by Neil Hunter
He acknowledged the shooting might have been from some other lawful group come up the mountain to deal with the Monk clan. They were no bunch of peace lovers, more along the lines of a reclusive clan of mountain dwellers who expected to be left alone and who protected their own and who would not welcome strangers. Something not unheard of when it came to these mountain dwellers. The possibilities were numerous. All he wanted was to get his hands on Thad Monk so he could haul him, dead or alive, back to collect the bounty.
There were times, he decided, when a man had to deal with all kinds of distractions just to earn himself an honest dollar. This was one of them. It seemed Bodie was going to have to wade through more than his fair share of them before he got his hands on Thaddeus Monk.
He pushed on, telling himself he would come through this damn mess in the end. He’d been riding the bounty trail for too long to allow a few setbacks to make him quit. In truth Bodie never did quit. It wasn’t in his nature to give in just because things became rough.
Bodie let his thoughts take him back to the previous encounter with the Monk clan when he had approached the house. If he was going to revisit the place he needed to go in with less of a fanfare, using some stealth, and to that end he decided he would ride around the place and come in from a less than direct point. He reined the horse west, figuring to make a wide approach and tackle the homestead from the far side. It would mean an longer ride but Bodie never concerned himself with time limits. Better to make a slower approach than catch a fast bullet.
He felt the hot sun on him as he rode. A shade more comfortable than the sudden rain storm of the previous day. The horse had no quarrel with the slow pace of travel. The day had taken on a quieter aspect and Bodie was never one to argue with that. His man hunting life had a habit of becoming dark and violent when things were on the move and right now was no exception.
Chapter Sixteen
Adam’s clothes still felt damp from the rain storm. He had managed to find himself some cover but not before the deluge soaked him through. He had spent long hours through the night sitting in front of the small fire he had built. It threw out some heat, though not enough to dry him out and he called himself every kind of a fool for not making sure he had a slicker tied behind his saddle. Despite his condition he’d had to smile when he imagined what his pa would have said to such a fool mistake.
His father.
He was still coming to terms with the fact. He had found him, but Brand had ridden out so quickly they hadn’t really had time to forge any kind of bond. Adam hadn’t expected it to happen instantly. He just wanted to get to know the man. Which was why he had acted on impulse, hiring the horse and following his father up into the hills. He knew Brand would be mad as hell when he showed up and the boy admitted what he’d done was downright foolish.
At least he had brought his rifle along with him. Coming all this way without a means to protect himself would have been even more foolish than actually striking out on his own. He had heard distant gunfire and he couldn’t help wondering if his father had been involved. Adam didn’t dwell on that for too long. He held the feeling Brand was well able to take care of himself. With those thoughts on his mind he pushed on across the timbered slopes, admitting to himself he was having some problems tracking. The rain had washed out most of the tracks he had been following and he had to cast around, retrace his steps while he kept up his search.
He found tracks finally but they comprised more than one horse. And the way they were spread out, meandering back and forth, told him there were searching for something, cutting about in a haphazard way. What were the searchers looking for? More likely who were they looking for.
His father’s image came into his mind.
Was he the subject of the search?
Adam took to his saddle, worry in his mind now. He needed to find his father. To find him unhurt and alive.
He told himself he had been right to go searching for Brand. If his father was in possible danger he wanted to be around. To help if he could.
Mid-morning and the rain that had swept the mountain slopes had gone. The sun was back in a cloudless sky, the heat pressing down through the trees. Adam rode with a sense of urgency behind his actions now.
Where was his father?
Sporadic gunfire came and went. Echoes rattled across the slopes, distorted by the clustered timber and he found it hard to pinpoint where exactly the shots came from. He admitted to himself that his tracking skills were not as good as he might have imagined. Becoming an expert took years of dedication. More time than he had spent.
