by Neil Hunter
‘Dare say I do.’
Virginia smiled. ‘Then I think we have covered all the relevant points. Except the matter of your fee of course.’
‘Depends on whether I take the job,’ Brand said.
Virginia nodded. ‘Obviously. Do you need time to consider my offer?’
‘No,’ he told her. ‘I’ll take it.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Brand.’
‘Couple of things we’d better organize first,’ Brand said. ‘We’re going to need a couple of good horses. Food, blankets and the like.’
Virginia opened the leather drawstring bag she carried. She took out a thick roll of banknotes and peeled off a number. She placed them on the table in front of Brand.
‘I’ll leave it to you, Mr. Brand, to purchase whatever we need to get us to Bannock. If you need more just let me know.’ She glanced at the roll of notes in her hand. ‘Now about your fee ... ’
‘We can talk about that later. I ain’t going to have much need for money between here and Bannock.’ Brand picked up the money Virginia had placed in front of him. ‘And you trust me with this? I’ll be honest. Right now I’m close to being broke. How do you know I won’t take your money and walk away?’
She smiled. ‘You won’t. I know people. You are not the kind of man who would do that.’
‘Nice to be trusted. But just one other thing. That’s a hefty chunk of money you’re carrying around. Not a good idea to advertise it. Not everyone is as trustworthy as you believe I am.’
‘I appreciate the advice.’
‘Now you go back to the hotel and wait for me there. Stay in your room and keep the door locked.’
He stood up and made for the door, fastening the collar of his coat.
Stepping outside he caught the cold slap of the snow-laden wind across his face. Tugging his hat brim lower he plunged through the deep snow covering the street. There was a good livery stable at the far end of Butte’s meandering street. The owner was a taciturn, rawboned man named Abel Hirsch. Brand had rented a horse from him a time or two, and he knew that Hirsch was a good man with horseflesh. He found the man already in his cramped office just inside the livery’s wide doors, hunched over as he drew warmth from the glowing pot-bellied stove. Hirsch barely glanced up as Brand pushed into the office, stretching out his hands towards the stove.
‘Good day for business,’ Brand said.
Hirsch only grunted, not even looking up from the paperwork he was doing. The tiny office was silent except for the brittle scratching of Hirsch’s pen across paper as he returned to his work.
‘You want to do this deal or not?’ Brand asked.
Hirsch glanced over his shoulder. ‘What deal?’ he wanted to know.
‘I want to buy a couple of good, strong horses, complete with saddles and trappings. No crow bait. I need animals that can stand up on their own. I ain’t bothered about speed but I am bothered about staying power.’
‘What you planning on? Going mountain climbing?’
Brand grinned. ‘You could be right there.’
Twenty minutes later Brand left the livery. He had bought a pair of good horses, saddles and trappings. His next stop was a store he knew. There he would be able to get the supplies he and Virginia were going to need.
The livery faded into the white swirl of snow behind him. Brand cut across an open stretch of ground lying between the livery and the first of Butte’s business premises. His hands were thrust deeply into the pockets of his coat, his head lowered against the driving wind and snow. As he neared the first of the buildings he heard the too-familiar, flat sound of a pistol shot. He let his knees go, dropping to the hard ground, while his right hand jerked the heavy Colt from his holster. He hit the ground, twisting his body round in the direction of the shot. As his head came around he saw a wink of flame and then heard the same sound as before. This bullet was closer. It mushroomed into the ground, peppering his face with slivers of frozen snow and earth. Brand swore. He leveled his Colt, aimed and loosed off two fast shots. Following on the second shot came the sound of a man yelling in pain. Brand kicked to his feet and ran along the side of the building, looking for his attacker. As he rounded the end of the building a gun blasted. The bullet bit deeply into the thick corner post, chewing a large sliver of wood from the post. As he straightened up from his involuntary ducking movement Brand caught sight of a dark figure racing away from him. He lunged forward, his anger spurring him on. The distant figure appeared to be limping, and Brand wondered if it was because of one of his shots; he remembered the sudden cry of pain. He saw the snow-blurred figure hesitate. Brand blinked his eyes against the snow. Then he heard the gun fire. He felt something tug his left sleeve and gave a grunt of annoyance as a hot pain streaked across his arm. He dropped to his knees in the wet snow, lifting his Colt, using his left hand as extra support as he leveled the gun. The Colt’s black muzzle flickered twice with flame. Thick, acrid powder smoke curled into the air. Before the smoke obscured his vision Brand saw the dark figure fall back as if struck by a powerful force.
