by Neil Hunter
A dark shape burst out of the greenery ahead. Another of Han’s riders. The man was trying to control his horse and take a shot at Brand at the same time. It caused a delay and it was that delay that Brand took advantage of. He hauled in his own mount, the horse squealing against the pressure of the bit in its mouth. Brand leaned across the horse’s arched neck, leveling his own revolver, not firing until he had his target. He squeezed the trigger and heard the Smith & Wesson thump out its shot. The heavy gun kicked back in his hand. The bullet took the Chinese in the chest, twisting him in his saddle. Brand had his range now and he fired a second time, this time driving the man off his horse and slamming him face down on the ground.
Yanking his skittish horse back under control Brand moved it forward, aware that the shots would alert the other two riders.
‘Which way, damnit?’ he snapped.
Angel jabbed a finger ahead of them, ‘That way, and don’t be angry with me. I haven’t shot at you.’ There was a pointed silence before she added, ‘Yet.’
Brand smiled at that. He kicked hard against the horse’s sides. The animal decided it had suffered enough and took off at a hard pace, weaving in and out of the trees and shrubbery. As their pace increased Brand thought they might yet outrun Han’s men. Then fate decided otherwise and the horse rose beneath him as it tried to clear a half-concealed, rotting tree that had fallen long ago. One of its forelegs caught against the decayed trunk and it fell, shrilling loudly. As it began to go down Brand twisted and made a grab for Angel, dragging her from the horse. As they hit the mossy ground they rolled away from the horse as it crashed down only feet away. Thrashing hooves missed them by inches. The horse, snorting in terror, rolled and regained its feet. Before Brand, winded by the fall, could gain his own feet the horse had galloped off into the distance and out of reach.
Brand hauled Angel up beside him.
‘You still sure you did the right thing sticking with me?’
Before she could make any reply a gun exploded close by. The bullet hit a tree, filling the air with white splinters of sap-moist wood. A second bullet clipped the skirt of Angel’s dress. Brand took her hand and they moved quickly, heading for the densest part of the timber. Brand could hear shouting behind them, the noise of clumsy pursuit. Han’s men were down to two and they would be getting ever more anxious to complete the job they had been sent to do.
They broke into a clearing. Brand spotted the gleam of water at the bottom of a hollow. He caught Angel’s shoulders and spun her round to face him.
‘This time no questions,’ he said, pulling her to the rim of the hollow. ‘Just get down there and stay under cover. Don’t move. Don’t talk. I need to be on my own for this. Go.’
She did as she was told, sliding down the side of the hollow and concealed herself in the thick mess of foliage at the bottom, trying and failing to stay out of the water.
Brand turned away from the hollow, stepping back into the thick greenery, reloading the .44 as he went. He had a killing job to do and the only way was to do it fast, giving his opponents no chance to hit back. It was the kind of work Brand was suited to. A part of him he wasn’t overly proud of, but when he was put in harm’s way he had no hesitation in allowing that side of his character to take over.
He located the two Han men. They were on foot, leading their horse as they searched the shrubbery. They were both armed, moving quietly as they advanced. They both snapped around when Brand stepped into the open, his revolver already moving to his first target. He shot the taller of the pair first, putting a single bullet through his head. The Chinese had time for a shocked grunt before he hit the ground. His partner was slightly more agile and as Brand shifted his aim, this one threw himself flat. The revolver in his hand made a flat sound, powder smoke lashing from the muzzle. The bullet cleaved empty air. Brand had changed position the moment he fired his first shot. As the hammer fell on the Chinese shooter’s gun Brand was already crouching, his own weapon lining up. He fired twice, placing the .44 slugs into the Chinese as the man started to rise. The heavy impact kicked the Chinese over and he died staring up at the sky.
Brand took time to gather the reins of the horses the Chinese had left some way back. He led them back to where he had left Angel and told her she could come out from cover. There was a long silence before she finally appeared, shaking water from her skirt. She stood in front of him, refusing to meet his gaze.
