Blood on the Hills

by Matt Chisholm

  “Sure,” said Shultz.

  “You got a horse?”

  “Horse an’ no saddle.”

  Shawn laughed and slapped him on the shoulder—“We’ll buy you one covered all over in silver down in old Mexico. There’s just you an’ me, Johnny. Twenty thousand apiece. How’s that sound?”

  “Sweet,” said Johnny. “I’ll go get my horse.”

  When he returned leading the animal by its hackamore, he vaulted onto the horse’s bare back and said: “What now?”

  “Froud’s hurt pretty bad,” Shawn explained. “But he has a deputy. Not much more’n a kid. But, Christ, he has sand right up to here. He’s goin’ to come after us, Johnny, an’ he’s goin’ to keep on comin’ till we stop him.”

  “What’s the problem?” Shultz said. “So we stop him.”

  Shawn thought about that a short while before he said: “I left a pretty clear trail I reckon. He’ll follow right along it.”

  Johnny Shultz smiled.

  “I know just the place,” he said. “Just follow me.”

  Shawn mounted and followed after Shultz. They hit an old Indian trail that had not been used for some time and Shawn knew they were leaving clear tracks. After about fifteen minutes riding, they came to a small stream that flowed steeply down the mountain. There were rocks and trees here and the bottom of the creek was gravel. On the far side was a small sandy beach and beyond that flat rocks.

  They allowed the horses a short drink in the water and they quenched their own thirsts before Shultz led the way on. They mounted the rock on the far side and then Johnny led the way into timber. The tracks they left were still clear, but after a while they rode into pine and the carpet of needles hid their tracks. Now Shultz halted.

  “We have only belt-guns,” he said. “Most likely he has a rifle. Right?”

  “He has a rifle for sure an’ he knows how to use it.”

  “Now you circle north an’ I circle south back toward the water. I’ll gamble he crosses right where we crossed. So we go over to the other side and we catch him as he goes over. From behind. We have to with nothing more than pistols.”

  “Good thinkin’.”

  They grinned at each other and parted company. Not long after when they had both waded the stream, they sighted each other among the rocks on either side of the trail and lifted their hands to each other. Then they hunkered down out of sight. When that deputy came along and crossed the stream, he’d find himself in a cross-fire. He’d be dead before he could feel surprised.

  Shawn was content. Shultz was a good man. So was he himself. They knew their jobs and they were both good shots. If that deputy acted like they expected, the trail to the Border was open.

  Chapter Seven

  Jody was not a superlative tracker. He wasn’t a bad one either. His teacher had been old Joe Widbee and what he didn’t know about tracking men and animals wasn’t worth knowing. But tracking men and tracking beasts was two different things, because animals worked on instinct and men thought they worked by reason. Now that reason was often at fault and it was up to you to take advantage of it. The first thing you learned when you were trailing a smart man was not to hurry. The second thing that if he was smart and you knew it, a plain trail was the most suspicious thing in the world. The third was that there were other ways of following a man than by simply riding along his sign. You had to be able to anticipate him. To read his mind. To know his intention.

  He could be bluffing you or double-bluffing you. He could be watching his back-trail. He could circle and come up behind you.

  As Jody rode after Grandus Shawn, he bore all these lessons in his mind and he got to thinking about them so hard, he didn’t know which lesson to pay heed to.

  One thing he was certain sure of and that was Shawn was smart. Another thing he knew was that he was ruthless and he wasn’t a coward. He was cool and he wouldn’t lose his nerve.

  When Jody hit the Indian trail, he stopped and he did some thinking. That was carrying out Joe’s injunction not to hurry yourself into a fluster.

  Now he reckoned was the time to anticipate, to try and save time and distance. He turned up a highish ridge and he took a good look around and by the appearance of the country, he had him a pretty good idea which line that Indian trail would take.

  Maybe being in a hurry, Shawn had taken it. But Jody had no intention of doing the same thing. He rode over to the far side of the ridge and he headed west under its cover. For several miles he rode like that, passing from ridge to ridge and a few times taking a peek to make sure that he was holding the same course as the trail below.

