Bodie and Brand 1

by Neil Hunter

  Chapter Nine

  The closer he got to his destination the edgier Brand became. The feeling he had over the whole affair was making itself known to him. There was too much that hadn’t been explained to his satisfaction. It made Brand accept he was still not fully recovered from his enforced sabbatical. Maybe he should have refused McCord’s placing him back on the active list. The odd thing was he felt physically fine. It was his inner self that still held him back. And forced him to question things.

  The man, Cletus, had given him an explanation that dogged Brand’s thoughts. He was beginning to doubt the man’s story. Yet here he was, about to ride into the unknown. By placing himself at the mercy of the man’s family Brand was leaving himself exposed.

  One man was dead. Cletus wounded and pushing an explanation Brand found suspect. So where did that leave him?

  The abrupt change in the weather had only added to Brand’s discomfort. The long weeks of recovery had taken the edge off his resistance. A storm like this one would never have worried him previously. Right now he was cold and a touch damp, having been caught by the downpour before he could pull on his slicker to cover his coat. That had done little to temper his mood.

  It was close to midday. He had been riding long enough to be near the location Cletus had outlined for him. The fact revealed itself when he saw a partially tended field of crops. Corn stalks were bending under the downpour. Brand drew rein and studied the field. At the far side he made out a broken pole fence. There were a number of tree stumps. Felled trees leaving an open aspect. Signs of human presence.

  Brand rode on, skirting the edge of the field and on the far side he topped a slight rise in the land and found himself looking down on a collection of buildings. A couple of barns. Outhouses. A wide stable and corrals. And to one side a large timber house. The additions to the original building had been added to over a number of years. That was evident in the newness of some of the extensions compared to the weathered main house. Smoke issued from chimneys, whipped away by the wind and rain. Brand saw no movement. Whoever lived here was staying out of the weather.

  ‘Let’s do this,’ he said and gigged the chestnut forward.

  The yard was muddy and puddles were dotted here and there. Brand hauled up in front of the porch and slid his right hand under the slicker, gripping the Colt.

  ‘Anyone to home?’ Brand raised his voice above the storm sound. ‘Hey.’

  He caught sight of movement behind one of the house windows. The main door rattled as it was opened. It was a large, heavy structure. As it swung wide Brand spotted more movement behind another window and saw the gleam of lamplight on metal as a weapon was raised.

  The figure planted in the open door was big. A solid, wide shouldered man, bracing one large hand against the frame of the door.

  ‘You picked a hell of a day to come calling,’ the man said. ‘What’s your business?’

  ‘This the home of Cletus Monk?’

  ‘Mebbe so, mebbe not.’

  The man stepped forward, his lined face shadowed by a growth of beard. His clothes were those of a farmer. Most likely homespun. He carried no weapon.

  ‘I came across Cletus Monk down the mountain.’ Brand said. ‘He’s been shot. Both knees. Another feller with him was dead. I did what I could for Cletus. Bound his wounds and made him comfortable. He’s got food and drink. Blankets. No way I could fetch him home. I said I’d find his place so his people could take a wagon bring him back.’ Brand paused. ‘So am I in the right place?’

  ‘I’m Nathaniel Monk. Cletus is my boy.’

  ‘He told me they were attacked by some stranger. Ran off their horses before he left.’

  ‘World is full of evil doers,’ Monk said. ‘That’s why we built our home here. Away from harm.’

  Brand shifted in his saddle. ‘Looks to me it found you.’

  ‘And you, stranger. What brings you up here?’

  ‘Lookin’ for couple of missing fellers,’ Brand said. ‘You ain’t had any visitors recently?’

  Nathaniel Monk’s change of expression told Brand the man knew what he was referring to. He covered it quickly, shaking his head.

  ‘Can’t say…’

  His denial came too quickly. Cut off when his eyes flickered to Brand’s left. A second before the hard muzzle of a rifle was jammed against Brand’s side.

  ‘Another lawdog,’ a voice said close by. ‘Damn it, pa, I smelled him right off.’

  Another?

