by Ralph Cotton
By midmorning he had found a place where a deep jagged crack in a steep wall of rock provided him another opportunity to put even more distance between himself and his pursuers. The climb took more than an hour. At the end of it, he collapsed onto the rocky ground and lay flat on his back for a few minutes catching his breath, letting the throbbing pain in his hand subside.
When he pushed himself to his feet, he turned to the trail before him, then jumped back, startled at the sight of Lew Prado staring at him with a sly grin. “Morning, Bream,” Prado said. “I figured you for dead by now.”
“Dang, Lew, you scared the hell out of me, popping up like that,” said Cleaver. He looked Prado up and down. “I figured you for dead too. That damned ranger shot poor Tommy Newson down like he was a dog. I’ll never forget that, and if ever I get the chance, I’ll take vengeance for it. What about you?”
“Yeah, sure, why not,” said Prado. He didn’t seem too concerned about Newson’s death. “I knew the ranger had you cold, is why I lit on out,” he went on to say. “I figured I’d best get up here and wait for you, in case you managed to escape.”
“Only a true pard would do that, Lew,” said Cleaver, looking sincerely moved. “I’ll be obliged to you from now on.” His eyes turned glassy and full.
“Think nothing of it,” Prado replied. “How’d you manage to get away from them?”
“Hell, I just eased up and slipped away in the dark, while they all slept.” He chuckled. “Memphis Beck might be a top-notch bandit, but he’s poor at watching about prisoners, in my estimation.”
“Naw,” said Prado, dismissing the notion. “Not to make you feel bad, but I doubt if Beck much cared that you took off—one less mouth to feed, is my guess.”
“Well anyway, I’m a free man,” said Hook-nose. “All I need now is a gun on my hip and a horse up under me, and I’ll be back in business.” As he spoke, he looked at Prado’s horse standing back in the brush. A glance went to the gun on Prado’s hip.
Seeing him eye the horse and gun, Prado said, “Just so we understand one another right off, Bream, I do have a gun, and a horse. If I catch you trying to steal either one while I’m not looking, I’ll be obliged to kill you deader than hell.” He turned toward the horse.
“Duly noted and understood,” said Cleaver, stooping down and picking up a rock the size of his fist. He took a quick step forward and drew the rock back for a hard swing at the back of Prado’s head.
But before swinging he heard Prado say, “Anyway, I know where there’s some horses near here, some guns and supplies too . . . not to mention a big, old pretty gal that would warm a man’s belly like a heating pan.”
“You don’t say?” said Cleaver, dropping his hand to his side and letting the rock roll off the tips of his fingers. “You’ve got me interested, lead the way.”
“There is one little problem,” said Prado, walking on ahead.
“Now what might that be?” Cleaver asked.
“She’s riding with Glick the Dutchman,” Prado tossed out casually. “Does that give you pause, knowing there’s still a thousand dollars bounty on you from back in Kansas?”
“Naw,” said Cleaver, “bounty or no bounty, the Dutchman never scared me any. Does he you? As I recall, you’re worth some bounty yourself.”
“Only a few hundred,” said Prado, “but no, he doesn’t worry me any.”
“Good,” said Cleaver. “Myself, I always wondered how he’d look pinned to the hilt on a boot knife, his toes scraping the ground.” He looked at him with a cruel grin.
“Whoo-ieee, pard,” said Prado. “You’re cold as ice, you are.” He stopped at his horse’s side and looked around with a grin.
“Then let’s get to it,” said Cleaver, jerking a nod toward the saddle, “see if the Dutchman’s woman will thaw me out some.”
They mounted Prado’s horse and rode double for a few miles until the long shadows of evening had faded into darkness. When they came upon a glow of firelight flickering amid the rocks and brush a few yards off the trail, they stopped the horse and stepped down. Hitching the horse to the sun-bleached trunk of a downed cedar, they slipped forward in a crouch.
Cleaver whispered, “The Dutchman must be getting sloppy, a glowing fire this close to the trail? No wonder you was able to slip in and spy on him without him even suspecting it.”
