’t you just shoot me and be done!”
“And miss all the fun we’re having?” Bodie said, and drove his fist into Brenner’s face again. Something cracked with a loud noise, blood gushing down Brenner’s face. He dropped to the ground, hugging his body, and shook his head violently.
“Shit, you miserable bastard, that’s it! I ain’t gettin’ up again, so if you got a mind to shoot me you better just do it!”
The smile that appeared on Bodie’s face did little to make Brenner feel any easier. The expression seemed to imply that Bodie’s thoughts were running along the same lines.
“Is Jody up at the line shack, Brenner?”
Brenner rubbed a hand across his bloody mouth. “Even you can’t get to him, Bodie. The Major’s got him boxed in tight.” Something made Brenner smile. “Hell, it’s all bein’ done to keep that little-shit out of jail, but the way things are he’s locked up tighter than any damn cell’s likely to hold him!”
“Well don’t worry on my account,” Bodie said. “Jails get busted into as well as out of.”
“I ain’t worryin’ for anyone but ol’ Brenner. Look, Bodie, I don’t give a damn what happens to that little asshole. Even the Major don’t rate him too high, but he’ll protect him ’til Hell freezes over. Me - I’d sooner bury him with the rest of the shit.”
“Brenner, for somebody who doesn’t like Jody Butler, you been workin’ awful hard tryin’ to keep me off his back.”
“You take a man’s pay, Bodie, you do his work. Mind, it wasn’t all for Jody Butler. I’d only go so far risking my neck for that little pissant. I ain’t no fool, Bodie. I knew damn well you’d be gunnin’ for me as well as the others. My skin’s valuable to me. So I aimed to protect it.”
“You should have tried harder, Brenner,” Bodie said. “That’s one of the drawbacks in this line of work. A man pays dear for his mistakes.”
Brenner raised his head slowly, the implication of Bodie’s words dawning with increasing clarity on his numbed mind. He stared into Bodie’s grim face, and knew that he was facing death. For a moment he appeared to resign himself to the fact - but with startling ferocity he burst into movement, hurling his body to the side, across the grass, his blood-stained fingers reaching out for the rifle dropped by one of his dead partners. It was a futile gesture, but it was the only thing Brenner could do apart from sitting back and letting himself die like some crippled did man.
The Winchester in Bodie’s hands blurred as he swung it round, the muzzle fixing on Brenner’s moving form. The rifle fired, white powder smoke ripping from the shot. The side of Brenner’s skull caved in under the impact, flesh and bone mingling with the thick gout of blood that erupted from the dark hole. Brenner stiffened, his body slamming hard against the ground. As the bullet emerged from the opposite side of his head there was an ugly gush of blood and brains, shattered bone and pulped flesh that sprayed across the green grass around Brenner’s body. Brenner kicked for a while and the fingers of one hand clutched at the grass, tearing it from the very earth. But it was a futile attempt to hold on to life, and it ended the moment Brenner’s heart stopped beating.
Bodie turned and walked to where his horse stood cropping grass, oblivious of the violence and death around it. He jammed his rifle back in the sheath and climbed into the saddle. Taking up the reins he put the horse back on the route he’d been covering before. He jerked the brim of his hat down to shade his eyes. It was still a hot day and he still had a damn long way to go.
Chapter Eleven
The line shack stood in the shadow of the canyon’s wide mouth. Beside it was a lean-to and corral holding half a dozen horses. Close to the canyon wall a clear spring bubbled up out of the bedrock, feeding a natural, deep rock pan. Smoke rose from the tin-pipe chimney sticking up through the roof of the shack.
Bodie, stretched out on a flat rock overlooking the line shack, familiarized himself with the general layout of the place. Since he’d been watching the line shack there had been a fair deal of movement in and around the place. Armed men came and went, carrying out the normal, everyday chores that were part and parcel of spending time in an isolated spot such as this. The horses in the corral were fed. Wood was chopped for the shack’s stove, water brought from the spring. On the surface it all looked calm and peaceful, as natural a scene as anyone could ask to see.
But it was all as phony as hell. Every man who came out of the shack, on whatever errand, was as tight as the drawstring on a miser’s purse. They moved as if they suspected trouble from every blade of grass, their eyes flitting back and forth, probing shadows, suspecting any flicker of motion. They were obviously being paid very well to see that no harm came to Jody Butler, and from the way they were acting Bodie figured they’d start shooting if Howard Butler himself rode up unannounced.
Bodie drew away from the edge of the rock and climbed down to where he’d left his horse. He felt a rising throb of pain coming from his ribs. He tried to ignore the feeling. He knew he hadn’t done any good coming off his horse the way he had back down the mountain. He reached solid ground and went to his grazing horse. The big dun lifted its head and stared at him as if to ask why they were moving on now it had found a good place to eat. Bodie snatched up the reins and swung into the saddle. The dun held back a little when he touched its sides. Bodie tightened the reins and rammed in his heels. The dun, deciding that a half-empty stomach would be easier to live with than aching ribs, moved off.