He spotted the gleam of water, decided to stop to refill his canteen. He pulled his horse towards the rushing stream that originated somewhere far higher up the mountain. His horse picked up the scent and turned sharply. Adam’s lack of concentration left him unprepared for the animal’s unexpected move. He felt himself sliding sideways from the saddle, lost his grip on the reins and pitched off the horse. He landed awkwardly, thrown forward across the slope above the stream. When he landed he lost his balance and smacked down on his stomach, throwing out his hands to halt his fall. The impact punched the air out of his lungs a second before he bounced his head against a half-buried rock. The blow was hard enough to open a gash above his right eye that bled heavily as Adam stretched out motionless in the lush grass.
And sometime later that was where Bodie found him.
Chapter Seventeen
They took a break after an hour of steady travel, still deep in timbered country. Rankin had spotted a shallow stream foaming down from a higher level and the four of them welcomed the sight of the water. They took it in turns to drink and splash the cool water on their faces,
‘I never thought water could taste so nice,’ Joanne said.
Rankin had unhooked the canteen hanging on the saddle. He poured out the contents, rinsed out the canteen and refilled it with fresh water.
Brand had taken up a position where he could watch their back trail. They might not have seen any signs of pursuit but he was taking no chances. The way things had unfolded he wasn’t about to let his guard down.
‘They’re out there alright,’ Rankin said. ‘No way they’re going to just forget about us.’
‘They have too much to hide,’ Brand said. ‘The mine. The killings. And we’ve hurt them.’
‘These mountain boys close ranks when something threatens them. And they know these hills. It’s their backyard and they’ll do everything they can to protect it.’
‘We’ll rest for a while,’ Brand said. ‘Just stay close. No wandering off.’
‘You think any of us is going to do that?’ Calvin said peevishly. ‘This is not what I was supposed to be involved with.’
He was slumped against a fallen log and stared at Brand as if he was responsible for everything that had happened. The man was not taking their position well. Brand was beginning to lose patience with the man. He couldn’t help comparing Calvin’s self-pity to the way Joanne was handling things. The young woman was holding up strongly, her stubborn nature adding to her strength. Her spirit would see her through whatever problems they might face.
‘Face it, Calvin. This is how things are. None of us want it but the Monks aren’t about to let us go without a fight,’ Brand said.
‘Then it’s down to you and Rankin,’ Calvin snapped back. ‘Isn’t that what you’re paid to do? Protect us.’
Rankin turned, his face angry. He stood over Calvin, hands gripping his rifle. His shoulders were set, tension visible in every part of him.
‘Calvin, I’ve heard enough from you. Mister, this isn’t just your problem. We’re in this together and you better realize that. I heard enough of your whining. None of us chose for this to happen—but it has. You take a long look at this lady, here, and quit acting like a spoiled brat. She’s showing more backbone than you’ll ever have.’
Joanne glanced at the Marshal, color rising in her cheeks.
The sudden eruption of roosting birds from the
undergrowth behind them caught Brand’s attention. He didn’t hesitate. The flight meant only one thing.
‘Down,’ he called. ‘Get down.’
A barrage of shots blasted sound over his yell. Rifle fire. From more than one weapon.
Brand lunged at Joanne, slamming into her and brought her to the ground.
Out the corner of his eye he saw Rankin fall back, a rifle slug tearing into his left shoulder. The lawman dropped to the ground, his rifle lost from his grip.
The shooting continued and Calvin was caught as he rose to his feet in panic. A half dozen rifle slugs struck him, tearing bloody holes in his side and back. A final shot took away one side of his face and he pitched down on the ground.
Covering Joanne with his prone body Brand swung his rifle around and returned fire in the direction the shots came from. He had seen the muzzle flash from the weapons and triggered the magazine’s load as fast as he could work the rifle. When it clicked empty he pulled the Colt from his holster and used that.
‘Brand.’
