by Neil Hunter
‘Blimey, I thought you cowboys were fast on your feet.’
As Brand drew level with the door the sailor stepped aside but reached out an impatient hand to push him out onto the deck. The moment was ill chosen. A sudden swell rolled the ship and the sailor was forced to shift his stance as the deck canted. For a second the Colt’s barrel moved away from Brand and he took the chance, pushing from the door, driving his shoulder into the crewman’s chest. His right hand reached out, finger’s closing over the Colt’s hammer. Brand slammed the point of his left elbow into the sailor’s exposed stomach. The man grunted, winded, eyes staring wildly as he struggled against Brand’s weight. Aware he didn’t have the strength for a prolonged struggle Brand hauled himself around and kneed the sailor savagely in the groin. As the man sagged Brand slammed his left hand under the sailor’s chin and rammed his head back against the solid door frame. All resistance went and as the man sagged Brand snatched his Colt free, turning to step out on deck.
And found himself lost in a world of tall masts and flapping canvas, ropes and rigging. A world where the deck moved under his feet. The sudden cold splash of spray rising over the ship’s side snapped him back to some degree of normality. He felt the ship roll and threw out a hand to hang on to a rope, eyes searching the way ahead.
He heard a shout. Brand spun, saw a moving figure, and ducked as he spotted the raised revolver in the man’s hand. He heard the vicious crack of the weapon. The bullet chunked into the wood railing only feet away, raising splinters. A second shot smacked against the wind, this bullet tugging at Brand’s shirt sleeve. He lunged forward, crouching and snapped off a quick shot. He knew he had missed even as he fired but at least the closeness made the other man draw back. Brand saw him bobbing up and down, using deck clutter for cover. He waited, taking his time, and fired again when he felt satisfied. This time he made a hit and the target twisted as blood and fragments of cloth burst from his shoulder. The hit man stumbled, losing his revolver as he went down on his knees. Brand saw his own exposed position as close to being suicidal. Attack could – and would – come from any number of directions. He had no offensive advantages, or defensive ones. At most he had four shots left. After that...
In the seconds his enemies organized themselves Brand assessed his position, weighed his options – he changed that to a single option – and took it.
He jammed the Colt down behind his belt, turned and ran for the side of the ship. In the instant before he went over the side he looked down at the blue-green water, figuring he was way out of his depth in more ways than one, then he was falling.
As he cleared the rail a shot rang out, the bullet ripping a furrow across the top of his left shoulder. The pain made him yell and he barely managed to suck in air before he hit the water and sank below the surface. He fought against rising too quickly, aware he needed to gain some distance from the ship. He kicked out with his legs, driving himself through the water until his starving lungs demanded he offer them air. Bubbles streamed from his lips as he pushed towards the surface. The sun blinded him for a moment as his head cleared the water. Gasping wildly Brand made vain attempts to steady himself against the pull of the current. He looked out for the shore but found the ship first. The Gulf Queen, already yards away, still loomed large. Brand was still able to make out Ruger and Sung Shan at the stern rail. There were others too. Members of the crew. Armed. They had rifles and they started to fire. Brand heard the whip crack of the shots. Bullets zipped angrily through the water around him, but it was hard for the shooters to make accurate fire due to the roll of the ship.
Brand felt a sudden, powerful force grip him. He was lifted and hurled shoreward by the swell of the water. The power of the waves proved too much for him. Brand was overwhelmed, flung back and forth. In the end he went with the flow, realizing he couldn’t do a thing to prevent it. He concentrated on keeping his head above water, snatching in air whenever he could. He kept getting brief glimpses of the green shoreline as he was turned and twisted by the current, his battered body aching. He swallowed mouthfuls of water, choking and gasping as the waves slammed him down, then lifted him in a terrifying moment before dropping him yet again. The action was repeated over and over. He was lost in an alien environment, the pressure from tons of water forcing him down until he was dragged along the sandy seabed. Gravel and sand tore at his flesh and clothes. His senses dulled. He was barely aware of being flung into shallow water, rolled back and forth by the crashing waves until they reluctantly retreated and left him sprawled on the beach.
