by Neil Hunter
‘I saw the females when they brought me inside,’ Brand said. ‘Couple of them. Only saw them as I walked through. They didn’t look too happy.’
‘I get that feeling myself,’ Rankin said.
‘Maybe they’re prisoners same as we are,’ Calvin said. ‘Could be they’d help us.’
‘Right now I wouldn’t count on that,’ Brand said. ‘We’re not going to get much chance to ask them. Whatever we do we only have ourselves.’
‘Look,’ Calvin said, ‘I’ve never been in anything like this before. Never owned a gun. Or used one.’
Rankin slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Joseph, I doubt you ever used a pick and shovel before you came here. Look at you now. Swings a pick like an expert.’
‘What he’s saying is when it matters a man can turn his hand to all kind of things,’ Brand said. ‘And if your own life depends on it you’ll be surprised what you can turn your hand to.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ Calvin said.
‘Next time they come,’ Brand said. ‘No point putting it off.’
It was a long time coming. And some time later they heard gunshots. Then silence fell again. There was nothing they could do but wait. Beyond the window they heard thunder rumble and the rain sluice down.
For want of something to do Brand tugged up his right pants leg and slipped his fingers down inside his high boot, working out the six-inch bladed, slim knife he carried in a sheath sewn inside the boot. The razor sharp blade was topped by a handle of thin, tightly bound rough cord. It allowed for good purchase. He adjusted the pants leg again and slid the knife up his sleeve, readily available if the opportunity arose.
‘They might regret missing that,’ Rankin said.
Brand nodded. ‘That’s what I’m hoping. Just be ready to follow my lead if the chance shows.’
They waited again. Until the bolt on the door was slid back. As the door was pushed open one of the women Brand had seen earlier walked inside the room, carrying a large wooden tray.
She was in her early twenties, a slim girl, pretty rather than beautiful, with a face that would have been pleasant if she smiled. Her blonde hair, cut short, was unruly, framing her pale features and the bruises that marked her face. Fresh marks overlaid others that had been there longer. As she walked into the room her gaze fell on Brand, her blue eyes regarding him with a listless stare. The simple dress she wore looked as if it hadn’t been washed for months and her feet were bare. She crossed the room and crouched to place the tray on the floor, then stood upright.
While this happened an armed man stood just inside the door, watching what happened. He carried a rifle in his hands and wore a heavy handgun strapped around his lean waist. His dark eyes took in everything.
‘Get a move on, girl,’ he said. ‘You waste my time you’ll be sorry.’ He stared at the three prisoners. ‘You got a half hour to eat.’
The girl’s glance briefly lingered on Brand. Then she turned and walked out of the room. The door was swung shut, the bolt slammed home.
‘Don’t you just love their hospitality,’ Rankin said.
On the tray were three deep tin plates holding a steaming meat stew. There were three tin cups of black coffee. No forks or spoons. The food had to be scooped out using their fingers.
‘I believe they must have a damned barrel of this stew,’ Calvin said between mouthfuls. ‘Same thing every time.’
They devoured the food. Drank the bitter, gritty coffee.
Then they waited for the girl to come back.
The bolt snapped back, the door was dragged open and the girl walked in, her escort close behind this time. Brand saw the man was restless. He looked back over his shoulder, his gaze centered on the main room behind him. Brand recalled the shots they had heard. Something had happened and it was distracting the man.
Rankin and Calvin were squatting at the base of the wall again. Brand was on his feet, leaning against the wall across from the door, his arms held loosely together. He watched the young woman as she made her way to where the tray rested on the dirt floor. Her eyes settled on Brand for a few seconds as she stepped alongside him. He made no other move than to slightly incline his head, his eyes resting on hers.
She crouched to pick up the tray, lifted it, then let one side drop from her fingers. The plates rattled and one of the empty tine cups rolled onto the floor.
‘Let me get that for you,’ Brand said, pushing away from the wall and bending to scoop up the cup.
