by Neil Hunter
And in that split-second of time, while all of Bodie’s concentration was centered on making a clean shot, the big man, Kimble’s companion from the wagon, stepped forward, his mouth working as he voiced some contribution to the conversation, his right hand, still holding the large kerchief, raised in a gesture of emphasis to some point he was making. He stepped directly in front of Linc Fargo, blocking the outlaw from Bodie’s view.
But it made no difference to Bodie’s actions. He had already gone too far with his shot. The Winchester cracked flatly, powder smoke belching from the muzzle. The rifle kicked back against Bodie’s shoulder.
The bullet caught the big man a half-inch above his right ear, penetrating the skull and expanding on impact so that it ripped a destructive path through the brain. It burst clear through the lower jaw on the left side of the face, narrowly missing Linc Fargo. A pulpy mass of blood and-brain tissue spurted out from the gaping wound, spattering Fargo’s shirt. The big man, twisted round by the force of the bullet, stumbled in his dying agony and sprawled at Fargo’s feet, blood pumping from the entry hole in his skull.
‘Shit!’ Bodie mouthed silently. He levered a fresh round into the Winchester’s breech, swinging the muzzle to pick up his target again. But he was too late. The shot had alerted the group and they were scattering across the plaza, seeking cover.
Bodie spotted Linc Fargo. The man was halfway across the plaza, making for a low building that advertised itself as a cantina. Bodie triggered a quick shot at Fargo’s weaving figure, knowing that he’d missed even as he pulled the trigger. He saw his bullet kick up dirt at Fargo’s heels.
Then the man was through the open door and inside the cantina.
One of the two outriders had yanked a rifle from his saddle sheath and he suddenly began pumping a steady stream of shots in Bodie’s direction. Bodie could hear the solid thump of bullets as they whumped their way across the ridge. The other outrider spurred his horse back across the plaza, clearing the edge of the village, then wheeled the racing animal up the slope towards the ridge.
Bodie pulled back from the ridge, rolling a few yards to his right, then swung his rifle over the rim again, picking up the lunging bulk of horse and rider. The rider, responding quicker than Bodie had anticipated, loosed off two fast shots from the long-barreled revolver he was holding. The first whacked into the dirt inches from Bodie’s face, showering him with dust. The second burned a raw furrow across the top of Bodie’s left shoulder. The bite of pain slowed Bodie for an instant. He tried bringing his rifle round, sensing the rider’s closeness, and heard the thunder of hooves. Dust and stones exploded in his face as the rider brought his horse over the rim, almost on top of Bodie. The man hunter twisted his body in a frantic effort to avoid being struck by the plunging hooves as the rider drove his horse forward. Bodie rolled aside, grunting as a Hailing hoof grazed his face. He let go of his useless rifle and snatched his Colt from its holster. Gathering his feet beneath him he half-rose, giving himself the chance to thrust his body away from the horse. He fell back, almost going over the edge of the rim. On his back, looking up through the writhing cloud of dust, Bodie saw the dark shape of the horse. He also saw the rider, turning almost in reverse in his saddle, his gun hand coming across his body, the big gun gleaming in his fist. Bodie extended his own arm, his finger jerking back on the Colt’s trigger.
Both guns exploded in the same moment. Bodie felt a numbing pain in his left side. But he kept his Colt on the rider and put two more bullets in the man. Hard hit, the rider rolled out of his saddle, hitting the ground on the back of his neck. He flopped about like a landed fish, blood bubbling from his slack mouth. He had two of Bodie’s bullets in his chest. The third had blasted a raw hole through the side of his neck, ripping the arteries, and blood was streaming from the hole at a terrifying rate.
The man was dead in a couple of minutes.
Long before that Bodie had gained his feet, snatching up his rifle, and moving to where he’d tethered his horse.
He slipped the reins free and flung himself in the saddle.
Yanking the horse round he sent it over the rim and down the slope, heading for the village. There was a wildness about him now, a killing rage that swept aside any thought of caution. There was only one thought in Bodie’s mind and it yelled for his attention.
Bodie didn’t need telling. He knew well enough that he had to move fast. Fargo and Keller would be more than ready for him now. Not that it bothered Bodie. He was still out to get them. Nothing would stop him. But he didn’t want them slipping away from him yet again. Not now. Not while he was so close. So damn close!