‘Hell of a way to start the day,’ he said lamely, then added, ‘Angel, I’m sorry I got you mixed up in all this.’
‘Never have I had guns fired at me before. It frightened me.’
‘How do you think I feel?’
Now she looked at him. ‘You were frightened too?’
‘Believe it, Angel. The day I go through something like this without getting scared is the day I retire.’
‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’
Brand had to smile at that. ‘Hell, I don’t know.’ He handed her the reins of one of the horses. ‘Let’s just get out of here.’
They mounted up and Angel rode ahead, Brand trailing her. He tried to relax but found it hard. The realization that Han seemed determined to bury him in Mexico didn’t settle well. The man had his people looking for Brand and with a great deal of animosity in their actions. Going to Agua Verde did not appear to hold out much in the way of comfort for Brand with Han’s men on the prod. Whatever the Chinese planned to do with the gold shipment, it was big enough for him to want Brand out of the picture.
And now that the Chinese had shown his hand Brand was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding the stolen gold. Perhaps when he arrived in Agua Verde he might be able to find answers to the questions crowding his mind.
Chapter Nine
They reached Agua Verde mid-morning. The port town, built around the harbor and running back into low hills, was a noisy place. Angel brought them in through the outskirts, keeping to isolated side streets until she halted at the side of a warehouse off the harbor. She slid off the horse and handed the reins to Brand.
‘I will walk from here to the cantina where I work. It would look strange if I arrived on a horse If you come looking for me it is easy to find on the harbor front. You remember my directions?’
Brand nodded. He dismounted and went to where she stood. He took her arm and pulled her close, kissing her quickly, feeling the easy press of her body against his.
‘You be careful,’ he said.
‘Angel is always careful. Hombre, I will be all right. You watch out for Han and his men.’
He nodded. ‘Thanks for your help, Angel. If things go right I may come looking for you.’
‘I would like that, Jason Brand,’ she said.
He watched her go. He did hope he might get a chance to see her again, but knowing the way his life ran that might not happen, and right now he had enough to keep him busy.
He led the pair of horses down a side alley and tethered them to a fence post. If someone didn’t steal them he might have a ride when he got back. He had decided against riding into Agua Verde on horses he had taken from Han’s men because they might be recognized. He was going to have to go in on foot, playing it by ear until he got a line on Han and his base. He figured it wouldn’t be too hard. There couldn’t be that many Chinese in the Mexican town of Agua Verde.
As it turned out it took Brand very little time to make contact with Han’s men. And oddly it was not with his Chinese. It happened very quickly, not the way he had expected, nor wanted, but he had no say in the matter. He was making his way through the maze of back streets, heading in the general direction of the harbor when he gained company.
He didn’t see the man until it was too late. A tall figure moved up alongside him and Brand felt something hard jab into his left side. He glanced around and looked into the hard face a lean man clad in a tan colored suit. Pale, cold eyes regarded Brand with unconcealed hostility.
‘Turn into this alley, Brand,’ Hardf
ace said. He added force to his order by increasing the pressure of the gun barrel in Brand’s side. ‘Walk naturally, mate.’
The British accent confirmed Brand’s familiarity with the man’s face. He had been on board The Gulf Queen. It looked like Han had his people already covering the streets of Agua Verde.
As they entered the alley another man stepped into view. He was sandy haired, his bony face pale and pockmarked.
‘Seems you have been something of a bastard,’ Hardface said. He glanced at his partner and smiled. ‘Mr. Han takes it personal like when you go round shooting his boys. He’s a very aggressive Chinaman. Hates interference in his business. So that means you are in big trouble.’ Hardface moved round so he was facing Brand. ‘Sammy, take matey’s guns before he gets any ideas. These bloody Yanks are all trigger happy.’