‘Hey,’ the man said, stepping forward to rap the barrel of his rifle across the girl’s shoulder. ‘Warned you not to go against me. I can pull this trigger sooner than waste my damn time with you. You know what happened to the others.’
His agitation forced his attention to waver between the girl and Brand as he roughly pushed her aside...
…and that was when Brand let the knife slip from under his sleeve. It dropped across his palm, stopped as his fingers curled around the cord grip. As Brand twisted his lowered body around he began to straighten and his eyes reached the level of the jailor’s. In that brief connection the man recognized something in Brand’s expression. When he registered the unflinching, cold stare he opened his mouth to yell a warning. He was a lifetime too slow. Brand’s left hand clamped across his mouth, pushing his head back. The slim blade in Brand’s hand winked dully, then it sank into the man’s exposed throat, going in deep, Brand sawing it back and forth. He heard the girl gasp. The ragged wound pulsed hot blood and the man began to choke. He let go of the rifle and Brand caught it in his left hand, tossing the weapon to Rankin as the Marshal pushed to his feet. Brand snatched the holstered Colt free and pulled back the hammer as the choking man sagged to his knees, both hands going to the wound in his throat, his fingers turning red from the bubbling flow.
‘Move, girl,’ Brand said. He slid the knife back in its boot sheath.
She gathered herself, tearing her gaze from the bloodied figure and scuttled across the floor to press up against the wall, next to Calvin. He was staring, eyes wide, taking in the spectacle of the dying man on the floor.
‘Cover me, Rankin,’ Brand snapped, moving forward to clear the door as he ducked through into the main room beyond.
Hec Rankin stepped up to the open doorway, staring out into the large communal room.
Already clear of the doorway Brand scanned the room. Across the far side a figure was already turning, sharp, feral eyes seeking movement. A lean, shaggy haired figure in homespun clothing, wielding a long-barreled Walker Colt. The man—more of a youngster—laid his gaze on Brand. Realized who he was and snapped up the heavy revolver. The muzzle spat flame and smoke. Brand felt the wind of the slug’s passing before it chunked into the solid frame of the door inches to one side of his body. The shooter uttered a low curse, hauling back on the hammer for a second shot—which he never made—as Brand triggered his own weapon. The Colt in his hand had settled on target and the heavy .45 slug slammed into the man’s skinny chest. He fell back with a screech, flesh cleaved and bone splintered by the slug.
Rankin turned about and gestured at Calvin and the girl.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said.
The girl pushed to her feet and crossed the room. Calvin hung back, eyes still fixed on the bloody figure on the floor.
‘Calvin, let’s go before anyone comes back,’ Rankin said.
Brand caught hold of the girl’s arm, pulling her close.
‘Stay with me,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘I will.’
The main door crashed open and an armed figure stood in the opening, taking in the scene. He spotted Brand and the girl. The long barreled Henry repeating rifle he carried swung up and the man pulled the trigger, sending a slug across the room. It plowed into the wall behind Brand. He returned fire, his slug taking the man in the left shoulder. A second later the rifle Rankin held sent out a pair of 44-40 slugs. They drove the man to the floor.
‘There a back way out of here?’ Brand asked.
‘This way,’ th
e girl said, tugging his sleeve.
She led them to the side, through an open doorway into the kitchen area. A wood burning stove and oven dominated one wall, with a heavy wooden table in the center of the room. The other woman Brand had seen earlier was standing beside the table, a dazed expression on her face. She was older than the girl at Brand’s side, her body heavy under the ragged gray dress.
‘Hannah, let’s get out of here,’ the girl said.
The older woman shook her head. ‘ We can’t,’ she said. ‘He won’t like us running off. He’ll beat us again...’
Brand pulled the girl with him. He could see the fear on the older woman’s eyes. Whatever had been done to her in this place had left her too scared to back away.
‘Hell, Brand, we don’t have time to talk this over,’ Rankin said as he came up behind, dragging Calvin by his sleeve. ‘I got enough problems with Calvin here.’
‘What’s your name?’ Brand asked the girl at his side.
