Ralph Compton Brimstone Trail (9781101612637)

by Compton, Ralph; Galloway, Marcus

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Something that moves?”

  Paul nestled the rifle’s stock under his arm so he could cradle the weapon while pointing its barrel at the ground. “I put the meat in tonight’s stew, didn’t I?”

  “Hitting a rabbit or bird is one thing. Hitting a man is another.”

  “One’s a much bigger target.”

  The quickness of that response caught the bounty hunter off his guard, but Sprole wasn’t flustered for more than a second before saying, “Joke all you want, preacher. But if things start to go bad while me and the sheriff are down there, it would be good to know the man watching our backs isn’t afraid to pull a trigger.”

  “I said I’d help you two,” Paul replied. “That’s what I intend to do.”

  “I don’t give an ounce of spit about your intentions. I’m after Jack Terrigan, and you seem to have some information that will get me to him sooner instead of later. That’s all well and good. You’ve even had some good suggestions along the way. Fine. A fresh set of eyes is always a good thing. But if you’re the sort of man who’ll hesitate to fire a gun on account of some fear of besmirching your spit-shined soul, then I’d like to know right now. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve waded into dangerous territory on my own.”

  Paul’s eyes had narrowed and had taken on a fiery glint. “If I’m raising questions now, it’s only because I’m trying to keep the two of you from rushing in when there’s no need. The plan was to follow that fugitive so he could lead us to the rest of Terrigan’s gang. If there’s only one other man down there, I doubt that’s the rest of the gang.”

  “But we know where the gang is headed, right?” When Paul didn’t answer right away, Sprole asked, “Isn’t that right?”

  In the time Paul took before answering, Sheriff Noss reappeared from around the rocks. “Are you coming or aren’t you?” he asked in a harsh whisper.

  Without taking his eyes from Paul, Sprole said, “I’m just making sure our preacher friend won’t turn out to be the anchor that sinks us both once we’re down there and it’s too late to turn back.”

  “You don’t have to do anything, Father. Just wait up here and be quiet.”

  “I don’t see why you insist on going down there now,” Paul said. “We’ve spotted them and they don’t know we’re here. Why not just let them lead us to Terrigan?”

  “Because this is about more than just Jack Terrigan,” Noss replied. “It’s about the entire gang. We know they’re headed to Raynor, don’t we?”

  Paul nodded.

  “Since Raynor isn’t too far from this spot as the crow flies, this could very well be a broken trail leading there a hell of a lot quicker than the ones used by the handful of stages that go out that way. But that doesn’t hardly matter as much as the fact that the rest of the gang will be waiting there . . . unless you’re trying to throw us off their trail.”

  Paul straightened up to meet that challenge and was immediately shoved down again by Sprole before he could present a silhouette that might be spotted from a distance. “I most certainly am not.”

  “I guessed as much,” Noss said. “You’ve been too wound up to get to Terrigan for you to start sabotaging us now. But there’s only three of us . . . one of whom ain’t about to gun down no outlaws. Once we get to Raynor, things will be a lot easier if we’ve already weeded out two of Terrigan’s men. That would leave . . . how many?”

  “Counting Terrigan himself,” Sprole replied, “two or three. Depends on if that other one down there is one of the ones I saw before.”

  “The point is, there are fewer of them killers down there now than there will be in Raynor.” The sheriff turned toward the basin as if he could see through the cover provided by the rocks all the way down to the little campsite. “We stumbled upon a nice little situation here and we actually got a leg up on the man that’s been giving us the slip for too long. I say anyone that don’t take an opportunity when he’s given one don’t deserve a second opportunity. I know you’re a man of God, but do you understand what I’m talking about, Father?”

  Sprole impatiently shifted on his feet until Noss motioned for him to keep quiet. The bounty hunter wasn’t happy about it, but settled down.

  “I understand,” Paul said. “I would just hate for anyone else to get hurt.”

