Blood Bond 7

by William W. Johnstone

  “Let’s hope you never have that splendid opportunity!” Then, more seriously, he said, “I found Hart. He’s in bad shape. He’s a tough bird, though, and I think he’ll live. Jordan did a number on him before I found him.”

  “A man shows his true colors when his back’s to the wall,” Matt said. “He’s had a busy night. He mauled Malinda before he fled.”

  “Did he think he could really get by with his scheme?”

  Matt shrugged. “Why not? Others have gotten by with a lot more. If not for our presence, he might have succeeded.”

  “He might still have a chance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If he escapes, he would be free to hatch some other plot. Though he’s committed every kind of crime imaginable, there’s not enough law out here to deal any justice. He’d be free to make another land grab. If not here, then elsewhere.”

  “Then let’s not let that happen.”

  “I’m moving to the other side of the road. I want to make sure he doesn’t sneak by us.”

  “He won’t.”

  It was more difficult to find a decent horse in the ruins of Jordanville than Nelson Jordan had expected. He had to look through several barns and out buildings in town before he finally found a saddled horse. Jordan didn’t care who had owned the horse before; it was his, now. He was quickly up in the saddle and headed out of town.

  Matt and Sam were looking for him. Jordan felt it instinctively. On the other hand, he had a good start on them and was confident that he would escape cleanly. He probably should have spent less time in his “farewells” to Malinda and Hart, as much as he had enjoyed it. There was nothing he could do about it now, however.

  The horse he had found was nothing special. It had a slightly awkward gait as it stepped through the muddy streets, jarring him slightly with each movement. He was glad he wouldn’t need the horse for long. He’d trade horses at the next town he came across. With luck, he’d soon be back in California.

  Though he had failed in his plan to monopolize all the mineral rights in this part of the country, he was still relatively satisfied. In spite of the obstacles in his path, he had made a great deal of money and he had learned some lessons. For one thing, he wouldn’t get sidetracked with a woman. While Malinda had made him some money, she had also been a distraction. He also planned to hit his opponents harder, both legally and with a better class of gunfighters. He was still fairly young, and did alright for a first-time project of this type. So what if most of his men had been killed? It was just a cost of doing business. Besides, it gave him some great stories to relate to his brothers and cousins back in California.

  Things remained quiet. It was too quiet. He was now almost outside of town, and had not been stopped. It was almost too easy.

  He kicked his horse to proceed faster. The ride became bumpier, but it was getting him out of town faster.

  It was just a few moments later that he heard the voice call out slightly in front of him and to the right: “Stop right there, Jordan. We’ve got you covered.”

  Malinda knew that Matt had her best interests in mind when he told her to stay put, to keep her out of danger. In the past, the woman might have done as she was told. Before she came West, she dared to little on her own. Now, she realized she could do anything she wanted to do.

  So after Matt left to go after Jordan, Malinda followed in his footsteps.

  Before she left, she walked over to a locked cabinet near what had been Jordan’s desk. It was charred, but still relatively intact. The fire had weakened the lock. The woman easily broke it open to reveal the guns inside. She was basically untrained in firearms, knew she would have little chance at being accurate. So she selected a small bore shotgun that Jordan had sometimes used in hunting trips.

  Malinda had no firm plan in mind. She just knew that Jordan had violated her in ways she never would have understood before she came West. Now she also knew that if she wanted vengeance, she would have to seek it herself.

  She also had the vague thought that she might be able to help Matt in some way.

  Malinda had watched Jordan load the gun many times before. She found some shells in the case that had somehow survived the fire, inserted them into the gun.

  Satisfied that she could carry the gun with little difficulty, Malinda stepped into the street to try and catch up with Matt.

  Matt was the first to spot Jordan. He waited for Jordan to move well into firing range before he called out. In response, Jordan stopped his horse and raised his hands.

  “I’m stopped,” Jordan said. “No need to shoot!”

  Matt slid down the rock to the road, all the while holding his gun on Jordan. On the other side of the road, Sam stepped into view. Both approach Jordan cautiously.

  “Get off the horse,” Matt said. “Keep your hands in plain sight.”

  Jordan did as he was told. He was a little stiff from the uncomfortable ride.

  “Going on a trip?” Sam said.

  “Actually, I am,” Jordan answered. “My business here is done. I’m going home.”

  “As easy as that?”

  “The way I look at it boys, I’m not cut out to be a fighter. I’m still hurting from the bruises your friend, Hart, gave me. And I’m certainly not a gunfighter. Do you expect me to fight my way out of this situation?”

  “You’re going to let us take you without a fight?” Sam asked.

  “Excuse me, may I smoke?” Jordan slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar. He lit it slowly, methodically. Only when it was puffing nicely did he continue. “Take me where?” he said. “To a court? Back to town, where I might still have a few people who are loyal to me. What are your choices? That is, if I don’t fight, and I don’t intend to. If I fight, I would just give you boys a rationale to kill me.”

  “An interesting philosophical dilemma,” Sam said.

  “Yeah, you would find it interesting,” Matt said. “I think all those hours in the university softened some of those brain cells.”