Brand lay motionless. He could still hear the rolling sound of the waves close by, the water still tugging at his legs. He was still not fully aware of his surroundings. It was only when his stomach rejected the salt water he had swallowed, making him retch violently, that he finally realized where he was. When his retching ceased he lay shivering despite the hot sun. It took him some time before he recovered enough to be able to drag himself to his knees and crawl up the dry, sandy beach until he reached the fringe of palm trees. He lay on the warm sand and passed out.
Chapter Eight
He opened his eyes to a night sky bright with stars. Brand could smell the heady scent of flowers. The warm air held the salty tang of the sea and he picked up the soft rush of waves close by. He recalled his desperate struggle in those same waves. A time he had almost given himself little chance of survival. But he had survived. And that was all that mattered.
Brand sat up, reaching for the Colt he had pushed behind his belt. It wasn’t there. And something else was out of place. He remembered dragging himself up off the beach and hiding in the deep undergrowth. Now he was sitting on blanket, in a small clearing.
What the hell was going on?
He pushed to his feet and felt the world spin around him. He was still weak. His body was stiff, aching, and he could feel the raw gash across his shoulder where the stray bullet had caught him.
A soft sound reached his ears. Brand turned, eyes searching he gloom. He made out a shadowed figure, standing motionless. Then a soft laugh. A gentle, almost musical sound.
‘So, you wake up at last, hombre.’ The voice was female, young. The accent unmistakably Mexican, softening the English. ‘I thought you would sleep all night.’
‘I still might.’
The figure moved closer. He saw a supple, gently curved body clad in a simple cotton dress. The girl’s brown skin gleamed softly in the moonlight as she came to stand in front of him, hands resting on her hips. She stared at him, her large brown eyes constantly on the move. Even in the poor light Brand could see she was beautiful.
‘You are American?’
‘So they tell me.’ Brand turned to look around. Yards away he saw a small hut. ‘Where am I?’
The girl smiled, showing her white teeth. ‘You do not know?’ She laughed gently. ‘Are you lost, hombre?’
‘Damn right.’
‘This place is called the Bay of Caves. Along the coast is Agua Verde.’
‘This is Yucatan? Mexico?’
‘Of course.’ The girl paused, frowning. ‘You are lost, hombre.’
He shrugged. ‘Hey, you got my gun?’
‘Si. It is inside the hut. You want it?’
‘I’d feel safer with it in my hand. Listen do you have any food? I can’t pay you anything right now but...’
‘I have food. I do not ask for money.’
He caught the defensive tone in her voice.
‘Sorry. I don’t mean to offend you.’
She nodded and Brand followed her to the hut.
‘Why did you jump from the ship?’ she asked as they entered the hut.
‘You saw?’
‘Si. Why were you on The Gulf Queen? It is a bad ship.’
‘You know of it?’
She lit a lamp, the glow exposing the neat interior of the hut.
‘A bad ship,’ she repeated. ‘It belongs to Mr. Han. He also is very bad.’
‘You’ve heard of Han?’
‘I know of him. And the people who work for him. Bad hombres.’ As she spoke she was feeding wood into a small stove that stood in a corner of the hut. She placed a blackened pot over the flames. Moving to a shelf she picked up plates and spoons and placed them on a small table under the hut’s open window. ‘You have trouble with those men?’
‘I will if they catch me.’
She indicated for him to sit, then brought him cheese and a chunk of coarse bread. When the pot on the stove began to steam she brought cups and poured out rich, dark coffee. It was a basic meal, but Brand ate with a good appetite. The coffee was especially good. It had a pleasant flavor he wasn’t used to.
He watched the girl as she moved around the hut. She looked extremely capable. Independent and proud of her ability to survive on her own. When she came to pour him more coffee she smiled in a free and easy way.
‘What do I call you?’ he asked.
