Hart the Regulator 4

by John B. Harvey

  It was neither. Alice had the whip tight in both her small hands and she whirled it in an arc towards him, too far off to strike but the intent clear in the crack and swish of it, the grim appearance on the girl’s face.

  ‘What the hell you think you’re goin’ to do with that?’

  ‘You come near me and you’ll find out.’

  ‘Jesus Christ! Put that down.’

  ‘No!’ Hissing. ‘Make me!’

  ‘I’ll make you!’

  He took two paces towards her and the whip flashed at him and this time the end of it was less than a foot from his face so that his head automatically jerked back and his eyes shut tight and fast.

  ‘I warned you!’

  Hart crouched now, eyes fixed on her, narrowed and alert, waiting. ‘You sure did, you little bitch, an’ now I’m warnin’ you I’m goin’ to get that whip out of your hands and then I’m puttin’ you across my knee and givin’ you the hidin’ of your young life.’

  Alice was swaying slightly, the whip over her right shoulder and the fingers of both hands flexing a little as they held it, waiting also.

  ‘You lay a finger on me and I’ll tell my pa you tried to rape me.’

  Despite himself, Hart laughed. ‘Rape you?’ he said incredulously. ‘Rape you? Why, any man who was fool enough to try and rape you would likely go blind lookin’ for the place to stick his pecker.’

  Alice’s mouth dropped open and her hold on the whip loosened a fraction. ‘Why you … you...’

  Hart started to move in towards her and then stopped, sensing rather than seeing the movement off to his right.

  ‘Howdy.’

  He forgot about the girl and swiveled sideways, hand diving for the butt of his Colt, thumb flicking the leather loop clear of the hammer as his balance settled and the fingers closed about the pearl-handled butt and began to draw it clear of the holster. His body was crouched slightly, feet set apart, head forward as the hammer clicked back and the Colt leveled out.

  ‘Say,’ said the tall, gangling man. ‘Say, ain’t no need for that, no ways.’

  Hart moved his tongue along the underside of his upper lip, the gun steady and pointing at the stranger’s chest.

  ‘Where the hell you come from?’

  When the man nodded his head backwards a roll of loose skin shook and wobbled at his neck. ‘Back there.’

  Hart glanced beyond him towards the oaks.

  ‘How the hell you get there?’

  The old timer smiled. ‘Walked.’

  ‘No horse?’

  Another wobble of skin as the head bobbed up and down. ‘Sure. Left him tethered down aways.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Heard someone up here an’ couldn’t figure who it might be.’

  ‘So you sneaked up to take a look.’

  ‘Wouldn’t say I snuck.’

  ‘I don’t know what else you’d call it.’ Hart took in the old Navy Colt holstered high on one side of the man’s belt. He figured that if he’d meant trouble then the gun would have been drawn before showing himself. He relaxed a little.

  As if noticing, the tall stranger wiped his hand down his face and nodded towards Alice who was still standing in the same spot, the whip now resting on the ground in front of her.

  ‘Some kind of family argument? You an’ your daughter, there?’

  ‘She ain’t...’

  ‘He’s not my father!’ Alice almost shrieked.

  ‘It don’t matter none,’ said Hart. ‘We’re just ridin’ together.’

  ‘Travelin’ far?’

  Hart looked at him, hesitated an instant and then: ‘Denver.’

  ‘Uh-huh. That ain’t too bad.’ He looked towards the fire. ‘You wasn’t ’bout to brew up a little somethin’, was you?’

  Hart nodded and released the hammer on the Colt. Taking it as a sign, the stranger began to walk forward, unconcerned, even grinning at Alice who was feeling increasingly stupid standing there with the whip, ignored.

  Hart put up his gun.

  ‘Name’s Turkey,’ said the tall man, holding out his hand towards Hart.

  ‘Hart. Wes Hart.’

  The grip was firm; the blue eyes, oddly bright and clear in that aging face, held him fast. ‘Real pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Turkey sat down, cross-legged, close by the fire, while Hart set to making them some fresh coffee. Alice had gone to the rear of the carriage and sat there, legs dangling over the end, staring off into the trees. But when the coffee was beginning to smell fresh and strong and when there were soda biscuits to eat with it, she came to the fire also and sat down, smoothing her long dress over her knees.