  “Your friend Jack Terrigan is the one causing folks to get hurt,” Noss said. “Aren’t we all out here to put an end to that?”

  It didn’t take long for Paul to nod.

  “Stay here and keep quiet,” Noss said. “Dave, you’re with me.”

  The bounty hunter picked up the Spencer rifle that he’d propped against a rock earlier and circled around their cover to make his way into the basin. Before he was out of earshot, he grumbled, “Preacher should’ve stayed in his church where he belongs.”

  After giving them some time to gain some ground, Paul carried his hunting rifle around to the side of the rocks where the other two were originally going to make their approach. He leaned over so as only to show a sliver of his face while bringing the rifle up to his shoulder. The Henry model .44 didn’t look like much anymore, but it had seen him through plenty of hard days. Its familiar weight in his hands and its stock against his shoulder were a comfort amid so much that seemed to be spiraling out of his control.

  Control.

  Paul had always found humor in the concept that any man truly had control of his destiny. Even in the years before he’d started preaching the gospel, he’d been all too certain that he didn’t control much of anything. Sometimes all a man could do when he found himself atop a bucking bronco was hang on as best he could and ride it out. This might not have been what he’d hoped for when he thought about tracking down Jack Terrigan, but Noss and Sprole made some good points. Paul was out of his element. He never liked to admit that, but there was no denying it now.

  “No turning back,” he said quietly to himself. “I started this mess and I have to see it through.”

  Staring along the top of the Henry’s barrel, Paul lowered himself to one knee and rested the side of the rifle against the rock. That way, with one eye blocked by the stone, he could only see through the rifle’s sights. His body was planted firmly in place, and his hands were steady. The longer he stared down at the scrub-filled basin, the clearer it all became.

  “Lord,” he whispered without moving his line of sight or allowing his hands to falter, “this felt like the path I needed to take, but now I’m not so sure. From the moment I heard Terrigan’s name, I knew he was close. If that man is close, it’s my duty to get to him and steer him away from the path he’s chosen. Should I have ridden out on my own? Have I put these good people at risk just to achieve my own ends?”

  Paul had never gotten a direct answer to his prayers, but that wouldn’t stop him from voicing them. He’d heard others talk about signs they’d been given or divine inspirations they’d received. For him, faith was something quieter than all of that. It was something that was always in the center of his heart, even when he’d spent so many years swallowing it down or denying it was even there. Instead of a great, luminous hand from above guiding him to the righteous path, his faith was a gentle nudge when he found himself at a crossroads. A persistent reminder of what part of him always knew to be the proper direction. A single rope thrown to him when he was sinking in the most turbulent of waters.

  Paul Lester hadn’t always had faith, but it had always been there waiting for him. It had steered him away from the shadows only a few short years ago, not with a bolt of inspiration, but with a second of clarity telling him the way he’d spent his life to that point was wrong. He’d served time in purgatory, unsure of what he was supposed to do next, and when he’d emerged from that, it was because he’d followed the quiet, undeniable guidance from within.

  This is wrong.

  That
is right.

  No matter what anyone said or how dark the world around him might have been, Paul relied on the little nagging instincts that were too pure to have simply sprouted by chance. They’d been put there, maybe from the moment of his birth or perhaps from the moment the first man had been birthed, but they were a part of him. And no matter how hard he might have tried throughout his younger years to crush those instincts that prodded and needled him, they never died. They were the true voice of his faith.

  They were not convenient.

  Oftentimes, they were painful to hear.

  Unfortunately for Paul, they were never very loud. And yet, somehow, they could still be heard.

  “The sheriff is right,” he whispered. “And so was I in bringing these men here. This may not have played out exactly as I’d hoped, but we’re here all the same. Those killers are away from Pueblito Verde. It’s a miracle we found them at all out here in this desert. And soon we’ll stop the rest of them from harming another soul. This was my only chance to find the leader of this gang, and I won’t turn back until I’ve had a chance to speak to him. Above all else, I need to do that. Right now, though,” he said as he tightened his grip on the Henry rifle, “I need to shepherd these good men through the valley of death.”

