by Neil Hunter
Without knowing it she had made a distinct impression on Bodie. He didn’t dismiss the pleasant thoughts he experienced when they formed. They came easily and he realized that had to mean something. Though they had been together only a short time, the memory lingered. She was more than just beautiful. Something in her stubborn personality had struck a chord in Bodie. Her determination to stay strong despite what had happened to her. Spirited and sharp, the young woman refused to back down. He determined to seek her out when he had dealt with the Gallman bunch. There was no guarantee she would reciprocate his interest but he was at least going to make an effort.
By the time he finished his coffee Bodie picked up on the wind soughing down through the timbered slopes. Not strong but it carried a chill that was to be expected in this high country. Glancing up through the branches he saw there was a bright moon, with clouds scudding by. He wondered if another storm was brewing. He pushed to his feet and checked out the chestnut. He had ground tied it within the timber so it was as protected as well as he could make it. Bodie took his saddle and dropped it near his fire, unrolled his blankets and spread his slicker over the top in case it did rain. He poured the rest of the hot coffee into his mug and settled down under his blankets. He worked the ground under him until he was comfortable, finished his coffee, then laid his head on the saddle.
~*~
He woke at first light and found his concerns about the weather had been unfounded. When he kicked off his blankets he saw a clear, wide open sky. The early morning chill was already disappearing. Bodie got his fire going and heated up fresh coffee. He downed two mugs, cleared away his cooking gear and rolled his blankets, tying them in place once he had saddled the chestnut.
‘You ready to go to work?’ The horse swung its head to look at him, curling its lips. ‘Well, good morning to you. I only asked.’
He stroked its muzzle. The chestnut nickered softly, pushing against him.
Bodie spent a couple of minutes checking the horse for cuts on its legs. It didn’t take up much time but it was worth it to satisfy himself the animal was fine. He made a final check on the saddle, making sure it was secure, before he climb up. Gathering the reins he turned the horse out of the trees and picked up the tracks he’d been following the previous day.
The morning spread around him and despite the reason he was up here Bodie had to admit it was good country. Wide and green with timber and brush. He was climbing steadily now, the slopes taking him higher in towards the distant peaks. The main Big Horn range still lay in the far distance and on the uppermost of the peaks he could see some snow. Bodie wasn’t too worried about that. It was too early in the year to expect snowfalls even up here. In fact, as the morning wore on, he felt the warm sun on his back. Not the searing heat of the desert but a pleasant enough feeling that was welcome change from the raging storm that had plagued him a couple of days ago.
Bodie couldn’t prevent the memory of walking through the rain into that cave, seeking shelter and being confronted by Ruby Kehoe and her Winchester. It had been a defining moment for them both, culminating in their ride through that storm until they had reached Kramer’s trading post. And even that had been nothing like the peaceful refuge they had expected. Lagrange and Wilkerson had been there ahead of them, lying in wait.
Bodie banished the thoughts and cleared his head. He needed to concentrate, not dream about the past. Somewhere ahead of him were the men he was seeking. They were his priority. Letting himself be distracted was simply asking for trouble.
Chapter Fourteen
The tracks faded, then reappeared as he hit rocky areas. At this height the dense treeline had all but vanished, leaving granite slopes and towering escarpments. Vegetation became scare as well. Patches of brush. Here and there a thicket. Bodie was forced to backtrack a number of times to pick up some faint marks on the rocky strata. He dismounted more than once to check out what turned out to be nothing more than natural markings in the rocks. Then he found an isolated depression where a hoof had touched a patch of soil between slabs of stone. Crouching he inspected the marks, working out which way they were going. It was time-consuming but Bodie had been practicing his tracking skills for a long time and his instinct told him to trust his judgment. He found sign that riders had passed this way, back and forth, the most recent he judged to have been from the pony the Indian had been riding when he went on his search for the missing men.
That would have been Lagrange and Stringer.
A further distance on Bodie picked up tracks that showed a pair of riders had moved towards higher ground, driving the stolen animals as they went. They ran almost parallel with those of the departing Indian.
Lew Gallman and Lang Wilkerson heading for…Bodie stood observing the tracks, tipping back his hat as he scanned them.
‘A man could get himself in a tangle working out these damn tracks, horse,’ he said.
The chestnut turned its head at the sudden sound of his voice. It pawed at the ground with a hoof, restless at the long standing. Bodie picked up the dangling reins and led off, eyes following the faint lines of tracks.
He reached an open stretch, where the seemingly unbroken rock gave way to dark, coarse earth where patches of mossy grass grew. The tracks showed clearer here, light maybe but he was able to follow them with little effort. They led more or less north, up into the heights and Bodie realized he was in for a long climb.
Abruptly the tracks angled off into a wide ravine, with steep rock slopes on either side. The base of the ravine was covered with more earth, with hardy thickets dotted along its length. The ravine meandered its way for a couple of miles. Bodie eased himself back into the saddle and let the chestnut make its own pace.
