Bodie 5

by Neil Hunter

  Bodie had no time for such dalliance. He knew that he had done no more than gain himself a few moments – a brief chance to at least prepare himself for the trouble that was bound to come. With Jody dead - accident or not - Howard Butler had his excuse for whatever followed and he was liable to have Elkhorn torn apart plank by plank to get his hands on Bodie.

  He pushed by the paralyzed store owner and made for the rear of the gloomy building, kicking open a door that opened on to a cluttered workroom. There was another on the far side of the room and this led to the store’s back lot.

  As Bodie stepped into the hard glare of the sunlight he heard a sudden commotion from the front of the store -and guessed that his free time was almost up.

  His keyed-up senses, alert for the slightest indication of danger, meant that he was more than ready for the sudden appearance of an armed man rounding the end of a building ahead of him.

  The man had a rifle in his hands. His face creased into a savage grin as he spotted Bodie, and he was congratulating himself on being the first to make contact with the man-hunter, when Bodie swung his Winchester round and pumped two bullets into his body. The man felt the solid smack of the bullets as they drove deep into his chest. The force of the bullets shoved him backwards, off his feet, and as he went down he became aware of the rising pain in his body. He had never been shot before, so there was no way he could anticipate the effect the bullets were going to have on him. All he could understand was the initial burst of pain and then the terrible numbness, the terror that rose as he realized that he couldn’t breathe properly. And when he choked on something filling his throat he coughed out a frothy gout of blood. He slipped over on to his back and lay staring up at the wide blue sky, wondering why there was such a deep silence all around him. Even then he wasn’t aware that he was dying...

  Bodie ran on, passing the fallen man. He glanced down the alley and saw shadowed, running figures pounding towards him. He twisted round to face them, triggering swift shots the length of the narrow alley, and the men were unable to avoid the blistering hail of lead that tore at their flesh, spattering thick gouts of their blood on the faded boards of the buildings around them. Only one of them had time for a shot, the bullet exploding dry wood dust into Bodie’s face. The man hunter levered a fresh round into the Winchester’s breech, inclined the muzzle and put a bullet through the head of his attacker. There was a sodden thud as the man’s head was rapped against the side of the building by the slam of the bullet. His mouth flew open and then the back of his skull exploded outwards, shedding a greasy spray of blood, bone and brains that clung thickly to the side of the building.

  The street was out of the question Bodie realized. Butler’s men would be in every alley, all of them eventually reaching the back lot. Bodie turned and moved away from the town, making for the thick, tangled brush and the tall timber that formed a natural windbreak behind the town. Even as he started his long run he knew he wasn’t going to make it without being spotted.

  The first bullets started to whack a ragged line across the ground, moving closer and closer to Bodie as he ran on. He began to feel the wind of their passing, the hiss of dry earth slapping his pants as bullets kicked up thick geysers. He didn’t bother to return their fire. That would be just stupid. The kind of move to get him well and truly killed. He could trade shots with them when he was in some kind of protective position. He began to duck and weave, doing his best to make himself a difficult target for the exploring guns.

  He burst into the thick brush to the accompaniment of bullets that ripped at the green leaves, shredding bark from the trees. He stumbled once on a knotted root, and as he struggled to his feet, chest heaving from his exertions, he heard the thud of horses’ hooves drumming over the hard ground.

  Bodie saw them as they neared the timber, their dark shapes large and menacing as they were outlined against the bright sunlight. He jerked his rifle to his shoulder and triggered shot after shot in their direction. He heard a horse squeal in pain, saw it rear back, Spilling its rider from the saddle. The rider gave a startled yell as he hit the ground, and then the yell turned to a scream as Bodie put a bullet into the moving figure. The man lurched to his feet, crashing through the brush.

  Angry voices called out to each other. They cursed Bodie and they cursed each other. There was rage and fear and confusion in the voices. Guns were fired, adding their noise to the din.

