Hart the Regulator 4

by John B. Harvey

  Lee shook his head and thought what Turkey said was likely right. He should have left the girl with Little Fats and taken Vonnie with him. Only now it didn’t matter. Now he wouldn’t be taking Vonnie anywhere.

  ‘What about the girl?’ he asked.

  ‘Took her with him. Loaded up a few things, cut out a horse for her and went off. Could’ve been headin’ north, only I didn’t think to follow. Thought I’d better get to you.’

  Lee nodded. ‘An’ the silver?’

  ‘He might’ve looked around for somethin’ but he was in some hurry. Didn’t want us ridin’ back in on him.’ Turkey gave a broken grin. ‘No, he didn’t find nothin’ worth takin’.’ He spat. ‘Not unless you include the girl.’

  Lee scowled. ‘Right now, she ain’t worth a thing.’

  Shit, Turkey thought, I never thought she was. That was your idea. But he didn’t say so.

  ‘What d’we do?’ Turkey said instead.

  Lee had begun to walk to his horse. ‘I’m thinkin’ about it. Little Fats is back down the trail with Kennedy. We’ll get him first.’

  ‘Okay.’

  As they were going along together Turkey turned thoughtfully to Lee and said, ‘Way that little girl looked, reminded me of a time this wagon train I was scoutin’ for got ambushed by...’

  ‘I said I had things to think about, didn’t I?’ Lee snapped. ‘So stop gabbin’ on.’

  Turkey just shrugged and turned away, letting the memory run through inside his head just the same.

  At the sound of riders coming down the trail, Little Fats thumbed back the hammer of his Colt and held his arm steady, pointing it between the trees. When he saw it was Lee and Turkey he relaxed with a half-smile that disappeared as soon as Lee told him about Vonnie.

  ‘How? Who?’

  Lee told him that, too.

  Alongside, Kennedy set his fingers to the side of his head to quell the racing pulse.

  Lee Sternberg moved up close to him, real close. Kennedy tried to back away but Sternberg’s left hand grasped the bridle of his horse and held it fast.

  ‘So you weren’t playin’ a double-cross?’

  ‘Hmm, no, I…’

  ‘Didn’t know anythin’ about what that shootin’ might’ve been? Nothin’ to do with you?’

  Kennedy’s eyes flickered wildly. He stuttered and stammered and thought about the gun that was still in the pocket of his white cotton coat and tried to steel himself to use it if it became necessary.

  ‘You were playin’ it straight down the line, is that it?’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Kennedy’s voice was edged with desperation, imploring.

  Lee leaned over in his saddle and slapped him across the face twice, hard, back and forth, each blow jolting Kennedy’s head round hard.

  ‘Then how come that feller you hired snuck up on Vonnie and killed him so’s he could take that girl of yours?’

  ‘I … I …nothing to do with me. Nothing!’ Kennedy’s voice broke in a near scream.

  Lee slapped him again, almost knocking him out of the saddle. A line of blood wavered down the lower half of Kennedy’s face, running from the side of his mouth.

  ‘He was your man.’

  ‘No, I...’

  ‘Liar!’

  This time the fist was bunched and blood squelched from Kennedy’s nose; the sound of cartilage yielding to bone was clear.

  ‘You hired him to take the girl.’

  ‘But after what happened I fired him. After you…’

  ‘Then what the fuck was he doin’ killin’ one of my men to get her back?’

  Kennedy’s light blue eyes widened with fright; his body shook. He stared wildly past Sternberg at the other two men for some kind of help, but while Turkey looked on with a morbid smile on his face, Little Fats only looked away.

  ‘You got an answer?’ Lee demanded.

  ‘Hmm, no, I told you, swear to you, on my mother’s, my mother’s...’

  Lee Sternberg looked at him in disgust. ‘Kennedy, your mother was likely a whore. That might account for you bein’ what you are.’

  Too late, Kennedy’s hand went for the gun in his coat pocket. Lee Sternberg sat back in his saddle, grinned, spat, and drew the Smith & Wesson from its holster.

  He shot Kennedy through the neck.

