by Neil Hunter
His earlier thoughts evaporated. It seemed he was not alone after all.
Brand followed the drift of sound as a few more shots sounded. He wondered who was firing on who? It might be someone out hunting. Going for deer. He dismissed that. The shooting had come from a rifle and a handgun and handguns were not much use when it came to hunting.
Unless it had been someone hunting a man.
Which seemed more than likely.
Brand slid his rifle from the boot, checked it and kept across the thighs as he pushed on.
It crossed his mind that the shooting might have been to do with the two men he was looking for.
Joseph Calvin.
Deputy Hec Rankin.
Sooner or later he was going to find out.
~*~
It happened to be sooner. A couple of miles on and he came across two men.
One was dead.
The other had both knees shot out, his blood soaking his pants around the messy wounds.
Brand sat studying the area. He saw two saddle and bridles where a pair of horses had been stripped. The hoof prints showed where the animals had run off. Then he spotted single horse tracks leading off from the shooting site, cutting off through the trees. The rider was following another single rider who had passed much earlier.
A groan attracted Brand’s attention. He glanced down at the kneecapped man. He was staring up at Brand, his face sheened with sweat. He raised a bloodied hand from one knee.
‘You need to help me, mister,’ Cletus whispered, his voice hoarse and ragged. ‘That bastard shot me and rode off. Boogered the horses and just left me. I been here on my lonesome.’
Brand climbed out of the saddle, keeping his rifle close. He unhooked a canteen and passed it to the man. He watched Cletus uncap the canteen and take gulping swallows, spilling almost as much as he drank.
‘What happened?’
Cletus suffered a coughing fit as he drank too much water. When the choking ceased he stared up at Brand.
‘Son of a bitch done drygulched us,’ he said. ‘Snuck up on us and shot us. Ran off our rides. He killed Arnie. Left me to bleed to death.’
‘Why?’ Brand asked. ‘He lookin’ to rob you? He have some kind of grudge against you?’
Cletus took too long in answering. Brand could almost see his mind working on a plausible answer.
‘Yeah. Never seen him before today. Must have been set to rob us…’
‘He get anything?’
Pain creased the man’s face and he sucked breath against it.
‘Get what?’ he asked, the hurt from his ruined knees dulling his response.
‘You said he robbed you. What did he take?’
‘We didn’t have a thing to take.’
Brand felt a thread of suspicion grow. The assaulted men had been attacked by a stranger, out of nowhere, who had supposedly come to steal from them. They had nothing worth taking so the stranger had shot them, then ridden off. If the man had been attempting robbery why had he unsaddled their horses and run them off? The animals could have been worth a price but he had scattered them. And then there was the single line of horse tracks the ambusher had followed.
Something didn’t sit right. The tale Cletus had handed out warned Brand there was more to the story.
‘You near to home?’ Brand asked. ‘Somewhere I can ride to and get you help?’
‘North. Up in the hills. People there are family.’
‘How far?’
‘Few hours.’ Cletus rocked in pain. ‘Damn it, man, you ain’t about to leave me? I’m bad hurt.’
Brand crossed to where the dumped saddles and gear lay. He brought it all together. He used the saddle blankets to form a crude bed. Placed one saddle for a headrest. Ignoring Cletus’s moans he manhandled him onto the blankets. He used his knife to cut shirts from the saddlebags to fashion bandages he bound around Cletus’s bloody knees, then opened the blanket rolls and covered the man. All the time Cletus was grumbling and wincing with pain. Brand ignored him as he completed his work. In the saddlebags he found beef jerky and not surprisingly a couple of flat bottles of home-brewed liquor. He placed the items close to Cletus. There were some rough, handmade cigars in one pouch and a pack of matches.
‘I’ll swing by your place,’ Brand said. ‘Let your people know where you’re at so they can come and get you. Best I can do. They got some kind of wagon up there?’
‘Mebbe.’
‘Only way to get you home,’ Brand said. ‘Those leg wounds need tending proper. Even doctoring. A wagon ride is what you need.’ Brand stood over Cletus. ‘I might have made up a travois but dragging you up this mountain would make those knees worse. You’d be bouncing around something cruel. Likely you’d suffer more blood loss and you already spilled too much.’
Cletus glowered up at him. He snatched up one of the bottles of liquor, jerked out the cork and took a swallow. The stuff was raw and strong and set him to coughing again. Tears formed in his eyes.
Brand unrolled the slickers he found with the saddles. He spread them out and covered Cletus.
‘I ain’t got no gun,’ Cletus whined. ‘Just recalled that bastard took ours.’
‘Well I don’t have one to spare,’ Brand said.
He left the canteen of water alongside the other items.
‘Hell of a way to leave a man,’ Cletus said. ‘I could die out here.’
Brand caught the inflection in his words. The accusation.
‘Let’s hope you’re wrong.’ Brand said.
‘Name’s Cletus Monk. I want you to remember it, mister. We could be meeting again.’
That was enough to jerk Brand into motion. He mounted up and set his horse on the clear trail left by the other two riders. There were questions crowding him now. Concerning the man who had clashed with Cletus Monk and had trailed after another, as yet unknown, rider. A great deal had occurred hereabouts and none of it made a much sense. Whatever lay ahead, it didn’t promise much in the way of peace and quiet.