  Bodie pushed his way through the timber. He lurched forward, chest high in tangled brush, and felt the ground suddenly slope away from him. There was no chance of turning back. He slithered down the long slope, rolling the last few yards and felt the sudden shock of cold water as he came to rest in the swift running stream that cut its way through this part of the forest. Bodie dragged himself to his feet. He scooped up a handful of water and splashed his grimy face. The chill of the water cleared some of the muzziness from his head. When Bodie reached down to scoop up more water he saw that his hand was streaked with red. Only then did he begin to feel the bites of pain from the gashes and the lacerations in his flesh, He recalled his impulsive dive through the store window and figured he was lucky to have come away from it with only a few cuts.

  That luck was fast running out, he decided, as he splashed his way across to the far bank of the stream. He heard brush crackling above him. A horse edged through the brittle tangle of greenery at the top of the slope. The rider was peering down in the direction of the stream, obviously able to see the marks Bodie had made during his descent of the slope. It would only be seconds before his eyes located Bodie.

  The Winchester swung up, butt nestling against Bodie’s shoulder. He eased back on the trigger. The Winchester blasted a gout of flame and the rider jerked in his saddle as the bullet tore in under his ribs, angling up through his body and then penetrated his heart. Blood fountained out across the greenery, dappling the leaves, soaking quickly into the soft earth. The rider slumped to the side, falling from his horse almost gracefully. He arced out over the slope, landing on his face halfway down, and rolled loosely to the bottom. For a moment his body held itself on the very edge of the stream, then it slid gently into the water and the clear flow turned a cloudy red, then pink as the blood was diluted.

  The horse stayed where it was, only glancing round once as it realized that its rider had gone.

  Bodie re-crossed the stream and climbed the slope, hoping that the animal stayed where it was long enough for him to reach it. It did. And it remained passive as Bodie picked up the trailing reins and swung himself into the saddle. He took up the slack and prodded the horse into movement. The animal responded without hesitation. Bodie cut along the crest of the slope, then tightened the reins and brought the horse to a dead stop as he spotted riders moving through the trees ahead of him.

  He searched the timber in every direction, waiting, just biding his time. When he saw a gap, over to his right, he eased the horse’s head round in that direction and worked his way through the trees. Again he stopped. He looked and he listened. A weary smile touched his lips. The riders were all behind him. And they were moving further away all the time. Bodie chuckled softly. The damn fools were bunched together like sheep instead of spreading out to cover more ground.

  Bodie rode out of the timber and looked down on Elkhorn. The town looked peaceful enough. But there would be Butler men still on the streets. Bodie touched his heels to the horse’s sides. If he had his way there would be dead Butler men on the streets very soon.

  He circled the town and came in from the north end. As he moved towards the rutted trail that would eventually become the main street he saw a bunch of horsemen drift out of the shadows of the high livery stable. Bodie swore, snatching his Winchester up off his hip, the barrel lining up on the riders.

  And then he relaxed, the rifle sagging, relief washing over him in a welcome flood.

  The lead rider was Amos Skellhorn!

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Bodie, you’ve got more damn lives than a dozen cats!�
�� Skellhorn said, genuine pleasure in his voice.

  “One of the requirements in my line of work,” Bodie replied. He ran his eyes over the bunch of grim, heavily-armed men flanking Skellhorn. “You work some kind of medicine to conjure this bunch up?”

  Skellhorn grinned. “Every man here is from the Kittyhawk. When Butler dragged me to town and told me he was holding Fran I got damned angry. So before I come after you I cut back to the Kittyhawk and gathered the boys together. I figured we could play sneaky, too. The boys just hung around town waiting for me to get back. They kept out of sight until they were needed. That time’s been a fair piece comin’ - but she’s here now, Bodie, and one way or another we’re havin’ us a reckoning here in Elkhorn. Time we settled with the Major and his crew for all those years they’ve pushed us around. We want Elkhorn to be our town. A place where every man can come and go where he pleases, when he pleases. And then we can forget we ever had to call it Hangtown!”

  “Butler isn’t likely to step down without a fight,” Bodie said. “A lot of men could die here today - on both sides.”

  “That ain’t stoppin’ you!” Skellhorn pointed out.

  Bodie grinned “I got my reasons,” he said “Mainly they’re financial and some are just out and out meanness.”