  As luck would have it, when doing this, he left his horse and walked down to the trail to take a closer look because he had seen something that took his attention. Suddenly, at one point, that trail was a mess of tracks.

  On closer inspection, he found that Shawn had been joined by a second man who had led his horse down from the rocks above. This, he reckoned, was the man who had lit out after die fight at the cabin and had shot Froud down. So now he was after two men, a fact that altered the whole picture and the odds. Jody decided to proceed with due caution.

  He returned to the ridge above and went ahead slowly, taking advantage of every inch of cover the country offered. His pace was slowed, for he knew the tracks he had seen were fresh and that the men, even if they were running straight ahead and away from him could not be far off. Just as Joe had taught him, he tried to put himself in Shawn’s boots and he knew, if he was Shawn, he would first get the man who was following off his back. With another man to help that should not prove too much trouble.

  And, as there were two men, a man like Shawn would take advantage of his superiority of numbers and he would come at Jody from two sides. Nothing was more deadly in ambush than a crossfire.

  Another thing Jody got firmly into his head was that whatever lay ahead, there would be no room for softness. There could be no holding back. If he had one of those men in his sights, he must kill him. Even though he had experienced more gunfire in the last forty-eight hours than he cared for and even though the taking of life was distasteful to him, he knew that he dare not hesitate or he himself would be dead.

  Quite apart from wishing to stay alive, there was in him, wild as he was and irresponsible as the rest of the family claimed him to be, the Storm determination to get the job done and to do it well. Beyond that, there was that thread that tied him to Froud. In spite of the man’s manner, the sheriff depended upon him entirely. Once, it is true, he was tempted to simply turn around and go back, forget all about Sheriff Froud and his problems and simply ride out of the country. But he fought this impulse down, leading the spare horse forward and ready for action. He considered ridding himself of the encumbrance of the led horse, but he knew that if it came to a long hard chase, with the two horses, he would have the undoubted advantage of the man he followed.

  Finally, he came out above the creek.

  The sight of it glittering down below among the rocks and trees caused him to pause. From where he was, he could see where the old trail stopped at the water and continued on the further side. He found that some deep instinct in him forbade him to go on forward.

  Here, he knew, was danger. Here was the spot he would ambush a man if he were Shawn. Crossing the water would expose a man entirely. Two men hidden in the rocks could cut him to ribbons. Which was not a prospect that Jody anticipated with pleasure.

  Dismounting, he led his horses back into deep cover and tied them. Once more, he changed his boots for his Ute moccasins, debated whether to encumber himself with a rifle and then, remembering that both men probably were armed only with belt-guns, he decided to retain it.

  He circled south and crossed the stream where it was deep enough to come up to his waist. Dripping, he came up on the far side and slipped into the trees. Still circling wide, he stopped abruptly when he came on the tracks of a horse.

  Straight off, it was plain to him that a rider had very recently worked his way wes
t through the trees. In other words, he had ridden back toward the water. Cautiously, using trees and brush like an Indian, Jody followed the sign and, within minutes, he came to the horse tied to the bole of a tree. Fortunately, he stopped in time to prevent the horse from either scenting or hearing him and circled the animal wide. He wondered where the other man was and decided that he would have circled to the north, thus taking the ford from two directions.

  Jody now estimated that, armed as they were only with belt-guns, the men would be in pretty close to the ford. He reckoned also that, if they had any sense, they would be on the far side of the water, so they could take him from behind as he crossed. The thought of how they could have caught him sent a chill down his spine. His reluctance to kill these men started to diminish.

  He went south and crossed the stream again, climbed into the rocks above and made a very cautious approach northward to the ford.

  The finding of the first man was so ridiculously easy that Jody at once suspected that he had walked into another kind of trap. This caused him to pause again and he lay down among the rocks to watch for a short while.

  This paid off for within a few minutes a movement to the north caught his eye and he saw the head and shoulders of a man above the rocks in that direction. The distance was considerable, but even so he made out the details of Grandus Shawn.