Sammy leaned across and slid Brand’s Colt from his belt, fingers groping for the butt of the holstered Smith & Wesson. For a fraction of a second his shoulder moved between Brand and Hardface. Brand lunged forward, catching Sammy in the chest. Pushing hard he drove Sammy bodily into Hardface and in the confusion of them trying to separate Brand snatched the Smith & Wesson from its holster. He lashed out, the heavy barrel clouting Sammy under the jaw, putting everything he had into the brutal blow. Bone crunched. Sammy gave a scream of agony. Brand pushed by him, ignoring the threat of Hardface’s own revolver. He thrust forward and up, hearing Hardface’s weapon explode with sound. Then he was on the man, ramming his knee into Hardface’s groin, ripping a howl of pain from the man. Coming to his full height Brand swung a bunched left and punched the man across the chin, spinning him round. Hardface hit the wall, bounced off and walked directly into the glittering arc of metal as Brand struck out with the Smith & Wesson again. He caught Hardface across the side of the skull, pitching the man face down on the street. A flurry of movement in the corner of his eye brought him face to face with the injured Sammy. His left hand was clamped around his shattered, bleeding jaw, his right fumbling under his jacket for his own holstered revolver. For a moment they eyed each other, then Sammy, despite being caught unready, continued to drag his weapon free, tearing the lining of his jacket in the process. As the weapon began its move to line up on him Brand leveled the .44 and put two bullets into Sammy’s body. At close range the slugs blew out close to Sammy’s backbone. He gave a choked cry as he was tumbled to the ground in a bloody heap...and even as Sammy was falling Brand heard gunfire. One bullet missed, the second burned across his right side. The shots had come from Hardface, on his knees by the wall, one hand pressed against the adobe to support himself, his bloody face twisted in a scowl of anger as he tried for a third shot. He failed to make it. Brand fired first, his shots precise and unhurried. He placed his .44 slugs in Hardface’s chest, directly over the heart, kicking the tall man backwards. Hardface hit the ground, body arching like a drawn bow in response to the impact of the bullets. He held himself in that position for long seconds before he dropped to the ground and finally lay still.
Brand leaned against the wall. He felt weary and more than a little sick. The bullet graze burned his side. He was trembling, reaction to the sudden violent outburst and despite the hot sun he felt cold. He was also becoming angry. A slow mood of resentment towards the faceless man who seemed almost fanatical in his determination to Brand killed. He had only been on Mexican soil for a short time yet he had been forced to spend most of it running for his life and killing to hang on to it. He had a feeling too, that it wasn’t about to end yet.
He became aware of a babble of voices. When he looked round the end of the ally was blocked by a gaping and noisy crowd of onlookers. At least there was one thing that was the same everywhere he went. The ability of violence and death to gather a crowd. They came to look, to stare, to absorb the sight and the smell of death.
Over the buzz of the crowd Brand heard louder, harsher voices. Snapping out orders. He picked out the odd word and phrase in Spanish. He also caught a sight of uniformed figures pushing through the throng.
Gray uniforms.
The Rurales.
The Mexican law force. Not always Brand’s favorite people. He’d had run ins with them before and not always cordial meetings.
Brand let the Smith & Wesson slip from his fingers. Then he did the same with his Colt. He kicked both weapons away and stood passive, offering no resistance when the three armed, gray uniformed Mexicans broke through the crowd to confront him.
They surveyed the scene, discussing the implications between themselves. Brand remained where he was. No point in attracting more trouble.
Rifles were pointed at him. The man in charge, a burly Sergeant, waved a pistol at Brand.
‘You will come with us,’ he said. His English was clear, but heavily accented. ‘This matter is to be resolved. Until then you will be locked up. You understand?’
‘Yes.’
There was little else he could do at this point in time.
He was escorted through the crowd and along the streets of Agua Verde, and half an hour later he was locked in a cell at the Rurales headquarters.
