Brand 6

Home > Other > Brand 6 > Page 4
Brand 6 Page 4

by Neil Hunter


  Lifting the big Colt Brand braced the weapon with his left hand, tracking the moving man. He held his target for a moment, gently stroking the trigger and the moment the gun fired, he cocked and fired a second bullet. He saw the man fall. Heard a low moan.

  ‘Hey, Ed! Ed, you hurt?’

  Brand moved quickly and fired at the sound of the voice. A man cursed in a hurt tone. A hunched figure stumbled into the pale rectangle of the open doorway. Brand fired at it, his bullet tearing a chunk of wood from the surround.

  Breaking cover Brand raced for the open door. He had to get out fast. Before more of them came. There was a chance they didn’t know who the intruder was. Maybe he could make it back to his room before they spotted him. He didn’t give it much hope, but it was at least worth a try.

  He went through the door on the run, keeping low. Up the ramp and then angling for the corner of the building.

  He almost made it. Then a gunshot split the night. Sharp chips of stone stung his face. Brand stumbled forward, anger and frustration fuelling his movements. He had made a bad start, and if he wasn’t careful matters weren’t about to get much better.

  He heard voices now, shouting back and forth. There were more of them than he’d realized. A new sound added itself to the general din. The vicious growling bark of dogs. They were going to set the damn hounds on him.

  A bitter chuckle forced itself from his lips. He’d been yearning for a return to action. For something more stimulating than waiting around cooling his heels. The way things were going he was certain to get more than his share.

  He rounded the end of the house. It seemed an eternity before he reached the spot below his balcony. Brand jammed the Colt behind his belt. He placed his hands against the wall, ready to start climbing.

  A voice reached him out of the shadows.

  ‘Just keep them there! The Colonel’s going to want you alive. For now at least.’

  Brand heard soft footsteps behind him. The muzzle of a gun ground into his spine. A hand snatched his Colt from his belt.

  ‘You’ve been having a busy night, Mister Colter.’

  ‘I needed the exercise after that meal, Royce.’

  Parker Royce laughed dryly.

  ‘Turn around, Colter. But keep those hands where I can see them.’

  As Brand faced about he saw other figures moving up to crowd around Royce. Flickering torches cast long, wavering shadows. Brand glanced at Royce. The man was studying him intently, as if he was trying to strip away the mask and see the real Brand.

  ‘I’d kill you here and now if there weren’t answers I need from you. Better believe that, Colter.’

  ‘I always believe everything I’m told when a man has a gun on me.’

  ‘This bastard thinks he’s funny,’ one of the men behind Brand said.

  ‘We’ll give him something to laugh over soon enough,’ Royce snapped. ‘Charly, take the boys and have a look round the cellar. Find out what he’s been up to and let me know.’

  The men drifted away, leaving Brand and Royce alone.

  ‘Move out. The Colonel doesn’t like being kept waiting.’

  Brand didn’t give a damn what the Colonel did or didn’t like. But he walked ahead of Royce, fully aware of the cocked gun nudging his spine. There was no percentage in arguing with those odds.

  Royce took him into St Clair’s book lined study and closed the door behind them.

  Beauregard St Clair was standing before a log fire burning in the massive stone hearth. He was fully dressed, as immaculate as he had been earlier in the evening. Only his manner had changed. The courteous host had vanished. Now Brand faced a dangerously aroused fanatic. St Clair’s eyes were fixed on Brand’s face and never wavered for a moment.

  ‘You have disappointed me, Mister Colter. And you have insulted my hospitality. You were welcomed as a guest in my house and repay me by acting like a common thief.’

  ‘You speaking as a US Senator now, or as a big wheel in the Brotherhood?’

  Brand felt a surge of satisfaction at St Clair’s reaction.

  ‘I won’t waste time denying it,’ he replied after composing himself. ‘As you will not be leaving here alive there’s no reason to maintain any pretence. The Brotherhood exists. It’s getting stronger all the time. Very shortly we’ll be ready to make our presence known.’ He jabbed a finger in Brand’s direction. ‘Do you really think you could stop us?’

  Brand allowed a thin smile to curl his mouth.