  The shallow basin wasn’t exactly a valley, but the preacher smirked at how the phrase applied to his situation. Just like that, his doubt was lifted. No longer did he question his motives or the actions he’d taken thus far. As always, the thin strand of faith at the center of his being was there and it held strong.

  Paul’s vision was clearer.

  His heart was no longer heavy.

  His hands were steadier.

  As he reached for his hat so he could move to a better position, Paul felt as spry as he had when he was younger. “Thank you, Lord. I won’t let you down.”

  * * *

  It didn’t take long for Sprole to follow Noss through the sparse trees scattered along the side of the basin. Although there was plenty of scrub at the bottom, the knee-high bushes were covered in enough dry leaves to make a loud scraping noise whenever they were disturbed. While that made sneaking through them a difficult prospect, there was enough of a breeze to get plenty of those branches scraping against each other without anyone to help them along. Unless someone knew better, they could easily guess that the scrapes created by Sprole’s footsteps were caused by the wind. But Sprole did know better and he could easily discern the sound of Noss’s footsteps close behind him.

  Sprole also knew how easy it was for a man to lose the element of surprise. All it took was one step that was just a bit heavier than the rest, one breath that was just a bit too loud, and a fight was on. If this went well, there wouldn’t even be a fight. If it went badly, the whole world could come crashing down around the bounty hunter’s ears.

  Those cheerful notions occupied Sprole’s mind as he inched toward the campfire. The sheriff was beside him now, keeping pace as they stayed low and crept onward.

  After several minutes that felt like just as many hours, they were close enough to the fire to hear the voices of the men around it. Sprole strained his ears to pick out specific words, but all he could make out was two distinct tones. The men at the fire seemed relaxed and making small talk. Even so, it galled Sprole that he couldn’t discern any more than that.

  Noss tapped him on the shoulder. When Sprole looked over, the sheriff pointed to him and then swept his finger in a semicircle around the right side of the little campsite. Then he tapped the same finger against his own chest and made a similar gesture around the left side. Sprole nodded in agreement and the men separated so they could flank the camp from opposite sides.

  Keeping his ears focused on the voices and his eyes pointed at the ground directly in front of him, Sprole looped out a short ways to put some distance between himself and the camp before coming around to his assigned angle.

  Suddenly the voices stopped.

  Even the wind took a moment of silence, leaving the sound of Sprole’s last step to echo in his ears like a gunshot. Soon he heard some rustling, which he assumed was the sheriff on the opposite side of the camp.

  Then he realized those sounds had come from somewhere closer than where the sheriff should have been. On top of that, the camp was still unusually quiet. There was a chance that the two outlaws had simply decided to get some sleep. Another possibility was that they’d realized what was happening and were searching the darkness even now for a trace of the men who had pursued them this far. Without anything else to go by, Sprole could only try to rein his thoughts in as best he could and keep moving.

  The wind picked up, giving him some degree of cover as the dry brush started swaying once more.

  The campfire was weak enough that Sprole couldn’t quite see past the couple of trees surrounding it. He could see the flickering light from the flames, but the last time he’d caught sight of the outlaws, they’d been sitting with their backs to the trees and their feet stretched out in front of them. The fire was dwindling, making it even more difficult for him to get an easy glance at either of the men using it for warmth.

  Sprole remained still, craning his neck to take another look at the camp, and had to suppress a snarling curse when he saw one of the outlaws’ horses stood in his way like a thick wall of dark flesh. As he maneuvered slowly and carefully to a better vantage point, he got the sinking feeling that he was no longer at an advantage. The camp had grown too quiet for his liking. Not one scrape of a body shifting against the ground could be heard above the crackle of the fire.

  Not one cough.

  Not one sigh.

  Nothing.