His time in the cell became swiftly uncomfortable. The sergeant who had escorted him there seemed to have an aversion to gringo prisoners. Brand found himself wondering who had upset the man and what they had done to create such animosity.
When the door was opened to the cell the Sergeant, a large, scowling figure wearing a drooping Zapata moustache started to grin. He handed the ring of keys to one of the other men then turned, without warning and caught Brand off-guard. Heavy hands grabbed Brand’s clothing and he was hurled bodily into the cell, unable to stop himself from slamming into the stone wall on the other side. The Sergeant followed him in, to cries of encouragement from his men and started to pummel Brand in the body. He was muttering ceaselessly.
Brand was about to fight back when caution stayed his hand. He realized this was exactly what the Sergeant wanted him to do. One blow from Brand, witnessed by the other Rurales, would back up the Sergeant’s claim that he had been attacked and was merely defending himself. So despite his desire to return the favor Brand covered his body as well as he could and took his punishment. It lasted until the Mexican had exhausted his rage and stood back, breathing heavily, still muttering and angry because the gringo had refused to take the bait. He walked out of the cell, slamming the door and locking it.
Brand slumped down on the edge of the crude, filthy cot, his arms wrapped around his bruised and aching body. He gingerly sucked air into his lungs, feeling the strain the action placed on his sore ribs. Movement caught his eye and he looked across at the cell door. There was a viewing slit set in the door and he could see a pair of eyes studying him. He knew it was the Sergeant, sizing up his victim, most probably for the next session. Brand stared the man out. The slit was closed with a bang.
Brand leaned back against the grubby wall, feeling the chill of the cold stone through his shirt. There was a barred window high over his head and he could hear the sounds of the street beyond. Normal sounds. Voices raised in conversation. The sudden sweet sound of a young woman’s laughter. He smiled, wondering what, or who, had given her such pleasure.
So, he thought, this is your world turning about and kicking you in the teeth.
He knew that sooner or later he would get out of this situation. He always did. The hard times were expected in his line of work, and he would have been a damn fool not to expect them to occur. The only thing was that just lately he seemed to be getting his own and everyone else’s share. He wondered how long his body could go on accepting this harsh treatment. When would it just curl up and quit on him? Jason Brand didn’t consider himself an indestructible individual. He had proved that the many times he had bled over the years. Bullets and knives had all taken their toll, and he saw a future where one day, someday, that special bullet would wing its way towards him – and for once his luck would desert him and it would all be over.
Any man, whether he admitted it or not, liked to
feel he was immortal. That he would go on forever, untouched by age, or frailty, or simple illness. Those things only happened to other people. Not to himself. Somehow he would keep on going, shrugging off the specter of death. It was a dream, nothing more than a fantasy conjured up in the mind of the young when they really did believe life was never ending. That time when old age and death was so far away it didn’t register.
Jason Brand had known sudden death and the pain of loss at an early age. That had been when his family had been wiped out by a roving band of Kwahadi Comanche on a murder raid out from Texas, who had crossed into New Mexico and had come across the ranch where the Brand family lived. In the ensuing melee Jason Brand’s father and mother had been slaughtered. His sister had been taken captive by the leader of the band, and later during her captivity had been murdered by the same warrior, Three Finger.
Brand had been the only survivor.
He had stayed alive because of a burning need for vengeance against the Comanche and the three white ranch hands who had run out and left his family to fend for themselves.
Two days before the massacre that made the boy shed his youth and become a man full grown, Jason Brand had celebrated his 18th birthday.
Those fiery days and the weeks that followed had formed his character, and his eventual survival had burned within him until it turned him like treated steel. He learned early in life about the whispers of betrayal, the need for self-dependency and caution in everything. He had learned hard and fast, taking heed of the lessons, and using them to guide his adult life. He understood pain and he accepted it. He took his pleasures when they offered themselves, the same as food and water, always aware he might be denied any or all of them at any time.