by Neil Hunter
Rafe Bigelow’s laugh boomed out across the dusty space that separated him from Brand.
‘Don’t you move, Mister Brand! Not one inch, else I’ll cut you to the bone. You ever see what a good man can do with one of these? I have and I’ve done it too. Ain’t a pretty thing to see. Like I say I’m good with this so you step easy around me.’
Brand needed no convincing. The man was good. He had already proved it. Brand’s right arm burned with pain from shoulder to fingertip. Blood ran its length, dripping into the dust. The open gash across the back of his hand might have been done with a red-hot iron.
Bigelow’s eyes flickered casually across the sprawled bodies of his former employees, and he said:
‘You proved one thing. They weren’t worth what I was payin’ ’em.’
‘Buy scum you can’t expect anything better,’ Brand said. He spoke as a man who lived by the gun and had proved he was better because he was still alive, he was still around. Further proof of his skill was the fact that he had taken out Bigelow’s three hired guns single handed. Not that he felt he needed to justify himself to Rafe Bigelow. Brand had never felt the need to brag about his ability to kill with an almost casual proficiency. Knowing it himself didn’t always sit too comfortably on his shoulders, but it was a fact he had learned to live with.
‘I don’t suppose Yorrick or Hamner will be coming back either?’ Bigelow enquired.
‘If they do turn up we’ll have one hell of a problem,’ Brand said. ‘What was the deal, Bigelow? Did they come cheaper the more you hired? Must have been a pretty bad barrel you were scraping.’
‘Point taken,’ Bigelow said. He smiled coldly. ‘I’ll take your advice next time I hire on. Check ’em for quality. Damn shame you’re on the wrong side of the line.’
‘Can’t take the smell on your side,’ Brand replied without thinking, and regretted it as Bigelow’s hand sent the whip into motion again. The vicious lash made contact with Brand’s body, coiling around his upper torso. Blood soaked through Brand’s ripped shirt.
‘Don’t rile me any more than I already am,’ Bigelow yelled. ‘Damn you, Brand, you made a fool of me once. Ain’t goin’ to happen again. No way I’m lettin’ you get near my goods, or Benito. Hell, I got me a damn good deal going on with that crazy Apache. He aims to keep fighting and he’s getting more bucks joining him all the time. And that white feller sidin’ him pays good money to keep Benito in guns and whiskey.’
‘Bigelow, don’t be a damn fool. How long do you think Benito can last? He’s got too much going against him. If I don’t get him Crook will. He won’t quit until he has Benito.’
Bigelow grinned. ‘Think I ain’t figured that? Long as it does last I’ll keep supplying Benito.’
‘Not any longer!’
The voice came from behind Bigelow. Brand recognized Niana. Her words were followed by the sound of a shot. Rafe Bigelow grunted and stepped forward, his face twisting with pain. He began to turn, seeking the source of the shot. Brand could see he still held the whip, and the thought of what it might do to Niana’s lovely young body galvanized him into action. He remembered the rifle he had left leaning against the nearby wall. He went for it, taking long strides, and snatched it up. He aimed it at Bigelow’s broad back. There was a spreading patch of blood soaking the man’s shirt. It would take more than one bullet to stop a man with Bigelow’s build.
‘Niana, get down,” Brand yelled.
His warning made Bigelow stop. The big man began to turn towards Brand. He was already activating the long bullwhip again when Brand’s first shot cracked out. He was holding the rifle at hip-level and he just kept firing and levering, over and over until the rifle was empty. Brass shell casings littered the ground at his feet. Smoke curled from the hot barrel. Rafe Bigelow was down on the ground, on his back, staring up at the sun. The whip lay in his relaxed hand and bright blood was spattered across his ravaged chest. As Brand walked by him Bigelow’s spilt blood, dark and thick, was already being sucked away by the parched earth beneath him.
Niana only looked at Bigelow once as she moved to meet Brand. She still held the Colt in her hand and when she became aware she hurriedly thrust it back into the holster on her hip.
‘Are you hurt?’ she asked.
Brand shrugged.
‘Not as bad as I might have been if you hadn’t jumped in. I ought to be damned mad at you. I told you to stay back. Aren’t Apache women supposed to do as they’re told?’
Niana’s eyes flashed angrily.
‘That is true. But you are teaching me the way of the Pinda Lickoyi and I have heard your women do not always obey their men.’
Brand scowled.
‘You believe that? Then I’m teaching you the wrong things.’
Niana smiled.
‘Not everything you teach me is bad, Brand.’
He growled in disgust and grabbed her arm, leading her back to the store. He took her through to Bigelow’s office. He put down his rifle, leaned his weight against Bigelow’s desk and tipped it over. Concealed beneath the desk was a wooden trapdoor. Brand hooked a finger through the hole provided and raised the door. A rush of stale, dry air rose to meet him. A wooden ladder led down to the darkness of the cellar.
‘Is this where the guns are kept?’ Niana asked.
‘I reckon so.’
‘What are you going to do?’
Brand kicked the trapdoor shut.
‘Get cleaned up. Find a better shirt than the one I’m wearing. Then get something to eat.’
