Brand 9

by Neil Hunter

  ‘Shannuck’s a big man. Yeah, I know.’ Feeney grinned suddenly. He touched Cooper’s shoulder. ‘You wait on the day somebody puts a bullet through his balls. You’ll see how big he is then.’

  A quick smile crossed Cooper’s face. ‘You could he right, Buck.’

  Below them a pair of riders broke out of the trees, angling their struggling horses up the slope. The riders were hunched over the necks of the horses, hats drawn tight down across their faces to protect them from the keen bite of the wind.

  Cooper was the first to spot them. He turned and picked up a rifle leaning against the wall of the cave, levering a round into the breech. He moved back beside Feeney.

  ‘You recognize them?’ he asked.

  Feeney shrugged. ‘Looks like it could be Shannuck and Cleaver,’ he said. ‘Can’t see too well yet.’

  They waited in silence while the riders advanced to the crest of the slope. Only then were they able to recognize their companions. Cooper put aside the rifle and went out to meet them, leaving Feeney standing in the cave’s mouth.

  ‘We were getting worried, Cole,’ Cooper said.

  Cole Shannuck slid stiffly from his saddle. He tipped his hat back from his broad, hard-featured face. ‘Times are I hate this damn country,’ he said. ‘Seems like it’s either so hot it’s like to fry a man, or so cold he’s liable to freeze if he stops movin’. On top of that the whisky tastes like cow piss and the women ain’t bearable ‘less they got a sack over their heads.’ He handed the reins to his partner, Cleaver, then fell in beside Cooper as they made their way towards the cave. ‘I hope you got some of your coffee on the boil, Jed.’

  Cooper nodded. ‘Way you’re talkin’ Cole, I’d say things ain’t been goin’ too well.’

  A forced laugh passed Shannuck’s lips. ‘One thing about you, Jed. You know when to state the obvious.’

  They stepped into the comparative shelter of the cave. Cooper went to the fire and poured a couple of mugs of coffee. He left one for Cleaver and handed the other to Shannuck who drank eagerly.

  ‘God, I been needing that for a time,’ Shannuck gasped. He squatted before the fire, holding his big hands over the flames.

  ‘Where’s Benteen?’ Buck Feeney asked. ‘Ain’t he with you?’

  Shannuck glanced up at him. ‘Way things are I reckon Benteen’s dead.’

  ‘Shit!’ Feeney exploded. ‘No damn woman could get the drop on Benteen.’

  ‘Who said it was the woman?’ Shannuck refilled his mug.

  ‘What happened, Cole?’ Cooper asked, overriding Feeney’s impatience:

  ‘By the time we got there the Maitland woman had arrived in Butte, and left. Seems the train got stopped by the snow and couldn’t go any further. Cleaver an’ me did some quiet checking. We found she spent last night in one of the hotels and left Butte early this morning. By now she’s got a good few hours start on us.’

  ‘Seem it was right what we heard about her,’ Cooper remarked.

  ‘Bein’ sharp?’ Shannuck nodded. ‘Appears so.’

  Feeney made an impatient sound. ‘Never mind about all that crap. What about Benteen?’

  Shannuck sighed. ‘Persistent kind of bastard, ain’t he? We went to Benteen’s room. We checked Butte from one end to the other. He wasn’t in town.’

  ‘So?’ Feeney demanded.

  ‘So Benteen wasn’t in town,’ said a voice from his rear. It was Burt Cleaver, shaking the snow from his clothing as he stomped his way across the cave. He took the mug of coffee from Cooper and drank. ‘Benteen had vanished, but his gear was in his room and his horse was at the livery.’

  ‘Look, I ain’t in the mood for this runaround,’ Feeney yelled. ‘How’d you know he’ dead?’

  ‘Benteen wouldn’t leave town without his gear or his horse. Jesus, he’d even left that damned Winchester he fancies so much. It was up in his room with his clothes and stuff.’ Shannuck held up a hand at Feeney’s rising protest. ‘Damnit, I know that ain’t proof enough to say he’s dead. But we learned something else. Seems the Maitland woman got herself a hired hand, and the pair of ’em left Butte together. She picked him up last night. Even took a room next to his. Desk clerk at the hotel told me. Real talkative kind. I showed him some dollar bills and he couldn’t stop. This feller the woman hired, seems he bought a couple of horses and a heap of stuff at one of the stores. He’d been in town a while before the Maitland woman arrived. Desk clerk knew him well but he didn’t like him. Truth was he was scared of him. Can’t say I blame him …’

  Feeney stared at him, waiting for Shannuck to continue. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘You going to tell me?’