  That meant something to Brand. Hec Rankin maybe?

  Brand stayed silent. It seemed the right thing to do under the circumstances.

  ‘Down off the horse, lawdog, and keep your hand away from the gun under that slicker.’

  The rifle muzzle was pushed harder against Brand’s ribs to emphasize the suggestion. He climbed down off the chestnut, exposing his right hand in the process. The prodding rifle stayed against his side the whole time.

  Nathaniel Monk was at the edge of the porch, watching Brand closely.

  ‘That the case, mister? You law?’

  ‘It going to make a difference?’

  The man with the rifle gave a harsh chuckle. He moved so he came into Brand’s eyesight. A thickset man with a coarse featured, unshaven face. His eyes held an unhealthy gleam.

  ‘Hell, boy, it could mean all the difference in the world. Now get yourself inside the house so’s we can all take a look at you. And think on—we don’t take kindly to lawdogs.’

  Brand made his way past the elder Monk and stepped inside the house. The prodding rifle muzzle never eased away from Brand.

  ‘Take the slicker off.’

  Brand removed the dripping cape. It was snatched away by a skinny, wild eyed younger man who grinned at Brand, showing large teeth.

  ‘He’s got a gun,’ the man said excitedly.

  Nathaniel Monk reached and took away the Colt.

  ‘Rafe, search him,’ he said.

  Rafe pulled open Brand’s coat, dragged it from his shoulders and threw it down. He saw the shoulder-holstered revolver. He snatched it clear, holding it up so everyone could see it.

  Brand felt the rifle withdrawn from his spine. The man holding it moved so he could face Brand. He reached for the cut down Colt, examining it with interest.

  ‘Now ain’t that a pretty sight,’ he said. ‘That is one hideaway hogleg.’

  ‘Give it to me,’ Nathaniel said. ‘Give it to me now, Rafe

  Rafe Monk handed over the Colt, muttering under his breath.

  Nathaniel examined it, turning the weapon over as he checked the neat conversion, appreciating the way it had been altered.

  ‘Man who did this has a love of guns,’ he murmured.

  Brand took a moment to examine the large, low ceilinged room and its occupants. A large timber table stood in the center, with benches on either side and a large single chair at the head. To his right was a massive stone fireplace with logs burning in the hearth. He could smell the wood smoke. Beyond the fireplace an open way showed a kitchen. A wooden staircase led to the upper floor. The whole room was cluttered with possessions. Whatever else they were the Monks, as a family, were far from organized.

  He counted eight, maybe nine people. Two were women. They returned his stare without a moment of interest, turning away to go back to whatever they had been doing. Brand noticed a subservient manner in the way they reacted. He got the feeling they were not exactly happy where they were.

  The men moved across the room to crowd him.

  ‘Ease off, boys,’ Nathaniel said, his attention diverted from the Colt. ‘Don’t crowd our guest. We should show him some consideration, seeing as how he made a special trip to tell us about Cletus. That was the act of a Good Samaritan.’ He thrust a large fist out, finger extended. ‘Couple of you break out the wagon. Hitch up a team and go fetch Cletus and his brother to home. And take this man’s horse into the stable. No weather for one of God’s creatures to be left standing on its own.’ His voice rose to a boom of sound.
‘Now, I say. Move your lazy asses.’

  Two of the men broke from the bunch. They located heavy coats and hats and stomped out of the house.

  Two less, Brand thought. The odds were reducing.

  ‘Mister, I see a gleam in your eye I don’t like,’ Nathaniel said. ‘There a notion in your mind to turn against us? You watch him close, Rafe.’

  One of the group stepped forward, his eyes raking Brand from head to foot.

  ‘Pa, he’s a lawdog,’ the man said. ‘Man’s a lawdog, and lawdogs will go against us every time.’

  The one called Rafe was jigging about near Brand, his eyes wild with excitement.

  ‘You want me to smite him, pa? Just like you read us from the book?’

  ‘Shut your mouth, loon,’ the other man said. ‘Any smiting needs doin’ I can deliver that.’