The air at this high altitude was a shade under being cold, despite the sun overhead. Bodie estimated it to be late afternoon now, so he still had a few hours of daylight. There was no telling how much further he might have to go. The ravine ahead made a wide curve to the right and when the chestnut negotiated the bend Bodie saw a grove of stunted trees and brush. He saw the horse’s head come up and felt it pick up the pace. He saw why after a couple more minutes. The glint of water in amongst the greenery.
A water source, coming down the ravine side and into a natural pool formed where the rock surface at the base had been worn into a pan. The water filled the hollow, spilling over and soaking into the surrounding area. In the south the Mexicans called these pans tinajas. Bodie called them a godsend. He could see where the bunch of horses had watered, milling around to leave a mass of tracks before moving on again along the ravine. He slid from the saddle, taking his canteen with him, pulling off the cap and emptying the warm water out so he could refresh it. The chestnut needed no encouragement. It nudged him aside as it made for the pool, dipping its muzzle and drinking deeply.
‘Excuse me,’ Bodie muttered.
He stepped up to where the water spilled from the worn cleft in the rock and let it flow into his canteen. When it was partway full he took a drink himself, the cool liquid easing his dry throat, then continued to fill the canteen. He splashed a handful of water over his face, feeling his unshaven jawline, took off his hat and ran a wet hand through his thick hair. He turned and watched the horse as it continued to drink. Moving to it he picked up the reins and led it away from the water.
‘Enough,’ he said. ‘Fool animal you’d drink until you had a swollen belly.’
The chestnut grumbled but let Bodie move it well clear. It dipped its head to crop at the grass sprouting from the watered ground near the pool. Bodie let it feed for a few minutes while he moved around to ease the kinks from his body.
He wondered what he might eventually find at trail’s end?
Something told him it would be a permanent camp where Gallman and his bunch could retreat to when needed. A hidden place where they felt secure, well away from regular trails. Staring up at the rocky escarpments made Bodie aware of the remoteness of the area. A hundred places a group of men could retreat to and feel
safe from pursuit. The mountains offered a safe haven for those wanting isolation. The great towering crags and peaks would provide just that. From such a place Gallman could lead his gang out in any direction they chose, descending to the flatlands and then striking where and when they wanted. Pursuit might follow but with the law spread far and wide, Gallman would fade away in the empty hills and from there back into his mountain lair.
Gallman’s way had proved successful so far…only now the outlaw bunch had a shadow following them…Bodie. He sought out his quarry and did what he did best…
…became The Stalker. The tenacious bounty hunter who picked up the scent and stayed with it to the end.
His legend had grown over time without Bodie having any hand in it. He simply did the job he was best suited for. The stories got around by word of mouth and as with most they were embellished with each telling, growing beyond the original facts. Bodie took nothing from them—apart from the unwelcome attention they sometimes brought him. There were those who decided he was fair game himself. The ones who had the urge to establish themselves as hard men. In their eyes taking down a man like Bodie was worth the challenge. Bodie had no time for glory seekers, whether they were wanted men, or simply individuals looking for the accolade that would go to them if they succeeded. He never advertised his skill with the gun he carried on his hip. It spoke for itself whenever he had to use it, but he understood it attracted a certain type, desperate to prove themselves. As far as Bodie was concerned they were sad individuals desperate to gain the notch on their guns. Faced with a direct challenge he would do his best to talk his way out—if that failed he was never going to step away.
The way ahead became harder, the chestnut having to put in extra effort to overcome the steep rise. A couple of times Bodie had to dismount, hauling on the reins to keep the horse moving. There was no other way to go. The faint track marks on the weathered stone led him on. Forward and upward. In places those hoof marks became increasingly visible where a horse had slipped on the rocky surface. It convinced Bodie he was on the right way and he coaxed the chestnut to keep moving. The feisty mare showed her displeasure a time or two and Bodie had to talk her round.
‘At least it ain’t raining on you now,’ he said. ‘Nice warm day so quit playing around.’
The slope eventually leveled out and Bodie let the horse stand for a while. She was blowing noisily. Mostly for effect so he ignored the tantrum and the mare, seeing her ploy wasn’t working, calmed down and stood waiting.
Bodie saw where a number of scuff marks on the rocky surface came and went. It suggested a coming together where riders joined and left the immediate area. He led the horse and began to make a close inspection. He saw the tracks were all moving to and from a high rock face. The weathered escarpment rose hundreds of feet overhead. Here on this high point the wind became stronger, lifting dust and chipped detritus. Bodie followed the thin trail, keeping in close to the vertical wall. Some scrub grew at the base and Bodie might have missed the narrow cleft if he hadn’t been watching close.
It was no more than six feet wide. A split in the eroded rock face and it appeared to run deep into the escarpment. All the hoof prints he had been following went into the cleft. Bodie stepped inside the opening and found more tracks in the accumulated dirt running ahead of him. He stood and inspected the marks. Ahead the passageway into the rocks ran in a crooked line that began to widen as it faded into shadow, the top of the cleft coming together so that it formed a tunnel shape, closing out the light. He studied the passage for a while before retreating and moving outside.
