Ralph Compton Brimstone Trail (9781101612637)

by Compton, Ralph; Galloway, Marcus

  When Paul looked to him for support now, the bounty hunter said, “We can sure use this fugitive as a quick way to find them others, but it would make things easier if we could gain some ground. Otherwise, there’s always the chance that he could meet up with Terrigan and leave us in the dust before we get a chance to have a word with them face-to-face.”

  “You told us you just needed to know what direction he was headed after leaving town.”

  Sheriff Noss let out an exasperated breath. “I must have rocks in my head to have gone along with any of this. I’ve thrown in with a silver-tongued preacher and a bounty hunter who can’t even track a man who leaves a trail of blood behind him.”

  “I already told you plenty of times,” Sprole said while pointing at the lawman as if he meant to stab a hole through his shoulder. “That blood trail led me back into town, and after that it was gone. Besides, it ain’t like you can track a man in town the same way you track him out here. Anyone who’s hunted down any fugitives would know that much.”

  “East Raynor,” Paul said.

  Both of the other men stopped in midtirade so they could point their eyes in his direction. “What was that?” Sprole asked.

  “I said East Raynor. That’s where Wes said he was going.”

  “Who’s Wes?”

  “The man with the wounded hand,” Paul replied. “The escaped prisoner.”

  “How’d you learn his name? Did he confess that too?”

  As the riders had been bickering, the animals beneath them had drifted to a stop. Paul flicked his reins to get his horse moving again. “No. I asked his name and he told me. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons he thought I’d listen to anything else he had to say.”

  “Right,” the sheriff scoffed. “I reckon he was just lonely.”

  Sprole wore a smirk similar to the sheriff’s as he said, “That’s why plenty of gunmen kill folks. They just want someone to care about them.”

  “It’s not your business to be there to soothe anyone else’s suffering,” Paul said. “It’s mine. I was there at that bedside while you men were out doing your jobs. How about you trust that I did my job?”

  Noss came alongside Paul’s gray mare and said, “Pardon me for thinking so, but even you gotta see why we’re frustrated. You’re holding out on information that we need. Out here, where there ain’t a thing standing between us and a bunch of outlaws looking to do us in, one little mistake can be the death of us. And believe me when I tell you that Jack Terrigan and the company he keeps won’t give two specks of dirt about how good your intentions are. They’ll kill you, just like they’ll kill me and Dave.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m telling you about East Raynor.”

  “I’ve heard of a place called Raynor,” Sprole said. “It’s a little mining town that was half deserted about six months ago. I’d be surprised if there was anything worth stealing out there.”

  “I heard about Raynor too,” Noss added. “And it ain’t deserted. I rode down that way in the spring to lend a hand with some claim jumpers that were making life miserable for the marshal living there. That town’s built itself up again in recent days. From what I recall, the east part of town has always been the roughest.”

  “Rough enough to attract the likes of Jack Terrigan?” Sprole asked.

  “If Father Paul swears that’s what he was told, then I believe him.” When the lawman looked over, it was clearly a chance for Paul to make a confession of his own if he needed to.

  “He told me he had to get to East Raynor,” Paul said. “That’s all he said on the matter.”

  “What about other matters?” Sprole asked.

  Paul’s lips formed a tight line across his face. The sun had been blazing down on them all day long, but it seemed especially hot now. “He . . . also said the rest of the gang might be camped about a day’s ride outside Pueblito Verde.”

  “Right,” Sprole said. “They’re headed for the desert. That’s what you said before.”

  “Go on, Father,” Noss urged. “We all came this far. I ain’t about to make you turn back now.”

  “You swear?”

  “I swear.”

  “He’s only expecting to meet one or two others,” Paul said. “Terrigan and the others should already be in Raynor, scouting out what they intend to steal next.”

  “And what might that be?” Noss asked in what was clearly a strained tone.

  “He didn’t say,” Paul admitted. “All he told me was that the job was going to be rough and he expected it to get bloody. That’s what he wanted to confess to me. That . . . as well as some other thing he did in his past that probably has no bearing on what we’re doing now. I hope that helps you.”

  Reluctantly, Noss looked over to Sprole.

  The bounty hunter scratched his chin and stared out at the rough stretch of ground he’d covered to get back to the trail a few minutes ago. “It helps to know where we’re headed. That is, if they’ll even go to Raynor once they know one of their gang already spilled his guts to a preacher.”

  “Preachers are supposed to be the best kind of counsel a man can keep,” Sheriff Noss said. “No offense, Father, but you coming to us with this confession you heard ain’t exactly how men of the cloth are supposed to operate.”

  “No offense taken,” Paul replied. “I’ve always been more apt to choose my path according to how good it feels to walk it instead of following all the signs along the way.”

  The lawman’s thoughts raced within his head, causing him to stare at the open terrain in front of him as if he was examining equations scrawled on a schoolteacher’s board. “If Terrigan is already at Raynor or at least on his way there, the rest of the gang will want to meet up with him there. Even if they decide against whatever job they got lined up, they won’t want to leave Terrigan swinging in the wind waiting for them. What else did you hear at that bedside, Father? And I don’t mean confession. I want to know about that man’s injury.”