He heard Rankin’s strained voice, turned and saw the Marshal pushing his own rifle in Brand’s direction. He snatched it up, sheathed the Colt and laid down more fire at the ambush site. He had used up half the magazine when he realized there was no more return fire. He slid off Joanne. Stayed low to the ground as he eyed the ambush site.
‘…nearly suffocated me,’ he heard the woman say.
Still able to make her presence felt, he realized.
‘Better than a bullet,’ he said.
‘Have they gone?’ she asked.
Brand pushed her back down as he started to rise.
‘More than likely not. Let’s find out before we raise any flags.’
‘I can’t see any movement back there,’ Rankin said. ‘Either they’ve backed off, or you put them down.’
‘Stay down,’ Brand said. ‘I need to circle around and come up behind them.’
As he spoke he was thumbing fresh loads into the Colt from his belt loops.
‘Be careful,’ Joanne said.
Crouching Brand angled for cover, slipping in between thick tree trunks, starting to circle around the ambush position. He moved as fast as he could without creating too much noise. He was aware that the hidden men might be waiting for him to show himself. It was a risk he was willing to take. He had no idea how many he might be facing, or whether there were others close by. If there were the gunfire might bring them on the run.
He took himself well to the rear of the shooters’ position, using the timber and the tangled undergrowth as cover. He kept the spot he was approaching in his sights, searching for any movement that might tell him what he could be facing. The intensity of the recent shooting suggested there was more than one of them and he had to consider they might still be alive and able to shoot back.
Brand felt sweat finger its way down the side of his face. In amongst the greenery the day’s heat remained trapped and it was getting uncomfortable. His shirt was sticking to his back. Brand flicked at the moisture threatening to sting his eyes.
He froze as he caught a shadow ahead, still part-hidden by the undergrowth. Something dark. Like clothing. A man’s shirt. Brand focused on the spot, peering through the greenery. It was definitely clothing. He saw the shape move. Picked up a low, hesitant voice as someone spoke.
Brand raised the rifle, feeling the weapon slippery in his grasp. He wiped each hand on his pants in turn.
The voice he had heard came again and Brand realized the man was muttering to himself rather than conversing with someone else.
Brand thought about Rankin and Calvin. The amount of times the geologist had been hit Brand doubted he was still alive. The lawman had been hit in the shoulder and would need seeing to. Time was wasting. He stepped to the side, closing in on the ambush site and pushed through the undergrowth, coming up behind the concealed shooters.
And found one man on his back, bullet holes in his chest.
A second man crouched against the trunk of a tree, rifle on the ground at his feet. He was the one talking…mumbling more to himself than anyone who might be listening. He raised his head when Brand appeared. He was bleeding from the mouth. There was more blood coming from the holes in his body, his hands clasped there in an attempt to stop the heavy flow. He stared up at Brand, his eyes focusing.
‘You done for us,’ he said. ‘Shot us to pieces.’
‘No more’n you asked for.’
‘Nathaniel, he’s goin’ to hunt you down…’
‘He’ll need to make a better showing than you boys.’
A slow cough bubbled up from the man’s chest. He dribbled more blood from his slack mouth. He folded forward, body hunching over. His breathing was labored, becoming less.
Brand backed off. There was no more to fear from the pair. He walked out into the open and made his way back to where Joanne was bending over Rankin, doing what she could for his wound. She looked up at him. Her hands were red with Rankin’s blood.
‘Calvin didn’t make it,’ she said quietly.
‘I figured that.’
She waved a hand in the general direction of the way they had come.
‘Are they dead?’
‘One is.’ Brand said. ‘Other one is well on his way to catching up.’
‘Did they have horses?’ Joanne asked. ‘We could use them.’
‘Didn’t see them close by. Wasn’t worth the risk looking for them if there are others around.’ Brand checked out Rankin. ‘That slug caught you hard.’
‘Almost worth getting shot to have her tending me,’ the lawman said. His voice was low and breathy.
‘Trouble is I can’t do much more,’ Joanne said.