  ‘How do, little lady?’

  She looked at Turkey awkwardly, not finding it easy to stop herself from somehow wanting to giggle without being clear why. So she half-turned away and made no reply.

  ‘Don’t mind her,’ Hart said scornfully and Alice made a small grunting sound and turned even further.

  ‘That’s okay,’ grinned Turkey. ‘Don’t spoil the coffee none.’

  ‘You live in these parts,’ asked Hart, ‘or you ridin’ through?’

  Turkey pointed off to the northeast. ‘Got a place east of that valley you see down there. Not much. Little cabin I built myself. I scratch around, doin’ a little of this an’ a little of that. Get by.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ Hart nodded and drank some more coffee.

  The two men talked sporadically but easily, the older man obviously happy to have someone who would listen to him as his tales reached further and further back into his past. After a while, Alice sat round and listened as well.

  By the time he’d finished his second mug of coffee, Turkey was well into a story about trapping beaver along the Platte River, till he suddenly broke off and grinned apologetically.

  ‘Hell, I’ll have to wander off into them oaks a ways in a minute. This bladder of mine …’ He nodded downwards. ‘… don’t function as well as it did. Part of growin’ old, I guess.’ He looked at Alice. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Miss.’

  Hart grinned and reached sideways for another biscuit as the old timer stepped past him. The next second something cold and sharp was pressing hard against the side of his neck,

  ‘Hold it!’

  ‘What the...?’

  ‘Just hold it!’

  A gasp escaped from Alice’s mouth.

  ‘Ease back straight an’ do it real slow.’

  Hart was breathing strongly, mind racing, muscles tense.

  ‘This blade’ll take your head half off. Now do it. An’, like I say, make it slow.’

  Hart leaned back until he was sitting upright. The knife came with him, not faltering. Hart thought the old man had no right to have a hand that steady. Not if he was any ordinary old man he didn’t.

  ‘Now stay steady while I take that nice, shiny gun you’re wearin’.’

  Hart held his breath; he wanted to make his move now, while the Colt was still in his holster. Wanted to but the cold edge of steel against his skin stopped him. Nothing suggested that the old man was incapable of doing as he’d threatened - nor that anything would hold him back.

  Turkey lifted the Colt from the gunbelt and tucked it down into the center of his own.

  ‘Now shift sideways away from that fire. Nice an’ easy.’

  Turkey chuckled and pressed the blade against Hart’s skin. As he shifted to the side, Hart felt the steel draw blood, a little only, a warm trickle that moved down towards the collar of his shirt.

  Turkey waved Alice away from the fire also, over between the low flames and the trees.

  ‘Now turn round,’ ordered Turkey.

  The old timer put two fingers of his left hand in his mouth and let out a whistle, low and distinct. Moments later Hart heard horses and then a while after that three men rode into sight between the oaks: a man with a scarred face, silver hair and beard; a taller rider wearing black; a short, fatter man leading a riderless horse.

  T
he three reined in close by the carriage.

  ‘You did good, Turkey,’ said the one with silver hair.

  ‘Yeah,’ laughed Turkey. ‘It was like takin’ a babe wet from his ma’s tit.’ He laughed again. ‘Why, it reminded me of a time I was in Pawnee country...’

  ‘You get his weapons ?’ asked Vonnie, interrupting.

  Turkey pointed to the pearl butt of the Colt sticking up from his belt.

  ‘Sure he ain’t carryin’ nothing else?’

  ‘Didn’t see nothin’,’ said Turkey defensively.

  ‘You mean you didn’t search him?’

  ‘No, I … well, not yet I didn’t. Hell, I took him without firin’ a damn shot, didn’t I? What more you want from me?’ He looked at the three mounted men, his eyes finally settling on Lee.

  ‘Nothing, Turkey,’ said Lee. ‘Like I said, you did fine.’ He swung his head. ‘Vonnie, search him.’

  Vonnie slipped from the saddle and went over behind Hart, drawing his gun as he did so. Turkey stepped away a yard, sliding the blade of the knife across the back of Hart’s shirt, cleaning the blood away.

  ‘Get up!’ Vonnie ordered.

