by Neil Hunter
Bodie closed the glass-paneled door behind him, peering along the dim length of the smoker. At the far end was a small bar, railed shelves holding a selection of bottles. As Bodie took his first step away from the door he heard one of those bottles clink against another as it was lifted down from the shelf.
Bodie dogged back the Colt’s hammer, lifting the gun. Fast as he was, Silva reacted with blinding speed. The darkness was lit up by the orange lance of flame as Silva’s gun exploded. The bullet whacked into the oak paneling inches from Bodie’s face. He jerked aside, going down on one knee, returning the shot. His bullet shattered bottles behind the bar, glass and whisky spraying across the smoker. Silva’s gun blasted a third time, his bullet seeking but not finding their intended target.
Bodie triggered another shot, sending a bullet into the shelving. More bottles burst apart. The second he’d pulled the trigger he crouched and ran across the smoker, aiming for the protection of a heavy armchair. He heard the rustle of movement from the direction of the bar, caught the soft click as Silva eased back the hammer of his gun. It boomed loudly and Bodie felt the sturdy chair rock under the impact of the heavy bullet. Flat on the floor Bodie crawled around the legs of the chair, peering across the shadowed smoker. He methodically ejected spent cartridges from his Colt, ramming in fresh ones.
And then he waited.
His first indication that Silva was on the move came with a gentle scraping sound, the contact between the leather soles of shoes and the polished wood of the smoker’s floor by the bar. Bodie craned his neck forward, narrowing his eyes to afford himself a clearer image. He saw the stooped shape easing out from the end of the bar, one dark arm extended, fingers reached for the handle of the door that would provide an exit from the smoker. The fingers curled around the door handle, dragging it down, hesitating as the latch slipped free. Silva began to edge towards the door. Bodie caught a glimpse of the pale oval of his face as a thin sliver of moonlight glanced in through the smoking car’s window. And then Silva lunged upright, yanking open the door, swinging his lean body through the opening.
Bodie fired, his Colt lifting in recoil. He saw Silva’s body twist, hit the doorframe, and turn back into the smoker. And Bodie shot him again, emptying his gun into the writhing body. Dark gouts of blood jetted from the pulped flesh, spattering the wooden panels of the smoker. Silva fell forward, head and shoulders smashing through the glass that formed the upper half of the door. The weight of his body held him there, and he swung back and forth with the motion of the speeding train. As Bodie climbed to his feet Silva’s right hand relaxed and the big revolver slipped from his fingers. It lay on the floor beneath his suspended body, his blood dripping down on to the cold, dead metal.
Bodie made it halfway down the smoker before his legs gave way and he fell flat on his face. Then he passed out.
When he opened his eyes he was still on the floor of the smoker. But now he was on his back, with a blanket covering him. He realized, too, that the train was still. He could hear muted voices all around him. Faces peering down at him from what seemed a great height. His shoulder pained him like hell and he felt as weak as a baby. He moved his head. It was resting on something soft. Turning his head further he saw that his head was on Eden Chantry’s lap and she was staring down at him with scared eyes.
“Damn you, Bodie,” she said. “Don’t you have any feelings! Going off and getting yourself shot like that! No consideration, that’s your trouble! You make me so mad I could kill you!”
Bodie tried to chuckle, but all he managed was a faint cough. “You too?” he asked. “I figure once a night is enough even for me!”
Eden lowered her face and kissed him on the cheek. At any other time Bodie might have responded, but the way he was feeling right then he could have happily closed his eyes and forgotten about the whole damn mess . . . and that was just what he did.
Chapter Nineteen
It took more than two weeks for the news of Silva’s death to reach New York and the disbelieving ears of Don Luchino Trattori. The young man called Fabio eventually brought him the report sent by one of Don Trattori’s people in the southwest. Don Trattori had read the report, the expression on his face terrible to see. Placing the report on his desk the Don turned and stared out of his office window. It was raining outside, a bitter wind driving the heavy downpour across the city in silver-gray sheets. The only sound to be heard in the office was the hiss of the rain against the side of the building.
“Fabio,” Don Trattori said finally, “this matter does not end here.”
“No, Don Trattori?”
The Don turned from the window and returned to his desk. When he was seated he indicated that Fabio should also sit.
“I do not care how long it takes, or how much it costs, or by what means we achieve it — but this man Bodie must die! He has proved his superiority over such a man as Silva, therefore we must employ a different approach. Fabio, you have dealt with the High Grade business, and you have handled it well. In the time he was there, this man Bodie must have made enemies. Make it your business to find out these people. Approach them. Offer them whatever they desire for their assistance in the matter. Give this your full attention and when you have made your choice come to me again and we will talk further.”
Fabio returned to his own small office, closing the door firmly. At his desk he opened a drawer and took out a file of papers. He was smiling to himself as he sorted through the various reports sent from High Grade. A sharp sigh escaped from his lips as he found the paper he had been searching for. He laid it on the desk before him and read the report again.