‘Joanne.’
‘Joanne, you’ve got ten seconds to get her to move, and that may be time we don’t have.’
Joanne turned to the woman and caught her hands, tugging her forward.
‘Hannah, come along. If we stay they’ll come and get us.’
The older woman stared at her, face white with fear. ‘I can’t go. I’ll hold you up. Just leave. Save yourself.’
She wrenched her hands free and backed away, then made a desperate run across the room in the direction of the main door.
And as she reached it she began to scream.
‘In here. They’re in here.’
‘That’s all we need,’ Brand said. ‘We have to go. Now.’
The girl took a last look at Hannah, then fell in beside Brand as they made for the door at the far side of the kitchen. Rankin had jerked the wooden door open, pushing Calvin through. Brand followed the lawman out through the door, Joanne close at his side.
The rain had ceased falling and the heavy cloud had drifted away.
A gun fired from across the room. The slug tearing a chunk of wood out of the door frame.
Brand didn’t look back.
He didn’t need to—he knew the Monks wouldn’t be far behind.
‘Head for the trees,’ Brand yelled.
They were crossing the back yard of the house. Through puddled water and soft ground. A cluttered area of stacked timber and barrels. Long accumulated junk. Beyond the yard the ground fell away in an uneven slope. Chickens squawked and fled away from them as Rankin led the way to the timber some two-hundred-fifty yards away. Brand wasn’t too happy at having to cross the relatively open ground but they had no choice. Their first priority was to reach cover away from the guns of the Monks.
Chapter Fourteen
Rankin and Calvin led the way, with Joanne behind them. Brand brought up the rear, watching their back trail. He was expecting the Monks to show up at any minute.
His expectations were resolved moments later.
The drum of hoofs reached him.
Brand turned and saw a mounted and armed man coming at them from around the front of the house. Hunched over the neck of his horse, the man had a gun in his free hand, aimed in their direction. The revolver fired. The slug kicking up dirt yards away.
That was when Joanne missed her stride and went to her knees.
Brand reached her, standing over her exposed body, his revolver picking up the advancing rider. He held himself motionless as he gripped the Colt two-handed, seeing the rider and horse grow larger. The rider leaned out from behind the horse’s neck, lowering his gun hand and settling his aim.
Brand’s finger eased back the trigger. He felt the revolver buck in his grasp. Heard the slam of the shot. Saw a flash of red as the.45 slug ripped into the rider’s chest, high up and on the left. The rider’s cry was lost in the thunder of the pounding hoofs as he went backwards out of the saddle. The man rolled over the horse’s flanks and slammed face down on the ground with a heavy thump. The riderless horse kept coming and Brand held up both hands as it closed in. At the last moment the animal baulked, coming to a noisy stop. Brand snatched at the dangling reins, hauling it round. He pulled the animal close, keeping it between himself and the house.
‘On your feet,’ he yelled to Joanne.
She stood and instinctively moved beside him and fell into step as she kept moving. Her hand reached out to grasp the dangling stirrup.
Brand had already spotted the rifle jammed into the sheath. He holstered the Colt and used his right hand to pull the rifle from the scabbard.
Up ahead Rankin and Calvin reached the cover of the timber.
The crack of a rifle from the direction of the house was followed by the slug slamming into a tree trunk that sent bark and wood slivers flying.
Brand tugged on the reins, leading the horse into cover. He passed the reins to Joanne and she pulled the animal deeper into the protection of the timber.
‘Close,’ Rankin said as they pushed deeper into the timber.
‘We need to gain some distance,’ Brand said. ‘They’re going to get themselves organized and come after us.
They kept moving. The daylight reduced by the overhead canopy of intertwined tree branches and leaves. Brand pushed them on for the next half hour before he called a brief halt.
He opened the saddlebags strapped to the rear of the horse and went through the contents. A couple of shirts. A roll of oilskin holding a number of matches and a bundle of rough cigars. He also found a second revolver and a leather pouch heavy with ammunition. When he opened the pouch he found it held a mix of .45 and .44-40 shells. While Rankin kept watch Brand loaded all their weapons. Now they had a pair of handguns and two rifles. There was a jug of liquor dangling from the saddle horn by a rawhide thong.