  Hart did as he was told.

  Away to the side, ignored, Alice had begun to cry; slow, almost silent tears interrupted at intervals by a gasp of air that made her thin body shudder.

  Vonnie ran his hands down inside and outside of Hart’s pants and boots, front and back of his shirt.

  ‘He’s okay.’

  ‘Right.’ Lee and Little Fats dismounted, Little Fats taking the reins of their horses and tying them to a branch of one of the oaks. Lee examined the coffee pot and shrugged with annoyance to find it mostly gone.

  ‘Girl!’ he called. ‘Girlie! You make some more coffee, you hear?’

  Alice stayed where she was, hands clenched tight together; a bird rustled through the trees behind her and she jumped, squeaking out a high cry.

  ‘I’ll see to it,’ said Little Fats, coming forward towards the fire. ‘Girl, you go and sit over on that rock and keep there where we can see you.’

  Lee glanced at Little Fats, but let it ride. Alice responded to the quieter tone of the smaller man’s voice and did as he’d told her.

  ‘Get him tied up,’ said Lee, pointing at Hart. ‘I don’t want him tryin’ nothin’ fancy.’

  Turkey went to his horse and fetched the coil of rope from its place by the saddle, loosening it as he walked back. Vonnie was still close behind Hart and his gun was still drawn.

  ‘Get them arms behind your back,’ Vonnie said flatly.

  Hart moved his arms back slowly, judging his moment. At the last moment he accelerated the speed of the right, elbow jabbing into Vonnie’s ribs and right hand following round to chop down on the wrist.

  Vonnie staggered back with a shout and his fingers loosed their grip on the pistol. Hart dived for it as Turkey came in, the lariat lifting back over his shoulder. As Hart touched the gun, the underneath of the enamel coffee pot struck him above the left eye and bounced away. His fingers grabbed a handful of dust instead of the gun butt. The rope swung down through the air, curving in towards him and he ducked his head under it. Raw and heavy, the coils lashed the side of his face, his neck, the back of his head.

  Hart stumbled, still attempting to gain the gun.

  Vonnie’s boot cracked into the base of his spine and Hart went down, legs no longer supporting him. He heard Alice shouting loud, shouting for help but there was no help coming. Only himself.

  Hart turned with both arms over his face to protect it and as the rope came down this time he caught it and jerked Turkey towards him, kicking upwards into the old man’s hollow stomach.

  He pushed himself back and pressed one hand on to the ground to lever his body up. Legs bent, watching Vonnie closing on him, Hart failed to hear the swish of Lee Sternberg’s pistol barrel until the last second. Then there was a cracking sound as his skull seemed to burst apart and his eyelids jammed shut.

  The only sound then was of Alice screaming; not calling for help now but wordlessly frantic, mouth wide-open, eyes closed, face wet with tears and sweat.

  ‘Shut her up,’ said Lee and no one moved.

  ‘Shut her up!’

  Little Fats stepped round the fire and went to the girl, setting one hand over her mouth, not harshly, saying quietly: ‘Still, now. Don’t be foolish. Be still.’

  And the lips ceased to move against the palm of his hand and when he set his other hand on her shoulder - almost an absence of flesh on the bones - she slumped back against him and was silent.

  Hart struggled back to consciousness, seeing Alice and one of the men through a haze and beginning to crawl towards them, not understanding what he was attempting or why. He heard a laugh from close above him and a few seconds later the toe of a boot thudded into his temple and he collapsed from hands and knees to the ground.

  He wasn’t to move again until the men dragged him, lifted him and tied him to the trunk of one of the oaks.

  The ropes bit into his arms and the front of his chest. The side of his head gave out dull throbbing surges that pulsed to his brain like bad blood. Hart shook his head to clear his vision and the pain sharpened.

  Two of them - the one called Turkey and the shorter one -were crouching by the fire and the girl was near them, watching them set rashers of bacon into a pan. He could smell beans already cooking. Coffee, too.

  The others were further over, by the carriage … seemed to be taking everything out from under the tarpaulin. Sacks of flour and dried meat, one trunk and then the other. Taking them from the rear of the carriage and spreading them out on the ground.