Brand climbed to his feet. He felt drained, all the excitement of the past seconds wiped away. Suddenly he felt cold. His left arm was beginning to ache. He trudged slowly through the snow towards the place he’d seen the dark figure fall. He found he was holding the big Colt tightly in his fist, and for no apparent reason he wondered if this was always how it was. Did he always feel like this after he’d killed a man? He stopped walking. The flickering shadows of the past rose briefly in his mind, taunting him with gray images, still too indistinct for him to grasp. But a fragment had slipped through. He knew now that this was not the first gunfight he’d been involved in. And he was aware, too, that he had reacted instinctively to the first shot. His body had taken over and he had gone through the motions without hesitation. It was only a tiny part of his real self, but it was a beginning. He had learned little about his past life in Agua Verde, and this revelation made him wonder why. Was it because his past had been best forgotten? A lesser man might have shrugged the thought aside. Jason Brand found he could not. The less he knew about his former existence, no matter how sordid it might turn out to be, only made him more determined to expose it all.
Snow was already starting to cover the body. Brand crouched beside it. He knew before he touched the man that he was dead, and when he saw the bloody hole in the chest and the other one through the throat there was no point in checking further. He spotted, too, the bloodstained trouser leg. His first hit. Brand flicked snow from the dead face. He recognized the man who had come into the restaurant. The same one who had attacked Virginia outside a short time later. Why had he tried to kill Brand? Because he had involved himself in Virginia’s problems? Or had it been just a personal vendetta? Revenge for something Brand had done to him in the past? Brand stood up. Whatever the reason it had died with the man.
He turned away and headed back for the street. In a while the body would he hidden by the falling snow. The way it was coming down it might be spring before the body was found. Brand didn’t want problems now. He wanted to get Virginia Maitland away from Butte as quickly as possible. The last thing he wanted was to have to answer a lot of questions. He reached the street and paused, glancing in both directions. The town still looked as if it was completely deserted. The gunshots seemed to have gone unnoticed. Probably snatched away by the wind before anyone heard them. Brand realized he was still holding his own gun. He shoved it back in the holster and made his way towards the store he’d been planning on visiting before the appearance of the man he’d had to kill.
Inside the cluttered store Brand told the man behind the counter what he wanted. The owner eyed him suspiciously at first, his steady gaze soon coming to rest on the long tear in the sleeve of Brand’s coat which was moist with blood. His interest in it was soon dissipated by the production of Brand’s money. The storekeeper’s eyes lit up at the thought of a substantial cash transaction and he clucked his sympathy at Brand’s casual mention of the damn rusty nail he’d cau
ght his coat on down at the livery. By the time Brand left the store the owner was busy adding up his profit, the bloodstained sleeve forgotten.
Brand made his way back to the hotel. He carried a wrapped parcel under one arm. The bulk of his purchase was still in the store. They would pick it up on the way out of Butte.
He went straight upstairs and knocked on Virginia’s door.
‘I want to talk,’ he said as she opened her door. ‘My room.’
Virginia nodded and followed him to his room. Letting her step by him Brand closed the door. He tossed the parcel onto his bed.
‘Brought you some clothes,’ he said.
‘But I have clothing,’ Virginia protested.
‘Not for where we’re going,’ Brand told her. ‘Weather like this you don’t get a second chance if you make a mistake.’
Virginia picked up the parcel. ‘Whatever you say, Mr. Brand.’ She watched him open his coat and slip it off, and then she spotted the wet bloodstain on his shirtsleeve. ‘Good heavens, what happened?’