  Sprole was quick to answer that one. “It isn’t enough to hold him back. I spoke to the doctor about it myself. He told me wounds like his will probably make him light-headed or sick to his stomach after a short while of riding.”

  “Which means he’ll probably want to get to his camp sooner rather than later,” Noss said. “Do you think he knows he’s being followed?”

  “I’ve found enough tracks to point me in the right direction,” Sprole said. “But it’s been slow going. Even if he is light-headed, he’s still getting ahead of us. Since we’re talking right now, he’s getting even farther away.”

  While the bounty hunter was growing impatient with every second that passed, Noss settled into his saddle a little easier. “So, strictly speaking, my fugitive ain’t exactly being followed yet. He probably doesn’t even know there’s anyone after him. What would you do from here, Dave?”

  Without needing much time to think about his answer, Sprole said, “Since the man we’re after has gone off the trail, it makes things a bit easier in some respects and a bit harder in others. Easier because any tracks I find will most likely come from him and harder because I’ll have to look a bit harder to find them tracks.”

  “It’s pretty open country that way,” Noss said as he looked in the direction from which Sprole had come. “We may even catch sight of him if we find some high ground.”

  “And when night comes along, if we’re anywhere close to him and them others, we should be able to spot any campfires they make from miles away.”

  “Good!” Paul said joyfully. “Everything seems to be working out after all!”

  Both men stared back at him, and this time, neither seemed to be enthusiastic.

  * * *

  As the day wore on, Paul wasn’t pressed for more information about the confession he’d heard. The few times the subject was broached, it was treated as
a delicate matter. Paul knew he would be skating on thin ice by withholding information the way he had, but simply couldn’t think of a better way to make sure he rode along with the other two to confront Jack Terrigan. It was a necessary evil, which didn’t make it feel any better at the pit of Paul’s stomach.

  Although the terrain was mostly flat, the lack of a trail made Paul feel disoriented. It wasn’t the first time he’d strayed from the beaten path, and he’d never much cared for it. Having a road laid out for you always made it easier to mosey along at a decent pace. So long as he knew the trail beneath his horse’s hooves led to a particular place, a man could relax and just follow it to where he needed to go. There were plenty of advantages to blazing a trail of his own, but expediency wasn’t one of them.

  Sheriff Noss took it upon himself to watch for any hints of the fugitive’s tracks while keeping an eye on Sprole using field glasses he’d brought along with him. The bounty hunter had sped out to the farthest point he’d scouted so he could resume following the tracks he’d discovered, leaving the lawman to find whatever he could on his own. Apart from the rare imprint left in a patch of clay or dirt, Noss examined scrapes on bare rock, horse droppings, and overturned stones. Those things were few and far between, but seemed to provide the lawman with enough to convince him he was headed in the right direction. Paul could only imagine what Sprole was doing farther ahead.

  The preacher’s day consisted of much more menial tasks. The only weapons he owned were a hunting rifle and an old Colt revolver, both of which he’d brought along with him for this journey. He put the rifle to use after spotting a brace of jackrabbits scurrying across open land late that afternoon. He brought one of them down along with a pheasant for supper that evening. The pistol proved to be useful when a snake had slithered up to him while he’d been loading the rifle at a watering hole. As much as Sheriff Noss encouraged him to keep the snake for its meat, Paul wouldn’t have it.

  “We are hunters by nature,” Paul had explained. “Not savages.”

  “Even a savage would make use out of somethin’ he killed,” Noss said while refilling his canteen from the same water that his horse was enjoying.

  “If I have to answer for casting aside that snake instead of eating it, then so be it. Hopefully the good Lord will understand.”

  Having slaked their thirst as well as their need for philosophical distractions, the horses and riders moved along.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until nightfall that Paul and Noss caught up once more with Sprole. They were crossing a long stretch of rough, rocky terrain that looked as if dirt had been blown into uneven layers and turned to stone. The bounty hunter stood beside his horse, holding the reins in one hand so as not to allow the animal to stray too far from the cluster of rocks beside them. Hills had started to form, like larger versions of ripples within the ground itself, giving the terrain the appearance of a slowly roiling ocean that built to higher peaks the farther out it went. Once the sunlight had faded, Paul could truly feel the loneliness of the desert.

  Coyotes howled in the distance.

  Wind blew without much of anything to get in its way.

  Stars emerged from the depths of a vast, endless sky.

  Despite feeling dwarfed by the vastness of his surroundings, Paul couldn’t help feeling closer to the heavens themselves.

  Before Noss could call out to him, Sprole motioned for them to dismount and be quiet about it. Paul and the sheriff led their horses to where the bounty hunter stood. The grin on Sprole’s face was almost bright enough to make up for the loss of sunlight.

  Pointing at Paul, Sprole said, “That smile on your face means you probably already saw what I did.”

  “I was just admiring the sky,” Paul said.

  “Well, peek around them rocks and you’ll find something else to admire.”