  “Comes right down to it, Bodie, money is at the back of it all. The Major figures him having so much of it makes it right to do what he likes with other folks’ lives. And I just can’t abide bein’ thought of as a man who’ll throw away his life’s work for a handful of dollar bills!

  “Anybody got any spare shells for my Winchester?” Bodie asked. He was handed a fresh box of cartridges by one of the Kittyhawk riders. Bodie reloaded the rifle and returned the box to the man,

  “Let’s go,” Amos Skellhorn said softly,

  They spread out as they moved down the street, horses plodding steadily along the dusty strip. Rifle barrels glinted dully in the blazing heat. Dust rose in a thin, pale cloud, misting the hot air.

  The jail lay before them, seemingly deserted. In fact the whole of Elkhorn presented a silent image to the advancing Kittyhawk riders.

  But there was an unreal mood hanging over the town. A false sense of calm. Which was abruptly shattered by the sharp crack of a single gunshot.

  A Kittyhawk rider slumped forward in his saddle, blood pouring from a wound in his arm.

  White powder smoke drifted from the half open door of the jail.

  “Take ’em,” Amos Skellhorn ordered

  There was a brief, heavy silence - and then the street echoed to the thunderous racket of concentrated gunfire. The front of the jail became hazed with dust as bullets hammered splinters from the hewn stone. The heavy door splintered, wood slivers filling the air. The glass windows fronting the jail were shattered, even the wooden frames chewed apart by the unceasing barrage of lead.

  “Butler! Butler, get out here!” Amos Skellhorn yelled. “Step out or we’ll burn you out!”

  “Hell, Amos, we came to do, not to talk!” one of the Kittyhawk men said. “Let’s just get on with it!”

  “Yeah!” agreed another. “Time for talkin’ is over!”

  He turned to fire at the jail again. As he did a rifle blasted from the jail. The bullet hit the man directly between the eyes, caving in the front of his face. Flesh disappeared in a gush of thick blood. The man twisted from his saddle and thudded limply to the street. The back of his skull glistened with red where the bullet had split his skull.

  “Sam! Sam!” Amos Skellhorn roared.

  “Here!” A thick set man with a red face guided his horse close to Skellhorn’s.

  “Get that damn oil!” Skellhorn yelled above the gunfire. Toss it inside the jail! Well burn the bastards out!”

  The bunched Kittyhawk riders began to break apart as more guns opened up from inside the jail.

  Bodie, who had stayed on the flank of the attack, was the first to spot the riders sweeping in along the street. They were the men Butler had sent after him. The ones he’d avoided and left up in the timber. The shooting had drawn them back to Elkhorn.

  The Butler men opened fire. One Kittyhawk rider went down as his horse was hit. The rider scrambled to his feet, then made the mistake of going back to pick up the rifle he’d dropped. He had only just closed his fingers over the weapon when the bunch of Butler men reached him. There was a short-lived scream as the man vanished beneath the pounding hooves. When the riders had passed and the dust cleared the body could be seen lying in the dust. The horses had trampled him into the earth, pulping his flesh and splintering bones. Blood glistened wetly on the torn flesh, the white shards of splintered bone.

  Bodie had reined his horse to the far side of the street as the riders drove on by. He put his rifle to his shoulder and shot two of the riders off their horses. One landed face down, skidding along the street for yards before he came to rest, dead, against a horse trough. The other landed on his side, twisting frantically, right hand at his side, fingers clawing at the gun he wore on his hip. Bodie’s bullet had gouged a raw wound across his side and blood was pouring from the tear in the side of his shirt. Despite the wound the rider made a deliberate attempt to get his gun out. Bodie shot him through the chest, the Winchester’s bullet jerking him halfway to his feet and hurling him up on to the boardwalk where he lay, spouting blood over the worn planking.

  The street had become an arena of shooting, shouting, dying, screaming, desperate men. They all had one thing in common: none of them wanted to die - none of them wanted to be hurt - but a lot of them were getting hurt and a number of them were dying. But there was no way anyone could have stopped the slaughter. There was too much emotion and frustration being used as a driving force. Pent up rage was being expelled in one violent surge, and sense and reason had no place on that bloody street.