  Blood splashed into Sternberg’s face. It splashed down his shirt and over the lapels of his leather coat. It splashed the neck and mane of the horse Kennedy was astride. It freckled Sternberg’s saddle, his pants leg and his boot. A single, bright fleck showed on the gun metal of the pistol barrel.

  ‘God damn!’ shouted Lee Sternberg. ‘That’ll teach you to lie tome!’

  Kennedy was a long time falling. He swayed forwards and back in the saddle, the stirrups helping to hold him there as he rocked, eyes clenched tight, arms flapping like clothes caught in the wind.

  The hole below his chin was large enough for a man to punch through with his fist. The hole went right through, broadening at the rear. Behind there was more blood, spattered with fragments of bone and tissue.

  The horse under Kennedy turned and twisted but Lee still had hold of its bridle.

  As the three men watched, Kennedy’s eyes seemed to open for a second or two only they were no longer light blue. Darkly they stared out at the men and slowly the right eyebrow raised itself in a final doubt, some last question.

  Lee let go of the bridle and the horse swerved to the left and unseated Kennedy. The body hit the ground hard and rolled over twice, stopping face down, one arm folded underneath it, one leg angled oddly outwards.

  The birds that had flown from the branches at the sudden sound of the shot, circled and settled back again. Lee ejected the spent cartridge from his gun and slid it back down into his holster.

  ‘What now?’ asked Little Fats, looking down at the gaping wound in the back of Kennedy’s neck with more than idle curiosity.

  The scar on Lee’s cheek stood out sharply, white against the flushed, tanned skin. ‘The silver,’ he said. ‘We get the silver and ride out of here. I reckon we need a change of scenery.’

  By the time Fowler got to where Kennedy had been shot the back of the dead man’s neck was thick with flies. The hum was audible before the body came into sight. They seemed to hover less than a quarter inch over the surface in a mass of blurred wings, like a single moving insect filled with greed.

  Fowler dismounted and looked down at the body for a few moments before taking a shot of bourbon.

  He hadn’t cared two cents for Kennedy but neither had he wished him dead. Not like that. A bullet through the throat and left to rot on the ground.

  Jesus Christ!

  He could turn around and go back. As far as the agency back in Sacramento was concerned this hadn’t happened. It was but a short ride back to town and then he could buy a bottle and move on. No one would be any the wiser. All he’d been paid to do was keep Kennedy company while he sorted out a little ransom business. The fact that it had gone wrong was nothing to do with him - nothing at all. Neither was the girl any of his business, nor that gunman name of Wes Hart. Damn the pair of them!

  Fowler reasoned all this out as he near enough emptied the flask of bourbon and climbed back on to his horse. He looked at the ground. Three of them now and moving faster. Wanting to get back to their hide-out and then likely move on.

  Fowler growled to himself and called himself all manner of fools. He rode on, slowly, up the slope.

  Chapter Twelve

  Alice woke once in the night. She threw back the blanket and sat bolt upright, arms tight across her chest, eyes wide, staring into the darkness. Her mouth opened in a scream that was stifled after only seconds by Hart’s warm hand. At his touch she struggled wildly and tried to free herself and he reached round behind her and gripped her shoulder until whatever dream had woken her had faded and she realized where she was, whose hands were on her.

  Hart wiped at her forehead and it was damp and cold with sweat.

  ‘It’s okay.
You just had a bad dream. You can take it easy now.’

  Gradually she relaxed against him and after a few minutes he was able to move his arm away and watch her as she slid back down beneath the blanket.

  Within seconds she was asleep again. Hart looked down at her pale face, the fringe of brown hair falling across her eyes. He wondered if the dream that had woken her had been what he guessed it to be; wondered how many other nights it would haunt her until someone finally laid its ghost.

  Hart stretched and glanced at the moon and went back to his own bed roll: he knew about dreams that came unbidden and hoped the rest of his night would be free of them.

  He woke on the edge of first light and got up quietly so as not to disturb Alice. He buckled on his gunbelt and automatically checked the load in the chamber before looping the safety thong over the hammer and stepping from sight.