  The effort of keeping his body low while moving so slowly strained every muscle below Sprole’s waist. When he was finally in a better spot, the bounty hunter’s worst fears were realized.

  The camp was empty.

  Chapter 13

  Sprole crouched down and stayed there as if his entire body had been petrified into another of the crooked lines sprouting from the dry, rocky ground. As he listened for any hint of movement nearby, he eased the Spencer rifle down so he could place his hands on the pistols holstered at his sides. It felt like a long wait, but when he finally got his fingers wrapped around the familiar grips, he allowed the breath he’d been holding to slip quietly from between clenched teeth.

  Once the beating of his heart slowed to a steady thump, the subtle brushing of a body against dry branches could be heard. He narrowed his eyes into slits, curled a finger around the trigger of his .44, and waited for the next step to be taken.

  Sheriff Noss was circling around to the left of the camp. His steps were quiet but could still be heard. The movement Sprole had detected came from the opposite side, and when he concentrated a bit harder, he could tell the steps were lighter than anything a man the lawman’s size could attempt to make.

  Every muscle in his body tensed as he waited for that next shoe to drop. The harder he listened to every sound the night had to offer, the more of them he found. Leaves scraped against each other. Trees creaked. Animals called out. Birds flapped their wings. In fact, several birds took flight after abandoning their nest in a clump of scrub bushes not too far away. One bird could have been restless. Two taking flight at the same time could have been a coincidence. More than that led Sprole to believe they’d been spooked. Without pondering the matter any further, the bounty hunter turned on the balls of his feet toward the general direction from which those birds had come. The bushes where the birds had been flushed into the open were slightly taller than the ones near Sprole. Even so, they weren’t nearly enough to hide the man who’d been moving behind them.

  The figure in the darkness stood up straight and raised a shotgun, which he propped upon the mass of bandages wrapped around his right hand. Even though the gunman was clearly struggling to take aim, the scattergun didn’t
exactly need precision to do a whole lot of damage. Pulling its trigger caused the shotgun to roar, illuminating the bushes like a glimpse of daylight that lasted less than a second.

  It wasn’t the first time Sprole had been on the wrong end of a shotgun, and he dived for cover the moment he saw it in the fugitive’s hands. He wasn’t stupid enough to expect any protection from the dry branches scraping against his legs, so he opted to drop as quickly as he could and press himself as flat as possible against the ground once he got there. Buckshot filled the air above him, shredding through the back of his jacket like sets of hot claws.

  “Drop the gun!” Noss shouted from the other side of the camp.

  By now, Sprole had gotten a good look at the man holding the shotgun. All he’d really needed to see was the bandaged hand, but he could tell for certain by the face behind the shotgun that he’d found the man who had climbed out of Dr. Chandler’s window. When the gunman swung the shotgun around to fire its second barrel at the lawman, Sprole lifted his .44 and fired a shot of his own. It was taken from a peculiar angle, which didn’t bode well for its chances of finding its mark. Whether the fugitive was hit or just as spooked as the birds that had exploded from the bushes not too long ago, he ran back to the campfire, firing along the way.

  “Watch yourself, Sheriff!” Sprole hollered. “There’s still another one out here I can’t account for!”

  “Ain’t nowhere to hide,” Noss shouted to Sprole as well as to anyone else within earshot. “Best way to stay alive is to toss your weapons and surrender before things get a whole lot worse.”

  Another shot was fired, which didn’t come from the fugitive, Noss, or Sprole. The bounty hunter didn’t even see a muzzle flash before the round hissed through the air a few feet from him. Judging by the obscenity that escaped Noss’s lips in a sharp yelp, the bullet had gotten a whole lot closer to him.

  “I think I saw where that shot came from!” Sprole shouted.

  The lawman stood up with his shotgun gripped in both hands. The first barrel belched a plume of fiery smoke amid a thundering roar. Along with a bunch of critters that had been residing in the bushes in front of him, a larger figure emerged from hiding and scampered deeper into the shadows.