Prado whispered in reply as he raised his Colt and checked it. “All the ole pards of mine he’s killed, I feel honored to be the one sending him to hell.”
They eased up atop a large land-stuck boulder and peered down onto Glick and Shala in the firelight. After watching for a moment, Cleaver whispered in a hushed, shallow breath, “Man, the honor of sending him to hell is all yours. I’ll be taking good care of that big pretty thing while you do it.”
“There’s enough of her for us both to take good care of, and then some,” Prado whispered in reply.
At the campfire, Glick called out to Shala as she finished attending to the horses, “Chuck some more wood on the fire, young lady. I want to feel some heat deep in my bones.”
Shala looked at him. Even as she did as she was told she asked, “But what about anybody seeing our fire and catching us unawares?”
“We’re not worried ’bout that tonight,” Glick said, sitting huddled in his large bearskin coat, the thick coat open down the front, his hand pushed deep into its large pockets. Moments earlier he’d heard the clack of hooves, and later the muffled sound of leather boot heels over among the rocks. “There’s nobody around close enough to see our fire, or anything else we don’t want them to see.”
All right, good . . . She stooped and gathered some of the deadfall pine and oak, and piled it onto the fire. She hoped in spite of what Glick had said about Stanley, that at any moment he might spot the fire and come find them. If he did, she thought, she was sure Glick wouldn’t give her up without a fight. Even that was okay with her—even killing the old assassin was okay with her, if that’s what it took to bring her and Stanley back together.
Seeing her stand up from stoking the fire, Glick said, as if giving her an order, “Come over here now. Let me get a look at you.”
Here we go again, Shala told herself. But then she reminded herself that if looking at her was as far as it was ever going to go with this old killer, she could go along with it, for now anyway.
But when she stood in front of him and let out a breath, Glick said matter-of-factly, “Off with your shirt, I’m talking about. I want a good look at you.”
His words repulsed her. Yet she reminded herself that this man would thrive on knowing she feared him. So far what had kept him at bay had been her boldness, her way of challenging him, of making demands on him that he must have known he could not meet. Seeing fear in her would strengthen him. She didn’t want that—better she should keep him feeling weak and impotent, she advised herself.
“You naughty man,” she said, her voice becoming lower and turning seductive. “No matter how much you see, you never see enough, do you?” Her hands went to the buttons on her shirt bib and opened them slowly, letting the bib fall open an inch at a time.
Glick only smiled, a lusty but sad look in his tired, bare-browed eyes.
“Are we going to do it tonight, Mr. Glick?” Shala asked brazenly, knowing that her directness always left him rattled and uncertain of himself. “I sure hope so,” she added. Then with a quick upward pull, the shirt came over her head. She shook out her hair and cooed, “You can ride me all night long; I won’t get tired. I’ll just want more.”
“We’ll see,” Glick said, his breath tight in his chest. He made a gesture with his hand, motioning for her to turn in a circle. “Do it real slow-like,” he said, “You look good in front of a warm fire.”
“Like this?” Shala raised her arms and swayed a bit in answer to his request.
“Lord, yes, just like that . . .” Glick stared in awe at the creamy white flesh moving before him. The sight of her naked had a way of weakening a man, of makin
g a man forget what he was doing, Glick reminded himself. But that’s what he was counting on. That’s what he needed her to do, for now.
So far so good, Shala told herself, seeing the look on his haggard face as she loosed the button on her trousers and let them fall. She still had him at arm’s length. She had to keep him there. There were worse things than having his eyes on her.
Chapter 19
Watching the woman stand naked and turn slowly in the flickering glow of firelight, Cleaver whispered to Prado lying stretched out beside him atop the boulder, “I can’t stand much of this. Let’s go on in there. We don’t have to wait until he’s asleep.”
“You’re right,” said Prado, easing his rifle over to Cleaver to use. “Ole Glick ain’t thinking about nobody sneaking up on him right now.”
“Hell no, he ain’t,” Cleaver whispered, taking the rifle. “Would you be if you was him?”
“Good point,” Prado whispered, loosening his bandanna nervously at his throat. “Let’s go.”