Behind him Brand could hear Cletus doing some considerable cursing himself, his voice breaking the mountain silence. The man appeared to have a disagreeable nature, his wounds apart. Brand found himself wondering if the rest of his kin were like minded. He hoped not.
The tracks he followed meandered for mile or so, then settled into a clear direction. The man at the head of the trail plainly knew where he was going. And from the way he was travelling it appeared it was in the same general direction as Brand.
Brand disliked complications. When he had started out his assignment seemed clear enough. Find the missing men and work out what had happened to them. Bring them out of the mountains if they were still alive. Now the whole affair had taken a sudden turn. He was no closer to finding out where Calvin and Rankin were. Finding the wounded man, Cletus, had added to Brand’s burden. He had promised to ride to the man’s home and let his family know where Cletus was. That had seemed simple enough. But now he had two unknown men riding ahead of him. One seemingly trailing the other. And they were riding in the same general direction as Brand. It was possible their paths would cross. The fact that Cletus had been shot and left for dead gave Brand cause for concern.
Who was he following?
Another lawman?
Or a loose gun?
Brand sighed. Fate. Bad luck. Whatever it was called, it had a habit of showing up and adding a twist to what had appeared a simple enough search. It wasn’t the first time unexpected events conspired to alter matters.
What was it McCord had said?
A simple enough assignment. An easy way to get back into his job.
Complications had already come in the shape of his son. Adam’s appearance had been something Brand could never have expected. Yet it had happened and however complicated Brand had figured his life to be, the boy showing up had thrown everything else out the window.
Now he had this odd mix of events to deal with.
Brand hadn’t asked for it. Yet there it was and
he was going to have to handle it.
Chapter Seven
Adam had followed Brand’s trail with ease. Even when they moved into the timbered slopes the hoof prints stayed fresh enough to be able to spot. Back home Adam had been friendly with an old Kiowa who had spent some years as a scout for the army and now hung around town picking up work wherever he could. The Indian had taken to the younger man and they had spent many hours riding free, Adam listening as his friend gave him instructions on how to pick up and follow tracks. The advice was proving to be handy now as Adam followed his father up into the hills.
He had felt bad sneaking out of Santa Fe, knowing that Emilio would be worried when he realized the boy had gone. The man at the livery would eventually tell what had happened. How he had hired out a horse and gear to the young man. There was little they could do. No way they could warn Brand. Adam had left a brief note for Emilio, explaining his intentions, and for the man not to worry.
Emilio would be upset.
And Adam’s father would be angry when he found out.
In the end Adam didn’t care. He had only just found his father and he had no intentions of losing him. Too many years had gone by and Adam wanted to be a part of his father’s life now.
He had sneaked into the hotel kitchen and had taken a supply of food, leaving some money along with the note he’d written. He fastened the sack across the back of the saddle of the horse he’d rented from the livery, had taken a looping ride away from town before picking up Brand’s tracks and had settled in for the long ride ahead.
Brand had been gone almost a day when Adam rode out. Impatience had fuelled his determination to go. He pushed the horse firmly, wanting to make up some distance, and had cut the gap considerably by the second day.
The trail led up through the foothills, eventually into heavy timber. By the second day out Adam was climbing the slopes of the looming mountains. The day was bright, the landscape thick with trees and brush. There was a pervading silence. The only sound came from his own passing and the chatter of birds flitting back and forth through the foliage. When he stopped to rest his horse and eat he was beside a tumbling clear stream that rushed down from the higher slopes. He let the horse drink and feed itself on the plentiful grass edging the water. He used his knife to hack off a chunk of the cooked beef he’d taken from Emilio’s kitchen along with a fresh baked loaf. The stream provided cold water and he refilled his canteen before he moved on. He allowed an hour to rest before he mounted and turned the horse back on the trail.
The horse was a black mare with a wide white strip running down from between her ears. When Adam had ridden away from Santa Fe he had found the animal frisky and had to apply a firm hand. The mare offered some resistance at first, but when she realized the rider was no beginner she settled down and as they rose higher up the mountain slopes proved herself to be a sturdy, determined animal.
His solitary ride allowed Adam ample time to work out what he would say when he located his father. Brand would be angry that his son had gone against this wishes. Adam hoped he would be able to explain his actions. It was simply that he needed to be with his father. Since the death of his mother he had been alone. That did not reflect on his Uncle. The man had treated Adam as if he had been his own, but as much as he respected the man, Adam always felt a stranger in the man’s house. He couldn’t explain it any more than that. He had known he had a father somewhere, and there was always that need to find him. To confront the man. Brand had never been told of Adam’s existence. Adam had felt he had a right to know. And truth be told he had always carried the need to meet his father. He had not been disappointed when he had finally stood face to face with Brand. What he had learned from Alex Mundy had already given him an impression of what Brand would look like, and in reality the tall, broad shouldered figure had lived up to his expectations. Brand’s character had been a little intimidating to the younger man. He was strong willed. Said exactly what he thought and made no bones about the fact Adam’s presence had caught him at a difficult time.
