by Dirk Hawkman
A farmer kept a number of milk cows in a corral over the hill. Charlie remembered a chill in the air that night. The brothers had initially been disgruntled to be summoned from their slumber. However, when their father had explained his ploy, they had been thrilled. They were probably around nine or ten years old at the time. Dwight’s questions had been incessant, and Zeke had to shush him.
The song of the crickets in the air, and the grass squelching underfoot, the Strong clan had made its way over the hill. Led by their father, they climbed over the stone wall. Zeke feared that the sounds would alert the cows’ owner. Zeke knew that he had to act rapidly.
The cow he chose did not resist as he tied a rope around its neck. In fact, the animal mooed curiously, and seemed faintly amused as Zeke led her away. Zeke glanced around furtively, nervously dragging the cow away as his sons held the wooden gate open.
Returning down the hill, the Strongs were as excitable as if it were Christmas day. They chirped joyfully about all the things they could do with their new toy. Not even Zeke’s insistent smacks could silence Dwight.
When the virgin cattle rustlers returned to their camp, of course, they did not quite know what to do with their prize. The Strongs could hardly take the cow with them on their adventures. Zeke had no idea how to milk a cow, nor butcher one. He had heard that there was money to be made from illicit cattle sales, but where would he sell the beast?
It was very late, and the hesitant sun was slowly blurring the purple gloom with grey dawn sunshine. Zeke was confronting the fact that, once again, he had done something very stupid indeed.
Charlie remembered his father as a hard man, a brawler and drinker. He would be violent to his sons when intoxicated or angry. Zeke thought nothing of going for days without washing nor eating, and expected his boys to follow his example. Yet Charlie recalled that his father was almost perpetually smiling and optimistic. Even when some drunk from the saloon had bloodied his nose over a trifle, Zeke would laugh the affair off. Despite being an unemployable idler, Zeke had always positively made the best of things.
Zeke had handed his rifle to his sons, and Charlie and Dwight had taken it in turn to shoot the cow to death. It had taken them a few tries before the defenceless animal toppled, but when the cow collapsed, it effected waves of laughter amongst the Strongs.
Remembering the comical bovine encounter, Charlie started laughing to himself in the saddle. Dwight joined in, too, though Dwight had no idea why.
When the Strongs were teenagers, they settled in a town named Gorse. Zeke had commandeered a derelict shack just outside of town. Nobody tried to chase them off. The Strongs were not worth the trouble.
Gorse was a rural community. At times, Zeke worked as a farmhand before his laziness and hot temper inevitably brought the employment to a heated conclusion. Their father had a pathological weakness for petty theft. At times, he would steal something useful like a wood stove, or food. Zeke would also thieve worthless and useless trinkets, purely for the joy of stealing.
The Strongs idled away their years. Sometimes, they would go for days and days without eating or bathing. The family rose from their makeshift beds whenever they felt like it. The Strongs did not keep regular hours. Through a combination of meagre earnings, plundered staples and charity from pitying townsfolk, the Strong family survived.
Zeke was a brute to anybody who said the wrong thing to him, or looked at him the wrong way. In Gorse, he was reputed as a hard-drinking layabout who neglected his sons. From time to time, Zeke did not come home to the shack, having been incarcerated in the jailhouse. Yet, Charlie remembered him as a kind and devoted father. While Zeke was hardly a disciplinarian, the only thing he could not abide was his sons fighting each other. In any scuffle between Charlie and Dwight, Zeke would drag them apart.
‘You are the Strong brothers and you will not fight each other. We stick together, we three. Fight them, boys. Fight the rest of the world. But don’t you dare fight each other!’, he would insist in a voice that did not invite debate.
Zeke had also been relentlessly cheerful. Even when the Strongs were starving and stinking, he had remained positive.
‘Don’t worry, boys. I’ll get you through this,’ he would chirp. And he always did. Even when imprisoned in jail, he would set aside the thin gruel they served him. Zeke would take it home for his boys.