  ‘Go ahead, Cole,’ Cleaver said. ‘He’s goin’ to get so excited he’s going to wet his pants.’

  ‘Come on, Cole,’ Feeney begged. ‘Hell’s teeth, man, don’t make us guess!’

  ‘Name of the feller was Jason Brand.’

  Feeney didn’t say anything at first, but beside him Cooper gave a low whistle. For a moment there was complete silence. Then Feeney said:

  ‘Brand? Jason Brand from Las Cruces way? The Brand who carried a badge?’

  ‘He quit that a piece back,’ Shannuck corrected. ‘Brand ain’t been wearing a badge for a time now. He rode scout for the Army. Took up bounty hunting until that thing in Agua Verde.’

  ‘I recall that,’ Cooper said. ‘They say he took a whack on the skull that put him in hospital. Didn’t reckon he’d be up and around again so fast.’

  ‘So we supposed to run scared because this might be Brand?’ Feeney scowled. He turned to Shannuck again. ‘You figure because this feller Brand was in Butte, Benteen’s dead?’

  ‘Maybe you don’t know much about Brand,’ Shannuck said. ‘I do. He’s good. Better than most. He never was one to have to prove hisself. Let his gun do his talking. But he’s a tough bastard. Come the day he’d shoot a man soon as look at him. Not the kind who advertised his reputation. He don’t need to. Looks like Benteen didn’t know that.’

  ‘I didn’t know Benteen long,’ Cooper said, ‘but he acted like he fancied doing things his way. You figure he tried to push things before you and Cleaver got to Butte?’

  Shannuck nodded. ‘Could be. Benteen always did have a quick trigger finger too.’

  ‘He’d need more against Brand,’ Cleaver said.

  ‘So now we done deciding Benteen’s dead what we going to do about the Maitland woman?’ Feeney asked. ‘That’s why we’re sittin’ out in this damn snowstorm.’

  ‘Don’t spook yourself, Buck,’ Shannuck said. He rose from where he was crouched by the fire, stretching his powerful body. He was a big man. Solid without being heavy, broad across the shoulders and with long arms. His hands were large, long fingered. ‘I’d say Brand and the girl are heading for Bannock. Ain’t no problem there. They’re not going to get far in this weather. And it’s a long ride to Bannock. Plenty of time for us to find them and deal with them.’

  Feeney smiled after a moment. ‘Yeah, guess you’re right, Cole. Plenty of time for us.’

  Beyond the mouth of the cave the swirling snow blotted out everything. The wind drove down off the high dark peaks, pushing the snow into deeper drifts.

  It bent the tall trees, threatening to snap the slender trunks, and created an endless howl of sound. It was a sound that spoke of the timeless solitude of the mountains. Of the vaulted, desolate canyons. The high, grassy meadows overshadowed by the stony peaks. It was the sound of eternity. Never changing. As the mountains themselves never changed. It told the story of ages passed. It was the voice of the mountains.

  Chapter Five

  They had made slow travel since leaving Butte. Deep snow, much of it blown into high drifts, meant they were constantly having to seek fresh ways to move ahead. Each time they stopped they lost time. Brand thought more than once that it might have been better to have waited out the storm back in Butte. He mentioned the matter to Virginia once. Her reply had been short and very much to the point - she had no intention of was
ting any more time. Brand got the message and understood. She was the boss as far as he was concerned. It was her money financing the trip and paying his wages, and he had nothing better to do anyway.

  Towards midday the wind began to drop. By early afternoon it had practically gone. The snow eased off too. Gradually Brand found they were making headway. Their pace didn’t increase much but it was enough for them to have covered a good few miles more before darkness fell.