  The front of the jail suddenly blossomed with flames. A great sheet of orange, writhing and curling, swelled up and out. The heat could be felt halfway across the street. A great pall of black, greasy smoke hung over the jail. The door burst open and cringing figures ran out of the jail. Some had their clothing alight and they rolled in the dust of the street, trying to put out the flames. As one of them succeeded he staggered to his feet, only to be cut down by the combined power of three rifles fired in unison. Bright blood contrasted with the soot-blackened clothing the man was wearing.

  As the two sides began to drift apart, seeking cover, the street began to empty - save for the dead and dying. Bodie, abandoning his skittish horse, spotted a figure slipping away from the side of the jail. There was something very familiar about the man.

  Bodie took a longer look.

  It was Lee Haddon.

  Tossing aside his rifle Bodie went after him, loosening the heavy Colt in its holster. Haddon was already way down the street, keeping to the shadowed boardwalks. It didn’t take Bodie long to figure out Haddon’s destination.

  The livery stable.

  And he was right.

  He caught up with Haddon just as the man reached the stable doors.

  “Haddon!” Bodie called.

  Lee Haddon paused, turned slowly, his eyes glinting coldly as he faced Bodie. He stood relaxed, hands at his sides, but Bodie knew that deep inside Lee Haddon was primed and ready to move.

  “Bodie, you’re gettin’ to be a pain in the ass!” Haddon said. “I figured you’d be long gone by now.”

  “Never leave a job unfinished,” Bodie said.

  Haddon grinned. “An’ you left me ’til last!” His mood changed suddenly. “But you won’t find me as easy as Jody! And I ain’t no pissant, bounty hunter!”

  “I’ll just ask you one thing, Haddon,” Bodie said.

  “Yeah?”

  “You comin’ back to Pine Ridge with me? Sitting a saddle? Or are we doin’ it the hard way?”

  Lee Haddon shook his head. “I ain’t goin’ back to Pine Ridge, Bodie, sittin’, standin’, or lying!”

  Bodie’s question was answered. He didn’t see the point i
n pursuing the matter further. Talk wasn’t going to get him Lee Haddon. That left one way out.

  Lee Haddon saw the man hunter reach for his gun, and he grinned. It was obvious that Bodie wasn’t aware of Haddon’s skill with a handgun. His fast draw and the fact that he seldom missed what he was aiming at. That might have been true that day in Elkhorn, but Lee Haddon didn’t have the chance to find out. Bodie’s Colt hammered out its shots in rapid order. Haddon figured there had to be something wrong. He’d barely started to lift his weapon. Then Bodie’s bullets caught him in the chest, cleaving through flesh and muscle, breaking bones. One bullet emerged between his shoulders, bits of lung gouting out of the pulpy hole along with a lot of blood. Haddon felt himself turned around by the bullets. He smacked face first against the stable door, and tried to keep himself on his feet by hanging on to the door. Not that it was any good. His fingers refused to grip and his legs weakened. Haddon slid to the ground. He lay and watched Bodie approach. The man hunter was still carrying his gun. He stood over Haddon, the muzzle of the big gun aimed at Haddon’s head. A loud blast of sound filled Haddon’s skull. The world exploded into brilliant light that grew and grew, the brightness becoming so intense that it finally burst and a soothing darkness rolled over him. It enveloped him completely, blotting out sound and heat, and it was so comfortable that Haddon decided he wouldn’t even try resisting.

  Bodie flipped open the loading gate of his Colt and took out the empty casings. He thumbed in fresh loads, and turned away from Lee Haddon’s bloody corpse.

  The gunfire had slackened considerably. Riderless horses drifted along the street. Here and there wounded men moved aimlessly about, seemingly unaware of their surroundings.

  Bodie walked up the street, blinking his eyes against the drifting smoke still pouring from the jail. He spotted a figure coming towards him and lifted the Colt, but the figure limped forward, raising a hand. It was Amos Skellhorn. He had a bloody wound in his left thigh,