by Paul Green
‘I’m sorry you’re going to die, son, but you intended to kill me. Now, the rest of your outfit, where are they?’ Miguel shook his head weakly. Blood was coughed up from his lungs as he tried to say something, then he stiffened and lay still.
‘Damn, there could be more of them,’ muttered Harrison as he straightened up. He was aware of someone behind him just as the sound of a rifle being fired at close range echoed around the canyon. He froze, expecting the burning pain of a fatal wound before a fall into oblivion, but then he realized that he had not been hit. Turning slowly, Harrison found himself staring at the body of another dead bandit who had just been shot in the back. He looked up and into the eyes of the owner of the still smoking gun. Though dressed in a buffalo jacket and pants, with her hair tied under a wide-brimmed hat, he would have recognized her anywhere. It was Maggie Sloane.
CHAPTER TWO
Harrison tipped his hat. ‘I’ve no idea why you’re here but I’m obliged, ma’am.’
The widow shrugged. ‘I’ve been tracking you since you left Brandon. My father was an army scout so I guess it must be in the blood.’ Then she turned her rifle towards Barton.
‘Clay Barton, if you don’t lead me to Joel’s money I swear I’ll blast you to hell!’
‘It ain’t Joel’s money. Sure, he thought the plan up but he weren’t riskin’ his neck to steal it!’ Barton’s tone was defiant but the sweat above his trembling lip betrayed his fear.
‘So that’s why your husband was shot, the usual dishonour among thieves,’ said Harrison drily.
Maggie turned back to him, her eyes blazing. ‘Joel was just an army stores clerk who did what the officers told him. They made sure he was the one to take the blame when it turned out money was being skimmed off the contracts. When he realized that he was going to be kicked out and lose his pension, that’s when he used what he knew to get us set up for life.’ She jerked her head in Barton’s direction. ‘It all went wrong, of course, and now he’s the only one who knows where there’s any money.’
‘Barton’s wanted for murder, Mrs Sloane and he killed your husband. All the money in the world won’t change that.’
‘Maybe not but it’ll put food on the table and give my two young boys a better chance in life. That’s how Clay Barton can make amends for what he’s done.’ Sensing Harrison’s hesitation, she moved closer to place a hand on his arm.
‘Please, I’m begging you, Mr Harrison. Didn’t we all see enough killing in the war? I’d rather have Barton help me and my children than see him hanged. That money’s no good just stuck in the ground.’
‘She’s right, Harrison. We’ll split it three ways, everybody wins.’ Seeing the mistrust in his captor’s eyes Barton added, ‘I’d be a fool to run or double-cross either of you. You draw faster than I can spit and Maggie can track a man better than an Apache.’
Harrison nodded reluctantly. ‘All right. I must be crazy but I’ll go along with it.’
Maggie Sloane dropped her rifle, flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly to her bosom. ‘Oh you really are a true gentleman after all, Mister Gentleman Jack Harrison!’
‘Now we’re more familiar, just call me John,’ he replied, smiling.
‘If that’s settled, will someone untie me?’ asked Barton.
Harrison obliged and gave him a revolver that had belonged to one of the dead Mexicans. They also took dried beef, biscuits and water supplies from the men’s saddle-bags before they turned and headed for the border. They emerged from the cool shade of the canyon into an arid landscape, but one dotted with mesquite, creosote and yucca plants. Yellow flowering acacia trees added a dash of colour to this basin region of West Texas on the edge of the Chihuahua Desert. The Sierra Madre Mountains and the Pecos River lay still further west under a shimmering blue sky. It was a long way from home and very different from his native Virginia, but Harrison had grown to love the landscape for its grandeur. Since the war he had wandered ever further to the south west, hunting outlaws throughout the region.