  All three men went to a pile of boulders that looked small from a distance simply because there wasn’t much of anything to compare them to. The largest rock was about the size of an overturned dinner table, and the others ranged from the size of melons all the way down to pebbles. While not very large in itself, the pile stood at the upper slope of a rise that swept all the way down into a desert basin. In the dim glow of moon- and starlight, Paul could see other choppy stone surfaces broken up by scrawny trees, scrub bushes, and more rocks.

  At the edge of a wide expanse of desolate landscape, there was a line of trees that were all bent as if by a strong wind blowing to the north. The dark scrub thinned out there, making way for a few larger rocks as well as what looked to be a fairly deep gorge that was about as wide as a creek. Paul squinted to try and see things as they truly were. Between a sky that seemed to absorb what little light there was and shadows that made any ditch look like a chasm, it was difficult to discern what truly awaited them down there. What wasn’t hard to see was the flickering glow of a campfire burning like a single candle in a vast, dark room.

  When Paul straightened up to get a better look, Sheriff Noss grabbed him by the elbow to pull him down. Sprole was nearby, hunkering down to stare at the distant fire as if it was the only thing on earth he cared about.

  “Hey, Father,” Noss whispered. “Remember all that talk about you leading us in circles and wasting our time on a wild-goose chase?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  Chapter 12

  Noss and Sprole hurried back to their horses and got busy making preparations. Paul checked his rifle and pistol to make sure both were loaded and then stuffed his pockets full of spare ammunition.

  “Just where do you think you’re going, Father?” Noss asked.

  “With you two. I came this far, so I’m not about to turn back.”

  “Nobody’s asking you to turn back. You just can’t come along for this.”

  “You don’t even know who’s down there,” Paul said.

  The bounty hunter and lawman both chuckled at that one. “This ain’t exactly a stretch of land many folks ride across,” Sprole said. “I already got enough of a look at the men down there to see that there’s only two of them and they’re both armed.”

  “That doesn’t say much,” Paul said. “We’re armed too. Anyone riding out here with a lick of sense is carrying some sort of firearm.”

  “One of them’s got his hand wrapped up in a whole mess of bandages,” Sprole said. “His right hand. You think that’s a coincidence?”

  “No. I just—”

  “Take it easy, Padre,” Sheriff Noss said as he gave Paul a friendly slap on the shoulder. “You spent the first part of the day trying to justify why you’re here and how good your information was, and now you’re gonna spend your night trying to prove us wrong when we find our fugitive?”

  “We shouldn’t go off half-cocked, is all I’m trying to say,” Paul told them. “The last thing you two should do is storm in on some innocent person’s camp with guns drawn, frightening him out of his skin!”

  Sprole snapped his .38 shut and then drew his .44 so he could hold it at an angle that allowed him to check the cylinders in what little light was available to him. “I make a good living tracking men like this one, and that don’t happen by leaving important things to chance. Once a man’s in my sights, I’m very particular about making sure he’s the right one. Those men,” he said while snapping the pistol shut and then dropping it into its holster with a quick flourish, “are the right ones.”

  “How close were you able to get?” Noss asked.

  “I crept a ways down into that basin,” Sprole replied while hooking a thumb toward the flat expanse spread out below them. “It wasn’t as dark as it is now, so I didn’t risk being seen. Caught a pretty good glimpse of ’em through my telescope. The one with the bandaged hand is definitely the one that scampered out of that window back in town. I’d stake my life on it.”

>   “Well, I don’t like you two going down there,” Paul said.

  Still clapping him on the back, Sheriff Noss eased up so he was patting instead. Somehow the lighter impacts twisted Paul’s face into even more of a scowl. “It’s good of you to worry,” the lawman said, “but there’s no need to fret. This is what men like me and Dave do. If there’s trouble, we’ll know how to handle it.”

  “Besides,” Sprole added, “how are we supposed to bring these men in if we don’t confront them?”

  “I realize all of that,” Paul said as his patience strained like piano wire. “What I meant was that I don’t like you two going down there in that way.” When he said those last two words, Paul pointed toward the side of the rocks where Sprole and Noss were preparing to go. “We’ve all been real careful to keep our heads down, and I’m sure we haven’t skylined ourselves up here. Even if we had, it’s dark enough so all anyone would see is a few rough shapes. Still, if anyone down there did catch sight of any movement . . . even from our horses . . . they’d be watching this spot pretty closely.”

  Both of the other men still had the condescending looks etched onto their faces, but there was no longer the self-righteousness that had backed them up before. Finally, after a few tentative glances, Sprole said, “He’s got a point.”

  Noss removed his hand from Paul’s shoulder and snatched up one of the shotguns he’d brought along with him. “If he’s so worried about drawing undue attention, he wouldn’t talk so much.” Despite that complaint, the lawman walked around to the other side of the rocks and started looking for an alternative way down into the shallow basin.

  The bounty hunter walked past Paul and stopped before beginning his descent. “You know how to use that rifle?”

  Looking down at the weapon he’d brought, Paul nodded. “I’ve fired it plenty of times.”

  “Can you hit anything?”