Bodie stepped back from the rock face and stared up. He saw immediately there was no way to climb the wall. It rose to a dizzying height. He realized if he wanted to get inside the escarpment he would have to use the tunnel. That added its own problems. It was an unknown. With what appeared to be little in the way of concealment if someone decide to traverse it while he was there. If he was going through he needed to pick a time when it was less than likely others would be thinking the same. He figured that meant a night incursion. Even that might have its own difficulties. Bodie couldn’t see any other way he could do it.
He turned and took up the reins, leading his horse away from the cleft. He wouldn’t be going in on the chestnut. He was going to walk in.
Bodie made the cover of a thicket some four hundred yards away. He led the chestnut into it and tied her to a low branch. He tipped water into his hat and let the mare drink her fill. He took a long swallow himself from the canteen. There was some grass for the animal to feed on.
Taking his Winchester he checked it was fully loaded. Did the same with his Colt. On impulse he took the second pistol from his saddlebags and loaded that too, then tucked it under his belt. His final action was to make sure the razor-sharp knife was secure in the sheath on his left side. He favored the knife. Ever since he had taken it from the half-breed gun for hire Silverbuck. He had used it to cut the breed’s throat—twice in fact, because the man had survived the first time and had spent a long time searching for Bodie to have his revenge. He almost got it. They had finally met in the desert below Yuma and had once again fought for survival. When Bodie walked away he knew the breed wouldn’t be coming back for a third try. He had made certain Silverbuck was good and dead this time.
The light was fading fast now. As night slid over the peaks, stars starting to show, Bodie saw a pale moon shining. He checked the chestnut for the last time, stroking its glossy coat.
Bodie settled down himself, with his back against a mossy rock, stretching his long legs out. It was peaceful now, with the only sound coming from the grazing mare and the low sigh of the constant wind. He let himself relax, knowing that he might need to expend a degree of energy once he set himself to walking.
This was a moment of calm before the coming storm, which he knew would come once he encountered Gallman and Wilkerson. They would not give up without a fight. Bodie never even considered they would hold up their hands and surrender. They were of the hard breed. Men who made their own rules, stuck to them and never gave in. They had chosen their way long ago. They offered no easy way out to anyone who stood in their way. Killing came easy to them. It was the rule they clung to all the way down the line.
Kill them before they kill you.
Back east the thin veneer of civilization held society together in a way that was still struggling to exist here on the frontier. In many instances men made their own rules in order to survive. There was little choice. The country was vast. Much of it still untamed. Law might work in the established towns but once men stepped away from them they were left to settle their differences by their own hands. Lawlessness offered more chances for those who shrugged off society. Men who took what they wanted from others because they could. Men like Lew Gallman and his crew. Men who were too idle to work for their rewards. It was easier to let others do that then step in and steal it. Kill for it without regard for their victims. It was by any criteria a savage way to live. Yet it suited Lew Gallman. And Lang Wilkerson. It had been the same for the others. Lagrange. Stringer. Vasquez. Charley Crow. All of the same breed.
Now Gallman and Wilkerson were the only ones left.
Unless there were others at their hideout.
Bodie had been working on the assumption he only had two to deal with.
What if he was wrong?
He might be letting himself in for an unpleasant surprise when he turned up to confront the supposed two and walked in on an armed bunch.
It was something he couldn’t discount. He was going to have to face that possibility and work around it. His idea to move in under the cover of darkness was still his favored thought. It might offer him an opportunity to check out just how many he might be up against. Allow him time to work out his strategy. A thin smile edged his lips. Whatever he decided there would be a degree of making it up as he went along. He was not in a position to do much else given the lack of information about the strength of Gallman’s bunch. Bodie was n
ever one for worrying too much about the odds. He would face whatever he found and deal with it.
He listened to the chestnut’s steady breathing as it settled. He felt in his shirt for one of the cigars he carried with him. There were a few Lucifers, wrapped in a patch of oilcloth. He was about to take the cigar out when he stopped. It had been a dam fool notion. The smell of burning tobacco could have been picked up for quite distance. Easy to forget and allow himself to be located. Men had died for something as small as such a mistake.
Forgoing his smoke Bodie settled and waited out his time to move.
Chapter Fifteen
It was still dark when Bodie roused himself, took a final drink from his canteen, emptying it, took his rifle and slipped quietly out of cover. He judged it to be around four by his internal clock. The quiet time before dawn. He made sure the chestnut was secure. Clear of the thicket he made his way to the shadowed cleft, stepping lightly. In this pre-dawn time before the world roused itself, the profound silence magnified any sound, so Bodie kept noise to the minimum. When he slipped into the tunnel the darkness became virtually complete and he was forced to feel his way along. He stayed close the left wall so his rifle remained clear in his right hand. He didn’t want to create any sound by accidentally brushing the weapon against the stone.
He could feel the soft earth underfoot as he moved, treading with caution. For a short while he imagined he could feel the darkness closing in around him. As if the very stone walls of the tunnel were moving to trap him. It was sheer imagination, he knew, though it took a time for him to shake off the sensation. Perceptions had that habit of creating threats where there were none. In daylight the confining size of the tunnel would not have concerned him. In the inky blackness it was different. Bodie knew there was nothing there. No phantoms. Or imagined enemies. Yet he still felt an enclosing sensation. An eternal fear of the dark. Something that had existed as long as man himself.