Bodie and Brand 1

by Neil Hunter

  And the closer he got the more relaxed he would become. Being on familiar ground would boost Monk’s confidence. The man was already relaxing, his tracks allowing Bodie to follow easily.

  Bodie heard the wagon a while before he saw it. Pulled by a pair of horses, the flat bed held a couple of armed men. He crouched in the undergrowth and watched it pass some distance away, heading down the slope. Bodie watched until it was out of sight.

  He eased from cover and kept moving. Something told him he was not far from his destination.

  He came on the first sign of habitation and hour later. A wide field, planted with crops. Cut down trees and a sagging fence. Then he saw the spread. House, barns. Stable and corrals. A big house, smoke rising from chimneys. He saw horses in the corrals. It was a substantial outfit. But nothing fancy.

  He shucked his saddlebags at the base of a tree and headed for the main house, across the field fronting the wide yard. Bodie stayed in as much cover as he could, moving closer. He bellied down on the inside of the last fence bordering the place, part concealed by the poles of the fence. He studied the place. Watching and waiting while he checked it out.

  There was movement at the front door as a figure stepped outside and lingered in the porch. Bodie focused on the man. The broad, heavy set figure was wearing a pair of matching revolvers in a double rig and had a rifle in his hands. The weapons were in contrast to the clothes the man wore. He was dressed in the rough, handmade outfit of a field hand; denim bib and brace overalls and heavy work boots. A thick wool shirt.

  What interested Bodie more was the man’s face. Bodie only had a wanted poster describing Thaddeus Monk. The man he was looking at bore a striking resemblance to the man who had robbed and killed. He had the same characteristics as Thaddeus Monk. He was younger. His face looked as if he hadn’t yet shaved. And Thaddeus had a deep scar over his right eye.

  So this was not Bodie’s quarry. But it convinced Bodie he was in the right place. The problem now was figuring out how many others were inside the house. With the run of bad luck he was currently having Bodie figured there would most likely be a hell of a brood inside the house. A whole litter of Thaddeus Monk’s relatives.

  The man on the porch started playing with the holstered revolvers, a toothy grin on his face as he gripped the pistols and yanked them out. He began to twirl them on his fingers, chuckling to himself until the one in his left hand slipped from his grasp and fell to the porch. The man muttered to himself, bent to pick the gun up. Bent over his eye level suddenly became in line with Bodie, who had tried to avoid being seen.

  It was too late.

  For a split second Bodie and the man locked stares.

  Son of a bitch.

  The man on the porch let out a loud yell and kept yelling..

  But instead of retreating to the house, he snatched up the fallen revolver and started firing with both weapons.

  Wood splinters blew across Bodie’s face. He felt the sting as flesh was burned and rolled away from the fence, with the realization he had little cover behind him, and bad a shot as he was the kid was going to get lucky sooner or later.

  Bodie felt the stinging burn as one of the .45 slugs sliced his left shoulder.

  He pushed to one knee, risking revealing himself, and snapped the Winchester into position.

  The sight of his target aiming back at him made the shooter pause for a heartbeat. It was all the time Bodie needed. He snugged the rifle butt against his shoulder, aimed, and fired. The Winchester’s 44-40 bullet, with its 217 grain load, delivered a powerful shot. The slug slammed into the shooter’s left shoulder, spinning him around and bouncing him off the timber wall behind him. The kid screamed from the solid impact, blood and flesh spurting from the exit wound. He dropped his guns and went down on his knees, his screams increasing.

  With his opponent out of action Bodie pushed to his feet and doubled back across the field. He heard the clatter of feet on the porch as yelling figures burst from the house. Seconds later a burst of gunfire filled the air and cut close around Bodie’s weaving figure. Pursuit would follow and Bodie needed to gain distance before he stood and faced the hostile Monk family.

  He managed a faint and mocking thought.

  He was the Stalker.

  So why the hell was he the one doing the running away?

  It might have been funny—if it hadn’t been so damned serous.

  As he hit the tree line the solid thwack of slugs ripping into the timber followed, Bodie dropped to a crouch, swinging around to face his pursuers.