“I’m right with you,” said Cleaver. “Once we kill the Dutchman, we’ve got a nice looong night ahead of us.”
The two slid back off the boulder and down to a path leading around toward the firelight. They stayed crouched, close to the boulder like two reptiles until they had slipped out of the darkness into the outer edge of light. Guns cocked and pointed, they stepped forward with confidence. “Here goes,” Prado whispered sidelong to Cleaver.
Shala, the first to see them, let out a short gasp. Her forearms clasped instinctively across her large bare breasts. But before she could say anything, Prado called out to Glick, saying, “Raise your hands, Dutchman! We’re just itching to kill you anyway!”
Glick’s pale hand went straight up. “Don’t shoot!” he said, rising quickly but stiffly to his feet. He remained facing the naked woman. “Take whatever you want, but don’t shoot us.”
“Whatever we want?” Prado chuckled, staring at Shala, who stood trying to go unseen, her thighs pressed tightly together, her forearms across her breasts, all of her effort going to waste.
“That’s offering a lot, old man.” Cleaver chuckled, both gunmen letting themselves uncoil, now that they had gotten the drop on the wily old assassin.
Glick kept his back to them. “Who are you? What do you want?”
“What do we want?” said Prado, unable to keep his eyes off the naked woman. “You’d have to be crazy not to know what we want. The last naked woman I seen was made of canvas, in a frame, covered with paint and cigar smoke.”
Trying to keep on task, Cleaver said, “We need horses and grub most of all. But we’ll also have us some of the woman first.” He looked at Shala, then said to Glick, “I’m Hook-nose Cleaver. I know you’ve been wanting to bring me to your table for a long time.”
“Bream ‘Hook-nose’ Cleaver. How right you are,” said Glick, sounding almost honored at who it was holding a gun at his back. “You’re always worth a thousand dollars, on the hoof or in the bag.” He paused, then said, “I don’t expect you would favor me by leaving the woman alone, would you?”
“No way in the world,” said Prado. “I’d sooner we gave up the horses first.”
Glick shook his head and said to Shala, “See what I meant, how it’s important to have a man traveling with you in this wild land?”
“We ain’t going to hurt her,” said Cleaver, “not much anyway.”
“Turn around, Glick,” said Prado. “I want to see your face when we kill you. The devil in hell knows, you’ve sent many friends of mine to him.”
In spite of hearing herself discussed like some object of barter, Shala ventured, “Can—can I . . . put my clothes on? It’s cold—”
“I see no need in it,” Prado said, cutting her off sharply.
“Just do what they ask of you, young lady,” said Glick, turning slowly, his hands still high. “Maybe thing’s will be all right.”
“Sure they will,” said Cleaver, not sounding like he meant it.
Glick turned to face them. The two gunmen tensed instantly, seeing the glint of a knife’s steel blade running down from his wrist, the dark handle standing the length of his flattened palm. But before either man could make a move, Glick’s long, pale arm swiped down fast—too fast for a man his age, Prado thought.
“Jes—!” Cleaver started to shout. But the blade point stuck deep into his throat just beneath his chin, cutting off words, air and any plans for his future.
Prado shot a glance sidelong, just for a second as he saw the streak of shining steel flash through the air. Then he looked quickly back at the Dutchman, ready to pull the trigger. But the Dutchman stood grinning, shaking his head back and forth slowly, a big Colt cocked and leveled at Prado. Recognizing Prado, he said, “Lower that gun, Lew Prado. It’ll go easier on you.”
Prado considered it. “You mean you’re not going to shoot me?”
Glick gave a shrug. “It’s hard to say just yet. You’re not worth near as much as ole Hook-nose.” Seeing Prado’s gun barrel lowered a little, he said, “Come on in here. I was just fixin’ to boil up another pot of coffee. We can swap news awhile.”
Glick saw Shala’s shadow beside him as she stooped down to pick up her clothes. Seeing how Prado’s eyes stayed on her, even now, even in spite of his dangerous situation, Glick chuckled to himself. “Don’t dress just yet, young lady,” he said. “Like the man said, There’s no need in it.”