His horse hit the Hat and drummed across the few yards left before the village loomed before him.
A lean figure stepped into view from behind an adobe hut, rifle in hand. The second of the outriders. Bodie hauled in on the reins, swinging his own rifle, one-handed.
The other weapon fired first. Bodie’s horse gave a shrill scream. Blood sprayed from its mouth and Bodie felt a tremendous shudder run through the animal. He kicked his feet free from the stirrups as the horse went down. He landed on his feet, running, then his momentum took over and he went on his belly in the dirt, skidding helplessly.
Out of the corner of his eye Bodie saw the lean man moving away from the building, coming in a low crouch, his rile jammed against one hip. There was no time for fanciness. Bodie thrust the butt of his Winchester against the ground, swung the muzzle round and picked up the running man. He touched the trigger, hoping that his aim was steady. The running man stopped abruptly, as if he’d run into a brick wall.-His lean body stiffened and he threw back his head, his rifle spilling from slack fingers. A spreading patch of blood showed on his dusty blue shirt. He flopped to the ground, rolled over, and when he resumed his previous position he had a gun in his hand. Bodie fired first, having lurched to his feet even while the lean man had been going down. His bullet caught the man beneath the jaw, ripped its way through the skull interior, and blew open the back of his head. He fell back, his face bloody.
Taking cover behind a hut Bodie thumbed fresh loads in his Colt. His gaze swept the empty plaza. Beyond it nothing moved. There was no sound. The whole village might have been deserted. Bodie knew differently.
Curious, interested eyes would be in the shadows of every window. The entire village would be silent spectators, waiting and watching while the gringo madmen killed each other. Bodie smiled mirthlessly at the thought. Hell, maybe they were right! Maybe his kind was all crazy!
Something moved on the far side of the plaza. A dark suit, contrasting with the white sling supporting the right arm.
Kimble!
Bodie watched the man as he sidestepped from the cover of one building to the next. The gleam of a heavy revolver in Kimble’s left hand did not go unnoticed. Bodie lifted the Winchester and triggered a single shot. Kimble’s body was slammed against the adobe wall of the building. His injured cry reached across the plaza to where Bodie crouched, He saw Kimble stumble on, leaving a red smear along the crumbling adobe. Then, without warning, Kimble turned, his left arm rising, face twisted in pain.
The revolver slammed out its sound and Bodie jerked his head back as the bullet ripped a chunk of adobe from the edge of the wall. Hard splinters of adobe peppered his cheek. Ducking low Bodie ran forward, heading for a building closer to the plaza. He heard Kimble yell wildly.
The man’s gun fired again. The shot rattled across the plaza, the bullet bouncing off hard adobe and whining off skywards.
Bodie picked up the sound of Kimble’s slithering footsteps. He glanced round the edge of his cover. Kimble was in the centre of the plaza, on the far side of the stone walled well set there. He was hatless, his pale face twisted with pain, eyes wide. His coat was thrown open to expose the huge, glistening patch of blood staining his shirt down the left side.
‘Damn you, Bodie!’ Kimble yelled, his voice trembling with anger and pain. He stared around the silent plaza.
‘Show your
self, you miserable, back—shooting, gutless son of a bitch! Come on, Bodie, I want to see you!’ His voice rolled out across the sun bleached plaza, rising and drifting away over the roofs of the buildings. ‘Come out, Bodie!’ The voice rose in pitch now, reaching a shrill crescendo. ‘This time I ain’t takin’ no shit from you! You pushed me around for the last time, you bastard! Bodie ... I aim to kill you ... Bodie ... !’
Bodie shook his head sadly, trying to understand how a man like Kimble, who figured himself a smart operator, could turn out to be so damned stupid. But his pity for Kimble did nothing to deter his aim. Bodie simply raised the Winchester and put two quick bullets through Kimble’s exposed body.
Kimble was thrown away from the well. He went up on one foot, hanging for an instant, a shocked expression on his face. Then he plunged to the ground, blood fountaining from his body.
As the sound of the shots faded Bodie eased back to cover. He leaned his back against the warm adobe wall.