Yes, it was the war that had changed him, as it had changed so many. He discovered that he was handier with a gun than most men and hesitated less when his own life was threatened. He also lost his enthusiasm for good causes after witnessing the savagery they unleashed, and his taste for making distinctions of class and colour. He could never forget the well-bred gentlemen of Richmond who set fire to the city’s storehouses so that the hated Yankees would not get their hands on fresh supplies. In doing so they burned half the residential district and his home and family along with it. A senseless, stupid act committed when the war was already lost. Yet it was the despised Yankees who put the flames out, of course. If only they could have saved his lovely, laughing Elizabeth and daughter Annie, only two years old when the fighting started. How they both wept the day he went off to fight in his new lieutenant’s uniform and how he wept on the day of his desertion when he knelt among the charred ruins. Well, it was too late to wish he’d stayed with them and his father’s law practice. Once he might have become a judge, now he was content just to catch criminals.
It was Maggie who interrupted his thoughts. ‘How did a fancy fella like you finish up as a bounty hunter?’
‘A man tried to rob me when I was riding out of Virginia after the war. I shot him in self defence and took his body into the nearest town. It turned out that there was a price on his head which I collected.’
‘And you just carried on doing the same thing?’
‘I didn’t know what else to do, I guess.’ He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant.
‘I guess you just couldn’t go back to your old ways, huh?’
‘No old ways left to go back to in my case.’ Harrison swallowed hard.
‘Don’t you have any family back in Virginia?’
‘My father died in ’64 and my mother followed a month later. My brother had been killed at the start of the war and they never got over it. …’ He faltered for a moment before he went on. ‘My wife and daughter died in the war too.’
Maggie reached across and squeezed his arm. ‘I’m so sorry, John. And to think, all I’ve done since we met is go on about my troubles!’
Harrison smiled reassuringly. ‘Oh, that’s just natural. You’ve lost your husband and you’ve your children to think about. It’s not easy to take care of the living while you’re mourning the dead.’
‘Still, I’m luckier than some and right now I know my ma will be taking good care of those boys, so. …’ Maggie’s voice trailed away as she pointed silently ahead. Barton had stopped and Harrison turned to look as they both drew in behind him.
The burnt-out remains of a stagecoach lay directly in their path, a blackened arm hanging out of the window. All around were scattered the charred remains of the other passengers and the possessions the attackers had decided not to take with them. Suitcases lay broken open, their contents spilling out. Harrison dismounted and knelt among the debris. His hand searched among broken spectacles, torn clothes and a bent umbrella until he found the item he was looking for. It was a girl’s doll, clad in a white silk dress. The hair was blond, the eyes cornflower blue. He was sure it was the same one he’d bought Annie the day before he rode off to fight.
Holding the doll, he smelled the burned flesh and once again he was there, at Richmond. His vision blurred by tears, he called out, ‘Annie! Oh Annie, forgive me!’ and collapsed sobbing to the ground.
‘For God’s sake, Harrison, we gotta get outa here! What if them Injuns come back?’ Barton was pulling roughly at his arm and, in a split second, grief turned to rage. Harrison lashed out with his fist and the other man staggered back. Then there was a gun in his hand and the click was loud in the silence as he thumbed back the hammer. Barton did not go for his own gun, knowing he would be dead before he reached his holster.
‘OK, easy Harrison, easy. Nobody wants to fight but we have to get goin’ if there’s Comanches on the warpath.’
Maggie was beside him now, a comforting arm aro
und his shoulders. ‘Please John, he’s right. We can’t stay here. There’s nothing we can do for these poor folks.’
‘Except bury what’s left of them.’ Harrison lowered his gun, breathing deeply.
Barton got back on his horse, eyes scanning the horizon. ‘Ain’t no time for that,’ he muttered impatiently.
‘I’m not a religious man, not any more. But everyone deserves a decent burial, even a weasel like you, Barton.’
‘Well, I don’t plan on gettin’ buried any time soon. If you do then just stick around here long enough.’
Harrison shook his head. ‘Those Comanches will be long gone, assuming it was them. It could have been outlaws or bandits, hard to tell. There’s good and bad in all kinds of men. I learned that much during the war. That’s what makes sense to me, Clay. We don’t know where the people who did this went but there’s no reason to think they’ll be coming back.’
‘Well, all right, but I ain’t doin’ no diggin,’ said Barton defiantly.