  ‘Seems to me,’ Nathaniel said, ‘this man should be repaid for bringing us news about Cletus. He’s looking for his friends. He should know they’re here as our guests. Nolan, take him to see them. Let them spend time together. When the storm runs out he can go to work with them.’

  Nolan grinned and Rafe hooted with laughter.

  ‘Good thinking, pa,’ Nolan said. ‘One more pair of hands.’ He leveled his rifle at Brand. ‘Move it, boy. Let’s go meet you friends.’

  Brand was escorted through the house to a heavy door at the rear. Rafe drew the iron bolts back and swung the door open.

  Nolan slammed his big hand between Brand’s shoulders and pushed him forward into the room beyond.

  ‘You were lookin’ for these boys?’ he said. ‘Go say hello.’

  The door slammed shut behind Brand.

  Well, son, you sure went and walked into this one, Brand thought. Let’s see how easy you get out.

  Chapter Ten

  Bodie’s line of travel took him higher across the slopes. It was a couple of hours since he had seen the other rider. There was no more sign of the man. It was not surprising. The heavy clouds overhead effectively cut down on the light reaching down through the trees. It was like an early twilight.

  Despite Bodie’s strong hand on the reins his horse remained spooked by the thunder and the occasional lightning flashes. The horse pulled to the right, stepping awkwardly as it’s hoofs came into contact with water-sodden, spongy ground. Bodie felt it’s balance go. He pulled on the reins but the powerful animal ignored his move and gave a shrill squeal. The gray faltered, desperately trying to pull itself upright. Bodie realized it was going down. He slipped his feet from the stirrups, still trying to drag the animal upright, but the sheer bulk of the horse overrode his attempts. It uttered another panicked cry as its right foreleg collapsed under the strain. As it fell Bodie rolled out of the saddle, throwing out his hands as he dropped. He landed on his left side, making an attempt to control his fall. The rain sodden ground partly cushioned his fall, but he still landed hard, breath driven from his lungs by the impact. He slithered through the muddy grass, aware the ground was dropping away. There was a rushing sound in his ears and he only realized what it was seconds before he was plunged into the cold rush of water. A heavy runoff. Water that was rushing down out of the higher slopes in a tumbling stream.

  Bodie struggled to resist the pull of the water. It was his heavy slicker pulling him down as it folded itself around him. For long seconds he was dragged under the surface, water spilling into his mouth. He fought the cling of the slicker, pulling it up over his head as he was turned and twisted by the water. His head cleared the surface and he spat out water, sucking in precious air, still attempting to extricate himself from the slicker. His hat went as he dragged the oilskin folds clear. The slicker floated away, leaving Bodie sucking in air and kicking for the bank of the runoff. It was only feet away but it could have been further. He felt solid ground under his boots, pushing hard and propelled himself towards the bank. His grasping fingers caught a handful of grass. The moment he put his weight on it the grass tore free and he was thrust further down the foaming stream.

  He saw the exposed roots of a tree that leaned over the stream as he was swept towards it. He would have one chance. Bodie threw out a hand, his fingers scraping against the slick root. He grasped it. Held tight, fighting the pull of the water. After a few seconds he closed his other hand over the root and began to haul himself out of the water. It fought to retain its grasp on him, swinging his body back and forth, but his not inconsiderable strength won out and inch by inch Bodie dragged himself onto hard ground. He rolled on his back, staring up through the trees as he sucked in air.

  The moment he thought about it Bodie dropped his right hand to his side, fingers finding the butt of his Colt. The hammer loop had prevented the weapon from slipping from the holster. When he checked his left side he found his sheathed knife was still there.

  Bodie sat up. He could feel the pound of the rain on his back. The distant rumble of thunder. He brushed his hair back from his face.

  ‘I liked that hat,’ he muttered as he pushed to his feet, turning back to retrace his way to where he had come off his horse.

  His concern for the animal was justified when he found it. On its left side, eyes rolling, it thrashed about, unable to right itself. The first thing he checked was its right leg. Bone showed through the torn flesh. Bodie slipped the Colt from the holster as he moved to stand over the gray. He’d had the horse for some considerable time.