‘Take this,’ Brand said, holding out one of the revolvers in Calvin’s direction.
The man shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t know what to do with it,’ he said.
‘I would.’
Brand glanced at Joanne. The determined look in her eyes told him she wasn’t fooling. He handed her the Colt, watched as she checked it with sure actions. The heavy weapon looked large in her slim hand.
‘Don’t worry about me, Brand. One thing I can tell you right now. There’s no way I’m going back there. The Monks took me from my family after they killed them. Made me a prisoner in that house. I’m going to stay alive so I can pay them back if I get the chance.’ The determined look on her face made Brand believe her. ‘You believe vengeance is a right only men can have? Well, not this time.’
‘Calvin, you stay with her,’ Brand said. ‘Real close.’
The geologist simply nodded.
‘You got a plan?’ Rankin asked.
‘Plain and simple. We get the hell down off this damned mountain.’
Joanne said, ‘The Monks are spread across the area. A couple more homesteads to the north and west. Most of them kin. They can send for help if they need it.’
‘Not the news I was hoping for.’
‘I just wanted you to know what we’re up against.’
Rankin said, ‘Riders comin’.’
‘Joanne, take the saddle,’ Brand said. ‘You get up behind her, Calvin. Let’s move out. Rankin, you stay close to that horse. Just keep them moving away from here.’
‘You staying back?’
‘Just long enough to suggest they don’t follow.’
He braced himself behind a thick trunk as his group moved deeper into the timber, bringing the rifle to his shoulder. The three riders were close enough to be well in range. Brand brought the lead rider into focus, finger curling against the trigger. He could have killed the man easily but chose instead to put the .44-40 lead slug into the man’s shoulder. Time enough for killing if the Monks kept pushing too hard. The rider jerked to one side as the slug ripped in through the fleshy part of his shoulder. A flash of red showed as it exited. The rider reared back, dropping his rifle as he slewed out of his saddle and hit the ground in a
cursing heap.
The other riders hauled in on their reins, leveled their own weapons and sent a ragged volley of shots in Brand’s direction. He had already dropped to a crouch and heard the slugs chunk into tree trunks and whip through the foliage. He brought up his rifle again and returned fire, levering over and over, laying down a burst of shots that scattered the riders, one catching a slug in his right leg.
Struggling to contain the panicky horses the riders forgot about pursuit as they hauled on their reins. The leg shot man hung on to his saddle, blood soaking his pants where Brand’s slug had torn the flesh. The third man, untouched, slid from his saddle to help the shoulder-shot man. Brand was forgotten as they moved back, simply intent to save themselves.
Brand turned and pushed deeper into the stand of timber. He could make out the others ahead of him, Rankin making sure Joanne kept the horse moving.
For the moment, Brand decided, they had a reprieve. He didn’t expect it to last for long. Sooner or later the Monks were going to regroup and take up the pursuit again, and they would be a damn sight more cautious next time.
It was far from over.
Chapter Fifteen
Bodie knew he allowed his recklessness get the better of him at times. He let himself be lead by the feelings of the moment rather than by taking time to consider what he was letting himself in for. Even so he knew that this time around, whatever the outcome, he was not riding away. Almost from the moment he had taken out after Thad Monk he had been shot at, lost his horse and generally had a run of bad luck. All which totaled up to leave him a tad upset.
Anyone who knew him would realize that unsettling Bodie was not something to be considered. In this case the Monk clan did not know Bodie. But they were going to and any that survived would be able to sit back and realized the error of their ways.
As he pushed his borrowed horse back towards the Monk spread Bodie took time to work on the situation. He had no idea what had caused the outbreak of gunfire he had heard. There would easily be a number of explanations. When he thought about them he couldn’t see any that might be of benefit to himself. The last thing he needed was to get himself caught up in some dispute not of his own making.