Harrison did most of the work with some help from Maggie, while Barton sat sullenly on his mount. When it was over he said a brief prayer to the god he hoped was there somewhere, out of a sense of propriety at least. Then they were on their way again, but the journey continued in silence for some time. They passed over a creek where they watered the horses and refreshed themselves before moving up to higher ground as they crossed a low lying range. As evening fell Barton pointed to a cave up ahead. ‘We could make camp there, then head for Jacob’s Well tomorrow,’ he suggested.
‘Isn’t that a mission of some sort? Strange place for you to be stopping,’ remarked Harrison.
‘Yeah, but there’s a good tradin’ post there, where we can get supplies and rest up. The money’s buried two days’ ride further on from it.’
Harrison was distracted by a sudden flashing light against the sunset. He turned and saw that Maggie was preening herself in front of a small hand held mirror, the light reflecting against the rocks on a steep canyon to the east of them. ‘Hey, stop that foolishness!’ he cried as he seized her wrist. ‘After what we’ve seen today the last thing we should do is risk drawing attention to ourselves. We don’t know who might be over there. Do you want us to be spotted?’
She snapped the compact mirror shut immediately. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s hard for a woman to stop trying to look her best.’
‘Well, them Comanches might appreciate it. Fancy bein’ a squaw?’ jeered Barton.
‘Better than the saloon-bar whores you’re used to I expect,’ she replied tartly.
‘Gimme a saloon-bar whore any day. They don’t talk back to a fella, I’ll say that for ’em,’ chuckled Barton.
Nothing further was said then as they headed wearily for the cave. Harrison gathered some sagebrush for a fire and they settled down to a meal of dried beef, beans, biscuits and coffee before laying out their bedrolls to sleep. Harrison was exhausted and for once his sleep was undisturbed by nightmares from the past.
The sun was barely up before he felt someone shaking him awake. His eyes blinked open and saw Maggie’s face looming above his own, her features a mask of anxiety. ‘For God’s sake, John, wake up!’ she hissed urgently.
‘What is it?’ Harrison sat up, rubbing his face.
‘That goddamn snake Barton’s gone. He took the horses, all our food and water. What are we going to do?’
Harrison was on his feet in a moment. He ran to the mouth of the cave and peered out but saw nothing in the distance. He shook his head. ‘Barton’s long gone, I’m afraid. Must have left hours ago.’
‘He knows we can’t catch up with him on foot and how long can we last out here with no supplies?’ Maggie shook her head from side to side, despair etched on her face.
‘Wait a minute. Didn’t he say there’s a mission and trading post not far from here, Jacob’s Well?’She snorted. ‘Not far if you’ve a horse and you’re not dying of thirst!’
Harrison shrugged. ‘Look, it’s our only chance. Besides, there are wild plants we can eat and get some moisture from. If we’re lucky we might just make it, especially if we pass a creek on the way where we can get a drink.’
Maggie stood up. ‘It’s not too hot out there yet. I guess the further we get before noon the better.’ Harrison nodded. ‘All right, we’re wasting time here. Let’s go.’
His gunbelt was still beside him and he buckled it on. Barton had been smart enough not to risk disturbing him by taking that as well, and at least it meant they could defend themselves if they had to. He strode ahead with more confidence than he felt as Maggie followed him out of the cave. The hills on either side provided some shelter from the sun and they made good progress for a couple of hours as they descended to the basin below. Once out in the open plain, however, they began to feel the heat. By midday Harrison was wondering how much longer he could go on. His mouth felt like sawdust, his string tie, coat and waistcoat had been cast aside and his shirt clung to his back. Maggie stumbled along beside him, her breath coming in short gasps. The vegetation in this particular area was quite sparse and they had passed nothing that could be of any use to them.
‘It’s no good, I’ve got to rest,’ whispered Maggie. She slumped on to a large rock.
‘All right, just for a minute, but then we’ve got to keep moving.’
‘Oh, what’s the use? We’ll die out here anyway.’
Harrison was too weary himself to reply and he sat down beside her. At that moment he heard a trundling sound in the distance. Shading his eyes with his hand he looked around and saw a speck which gradually emerged as a wagon coming towards them from the east. Shouting hoarsely, he jumped up and waved his arms. Maggie looked up then, and drew out her compact mirror, which she held up until it flashed against the sun.