It was Zeke’s misguided commitment to his sons that had led to his destruction. Growing into young men, Charlie and Dwight inherited a taste for robbery. The sheriff of Gorse had caught them shoplifting. They had been pathetically pocketing cans of soup, but theft was a crime and Charlie and Dwight were old enough for the jailhouse.
Tell of their arrest reached Zeke. To describe him as enraged would have been an understatement. His sons would have been released in a day or two, but that was too much for Zeke. Armed with a rifle he hardly knew how to operate, Zeke had marched into Gorse to initiate his jailbreak.
It was a bittersweet memory for Charlie. He vividly recalled cheering and whooping from the cell he shared with Dwight. Their own dad had burst into the sheriff’s office and psychotically shot the town marshal dead. As Zeke frantically reloaded the carbine, the deputy had un-holstered his own weapon. The lawman shot Zeke in the gut. Literally dying on his feet, Zeke returned fire and eliminated the deputy. He had now slaughtered all of Gorse’s lawmen.
Impotently trying to stop the stream of blood from his belly with a palm, Zeke had been in agony. With a bear’s dedication to his cubs, his last energies had been sapped finding the jailhouse keys and unlocking his sons. He then collapsed.
‘Get out of town, boys. And stick together.’ Zeke had groaned his terminal words through clenched teeth before finally succumbing to the bullet.
The Strongs had fled. While Dwight’s impetuosity could be a hindrance, the brothers had remained loyal to each other. Their long list of criminal outrages over the following years were, they felt, testament to their father’s bravery.
Thinking back both saddened and gladdened Charlie. He was sorrowful that he had lost his father. Charlie was also extremely proud of Zeke’s final courageous acts.
Charlie could see the same fraternal devotion amongst the Connors. He was a little disappointed that Adam seemed to be such a big baby, but Charlie would see what he could do about that. Nonetheless, his new and favoured son Bob was standing by his brother.
Towards the end of a frustrating day of hindered climbs and wobbly descents, the party at last made its final decline. Riding mindfully down the slippery rocky hill to the plains, Charlie could just about discern a black square on the horizon. John Morris’ ranch.
CHAPTER 22
Dwight was particularly excited to be so near their destination. As the riders left the hills and returned to grassland, Dwight fired his Colt wildly into the air. He was shooting indiscriminately, causing the Connors to stiffen fearfully.
‘That where we’re headed?’ Bob prodded Charlie, indicating the ranch on the horizon.
‘Yes, son. It is,’ Charlie responded. ‘My friend will be most pleased to meet you.’ Charlie was under orders to keep quiet about the plans for the Connors. Yet he could not resist hinting at something going on behind the scenes. Charlie thought that he was teasing Adam and Bob. In fact, Adam and Bob were only angered and frightened by Charlie’s secrecy.
The plains were serene, basking in the orange pastel lights of sunset. There were gentle moos from cows contentedly grazing in the ranch’s paddocks. Approaching the ranch, the party did not see any men. The only human sounds were Dwight’s gleeful shrieks, if they could be described as human. Though the familiar scent of grass reminded the Connors of home, the pleasant smell did not relieve their fears. The Strongs seemed to be delighted that they were at their journey’s end. Adam and Bob, however, pondered what ordeal awaited them in this mysterious ranch.
Bob unexpectedly halted his ride, forcing the others to stop as well. He scowled at Charlie.
‘I am not going any furth
er, Charlie. Are you going to ransom us, or what? My family don’t have money. Whoever owns this ranch sure as heck does. I don’t get it. What do you want?’
Charlie exhaled with false weariness, as if his errant son was testing his patience. His sighs were a pretence of exasperation, but inwardly Charlie was concerned. He had done as Morris had commanded, and now they were but miles from him. Charlie was unwilling to release his grip on the Connors when they were so close to the end.
‘I’m taking you to the ranch, Bob. When we get there, my friend will explain everything.’ Charlie’s obfuscation further enraged Bob. While his bizarre abduction had perplexed him, Bob had been trying to guess what the Strongs’ rationale could be. Not cash, for his father was not wealthy. Perhaps the Strongs had actually needed new recruits to their cause. However, the Wells robbery had been so ill-prepared.