  Three of them. All armed, and blasting away with the rifles they were carrying. Wood chips and bark exploded around Bodie. He shouldered the Winchester, picked a target and placed a slug into the man’s chest, splintering rib bones and driving them into the heart. As the man dropped Bodie shifted aim and hit a second target, the 44-40 lead slug ripping its way through flesh and bone, kicking the man off his feet. He was knocked back by the impact, his own weapon spinning from his grasp as he went down.

  The surviving man turned about and went across the muddy field in panic. Bodie settled the Winchester and put a slug into one thigh, the impact tearing flesh and leaving a bloody wound. Bodie saw the man stumble as his leg gave way, plunging face down in the sodden dirt.

  He picked up the sound of raised voices, caught sight of figures moving out from the house. More of them.

  How many were there?

  Bodie didn’t stay to count the numbers. He made a grab for the saddlebags he’d dropped on his way in and headed back into the timber.

  He had the feeling the whole Monk clan was going to be on his trail before long. One way or another he had poked a stick into a hornet’s nest and they were coming after him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Light filtered in from a barred window ten feet off the floor. Brand took a quick look around and saw he was in a twenty-foot square room. It had a hard packed dirt floor, no furniture and two occupants who watched Brand in silence.

  They were unshaven and their faces and clothes were dirt streaked. Under the dirt their faces showed cuts and bruises. They sat on the floor, backs against one of the walls, hand resting on their upraised knees.

  Brand tipped back his hat and faced the pair.

  ‘Hec Rankin?’

  The leaner of the pair raised a grimy hand.

  ‘Do I know you,’ he said.

  ‘I spoke to Marshal Dembrow back in Santa Fe. Told me where you were heading.’ Brand jerked a thumb at the other man. ‘You’d be Calvin?’

  The second man nodded.

  ‘I was sent to find you both,’ Brand said. ‘Looks like I found you but not the way I expected to.’

  ‘You the law?’ Calvin asked, licking at dry, cracked lips.

  ‘You could say that.’

  Rankin leaned forward, a hard expression in his eyes. ‘You a damned bounty hunter?’

  Brand squatted on his heels in front of them, shaking his head. ‘My department doesn’t go in for badges and such, but it’s official. I don’t carry papers.’

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Rankin said. ‘I heard about you fellers. You work from Washington?’

  Brand nodded.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Calvin asked.

  ‘Kind of an undercover lawman,’ Rankin said. ‘I heard talk about it. But I never met anyone from it.’

  ‘Name’s Brand.’

  ‘Hell, I know that name too. You used to be a US Marshal. Right?’

  ‘Few years back now.’

  ‘They made you quit. Said you were giving the service a bad reputation.’

  ‘Like I said it’s history.’

  ‘Damn shame,’ Rankin said. ‘You did your job. Got results. So why…?’

  ‘Killed a feller who drew a knife on me. Couldn’t prove it. The knife disappeared. Feller I shot was a Senator’s son. His friends covered for him. The Senator knew people...’

  Brand let the words trail off. There was no more to say. It had happened and he had moved on
.

  Calvin said, ‘So they sent you to find us and bring us home?’

  ‘That’s the way of it. Me being in here with you is all part of my big plan to get you free.’

  Hec Rankin gave a hoarse chuckle.

  ‘So what’s all this about?’ Brand asked. ‘You pair look like you been rolling around in the dirt for a while.’

  ‘About a mile or so up the mountain is a hole in the rock,’ Rankin said. ‘A cave leading to a tunnel. At the end of the tunnel is a vein of pure gold. Joe and me have been working that face since the Monks decided we were free labor.’

  ‘True enough,’ Calvin agreed. ‘They’ve struck a big deposit. Enough to make them extremely rich. They want to keep it for themselves. Problem is the surrounding strata is unstable. Makes mining a risky proposition. In the time we’ve been forced to work the mine there have been a number of cave-ins. Two others were killed.’

  ‘We got one out and buried him,’ Rankin said. ‘The other poor feller we just had to leave.’

