Vulture Wings

by Dirk Hawkman

  Dwight giggled proudly.

  Charlie turned to Bob. ‘See those dead rabbits, Bob? That’s what the Strongs do to anybody gets in our way.’

  Charlie cupped Bob’s chin in his hand in a gesture disgusting in its intimacy. ‘I’ll make an outlaw of you yet, Bob.’

  CHAPTER 9

  Riding to Beulah, Eli could not shake off his inkling that he was being watched. It was something more than the eerie stare of that sinister tailor. During his first career, Eli sometimes found that his prey attempted to reverse the game, slyly stalking him. They thought they were smart, but Eli was always the more cunning. Such an expert manhunter and tracker was Eli that he had a feel for such situations. The prickling in his breast warned him, and it was never long before Eli confronted his quarry in a deadly showdown.

  Though it had been many years, Eli again felt that familiar prickle alerting him. The sun was powerfully radiant, but it was not the heat making thick marbles of perspiration run down his brow. The salty sweat was viscous in his mouth. Somebody is out there, Eli realized.

  That he was being directed to Beulah was another warning. Only a short ride from Bridgwater, Eli could see the black shapes of the abandoned settlement sitting on the horizon. Once a lively, if little, township, Beulah had been long deserted. Cholera had slain many of its denizens, and the survivors had walked away. Nobody but phantoms got married in Beulah.

  Drawing into the ghost town, Eli halted his roan. Before dismounting, he looked around swiftly. The wooden buildings were now wrecks, overgrown by weeds and grass. Small though Beulah was, it had once boasted a fine, stone church. The town had been a popular site for weddings. Even the church was now in a state of collapse. Its roof, windows and doors had all gone. Apparently empty of humans, this graveyard of a town could be a hiding place. Eli drew his Colt in readiness.

  He stepped down from his mount. Eli was not frightened. Rather, his senses were sharpened and wakeful. There was a slightest breeze, and the thin grass on the ground danced to its whistling melody. It did nothing to cool Eli’s flushed flesh.

  Some huntsman’s instinct urged him to start with the church. Those ne’er-do-wells who had visited Fritz were playing a game with him. Eli knew that this reconnaissance could be a fool’s errand – or worse, a trap.

  Entering the church, Eli felt oddly like a medieval knight braving a fortress. The door of the church had long gone. Within, the pews and altar remained. They had decayed considerably, and the weeds which had invaded through the floor, were clawing the wooden interior back to the earth. It was surreal to be wading through grass which grew to his ankles. Eli half-expected a priest or choirboy to break the quiet.

  He strode down the aisle to the back of the church. Perhaps because his sense of danger had magnified his hearing, the sound of the grass brushing against his boots was akin to the report of a bullwhip. Eli noted that there were still bibles and hymn books on some of the benches. This was once a place of serenity and peace, he thought. Presently, though, the air was electric with peril.

  Outside, John Morris tied his reins to a building some distance from the church. He had had to be vigilant while following Eli. Morris remembered Eli from before his metamorphosis into the local, affable storekeeper. Even before Eli had arrived in Morriston, Morris knew Eli by reputation. The rancher’s business dealings had not always been within the letter and spirit of the law. Morris’ men had been accosted by Eli several times. He knew how expert Eli was, and so today’s pursuit had been especially careful.

  He tiptoed through Beulah’s wrecked houses until he was close to the church. Peering around the side of an old building, Morris could see Eli investigating, through the unframed windows. The rancher would watch for now. Eli was a thorough man. Soon, Morris hoped, Eli would find the little surprise he had left in there for him.

  Finding nothing of note in the pews nor the back of the church, Eli walked up to the altar. On the pulpit, Eli found a single hymn sheet. The words to Pure Heart. It was baffling that, in this desolate church, this one, particular hymn sheet should be in place. Or, rather, it was not baffling at all. The page had not yellowed, and had been torn from some book of holy song recently. Eli folded the paper, and put it into his inside pocket.

  His head then flicked sideways. Though he saw nobody, Eli trained his weapon on the empty window. That prickle of warning was now a tattoo of burning needles.