  Virginia had produced a detailed and clearly marked map of the area just before they had left Butte. It had been sent to her by the man named Jack Bell. It showed all possible landmarks and watercourses, giving distances and even the elevations of high points. The heavy snowfall had obscured many of the landmarks but Brand found he was easily able to work out their line of travel. He realized that had she been forced to go alone Virginia would most probably have made the trip without problems. She proved to be an excellent rider, controlling her horse with ease despite the difficult terrain. More than once she kept the animal from floundering in deep snow by sheer riding ability. Brand found, too, that her spirit was more than just verbal bravado. During the long day, riding in the face of high winds and heavy snows, Virginia never once uttered a word of complaint. Brand had felt the biting cold work its way through his thick coat, numbing his fingers despite the gloves he wore, and he knew that the physical discomfort must have affected Virginia. If it had she said nothing. She sat her saddle erect, shoulders hunched against the wind, the collar of the thick coat she wore turned up against her face. Turning to look back at her once he had allowed a smile to touch his cold lips. A picture had flashed before his eyes. Of Virginia standing in the door of his room back in Butte. She had put on the clothes he’d bought for her. Thick shirt and a small-sized pair of Levis. A pair of fur lined snow boots.

  ‘Are you sure, Mr. Brand?’ she had asked.

  ‘They’ll keep you a site warmer than all your fancy London fashions put together,’ he’d told her. What he hadn’t said was that she looked a damn sight better in the shirt and Levis than anyone he’d seen before. ‘You got a good thick coat and gloves?’

  Virginia had nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And a hat? Something with flaps to tie down across your ears.’

  She had shaken her head and a look of amazement showed when Brand threw her the final item he had purchased. It was snow cap, with ear flaps she could fasten under her chin.

  She had stared at him. ‘Lord, man, what are you trying to make me look like?’

  After a half-hour riding in the storm Virginia had stopped worrying about what she looked like. All that mattered was keeping warm, and she knew that he had been right about the kind of clothing to wear, even down to the fur lined snow cap. The sort of outfit she’d been contemplating would have let her freeze very quickly.

  The watery sun slid quickly out of sight. The sky darkened and black shadows etched themselves starkly against the white snow. Brand turned his horse up a long slope, aiming for the base of a high cliff above them. He had already spotted and marked out the dark opening of a cave. It wouldn’t be the most desirable place to spend the night but it was going to have to do. He thought briefly of his hotel room. The bed and the comfort it offered. He forced the image from his mind. That was not for him. Not tonight. Tonight was a blanket on the hard floor of a cave somewhere in the Montana high country, with a young and beautiful English lady as his companion.

  Brand slipped his cold feet from the stirrups and eased out of the saddle. He felt stiff from the ride, portions of which had been rough to say the least. He led his horse into the shelter of some timber. He off-saddled and freed the harness. From his saddlebags he took a rope halter and slipped it over the horse’s head, securing the other end to the trunk of a tree. He kicked at the snow close by the tree, exposing the grass beneath. His horse thrust its nose down at the grass straightaway.

  ‘You need a hand?’ he asked Virginia,

  ‘No, Mr. Brand.’ She had followed him into the trees and her own horse was already unsaddled and tethered for the night. It was plainly something she had done before.

  Brand picked up his saddle and the other gear he’d dumped on the ground. With Virginia behind he made his way to the dark cave mouth.

  ‘Shouldn’t you check first?’ she asked.

  Brand glanced at her. ‘Check?’

  ‘Yes. I mean … if there’s a bear or something living inside?’

  He grinned. ‘If there had been we would have heard by now. Ain’t nothing living in there. Floor of that cave’s as clean as a fresh bed sheet. No scuffmarks. No bits of food or droppings, and it doesn’t go far enough back. No animal would use a little place like this.’

  Virginia watched him stack his gear on the cave floor. She put her own load down. ‘I must sound very green,’ she said.

  ‘Little commonsense caution never hurt anyone,’ Brand said. ‘One thing a body can’t have too much of is caution. It’s good country out here, but it’s a wise thing to learn its ways before you try to live with it.’

  ‘My father used to say more or less the same thing.’ For a moment her voice faltered. Then she regained control of herself. ‘What can I do to help?’

  ‘There’s food and utensils I bought in that sack. Sort them out. I’ll go and get some wood for a fire.’