  ‘The Monks work the mine?’

  Rankin shook his head. ‘They just stand watch over us. Stay back far enough so they’re safe. They take the ore when we pass it back and move it out the mine. Must have some place they store it but we have no idea.’

  ‘Sounds they have it all worked out,’ Brand said.

  Calvin hunched his shoulders, his face pale and drawn.

  ‘And there’s nothing we can do about it.’

  ‘Don’t let yourself think that way.’

  ‘Brand, you sound like a man who doesn’t consider giving up,’ Rankin said.

  ‘Kind of something I don’t cotton to,’ Brand said. ‘Female acquaintance calls it my stubborn nature.’

  ‘She got you pegged?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, she does.’

  Rankin managed a grin at that. ‘They figure you out every time.

  ‘How many guns we up against here?’ Brand asked.

  ‘Ain’t easy to figure. Way I see it there are Monks all over this part of the mountain. Hell of a big family. So I can’t tell you a number.’

  ‘Sooner or later,’ Brand said, ‘I guess we’ll have a chance to find out…’

  Chapter Twelve

  Bodie heard the crackle of undergrowth as a rider pushed his horse forward. There was a blurred image filling his vision. It loomed larger as the rider urged the animal forward, a wild yell as he spotted his quarry. Bodie half-turned as the rider leaned forward in his saddle, rifle coming into play. A shot would bring the rest of the Monks fast. Bodie let his rifle fall to the ground. He took a couple of lunging steps, digging in his heels as he launched himself forward. His outstretched arms gripped the rider around his lower body, pushing him back out of the saddle. Bodie’s forward motion took him over the horse’s bulk and he followed the rider off the horse. They fell, hitting the ground hard, and then, without warning their scrambling bodies were falling into empty space. The thick undergrowth they crashed through was edging a steep drop off. Bodie and the Monk rider went over, still struggling, as the ground fell away in a long, deep slope. They were unable to control their descent, rolling and crashing down the muddy incline until they hit bottom, sinking into a wide spill of water. The water was a couple of feet deep, with thick, soft mud underneath.

  They gained their feet together, spitting the brackish water from their mouths. Bodie saw the rider had lost his rifle during the fall. He had no handgun, but carried a sheathed knife. He went for it and lunged at Bodie, the gleam of the broad-bladed knife in his right hand. Bodie reared back as the knife cut the air, felt it tear at his shirt. Before the other man could recover Bodie reached out and grabbed his wrist, forcing the knife aside and swinging his bunched right fist in a powerful blow that connected with the Monk man’s jaw. The blow was heavy, delivered with all of Bodie’s strength. The man’s head snapped to one side, blood streaking his flesh from a torn lip. Using the moment Bodie twisted the man’s arm until he let go of the knife with a pained yell. It vanished under the muddy water.

  ‘Sonofabitch.’

  The man spat out the word, swinging his fists as he fought back. Bodie caught a glancing blow to his cheek. Felt warm blood seeping from the split flesh. He saw a second punch coming and ducked under the swing, driving forward to slam his own fist into the other’s gut. There was a lot of energy in the punch. Enough to halt the man as his breath was driven from his lungs. Given the moment Bodie used it well, sledging in left and right blows to his opponent’s jaw. Blood sprayed in a red mist as the punches landed, drawing a stunned grunt from the man. He toppled over and went face down in the water.

  Straddling him Bodie planted both hands on the exposed skull and pushed the head down into the slick of water and mud, his weight preventing the man from raising himself clear. Bubbles of air exploded from around the submerged head. Bodie kept the pressure on until the man’s struggles weakened, then hauled him up.

  Gasping and spitting the Monk man fell into a spasm of harsh coughing. He offered little resistance when Bodie snaked one arm around his neck and held tight.

  ‘Where’s Thaddeus Monk?’

  ‘Go to hell.’

  ‘Wrong answer.’

  Bodie shoved the man’s head back into the muddy water and repeated the procedure. The man flailed, legs kicking. When Bodie pulled him clear again his face was streaked with mud.

  ‘Where’s Monk?’