‘But the guns . . . ’
‘They’re not liable to wander off and Bigelow’s men seem to have lost interest. We’ll deal with the guns before we go.’
He took her through to the store again.
‘Be a shame not to stock up on a few items before we leave.’
‘Would you object, señor, if we also indulged in the opportunity that has presented itself?’
Brand glanced at the thin-faced Mexican standing in the doorway. He wore dusty white pants and shirt and clutched a tattered straw hat in nervous brown hands. His feet were bare. He looked half-starved. Over his shoulder Brand could see more brown faces, dark eyes full of anticipation. Why not, he thought. Bigelow had probably been using these people for years, making them pay heavily for anything they needed.
‘Help yourselves,’ he said. ‘Take what you need.’
He watched them rush by, scattering as they ran into the store. At least some good would come from all the death that had visited this place. He had killed four men. A high price to pay, even to fill the empty bellies of starving Mexicans.
Chapter Nine
The Rio Bavispa lay behind and below them as they rode up into the rocky foothills of the Sierra Madre. They followed no marked trail, but there was no hesitation in Niana’s line of travel. She knew where they were heading and Brand allowed her to get on with the task. For his part he kept a watchful eye open for sign of others in the area. This was no time to run into a patrol of the rurales, or a band of Mexican banditos, let alone any stray Apaches. Brand concentrated on what lay ahead.
They had stayed over at Bigelow’s long enough to rest and replenish their supplies. The Mexicans who lived around the trading post had shown their gratitude for what Brand had done by throwing an impromptu fiesta. They were a sorry collection of peasants simply trying to scratch a living of sorts from the barren land. Bigelow had forced them deeper into debt by allowing them credit and then charging the kind of prices that kept them permanently under his thumb. They had remained that way until Brand’s action had freed them.
Niana, with her Apache logic, had not been able to grasp why they had not fought back against Bigelow. She could not understand the way of the Mexicans. Brand had done his best to explain the Mexican mentality. He failed to convince her and they talked late into the night, as she tended his wounds with some Apache salve she had made from gathered herbs. They were sharing a hut the Mexicans had allowed them to use. Brand did his best to stop
Niana’s chatter as she complained about the Mexicans. Everything failed until he did the one thing that he knew would silence her. He kissed her, and she responded with her usual enthusiasm. It was a long time before they both fell asleep through sheer exhaustion.
The following morning Niana stocked up their supplies from Bigelow’s shelves while Brand went into the cellar beneath the office. He found exactly what he had expected. Rifles, boxes of ammunition. Wooden casks holding whiskey. There were even barrels of black powder and lead blocks for bullet making. He took a supply of ammunition for his own use.
The Mexicans had pretty well stripped the store of its contents. Brand found a couple of large cans of coal-oil. He opened them and poured the contents of one down into the cellar. The second one he splashed around the store itself. Standing at the door he lit a match and touched it to an oil-soaked rag, tossing it on to the oily floor of the store. He watched the flames start to spread through the interior, then went outside.
A group of the Mexicans had gathered to watch and Brand was forced to yell for them to move away. Within minutes the store was a mass of flame. Smoke rose in a thick column, staining the blue sky. Eventually the fire penetrated the cellar and generated enough heat to set off the black powder. There was a muffled explosion that created enough power to blow the store building apart. Debris was hurled in all directions.
The Mexicans raised a yell, grinning wildly as they watched.
Once it was over there was nothing to keep Brand. He and Niana mounted up, took their farewell of the Mexicans, and rode out. They cut off to the south, for the border and Sonora, looking for Name’s secret trail that led into the Sierra Madre.
Niana reined in her pony and waited until Brand was beside her. She raised an arm and indicated the high peaks towering over them.
‘That is where we go,’ she said. ‘The place is far into the heart of the mountains.’
Brand took a look around. Nante had chosen well. It was rough country. He expected it to get rougher as they pushed deeper in. He was right. The way became steeper, the ground underfoot treacherous. He saw the wisdom of using Apache ponies. They were well suited to negotiating this formidable terrain. Even so they had to dismount on more than one occasion and lead the animals across some difficult stretch of mountain slope.
They camped that night in a ravine that had been formed long ago by the splitting of a vast bed of solid rock. It had left behind a jagged, wide crack with walls that rose close on a hundred feet high. Brand built a small fire beneath a rock overhang; the curve of stone above the fire kept the flames from being reflected in the dark night sky.
‘As I have learned your ways,’ Niana said, ‘so you have seen the way of the Apache.’
‘If a man wants to grow old out here, he learns fast,’ Brand said.
‘Will you grow old, Brand? Or will you die soon because of the gun you wear?’
He took a moment to consider that. It was a question he could not rightly answer. Thinking about it made him realize the future was something he seldom considered in any depth. He lived from day to day, almost from moment to moment. There never seemed much advantage in looking too far ahead. Nor did he think towards the time when he might be an old man, too slow and frail to be useful at what he was doing now. The thought of being old and feeble did not appeal. Maybe the best thing would be for him to die sometime while he still had a chance to decide how he might go. He didn’t relish the thought of having to be put out to pasture. When the time came he wanted it to be quick.