  “As you might have figured by now, I don’t think a whole lot of you two,” Jordan said. “I think that there’s probably not a lot you would do if given the chance. But in your own way, you have a sense of honor. I don’t think you would kill an unarmed man in cold blood, no matter what grievances you might have against him.”

  “He uses as many big words as you do, Sam,” Matt said. “Since you speak the language, what do you think?”

  “I’m tempted to shoot him and be done with it,” Sam answered, truthfully. “But he is right. I have never killed any man in cold blood for any reason. I like to think it makes us better men than scum like Jordan. If the grievances were against us personally, I might could justify such an action.”

  “So we can’t shoot him,” Matt said.

  Jordan smiled, put the cigar in his mouth, puffed contentedly.

  The sudden roar of a shotgun blast filled the night air and Jordan’s smile died on his face.

  The shot had hit him squarely in the chest. Jordan lived long enough o look in surprise at the blood that suddenly soaked his clothes. He then pitched forward, landing facedown in the mud. The cigar fell a short distance away, still smoldering.

  Malinda stepped out in the open from a hundred feet down the road.

  “Maybe you boys couldn’t shoot,” the woman said. “But I could.”

  Sam stepped forward, nudged Jordan’s body with the toe of his boot. “I spotted you down the road,” Sam said to Malinda. “I wondered if you had what it takes.”

  Malinda let her gun fall to the ground.

  “Would you have actually let him walk if I hadn’t shot him?” Malinda asked.

  “An interesting philosophical question.” Sam said. “It doesn’t make much difference now. It’s over. Let’s go get Hart.”

  Matt had already put his arm around the woman and was leading her back to town.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Matt Bodine and Sam Two-Wolves saddled their horses. Sam
was going through his motions quickly, Matt a little more slowly. Both were more than ready to leave this poor excuse for a town, but Matt wanted to have a few more words with the former Malinda Melody, now just Malinda Smith.

  Hart, limping slightly on his bandaged leg, came out of the small saloon to say his goodbye. Malinda followed him, wearing a plain cotton dress and carrying a small satchel. She remained just inside the doorway while Hart walked up to the blood brothers.

  “I sure wish you boys would change your mind and stay longer,” Hart said. “I really feel there’s a future here. Now that I finally struck the mother lode, I plan to start major operations soon. I’d let you boys in on the ground floor.”

  Matt and Sam looked around at what remained of the town. The Jordan Hotel was now nothing but cold ashes. Much of the equipment had been destroyed, and what remained was quickly rusting.

  In the town cemetery were too many new graves. Jordan’s body was being shipped back to California. Most of the other dead men had been buried in the town cemetery. Nobody would miss the gunfighters like Jack Parrish and Strep Menson. The good men, including William McFey Shannahan, would be missed. Sam wondered how many more good men would die trying to reap the mineral riches from these mountains, and if modern men would ever learn to do as the Indian did and live in harmony with the Earth?

  “As we explained the first day we met you, we’re ranchers, not miners,” Sam said.

  Hart, favoring his good leg, shook his head slightly.

  “Ranchers you may be, but you’re also two of the best fighting men I’ve run across. You’re good with your fists and your guns. And you’re developing a reputation as fighters. That might bring you attention you don’t need or want.”

  “We’re just living our lives. We’re not looking for trouble. But we don’t run from it, either.”

  “Even so, you’re making new enemies all the time. For all you now, Jordan may have kin tougher than him. If they care enough to pay for his body being shipped back home, they may care enough to come looking for revenge. Some of Jordan’s men are tough hombres. They’re scattered now, but who knows when your paths might cross again?”

  “We’ll take it one day at a time. I don’t intend to let what might happen spoil my enjoyment of life. As far as I’m concerned, the best is yet to come.” Sam glanced over at Matt, who was still toying with his saddle. Sam asked, “You about ready to ride?”

  “Just about.” He glanced up at the woman in the doorway. “Give me a few minutes with Malinda.”

  “Sure, brother. Take all the time you need.”

  Matt cinched his saddle, patted the horse’s smooth hide, and walked up to the woman. She smiled, but did not put down her satchel. Their voices were low, just out of hearing distance for Sam and Hart.

  “I’m glad you dropped in on me like you did,” Malinda said. “It doesn’t seem possible that a few days ago we had never even met.”

  Matt smiled back. “I would have liked to have gotten to know you better. But the situation wasn’t exactly working in our favor. I’ll remember your kiss. And I’ll remember your singing.” He gestured at her satchel and said, “You’re heading out, too?”

  “I decided to go home, back East. I came West to have an adventure. That I did. Too much so. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined singing in the middle of a wilderness. Or almost getting myself killed, and watching so many others get killed. I’ve seen enough. I’m going home. Hart is giving me a ride to where I can catch a train home.”

  “What do you plan to do when you get home?”

  “I don’t know. My dad wants me to get married. But I just can’t see myself settling down yet. I feel like I have so much left to see and do . . .”

  “You should stick with your singing.”

  “You are very flattering, Matt.”

  “No. I mean it. You are good.”

  “But the competition back East . . .”