  ‘We stopped you last time,’ he said softly.

  ‘Bastard!’

  The word exploded from Parker Royce’s lips. He slammed the barrel of his pistol down across the back of Brand’s skull, driving him to his knees.

  ‘A fitting place for Yankee scum,’ St Clair said.

  ‘Colonel, we need to know who sent him,’ Royce insisted. ‘How much information does he have on us and the Brotherhood.’

  St Clair nodded.

  ‘You’re right, Parker. This is the second time someone has got too close for comfort. But this time we get answers. Make this man talk before you kill him.’

  ‘Colonel, what about the woman?’

  St Clair glanced down at Brand, then across at Royce.

  ‘Keep her locked in her room until we’ve dealt with this one. Time to investigate her later.’ Concentration clouded St Clair’s features. ‘Parker, we need to work out some emergency measures. Let us assume the worst. That we are not as secure as we believed. Too much can go wrong for us at this stage if we’re not careful. But deal with this Yankee spy first. Get him out of my sight. Cut him into little chunks if you have to, but make him talk.’

  St Clair strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Brand raised his aching head and stared into Parker Royce’s hard face. The gun in the man’s hand had taken on the aspect of a cannon.

  ‘I’m going to enjoy this,’ Royce said, and Brand had a feeling he would do well to believe what the man was saying. ‘On your feet and don’t do a damn thing out of place.’

  They left the study and passed through the deserted hall. Down a narrow side passage with a single door at the far end. Beyond the door was a small bare room. The only furniture in the room was a table and a couple of wooden chairs.

  ‘Sit down, Colter,’ Royce said, indicating one of the chairs with the ever-present gun. ‘Make the most of it. I won’t tell you to get comfortable.’

  Brand sat down. He didn’t even try to imagine what was about to happen. His mind was already beyond that. It was working on a way to get him out of the clutches of the Brotherhood. He kept his eye on Royce at the same time, trying to judge the man’s potential. It didn’t take him long to realize he’d have to move fast to catch the man off guard. For some reason an image of Sarah came into his mind. He hoped she was unharmed. If the bastards touched her! His anger evaporated. There wasn’t a deal he could do for her until he got himself out of trouble.

  The door opened. A squat, broad man shuffled in. He had dark skin and his head was completely bald. A great jagged scar ran across one side of his naked skull and down the side of his face to the jaw line. Following close behind this man was a figure Brand couldn’t fail to recognize. It was the Mulatto he’d fought with in the cellar. The Mulatto’s face was a bloody ruin. The stone Brand had hit him with had crushed one side of his face, closing one eye and tearing a raw gash in his flesh.

  ‘I believe you already met Rico,’ Royce said with relish. He indicated the man with the scar. ‘This is Mantee. He’s a specialist. He likes to hurt people and he’s damn good at it.’

  Mantee grinned. His teeth were large and yellow and crooked. He held up a pair of huge, scarred hands and closed them into even larger fists.

  ‘St Clair tell you our little problem?’ Royce asked and Mantee nodded. He was still nodding when, without warning, he turned and punched Brand in the face. The blow was heavy and the impact slammed Brand out of the chair, dumping him brutally on the stone floor. He lay on his face, stu
nned and gasping for breath. The side of his face that had taken the blow was numb. Blood flowed from his mouth where he had bitten his tongue. Before he could move the Mulatto, Rico stepped forward. He dragged Brand to his feet and slammed him bodily against the wall. Brand grunted. He caught a glimpse of Mantee coming towards him. Brand tried to pull away but Rico had him secured. Mantee’s great fists drove in at Brand’s body and face. Over and over. The blows rocked Brand’s body, pain surging with every punch. He lashed out wildly, managing to land a couple of blows of his own, though they failed to have any effect on Mantee. A crippling punch caught Brand across the side of the head, tearing him out of Rico’s hands. He slithered helplessly along the rough wall, falling to his knees. A knee in the side drove him to the floor where he lay coughing and spitting blood. Through dazed eyes he saw Mantee and Rico looming over him, their blows raining down on him in a torrent. Then a pause, and blinking his eyes against the haze Brand saw Parker Royce leaning over him.