  The man made signs to the fellow below Jody and Jody read them as meaning that Shawn was getting pretty tired of waiting around there and shouldn’t they move on. The man below signaled for him to stay where he was. Shawn made a gesture of impatience and disappeared from sight.

  At that moment, something happened which might or might not be in Jody’s favor. One of the horses he had left back on the ridge whickered.

  At once, the two heads below popped into view.

  The man immediately below Jody at once called out: “He’s above us, Shawn.”

  They hesitated, looking at each other and the ridge above. Then Shawn came scrambling through the rocks, gun in hand. The man below Jody turned and started climbing.

  Jody hastily debated with himself whether to shoot the nearer or the further man first. He decided on Shawn because Shawn stood the greatest chance of getting away.

  But when it came to cutting down on the man in cold blood it was another matter. Jody had to remind himself that this was part of a gang of raiders that had killed a man and a boy for money. It was the thought of the boy that did it, however unpleasant the youngster may have been in life.

  He jacked a round into the breech of his rifle, lined it up on Shawn and fired at once.

  The range was long enough to challenge a man, but Jody could handle a rifle if he could do nothing more. Exactly where he hit Shawn he had no idea, but the man fell sideways across a boulder and lay there writhing.

  But Jody’s attention did not stay with him. He switched it instantly to the man immediately below him. As soon as Jody fired, the man sent a shot in his direction. It hit rock a good yard to Jody’s right and sang away into the blue. Jody shifted his position and raised himself up for the second shot. But the man was no longer in sight.

  He could hear him moving rapidly through the rocks and brush in the direction of the stream. Jody glimpsed him only once before he reached the water. He tried one shot but knew that he had missed. He heard the man reach the water and go wading through. Within a few minutes he would reach his horse and be on the run.

  Hastily, Jody scrambled to his feet and climbed the ridge as fast as he could go. By the time he reached his horses, he was quite breathless. He left the spare animal tied, vaulted into the saddle of his own horse and sent it as fast as it could go through the difficult jumble of rocks, brush and trees and headed down the ridge. He hit the stream, crossed it and started through the trees. Within seconds, he sighted the other man now mounted and traveling fast to the north.

  Why, Jody asked himself, was he headed in that direction?

  The question was answered almost at once. The man curved to the west and rode hard for the water. Jody then knew that Shawn had the money with him and that was what the man was after.

  Jody swung his own horse west in order to cut the man off. It was difficult action among the trees, but Jody tried several shots from the saddle of the racing horse. He tried in vain. At first, he thought the fellow was headed for Shawn, but as they both raced forward, risking their necks across the rough terrain, dodging trees, brush and rocks, Jody realized that the man was heading slightly north of where Shawn had lain in ambush.

  He was heading for Shawn’s horse and on that horse was the money.

  Jody realized that he was gaining fast because of his shortcut. The man must see that even if he reached the horse he would come under rifle-fire, which, with nothing more than a revolver, he could not answer to much effect.

  They burst into a wide glade among the timber. The pursued man was halfway across it when Jody thundered out of the trees. On the far side, he saw the horse.

  Jody pulled his own mount up short, raised his rifle to his shoulder and took careful aim at the man ahead. He fired.

  The running horse swerved to the right and for a moment Jody thought that the rider was taking evasive action, but suddenly the animal’s legs crumpled under him and the rider was hurled from the saddle.

  Jody spurred forward.

  He saw the man get uncertainly to his feet and start toward the trees. But this time he was not headed for Shawn’s horse. Now he wanted out.

  Jody turned after him.

  The man reached the trees and disappeared. Immediately, a shot came from the timber. The range was too long to be effective, but at once Jody saw no future and no purpose in hunting through those trees exchanging shots with a professional gunman. He was here for the money and the money came first.

  He turned left and reached the horse that was now straining, spooked on the end of its line. From the saddlehorn hung the sack of money. Jody reined in, untied the thong that held it in place and immediately spurred south.