‘My name is Angelina,’ she said. A warm laugh passed her lips and she ran a hand through the thick mane of black hair. ‘No one calls me that now. Not since I was small. Everyone calls me Angel.’
Brand drained his coffee. ‘Well, that’s what you’ve been to me.’
‘You have a name too?’
‘Jason Brand.’
‘Welcome to Mexico, Jason Brand.’
After she had cleared the table Angel brought him his Colt. She sat across from him and watched as Brand stripped the gun down, wiping it carefully with a dry rag she had provided. He was able to clean the gun – but he had concerns over the bullets. If seawater had got in at the powder...
‘You mind if I rest up a while?’
Angel shook her head. ‘As long as you need.’
‘I need to get into town soon as possible.’
‘To do with Han?’
Brand nodded. ‘Angel, I don’t want you to get involved. Once that ship makes port Shan will have his boys out looking for me. They turn up here it could mean trouble for you.’
‘Since I was old enough to know what the word means trouble has never been far away. Hombre, do not worry about Angel.’
‘I’m not letting...’
‘Brand, I ask you a question. Do you know how to get into Agua Verde without being seen?’ She flicked a long finger at him. ‘Angel does.’
‘You always argue about everything?’
‘Si.’
Brand felt his eyes closing. He was having difficulty staying awake. Tiredness washed over him and like it or not he knew he needed some sleep. He had taken a beating from jumping ship and battling the current. He felt the heavy Colt sag in his grip, the barrel hitting the table.
‘Come, hombre, it is time to rest.’
He heard Angel’s voice from a long way off. Then he felt her strong hands helping him to stand, moving him away from the table and across the hut. He didn’t resist. He hadn’t the will left in him. If Sung Shan and his people came now … it didn’t matter at all…
Angel woke him as the first flood of sunlight brightened the hut’s interior. She had managed to get him to the low bed that was pushed against one wall, covering him with a couple of blankets and he had slept through the night without waking once. Now she waved a mug of coffee under nose, the rich aroma working wonders on his senses. He sat up and drank the hot brew.
‘Tell me who you are, Brand,’ Angel asked suddenly.
‘Who do you think I am?’
She took a long look at him. Despite his ragged, unshaven appearance, she recognized something in him that confirmed her earlier thoughts when he had sat cleaning the Colt. She had watched the way he had concentrated on the weapon, its ability to work uppermost in his mind.
‘I think you are a pistolero.’
‘You know many pistoleros?’
‘Enough to recognize the breed.’
He drained the coffee and pushed to his feet, swaying a little until he got his balance. He moved around the hut a while, easing the stiffness from his body. Then he crossed to the table where his gun lay. He picked it up and thumbed in the bullets with little enthusiasm. His priority was a supply of fresh ammunition. A greater one was staying alive long enough to get his hands on that ammunition.
‘Angel, I’d feel happier if you just pointed me towards Agua Verde and left me to it.’
‘I am going there any way. For my work.’
He recognized the stubborn look in her eyes and realized there was no way he was going to get the better of this young woman. Resigned, he cleaned up and as soon as Angel was ready they left the hut. She led the way with the casual ease of someone who knew the area well. As they moved through trees and thick, lush undergrowth, with no visible path in sight. Brand followed her, ever cautious, his hand resting on the Colt tucked in his belt. After a good hour they broke out of the trees and found themselves presented with open, untouched terrain. Now a narrow, dusty trail wound its way between stretches of grass. Brand touched her arm as she made to walk on.
‘This trail lead anywhere?’
‘Only to a small village.’
‘Better if we went round,’ he said. ‘Villages mean people and people can mean trouble.’
‘Brand, you are a very suspicious hombre.’
He smiled at her. ‘It’s the reason I’ve stayed alive for so long. Don’t take anything on trust.’
‘You trust me?’
‘Man’d be a fool not to trust an angel.’
She laughed, her brown eyes sparkling. ‘I think you have a very smooth tongue, Jason Brand.’