Bodie took a direct route that brought him out on the far side of the corral, using it as a barrier between himself and the line shack. He freed the coil of rope hanging on the saddle and flipped the noose over the top of one of the corral’s main posts. Easing the dun away from the corral Bodie let out all the slack, snubbing the last few feet around the saddle horn. The dun stopped dead when she felt the rope go taut. Bodie touched her sides and the dun took the strain. Bodie kept her going, slowly. He felt the rope twang. The dun hesitated and then stepped on. Bodie heard the grumble of sound coming from the thick post.
On an impulse he slid his Winchester from the scabbard and laid it over his thighs. The rope creaked softly. Bodie dug in his heels and the dun lunged forward. The post came up out of the dusty ground with a rush, thudding to the ground and dragging down side-poles on either side. Loosening the rope from his saddle horn Bodie took the dun into the corral, got behind the milling horses and triggered off a single shot from the Winchester. The horses panicked and bolted from the corral in a trailing cloud of thick dust. Bodie followed them out, so that by the time the line shack’s door was f
lung open, he was clear of the corral and swinging round it to meet the armed men who burst through the door.
His first shot ripped through the thigh of one gunman, kicking him off balance and dumping him face down in the dust. The man lay wriggling about in the dirt, trying to stem the thick stream of blood gushing from the ragged hole. Lying over the dun’s neck, Bodie thundered across the open ground, scattering the line of gunmen, firing as he swept by them. He felt the close passage of their returned fire.
As he went by the shack Bodie caught a quick glimpse of a figure standing in the open doorway. It was a fleeting image, a white face staring up at him, but there was no mistaking the identity of the man.
Jody Butler.
Reaching the far side of the corral Bodie dropped from the saddle, letting the dun run on. He flopped belly down in the dust, jamming the Winchester to his shoulder, and triggered a fast shot at the first of the gunmen to turn and face him. The bullet caught the man in the throat, blasting put through the back of his neck in a gush of pulped red flesh. The gunman went over backwards, his own gun going off as his finger jerked back on the trigger.
Dust was beginning to thin out as Bodie rose to his feet and ran across to the meager shelter of the lean-to. He heard a rapid volley of shots. Bullets whacked the earth around him. One burned a hot slash of pain across the upper muscle of his right arm. Then he reached the cover of the lean-to and threw himself behind it, twisting his body over so that he rolled on to his feet.
He could hear the slap of booted feet coming in his direction. Bodie grinned to himself. It was like chickens just waiting to be slaughtered. The gunmen were so anxious to earn their big fat bonuses they were forgetting the simple rules of survival. Bodie jacked a fresh round into the Winchester’s breech - well he sure as hell wasn’t going to remind them what they were doing wrong. He heard the nearest of them approach the lean-to, close in.
Bodie held back, finger tight against the trigger.
Waiting…
Listening…gauging the man’s position.
And then he stepped into the open…gun up and ready…
A look of surprise crossed the gunman’s face…his eyes registered his dismay…he knew he’d made a mistake…one that was going to cost him dearly…
The Winchester blasted a single shot - the bullet tearing away the left side of the man’s face. Exposed bone gleamed stark white for a fleeting moment before a bubbling wash of blood spilled forth. The stunned gunman stumbled awkwardly, throwing up his hands to try and stem the torrent of blood gushing from the raw hole in his face. As he started to go down Bodie shot him again. A bullet over the heart that tumbled the man into the dust, his blood spattering the ground with big, dark stains.
Bodie turned about as a lean shape came around the far end of the lean-to, a leveled shotgun grasped in white-knuckled hands. Continuing his movement Bodie lunged forward and down, dropping below the level of the twin muzzles. He heard the solid blast of sound as one barrel discharged, felt the hot wind of the shot howl over his head. Then he hit the ground, his body jarring from the impact. He tilted the Winchester up, firing off a shot that put a bullet through the gunman’s groin. The man screamed a long, shrill howl of agony as the bullet ripped up into his body. It entered on the left side, angling off to the right, impacting against the hip bone. Splintered bone burst out through the exit wound, punching out globules of bloody flesh and sinew. The screaming man fell back against the lean-to, dislodging a rack of saddles and harness as he fell. Despite his severe wound he managed to retain his grip on the shotgun, and as Bodie came to his feet the gunman jerked his finger back against the second trigger. The shotgun boomed with a heavy roar, spitting a gout of flame and smoke at Bodie. The man hunter felt the burning sting of shot tear across his side, then the flood of hot blood that coursed down his body. He swung the Winchester in a short curve, pulling the trigger as the muzzle pointed at the gunman’s head. The bullet blew the face apart, bursting the brain out through the back of the shattered skull.
Cutting round the end of the lean-to Bodie made a dash for the rear of the line shack. He’d almost reached the shelter of the building when a gun opened up from over by the corral. Bullets peppered the earth around his feet, whacking up dusty spouts of dirt. Lowering his shoulders Bodie took a wild dive for the protection of the shack. He hit hard, grunting as pain surged up around his sore ribs. Rolling, he got his feet under him and lunged upright, pressing his back tight against the plank wall of the shack. Sweat poured down his grimed face. Chest heaved as he sucked air into burning lungs.
