Bodie 4

by Neil Hunter

  Bodie glanced towards the door. The fat man was standing there, a pained look on his face. He was holding a scattergun in his massive fists, and though the weapon wasn’t directly aimed at Bodie there was no ignoring its presence.

  “Feller, you’re damn lucky both those bastards ain’t up there with them!”

  The fat man glanced at his two men, shaking his head in disgust. “Man just can’t hire the right kind of help these days!” he muttered, then drew his gaze back to Bodie. “All right, mister, let’s talk. Just what do you want?”

  “I got a deal needs setting up,” Bodie said. “Heard you’re the man with the contact I need.”

  The fat man frowned. “Contact with who?”

  “Coyote!” Bodie said.

  A hoarse grunt of laughter bubbled from the fat man’s throat. “You crazy? Who the hell told you a tale like that?”

  “Don’t run me round the mountain, feller. You’ve got a Mexican girl hangs around here. She’s pretty close to Coyote. Likely she could guide me to him.”

  “Just what is it you’re trading, mister?” the fat man asked.

  Bodie reached out to pat the canvas bundle tied on his horse. “Something a man like Coyote will pay good money for. Twelve .44 Winchesters and a thousand rounds of shot for them.” He grinned confidently at the fat man. “Whatever you’re thinking, feller, forget it. I didn’t trail those guns all this way to have ‘em stolen from me!”

  “Coyote wouldn’t like that either, Duran!”

  Bodie turned in the direction of the voice. He eyed the lithe, black-haired Mexican girl, watching her cross the dusty yard. She moved slowly, with effortless grace, outwardly conscious of the way her supple hips moved, the gentle rise and fall of her sturdy breasts beneath the thin, clinging blouse.

  “You,” she said to Bodie, “show me your guns!”

  Bodie untied the wrapped bundle and lowered it to the ground. He drew away the canvas, exposing the twelve carbines, still in their protective grease, and the two flat boxes of cartridges. Picking up one of the Winchesters he held it towards the girl. She took it, ignoring the grease, and examined it carefully.

  “How did you come by these weapons?” she asked. Her dark eyes studied Bodie closely.

  “Let’s say they kind of came into my hands by the back door,” he answered.

  “You mean they are stolen!” the girl said.

  Bodie shrugged. “Don’t tell me that makes a difference. Hell, honey, you ain’t going to convince me Coyote’s gotten himself religion and won’t deal in stolen goods!”

  “I do not like your tone,” the girl snapped.

  “Far as that goes, honey, I don’t give a sweet damn. Look, I came here prepared to talk a deal with Coyote, not to win your favor. Now either take me to see him, or I’ll trail out of here and find myself another customer.”

  The girl drew off to one side, the fat man, Duran, following her. They began to talk together in agitated, but hushed tones. Bodie wrapped up his guns and put them back on the horse. He wandered across to find himself a shady place by the trading post wall, fishing a cigar from his pocket. He struck a match against the wall and lit the cigar.

  Eventually the Mexican girl came back to him, brushing dark hair away from her pretty face. “It is decided,” she said. “I will take you to Coyote. But we will not go alone. Gage and Anson will go with us. And if you are less than you say you are, then we will bury you where you die!”

  Bodie smiled at her. He glanced across to where Duran’s two men were slowly recovering. “With those two along, honey, I’m going to feel real comfortable. They shouldn’t be allowed out without a little old lady to hold their hands!”

  The Mexican girl’s stern face mellowed slightly and she allowed a quick smile to edge her full, soft mouth. “We will leave in the morning. Rest well tonight, senor, for we have a long ride ahead of us.”

  The girl walked off leaving Bodie with Duran. The fat man seemed amused about something. He tucked his shotgun under his arm, scratching at his flabby chin.

  “If I was you, mister, I’d ride real careful. Like the Mex says, it’s a long ride, an’ a man can get himself in all kinds of trouble in this part of the country. Know what I mean?”

  “Sure,” Bodie said. “I’ll take care. Especially over whoever rides behind me!”

  Chapter Five

  They crossed the Gila and rode north towards the distant heights of the Mogollon Rim. Leaving behind the wide valley of the Gila they drifted slowly across an empty, arid landscape. Endless, undulating miles of sandy earth, the drab dun color broken by dusty growths of mesquite and tough bunch grass. The monotony of the landscape was relieved only by the looming presence of the great, eroded and monolithic rocks.