They had moved no more a few yards the sound of pounding hooves reached their ears. Brand turned and saw four mounted men coming over a rise, sunlight glinting on gun metal as they spotted Brand and Angel. Dust rose in the wake of the thundering horses as they bore down on the exposed pair.
‘Angel, back under cover,’ he yelled, grabbing her wrist and hauling along behind him as they sought to return to the cover of the trees and undergrowth they had only recently cleared.
The clatter of hooves increased. Brand heard a man yell, the shout was followed by the flat, harsh sound of a handgun firing. The bullet kicked up dirt feet ahead of Brand. He increased his pace, hearing Angel gasp as she struggled to stay upright. More shots came, but the shooters were firing from the backs of galloping horses and their aim was way off. Then they were into the undergrowth, keen shrubbery whiplashing their bodies. Neither hesitated, ignoring the sting of the greenery. More shots sounded, the bullets clipping leaves and shredding bark from the trunks of trees.
Any hope the dense shrubbery might halt their pursuers was dashed when the lead rider drove his horse forward. He yelled and cursed the animal, digging in his heels to force it on. His arm ached from yanking on the reins and he struck at the horse’s flank with the barrel of his revolver. As he rode through the shadowed timber, his keen eyes searched for his quarry. He saw nothing. There was no sound or movement other than his own. Then he began to catch glimpses of his three companions as they rode deeper into the timber. They were all aware of the price of failure. They had been searching since first light, looking for the American who had escaped from Sung Shan. Master Han’s anger had been terrible to see and it had only been due to Sung Shan’s excellent record of service that had prevented Han from taking out his anger on his second in command. Master Han was widely known for his lack of patience with those who let him down. He had no compunction in using the most severe penalty if one of his people failed him. The four riders were all aware of what would happen to them if they did not return with the American.
The first rider reined in his horse and sat motionless in his saddle, listening closely, eyes moving back and forth. Here in this shadowed place there was too much to draw the eye with false promises. There were too many moving patches of dark and light where the sun lanced down through the greenery. The rider reached a decision and slid from the saddle, his revolver cocked and ready in his hand. He moved forward, peering into the greenery, pausing here and listening, hoping he might find what he was l
ooking for. Nothing. It was as if the American and the girl had vanished. The man straightened, irritation marking his face. He knew Brand could not be that far ahead. He had only been yards behind them and they would have to move quietly too, so they were still close.
A flash of movement caught his attention. It was off to his left side. The flicker vanished just as swiftly as it had shown and the man decided it must have been a trick of the light. Almost in the same breath he realized his mistake but by then it was far too late.
Jason Brand rose from the ground without a sound. He swung the heavy Colt in a short, brutal arc, catching the man just above the left ear. The man grunted once, falling to his knees and Brand hit him a second time, a solid blow that laid the man face down on the ground.
‘Angel, take hold of that damn horse,’ Brand snapped as he crouched beside the man. He loosened the belt and holster from the man’s waist. He quickly buckled it around his own waist. Then he picked up the gun the man had dropped. It was a .44 Smith & Wesson. He ejected the spent cartridges and replaced them from the loads in the belt loops. He jammed his own Colt in behind the belt.
‘Know him?’ Brand asked Angel as she led the horse up close.
She nodded. ‘One of Han’s Chinese.’
Brand hauled himself into the saddle, reaching down to drag Angel up behind him. She sat close, her arms around his body. At any other time it would have been something to enjoy. Right now Brand’s thoughts were far away from any kind of pleasure.
‘Hold on,’ he said and gigged the horse forward, pushing it on through the greenery. The animal wasn’t too happy with all the shrubbery lashing against it and Brand had to keep it on a short rein as it tried to protest. ‘Damn you, horse, quit playing foolish. This isn’t a Sunday walk we’re on.’
He wanted – needed – to gain distance between himself and Han’s men. There were three more of them in the vicinity and every one would be out to take his scalp – or whatever the Chinese equivalent was. Brand had no intention of finding out.