by John Legg
Just as he was inching around the front comer, someone almost walked into him. Culpepper did not even think—his hands shot out, grabbed the man’s throat, and squeezed. At the same time, he slammed the man’s head against the adobe and wood wall. The man slumped, held up only by Culpepper’s strength.
Culpepper eased the man onto the ground. With swift assurance, he pulled out the bandanna he carried in his pocket. He used it to tie the man’s hands. He pulled the other bandanna from around his neck and gagged the man with it. The man seemed only semiconscious anyway, so Culpepper figured he had a little time before the man began to recover.
As he worked, Culpepper looked the man over. He was not familiar, but the lean hawkishness of his face, the twin Colts he wore, and his fancy long suit coat and string tie identified him as a gunman, as far as Culpepper was concerned. If the man turned out to be innocent, Culpepper would apologize to him, but right now he didn’t much care how badly hurt the man was.
Culpepper removed the man’s Colt pistols and tossed them toward the river. Then he stood and poked his nose around the corner of the building. He found that there was no door on this house, either; just a gaping doorway. The noise and laughter were much louder and clearer now. And he could hear Coakley’s hoarse voice among them. He spun and went around back.
Behind the house was a corral. Rickety posts of wood brought from who knows where kept in a dozen horses and four mules. The animals shuffled uncomfortably as Culpepper and Bear walked around the corral to the other side of the house. In the side wall, near the back, was another doorway. It was dark, but the sounds came through it quite clearly.
Culpepper stepped just inside. He drew a pistol and held it at arm’s length down his leg, thumb on the hammer. Then he eased inside. He could tell from the way his tail whipped furiously back and forth that Bear was even more excited, but the mastiff made no sounds.
Culpepper peered around an inside doorjamb and saw three men. One was Ned Coakley. Culpepper itched to just put a bullet in the rogue lawman’s head here and now. He fought the feeling, though, since that would only lead to his death. And Merry’s, too—if she were still alive.
Regaining his control, he backed through the room and then was outside again. He walked down the side wall of the house, peering through cracks, but he could see little. Finally he sighed and turned back. He went back around the corral to the other side of the house. His prisoner was there, but was standing and showing other signs of alertness.
Culpepper walked up to the man and hammered him a shot in the kidneys. The man’s midsection jumped out with the impact, and he sank to his knees. Culpepper knelt and whispered into his ear. “You and me’re goin’ for a little walk, you pukin’ skunk. You give me any trouble and that little pop I just gave you will seem like a love tap. That clear?”
The man nodded.
“Good.” Culpepper rose and pulled the man with him. He turned the man and shoved him. “Walk.” Before long, he was nearing the hill and called out softly, “Jody, we’re comin’ in.” He waited tensely for the few moments before his brother’s voice told him to come ahead.
Jonas tied the prisoner’s hands and feet with rope and then shoved him down. He knelt in front of the man. “I’ve got neither time nor patience to fool with you, maggot,” he said harshly. “You’ll answer my questions, and make no move—includin’ shoutin’—to cause trouble, or you will die in considerable pain. You be helpful, you might come out of this with no more pain that you’ve had already. That clear?”
The man nodded, and Jonas removed the gag.
“What’s your name? And how’d you get hooked up with Coakley?”
“Greg Riddell. He hired me down in Durango,” Riddell said without hesitation. He owed no allegiance to Ned Coakley other than the services for which Coakley paid. And Coakley was not paying him to be tortured.
Culpepper nodded. “How many men’s he got in the house?”
“Seven. No, wait, six, now that I’m out here.”
“The woman?”
“She’s there.” Riddell licked his lips, nervous, since he figured that the woman meant something to this broad-shouldered, flaming-haired lawman. “She’s...all right.”
“Where is she?”
“The house’s got four rooms, two in front, two in back, with a hallway down the center from the front door. The woman’s in the front room on your left as you go in.”
“Coakley and the rest of the men?”