‘Do you think he’s seen us?’ she asked excitedly.
‘Well, he’s still coming this way so he will soon enough, anyhow.’
The wagon which approached them was brightly painted with an advertisement for Dr Gabriel’s Elixir of Life Which Cures Every Ill Known to Man. It was hung with tassels, tiny bells and velvet curtains. The driver had a waxed moustache and a pointed black beard below a pair of steel rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his nose. His black top hat and matching coat were presumably intended to give the impression, undoubtedly false, that here was a man endowed with superior knowledge, not a quack peddling fake remedies.
‘Can you help us?’ asked Harrison. ‘Our horses and all our provisions were stolen but I’ve some money in my pocket and can pay you for your trouble.’
The driver spread his arms expansively. ‘Can I help you? Of course, sir and you too, dear madam. Allow me to introduce myself.’ Sweeping off his hat with a flourish he performed a low bow as he continued, ‘I am Doctor Leo Gabriel, purveyor of ancient wisdom lost since the time of the Egyptians, potions that can guarantee long life, but also furs, trade goods and good old-fashioned whiskey.’
‘We just want some food, water and a ride to Jacob’s Well.’ said Maggie wearily.
Gabriel smiled and threw them a canteen, from which they each drank greedily. ‘By all means climb aboard my chariot, dear friends. You’ll find cool shade and food in the back, but I must use my trade in the service of the noble savage before we reach your destination.’
‘You trade with the Comanches?’ Harrison’s eyes narrowed. ‘We saw the remains of a stagecoach yesterday and what was left of its passengers. Was that their handiwork?’
Gabriel shook his head sadly. ‘I fear it was, but don’t judge me.’ He held up a white gloved hand. ‘By trading with them I remain safe and can also tell what their mood is, whether for peace or war. The soldiers at Fort Concho have had reason to be glad of that information.’
‘Will it be safe for us too?’
‘Have no fear. To the Comanches you too will be persons protected by the Great Spirit.’
Harrison shrugged. They seemed to have no choice other than to trust this huckster. Even with food and wate
r, he was not sure that they could make it alive to Jacob’s Well on foot. They climbed into the back of the wagon and made themselves comfortable, chewing on some dried fruit and biscuits as they trundled on their way.
An hour passed before the smell of campfires drifted towards them on the breeze as they approached the temporary settlement the Comanches had established. They were a nomadic people, unlike the Apaches who lived in settled communities, and this was presumably a convenient spot from which to launch raids on small towns, wagon trains and isolated ranches. Harrison had some sympathy for their plight, as the buffalo herds they relied upon were decimated by white hunters, the lands they had been used to roam freely were turned into cattle ranches and they themselves were pushed on to small reservations. This band, in common with other Comanche groups, had obviously decided to fight back.
As he alighted from the wagon, Harrison saw that the camp was a hive of activity. There were warriors mending arrows, loading rifles and sharpening spears, while others led their horses out from the area where they were corralled. Many of them wore buckskin shirts and all had long, braided hair. Women scurried in and out of the hundred or so tepees scattered about, fetching provisions.
Maggie was walking by his side, with Gabriel just in front. The ‘doctor’ was gesturing animatedly and speaking in a mixture of the Comanche language and his own. The Comanche did not seem pleased by their presence, however. One of their number approached and, pointing at Harrison and Maggie, demanded of Gabriel, ‘Why you bring them here?’
‘They are friends, Swift Eagle; they help me bring you many fine things. Come, come and see.’ Gabriel gestured towards the wagon and a crowd gathered as he opened it up to reveal the bottles of whiskey, blankets, buffalo hides and other goods inside.
Swift Eagle nodded curtly. ‘Your people are our enemies but you we have not harmed. Soon great trouble shall come to the whites who steal from us. So now we take from you and send you back to your people with this warning.’ Then, as the crowd moved forward to empty the wagon of its goods, a dishevelled captive, stripped to the waist and covered in cuts, bruises and burns was pushed towards them. Harrison’s mouth set firmly in a grimace. The man was Clay Barton.