  On the third day out they forded the San Carlos, then began to follow the natural rise of the land as it took them on to the Natanes Plateau. Through long, shimmering, silent days they pushed further and further north, eventually reaching and crossing the White River, with the winding chasms of the Salt River Canyon to the west of their line of travel. From this point they began the long and exhausting climb that would bring them to the lofty crest of the rim, with its naked, rock slopes and its wind-eroded, tree clad mesas — high, lonely places, where nothing moved save the graceful cedars and fir in the migrant winds. Here, where men very seldom came, lay the desolate and secretive refuge of the wild, outcast half-breed the southwest had come to know and fear as Coyote.

  And it was here, in the rocky jumble that formed the foothills of the Mogollon Rim, that Anson and Gage made their attempt to kill Bodie and the Mexican girl.

  The pair had been mulling over the idea from the moment they left Duran’s trading post. It was Gage who brought it up first. He was the one Bodie still thought of as Flatnose. The man’s looks hadn’t been improved by the damage caused by Bodie’s fist; both his lips were badly cut and still swollen. The unrelenting heat and the constant dust did little to aid their healing. The pain Gage bore in sullen silence festered inside him, making him doubly determined to get his own back against Bodie. From the moment he had set his eyes on the twelve rifles and the boxes of ammunition, Gage’s mind had started to click. He had voiced his thoughts to Anson the evening before they had set out from Duran’s.

  “Look at it this way, Kyle,” Gage said. “All you an’ me are getting from this ride is goin’ to be a lot of dust to eat an’ a pain in the ass! Duran’ll get some kind of payoff from Coyote and that’ll be it.”

  Anson took a long pull from the bottle of whisky in his hand. He gasped as it burned its way down to his stomach. “Well I been sayin’ for a while it was time we upped and quit this damn job. Hell, Leo, we could get to be old hanging round this place.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I figure if we do then we might as well go with something we can turn into cash money ...” he let the sentence trail off, grinning as Anson frowned. “Judas Priest, I think that damn whisky’s gone and pickled your brains!”

  “You want us to grab them guns and get the hell out of here?”

  “That’s the idea. But not ‘til we get clear of this place. We bide our time. Chose the place, then deal with that son of a bitch and the girl, take the guns and double back. Over the border into Sonora. Hell, Kyle, there are plenty of Mexicans who’ll pay us a good price for a dozen Winchesters. Lots more than that crazy half-breed Coyote.”

  Anson stroked the livid bruise running across one side of his face where Bodie had kicked him. “It’ll purely be a pleasure takin’ them guns off that bastard. Mind, you think it’s a good idea killing the Mex? Coyote’ll be mad as hell.”

  “I don’t give a damn what that crazy breed thinks!” Gage spat. “And we won’t be around to find out either.”

  Anson shoved the whisky bottle into Gage’s hand. “Let’s drink to it,” he said. “To me and you and a dozen Winchesters!”

  “Come the day,” Gage said with a smile.

  The day, when it came, turned out to be hot and dusty, the heat reflecting
off the bare rocks with stunning force. By noon they were all starting to flag, and it was Bodie himself who called a halt.

  “We might as well make camp here. Rest up and start fresh in the morning. We’ve got a long climb up to the rim. The horses could do with a break.”

  The Mexican girl — Pilar — nodded in agreement. “Si! I think we all could do with a rest.” She leaned back in her saddle, gazing about her. “Along there,” she said, pointing, “is water. A chance to refresh ourselves.”

  “Lead the way, honey,” Gage grinned.

  Pilar ignored his bold stare. She reined her horse about and rode on.

  Bodie fell in behind her, glancing over his shoulder to see where Gage and Anson were. He watched them ride up to him and by him, and he didn’t like the feelings he was getting about the pair. That he didn’t trust them was natural, but Bodie had decided much earlier that there was something else. He couldn’t put his finger on it — yet it was there. A small, nagging uncertainty that just would not go away. It all pointed to something unpleasant, Bodie was certain about that, and with caution uppermost in his thoughts he never once let down his guard.