Riddell shrugged. “They could be anywhere in the house. Coakley’s sort of taken over the other front room, which is somethin’ of a kitchen. But he doesn’t always stay there. The rest of the men sleep wherever they’re at. And they sometimes go into the room with... the woman.”
Culpepper nodded again, his face tight with anger.
Chapter Thirty
“Well, Jonas, what’re we waitin’ for?” Jody asked. “Let’s go down there and get Merry out.”
“No,” Jonas said through a constricted throat. There was nothing he wanted to do more, especially knowing that she was being abused and would continue to be degraded as long as she was with Coakley and the others. But it was foolish. “No,” he repeated. “There’s too much risk involved. Too much of a chance of you or I shootin’ each other in the dark. Or worse, shootin’ Merry. No, it’ll have to be dawn.”
Jody nodded, accepting the wisdom of it, and sympathizing with what his brother was going through. “What about him?” he asked, pointing to Riddell. “Won’t they miss him down there after a spell?”
Jonas shrugged. “Maybe. But if they do, there’s a good enough chance they’ll think he fell in the river or something. These boys don’t have any loyalty.”
“Sad but true,” Riddell said softly.
Jonas nodded and pulled out the gag again. “I got to do this, boy,” he said.
“I understand,” Riddell said with a nod.
The Culpeppers sat back, munching on jerky and stale bread, and sipping from their canteens. For each bite of jerky that Jonas ate, he gave a bigger piece to Bear. The mastiff did not seem to mind the leathery dried meat. Each brother wished he had some hot coffee even more than a hot meal, but each knew that was not possible.
After their meal, such as it was, the men dozed, as did the dog. Riddell decided to see if he could slither away, but Bear roused right up and growled once at him. Riddell froze, shrugged when he saw Jonas looking at him, and then decided he might as well sleep, too.
Twenty-five minutes before dawn, Culpepper rose and stretched. He splashed a little water from his canteen into his hands and then rubbed them over his face. He kicked Jody lightly on the boot. “Time to go, little brother,” he said softly.
Jonas felt lousy from not having slept well. Visions of evil men attacking Merry made it difficult to sleep. With sleep-blurred, angry eyes he looked at Riddell. “Was the woman debased?” he asked in a rage-clotted voice.
Riddell nodded tentatively, suddenly worried.
“You take part?”
Riddell nodded again, and tried to speak around the gag, to plead for mercy, but all he could manage were unintelligible sounds.
“I can fix it so you don’t ever do that to another woman,” Culpepper said. He pulled the big bowie knife from his belt and ran a thumb along the side of the blade. “How would that suit you?”
Riddell’s head swung furiously back and forth.
“It’s either that, or I kill you here and now,” Culpepper said. The edge of rage in his voice had not lessened an iota.
Riddell nodded glumly. If he was going to die, he’d rather have it be quick and sure, rather than be emasculated and left to die in a pool of blood where his manhood had been.
Jonas knelt. “You took up with the wrong fellers this time, you puke-suckin’ maggot,” he said, in a voice that would have sent chills up the back of the Grim Reaper himself. Then he grabbed Riddell’s hair, jerked his head back, and whipped the bowie’s blade across Riddell’s throat. He ignored the spurts of b
lood that splattered his shirt.
When Riddell had quit jerking, Culpepper wiped his blade on the man’s pants, then stood and slid the knife away. “You ready?” he asked, looking at his brother.
Jody nodded grimly. He didn’t think he could ever be as cold-hearted as he had just seen his brother be. He had never seen that side of Jonas before, and it chilled him to the bone. But he vowed silently that he would not let Jonas down. He would do whatever needed doing, no matter how nasty or cold-blooded it might be.
“Your shoulder all right?” Jonas asked.
Jody looked blank for a moment, then remembered the gunshot wound. It had been a few weeks, and he had already pretty much forgotten about it. Only an occasional twinge made him think of it on occasion. “Just fine, Jonas. It won’t slow me any.”
Jonas nodded.