She had torn a couple of cloth strips from her dress to press over the puckered bullet hole in Rankin’s shoulder.
‘You’re doing fine. Just stay with him.’
Brand walked to where their horse was standing yards away. It turned its head and moved nervously as he got near. Brand held out a reassuring hand, talking quietly to the animal until he was able to take hold of the dangling reins. He ran a hand along its neck to calm it, then gently led it back to Joanne and Rankin. He wrapped the reins around a low branch, went to the saddlebags and took one of the shirts. He handed it to Joanne. He passed her the knife from his boot sheath so she could fashion crude bandages to wrap around Rankin’s shoulder.
‘Best I can do,’ she said.
She rubbed her bloodied hands down her dress. She took the canteen Brand unhooked from the saddle and gave Rankin a taste of water.
‘Any liquor in those saddlebags?’ the Marshal asked.
‘A jug of homemade liquor hanging from the saddle.’
Brand brought it and Joanne pulled the stopper. Gave Rankin a drink.
‘That is vicious stuff,’ the lawman said. His face puckered as he spoke. ‘But what the hell.’
Joanna allowed him a second swallow before she handed the jug to Brand to hang back from the saddle.
Brand reloaded the rifles and handguns from the ammunition pouch. He jammed one into the empty scabbard on the horse. He took a swallow from the canteen.
‘Not going to taste that liquor?’ Rankin said.
‘I need a clear head,’ Brand said.
‘What now?’ Joanne asked.
‘We get ourselves as far away from the Monks as we can,’ Brand said. ‘Certain sure they haven’t upped and quit on us.’
Joanne took him aside.
‘We need to get Hec somewhere safe. That bullet needs to come out before too long.’
Brand knew she was talking sense. The longer the piece of lead stayed in Rankin’s wound the more likely complications could set in.
A bullet wound brought with it more than simply injury to flesh. Infection. Dirt drawn into the wound as it entered could lead cause that. They could do without complications.
‘I know what you’re saying. Not so easy to do stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Jason, w
e have to do something for him.’
Brand couldn’t argue with that.
‘Hec, we need to move on. Find ourselves a place we can deal with that wound. Sooner than later.’
Brand bent over Rankin and raised him off the ground. He heard the man groan softly. Ignored it. Moving Rankin was going to hurt him but it had to be done.
‘Keep the horse steady,’ Brand said.
Joanne took the reins, stroked the horse’s head. She watched as Brand boosted Rankin into the saddle.
‘You’ll need to get up behind and hold him steady.
She passed the Colt she was holding to Brand. With his help she pulled herself onto the horse, gripping Rankin. Brand returned the revolver to her, took the reins and without a word led the horse forward.
‘What about Calvin?’
‘I understand what you mean but there’s nothing we can do for him now,’ Brand told her. ‘He’s dead. We’re not and if we want to stay that way we need to move.’
Joanne might have protested if he hadn’t been right. It didn’t sit too well having to leave Calvin’s body where it was but their needs were greater. Rankin’s need was to stay in the saddle. His wound was not doing him any favors. His pain refused to let up and with every step the horse took Joanne felt the man shudder. All she could do was hang onto him and try to keep him from slipping out of the saddle.
‘Jason,’ she said. He glanced up at her and she added, ‘Over to the west I recall there being an old mine settlement. Been abandoned for years but there might be a place we can use. At least it’ll offer some cover while we do what we can for Hec’s shoulder.’
‘Worth looking at.’
He followed her instructions and in less than an hour they came on the deserted cluster of buildings. A half dozen wooden structures, all in various stated of decay, with weeds and brush growing around them. Given time the mountain would reclaim the land and absorb the huts.
~*~
By this time Rankin was more unconscious than awake and Joanne was struggling to keep him upright. She made no complaints. Simply held his body close and chose to ignore the sticky feel of blood that had leaked from the shoulder wound.