  Has he seen me? Morris wondered. Who cares? Morris drew his own Colt and fired through the church window. The rancher did not think that he would hit Eli, but he was not trying to. Luring Eli to this old building was but one of his chess moves. No, Morris was not going to kill Eli. There was too much fun to be had with him.

  Eli ducked down behind the pulpit as the echo of the gunshot reverberated around the church. He was gasping, but too charged with anger to be afraid. Eli knew that there was only one way to win a game of cat and mouse: don’t be the mouse.

  Keeping his back to the wall, moving sideways like a crab, Eli slid over to the window. He turned to face outwards. Eli would barely have a single second to fire. In that instant, he sighted the shadowy figure peeping around the corner of the next building. Eli squeezed his trigger. As splinters of wood were repelled from the structure, Eli saw his assailant retreat.

  Unwilling to surrender, Eli dived through the church window. Landing prone, Eli could hear the drum of escaping hoofs. He stood and ran after the sound, but his attacker had already vanished.

  You will not get far, Eli vowed.

  CHAPTER 10

  At dawn on Wednesday, Bob again watched the sun ascend. It had barely been two days since the Strongs took them under their vulture wings. To Bob, though, Morriston felt like it was a thousand miles and a thousand years away. He and Adam had barely slept, and were exhausted. Yesterday’s fighting and shooting drills had further drained them. Last night’s so-called treat – half-cooked, unskinned rabbit – had sickened Bob. He had felt like a savage as he chewed the bloody, raw meat. The beast’s hair had stuck to his lips and he had nearly broken his tooth on a bullet. The Connors were sustained only by their will to survive.

  This morning, though, Charlie had an announcement of sorts over breakfast.

  ‘We’ve got a little job to do today, boys. Me and Dwight are gonna need your help. We’re riding on into Wells, a little town not far from here. There’s a bank in that town, and we are going to hit it.’

  This revelation was met by only hushed disbelief from the Connors. Though Adam and Bob were captives, Charlie withdrew two rifles from his saddle bags and handed one each to the Connors.

  ‘You’re going to need to be packing heat, boys,’ he declared with total seriousness.

  Charlie inspected the Connors’ rifles, and Bob found this fastidiousness chilling. Charlie was making certain that the weapons were loaded. Bob was finding it difficult to contemplate the outrage which he was apparently going to commit.

  ‘Now then, boys,’ Charlie paused to take a noisy slurp of coffee, ‘we will stick to our usual plan. The four of us will enter the bank. I will walk up to the clerk and give him a sack to fill with cash. Dwight will watch my butt. This time, Dwight, we have reinforcements. Adam and Bob will be our lookouts. They will watch the bank entrance. Anything happens, you call to us. You pull the trigger if you feel you need to.’ Another theatrical sip. ‘Then we ride like lightning. We will hitch our horses outside the bank, and mount up and ride soon as I say we’re done.’ Charlie rose to his feet: a general inspiring his troops. ‘Are we ready, boys?’

  Dwight replied with an energetic cheer. The Connors were in silent supplication.

  ‘How about you, Bob?’ Charlie asked. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Bob nodded meekly and compliantly. Though Bob could not even fake enthusiasm, Charlie favoured him.

  There’s no lying in the boy, Charlie thought. I see good things ahead from young Bob.

  They set off. Adam seethed in his saddle. He was no coward, but was frustrated that his
own dread of the Strongs was preventing his retaliation. Again, the Connors rode side by side with the Strongs flanking them. Both Adam and Bob were thinking the same thing. Each had an armed carbine strapped to his back. They did not quite understand why the Strongs were trusting them so, but Charlie and Dwight were hardly cautious types. With some rapid and well-aimed shots from the rifles, they could be rid of their captors. Reckless though the Strongs were, they were also deadly and unpredictable. The Connors did not resist, but rode on with them into Wells.

  Drawing into the small town, Bob felt that he might explode. He had scarcely believed Charlie’s announcement, but he was now seeing that his intentions were both true and toxic. The carbine on his back was comparatively lightweight, yet the weight of his imminent crime was pressing on his shoulders and his conscience.