For the first time since the incident up on the rim overlooking the village he took a look at the wound in his side. His shirt was slick with blood front and back. Bodie eased it open. There was a deep gash over his ribs. Not bad enough to be fatal but certainly warranting attention as soon as possible. The raw wound was still bleeding. Bodie pulled his shirt back in place, tucking it tightly into his pants, pressing the sodden material against the wound.
If the bleeding stopped soon and started to congeal, the shirt might cling to the wound and form a temporary bandage. It was not the best form of medication but it would have to do until Bodie found the time to attend to the wound properly.
He picked up his rifle and moved along the rear of the adobe hut. Reaching the far corner he peered out across the plaza towards the cantina. Linc Fargo would either be inside the place, waiting, or else he had already slipped out and had maybe even left the village. Bodie studied the empty plaza. There was only one way he was going to find out. And it wasn’t by sitting on his ass thinking about it! Reminding himself that Jubal Keller was out there as well Bodie cleared the end of the adobe and cut across the plaza.
He was halfway across when a rifle opened up from one of the buildings on the far side. Dust geysered into the air as bullets peppered the hard ground. Bodie felt stone chips rattle against his boots. Out of the corner of his eye he picked up the telltale puffs of powder smoke and pinpointed the rifleman.
He turned abruptly, swinging up his own Winchester, and loosed off two fast shots. His first clipped the adobe to one side of the window from where the rifle had been firing. The second struck the inner edge of the frame, bouncing off to howl into the room beyond. The concealed rifle stopped firing long enough for Bodie to reach the wall of the cantina.
He headed for the closed door, hitting it with his shoulder. The thin door ripped off its rusted hinges and bounced across the hard packed dirt floor of the cantina, Bodie following. He dropped to a crouch, the muzzle of the Winchester raking the interior. There were three wide-eyed Mexicans huddled in one corner and a fat Mexican behind the bar. ‘
But no Linc Fargo!
Bodie crossed to the bar. He rammed the muzzle of the rifle against the bartender’s bulging stomach.
‘You understand me?’ he asked.
The fat Mexican nodded. A bead of sweat rolled down his nose. ‘Si! Yes — I speak your lan … !’
‘I’m only going to ask once,’ Bodie told him. He eared back the Winchester’s hammer for effect. ‘Where’s Fargo?’
‘He left by the rear door, senor! Only a minute before you came in, and that is the truth!’
Bodie rounded the end of the bar and went through to the rear of the cantina. At the end of a short passage a door swung partly open, bright sunlight streaming into the passage. Reaching the door Bodie kicked it fully open, flattening himself against the inner wall. From somewhere outside a gun blasted, the ·bullet ripping a long sliver of wood from the door. Ducking low Bodie ran into the open.
He caught a quick glimpse of a running man disappearing between two adobes.
It had to be Linc Fargo!
Bodie moved along the rear of the cantina, his mind racing. The direction Fargo had taken would bring him out onto the plaza. And that meant he would be out in the open. Bodie ran to the far end of the cantina then cut down the alley. He cleared the front wall of the cantina, turning to where Fargo should be. And he saw the outlaw.
‘Fargo! You want it in the back, you son of a bitch?’
Linc Fargo hesitated. He abruptly veered off to his right, throwing himself belly down in the dust, twisting his body round, his gun glinting in the bright sunlight.
Bodie had sensed Fargo’s move, and he threw his Winchester to his shoulder as Fargo dropped. His finger was on the trigger when he spotted movement off to his right, heard the slam of a shot. The bullet struck the barrel of his Winchester, ripping the weapon from his hands. Bodie let himself drift off to one side, going down on his left knee as he snatched his Colt from its holster, dogging back the hammer as he turned his body.
Coming across the open plaza was Jubal Keller, a smoking gun in his fist. His face was set, angry. His lips peeled back in a wild snarl. His thumb was already dragging back the hammer for a second shot.
Bodie snapped the barrel of the Colt in line with Keller’s weaving figure, his finger tripping the trigger. He felt the gun slap back against his palm as it fired. He saw the bullet punch a dark hole in the front of Keller’s dusty shirt. Keller yelled something and just kept coming. He fired in Bodie’s direction but his aim was way off and the bullet simply dug into the dirt. Altering the angle of the Colt Bodie fired again. Keller’s left leg was snatched from under him and he went face down in the dirt twisting over onto his back. Blood welled brightly from the pulped place where his kneecap had been seconds before. Despite the pain he must have been suffering Keller rolled over, his revolver spitting flame at Bodie. Bullets gouged the earth around him. Bodie’s third shot hit Keller directly between the eyes, tearing out a bloody hole in the back of his skull on its way out. Keller kicked once, his body bending like a drawn bow, then he flipped over on his back and lay staring up at the sun, blood dribbling from his wide open mouth.