Brand took off his shirt and inspected the ragged furrow in his arm. ‘Your friend from last night. He must have taken offence at me laying my gun barrel across his head. He was waiting for me out near the livery. If he’d been a better shot you’d be on the lookout for another guide
A look of horror crossed Virginia’s face. ‘Are you trying to say he meant to kill you?’
‘When a man comes at you with a gun, and he’s using that gun, it’s a sure bet he ain’t makin’ collections for the church fund.’
‘What have I got you into, Mr. Brand?’ Virginia’s tone revealed her genuine shock.
‘Miss Maitland, it appears it ain’t the first time I been shot at. An’ likely it ain’t about to be the last time I’ll have to shoot a man. So don’t you worry over it.’
It took him a moment to realize what he had just said. Without conscious thought he had stated the fact being shot at was no first-time occurrence. Something he had remembered from his past? A knowledge once hidden in the recesses of his blanked out mind rising to the surface? Was this how it would be? Small fragments coming into the light from the dark mire of memory loss? He didn’t dwell on it. Better to let it return of its own accord..
Virginia had crossed to the washstand to pour water into the basin. Now she brought it across to the bed and set the bowl down on the chair standing against the wall. She soaked a corner of a towel in the water, turned to Brand, and began to clean the shallow wound.
‘You say you shot him?’
‘Yeah.’ Brand turned his head a little. Just enough so that he could smell the faint perfume she was wearing.
‘Is he hurt badly?’
‘He’s dead,’ Brand said evenly. He heard her gasp and felt her hand falter. ‘He was set on killing me, an’ I’m not ready to die yet. Not in some back alley and especially not for the reason he was doing it.’
‘What do we do now, Mr. Brand?’
‘Just what we already decided to do. Collect the horses I bought. Pick up our supplies, and start for Bannock.’
‘But what about that man? What will happen when his body is found?’
Brand pulled his remaining clean shirt from his saddlebag, and slipped it on, glad now that he’d added a couple of new ones to the list he’d gone through at the store.
‘In another hour that feller will be lying at the bottom of a snowdrift. Nobody’s going to find him until it thaws and that won’t be for a damn long time. I ain’t about to sit around waitin’ to see if he’s got any friends hanging around. No way of knowing if he went after me because I put him down last night, or because I got myself involved with you. Either way it can only mean trouble if we hang around Butte. So we’ll move. That feller ain’t about to go anywhere. He’ll he there come spring and by then we’ll likely he able to explain the why and the what about the way he died.’
Virginia picked up the parcel of clothing. At the door she said: ‘I’m sorry it had to happen, Mr. Brand. But I’m glad you weren’t hurt badly.’
‘I’ll drink to that. Now go and get ready. I want to move as soon as possible.’
Before he did anything else Brand reloaded his Colt. Sitting on the edge of the bed, thumbing fresh bullets into the chambers, he ran over the morning’s events.
It was strange, he thought. A day ago he had been fretting over the lack of action in Butte. Now he was anxious to leave the town because of the threat of more. Not that he was afraid of the physical involvement, but because here in Butte he was at a disadvantage. A town could hide strange faces from him. Out in the open country a man could spot his enemies at a distance, and plan accordingly. He could choose his own ground and fight from there. But here in Butte, with its added discomfort of snow and bad weather, a man could find himself boxed in, surrounded by a force far superior than his. Whatever else he might have lacked through his loss of memory Jason Brand was quickly finding out that there were things he was still capable of. Things which appeared to be as much a part of him as the breath that kept him alive. As long as he had those skills at his fingertips he seemed likely to survive - or at least have a damn good chance of doing so. He had no way of knowing what might be in store for him once he left Butte and took off into the high country. It was wild and lonely up there. Anything could happen. One way or another, Brand realized, he was going to find out about himself. He’d learn who he was and what he was. It might come the hard way - but he had a feeling it was the only way he knew.