  True to her word Pilar led them directly to water. It was a clear stream flowing out of the deep rocks, pooling in a natural basin, edged with grass and a stand of trees. They rode in and dismounted, unsaddling and tethering the horses after they had been watered. Pilar made a fire and prepared a meal. When the meal was over Pilar picked up her rifle and saddlebags.

  “You leaving us?” Gage inquired.

  Pilar tucked the rifle under her arm. “I am going along the stream. Somewhere I can be alone to wash and to put on clean clothes. Do I have your approval, Mister Gage?”

  Gage laughed softly. “You sure do, honey. Hey, you need any help just yell. You know?”

  “I know very well, Gage,” Pilar said coldly. “But be advised. Do not follow me. Because I will shoot if you do!”

  Gage let her go, his face wreathed in a sly smile. “Man, I damn well know what she wants,” he said feelingly.

  “A wash and a change of clothes is all,” Bodie said from where he was sitting on the far side of the small fire.

  Gage scowled at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded hotly. “You her daddy or something?”

  “No. But if I was I’d warn her about men like you,” Bodie said dryly.

  Gage stared at him for a while. Then he let his shoulders sag. “Ah, the hell with you.” He stood up, stretching. “Hey Kyle, go get them cards out your saddlebags. I feel like playing some poker.”

  Anson climbed to his feet, grumbling to himself. He jammed his hat on and slouched by the place where Bodie was sitting. “You want to throw in for a hand?”

  “Sure,” Bodie said, fishing a cigar from his shirt pocket. He picked up a burning twig from the fire and lit the cigar.

  Anson walked quickly away from the camp. He moved on by the tethered horses and the gear dumped on the ground. Without glancing back he stepped into the comparative shade offered by the stand of timber, threading his way through the close-standing trunks. He could see the sun bright gleam of water in the stream. Easing his way to where the trees thinned out along the edge of the stream Anson pulled himself to a sudden halt as he caught a flicker of movement ahead of him. A smile touched the edges of his mouth and a warm feeling coursed through his groin as he spotted the figure of Pilar. For a minute he stood watching her, savoring the moment.

  Pilar was on her knees by the edge of the stream. She had pinned up her long black hair and stripped off her clothes, and as Anson watched he saw her cup her hands in the water, lifting it and splashing it over her brown, supple body, warm sunlight gleaming on the firm contours of her full breasts, the flat plane of her stomach.

  The sight of her youthful nakedness almost made him forget what he should be doing. Anson jerked himself back to reality. He reached down to his belt, slipping out the keen-bladed knife he kept there. As he stepped out from behind the tree, his thoughts were a conflicting jumble; on the one hand he was figuring which would be the quickest way to kill Pilar — at the other extreme he was thinking what a damn shame it was having to get rid of the girl. He’d always thought her good-looking. Now, having seen her naked, he was convinced of her beauty, and sorry she was going to die before . . .

  If it hadn’t been for his lack of concentration he would have spotted the loose stone under his right foot. As it was Anson missed it. His boot came down on the stone and it tipped over on its side, causing Anson to stumble. The faint sound reached out and touched Pilar’s ears. She turned instantly, her face angry as she spotted Anson’s advancing figure. Her mouth opened to deliver a warning shout. Noticing the glittering knife in Anson’s hand Pilar realized that his intentions were not remotely concerned with sex. She twisted her naked body round, strong limbs thrusting her forward, hands reaching out for the rifle resting against her saddlebags.

  Kyle Anson saw where she was heading, and realized that his anticipated silent attack was about to be blown to hell. With an experienced flip of his hand he reversed the knife, catching it by the tip. His arm rose and fell, the knife leaving his fingers in a silver blur. The tip of the blade penetrated Pilar’s right side below the arm, on a level with her breast, going in deep. A runnel of bright blood rose around the point of penetration, sliding down the brown torso. A soft cry burst from her lips as the knife struck, yet she kept moving, half-throwing herself the last few feet to where her rifle lay. She collided with the saddlebags, rolling clumsily, in a tangle of bare arms and legs. Anson, starting to grin, strode towards her, relieved that he had managed to avoid any uproar.

  He was no more than six feet from her when Pilar suddenly jerked into a sitting position. With a cold jolt of fear clawing at his insides, Anson saw the long barrel of her rifle arcing round to line up on his body. He threw out his left hand in a self-protective gesture, his right reaching for the gun holstered on his hip.