  As they rode their steeds the short distance to the bank, Bob felt that everybody was looking at him. The suffocating heat made Bob feel as if he was wearing a pantomime costume. It was not at all unusual for armed men to ride down the high street – not in this part of Wyoming. Nobody accosted them, but Bob felt as if he were walking into a trap.

  Hitching their rides, it struck Bob that this was a grubby and pathetic exercise. The bank building was a small, brick construction. This was where farmers and saloon men deposited their takings. It was hardly a fortress protecting a treasure chest.

  As they entered, there were a handful of customers in the poky foyer. There was but one desk with one teller. He was a greying man with spectacles, wearing a neat uniform. The clerk looked like an earnest sort. Bob felt truly regretful for the havoc he was about to cause him.

  Charlie fired a shot into the air. Alarmed, the customers and clerk all faced him, rapt with fear. Dwight trained his Colt on the customers, and Charlie walked up to the teller’s window. He stuffed a sack under the iron grille.

  ‘Fill this bag with cash. Do it now,’ Charlie commanded. ‘We’re the Strong brothers,’ he added boastfully.

  While he was guarding the bank door, Bob peeked over his shoulder at the Strongs. His heart hammered so powerfully that he could hear its blows in his ears. Bob was not afraid, though. Rather, he was a sac filled with venom. He was furious at how the Strongs terrorised innocents for a few bucks, and angry with himself for participating in the atrocity.

  The teller reached into the drawer under his desk. He did not produce money, though, but a loaded revolver. Braver than he thought, the clerk’s hands were rattling nervously as he raised the gun to Charlie.

  The Strongs had grown very arrogant during their career of crime. They complacently assumed that a retiring bank clerk would meekly comply. Charlie never expected the teller to courageously resist. He had a coyote’s sense of danger, though, and could see that something was up when the clerk reached into his drawer.

  Predators such as the Strongs did not utilise reason nor persuasion. Charlie’s reaction to the teller’s daring ploy was as practised as a military drill. He pulled his own trigger, shooting the clerk dead.

  Even Dwight stopped laughing.

  CHAPTER 11

  Though they were supposed to be lookouts, Adam and Bob turned back to look at the chaos. Their mouths were agape. Charlie had lost control of the situation. The Connors could sense his impotent fear. Bob had earlier divined that this raid would be unplanned and improvised, yet Charlie had been so cocksure.

  Angry, Bob scowled at Charlie, who was not so vainly masterful now. Indeed, so panicked was Charlie that his face had reddened in frustration. He feebly growled unheeded instructions at the customers, who were all screaming, cursing or sobbing. Bob found that Dwight looked particularly pathetic. He flapped like a rag doll in a violent wind, desperately looking to his brother for direction.

  Adam, too, looked like he was battling to restrain tears. His eyes darted back and forth between Bob and the Strongs: a rabbit who did not know which way to run.

  Bob was certain of one truth: if the Strong gang did not act immediately, they would perish. The siren of the gunshots, and the wail of the bank patrons would attract lawmen.

  Bob recalled an occasion when he and Adam had been left in charge of the store. Adam had served a customer who was a cantankerous old man. He had served the patron with his characteristic beaming enthusiasm, but in his zeal, had erroneously short-changed the customer. This had inflamed the shopper. Bob was no saloon doorman nor sheriff’s deputy. However, as the sensible older brother, he had been compelled to referee. Inhaling deeply for courage, Bob had inserted himself between the two. Counting the cash calmly, Bob had righted the situation. The customer had walked away pacified, if not quite delighted with the service.

  This was, oddly, how Bob felt when he took command of the robbery. He was the only man with dominion of his wits. There would be more bloodshed if the operation was left to the rabble around him.

  Bob felt shameful when he shooed the customers away from Charlie with the butt of his rifle.

  ‘Get back y’all! Listen to me! Get back against the wall!’

  While Bob was inwardly terrified, his wild expression did not invite debate. The bank patrons complied. He next turned to Charlie, nudging him in the arm forcefully with his rifle butt.

  ‘Get out of here, Charlie! Get! Get!’

  Charlie appeared emasculated for a second, but Bob swore he saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes as Charlie obeyed. Bob’s direction had calmed the Strongs, and Dwight was once again giggling shrilly as the four bank robbers bolted.