‘Your friend?’ Bob doubted that Charlie had ever formed any kind of friendship. ‘No, Charlie. I am not moving until you give me some answers.’
Charlie weighed up his next move. Dwight could sense that Bob was steadfast, and his eyes flickered nervously between Charlie and the Connors. Dwight began reloading his Colt.
Morris wanted the Connors alive. The Strongs had been permitted to rough them up as far as necessary. Charlie had used threats and mild cruelty during the Connors’ kidnapping. However, with Bob now emboldened thus, Charlie had an inkling that merely flashing his gun would be insufficient. He raised his voice.
‘That’s enough lip, Bob! Now come on – or you’ll regret it!’
‘No.’
Charlie withdrew his revolver and emphatically cocked the weapon with a loud click.
‘Move it, Bob.’
‘You don’t have the guts, Charlie.’ Bob had correctly judged that, for their own nefarious reasons, the Strongs would keep them alive. His brash defiance made his heartbeat quicken.
From his lair, Morris studied the confrontation amongst the riding party. Despite the dimming light and his great age, he possessed an eagle’s vision. He had hired the Strongs many times. Though their methods were clumsy and slipshod, they had always delivered results. He could not hear the argument, but had guessed well enough what might be happening. Morris was not willing to let the Connors slip away when they were so close to his clutches.
The ranch was remote from Morriston. It was not truly part of his business operations. Though he farmed cattle here, the ranch was in fact a hideaway. The herd of cows was only for appearances. His ranch was managed by a skeleton crew of able men. While they were skilled cowpunchers, Morris’ henchmen also boasted deadlier abilities.
Morris pulled the cord of the bell in his study. Moments later, Enrique entered the chamber. The thin, sullen Latino was Morris’ de facto platoon sergeant. He, too, had been spying on the confrontation on the plains. Enrique half-expected that Morris would order an intervention.
Charlie was so frustrated that his face had reddened. Fond as he was of Bob, he was dearly tempted to terminate the dispute with a bullet. Dwight had joined Charlie in cajoling the Connors, but this contribution only irked Charlie further. Dwight was a loyal brother, but he did not really understand what the Strongs had been commanded to perform.
The thunder of scores of hoofs sang in the air, and Charlie’s flesh tingled from the vibrations in the ground. Ten armed horsemen rode out from the ranch, and within moments the Strongs were surrounded. Charlie was backfooted, but relieved when he realized that they were Morris’ men. In a well-practised manoeuvre, they formed a circle around the brothers, their rifles pointing inwards.
‘Mr Morris sent us to give you a hand,’ Enrique snorted. He had long disliked the Strongs, regarding them as unpredictable and unprofessional. Enrique was pleased to be able to show them up. This resentment was lost on the Strongs, who were hardly sensitive types. They were cheered that the awkward confrontation had been resolved.
‘I’ve been ordered to look after the Connor boys. But Mr Morris didn’t say nothing about you looking after the Strong brothers,’ Enrique added.
Bob still suspected that he and Adam were needed alive. When Charlie and Dwight sagged in their saddles, dead under a salvo of bullets from Enrique and his men, he saw that the Strongs were not indispensable.
CHAPTER 23
Eli struggled through the mountain trail. It was a treacherous passage, and his horse neighed its resistance on every slippery undulation. The ride was worsened by Eli’s poor concentration. During his manhunter days, his mind was always consumed by the chase. Today, though, he was distracted. Suzanne’s revelations about Bob bothered him. Something else she said was also irking him. Suzanne had insisted that Eli had a pure heart. Back in Desolation, Eli had been too eager to return to his hunt to absorb her flattery. Presently, though, her words played over and over in his mind.
Eli reached a plateau on the mountain passage. He was reluctant to rest, but knew he needed to straighten his thoughts. Vegetation was sparse on the flint-grey rocks, but Eli found a tree to tie his mount to. The horse needed some repose as much as he did. A single, careless mistake on these deadly hills would be costly, or even fatal. Were Eli to break a bone, nobody would be coming to his rescue.