In the darkness, the Culpeppers plodded across the muddy trickle of West Creek and then walked toward the house. Bear trotted just ahead of them. As they walked, Culpepper quickly told Jody what he wanted him to do and where to be in the house.
When they came up to the side of the house, Jody broke off and went around the corral to the doorway in the opposite side wall near the back. Culpepper went along the front wall and flattened himself back against it right next to the door. Bear sat on the other side of the door. And they waited.
Dawn was not long in coming, and this was the most dangerous time, Jonas figured. The men inside were beginning to get up, and they would be heading outside sooner or later to take care of personal business. More noises of waking men drifted out the open doorway.
Jonas drew both Remington’s and eased the hammers back. “Stay here, Bear. Stay here,” he whispered. Then he bellowed, “Now!” He swung inside, firing twice through the doorway to the room to his right, but he moved into the room at his left. He saw Merry, her two hands tied together and then tied to the iron bedstead. She was wrapped in a thin blanket. He thought something about her looked wrong, but he had no time to place it.
Ferd Wiley was trying to push the blanket aside, but was having a hard time of it, since Merry had it clamped between her thighs. He slapped Merry with his left hand, snarling, “Hold still, damn it, bitch.” Neither the two gunshots nor the shout had disturbed him. He was concentrating on trying to have his way with the woman again, and figured it was just some of his companions cutting up. Then a voice got his attention.
“That’s enough of that shit, you puke-eatin’ maggot,” Jonas said, his voice raspy.
Wiley half turned, his face feral and frightened. “You!” he breathed. He fell onto his seat on the floor, trying to say something.
Culpepper shot him. Then he walked to where Wiley lay, still alive. Culpepper looked down at him in contempt. “I thought you once told me you weren’t much of a violent man, nor one to whomp on the defenseless,” he said.
“I lied,” Wiley gasped. He tried to sneer but couldn’t.
“Too bad.” Culpepper shot him in the face. Jamming his pistols away, Culpepper headed for the bed, where he began untying Merry. As he did, he heard gunfire from the back of the house, and he hoped Jody was all right. He was almost through when something punched him a terrible blow to the back. Culpepper groaned and fell forward. But he immediately pushed himself up and began to spin, drawing one of his Remington’s as he did. He saw Lou Boxham in the doorway, still wearing his cast, ready to fire again.
Boxham fired, but hit only a wall. Culpepper used the final shot in his pistol. The bullet ripped into Boxham’s forehead. Boxham was slammed back up against the doorjamb, and then sank to the floor, dead.
“Darn,” Culpepper muttered as he fell. He heard more gunshots, and a woman’s scream. And he felt something warm and wet licking his face. “Silly dog,” he muttered as the blackness swept over him.
When he heard his brother shout, Jody Culpepper charged into the dark back room. It was empty, as they had figured it would be, but he saw both doorways and he nervously moved across the room toward the hallway. He heard two gunshots, then another one moments later. By then he was in the hallway, just entering the other back room.
Two men were just pulling on their gun belts. “Shit!” one of them shouted when he saw Culpepper. He tried getting a pistol out.
Culpepper fired three times at the man, knocking him against a bed in the corner. The man fell on the bed. By then the other outlaw had gotten a pistol out and fired twice. One bullet clunked into the wall near Culpepper’s head. The other tugged at his shirt.
“Son of a bitch,” Jody snapped, as he fired off the three remaining shells in his pistol. He hit the man, but he wasn’t sure how many times, or if any of the bullets had been fatal. He swiftly ejected the spent shells and began jamming new ones home, trying to keep an eye on the two men in the room.
He heard a sound behind him, and he began turning, still trying to get his pistol loaded. A bullet punched him in the chest, and another hit him in the throat. He twirled away and down, hands scrabbling futilely to stop the blood gushing from his neck. As the blackness drew over him, he saw a man with a badge on his chest standing in the other back room. He had a smoking pistol in hand. He was dimly aware of someone stepping over him from inside the room, and he figured it was the second man he had shot. Must’ve not done too good a job, you dumb bastard, he thought to himself. Sorry that I’ve failed you, Jonas.