Hearing him, Prado let out a breath, lowered his Colt the rest of the way and eased the hammer down. But when he looked at Glick, he saw the wily old Dutchman gesture for him to drop the weapon. By then there was little else to do. Glick had him cold, he knew it. Prado let the gun hit the ground. “Coffee sounds good,” he said, stepping forward. “You know it was Hook-nose’s idea to come in here and rob you,” he said. “I told him we ought to leave you alone.”
“That was thoughtful of you,” said Glick. “I expect Hook-nose knew I would manage to put him in the bag sooner or later.”
“He was not a smart man, I have to say,” Prado replied, walking closer, seeing the big gun cocked and pointed at his chest. “He still wanted to come here, knowing how tricky you can be. He said it was just the other day, he was held prisoner by Memphis Beck and an Arizona Ranger. Said you slingshot a man out of a tall pine. Said the man landed smack in the middle of their camp . . . and lived. That’s the amazing part of it!”
“Hook-nose was a natural-born liar,” Glick said. Then quickly he changed the subject. “Where’s Angelo Sabott and all the rest of his thugs headed this early in the spring?” As he asked, he cut a quick glance toward Shala to see if she’d been listening closely to Prado’s story about the man flying out of a tall pine.
She had heard, but she wasn’t about to let it show on her face. She only stared down at her clothes on the rocky dirt. My God, Stanley . . . ? Of course it’s Stanley, who else would it be? He’s alive! she told herself, barely able to mask her emotions at the unexpected news.
Prado said, “Sabott is off on an early robbing spree. He stole a bunch of fresh explosives that Lady Dynamite made up for Beck and his Hole-in-the-wallers. So Beck’s been hot on his trail.”
“And Ranger Burrack is partnered with Beck?” Glick asked.
The two continued talking, but Shala hardly heard them. She’d wanted to know about Stanley, if he was dead or alive. Now she knew; and this was as much news as she was likely to hear on the matter as long as she was with Glick. Now she had to do some serious thinking. What to do? she said to herself, trying to clear her mind. She reached down for the coffeepot, her left forearm still covering her naked breasts. But as she started to pick it up by its warm handle, she almost gasped as she felt Glick reach out and grab her wrist.
“Get dressed now, young lady,” Glick said, very cool and calm in spite of all that had just happened. “Go pull my knife out of that one.” He gestured toward Cleaver’s body. “I’ll take good care of our live guest.” She saw a gleam in his eyes that told her someth
ing was afoot.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, not wanting him to see in her eyes that she’d gleaned much from the few words this man Prado had revealed about a man flying out of a treetop and landing in a camp below. She stood, snatching her clothes from the ground, and hurried around the campfire and out of sight between the horses and the mule.
She dressed hurriedly, then stood and straightened her clothes on herself, watching across the mule’s back as Glick poured water from a canteen into the coffeepot and set the pot on the low flames at the edge of the fire. No more mention was made of the man Glick sent flying from a treetop, but she had heard enough anyway.
Stanley was alive, and with the ranger and Memphis Beck. She’d find a way to get away from Glick and go find Stanley, even if she had to risk her life to do so, she thought, listening intently to Glick pump information from Lew Prado while the coffee boiled.
“So, Memphis Beck himself is back there, no more than a few trail miles behind me?” Glick said, contemplating the information Prado had given him. He reached into his bearskin coat, took out some slices of jerked elk, spread them onto a flat, clean rock lying between them, and gestured for Prado to help himself.
“That’s right,” said Prado, doing so eagerly. “But I’ll tell you, he’s not an easy kill, especially with that damned ranger flanking any move you make on him.” He tore a bite of the elk meat with his teeth and chewed and swallowed while they talked. “We had him dead to rights. But Burrack stuck his nose in, killed poor Tommy Newson, took Hook-nose prisoner, sent me running.”
“It’s hard for me to understand the ranger riding with Memphis Beck,” Glick pondered aloud. “I have to think that does indeed make it a hard kill.”
Prado continued eating, studying the Dutchman’s eyes for a moment, then said, “Maybe not so hard, if a couple of good gun hands partnered up and went after him . . . say somebody like you and me?”