  ‘Why’d you have to go and do that,’ he said softly.

  The gray stared up at him, quiet now, almost as if it understood.

  Son of a bitch.

  Bodie pulled the hammer back. The sound of the shot was loud in the forest, the echo briefly drowning out the rainfall. The gray convulsed, then lay still.

  Bodie didn’t concern himself his shot might be heard by others. Leaving the gray suffering was not something he could have done. He could have used his knife but cutting the animal’s throat could have been messy and caused the horse more suffering. It had been the quickest way to put the animal down and Bodie figured that was the least he could have done.

  Bodie slid his Winchester from the scabbard. He managed to drag his saddlebags free and draped them over his left shoulder. His canteen was crushed under the horse’s body along with Bodie’s blanket roll and the guns he had taken earlier but Bodie considered that no great loss.

  He stood for a while, fixing his position.

  He was afoot, a distance from anywhere, so Bodie figured he might as well stay on the trail he had been following. Turning back was a notion that didn’t even register. He still had a man to find. Thaddeus Monk. The bounty was still open for collection and Bodie was going to need a portion of that money to outfit himself again. If nothing else, the manhunter possessed a practical train of thought.

  He was a man who didn’t accept giving up. Not when he was on the hunt.

  It was what had earned him the title given by other men.

  The Stalker.

  It was who he was.

  What he did.

  Better than most.

  He settled the saddlebags, hefted the rifle, and moved off.

  ~*~

  The slopes rose higher above him. Bodie could believe he’d hit the peaks if he kept on going.

  ‘Monk, enjoy your freedom while you can, because I’m still coming to get you.’

  Head down against the rain Bodie spent a couple minutes placing his position until he located the tracks, growing fainter by the minute, and moved on. On foot his pace matched that of his horse. He had been moving slowly before the fall, so even on foot he was able to maintain his travel. And being on foot meant he was closer to the ground, allowing him to keep the tracks in view.

  Over the years his profession as a tracker had given him an unerring skill. He was using that skill now and it let him follow Cletus Monk’s trail. By now he had adjusted to the downpour to the point it didn’t bother him any longer. He simply kept moving, eyes searching, missing nothing. A deep hoof print where Monk’s horse had left a deep m
ark in a patch of earth. The print was filled with water now, but the outline was still visible. A little further and Bodie spotted broken shrubbery where Monk’s horse had pushed its way through a thick stand of greenery. The ends of the broken tendrils were still raw, the branches snapped in the direction of Monk’s travel. He patiently followed the trail through a close grove of timber where the overhead canopy had kept most of the rainfall away. Here the mossy forest floor was damp but not overly waterlogged. Monk’s passage was clearly marked. The man had been riding slow, but steady. His horse was walking, its hood prints closer than if it had been moving quickly. Monk had stopped here, taking time to light himself a smoke. Bodie saw the spent wooden match he had used.

  He allowed himself a slow smile. Monk was becoming casual. Figuring he was out of trouble and most likely getting closer to home.

  Just stay that way, Bodie thought. Keep telling yourself you’re home free.

  He adjusted the saddlebags over his shoulder and walked on, emerging from the timber and faced an undulating stretch of the slope, backed by the high peaks. Bodie saw the sky was clearing, the storm clouds moving off to the east. Within the next half hour the rainfall slackened, then tapered off, the steady breeze chasing the last of the fall. Watery sunlight broke through as the storm petered out. It was not unusual with storms in the high country. They came on quickly and blew themselves out just as fast.

  Movement caught Bodie’s eye. He swung the rifle to his shoulder, then relaxed as a pair of deer emerged from the trees off to his left. They saw him and froze. Bodie was moving away from them and they must have sensed he was no threat as they carried on their way.

  Monk’s trail was steady now. No deviation as he continued to ride in a direct line. The tracks he left now were clearer as the rain drained away and the forest floor firmed up over the next couple of hours. Bolan was able to keep on the trail. He moved easily, content to let Monk show him the way. It told Bodie his quarry was getting closer to home.