  More than an hour later Alice opened her eyes to see his blanket rolled back and unoccupied. She pushed herself up on one arm and gazed anxiously around - seeing no one she scrambled to her feet and stood there, shakily, afraid and alone. When Hart came into the small clearing several minutes later she uttered a cry and ran to him, burying her head in his chest, arms thrown round his back and clinging tight.

  ‘Hey, now. Come on, it’s okay.’ He lifted her away and grinned. ‘Nothin’ to fret over.’

  ‘I woke up and you weren’t there. I thought...’ she stopped and turned her head away.

  ‘That I’d gone off an’ left you?’

  The small head nodded yes.

  ‘Well, you can see that ain’t so. Now let’s see if there’s anythin’ worth eatin’ for breakfast, huh?’

  Alice nodded and moved off to help.

  When they were sitting down and chewing on hardtack and some dried pork, Alice flicked the hair away from her eyes and asked: ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Uh-hum.’

  Hart hesitated, fingering a small piece of meat from between his teeth.

  ‘Are we going after them?’

  Hart looked at her.

  ‘The rest of them - the men who kidnapped me.’

  Hart almost smiled. ‘Is that what you want to do?’

  ‘I don’t know. If we, I mean, what will happen? Will you shoot them like you did that one ...’ Her voice cut off abruptly and she looked at the ground.

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On them.’

  For several minutes neither spoke. Then Alice asked: ‘Is it because of the silver they took of my father’s? Is that why you’re going after them - to get it back?’

  Hart nodded. ‘That’s part of it.’

  ‘If you get it back, the silver, what will you do with it? I mean, will you take it back to my father or...’

  But at the mention of her father Alice noticed a change in Hart’s expression, something which passed across his eyes that made her stomach cold and hollow.

  ‘What is it?’

  Hart shook his head. ‘What d’you mean? There ain’t nothin’.’

  She got up and stood close before him, looking down at him, dark eyes large and questioning. ‘My father - what’s happened to him?’

  ‘Who said anything had happened to him?’

  ‘You did.’

  He looked up at her. ‘I never...’

  ‘Your eyes did.’

  Hart reached for a piece of hardtack and bit down into it.

  ‘Where did you go, early this morning when I was asleep?’

  ‘Just for a walk. Back down into the trees.’

  ‘Were you looking for him then? Is that what you were doing?’

  ‘No, I said, I was takin’ a walk.’

  Alice’s front teeth bit down into her lip. ‘He’s dead, isn’t he? They killed him, didn’t they? Didn’t they?’

  Hart recognized the raising of her voice, the coming wildness of her eyes. He reached his hand up to steady her, but she backed away, staring at him. When she spoke next it was in a hiss of sound, the words spat out.

  ‘I’m not a child, you know. You don’t have to treat me like a child. What did you think you were going to do? Keep it from me?’

  Tears welled behind her eyes.

  ‘Well?’ She leaned her thin body forward, arching her face towards him, accusing. ‘Well?’

  Hart pushed himself up and moved towards her, one hand stretched out, but she dodged away and the tears broke down her cheeks.

  ‘Keep away from me! Keep away from me! Don’t touch me, just tell me!’

  Hart sighed; his arms went to his sides. He looked at her sobbing, shaking body. ‘I found him this morning. Just around sunup. He’d been shot.’

  His voice was even and low and it was as if the sense of what he said had eluded the girl. Then gradually she began to rock backwards and forwards on her heels, body swaying, brown hair falling around her face as the brittle, choked sounds escaped from her mouth.

  He made to go to her but she flinched and stared at him so that he had to turn away and leave her with her grief. She would come to him when she was ready. Maybe. Hart busied himself with the horses, trying to shut the sobs that shook her from his mind, trying not to turn and look at her still shaking body.

  She didn’t come to him - not in the way he’d expected.

  When the tears ended, Alice wiped her eyes and her cheeks and stood up, sniffed and walked to where Hart was standing.

  ‘You would have taken me back to him, wouldn’t you? If you could?’

  Hart nodded.

  ‘But now you can’t do that you’ll keep me with you?’

  ‘For a while.’