The moment he had fired the killing shot Bodie turned back towards Linc Fargo. But Fargo had gone. Bodie was alone in the plaza.
He rose to his feet and crossed to where he’d last seen Fargo. He could pick out the marks in the dust made by Fargo’s prone body. From there he was able to make out the man’s footprints. Bodie followed the trail and it led him across the plaza and down a narrow alley. At the far end the trail led to the outskirts of the village.
And there Bodie saw a long, low building with a split-pole corral tacked onto one end. As Bodie approached he heard the insistent whinney of a restless horse. The sagging double doors were open and Bodie could make out a dark shape moving about inside the stable. A horse snorted, hooves stamping on hard earth. The muffled curse of an angry man followed.
Bodie, closed in on the stable. He eased up against the flaking wall, feeling the heat of the sun penetrate his shirt.
‘Fargo! Step out here! You ain’t goin’ to need the horse!’
It became very quiet. Bodie could almost feel Fargo’s anger. The man would be crouched in the stable, primed, waiting, tense. He would be figuring a way out. Hoping there was one, because Linc Fargo was no fool. He knew he had no chance of being taken back alive by Bodie. Not that there was much point. If he did manage to stand trial there would only be one end this time. Fargo would hang!
Of that there was no doubt. His only chance lay in making a clean break here, now.
The muted sound of horses' hooves drifted out through the open door. And then came a single gunshot..Frightened horses squealed in protest. A rush of noise filled the air. Moments later a half-dozen white eyed horses burst out of the stable, dust flying up from beneath their pounding hooves.
Bodie scanned the passing animals, searching for a figure crouched low over a strai
ning neck. He saw nothing, and realized he was looking in the wrong place seconds too late.
A heavy shape lunged out through the stable door, smashing against Bodie, driving him to the ground.
Bodie’s Colt bounced from his fingers as he hit the hard earth. It made little difference because by that time Bodie was fighting for his life.
Linc Fargo was astride him, his powerful hands clamped around Bodie’s throat. Fargo, his taut face gleaming with sweat, had thrown aside his own weapon, his frustrated rage driving him in an attempt to destroy Bodie with his bare hands.
Even in those first few seconds Bodie felt his air supply being cut off. He could feel Fargo’s fingers digging savagely into his flesh. There was a wildness in Fargo’s bulging eyes that bordered on madness.
Clenching his fists together Bodie drove them up from the ground, smashing them against Fargo’s exposed ribs on either side of his body. Fargo grunted, pain showing in his face, but he held his grip on Bodie’s throat. Bodie gathered himself and repeated the blow. Fargo coughed.
His left hand slacked off a little. While he still had the capability Bodie kept hammering at Fargo’s ribs. The moment he felt both of Fargo’s hands ease off, he reached up and grabbed Fargo’s wrists, jerking the hands away from his throat. As fresh air poured into his tortured lungs Bodie drove a telling punch up at Fargo’s exposed jaw.
The outlaw swayed to one side. Bodie twisted his body, tipping Fargo off him, rolling away from the outlaw.
They both came to their feet in the same moment, turning in towards each other, a primitive, killing urge driving them together.
Fargo swung a brutal fist that caught Bodie across the left cheek, splitting the flesh. The blow drove Bodie back against the wall of the stable, momentarily stunned, and he barely had time to prepare himself for Fargo’s follow-up punch. He became aware of it at the last moment and ducked in under Fargo’s fist, driving in a savage blow of his own. Fargo grunted as Bodie’s fist sank into his stomach, pain exploding in his lower body. He reacted in blind anger, swinging up a heavy knee that struck Bodie in the chest, bouncing him back off the wall. Bodie threw a desperate backhand blow, clouting Fargo across the back of the neck. The force of the blow pushed Fargo to his knees. Bodie swung round and drove a hard boot into Fargo’s side, spinning the outlaw across the dirty ground.