Ned Coakley waited only moments after hearing the first two shots. He wanted to know what was going on. Then he saw a blur charge into the room across the hall. “That son of a bitch,” he muttered, knowing it was Jonas Culpepper from the mane of red hair under the hat. He wondered how many other men Culpepper had with him.
“Get in there and get that bastard,” he snapped to Boxham.
“Damn,” Coakley swore, when he saw a figure moving across the door to the back room. He figured now there was a posse waiting for them outside. All he figured to do now was to get away. When Boxham had eased out of the room, Coakley noticed that Neil Corcoran, the only other man in the room with him, had already gone into the back room directly behind this one. A faint “I’ll get us horses” drifted back to him from Corcoran. Gunfire broke out from the back of the house.
Coakley dashed into the back room and glanced across the hall. He saw a man who looked much like Sheriff Jonas Culpepper trying to reload his pistol. “I’ll fix your ass,” he mumbled. He drew his pistol and fired twice, noting with satisfaction that the man he had shot was certainly dead, even if he didn’t yet know it.
Coakley almost shot one of his own men when he saw movement in the other room. At the last moment, he realized it was Barney Strickland, one of the men he had recruited in Durango. Strickland looked to be pretty badly wounded, but he was mobile. “Move it, Barney,” Coakley spat at the man. “We ain’t got all day.”
Strickland nodded and continued shuffling forward. He seemed as if he were afraid that any faster movement would cause pieces of him to break loose and fall to the floor.
Coakley chafed at Strickland’s slow pace, and was about to leave him when he figured that he might need every gun he had, wounded or not, if they had a bigger fight on their hands outside. So he waited impatiently, taking Strickland’s arm and trying to hurry him along.
An impatient—and thoroughly frightened—Corcoran was waiting just outside the door. He was on a horse that had no saddle but did have a bit and bridle. He held the reins to four other similarly equipped horses. “That it?” he asked fearfully.
“I think so,” Coakley said, as he helped Strickland onto a horse. “That damned sheriff went into the front room with the woman. I’m sure he got that weasel Wiley. I figured he got Lou, too, since Lou ain’t out here.” He leapt onto his own horse. “But it don’t matter now. Ride!” He viciously lashed the horse.
Merry Culpepper furiously worked at freeing herself from the last of the ropes that had held her to the bed almost all the time since they had gotten to this godforsaken town a week ago. She was in a panic. Jonas looked so forlorn lying
there with his life’s blood draining out of him. She had to get free to help him. She just had to!
Bear was lying next to Jonas, whimpering as he licked the sheriffs face, trying to rouse him. His master had never slept like this before, and it was disquieting. From time to time he looked up at Merry, his soft brown eyes pleading for her to come and do something about this unusual situation.
Finally Merry got free. Holding the blanket around her, she raced to Jonas and rolled him over onto his belly so she could check the wound in his back. The bleeding had slowed a little, but was still coming out much too fast. Using Jonas’s knife, she sliced her blanket up some. Making a thick, soft pad of one piece, she placed that directly over the wound. She cut a strip of blanket, lay it across the bandage, and then managed to roll him over again. She tied the quilt tightly against his chest.
Sweating and frightened beyond all belief, she stood. Jody was here somewhere, she figured. He just had to be. Then a chill trickled down her spine as she had the thought that perhaps he, too, was injured.
Tentatively, she edged out of the room into the hallway. She peeked in the opposite room, but saw nothing. She went up the hallway to the room at back—and found Jody’s lifeless body sprawled in the back room, a half-loaded pistol near his hand.
Merry sank to the floor and began to sob, her shoulders shaking with the despair that seemed as much a part of her as her heart and lungs and blood.
She didn’t know how long she sat there like that, but she suddenly became aware of Bear. The mastiff was licking her face and whining. She patted the dog’s massive head. “But what can I do, Bear?” she asked. “I’m alone and I can’t do anything for Jonas.”
Bear backed off a step or two and barked at her. He pawed the floor, and barked some more.