Adam understood, too, that his own attitude had not exactly helped. He quickly realized he had inherited Brand’s impatience and a stubborn streak. He couldn’t help that. It was part of him and was behind the impulsive act that had brought him here, to this mountain slope, where he was searching for his father. In the short time he had been close to Brand, Adam had become aware of his father’s strong character. His way with words and the strong way he expressed himself.
‘Horse,’ he said, ‘he’s going to give me hell when I show my face.’ The thought made him smile. ‘I mean what can he do? Shoot me?’
The mare made a soft sound that sounded to Adam that it was agreeing with him.
He found a place to make camp as the day ended. He ate. Drank water before he settled his horse, then rolled himself in his blankets and slept through until first light.
Now his way took him across a shallow swell of ground that brought him to a bare ridge. He drew rein and scanned the way ahead. No movement, except for the sway of trees and the grass. Adam saw gathering clouds to the north and east. They looked heavy. Swollen with rain and he picked up the still distant rumble of thunder. He sat for a while, studying the weather signs. There was a storm on the way and it was heading in his direction. He felt a rise in the wind. It was starting to build. Even the black sensed the weather change as it pricked up its ears.
‘That is all I need,’ Adam said. ‘Horse, we are going to get wet pretty soon.’
The other disadvantage with a storm coming was the likelihood of it washing away any tracks he was following. He pushed the horse forward, picking up the pace, keeping one eye on the weather signs and the other on the tracks he was following.
Chapter Eight
Bodie had been watching the storm clouds heading his way and didn’t like what he saw. It was threatening to be one hell of a blow. He reached behind to loosen the ties holding his oilskin slicker behind the saddle. He laid it across the horse’s neck in front of him in case he needed it. The wind came first, drifting in from the higher peaks to disturb the tops of the close packed trees. Within a half hour the wind had risen. It picked up loose leaves from the forest floor and scattered them around. Bodie felt his horse jerk as the disturbed leaves floated in front of him. He tightened his reins and told the horse to quit fooling around.
The first drops of rain came down through the swaying branches, cold against Bodie’s face. Staring up through the trees Bodie saw the sheeting mist of rain come down off the peaks, dark against the sky. He saw the shifting pattern as it rolled in and moments later the deluge came. It all arrived at the same time. The heavy rain and the hard wind. And far back in the mountain peaks the deep rumble of thunder.
As Bodie pulled on the slicker, dragging the folds down to cover himself, he decided it was turning into one hell of a miserable day. He could feel the force of the downpour through the slicker across his back. He tugged his hat low against the slap of the rain against his face. Beneath him the gray shivered in reaction to the inclement weather; it didn’t think much of the sudden downpour and the wind.
‘No use making a fuss, horse,’ Bodie said. ‘This is what we got. I don’t favor it too much myself.’
He angled across the slope as the tracks ahead veered in that direction. Bodie realized the tracks would be lost soon enough. The forest floor was already soaked and given time would become pretty well waterlogged. If the storm stayed for a time the natural streams would become filled as water running off the slopes reached them. Bodie dismounted and led the gray. On foot he was able to pick up the faint trail easier. His boots sank into the ground where it was already sodden.
Off on the high peaks thunder rolled in. A rising round that reverberated from the gray skies. Bodie’s horse pulled against the reins and he had to jerk it back in the line. The deep sound continued for a time. Bodie hoped, peevishly, Monk was getting just as wet. He wouldn’t have liked to believe the man had found shelter.
Just
when he thought he had lost Monk’s trail Bodie picked up faint hoof prints. He squatted, checking the marks in the soft earth. He followed the prints as they kept on a direct line for the higher slopes.
‘We ain’t lost him yet, hoss,’ he said.
Bodie turned to remount. As he did he caught movement out the corner of his eye.
A lone rider on a lower slope, moving in a parallel line to Bodie’s. There must have been at least close on a quarter mile distance between them. The other rider seemed to be moving slowly and the only reason Bodie could put on that was the man appeared to be searching his way ahead. Almost as if he was looking for someone himself—or looking for something. Bodie watched the rider until he was swallowed by a dense thicket of brush.
Studying the rider, even at a distance, told Bodie the man was not Thad Monk. Monk’s description had him on the short, heavy built side. Sitting his saddle the distant rider was taller and leaner than Monk.
Bodie swung his horse around to follow the tracks he had found. The way took him into more trees, the falling shadows making a crisscross pattern on the ground. He kept the gray to a slow walk, scanning the way ahead.
He was curious about the newcomer. His identity. His reason for being where he was. Bodie’s instinct told him the man was not associated with Monk, or his kin. He could be wrong about that, but Bodie had a feeling he was right. Even so the man needed to be watched. He did have as much right to be up here in the mountainous country as did Bodie. The land was open and free to travel and this rider could have a perfectly legitimate reason for being here.
Until he found out, one way or the other, Bodie decided to keep an open—albeit—cautious mind. It paid a man to take care in this wild country. In most cases one mistake was all it took. A dead man was not allowed a second chance and Bodie had not survived for so long by not taking anything for granted. A bullet in the back tended to end all questions.