  “Hogwash. You have the talent and can do what ever you put your mind to. Don’t give up. Not now.” He paused, then awkwardly continued, “I’m not near ready to settle down yet, either. But maybe someday, if I find my way back East, and you might consider coming West, I might come calling.”

  “You do that, Mr. Matthew Bodine.” She reached up, kissed Matt on the cheek. “You just drop in on me anytime.”

  Matt turned and walked back to his horse.

  Sam for most of the conversation between Matt and Malinda had politely kept his head turned away. But he glanced around in time to see the woman kissing Matt, and couldn’t resist giving him a little kidding, to lift his spirits if nothing else.

  Sam smirked and said to Matt, “If I could bottle whatever attraction you have for women, I would never have to work another day or my life.”

  “I’ve never seen you work that much to start with.”

  “I’ve worked you over enough times, and I could do it again, if you don’t shut that confounded trap of yours.”

  “You’re just jealous because the woman you meet are not just ugly, they can’t even sing!”

  But the insults were in jest, and the blood-brothers were smiling as they talked.

  “You boys are sure cut from a different kind of cloth,” Hart said.

  Sam and Matt waved their final goodbye and started their ride out of town.

  For long minutes, the two young men were quiet, lost in their own thoughts. They rounded a curve, and came upon the sign to one side of the rutted road in which the original name of “Silver Creek” had been crossed out and “Jordanville” painted in. That name had now also been crossed out, and “Silver Creek” repainted in the remaining space. The two men stopped their horses, and looked back at the town.

  “What do you think, Matt?” Sam asked. “Is Clarence Hart fooling himself? Or do you think he’ll find his fortune?”

  “Hart’s a good man. The West needs more men like him. He’ll do alright. I can’t say the same for the town. I imagine it’ll be like so many other mining towns. Booming today on the promise of gold or silver. Gone tomorrow when the gold runs out, or never reaches its promise. It seems a shame that so many men have died here fighting over riches that might never be.”

  “Malinda will also be fine,” Sam said. His voice was more serious than usual, though the familiar twinkle was in his eyes. “In fact, I’d say she came out of this better than either one of us.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Look, she’s free to go her own way, and here I am . . . stuck with you . . .”

  Before Matt could respond, Sam laughed loudly and spurred his horse down the road. Matt paused for only a second, then also laughed and joined his horse in the race.

  Already, the air was becoming clearer as the two blood-brothers left the mining town behind them, headed for another adventure elsewhere in the west.

  Turn the page for an exciting preview of

  BLOOD BOND: SAN ANGELO SHOWDOWN

  By

  Bestselling author William W. Johnstone

  On sale August 2006

  Wherever Pinnacle Books are sold

  BLOOD BOND:

  SAN ANGELO SHOWDOWN

  ISBN 0-7860-1764-3

  Chapter One

  Dingo Whaley was the first to spot the vehicle in the distance. He had to squint a little in the bright Texas sunshine and still could not be sure if it was a wagon or carriage.

  “What is it, boss? Buffalo?”

  “Shut up for a minute, Murdock, and let me think.”

  Pierce watched the scene from several feet away. He knew that Mel Murdock was not the brightest individual in Texas and would probably not listen to Dingo’s command. Pierce didn’t like Murdock—almost nobody in the gang did—so he sat back to watch the show. Murdock didn’t disappoint him.

  Murdock spit a stream of tobacco juice and continued, “Hell, I’m so sick of seeing the rump end of those shaggy beasts, I’d sure like to get the tail end of something a sight prettier! When are we going to hit some town—” />
  Without a second’s hesitation, Dingo reached out and hit Murdock with a solid backhanded slap. Dingo didn’t even use his full force, but it knocked the other man out of his saddle. He landed on his feet, started to reach for the gun at his side. Pierce scratched the stubble on his face, laughed softly. Murdock glanced at Pierce, then at Dingo, who was apparently ignoring him. Murdock took his hand away from the gun.

  Though both men were over six feet tall and had the well-worn look of buffalo hunters, Dingo was the bulkier of the two. He weighed in at over three hundred pounds of bone and muscle. He was said to be the best fighter and one of the fastest shots in the West. Murdock and other members of his gang knew he was also mean as sin. He was a bad man to tangle with.

  “I thought I said to be quiet.”

  “Sure, boss. I didn’t mean to—”

  “Just shut up.”

  Pierce laughed as Murdock got back on his horse and rode off. Pierce had no sympathy for the other man.

  Dingo continued to watch the dust in the distance. He finally made out details of a single coach followed by a single rider. If it was another sodbuster, a raid would hardly be worth the effort. A more fancy rig could mean a merchant with a hidden cash box or some merchandise that could come in handy. In any case, Murdock did have a point. Dingo and his men had seen too many damned buffalo. The last big hunt had been just a few days before. It was good money—real good money. But the work was hard and tiring. Now it was time for a different kind of sport and maybe some easier money.

  Another member of the gang rode up and stopped beside Pierce. He looked almost frail compared to the larger men, though he was not a small man and closer inspection revealed that he also had been hardened by years of living in the open country.

  “What’s cooking?” the third man asked quietly.

  “Boss is in a cranky mood, Jessup. Wouldn’t rile him, if I were you. Murdock made that mistake.”