  They mounted with a desperate speed, each of them spurring their rides with cruel insistence. Bob heard a gunshot in the periphery, but did not spin around to see who it was. He knew it was the law. So intense was Bob’s determined concentration that he was deaf to his pulse pummelling in his ears. He did not know where he was headed: Bob aimed his steed at the road out to the grasslands and rode on.

  The following few miles were a surreal dream. Bob remembered torturous nights when he was sickly as a child. The colours and shapes in his boyhood bedroom had been magnified and misshapen. Bob had not been certain whether he had been awake or asleep. Escaping from Wells, the grasslands and the ardent sun had the same queasy intensity.

  Nobody spoke, and the only sound that Bob could detect was the constant tattoo of hoofbeats.

  When, at last, Bob sensed his horse weakening, he halted the fugitive party. The lawmen of Wells had, thankfully, been slow to reach their own mounts, and the Strong gang had once again absconded.

  Breathless, the four riders rested for a few moments. They wheezed painfully for several minutes. When the Strongs began laughing, Bob saw that this ordeal was not yet ready to relent.

  Bob did not share the others’ mirth. He fixed Charlie with fury and outrage. So incensed was Bob that he could not sustain his silence.

  ‘You think that’s funny? You killed a man back there! How’d you think you’d get away with that?’

  So smug was the look of pleasure on Charlie’s fat face that he resembled an alligator.

  ‘I do think that’s funny, young Bob. It was a sticky situation, but we made it out of there alive. Unlike the dumb bank teller!’ Dwight shrieked his murderous approval of Charlie’s little joke.

  ‘You don’t know what the heck you’re doing, Charlie! If I wasn’t there . . . I. . . .’ The raw emotion was audible in Bob’s voice. Inwardly, he was a whirlpool of conflicting sentiments. Charlie and Dwight had lost control of the robbery. It had been Bob who had taken charge. Bob’s reserve under pressure meant that the four had escaped the bank alive. Yet, it was wrong to be proud. Bob had been an accomplice in a senseless killing. The Strongs’ stupid gamble had not even led to any plunder.

  Charlie could sense Bob’s inner moral maelstrom. This was a weakness he could exploit.

  ‘Take it easy, Bob. Now that teller pulled a gun on me. What else could I do? It was him or me. And you’re right – what the heck would I have done without you? You were quick-thinking. Controlled. Calm. I need a man like you on my team.
’

  Bob was gripping his saddle horn so tenaciously he thought that his flushed fingers might snap. Charlie’s empty flattery had irked him even more.

  ‘You killed a man, Charlie,’ Bob spat. The Strongs brayed in concert.

  ‘Not for the first time,’ he guffawed evilly. ‘Now, we can’t stick around too long. They’ll never find us on the plains, but I know somewhere where we can rest and play for a time. Heck, you sure deserve a reward, Bob. I got some cash in my saddle bag, so let’s go.’

  Charlie spurred his steed with a blunt kick, and led the way. Adam had been shaken by the blundered robbery, but he would learn. Bob was pure potential. Charlie was very pleased with the progress which the Connors were making.

  Charlie’s boss would be pleased, too.

  CHAPTER 12

  Eli rode out from Beulah. He was heading back to the Morriston area, hoping to pick up the trail of his sons’ abductors.

  Focused as Eli was, it was a lonesome and monotonous ride across the plains. His drive to rescue his sons was undiminished, yet at times his thoughts meandered. The grasslands were a sea of brilliant green, repetitively sending wave after wave of gentle hills. As Eli’s mind wandered, he recalled an encounter he had had as a young bounty hunter.

  He had followed the trail to Cheyenne. In a major city, it was just as easy to blend into the impersonal throng as vanish below the prairie’s stark horizon. In the café one evening, Eli made small-talk with a businessman from the East. Eli had asked the moneyman to elaborate on how he made his living. He had been a banker or commodities trader or some such thing. The businessman had been kind enough to explain. He was a young fellow straight out of college. Behind his spectacles were the intelligent and watchful eyes of an eagle.