  ‘Enough?’ Royce asked conversationally. ‘Maybe you feel like talking now?’

  They hauled him to the chair and let him slump forward. Royce sat on the edge of the table and waited until Brand had recovered enough to be able to acknowledge him.

  ‘Time for real names,’ Royce suggested. ‘Colter isn’t your name. So who are you?’

  Brand lifted his battered, bloody head, even managing a pained smile.

  ‘Go to hell:

  Royce shook his head. ‘Wrong answer, friend.’ He sighed. ‘Maybe it’s time to bring in the little lady. I figure five minutes with Mantee should have her talking.’

  ‘Touch her, Royce, and I’ll see you dead. Even if I have to crawl out my grave to do it.’

  Mantee laughed harshly. He stood in front of Brand.

  ‘Let me bring her down here. Let him see.’

  Royce considered. ‘Could be the way. Go fetch her, Mantee.’

  The words registered in Brand’s dulled mind. Mantee was leaving the room. That left two. Still heavy odds in his condition but most likely the best hand he was going to get in this game.

  Parker Royce smiled in Brand’s direction. ‘Could have saved you some pain if I’d thought of this earlier.’

  Lyin’ son of a bitch, Brand thought. You enjoyed every damn minute of it.

  Royce, still grinning, glanced across at the Mulatto.

  ‘A white woman for you, Rico. All for yourself.’

  Brand launched himself out of the chair, hands reaching for the gun Royce was holding. He struck the Southerner and they both fell back across the table. As they rolled to the far side the table tilted and threw them to the stone floor. Royce landed first, a pained grunt bursting from his lips as his head cracked against the hard floor. Brand jerked the gun from his fingers, turned it and lashed out. The barrel smacked up against Royce’s jaw, opening a bloody gash. Twisting his body Brand rolled across the floor until he was brought to a halt by the far wall. He pushed himself into a sitting position, head turning as Rico lunged across the room at him, growling his rage. Rico had pulled a wicked knife from his belt. Brand didn’t even think about it. He simply lifted the gun he’d taken from Royce and fired twice. Two swift shots that hammered into Rico’s chest, turning him aside and spilling him to his knees. The howling Mulatto went down hard, his blood bubbling out across the stone floor.

  Brand shoved to his feet, fighting off the lethargy that was threatening to hold him back. He flung open the door and staggered into the passage. He used the wall to keep him upright. The end of the passage seemed a mile away. When he reached the hall he made a run for the stairs. The only image in his mind was of Mantee and Sarah. He summoned some hidden reserve and went up the stairs in a loping run.

  He reached the first landing and heard Sarah scream. The sound of heavy footsteps. Then she called his name as a warning.

  He saw movement ahead of him. Then the crash of a shot. The bullet ripped a long sliver of wood out of the banister. A second shot rattled its echo across the landing.

  Brand dropped to the floor.

  He heard the thump of boots.

  Getting louder.

  A shadow fell across the floor ahead of him, followed by a third shot.

  This one came too close.

  Brand returned fire. Two close shots, placed with the inbuilt accuracy that had kept him alive too many times in the past.

  A man grunted. The noise became a wet gurgle. Mantee stepped into view, looking in Brand’s direction but not seeing him. The front of his shirt was red with blood. His mouth dribbled more. He paused as his limbs lost their coordination and then tumbled face down on the landing.

  Brand climbed to his feet.

  ‘Sarah.’

  ‘I’m here.’

  He saw her as she moved out of a doorway. She wore a thin nightdress that had been almost ripped from her body. Brand didn’t say anything. He took her hand and hurried her to the door of his room. The door was still locked from the inside. Brand used his boot to kick it open. He pushed Sarah into the room and went directly for his attaché case. He took out the Colt Special and jammed it under his belt.

  He located a box of .45 caliber shells. Tipping them out he scooped up a handful and jammed the cartridges into his pocket.

  ‘Jason, what’s going on?’ Sarah demanded. Her tone speared through his jumbled thoughts.

  ‘Just get that nightdress off,’ he snapped, crossing the room to where his case of clothes stood at the foot of the bed.