  Hart could see there might be stuff there worth stealing, but even so it didn’t sit right. He saw the silver-haired man unfasten the catches on one of the trunks and throw back the lid. Immediately he bent low over it and started to delve into the neatly folded piles of girl’s clothes, losing patience quickly, throwing them this way and that over the ground.

  Alice saw what was happening and let out a small shout; she made a move around the fire, but Little Fats caught her arm and held her back, shaking his head.

  ‘Damnation!’ shouted Lee Sternberg and kicked the empty trunk aside and started towards the second.

  ‘No use,’ said Vonnie, who was already squatting down in front of it.

  ‘What d’you mean, no use?’

  ‘Unless you got a key.’

  ‘Jesus!’

  Lee turned towards the fire. ‘Where’s the key?’ he asked Alice.

  She shook her head, eyes big with fear.

  ‘Where is it? Don’t fuck me around!’

  ‘I … I...’

  ‘Tell him, kid,’ said Little Fats quietly, ‘Tell him if you know.’

  ‘I...’

  Lee had her by the arms and was shaking her like a scrawny mongrel pup; tears flushed from her eyes and gargling sounds came from her open mouth.

  ‘Lee,’ said Little Fats, moving closer, ‘she ain’t goin’ to say nothin’ while you do that.’

  ‘Damn!’ Lee scowled and let Alice go, dropping her so that she lost her footing and fell haphazardly to one side.

  ‘Where’s the key, honey?’ asked Turkey, pan of frying bacon in hand.

  ‘Mrs … Mrs Mitchell, she locked the trunk. She wanted to have both of ‘em locked but the other one got stuck. So, anyway, she locked the one an’...’

  ‘The key,’ interrupted Lee. ‘Just the key.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I was telling you, she put the key on the dressing-table and told me to be sure not to forget it. Whatever I did, not to forget it.’

  Alice’s voice wobbled as she threatened to lose control once more.

  ‘You forgot it anyway, right,’ said Little Fats.

  ‘Mmm,’ mumbled Alice through fresh tears.

  ‘Bust it open.’ Lee turned abruptly and headed back towards the trunk.

  Vonnie came out from the boulders with a chunk of rock in his hand. ‘Already thought
of that.’

  He leaned over the trunk and began to smash at it with the rock, small fragments splintering away. ‘Hold it!’ he shouted. ‘Someone hold the damned thing.’

  Eventually the clasps were forced off and the lid thrown back. Hands pulled and tore at the dresses and blouses, woolens and flimsy underthings. Finally Lee lifted the trunk into the air and hurled it against an oak.

  ‘Maybe we got it wrong?’ suggested Vonnie.

  Lee’s face set hard: ‘We didn’t get it wrong.’

  ‘Okay,’ Vonnie shrugged and turned away.

  ‘Look in those flour sacks, those other bags. It must be in there.’

  Vonnie and Turkey cut and ripped the sacking apart, scattering flour and beans and dried meat all over the ground. There was nothing the sacks weren’t meant to contain - nothing the men were looking for.

  ‘Has he come to yet?’ asked Lee.

  Little Fats walked over to the tree to which Hart was tied. ‘Just about.’

  ‘See what he knows.’

  ‘There’s only the girl,’ said Hart straight off. ‘The girl an’ her things. Whatever you’re lookin’ for, it ain’t there.’ He looked at Little Fats. ‘Whatever it is.’

  Little Fats slid his hand down towards his gun butt and stared at Hart through his narrow eyes. ‘If you’re lyin’...’

  Hart shook his head and winced with the pain. ‘I ain’t.’

  ‘Hey!’ They were interrupted by Vonnie’s shout of triumph; he was standing on the back of the carriage, pointing down. ‘If I’m right I should get an extra share for getting it figured,’ he said with a broad grin.

  ‘What d’you mean?’ asked Turkey from the fire.

  Vonnie pointed: ‘This thing’s got a false bottom is what.’

  ‘You sure?’

  For an answer Vonnie bent down and prised up first one board then another. The other three hurried over to the carriage, all talking and exclaiming at once. Hart tried to see between them, to make out what it was that was at the root of their search.

  ‘Well, Jesus, thank you so much!’ Vonnie laughed and lifted something high in the air. ‘Thank you for a miracle.’