  ‘While you go after those men?’

  He nodded.

  ‘All right.’ Her voice was almost steady. ‘I’ll be quiet and good and I’ll do what I’m told without asking any questions and I won’t get in the way but there’s only one thing.’

  He looked at her standing there in one of his shirts, loose around her body and covering her torn dress, the bottom of the skirt flaring out underneath.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘If I’ve got to ride that horse, can we buy me some pants?’

  Hart smiled and nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Sure, just as soon as we can, we’ll get you some pants.’

  Lee, Turkey and Little Fats had taken the silver from its cache under the floor of the cabin. That and the money that had been stashed away there. It wasn’t, Lee had explained, a matter of running away. Not from one man, it wasn’t. Only there didn’t seem any point in hanging around waiting for him to come back. And if someone happened upon Kennedy’s body they might think to stir up trouble. So a trip across country would do them good.

  Lee knew a place down on the Texas-New Mexico border. Not far from Romero. Sort of abandoned ranchera that one or another bunch of outlaws used to hole up in. Always folk around a man knew. Drink and cards. Women, too, not the youngest or the best but something to keep a man warm at night.

  Rancho Nuevo.

  South-west across a land that was increasingly hot and arid, broken all too frequently by rivers flowing east: Carrizo Creek, Punta de Agua, Ute Creek.

  The three of them rode close together, always stopping at intervals to check the land behind them. There was no sign of anyone following. Not that they really expected it. All they were doing was being cautious - the way they always were. That was why they’d succeeded in staying together for so long while other gangs had been broken apart.

  Only now Vonnie wasn’t riding with them. All because of one stubborn gunslinger who couldn’t see the sense of minding his own business and not taking unnecessary risks.

  But even he wasn’t so stupid as to follow them all those miles for the sake of a little silver, to redress a little wrong, restore some sense of bruised pride.

  Was he?

  Not for the first time nor the last, Lee Sternberg turned in his saddle and scanned the horizon.

  ‘Where you say you was headed?’

&nb
sp; Jed Hubbard scratched at his stubbled chin and spat a jet of dark tobacco juice down in the direction of a knothole in the floor.

  ‘Amarillo way.’

  ‘Yeah. You an’ your daughter there.’ The man swung his head round towards Alice, who was standing at the other end of the store holding up a pair of denim pants in front of her legs while a fat woman with greying hair bent painfully down and used a pair of scissors on the ends.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Her ma down that way?’

  Hart shook his head and leaned closer, lowering his voice. ‘Her ma died.’

  ‘Oh, sorry to hear that.’

  ‘I’m takin’ her down to her aunt. She’s goin’ to look after her. Ain’t no job for a man. Not on his own.’

  The store owner nodded agreement and sent another stream of tobacco juice after the first.

  ‘D’you like them?’ called Alice from the end of the room.

  Hart looked round and nodded. ‘Sure. They’re fine.’

  Alice smiled and held them up to the woman. ‘I’d like to wear them right off.’

  ‘Well, honey, I ought to sew them bottoms up for you, else they’ll be ragged an’ torn-lookin’ in no time. Why don’t the pair of you have somethin’ to eat with us? There’s stew on the stove an’ you ain’t goin’ to get a hot meal this side of fifty mile. Ain’t that so, Jed?’

  Jed spat. ‘Reckon it is.’

  ‘All right if these folk eat with us?’

  Jed spat some more. ‘Reckon it is.’

  The stew was mostly vegetables, thick and tasty, with the occasional stringy piece of beef taking a person by surprise. There were hunks of freshly-baked bread and afterwards a treacle tart which sent Alice into delight.

  Hart set his fork down on his plate and looked along the table at the post owner. ‘Fellers I know, they planned to be ridin’ down this way. Day or two ahead. Three of ‘em together. You seen anythin’ of three riders lately?’

  Jed wiped a hand over his face and scratched at the back of his head; his wife busied herself with the remains of the pie.

  ‘Three men,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Can’t say I have.’

  Hart sat back in his chair and stared at the man. ‘You sure on that?’

  ‘Reckon I am. You remember any such, mama?’