He leaned against a boulder, and sipped from his canteen. Eli reached into his breast pocket for the discarded string tie. The garment was soft against his fingertips. Eli slumped down to sit on his behind, and remembered. Though it had been some twenty years, the memories were vivid.
Scott Glenn had not been particularly difficult to follow. Glenn had been a multiple murderer and thief. Eli had picked up his trail from Glenn’s most recent crime. Glenn, like most criminals, had been stupid and careless. Eli’s quarry had not known how to cover his tracks, and Eli had expertly followed them out onto the plains.
While Eli had been certain that he had not been far behind Glenn, he had found Glenn’s movements unusual. Why was Glenn riding out to the grasslands? Eli had pursued Glenn’s ill-concealed hoofprints out to a remote ranch.
Eli had thought it odd that a cattle farm should be situated so distant from any town. Suspicious that the ranchers were harbouring Glenn, Eli had pounded on the main door with one hand, and readied his Colt with the other. The door had been opened by a towering figure. The man’s face had been as craggy as a cliff face. He may have been a very old man, but he had been lean and strongly built. His gloomy expression had suggested that he did not appreciate visitors.
‘Partner,’ Eli had politely entreated. ‘I’m looking for this man.’ Eli had shown the rancher the wanted poster, but he had not looked at it. ‘I believe he is in the vicinity. Can you help me in any way?’
‘I haven’t seen him before. I can’t help you.’ Before Eli could draw breath for his next question, the door had been slammed shut. Eli had had much experience with liars, and his investigator’s instinct had told him that the rancher’s words were false.
Curiously, Eli had picked up Glenn’s trail once more. Perhaps he had only stayed in the ranch for a short time, for Glenn had appeared to have ridden back out to the plains. Though it had been a long journey to Morriston, that was where Eli had caught up with Glenn before shooting him dead.
Eli took another slug of water. It was lukewarm and tasted somewhat leathery, but this did not trouble him. The jigsaw pieces in Eli’s mind were connecting.
Eli had later learned that the lying rancher was John Morris. Seldom seen in the town he practically owned, Morris was a reclusive figure both revered and feared. Twenty years ago, Eli had found it odd that Morris’ men had taken away Glenn’s body. However, he had not brooded over it, for by then Eli was blissfully in love.
Something else bothered Eli: a detail that had been unimportant long ago but was now significant. When Eli and Cassie had walked down the aisle together on their wedding day, Morris had been sitting on a pew. The church had been packed, for Cassie and Eli had been a much-loved couple in Morriston. At that time, Eli had been so ecstatically joyful that he had not thought twice about Morr
is’ presence. Recalling the event, his attendance now seemed portentous and menacing.
Of course, the first hymn during the wedding ceremony had been Pure Heart.
Eli was not given to temper tantrums, but he forced himself to his feet and hurled his canteen away in rage. The string tie. The apparent marriage in Beulah. Pure Heart.
‘I’m such a fool!’, he screamed into the empty mountain air. Morris had something to do with all this, and had been manipulating him from afar. Suzanne, too. Eli cursed his own weakness in confiding in her, and regretted his fleeting attraction. He suddenly wanted to throttle her until her eyes bulged. Eli had thought he was following the clues, but unseen hands had been guiding him.
Angry though he was, the realization had concentrated Eli’s mind. He remounted, and continued along the hilly passage.
There was an unknown link between Eli and Morris. Eli guessed that it was something to do with Glenn. Yet it had been twenty years. And what did his sons have to do with it?
The final steps of the mountain trail were perilous, but Eli found he attacked them with much more self-control. Every slippery rise or fall of the black hillside took him a pace closer to his sons, and the truth.
Eli knew he was drawing nearer when he sensed the faint whiff of the grasslands. The skies were darkening, and already a handful of stars winked knowingly. He rested briefly atop the final ascent, before the declining path guided him back to the prairie. It was gloomy, but Eli’s eyesight adapted well to the darkness.