  ‘What?’

  He spilled clothes onto the bed.

  ‘Either put something on, or go like you are.’

  She realized what he wanted her to do. While she dressed Brand kept watch at the door. He knew they were short on time. Somehow they had to get out of the house. Outside they might have a chance.

  ‘Sarah, get a move on. This isn’t a damn social evening we’re going to.’

  Her snapped reply surprised him. He hadn’t realized she knew such colorful language.

  Moments later she was by his side.

  ‘So, are we going to stand here all night?’ she asked.

  As they left the room Brand heard voices coming from downstairs. That way was barred to them. Brand decided that a house of this size must have a number of exits, he took Sarah’s hand and pulled her behind him as they moved along the passage. At its end Brand noticed a narrow side passage. They moved along it and found a flight of unlit stairs. They went down. The stairs were steep and seemed to go on forever. At the bottom was a locked door. Brand didn’t hesitate. He used his boot to pummel the door until it burst open. A familiar smell reached his nostrils from the chill darkness beyond. The damp, mildew stench of the cellars.

  ‘God, do we have to go in there?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  He took her hand, pulling her close behind as he advanced into the cellar.

  He was certain they were going in the right direction.

  Ahead of them sound and light emerged from the gloom. Brand pushed Sarah up behind one of the great pillars. He pressed the Colt special into her hand. Her eyes were wide with alarm as she looked at him. Brand thumbed fresh shells into the gun he’d taken from Royce.

  ‘Stay here,’ he told her. ‘I want to see what’s going on up there. I’ll be back.’

  Moving from pillar to pillar Brand approached the activity. He was finally able to stand and watch a half-dozen men loading the stolen arms cache onto a flatbed wagon. The ammunition boxes were also being stacked beside the crates of guns. It seemed his intrusion had started something, and he wondered where they were moving the arms to. Had his original guess been correct — that there was another hiding place for the guns? It was certainly starting to look that way.

  He returned to where Sarah waited.

  ‘Well?’ she asked.

  He told her what he had seen. She listened in silence and it suddenly dawned on Brand that she was in the dark concerning Beauregard St Clair’s involvement with the Brotherhood. He was going to have t
o tell her about it, but now wasn’t the time or place.

  ‘Sarah, you’ll have to trust me for now. Like it or not I’ve got us involved in a dangerous game. It’s what I was sent here for. I didn’t mean to drag you in this far but there’s no other choice now. You’ve asked about my work often enough. Looks like you’re going to get your answers the hard way.’

  Taking her hand again he led her towards the place where the wagon stood. The loading was almost complete. As they watched a canvas was dragged over the flatbed and tied down. Two of the men climbed onto the wagon seat and the team was slapped into motion. The wagon rolled across the cellar and out the open door. The other men followed, not bothering to close the heavy doors behind them.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Brand said. He led Sarah to the door. From there they were able to watch the wagon moving slowly away from the house. The four men who had followed it outside now climbed on waiting horses and fell in behind the wagon.

  ‘Where do you think they’re going?’ Sarah asked. ‘And what’s in the wagon?’

  ‘Stolen weapons and ammunition,’ Brand explained. ‘And I’d make a guess they’re heading for the bayou. Enough places out there to hide a million crates of guns.’

  She tugged at his arm. ‘Is this what it’s all about, Jason? Gun running?’

  ‘I wish it was as simple. Those guns will be used for starting what might turn out to be the second Civil War.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Damn right I am, Sarah. Our host of the evening, Senator Beauregard St Clair heads an organization calling itself The Brotherhood of the Confederacy. They have a very simple agenda. To return the South to the way it was before the War, even if it means starting another one to achieve it.’

  ‘That’s foolish, Jason. It just couldn’t be done.’

  ‘Try telling that to St Clair and his followers. They figure they have it all worked out. They have the men. The influence and the money. And they’re stockpiling weapons.’

  ‘It’s a nightmare.’ Sarah stared at him, eyes registering her shock. ‘But what can you do? One man against all those? Good lord, Jason, you look as if you’ve run over by a herd of cattle already.’

 

‹ Prev