Silence fell…and stayed…then was broken as a man began to moan softly. Bodie remembered the gunman he’d shot in the leg. That had been a bad misjudgment, but at the time he hadn’t the opportunity to do anything further.
The man hunter eased his way along the rear of the shack, aiming for the far end. He rounded the side of the shack and stepped cautiously to the front corner. He peered round, and saw the wounded man, still sprawled in the dirt. There was a lot of blood still coming from the jagged wound in the man’s thigh. The man was lying on his back, both hands clutched over his thigh, but he wasn’t having much effect on the flow of bright blood.
Bodie was more interested in the man who had been shooting at him from the corral. As Bodie spotted him the man rose to his feet and started to move towards the far end of the shack. He was so intent on what he was doing that he wasn’t aware of Bodie’s presence until it was far too late.
The gunman’s head snapped round as Bodie stepped into view and pulled the trigger of the Winchester. The bullet took the man through the middle, doing a lot of damage internally before it burst out of the man’s back, blowing apart his spine. Blood and bits of pulped flesh and bone spewed out of the big, ragged hole, and the gunman did an ungainly, jerky dance, as his upset nervous system reacted to the shock of the bullet’s passage. Then his limbs lost all their strength, cut dead by the shattering of his spine, and he flopped limply to the ground, his upper body twitching in ugly spasms.
Bodie walked across to where he lay and the gunman stared up at him through pain-dulled eyes. Blood frothed from his wet lips.
“Don’t leave me like this,” he begged, and his wish was granted by a single bullet that tore his heart to shreds.
A sharp rattle of sound made Bodie turn. The gunman with the leg wound had hauled himself to a sitting position and had somehow retrieved his fallen gun. He was struggling to draw back the hammer of the heavy revolver, but his hands were thick with blood and his grip was loose. He was swearing softly, forcibly as he tried to yank back the hammer. His head was bent over the gun and he seemed oblivious to the fact that he was advertising his intention with the subtlety of a man banging on a bass drum. Bodie shot him through the head and then retraced his steps to the line shack.
The shack’s door was closed tight against him. Bodie put down his rifle and took out his Colt, checking that it was primed before he put his shoulder to the door and drove it clean off its hinges. He went in low, diving to the left as he cleared the step, hitting the floor on his shoulder and rolling.
A gun blasted, loud in the shack’s confining space. The bullet ripped a chunk out of the doorframe, a second wild shot following it.
Bodie came up on one knee, his Colt rising almost with a motion of its own, and settled on the figure of Jody Butler, who was crouched in the far corner of the shack, wide eyed and oozing cold sweat from every pore. For a split second Bodie held his aim, then moved the Colt a fraction before touching the trigger and putting a bullet through the soft, fleshy part of Jody’s right arm. Blood gushed from the entry and exit wounds, spurting thick and red. It soaked Jody’s sleeve and spattered his shirt and pants. Jody let out a terrified scream and fell back against the wall. He took one look at the pulsing, bloody holes in his arm and lost control of himself. A large, dark wet stain spread across the front of his pants.
On his feet Bodie crossed the shack, kicking, Jody’s dropped gun out of reach. He rea
ched down and caught hold of Jody’s hair, dragging the screaming, crying man out of the shack. He hauled Jody outside and dumped him in the dirt. Jody curled up in a whimpering, cowering ball. He began to beg for help, tears streaming down his red face, and Bodie stood the noise for as long as possible. When it got on his nerves he rapped Jody behind the ear with the barrel of his Colt, and after that it got very quiet.
It would have been so easy to have killed Jody Butler. The thought ran through Bodie’s mind as he stood over the motionless figure. Too damn easy! Putting a bullet into Jody’s skull would have been the painless way out, but Bodie figured there was little or no justice in that. It would suit his purpose, to keep Jody alive - long enough to deliver him to Pine Ridge, and the tender care of Jonas Wayland. And keeping Jody alive would act as bait in getting Lee Haddon out from wherever he was hiding. Haddon had been mainly responsible for the savage beating Bodie had suffered, and Bodie liked to settle personal scores. He had a long memory when it came to evening up outstanding debts.
By the time Jody Butler came round he was tied in the saddle of a waiting horse. His arm still hurt badly but the bleeding had stopped. There was a bandage round the arm as well. Jody ran his dry tongue over equally dry lips. Jesus, I need a drink, he decided, and remembered the bottle of expensive whisky he’d been emptying while he’d been in the line shack.
“Hey, Bodie, where are you? Come on, you bastard!”
“You just keep on that way, boy, and it’s going to be my pleasure to knock you out of that saddle!”
Jody’s head snapped round and he looked into the grim face of the man hunter. Bodie, mounted on his own horse, had moved up alongside Jody, and he was sitting closer than Jody would have chosen - if he’d had a choice in the matter.
“I want that bottle of whisky out of the shack,” Jody demanded. He lifted his tethered hands. “And get these ropes off me, you son of a bitch!”