  By the time Brand returned with a large bundle of wood Virginia had everything set out. She sat with her back against the cave wall and watched him build a fire

  ‘I thought you frontiersmen lit your fires by rubbing two dry sticks together,’ she said lightly.

  ‘No, ma’am,’ Brand said he tipped his hat back and turned to her. ‘This ain’t exactly the frontier, and seeing how all that stick rubbing tended to be a darn nuisance, we got this clever feller to invent the match.’

  He took out the small box and rattled it for her. Then he bent to his task and shortly had the fire burning.

  Virginia smiled, her eyes shining in the bright flames rising from the pile of wood. She watched the growing flames, her gaze following the red sparks which writhed up into the dark sky.

  ‘Couldn’t the fire he seen from a long way off?’ she asked suddenly.

  Brand had been waiting for that question. ‘Yes, ma’am. It can be seen. And if that feller back in Butte had friends we might not be alone up here tonight. If that’s so and they’re around we’ll know soon enough. We’ve left a pretty clear trail through the snow since the storm quit. Won’t take a genius to work out the route we’ve been taking. Depends how close they are. One thing they won’t be doing is riding around in the dark. In these conditions night riding would be suicide. But I don’t count on that being the end of the matter. Man doesn’t have to depend on a horse. He could come on foot—or they could. So lighting a fire doesn’t make much difference. If they want us they’ll find us. All we can do is wait. Might as well be comfortable while we do that waiting.’

  ‘And eat I hope,’ Virginia said.

  Brand sliced some of the salted bacon he’d brought. He passed it to Virginia who dropped it into the small frying pan wedged over the flames. Soon the aroma of fried bacon drifted up into the dark sky. Brand crushed some coffee beans, filled the coffee pot with water from his canteen and tossed in the beans, adding a little salt to the concoction. He put the pot over the flames, took his rifle and went to collect more wood. He wanted to keep the fire going during the long night and knew that there was the possibility of the snowstorm coming again.

  They ate the bacon with hard biscuits, washing it down with cups of hot, black coffee. Both of them had good appetites from the day’s ride. Brand found he was watching Virginia Maitland closely, surprised at the way she accepted the primitive conditions they were forced to put up with. She was obviously a young woman of remarkable talents.

  ‘Not up to the standard you’re used to but it’s the best we’ll get out here,’ he found himself telling her.

  Virginia smiled at him. ‘If I told you some of the things I’ve eate
n, Mr. Brand, I think you would be rather surprised. When my father was alive he often took me along on hunting trips. I have camped out in the African Bush and the jungles of India.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you have preferred a life at home? Husband? Children?’

  ‘Now you are asking personal questions, Mr. Brand. But I don’t mind answering. If the opportunity had come along I suppose I would have been content. The circumstances, however have never presented themselves. Somehow my life has always been full of challenges. Enough to give me satisfaction. I have never deliberately tried to dissuade the attentions of the men I have known. Far from it. Even so here I am, and here you are, Mr. Brand.’ There was a long moment of silence while Virginia fixed her gaze on his shadowed face. ‘You still appear to be reluctant to talk about yourself. Contrary to your rules concerning a man’s business being his own I am still curious to know more about you.’

  Brand leaned forward to fill his coffee cup. Her directness had caught him off balance. He had left himself open to her questions by his own inquisitive impulse. Whichever way he turned now she would be there, waiting for his answer. The trouble was what did he tell her? She knew his name and had seen for herself his ability to handle a violent situation. He didn’t know much more himself. Too much of his personality still lay out of reach.

  ‘Couple of months back,’ he began, searching for the words he needed, ‘I had an accident while I was doing a job. I took a hell of whack to the head. One that like to bust open my skull. It was down Agua Verde way. Mexico. I was out of it for a fair few weeks.’

  ‘Are you recovered well enough now?’

  ‘I know my name and where I am. That’s just about as much as you know about me,’ Brand said, watching for her reaction.

  Virginia put down her cup. ‘You have no memory of your past? Where you come from or what you’ve done?’

  ‘That’s what everybody keeps telling me. Only reason I know what happened was I heard it from the people back in Agua Verde. Seems I was on official business. Trailing a bunch wanted by the law. Appears I caught up with ’em in Agua Verde and we went at it. They ended up dead but not before someone tried to crack my skull wide open.’