  ‘You like to drowned me.’

  ‘Could still happen. Now where is he?’

  ‘Jesus, you’re a persistent cuss.’

  ‘You want me to stop asking, tell me where he is.’

  ‘At the house.’ The man raised his arm and pointed up the mountain. ‘Back at the house.’

  Bodie had seen the man had no handgun. His rifle had been lost when Bodie hauled him out of his saddle and his knife was gone. He dragged the man out of the water and pushed him onto dry land. Bodie took out his own Colt and half-cocked the hammer so he could spin the cylinder, clearing water from the mechanism.

  ‘Shells might be damp from all that water,’ he said. ‘She might not fire so take your chance if you feel lucky.’

  The man glared up at the tall figure of the manhunter, checked the weapon, then the harsh expression on Bodie’s face.

  ‘What the hell you expecting me to do? Jump you?’ he said. ‘I may only be a simple mountain boy but I ain’t that dumb.’

  ‘Dumb enough to cover for Thad Monk.’

  ‘He’s kin. Family. That always come first.’

  ‘He robbed a bank. Killed people.’

  The man shrugged. ‘Not the first time he done that.’

  ‘What about shooting a woman? In the back. Some kin you got there.’

  ‘You could be lyin’,’ the man said. He took a long moment. ‘You after him for a bounty?’

  ‘You figure I’d trail all this way just to deliver him a nosegay?’

  ‘Thad’s a mean son, but shootin’ a woman…’

  ‘He done it. Now I don’t give a damn if you believe me or not. Get in my way and you’ll be treated as hostile.’

  ‘Damnit, mister, I am hostile. Whatever Thad’s done he’s still a Monk and that counts for somethin’.’

  Bodie sighed. ‘I knew you were going to say that.’

  He half turned, leaving the man puzzled and off guard. Then he spun back and slammed the heavy Colt across the man’s skull—twice. The man grunted and slumped over on his side, unconscious.

  Bodie clawed his way back up the slope to where the man’s horse stood, grazing on the damp grass. He picked up his rifle and saddlebags, grabbed at the horse’s dangling reins and hauled himself into the saddle.

  He hadn’t forgotten there were still other members of the Monk clan around. Right there and then Bodie figured his best move was to back away, consider his options and plan his next move. His initial contact with Thad Monk’s brethren had showed they were short on negotiating skills, but quick with dealing in lead. He was going to have to play them at their
own game, but on his own terms.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Brand absorbed what he’d been told. Rankin and Calvin were prisoners of the Monks, and now so was he. The thought didn’t sit right with him and he determined it wasn’t going to stay that way for long. One way or another he had to break them all out. If the Monks stood in his way that would be their loss.

  Rankin watched him close. The Marshal, despite his condition, had caught on to Brand’s considered silence.

  ‘You don’t figure to stay too long,’ he said.

  Brand caught his eye. ‘Like I said I never been one to take being pushed around.’

  ‘You’ve seen what they’re like,’ Calvin said. ‘They won’t tolerate any resistance.’ He indicated the bruises on his face. ‘How do you think we got like this…and we’ve seen bones in the mine workings. They don’t hesitate to kill if they don’t get their way.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Rankin said. ‘Hard bunch. Every last one of them. Killing would come easy to them. Look, Brand, I walked into this and they took me before I knew what was happening. I ain’t proud of that. But give me a chance and I’ll do my best to back any play you make.’

  ‘Hell, Rankin, I got no call to belittle you. I didn’t exactly come out too well myself. So next time we don’t follow the book. They set the rules so we play by them.’

  Brand checked out the room. It was solid built. The only way out was through the single door.

  ‘You showing up has changed their routine,’ Rankin said. ‘By now we’d be on our way to the mine.’

  ‘They feed you first?’

  Calvin nodded. ‘Food’s no problem. They know if they starve us we won’t be able to work. So they bring us good meals.’

  ‘How does that work?’ Brand said.

  ‘One of the women brings it on a tray. Armed man follows her in. Keeps her and us covered. Follows her out and locks the door again. Same happens when they come to collect the empties.’