Chapter Four
Buck Feeney stood at the mouth of the cave and stared morosely out at the swirling snow. He hunched his shoulders against the cold, stamping his feet to keep the circulation moving. He was fed up with just sitting round and waiting. Feeney was a man used to an active life. This kind of deal didn’t sit too well on his broad shoulders and it wouldn’t have taken much to make him quit. It was only the money that kept him out on the bleak mountainside, cold and wet and trying without success not to think of the women back in Bannock.
‘Hey, Buck, you want some more coffee?’
Feeney turned and made his way into the cave. He didn’t really want any coffee. That was all he and his three companions had done since they’d made their camp here four days ago.
Drink coffee, eat, sleep, talk.
It was enough to drive a man crazy. Feeney wished something would happen. Anything. It didn’t matter what – just as long as it broke the monotony.
‘Another couple’a days an’ we’ll all look like damn coffee beans,’ Feeney growled as he took the steaming mug of black liquid from Jed Cooper.
‘Trouble with you, Buck, is not knowing when you’re well off,’ Cooper said. He was a slight man with pale, thinning hair. He had the kind of face Feeney always associated with people recovering from a bad illness. Translucent skin drawn tight over prominent bones. Large eyes that bulged from sockets seemingly too small to contain them. Contrary to his appearance, Jed Cooper was a quick-witted, humorous man, and he never wasted a chance to take a rise out of Feeney.
‘Jed, you tell me once more just how good I’m doin’ an’ I’ll kick your ass all the way up to the Canadian border,’ Feeney said.
Cooper fed more wood into the flames of the fire he’d kept going from the day they had first made camp. He had discovered a natural chimney formation in the cave roof and had set about building a fire under it. Since that first day he’d made it his business to keep the fire going and to collect the wood. He’d built up a sturdy tripod arrangement over the flames and from it had hung a blackened coffeepot he kept permanently filled.
Drinking his coffee Feeney watched Cooper’s activity. He envied the man’s ability to occupy himself during the long hours. His own restlessness only brought on a feeling of resentment towards Cooper.
‘Christ, Jed, it’s like watching an old woman,’ Feeney exploded suddenly. ‘For once why can’t you just say shit to it all and kick that pot of damn coffee all to hell.’
Cooper finished feeding the fire. He
filled himself a mug of coffee and sat back against the wall of the cave. He glanced at Feeney over the rim of his mug as he drank, laughter gleaming in his eyes.
‘It’s not old women bothering you, Buck,’ he said. ‘More likely to be young ones. Like that redhead you’ve had your eye on. The one who works at Roche’s place.’
A sullen grunt was Feeney’s response. He slouched into a corner and squatted on his heels, staring into the fire. He knew the truth when it was shown to him. It was right enough. He was having a hell of a time trying to keep the memory of that red-haired little flirt out of his mind. There was too little out here to fill his mind with other thoughts, and he kept seeing her face, her eyes beckoning him, the promise of her lithe, full breasted young body giving him an ache that wasn’t about to be eased by drinking gallons of Cooper’s damn coffee.
‘Time Cleaver and Shannuck were getting back,’ Cooper said. He climbed to his feet and went to stand at the cave mouth.
‘Maybe they got lost lookin’ for Benteen,’ Feeney suggested. For want of something better to do he joined Cooper and they both stared out at falling snow.
The ground sloped away from the mouth of the cave. Heavy stands of timber grew on this high ground. Gracefully curved snow banks had changed the landscape, layering everything in smooth whiteness. To the west, far away, the peaks of the Bitterroot Range thrust upwards against the show-laden sky. The normally silent land had taken on an even more desolate role now. The never-ending, undulating carpet of snow had given it a stark, bleak look.
‘Shannuck won’t get lost,’ Cooper said. ‘Man don’t live as long as Cole Shannuck without he don’t learn a few tricks.’
‘Hell, Jed, he ain’t God,’ Feeney said acidly. ‘Shannuck’s like the rest of us. He can die the same as we can.’
‘He’s still alive when a lot of others are dead.’
Feeney spat into the snow. ‘Sure he is. That’s ’cause he’s a lot more sneaky than the rest.’
‘No. Shannuck’s …’