  Pilar shot directly into his body, levered and fired again and again, her actions deliberate and merciless. The powerful impact of the .44 caliber bullets ripped bloody holes through Anson’s twisting, agonized body. In a frantic dance of death he was spun back and forth by the shots, his blood spraying out behind him like a fine red veil. Even while the rattling echo of shots still hung in the air Anson had already gone down, his body sprawled in a bloody heap.

  The sound of the shots broke through Bodie’s sluggish mood. He reacted instantly, aware of someone watching him closely. His gaze fell on Leo Gage, and in that moment he read the expression in Gage’s eyes. And he knew that Gage and his partner were up to something.

  Bodie snatched at his holstered Colt, half-rising, and saw Gage do the same. The only difference was that Gage already had his gun in his hand. He came up firing. Bullets whined off the stony ground as Bodie threw himself full-length to one side of the fire. He fell on his shoulder, rolling, knowing that he had to gain a little time. Seconds only, just long enough for him to get a clear shot at Gage. The hard ground scraped his flesh, bruising him. Bodie figured a few bruises were a fair exchange for a bullet. He slithered into a shallow dip in the earth, spat dirt out of his mouth as one of Gage’s bullets came almost too close for comfort, and then realized that he had gained his precious seconds.

  Bracing himself on his left arm Bodie snapped the Colt in line with Leo Gage’s solid body and pulled the trigger. His bullet burned across the heavy muscle of Gage’s left shoulder, causing him to stumble, cursing wildly. Without pause Bodie fired again, placing his bullet with more accuracy this time. It took Gage high in the chest, knocking him off his feet. He fell heavily, his body arching like a strung bow. He flopped over onto his side, oblivious to the jet of blood pumping out of the hole in his chest, and forced his way to his knees.

  “You son of a bitch!” he yelled. “Stand up and fight where I can see you!”

  And give you a chance? Like hell I will, Bodie thought, and triggered two close shots that exploded Gage’s brain o
ut through the back of his shattered skull. The man went over onto his back like he’d been hit by a runaway train.

  Climbing to his feet Bodie crossed over and took a quick look at Gage. The man was just about as dead as anyone can get. One of Bodie’s bullets had struck the broken nose, leaving nothing more than a bloody hole in the middle of the dead face.

  Reloading his Colt, Bodie worked his way down through the trees in the direction of the earlier shooting. He found Anson first. He was dead, huddled up on the ground with his torso ripped open by at least half a dozen bullet wounds. Beneath the drying mask of blood Anson’s face wore a pained expression of complete surprise.

  Nearby, sprawled naked and bloody beside her saddlebags, fingers still clutching the rifle, lay Pilar. The handle of a knife jutted out from the right side of her body and a great deal of blood pooled on the rock ground beneath her. She looked as if she might be simply unconscious, but when Bodie felt for a heartbeat there wasn’t one.

  He crouched beside her and swore a little, and then a lot. His one and only lead to Coyote was gone with Pilar’s death. Then his initial anger subsided and Bodie’s logical mind took over. He re-assessed the situation, realizing that maybe things weren’t as bad as he’d first thought. All right, he was on his own. There wasn’t anything new there. Secondly, as Pilar had brought him this close to Coyote there was a chance he could locate the actual hideout himself given enough time. There wasn’t much else he could do. Somewhere up on the rim Coyote had a camp, a place he came with his men. Bodie was no beginner when it came to tracking. He had done it before, often, and many of those times he had been forced to follow cold trails, even trails that virtually didn’t exist at all.

  He stood up and made his way back to camp. He would stay the night here and go on in the morning. Bodie dragged Gage’s body out of sight then made his way back to the fire. Picking up the simmering coffee pot Bodie poured himself a fresh cup.

  He found himself questioning the reasoning behind Gage and Abson’s sudden and violent maneuver, and wondering just how long they had been plotting to kill him and take the rifles. It was the only logical explanation Bodie could find for what had happened. Especially when they had also planned to kill Pilar. He would have liked to have known whether Duran was involved. Or had Gage and Anson been working for themselves? They were questions he might never get answers to. Not that it mattered greatly to Bodie. He had dealt with the situation as it affected him, and as far as that went he was satisfied.