  As soon as he had put his rifle back into its boot, he was jumping his horse into the stream and crossing. On the far side, he stopped and listened. He could hear the running feet of the other horse, but could see nothing. It sounded as if the man were beating west in order to cut off his retreat.

  He hesitated, not knowing what to do. Shawn could be dead or alive. If alive, he could still prove a danger. If alive, he would have to be taken in, if it was at all possible. He turned his horse along the western bank of the stream, soon found himself among the rocks in which Shawn had laid his ambush and searched around for the man.

  Dismounting, he drew the Colt and started forward on foot, going quietly on his moccasined feet. He could still hear the hoofs of the other man’s horse. He knew they were turning back toward him.

  Then he saw Shawn.

  The man was on his feet and he was turned half-away from Jody. His gun was in his hand, but he looked as if he would fall at any minute.

  “Drop it,” Jody said and cocked his own gun.

  Now the other horseman had turned toward him. He did not know if he were in sight because he dared not take his eyes from Shawn.

  The outlaw turned his head and smiled.

  “You’d best drop yours,” he said.

  The horseman was clattering closer. Jody knew that he would have to move quicker than he had ever moved in his life. He would have to turn, stop the horseman then line up on Shawn before the man could come full around and fire.

  There came a shot.

  It startled Jody, because it didn’t come either from Shawn or from the mounted man. It came from a rifle and it came from above. Jody heard the horseman veer away and jump his animal into the stream, cross and go hard into the east.

  The smile came off Shawn’s face. His gun clattered into the rocks.

  “My God,” he said. “You have all the luck, boy.”

  Jody looked up and saw a horseman come slowly down off the ridge where he had hidden his own horses
.

  It was Froud.

  When the sheriff halted his horse, the man looked all in. Jody would not have been surprised to see him pitch head-first out of the saddle. Instead, the older man pursed his lips and stepped down very slowly from the saddle.

  “I see you have the money there,” he said. “Lucky I took it into my head to follow you.”

  Jody felt disgust wash through him.

  “If you don’t beat all,” he said.

  “That’s right. Old Froud beats all. Always did. Always will. Now don’t stand there gawking, young feller. Get this sonovabitch tied up an’ on a horse and let us get out of here. That other feller ain’t goin’ to let us walk away with a fortune so don’t fool yourself. An’ I don’t fancy no more shootin’. I had all the shootin’ I can take for a while. I gotten used to a nice quiet county. This ain’t the kinda life I admire a-tall.”

  Jody uncocked his gun and put it away.

  He sighed. Life with Froud was going to be difficult. He couldn’t see where it could end.

  Chapter Eight

  It was a slow journey to town and it took them over three days to reach it. The two wounded men were suffering and neither should have been traveling at all. But Froud insisted on it. He wanted to see that money back in the bank—his reputation depended on it and he was a man who throve on what other men thought of him. He also wanted to see Grandus Shawn secure in his jail with a charge made out that would stick, he wanted to see a jury bring in a unanimous verdict of guilty and he wanted to see Shawn hang. He made no bones about it. It would be a high-light in his life when he saw that man hanging by the neck. Jody thought he was a cold-blooded son-of-a-bitch.

  The town of Dufane was, as Froud had boasted, a nice town. As such towns went. It was obviously the center of a fairly prosperous and populated region. It was mostly inhabited by Anglos and the railroad had reached there. South of the tracks was Mex town and that was another mess of stew altogether. Here there was real poverty and a lot of flies.

  You could tell almost at once that the place catered both for sheepmen and cowmen. There were also a sprinkling of farmers, their wagons and their dowdy womenfolk were in evidence. The place bustled in a gentle kind of way. Its prosperity was shown by the number of fairly large stores that stood mostly on Main. On the streets leading into Main there were saloons and suchlike almost along either side of the whole of one street and scattered through a couple more. Along Main imported brick was in evidence and there were some pretty handsome buildings, among which was the bank and the courthouse. The town was firmly established and it had a permanent air about it. This was no fly-by-night settlement where the ghosts only would walk inside five-six years. It was founded upon a sound economy not on the chance of gold or silver or if the grass held out.