When he became aware of his train of thought Brand mentally shook himself. He had enough to think about in the present. The future could look after itself.
He spooned beans out of the pan on to plates, adding strips of crisped bacon. He passed Niana her plate, then sat back with his own. Glancing across at the Apache girl he wondered if she was still waiting for an answer.
‘We all have to die some day,’ he said. ‘Nobody knows when his time’s coming, so all he can do is live the most each day brings and lie down when his time comes.’
Niana raised her head and studied him gravely.
‘Many times when you speak it is like listening to Nante. I think you were much alike in what you thought.’
‘Nante was a warrior I respected. No shame in being compared to someone like him.’
They finished their meal and cleaned away the utensils. Brand sat with a mug of coffee, watching Niana tend the ponies and make sure they were well tethered. Later she came to him, slipping naked beneath his blanket. The night was soft dark around them, peaceful and quiet, and they saw no reason to disturb that quiet with words.
Chapter Ten
Mid-morning of the next day found them well into the timberline. The undulating and rocky canyon country lay beneath a wide-spread forest of pine and oak. They rode through places where the trees grew so thickly they blocked out the sun. It was a silent, twilight place, the leaf mold damp and thick on the ground. Without warning they would break free and find themselves riding across open ground, or fording a swift-flowing stream that came tumbling and foaming down out of the high places. It was beautiful, savage country, barely touched by man, and retained much of its primeval atmosphere from thousands of years ago.
It took most of the day before they left the timber far behind and came out on an open, bare rocky slope of the mountain. They were high up now, with the ever-present peaks looming close. The sun blazed down on them, bouncing from the bleached rock, and dust rose from beneath the hoofs of the ponies, thick and sour-tasting. It stung their eyes, leaving them itchy and red-rimmed.
Late in the afternoon Niana led them to a sheltered basin where a clear spring bubbled fiercely from a fissure in the rocks, filling the shallow rock tinaja formed by the constant, wearing flow of water.
The first thing Brand did was to empty the warm water from their water skins, then refill them with the fresh cold spring water. Then he kept watch as Niana knelt by the pool and rinsed her burning, dusty face. She opened her shirt and scooped handfuls of the cool water over her body. When she had done she took a small drink.
‘Give me the rifle,’ she said. ‘I will watch now.’
Brand handed her the weapon and went to the pool. His ritual followed Niana’s almost identically. The water, when he took a drink, was cold and fresh and for a moment he found himself wondering how far it had travelled beneath the mountain before emerging into the daylight.
‘In the morning we will reach the place,’ Niana said when he rejoined her.
‘You want to make camp here?’ Brand asked.
She shook her head. Handing him the rifle she pointed up the mountain.
‘We go higher. There will be a better place. We have plenty of time before darkness.’
He nodded, aware that he was staring at her in a way that had nothing to do with why they were here. He was letting himself become attached to this healthy and desirable young woman. He drew his mind back to the present, angry because once again he was letting his desire for her cloud his judgment. It wasn’t the first time it had happened and he knew it wouldn’t be the last.
The fairer sex had a hold over him that he often fought against and usually lost.
He followed Niana back to where the ponies were standing. They took them to the pool and let them slake their thirst and rest for a while. When they remounted and moved off, with Niana in the lead, Brand found he was watching the way her firm, rounded buttocks rolled with the pony’s motion.
What the hell, he thought. Come the day when he didn’t notice something like that he would start to worry fast. Maybe his destiny was to end up a dirty old man.
Just before dark Niana brought them to a place deep inside a jumble of shattered rock at the base of a towering cliff. Brand noticed the marks of old fires.
‘This was a place Nante used often. If he needed to be alone he would come here.’
Niana slid from her pony and led it further into the rocks. Brand followed and saw there was a small sta
nd of trees, a shallow stream. Even a little grass. They saw to the ponies, then hauled their gear back to where Niana was able to start a small fire.
‘If you live with the Earth and not against it, then it will always provide,’ she said as she prepared their meal.
‘Well, you haven’t been wrong yet. Nante taught you well. He would have been proud of you.’
‘And are you proud for me too, Brand?’ she asked. ‘As your woman?’
He glanced across the flames at her. She was studying him with an earnest expression in her eyes.
‘No man could ask for better,’ he said, and found he meant every word.
She nodded in satisfaction and went back to her cooking, leaving Brand to ponder on his rash words.
While they ate he asked her about the hideout. Niana pointed to the high rim of the cliff.
‘On the far side of that place is where Benito hides. In the rocks are houses, built by the Indians of Mexico a long time ago. Nante told me they were here even before the Spanish came.’
‘What about the way in?’
‘There is only one. A trail. It goes up the side of the great cliff. Narrow even for a pony. One at a time only. A man alone can defend the entrance, and there will always be someone watching.’
Filling his mug with hot coffee Brand stared up the sheer cliff face. If he couldn’t get in by the front door then he would have to find another route, and from what Niana had been saying that other route would be up the damn cliff. The thought didn’t sit well — but he accepted he wasn’t going to get in by any other way.