Yes, he thought, this was the one!
When the report had first arrived he had made a mental note of the contents, sure that it might be useful at some time in the future. His smile increased. He was certain that Don Trattori would approve of his choice. The Don would not forget Fabio’s alertness, his dedication, and he would reward him well.
Fabio bent over the report again, more certain than ever that he had found the one person who would reach out with both hands for the opportunity to be in on the death of Bodie.
He picked up the report and hurried out of his office, eager to confide in the Don, anxious to tell him that he had found the name they sought.
Beth Arling.
Chapter Twenty
“Bodie, are you sure you don’t want to ride out to the fort and say goodbye to Dad?”
Bodie shook his head. He picked up his saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder. He put his hat on, tucked his rifle under his arm, and headed for the door.
Eden followed him in agitated silence as he made his way downstairs to the hotel lobby. She stood by while he paid his bill, trailing after him as he made his way outside and down Sierra Vista’s street.
“Bodie, this is ridiculous,” she insisted.
“Eden, I’ve been here almost a month,” he said. “I’m starting to see things move on my bedroom ceiling at night.”
She smiled saucily. “I’ve done enough looking up at that ceiling,” she said. “There were things moving all right, but they weren’t up there!”
“Eden, you cut that out,” Bodie snapped. “No damn wonder your father keeps giving me the eye! He figures out what you’ve been up to. I’ll have the entire southwest division of the Army on my trail!”
They reached the livery stable. Eden watched as Bodie saddled the horse he’d purchased.
“I said this would happen, Bodie.”
He paid no attention to her. Jamming his rifle in the scabbard he picked up his saddlebags and flung them on the horse’s back.
His shoulder was starting to ache again, and it did little to ease his sullen mood. Bodie needed space, peace, a chance to get away from the restrictions of town life. He felt hemmed in, his restless unease making him difficult, if not impossible to live with.
Bodie was still bitter over the treatment he’d received at the hands of the US Marshals called in to investigate the shoot out on
board the train and the revelation of Silva’s connection with Billy-Jack Struthers and Pike Cooley. Once the Marshals realized who Bodie was they dredged up his involvement with the affair at High Grade, and Bodie, still suffering from fatigue and pain from the wound in his shoulder, was less than cooperative with the lawmen. The treatment stretched out over a couple of days. Finally the Marshals left Bodie alone. They had nothing they could actually pin on him. They had tried, but they were dealing with a man who had been one of them, and who knew the law better than most. Bodie figured they had been giving him a hard time because of his bounty hunting. Again there was little they could do except voice their disapproval. He was within the law — they all knew that — and no matter what they thought Bodie was untouchable.
“Bodie?” Eden’s insistent tone cut through his dark thoughts.
He spun on his heel, his expression grim, startling her. Bodie reached out and took hold of her arms.
“One thing I can never figure out about women,” he said. “You’ve got this damned habit of needing to rope everything down so it can’t walk off! Well it don’t work, honey. Not with me. I can’t afford to let it happen. Not in my business, Eden, and you of all people should know that. So for Christ’s sake back off, girl! Last thing I need on my mind is a grabbin’ woman!”
He turned from her, snatching up his reins and swung into the saddle. Bodie kept his face turned away from Eden as he took the horse out of the stable, ramming his heels into its sides. The horse trotted off along the dusty street, the livery stable and Eden Chantry’s solitary figure falling quickly behind. Pale dust rose to obscure her motionless figure. It would have been so easy to have stayed. It wasn’t a hard thing to do with someone like Eden around.
But life didn’t run along uncomplicated lines. Circumstances changed, people too, and time would have thrown up obstacles. Bodie lived a violent life and that violence had the habit of reaching out to touch anyone in its path. Which was why Bodie had a reluctance to build relationships on more than a casual basis.
The moment he was clear of town Bodie turned the horse north. He figured to give the high country a try. Way up there in Montana, even the Teton country of Wyoming, there were bounties waiting to be collected. The High Lonesome, as they called the mountain fastness, the timbered wilderness, was the perfect place for a wanted man to lose himself. Bodie had ridden that high country himself a time or two, and he knew the awe-inspiring solitude of those lofty places.
It would suit him in his present frame of mind, he decided, a chance to lose himself if he had a mind. To breathe in the fresh air. Give himself a time to cleanse his mind of deeds he needed to forget.
Or people he had to forget — whether he wanted to or not!
Bodie settled himself back in his saddle. He had a long ride ahead of him, and it was going to be a rough trip until he was fit company even for himself. And that was a sorry admission for any man to have to make.
Bodie will return in
HANGTOWN
Coming Soon!
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM PICCADILLY PUBLISHING
BODIE 1: TRACKDOWN
BODIE 2: BLOODY BOUNTY
BODIE 3: HIGH HELL
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